Grungy, Gypsy New Orleans

Hey ya’ll! Sorry for the delay in the post. The life and teaching are kind of hectic for me right now and let’s face it, sometimes being an adult is just straight up hard. For those of you that have never taught before or never taught during the month of October, the month of October is one of the hardest months to be a teacher.

 No one can exactly express why it’s so hard because you kind of just have to live it, but basically October is the period month of teaching which means that your students are off the chain and moody, you’re also emotional aaannnnddd the best part is is that Thanksgiving is a long way off from the end of Fall Break to the end of November. Life just sucks during this time period.

But anyway, October is over and November is still difficult because teaching is always difficult, but now there is a light at the end of the tunnel J. So here I am writing to ya’ll. Despite the shittiness of October, I’m actually not going to blog about that. I spend 80+ hours working on school work so when I get a free moment in time to NOT think about school I’m all over that lol.

I was fortunate enough to be able to spend last weekend, Halloween weekend, in the great city of New Orleans or NOLA as many like to call it. I went with a group of teachers that work at my school and a couple of their individual outside friends. We left Friday afternoon and got their around 9:00 p.m. Friday evening. We rented a 3 bedroom house for the weekend which came in clutch on the nights we may have had a little too much to drink and wanted to just plop onto a nice bed.

This was my first time going to New Orleans and honestly, it was fucking amazing. I don’t mean it was amazing because of the booze, good company and care free environment I was in (although those things definitely contributed). It was amazing because it was so free. Free with a little bit of grunge, but a very good grunge. We spent our day walking around the French Quarters where there were so many people outside enjoying the scenery and perks of the city and honestly we spent a total of 20 bucks that day (10 for food and 10 for the infamous Hurricane one must get in NOLA). You could honestly walk around for two days straight between Bourbon and Frenchman Street because there is just sooooo much going on. We saw a random group of men breakdance for free, we saw a man swallow two, I repeat two, swords and we also walked into a strip club called “Barely Legal” in broad daylight which had no strippers in there. Roaming around the city without an organized plan was one of the most fun days I’ve had in a while and it was simply because we were enjoying what we had and where we were in that moment in time.

Oddly enough though, I think my absolute favorite part of the trip was an experience was a new perspective I gained. While two of my guy friends and I were walking to the French Market, which has a bunch of barters and flea shops, we saw a bunch of people our age just hanging out, drinking beer and playing their own music. They looked as if that was a lifestyle they were accustomed to. A part of me was a little jealous of the gypsy lifestyle they appeared to live. No bills, no stressors of work, no expectations to live up to other than those of the land and your own. But then, as we continued to walk toward the French Market, we saw female wearing tattered clothes and a dreaded head of hair, reach into the garbage can and pull out a to go box with a little leftover bit of food. I gained so much respect for her in that moment when she fed her dog first before herself.

She then proceeded to eat what was left of the scraps of food from the to go box. Seeing this woman literally get her meal from the grungy trashcan of New Orleans where all of the rich tourists throw the food they didn’t have any more room in their stomachs for just really made me feel some type of way. I felt depressed, I felt angered, I felt confused and I felt grateful. Grateful that that wasn’t me. I felt confused. Confused with the idea of how that woman got to that point in her life where she was literally living off of people’s leftovers. Angered and depressed because there isn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

Seeing this woman and her dog sparked a whole philosophical conversation between my two guy friends and me. We came up with multiple scenarios and possibilities of why this woman had to dig her meal out of the trash. We wondered if she had any education or family members to support her. We also concluded that after being in that situation it would be very very difficult to get out while there is an entire system sucking you in and dragging you down just to keep you at the very bottom where you’re intended to be. As my friends and I talked about the problems of society we cannot fix and of all the “what ifs” to real life possibilities, it was in that moment that I felt completely and utterly satisfied. I felt satisfied knowing that I was not the only one that gave a shit about other people and the good of mankind, but also satisfied in knowing that other people enjoy critically thinking and over analyzing every situation to the very Tee.

