The Sound of Silence

I thought long and hard before polishing off the second half of the foot-long sub a few hours ago for lunch.  Really, I did.  I also contemplated going for a walk before the heavens opened up to mock me in my fleeting, momentary wave of false self-discipline.  I have viewed more "watch instantly" movies on netflix than an entire college dorm building full of pre-menstrual, weepy girls and I have sat for so long in one spot on the couch I thought I might have developed appendicitis before realizing the corner of my laptop has been digging carelessly into my side for at least two hours now. I've also noticed, on the rare occasion that one of my eyeballs were not glued to the computer screen, that the chipped nail polish on my index finger slightly resembles a killer bunny rabbit. Or Africa.  I am bored, cranky and uninspired.  I mustn't "go out" anywhere, considering our spending needs to be at a stand-still until (if) we ever close on this albatross of a house- but if I subject myself to another evening home alone in my parents house I just might resort to drinking myself into a bored,cranky, uninspired stupor.  What's a girl to do?

I blame this all, graciously, on my husband, of course.  Not only because he is not here to rescue me from self-proclaimed boredom with his embellished, narcissistic banter, poor-taste movie choices, little- kid giggle and sneak attack hugs and headlocks BUT because I would never be experiencing said boredom at all if it weren't for his social influence.  

I was never one that needed human contact in order for whatever activity I was engaging in to constitute as a good time. In the BR(before Rich) period, I would read for hours on end without so much as a glance toward the phone.  I would run to the mall by myself (it takes longer with more people, and who would want to waste their afternoon away in a Jersey mall?)and even eat alone, in a restaurant without the slightest pang of loneliness.  All of that quickly changed upon discovering that my husband doesn't merely like to be in others company, he relishes it. Swallows the entire experience whole, as a matter of fact like a hungry, 20-foot python given only one, dancing white mouse for dinner.  Where's the rest? People I find tear-my-hair-out annoying, Rich finds riveting.  So much so that he'll invite them to dinner.  Or away for the weekend down to shore.  Or to Europe- for several weeks on a back-packing tour through the Swiss Alps.   I always slightly mocked my husband's need to be with other human beings- they're so imperfect, you know-until I found myself adopting aspects of this inconvenient quality.

So, now I'm stuck. An anti-social book-worm I am no more, which means I land right in the bored, cranky and uninspired category if I happen to find myself home alone two nights in a row.  I'm not sure which cross I'd rather bear.

Summer Learning Curve

Even though my summers off consist of a lot of coffee, staying in my pajamas all day, watching tons of movies, reading as many books as humanly possible, eating at strange hours of the day and dreaming of a life in which I could do this all the time, I do actually do productive things as well.  But aside from all of the projects I create for myself, I feel like I've learned a little more than just basic Portuguese and how to make a Brown Butter Raspberry Tart.  This summer was a a "bigger picture" summer, and with 5 weeks left and counting, I thought I'd share  the things I've learned in the last six weeks (more so for me than you, but hey, if it's inspiring then it served double-duty).

1.  God can be trusted.

I was hesitant to list this first, considering after being a believer for a solid 10 years now, I should already have had this down.  Alas, the truth is out.  I never really believed it to be true.  Not until this summer.  

2. Fear is a False Prophet

I think it would be safe to say that the last few years of my life have been dominated by fear.  Fear of people's opinions of me, fear of the unknown, fear of the familiar, fear of success- yes, I was one of those who expected failure because I believed I deserved it and feared success. Crazy-fear of illness, fear of financial disaster, and the list goes on and on.  I was taught this summer that Fear is a liar and a false prophet, predicting things that may never actually come to fruition.  

(if that sounds like you, buy and read the book that saved my life- http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw_3_14?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=running+scared+welch&sprefix=running+scared)

3.  Work to Live.

I still have a little over 5 weeks left of summer and I've already begun ordering posters and organizing lesson plans for my classroom come September. I meander through the back-to-school isle and morn the loss of summer before it's over. Not because I want to, but because I'm a neurotic mess sometimes.  I needed to be reminded this summer that I work as a teacher so I can live as Jenny.  And there's no way in hell that Jenny would waste a little over a month on classroom stuff when she could be doing things she really wants to do.

