Tuesday, December 18, 2012
What I Really Should Be Doing...
I'm sitting in front of my kiln. I have been nursing it, coaxing it slowly, then changing and putting the fire to the iron, so to speak. In spite of whatever efforts I make or an adjustment that I think will help the kiln breathe, it fires at its own rate. The kiln's electronic controller says that it is nat 2001 degrees. At least it is climbing. I should be inside packing for a trip but I feel like this is where I ought to be. I have restarted it twice. This is the second time and the temperature is rising. That is the right direction, no matter how long it takes. What if I have to jump up and restart it again? What if I'm not here when it happens? Am I paranoid or what? As you can probably tell, this is only a small fraction of the many different of the types of neurobiological processes that take place in a potter's mind. Only a small fraction.
.JPG)
The kiln is at 2003 only a few minutes later with no sign of slowing down. I am hopeful but I still need 280 degrees fahrenheit. Could be a long haul. Frankly, I won't make it much longer. As long as the temp keeps rising, I can hang in for a while. Of course, if it stalls, then I have to stick around to restart it. Either way, I'm not leaving, not just yet. The kiln is at 2007f. I want to see it hit 2010. Then I'll decide, right?
Damn! The kiln is sounding an alarm. Failure To Heat (FTH) means the kiln is not heating fast enough for the desired temperature. It will still heat but eventually will fail and shut down. I've lost almost thirty degrees inside of two minutes. That is heat that has to be made up, so it is a battle. I will give up the battle and count on heat work to make the pots useable. I'm hungry.
.JPG)
Damn! The kiln is sounding an alarm. Failure To Heat (FTH) means the kiln is not heating fast enough for the desired temperature. It will still heat but eventually will fail and shut down. I've lost almost thirty degrees inside of two minutes. That is heat that has to be made up, so it is a battle. I will give up the battle and count on heat work to make the pots useable. I'm hungry.
"You in da Wong store..."
It goes like this: "I went into this bookstore and asked for a book on how to correctly label the Barbie Ford Mustang, vintage 1967, for auction. I asked the owner. He never heard of it. I muttered under my breath, 'wrong fucking bookstore.' The owner evidently overheard me and said, 'No, I buy Fook and Hing out. Only Wong bookstore now. Not have time to change sign."
You've probably already seen this photo. I've had it for several years. So, yeah, every now and again I break it out. It always makes me laugh.
I'm preparing for a holiday break road trip. I'll leave early Thursday and, with good driving habits in place, should make my destination by Friday night. I have to find a babysitter for Banjo and somebody to feed little kitty. I thought about bringing him with me and boarding him when I reach my destination. Might be easier than finding a babysitter. I could board him locally. If I bring him with me, I will be able to visit him while I am at my destination. It all costs money.
The kiln is firing. At last look, it was at 1380f. It needs to get to 2280f. Lately, it has not been firing past 2030f. That is not good for a mid range firer such as my self. Anybody who has had to listen to me for the last few months knows that my kiln does not hit temp but I am loathe to replace the elements. I've been having an ongoing chat with the kiln dude and the last thing we are trying before replacing the elements is hard wiring the kiln to the breaker. Maybe that will reduce the resistance and help me hit temp. Keep your eyes crossed.
The 125th Anniversary Special Issue of National Geographic is out with NO MAP!!! In its place are many pull-out extended pages with hi-res photos that make your eyes pop out. Still, I would expect a map of...anything. As I paired down the magazine subscription list, Nat Geo has remained. I've even given up my subscription to The Sun Magazine. That has been sacrosanct. It is a literary magazine with contemporary authors, and essays built on a theme that readers can write about. The reader submits the essay and, if chosen, it appears in the "Readers Write" section. It was the one magazine that I held onto. With the loss of 2% of my salary two years ago, and a divorce, I had to make a choice. Consideration factors were 1.) How often do I read the magazines? 2.) Which one has more inherent value in it and how does that compare to my current lifestyle and reading schedule. I hadn't been able to read The Sun for a while. Too much something going on. Nat Geo has remained stalwart in their efforts to educate us about our shrinking planet and the need to use it wisely. Also, there's a lot of photos. Cool ones. Almost as cool as these.
Ok, so the deal is I get up and leave by 5AM Thursday. I shall take "Lappy" with me and continue to venture forth in the blogosphere. I will take too many photographs and some video, too. the roads look doable. I guarantee at least one photo you will never have seen before.
Time to go to the Wong store.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Wait, wait a minute...
The last two days have flown by like some kind of heavy destiny wind blowing my sails. Maybe aaI have learned more about myself and how I react to external stimuli. Translation: how to deal with what life throws at you.
Saturday I accepted an invitation from someone I had been corresponding with to attend a local authors book signing. We, the author who invited me, sat in a coffee shop and talked a bit. Her eyes were piercing blue, without resignation, with an inquisitive smile. She had to go to the book signing. I has to finish my chia. i went out to my car to get my computer. I sat in the coffee shop for another 30 minutes, drinking tea and reading and responding to email. Hey! gotta keep up!
After reassuring myself the world was ok, I shut down the computer, drained my drink, and went across the street to my car. I drove to the bookstore where the event was taking place. The parking lot was full so I rolled through and pulled up along the curb on the street. I think it was snowing. On my way up the hill form the river, I saw one ugly roll over accident. It was a Dodge SUV type vehicle, black, rolled twice, maybe one more. The driver's side was crumpled, the roof touching the hood. All the glass was out of the vehicle. I knew it had rolled more than once. I counted eight state patrol cars. A fatality, thought, lots of cops. I haven't checked the news yet to see what happened. I think I already know.
I got out of the car, slammed the door, fumbled with the keys in a familiar ritual in trying to figure out which pocket to put them in. Doesn't matter. Whichever pocket, you won't be able to find them. I went into the bookstore, the manager came up to me and asked if he could help me find anything. As I do in most retail situations when presented with this polite request, I gauge their ability to understand understated humor, and ask them if they are a psychiatrist. Always a smile. Every time. No fail. Try it. It's great relief to those in retail who ask the same question every day, a million times a day. Helps break the monotony. I like to make them really laugh. Not the polite, "Yes , sir, that sure is funny" kind of laugh but the yeah, you get it laugh. I've been there. Maybe you have too.
