Teachers

As the song goes "when I think back on all the crap I learned in High School, it's a wonder I can think at all"  As I approach my 40th reunion- how is THAT possible-   I am thinking about it and the impact on who I am, those three years spent at San Fernando High School and beyond.

On Monday, I had lunch with my favorite English teacher.  This man had quite an impact on me.  He gave me the freedom to create with my peers and let me write without criticism. Critique, yes.  Direction and editing, yes but never telling me that I should not write something.  Occasionally he would call something crap, and I generally agreed with him.  I found I was a pretty good editor of my own stuff.  Mostly in those days I wrote poetry, something I seem to have forgotten how to do and hope to get back to doing, even if it's just for myself.  The way I wrote, back then, was to try to get the meaning of what I was thinking by using the fewest words possible; sort of haiku but without having to count the syllables.  That helps me today in some of the work I am doing, as I have to pare down someone's request to the size of a "tweet" to fit into the online request forms.   Meeting and talking with someone who mentored me and to be able to again express my thanks was very nice.  He is still one very interesting guy and I enjoyed having lunch and talking about things.  We plan to do this more often.

My friend Maggie, who is a dance teacher, posted something today about not being a "real" teacher because she didn't give tests.   My response is "Life gives you enough tests.  Real teachers give you the tools to face them."  I think often about a handful of teachers whose names and life lessons I remember.  My former English teacher was unconventional, but I took away from his class something I use every day.  I can't say the same about algebra or biology.  I followed my heart and got my degree in English.  For a brief time, I thought about teaching, but it was not for me; thankfully I was in a credential program where my mentor understood that.  I remember going to my end of semester review and preparing to tell her I was leaving.  She looked uncomfortable as I sat down. I said "Pam, I won't be back next semester"  She visibly relaxed  "oh GOD"  she said  "I was up half the night trying to figure out how to tell you that you were not cut out for teaching"  We both laughed and I told her I knew about three weeks into the program but needed the credits to graduate so I stuck it out.  She gave me a decent grade.  It was good for me to be there and I am grateful.  My co-teacher is now a professor at Moorpark  College.  HE was cut out to teach!

Teaching is a profession that is underrated.  Teachers will never get rich, but their impact is felt.  A good teacher can turn someone around.  I am thankful for those who have chosen a profession that will shape hearts and minds.

Post Easter thoughts

Well, the eggs were dyed and the chocolate was eaten, not by me as I am trying to get to a "fighting weight" these days.  Although it didn't cause it, the weight is not helping the osteo .  I was actually crying when I walked up the hill on Friday.   I am such a wimp.

For Christians, Easter is "the Big one"  a lot of people think it's Christmas that is the big holiday, but not really. Easter, the Crucifixion and resurrection of Christ IS the basis for our faith.   Sure Christmas is a lot more fun, but Easter is a time of reflection and renewal.  Faith for me is personal and I would NEVER insist anyone believe as I do.  I have come to my own peace with God.  I call him by name and I don't type G-d. I don't "fear" God.  I think the term got lost in the translation and it's really "respect" that they mean.

I got into a "discussion" with the friend of a friend over a meme both my friend and I posted, something to the effect that  if your religion requires you to hate someone it's time for a new religion.  This person went all over it about how she was shamed and people told her she would go to hell and how intolerant Christians were to pagans.  I get it and I agree, but this woman wanted to take it further. I said something about answering hate with hate not being the answer.  She went off, a bit, telling me that the problem was religion and that all "blind faith" was wrong.  I agreed to disagree and thanked her for the opportunity to discuss things, but it has gotten me to thinking.  Not everyone who follows a belief does so blindly.   She  also seemed very upset about people telling her she was going to Hell.  If you don't believe in Hell, why are you worried about going there?  I don't really believe in Hell, even if the threat of an eternity burning is what some religions use to keep people on their "path"  Extremists of every faith take it too far, in my book.   There is no one way to believe, and as long as you are helping your fellow travelers on this planet, it's all good. I suppose I will find out some day if I am wrong.  Right now I'm not too concerned with it.  On Saturday, I was approached by a minister in the Vons parking lot.  He was handing out flyers for his services. I told him, quite honestly, that I don't go to church.  He asked me "if you were called home right now, would you be ready"  Strange question.  I answered "yes"  I think I'm ok with that.  He didn't really have an answer for me and thanked me and moved on.  It was a weird encounter.

