I'm still considering what to do about our housing situation. It's weird, but somehow I actually did envision us shopping for a house this summer even last summer. After much consideration, we decided not to buy, and now we are presented with this dilemma.
I know this much: we are not taking a step down from where we are living now. I simply refuse. If we HAD to live in an area because that's the best we could do, then that would be okay. But, given that we have a nice rental now, I most certainly will not live in something in lesser condition than what we have now, if we don't have to. I can say though that I wouldn't mind putting in new flooring into a new place. The flooring would be bamboo...that much I have decided. Also, if we had to do new counter tops for a kitchen, I would want to them to be environmentally conscientious. Hmmm....much research to do.
Last night B said that we could find a new rental and get to know a new area in this city. I do NOT want to rent AGAIN. I am so sick and tired of moving. I friggin' hate it. I guess it's mostly because I feel like I've been moving since I was 15. I haven't felt stable in a housing situation since I was that age, and I would really love to feel that stability again. It's the worst feeling to have when you know that you won't be in one place for very long, and so you don't fully live in the place where you reside. You simple exist, you don't live in a place. Too many times have I packed up boxes to start over again. I'm writing as if I'm a military wife or something, but really, when you move every other year, it gets old. I used to find excitement in thinking of the next destination, but to sum it up, I'm getting too old for this crap.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
The Bird Just Crapped on Me
Today I went to Starbuck's with a friend. While walking out to our cars after a delightful cup o' joe, my friend and I were talking about houses and B's uncertainty with his job. I essentially said that I didn't know what would happen with his job, in terms of his total satisfaction. She said I needed a sign, like a bird crapping on me, as happened in the book "Under the Tuscan Sun," which I have never read. I supposed she was right, but dismissed the notion, thinking that I was fine with renting for a while as we figured everything out.
I got home and B and I went on a walk. When we came back from our walk, B was laid out on the sofa, and he sat there in silence for a while. Then he asked, "What do you think we'll do about a house?" I responded, "I have NO idea..." and I went on to explain my hesitation toward making any decisive move. So we continued to talk about other things as we ate dinner and I came in the office to check my e-mail.
In my inbox sat an e-mail from our landlord who was actually renting out his unit without the condo association's permission (which was discovered after a window was broken by the landscaping company who eventually denied responsibility for the window--they asserted it was broken by an invisible golf ball). According to this little e-mail, the condo association has denied our landlord the right to extend our lease beyond the lease expiration of September 19th.
Splat goes the birdcrap on my head.
And it all started with a broken window on a sunny day while I laid in bed sick with the flu.
I got home and B and I went on a walk. When we came back from our walk, B was laid out on the sofa, and he sat there in silence for a while. Then he asked, "What do you think we'll do about a house?" I responded, "I have NO idea..." and I went on to explain my hesitation toward making any decisive move. So we continued to talk about other things as we ate dinner and I came in the office to check my e-mail.
In my inbox sat an e-mail from our landlord who was actually renting out his unit without the condo association's permission (which was discovered after a window was broken by the landscaping company who eventually denied responsibility for the window--they asserted it was broken by an invisible golf ball). According to this little e-mail, the condo association has denied our landlord the right to extend our lease beyond the lease expiration of September 19th.
Splat goes the birdcrap on my head.
And it all started with a broken window on a sunny day while I laid in bed sick with the flu.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Links in a chain
Everyone who knows me knows that I love what I do. I love my job, and I am so thankful that I have landed at a great school with good students and a great team with which to work. Although I know not to look back too closely at places we've been and things we've done, I thought about my old school and school district tonight. I went onto the website of the school where I did my student teaching.
BOY! What a rough time student teaching was! I learned how to be a good mentor teacher from how poorly my cooperating teacher supported me. I learned how to take control of a class within 5 mins of entering the room. I learned, most importantly, how children will many times reflect the emotions and feelings that you have. So, if you're looking at a room full of frownie faces, it's always good to ask, "Is that how I look?" If the answer is yes, and you don't like it, then change it.
