In the Mirror

It's weird to look at the mirror and say, "I'm grown up."

What does that mean? How do you know when you actually get there?

Does it happen when you get a "real" job? All I know is, I'm not real sure I'm cut out to be a teacher, but here I am.

Does it happen when you find grey hairs? I have at least 4 and counting. At least I'm ahead of my great aunt Ruth, who went completely grey at age 19 only to lose her hair to chemo.

Does it happen when you "settle down" in a specific location, maybe with a specific someone? I'm in Texas with Evan...and...I'm supposed to be grown up?

Why I'm having doubts:
-I hate calling doctors and making appointments. Especially since I have new health care.
-I hate being called Mrs. Longfield and looking like I still belong in the 10th grade
-I hate tithing, balancing the checkbook, accounting for money spent, etc
-I'm weirded out by the idea that my mom just got a "life coach" to help her figure out how to take the next step in her life as an empty nester paying for my brother's college

I want to stop teaching and figure out for just a second how to do this whole adult business and feel responsible and secure. Because I miss being okay with the way I am.

Do I want to just go back to being a kid? No, not really. My poor high schoolers are painful enough to watch on a daily basis.

I just feel a little lost.

Good-byes...and Hellos

Today I feel a little melancholy at the thought of these losses

-Loss of my chowing down on sweets and peanut butter as I try to get back in shape

-Loss of two students who stole a test from another teacher's drawer and made copies for everyone (they all missed the same two answers...go figure!)

-Loss of some of my previous faith identity as Evan and I prepare to join St. Mark's Episcopal Church (Funny how I never called myself a Christian Church/Church of Christ person as much as I loved Hopwood. Assembly of God is just in my blood--for good and ill--don't hold it against me)

But all in all...I see an equal number of gains

-Looking and feeling better

-The knowledge that my former students have learned an invaluable lesson that they will take with them to new schools

-An accepting body of believers who struggle with the frustrations and questions of Christianity just as much as I do

That's where I am right now.

Up the Wall and Into a House

Right now I'm waiting for a girl to finish a make-up test. So I will write something.

I had a funny moment today in my study hall. I have a study hall of about 45 sophomores in the main gym. Sometimes they sit on the bleachers. Sometimes on the floor. I sit in a metal folding chair and grade...and talk to them.

Today one girl needed help writing notes for an in-class essay. The essay centered around Robert Frost's poem "Mending Wall." I helped the girl a few minutes then retreated back to my chair to keep grading. A minute later, she shouted, "Mrs. Longfield! What's "abreast" mean?

"Oppressed?"

"No. Abreast."

By then everyone was staring at her, so I walked back over and peered at her copy of the poem. "Oh. Abreast," I said. "It means side by side."

"I know," a boy piped in. "That's why we call them breasts."

"Thanks, Bill," I said.

We all had a good laugh.

On a different note, Evan and I have been discussing what we want to do when our lease is up.

1 bedroom apartment + 1 puppy = crazy pent-up energy

We really need a yard. Should we buy a house? Or rent a house? How long do we want to stay in San Antonio? I could see us being here for....well, forever. But will we? What if Evan and I really do go to grad school?

For now, we like our apartment complex and almost everyone has a dog.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

R.I.P. Mike Twist

A window into my thoughts:

We live off of Orsinger Road. A narrow road with woods and apartment buildings and a couple of neighborhoods. A narrow road with railroad tracks and cars that drive way too fast. And no shoulder. If you walk past the forest area where deer frolic and people come to dump their trash, you will see a white cross placed against a tree. You will see candles with the names of saints and the words R.I.P. Mike Twist. You will see velvet roses and a small poem taped to the tree.

He died in June. A month before we even came to San Antonio. He was seventeen. He had just graduated from a Catholic high school (not mine). His teachers and classmates called him funny, a great soccer player, a good guitar player, a faithful friend. He was driving an SUV...speeding down Orsinger Lane with three of his friends. He vaulted over the railroad tracks, lost control, and slammed into that fated tree.

And was pronounced dead at the scene. His friends all survived.

So why do I tell this story? Who is Mike Twist to me? Perhaps a shadow lurking in the woods, feeding the deer, and talking to God. Perhaps he reminds me of my own mortality and the fragility of life. He reminds me to bless the fourteen-year-olds, fifteen-year-olds, sixteen-year-olds, and seventeen-year-olds I teach. To make their life better. And learn from them.

Yes, Mike Twist, Rest in Peace.

Life Today

It's been a different sort of week. I thought it would be an easy week due to getting Monday off from school. It wasn't. The students seemed off-kilter because of the shortened week. They acted even more hormonal than usual. Not as bad as seventh graders in my opinion. I'll take thirty fifteen-year-old to thirty twelve-year-olds any day. Well, unless we're singing a song or reading a play.

