Vacation Commencement

It's that time again. A few days after Christmas, when the sight of your droopy tree sends you into a panic about falling needles rather than insight warm, fuzzy winter memories and your mind begins to wander about whether or not your life is just as droopy- and if so, what are you going to do about it?

I hate the new year. Whether we want to or not, it always seems to involve reflection of some sort. Reflection on the past year, reflection on the things we've yet to accomplish, mistakes we've made, resolutions we've never carried out.

I'm a list maker. In the past few years I've made lists (during my week off) miles long of all of the things I wanted to do differently in the up and coming year. All of the things I was actually going to pursue, get to, pray for, go after, create, bake, etc. After a brief contemplation on my (new!) couch, I've decided that I'm over all of that.

This past year, I got the home I always wanted, I learned that family (no matter how nutty) are willing to help when you need it, that I love teaching kids how to read music and play the guitar, that I can drive all by myself for 16 hours straight in a car that doesn't belong to me, and fly back all by myself to accomplish something I always knew I was meant to do, that I have the most beautiful women as friends that I could have ever asked for, that my sisters are a few of the smartest people I know, that if you work to live you're a much better person, that worry's a false prophet, and that I am loved as a Daughter of the most high.

So, my resolution this year? It has nothing to do with losing 10 lbs, being more motivated, settling into a career, going back to school, being a better teacher, wife, daughter, friend.

I'm going to laugh more and worry less.

I'm going to continue praying for crazy, outrageous things knowing that I serve a God of miracles.

I'm going to dwell in the love my God has for me- remember that I am Chosen and keep in mind that compared to that, all other things fall away.

2010's going to be a great year.

Now, what to do with the notebook I was going to use for this year's list?

I Hate teaching all the time-but not on the days that I love it.

Silence

But not for long

Silence as long as a song

a brief melody

moon-lit reverie

Before temporary insanity ensues

One more sip of cold coffee renews old thoughts

Of when my life wasn’t run by the ring of a bell-

Hell-

They’re coming- 8:05

Like an army- barely alive- Dawn of the Dead

Baggy pants, wet heads

Dark circles from late night texting

What was I expecting?

Neglecting to put the right date on the board-

Let the transformation begin-

Training my ear for new roles to fit in-

“Mrs. Shannon” takes the reigns while “Jenny” takes a seat-

Six more hours until we meet again.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“Mrs. Shannon, do we need our books?”

Deep breath, muster-

Flustered, unprepared, met with 27 stares-

As always, everyday, answer, “Yes”.

10 minutes go by, still no one’s listening-

Texting to friends, painting nails and- “Who’s whistling?”

Pens tapping, students in hallways clapping, snapping up books and paper

Then from the corner, a snore- Napping.

Crap!

Close your mouths. Eyes up here. For the fifteenth time.

Directions.

Directions given once.

Directions given twice- they think I’m being nice and repeating-

I’m just competing with their thoughts and mouths and trying to avoid more questions

Think I can put them all in detentions?

How about in-school suspensions?

I’m losing their attention-

Focus-

finally, all is quiet, pens moving gracefully through

Then out from the right comes, “Uh, Mrs. Shannon, what do we do???”

Don’t blow it. Don’t blow it. You’re angry. They know it.

Point to the board. Give the stare. Smooth your hair and sit back down.

Then, again, “Mrs. Shannon, Mrs. Shannon….”

Can I go to the bathroom, can I go to my locker-

Someone’s face in my window- a stalker?

Was I this much of a talker when I was their age?

“Guess what happened to me last night…”

Interrupts again.

Ah. I might die. Or throw something. Or maybe my head will explode in a thousand pieces and land gently on their desks.

I digress.

Maybe I should just give a test.

“Mrs. Shannon, Mrs. Shannon-“

Ah, what a shame. I waited years to have that name and now I think I’m going to hate it-

I give the one minute sign with my finger.

If I linger here at my desk long enough they will have figured it out on their own-

“Mrs. Shannon…..” or not.

Hot. It’s so hot in here- then cold. I have a bi-polar classroom.

A tomb.

Boom.

Outside of the room.

Giggles.

Great.

Never underestimate kids ability to create a distraction.

Lights. Camera. Action.

If only I were a marine biologist.

A librarian.

A vegetarian.

A cake- baker.

Candle-stick maker.

World- traveler.

Musician.

A writer.

Prize-fighter.

A party all night-er.

“Mrs. Shannon????” Alas. I’m not.

I’m in class.

Ass.

Then- the bell- scuffling feet retreat- stampede! Heads down and running- but- one student remains.

Thanks me for helping her- then disappears. Fears of the morning forgotten

lost beneath waves of understanding-

I found a way to reach her.

I know why I’m a teacher.

I am a Rock, I am an Island

IMG_1710, originally uploaded by jshannon331.

I'm stuck. Like watching all of the pedestrians fly seamlessly in and out of sidewalk traffic in Time Square while your peacoat is snagged in the elevator door simply because you had been walking forever and just needed a good hotel to pee in.

As if everyone in the world has a destination and is moving swiftly toward it.

Everyone but me.

It's felt this way for a little while now, which generally signifies something. A need for a change. A reflection. A pause. A discovery. Instead, it feels like I'm just waiting. One of the stones in the middle of the river, blinking my eyes as the water rushes forward with zeal and fervor- leaving me stationary. In the mud. Just waiting. Whoa it sucks to be a rock.