After student teaching I went on to teach K at a nearby school, where my mentor, a bright and experienced teacher, taught me the ropes of professionalism and the ways of teaching. Of course, the teachers I worked with were great too, but I will never forget her words of wisdom, among which include the sage advice to never let your boss see you cry. She's right. It's not good. We can't help it and it does happen, but she was right. She was also right about being clear with what your expectations with both your students and colleagues are, and boy was she ever right about that. This year as grade level chair, I have learned how to do this, as well as how to be decisive when no one else is.
I went onto my former mentor's webpage, and I saw how eloquently she wrote, and how well-spoken she was. I had a great model to follow. Today, a colleague said the same things of me; and after going to my mentor's page tonight I can see where I learned a few things.
I am always reminded that one thing leads to another, and each event in life does seem to happen for a reason. I am most thankful for what I have gotten to go through, for I would not be where I am now.
BOY! What a rough time student teaching was! I learned how to be a good mentor teacher from how poorly my cooperating teacher supported me. I learned how to take control of a class within 5 mins of entering the room. I learned, most importantly, how children will many times reflect the emotions and feelings that you have. So, if you're looking at a room full of frownie faces, it's always good to ask, "Is that how I look?" If the answer is yes, and you don't like it, then change it.
After student teaching I went on to teach K at a nearby school, where my mentor, a bright and experienced teacher, taught me the ropes of professionalism and the ways of teaching. Of course, the teachers I worked with were great too, but I will never forget her words of wisdom, among which include the sage advice to never let your boss see you cry. She's right. It's not good. We can't help it and it does happen, but she was right. She was also right about being clear with what your expectations with both your students and colleagues are, and boy was she ever right about that. This year as grade level chair, I have learned how to do this, as well as how to be decisive when no one else is.
I went onto my former mentor's webpage, and I saw how eloquently she wrote, and how well-spoken she was. I had a great model to follow. Today, a colleague said the same things of me; and after going to my mentor's page tonight I can see where I learned a few things.
I am always reminded that one thing leads to another, and each event in life does seem to happen for a reason. I am most thankful for what I have gotten to go through, for I would not be where I am now.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Wonder of Teaching Gifted Children
Rarely, if ever, do I write about teaching. This is a personal blog, and so I try to keep my job out of the blog. Despite this, I often think about my students and the day as each night comes to a close. Tonight is no exception. Tonight, I am going to write about what I thought about today's events.
So, the art teacher I work with gives out points to the kids for good behavior. As the year progresses they can earn more points. This week my students, who are actually the brightest students in the grade (10 students with Stanford Intelligence scores in the 91st-99th percentile), had the opportunity to earn 16 points.
At the end of art class, as I peered through the narrow rectangular window I could see Ms. A talking to the students and nodding "Yes, I think that's fair," as she wrote the points on a card in black Sharpie ink. As the door creaked open, the students beamed at me. They were obviously proud of themselves and thought they had done well. And so, I was excited--until I saw the card. "8" the card read. 8! 8? I looked at my students, seemingly oblivious to their half-assed efforts for the day, and calmly walked them down the hall. Ms. A said the kids were not their best and that they "used to be" such a good class. Ouch. Of course I take this personally, as if I were at fault for their poor behavior. "I'll talk to the kids," I told Ms. A. And talk to them I did.
I explained to the kids that when we know what their potential is, and they accomplish only half of what they can achieve (for the record, all of the classes got 14-16 points this week, and my little competitive self did not like that!), then they need to work on it. One student quietly pulled me aside later on and said that it feels as though if they aren't perfect, then they aren't good at all. I told her that that wasn't it. I said that while they did earn 8 points, they could have done so much more. Still, I understood what the student was saying, but I felt like I had to back up the art teacher and talk to them about their effort and being on task. I wonder though, what's really going on here?
When I think of the classes that do actually get the most points, they are also the same classes whose behavior is usually less than stellar for their regular teachers. Conversely, they are usually well-behaved for me, and even mostly well behaved for the other teachers as well.
What I did notice is that the kids were happy with even getting 8 points. I think that perhaps they don't really think they need rewards to enjoy what they are doing. For all of the grief that Mrs. A gave them, they are actually the most artistic and talented kids in the grade. I was given the cream of the crop on purpose. Last year's class was enough to make many teachers lose their minds. I stuck it out, and was rewarded handsomely. So although Mrs. A may be frustrated because they aren't performing for her, I think that's just the point: they aren't performing for HER. They are in art for themselves, and not for her. I do not give out points and rewards for behavior. They have never needed points, and so I've never given points. I also tell them that their success is their own personal reward, and they don't need candy or treats or points to reinforce that.
