Now versus Then

I've been thinking lately of how foolish I was in my twenties (and I wonder how foolish I will see my thirties as). Tolga calls the difference experience, and I suppose he's right. But, I truly felt I couldn't relate with my peers in my 20s because I was living a different life. I had responsibilities and commitments. But I look at it now and realize I didn't have a mortgage or really anything of financial consequence. I wasn't caring for my own family and future. I had, as one friend pointed out, something to fall back on. In some ways, it seems we don't have to live with our decisions as much when we are younger, or something. And for some reason, now, it seems like our decisions have a much greater consequence. For example, having bought a place in Harlem at the peak of the market.

But, I'm going to try and live in the here and now more. For example, here and now my husband is grinning at his computer screen. Why is he grinning at his computer screen? He is grinning at his computer screen because he is watching a Turkish television show with commentators that are doing an in-depth post-game analysis of today's soccer match. In-depth carries a slightly different meaning in Turkish. Here, after, let's say a football game, there might be an hour post-game show. I'll even stretch to say it may be two hours long. My husband has been watching the show for three hours, and it isn't over yet.

The game being analyzed is the Fenerbahce (Fenner-bachee) versus their arch enemies Galatiseray (Gala-tis-er-rye). Both are Istanbul based football teams with over a hundred year history of rivalry. You are born (or married) into the allegiance, and so I have dutifully put on my jersey today and cheered alongside my husband. We watched with Tolga's family on Skype, cheering alongside. I actually enjoy soccer, and love watching the game (despite falling asleep at half-time).

Fenerbahce won and fans around Turkey will be gloating for quite some time.

World's Worst Volunteer

Today was my last day at my volunteer job. I ended the commitment because, as I told the director, it was becoming a source of contention between my husband and I. That was a bit of an understatement. And, it didn't paint a full picture because it was more of source of contention for me, while my husband was my sounding board. I was stuck in the cycle of resenting the commitment but refusing to quit because I have this proud streak in me that use to have something to do with loyalty and stick-to-it-ness but has possibly been reduced to bitterness. I continued at this job while I built up a case against it: I didn't accept jobs that would make ten more dollars than the regular job because I would be late to the job I should have been making ten dollars at as well, I couldn't pursue junky jobs, couldn't visit the work force center, was having trouble making all the phone calls during business hours to deal with our apartment...

When will I ever learn to let go and be at peace.

Alternatives

When I was subbing yesterday at North High, I walked in and asked another teacher for a key to the room. Before she even turned around, she said,

"Oh hi there!" Like she remembered me. I asked her how she remembered me and she said, "You have a very unique voice." I paused for a couple of beats. Distinct was good, eloquent or melodic are desirable, but unique is questionable.

Today I subbed at an alternative high school - a school for those having trouble in a regular setting. They were small classes with many absent. The day was low-key - in high school classrooms especially, I seem to have plenty of time to study Turkish or read a book as students work. Today the students were finishing up projects. One new teacher in her fifties led a morning class (much to the student's chagrin). It was a good lesson, but the kids were uninterested. The woman herself was interesting, but I guess it was the way she presented the lesson, or herself that left the kids quickly bored. The class finished and she told me, "They were at 125% today." I wasn't sure if she was serious or not, but later in the day, the other teachers were surprised I was coming back the next day. I guess I'll see how it goes tomorrow.

The woman told me her son-in-law and daughter had been unemployed for a year. He's a lawyer and she is currently doing wedding coordinating on the side.

These times sure seem wide spread.

With what we have

I've taught the last few days in Oakdale for a teacher. The classroom had Smartboards, a TV fell on someone's head, and one student - when taking attendance, instead of saying "here!" said "hot dogs!" which I thought was really funny. That's the recap of my day.

Tolga and are testing a new theory - holding out for the better paying jobs. It's not that dramatic, actually, it's just ten dollars. But ten dollars every day is fifty, and fifty for at least two weeks is one hundred. And one hundred is how much I'm not making at my volunteer position. So we're holding out.

Not really.

But we are trying to make better choices. I'm not sure how you make better choices when it doesn't seem that you don't have many choices, but we are. We have taken minimum wage jobs that will cut into the holidays and family time, and I'm tempted to find three more jobs to fill all my spare time with one goal of paying off debt. But this isn't our life goal either - so we try to juggle our sanity and choices for the now.

Seasons

This picture is taken in the back of my old high school on October 11th, 2009. I was substitute teaching a math class, feeling nostalgic as usual even though I didn't really like high school. . .

Anyhow, notice the leaves still alive and green, clinging to the trees. The trees didn't even get a chance to turn its colors and fall . . .

It seemed poetic.

Today (five days after the mini-snowstorm) we made it out to Pine Tree Apple Orchard. My first job was here. I packaged apple cinnamon donuts and apple turnovers. Abigail kept telling me I should know where the little pumpkins are since I worked there.

