December Blues

Drinking away December
Blues oozing from every pore
Hangovers replacing songs of joy.
For some, loneliness fills the season.

#micropoetry

A View Within...Anxiety

I feel like I'm being squeezed from the inside out. My own anxiety has me feeling as if someone is standing on my chest with 29 more people waiting in line behind me to pounce the moment I think I can get up. My head is being squeezed from the outside in. My heart is racing and breaking all at the same time. My mind wants to say it's ok, but is being out shouted by the snare drum that has become my heart.

This is not ok. This should not be allowed. This is me so many days that's sometimes I wish there were no more days and the the pressure and pounding would just stop since it seems it only teases at slowing, rather than calms, in waves.

Anxiety overtakes so that the simplest solutions to current and the ever pending scenarios my mind has created in technicolor and Dolby sound are over taken, over run and over done in my mind. The sleep I crave and need to temporarily escape is visited by scenarios that only nightmares can create confusing my day walking with the fears of the night.

Tears want to fall, but even fear keeps them from reaching their destination because they are interrupted by new things that make even filling my lungs a challenge.

A "child of God," you say, "that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger," "when it rains it pours," "count your blessings," "think gratitude," "be in the moment." All of these earthly proverbs have been ingrained so deeply they regularly make an attempt at appearing billboard size in my mind, only to be destroyed by the lightening storm of all that is bad, could happen, self-imagined worst case scenarios in need of solutions that seem impossible because the problem doesn't exist, yet.

This just sucks. Anxiety sucks. Why do I choose to live in fear? How do I stop a physiological response supported somewhere in the depths of my mind? How do I make it stop? The outward attacks are inevitable. How do I learn to stop those from within? Anxiety, I called you out once before. You're a strait up bitch.

Mother Nature's Lesson to Us San Diegans

Weather in America's Finest City has been the opposite of desirable many times this summer and the past few days have been the icing in the cake. Only if that were a literal statement, the icing would melt right off the cake and evaporate upon hitting the ground. To say it's been hot is beyond an understatement. It’s been like living on the surface of the sun cooled only minimally by moisture filled clouds that tease at rain. And the rain that falls, although filled with alligator sized raindrops, stops about as quickly as it begins poking fun at the promise of relief.

My entire body has cooperated with an angry Mother Nature to ensure my eczema is adequately inflamed.”They” (mother nature and my mind/body/spirit) have ensured that even with the air on and sleeping on the lumpy sofa bed in the bottom story of my home, that the humidity keep deep sleep from settling in and that I stay away from cooking a healthy meal for my family simply because I don't want to turn the oven on further heating my already inside-a-brick-oven feelin’ home. So to say it's hot is not accurate. Not hot, but for many of us, we’ve arrived in a torture chamber of humidity and 88 degree nights. And in all my “suffering,” I can’t begin to think of those without the air conditioning that many of us only use 10 days out of the year or working or going to school in places that are truly ovens.

The comment too often overheard when San Diegans complain about said heat is that, “It's so much hotter in _____.” Or that, “This is nothing, back in the olden days when we weren’t walking uphill, in the snow, both ways, with only one shoe, we didn't have any air conditioning.” Ok, ok, we get it! It’s much worse in many places not so far from here. It’s temporary. Blah, blah, blah.

Truth is, there is validity in all those statements. We San Diegans have the luxury, and literally pay the price, to live where people pay good money to make their vacation destination. People convention here and their pasty non-beach bodies scream to us what their smiles have already revealed...they wish they were us. That the beach was no more than 20 minutes away from almost anywhere. That 70 is the norm most days of the year and that we live in a place, in America, where flip flops are welcomed in many workplaces and visors and boogie boards are commonplace. Sunglasses, rosy cheeks and outdoor living rooms are the norm here. We know it.We live it. We love it...even through the traffic.So, when it’s hot as if we were living on Mercury instead of our lovely corner of the earth, we complain. We whine and wine, have meltdowns like our poor ice cream cones and sit on our patios in hope of a cooler evening and the possibility of sleep.

