All aboard

The job search train is departing once again, and I've got a ticket to ride.

It's early, just barely February, but my attempts to land a full-time teaching job have already led to results. I have a screening interview with a school district in Tucson, AZ on Monday - my first interview of the 2012 season. I'm a little rusty on my responses but I will spend some time over the weekend studying up on the standard interview questions so I can represent myself well.

This feels really good. Yes of course it's just a screener, but getting the word on this one provided a ray of hope I haven't felt in a long while. I hope it leads to something, but even if it doesn't, it means I'm still in the game. And being able to daydream about a concrete future for the first time in months feels really good too.

This of course also raises all the old stresses about moving, but things are different this year. There is an urgency to the situation - we have more freedom to leave, and less freedom to wait. And so, big choices may be on the horizon in the near future...and if and when things get that far, we ask for your prayers to help us discern the right direction to go.

All aboard...

Leaving 2011 in the Rearview Mirror

2011 was not the best year our family has dealt with.

But we are not beaten.

From a professional standpoint, I lost everything. From a financial standpoint, I lost everything. From a security standpoint, we lost everything.

But we are not beaten.

I still have the best family in the world. I still have the most special, unique, wonderful, amazing kids in the world. I still have my faith. I still have my hope. I still have my love.

I have been forced to notice that the blog has been incredibly negative of late. It paints an inaccurately negative picture. For the last few months I have been so busy moving from one little task to the next, that I have had little time to sit down, compose thoughts, and type them here. Thus, the few times when I HAVE done so, have invariably been times when I was feeling at my worst. As I said to an old friend lately, even though I have more bad to say than good these days, the truth is I have more good days than bad. So anyone who is looking here for a true barometer of my attitude and mood is looking in the wrong place. Take it with a grain of salt, and assume that the long gaps between posts mean that all is going well.

The time of waiting is drawing to a close, and the time of action will soon be upon me again. I entered the job market for real in March last year, and there was plenty of action to be had at that time. Postings for real, permanent positions will start appearing soon, and I will track them down, anywhere we feel is a good fit. It will feel good to get back in the suit and pound the pavement, actually feeling like I am doing SOMEthing to resolve my future.

So, 2012 is supposed to be the big calamity, right? Sorry, that already happened to me a year early. For the Specter Family, 2012 is a year of new beginnings, new adventures, new possibilities. We are ready. Bring it.

You know you're in trouble when...

...you're counting on Congress in a real and tangible way.

It is not a fun time to sit back and watch our national legislature bicker and squabble about how to pay for the payroll tax break. It is also not fun to sift through news articles to find snippets about the part that really matters to me, the unemployment extension.

So much has been going on, and yet nothing has happened. In Washington, and in my life as well. I have any number of directions I could take this blog post, any of which I could expound upon for hours and hours, and yet I still find it not worth my while to put forth the energy. Everything is a sound bite. Everything is a blanket statement. The problems in our country are complicated beyond comprehension, and yet the arguments get simpler and simpler and more infantile. We've created an economic monster and none of us can control it. Not blue, red, or green. We exist at its whim now, and I can promise you that it makes not a lick of difference who is in charge - it's bigger than anyone or anything on this earth. Seriously. Global economics is now so intertwined and cannibalistic, and yet so ingrained into the fabric of our society - it's the butterfly effect on meth. Something so powerful and so mysterious...and yet somehow we all think that it matters who's in the White House...and that somehow that person can effect a change. This is old thinking from a simpler time. We all badly need a system update but we're working with an old model that the new OS will crash. (I apologize for the wandering metaphors here.)
And maybe we'll all be better off when it all crashes. Maybe we'll all be able to get back some of what we sold to this dreadful machine. Maybe...we'll all be a lot more human.

On a personal level, I am able to live day-to-day in this stasis, in this waiting room, but there are times when the frustration and the desire to KNOW what my future holds becomes...becomes what? How can I explain it? It's not a rage, not a frustration. It's...an acute awareness. My whole life has a hole in it right now. It's a hole of context. I don't know what this year means to me. I don't know what it means to my life. I don't know if this is the first chapter of part 2, if it's an interlude, or if it's even my book any more. Day to day I am fine but something is missing. Luckily, running a family of 6 keeps me busy enough that I don't often have time to think about it, but then, there it is...that gaping hole. And when the awareness is on, I can't stop staring.