As we continued to walk around the grungy, gypsy city of New Orleans, it hit me that this is what life and in particular your early 20’s are about. Walking around aimlessly, trying to find your way, yet enjoying the confusion and getting lost along the way. Simply enjoying the journey, no matter how big or how little, because on your way to the destination (whether you know the destination or not) you gain a whole lot of perspective and live a whole lot of experiences. You live, simply live; trying to create your own, unique and societally deemed successful life and along the way your life is actually creating YOU.

Mucking Up Mucinex

I like to tell stories that showcase my ability to be a dumbass.

Let me first explain by giving an example.

I like to claim to everyone that I “don’t get sick.” (Because being extreme is one of my other favorite forms of humor.) In truth, I do actually catch the occasional virus; it’s just that it rarely happens. But of course, I am human, I do catch viruses, and I do get sick.

This past week was one of those rare occasions. By the time Friday came around, I was a mess. I was coughing every five seconds, blowing my nose every ten seconds, and I was so tired that I was having difficulty articulating coherent sentences. And yet- I still seemed to be a bit in denial that I was sick. I just didn’t want to believe that I was sick. So I stayed at my work conference all day. And then I proceeded to try packing for my trip to Memphis- a trip that involved driving ten hours and was scheduled to start early the next day.

By the time my mom called at 8:00 PM, I was a disaster. My voice was cracking into the phone, and I was having trouble breathing because I had so much mucus built up in my system. In fact, I had to lie down just to get enough oxygen into my lungs.

My mom talked to me for all of 3 seconds before realizing that I was incredibly sick. So she asked me, “What are you taking for your cold?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Mom: “Nothing? What do you mean nothing?”

Me: “I don’t go to the doctor for colds.”

Mom: “I’m not talking about the doctor. Why don’t you get some over the counter medicine?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Mom: “I mean…why don’t you get some Mucinex or something? To help with your cold?”

Me: “What’s Mucinex?”

Mom: “It’s cold medicine.”

Me: “I don’t understand. What does it do?”

Mom: “Are you being serious?”

Me: “Does it sound like I’m in a joking mood?”

Mom: “You need to take something for your cold. You sound miserable.”

Me: “What? I mean will that stuff even help?”

Mom: “Are you kidding? It will help tremendously. It will help alleviate your symptoms. You won’t be as stuffed up.”

Me: “Oh. I didn’t know that existed.”

Mom: “You mean you’ve never noticed the counters full of cold medicine?”

Me: “I thought it might be placebos or a scam.”

Mom: “Don’t you have a Master’s degree?”

Me: “Yes.”

And so it went- my Mom convinced me to try out some over-the-counter cold medicine to address my symptoms. And it turns out… the stuff works! I mean, I definitely wasn’t cured overnight, but I felt 10x better the next day, and I was able to drive to Memphis. I was able to breathe significantly easier, I had more energy, and I was coughing less.

I told several people this story over the next couple of days, and it turns out that they had all heard of this miracle known as Mucinex.

Now, I tell you this story for a couple of reasons. One, I think it’s humorous. Apparently I was the last person on earth who had heard of taking over-the-counter drugs for a cold.

However, I also tell you this story because…I love stories like this. I began this post stating that I love stories that showcase my ability to be a dumbass, and I do. I don’t necessarily like stories that are self-deprecating (which tend to be more degrading and belittling), but I DO love stories that show just how human we all are. I’m very confident in my intellectual prowess and my gifts; and yet, I love to see all the gaps in my knowledge. I love seeing our humility as humans. I love seeing how complicated we are. I love seeing how silly we are. To be human is to be MANY things, and I think that one of the BIG things about being human is to see that we are funny creatures.

We ARE peculiar creatures. And I want to delight and laugh in it.

My Irish Luck

A very good friend of mine who is a smart, strong woman (duh! all my friends are strong and smart!) gave me some simple, yet poignant advice over the weekend. I have been feeling out of sorts after returning from my trip to Ireland (more on that below) trying to catch up on stuff at work and regular household matters and told her in frustration that, “I was behind on life.” To which she responded, “As long as you are enjoying life, that’s all that matters.” Her advice was so sound and practical that after she said it, I kind of felt like a moron for beating myself up about silly stuff that was on my to-do list. One of the not-so-silly items on my to-do list though was to tell everyone about my trip to Ireland. And even though I wish I could recreate the experience day by day for everyone, I’m just going to give you the highlights:

The Top 10 Things About My Trip To Ireland

10) The people in Ireland are probably some of the nicest people you will ever meet. They might even be nicer than my folks from the Midwest. I did not meet a single person that gave even the slightest indication that he or she may be an asshole.