So, as I caught myself in mid whine, well vodka & lemonade because red wine is not refreshing on a hotter-than-Hades-day, I asked myself why I did not whine when I lived near Austin and this type of weather lingered from late April through the brink of October. I thought about “The Day” I realized that I had adapted. My second summer in TX and the day I walked across the acre long Target parking lot from the air conditioned car through the blazing blacktop. I thought about the moment I walked into the arctic tundra that was the Target entrance and realized a miracle had occurred...I did not sweat gallons as I traveled through the parking lot and I didn’t even think a complaint. I made it to the store and was looking at my shopping list before I had the chance to think, “It’s hoooot.” I smiled both then and now realizing my mind, body, and spirit had acclimated to my new surroundings. That I could make it through the heat that at one point in my life had me on my grandma’s porch swing, wet rag on my head, moaning from misery, was a momentous occasion, even in the Target entrance next to the neat rows of baskets. I was from that point forward, not going to let the heat get to me. Granted, life there is centered around knowledge of the heat.Indoor playgrounds, a universal air conditioning setting of 70 often times making you carry a light sweater for indoor use. Gyms for indoor workouts were abundant as were keeping the kids in until 7pm for outdoor playtime.  

My fellow 619, 858 and 760 area coders, if this San Diego Diva could adapt to Texas heat, we all can. It’s all about acclimating and adapting. Just like in life. If we can’t change the heat, we can change our response to it. If we can’t change our circumstances, we can change our reaction to them. We need to change what we can and that is our thoughts. Is it hot? Uh duh. Do we have to like it? Hell - literally - no! Can we continue to be San Diego Princes and Princesses and affirm that we live in a place better than Mother Nature is treating us...like the riff raff in so many other parts of our country? Of course. Do we have to be happy through it? Well, there is the lesson. We can control our feelings. We can smile while those beads of sweat make their way down our foreheads, backs and in all those places we’d rather not think about sweat pooling. We have a choice. Play this nasty weather hand we’ve been dealt and wait for a new hand, or complain our way through further oven temperature torture. Our attitude is our choice. Sweat will fall, whether we smile or frown. What is your choice? I choose to pop on my tiara and sweat my way through the day, knowing in the end, it will be ok, I will be ok and glisten while doing it.

These Kids, Your kids, Our kids

These kids want to be grown up,

Do-it-yourself but don't realize how much they need you know-it-alls,

While really needing to be

Guided, nurtured and heard.

These kids will grow to be their best

With the right combination of “supportilizer” that

Each of us has patented our own brand of.

Your kids will fight, argue, swear they’re “done,” and have “done” their best,

Will become door slamming,

Lawyer worthy case pleaders

Who cry in your lap one minute

And swear they are grown-up enough to handle everything the next.

Your kids need to know you’re still there,

Through the mistakes,

The tears,

The successes,

The failures,

The dreaded questions

And answers they sometimes do not want to hear.

Our kids will forget we were once in their shoes,

Forget we have survived many bumps and scrapes they have yet to experience,

And forget we truly want what’s best for them.

In all of that,

Our kids will know,

That under our protective partnership of loving understanding,

And letting them make and learn from their mistakes kind of caring.

That we are united,

We have the best intentions and

We will do whatever it takes to

Push,

Pull,

Drag and

Guide them to the next level.

We are we.

We are united.

Because they are all

Our kids.

Sometimes it Hurts to Write...but it Hurts More Not To

Sometimes it hurts to write. 

Pain bleeds through each word.

Heart pounds at reflective memories.

But it hurts more to keep it inside.

The words ooze from my pores.

Fighting each other to be heard

In a world where you're told 

Your words 

Your experiences

Your memories

Don't count.

Words from my heart to your soul.

Words that unify.

Words that relate.

Words that define.

And refine.

And rebuild.

And recreate.

And resound with the masses

In spite of the fact

That we are not supposed to care

About those that

Are not our mirror image.

Those that Look different,

Love differently,

And live in different worlds.

These words have to make an appearance 

On the hearts and minds of

Any who spot them on a page.

Digest them into their soul

And breath.

Your words, our words, our world

We must share.

And care.

And love.

And be.

My words are ours to 

Feel and see.

And love

And live

And laugh.

They flow automatically 

Without my permission,

But fight to be freed from my own 

Self doubt.

So I let them be.

To flee

And love

And live in your heart too.

To let you know 

You are not alone

In your wildest dreams.

My words, 

my heart, 

my love

is there with you.

Will you share, too? 

