Prom as a 29-year-old, part 1

I mentioned on facebook that my most creative, unique, interesting girl had asked my smartest, most polite, genuine boy to the prom and how adorable of a couple I thought they’d make. (At least for prom. I don’t want any of them ACTUALLY dating until they’re like my age, helloh!)

Well, last weekend was the prom, dun dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn.  It was a big to-do for the kids with a lot of absenteeism in order to be properly coiffed, manicured, and made-up. There were limos and hotel rooms rented and hundreds into the thousands of dollars spent on the weekend. It was eye-opening to me to see kids who cannot/will not spend $15 on an AP study guide spend so many bones on a mere few hours of “enchantment.” Academic hrrmph.

I’m not sure how many pictures I will post—I will check my camera and update this post—but I tend to keep my students off of my social media for privacy purposes. Trust me when I say that there were beautiful gowns and fancy tuxedos. The bead work, the chiffon, the tulle, the mile-high-heels were something to behold. There was a red carpet and everything for their entrance. 

A few moments: one of my very unique (talk about marching to her own drum) and old-soul students was more or less dressed as Marilyn Monroe. She had the classic halter dress (but it was in red) with the mini-pleats of the skirt and elbow-length white gloves on. She looked breathtaking. 

My super-genius-kid-I’d-hang-out-with-in-real-life boy student (who's obsessed with Soviet Russia, so he rolled my eyes when I introduced him as a Communist) attended prom with another smart friend and their outfits were tastefully coordinated—he in a seafoam team vest and tie with her in an aqua-colored gown. They seemed to move as a group of (nerdy) friends and thoroughly enjoy each other’s company. That was sweet to see.

The deliciously awkward couples? Ah yes, the ones who’d broken up this week or in the past few days, but still had coordinated dresses, tuxes, and corsages..the tension was palpable between some of them. Another awkward thing? Hipster skinny pants with tux jackets. Weird, dudes. It looks weird.

I have a funny one and a sweet story to mention—and I hope it doesn’t violate too much of my date’s privacy to mention this one—but I’ll go with it. My date wasn’t very excited about attending the prom, for, well, obvious reasons. When one doesn’t work with the 17-19 year-old set, who wants to spend a Friday evening with them? He was a good sport and agreed to go and snap any pictures I wanted with “my kids” and listen to all the ridiculous inside stories I had to say about any of my little monsters.

So my date was a little perplexed about what to wear, but I knew he had some dress clothes hanging in his closet—and he (as the kids would say) TURNED UP! in excellent fashion. He wore a beautiful burgundy/purple shirt (it complimented my red party dress!), tailored jacket, black slacks, and suspenders—but not really suspenders—they’re called braces. I’m not so up on my fancy-pants-men’s fashion words to know that—but when the suspenders don’t clip on, but in fact, attach to the loop inside the expensive dress pants—then, they’re called braces. 

I swear there’s a reason I’m saying all that.

So we had basically just arrived at the lobby of the hotel and made our way into the ballroom when the polite, genuine boy found me. He hugged me, complimented me-- told me I looked great and put his hand out to introduce himself to my date. My student is a very charismatic kid, yet he’s also very insightful, so he knew that I wasn’t sure if I was going to prom if my date hadn’t wanted to go.  He was wearing a pretty complicated rented tux to match his date’s black on white gown—so he had the white and black shoes, the stylish black shirt with the white bow tie and vest, and the black jacket with the white silk handkerchief in the pocket. He looked sharp! (And it was probably the fanciest thing he’s ever worn in his life.) It was very mature and very grown up of him to offer the handshake and name first--my date dutifully introduced himself—it was very mature and manly of both of them.

(Granted, my date is an adult who works in a professional field, so handshakes and polite introductions are the norm, for him. The sweet part was how mature and grown-up my little baby 17-year-old in fancy clothes was being. I expected nothing less.)

