"I don't want the world to see me, cuz I don't think that they'd understand when everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am"*

Day 13 : A Band or Artist that has gotten you through some tough-ass days

Dear City of Angels Soundtrack (Specifically songs 1, 2, 6,7,8, 13 & 14):

I've always been one for music, but can't remember any special allegiance to a particular band or artist. There's been a lot of tough times in my life, and music has helped me through them, sure enough. But never any one group, never any one artist that stood above the rest.

However.

Do you remember that period during my sophomore year of college, and the summer immediately following it, when my educational advisor advised that I think about a "career other than education"? When the resident advisor advised me that I would "have to live in a building without an elevator: everybody has to!" and that I wouldn't be able to get an earlier number in the housing lottery "just because I wasn't feeling well" ?

When two out of four of my sisters weren't speaking to me because I was ruining their lives by demanding that they not spray perfumes in the house, or because they had to be quiet over the weekends, while I was home resting? When my Grandfather died, and my alcoholic father was a jackass to me at his funeral?

When I really was so sick that I thought, for sure, I wouldn't be able to go back to school come the fall? And I was literally bedbound to the point that watching Jeopardy with my mother and Nana became the highlight of my day because it was the only time I could be involved in something that didn't require me to move at all but was still entertaining?

Yeah: that was a pretty tough time for me. And the tv was too loud and too bright and it hurt my eyes and my head, so I couldn't really turn there. And the radio would get boring after a few hours, or I'd get too fed up with the commercials. And there you were, sitting in a stack of my sister's CDs.

I managed to catch her on a good enough day that she said I could borrow you, and I think I kept you for about 5 years after that. But it was that first year that really mattered. That first year were I felt like "This is music that understands that not all the world is awesome and happy. Thank god." Because I really, really, needed something that wasn't sugarcoating it, and something that wasn't going to ignore the very real pain I was in.

Looking back, it seems kind of absurd that all those songs about angels and spirits and a cheesy Nicholas Cage/Meg Ryan movie could possibly have meant anything, but they did. They were just the right amount of melancholy for a girl who felt like the whole world was moving on without her, who was mourning the woman she was supposed to have been.

"the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
and i can't handle this"

Truth.

"For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction"

More truth.

"God has got his phone off the hook
Babe, would he even pick up if he could?"

Truest yet.

So thanks, purloined soundtrack from a movie that I only watched once and couldn't bear to sit through again (sad. Sad movie.): I appreciate the angst of your songs just enough to listen to you on repeat, endlessly, for the better part of a year. Life was kicking my ass, and (while it has not yet decided to stop) it was nice to have a partner in my malaise, somebody who understood that world was HARD, and SAD and it was ok to feel it. Thanks for letting me stew in my funk for as long as I needed to, because eventually I came out the other side (mostly).

*Iris, Goo Goo Dolls
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Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

reading

Inspired by this post over at the Musings of Great Eric, I started thinking about the books we read in high school, the books I wish we'd read, and the whole high school English experience.

It's hard for me, teacher-to-the-bone, to admit that it was teachers who turned me off of reading at a certain point. Just as it was teachers who helped me love to read in the first place, it was the curriculum and lack of flexibility in my courses that made me think, at times: "I'm never picking up a book again."

And it wasn't the workload. I'm a quick reader - 100+ pages an hour, minimum (unless the language is really hard to get through, I'm looking at you Melville!) And I've always been able to read three or four books at one time - some fiction here, so non-fiction there, a cookbook & a craft book percolating in the corner. So it wasn't that the assignments were too much work... it was that they were too boring.

And that sucks.

Because BOOKS AREN'T BORING!!!


And there should have been some way for us to learn about the things 'they' think we need to know without making it so ridiculously boring that some of us (ahem, this is where I raise my hand) don't spend an entire year learning just enough from class discussions and quick scans of the text to get a good grade instead of actually reading and enjoying the books.

You can ask anybody old or young - they'll all have some horrible story about the time their English teacher made them study Julius Cesar for over 6 months or write a tome on the importance of symbolism in Ethan Frome.

Another confession: Ethan Frome is the worst book I have ever read. And I have read some real dreck - romance novels with no plots, stereotypes galore & annoying, no-brained characters; 'literature' that was told in three different, 1st person's points-of-view, with no clear transition between them; science textbooks; the dictionary. Ethan Frome was, undeniably, the worst of the lot.
The passion with which I still hate this book is surprising: I remember the way I would picture him out there in the snow, dragging his leg behind him, gathering wood or something and want - with a frightening intensity - some wolf to come jumping out of the woods and devour him, just so that something interesting would be happening in this damn story! When we'd discuss the book in class I would draw wolves (or, more precisely, doodle wolf-shaped beings) and hope against hope that maybe it would come out of the paper and eat me instead.

