Letter to the Universe

[First, some business. Lurkers who don't comment - I can see you on my traffic widget. I love you and I don't care if you don't comment. Not a problem at all. But my attention has been directed to a possible blog stalker. There is no way to prevent this; but for a little while, I'd like to ask that anyone who comments on my blog as "Anonymous" includes at least a first name. Or a nick-name. Or a city. Or something reassuring. "Anonymous" postings without some sort of name will be deleted. Sorry! I feel bad about it. Hopefully it's no big deal.]

I am handling my sadness a lot better today. The morning was very rough, but I did not give in. And after work, for some reason. I was at a traffic light and all the sudden I felt miserable. My hands dropped right off the wheel like they weighed a ton. I put them back. I suspect I'm not done yet, but I'll take the good days as the respite that they are. They will get more frequent, I hope. Today was a day with no special news, so I'll send one of my letters to the universe.

Dear Dad, Edie, Ronnie, and all the rest of you gone people,

I am sitting here listening to Mana, singing "Tengo Que Volar", bundled as always against the chill in this drafty fucking house. Today I focused on small things - it helps.

I was virtuous at the gym this morning. Ran a little, lifted weights, then ran some more until an hour had elapsed. I'm in week 2 of training for the Salt Lake Half, so I have to pull myself together and be serious. Plus those Girls on the Run kids are going to run me ragged. I have to bring my A-game!

Drum roll! I have found a new floor manager! Mark will be so relieved. Here he is:

This photo was taken right after I said, "One of the main components of this job is to keep me happy." I wonder if we can share clothes.

At the office, I caught up with Silvia and asked her how many people came to the Sex Health talk on Tuesday. It was a great idea: separate talks for men and women, facilitated by the Latino Medical Students' Association. In attendance? Five women. No men. [Pffffffffuuuuh...] Our students are very conservative. Silvia told me that the ladies who attended got a lot out of it - loads of questions answered. There's a lot of interest among young married couples who want to know about birth control, but they're embarrassed. I asked Silvia if we could try again. I'll make the rounds of all the study groups and apply a little persuasion. Then they can say, "I had to go! Bossy told me to."

Saw my little namesake today: already four years old. The Alvarengas have moved out of the area, so I don't see them very often any more. Kate Alvarenga? I'm flattered, but I privately think it sounds really strange. The first and last names don't match. I told her mother, Alba, that really, my name is Katherine. What about Catarina Alvarenga? Nope. Just Kate. Not short for anything. Oh, well. I tried. She had the most robust laugh when she was a baby. We used to set her up in a playpen near her mom and try to get her going. She would unfailingly laugh this huge laugh. We kept wandering back in there all evening to make her do it again. Diane really cracked her up. I think she liked that cloud of curly hair on Diane. Diane, if you read this, do you remember her? So damn cute.

Public Relations Committee meeting today. These have been pretty interesting, because we are re-branding. (And I got fed! One of the board members brought in lunch. Beats Pop Tarts...) No more Guadalupe Schools. It's Guadalupe School: one school, five programs. Riffing off the "hand with five fingers" analogy I like to use. My program is no longer called VIP, either. No more acronyms. We're just calling it Adult Education. Hey, got anything better? Lay it on me. We'll have a new promo video in time for our "friendraising" lunch next month. A new web site. Here's our new logo:

I drew the stem on! It was included in the original mock-up, and I liked it, 'cause it gave me a sense of growth, movement, change.... It got jettisoned, though. Hmph. Do you see that the flower has a petal for each of the five programs? And that the petals are people viewed from above? Each holding a book? Just like the Adult Education study groups. I am enchanted. I was ragging on Vicki about how we need press-on tattoos, and the board chair of the committee loved the idea. We just need to order them. In time for me to wear one for the luncheon? Not on my tummy though.

