Gutherless Secretaries

I saw the name Gutherless in Nebraska last time I drove through. I may have some dyslexia-type issues because what my head read was gut- her-less.  I liked it. I want it.  Gut her, less. Right! Stop ripping the guts out of her.  The stress, the gut wrenching ‘responsibilities’ as a woman, as a teacher as an employee of schools are disagreeable to her digestion.  In 1940, “Secretary” was the top reported job for people in the US named Gutherless. Make sense 9 to 5, 24-7. Gut her. We have make the word “secretary” into something negative- something feminine - gutless- weak.  

I’ve never met a weak school secretary, have you? Nice, mean, old, young, funny, not-so-funny, but  y’all are constantly making administrators look good, while you take on three jobs. The opposite of weak!  I’m working on a piece called “Dolly’s 9 to 5 Thesis as juxtaposed to Martin Luther’s 95 Thesis.” I’m dedicating it to you all if that’s alright. It’s my way of showing my gratitude to all you school “administrative executives” (cuz ya all know the school would implode without you) -for my 29.4 years of teaching. I’ll think of some way to honor you.  Until then. I’m fighting for you.  It’s not like you ever ask for more- just “gut, her, less”. Right? 

Pickle Jar Spew- The Ugly

Like in Waynes World “If you’r going to spew, spew into this.”  The Year before Covid, nervous Shaking Woman that I am, I would wake up nearly every single morning and think about school. Lesson plans and pressures.  A student I was particularly concerned about. A parent I needed to confront. Administrators. Duties. More School Shootings. Suicides. My stomach would get upset and I would just spit up.  I got into the habit of keeping a recycled pickle jar around in mornings just in case. Standardized test weeks were a full jar. I don’t know why, but I think of Mario Cart “Pickle”. “Pickle” is what I heard when I played Mario Cart anyway, so it became code for spew. Sorry Garth. I’d wake up fine and then like mixing/churning milk and pickle juice- (blech). Pickle! 

My mission was to stay calm, of course, but it wasn’t easy. Music helped. Warm baths and showers helped. (I read warm baths for anxiety, cold showers for depression). Sometimes warmth did help- lots of sweaters and scarfs at school even on warm days. People who saw my shake might think it from drink, you know, like ‘Red’s got the DT’s’, are wrong. (Or you may be right). But tell that to the 4 year old nervous Ingrid. I’v always remembered being like this. I assure you sober or not I’m nervous.  Just spit now, but Like Cartman around a girl, I spew.  (Pickle) 

Then Covid hit.  Remote learning. More pressures to return to school, more spew behavior. “Thumbs up or Thumbs Down?” (bleech) Pickle!. Either I return to school in the fall or take the “no penalty” year off ticket offered to teachers at  the end of the of the 2020 school year? (Much more on that later). Seeing my nervousness getting worse, I (we) opted for me to take the next year off- no pay, for a year?‽! … pickle!  What are we going to.do? Summer is here, Still getting a paycheck. For now… School was out. We didn’t make the final decision until August.  I was in a pickle. 

And then I’d go to a store. Masks, hostility, confusion, “pickle”.  This time last year, I added to my collection of mostly empty jars- I kept a mini relish jar in my car. I’d listen to the radio- All bad news. I would hear a story and follow it up with school. Global warming- (deniers?! if we only taught more real world science!). Riots- (We still have segregated schools! how can we ever jet justice if we still have segregated schools!?).  College Debt - tragedy . Suicides? (J). Boarder children.  Voting laws- name it, they all are rooted in school somehow.

Listen to music ya say? Same thing.  I always think about school. What’s that you say? I have problems? OCD? A litany of acronyms? Other dis-orders? Probably.  I choose my pickle jars over prescriptions.  You may be right. My pick, not yours. No one, but my husband knows about this. He had to watch my wretched regurgitation. He had to hear the horrid hurls. Every morning. But other than him, I told no one. It’s not something you bring up at say, a retirement party. Ok, I did, and it went just as you would expect. Awkward.

Fast forward one year.  I’m crazy cozy in my cave.  Still nervous, like a Jack White song- I’m Shakin’ .  But it is the weirdest thing- It’s more or less out of excitement!  I hardly ever see a pickle jar now and if I do- it’s more out of euphoria, less out of despondency.  Once I told myself I was NOT a writer, I started writing (too much pressure- so don’t ever call me a writer). No rules, just writing. So keep your red sharpie to yourself. Now I have an outlet.  My crazy head has been freed! Focused. Determined to follow this thing through.  One blog at a time.