Anyways.

The point is that if the way we teach English (which was always, by far, my best and favorite subject) was so disheartening, frustrating, and off-putting to me, I can understand why so many adults think of reading as something they'd do only as an absolutely last resort. (It also makes me wonder if math, science and other subjects I disliked would have been more accessible to me if taught differently.)

And that's just not right. Because when English is taught well, it can open you up to the entire world.

Here are two of my own examples:

It's Senior Year, we're reading A Pilgrim's Tale, and the teacher asks us to come up with our own poems in identical verse. It can be on any topic - the only requirements are that it follows the pattern, is a certain length and is passed in by the date he sets. I wind up writing about a kingdom where two brother's fight for their father's throne, and, b/c I am having a hard time rhyming 'throne,' decide that the kingdom's domain is over ice cream cones. Being able to infuse the poem with my own special brand of wit, it winds up being more than a simple assignment: I take it seriously, write it on parchment styled paper, in my own calligraphy (also learned that year), and it winds up being twice as long as the original requirements. (I also got an A, thank you very much.) And I learn that poetry is not all about syllables and beats - that it's about heart and humor and feelings and freedom.

It is 6th Grade and everyday after lunch recess, we file into the classroom, throw our coats near their hooks, slump into our chairs. I didn't know it then, but this is a danger zone for teachers: kids coming in, chatting, bellies full and amped either way up or way down from their running around ---> Getting them to refocus on whatever work you want them to do isn't easy. But every single day, our 6th grade teacher waits for us all to be sitting, and then picks up a chapter book and starts reading it aloud. The joys of being read to: pure pleasure! James and the Giant Peach, The Indian in the Cupboard, The Secret Garden - none of them on our curriculum guides, none of them books we are reading in class. These are books just for fun. Just for us: A special treat. I can still hear her describing the juicy peach, uncovering the secret of the mysterious night-crying, turning the key in the cupboard. Amazing. And I learn that books are not just things we struggle through,
word by word, but instead are whole worlds, just waiting to be discovered. That reading aloud is a pleasure to the reader and to her listeners. That spending the time counting paragraphs till my turn may not be the best use of my time (although, I did that until my very last day of college, the fear of being caught having to read a paragraph with a word I couldn't pronounce was too great.)

Other stories along the way attracted my attention: the tension of The Telltale Heart or The Lottery; the dialogue in some Shakespeare's plays (and in others, definitely NOT); the passionate poems of Christina Rossetti, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman; the time a teacher brought in a poem that connected to her heart, and sent us out looking for one that spoke to ours.

But the majority of my classes consisted of breaking down allegories or studying up on symbolism... on dissecting what each word uttered by Gatsby really, really meant or trying to explain what motivates Dickens' characters (aside from the fact that he got paid by the word, that is).

By turning reading into a task, a chore, a 'subject' rather than treating it like the exciting, exhilarating adventure it is meant to be, English class is killing generations of readers.

There are ways to make English - even in high school - a subject that enthralls students. There have to be. You can teach the basics, the necessities, and still keep kids/people interested in reading. It's not an impossible task. Because English is about language and literature. And literature is about life: How could life possibly be boring?

(I have some suggestions for this, but I'm going to hold back on those for another post... I'd love to hear some of your favorite/least favorite memories, and how you think we could improve high level English classes...Go!)

One simple moment

So, let me tell you about how I met my best friend.

My (eventual) college roommate and I lived in the same dorm our first semester freshman year, but never really connected. Might never have connected, if it weren't for one simple, life changing moment.


My first semester in college was abysmal: I was hideously uncomfortable with my roommate, who cried in Korean to her mother in California, skipped classes, smoked pot, & bathed in perfume. (This is not an exaggeration: I lived with her for 4 months, 10 years ago, and I still have things that smell like her. Her perfume of choice was very old-lady-ish - a combination of dying roses and overripe fruit. The whole dorm complained about the smell, and here I was, hypersensitive to smells and stuck with someone whose nose had obviously stopped working years prior.) I knew a few of the girls in my dorm, had talked to some of them in/after classes, but I hadn't really connected with anybody - I was the sick girl, the girl in the wheelchair, who went home every Friday morning after her 10:00 class & took naps during the day. I was not ignored, but I was still, very much alone.
My illness was in a different stage than it is now, but still, it overwhelmed me - I could only walk a few steps on my own, and the wheelchair went from being an occasional help to an everyday necessity. Adding that awkwardness to my (real life) shyness and an inability to 'blend,' as I plowed through that first hellish semester, I was pretty sure college wasn't going to be for me.
It was too hard - not the work per se, but the effort of getting to class, of trying to compensate for my illness, of putting up with my roommate. It was just too much. Even though my grades were good (OK, stellar), I had decided that over Christmas break I would tell my parents that I couldn't come back in the spring. I would disappoint them - and myself - because I just couldn't manage.


