Longing for a dog

I have been in a tug of war with my husband over bringing a new furry family member home.  I have lost out on about four dogs now, each with their own sweet photos pulling at my heartstrings. After applying for their adoption - only one could have been ours.  But my husband vehemently refused to budge.  Last week I went to the pet store and played with puppies and came home alone, even as their frenetic puppy kisses dried on my face. 

I am super busy right now. And I love it - so this is not a complaint!  College teaching is feast or famine. Either you have series of gigs and conference presentations or the well is dry and the calendar barren. In order to ride the middle line, often we line up possible presentations and send in the abstracts, hoping for the best and hedging your bets by sending in more than one.  When everything you send in gets selected, well, yikes.  LOTS of work spills out from there and frantic evenings prevail.  Then life happens...more responsibilities in committees, or student needs...and making room for everything becomes a struggle. And still.  I miss having a dog.

I know the dog would spend more time with my husband than with me - days and evenings, times when I leave for four days at a time - but still.  I deeply miss having a dog.  

My husband is wonderful.  He greets me when I arrive home each day of course!  I love my family, but they are far away.  And still...I miss that collie smile and wagging tail when I enter the house.  I miss hearing the high-pitched barks of welcome that would greet me when he heard the garage door. I miss taking my buddy for a walk in the evening.  Having a warm body at my feet as I work. Saying, "Time for bed!" and climbing the stairs together.  Waking up to a wet nose greeting me in the morning, alerting me it is time to start the day. 

The end of a dog's life is hard.  There are trips to the vet.  Medicine to give.  Lifting and cajoling...please get up and go potty!  It was difficult to see your best friend's body give out. And to know he was just tired. And ready. Even if I was not.  But I would do it all again for one more day with that sweet face. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

We have had a couple years of losses.  Big ones.  Scary health issues. And the last was the loss of the dog. Then there has been a season of changes, with the grown children moving farther away.  I think more than anything, I am longing for some sense of stability.  That sense of youth that is slipping away from me.  Having a new furry family member fills a gap for me somehow between nurturing roles.  I am not sure why, but I know the act of caring for another animal grounds me.  Gives me purpose and reflects back to me the self-love I often forget to give myself.

I hope I am not being too selfish. I know that traveling means we have to find care for the dog or take them with us when possible. There is a hole in my heart that I am not sure any animal can fill.  But is a therapy animal a bad thing? I sure don't think so. On top of that, we would be saving a life. We  have always chosen a rescue pup.  Max was snatched from a kill shelter minutes before being put down. He lived a beautiful, long and happy life with us, well-loved.  I want to do that for another dog, knowing that in the process of saving that dog, I am also saving a piece of myself.

Stay tuned. But in the meantime, I sure miss having a dog.

Remembering My Mom

I wanted to write a tribute to my mom, and make sure that everyone would know how special she was, but there simply are not the words for the emotion. Yet, mothers are universal and in what I leave unsaid is also a shared understanding.   We know our parents in very different ways I suppose – not really as people in some respects, but as our protectors, our guides, our hearts.  The connection is deep and meaningful, and probably the ultimate purpose in life – to have that unnamed, limitless love surrounding us. How lucky when any of us have experienced that.

My mom still is that enveloping love for me, though she isn’t physically here. I wanted to say what I think of most, but honestly, I miss her voice the most.  I find myself calling the house phone when I know Dad isn’t there so I can hear her.  It doesn’t make me sad at all – it serves as a comfort to me when I feel lost without her. Academically, that makes perfect sense, in that our mother’s voice is the first voice we ever know, before we have a consciousness. My heart knows it is much more.

Probably folks know she was driven, she was philanthropic, she had high standards for herself, and for others.  What can I share that you wouldn’t know? She was quick-witted and funny.  She listened like nobody else, endlessly, as I talked endlessly. Nobody listens to you like your mom.  Nobody heard me like my mom. Nobody knows me like my mom did, in all my imperfection, as she did all her children.  She loved her family deeply…every last one of us.

The picture I have in my head of my parents has been there a long time. I remember a red brocade dress and fur coat she would wear out with my dad.  She was beautiful standing beside him, and I have this internal picture of them – probably in their 30’s – going out, and I thought they seemed so glamorous and intriguing, I was sure other kids wished their parents were as cool as mine. I don’t know that she ever felt beautiful, or knew her children saw that, but I did.

I remember discovering my parents were human beings – probably as a teenager – and being quite exasperated with that.  But I loved spending time with them, and checked in all through college…and mom babysat my children while we did masters programs and lived with them. And lord, I am sure that is not easy on anyone!  I think she knew we appreciated all those things, but sometimes I wonder if I thanked her enough for what she did for us.

