My meeting began with me being informed that I was the teacher with a day off on Tuesday, and thus was not required to hand in a rough lesson plan tomorrow morning. Hot damn for no homework. Time for unheard of activities such as "socializing" "calling parents" and such strange events as "relaxing."
But that's not even the greatest thing that happened today. What made my day was mail. I have to admit that the possibility of not talking to Dave for 5 weeks was a little depressing, and I wasn't all that psyched about it. Saying goodbye in Miami was hard, and although I'm busy here it doesn't mean that I just forget about him.
It sounds a little ridiculous when I explain things to people who don't know me very well, to smile sheepishly when I talk about my signifiant other, but it's a big leap for me to feel comfortable with that. For someone who didn't believe that love existed outside of literature for about twenty years, admitting (or embracing) the fact that I'm in love with my boyfriend is quite a remarkable achievement. It's not that this is a particularly recent development, but it's not one that I have felt comfortable saying in public. To use some of Cathy's best euphemisms, he's "someone special in my life" or someone I'm "pretty serious" about, and today's mail reminded me of just how great he can be. Not to be that girl and gush all over about her relationship, I feel the need to express how cool this was. I irritatingly found myself a little watery-eyed reading part of the note in the box which included
1. a NYC MetroCard, with four rides to get me around the city safely
2. Valrhona chocolate, in three different versions of amarga
40%, 56%, and my favorite, Le Nori Amer 71% cacao.
accompanying this chocolatey treat were these words [yes, I'm aware this is violating Dave's privacy in sharing...but I don't think he'll mind too much, and I just have to share]:
Here is some chocolate for you. I got chocolate with three different amounts of Cacao. My initial motivation was so (sic) show off my new found knowledge of "amarga" from reading you (sic) blog and make some witty comment regarding moods and chocolate. But no wit ame readily to mind, and it seemed unwise to suggest matching moods with chocolate. I now hope that since you are a multi-faceted and multi-talented person that you will most enjoy a diversity of chocolate.
How fantastic does that make me feel? I'll tell you: fantastic. Life is good, people; no matter how little sleep I get, life is good.
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Meta-Institute
My brain is positively twisted in knots, and my subconscious doesn't know if it's supposed to be thinking what it's thinking, or it's just thinking it on its own. We spend all our days in classes about classes, reading lesson plans about making lesson plans, listening to lectures about lectures, and participating in group discussions about group discussions.
I see all of our instructors modeling (the catch phrase of TFA) the proper behavior of a teacher while they're teaching it, and I have lost the ability to differentiate between how they would genuinely instruct and how they're trying to convince us to instruct. It's mind-boggling, I tell you. The power of group mentality and persuasive speech is frighteningly powerful, and my awareness of the 1984-esque quality of the Opening Ceremonies jars uncomfortably with my genuine (?) excitement and enthusiasm which resulted from the presentations. Just because you're aware of the structures in place which are acting on you does NOT mean that they lose their effect. It's weird. Weird.
All this instruction about internalization pushes my contemplation one step further; what have I internalized in the past two weeks? Will I be able to notice it if I've already internalized it? Who has the right and power to do these things? What if teachers used their power for evil? All valid questions. It's like we're training super-heroes and mad scientists, with a little bit of the Wizard of Oz. Wizards who have to speak in a firm but kind tone.
So confusing.
That said, today was a Good Day, capital letters included. Although there were attention span dips and swings, the absolute low coming when I could see two CMA's (Corps Member Advisors) wavering in front of two identical posters, 6 tables, and bobbing heads during our CMC sesssion (Classroom Management and Culture...TFA likes acronyms, did you notice? An acronym (TFA) to describe another set of acronyms (CMC, CMA); the meta just doesn't end!), classes actually began to be relevant, and I didn't want to die 45 min into our 90 minute class.
Then, in a moment of random affirmation, my CMA handed me a post-it note as we boarded the school bus to go back to the dorms, both modeling the random positive reinforcement and encouraging intrinsic learning desire also advocated by the TFA doctrine. I must admit that at first I didn't quite clue in to the fact that he might just be practicing the "raise your students' self-esteem" lesson objective, but dammit, why can't I have done a good job too? These whole multi-layered, textured motives are so confusing, they make me apprehensive.
More meetings! more meetings, and my good day didn't stop after that, so I'll be back after a reunion with the Miami peeps. Oh, how I miss them so.
I see all of our instructors modeling (the catch phrase of TFA) the proper behavior of a teacher while they're teaching it, and I have lost the ability to differentiate between how they would genuinely instruct and how they're trying to convince us to instruct. It's mind-boggling, I tell you. The power of group mentality and persuasive speech is frighteningly powerful, and my awareness of the 1984-esque quality of the Opening Ceremonies jars uncomfortably with my genuine (?) excitement and enthusiasm which resulted from the presentations. Just because you're aware of the structures in place which are acting on you does NOT mean that they lose their effect. It's weird. Weird.
