Ham and Eggs. A day's work for a chicken. A lifetime committment for a pig.
yeah, so i'm not vegan or a vegatarian.
i just thought that joke was funny.
you see, i decided the world has become entirely too serious. so the change is going to start with me. and this joke. please enjoy it.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
the rug out from under
i've heard grief described many ways. i've also described grief in many ways of my own. but perhaps one of the most fitting is that of having the rug pulled out from under you.
in that, a loss can make you feel as if this has happened. or maybe even more descriptive is that of having the entire floor disappear. and you're trying desperately to find something to stand on. you're flailing and grasping, trying to make yourself cling on to the walls around you.
this vividly came home to me today as i returned from out of town where i attended a funeral. of someone who i truly cared about. and i'd more or less forgotten that i'd scheduled my carpets to be cleaned today. i mean, i hadn't totally forgotten. sunday morning before i left, i'd moved around furniture and stacked things up so as to make sure the most trafficked parts of the rugs were available. i'd had that much foresight. but then i kinda sorta forgot about it all as i got involved in the funeral and grief events.
i drove home here. and all i kept thinking on the way was how i just wanted to get home. get my bearings. steady myself before i went into work tonight. seeing the body, talking to the parents and talking to old friends and acquaintences was much more trying that i'd even antipated. the drive home was long. and i just wanted to come in and sit down.
but i couldn't. i turned the key to my apartment and i could smell the cleaner. and opening the door, i remembered, "oh yeah." and the rugs were still damp. furniture still stacked in the corners of the room. the kitchen floor and my bed piled high with stuff that is usually in familiar, calming, well-thought out places.
and so i'm disturbed. literally LITERALLY, the rug has been pulled out from under me. i want to put my suitcase away. i have to go to the bathroom. i remove my shoes so as to track the least amount of dirt in on the freshly cleaned carpet. i walk in straddled fashion down the hallway, so as not to hit the high traffic areas. i brace myself on walls. tipping unsteadily on my tiptoes. i can't get footing. nothing feels solid. nothing feels steady. nothing feels comforting.
so i take care of my business and i leave. i go out to get gas. i go out for a late lunch. i go to the library to pick up a book i have on hold. and i feel like a refugee.
so i come on home again. and i perform the same acrobatics to pick up my ipad and toddle out to the unaffected patio. where i sit writing this quickly before i head downtown to the center. where they'll ask me, "xxxxx, why are you so dressed up?" and i'll have to answer. and they'll express their sympathy.
and i'll lean on them. those who have no idea of my past life where i had the rug pulled out from under me too many times. i'll lean on them, simply, because they are there to lean on. and i'll go on with my work. probably still feeling a bit unmoored. but gradually, i'll be ok. and maybe when i get home, i can shove things back into their proper places.
the father told me today of the first time they met me. they (he and his wife) came in with stacks of information for their first IEP meeting. he said, he wondered how it would go, knowing his wife was on edge in this new territory of school. wondering how we'd take this big stack of demands, concerns, anxieties, questions that they had in their hearts and in their hands. feeling as if they were strangers in a strange land. that might be hostile. and he said, they produced their large stack of notes and asked, "how do we start?" and that i replied, "well, how about we start with this (indicating their notes of concern) and work from there?" he said, "no one, could have said anything better."
he said, he'd never forgotten it. how i made them feel anchored. and not alone.
and i guess i compare it a bit with having the rug pulled out from under you, like this. and i advise anyone who is trying to help, comfort, understand someone who is grieving- who may be anxious, not happy, worried, agitated, maybe even grouchy or angry etc. that all they really need from you is some certainty. some bearing. a solid floor beneath them. even if they can't express it to you, that's what they need. be the solid floor beneath them and help them stand. they are not grasping at you to be aggravating. they are not trying to demand more of you than you can give. they simply want some stability. some security. some reassurance. and that is all.
in that, a loss can make you feel as if this has happened. or maybe even more descriptive is that of having the entire floor disappear. and you're trying desperately to find something to stand on. you're flailing and grasping, trying to make yourself cling on to the walls around you.
this vividly came home to me today as i returned from out of town where i attended a funeral. of someone who i truly cared about. and i'd more or less forgotten that i'd scheduled my carpets to be cleaned today. i mean, i hadn't totally forgotten. sunday morning before i left, i'd moved around furniture and stacked things up so as to make sure the most trafficked parts of the rugs were available. i'd had that much foresight. but then i kinda sorta forgot about it all as i got involved in the funeral and grief events.
