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Note: I drafted this months ago. Are things “better?” I am not sure. But I am alive, and that is no small thing.

*There is no framing of this, a title, or a worthy epitaph.

I think I might be having a teeny-tiny bit of a nervous breakdown. I don’t know what a genuine nervous breakdown would look like: is it thinking the yellow wallpaper is talking to me? Or palming my meds so that Nurse Ratched leaves me alone?

The other evening, I had a text exchange with a very dear friend, and I think I scared her a bit. I didn’t intend to alarm anyone. I have no plans on self-harm, and I’m not going into that gentle night quietly. I have been considering asking three women I trust, in case something happens to me before my spouse, to look after him. Two of the women have more financial means. Because if I die before my spouse, right now or within about the next three years, he’s going to be in deep poverty.

About two and a half years ago, while my father was dying, my spouse was laid off by his last employer. It was bought out by a South Asian company, he trained his replacements, and eventually they closed up shop and moved it back to India. At this time, my father was dying, as was my father-in-law. That was January 2023. My father passed in February, and my father-in-law in May.

I’ve told this story before, but now I want to add the passage of time. Things are not going to get better. There is no job. I am the only one. We are living on a teacher’s salary and meager social security. Our bills have gone up. There is no respite. We have less money and higher expenses. We used much of his 401 K to save us from other unemployment periods, help our sons with living expenses, college, etc. The new state insurance plan, SEBB, changed my life insurance policy from 100K to 35K, and my spouse’s to 10K. Our health insurance is a little over 1200K a month, and doesn’t cover many things. I have a bill for my colonoscopy, which was fully covered ten years ago, for $1500. Our prescriptions are about $250/month. We struggled to pay for our sewage bill and they put a lien on our house (we got it paid, with help). One of my student loans is due but it’s not technically mine” but my name is on it. It’s gone from 5K to 13K these past few years. I keep trying to contact them but the website and UX is horrible. Systems are failing us. The robots are in charge, and their blood is frigidly cold, with glacial water in their veins.

We are all in deep shit right now. Like, deep, hot, boiling shit. Any promise or social contract our government made has been ripped apart by the current regime.

This year, the State legislature threatened to pull the funding for the National Boards certification stipend, money that we use to survive. Not thrive. Not saving toward retirement. Catch up with old bills and live. While many of my acquaintances are on European vacations, licking ice cream surrounded by the blue skies of freer nations than ours, with adorable antiquities and

Why do I feel that Death is chasing me?

green-eyed teacher

TL:DR Yes, I know what I am doing “wrong.” I’m not focused, I’ve got too much on my mind, like — all the time, and I’m in flight/fight/freeze mode. But other folks are, too, and I will not allow myself grace or forgiveness.

This is about a few things, and I realize it will not answer questions about prêt à porter teaching ideas: I have tried, but am usually so busy perfecting the flavor of lessons, I forget to share them.

My confidence is off, and no wonder. The weirdest things just happened with my evaluation, and I have spent the majority of my spring break in three ways: 1. trying not to think about it, 2. thinking about my rebuttal and rehearsing 3. avoiding redoing it out of resentment and injustice. In the big scheme of things, it’s not a big deal, except for me — I am reflective, coachable, and fair, and –stubborn. When I am right about something, it is damn near neurologically impossible for me to not defend myself. And when someone else is wrong, and I am right, the other player (in a power position) will trigger some deep trauma in me.

Basically, the subjective perspective of some administrators regarding the teacher evaluation system is wild. Truly, truly wild.

A friend of mine just said:

“We expect educators to be trauma-informed, culturally responsive, technologically proficient, and skilled data analysts who can pivot and differentiate instruction seamlessly at a moment’s notice, all while being evaluated based on test scores and classroom performance, usually by people who have not taught in over ten years, not taught your subject, and possibly not taught your grade level, and volunteer hours are actually “mandatory”, if we want to get it all done.

Teacher-tired is a whole nother level of tired, which is why I did nothing over break, and am fine with it.”

So no, I didn’t do ‘nothing;’ I worried, I stressed, spent time updating grades, planning lessons for the fourth quarter, etc., and tried to relax, dammit. RELAX.

Now, here’s the thing: I start happy with myself — I think I’m pretty cool, and my exuberance and joy motivate and spark my life; and then– people. People who don’t get me, don’t want what I’ve got, and let me know that they are not going to connect, either explicitly or passively, are like pebbles in my shoes.