What I Want, Have, Need

What I Want

A break

a vacation in tropical paradise

to be served a meal made with love

to be respected

a healthy, happy family

financial stability

to be anxiety free

to sleep well, every night

handheld sunsets on the beach

to not feel lonely

to feel loved

to be surrounded by smart, funny, loving people

people to honor the tiara I secretly wear

to be admired

to be recognized for all the hard work and sacrifices I’ve made

to feel like I can rest, finally

to feel like I made it

What I Have

anxiety

debt

loneliness

self-doubt

dinners alone

work to forget the life I’m not living

fledgeling dreams

a life only led in books

no bestie

the one little break I was looking forward to cancelled

nothing to look forward to

proof that dreams don’t come true

a heavy heart

a feeling of hopelessness

What I Need

someone’s time

attention

a break

inner peace

self love

companionship

to know everything is really going to be ok

a deep breath

to feel good about what I see when I look in the mirror

to actually look in a mirror

and know

it’s going to be ok

Instead

I read

I write

I cry

I loathe

I silently scream

I pretend

I exist

Summer Rain

Summer Rain in San Diego

Rain drops and flip flops

Humid breezes and thunder.

Power outages.

Sundresses and sandals

Warm air and clouds

Thunder and awe

Lightening and fear of fire

Warm breezes and falling palm leaves

Raindrops on beach umbrellas

Summer rain in San Diego

Slave Whispers

Slave Whispers

I hear them

Surrounding me in disbelief.

They whisper, “I see her, too!”

Their eyes gently gaze

And study me

As they realize, I am living proof of Maya Angelou’s,

“Hope and the dream of the slave.”

As they study

My skin

My hair

My freedom

My education

Shouts of praise replace whispers in the wind.

Familial bonds filled with joy

Oozing from the little girls and boys

That didn’t make it through slavery’s days.

“I am the hope and the dream of the slave.”

I absorb the immense strength it took to

Beat the odds

Beating the whip.

With family, faith hope and grace.

And the love that remains

In the two room, two family shelter of the slaves.

I walked the grounds

Thanking those that endured

And fought on

And sang praise to get through the day

Because “I am the hope and the dream of the slave.”

So fight on, I must.

Quit. I can’t.

They didn’t so I could

Just be.

Faith & Fear

Faith and fear, are for many, polar opposites. “If you’re going to worry, don’t pray. And if you’re going to pray, don’t worry,” said Pastor Green countless times and the pig-tailed, ruffly socked me never quite understood that paradox. As I grew in height and age, I came to realize that according to the faith under which I was raised, it simply meant, “Let go and let God;” another saying frequently voiced in my Baptist Church. What freedom to know that God had everything under control and that if I simply asked him to take care of it, it would be done. All through final exams, oversleeping, and commutes to and from college, this was the case. Meeting what I thought to be my Mr. Right, graduating from college and even the first job that I came to quickly hate, I let go and let God have my simple woes and what I thought to be major life stressors.

And then came the lay-offs and uncertainty of bills not being able to be paid by my starting salary. Followed by a trifecta of death: seeing my father cry at news about his brother and my godfather and my new husband's uncle. After some time in shock and grief came a cross country move, new job opportunities, new friends, our first home and first child. Faith brought me through tornado warnings and missing family at the holidays.

And then came the phone call, the death of my mother-in-law, the unwilling move back across country, the death of this daddy’s girl’s hero and of my husband's twin. Add more lay-offs and a depression that almost kept this mother from her newborn. Where was God then? Certainly I hadn’t been a saint, but not sinner enough to be caught in a perpetual rip tide. Accustomed to funerals and knowing a place called Caskets R Us actually exists and that it's the cheapest place to buy one. Only cooking because two children needed to eat and needed even the shadow of a mother that I was.

Constantly questioning what I did to deserve this? Why me? And what kind of God would do this to any one person while gifting others, like my very neighbor, with not having to work, the privilege of focusing on home improvement projects and vacations from her in-laws while I shop in the next town for the cheapest groceries hoping no one knows my financial secret. While I tutor kids on the side. While I cry myself to sleep wondering when the pain will stop.Where was the faith then?

And even now, knowing somehow that the children in my charge were somehow handpicked for my classroom and that there is magic only I can provide for them. Days when I look at those faces and wonder how I can do what's asked of me. How can I keep going? How can I fulfill what I thought was the call of my life while barely hanging onto daily routines and questioning "how" I can do what's expected of me. Will God give me the energy-strength-wisdom to work with so many and do so much when I'm feeling I'm just not enough?

