This, Too, Shall Pass

This is my favorite Julieism, or phrases a la mommy.  A runner up is, it's just stuff.  She was a veritable zen master in blue jeans, that mommy of mine.  Her life was hard.  At twenty-one, she had three kids under the age of five, no driver's license and two jobs.  A self-made woman, she had one failing.  In her words, she flunked relationships.  Her big regret: never learning how to love anyone but her children unconditionally.

Over the years, I've hero-worshipped her, avoided her pitfalls, and just missed her terribly.  I am becoming more her everyday.

"This, too, shall pass" always meant to me a way of seeing through problems.  They are impermanent.

Then I used this quote in class.  Through our discussion, my students let me see that it's all impermanent.  Good and bad, it all will pass.  Then I asked the million dollar question: so how ought we live, according to this quote?

Enjoy the good, because it's temporary.
Endure the pain, because it's temporary.

"Be like Bob! Don't worry about a thing!" because it's temporary.

Yepper.  I am Julie 2.0.  I love the meme that reminds us to "remember whose daughter you are, and adjust your crown".  Sometimes, I'm doing so much crown adjusting that I feel like I'm doing the Macarena.  But every time I do, a little more fairy dust flickers onto my golden hair.  Just like my momma's.

This Little Light of Mine Prompt #8

I got this mug last Christmas, from my in-laws' best friends.  It's just the typical quirky gift Linda loves to give and I love to get.  She has in the past given me cute hangings of women with quotes.  They're like fairy cut out dolls for my wall and I just love them.  I think I am the only one in the family, though, who looked forward to Linda's gifts.  Everyone else prefers gift cards. Blech!

So it features a woman on a bicycle with a basket full of stars, and a light.  Her skirt is a road map.  It says, to paraphrase, Imagine what you can do when you share your light upon the world.  Elsewhere, it says something like, there are few who possess the power to brighten everything they touch.

I may have mentioned before how terrible last Christmas was, the fight on Christmas Eve over letting our sons, 19 and 13, open a present early, buying a TV on Black Friday while my husband was playing smoochie bear on his phone, The whole season was lifeless, meaningless, bereft.

Then, I opened this little treat.  I used it everyday until it began leaking a couple months ago.  It gave me strength in the midst of panic attacks, when I couldn't breathe from the shock of it all, when I had to choke back tears, and on coffee, when my son was in the car.  In a word, it saved me.  It's been a reminder over this hardest year of my life that I am seen.  That who I am wasn't entirely diminished.  That I have something to offer the world.  No, not the June Cleaver image I nearly died creating, but this little, quirky, one-size-does-not-fit-most person that I've always been.

This little cup of mine gave me room, gave me back to me, on delicious sip at a time.

I Won't Pay Ya

This prompt is very timely for me.  Of all the identities I prided myself on in my previous life, cool wife, supermom, someone with good credit is the hardest to let go.  I do the right thing.  I make good on my promises.  I pay my bills.  Yet, the last one is getting scary.

I lost everything in the divorce.  I walked away with a little cash, a nearly totaled car, and a mound of credit card debt.  I can't begin to explain why, aside from, I am my mother's daughter.  I thought I could make it work, yet despite two jobs, I find myself teetering on the financial edge.  I recently decided to move out of my apartment, breaking my lease early, to move in with my sister.  This is a great and horrible decision.  I get to save money and reconnect with my sis, but I lose the space I created for myself, and alone time with my sweetheart.

Because of the cost of breaking a lease, however, I won't begin saving money until the summer.  Thus Part B of saying no.  I am not paying my credit card bills.  Here's why:

I spend $400 a month in minimum payments, only to have my checking account linger precariously close to zero at least once a month.  In the last six months, my credit score has plummeted over 300 points, despite my regular ontime payments.  I have, in other words, invested over two grand to get eight dollars in credit.  My debt to income ratio is out of my control.  I make what I make.  I owe what I owe.  And I am one accident, one illness, one car issue away from bouncing checks.

So, I am saving that money I would spend on those two bills to create savings.  My credit is shot anyway.  It will be a long, hard, ugly battle, but eventually, I'll settle the debt.  In the meantime, I have to tell them no way, I won't pay ya.

This is a decision I've been avoiding making.  My name is still on the mortgage.  My ex is afraid to refinance in just his name.  He told me recently that part of the hold up is that he co-signed his girlfriend's car.  So she has to take his name off the note so that he will take me off the mortgage.