I’m grateful for pickle! I probably “should” (don’t should on me!) have gotten help. But I am so excited now-I can’t stop writing!! *Pickle. (Seriously).  This is my head ALL the time. And this is just education. Yea, it takes me ten time longer to write a blog- because I shake and have to type and re-type nearly each sentence. I need to take breaks from exaltation and excitement. But I have the time, you have my attention and I know my direction.

Now instead of having to hyde-(I got pretty good at it- starting young) I dance it out! Another story…. And Write. Truth is- I NEVER want to quit! I Don’t want to stop Shakin’… things Up!!! EVER. VN!! 

Jung AT ART

I joined an on-line class led by Ann McCoy called Into to Jung for Rascals and Dreamers. Sounded like me, so I took it. I remained silent, but I absolutely loved your course Ann! I was hotplate7@yahoo.com.  As a teacher, I’m a terrible student. I sat and drew my dreams while my video and audio were muted (a no no in school). Rascal that I am- and I loved listening to all your conversations. The students were so insightful and talented.  You are my people!  Joseph Campbell. Jung. Art. Dreams. Um, yes please! I’m home!  I actually had many of the books you recommended right on my shelf. My kind of school! After the first class I had a dream of a Golden Mother Archetype opening a window in my house. I know Right‽ I am so grateful for the Sunday mass class. The 10 weeks were a joy and I’m inspired. I love that people came from all over the world. You Beautiful students. Gary, you rock! I look forward to taking your class this winter Ann. Thank you for your wisdom.  I am with ya.  This is my piece of art work. My Philosophers serpent egg. Kisses to Mave. and Thank you.  ~I

“Ready Reddy? Ready Roddy!”

Is what my dad and I used to say to each other.  My dad called me Red (“Reddy” just for me) and used to take us hiking 14teers and river rafting in the summers growing up.  He was a math and physics teacher and an excellent outdoorsman. 

As a wee one, I learned to count hiking Mt. Bierstadt.  I complained, because I wanted to watch cartoons but I am grateful for outdoor memories. Gray’s and Torrys Peak. Quandary Peak. Maroon Bells and other jaunts taught me more lessons than I could have possibly known. You taught me I that I have the strength to “just take one more step.” And there are rewards at the top.  Devine views.  You allowed me a lot of space and time to think while hiking and I learned to create narratives in my head. Remember when we were hiking the Olympic coast and we were really hungry and we kept going by talking about how amazing Oreo cookies are going to taste when we got back? And they did! We ended up only finding the knock off brand but boy howdy, those were the best cookies I ever had. Foreshadowing of Fortitude and Temperance. Qualities I admire and wish to climb. 

I still fall asleep thinking of our grey and yellow Avon boat on the water, the river, heading into rapids. The Colorado, Yampa and Green Rivers were my summer classrooms. I have vivid memories of that big dip “Schoolboy” in Dinosaur National Park. Hell’s half mile. I watched you survey the rapid before navigation.  You made sure I was safe.  I loved the calm waters and watching the cliff swallows.  I’m still into birds because of that. You made me feel special by painting “Double zero” on my lifejacket, someone said that sounded insulting, but you and I knew it was our private joke. It made me feel special. You said- Everyone else had just one number (he was number one!) but I was double zero, like a spy.  The littlest one with special powers. 

I treasured holding your hand when you passed away. You fell asleep while we all talked about climbing a mountain.  You died surrounded by love.  

You are one of my greatest teacher of life.  Happy Father’s day dad. My tradition is to walk Crown Hill Lake, a park you fought to preserve. And I’ll stop by your grave.  I’ve got some things to talk to you about.  See, I’m on a new adventure. Like you, I am a fighter.  You always looked so brave and strong but I know you must have been scared.  And yet I just keep taking one more step, like you taught.  Calm in the eddies, buckling up for the rapid.  I always did like to sit in the front of the boat!  Bring. It. On.  I need your strength now daddy!  I love you and miss you all the time.