9) Speaking of nice people, every single caddie I had over there made me want to be life-long pen pals with them. Side note: that was my first time EVER having a caddie. All the caddies knew that we were all Veterans and were all genuinely interested in our stories and our lives. They gave some great golf advice to boot, but mostly I just appreciated the fact that they were genuine, caring, and friendly people. Most of mine knew that I sucked at golf and stuck with me through the most horrid of shots.

8) The golf courses are absolutely beautiful. Golf is not my favorite sport and to be honest, some days I would rather have simply walked the 18 holes and enjoyed the scenery. The courses are different from the ones in the US as they are all “links” courses meaning that they are built on land that was once underwater. That being said, all the courses we played on were right near the ocean and the views were breathtaking. Oh, we also played at Royal Portrush, which will be the site of the 2019 British Open!

7) The food was actually quite amazing. I had been warned prior to my trip that Irish food was not great and I was expecting bangers and mash or shepard’s pie every single night. I’m sure part of it was due to the fact that we stayed and ate at pretty high end golf clubs, but the food was WAY better than I expected. Every night we got to pick an appetizer, an entrée, and a dessert from a custom menu. Many of you who know me know I usually try to stay away from desserts but I had dessert EVERY single night! Oh, and the traditional Irish breakfasts each morning were an added bonus. For some reason, I really liked the porridge over there and had it almost every single day. And the soda bread? Oh EM GEEE!!!!

6) We got to see the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland. This is geological wonder along the coast that was the result of a volcanic eruption. I’ve never seen anything like it. The rocks are like hexagonal, interlocking columns. Legend has it that a warrior used to use the Causeway to jump back and forth from Ireland and Scotland.

5) We had a pretty jam-packed schedule with 18 holes of golf each day and Veterans Yoga and seminars at night but we did manage a night out. Well, I managed one night out. A couple others in the group managed many more nights out but I am boring and like to sleep. The night that I did go out, we went to a local pub. There were like 3 people in the bar and the music stopped when 15 or so of us walked in. However, remember the Irish people are super nice and friendly, so the music quickly picked back up and the booze started flowing for us. There was a guy playing for free at the bar that evening who had a guitar, a harmonica, and an amazing voice. He played all the traditional Irish songs which were all very lovely. After he played them, he would explain the history or significance of them.

4) As I said above, we played 18 holes of golf every day and then had yoga and seminars every night. If you are a Veteran and/or into yoga at all, you need to google the Veteran’s Yoga Project. The basic idea is that Veterans can use yoga as therapy versus constantly relying on prescription medication for issues related to PTSD. This form of yoga for me was amazing. I used to do hot yoga but got stressed out because it was kind of competitive. Let me tell you, there is no stress with Veteran’s Yoga. You can simply sleep through it and there is no judgment from the instructor or your classmates. It’s all about accepting what your body can do and what it needs at that moment. Even the guys I was with said that they were going to look into doing yoga upon their return. Not to be stereotypical but in general, I wouldn’t expect this response from a group of male Veterans.

3) There was a psychologist on the trip who moderated most of the seminars. He also served as everyone’s confidante on and off the golf course. He works at a Vet Center in California and did such a great job with all the seminars that he made me want to refer more of my Veteran friends to Vet Centers. If most of the staff at Vet Centers are like him, our Vets are in pretty good hands. Having a degree in counseling, I’d actually consider working at one myself in the future.

2) I met some pretty phenomenal fellow Vets. Some had heartbreaking stories and some had motivational stories but regardless we ALL had stories through which we connected and bonded. There was the guy who used to be a drug addict after taking all the drugs the VA continuously prescribed for his post deployment issues and then detoxed and got his life together on his own accord. There was the guy who lost his leg in an ammunition training accident but then went on to work 20 years at the VA and play two sports in the Paralympics. And there was my roommate, the only other female on the trip, who has made it through two tough deployments as a medic AND lost three of her babies at birth. After only a week, I felt like I had known these people all of my life and I knew that we would do anything for each other. Even though there was no need to protect each other (the Irish are so nice!) we always had each other’s’ backs.

