Weekend

For a weekend that was supposed to be filled with rain, it turned out not too bad. Intermittent rain, yes. But not the constant downpour I was expecting. For that reason, my house wasn’t a muddy dog printed mess. Yay! And, I was able to sleep in a bit which has been unheard of lately. Of course, sleeping in for me is anything past 6:30. Sunday morning, after Patrick fed the dogs, they jumped back into bed with me. Usually, they curl up at the foot of the bed and take all my leg room. However, this time, Chance lay down at my back and when I turned my head, there his nose was. The little minx had his head on my pillow–a big nope for me. But he looked so cute, I let him stay there…

While I didn’t do anything especially different or fun, I’m still grateful for the weekend. I was able to get some errands done and have some down time. Just what weekends are for.

Wow

What a year. Well, almost a year. It’s amazing how quickly getting off the daily gratitude train can turn into disaster. Right now life seems to be chaos because work issues have taken a strong hold both on the job and at home. True to human nature, my focus shifted to the problems instead of the joys, and now everything seems too bleak again. It’s the issues that have begun to dominate conversations and thoughts and actions. So here I am, forcing myself to refocus and search for the positives that will help nurture my weakened spirit.

When I reflect back on the past months, I’m grateful for some large items:

I graduated with my Masters in Speech Communication and I maintained a 4.0 gpa. Yay!

I was promoted at the college to a Dean position, which has been a great learning and growing experience thus far.

We took a fantastic road trip to New York City where we basically ate our way through town.

I’ve been teaching again, which is something I really missed.

My kids are both doing great in school and in life. Everyone has been safe and healthy for another year.

I’m also grateful for the small things:

Spring–the days are longer and the sun has been out more often!

I’m finally getting over my head cold.

I get to see all of my sisters in May.

Spring Break is next week.

Did I mention sunshine?

 

Patrick’s birthday

I love birthdays, probably because I like celebrations. I like carefully chosen presents and special dinners. Balloons and cake. But mostly I love that birthdays remind us that people we love shouldn’t be taken for granted, and so we celebrate that they’ve been with us another year.

Today is Patrick’s birthday, and to him, birthdays are just another day. He couldn’t care less about a celebration. In fact, one year he insisted that all he wanted was to be left alone to work on his house. So like any good girlfriend, I ignored him and showed up at his door with a present and a slice of cake. It took a lot of will power not to bring a balloon, but I didn’t want to push my luck. After all, I had promised not to do anything.

This year, regardless of his party pooper attitude, I celebrate the fact that he’s been in my life another year. Yes, he’s a bit of a curmudgeon. Yes, he’s often antisocial and snarky. But he’s also one of the best people I know. Generous. Intelligent. Fun. He makes me laugh with his sarcasm and wit. He makes me feel safe with his dedication and honesty. He’s been accepting of my quirks, my horde of shoes (most of the time), my crazy family, and my general silliness. And when I’m feeling my lowest, he’s supportive and compassionate; I know that he always has my back.

Our life together may be low key, but it’s never dull. He’s challenging, interesting, competitive, and curious. Sometimes he pushes my buttons, but he also pushes me to grow. I know I’m a better person with him. So today, I’m extra thankful that I can celebrate another year, and I hope there’s many, many more birthdays to come.

Small Things

This month has been a long one filled with more work angst and worry. It’s hard to stay upbeat while working at a college in a state that has eliminated funding for higher ed because of politics. It’s gotten to the point that some colleges and universities are talking about closing their doors. Students are transferring out of the state for fear that their institution may not be there next year. The thinking behind the state budget impasse is crazy to me because the effects are going to be devastating. It’s counter intuitive to what government officials should want. Colleges closing their doors creates not only a larger unemployed work force but a larger amount of uneducated people. Add to that the amount of people choosing to leave the state altogether. None of which is going to help prosper an economy. I simply cannot wrap my head around it. Some days, I want to bail myself. Convince my boyfriend to move somewhere else. Other days my dedication to this place where I work kicks in and I want to weather the storm, believing that better times are coming. It’s been a long month.

