“Oh, Hello!”

All abooooaaaarrrd the Newson train! “Passengers, please fasten your seatbelts, extinguish all smoking materials and turn off any other electronic devices.” Mind the gap. “We will be leaving the station shortly. Before our departure, may I have your attention? I’d like to point out some safety features on the I-train. In the event of oxygen loss please press escape. Only when you secure your own escape should you attend to children and other passengers. On this train there are no emergency exits. Contradictory and repetitive information will be found to both the left and right of your screen. For your safety, life preservers are unavailable. In case of an emergency, enlightenment can be provided between the lines. In front of you, you will find this web site, we ask you read it prior to comment. Thank you for your attention and I wish you a bumpy ride.”

This is a love letter of sorts. A love web-site dedicated to all students. You are my children, my extended family. This is for you.

It is my conviction that institutionalized learning facilities are designed to mine the minds of minors. In order to maintain control business model sorts need to keep the masses of kids sick, tired and crazy. It makes money. So, Sick, tired and crazy. I’m motivated. Let the games begin!

Sick from school stress. Tired of debilitating overtaxed agencies exhausting educators. Crazy- mentally deranged and overly enthusiastic for change. If I’m already called crazy, well, then let’s get crazy! Eleven Acts. I watched a lot of tv, movies and listened to much music growing up. Please excuse the references.

And scene!

Background: If you want the good, the bad and the ugly- the good will be I.School, the bad will be T- School and the ugly will be blah-gs. Newson unleashed. Glossary- BM’s stand for Business Model sorts. A nebulous cloud of white hierarchy aimed to keep the current cast system in tact.

Act One

Part 1: Get angry. Or at least get real about how you feel.

I’ve been incensed about education for a long time now. I know, I know, I can hear my own petty tyrant or others saying “well why don’t you just….. “ fill in the blank. Breathe, stay calm and carry on, drink, relax, sleep more, get help, just… just what? Just go fix it? Institutions control and manipulate the masses and then blames individuals for its failings. It is the institutions themselves that are keeping a great deal of people sick, tired and crazy.

I keep thinking an old punk song called Institutionalized, by Suicidal Tendencies:

“What are you trying to say, I'm crazy? When I went to your schools, I went to your churches, I went to your institutional learning facilities?! So how can you say I'm crazy?”

I was in High School when I heard that song. Fact- I’m still in high school. Still angry, (check out this TED talk). Anger does not have to be a negative if I can use it to fuel a cause.

Part Two- Wait for a moment when you know you want a change. Seize the opportunity and adjust.

Covid became my break away, frenzied moment. Finishing the spring semester from March 13 to May remotely was surreal, and the pressure to ‘go back to normal’ was beyond my comprehension.

True story. A principal had teachers zoom a meeting in May 2020. In small groups, one department a time, she asked for a vote. A vote on whether or not we would want to be fully in-person in the fall. She required all teachers show their faces on the screen and give a visible “thumbs up or thumbs down” to the question. How Romanesque. “Now they give shows of their own. Thumbs up! Thumbs down! And the killers, spare or slay, and then go back to concessions for private privies.” — Juvenal, Against the City of Rome (c. 110–127 A.D.) Spare or slay. I was the only teacher in my realm to go "thumbs down" which was the signal in Rome that a defeated gladiator should be condemned to death; "thumbs up", that he should be spared. Me? thumbs down.

It got worse by the fall- school battle grounds were magnified with politics and money as a major driving force. The push to return to school “as is” has been a disaster. States differ, counties differ, but the overreaching message is we need kids at school at all costs. Even though teachers have had pay cuts, increased work loads, more students, less resources, they are told to go back full force. Parents have choices now but not teachers. (I use teachers loosely, what I think about are all the workers in public education.) Businesses will fight relentlessly to keep its “stakeholders” and they know teachers will comply out of duty, fear, and fixed finances. Good for business human capital data. A tragedy for the rest. Now what?

Act Two

Decide what and how.