All this instruction about internalization pushes my contemplation one step further; what have I internalized in the past two weeks? Will I be able to notice it if I've already internalized it? Who has the right and power to do these things? What if teachers used their power for evil? All valid questions. It's like we're training super-heroes and mad scientists, with a little bit of the Wizard of Oz. Wizards who have to speak in a firm but kind tone.
So confusing.
That said, today was a Good Day, capital letters included. Although there were attention span dips and swings, the absolute low coming when I could see two CMA's (Corps Member Advisors) wavering in front of two identical posters, 6 tables, and bobbing heads during our CMC sesssion (Classroom Management and Culture...TFA likes acronyms, did you notice? An acronym (TFA) to describe another set of acronyms (CMC, CMA); the meta just doesn't end!), classes actually began to be relevant, and I didn't want to die 45 min into our 90 minute class.
Then, in a moment of random affirmation, my CMA handed me a post-it note as we boarded the school bus to go back to the dorms, both modeling the random positive reinforcement and encouraging intrinsic learning desire also advocated by the TFA doctrine. I must admit that at first I didn't quite clue in to the fact that he might just be practicing the "raise your students' self-esteem" lesson objective, but dammit, why can't I have done a good job too? These whole multi-layered, textured motives are so confusing, they make me apprehensive.
More meetings! more meetings, and my good day didn't stop after that, so I'll be back after a reunion with the Miami peeps. Oh, how I miss them so.
Monday, June 28, 2004
Let the madness begin?
I'm sitting here at my own computer, hooked up to a cable line again (thank GOD; I'm so internet dependent it's not even funny), a beach towel wrapped around my legs, but I'm not in Miami any more. Yes, the 62 members of the 2004 corps have migrated North this summer, as avian species do, although I doubt that the Bronx is the destination for many migratory birds. We're camped out at Fordham University in frigidly air-conditioned dorms, so the beach towel at my waist is doubling as a warmth providing garment in the absence of sweat pants. Who thought it would be cold where I would be this summer? Clearly I underestimated the ability of Teach for America to refrigerate my living and working environments. I need some sweaters.
In the meantime, I'll wake up multiple times during the night due to an indistinct mix of anxiety and chilliness, and stare incredulously out my window at the faint predawn light that I saw at 5:00 this morning. Fifteen minutes more of sleep, I swear, that's all. Speaking of which, I should be hitting the proverbial sack pretty soon, but I feel the need to at least post something, because I've been so out of touch, and today has been intense. A quick shout-out to Rachael and Kaitlyn, as well as Alex...I'm not neglecting you, I just haven't had any reasonable hours to make phone calls lately.
John F Kennedy High School, 5,000 students, 8 floors, 40 English teachers, 6 assistant principles, and 70+ brand spankin' new TFA teachers this summer. If i think the word "inspiring" to myself one more time in the next 6 hours, I'm going to shoot myself, for serious. Yet, despite my inner protestations, I have to admit that it was pretty empowering to FINALLY talk about concrete lessons, what these kids have to know at the end of the summer to pass their Regents exams, and why we're actually here in New York for the summer.
With all the stupid evaluations, personal reflections, and pedagogical theory that we've gotten thrown at us, not to mention a healthy dose of "be humble" alongside "you're the best and the brightest" (just to make things consistent...you know), it's alarmingly easy to forget why we all decided to join "the Movement," (capital M required) as it's known, and withdraw into a self-suffering little ball of ego and defensive id. It's about helping students learn, about being an effective force in the classroom for others, and remembering the communities that we SERVE, not bitching about what's going on in our lives, what's happening to us, and all of that shit.
Note to self: re-read all of this in about 9 days' time, when you've been getting up at 5:00 all week to ride in delayed yellow busses so that you can stand around in heels for 10 hours straight.
But anyway, we had this *amazing* opening ceremony tonight, chock full of the inspirational (shit, there I go again) propaganda that still gets to me despite my more cynical views on indoctrination, stories about real teachers, real schools, and real people that CAN achieve "significant gains" in the classroom. The founder of TFA (a Princeton grad that wrote the mission statement as her senior thesis, how fucking cool is that!??! Seeing your work actually make it into public policy? Almost makes me want to go to law school. Okay, just kidding.), some alums, and a few current corps members had really amazing things to say about trust, the role of teachers in society AND in education, and all sorts of warm fuzzy "oh, it's hard as hell but the job will love you back" kinds of anecdotes that are hard to ignore. Even hearing clearly ex post facto Journal Entry presentations from East coast urban teachers got to me, and the closing line " [insert student name here] is why I teach for America" that every story recited didn't sound cheesy, it sounded sincere. What am I coming to when I can't tell the difference between literary devices and my own emotional reaction? Sad, you are so sad in your lack of detachment, Thea.
Sigh, alas, accept your near-conversion and get on with it. 4.8 weeks left, and you can do it. Just got to get some sleep in there somewhere...
