Thanks to more activity on this blog, I got to review the stark difference between my two separate writing worlds.  Tenacious Poodle very much represents my more serious side, the aspect of my personality that processes life in all its complexity, confusion and often, darkness.  Bull Run Writings reminds me life is both Yin and Yang, that one cannot exist without the other, that fun, external stimuli has an amazing way of restoring the mind and heart.  This is all to say I need to get out more.

Yesterday, we took a trip to Hershey Park.  My inner child had a blast.  I really wish we had the means of going away on weekends on a regular basis, but we don't yet.  Time and money are finite, and even when I save the money, which I have been better at lately, there is a limit to our energy levels.  David faces a full work-week come Mondays, and he needs his down time, which I understand completely.  And I tend to work a little even on weekends.  Actually, when I am marketing my books and grading, I tend to work quite a bit on weekends, which leaves me little reserve for the stress that comes my way Monday through Friday.  All this leads me to thinking that I need to find a way to get some lazy fun in throughout the week, as well.

It will be a lot easier to relax more during the week when our community pool opens.  I love laying (lying?  Shit, I can't remember) in the sun, soaking up that Vitamin D, getting that tan health nuts disapprove of, wearing less makeup because I have color and fewer zits, zoning out to the sound of kids splashing, taking a dip if I feel like it, and if I don't, who cares?  My nails and hair grow in the summer.  My mood improves, not only because of the light, but because of the laziness I don't feel I have to justify.  I don't know why this is, unless it's that I have been conditioned to believe summer is for fun, the rest of the year for brain-straining work.  That's what happens when we give kids summers off from school.  Sometimes I think shorter days throughout the year would be a lot better, providing everyone consistency and more time to chill during the chilly months.

I really don't understand the myth that vacation bulimia, binging then fasting, is healthy.  We need to model Europe and other countries more.  And let's not forget a good siesta.  I am a firm believer in cots at the work place.  Nothing better than an hour power-nap to improve productivity.  Seriously, I really think I could write and grade more in the evenings if I had some recoup time off throughout the rest of the day.  Appointments, though, are just killer. Not only can I barely keep track of them, I resent them.  I have actually closed my eyes in waiting rooms if I haven't had a nap.  I don't quite fall asleep, but I at least get into the zone that makes me feel a little more rested.  I also try to get work done while I am in waiting mode.  Then I don't have to do it later, and I can take the rest of the night off to watch stupid vampire movies with hubby as I do light exercise.  If I teach during the day, I don't have to do quite so much exercise because my job requires pacing, walking, lifting and bending, and I stave off boredom and lethargy.

I can't forget my writing life, no matter what I decide to do.  My morning brain barfs are important to me.  My creative synthesis of thought is a crucial part of my intellectual and mental health.  It's therapy, it's habit, it's a part of me that I will never abandon. It's a passion, one I love sharing with others not just through my own writing, but through encouraging theirs.  When I motivate people to write, help them improve their writing and learn from their journeys and thought processes, I kind of get high.  When I tell my students I love them, I mean it.  They probably think I am a little weird, but I don't care because I AM a little weird.  At least they know I am dedicated, and most of them find me amusing enough to want to show up for class.  Being in a class with a sideshow is always appealing. I know I always appreciated it when I was in school.  There's nothing worse than a boring class.

I try to make my classes fun, not only because I have fun when I do it (I say to my students, "It's about ME, not YOU" and they laugh), but because it has been proven that enjoying learning yields more learning.  I'm a big fan of educational games. I am also a fan of boundaries, though, because you can't learn if your class is in chaos.  Fortunately, I work with adults who mostly understand this. I am not stuck with the responsibility of keeping my students from eating crayons though, given my setting in a jail, I do have to watch what they leave class with, and that can be a challenge.  Students are searched before they come to class, but it would be nice if they were searched as they are coming out, too.  This is another topic, though, because the officers are already overworked. It's trying enough for them to get  students safely from cells to classroom.

