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I have a POW bracelet and I lose it trying to roll the log with my coolest cousin, who by the way, can roll this thing all day and get massive 3rd degree burns and still go out the next day. I’d like to know where that thing is…stuck here in the sand, under layers and decades of childhood.

And we give Bill $5 if he will be the first one to jump off the dock, into the cool refreshing water of summer. And he does. And we all follow him in.

There is my Mom sitting on the third dock. Watching, always watching, supervising our comings and goings. Up to the cabin where my Granny sits playing cards. She sees us and we have potato salad and chips with ketchup and chocolate cake.

And it was only a few summers. Maybe five or six. We stayed two weeks, and the other 50 we wrote letters and dreamed about next summer and McDougald’s and the log and Mr. Love yelling from the clubhouse.

But those two weeks. They were magic for me. And I took my first drink here and stubbed my toes and broke my sister’s tooth and snuck out at night with my cousin because my Mom said “don’t go out at night. The Hell’s Angels are here.”

And last summer, my kids told me they were no longer interested in Bass Lake. Because I had been trying to give them the summers I had… and now children are not simply content to eat and swim and play volleyball and horseshoes because they want to do other things that they love. Not what I love. And that’s how it should be.

We did not come last summer because they love Boy Scout camp and secretly I was pleased. Because really. You can’t go home again. Life moves on. Bracelets, while buried beneath the land are meant to stay there. And Granny’s, long gone, are meant to stay warmly in your hearts with visions of porch sweeping…and your favorite cousins. the ones who hold your past… are meant to guard it with joy and remembering.

I sit on this dock because girls I love are coming here to share in a spiritual retreat…and I…I needed to come to this place to remember how very lucky I am.

He had an affair with her for 8 years of our marriage. On and off.

He left an 18 month old and 3 year old.
And, he left their mother to go to her, until those boys were 10 & 12. And she did the same. 5 children and 2 spouses between them.

He went on trips.
He spent our money on hotels.
He slept with his best friend’s wife.

She sat two rows behind my little family in church for years.

She cleaned my house.
She babysat my kids.

We didn’t have a chance. She was simply always there.

I married an addict. Who is now with another addict…because ours was not the only marriage she damaged. I said to our therapist “he told half truths”, and she said…”no…he lied…to you, and in therapy”

We spent countless dollars on therapy and marriage encounter weekends. And I could never quite figure out why he wasn’t that into it.

I simply missed the signs.

And it’s been two years since I confronted him and he was suicidal and apologetic and bereft.

And I am so grateful not to be with him because I am clearly in love with Harley guy.

However. Today. Today for the first time she shows up with him at my son’s soccer game. Because after all of that, he stayed with her.

And my girlfriends are texting me and we are laughing and most are disgusted…and I am disgusted…

Yet. I can’t shake the sadness. Sad that the little girl inside of me believed him when he lied.

And longtime readers know that I’ve dealt with this since the inception of this blog.

And today. Today is a new day…and I want to throw rocks. Yet I sit here…and write this post…and I thank God for my new life. And for you. The people who held me up the whole time.

I’m still standing. I bite a hole in my cheek when my boys tell me about them. I smile and nod when they mention them.

And I look at my man who knows of this trauma. Who taught me what lying snakes do. Who teaches me every day that I don’t have to be afraid.

And. I am blessed…

Instead, I ran 4 miles. One for each plane that flew into those towers, and one for the plane that flew into the Pentagon. And one for the plane that flew into the field in Pennsylvania. Instead of writing about 9-11, or going to an event, I honored this day by running 4 stupid miles.

Ones that I’m sure any of those killed that day would love to have. I ran under the dripping skies in Clovis. I ran to Heather Small’s “Proud”, and to the Killers & Joanie Benoit winning the Olympics in LA. It hurt. A lot.

I am now five weeks away from a half marathon that I didn’t think I’d be able to run…and I’m now training. I’m also planning. Los Angeles Marathon. San Luis Obispo half marathon. etc. etc. I have re-caught the running bug.

I have been blogging about 9-11 since 2007. That post, called 9-11 never forget was the initial bloggy long post I had recalling the day. In 2008, I made Patriot’s Chili, and posted the Toby Keith video. In 2009, I couldn’t even blog. Had a revelation that knocked me flat for days. Months. I just didn’t reflect. I was living in my own personal nightmare. Patriot Day went by unnoticed. In 2010, I didn’t blog for a few weeks about hardly anything. I was training for the Marine Corps Marathon, and quite focused.