That’s why I keep looking for the small things that make me smile. Homemade ice cream. The unexpected 80 degree day. Puppy hugs. Silly Snapchats. We’ve also been re-watching The West Wing lately. I love that in the midst of all the politics, the characters on the show are genuinely striving to do good. We just got to the point where President Bartlet is censured by Congress for hiding his health issues. He accepts it because, as he tells his Chief of Staff, he was wrong and he deserved it. I want to believe that there are still people working in our governments, local-state-national, that are like that. That accept blame and don’t shrink from responsibility. I want to believe that somewhere in the midst of this strange and unsettling political time we’re in that the characters of The West Wing are out there working to make things better.

April Showers

I’m convinced that Spring is broken. While a rainy April isn’t unusual, the rain around here has been more like sleet, with intermittent bouts of snow showers. One day we started with snow; then it warmed up so the snow melted and the sun came out; then it snowed again before the sun came back out. Spring needs medication.

Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death. It’s strange. We didn’t live in the same town, so NOT seeing him isn’t the weird part. It’s when I remember that I won’t see him again. That he isn’t at home with my mom, sitting in his recliner with a dog on his lap. That he isn’t somewhere laughing at his own jokes or arguing with the tv. That he isn’t just a call away if I needed him. Not that we talked on the phone much. He didn’t like it. If he ever answered the phone, we knew mom wasn’t available, and he’d start the call with, “sorry, honey, but your mom’s not home.” Or if it was his birthday or Father’s Day, he’d talk for a minute and then say, “ok, here’s your mom,” even if we didn’t ask to talk to her. It was kind of funny, actually, and kind of endearing. He just assumed mom trumped him when it came to conversation. But if we were in trouble or needed something, he would be there. And that was comforting to know. It doesn’t matter how old you get; you still feel like a kid around your parents. If they’re around, you know someone always has your back. I’m glad my mom has been doing well on her own, but I know she misses him. She said it’s hardest at night. I get that. Heartaches weigh heaviest in the darkness.

I’m thankful for the dulling effects of time. How it makes us get used to life’s voids. How it presses on relentlessly, sometimes dragging us along, sometimes pushing us forward. It’s good to keep going. Spring is reminder of how crazy life can be. Warm and cold, dark and light, often all at once. And yet somehow the flowers come through.

 

 

Early March

It’s national pound cake day. And grammar day. And four other “national” days. Did you know that pretty much every day is a national something day? Check it out:  http://www.nationaldaycalendar.com/

I like the idea of finding something to celebrate every day because I like looking forward to things. There are not enough celebrations in life. I am looking forward to the weekend; we are going to a beer festival in Madison, WI with a bunch of friends. It’s not the drinking of beer as much as the getting away that I’m itching for. Well, that and the fact that we haven’t spent much time with our friends this winter. Since math dinner crew disbanded and Patrick’s closest friend moved to a different state, we’ve spent most of our time huddled in front of the tv at home, binge watching one show or another. These days it’s Battlestar Galactica and we’re almost finished. But at the end of winter I’m always feeling antsy to move beyond the walls of home, so I’m grateful for a quick excursion.

 

 

 

 

 

Snow. Again.

I’m tired of winter. It snowed again today, and I’m just ready for it to go even though it hasn’t been a bad winter, considering. We’ve had nominal snowfall and not too frigid temperatures. We’ve only shoveled half a dozen times at most. But I’m craving Spring… the sunshine, the new plants, the longer days. I want to go outside unfettered by a heavy coat and boots. I keep reminding myself that we’re almost there. March is coming.

In the meantime, I’ve been grateful for some things. My current grad class is interesting. The Walking Dead started a new season. The cat hasn’t been waking me up in the middle of the night lately. My last car repair only cost me $16. I got to share another Valentine’s Day with Patrick. Our new ice cream machine works great. And Bree makes me laugh.

New Year?

