Haven’t Had a Dream in a Long Time

Tags

Badass, Colorado, Deep Blue Something, Elvis Costello, Friends, Josh Ritter, mom, New School Year, Paris, Summer Vacation, teaching, The Kinks, The Smiths, Wilco

I just realized that I began this blog on Friday the 13th, in April of 2012. More than 5 years ago. In the past 10 months, I, my friends, have discovered Spotify. So no longer is my iTunes the place where I search my music. Because iTunes is out of date. How I will reconcile this on my blog, 6 Songs a Day, I am not sure. But it’s here, and I am embracing it. Plus, I don’t think I have purchased a new song on iTunes in about 3 years. Spoify is my new Oyster, Here we go, 6 Songs a Day. It’s a new year.

So is this school year. We are more than a full week in, and my last post painted things a bit desperate. It didn’t come even remotely close to reality. We FINALLY, after a lot of work on our part, received a new principal. And in the “transition”, I lost my department position, was forced to move rooms at he last minute, and my schedule for this new year was jacked. But, honestly, I wouldn’t change it. I am overwhelmed by my true happiness. And at work, I have not been able to say this for 4 years. So here’s to great starts and new school years!

News on me–I celebrated turning 40 multiple times, despite D-Day being mid-September. But I spent a weekend in Colorado on a dude ranch with my sorority sisters, for all of our 40ths, and while I might have not been in my pique condition, I got there. Followed by the most amazing 12 days in France with my amazing mom. Trip. Of. A. Lifetime. My summer ended with a week camping trip with family, a big reunion, a few goodbyes from SF, and a lot of time soaking up sun, being able to read whatever I want, and not giving a damn about my job. For once in what–24 years of having a job? It was worth it. I did. Nothing.

What I learned: That my mom and I have the relationship I always hoped for. I just needed to let her in. That 5 nephews, 1 niece, 1 god-daughter, and 1 niece-once-removed are hilarious, and that I still, despite objections, will always be the biggest badass of an Auntie Mo on the planet. That my colleagues were successful in what we wanted, asked for it. and gracefully moved forward. That Willie Nelson still is a God. That pink wine is crucial in summer. That weight gain sucks, but exercise, even if it doesn’t cause immediate results, feels good. That time to write a novel is, in fact, available. That shit, my life is Badass.

When I went to Colorado, I brought the gift of copper bracelets stamped with the word Badass. I forgot this year what being a Badass felt like. And it took all the days of my summer to find this feeling, to bring this mantra back again.

Sorry friends. I am back. I have less than a month to said D-Day, and I intend to embrace it. My kids, who are not strangers to me as a resource teacher, pretended they didn’t miss me, but each told me how happy they are to work with me again this year, their final year. Yes, many came back taller than me, and I, at 5’9, am no slouch. But I am grateful that they like my new room, think 8th grade is awesome, and still stomach me 🙂 God, kids are great. If they only knew what we went to fight for them…But they never will. That’s not my way.

As a September baby, the first day of school typically was after Labor Day, a week before my birthday, and I usually received a new set of clothes, backpack and lunchbox. These were replicated by me for the first 16 years of my teaching career. This year, I shifted. I didn’t buy much of anything, with the exception of 2 new pairs of pants. I think this was for 2 reasons: I am so grateful for the changes in my new administration, that because it is all so fresh and new, why replace the trivial things? Also, shit. I am so broke from France, what’s a girl to do? French orange leather loafers, or a new lunchbox? Shoes, please.

So away we go. New songs. New administration. New year. New playlist. New decade for me. New outlook on life, even in those dark moments when I might not be as optimistic as I hope. Dude. It’s gonna be a great year. A Badass year.

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Here Comes a New Day–The Kinks

Please, Please, Me, Let Me Get What What I Want–The Smiths

Breakfast at Tiffany’s–Deep Blue Something

Josh Ritter–Showboat

You and I–Wilco

Allison–Elvis Costello

 

Open Your Big Eyes, Take in the Sunrise

When I was a little girl, maybe 6…7, we would have Sunday night dinner at my Gram’s house. We would drive home at the end of the night, 2/5 of the car asleep, and we would suddenly fall above something I used to call Fairyland. Not sure if my parents or I coined the term, but it was at the top of the hill, where all the lights of Almaden would shine, and it was Fairyland. It was my favorite thing. I was reminded of it when I landed at SFO last week: Magic.

You see, lately, I feel very small. Not like I’m minuscule, or powerless, but as I’m always reminded, I’m just a piece in the puzzle we call life–a contributor.

I had several ups and downs this summer, from moments of helplessness, to feelings of being on top of the world. And I’m so happy to have experienced them both, along with the nuances in between.

It makes me human.

I’ve been thinking a lot about being human lately. Feeling very small. Friends have had babies, friends have dealt with loss. I was on a boat in the Chicago River in July with my mom, looking up at the great American Skyscraper, and I felt tiny. I was pulled inside the circus tent I bought my 2 year-old Goddaughter last week, and once again felt like a child. This summer, I experienced water balloons with 5-year-olds, a car break-in, and weeping like a child at the news that one of my students was finally in remission. I felt very small.

But not in a bad way.

When I was 22, wet behind the ears, fresh from college, I set out one morning to Clement street, a few blocks from where I lived, following rumors that I would run into Robin Williams, a “neighbor”. I was selling books back to Green Apple, one of the finest independent bookstores, which have always been close to my heart.

