The Shaking Woman

A Book someone recommended, or was it a sculpture?  Anyway, I saw the title and thought-

When I was young I had a nervous tic.  I would “fiddle with my fingers”. “Quit fiddling with your fingers!” I was told. Hand slapped, and repri-handed by authority figures from the church to the classroom to the home.  Looking back if anyone had asked, I was playing the piano.  I liked Beethoven’s Fur Elise, and I didn’t play the piano but I watched someone play it on a variety show.  My thumb moved up and down my appendages along with the song.  The tips were the high notes and the base of each finger were the low notes, low to high- big to little- up and down to that beautiful melody.  “Put your hands up!” Up on a table, up on a desk, up on a pew where we can see your non moving hands.  So it shifted to my feet. I just couldn’t keep still and I just had to fake it. 

But it lingered.

I mention this because A, I think of school as it relates, and that is just sad. B, I’m working on it, I’ll figure it out.  and C, it is really hard for me to write some of my shaky ideas.  I get so excited that I quiver and shake shiver and quake. and rhyme like Dr. Sues. Another defense mechanism? Another helping of neuroses anyone? Yes please! I would like neuron-roses.  Roses made of neurons?  Thats where my head goes.  I see the word roses in neuroses. My head just sees that- not the letters, but the image.  I like my head, it us fun and provided a safer place, ‘more funner’ than the shaky hostile world.  

In my world I play the piano, I am a dancer, a singer, and a host of many personalities.  But don’t call me a writer.  Metastasized Fantasia from my hands to my feet to my brain.  Brain damage for sure, from concussions. Knocked around as it were from invisible hands.  Symptoms include problems with concentration, memory, balance and coordination.Nausea, vomiting, confusion. I don’t get headaches but I have heartaches. Check, check and check!  “Seeing stars” has a different meaning to me. .My wind monders (mind wonders) into watching the stars at night… (yea I kept that in). On the darker side of the moon, shaky woman gets wicked. Shaky and shady thoughts lingeres into driving, parenting, teaching, and has led to many awkward dinner dialogues.  You move on from topic to topic and when it comes back to me- I’m picturing what you said three conversions ago.  shaky wandering mind. The wandering philosopher… wait, Is it wander or wonder, I wonder. Question mark or period? Still, I’ll take my diagnosis thank you very much.  We’re just kinda hanging out here enjoying the shaky roller coaster as best as we can. Shaky but not stirred. 

There was a shaky woman 

Who wrote a shaky poem 

Her spirit was dimmed 

But she is not not broken

Greed cannot drown her

No, you can’t bring her down

I’ll rhyme when I want

I’m not your clown 

G

I was just thinking about how safe you made me feel at school for all these years. Your thundering voice echoes in the hallways of my mind- still. I watched you from my window as you, bravely and unarmed walked outside when there was a lockdown- due to an area shooter. You didn’t hesitate to put yourself in harms way for kids- and me (I felt like). Just your presence helped me to breathe lighter. Selfishly, I miss you and our talks. I could always count on you for being a bona fide, verified, recognized, certified watchman over kids. I wanted you to know how much I appreciate you! Underpaid and undervalued in education, I honor you. I salute you. xo

Jung at Heart

If Carl Jung was my therapist. 

Jung: What brings you in today?

Me: Well, I’m tapped out Mr. Jung. I’ve tried many therapist because I have many ‘dis-orders’ according to society- I’m “Abby Normal”. I’m neurotic, but I also have a sense of euphoria. I feel crazy, and am told that I am, and at the same time I kinda like it, but I may need treatment.

Carl Jung- Please call me Carl, and “The main interest of my work is not concerned with the treatment of neuroses but rather with the approach to the numinous. But the fact that the approach to the numinous is the real therapy, and inasmuch as you attain to the numinous experience you are released from the curse of pathology. Even the very disease takes on a numinous character. “

Me: I need to consult my dictionary, be right back. 

Numinous: having a strong religious or spiritual quality; indicating or suggesting the presence of a divinity.

Pathology: mental, social, or linguistic abnormality or malfunction.

