Christmas Eve Reflections

Although we typically open gifts on Christmas morning, we do occasionally decide to do it all on Christmas Eve instead. So I'm still up, way past my bedtime, with some reflections and new cozy slippers while my sons engage in nerf gun wars in the living room.

1. There is always one gift that takes someone's breath away. This year, it was Matt's gift to Becky--a sonic screwdriver a la Dr. Who. She was overwhelmed. There is always one gift that is funny; this year there were several. Matt regifted the snuggie he got last year from Ben--to Ben. Ben gave Matt a gift card for Batteries Plus (where Matt works), in the amount of 50 cents. Much laughter ensued. In our lives with different schedules and now Matt's friend living with us, it is comforting to be all together in the same place, sharing our time with each other.
2. I've never been good at staying awake until midnight, and Christmas Eve is certainly no exception. It appeared that several members of the choir experienced the same problem. We're still probably less tired than Mary was at the first Christmas.
3. The "glo-o-o-o-o-ria" section of "Angels We Have Heard on High" offers many opportunities to catch up on yawning without looking like you're yawning.
4. I will never experience the candlelight Christmas Eve service without remembering the time one of the children burned the hair of the woman sitting in front of us. I have forgotten which child it was, but I will always remember the horror I felt.
5. The ceiling in the octagonal sanctuary at First United Methodist Church in Waukesha has its central section made of stained glass. I don't know why it was designed that way, but the ceiling serves its most wonderful purpose on Christmas Eve. When the electrical lights are turned off and we are left with the multitude of flickering candles, the flames are reflected in the ceiling glass, looking like the stars. All eyes turn heavenward, which is at it should be.
6. Even though I'm up too late, I will probably be the first one up in the morning. Unlike most of my childhood, I will probably sleep past 5 am.

Sisters

I haven't blogged about my job much for various reasons--mostly that I still feel like I am learning what my job is. But thinking about how my initial goal of this blog was to illuminate one woman's experience, I'd like to say something about my job through that lens.

I work at a small Catholic women's college sponsored by a community of religious women (and by that I mean nuns). Some faculty and administrators are men, as are a very few nursing and graduate students.

I love being with so many women every day, and mostly, I find that I love the nuns. They are earthy, loving, and passionate. They have given their whole adult lives to God and to the transformation and education of other women. They support each other.

I've seen a sister reach out to hold the hand of a frightened student, and I've heard stories of smashing mice with shovels in the convent basement. They are committed to social justice and are not afraid of change. They both impress me and crack me up every single day. They teach me much about what it means to nurture, support, and encourage as a woman.

I have been blessed every single day by the sisters' presence in my life. I love when I experience a gift that I never could've anticipated.

And So It Begins

Nine months ago today, I stood on the capitol lawn with colleagues for my first Wisconsin protest. It is when I first heard the chant "Recall Walker."

Today the recall began.

I have hopes for this time (besides the hope of recalling Walker, of course).

I hope that people focus on policy and process, not on personality. We need to disagree without being disagreeable. Referring to the governor as a weasel or calling him a douchebag says more about us than about him. Seriously. If you can't say something nicely, perhaps it doesn't need saying.

Second, I hope that people maintain their integrity. If we win the recall, it will matter that we have done so in a dignified, transparent, and honest manner that does not push our political opponents so far away that we can't move forward after the recall. And if we lose, do we really want the winners angry at us?

My third hope is the most important. I hope for kindness and respect. I saw an article that indicated that some Republicans and former Walker supporters now support a recall. Let's not make it harder for them, folks. It takes a lot of honesty and courage to change your mind and to bring yourself to sign your name to a paper intended to remove someone you voted for. We should show respect for these individuals. They are our best allies in building bridges toward our futures.

And so it begins...

Connectedness

When I began my job, I was asked to take the StrenghtsQuest assessment. Unlike typical personality and interest inventories that I've always felt were used to label me in some way, this assessments a positive way of indicating what my strengths are so I can build on them to achieve and grow. There are 34 strengths, and they include things like Command, Developer, and Achiever. It's been interesting to see how much insight my colleagues have gained about themselves.

My greatest strength is connectedness. I see everything and everyone in terms of how they relate to each other. My goal is always unity and understanding how we all fit together as part of a greater whole. I've always known this about myself, although I never considered it a strength. (Interestingly, several of the nuns have the same top strength.)

If I had a theme song, it would probably be "Blessed Be the Tie that Binds." It is a huge part of why I love Facebook, and it is related to why I always want to know everyone's business. I am a bridge builder.

Knowing this in terms of a strength has helped me understand why I was so caught up in "the Wisconsin troubles" this year. It wasn't just because of the things Walker and the Fitzgerald brothers tried to take away. My biggest issues were the divisive ways they went about doing things and the divisiveness and contention that has resulted.

(On a side note, this is also why I've  been so upset about a situation at my former workplace. My former co-workers are facing an extremely difficult situation with another co-worker with a serious mental illness. They are upset, and I am distressed to not be with these people I care about.)

Just as connectedness is my greatest strength, disconnectedness is what provokes the greatest agitation in me. My role cannot be to go out and confront. It puts me at a
disadvantage.

The coming months will again be very contentious. I need to think through how I can contribute--not just as another body in the struggle but as a person who uses what she does well naturally  to make a difference.

P.S. I wrote this whole blog entry on my phone.

The Toll of Walker's Regime

As much as I truly love my job, there are things I miss very much about being a public employee. Worrying about budget cuts as part of a state system is not one of them.

My former colleagues posted a letter from our (well, their) much-respected chancellor announcing some unexpected budget cuts. Today this appeared in my newsfeed:  "State tells UW System to make additional $65.7M in budget cuts".

Reading about the additional budget cuts to the UW System, I am saddened to think of the toll on the health of state employees.

I have lost track of how many of my friends and former colleagues went on anti-depressants, increased the dosage of psych meds, or had other symptoms exacerbated by the stress and soul-wearying attacks on public employees. How much can a person or a community bear? How many days have been lost, how much scholarship was not done, professional hallway conversations did not take place, and joy in teaching was lost because of Scott Walker's short-sighted decisions? How many people have just given up?

And the physical health is just as bad, with stress-related physical symptoms and missed work days due to viruses that were able to take hold because a human being's immune system can handle only so much. 

Although my job certainly has its challenges, I feel much more joyful and light-hearted than I did during my last  six months in the UW System. While part of that is due to the fact that I am in the right place for my soul, I know that it is also the result of feeling free from the restraints of working in conditions that are continually worsening as a result of Walker's leadership.

It breaks my heart to think about how long it will take my friends and former co-workers to heal from this year. 

My Post-Grading Life

I was a college writing instructor from 1988 to 2011--23 years of planning, reading, responding, grading, and engaging with student texts and minds. I always loved my job as a whole, but I never, ever liked grading.

Over the years, I developed various tricks to help keep me motivated and get me through a set of papers. In fact, at one point I wrote a list called something like "How to Grade Papers at Home" that included a full page of procrastination strategies (including writing a list of procrastination strategies). It included things like

• counting how many papers I had left to grade and then counting again every few papers to help me feel more accomplished.
• watching a Tom Cruise movie (this was back before his anti-post-partum depression rants) in case I ever wanted to use them in class.
• crafting wonderful paper assignments for future semesters ("after all, if I don't capture my ideas now, they'll disappear altogether").

Back when I still smoked, I would reward myself with a cigarette for every five papers graded. Eventually I began to use M&M's as a reward.

