Dream

I was going through my computer and found this. It was an intense dream I woke up from March 3, 2007. It had a good lesson and I'm glad I wrote it down:

I woke up with this dream this morning. I was chasing this doctor who had a terminal disease. But he wasn’t listening to me. He was worried about his things, his possessions. I kept telling him over and over again that he needed to stop and pay attention to what was happening to him now. Listen to the world. Enjoy the moment, the breeze through the leaves of the trees, the birds singing, and his own breath. But he kept telling me that it was me who didn’t understand. He stopped and told me to wait outside this Greek style building while he went inside to take care of something. While I waited, I watched a bull get spooked by passersby. He ran up to me, knocked me over and was about to stomp his hoof into my chest as I began to tell him that he had a choice. “Pretty boy, you’re such a pretty boy. Do you really want to do this? You have a choice. You could lie down beside me and let me pet your pretty face or you could go ahead and stomp my chest. You’re such a pretty boy, don’t you want me to pet your pretty face? Then the bull dropped to the side and lay down beside me and I stroked his face. He was a very pretty bull. I got up and walked toward the building. An older lady was coming from around the corner. I’ve dreamt of her before. She said that I was her sister counter circle; I was on one end going around and she was on the other end and our ends would meet. But her time was coming near to the end as she was growing old and her apprentice would meet me. Her apprentice was this young blonde who fretting over the fact that she was not yet ready. I told her not to worry and that when the time came, she would be ready. Her choice was to either fret about the moment or absorb what she needed to know. The doctor came out, still worrying about things; I again chased after him, because this was my choice, telling him to stop and look at his life and see what is really important.

Enjoy the moment and look at your choices.

Antiquated systems

The electoral system is outdated. In this day and age where electronic equipment and communication devices have immediate feedback to the public, why are we still using this system.

In the beginning, when our Founders set this in motion, communication was slow and you needed the representatives to travel and cast their votes representing their area of the country. But this is no longer the case.

Everyone was so dissatisfied with the past eight Bush Administration years; yet, it is because of the electoral system he was elected for his first term in office; he did not get the majority of the popular vote. Of course, he wasn't going to get rid of this antiquated system.

I live in Texas. Texas, as a whole voted Republican and therefore, McCain received the electoral votes for the state. This makes me, in the end feel like my vote got lost in the shuffle, since I voted for the winner. In fact, my city in the far southwest tip of Texas, always votes Democratic (that is probably why the rest of Texas tends to ignore us). Is this why so many people feel left out when they vote.

Do these numbers really look equitable? At last count, Obama won by 349 electoral votes, McCain 162 and in contrast Obama won by 62,450,844 to McCain's 55,393,214 popular votes. When the latter votes are posted, that is when my vote is truly represented.

Usually, the electoral system has worked, as in this case. But when it doesn't we end up with things like we just left, where Bush won electoral votes but not popular vote.

If you want to forget about your personal life, become a teacher.

Ever go to work and forget about the rest of your life?

That's what happens when I taught. I used to go in early just to get some quiet time to think and organize, because once that bell rang it was go, go, go until the end of the day. Checking in involved visiting different stations to pick up, collect, and check out. Sometimes I had to make a personal call during the day, you know, doctor's appointments or other stuff, but on my way home I would always discover that I forgot. If a teacher has a more traditional schedule, the bell rings, class is seated, roll is taken (that's where the money come from), pass out graded papers, review a previous lesson's ideas, a new lesson is taught, we practice the concept together as a whole, then give homework. Then the bell rings and it happens all over again. This is repeated over and over again until the end of the day. If you're lucky, you have a planning period to grade, personally analyze student's progress, and plan for the next lesson. Every minute of the day involved dealing with students' success, failure, behavior, planning for the next lesson, making personal notes of what lesson delivery was the best, grading papers, and the last five years involved putting up with increasing administrative blah-blah.

Sure, there are a few lazy teachers, but in reality, there are not many. Even the lazy teachers are not the same lazy quality you find in other jobs. There is just too much stimuli to let a person sit back for too long. Yet, 'accountability' treats teachers like they have been lazy and not doing their jobs. To address this idea, administrators are taking the precious little time away from teachers and giving busy work.