I spent Easter surrounded by friends , my "other family" eating and laughing and talking.  Every holiday around here is about food anyway and I made a mountain of it.  Feeding people is what I love to do and I was happy to see everyone enjoying the food and the company.  I am truly blessed and it doesn't take a holiday for me to realize that.

Toys

I've been thinking about toys lately.  My 18 month old grandson has a ROOM full of them, some from me, the grandma who always brings him something, some inherited from his older cousins and some bought by his doting parents and godparents.  He has more toys than he can play with and I wonder if he really needs all that stuff.  These days, toys are such gadgets, all electronica and interactive, designed to stimulate a child's mind.  But I wonder where their imagination comes into play, when the toy DOES everything.  I remember creating whole scenarios with toy cars that just... rolled, with dolls that just were  dolls.  Balls just bounced, they didn't light up and sing the alphabet ( seriously, he has one that does this and he loves it but  really???)  He is such a gizmo guy at 18 months he can go onto his mother's phone, find the app for his Mickey Mouse videos and change the language to Spanish.  His father speaks to him in Spanish so he is hearing both languages at home so that is good, but I worry that he is being fed a steady diet of already programmed play and not being forced to use his imagination.  It got me thinking about some of the Millennials I know.  They don't seem to have much imagination and everything is centered around their phones.  When I am in meetings with them I am often dismayed at the lack of creative solutions and FUN in the way they problemsolve.  Education seems so focused on scoring on performance tests that we forgot to teach our children how to think for themselves.  Play is the "job" of a child. It helps to grow all their muscles, including their brains.  Ok the brain is an organ, but you get the idea.

I have been thinking about the toys I played with as a child and some of them were pretty useless.  Can SOMEONE explain why we all had Slinky's?  "It walks down stairs alone or in pairs"   that was it.  But we all had them.  Useless freaking toy that was marketed to us. It was cheap enough and we got them from someone but I tried to figure out something more creative to do with mine and it became a tangle of bent wire in the toy-box that got stuck one everything else in the toy-box.   Then there was Silly putty.  It copied comics, as far as I can recall and not much else.  It came out of the aerospace industry, didn't it?  It dried out if the little plastic egg it was kept in got cracked, which mine did.  My favorite "toy" was my roller skates or my skateboard, neither of which were the high tech things you see today. They were fun, even the skates that clamped to your shoe and you had to keep the skate-key around your neck to keep tightening them or they fell off and you went flying.   I once knocked myself completely out roller skating.  I must have hit a rock or something at the bottom of the driveway. They found me at the bottom of the hill, out cold.  Concussion....  I was a tomboy and it didn't stop me from doing whatever it was that got me hurt in the first place because I don't remember what I did.  Total blank spot.  I just remember waking up on the couch with my grandmother saying "she's coming around"  They kept me in for the rest of the day, even though I was ready to go back outside.

I am hoping my grandson and children from his generation untether from their gizmos and experience the joy of outside games that you make up as you go along.  Remember "Three fly's up"  a game you played when there were only two or three of you and you wanted to play baseball?  Whoever had the ball would hit and whoever caught three fly balls would have the next "up"?   We would play that for hours.  Fun times.

I should be writing

I'm a writer, or at least in my heart and mind I am one, even if I am not a published author except for here in this blog.  That's not quite true, I was published in a newspaper for the United Crusade ( now the United Way) when I was seven.  I peaked early.  Recent events in my life have made me make a promise to myself to "find my art"  and so I renew my commitment to write something- anything- as often as I can.  The goal is daily and I will try my best. I wonder if I will have anything of note to say.