I don't think about the past any more. Well, that's not true. I don't think about it nearly as much. Every now and then it rears its ugly head. But every time it does, it bothers me less and it fades more quickly. I still can't think about the future because...there isn't one yet. So I'm left with the present. And...I guess this is the other thing that makes it difficult. I feel very alone in this present. It's so hard to have a present without knowing where it fits in that continuum. I'm just not Zen enough to go with this particular flow.

Keep us all in your thoughts and prayers. God bless.

Matt

Response to Dr. Saunders

My response to your comment is too big to be posted as a comment so I have to include it as a separate post. For those reading this, please check out Dr. Saunders' comments on the "Get Off Joe's Back" post below.

___

Ah, Dr. Saunders. I thought you might chime in. Good to hear from you too. Your thoughts on the wider picture are well known and I of course agree with you. College football is the tail wagging the dog, writ large. I guess on that point the question is, why do I still partake in the circus? And I can't answer that other than to say that I enjoy the game itself and am still able to separate the game from the baggage it comes with. Maybe I'm wrong to do so. I also know that you object to the game itself (I do read your blog after all) and understand your concerns about the violence involved and the injuries sustained. Playing football is undoubtedly a risk, but then again, so is walking out your door in the morning. The easy answer is that players take that risk knowingly. I know you would counter that they are pressured into that life and don't always know the risks...but I believe that is changing. Maybe I'm naive but it seems that the NFL is doing what it can to limit the ugly side of football injuries - concussions and the like. Eric LeGrand's story is still the exception - every weekend, how many people across the country take part in college or pro football, and the percentage of them who suffer a debilitating injury is probably a percentage any factory would consider pretty good for its own safety record. Maybe I am wrong there, I don't have those numbers. And the answers to long-term effects are of course, still being discovered. But I have not seen anything yet that tells me the whole sport should be shut down for the safety of its participants.
And I am also the rare person who enjoys football in SPITE OF it's violence. I don't watch to see a big hit or anything like that. I personally enjoy other things about football. I like the idea that a group of people all with disparate and seemingly unrelated skills and tasks, must work together seamlessly as a unit to be successful - a good play is...dare I say it, a symphony of movement? Maybe overstating it but you get the point. I also love that that unit must do all it can, but sometimes, an outsider must be called in, because the work of that machine was not quite enough - I am talking of course about the kicker. And suddenly, the work of the group rests in the hands of a single person who doesn't fit in with the rest. Metaphor for life? I like the chess-game aspect of play calling and I like the artificially constructed, but very real force called momentum, whereby suddenly the powers of the diverse unit become greater or less due to this magical force. And lastly, I like the storylines, the narrative of a 'season' and the meanings that develop around certain games and certain years.
All this keeps me watching and caring, despite the very real problems below the surface. I don't worship at the monster the game created, because I don't see them as the same thing. Take away all the extra junk and I still like the game. I tolerate the rest. Maybe I shouldn't...and maybe some day it will get so bad that I won't be able to enjoy it any more.

But to your original point. Joe, Tressel, Sandusky, thinking the rules don't apply. Let's tackle those one at a time. My thoughts on Tressel are well-documented, and our friend's rebuttal above worth mentioning. As far as Sandusky, he thought the rules didn't apply, but I believe that was because the man has a sickness that makes him do these things. I don't think that football is what made him act on his impulses. Guy could have been a janitor and he still would have felt compelled to do these things. You could argue that the football establishment let it happen, and the investigation will determine that. Right now I am inclined to believe that Joe wasn't sure what to do, told his boss as required by law and then naively thought it either had been taken care of, or that Sandusky would stop, and it would be an isolated incident. I think his mind didn't work in the ways of sexual predators, and he didn't live in a world that told him, the guy will do it again. They always do it again. That's a lapse in judgement, and a big one. But from what I know of the man from watching him for all my life, I don't believe for a minute that he thought "I'm Joe, I can cover this up because I'm the face of Penn State." Every action the guy has taken before (and since this broke) has been consistently in keeping with not wanting everything to be 'about Joe', the university coming first, in life being more important than football.