1) I learned that I still suck at golf BUT that I’ll probably always suck at golf and that is A-OKAY! Golf is a good sport for me because it helps me deal with my tendency to be a perfectionist. The trip taught me to ACCEPT where I am at in the moment with my golf game. Similarly, we must often do that with our lives in general. ACCEPT where we are at and just try to tee up and take the next shot.

 

I'm the Crazy Aunt

If Jill is the resident asshole of the blog, then I am going to claim the title of resident wacko. I probably haven't shared enough personal shit on this blog for readers to know why I claim and am deserving of that title, but people who know me won't have any questions or misgivings as to why I have bestowed it upon myself. I'm all right with the assignation.

Jill makes light of how many times she and John have moved...I make light of the number of relationships I've been in and the belongings I still have to retrieve from the people in those past relationships (pretty sure I can still rock those boots from 2008 once I get them back...). I'll be 40 exactly three months from today and I've never been married (hasn't been a blip on the proverbial radar) and I don't have any kids. I have multiple tattoos and piercings, I drive a dented 1999 Buick and I don't have a 9:00-5:00-I work two part time jobs I am overeducated for. I have a gypsy soul.

I don't want many of the things society tells a woman my age I should want or lament that I don't have. Not exactly your typical on the brink of 40 woman, especially for someone living in the Midwestern U.S.

So...in that second paragraph, there is enough there for any reader to surmise why I am the resident wacko. Of course, there is more, and that may or may not be shared in good time. I probably drink too much and think too much...both double edged swords, in and of themselves (as they say, no good story ever started with someone eating a salad). I'm the daughter neither of my parents know what to do with, regarding life philosophy and life choices. I've been fortunate over the years to have honed a circle of friends who love me because of and despite all of that.

It has probably been in the past five years that I began the journey to embracing the self-designated title of wacko (I remember when my nephew Trevor was really young I stated that we all knew I was going to be the "crazy aunt"). I think it is one of the most beautiful and authentic things about me. In my opinion, those things about me that are outside the normal bell curve that is Midwestern US society give other people the confidence to be a little wacky themselves or at least talk to me about the things they might be self conscious about, feel vulnerable about and find some kind of comradery and understanding without judgment. I can't count the number of times someone has been talking to me and said to me...I don't know why I'm telling you this, I really don't just tell people this, I haven't talked about this in years...it just feels comfortable to talk to you.

I also love my life. I just got back from a vacation last week and I worked twelve hours at both of my jobs the next two days after that, starting at 5:45 a.m. The fact that I was not stressed or cranky but excited and happy to go to both jobs was a startling and joyful realization for me and a testament to how right for me the sometimes difficult career choices I've made over the years have been. I felt so fortunate to be a person that felt that way about going back to work the day after getting back from an awesome getaway.

Will I be upgrading from my '99 Buick or retiring anytime soon based on the amount I make piecing things together from two part time jobs (neither with benefits of any kind)? Not a chance...and that's okay with me because I'd rather drive an old car that has a random silver strip hanging off the side (still not sure  how that happened or what to do about it so I'm choosing to ignore it for now) and love coming back to my life than deal with the reverse situation...a shiny new car and the outward trappings of "success" in this society and the stress of a job and life I don't want to come back to.

I started writing this blog post in a way that is uncustomary for me...I normally have an overall point or intention I want to make and lead up to it (I had two awesome contenders that will be seen at a later date). This time, I just started writing about something that felt important to get out there...and now that I'm asking myself why I started writing about this, I think it is partly as a "confessional" or a way for readers to get to know a little about my life. I think more of what I write in the future will make sense given the context this blog post provides. I also think it was for me...a public way to acknowledge and affirm my wacko life that I love.