Ready Reddy? Reddy Roddy! Happy Fathers Day Dad. ;)

Thank you B,

for making a special effort to see me on your military leave from active duty last winter.  Your presence was humbling.  Thanks for the tea, and walking around the lake with me.  I honor you and I want you to know that…. (oh, I am getting choked up)  I wanted to thank you for what you said.  I told you about I.School and you listened.  I confided in you that I just could not hit the ‘publish’ button and you stopped and said.  “Ok, Ms. Newson, when you go to hit that button what do you think about?”  Without thinking, I said, “because it’s not my own”.  (originally, I copied and pasted a lot.)  And you just stayed quiet. You let me ruminate on my own inauthenticity. Lightbulb moment. So, thank you, now I write and write and write and write.  I write from me, perhaps badly, but authentically.  See you soon. :) I.N.

Memorial Day

Question.  What is the difference between Armed Forced Day, Veterans Day and Memorial Day?  No, it is not a riddle.  I just wonder how many Americans, while celebrating these holidays, know what they actually represent.  I don’t know- so let’s learn something and apply. 

Armed Forces Day is for those still in their uniform.

Veterans Day is for those who hung up their uniform.

Memorial Day is for those who never made it out of their uniform.  

Good to know. So today being Memorial Day let’s go deeper:

Curiously, remembrance days began during Civil War and the GAR- the Grand Army of the Republic- to ensure pensions for families, protection against alcoholism, support racial injustice (especially black soldiers not recognized for service), and historical education.  Women then created committees to help families of fallen soldiers for both the North and the South.  The history gets pretty complicated and wiki-long so I’ll just add a link and move on.  

Application:   What if we extended that courtesy to the battle field in our own back yard?

In memory of:

1.  Students and teachers who have died by guns in public schools.

2.  Students, teachers and personnel who have died by suicide because of the stress and pressures of intolerable realities within public education. 

3.  Invisible wounds inflicted upon public employees of institutionalized learning which include psychological distresses such as shell shock/ PTSD which leads to alcohol and drug abuse, domestic violence, and a general withdrawal from life. 

*I can hear the cringes now.  “These holidays are for solders.  Don’t go changing traditions.  That’s disrespectful to the military.  Thank them for their service you ________, teacher!”)  Right. I cringe too.

Agree to disagree with my courtesy call, but at least consider casualties of war.  Whether it is a civil or a collective war can we acknowledge that it is about sacrifice, commitment and the tragedy of human beings under insufferable conditions?  Especially coerced conditions created by corrupt crooks. (Look, I don’t know why I start writing like Dr. Seuss, I just do). 

If nothing else I choose to learn and then act. I choose to find some time to be quiet and to remember.  It’s about honoring people.  I think we bring dishonor when we use these holidays to buy cheap mattresses, drink and party with no regard as to the why.  Educate.  

Stop Pursuing Happiness

How are you? Fine. Good. You?

No seriously, “How are you?” Are you fine? Are you good? It’s a tough one to answer if we were honest. But let’s be honest, we smile, we nod, we say ‘fine’ or find some cheeky come back like “better than most” which diverts the attention away from sincerity. It is a superficial retort to a superficial question. We smile when we are not happy. Correction, Americans smile in particular when unhappy. There is a European term for it- The American Smile. It is seen as fake, untrustworthy and shallow. There are theories as to why this is, like diversity vs. homogenous nations. And while I don’t disagree, I offer an additional theory.

Americans, according to a certain declaration, have the “right” to pursue happiness. Happiness is in the language of American inception. Couple that with the psychological and financial wizardry of Edward Bernays’ “Happiness Machines” in America you get US. To be American IS to be “happy”. Not only are negative emotions unwanted, they are (subconsciously perhaps) un-patriotic.

If happiness is an American aim and institution, then why are we so self-evidently sad, angry and afraid?

Most “normally” functioning brains contain the amygdala.  Two almond shaped clusters at the top of the hippocampus regulating (among other things) emotions. Primal emotions like fear, anger, sadness and joy are exciting and necessary defense mechanisms for survival.

Fear- Yea, it’s an uncomfortable feeling, and I am grateful for it.  Lil Red Ridding Hood stories are indelible for a reason.  We should be afraid.  We should be very, afraid.  Our brains are wired for fear.  Think of yourself walking around alone in the worst parts of any town at 3 in the morning.  For some that would be east Casa Bonita Capital, along Colfax Avenue in Denver, CO.  Yikes!  The big bad wolf of digs!  Anyway… Fear allows us the opportunity to possibly pause and protect.  Fables and myths use symbols to help us understand fear in a kid-friendly sort of approach because fear is powerful. And because fear is such, if not the most powerful emotion, it is easily manipulated by institutions. “Better to see you with my dear.” Under the pretense of an archetypal grandmother, the wolf becomes a salesman, a politician, a lawyer, a teacher, the news. The wolf is used as an archetype of fear. Better to understand the nature of personal fear- as in asking- “what is it that I am really, really afraid of”?  Fear of failure? Success? Who defines failure and success? The big bad wolf used lies and disguises to manipulate lil ole’ Red. Fear/the wolf preys on the vulnerable and cautionary tales are intended help see through fallacious lies. But what is the only thing we have to fear? Fear doesn’t ‘prey’ on anything. Fear is your/my biological, albeit discomforting, buddy.

