Outliers

I have struggled this week to find a consistent topic.  So many thoughts to try and reign in and find a pattern.  As an Algebra fan, my analytical brain craves patterns. When those patterns elude me, the thoughts seem to just run amok, chaos.  Random characters are chosen and connected to others in hopes that a pattern will emerge.  Like some kind of cypher that if I just keep trying to find the key code it will all make sense.  Sleep has been a missed friend this week.  I have tried working in the yard to the point of exhaustion in hopes I'll be able to welcome him back.  Even still, I awoke at 4 am and followed along with a power yoga class on TV.

I am sure that in part my whirling thoughts are due to my return to the classroom.  The nervous yet excited jitters all teachers feel.  The lists of things I need to do jumbled with the knowledge that inservice next week will add many items to my list.  Do I have all my supplies?  Do my kids have all their supplies?  Oh yeah, meet the teacher night at their schools and mine, is the laundry done, probably should mow before I go back, better clean the bathroom, do I have back to school dinners?  Oh wait, we have to pick up Leslie's schedule before the others and Lily's dance uniforms need to be ordered.  Do I make that first day video now or wait till I have those new pics from inservice?  Does Mrs. Magee need any help with the mentees and is my mentee feeling welcome?

I could go on and I'm sure many of you have the same day to day to do list that runs in your head, but I also have quiet moments where everything seems to slow down.  I feel the cool breeze that has blessed our Texas mornings.  The half moon that lit up my lawn like a night light that doesn't charge my electric bill.  The stars at 4 am are the most clear and I simply stare and wonder.

One moment will stay with me.  My oldest and I were running errands, orthodontist appointment, prescription pick up, pay a bill or two and we stopped for drinks.  The gas station was crowded and so we parked in an odd spot out back.  I noticed two men sitting on the edge of the lot, their bikes beside them under the small spot of shade the odd tree provided.  I had seen them before around town and as before, a small pack of dogs sat in the shade with them.  Their constant companions despite the heat.  I stood outside and smoked while my oldest ran in, "Get two extra bottles of water, OK?"
          "OK, why?"
          "For the dogs." My Leslie glanced over, noticed the group and shrugged.  No hesitation, no second questions, just acceptance.  She humbles me often with her sharp wit, quiet nature and unflagging willingness to help others, whether it be tutoring after school or making lunch for her brothers.  She just shrugs and goes about her day.  Kindness is simply her nature.

She comes out of the store and I expect her to bring me the water to take over but instead she walks up to the gentlemen, hands them the water and says, "For the dogs." She then walks over to the car and gets in, having simply nodded at his thanks.  I watch as the man pulls a plastic bag over and makes a bowl.  Without so much as a drink for himself, he begins to pour the water.  The dogs calmly begin to drink without a sound.  As I put out my cigarette, he looks up.  He places a closed fist over his heart, closes his eyes and gives me a nod.  I believe it was one of the most poignant thank yous of my life.  Without words, I felt his appreciation and again I was humbled by such a simple gesture.



Then the whirlwind begins again.  Don't forget to water the garden, feed the animals, four legged and two.  I wonder if Wal-Greens has the shots Lily needs before 7th grade, nothing like the last minute.  When does Leslie need that white shirt for band?  I wonder when and if Boy Scouts will start up again?  Crap, I forgot to turn off the sprinkler.  Probably should grab the last of the figs before they waste.

The speed at which my mind turns scares me.  How will I possibly get it all done?  Just when I think I'll scream for it has begun to be too much, I feel a cool breeze, see the clear stars of early morning and remember a fist over the heart.  Yes, time travels at the speed of light as do my thoughts, but sometimes, the whirring stops, sounds fade and a stillness sets in, a calm.  Those moments are the ones.  So instead of trying to find my pattern, this time, I found the outlier, that random point in a data set that throws off the line of fit and saw it not as something to be thrown out, so the function can be found, but as a moment all its own, where I can stop the chaos and be calm.

Now, what am I going to wear tomorrow? If I wear the pink dress, what shoes? Etc, etc, etc!

Finding a Passion

October 2010

What do I want to do? I am at an impasse as they say.  I have fought for the past 10 years to earn my degree in Mathematics so that I may provide a better future for my children and for some warped sense of self fulfillment.  Now, even as I write, it sits in the envelope from the university, just behind my computer.  It sits there where I know it’s there but not where I can actually see it.  Do I want to pursue a little more education and receive my teaching certificate or has the whole search for the degree left me with a bad taste in my mouth?  