We also came across some other family members. . .

Bayport Granpa-isms

Tolga and I have been bringing my grandfather to the VA hospital for the last couple of days for treatments.

Grandpa is a creature of habit. I tend to wonder off in thought or conversation when giving directions but Grandpa didn't miss one. He says the same things, at the same spots,

"This elevator is the slowest elevator!"

"If this radiation is so good for me, how come nobody stays in the room with me?"

He's losing his hearing, and I imagine sometimes that it becomes lonely or discouraging, but Grandpa does his best to at least entertain himself.

He reminds me for the umpteenth time how Kinsey reminds him of me. "That girl, she can do anything." He inquires after our work, but Grandpa is more of a doer . . . and has also been down to Bayport elementary school to ask after a job for me.

He tells me about a cousin applying to work for the prison. "I'm not sure he's cut out for the job."

"Why's that Grandpa? Am I cut out for the job?" (I take after my Grandpa I guess, because I'm laughing at my own jokes too).

"I'm not to sure," Grandpa starts, "You might be to concerned about the prisoner." (I'm instantly quietened by his observation). "They asked me when I started if I'd shoot a prisoner if he was escaping, I said, 'Do I have too?' And they said yes, so I said yes too. I'd shoot him in the thumb first."

I pictured Grandpa shooting an escaping prisoner in the thumb.

We went back to our place for soup and sandwiches. The Russians are working on our siding. Grandpa asked why the boys weren't doing the work. I didn't know. Grandpa laughed,

"Wait until I tell the rest. The Petersons had to hire out help."

I'm not sure I found it as funny.

I had to be at Target for an interview. Grandpa and Tolga ran some errands, and as I came out of the office, they had already finished and were waiting at a bench. Grandpa asks,

"Did they give you a raise yet?"

It sure is nice having a Grandpa on your side.

I brought Grandpa home, to his town of Bayport. Small houses on wide streets, his house blending in with the rain, the fall, and the quiet of fifty years.

I wouldn't mind walking these streets.

Losing my religion

I feel torn these days between sharing too much and not sharing enough.

There is a part of me that is desparate and so I blurt all, share all, and filter little. I usually regret it. I am constantly meeting new people, new teachers, new staff . . . and so each day is the same conversation with a different group of people. Inevitably, I begin volunteering my opinion for some reason - and I began spouting an educational philosophy that I haven't really thought all the way through, nor do I really care enough to make a platform about. Then I feel regret for having opened my big mouth.

Like today. A teacher came in to teach the class I was subbing. I'm not sure why, but there he was teaching with the Smartboard a great lesson. His wife worked at the school, and his three children used to attend the K-12 school, but opted this year to switch to regular elementary schools.

He came in a bit wild, hyped up on coffee, but by the end of two periods he had lost quite a bit of pep. It was a good lesson, but the students didn't respond well, maybe because it was too hard for them. Anyhow, he asked me about the different schools I had been teaching and what I thought of the different districts, and I told him and my words sounded pretty hollow as I explained how I enjoyed the diversity of city schools, how they pushed the limits and suburbia was boring because kids did what they were told and stayed within the norm. He asked me what I meant, and I couldn't really say more.

Then, other times, I wish I would have said more. Shared more. Showed more of who I was rather than the standard answer.

None of it feels really honest, and this makes me nervous. I feel myself wall up around people, not wanting to show anymore. To keep what I have left to myself.

Whatever that is.


Oh no, I've said too much.
I haven't said enough.

Faults as gifts?

I suppose life without the drama would be boring, monotonous, etc. No suspense, no struggles, no triumph for those that overcame.

We'd be like those on the planet of Camazotz from L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time - our very breath governed, while "the burden of choice" has been lifted. In this story - the kids resist IT, the governing brain that forces all into submission, painting it as an easier life. The one character, Meg, when setting out to challenge IT and rescue her father, is even given her faults as her gift.

How could faults be a gift?

I have to admit, the governing brain did sound a little appealing to me. I have to admit, I've been kind of expecting a perfect world. But, showing it in this extreme made a strong point in the picture of "perfection" (boys bouncing balls in rhythm, girls jumping rope, mother's calling their children in, men walking in sync) - there were no freedoms, no flexibility, no learning, no discovery, no suffering, no joy, no nothing - just an efficient machine.

Maybe I could make a fantastic story about our struggle now - it is like a siege here, from multiple directions. Is there good and evil here? Are we fighting for our survival? What exactly am I fighting against? Surely despair. But, I can't punch despair. So who or what is our enemy?

I wonder how all my faults could ever be used for good...

No box is big enough

Some jobs that I apply for ask questions like:

"I am cheerful even when there are problems."

