It's Time to Light the Lights...

This is a test...a Muppet-shaped test.



Wokka Wokka

Without Exception

It's something I've known about myself for a while. I require magic in my life, copious amounts of it.

And..most of the time, I need to find it in ordinary places. It's not been hard to do, what with having the best job in the world and all. And I've been finding most of my magic in books for many years, anyhow.

Now that I'm actively hunting for a home of my own...a home for books, canvas, stencils, writing desks, Harry Potter, fairies, and little feet...I'm starting to look for magic in other places.

I now require a nest for my magic.

A Reminder of Why I Don't Read Amateur Reviews

These are a few Shelfari reviews I read for 'The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate,' a book I just finished last week and happen to quite like. It's not the 'bad' reviews that bother me. It's things like this:

"This is a YA novel, but it's a delightful read! It really shows life at the turn of the last century."

"This is young adult fiction, but a really nice story."

I take issue with the 'but' in each of these. Why should it matter if it's YA or not? Is it surprising that a novel for children or teens could be engaging and well-written? I don't think so. And though, I don't think these reviewers meant any harm, I do think it sends the wrong message.YA novels can have just as much power and meaning as those written for adults. Sometimes, I even think that YA succeeds more often in the character development department. That's probably why I find myself drawn to YA literature more often than not.

As a children's librarian though, I am a little biased. :)

So failing at my new year's resolution...

...to write with discipline. I guess I can take solace in the fact that I have more posts this year than last. Sigh. And..the fact that I have two jobs (sometimes three) that keep me very busy. Happy things.

I'm still subbing, as well as working at a used record store that is managed by one of my good friends. I know she will never, ever read this, but thank you KP. You really saved my bacon.

And, a few weeks ago I started a new Youth Services position at a local library. I think this was a mixture of right place, right time, right qualifications. I cannot put into words how happy I am that it worked out. I get to play with books and kids all summer and well past that if I have anything to say about it. Not that I've given up on the dream of my own classroom. But this, this works for now and I am quite satisfied with where I am and how I've gotten here.

Now I can pay my student loans (for the master's, which is starting to pay great literary dividends), save more money, and build time in my schedule to write, dammit. :)

It looks like it's going to be a good summer. Amen to that.

Spinning My Wheels, Stuck in the Mud

The sun has been shining for the past few days, and with its return, I feel hope. February is always bleak here, and March usually heralds small signs of spring. So, while it still feels like February in the dreary land of employment opportunities, I can at least look forward to spring cleaning, planting in the garden and hanging out in my driveway.

Still, it's hard for me to focus on all the good in my life. I know that sounds silly. But I can't help but think...what am I doing wrong? What piece of the puzzle am I missing? What's the use in planning for the future when it feels so frequently that I have no control over it? Does God have a bigger plan for me, or is he shaking his head sadly wondering why I made the decisions I did? Why is every step such a struggle? I can't help but think that I am missing some detail or that I possibly passed it up a long time ago without even realizing it.

I just don't know what to do next, and I need someone to lend me a compass.

"Getting Upset is Force, but No Motion"

I've been chanting that in my head for the last several weeks, ever since I finished "Educating Esme: Diary of a First Year Teacher" by Esme Raji Codell. What a brilliant teacher/writer/person in general. Honestly, I don't know why I haven't read this book sooner. I received it as a Christmas gift last year right before I began student teaching. Maybe I was too anxious about the impending challenge to even think about it. Maybe I was afraid it would present me with situations that I thought I was ill-equipped as a student teacher to handle. I don't know. But now I am kicking myself. Why oh why did it sit all lonesome on my shelf for almost a full year? ARG.

True, it would have crushed me and made me feel better in turns about this profession that I was flinging myself into. This might have driven me half or possibly full-on mad. But I would have gotten some priceless ideas and many, many good laughs.

A TIME MACHINE IN THE CLASSROOM...um, yes please. Also, because I am, and always have been, daunted by the word "Math" I will call this most hated subject "Puzzling" in my classroom. I think it will lessen its powers of intimidation over us all.

