Troubled Waters (or work without union protection)

As the blender began to spin in the cartoon I copied off to post, at work, I stood transfixed.
The cartoon was a picture of a blender filled with water. A goldfish swam on its surface. The expression on its face was one of dread, eyes wide open, mouth curved downward. The caption said, "So, you think you've got stress!"
I blinked my eyes and shook my head several times, looked up at the cartoon, and saw it return to its original standstill humor.
The only thing that bothered me was the question, "Is this portending something terrible?"
Admittedly, the new superintendent's behavior was unsettling. She was making negative headlines, claiming corruption in high places. I'd also heard her yelling and screaming at length at someone, in the supply closet.
It was clear she thought Joe Clark and Jaime Esperante were heroes, and she wanted to be the next heroine.
Yet, she stood there at a community educators' meeting and lied, assuring us that we would continue in her employ and be able to "keep our homes and feed our families". This was followed by applause.
Yet someone must not have trusted her, as I received an application for unionizing community ed and began to fill it out.
Alas, it was too late! She and the then Republican Governor were getting cozy, and before we knew it, our hours were cut. Then, not much later, my own boss got fired. Generally, community education got cut across the board, and charter schools popped up all over the state. I'd heard that, after the governor did his hatchet job, he left the state. She too went back to her home state. And now, as things developed over time, the head guys in the capitol are making this school system into a charter school.
Personally, I had to spend my summers doing temp work, so I wasn't rolling in the dough. Due to in-station politics in broadcasting, another non-protected profession, my husband had gotten let go, after 20 years in the field.
So on my new supplementary adult ed teaching job, I got wind of a mother and daughter graduating the same year, interviewed then, and wrote it up for a local down-home newspaper. It was a powerful argument for community ed, but it wasn't something that the politicians would take note of at the state capitol.
I began to sense that what the poor fish had forebodings about finally happened. I returned to the break room at what was left of my main job, looked at the still-life cartoon once more, as the blender, once again, began to spin.

Requesting Older Models for Regular Occasions

Before I was even a student of Unity, I did something called, "Treasure Mapping". If I had a goal, say, to lose weight, which was most of the time, I'd put up a pic of some svelte model and try to become her. This lasted for as long as I could discipline myself into less weight.

Unity, later, advised I add another step: my own face plastered on top of the body.

That got a little difficult with age. But finally, I found an attractive senior model with a believable body on which to place on my face. This time, it wasn't for the purpose of losing weight, but of becoming what I now do, tell stories. But I couldn't find one for the longest time after that, and I thought, "Where did I find that? Oh yes, it was J.C. Penneys, I think." But even leafing through those catalogs each Sunday became a wild goose chase.

However, Penneys was true to their fairness ethic. On Mothers and Fathers Days, they began to show that, yes, there was another generation beyond the 29 year old parents with an 8 year old daughter and 6 year old son, or vice verse. Many lifestyles and types of children were exhibited as well, but that's another topic.

I had read up on a make-up artist with flowing gray locks, who was asked to become a model. That was after her decision to let the gray show. I thought, "Now that I've seen and heard her, in what magazine has she been lately?"

If aliens from outer space looked at our catalogs, they'd get the impression that we somehow grow to a certain age and are then, killed off, perhaps by our 6 to 8 year old children, once they turn 10.

Get real. Checking the obituaries, the ages as to which the grim reaper comes are shockingly democratic. It's true, the older you get, the more vulnerable you are to sailing over the horizon where nobody often sees you from this side of the Big Lake. But we have V.I.P.'s such as politicians, heads of state, journalists, talk show hosts, etc., who are still very much alive and running things.

It's not just for treasure mapping, but for a sense of, "Does anybody know we are still in this world?", I make this request. Treasure mapping just made me notice that something was clearly off.

How Did I End Up at a G.L.C.? or "How to Choose a Lutheran College, Traditional Method #1" (J.L. Anderson's Scandinavian Humor)

All this talk about student loans finally affected me. For I realized that in my early-confused years as a Bachelor-ette of Arts, I didn’t have the burden of having to pay a student loan.
So, I woke up this morning actually feeling grateful.

I would have been a problem for any creditor, as I wasn’t so sure of teaching English. So on the whim of shooting for acting, I bounced about with not much recollection of high school shorthand, and typing that hadn’t been practiced much since then, and I took clerical jobs, quite a number of them.
But I’d heard from other friends that they had a heavy loan to pay off.