My skeptic self will take a little of what Mel has to sell, the ‘let them’ approach, and I’ll keep it in mind. What does play in my head repeatedly is “wild and precious life wild and precious life wild and precious life” like a skip in the Mary Oliver record.

@melrobbins Stop allowing other people's opinions to prevent you from living YOUR life. Let Them. Listen to The Let Them Theory, narrated by yours truly, only on @Audible ♬ original sound – Mel Robbins

Break is almost over. I want to go back refreshed. And only I can do that for myself. So what if I didn’t get to launch my teacher wares like Brian T. did when he joined Creative English Teachers? So what if I don’t make cool TikToks like some of my other friends do? So what? Yeah, so what? Those grapes are sour, Kelly — and life is truly, really, and absolutely too short.

Aunt Karen

My Aunt Karen passed away a few days ago. Apparently, she had been ill and refused to get medical care, and died at home, and it took a wellness call to find out she’d been gone a few days.

Understand, when I write this, it’s only my perspective. I am sorry for my cousins. I am sorry for my mom and uncle. I am not sorry for me. I called out her toxicity decades ago before it was even a ‘thing.’

My aunt broke my mom’s heart. They were close in age and reminded me of when television shows in the 60s pulled that goofy trope where a cousin would appear, but wearing a brunette wig, and be a “twin” — think Samantha in Bewitched or Jeannie in I Dream of Jeannie. My aunt was the blonde. She was chaos.

My aunt went through a lot of trauma, as my mother and uncle. And there have been many documented studies about birth order, trauma, and ACES. Somehow, my mom managed to keep it together, and I know there was jealousy because my mom married my dad, who, in all aspects, was a wonderful man and father. My aunt did not marry a “wonderful” man. He was a sociopath, whose wake of destruction and toxicity did not limit his deeds to her and their children. I’ve written about the “one Christmas” before. And no, I haven’t forgotten about the second husband, and the car accident.

The many times my mom has been on the phone and cried.

Like a few days ago.

I think during the 90s, my aunt reconnected with an old boyfriend, who ended up being abusive as well. They lived with my grandmother and ended up pilfering thousands of dollars from my grandmother. They left her, near penniless, for my mother and uncle to take care of, which they did. Whatever inheritance my grandparents would have left was gone. The house was infested with termites and rot. My mother, and I presume my uncle, paid to restore it and sell it, and cleaned up the financial disaster.

After my grandmother passed, I know my mom reached out to my aunt to try to repair the relationship. She tried multiple times. And my aunt shunned her.

I think it was the shame, the deep, unabiding shame. Sometimes, when we witness our loved ones, including friends, in deepest pain and shameful acts, they need to desperately not acknowledge the harm they caused. They will not, cannot, maintain the connections. My mother’s life and all my mother and father worked for and achieved was a painful reminder of how she went down another path, sometimes against her will.

Reading her obituary, I see how her life was reimagined. She transformed into a doting grandmother. And I believe she was.

So, Aunt Karen, rest in peace. I will always be fiercely protective of my mother and do my best to let my heart have peace. We are allowed to revise our pasts or not confront them, I suppose, but there are always storytellers who write truth with love.

PS And I still miss Heidi (my Great Dane).

Updated: Kendrick Lamar

View on Threads

I am weaving together all kinds of great ideas and paired texts for my American Lit students. Yes, I am certain I am the only one of the four teachers who teach AmLit in my building using Kendrick Lamar as a mentor text.

First, thank you to @heymrsbond for some starting questions

  • Imagery
  • Symbolism
  • Message

Constructive criticism lens

  • Corporate greed
  • Exploitation of Black music
  • Call to action

The students were given a shared Google Doc, in groups of 3-4. They watched the video and responded: NLU with names redacted

The next phase when we return from midwinter break (it’s a Washington State thing, and I love it) is to assemble a set of imagery, allusions, and paired texts and do an annotated illustrated bibliography. Stay tuned!

Go low…and be strong.

Please read this entire essay by A.R. Moxon, “Lying to Fascists” published by The Reframe.

As a teacher, one who’s been in classrooms/districts since the mid 2000s, I’ve seen the impact of harmful policies, NCLB, ESSA, the ‘big tests’ COVID building closures, tech, and now parents and guardians who vote against their and their children’s best interest.

