It was the 1990’s when the Franklin Planner craze began.  My wonderful sister in law, an extremely organized human being and the complete opposite of me, had this HUGE Franklin Planner that went everywhere with her.  It contained her entire life, her schedule, her husband’s schedule, work, vacations, receipts, you name it, all in one well organized volume.  It was quite the racket – every year you had to go to Franklin Planner Store to get another years worth of pages and things to organize yourself even more than you ever dreamed.

Coincidently, there was a term going around to describe people who were, shall we say, a bit uptight.  Anal retentive, or anal for short.  And as much as I loved my sister in law, it was just a tad anal of her to live with this planner which I nicknamed the butt book.  All in jest of course. Never in a million years would I ever own such a book.  Flash forward about 25 years.

My butt book isn’t nearly as large as hers but it contains my life.  Every meeting, vacation, family get together, husband’s games, children’s birthdays, it’s there.  I admit it – I’m anal too.  For at least 25 years I have been documenting every little tiny event in this silly little book, which now gets transferred to my plan book, to my desk calendar and to the calendar on my fridge.  And now, thanks to pressure from my techie friends and family I also have it on the calendars on my phone and laptop swirling somewhere inside some cloud that I can’t begin to understand.  It is pretty cool that I can put something on my phone and it just shows up on the laptop, but I’ll never admit that to them.

Why do this?  Because I’m the girl who can’t say no.  They say (not sure who THEY are)  that if you want something done, find a busy person, right?  This is not completely accurate.  You don’t find someone who is busy, you find someone who can’t say no – that’s why they’re busy.

I am a full time teacher.  This includes multiple mandatory meetings and a couple of choir rehearsals during the week on top of teaching 500 of my favorite students, all on the calendar.  Then there’s helping to organize our district general music PLC meetings.  That’s a new one (thanks Boss).  I was asked to be the union rep for my school which was supposed to be a temporary gig as I’m now beginning year three. (Wish I had said no). I am the liaison for the N.Y. Metropolitan Opera for our district so that students can see opera streamed live several times a year.  Ok, I like this one and who could say no to trips to New York?  I also serve on a national board for music education and yes, I applied to run for this and won.  I’m really kind of competitive and really hoped for this opportunity.  More for the calendar.

Please don’t mistake this as bragging or complaining or anything else.  The book merely represents my life and the life of my family, good or bad, busy or calm.  Sometimes I get overwhelmed just looking at the schedule and other times, particularly during June I just breathe as I look at all the empty days on the calendar.

So, the calendars are really just a reminder for me so I don’t forget stuff I have to do.  The work load for all of these calendar items is ridiculous and for a person who is naturally unorganized, it can be a struggle.  And I wonder why I’m exhausted all the time.  On the other hand, there have been moments of such joy because of the opportunities and dates on these calendars.  Celebrating my grandson’s adoption, celebrating my kid’s birthdays, watching my husband do what he loves doing on a Saturday afternoon on a football field, meals with friends, and yes, studying at the Met, traveling and meeting people from all over the country who share a passion for what I do, learning and contributing where I can.  Those are the details that never make it on the calendar but are the things that make me glad that I’m just a girl who can’t say no.

Artificial Intelligence.  It’s the wave of the future.  It has invaded our homes in the form of Alexa, Dot and Siri.  I even find myself thanking Siri after she does something for me.  Not it, she.  I sit at my computer and if I have a question about how to spell something or I need to look something up, I just ask Siri and she tells me.  I too have fallen under the spell of A.I.

I’ve always been a bit of a SciFi buff, with movies and TV shows like Star Trek, Lost in Space, Star Wars and others being my favorite, and all of them featuring robots. How wonderful if the Jetsons could be the real deal and I had a robot maid.  But I can, can’t I,  by just purchasing a Roomba to vacuum my carpets.  Now if I just had a robot to fold my fitted sheets.

School is another place where we are being invaded by artificial intelligence, but it’s not necessarily in the form of technology or curriculum.  No, it is in the form of a human, a teacher.  A person who is trained in various content to teach children to love learning and our system is turning them into robots.  Teachers are wonderful human beings, all different with varied amounts of experience both in and out of the classroom.  They have different personalities, different temperaments, different levels of tolerance.  They have passions for certain areas of learning and different levels of training.  They come from different backgrounds and cultures. Yes, each classroom teacher is a unique human being and yet – schools are trying to turn them into robots so that each child receives the same thing in the name of “equity”.