I was asked to update the Committee on legislative stuff that could be of interest. In all honesty, I have been distracted from immigration issues by news coming out of Educational Appropriations Subcommittee about budget. Proposed cuts this year include total removal of adult education from the budget. I don't apply for state funding 'cause my program is not part of the public school system. BUT. The money I do apply for (federal) is allocated based on a match from the state. No state money, no federal money. Oh, pickle. The scuttlebutt from the feds is that Congress is looking at a 12% cut for the federal money, anyway. We did a letter-writing campaign in class. The students who were able wrote letters to their senators and representative. I pretended that there was anybody in the Utah congressional delegation at the moment who gives a shit about adult education. Hatch used to, believe it or not; but I see that he sold his soul to the Tea Party today. Pandering asshole. I need to get board members to write letters to the lions of state educational funding: Howard (don't-believe-in-second-chances)Stephenson, Chris Buttars...

OH! And SB 138 made it out of committee 4-1. This would rescind that law that requires undocumented people to carry a "Driver Privilege" rather than a driver's license. If this bill is passed, folks without papers won't be able to have any license at all. This is a good idea because...?

What else did I do today? One of my students was having trouble with her bank, so I helped her call them and get it straighten out. Voice activated phone tree. The student was amused watching me say, "CHECKING. CHECKING. NO. CHECKING. FUCK. NO! I mean CHECKING!"

Got a few basic guitar books. Sara wants to learn to play as well, and asked for guitar books for her birthday. We can share them. She called me today to tell me that one of her frienemies had spilled/poured/dumped chocolate milk all over her at lunch and she was SO EMBARRASSED. It looked like she WET HER PANTS! OMG.

We had to go to Justice so she could shop for birthday presents for a bunch of her friends. Is it mean of me to wish that Justin Bieber would turn to anti-matter? Seems like half the school is born in February, including both of my kids. This part of Cottonwood is sort of a ski resort company town. All the February births fuel speculation on how everyone celebrates the end of the season each year.

Sara is gearing up for the Canyon View Etiquette Tea. Asked for a dress. She NEVER wears dresses. This is the kid who colors her hair in hot pink streaks using a pastel crayon. OK, dress it is. Today she asked if she could wear makeup. No. Oh, Mom just a little. No.

She has been hilarious about this tea. Now, I do work with her on her table manners, but she is far from exemplary. The other night, just as I asked her to take her elbows off the table, she picked up her bread and pulled the soft inside out, leaving an "O" of crust behind. Then she took morsels of the soft part, rolled them into balls, dipped them into the butter on her plate and tossed them into her mouth. I pointed out that she was not going to pass muster in this respect, and she solemnly told me that this was the right way to eat bread. Break off small pieces, Mom! Butter each, one at a time. Uh...Hmmm...

OK, off to paint my toes bright blue and concentrate on not being sad. It's turning into a hobby. Whatever works.

Love, Kate

Pfffffffft

OK. Shazam lasted for part of the day. Then my super-powers were again compromised. Just gotta figure out what gave me that burst. Try it again tomorrow.

I have had heartache before. I should be grateful. My heart is a wild little creature, but it is still not jaded, even after all these years. So, I bury my face in a towel and scream my head off until is passes. I know how to handle heartache.

I have doubted myself before. I should be grateful. I know I don't have all the answers. So I confide in my special friends. I know how to manage doubt.

I have had wild misadventures before. I should be grateful. I still think life has the capacity to surprise me. I write about them. I know how to wrangle wild misadventures.

I have forgotten my lunch and my supper before. I should be grateful. How else would I have the opportunity to subsist on rancid sandwich cookies, grape pop-tarts and garlic-soy-roasted Chinese broad beans? I know how to find food.

SHAZAM!

Wow. OK, I'm back. Got my super-suit back from the cleaners. I know, I know... What happened to sad? It's very strange. I have no idea. I suspect it may come back later. But today? I blasted around the track on my run; I am totally organized; I am looking forward to my incredibly busy day.

