Day 23

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At the risk of being too personal, I’m going to admit to having a mammogram today. It’s a pretty routine procedure for us women, I know. I think it’s also safe to say that it’s uncomfortable for all and nerve wracking for some. I went into this procedure just a little nervous for a couple of reasons. My doctor was upset to find out that it had been a couple of years since I’d gone and mentioned feeling something strange during my last routine visit. However, the main reason he was upset is that there’s first generation breast cancer in my family. My sister was diagnosed and had a double mastectomy before she was forty.

I’m thankful today for the fact that my visit turned out a normal reading, but mostly that my sister is still cancer free. She was diagnosed in January 2007. Two months after our dad was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Wow that was a tough year. And my sister faced her own cancer with such amazing courage, it’s almost easy to forget she had it. My large family is scattered around the country, and she lived in Kentucky at the time. My oldest sister and I traveled to Kentucky to be with her and help her for a few days after her surgery. When we showed up at the hospital, we had to laugh because she was wearing an Alice in Wonderland Cheshire Cat top with the caption “Poof…gone.” on it. (Our family’s sarcasm knows no bounds.) And after the surgery, when we helped her do the basic functions: get in and out of bed, shower, dress without screwing up the drain tubes and bandages, she didn’t whine or even complain much beyond making comments about the awkwardness or uncomfortableness or general pain of it. Granted, we didn’t stay with her for the duration of her healing, but I can say with certainty that she dealt with her cancer like she deals with all things in her life. Straight on. Head held high. Doing what she needs to do without falling to pieces, like she would have every right to do. Like many of us would do.

I admire my sister’s bravery; words fail when I think of how proud I am of her. As anyone who has been touched by cancer knows, it’s not something that goes away completely. It’s always there, in the back of the mind if no where else. Since her initial diagnosis eight years ago, she has had different follow-up surgeries and routine checks and rechecks. Thankfully, all is still well. She doesn’t talk about it much. She made it through and has continued on beyond it. On a daily basis, it’s easy to forget about until something as mundane as a routine mammogram reminds me. My sister is a cancer survivor and is still a beautiful role model in my life. What a blessing it is to say that.

Day 22

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We had a reception at work today honoring our college president. He recently decided to leave the school, hopefully on his way to better, even more rewarding ventures. It was a lovely reception, with a lot of visitors from on campus and off. It reminded me of when he first came to the college, 8 years ago. We had a similar reception, although it had a different feel to it then. It wasn’t as bittersweet as it was today.

The work of a college president is, in all effects, a tightrope walk. Like any position of high authority there are politics involved. At a college, those politics are played out not simply on campus, but also within the community the college serves. The business of education is complicated and intense. It seems so simple on the surface; students enroll in school and faculty teach them what they need to know. But what do they need to know? And how much of it is necessary? Everyone has an opinion, and that’s when it gets tricky. Depending on the community, the what and how can fluctuate. Part of the duties of a college president is to work with the community to find out those needs and how the college can work on programming and funding to supply it. It was my opinion (shared by many) that our president did that well. But I’m biased.

See, I was fortunate enough to get to know him a little bit outside of his job title. I was part of the welcoming committee when he was first hired and from the beginning had an easy rapport with him. I found him to be approachable and welcoming as a person. He was the type who would walk through the halls and wave hello. Or stop by someone’s office and sit and chat for a while. More than once, he had sent me a quick note congratulating me on a job well done in a meeting or on a task. And he made it clear that if anyone had a concern or idea, his door was open. So once, I even met with him for career advice. I’m going to miss seeing him on campus. It felt like saying goodbye to a friend today. But I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to work for someone so giving. I hope he left knowing that he will be missed.

Day 21

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I’ve been writing since I was a kid. I’ve always liked to write–I love words. I like the way some of them sound, how they feel in my mouth when I say them. I enjoy the way words have double and hidden meanings. How rearranging them can bring out those meanings. How I can say exactly how I feel and yet hide my true feelings with words. Therefore, I’ve kept a journal most of my life. As a kid, it was the traditional diary, complete with lock and key. As I matured, it evolved into the classic leather bound journal. Sometimes lined, sometimes not. I am also something of an artist, so at times it’s been a cross over of both sketch book and diary. I’ve been given beautiful books with inspirational pictures and quotes for writing over the years.