In the meantime, I'll wake up multiple times during the night due to an indistinct mix of anxiety and chilliness, and stare incredulously out my window at the faint predawn light that I saw at 5:00 this morning. Fifteen minutes more of sleep, I swear, that's all. Speaking of which, I should be hitting the proverbial sack pretty soon, but I feel the need to at least post something, because I've been so out of touch, and today has been intense. A quick shout-out to Rachael and Kaitlyn, as well as Alex...I'm not neglecting you, I just haven't had any reasonable hours to make phone calls lately.
John F Kennedy High School, 5,000 students, 8 floors, 40 English teachers, 6 assistant principles, and 70+ brand spankin' new TFA teachers this summer. If i think the word "inspiring" to myself one more time in the next 6 hours, I'm going to shoot myself, for serious. Yet, despite my inner protestations, I have to admit that it was pretty empowering to FINALLY talk about concrete lessons, what these kids have to know at the end of the summer to pass their Regents exams, and why we're actually here in New York for the summer.
With all the stupid evaluations, personal reflections, and pedagogical theory that we've gotten thrown at us, not to mention a healthy dose of "be humble" alongside "you're the best and the brightest" (just to make things consistent...you know), it's alarmingly easy to forget why we all decided to join "the Movement," (capital M required) as it's known, and withdraw into a self-suffering little ball of ego and defensive id. It's about helping students learn, about being an effective force in the classroom for others, and remembering the communities that we SERVE, not bitching about what's going on in our lives, what's happening to us, and all of that shit.
Note to self: re-read all of this in about 9 days' time, when you've been getting up at 5:00 all week to ride in delayed yellow busses so that you can stand around in heels for 10 hours straight.
But anyway, we had this *amazing* opening ceremony tonight, chock full of the inspirational (shit, there I go again) propaganda that still gets to me despite my more cynical views on indoctrination, stories about real teachers, real schools, and real people that CAN achieve "significant gains" in the classroom. The founder of TFA (a Princeton grad that wrote the mission statement as her senior thesis, how fucking cool is that!??! Seeing your work actually make it into public policy? Almost makes me want to go to law school. Okay, just kidding.), some alums, and a few current corps members had really amazing things to say about trust, the role of teachers in society AND in education, and all sorts of warm fuzzy "oh, it's hard as hell but the job will love you back" kinds of anecdotes that are hard to ignore. Even hearing clearly ex post facto Journal Entry presentations from East coast urban teachers got to me, and the closing line " [insert student name here] is why I teach for America" that every story recited didn't sound cheesy, it sounded sincere. What am I coming to when I can't tell the difference between literary devices and my own emotional reaction? Sad, you are so sad in your lack of detachment, Thea.
Sigh, alas, accept your near-conversion and get on with it. 4.8 weeks left, and you can do it. Just got to get some sleep in there somewhere...
Thursday, June 17, 2004
MIAMI?
Okay, so it took me three days, but I'm here, getting gauged for internet access ($9.95 for 24 hours?!!?) at the Radisson, downtown Miami. I felt a little embarassed giving the keys to my flaming van to the valet parkers, but hey, the guy who took my car asked me all sorts of technical questions about the paint job and told me it was "a great work of art" so that made it okay.
Spent my first night in Savannah, GA at a Travelodge on I-95, bummed around the city for a while, stopped in St. Augustine, FL and took highway A1A all the way south to Cocoa, while Mandi serenaded me with the lyrics to the new Patty song about Florida. Yay for coastal highways, Waffle Houses in the mornings, animal crackers, and overzealous cops. Yes, officer, i WAS wearing my seatbelt. Thanks.
Cocoa was lovely, bought presents at Ron Jons, of course, and then I powered through to Miami (said with prerequisite spanish accent, claro), leaving A1A after Vero Beach, 'cause I was running behind schedule.
Tonight, I met the other 60 TFA Miami members (only 5 guys, hahahahah, sucks for them) and have settled in with my roommates, all of whom were in Seville during the spring either '02 or '03. How great is that? Fantastic. Anyway, I've got to get off the internet, and get some shit done. Like find out how to get fingerprinted.
Spent my first night in Savannah, GA at a Travelodge on I-95, bummed around the city for a while, stopped in St. Augustine, FL and took highway A1A all the way south to Cocoa, while Mandi serenaded me with the lyrics to the new Patty song about Florida. Yay for coastal highways, Waffle Houses in the mornings, animal crackers, and overzealous cops. Yes, officer, i WAS wearing my seatbelt. Thanks.
Cocoa was lovely, bought presents at Ron Jons, of course, and then I powered through to Miami (said with prerequisite spanish accent, claro), leaving A1A after Vero Beach, 'cause I was running behind schedule.
Tonight, I met the other 60 TFA Miami members (only 5 guys, hahahahah, sucks for them) and have settled in with my roommates, all of whom were in Seville during the spring either '02 or '03. How great is that? Fantastic. Anyway, I've got to get off the internet, and get some shit done. Like find out how to get fingerprinted.
Sunday, June 13, 2004
Holy Shit
Goddamnit. I just wrote like a 3 page post and then accidentally erased it. Grr. So what I was going to say was...
