Lawyer Date

I went on a date last night. It's been a while since I've been on an 'official' one, wherein the other party asked if I would like to go, and then we went. Usually, things are sort of arranged and assumed, or else they happen randomly, based on timing. People would treat me to dinner, or a drink, casual.

The Beau, as my parents called him back-in-the-day is classy-casual. I would dare to venture, always. Yes, I said my parents. And, back in the day. I don't see him often, these days.

Beau, L, and I get together about once every six months to serve up the tale of what's happened in our lives since our last gathering, and also to advise one another. We call it "Lawyer Time." Our Lawyer breakfast, actually is scheduled for tomorrow morning. This Lawyering has been a sort of tradition of ours since we graduated high school and each ended up in different states.. we all came back to our hometown in Georgia for Christmas, and usually at some point during summer break, before all dispersing again. We became adept at it by the end of college. Near the beginning, it was a little more upsetting.

Beau had a way of neglecting to call or write for the entire semester, especially early in our college careers. L and I were better at keeping in touch, being girls, maybe.. but having just spent our senior year of high-school all joined at the hip, I hated not being able to feel the love off him anymore. He went the farthest geographically, too.

Now that we're all out of college and in various stages of real-lifehood (L has a real job in NYC, Beau has decided to stay in school forever, currently in Washington state [though his summer is archaeological digging in the southwest US], and I'm putting off the grad school I think I'm going to later for a year in Japan... I told you we scattered far and wide!), it is a real comfort that we still find the time to reconnect. Even if it is the one span of a couple hours the morning after L gets in from NY in the dead of night, and just before Beau leaves for Arizona (literally, will get in his car and drive to Arizona from the restaurant).

The date was comforting too. This story has deeper roots. We were all a dream team together senior year, but L, Beau, and I all met in the 7th grade. L and Beau had known one another in elementary school, and when I encountered him lingering in my science classroom at the bell change, I began to rush to that class. When he dated L, I fed him helpful information, signing the locker notes "Incognito Mosquito." We went to the 8th grade dance together.

Embarrassment points: one zillion.

We also went to homecoming. He took me to junior prom. For all intents and purposes, we dated through high school. Except that I flatly refused to call it that. The short time we were official began like "Okay.. but what happens when we break up?" "We won't. I care about you too much for that." We're in the eighth grade, Beau, we are going to break up. He was my first kiss.

Over the course of the last ten years, we've had our requisite dosage of petty bullshit, of misunderstanding, of expectations set too high and fears about what we could or could not become. The term lawyers actually comes from the fact that at some point we sat down in the cafeteria with L and she was our 'divorce lawyer'... that day we decided we could never marry one another.

We made a lot of decisions with flair, and some even with finality. (Although I do have it written in an old journal, and I did happen to include the caveat "unless either he or I change pretty drastically.") I stormed and stewed and got fitful and got scared. I burned and brooded and yelled and bit my silent tongue. I daydreamed and despaired.

And last night he took me to dinner and a concert. Something old, and something new. We had fondue, which was one of the the most memorable things from junior prom night; I don't think he knew that, but it was where he wanted to go to dinner. I'd never been to a concert at the Tabernacle, but it was great, absolutely great.

I held his hand and we walked down the sidewalk in Atlanta.. a city so close to home, yet one I've never really grabbed for myself. It seemed fitting.

And I was just so damn glad to know that we're not done. I'm not necessarily where I want to be in several of my personal relationships. But I'm comforted to know that things change. Time moves ever forward, and change it all there is. There is the possibility that we'll look back on all this and smile sagely at the kids we were. The act of doing it right now makes me feel safer. I don't have to have all my ends tied up and my stuff sorted out. Beau and I are more on the same page, and understand one another more now than we ever have, I think. Not that we've "arrived," or anything, not that it's all "perfect." But it's pretty good.

Just because things didn't go the way I wanted them to, doesn't mean things won't be okay, perhaps tomorrow if not today.

Who's taller now?

Suffenus iste, and umeboshi

I think that the way I learned my Latin poetry in high school was some kind of musical memory form of sheer memorization, which is odd because I'm not a huge fan of straight-up memorizing things. I still have these phrases stuck in my head though, in English, that are translations of things we went over in class.

