Christmas Memories of Vermont Summers

Mom got a Sierra Club calendar from Dad for Christmas and she freaked out over the picture of Vermont. Besides my hiking trip through the Lake District in England, I have never wished that my mom had been with me on a vacation more than when I stayed with Katie and Sarah in Vermont for a few days on our way home from our month spent roughing it on an island that Katie’s friend owned in Canada. I convinced Katie and Sarah to spend a few days in Vermont recovering from our primitive living conditions in a hotel room. The first thing they wanted to do was get a pedicure, so I went for my first with rolled eyes, but then I demanded we get in the car and drive to Frost's mountain. By the time we drove out to Middlebury, or whatever that town is called, it had started raining, but I insisted we drive out anyway, convinced it would stop in time for me. Because it hadn't, they opted to stay in the car and laughed at me when they noticed I was wearing FLIP-FLOPS (I'm still not sure why...I NEVER wear flip-flops. But I think it's because we had been wearing them on the island so that we could have waterproof shoes on when we took the pulley down to the bottom of the island, because we usually splashed around in the shallow water where we landed before hopping up onto the dock to board the motorboat there). I left my whimpy, girly friends listening to music in the car and tramped through the mud, reading the little plaques that had snippets of Frost's poetry that related to plants, trees, and general views on the walk, paying no attention to the people who were running around me to get back to their cars.

After sloshing almost straight up the mountain, I finally got frustrated at the time that had elapsed since I had seen one of the plaques and the mud oozing through my newly-manicured toes, which was starting to make walking a real chore. So, I literally had to slide a few inches at a time back down, because it was so slippery and because my shoes were NOT made for hiking. I had figured that I hadn't seen anyone on the trail only because they had all run to take shelter, but when I found my way back to the car HOURS later, I looked at the map at the foot of the trail, which I had waved off in my haste to get to the source of poetic inspiration. The "trail" was the easiest circular route for the tourist only wanting a taste of Frost's wanderlust, but somehow I had wandered off the path and gotten lost. When Katie and Sarah saw me, they burst out laughing and I started crying like a baby because I had been so frightened that I was going to twist an ankle and get stuck up on this stupid mountain. When we both finally calmed down from laughing (them), crying (me), they asked me what had happened. I was so mad at them for laughing at me, but I finally couldn't resist: "You guys suck, but you know what? (Pointing my finger up at the clouds, which were of course just then finally starting to clear) I took the road less traveled by...and (clenching my fist and shaking it at their mocking faces) THAT is going to make ALL the difference!"

The Personal IS Political...

I'm new to the blogger experience, but I'm starting to feel like I've been a little self-consumed in my posts lately. It seems like I should be saying something that has relevance beyond the walls of my cramped living quarters, which I am currently sharing with, alas, my parents. The thing is, though, I can see how all of my frustrations are either caused by or are intensified by the horrible things that my president is doing to my country, in the present and the future. As I tried to explain what had me feeling so down to my friend yesterday, one of the first things that came out of my mouth was about how I don't even have money to pay for gas to get me to the classes that I am taking for Bushie baby's new No Child Left Behind certification policy. And as soon as I said it, I had to add, "But it's not that I wish those gas prices were lower. We are definitely rightfully paying for all of the shit we've been dishing out." And I know that is true, even though I never supported the man or his policies.

How is it that a 26 year-old with a Master's degree from a prestigious university has been forced to move home with her parents, because she couldn't make it on a full-time teaching salary while living in a 500 square-foot studio apartment in our nation's capitol? I can't even imagine how people are making it who haven't had the privileges that I got only by luck. How desperate do things have to get before our anger pushes us to rise up and take back our country?

My Life as a Goth...

Girl Name: Mistress Acaia

Guy Name:Sir Sebastain

* I see
sadness in your heart*

You carry too many
secrets in your heart. You should really try
and vent about things more often.