From this book, I have also learned that it is more than OK to spend all your extra money on a stellar classroom library, and it is also OK to veer terribly off-course during the course of a lesson as long as you are the driver in a sturdy off-road vehicle.

Honestly, this post was not supposed to be entirely about this book. What I really wanted to say is that I am frustrated, I am depressed, I am downright angry about not having a position locked in for next school year. I wanted to rant about the sorry state of education in this country, and that teachers should be treated as a loved, valued, finite resource, not a casualty of state budgets. But I can't, because that's force with no motion.

And I'd rather spend my force building a refrigerator box time machine.

Teacher. Writer. Mom. Occasional World Traveler.

Been pretty out of whack since everything that's happened with the new job. Hence, it has been difficult to sit down and acknowledge that I am back at the beginning. I have to do that now. Things around me are generally looking up, and I am hoping some of that positive energy will sneak into my brain. I don't know why, but I cannot seem to get it together, and maintain a solid outlook on my situation. Sometimes I feel completely helpless and out of control, and others I feel pretty sure I'm going to pull through this and make it to the other side. Right now, I'm kind of in the middle. I have so much support and there are an infinite number of possibilities for me out there. The problem is, nabbing one of those possibilities is kind of... impossible, like catching up to a spaceship that's permanently stuck on Ludicrous Speed. And I'm slow enough as it is.

I think part of the problem is assigning blame, and figuring out if I really can do that to anyone or anything. Is there something more I should be doing? Any harder that I should be working? Or is it truly the state of our nation's economy, and the shockingly small number of teaching positions available that has me stuck in this limbo? I am not new to this, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Man, do I wish I could be grading papers or figuring out a 4th grade math lesson right now. Or even better, adding a mountain of books to my classroom library and contemplating buying super-cheap portable CD players on Ebay to complement my growing audiobook collection. OH! What about buying an arsenal of Kindles (nevermind that I am a print girl, through and through) for the Reading Resource staff to use in tutoring sessions or during extended day programs. Just to be on a faculty list somewhere...sigh. A girl can dream.

I have so much I want to share, and I hope that one day soon I will get my chance. If I'm honest, I don't require much more than that from my life. Teacher. Writer. Eventual Mom. And if there's time (and money), Occasional World Traveler. :)

So much to write...

And yet, I am too overwhelmed to go into much detail. It might sound silly, but this is the first job I have not loved the minute I began it. I have only been there two days, and the thought of going back for even one more makes me sick to my stomach. Am I overreacting? Am I being emotional? Am I giving up too easily? I don't know. I'm still wrestling with that.

At the interview, the job specified that they would be in need of a certified teacher, otherwise known as someone who is qualified to teach children, and in essence, run a classroom. Someone who can present content with substance, and manage the day to day idiosyncrasies of the common student. I am going to emphasize the common here, because I do not have a special education certification. I can handle students who are low academically, and who may need some help getting motivated. But, when it comes to serious mental illness, physical disability or major behavioral problems, I am simply not the right person for the job.

Frankly, I was deceived into accepting this position. I was told I would be a program aide for a specific grade level with some slight monitoring of a student with motivation issues. This student is way beyond motivation issues. She has serious social/emotional/mental problems that manifest in very strange, distracting and even dangerous behavior. In just one day, she fell asleep, destroyed her desk and a library book, refused to stand up or walk to different parts of the building, talked to herself (and imaginary others around her) in class and went catatonic on me for the good part of the morning. There is no eye contact, very little conversation, blank stares like I'm not even there, and whimpering and whining when the object of her destruction is taken away. We had one short-lived conversation about her birthday, but the afternoon only yielded more the same. Don't get me wrong, there are moments where she is lucid. We even did a few math problems in the morning, not too bad. But then, it's just, like, a switch goes off and she's a totally different kid. Even my cousin who is a school psychologist and social worker cannot make heads or tails of the girl. And, of course, I am not asked to look after her academically. All they want is for me to document her behavior, and make it through each day with her. I'm sorry, I am a teacher. Not a babysitter. Especially not a babysitter who is expected to physically force the student to stand up and walk. I am even less comfortable with that scenario from a legal standpoint.