So maybe, although I will continue to back Mrs. A, I think the kids are a hell of a lot smarter than Mrs. A realizes. They get what learning is all about. This is why they perform well in my room. They do it for themselves, and not for me. With all of the research done on intrinsic motivation, what more could a teacher ask for? I also see why such kids are a literal pain in the arse to may teachers who wholeheartedly believe in rewarding every single little move for kids. For many kids, they'll think "yay!" For my kids, they think, "I don't need your rewards." If I were their mother, I would say, "That's my boy/girl!"
So, the art teacher I work with gives out points to the kids for good behavior. As the year progresses they can earn more points. This week my students, who are actually the brightest students in the grade (10 students with Stanford Intelligence scores in the 91st-99th percentile), had the opportunity to earn 16 points.
At the end of art class, as I peered through the narrow rectangular window I could see Ms. A talking to the students and nodding "Yes, I think that's fair," as she wrote the points on a card in black Sharpie ink. As the door creaked open, the students beamed at me. They were obviously proud of themselves and thought they had done well. And so, I was excited--until I saw the card. "8" the card read. 8! 8? I looked at my students, seemingly oblivious to their half-assed efforts for the day, and calmly walked them down the hall. Ms. A said the kids were not their best and that they "used to be" such a good class. Ouch. Of course I take this personally, as if I were at fault for their poor behavior. "I'll talk to the kids," I told Ms. A. And talk to them I did.
I explained to the kids that when we know what their potential is, and they accomplish only half of what they can achieve (for the record, all of the classes got 14-16 points this week, and my little competitive self did not like that!), then they need to work on it. One student quietly pulled me aside later on and said that it feels as though if they aren't perfect, then they aren't good at all. I told her that that wasn't it. I said that while they did earn 8 points, they could have done so much more. Still, I understood what the student was saying, but I felt like I had to back up the art teacher and talk to them about their effort and being on task. I wonder though, what's really going on here?
When I think of the classes that do actually get the most points, they are also the same classes whose behavior is usually less than stellar for their regular teachers. Conversely, they are usually well-behaved for me, and even mostly well behaved for the other teachers as well.
What I did notice is that the kids were happy with even getting 8 points. I think that perhaps they don't really think they need rewards to enjoy what they are doing. For all of the grief that Mrs. A gave them, they are actually the most artistic and talented kids in the grade. I was given the cream of the crop on purpose. Last year's class was enough to make many teachers lose their minds. I stuck it out, and was rewarded handsomely. So although Mrs. A may be frustrated because they aren't performing for her, I think that's just the point: they aren't performing for HER. They are in art for themselves, and not for her. I do not give out points and rewards for behavior. They have never needed points, and so I've never given points. I also tell them that their success is their own personal reward, and they don't need candy or treats or points to reinforce that.
So maybe, although I will continue to back Mrs. A, I think the kids are a hell of a lot smarter than Mrs. A realizes. They get what learning is all about. This is why they perform well in my room. They do it for themselves, and not for me. With all of the research done on intrinsic motivation, what more could a teacher ask for? I also see why such kids are a literal pain in the arse to may teachers who wholeheartedly believe in rewarding every single little move for kids. For many kids, they'll think "yay!" For my kids, they think, "I don't need your rewards." If I were their mother, I would say, "That's my boy/girl!"
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Revelation
Tonight B and I went to a furniture store to peruse their private clear-out sale in the hopes of finding (according to me) a sofa, bed, dining room set and (according to him) an armchair.
B is not exactly the most easily pleased person one would ever meet. He is discerning and particular and when pressed on how much he likes something he will usually reply, "Eh. It's okay I guess." This lukewarm response strongly counters my own excitement which tends to arise many times in one shopping trip. To me, hearing "Eh, it's okay," when I think I've found the most wonderful sofa in the world can be a bit disheartening. Tonight was no exception. And I brooded for a while after our little trip.