Did you know my mom was quite a spirited child, teen, and young woman? She told some pretty funny stories of her escapades, often laughing and shaking her head.  And in the end, I know she wanted people to think of her as giving, as kind, as a good person.  I know it mattered that she was here for all of us. And I hope we all have a special JoAnne memory that you can share and hold dear.

I am the person I am because of my parents.  It is hard to separate mom from dad, because they have always been a team.  And I am thankful for that.  Perhaps the greatest gift we give our parents is found in the way we chose to lead our own lives in tribute to them. I know Mom was found of the saying, “We give our children two things: One is roots, the other wings.” And that pretty much sums it up. One conversation about the distance we all live from her, she laughed and said that living far away was not her intention when she stitched that saying!  She encouraged us all, even when that meant we would travel far from her side.  That is pretty incredible, but also a sign of her adventuresome spirit. I miss her every day and I am sure I always will.

I’d like to share a poem to close:

when I go from this place

dress the porch with garlands

as you would for a wedding my dear

pull the people from their homes

and dance in the streets

when death arrives

like a bride in the aisle

send me off in my brightest clothing

serve ice cream with rose petals to our guests

there’s no reason to cry my dear

I have waited my whole life

for such beauty to take

my breath away

when I go

let it be a celebration

for I have been here.

I have lived.

I have won this game called life.  rupi kaur

Becoming a grandparent

I am not sure anyone dreams about becoming a grandparent specifically, but there is a time in your life when you start to miss the parenting part of who you were.  The squeals and grunts of a baby, warm and cuddly in your arms, the sloppy kisses of a toddler, the funny antics of the very young...the best parts of watching your own children grow up. I knew we were ready to be grandparents when I saw other babies with their grandparents and felt that tug at my heart every so quietly. 

However, there are no words to express what happens when a tiny bundle of baby is placed in your arms and you recognize your legacy.    The familiarity of holding this child of your child, so new, so full of promise. The beauty of new life. Sensing the future that will leave you behind but live on in this beautiful child. Life comes full circle again, and it feels so extraordinary, that tears are the only answer. Tears of pure joy.

We know we love endlessly. We  have the capability to love beyond all limits of human understanding. And it is in that moment of holding my grandson, that I felt joy, love, and gratitude rush through me and out of me. I don't think I can ever forget that feeling, nor do I want to. And as he grows and changes, I will delight in each and very moment with him, celebrating his journey in ways I couldn't with my own children. We are so responsible for our own offspring, stewing, worrying, reprimanding, guiding, that I would find myself lost in seeing the forest for the trees. Nevermore. This child is our reward for all that hard work, and watching my own child parent could be one of the most affirming experiences of my life.

If I could bottle this, I could create world peace.

Love is a force for good

Today a relative and his long-term companion were finally able to get legally married in Indiana. How exciting and joyous this news is!  I can hardly sit still today, I am so excited!

Allowing ANYONE to get married - civil unions - has been a long time coming, and though there will probably be bumps along the way, there would seem to be a growing acceptance of the variety of ways human beings may express love and commitment as a civil right.  I am very content to know that this is finally happening.

I've often wondered how people can say such awful things about the ways in which people are different from one another.  I can't say I understand how one way is simply the right one, and another is deemed not.  I do understand that some cry out for religious reasons, but I would argue their indignation comes from fear, not religious zeal.  How does being homosexual affect someone else anymore than my green eyes do?  That is what it boils down to for me.

And if one believes in hell, what difference does it make if a group of people go there rather than heaven? And why is it up to one group of people to decide what is the right way to get there and which is not?  Believe what you want to believe of course, and you should be free to express it.  It does not mean that your expression should  infringe on others beliefs.  Isn't that why so many came to this country in the first place? To escape persecution?

I wonder how being homosexual, asexual, heterosexual, transgender, or any other label really impacts others.  It isn't like one group recruits for another after all, and what someone chooses to do with another consenting adult in the privacy of their own homes is of no business of mine.  I find that there are wonderful, creative, thoughtful, spiritual, caring, loving, energetic people in all walks of life, in a variety of human forms that seem to have little to do with their sexual orientation.  Being a good person, father, mother, sister, brother, friend, colleague, or partner is an expression of the heart and soul of a person.  Who we are should be judged by the way in which we treat others in this world in my book.  That is the way I would prefer to be evaluated, so why would I not believe all people should be evaluated by what is in their hearts and actions in this world?