On Thursday night, just as I was about to creep off into dream land, I had a bit of a panic attack. When I came home from Haverford, I could still measure my time at home in weeks, but a new unit of time was in order then. Thursday was just five short days away from Tuesday, my date of departure. There were (read: are) so many things still undone, and suddenly it felt as though I should be doing all of them right now. Of course, that was pre-doctors visits, pre-shopping, pre-marathon car work session.
I'm still a little worried about the time crunch, now that my units have shrunk to hours instead of days, but I feel a little more together now than I did that night. Getting things done which seem distasteful is one of my major failings (see: summer assigned reading, packing), and one of these days it's going to get me into trouble, meaning more trouble than I've already gotten into. I know that there are corps members who are going to be better prepared for this whirlwind introduction to teaching, for the move, and for life on their own, but I'd like to think that I'm not going to be the worst prepared. I mean there have got to be some other flaky ones out there that slipped throught the interview process like I did. I swear, it makes me endearing. Shut up, it does.
The past few days I have just been so scatterbrained, I mean more than usual. There doesn't seem to be any way of alleviating my affliction, other than to get up and go, get out there and start my life. Yikes, start my new life. I'm going out on my own, moving out of the house for real. Tonight, before dinner my mom mentioned in a roundabout way that they were going to miss having me around the house. I thought to myself "shit, I really am moving out." Way to go, Thea, brilliant recognition of the completely obvious. Seriously, though, this is different than the past four times I've "moved out" up North. I'm headed South this time, uncharted territory for an only grudgingly Southern girl.
At least the van seems ready for the trip. Took out the back seat today, and after I finished the flames on the roof, I started packing. Van, by the way, is hot. It is very difficult to describe properly how a freshly chromed bumper makes me feel, even if it is faux chrome. Hot. Also hot is my new suit: white with pinstripes, helloooo Miami. Not quite so hot is all the shit I've still got left to do, the rapidly diminishing space in the back of the car, and Rachael's tales of her roommate (working in finance, duh, were else would Harvard grads go?), already set up in her South Beach swanky apartment. Hey, we can't all be Armenian corporate royalty, can we? No, we can't.
Leaving the house with furniture that I've had my entire life feels like I'm stealing from my parents. I have an old wooden chest which I believe used to be red, as part of my non-gender-specific first decorating scheme, a product of egalitarian hippie parents: Red Yellow, Blue, Green. No pink to be found...maybe that's why I'm so weird. Anyway, theh trunk went pastel, like so many things did, when I was allowed to redecorate in the late 1980's. It might have been magenta in middle school, and the color which currently graces its outer facade is a lovely warm purple which matches some of my current walls. The box used to be my stash of old art supplies, but tonight I kicked out the half-used sketch books and watercolors so that more practical things like clothes and shoes could come to Miami with me. If you open the lid, you can see drips from every single repainting, and there's one or two sides that are still the original wood, where I got tired of painting purple. Outside, it's a slightly dented purple all over; it's hard to tell that it used to be all those different colors. If I were more prone to prophetic omens, I'd assign some sort of similitude to the chest and myself, but I'm not feeling quite that metaphoric yet.
I filled the chest, and as I was dragging it down the hall I noticed that I couldn't carry it by myself. When I get to Miami, I'm going to have to ask someone to help me move it in to my room. Dad gave me a hand getting it in to the car tonight, but he's not going to be there next time. Sometimes I feel very alone in this: I don't know anyone else in TFA either in my region or who's going to be at the institute, but I'm sure that will go away once I get there. I need to not be so stubborn about doing things on my own; sometimes I need to know when to ask for help, it's so hard for me to admit that I can't do things alone. Hopefully I'll find a roommate before I have to move my chest again.
While a sense of independence and solitude have settled in some parts of me, there is also a part of me which is very much not alone. That "not-aloneness" is something new that takes a little getting used to, but I must say it's nice to expect a phone call almost every night. The only down side is that it makes me a little lax on my long-distance friend communication, and I haven't talked to my sister in a shamefully long time. At dinner last week (god, was it only last week?), we toasted "to next year" and I really do think I'm looking forward to it. I'm so hesitant to make long-range plans, but I guess it's contagious. Maybe that's the scariest thing of all. Probably not.
As I drove home from the movie tonight ("Saved" so funny, so sarcastic), thinking about my relationship, I got to pondering relationships in general. It's been quite the topic of discussion in my Va Beach circle, with Mandi and Rachael both separating from significant others this summer, and the theme of power in said relationships is also on everyone's mind. I hadn't thought about power balances too much, maybe it was Mandi's feminist shirt that stuck the idea in my head. For whatever reason, whilst musing on the changes of "power" in my own fledgling relationship, I had an idea: maybe good relationships shouldn't be about power. It's fine to spend the beginning worrying about who's in control, who likes whom more, and all that shit, but I feel as though the healthy relationships that I've seen last are less about power and more about partnership. I think that's a nice little slogan: "Partnership, Not Power." I'm going to keep that in the back of my mind for a while, and feel smug about having thought it. Isn't that nice? Yes.