So how does this work?  Well, it starts with using consistent language.  This is so every child has the benefit of hearing the same message from all adults.  All very innocent and seemingly logical.  After all, if a child hears the same message from multiple adults, that child isn’t as confused as to what expectations are.  Never mind that when that child leaves school that they will never encounter that same environment ever again where they don’t receive mixed messages.  It’s better that we make school life easy on them, not necessarily preparation for adulthood.

Then teachers are asked to keep track of their praise to reprimand ratio in the classroom.  After all, some research says that students learn better when teachers are aware of how often they give specific praise.  So, in their spare time, teachers are asked to keep track of this.  Again, this will really come in handy when they get that first job with the boss who has never heard of that research and whose personality is such that they only praise you when it’s really meaningful.  Again, making life more artificial for the student, more work for the teacher in preparation for becoming the robot.

Of course now there is the script.  Lessons are not necessarily created with the trained teacher who knows her students in mind.  They are created for the A.I. Teacher, the robot who can spout the exact same lesson as every other teacher at that grade level within the district.  The reasons again seem logical.  If a child should happen to transfer within the district, they can be guaranteed the same teaching wherever he or she goes.  It guarantees equity in that every child is taught everything the same way at the same time.  Doesn’t leave much room for real differentiation does it?  Never mind that children don’t learn the same things in the same ways.  As long as the delivery was equal, we’ve done our robot duty.

My older colleagues, the ones who have not had a drink from the A.I. Kool-aid water, have lived through a time when teachers decided the pacing based on what the specific students in his/her class needed, and what kind of discipline or consequences were needed for each individual child.  Even with my own children, I was never able to give the same consequences for their actions because their personalities were so different.  Why would it work in a classroom?  Anytime I see something that screams “formula” and it deals with human beings, I am very wary and yet, formulas are all I see today in education, wrapped up in the guise of research.

So seriously, why not just put a robot or a computer screen up in front of the class?  If all we’re going to do is deliver content in a script form, deal with behavior in the same way as every other child and never differentiate how we speak to them, we might as well.  I’m sure it’s easier on administrators who have to evaluate teachers, some of whom are also drinking the Kool-aid, having been out of the classroom long enough that they don’t remember what it was like to actually “teach”.

I for one am grateful for the subject I teach and that it hasn’t (to this point, at least) been scripted.  Sure I have goals and essential outcomes, curriculum and behavioral expectations, but these at tweaked, class by class, student by student.  It’s difficult to develop A.I. in the arts because it’s all about self expression, the opposite of what is being asked of both students and teachers in many classrooms today.  But maybe that’s what the public wants – to get away from the “institution of school”, the learning factory and became an A.I. manufacturer instead.  Then for sure we won’t need certified teachers in the classrooms – only artificial intelligence.

 

 

 

 

It sounds like such a loving supportive thing to say to a person, doesn’t it?  Especially if spoken by someone with a genteel southern accent.  However, if truth be told, what that lovely person is actually saying to you is “Bless your heart that you’re so clueless, stupid or any other number of insults.  Southern women can even get away with this with a sweet smile on their face.

When I first moved to Kentucky, I picked up on this quickly, not really understanding the hidden meaning.  I found myself sympathizing with those who were having a difficult time by saying “bless your heart” because, well, I wanted to bless their heart.  It sounds so supportive and nurturing.  However, after many years and now completely understanding what it means, I use it freely amongst those who may not understand it the way I do now.  This is not to say that I mean everyone is clueless of course – sometimes the “bless your heart” pops up and I really mean it in a nice way.

I get it.  It sounds mean and heartless, but really, when you see a magnificent mullet, a “bless their heart” just pops out.  Or someone driving on the shoulder to pass you because the regular lanes aren’t going fast enough for them.  Or watching a parent on their cell phone while their child wanders away. You see where I’m going.  I could call these people four letter words or honk my horn at them, but a sweet little “bless their heart” really goes a long way for me.

