The Cup

Sometimes in life, the cup is half-empty, sometimes it is half-full, sometimes it runneth-over, and sometimes it is bone dry. I’d like to say it is all in a person’s perspective, but I don’t really believe that. I do, however, believe that sometimes, life hands a person a set of circumstances and those circumstances define themselves and all the person can do is deal with the cup they are dealt. That is not always a negative thing, but it is not always positive either. It all depends on what is in the cup and what you do with it.

Author: Tanya Turner

  • Post 25: 8/9/26 Knowing Versus Doing

    Post 25: 8/9/26 Knowing Versus Doing

    Cup Status: Empty

    Knowing something versus doing something are two different things. I know I need to eat fewer carbs to help keep my diabetes under control, but actually doing so requires me to consume less bread, fewer items that contain processed sugar, and fewer foods that are high on the glycemic index, etc. Just knowing that I should do so does not help my health. I can know that I should exercise in order to have a strong body, but if I never do something about it, then my treadmill will sit in the corner of the room gathering dust. I can know that I should not stick a fork in the electrical outlet, but if I do that very thing, I am likely to injure myself or even die. Knowing that I should not drink gasoline because it will poison me and then not doing so are…not the same thing. So, knowing something and doing something are not the same. See a pattern? I can know or understand something, and I can take that knowledge and understanding and take action based on it and do something, and then there is a connection between the two. However, until the action is taken, the knowledge is, in essence, ineffective, impotent, moot.

    So much of my life I battled feelings of self-worth. I have fought with my internal demons telling me that I wasn’t good enough or that I wasn’t pretty enough. That no matter how hard I worked or tried, I would not amount to anything. It didn’t help that I had a horrible stepdad who said similar things to me or said them loud enough during fights with my mom that I could hear them. My personal favorite was, “She is so fat and ugly that no one will ever love her.” That was a real gem that still rolls around in my brain from time to time. I may be a bit on the chubby side, but I am not ugly, and I am loved, so he can suck it. Then there was the principal at my first teaching job, who, rather than support me during a difficult time, told me that some people weren’t cut out to be teachers and that he knew of one who quit teaching after the first semester and went to be a dishwasher in a restaurant. Guess who left his job as principal at semester? Him. Guess who is still teaching? Me. Anywho…Then there was the horrible department head who never supported me and accused me of not grading essays, but just assigning grades to them without actually reading them, and many other false accusations, none of which were true. She told administration that I was a terrible teacher and needed to be let go. I wasn’t fired, btw. Funny how, when put into a supportive environment with good leadership, I was able to shine. I give these somewhat petty examples to say that I battle with feeling like I am not lovable and like I am not a good teacher, etc. I know that that is not true, but these are falsehoods that I fight internally every day, and these three examples aren’t the only ones that I could give. There are more private ones that I am keeping to myself. So, when someone knows ways to love me and take care of me and chooses to do little about it, it brings up these feelings all over again. Am I worthy? Am I loved? Do I matter? To them…

    You see, my love language is acts of service. This is how I show love. I take care of people. I want to be taken care of. But when I am stressed, I hide under a rock in my cave of solitude and pretend life doesn’t exist. It’s a very healthy way to deal with stress, actually. Just binge-watch TV and eat Cheetos and tell the stress to go away. Right? Right. No, really, when I get stressed, I push off all responsibility except what is necessary for survival and go into lockdown mode. It isn’t a pretty sight. I am functioning on the outside, but on the inside I am frozen, and I need help to make me function again, but when I see no “doing” going on around me and that it is all me again…I throw in the towel. What is the point in trying when it is just me…again…pick up the dirty clothes. The socks. The plates. The empty soda cans. The shoes. The dirty shirts flung over chairs. Do the dishes that didn’t get done last night. Make the menu. Go grocery shopping. Make dinner. Make the kids’ lunches. Set out their clothes. Do the laundry. Fold the laundry. Put the laundry away. Sweep the floor. Mop the floor. Vacuum the floor. Bathe the kids. Brush the kids’ teeth. Check their backpacks. Sign the school forms. Pay the bills. Faculty meeting after school. Make sure the grass gets cut (at least we pay someone to do that). Take care of other yard maintenance. Make sure the kids have clothes and shoes that fit. Buy a present for the birthday party they have to go to. Get treats for the class party. Everyone needs costumes for Halloween. Cat needs flea medicine refilled. Can’t miss the bus again. Trash can to the curb on Monday. We are out of chicken nuggets again? Yes, I’ll read a book before bed. Must complete that curriculum thing for work. Oh, don’t forget parent-teacher conferences. Shit! I forgot to get a Christmas present for the teachers! I guess it will be a New Year present. Must fill out Valentine’s cards. Gotta grade that stack of essays. When is the last time I changed the sheets on the beds? Schedule dentist appointments and doctor checkups and vaccinations. Wait, have I been to the doctor or the dentist this year? How many months have I been wearing these contacts? Oh, hell, I don’t know. I can wait. Is this a panic attack or a heart attack? I don’t have time for this…

    Please, if you know that a person needs help, please DO something and help them because knowing and doing are not the same thing.

  • Post #24 8/3/26: Memories-My Greatest Inheritance

    Post #24 8/3/26: Memories-My Greatest Inheritance

    Cup Status: Running Over

    I am currently reading Inheritance by Dani Shapiro. While I am not finished with it, I am 3/4 of the way through it; it has brought to mind so many thoughts about where I have come from and the importance of family. Specifically, reading Shapiro talk about the importance of her DNA and her family lineage upon discovering that the man she knew to be her father is actually not her biological father, I began to think about my own family and the important place they have in my life as well. While I personally do not have any crazy moments like this that I have experienced, my grandpa was adopted, and thanks to Ancestry, he was able to find several members of his biological family when he was well into his 70’s. It is this grandpa and my grandma that Inheritance has brought to mind page after page. Shapiro talks about how the walls of her home are covered in the images of her ancestors and how her son wore the prayer shawl of her father for his bar mitzvah. My home is also filled with pictures of family, and I wore jewelry that belonged to my grandma on the day of my wedding.

    I lost my grandparents within one day of each other in 2019. I will never forget getting the phone call about my grandpa’s death. I was teaching, and my husband called me at school. He rarely called me during the school day unless there was an emergency. He had called me on the school phone and not on my cell, which was even more concerning. We had planned to go the very next day to visit my grandpa and grandma because my grandma was not doing well. We had made the drive the weekend before to visit because we did not know how much time she had left. Little did we know that my grandpa was far worse than he had let on, though his health was not great. When I answered the phone and heard Jamie’s voice, I just knew that my grandma had passed and that I had missed my final chance to say goodbye, but when he told me he was sorry and that my grandpa had died, I felt the world tilt. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I fell to my knees in shock. I remember saying into the phone that he wasn’t that bad off and that he was fine last weekend, as Jamie kept saying, “I know. I’m so sorry.” I remember telling him that I needed to go. I told my students to excuse me for a minute. I called my principal and asked if she could come to my classroom. I told her at the door what happened, and I went to the library to one of the study rooms for some privacy to process the news I had just received. This was the man who was there for so many of the major events of my life. He was there after the birth of my children to hold them. He danced with me at my wedding after suffering a major stroke. He said that he would recover so that we could share that dance, and it was the most special dance of my life.