 

The music was so incredibly loud in the ballroom—so you couldn’t hear anyone unless you were shouting in their ear—and it was also pretty crowded. My student was about ready to walk off and go back to dancing, but then he paused. In this sweet moment of, I can’t even think of a descriptor, naivety, my student (who is a tall, handsome kid in a very fancy tux)—opened his tux jacket, shoved his vest to the side, and pointed at his suspender (brace, eh?) and then pointed to my date’s. It was such an “aww” moment of, “You’re my teacher’s date and I really respect her and want her to be impressed by me, and look, look, man, we have the same thing on!!”

·        Maybe you had to be there. But it was sweet.

·         

·        The other moment was less poignant and more comical—by a lot.

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Food Anthropology: Gangman style...Shamrock Shake

So, for those of you who live out of the American collective of fast food establishments...good for you. You're saving your money, your waistline, the environment (from all the superfluous shipping and packaging), etc. etc. I attempt to live a clean-whole-natural-organic lifestyle, but only about 85% of the time. I follow 100 Days of Real Food and I feel venerated in the fight towards label reading and food company transparency.  I love me some Coca-cola. That chilly, flavorful, sparkling HFCS is amazing. When my classes have parties (as I allow/encourage) about once a month, I pile a paper plate full of whatever preservative-laden-food-garbage they brought in: Little Debbies, Hostess cakes, Cheetos, Funions, cookies that probably could make it through the apocalypse-- you get where I'm going with this. My colon and rest of my organs appreciate all the salads and fresh fruit I eat, but some days, man-oh-man, a pile of cheese puffs with that magic orange cheese glitter being washed down by some orange Fanta-- it's the best. Thanks, 'Mrrica. You're doing it RIGHT!

In doing a little internet research (cough, cough Googlesearch), I found that there is a lot of McDonald's "art" with this marketed as a "limited-time only" milkshake. I get the allure of the seasonal products-- it makes you want something because you can't have it. 

Say Shamrock Shake. Now say it in the same voice as the Gangnam Style guy. Hah! Now you've got it stuck in your head too.

Scarcity used to be part of the human condition. For most of the world it still is. Ask any Anthropologist or Historian, and they will tell you that the search for water, game, and food was the majority of why civilizations were created-- to make the scarcity less scarce. To secure food protein-- to provide for future generations. 

The strange part of that is that fast food is, in its very nature, all about immediate, NOT delayed gratification!

So, when the business model of, say, Chickfila leaves us wanting chicken nuggets and special sauce for 24 hours when you can have access to them most other days from 6 am to 10 pm, why does it work? Wendy's sweet potato fries are seasonal, Chick-fil-a peppermint, banana pudding, and peach milkshakes are only around for a bit, and Dairy Queen promotes a certain blizzard (um, how many Pumpkin pie blizzards did we eat from that one in Decatur, Marcus?) during each month. Starbucks has their seasonal drinks and desserts (and pretty poster)-- I get pretty disappointed when I want a slice of that perfectly moist pumpkin loaf and I can only have lemon cake when I'm shopping at Target or Kroger or wherever else a Starbucks has popped up for my convenience. 

Why does this work? I think because it taps into our history as hunter-gatherers. Historically, we can only eat foods that are ripe, and certain foods are only ripe during certain times of the year. We used to only eat foods that were local to us or recently killed in that area (meat-wise). However, with economic demand, the ease of the vast network of global transportation (planes, trains, boats, trucks-- everything a toddler boy wants to have miniatures of in his mom's purse), and human ingenuity-- we can have virtually any food any time. 

This of course, has a massive cost on the Earth. Farmers produce more than the demand is so that unions get paid. Foods are picked unripe, shipped, and gassed to look ripe. Laborers are exploited all over the world. Why? So we can have that immediate gratification. But then there's the human condition of being let down. We want to feel close to the farmers, the land, the people who made our food. It goes against the massive food industry-- but we have these urges to  go with seasonal.