This came to mind tonight as I was watching a video of the world’s worst singing of the national anthem.  Bless her heart, this woman probably thought she was doing a wonderful job, standing on the bed of a pick-up truck in the middle of a dirt track in a tight dress while another pick-up truck drove around the track carrying an American flag.  The poor woman couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, although it kind of sounded like she drank a bucketful of something before she began, bless her heart.  It’s an awful thing to laugh while trying to be respectful of our national anthem, but well, some things are just beyond my control.

I really am not one to make fun of people usually, and I don’t usually say it right to someone’s face, but sometimes there are just some things so ludicrous that they deserve something, and a “bless your heart” is about the nicest way I can think of to express my feelings and still maintain my dignity.

 

According to a graduate teaching assistant I had the misfortune of writing for in 1979, I was not a writer.  I read and studied the books we were supposed to read and completed my writing assignments on time.  This guy gave me a “D” in the class.  I was devastated.  I had done well in my English classes in high school and thought I wrote pretty well and now this guy was telling me I was wrong.  Maybe my thoughts weren’t deep enough or well thought out enough, but this one person was enough to make me believe I couldn’t write.

It wasn’t until many years later, while working to get back into school full time, that I took a writing class in a little community college in Kentucky.  The teacher was critical and yet encouraging and she told me she liked my writing.  I was a little older by then and maybe I saw things from a different perspective which may have improved my writing some, but it was her encouragement that helped me believe that maybe I could be a writer.

Skip ahead several decades and now I have been writing my blog for a little over a year.  It is part of what I do now on an almost daily basis.  I recently had a friend tell me, as we were talking the “R” word (retirement), that I would have my writing when I retired.  Sure, having a blog is great and I love it, but how do I know if just writing makes me a WRITER?  I ask this because as a musician, all people who play music aren’t necessarily MUSICIANS.  I use the upper case here because for me a MUSICIAN or ARTIST or WRITER is someone who has a gift in this art form.  Oh sure, I could be a musician and play guitar at the local coffee shop on weekends, but is it music that touches people or changes lives?  Is your art something therapeutic or does it cause people to reflect on their lives or see beauty they didn’t see before?  Does the writing cause people to think differently, or does it touch something inside them that helps them realize they are not alone in their thoughts, ideas or struggles?

I always wanted to be a MUSICIAN but I believe I am more of an EDUCATOR than a musician.  Oh sure, I have a pretty good voice and I understand the basics of theory and history, but to completely lose myself in the music has only happened on rare occasions.  I am too concerned about how I look or sound to let the MUSIC take over.  On the other hand, I love to study why students or student teachers struggle with learning and what it takes to get them through that struggle.  How do I get them to understand something?  What gets them excited about learning?

It is easy to see the gifts in others because there is just something about what they do that touches you or causes you to see the extraordinary in something ordinary.  I have several friends who can do that with photography.  Just the right angle or lighting and suddenly the beauty leaps out of the commonplace.  Just like two people singing the same song.  One can be technically correct and very pretty and the next may not be perfect but the emotion conveyed through that same song can sweep you away.  Which one is the musician and which the MUSICIAN?  As a trained musician myself, it makes me wonder then if music was the right area for me to have studied.  Never in my life have I studied or practiced music for an hour every day like I write every day.

So I suppose that the only way to see if I’m really a WRITER is to keep writing and continue working on that book to see how it is received.  Writing things for your friends to read is one thing, but writing something for the world to see is something very scary.  For my friends who find great satisfaction in their art form, whether it be photography, visual art, dance, music, or writing, listen to your heart and your friends.  Any unsolicited comment that speaks of the beauty in your art form or how it has touched them should tell you that this is a gift you have that can make the world a better place.  Although I may be considered a music educator careerwise, in my soul I feel like a WRITER.  Now I just have to allow myself to share it with the world.

 

The birds have taken over the balcony.  Actually, they’ve taken over all summer, seed shells covering the floor, bird droppings on the railings, odd things growing in my plants from seeds being tossed out of the bird feeder.  The table and chairs have been out there all summer, but I have been content to sit inside and just watch.

I’ve never considered myself a bird watcher before, but they’re pretty amazing.  I have found myself slowing down to watch their behavior and notice their habits, to compare types of birds and the sounds they make.  From finches to doves to the occasional cardinal and blue jay, they have a little hierarchy all their own that is fascinating to watch and they have brought a smile to my face many times.  My husband is not crazy about the fact they’ve they have taken over, but I have caught him stopping to watch as well.  I know that they could survive just fine without me making sure they have seeds in their feeder every day, which then causes me to think of how they have no choice but to rely on their creator.  Something I should do more of.