    Grandpa and Grandma were there for me at marching band banquets and band concerts and plays, and when I was baptized and when I needed to learn how to drive a stick shift, and no one else had the patience to teach me, and when I needed a last-minute babysitter because I was sick or when my parents were fighting, and I needed to get away. I spent whole summers at their house and brought my friends for week-long slumber parties. What made this loss even worse was that I wasn’t able to say goodbye. I had hugged him and kissed him the weekend before and told him I would see him in a few days, but I didn’t hug him long enough. I didn’t treasure that moment enough because we had more time. If only I had known. With my grandma, I was preparing my heart as best I could, but Grandpa was a shock. The next day, we drove to see Grandma and the rest of the family who had gathered to be around her and to console each other over the loss of Grandpa. I hugged my mom and my aunts and uncles. Relatives had come from far and wide to say goodbye. It was almost like the old days when we had so many people at holiday gatherings that it was standing room only. We shared grandpa stories and took turns holding grandma’s hand and sitting by her bedside. She was not aware of her surroundings anymore, and our vigil was more for us than for her. When it was my turn, I talked to her and thanked her for everything she had done for me throughout my life. She had sewn beautiful dresses for me. She altered my wedding dress; she is the only one I would trust with something so precious. She embroidered my initials onto a handkerchief for me to carry at my wedding, for the inevitable tears. She taught me how to make the best biscuits and gravy and bread pudding anyone has ever had. Her pumpkin pie is the only one that I will eat. I hate all other pumpkin pie. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, she made a pie for each grandchild, and mine was always a custard pie. I miss those pies so much, but I miss her more. I remember when she took her last breath. Those of us who stayed through the late hour made a circle around her and told her it was ok to let go. She had lived well and loved us all, and we will all be ok because of her. We touched a part of her body and said I love you. Then, it was as if on cue, she took her last breath. My aunt, who is a nurse, took her stethoscope and checked her pulse in several places on her body. When she was certain her pulse was gone, she wrote down her time of death, and we all held each other and cried. Then, she called hospice, and the workers came, and my uncle, who is also a nurse, helped to put her body into a body bag. I think that is the strangest sight I have ever seen. I knew that the body wasn’t my grandma anymore, but those arms had hugged me so many times that to see them in a zipped-up bag was just so surreal. Never again would I watch her dexterously cross-stitch or roll out the flakiest pie dough or rock a new grandchild or great-grandchild. Never again would I call her and talk to her on the phone and ask her advice about some mundane thing.

    When I pass the road where they used to live as I fly down the interstate going from place to place, I am so tempted to get off at the exit and drive the familiar path to the house where so many memories were made. What I wouldn’t give to own that house and make memories there again. Grief is a strange emotion. I will go days and days without thinking about them, and then I read a few lines in a book, and they are all I can think about. I see a cardinal out my window while I am cooking, and I think of them (the Saint Louis Cardinals were their favorite team, and they loved cardinal birds, and cardinal birds are said to be the souls of lost loved ones). Tears are streaming down my face as I type this because the pain of their loss is as real today as it was the days they died. So, I am going to write about a few memories of two of my favorite people who loved me fiercely and with their whole hearts despite having over 100 grandchildren (we have a bit of a large family…).

    One of my favorite things my grandpa would do when he would stop by our house was leave a note. The note was always oddly specific and completely made up. He would say something like, “Dear Family, I stopped by at 1:08 pm and knocked on the door 7 times, but no one answered, so I let myself in. Since I was here, I did 2.5 loads of laundry using 6.25 ounces of laundry soap. I was hungry while doing the laundry, so I went into your fridge and heated up 4.75 ounces of spaghetti and drank 8.6 ounces of milk. I will pay you back for these items the next time I am in town. For now, add them to my tab. -Love, Grandpa.” The number of times he stopped in and did some chores around our house and ate some strange amount of leftovers cannot be calculated, but the notes always made me laugh. When he taught me to drive a stick shift, he gave me a report card with interesting grades as well…Grandpa is also the man who installed a sidewalk in our backyard using highway-grade rebar. Good luck to whoever tries to remove that in the future…When he built something, it was to last. Grandpa would build anything for anyone if he had the materials, and if he didn’t, he could scavenge almost anything he needed. My siblings and I wanted a playhouse. So, he got together some random materials and built us one in an afternoon. We came home from school, and there was the most perfectly built playhouse that had the oddest-looking exterior. All of the boards were different colors and textures and sizes, but when you stood back, it was the perfect little house. We loved it! When I was moving into my first apartment during college, I mentioned that I needed some furniture and asked if he could keep an eye out for me. Two weeks later, I had everything I needed, and he would not accept a dime from me. Since I was graduating in December, they even brought me a Christmas tree and a box of vintage ornaments. Grandpa and Grandma said it was a graduation present. I cried. I now had a dining table, a couch, a recliner, a desk, a washer and dryer, and a dresser. My first apartment on my own was ready!

    Other favorite memories involved spending time with my two favorite people. Grandpa was a Trekie for sure. We would sit together on the couch and eat popcorn that we made in the air popper and watch Star Trek for hours. It was so much fun. I like to think it is because of Grandpa that I enjoy sci-fi as much as I do. With Grandma, it was scrapbooking. Grandpa had built a garage with an apartment above it that sat behind their main house and was connected by a breezeway. One of the bedrooms was a scrapbooking room (This later was expanded into the main area as the collection of supplies grew and grew). Grandma and I would gather our pictures and supplies, and we would scrapbook with each other, and we would talk about life and everything that was going on. I did this mostly during college and some during the summer when I began teaching. I wish that it had continued as I got older, but as I had children, life got busier and this tradition fell away, but they are some of my most treasured memories. Now, when I scrapbook or at least when I look at my scrapbooking supplies…because busy, I think of her and wish she was sitting across from me telling me about the pictures she is scrapping and the history of the people in them.

    Grandpa and Grandma’s house was also for celebrations. Christmas and the Fourth of July were the big holidays that we celebrated there. Thanksgiving and Easter were celebrated at my auntie’s house. I loved going to their house for holidays. There were so many cousins to play with and so much chaos and so much good food to eat. I remember one Christmas, before they sold the Farm (as we called it), there were so many people that it was standing room only, and as people unwrapped their presents, the wrapping paper was waist-high on me (I was an adult in my early 30’s at the time), and it was over the heads of many of the smaller children. It was so much fun! I wish that we could go back to the days of Grandpa and Grandma holding court on the couch while a few of the grandchildren play elf and pass presents out to everyone, and we are all smiles and laughter, and there isn’t a care in the world. I also miss the days of the Fourth of July when the bottle rockets were as endless as the barbecue pork steaks that my uncles were grilling on the barrel grills. We saved our pennies for weeks so that we could buy as many fireworks as possible at the tents that sprang up at the beginning of July, begging our parents for more money when we inevitably put more in our baskets than we could afford. Then, the hoards of cousins blew up as much as possible while trying not to light themselves on fire, while adults were off playing horseshoes, not concerning themselves with us at all. We would play in the “galvanized pool,” aka horse trough, and have a grand time until the food was finished. Then we would go into the air-conditioned garage where we held many of our celebrations (my own engagement party and many of the birthday parties for my firstborn were held in this garage as well) to load up our plates. The day ended with a huge fireworks display set off by the uncles and the braver of the cousins while we sat on blankets or in lawn chairs saying, “OOOHHHH AAAAHHHH!!!!!” Then we would go home or stay the night with Grandpa and Grandma.

    These are the days that I dream of. I can close my eyes and still feel my bare feet walking on the night-cool grass, my eyes adjusting from the dark night to the brighter lights of the garage/apartment as I approach Grandpa and Grandma’s house after the amazing fireworks. I can hear the sounds of bugs and frogs in the night air. I can smell the sulfur wafting on the wind and the sweet smell of summer. Then I feel the cool of the air conditioning as I enter the garage, and then the crushing embrace of my grandma with her telltale smell of perfume, something slightly powdery and floral at the same time, mixed with the sweet sweat of summer. “Did you have a good day?” She asks. “Do I have to go home?” I ask as usual. But the truth is, home is always where she is and where he is. I think that’s why I miss them so much. I feel unmoored without them. Homeless almost. Like, my heart doesn’t know where to land some days. Because if home is wherever I am with you, what happens when you are gone?

