T-Dawg’s Blog

   When I lived year-round on the Cape, August was the most awful month of the year. All of us who worked the season had a condition we called August-itis which meant we were tired, cranky, fed up with the crowds, and ready for the end of Labor Day Weekend. However, those of us working in restaurants also knew it was the time we would make most of our money, so we tried to suck it up and be nice to the White-Zinfandel-drinking-”Can-I-have some-more-rolls,” cheap tippers who always arrived early to secure a great seat overlooking the water and then parked themselves there for hours while the sun went down and their checks stayed stagnant. We needed to turn those tables to make some serious cash, and the later diners were always much more generous with their wallets. Still, we bit our tongues and filled their water glasses for the eighth time while fondling the check holder and asking, “Are you all set with this?” 

At night, we partied. With our pockets full of fat bundles of twenties, we paraded down the main drag in our black pants and white shirts with loosened ties, looking for fun. It was easy to find, and because our nights started so late, we often saw the sun brightening the bay on an early bike ride home from the evening’s festivities. Then we slept and did it all over again the next night.

Now I’m a teacher and my favorite month is August (until the end when school starts). I suck the marrow out of every day, floating in lakes or the sea and staying up late to see the whole Red Sox game instead of just the first four innings. Tomatoes, corn, lobster, fresh mozzarella, basil, blueberries — these are the foods of August that grace our tables every evening.  Reading is a daily activity, not something that involves stolen moments or required texts. And rain is just a good excuse to play on the computer all day — no problem! 

August may be referred to negatively as “the dog days,” but my dogs love it because I’m home a lot. They’re going on walks and swimming in rivers. At night they bark at squirrels from the front porch and chew bones on the couch because it’s summer and they can do whatever they want. Yeah, we can do whatever we want…

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #31

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. At “Career Day” in 3rd grade, my best friend, Ginger, and I stood up and declared that I would write the books and she would illustrate them. We were convinced that our future was in the bag.

I didn’t waver and went on to major in creative writing in college.  Years (and a lot of fun) later, I landed a job as a photojournalist. The pay was so horrible that I had to work nights in a fancy restaurant to support my writing habit. Then ten more years passed and I started thinking I should go for my masters degree and  get a “real” job, so I became an English teacher and my own writing was relegated to weekend journaling when I bothered to make the time for it.

This past month of writing “Slices” has made me feel like a writer again. It has given the month of March (which I usually hate!) a purpose, and I have spent many a day pondering what “slice” would eventually materialize. I have turned my introspection toward writing and made it less about lamenting the cold and ice. And somehow, during that time, all the snow melted and the sun came out. And I made some new connections…

Thank you, TwoWritingTeachers, for helping me navigate the transition from winter to spring. Thank you to all of the writers who put their thoughts and comments out there every day in March. I am sorry to see it end. I am proud that I did it. And I am humbled by the community of writers who accompanied me on this beautiful journey.

Peace out, T-Dawg

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #30

     I can’t really “slice” about what’s on my mind right now. Even though it has all those juicy elements — poignancy, melancholy, bittersweetness, and hope — it’s just too private to go into in this way. So, I’ll just say that on the drive home I noticed how the birches in March are so much whiter than they are any other time of the year. And that I love what I love, just like the poet Mary Oliver said I should. The door will always be open. That’s what I heard. That’s what I’ll remember…

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #29

My oldest nephew had a significant birthday today. (Happy Birthday, B! ) I was young when he was born, so while he grew up we were friends more than auntie/nephew. When he was 12, he came to visit me up in Oregon. It was an amazing week that we said we would never forget.

 
Now he’s a great Dad, husband, worker, and nephew. We don’t stay in touch as much as I thought we were going to  – he’s in California and I’m in New England.  And when we do talk, it’s catching up stuff and news about the family. I used to feel so close to him and now he is a nice man I know.
I want to ask him if he remembers riding on the back of my motorcycle down the streets of Eugene. Does it at all resonate how much he loved the land up there, the freedom? And what about the times we drove to the river in my truck? He was a fun kid and I was his wild Auntie. I never saw our changes coming.
Happy Birthday, B. I miss you. 
 

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #28

This photo says it all. The juxtaposition/oxymoron of March in New England. An invitation to perhaps, hope.

We sat outside all afternoon at a picnic bench in front of a restaurant and talked in the sun. Some people were yelling at each other from across the street. At one table, five friends talked to their far-away buddy via speaker phone. I needed only one layer of shirt and my sunglasses; the sun was diffused yet still warm.

At home, during the UConn -vs- Miss game, all the windows were open and I could hear the kids across the street screaming from their trampoline. My dogs went in and out at will. Tiger Woods sank a long putt and then embedded his drive into a mound of mud. UConn won.

This is the easiest day.

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #27

The New England Writing Project conference is in town this weekend and I just got home from meeting with some old and new friends. I’m Friday-night-exhausted, but also kind of excited. Meeting with the tech folks tonight really charged me up! (Shout out to Kevin and Bonnie,  two fellow “Slicer” comrades who were also there.)