This morning my thoughts are in a million different places.  I’m thinking of the fact that my husband and I are in our usual places this morning, me in my writing area and he in his, doing our own things, getting work done.  I marvel at how little we actually interact with each other these days and yet the time we do interact, we try to make it meaningful.  I’m very hyper aware of my friends and acquaintances who have either lost spouses recently or are struggling with health issues and other things, and thinking of each of those makes me very grateful for the quality time I have with him.  After all, what is the purpose of all this suffering if we don’t learn something from it?

All of those friends and acquaintances are on my mind as well.  While my life at this point, while not perfect, is pretty darn good, I read about and talk to my friends who are struggling with so many things, but mostly health issues.  While I do my best to pray for them as regularly as I can, yesterday I was overwhelmed.  Overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of prayers needed and the seriousness of the issues to be prayed for.  I just stopped at one point and told God I didn’t know how to pray for them, that it was too much suffering to even contemplate.

I vacillate between “God is in control” to “how do I really know there’s a God?”  Sometimes my head questions the logic of it all and then my heart reminds me of all the times I have watched God work in my life and the lives of others and the certainty I knew during those times.  Yes, I do know God is in control, but if I am to be His hands and feet, what am I supposed to do for so many?  And WHY so many?  Is it just that time in my life, at my age that there seems to be so much more of this suffering and death?  Heavy thoughts for a Saturday morning.

On a completely different note, I woke from a nightmare this morning that may seem pretty comical.  It all had to do with having to set up a meeting, which was to be at a high school I had never been to and  that didn’t seem prepared to have us and I had forgotten to get the meal catered.  At the last possible minute, I’m frantically trying to find someone to bring in some food for everyone, to the point where I’m begging them to just bring in bags of salad and craisins for everyone to eat.  Perhaps I’m thinking too much of my upcoming North Central meeting in September?  Thank goodness someone much more capable than I has helped me set this thing up and there WILL be great food while we’re there!

Lastly, we picked up my son last night from the airport after a trip to Seattle to see a friend.  He was very anxious about flying and it almost caused him to cancel the trip.  I shared with him the story of my dad, when he was a bit older than I am now, telling me how he wished he had done more during his life.  He had all of these things that he wanted to do and now it was too late.  It has been those words that have pushed me past my comfort zone to experience new adventures because I don’t want to get to the end of my life “wishing I had…”   I told my son I didn’t want him to experience this same thing, wishing he had done more and so, he pushed past his fears and went.  As he talked to us non-stop for the hour trip back home from the airport, he shared all of his new experiences with people from all walks of life, food he had never tasted before, original art he had never seen in person.  He had to deal with unfamiliar locations and transportation by himself and did it.  The last thing he said to us before we went to bed was thank you to his dad for teaching him how to be the best version of what a man should be and me for challenging him to fight his fear so that he could experience life.  It’s all a parent could hope to hear.

Many things to ponder and now on to the exciting tasks of cleaning the place, doing laundry and working on NAfME stuff.  Life is what it is, and I’m grateful that my life is good.

 

 

Have you ever noticed how few women superheroes there are in comic books and  movies?  Oh sure, there’s Wonder Woman and Supergirl and Batgirl  – ok, seriously – SuperGIRL and BatGIRL?  Could you ever imagine Batboy, Superboy or Spiderboy?  But I digress.  Anyway, I’m betting there are more women superheroes out there, they’re just not bragging about it and making a scene like the boys.  Especially if they’re like some of the Superwomen I know personally.  The ones who are silent heroes everyday, making a difference in peoples lives and never making a big deal out of it by trying to show everyone how impressive their super powers really are.

I look at women through history, where culture and gender has dictated how they should live their lives, from the tiniest minutia to major life events and how they persevered through adversity, judgement and discouragement.  I marvel at women who stepped out of their comfort zones to prove their self worth and change the lives and perceptions of women and what they could do, one difficult step at a time.

