HELP (for my sisters)

(Take a breath, and read this slowly)

Close your eyes,
Hear your breath,
Feel your heart,
In your chest,
Count the beats,
One by one,
Now the calm,
Has begun,
Reach inside,
A girl is there,
Help her up,
Stroke her hair,
Take her hand,
Kiss her cheek,
That girl is you,
The You you seek,
Now be strong,
Just for her,
Guide her way,
And be sure,
Show her love,
Kiss her face,
All will fall,
Into place,
When she is calm,
So will you be,
That inner peace,
Will set you free,
You’ll feel warmth,
And love and care,
Let your life’s choices,
Flow from there.

STAGES

Curse these stages I’m going through,
Wonder if it’s the same for you,
Sometimes I find I question why,
Then I try to deny it’s true,

Then anger comes and I lash out,
My pain and hurt I write about,
I know in time it will subside,
Then I’ll hide and just want to pout,

I’ll muse, and my thoughts rearrange,
Looking for something I could change,
Trying to rework the equation,
Of a situation that feels strange,

I’ll work things through and with new eyes,
In time will come to realise,
That our chance has both come and passed,
It didn’t last – we’ve said goodbyes.

Aw shucks…

I was just awarded the Celebrate Poet of Summer in 2011 Award for my poem “A Warning”  that I submitted to the Promising Poets’ Poetry Cafe website. About 100 other poets also won the same award, but having my work read and awarded by a group of other extraordinarily gifted poets is a very good feeling, indeed. I’d even say it’s an awesome feeling.

Yay, me!

WOTD: raphanizein

Here’s another word off the request line, brought to you by Poet Master Blitzken. Today’s word is a noun that I defy any of you to copy and paste into Google and search for images.

On second thought, that might not be a very good idea.

Rhaphanidosis, you see, is the practice of inserting the large roots of plants into the anus. This is not for sexual/bondage purposes. During the 4th and 5th centuries B.C. in Ancient Greece it was a common punishment for adultery. Apparently, they took adultery REALLY seriously back then. Getting a large horseradish root shoved up your ass sounds a bit worse than having to wear a scarlet letter A on your chest for the rest of your life.

This word isn’t used very often these days, but one could perhaps use it to describe a situation that feels (hopefully metaphorically) kind of like having something large and bulbous inserted into your backside in the most painfully unwelcome way.

Oh man, watching that movie was a raphanizeinian experience.  (Baffle your friends.)

Incidentally, raphanizein wasn’t the only punishment for adultery back then. Sodomy by mullet fish was also common. And both the large radish and the fish would eventually run you through. Imagine having to choose between the two. Like having to choose between death by plague or cholera?

*shudders*

Turn and face the strain…

I just got some rather unsettling news at work which might affect me a great deal. The utterly capable and lovely woman whom I admire and respect and consider to be the best boss I’ve ever had, just announced that she’s resigning. This will be her last year as Head Mistress/principal of the school. She’s taken a job at an advertising and media company, which is apparently her field of expertise and what she studied in school. I’m not sure how she ended up becoming a school administrator but she’s been doing that job excellently for the last six years.

This is compounded by the fact that both of our assistant principals will soon be unavailable. One of them recently adopted a little girl and left for a year’s leave of absence a few months ago. The wife of the other one is having a baby in August, so he too will be taking some paternity leave. And we’re all left wondering who’s going to run the ship.

Once the initial shock wore off I began to realize that one of the people chosen to fill the gap will most likely be me. They’ve been grooming me for administrative work for the last three months. About a month before Maria left for her maternity leave I started working in the front office one day a week. It has since increased to three days a week and basically whenever I’m needed. It’s typical office work: answering the phone, taking messages, sending emails, helping students with administrative needs, signing for packages, etc. I’ve done this kind work before and I enjoy it, plus I’m very organized and have a great phone voice.

