February Break, Which Wasn't a Break.

It's funny, when we were there, he kept saying--look at it, it's so beautiful; I could stay here forever--and I didn't give it enough credit. Now, looking back, it was perfect. Sometimes we would just stop and he would say, "Its so quiet." I want some of that quiet now.

Since the last time I wrote, I:

1. received flowers from that lovely man of mine,
2. went on a ski trip,
3. was biopsied,
4. heard terrible news,
5. didn't get to go to Michigan,
6. ate at least 10 burgers,
7. went to the aquarium,
8. shopped at Banana Republic,
9. went back to teaching,
10. was asked to continue living here next year by EPS,
11. looked for a new job (just for safety's sake),
12. met an old friend of CA's,
13. saw "Reservoir Dogs"
14. had dinner with KF
    
15. and began reading "The Outlander."

I have yet to grade my 5th grader's Egypt short stories, write report cards, figure out why my apartment is so cold, properly respond to peoples' emails, write the Valentine's Day card I've been trying desperately to, thank S for buying me pots for my apartment and budget. Oh and decide about whether or not I'm going to suck it up, buy a ticket and explore Greece for five days.

So let's break this down numerically.

1. Our valentine's day together was lovely. I wasn't even expecting anything much and he completely swept me with dinner and flowers and sweetness. None of it was expected because of the impending ski trip...but, instead he completely flabbergasted me with all his generosity and outpouring of care.

2. I won't go through the break down of the trip, but suffice it to say, it was the most romantic weekend of my life. From massages, to breathtaking views, to long car-rides, to talking, to winning money, to the single best dinner I have ever had, when I woke up on Tuesday, I didn't want to get out of bed because it meant the end and I barely thought I could deal with or comprehend that. All I ever want to do is spend more time with him. It's becoming a serious issue (:

4. has nothing to do with 3. The biopsy was painful, and gross and something I don't want to remember. It meant that 5. didn't happen and SAI was incredibly understanding because of 3. and 4. I do have strong friends, stronger than I ever give them credit for being.

6. Self explanatory.

7. 8. and 12. go together. CA's friend K came in for the weekend and although I was initially just planning to have dinner with her but ended up spending the weekend doing the sort of Chicago-y stuff that you never do if you're actually from the area. We got burgers on Friday night and she regaled me with tales of CA's college days. She asked if I had any wild stories to which I had to shamefully (or not so much) respond, "Not really." Things were different then, I thought to myself, more sheepishly than anything. On Saturday, we saw the aquarium which I hadn't been to in AGES and went shopping. I offered to go home so he could spend time with K but he told me to stay. We went for deep-dish pizza and then to the House of Blues to hear some live music. Sunday night continued happily after he took K home. She was extremely nice and took pictures, which I always inevitably appreciate. He and I stayed together on Sunday too and I didn't want to leave him, at all. I never, ever do.

9. On Sunday night, I had some serious anxiety about going back. There was no discernible explanation for why, I just panicked. Aside from some sore-ness otherwise, when CA went to the couch because he wasn't feeling well, I begged him to come back. I just needed someone next to me. Perhaps begged is too strong of a word, but he went and didn't protest. He is always there when needed. Or wanted. Or anything-ed. I guess I can lump 11. with this. Sometimes, there's too much reflective-ness in the school, sometimes there's too much touchy-feely desires. Sometimes, I feel a little overwhelmed. But, I am exceedingly grateful for the friends I'm making there, LM, ML, and MD amongst others. So although I decided or went on the internet coasting for jobs at the U of C Lab School, I still love it where I am and will probably remain there next year--if they'll have me of course. I think most of the anxiety is first year jitters and someone just needs to smack me.

I love my job, I do. And I don't think I'll leave even though I don't make a million dollars a year, because it's going to do wonders for me in the long-run if I want to continue to work with gifted kids, if I want to do things to change the world in any small way.

10. And of course, because it's all inter-related, when EPS asked me to live here again next year, although I would love to move somewhere closer to work, I am seriously considering it. It would be nice to have someone here in the summer when I'm bored every day. It would be nice to not dump out all my money a month on r-e-n-t. But, it would be nicer to live closer to LSD, to my job and to have room for a desk. Those things would be great. I don't know... I'm so confused if I could even afford to do it, to move out on my own. And there's something comforting about knowing there's someone leaving the light on for you.