So what did clever marketing teams do? They created that vacuum. You can only have that Pumpkin Pie blizzard around Thanksgiving. (Cuz, duh. Pilgrims wanted low-fat icecream with candy stuck in it that would survive a trip in the cupholder sans lid!) You can only have the Coconut-lime-verbena-sugar-sanded-key-lime-pie-drizzled-frappucino-magic during summer time, because it reminds us of the island vacation we took one time. (Or never took because we're so busy working.) It put a price on our memories-- and allows us to feel like we are tapping into something bigger-- a time that we once had-- and a time when we once COULDN'T have everything we wanted with immediacy.

For those of you who do occasionally (or more frequently; I'm not judging) hit up a Mickey-Dee's drive-thru (or Chick-fil-A, or Wendy's, or Dairy Queen, or TacoHell), you know that late winter and early spring is the only time to get the magically minty Shamrock Shake.

I had NO idea that every time I read the "Shamrock Shake" advertising  (and it makes me hum "Gangnam Style" in the same rhythm...arrgh)...that it has a longer history than the less than 5-year-old McCafe. It is a St. Patrick's Day drink! They invented that Grimace (whatever he is anyway) has a green cousin who demands a different milkshake...and fortunately for you, dear consumer, he gets his way. I mean, he does have a Shilleleagh and a vest with Celtic knots. It seems legit. I don't remember any commercials, but I'd venture a guess that he has a Lucky (from Lucky Charms) Irish accent. 

See, he's real Irish. You can tell from the hat and the fact that he'll do RiverDance soon.

What is this? A styrofoam cup??

I mean, gosh. Who knew this thing had been around for so long? That cup in the bottom picture is still styrofoam! They got rid of those by the mid-90's when all those Tree-huggers got to the McDonald's buyers and made us replace our Styrofoam Big Mac boxes with flimsy waxed paper. 

Crazy!

So, to end this rant...with the idea that started it...I'd been teaching sonnets to my 12th graders. The assignment was to create the 14-line sonnet (the couplets didn't have to be exact) and each line had to have 10 syllables (it didn't have to be exact Iambic pentameter). 

The theme: Something You Love.

I got a delightful variety of subjects-- of course, the romantic love poems (they are 17, so love is very awesome), and the angry, bitter love poems (they are 17, so love is very awful). There were kids who took it a little less emotionally-- and wrote about literal things they love-- some of them poignant-- their love of education and accessing knowledge, their love of video games and the entertainment they bring, their love of certain-branded shoes and the designers who created fashion empires. And then there was the Shamrock Shake. 

The girl who authored it is hilarious and deep. She writes brilliant essays and hangs out with the artsy kids. I don't know if she makes visual art...but she sure can make some verbal art!

 

[And in case you want to know JUST HOW healthy these milkshakes are...here's a link to the official nutrition page. You're welcome. (In case you don't want to read it, there's like a million bazillion calories and stuff. Duh. That's why it tastes good.) ]

So yes. The Shamrock Shake. It has a funny poem now. And I had no idea that it was part of the McDonald's history of marketing and tapping into other cultures. I knew it made me want it...when I can't have it later in the year. 

Leda and the Swan buy-in

Banner day of teaching...you know how there are some of those weeks at work where you just want to throw your hands up and wipe the board clean-- just erase it all and call it a wash?
It's been that kind of week.

I don't feel like I've accomplished much, academically, and I've been sick with a sinus infection. There's been a lot of business having to do with contracts and planning for next school year and complications related to both.

I've worn my various talismans (talismen?) of protection-- Celtic warrior shield, emerald ring, Egyptian Evil eye bracelet, Virgin de Guadalupe bracelet, Rosary beads, Costa Rican wood earrings, pirate skull bracelet...whatever, I call on the gifts of anybody's otherworldly powers from some of the drama going on this week. (And it's Holy Week and Passover, go figure. Lots of energy brewing!)