Me: Interesting. I’m with you on that Karl.  Devine pathology. I feel a duality.  Me, the individual, verses society’s demands that conflict.

Carl: “Ultimately everything depends on the quality of the individual, but our fatally short-sighted age thinks only in terms of large numbers and mass organizations…”

Me: True that.  Let me ponder for a while and get back to you. 

Part Two: 

Hey Carl?

CJ- Yes?

Me: I like reading about the shadow.  I’ve been studying dreams and it seems there are some dark archetypes.  It can be overwhelming, but I’m drawn to it like a moth to a light. 

CJ- “To me it seems risky, on the whole, to bring too many of these dark things to light; but sometimes a wanderer in the darkness of night is grateful for the faltering yellow glow of a lone lantern.” 

Me: A lone lantern. Look for the light in the darkness for truth? I’m changing, and I’m excited, and at the same time transformation is scary. 

CJ: “The state of imperfect transformation, merely hoped for and waited for, does not seem to be one of torment only, but of positive, if hidden, happiness. It is the state of someone who, in his wanderings among the mazes of his psychic transformation, comes upon a secret happiness which reconciles him to his apparent loneliness. In communing with himself he finds not deadly boredom and melancholy but an inner partner; more than that, a relationship that seems like the happiness of a secret love, or like a hidden spring-time, when the green seed sprouts from the barren earth, holding out the promise of future harvests."(Carl Gustav Jung, Vol 14, par. 623)

Me: Cool, cool, cool. It does fell like a hidden secret happiness.  (and I go by she) A wanderer among the mazes. I’m concerned about future generations. What can I do to help children? 

CJ:   “If you are too concerned about your children, you simply burden them with the debts you have contracted. While if you contract no debts, if you live simply and make yourselves as happy as possible, you leave the best of conditions to your children. At all events, you leave a good example of how to take care of themselves. If the parents can take care of themselves, the children will also. They will not be looking for the happiness of the grandchildren, but will do what is necessary to have a reasonable amount of happiness themselves.”

C. G. Jung - Seminar on Nietzsche's Zarathustra

Me: Leave the best of conditions to your children.  Take care of myself. Live simply. Leave a good example- to show children to take care of themselves. 

Thanks Carl. 

Part Three:

Are you there Carl? It’s me Ingrid.

Me: It’s like, I want the best for kids, students. It seems like I want it more than they do!  A flourishing life, but they don’t know how, and they have been conditioned, too beaten down. Carl, do you have some advice for me?

CJ: "Never forget that you are a man and therefore you must bleed for the goal of humanity. Listen, you are still too juvenile for your age. You should get older, the years are dwindling and yet your work has not been accomplished. 

Practice solitude assiduously without grumbling so that everything will in time become ready. You should not die unfulfilled. Your years are numbered and many years are still needed for your fulfilment. You should become serious and your work sink heavy as iron into the ground of mankind. 

Let go of too much science. There lies the way that is not the way. Your way goes toward the depths, toward the rarest and deepest."  C. G. Jung - Black Books.

Me: Wow. Ok. I am a woman, and thanks for the advice. You make sense!  You are good!

L~

You have been a great friend and yes, mentor, for what, over twenty years?! I’m sorry for assigning “outlines” in AP American History, I was young and compliant. But you have stuck with me. You have three kids of your own and have graced my classroom many times since our initial educational rendez-vous. I treasure our chats. You keep me on my toes. Thank you for keeping me grounded (or at least trying), and for questioning me and my motivations. You have been a great teacher, and I look forward to many many more dialogues. - see you soon. ~I

PM-

Thank you for being you! You took a bold turn and became a teacher. You got out of your comfort zone, moved to the South, adopted a kid, put him through college and became an administrator. Good for you. I admire and respect you. I look forward to chatting with you. I have a lot to tell you. I consider you a friend and I trust you. I loved having you in AP European History- it seemed like a light bulb went off, and we have been close ever since. I want to make you proud. You are amazing! I can’t wait to wrangle you into my weird world of I.School.

