My mom cooks,
My stepdad gardens,
Bluegrass plays for the plants,
For a friend they lost today,
A song of death.
The lone whistle of a rumbling train,
Howling, Moaning, Calling–
Ophelia in her eternal pond,
Me, with bare feet upon the earth,
Small wildflowers,
Tickle my toes,
I drink the fleeting song
Of man and earth,
I am alive.
This morning, a concerned friend emailed me an article about a teacher in Philadelphia fired for the content on her blog. While I appreciate his concern, I am not going to stop blogging about teaching. He raises an interesting point, though. Where does the line between freedom of speech and overstepping your work boundaries fall?
To me, it seems pretty obvious that you do not talk poorly about the administration at your school. That would be about as smart as calling your boss an a-hole on the internet. Likewise, I would never write about hating a student or their family, even though I might write vaguely about my frustrations as a teacher with said student or family. For me, the trouble arises when you start to draw the line in the sand. If one comment is not protected under free speech, then is the next teacher going to be fired for expressing frustration instead of hatred?
I think it is absolutely essential that I have the right to tactfully share the good and bad parts of my job. Unfortunately, in today’s political climate, teachers get bashed in the news left and right for being lazy complainers, (what, we only work nine months out of the year, right?). I consider it my little contribution to the teaching world to speak up and share what my job is actually like in hopes that maybe a couple people begin to see teaching differently. After all, education will not change unless people know what it is like for teachers in American classrooms.
To be honest, I had no realistic vision of teaching until I started doing it, so I do not expect others to understand unless they listen to our experiences. Not only do teachers work far more than their contractual obligation to be on campus from 7:30AM-3:30PM, but they also put up with a lot of pressure to successfully teach every kid. Now, if you’re a teacher, I hope that is your goal, regardless of the pressure, but it still does not take away from the reality that there are factors outside of a teacher’s control that make this battle extremely difficult, even if the good teacher continues to fight it everyday.
I’m sure if you read my blog, you already pick up on those nuances of teaching, but that is one of the main reasons I risk catching flack; I want to give an honest insight into the realities of my profession. However, that’s not the only reason I write about teaching. My other, equally-important reason for speaking up is because it helps me survive an extremely stressful job. By sharing, I make connections with other teachers that help me feel far less alone and inspire me to keep teaching, to push myself to be a better teacher, and to try new techniques to help my students.
Now, when it comes to the teacher fired in Philadelphia, do I think it is fair? Maybe, I don’t know all of the details. But, whether I agree with her choices or not, it does make me worry that her situation has opened the door for more teachers to get in trouble for their blogs. Will it make me stop blogging? Absolutely not. Instead it leaves me fiercely committed to my first amendment right to share my experiences as a teacher. Probably not what my friend was going for by sending me that email, but still grateful to him nonetheless.
In order to post my blog, I have to go to a coffee shop in Mt. Shasta. Dial-up won’t even load the WordPress homepage. This may seem like a pretty ordinary act to access the internet from a coffee shop, but in Mt. Shasta it is anything but ordinary. Like so many places heading into the Pacific Northwest, Mt. Shasta is a pitstop for young vagabonds and its coffee shops are their headquarters.
Someday I hope to really write about them, to ask them questions and listen. Until then, I’m just enjoying eavesdropping at the coffee shops here in town. I’m learning where the best exits to hitch a ride are, watching as they hit on each other, uncertain if they’ll ever meet again, hopeful maybe to join forces and face the big bad world together. Many of them seem lonely. I watched one young backpack-clad man walk up and down the main stretch three or four times, his eyes and quick smile filled with eagerness to talk to someone, anyone.
I will always remember a different kid with eyes like my brother’s, sitting on the street corner in Portland with a sign asking for money. It was hard to look at him, so young, and not wonder what brought him to that corner. I do not think he would have wanted me to feel sorry for him, I think instead he would have wanted me to understand his story. In the words of someone on the fringes of this life, “For some, it would really be death to their souls to go back to wherever they came from, for others it is just a way to travel.”
Either way, I want to learn their stories.
***
Today’s Mount Shasta moments:
This week I am visiting my mom in Mt. Shasta, which means, among other things, limited access to internet because her house in the woods is wired only through dial-up, and I am not patient enough for that kind of thing. Now, when I say Mt. Shasta, I mean the little town at the base of the mountain, not the big party lake an hour away with house boats and drunk spring-breakers.