I didn't mind reading student writing; in fact, I loved reading and getting to know my students. I just hated having to judge a paper and then spend time writing a justification of the grade. I felt like every end comment became a written argument designed to prevent questions. Even when I used portfolio evaluation, I felt the same way.

So I find myself very puzzled by the fact that I am still struggling to adjust to life without grading. I am now a full-time administrator. I have extracted myself from the world and rhythms of the classroom to inhabit a life that includes long days with regular hours and never carrying more than a purse and a lunch bag home with me. Yet I still see so much through the lenses of one who grades.

Today I found myself thinking I could head to the library and sit in front of the big windows where I could see the beautiful fall day while grading. When I realized that I had no grading, I felt sad. My friends and former colleagues have started a Facebook page called The Giant Stack of Grading. I am reminded of the sense of community that develops among those who share the burden of grading and need to vent with each other about it. Although I understand that life, I no longer live it--and I feel left out that I no longer have that in common with friends who are still living the professional life I lived for so long.

This is a struggle I did not anticipate. I miss being part of the work of teaching, even though this piece is work I never enjoyed. I miss the luxury of time. This is ironic because I never felt I had enough time, simply because it was unscheduled and I had things to do. I miss being finished with my scheduled responsibilities by noon and having the option of hunkering down in the library or a coffee shop. I could interrupt what I was doing to engage in conversation, to daydream, to plan my next day of class and shape the majority of my day. It was lovely. Other than the grading

Now my professional days are very different. I love what I am doing, every single day--even though this is not a path I ever imagined I would want. My days off are literally that--days off, with no grading hovering in front of me throughout the weekend.

Today, after I got over my momentary sadness at not having grading to do, I decided to take a nap. When I woke up, I did not have any panic or guilt at thinking about how I should've gotten papers graded so I wouldn't have them waiting for me tomorrow. I love my Sundays, which are about my family and feeling refreshed. I go to work Monday mornings, looking forward to the week ahead.

I'm just going through some growing pains.

The Point of Protests

What are the goals of the protests? Wouldn't it make more sense to effect change by actually doing something?

I heard these questions many times during the Wisconsin protests, and I'm hearing them again now during the Wall Street protests.  Here's my take.

The key function of the initial protests is not to actually make change but to build community. There is something incredibly deep and powerful about being with so many others who share frustrations and passions. To me, the protests are largely about connecting with others. The protests are simply the first phase of a larger movement.

During protests, people begin to connect with each other in more goal-oriented ways. In the Wisconsin protests, I saw small groups develop. Some focused on facilitating the recall votes. Others worked on preparing themselves for candidacy in future elections. Still others created continuous engagement with officials who needed constant vigilance. The second phase evolved naturally from the developing shared sense of purpose among groups of protesters.

Rather than starting with demands or a specific goals, protesters  start with passionate people who form goals as they forge bonds.

In past decades, protests involved a key figure or very specific goal. The power was centered. Now, power is diffused, and multiple goals and demands may grow out of the protests.

I am fascinated to watch what is happening with the Wall Street protests. I can see many possible paths in front of us. Which paths will we follow?

The point of the protests is to protest and to see what happens next. Connect with others, looking for one specific path that your own strengths can help build. The movement is much bigger than the protests, which are simply the first step in trying to make a difference.

Got sanity?

I've had so many things I've been wanting to write lately, mostly about my job and how I feel I'm in the place I'm supposed to be. I mentally blog all the way home from work, and by the time I sit down at the computer my words and thoughts have been replaced by dirty dishes and family conversations. But today I can't seem to write about any of the things I've been writing in my head.

Today what's on my mind is mental health.

Yesterday I spent almost half an hour on the phone with a student who was in tears. She is overwhelmed by her classes and family obligations and frustrated by her experiences with one particular instructor. She started crying on the phone, to the point where I said, "Sweetie, after we hang up, I want you to go stand outside. Take at least ten deep breaths. Soak in the sunshine and make some vitamin D. Your paragraph will still be waiting for you, and you'll be better able to tackle it." Today she stopped by my office to thank me. She felt much better after she took a walk and decided that maybe I was right. I wish it could always be so easy to re-balance our mental health.

I am watching, from afar, the implosion of a former co-worker. Although he never shared with me any mental health issues, I always sensed a fragility. Having struggled with depression myself, I understand what it is to stand in the center of a fog and not be able to see that there is any promise of light. This person seems to be dealing with more than depression, though, and it has been slowly happening over a period of months. I don't know if something new happened or if it is the result of a change in medications, but it is painful. Six months ago I realized that I could no longer talk with him about our typical subjects in the usual ways. Four months ago I sensed that his reality was not the same reality as mine. We occupied the same places and events, but he seemed to be responding to different stimuli than I could even see.

Now he has become disruptive to his colleagues and his students. My understanding is that he is off-campus for a few days, hopefully while seeking treatment. My heart aches to see that he has damaged the spirits of other good friends. They are upset, uncomfortable, and concerned. And he is spiraling out of control. I am  concerned for my friends and former colleagues. It is painful to think of the conversations they are having to have with each other and to think of the perceptions of my ill friend who thinks everyone is out to get him.

Watching it from a distance, unable to truly support people I care about, is heart-wrenching. My body and spirit are in my new workplace, but my heart keeps yearning back to people who are still a piece of me as I wonder about the ripples that will reach out and encompass me before this resolves.

Professional Metamorphosis

I've been at my job a month now. Every day I feel like I'm in a different world. So many transitions swirl around me that my body, mind, and world seem to be spinning.

This week, I am starting to have a sense of routine. This is good. I find that I love the school. Its mission is, truly, a mission--not just a mission statement. The spiritual part of me has been yearning for what happens here. I know this is where I belong right now.

It's ironic, though. I love the place and people where I am now, and I deeply miss the people and place I was before. I don't miss my actual job, though. My days are long, and then they're over. I have guilt-free Sundays, with no grading or planning at all.

Still (and this is the ironic part), I find that I am mourning the loss of that job more than I mourn the loss of people and place. I know I will see many of the people I care about again, and I can always visit. I mourn the loss of my professional identity. For more than twenty years, I was a college writing teacher. Every time I see an article that relates to something I would teach, I have to let it go. When I find myself with no papers to grade, I have to remind myself that it isn't what I do anymore. Letting myself experience this loss of such a core part of who I have been for two decades is even harder than I had imagined.

Meanwhile, I try to build a new professional sense of self, one that is imbued with this spiritual component. I feel I am reshaping myself from the inside out.

And I wonder, when the caterpillar is becoming a butterfly, does it know it is changing? Does it hurt?

"It's Just Stuff"

I started my new job yesterday, heading on a trajectory I hadn't anticipated. In order to mentally be in my new place, I needed to clean out the old place. I have been a teacher for more than twenty years and at the campus I just left for ten. Although it was my third office on the campus, moving offices has involved having the maintenance folks move fully loaded filing cabinets and my carrying one box at a time, unloading and reloading until the work was done.

This time was different. I probably will teach again, but I don't know when. So packing up my office felt like packing up my career. I needed to arrange things so they are accessible again. I learned that I am a hoarder of office supplies. I filled countless recycling tubs with extra handouts, articles, assignments, and meeting notes while shredding at least three huge bags of student records. Still, I knew that some things would travel with me so I could put the things I love in my office--my jar of rocks from my parent's cabin in the UP, my fishbowl full of chocolate, my stuffed hot dog guy signed by a former student who used to be one of the racing sausages for the Brewers. 