I know it seems unfair because I keep saying "This is different" but the fact is, I firmly believe that Joe WAS different. And THAT's why this is such big news. Any other schmo who did something like this, I'd agree with you and say that it was trying to be above the law for the sake of the football program. But not Joe.

Now, that said, if the investigation reveals that Joe knew more and continued to let Sandusky be on campus and at team events after learning about additional incidents, then I will without hesitation post on this board renouncing all my defenses of him. But I don't expect that to happen. And now that I think of it, maybe that's why everyone is piling on Joe now, because they know that this is as bad as it's going to get, and the investigation isn't going to come up with any more seedy details that directly relate to him.

I certainly respect your opinion and always enjoy engaging in discussion with you. Framing my thoughts in a conversation with you always keeps me on my toes.

Matt

Get Off Joe's Back

I usually don't post this kind of thing here. This is a personal blog about the happenings in my life and the life of my family. But sometimes big things happen that I feel the need to sound off about. This post won't make me many friends around here...but hey, as I often say, that ship has SAILED.

My parents are both proud Penn Staters. I grew up watching Penn State and root for them as 'my' team alongside any others that I actually have a first-hand connection to. For as long as I've been watching football, there has been one guy out there on the field coaching one of 'my' teams. He is an icon. He has, for all those years, stood out as a rare example of integrity in the increasingly corrupt and amoral world of major college sports. Scandal after scandal, violation after violation, at school after school, they all came and went, and still Joe remained. They have been talking about it being his last year for over a decade now, and still the old man forged on. One week ago, no one saw any reason to believe the status quo would change. But that was before.

What has happened at Penn State is tragic. And before anyone jumps down my throat, let me clarify exactly what I mean. The allegations against Sandusky are tragic. What was allowed to go on is tragic. The way Joe's unsurpassed career ended is tragic.

Make no mistake. What is popularly being called his 'sin of omission' was indeed wrong. I make no excuses for what he did...or what he did not do. And while there is also the aspect of letting an investigation run its course, there seems to be little of the typical backlash of denial from anyone involved, so I am taking things at face value for the purposes of this rant. I am assuming that everything happened as reports have indicated.

Joe was wrong. Joe should have done more. I do not deny this.

Should Joe have been fired? Tough question. Probably. In fairness to the people who had to make that decision, they were put in a no-win situation. If they 'let the investigation run its course' they are as guilty as every other program of using that as an excuse to let their football program bend the rules in order to keep winning. Joe wouldn't have wanted that. And on the ohter hand, we all saw the reaction on campus to what they decided to do. So whoever had to make this decision had the choice to be vilified by the nation, or by their own community. I will say that firing Joe over the phone was cowardly and small. But that's not the point of this rant. I accept that the decision made to let Joe go was one that had to be made, even if it could have been handled in a more respectful way.

So why am I so upset?

I am upset because it seems that everyone in the nation is now heaping scorn on Joe in a hypocrital holier-than-thou righteous indignation festival which is nothing short of shameful.

It has become very popular all of a sudden to say that Joe's reputation and career don't excuse his actions. I agree. But I don't think that Joe ever thought that. And anyone who really follows the goings-on at Penn State realizes that Joe wasn't trying to be above the law.

The man made a mistake. It was a big one. A tragic one. One that cost him the chance to end his career with dignity, and one that allowed terrible things to continue taking place when they could have been stopped. But to those who are dancing around pointing out that a lifetime of integrity can't absolve you of such a big mistake, I reply: It is also true that a single mistake does not wipe out a lifetime of integrity.

Get off Joe's back.

Truth be told, most of the people who are delighting in vilifying Joe right now have probably been living in shame of their own programs' sullied histories. Make no mistake. Joe's mistake was bigger than anything Tressel did. But Joe is still 50 times the man of integrity that Tressel ever will be. Tressel went around pawning himself off as some kind of saint. Joe on the other hand, hated talking about himself. When press conferences turned to him setting another new coaching record, he consistently attempted to turn the attention back towards the players, the game, the university. He didn't manufacture his reputation. He earned it. So at the end of the day, Tressel was a sleazebag who got caught. Joe was a great man...who made a greater mistake. Given the choice of who I would want teaching life lessons to my own son, I would choose Joe every time. Because no matter how many games Tressel wins, he will always be a sleazebag. And no matter how much venom people spew on Joe...he will still be Joe.