I’m struggling, y’all. I’ve been attacked by Twitter trolls, doxed, and damaged. It’s traumatizing, but I’m not alone. And that is the issue. I think folks believe that it’s an individual teacher they disagree with and not looking at the big view. There are so many systemic issues in education, and sadly, the status quo turns out to be…am I scared to say it? You betcha.

One key pull quote:

“Here’s what I want you to understand today: These Americans who want to kill Americans have, through their intent and actions, already destroyed the thing you want to protect. What you want to protect is already gone. The reason we can’t live in a society with them is not because we have any intention to harm or kill them, but because they are eager to kill so many of us that they are willing to destroy society to do it. Either they get their way, and society is no longer accessible to most of us, or they don’t, and everyone including them gets to access society. Therefore, I think they shouldn’t get their way or be treated as if they should. These are people who intend to destroy whatever they need to in order to rule over our lives to secure their own personal enrichment and comfort, and are so confident in their success that they announce their intent. They do not care about you, and they certainly do not care about your good faith efforts beyond the extent to which they make it easier for them to seize control. They will never give you credit for working to find their rationales reasonable. They will never return the benefit of the doubt you extend. Our mission is not finding ways to work with them. Our mission is finding ways to sabotage their efforts and to keep their targets as safe from them as we can.” A.R. Moxon

https://www.the-reframe.com/lying-to-fascists

A repeated motif: “Keeping people safe”, and the people are my students. I am charged with keeping them safe from gun violence, (which I have no control over), keeping them safe from misinformation and disinformation, (which is often undermined by their parents), and growing their literacy and communication skills (which I have some control over), but no control over if they have enough sleep, enough to eat, if they have housing, if they’re making friends, if they have mental health concerns, or neurodivergent needs, etc.

Finally: act to keep people safe and free, against those who would harm them and control them. This should be our guiding light. I think it will be a clarifying one. I’ve spent a couple months talking about using differentiators to separate ourselves from fascists by doing what they can’t. This is the ultimate differentiator, the ultimate thing that fascists cannot do.

https://www.the-reframe.com/lying-to-fascists/

No wonder why there are so many attacks on public schools, teachers, unions, curriculum, etc. Because they know if they destroy us, working toward their fascist theocracy, we are not going to be able to keep anyone safe. I am not a brave woman. I need my job, and I love my job. So when it’s time for me to “just teach” I will — and that “just teaching” is still grounded in critical thinking skills, close reading, and a variety of texts and interests for students. “They” do not care about us, and we’re not going to change minds; however, what Moxon says is true: our strength is our care, our hope, and our love.

“This is the ultimate differentiator, the ultimate thing that fascists cannot do.”

2023: My year in review, or why I am starting to sympathize with Mdme. Loisel

The Toilette by Charles Robert Leslie

Note: Hey, whatever…just needed a place to track and store some of my intrusive and silly thoughts. I know others have it harder, I know the world is on fire and being emulsified with a mixture of gasoline and blood…I know. The specters of mortal sins rattle their chains on national media sources, and the clowns hit the applause sign for our cues.

And as I gazed into the abyss, I had a passing thought: why was it so horrible that Mdme. Loisel wanted one night of fun? To feel pretty, admired, and feel like she was part of another economic class? Because whew-howdy, did she ever get punished. I imagine her scrolling through her social media feeds, seeing the friends and families she loves going on amazing trips, curating lives and experiences that are out of reach for me, and coming to the depressing realization I can only blame myself. I lost the necklace.

“The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.”

