A very happy to mary35 !  Someday I will get your present in the mail.  Hope you have a good one! 

or if you just want to see a video of me taking a tour of my friend Jeff's house, here is your shot. Yesterday I went down to jtaddy 's house and helped him give a home decorating tour in ten parts (one hour total). Jeff used to blog here as jeffreyjingles , but now he's blogging jtaddy , giving home decorating advice for his many adoring fans. His schtick is that he, like my husband has what we like to call a "non-functioning gay gene": they both fit the pattern-card of the gay stereotype in every way excepting the very pertinent point that they both are only attracted to women. (Jeff's girlfriend is carylerg , for reference.) Jeff is an elementary art teacher and part-time artist and home decorator; he has art shows several times a year, and he is getting hired more and more by locals to help decorate their homes.

I've been friends with Jeff since 1995, and he's been a friend of my husband's since grade school. He's my daughter's godfather as well. It was a real pleasure to make this video with Jeff, and over the next week he'll post installments of the video. I'm posting the first one below; if you want to see me, I think I appear in the mirror in video 3 or 4. Or 5? Anyway, if you know about the Jeff & Heidi show that is every time we get together, you probably will enjoy this, because as usual we can't resist banter back and forth while we try to showcase Jeff's house. Honestly, it was everything in me to keep my comments G rated, especially when he was talking about screwing things with the toolbox.

Jeff Tadsen's Fall Frolics home tour, part 1.  Follow the rest of the saga here, if you like.

 I mentioned previously, but briefly, that dear ooshiny  has been ill and in the hospital.  She has been, in fact, there since May 5 and in the ICCU since the 10th, and for a few very scary days after she moved there, we very, very nearly lost her.  She's still in the ICCU now, but today when I went to visit her and take her some audiobooks, I didn't see her drugged up on sedatives and/or stuffed full of vent tube.  When I came into the room, she said, "Heidi!"  Because the vent tube is gone.

It was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.  A voice for a few days I worried I'd never hear again.  A voice silent for almost two weeks.  She's been sick now for a month, but she looks so good now, and there is this glow and light about her that make it hard to leave her.  Yes, she's still hooked up to tubes, and yes, she has a long hard road ahead of her yet, but I can tell you this: no one has ever looked our sounded more beautiful and precious than she did today.  

She talked the whole time I was there.  Talked and talked and talked and talked, full of Jess and beauty and wonder and love.  And she didn't cough once.

Thanks, Universe.  And thank you Grandma Severe.

        

So, yesterday was a bit off the map.

A lunch with Lynette turned into a rescue of Lynette, who all but collapsed at the Iowa Medical Board with a migraine.  Handily I was just down the street, and at a place with internet connection, so I worked out where the hell the medical boards are (they hide them, and you have to be clever) and where to park so I could whisk her away in my chariot to our house.  I alerted Dan that we had a migraine patient in transit, so when we arrived he had his office windows blacked out and the spare bed prepped.  We settled her down for a nice dark nap, and the two of us ran off to West Street Deli for lunch instead.

The only trouble was that now we had Lynette in Ames, her car in Des Moines, and both ultimately belonged in Washington, Iowa.  For those of you who do not grok Iowa geography, that would be this:

The drive from A to B is 169 miles, or 2.5 hours.  Even under normal circumstances this is a bit of a commitment, but with a seven year-old who has school in the morning and a me whose lower back was already angry about the drive to and from Des Moines (note how short that is from Point A in reference), it wasn't even a scenario we could theoretically entertain.  And there was no way we were letting her into the drivers seat of anything but a bed, so Plans Had To Be Made.

I'm a damn fine hand at plans, but the Queen of All Plans is my mother, and so after an afternoon of phone calls, I found her, and Operation Lynette Iles, Relay For Life was engaged.  My mother used to live in Washington, but now lives in Ottumwa (located on the map below that blue line to Washington) and could easily meet us half-way and ferry Lynette and her car the remainder of the way.  The only fly in the ointment is that my mother had her knee replaced a few weeks ago and is still not much for a car, either.  But my mother came through with The Plan: she would drive with my stepfather to Oskaloosa, have dinner at Smokey Row and recover her knee, then once we arrived would drive to Washington as Brian drove Lynette's car, then would come back with some care as to not hurt herself, but she wouldn't be driving so this wouldn't be so hard. And this is exactly what we did, and because the Queen of All Plans was involved, it went off very well.  We actually had a great time.  Anna rode in the front seat from Des Moines with me (Lynette passed out in the back seat of her car as Dan drove) as we listened to her iPod, and then she danced around Smokey Row, which truly is a wonderful coffee shop.  We ate dinner there, too, then caravanned back, commenting as we went what an unexpected but fun adventure it turned out to be.