There's a Catullus poem that starts out "Suffenus iste," and the English beginning is "that very Suffenus, whom you well know..." The poem itself, number "22" in the Catullus corpus we have today, goes on to say that Suffenus is a cool guy, no really, but he is a terrible poet, and if you were to just read his poetry, you'd think him a "goat-milker" or "ditch-maker." And yet he thinks he rules at writing. The end of the poem is a reflection on how we're all a little bit Suffenus, but each of us is unable to see the flaws he carries around in his backpack:

Nimirum idem omnes fallimur, neque est quisquam
quem non in aliqua re videre Suffenum
possis. Suus cuique attributus est error;
sed non videmus manticae quod tergo est.

Without doubt, we are all decieved the same, nor is there anyone in whom you are not able to see Suffenus. To each is allotted his own error; but we do not see the knapsack, for it is on our backs.

That, so it follows, is why it's so easy to overlook in ourselves what we can judge in others. We can easily see others' "Suffenus backpacks," and not see our own.

Conversely:

Also when I was in high school, I watched this show called Fruits Basket, an anime of ridiculous cuteness proportions that still reaches me in its way. Roommate has been collecting it in book form for several years now, and we get really excited when the next installment comes out. We have been known to call it "crack for girls (and Dre)" for its addictive properties. The umeboshi conversation is not, I think, actually in the books.

In the show version, the painfully good character Tohru (who is like, everyone's savior or something.. it's sick) notices that two characters constantly at war (cousins Yuki and Kyo) are actually each jealous of the other. She says it's because it is easy for each to see the good qualities of the other, which he envies, but is unable to see his own good qualities. She likens it to the umeboshi in onigiri (riceball), the little plum that is sometimes stuck into the back of it. You can't see your own sweetness because it's stuck in your back, although you can see it in everyone else's.

This one has fish flakes instead of umeboshi, but you get the idea. (Wikimedia Commons)

Last night, our conversation tended toward our enjoyment of seeking and seeing the good in others. In appreciating the shit that sometimes, other people don't really appreciate. Roommate sagely said, "The divine in me loves the divine in them." I smiled my childish smile and said, "Your umeboshi is showing."

(There, and) Back Again

I've been doing some thinking. I'm not sure I could ever not be doing thinking, but I've been doing it. And a little math, too.

What with the recession and all, this sub gig might have dried up more or less for good. I am starting to get the feeling that they have cracked down on the teachers, saying "no more sick days unless you are dying," or, they are skimping on subs and having regular teachers cover classes during their planning periods. Either that, or I'm totally blacklisted from district work.

My last 'big' check arrived today, its size owing to the fact that I get more per day in a long-term assignment, not to mention the more-days inherent in that term. My last full week of Latin-subbing has come to its eventual result.

It's quite possible that I have done what I needed to do within this substitute thing and it is receding as quickly and strangely as it appeared. But if it's really gone, I'm not sure the Kaplan KC thing is going to be enough.

So I've been seriously thinking about going back to Zig's and asking for my job back. It makes me feel good that the last time I was there, several waitresses asked when I was coming back. Not having the heart (nor the certainty) to say never, I said once I stopped making enough money at subbing. Well, that day might be quickly on its way. In April, I'll be doing a GRE class with Kaplan here in town, but I'm still not sure that'll make it up.

I have felt a bit sentimental at times, and I have missed the restaurant stuff now and then. I suppose it wouldn't be so terrible to go back and work a bit less hard for a lot less dollars. I may go up there tomorrow and talk to the manager I still know (they replaced the GM just after I left, and I don't know him basically at all, but the kitchen manager thinks I am pretty cool).

I'm still piecing together the cosmic implications of the idea that I had a specific task to complete, for myself and in service to the universe, and that it was maybe these several weeks of Latin teaching (+ learning I am not meant to teach first grade + kind of liking the idea of English teaching), and now I'm done with this piece of it. Wrapping up is strange. I have my very last day in that classroom on March 30th, when their real teacher is in Nashville (of course!) with the Greek class.

I used to count my work weeks in terms of hours, not dollars. Even when I scan my schedule like that, though, I could be doing more. I don't mean that like it sounds. But already, even knowing I 'worked' today, and even though it took much longer than it should have because I locked my keys in the car and had to make my poor roommate drive all the way to KC to bring the spare... I've still got most of the day to just hang out. Not that this is a bad thing, and not that I shouldn't be prepping my ACT lesson for Friday (and yes, I do get paid for prep time also, just not quite as much).