The other question is...is this mental illness at all, or is it simple defiance and seeing how far she can push the school system? Part of me hopes not, because in a way, that would be even worse.

Ultimately, I would like for this student to get the help that she needs, and I feel as if I am doing her a disservice by not having the right qualifications for the job. How can I help her if I am at a loss for where to start? I don't think I can be effective for her, and the stress, even after two days, is taking its toll on me. It pains me to say this, but I know I cannot help this student. I hope that they will be able to find someone who can. At least until they can find her a more suitable program or environment.

I hate the thought of giving up on this girl. I hate the idea of quitting. But I don't think this particular position is a great match for me. I think my dad put it the best to me on the phone today:

"Rock, acknowledge your shortcomings. But don't beat yourself up for having them."

Thanks, Dad.

In need of some positive things right now...

When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. ~Franklin D. Roosevelt

I frequently-regularly-often trip while reaching for my high ideals. Then I giggle, or cry, and get back up. ~Erika Harris

People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them. ~G.B. Shaw, Mrs. Warren's Profession, 1893

But the moment you turn a corner you see another straight stretch ahead and there comes some further challenge to your ambition. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

The great majority of men are bundles of beginnings. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Keep on going, and the chances are that you will stumble on something, perhaps when you are least expecting it. I never heard of anyone ever stumbling on something sitting down. ~Charles F. Kettering

A Shoe Scribbling for a Snowy Day

I usually only require two things for a good pair of shoes:
1.) They must be comfortable.
2.) They must be as close to the ground as possible. High heels are inappropriate in any season.

These rules and then some are never more enforced than in the winter months. Though I am liable to fall down at least once or twice during every season, January and February are just plain trouble all around. My shoes are just as much my mode of transportation as Babbity Rabbity, my little gray trundle of a Volkswagen. And so, they must provide just as much reliability and protection, not to mention traction. Icy sidewalks are nothing to snerk at, and wet socks even less so.

We've had snow since late November here, and I don't expect to see any sign of spring until late March. It's going to be a long winter for me and my reliable shoes, brown with thick gray soles, scuffed toes and laces caked in salt. Less than a month of winter and they already look so very exhausted.

They sure aren't ruby red slippers, but they do a pretty good job getting me home.

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Note: This scribbling is brought to you by the snow that is currently falling outside my window. Pretty to look at, not so pretty to walk in. Even less to drive in. Both my shoes and car performed quite valiantly today in the face of sideways slush and messy streets. I am just grateful to be home.

I could use a Hitchhiker's Guide reference right about now

DON'T PANIC.

Too late. I'm already in a 'can't turn back now' state of panic about the new job potentially starting tomorrow. This means that I have absolutely zero focus, and zero thought process beyond, "I'm excited. I'm nervous. I'm excited. I'm nervous."

Of course I know that everything will turn out fine, but that doesn't mean that I can't go a bit hysterical with anticipation.

So, with any hopes I'll be back tomorrow with a new scribbling, and hopefully a more stable mindset.

Til then, I'm afraid I'm just useless.

And...Cue the Chelsea Dagger

I know it might be boring to some people when it comes to watching a good hockey game. I get it. Most fans thrive on the suspense of a close game.

But I have to say...I love me a solid shutout. Especially when its MY team that doing the shutting. Take that visiting team, and don't come back! Ha!

Went to the Hawks game tonight with the husband and the in-laws. Though they are struggling a bit this year after trading/losing so many Stanley Cup Champion players, they are still doing well for a young team in the midst of training more than a few newbies. Nice to see those players getting some ice time, and the rookie goalie is absolutely crushing it. I have to say that I was very skeptical and more than a little upset when we lost so many players this past summer, but you can't stop the evolution of a hockey team, I guess. I am new to this sport (been watching steadily for only the past three years), but have learned a lot, and have come to appreciate the intricacies of building a great team.

The 1961 Stanley Cup Championship team was also honored in a ceremony tonight, and that was fantastic to see. Most teams, no matter the sport, don't always recognize the dedication of its previous players, and I'm glad the Hawks have made the effort to include former players and their families whenever possible. It's not a requirement in the NHL, it's just a damn classy thing for the administration to do.