As fall approached I was getting nervous. I decided to request remote learning only. Denied. I requested part-time jobs. Denied. Then my school district offered an option to take a “no penalty” unpaid leave with no health benefits, for one school year. What a choice. Go back to school in a hostile environment or be poorer and potentially sicker. I’m crazy, so I picked the latter. After lengthy talks with my fellow teacher-hubby, I signed a piece of paper agreeing to this offer. Within hours my email and school identity were erased. Ghosted. I was more angry than despondent at this point, the decision was made, now adjust. My lovely spouse and I are in a unique situation in which we are empty nesters. We decided to go into debt so that I could stay home. This option also delayed my retirement by three semesters so future adjustments need to be made. Done.

I decided to research, make videos and let I.School unfold. Fail. The videos were emotional and scattered yet honest. Initially inspiring but not sustainable, (yet). Next.

Question. Can I live the philosophies that I have been teaching? Can I actually apply my armchair beliefs to day to day living now that I have the time? Gandhi came to mind. I have a poster in my classroom with this quote: “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Ok. Let’s try that. Now what? Ha- Go on a hunger strike to get corporations out of education like he tried to get Britain out of India? Hahahahahaha.

Me: ok.

How? Existentialist philosophers understand the bleakness of humanity and some stay comfortable in faux philosophies of meaningless existence. My understanding of existential philosophy is that feeling of angst. It is the physical equivalent to free falling. Gut-pitted fear, and that distress is just the beginning of existential greatness. Potentially. Yea, things seem bad, now what? Although I did not copy any idea of a hunger strike directly- that would be cheating- and who do I think I am, anyway? Inspired instead, I created my own ‘hunger strike’. A conscious decision to restrict my food intake for the purpose of educational reform.

”sHe who has the Why can Bear any How” Nietzsche (ish)

Act 2.0 the outtakes

New moon Phase

It just came to me. Eureka! So, I’m taking a bath and a thought popped into my head. Like the good witch tapped her fairy wand on my head. Or more like I was doing a math equation and it just started to add up. History teacher. Philosophy. Psychology. A historical hunger strike? check (women, prisoners, India)… How about philosophy? Aristotle, Plato, Nietzsche, World Religious philosophies? Check. Psychological techniques used in schools (more on that later) check. I had it! Then came the self talk. It went something like this-

Not so fast Red, you’ve been known to do some really harebrained things in your past. Careful here Ingrid, this is bigger than any of the big-hair-brained ideas you have ever had. Give it some time. Give yourself, oh let’s see it’s late June now. how about July? July 21st, my grandmothers birthday. Yea, I’ll give it till then.

For the next few weeks I was manic and magical…. in and out of my mind. Like a Leprecon, I was Manicly delicious! Impromptu singing, dancing followed by crying and heaving sobs- up and down- for three weeks. And then after those three weeks, my deadline approached. July 21st. Deep breaths. So for three days I got real still, and real quiet. I needed to contemplate on this hard. Meditate as they say.

What I was considering was unfathomable. A hunger strike? Not only would I be ‘uncomfortable’, I have my family to think about. I could die. More calculations. Ingrid logic. It’s covid, many teachers are already making a last will and testament, if you haven’t already because of school shootings. If I did die from - name it- cancer, heart attack, (I have also gone to the emergency room three times in the past 6 years from job related stress). If I were to die, my husband would be taken care of. He would get all my benefits and never “have” to go back to school again. I’ve had two pre-cancer surgeries before 50 and I watched my dad die a slow cancerous death his last year of teaching. I also might get dementia. Terrible affliction and I would be a burden on my family. I am no stranger to eating disorders being an American girl… I have practice. And my research on hunger strikes from women in the past century, they didn’t die due to the hunger- the died from being force fed in prisons. No one could arrest me, I’m not doing anything illegal. Many women lived to be very old. Gandhi didn’t die from his protest, he got shot…. We all gotta die sometime. Again, Ingrid logic.

It just all fit together like a puzzle for me. It was not going to be easy- in fact words cannot describe my torment as well as elation during that time, so that’s all I have to say about that.

I made a decision to proceed with my plan. Next. How to tell my family.