Perhaps it's time to effect a return! Someone tell me, was I stressed out at the restaurant job because I had no other change of scenery, and no other friends, then?

Somewhere Under the Rainbow

I realized sometime on Friday, as my actual position became more clear to me: I work for the man.

And not the good kind, not the life-affirming man. I work for the man I've never understood nor liked much.

Here's how this happened:

The school district in which I now make my meager living has to maintain a bunch of stuff in order to be accredited. This includes having a certain number of seniors making a certain level of scores on the ACT. Our current goal is getting as many people as possible to score over a 21.

Now I don't think I have to tell you how I feel about standardized tests; they are great for college, as long as they are part of an overall picture, but testing the hell out of our kids isn't going to make them smarter, or even see how much they know. It's going to see how well they take standardized tests. Once again, a fine skill for measuring college aptitude (I.. guess?) but not, I think, for judging a school's merits.

So what's happening is, this district needs to pull it up, so they've called in the experts. Kaplan really does have some sweet techniques that will make test-taking a lot easier for these students. But, they are seniors. And it's March. It's too late to be applying to school, so unless they are taking the year off, they have already either gotten into the school they want to go to, or they have decided not to go-- a higher score can help them personally because they can get more money from some schools, but mostly this is something that will help the school record and boost toward accreditation. They are now being pulled out of this or that class every couple of days so I can teach them how to better take the test.

And sure, they'll be kicking the crap out of the test, if they pay attention and put in a little effort. But they're missing real class for this, because somewhere high up there was a mandate that these kids within a certain scoring range go through a certain number of tutoring hours and retake the test. I feel bad for them, even as I am trying to motivate them to listen to me and do what I say.

I want to believe that I am helping someone by giving them the tools to improve their lives. I want schools to be rich and full of resources, and clamoring with kids who want to make the most of all of it.

It's about time for me to go back to Fantasy Land (GHP), eh?

Lilies

"Consider the lilies o' the goddamn field!" - Ulysses Everett McGill, O Brother Where Art Thou?

I've mentioned that my life is in a period of relatively rapid change. Change is proposed to me, I tend to say yes, and then perhaps even the next day I am in a slightly different life.

On the first day that I began to worry about the way substitute jobs have lately seemed sparse, I was called in the afternoon by Kaplan in Kansas City. I had been asked before by my boss in Lawrence if I were willing to commute at all to the KC center.. I said I was open to the possibility. I am open to a lot of possibilities, right? They do pay mileage in sitations like this, so it's actually kind of like getting paid to drive and listen to my CDs.

After a brief explanation, I shrugged and took the job, and promised to be at a high school in KC by 8am the next morning to proctor a diagnostic ACT in preparation to teach a shortened ACT course.

At this point, Wednesday, I was nervous and wondered if I'd made the right choice. With my life's sense of irony, I would probably get sweet sub calls for the next two days just because I now planned to be away (KC Thursday, and I was originally planning to take Friday off to drive to St. Louis for Vates' birthday celebration weekend).

But, as if to encourage me, I did not get sub calls for the rest of the week. And, one assignment that was scheduled for the future (which actually conflicted with my new job) notified me of its cancellation.

Thursday was predictably terrible. Commuting eastbound directly into the sun makes signs difficult to read, but I managed to only miss my exit one crucial time. When I got to administer the test, we had to move rooms, start late, and then go looking in other rooms for pencils and pencil sharpeners. Only about half the kids that were supposed to be taking the test had been notified, and out of that half, only about half showed up. The school gives me the impression that I, with my cutely-professional look revisited, my red hair up in a little bun, am distinctly out of place. It is a bit rough-and-tumble. I consider that Lawrence kids are wheat-bread eating happy hippie children in comparison. I am clearly not in Kansas anymore.

But to my delight, the administrator wants to make sure more kids get involved. I agree to come back the next morning to try again. This time, I bring a box of pencils, some erasers, sharpeners, and board markers. Friday is as much a success as it can be, given that our classroom is invaded during the reading test by a noisy group looking to use the computers we've left open. And I roll on to STL as planned, straight from KC.

So I feel very personally taken care of.