i drove home here. and all i kept thinking on the way was how i just wanted to get home. get my bearings. steady myself before i went into work tonight. seeing the body, talking to the parents and talking to old friends and acquaintences was much more trying that i'd even antipated. the drive home was long. and i just wanted to come in and sit down.
but i couldn't. i turned the key to my apartment and i could smell the cleaner. and opening the door, i remembered, "oh yeah." and the rugs were still damp. furniture still stacked in the corners of the room. the kitchen floor and my bed piled high with stuff that is usually in familiar, calming, well-thought out places.
and so i'm disturbed. literally LITERALLY, the rug has been pulled out from under me. i want to put my suitcase away. i have to go to the bathroom. i remove my shoes so as to track the least amount of dirt in on the freshly cleaned carpet. i walk in straddled fashion down the hallway, so as not to hit the high traffic areas. i brace myself on walls. tipping unsteadily on my tiptoes. i can't get footing. nothing feels solid. nothing feels steady. nothing feels comforting.
so i take care of my business and i leave. i go out to get gas. i go out for a late lunch. i go to the library to pick up a book i have on hold. and i feel like a refugee.
so i come on home again. and i perform the same acrobatics to pick up my ipad and toddle out to the unaffected patio. where i sit writing this quickly before i head downtown to the center. where they'll ask me, "xxxxx, why are you so dressed up?" and i'll have to answer. and they'll express their sympathy.
and i'll lean on them. those who have no idea of my past life where i had the rug pulled out from under me too many times. i'll lean on them, simply, because they are there to lean on. and i'll go on with my work. probably still feeling a bit unmoored. but gradually, i'll be ok. and maybe when i get home, i can shove things back into their proper places.
the father told me today of the first time they met me. they (he and his wife) came in with stacks of information for their first IEP meeting. he said, he wondered how it would go, knowing his wife was on edge in this new territory of school. wondering how we'd take this big stack of demands, concerns, anxieties, questions that they had in their hearts and in their hands. feeling as if they were strangers in a strange land. that might be hostile. and he said, they produced their large stack of notes and asked, "how do we start?" and that i replied, "well, how about we start with this (indicating their notes of concern) and work from there?" he said, "no one, could have said anything better."
he said, he'd never forgotten it. how i made them feel anchored. and not alone.
and i guess i compare it a bit with having the rug pulled out from under you, like this. and i advise anyone who is trying to help, comfort, understand someone who is grieving- who may be anxious, not happy, worried, agitated, maybe even grouchy or angry etc. that all they really need from you is some certainty. some bearing. a solid floor beneath them. even if they can't express it to you, that's what they need. be the solid floor beneath them and help them stand. they are not grasping at you to be aggravating. they are not trying to demand more of you than you can give. they simply want some stability. some security. some reassurance. and that is all.
Friday, August 15, 2014
wondering sadly
when someone i know dies- it steps up my desire to know exactly what happens to people when they die. and since a lot of the people i've known who have died have been children with severe physical disabilities, i've especially wanted to make sense of death. i just have a lot of trouble with children dying. it always feels like a slap in the face. at the very least. and well, i also had a lot of trouble with my x sister in law's death. because she left two small children. it broke my heart for them. but also, selfishly, i had no clue how much i'd miss her personally. she'd been such a support for me. that i didn't deserve.
oh but anyway. i think about what happens when you die a lot.
so my ex student died this morning. she was no longer a child. she was 29 years old. and although you're not supposed to have favorites, i did. and she was one of them. she was one of my favorites because often she was grumpy. i liked that about her. that she wasn't always pleased. not that she couldn't enjoy things and didn't. she did. she had things and people that made her happy. but she wasn't one to hide her displeasure if she was displeased. and well, i liked that honesty. and to me it showed a lot of awareness of the world around her, which a lot of people were not always convinced that she had. she was non-verbal. losing her speech to something called rett's syndrome. and it was frustrating because she also lost a lot of her motor skills, so finding a way to communicate with her was quite a trick. so people thought she'd lost her intellect as well. i stand not convinced of that at all.
because if you were quick, you could watch her eyes flash. and oh how they flashed. angry as all hell when she was angry. sparkling if she was happy. and if you were patient and you waited long enough, (and i'm talking like 5 full minutes or so) sometimes she could make a part of her body move to indicate something. rarely did anyone give her the time. except her family. they were awesome. and except some few educators she knew. but most wrote her off as being cognitively impaired.
