Supernatural Makes for Good TV Only

I love shows about ghosts, monsters, and slayers. I am a huge Buffy, Charmed, and Supernatural fan. Thing is: I don't believe in any of that stuff. It took a long time and a lot of reflection, but I've relegated all of those things that go bump in the night to the realm of fiction only.

Don't worry, Goat. There's not a monster creeping up behind you.

Once I became disillusioned with the Catholic church because of sexism, bigotry, and pedophilia, I soon became disillusioned with the whole notion of God and everything else. While the Methodists were welcoming, kind, and seemingly more progressive with their stance on female clergy, I began to pay more attention to their practice here in my hometown. A female pastor was fairly well shunned and they don't officiate LGBTQ weddings. I couldn't stand for that. I stopped attending services there. I was very disappointed that leaving the Catholic church for what is jokingly termed "Catholic Light: A Third Less Guilt" meant trading less overseeing, bigoted patriarchy for a well-masked, bigoted patriarchy. Consequently, I began my spiritual searching into other non-Christian waters eventually ending up at Secular Humanism with Pagan tendencies. Essentially, I pondered and learned and critically thought about a lot of religion and spiritual ideas until I simply decided the concepts of gods, heavens, and hells were a bunch of hooey. We've got one life and it's this one. Make it count.

Glad you agree, Chuck.

One area I had difficulty reconciling in my discounting of religious beliefs was ghosts. No really. Ghosts. You see, as a kid, we had weird experiences in my house. Now, I had an active imagination and I was fascinated with the supernatural, too. However, my mom had one experience when we were remodeling where she was propping up some sheet rock for my dad when something black and amorphous flew at her knocking her on her butt on the stairs. This had all the makings of a classic ticked off the resident ghost with remodeling story. I also saw things like a black, floating entity that followed me around. It even followed me to college where one night I saw it in the middle of my dorm room. My roommate couldn't see it. I have come to realize that this thing was nothing more than my migraines. I've always had more visual weirdness with my migraines than any other symptoms. I have the sparkly lights and prisms, but I also see color blobs and black, gelatinous shapes that move around in my field of vision. Of course, for years I had no idea that what I was mistaking for a specter was really a manifestation of my migraines. I used to think that the religious music I listened to made it go away. In truth, it probably relaxed me a bit, which helped get rid of the visual disturbance. The two could also be completely unrelated.

Kinda like this only not striped and with more appendages like an amoeba.

I've also heard many stories and experienced my own bizarre nocturnal visitations. My mom has said that she's felt someone sitting on her bed or the bed trembling (I did, too when I slept in the basement). My husband has felt someone moving on the bed and felt it to be distinctly feminine. My brother in law was asleep on the sofa at my parents' house one day when he saw an undefined, masculine figure approach him and then disappear. I have heard someone call my name as I was waking up when no one was around. I have thought myself awake with an evil presence looming over me. All of these ghost like stories scared me, and I had no way to explain them. That is, until I learned about sleep paralysis. Often thought to be the origins of the incubus/succubus demons, this phenomenon is not all that uncommon. You feel unable to move or call out and sense an evil presence in the room. Sometimes you see a dark or black figure because your eyes are open and you are, you guessed it, hallucinating. Again, one more thing that used to frighten me that is easily explained.

It's ok, Skinner. Totally normal sleep experience caused by not getting enough quality sleep. So, forget that succubus and get some shut eye.

One story that I really had a hard time figuring out happened when my husband and I first moved into our home. It's an old home mind you, which again makes it perfect for ghost experiences. My husband was on the sofa one evening working on something when a female sat down next to him. He thought it was me since we were the only two in the house besides our cat. Of course, when he said something to it and it didn't respond, he turned to look at this woman and poof! She was gone. This really freaked him out for good reason. Another time, same kind of situation where a female in what he described as Gibson girl fashion walked past our bedroom. It was night, so this one is easily explained as sleep paralysis hallucination. The other one though vexed me. Could he have been so tired that he was in that in between sleep state that this too was a hallucination? Possibly. I don't really know. I'm fairly certain at this point though that it was not a ghost.

Thanks, Dean. Not so freaked out anymore.

