Ms aposiOpesis

Let go of the dead now.

The rope in the water,

the cleat on the cliff,

do them no good anymore.

Let them fall, sink, go away,

become invisible as they tried

so hard to do in their own dying.

We needed to bother them

with what we called help.

We were the needy ones.

The dying do their own work with

tidiness, just the right speed,

sometimes even a little

satisfaction.  So quiet down.

Let them go.  Practice

your own song.  Now.

–”Letting Go of What Cannot Be Held Back”, from Playing the Black Piano, Bill Holm, 2004

I first heard of–and met–the large, ebullient, red-faced Icelander over twenty years ago when I signed up for some poetry/creative writing workshop at my St. Cloud, Minnesota, college.  Bill Holm had just published Boxelder Bug Variations, and I was intrigued by the freshness, the humor, the seriousness, the twinkle.

Many years later, I suddenly found myself teaching English at a tiny little school in a tiny little town that just happened to be not only Bill Holm’s hometown–and current residence–but his muse, his tether, his theme, his kingdom.

It wasn’t completely accidental, of course.  During my interview for the teaching job, his name and acclaim were brought up as a way of sweetening the deal.

It worked.

For the nearly seven years I’ve worked here, I’ve seen Bill Holm speak in a variety of contexts, spoken to him in awe as he peeked into my classroom, driven by his house with a sense of fan-girl curiosity, and admired both reading and teaching his printed word.  While I’ve never–and will never–share his appreciation for the desolate prairie (I’m a “tree person” as he would say), I do share a Scandinavian Lutheran background, a Liberal mindset, and a love for wit, humor, and travel.

And a love of Walt Whitman.

Reading his essays, his poems, is like looking in a mirror and finding I share part of myself with a middle-aged bearded man with a hearty voice and a love of ale and chat.

It’s not a bad place to be.  Ever.

When I began teaching my Advanced Placement Language course one of his books of essays (The Heart Can Be Found Anywhere on Earth) centered around the very town in which I spend the vast majority of my time, three schoolyears ago, I was nearly giddy when reading certain of his pieces.  My class teased me the entire year about my schoolgirlish crush on the man, and kept threatening to stop by his house to tell him of my undying love.  Since I had thought about getting up the courage to ask him to speak to my class, this was a major problem.

I never did ask him–he spoke about the same essays in another English course taught by another English teacher (Aaron Cheadle, who also happens to live across the street from Bill)–and now I never will be able to.

Bill Holm died last night, in Sioux Falls.  We thought we’d lost him a couple of years back when he suffered major heart trouble, but he pulled through to keep carrying around Walt Whitman and leading Boxelder Bug Days, and even kept teaching at the local University until retiring this past year.

Every summer, he conducted an Icelandic travel and writing seminar, and I always wanted to come up with the money to go.  It was a dream of mine.

And last night…he left us.

And, like he wrote above, I still want to bother him and call it help.

Goodbye, Bill.  I will look for you in the grass.

Tags: Holm, Minneota, obituary, teaching, Whitman

I spent a lot of time at the local clinic yesterday, and that always means some excellent quality people-watching.  I was not, indeed, disappointed.

Soon after I sat down at the first station, a young couple–maybe 28, 30 years old each–sat next to me.  Man and woman.

I heard them before I saw them, and my first impression was that they were an adolescent boy and his mother; unfortunately, in hindsight, I see that I was, for all intents and purposes, correct, even if this was, in reality, a romantic couple (living together or married).

The, uh, “man” of the couple was engrossed in his cell phone, playing games and checking things without looking up.  He was complaining, in a very annoying high and whiny voice (hence my first thought of his age) about something not coming in on time at Wal*Mart.  He was very short with his partner.  She was very quiet and trying to be soothing.  He ended his little pity fest by saying, “Why do we always have to wait for things at this Wal*Mart?”

Waaaaaah.  I assumed, by his chat, some electronic gadget or movie release–he knew what date something was supposed to be released.

This couple’s conversation–if you could call it that, as not once did he look at his partner or stop playing with his toy–soon devolved into petty bickering.  The female half of the couple was, at least, attempting to be discreet, but the guy?  He was, it seems, one of those persons who desperately needs an audience for everything he says and does, and expects not only his wife but random strangers to notice his every move.

I suspect strongly that if there had not been a waiting room full of uncomfortable strangers desperately wishing for the ability to turn off hearing as one closes one’s eyes, his little snit wouldn’t have happened at all.

The disagreement ended with the man saying, “You never listen to me” (oh, the irony…we all had to listen to him, Dear God) and his wife replying, timidly and oh-so-quietly, “You never listen to me.”  To which he replied, “So, why are we talking?”