I feel much better having finally committed some of these thoughts to writing. When they're floating and swirling about in my head, it's so confusing, and not productive. Even though I've clearly wasted over an hour now that it's done, I need to remember (what is this, like personal reminder #8?) that peace of mind and sanity are not something to downplay or ignore. I haven't been writing in my journal lately, life has been so crazy. It would do me good to sit down for a while and just write it down, get it out of my head and move on. But alas, that's another project for another day. Do I ever finish anything? Sigh. [sheepish smile?]
On Thursday night, just as I was about to creep off into dream land, I had a bit of a panic attack. When I came home from Haverford, I could still measure my time at home in weeks, but a new unit of time was in order then. Thursday was just five short days away from Tuesday, my date of departure. There were (read: are) so many things still undone, and suddenly it felt as though I should be doing all of them right now. Of course, that was pre-doctors visits, pre-shopping, pre-marathon car work session.
I'm still a little worried about the time crunch, now that my units have shrunk to hours instead of days, but I feel a little more together now than I did that night. Getting things done which seem distasteful is one of my major failings (see: summer assigned reading, packing), and one of these days it's going to get me into trouble, meaning more trouble than I've already gotten into. I know that there are corps members who are going to be better prepared for this whirlwind introduction to teaching, for the move, and for life on their own, but I'd like to think that I'm not going to be the worst prepared. I mean there have got to be some other flaky ones out there that slipped throught the interview process like I did. I swear, it makes me endearing. Shut up, it does.
The past few days I have just been so scatterbrained, I mean more than usual. There doesn't seem to be any way of alleviating my affliction, other than to get up and go, get out there and start my life. Yikes, start my new life. I'm going out on my own, moving out of the house for real. Tonight, before dinner my mom mentioned in a roundabout way that they were going to miss having me around the house. I thought to myself "shit, I really am moving out." Way to go, Thea, brilliant recognition of the completely obvious. Seriously, though, this is different than the past four times I've "moved out" up North. I'm headed South this time, uncharted territory for an only grudgingly Southern girl.
At least the van seems ready for the trip. Took out the back seat today, and after I finished the flames on the roof, I started packing. Van, by the way, is hot. It is very difficult to describe properly how a freshly chromed bumper makes me feel, even if it is faux chrome. Hot. Also hot is my new suit: white with pinstripes, helloooo Miami. Not quite so hot is all the shit I've still got left to do, the rapidly diminishing space in the back of the car, and Rachael's tales of her roommate (working in finance, duh, were else would Harvard grads go?), already set up in her South Beach swanky apartment. Hey, we can't all be Armenian corporate royalty, can we? No, we can't.
Leaving the house with furniture that I've had my entire life feels like I'm stealing from my parents. I have an old wooden chest which I believe used to be red, as part of my non-gender-specific first decorating scheme, a product of egalitarian hippie parents: Red Yellow, Blue, Green. No pink to be found...maybe that's why I'm so weird. Anyway, theh trunk went pastel, like so many things did, when I was allowed to redecorate in the late 1980's. It might have been magenta in middle school, and the color which currently graces its outer facade is a lovely warm purple which matches some of my current walls. The box used to be my stash of old art supplies, but tonight I kicked out the half-used sketch books and watercolors so that more practical things like clothes and shoes could come to Miami with me. If you open the lid, you can see drips from every single repainting, and there's one or two sides that are still the original wood, where I got tired of painting purple. Outside, it's a slightly dented purple all over; it's hard to tell that it used to be all those different colors. If I were more prone to prophetic omens, I'd assign some sort of similitude to the chest and myself, but I'm not feeling quite that metaphoric yet.
I filled the chest, and as I was dragging it down the hall I noticed that I couldn't carry it by myself. When I get to Miami, I'm going to have to ask someone to help me move it in to my room. Dad gave me a hand getting it in to the car tonight, but he's not going to be there next time. Sometimes I feel very alone in this: I don't know anyone else in TFA either in my region or who's going to be at the institute, but I'm sure that will go away once I get there. I need to not be so stubborn about doing things on my own; sometimes I need to know when to ask for help, it's so hard for me to admit that I can't do things alone. Hopefully I'll find a roommate before I have to move my chest again.
While a sense of independence and solitude have settled in some parts of me, there is also a part of me which is very much not alone. That "not-aloneness" is something new that takes a little getting used to, but I must say it's nice to expect a phone call almost every night. The only down side is that it makes me a little lax on my long-distance friend communication, and I haven't talked to my sister in a shamefully long time. At dinner last week (god, was it only last week?), we toasted "to next year" and I really do think I'm looking forward to it. I'm so hesitant to make long-range plans, but I guess it's contagious. Maybe that's the scariest thing of all. Probably not.