However, that was last night, and now it is the morning after, and now I am wandering around I house I meant to tidy days ago, with dishes all over and mail opened and unopened on every available surface, with laundry still half-done, with food in the fridge that needs to be prepared before it goes bad--ah, reality.  Such bliss.  And there are the fifteen unopened emails in my inbox, the one hundred blog entries in my google reader, the so-close-I-can-taste-it draft of story waiting in Scrivener.  Then there is my body, which keeps saying, "Hey, you know, just go back to bed."  That, alas, is very not an option.  Tonight Anna has piano, and game night at school, and we're overdue for her bath. . . ah, glamor.  

But I'm drinking Smokey Row coffee (blueberry crumble!  Mmm.) and listening to Lady Gaga (I know, I know), and the cats are snoring, and I don't have an appointment until 2:30.  I won't get everything done on my list that I want done, but I can make a significant dent.  Mostly I'm still feeling pretty rosy that while the Universe had to hand a friend of mine a fuck-you card, it also made sure me and mine were there for the handoff.  That's pretty cool, and can overcome quite a bit.  Even unfolded laundry.

 Heading to the home of jeffreyjingles in a few hours (okay, five) to celebrate Oscars.  Never mind that we've seen nothing but Milk and Wall-E.  It's tradition. Also, when we tried to say, "we'll do it next year" Anna looked at us as if we'd cancelled Christmas.  So southward we go.  

This has meant that my day is getting us ready for both tonight and tomorrow, since Dan works today and Anna still has school in the morning.  Also tomorrow is a cat appointment, and other appointments for both Dan and I.  But first I had to unbury the dining room from the laundry carnage, which meant I first had to find the dining room table so that I could fold things on it.  The good news is, I had the energy to do it.  Now all that's left is to get my strength training in, eat some lunch, and shop for our portion of the food fest this evening.  I have to abandon my idea of popcorn served in cute containers I found cheap at Target, because they stink so badly from chemicals that they were burning my eyes as I tried to wash them, and the water made them worse.  Lovely.  

Anyway.  This week will be the battle of the chiropractor vs. the neurologist.  Tune in Wednesday or so to see who wins, or if they join in poetic harmony to lead me to health and happiness.  In the meantime, think gold.

 It is this guy's birthday today.

Good guy.  Good brother.  Excellent uncle.  Secret life in the demolition derby.

Hope it's a happy one, little brother.

This was my present from my mother-in-law.

It's cross-stitch: Nina is an amazing cross-stitch artist and has been doing it forever.  She made me another cat piece awhile back, and she's made Anna two beautiful pieces for her room, one of an angel when Anna was a baby, and a unicorn and a princess for her birthday, both of which are breathtakingly gorgeous.  She's also made Anna several sweatshirts with cross-stitched designs, and magnetic play pieces for a whiteboard.  This one was mine this Christmas.  She said this cat reminded her of Sidney, and I have to agree.

It will be going above the piano; look for it the next time you're here.

I wonder, sometimes, if we insist on using stylized, saccharine images of angels and jolly fat men because we want them to be our totems, a sort of balance against the insanity, bickering, and stress we know damn well the season will bring, or because we are all sadists and want to torture ourselves with the images of perfect Christmas that cannot be.  Maybe it starts as the former and ends as the latter.  Actually, I think it usually ends with the icon.

It would be nice to think that the screaming and stress of trying to get families together for the holidays is a modern phenomenon, that back in the day when moving far from home was setting your stake on the other side of town, or if you were really exotic, a nearby county, but I suspect that we just put the stress in different places then: who was getting who on Christmas Day vs. Christmas Eve, whose turn it was to make the cranberry sauce, and so on.  And I imagine if we manage to keep the planet glued together long enough to hit something Star Trek-ish and we solve travel dilemmas by transporter beam, we'll revert back to who is hosting and whether it will be turkey or ham, or come up with something unique to that era.  What I know for sure is that it seems impossible to simply plan a holiday gathering without making most of the parties weep, without someone falling into the role of Peackeeper, someone donning the Diva Hat, and someone else sulking in the corner. It happens every single year in at least one radius of the family circle, so I guess it is either compulsory or that deep down we really, really like it.