Meanwhile, one of my colleagues has retired. She is going through many of the same tasks I am of sorting, pitching, shredding, recycling, remembering, and keeping. But it is different, I think, at the end of a career. I shared this story with her, and she suggested that I share it here as well.

Cleaning out an office can be such an overwhelming task--physically, mentally, and emotionally. It is draining.

When I was a student worker in college, I helped a French professor who was being forced to retire to clean her office after a 50-year career. She sat and cried the entire time, while I gently boxed up what I could and asked her to tell me about her favorite students and scholarship and about some of the items in her office. It took three days to whittle her office down to one carload of her most precious mementos. She sent me flowers.

Six months later, her house burned to the ground in a huge fire. I thought of the boxes that contained the distillation of her office and sent her a sympathy card. She sent me more flowers, with a note that said, "It was just stuff. I still have the memories, and that was all the stuff was for--to remind me of who I've been. I lost my stuff, and I still know who I am and who I've been."

Change of Life, part 1

I've been trying to figure out for a while how to write this post. There are some things in life that feel so momentous that it is hard to know how to process and articulate them. There are pieces of this that are like that. And while this is not a political post, it is grounded in a political-based reality.

The simplest way to say it is that I am changing jobs. But it isn't that simple, for me. Since my very first job shelving books in the children's department of the Freeport Public Library (back in its original space constructed with the help of Andrew Carnegie), I have been a public employee. Okay, I did have two summer jobs that weren't public--one as a camp counselor at my church camp and one as a receptionist for a title insurance company. I worked at the library and then at my community college as a student worker, a state university as a student worker and then as a graduate assistant, then at a community college as a professor, then at a two-year state college as a lecturer.

Although I haven't often thought of myself as a public servant, it has always been part of who I am professionally. I've known that my salary would be limited, since my institutions were accountable to taxpayers. It has always mattered to me that I am part of the army of public servants trying to make their place in the world a better place in some small way.

I've been a teacher since 1988, when I first stepped into a college classroom as a graduate assistant in charge of one writing class. After 23 years, the line between what I do and who I am has blurred. Being a teacher is part of my identity. Even during the five years I did part-time administrative work, I was still a teacher.

I have been very committed to the access to public education afforded by two-year colleges. Having started my own college experience in such a place, I have seen the transformative power of education for those who are unable to go to a different school due to financial reasons or a need to be placebound. People's lives change when they have the opportunity to explore who they are and what they think in the context of guided and structured scholarly work.

A change of jobs means, on one level, a change of self. I am staying in higher education, but it is a very different kind of position. I will be coordinating the Academic Resource Center at a private women's college. It will be a major shift in many ways: teacher to full-time administrator, public school to private school, co-ed to women's school, two-year associate degree to bachelor's and master's degrees.

I start my new job tomorrow. I don't know who I will be. At the age of 46, such a new adventure is a bit exciting and quite terrifying.

People in faculty-type positions tend to think of their careers differently than do people in many other kinds of positions in higher education. Many of my friends in student affairs work talk about building a skill set and gaining experience and then moving on in five to ten years. Faculty-type folks talk about tenure and the long haul and being in an institution over a period of their professional lifetimes, building their career by participating in important committee work, engaging in scholarship, writing grants, and getting better and better at what they do. It's a different mindset, so even I am a bit shocked that I am making this change.

So why on earth am I making the change? This is where the political-based reality comes in. As an employee of the state of Wisconsin, I was about to get socked with an extra $300 in deductions each month. Now, if I were one of those high-paid employees, I might not be able to muster much sympathy for myself. But I'm not. I'll spare the details, but my position pays less than $35,000 a year. I live in a county with a fairly high cost of living, yet this is the same salary as people in my position in other counties around the state had--so my salary has gone less far than it has for my peers in, say, Baraboo or Manitowoc.

Despite the claims that public employees haven't been affected by the economy, my husband is in an industry that was hit hard. After three job losses in two years and an extended unemployment, he is finally in a job in his industry again--but only part-time, so he continues to look for more work. Our family's finances have hit rock bottom, and we simply don't have any place in our budget to cut $300. I already do some online freelance consulting work, and I was starting to look for more.

The bottom line is that I knew I had to be open to possibilities, because Scott Walker's policies were about to have a serious negative effect on my family. So I am changing my life, and while I think it will be a good thing for me, I wouldn't have done it without his policies. So now there is another state job open (the one I just vacated), one I'm sure he'll take credit for creating.

Musings on Justice #caseyanthony

Today, in the Casey Anthony trial, a jury returned a verdict of Not Guilty for all charges related to the death of little Caylee Anthony (other than the charges of lying to the police). The Twitterverse and Facebook world have gone nuts.

Many of us were, quite frankly, stunned--me included. How could any mother wait 30 days before reporting her child missing? That in itself convinces me of Anthony's guilt--if not of murder then of something. That just isn't right to me. The things I have heard on the media the past three years have not sounded like a mature, balanced woman. In my heart, she should've been convicted.

So many of my social media friends are decrying the lack of justice and are consoling themselves with the knowledge that Anthony will be judged by God at the end of her life.

Wait. What? I confess that the thought has crossed my mind, too--but it has me pondering the meaning of justice. Is justice a result or a process? Does justice have to mean that we catch the killer, and does it have to mean that the person we are convinced did it must be convicted? We focus on little Caylee, with the big, beautiful eyes, and we are certain that justice has not been served. Caylee's killer has not yet been convicted of her murder.

But doesn't Casey deserve justice, too? Justice for her is that she has gone through the legal process, with representation that showed enough reasonable doubt that she was not convicted. And what if, despite our conviction, Casey didn't do it? Isn't it remotely possible that she was not responsible for her daughter's death? The fact that she didn't report her daughter as missing for 30 days might simply tell us that she was a very scared young mother who didn't know what to do and that by the time she realized what she should've done she realized it was too late. Is it possible she left her child unattended and that neglect led to her death? Is it possible that someone else abducted her and killed her? While I don't think those scenarios are likely, they are within the realm of possibility. If Casey had been convicted and then, several years from now, we got a confession from someone else, would we all be decrying the lack of justice for Casey? And if that would turn out to be the case, what is our role in removing a young mother's opportunity to grieve her daughter's death?

She has been convicted by a jury of public opinion. Whether or not she killed her child, Casey will never be able to lead a normal life. She will always be under scrutiny--especially if she ever has another child. She has lost three years of her life and will have to try to rebuild from here. Her life will be difficult.

I just find it hard to say that justice has not been served. To me, justice is a process. Sometimes it renders a verdict that matches our gut feelings; sometimes it does not. Does justice heal? Does it return a lost child to its family? No. If the jury had come back with a verdict of Guilty, it would not cancel Caylee's death. Even if Casey had been convicted and sentenced to death, her sentencing and execution would not make anything better. The problem is that we want her to suffer. We are convinced she killed her child. It is one of the worst things we can imagine a woman could do, and we want her to suffer beyond imagination for doing the unthinkable.

But here's the thing: she will always know what she did, or did not, do. If she has lied to us and gotten away with murder, she will still know. Caylee will haunt her dreams. She will be on the fringe of her thoughts. Casey will be judged by others for the rest of her life. She will be in a figurative prison every single day for the rest of her life. So while I feel like she did the crime, our justice system's belief in reasonable doubt has provided her with the process of justice. We may not like the way it turned out, but reasonable doubt should matter.

I would rather have a murderer go free than an innocent person convicted. And if she is guilty in deed if not in court, we will just have to live with it. Justice has been served, even if we don't like its taste.

