Hooray for Turkey Day!!

I LOVE AUTUMN! And I love Thanksgiving. Yesterday was unforgettable! I woke up early, put on my running clothes, pinned on my little bib with the number 1673 to the front of my shirt, and headed to Ivy's. Ivy was running around her kitchen trying to see if her new shoes would be ideal for our five mile run. OH YEAH!! We ran the Austin Turkey Trot!! Our friend Candace did it, too. Ivy's lovely friend Tara joined in on the fun as well. It was extraordinary! Almost 3,ooo people ran! Awesome! So, my time was within my goal, even though I had to walk a few times to catch my breath. I ran 11 minute miles and made it within 51 minutes! For me, that's great! Ivy and Candace came in before me and those girls ran the whole time! They amaze. Candace and I are going to train for a 10k next. This stuff is addicting. I don't think I ever sweat so much on a Thanksgiving before in my life. And that includes the time I did the cooking!

After that adventure Ivy took us to see a beautiful view on Mt. Bonnell. Then we went to see the peacocks at Laguna Gloria. We took pictures. Laughed. Talked. Then it was time for me to get in gear for food time!

I rushed home, took a shower, started making stuffing. Ooh. This stuffing was like heaven: cornbread, herbs, butter, three types of raisins, mushrooms, and candied slivered almonds. Great stuff! Then packed up my apple pie, glorious apple pie: grated granny smiths, darling crust that I cut into leaf shapes all over the top...packed up the stuffing, dropped off the stuffing at Ivy's, took the pie over to Jass's mom's where I had my first meal. It was so beautiful! I had never met Jassy's mom before so this was really fun for me since I've heard so much about her. She was so welcoming and lovely and her home was simply gorgeous. Such a beautiful person! And her doggies were so cute and funny and I got to pet them and talk to them. And Jass and Emily were busy busy in the kitchen making all kinds of wonderfulness. We talked while the finishing touches were being applied. They made the most amazing spread! And very healthy, too. We ate a lot, but no one ate as much as Jass. His plate was a mountain. I'll post the picture as soon as he sends it. Then we had THE PIE. Oooh. It was good. Jass said it was the best pie in the history of pies but he's always saying stuff like that. Cutie.

Then it was off to Ivy's! I love Ivy's house. It is warm and welcoming and fun and always open. Dear Melissa, Heather, Jason, Amy, and Brennen were there. Tara, Ivy, Bethany, Britney, and Desiree were there, too. It was so great, a lot like family. I had more pie. Pumpkin this time. We had a toast delivered by Ivy. It was sweet.

As I sat looking around the room I was overcome with a certain appreciation for all these people. Each one is so incredibly unique. Everybody is pursuing things, forging their dreams, making it happen in their various ways. I just thought it was beautiful in that moment. I just really felt a sense of everyone's worth, and it was really something.

I am grateful for many things. I know I do a lot of ranting on this blog but I hope I express my awe and appreciation enough, at least as much as I do my disappointment and pain. I am very aware of how charmed and blessed my life has been and continues to be. This may be an awkward time, fraught with indecision, uncertainty, and frusteration, but all in all, I think it's pretty sweet. I love being American. I love being Mormon. I love being a writer, teacher, singer, painter, and conversationalist. I love being a sister, a daughter, a friend. As we close this year, 2010, I am grateful and reflective. Thanks for reading.

