Special session called
For vaccine requirements.
In large companies
It’s ridiculous
800,000 are dead
Yet, we still argue.
About whether jobs
should require employees
to get the vaccine.
The answer, is yes!
Your “freedom” shouldn’t kill me
Or my grandmother.
Another Christmas
Another new year has passed
And yet, here we are.
The doorbell rang during dinner. Unexpected package, I thought to myself while answering the door thinking FedEx was delivering late.
It was a package, but it wasn’t from FedEx or any other carrier for that matter.
It was a neighbor gift.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO” I cried, falling to my knees as I glared around for the offending neighbor. They didn’t even bother to wait, just a doorbell ditch drop off. Probably thought it’d be cute.
The gift is really nothing much. Just a nice, thoughtful baggy of candies and other treats for the festive holiday season. But, it’s the baggage that comes with the baggie. Because now, I must reciprocate.
So. At 9PM at night, having never made it before, I decide I’m going to make caramel. I take a shot of rum for luck, and get to work.
Luckily, I had the requisite materials. I stirred and stirred the milk and cream until it hit “scalding”. Which, if you don’t know, is like 180 Degrees and ten hours of stirring.
Then, I poured an entire bottle of Karo syrup in with 4 cups of sugar. For health, you know, and waited until it began boiling.
By now I’m on my third drink and it’s 11PM. I’d been working for close to twelve hours.
Well. Two anyway.
Two fucking hours? I whisper to myself. I had no fucking clue caramel took so long.
Once the sugar is boiling I had to spoon in the milk mixture. I thought this was the end of it. 1/3 cup in three minute intervals was nearly the death of me. I’d frantically stir as the bubbles would rise up, threatening to overtake the lip of the pot. Alexa refused to keep time.
Where’s an ox and lamb when I need one?
Once I’d added the milk I had to wait for the “soft ball” stage. My sugar was already boiling merrily in the pot, I thought for sure we were ready.
Or maybe I was drunk. We’ll never know.
It’s 11:30. I put the candy thermometer in the pot. I’m 40 degrees away from freedom.
Except….that 40 degrees takes 40 years.
I waited. And stirred. And waited some more. And stirred some more.
FINALLY, at 12:35 AM, 3 1/2 hours after I’d started, the caramel was ready to be poured. Yet, that was not the end. I spent another two hours wrapping the damn things.
But now, I too will have a neighbor gift. Handmade caramels. Delicious and made correctly first try. At 39 I’ve officially arrived at adulthood. I can, not only do hard things, I can do them while drinking rum. The true test of a competent pirate.
Now, the only thing left to do is carry loose peppermints in my purse instead of gum.
And rising
800,000
The number of people lost
In the pandemic
Double World War Two
Almost triple World War One
These are civilians
Selfishness led here
American pride and greed
Is this “real” freedom?
We are held captive
Capitalism brought down
Because a virus
And…of course…because
Some refuse to help others
…get vaccinated.
The classroom spaces
Are under attack right now
To try to stop change
Education is
A powerful thing for kids
And adults alike
A lack of knowledge
Means keeping the status quo
While education
Means moving forward
We can not afford to stop
We must keep teaching.
The energy on the road is static
Cars, dusted with powder, crawl along. Their drivers shivering from the stress.
They drive slow, outside of lanes they can no longer see. Erratic in the storm.
As humans we’ve bent nature to our will. Covered mountains with tar and pitch, extracted salt to return back to the curated roads that our cars crawl on like ants.
But nature fights back.
Ice lays underneath the beauty of new snow, stickier than tar, slicker than glass.
Invisible. Silent. Lurking.
Laying in wait because nature knows we have to be to work.
Humans are, after all, predictable. We have to go to work to keep our jobs to buy the gas that drives our cars that pays the taxes to fix the holes in the road after every winter.
We can’t shirk responsibility because there aren’t enough plows.
There aren’t by the way.
So all we can do on this icy road is marvel at the beauty of nature and drive slow because we fear her. We take a deep breath when our car begins to sway.
Perhaps you know this, but in most jobs…or at least most of the jobs I’ve had, anything you create for that job is not your own intellectual property. Instead, your creative brainchild is the property of the company you work for. Depending on the rules or the fine print of a contract, that could mean that anything you created using company internet — or even a company computer — is not actually yours.
Since all the newspapers tell us that we are in the middle of a “Great Resignation” I thought it may be appropriate to discuss this a little bit.
I’m a teacher. Not only that, I’m a teacher that was hired as the first history teacher in a brand new Jr. High. Administration gave me full creative freedom. What this means is that I’ve created every stitch of Jr. High history curriculum. Now that the school has expanded, my curriculum is our curriculum. I pull extensively from the American Yawp, but I’ve also created power points and activities using unique knowledge that only I have. I’ve won awards for this curriculum and, suffice it to say, it’s been a boon for my school. It is, in essence, intellectual property.