As we were going down the street on the way home, B kept pressing me, wanting to know what was wrong. I told him nothing, and pouted all along the way, no furniture orders in hand, and closed-minded husband by my side. Quickly we slid down the road. Finally, all I could muster was that I regretted going to the store because it only highlighted that we still didn't have a home, even though we had decided not to buy anything until we know how the economy will fare. Internally, I was also brooding abouto how closed-off he can be to some things, like furniture.
Later, as we were sitting on the sofa and watching the Office, I looked over at B, his blue eyes crinkling in laughter at the TV, his overall happy demeanor, quietly stroking my hand. And then it hit me. It isn't that B isn't open about very much. It's more that the things he really cares about, and is passionate about have nothing to do with sofas, chairs, TVs or houses.
These are my priorities because somehow I think (or have thought) that they mean adding more to a home; and by using the word home, I do not mean a house. That is simply a shelter, which I am thankful to have. Perhaps this is more my endeavor to fix the past, to bring back the house I lost when I was young, and to find the comforts that I had before my parents divorced and my world was turned upside down. But is this something that B really cares about? No. Not at all.
What B cares about is spending time with his friends and me. He may want many things, but ultimately, he doesn't care enough about them to go out and buy them for himself. Everything he wants, he has, whether or not he admits it. He gets excited about watching TV together on Monday night, snuggled under our fleecy blanket with our cat stretched out nearby. He looks forward to going on a long walk through our neighborhood, feeling the gentle breeze pick up the ocean scented air and carry through us, as we debate and discuss our dreams and the future. He looks forward to waking up on Saturday and having his once-a-week coffee, specially brewed for him, which we drink together as we eat breakfast. When we run out of coffee, he makes sure that I get more, just in time for Saturday.
He wanted to go on a walk with me today, but was stuck at work. When he got home, he was disappointed he missed it, and he even mentioned it later on. When he thought I may not be home tonight, he was disappointed; not because he didn't want me to be with my friend, but more because he was looking forward to making dinner together.
As we sat on the sofa, and I had this realization, B asked me, in a concerned voice, what was wrong, and I gave him my insight into who he is. As I said all of this he nodded and agreed. I asked if I was right and he said that I was; and then held my hand.
I know I'm with B for a reason. I know I'm not completely healed from the wounds of the past. But perhaps, if I remain open, and further open myself up to other people, I can learn a path to true healing and change. No sofa or house can bring back my childhood, but through B, I am always learning what is really important. And that is why I married him.
B is not exactly the most easily pleased person one would ever meet. He is discerning and particular and when pressed on how much he likes something he will usually reply, "Eh. It's okay I guess." This lukewarm response strongly counters my own excitement which tends to arise many times in one shopping trip. To me, hearing "Eh, it's okay," when I think I've found the most wonderful sofa in the world can be a bit disheartening. Tonight was no exception. And I brooded for a while after our little trip.
As we were going down the street on the way home, B kept pressing me, wanting to know what was wrong. I told him nothing, and pouted all along the way, no furniture orders in hand, and closed-minded husband by my side. Quickly we slid down the road. Finally, all I could muster was that I regretted going to the store because it only highlighted that we still didn't have a home, even though we had decided not to buy anything until we know how the economy will fare. Internally, I was also brooding abouto how closed-off he can be to some things, like furniture.
Later, as we were sitting on the sofa and watching the Office, I looked over at B, his blue eyes crinkling in laughter at the TV, his overall happy demeanor, quietly stroking my hand. And then it hit me. It isn't that B isn't open about very much. It's more that the things he really cares about, and is passionate about have nothing to do with sofas, chairs, TVs or houses.
These are my priorities because somehow I think (or have thought) that they mean adding more to a home; and by using the word home, I do not mean a house. That is simply a shelter, which I am thankful to have. Perhaps this is more my endeavor to fix the past, to bring back the house I lost when I was young, and to find the comforts that I had before my parents divorced and my world was turned upside down. But is this something that B really cares about? No. Not at all.