And forgive me for using Tressel as an example. I live in Ohio, so I'm surrounded by it. And even more, I live in Cincinnati, where people still think Pete Rose should be canonized as a saint. But you could take Tressel out of the above paragraph, fill in the blanks with any other big name from a sports scandal...or any other public figure with or without a scandal attached to their name. I still look up to Joe. I never cared much for the idea of 'heroes'...but Joe was, and still is, the closest thing there is for me.

So.

Did Joe's stellar and noble career earn him the right to finish the season? Should he still have been allowed to leave on his own terms? Did he deserve to coach one last game at home? No. If the allegations are true, then a lot of people have gone through a lot of unspeakable hurt and suffering because of his mistake. As I said at the beginning of this rant, I don't excuse that. It was a mistake much bigger than football.

But in my humble (and currently unpopular) opinion, his illustrious career
did earn him something. And that is the right to be left alone and to walk away in dignity. And I am disgusted that people can not see past the anger of the moment to view the picture in its larger context. It's easy to hear about something as tragic as victimized children and immediately cry foul of everything and everyone within a 5-mile radius. It's a lot harder to see the humanity, even in a mistake.

So to anyone out there enjoying the Joe-bashing fest, just be aware, you look ridiculous. It would be like me listening to the New York Philharmonic in concert, and when the principal trumpet missed a note, shouting out "See, he's not that good!" It would be like me, seeing that George Clooney had grown an unfortunate zit on his nose, jumping up and down shouting "He's ugly now! He's ugly now!"

Joe's mistake was terrible, and the consequences grave - not just for him but for the people who suffered as a result. His mistake saddens me. But it did not change who he was. And no matter how much scorn you attempt to heap on him, he is still Joe, and a better man than most of us will ever hope to be.

Peter Buck once said in an interview that he tries not to judge people by the stupidest thing they've ever done. How many of us would want to be judged in that way? How many of us want to be defined by our greatest mistake? So to all you people bashing Joe right now, try to keep that in mind. In the meantime, I will try to keep it in my mind while I watch you embarass yourselves. You're welcome.

Get off Joe's back.

Breathing is good

Hey all. Been absent for a while. Nothing in particular, just really busy with a lot of little things.

It is now November. It is almost time for Thanksgiving, a holiday which has always been perhaps my favorite. It's a good vibe. And being thankful is something I try to keep foremost in my mind. Admittedly, it's been tough this past few months, but I do still thank God regularly for the blessings I have been given. My children are challenging at times but I wouldn't trade them for anyone else's or anything else in the world. They're mine and I'm keeping them. My financial life is...complicated at best. But first of all, I also know a lot of people are even worse off than us...and secondly, who gives a damn? I am not my finances. My career is frozen, and it still remains to be seen if I can push the pause button to restart it or if the disc has been scratched beyond all use...but as I wait it out, I am having the unique opportunity to spend more time with the kids.

I think less and less about what happened, and spend more time thinking about the future. As a very good friend recently quipped, "I know that when God closes one doorway, he opens another...but man, these hallways are a bitch." Yes, I am tired of stasis, limbo, the hallway, the waiting room...whatever you want to call it. But I am learning to disconnect from the expectations and the useless obsessing and just float free...and that is, in the long run, making me a better person.

I once again can count on my fingers those people in the world I would consider my true friends, but I consider myself rich to have those few. They are one of a kind and if there were more like them, the world wouldn't be in such bad shape.

And speaking of the world, or at least, our part of it. I once again have had to ration my own news consumption, because everything I see leaves me feeling depressed, enraged, or both. I weep for our broken country, and can no longer find it in myself to hope that somehow, a new way of thinking can sweep the old system away. No, this ship will go down with both sides shouting blame at the other, while the materials and tools needed to fix the leak lie unused between them. And both will feel justified in doing so.