After staying up nearly all night and taking a few shots of vodka, (an unfortunate coping mechanism on this occasion). Shaking with nerves even after the booze, I woke my husband up and told him my plan. It was not the best timing for him for many reasons, but that’s his story, not mine. This is mystory- and after all, when is the right time for news of this nature? I still feel shame about that memory it as I type. Now, I can be ‘enthusiastic’. I was scared, excited, manic. And still the teacher- at heart- with my teacher check list. I started with the big three. I’m a morning person so- all in a morning’s work, right. E? the hardest. check. Kids, oh, boy, this is so hard… Call them one at a time. Check. Mom? check. Dad? He’s dead, and he provided sage advice for me. check. Ok. now what?… hold on. ***We interrupt this broadcast for a very important message: “Ingrid, your day is going to get sublimely strange. Sit back, and enjoy the ride. Surrender. No need fighting it anymore. Your wheel of fortune has been put into play- and by the way, what was that were you saying about a philosophical playground?” Hop on.

I got a call from hubby later that morning, along with my child. Hey, we want to take you for a ride. (oh god) We are going to take you to ‘urgent care’. Oh boy. Take a shot. Me? ok. and away we go.

Apparently what was in my head had not been articulated as well as I had anticipated. What I think they heard was- “hunger strike, will, die.” She wants to kill herself. She’s finally gone too far.

Now for the record I do not want to die. Not Yet. There is a big difference between wanting to die versus being willing to die- to me anyway. Especially for a cause. This cause.

I’m just now getting comfortable with writing. I could, and want to continue I.School for decades! I hope it works out, (or not). More on that later, but back to my originally scheduled broad-cast.

I had never been to a mental-urgent care facility. Evidently they are required to give a breathalyzer prior to admittance. Now as I said, unforrtunkatlley I chose some hooch juice to calm my nerves before telling my family that I planned to go on a hunger strike and…well I failed that test. Ok, we’ll come back tomorrow. No problem. The next morning we returned to “urgent care”. Passed the test with flying colors. (hey, why flying colors?) Six long nervous hours later at “urgent care” I saw a therapist. A nice young man, but shout out to the security guard and receptionist- you made me feel hu-main!

Here is how the conversation with the psychologist went- to my recollection:

He: Do you know why you are here?

Me: Because I am loved.

He: (pause). Are you planning on hurting yourself or others?

Me: No, I want to help people! However, I am planning to go on a hunger strike as a protest against public education. I understand their concern because it could be dangerous. As I said, they love me so very much.

He: (blink) Is there any significance with the timing?

Me: Well it’s summer. There are a few dates that I think about. My grandmothers birthday and the death of my father.

He: Ah, tell me more about that.

Me: My father died over twenty years ago. Although, his death was sad- and there just may be some subconscious influencing my actions- but I think he would understand. He would want me to live for sure, but I have the same passion for teaching as he did. He gets me.

Fast forward an hour, the therapist was telling me about his dad… Some people just open up to me. I can’t explain. When my family came back in, the therapist said there is no reason to keep me. I could go home.Good thing too. I felt the bad sort of crazy after six hours of waiting in in that facility. That little road trip could have ended up with a totally different middle age woman- interrupted sort of story for me. Don’t get me wrong. My family is totally justified to get me help. I feel so loved. Really loved. And they are not wrong. I do need help. I have issues.

Agreeing to therapy, as long as I could continue my protest, I contacted Therapist #2 through the help line provided for teachers- especially during Covid 2020-21 school year. I was told I could only have three one-hour session as an employee.

She: What brings you here?

Me: My family loves me

She: Are you planning to hurt yourself or someone else?

She: Sounds like it.

Waiting for my response.

We talked for the allotted hour. She asked if I journaled, if I do meditation, and breathing exercises. We did one breathing exercise. It was nice. We set up another appointment. I was nervous to continue but I was ready to go! I zoom in. Nothing. I called, I texted the help-line number finally got a response saying they e-mailed me that she had an emergency client (I bet she gets that a lot) and will contact me later. She sent it to my school e-mail (which was cut off), so I did not receive that message. Busy therapists in education do not have time for non-emergencies I guess.