What B cares about is spending time with his friends and me. He may want many things, but ultimately, he doesn't care enough about them to go out and buy them for himself. Everything he wants, he has, whether or not he admits it. He gets excited about watching TV together on Monday night, snuggled under our fleecy blanket with our cat stretched out nearby. He looks forward to going on a long walk through our neighborhood, feeling the gentle breeze pick up the ocean scented air and carry through us, as we debate and discuss our dreams and the future. He looks forward to waking up on Saturday and having his once-a-week coffee, specially brewed for him, which we drink together as we eat breakfast. When we run out of coffee, he makes sure that I get more, just in time for Saturday.
He wanted to go on a walk with me today, but was stuck at work. When he got home, he was disappointed he missed it, and he even mentioned it later on. When he thought I may not be home tonight, he was disappointed; not because he didn't want me to be with my friend, but more because he was looking forward to making dinner together.
As we sat on the sofa, and I had this realization, B asked me, in a concerned voice, what was wrong, and I gave him my insight into who he is. As I said all of this he nodded and agreed. I asked if I was right and he said that I was; and then held my hand.
I know I'm with B for a reason. I know I'm not completely healed from the wounds of the past. But perhaps, if I remain open, and further open myself up to other people, I can learn a path to true healing and change. No sofa or house can bring back my childhood, but through B, I am always learning what is really important. And that is why I married him.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Fear
Today I read a quick little article about the show "Dancing with the Stars," and Adam Corolla's departure from the show after being voted off. In the article, Corolla said, "If it makes you frightened, then you should absolutely do it! Go for it!" Inspired, I thought, "Yes! He's right!" But is this true? If we're frightened by doing something, does that really mean we should do it? Or isn't there such a thing as taking a calculated risk?
Let's take, for example, Mt. Everest. Nevermind that the locals in Tibet are planning on paving a path to the summit, due to its popularity. Many people attempt to climb Mt. Everest because they want to accept the risk and conquer the behemoth that has taken so many lives. According to Wikipedia, there have been 2,436 people who have climbed to the summit, and 210 have died. That means that 92% have survived. That doesn't mean that they weren't hurt...and I'd like the odds to be a little better. Still, knowing that it has taken the lives of many is part of the allure to adrenaline junkies worldwide. Many try it because the thought of it scares them, and they thrive on that adrenaline rush from the pure fear.
From all outward appearances, this is the ultimate accomplishment. But from my perspectice, I don't really envy or admire the people who do this. I actually feel badly for any loved one in the hikers' lives. When I see interviews of survivors, and they show the pictures of the climbers with their families back at home, I always feel sad for the families. What if they all lost their dad or mother? How would that affect the rest of the family? Is it really that enviable? Is always trying to conquer your fears the wisest thing to do?
We are born with fear hardwired into our brains. Fear serves as a survival mechanism for all animals. The power to congnitively override those fears doesn't necessarily make the fear-conqueror all that much smarter or enviable than anyone else. If someone is afraid to take a drug because of what it could do to them, the brain can most certainly weigh the risks and benefits and decide what to do, and consequently override the prevailing fear. But was it smart to do? No, obviously not.
So, I take issue with the advice of going ahead and taking all risks, as suggested by Corolla. That's not to mean that I really listen to what the guy thinks or has to say, but I've heard this sentiment before, and I've always respected people who say that, but I guess it really depends on the potential consequences of such risks. I supposed it's all in calculation. I have had many fears to conquer, and I'm still learning how to battle them even as I type, but I don't believe that means I should throw all caution to the wind.
'Nuff said.
Let's take, for example, Mt. Everest. Nevermind that the locals in Tibet are planning on paving a path to the summit, due to its popularity. Many people attempt to climb Mt. Everest because they want to accept the risk and conquer the behemoth that has taken so many lives. According to Wikipedia, there have been 2,436 people who have climbed to the summit, and 210 have died. That means that 92% have survived. That doesn't mean that they weren't hurt...and I'd like the odds to be a little better. Still, knowing that it has taken the lives of many is part of the allure to adrenaline junkies worldwide. Many try it because the thought of it scares them, and they thrive on that adrenaline rush from the pure fear.
From all outward appearances, this is the ultimate accomplishment. But from my perspectice, I don't really envy or admire the people who do this. I actually feel badly for any loved one in the hikers' lives. When I see interviews of survivors, and they show the pictures of the climbers with their families back at home, I always feel sad for the families. What if they all lost their dad or mother? How would that affect the rest of the family? Is it really that enviable? Is always trying to conquer your fears the wisest thing to do?
