The weirdest thing.

Since getting kinda-sorta sacked (I really will explain later, but I’m trying to avoid getting semi-dooced, so sorry for being vague), this glorious perspective has descended upon me. It was already coming, honestly, but I was in denial for a while about it. It seemed so very contrary to all the NCLB-spanking, self-kicking, mommy-calling misery I’ve bemoaned so much here and elsewhere.

Against my best intentions, I really like my job. I really like teaching.

What’s more, I like teaching these kids.

And I’m going to miss their tails.

It’s a rough school. Not big-city-ghetto rough, not metal-detector-requiring rough, but only a couple of steps backward from it. And it’s rough in a way that is the most heartbreaking of all: the hopelessness of so many situations of so many students is surpassed only by their apathy. And yet…

And yet. It’s not all of them all the time. This is the part where I’m supposed to say, “for instance, today while reading ‘She Walks in Beauty,’ I saw the spark of a Romantic poet in their eyes” or something like that. Nope. They HATE the Romantics (which I’m torturing them with because they’re what made me want to be an English major years ago), and they hate poetry in general. They make that very clear. They make very clear that they’re only humoring me by doing the worksheet because they know I’ll give them a 0 if they don’t, and they want to graduate.

But, sometimes I connect. It does happen. It’s usually when I’m doing one of my goofy, gesticulating paraphrases. Or when I just set them free with it–we’ve had some surprisingly insightful moments. Regardless, the moments that get to me are the “Miss Holly, are you going to miss us when we graduate?” moments. Sure, they’re joking…but not really. Oh, dear me. I actually have to shift focus for a bit now because I’m getting teary.

Point being, there’s something about knowing you’re leaving a place that makes you appreciate it more. “Place,” in this case, not being this town or county or region (for the most part), as I still haven’t gotten used to the utter void and flatness of it, but instead it’s this “place” in my life, I guess. Beyond the English dept., very few other teachers have even bothered to get to know the outsider, so it’s not my colleagues that I appreciate so much. It’s this time and what I’ve learned from it…and these kids and what I’ve learned from them. They have managed–at least some of them–to see past my sarcasm and frustration and realize that hey, I actually want good things from them–that I’m on their side. And, in a way only teenagers can, they’ve every once in a while managed to show some appreciation for it.

Of course, the moment usually passes and the eyerolling commences as soon as I assign the writing prompt, but I caught it anyway. And I’m going to keep it with me.

When I tell people what school I teach for, nine times out of ten I get my heart blessed. Thing is, though–I’m not sure what I’ll do if I end up moving to a school in which parents are involved and kids care about the subject and there isn’t dress code absurdity. As gut-wrenching as it was in the beginning, I must admit something in me likes the challenge. I like figuring out what will help them learn, often against their will.

I’ll say it again, I’m so glad I’m here.

I’m also so glad to be leaving. And those feelings aren’t contradictory at all.

Because-I-haven’t-in-a-long-time shuffle.

As I do laundry, figure out what to do with my kiddos the rest of the semester, and apply online for various jobs in the mountains this afternoon, I thought I’d hit the shuffle and see what happened. As always, here goes nothin’.

1. “Goodbye,” Patty Griffin, from Flaming Red. This is, of course, a great album, just as all of her albums are great in the most non-banal sense of the word. This song is one that doesn’t have a lot of personal connection to me–I didn’t hear it at a certain pivotal event in my life, and it doesn’t evoke any memories. Somehow, though, Ms. Griffin always finds a way to rip straight to my lachrymal glands with both her voice and her lyrics. Her songs about death are potent and real, almost as potent and real as the experience itself.

2. “Strawberry Fields Forever (Take 1),” The Beatles, from Anthology 2. This is one of my favorite tracks from the Anthology, as it’s such a stripped down version of what became a psychedelic anthem. Something about John Lennon offering up lyrics in such a vulnerable and modest way in the studio for the first time is heartbreaking and haunting to an undefinable degree.