The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant

  • January:
    • My husband picks me up from the airport after seeing my parents (my dad was in hospice at this point) and tells me he was just laid off.
  • February:
    • I said something that triggered the trolls on Twitter and ended up leaving Twitter (after building a following of other teachers, writers, etc. since 2009), being doxxed, harassed, and given a document search request by said trolls.
    • I turned 59 and had a fun “hobbit” themed party.
    • My dad passed away at the end of the month.
  • March:
    • My father-in-law isn’t doing too great, either.
    • Started making a video for my dad, and also offended my youngest sister, who promptly blocked me from communications.
    • My younger son went to visit my mom and stayed with her, and it was awkward. She did not communicate with me at all.
    • She’s speaking to me now through one channel.
    • My husband had taken over a lease from his dad, and it was time to turn it in, and we got suckered into another terrible loan.
    • Received some mana from heaven
  • April
    • I went to my dad’s memorial service, and it was beautiful.
  • May
    • My father-in-law passed.
    • At some point during this school year, another staff member was going to go to the Board over my tweet. Not sure if [redacted] went or not.
  • June
    • School is out at the end of June.
    • I rest for a bit.
  • July
    • I teach summer school
    • My husband and sons take a wonderful road trip down to California and also through Mesa Verde.
    • Somewhere over the summer I lost a college friend to suicide.
    • Somewhere over the summer I lost my cousin, who was one of the sweetest souls.
    • Have fun going-away party for my BFF
  • August
    • I don’t know. I was supposed to be in Ireland or Iceland. At least in my life plan, anyway.
  • September
    • School begins again/end of August
    • Still can’t shake ten-twenty pounds.
    • Celebrate our 31st anniversary.
  • October
    • This is the moment when my students will confuse Harper Lee (November) with Edgar Allan Poe (this month).
  • November
    • Finally paid off all the trips
    • Son’s roomate leaves him with all the rent. An expense we were barely covering during the good times.
    • Still chubby. Meds not working.
    • My best friend drives away in her bus. I will probably not see her again. I know this song.
    • Hello, insomnia, my old friend.
  • December:
    • Taking out predatory loans to get through to payday
    • Trying to hang on emotionally
    • Still showing up for students
    • Thinking about the various years of my husband’s underemployment and how capitalism sucks. It’s taken a toll on me. (And, he’s tried everything he can physically do.)
    • Still chubby.

In retrospect, (because is there any other kind of spect that stings as much?) my husband and I have maintained a particular philosphy/belief that serves us well: we make the best decisions with the information we have. I think most people do, even if they’re not aware of it. But there are shadowy forces that push on our decsisions, like the dopamine hits of crafting supplies and fast fashion. And damn, self, please: cut yourself some slack. Look at this year. My regrets are for the past four years when my spouse did have a job, and four years in his industry at his level is unheard of. For a time, I felt hopeful, like maybe we would actually start being able to save, fix the roof, go on a trip, or help with our sons’ finances and their dreams. I am not invited to out-of-state events because my friends know I’m perpetually broke. But then again I don’t get invited much anyway, and this isn’t me feeling pitiful for myself; I recognize that when I am the one “who leaves/moves” I lose that thread, the ties of tendons and bones. (Which is one reason why losing my local BFF fills me with grief…we were just getting started! We were just beginning our adventures! The ring was about to be thrown in Mordor!)

Financial Blunders

  • Responding to trauma and depression with purchases is definitely a curse, and a vicious spiral. My dad always said when you’re in a hole, stop digging. The problem is we hit many holes. I’m feeling the recurrant under-employed cycle throughout our financial lives together. One huge blunder was thinking I could be a SAHM during the years our boys were little. We tried. And my husband has the beautiful family trait of his family’s of being optimistic.
  • Fixed: getting my teaching degree for sustainable career was one of the best things I ever did. Probably leaving my former career was probably one of the worst.
  • Not having my spouse finish his degree early on was dumb. Or get his electrician’s license. His mom was right all along. Those computer jobs are garbage unless you’re one of the biggies in the company and have a yacht-ton of stock.

Blessings and Bounty

  • Oh, I feel better now. Rinsed out the gravel and silt from the wounds, and am pulling my head up toward the sun.
  • My list of blessings arrive on a wide horizon of hope, love, and creativity — I have an amazing life.
  • If I don’t continually write down the pain and mistakes, I am in danger of continuing to make them. And I literally and figuratively cannot afford to do that. I have shit to do, people.

While I may have lost the metaphorical necklace, and spent years replacing it only to find out my credit score hasn’t budged, I’m still existing not quite paycheck to paycheck, I still have some pretty cool gifts. If any of you reading this is taking this as a cautionary tale, “The Necklace” misses the point — it’s not about not deserving a night out on the town– we all do. But our celebrations and sharing are our best parts of being human and life on this planet. We let money block those moments too much. Have the potluck, split the check (with what each owes, and everyone leaves 20%), and get the career/profession that is sustainable: teaching, feeding, building, and solving: those are sustainable professions.

Now if we can only get the billionaires taxed properly.