So today was a culmination of sorts. Working backwards, my last class period of the day is normally a little wild, so I had a bit of fun with them when, while they were taking their vocab quiz,  I came across some errant bubble wrap in the closet. We popped and popped sheets of this stuff. Big giant football player kids, little tiny future-model girls...all gleefully, laughingly popping bubble sheets.  One of the students asked, "Can we have Bubble-quiz every week, Miss G?" since it was kind of a silly end of the day. That made me smile.

My third AP class of the day worked through some multiple choice problems to varying degrees of success. Some of them were kind of frustrated with a diagnostic they took earlier in the week, so it was empowering to see them forging ahead and trying, even though it probably felt like 3 steps forward and 2 steps back. There was discussion that some of them didn't want to take the AP exam (for a variety of reasons) and several kids sought me out by the end of the day to tell me of their resolution to give it a shot. I was proud. It's maturity in action.

Now onto a troubled class. I had some widespread cheating on a dumb assignment last week, so I decided to lay down the law with this AP crew. I was particularly disappointed with a handful of the kids because I've really worked with some of these kids, tutored them, helped them enter writing contests, written them letters for college, etc. I felt betrayed. This is what happens when you invest your heart in other people (even fickle teenage people)...they sometimes let you down.
I was really proud of myself because I didn't lose my cool. I spoke with the ones who hadn't cheated, gave them info about their diagnostic, encouraged them and thanked them for choosing the high ground when it came to the easy temptation of cheating. I hope they understood how genuine I was.

Some days teaching feels academic. It should. I'm teaching them literature and composition. Other days, it feels more spiritual-- and that I'm teaching them life lessons that hopefully they will carry in their hearts and consider when they're making other choices and plans for themselves. School is life sheltered-- we keep them under the umbrella of classes, books, social activities, lunch schedules...and then we have to hope that they are learning the lessons that matter-- caring counts, integrity is real, beauty exists in people if you attempt to find it.

Some of the kids got the different speech. They got the, "you're busted because you cheated. Shame on you." That speech was easy to give. I could look those kids in the eye and say it and realize that they hadn't let me down, because they hadn't put in much effort, energy, or heart all year.

It was the kids that I've looked out for, the ones I've helped to guide, listened to their problems, read their journals and given feedback, hugged their parents...those are the kids that got the "I'm so disappointed I can barely stand to look at you" speech. That speech wore me out. It varied by the kid because I KNOW those kids. They succumbed to a quick temptation-- not realizing how personal it was for me. I've given you opportunities to succeed--and you chose the wrong path. For shame. I got a couple tears and apologies. I appreciated it. It is true-- I can't really look at them the same way.

My second crew of kids were "off the chain" as the phrase goes. There was a stolen cell phone and a haphazard way that the school policy handles such things. It wasn't my finest "classroom management" or teaching. C'est la vie. (and don't leave your stupid phone out, it might get taken, duh!)

So my first class of the day was the one where I was thinking back over my day and a warm-fuzzy feeling spread through me like the sun spreading through the clouds on this perfect Georgia day. The kids had a diagnostic for AP-- they took it seriously and were good sports about it. They debated the merits of taking the exam-- some tears happened because this group of kids is incredibly hard on themselves-- yet they are incredibly talented writers, philosophical thinkers, and considerate peers. They do good work.
They had read and answered some basic questions on some William Butler Yeats poems-- one of them being "Leda and the Swan." What I love about teaching AP to smart kids is that I can actually lecture and spin off discussion with critical theory, feminist theory, and current events as they relate to the poetry-- It's. So. Fun.

My magical warm-fuzzy teaching moment came from an unexpected source. This one student hasn't been particularly checked-in to learning all year; in fact, she's been a source of a lot of grief for me.

As I explained the Greek mythology of Leda being the mother of Helen of Troy...reiterating brilliant stories that have informed years of stories, movies, poems after....and how beautiful Helen came to launch 1000 ships, starting wars that left women husbandless and men sacrificing their children, etc. The kids came to the conclusion that Leda must have known something was up when she was pregnant with those swan eggs...that maybe she knew there would be great power and great sorrow from her one experience with that seductive swan.