Another explanation comes from the realm of physics. Could those visitors actually be breaking through from another dimension? I prefer to think of this explanation simply because it helps support the multiverse theory, but people who actually know physics say that it doesn't really work like that. Entities from one of the parallel worlds can't really move from one bubble or quilt square over to another one, but some physicists do remain open to quantum mechanics to explain the mental energy leaving the body at death and becoming mental entity. Jury is still out on that one. Further, it could be that my husband had somehow stimulated his temporoparietal lobe that impacts a sense of self. It can create the illusion of shadow people. It could have been infrasound or carbon monoxide. We don't really know, but we did install a carbon monoxide detector at one point, and we have made some improvements around the house. Maybe we addressed whatever it was making the hallucinations possible and now it's no longer an issue.  It's been years since my husband saw or felt the lady, so what ever it was, is gone now.

You got it, Colbert.

I still get a kick out of all the supernatural shows on TV. I adore reading Anne Rice's novels. I enjoy watching the ghost hunter shows on cable. I would totally go on a ghost hunt vacation or stay at The Stanley Hotel, but now I do those things with a more critical view. Once you start letting go of some supernatural beliefs, you find rational explanations for others. I don't miss being afraid to go to sleep. I don't miss the fear that some preternatural being decided to be my groupie. I don't miss being terrified when I'd wake up and couldn't move but knew something else was in the room. I enjoy the fiction, but know that the reality has a reasonable explanation.

You're not a ghost, Moose. It's called being a genetic variation of white-haired moose. 

Natural, not supernatural.

All About That Pace (stupid lupus)

If you read any articles about chronic illnesses like autoimmune disorders, you'll notice that most therapeutic recommendations mention to pace yourself. I'm failing at this. Again.

Don't give me side-eye, Goat. I dare you to try it.

If you've read my blog at all, you've likely put together my list of maladies. My husband has his share as well: rheumatoid arthritis, anklosing spondylitis, and fibromyalgia. Our combined list of chronic conditions makes life both interesting and frustrating. Currently, we are finishing the painting of the house that we started last summer. Last summer we got the power washing, scraping, first coat, and some trim work done. However, we have scraping to do again because some paint peeled up over the past year. We also have a second coat and trim work to finish. Initially, we set getting the house painting finished by the end of June. I realize we were being ambitious, but it got our butts in gear. My husband has trimmed three windows (tape, seal, prime, and three coats of paint) as well as the accent color on one side of the eaves. I have helped paint one coat of trim and scrape about two thirds of the peeling paint. We're a team. We're getting it done. We're also dragging our asses because this is exhausting. Yet, my husband insists that we should do it rather than hire someone. I think we should hire someone so we're not exhausting ourselves. Personally, hiring someone while indeed pricey means it gets done right the first time. It's done quickly. It saves us from expending that oh so precious reserve of energy.

Actual footage of me waving good bye to my energy and 

turning into a puddle of goo after working on the house.

For me, that energy has been depleted by 1pm every day for more than a week. I get more done in the morning. That's just a fact I've learned about myself. I'm more alert and productive before noon. However, being outdoors, laboring in the sun, and enduring increasing summer temperatures means I am fairly useless for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. I napped a lot last week. This week I'm vegging a lot by scrolling Facebook, but not reading anything overly important or newsworthy because I can't comprehend it. I save it until I'm more alert. I have to take a few hours to recover before I even think about writing a blog post. Today it took 3.5 hours before my foggy brain cleared enough to think through what to write. I also have started watching the Supernatural Anime series. It's somewhat unsettling; especially their interpretation of Bobby. It's wrong I say. Just wrong! Aside from that outrage, I'm not that energetic. But I digress. Back to topic.

I know, Bobby. It's a travesty. Their Bobby has yet to say any of your catchphrases.

One day I went to the store despite being wiped out after working on the house as well as recovering from a migraine. As I was standing in the checkout line, the nice woman in front of me said, "You look like you're about to fall asleep." I was, but I thought I was hiding it better than that. Apparently not. We'll get the painting done. We will. It might not be by the end of June, but by mid-July, it's likely to be done. We're going camping for a week, so that needs to be factored in to the timeline.

