Time is flying

Again, I don't know where the time has gone. I certainly thought I'd be back here much sooner. My boss, the Headmaster, has known for a few weeks that I'll be leaving and now the faculty and staff know as well. I told one former student who told one current student and he doesn't seem to want to tell anyone else, which is fine. I'm sure it will come out soon. It's only eight school days until Spring Break and during that time I will make my final decisions about when I'll actually leave New York. My school responsibilities are due to end by June 16 and then it's only a matter of which day I'll put Webster on a plane and myself on another plane and we'll go to start our new adventure in Portland.

I'm sorting, shredding, selling and packing already. It seems that I'll leave New York with not that much more than what I came back here from Vermont with. In terms of material goods, that is. My experiences are still too fresh to contemplate. That was 1988. A dozen years.

She's leaving home

I didn't realize that it's been almost 2 years since I posted my thoughts here. So much has happened. The upshot of it all is that this will be my last semester here and when I complete my school responsibilities mid-June, I'm leaving New York once again and probably forever.


This wasn't a decision that I had to struggle through to make. I woke up one day and knew it was time to go. The city is pushing me out. It's not a place for a single woman who lives alone and works in a field that doesn't pay enough to afford life here. I have a job I love, so leaving is not going to be easy but the cost of living, of my apartment measured against my salary, proves with each paycheck that I'm not going to make it.


I've decided that I'll blog about this and see if it will help me make the many decisions that I still need to make. I've decided to move to Portland, Oregon. I haven't been there in many years, but I know it's beautiful, has lots of water in the form of rivers and not far from the ocean, the sky is blue, when it's not raining, and there's a lot of green everywhere. I'm looking for a healthier life, an easier life and yes, to be closer to nature. I will also be closer to my best friend, one of my brothers, a lot of cousins and much closer to my mom. I think it's the right thing to do.


I came to New York City in April of 1982. I had just separated from my husband of less than a year and divorce was the only option. My best friend, Lisa, had moved here six months earlier and I came to visit her. I never left. Back in 1982 I was still fearless and once deciding to stay, I hit the pavement looking for work. In those days, one could still personally deliver resumes to companies and if patient, could probably speak to someone that day.


Having been in the music business at that point, my last job being the manager of a recording studio, I went to all of the recording studios and introduced myself, dropped my resume and didn't sit and wait for calls. I walked my feet to the bone and while I didn't get any of the jobs I went out for, it was 1982 and the music business was at a low point, I did get a job working at a major talent agency. I was employed, money would be coming in, I was official.


I got very lucky and after crashing on some friend's couches, I was able to sublet a studio apartment from one of my bosses, also a friend, and lived there for $250 a month for seven years until which time I needed to leave NYC and did for a year and a half. I left again in 1993 for 4 1/2 years to live in Vermont and I've been back 12 years and now I am leaving again. So, out of the 28 years since I came here I've lived here 22. Each time I left I knew I would be back, but not this time. This time may be it.


More thoughts on living and leaving NYC next time.

Done, done, done

I hit the wall just as the last day of school arrived. Crawling into bed seemed like the best thing to do. Unfortunately, I still had to finish writing all of my exams and get through lots of grading. The exams had been "cooking" in my mind for quite some time, so I wasn't starting from scratch but it sure felt like it. I worked all of Friday and that night and went into school both Saturday and Sunday to finish them. Everything was copied, stapled and locked away until exam time, the next day. The literary journal ended up being a more involved project than hoped for, as usual, so some of my time at school was spent putting them together, a tedious job.

I love the school when it's empty of its usual inhabitants. It's true. So, the weekend was busy, but nice, calm. My friend Paula showed up on Sunday to help with the journals, which was super nice. Monday came and went and I spent the next 5 days grading, calculating grades and writing report cards. Yesterday, I went into school and filed all of the report cards and hopefully, that's the end of that. The end. Done.

It was a particularly difficult school year. Not just for me, for everyone. The struggles of the world, the country, are mirrored in the lives of students and teachers; parents and others involved in the life of a student. It's not easy being a student. Still, I hated them most of the year. I hated their unwillingness to leave behind their self-centered ways, their needy behavior, their problems and psychoses. I hated them for not thinking I am brilliant and not hanging on my every word. I hated them for not loving to write papers as I do. I hated them and hated them...and then they went and voted me Teacher of the Year.

What do I know?

28 school days to the end of classes

But who's counting, right? I almost hate them. My students. I'm so sick of them that it's all I can do to keep my attitude in check and get to the work. I don't mean all of them, of course. But most. The senior-itus is running rampant throughout the school and their attitudes don't help the rest of the student body. And the springlike weather isn't helping, either. Luckily, it's a 3 day weekend and I'll have time to rest and sort through my thoughts. Like always, I'll remove the bad ones and allow the good ones to rise above the rest. I'll grade papers and prep for next week. On Tuesday, I'll go to school and be happy to see my students. On Wednesday, I'll do another count on the calendar to pick up my spirits. On Thursday, I'll hate them again. Friday will give me another opportunity to get myself together and this will go on until classes end, exams are graded, report cards are filed, graduation is over, Regents exams are done and, at the end of June, I'll fall flat on my face. Another school year.