And still again, I’m having a hard time blogging about this day. This day that changed so much in our country. I told Harley Guy that I just couldn’t do it. Yet he came in to see me listening to Patriot Music, and re-living Bush’s speeches about that day.

And because I can’t think about or try to remember that time in my life without much pain, I didn’t want to write about it again.

So, I just ran. It hurt. But, I ran.

Patriot Day 2011. 4 miles to the good.

Imagine the excitement of getting yet another good seat coming home. There was a seat between me and a guy on the aisle. I was feeling lucky.

Then I saw her.

Shuffling down the gateway, last one on the plane. Of course she wants to sit in seat B, between the guy and me. As she sits, I have a very bad feeling. That my luck has just changed.

Big heavy woman. Not just her weight, but her spirit. About my age. But hard. Long black hair and liquid eyeliner. She lifts her flip-flop clad feet to reveal lime yellow painted toenails, with a tattoo on her big toe. The blast of cabin air I was enjoying suddenly is penetrated with old perfume and stale cigarette smoke. Lots of coughing. No mouth coverage. Scratches her arm and pulls something out of her hair. I don’t want to know.

As she adjusts herself, she lays her arm on top of my arm. Like she can’t feel that my arm is there. I adjust. I move so that she can get comfy but I have a bad feeling. I am nearly squished up against the window. I push back.

She says “I hate it when people complain about somethin’ I cain’t do nothin’ about”. I say that perhaps we can take turns sharing the space. She says “you want me in his lap?”. I show her how that 2 inches of seatback might help.

During drink service is when I get my first whiff. This woman appears to be hungover, and perhaps puked sometime last night without a shower. I drop my water bottle. She picks it up. By the cap. Bye-Bye Bottle.

Above the seat she gets out her personal red cup…you know, the one you get at a kegger. She orders water. Complains that it’s in a can. She says “I want plane water. Or plain water…AND MORE ICE!”. Gulp chew ice. Repeat. Keeps asking for ice. Says her meds are making her thirsty.

It takes me nearly an hour to stop screaming in my head. Because this woman? Clearly, I could have been her. Save for the grace of God, and the program, I would have been the drunk woman at the counter asking how far my credit card could take me.

I read Runner’s World, facing the fact that I can’t run well until my heel is much better. But this? This is a Cadillac problem, compared to where I could be right now. I finally offer her my water. I know she is not a happy woman. And I know she has given up, and has accepted her lot in life. She shows the guy her knee operation scar. Says she has to stretch her leg. Points it out, loudly.

The pilot says “Look here! We have a tail wind! Only a 3 hour flight!”

She burps. I settle in. And smile at my good fortune.

I’m AT IT AGAIN! Please go HERE to donate to TNT :  I’m racing to save lives! Two years ago, I ran my first marathon, the NIKE Women’s Marathon. As I was standing getting ready to run, I heard the TNT announcers talk about all the blood cancers under the LLS umbrella. I heard “Multiple Myeloma”, and my Mom turned to me and said, “That’s what your Grandpa died of”. Here’s the link to my race report: http://tinyurl.com/3cbfhlb

I’m training to participate in an endurance event as a member of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s (LLS) Team In Training. All of us on Team In Training are raising funds to help stop leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin lymphoma and myeloma from taking more lives. I am completing the Nike Women’s Half Marathon in honor of all individuals who are battling blood cancers. I’m especially running in honor of my Grandpa, who died in 1974. These people are the real heroes on our team, and we need your support to cross the ultimate finish line – a cure!

A young girl was walking along a beach upon which thousands of starfish had been washed up during a terrible storm. When she came to each starfish, she would pick it up, and throw it back into the ocean. People watched her with amusement.

 

She had been doing this for some time when a man approached her and said, “Little girl, why are you doing this? Look at this beach! You can’t save all these starfish. You can’t begin to make a difference!”

 

The girl seemed crushed, suddenly deflated. But after a few moments, she bent down, picked up another starfish, and hurled it as far as she could into the ocean. Then she looked up at the man and replied,

 

“Made a difference to that one…”

 

I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.

~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

As you know, Pink Monday is in coming up in California .  It is the day that everyone who CAN get a pink slip, will.  I, too, am probationary.  99.9% chance of me getting another one…and sort of have been thinking of leaving the profession.  After I finished these questions, I realized I have had a great career.  It may be over, but it was good for a long, long time.  And may be again.