  • Post #23: 7/31/26: Ode to Smut

    Post #23: 7/31/26: Ode to Smut

    Cup Status: Full

    I took a bit of a break to work on two grad classes that I needed to finish this summer before school starts. I worked really hard during the month of July, and I completed both of them. Now that I have jumped over that difficult hurdle, I am able to devote time to writing what I want to again. Not that I don’t enjoy writing tons of essays in a four-week time limit, but at least for this blog, I get to pick the topic. Deep breath and release. Temporary freedom! I have one more grad class to finish before December, but I cannot begin it until the fall semester starts, so that is a small blessing. For today’s writing, I am going to pull from something that I wrote quickly one day while feeling a bit cheeky. I love to read and to listen to audiobooks as well. This summer I have been reading books written by female authors about their own lives. This has been my primary theme; however, a girl has to branch out a little and enjoy some guilty pleasures…so I also have been reading some spicy books. Several of them were because my siblings told me I had to read Sarah J Mass, so I read A Court of Thorns and Roses series. Then I read The Assassin’s Blade series. But I also read several other authors that were available on the Libby app and had some fun making fun of and laughing at the tropes that are repeated so shamelessly in these spicy narratives. I have noticed that each author has a distinct list of words and phrases that they prefer to use when describing various actions, and it began to become almost comical the more that I delved into the genre of spice. I noticed that Sarah J Mass likes to have males palm the sex of their ladies, and Lora Leigh’s female characters’ wombs are always contracting with pleasure…please explain that one to me. I noticed that, no matter the circumstances, everyone can have a good time and finish to completion, not just once, but many, many times. These scenarios are definitely fantasy…lol! So, just for funsies, I wrote a ridiculous Ode to spicy books titled, “Shall I Try My Hand at Smut?” This is based on fantasy genre smut and not realistic smut, because dragons are, well, not real…So, here it goes. ; )

    “Shall I Try My Hand at Smut? I have read enough. Surely I can write it too. I have learned a thesaurus’ worth of words for: both male and female genitalia; for how eyes can look when there is longing, desire, lust, steam, heat, combustion, in them; for how a person can be rocked to their core, seam, sex, cunt, pussy while apparently no one else can hear the beating, trembling, vibration of their traitorous, passionate, giddy, unquenchable heart!
    Of course, this joining, fucking, love-making, thrusting, pounding, coming together has to happen at the strangest of times while covered in the blood of enemies, or the viscera of monsters, or the filth of dungeons from being held captive, or a muddy mess from the swirl of sandstorms turned rainstorms, miraculously unharmed. Side note: How does one have the most intimate of moments with sand where one should not have sand? Oh wait, don’t question, just go with it. Oh my, yes, just go with it. Right there. Moans of pleasure fill the air as his mile-long erection presses against her dripping seam after he palms her sex, of course, while flying on the back of a dragon over an erupting volcano.”

    Sigh. So realistic. So magical. So covered in too many fluids. Yick. Yet, I still read these spicy books. I call them my guilty pleasures and my junk food books. I can’t explain the draw, but hey, at least they typically end happily ever after, so that’s something. ; )

  • Post #22: 7/30/26: Do Whatever People Do In Maine

    Post #22: 7/30/26: Do Whatever People Do In Maine

    Cup Status: 3/4 Full

    Summer is winding down, and it is time to begin finishing up projects and preparing for the beginning of the next school year. I am both ready for routine and not excited to lose my freedom. I am enjoying sleeping as much as my body needs it, reading tons of books, and spending time with my family, although occasional breaks do us all some good. I am enjoying working in my garden and getting housework done in a reasonable time frame. But August first is just around the corner, and that is my self-imposed school prep time. So, for the next day, I will allow myself to continue working on the things for myself and my family that I want to. But after August first, I will begin working on curriculum planning again and prepping for the first few weeks of school. I like to have my ducks in a row so that I can walk into the building knowing what I need to copy and prep there, but not freaking out because I can’t remember my first unit. Lol! I think that part of my brain thrives on work and truly enjoys it. Even though the procrastination part of me will put things off during the school year to avoid the pain and suffering that it perceives the work will bring, in reality, it brings satisfaction and a reduction in stress. Brains are crazy.

    So, for now, as a reminder to myself, I have a passage from How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran that talks about the importance of living. By the way, if you haven’t read this book, it was so incredible, insightful, funny, and many more adjectives that won’t do it justice. Of all the books that I have read this summer by female authors, this one is at the top. Towards the end of the book, she talks about the importance of truly living. She says, “The real cost of living is dying, and we’re spending days like millionaires: a week here, a month there, casually spunked until all you have left are the two pennies on your eyes…Personally, I like the fact that we’re going to die. There’s nothing more exhilarating than waking up every morning and going, ‘WOW! THIS IS IT! THIS IS REALLY IT!’ It focuses the mind wonderfully. It makes you love vividly, work intensely, and realize that in the scheme of things, you really don’t have time to sit on the sofa in your undies watching Homes Under the Hammer.” When I read this section, it really struck home with me how much of my life I drag myself out of bed, exhausted, and I go about my daily routine as if I am just trying to get back to my bed. If by some miracle I take a nap or get time to sit watching mindless TV, then I feel happy for some downtime to take care of me. I feel guilty for these moments of “nothing” because there is so much “something” out there that I need to be doing or that I should be grateful for. I should be living loud and large and sucking the marrow from life and taking all it has to give, but sometimes I just don’t have the drive. So, while each day is closer to death, and I know that I am spending days like I have an infinite supply, I don’t know any other way it seems. With summer, I wile away the time doing not much and yet so much. When school starts, I accomplish more in one day than I do in an entire week during the summer. I am not sure which feels better to me. Which is more of an accomplishment? Does it matter? This summer I have been binge-watching Maine Cabin Masters, though not in my undies, just in my around-the-house clothes. I am dreaming of a road trip to see their HQ and to see Niagara Falls on the way. Our family would get their passports so that they can see the American and the Canadian side. My husband has friends in Montreal, and we would catch up with them and get to see the city they describe so lovingly. We will taste-test maple syrup and eat lobster, or whatever you do in Maine as a visitor in the summer. We are midwesterners, so this will be a whole new experience for us! I watch, and I dream. Then my daughter says she wants to go to Las Vegas because the Spy Ninjas HQ is there and she is a huge fan, so we Google Maps how long it would take to drive there. We then begin planning a dream trip to Las Vegas, complete with a visit to Spy Ninjas HQ, riding the gondolas at The Venetian, seeing the neon light museum, and other must-do Vegas things. Then, I think about how much I would love a condo on the water in Galveston, TX, my favorite place to vacation. Owning a piece of paradise on this island has been a dream of ours. My husband wants to own and run a radio station in Galveston, and we would have a condo, and we could stay whenever we wanted to. It would be awesome. When I mention these dreams to others, they say, ” So, go for it!” I say, “With what money?” They say, “If you want it bad enough, you will find a way.” I think life is short. How can we make this work? But I look at the bank account and the month and the money left, and I sigh. Today may be the day that I have, but it will be filled with travel dreams for now and curriculum planning for tomorrow. Maybe we will get to fulfill these dreams soon. One never knows. Till then, I will keep planning and dreaming.

  • Post #21: 7/4/26: Career and Creativity

    Post #21: 7/4/26: Career and Creativity

    Cup Status: 3/4 Full

    In a previous post, I wrote down a goal that I would like to become a writer who is able to support herself with her writing. Retirement from teaching is 9 years away, but I will be many years away from Medicare being accessible to me, so I do need to make financial plans for that future. But, the practical part aside, I enjoy writing. I write for fun, to get emotions out, to process my ideas, to create for my teaching career, and for creativity. It is this last one that has recently become a reminder to me of its importance. While reading Yes Please by Amy Pohler, I found so many ways to connect to the messages that she wove throughout her memoir. But there was one towards the end that really struck a chord with me. Pohler is comparing a career to a bad boyfriend and then she moves on to talking about the importance of creativity versus a career. I am not going to talk too much about my career in this post. I do believe that it is a noble one that is absolutely necessary and is something that I have given 21 years of my life to, so far, but for this post, I am going to focus mostly on what Pohler says about creativity, because some of what she says about a career can absolutely be applied to teaching as much as it can to the entertainment industry.

    Pohler says, “…let me make a distinction between career and creativity. Creativity is connected to your passion, that light inside you that drives you. That joy that comes when you do something that you love. That small voice that tells you, ‘I like this. Do this again. You are good at it. Keep going.’ That is the juicy stuff that lubricates our lives and helps us to feel less alone in the world.” I am trying to tap more into my creativity. I am trying to use it to make a difference in my life and to increase my happiness quotient. I don’t have a lot of time right now for extended creative projects. My younger children can be a bit of a handful and it is summer, after all. But I have completed phase one of a fairy garden for my 6-year-old. I have planted and am tending a vegetable garden for my family. The daily harvest of zucchini, green beans, peppers, and lettuce has been so beautiful. The tomatoes and yellow squash are close to being ready for harvest, and the cucumber, broccoli, onions, strawberries, and pumpkins are growing and growing, getting ready for a harvest that is sure to come. The creativity I can use in nature makes me feel alive. I love when my hands are in the soil. I love to coax life from seeds and to benefit from the harvest. I love to plant flowers and see the explosion of color as the blooms burst free. This is what I am transforming my backyard into–the garden oasis I have always wanted. It is a creativity of its own.