I began my walk through the authors straight ahead. A guy named Aaron was sitting on the other side of the table I was standing in front of. He had envious long hair, thick, Native American looking only it wasn't black. He talked freely as I picked up his book and flipped through it, looking for keywords, I guess. Something about boobs and a shower caught my eye and I read a couple of paragraphs and knew I had to read this book Even if I had to buy it. Which I did. I caught his energy and started bantering with him. He had written his book in prison. That's how he spent his time. And now he has a book. Very cool. My first thought was how do I get this guy to my school to talk about writing? I asked him for his card. He smiled and looked a tad bewildered. "Card? Card? Am I supposed to have a card?" We both laughed at the irony. I gave him my card and asked him if he would come talk to young writers at an alternative high school. He launched into proclamations of what he would tell those kids. I felt it and I thought, or think, it would be a good learning experience for the aspiring writers in the student body. This guy is real. They would love him. The inspirational speaker thing gets pretty old pretty fast. This guy seems raw. His material is raw.
I picked up his book, had him sign it, and moved to the left in front of a beautiful woman who was approaching her nineties. She had written a book for children and her son had illustrated it. It was very contemporary with its hard bound cover.
I made it to the author who had invited me. I picked up her first book, which won the Willa Cather Fiction Prize, and looked at the table of contents. Some of the stories I recognized. I had already read them online. The title and subtile of her second book grabbed me and said, "This one, too!" I picked that one up, too. I was offered a chair so I sat and chatted with the few people, mostly the authors, around me. At the end of it, the author and I said goodbye as I was paying for the books. I picked up some clay tools, also. I get in my car and head through town. I'm almost out of town when I get a text asking me to come and get something to eat with her. I swung around and met her at an Asian cafe. She said the hot and sour soup was good. It had been a long time since I had that soup and I salivated. The soup came and we ate and we talked. It was good talking. It was good listening. Don't let me forget to tell you about how shitty the roads were. As soon as I passed Rock Island, the fog and snow set in. It was not a cold snow but wet and slushy, the kind of slush that will grab your tires and try to take control. Slow and easy, the only way to go, but not too slow, please. Winter is here, according to the highways.
I rolled in to East Wenatchee about 9PM. I picked up my Airbook and checked my email. I saw an email from someone I had not heard from in too long. I am glad for the connection. That is the last I will write of it.
Sunday was our staff party. As usual, it started out family friendly and rapidly submerged into a loud tequila fueled shout fest. I think I even had a good shout or two. I was one of the last to leave. I walked outside. My vehicle was parked across the street. Humongous flakes of snow were floating through the dark sky. I walked right in between them. I put the car in magic glide and made it home, sound and safe, too. Quite content, thank you. LISTEN: Braided Hair
Saturday I accepted an invitation from someone I had been corresponding with to attend a local authors book signing. We, the author who invited me, sat in a coffee shop and talked a bit. Her eyes were piercing blue, without resignation, with an inquisitive smile. She had to go to the book signing. I has to finish my chia. i went out to my car to get my computer. I sat in the coffee shop for another 30 minutes, drinking tea and reading and responding to email. Hey! gotta keep up!
After reassuring myself the world was ok, I shut down the computer, drained my drink, and went across the street to my car. I drove to the bookstore where the event was taking place. The parking lot was full so I rolled through and pulled up along the curb on the street. I think it was snowing. On my way up the hill form the river, I saw one ugly roll over accident. It was a Dodge SUV type vehicle, black, rolled twice, maybe one more. The driver's side was crumpled, the roof touching the hood. All the glass was out of the vehicle. I knew it had rolled more than once. I counted eight state patrol cars. A fatality, thought, lots of cops. I haven't checked the news yet to see what happened. I think I already know.
I got out of the car, slammed the door, fumbled with the keys in a familiar ritual in trying to figure out which pocket to put them in. Doesn't matter. Whichever pocket, you won't be able to find them. I went into the bookstore, the manager came up to me and asked if he could help me find anything. As I do in most retail situations when presented with this polite request, I gauge their ability to understand understated humor, and ask them if they are a psychiatrist. Always a smile. Every time. No fail. Try it. It's great relief to those in retail who ask the same question every day, a million times a day. Helps break the monotony. I like to make them really laugh. Not the polite, "Yes , sir, that sure is funny" kind of laugh but the yeah, you get it laugh. I've been there. Maybe you have too.
I began my walk through the authors straight ahead. A guy named Aaron was sitting on the other side of the table I was standing in front of. He had envious long hair, thick, Native American looking only it wasn't black. He talked freely as I picked up his book and flipped through it, looking for keywords, I guess. Something about boobs and a shower caught my eye and I read a couple of paragraphs and knew I had to read this book Even if I had to buy it. Which I did. I caught his energy and started bantering with him. He had written his book in prison. That's how he spent his time. And now he has a book. Very cool. My first thought was how do I get this guy to my school to talk about writing? I asked him for his card. He smiled and looked a tad bewildered. "Card? Card? Am I supposed to have a card?" We both laughed at the irony. I gave him my card and asked him if he would come talk to young writers at an alternative high school. He launched into proclamations of what he would tell those kids. I felt it and I thought, or think, it would be a good learning experience for the aspiring writers in the student body. This guy is real. They would love him. The inspirational speaker thing gets pretty old pretty fast. This guy seems raw. His material is raw.
I picked up his book, had him sign it, and moved to the left in front of a beautiful woman who was approaching her nineties. She had written a book for children and her son had illustrated it. It was very contemporary with its hard bound cover.
I made it to the author who had invited me. I picked up her first book, which won the Willa Cather Fiction Prize, and looked at the table of contents. Some of the stories I recognized. I had already read them online. The title and subtile of her second book grabbed me and said, "This one, too!" I picked that one up, too. I was offered a chair so I sat and chatted with the few people, mostly the authors, around me. At the end of it, the author and I said goodbye as I was paying for the books. I picked up some clay tools, also. I get in my car and head through town. I'm almost out of town when I get a text asking me to come and get something to eat with her. I swung around and met her at an Asian cafe. She said the hot and sour soup was good. It had been a long time since I had that soup and I salivated. The soup came and we ate and we talked. It was good talking. It was good listening. Don't let me forget to tell you about how shitty the roads were. As soon as I passed Rock Island, the fog and snow set in. It was not a cold snow but wet and slushy, the kind of slush that will grab your tires and try to take control. Slow and easy, the only way to go, but not too slow, please. Winter is here, according to the highways.