"I feel upset when things change at the last minute at work."

or

Choose one that describes you more: I am - A - Joyful or B- Content

The intent of these questions are clear - to weed out those that seem to live under the circumstances.

I am very well aware of the fact that I might live under the circumstances. Call me childish, but indeed, I do have trouble looking cheerful amidst so many problems. Sometimes it is hard for me to flex when situations change last minute. And, when given a choice between joyful or content - I am stuck.

Does this make me a bad employee? A bad human? Underdeveloped?

Teaching kids, it is different for me. It is much easier to sacrifice what I am feeling for their sake. I don't expect a child to know, understand, or even desire to know about me. It's my job to teach and I'm okay with that. With adults, it is much harder for me. I suppose I have a different expectation on adults. I expect adults to understand the many factors that make us who we are - an idea that cannot ever be limited to multiple choices or check boxes.

Example - what is your most recent job and who was your supervisor? My most recent job is actually four different jobs and my supervisor is the Internet platform that assigns me the jobs. Okay, I suppose you could say my supervisor is Human Resources, but then it asks for the first name (Human?) and last name (Resources?).

Then it will ask for my addresses for the past ten years in order to do a criminal background check. That's another fun one. I run into a few problems. For 2001 to 2002 I traveled abroad. For a few months here and there I was in between homes. Last year I lived in Kusadasi for five months. Do they really want the address to Kusadasi? Okay . . . 17 Akdeniz Cadasi . . . county of Aydin.

Do you plan on taking any days off in the next 6 months? Really?!? Well, yes.

What can I say? I am a hard worker. Loyal to a fault. Sometimes resentful. Hire me.

I have been trying to get some financial advice for a pile of issues, but it's like I told our advisor: the problem with this plan is that it doesn't fit in life. I can take a guess at how much I will make this month - if I get a job everyday, I can approximate how much money I can divide up to our different debtors, but the fact is: if Tolga's family can't come up with the money for the month's house payment, this is where all of our earnings will go because they are four family members that we are committed to first.

Minimums

It was my third day teaching in the same middle school. A bit of a novelty to have such consistency. I was covering a teacher who has been out often for meetings, and is working with a student teacher - someone who fell to my watch. Today, after one of the last classes, a heavy-set girl had words with the student teacher about me. The young teacher explained to me later how this particular girl had trouble with female subs. This particular girl had also waltzed in late, whilst the young teacher was talking announcing something - a double disruption. And you think the girl has a problem with female teachers?

And then, I catch myself. I used to not be such a proud teacher. I'm not sure where this has come from, but while I scramble for a living, scramble to keep together some sort of dignity - I realize I'm trying to stand on what I was, what I accomplished, because I feel no pride in who I am now. Who I am seems to hold little value in relation to the present. I can't help feel angry. Angry at the things lost. Things not gained. Things at a standstill. Maybe, mostly I'm angry at myself for not taking adversity by those thorny horns and showing it who's boss.

I sat in an interview today to work for 6 hours a week at the community center for eight dollars an hour. I sat and smiled a small phony smile (which, by the way, I'm not very good at), while the director explained the history of the community center, the best and worst of it. His only questions were if I had any questions. I had a couple of questions that simply repeated bits of the thousands of bits of information that he had prattled off to me. And that was it. There were no personal questions. I had waited 15 minutes for the interview to begin, and then, the public service announcement was over, informed that I would be told Monday (after 7 other interviews), whether I would had the job.

Then, I went to my volunteer job (is it still volunteer when done with such resentment?). I am supposed to be in charge of the afterschool care. I arrive to the masses running around outside. Sometimes there is a teacher outside, sometimes there is none. I ask, "Who's here with me?" And everyone conintues running around and playing. Then I go all Tasmanian-Devil on them, tearing up the grass and most yell, "My mom's in the parking lot over there!" because the kids' parents are charged by the school if with me passed a certain time. The kids continue to play and run around, I learn that two are with me, and one takes off before I get her name. Tolga says,
"You're like a shepard, but the sheep don't know you."


No kidding.

Super powers

We asked the students today: if you could have one super power, what would it be?

To fly.

To be invisible.

To turn things into money.

To have more power?

To be a shape shifter? (One boy told me today that the first shape he'd turn into would be a girl so he could listen in on their conversations.)

But I suppose that with all of these powers, they'd all turn eventually into

a lot of responsibility.

So maybe I'll just be me.

Ordinary.

Once in a while, living

an extraordinary

life.

Liquidate my body?

Our tenant is moving out and did not pay us.

He did not pay us because the property managers took the deposit and won't give it back.

The property manager even set up a date and time to give the tenant the check, but then didn't show up to the meeting. So, nobody has any money - but we sure have the bills. And the collectors. And the debts.