For most of my life, I have gravitated towards men for conversation, learning and encouragement, but the older I get, the more I appreciate women.  I know that must sound very odd, but I grew up in a very traditional household where my mom never worked and she hung out with all of the other moms who either never worked or only worked “for fun money”.  Completely different from my career oriented frame of mind.  Discussions about changing diapers and clipping coupons were not for me and it certainly wasn’t what the men were talking about.

And so, I did what I needed to do – worked full time, raised three children, served in church, maintained a marriage with another career oriented person, and survived.  Yes, it was hard, but you do what you have to do.  However what I’m finding out is that so many of my contemporaries are having to deal with so much more and yet they’re doing it with a smile on their face, working to keep family together, keep the peace, and keep a sense of normalcy during times that are anything but normal.

These superwomen are caretakers for family members from all different generations  with life threatening illnesses, they are surviving spouses, managing to find a way to make it on their own and thrive.  They are dealing with issues of their own; depression, life changes in their bodies, major life events and yet they manage to get up every day and deal with what life might hit them with.  Sometimes it’s tears mixed with the laughter, but trying to find humor whenever they can.  They are the glue that holds everyone and everything together.

I’ve discovered that these Superwomen very rarely ask for help, not wanting to bother others with their issues, but that’s where others of us need to use our intuition to step in to be that superhero’s sidekick.  I’ll be honest when I say I’m not always comfortable getting close to people, but again, I think getting older is helping me to get past that and see how amazing these women are and I want to get to know them better, to learn how they do what they do, to watch their quiet leadership in action.

The things I’m learning from these women are remarkable.  Grace under pressure, kindness when everyone else is thinking of themselves, taking one step at a time, allowing themselves to get angry and cry and then wiping their eyes, sucking it up and getting back to work.  Life is tough but these superwomen are tougher and I am humbled to know them all.  To all of my women friends, those everyday superheroes, thank you for the lessons you are teaching me.

 

 

You know, for a bunch of research crazed educators, we certainly are pickers and choosers.  Well, I suppose everyone is, choosing the research results that best supports your point of view or idea of how things are or should be.  And we’re really good at ignoring some research if it goes against the results we think we want or maybe it’s because the research results sound too good to be true.  I think that’s what has happened in terms of any research concerning recess.

Way back in the old days, when I was a kid, recess felt like it lasted forever.  Well, maybe not long enough, but compared to what kids get today, it was forever.  You had time to play multiple games, ride the swings, slide down the slide and get your arm broken playing “Red Rover”.  I was always the one they went for first because I was a weeny and couldn’t hold on.  Anyway, the point being, we had a lot of time allotted for just playing and being kids.  And somehow, even with that amount of time “wasted” at recess, we made it through school, most of my friends going on to earn college degrees.

Today I did recess duty again and when I blew the whistle to line up, one little girl started crying saying, “I just got out here and finished my lap and we have to go in already?!?”  I felt bad.  They have a half hour to eat their lunch which includes 10 minutes of recess.  They’re first graders so it takes a couple of minutes to get them out to the playground.  After running (or walking) their lap, they maybe have 8 minutes to actually play, and that’s IF they threw down their lunch in 20 minutes.  But you know how it is.  Because schools and teachers are expected to be accountable for the amount and rigor of learning that takes place during the day, we can’t spend a minute of it on something wasteful like playing.  Let’s take five year olds and begin academics the first day, forget about giving them time to get to learn each others names and how to play with them.

Ok, I’m on my soapbox again, but anytime someone says we don’t have time for recess, I think, ok, sure.  So the idea that kids who get at least 20 minutes of recess daily are less fidgety and more on task, have improved memory and focused attention, develop more brain connections, learn negotiation skills, yada, yada, yada must mean nothing.  The only things that matters are test scores and accountability.

I often wonder what it would hurt to just try an experiment.  Just insert 20 minutes of uninterrupted recess into each school day and just see what happens.  According to research, we should see a difference in engagement, focus AND achievement.  Just like any teacher who has sat through a two hour, non-stop professional development, we know our brain begins to wander without a break.  And because we need a break, we stop trying to focus on the learning at hand.  This is when teachers begin checking their email or Facebook, whispering to their neighbor or passing notes about the presenter.  Fess up – we’ve all been there.  Now imagine you’re an 8 year old who has been sitting in a chair most of the day not being allowed to talk.  That would make a teacher crazy, so why are we doing it to children?