I showed them some images of painters and sculptor's impression of the blessed event/rape. They were pretty shocked by some of the images, including a more modern one that questions the concept of the person creating the image-- the photographer, the painter, the journalist-- watching a news story such as a RAPE OF A GIRL BY A FREAKIN' SWAN-- and their guilt and complicity in watching a crime occur. This one image has the man painting on an easel with a ship wrecked in the background and the woman questionably enjoying the hostile-swan takeover.

The one student asked, "Wait, so was the swan really a swan? Or did he look like something else to Leda? The poem makes it sound like she was into the, eh-hem, activity-- her "thighs loosened" and "That alliteration of her girl breast was against his chicken breast"-- did he just appear as what she made up to be her biggest fantasy?"

"I like this poem. It's pretty deep."

I mean...I don't know if it's exactly the discussion Yeats intended when he published this sonnet...but man, it was some good academic discourse in my day.
So I suppose my day wasn't really bad at all. I stood my ground against some kid bullies who've learned some bad lessons. I got some smiles and grins out of kids that don't have too many reasons to do so. Frankenstein was read and discussed, AP practice occurred, and yeah, there were some funny poems about swans and Zeus and stuff. 

Leaf lunch...TMI

Part of my teaching "shtick" if you will, is sharing about myself. I teach humanities/writing/English/literature...so it's important to have buy-in on the subjective nature of self in order to get kids to create personal writing....or writing that is worth a damn at all!

One of my students (an 18-year-old male football player and runner) had gotten a little behind in AP Lit, and he's been working really hard to bring up his grade and catch up on assignments. To further paint this picture, he's a tall, polite,  handsome guy who isn't from the metro area like the majority of my kids. Sometimes he says stuff in class discussion that's just "country"-- he's not mean-spirited in any way, so it makes it funnier to me that he's a super-competitive athlete too.

He approached my desk and said, "Miss G, I need to bring you something for helping me out lately."

I said, "You know that's not necessary, just keep doing what you're doing-- moving in the right direction."

"But I want to. Don't worry about lunch tomorrow. I'll bring you Chick-fil-A."
Pause.
"Oh wait. You don't eat chicken. Cuz you're allergic. That's a shame."
Pause.
"Okay, I'll bring you McDonald's."
"No wait. You always eat healthy food like salads and vegetarian stuff. That's too fattening."
Pause.
"Fine, MIss G. I'll just go outside and pick you a leaf. Would that work as a lunch for you?"

At this point, I was laughing...because it was so earnest. In the interest of saying thank you, he was thinking out loud a gift for me...and I was realizing that apparently they know all about my poultry allergy, my vegetarianism, and that I attempt to eat healthy.

Wonder what other gems they've got stored up about me! ;)

Downsides and Daffodils

I’ve been a little bummed about my life lately. Things just seem to be plodding along and not necessarily going as planned—not that there is a master plan, anyway. There seem to be more downsides than anything to all my past plans, hopes, goals, and dreams. This is a “blah” way to feel.

It’s no secret that physical pain heightens your senses and dulls others. For example, I sometimes have a crick (is that a real word?) in my left shoulder, often from wearing my purse on one side. I have hardly noticed it. Why? Wellllll, I comically fell down the steps in the rain a few days ago.

Yes. It was comical. It’s been monsoon-weather here in the ATL and it was pouring. Like movie-level, garden hose pouring. (Incidentally, I just saw “Beautiful Creatures” and there’s a line where the Girl Witch is having an emotional break down with her Mortal Boyfriend and she commands nature—it’s dumping buckets of rain JUST on him. He, in true Southern gentleman form pleas, “I’m agreein’ with you! Bein’ human is feelin’ bad, and I care about you…Now would you please stop RAININ’ on me?!”) That’s what this rain was. Buckets.

I have about 6 steps from my front porch and a concrete landing. I slid on my heels and hit the right side of my back, below my shoulder blade and above my hip, on every step down. I landed with a thud on my left bum cheek…this is the side where I’ve had problems with sciatica for several years. (Yes, I’m 29, and I have sciatica nerve pain. It’s awesome.)