I don’t think they’d ask me to step in and become the Head Mistress/Principal (rektor in Swedish), but I have a feeling they’ll ask me to become an assistant principal. I’m good at organizing and running projects, but the possibility of becoming a school administrator has never occurred to me. I’ve always been a teacher and I’ve always for the most part hated school administrators and I’m not sure if I really want to become one.

This promotion would mean an increase in hours and responsibility, as well as a substantial raise. Would it be worth it, though? I really love being a teacher. Just a teacher. Both of our assistant principals are also teachers, though, so I know I’d still have lessons. This would also mean I would have to get really good at Swedish really fast.

Anyway, no one’s mentioned anything about who is taking over for whom yet, but there’s supposed to be a meeting about it tomorrow afternoon. I’ll sure be sorry to see my boss go. I think she just got sick of working under the dreaded Big Boss. Of course this means that if they try to kick me upstairs then I’ll be working under him, although I won’t see him everyday since he lives and works in Stockholm.

Maybe I shouldn’t be counting my chickens before they hatch, but during my recent employee evaluation the Big Boss said they wanted to give me a full time contract and increase my responsibility even more next year.

So that’s that.

Almost Gone

Look through my window… See how the sunlight sparkles...On the breezy bay.

When last we met,
You were a shadow.
A dream…
A ghost from long ago.
Like the tune to a forgotten song,
You’re still here,
But almost gone.
I don’t think you know I’m here.
You are lost…
About to disappear.
Where you’ve gone,
I know not where,
But, surely you must still be in there.
Oh, daddy…
Do you know it’s me?
When you look,
What do you see?
Do you see me looking at you?
The little girl,
Who still loves you…

Update: I’ve just been awarded the Perfect Poet Award from the Poet’s Poetry Cafe website. This poem was so personal, and so painful for me to read and to write. I’m quite overcome.

 

Dear Dominique Strauss-Kahn:

Dear Mr.Dominique Strauss-Khan:
Don’t go trying anything on,
Not sure if you’re guilty or not,
But we’ll find out when you’re on the spot,
IMF hands are dirty enough,
Without getting tangled in your sordid stuff,
Thought they were ugly as ugly as can get,
Burdening lands with unsupportable debt,
Turns out keeping bankers and business in beds,
Left a sense of power that inflated your heads,
But now you’ve time to think while sitting in jail,
Since an American judge wisely denied your bail,
The case will unfold, and we’ll soon get to see,
Since no doubt we’ll be watching on tv,
Whether the way that you think the game’s usually played,
Will get you off the hook with a hotel room maid.

…sick mommy vs sick daddy

Alternatively, sick woman vs sick man.

Yes.  Go ahead and roll your eyes for this is yet another post about the superiority and strength of the weaker sex – the woman. You know, those of us who behave irrationally because our hormones make us act like a rabid dog.  The woman.  The crier.

Here is a picture of my daily existence:

Ouch. That fucking hurts!

For those of you not overly familiar with all things spine related, this is a basic x-ray of my spine.  Or what is left of my spine.  Each day is a joyous exercise in spasms, sciatica and mind-crushing pain.  I’m truly fortunate that I am currently able to postpone the inevitable ALIF surgery.  While I may feel older than dirt, I’m a little too young for such drastic measures.

On a good day, I have back pain.  On a not-so-good day, I have the back pain and whatever ailment is ravaging my body.  Be it a cold, dengue fever, malaria, sinusitis, ears that won’t work or a really angry menstrual cycle, I’m left to manage it.  Sometimes, I get to do all of this while my husband is travelling, leaving me to care for the Milkfaced toddler by my bad self.  Quite the conundrum when your orthopaedic surgeon strongly advises against lifting anything heavier than five pounds.

This is really hard work when you’re suffering from the above *and* you are stuck dragging around that cross and having a crown of thorns poking your scalp.  Alas, I am woman.  I will do.  Then I will spend your money out of spite and frustration.