I have to say, I don't.  I'm not so naive to think I am clever enough to escape it, because I never have, but I don't like it.  I don't mind monkey wrenches.  I don't even mind last minute changes.  But I don't like the drama.  And before any family members or friends start tensing in their chairs and think I'm airing laundry I shouldn't--oh, just don't even start, because, actually, it's EVERYWHERE this year.  And it's nobody's fault, at least in the sense that someone was stupid or thoughtless or selfish.  It's just schedules and the thwarting of plans, and rain on parades and exhaustion and stress.  Moves and houses for sale and sick puppies and moves across the continent.  Work schedules and contractors and Other Christmases and, I'm sure at some point, weather.  And money.  This year, of course, money makes everyone tense.  The result is chaos, uncertainty, and stress, and angry, bleeding, and weeping snowmen.  There is no solution.  No one can be happy, not completely.  There can be no plan, none, anyway, that will work.  And so I write this little love note to the universe, and to anyone reading this who is having a bloody Christmas of their own.

Chill.  Out.

(And pardon the pun.)

Seriously--that's all there is to do.  Chill out, take deep breaths, and as much as possible, smile.  Smile, in fact, before every phone call, and before every email, and every sort of communication.  When you think of the holiday get-togethers, think of them with fondness, not rage.  Think of them with hope, not the iron fist of control.  I think there's a beauty to planning, to someone taking the reins and saying, "I will host this year.  Tell me your dates that would be good."  But it's a bit late for that now--these are plans better made in February, or April, or September.  For now, all we can do is coast and smile.

And bend.  I know ice isn't much or accommodation, but if you apply gentle heat, I think you can get it to edge a little.  Gentle heat, though, and subtle, careful pressure.  Oh, there's a snowstorm coming?  The car broke down?  You accidentally overscheduled?  That's okay.  Smile.  Breathe.  Chill, and seek a new plan, or say, with love and remorse, that you're sorry, but it isn't going to work, and vow to do better next year--then actually do better next year.  In all of our family Christmases, it looks like it's either not going to work at all or will have to be split up into shifts and sections, and possibly arranged ad hoc at the last minute.  And you know what?  So long as we all get together and love each other and we don't spend the entire time listening to apologies or removing our spouse's fingernails from where they have become embedded in the tabletop?  Then I think it's a success.  

I don't like how the holidays are the time when we seem most likely to forget that the actual goal is to get together with the people we allegedly love, to celebrate, not to stare daggers at one another.  The mulled wine is not supposed to be medicinal.  I don't like how I begin December breathless for tinsel and cookies and holiday cheer and leave it with my shoulders so tense they're locked against my ears.  I don't like how "the most wonderful time of the year" makes me so excited for the dark hibernation of January, largely because there aren't any more parties to attend.

I think it's too late for this year, but I'm going to tell everyone now what I want for Christmas next year, so you can start shopping early: I want to see you.  What I want for Christmas is to be with the people that I love.  Honestly?  That's it.  Presents are fun, but it's more fun to walk through a door into a warm room and see someone I don't get to see enough coming at me with their arms open and a smile on their face.  It's nice if there's food.  It's nice if the tree is up and soft music is playing and the room smells like something roasted or baked.  But I'd take a stark white room and cold pizza if it meant I got to hug my sister Holli while I heard my brother laughing with his partner in the background, while Hillari waved at me while my mother took my daughter's hand and asked her how things had been.  I'd love to hear my dad tell some story about some cousin or great-uncle I'd forgotten I had, and I don't care where it happens.  I'd meet Jeff and Caryle and Mary at a truck stop and eat a Snickers just to play one more interminable game of Uno and hear Mary say she didn't have enough cards.  I'd get up in the middle of the night to have bowls of cereal with the Cullinans, at once or in shifts.  

I would take any and every moment with every single one of my family and friends at Christmas, however and wherever and whenever I can get them.  I am happy to organize or host gatherings, always.  I will travel where and when I can, and when I know dates far in advance, I will plan and do my best to get there.  And when the plans fall through and the perfect saccharine images start to bleed, please just keep smiling, because you all know damn well that we'd all just find a bloody snowman oddly amusing or at least ironic.  If Christmas ever actually goes as planned, it will probably be during the apocalypse.  Every other joyous holiday occasion will happen out of serindipity like it always does.  

