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.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, January 3, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
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.
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.
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