I’m new to tech and I have so much to learn, but my “beginners mind” goes into high gear when I get around those in the know. I love listening to their conversations and trying to figure out what the heck they are talking about. Tweet this and Twitter that. Social networking, platforms, AVI, and Audacity. It’s all a foreign language I’m yearning to learn. And it’s really nice to be the student again, asking questions and watching demonstrations, straining every remaining cell that’s left in my little pea-brain to comprehend this enigmatic new mode of communication.

And it is…communication. Tomorrow we are presenting an idea that will help writers stay in a response community throughout the year. And as we discussed it, I realized how it reminds me of this whole Slice of Life community, and how much I will miss it now that it is almost over. Audience really means a lot, and supportive comments can change the energy of one’s day. It’s been an amazing and gratifying activity to write for and respond to a community of people I don’t even know. And it never would have happened in quite this way without the technology.

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #26

Me and the gym? We have a dysfunctional relationship. It’s one of those things where we get back together with total optimism and then make the same mistakes we always made before. We break up and we reunite. We promise things will be different this time and they aren’t. We think about couples therapy and refuse to go. We have affairs — me with the local pub, the gym with other more fit and strong-willed athletes. We yearn, we stumble, we try again, and we never learn…

It was a really cold, dark, icy winter in New England, and I became a permanent fixture on my soft, green couch. With HD television and a DVR, I loved my sedentary life under the blanket next to the sleeping dogs. Then one day I realized I was a slug, so I called up my old flame — the gym.

I showed up with flowers. The treadmill beckoned. I bounced up and down on the elliptical trainer until my hip sockets ached. The relationship was back on again.  I pushed weights up the nautilus tracks while listening to The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and  I visited my gym-lover three times a week for two whole weeks.

And then I stopped going – just like I always do. I walked away without an explanation, and I didn’t even want to talk about it. I found every excuse to avoid going. My gym intimacy issues reared their ugly little head. I just couldn’t make a commitment.

I slunk back today, whipped my card through the ID scanner, and waved at the people behind the front desk who didn’t recognize me. Back in the cardio room, my bewildered muscles tried to forgive me as I pushed them through a routine they had already forgotten. Salty sweat burnt my eyes as I pushed harder and harder, trying to show the gym I really do still care. Then I collapsed in the sauna and planned my escape. Now I don’t have to come back for three more days, I calculated. I love you. I’m here for you. Not.

Slice of Life Story Challenge: #25

I got pulled over by a cop tonight for the first time in eight years. The blue lights were flashing and my heart was doing flips. He told me I was going 80 in a 60 zone. I told him I was a tired high school teacher who had experienced a long and tough day. He asked me where I teach, and then he went back to his car with all my information and was gone for a long time. I fantasized about the price of my insurance for the next six years. He came back and said, “Ms. ________, I’m going to only give you a verbal warning tonight, but I want you to know this would have been a $200 ticket.” I meekly said thank you, and then I sped home. Phew!

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #24

I have a student teacher in my classroom, and I think she’s awesome. Young, smart, driven, curious, and fun — she’ll make a great teacher some day. Right now, though, she’s VERY tired and stressed out, so she doesn’t believe me when I tell her it will get easier. Does it get easier?

Having a student teacher really puts me in touch with my profession, and it reminds me how hard it is to do what we do on a daily basis. Today I said to her, “Now you understand why we get so angry when people point out that we have it easy — we get summers off.” She scowled in agreement.

Scrambling to come to terms with long-term planning, grading, and leading discussions that don’t bore the students, she has a lot on her mind. There’s also college, a thesis, impending graduation, the future job market, and a non-existent social life to occupy her thoughts. I want to just grab her and put her in a chaise-lounge chair by a pool in Palm Springs.

After she left today, I sat around the table with a pal and we laughed about our own insane days of student teaching. We had several jobs, crazy/sexy lovers, long blocks to fill with no arsenal of lesson plans, and graduate classes to complete. (Ahhh, it makes me tired to even remember it.) I also had a great cooperating teacher who believed in me. I hope I can be that for her…

Slice of Life Story Challenge: Day #23

They watch me from the window when I first get home, and if I back my car into the driveway that means “WALKIE!” time. The craziness begins. Barking. Whining. Snorting. Howling. And off we go.

We went on the forest walk today for the first time since last November. The ride there was deafening — the old girl yodeled and her younger sister screamed out the window at every dog we passed. Pedestrians looked alarmed at first, then stopped to smile at the brown dog heads that protruded from both of my back windows.

I thought the ice would be gone, but today’s frigid weather kept the path hard and slippery. The old girl and I negotiated the frozen ground like drunken toddlers; the younger sister ran impatiently ahead. They were so happy! Once we hit some solid ground, they cut loose and snarfed up every animal smell that was left over from last winter. Their cold, wet noses unearthed rotten leaves, deer scat, and other things I didn’t want to know about. They ate snow and sticks and drank from a vernal pool.

Now they’re downstairs by the woodstove and I don’t feel guilty anymore. I got them out –enabled them to be the sporting dogs they are. I gave them pure joy and it made my day.