All bureaucracy sounds good on paper, but in reality always falls short of what the original intentions were. The district decided that teachers needed to collaborate more and forces 'common' planning. But it's not like we went to the planning meetings and were really able to plan together. NO! We went to the meeting where administrators would feed us the data and give us 'homework' to regurgitate the data back to them. Problem was, everyone, and I mean everyone, was so very busy, that even when the data was strained and drained back into the sewer from where it came, THEY didn't even have time to check to see if it were done properly and in the end everyone knew that it was all a futile effort to make us look busy and productive and the administrators shine.

The district that I retired from invented this INOVA. On paper, it really sounds good. The teacher is given analysis of all past students' test performance so we can analyze weak points and give individualized, personalized lessons and attention to all 180 students we see in a semester in a class of 30-35 students with varying degrees of behaviour etiquette. Now ask me in what manner was this information delivered? One year, it was delivered on a CD in Adobe Acrobat. The teacher had to do a search for the student's name (not student number) (do you know how many different Jose Martinez's there are in a single school in El Paso, TX?) then copy data onto a separate sheet and make teacher goals and comments about that particular student's ability. Last year, the data was printed out in a massive pile (imagine the paper waste and money). We were told to come to our 'forced' common planning meeting with a printed copy of our rosters. We then had to sit and sort through these piles for our students. Most teachers were very good students themselves. They loved the academia world and that is why they returned. They wanted to make a difference. They buy into this mumble jumble that administration cooks up and try to meet the deadlines and perform the Easter-egg hunt. The stress mounts up. Everyone complains but tries to do the fruitless task.

In reality, teachers know their students. Given class time, a few assignments, we know when the student is trying but having trouble, is going to give up, acting out to avoid the difficult, or just plain lazy. We see the handwriting skills, we see the spelling problems. We talk to the students, give encouragement, remind them of their potential, tell them that this is preparation for life beyond school, and these days, tell them that this prepares them for the state school accountability exams. In reality, a class of 30-35 students it is difficult to reach out to that student in a (depending on your school schedule) 55-minute everyday or every-other day for a 90-minute session.

If you do want to forget about your personal life, become a teacher.

Twists, turns, ups, and downs

Life is full of twists, turns, ups, and downs--much like that of a bicycle tour; although a bicycle tour was not made this year. Maybe the past 10 cycling years has prepared us for this year. Starting with a family death, followed by transitions of property (still be be completed), then retirement, followed by paperwork . . . and paperwork, then the "fall", the dreaded subsequent rotator-cuff operation to put all right again, and the pain of recovery. One doc says that there will be no riding for at least four months while the PT (physical therapist or pain and torture guy--take your pick) gave us hope when he said maybe a month. Although the pain will ultimately be the guide. The anchor of home held us in place to make all right.

Surrealism has hovered over the house. We had not been at home in the summer for 10 years. It has actually been quite refreshing while odd at the same time.

OK, now we're recovering . . . getting it all right again. The anchor is getting lighter and lighter. We're fluffing and spreading our wings. We're getting there.

Who am I?

That has been a question that has popped up again and again and again in my life. When I was a child, it was a very concrete question to be answered with my name. When I was a teenager, and after suffering years of verbal abuse from my mother and seeing the degradation of my father slip away in a flask of whiskey, I sought out a more spiritual answer as I dove into a deeper understanding of Christianity which left an emptiness in my soul. I then followed my drive to find out who I was in Eastern religions. The meaning of who I was became even more lost since in order to find Nirvana, one was to lose oneself in the true meaning of the universe. My life floated back to a more concrete meaning as I found love, my soul mate. At this time, I did not want to lose myself, but rather keep myself as solid as possible. Me-has become love, a love relationship. Who am I? Am I defined by my age of 51? Am I defined by my health? Am I defined by my successes or my failures? I am defined by having an established, loving relationship of 34 years. Yes. I am probably defined by my energy; I have a lot of it. Contrary to all this energy, I am a very patient person who likes to figure out puzzles, crochet, embroider, and cannot let go of a problem until I solve it. The last bit is sometimes a curse. The puzzle solving has given me an education, both academically and in life. I pursue things that I want to solve. I am an oxymoron: an energetic patient person in search for her soul while not trying to lose her identity which I don't know what that is. Probably by the time I'm stumble on the answer, I will have become one with the universe as my molecular structure once again spreads out.