Not giving up, I went through a friend of a friend and got Therapist #3

She: What brings you here?

Me: Because I am loved.

She: What a great answer. Tell me about that.

Me: I am planning to go on a hunger strike as a protest against public education. My family is concerned because it could be dangerous.

She: Good for you! It’s about time someone takes a bold stand to help education. What a mess.

We are friends now. She helps, and we talk about really interesting things but it’s not considered therapy.

Therapist #4

He: So what brings you in today?

Me: Because I am loved.

He: Are you planning on hurting yourself or others?

Me: No, I want to help people! However, I am planning to go on a hunger strike as a protest against public education. I understand their concern because it could be dangerous.

He: What are you protesting?

Me: Are you crazy (ha)? Have you seen the state of the world? We are a mess, and it is my belief that the lack of a healthier education system is a systemic root. Guns, segregated schools, Myself, and many educators have had enough abuse in the school system and no one is listening to us. I think I might have a lot to say and offer. I took a year off for my sanity and it’s been interesting.

He: Interesting? You sound really passionate about education. How does it make you feel?

Me: Like being constantly beaten with a stick, and then it just stops.

He: How does that make you feel, emotionally?

Me: oh, Afraid.

He: Tell me about that. What are you afraid of?

Me: I’m afraid it just might work!

He: Your protest? Why?

Me: Do you know what has happened to people who make waves historically? If this does gain any traction…? Do you know how cruel people can be? Of course you know, you’r a therapist. I am just getting quiet and healthier in my life. I don’t want the attention, but I am compelled to proceed with my protest because- if not now, when? If not me, who? I really hope I fail! But if I know my fellow teacher friends, family, parents (moms!), and my amazing former students’- there may be mobilization, and if that happens- be careful what you wish for, am I right doc? And knowing people, some will take my words- misuse and abuse them, and I may get a lot of horrible comments, maybe even threats. Does that make sense?

We had a nice discussion, he said he appreciated me for contacting him, but he’s going to need to take a step back from this one and offered some referrals.

Therapist #5

Same drill as 1-3. Sweet older and genuinely jolly man, I got some more self-help books.

It’s such a sad social commentary. We approach getting help like a car. Just go fix yourself. Into what? I have my Jim Gaffigan voice in my head talking for you “Oh, she’s bi-polar, she’s manic depressive, she’s a drunk, she still has an eating disorder…” and thanks to my latest self-help book I respond to your voice with this- “You may be right, .” Now that I’m home- I’m healthier and creating super fun coping mechanisms, more and more.

By the way, even if I did find a good therapist that could help me, which is very expensive, 1. I could be going back to institutionalized schools- the place that brought me to the therapy place in the first place (mainly). 2. I don’t want to spend more time answering the same questions with people who don’t know me, and if I take the time for them to get to know me- I’m a tough nut to crack- I’ve spent more time away from the things and the people that love me which makes me healthier mentally. and 3. I found three things I fell in love with which has been more therapeutic than ever. Dance therapy, art therapy, and writing. This is my therapy.

Act 2.1- More Outtakes

Next step- “Tell extended friends and family.” A test group of trusted family members, colleagues and of course, some former students. Surprisingly, I had more support than anticipated. All but one person encouraged me to proceed. I get it. This person was not a teacher or student in the traditional sense. But the rest?! Wow, thank you! This is an adventure, and thanks for bearing witness. I needed a sounding board, and you all just get me. I hope I do you proud. xxoo

Act Three

Do nothing.

Fall of 2020. No job, no ‘hobbies’, no real food, just time in a pandemic. Now what? TV? at first, sure. Lot’s of election news to watch. I did watch some news and heard: “Lock here: up” “lock her up” “lock her up!” in round two of political discourse and I turned off the TV and again said, “ok”. That sounds about right. “Lock me up! Lock me up! Lock me up!” A self-imposed institution- my own briar patch. First, I cut myself off from as much as possible. Few texts, fewer emails, very little contact with friends outside family. I can see how this could be concerning. Red flags for counselors, right? I agree. In addition to conversations with my immediate family, I made sure to have a few other family members aware of my decisions (a doctor, a clinical psychologist, a lawyer, and a philosopher). Sounds like a bar joke, but again, this is not a joke. I also told a few colleagues and a hand full of trusted adult former students for moral support. Then I leaned into what I know. History.