I rolled in to East Wenatchee about 9PM. I picked up my Airbook and checked my email. I saw an email from someone I had not heard from in too long. I am glad for the connection. That is the last I will write of it.
Sunday was our staff party. As usual, it started out family friendly and rapidly submerged into a loud tequila fueled shout fest. I think I even had a good shout or two. I was one of the last to leave. I walked outside. My vehicle was parked across the street. Humongous flakes of snow were floating through the dark sky. I walked right in between them. I put the car in magic glide and made it home, sound and safe, too. Quite content, thank you. LISTEN: Braided Hair
Friday, December 14, 2012
It's Here.
Banjo looked at me straight in the eye. Border Collies are good at that. He always wins stare contests. This look tonight said, "Don't go out tonight. Stay home. Good boy." He must know that I want to go see "The Life of Pi" in 3D. Really, I should change clothes and go to the studio, finish glazing, prep the kiln shelves, possibly even loading the kiln and programming it to begin function at 9AM. I have directly wired my kiln to the circuit breaker. I cut off the electric plug from the kiln, bought three aluminum wire connectors, big enough for six gauge wire, undid the outlet and took the wires from the breaker and shoved 'em in one side of the connector and the wire from the kiln in the other end. Screw them down tight and wrap and wrap and wrap with rubberized electric tape. It stretches and holds better than vinyl. The reason and hope being in doing all this is to get the few extra watts I need to hit my maturation temperature of 2280 degrees fahrenheit. Is that so much to ask?
Here is a link to a show I was in in Mt. Vernon a few years back: http://foundintrans.blogspot.com/
I sold the only pot I had in the show. An architect from Seattle bought it. I was gratified. I was also later blessed as a potter in a Shinto ceremony at the only Shinto temple outside of Japan in Granite Falls, WA. It was a fabulous ceremony, beating on the taiko drum, the incenses waved back and forth. My wife t the time stood next to me. I held my pot in my hand. I had a coach standing next to me telling me when to bow and when to offer the pot to the priest. I gave the pot to the priest who placed it on the altar and waved smoke around it. It was pretty interesting. Someone showed up and played clay flute. I'm not sure if it was Stroutsos or not.
He is a paradox. He is one of the most enjoyably wound up humans I know. He ad libs his way though life, too. We get each other even though we only been thrown together about three or four times. His music, though, belies the fire and kinetic energy he would otherwise display. He plays native flute, Japanese flute, meditative stuff. He has many cd's and I own a few of them. The last time I say him was at Sleeping Lady in Leavenworth, WA. He paid to perform as he wanted to gain exposure in a more classical manner. I said I would help him. I haven't. I should. He would do the same for me, I think.
9PM and I'm still thinking and typing. This little pocket of aluminum is so sweet and seduces me into typing more and saying less.
I'm going to a book signing tomorrow in Ellensburg, WA, hometown of the Screaming Trees and Jeff Frantz, at Jerrol's Bookstore. I can pick up some clay tools. As nobody but me knows, I am in need of some sharp tools. I'll leave you with Joe Walsh. Thank God we still have Joe Walsh.
Here is a link to a show I was in in Mt. Vernon a few years back: http://foundintrans.blogspot.com/
I sold the only pot I had in the show. An architect from Seattle bought it. I was gratified. I was also later blessed as a potter in a Shinto ceremony at the only Shinto temple outside of Japan in Granite Falls, WA. It was a fabulous ceremony, beating on the taiko drum, the incenses waved back and forth. My wife t the time stood next to me. I held my pot in my hand. I had a coach standing next to me telling me when to bow and when to offer the pot to the priest. I gave the pot to the priest who placed it on the altar and waved smoke around it. It was pretty interesting. Someone showed up and played clay flute. I'm not sure if it was Stroutsos or not.
 |
| Abby summoning her super powers to take care of the fallen trees after the windstorm of 2007 |
9PM and I'm still thinking and typing. This little pocket of aluminum is so sweet and seduces me into typing more and saying less.
I'm going to a book signing tomorrow in Ellensburg, WA, hometown of the Screaming Trees and Jeff Frantz, at Jerrol's Bookstore. I can pick up some clay tools. As nobody but me knows, I am in need of some sharp tools. I'll leave you with Joe Walsh. Thank God we still have Joe Walsh.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Let's Do the Time Continuum Again!
Bodhisattva? Me? No, no, I just teach. A bodhisattva is a human who has reached enlightenment. How many levels of enlightenment are there? Sometimes the light goes on and I understand something I had been ruminating about for awhile. I get it but does that equal enlightenment? Maybe it depends on who you are...or, if you meditate to claim your inner being and you do it for years and years and years yet you never feel as if enlightenment is just around the corner but you keep on meditating, is that enlightenment? Or the moment you realize the consumer's idea of God does not match yours? Certainly that's enlightenment? No? We're running out of options. What do you think?
At one time, many years ago when I had given up alcohol, drugs, and marijuana, I was taught how to self-hypnotize. Best thing that ever happened to me. I know people always say that about different events in their life and it makes me wonder: can you have more than one "best" thing that ever happened to you in your life? Best is a superlative used to describe a single event. Theoretically, there is nothing better than best. Correct me if I'm wrong. Self-hypnosis is meditating without meditating. I would sit on the couch, go into the zone for about twenty minutes, wake myself up. I felt great after that. Once a day while in college, at least the last year of college. It went away when my first wife told me she was divorcing me. My last semester at the university was about to begin. I was required to quit my wonderful job as stir-fry chef at The Mustard Seed restaurant when it was across from the Opera House in Spokane. I wasn't supposed to work as this was the semester I was to dedicate to student teaching. I didn't know how I wasn't going to work and support a family. I suppose the divorce announcement and consequent move from the apartment of my then wife and daughter freed me up a bit, although I should have been paying child support, I suppose. No, I wasn't divorced yet.