I wish a new year really meant a reset. A putting away of the the past and a new embrace of the future. A hard line drawn in the sand where the old doesn’t start seeping into the new. But that isn’t the way it works. It’s February of a new year, and it doesn’t feel new. I know it’s my fault. Last year had some tough moments. Really tough. And some of those moments have lingered.

There is a budget crisis at work that makes my job feel unstable. Well, in Illinois pretty much all colleges are in a budget crisis. I survived one round of lay-offs already. But I’m close to finishing my Master’s degree, so hopefully I’ll be in a good position to find something different if the need arises.

My daughter totaled my newly paid off car which means I now have a car payment added to the strained household budget. But she wasn’t hurt and we got a new car so we don’t have to worry about something breaking down and adding to the bills.

And the doctor told me I have about a 1% chance of having a baby at my age. Even though I got pregnant last year, the miscarriage wasn’t an anomaly. That was the norm. But… This one is harder. This one challenges a lot of what I believed. Mostly that age doesn’t matter. Because now it does and for more than one reason. It means that because of my age, I must let go of the desire I have for another child, of experiencing parenthood with the man I love. It also means that I’m robbing him of fatherhood and trusting that he can live with that. All of a sudden, my age has become a life changer. I wasn’t ready for that. For the past six months I’ve been hopeful. Every month, hopeful that we could be part of the 1%. But my faith has also been challenged, and I realize that I can’t will it to happen. I can’t just work harder at it either. And I can’t change my age, as much as I may defy it. If it happens, it will be a gift.

There’s a quote that frequently makes the rounds and is usually attributed to the philosopher Socrates, although he didn’t say it. A character named Socrates said it in the book, Way of the Peaceful Warrior by Dan Millman. The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new. This is a new year. And today is Groundhog day. I love the movie, but I don’t want to live with my life on repeat. I need to let some things remain last year’s issues and work even harder on acceptance this year. Of my age. My limitations. Once again, gratitude will be my comfort. For the best way to accept loss is to balance it with the blessings. I still have a job. My kids are safe. I’m almost done with my degree. I’m able to afford to replace my car. I have a 1% chance which is better than 0% and my guy insists he loves me no matter what. That’s what I’m thankful for today.

 

 

 

Sad times

The faculty at my school went on strike yesterday. It’s been a long time coming, and not just in the months of contract negotiations. It’s been years in the making. The very nature of education has changed over the years; it certainly has at my school, thanks in part to consumer mentality. Those of us who have been here a while can say with a good level of certainty that the era of a particular college president forever damaged our culture. He was a man who believed students were customers and education was something that could be purchased, not attained. I can still picture him riding around the campus like a used car salesman in a golf cart going from lot to lot with his forced fake laugh and trying to shake everyone’s hand like a desperate politician. He put everyone on edge. It took too long for the Board of Trustees to acknowledge the damage his tenure was causing, but eventually there was a vote of no confidence and he went on to another unsuspecting college. But what he left behind was a fractured internal community and a Board that felt compelled to step further into the daily operations of the school. It was during this time that the faculty unionized in an effort to protect the distinct working conditions and integrity of teaching.

Of course times change. I know that. People like to say that things evolve, but in my opinion, what has happened to the culture at my school is more akin to disintegration. Our once inclusive, uplifting and nurturing environment has turned into everyday business. The argument, of course, is that our community is no longer the same. High unemployment, the recession, the challenges of our country as a whole means our focus needs to be different. People need jobs, quickly. A college degree is a luxury most people can no longer afford. And our state is broke, funding is gone, so we need to do more with less. Maybe there’s some truth in all that, but why is learning excluded? How did we get to a point where competence is a by-product? Where the art of teaching is no longer valued because it gets in the way—or takes too long?