I have not always been drama-free in the great holiday dance, and I've had my shoulder-tensing moments this year, too.  But do you know, for 2008, I'm done.  I'm going to host or show up or whatever to whatever we do, and I'm just going to be so excited to see whoever I am lucky enough to see, whenever I see them.  I'm going to look for the joy, and I'm going to be realistic, and take the Christmas plans and travel disappointments right along with the plans that end up working.  If my snowman ends up axed, I'm just going to make him a new head, or enjoy the destruction of the perfect image.  It's probably more interesting altered anyway.

Merry Christmas.  Here's a toast to everyone's happily fractured holidays.

Thanksgiving weekend summary

Thanksgiving Day: Had pizza for lunch, potluck Thanksgiving at the hospital with Dan during his shift for supper.  Caught an early show of Bolt with Anna.

Friday: Woke early with Dan and Anna and went to Target to catch a few must-have bargains.  Realized at 5:45AM we actually didn't want the item we'd had to rise early to get there to snag, and so now we were simply up really damn early for no reason.  Went to Target anyway.

Went out again with Anna to the mall (it's very, very tiny) and scored deals like crazy, realizing near the end that we did in fact have all our shopping finished.  Celebrated with cookies and icees.  Took Anna to horse lesson and knitted sock while I waited.  Picked up beaming child who announced she had cantered on the biggest lesson horse.  Developed strange and somewhat embarrassing situation in the afternoon; called family friend who is a doctor in the evening and ended up with a lovely, long-overdue conversation and an antibiotic prescription.

Wrote a little SMALL TOWN BOY.

Saturday: Wrote a little more STB.  Tidied house and prepared both for the arrival of carylerg  and for the promised Christmas decorating with the resident seven year-old. Watched snow begin to fall.

Welcomed Caryle, set her up in my office with the laptop and my favorite writing chotchkes.  Hauled Christmas crap up from basement and began setting up tree.  Spent the rest of the day in a lovely waltz between cheerleading Caryle, arranging Christmas and laughing while the soundtrack of the family Christmas favorites played on my iPod.  With the house smelling of dinner and Christmas decking every room, Dan arrived from work snow-dusted at 4PM apparently to complete the Norman Rockwell painting. 

Settled Anna into bed and watched House with Dan, then tucked him in to bed, too.  Cheered Caryle more; wrote more.  At roughly 1AM had the supreme honor of watching someone meet a long-desired goal.  Drank cocoa spiked with schnapps.  Passed out in bed.

Sunday:  Woke to the nudge of a hungry seven year-old, too early, only to find the whole world had been turned white and was turning whiter.  Woke Caryle and hastened her home, then spent the morning wrapping presents with Anna, watching her become more and more involved and excited with the holiday, and feeling like I've already received my best present.  

Lunch with Dan to take him his boots which he hadn't thought he'd need.  Epic nap on couch with kid and cat sharing my blanket.

Grocery run, then sledding with Anna.  (I watched and pushed the sled, then pulled her home.)  Came home to drive, walk, and stairs/porches/decks scooped: Dan was home, and had been at work.  Made dinner, though nearly burned down house with oven, which apparently needs desperately to be cleaned.

Short version: Spent busy and yet quiet weekend with family and friends, with husband who giggled and laughed and teased and sang spontaneously, with child who never had the stars leave her eyes, with friend who let me watch her conquer a mountain.  Began to scale a particularly steep mountain of my own.  Was grateful for my amazing, wonderful life full of people whom I can never possibly love enough.

Happy Thanksgiving.

 Borders gift certificates.  Seriously.

I want Absolute Sandman Volume 1 by Neil Gaiman.  I have wanted it for over a year, but it's $100, so no one gets it, which I understand.  But it's going to go out of print soon, I have heard, and I am panicking.  I really want this.  I have $5 saved from Borders rewards.  I have a Borders in my town.  So, gift certificates--TO BORDERS.  Five dollars, ten, whatever--it will all add up, and then I will be able to go get it.  

So if you've been trying to decide what the hell to get me, excellent--don't shop.  Put whatever your budget was into a Borders gift certificate, which you can purchase here.

Well, the other thing I really, really, really want is this, but it is even more expensive and therefore off the table.