13. Although the movie was spectacular, the strange thing about it was I didn't know that S had such a strong sense of when I need occupying. Although I hate the drive from her house to mine (it's so short but I still get nervous and sad when I come back to my own place...but I do feel like this is symptomatic of something much larger), she is so incredible at knowing when I need. And what I need.

14. It was so good to see her, to sit in her new car and relax. To...simply be. I need more of that than I give myself credit for needing.

15. Great book. Awkward amount of sex for something that your boyfriend's mom recommended to you...


So I guess what I haven't done doesn't really matter. Especially, when I've got this as my other half:

Triumphant!

Frustrations and Triumphs, a Monday Evening Edition

Frustrations:

• having to go to work on Monday, even though I didn't teach today
• it still being 4 degrees outside
• so much to do in the few days before Tahoe
• stomach gross-ness
• faculty meeting of long-ness
• apartment of cold-ness
• vintage light from my grandma's house finally biting the dust
• much in the grading department to do

Triumphs

• much was already done in the grading department this morn
• scrabble on the internet
• already showered (ie sleep until 650 tomorrow)
• finished my zombie book while it was not scary out
• meeting with my 8th grade mentees tomorrow morning to talk about thesis statements
• DD/MD whispering to me in the faculty meeting, "if they say privates one more time..."
• bagel run with LM
• watching American Gladiators and having the good people win
• ordering Zen Noodles with S and EPS
• a veritable TON of good reading behind and ahead of me
• sleeping to the simpsons
• so few days until skiing
  
• feeling happy all the time
• more triumphs than frustrations
• Guinness truffles from Ireland
  
• parents back in the states
• new great scarf from parents
• half day/speaker tomorrow at school
• really feeling like I have a Valentine for the first time in years
  

Appreciation.

I have to learn to appreciate better. I consistently want to be appreciated but I need to learn to appreciate other things better. Perhaps there should be more exercises for appreciation in my life. February has, thus far, been an absolutely excellent month. Perhaps this has to do with a lack of consistent parent presence in my life, and perhaps it has to do with the fact that I've listened to half of my record collection in the past three days. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that everything's clean or I'm going to Feast for bloody marys in about 10 minutes. Or that I went to Via Carducci La Sorella with CA last weekend (that was the name of the romantic Italian restaurant--the reviews aren't good but I don't care. It was amazing.)

Perhaps it was my 3 hour conversation with ML at Brownstone earlier this week, despite the storms. I'm learning to brave the weather. I could attribute this partially to my finally buying a winter coat. Perhaps the long talk with S, while sitting on my radiator Friday afternoon. It could be a combination of all these things. Life has fit together well lately.

Or maybe, it's that even when things are not perfect, I've discovered a way of working them out. In that way, I need to be more appreciative. It was miserably cold last night. I didn't really know it because aside from running some things out to the trash and a box out to my car, I hadn't left the apartment. I'd finished reading "High Fidelity" (which is now in my top ten favorite books of all time, ever). It includes the quote:

"Fuck. When is this going to stop? When do I get too old for all of this?"

It also talked about how sometimes we run away from relationships because we realize that at some point, that person might die. We realize that they are not always going to be romantic dinners and sexy underwear. They are not always going to be perfect. I read the book because CA and I had watched the movie and I found it completely, totally brilliant. The book is even more brilliant. I should have taken this idea to heart. They are not always going to be perfect, but they're going to prove to you that they're worth it, if they really are.

Around 5, CA called and told me he wasn't feeling well and didn't want to do anything tonight. He often does not feel well and when I coax him out of his shell, he realizes that he was just exhausted from work. I assumed this was another one of those situations and I got (more than a) little pissy. I finally, after dealing with it tumultuously inside of me (and, to her credit, to S) for months told him he needs to be better about telling me when he's busy etc. I was pissy. I was insensitive. And I wasn't sorry about it.

But the thing was--he was sorry. He hadn't realized how insensitive he'd been with time. He told me that he understands he's a pain in the ass and needs alerting to that fact. He apologized profusely. He was not obtuse, did not panic and did not tell me he didn't love me anymore. None of the things that have previously happened when I've aired grievances happened. He didn't run because it wasn't perfect. He vowed to change it.

I was shocked.

Then he said to me, "Want to go to breakfast tomorrow?"
"No," I replied, stubbornly.
"Lunch?"
"No, I'm picking my parents up from the airport."
"Dinner?"
"No. Maybe."
"What can I do to make this better right now," he asked, hacking through his question. I still thought the hack was for dramatic effect. Faker.
"Nothing," I said. But, in the spirit of actually laying things out, I continued, "The thing is, we'll either hang out and I'll obsess about this all night and not sleep. Or we won't hang up and I'll cry and you'll feel worse. I'm really between a rock and a hard place, here."