anyway, of course it's very tempting to believe as her parents devoutly do, that she is now in heaven and that she is free from the limits of her body. me, i don't have that faith. it would be nice to see such a cool soul go to heaven, i think. but i don't know that i believe it.
on the other hand, often i'm quite afraid that people who die have supernatural powers of knowing how you really feel or how you mess up. i mean, i'm not very often a good person. it's not that i don't try sometimes, but even when i do try, i'm often intensely anxious and uncomfortable. a for instance, i'll work all day and smile and i'm patient with people. but inside, i'm thinking, "seriously, are you that stupid?" and i can't wait to get home, slack off and have a glass of wine. to this day, i'd rather drink a glass of wine and smoke a cigarette more than anything in this world. world peace or a cigarette and a glass of wine? i'm pretty sure i'd pick the latter. that's the kind of sick person i am. i'm critical, i'm judgmental, i'm lazy, i get frustrated. i'm sometimes less than honest. and i can hide all that from the living. but it creeps me out that possibly, i can't hide all that from the dead.
i can't hide that i'm selfish. that i'm not perfect. that i sometimes don't have a good heart. that i literally hate a few people in this world and if it were up to me, they'd die in a fiery crash and burn in a hell.
so i mentioned that this girl's parents were awesome. and they were. and kind. and smart as hell and they kept abreast of everything and anything that could help their daughter. possibly the best parents of any child i ever had. they also were very trying. i can remember often working all day coming home, dealing with home stuff all evening, finally getting around to preparing for the next day, when i'd get a phone call from the mother, telling me how upset they were about some teacher's actions or that something hadn't been done. and she'd want me to fix whatever was wrong. and i was exhausted. and i'd invariably say, "certainly, i'll take care of it." with lots of time either no idea of how to fix it or sick to my stomach about having to go confront the person involved the next day on top of the billion other things i had to do. and i'll admit it, i was often very angry inside at this mother. not that i should have been, but sometimes it was just all too much stuff being dumped on my plate.
and now, if the dead are omniscient, this x student of mine is going to know. how i was angry a lot of the time. and wow, i don't want her to know that. i don't want her to know that i'm not (and wasn't) all that.
so what do you think? do you think there is an afterlife? do you think the dead are omniscient? do you think that that there is nothing? do you wish there was nothing? do you wish there was something but that it's not like you're going to have to deal with all the people you knew in this life, but that you get a do-over of some kind?
oh anyway. what i really mean to say is that i'm rather sad tonight. this girl really was one of my very favorites. i don't really have anyone's shoulder to cry on. and so i'm selfishly sad for myself, when i should be thinking about her parents and siblings who are likely soul-sick right now. i'll try to pull it together before the viewing on sunday. and hide all my selfishness from all the living who don't read this blog.
oh but anyway. i think about what happens when you die a lot.
so my ex student died this morning. she was no longer a child. she was 29 years old. and although you're not supposed to have favorites, i did. and she was one of them. she was one of my favorites because often she was grumpy. i liked that about her. that she wasn't always pleased. not that she couldn't enjoy things and didn't. she did. she had things and people that made her happy. but she wasn't one to hide her displeasure if she was displeased. and well, i liked that honesty. and to me it showed a lot of awareness of the world around her, which a lot of people were not always convinced that she had. she was non-verbal. losing her speech to something called rett's syndrome. and it was frustrating because she also lost a lot of her motor skills, so finding a way to communicate with her was quite a trick. so people thought she'd lost her intellect as well. i stand not convinced of that at all.
because if you were quick, you could watch her eyes flash. and oh how they flashed. angry as all hell when she was angry. sparkling if she was happy. and if you were patient and you waited long enough, (and i'm talking like 5 full minutes or so) sometimes she could make a part of her body move to indicate something. rarely did anyone give her the time. except her family. they were awesome. and except some few educators she knew. but most wrote her off as being cognitively impaired.
anyway, of course it's very tempting to believe as her parents devoutly do, that she is now in heaven and that she is free from the limits of her body. me, i don't have that faith. it would be nice to see such a cool soul go to heaven, i think. but i don't know that i believe it.
on the other hand, often i'm quite afraid that people who die have supernatural powers of knowing how you really feel or how you mess up. i mean, i'm not very often a good person. it's not that i don't try sometimes, but even when i do try, i'm often intensely anxious and uncomfortable. a for instance, i'll work all day and smile and i'm patient with people. but inside, i'm thinking, "seriously, are you that stupid?" and i can't wait to get home, slack off and have a glass of wine. to this day, i'd rather drink a glass of wine and smoke a cigarette more than anything in this world. world peace or a cigarette and a glass of wine? i'm pretty sure i'd pick the latter. that's the kind of sick person i am. i'm critical, i'm judgmental, i'm lazy, i get frustrated. i'm sometimes less than honest. and i can hide all that from the living. but it creeps me out that possibly, i can't hide all that from the dead.