BORDERS GIFT CERTIFICATES.  Spread the word.

 So, yesterday I really thought it would be a good time to race on through to 100k, then spend a day or so wrapping up.  Then this morning I sat down, started writing, and went, "Whoah."  And cried, and saw the end unfold a little more, said, OH, MY, GOD, then cried more, then slowed down to a very leisurely stroll.  I'm in the third act, and you know, there might only be another fifteen thousand words in this first draft.  There are scads missing and scads wrong.  And the antagonist is still missing, but I think I finally know why, and better yet, how to go back and put him in.

More important than anything else, today was a weekend where everyone was home, most of all the work was done, and between the revelatory scenes and peeks ahead and cozy times and beautiful daughter and husband, it was just too hard.  I coaxed everyone into the TV room so I could be in the same room, but with the laptop in my lap mostly I watched them play Batman, because they were so adorable.  Really, there are worse things in life.

Tomorrow, Tuesday, and Wednesay are my solo days, and I'll spend them getting these last bits out.  I'd like it all done by Thanksgiving, personally, and by Wednesday for sure because my family is stopping by on the way back from Minneapolis, but mostly i just want to do the end right.  I don't mind doing the beginning and even the middle in fits and starts, but I like to take the end seriously.  It's not something you really get to see twice.

Still rather stunned that there actually is and end.  And IN NOVEMEBER.  And it's good, and it gives me the beginning.  Good God, I am truly fabulous.

Oh, and that damned query.  Well, first the end.  Then sell the other.  Then fix this one.

So, this is me on Sunday.  Last week of NaNoWriMo, everybody.  Whip it good.

Monday my fantastic, wonderful, dear-to-my-heart in-laws came over and completely saved our asses by helping us with the yard work and cleaning out the garage.  If you have seen our house and our street (highly, highly infested with trees, to the point where we are practically a forest), you have an idea of the amount of leaves we were dealing with.  Part of the problem is that the maple behind our house drops leaves very late: it gave them up last Tuesday, and it immediately began raining once they were down.  So Monday Tom and Nina came on Dan's day off and we bagged about twenty plus bags of leaves, cleared the furniture from the deck, did some minor clearing of the eaves, and--be still my heart--SORTED THE GARAGE.  We have a two-fer, but in the summer one side gets full of random crap we just don't know where to put.  I sorted this out, and Tom and Nina helped us load it in the storage space above the garage, and now the truck--which they sold us for a dollar last year--can now fit in beside the car.  Nina, every time I walk in there I think fondly of you as I gaze adoringly at the clean floor.

However, I was battling a cold all weekend, and though I thought I was on the waning end of it Monday, all that work outside in the cold pushed me over the edge, and as a result yesterday was a complete wash.  I spent most of it in bed, and the only thing I did of consequence was finish the set up of Anna's birthday present: an aquarium.  (Tom and Nina provided a lot of that, too.  Yes.  I have the best in-laws IN THE WORLD.  They came with more local pork and beef for my freezer, too.)  There was absolutely no writing done yesterday.  None.

So today I intend to, if not close the final 5k on "winning," to get much closer.  (I'm currently at 45k.)  I have decidedly lost my rhythm on it, and I admit I don't know what to do with it.  I also have to glance again at that first scene I want to post on Friday for a critique, and I'm nervous about it because the end of that scene is weird, and the scene itself is long.  But I suppose that's why I'm posting it.  And then there is the query draft, and the synopsis.

And the laundry . . . .

So that's me.  I'm not posting the Olbermann piece on Prop 8, because at this point I think the entire planet has seen it, but, just in case, I will link. 

And with that, it is now time to work, because at 2PM I am taking a giddy near-seven year-old to buy two goldfish.

I'm going to begin by apologizing for my severe lack of brain; I've found myself blinking at things all morning, trying to remember what I was supposed to do with them and even what they are, even when they are clearly labeled. I'm hoping coherence just organically happens, as traditionally the writing part of my brain operates on a different frequencey than the "Why did I walk into the kitchen, exactly? Was I seeking something?" part. I'm thinking, though, that any attempt to be organized and subject-centered in here will fail for that other brain section's critical error message. Or not. We'll see.

