"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?