    My second form of creativity is writing. I took a very long break from writing on this blog because of life circumstances. When I am depressed and overwhelmed, I default to hiding in my internal cave. I push away those things that make me happy. I do not know why I do this, but it is almost as if I don’t believe that I deserve to be happy in the midst of the darkness. But I am going to do my best to not fall back into that cave, that trap of my own creation. I am going to write to “lubricate my life” as Pohler says and to “help us [me] feel less alone in this world.” When I write, even if no one reads my posts, it helps me to feel like my feelings are out in the world and maybe my realizations and crazy aha moments might help someone else as well. If not, that is ok too, but at least it is helping me, and it is giving me a creative outlet for my words.

    I plan to extend my creativity to my career again soon enough, but with the renewed vigor of someone who has had the summer to rest. Teaching is indeed the career of creativity in the long-range planning and in the moment. It is a great mirror and a great collaboration of learning. It is output and reflection all at once. But when summer comes, my creativity gets to focus on me and my needs, and it is glorious.

    Besides talking about creativity, Pohler does make some interesting points about careers that I can’t not mention. She says, “I will say it again. Ambivalence is key. You have to care about the work, but not about the result. You have to care about how good you are and how good you feel but not about how good people think you are or how good people think you look…You will never climb Career Mountain and get to the top and shout, ‘I made it.’ You will rarely feel done or complete or even successful. Most people I know struggle with that complicated soup of feeling slighted on the one hand and like a total fraud on the other…Ambivalence can help tame the beast. Remember a career is a bad boyfriend. It likes it when you don’t depend on it. It will reward you every time you don’t act needy. It will chase you if you act like other things (passion, friendship, family, longevity) are more important to you.” I am not fully sure why this resonated with me so much, because I do not fully feel that teaching is a bad boyfriend, but I can say that there are days when I would like to be ambivalent and stop caring, to break up with it and find something new to fill my days. There are days when it feels like teaching takes and takes and takes and doesn’t care for my needs and when I try to find a better work-life balance, teaching reminds me that it is there with mountains of work to complete. Until I retire, my work will never be complete. I will not be able to climb career mountain and say that I have made it. I will be able to say that I did my best, despite sometimes feeling like an absolute fraud with imposter syndrome. I will always care about my work AND the outcome. I can’t not think about the results, so ambivalence, on the whole, cannot be key for me. I will do my best to not worry about what others think about me and to infuse as much of my creativity and passion into my career as I can because that is where the joy is. Teaching is most definitely a “complicated soup of feeling” but with the reminder from “That small voice that tells you, ‘I like this. Do this again. You are good at it. Keep going.’” I don’t need others to tell me that I am a good teacher, but I do need to remind myself that when things get difficult, I must lean into my creativity and not default to the status quo for survival. This is my goal. Lean into the creative and be ambivalent about the things that don’t matter. The noise from the government, society, and even some people I care about. I must remember to be passionate. To be a light for myself and others as I move forward and do my best to stay out of my cave. It is the best way to fill my cup.

  • Post #20: 7/3/26: Strive to be Happy

    Post #20: 7/3/26: Strive to be Happy

    Cup Status: 3/4 Full

    As I have continued with my reading of books written by women about their own lives, I picked up Mostly Sunny by Janice Dean. I will fully admit that I had no idea who Janice Dean was before I read this book. I saw it at a discount bookstore, and I liked the title. I totally choose books based on titles and covers, all the time. I found her life story about her career very interesting. She began in radio, and since my husband has been in radio since he graduated from high school, I found her beginnings to be kind of cool. She made many references to people in the radio industry who my husband has also told me about. She mentioned radio technology that is currently sitting in my basement in various stages of working order. But, it turns out that the title is in reference to both her outlook on life and her current career as a meteorologist. I would like to think that I too have a mostly sunny attitude when it comes to life, but I am certain that my outlook leans more towards partially cloudy with some sun peeking through from time to time. While I found the book to be interesting overall, it was really the poem that she included in the end that spoke to me. She said that her father had given it to her when she was a child. The poem is called “Desiderata: Words for Life” by Max Ehrmann. It was published in 1927, but in the book, Dean calls it the “Desiderata of Happiness.” Here it is:

    Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
    and remember what peace there may be in silence.
    As far as possible without surrender
    be on good terms with all persons.
    Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
    and listen to others,
    even the dull and the ignorant;
    they too have their story.

    Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
    they are vexations to the spirit.
    If you compare yourself with others,
    you may become vain and bitter;
    for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
    Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

    Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
    it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
    Exercise caution in your business affairs;
    for the world is full of trickery.
    But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
    many persons strive for high ideals;
    and everywhere life is full of heroism.

    Be yourself.
    Especially, do not feign affection.
    Neither be cynical about love;
    for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
    it is as perennial as the grass.

    Take kindly the counsel of the years,
    gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
    Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
    But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
    Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
    Beyond a wholesome discipline,
    be gentle with yourself.

    You are a child of the universe,
    no less than the trees and the stars;
    you have a right to be here.
    And whether or not it is clear to you,
    no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

    Therefore be at peace with God,
    whatever you conceive Him to be,
    and whatever your labors and aspirations,
    in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

    With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
    it is still a beautiful world.
    Be cheerful.
    Strive to be happy.

    The first step I took when reading this poem was to look up the definition of “Desiderata.” dictionary.com says it is, “things wanted or needed.” Merriam-Webster.com defines it as “something desired as essential.” Looking at these definitions, I see that this poem is a list of things that are essential, wanted, or needed. If I go with Dean’s title, it is for happiness. If I go with the poem’s title, it is for life. Happiness and life. Two important aspects of the human experience, and by life I don’t mean breathing and being alive. I mean truly living. Experiencing life. Loving every minute of it.

    As the English teacher that I am, I will simplify this poem for myself so that I can see the bones of it, the structure, the “what” I am supposed to gain from its words.

    Stanza One:

    Go placidly (peacefully, calmly) though life

    Remember the peace of silence

    Be on good terms with all people

    Do not surrender

    Speak your truth

    Listen to others

    Stanza Two:

    Avoid aggressive people

    Do not compare yourself to others

    Enjoy your achievements

    Enjoy your plans

    Stanza Three:

    Be interested in your career (it has great worth in an uncertain world)

    Be cautious in business

    Do not be blind to virtue and high ideals (high moral standards)

    There are heroes in the world

    Stanza Four:

    Be yourself

    Do not pretend to like/love someone

    Do not be cynical (distrustful) about love

    Love is perennial (enduring)

    Stanza Five:

    Accept the wisdom of growing older

    Grow strong in spirit for tough moments.

    Do not imagine bad things in the future.

    Fear comes from being tired and lonely.

    Be disciplined in life.

    Be gentle with yourself.

    Stanza Six:

    You have great importance.

    You have a right to be alive.

    Everything is happening as planned.

    Stanza Seven:

    Be at peace with a higher power.

    Have peace in your soul.

    Stanza Eight:

    The world is beautiful despite all of the negative.

    Be cheerful (full of good spirits).

    Strive (devote great energy to) to be happy.

    The Big Ideas of the Poem:

    peace with others

    peace with higher power

    peace with self

    truth

    acceptance

    self-acceptance

    self-discipline

    self-importance

    wisdom

    work

    right to live

    gentleness

    beauty

    love

    cheerfullness

    happiness

    enjoyment

    After breaking down the poem into these big ideas, it is a simple, yet profound list. Some seem easier than others to accomplish, but it is clear how all of these ideas fit together to form a full and happy life.