"I'll come over around 830," he said.

So, despite not eating all day, I cracked open a bottle of wine, lit candles in my apartment and curled up under a blanket to read a scary book, "Not Flesh Nor Feathers" (the third and final book in this ghost book trilogy, which is weird because I don't normally like ghost books. But, I love the way these are written. [Tangent: I explained to CA that I love Steinbeck, Nick Hornsby, Amy Rosenthal, Hemingway and others for the same reason. Intentional writing. They don't futz around with words. They mean. It's funny, because I also love Dave Eggers and his writing is sprawling and incoherent at points. But, I love him because his incoherency is intentional too...]) He knocked on the door around 8:45 and came in shaking an hacking.

I gulped down my wine and felt really guilty. He was far from a faker; he was actually sick. "You look beautiful," he chocked out, as I took his coat off and held my fingers cupped over his ears to make the cold stop.

"You're trying to be nice," I responded, still smiling.

"No, you look wonderful," he said. He immediately collapsed on my bed, shivering and I covered him in a blanket.

"I'm so sorry. You're so sick. You shouldn't have come here."
"I wanted to."
"I know, but..."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry sweetie. I didn't know you felt like that. You've got to tell me things when you're thinking them. I'm such a pain in the ass."

I covered him with another blanket and didn't say anything for a long time. "You're not," I responded eventually, when he'd stopped shaking so much. "You're the best thing I've got going for me."

Without missing a beat, he responded, "Me too."

And in that moment, I was infinitely appreciative for him. Appreciative that he came here for two hours, despite the cold and the sick and the gross because he knew I was upset. Appreciative that when we smile in pictures he doesn't look far-away. Appreciative that he was so excited for us to go skiing this week. Appreciative that he was, honestly, one of the best things I've got going for me. He means the things he says, and as we laid there, talking about books, he said, "My mom wants you to read some books. She's going to love you, you know."

I need to be appreciative that for some strange reason, he's here and I'm here and even when he's sick, he's thinking about me.

"Meet me for lunch on Monday because you've got the day off?" he suggested. I said I could think of nothing better. So, maybe it never stops, the questioning and the whining and the wondering. But, learning to realize that they're not going to run just because you're upset is a big step in the right direction.

I said to S on Friday, "I'm getting tired of all of this. I want to be settled." She agreed. Then, when read more of "High Fidelity," she responds to Rob, "I'm too tired not to go out with you." It sounds unromantic in black and white but what it's saying, or what I believe it's saying is, "This is it. I know this is it and I'm too tired and too old and too much myself to pretend like it's not. I'm here and you're here and when that happens, I cannot think of anywhere else I'd rather be." I am myself here, around you. And that's the best thing in the world.

So, I've got a lot to appreciate this month. The heart-to-hearts, and the self-sufficiency. But most of all, the ability to use my voice. And have it be heard.

Pros and Cons

Things I Love About NOT Living Alone:

[~] I don't drink enough milk, ever, to buy milk for my apartment. But, when living with someone else, there's always milk, and it never spoils.
[~] The same goes for bread.
[~] Those off-nights, mid-week, when you simply want someone else in the proximal zone of you, without being in your bed with you. There's someone there for that.
[~] Easy commiseration.
[~] Someone else to co-deal with landlord-y stuff.
[~] Occasional really nice notes
[~] Surprisingly good nights in.
[~] On weekends when you don't leave the apartment, there's someone else there to make vocal contact with. Otherwise, it would be you, singing alone to Death Cab for Cutie records all weekend. Could be depressing.

Things I Hate About NOT Living Alone:
[~] Messes are not always yours. Even when meses are cleaned up, sometimes the roommate still messes things up.
[~] People touching my things.
[~] People damaging my things.
[~] Sometimes, those off-nights mean that you want to be alone, but, there's someone there.
[~] Inability to have disturbingly loud sex whenever you want
[~] Possible inability to drown out other people having disturbingly loud sex
[~] Sharing.
[~] Paying for more than what you use.
[~] Sharing.
[~] Sharing.
[~] Clutter that is not your clutter.

I don't know. I thought about it whilst getting some milk to eat with my cereal.

Summer Workshop?