I feel very calm, very positive. I am not mad at all. I don't get mad. But I am...focused.

Now, off to direct my formidable superpowers at my day. And just in case anyone thinks that I am efficiency personified, let me confess that I have forgotten my lunch and my supper. But I used to do that before I was a selfish, unlovable, bad woman, wife and mother. I have always been a lousy food-rememberer. There are some pseudo Oreos here, but they are beyond even what I can eat. Rancid filling. I looked for the expiration date out of curiosity. Can't find one, although the package does assert that these Austin-brand cookies have been around since 1932.

I'd Call Myself "Guera de la Guerra"

Look, Ma! A piercing AND a tattoo! Kidding! It's a press-on; and Mom never comes on my blog. I'm not sure she knows about it. Good thing too, or she would have been calling me up over this past week with her own special brand of support in hard times. That would be: "The women in this family do not give in to pain. Get off your butt and get to work." Be sure to say it in a very hard tone. Seethe a little. She does hate my piercing. On my rare visits home, I was in the habit of flashing it at her, just to make her say, "Katherine! For heaven's sake!"

I had several tattoos last night, as well as my frayed jeans, my army shirt and various "bad girl" accessories, 'cause it was Roller Derby night. Flat track, at the Salt Palace. Black Diamond Divas taking on the Hot Wheelers. Awesome alter egos such as "Medusa Damage"( that was my favorite), "Pandora Doom", "Smack & Deckher", etc..





It was a lot less violent than I thought it would be. In fact, I have to say that I would be interested in giving this a try... I have not roller skated much, but I'm a fairly good ice skater. (Until you got a drivers' license, there was nothing else to do in Markesan, Wisconsin in the winter. The city flooded a rink, The Kiwaunis Club ran the warming shack, all the boys were there.) Sara wants to go to Classic Skate for her birthday treat next week, so I will check myself for hidden talent. In Wasatch Roller Derby, you don't form teams or try to join a team. It's a league and everyone practices together, then they form up their teams on the night of the derby. I know, I know... It's just a little too friendly... My friend Vicki Pineiro (who got me interested in roller derby in the first place) was there. When I expressed interest in trying it, she said that all you have to do is show up on a practice night and they'd give you a try. Don't need to know the rules (Good. They're complicated) - you can learn as you go. Looking at the girls, I can see that would EASILY be the oldest participant. By about 15 years. I can also see that the alter-egos, the costumes, the makeup, the playacting of it would be right up my alley.

Sooooo.. the daily question: did it help?

[sadly] No! If press on tattoos won't cheer a girl up, what will?! To be honest, better company would have helped. We went with a couple that we are acquainted with. Si likes them a lot; they are OK to hang around with, but they (sorry, but it's true...) bore me a little; and just now I'm craving fun company. Still, I wore my game face and flashed my tummy. Can't be a grumpy old slag.

Today was Day 9 on the Long March. If you check out my hike plan, you will see that the second leg is the "hurts most of the time with occasional moments of relief" stage. That's my goal. Nine days and I'm still not to it?!? Geeze. I am getting an eerie feeling that this is going to take longer than I anticipated. What if it takes a REALLY FUCKING LONG TIME?

OK, let's not panic. I did manage some things today. A list- Things Kate Managed:

1. A few basic household chores: beds, dishes, etc...;
2. A few loads of laundry;
3. I successfully prepared my sun-dried tomato, provolone and basil meatloaf.
4. I successfully prepared black-bottom banana cream pie.
5. I was able to put together a menu for next week that is not an embarrassment. Last week I did stuff like decide on a meal, write it on to the menu, then not check the ingredients or shop for the ingredients...dinner time rolled around and I was like, "Huh? Cauliflower sweet potato curry?" Worse yet, I had already planned it for a night earlier in the week and made it then.
6. I also read a few chapters of my book. I had hoped for escape, but the story in the book reminded me too much of my present difficulties; so I burrowed my head into the cushions on the sun-porch sofa and wished that I was Puxatawney Phil.