I know you are as passionate about education as I am. Sorry, if I influenced you. It’s a blessing and a curse for sure. Thanks for your concern about my ‘hunger strike’, you care, and I feel it. And you know I have to do this. Can’t wait to catch up. See you soon. ~N

For what I’m worth

I am worth $21,143.64.  That was the check I wrote to leave education.  An exit fee for teaching.  I had 0.683 years left in the district prior to retirement.  So, in order to get my full 30 years in teaching (in order to receive 75% of my pension) I ‘chose’ to purchase the  0.683 years left of my career.  I bought myself back.  I’m sure if you talk to any of the business model types, they will give you circular talk about how that amount of money makes sense and why it is a 0.683 contract year, blah blah, the data and the numbers and why the data and the number are so logical,  but seriously? 

Yet another SNAFU in in this incarceration. 

I took a “sabbatical.” A “break in contract” with Jeffco schools as was offered to employees concerned with going back to work under covid in the fall of 2020.  It was a “oh, we’ll throw you a life preserver to show we care.” Looks good on a web page, not so good in life.  It was one school year with no pay, no health care, no benefits.  How many teachers can afford to do that? 

Me: ok.  let’s do that.   

Buckle up.

By the end of December 2020 we ‘sabbaticals’ received a letter.  It read that if a decision was not made by February 1, 2021 to return to school in August, jobs would be terminated.  Terminated? I had one month to decide my fall fate.  Mask mandates were in place, no one really knows what is going on in education but it sure does seem like a panicked rush for control.  More fear and intimidation. I signed an ominous paper with good will that- I had no clue on whether or not to return, but- I did not want to lose my job.  Scary but no harm right? I should be able to leave when I want, right?  My mind started planning an escape.  Long process short- I would take money from my future retirement funds and get out.  

Not so fast.  The hours and days it took to process this paperwork is absurd.  Like a phone service or any other bm (business model) that has a profitable agenda. It’s easy to get in, but just try getting out.   And by the way, why in the hell do we still need notary publics? It was not easy to find one in covid.  Who needs a notary?  BS jobs perhaps. Anyway, I called HR repeatedly to make sure all was in order.  My 3-am panic fever- fear was that I would be told I didn’t have the right paperwork in and that I had would have to go back to school.  

On June 1, I received a call from Pear-A (retirement BM’s) saying they did not receive the proper paperwork, therefore I would not be getting my retirement pay.  My check was deposited and cleared by May 28th, but I still will not be receiving due pay. 

I ‘officially’ had all retirement requirements by May of 2021. All systems go.  It is documented. However,  due to that threatening letter signed back in January, the powers that be (and I would really like to talk to you…)  say I am considered under contract until August 10th, 2021.  All of this is new by the way, no precedence has been set, ever.  But because of that bogus letter and because it is not August 1st, I will not be getting any pay until October 1.  Four more months of non-pay.  End of August, September 1 is the new start, so the end of September is considered employed.  

Out of the dozens of people I talked to, not one person could give me a straight answer nor take any responsibility.  Not one.  “Oh, that’s not my job, Oh, you’ll have to talk to so in so.  Let me transfer you to…”  Back and forth back and forth.   (Exception for Elvira, you saint of a woman who tried to help!)   

Stripped of e-mail, essential services established early in my career.  I was blocked from all access to prior personal/school information.  All gone. I no longer “exist in the system” I was told. So, catch 22- I’m no longer an employee, no longer in the system, but I can’t get my retirement because I am still considered part of the system. 

Left like a veteran of war begging for hand outs.  Once used for service, now disregarded goods.  Eager to hire, easy to expire. 

My worth? Not much it seems.  

And that begs the question.  If teachers are not essential- not worthy of respect, pay and acknowledgement then why the desperate drive campaign to make sure every school is fully operational and in-person… during a pandemic!?  Schools are big money- BM’s for sure. 

Worth has its own connotation.  I am ‘worth’ $21,143.64 according to my teaching contract. 

Ok.  but in my world, my beautiful crazy world, my Eudaimonia is more than flourishing. sort of budding, for what its worth.  More to come!

For what it’s worth:

There is something happening here.  What is, is exactly clear!

