Resolutions and New Calendars: Happy New Year!

What I’d really like to do today is to hole up and work on some projects that I have been putting off by denying I have time for them. I’d like to turn off everything and just do these projects.  Well, maybe a little music playing in the background.

What I will really do today is a combination of a number of things, none of which will probably be done as well as I want them to be done.  Isn’t that the way for many of us on many of our days?  We can get up as early as we can – stay up later than we’d prefer, and still our most mundane (cleaning the bathroom) or most treasured (organizing heirloom family photos) projects or plans don’t exactly get done.  And, then, the next day we must face the ongoingness of tasks and projects.  Sometimes they pile up and sometimes they collect dust and occasionally they get done.

The same is true of New Year’s resolutions.  You know what they say about the road to hell being paved with good intentions.  A number of my Face Book friends have begun their new year’s workouts today.  Some writer friends have begun some kind of writing project goal – 1000 words a day – that sort of thing.  These are all people of integrity, and people who are goal-oriented, and who may very well achieve their goals.  I am not among them today.

I’m sitting at a dining room table that is covered with paints, college application essays, a hope to get some things done today, a Harry Potter book, calendars, a poetry journal and other miscellany, not having gone to the gym; and, my plan for the day is outlined on a reused yellow post-it note with scribbles – the last item on it says “get organized.”

Isn’t that how much of life is? Unorganized but somehow we make it.  Even when we buy new calendars, sort out what we want to happen, make plans, and get it all together, those plans get shot to hell.  Life happens outside the door while we hide and make our plans.  So many moving parts.  So many unpredictabilities.

And, that’s what makes things interesting and either challenges us or defeats us.  I’m pleased for everyone who has gotten a jump on resolutions today; I’m in the same boat with those of you who are saying, “When is New Year’s again?” and debating whether the tree stays up or gets taken out today.

And, for all of us, may I suggest penciling those plans into that new calendar?  You just never know when you might need to sit and hold hands with a friend; when you may have to deal with an ant infestation; when you may opt to talk to your teenager instead of taking Zumba class.  Frightening things may get scrawled across your calendar in black Sharpie.  Colorful doodles may take precedence over the carefully penciled in details.  And, no matter our motivation and energy levels, we will need some days to be totally blank. 

So many moving parts. 

So many unpredictabilities. 

So much joy.

Happy New Year!

Unsolicited Advice to Alexander James on the Occasion of your Twenty-first Birthday from your Loving Mother

I do not know what it is to be a young man in this millennium; I do not know what it is to live your life, work your job, have your friends; I do not have the same worries or concerns or habits or thoughts or feelings that you do. 

I do know how to sew on a button or darn a sock even if I prefer to throw the sock away and buy a new pair while still letting that orphan sock haunt my sock drawer for at least a year before discarding it.

I do not know why some things just disappear: friendships, money, the good pizza cutter, patience, your dinosaur Neol, detailed knowledge of the Battle of Gettysburg or those irritations that you think are going to turn into a blister on your foot after wearing just the wrong shoes. 

I do not understand the need for geometry in everyday life, and I do not understand the reason for anything mathematical beyond fractions and basic functions; however, I accept that there are people who know more than I and they understand these things.

I know that a good glass of wine is nice with dinner; I know that some days require one too many glasses of wine; I know that five too many shots of low-end vodka will not serve anyone well the next morning (or that night, as a matter of fact); I know that when you are twenty-one drunkenness seems fun, and I know that when you are forty-six and you can’t remember certain times of your life that drunken fun seems counterproductive.  Red eyes and pounding heads and aching necks and dry tongues are no substitute for really living.

I don’t understand why hamsters eat their babies, but I have witnessed it happen.  I don’t know why male seahorses fulfill human mother roles, but I am glad I am not a seahorse because I would have missed too many moments with you.

I know that ignorance is not terminal; intelligence is not contained in degrees hung on a wall; thoughtfulness can mean timeliness; it’s no good to pretend you know everything – there is bliss in admitting you need instruction or guidance or advice because in this admission, you are released from a measure of responsibility.

I understand that mean people will always be mean people, but some people are unkind because they are scared or worried or sad.  Unkindness is not meanness.  Meanness is an incurable narrowed soul that refuses attempts at softening.  I know that it is best to assume that people are unkind only – it will be disappointing, but assuming people are mean only hurts your own soul.  Too many tears.