Heart of Wisconsin

I shared this with Democracy Addicts on Facebook, and a couple of them encouraged me to put it in my blog.

Context: This week, the Assembly and Senate passed a budget that guts programs and will hurt people's lives in real ways, for a long time to come. I understand the need for fiscal responsibility. I could even be persuaded, perhaps, that some of the budget cuts are necessary. What has been especially hard for me has been the nearly complete lack of compassion and understanding and listening from legislators who support these cuts. I don't expect them to listen and then automatically change their minds. I do, however, expect them to listen and to respond in ways that acknowledge their constituents' views, concerns, and experiences.


Late last night, the Senate passed its version to send on to the governor. This morning, someone posted, "How are you all doing today? Who needs cheering up to get ready for the next phase of this fight?" I read this post on my cellphone as I was leaving Waukesha Public Library. All the way home, I thought about it, and when I got home I posted this:

Last night I felt heartsick and betrayed. Today, I am doing surprisingly well.

This morning, I woke up to a sunny southeastern Wisconsin day. I played with the dog, enjoyed my coffee, hung laundry out on the line, and was reminded that there will continue to be some normalcy, even as I adjust to how the budget will affect my own life.

Then I thought about those who spoke so passionately in the Assembly and the Senate on behalf of all who will be affected by the budget. Surely they knew that their words and passion would not affect the outcome--yet they still made the effort. Theirs are the words and speeches that will be remembered in years to come. Their persistence and compassion inspire me. If they can spend three weeks in various hotels and homes, stay up for hours fighting a battle they know they won't win, and still sound as passionate and dedicated as they did in mid-February, then I can certainly keep going for a while yet as we regroup and forge ahead.

And then, I came here, to find that someone I've never even met in person is caring enough to check in on all of us, to acknowledge the challenges and encourage us to move forward. And I know that the heart of Wisconsin beats onward.

Retirement

Yesterday I helped celebrate the retirement of a dear colleague.

As I often am at retirement parties, I was struck by two things: the welcoming arms of the already-retired and the heartache of those who are left behind.

The already-retired enjoy the fellowship of the occasion, as they share tales of travels, grandchildren, and gardening. They are full of joy for the celebrant who is joining their ranks.

Those who remain in the workplace, though, are a bit heartsick. In our case yesterday, we were celebrating the retirement of someone who is both loved and respect, a wise, gentle, and insightful woman who has been a role model to so many of us. It was hard to congratulate her on a decision I am mourning.

This particular retirement is hitting some of us very hard. I'm sure that come fall, with Peggy absent from our meetings, our hallway, our presence, we will miss her all the more.

Still, life goes on. At my previous job, the first time one of my colleagues retired I was distraught. I couldn't imagine what our department would be like without him. With time, I was able to see how life goes on, and work goes on. New people bring new ideas and new energy. They change the place in unpredictable ways, even while a good colleague leaves much of herself behind. Part of the retired person stays with us, and we'll move on as a mashup of those who have moved on as well as those who continue or join.

The Teaparty and the Dent in the Bucket

"The only way to fix a dent in the bucket is from the inside," according to my father-in-law the retired farmer. If you want to make change, work within the system. As I've watched the state and national political scenes lately, I've been wondering about whether that's even possible. I've thought that maybe we need to throw out the whole bucket and start over again.

But then I got thinking today about Walker's Budget Repair Bill and the potential it has to shift things in major ways in Wisconsin.

Look at the Teaparty, ALEC, and the Koch conglomerate. They've been studying us (and by this, I mean liberals) for a long time. They know what our message is (and that we don't really have one). They've developed goals, a process, and even a toolkit for legislators. They've provided money to Republican candidates. Now that those candidates have been elected, they are putting into action the desired policies and changes.

I don't like those changes, but I have to acknowledge that if these proposals are put into place, we would see major changes. The loss of collective bargaining for public employees alone would lead to significant changes across the state in how school districts function and how teachers live and work. And that is only one of the changes.

So I have to give credit to the Teaparty/ALEC/Koch-ers. They knew exactly what they wanted to change, and they found a way to work within the system to effect that change. Although I personally think they are not fixing a dent as much as completely reshaping the bucket and putting some  holes into it, I acknowledge the planning and the effort involved and admire that they found a way to work within the system.

Now, if only the folks I agree with could pull themselves together as well, I'd be a pretty happy camper.

Edited to add: Read this article and it becomes very clear how they have used the system to effect change.

When Is It Time?

One question that keeps popping into my mind is, "When is it time?"

Early on in "the troubles," the cashier at the grocery store asked if we were having a revolution. I flippantly responded, "Not yet!"

Here we are nearly four months later, and I'm watching disagreement among the resistance regarding when civil disobedience should become uncivil disobedience.

I am sensing a desperation that combines frustration, fear, and anger.

My view has always been, in the words of my farmer father-in-law, that the only way to fix a dent in the bucket is from the inside. In other words, we effect change by working within the system. Use the processes that have been put in place and forged over time to determine what is best and work to make it happen.

Lately, though, I'm finding myself thinking that sometimes, you just have to throw the biucket out and get a new one.

I've been to quite a few Republican events with my husband, and yesterday and today I worked the information desk at the Democratic convention. Both parties work the same. They trot out their platform and then spend the whole time bragging about how great they are and how horrible the other guys are.

Really? This is how we make change happen?

I am thrilled to have gotten to be part of the convention experience. I had lots of wonderful chats and even got to meet one of my #wiunon twitter friends. This morning, I had a powerful conversation with a Vietnam combat veteran who works to support veterans affairs in the state.

But no one was taking about changing or improving anything. Everything was about taking the state back.

I was so disheartened to feel like I'm a prop in a statewide game of keep-away.

So when is it time to be drastic? Do we want to change things, or do we just want to change them back?

How do we know when it is time?

Complexity and Humanity

I've gotten some interesting feedback on my last post. People (some I know in real life and even more that I don't) have sent me messages about my decision not to protest when Walker visited his niece's grade school in Waukesha yesterday. Mostly, the comments have been really supportive. Others, however, have suggested that I'm giving up the fight or that I'm just having a rough patch. They tell me to stay strong and get back in fighting form.

Hmm. I work very hard to stay focused on policies, issues, and processes--and not on people or personalities. This has never been as much of a challenge as it has since February 11 of this year, when Walker introduced his Budget Repair Bill and I learned who the Fitzgerald brothers are.

I have always tried to think of the humanity of those with whom I disagree. I want to understand other points of view--not so I can engage in debate but so I can better understand issues and challenges and so we can find ways to work together to do what is best for the most people. This is how I approach my political views, my personal relationships, and professional challenges. It is an essential aspect of who I am and how I interact with my world. It is a core part of me, and to act differently is to become something other than what I am.

When I talk with people with a more conservative viewpoint, I am able to be respectful of their views. Once I understand why someone thinks in a particular way, it helps me better understand how to discuss my views with that person. I need to connect with others as humans, none of whom is perfect.

I admire those who fight strong. Those who protest frequently, those who confront our legislators as they walk into the Capitol, those who expose behind-the-scenes conversations and procedures, and those who engage in public debate are vital in effecting change. I'm just not good at those things. We all need to play to our strengths, and mine are in seeking common ground, attempting to understand, and being mindful of the humanity of all (even my enemies). These are not particularly visible qualities; that does not mean they are unimportant.