3. “Night Time Works,” Teitur, from Stay Under the Stars. I got this from a friend in Nashville who adores this band. I don’t know a lot about them otherwise, except that when I used to listen to Launchcast a lot they were frequently recommended and I always liked the offering. This song, like most others I’ve heard, is dreamy and articulate, and the singer’s voice is misty and lovely. Though I don’t ever seek them out on my iPod, I’m always happy when they show up in a shuffle.

4. “Journey’s End,” Roddy Hart, from Bookmarks. I love this kid! I ordered his CD when I read a review that said he was for fans of Ryan Adams and Ray LaMontagne. Since I kinda like both of those cats, I thought I’d give him a try. It took a while to see the comparison, but on the way there, I was fully convinced of Hart’s own merit as a songwriter and musician. I’m a sucker for a piano and raw vocals lingering on sad lyrics, and he has that down completely in this song. His more upbeat numbers are worthy, too, though. Check him out: his MySpace, upon open, plays my favorite song of his, “My Greatest Success.” Oh, and he’s cute and British. That wins.

5. “The Last Polka,” Ben Folds, from Ben Folds Live. I don’t have to tell you again of my silly little crush on this adorable fellow. I do love this one, though, because it so captures his live manic piano stylings, which I’ve been privileged to witness on one occasion. I miss that kid and his soy lattes.

Oh my sweet Carolina!

I guess it’s about time I get this post up about my trip, seeing as how it’s been a week. Basically, I have found my home, and its name is Asheville. (What, you were expecting me to say I hated it?) That is to say, I had one of the best weekends ever, and as always when I travel, I had lots of thoughts about lots of things that I wish I had the time to tell you. I imagine it will all come out eventually, but I do miss the early days (you know, a year ago) when I had plenty of government time to spend blogging.

On with the travel diary. Thursday after school, I drove to Nashville to stay with the parents. My dad was finishing packing for his Ukraine trip and I was trying to double-check my finances, but there was still some nice quality time before I collapsed after a loooong week. I was stoked about getting a full night’s sleep before my big journey.

The fault line had a different idea. Something loud jarred me awake. With what little subconscious energy I had, I mustered forth the thought that Daddy was up late packing and had dropped a big piece of luggage. Then, though…the little noises that had accompanied the initial boom kept squeaking. As I fumbled toward consciousness and squinted through the dark, I realized not only was the squeaking continuing, but my room was shaking.

It lasted long enough that I went from a dead sleep to being awake and realizing what was going on. I picked up my cell phone and it was 4:40am. I got to go cuddle in my parents’ bed as if I were still a little girl scared by a thunderstorm as we watched local coverage (surprisingly sparse) of the unfolding events. That was fun, but I ended up snoozing and getting a late start on my trip.

It all ended up okay, though, as the wonderful mbick (as she is known in the wise and kind comments she leaves here) was very gracious about meeting me at 1pm instead of 12:30. Also there were the Kells and her fella Cal. It was an odd little gathering, as I’d only met Cal a couple of times and mbick never, while Kelli is a soul-sister-friend from our days at Starbucks and beyond, but it worked surprisingly well. It was a perfect day there in Knoxville at the Cumberland Grill, and I was just so happy to be with friends on a sunny day.

From lunch, I met Sarah at her home in Maryville and we began the two-hour tip over the mountains to Asheville, NC. It was a beautiful trip and we had giddy anticipation and great music accompanying us.

We stayed at the Sweet Bisquit Inn, which I cannot plug enough for anyone ever headed that way. Angela and Robert will take care of you–even sit you down with a map of town and highlight the good places to eat. And, in the morning, you’re greeted at breakfast with the lovely setting to the right, complete with a little nametag so you can have ease of conversation with the other inn guests. Did I mention the sweet potato bisquits, Swedish pancakes, goat cheese grits, and BACON?

We ate Friday night at The Lobster Trap, which had been recommended by a friend. After putting our names in, we walked around downtown for a while. In the roundabout in the middle of town, every Friday is drum night. All the cool kids bring their drums and create this groovy little rhythm world while the other cool kids dance. It was a warm night, and I was wearing a skirt and flip-flops, and all was well.