The Torture Chamber

...otherwise known as the teachers' lounge. I don't know if I can go back there. Every once in a while I take a break from it and eat lunch on my own, sometimes in my car listening to NPR or a book on CD. Yesterday it was more treacherous than ever. I walk in with my Longhorn lunch box, set it down in my spot, greet everybody, smile, buy a Coke, crack it open. Normal. Happy. Then my buddy Joe says, "Hey, have you ever heard that Fleetwood Mack song about being lost and clueless about love? It reminds me of you. I bet you could sing that convincingly. Let's try it!" "Why's that Joe? Do I strike you as one who is overly lost?" "Well, yes. When it comes to men." Ouch. Deflect. Breathe. Ok. Then another friend pipes up about how her husband thinks I am a lesbian. "He thinks you're scared of men because you like women." Right. Cool. That's great. I reacted really well to that one. "I would be the coolest lesbian ever! I would have access to the best girlfriends in the world! Gosh, my life would be so different. Too bad I'm cursed with heterosexuality. Awe. Poor me. And plus, I hate the clothes most lesbians wear. And haircuts. And I like men." It all came out of my mouth so fast I just couldn't seem to stop it. Defense mechanisms are so fight or flight. We all know lesbians dress in all kinds of different ways and wear their hair in all kinds of different ways, just like all of us. Why was I making jokes? Did I think I was funny? I'm sure most lesbians look better than me on any given day. Ellen does. But that's not the point. It's not about how anyone looks. It's about how things feel. PAUSE. Then I say, "Guys, I'm just taking a break from dating for a while. It's no big deal. I'm just not ready and I'm dealing with a lot of fears right now that I need to deal with. I'll be alright." A teacher I don't know very well yet decides to say, "It's like that bumper sticker says, "All your failed relationships have one thing in common, YOU."" Double ouch. To this I simply lifted my Coke and said, "Cheers". Then I decided to avoid the teacher's lounge for a while. I know everyone is just talking and they don't mean to be weird but I sure feel weird. I wish everyone would just let me be single without being deemed gay or lost or just hopelessly flawed. Look, I have had a hard time. Yes. I married young. It didn't work out. I tried my hardest. I tried for six years. It didn't work out. I've tried dating, a little. It hasn't worked out. Maybe that's been my fault. Maybe it hasn't. Maybe I haven't met the right person. Maybe I'm not the right person myself. I don't know. But I'm trying to become the right person. I'm trying. I'm doing everything I can think of to fix all the things I am aware of that need fixing. I am reading books about things. I'm in therapy. I'm talking with those I trust who've "made it" in the world of marriage and family. The fact is, I may never get there. The fact is that may not be my fault so much as my lot. I'm scared. Everyone knows that. What if I fail again? Will that be further proof, of the bumper sticker philosophy? That all my failed relationships are because of me? What if I did take another chance? And he cheated on me. Would that be my fault, too? What if he turned out to be abusive, criminally minded, selfish, or dishonest. My fault? Again? There's some psychological reason I selected him, right? Flawed. I don't know, instead of asking me whether I'm afraid of losing my child bearing years could you ask me what I'm working on in music or art or writing? I'm bearing those things with success. Instead of asking me whether or not I think I'll ever be friends again with my ex-husband let's talk about the friends I've got already. Please don't make my failures fodder for entertainment. Please stop using my personal life as a backdrop for clever commentary or lively jokes. I know this may seem surprising, as I am always quick with a laugh, a smile, nothing seems to bother me, but it does. It all does. I'm not lost. I'm not just a divorcee. I'm not a lesbian. I'm not any of these things. Who I am is much more complex and perhaps much less interesting in the ways that 30 second analyses can process. I think it's time for respect to make her debut in that lounge.