Not all who are on the same side of an issue need to be doing the same things. The Wisconsin political climate is more divisive than I ever could have imagined. I am also seeing some divisiveness in how people talk to and about people who are on the same side (including but not limited to me).

I have spent a lot of time listening. I've written to my legislators. I've protested. I've asked questions. I expressed outrage at certain actions, and I sobbed when I thought of how many women with HPV will go untreated because of the funding being taken away from women's health clinics. I have never been so distracted in my life, and this experience has been burned into my heart and mind permanently.

I am angry. I am outraged. I am horrified. I am appalled. I am resolved. I am hurt. I am many things, and I feel many things. But that does not mean that I should not be able to recognize and appreciate the humanity and the views of others.

I saw a video of Walker's visit to his niece's school. I was able to set aside my feelings about his actions as I watched a little girl introduce him, saying, "This is my uncle." Her affection for him was genuine.

It reminded me that we are all complex individuals. Walker is not just Darth Walker, master Koch puppet, doer of evil, and other terms I've heard applied to him. He is also a little girl's uncle and a human being.

The moment I forget that, I have lost a part of my soul.

Why I'm Not Protesting Tomorrow (Much to My Surprise)

Ever since February 11, I've felt envious of those who could protest Walker directly. Protesting at the capitol is amazing, but every time, I was aware that he wasn't there, that I wasn't reaching the person responsible for the constant fear and anxiety I've had for over three months now. A while back, he was in Waukesha, but I couldn't participate in the protest because I had something else scheduled. I was so disappointed.

Last night, I found out that he will be in Waukesha tomorrow, at Banting Elementary School, at a time when I am completely free. My grades are done and turned in, summer school doesn't start for three weeks, so I am in the clear. I have been disheartened and wearied by the continuing lack of compassion I am seeing from my governor and so many legislators. Do they not know what they are doing to people's lives, or do they just not care? Where is the compassion? A chance to protest without having to drive to Madison is rare.

Imagine my surprise when I realized how conflicted I felt about the idea of protesting him tomorrow.

I admire the people who show up again and again throughout the state to protest Walker. He never goes anywhere without the presence of people reminding him that we are watching him and we are unhappy. He can't even go fishing without protesters in a boat along side him. (Really, that was so awesome!) I get how important that is.

I also understand how important it is for children today to be aware of what is happening in our state. Seeing protesters outside their school is something they will remember for the rest of their lives. They will take a history class in high school or college. The subject of labor rights will come up, and they will know that they were witnesses to part of that history. We should not shield them from the fact that people are unhappy with what the governor is doing. We should celebrate the fact that protesting and gathering peacefully is one of the great rights of living in this nation.

So why am I so conflicted?

When we lived in southwestern Illinois, my husband was involved in campaigning for Republican candidates for various offices. Yes, I even voted for some of them. At one campaign event, I shook hands with Jim Edgar, who I knew would be elected governor. I felt giddy. There was something about the office of governor that was so exciting to me. No matter who inhabited that office, I knew that I would always be thrilled that I got to shake the hand of a future governor.

Maybe that's part of the thing for me. No matter who the governor is and what he is doing, he is the governor. School children should get to experience the excitement of the occasion. It is a big deal. I am grateful to see the calls for protests at schools to be silent--but even a silent protest is visible. I don't like the thought of children looking through their classroom windows to see adults holding signs--a sight most children wouldn't be familiar with. I think it could be confusing and even disturbing, even while providing an opportunity to learn about our rights and history.

And what about the governor? I love that everywhere he goes, his presence is protested. It sends an important message and, I hope, it makes it more stressful for him to do his job in the way he's been doing. I want him to feel stressed as he is doing things that damage lives in real ways. However, if there is one time when the governor should feel unharried and happy, it is when he is meeting with school children.

Here was the clincher for me: I read that his niece goes to Banting. I have four nieces and three nephews. I want them to be proud of me, and if I were to visit their schools, I would want them to feel  thrilled to have me there. Despite my feelings about Walker, his niece is a child. She deserves the chance to be excited that her Uncle Scott the governor is coming to visit her school, without the distraction of people holding signs outside the school. It is for her and the other children that I cannot bring myself to protest tomorrow.

It is just my way of showing some of the compassion that has been lacking in my elected officials lately, even while I respect that others will feel very different and will be there at Banting to greet the governor.

Juggling Rhythms

I spent yesterday at the University of Wisconsin Colloquium/Engaging Students in the First Year Conference. It was odd, as it was the first time I was there without an ESFY title. In some respects, I felt a bit out of sorts, being in a familiar place with an unfamiliar role.

In the past year, as I've returned to full-time teaching, I've been reminded how much I really do love teaching and working with students. My presentation yesterday was about teaching and working with students. It was a pilot program that went well, and it was a real treat to get to talk about that. It felt like a nice capstone to my year.

In the afternoon, I found myself talking to some colleagues at UW-Marathon County who both hold split positions--part teaching and part administrative. As I listened to them talk about the projects and reports they have ahead of them in the coming weeks, I got a big smile on my face--and they knew exactly why.

One of my biggest challenges and frustrations at a split appointment was that I had to exist on two different sets of rhythms. As a teacher, there are times of the semester and year that are particularly intense and stressful (like the end of the semester, always). Fortunately, those times are usually followed by some down times that have a more relaxed pace. I can have several days in a row of really intense and draining reading and grading, and then I have some time when I can rest, reflect, and even step aside from my work for a bit. It kind of balances out.

Administrative work, however, is completely different. There are reports to be written, budgets to be wrapped up, meetings to hold (and in the UW Colleges, these are mostly teleconferences due to the geographic distribution of our 13 campuses and the central office), and work to continuously plan and implement. Full-time administrators rest and recover using very non-academic sounding leave called vacation days. Part-time administrators/part-time instructors don't exactly have these. Because of the demands of the end of the semester as an instructor, some administrative work is set aside for the days and weeks after grades are turned in.

What this all amounts to is that people in split appointments rarely have downtime. I never got to enjoy being done with the semester in a way that was truly recuperative. Instead, I would have to kick back into high administrator mode. Juggling two entirely different sets of rhythms is hard. While I certainly miss some aspects of the work I used to do and the ways I got to work with people I liked and respected, I am happy to simply be an instructor who does a little bit of advising on the side. It is much, much easier on my ability to take deep cleansing breaths.

The Good Wife

So here we are  again. My husband lost his job, and he was told it was due to overstaffing. I think it was because he was almost at the end of his 90-day probationary period and the company didn't want the expense of hiring him directly instead of through the temp agency, and since they had two women return from maternity leave, it was a choice they could make.

Still, it came out of the blue. Why is it so hard for him to find a job that helps us keep our heads above water?  Unfortunately, he didn't work there long enough to be eligible for unemployment, which ran out shortly before he started this job.

It is so hard to know how to be a good wife. I am totally falling apart inside, but my husband needs me to be encouraging and supportive right now. And naturally , this happens at my most hectic time of the semester.

We've been through this before, and I just don't know if I can do it again. I will, because I have to. But I have to wonder if I'll ever be able to feel a sense of hope again. Every time this happens, a piece of my spirit is extinguished. What if I get to a point where there's nothing left?

Blurring boundaries

When I stepped down from administrative work to resume full-time teaching this year, I made a decision that I would no longer deal with email during evenings and weekends. I pretty much stuck to that during the fall semester, and I felt liberated. I still had school work to do at home, but I made sure that when I was doing my school work I didn't have Facebook and Twitter windows open at the same time. So even when work happened at home, I made sure I was completely "at work" while I was doing it. (Heck, I even would wear a school t-shirt to remind myself of what I was supposed to be doing!)