I do know how to make spaghetti sauce from tomatoes and garlic and oil and onions, and I know that this spaghetti sauce is better consumed with friends in candlelight than alone in front of the TV. 

I believe it is better to think quietly and speak quietly despite the fact that I have yelled and thrown a bread loaf across the room.  I know you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but who wants a room full of flies?  Temperance with words will get you farther than you think.

I know that when done well, sex is fun.  I know that sex is not love and love is not sex.  One may be borne out of the other, but you must be cautious with which way you think that goes.  Pornography is interesting and stimulating, and ultimately deflating.  Better to cultivate an imagination than amass viewing hours. 

I don’t know which days they will be, but I know that there will be days when you will be offered a seven course, five-star meal and all you will really want is the comfort of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a bowl of macaroni and cheese.

I know – boy, do I know this one – your siblings are your best friends.  Doesn’t matter how many or few friends you have or how connected you are to them or how often or rarely you talk to your brothers.  They knew you when you were unknowable and they love you when you are unloveable and they will tell you when you need to get your shit together and they will tell you when you are being an insufferable fuck.  There is absolutely no replacement in the world for the love of a brother or sister.

I don’t know what you should be when you grow up – I just now learned what I should be when I grow up!  But, I know that if done right, the finding out and pursuing that can be the best journey ever.  Skills acquired and lessons learned along the way will all come together on an on-going basis to create meaning.

I know that jokes at the expense of others are never worth it.  Harm comes to those to tell them and those who hear them.  Humor in life is abundant, so is spirit-crushing: those two should never be mixed.

I believe there is God.  And, I believe I know him.  I know you do not agree.  I do not mind that you don’t agree, but there is value in understanding that you are part of something much larger than yourself:  the family of God; the human race; the elegant universe; the space-time continuum – you are not alone.

I know there is value in setting your mind to do something and doing it.  This is also probably one of the hardest things to do.  Once you set out on a path, don’t get distracted just because some side roads have flowers along the edges while yours seems to have nettles.  Your path will clear and be lined with flowers soon enough. 

I know that it is our parents that we are hardest on when we judge.  It is required to forgive friends; it is easy to forgive lovers; it is imperative to forgive those younger.  But, when reviewing our lives, harsh judgment often falls on parents because who else has known us all our lives?  Indeed, who else has been more pivotal – for better or worse - in our lives?  Color the lines of judgment that you draw with softer hues, and you will be better for it. 

Finally, I know that you shouldn’t drink orange juice after brushing your teeth; don’t mix whiskey and Mt. Dew (it’s really gross); pets are wonderful but expensive and often irritating, same goes for lovers; brunch is always a good idea; exercise in fresh air is better than a treadmill in a gym; buying flowers will always cheer you up; if you are very sad, get in water, it will help; when people die, you will keep corner for them forever; writing a journal is worth the time; and, you know, you just never know.  Heart open. Head up.

And all of these things are worth your consideration because I am more than twice your age; because I have endured some pains you will never know; and, because I have the distinct joy of being your mother.

With love, now and forever and always,

Your Mother

Always Never Enough Time

This month there has been a lot going on.  For everyone.  Students have been taking exams.  Teachers were writing said exams.  Now, teachers are grading or avoiding grading those same exams. Throughout the past twenty-one days there have also been gifts to buy; services to attend; errands to run; meals to plan; family members to greet; cards to send (if you haven’t gotten one from me, it is because I’m doing New Year’s cards this year); parties to enjoy; trees to trim.  If you do not celebrate Christmas, you may be preparing to enjoy New Year’s or other celebrations or attending to other parts of life that are equally busy.  In the midst of all of the yearly Decembraic hustle and bustle, a number of my students got college admissions decisions. 

That’s right – just as they were studying for and taking their first semester finals, students were getting the fat envelope or the skinny envelope.  (Of course, for most colleges, those envelopes are virtual now.)  And, these students had to calm down enough to study or overcome disappointment well enough to study. One of the disappointed students noted: “It seems like colleges could find a better time to do this.  I mean, they know we have finals, right?”