So out the window went the ability to calm myself into a trance like state and rest deeply. I haven't been able to get it back. I miss it. We are all at our best when well rested, especially me. It runs in the family. What's left of the family, anyway. Maybe I'll cross that subject later.
So, who is enlightened? The Dalai Lama? He knows a lot of good quotes that ring true, most common sense. The Pope. Nope. Any of us, really? Maybe this is my time in life to be confused. Those who claim enlightenment shouldn't. It's not really the sort of thing you would brag about if you were enlightened. Me, I'd just keep it to myself because as sure as getting killed by stepping in front of a moving bus, someone will want to argue about it. Just be enlightened. I'll feel it.
At one time, many years ago when I had given up alcohol, drugs, and marijuana, I was taught how to self-hypnotize. Best thing that ever happened to me. I know people always say that about different events in their life and it makes me wonder: can you have more than one "best" thing that ever happened to you in your life? Best is a superlative used to describe a single event. Theoretically, there is nothing better than best. Correct me if I'm wrong. Self-hypnosis is meditating without meditating. I would sit on the couch, go into the zone for about twenty minutes, wake myself up. I felt great after that. Once a day while in college, at least the last year of college. It went away when my first wife told me she was divorcing me. My last semester at the university was about to begin. I was required to quit my wonderful job as stir-fry chef at The Mustard Seed restaurant when it was across from the Opera House in Spokane. I wasn't supposed to work as this was the semester I was to dedicate to student teaching. I didn't know how I wasn't going to work and support a family. I suppose the divorce announcement and consequent move from the apartment of my then wife and daughter freed me up a bit, although I should have been paying child support, I suppose. No, I wasn't divorced yet.
So out the window went the ability to calm myself into a trance like state and rest deeply. I haven't been able to get it back. I miss it. We are all at our best when well rested, especially me. It runs in the family. What's left of the family, anyway. Maybe I'll cross that subject later.
So, who is enlightened? The Dalai Lama? He knows a lot of good quotes that ring true, most common sense. The Pope. Nope. Any of us, really? Maybe this is my time in life to be confused. Those who claim enlightenment shouldn't. It's not really the sort of thing you would brag about if you were enlightened. Me, I'd just keep it to myself because as sure as getting killed by stepping in front of a moving bus, someone will want to argue about it. Just be enlightened. I'll feel it.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Pizza for Lunch
I like the way people come into my life. Today, a nurse contracted by many companies came to take blood from me today. I am looking into a life insurance policy that will cover me until I'm 75, the age both my parents croaked. No, I'm not planning on dying, who does.
So the nurse starts talking, asking me questions. Yes, no, 2001...and she mentions living in Tonasket. Click. Connection. She knows my friend Paul Appel's family, she knew of my grandfather and though she might have a cup of his. I showed her my collection of grandpa's potter, mentioning that I buy his pieces on eBay.
It's the little connections that make it good. It is good. We are the sum of all the people we know or have known. If even for a short time, the people we meet leave a mark on us. Big small or invisible, it is there. Be friendly to everybody. It's a nice thing to do for them and yourself.
Today is my sister's birthday. 12/12/12. I don't know how old she is, doesn't matter after a certain age so she's at least that old. We were pretty close as toddlers...
The nurse asked me if I lived here alone. Yes, I do. She said it looked as if a man lived here. Right again. That tells me that I am missing out on an important part of female perspective. Yes, I do live alone so I don't pick up after myself as much as one should, I suppose. I guess I noticed and made many mental notes to get with the program and make the house a home instead of a dorm room. Holiday Break is coming up. Hey! Maybe I can do it then?
So the nurse starts talking, asking me questions. Yes, no, 2001...and she mentions living in Tonasket. Click. Connection. She knows my friend Paul Appel's family, she knew of my grandfather and though she might have a cup of his. I showed her my collection of grandpa's potter, mentioning that I buy his pieces on eBay.
It's the little connections that make it good. It is good. We are the sum of all the people we know or have known. If even for a short time, the people we meet leave a mark on us. Big small or invisible, it is there. Be friendly to everybody. It's a nice thing to do for them and yourself.
Today is my sister's birthday. 12/12/12. I don't know how old she is, doesn't matter after a certain age so she's at least that old. We were pretty close as toddlers...
The nurse asked me if I lived here alone. Yes, I do. She said it looked as if a man lived here. Right again. That tells me that I am missing out on an important part of female perspective. Yes, I do live alone so I don't pick up after myself as much as one should, I suppose. I guess I noticed and made many mental notes to get with the program and make the house a home instead of a dorm room. Holiday Break is coming up. Hey! Maybe I can do it then?
Dropped! 20 hours out...
This little machine I get to type on is so sweet, so sweet. Just the right size, fits in my lap, the key board is smaller making it easier for me to type. It's a delight to type. 12-12-12. My sister Maureen's birthday. She's 17 months younger than me. You do the math. She's probably having a good time. I hope so.
Work was work tonight. I think everyone is looking forward to the holiday break. I will be attending the annual WSHS staff party this year. I made it through last year's so I'll test my staff party mettle and go again.
The 20 hours and you're out policy at work came into play tonight and in a most heartbreaking way. It was a student we all loved, sweet young lady, always smiling in spite of my grouchiness. But 20 hours of missed class time is a month of class time missed. We drop them from the program when they reach 20 hours out. This has been a strange year. We have a lot of people 20 or more hours out but are still enrolled. When we have to drop someone it's never pleasant for us. I sigh a bit, think about the work put into the missing student, then think about the student and what will happen to them. A student who has trusted me with his life story needed to talk today. We usually spend an hour in a room with the door closed and we both listen to each other. Today I didn't have the time. I think I'm one of the few people this student confides in. I told him we could talk but not as long. We talked but I cut it short after fifteen minutes. I hope he comes back to school.
I consider the tremendous responsibility I have been given and that I have been doing for almost 21 years and I just sit here and wonder how I did it and how I can keep doing it. For me, I have to believe every day. It has been difficult lately. I was the Barkmeister at school last night. As mentioned in a previous post, no one escaped unscathed. Today one girl came up to me and asked me if I was mad at her. I realized what a pompous asshole I had been. I was tired. I am tired. I was hungry...no excuse, really. Tonight I came in mindful of my temperament. I was still tired but comfortable grading papers and signing off on contracts. I ate lunch. I drank caffeine. I was ok. Not exactly exuberant, but I was going to make it.