In high school, it had been common knowledge that I was bound for the University of Wisconsin. I was already the type. My daughter, as a teen, once asked me, “Mom, were you a normal teenager?” as if to say, “I’ll bet you weren’t”, which was true. I was pre-Bohemian. But I got religion at the fundamental level of understanding in my at the end of my junior year, so the brochures came in, and I started succumbing.

I got a book on Scandinavian Humor by John Louis Anderson, (Nordbook publications) which covered the issue of how kids end up at a good Lutheran college (i.e. G.L.C.). The author mentions that, “during the four years, you spend the time agonizing over why you are there. But there were 25 factors that may have made that happen. I could choose three of them:
#1. Your parents think it is a good idea and will pay for it.
#7. It is more than 150 miles from home. (One hairdresser remarked, it was “kind of out in the boondocks”.)
#19. You are a PK. (i.e. preacher’s kid, and might I add, BINGO!) While everybody expects a PK to act a little crazy, they also expect you to go to a Lutheran college and get yourself straightened out.
And, #25. You believe what your mother told you about teaching being a respected and secure line of work. (Ha!)

I would say that, with #19, the PK, the author elaborates on this as one of the 10 Lutheran college types. It certainly was that:
“an elaborate form of house arrest for errant younger members of the Lutheran theocracy.” (I will add that if you, as a PK, go there, you can pretty well bet you will STAY there.)
There, ‘theatrical excesses’ and ‘splashy rebellions’ are dealt with.
And of course you can’t predict what PK’s will become, anywhere from ‘exotic’ dancer to Lutheran ministry.”

Of course, I went back to teaching when I married, as they never called me when I left off my resume for switchboard operator. The necessary extra credits for teaching were inevitable, but eventually, my husband and I went out to Colorado, and that state insisted I get the extra credits without even being allowed to sub in the process. So, I called in desperation, to both his parents and my mother that we needed money for the out-of-state tuition. I threw in drama courses, as one of the schools I’d also considered before the G.L.C. fliers was the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. And besides, I was paying a hefty amount of cash, so I should get all the credits I could. At last! : a normal college experience, where we both still looked young enough to party with the students. I got a scholarship for theater the following summer.

Upon returning home to the Midwest and having my daughter, there were still a few more credits to finish. So of course, I chose the practical route of theater, with the help of my mom (after a family meeting), who even voluntarily paid for theater improv cards. Another summer scholarship followed after I sponsored a practice teacher while teaching summer school speech.

All this was done without student loans, just nice people pitching in. Now, I wouldn’t recommend this way of doing things to others, any more than I would advise Hannity’s advocacy of rice, beef, and beans. It just fell that way.

Okay, so why was I at a G.L.C.? I think, because in high school, I admired an English teacher, a UW grad, who happened to be Jewish. Later at college, in a very deep crisis, I sought the help of a Lutheran Professor/Pastor, who I’ve figured out later, was very much like her. Perhaps, she taught me the “God Spell”, and he taught me the “Gospel”, in a whole new way…like “meeting Jesus AGAIN for the First Time”, and that “the Universe Bends toward Justice”. He was a friend/classmate of my brothers and also a UW grad.
And although my parents were conservatives, I got on the same Spiritual wavelength, and I’ve drawn on the metaphysical principles they taught, for a lifetime. My folks also kept working, so that I could continue going to school. And when my father passed, I became a "war orphan" and took a trip across the state to secure the tuition remainder from the Veterans Administration.

But I now know, you can appreciate your education, especially as a woman. My Aunt Nettie had wanted to go to school, but was needed at home on the farm. She’d only completed the sixth grade. She had a Zen wisdom about her, which later manifested in a grandchild, who invented a rare medical technique for repairing bones. My Aunt Selma was proud of her eighth grade diploma and put it up on her wall, while encouraging other family member that they MUST go to high school and college. (For more on this, see my link on "Crickets in the Field". Once there, access page 3.) My dad marveled at an elderly woman in our neighborhood, who’d completed college. He told me that in her era, it was highly unusual for a woman to do so.

I can’t say that being a kid’s drama teacher in fine arts schools made me a whole pile of money. Now that I’m a storyteller, who is a combo of volunteer and fly-by-night professional, that it does either.