On occasion, I have to ask the kids who is in charge and they point to me and say “you are!”, but really I’m not.  The teachers, the ones who really understand the needs of these children and know the best ways to keep them engaged, focused and enjoying what and how they learn, have very little control when it comes to doing what they know is good for the children.  It makes me wonder what school/class structure was like for my teachers in elementary school.  Has it always been like this?

I realize I live in music specialist land where yes, I have essential learning outcomes and curriculum resources, but I get to decide the pacing, how the content is addressed and when they need a break to play.  But I will guarantee you that despite the fact that I only see them every five days, my kids are learning and retaining.  Play makes such a difference and all I can ask now is, where have all the recesses gone and what are we going to do about it?

“Can you come help my friend Mrs. Bush?”  Sure, thinking someone had fallen and needed some help.  After all, it’s recess with 100 first graders with three adults to watch them.  Chances are I miss someone once in a while.  However, it wasn’t someone who had fallen, it was someone who was afraid they would fall.  Way up high on the monkey bars was this tiny, curly headed blond who wanted to try to do it by herself IF a grown-up was close to help just in case.  It had been awhile, but I vaguely remembered having to catch my own kids on occasion on some kind of playground equipment, so I stood in front of her with my arms out.

“No Mrs. Bush, I don’t want you to help me.  I want to try it myself.  But could you stand right there?”.  No problem.  It was her first time trying and, as she is one of my smallest 1st graders, I could see why she would be nervous.  Her other little friends were encouraging her with their words and cheering her on while she bravely looked at the first bar.  She grabbed it with one hand, then both hands.  Then she let go with one hand to reach for the next bar.  “Swing your body and reach” I encouraged, right before she let go and reached for me instead.

Now, I’m pretty well padded, but I wasn’t expecting the full weight of this child.  The next thing I know, her hand is in my armpit, her chin is imbedded in my chest and I’m trying to grab her before she falls to the ground.  Well, apparently this didn’t hurt her as she walked off with a smile.  “Thanks Mrs. Bush!” and she ran off with her friends, probably so she could hurt another unsuspecting adult.  I had forgotten how heavy a child can be and let’s face it – the last time I had to do that I was in my twenties or thirties.  It’s somehow not as easy as I remembered and all that padding I mentioned didn’t stop the pain one bit.

That’s the way kids look at adults however – as indestructible.  We can do anything and have all the answers. We’re there to care for and protect them, to encourage and validate them.  We give hugs, set boundaries, tie shoes, apply band-aids and reassure them that they will be ok.  We help them to consider various strategies to handle adversity in their lives, even if the adversity is a first time on the monkey bars.

There’s a lot of trust there.  This little girl trusted that I would find a way to catch her.  I’m not her mom or her family.  I see her in my class every 4-5 days for 50 minutes at a time during the school year and yet she trusted me to keep her from falling.  They may fight you, but little ones want and need someone to trust who will be consistent, firm but kind and listen to them.  It’s basically quality time they want from any adult, someone who will let them know they matter and will catch them when they fall.

So, was my little friend successful?  Not this time, but now she knows there will be an adult there for her until she is.  And next time maybe I’ll be better prepared when she says “catch me Mrs. Bush!”.

 

 

Is there anything more annoying than a head cold?  Not bad enough to cause you to stay home, no fever, nothing except (in my case) REALLY loud sneezing and blowing of the nose.  And sniffing.  Lots and lots of sniffing.

I’ve seen other adults with colds, especially women and somehow they don’t look like W.C. Fields donated his nose to them.  The constant blowing ends up turning the bottom of my nose and the top of my lip red and crusty.  It’s so attractive.  I’ve tried to use those tissues with the “lotion” in them, but let’s be honest.  Doesn’t it feel like you didn’t get everything?  Yeah, I thought so too.

There’s nothing like sitting in front of a class at the piano attempting to sing when you feel the sneeze coming.  You think, I just need to get through this next phrase.  You wiggle your nose as you sing, trying to get it to stop and then AAACHOOO.  If I’m lucky, I can continue to play, but that means the germs just flew everywhere.  Oh well – sorry kids.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I had one of those lovely little dainty sneezes.  Oh no, I sneeze like by dad, a huge build up and then all the power in my body comes out the nose.  It’s a little scary. My colleagues don’t want to be anywhere near me.  Seriously.  I have colleagues on my team who back away when they see me coming.  I don’t blame them, I would back away from me too if I could.