One thing both Sarah and I were a little disconcerted by was how hip/hippie-dippy everyone was. Though both of us were steadily falling in love with the place, we were pretty sure we weren’t cool enough to be there, much less ever live there. As we spent more time going in and out of shops and eating establishments, though, it was made very clear that everyone is so nice. It’s just a laid-back, quirky, natural little place. I hope it stays exactly like it is, always.

Oh, and in honor of JP, I took this as we were walking back to the restaurant:

Our seafood smorgasboard was great, I slept like a rock, and we were all ready to get up Saturday and play in the Craggy Gardens on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Sadly, no. Breakfast conversation revealed that there had been several washouts that way, and the BRP was closed before we could get to it. So, instead, we drove up to the Folk Art Center and bought pretty things, then went south on the BRP–and up into the clouds.

(I have no idea how these pics are going to line up in this post, by the way. This is one time I have to admit that OTHER blogging site might be a better choice.)

We came back by the Biltmore, which apparently is the only reason most people go to Asheville, as every time I mentioned my trip, I was asked if I were going there. We didn’t, but we wanted to see if they would let us drive past it. Not without the crazy admission fee, we found out, so we played around in tulips at the entrance instead.

We ate a late lunch at the Tupelo Honey Cafe, where I had tomato soup and grilled cheese and a warm fuzzy feeling, then we just meandered for the rest of our day. It was perfect, except for the rain. Even the rain was kind of nice–it just ended up being a little cold. Other highlights of downtown: the Woolworth Walk, which has funky/beautiful local art at mostly reasonable prices; Mast General Store, which has…everything; the hippie store whose name I can’t remember where I bought my niece Marley a dress I can’t wait to give her when she gets here in July; the Dripolator, a wonderful coffee shop into which Sarah and I ducked when the rain really started coming down and spent the better part of the evening, and for which I couldn’t find a link; and Table, an expensive-but-worth-it farm-to-table restaurant that only serves seasonal fare.

Sunday, we had another magical breakfast, went to church, then went to a local co-op to shop for kombucha, which a yoga instructor at breakfast had raved about. It’s pretty hardcore, I’ll say that. We grabbed a couple of sandwiches and some cane sugar sodas and went on our way back over the mountains.

Long story short, I fell in love with the place and am now more than ever convinced that the mountains is where I want to be. I’m taking steps to, Lord willing, make that happen–more on that later.

Soundtrack for the trip:
Lightning 100–as far as it would carry me east from Nashville
Rufus on shuffle mode
Ray Wylie Hubbard–”Snake Farm”
Old Crow Medicine Show–World Cafe
Sheila Kay Adams–All the Other Fine Things
Neko Case–Fox Confessor Brings the Flood and Blacklisted
Jenny Lewis/Rilo Kiley–various and sundry

What I will not be thinking about during my trip to Asheville this weekend:

1. Grading the research projects my seniors turned in today (and that are required in order for them to graduate).
2. My graduate classes. At all. (Not that I do much anyway.)
3. What pithy statement I can use as my Facebook status.
4. Julius Caesar and sophomore English.
5. Your mom.
6. Being out of a job in a matter of weeks.

What I WILL be thinking about:

1. My daddy’s trip to Ukraine. He’s leaving Friday–if you’re the praying sort, please do so for him.
2. My niece Marley all jumping around in my sister’s belly.
3. The boundless bounty of my future.
4. Love. Truth. Beauty. Lots of yummy Carolina food.
5. 

A cautionary tale. Sort of.

They had only dated for about a month when he asked her to move across the state to be near him. It had been somewhat of a whirlwind courtship–minus the usual heady rush that phrase usually entails–of neediness. The girl had been without someone for over a year, when a few key clicks presented him so serendipitously that it seemed tailor-made.

They’d met once in person, but it had been brief. Pleasant. Enough.

She loved something about him that she couldn’t describe–she knew they could be great together. No, she wasn’t really attracted to him…and she didn’t really like his house or his town…and his mom was already sticking her nose in…but she just knew it could work out into something good for both of them.

She spent her second day in town wishing she could be home for her birthday. He didn’t even know it was. And his mom criticized what she was wearing. She felt sorry for his mom, though–it was obvious she just parroted what her own father–the girl’s beloved’s grandfather–said coarsely to her.