As I drove home from the movie tonight ("Saved" so funny, so sarcastic), thinking about my relationship, I got to pondering relationships in general. It's been quite the topic of discussion in my Va Beach circle, with Mandi and Rachael both separating from significant others this summer, and the theme of power in said relationships is also on everyone's mind. I hadn't thought about power balances too much, maybe it was Mandi's feminist shirt that stuck the idea in my head. For whatever reason, whilst musing on the changes of "power" in my own fledgling relationship, I had an idea: maybe good relationships shouldn't be about power. It's fine to spend the beginning worrying about who's in control, who likes whom more, and all that shit, but I feel as though the healthy relationships that I've seen last are less about power and more about partnership. I think that's a nice little slogan: "Partnership, Not Power." I'm going to keep that in the back of my mind for a while, and feel smug about having thought it. Isn't that nice? Yes.
I feel much better having finally committed some of these thoughts to writing. When they're floating and swirling about in my head, it's so confusing, and not productive. Even though I've clearly wasted over an hour now that it's done, I need to remember (what is this, like personal reminder #8?) that peace of mind and sanity are not something to downplay or ignore. I haven't been writing in my journal lately, life has been so crazy. It would do me good to sit down for a while and just write it down, get it out of my head and move on. But alas, that's another project for another day. Do I ever finish anything? Sigh. [sheepish smile?]
Thursday, June 10, 2004
A New Wardrobe
One of my summer projects, in preparation of the career transition that is speeding into my future, has been the quest for teacher clothes. I need a professional wardrobe which does not include, as Dave likes to call them "bright tight tank tops," a staple of my warm weather fashions. At first the task seemed onerous: expensive, time consuming, and furhtermore frustrating, because I'd be looking for the dreaded conservative clothing.
At first, I went alone. This winter, purchasing the Power Suit with Mandi was indeed fun, but I knew that shopping for teacher clothing was a serious task, and nobody really wants to look in JC Penney for knee length skirts, now do they? No, I thought not. I got on a roll at the mall one day a few weeks ago with some good purchases and then took a break until I came up to Philly to stay at Haverford for a while.
During our two weeks of bonding, the shopping issue came up with my significant other; it was brought to my attention that we've never been shopping together. I figured it was cruel and unusual to drag a guy along to department stores, even [gasp] shoe stores, and the ultimate indignity: the makeup counter. To my genuine surprise, when I mentioned that I might like to go down to Suburban Square to scout out the bargains over Memorial Day weekend, I found myself with an enthusiastic partner willing to give the male perspective on "teacher clothes." We actually had fun that day, and while I ended up with a watch (and belt, both practical purchases but not exactly clothing) instead of a suit, the day was a success.
I don't usually shop with other people, but sometimes it's fun. I've learned to respect my dress, skirt, and pants size and not get so angry at the fact that I'm never going to be a 0 or 1 again. Those were much less happy times for me. I also started to realize that maybe it was time for new clothes, that I'm moving away and starting again, and perhaps a change in feathers is in order. I'm learning how to get clothes that fit my personality, still look nice without being trashy or inappropriate in the classroom, in short, more grown up.
These days I seem to feel either very adult and independent, while preoccupied with things like health insurance, student loans, and buying luggage, or alternately young and vulnerable. Those days, like today, I just want to lay down on a beach and let sweat run out all of my pores. I want my only worry to be the sand fleas, and my only unknown to be the jellyfish in the dark blue water. It's scary to have to think about real-life issues, to talk with my family about what's going on in our lives, and to hear about my Dad being sick. I realized that being a caretaker in the household is a huge resonsibility: having dinner on the table, the house cleaned and functioning really doesn't leave a whole lot of time for screwing around and being unproductive. Maybe that's why I felt so tired when I got home.
But I also realized that even on those "regressive" days when I don't want to assume responsibility for an adult life, I'm not the same Thea that moved to Pennsylvania four years ago; I'm not even the same Thea that came back from Spain a year ago. Today at the beach with MandiTVS (the newest acquisition to my world of AIM), after swimming, sunning, chatting, walking, and drying out I mentioned on the car ride home that the beach doesn't make me bitter any more. It's a place where I feel comfortable and happy, not somewhere populated entirely by "those girls" from my past, a site of insecurity and inferiority. I can go to lay in the sand during the summer and not feel like I'm betraying my social values. There are quite a few things that don't make me bitter anymore, so much so that at times I think a change in nomikers for my blog might be in order, but perhaps I need a reminder that things weren't always so lovely.
I've had a wonderful two weeks. Back in the hot shop again, and I found that I actually kind of knew what was going on; I understood the advice that Chris was giving me, and (again) surprisingly, I look kind of hard core in the pictures that Dave took of me in the studio. I'm making functional things that I designed, which is pretty fucking cool as far as I'm concerned, and I can't wait to find a place to work in Miami. I don't have all the right clothes to be comfortable yet protected from the heat in the studio, but I haven't really developed my glassblowing wardrobe yet. Who knows, maybe that will be my next project. I've got all sorts of looks to try out in the next few years, and while the teaching wardrobe might be the immediate one for the future, I don't know if it's the one that I'm going to be wearing for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, I'm going to forget about immunizations, oil leaks, and high gas prices for another evening, make some pizza at the Warrens, and watch Lindsey Lohan host the MTV movie awards. How's that for an adolescent end to an irresponsible day? Now, if I could only find an outfit that matches the *car*.....