What Is Your Goth Name?
brought to you by Quizilla

Happy Birthday, Chris

Well, I think my doldrums are actually kind of finally taking a turn for the better. I had a friend stop by during my prep after he picked up on my downer tone in an e-mail and just having one person show a little concern and love really made a world of difference. He didn't have any answers or fixes, and he only had about twenty minutes to spare for a chat, but that little bit of attention really did work wonders.

I was also feeling better about my job today. I was finally able to tell my kids, after four days (well, two for each period, but they meet every other day) that the tests were finally over and they could bring food to REALLY start celebrating while we watch Troy in class as preparation for our reading of The Odyssey. I say "REALLY start celebrating" because I had cheekily termed my tests "Celebrations"..of their wisdom, of course! I've been curving them rather heavily, too, so the scores aren't as bad as they or I initially feared. We still have our work cut out for us, though. I think I set my standards a little high, so I'm anxious to give them breaks where I can now, in the interest of avoiding burn-out.

I also had my first tutoring session after school. This time I showed up ten minutes early to avoid the librarian's reprimands. I only had one taker--a student who moved here from the Philippines only two years ago. It's sooooo nice to work with kids one-on-one, where they aren't tempted to screw off with neighbors, in the desire to look cool. They get so much more out of it, as do I. I always feel so fulfilled after doing that kind of work.

My body really isn't reacting too well to all of this stress, though. I've got to figure out what I can do to curb that somehow. Between feeling ill and coming home ready to drop at 4, something is going to have to change.

Well--back to grading these tests!

I had a dream last night...

The title for this post is to be sung to the tune of the song that starts out with those words from Baz Luhrman's modern adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, because I caught that on TV just last night, before I had this dream, which goes as follows:

I dreamt I had returned to my old school (must have been thinking a lot about my regrets or something?). I saw Meg, my best friend at work back at that school, who decided to leave shortly after I did. I had quit, true to reality, and was just coming back to visit, but Meg seemed to be working there still. I walked in and she was sitting kind of crouched over at a corner desk and no one else was around. So, I asked her, "Where IS everyone?"

She turned around and said, as if not too surprised that I was visiting, but in the height of frustration, "No one EVER hangs out in this office anymore. And just LOOK at their desks!" My eyes followed her gesturing hand and took in the sight of everyone's desks, which were all cleared off. She was complaining that they were TOO organized, which made me wake up chuckling, because the piles cascading from our desks, which used to face one another, were the office joke, so when we packed up during our last few days, A LOT of jokes were made about how people would NOT miss that about us. It's funny, because our first few e-mails after we both started our new jobs focused on a) how much we missed the office banter and b) how nice it was to have more space at our new jobs to keep track of our things. I guess the dream was some kind of attempt being made by my psyche to remind me that staying in D.C. may not have been the best option either, yet I find myself feeling even more regret today that I'm not still there.

It's just that I can't help feeling as though people at the school where I'm teaching now are taking me for granted. Ironically, I am putting in so much more effort to do things right and to be a good teacher, I think because my social life is stagnating and I'm anxious to please in the interest of securing more permanent employment next year, but I'm getting paid WAY less to do it and I'm in such a big school now that my efforts are mostly going unnoticed. I showed up SIX minutes late for tutoring today and got reprimanded by the librarian, who had just turned the students waiting to see me away. I kept looking at the clock and wondering what the hell was going on, reminding her that tutoring starts at 2:45 (and wanting to point out that teachers who have just finished teaching all day without preps may occasionally need a little more time than fifteen minutes to move on to an after-school job), but in the end, I realized I was just being treated like the hired help and the first thing I had done wrong since starting work almost two months ago was being treated as this colossal error. I don't know--maybe on top of my status as a second-class employee who is only a sub is the fact that she may remember me still as a student, because she was librarian back then, too. I don't know why THAT should count against me, though; I was the nerdy student who came in to study quietly at lunch and I never lost books or turned them in late. And I won't even start on the days when, during the ONLY period that I have to prep, the office has called and expected me to fill in last-minute for people calling in sick, for no extra pay, because I'm the hired sub who gets paid a measley $110 a day without benefits. Nevermind the fact that I'm teaching a full schedule and get one prep period only once every other day, so I am fully expected to plan and grade everything as a full-time teacher would.