It is easy to drive through Mt. Shasta on I-5 heading to or from Oregon and not even notice it. From the freeway, you can’t really tell there is a cute little town filled with shops and restaurants. But, that’s not really what you come to Mt. Shasta for anyway. The first time we visited Mt. Shasta, back when my mom still lived in Sacramento, we came to camp. That’s really what you visit Mt. Shasta for, the outdoors.
My mom lives five minutes from a beautiful little lake, Lake Siskiyou, and twenty minutes from an even better lake, Castle Lake, which is crystal clear and glass-like. Not to mention all the waterfalls and mountain vistas. Now all of this is good and well, but Mt. Shasta is also weird, which makes it more interesting. Good weird of course. It’s a mixture of red necks and hippies, which always makes for some good fun. If you did not already guess, my mom lands on the hippie side. In fact, one of my most memorable Mt. Shasta memories was when my mom hired a local Shaman to bless my marriage with a meditative ceremony.
My weirdest Mt. Shasta moment, however, was the night my brother challenged Mt. Shasta to scare him. It is helpful background knowledge to know that my brother is the graduate of a pretty cool sustainable agriculture program in Bolinas and sleeps outside most nights by choice, so he’s a wilderness all-star. I, on the other hand, get spooked when we sit out under the stars, which is what started this whole challenge in the first place. My brother wanted to show me there is nothing to be afraid of out there, yelling his challenge into the darkness.
That night, when we were all asleep in bed, we awakened to the sound of something pounding on the roof. And, when I say pounding, I mean our room was shaking, like something was jumping up and down over our bed repeatedly. My first thought, close the huge open window behind my head. As I slowly moved it shut, I feared I would attract attention. I did not want the thing on the roof to hear the window shut. I did not want it to get me. In the middle of the night, all of those campfire stories of aliens, big foot, and mountain lions really come alive.
Granted we never figured out what the thing on the roof was, but my brother slept through it, undisturbed, just as he boasted. I, on the hand, was left equally afraid of the wilderness at night, if not more so. Mysterious scary beasts aside, Mt. Shasta is an unusual place worth stopping if you’re ever driving the long haul on I-5. More pictures and stories to follow, I’m sure.
My fearless brother headed up to my mom’s with me.
Glorious Mt. Shasta
Downtown Mt. Shasta getting prepared for the big fourth of July race.
My mom’s front yard at dusk yesterday.
Entrance to my mom and stepdad’s beautiful garden.
Garden welcome sign pays homage to my beloved childhood pets.
My mom always has beautiful flowers from their property waiting for me on my childhood dresser, I love how she arranged the wildflowers at different heights.
Sunset welcome to Mt. Shasta at the edge of their property.
Alright, I’ll be honest. This whole blogging award chain deal gets a little under my skin. First, I find it exclusionary. I follow a lot of great blogs, so it’s hard to narrow it down to 15 to share. Second, it feels an awful lot like bragging to say look at me, some other blog thought I was great.
However, I really like the blog that nominated me, and I think it’s always nice to share good blogs, so I’m doing it even though I’m internally conflicted, (kind of the story of my life, right?!). So, I’ll just start by saying thanks Aneesa & Faraaz, it’s nice to be noticed and supported in this gigantic world of words! I hope that my little rant in the opening didn’t take away from my genuine humility in being noticed, it is a very nice gesture, thank you.
Now for those pesky rules, what am I supposed to do next?
Oh yes, that’s right, mention 7 random things about myself:
1. Wow, this is harder than I thought. Let’s see, my dog is named Simon because my husband did not want me to name our kid Simon, but now he loves our dog so much that he says we should name our kid Simon, but I refuse to name our kid after our dog, funny how those things work, right?
2. If we get another dog, we plan to name him/her Garfunkel as in Simon & Garfunkel because it makes us laugh. I feel like Garfunkle is going to have to be a big dog.
3. My senior project in high school was learning to race and work on muscle cars. My dad bought me a ’92 5.0 Mustang GT. Gosh did I love pulling up next to fast cars at stoplights in that bad boy. Engines revving, men/boys ready to race until they saw little old me behind the wheel. Hilarious. I outtalked a lot of boys about cars at school. One chick even wanted to kick my ass because I told her my car could beat her boyfriends tuner. Memories.
4. I was fully enrolled and ready to attend law school out of college but backed out when it was time to sign the financial aid agreement. Working for a lobbying firm pouring through briefs left me unwilling to sign away six figures of my future earnings to student loans. Ended up a good decision, I think.