Idie wants to send me here this summer and I think PM might get some funding for it and come with me. I think I've finally figured out what I could go back to graduate school for in a few years--gifted education. But, I need to get my act in gear and figure it out in a few years. I'd need like 3-4 years to finish my stuff up, to get things together, and then when I was 27-8, I'd enter grad school and do something for gifted kids.

I could do this.

Field Trip to the Field Museum

Today, I loved my nuggets. I loved them whole-heartedly and unabashedly, even though I felt almost as much their mother than their teacher. I have to admit, at the beginning of the day, as I passed out the birthday treat donuts, I thought, "Sugar. Great. Exactly what I need to give them when they get on the bus."

But, once I got to the museum, I felt the tingles of what I used to do. I felt the excitement of not "having" to get through a lesson plan, but simply getting to explore. We were randomly assigning groups, and I got a fantastic group of kids, many of whom aren't in my homeroom (or at my school, called "gibush" which is a Hebrew term from family). The first thing we did was to take a picture by the elephants, because, despite being at the Field to see Egyptian artifacts, we all know it's the most important to take random pictures.

Then, we went through a permanent exhibit there called "Africa" which talks about several of the different modern communities in Africa. Mainly, I was excited to talk to the nuggets about the artwork and the masks and figures that were in the museum--they have some amazing things from Cameroon and a lot of twin figures from several areas. I got to talk to them about texture, and colors and what they felt seeping from the figure. They were able to talk about power and fear and majesty. They were surprised that I could talk to them about those things.

We then went to the purpose of our visit--Egypt. I really felt like I was getting them to look and think. Initially, the teacher group had made an announcement to the entire grade--slow down and actually LOOK at what's in front of you--but, unless you ask them questions, it's difficult to get them to slow down. Since I've been really trained in object-based learning, I asked them a lot of questions about what they saw, what they expected and what they remembered and how what they saw in the museum related to what they remembered from either their research projects or something else. They did a great job of talking together and of taking down some great observations. I actually ended up making them late for lunch because we started having a discussion about what they remembered me telling them about twin figures in the modern African diaspora and then the large number of mummies of twins that they saw in the exhibit. The picture is me in action with some of my kiddos [clearly, I need to stop the hair-on-top-of-head look].

We ate lunch and then walked through the "Evolving Planet" exhibit. I had this whole group of kids, some from my gibush, some from my tour group and some who just heard me talking about evolution and dinosaurs and what it all could possibly mean. It was fantastic to watch the students come alive--to start questioning and asking on their very own. They wanted to know more and more about how we came to be and it got them thinking about what it means to go extinct, about what a mass extinction looked like or would look like ("Are we in one now?" asks one of my favorites, ES. I respond, "Well, do you know about the plague?" ES: "No, what does that mean?" I briefly explain how 2/3 of Europe got wiped out. On her own she goes, "Like AIDS in Africa?" It was as if I could see the light bulb go off above her head).

After learning about how things die and how things live, one of my other gibush students declared, "It's all hopeless." But, then I started talking about life cycle and what other kinds of things do you think COULD evolve? It was amazing! I really felt like I was teaching and they were learning. At the end of it, one of the children said, "I forgot to draw something for this exhibit! I was just listening to you and looking at the bones!" I couldn't have cared less about the trip sheet. The fact that they all wanted to go home and look things up--that's all I wanted.

It wasn't even so much about Egypt; I tried to explain to my co-workers before hand that it's not about "knowing" the artifacts (it did help that I knew a LOT about African art, Evolution and Egypt--I would have been worthless in their "underground world" exhibit), but it's about knowing the questions that can get students thinking. I felt effective today. The children trusted that I would not lead them astray. Even students I didn't usually see engaged were ready to go--I remembered why I went into education in the first place--to watch their faces and to see light bulbs go off in their heads.

Somehow, over time I've learned how to ask the right questions--not the questions that produce the right answers but the questions that produce ideas. The last picture is some of my favorites--my grammar genius, my "Boogar," my little rockstar/"panic" button pusher (every friday, he comes in, pushes the panic button on my car keys and rolls--stop drop and roll style-- under my desk), my little lovable slacker whose going to be a heartbreaker, my Mr. sensitive and Mr. excitement (he's always so ready to go for me).

Since the conference on Saturday, I've been thinking about what I can do to make my job better--how can I possibly be the best teacher that I can be? From extra spelling words, to challenge questions, to moments like this, I realize it's asking them what they notice, and what makes them say that that is going to really make the difference. How on earth could I resist them?