What makes this particular job so fascinating to me are the disperate personalities. The rainbow of stories they bring with them. Their families and their babies, they come in all colors. It is one of those places on Earth where it is good to be when you are there. It is a job where you are in the moment most of the time. It comes at you from all directions; the history question, the person who needs a book to read (yay! They're reading!) or whatever. The conversation has been good over the years. I'd like to think I've put the lid on any sort of homophobia that comes out of the mouths of some. It takes a creative mind to roll with the Night Program.
A true and dear friend made a video for me today singing. Wow! I shoulda known. I was gratified and flattered. Made my day.
Made my day...which I should put to an end. As much as I need to stay fed, I need to be rested. Yeah, baby...sleepy time...
Work was work tonight. I think everyone is looking forward to the holiday break. I will be attending the annual WSHS staff party this year. I made it through last year's so I'll test my staff party mettle and go again.
The 20 hours and you're out policy at work came into play tonight and in a most heartbreaking way. It was a student we all loved, sweet young lady, always smiling in spite of my grouchiness. But 20 hours of missed class time is a month of class time missed. We drop them from the program when they reach 20 hours out. This has been a strange year. We have a lot of people 20 or more hours out but are still enrolled. When we have to drop someone it's never pleasant for us. I sigh a bit, think about the work put into the missing student, then think about the student and what will happen to them. A student who has trusted me with his life story needed to talk today. We usually spend an hour in a room with the door closed and we both listen to each other. Today I didn't have the time. I think I'm one of the few people this student confides in. I told him we could talk but not as long. We talked but I cut it short after fifteen minutes. I hope he comes back to school.
I consider the tremendous responsibility I have been given and that I have been doing for almost 21 years and I just sit here and wonder how I did it and how I can keep doing it. For me, I have to believe every day. It has been difficult lately. I was the Barkmeister at school last night. As mentioned in a previous post, no one escaped unscathed. Today one girl came up to me and asked me if I was mad at her. I realized what a pompous asshole I had been. I was tired. I am tired. I was hungry...no excuse, really. Tonight I came in mindful of my temperament. I was still tired but comfortable grading papers and signing off on contracts. I ate lunch. I drank caffeine. I was ok. Not exactly exuberant, but I was going to make it.
What makes this particular job so fascinating to me are the disperate personalities. The rainbow of stories they bring with them. Their families and their babies, they come in all colors. It is one of those places on Earth where it is good to be when you are there. It is a job where you are in the moment most of the time. It comes at you from all directions; the history question, the person who needs a book to read (yay! They're reading!) or whatever. The conversation has been good over the years. I'd like to think I've put the lid on any sort of homophobia that comes out of the mouths of some. It takes a creative mind to roll with the Night Program.
Made my day...which I should put to an end. As much as I need to stay fed, I need to be rested. Yeah, baby...sleepy time...
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
"Listen You Little Shit..."
This evening was not a good one for the effervescent Mr. Lynch. He was off his game and would not let anyone escape unwounded. Feeling anxious but not able to pinpoint the cause, he took his unease with the world out on his students. He impersonalized all them at once. They were all the same student. The student who didn't do his homework, the student who hasn't handed in work in weeks, the student who takes a break every five minutes, the student who leaves campus to get food without signing out, the student who wants you to drop every last thing that you are doing because they needed something RIGHT NOW!
Without looking up, I would entertain the student in front of me as to what they needed. Without looking at them I would tersely answer in the negative or affirmative. I was abrasive.
Without looking up, I would entertain the student in front of me as to what they needed. Without looking at them I would tersely answer in the negative or affirmative. I was abrasive.
Later in the evening, I apologized. They get it. At the end of the night, a student from math who had been a student of mine came in to see how I was doing. She had been watching me for a while and noticed I was pretty anxious. So I told her about everything inside of three minutes. Everyday should be a holiday, but it isn't. Right? I think I'll go for a walk in the snow...
Tuesday is Monday
So, yeah, as I might have been saying, my memory is shit and I would have to go back and look at what I said, and I don't feel that inspired. We'll just go off a possible memory. As I was saying, romantic interest broke up with me a couple days ago via a text message. Maybe it's my own hubris, but I would have thought that if there was emotion shared between two people, even a wee bit, that a phone call, even a lengthy email detailing the reasons the romance will never work, is a more polite, socially acceptable form of dismissal. Dare I be accused of living in the past, I get the texting blowoff. Much easier, no messy crying over the phone, no feeling bad when you hear the sadness in the other's voice. No involvement, really. Just text saying, " ...You're being dropped..." Easy, eh?
I was totally bummed (my kitten is trying to crawl under the space between my leg and the computer.) I tried calling, several times and, according to script, she did not pick up. I did not hear from her until she texted me about the biopsy results. So, we're through but she cares enough to text me about my biopsy. It's different. I texted, "Call me." I did not want to text about it. I get tired of texting because I talk/type too much. I like to fully explain to whomever is reading what I'm talking about or whatever it is I'm writing about. She called but I had decided to take the garbage out and did not hear the phone. In fact, it was probably still turned off after being at the doctor's office.
After I see the missed call, I called. Of course, my motive was to get her on the phone. I wanted to talk. So we argued for a while. She even said she didn't like our arguments. I agreed. We went around and around because she woke up one night and wondered if I was still on the dating site we had met on. She had a friend check. Yes, I did still have my profile up and it accurately explained my married status and why. Of course that's a deal killer for any woman cruising a dating site. They want their men free and clear. I am not. Until 2/12/13, that is.
We did the around and around verbal sparing that always leads to a dead end. She did end up agreeing to keep talking. I'm thinking, in spite of the way I feel about her, which truly was unexpected in it immediacy (all it took was one look at her,) that it isn't such a great romance if there is no trust, one either partie's part. We'll see how it goes. I'm determined to stay celibate until Good Ole Abe's birthday. That way I can say I had never been unfaithful to the ex while married. That ought to count for something to someone. Maybe just me. That's enough. Just do it for me.