5. I once auditioned for a travel show and got called down to LA to sit in front of a panel of producers. They did not like me. They kept asking me about my boyfriend and how he felt about my desire to be on the show. I think they wanted us to break up. The worst part of the audition was when I teared up telling them about my favorite travel moment because it was so moving for me, I felt like a raving lunatic. Then I started to tell my worst travel moment and realized it was not PC so edited midway through and blew it. Sigh. I guess it is better that I finished my last quarter of college instead.
6. One of my secret life aspirations was to be an actress. I’m not sure why that embarrasses me now, but it does. I even got cast in this super low-budget local indie film that wanted my character to be in a rape scene at the end of the movie. I insisted it would have to be implied because I was not being raped on film, ever, low-budget or not. Thankfully the whole thing fell apart before anything ever came of it.
7. I’m a Leo, but not sure I believe in any of that. Just felt like a fitting number 7, like hey, what’s your sign?
Now for the fun part that I actually signed up for, promoting great blogs. Truth be told, if I included all the blogs I really loved, this list would be a lot longer, so bear with me if your amazing blog is not on the list, (who am I kidding, you’re probably only reading this if your blog is on the list!). In no particular order:
1. http://educatednotdomesticated.blogspot.com (This Sac teacher has awesome taste and great tips for the classroom!)
2. http://betweenfearandlove.com/ (I really enjoy this mom/writer’s inspirational posts)
3. http://covetotop.wordpress.com/ (This Spanish blogger uses their blog to practice English and takes amazing photographs of Spain that make me long to travel!)
4. http://runningmylifemyworld.wordpress.com/ (Awesome teacher/runner with a positive outlook on life, exercise, & the classroom!)
5. http://shethoughtoutsidethebox.com/ (Beautiful photographs of Berlin that leave you feeling like you escaped to a much cooler world and curled up inside all of its amazing places)
6. http://neuroticnancy.wordpress.com/ (Teacher, friend, liver of life speaking honest truths about the world and daily experiences)
7. http://kingmidgetramblings.wordpress.com/ (Sac writer musing on all aspects of life and writing)
8. http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com/ (Good escapist fun with a travel-loving, adventure-seeking couple)
9. http://welcometograce.wordpress.com/ (A teacher/writer that is a speaker of intensely relatable truths!)
10. http://hopeengaged.blogspot.com (One of the truest Christians I have ever encountered. She walks in other people’s shoes to help them and lives life with an admirable kindness and optimism. And, she loves to travel, which doesn’t hurt either!)
11. http://newtotheorleans.wordpress.com/ (Okay, this blog just straight up makes me laugh out loud– this teacher captures the truths of her students and life with incredible wit!)
12. http://drawntostyle.blogspot.com/ (Fashion designer and artist extraordinaire that encapsulates life in little uplifting snippets.)
13. http://allaccesspassblog.wordpress.com/ (Intervention specialist and new blogger with highly relatable teaching stories that leave me feeling motivated to try new things in my classroom, as well as much less alone in my experiences as a teacher.)
14. http://19eighty8.wordpress.com/ (I admire the honesty and vulnerability of this Sac blogger, she’s not afraid to put herself out there, which I think is pretty awesome).
15. http://cristianmihai.net/ (Good old fashion writer’s blog with good insights and advice to keep you writing.)
Wow. I started out thinking, no biggie, I’ll just grab 15 blogs and realized that it was quite the process to wade through my reader and select 15 to include. In retrospect, not sure I would do it again, so let those be my words of caution. Hopefully if you’ve stuck with me to the end you’ve found a couple new ones to check out!
Turns out the aftermath of staying the weekend with me is that you start a blog of your own. Announcing the birth of a new blog belonging to my very own kid sister. I have to say, she’s pretty darn poignant for her years:
http://felizlife.wordpress.com/
Weekend w/ me = Concert in the park, time with the world’s best dog, coffee, basketball, running, and, oh yeah, a new blog!
Tonight I found myself sitting in Naked Lounge, a coffee shop in Midtown Sacramento, with my teenage sister and her friend. They have a summer routine of drawing in coffee shops, creating little pieces of artwork they leave behind on the bulletin boards, their creative mark left scattered throughout Sacramento for all to see. As they sat working on their artwork, I took pictures.
While this in itself was enough to keep me amused, sitting, observing their routine, I noticed something else, something deeper as I photographed. Like most girls and women I know, they were very picky about the pictures I took, even if they were beautiful to an outside eye. It reminded me of how I felt about pictures when I was younger and how I look back at those same pictures today and think wow, what was I complaining about?