There’s a test you must take over there

Telling you you must have despair 

I think it’s time we stop 

Children, kicked around 

Take a brave stance or you’re going down

Battle lines being drawn

Everybody’s right, but everybody’s wrong

Young people used for their minds 

Getting bought and sold from the grind 

Cheesed off of Buffalo Springfield, but oh so relevant. Right? 

Get the order right!

No. Not a food order.  “Get the order right” is what I heard at a general retirement luncheon from the principal to the mc of the event. There were a stack of placards to be dispersed and I happened to be one of the people retiring.  What she meant was- read the names from the least important to most important.  Like fireworks, save the best for last.  I get it.  Get the order right. I was the first to be recognized out of of five retirees. The main secretary was the last. Fitting, and I totally agree! she has earned it!  Sincerely. Secretaries rule the school and deserve the upmost recognition.  Custodians too. 

For the organizers of such events, I do have one request. I would like my placard to be changed.  It reads: “With grateful appreciation for 30 years of dedicated service to students.” Nit picky, I realize after almost 30 years of teaching, but I would like the engraving to be changed to 29.4 years.  You see I purchased my last .684 years, so it doesn’t really count. It’s all about the data.

I appreciated the parting words from administration but one minor correction here mc- I never taught Sociology, but you were right when you said “she taught other social studies stuff”.  Personal. You are a funny guy and I hope you can laugh at this.  I mean no disrespect.  It was actually appropriate because the rest of the placard said it all.  “Dedication to the service of students.”  Spot on! I did not get into education to appease adults.  I dedicated my service to kids.  Always.  At the end of each semester I get thank you cards from students.  All teachers do, and it is a reminder to me why I am/ was in this job. The thank you cards from students have always been loving, specific, and genuinely appreciative.  So when asked to speak a few words at the luncheon?  Pass.  I went because I wanted to individually say goodby to  secretary’s, custodians, counselors and supportive colleagues with whom I share a passion. 

I have learned to prioritize my time and attention, more. It’s not that I have a disregard for administration, I just want to get the order right.  

You’ve got that right!

is what I said to an administrator after arguing about letting an unruly student back into my class.  

Me: “It’s not about me or the class, I can handle it.  It’s about the student.  He needs help. You can’t really think about putting him back in class after what happened?  What about the other students and their safety? ”  

He: “Well Ingrid, you and I have different philosophies…..” (what kind of answer is that?!)

Me: “You’ve got that right!”  

Crash Course

Three stories come to mind- to remind me of the hazardous conditions that coerced education mines. 

One: I passed out in class.  I got very excited.  It was the day after parent-teacher conferences and there was a particularly difficult parent I confronted. This mom was outraged that her child did not have an A in AP Psychology.  She had a hight B.  After listening to mom rant about how an A is absolutely necessary to …I never got to the why…(same old, same old-, she won’t get into the college.. blah blah) and I was compelled to stop her.  I grabbed her hand and said “your daughter is amazing!  She is thoughtful, caring, smart and compassionate.”  I gave her a few examples as to the greatness of her child and then said: “which would you rather have?  A supporting loving relationship with this amazing kid (your daughter) or do you want a fleeting A?”  Thankfully, she stopped talking and left. The next day my student asked me what I told her mom because her mom came home after conferences, hugged her and told her the A didn’t matter as much as her sprit. After telling me this, the student hugged me and said thank you.  It was the beginning of class.  I was so overcome with joy for this student, but class was about to begin so I walked around the room to my desk and just tumbled.  Face down, glasses on into a bookcase.  I was conscious again after a few seconds but my brain went from “hey, time to take attendance” to a self-voice echoing “hey, why is my face on the carpet?”  

Weird.  But, here is the clincher.  No one moved.  I’m lying on the floor and not one student moved to help.  A former student who just happened to be visiting and had first-aid knowledge acted quickly.  Thanks B, and B for lumbering downstairs for the nurse!  I was fine, and on my feet in minutes but I later asked my class, what happened?  We chatted about ‘group think,’ ‘conformity’, Kitty Genovese/“the bystander effect”, and other AP Psych terms for final review, but the question lingered.  Why did no student seated get up to assist? Sorry “R” I know this story hurts because you love me and wanted to help.  Me? 