The Only Thing Constant In This World Is Change

Yo! It's your resident asshole on the blogski this week.  For those of you who have read my prior blogs, you should know that I try to refer to myself as an asshole at least one time per blog, preferably two on a good day.  Mission accomplished in the first sentence this week!  I’m only half joking most of the time but this week I have yet another example of why my parent of the year award has been placed on perma-hold.  John and I decided that we are moving…once again.  After 1 year of my commuting 2.5 hours to work for the military and spending three nights away per week from my kids, in a time span of all but 30 minutes, John and I, the brilliant masterminds that we are, finally came to the conclusion that our only option was to move our family closer to my work.  In order to make the situation work for the past year, we had concocted a spider web of life lines that kept our family semi-functional.  All of this changed after I returned from Fort Polk, Louisiana.  A couple of the tethers that we had spun snapped or weakened and, without getting into specifics, our whole delicate web that was sustaining us seemingly imploded.  So there it was.  The decision was easy at that point as it was the only option we had left.   

I’m deliriously happy about this decision as the driving and being away from my kids was taking its toll on my physically and mentally.  I’d like to think lesser women, but probably smarter and happier women, would have put their foot down a long time ago.  But we wanted to give our kids security, we wanted Trev to stay at the same school, and quite frankly I burned all of my goodwill I had with John on the prior move from eastern Iowa to Nebraska (more on that later).  So I have been living somewhat of a nightmare for the past year.  At the time I was going through it, it made perfect sense to me.  I didn’t want to be the nagging wife, I didn’t want to uproot my kids (again), I didn’t want the burdens associated with moving, etc.  I justified it in all sorts of ways and I put all the pressure on myself to make this shit work because of the guilt associated with moving my family three times in a relatively short time period.  So, I did what needed to be done.  Suck it up and drive on, I would tell myself as I got up at 4 a.m. to drive to work.  It wasn’t sustainable, I recognize that now.  It wasn’t a question of if we would move again, but rather, when.  Now that I see we have been on this path the entire time, driving to work has become nearly unbearable.  But by trying to avoid the inevitable, to do the “right” thing, the ridiculous part is that I made a mess and created more chaos.    Now, Trevor has to switch schools mid-year.  We are putting our house on the market in the slow season.  We are leaving a community that I had grown to like.  We haven’t owned our house long enough to justify a sale.  One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.      

All of this, unfortunately, is old hat to us.  This will be the third house we have sold since I returned from Afghanistan in 2011.  That’s even worse than I thought.  Writing that out stings.  Three houses, five years.  Ouch.  Each time, though, I have learned an important lesson. For example, our first house in Sioux City was in a terrible location, a rougher and older part of town.  At one point, we lived next to a crazy scrapper who was married for three days before he left his wife to return to scrapping, a drug dealer and a former El Forastero motorcycle gang member.  After I returned from Afghanistan, I found a new job, wanted to start over and so we moved.  We lost big on that house.  We had purchased it before the market crash of 2008 and the market in Sioux City hadn’t improved much in 2011.  I can still remember seeing the closing documents with a big old negative in the Seller’s column.  I learned that location is everything.  If you have a diamond in the rough, when it comes to real estate, the rough diminishes the diamond substantially.

Next, we moved to a better location in eastern Iowa but made the mistake of buying a two-story house that was dated.  When I found my "dream" job prosecuting sex crimes (or so I thought) we sold again so we could move to Nebraska. Chance of a lifetime I told John. He didn't want to move. I did. He moved for a dream that never would be realized by me but he believed in me enough to try. I can still smell the ashes of my goodwill burning as a result. During this sale, I discovered John and I have shitty taste.  No one seemed to like what we did to the house.  We finished the basement and made the floor look like marble.  People wanted carpet.  We painted the basement gray as it was supposed to be the new beige per HGTV but it turns out people still wanted beige.  And a two-story?  Well, everyone wanted a ranch house.  We put a lot of money into making the garage a man cage with epoxy floors and a work station in order to appeal to male buyers, also a tip I took off of HGTV.  We didn’t get the money back out of that endeavor either.  Man caves are nice but they don’t increase the value of the home that much.  We lost money on that sale as well but not as much as we lost when we left Sioux City so that was a huge plus relatively speaking.

We purchased the home that we are in now in a small community outside of Omaha.  We planned on living there until the kids were out of school. But my dream job turned into a nightmare and never blossomed into what I had hoped and prayed for. I had prayed to God to get the job and then found myself praying to leave.  Then, all of a sudden, the military was unexpectedly looking for a lawyer 2.5 hours away from where we lived.  I never thought I would work for the military full-time again after Afghanistan.   But, here I am.  The only illusion is that we are in control I guess. 