I have been paying $400 a month I don't have in order to prevent my financial decision from affecting him or the home.  This did not work both ways.  So 7 months after the finalized divorce, I am paying $400 a month so he can finance another woman's money issues.  No way.  I'm not paying.

Before I made this decision, I tried other options. Clarity came the day I got rejected from a loan at the credit union I've been a member of since '99. 17 years of saving, paying off loans, doing the right thing. It meant nothing to them. It was the same heartbreaking rejection I felt from my ex. It hit me.

My loyalty, my commitment, means nothing. Doing the right thing means nothing. At the end of the day, the whole world takes more than it gives. Love is the rare exception.  No one is in my boat but me. The shame of divorce is compounded by the shame of being one with bad credit. According to my score, I cannot be trusted. I have never felt so alone. My score is not who I am. Neither is this decision, but sometimes life puts us in a place where we make the decisions we'd never make otherwise.

The Power of No

by Annmarie Ferry
Response to prompt #9 http://trailbrazin.blogspot.com/2016/01/invitation-to-write-9-no.html

I knew exactly what I had to write about as soon as this invitation came out. Yet, I decided to sit on it anyway and explore other options. I could talk about the times I said no to drugs or sex I wasn't ready for, but those are not complicated stories. They are also pretty cliche.  I'm sure those moments had a huge impact on my life, but I can't be sure what the exact consequences of giving in would have been.

November 23, 2015. The day I said "no."

The prior Friday, I had been blindsided with a 2-sentence job reassignment. I knew in my core that I was not going to be able to fulfill the involuntary transfer. I had already silently refused. Now it was time to make it official.

I typed a politically correct and admittedly boring resignation letter. And, I turned it in on that fateful Monday. I was shaking and teary-eyed as I handed it to my supervisor even though I had forewarned her over the weekend that it was coming. It was still one of the hardest things I have ever done.

I had to say "no" several more times after I handed in my notice, but I stuck to my guns in spite of emotional pleas for me to stay, followed by promises from higher ups that I knew in my heart were empty and insincere.

No. Quiet at first, then becoming louder and more resolve each time I had to say it.

No!  I will not sacrifice my own health and emotional well-being, let alone my personal and family time, for an organization that repeatedly sucked me dry.

NO! I will not be a band-aid for a problem I did not create.

I have to admit, it was difficult for me. I tried to justify staying. But, even I wasn't buying my own bullshit.

NO!! I will not be a martyr anymore.

Nevertheless, it was risky-- I was tossing away 10 years of hard work and dedication. It hurt my heart to leave my team, my friends, but it had to be done.

NO!!! I will not suffer in silence while my fate is decided by people who do not care about my well-being.

Fast forward to January 29, 2016. A mere two months later, but it seems like a lifetime ago when I finally stood up for myself. Tears form as I type that last sentence. Finally, at the age of 46, I stood up for me. I always defend others, but rarely myself, at least not in such a big way. But, that risk I took has been paying off like I never imagined possible.

Am I still stressed? Of course. Owning a business and learning the ins and outs definitely causes some sleepless nights and butterflies in my stomach. Is it the same stress I felt before? Absolutely not!

But, in spite of a few nervous moments, I have never been happier in my professional life. I get to help students just as before. The big difference is that I get to do it my way. No ridiculous mandates, no restrictions, no bogus "company lines" to spew out. And, one official month in, business is growing daily. Word is spreading thanks to some great friends and thrilled clients.

Better yet, this general sense of satisfaction and excitement trickles into my home life. When I work long stretches from home after office hours, I do it because I want to. I do it because I'm building something I believe in. I do it because it matters.

I still get to say "no" when needed. I just don't find myself having utter that word very often any more.