My mother has always kept a diary. Hers leans towards the outline of her days…if anyone wonders when they had a doctor’s appointment, it is sure to be written down in my mother’s diary. She likes to keep track of what was going on. I’ve leaned towards the how. How things are going. Or not going. Or going off-track. Or going wonderfully. I spill my emotional guts to paper at night, so I can feel unburdened by the weight of it during my days. It’s interesting to me to sometimes go back through and read what I’ve written. Because I use it as a catharsis, there are patterns. The ups and downs of my relationships. The frustrations and thrills of motherhood and careers. It’s all there. By now I’ve used up several journals and keep them in a box under my bed. Whatever one I’m currently using lies on my bedside table, within reach at night. I’m not a daily writer in my journal, but I try to be consistent and get caught up whenever time permits. Only once in my life have I had a long gap of silence. When, in the middle of a painful argument, my (now ex) husband admitted he had been reading it. After promising me it was something he would never do. I felt so betrayed that I couldn’t write in it again for several years. Until after we divorced. But I’ve been fairly faithful ever since.

Last week I brought my journal to work with me so I could get caught up during a break in my day. Over the weekend, I looked for it, but it wasn’t on my nightstand. I figured I must have left it in my office, hoping briefly that if that were the case, no prying eyes had stumbled across it. However when I got to work this morning, it wasn’t there. I had a moment of panic. How could I have misplaced it? Why was I so foolish to bring it to work with me? Of course, it wasn’t as if there were anything incriminating in it. I wouldn’t get arrested or lose my job if someone stumbled across it and  linked it to me. It would be embarrassing. After all, I am brutally honest in writing to myself. I don’t care how raw it sounds. Or how frightened or elated I seem describing things that matter only to me. Or maybe one day after I’m gone, if they are interested, to my children. They may want to read it and gain insight on their mother that is not necessary right now.

At any rate, I’m relieved to say that I discovered my journal under a seat in my car when I got home tonight. Now, for the sake of my ego (and a few innocently-mentioned names), it won’t be traveling beyond my nightstand any more.

January 20: MLK day

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It’s Martin Luther King, Jr. day. A national holiday, which meant I had the day off. Some of my friends were jealous that they had to work, and I can’t say I blame them. It’s great to have national holidays off.

It’s gotten me thinking, though, of how many people really know much about our holidays and what their intended purposes were. For a lot of people, it becomes just another day off of work. But today’s holiday is in remembrance of a man who dedicated his life in hopes of making life better for a nation. If you look him up on the internet, you’ll find all sorts of information about him, probably the highlights that most of us enjoying the day off of work know.  About how he was a pastor.  And how he was the Leader of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, an African-American civil rights organization. About how he won the Nobel Peace prize for his nonviolent protests. About his I Have a Dream speech. About his assassination. He was a man of significance in our American history, so we honor him on a day in January that comes close to his birthday of January 15th.

But I wonder how many of us remember that he was only 39 when he died. A young man. Younger than I am today. He left behind four children whom he referenced in his famous speech: I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. He left behind a wife who, regardless of the controversy surrounding their marriage, had to raise those four children without their father. He spent most of his adult life fighting for the causes he so passionately believed in because he was convinced it was best for his family and his country. And he was arrested almost 20 times and assaulted numerous times in the process. What a life. Not the kind of life that I’ve chosen for myself, and not the kind of life that most of the people I know would choose. Not because we don’t have the desire to make the world a better place, but because it takes something heroic to put your whole life on the line. Thank you, Martin Luther King, Jr. for being one of those people. I’m grateful today that we have such people in the world, paving the way for the rest of us.

Day 19

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I’m lucky to have a wonderful mother, but unlucky to have her living in a different state. While we talk often, we don’t see each other as much as I’d like. My father has Alzheimer’s so they don’t travel as much as they used to. It doesn’t matter how old I get, there’s something special about being with my mother. It makes me feel grounded somehow, protected, sheltered when I’m with her. In a strange way, it lifts the burdens of my own life because with her, my primary role is daughter. Not mother, teacher, homeowner, bill payer…with her I’m mostly daughter. It’s a nice break.