It has been a busy week, which is why largely you've received youtube videos and TDS and Head of Skate, etc. I'm sort of tired of talking about politics, though that doesn't mean I will stop talking about them, and absolutely I will keep watching The Daily Show. Last week saw me substituting two of the five days, Dan was home for one, and there was just lots of general not-the-usual around here. I was also trying to write a 6000 word short story during that time. I'm thinking it will be easier this week when, after today, it is just me here all day Tuesday and Wednesday, and then Thursday I'm getting good at navigating. Anna is making progress on the anxiety issues, too, which also might make this week better. I'm also now through the first season of Heroes, and now that I know how it ends, I feel so much better. Mostly I'm relieved that it ENDS. That it wasn't just another ramp up and twist and blood pressure increase.

This weekend was a wash because all day Saturday I was at Des Moines for One Iowa's leadership seminar; it was a room full of Iowa's most intelligent and articulate LGBT and civil rights leaders, and they kept asking me, politely, why I was there/who I was representing, and in the end I kept having to say I was there because Matt asked me twice to go. I soon, though, became known as "the lady who is knitting" because I was working on Dan's sock the entire time. I also continued in my Lutheran-roots compulsion to contradict anyone who compliments me on my skill, to assure them it is quite easy and that they could do it, too, and of course I would teach them if they asked. It was a good day, though, and I learned a great deal, which is a horribly pat generalization, but it really is a sea of info that will probably take weeks to digest.

Yesterday was the rescheduled Capital City Pride; Matt had also asked if I/we would be on the parade float, but I just didn't know if Anna wanted to do that, and we really go to the parade for her. (Well, and Dan.) Anna heard this, however, and said, YES she wanted to be in the parade!!!! She even half-woke in the middle of the night Saturday night and informed Dan in a semi-conscious state she would get to be in the parade the next day. And be in it she was, decked out as usual, literally hurling candy at the crowd with her new friend Esther. She even got to see Michelle Knight, the Cher impersonator she saw several Prides ago and has been aching to see again. (Dan has photos and videos of all this, and promises to blog soon. I will link.)

But now it is Monday, and a new week; Anna is home today, and that alters things, but I plan to get my brain and fix the treadmill today, and to do a bit of damage control on the house. I have another three-day week, as Friday sees Dan and I heading to Minneapolis to watch The Magnetic Fields and have a bit of an anniversary weekend. We'll be back Saturday afternoon/evening, but Anna won't return until Sunday: I've promised to make chili for the chruch chili cook-off, and Tom and Nina will join us then. (Any of you locals want to come be unitarian for the day and eat lots of good chili, do let me know, and I'll see you hooked up.) In addition to finishing the 6000 word story and prepping for the weekend, I intend to start the exercise program in earnest (the weight loss program needs its own post, which will come eventually, but don't hold your breath), continue a deep-clean of the house, and plan a Halloween party. We haven't had one formally since 1999; it seems time. I'm going as Sarah Palin, and Dan is Doctor Who #10. Anna is Princess Leia, complete with blaster. She, in fact, INSISTED on the blaster.

And so that is me. Lots of thoughts about writing and energy release and how to get one's body back, about energy of body and spirit--lots of potential essay-entries right now, but not a lot of time. On my plate, too, is prepping the next round of queries--I think there will be three or four go out at once this time--but I am conceding that this will be best done next week. All I can say is the world can slow down here any time. I am trying my best to leap out into prime time, but it would help if I could have two minutes to get some traction.

To end with something completely random, to mark the belated DM Pride celebration and warm up to National Coming Out Day (Oct 11, my anniversary), I give you this YouTube video, which is not safe for work because Nine Inch Nails has a terrible potty mouth, but it has completely turned my head entirely and now I will always see Spock and Kirk as secret lovers. The editor of this one certainly understands homoerotic sexual tension. Oy vey.

 A big welcome to Nash and Emerson Castro, new nephew and niece ofjeffreyjingles  who is now not just the World's Best Godfather but is also World's Best Uncle as well.

And to DeeDee and Nelson: may you get as much sleep as you possibly can.

 You know, the name for this blog, and my last.fm handle, and my cherry name, and any other anything where I have to have an alias becoming amazoniowan--it grew from the idea that I am from Iowa and I am very tall and have been characterized by both my whole life.  I don't know if I was subconsciously more aware than I knew or if it's that old saw where the name shapes the thing, or if it was both.  I really don't.