Take. Take. Take.

Bill. Bill. Bill.

Bleed. Bleed. Bleed.

I have some gold bracelets. My furniture I'll sell when I get my hands on it. I already tried donating plasma, but failed the vein test. Forget "Locks of Love", I wonder if I could get some money for my hair.

Why am I trying so hard?

Because I want to stop losing.

I want to start keeping, building, creating - something for our future.

But instead, our finances, our investments, are all going

down

down

down

the

drain.

Now what?

Kindergarden

I was near my home today, teaching a kindergarden class. The younger the kids, the more work it is for me: guiding each transition from chair to floor, from book to hand, from drawing to writing your name. There usually isn't time for me to read. Just lunch where I was on hold with two phones trying to sort out my own distant business issues - so distant from blocks and stories about a little mouse name Chrysanthemum. But, it's easier too. In the middle of lessons, or story time, or songs - I get told by little fingers that they like my hair, or my necklace, or my earrings. And then I will have a few tangent stories told to me about pets, siblings, and skinned knees. We practice bus safety, we wash our hands, I taste a blueberry smoothy made in the play kitchen. And, at the end of the day I get a picture with letters that don't exactly spell words . . . yet. These are good days. Where life and love are given so freely.

Like my nephew Asher says after a long hug,

"Is your love tank full yet?"

"Yes, it's full."

"Is it flowing over?"

Yes, its overflowing.

Home Base

I am thankful for my home. I was thinking of this tonight. During these scary times, there is a certain amount of safety or covering I do feel being at home. We are struggling through hard times, making hard decisions, trying to make something of our futures . . . and in the meantime, we are literally under the shelter of my parents. When we do get jobs, it will be another transition with its own difficulties, but for now we can eat dinner with our families, sew with my sister, play with my niece and nephews, walk dogs, have church, watch a television show with my mother, and share all these times with those that we care about.

I do appreciate this and I want to be more purposeful to enjoy those things.

What Stress does

I think in some cases stress can help you focus.

In some cases it will improve performance.

In some cases, it will help you win.

In most cases, I think, it ties up your brain into an the un-tie-able knot.

Dad is re-doing the roof and siding of the house, competing with time, rain, and cold.

knot.

We are trying to help.

knot.

Josh has some suggestions.

knot.

Aaron is helping.

knot.

Knots are complicated. They involve many different strands of life. We all want to help dad, but we are all tied to our own dilemmas, and our father - who wants our help, is forever tied to wanting to help us as well. And so the knot just gets tighter and tighter.

How do you untie a knot?

Nostalgia?

I taught at my old high school today. I feel so nostalgic when I'm in high schools - the pep rallies, the sports and clubs, the school pride, orchestra . . . yes, I was in orchestra and proud of it.

I see my picture on the wall. Even then, our school had just under 2000 students. I'm standing with horrible bangs on the Varsity soccer team my Senior year. We got second that year, but it doesn't tell my story. I actually played JV all year long, and was pulled up to warm the bench during state. I actually had quit the sports I loved, but I was still enjoying soccer until I was pulled up to boring ole' Varsity. I did not fit in. I wasn't good enough. I didn't care enough. Who knows.

High school - it was such a small world. I feel regret for the not trying more things, not being more involved. I feel intimidated and forgotten among the thousands.

And I also feel that old nudge - that Stillwater isn't enough for me. The world here is too small and too limited. I've missed home, I'm enjoying being home - but Stillwater always reminds me that this is not my home, and I'm not sure why.

How do you spell poison?

I'm not sure what to pray for or ask for any longer.

Maybe I don't really want money or jobs or our apartment to sell.

Maybe I'm afraid to gain anything because I'm afraid I will just lose it.

Maybe I'm afraid to ask because maybe what I want isn't what I need.

Maybe what I think I need will really hurt us.

We are still working very hard to find any job, to sell the apartment, to get our money back, to settle with the tenant, the Coop, our bank, etc.

In some ways, being so unsure about so many things is forcing me to live day to day.

I get up, grab a cup of coffee, make a sandwich, eat some cereal - drive my dad's '97 Cavalier convertible with the "For Sale" sign in the window to my assignment for the day.

Today I was assigned to "Phalen Lake Hmong Magnet Elementary School." There were two Hispanic kids in the class, and one white kid. The school was near my home, and I taught third grade. Elementary school tends to be a lot of work, but only in Elementary school do I get hugs. I'm a complete stranger, but it never fails that one of the students will feel the need to wrap their arms around me - uninhibited love.

In the one class, the student's were writing about their trip to "Valley Branch" - some sort of nature center, and drawing pictures under their sentences. The third graders were constantly asking for spellings, and one boy wanted to know how to spell poison. Poison? At the nature center? Another drew a picture of poop.

How can you not love a third grader?