Fall came, and promises made on the internet went unfulfilled. He started requiring her to check with him before leaving her house–even when she went to get groceries, she had to make sure they perfectly aligned with his nutritional needs. She took cooking classes twice a week–on top of her 40+ hour/week job–just to make sure she could be good girlfriend material.

When she bought clothes, he sat in the dressing room and made little marks on a checklist, never really bothering to let her know if he liked her in this dress or those jeans. When she wore them out to dinner, however, he passive-aggressively made sure she knew she could look much better if she would just work harder at it.

Around Christmas she began surfing the internet again, reading blogs, doing the “okay to look” thing that one dating website advertises. She never made contact, but she wondered what–who–else might be out there…who might be a better fit. It wasn’t that she was the best girlfriend. Some days, she went home from work and didn’t answer the phone when he’d call, just to give herself a break from his requirements. Other days, even when they talked, she really was just phoning it in. Still…there were those moments. The moments that reminded her why she was in this relationship to begin with.

His disorganization was once charming. But, when he started blaming her for lost objects or ruined plans, she got frustrated. Meanwhile, she’d befriended another girl in a similar relationship. Every once in a while, they’d meet for coffee and vent their frustrations. These talks were much-needed and usually ended with both of them shaking their heads, chuckling, and sighing, “it’s a good thing I love him.”

One point of awkwardness, unfortunately, was that this new friend was also friends with his ex-girlfriend. The three, though, managed to be civil and even hung out occasionally.

Poor girl. She’d always been naive–that’s what got her here in the first place–but sometimes she really was stupid. One day, after work (and class and late dinner–which she cooked–with the boyfriend), she wearily wrote a sarcastic account of her day that included the boyfriend in caricature. She sent it to her new friend, assuming the new girlfriend would know it was confidential.

The friend could be kind of naive–and stupid–as well, sadly. Remembering the ex-girlfriend’s complaints about the same guy, she immediately laughed, hit “forward,” and typed, “lol I thought u wud lik this 1!”

No one had ever accused the ex-girlfriend of having a sense of humor. Or basic human empathy, for that matter. But, no one realized just what she was capable of. With a huff and a puff, she immediately fired back a “reply all” response: “Hmmm…don’t forget I’m still friends with his mom. I’ve attached an addendum, just for thought.”

At the bottom of the original letter, she’d written her own sarcastic caricature of our heroine, though in her version, she was a lazy ditz who only dated the boyfriend for his looks and his house.

She spent the rest of the next day thinking over her situation. Something about recent events had started a realization that this was not a relationship she wanted to be in, regardless of whether she had any hope of new love. She began to try to think of a way to let him down easily and in the most respectful way possible.

A week later, the boyfriend unceremoniously dumped her, saying, “my mommy said I can’t tell you why.”

She walked away feeling like the weight of the world had left her shoulders. She immediately remembered her own ex…the dangerous one. The one who quickened her pulse, but who was never a sure thing.

She started packing when she got home.

Last I heard, she was happy.

Synchronicity on ye olde iPod.

Looky what popped up first thing this morning on Rufus.

State of the union.

It’s funny how your situation can be exactly the same, but the removal of things from your hands can bring such a welcome exhale.

As I’ve mentioned many times over the past few months, I am actively seeking employment back in the Nashville area (that I miss so much) or possibly east Tennessee (where I’ve always wanted to live). I’ve toyed with the idea of staying here if nothing developed, but it’s always brought a bit of a sinking feeling.

Tuesday, as I said cryptically last post, that idea officially became not an option. Again–I’ve decided not to go into it for now, but I hope I can offer more of an explanation in the near future. For the record, I’m not leaving in disgrace or anything, and I’m not the only one, but it has been made known to me that I’m not the only one who is planning for me not to teach here again next year .

Though miffed at the absurd set of circumstances that led to this, I walked out that day…strangely relieved. It’s unsettling, as I’ve never left any job, ever, for any reason but my own decision to leave. However, it’s freeing to know that I no longer have the safety net of being stuck in a place I simply do not want to be in anymore.