My Friends, Chapter 11: Cynthia

Cynthia once told me a very moving story about her dear mother. Cynthia took care of her mom before she passed and in one of their final conversations her mom said she wished they'd been sisters rather than mother and daughter. That brings me to tears for many reasons. First, because I think it is a sweet sentiment to say such a thing, probably meaning she wanted to have lived her life beside such a soul as Cynthia rather than ahead of her or above her in one way or another. Also, because their is a certain humility I associate with that story. Perhaps Cynthia's mom was saying she felt a little unqualified to be such a person's mother. I don't know for sure. These are assumptions but the reason I share them is to illustrate my own feelings for my dear Cynthia. I, too, have felt we should have been sisters. I met Cynthia as a 22 year old newly married girl. Our first exchange went something like this: "WOW!!", Cynthia exclaimed, pointing at Kristin's significantly sized diamond ring. "I never got a diamond myself," she said in a good humored, accepting way, little shrug, big smile. And that's how it started. We were at a church enrichment meeting for the Relief Society, all women. I felt so embarrassed of that ring so often. It really is gorgeous. It was just so eye catching and it brought out all kinds of weird female behavior. But Cynthia was just being observant. She really is so observant of others and cares very much about how people are doing. She has always been that way with me.
As a newly married person I had very little interest in people my own age. My best friend was on her mission and all the BYU couples were in their own little universe. I was going to UT and struggling with the notion that I had married someone who did not love me. I felt awkward in life and wasn't sure how to relate with others. I missed my best friend so much I thought I was going to die of loneliness. I avoided friends because I didn't know how to explain why I wasn't happy. I was harboring hopes about some miracle, always looming in the future, that would fix my marriage. I was pretty isolated. My one joy was working at the Montessori school in the afternoons where I enjoyed the company of curious and beautiful children. It was very fulfilling and fun.
So, in my dismal situation, I tried to avoid situations and people that would make me feel trapped or cornered or places I would be forced to talk. If I started talking who knows what I might say? Or I might start to cry unexpectedly. How awful. Somehow Cynthia made her way through these layers of fear and pain and became my friend. She came over one Saturday morning to train me how to create the ward bulletin. She was very helpful. I found her very fun and chatty and vibrant. I thought she was so beautiful and bright. I just couldn't help but love her. She invited us to dinner. I told her what my husband would and would not eat so as not to find ourselves in an embarrassing situation. "Meat and potatoes. Okay. I can handle that!" She was so darling.
When I graduated from UT she threw me a wonderful party. Many friends from the ward came. It was in her home on the Sunday following my graduation. There was a gorgeous fruit platter with interestingly cut produce, it looked like art. There were all kinds of hors d'oeuvres and a magnificent chocolate cake with a scrolled diploma illustrated on it in white icing. It was so amazing! The whole thing. Everyone else's husband was there. Not my own. He was tired that day. It was always so sad and embarrassing explaining why my husband wasn't around or why he would behave in interesting ways. I hated having to explain things I didn't understand myself. The year before, when he graduated, I attended all his festivities in smiles and high heels. But Cynthia wasn't offended by his absence. I was grateful because I was mortified by his lack of interest in my successes in general and hated to think he was offending the few people I trusted; those who loved and celebrated my joys with unselfish generosity. It meant the world to me.
Years went by and Cynthia was always a fixture at birthday parties, holiday celebrations, baby showers I would throw for friends, and the occasional casual gathering. She kept inviting us to dinner and humbly serving some version of meat and potatoes each time. When I became the choir director at church she and her son Chase joined right up. It was so fun to have them on board. One Easter we did an entire cantata that ran the whole sacrament meeting. It was beautiful.
When things started to really go south in my marriage Cynthia was able to pick up on the signs of grief readily. We talked longs hours. I stayed at her house a few times to sort out my thoughts. It was a ghastly time. She helped me tremendously. When I decided to give my marriage another heartfelt try, she was supportive, although concerned. I moved to Chicago with a wisp of a hope left in my heart that all would be well. My husband would be attending law school up there. So we went and I got a job teaching fourth grade in the Village of Wilmette where we also lived. I kept in touch with Cynthia via telephone and email. When I was hit with the confession about another woman I called her almost immediately. "Come on home, girl!" And that's just what I did, after a few months wrapping things up in Chicago. I went directly to Cynthia's house upon my arrival. I cried a lot. We laughed a lot. We ate a lot. I felt such a tangible relief, it was really quite amazing. I felt safe for the first time in a long time. I knew everything would be alright, somehow. Cynthia helped me see that. I had high hopes. I was offered a job at the school I had taught at after my graduation. I was thrilled to accept it. Cynthia helped me move into my classroom and set things up. She came with me that spring to El Paso. We took her van and we talked the entire time. It was so fun. Nine hours never passed so quickly. She got to meet my parents and we stayed with them and ate all kinds of ridiculously wonderful Mexican food. I showed her some of my old haunts like the art museum and some fun hang outs. She met my uncle Bob and my aunt Sharon. We had a blast. And we've really been having fun ever since. She has helped me move like 7 times! She has given me great advice. When it got icy she insisted I spend the night. "In case your pipes freeze, it's best you stay with us for a couple days." It's always been like that. We joined ART DIVAS together, unexpectedly one Saturday. Now we rub elbows with artsy fartsy ladies who have more money than they know what to throw at. It's really cute. I sang solos at her father's memorial service and her son's wedding reception. She checks on me every week and I feel so blessed to have such a person in my life. She is family. No other way to describe it. Her dear husband, Rick, has been so wonderful, too. He is the sweetest man in the world and has given me wise counsel and has blessed me in times of trial. When I had a dog they watched Bella any time I had to go out of town. Bella was no picnic either. Prima donna doesn't even begin to describe it. Suffice it to say, Cynthia is a true friend, beloved, and enduring. It's nice to know that in this complicated world, some things only evolve over time and do not fade and diminish. Cynthia, you have been my adviser, my friend, my sister, in many ways like a mother and I am ever grateful. I love you so!