I'm trying to integrate--I taught irony by using the poem "Richard Cory" and playing the Simon and Garfunkel song by the same name for my 8th graders. Or this for my 5th graders. From cave paintings to character sketches, I just want them leaving feeling smarter than when they came in. On Monday, I was talking to CA about what I think it should look like, this world of teaching. He listened and kept telling me, "You're going to change things. It's not self-indulgent for you to go back to school, get a phd and change things." Sometimes, I think I don't want to.

But today, today, I wanted to.

Moving.

When I was a child, my favorite thing to do was to have "moving day" in my dollhouse. I'd take all the furniture out, generally wipe it down, and then put it all back. Over and over. It usually went in the same places as it had been before. But, it was about the act of transition, about picking up and putting down.

I worry, now, as it's only February and I've begun to think about where my things could go in a new place that I am not excited about anything other than the packing and unpacking. CA couldn't understand when he moved why I was so excited to wrap dishes in newspaper and load books into piles. I couldn't explain the zeal behind the containing and sorting. Perhaps it's an anal retentive thing; I think it's just a transition thing.

I love packing for the same reason I love airports--they signify something exciting. They signify people in the act. I used to love living in Boston not because it was Boston but because I spent so much time on airplanes. It was all about the movement. I felt like I was accomplishing something by hauling a suitcase onto the T and going home, or to St. Louis or to somewhere else for work. I felt like the act of going from A to B meant that something sound had happened in my day.

It gave me something to show for myself.

Once I got home, or back to Boston, the thrill would wear off eventually. But, it made me feel like I had somewhere to "be," or that I was someone to be desired. Moving is the same thing--that queen bee feeling. I like the accumulation of things.

I used to pretend I was a Russian refugee when I was a child. I would set up a tent and hide with my dolls. I used to pretend to abandon my things, or think about what I needed to take with me. I used to want to be Madeline. My parents thought I wanted to abandon them, but I liked the idea of life being compact and easy to manage. I liked the idea of organizing, or being a part of something.

It makes sense to me, to want to move. Every time, I haven't had the time to set things up in exactly my way. I haven't been able to step back, as I could do with that dollhouse, and think about how things would best be arranged. I didn't label my boxes and didn't pull out the sheets. I didn't do the everything that I wanted.

In traveling, I made the choices. I decided what to pack, when to book the tickets and where I was going. Up until now, moving has not been the same thing. I think I look forward to searching because the choices are entirely up to me. It feels selfish--to want to see my stuff in boxes, to unpack and have it be my own. It feels indulgent, a very twenty-something thing to do. However, I have already thought about how wonderful it will be to make that move, to find that place and make that transition.

I think about the pots and pans, the control over cleanliness. I think about the knowing. I think about how satisfying those days of undoing and doing again will be.

First February Weekend

I will write about the conference I attended sometime soon but I have to say that I wish, deeply, to document this weekend. I can't because too much happened. It is hard to make connections between bodies concrete. It is hard to explain what happens when people laugh and eat and share.

It is hard to explain how much I love.

It is even harder to explain how quickly the world is moving, how much it is snowing, and how I cannot believe that in a few short days, I will be on a plane to Tahoe to learn to ski. I cannot do much other than say that the winter is ending, despite the snow. It was light until almost 5 last night. And the night did not matter.

"You keep the pantry light on?" he asked.
"Only when I'm alone."
"You can turn it off tonight."

Tonight, it is back on. But alone cannot and will not be synonymous with lonely.

Let's break it down.

Friday: dinner at Mexican place with CA, ML, LM, and MD. He met all my friends from work. Everything about that afternoon was spontaneous. Everything about it, from his singing a song across the table to LM to MD's comment that, "He's from good people" made me want to burst. Without CA, we had first gone to the museum and dog-sat. It was put together by the moment and everyone's lack of desire to go home. It ended with me in his arms feeling perfectly where I needed to be.

Saturday: Conference. Amazing. Dinner and reading and being pulled closely by CA. Even better. I loved every moment of that night. Every single moment. It is not possible to have a bad day with him.

Sunday: kissing in the most lovely way. Brunch with Amber. Superbowl and turkey-burgers with S.

"Everything good and bad leaves an emptiness when it is gone. If it was bad, the emptiness fills up on its own. If it was good, it takes something better to fill it." - Ernest Hemingway.

Life continues to grow.