We are born with fear hardwired into our brains. Fear serves as a survival mechanism for all animals. The power to congnitively override those fears doesn't necessarily make the fear-conqueror all that much smarter or enviable than anyone else. If someone is afraid to take a drug because of what it could do to them, the brain can most certainly weigh the risks and benefits and decide what to do, and consequently override the prevailing fear. But was it smart to do? No, obviously not.
So, I take issue with the advice of going ahead and taking all risks, as suggested by Corolla. That's not to mean that I really listen to what the guy thinks or has to say, but I've heard this sentiment before, and I've always respected people who say that, but I guess it really depends on the potential consequences of such risks. I supposed it's all in calculation. I have had many fears to conquer, and I'm still learning how to battle them even as I type, but I don't believe that means I should throw all caution to the wind.
'Nuff said.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Mmmmm-Yummy recipe
Tonight I made a yummy polenta dish, and I thought I might share the recipe. BTW, for those of you who don't know, polenta is just the Italian version of grits. Really.
1 cup gruyere
1 cup smoked mozzarella
1 1/4 cups polenta (I used quick grits--if you want to spend $4 on a box of polenta, have at it! Otherwise, I spent $1.19 on Quick Grits--same difference.)
1 cup milk (I used fat free)
3 cups water
1 tbsp butter (I use whipped. Less fat.)
1 minced garlic clove
Several slices prosciutto, thinly sliced
1 sprig rosemary
1. Preheat oven to 400
2. Bring 3 cups water and one cup milk to a boil.
3. Add polenta, stirring gently with a wire whisk.
Cover and reduce heat to medium low.
4. Cook until thick and creamy.
5. Spread out half of polenta in a greased baking dish (I used cooking spray). Sprinkle half of each chese over the first layer.
6.. Add the remaining polenta, and top off with remaining cheese. Set aside.
8. Melt the butter until it foams. Add the garlic. Sweat the garlic, but be careful not to let it brown.
10. Add the prosciutto to the pan and simmer until the ham is slightly crisp.
11. Remove the prosciutto and add to the top of the polenta. Sprinkle a touch of rosemary on top for a little twist.
12. Bake for 5 mins. Serve immediately, or, let it set up so it's firmer.
YUM!
1 cup gruyere
1 cup smoked mozzarella
1 1/4 cups polenta (I used quick grits--if you want to spend $4 on a box of polenta, have at it! Otherwise, I spent $1.19 on Quick Grits--same difference.)
1 cup milk (I used fat free)
3 cups water
1 tbsp butter (I use whipped. Less fat.)
1 minced garlic clove
Several slices prosciutto, thinly sliced
1 sprig rosemary
1. Preheat oven to 400
2. Bring 3 cups water and one cup milk to a boil.
3. Add polenta, stirring gently with a wire whisk.
Cover and reduce heat to medium low.
4. Cook until thick and creamy.
5. Spread out half of polenta in a greased baking dish (I used cooking spray). Sprinkle half of each chese over the first layer.
6.. Add the remaining polenta, and top off with remaining cheese. Set aside.
8. Melt the butter until it foams. Add the garlic. Sweat the garlic, but be careful not to let it brown.
10. Add the prosciutto to the pan and simmer until the ham is slightly crisp.
11. Remove the prosciutto and add to the top of the polenta. Sprinkle a touch of rosemary on top for a little twist.
12. Bake for 5 mins. Serve immediately, or, let it set up so it's firmer.
YUM!
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Am I the only one?
So yesterday a lady, who works my school and whose name I can barely recall, had a happy hour at her house. I don't really know her, but some people I work with went over. I did not go. Now, I like the people I work with. I really do. But, on a Friday afternoon the LAST place I want to be after a long week at school is sitting and drinking, listening to teaching stories on a Friday afternoon. I feel badly for not participating, but then again, I just want to go home and relax and be with my husband. Plus, and I don't mean to sound bitchy, but many of these women are in their 40s and 50s, and I am just not in their mindset yet, naturally. Sometimes I wonder: am I the only one who feels this way?