Story One: The Girl (5) Where am I?

The man was standing right outside the door. He had his hand extended in an invitation and a smile stretched out across his face. Once seen as an adversary, this man was now a friend? She looked beyond the man and could not believe her eyes or her ears: the street no longer existed and city sounds disappeared, replaced by rolling, grass-filled hills and the sounds of happy, singing birds. A panic welled up inside her chest. She looked back and the warehouse was GONE, replaced by the countryside scene. What happened?

Story One: The Girl (4)

At the end of a row of boxes to her left, she could see a faint line of light. It must be a door. She wanted to leave, needed to get out of here, but didn't want to leave the way she came in. She knew that the crowd of the street, however disinterested they were in her, offered more protection. This place was a trap. She felt her way past the boxes. It was a door. She put her ear to hear the outside world. People were walking past, cars manuevering around the corners. Her hand was on the knob, she took a deep breath and . . .

Story One: The Girl (3)

Where was she? This place was so dusty, almost like it had been years since someone had been in. She finally stood up and ended up coughing from the dustdevil stirred up by her movement. There was no need to be silent since 'he' knew she was in here. She squeezed past the boxes in front of her. It was like a maze and she didn't want to get physically lost although she felt emotionally lost and physically drained. Her hands were shaking and knees were suffering from the post effects of the adrenaline surge. What were all these boxes? It was too dark to read the labels. With what light there was, she could tell they were piled nearly to the ceiling. She saw light! She pushed herself through the cracks of more boxes. Yes! Light! It was a window. It was so dirty that she couldn't see outside. She tore a dangling remnant of her torn, and now dirty white blouse and tried to clean the window enough to see outside. She was looking at the busy street she had been chased down. Life just went on as normal. No one cared that moments before she was running for her life. Where was he? This man who had chased her, who had torn her blouse?

Story One: The Girl (2)

She could never get a good look at him. He just lingered in shadows, waiting. She first noticed him by a tree in the park where she jogged early in the morning. Then, she noticed that he was there every day. It was a coincidence; at least that is what she kept telling herself. Then she saw him other places. She called the police but they were too busy, besides, he hadn't done anything and she couldn't identify him. She tried to approach him one day, but a woman bumped into her. By the time she got her bearings, he was not to be seen. Although she knew that he was there, somewhere.

There! A door ajar. She pushed it open, closed it behind her and fumbled in the dark to lock it. Exhausted, out of breath, heart pounding out of her chest, sweat pouring down her face, she slid to the dusty floor. He never came to try the door. She never heard anything from the other side. She knew he saw her escape into the cracked door. Her eyes began to focus to the lack of light, her brain began to slow and take in her surroundings. There were boxes piled high, all around her.

Story One: The Girl (1)

The girl raced down the alley, her heart was pounding as she gasped for breath. No time to stop and rest. The man who had been following her for a month had changed his tactics. Up until today, he had kept consistent distance; but today, he closed in--he grabbed at her and caught the sleeve of her blouse as she came out of the grocery store. She, literally, tore away, the sleeve ripping from the seams and down the back as she ran to save her life. Why had he been following her? Why is he now chasing her?

To be continued . . .

Heat sizzles on the pavement.

Two weeks into retirement (or what used to be the beginning of our summer vacation) have resulted in one week of relaxation and one week of a more traditional vacation: short travel via car, visiting friends, and camping. This year is sooooo different. After ten years of traveling (touring) via tandem (see our website http://www.kamalamak.com/ouradv.html) we are doing things differently this year. The stimulus of the change were two cross-country cyclists who stayed with us in March. In March! Touring during non-heatstroke months made us inquisitive. Could we quit and live on Charley's retirement? So many people worry about money and the worry prevents them from exploring possibilities. If we didn't try, we wouldn't know. How much time do we have left in this world anyway?

We inquired, doors opened, and opened, and opened. No hitches. No wrinkles. Smooth sailing. Read the signs. The signs were green. Money will be tight, but we've been poor before. We have mostly everything now. Wish us luck.

Start

I need to start somewhere. So here I give you naked words to the world. Summer has begun and will not end the usual way this year. No work to return to; life has taken a good turn. Change is welcomed. Little emotions arise to say, 'hurry up, it's almost over,' but I have to keep reminding myself that it will only transition.