Anyway, on Thursday night Evan and I went to our first "symposium" group. We've been attending St. Mark's Episcopal Church for a few months now and decided to join in on a book study group. We're reading A Generous Orthodoxy. It's very thought-provoking so far. It addresses a lot of disillusionment I've felt with the church, Christians in general, and myself in particular. We're supposed to be in a small group that meets on the night and at the location most convenient to us. We do meet on our correct night, but there are about 20 people in the group.

The majority are women between the ages of 50 and 75. There is a couple in their thirties and a couple in their forties. The couple in their forties lead worship for the Sunday service Evan and I attend. This couple also comes from some Pentacostal background, and they love that I know where they're coming from. A woman in her seventies and a guy in his forties or fifties run the symposium.

I like the way it's run--the openness of discussion, tolerance, etc. Boy are they tolerant. I feel way conservative in this bunch. I think that's good. Evan and I needed something like this. Evan can be philosophical and I can be emotional (not too emotional, I promise). The guy moderator talked to Evan and me after class. He asked us how come we went to church. After all, we are in that 18-30 year-old black hole. We know few people our age at our church. Or many churches for that matter.

How do you answer a question like that? I don't go because I've always gone? Or do I? Maybe I just can't give up hope. That I'll find a place to belong. A place to meet God with broken people like me. I don't know. Maybe I'm afraid to stop. Afraid I'd never go back. It made me think.

And for emotional me...that's a good thing.

I miss girlfriends. These are pictures of my four best girlfriends in Texas. The ones at the table with me are the coolest sisters-in-law in the world--Alice and Chandra. I just wish we didn't all live such busy lives. Also, Chandra lives in Houston. Alice lives here in San Antonio, but she's pretty busy finishing her master's thesis. Last night Evan's parents took Alice, her husband, Daniel, Evan, and me out to eat to celebrate Alice's new job. Anyway, I'm inspired to be sort of related to such strong women. This picture was taken at our summer beach vacation in 2005 (Alice is the one in the middle; Chandra is on the right).

The other two gals (the blond schoolgirl and the witch) are my best teacher friends. The blond is Kate, another English teacher at the Catholic school where I teach. The witch is Melanie, a theology teacher there. We all moved to San Antonio this year. Kate came from Dallas-Fort Worth (a few hours away) while Melanie came all the way from Cleveland, OH. It's so nice to have good teacher friends. We hang out all the time on the weekends, too. My puppy Annie adores Kate's pugs, Boomer and Tuxes. Annie WANTS to play with Melanie's cat, Mia, but Mia isn't so interested. The pictures are from Homecoming week. My students were so disconcerted to see me dressed as a student they could hardly pay attention! :)

I was so spoiled in IN and in TN with all my girlfriends. Now we live all over the US. At least I have four friends here. The rest of you need to come visit!

As promised:

The woman sat alone in the room. The fading light had given way to a murky darkness the color of the river flowing past. How long had she sat here humming a distant melody? Some broken words that fit the haunting notes from her dry lips. She wore a woolen coat. Not so much for warmth but for protection. It protected her from the knowledge that someday she would have to leave this room. Perhaps when the pale light flooded the gray-cloaked sky. Perhaps when night had simply fallen over the light. For three days she had sat here. The light, the darkness. The glow, the fading. The murmur of the river that reminded her of life outside these walls of solace. The pain of choosing to experience. Choosing to accept. She was not yet there. Not yet able to beckon the pain back into her numbed mind. Her stomach had stopped its yelps of hunger and crouched like a child within her. Waiting for release. Three of them waited with her on the first day. The sun high in the sky. Her hair fresh from washing. Her eyes bright with hope. Two waited on the second day. Her small hands clenched in her lap. None on this day--the third. She closed her eyes. Where had they gone? How long had she been alone? How long had she avoided the knowledge, the pain?

A Beginning and a Middle -- Part I


First of all, if you are reading this I commend you. You didn't give up hope in me writing again someday. It's not that I didn't have things to write or the time to write them. It's just easier to not say than say most times. Which seems strange for a writer. I guess I write more without writing. Sky writing. Dream writing. It all amounts to the same thing, though.

I am afraid of finishing.

So I don't continue. Not a blog, Not writing in general. Not playing the piano. Or singing in a choir. Or wearing my mouthguard. Or reading the Bible. Or painting my toenails. Or exercising.

It's easier to say....I want to post a picture, but Apple is making me mad (don't tell Evan). Or I don't have good ideas for writing. Or I'm done with music. Or I feel like my jaw is being held together by a monster. Or I'll read it tomorrow....or the next day. Or I hate the smell of nail polish remover anyway. Or I like eating ice cream better than running:)

The truth is I miss doing something other than planning lessons and grading papers. I miss the smell of grass on a soccer field. I miss singing three-part (or seven-part) harmony. I miss knowing I'm following the dentist's orders and being nice to my teeth. I miss God. I miss pink toes. And I miss the sound of my breath....in and out....as I run. I really miss my brother and capguns and my parents and playing Boggle.

I wrote something this week that I....in all honesty....will not finish.

I will post it tonight...when Evan brings back the laptop.

And maybe I will post something cheerier too. After all, I have a lot of blogging to make up for.