For the past two years, I have been gainfully unemployed.  I am a ward of the state so to speak.  I have applied for approximately 2 jobs per week since September of 2009.  It is now October of 2010.  So in total, I have applied for approximately 104 jobs varying from secretary to insurance agent to register clerk at Dollar General.  Oh, I work part time here and there, a waitress, a sometimes assistant to my dad, even a hotel clerk for about a minute, but nothing full time. No career that is supposed to fulfill the missing piece of my soul.  So I repeat, what do I want to do?  I want to watch my children grow. I want to sleep on Sundays and listen as the birds wake me up to a quiet sunrise.  I want to talk homework and boys and Buzz Lightyear and then marriage and grandchildren and sports and the economy. I want to travel. I want to see Venice at night as the stars and lights of that ancient city glitter off the water. I want to smell Ireland as I sit on one of its famous rock walls surrounded by such a green that even HD TV can not do it justice.  I want to feel the cold of Alaska as I crunch through newly fallen snow at the base of a mountain that is still ruled, not by man, but by nature.  I want to feel the heat of Rio as my heart pounds along with the music of Carnival. Then I want to do it all over again and watch my children taste the world through their clear eyes that see far better than ours.  

I took them to the beach this year. Just a little beach on the coast of Texas with its oil invested waters and tourist shops and I was in awe.  They ran full out and let the water take them.  No complaining about how dirty or how the derricks in the distance ruined the view.  They simply ran and dove and did it again and again until they couldn’t stand anymore.  Their eyes simply could not take it all in fast enough.  I have seen the waters of the Caribbean.  I have swam in a cenote of Mexico and surfed the beaches of Zihuataneho and yet, I haven’t done anything as joyful as watching my children play in the brown water of the Gulf of Mexico.  I had become so jaded as to what was fun, what was acceptable that I forgot to breathe.  I keep forgetting to breathe.  As a young daughter needing to be strong for my mother or as a teenager desperately trying to make everyone like me or now as a jaded adult sure in my own self righteousness, I keep forgetting to breathe.  

Why do we do that? Why do we look out at the world and only see the electric bill, the water bill and the mortgage? Part of me, the logical, rational side, says, "Because those are the basic calls of humanity." What brought us out of the primordial ooze, the need for food, shelter and companionship.  All of which of course are better achieved with a job. A  J. O. B.  The other side of me though, the one that still believes in fairies and happily ever after says, "No worries.  The money will come. It will all work out and everyone will find their way.  Just Breathe Woman."  Where’s the balance? How do we find that yin and yang salvation location where the bills are paid and we can truly say we are happy?

Present Day 

For me, it began when I made the decision to get my teaching certificate. It took me another year after this self loathing diatribe to achieve and several thousand dollars later, but thanks to the wonderful ladies at Region VII, tons of support from friends and family,  and a fortuitous moment where a local school district needed a math teacher, in the fall of 2011, I became a gainfully employed educator! I wish I could write that I chose the teaching profession because I had a great passion to change the world one child at a time, but alas, I can not. I originally chose it, because I am a mother of four and teaching provided a schedule that fit theirs. 

My first year was a lesson in survival to say the least, but it also proved that sometimes, we find our passion not by choice, but by default.  Most believe that after that final bell rings on that last day of school, teachers simply pack up to tropical destinations and drink fruity things with an umbrella in it till they magically appear back in their classrooms the next fall.  I discovered this is a true fantasy. I, as many others in my profession, did not head off for Bora Bora, I headed off for the wilds of Kilgore, TX, the location of our Region VII service center,  with many of my colleagues to become better. I found that I did not like just surviving in my classroom, I wanted to shine. I spent a total of 100 hours that summer in session after session on how to improve my teaching. I spent more hours online to find resources and watching webinars. I immersed myself in all things education.  My second year, well, it was better than the first. I did not go home crying every night, but again this past summer, I have spent another 100 hours in training sessions along with working on my PLNs or personal learning networks. I have begun conversing with educators around the globe to find new ways to engage my students. 

Why? I am a teacher. I don't just see brooding teenagers with huge chips on their shoulders. I see minds that have no idea at the beauty their world has to offer. I don't see whiny spoiled young adults who are perpetually logged in to social media. I see the opportunity of bright futures. Somewhere between just simply being happy to be employed and today, I found my passion. 