While I can’t be with her often, I am privileged to have other women in my life who help me feel similarly. One is a woman who has become somewhat of a surrogate mother. She has no children of her own, and we have jokingly said that we’ve adopted each other. Hers is the name I put down on forms that request an alternate family member contact. She’s the one I call when I’m needing a literal shoulder to cry on. And she has supported me in every conceivable way in the past 15 or so years I’ve been blessed to have her in my life. It’s without guilt that I send her a Mother’s Day card in addition to my “real” mother. The other woman in my life I’ve known equally as long, having worked with her at the college before her retirement, and now after as a part-time employee in my department. We’ve become closer in recent years through mutual life events. She’s become a trusted advisor and confidante and is one of those classy women most of us aspire to be.

I had both of them over for brunch this morning. The three of us don’t always get together at the same time, so we had fun sharing stories and decorating ideas. It was a relaxing morning and the time sped by while we got caught up. It’s wonderful to have people in my life whose friendship is so comfortable and effortless. It’s even better when they feel like family. I’m so thankful to have them in my life.

Day 18: Assumptions

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I’ve been playing catch up on another tv show. I know, I know…it seems I do a lot of that. I really only have four shows I’m hoping to keep up with: The Walking Dead, Dr. Who, Sherlock and Downton Abbey. Most of them I’ve begun watching because one of my kids or a friend has insisted it’s wonderful and I really should watch it. Last month, I binge watched the first three. This month it’s Downton Abbey. My youngest and I have been watching the show together, which has been great fun. We have the same sense of humor and especially enjoy the cheeky comments of Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham. She’s the matriarch of the Grantham clan and often has fabulous one-liners that are completely spot on. I’m half tempted to write them all down and try to work them into my daily conversations, just for fun. My daughter’s and my goal is to get caught up in time for the current episode tomorrow night. We haven’t been able to watch them together at the same time, and I found out that she watched a couple on her phone because she had no access to it any other way. I wasn’t sure how I should feel about that: worried that she’s becoming a tv addict or impressed that she was so determined.

The show has been interesting in that there are so many secrets and cover-ups. It seems very few are able to be truly themselves; most hide behind the masks they are forced to wear because of their position in society. And it isn’t just the aristocracy. Even the servants have roles to play and are forced to hide their feelings in order to do their jobs properly. It’s easy to watch and think, what a shame it is that they can’t just say what they truly think or feel, until the realization hits that life really is often that way. It’s so easy to hide behind the person we present to the world, worried to make a mistake or show our true feelings in case we are rejected. And like what happens in this tv show, we go along on assumptions that aren’t always correct, often to our own detriment.

I recently experienced that with a friend. We hadn’t talked in weeks, mostly because we misunderstood cues from each other. Assuming what wasn’t true and worrying about what it meant, instead of clarifying. Finally, it was too hard to be silent, and just as I figured I was going to have to say something, he did instead. It’s a relief to be free of wondering and know we’re still friends. Today, I’m very grateful for that.

Day 17

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It’s been another long day. Usually on Fridays work is a little slower; there are fewer classes and less students on campus. Today, however, I had several appointments and meetings which took up the bulk of my time. One item late in my day was a training for C-CERT (Campus Community Emergency Response Team).

CERT is a program under FEMA that educates people to help in disasters. CERT teams can be called upon to help first responders in times of crises.  College’s adopted the program and train employees to be available in case of disasters not only on campus, but also within the community. During our initial training, we learned about being prepared at work as well as at home, fire safety, chemical hazards, medical operations, search and rescue, disaster psychology, and terrorism threats. We learned about the command structure of a disaster setting. We had to become certified in CPR and First Aid. And after many training days, we had a simulation. Our theatre department recruited volunteer actors to serve as victims and we had a mock search and rescue. We deployed as teams to a couple of on-campus warehouses (the theatre department’s storage facilities) and looked for survivors of a tornado, the most likely disaster to hit our area. Complete with hardhats, radios, and backpacks of supplies we figured out the best ways to cover as much area as possible in the shortest amount of time, evaluated whether the “victims” we found needed immediate medical assistance or could be delayed. Some we marked as dead. Everything we did had to be organized and reported and only after the buildings were searched were we sent back to try to recover those we had previously found.

It was a pretend situation for us, but it was still sobering. And every time we have continuous training or additional simulations we are reminded of the fact that if it were real, we would searching for our colleagues and friends. It’s a horrible thought. Of course, we usually go about our day not even considering it. I pray our training is never needed. But every day we hear or read about a tragedy somewhere, on campuses or off. I’m thankful to be part of the team.