Why not take cold meds, you ask?  Well, I try but I have to be careful.  I want to take enough to have some affect without them knocking me out for nap time on my desk.  It’s hard enough to focus with the cold, but add the grogginess that comes with the meds (even the “non drowsy” kind) and, well, I’ll have to ask the kids next week what we did in class this week.  I find myself looking at the clock thinking “four more classes and I can go home and take a nap” or “30 more minutes and another one is finished”.  I’m really trying to make the classes meaningful but today, I know I was supposed to be telling a story about Chopin but it didn’t seem coherent to me, so I’m not sure what the kids got out of it.  The slight tilting of their heads was probably a clue.

The good thing and bad thing about a cold is that you know about how long it will last.  At the beginning it seems like an eternity because you know it’s going to be about a week.  And at the end of the week, you think, well, that wasn’t so bad.  At least I wasn’t having to run to the bathroom all the time or something equally as attractive.  I’m into day three now and thinking, hopefully by the end of the week I won’t have to blow quite as often.  But in the meantime, I’ll stock the tissue next to the piano, keep drinking the water, tough it out and keep trying to cover up the crusty nose.

 

 

Pretty sure melancholy is my middle name.  Not by choice, as I know hanging out with someone who tends to be this way is not fun.  It explains why my favorite Winnie the Pooh character is Eeyore. I don’t think it’s feeling sorry for myself, it’s just a state of being. Sadness and melancholy are a part of life, but my personal struggle is in not allowing myself to go too far in my sadness.

Everyone has those times of course where you’re going through a really tough life event, a health issue, a family trauma, financial or job worries.  It’s a legitimate struggle and something that takes time and usually help to deal with.  What I’m talking about is that state of being, where you are just sad.  You can’t quite put your finger on why so you don’t know exactly how to deal with it.

I recently heard a speaker on this subject and she said several things that caught my attention.  First was learning to walk in my sadness.  How do I do life even when I’m feeling sad? For me that’s pretty easy IF I have something I have to do, like school for instance.  I can walk in, paste on that smile and do my job.  It’s those times, like this weekend when there’s nothing I have to do that I give in.  But learning to walk in my sadness is an interesting idea.  I’m allowed to be sad.  It’s part of who I am as a human being, so maybe it’s ok to give myself permission to feel it.  As long as I don’t go too far and start feeling sorry for myself.

Learning to walk in the dark is another.  Being sad isn’t a time to just stop, but could be a time to stop and think.  What am I supposed to be learning from this?  Is there something bothering me or scaring me that I need to face and deal with?  Are there sad things happening in other people’s lives that I’ve been absorbing and do I need to do something to help them to help myself feel better?  This one is particularly difficult to deal with because the sadness brings a lack of motivation to do anything more than get out of bed. I don’t want to leave the house and tend to do mind-numbing things like multiple screens, living life vicariously through them.  How do I keep walking through the sadness without trying to escape the darkness?

Bypassing Good Friday to get to Easter.  This was an interesting analogy.  So many of us are excited to celebrate Easter and the Resurrection with our bright Easter outfits and singing our celebratory songs that we forget or ignore the necessary darkness that had to be suffered through to get there.  Maybe it’s essential that we allow ourselves to be sad in order to fully embrace the happiness to follow.

The last week or so has been rough for me, mainly because I’ve felt so lonely.  This is in direct conflict with the idea that as an introvert I need to be alone in order to recharge my batteries, but being alone and being lonely are two different things.   And that darned introvert thing doesn’t allow me to ask someone for help, so it’s a bit of a Catch 22.  It makes it hard for friends as well as they respect my need to be alone and may not always know when I need them.

So now, how do I keep from going too far in my sadness?  I know that going too far can send me down a deep hole that’s difficult to climb out of and that’s a scary place.  I’ve tried stuffing the sadness in in order to function and I can tell you that doesn’t work either – it will eventually explode.  Maybe writing about it will help and for my friends who read it, I don’t to make a big deal of it, but if once in a while you might encourage me in my journey of discovery while walking through my sadness, I would greatly appreciate it.