The Dandy Warhols are in Portland this Sunday. I am dying to go, don't think I can afford it but we'll see. I have been for the last 30 minutes been trying to figure out how to install an audio player for this blog. It's out there but I have little time to research. So, for today, hasta la vista, amigos. It's all good.
Monday, December 10, 2012
What Else Can Go Wrong Today?
Today has been very weird for me. My online girlfriend dumped me by text last night. Very weird and I dont get it. Probably never will. Some people are like that. They make up their mind and that's it. Some might say that is an honorable quality. Others might say it smacks of being closed-minded. Either way, it was, and is, weird.
I've emailed my online romantic interest twice today. And, today is the day I find out my prostate biopsy results. I am hoping for the best. If the results are positive, I've got a lot of thinking to do. Any suggestions for treatment?
I've emailed my online romantic interest twice today. And, today is the day I find out my prostate biopsy results. I am hoping for the best. If the results are positive, I've got a lot of thinking to do. Any suggestions for treatment?
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Has This Ever Happened To You?
Welcome to the 21st century, Tim. You were just dumped by a beautiful woman you spent four celibate days with. How did she do it? She texted me. Yes, you read that right, She texted me and said she was dumping me because I was disingenuous. She texted me a minute before saying "I guess you weren't going to tell me you are on OurTime.com were you?" I texted back, "Am I being set up?" Then she texted me with, "No, you're being dropped. I don't deal with disingenuous character." Ba-dum. Just like that. A few frantic phone messages left, unanswered texts. And then, I went back to work on my kiln, got it wired in, loaded and firing.
Now, I'm thinking about what happened, what, if any role I played into. Frankly, I'm not buying the "you've been unfaithful to me by looking at online dating profiles" scenario. Yes, I have been looking at profiles. Yes, sometimes I write to someone who has a well written profile. It is rare in the online dating world to see truly original profiles. I prefer the no bullshit ones. So it is not unlike the English teacher in me to write and tell someone they did a good job. I guess that's wrong. I didn't know. Yes, we had hit it off over email and the phone. We emailed every day and then we started talking on the phone. Not long after, we began Skyping. That was a weekly event until my return from Fargo, ND., where she lives. I flew down to see her. Maybe a month and half to two months into the whole phone.video romance, she asked me how long I had been divorced. I told her I wasn't quite yet and explained how I was still married legally because we were trying to refinance my house so I could stay there. The only way it would go through is if we stayed married. She became another person in an instant while I was still me wondering why she couldn't understand what to me was a logical yet painful decision. We do what we have to do. I didn't want to lose contact with this woman. We had "chosen" each other and had an agreement, I suppose, that we would be exclusive with each other. I agreed. And still do. Some people are worth waiting for.
So, I'm portrayed as the bad guy again. It seems like she was looking for something to be angry with me about. I think she wanted to dump me anyway, but, as I have professed love for her, maybe she didn't know how. I'm a black and white guy, yes or no, she could have just been truthful and told me. To drag up some sort of paranoid accusation about being in the online dating world is just a bit too difficult to me. What was she doing online? How did she find out I was still online? Who's spying on me? Do I need this?
No, I don't.
Now, I'm thinking about what happened, what, if any role I played into. Frankly, I'm not buying the "you've been unfaithful to me by looking at online dating profiles" scenario. Yes, I have been looking at profiles. Yes, sometimes I write to someone who has a well written profile. It is rare in the online dating world to see truly original profiles. I prefer the no bullshit ones. So it is not unlike the English teacher in me to write and tell someone they did a good job. I guess that's wrong. I didn't know. Yes, we had hit it off over email and the phone. We emailed every day and then we started talking on the phone. Not long after, we began Skyping. That was a weekly event until my return from Fargo, ND., where she lives. I flew down to see her. Maybe a month and half to two months into the whole phone.video romance, she asked me how long I had been divorced. I told her I wasn't quite yet and explained how I was still married legally because we were trying to refinance my house so I could stay there. The only way it would go through is if we stayed married. She became another person in an instant while I was still me wondering why she couldn't understand what to me was a logical yet painful decision. We do what we have to do. I didn't want to lose contact with this woman. We had "chosen" each other and had an agreement, I suppose, that we would be exclusive with each other. I agreed. And still do. Some people are worth waiting for.
So, I'm portrayed as the bad guy again. It seems like she was looking for something to be angry with me about. I think she wanted to dump me anyway, but, as I have professed love for her, maybe she didn't know how. I'm a black and white guy, yes or no, she could have just been truthful and told me. To drag up some sort of paranoid accusation about being in the online dating world is just a bit too difficult to me. What was she doing online? How did she find out I was still online? Who's spying on me? Do I need this?
No, I don't.
The Very Next Day
Even though my life was full yesterday, I did not accomplish all that I set out to do. I did get my laptop on eBay. I did start rewiring the kiln. If I don't "medicate" with herb for a while, I'm sure I'll get it all done. Except for killing the three remaining cherry trees, dismembering them and throwing the cut up pieces in a bin. I can't do that yet. I don't feel fully recovered from the biopsy.
Today is yet full to procrastinate. I've been doing well in that respect. No rationale needed. Some might find that disconcerting but I don't and won't bother to try and explain why. It is.
I ended up having my own party last night. I can't believe that I actually drank the tequila I found in my daughter's car before she left for Italy. I had to mix it with lemonade, courtesy of Paul Newman. Two glasses of wine and numerous bowls of medication. Music loud. I resisted the urge to play drums but did get out the electric and play along with AC/DC. They play half a step high on the tuning scale. I didn't make to the bed and blankets part of the fiasco until about 3AM. Woke up to the alarm at 7:30AM, took morning meds and went back to sleep.
Just saw a couple walking down the street. The younger male was walking two German Shorthair puppies. They were stretched tight on their leash. The young mom was pushing a well insulated baby buggy and texting. My thought was, "Hey, you're missing the walk!"
I'm thinking fondly of Romantic Interest today. It would be nice to see her.