Good job, Raccoon! You get that figuring done.

Once that's done though, we also have the back room to demo, insulate, sheet rock, and paint. Ugh. Seriously. Paying someone would be worth it. Totally worth it.

Yes, Loki. You're worth it, too.

Remodeling and do it yourself projects take a huge toll on anyone, but on us and others with chronic conditions, it's devastating. I'm sore, achy, and exhausted. Each night I go to bed worried that between the sun and the physical exertion I might not be able to get out of bed the next day. Lupus does that. It can actually make your muscles and joints so inflamed that you literally (yes! literally) cannot get out of bed. Everything hurts so much that you just lie there and stare at the ceiling because you can't do anything else. These things need doing and my husband and I are the Autoimmune Duo. I just question sometimes if the savings and pride in your own work are worth the pain, fatigue, and anxiety.

Yes, Moose. You're right. Best to go relax at the lake for a spell.

Busted Advice: Migraine

If you're like a lot of people with internet access, you've likely investigated different maladies you've had from an ingrown toenail to a case of the sniffles. For better or worse, we've all done it. Sometimes the advice we find is helpful, but other times it can increase the anxiety about the condition until you're convinced you have some incurable disease. What's even worse is when the advice for your chronic condition is laughable or when it comes from a well-meaning friend or acquaintance. Honestly, I've read and received some fairly ridiculous advice for migraines over the 30 some years I've had the buggers. Here's just a short list of my favorites.

Thanks for lending an ear, Goat. I appreciate it.

Drink Water

Are you freakin' kidding me with this? If your headache gets better with water, then good for you! You had a dehydration headache. They suck; don't get me wrong, but they're not true migraines in the sense of chronic pain condition migraine I experience. Some folks feel this is their trigger. To them I say, "Congratulations on figuring out your trigger." I wish mine went away that easily. Furthermore, I have Sjogren's Syndrome, so I'm always drinking water. I am one of the most hydrated people you'll meet. I think I'd know if my headache would get better with water since I'd likely have been exerting myself and sweating a lot and not had my trusty water bottle with me. I'd likely also miss out on the fun light show or tingly scalp or yawning that usually go along with an impending migraine, too. Thanks for playing, but water doesn't help my chronic migraine. Don't tell me to drink more water. 

Seriously. I could do this and still have a migraine. I would, however, need to pee. A lot.

Grab a Sports Drink

This kind of falls under the hydration idea. I hadn't heard this one before, so I decided to try it because at the time, I wasn't taking anything that was helping. True story about migraine--you will try just about anything to make the pain stop. This shouldn't be one of them as it is a bust unless you've been exerting yourself and sweating a lot and lacking your trusty water bottle. If dehyration is your trigger, this might help ward off a migraine for you; However, again I say nay to this one. I have never been assisted in relieving a migraine with Gatorade.

This guy probably needs that sports drink. Me? Not so much.

Grapefruit Juice

A well-meaning individual suggested this to me when she learned I had a migraine most of the weekend. Apparently, her parent always recommends this as a remedy for headaches. I'm not entirely sure what the therapeutic effect would be on this one, but I do know that grapefruit juice, or any citrus for that matter, can actually be a bad thing. The tannins in citrus can actually trigger migraines in some people. Not only that, but grapefruit is contraindicated for a host of medications including beta blockers used to treat migraines. Ummmm, as much as I used to love ruby red grapefruit juice, I stopped drinking it because some brands add so much sugar. Between that, the tannins, and the medication warnings, I'll call this a bust for me.

It doesn't make sense to me either, Obama. 

PS: I miss you.

Get Some Coffee
*sigh* If I had suddenly stopped drinking coffee in the morning, I might consider this one as caffeine withdrawal headaches suck ass. Some years ago I decided to taper myself off caffeine because I was having heart palpitations called premature ventricular contractions (PVC) and it was freaking me out. I was taking in way too much caffeine, so I decided to take my doctor's advice and cut back. Despite slowly eliminating the caffeine, I still got the caffeine withdrawals for a while. However, unlike migraines, taking an OTC medication helped. You know why? Because they contain caffeine! One of my actual migraines though? Nada. Zip. No effect. I was very alert for my migraine experience though.