Then one December night, in the midst of finals and all the partying that accompanies the end of any semester, I came back from the bathroom to find that my roommate had doused herself with so much perfume that I couldn't go back into our room. I mean, I couldn't even open the door to the room.

With my keys inside, and my energy on empty, I knew the dorm lounge (downstairs & an elevator ride away), was out of the question. So I folded up the chair, and sat myself down in the slim hallway outside our room. I was supposed to be studying, but I had no books. I had nothing except my toothbrush, and I didn't really care.

I was Done - Capital D - Done. I just sat there on the floor, closed my eyes and rested my forehead to my knees. And I stayed that way for hours, just sitting.

People in the dorm passed me, asking if I was OK or wondering if I'd locked myself out.

"Fine," I said, "just thinking."

Somewhere in the second hour of my thinking, one of the few tentative friends I'd made, came bombing down the stairs and spied me on her way out the door. When she asked, I told her I was thinking, then waited for her to continue on her way. Instead, she took off her coat, and slid down the wall to sit next to me: "I've been thinking too," she said, "And I've got an idea for you."

She told me that a lot of the girls would be switching roommates after the break: this one was moving in with that one, some were transferring to live with friends they had made in other halls.

"And there's this girl," she said, "on my floor? She's in our English Comp class - Ms.S? Well, she's the absolutely the nicest person here, besides you. I think you should talk to her about moving in with her next semester."

And, in that one conversation, she changed my life.

Even though it was totally out of character, the next day, I went up to Ms. S's room, and introduced myself: She knew who I was (wheelchair girl on a small campus, everybody at least knew my name) & we talked about our crazy English Comp teacher, who rang little chimes at random moments during class. She said how she had a boyfriend at home who she talked to every night before bed, and would that be a problem? I said I could sleep through just about anything, so no, it wouldn't matter to me. She was usually gone on the weekends too, to be with her boyfriend, so she didn't think it was odd that I'd go home just to rest.

I told her about my smell issues, and she told me that she thought my roommate smelled so bad it made her want to throw up even though she lived two flights up.

She told me that her then-roommate would just take things - her drinks, her printer paper, her shoes - without asking, and that she couldn't stand it. I told her I had four sisters, so I knew how it felt.

We didn't really talk too much, but we both decided to try it out when we came back in January.

It was, without a doubt, one of the smartest decisions I've ever made.

Without Ms. S, I would not have graduated from college. Hell, I wouldn't have even made it through a whole year. By the end of our first semester together, we were friends. By the end of our college years, we were best friends. We've been there for each other through finals and projects, funerals and weddings and her daughter's birth. Her miscarriage, my hospitalizations. I typed papers for her, while she made sure that I ate. She lectured our friends when they stopped including me in things, I reassured her boyfriend when she went a little wedding-wild.

Our friendship is different now, since we're at different stages in our lives, but one phone call is enough to get her here, enough to make me pack a bag. (She totally agreed with all of you, btw, about my Sister-in-law's stupid comments: she suggested I might want to run her over and then tell she if she felt like "getting over it.")

I was sitting here today, stuck in the gloomy weather, mired in my gloomy mood, trying to snap out of it. Trying to force myself to think of some of the blessings in my life, and this story came back to me:

Me, sitting there on the floor, knowing that I would have to give up on yet another dream. Preparing myself for the conversation with my parents. That feeling of "I just can't do this anymore" was a physical weight in that moment. The loss and the confusion and the "What now"s just swirling in my head.

And then my friend came down the stairs.

Her sitting down next to me, just then, saved me.

It was exactly the right thing, at exactly the right moment.

And I'm glad I remembered it, glad that I had it in my heart to pull out today, just when I needed it.

The exact right thing, at the exact right moment: Again.

Some good news, some not so good

First off, a little bragging: Youngest Sister heard back from her schools of choice... All Acceptances! Harvard, Brown, NYU, Yale. Amazing!!! and... she got a FABULOUS, fabulous, FABULOUS financial aid package from Harvard. A year at Harvard will end up costing her less than she pays to go to her orchestra camp over the summer. Scholarships are our friends!


Buttons = bursting here!!

And you, know what? I have the less-good news, but I'm not going to spoil this post with it. We'll talk about it tomorrow.

Tonight, it's basking time: My sister got into Harvard. (And, since it won't spoil her moment here, I can reminisce a bit: 10 years ago, I got a big fancy package from that school as well. I didn't wind up going there, though: I wound up a few blocks over at a small liberal arts/totally education-focused school.)

My sister got into Brown. And NYU. And BU. And Harvard.

And that big holding-the-breath thing we've all been doing? Is soooo over!