The Day of Many Tears

I know.  I had a post, left hanging, from before.  Yes.  I get that.  Come to my house.  See all the 'to be continued's' evidenced across my house.  This is my life right now.

At the moment, I can't breathe.  I am typing, peering through swollen squint, from sobs that felt like my heart would literally break inside my eye sockets.

I got word tonight that my Granny, my Texas Granny...was not doing well at all, and was now from hospice into a nursing home.  She has developed pneumonia.  My Dad was sure it wouldn't be long now.

In a text back to him (do we REALLLLLLLLY  interact about such deep and personal things on a device, a slab of glass and plastic?)

'Dad...noooooooooo.....she can't go....I needed to see her one more time.  NO.  I can leave any minute.  I'll pack a bag.  I'll drive.'

His voice (of reason): It's better that you remember her the way she was.  It wouldn't do you any good to see her like she is now.

Me: (still via text...)  NO....  It isn't ABOUT me.  It is about her.  Whether she can hear me or not.  Whether she knows me or not.  I KNOW HER.  Even if all I do is cradle her whispy white head in my lap, and I hold her, and talk to her about the days when I would lay under her sewing machine, it is about HER.  To be known.  This classy lady that I could only hope to be.

She reminds me of Thanksgiving.  The kitchen, completely blown up from home-cooked goodness.  Yet she would come to the table, not a hair out of place, apron removed, and sit down to joke about the madness that ensued as dishes went left and right in random order, around the table.

My Granny.

I tried to sleep but the tears wouldn't stop.

So I found myself here.

I should have gone out there this past summer.

I should have sent more mail - handwritten letters, stuffed with pictures, and fall leaves.

My Dad doesn't realize that even though he tried to discourage me from going now, that I WILL pack a bag and hit the road, in the dead of night if I have to.

I want to tell her I love her, one more time.

Cynicism Timed Perfectly

I don't have time at the moment to post about this, but I plan to.  I had a moment where words and circumstances and cynicism collided in the perfect storm today.  I just don't know where I will land after the waves subside.

Article that is a piece of the puzzle:

http://www.intellectualtakeout.org/blog/fragile-snowflakes-or-manipulative-narcissists

Hold, please.

Analogies

I think in metaphors.  And analogies. All the time.  Well, I used to until my current life state took over, and now I just think in email titles, objectives and measurable verbs.  Invigorating ponderings, I know.

But tonight, an analogy of my life at this very moment landed in my lap (literally), messy and tumbling, stinky and full of spirit.

I had come home to a day that started on the shy side of 6 a.m. The usual sleepy stupor, followed by the customary frantic rush.

I pull up to my building to see my students, lined up outside of a locked door, in the drizzle.  Waiting on me - and I didn't even have my shoes on yet.  Apparently I had not made myself clear:  when I said we would move class time to 8 a.m. that meant every class period.  (Note:  A characteristic of millenials - they have to have specific and detailed direction, almost to the point of ridiculousness.  There is no figuring out how to connect the dots between point A to point B - they need the points, the lines, the start, the finish and everything in between).

Class conducted with little event - a quiet write, a quote read, Writer's Workshop demonstration, more work with various writing assessment tools.

After class I knew I had exactly 1.25 hours to get A, B, C, D, E and F completed before dashing out for the first of two candidate observations.

No.  This doesn't occur in such efficient and successful fashion.  My input is needed.  Permission requested.  More feedback solicited.  This goes on daily when in the office.  Work does not happen in the office.  No, I mean it.  This is my favorite TedTalk because it is SPOT ON.  Here.  Enjoy.  If you work in an office, see if you aren't cheering, and fist bumping when it's over.



So fast forward and Cliff notes:  Observation 1 - best first observation EVER.  Quick lunch between and on to the next one where I almost made that candidate cry.  Three times.  It comes with the unwritten job description.

Fast forward to a zip home to check emails - two of which were DEMANDING requests from students.  Do they realize that you do work from sun up to sun down on their behalf, with barely enough time to eat or have any semblance of a life?

Dash off to my haircut (that I actually remembered this time) and then on the road again back up the road to meet my Best Girl (highlight of my day).

Pulled over by a coperino leaving the restaurant.  More texts and calls with requests.  It has been raining for DAAAAAAAYS.

And when I got home and plopped myself on the floor to put a diapy on my puppy that has now come into womanhood, my two dogs leapt at me, tumbling into my lap, pawing at me, crawling up my shoulders to my face, clamoring and competing for my attention, for the first scratch, for a loving word.

And that is my world.  In a furry, tumbly, stinky, messy ball.