Yeah, it will mean, most likely, living with the folks again for a while. Honestly, though I know I’ll itch for my independence sooner or later…right now, just chilling with my parents for a while sounds like heaven. And living with them will mean…yep…I’ll be back in Nashville for at least the summer until I find employment. I’m really just ready to get somewhere and stay for a few years. Maybe even buy a house or something crazy like that.

So…if you have any contacts in the areas I mentioned, make sure to tell them you know a blogger teacher barista chick who would be PERFECT for…whatever. Actually, I really do want to stick with teaching, if possible, though I’m open to random coolness. I’ve gotten burned a couple of times now in teaching positions, but it’s still in my heart and I know it doesn’t have to be like it has been.

But, the thing is, it hasn’t been all bad. Just today a kid asked me to sign his senior scrapbook, and after I did, I walked among my class sitting at their computers and milling about in the library and realized I’m going to miss them insanely. I truly love them, and I have hope for them and for myself as their teacher. This can be done, and it can be done by me.

I’m not applying to Metro for various reasons, but I’ve applied to several schools in the area. I’m avoiding religiously-affiliated schools for the moment (which is a-whole-nother blog) as well. I also aim to get back on the college level as soon as is possible–I have an M.A., so I can teach lower-level classes as is and I’m thinking of going back for the doctorate within the next few years. So, if you hear of anything, let me know!

I also want to say I continue to be overwhelmed by the kindness and support of friends who care about me even though I’ve never or rarely seen them face-to-face. This blog and its readers have been a source of sustenance to me in a time when I’ve starved for contact of a sort that is just not available to me here. Thanks.

Onward. I’ve got some tenth-graders who have to pass the Gateway, and seniors who have to pass, period, and I’m pretty sure most of them are going to, but I just have a few more weeks to make my contributions toward that goal. I can’t wait to see them walk the graduation line.

I also can’t wait to eat a Village Burrito at Fido, watch a random foreign film at the Belcourt, and harass former co-workers at the drive-through at my old Starbucks. And shop somewhere besides Wal-Mart! Ah, life.

Per aspera ad astra, and good night.

P.S. My sweet baby lovah done got him a blog-type thing.

I’ve a tale to tell…

…an absurdist, way-too-long, mind-blowing tale, but I’m not at liberty to tell it at the moment.

Suffice it to say, the Thought Police are alive and well.

Suffice it to say, though I’d been planning on most likely making a move after this school year, the events of today have removed all doubt.

Suffice it to say, no door will be hitting me in the posterior as I make my way out of this town for the last time this summer, and suffice it to say there will be no looking back, not even in the rearview mirror.

Y’all find me a job.

It’s Sunday and I’m sick. This is what you get.

1. Serendipity = setting your DVR to record all Austin City Limits episodes and discovering a Ryan Adams one you missed from 2006 on a day when you’re stuck inside because of allergies/sinuses.

2. If “those who can, do” and “those who can’t, teach,” at what point am I going to be allowed to stop doing things all the time?

3. I cannot breathe and sleep at the same time today. I need both, badly.

4. Yesterday, I got to see my family and that was really nice. What was not nice was the realization that I probably weigh as much as my sister these days, though she’s 6 months pregnant. I really do need to do something about this.

5. I am going on a weekend mini-vacation to Asheville, NC, in two weeks. This is what’s getting me through.

6. I wish one of the schools I applied to over spring break would contact me and hire me, but I fear I won’t hear anything until summer.

7. Thanks to all who said nice things on my dad’s blog. It’s surreal to me that he even has one, but I’m proud of him. It still wigs me out that my family reads this rot, but I don’t guess I say anything that they don’t already know or sort of know about me.

8. RIP Charlton Heston. Whatever you can say about him, he was one of the greats. Strangely, I was just thinking of him a couple of days ago, though I can’t remember why. That always happens. I need to stop thinking about random people. It’s how I killed John Denver.

9. I’d like to make it an even 10, but after that, I’m not sure what else I should say. I’m going to try to sleep and breathe simultaneously again, and then I have to finish lesson plans. Happy Sunday.

My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He once wrote: “Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.”

What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.

~Robert F. Kennedy, April 4, 1968