Even the best damn cup of coffee wouldn't do the trick, Cooper.

Coconut Oil
I love this stuff. I love cooking with it. I also love swishing some in my mouth for a while each morning as it does whiten my teeth, destroy coffee breath, and keep those pesky mouth sores (gums included) associated with lupus and Sjogren's at bay. However, when I was investigating coconut oil for these purposes (it's called oil pulling), some site made outlandish claims about the health benefits like--you guessed it--eliminating migraine pain. *insert furrowed brow here* If only it were that simple like the person who actually believes that nonsense. I've been oil pulling for about two years and guess what: I still get migraines.

Coconut oil for migraine? More like snake oil.

Manage Your Stress
Why must this be on every fucking chronic illness therapy list? I manage my stress just fine, but suggesting this to me is not helping with that effort. In fact, it makes me want to throttle you. Throttling would make me feel better, but it's still not likely to get rid of a migraine. I do yoga, I meditate, and I listen to the most relaxing song in the world (Really. It's called "Weightless" by Marconi Union) and I still get migraines. Migraines don't give a damn how Zen you are. They will bust your head regardless.

Stress? What makes you think I'm stressed?

Pressure Point
Some sites and good-intentioned people suggest applying pressure to that web-like area between your thumb and index finger. I tried this pinching technique hoping beyond hope that it would be a lifesaving strategy for me when the migraine gained ground in the war. You know what happened? I got a nasty bruise instead. Really. It was kinda blue in the middle a green as it got closer to the edges. It covered the whole triangular area on my hand. Maybe in my pain I pinched too intensely that time, but I was gentle at other attempts and still the migraine raged on.

 Yes, I know it was a long shot, President Underwood. Of course, you didn't see your wife's betrayal, so from where I sit you've got no right to judge my choices.

Have Sex
Yes. Really. The suggestion here was to ignore that old cliche of "Not tonight. I have a headache" and go for it. Ignore the throbbing and nausea; just get down, baby! I did actually try this a few times with my less intense migraines. I have to say that during the actual act, the headache did indeed lessen in intensity, but as soon as the afterglow was over, the migraine came back. It came back with a vengeance in fact. Those feel good chemicals can only block your awareness for so long. I guess, if you have a migraine and feel up for a few moments of peace and that lovely orgasm, be my guest. Just be prepared for the aftermath.

 I agree. You take care of you and leave me and my migraine alone in agony.

I guess it boils down to this: find out what triggers those migraines (I use an app for that) and be honest with your doctor about the experience you have with migraines. Tell your doctor what you've tried and what has worked as well as what has failed. If you're someone who knows another person who has migraines, be supportive, but don't give a bunch of unsolicited advice. You can't make it all better like a mom kissing a kid's skinned knee. Your friend or loved one will appreciate a compassionate offer like "What can I do for you?" or "I'm sorry you're in pain" a lot more than a recommendation of something they've likely already tried and debunked. Who knows though. They might just take you up on the sex.

Good luck with that "Come hither" look, Moose.

* The current trend online is to recommend Himalayan salt water with organic lemon juice. This again falls under dehydration and electrolyte imbalance as your trigger. It's actually not a successful therapy for other types of headache without an added  abortive prescription as far as what I've been able to verify. (Sept. 23, 2017)

Changes To Have and To Hold

One summer, I sat next to one of my oldest friends as we chatted under a shade awning in a campground. It had been raining all day, so we played games and discussed the world's problems. As we did, I studied her face. It was a little fuller, pale like I remembered it, and more moles than she used to have. She always had a lovely mole on her cheek--you know the kind that French aristocracy coveted and would actually fake for idealized beauty reasons? I'm sure this probably unnerved my friend. It's an awful habit of mine: studying the way things change over time. The way the lake where we camp has added bits of development and "improvements" to cater to the wealthier visitors, or the way the homes in the neighborhood change as people buy and sell and remodel. Currently, the changes to my own appearance have garnered my study.

Don't give me that look, Goat. You've clearly spent some time looking in the mirror to get those horns just right.