He’s right.  There has to be a better time to do a lot of things.  There’s a reason for the old saying, “It doesn’t rain, it pours.”  

When I was younger I tried to do holidays perfectly and beautifully and traditionally, despite the fact that I have been a teacher who always found herself as stressed as students during exam week.  The holidays were put on the back burner until that was over, and then I really stressed out.   Now, I ask the people with whom I will be celebrating what they want.  Most of the time, they do not ask for perfection or beauty or tradition.  They ask for breakfast muffins, mimosa, a relaxed day, a little food, and music.  They ask not to have to do “screaming fiasco cookies” – that’s what my children came to call sugar cookie decorating.  Yeah, I used to be wound pretty tightly, and the cause was the crammed calendar that I let rule all too often. 

Perhaps over the course of the year, or maybe just for a certain given year, I suspect many of us would rearrange some holidays or birthdays or events to better suit what we have coming up.   If I could, I would space out the birthdays in my family a bit differently.   In my immediate family we have twelve members.  I’d like everyone to have their birthday on, say, the 15^th of the month – one per month.  Nope, our family has clusters in August-October and then January-March.  And, yes, as I have noted before, my mother has always said that they are on the same day every year, and it’s just a matter of planning.  Sure.  But life doesn’t always seem that simple, does it? 

Because among those birthdays and holidays are: the laundry, cleaning out the garage, making lunches, going to the gym, and feeding the pets.  Not to mention getting into college, taking tests, buying houses, getting new jobs – all of that sort of thing. 

Here’s the thing, though: that’s all life.  That’s what life is made of.  So many of us seem to think that life is the presents or what will happen “when I just…”  No, life is what is happening right now.  A friend of mine used to have this near her Face Book profile picture:  “Quit looking at my picture and go live your life.” 

As we buy our new planners and calendars for 2014, and as we celebrate the holiday season, it is my hope that even though life is crowded and birthdays are clustered and colleges send admissions decisions at the worst times, we are all able to enjoy all of the hectic and the relaxed parts of these wonderful journeys around the sun.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Today is the second to last weekend before Christmas. I don’t want to go out.  Stores will be packed; roads will be jammed.  As we all know:  Christmas is a commercial holiday – at least in part.  And, time is at a premium during this season.  We need time to shop, to bake, to decorate, to buy presents, to wrap presents, to plan, to send cards, to cook, to entertain, to be entertained; if you are a student, you also need time to study and take exams.  If you are a teacher, you are writing and grading said exams.  To all of the seasonal madness, you must not forget the laundry, grocery shopping, pet care, bathroom cleaning – whew – what are you supposed to do?  Where is all this time supposed to come from?

Middle son didn’t mean to, but he reminded me in the past few weeks.

Right after Thanksgiving, we went on a college visit from Georgia to Pennsylvania.  A twelve hour trip if you don’t stop for a Coke or the toilet.  Three days: one up, one there, one back.  On the way back, I mentioned that I had some friends in Virginia.  Son looked at me and said, “Well?  Let’s stop and visit them.”  I hemmed and hawed – I didn’t want to intrude on them; it was two hours off our intended path; they might be busy; we needed to get home. The whole thing came to this:

            Son: “When did you last see them?”

            Me: “1990.”

            Son: “Well, it’s time, don’t you think?”

These friends did not only want to see us, but they prepared lunch for us.  We hugged, talked, shared stories, and youngest son even got a piano lesson with a professional musician.  It took a few extra miles and one hour to bridge 23 years. 

It often seems easier to just click “like” on Face Book or post a meme that says something like “Share this if you love your family and friends at Christmas.”  This is especially true if one is introverted and likes home more than out.  (That’s me.)  Son unwittingly reminded me that face-to-face is better than Face Book. 

Like others I know, I often leave things until the last minute. After missing a family birthday some years ago, my mom said to me, “You know, Laura, birthdays and Christmas…they are on the same days every year.  You could plan ahead.”  I try.  But, I leave things until the second to last minute.

When one is rushed, it is easy to go through the holiday parties and gift wrapping robotically.  When that happens, we can end up feeling empty, tired, and frustrated.  When we feel badly, we don’t enjoy the holidays as we would like.  We don’t take the detour to see our friends.  Instead, we find ourselves saying, “Well, let’s go so we can get this over with,” about our holiday gatherings. 