Men, on the other hand, take an entirely different approach to illness.  THE WORLD GRINDS TO A FUCKING HALT.  A hangnail may require an amputation.  A runny nose and a fever requires hospitalization in a plastic bubble with an IV.  A stomach bug – oh just get the fuck out of the way.  The man is vomiting, for fuck’s sake.  Food is coming out of the wrong orifice!!!  This is a horrible fate and means death must be near (let’s completely overlook the first trimester of pregnancy when all the mommy does is spew).

Dock falls ill two or three times a year.  Most of the time it’s a nasty cold or a headache (hey – I never said I was easy to live with). Unfortunately for all of Raleigh, this time he has the pukes.  Milky and I have both had the pukes this week so it’s a safe assumption that he caught whatever bug we had been hosting and that he hasn’t been poisoned by some decaying morsel that he would sooner eat than throw out.

A sick Dock is a marginally useless Dock.  I have seen this throughout the years but nothing quite like seeing a pancake in the sink. I presume that my husband was far too weak to make the three steps to the garbage bin and press down on the lever that opens the lid. Profuse vomiting can render the strongest man to the feeblest 90 year old woman.

This post isn’t meant as an indictment.  Dock is genuinely ill and I do feel (somewhat) horribly for him.  My intent is to paint a picture of the male patient and how poorly they handle being sick.  The Earth needs to freeze in its orbit until male feels better.  It’s just the way it’s supposed to be.

Back at the ranch, the woman with the deteriorating spine will somehow manage to get the laundry done, shower and unclog the kitchen sink (I don’t believe that is pancake related).  Then she will manage to wrestle herself onto the sofa, cross, crown of thorns and all and ponder the injustices of the world.

Not everyone is a winner, you know…

Author’s Note: This is something I wrote a little under a year ago. It was originally posted as a note on Facebook and then as a post on my personal blog.

One of my former English-teaching jobs involved working with small children. They were very little (most under the age of five) so the job primarily consisted of playing games and singing songs in English. Like any job there were good and bad things about it. The kids were mostly very sweet and cute. However, I had a colleague who drove me nuts. We used to play these little games with the kids and naturally there would be one winner, which is the point of playing any game, right?

Despite this universal truth, she would always smile at them and say, “That’s okay. Everyone’s a winner!” This always bothered me because there was in fact only one winner. He won because he was the best. Saying that everyone’s a winner totally diminishes the achievement of the kid who actually won the game. It’s unrealistic, dishonest and unfair, and it sets kids up for disappointment later on in life.

It used to be when a child did poorly in school her parents would go straight to her and say, “These grades are terrible!” Nowadays, when a child does poorly in school her parents go straight to her teacher and say, “These grades are terrible!”

Not that there aren’t any bad teachers. Of course there are, just as there are bad examples from every profession. However, I wonder if it ever occurred to the parents that maybe their kid is just a bad student. I know a thing or two about being a bad student because I used to be one. Then again, I had very low self-esteem, so when I got bad grades I assumed it was because I (and not my teacher) was useless. No amount of attempted bribery or bolstering of my nonexistent self-esteem was going to improve my performance in school.

Then one day I realized that I’d better get off my ass and get some decent grades, so that’s what I did. At first I did it mainly to keep my parents from yelling at me, but after a while I figured out that I was actually a good student and I did it for me.

While I strongly believe in encouraging young people to do the best they can, I also believe that it’s ultimately up to them. They choose whether to do well or bad in school, and while we can encourage or even intimidate, their performance in school is their responsibility. The young people of today aren’t being taught self-reliance and accountability. Many of them are little narcissists who have been led to believe they are “special” and therefore entitled to “the best.”

However, we seem to have forgotten to tell them about having to work really hard in order to get it, about taking charge of their own lives, about having to get it themselves if they really want it, and about them not being entitled to anything.

Remember that if everyone is a winner that means that everyone is also a loser.

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