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.

Inspired by the quote "True love comes quietly" by Erich Segal

You whispered through sermon notes, pleading.
Then hushed giggles diffused any dark tone
we had found throughout our week, throughout our lives apart
and we unburdened together.
So completed was I by your love, I was blinded from it.
And months passed
And time subtracted from our lives
And winter kept me so entirely deaf
to pleas you offered so entirely
faithful that I would someday understand.
After all that was shared and cherished
Had you believed it all in vain?
Then a single ray of spring pressed
through the colored glass and landed
on your soul, which shone with such
force and melody, at once
my heart was yours.
And their dull frowns were blinded by our
new radiance.
And I squeezed your hand entirely
submerged in the quiet, warm, bright of your love.


Dated 5-4-2005 for Sr. Poetry

Musical Host: A Bandroom Opportunity

Click click click
A wand demands our ears
Waves instruction to begin our warming up

Shining brass
Sit erectly on the chairs
Slurring partials to refine their lips to hear

And seeing feels
as the wand designs a pulse
Echoes through us and makes metronomes of feet

While fingers think
Act alone and comprehend
the notes that pass through glances at a line

A curved release
A multitude exhales
While their sense reassign their normal chores.

Sr. Poetry (WN #22) (Ed. note: I miss band. This one is my favorite.)

Attempt at Triolet

I love you for your deep brown eyes
What? Yes! That's all I care for.
And any other reasons found are lies
Oh do not wonder if loving me is wise
Stand firm that I will find no other rise
Though others may have style and charm galore
I love you for your deep brown eyes.
Oh darling, that is all I care for.

Sr. Poetry (WN #19)

A Villanelle

If I had not turned my head in pride
if I had only let our difference go
perhaps you would still be here by my side.

My lover, friend, companion of soul and mind
Oh how I wish I hadn't acted so
I wish I had not turned by head in pride

Return to spring, to folly I rewind
Your love ever warm and true
Softly, your gently form would find my side.

And you would love and I would hide
bravely rebelling those who
turned their foolish heads in pride.

But when autumn left me two things to decide
I followed voices, little did I know
I would push away your form by my side.

And move through years denying feelings deep inside
now I live regretting how I let you go
and if I had not turned my head in pride
perhaps your gentle form would find my side.

Euphony: Cacophony

smooth and sultry
swingin' jazz
yeah stevie
swayin' seein' sounds
an' vibrant full soul
melodies

Hey! Next track
Wonder funks
Poppin' brass in
Bright golden bursts
Dancin' kids jump
and bump their hips
Keepin' time with
Groove that's all their own
Stevie showed 'em with his swayin
swingin' funk
an' jazz
Wonder movin' dounds of smooth and timeless pulse.

Sr. Poetry (WN #15)

Boût Rimé

A story I bring from royal lines of palace balls and feasts gourmet
Revealed secrets of cowardly knights and queens much too fond of creme brulee
as famished proles trudge through blizzards, volcanic floods, and hurricanes
The Brother's Grimm were hired, repairing image, for a more fame-friendly
reason Princess Schizo was locked in her tower
Once in bloom, she found her thrown after her perch was knocked gently by a small
passing asteroid
her beauty made the masses fall faint and they subdued to its power
Charming princes who delighted in her evening demeanor, by morning were chained
to a desk
Seeking more pleasurable conversation, she slipped into their tea something that slightly
resembled an Altoid
Far prior to FDA regulations, these mints often left her guests slightly paranoid
But by darkness they enjoyed her playful flirtations and rare talent of twisting her fine body
into a pretzel
And during hide-and-seek the princess found the perfect chance to run off with her secret Mongdoid.
Later, when forced into her monthly bath, it was discovered that in her place was a robot.
At once the courtyard was alerted of scandal and half-priced wiener-schnitzel
and the hermit realized London wasn't really so cloudy, it was merely his breath
on the window pane
(The harsh truth of which resulted in a terrible carpet stain)
Meanwhile, the princess forgets her former life of fame
Of course in these tales a witch or two always thickens the plot
So while the town is all gossip and the view picturesque
And peasant beauties dream of princes and palace acclaim
The hag has joined the hermit
Chasing princess reclining on the lap of her Mongolian lover
whose face exerted signs of unending grotesque.

Sr. Poetry (WN #14)

Definition: Bout- Rimes is French for "rhymed ends." A bouts- rimes poem is created by one person's making up a list of rhymed words and giving it to another person, who in turn writes the lines that end with those rhymes, in the same order in which they were given.
(Ed. note: Not sure where the rhymes went... but I do remember creating the list of words as a class.)

My wings blow chasing after
the wings that I have grown.
Unfolded on my own.
Implicating I am willing, now,
to Live
Unafraid.

A breeze has lifted my youthful,
grounded, clumsy soul into the
Twilight Air.
Freely moving,
Unaware of lessons shown to me
This twilight
(A gap between the worlds).

Release my bare and rhythmic feet
from leading
Beating, pounding heart
is choosing Northeast sunrise
Hinting violet hues unknown.

My wings stretch unafraid
to welcome
Day, my soul discovered
To embrace all to be shown.

Sr. Poetry (WN #12) (Ed. note: Wow, lame.)

Palette of Perfection

rouged cheeks green eyes and sunset hair
fair skin pink pout (they linger there)
light kiss of sun in patches - hidden
by ivory-powdered beauty
batted black-brown lashes full and curled and long
whitened lightning flashes (smiles harpooning hearts)

And all of this perfection
found in bottles from her purse.



Sr. Poetry (WN #11: Color)

belt
belt buckle
muffled chuckle
muff to warm old fashioned hands
alphabet plans
twinkling stars to tunes of
endless dancing O's
average lows
extremely out of ordinary
weather we are having
don't you think?
forgotten Pints and Quarts
mind dear young Johnny out the
door for recess
a break for school and lunch and
countless golden rules to teach
a greed - instill a hunger
for all the things that shine
need not be kind
just please don't break them
in that breathless gap of time
that chose your life.


(Sr. Poetry)

Brocken Comb

A battle lost
At hygiene's cost
A thickened, auburn forest
For strands remain
A wounded stain
For teeth ripped from
their post
A plastic martyr cast so mercilessly into the bin.
Remember grade school photo primping?
The same black comb you've broken
Time and time and time again.
Defeated bristles never tough enough to win.


Senior Year Poetry Excerpt (WN #10)

I just finished telling my sister that "the cool table is wherever she sits". You couldn't pay me to go back to that wicked little trap called middle school... or could you?

I'm taking "Middle School Theory and Practice" this semester, which of course, has me contemplating if I would ever teach that level. I can see so many reasons why I would want to. The opportunity to focus on one subject, to expect higher-order thinking, the ability to form hypothetical outcomes... that sounds great. The extra-curricular activities are certainly more up my alley at that age, particularly service-learning. But could I tolerate and thrive with all of the background noise???

country mouse

After a long and quiet year of waiting, May has taken me by storm. I have always anticipated change in my life - new people, new places, new challenges. In the past month I was accepted into graduate school at Loyola University in Chicago, I graduated from Indiana University, and Danny was (finally!) accepted into medical school at Rosalind Franklin University. And with that comes moving, house hunting, two-week notices, and saying goodbye to Bloomington.
Goodbye to Bloomington. I couldn't have picked a more beautiful community to live during the printemps of my life.
The people I've known here... Scott, Yun, Casey and Shelby, Jon, Stephanie and Ben, Terry, Nicole, Katie, Dr. Hoffman, Jessie and so many others.
The memories I have here... Everman, our engagement, walking to classes, browsing Kirkwood, sleeping in the union...