I witnessed the bystander effect first hand. It wasn’t that students didn’t love or respect me, I hope.  It was that we condition our kids to the point of complacency.  Pithed. They, the students, simply don’t know what to do.  After a lifetime of conditioning of “do this, don’t do that” why would they respond otherwise? Commanded rely on the command.  Crash.  Course completed.  

Two: I recall a student, a senior, who got bone cancer his junior year of high school.  Finals were coming up and “J” had a math class to complete.  Algebra II was of prime importance in education, thus ‘required’ for graduation.  The paradigm for progress of his “success” in life.  A primer baseball player, “J” nonetheless was pressured into taking  a complex Algebra II math final test.  He was sick.  He was undergoing gut-wrenching cancer treatments that made him miss the final on the mandatory scheduled date. Although he had a passing grade up to the final, the final test was ‘critical’ for a terminal patient/ student.  Final make up day was set.  His mom provided a puke bucket for him to vomit in due to his chemo treatments, but he took the final and passed.  He graduated from high school and died the following May.  I cannot comprehend the complete uselessness of this coercion.  His passion was baseball.  Higher math was not only a waste of his time it kept him from the time he could have spent with his passion- baseball-  and his loved ones. Course completed.  Crash. 

Three: Psychotic episode.  The year prior to covid, I had a student that started acting erratic in class.  He stood up in the middle of a lecture, interrupted me several times- talking loudly, pointing at posters in the room and rambling about space and the universe and then just gibberish. After a few minutes of this, he swiftly changed demeanor, pulled out some clear play-dough stuff out of his back pack started rolling it into balls on his desk making mumbling sounds about colors again. There are 27 other students in class concerned. 

Now, I had been at this school for 19 years and have requested security one time. This was that one time.  Clearly he was on drugs, truly psychotic, or what- you tell me.  It was not pretty.  The next day I was told by an administrator that he will be placed back in my class.  Ok, it didn’t happen exactly like that.  What happened was - I asked an administrator to remove him from my class.  It was an elective class and not necessary for graduation, and I said this kid might not be in the best mental place for my class content. I was scared, the other students were scared. 

I was told I “might be exaggerating” and that the matter will be looked into.  That night, in my home, I received a call from the mom of this student.  No, I don’t know how she got my home number.  But after talking to an administrator I assume, she made a plea to me personally to allow him back in class. So I’m put in an unreasonable position.  Of course he was going to come back to class.  It’s about the bodies.  

What happened next?  Right. One day later he was readmitted. And yes, he did the exact same thing. I took pics of his desk after he was escorted out (for the second time) because I felt like I needed evidence.  What am I CSI? I felt threatened, belittled and bullied, oh no, not by the kid, by the people ‘in charge’.  I feel for the kid! Another pawn in the BM.  What about him?  He clearly needed help. I liked him.  We talked later and he felt really bad. He was sober and I think he would have actually benefitted from my class and I would have loved his input, but sadly, it’s not about him. He was moved to an english class.  Wanna guess what happened? Yea,  the message is clear- we care more about your body in a desk than your well being and the safety of others.  Crash course.  

Stop with the thoughts and prayers!

Because those “thoughts and prayers” have become completely meaningless.  Words fall on dead ears. (I know what I said). Those words sound well intended.  I mean what else are we supposed to say?  We feel compelled to talk as though that will make it better.  If I tell a Sandy Hook parent how sorry I am and that they are in my thoughts and prayers, that must remedy something right?  It makes me feel better momentarily, at least.  I don’t have to go home to tiny toothbrush still wet from the morning routine. - oh, I just can’t let my mind go further into that scenario. It’s too painful.  Too much. “Too far Ingrid!”  Just give us answers.  What should we say?

How about nothing?

What would happen if after another school shooting a sheriff, principal, or president gets on the news and says this… nothing. Just empty space.  No facial expressions.  No words.  Simply Silence.  Reporters pushing microphones and cameras into authoritative figureheads begging the question: “What’s was the motivation?” “Who did this?!”  Who can we crucify? We want someone to blame because the confusion and unfathomable discomfort  is seemingly too hard to bear and we don’t dare focus on our own actions.  You want motivation?  It’s everywhere, just be still enough to see for yourself. Painful?  Yep, and why would we want to feel better after another shooting? I think we are wired for that emotional pain too. It is so intense it has the potential to motivate us. If we focus on a scapegoat then our anger gets directed away from our own hearts.  It’s much more painful for me to think I have contributed to this horridness.  But I have. I’m culpable by being complicit.  I have to live with that.  Now what?