I mean seriously...these people on both sides are so rooted in their own way of thinking that when they die and God tries to explain the truth to them, I really don't think they'll even be able to stop defending themselves then. I really think they'll lobby the Almighty and deny any possible compromise in their view to the point where they'll choose not to enter paradise because they think that God Himself is wrong.

Anyway, enough of that. Suffice it to say I have to distance myself from it all to stay sane. In some ways, I hope that I do end up getting a job way out in the middle of nowhere...so that if and when it all collapses, I won't notice it as much.

But, day by day, I just go about trying to keep my own house in order. Some days are good days. Some, not so much. But I'm still living. I'm still fighting. Even if there aren't many people around to notice any more.

Thanksgiving. Yes. I am still alive. I still believe. I still have had a miraculous life already. I still love. I still laugh. Thanks indeed. Everything else...is nothing.

Steph's Mambo Memories

Matt always tells me I should post on the blog. If you're a regular reader you are aware of Matt's awesome gift of words. I'm not saying I'm a BAD writer but seriously. It's important to know when to step aside and let the master do his work.

That being said, I really do feel the need to just put down a few of my own memories and thoughts about our Mambo. PLEASE make sure you scroll down, though, and read Matt's post below this one.

As is the case with just about every person and dog that we are close to, we had an extensive list of nicknames for Mambo. (By the way, when we got Mambo, back in March of 2001 when we had been married for 9 mos. and Salsa was only as old, Matt lobbied to call him "Gumbo" to keep the naming dogs after food theme alive. I was so worried people would call him "Dumbo" that I refused. If you read Matt's post below, you'll see that that was maybe a bit prophetic.) Anyway, at various times you might have heard us calling him: Mambo Jambo, Jambo, Havvy (his breed was Havanese), Harry the Hav or Harry T. Hav, Harrison Fur (that was Matt's creation and pretty clever), Mambito, Bito Frito and probably about 10 more that I can't think of right now.

He was such a sweet boy. Really. As Matt says, not the brightest, but so sweet. He loved belly scratches and rubs and loved to be scratched under the chin and on his neck. Also, on his back under where his beautiful tail curled under.

When I was pregnant with Mari and so so miserable those last 2 months, I couldn't lay down in bed any more so I had to sleep on the recliner in the couch in the family room. Mambo always came down with me and kept me company. When our various kids were babies and I would be up in the middle of the night nursing them, he would often join me. Again, never too close, not really cuddling, but always there with me.

When I was working around the house, he would usually follow me from room to room. Salsa always wants to be right with me, touching me. Not so with Mambo. He was not cuddly. If I got him and put him on my lap to pet or scratch him, he'd sit patiently but then run away as soon as I stopped. Again, though, Mambo would always want to be in the same room.

On nights when I would would come home late for various reasons, he would be waiting on the living room couch for me. I loved that. Although he was not overly affectionate he would usually greet us with much tail wagging and sometimes, when he was really excited, one or two little soft licks (unlike Salsa), usually on my ankle.

His fur was the softest fur ever. Really. He had the best fur. One of the reasons I always delayed getting him groomed was because I just loved his long, soft fur.

But, as Matt indicates below, the past few months for sure, and honestly, the past year and a half before that, his body was giving out. Poor guy. He seemed pretty miserable in the end. But I truly feel that he had a good life with us. He came to us at 5 months old and we had the privilege of being able to take both dogs on lots and lots of trips with us. Mambo probably would've preferred to have not left home, but I know he liked being with us.

Oh and contrary to what Matt posted below, I DO remember Mambo playing with a few toys a few times. When he was MUCH younger, we had a little plastic soccer ball dog toy and he did bat it around occasionally. And I remember him trying to play with Salsa once or twice, but neither one of them had great social skills with other dogs so that never really worked out well.

Anyway, I loved him dearly and he is already very, very missed. But he is in a better place now. Matt and I were saying Mambo's Heaven is one where there are no faces and lots and lots of cheese, especially string cheese.

Steph

Mambo Specter, 2000-2011

Today was a sad day for our family. For the first time ever today, our family became smaller. Mambo, our much-loved Havanese, made his way across the Rainbow Bridge and left his frail body. There, I am sure that he is meeting Tiery 1, Tiery 2, Kelpie, Lazer, Bingo, Maggie, Molly, and countless other family pets who have gone on before. He will be missed. Our oldest children cried uncontrollably today, and even Robby seemed to have a glimmer of understanding as he petted Mambo for the last time. This is our children's first real encounter with death.