The same is true with my students right now, too. I spent all week busting my ass to create a delightful Jeopardy review game for my kids to get ready for their test and when I administered the tests, which I had also spent a long time tailoring to each period, complete with funny inside jokes for the questions testing vocab and parts of speech, I realized that the kids had totally tuned out the review sessions and failed to take much advantage at all of the week I gave them to study and prepare. And rather than letting it go and chalking it up to something that would maybe teach them to study better in the future, I only felt guilty as I watched them wiggle and squirm, as if I had done something wrong, not them.

How do people have love lives and families on top of this, is my question. I have enough with the guilt complexes I feel for not being superhuman as their teacher; I can't imagine adding on the guilt of not being more available to my own boyfriend/spouse or children. All I can say is ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....

When autumn leaves start to fall...

“Autumn Leaves” sung by Eva Cassidy

The falling leaves drift by my window
The falling leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sunburned hands I used to hold

Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

Chris would have turned 29 this week on Wednesday, if he had stuck around to see it. This time of year pretty much always gets me down…more than spring, which was the time of year when he died. I hadn’t realized that it was the cause of my recent bout of the blues until I heard this song playing by Eva Cassidy this morning. The first time I ever really listened to “Autumn Leaves” was when I was in the midst of writing a chapter about Chris in this memoir that I erased after my dad found it and got upset years ago. I had downloaded a bunch of music by Cassidy, so I hadn’t really gotten a chance to listen to everything too carefully, especially since I had gotten into the habit of buying things and waiting to listen to them until they came up on iTunes on random play. Anyway, when it started playing, the mood of the song alone felt fitting, so I was even more surprised when I realized that the words themselves were oddly matching, too, although clearly Eva’s imagined subject is someone who she loved in a more romantic way.

The autumn makes me think of Chris because it was his birth month and I remember all of his Halloween birthday parties; a holiday that I perversely loved more than any other before his death, which is just another reason why I think I’ve always been a little irreverent, although I didn’t come to renounce my childhood religion until recently. In the years since he died, the decay of the autumn and the changing temperatures makes the commemoration of what should have been a longer life all the more difficult. I can literally feel my body start to react; it’s not just in my mind. This weekend I came down with the first signs of the flu and I have used it to justify my laziness and utter lack of energy right now.

We got a big lightning and thunderstorm today, to add to my mood. There’s something oddly comforting about that, though—as if nature is on the same page with me and can understand where I’m coming from. The thunder grumbles along with me, as I wonder why we ever have to wake up from the blissful forgetfulness of sleep.

I wrote to my ex today. Haven’t talked to him in five years and he’s been happily married for most of that time. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess it’s part and parcel with the autumn-inspiring feelings of missing those I said goodbye to long ago…

Hitting too Close to Home...

So, I'm doing some mindless DOL grading downstairs this morning and I flip on the TV to find that Dead Poets' Society is playing, an all-time favorite movie, obviously. About twenty minutes later, Matt wanders down and gets engrossed, so I'm thrilled, because he's hanging out with me AND he's watching a movie I wouldn't expect to see interest him, about literature and a group of friends that is interested in doing more than off-roading and motorbiking, which just makes elitist me feel really good to think that I'm helping him to some real soul food.. At one point, I even ask him, "Who does Robin Williams remind you of in this movie?" He says, "Not YOU..." sarcastically and I say, "I know--that's not who I had in mind. I was thinking my English teacher in high school [who he also had for film]." And he says, "That's actually who I WAS going to say." So, we're totally having a little brother/sister bonding moment, right?