A Candle to Carry Us

Tags

family, realizations, shooting stars, The Decemberists, transitions in life

There are certain things a person misses being away from home. The greyed chocolate lab walking with his sad owner. John, the corner store guy, asking me to marry him for the fortieth time. A new shop going in, and a favorite gone. The adage of there’s nothing like home always seems to ring true.

I’ve come home to wilted plants, copious stacks of mail, and things I realize I’ve neglected–my books, my writing, my curriculum. Friendships change, for better and for worse.

I’ve had a sick baby brother, and the opportunity to take care of his two kids, my nephews that I don’t ever get to spend enough time with.

I experienced the amazing opportunity called Squaw Valley Writer’s workshop and the realization that I need to dedicate much more time to my writing if I’m going to be serious about publishing this novel.

I’ve met at least five new people who could very well end up changing my life, monetarily, personally, and professionally.

I worked with kids who might not make it to high school.

I watched the joy of my nephew and niece seeing their first ball game, making many of my nephews, niece, goddaughter, and friends’ kids belly-laugh, and realize that life does (thanks, John Lennon) indeed happen when we make other plans.

I’ve seen my parents grow older and make new life changes, for the better.

And I realize after spending time with all of these people, learning all these lessons that I could never learn myself, I am humbled. But I still saw the stars over Tahoe and made wishes on a few that fell–one for me, and a few for those I love–and oddly, my life remains the same.

Thank God for that.

I start a new endeavor in the world of special ed tomorrow, and I realize that I will never know all the answers, nor do I want to. My life is what I have created, and it makes me happy–the joyous, the heartbreaking, and the humbling. And the simple watching of the stars.
——
All Around the World or the Myth of Fingerprints–Paul Simon
All Down the Line–The Rolling Stones
Clementine–The Decemberists
Dust Bowl Dance–Mumford and Sons
Get to Know You–Mayer Hawthorn
Thick and Thin–The Black Crowes
I Feel Better–Gotye

It’s nothing that I haven’t seen before But it still kills me like it did before

Tags

christmas, Connecticut, fear, guns, love, students, teaching

It’s been such a busy week–of healing and grading and socializing and baking and shopping…and I’m exhausted.

I’m using the app on my phone to write this again–which is a little tedious. BUT the songs on my phone are a smaller, more select group that I adore, and tonight’s list is apropos.

I’m packed and ready for vacation for two weeks. I made 15 dozen ginger cookies for my students on Sunday afternoon as a “because”, but it’s because they are wonderful, goofy, pain-in-the-neck kids. So much so, that after we made snowflakes on Monday when all work was done (11th year doing this), I discovered that the Connecticut PTA has requested snowflakes to decorate the temporary home of the Sandy Hook kids.

You’re looking at roughly 450 my students and some of their friends made, and I can barely keep it together when more and more pour in. There’s no quota or goal, but I told them that I started teaching when I lived in Connecticut and that I have a special place in my heart for this project personally. And the snowflakes flurried in.

I know like everyone, I will get through this. Last week after my post, my nephew L and niece H came for a quick visit, and I couldn’t stop hugging and kissing them and telling them how much I love them.

But right now I struggle to see how two

You’re In Need of Something You Can’t Find

Tags

charm bracelet, dreams, gift, Gram, Lenny Kravitz, lost things, mom, postaday, San Francisco Giants, searching, start again, World Series

I seem to have lost my sense of time in the past few weeks. I don’t know where it has gone. It’s kind of like I am in a hamster wheel. Perhaps it’s not the worst place to be, but this annoys me. To my credit, this fall has been intense. For starters, once again, the San Francisco Giants, the baseball team I grew up with, moves on to the World Series tomorrow night. I have been watching a lot of baseball, which is usually the case in the post-season, regardless of who’s still in. Well, with the exception of the Dodgers and the Yankees.

Since I was a teenager, I have had a reoccurring dream where I am searching everywhere for something I have lost. Sometimes it happens when I really have misplaced something I care about, other times when I am overly tired. I tend to lose everyday things for a few hours–a day or two tops–but for the most part, I am able to have reconnaissance missions to locate them. Except twice.

In high school, I lost a gold and sapphire birthstone ring I received in 3rd grade. It was for my birthday, and I had scoured the Best Catalogue over and over. With enough nagging and proving to my mom that I wouldn’t ever lose it, there it was on the fireplace hearth, ready for me to open after dinner and cake. I bent the hell out of the ring over the years, and had it straightened with my dad’s pliers, broke the shank in half, and even had to have it resized. This ring survived endless abuse, but it was loved. Until I lost it, and then it was adored and revered.

I was in high school, maybe college, and the ring went missing at some point. I didn’t wear it daily; it had a permanent resting place in my jewelry box. But then it didn’t. I stewed, and searched, and got teary. I mentioned it to my mom, who was as baffled as I was. It came up in conversation that Sunday when my Gram came to dinner. The next day, she called our house and asked to talk to me. She told me that she had a dream the night before about my ring, and I should check behind my nightstand, under my bed, anywhere near where I could have taken it off in my sleep. Low and behold, I found it underneath my nightstand. It was the last piece of jewelry I lost. Until 2007.

When I graduated from 8th grade, I received a 14 karat gold charm bracelet from my Gram, with a charm on it. It was a gold filigree cross. That same day, I received a shamrock from my parents, a “13” from the family I babysat, and I was slowly on my