Choices: Face Everything and Rise or Fear Everything and Run.

There is a minute part of me, somewhere deep within, where a light dimly shines, knowing it will one day become a mighty flame. A beacon to someone else just barely hanging on in the hopes of one day also being able to rise above the repeated low-lights life likes to drown some of us in. A little voice that repeats, "yes," "go," and "glow," no matter how many times we shout at it to just leave us alone and try to run so far outside our minds trying just to get away. I want to believe that whisper, no matter how much I wish it would show itself, would warmly hug me and place me on a certain path. I hope that is where my faith lives and that is where I find God.

God stating," Do not fear." God whispering, "Rise, baby girl." Reminding me, " Yes, it's worth it" and, "yes, you do matter." And finally, "I made you just as you are, perfect for what I need you to do."

And wiping tears on those days when withdrawing feels like the only option, I turn up the volume and magnify that voice inside. Face everything and rise. Don't quit. Yes, you can. Go forward, child. No need to run, just rise.

The Dreaded "Teacher Dreams" & Changing Window Screens: A Teacher's Life

It's the beginning of August and...they're baaa-aack. Though the official return to the blank canvas that is my empty classroom is not for almost two weeks, the dreams that wake me in a start, bringing a racing heart and a coat of sweat have arrived in full force. Dreams where your running in heels through campus unable to find a classroom you've taught in for years or have been given a new assignment to a school in an undisclosed location and you can’t find anyone who knows the address though school is to start in five minutes. Dreams where every red light is keeping you from being on time to the first day of school. Dreams where none of your clothes fit, your classroom door won't unlock, your already set up classroom has magically undone itself and where no one on campus will speak to you. 

These dreams are what real teachers are made of and whether new or a 20 year vet, we've learned that they come with the territory. When we are brave enough to share, recounting the ridiculous, yet relatable nature of the dreams, they bring us laughs and camaraderie. Knowing smiles and similar versions of your recurring teacher nightmare have floated over many a lunch table.

Pre-Planning Phase

There are actual books that collect teacher dreams in order to make us laugh through our collective unconsciousness. There is also a theory, that goes as far as to say these dreams are good for us. That even in our dreams, we are processing and making contingency plans for stressors we know we will face in the classroom: being prepared, dealing with challenging students/staff members/parents, and counteracting the unexpected. 

Perhaps there is merit to these anxiety producing, sleep-robbing night visions. In some twisted funny, but not funny way, they serve to prepare us mortals to do work of the divine on our classrooms. We need superpowers including not only eyesight in the back of our heads and bat like hearing, but the ability to know the precise combination of independence, nursing, counseling, hand holding, humor, and disciplinarian every child needs at any given moment. Subconscious pre-planning via “practice” with a variety of dream scenarios becomes a feasible way to prepare for what seems to be unpreparable.

Fitted!

So that brings me to changing screens. Three screens in my house were begging to be re-screened. Not getting paid in the summer had the possibility of contracting someone not an option. I'm not a “Handy-woman-Hannah” type, am a self proclaimed weakling when it comes to math and am not a super sure hand with tools. But, according to the aforementioned teacher dream theory, I am a problem solver and had been mentally preparing myself for this for days. I did my YouTube research, took double measurements and debated Home Depot vs. Lowes. I stripped a screen while following my YouTube Instructor and confidently headed to the big box home improvement store. I was determined that I would face the unknown with confidence and that I would have success, even if several attempts are what were in order. Just like in my classroom. In the same manner I approach students, I was not going to give up until those damn screens were installed.

And you know what, I did it. First attempt. No returns for more or different parts. Was it a struggle, yes. Did I curse, more than once which was actually nice since that type of vocabulary is not allowed while problem solving at school. Did I have to climb a ladder and use the back of a broom handle to secure a second story screen, yes, but hey, it worked. The screen is in securely.

Are my recently returned teacher nightmares the reason I successfully fixed the screens? Of course not. But the spirit in which I face my students each year and work through the inevitable challenges and pitfalls that come with being a teacher is what contributed most to that success. Teacher friends, the teacher dreams may be back, but that means so are we. And I’m ready for 2015-16. Are you?

Installed with a little broom handle improvisation - Teachers Improvise all the time, right?