    The list begins with peace, and I can think of no better way to soothe the soul than to have peace. Of the three in the list, peace with self is the most important to me. If I do not have peace with myself, then I cannot possibly have peace with anyone else. Peace with myself means accepting myself, flaws and all. It means being ok with not being perfect. It means not using the word “should” about my life. It means not comparing myself to others and finding myself lacking. So many important lessons that have been learned through so many dark moments and lots of therapy. While peace with others is important, I have also come to the point in my life where I don’t need to please others. I don’t need to be accepted by others. I don’t need the validation of others to be valuable. I have decided to only bring people into my life who love me, positively challenge me, make me better, and accept me. I will no longer suffer the people who bring me down or make my life more difficult. This is not to say that I don’t pull my own weight. That I don’t support those around me. That I am cold or closed-off. The opposite is true. I love to help others. It is in my nature to be supportive and welcoming, but if I am burned, it is forever. I don’t have time in my life for purposeful hurt and hatefulness. Life is too short. Life is also too short to deal with the frustrations of church and a fickle higher power who may or may not care about me. I have also made peace with my relationship with God, which is to say that I have walked away from church and broken ties with that higher power. There are days when I miss the feeling of belonging that church youth group used to give me, but the amount of judgement and hurt that I have faced at the hands of so-called Christians is enough to wipe away anything positive. That part of my young, impressionable life was important for teaching me many life lessons, but I have made peace with where I am now. I no longer wear the title of Christian, and I have never been happier.

    Beauty is another element of the list that is so important to me. I find beauty in nature, in words, and in friendship. I love to be out in nature and am happiest when I am near water. If I could sit on the beach with the waves crashing near me and just breathe, that would be peace and paradise for me. Words swirl in my mind and jump out to me and stay with me in my soul. I read books and certain phrases stick with me. I hear songs and lines stay in mind forever. Language has always been a part of me. But the most beautiful thing in my life that I cherish on the same level as my family is my friends. I have been so lucky to meet the most amazing girls when we were in college in the early 2000’s. We met during marching band and all joined the same co-ed band fraternity, Kappa Kappa Psi. We have been, at various times, roommates, bridesmaids, therapists, adventurers, shenanigan creators, and so much more. We have a daily group chat that keeps us connected. We can text any of us at a moment’s notice, and at least one of us will be there. We have seen each other through joy and sorrow and anger and fear. These women are my family, even more so than the ones I have by blood because we chose each other. And the beautiful thing is that we continue to choose each other over and over again. That is beauty and joy and happiness all wrapped together.

    With age has come some wisdom, but no matter how many years pass, I will still feel like a kid inside who is masquerading as an adult. How did I become an adult? How did I become the veteran teacher? How on earth did I get gray hair? Lol! But no matter how many years I have left on this earth, I will continue to strive to be happy.

    So, thank you to Janice Dean for introducing me to the “Desiderata: Words for Life” by Max Ehrmann and thank you to Max Ehrman for helping me to reflect on what I need to be happy. My personal list, my Desiderata of Happiness, is this:

    Accept and be at peace with myself

    Compare myself to no one, because I am me.

    Continue to find beauty in the little things.

    Make time for nature.

    Make time for friends.

    Make time for family.

    Make time for me.

    Do the things that I enjoy.

    Only allow in those things and people who make my life better.

    Focus on health, not being skinny.

    Block out the noise of life that is not helpful.

    Sleep is beautiful.

    Travel whenever possible.

    Experience new things.

    Always remember when trials happen, this too shall pass.

    These are the things that I will hold onto with all that is in me. With the conviction that I have learned from one of my favorite writers, Annie Dillard. In one of my favorite essays, “Living Like Weasels,” she says, “We could, you know. We can live any way we want…I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you’re going no matter how you live, cannot you part.” This is a Desiderata. To live any way that we want. To live for the essential. The necessary. Life. Happiness. Me.

  • Post #19: 6/23/26: Goals in Plain Sight

    Post #19: 6/23/26: Goals in Plain Sight

    Cup Status: 3/4 Full, but a Bit Shaky

    This summer has been both a reflective summer and one where I have read the words of many female writers, some of whom I knew I would connect with and others I knew that I probably wouldn’t. I have chosen the books on my reading list for three main reasons: 1. The authors are female, 2. I own the physical copies on my bookshelf and I am trying to keep only those books that I truly love or connect with, and 3. They are available on the Libby app for me to listen to so that I can do a combination of reading in print and listening on audio depending on if I am at home or working at my second job at Walmart. My inspiration for today’s post comes from a book that I didn’t think I was going to connect to much, and it isn’t because I didn’t think the book wouldn’t be worth reading or because I had any pre-conceived notions about the author, it was because I knew the author has a Christian point of view and that is a part of my past that I have detached from many years ago for myriad reasons. However, true to my teacher heart, I vow to always find at least one nugget worth holding onto from anything that I read or any professional development I attend or motivational speech that I listen to. It is just part of my nature. If I am going to spend part of my life with these words, then by golly, I am going to get something out of it. It turns out that despite some of the “Christianese” that stuck in my chest and made me feel the old anxiety, I did gain several beautiful insights from Rachel Hollis’s book Girl, Wash Your Face. I’ll admit that I listened to this one on the Libby app and wound up typing a few notes into my phone and writing a few others on scraps of paper that I came across while picking groceries at Walmart; see cover photo for evidence of this. Lol! Either way, my biggest “Aha moment” came when she said, “Every year you get to write the chapter of your story; don’t write the same one 75 times and call it a life.” I know, I know. There was some drama about plagiarism surrounding Rachel and this quote, but we are not besties. I can still be inspired by it.

    So, when I heard this quote come through my off-brand AirPods, I stopped in my tracks. I was supposed to be picking groceries- probably a bag of shredded cheese (the favorite blend in my town is fiesta… or possibly a party-size bag of Doritos, another town staple)- but I paused and wrote this quote down on a scrap of paper that I found in my vest pocket. It made me think about my own life. It made me think specifically about my family’s finances and the struggles we have been facing for the past several years that we thought we had overcome, but that came back with a surprise vengeance with home repair issues with our new house and then with health issues for my husband and then with the survival that follows major health issues. It truly felt like we were writing the same chapter over and over. Financial struggle. Fix it. Start to recover. Major catastrophe. Wipe out any small amout in savings. Financial struggle. Fix it. Start to recover. Major catastrophe. Wash-Rinse-Repeat. Then within that cycle came the anger, denial, acceptance, depression, numbness, and anxiety cycle that followed. I asked my therapist if I somehow sabotaged myself into this constantly happening. Did I somehow secretly revel in despair and in overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds over and over again? Did I secretly believe in my subconscious that I didn’t deserve to be happy? OR, was the universe just against me? Maybe I was cursed? I had no idea. (By the way, he said no. He said that there was no way that I could orchestrate events such as a deer totalling my husband’s car or my husband suddenly going into heart failure. I still wonder about being cursed…JK, but maybe not JK…) But this quote made me realize that I am not going to take the current fallout from the last catastrophe lying down. This chapter will have a different ending. We are taking steps to get out of the situation sooner; they are legal, I promise. But this time, we are not taking the long road. It is a scary decision, but one that is better in the long run. I don’t want the next 40 years of my life to be the same as the first 40. These chapters will be different.

    Something else that Rachel talks about often is the importance of doing things that make the reader happy. This is also my new mantra. I am going to focus more on doing those things. I have been spending more time this summer reading, gardening, napping, and relaxing. There are tons of things that I need to do, but I am taking time for me and for my soul to heal and to gain back the strength that the school year and that life have zapped from me. I have been writing more entries here. I want to write more, but slow and steady is the start. I don’t want to jump in too fast and make this feel like a chore instead of something I enjoy. With all of the relaxing, I do know that the time for action is coming. Because the new chapters are going to involve more than just financial changes. The final pages of Rachel’s book really felt like an altar call, but instead of accepting Christ, they were about accepting the person I want to become and then taking concrete steps to become her. No, seriously, listen to the audio recording of Rachel reading the book and tell me if the tone and urgency don’t suddenly change as she nears the end. While I didn’t feel the need to find the nearest church and ask for prayer, it did give me the goosebump push I needed to truly think about this new chapter version of myself. Not the NEW & IMPROVED TANYA, but the Tanya I was always meant to be. Rachel says, “Only you have the power to change your life…You’ve always had the power, Dorothy. You just have to stop waiting for someone else to do it for you. There is no easy way out of this; there is no life hack. Just you and your God-given strength and how much you desire change.” Remove the “God-given” and I am fully on board. I know that there is no easy way out. I’ve tried easy ways to lose weight and ways to make quick money online, and none of those work. If there is going to be any kind of lasting change, it takes time and commitment, strength and work. It takes a desire to change and the will to not give up. My hold back has been the energy to lift that desire and make it a reality. But, in two weeks, my second job will be gone. I will have more time and more energy. I’ve learned that I can walk between 5 and 8 miles in a Walmart shift. That is a lot of physical activity. Imagine what I can do with that time if I get to use it for what I want? Yoga can come back into my life or hiking or dancing with my kids. The dreams are going to become a reality. I am so excited.