In WWI, when soldiers suffered from shell shock (now known as PTSD) and could no longer function on the battlefield they were ‘locked up’ and given simple tasks like weaving baskets. They were doing “something” and yet nothing of real ‘importance’. Like war, for example. I followed that theory. I’m not doing anything ‘important’ except taking care of myself. By doing nothing I realized taking care of myself is the most important thing I can do! (So far, the food restrictions and weight loss have only been favorable). Selfish as that sounds, and guilty as I felt, it was the beginning of something from nothing. Because this is not just for me. It’s for none and all.

I like history because we can learn from it, adapt, and forge forward with better clarity. I don’t think we teach history fairly and truthfully in T-School (traditional schooling). Doing nothing gives me time to contemplate such dilemmas and reclaim my own values. In the middle time, I kept a perpetual puzzle on our dining room table. When I got restless and wanted to ‘do’ something, I could calm my mind for a moment by doing simple tasks. Similar to soldiers weaving baskets, over a few weeks I noticed a positive difference. My daily objective was to stay calm in a calm environment. Puzzles, easy chores and not much else was my phase three. Sound fun? Sound easy? Try it and get back to me. Do nothing for an hour or two. No screens, no activities, no talking, no other people, awake and just you. How about a day? a week? What I discovered was if I look and/or listen long enough at something mundane, it becomes magnificent.

Act Four

If you don’t know what to do, do what you know.

One challenge of doing nothing is the realization that it can’t really be done. Nothing always becomes something. I like meditation, but it is particularly difficult for me as my mind wonders… far. So to balance this I did ordinary tasks familiar in structure, but slowly. Making coffee, beds, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, shopping, driving, brushing my teeth, picking up dog poop, showering, shoveling snow… slowly and mindfully became um, not what I expected. I slowed down and paid more attention. Instead of doing more which is what we are perpetually trained for, I consistently did less but with intention.

Act Five

Get creative.

In addition to history, I like Psychology and Myths. The Myth of Psyche is one of my favorite stories to tell in class. (It’s Greek so there are many versions as you can imagine). But I wondered if I could take this myth somewhat literally and follow Psyche’s lead. Use Psyche to help my psyche! Long story short, Psyche was abandoned, fell in love with a god, lost said god, and was willing to follow four arduous tasks of Aphrodite to get him back. As I tell the story, it is not about romance as it is about finding joy in being whole. Psyche’s modern definition means bridge, soul or spirit from this myth. Unity. There are plenty of rich archetypes in the story, but I am going to talk about the four tasks of Psyche, how I interpreted them and what I did.

Sort thousands of seeds scattered in a vast field overnight.
Gather golden fleece from Golden Rams of the Gods that could crush her.
Fill a crystal vase from a waterfall leading into the river Styx.
Get beauty cream from Goddess of the underworld, Persephone.

Me: Simple. 1. Get organized, clean up my house (sort my own seeds) 2. have patience with myself and others more (she is advised to wait til the rams take a nap and get the fleece from a tree) 3. get creative- watch youtube and learn some creative skills like sewing (Psyche got help to gather the mist from the top of the waterfall) 4. go deep (face my own shadows). Simple, but not easy. Jung gets it.

Here is an example of going deep:

“Hug Your Demons or They’ll Bite You in the Ass”

I’m a self-help book queen. I read that quote years ago and it stuck. Pia Melody. So I thought about some of the more consistent words used to describe me that make me grimace, but may actually help to see my own shadows clearer. A self- search for truths. If they are true, I must accept and work with; if not, they are exposed and must no longer be a burden. The two most consistent words about me are: “Newson, you Crazy!” and “Weird.. but in a good way.” Ok let the games begin! Let’s start with definitions:

Crazy: 1.“full of cracks or flaws”. True. I am full of cracks and flaws. 2. “not mentally sound, actions that lack reason.” I’m nor sure what ‘mentally sound’ means, but- True, sometimes my actions lack reason. 3. “Being out of the ordinary.” I think we have established that one. 4. “Passionately preoccupied and distracted with excitement.” True. Especially about education. Thesaurus includes: absurd, bizarre, fanciful, foolish, nonsensical, wild. Yep! At times, but not all of the time.