4.  God is a God of Resurrection

A word was spoken over both Rich and I this summer that reminded us of God's power.  The person who prophesied over us let us know that the visions that we have allowed to die for the sake of pursuing what we believed to be God's will, can and will be resurrected.  That destiny was written on our faces.  That we were created for great things.  Who doesn't like to hear that?

5.  There's Power in Hope

Alright, I'm a nay-sayer.  It's true.  I say no to everything before even considering it as a viable option.  But I've learned this summer that after you get numbers 1-4 down, hope is a powerful gift from God.  

I have hope for this up and coming year.  Hope that we'll have a house in which to open up to our family and friends.  Hope that this school year will be better than last school year.  Hope that when opportunities come knocking on our door, I won't say no out of fear and follow my husband's lead of being a faithful Jesus-follower.  Hope that I now believe that God can be trusted.  Hope that I'll remember that fear is a false prophet.  Hope that I know that I work at this job in order to live- and that, perhaps, this will be my finale as a teacher of English in a public school.  Hope that Rich and I will see the resurrection of some of our visions- and have the faith to step out on them.

It's going to be a great year.

Performance Anxiety

It was unplanned.  Rich and I went to a local cafe to watch a friend perform at an open mic night to show our support.  I hadn't anticipated the feeling that would over take me as I watched a 15 year old boy scream his way through Motley Crew.  There were quite a few people there.  More than I expected, anyway.  And the usual open-mic characters, at that.  There are the regulars, who flirt with the cute barista girls as they deliver their espressos to their table ( without having to ask, of course).  Then, the washed-up hippies with toothless grins, harmonicas and vests with fringe playing the Eagles after the Beatles after The Band.  Next, the wanna-be's.  Often awkward looking, always nervous, voices cracking wearing outdated tee-shirts of artists they long to emulate but could never come close (though no one, not even the uninterested, rockstar in the corner, has the heart to tell them).  

I had planned only to go, not to perform.  But when our friend walked off stage (who's incredible, by the way and does not fit in any aforementioned category) laid his guitar next to Rich it was clear that it should not remain unused.  

It's been a while since I've been up in front of anyone for sole performance sake.  I sing worship at church, which is using my gift but certainly not performance related.  I teach, which is basically performing all the time, though not music related.  As I walked up to the stage, I tried to recall what it felt like to perform in front of people who are there for no other reason but to listen to you.

I am not the best performer who has ever graced the stage.  I'm not the best singer.  I'm not the best song writer.  I'm not the most composed, witty, refined or capable.  But in a little, small town cafe on a motley crew of an open-mic night,  I remembered who I was created to be.  With each pregnant pause, each coy remark, each audience member I made eye contact with, each high note, each run- this is what I love and what I do the best.  I can't say that about anything else- nor do I want to.  And that, well, that's really something.

Best Job on Earth

It happens every, single summer.  It is almost to the point where I cannot go out between the hours of 9 and 5 for fear that the little old lady behind me in line will bring it up.  I'm patronized.  Ridiculed.  Made to feel as if I were a perpetual college student whose mommy and daddy foot the bill for elaborate vacations in the Hamptons, which is obviously why I can't work during the summer.  For readers who have been following me for some time, this is old hat.  I'm a teacher.  There are things that, I've only this year allowed myself to admit, that I love about the job.  I love watching kids realize that you actually give a crap about their lives.  I love hearing kids talk about my class in the hallway.  I love their dirty jokes.  I love teaching Shakespeare, moving my desks in a circle and watching them perform a language they never knew they were able to understand.  I love all of the letters I got at the end of the year telling me that I was "the shit". I love the kids who fought me tooth and nail to hand in a stickin' piece of homework.  I love the prom pictures.  I love the break-ups.  I love the get-back-togethers the next day.  I love making loud, obnoxious "EWWWWWWWW" noises when I find them making out in the stairwell.  I love hearing their stories, their complaints, their victories, their defeats.  That being said, (and this is most certainly not directed at those of you who read this since you are an articulate, well-educated bunch) there are things about this job that irk me to high heavens, and really, it's mostly the people who, for some reason, don't believe it's a real one.