I read an abstract by Mary Helen Immordino-Yang and Antonio Damasio entitled, " We Feel, Therefore We Learn. The Relevance of Affective and Social Neuroscience to Education." The main point is that all learning has an emotional component that plays heavily in the art of education. Very good. It is what I, and my colleagues at Westside Alternative High School, have known for years: that creating a positive affective bond with students is mandatory before they will be receptive to learning. The article compares persons with frontal lobe brain damage to the rest of us and shows that emotion plays into reasonable decision making and reception to new ideas. "Without adequate access to emotional, social, and moral feedback, in effect the important elements of culture, learning cannot inform real-world functioning as effectively." I think most teachers are aware of this. Now, it has been studied, researched, and written about. Here's the paper:
http://www-bcf.usc.edu/~immordin/papers/Immordino-Yang+Damasio_2007_RelevanceofNeurotoEdu.pdf
Another link to a related issue. Kind of a Power Pointy thingy:
https://connect.johnshopkins.edu/p82806048/?launcher=false&fcsContent=true&pbMode=normal
Let's start a band.
Today is yet full to procrastinate. I've been doing well in that respect. No rationale needed. Some might find that disconcerting but I don't and won't bother to try and explain why. It is.
I ended up having my own party last night. I can't believe that I actually drank the tequila I found in my daughter's car before she left for Italy. I had to mix it with lemonade, courtesy of Paul Newman. Two glasses of wine and numerous bowls of medication. Music loud. I resisted the urge to play drums but did get out the electric and play along with AC/DC. They play half a step high on the tuning scale. I didn't make to the bed and blankets part of the fiasco until about 3AM. Woke up to the alarm at 7:30AM, took morning meds and went back to sleep.
I'm thinking fondly of Romantic Interest today. It would be nice to see her.
I read an abstract by Mary Helen Immordino-Yang and Antonio Damasio entitled, " We Feel, Therefore We Learn. The Relevance of Affective and Social Neuroscience to Education." The main point is that all learning has an emotional component that plays heavily in the art of education. Very good. It is what I, and my colleagues at Westside Alternative High School, have known for years: that creating a positive affective bond with students is mandatory before they will be receptive to learning. The article compares persons with frontal lobe brain damage to the rest of us and shows that emotion plays into reasonable decision making and reception to new ideas. "Without adequate access to emotional, social, and moral feedback, in effect the important elements of culture, learning cannot inform real-world functioning as effectively." I think most teachers are aware of this. Now, it has been studied, researched, and written about. Here's the paper:
http://www-bcf.usc.edu/~immordin/papers/Immordino-Yang+Damasio_2007_RelevanceofNeurotoEdu.pdf
Another link to a related issue. Kind of a Power Pointy thingy:
https://connect.johnshopkins.edu/p82806048/?launcher=false&fcsContent=true&pbMode=normal
Let's start a band.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Edition #1.5
Yes, Edition 1.5 because I have already lost edition #1 by trying to include Location. Sent me to an error page I could not get out of. Anyway...
Blog. Say stuff. Maybe other people will read it but probably not unless you tell them about it. Then, maybe you don't want to your friends to read it because then I think it might stifle what I have to say as I tend to be graphically honest. If friends are reading, I'm sure they'll think I'm talking about them. Yeah, what a dilemma, eh?
So why does one even attempt to write such a thing as a blog? For me, it is to keep track of my life at this point in time. Journaling, I suppose, in a way. Along that way, though, I'll include whatever sort of interactive inserts to keep us informed and amused.
It has been a sobering week for me. Tuesday I had a prostate biopsy. That was the worst two hours of my life. I have a romantic interest who told me, basically, to quit whining. Females are poked and prodded, scraped and poked some more by doctors. She said, "Once you get your feet up into the stirrups..." The next day I went to work but felt like shit. I called the doctor to find out what the symptoms of a reaction to the biopsy were. After describing my symptoms, he told me to come down to the clinic ASAP. I teach and left my class in the hands of the counselor. I went to the clinic walk-in facility. I got there at 5PM and walked out the door at 9PM, having given urine, three blood samples, and being fed antibiotics through an IV. I stayed home the next day and just sat around. I was leaking blood from the wrong places.
Today is Saturday, December 8, 2012. I live in East Wenatchee, WA. It is a good place to live. I've had the same job for 21 years. In 4.5 years, I will retire. My mind is thinking at maximum drive speed. I'm trying to slow it down. How does that work?
To sum me up at this particular moment in the continuum, I am a 60 year-old white male, single, but not legally divorced yet due to financial constraints. That particular issue causes the romantic interest to be slow and cautious with me. I've explained, ad nauseum, the reason for not being legal. Yes, it's the house. I have been separated for two years, gone through all the stages of grief, can now talk to ex congenially. I filed for divorce in April of 2012. Since neither of the parties involved could afford to use lawyers, we did it ourselves. "Divorce With Dignity," was the theme of our divorce. Neither of us could walk away from the house without going bankrupt. The Federal Government, particularly the FHA, came out with a refinance program called Streamline Refinance. Basically, they take your old FHA mortgage and switch it out with another FHA mortgage at lower interest rates. Save money, afford staying in the house. Problem is FHA found out we were getting divorced and would not process the loan UNLESS we both lived in the house (not going to happen,) or we stayed married. The mortgage broker really hammered away on this. "It will just add four months to your divorce. One month for the loan to process, then you file and wait the ninety days."
I was convinced Lani, my ex wife, would not go for it. It was just days until the divorce was final. I talked to her. She agreed. After all, her name was, and is, on the mortgage. What was next? I had to file for a Motion for Dismissal of the Motion for Divorce. The ironic piece in this is that the day the divorce was to be final, July 10, 2012, I was at the courthouse filing for dismissal. The loan went through.
Through procrastination and the fact that I kept spending the money I had set aside to file, I didn't get around to filing again until late October, early November. Now the divorce is final on 2-12-13, Abraham Lincoln's birthday. See the irony there? Lincoln freed the slaves, right?
It certainly puts a crimp in the social interactions with females. We have fun but when I explain my marital status, I become invisible. Know the feeling? I know my marital status. I'm single. My ex knows about my romantic interest. She's cool with that. I think it might make her feel better about things, about me, that I am moving on. I am surmising because it is something that will never be discussed.