Music

Response to Prompt #8: The Gift

I've struggled with this prompt about a gift. A memorable gift, good or bad. That's why it's taken me so long to write. I've received various noteworthy gifts throughout the years. I thought about writing a list-like poem of every great gift I could recall. One that comes to mind is the WhirlyPopper my father in law bought me for Christmas years ago- love it and still use it all the time. Another is the beautiful strand of Chinese river pearls my husband bought me a few years back or the diamond studs my mom bought my sister and me in memory of my grandmother when she passed.  I've gotten precious handmade gifts from my son as he grew up, and hand-sewn quilts from my husband's mom and grandma. I recently wrote about one of my favorite gifts from my sister, and on my personal blog, I just wrote about some concert tickets from my dad and my stepmom. I decided to go with an intangible, a gift from my parents since I was a young child- a love and appreciation for music. Here is my tribute:

As long as I can remember there was music in the background. Every room had a speaker, every occasion had music. My parents had tons of vinyl and we were allowed to listen to them whenever we wanted, as long as we put them away. They weren't in any special order, and they weren't treated with kid-gloves like in some homes. Albums were meant to played, and my parents let us. Eventually, my parents would get an 8-track tape deck and the record player would retire to the basement where my sister and I hung out. We played our favorites over and over. Children's albums like Songs That Tickle Your Funny Bone and Free to Be You and Me. And of course Mom and Dad's Linda Ronstadt, Eagles, Simon & Garfunkel, and Olivia Newton John albums, among others. The 8-track didn't last too long, because one summer we came home from camp and there was a whole new stereo system with a dual cassette tape deck. When that happened, the 8 track player moved to my room and boy was I excited! I remember it well, just where it was positioned on a shelf with all the tapes stacked to be played. The ones I played most were the Grease soundtrack, and Linda Ronstadt's Greatest Hits. There were others I'm sure. Even though I had the 8-track in my room, nothing beat hanging out on the floor in the living room listening to cassettes on the new stereo. At that time it was Billy Joel's Glass Houses, and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts' I Love Rock n' Roll. The collection grew and grew until the onset of CDs.

Not only was there music always playing at home, but in the car too! I remember my dad testing our music chops with games. Like Name that Tune, he would challenge us to guess the song or the artist by the intro, before the singing started. Or if we were singing, in the middle of the song he'd suddenly turn it off to see if we knew the next line. He would whistle to the songs, and at the red lights he would bounce the car by releasing and pressing the brake to the beat of the song. My parents also took us to Broadway every year. Around Christmastime, there was always a family outing to NYC. My mom would get us decked out in dresses, tights, and Mary Janes (people used to dress up to see a show in NYC) and we would go to a matinee and out to dinner. I saw Sandy Duncan as Peter Pan, Allison Smith as Annie, and Doug Henning as Merlin. There were many others, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, 42nd Street, and off broadway, The Little Shop of Horrors.  I still love to listen to movie and theater soundtracks. In fact, though I never saw it, one of the albums my parents had that I loved to listen to on vinyl was Hair.

Music was everywhere, and I am thankful for the gift my parents gave me by exposing me to it in all types and forms at a very young age. There are few things I enjoy more than a really good album or a live concert or show. I appreciate all kinds of music and given the chance would have music playing almost all the time, everywhere I am. Though none of us are musicians, we are humongous fans of good music. Music is in my blood and it's a gift that keeps on giving... in fact it's already been passed along to the next generation in my son.

Rubies and Diamonds

Response to Prompt #8

By Helen Sadler

Back in the 1970's I lived in a high rise apartment building. One day I was in the elevator with another young woman about my age. I noticed she had a beautiful emerald ring on her finger.  I complimented her on it, and she told me that she liked emeralds more than diamonds, and so her fiancee had gotten her this ring for their engagement. I thought that idea was pretty wild and cool and unconventional. I had never heard of anyone doing anything like that before.
***
When Jim and I got together in the early 1980's, we vowed we would never marry. We were just going to live together until the end or until it didn't suit us anymore. Yet, we were very much in love and saw a future together, one we trusted, even with the pronouncement against marriage.

The year 1985 was a good one for us, and that Christmas found us together with stacks of gifts for each other.  Our Christmas mornings were special -- just the two of us, our dog, coffee, and lots of surprises. We usually hosted Christmas at our house, so the morning was our alone time.

This was the year Jim surprised me at the end of all the gift opening with a small box. In it was a ruby and diamond ring.  36 rubies and 18 diamonds in 18 carat gold, to be exact.

This ring seemed gigantic to me!  At the time, most of my jewelry was pretty conservative.  I did not even see me wearing this ring but on special occasions. But Jim made it clear that he wanted me to wear it all the time.  So I got it sized and began wearing it every day.

The ring is unique in its design -- it is like the Woolite symbol, if truth be told -- but I have never seen anything like it.  Jim had purchased it from a local independent jeweler.