MESSAGE TO THE UNIVERSE: I am not a sad-sack. I am not a baby. I have always been a model of resilience. I will get that all back again. I think the reason that I am suffering this badly is that my situation is in limbo. I don't limbo well. It's that whole bend-over-backward thing. I would slap the situation into shape, but it isn't all mine to slap. Control of the situation? NOT! Any idea of the outcome? NOT! Possibility that there will never be a resolution? 'Fraid so.

I need to bring out the BIG GUNS. When I start feeling sorry for myself, I should remember to get out and find people who need help. Girls on the Run doesn't start for three more weeks. I'm thinking about volunteering in long-term care or hospice. I'm good at that. And I need to get my focus back on Guadalupe. For a while, I was thinking that I should learn to take a little time off, spoil myself, delegate a bit. Pffft. The road to hell... Immersion would bring oblivion, which would bring relief.

Tomorrow is a new day, and I will try again.

I Need a Thicker Skin

Thanks, Becca, for lending me your guitar! I had a guitar once. When I was in grad school I lent it to my friend Diane Morrill (Diane, if you ever Google yourself and find yourself looking at this blog entry? I want my guitar back. You've had it since 1994...). So, yeah; she took a bunk with my guitar!

I was never good. I took lessons when I was in middle school, which was pretty fun until my eighth grade meltdown. Now, I am kind of a ham and don't mind getting up in front of people. I used to sing in front of lots of people, but I'm more comfortable usign my own vocal mechanism than playing an instrument. It's not my own body; it's this object I pick up, you know? But I was enjoying guitar lessons and when Mr. Paskey asked Alan Johnson and me to play Silent Night at the middle school Christmas concert, I was down with it. I took the melody; he took the arpeggio. Alan's mom was a music teacher and made sure we kept practicing.

I vividly remember this incident. I sang with the choir; I played my cornet in the band; but all the while I was getting nervous about the guitar thing. When it was time to play it, I had my first and only attack of REAL stage fright. I have been nervous since, but this was a dig-in-the-heels, no-way-Jose moment. I saw these two metal folding chairs out there on the gym floor. And microphones. Whooooo, boy. I recall walking up to Mr. Paskey as he was about to introduce us (imagine me tugging at his sleeve) and saying, "We're canceling this. I'm not doing it. There's no way." He handed me my guitar and said, "You'll be fine!" Nonononononono! It really was not fine. Alan was already perched on his folding chair, ready to go, looking at me like I had lost my mind. Which I had. I wish I could tell you that I pulled it off. But... Ididn't. Imagine two eighth graders playing Silent Night really badly. Now, imagine them playing so badly it's laughable. Aaaaaand dial it to one notch worse. There you are! I think we even finished at different times.

Afterward in the music room, Alan said, "Sit down." We played it perfectly. His mom stopped by my house later that evening with a chocolate eclair. I think this my have been my expereince as a user. Chocolate as a drug.

After that, I was content to strum away in my college dorm.

Soooo...here we are again. I remember some things. I can still tune, using the 5th fret system.

A basic arpeggio, a hootenanny strum.
A few chords. I have some music books that include chords. I need a basic book, though. I'll go get one next week.

And the big question. Did it help? Briefly. While I was actually playing, I was concentrating, and it helped. If only I could just sit and practice all day. But my finger tips are swollen and sore. In this, as in most things, callouses would be very helpful.

Wool Gathering (Long March, Day 7)

Didn't know I was a shepherdess, huh? Where the hell did I put my crook?

I'm working on on the sadness all the time. I have made progress, I think. Yesterday was better. I was really busy; and I had helpful conversations with people. Thank you by the way, local blog-readers; for being concerned, reaching out and checking on me. I have a lot of really nice friends. I am getting drunk with people I don't usually get drunk with! On weeknights.