Maintaining boundaries was difficult to adjust to, but once I did, it was freeing. I was able to compartmentalize things in my life in ways that allowed me to feel more productive and accomplished in each area. I began to feel more balanced, and when I was thinking about any particular area of my life, I was once again feeling engaged and energized and accomplished--instead of flustered and constantly behind.

Recently, however, I've been experiencing a blurring of boundaries. Naturally, I blame Scott Walker. So much of my personal time has been directed to engaging in conversations about state political issues--and since the budget repair bill and the proposed budget affect both my work and my compensation, it's been harder to maintain these boundaries.  Like many of my colleagues, I spent most of February and March distracted and angry while at work. It was sometimes hard to look at students and not wonder, "Are you against me?" It was hard to read student papers from home while sitting at the same table where I sit to pay bills and balance the checkbook.

As one of my beloved colleagues retires, I am also experiencing the fluidity of boundaries. I am personally very sad that she is retiring. (I'm thrilled for her, but very sad for what her absence will mean for the campus and the department and simply for the value of being in the presence of her strength and wisdom.) My colleagues and I have been discussing the various ways we might celebrate her time with us as she moves on to her next phase of life. Unfortunately for me and my intentions, much of this conversation has been happening via email outside of daytime working hours.

Now, I have no issues with someone sending email at odd times. I've certainly done my share of sending emails at 4 am, in the middle of summer, deep into January snowdays, and so forth. Because much of academic life takes place at home, during the times that work within our own individual lives, I respect this. The fact that I am choosing to honor boundaries in my life does not mean that I think everyone else should be doing the same thing. But I am seeing decisions get made during these odd times. During Spring Break, when some of my colleagues were on a much-needed break from all things work-related, people were making decisions about how to acknowledge my colleague's retirement. This past weekend (Easter weekend, when I was out of town to visit family), emails were being sent about another department activity.

All I ask is that people be given an opportunity to adhere to work/life boundaries if they choose--and that decisions not be made when classes are not in session. Feel free to discuss and share ideas during off-times--but don't make decisions until everyone has had a reasonable opportunity (as in, during the teaching day)  to make their voices heard. I am feeling so frustrated right now, and I am getting very snarky. Most work-related decisions do not need to be made within 24-48 hours, and I feel resentful when it seems that am behind my colleagues' expectations simply because I am trying to strive for balance in my life.

Deep fried chaos

Amidst all the political chaos of the state and the effects that has on my life, a new chaos has been introduced to my life: my sons' joy of deep frying.

I blame my husband, who bought the deep fryer years ago and came up with the idea of pulling it out of storage last week to make french fries.

Then, late one afternoon, I heard my sons having an animated and enthusiastic conversation in the kitchen.  They informed me that I should stay out of the kitchen while they experimented with the deep fryer. I was told I just couldn't handle what they hadgoing on in there--and they were right. On the deep frying list: cheese, fries, doritos, and bacon. They then dug through the fridge to see what else could be deep fried.

They made disparaging comments about me for not having the deep fryer out every night as a central component of all food preparation.

Over the past few days, I have witnessed more french fries than I could stand, multiple attempts at deep frying bacon, deep fried hot dogs, corn dogs, and, just for fun, ice cream (that one didn't work so well).
The deep fryer has taken up residence on my kitchen counter. Oil splatters are everywhere. My favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe card that had been left on the counter now has a permanent oil coating.

I walk into the kitchen and roll my eyes. At the same time, though, my heart is warmed. At 16 and almost 19 (this week!), the days when my sons will be together to concoct a kitchen mess are numbered. I am reminded that when I hear them, it means they are in my home.

I'll have lots of years to clean up the kitchen after they're gone. For now, I'll enjoy their chaos and mess. And the french fries.

What If Scott Was One of Us (#wiunion)

It needs some work, but sing this to "If God Was One of Us."
------------------------------------------

If Scott felt some shame, what would it be
And would you throw it in his face
If you were faced with him at a press conferences
What would you ask if you had just one question

And yeah yeah Scott’s not great yeah yeah Scott’s not good
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if Scott was one of us
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the train
Trying to stay in his home

If Scott had some grace what would it look like
And would you want to see
If seeing meant that you would have to agree
In things like corporate tax breaks and the trough and job creation

And yeah yeah Scott’s not great yeah yeah Scott’s not good
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if Scott was one of us
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the train
Trying to stay in his home
He’s trying to take over the state
Back up to Madison
Only Koch is calling on the phone
Except for the Fitzwalkers in the dome

And yeah yeah Scott’s not great yeah yeah Scott’s not good
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if Scott was one of us
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the train
Trying to stay in his home
Like a brick wall on his own
He’s trying to take over the state
Back up to Madison
Only Koch is calling on the phone
Except for the Fitzwalkers in the dome

We Need Protest Limericks #wiunion

Democracy looks like a crowd,
So the process can sometimes be loud.
When we learned to shout,
They shut us all out,
But democracy still will be proud.

Okay, so maybe we don't need protest limericks, but surely there are some good rhymes for Walker, Fitgerald, Koch, collective, and oppression.

Rally Recap

Yesterday was a mandatory furlough day for the UW Colleges. (Yeah, first day of spring break. Awesome how our furlough days don't give us actual time off other than what we already have.) A bunch of us spent our day in Madison.

It's interesting to me that we planned this before Walker even released his Budget Repair Bill. Although we had no idea what would actually be proposed--in the bill or in the actual budget--we did have concerns about our legislators' perceptions of the role of higher education in the state of Wisconsin. So, about a week before the bill was released, we began to plan a rally in Madison.

Since the initial planning stage, the political landscape has shifted dramatically. And so did ideas about what the day should be about. Many of my colleagues at our far-flung campuses had not been to Madison at all recently, and they viewed this as their opportunity to protest. Others of us really wanted to be positive and try to educate about what we do.

I wanted--no, I needed--to stay positive. There is much to protest, clearly. But my strengths are not in chanting, singing, and marching (although I do get much out of these things). My strengths are in thinking about what's next and in educating.

What I personally needed from yesterday was to feel like I was doing something new and different. I needed to be with my colleagues, many of whom I see only once or twice a year.

I have to say that it was a good, good day. It is easy to underestimate the value of physically being with other like-minded people. We can share so much on Facebook, but being there, hugging, marching together, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder was so healing.

We had a little over 100 people there, which was perfect. We felt together. We did a little chanting, we marched around the capitol, and we went into the Rotunda together, where we sang and visited our legislators.

My favorite moments:

• Singing "We Shall Overcome in the Rotunda," standing right next to a friend and colleague who was a civil rights activist in the Milwaukee Open Housing marches. Wow.
• There was a field trip, and I watched the fourth-graders walking through the Rotunda.  They were encouraged to lie down and take pictures of the dome.  Truly, it is a beautiful, beautiful building.
• While the children were there, one of my friends lifted up his sign promoting the UW Colleges.  Immediately, 50 kids turned toward him to take his picture.  He laughed and said, "This is awesome.  For those kids, from now on, I will be the face of democracy."