    So, as Rachel says at the end of the book I am going to, “Stop crying about what happened and take control of what happens next. Get up, right now. Rise up from where you’ve been. Scrub away the tears and the pain of yesterday, and start again…” My story is far from over. Many of my chapters are still unwritten. I have so many dreams that I don’t know which ones will come to fruition in my lifetime, but I will continue to dream and continue to work for as many as I can.

    One last piece of advice from Rachel that stood out to me and that I am taking this platform to state is this: She says to write your goals in plain sight. Write them somewhere you can see them. So, I am writing them here where I can see them and where others can see them. I am also writing them and placing them near my writing desk as a visual reminder that I have goals that I will accomplish.

    Goal 1. Become debt-free in 5 years (with the exception of the mortgage)

    Goal 2. Get healthy and lose weight so that I weigh under 200 pounds

    Goal 3. Become a full-time, published writer who can support herself financially with her craft.

    Well, world, here are my goals. They are out in the universe. I am going to work towards them and see what comes out in a later chapter. I hope that my life book is plenty long with lots of plot twists and choose-your-own-adventure moments mixed in. No more cookie-cutter chapters for this girl.

  • Post #18: 6/15/26: Yes, Please.

    Post #18: 6/15/26: Yes, Please.

    Cup Status: 1/4ish Full and Adding More Each Day

    The further away from the end of the school year that I move, the fuller my cup is getting. I need time to rest and to take care of the many delayed projects around my house and the cleaning needs that have been put off and put off. I need time to sit and to relax, to nap, and to watch a variety of shows on HGTV and Food Network. I need time to get back to meal planning and menu-making, moving beyond daily food survival to actual planning for taste and time and enjoyment. I need time to implement projects and put sweat equity and creativity and my own personal touches into my home instead of imagining what they will look like when they are finished. I need time to decide I like my job again and to remember that I love my family and to remember that they are not just a part of my daily checklist of responsibilities and tasks to take care of before I finally get to, mercifully, fall into bed. I need time to enjoy the outdoors and complain about the heat and feel the dirt in my hands and watch my garden grow and say things to my children such as, “Please stop telling your sister that the skin walkers are going to get her if she doesn’t stop spraying you with the hose.” AND “Please stop calling your brother a gremlin and chasing him around the house with bright pink lipstick.” AND, to my oldest child, “Oh, you are alive. I thought that you had become a vampire. Nice to see you awake before four PM.” I really do love summer. I have grad classes I need to be working on and curriculum that I need to be updating, but for now, just for now, I am taking a well-deserved break.

    While on that break, I have read two books that have been on my list for quite some time (I’ve actually read more than two books thanks to the wonderful world of audiobooks, but my focus is on these two in particular). One is Bossypants by Tina Fey and the other is Yes, Please by Amy Poehler. While reading both of them, I laughed out loud many times, which caused those around me to look at me strangely, as I often read in public places to pass the time. I was moved by endearing family stories, and I felt the connection to these two women as they described their awkward childhood selves. I listened to the tales of their career journeys and the outlook that they both have towards life, love, and work. I read about their experiences with motherhood and their husbands and the expectations society puts on women. And, I laughed. I contemplated. I was righteously angry. I wished I had a pen or pencil with me so I could make notes in the margins. But, most of all, I saw two women who told about their lives and, I believe, hoped someone would take something away from the experience of spending several hours with them during the reading journey. I am happy to say that I did. I wish that I could say that I connected with both women equally, but that is not the case. The titles of each book alone will tell anyone who knows me which person I identified with more. Here’s a hint: after many quiz retakes on Pottermore, I am indeed a Hufflepuff. If I were on the trip to Mordor in Lord of the Rings, I would be Samwise Gamgee. In the world of Myers-Briggs, I am an INFJ. The Advocate. I will ask for what I want and need, but it will be accompanied by a “please” or “if that’s ok” or something along those lines, and what I need usually is because someone else really needs it too, and I am just the one who asks for the good of the group. That’s me. So, Tina Fey’s “Bossypants” style didn’t fit me entirely, but there was one section in particular that did speak to me deeply. It is the section on the rules of improv. I am pretty sure that this section spoke to me for two reasons. 1. I am a teacher and teaching is a great game of both script and improv. I plan the broader strokes of the lesson, and then the minutiae fill themselves in as the students need them to be filled in and as their unique class and individual personalities add to it. I really think that teachers are great improvisers, but we can only be that way if we have a rock-solid plan in place first. Seems like a paradox, doesn’t it? 2. I used to be an icredibly structured, organized, difficult to get along with, has to be my way type of person. I now know this was because I needed control over my situation due to a severe lack of control over many traumatic events earlier in my life, but at the time I was a total bitch to live with. I am truly amazed that I have friends from that period of my life who still love me. Mini-soapbox: Therapy is wonderful. I believe that everyone can benefit from therapy. Please try to attend therapy if at all possible. It changed my life for the better.

    Back to what I was saying before. So, Tina Fey’s “The Rules of Improvisation That Will Change Your Life and Reduce Belly Fat” really struck a chord with me, but before explaining why, I have to address something that bothered me throughout the book. Fey mentioned weight several times. I understand the struggle with weight. I really, really do. It has been a lifelong struggle for me. I also understand using humor and comedy as a coping mechanism or a way to address a difficult topic, but there were several moments, such as this title, that the weight reference didn’t seem necessary. It felt like a laugh grab, and I didn’t laugh…But, again, back to my main points. Fey says the first rule of improv is to, “…Agree. Always agree and SAY YES.” Now, it may not always be wise to agree and say yes, but Fey clarifies this point when she says, “…obviously in real life you’re not always going to agree with everything. But the Rule of Agreement reminds you to ‘respect what your partner has created’ and to at least start from an open-minded place. Start with a YES and see where it takes you.” This is such wise advice. If everyone would keep an open mind and would listen to others and see what it is that they are trying to create, the end product could be something wonderful. However, too often, we are thinking about what we are going to say or do next, so when we do speak or act, it doesn’t make any sense or connect in any way to what is currently happening or currently needed in a situation. For example, in education right now. Schools need support and funding from the government at the state and the federal levels, but instead of helping to solve the problems in the public school system, funding is being cut and redirected elsewhere. Teachers and students are setting the scene; the needs are obvious, but the reaction from the scene partner doesn’t make any sense in the context of what has already been established. There is no rule of agreement between the players, and therefore the scene has stalled. Another example of this in the classroom is when a student has a clear need. That need might be a need for clarification or a lack in pre-requisite/foundational knowledge. If the teacher misses the cue or misinterprets the cue or responds in exactly the same way that they already have, the learning will stall. The scene will end, and no one will be the better for it.

    The second rule of improv is “…YES, AND. You are supposed to agree and then add something of your own.” For a teacher, this rule is beautiful. I am handed state standards, and I have a curriculum that I have a hand in helping to create from district-approved materials, but I still get to be the AND. There are elements of my job that I have to say “Yes” where there is little wiggle room, but the AND is where I get to shine. This is where I get to use the strategies and techniques that will spark engagement instead of boredom. This is where I will attempt to make the dry material interesting. This is also where I ask my students to be the AND. With their learning, I already expect them to say “Yes,” but to engage in the material and to make it their own, to increase the rigor and the understanding, they need to add to it, to level up. A +1 if you will (Thank you, John Antonetti, for teaching me this move). Tina Fey explains this rule further when she says, “…YES, AND means don’t be afraid to contribute. It’s your responsibility to contribute. Always make sure you’re adding something to the discussion. Your initiations are worthwhile.” It is this idea of fear that often holds people back from contributing, from taking a risk, from believing that they have anything worthy of contribution. This is what needs to be changed in education and in the classroom today. As a Hufflepuff, risk-taking is not my forte, but I do my best to push against the boxed expectations to seek the “why” of what I am being asked to do. I am always all in for my students, but when it comes to directives and mandates from on high, I often turn the question to them: Yes, and…how will I be supported? Yes, and…how is this beneficial to my students? Yes, and…will this replace something on my plate or add another precarious piece to the pile? So, say YES, AND add to the conversation, ask questions, be the spark of creativity or change, or at least make a big enough fuss that people ask if the whiny girl might have a point.