Today the goal is to get through the day without crying. It's 1:45 PM, and I have managed so far. Several times my throat tightened but I fought it. As Sara likes to say, "Yay, me."

I also managed a regular workout today. On the previous days I had to cut it short because I was just too...lead-limbed.

Next, I have to get my sleep back under control. It's getting ridiculous, even for me.
Then, I must conquer food. The goal is to double the amount of food that I'm eating. That's harder, though, because sadness is like a stomach stapling for me. Food? Nah... Plus, I kinda like the way I look when I'm at my thin end. As long as I don't drop below 112 pounds, I'm good.

First, sleep. Then food.

And through it all, I have GOT to stop the wool gathering. I am lost in thought all the fucking time, and I'm getting mad at myself. I mean, what is so interesting in my head that I need to keep scrolling it all day? Nothing is worth this many reruns. So I went on an active battle plan against it today, and really paid attention to times when I want to slip into a reverie. The Wool Gathering Awareness Initiative. I started staring out the window after breakfast and caught myself. Good for me! While I was tying my running shoes... caught myself and made myself stop. I also resisted while stretching at the gym (Before, I had been doing my hamstrings for, like, 10 minutes while my mind wandered away). If I keep this up, the custodians are going to try to dust me. And I did not succumb while resting between sets in the weight room, either.

I'm struggling more as the day goes on, though. I slipped into thought in the parking lot after arriving at school. I think that part of the blame should be allocated to the nice warm truck though, and the fact that it's cold outside. I was cozy! I was searching for a number in the phone book just now, but kept sliding my finger right over it while I rolled my problems around and around. That's why I'm taking a second for a quick write - I'm rebooting.

I was so focused before, too! Happy Kate was quite the juggler. Well, she'll be back one of these days. Day 8 will be better. Now, off to the distraction of staff meeting, where I will be entertained by the business manager scolding us for improper laminating. Don't ask. But I'll just say, it wasn't me!

Letter to Edie

Hi, Edie-

I haven't written since last spring, but I think of you a lot. I really, reeeeeaaaaaally need you right now. I could always count on you to listen to my shit. I never even had to ask - you knew when when there was something up with me, and you'd NAIL me! You never turned a hair, never judged. And you were capable of TOUGH LOVE! Diane has taken on the role of listener (poor Diane!). She is very nice though, and does not slap me up side the head nearly as much as you did.

Today, I was rock-bottom sad. (Day 4. I'm lovin' this hike. Are we there, yet? Are we there, yet? Are we there, yet? Tomorrow HAS to be better. That is the good thing about rock bottom.) Sadness is generally not permitted at school: my sanctuary of noise, need, chaos, laughter. I was standing at the copier this evening, getting ready for class when Mark bopped through the room. I was facing away from him but maybe something in the set of my shoulders stopped him. Yeah, I know - he has known me WAY too long, huh?

"SOOOOOOOO...... How's everything in Kate's world tonight?"
"Uh, OK. Good."

He came up to me and put his hand on the back of my neck.

"Oh, yeah? You don't feel quite right."

Touching me was the WRONG thing to do. To my horror, my throat closed and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Now, I have issues about crying. I desperately hate it and like to be all emotionally controlled. A couple of teachers who know me well tease me about how I NEVER cry, even when I ought to. I had to stand stock still for a long time before I was able to tell him, "I miss Edie."

He sighed a very long sigh. "Oh, Darlin', me too." We wrapped our arms around each other for a minute while the copier chugged through its job. He told me about how he struggles with things at home and how much he misses your no-nonsense attitude when dealing with your son Mike. I just stood very still and let his words and his pain wash over me.

You always said that Mark and I were two peas in a pod, as far as temperament goes. We both used to roll our eyes at your brassy assuredness, at your Absolute fucking Certainty; but we relied upon your rock-solid presence. You are very much missed.



Love,
Kate