I actually wish I’d seen this fall—it was probably hilarious to watch. However, turns out that landing on my left side jostled and jolted my left sacroiliac joint, which is generally inflamed (it’s been that way since I was about 10, weird). Due to possibly adrenalin or whatever, I didn’t really feel bad, just more comically embarrassed for about 24 hours. Then my hip started hurting. And my lower back. And my upper back. And my leg would get pins and needles. Then go numb.

I suffered through with some old muscle relaxers at night and ibuprofen during the day. I went to work the next 2 days; sitting in the car puts pressure on my SI joint in a way that was basically misery-inducing. It feels like there is sandpaper neatly wrapped around each bone and part of my joint in my hip…rubbing against any squishy muscle and tissue that are down there. Ouch.

I went to the chiropractor and she said my body is self-correcting and my left leg was about two inches shorter than my right. Hah! Are you kidding? Hey Bones, you’re not a slinky! Stop and do what you’re told! Long story short, it’s been almost a week and I’m a lot better. I do yoga anyway, so those stretches help, but sitting feels worse than walking and standing, by a lot. Sleeping is hard because sometimes I wake up with this stabbing pain, but then again, who needs restful sleep for a body to heal?

Wow, I meant to write less about that, but I just edited in a lot more. Oh well. Another side effect of pain making other parts of your life strangely in-focus, is that I haven’t been able to exercise in the last week (due to torrential rain and pain-in-my-butt).  Running about a mile daily was doing wonders for my mood, self-esteem, waist-line, and general well-being. I missed it terribly! I never thought I’d be one of those people who loved exercise, but I’ll say it. I –love- running. I like the air in my face, my dog on the leash beside me, the feeling of the concrete under my feet.

Speaking of that concrete under my feet, I managed a walk/jog yesterday with my dog and that’s where this post formulated itself in my head. I was walking on a side street in Grant Park which is not particularly kept up. It’s mainly because they are majority rental houses and so there’s not a lot of motivation for landlords or tenants to invest in their groundskeeping. There’s big gorgeous houses a street over, but this one is a little dilapidated.

As the brown, grey, loamy rotting leaves litter the un-mowed winter lawns, there are occasional patches of color. This one in particular caught my eye because it was a happy patch of yellow daffodils in a row of largely untended rental houses. It was so happy and daffodils don’t just come from nowhere! Someone had to have planted those bulbs one fall or winter at some point.

It made me think…I have lived in, decorated, and grown gardens in a half dozen houses since the time I finished Oxford College a decade ago. I plant vegetables, seeds, annuals, perennials, some shrubs, some small seedlings…and do my best to make things grow. When I’ve planned to stay in one place for a while, I’ve planted crocuses, daffodils, hyacinths, lilies, and poinsettias. Crocuses bring the promise of spring and daffodils have shown up in my life at times when I needed a natural, physical reminder of the Creator among us.  I harvest rain water and shower water; I compost and grow fat worms; I fertilize and tend. Gardening is so healing to me…the words of a Mumford and Sons song started ringing in my ears.

(Before you think I’m crazy, it was a particularly serendipitous mix on the ipod and the song “Below My Feet” happened to come on as I was gazing at these little yellow Narcissus flowers. This actually happens to me quite frequently—I credit the radio gods with these nuggets of aural pleasure.)

…Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn…

Seeing these little tender blossoms waving in the wind on bright green stems, given life at a crappy rental house, from a tenant long since moved on, reminded me that my light and life…even if I’m not actively seeing the result, might be spreading before and behind me. I’m disappointed in the downsides of my life right now, but I have planted bulbs of bright happiness and color in places around Atlanta…and those dark bulbs, planted in cold soil, with roots pushing down, leaves, stems, and petals flourishing upward…might just be nourishing someone’s soul too.

Here’s a clip of Mumford and Sons on SNL… it's a pretty song.