Weird: 1. “Of strange or extraordinary character.” I’ll take that. 2. “Relating to the supernatural; witchcraft.” Interesting. I don’t know, but I don’t think people calling me weird are calling me a witch. A witch is “a woman who is credited with having usually malignant supernatural powers.” Um, ok. Monty Python approved skit coming soon.

Conclusion. I am both crazy and weird by definition. I can live with that. Embrace it!

Magnify a habit

A bad habit. Like smoking. One thing I used to say in class about smoking cigarettes was “yea, I’m trying to start”. I like the shock factor. Students gasp, some laugh, but not many. And then the conversation gets interesting. How is that any crazier then people who say they are “trying” to quit smoking? Just because they say they are trying does it make it true? Is just saying it comfort enough for the smoker to feel better temporarily? Is that not the same logic that prompts smokers to start? Temporary satisfaction from intolerable circumstances?

Smoking is addictive, blah blah blah. Depending on the era you grew up in, it was either coerced commonplace, as in smoking was ‘legally’ allowed in airplanes, elevators, classrooms, cars, bars, hospitals and nurseries- or it was demonized as in you should feel shame for those sticks of death if you even talk about it. Again, institutions shape the individuals and then blame the individuals for their shape. Cunning ads get us hooked, then monetarily prey on our addictions. Meanwhile, the laws change and we unfortunately adjust. So is smoking good or bad?

I’m curious. What is smoking like? Later in my life I decided to start. Let’s see what is it like. Besides l I always liked the idea of the French Philosophers smoking cigarettes and speaking about existentialism in outrageous accents talking about ‘ze existance of mahn and free will’… My free will bought me to Virginia Slims ~ narrow, pompous and patronizing. Perfect.

On the one hand, I have found smoking to be calming. It gives me a break and something mindless to do that leads to deeper contemplation. On the other hand it is a distraction. An avoidance of doing.

Think for your own damn self!

Of course I don’t endorse smoking. My point is by magnifying a habit or even choosing a habit in my case, allows me to look at my demons clearer. It’s mindful self-abuse with questions: Why would I want to pick up such a nasty habit? Where would I get the idea? What is my own notion of self- value or worth and what does that even mean? Yea, I want to smoke and yea I have heard and I hear voice in my head with- “How dare she talk about smoking like that, my so and so has a breathing tube…” Right. I’ve wanted to smoke my whole life due to movies, ads, and glamorous people being paid to smoke for profits. So, who’s to blame me. It worked.

I know the knee jerk reaction is to blame me. You can. I am also suggesting we focus more on the institutions that perpetuate such habits. Again and again we comply with ads, movies, music, shows that knowingly lure-in buyers of indulgences. And then we blame the pray over the malefactor. Good business, bad ethics.

Act Six

Start your own Fight Club.

Unfortunately. With my new smoking habit some casualties occur. Like falling. Hard! Not just once but twice while dancing home in the rain from a friends house at night after smoking my pretentious slims. The fall left my palms bruised and bloodied, right elbow skinned off, left ankle swelled to a blue softball, both knees and feet bruised and one unquestionably broken left ‘this little piggy had none’ toe. I hobbled home. Then I thought about it. For days I thought about it. What would Freud or Jung say? I looked like Chuck Palahniuk character and wondered why. Why would I, assumably subconsciously, chose to ‘beat myself up’? Then, of course I think about school. Kids that self harm (fill in the blank with examples x 10) do so because they: (finish that thought on your own). Personally, it sort of hit me (ha) that my physical body has not been mine, perceivably. I am/was/am, property of public schools K-12. Once as a student and then as a teacher. And not only schools, I feel like property of the public, always up for display- comments on my hair, age, weight, clothes, job, house, car, kids, pets, nose, face, beliefs… all comments seem to reflect how I am under constant scrutiny, as we all are. Messages every day beat us down, whether conscious or not, it seems logical that some of us carry out our own fight club.