Here's how I operate.  I pour myself a cup of morning Joe and when the first jolt of caffeine hits my veins I start writing.  It's an exercise in free-form most of the time and what comes out is mostly what goes on in my head.  No filter.  It's kind of an experiment to see if my thoughts are cohesive or I am rambling.  Today I am rambling, well maybe meandering.  I like the word meandering. It sort of implies I am picking my way through the minefield of words that make up the inside of my brain.  Hence the title of this blog "Inside Robyn's brain"  I actually typed the word "mindfield" instead of minefield.  I wonder if that counts as a Freudian slip of sorts?

Uh oh,  I paused to read what I had written rather than just kept going so I am stalled here.  Probably a good place to stop in any case but I will be back at this in the morning.  I hope to talk about good books, art exhibits, great and not so great meals and trips we take when I venture out of the kitchen where the computer sits.  I promise to try to spend more time being thoughtful, less time complaining about thing and if I am complaining I want to be funny about it.  I promised myself I would spend less time playing mindless but entertaining casino games on Facebook and more time entertaining myself in my mind.

and buy a coloring book.  Yeah  I need one of those.  New crayons....

Tuesday night thoughts

Somewhere at the end of my first marriage, my soon-to-be-ex  snapped at me "you don't' do what you're told."  I believe my clever rejoinder was something akin to "duh"  I Do have a degree in English, pithy repartee is my bailiwick, please do not attempt this at home as injuries may occur.

My point is I do not respond well to being commanded.  Or  bullied. Or threatened.  Like many  women of Baby Boomer age, I was raised to believe in the value of my opinion . The best way to get me to do something is to ASK.  I was recently told if I did not drop everything and attend a meeting I was unaware of I would not be on the Committee.  Really?  That simple?  I should have thought of that dodge ages ago.  Ok I am cool with that.  Do not think that threatening me or bullying me will work.  I really don't respond well to that and will do one of two things, neither of which is to follow your order.  I will either ignore the order or do the complete opposite, just to be contrary.  Childish?  Probably.  If we are going to work together on something, anything, here is my line in the sand.  DO NOT ORDER ME TO DO ANYTHING.  It puts my Irish up, as my Dad used to say, and when I get my Irish up, things can get unpleasant.

Recently, several well-meaning friends have been trying to tell me how to live my life.  I know they are worried about me, so I am taking the advice for what it is, something  I already know and am thinking about.  I heard a song from Cat Stevens the other day , when he was Cat Stevens , just a garden variety folksinger who had a reputation for being a bit of an asshole, not the "Kill 'em all and Let Allah sort it out" fool he is today.  The song, Father/Son, is sung between a father and a son who is growing up and moving into his own life.    The line "If they were right, I'd agree, but it's them they know not me" resonated with me.   I appreciate that people love me enough to tell me what they think I should do, but I know myself and what I feel I want to do.  As in all things, I am a planner THEN a doer and I need more information before I make any sort of move toward anything.  Given the events of the past few weeks, I am still a wee bit shaky  and I know better than to make any really BIG changes in this frame of mind.  I will seek more professional, dispassionate advice.  

In the meantime, I'm going to take the advice of several medical professionals and avoid stress as much as possible, get more exercise and relax.   I have several books I need to finish, including the new Elvis Cole.  I am not sure how I feel about Elvis.  I hope he is better than he has been in the past few books. His personality has made me really want to hang out with Joe Pike more.  We shall see and I promise to write a review of the book AND the things that went on in Laughlin over the weekend.  Odd stuff, not terrible, just... odd.

Emergency room visit

For those of you who are not Facebook friends, I wound up at Kaiser Sunset Emergency Tuesday. I'm ok- sort of but here is what happened.