We Wear Who We Are

We do. It's true. I've seen it and I'm seeing it more and more these days. Our thoughts turn us to act. We act. We become what those collective actions make of us. And then we think about that some more. Those thoughts evolve and prompt more action. Over time we realize we are spinning a life; we are creating ourselves; what is our legacy?
I've seen people's backs bend under the mistakes they've made. There is literally a corrupt bend in the spine where they forgot to be decent. I've seen other people shine because of their goodness. They emit a radiance that comes out of the eyes and spins around the mouth and can be felt from hand to hand. They are gorgeous in ways mere prettiness could never hope to understand. Their stature takes your breath away. You're somehow left feeling safer, like perhaps the world is not so awful and frightening and wrong. Maybe there are more than just cads and seekers of sensation. Maybe they are rare but you've met a few and that means they exist.
I've been tracing patterns in my life. I've noticed I tend to like a certain kind if man I ought to give up on. I always like the cleverest man. I like him because he is interesting. I like the most entertaining one. I like the most dynamic. But this same sort of man is the kind of man who has honed his measured methods well, usually in order to capture things. This same sort of man may find that in all his successes he accidentally gets captured himself. I would like to start realizing that perhaps the reason none of these clever, interesting, entertaining, dynamic relationships has lasted is because these guys don't want to end up with someone just as clever, interesting, entertaining, or dynamic. No, no. They like an audience and they don't want competition for it. But it seems easy for a man to love someone who is not his equal. I don't think I could manage it myself. I want someone who amazes me. I want someone who understands what it's like to stay up all night because an inspiring idea refuses to let you sleep. Not that you didn't want to sleep but you didn't seem to have a choice that night. But you still go to work and you sleep it off the next afternoon and evening. I guess often, men are okay with having things compartmentalized in certain ways. What I mean is, they seem to be able to turn to their friends and colleagues for things like discussing ideas and sharing dreams and ambitions and they turn to their significant others for mere comfort and quiet companionship; meals and love and quiet little smiles and gazes. That's great, I guess, but I don't think I could manage it. I want to talk about theories and possibilities and have the guy actually get it all, at least conceptually. I would never be content with a pretty person who smiles a lot and helps me with chores. What a bore! I like a dynamic man but those guys like background girls. They want to shine alone. The girl is just ornamental. Of course, there are a number of exceptions to this norm. I am thankful for that. I've met plenty of amazing couples, both intelligent counterparts to a magnificent whole.
Sometimes I wish I were more vanilla. I tell myself life would be so much easier. But then I realize, I'm already wearing the truth on my face! I'm not a simple girl. Anyone can see that. My thoughts come buzzing out of my eyes even before they cross my lips. And even if they don't see it, all they'd have to do is listen for a minute or two and then the conviction is sure. She's no stroll in the park. That's a venture for skilled climbers only. Alas, all I can do is try my best to be the best version of myself I can render in a lifetime.

Who Am I?

That's so hard to answer. I had my kiddos pretend to be Halloween characters like ghosts or bats or vampires and then construct poems, formulaically, giving clues about who they were using all the right adjectives, verbs, and nouns and then we had to infer the character. It was really fun. They made beautiful haunted houses to illustrate their poems. I taught them how to cut out doors and windows so that they hinge and a creature can pop out. These works adorn the wall outside our classroom right now.

But more importantly, who am I? Hard to say. Have you ever asked it? Of yourself? I'm asking and answering now, here. I am female. I am 32. I have spent the last 12 years being a teacher, in one capacity or another. I grew up in El Paso, a border town, where I learned how to sing like a banshee and dance like a gypsy. I learned how to be strong and sensitive at the same time. I learned all about matters of the heart in the only ways I have ever understood them; in Latin. I am also 25% Lebanese but it feels more like at least 75-80%. I grew up on kibbe, taboulee, dolmeh, tzatziki, and lubia. I had a Sitie who wore cunning little heals, gold bangles that sang at her wrists, flowing, flowered silken dresses, and a lovely smile. I am Mormon, a Latter Day Saint. That means everything to me. It means I know the worth of souls, yours and mine. It means I know my divine destiny. It means the sacrifices are worth it, again and again, always. It means I can endure anything. It means this life is only the beginning. I am also rather tall, blond, and curvy. This means I'm trouble. Well, at least it means I often attract it. Oh well. I wish it meant something else. I am bookish and often reclusive except when I am gregarious and loud-mouthed. I am artistic, creative, and day dreamy, except when I am logical, pensive, deliberate, and hard-lined. I am the daughter of a lawyer and an artist. I am the sister of a psychologist, a lawyer, an artist, and a physics student. I am the best friend of a prima ballerina. I am the teacher of twenty two miraculous beings who are the most gorgeous children in the world. I am the smitten poet. I am the meloncholy caroler. I am the science loving nerd. I have an affinity for hackers...I mean programmers. And I am miserable at chess. Oh, and tennis. Miserable. At both. And at many other things. And I want to be a writer more than anything else...except for being a mommy and a wife who is adored by her very smitten husband. But if I never get the chance to be a family person, I hope I at least get to be a writer. I mean, the kind of writer who gets to eat on what she writes. Right now I am eating on blue china my Sitie left me and that's great but I want to eat on my author's dime someday. Someday will be a fine day. That's it! That's the answer. That's me. Like Art always says, "I love being me." (Art is an actual person in this case. No, seriously. He went to law school with Betsy. I'm not just employing personification here. Hi, Art!!!)