Just the other day I had a student complain to me that he didn’t see the value in learning algebra. I patiently explained to him that it wasn’t whether or not he’d use algebra at his job that was important; it was the difference in thinking that math was teaching him that would be valuable. The way of looking at problems from different angles and solving them. The way math insists that you stick with it and figure stuff out. Those are the lessons that he could take to his job, even if he forgot every formula. And that’s the secret all good instructors know. Learning content is fine, but the ACT of learning is the key. It’s the act that broadens the mind.

I was lucky enough to go to a liberal arts college where every student, regardless of major, had to attend cultural activities in order to graduate. The message was that a worthwhile education was wholistic. It was inclusive of not just coursework, but the people and community around us. It didn’t focus on one topic, but showed how ideas and disciplines connected and how those connections broadened us and made us better people. I think the faculty at my school get that. In fact, I think most of the employees at my school still believe in education as an ideal.

The Board thinks the strike is over wages and health care and money because that’s their fight. Their focus in recent years has been on the budget. And it’s hard to see faces in numbers. It’s easy to vilify people when you don’t see them. The Board says it’s not personal, but it is. For all of us. Even those of us who aren’t on the picket lines because it directly affects what we do at this school. And it affects our culture. And for a lot of us, it’s emotional. Many of those professors outside today taught me when I was a student here. Several were instrumental in guiding not just my career path, but also my personal growth. The English teacher who used my journal writing as examples of good writing gave me the confidence to major in English. The speech teacher who encouraged me to join forensics instilled in me a love of public speaking. And many more, even now as colleagues, have helped me continue to learn and grow as a working professional. The one who guided me while working together on a community Board, the one who helped me find a graduate program and encouraged me to go back to school. Their fight is my fight, like it is for so many, many people who were privileged enough to take classes here over the years. It’s a fight for learning. And the respect that goes with dedicating your life to the belief that learning, as an act, matters. I’m glad they have the courage to stand up for it. I’m thankful to call so many of them my friends. Our school and our culture here may never return to the times of unity we had years ago, but it doesn’t mean we should give up. I hope, regardless of the outcome, that they always continue to fight for what matters. #solidarity #wearervc

That’s It

Last Wednesday I dragged the last of the unwanted items and garbage out of my house, swept and mopped the floors, left my collection of owner’s manuals and appliance warranties on the kitchen counter and walked out of the front door for the last time. Thursday morning I signed the papers and handed over the keys to the new owner. My house is no longer my house. Patrick asked me if I were sad, and my reply was not exactly–more nostalgic, that mixture of pleasure and sadness that comes from remembering something you can no longer experience. I loved my house not for the floor plan or yard or even the furnishings, although I thought it all worked well for me and my family. I loved it not for the location, even though it was awesome. My neighbors were all friendly and helpful. I really only loved my house for what it represented: the time in my life where I stood on my own and became a better me. I’m not sure how else to describe it except to say that sometime in the two years I lived there, I accepted my life for what it is in the moment. I quit worrying so much about past mistakes or future desires. I stopped caring quite so much what others expected of me and became more conscious about what I wanted for myself. My journey over the last couple of years there propelled me down a path I didn’t anticipate, but one that feels comfortable and right. I loved my house for that.

Which is also why I have no regrets at selling it. I had some people ask me if I were sure I didn’t just want to rent it out. Leave it for a backup plan. After all, some indicated, moving in with Patrick is a risk. I can see their point. It’s not like I don’t have failed relationships in my past. It’s not like those relationships didn’t cost me a lot. But love is always a risk. And for me, it’s always worth taking because the alternative offers nothing. In the end, love is the only thing we get to take with us.

After the house closing, I joked to Patrick that he was now stuck with me. He very sweetly replied, no…not stuck. After a long pause, he said it was more like trapped. Ah, yes…he does share my sarcastic sense of humor. And he has been a good sport about the take over of his once solitary house. For a guy who’s lived alone for the past ten years, he’s adapted well to having the five of us (me, my two girls, my dog and cat) invade his space, quietly carving out a room for himself in the basement yet rarely escaping to it. I love him for the way he’s expanded his world to invite me in. And I’m thankful for this new chapter in my life that includes him.