But I’ve reconnected with good friends who were also at my G.L.C., and my life has been enriched. As a result of a liberal arts education and working in the public schools, I no longer think simplistically. It means as I’ve become politically aware, I’m not duped into thinking that racism, sexism, Tea-publicanism or any other kind of dangerous ism is acceptable.

Selma and Nettie would have been more than happy to go through high school (which I thought was a given) and even to proceed to a “cloister”, eventually to be introduced to the “world” in the form of big city theater, and later, regular state college theater education.

Realizing that, I no longer take my education for granted.

Plumber Phobia

There's a drip in the kitchen faucet, which Bill keeps trying to fix and re-fix. I can't say as I blame him. There's always the trauma of the plumber coming...
When I was a teen, the plumber came, whistling in our house as he worked, and then, gave me a sermon on being saved. I thought, as teens go, I was pretty saved.
The ones we got later, were political evangelists, one who was crestfallen that our candidate had won; the next "advised" me (with a smile) to vote for the guy who's now taxing teacher pensions. Update: 3/22/16, Ironically, on this governor's watch, a whole city's water and pipes became contaminated, which drew national attention.
Happens to others too. My in-law called his wife to warn he had a "Nazi" plumber in the house. Another friend, who's big on being saved, had a "Christian" plumber who eyed his "beverages" and told our friend he couldn't possibly be.
Apparently "plumbing school" also entails Bible school courses with equally simple politics.
But perhaps, it's just me who's traumatized.
Bill says he just wants to avoid paying the bill.

Garfield and Me

Although I've been more of a dog fancier, since I raised one from a pup, this cat is cool!

How I've spent my last three days, recovering.

How excited others are about my blog.

How Bill shouldn't tell me anything.

How the subbing part of my career was highly respected by students and others.

You see some cats evoke "MEMORIES"!

Christo-Pagan Holiday

It is the twelfth month, but December means ten. At the winter solstice, the sun is the most distant in the southern sky, creating the shortest day. So we create our own lights (once candles) and stand evergreens inside. Carolers sing to the Son, as they once did the sun. December 17th was the same date as the Roman Saturnalia. December 17-25, was called Yule, then, Christmas.
The mistletoe hung throughout Celtic Europe in December, a symbol of eternal life and an invitation for contact. Romans sent each other small wrapped gifts, and enjoyed cakes and wine.
In the 5th century A.D., the Christ child was introduced to counteract another feast, Mithras. The mass of Christ was introduced (i.e. Christmas). The Germans already celebrated with the Yule log ("wheel" of the sun). The Norse strung holly and evergreen for the goddess, Frey and the god, Odin.
By the middle ages, Christmas had become a festival of light, combining Pagan memories with the glories of the Christian faith, where commoners and royals alike envisioned one world.
Although the Puritans banned Christmas in America, immigrants restored it, including the German illuminated fir tree.
The real Santa Claus was Saint Nicholas of Bari. He was sorrowful, due to his compassionate concern for humankind, long, thin, elderly, generous, and caring. However, his legend grew. Saint Nick probably became linked with the all-father god, Odin. Odin rode through the skies on his eight-legged friend, Sleipner, and he was transformed into the kindly, night rider with flowing white beard.
Scandinavians continue to proudly put their "Julenisse" (Christmas gnomes, who bear some resemblance to Father Christmas' elven helpers) under their trees.
(paraphrased mostly from "The Dance of Time" by Michael Judge, as well as "Christmas this Year," by Booth Tarkington.)

OBITS, Andy Rooney Style

I’ve taken a look at the obits lately and, frankly, I get a little annoyed. The deceased are going to be with their Lord; they pass away peacefully; surrounded by their loving family.
These repetitive eulogies imply that others have no idea where they’re going; are glad to have done with it, so leave with great determination, after being surrounded by their dysfunctional family, (perhaps, hoping to make a better family choice next time).
So, I finally found a good one. A guy “passed from the world as we know it across the Rainbow Bridge (a little Scandinavian Mythology here) to be welcomed by his beloved Clyde and Puppy Boy, all of them restored to health and happiness to run and play once again together, welcomed also by his parents”*, etc. etc.
It wasn’t that the guy wasn’t religious, because it ends with “Trust in Our Lord Jesus Christ, Who has a greater plan for all who love Him”.*
The tone of it was rather joyful instead of implying that only certain people in the “right” religious club (although there’s an invitation here) get to go to the Great Beyond in the “right” way.

(*Credit for these quotes goes to our Local “Chronicle” Newspaper.)