P.S. The lyrics are very poetic and have some poignant Christian overtones to them, if that seems to float your proverbial boat. I recommend to keep the ground below your feet, it’s been a bad week for boats (lookin’ at you Carnival Cruise).

Putting the attitude in gratitude

I jotted down some notes about this—which should be a great way of starting the pre-writing process, except for me, I’m a bit of a (as my friend Christy would say) one-draft-wonder. I write to have catharsis—I write to release—I write to share—I write to maybe enlighten, and very possibly entertain. If I write it down in my journal or notebook, I basically have released it. It’s a different sort of release than typing and/or blogging, but it’s been set free from the dizzying confines of my mind and is therefore somehow laid to rest. When I draft an outline, that’s usually as far as it goes.

I think I was kicking around ideas for this as a pro-con list. I like to make my pro-con lists when I’m in a euphoric mood—that way, when I look back over them later, if I should happen to be in a bad mood, it still makes me happy that I have so many darn pros in my life! Who can argue with that?

Lemme start with the bad…but I didn’t write it in this order. It was hard to think of the bad stuff.

The cons:

HOME: My home is a shitty townhome. I have a roommate and I’m almost 30. That is stupid. Then again, when you have a roommate, it’s kind of like having a sister who’s always there—we talk, cook, walk, and hang out a good amount of time. Eh, move it to the pro side.

WORK: I have a crappy job that I 80% loathe. Despite the colleagues I like, there are a couple of MCB (see my teaching blog for more explanation), disappointing administrators, a colleague who should have been fired outright for all her actions (in other words, someone who leads by negative example), and piles of kids who seriously need some rules in their lives. It sucks to be demoralized, treated misogynistically, and overworked on a daily basis; working for this paycheck has some serious drawbacks.

PET: My Sweetie Petey-Bella Boo is quite the leash aggressor. She pulls really hard when there’s another dog around and I haven’t tried a dog park in years with her. That’s tough, because I’d like her to be more social, but then again, she started life in a really rough way, so I’m more than happy with how awesome she is.

LOVE LIFE: Hah. No such thing.

Pros:

HOME: I live in a home surrounded by my comfy bed, cute clothes, fancy-smelling candles, interesting books, pretty art, fancy cooking appliances and dishes, and my clutter. Yes, the clutter is still a pro. It’s my clutter and I like it. It's in a good neighborhood that I enjoy being near places.

WORK: I go to a job that is honestly AWFUL, but I have made many, many shiny spots in the blackened and dreary kettle over the proverbial fire I work in. I have a really good work buddy (I’m ALWAYS friends with the art teacher!), a funny neighbor down the hall whom I admire, a curmudgeonly-young colleague, a grandfatherly-department chair, sister vegans, a sassy librarian, etc. My attitude about my shit-ass job has made it more than survivable for the past 7 months. Go me. The point is, I have a job, where others in the world do not. I’m grateful. 

I also do teach a ton of amazing, creative, kind, deep, unique, and intellectual kids who I feel incredibly blessed to see on a daily basis. What a weird society we live in—we send our children off to hang out with strangers for 8 hours a day. I feel fortunate to be that stranger to drop some knowledge on some of these kids. 

The art chick and I have a rather elaborate note-passing game going on.

PETEY-BELLA: I have a rescue American bulldog. She's 8 and had a tumor removed this summer, and she seems to be doing just fine. She’s my child with 4 legs and man, she is the bomb-diggity. She sleeps most of the time, she follows me around when I’m home, she never gets sick, she is insanely happy to eat her dog food and boring treats,  she barks at noisy bad things, and she snores when she’s doing all that sleeping. Honestly, she’s a cuddler. When I’m in bed working on things, she stays at the foot, but not underfoot (You catch what I did there?), but when it’s time for the human to do the sleeping, she repositions herself accordingly. How cool is that? She’s also learned (I could say I’ve taught her, but it’s more like conditioning) to pee and poop on command. I tell her “Go potty Petey,” and she squats where she is. It’s great. “Go poopy, Petey,” and “Go baffroom, Bella,” take a little more time, but generally the result is there. I’ve been jogging/running lately and she’s totally been game. She has about a mile to 1.5 in her before she’s totally a Petey puddle of pup on the ground and I have to drag her home, but still, that’s pretty good for a really lazy dog.