I guess mighty Hawks can be classy ones, too.

A Bit of Dialogue in Need of a Good Home and Experimenting with Video

I might be able to use this someday. The question is, where?

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“You’re despicable.”

“I know.”

“How on Earth could you be so damn proud of yourself?”

“Natural arrogance, I suppose. Family trait.”

“I hate you.”

“Of course you do. I’m touched. I thought you were leaning toward ‘loath,’ now I know you have a soft spot for me. It’ll be impossible to hide now.”

“You live to be my constant annoyance, don’t you?”

“Hardly. I annoy everyone just the same.”

Silence.

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Also, this. I posted it on my Facebook over the summer, but I'd like to save it here as well. I think it's safe to say I feel each stage of this particular grief once each day.



Thank you, universe (and of course, Mr. Yilmaz) for sending this to me.  I see it, and know I am not alone in wanting to rip everything I write to shreds, and staring blankly at the computer screen for hours on end.

Sweet Home...

The short answer is I was born here.

The long answer is I was born here, but I chose to stay. For now. I mean, how many people have the privilege to live a mere 45 minutes away from not only a major U.S. city, but an international hub of activity? That's just about as good as living in the very center of it, and I'm not about snub my nose at that kind of gift.

I live on the south side of this wonderful, windy city, but I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought about living somewhere else. I've even woken up from nightmares about being stuck in the middle. It makes me want to just pick a coast and go. Boston. Portland. Providence. San Francisco. Even London. So many places to choose from.

But then I wonder if I ever really could go. Could I leave that skyline, only seeing it on the occasional trip home? Could I leave my family, my friends, my hockey team? Could I leave the museums, the theaters, the music, the summers, the ballparks, my own little local discoveries? Could I really and honestly in good conscience leave the pizza?

Maybe. For a little while. Or maybe for a long while if it felt right. But I think that I'd always, always come back.

Welcome to the Workin' Week

It is official. After interviewing for a paraprofessional (fancy word for teacher's aide) position in a local school district, I will hopefully begin working in a school full-time by the end of next week. I still can't believe it. Teachers are having a hard enough time finding jobs (and keeping jobs) in this economy, that I couldn't be more grateful to have this opportunity to learn, to use my most recent degree, and perhaps work my way into a teaching position.

Ten dollars an hour, is admittedly, not much. But I'm proud to say that I'm not doing it for the money. I don't think anything more needs to be said on that point.

Originally, when I started this blog I wanted to write for myself mostly to build confidence, as well as share my student teaching experience.

That...kinda...sorta...happened, but was overshadowed by mounds of unnecessary graduate work. This time, I hope to share more of my daily experiences, frustrations, successes. As of right now, I have high hopes. I have never been an "official" teacher's aide, but I've certainly taken plenty of instruction and constructive criticism in the classroom.

I'm trying to stop myself from being "expectant." Expecting the first week to be perfect. Expecting that I will turn my students' academic/social lives completely around. Expecting everything to go as planned. Expecting every move I make to work. Expecting miracles. In some ways, I can't help it. I'm an idealist, and I want everything I do to make a difference. I have to keep reminding myself that this is the real world, and it's not always going to work out for the best. There's not always going to be a happy ending. And yet, on the other hand, I would be a pretty poor teacher if I didn't expect all of that at least in the form of progress, every day.

The Pure, Unassuming Bean

It used to be a secret. My secret.

Just a serene tree blowing in the warm breeze. A small bean tucked protectively inside its leathery womb.

I remember the day I created it, though I'm still not certain why I did. Sometimes it does happen like that. People, things, places appear and even I can't explain where they came from. Attila the Hun, durian fruit, the Rock of Gibraltar. Weird, right?

But instead of being confused and exasperated as I usually was by some of these rogue creations, I was pleased, excited even. I had created something small and inconspicuous enough to stay mine. To hide in the trees forever, and never be discovered.

I should have suspected, however, that nothing with so much potential could stay hidden forever. I should have known that even it could not hide from the damned curiosity and persistence of my other creations.