I have very little time now to get myself cleaned up for my writing group which I supposedly facilitate.  Sometimes I dread it because it's a strain to keep people on task and give everyone floor time.  We only have an hour or so. I might invest in an egg timer.    I've lead the group for almost five years now (seriously? Holy shit!) and have considered handing the leadership off to someone else. 

I've noticed I've started most of my paragraphs with "I" which is a no-no.  Screw it.  I am about to be late, and this blog entry is about ME, not you.  Ha! 

"All Set With That"

The other day at church, a young woman with three children between the ages of four and seven (I'm guessing), was trying to keep them from running amok through the fellowship hall which has all kinds of neat things that basements offer--like those support poles that we all swung around and tried to climb when we were that age.  (Well, I know I did, anyway.)  I just smiled that "I understand" smile I offer harried parents, to which she responded, "Free to good home!"

"No thanks, I'm all set with that," I laughed.  And boy is it true.

As much fun as it is to hold a baby, look at my children's toddler pictures and read through their old schoolwork, I am glad they aren't kiddies any more.  I have nil desire to give birth again, to wake up to cries for food, diaper changes and/or attention, to chase creatures that by right should not have the ability to run so fast at such a young age or to terrify myself trying to take a pre-schooler to a mall around Christmas.  Accuse me of being heartless, if you will, but I speak the truth.  I am happy to be where I am, which happens to be a place that allows me to be super-sentimental whenever I wish without being interrupted by the crash and burn of normal household items.

This doesn't mean I don't have to get up in the middle of the night, deal with puke, fret over those who require my care or assume the Christmas tree is safe.  I do have two cats, two dogs and two fish, after all (though the two fish probably can't do anything worse than dying).  When my students, who seem to require a lot of mothering that I am more than willing to provide, ask if I have kids, I say, "I've got you and my pets.  Isn't that enough?" I am not sure how they feel about being equated with the animals, but to me, it's all the same since my animals are my kids, too.  No one has ever burst into tears over my response, so I guess they understand, think I am kidding or am once again proving I've lost my mind.

All this demonstrates that mothering isn't just hormonal, which our society already acknowledges.  The drive and ability to mother come from other sources than the ovaries--they come from living in a mother-rich, nurturing environment. 

My mother is the archetypal "mother of the world."  She has spent years working with children, her own, those in the public school system and those in her religious education classes.  She has worked with every level and age of child, but she has also mothered hundreds of adults.  This is the woman who, in her second job as a Sam's Club greeter, hugs strangers no matter how much she loathes the way Sam's operates and treats its employees.  My mother gives food to the hungry and necessities to anyone who needs them, even when she can't afford to do so--which is always.  She is the consummate care-giver, and she talks about the people she meets.

When you are raised with someone like this, you might end up despising working with people or loathing people in general.  But when you're me, you end up being drawn to work that requires caring for others.  When my kids were young, I couldn't work much outside the home in that capacity.  My kids had to come first, and that has its own kind of rewards, especially when I see how (usually) loving they themselves are now.  And it's not that you ever stop caring for your kids.  It's just that their needs change as they age.  I fully expect I will be parenting for the rest of my life.  I might even be grand-parenting at some point, but I'm not in a hurry for that in the least. 

I have more time to give now, though, and I am thriving on it, loving others in a way that allows me to serve.  My mother taught me the importance of serving and how dedicating a life to it makes living meaningful.  She never had to come out and say that making the world a better place is important.  I saw it in her actions.  And while she is very Christian (Catholic, specifically) and believes in an afterlife that rewards or punishes, I know she would serve no matter what religion she was or was not because she grew up watching her father struggle to take care of five kids on his own when he was extremely poor.  "He always provided for us," she says proudly. 

My mother tells us the story of her father moving the family "by gig," which meant using a cart to carry all their belongings to the next tenement.  He didn't have a car even though car ownership was common by then.  She tells us how she picked up where her absent mother left off, caring for her four brothers, two of which have died now. 