    The third rule of improv is to “MAKE STATEMENTS. This is a positive way of saying ‘Don’t ask questions all the time.’…In other words: Whatever the problem, be part of the solution. Don’t just sit around raising questions and pointing out obstacles.” I hate to admit that my initial reaction to anything new that is going to be a challenge is to get irritated and then angry. I know that this happens because I am embarrassed by my lack of understanding and knowledge and because I do not like to be vulnerable in front of other people. Notice that I said, “In front of other people.” If I can work by myself with a set of directives or with a general direction or idea, I can explore and mess up and get lost and find my way back multiple times. I can get lost in the messiness of learning and discovery. Then, when I am confident that I have figured out the base needs of the situation or how to use the new program or whatever the situation calls for, that is when I am ready to collaborate. That is when I am ready to offer solutions to problems or to work with others to figure out how best to address a problem. This is because I have already struggled with it on my own and worked out somewhere between 3-10 potential options. I am now ready to run those ideas by someone and to get feedback and to hear their ideas and to give them feedback and for our ideas to blend or to throw out the bad ones and stick with the good ones, etc. I am not good at showing my “messy” at being in the midst of my questions. My insecurities and my need to process things over time and not in the moment are often the culprit for my knee-jerk reactions. I am a definite introvert. When I feel comfortable and safe with a person, then I can make statements. Then I can offer my solutions and defend them. I get flustered when I am grilled on the spot about a problem that needs a solution, unless it is a problem that I have previously encountered in some similar iteration. This is why, as mentioned earlier, teaching is a great game of improv, but for me, it is only great when it is blended with a well-planned-out lesson as well. I want to be able to make statements more often, but when I am pushed before I am ready or before I have figured it out for myself, I will only be capable of pointing out obstacles. It is my negative default, and I do not like it. However, once I am comfortable working with someone and I have built up a certain level of trust and understanding with them, then I can embrace this rule as well.

    Rule number four of improv comforts me because “THERE ARE NO MISTAKES, only opportunities.” Even though there is comfort in this thought, I still must say in a melodramatic voice, “Alas, if only this were the case!” I have made plenty of mistakes as a teacher and as a co-worker. I have reacted too quickly to a student and misread a situation. I have gotten angry and flown off the handle during a meeting, only to be extremely embarrassed by my behavior later. I have gotten to school in the morning thinking that I had everything ready for the day only to realize that I had forgotten something very important. I have been so openly myself at times that I realized I probably should have reined the girl in just a bit. Each of these examples, vague as they are, is definitely an example of opportunities for reflection and growth. For connection with others and with myself. No one person is perfect, and teachers are no exception. It sure seems like society believes teachers should be perfect or that teachers should be held to a higher standard than people in other professions, but at the end of the day, teachers are regular people who are doing their best amidst the struggles and triumphs of daily life. So, while there may be opportunities in our actions, we wouldn’t have gotten there without the mistake first.

    So, teaching is a game of improv that also has a plan, but ask any experienced teacher if every single day of the school year followed the lesson plan as it was intended, and I can guarantee they will say no. I am even willing to bet that the majority would say that less than half of their plans went exactly the way they had wanted them to. But ask them if a good portion of those days went even better than they had imagined, and I also bet that a good many of them will say yes. We can’t always plan the good, and we can’t always predict the bad, but what we do with both when they arise is what really matters. I just wish that this grumpy introvert could be alone each time a tidal wave of change hits so that she can process her emotions in real time without an audience, but I’m pretty sure that I picked the wrong career for that.

  • Post #17: 6/5/26: Hope Floats

    Post #17: 6/5/26: Hope Floats

    Cup Status: Empty, but Trying to Catch a Few Dew Drops

    The last few weekends, once spring began and the danger of frost had ended, I began working on my garden. I removed debris such as leaves left from fall and any weeds that had made it past my weed barrier. I retilled the soil and added my special plant fertilizer. I then replaced the weed barrier and carefully, almost reverently, placed my baby plants into their new homes. For the plants that I was starting from seed by direct sowing into the ground, I dug small holes to the specifications of each type of plant and placed a few seeds into each prepared hole. I watered the baby plants and seeds, then I took a deep breath, and I hoped. I hoped that the time I put into preparing the soil was time well spent. That each obstacle removed would ensure a healthy harvest. That the fertilizer I added would nourish each plant as it grew and bore fruit for my family. That each seed and plant would have such a harvest that my family would be able to feast all summer and into the fall with plenty left over to freeze for the winter. This was my hope as I toiled in my garden over several spring weekends.

    Hope is the one emotion, the one concept, the one life raft that keeps people going during difficult times. During times when it feels like the end of the difficulties isn’t in sight and never will be. When it feels like all of the resourcefulness and the ingenuity and the creativity have been used up.

    Emily Dickinson reminds me that

    “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers –
    That perches in the soul –
    And sings the tune without the words –
    And never stops – at all -“

    Hope never stops. It continues on beyond everything else. It takes up residence in our soul and continues singing for us even when we cannot sing for ourselves. Even when there are no words. Hope remains. I don’t know how it remains, but it does.

    Barack Obama reminds me that

    “Hope- Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope. In the end, that is…The belief that there are better days ahead.”

    To continue to hope when life is constantly throwing obstacles in my way and tripping me up with challenges that I wish could have been avoided. To continue to hope when I am feeling so uncertain about how I will make it from one obstacle to the next. To have the audacity, the boldness, the bravery, the courage to continue clawing through those obstacles to find the light on the other side of the darkness. That is what hope is all about. Even when it feels like all of my hope should be diminished, I seem to scrounge up more. Seriously, where does it keep coming from?

    What kind of English teacher would I be if I didn’t have at least one quote from a young adult dystopian novel, too? Even though I hate that these wise words come from the mouth of President Snow, he does make a fair point.

    Snow tells Seneca Crane in The Hunger Games, “Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear.”

    That is what I need to remember daily. Hope. It is such a small word, but it is capable of overcoming so much. Of pushing back fear. Of giving a person the strength to keep putting one foot in front of another. To seek help. To find creative solutions. To keep working towards the light at the end of the tunnel of the struggles until, hopefully, one day they can live the life they imagined. And by “they,” I mean me.

    So, how to wrap up? How about the end? How will I know when I am at the end of the troubles? Thanks to one of my favorite artists, I will know…

    Andy Grammar reminds me that

    “It’s just a chapter in your story
    Turn that page and grab that pen
    ‘Cause, darling, everything’ll be alright
    If it’s not alright, then it’s not the end
    Don’t you trust what they are saying
    All those voices in your head
    ‘Cause, darling, everything’ll be alright
    If it’s not alright, then it’s not the end
    Then it’s not the end”

    I feel like some chapters of my life I would have rather skipped or torn out of the book or perhaps would like the editor to cut it before the book goes to print, but I also suppose then, my life wouldn’t have made me who I am…a depressed, neurotic mess…I can’t say that I agree with people who say that we should be grateful for our struggles because they have made us stronger or that everything happens for a reason or this was my fate or my path. I just can’t believe in that. I won’t be grateful for some of the things that I have gone through. I refuse to believe that the abuses I suffered through in several different situations are something that happened for a reason. I would gladly have lived my life without experiencing them. I would gladly have found strength another way so that I wasn’t also having to fight through the damage that was done from those situations all these years later. I can’t be grateful for some of the poor decisions that I made in my past that have led me to some of the challenges that I am facing today. Sure, poor financial decisions when I was young did lead me to be able to cook Ramen 1,000 different ways and I can make many different sauces from takeout condiment packets, but these fabulous life skills aside, I would rather I had made much better decisions when I was younger. What I can be grateful for, however, is that I still have hope. Everything will eventually be alright. I hope. I will keep working towards that in every way that I can, but sometimes that work is so tiring and the weight is so heavy.