Humanity found it soon enough. And now look at my pure, unassuming little bean! It has become the very symbol of gluttony! Molded into bars, balls, cakes and stuffed with frostings and fruits. Boiled into liquid, frozen solid and even slathered on chicken and steak, and sometimes, oh sometimes even promising death!

No longer my secret. No longer just a little cocoa bean.

Be Wicked. Be Proud.

"For we will be wicked and we will be fair
And they'll call us such names, and we really won't care,
So go, tell your Wendys, your Susans, your Janes,
There's a place they can go if they're tired of chains,
And our roads may be golden, or broken, or lost,
But we'll walk on them willingly, knowing the cost --
We won't take our place on the shelves.
It's better to fly and it's better to die
Say the wicked girls saving ourselves."
-Seanan McGuire, author, artist, filk songwriter

A shy, wicked one with dark ringlets. Eyes that watch so closely. Ears awakened by the smallest sound. Fingers twitchy, always for something. Tongue, still silent. People come and go, picking up tarnished trinkets, examining bits of jewelry long absent of their luster. Then dropping each when the novelty wears off. Tink. Tink. Tink. Thunk. Tink. Tink. Tink. Thunk.

Eyes are always wandering in this shop, but never too far. Never far enough to see her. The shy, wicked one walking through the aisles twirling her twitchy fingers through the dusty tapestries.

Heavy things, they are. Moved perhaps, by the stale wind that comes through the door.

Wicked, but never, ever vicious.

Real Life

One letter at a time.
One word at a time.
One sentence at a time.
One paragraph at a time.
One page at a time.

What letter do I start with?
What words will they make?
What will the sentence say?
Where will the paragraph take me?
What happens at the end of the page?

The letter might make me wince.
The words might make me curse.
The sentence might make me squirm.
The paragraph might make me pull out my hair.
The page might only make it worse.

But the letter is the beginning,
and the words link like chains.
The sentence tells a story,
the paragraph keeps on showing it
The page, then, makes me happy.
Imperfect as it is, it's mine.
Then I write the next letter,
One at a time.

When We Were Wee

"There are no rules, and those are the rules."

A quote I pilfered from the Jim Henson's Fantastic World exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. So sayeth Cantus Fraggle, and perfect for what I'm trying to accomplish with my writing and with my life.

This is the second time I've seen the Henson exhibit, having gone for my wedding anniversary in September, and I have to say that it is just as wonderful as it was the first time around. There is no substitute for seeing firsthand the construction of some of Henson's most complicated puppets, while learning about the evolution of the Muppets from The Frog Prince, to the Muppet Show, to Sesame Street to Fraggle Rock and the Dark Crystal. This was a man that consistently broke creative barriers without expecting any recognition or credit for it. He just took his ideas, and Made them work, even when the people around him told him it was impossible.

I do remember watching the Muppets as a young girl, hanging out in the basement with my older sister. We would sing the songs, act out scenes and rewind the videotapes over and over again. But, I didn't really appreciate the real impact of the Muppets on me until I hit college, during my first weeks as a freshman at Illinois State University. I missed my family, my friends, and my boyfriend Michael, whom I'd just started dating during March of my senior year in high school. I did not want to be there. And while the solitary part of my personality enjoyed the alone time in my dorm, the evenings and nights were tough going. I unpacked my stuff a little every night, and would come across hidden notes in my luggage from Michael, letting me know that everything was going to be OK. Well, a few nights into the unpacking I found videotapes. Every Muppet Movie. So I put one on and smiled. And then I chuckled. And then I laughed out loud. And then, before I knew it, I made it through my first year, and the next, and the next.

"There are no rules, and those are rules." Even when it comes to remedies for homesickness.

Game On

Since I've just graduated with my master's, I'm in sore need of some direction regarding my personal health. This is a good place to start, I figure. Happy New Year and wish me luck.

Goals for the Year:
1. Be healthy. Mentally, physically, the whole deal.
2. Save more money.
3. Write with Discipline. Yes, that's a Capital D. I guess that's part of the 'mental health' resolution, but whatever. The major problem I have is self-censorship, and this very recent fear of making things permanent on paper. I really, really need to get over that.

So, game on, 2011.