On Tuesday I woke up kind of felling funny, not funny haha, but funny peculiar.  I went to work anyway.  On my way in I started to get chest pains.  Great.    I have to walk up a hill to get to work but was kind of yelling at myself to push myself up the hill.  I figured it was just anxiety, although it really didn't feel like that.  There was pressure in my chest,like a giant hand pressing in the middle of my chest.  I took my anxiety meds, thinking they would help. It got worse.  But you know me, I'm stubborn.  I had a meeting I had been preparing for and  I thought "ok, just make the meeting and then go to Kaiser"  My pulmonologist had told me to go to emergency and get the tests run and he would talk to me next week.  I felt awful and the pain was getting more intense.  I went to the cot room to rest, figuring it would give the meds a fighting chance.  It got worse.  Finally I was talking to a co-worker and realized I was not tracking properly.  She said she would get her car and take me to emergency.  I agreed.  Then they called my boss and she made them call 911.  This is were is got interesting.  I didn't want 911 but rules are rules so I waited for the paramedics in the lunchroom.  There were a lot of co-workers having lunch and I really didn't want them doing medical stuff on me in the lunchroom, so when one of the officers offered to take me to another chair I went with him.  The paramedics took my vitals. My BP was in stroke territory.  They put me in the ambulance and ran an EKG.  As I was pretty certain I was not having a heart attack. The paramedic began castigating me about it, HIS determination was that I was just having an anxiety attack. I have something called pulmonary hypertension and I told him so.  HE said "No you just have garden variety hypertension and this is just going to be a really expensive taxi ride."  Now....  one of my triggers is finances.  His comment about how much this was going to cost me did NOTHING to ease my fears. I was in pain.  I was scared.  I was in the back of a freaking ambulance- and all this guy could do was insinuate I was just some hysterical woman who needed to take her anxiety pill and get over it.  He actually asked me where my husband was, and said that if he were coming they would wait and release me to him.  I offered to get out of the ambulance right then.  He said no I couldn't.  I told them to take me to Kaiser Sunset, where Chris was meeting me.  It took a while and he asked me a few more questions, but he already had his diagnosis as far as he was concerned. He was not reassuring in any way.  I thought compassion would be part of the game plan here.

I got to Kaiser and they ran all kinds of tests. The test for the presence of blood clots in my lungs was off the charts.  In January, I had the test done and it was 1640- normal is around 500.  But my doctor said that maybe that IS my normal and they would keep an eye on it.  This time the numbers were 4000- more than double. They ran another CAT scan and... nothing.  I have a meeting with my doctor on Tuesday.  I want to know why and what I should be doing.  I see a cocktail of even more meds in my future.  I WILL get well.  I have to.  I have Chris and my Bob.  They mean everything to me.

I took it easy on Wednesday and shakily went back to work on Thursday.  Made it through the day. The pain is still there, not as much but it is there.  I am having trouble sleeping- duh.  Chris is taking me away on a planned getaway this weekend and I have no plans but to relax and watch the river flow.  Sit on the bank with a cup of coffee and a good book for a bit.  Take photos and relax.  Maybe go to Oatman and see the burros.  Relax and remember that life is brief.  I promised to get back into my art.  Maybe I will try to remember how to write poetry.  I used to be pretty good at it and it is a creative process that I miss doing.  These blogs are ok to and I promise to try to write more of them; not just complaining about my life but thoughtful insightful things that  might go through my brain.

Kim K, the Donald and other media drains

I was reading an article that told me that as a feminist I should celebrate Kimmy K's obsessive need to post pictures of herself in semi-naked or completely naked poses, that criticizing her is part of the "rape culture" and we should celebrate that she owns her body.  Well isn't she selling her body?  Theoretically Kim is some kind of businesswoman.  What business?  I know she and her sisters used to run a clothing store in Agoura Hills, but I doubt THAT is a going concern.  Kim is in the business of selling the Be like Kim brand.  Sure if I had nothing to do all day but work with a personal trainer and get my hair and makeup done, I too could be a media sensation and post MY selfies all day on Twitter and Instagram.  But I'm not and most women are not,  The thing that bugs me, I suppose, is how she is held up to worship when she doesn't DO anything.  She's not involved in any charity that I can see and she doesn't speak out for anyone but herself. She's famous for being famous.  I't not something I want my daughter to aspire to.