Why it is that women in their 40s and 50s (more so in their 50s and later) think it's hilarious to talk about sex and make funny little jokes about it to people they don't really know, I have no idea. But I am not in that group, and I don't really like women who sit and do that in public because, well, it makes me think that they aren't really having sex and talk about it so much because they are longing to have it more frequently. Am I wrong, or am I just the one whose being a prude? I don't know, but I have noticed that women in their 20s and 30s don't seem to discuss it as much...maybe something else happens that I don't know about. I guess I'll find out.
Why it is that women in their 40s and 50s (more so in their 50s and later) think it's hilarious to talk about sex and make funny little jokes about it to people they don't really know, I have no idea. But I am not in that group, and I don't really like women who sit and do that in public because, well, it makes me think that they aren't really having sex and talk about it so much because they are longing to have it more frequently. Am I wrong, or am I just the one whose being a prude? I don't know, but I have noticed that women in their 20s and 30s don't seem to discuss it as much...maybe something else happens that I don't know about. I guess I'll find out.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Knee jerk continued
In my last post, I mentioned contacting a possible cousin of mine. Well, she is awesome! She is also a published author who writes frequently on msn.com and several other sites, but for anonymity's sake, I'll leave her name out of here. The amazing part is that since contacting her, I have learned a little more about my family, where they are, and what they do. Not only that, but I found out how to start to get into writing children's books, and I am excited! I joined a writing society last night, and I have begun to write every night. Tonight I am just blogging, and there is nothing special to what I am writing, but I am excited about writing my story.
I think what is most heartening about her is that she and I actually have much in common, down to teaching (hence the anonymity), and she is as open as I am, and in her writing I sense the same thinking process too. Of course, she isn't a direct cousin, but through meeting her, I am learning more about myself. There is most definitely a sense of security in discovering these parts about yourself.
My mother, despite her severe mental illness, could be smart, funny and quite charming. She could be generous in her care, and attentive when I was a child. I see myself in some of those aspects, and I also see these same qualities in this cousin of mine. So of course there is a common thread starting back with our many greats grandfather. I may have lost my mother, but I am glad to know that there is family on her side that is kind and compassionate, sensitive and insightful, smart and witty too.
Several years ago I was visting my family in NY. I told my aunt I wanted to teach. She was emphatic about that. When I told her I wanted to write novels about my mother, she didn't know what a good idea that was. But she hesitated and said, "No, I think you'll write children's novels." I looked at her and thought, "I don't know..." I always have that reaction when someone tells when what I'm going to do when I myself haven't a clue. Even when I was in high school I was told by other teachers that I would be a teacher. I protested and insisted that I would not be a teacher. Ha! Now that I have "met" this cousin of mine who is also an author, and who is also pointing me in the right direction for how to get started, I wonder, is my aunt right? Only time will tell, I suppose. I do know that I have so many stories begun and the source of inspiration is always my students. I suppose one could say that they are my muse.
I think what is most heartening about her is that she and I actually have much in common, down to teaching (hence the anonymity), and she is as open as I am, and in her writing I sense the same thinking process too. Of course, she isn't a direct cousin, but through meeting her, I am learning more about myself. There is most definitely a sense of security in discovering these parts about yourself.
My mother, despite her severe mental illness, could be smart, funny and quite charming. She could be generous in her care, and attentive when I was a child. I see myself in some of those aspects, and I also see these same qualities in this cousin of mine. So of course there is a common thread starting back with our many greats grandfather. I may have lost my mother, but I am glad to know that there is family on her side that is kind and compassionate, sensitive and insightful, smart and witty too.
Several years ago I was visting my family in NY. I told my aunt I wanted to teach. She was emphatic about that. When I told her I wanted to write novels about my mother, she didn't know what a good idea that was. But she hesitated and said, "No, I think you'll write children's novels." I looked at her and thought, "I don't know..." I always have that reaction when someone tells when what I'm going to do when I myself haven't a clue. Even when I was in high school I was told by other teachers that I would be a teacher. I protested and insisted that I would not be a teacher. Ha! Now that I have "met" this cousin of mine who is also an author, and who is also pointing me in the right direction for how to get started, I wonder, is my aunt right? Only time will tell, I suppose. I do know that I have so many stories begun and the source of inspiration is always my students. I suppose one could say that they are my muse.
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