I wrote previously about cutting my hair shorter. I had thought of shaving it down really short like Sigourney Weaver in Alien 3 short, but then I watched the new season of "Orange is the New Black" and decided I didn't want to be mistaken for a skinhead or Neo-Nazi. The gray in my hair though is something I'm rather fond of. I had one of those kinky, stick straight out of your head gray hairs this week. It made me laugh, but it wouldn't lay flat. I wound up plucking it for its insubordination, but on the whole, I rather enjoy the natural look of my hair. I haven't had the urge to go back to dyeing it except to make it all one bright, crayon box color like orange or purple. For now though, mousy with gray highlights is ok with me.

Damn straight, Sigourney.

Another change of age and chronic illness are the spots. I'm gaining spots. These aren't age spots mind you--not the things that resemble a bunch of freckles that decided to join forces to create mega-freckle. Although I do have two of those (on my jaw and on my chest), these are the lupus spots that indicate skin involvement in my condition. The lupus has been active for a while now and this is just one more piece of the fun. I have one on my arm that has faded, but it still looks a bit like a smallpox scar. I have another on my thigh, one on my back, and one on my other arm. They're roundish, red and slightly raised. Small potatoes comparatively, yet they keep showing up. Not on my list of favorite changes, but a change nonetheless.

Please don't be offended at my discomfort, Cheetah. Your spots are fabulous.

Earlier this week I had a class performance for belly dance. We do this about every 8 weeks after concentrating an element for that session. This performance concentrated on gypsy skirts. It's fun, lively, and exhausting. It takes a lot of energy to kick up your heels for even the three and a half minutes of a song I had. Well, my husband took his camera and proceeded to photograph us as we performed. I think he wants to update our Facebook page. Anyway, he  got a profile of me smiling. It's a candid shot. Ordinarily I find something to criticize like my expression is weird, my head is down making my neck look like it has elephant trunk wrinkles, or my smile is overly toothy--something is wrong dammit and I don't want to look at that picture. This one though was natural and dare I say it? Pretty. I have a nice profile. Ok, there. I said it. I did notice that I have a lot more lines around my eyes; the ones that crinkle when you smile ya know? I'm 43 and I stay out of the sun, but there are those laugh lines cosmetic companies try and shame you for. Me though; I own those lines. I love them in fact. They are testimony to all the laughs, guffaws, and chortles I've enjoyed in life. I'm not going to day and night cream them away.

That's right, Castiel. My laugh lines. No wrinkle-shaming allowed.

 Changes come in many varieties: ones you can change, ones you can't change, ones you love, and ones you'd rather do without. I'd rather get my strong, sculpted arms that I had before my neck fusion back, but that's going to be difficult. I can keep working to keep myself fit and healthy with all the yoga, strength training, and belly dancing I do. However, I work on those for me. For my self image and wellness not because some ad or product has shamed me into it. I only get this one body, gray hair, spots, and wrinkles included. I don't fear these changes; I embrace them. Well ok, the spots I will treat with the cream prescribed by my doctor, but I do accept them as part of living in this body. Maybe it's being 43 and part of that wisdom of age you hear about, but I'm thankful for the level of security I feel about my appearance at this age. Or maybe I just give a fuck what other people think anymore. I'm thankful for that, too.

Moose: You. Look. Marvelous!

Husband and Me and Baby Makes: Nope!

When I was young, my family played a lot of board games. I enjoyed board games very much, so one night when we decided to play a new one, Scruples, I thought it'd be enjoyable, too. Essentially, you are asked ethical dilemma questions and had to provide your answer to them. I got one question about what would I do if after a divorce my teenage daughter said that she didn't want me dating a new beau. I said that'd I'd tell my daughter tough! If I was ready to start dating again, then it was time to start again. My aunt, sister, and mother looked at me in horror as if I couldn't possibly be that callous. I didn't think I had said anything wrong and was confused why they all thought I should have answered differently. This was the first time it became clear to me that perhaps mothering was not something in my future.

Don't worry, Kid. You and I'd probably get along just fine. It's my own species that confounds me.