Day Sixteen

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Several years ago my parents generously gifted me a car. A 1995 Lincoln Continental that they lovingly maintained and drove for years. They upgraded to something newer, and knowing that I couldn’t afford to buy a car for my daughter, they decided I could use it more than they needed the little bit of money they’d get selling it. It cost me about $300 to get it licensed and titled, and I was thrilled!

My daughter wasn’t quite as thrilled. It’s gold, she said. So, what? I replied. It’s kind of big…she hesitated. It was free for you, so it’s perfect, I stated. End of story.

My child isn’t ungrateful, I don’t mean to imply that. She was thankful to have something to drive at all. But a first car is always something of a big deal for kids, and I understood her hesitation. However, it didn’t take her long to claim the car as her own. And create her own personal pigsty in the backseat and trunk. A Lincoln Continental has pretty good space in it, enough for a week’s worth of clothing, empty water bottles, random crumpled papers, and shoes. Soon, we began affectionately calling it the Stinkin’ Lincoln.  It has been a blessing to me, not just to have an extra car available, but to have an extra person to help tote around my youngest or me when my car was in the shop.

Today my daughter bought herself a new car. Something small and red and more age-appropriate. I’m proud of her for working and saving the money she needed for this step, and I’m happy for her excitement. But I’m also glad that the Stinkin’ Lincoln is still around and will be available for my youngest who will be driving soon.  The car has had some problems in the last few years and is showing the wear of winter weather and teenage driving, but it’s still running. And for that I’m thankful.

Day Fifteen: Diversity

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Diversity is a big buzz word these days, at least I think it still is. I know it comes up at work, and I saw today that it was a topic even in Hollywood’s award show season. It’s a funny word, diversity.  Merriam-Webster online defines it in the following ways:

: the state of having people who are different races or who have different cultures in a group or organization

: the quality or state of having many different forms, types, ideas, etc.

Most of us probably think of the word in terms of the first definition. However, it seems to me that in the effort to BE diverse, we start to look at people only in terms of their race or what culture they are from, and how different that is from our own culture or race. I don’t believe differences are a bad thing, this coming from someone who considers herself a little different. (Although my kids prefer the word weird when describing me.)  However, I do think that when seeing only cultural or race differences, there’s a danger in a “them” vs “me” mentality. As if we are comparing one against the other. It’s not inclusive, but exclusive thinking–the opposite of what diversity training teaches. That’s why I like the second definition better–aren’t we all a collection of different ideas, forms, types? In my house there are three women and while we share the same basic culture and race, we are vastly different in some ways. My youngest shares limited physical resemblance to me or her older sister. My oldest has a different fashion sense than the rest of us. I’m, well, weird apparently, thus much different than the two of them. In this sense, our differences make life more interesting and enriching. And if we were from three different races or cultures, how much more interesting and enriching would that be?

I went to a college that had a large influx of international students. I had friends from many different races and cultures: Spain, France, Japan, Iceland, and Ecuador were a few of the places they hailed from. It was fascinating to me. The differences in language and ideas and views opened me to thinking of things in ways I wouldn’t if the population weren’t so diverse. And this semester the class I’m teaching has students from Serbia, Mexico, and Pakistan as well as from different cities around the area. The differences within this group of students is what makes the class so interesting and rich with potential to learn more than our class content. I love that we are going to see things from different viewpoints. I’m thankful I’ve had the opportunity in my life to experience diversity in this way, as a means to expand my own mind and view of the world.  How boring it would be if we all thought alike and acted the same.

Day 14: Tired

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This will be short and sweet, my friends. Today I’m tired. For some reason, I didn’t sleep well last night. Maybe it’s because I started going back more often to the gym. My muscles were a bit sore last night, and I felt tense after a work out with weights. Or maybe it’s because I had trouble shutting down my mind, my thoughts constantly trying to rationalize the problems of the day. Either way, I tossed and turned last night, drifting in and out of sleep. Don’t you hate when you look at the clock in the dark and see the time inch by? One am. Two-thirty. Four o’clock. By the time my alarm rang at 7:00, I felt like I had just shut my eyes.

It wasn’t a horrible day, but it was busy and long. I drank enough coffee to float my eyeballs, although it didn’t necessarily recharge me. I guess when you drink it all day long, your body no longer gets a jolt. Oh, and note to self: don’t wear new shoes on a day after no sleep. My feet hate me. By the time my class ended this evening at seven, I just wanted to go home, have a glass of wine, and not think.

It’s been a long day and I’m thankful it’s over.