The Fake

I am a fake

A mistake in a suit bearing fruit unlike that from which it came

Just the same

I stand unsmiling

Defiling those who stand in picket lines

Pay fines

Cry and whine

For one, small chance

To stand where I am standing now.

How

Did it go this far

To where I lost sight of the things with my name on them

To where I lay claim to other’s belongings because they were practical

And didn’t carry a stigma

An enigma in one room

With 64 eyes

All seeking answers

Speaking words they have yet to know how to pronounce

Denounce them.

Announce with a flourish, that though they are special

You were never really meant for this

For them

What are we really meant for, after all?

I am a fake

A mistake in a crumpled suit

Throwing accusations like boulders

Hurling expectations over shoulders of backs bowed and bent from anticipating my heels

I don’t know how it feels to fit tight

To fight

To reach for what is good- not just what is right

To light the torch and run deep into the night simply because someone else might see it

And know

That someone other than them is running

Running toward something

Not to run away

Or to find anything

Simply, to run

Because it is what I choose to do

Not what other’s expect

Or request

Or ingest

Or ascertain

Or place blame

Or diagnose- insane

In the sun or in the rain

Because I forgot my name

I’ll run until I find it

And shed the suit along the way

I was a fake.

I’m not today.

Confession

I worked hard today. I taught kids that innocuous has two n's and one c. And then, had to tell them what the word actually meant. Then, I spent an hour and a half on a yellow school bus both ways into Times Square with 67 of the little boogers to chaperone their sorry selves at Shrek the Musical and dinner at Planet Hollywood. After a day like this, reposing by the fire with a novel as thick as a phonebook doesn't do it for me.

I know, that was a shocker. Voracious reader though I am, this kind of day calls for something a bit different. I don't want to chuckle at Wilde's wit. I don't want to brood over Bronte's tragic love affairs. I want my p.j.'s that don't reach my ankles, my sweatshirt with the ugly wooden buttons up the front and to spend the evening with Oprah, with Samantha Brown, Anthony Bourdain, Giada DeLaurentis and the entire cast of Glee.

I am steadfast and unmovable in my stance against cable television. I believe it rots brains, provides our children with valid excuses as to why they should never have to lift a page in a book when everything can be uploaded directly into their front lobes by means of visual stimuli, promotes obesity and ultimately, removes any semblance of intellectual awareness. That being said, allow me to contradict myself.

I. Miss. Cable.

It happens only on nights like these when my synapses are sick of running into each other. When my mouth can only form the words, " No, you can't right now. You'll have to hold it until we get there" after hours and hours of repeating that phrase like a chanting, Byzantine monk. I want someone else to do the entertaining for once. Preferably, someone who can't see me in my dirty p.j.'s, blowing my nose, eating ice cream out of the carton. Oh, Travel Channel- where are you when I need you?

Lost in Transition

I have grown to hate this word. Transition. It's the word that people use when they can't put their finger on what the hell's going on. "Oh, we're just in transition right now." It seems to harken something temporal, something that is not meant to last long- that there is an end in sight in which, eventually, we will all know exactly where we need to be, what will transpire, etc. Pardon me, but I have come to find, this thought process is just a human comfort mechanism and holds no merit or credence.

Mine and my husband's living situation has been transitional the last few months. We have had 3 addresses in less than 7 months. I have not used my own towels. I have forgotten which sweater was the one that I loved to wear on the first snow. I have not held my own coffee mug, not read my own book, not polished my own silverware. We've been in transition.

We have just celebrated our fourth anniversary. Gone are the days when people giggle at our newlywed status. The term "just starting out" has waltzed right past us, leaving us stranded on the dance floor, susceptible to unscrupulous questions more personal than whether or not we are taking time to "enjoy each other". "When are you having children?" flies out like darts, from others, from ourselves. We are in transition.

We are attempting to purchase a home, settling in the least likely of places- a place we had sworn to never return. We are trying to reconcile what it means to purchase a home, to stake claim in something more permanent, to invest. Does this mean that our fly-by-the-seat- of- our pants days are over? By choosing to stay here, are we closing doors to bigger adventures that could possibly lead us outside of the home we never thought we'd return to? Are we no longer the whimsical, free-spirited ones evading ties and obligations in order to learn what it actually means to enjoy life abundantly? Transition.

We have both been in the same occupations for several years now. Occupations we would not have chosen, but are grateful for, for the income and opportunities they have afforded us. We are left asking ourselves, "Is this enough for us?" Is this what we want to teach our children? What else can we do now to change it, if we'd like? Transition.

I hate this word. Not because of what it is, but because of how it's used and the connotation it portrays. Is not our life, here, on this earth, Transitional? Won't we always be transitioning from one stage to the other? from one place to another? From one mind set to another? What if there is no end in sight, but transition is, in fact, the result? Will we ever, truly, know what is going to happen in the future? And once we attain what we're after, how will we ever know if we'll transition again?

It's not the destination, it's the journey, so they say. Let's embrace transition for what it truly is, and not what we'd like it to be.

Callings

I've been thinking a lot about the word "Calling" lately, and this was a fairly decent article I thought I'd share with you, here.