Fast forward to the summer of 1996 when we decided to marry. Our decision was prompted when Jim's son was almost killed in a motorcycle accident on June 21st. Throughout the time Scott was going through his operations and such, and there were meetings with doctors, I could feel that my "position" wasn't respected -- I wasn't Jim's wife.  It had a strange effect on both of us. On the way back from the hospital one night I told Jim I was thinking we should get married.  He said he was thinking the same thing. 

I told him right away that the ruby and diamond ring had to be my wedding ring -- I simply didn't want to wear any other ring in its place. A woman I worked with thought I was nuts. She said I should "demand a rock." But this ring represented all I needed; it contained my favorite jewel - the ruby -- and it was unusual, inspired by the girl in the elevator.  I purchased a ring for Jim that had three diamonds in it, keeping with our "multiple of three jewels" theme. 

This ring has had a few jewels replaced, and the band mended and reinforced after it cracked through. The ring itself symbolizes the immense love Jim and I share, and the intangible essence it brings to my life. It has been with me now for thirty wild and cool and unconventional years.  And it will be with me until the end...and who knows, I may just take it with me.

The Frostiest Gift of All

by Annmarie Ferry

Response to invitation to write #8, The Gift http://trailbrazin.blogspot.com/2016/01/invitation-to-write-8-gift.html

Christmas is always an adventure with my in-laws. It is an understatement to say that they love Christmas. They adore it, worship it. The decorating begins the day after Thanksgiving and ends a week later. Yes, folks, these people take off work for a week to adorn every room in their home with Christmas trimmings, right down to the toilet seat covers and shower curtains. If you know me, you're thinking, "Bwahahahaha! There's that signature Annmarie exaggeration and sarcasm."

Not this time.

I, on the other hand, like to keep it simple. A trimmed tree, our nativity scene, a few carefully placed,  tasteful decorations, and a modest display of lights outside.  Some may find it boring. I delight in its simplistic elegance.  Easy to put up, but, more importantly, a piece of cake to take down.

Luckily, John subscribes to my version of Christmas decorating.

Then, there are the gifts.  We are showered with them.  When we traveled back home at Christmas when the kids were young, we had to take both cars to lug everything back. Again, I am not exaggerating.

I should be thankful, right?  What kind of ingrate doesn't appreciate two trunkfuls of loot at Christmas?  Please don't misunderstand. I'm not totally unappreciative. I just don't understand.

As the main gift purchaser on behalf of my family, I comb through stores -- and often the internet -- for the perfect gifts for people. I check out events in the area they might enjoy; I find out their favorite stores and restaurants. I observe things they own and what they wear. And, I listen when they speak to see if I can ascertain any needs or wants. Then, I choose the gift (or perhaps gifts, depending on the cost) judiciously with the recipient in mind.

Not all of my selections have been home runs. My father-in-law has shoved the Johnny Unitas jersey we thought for sure would be proudly displayed in his home office in some cluttered closet. I am sure my mother-in-law has returned some the of Bath and Body Works lotions we have given her.

With that said, I have actually scratched my head at many of the presents I get from them but always do my best to feign excitement and delight as I peel back the paper and open the box. Often, it is a Christmas decoration that I consider tacky, but not offensive. However, one Christmas gift in particular left me utterly dumbfounded.

I do not remember the year; nor can I recall any of the other gifts. My in-laws sat watching me unwrap this particular box, eyes fixed on me like I was about to uncover a hidden treasure. As I opened the package, I had to hold myself back from popping my eyes out of my head and jumping out of my skin. There he was, nestled in a blanket of tissue paper: Jack Frost.

I gently removed the doll, not because I was afraid I would break it, but because the damn thing was freaking me out. With curly red hair and a sparkly blue outfit complete with elf slippers and a hat, the painted-on diabolical smirk on its face made me want to throw it across the room. Luckily, I resisted the urge.

"Do you like him?" asked my father-in-law.

"Yes! It's great!" I exclaimed.

"We were in the Christmas store (yes, the mall there had a store dedicated to anything and everything Christmas), and we just kept coming back to him because he made us think of you," he proudly recalled the story of how this grievous gift came to be.

What? I think for once in my life, I was actually speechless. I looked down at this bendable, creepy ginger, still smirking at me, and thought, "Why on earth would this thing make them think of me?"

