i need a secret place to say it:

... not secret enough...

Oh dear. I've lost them... wherever have they gone?


My glasses, have you seen them?


That lousy man, Reality, stole them.


He's holding them ransom. One thousand dollars.


Doesn't he know I'm looking desperately?


For a job... for my glasses...

Undaunted

I would first like to say that this post is not an attempt to gain sympathy or to suggest that my experience is in any way extraordinary. It's just been an interesting journey so far, and I felt the need to share.

If you were a principal, sitting at your desk on a stuffy July afternoon sifting through the thousands of resumes piled in your inbox, delivered by sweaty, smiling applicants, or slipped under your door at night you might stumble across the resume of one Adrienne Garrison. If you were feeling particularly generous, you might decide to read beyond the first four lines and somewhere near the bottom you might find five words she uses to describe herself. "Committed, passionate, engaging, empathetic..." Yeah yeah, you and a million others. "And undaunted".

When I typed that word into my resume I was considering my relentless pursuit of students who claimed not to like chapter books, undercover math whizzes so adept at hiding their skills they had fooled even themselves, and the ever-elusive members of the "school's for chumps" campaign. In other words, students who I refused to give up to the labels they had been given or had given themselves. Never would I have guessed that the term "undaunted" would describe another aspect of my teaching career: the job search.

Yet here it is August 3rd. And what do I have to show for my summer, degree, and tireless pursuit? Well, I'll show you.



No, unfortunately that's not me with my feet up, job security oozing out of my skin. Those are blisters from walking myself to all neighborhood schools to leave my resume with the principal. Unfortunately, only one school opened its door to me. A kind, wonderful janitor offered to put my resume in the principal's mailbox.

I made a pitstop at a gas station for band aids. "Mayonnaise?" he asks.
"Band-Aids," I reply.
"You have a beautiful accent. What accent is that?"
"Hoosier," I respond, cheekily.
"Oooh," he says, apparently impressed by the unfamiliarity of my alleged homeland.

No thank you I do not want a coke, I want a job.

I am appalled by how much this process resembles dating. For instance, just last week I was masterfully lead on by a school that "desperately needs someone with your energy and spunk". It was a whirlwind romance. I received her response to my cover letter at 6am, researched and outlined my talking points at seven, called her at nine, agreed to come in for an interview, arrived at 11:15 to meet P, AP, and PTA president, agreed to sing my "Good Morning" song at 11:30, listened to the qualities they felt made me the ideal candidate for approximately one hour, and went home. On Monday, in an impersonal email, I am notified that they went with another candidate.

Fine, but what was up with going above and beyond to express how jazzed you were about me? Quit playing games with my heart!

And the "You never called me back" school. Phone interview, group interview, writing sample, individual interview, DEMO LESSON! in front of P and AP, additional individual interview with AP. Two weeks later, I need to know. I email the AP asking if there is any additional information I can provide. No thank you, they went with another candidate.

What, you lost my number? Clearly it was just not meant to be.

Yet, in spite of it all I remain undaunted. There is a classroom out there for me. I just have to find it.

Meanwhile, I need some ice cream and new shoes.

Story Seeds

Here is a list of short story ideas... to refer back to later.

Hayrides
Mornings at Grandpa's House
IU Campus walks
Midnight walk through Amazon
Nikki Bunn
Food Network - Couch - Amy
Truck ride with my girls
4H fair
Detasseling
Danny - walks to tressle - springlove
Danny - dress up winter date/catastrophe
Night on the town NYC
Brasserie Joe - good food, good conversation
Scar - woodchips - swing
Scar - axe
Hurdles - broken finger
Baby Luv
Summer Kitchen
Trips to Indiana Beach
Kalamazoo play with Laura
Barfing - Charlotte's Web
Lip-shaped suckers - student council - Xmas
Aladdin rug toy
Losing baby Allison
Dilly name
Rats and Beauties
Tea party with Aunt Chris
Super Grover - Flower Shop
Sarah in the hole
Sarah - black mark - saw this morning
Kitten in the waders - AESS

Author Unknown

i
can't find
words
or phrases
escape me
i
am windless
in a raging
sea of
words. i
cannot find
my meaning
not
even
when
you
speak
just
low summer rumbles
with no threat
of
rain.
i'm
thirsty
sucking
air.


I found this poem written in my handwriting in my poetry binder. I googled it like crazy. Who wrote it?? Me? Hmmm...

Symmetry

stretch, wind, design
an underworld creation
drawing strength from aquatic inspiration
earthen tentacles probe the buried life and
sleeping, creeping, sunless things
while above a finch is settling her wings
symmetrical secrets
plunging roots searching branches
what's above ever relies on what's below
exalt, shade, cleanse
mind and air relinquish
time beneath this graceful, wiser being
imagine what ancient truths she finds
as she stretches, winds, designs

My sisters cry beneath a bigger, empty sky
And worlds away I hear them through
half-whispered text and pleadings:
"400,000 Dead in Sudan
Violence Continues"

Their tears continue
to fill the oceans between us
as time pulls us farther away.

Perhaps these great lands were separated
by our own neglect to care
for the other
brother
who is hurting.

My sisters are hurting. Their faters and men
have been slaughtered for the blackness of their skin.
Unspoken. The sin that has been planted
into the innocence of their daughters.

Of my daughters!

Hysteria raises in me
Raises oceans in me!

My sisters are crying.

Sr. Poetry 2005.