It's a rather difficult life sleeping on mounds of pillows and a duvet.

EXERCISE: Speaking of the 1.5 miles, I’ve been walk-jog-running nearly every day since Christmas break. It has been awesome for me. My stamina grows each day and my emotional well-being is, well- being awesome! I know doctors recommend exercise and stuff, but it’s hard to make happen with a busy schedule. I’m turning over a leaf towards daily movement and it feels good…like there are little fizzy muscle cheerleaders in my cells being like, “you’re awesome, work us out some more!” I enjoy seeing my neighborhood from the perspective of a walker and knowing which houses have which gardens, pets, and recycling. I'm mainly just nosy. Hah.

FOOD: I’ve also been doing pretty well about prepping food for going to work and cooking at night. I follow some food blogs and I’ve been applying what I’ve picked up from those venues. Don’t get me wrong, if I could afford to eat out every night of the week, I most certainly would. I like my dishes and all, but I like it better if someone else washes. I’ve started adding flax or sesame seeds to salad…sneaking in bits of protein and fiber where I can. I was doing a calorie counter app on my phone, and I haven’t kept up with it that much, but the idea of it keeps portion sizes in my head. It feels good to eat well.

MUSIC: I auditioned for and began singing with Emory U Chorus again this semester for the Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony—the Ode to Joy. It’s so cool to be in a room with 215 people, all watching the same skinny dude wave his arms around, while we read dots and dashes on a page in German, and make simultaneous noise pop out of our mouths at the same time. When the orchestra’s there, it’s going to be straight musical magic. Hellz yeah.

FRIENDSHIPS: I also started up a lady book club—not one I run for my students. That has its own place, but I wanted a chance to fellowship (femme-ship?) with ladies I didn’t work with and have a reason to read and talk about books—or a reason to get together and drink wine and not just talk about banal stuff. We had our first meeting, and there were only a few of us…but I felt good about it anyway. The euphoria of being with a group of women—that kinship—is strong and beautiful.

Checking out the Beltline art installation near Memorial Drive.

I’ve been spending some good times with good friends—ones I can count on my friend list (an actual one, not a list populated on facebook) for 5-10 years. Wow. It was pointed out to me how marvelous it is to have people in your life for that length of time—I hadn’t thought about it until I started taking stock. Good chats, good laughter, good food…good people in my life: I'm grateful for you.

Myself and one of aforementioned friends (Dan) at the High. The Klein Blue painting is particularly scary. If that Klein guy can get a color named after him, what else is he capable of??

LOVE LIFE: I have no boyfriend, but damn, I have got a lot of love in my life. Lately I’ve been noticing a lot of validation about my friends and how loyal, fun, and kind they are. My friends and family people know me, support me, and believe in me, even when I don’t have the courage to believe in myself. The right love in my life will come along when it’s supposed to, right now, the love I have is all the love I need.

BANGIN’ ASS BOD: Did I mention the working out and the eating more healthy thing? It has resulted in my body being AWESOME!!!! I have a scale that I left at my mom’s house, so I don’t really have any idea how much poundage I’ve retained/lost, but it doesn’t really matter. I look soooooo good naked!! I mean, I’m only getting naked for me and the shower (see love life, above), but still. It’s good to prance around in front of the mirror and be like, whoa, I look HAWT!

CONCLUSION: Bottom line, my attitude towards my life and body is pretty fiercely awesome. All that good attitude makes me have some pretty serious gratitude to nature, the universe, God, and all the other things that make it possible to have happiness, love, health, joy, and music in my world. That's worth singin' about.

Happy! Now go have a gratitude-attitude yourself. :)