Upon further reflection, the not interested in  baby-makin' mindset has always been there. As a child in church, I would get incredibly impatient with babies crying or children who misbehaved or parents who wouldn't just take those out of line children out of the church. They eventually put in cry rooms mind you. I thought that addition was long overdue. Keep in mind that during this time, I was not yet out of elementary school. In fact, I was not any older than third grade. I simply couldn't stand how disruptive the cranky kids were to the whole service. I'm sure I had my moments of disrupting services when I was a baby or toddler, but I have no recollection of this.

This Crybaby? Probably safe from my disdain.

As I grew older, I became eligible for the pre-teen rite o f passage known as babysitting. I prefer to call it torture for money. I had some truly wonderful babysitters along the way including a young man who regrettably was peed on by my beagle, but I digress. He clearly was made for the job whereas I was not. I babysat 4 boys once. Omigod. I vowed never to babysit more than two after that. The boys were not all that bad at first, but then they became mischievous and decided to concoct a "potion" in the bathroom and they locked me out. I tried the butterknife in the lock trick that usually worked at my house to no avail. These young evil-doers then proceeded to put the potion on one of them thereby creating a most horrendous allergic rash. When the boy began to cry because his skin was breaking out in hives, they finally opened the door. I called his parents and asked about administering a Benadryl. They came home shortly thereafter, got the full scoop from me, admonished the boys, and sent me away with a little extra pay. That was nice, but I never babysat for them again.

Baby Groot is probably also safe. He's in a pot for cryin' out loud . Besides he's adorable and we could get our dance groove on.

There was another babysitting event where the youngest of the household snuck out his second story bedroom window to go skateboarding after 10pm. His sister was a wonderful kid who stayed in her bed and went to sleep, but not this punk. When I went to check on him and discovered him gone, I panicked. I looked high and low and when he finally came home, I told him that I'd be informing his parents of his shenanigans (he begged me not to and as I later found out, this wasn't the first time he'd done this. Perhaps a warning next time would be helpful.) I also made him sleep on the sofa while I watched TV so I could keep an eye on him. Babysitting and I were never to become friends. In fact, I turned to delivering newspapers at 445am instead. Alone, peaceful, early morning calm *sigh*

Not your mom, Stewie. Definitely staying far away. I think I babysat you once and that was plenty.

Later in my adolescence, I sat in my Senior Sampler (prep for life) class as we were discussing adult life and what it would take to build a relationship with a spouse and run a household etc. One of the inevitable questions was how many kids would you have. I felt annoyed and more than a little apprehensive at this. One of my friends wanted as many as God would grant her and another friend said she'd want a dozen. Their answers both mystified and horrified me. I thought why do I have to have any? Of course, peer pressure struck over this question and boom! I wrote down two. There were two in my family and that seemed reasonable. Who knows, maybe one day I'd feel like procreating.

Yeah, I didn't buy that one either, Jimmy.

I share these tales because over the last weekend my husband and I went camping. Camping always means a lot of families with children running amok in the campground. Thankfully, not a lot of loud criers and most kept their distance. I saw one young kid in Spiderman jammies and snickered. I saw another one in a brown and orange plaid shirt with bright green shorts and cowboy boots and remembered the camping rule that thou shall not judge fashion choices when camping. I snorted when I saw him causally strolling to the outhouse. Then there was a family with four children two of whom were playing with lightsabers; clearly their parents are doing parenting right. My husband took some items to the recycling bin and saw the dad of this family digging in the back of their car, the mom was digging in the under storage area of the trailer, and the kids were all running around, yelling at each other and shaking their lightsabers. My husband returned to tell this observation and said, "Here's to not having any," and he handed me a beer.

That's right, Buffy. Beer good.

On the web you can find all kinds of articles in defense of childless marriages. You can find articles that celebrate, articles that explain, articles that ridicule, and articles that dispell myths about opting out of reproduction. Some even speak to how we have a moral obligation to stop procreating for a while. I tend to agree with that assessment. My article is not really any of those, except maybe explaining my own journey toward not being a mom. However, in those dispelling ones they inevitably bring up how childless women don't hate children. Well, I don't hate them (C'mon, be real. "Hate" is fairly harsh phrasing), but I'm not overly fond of them either. Children at a distance work for me. While I love our niece and nephews, I just didn't get them at first. I am not one to do a lot of playing around or wanting to hold the baby when someone offers. Mostly, I was/am stiff and awkward about it. I guess I'm a little ambivalent or even indifferent to children in general. I do play board games with our niece and nephews, I have watched hours of the same movies with them, I have played keep away in the yard, and I have gone swimming in their above ground pool and enjoyed all of it, but why anyone feels the need to have their own mini-me's  still baffles me.