Sometimes...

Sometimes it's hard for me to tell what needs to be done. I live a life so fraught with complexity, so many people and things need my attention, I often feel like I don't know what I must neglect, because something will fall through the cracks, it's inevitable.

My typical day:

• Wake up at 6am
• Pray
• Shower, get ready for school
• Listen to the Book of Mormon, a conference talk, or NPR while you get ready and eat breakfast
• Pack lunch
• Out the door, listen to NPR on car radio
• Greet the kiddos
• Get them started on creating math problems that equal the number of the day.
• Read homework journals, check homework
• Teach reading/writing
• Recess
• Teach math
• Lunch
• Read aloud
• Make copies/prep lessons
• Teach science and/or social studies
• Teach spelling/grammar/phonics
• Get kids packed up
• After school duties/meetings
• Exercise
• Eat
• Talk on the phone
• Write, if I'm lucky
• Go to church meetings, visits, or plan lessons for church related events/activities
• Make calls for church stuff
• Listen to music, catch up on emails
• Read
• Pray
• Bed

Looks simple, right? Wrong. What I didn't make clear in the list is that while I do all of these wonderful and important things, I get interrupted about six times a minute by little voices, or phones ringing, or people at the door, or people on the intercom, or kids from another class, or a specialist, or an administrator, or another teacher, a volunteer, or my own thoughts. All day I feel like someone who wants to swim but there I am standing on the edge of the diving board and someone keeps whistling, telling me something, keeping me from diving in. I never even get wet. Some days I wear the bathing suit for nothing. I walk home, with the towel around my shoulders, just thinking what it might have been like to dive in deep, swim long, burn out in that satisfying way. I feel burned out all right. Just not the way I wanted to burn out, feeling accomplished.

I feel a little emotionally constipated lately. I feel like nothing, I mean nothing is really working. Everything I want seems to elude me. I can't seem to find what I wanted to find in the form of a life. What did I expect? I expected to have time to be myself I guess. But there isn't much time for that these days. Let me stress, I didn't say time to be BY myself. No, no. I said time to BE myself. Who is that? I'm talking about the funny girl. I'm talking about the girl who draws and paints. I'm talking about the one who discusses things with people who care and think. What happened to her? I think she's standing on the diving board again. That blasted whistle is relentless.

I Just Found This on Ivy's Blog

Ivy put this entry on her blog like a year ago...I made this list in an email to her:

"Here's how Kristin Marie Ferrell suggests to conquer loneliness if you ever encounter it:

HOW TO CONQUER LONELINESS:

1.) Avoid being alone
2.) Practice being alone
3.) Fail at it
4.) Try again
5.) Cry a little
6.) Cry a lot
7.) Blame it on your period
8.) Throw something really hard at a can that you put on top of your alter {insert - my house... yes... has an altar left by the previous owners...}
9.) Yoga
10.) Toga?
11.) Read your scriptures
12.) Watch a movie with your friend, Kristin
13.) Make out in your dreams with whomever you wish!!
14.) Invite your ex-boyfriend and his wife to spend the night and keep you company (maybe in years to come) {insert - Kristin recently did this}
15.) Quilt on Saturday morning
16.) Talk to Dad
17.) Talk to Mom
18.) Visit teach
19.) Go see old ladies
20.) Camp
21.) Get over yourself (lose yourself)
22.) Fall in love with yourself (find yourself)
23.) Read a classic (Tale of Two Cities?)
24.) Listen to edifying books on CD
25.) Look in the skinny mirror
26.) Paint a wall, a canvas, a card, a face
27.) Cook
30.) Pray
31.) Tell yourself something true, "You're the only one who gets to be Ivy. You lucky, lucky girl, you!"
32.) Call Christy {insert - our best and most comforting friend}"