Often admist our holiday rushings we hear and heartily agree with reminders to slow down and enjoy the season.  But we don’t do it.  Too much to do – too little time.  But, what amount of time to bridge a friendship?  To connect with colleagues over Jenga and wine?  To have cookies and watch “Charlie Brown Christmas” with our kids?  To reconnect over sandwiches and music?  The best gifts are those we make ourselves.  Make some time.

‘Tis the season.

ax^2 + bx + c = 0

Everybody has an Achilles heel.  Everybody.  Even the most brilliant people I know – some of whom are former students – have an area where they just are not as confident.  Mine has always been math.

Over the years I have joked with my students about how I always do grades and all math on a calculator or computer.  It’s the truth.  When I have important statistical reports that I need to prepare, I do the math, and then I take it to our school’s calculus teacher, and ask him to check my numbers.  I am humble and he is kind, as well as generous with his time.  I do math when I cook - halving or doubling recipes.  I can balance my checkbook and proofread my paystub.  That’s about it, folks.  And, I have always covered up my math deficiency with jokes and extreme proficiency in other areas.

In considering pursuing a second master’s degree, I was going to apply only to a school that did not require any testing.  Then, as Murphy will tell you always happens, I found one that I really want to apply to that requires the GRE.  I signed up to take it on December 20, being relatively confident because I took this test 24 years ago and did well enough.  Friday afternoon I took a diagnostic test online.  Results:  95% in verbal; 0% in quantitative reasoning. 

I am not joking.

I texted the results to my eldest son.  His response:  “That’s bad.”  Same text to middle son: “No problem.  I’ll teach you.”  Same text to a friend who is in the middle of applying to med school: “Give me a book and two days, and I can teach you everything you need to know.”  Same text to my sister: “Are we even related?” 

Later that night after drinks with friends, I reflected upon this result and I became very sad.  The kind of sad that call forth tears whenever the topic flits across one’s mind.  Middle son asked me what was wrong, and I said (in typical middle school girl fashion):  “I’m stupid and it makes me sad.”  He responded (in typical now-I-will-be-the-parent-for-a-minute fashion): “You’re not stupid; you can relearn this math because you once knew most of it.” 

Rewind to 7^th and 8^th grade.  It always stuns people when I tell them I was in accelerated/honors math in junior high.  In fact, it still surprises me.  I remember the room – up and around the corner from home ec and woodshop.  I fondly remember the teacher:  Mr. Page.  Love that man.  I don’t remember what we learned.  I don’t remember how on earth I was in “smart” math – pretty sure some money changed hands on that one.  At any rate, I trundled along in math – getting As and Bs as best as I can remember.  I preferred humanities, but I could hold my own in math. 

Enter Mr. Anderson – if there is a teacher who should have never been allowed in a classroom, it is this man.  He was a very tall balding blond man who sat next to his overhead projector, drew angles and talked.  Geometry was not my friend.  Still, I went in after school.  I tried to get it.  I attempted the proofs.  Then the day came:  I was in his room, ostensibly getting help, and he became exasperated with me.  I was at the end of my rope trying to get whatever the concept was that was eluding me, and he was at the end of his trying to explain it to me.  As he packed his briefcase, getting ready to go coach basketball, this was the sentence that ended my math career:  “You know, you’ll never really get math because you’re a girl.” 

I should have been taken aback, horrified, enraged.  I should have reported this overt sexism and lack of professionalism to the principal or my parents.  I should have taken this statement as a personal affront-turned-challenge and excelled in every level of math, eventually becoming a world-renown rocket scientist or economist or mathematician.  I don’t know what – if anything – I said to him. What I do know is that from that moment until today, December 8, 2013, I gave up.  I did not report his comments to anyone; I did not take them as a challenge; I was not mad.  I had been given permission to give up, and so I did.  I have bachelor and masters degrees, and the last time I took a math class was my junior year in high school.