While the romantic interest is fond of me and has been affectionate, I have only visited her once, but that was enough for me. Since we live halfway across the country from each other, meetups are rare, in this case only once so far. So, I have been trying to weezle an invite for the Holiday Break. I'm not sure that I'm wanted, although that has been assured but not worked out yet. Seems that she doesn't want me to come down if she has to work. i reassured her that I was capable of keeping myself occupied. Minneapolis/St. Paul, MN., is only three hours south of her. I could then travel up to Minnetonka to see Mel Jacobsen, a very good and opinionated studio potter. I could keep myself occupied and be home in time to greet my gal at the door. She doesn't see it that way. Says it would be too distracting knowing that I'm there and she has to work and can't be with me. Really, that's quite a compliment. I guess I just look at it differently. She's peach, though, and I'll hang on as long it goes. It is good to go slow. I've always been is such a hurry. To nowhere mostly but still in a hurry to get there.
The next steps? Right now, I'm in the kitchen, typing with my new Macbook Air, the sun is shining brightly through the bay window, the kitten is on the table grooming, the dog is laying at my feet on the floor. I need to work in the studio today. I have someone else's bowls to fire and I have to hard wire my kiln. Haven't been able to hit the temp I need. After talking to the kiln guy, Eric, at Seattle Pottery Supply, we think hard wiring the kiln might work. I won't know unless I get out there and do it.
The divorce is final, done, kaput, finis, no more a legally binding contract in 66 days. I will be officially "available" to women in the dating scene. I am avoiding that scene more or less as I am in love with romantic interest and will give that my full attention.
Sounds idealistic, doesn't it?
Blog. Say stuff. Maybe other people will read it but probably not unless you tell them about it. Then, maybe you don't want to your friends to read it because then I think it might stifle what I have to say as I tend to be graphically honest. If friends are reading, I'm sure they'll think I'm talking about them. Yeah, what a dilemma, eh?
So why does one even attempt to write such a thing as a blog? For me, it is to keep track of my life at this point in time. Journaling, I suppose, in a way. Along that way, though, I'll include whatever sort of interactive inserts to keep us informed and amused.
It has been a sobering week for me. Tuesday I had a prostate biopsy. That was the worst two hours of my life. I have a romantic interest who told me, basically, to quit whining. Females are poked and prodded, scraped and poked some more by doctors. She said, "Once you get your feet up into the stirrups..." The next day I went to work but felt like shit. I called the doctor to find out what the symptoms of a reaction to the biopsy were. After describing my symptoms, he told me to come down to the clinic ASAP. I teach and left my class in the hands of the counselor. I went to the clinic walk-in facility. I got there at 5PM and walked out the door at 9PM, having given urine, three blood samples, and being fed antibiotics through an IV. I stayed home the next day and just sat around. I was leaking blood from the wrong places.
Today is Saturday, December 8, 2012. I live in East Wenatchee, WA. It is a good place to live. I've had the same job for 21 years. In 4.5 years, I will retire. My mind is thinking at maximum drive speed. I'm trying to slow it down. How does that work?
To sum me up at this particular moment in the continuum, I am a 60 year-old white male, single, but not legally divorced yet due to financial constraints. That particular issue causes the romantic interest to be slow and cautious with me. I've explained, ad nauseum, the reason for not being legal. Yes, it's the house. I have been separated for two years, gone through all the stages of grief, can now talk to ex congenially. I filed for divorce in April of 2012. Since neither of the parties involved could afford to use lawyers, we did it ourselves. "Divorce With Dignity," was the theme of our divorce. Neither of us could walk away from the house without going bankrupt. The Federal Government, particularly the FHA, came out with a refinance program called Streamline Refinance. Basically, they take your old FHA mortgage and switch it out with another FHA mortgage at lower interest rates. Save money, afford staying in the house. Problem is FHA found out we were getting divorced and would not process the loan UNLESS we both lived in the house (not going to happen,) or we stayed married. The mortgage broker really hammered away on this. "It will just add four months to your divorce. One month for the loan to process, then you file and wait the ninety days."
I was convinced Lani, my ex wife, would not go for it. It was just days until the divorce was final. I talked to her. She agreed. After all, her name was, and is, on the mortgage. What was next? I had to file for a Motion for Dismissal of the Motion for Divorce. The ironic piece in this is that the day the divorce was to be final, July 10, 2012, I was at the courthouse filing for dismissal. The loan went through.
Through procrastination and the fact that I kept spending the money I had set aside to file, I didn't get around to filing again until late October, early November. Now the divorce is final on 2-12-13, Abraham Lincoln's birthday. See the irony there? Lincoln freed the slaves, right?
It certainly puts a crimp in the social interactions with females. We have fun but when I explain my marital status, I become invisible. Know the feeling? I know my marital status. I'm single. My ex knows about my romantic interest. She's cool with that. I think it might make her feel better about things, about me, that I am moving on. I am surmising because it is something that will never be discussed.
While the romantic interest is fond of me and has been affectionate, I have only visited her once, but that was enough for me. Since we live halfway across the country from each other, meetups are rare, in this case only once so far. So, I have been trying to weezle an invite for the Holiday Break. I'm not sure that I'm wanted, although that has been assured but not worked out yet. Seems that she doesn't want me to come down if she has to work. i reassured her that I was capable of keeping myself occupied. Minneapolis/St. Paul, MN., is only three hours south of her. I could then travel up to Minnetonka to see Mel Jacobsen, a very good and opinionated studio potter. I could keep myself occupied and be home in time to greet my gal at the door. She doesn't see it that way. Says it would be too distracting knowing that I'm there and she has to work and can't be with me. Really, that's quite a compliment. I guess I just look at it differently. She's peach, though, and I'll hang on as long it goes. It is good to go slow. I've always been is such a hurry. To nowhere mostly but still in a hurry to get there.
The next steps? Right now, I'm in the kitchen, typing with my new Macbook Air, the sun is shining brightly through the bay window, the kitten is on the table grooming, the dog is laying at my feet on the floor. I need to work in the studio today. I have someone else's bowls to fire and I have to hard wire my kiln. Haven't been able to hit the temp I need. After talking to the kiln guy, Eric, at Seattle Pottery Supply, we think hard wiring the kiln might work. I won't know unless I get out there and do it.
The divorce is final, done, kaput, finis, no more a legally binding contract in 66 days. I will be officially "available" to women in the dating scene. I am avoiding that scene more or less as I am in love with romantic interest and will give that my full attention.
Sounds idealistic, doesn't it?