20 QUESTION TEACHING MEME

1. Teaching assignments, how long? 6th grade 1981-1990 (in Dunlap & Fresno); elementary counseling 1990-1993 (in Fresno); elementary counseling 1994-1996 (in Stockton) 1996 High School Counseling; 7th grade 2002; 7th-8th Science (+1 Algebra) & PE (2003-2007) elementary PE (2007) High School Continuation School (2008-2009) High School English (2008-current).

2. Favorite Class Taught and Why? I had some fun 6th grade classes at Easterby in Fresno.  I had street cred, a great reputation as a tough teacher, and mostly, had a great teaching staff.

3. Worst Class Taught and Why? I really had a hard time with Algebra.  I know how to do it…teaching it?  Not so much.  If I had to pick the worst class of students, that would be another story.  It’s not about the students.  It’s about how effective I feel as a teacher.

4. Favorite Class Taken? H. Dan Smith at Fresno State was the man.  He was the one who taught me the most about in-vivo counseling.  He taught me that there is no way in hell that I can walk people through their trauma if I haven’t faced my own demons.  I remember him the most.  When you finally got to his classes at the end of the Master program, you knew you were with the best.

5. Favorite Education Book? “To be quite honest, education books are pretty much full of shit.”  Education books about education make my teeth hurt.  However, I do like some old Self Esteem books for kids, circa 1973 or so.  This is the new version of my old favorite, by Jack Canfield.

6. Best Teacher Buddy? Many people, actually. Last year it was Carl.  (although I miss him … long story) Carl had taken up my cause last year in a Continuation School.  He believed in me, and that meant more than any *evaluation* I could get.  I’m learning how to learn.  Again.    From the beginning, however, there is “T” from Fresno Unified.  I was going through infertility treatments with my first ex-husband, and we had to do 6th grade Science Camp.  T. gave me my hormone shots.  At camp.  She had my back on everything.  Robman from the current round of teaching.  He is as old as I am sober (He’s 30 years old, I’m almost 32 years sober).  He and I were quite a team.  Anyone that makes you laugh and saves your ass at the same time…that’s gold.  I can’t forget the foursome of George, Wendy & Debbie. We made quite a team, too.   One that’s never been replicated.

7. Best Administrator? Rich Andrade.  Back in the day when you could have a conversation with your boss without union representation, or without what you said being held against you.  Before political correctness, and when you learned the most about yourself.  Rich finally had enough of administration and went back to the classroom.  I learned so much from him, and was blessed to have is support.  Currently, my boss, who should remain anonymous, has been a tremendous source of inspiration.  He could give me a pass.  But, he doesn’t.  He makes me want to work.  To be patient.  To improve.  He’s the new source of teaching mojo.

8. Most Disappointing Experience? Being let go from a favorite parochial school because I wasn’t Catholic.  The parents went to bat for me, but alas, I was the wrong religion.  I’m also disappointed with the current trend in education to have students know and understand the California State Standards.  Absolute rubbish.

9. Most Thrilling Moment? Teaching sabermetrics to my 7th graders, doing baseball stats, reading “The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon”, going to an Oakland A’s game, and having all my students meet the real Tom Gordon.  He signed my book, “Stay out of the woods.”  Another long story. (look at page at top of my blog for full story)

10. Funniest Incident in Your Classroom? A “female product”rolled out of my backpack during a book talk on a girl in the mountains…we were all dressed up as our favorite character.  Sorta stopped the conversation, as we were in a circle.  Reminded me of that Seinfeld episode (The Virgin), when Elaine’s diaphragm fell out of her purse.

Elaine: I was talking to this guy, you know, and I just happened to throw my purse on the sofa. And my diaphragm goes flying out. So I just froze, you know, ahh! Staring at my diaphragm. You know, it’s just lying there. So then, this woman, the one who sold me this hair thing, she grabbed it before the guy noticed, so. I mean, big deal, right? So I carry around my diaphragm, who doesn’t? Yeah, like it’s a big, big secret that women carry around their diaphragms. You never know when you’re gonna need it, right? (Sips the Snapple) Ahh.

11. Most memorable student? “L”. The first day of teaching in an all African American school, and we were lined up for lunch.  I told “L” to stop bouncing the ball.  He yells, “You ain’t nuthin’ but an old white honky.”  We went at it all year like that.  It soon became apparent that this student needed Special Ed., but because of his gang affiliation, he should not have gone into it at our site, because he would have lost all power.  I fought the law, and I won, getting him in a school off campus.  That May, he dedicated, “I Just Called To Say I Love You”* at his school Fine Arts festival.  I think of him every time I hear it.  I did one good thing, and I’ll never forget him. 