That's when, towards the end, my dad comes down. When the kid's father starts getting all tyrannical about his desire to act in what I'm sorry to say really IS very similar to my dad might also act in such a situation, my dad scoffs loudly and starts grumbling about how the movie has to make up this ridiculous stereotype to fit with its theme of "disrespecting authority figures." Meanwhile, his son, who usually remains holed up in his room playing video games, is in the family room watching a scene featuring Shakespeare!! So he quietly grunts about it to my mom for like FIFTEEN minutes, who was surprisingly calm and understanding about it, until he finally gets up and locks himself in his room upstairs, refusing to answer when my mom knocks. I never said anything and I was just super-glad that I wasn't even within his eye sight, let alone expected to respond to anything he was saying, but I could not BELIEVE that he could get upset about it, number one, and THEN to go on and on and on about it for so long...It hadn't even occurred to me that it would hit a sore spot; it was a favorite movie long before Chris killed himself and I hadn't even really remembered that part of the story, per se. I understand how it would be hard to watch something like that from his perspective, but it's amazing to me that he can allow it to upset him rather than trying to think about WHY it might be upsetting him, even after all of this time. It's so frustrating for me, because I still remember how the last real heart-to-heart conversation I had with Chris was only a week before he died, where he asked me to write his biography when he died and when I asked him why he was even thinking about that, he broke down crying about how he thought my mom and dad would never be satisfied with any accomplishments he ever made, simply because he had decided not to go to college. And now I'm watching Matt feel totally paralyzed by the same pressure, only directed in a new way. He WANTS to go to college, but has had a tough time getting all of the application stuff together, so, rather than helping him through the process, my parents keep trying to convince him to go work for this pseudo-CCC project that just embarrasses him and makes him feel worthless. Clearly, we are all in dire need of some therapy...And I probably don't help much even THINKING about it the way I do, but it's so hard not to be utterly baffled by the stuff I see going on around me here.

Some good things have been happening lately, though. After recovering from the blow of a $1,000 car maintenance issue, things started picking up with my job. I’m still having a little trouble with the behavior in one class, but the rest of my classes are really going well and I’m generally really satisfied with my kids and job, though the pay is really smarting, especially in light of the above financial catastrophe.

My old school is still being horrible to me, even now. I asked my old principal to write a statement simply certifying that I had taught for them for three years and to fill out an easy form for my credential program, but she didn’t respond and then when I called, she had her SECRETARY call back to let me know that she has a policy not to send evaluation forms to candidates. One of my students from D.C. called me this past weekend and asked me how things were going. I started to explain all of these things that had been happening, both with the current school where I'm teaching and the last one where I taught, and he got all teary and said so sweetly and genuinely, “I am so happy to hear that; nothing could make me happier. I was just talking to [another student from the school] the other day and I was telling him that I think both you and [said student] were both one step ahead and to the left of what our school could appreciate. I am just so happy that you are both somewhere where there are people who appreciate everything you are.” He’s going to come visit in December, so I’m really excited about that.

I went out to dinner with two old friends from high school. While we were hanging out, Sherann’s phone rang and when she hung up, she explained that another friend from high school had called and invited us to come see his band play at this divey bar in town. I had kind of had a teensy crush on him from afar in high school, but he had this really cute girlfriend all four years. Sherann told us that she had started dating him, but she decided she didn’t think it would work because he’s a little too awkward socially. She also told us that he’s really smart—has a master’s and is teaching Geography at a local community college and that he flies to places like Seattle on the weekends to take pictures of Mt. Ranier or whatever he’s going to talk about to show his students. So, of course, with the social awkwardness, the intelligence, and the regular trips to geographical phenomena in places like Seattle, I’m TOTALLY in love again.

Well, like I said…it was awkward. When we first showed up, my friend guided us over to John and reminded him of our names. When she introduced me, I said, “You probably don’t remember me; I don’t think we ever had any classes together and I didn’t exactly have the kind of personality that made it so everyone knew me.” He was sweet and said, “No, I remember you,” but when I came up to him later to strike up a conversation by asking him about his teaching, the first thing he said was, “Now I think I remember you…” making it clear that he had totally lied before. That kind of killed my confidence, so our conversation had a few awkward pauses and then he escaped as quickly as he could. It’s okay, though. He is clearly talented, but his band was a little embarrassing (Tom Waits meets Jimi Hendrix—complete with John playing his guitar with his teeth and doing these very psychedelic and thus ridiculous dances on stage without a shirt on—meets a very uncool Vincent Price). I was pretty miserable in the scene the whole night, but it was worth a shot.