However, it’s not technically my own. I didn’t get a stipend, or even a raise from doing this, I just…had to do it because that was the option. If I were to quit, *technically* my school could take all of what I created and leave me with access to nothing.
Now, you may say to yourself, surely they wouldn’t do that? Surely they would allow you to take curriculum that you created with you? Or, at least keep the curriculum and give you access to it.
I like to think that. And perhaps they would, however I’ve known teachers who, upon giving their notice, were locked out of all school files. Not at my school, but at others. Since I may move states this Summer, I’ve started to think about how I can protect myself, and all the work that I’ve done personally. Much of which was done outside of contract hours, on my personal computer.
As the article I linked to above explains, a lot of this “Great Resignation” is much more about “switching”, or rather, going somewhere that pays you more money and where you are more valued.
I know that a lot of teachers are contemplating their options right now. So many of us are unhappy in our circumstances and we are looking to go somewhere that will treat us better, or have better amenities.
If this is you, I would take care to save the things you have created. It is very likely that many teaching jobs won’t care…or even know…if you take curriculum with you. However, it is possible that if you plan on giving in your notice, you’ll lose everything you’ve done.
Sure, you can probably re-create it to some extent. But, that’s a lot of time and energy. So, save it. Make sure you have access to it. Make sure that the things you’ve done you can keep to some extent.
And, if you’re not sure of the policies in your school or job…ASK. Information is power, so it’s often obfuscated. Be sure to know your rights and take steps to protect yourself.
It started with a sneeze. And then my ears began to pop. I have inner ear issues anyway, so I thought it was the weather changing (I can predict snow based on how loud my tinnitus is — it’s totally true). I woke up and went to work.
I feel, at this point, obligation to say it’s not Covid. It’s just a cold. Because that’s what we all must say if we are sick from now until eternity. It’s not covid. It’s a cold.
At work, the fatigue set in. Still. I didn’t see the signs. I thought it was the 160 students I teach, or the coming break, or the angst and frustration I feel at administration. Besides, it was a Monday. Surely there are a million reasons I’m tired and annoyed. I wear a mask, I haven’t really been around anyone. Surely I’m just tired.
Then, the scratchy throat, the low voice, the coughs.
At this point I now feel obligated to say that I wear a mask all day everyday, even though I’ve had three covid shots. Even though my state doesn’t mandate it. I do it so I don’t spread germs.
Good thing I do. Because I’m sick.
In — almost — any other job, if you’re sick, you call in and that’s it. Other people may have to work a little harder, or take on some of your normal responsibilities, but you either go home, or you call in. You wash your hands and then go to sleep.
Once I determined that I was degressing, and not progressing, I decided to “call in” for the next day. But this is where the planning started.
Because, you see, someone can’t step in and just “work for me”. I have to leave them with a plan. I have to leave them with a plan they can carry out. I have to leave them with copies and a paper with instructions for each class and seating charts and procedures.
I have to leave them with a schedule, with a list of the kids to watch for. I have to plan it down to the minute so they know *exactly* what to do with each class.
Now, they could just “show the slides” I guess — but lets be real. I’m the one with information in my brain, and I can’t guarantee a sub will have that. So the plan ALSO has to be relevant but something that anyone who knows nothing about history can handle.
So. In essence, it’s off plan for me.
Well. Number 1, I’m mad that I’m getting colds again. I miss how everyone used to wear masks and wash their hands. You know, the early days of the pandemic when people were still kind.
Number 2: It’s more work to plan to be sick, than to come in with a sickness. And therein lay the problem. I don’t have a strong solution. Sure – I could have thrown together some shit that the kids could have just done, but then I would have been ‘in trouble’ for not leaving a good enough plan.
I think this is what people don’t quite understand about teaching. I won’t lie, summers off is actually quite glamourous. But in return, it means that I’m around 160 teenagers with God knows what on their hands. Teachers do, and will, get sick. When that happens, we don’t get to just “call in”.
It’s planning and preparation, and it’s more than most professionals have to do.
So please, send your kid to school in a mask. It’s the responsible thing to do, because we are still in the middle of a pandemic.
/endrant
Expensive Healthcare
Equals expensive birthing
AND body damage
Birth control access
Is easier than it was
Barriers exist
Doctors prescribe it
What if you have no doctor?
Or no insurance?
Well, there are options
Example: planned parenthood
But…there’s defunding
Rollback of Roe/wade
A dangerous precedent
All about control…
If his eyes were lasers he’d have just burned a hole in my chest. Hell hath no fury like a teenage boy scorned.