No Surprise

I confess. This posting is the same as that on my other blog. I feel it says it all.

Nothing surprises me anymore. At least that’s what I said when the news about Elliot Spitzer hit the airwaves. As a teacher, it's IMPOSSIBLE to suggest any semblance of ethics or morals when our leaders, on all levels, keep either screwing up, screwing us or just plain screwing. My students were not surprised, not even the youngest or, what I hoped would be, the most innocent. And in fact, other than feeling bad for his family, a lot of them really didn't see what all the fuss was about. What was I supposed to say? If anyone, anyone, dares complain about the youth of our country and any improper, illegal or immoral behavior they produce, I just laugh. Who the hell are their role models? Parents and teachers are not enough. We don't make the news. (Well, I was on NY1)
I tried to downplay the news in my classroom, which was impossible with all of the headlines glaring from newspapers and online websites. Nothing, truly, nothing surprises my students. They expect the worst of people and, I have to say, are more forgiving than I am. They have become accustomed to those in positions of power screwing up, screwing off or just screwing. Some thought the governor was a jerk, a louse, a loser, a cheat, a liar for doing what he did and most hoped that he didn't use the taxpayer’s money for his trysts. They did not think about it any more than that. The chances of teaching the importance of knowing right from wrong or anything relating to a moral imperative is rough—wrongdoing, cheating, lying, hypocrisy, stealing—it is all around us. I guess none of us were surprised, after all.

Not surprised that is, until the crane crashed and crushed an entire building. This building sits (sat) right across the street from the bodega where my students shop for their cigarettes (gag) and gum. The crane, sitting at the foot of the new condominiums on 2nd Avenue at 51st Street fell and broke right through all of the buildings on 2nd Avenue resting, finally, on (and crushing) a smaller building on 50th Street. Our school is on 50th Street, not far from this tragedy. Too close for comfort. Everybody was surprised by this…or were they? The neighborhood has been complaining about the size and scope of this building since day one. Many of them have called 311 and the police, worried, complaining about the crane-- watching as it flapped around in the wind. Greed has taken over the City. What else could it be? What else would entice local officials and building inspectors not to recognize that the block can’t house a project of this size? The structure sits on lots where two small buildings once sat, so they built up, not out. It’s just too big.

I’m surprised more people weren’t killed.

Lying, cheating, stealing, screwing our youth out of a life they should be having. Instead, they are jaded, insensitive, and impossible to surprise. This is not to say they aren’t compassionate or caring—most of them are, but most of them aren’t ’t shocked by falls from grace, airplanes or cranes crashing into buildings, death and dying. We are forcing them to grow up too fast. My cheeks redden and tears spring to my eyes when I hear about stabbings and bathtub drownings and dead babies found in dumpsters. Most of my students think it comes with the territory of living. What have we done?

They're Wearing Me Down

I hate to admit this, but they're wearing me down. It's not my style to resent someone for being honest about who they are, however some of these students are impossibly self-centered and selfish. In classes as small as mine, it takes only one strong personality to corral the other students into their clutches. This goes on in all but one of my classes and frankly, it's exhausting. For the first time I'm not sure we're actually getting any work done. Each day is a struggle. And it's not that these kids are bad or negative in any way. In fact, each one is upbeat and lively; not meaning to be rude or disrespectful but also not able to stop talking. Just stop talking. I think this is representative of many students in this country, needing attention and exhibiting power because someone, somewhere has taken their power away. I don't want to take anyone's power away. I just want to do my job. At this point, I'm counting the days until Spring Break. There's so much work to do, so much material to cover that wanting to break away is not the best way to be. They're wearing me down.

Here I Am Again

I barely had a chance to shake off the remains of one semester when I found myself at the end of the second week of the second semester. I've taken to saying that I'm not going to give my students any more assignments, so I don't have to grade any more assignments, but that's just silly. And I know it. The end of the semester papers, essays, portfolios and mid-year exams bled right into the English Regents Exams and before my eyes could rest from all the reading, I was reading the new essays from my new classes. Thus, the English teachers dilemma. There were some disappointing reads, to be sure, but for the most part I'm pretty pleased as to the energy and expression from so many students. Even those who don't like or want to write are pretty good at having their say. There is a certain economy of words being employed and while I generally chalk it up to laziness, after all who doesn't just love to write, I've come to realize that much of it comes from the multitasking habits of the students. Say it, move on. Do it, next. Here today, gone tomorrow.

I have quite a few really talented writers in my classes and reading their stuff is just plain fun. Most of them write about things that I no longer deem important, but to them even the slightest awareness is billed as epiphany, stuff of import, neon lights blazing, the end all...that kind of thing. I must have been like that, but can't remember. It seems I've been like this forever.

I'm acting as sponsor for a former student on his independent project for college. He's writing a collection of short stories and has discovered that what he wanted to do is quite different than what he has been able to do. Writing takes time. His frustration at not knocking out as much as he had anticipated, and signed up for, has taken a turn towards desperation. I am trying to get him to understand that while he hasn't written as much as he thought he would, he hasn't failed. I've asked him to write a process piece, which he wasn't familiar with, that could help round out his project. I hope he can do it. It will make all the difference. Plus, writing about writing is always enlightening. I think.