I had to ask myself, “So, why are you two together?”  It was obvious that this was their normal means of communicating.  Neither was upset in the least.  This was exactly how they normally relate to each other.

How horrifying.  But it gets worse.

After we’d been there awhile, a nurse came out to speak to them.  She told them, very discreetly, that they’d have to wait for results a little while longer.  The patient–the woman of the couple–thanked the nurse and the nurse left.

Immediately, the man began complaining.  He said he had better things to do than to sit there and wait.

He then listed the things he had to do, loudly, intermixing the catalog with repeated choruses of “I’ve got a busy day!”  He had to go to the bank, he had to go home and check his mail, and he had to run one more errand. All of these were things that were within ten blocks of this clinic.

It was, at this time, about 11:30 in the morning.

“I got a busy day!” pout, petulant whine, pout.  I wanted to turn around, desperately, and say, “Oh, grow up, you pathetic loser.”  But I held back.

But it got still worse.

A couple of minutes later, he asked his wife–loudly, of course, and while he was still playing his phone (and accidentally taking photos with it that he didn’t mean to do)–”Did you get your shot yet?”

She answered in the negative, and that they had to wait for results on this test before she got her shot.  Her husband began to laugh annoyingly.  Finally showing some spunk, she turned to him and said, “What’s so funn!” in a strong voice.

His response?  I kid you not…it was, “Ha ha, you still have to get poked in the arm!  Ha ha!”

Not two minutes after this, Sir I’m-So-Great needed a Kleenex, and there was a box about five feet away on a railing.  He asked her to get him one or two, which she dutifully did.  Obviously, getting the Kleenex was a task too menial for him.  Then…oh, man, I really wish I were kidding…without even words, she took his used Kleenex and found a waste receptacle for it.

The way this was done showed that this was always the way it was; no words were exchanged.

But it still gets worse.

Just before I got called to leave the waiting room, it became clear what the couple was there for–and not because I was eavesdropping but because the man refused to speak in lower tones.  Indeed, as I said before, he wanted an audience.  He was that arrogant, that needy of adoring attention.  This came about because he asked her, point blank, “What’ll you do if you’re pregnant?  Put off the rest of college until it’s, what, two?”

It was obvious she was there for her regular Depo (contraceptive) shot, and before she could get it, she had to have a negative pregnancy test.  Simple.  Not a big deal…unless you’re this guy.

They were a couple.  His earlier conversation proved to me that these two were at least living together, if not married, and shared at least bank accounts.  Therefore, any contraceptive measures were *theirs*, not *hers*, and, dear God, any child would be *theirs* and not *hers*.

But, no.  He asked, “What’ll YOU do if you’re pregnant.”  In a tone that suggested that none of this was his concern, and for the love of God, did she think he could spend a half-hour in a damn waiting room (laughing at her getting a shot) while there was mail to be retrieved?!?

This guy was not handsome.  Quite the opposite.  He was fairly…let’s be generous and say “unattractive, physically.”  The woman wasn’t magazine-cover beautiful, but she was an attractive young woman with a bright, friendly face.

Why are they together?  I sat there and tried to figure that out.  Tried to figure out what would have drawn this woman to this man–it wasn’t his looks.  It wasn’t his personality.  I doubt he was wealthy by the way he talked (and his older-model cell phone), not that I think wealth is a good reason to date/marry someone.  He had, as far as I witnessed, absolutely nothing going for him, and many marks against him.

Yet, he had a wife who was willing to be berated while waiting for a pregnancy test, to be belittled in public, to throw away used Kleenexes, and to be what appeared receptacle for his sexual pleasure (since all the repurcussions would be hers alone).

I had to leave before they did (or I’m sure I would have heard, loudly, any test results broadcast by him), but since then, I’ve just been hoping that her test was negative.  That dynamic between them?

Shouldn’t be raising children.

If that makes me elitist, so be it.  I can accept that.

And, also?  Thank God for my husband.  The contrast between these two men couldn’t be more marked.  I would expect from a true partner neither overbearing strength nor chronic weakness (and I hope to exhibit neither myself but I’ll refrain from saying I manage this), and I am so very, very happy to have a strong, decent, kind, adult husband.

Tags: people-watching, relationships

Because I live in a democratic Republic, where civil rights are not majority rule, and equality is something we promise to protect in our Constitution.

Because commitment should always be supported.

Because I’m in love with my best friend, and he and I enjoy benefits by legally marrying, and others should have the same.

For my stepdaughter, my friends, my family members who should have every right to happiness, joy, and family that I have.