Anger- Ah, now for some this may be more comfortable.   Anger can often feel like power and thus possibly deceiving because it can also often seem out of control.  Raise your hand if you have said something out of anger you regret.  Or do you, or know someone who seemingly “looks” happy and yet you detect passive-aggressive language behind the grin.  At the root of anger is fear.  Very few circumstances unleash anger without an undercurrent of fear.  I think of a mama bear. And as a mama bear myself I am still surprised at my own levels of anger when I think of protecting my kids. I can be quite scary.  Really, and good thing because I am old and physically weak, it comes in handy.  But I want to be careful and use it sparingly.  Again, the applicable appropriateness might be to assume my anger could be rooted in fear, and how old and deep is the root?  Example: I am angry that education is being controlled by big business (see school post).  I am angry like being in a bad relationship with my job.  Angry at feeling trapped socially and economically, which may be more fear.  And I do fear repercussions.  But my anger has been long and steady, and my fear of the future of education surpasses immediate fears. Anger can be a useful tool, but deeper understanding is more humane for me, I think. 

Sadness- Hello darkness my old friend.  The adult cartoon Big Mouth portrays a big fat lazy purple kitty as an expression of sadness and depression. I like this image.  She sounds purringly inviting and her slow voice, a southern draw comforting.  There is a lot to be sad about.  Why not curl up and retreat?  Because sadness’ counter emotion is joy. I know both because I know both.  Yes? Loss, life, news, sure. I wonder though if we are more sad because we don’t really know why we are sad.  I have had loss.  It hurts. It passes.  What I sense in school is chronic depression for many with no real deep knowledge as to why.  I have had “lazy” students to which I attribute to sadness.  If the work we are doing isn’t perceived as really good for us, why would we be motivated?  Do the work, do the homework so you can get into college.  With debt. With no real direction or discussion of values.  That’s depressing. What are we really doing in school?  I don’t know the statistics of anti-depression and anti-anxiety prescriptions from K-12.  I saw it every day at the high school level.  Depression is vastly different from sadness, however.  Like all emotions sadness can pass, unless we are not able to understand perhaps a more profound cause.  On the one hand sadness sucks, but I also think of all the writers and poets who used this powerful emotion to express beautiful works of art that evoke passion and deep emotions. Ultimately, I think humans have sadness to cultivate compassion and empathy to help each other survive.  

Joy/Happiness. Bliss, cheery, glad, chipper… Your choice of words. It feels good.  When is the last time you felt real joy?  The joy of shopping? Sure. That’s external and temporary, but it does feels good. For a while. When are there other times of joy?  Music, friends, reading, dancing, skiing, photography, learning and the lot.  Is there a difference from internal joy and external?  Joy is what gets us out of bed in the morning.  Happiness can lead to self-actualization which is the golden standard for philosophers and psychologists alike.  And yet the “happiness” I see on TV- every single commercial that shows happy families in perfect harmony eating peanut butter, protected by insurance, happy endings with an “if you buy” is mostly psychologically manufactured.  I do like to shop but I realize I have a deeper, different feeling when it is intrinsic moments of joy.  Time as of late, has given me more moments of happiness and joy because I have the freedom to do what I want. And what I want is self-actualization and serenity.  I want to be at peace with my emotions. Trust me, I am not writing this because do this necessarily.  Just observing my own process. I mean really, within a day of the Pandemic in March 2020, I watched ADs promising safety and security if you buy a car, life-insurance, bleach, etc. It took minutes to switch ADs ensuring our ‘happiness’ in ‘these tough times’. I observed it as a driving force. I also observed some very angry Americans who believes this right to happiness is being repressed. Un-ironically the pursuit of happiness gets violent/ unhappy? So What really makes us happy?

“Happiness is an accident of nature, a beautiful and flawless aberration.” Pat Conroy