I have known people in my life that are just awful human beings.  We were talking about a few today, and I wondered aloud to my husband why these middle-aged women in particular thought it was alright to be rude, mean - and really in some ways bullying - to the 21-year old me.  I forgave them long ago, but I trust the universe has plans for their past behaviors.  They do not fall in the group I mentioned above, but they went to church every Sunday and were heterosexual.  And awful human beings at the time. 

These are all random thoughts, and I am rambling I suppose, already defensive about my happiness for two people we love.  My point is we are each given a life and we have to navigate our way through the world.  For some of us, we are given privilege and rights simply by being born with various abilities, a certain color, gender, sexual-orientation, or socio-economic status that others are not.  I would hope that each of us would take a minute to think about the ways we might have advantages that others have never had as a result of these things.  These are not rights - they are a result of our birth, not a choice.  Holding onto those privileges seems to be the focus of our society rather than acceptance, tolerance, and love.  Those are the values I thought were most important. 

Brings me back to this happy day.  Two people I love dearly were finally given the opportunity to marry each other and declare their commitment in public.  They are a great couple, and each makes the other a better person when they are together.  They have someone to share the day with, their joys and sorrows with and that should be what everyone has the opportunity to have in their lives.  I have shed a few tears of joy today thinking of the day they were finally able to have together.  We love them dearly, and hope that others will be just as happy for them as we are!

Professionalism and the Future of Teachers

I hit a wall today hard. With a loud thud. I feel a little like a caged animal, trapped without realizing I had stepped into the cage, and struggling to find a way out.  So here's the story, but here is the background first.

When I came to North Carolina, I finished a Ph.D. in Music Education at the University of North Carolina Greensboro.  That entailed a 6-hour test over music theory and history to get into the university (I passed and didn't have to take remediation coursework).  I had to take a written comprehensive examination that required three 8-hour days, nine questions, and about 60 pages of words.  All out of my noggin, not using any resources.  Then I had to go in front of a committee for my oral examination.  I passed with distinction.  I wrote a dissertation, and I passed the oral examination/presentation required as my final hurdle.  I was hooded in the fine month of May, 2011, graduating from UNCG. 

I started teaching at ECU in the Fall of 2011, and was required to pay the $55 for a NC Teaching License in order to teach teachers how to teach. Okay.  I can do that.  I have 27 years of teaching experience in Indiana, a life license there with a Master's degree and 28 hours past my masters, PLUS now the doctorate.  I have papers, if not the pedigree, to do the job.  A formality, right?

Here's the catch.  The state of North Carolina has determined that I must take 7.5 CEU's every THREE years and pay $55 to renew the license, and I am not considered a 'teacher''.  I am only allowed to teach teachers. No, wait, there is 'good' news!  I can be considered a REAL teacher, if I take the Praxis II for music and if I pass.  Then I can have a license that requires me to turn in 7.5 CEU's every FIVE years, and pay $55 to renew my license.  Over the course of the time I intend to teach, that is about $210 the state will have collected in 'fees'.  Hmmm...

Might I say, that I am not only humiliated, exasperated, but also insulted.  Insulted that politicians think they know better than someone who has spent a lifetime in education, how one might best do the job.  When I heard I would need to pass the Praxis II, I thought of the written driving tests.  Just because you can pass one doesn't mean you should be on the road driving.  I have been 'driving' as an educational expert for a while now, and that should count.  My experience should be respected.  My degree, from an institution in the same state, should be respected. 

I am not upset that I would need certification of some kind. Nor that I have to renew it.  I am upset that if I keep the license without being a "real" teacher, I have to take MORE courses (CEU's) to do so.  Why?  Doesn't my degree buy me something? How about all the time I have spent in the classroom? I need to be policed as a beginning teacher the entire time I am teaching in NC? Doesn't anyone get this?

What other profession allows people from outside the area of study to determine what is best for certification for entry into the profession?  Do beauty schools have electricians determining licensing? Do doctors allow plumbers to set the standards for practice? And would plumbers want musicians setting their practice standards?  When will educational professionals be allowed to determine what is best for them? Why should a university professor take the same test as an undergraduate preservice teacher in order to be licensed? Haven't they been tested enough?  We have rules set by the National Association of Schools of Music, with guidelines for accreditation.  We police ourselves in higher education, and sometimes that means things move slowly, but it also means that we hold our own feet to the fire.  So why are the politicians determining what the guidelines should be for teacher educators? Why are we not allowed to determine this?