My least favorite moment:

• Walking into the Capitol.  Several years ago, I was at a conference in Madison and stayed at a hotel nearby.  I went on a walk and was thrilled to discover that I could just walk right into the Capitol building.  When I was there for early protests, before the people were kicked out, I was overwhelmed by the experience. On February 15, the first day of the big protests, I was struck by how transcendent it was to stand inside the capitol building and shout, "This is what democracy looks like!"  I get chills now, just thinking about it.  When I was there with my daughter several weeks ago, I was moved by all the signs on the walls and the community that had developed inside the building.  The last time I'd seen the inside of the building, it had been the people's house.  Yesterday, I had to go to a particular set of doors to get in.  I walked through the door.  The walls were naked and bare.  I had to walk through security.  I had to have my bag searched.  I cried.  It felt so wrong, and I felt like I didn't belong there anymore.
• I was wearing a campus sweatshirt, though, and one of the troopers did stop me to say he was from the same county and to ask how I was doing as a state employee in such a conservative county.  That meant so much to me, and it helped me shift away from my sadness a bit.  But it didn't take it away.

I had a good day, and that will stay with me.  But what will also stay with me is the feeling of standing there staring at the walls of the capitol and feeling like I was no longer welcome.

Warning: Bad Gynecological Haiku Ahead...

Then again, is there any good gynecological haiku?

A year before my hysterectomy, I spent Christmas Eve wondering if I would ever even see another Christmas. I was waiting on results from biopsies I'd had of cervical and vaginal lesions.

One night when I couldn't sleep from the worry, I decided to try to write some haiku. I don't know why. I'm not a poet (as you'll see). But just for fun (mine, not yours), I'm going to share it with the world here.

Fibroids
Squeezing inside me
Uterus cramping in pain
Proving that I live

The Neck
From womb to the world
Passageway for my children
Bringer of my death

The Cell
Dysplasia, lesions
Prison of my own making
Life out of control

Female
Breast cancer steals breasts.
My womanhood? So I thought.
Life is at the core.

This reminds me. It's time to schedule an appointment with a gynecologist.

Why I Am Not Going to Madison Today

For the past month, my heart has been in Madison.

And for more than a week—yes, even before the events of March 9—I have planned to go to Madison tomorrow. I wanted to do my share of being physically present, and adding my body and voice to the masses. Then I found out that a tractor parade would be there, and I got more excited. Then March 9 happened (Senate vote). And March 10 happened (Assembly vote). And March 11 happened (Governor signature). The sadness I have felt in some moments of this week has surprised me. I have invested so much of my heart, mind, energy, and time into following the life of the budget bill and the people who have cared about it. I was not prepared to have it all come to an end in such an abrupt and unexpected way. This week, I felt shock, betrayal, and despair. My life has centered around Madison, the heart of the state, although physically I have been an hour away.

As some of my rights were removed and my paycheck was gutted (yes, me, a state employee who chose a life of service and who brings home less money each month than she did in 2001), my need to make a pilgrimage to the capitol became deeper. I yearned to be with the thousands of others who feel like I’ve been feeling—or who care about workers’ rights. And the “entertainment” grew. Tony Shalhoub is coming. The Wisconsin 14 are coming. I even heard that Michael Moore is coming back, and I think Jesse Jackson is still around. Just imagine the pictures I could take!

Today I realized something. I want to go to Madison today, but surprisingly I no longer need to. Instead, I have realized that the most important thing for me to do is to have a normal day. I know that being in Madison, with the thousands and thousands of others would be energizing and uplifting. I know that I could not go inside the Capitol. I think my heart would break a little seeing the naked walls and floors. It will always people the people’s home to me, and I am not ready to see it again as a statehouse.

I sense that the best thing for me to do is to start to reclaim my life. I am tired and worn out from the protesting, both real and mental. I am sore. My back hurts. My brain hurts. My heart hurts. I feel worn down. I’m behind on schoolwork and housework. I need to resume moving forward, not be where I am reminded of how angry and sad I've felt at times this week. I need to remember to live my life in the small things as well as the big. I've been looking forward to going for over a week, so I was a bit stunned yesterday to realize that I was gravitating toward being home with my family, reminding myself that it is important to do the things that only I can do as well as the things where I join with others.

Yesterday, I felt better today than I did the days before that. Wednesday night and Thursday, I felt so betrayed and oppressed. The Senate's actions--doing what it did in the way that it did--were so unbelievable to me. The Assembly's vote and the governor's signature are anti-climactic to me. Thursday, I could barely function. I have been incredibly distracted for several weeks. I thought I was so used to the idea that this would happen that it wouldn't actually hit me when it did; I was wrong.

Going to the judicial candidate forum Thursday afternoon was a good thing for me. Although I understood fewer than half the questions, I was reminded of the power of the vote. My vote is no less valid than Senator Fitzgerald's. I saw groups of teachers and several others wearing union sweatshirts. I knew I was not alone, and that we are not alone. It was healing to be reminded that life goes on, that this bill—as devastating as it is—is not the end of the world. Thinking about the vote on April 5 and the recallability of others in less than a year helped me focus on the fact that the seeds that have been planted in me, in us, will grow--that has been good.

On the first day of Spring Break, when my institution has a mandatory furlough day, many of my colleagues and I will join in Madison, to march and to meet with our legislators. That day will be quieter, but I will draw comfort from my friends in a way that cannot happen today. We will have time for conversation, for reminding ourselves of the ties that bind us. We are all affected by the bill and the budget in the same ways, which means we can focus on our issues and not be caught up in the union/labor aspects of the protest.

Still, I have discovered that I am fragile. Yesterday morning I felt good, in marked contrast to most of my colleagues. My classes went well and were fun. I assigned a piece of writing that I’m looking forward to reading. A good teaching day can do wonders for the soul.

Yet later that afternoon, I had a meltdown. At home, thinking about today’s protest, I started to feel sad and angry all over again. I am on edge, and it takes very little to push me over. Today I stay home, to protect myself and to try to rebuild a small layer of life over this week’s wounds.

Generally, I find that I am having intense moments with intense sadness. Yet I am also finding a sense of renewed purpose and energy for the work ahead. I am no less than I was yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that. No matter what the law says.

And yes, I'm feeling conflicted. I do know that part of living is doing the big things. I know that the battle is not over, and that the movement needs bodies to be physically present. I am willing to do my share. But if I go today, I fear I will have nothing left to give later. It's like putting your own oxygen mask on first so you can better help others. I need to care for myself today so I have energy to keep fighting in the many other ways that will be needed.

So today, while my heart is still in Madison, my body needs to stay in my home, living.

Two Weeks in Madison...and Counting

This video makes me cry every time I watch it. No matter what the outcome of these protests, I have been blessed to witness the beauty and dignity of a mass of people joining with each other for a greater good.

I sat on the floor in the Capitol last Saturday, nursing a headache and middle-aged knees. Thousands started shouting, and I could feel every voice soak into my body, absorbed from the marble on which I was sitting. I closed my eyes for a moment and wept.

"THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!"

The Rotunda of My Mind #wearewi

(Note: I couldn't get the formatting the way it was in my mind, but you'll know what I mean.)

I shall never again see this . . .

. . . or this . . .

. . . without thinking of this . . .

. . . and this . . .

History Is... #wiunion #wearewi

My daughter and I went to the rally in Madison on Saturday. It was the biggest day yet, with around 100,000 people there. We had an amazing day as we went inside the Capitol building, marched around outside it, and stood outside waiting for the official rally to begin.

We were there partly as protesters but also as observers. With all the news coverage, we wanted to see what was going on as well as be part of it.