At first, I went alone. This winter, purchasing the Power Suit with Mandi was indeed fun, but I knew that shopping for teacher clothing was a serious task, and nobody really wants to look in JC Penney for knee length skirts, now do they? No, I thought not. I got on a roll at the mall one day a few weeks ago with some good purchases and then took a break until I came up to Philly to stay at Haverford for a while.
During our two weeks of bonding, the shopping issue came up with my significant other; it was brought to my attention that we've never been shopping together. I figured it was cruel and unusual to drag a guy along to department stores, even [gasp] shoe stores, and the ultimate indignity: the makeup counter. To my genuine surprise, when I mentioned that I might like to go down to Suburban Square to scout out the bargains over Memorial Day weekend, I found myself with an enthusiastic partner willing to give the male perspective on "teacher clothes." We actually had fun that day, and while I ended up with a watch (and belt, both practical purchases but not exactly clothing) instead of a suit, the day was a success.
I don't usually shop with other people, but sometimes it's fun. I've learned to respect my dress, skirt, and pants size and not get so angry at the fact that I'm never going to be a 0 or 1 again. Those were much less happy times for me. I also started to realize that maybe it was time for new clothes, that I'm moving away and starting again, and perhaps a change in feathers is in order. I'm learning how to get clothes that fit my personality, still look nice without being trashy or inappropriate in the classroom, in short, more grown up.
These days I seem to feel either very adult and independent, while preoccupied with things like health insurance, student loans, and buying luggage, or alternately young and vulnerable. Those days, like today, I just want to lay down on a beach and let sweat run out all of my pores. I want my only worry to be the sand fleas, and my only unknown to be the jellyfish in the dark blue water. It's scary to have to think about real-life issues, to talk with my family about what's going on in our lives, and to hear about my Dad being sick. I realized that being a caretaker in the household is a huge resonsibility: having dinner on the table, the house cleaned and functioning really doesn't leave a whole lot of time for screwing around and being unproductive. Maybe that's why I felt so tired when I got home.
But I also realized that even on those "regressive" days when I don't want to assume responsibility for an adult life, I'm not the same Thea that moved to Pennsylvania four years ago; I'm not even the same Thea that came back from Spain a year ago. Today at the beach with MandiTVS (the newest acquisition to my world of AIM), after swimming, sunning, chatting, walking, and drying out I mentioned on the car ride home that the beach doesn't make me bitter any more. It's a place where I feel comfortable and happy, not somewhere populated entirely by "those girls" from my past, a site of insecurity and inferiority. I can go to lay in the sand during the summer and not feel like I'm betraying my social values. There are quite a few things that don't make me bitter anymore, so much so that at times I think a change in nomikers for my blog might be in order, but perhaps I need a reminder that things weren't always so lovely.
I've had a wonderful two weeks. Back in the hot shop again, and I found that I actually kind of knew what was going on; I understood the advice that Chris was giving me, and (again) surprisingly, I look kind of hard core in the pictures that Dave took of me in the studio. I'm making functional things that I designed, which is pretty fucking cool as far as I'm concerned, and I can't wait to find a place to work in Miami. I don't have all the right clothes to be comfortable yet protected from the heat in the studio, but I haven't really developed my glassblowing wardrobe yet. Who knows, maybe that will be my next project. I've got all sorts of looks to try out in the next few years, and while the teaching wardrobe might be the immediate one for the future, I don't know if it's the one that I'm going to be wearing for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, I'm going to forget about immunizations, oil leaks, and high gas prices for another evening, make some pizza at the Warrens, and watch Lindsey Lohan host the MTV movie awards. How's that for an adolescent end to an irresponsible day? Now, if I could only find an outfit that matches the *car*.....
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Working...?
It's been a whirlwind week in the life of the Williamsons, that's for sure. I finally started work on the TFA summer curriculum, and my observations at Cape Henry went rather painlessly, contrary to my irrational sense of foreboding and my lack of desire to be in places filled with unfamiliar people. A la 7th Grade: "Thea, if I left you alone in a room full of people and came back an hour later, you still wouldn't know anyone." Thanks, but I think I've grown a little since then.
What completely made my day driving back from CHC was sitting at the stoplight at Great Neck Road. Windows down and a summer breeze blowing through the van, I turn my head to see a huge lifted Chevy right next to me, tires thicker than my body, and the full accessories package. As I wait patiently for my light, an animal sticks its head out the window. We're thinking: "pitbull probably, retriever, maybe a German shepherd." Not even. The demure little furry creature that peered over at me that afternoon was a purebred blue smoke persian cat. Who takes their cat out cruising? Who does that!??! I literally started laughing right there in the car. Then I thought to myself, okay, Mandi drives a truck, maybe it's a girl in there; I could see a girl owning that cat. Not even! The light turns green, and I pull slowly by the window, peering curiously to see who is sitting behind the wheel: the stereotypical surfer-boy with blonde buzzed hair and no shirt. Mirth peals out of my happy little self as I drive away home feeling very satisfied with myself for such cuotidian surprises. Made my day, man. Made my day.