But, that’s the great irony of female existence. The photographs I see of me today leave me convinced I’m past my prime, which is pretty ridiculous given I’m only 28. Still, I see my face changing, lines forming, angles becoming more pronounced. As much as I rolled my eyes at my sister and her friend, I do the exact same thing and always have. Truth be told, if my hair is not blown dry and make-up is not on my face, I do not feel like I’m in any state to have a picture taken.
About six months ago, another friend in LA was hosting weekly public art installations of “ugly faces,” as an open rebellion against a societal obsession with vanity in a town that is built on it. I was so intrigued by this concept that I submitted my own “ugly” shots, some of which are still buried somewhere on that page. The funny thing is that it was genuinely difficult to take those pictures, like I was fighting against decades of social conditioning.
I guess the point of all of this is that it made me hyper-reflective to hear these girls be critical of themselves. Beauty should be something we are proud of, something that emanates from the inside out. I want my self-worth to be strong enough to see past the tiny imperfections of a moment trapped in time. Ani DiFranco describes her beauty as a beauty that moves, that cannot be captured in a photograph. I like this idea because it implies there is more to us than what we see in two dimensions. All women have a three-dimensional beauty that moves, a beauty that should make us so proud that mere pictures never creep under our skin to undermine our self worth. I have met a couple of women like this, whose smiles light up pictures, rooms, lives. I do not know their secret, but I’m determined to figure it out.
Tenaya carries around this old tattered book she bought in Germany filled with her own artwork in the margins.
Kaitlyn busy drawing her contribution to the coffee shop bulletin board.
Still at work, and beautiful, no matter what she says.
Tenaya’s super awesome pencil box.
Pretty Tenaya.
And me. Despite my messy, wavy hair, lack of make-up, and desire not to have my picture taken, I’m posting anyway. No more letting pictures define me.
I have never been a cat person. In fact, I have a love-hate relationship with my own cat, so much so that I’ve sworn off ever having another as a pet. She’s bossy. She tells me when to feed her. She swipes at me when she’s not happy. Her favorite spot to sleep is our dining room table. The list goes on, I will spare you the gory details.
However, in the past couple weeks, we’ve finally started to bond. It only took three years. I’ve gone from ambivalent to finding myself happy to see her. Suddenly, she is everywhere I am, following me around the house. It scares me that my urge to post these personified pictures is somehow reflective of me becoming a cat person. I hope not, although I am not sure why. Many of the “cat people” I know are among my favorites. Still, I find myself kicking and screaming at the prospect.
“I’m going with you to see Liz, right?”
“I’m not going with you, I hope you die.”
“Okay, whatever, we can still be friends.”
One of my goals for this summer is to be more spontaneous, to go with the flow, to allow new experiences to wash over me, instead of avoiding them. Sometimes I joke that my alter ego is named Grandma. She enjoys curling up on the sofa with her dog, reading good books, and going to bed around 11PM. She has even been known to fall asleep in her chair with company over, and she often avoids unscheduled activities.
Don’t worry. I do not have multiple personalities. I just have a part of myself that is very set in routines, plans, managing expectations. I’m alright with this because I think it is important to know what you like and to not always do things just because you do not want to disappoint others. However, I also do not want to miss out on exciting parts of life just because I did not plan for them.
So, yesterday, on a whim, I climbed into my car with my husband and my dog and drove to Berkeley for lunch to celebrate the birthday of one of my nearest and dearest friends, Liz. We picked up fried chicken sammies from Bakesale Betty’s in Oakland, (which is absolutely amazing and a must-eat if you’re in the area). Then, with the help of another one of my nearest and dearest, Jen, we surprised Liz on the Berkeley campus with a picnic near her office.
Mind you, this may not seem over-the-top crazy, but it was spontaneous and required some effort to get down there, two things that Grandma doesn’t like. So, I’m happy to report that I successfully overcame my alter ego and had a lot of fun in the process. Our picnic was delicious and it was awesome to hang out with friends in the town we used to call home, (and miss dearly!).
Now, for the next adventure Grandma is dreading, a five-day road trip to Olympia, WA and back, for roller derby, dirty Portland bars, and that magnificent Oregon coast…
Sixteen was magic, that first year where everything started to come together. Tastes of freedom, independence. A momentary eternity, I once wrote.
My little sister is now there, or almost. Only a couple weeks to go. Thirteen years apart, the gap between us is slowly closing. She was the baby, the reason I could not watch R-rated movies. Now, she is a source of depth, wisdom, and laughter. Although, I guess she was always a source of laughter, possessing humor beyond her years. My little sister is the glue that bound us all together. She makes us one gloriously happy, rambunctious family.