12. What about unions? When you need them, they’re there.  Since 1981, I’ve used them three times, and although they aren’t lawyers, they stand up for you, and usually get the job done.  My union thug friend Ken says, “Unions:  The People Who Gave You Weekends”.  I like it.  Politically, we are worlds apart, but what they do for teachers on a daily basis…okay.

13. What about charter schools? I have no opinion.  Lotta work for little money.

14. What about merit pay? Too many factors to make it a good thing.  It always fried me to see teachers sitting around getting the same salary as me, while I schlepped cows eyes for Science projects into my classroom.  On the other hand, I sat last year.  Taught Academic Enrichment/aka Study Hall.  So, it all works out, doesn’t it?

15. What does “21st century learning” mean? What it SHOULD mean, is that we get back to basics.  Stop living like fat cats, thinking we need computers and new textbooks that align the standards, and following scripts.  At the same time, embracing computer literacy, connecting via the internet with other classes, having equity for all students with computer access.  It SHOULD mean teaching with your “hair on fire”, which is a phrase I use, meaning…Give me a tube of vaseline, and I can make lessons in Science, Social Studies, Math & Reading out of it.  Teachers used to know how to write objectives, and create units.  I don’t think it’s what 21st century means…but it should.

16. What makes a teacher “effective?” Kids are excited, paying attention, and can translate information into their own world.  Kids become literate in communicating their heart.

17. Most overrated “reform?” Continuation School.  Hands down.

19. Personal education hero? Every single teacher who suits up and shows up, despite and against all odds.

20. Priorities, if you could spend $5 billion on education?  Give the money that just one Super Bowl commercial will make this weekend to your lowest performing school.  ‘nuf said.

I’m sitting here in Washington DC, in my friend’s apartment.  I flew in on a redeye flight on Wednesday night/Thursday morning, and have been trying to acclimate myself to the EST situation.  My internal clock says California, and I’m trying to stay awake…so I guess I should blog.

This has been an interesting few months.   This marathon training cycle has been characterized by vertigo, broken toes, pre-menopause, whatever.  It seems like every time I turned around, there was some new issue to deal with.  But, not normal issues…weird ones.  It was also the time that I no longer connected with my ex husband.  We’ve really been at odds for some time now, so there has been no positive connection in awhile. 

This training cycle has been characterized by one word: change.

I’ve lost a few good  friends in my life.  Someone who I have known and loved for many years, left a group of friends that I love.  A few girls I’ve worked with in the program have gone their own ways.  My ex husband is truly gone.  A man or two whom I met and carried on with …gone.  Mostly this training cycle, while running here and there and hitting and missing some runs..mostly this cycle has been about telling the truth.  All the time.

And with that…I have gained some amazing people.

Tonight, I plan on dishing and dining with a whole handful of them at our Marine Corps Marathon tweetup.  And then again tomorrow…to meet the people who live in the east, hang out, eat…and really connect on an organic level.  So excited and very cool.

A man I knew 30 years ago has recently come into my life.  I loved him like crazy as a young girl.  He was the driving force in my early sobriety, and I can remember hours sitting with these 2 men who showed and taught me more about sobriety in the early days.  One has passed away, but the other… this man…just recently showed up, like people have a way of doing.  And I adore him.  And we are older.  Both sober.  A friend I hope to have for a long time…at some point. 

Tons of women I’ve met have become permanent fixtures in my daily life.  Not just on Twitter, but moved to Instant Messaging, then text, then daily phone calls…then meeting at races.  And now, I have a wealth of people that I love. 

And, I have learned to tell the truth.  When a relationship is over, I need to call it.  Not wait for YOU to call it.  When a friendship is at risk, I need to say it.  No more elephants in the room.  No more pretending that it will blow over.  Because, sometimes, it doesn’t blow over…and you cover it up, and then one day someone wants to kill the other over spilled coffee. 

In my family, my sons and I have a weekly family meeting.  Each week someone takes a turn leading it.  We all do a thumbs up and down for the week.  We take turns talking to someone that we are upset with.  We talk about real family issues.  And no one gets in trouble for what they say.  My 13 and 11 year old…and me.  We have a ritual.  We tell the truth.

And while it’s very easy to do in my family, it hasn’t always been easy to do it in my adult relationships.

Until now.  Because telling the truth, while sometimes can be painful…is always the truth…and people know it whether or not you say it is so.

Washington DC:  You are lovely.  I’m on my way to your city this day, to explore…to meet…to eat…and to prepare for Sunday…for Marathon #3.