Silence.  It would leave us with that empty space.  A raw uncomfortable feeling of dread.  We want answers, we demand justice for such atrocities.  “How could this happen?”  Again and again.  Sit with it.  Be uncomfortable.  Perhaps part of the problem is not feeling it enough. Weapons of mass distractions. Anger seems easier, at first, but profound reverent sadness may provide a stronger serum. 

Miss Newson’s Opus.

  This web page is a love letter, of sorts. Dedicated to all the students I have ever had the honor and privilege of having in class for the last 29.4 years.  Whether you liked me or not, I love you.  You have been my life’s passion.  Much more than a vocation, you were a calling for me. Although sort of retired (it’s complicated) I’m not quite ready to let you go, though. I’d  like to keep doing this if you don’t mind.  Not a Newson fan? No problem. You are no longer required to be at the mercy of my medium. For those precious pupils that remember me and were pleased with my presence, stick around, there is more to come!  A lot more!  I love writing now that I’m not in school.  Because you know me, I’m better off-topic. (R)  So get ready for the Newson show: weird, crazy, silly, serious, smart, not so smart, sad, emotional cheeky, lascivious, and as a lover of learning words, a logomaniac. I’m going to talk a lot about myself.  It’s uncomfortable, and seems narcissistic which- it might just very well be, I just want to take responsibility for my words and actions first hand. Capice? I am certain I’m going to offend many many of your peers and parents. Probably you too.  I’ll take that.  For you. Always for you.  I’ve used a lot of movies and songs in class.  I’d like to tell you more about it in this site.  I hope you don’t mind all the references.  I’m graduating from high school.  No longer tied to restrictive classroom rules, I’m going rogue. Spelling? Grammar? Filter? Format? No Way! Not anymore. If your a fan of grammer you will cringe. (see what I mean?) But, I am going to write as much or as little as I want.  When I want.  So there. It’s the ideas that are important here. This is my Philosophical Playground.  Recess is in in session.

It’s all free as learning should be. I try to give credit as often as I can.  I am also not always going to leave links defending my point.  Could be true, could be made up.  At some point, think for yourself- you know that is what I have always want for you all!  

There is a rating system here.  T-school is for the very brave.  It has been the thing I have been avoiding.  It’s hard for me to stomach. Good luck. I-School will be more playful and more Books to be written are in the making.  Not for profit.  All for you, my life long students. My family! I miss you all

~Miss Stor-y/ Newson

Schools out for summer!

Well, School’s out for summer! School’s out forever! (sort of- it’s complicated.). No class, no principals, no rhyming? Wait, what? Good timing! Alice Cooper’s Schools Out song is iconic. An end of the year anthem. Fitting. It reminds me of how much we really hate school. Teachers blast it from classrooms (or sound systems-wink) as a battle cry. “AAAHHHH!” Like we are Braveheart- “FREEDOM!.” Painted faces replaced with pallid complexion. (complexion is spelled with an x?) but the sentiment is similar. Relief that the battle is over, for a spell.

“School's out for summer (what’s summer? I’m re-tired.)
School's out forever (Sort of- it’s complicated)
School's been blown to pieces (metaphorically, and I hope so!)

No more pencils (or chrome books)
No more books (or standardized hooks)
No more teacher's dirty looks (because- it’s complicated)

Well, we got no class (is that a play on words Alice?)
And we got no principals (or principles)
We ain't got no innocence (a given)
We can't even think of a word that rhymes” (Really Alice? well if you can write, and not rhyme, so can I! No wonder you didn’t like school, english classes were probably not kind- but kind of ironic- they play yr music…. word. (~for JT)

I.School- Summer School. I’m going to post as many blogs as I can as to prepare for the fall “classes” See you August 10th.

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