i can't hide that i'm selfish. that i'm not perfect. that i sometimes don't have a good heart. that i literally hate a few people in this world and if it were up to me, they'd die in a fiery crash and burn in a hell.
so i mentioned that this girl's parents were awesome. and they were. and kind. and smart as hell and they kept abreast of everything and anything that could help their daughter. possibly the best parents of any child i ever had. they also were very trying. i can remember often working all day coming home, dealing with home stuff all evening, finally getting around to preparing for the next day, when i'd get a phone call from the mother, telling me how upset they were about some teacher's actions or that something hadn't been done. and she'd want me to fix whatever was wrong. and i was exhausted. and i'd invariably say, "certainly, i'll take care of it." with lots of time either no idea of how to fix it or sick to my stomach about having to go confront the person involved the next day on top of the billion other things i had to do. and i'll admit it, i was often very angry inside at this mother. not that i should have been, but sometimes it was just all too much stuff being dumped on my plate.
and now, if the dead are omniscient, this x student of mine is going to know. how i was angry a lot of the time. and wow, i don't want her to know that. i don't want her to know that i'm not (and wasn't) all that.
so what do you think? do you think there is an afterlife? do you think the dead are omniscient? do you think that that there is nothing? do you wish there was nothing? do you wish there was something but that it's not like you're going to have to deal with all the people you knew in this life, but that you get a do-over of some kind?
oh anyway. what i really mean to say is that i'm rather sad tonight. this girl really was one of my very favorites. i don't really have anyone's shoulder to cry on. and so i'm selfishly sad for myself, when i should be thinking about her parents and siblings who are likely soul-sick right now. i'll try to pull it together before the viewing on sunday. and hide all my selfishness from all the living who don't read this blog.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
don't stand downwind
my favorite line of the day was, "You have deliberately and ambitiously made this country a worse place."
LOVED THIS. LOVED THIS. LOVED THIS!!!!!!!
BAM! The quote came from a column about the infamous school deformer, Michelle Rhee, leaving the education world (alone) for the miracle gro company. and i share the writer's sentiments of "don't let the xxxxing door hit you.."
i sincerely despise this woman. this charlatan. this fake. this phony. and please excuse me while i say, "this bitch."
and i'm sure she'll be very very happy where she's going because there they say things like, "“Michelle is an innovator, a change agent and has clearly helped shape the national dialogue in her field,” said Jim Hagedorn, chairman and chief executive officer. “We look forward to her bringing a unique perspective to our Board that will help shape our thinking and make Scotts a stronger and smarter company as we look to the future.”
an innovator. a change agent. shape the dialogue. unique perspective. shape our thinking. stronger and smarter. as we look to the future.
seriously, first of all, who writes this kinda crap? do they send all ceo's to "how to write meaningless tripe" school? and second. oh my gosh. how the hell does this piece of shit woman (and other's like her) keep getting jobs?
all i can tell you is that i will never buy another miracle gro product as long as i live now. and if you didn't before, you definitely don't want to stand downwind of this company now.
LOVED THIS. LOVED THIS. LOVED THIS!!!!!!!
BAM! The quote came from a column about the infamous school deformer, Michelle Rhee, leaving the education world (alone) for the miracle gro company. and i share the writer's sentiments of "don't let the xxxxing door hit you.."
i sincerely despise this woman. this charlatan. this fake. this phony. and please excuse me while i say, "this bitch."
and i'm sure she'll be very very happy where she's going because there they say things like, "“Michelle is an innovator, a change agent and has clearly helped shape the national dialogue in her field,” said Jim Hagedorn, chairman and chief executive officer. “We look forward to her bringing a unique perspective to our Board that will help shape our thinking and make Scotts a stronger and smarter company as we look to the future.”
an innovator. a change agent. shape the dialogue. unique perspective. shape our thinking. stronger and smarter. as we look to the future.
seriously, first of all, who writes this kinda crap? do they send all ceo's to "how to write meaningless tripe" school? and second. oh my gosh. how the hell does this piece of shit woman (and other's like her) keep getting jobs?
all i can tell you is that i will never buy another miracle gro product as long as i live now. and if you didn't before, you definitely don't want to stand downwind of this company now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