Yup.  Ok.  We get two months off.  I'm not writing it off, nor am I complaining.  I think it's fantastic.  However, just a few things to bear in mind for those who scoff at teachers across the board.

1.  Technically speaking, we work 12 months just like everyone else.  10 months are spent working like a dog in the classroom, 2 months are spent working to forget everything that happened in those 12 months so we can actually return.

2.  I would gladly trade my "10 month" job for a position in which I could get up and pee whenever necessary.  Urinary infections get old and expensive.  Don't be fooled- our healthcare is not what it used to be.

3.  At no time during 7 am and 4 pm can I close my door, make a phone call, give a hug, say a curse word, listen to music, check my e-mail, smile without consequence, drink some coffee or SIT DOWN. That leather office chair must be nice.

4.  I would welcome a 45 minute meeting with 5, obstinate adults who make rational decisions over 5, 45 minute classes with 25-plus irrational teenagers.  At least adults'll bring you donuts and pretend that they are listening to what you have to say.

5.  I am more concerned about the state of my classroom and am more behind if I take a sick day than I ever was before I ever needed a sick day.

6.  Lastly, for those from the "teacher's teach because they weren't smart or ambitious enough to pursue what they really wanted"camp- we are present in school for 10 months, but still get paid a full year's salary.  Please tell me, who's smarter again?

So, don't ask teachers if they're working during summer.  Don't joke about all the time off they have.  How lucky they are to have such an easy job.  How it's the Best Job on Earth.  If it was, then you'd be doing it too.

Stay-cations R Us

In light of purchasing a home, Rich and I decided that whisking ourselves off to Barcelona may not be the very best financial decision. So, during Rich's week off we meandered around the tri-state for some local fun.

Monday, it was off to Ocean Grove with a bunch of friends, which, generally speaking, doesn't usually float my boat. I'm a self-admitted anti-jersey shore-goer, but I couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. No sand in my suit, warm water, lunch at the SeaGrass (trust me on this one and leave the soggy cooler sandwiches at home) and home before your arms start sticking to your beach chair.

Tuesday, we kicked it true vacation style with a slow morning start. Rich went with the boys for some soccer practice for the big game on Sunday, and I headed over to Konrad and Gabi's to give an English lesson in return for all the awesome Portuguese lessons Gabi's been giving me.

Monday, the beach, Wednesday, the mountains. We headed to New Paltz, NY for some hiking around Mohonk Lake, perusing the shops and stopping for lunch at the Gilded Otter. (If there, invest in the Summer Porch Lager if only for the lovely purple hue the wild blueberries inspire as they float around in your mug).

Thursday was a brief trip back to reality as we had to take care of some Mortgage issues (vacations for adults are never the same). But, it was right back to vacation mode on Friday....

Friday, to the city! We spent the entire day at the Bronx Zoo, running around Jungle World, racing who could locate the tree frogs-Rich always wins-, snacking on homemade tuna sanwiches, granola and fresh summer peaches. After an hour on the Manhattan bound 2, we were obviously thirsty making a stop at the Gingerman imperative. (I'm finally sated to have gone, since the gentlemen have made numerous visits without their female companions. Come on, guys, we like beer, too.)

Saturday wrapped up our awesome stay-cation week with a birthday party for our friend, Sarah at Mompou Tapas and Wine Bar on Ferry St., in Newark. Fabulous decor, creative tapas and good wine is a guaranteed winning combination.

So, we didn't make it to Europe. We didn't even make it outside of an 100 mile radius. Even so, we discovered how stay-cations can be just as fun as vacations. They're both just great excuses to hang out together.

FYI

Seemingly, one is never enough. I have always been overly ambitious in all of my undertakings so why should blogging be any different? My sister Em and I have often discussed how fun it would be to contribute to a blog together, reviewing local restaurants, sharing recipes, successes and disasters in the kitchen, etc. I love to cook, we both love to eat, and have chatted at great length of how we wished there was one place as dedicated to eating out as they were to staying in. We have since figured that if something doesn't exist, you had best create it yourself. So, just a brief announcement in saying, that coming soon The Mastication Station will grace the web with such information and here will be the place to announce the launch. Try to control the urge of impulsive-restaurant-picking until then.