Have I been able to travel to Venice or Ireland?  No, but I did receive a hug from a former gang member who told me thank you for letting him have a piece of paper on which to draw. Have I danced at Carnival? No, but I had a student tell me thank you for making math fun again. I found I don't have to remind myself to breathe. I found that I connect better with my biological children because we are in the trenches together now. I do get to sleep on Sundays and listen to the birds. I found my salvation location in the halls of a high school. Now with the beginning of my third year just around the corner, I take a deep breath and let my passion guide me. 

 My friend Harry said, "It's a calling." He is right as he was on many things, I just took a while to realize it. So, in answer to my own question, "What do I want to do?" I want to teach! 

Thanks again Harry from New Jersey with love from East Texas!

Back to School

A hummingbird visits me each morning as I sit and drink my coffee and read my digital version of the newspaper.  I hear him, his flutter louder than the bees and other morning sounds, and so I look up.  Just there, not three feet from my face, he hovers. His wings a blur and his green, glossy feathers shimmering in the morning sun.  I smile and say, "Good morning," and then, he is off.  He comes everyday and I have come to watch for him.  He reminds me to enjoy the nature that surrounds me and her beauty that is eternal.  He only stays but a moment, yet they are as bright as the shooting star I watched as I wrote this.  His visits will end soon as summer fades and he travels to warmer climates, but I will look for him next spring, just as I watch the night for one more streaking wish.

A few days ago, I learned of the loss of an icon.  She never had her name in lights or a twitter following, but to many primary students, she introduced the joys of creating music.  Mrs. Harper had the energy to keep up with hundreds of them and the vivaciousness to keep them entertained.  She entertained me in the first grade, as she did my dad, and all the students in between.  I had Mrs. Booker in the first grade, a stern, giant of a woman.  Her room was on an outside walkway and it was very orderly to say the least.  Everything was this pale blue at Kaufman Primary School from the walls to the doors.  We would walk along that outside walkway, rain or shine, Mrs. Booker in the lead, whistle in hand, our little legs scrambling to keep up.  Through the giant double doors with their multiple panes of glass we trooped, past the restrooms on the right, down the inside steps and then to the left and through another set of double doors, these covered with bright images of instruments and musical notes.  There, just beyond, waited a very small woman with fluttering hands and a soothing voice.  There were no desks or rows in Mrs. Harper's class.  We sat on the blue carpet and her classroom helpers passed out sticks and bells, kazoos and tambourines and we were free.  Laughter and joy surrounded each of us as we made our music on that blue carpet.   Raucous and off key it was, but it was ours.

To me, she is like that hummingbird.  Each fall she brought us joy and she was there to greet each new generation with a quiet flutter and the shimmer of a tambourine.  The continuity of it, the routine brings me peace.  The thought of not seeing those green feathers is as disturbing to me as generations never meeting Mrs. Harper.

As the marketing gurus of print and screen remind me everyday, the return to school is just around the corner.  My plans for the first day activities and of course that first day of school outfit go into overdrive.  I'm making plans to get supply lists for my children and making a supply list of my own. Today at Wal-Mart, further reminders greeted me around every corner as "Mrs. Nolan," was heralded through the aisles. One former student caught me off guard and before I knew it, I was wrapped in a hug and talking about this year's tough Cross Country running schedule.  My boys, my biological children as I must distinguish since they are all my kids, will enter second grade, my Lily will officially be in middle school having reached the 7th, and my first baby will be a junior in high school.  I think back to my teachers, to my first day of school in each of their places.  Some of my teachers are still there, Miss Kerr, Mr. Feller, but most have moved on like the hummingbird. In second grade, Mrs. Covington will not greet them at the door as she too has been called home.

Yet, new students will be greeted.  They will be introduced to music and dance and history and science and of course, mathematics.  I and my fellow teacher warriors will have welcome back posters and silly first day videos.  We will compliment new shoes and ooh and awe over shiny back packs and mechanical pencils.  We will hug returning friends from class's past and wish them well on their next year.  Again, the continuity of it brings me peace.

I do feel a loss as I know I must say goodbye to the hummingbird, but it is fleeting.  As every teacher knows, we do not judge time by four seasons, but three, fall semester, spring semester and summer.  They rotate around each year and we welcome the fall crop of smiling faces and then say goodbye in the spring.  Once ours, they really never leave us. They simply move on to warmer climates until we greet them again somewhere.  This year, as I look forward, lesson plans and testing schedules and my hair standing on end, I will hear the hovering hummingbird and the shake of a tambourine and know this too is fleeting.  I will remember what they have taught me.  That I must enjoy the beauty around me everyday and to never stop making my own music.

So for now, goodbye Mrs. Harper and Godspeed!