Get out of that club.

Not so fast. I know, the title sounds hopeful. “Oh yeah!, get out of that fight club, happy ending”. No, no… just no. After a half-of a century of body- castigating conditioning I don’t think I am going to be magically nursed back to health just yet. As it happens my nocturnal subconscious wants a piece of me too. Unknowingly grinding my teeth at night, (which I had never done before) I lost a friend. My lower left back molar, my tooth, a distant relative to my left “this little piggy had none” toe is no longer with me. Cracked and ground down. Uprooted. My tooth just couldn’t take it anymore. It was probably damaged a long time ago but I didn’t feel it. A slow death…

Not so slow. After the first two root canals in the same hole, my body rejected a metal screw surgically maneuvered into my jaw bone. My mouth spit out an artificial implant. It was not pretty, it was horrid. And then came the third course. Like a boxer, ding ding ding- I’m out. The next round left my face like Al Pachino in the Godfather after he was held down by and then punched in the jaw by by an Irish cop outside a hospital. Al, was protecting his family from authorities. Institutions that wanted him dead because the family had too much power. There is a scene where Al Pachino is standing on the steps of the hospital with Enzo ‘the baker.’ A recruit body poised for protection. The ‘innocent’ bystander bringing flowers to the Godfather himself. Tense moment . Al tosses the flowers from Enzo and has the confectionist put his hand in his black Italian trench coat mimicking a thug when the other thugs approach. You know, power in numbers. An ominous car drives off thinking Al has a ‘gang’ so, safe for now. The other bad guys drive off. Shaken, Enzo reaches for a cigarette and is trembling too hard to ignite his lighter, after the fearful encounter. Al helps him with his cigarette, and then realized his own hand isn’t shaking at all. He is calm. I like that movie and especially that scene. I want the steadfastness, calm cool loyalty of Al. His smooth demeanor in the heat of the moment, but I think I am more like Enzo. Scared but willing to help. His own club.

My club has a look. A clubbed look. I have a slight limp as my left ankle healed lubberly. my foot slaps like a duck. My jaw is still swollen from Dr. No. I’m a clumsy dancer and have more bruises. Dance scars. And then there is covid- I’m more awkward than ever. When I am around other people, I have developed a small nervous stutter. I could go on- after all I am a 53 year old woman with all this and more. It’s not a good look mind you. In fact it’s kinda craggy, but fitting. My outsides are matching my insides. A personal civil war. My own club.

Act Seven

Do the Math

I figured I have had approximately 8,880 students in my career. I was told I am not good at math by some teachers so I’ll just have to obtusely trust myself on that number. By my calculations, I think I can write 8,880 blogs! Definitely more, but it’s a start.

Do the Writing

Just write already! I was told I am not a writer either. I listened. Once I wrote alot as one word. Red circle. “Two words!” Another time I wrote a story and started a sentence with but and, And. Red circles. “never start a sentence with a Conjunction!” Spelling tests- fail. But I started writing anyways. Any ways I want! Now I can’t stop writing. I’m in Love! Free from grammar duress - I enjoy toying with words and ideas. So, I may or may not be writing in rebellion to the ghosts of past precept principles paradoxically.

Do the Science

B’s and C’s in science did not make me a contender for a future scientist, although I have dreams. Now, I do science Every day! From researching spit to the moon. (Catchy title). I study the things I am interested in. Digestion, muscles and bones, physics, moon phases, hummingbird migration- you name it. I love it.

Do the Dance

Another love story. Dance as if no one was watching. Me: ok. Hello Youtube! Tap, ballet basics, and then I found my dance. It reminds me of a Joseph Campbell interview “The Hero’s Journey” in the Power of Myth: Joseph overheard an American delegate, a social philosopher from New York, say to a Shinto priest, “We’ve been now to a good many ceremonies and have seen quite a few of your shrines. But I don’t get your ideology, I don’t get your theology.” The man paused as though in deep thought, and then slowly shook his head. ìI think we don’t have ideology,” he said, “we don’t have theology. We dance.”