I am angry. And I know that it is only a test, and I could take it and shut up.  But that doesn't solve the problem of treating teachers, and in this particular breath teacher-educators, as consummate professionals.  I have given time, energy, and the better part of my life to this career.  I don't think I need to prove anything to anyone for a piece of $55 dollar paper that says what my degree already says. I can do this. I am doing this.  And if we don't stand up and fight for this, when will it change? Taking any test, and continuing to PAY to do my job is ridiculous. I have been tested enough and I am done with this nonsense.

There is my wall.  Thud.

The 3 AM Demons

As it would happen, I need to go into work this morning for the first time this semester, but at 3:15 AM, I awoke and haven't been able to lull myself back to sleep.  This used to happen to me every so often as a young adult, and truly doesn't happen much anymore.  Usually when it does, there is some over-riding reason for the anxiety I awaken with.  I feel the anxiety physically and yet feel a need to sleep, like it is a bad dream.  To get back to sleep, I try to visualize placing the problem in a box and closing the lid. Usually it helps.  This time, I couldn't place a finger on what to put in the box, and visualizing myself getting in became problematic and rather Freudian.  So I made a list.

Here were my worries as I recall:

1. The polar vortex. I was actually dreaming about it. And Scotland.
2. I am not a grandparent yet. What if I am not good at it?
3. I think I might have sounded arrogant at my first NCMEA meeting. Or pessimistic. Or I don't know how I sounded. But I should worry about it apparently.
4. Is my best friend from college back from visiting her daughter in Scotland? Where is she?
5. My courses for next term. Just because I get anxious before I teach.
6. Life insurance policies. I cancelled our big ones but how much is enough for us?
7. Travel woes.  Will I be able to save the money, and find the money, to go to Brazil for the International Society of Music Education Conference in July? I applied for two sessions to present. Was that a mistake?
8. NAfME - why did you take the researchers/higher educators away from the practitioners? That really upsets me on so many levels.
9. My children. Just because I can.
10. The far right politics of NC that have irritated my liberal sensibilities beyond belief.
11. Being reimbursed 30 cents a mile when I drive for over 100 miles to visit student teachers. But I get 56 cents a mile for 99 miles. And is that one trip? total miles? why did it change? who is the committee that sent that down through the college of ed? I am so confused on why that is fiscally sound. Or necessary.
12. Itchy skin. It may have been the initial reason I woke up.

So I am hoping when I see this list in the middle of a bright January North Carolina afternoon, I will laugh. Some of these are pretty silly. I mean, politics and polar vortexes (or is it vortexi?) aren't really anything I can do much about other than what I am already doing...staying informed, using my vote, being involved. Oh, and keeping warm.  If my friend is or isn't in Scotland, she will let me know when she has the time I am sure.  Being a grandparent isn't something I have much control over either now that I think about it.  Surely I will figure it out the same way I figured out how to be a parent. Oh, shoot, now I feel worried about that. I'll move on.

I suppose that some of these worries have real weight.  Money matters, family, facing your own mortality.  All are serious issues, but at three in the morning, they become this blob of anxiety.  Then there are professional line items.  Not sure there is much I can do about NAfME or whether or not my comments at NCMEA were odd or interpreted differently than I intended, but the fact that I can't wrap my mind around the sense of the mileage claims has really stuck in my craw.  Perhaps my son-in-law can explain that one to me.

Finally, the itchy skin that kind of comes and goes. I really need to let a medical professional look at it again because the online stuff can be way too freaky to wade through and might create further worry. It better not be chocolate or coffee causing that. That would just be mean.

I am pretty darn sure most of us are anxious about things and are awakened by a list of anxieties occasionally.  The 3AM Demons I usually call them, and I wonder if there is a research study detailing why that happens and if early man suffered from them as well.  Did I kill that animal fast enough or did it suffer? Really, does the cave need to be bigger and need more fire pits? Can I get a replacement on our bear rug soon, or is this going to be another ten-year ordeal? And how about my contemporaries that I admire? And do famous people worry about things the same way or more famously and fabulously? Or do those folks have anxieties in a different vortex (or would that be vorti)?  And now that I am thinking about it, why do we call this blast of polar air a vortex again? I didn't listen very well at all yesterday when Al explained it I know now.

How do you cope with your demons at 3AM?  Do you visualize a place to tuck your problems or anxieties away for later? Is there a trick I am missing? Right now, I am thinking warm milk and a soft blanket curled up on the couch with a cat on my lap might help keep them at bay so I can get some sleep. After all, I need to be up in two hours!

Confronting Issues of Social Justice

Two events have collided this week for me.  A personal experience crossed into the fiasco I have seen unfold on the news. Let me start with my personal story. 