My son is mad at me. Like, stomp on the stairs kind of mad at me. Like, only respond to me with laser eyes kind of mad at me. If you’ve ever had children, let alone a teenage one, you will not be surprised to learn he’s mad because I specifically asked him to do his one chore that he had to do today. He had all day to do it, he even had the day off of school. Still, somehow, it’s very obviously my fault.
And now his eyes are burning imaginary holes through my chest. Or maybe exploding my head.
Well. There goes ten of my minutes for the year.
Jonathan Larson taught me that there are 525,600 minutes in a year. That’s never seemed like a high number to me. I mean, maybe it is, but so far today I’ve used up 480 minutes working, 45 minutes commuting, 10 minutes getting dagger eyes from (one) of my children, 45 minutes working out and 2 minutes writing what you’ve just read.
Add another 30 minutes to cook and that totals 612 minutes. I think. I’m a historian not a mathematician.
If we consider another 420 hours of sleep, then you’re at 1,032.
Ugh. My point…my point…excuse me while I search around for my point.
Really, my point is that time is fleeting. It’s a construct, sure, but it’s also dripping through my fingers, like a mountain stream. Sometimes the stream trickles, and sometimes there’s a deluge. Yet, it’s always flowing. The waters are constantly changing and remaking the landscape around it.
And, honestly, this stresses me out, because of those 525,600 minutes that I have, there are so many things I need/want to do!
I have to work. I want to spend time with kids. I have to commute. I want to work out. I have to eat. I want to write.
And this is where a conversation about privilege comes in. Sure. You could say “well, just get a different job,” or, “find something that’s closer to you.” Or, if you’re that particular brand of person, you could tell me that I should “parent better” so that I don’t lose 10 precious minutes to dagger eyes. Except…life doesn’t work that way, does it?
I would love to have more time with my kids, but that means I’d need to work part time- or not at all. I would love to have time to work on my writing – but it means that I have to extract that time from something else. Either, my work, my kids, or my health. I can’t have my cake and eat it too.
Yet…some people can.
So, this is all to say, if a loved one tells you that they feel overwhelmed, you should listen to them. Time works differently for each individual, and there are a lot of things that factor into the amount of time a person has.
For example. My son works 6 hours a week and goes to school. He feels overwhelmed by the fact that I asked him to do his one chore on the sixth day of his break.
*Breathes in through her nose and exhales in a long sigh*
Look. Blogs, social media, even friendships, they can be rough. Often it feels like other people are succeeding at things you want to succeed at too, whether that means kids, fitness, or achieving goals. Every person has to make individual choices that keep them fed, healthy, and happy. Those choices sometimes actually dictate the amount of time someone is able to spend pursuing a dream.
Following your dreams is a privilege. Being able to do the footwork is a privilege. Have the time and energy to work out, or eat well…it’s a privilege. As you go out there and try to topple some of those goals…don’t let people tell you it’s easy, because it’s not.
And if your kid gives you dagger eyes…well…take ten of your minutes and write a blog about it for posterity. I’m sure he’ll thank me later.
Laughter crashes around me as I stand in the corner of the room.
My family gathers around the dimly lit table. It’s only 5pm, but darkness comes early this time of year, skewing time and making it seem unnaturally late. Everyone is claiming their spot, laughing and speaking over each other, vying to be heard.
Smiles are not just in the eyes. They’re on faces. Faces that I can see fully. Smiles I haven’t seen in person for years.
I should be in the middle of it. I love family, and I love gatherings. Still, I detach myself and stand in the corner. I seek out the spaces close to windows, I’m Hyper-aware of any coughs or sniffles.
“You’ve had three shots. Three.” I tell myself, smiling at everyone while I wait my turn to slosh turkey and mashed potatoes on my plate. Unbidden, I wonder if this meal is worth getting sick over.
“Everyone here is vaccinated” I think, sitting down to my first extended family meal in two years. “Some of them have already had boosters.”
I eat quickly and move to the outskirts again. Away from the screams and laughter. Away from the games. I find a spot with one or two people who, like me, can’t seem to join the crowds.
Overall, it’s a pleasant evening. It seems like no one has changed.
Except me.
Of course that’s incorrect. Of course we’ve all changed. Of course we’ve all experienced the pandemic in similar, yet completely separate ways.
Isolated. Grieving and frightened, but alone.
And now that we’re together, how do we come back from that feeling? How do I move forward?
Each new variant is frightening. Each gathering feels like a risk. Even with vaccinations.
And I wonder if I’ll be standing in corners for the rest of my life
Hipstory 