My mother doesn't live in the kind of poverty she did as a child, though she still lives far below the poverty line.  She works two jobs just to make it, and as she nears the ability to retire, she worries about having to live on a fixed income. And she needs to slow down and better care for herself.  I wish I could help her more.

I'm kind of rambling this morning, not paying too much attention to organization, but I will leave off with some semblance of having had a thesis.  I believe we come back to the Earth we have created.  I believe we literally reap what we sow.  I believe we can love the world enough to heal it. 

Mothering is in my blood, and while I'm all set with having little ones, I'm not all set with mothering. That's a good thing, because as it stands, there are not enough mothers to keep the world functioning.  That's how needy we all are.

Who is the real blogging you?

So continues the discussion of who the blogger is. If you really care to read my previous thoughts on this subject, go to the right of this page, scroll down and click on the label that says "blogging." Most likely, you will have to search the 2006-2008 archives, which I have no ambition to do, so I assume neither will anyone else.

I maintain that a blog shows only a portion of a person and often, not even the real person. Bloggers are often just writers expressing thoughts, moods, philosophy and anything else that interests them at the time. But the blogger is not the person--s/he is the blogger.

What's interesting is that bloggers who post under a different name are rarely confused with the actual person behind the postings. It's only we bloggers who use our own names that become associated with our blogs and not our true, full personhood.

As a writer, I find this discouraging. It's like the reader who always confuses the narrator with the story or poem author. While there is truth in fiction, poetry and blogging, there is only part of the complex thing we call personality, as someone put it, a "caricature."

Especially as bloggers, it's what we do outside of our blogs that is important.

Blogs are exercises in free speech and expression. They have turned the Internet into a wide world of the written word and by themselves, do not have the ability to expose any full truth about an issue, the author or the commentators. Even the most vile blogs do not reveal an absolute truth about anyone.

When bloggers come out of the blogosphere and even out of the worlds of email and creative writing, their truer personality and beliefs emerge. How do bloggers act in the real world? What do they publicly and privately endorse? How do they treat one another? What do they do with their free time? What do they stand for and why? These are the questions readers should always ask themselves.

To confuse the blogger with the real person is a logical fallacy. For example, when bloggers rant and rave, rage against the machine, fictionalize their lives and the lives of others, readers are getting no better picture of the author than if the author were writing creative nonfiction, fiction, drama or poetry.

The real question is, how would the author address an issue or a person in real life? How would the blogger approach situations discussed in blogs? What tone of voice would they use? What language would they use? Do they use different language when they are angry compared to when they are calm? Do they communicate their ideas differently? Are they as emotional or hasty or mean spirited or spiritual or loving or anything else that they are on their blogs? There is not way of telling without knowing the blogger him/herself.

We all have various manifestations of our personalities. Bloggers are no different. Professional writers and/or creative writers have even a bigger burden because they translate reality into their personal artistic expressions. Most blog readers and many readers in general do not see the person behind the writing.

So who are we, we bloggers?

If you really want to know, get to know one personally or at least examine his/her public life.

Otherwise, you probably are making invalid assumptions.

After Briefly Attending a BOCS Meeting

We were only there for twenty minutes or so, but from the testimony and the compassion they hold for others, the girls have formed their own conclusions about the immigration debate here in PWC. As part of their home-summer-school experience, they reported back their thoughts on the meeting (though like many adults, they admit being confused by the process).

Kids don't naturally hate, discriminate, or care about borders. They inherently want peace, security and love in their lives. It is up to us to provide those things for them.
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"I think that all people can have rights . So all people have to be nice to them . If you do not be nice they might lose hope because there is a war going on . So let them stay in the United States."

by Alexandra, age 10

__________________________

"I just have two things to say. Why are you doing this and what drives you to do this abomination? Why treat immigrants so poorly? I know that some came here illegally but that does not mean to treat them like dog dung! You sir have to learn like we all learned in preschool--always be kind to one another!"

by Erika, age 11