The Donald.  Can he get any worse?  I suppose he can.  It's frightening to watch people come out and support his racist and irrational statements as if they were something worthy of belief.  Build a wall?  His supporters chant that.  Whatever happened to "Give me your tired and your poor"?  The media follows him around to see just what outrageous thing he will say.  He incited violence.  He told them he would pay for their legal fees, then conveniently backpedaled.  THIS is the man you think can lead this country?   He's a bully and a braggart, full of bluster and not much substance.  He's a con artist who is selling snake oil that is being sucked down by the masses.  I am having a hard time believing that people actually support him, but he seems to be winning in the polls.  The presidential race has become a popularity contest.  Are we so STUPID as to elect Biff from Back to the Future to the presidency?  I am beginning to believe that the Founding Fathers must have envisioned such a circus when they created the Electoral College.  They didn't trust the masses to be smart enough and now with the dumbing down of this country , they may have the right of it.  Scary times.

There has been so much non-news in the media these days, I wonder what we are not seeing.  Global warming, the world economy, the crisis in Syria and the Middle East.? No we are so busy obsessing about Kim Kardashian's boobs, we aren't paying attention to the real world and our place in it.

McGroarty Arts Center

I have been volunteering on the Board at the McGroarty Arts Center since not long after I moved up to Tujunga- somewhere around 2005.  The Center is a wonderful place, the mission is affordable art education for all. It's also a non profit and in this day and age getting money to run such a place has been a daunting task.  People in this community, to quote my father, have fish-hooks in their pockets.  Getting them to donate ANYTHING is nigh to impossible.  We had a campaign where we asked every stakeholder for ten dollars.   TEN DOLLARS.  That's like a latte and a muffin and a tip at Starbucks.  Did we get it?   No.  The Center is always on the verge of closing  and somehow we carried on.  I hope it will continue but I cannot be the driving force anymore.  We hired a company to help us and THEY told me to close the doors.  I said we had to try and so we did.  We limped along a year past when they said we would close.  We kept trying.  But it really took its toll on my health. I went from being on no asthma meds to a twice a day maintenance  inhaler and almost a constant need for the rescue inhaler.  Stress. My primary care physician and two specialists encouraged me to lessen the stress in my life.  There are several things that are overwhelming right now. So, last night, after much soul searching, I resigned from the board of McGroarty Arts Center.  I thought I would be sad, but I am not, which makes me realize that this is what I needed to do.  In discussing my decision with a friend, he said something to the effect that I will not get credit for what I have done.  I told him that  I will know what I have done.  I do not volunteer to get a pat on the back or awards or acclaim.  I would prefer to work in anonymity, to tell you the truth, and to get the work done.  The Protestant work ethic- that hard work is it's own reward- is strong within me.  I know the reason I kept at it,; a deep belief that this community NEEDS an arts center for our children and for seniors to have a place to go to "find their art". That is the reason I fought so hard.  I am confident that the new and returning Board members will fight just as hard to save it, although it is in deep trouble.  The people are smart and committed and will do what must be done.  I hope this Community can be made to realize what a treasure McGroarty Arts Center is and will rise together to save it.

Ian

"To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven"   To many of us 60's children, this is a song from the Byrds.  It is really from the Bible;  Ecclesiastes, one of the books of poetry in the Bible.   I don't want to get off on a tangent of theology here.  This is not the time.

Last night, Chris got a call from his former girlfriend, Linda.  He and Linda have not spoken in a while and with good reason.  But he took her call.  She told him that her son Ian had died. For a good portion of Ian's childhood, Chris was his step-father as he lived with Linda and helped her to raise him.  Ian was involved in our wedding ceremony, although the was older, we asked him to hold the rings so that he would be part of the service.  He was a nice young man, shy when he was around me and polite.  He had a hard time health-wise.   A few years ago, he had a kidney transplant.   We do not know the details of what happened, only that a cousin found him and he was gone.  He had just had his 20th birthday.

Please send prayers and love to his mother, Linda, his stepmother Angie, his father Bill and his family.  There has been far too much death lately and I want something else.  I want life and laughter and picnics and babies.  I want art and music and hugs.   I am weary beyond telling of death and sorrow.