    So, instead, I garden. I place my hope in a tiny seed. I remove its obstacles. I prepare the soil with nutrients. I plant it carefully. I water it diligently. I remove any new obstacles that get in its way and threaten its ability to thrive. I protect it from harm as it is growing. I check on it daily and I hope for a harvest. Because that is what keeps me looking forward. Hope.

  • Post #16: 6/1/26: Toil and Trouble

    Post #16: 6/1/26: Toil and Trouble

    Cup Status: Empty, Not Even a Drop.

    So, it has been quite some time since I have posted. There were days when it ached not to write. There were other days when I was too exhausted to remember to write. Then there were days when I didn’t feel anything at all. When I think back on the last 6 months, I have been pretty absent from my own life. Trying to keep my head, and the heads of my four family members, above water will do that to a person. I have always been a nose-to-the-grindstone kind of person, but when we couldn’t pay our bills and couldn’t afford food for our children, things had to rapidly change. So, in October, I applied for a second job. This was after months of crunching the numbers and selling things and calling creditors and asking for an extension and trying to hide my growing panic from everyone who loves me. I know what some of you might be thinking. Wow, a second job. That isn’t that heroic. People do this all the time. True, and I am not negating that, but for me, this was, and continues to be, a very large sacrifice of time. I am an English teacher who teaches daily and who grades for hours. Yes, after 21 years, I have mastered the art of grading as quickly as possible, but when you have 150 students, assignments and essays still take time, and I mean HOURS of time FOR WHICH WE DO NOT GET PAID BECAUSE THERE ISN’T ENOUGH TIME IN THE CONTRACTED DAY TO GET IT ALL DONE IN THE EXPECTED TIMELY MANNER. So, I grade on my couch while holding my children. I grade in my bed while trying to stay awake. I take my grading to my second job and grade during my breaks. This has brought some camaraderie to my second job as I get many offers to help and jovial suggestions of what comments to leave. I just love that I am completing work for one job at my other place of work. Shrug and sigh, but this is because I get things done. To my own detriment at times.

    Well, back in October, I was hired to work at Walmart in my small town. I quickly learned that I would be working with many former students and several current students. What a strange place to be where some called me by my first name while others called Ms. T. Then people I didn’t know before working there called me Ms. T just because some of the teenagers did. It was kind of funny. I just started to respond to anything that sounded like it was aimed at me, as long as it wasn’t insulting. If it was, I yelled something equally fun back…just kidding…unless it was an adult whom I did not know in any educational way. I appreciated this job for many reasons. I didn’t have to be in charge of anything or anyone. I could just show up, work hard, and go home. What a novel concept. I could joke around with people and be a little bit more of myself, as long as the current students weren’t there…awkward…I could listen to audiobooks while working since I don’t work in a customer-facing position. I have finished 39 books this calendar year so far! But, as I worked 4-6 days a week, my body began to protest. Then my mind. I couldn’t stay awake. I couldn’t focus. Then, my emotions went crazy. I was angry and emotional and irrational and laughing and crying all in the same 15-minute span. Things were not working, but I was bringing in extra money that we so desperately needed. And, something unexpected happened during the first few months when I felt myself losing control of my life and my schedule. I was finding satisfaction in my Walmart job that I rarely (at least it feels like rarely) felt at my teaching job. A coworker would ask me how to do something and I would show them. Then they would do it correctly and tell me thanks! Then, they would be praised by the team lead for doing a good job that day or days or weeks later. I saw the immediate benefit of my teaching. In my classroom, I would often teach a student one-on-one and see them correctly understand and demonstrate that understanding of a concept to me and then get every response wrong on a formative assessment later that hour or the next class period. Barely any time had passed and they had already forgotten. What was the point? Why did I bother? (Now, this was not the case with every student, but you get the point). I would work hard during a 9-hour closing shift and at the end of the night, everything was done well. I knew that we had set the morning crew up for a successful opening shift. There was satisfaction in that. I knew that my work would benefit the next shift. But, at school, I can only hope that my students will remember what I teach them so that their teacher the next year will be set up for success as well. I can only hope…not know for sure. That is so disheartening.

    So, for months, Walmart took over my spare time. I barely saw my kids. I barely saw my spouse. My house fell apart. Forget meal planning. Forget getting my hair cut or painting my nails. Did I take a shower last night? I don’t remember; I was so tired that I was lucky I took out my contacts before falling asleep. When was the last time I saw my family and friends? I don’t know. Then came the worst moment. Despite all of the extra hours, it wasn’t enough. We were still drowning in debt and could not take out any more small loans from companies like Affirm. We were nearing Christmas and were worried. I sent a text that I didn’t want to send. Not because I was scared or worried she would say no, but because I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I had failed so badly. I had failed at being a provider. At being a mom. At being a wife. At being the person she had raised. How had I let things get this bad? Of course, no one expects to have their spouse experience a catastrophic medical event that almost takes their life and leaves them saddled with thousands and thousands in medical debt and the fallout that comes with that, but why hadn’t I made smarter choices? I should have saved more. I shouldn’t have bought this or that. I shouldn’t have done this or that. My mind swam with all of my failures and all of the choices that I had made that had led to the text that I was about to send. So, I took a deep breath and just asked my mom if she could please lend us money to buy the kids some Christmas presents because we couldn’t afford it that year despite our best efforts. Her response was beautiful. I will have some money in your account tomorrow and it is a gift and not a loan. And she did. More than we needed. What I hadn’t said, but what she had to have known, was that we really needed money for other things too. Food. Utilities. Gas for our cars. I ugly cried because of the love and the relief and because I knew that for that brief time, I didn’t have to be my own safety net. There were other amazing people who helped us through the holidays as well. I am so blessed to have friends who stepped in and gifted my family with presents and financial assistance just because they love us and because they are some of the most amazing and selfless people I know. Just to show that when life is darkest, the universe can send a surprise, my dad visited us one day after the holidays and surprised us with some vintage finds and with a check that he had no idea how much we needed. The day he gave it to us, we had $2 in the bank and needed to buy groceries and put gas in the car, and yes, Dad, we also put it towards a medical bill. Lol!

    I am amazed at how things sometimes work out and I am so grateful for those who think of us. I really hope that one day we will be in a position where we can help others like they have helped us. What I worry about is that we will never get there. It has been 6 months and we are still working from paycheck to paycheck. I am plugging away at Walmart and working this summer on completing some graduate classes so that I can move up the pay scale at school. While this blog is about me, Jamie has also been voice-tracking for different radio stations, some in this state, some out of state, and one in Canada. Shout out! If anyone out there needs an awesome voice-tracker with 27 years of radio experience in a variety of markets and musical genres who has a ridiculous amount of musical trivia at the ready, have I got a guy for you! Some days he completes three different morning shows before I even wake up. But, despite both of us working two jobs and bringing in what we can, we are no closer to moving past surviving. It is so frustrating, so I think I just have to use this place to write about that. To get it out. I have this sign in my room that says, “Live the Life You Imagined.” Well, the life I imagined, had no crazy amounts of debt, did not involve worrying about having enough food for the week, did not include not being able to afford shoes when my kids outgrow them, did not have me convincing my sons that long hair looks good on them because we can’t afford haircuts, did not involve me being angry and depressed all the time, and definitely didn’t have me looking up jobs other than teaching that teachers can do because I just don’t know if I can last another 9 years until retirement. It involves not being so tired that I don’t have the energy to play with my kids. It involves living beyond the lowest levels of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. There is no way a person can thrive when they are trying to survive every day. Sure, we have a nice home, but we are one bad illness from losing it. Sure we have internet and streaming services, but we are one missed check from losing those, same with the cell phones, same with the electric service and the water bill and the trash service. We own our cars and are hoping that we can make them last as long as possible. Come on 2016 and 2019! You can do it!

    We are rich in the ways that matter. We have amazing families and friends. Truly. There are no words to express how much we love our people. We are working for our health after a rough two years. All tests have been coming back with positive and improved results. We have healthy children who keep us active. We have jobs, even when they frustrate the crap out of us. At those jobs, we have amazing coworkers who put up with us and keep things interesting. And, my one time-consuming hobby, my summer garden, is looking promising. Here’s hoping that some cheap seeds will indeed produce a large harvest. Maybe all of this toil and trouble will have a large harvest too and maybe it will be a positive one, but for now, my cup is empty because I am too tired to go fill it up.