3Rs: renovate, repair, and replenish

PLEASE go check out the amazing @heymrsbond’s blog!

https://heymrsbond.com/

And while this past week, I’ve been trying to clean up this dusty blog, her blog inspired me to get ON IT — to be honest, this blog will still be steeped in my personality–for better or worse.

This past week I’ve reflected on other teacher-creators who work so hard to build an audience and share their creativity, instructional genius, and love of education. Some have even managed to leverage this into providing income. I think about my friend John Spencer — we found our teacher friendship almost two decades ago, and he’s since gone on to become a professor, author, etc. Oh, and getting his doctorate.

Throughout my marriage, my spouse has been laid off many times. There have been months, and sometimes years, where there hasn’t been any hiring. He’s a genius tech person– knows gaming, and is so skilled in UX design it’s wild. But yet, the days of working for a company for thirty years and retiring are long gone and were gone by our generation. We just didn’t get the memo, and neither did the Boomers. I mention this not for pity or a call to action: just a pragmatic fact that I am the one who has a steady income. And as a teacher, it’s not a lot. We’ve both been trying to get out of our funk and get the energy to practice hustle culture again, and I wonder — remember — I process verbally, and it doesn’t mean anything — but I wonder if I just don’t have what it take to make money from my own expertise and knowledge? I wonder if I should just give this dream up?

Or maybe

just maybe

I’m grieving, aging, and taking stock. And I’m also grateful. I still have gifts to give. Whether or not I find the energy as I near 60 to try to wrangle some of my dreams, well, if not now, when?

No advice is needed. Just thinking out loud.

Our Primary Documents and the Digital Age

How do we keep our history when others control it?

Around my house, stored in nooks, boxes, caches, and crannies, sit decades of dragon-like mounds of paper: photographs, old love letters, mementos, the ephemera of a lifetime. I don’t lose things, either, by and large: we’re still searching for the Pokemon card binder, and an autographed Superman doll (signed by astronomer David H. Levy) Oh, and my great-grandmother’s pearl necklace I borrowed, but that is long gone. Okay, so maybe I do lose some important artifacts. But one lie I’ve been sold as a digital explorer from its early days is that the ‘internet is forever.’

Nothing is forever.

A billionaire “bought” a digital space that I’ve been on since 2009. I never garnered more than 5K followers and plateaued at around 4,700. And when I say “bought,” I mean I sense it’s all Monopoly money — fake, just numbers on a screen somewhere, financed by other billionaires and shady nations to decimate and destroy a democratized platform. We, those of us who are not billionaires, are the ones who made them the billionaires and gave away our power, our histories, to their control and whims.

And our human brains–why do we focus on the negative? Oh, I know why, but also — why? Or rather, how do we rewire our stories, our narratives, to gather the good and wholesome? Some of my happiest, chock-full-of-goodness moments occurred when some of my favorites followed me back. I felt included, invited, and smart.

Some of my worst moments happened when I was invited, and then disinvited. Sharply. Rebuked. Ghosted.

But that is life. And our lives we shared in that space– we met one another, shared heartbreak, grief, joy, victories, a whole manner of digital thoughts, and ideas, and gave space. But none of that can go in a box, or pulled out in an album when one megalomaniac uses his vast fortune to burn down our words, our lives.

Chaos agents are burning it down.

Just to see it burn…

It’s not our personal stories. It’s our global story.

https://twitter.com/PortiaMcGonagal/status/1594003502170222592?s=20&t=8nxWXMrk-5Tj9kj5kUWFpg

And maybe I’m taking the bird’s eye view (cliche intended) –our little primary documents, our archives of our lives, are small and precious only to us. Those in power, historically, seem only capable of manipulating historical narratives to their advantage and narcissism. Control of information is control of the world, or so they imagine. How do we fight back?

Keep sharing your stories. Keep writing your stories. We are the storytellers, and we are the gifts to one another, and the history keepers.

Now, off to go do something else and try to keep my stories safe. I can wrap them in tissue packing boxes. And keep matches of billionaires away from them.

Photograph of dog ornament on a yuletide tree with red beads

And damn, where is that charm bracelet?

Featured Image: Edith Rimmington ~ The Oneiroscopist, 1947

https://pcjow.com/the-possible-collapse-of-twitter-will-erase-16-years-of-human-history-overnight/