The other night I caught a glimpse into her soul, listening to her recite poetry. She is an artist, not only with words, but with pastels, watercolors, you name it.
I picked this one to share because it reminds me of me, thirteen years ago. Life at sixteen is full of angst and wonder.
These are her words, not mine:
We used to dance through the field like feral butterflies.
Our wings grew and our cat feet lifted off the grass,
wind blew us side to side and kissed our bare cheeks.
Our mouths opened wide and we could see everything
as we let our laughter fill the dry air, making music with the birds.
The sky tasted strong and sweet,
like being held in Grandma Jo’s soft arms and under her warm gaze
in the frigid air conditioning of our Mckinney house.
You and I strutted through those halls,
because we were the coolest people we knew.
But we weren’t really cool at all.
But, still, we grew up
to do a new kind of dance
in the poorly lit, poorly ventilated hall
full of unknowns and familiars
all pulsing and numbing to the elegant drops of Dubstep.
Because they were lost, they knew exactly what to do.
Because they were blind, now they could see
the red hot sweat of rage and passion
filling their lungs and coating their eardrums.
We were the abstract hand prints painted on young, wet skin,
lit up only when the lights went out.
And with daylight we walk, undead,
with crusty eyes through walls and over buildings
and drown in coffee just to get by.
Kat knew, she had seen it all
and what she hadn’t seen would soon be her reality.
She was led down paths and to her fate
on candy leashes and with designer treats.
She had to lose herself to know who she never was.
Todo va a estar bien.
Porque eventually the skies would go back to business as usual
and the sun would lean down and brush tears from her eyes.
And lay us both back down in the neon grasses
in a bed of feral butterflies.
Looking at the world through her eyes…
I am a collector of things you can cannot touch. Words, pictures, memories. Right now my focus is summer. Today is day 13. I do not know how many days remain. Enough, I guess. I refuse to count for fear they will disappear too quickly.
I would lie if I said that summer had nothing to do with my decision to become a teacher. However, I could not teach if I did not like the work. Ten months of misery would not be worth two months of freedom. Instead, summer is the perk that makes the pay more tolerable, helps me through those days with angry parents, makes me smile when my classroom is in upheaval. In my past work life, I discovered that time is worth more than money.
Summer is time. Time to refuel. Time to reflect and grow as a teacher, wife, friend, human being. Time to do the jobs that do not pay but feed my soul. Time to write.
Everyday I am asked by people who do not teach, “How is your summer going?”
Splendidly, I respond. I’m actively collecting all those little moments that will get me through the inevitable challenges of the coming year:
Listened to my sister’s high school poetry night, got lost in words, some funny, some sad.
Sunflower in Fair Oaks with my husband, he rode his bike seven miles to meet me. I drove in an air conditioned car.
Veggie burrito, healthy, much tastier than it looks. While other moms took their kids for Happy Meals, mine took me here. We’d feed the chickens and play in the park. I developed a fear of roosters.
Veggie nachos, probably the winner, but don’t tell Alex. He gloats too much when his choice is best.
Sunday dinners with family, swimming, eating, happy.
My birthday came a little early today, make that a month and a half to be exact. My sweet husband bought me a new recorder of words, which I’ll put to good use. The irony of marriage, I’d tell him not to buy it if he asked, but I’m grateful that he did. And, yes, that is the cat you see on our dining room table, maybe you should rethink coming to dinner, I’ve given up on chasing her, at least today.
Much like the dog, I’ve also lazed about. Recharging is required to be a happy teacher. Scratch that, recharging is required to be a happy human being.
Hot yoga is a trip to Mars.
You board the small little ship with mirrored walls.
The instructor walks around and makes sure everyone is properly prepared for the journey, (towel on mat, water bottle in top right corner, check, check). She is a direct captain, but easy to follow, admirable in her stance, enviable in her sixty years that look more like forty.
Then you take off on this strange journey to a world with 37% humidity, 106 degree heat, and glowing orange light.
You move like you’re wearing a space suit, everything feels slow. You concentrate to convince your body to cooperate.
You hate it, but you love it.
Then, 90 minutes later, the doors to the spaceship open back up, sun filters through the doorway, and cool air rushes in. You’re done. Swimming in sweat. Oddly fascinated. Invigorated. Ready to go drink wheatgrass shots, or better yet, Kombucha. Good thing Whole Foods is in the same parking lot. If only you weren’t so sweaty…
Day two of Bikram down. Determined to use all forty classes before my pass expires. Possible addiction forming. Must buy better gear. Yogi transformation in progress.
Next time I’ll be better prepared for the monsoons…
oliviaobryon 