As well as such a tragic event can go, this went well. Mambo could no longer walk, he was clearly unhappy, and the vet's diagnosis of a progressive neurological problem which would not improve made the decision easy. The family had a chance to say goodbye, and Mambo made his final journey peacefully. We will miss him. I write the following in Mambo's memory - let it not be said that I romanticize his life.

Mambo was dumb. He was perhaps the dumbest dog I have ever seen. Even at age 10, before his body gave out, he still got to the top of the steps and genuinely could not remember how they worked. Every. Damn. Day. He knew his name but could not after all these years remember what it meant when we called it. He was the only dog in his obedience class who could not do anything resembling a trick, and when all he had to do was walk across the room when we called his name in order to pass the class, he trotted halfway, then laid down, bored. He once ran into the street to bark at a car, and ran under the moving car. It was a miracle that the tires missed him. He was truly, pathetically stupid.

But he was our dog, and we loved him.

Mambo was gross. He loved more than anything else to eat his own poop. He relished it, especially fresh and steaming on the snow. He particularly enjoyed that it often got stuck in the fur around his butt. When not snacking, he enjoyed laying on piles of dirty clothes, and especially loved rubbing his face in dirty underwear. I am not making this stuff up. I regularly caught him peeing on our living room carpet, looking at me indignantly as if to say, "What?" He was nasty, and it was appropriate that at the end, he required surgery to have his nasty, inflamed, infected anal sacs removed. I joked soon after that he would not last long after since his very essence was linked to these glands of nastiness. I turned out to be exactly right. He was gross, nasty, disgusting.

But he was our dog, and we loved him.

Mambo was boring. He never played with toys. He never played with people. He didn't like being near a person's face. He grunted and struggled if we ever had to pick him up. In all actuality, our lives will not change much now that he's gone. Even in the best of health, he only ever sat in the corner, stinking. He never played with other dogs. I truly think that if we hadn't said anything, the kids might have gone a week before they noticed he was gone. He was very much a walking pile of hair.

But he was our dog, and we loved him.

Mambo was poorly assembled. He had a nasty overbite. He had one blue eye. He came to us already having had a hernia surgery. His paws were so big and hairy he'd slip on anything not carpet. It seemed like there was always something wrong with him.

But he was our dog, and we loved him.

Goodbye, Mambo. Much like life, you were not what we expected. You taught us that plans change, and things don't work out the way we originally hope. And you also taught us that we can only learn to love those changes, and love the life you are given. Other dogs may have been more glamorous, smarter, nicer, friendlier, and less gross...but we would choose you again every time.

Because you were our dog, and we love you still.

Love,
Mommy, Daddy, Faith, Mari, Robby, Hannah, and Salsa

Thoughts on subbing

I have now subbed twice on the blind call. Not knowing anything other than a general title, as in 'the choir director' or 'the band director'. Here are my initial impressions.

First of all, for someone like me who likes things planned, organized, and well-thought out, this experience is absolute torture. I can NOT handle not knowing my schedule until it starts. It makes the entire day seem about 5 times longer than it really is. I think I am aging quite a bit doing this.

Secondly, it is shocking to me how little anyone in the actual school even knows about the music staff's schedule. I was in three buildings today, and really no one had any idea of what I was supposed to do -- all anyone could do was to open the room for me and then it was my problem. The one building where they actually seemed confident about my duties, the people turned out to be completely wrong - I had a completely different assignment than what I was told.

Thirdly, the music teachers themselves don't leave much for me to go on. I am finding myself in the role of private detective, searching through drawers and cabinets and shelves for any hint as to my job that day. Class roster, schedule, heaven forbid an actual PLAN...nothing. Now listen. I'm not exactly the king of helpful lesson plans - in my previous position, there were days when it came down to me emailing colleagues and asking them to run plans down to the room, not leaving the sub much time. BUT, those were rare instances. I can also remember awakening with what was clearly strep and a high fever, calling in sick, realizing I had no plans and no way to get them there, and driving my sick self into work early to leave plans and materials for the sub and then driving home and collapsing. I don't care if it's just instructions to show a movie, it would be nice to know what movie and where the movies are. So, on the one hand, it's a little frustrating, but on the other hand, I know it's just the way it is.