First, we had a landscaper come in to help clear an area of our yard that was overgrown and not cared for when we moved in.  We wanted to get down to the floor of the lawn, overgrown with vines and leaves, and trim up the trees, taking out a dead one.  My husband had discussed this with the neighbor one day, and she seemed excited that we were planning to do this, stating they wanted that too.  So when we started the clean-up, we were not particularly worried about the property line, but clearing the area, most of which was in our yard. Or so we thought.

Sure enough, the man next door came over and chewed out the landscaper's assistant.  Colorfully I guess.  Once we caught wind of it, we pointed out the line and asked them to make sure they left the neighbor's side alone.  We were confused about it, but since the neighbors never came over to talk with us, we assumed it was a bad day, and that things were fine.  We were wrong.  The next day, he came over again, approaching the assistant first, accusing him of trespassing.  The landscaper finally got involved and asked the man to speak with us.  I saw him approach the landscaping crew, so I went to get my husband to talk with the neighbor.  As Mark left the front of the house, the neighbor walked quickly into his house. This dance happened several times.  The neighbor appeared to avoid us at any cost and chose to chew out the assistant.  Hang in there - I have a point.

So on day three, I wandered into our backyard, as the landscaping crew was working within our fence, and asked if there were any more issues.  Our landscaper smiled and then pointed to the assistant and said, 'No, but he has a theory for you. Go ahead, she won't mind.' The assistant said to me, (and I am paraphrasing and trying to give you a bit of the spoken language - it is part of the story) 'Don't you be naive.  This ain't about the line, this 'bout having a black man working with a machete on your property. Had this happen before ma'am, so I know what I sayin!  Got let go from a job cause the owner don't want no black man on his land.  This the south. White folk don't like no black folk in the neighborhood, no way. That what you dealin' with here, I sure of it.'  I just couldn't speak.  I finally choked out, 'I am sorry,' but I had no words for him.  What could I say?

We talked about it that evening, and I wondered, could this be part of the issue, or is it a bad coincidence? Why had we not considered racial prejudice a part of our property line issue? Of course I noticed his race.  I didn't consider what working in our neighborhood might mean. What is our neighborhood and why? I know it is racially-mixed, but obviously our guests did not.  And does our neighbor have a differing view? And of course, being a woman, I know what it feels like to be treated differently, so I also don't want to diminish anyone else's experiences by saying, "Oh, I am sure that isn't it." So sorry was all I could say...and yet, what was I apologizing for? 

So take two, the issue with Paula Deen.  I feel awful about the entire situation, but probably not for the same reason. I have no particular sympathy for Deen.  She had no issue perpetuating stereotypes of the Antebellem South as if it is a simpler time we should yearn for. It blatantly shows her complete ignorance of issues of racism and slavery.  Why would anyone want to promote this as an ideal part of our history - particularly when racism and oppression continue across our planet. Should she be a spokesperson for the new, gentle south? I think not. But she does represent what I see as a south "all dressed up with a dirty neck." We want to present the south as beautifully cultured, but the issues of cultural prejudice continue beneath the surface.  Do I think the Food Network should drop Deen? They have no choice but to do so. 

So my world has collided with the bigger world this week, and I am forced to think even more deeply about how we confront racism, stereotypes, or inequities on a daily basis.  I feel great guilt for being white in this place, knowing the ugliness that has existed here. So how do I change it?  My husband and I both made a point of shaking all the landscapers hands and thanking them, eye to eye.  It isn't enough, but what if each of us chose to meet each other openly, talking about the issues we face as human beings. And I have to find new ways of helping my students uncover their own preconceptions and cultural stereotypes or we perpetuate these issues.  We have to talk about those things that are hardest to talk about.

Here is the bigger picture for me. We can't fight prejudice against culture, gender, sexual preference or socioeconomic status if we don't confront the assumptions we make. And we can't confront those if we aren't willing to hear what someone else is trying to tell us. I am not beyond my own prejudices.  I have realized that I am ready to apply my stereotype belief like the one I hold about athletes (not bright, only worried about their bodies),  or about the rich (vacuous, self-centered, wanting to keep their money to themselves). I would say men like Paula Deen's brother Bubba make my skin crawl, as I identify him as the type of man who makes me so uncomfortable. I imagine the sexual innuendos he probably makes that I am supposed to accept as him being funny, or the ways in which he puts women in their place with stereotypical comments about their sexuality.  It reminds me of the times I was unable to stand up for myself, even when I felt I was being put down for my gender and the job I did.