What also made my day the day before was Mom being on drugs. She had a root canal in the morning, and it was my duty to chauffer her to the dentist, because the "anti-anxiety" drug that she took was so potent that she couldn't drive. Shit, I'll say it was potent; she couldn't walk down the hallway without running into doors at 7:45 am, and she didn't even remember driving home 'cause she fell asleep in about 7.4 seconds. I was supposed to go to the beach later on that afternoon, and managed to convince her to let us borrow the nice car, complete with sunroof and CD player (it's the little things, really), so I was all psyched. Yet, when she awoke from my nap and sat through a fashion show of my new "teacher clothes," I realized that the medication hadn't really worn off [when questioned about said fashion show the next day, mere looks of perplexedness followed]. Sitting at the kitchen table, we get into the usual "Welcome Home Thea" discussion:
1. Have you been to the dentist?
2. Have you been to the gynecologist?
Yes, mother. Thank you. 2.a Are you on birth control? Oh dear. Do we really have to have this discussion AGAIN? It seems as though we do. Praised be god, by the time my drugged up mother got to the statement "But you have to be protected from multiple partners!!" I hear an engine come up the driveway. Saved, at last! I excuse myself from the table and exit the room, followed quickly by the cat, ears flat back and hissing. Cathy, with slightly diminished motor-reflexes, dumped a pint sized glass of ice water on Ebony's head. Dry off cat, dry off Mother, dry off kitchen floor, then answer door. Whew, I think it's time for the beach.
Then on Thursday Dave migrated south, my new digital camera came in, and I started work on the car again. Memorial Day happened with *much* success and many crabs, and Alex even made it home for a bit, so all were happy. Whew.
Work continues up here in Ardmore on the car and the TFA reading, I've scheduled another observation on Monday, and I've got two glassblowing lessons coming up which should be exciting. Gotta buy health insurance, gotta pack the car. Man, sometimes I feel like a real "adult." Scary. Alas, it seems as though I don't have quite enough time to bring the blog up to date, but that's a good start. Back to work, Thea.
What completely made my day driving back from CHC was sitting at the stoplight at Great Neck Road. Windows down and a summer breeze blowing through the van, I turn my head to see a huge lifted Chevy right next to me, tires thicker than my body, and the full accessories package. As I wait patiently for my light, an animal sticks its head out the window. We're thinking: "pitbull probably, retriever, maybe a German shepherd." Not even. The demure little furry creature that peered over at me that afternoon was a purebred blue smoke persian cat. Who takes their cat out cruising? Who does that!??! I literally started laughing right there in the car. Then I thought to myself, okay, Mandi drives a truck, maybe it's a girl in there; I could see a girl owning that cat. Not even! The light turns green, and I pull slowly by the window, peering curiously to see who is sitting behind the wheel: the stereotypical surfer-boy with blonde buzzed hair and no shirt. Mirth peals out of my happy little self as I drive away home feeling very satisfied with myself for such cuotidian surprises. Made my day, man. Made my day.
What also made my day the day before was Mom being on drugs. She had a root canal in the morning, and it was my duty to chauffer her to the dentist, because the "anti-anxiety" drug that she took was so potent that she couldn't drive. Shit, I'll say it was potent; she couldn't walk down the hallway without running into doors at 7:45 am, and she didn't even remember driving home 'cause she fell asleep in about 7.4 seconds. I was supposed to go to the beach later on that afternoon, and managed to convince her to let us borrow the nice car, complete with sunroof and CD player (it's the little things, really), so I was all psyched. Yet, when she awoke from my nap and sat through a fashion show of my new "teacher clothes," I realized that the medication hadn't really worn off [when questioned about said fashion show the next day, mere looks of perplexedness followed]. Sitting at the kitchen table, we get into the usual "Welcome Home Thea" discussion:
1. Have you been to the dentist?
2. Have you been to the gynecologist?
Yes, mother. Thank you. 2.a Are you on birth control? Oh dear. Do we really have to have this discussion AGAIN? It seems as though we do. Praised be god, by the time my drugged up mother got to the statement "But you have to be protected from multiple partners!!" I hear an engine come up the driveway. Saved, at last! I excuse myself from the table and exit the room, followed quickly by the cat, ears flat back and hissing. Cathy, with slightly diminished motor-reflexes, dumped a pint sized glass of ice water on Ebony's head. Dry off cat, dry off Mother, dry off kitchen floor, then answer door. Whew, I think it's time for the beach.
Then on Thursday Dave migrated south, my new digital camera came in, and I started work on the car again. Memorial Day happened with *much* success and many crabs, and Alex even made it home for a bit, so all were happy. Whew.
Work continues up here in Ardmore on the car and the TFA reading, I've scheduled another observation on Monday, and I've got two glassblowing lessons coming up which should be exciting. Gotta buy health insurance, gotta pack the car. Man, sometimes I feel like a real "adult." Scary. Alas, it seems as though I don't have quite enough time to bring the blog up to date, but that's a good start. Back to work, Thea.
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