But the main thing is this.

Subbing pretty much sucks so far.

I don't know how else to put it. Now, having only done my 5-day long term position, and a couple of single days (all of them for music positions) it is perhaps not the best indicator. I still am waiting for (and terrified of) that first regular classroom call. That might change things somewhat. I have a feeling that me in a 2nd grade classroom actually working from plans and trying to accomplish something might seem a bit more rewarding than what I've done so far. Because what I've done so far is 90% babysitting. Yes, I've done some work with some beginning band kids, and they accomplished more than they would have without me. But I hardly noticed since I spent so much of my energy trying to figure out just who was showing up when. The rest of my day...they could have had any old schmo off the street and done the same as me. It's not rewarding.

I mean, Steph asked me how it went, and I said "uneventful". And we both agreed that this was all I could ask for.

That's not a good way for me to live. A good day means nothing happened? What kind of life is this?

All I can say is that it's a REAL good thing I have my one-day-a-week actual teaching job - it's keeping me fresh and reminding me that teaching IS rewarding and enjoyable and fun...when you have your own students. And even though some of those kids are really challenging and difficult...and even though the situation has lots of issues...I am starting more and more to look forward to my one day a week being a real teacher. Because there, I AM making a difference.

I hope and pray that I can continue to have my 'own' students.

Matt

A hard one to write about

Yeah, this is kind of a hard post. I have things to say but don't want to seem whiny or dramatic. I've sat down several times to try to get it typed out and it always comes out wrong.

First of all, life is fine. Still no 'regular' classroom sub calls. Part of me wants to get it over with and start having that experience, part of me is frankly scared out of my mind at the prospect. But it's sort of not up to me any more.

Secondly, Steph has started her new job. So far so good, but the schedule has not calmed down enough for her to get prepared ahead yet. So I miss her, she's constantly busy preparing for the next day's class. This will improve with time. For now, it's tough. But she's doing a great job at it so far.

But what's been hard to type up is...well...

I dunno. Life teaches you who your friends are. I remember finishing up my last year at my last job and daydreaming about landing that new job, moving out, communicating with all my colleagues about the new place, posting pictures, coming back to visit, etc. etc.

But now...

Well, now it seems that when and if I move, it will be as if I was never there. I will communicate with my family, with church friends, and the small handful of other people in the world who still consider my existence something to take note of. But I've dropped off the planet to a lot of people.

See what I mean? That sounds whiny and self-important. It's totally not that at all, that's not how I feel, and I can't find the right words to express what I'm feeling. I certainly didn't expect a continued outpouring of sympathy. The silence from the people in that part of my history is totally expected and not something I feel anger or bitterness about. LIFE. GOES. ON.

I guess at the core of it is the odd and bizarre feeling that I have a 7-year hole in my life now, and insufficient critical mass in my new life to replace it. I feel very unbalanced between past present and future. Too many things about my past I have had to shut off or shut out because they're still too painful to think about. My future is nothing but a mammoth question mark made up of millions of smaller question marks. All that I'm left with is an eternal present, and while routine carries me day to day, I'm stumbling a bit in the meaning department. I don't know yet where all this is going to fit in with my story.

My days now are spent taking care of the kids, lesson planning for my once-a-week job, attempting in vain to keep the house somewhat clean, listlessly perusing job postings on national websites, researching real estate in those locations, browsing internet forums on those locations to learn more, and studying google earth to learn the lay of the land for anyplace that sounds like a good place to move. This is the life of someone who is ready to move on to the future but is physically stuck in the present.

Thus, with the future denied me and the present providing no anchor point, I suppose I've been hoping in vain that some voices from the past would show up to help fill the void. No such luck.

So yeah, I think that's it. And maybe that's why it hurts right now, even though I expect and understand it. Living in the present is just plain lonely.

That's the best I can do to express my emotions right now. It's a difficult angle to get the words around, and I know I haven't done it justice. I hope I don't come across as full of self-pity.

Matt