I have a student in Russian class this year who frequently says, "I'm not good at languages."  It's not true.  She is doing well, and she has the best of reasons to be in the class:  to one day talk with her birth mother. Motivation. I have a friend who is just out of college who defends her perceived weakness in English with such light-hearted phrases as, “I can’t write; I’m an engineer.”  This isn’t true, and I know because I taught her in Advanced Language and Composition in high school.  In fact she can write – it may not be her favorite thing to do.  She may feel she is stronger in other areas; she probably enjoys sciences and math more, but she can write. She just finished reams of med school essays.

The same is true of me.  I may have forgotten most algebra and never truly learned geometry, but I can learn some now.  I am motivated. I can do math. As we enter the holiday season, I hope you don’t have to take standardized tests, but I do hope that you are thinking about challenging yourself.  Sure, we all have areas that we accept are weaknesses and that’s that.  But, there are other areas where we might sit up and take notice.  We might think about learning or relearning something for our own edification.  In the end, wouldn’t that be a better way to spend time than watching cat videos or reading all of those internet lists? 

So, what are you going to learn?

Rocks and Ladybugs

It’s that most wonderful time of the year.  Give your change into the red kettle outside Kroger.  Donate a toy for a tot at the bank.  Collect shoeboxes for children.  The pleas from charities for support can overwhelm.  Many of us give back this time of year - willingly or begrudgingly - in addition to planning Christmas surprises for our loved ones. Retailers also encourage us to buy a gift for ourselves as we play Santa for others.  I think one of the most important gifts we can give ourselves actually involves getting rid of some things.

Stones.  Rocks.  Virginia Woolf put stones and rocks in the pockets of her coat and drowned herself in the River Ouse.  Virginia had her reasons, not the least of which was depression, for loading up her pockets.  Without committing immediate suicide, many of us do the same thing every day.

Life throws rocks at us.  They are in the form of annoyances:  you have to wait in line to buy milk; there is a school bus in front of you on the way to work.  They can be heavier:  the IRS might be auditing your business; you lose your job; your under-age child comes home drunk.  Or, these stones can be too heavy to lift alone:  death of a parent; cancer; foreclosure.  The question is:  what will we do with these rocks?

Recently, I have met several people who seem committed to hanging onto these rocks.  One woman believes that no one is encountering or had encountered anything worse than what is currently happening in her family. She takes every opportunity to recount her troubles – they never get change, much less get better.  Such a person fills her pockets each day and collects them on her nightstand.  Every morning, rock people pick up these weights, carry them around, and add to them throughout each day.  These people are bruised; they are angry; they are sad; they feel stuck; they complain continually.  When you are around these people, you must fight to keep them upright.  Their rock-weights are throwing them off- balance.  Mind you, these are perfectly lovely people, but they are opting to be weighed down – and this weight transforms how they live and communicate.  Eventually, their rock piles are so large, they can’t carry all of them around.  Still, every day they pick and choose rocks to carry around, and they add more each and every day.

Then, there are the ladybug people.  These people experience the same things that others do – large unfairnesses, little annoyances, life-threatening challenges.  Somehow, these people transform their circumstances and stumbles into ladybugs.  Many, many of these magical ladybugs fly away.  Some of the ladybugs hang around, and must be shooed away – often more than once.  Some ladybugs hang out for a lifetime.  The ladybugs that flit about the house or yard serve as reminders of the troubles, but they are acknowledged and then dismissed.

Let us not forget that ladybugs can a helpful insect in gardening.  In fact, ladybugs eat aphids, also called plant lice that are harmful to most plants.  If you can be a ladybug person, you can try to see the good or usefulness in even the toughest of circumstances.  I had a conversation over Thanksgiving with a former student who was involved in a medical crisis during which her body temperature approached 109 degrees.  In her own words, she nearly died.  We spent some time talking about the lasting effects of such an experience, as well as what can come out of such a situation.  We also talked about how to turn the negative effects of life into something meaningful.  She didn’t take her frightening experience as a stone to put in her pocket; she was turning it into a ladybug that could perhaps even eliminate other negatives from her life. 

This Christmas season, I think many of us might pause in our shopping and donating, and dispose of some rocks.  Donate the big ones to a rock recycling center.  Wave your magic wand and transform some of the smaller ones into ladybugs.  And, don’t collect any more rocks.  Charity begins at home – if we can give ourselves the gift of freedom, we might have a lighter holiday season – along with a few ladybugs decorating the tree.