I loved watching my daughter soak it all in and be part of this big moment in history. At one point, we were walking up the Capitol steps. I looked at my daughter and said, "Honey, turn around. I want you to see all the people you're connected to right now." She turned around and saw about 80,000 people in the streets behind her. Later she said,"I know that I'm part of Wisconsin history now. I was born in Illinois, but now I feel like I'm part of Wisconsin and like it's a part of me."

And the fact that shortly after she saw all those people behind her, the band started playing the chicken dance and we shook our butts along with all those thousands of other Wisconsites, well, that helped make the day a bit fun as well as historical.




P.S. I've been tweeting so much about what is happening here that it feels natural and right to include hashtags in the blogpost heading.

Exercising My Civil Liberties

The governor's budget repair bill will devastate my family's finances. Despite what the average state worker in Wisconsin makes, I am far, far below average. As a nine-month employee, I have four months' worth of health insurance premiums taken out of my June paycheck--the last paycheck I will receive until October 1. If our premiums jump, I may have no actual income in June this year.

I doubt that it will make a difference in the legislative votes, but today I did something that was wonderful for me: I went to the State Capitol with colleagues to protest.

Wow!

Standing there with thousands of other people, our voices all speaking the same words, was an incredible experience. My favorite moment was when we were inside the Capitol Building and people started shouting, "This is what democracy looks like!" And truly, it was.

On Being Political on Facebook

Most of the time, I avoid expressing my political views on Facebook. My husband and I have a politically mixed marriage, so to a certain extent, this effort functions to preserve marital harmony. I also acknowledge that in my situations, being married to a husband who votes differently than I do has taught me to be very tolerant. Although I don’t always agree with his point of view, I am usually able to understand it. And I often find that my own political views are tempered by this understanding. Importantly, I have learned to focus my disagreements on positions and views, never on the individuals who hold offices or are running for them. I have refused to make things personal by referring to elected officials I dislike as “douchebags,” “stupid,” or “idiotic.”

Additionally, my Facebook friends come from many walks of life. They are from different states and countries, they have a variety of political and religious views, and they don’t all know me well. My choice to not post political comments has been made for the purpose of not offending people who feel differently than me. I consider myself a fair-minded person, and I want those around me to feel comfortable. I dislike the idea that my words, expressing a viewpoint that might offend or upset others, might cause discomfort in my friends. Although I would like to think that those words could change minds, I think it is more likely that some words could cause those who disagree with me to simply dismiss my ideas as being “other” and not worth reading.

I want to be a bridge-builder, not a bridge-burner.

Over the past few days, I have engaged in a great deal of political conversation on Facebook, in response to my governor’s proposed Budget Repair Bill. This has been extremely difficult for me to do. I have been in tears a couple times. I am terrified by this bill and the potential harm it will cause to my family’s budget. We have already been through financial hell the past few years. Experiencing the cut in take-home pay that would result from this bill’s passage would be one more thing keeping us from keeping our heads above water. This is personal for me in a way that most political issues are not.

Many of my colleagues have posted the letters they have written to their representatives. I borrowed heavily from their letters when I wrote mine. But I cannot share it. It refers to things that my family has gone through recently, and I don’t want to air my dirty laundry to all I know on Facebook. The letter is my voice, desperately begging for reconsideration. I feel like I am on my knees, clinging to the robes of the lawmakers and begging for alms. It shows a desperation that I strongly feel, even though it is not something I want to parade in front of my friends and colleagues.

I am making an effort not to personally attack the governor. I simply cannot bring myself to do that, although I find that I want to. I confess, too, that I enjoy seeing my friends’ status updates and the groups they join that label the governor as a dumb-ass or a douchebag.

Never before have I felt so conflicted about what I am posting there.

Blizzard!

I love storms.  There is something so primal about experiencing the full force of earth and sky, even from within a heated and insulated home.  Tuesday night I was lying there listening to the snow hit all sides of the house.  We woke up to a winter wonderland.  Front and back doors were drifted shut.  The garage door opened to reveal and three-foot-deep driveway.  Hubster used the snowblower to clear the driveway and sidewalk, while I shoveled the four-foot drift in front of the front door and the three-foot drift in front of the back door.

Sunny Day

The beautiful sunshiny day is a perfect match for my spirits.  I am so glad I am able to even recognize the sunshine as well as appreciate it.

Answered Prayers

It's been an interesting week.  Financially, emotionally, and physically, this has been one of our lowest weeks ever.  We both had the flu last week, and we are still trying to bounce back.  I have never felt as hopeless as I have this week.  Hubster finally applied for a job as a bagger at a grocery store, which took a great deal out of him for various reasons.  (Note: It is good, honest work.  It's just hard to be in the upper 40's and realizing you have to take a job that you can get with no job experience at all.)

And then good things happened.   The church secretary called with a lead on a manufacturing job.  It turned out that although they do need people to work on the floor (can you say "training in new job skills"?), they really need someone with hubster's background in logistics and warehouse work. 

We got a call a couple hours ago that he will have a job, starting Tuesday.  The pay is only minimum wage to start with, but a) it's a job! and b) their plan is to move him forward and upward as soon as possible and c) it's a job!

Meanwhile, I had a meeting today at one of our other campuses.  Someone in a non-instructional staff role will be leaving for a new school, and her absence will leave a hole for several months until her position can be approved and filled.  I will be filling in a couple days a week and will have a 40% appointment (which will involve an overload for me=$$).  It is work I've done before and that I enjoy.  The money will make a substantial difference for us, even if it's just for a few months.  I had been thinking about looking for part-time work but was distraught that I have no job experience and skills outside education and some public relations work.  I'm thrilled to have a chance to earn a bit more doing something I already have experience doing.

Both of these job opportunities are the results of people praying and paying attention to us.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Prayers of My Soul

I can feel the embrace of friends so often these days.

Hubster is still out of work.  Furthermore, there are no more unemployment benefits.  It's been almost two years.  I just can't do this anymore.  We were barely making it on my salary plus his, or on my salary plus unemployment, and we are drowning right now.  Stress has been our nearly constant companion for almost two years.  I've discovered that I have nothing left.  I'm at the end of my rope.  I have my full-time job, plus a part-time consultant-type job that roughly equates to five hours a week.  Now I'm even looking at taking a third job in an attempt to keep our heads above water.  And it still won't be quite enough.

The thought of doing that exhausts me.  As it is, I feel like I don't have enough time for my own internal healing of the past couple years.  My soul feels like it's sinking into a morass of bills and clutter and teenagers and trying to figure out what it means to be a supportive wife right now.

And we were all so sick last week with the flu.  It completely knocked me on my butt.  My body's immune system has no resources left to fight anything, and my heart feels the same way.

There are moments when my soul feels like it's about to shatter.

I will curl up on my bed, crying all over my pillow--and then I will suddenly feel a renewal come out of the blue.  I will suddenly have the strength to stand up, wash my face, take care of some laundry, do some schoolwork, sit with my family, and try to maintain a sense of normal family life.  I know that I don't have it in me to do that--so I know that I am being prayed for.  I can feel the protection against the darker feelings of failure and despair, and I am able to experience just enough joy and contentment each day that I somehow keep going.

So many friends are praying for my family right now.  This morning, a friend stopped by my office to ask if there was anything she could do.  Although I wanted to say, "Could you please pay my power bill?" I asked her to pray--for a job for the hubster, for wisdom and courage as we make decisions large and small, for peace, for joy, for hope, for healing hearts.  I pray for understanding of how I can grow from this and how I can keep from becoming a bitter and angry woman.

Keep the prayers coming, friends.  There may be a time for everything, but I'm hoping this season of life passes quickly.