Oh don't try that, Jon. You caved in to the baby-makin' machine, too.

While a lot of the information in those other articles about how you shouldn't tell a woman who doesn't have children things like "Who'll take care of you when you're older" or "You'll change your mind some day" etc. are absolutely true, it's also true that not all of us childless ones want to spend a lot of time with kids and we don't all want to hold, play with, or try to have a conversation with you while your kid runs around doing those things that kids do. Some of us just don't get kids and never have--even when we were one.

It's ok, Baby Moose. We're cool, too...from a distance. Your parents prefer it that way.

Class of 2017

It's June. I have a precious few days left to our regularly scheduled school year. Finals start tomorrow. The weather will be gorgeous this week. I hope that I am able to keep a lid on things to get through these next four days. The unity of teachers banded together in order to confront the last week of school with fun, discipline, and recognition of growth over the last nine months is palpable.

Kids on the last day of school. (See what I did there?)

Even though we, like our students, are chomping at the bit to be released from the regimented school bells, this time of year is always difficult for teachers. We have a ton of papers and tests to grade. We have to pack up our rooms. We face students whose minds are elsewhere, and whose behavior shows their restlessness. For some, anxiety about being out of the structure of the school year complicates their enjoyment and anticipation. Through it all though, we cling to certain memories as we prepare to put another year behind us.

Make no mistake, Andrew. I'll still be doing this dance on Thursday.

For me, this year ends somewhat bittersweet. When you teach seniors in high school, their last day holds the potential for smeared mascara and raucous laughter. We discuss what they've learned, where they're going, and what they'll miss. We sign yearbooks and take pictures. This year's picture with seniors had the tallest young man resting his arm on my head. I'm a perfectly respectable 5' 6" mind you, but he's like 6' 4-5". Still and all, I shall cherish that photo. I absolutely love teaching senior English. I was sniffly all morning and saying goodbye as they strolled out the door made my eyes all bleary and watery. I am thankful I got to know each and every one of them.

My inner toddler was on overload with the all the feels.

Before their graduation rehearsal the next morning, some of them came to visit in their caps and gowns. They were killing time before their 9am call, but they chose to come see me one more time. For that I am grateful. Being a teacher has few perks, but students who want to come see you when technically they are free from obligation to sit in your room anymore is meaningful. I am thankful they chose to share those last few minutes with me.

That's right, Linda. Do a little happy dance. I did.

Last night was commencement. At my high school, staff attendance is optional. At my previous high school it was mandatory. This school though lacks a roomy field house like my previous school. Since the arena is more confined, not all faculty and staff fit with the stage, the band, and of course, the graduates. Last year my husband and I had tickets to see The Cure, so I didn't attend the ceremony. This year, I wanted to go. My relationship to these young people is dear to me, and I wanted to see them walk the stage and shift their tassels to the right. As stifling as I knew it would be, I wanted to go for them. Despite knowing that being required to wear our regalia of black gowns, stoles, and hoods would add to the sweaty experience, I need to be there. I am thankful I had the chance to cheer for each of my seniors.

Ok, so maybe not as happy as a cat with ribbon on Christmas, but close.

After the ceremony, one of my seniors gave me a huge and excited hug before exiting the arena. As I walked up the stairs and around the railing to the outdoors, another senior caught me. I always appreciated this young man's insights and observations about our literature. He didn't really like Handmaid's Tale at first, but as we continued, he began to feel the weight of the novel's implication. He also was enthusiastic to watch the adaptation on Hulu and visit with me about the series. Last night though, he said something to me that touched me deeply. He said, "Thank you Ms. M. I'm here in large part because of you." I was speechless, astonished, and moved to the tears I'd been holding back. He probably has no idea how meaningful that simple statement was. I am thankful for these moments and those yet to come.

Until we meet again, Moose.