Cute Student Moment

• I wore my long-sleeved striped red and black shirt under my black corduroy coat to school for spirit day (school colors) and I took off my coat during 5^th period. One of my students, Robby, says, “Ms. G., where did you get that shirt? Because it reminds me of this shirt that I saw someone wearing in a movie…” I kept bugging him to tell me which movie, despite his repeated warnings that I didn’t want to know, until he said, “Freddy Kruegger.” I cracked up and the girls in the class got outraged, “That is NOT true, Ms. G. It looks very retro and very cool. If you like Ms. G’s shirt, raise your hand.” (Butt-kissing hands united.) “If you like ROBBY’S shirt, raise your hand.” (Butt-kissing hands stayed put and butt-kissing mouths laughed out loud.)

You Can't Go Home Again

I came across this journal I wrote for an English/History/Humanities class that I had in seventh grade and it made me want to start keeping a journal again. It’s so interesting to laugh at the former version of yourself, yet also recognize your current self in little comments that you probably hadn’t even fully understood at the time. Like, I could not have imagined that writing the following would later make my pro-Euthanasia-self want to high-five my seventh grade self, who didn’t even know the term or understand the controversy of the topic: “I think if a doctor told me I was going to die, I don’t think I’d have any hope in my heart for living. I’d probably spend my days preparing to face death, not fight it.” And then there’s the early, albeit naïve, pacifistic musings that read, “One of my favorite things to do is to read. When I read, I can focus on one thing and not have my feelings all jumbled and swimming around in my head. It also gives me more things to think about. Like how much better I have it then other people have had it in the past. It also helps me to see how much America has grown and how much people have changed for better or for worse. One of the things I have learned is that when we used to have World Wars we would not try and think of solving our problems. We would just worry about winning a battle.”

I also figure that this is a good time to document my life again because I’ve finally decided to stop running away from what Irish poet Seamus Heaney masterfully designates “the givens” of my life. After running away to graduate school in Virginia after Chris’s death five years ago and staying three years to teach at a Jewish private school in the D.C. area as news of Jonny’s schizophrenic episodes floated to me across the continent, I’ve decided to move back home for a year while I get certified to teach in public schools back on the left coast. Today was my third day of teaching as a long-term English 9 sub at the place to which I swore I’d never return on my graduation day in 1997: my own high school. The ironies are abundant: I walk past my old hangout every day and chuckle to myself as I note that it is still occupied by the same old crowd of oddball outcasts; I am teaching the youngest brother of my arch nemesis and probably the only “enemy” I’ve ever felt I had, for that matter...the list goes on and on...

I’ve been feeling inordinately lonely the past few days. I tried to strike out in search of people during my 3^rd period prep the other day, but no luck—everyone is hiding in their classrooms or teaching, I guess. It’s kind of depressing. I’m sure most of my melancholy was prompted by reconnecting with Meg, who is feeling the same loneliness in her new office job at a lobbying firm back in D.C. We both miss the office banter incredibly. I keep thinking that it’s probably more healthy not to be so wrapped up in and distracted by office social interaction, but it only really is if I have a social life outside of work, which I don’t.

I am enjoying the student population, though. They aren't as enthusiastic about learning as the kids at my last school were, but they aren't completely uninterested, either; refreshingly diverse; and, most important, grateful for my expertise (which was taken for granted and even second-guessed pretty regularly at the last school where I taught). I think the area has grown a lot since I was a student at the school myself, which is part of the reason why it’s not as bad as I remember, but I also think I probably overdramatized my memory of high school. That’s what teenagers do to everything, after all.