What I do know is that there are more and more moments all the time where I realize how very, very much power I have, and how much control I have over that power.  It is as if I am a giant and the universe keeps giving me the frailest of eggshells, depositing them with various degrees of force into my palm.  Sometimes I don't even notice, but sometimes I do, and sometimes I stop and stare down at that thing in my hand and am stunned by the strangeness of that power.

I do not often consciously use it, and when I do, it has never been full wattage.  The only time I came close was last year with the student teacher, and that resulted in the very delightful discovery of that same power in the classroom teacher, managed very, very well.  We all won on that exchange, probably most of all the student teacher for bearing witness.  No one went away unhappy.  Everyone learned and grew.  

But I have never, not once utterly destroyed anyone.  I have had many, many moments when I looked down at the eggshell and was tempted to simply smash it.  More than any one of you know, except possibly Dan.  Some of them have been HUGE.  I have put my thumb through a few because they would not stop attempting to pelt me in the face.  But I have never held an eggshell, metaphorical or actual, and simply smashed it just because I could.  I don't understand what the point would be.  There is nothing gained or discovered in such an activity.  You don't even gain power; in point of fact, you lose it.  

What I have discovered is that every time there are those moments where I realize how much power I have, how strong I could be, and then exorcise careful, deliberate restraint because it is what I chose to do, not because I am afraid but because I believe it is the most correct thing, because it will advance myself and others--the thing is, every single time that happens, it is as if the universe expands, and I realize there is even more power there, more than I knew I had access to.  Every time. More every time.

It's such a simple concept, and it sounds so mundane when I write it down, but it's life-changing every single time it happens to me.

But every time, too, I find am academically curious as to whether or not there will ever be a time when I do completely unleash.  I can think of several instances where I would, most of them stemming around injustice, but the universe never supplies them directly in front of me.  So maybe they will never happen.  Maybe I send off a forcefield and the situations go running.  Or maybe I am not as strong as I thought, and that opportunity is coming, and I will shock myself at my inaction.

I don't know.  All I know is that whenever something like this happens I think of the time when I was thirteen and a parent was yelling at me, unfairly, and in front of my entire class.  I remember the world going flat and quiet, of something bigger than me pressing down on my shoulders, and I remember breathing, carefully and deliberately, and crying.  I remember it was in a locker room.  I remember my fists closing tight and hard at my sides, but I remember the angrier I became, the more that force pressed down, blanketing that rage.  And I remember the wide, pale faces of my peers once the parent left, and how each one of them said that they were afraid, so afraid that I was going to punch her.  And what strikes me about that was that not a single one of them believed anything but that I would knock her down.

Maybe I'm the hulk, and I just don't know!

Seriously though.  I always think of that moment when I feel like I'm going to face someone.  It's not so much the force pressing on my shoulders--actually, I hadn't ever put that quite together until I wrote it here, which is nice to discover.  What I remember is not what she was yelling at me about, but that I held still, and had to cry, because the girls were right, I did want to hit her.  But all I could think of was that I could not hit her.  That I should not hit her.  Not because I would get in trouble, but because it was not right.  As if, in that moment, the only thing I really knew was that I was the bigger, stronger person in that exchange.  I felt no shame in crying, or in standing still.  I only knew I had to make it through without punching her, and when I did, I felt blissfully victorious.

Anyway.  I have an eggshell in my hand.  Anna is afraid of her art teacher, and tomorrow I am going to go in and find out why.  I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, that my peanut's tender feelings and strong will are as usual making her life colorful.  I'm very certain that this is no big deal.  I am certain that the art teacher also knows she holds many, many eggshells, and that this will all resolve easily, and that everyone will feel validated and positive about the exchange.

And yet,  I am also aware that I have a very, very strong hand.  

For context, this is my little sister, as chronicled in the Cedar Rapids Gazette as she was working in her job penultimate to TFA.

This is a repost of an email I just sent to my littlest sister, who is off training for Teach for America and having a bit of a struggle.  I decided I'm going to post it here, because it's the sort of thing I sure wished I could have googled for when I was a teacher.

If you like this or find it helpful, please take it or pass it on or whatever.  I didn't invent it, just put it together from what I am realizing with some alarm is almost fifteen years of teaching in one form or another.

How the hell did it turn into almost fifteen years?!?!!! 

Anyway, here it is.  How to teach anything in forty minutes, a survival guide for instructors of anything ready to impale themselves on nearby sharp objects.