This.  Video.

Don\’t Divorce Us

Tags: family, HRC, marriage, personal, political, Prop8

As an addendum to yesterday’s blog, a communication I sent to Governor Pawlenty, R-MN, this afternoon, via his website:

Dear Mr. Governor:

I’m writing to let you know that your continued vetoing of statewide health insurance for Minnesota’s teachers, and your general non-support for Minnesota teachers and education, is forcing me to choose between continuing to teach or putting my life at risk without health coverage.

I live in outstate Minnesota (Marshall), and I teach in a small district.  My health insurance currently costs me over $500/month (after my district’s contribution) for individual coverage.

I’ve recently married, and my husband is without insurance.  To put him on my policy, I would be paying $1230/month–out of pocket.

Before we ever saw a doctor.

Worse, our rates are going to increase in July by at least 20%.  I will be paying just under $1500/month for insurance for the two of us–and I only make $28,000 (2008 W-2) to begin with (and my husband makes less than $15,000 a year at the same district, without any benefits, as a paraprofessional).

We cannot live like this.  And I blame you.  We Minnesota teachers have tried, repeatedly, to pool our insurance resources, only to be thwarted by you and/or the Legislature time and again.  This past year’s veto was absolutely a kick in the teeth for each one of us.

We are already pooling through our local service cooperative, and I had to laugh, bitterly, at your recent call for all districts to pool for resources—you only call for that until it comes to statewide insurance.  That, you will not LET us pool!

My income will not increase for next year, but my insurance will—dramatically.  I have two college degrees and seven years experience as a teacher who regularly works ten-, twelve-, and fourteen-hour days.

I deserve to be able to keep my job and get health care and I shouldn’t have to choose between them.

Shame on you.

–Karla Olson
Marshall, MN

Right now, I’m unsure what to do.  I have pre-existing conditions that would make it impossible to find alternative insurance for me.  This also means I cannot go without coverage.

Oy.

Tags: health, insurance, Pawlenty, salary

Bad News: Our district, like every other one in the country, is facing cuts.  Whence they’ll come is yet to be decided, but we fortunately have administration that is willing to keep us updated, is trying to discuss, and, honestly, is making me feel like we are all in this together on one team.

Our Superintendent addressed us at our faculty meeting today and gave us a timeline of when decisions will be made, priorities, and a summary of what we’re hearing from the Governor (blech–Pawlenty has messed with education every chance he’s gotten) and the State Legislature.

We’re not as bad off as some districts, yet–we’re starting with a healthy fund balance–but, well, the next couple of years are not going to be pleasant.  Things are scary all over, in every field (except, perhaps, for bars and foreclosure attorneys), and I’m still employed, so I shouldn’t complain too loudly.

I’m frightened of the upcoming economic realities–no pay increase but my insurance will increase dramatically even without adding my husband.  However, we do need to insure us both, and right now, the monthly premiums would take the vast majority of my paycheck.  Vast.  Majority.  You heard me correctly.

Don’t know what we’ll do.

Good News: Just when things seem their darkest, however, something always comes along down the hallway at work to brighten things up.  Just as I’m questioning my career choice (well, just a little) based solely on the financial aspects, kids do amazing things to make me realize how lucky I am to be a teacher, how happy this job makes me.

Today is my birthday, and at my age, it’s not something I really expect anyone aside from my parents and husband to notice all that much.  However, during my prep period this morning, the seniors all strode in led by a colleague and friend (thanks, Shuckhart!), and surprised me by serenading me with “Happy Birthday.”  It was awesome.

All day long, students–some of whom I don’t even currently teach–waved and said, “Happy Birthday, Ms Olson!” or ducked in my room to say so.

My sophomores–taking a cue I missed–also sang to me.  (And this after I lectured them about their cohort’s behavior yesterday, even!)

An eighth-grader left me a chocolate heart on my desk (thanks, Cinthia!), and last night at Mock Trial practice?  Matt casually walked past my desk, deposited a So-Be Liz Blizz (my favorite indulgence, and one I’d paid him to pick up for me on his daily trek to the convenience store weeks earlier), and said as I was surprised and digging for a couple of bucks, “Nope…it’s a freebie.  Happy Birthday!”

I love these kids.  I really, really do.  I love, love, LOVE my job.  Even on bad days, it’s still more fun, and more satisfying, and more challenging than anything I’ve ever done.

Today was a good day.  Tomorrow?  I guess I’ll deal with that…tomorrow.

Edit:  Editing–was interrupted earlier.  Fixed stuff, added links.

Tags: birthday, budget, cuts, kids, Pawlenty