Nothing in my house was blue.  I didn't have a weird collection of sinister dolls sitting around. I didn't have red hair.  I just couldn't -- and still can't -- figure out why they thought I would like it.

Needless to say, I shoved it into one of my Christmas decoration bins, burying it as deep as I could and promptly put it out of my mind until we got the bins out to decorate the following season. When I dug it out, I jumped. Then, I shook my head. I tried to put him on our fake fireplace mantel along with some of my other things, but I couldn't take it after passing it a few times as I left my bedroom early in the morning.

One day, I couldn't take it anymore.  I wrapped Jack Frost in tissue and gave him a hasty and improper burial. When the garbage was collected a few days later, I didn't feel even a twinge of guilt.

There was no way I was letting Jack Frost nip at my nose, or anything else for that matter.

Gathering Myself

by Helen Sadler

 Response to Invitation to Write #7: Writing by Heart

Throw yourself like seed as you walk, and into your own field,
Don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
And do not let the past weigh down your motion.

I’ve been through a dozen or so ideas for this piece. I finally decided, after about 45 minutes of just playing my guitar along to some songs, I would sit down here with one of the poems and make my way.

I have been gathering myself this holiday break. Throughout the many activities, visitors, quiet time, and meeting friends, I have felt myself moving forward. Not a new direction, but not stalled as I had been up until about November.

This wonderful time for myself has helped me see exactly where I am. I now see myself as a bridge between the past and the future. I see my obligation to my students and the world in a much larger vision than I think I have ever previously had. This vision is making me brave inside. And certain. And trusting.

This past December 8^th, I wrote a blog about John Lennon and included his video about War is Over. That day, I had a war with my students, and I dropped a bomb. And much like Hiroshima, I now see that the bomb was my way of ending the war. This war has been within myself.

I often use a couple of questions from Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh to help me in the classroom: Are you going to war? Or are you practicing peace?  I have found these questions only mildly helpful. Of course I want to think I’m practicing peace, but I am often at war – not with the students exactly, but with the system.  And anger…oh, the anger.

But now I know that War is Over. If I want it.

And I want it.

This is different than asking myself if I’m going to war.  Why did I ever think giving myself that option was acceptable?  It was pulling the life out of me.

I am gathering myself, and focusing now on justice and harmony and kindness. I’m focusing on the values of taking care of myself, taking care of my students, taking care of my surroundings. I’m inviting them into this place.

I was first introduced to this poem by Miguel de Unamuno in 1996 by storyteller Michael Meade.  I have spent nearly twenty years trying to make full sense out of it. Now I think I’m getting closer than I ever have been. I feel I have shaken off the sluggishness and grabbed my destiny. Abundance of compassion and freedom and  new life is mine. This is not to say everything is perfect – planting seeds does not yield perfection. It yields life and death and growth and loss, and finally, maybe some fruit for all the effort.

 I’m here. I’m open to it all.

Another poem I was thinking of using asks the question, “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?”

I feel closer to the answer than ever.

Throw Yourself Life Seed

By Miguel de Unamuno

Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;
Sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate
That brushes your heel as it turns going by,
The man who wants to live is the man in whom life is abundant.

Now you are only giving food to that final pain
Which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,
But to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts
Is the work; start there, turn to the work.

Throw yourself like seed as you walk, and into your own field,
Don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
And do not let the past weigh down your motion.

Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what’s dead in yourself,
For life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;
From your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.

Invitation to Write #8 - The Gift

     As part of my going away gift, the awesome ladies on my team at the district gave me a little book called The Writer's Block by Jason Rekulak.  It is literally in the shape of a block, a much appreciated play on words.  Although it made me chuckle, I haven't done anything with it since my departure.

    Until now.

     I have adapted two different ideas---one about the worst gift you've ever received and the other about the most meaningful gift you've ever received---to create this month's prompt.

    Prompt #8 - We have all received gifts that surprise us, delight us, confuse us, or piss us off.  Write about the most or least meaningful gift you've ever received, considering what this gift reveals about your relationship with the person or people who gave it to you.  This gift can be an actual item but doesn't have to be physical in nature.  After all, some of the best gifts aren't concrete items; life's intangibles---lessons, advice, support---are often more important than something wrapped with a bow.  Write about this present in any form that comes naturally. That is your gift to our circle this month.