The Eighth Act

Buy a computer, a sophisticated chair, clothes, a train trip, and one night stay in a swanky historical hotel. (More on that). You know, buy a bunch of stuff with no income. American Woman. Sigh, I’m not proud of this, it’s a sad act.

Act Ten

Death Therapy.

In the movie “What About Bob” Bill Murray, Bob, is uber-neurotic (relatable) and seeks help from Richard Dryfuss, a pretentious psychiatrist., Dr. leo. (lower case intentional). Dr. leo subjects Bob to “death therapy” because he wants to kill Bob. I think about this because when I made a decision to go on a ‘hunger strike’ I got reactions of fear- that I wanted to die. I don’t… But I want to live like I am. Dying. I envied people who got diagnosed with a terminal illnesses. (You know what I mean). Things become clearer. Priorities magnified. Days became more precious. Why don’t we live like we are dying? Tim McGraw gets it! No, I don’t want to go skydiving, but I like rock climbing, I won’t ride a bull, but I like lyrical rhyming. The thought of death fills me with life. So, I booked a room at the Oxford Hotel in downtown Denver. Not just any room, this is a retirement gift, so I got the best room, the corner room overlooking the city. I think I may need to write a separate book on this experience, but I thought about hauntings. I have my own take on ghosts and such. I’m pretty pragmatic here- when your’ gone your’ gone. It’s the living that are haunted with your own rap rapping ,rapping, a tapping on your chamber door. A raven tapping you’ll be no more.

I’ve decided to haunt you, students. Viva La Revo-Newson! VN. I am leaving ghostly trinkets all around town- reminding us that we are all going to die, and that the soul-crushing system of institutionalized education needs to die sooner. Life is too short. What to do what to do… So, I booked a room. Room 210. Expensive (for me). It was way out of my comfort zone and I try to go with it with support from my loves. The room had an old fireplace, long gone but replaced with decorative discarded books from the Denver Public Library. I love books, so of course I got curious. Universe, I hear you! The books just happened to be old education books. That’s right folks, books promoting education- from history to higher education to typewriting. 1901 to 1944. This was just too eerie. More on this, later but just to remind myself- future attractions- oysters, a woman may have died, a thesaurus, One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Kierkegaard’s desks, Union Station, schizophrenic street performers, Hellboy, parking problems and a $55 fine, bathtub bruises, Rocky’s game, 7-11, masks, paradise smoking. And a brilliant idea- a scavenger hunt of all time. Because I don’t have time. And neither do you. Oh wait, I do have time, and this is how I want to spend my time. The thought of “haunting” you all thrilled me. I’ll write riddles and give clues. Example: You might find a note from me, located in the Lakewood library… in such and such book. Page 217. Seriously. I’m having fun. Death Therapy. Taking a vacation from my problems.

This one goes to Eleven

Lighten up.

I have a good/ quirky, sometimes gruesome sense of humor. I have to. Educators need it for survival and at times I feel like I’m in a Spinal Tap movie. “But this one goes to eleven,” is what “Nigel Tufnel” says to his interviewer. Nigel Tufnel : The numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board, eleven, eleven, eleven and...

Marty DiBergi : Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?

Nigel Tufnel : Exactly.

Marty DiBergi : Does that mean it's louder? Is it any louder?

Nigel Tufnel : Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?

Marty DiBergi : I don't know.

Nigel Tufnel : Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?

Marty DiBergi : Put it up to eleven.

Nigel Tufnel : Eleven. Exactly. One louder.

Marty DiBergi : Why don't you just make ten louder and make ten be the top number and make that a little louder?

Nigel Tufnel : [pause] These go to eleven.

Circular arguments. Like in education.

Number 9?

What happened to 9? Ms. Story awaits. I have A LOT of blogs to write. 8,8081 to start. Number 9?

In the Vaisheshika branch of Hindu philosophy, there are NINE universal substances or elements: Earth, Water, Air, Fire, Ether, Time, Space, Soul, and Mind.

Let’s get started.