So, once again we have done work to the house that I suspect will not meet everyone’s liking (like the fact our garage is bigger than our home).  But I am growing to accept the process of change.  I am trying to figure my life out, sort through some things and do right by my kids.  It’s a tough balancing act and I make mistakes, for sure.  I regret the small fortune we lose every time we move but especially the guilt that comes with uprooting my two children and ripping my husband out of his career as well. It's no wonder people are surprised that I'm married. It takes a unique person to put up with my brand of bull shit. Regardless, though, I’m confident we will come out on the other side.  I guess that is what Afghanistan has done for me—taught me that no matter what, I can come out on the other side of most things.  I also know and stand firm in believing that I can make more money and that my children will learn to be resilient assholes, just like their mother through all of this transition (which is the PC way of referring to ripping your children from their home).  All joking aside, perhaps they will also learn that change, even though it is hard, is always good as long you as simply keep moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other even when it is difficult.  Maybe they will learn to appreciate adversity because it can be the greatest teacher.  Perhaps they won’t be stymied by fear of failure or looking stupid because they have seen their good ole’ mom fail and look stupid and get up and try again.  In the end, I have to believe that my kids, although they will likely require psychotherapy at some point, will also understand that the only way not to make mistakes is to do nothing and that is, paradoxically, the biggest mistake of all.

Live the Life You're Afraid to Live

It’s Sunday evening and I really just remembered that it was my turn to write the blog at the last moment. I was laying on my bed and now anymore if I’m not doing work of some sort for school I’m going over every possible thing in my head that I could be doing and/or still need to do. I have all my lesson materials made for tomorrow, so the blog was the next thing that popped into my head that still needed to be done. So, here I am writing it.

As I’m writing the blog, sitting on my couch in my two bedroom apartment, I can’t help but reflect on how much this once foreign place to me now feels like home. When I first moved to Memphis approximately 4 months ago, my life seemed so surreal. Being in college at the University of Iowa was such a strong part of my identity that allowing anything else to infringe upon that seemed absurd.

There was a little part of me that didn’t want to let go of my old life in Iowa. I wanted to keep in touch with all of my old friends on a weekly basis. I wanted to stalk Facebook and see what everyone was up to and what events were going on in that state. I often imagined what life would be like if I still lived in Iowa or even what life would be like if I ever returned to live there again. That little part of me didn’t want to let go because I was afraid of moving on, afraid of creating a new life, my own life. This was something I had never done before. Sure, you create a quasi-new life when you go to college, but so much of that life is thrown at you and it requires very little of you to be proactive in the creation of it.

As time has passed and I’ve been living in Memphis for four months, I now find myself calling this non-Midwestern city home. I find myself glancing at the Mississippi River view outside of my apartment and thinking of how I chose a great place to live. I find myself going out with my 2 best friends, Jennie and Soren, on Beale Street and thinking how lucky I am to have found people down here just as awesome as my college friends. I find myself sitting under those Friday Night Lights watching the Fairley football team even after I have spent an entire week around my students. I find myself going to bed at 10:30 p.m. on the weekends and waking up at 8 a.m. even when I have the opportunity to sleep in. I find myself with an “adult” daily routine. I find myself thinking about adult things such as retirement, investments and long term career goals. I find myself getting excited to go grocery shopping and buying home decor for my bedroom and apartment. I find myself actually doing laundry, dishes and cleaning my bathroom on a regular basis. I find myself loving the life I was afraid to live.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think of the family I left behind in Iowa, the friends that made my college experience so meaningful, the desolate, corn filled scenery and the many memories that go along with it. But that’s just it, those are all memories. I am no longer the crazy gal that could go to Club Car on a Sunday night just because and that’s okay. That memory will always be one of my fondest memories of Iowa City and college, but as of right now, I am that crazy, overly positive Spanish teacher from the state that no one has ever heard of, living in the extremely diverse, beautiful city of Memphis, TN. Growing up is a little bit scary, not only because of all of the responsibilities that come along with it, but because you fear that you may become more comfortable with the person and life you grow into more than the one that you knew. Embrace that fear, fore it is within that fear that we grow <3.

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