The Impersonator

Posted on by stilllearning2b

With the advent of the warm weather, Brock and I have taken to practically living on the porch. The house is surrounded by mature trees and shrubs, which provide food and shelter for numerous birds. And squirrels. Always squirrels.

We enjoy sitting with our beverages and watching the live Nat Geo production unfold around us. Several weeks ago, Tiger became interested in the drama, taking an unusual obsession with one corner of the deck where a small tree has wrestled its way through the concrete that surrounds the driveway. We noticed that a blue jay seemed to take special interest in the beast around the same time, often protesting the dog’s presence with loud squawks while practicing an aerial routine fit for the Blue Angels.

During one of these early episodes of bird vs. pit bull, I heard the unmistakable screech of a hawk from high up in a maple that towered above us. I scanned the branches, looking for the large bird that was sounding the warning.

“Look. There it is! It’s a blue jay!” exclaimed Brock, pointing to a much smaller bird than expected whose beak was indeed moving in concert with the avian screams.

I had to chuckle. When the warnings of the blue jay weren’t enough to frighten Tiger, the clever bird decided to impersonate a much larger hunter.

Tiger, being a confident sort of dog, was unimpressed.

But I was.

I had fallen for the ruse, believed that the cry came from a hawk on the hunt rather than its songbird cousin.

It led me to contemplate all of the impostors I have encountered in my own life, from my ex husband pretending to be loving to an innocent basement impersonating a dragon’s lair. I had fallen more than once for the mask, not looking to see what was really hidden in the depths.

Mimicry is ubiquitous in the animal kingdom.

And it’s important to remember that we are members of that kingdom as well.

Things are not always as seem.

Take the time to look. To listen.

Be more like Tiger who approached without assumptions and let his other senses connect the dots to conclude that there was no threat (not that he would find a hawk all that frightening either!).

And less like a human, leading with the ego of experience and expectations.

 

And I’m happy to report our little deck-side drama has a happy ending. A little searching that day revealed a nest buried down in the small tree next to the deck. Inside the nest were three newly hatched blue jays, blindly looking for their next meal. We trained Tiger to avoid the area for the next several weeks as we watched the young birds grow and eventually leave the safety of their nest.

And we haven’t heard the screech of the false hawk since; the need for the mask has past.

photo-20

 

Karma

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m excited to announce that I will be appearing (along with my always-supportive mom) in an episode of Karma’s A B*tch on Investigation Discovery this Thursday, May 29. Check it out!

And meanwhile…

Image

Dependable

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My husband made me cry today.

Yeah, I know. He didn’t really “make me” cry. I have the choice in how I respond, blah, blah, blah.

Because the way I see it today is that his actions could have led to no other response.

 

Let me explain and let’s see if you agree.

Today was Lisa Arends’ terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.

It started on my early morning commute to work. I was a couple miles from the house this morning when my “check engine” light came on and the car started feeling funny. I immediately pulled into a parking lot and shut off the engine even as I dialed my husband on my cell.

I’ve been playing a bit of Russian Roulette with this car for the past few years. I bought it new 15 years ago. Yeah, 15. When I bought it, I wasn’t even married the first time yet. Hell, I was barely of legal drinking age. For the most part, it has been dependable, but it’s of an age where a fatal incident may come at any time.

But I’m not ready yet. I’m still about 9 months away from cleaning up the rest of the financial mess that my lovely ex left for me and, until that is done, I don’t have the extra cash on hand for a car payment. Plus, I also still have his parting gift of bad credit to deal with. So, needless to say, that glaring red light on my dash this morning felt like the eye of Smaug before I was to be stricken from this earth.

I felt horrible waking up my husband, still recovering from surgery, but I had to get to work to handle the yearbook distribution. Without a grumble, he picked me up, ferried me to school, contacted his mechanic friend and waiting with my car until AAA showed up with a tow truck.

But I wasn’t crying yet.

The yearbooks went okay. Everything else? Not so much.

The graphing calculators, instrumental for the today’s lesson, must have been visited by some vampire version of the Energizer Bunny last night, as all of their batteries decided to drain en masse. And the school’s stock of AAA (not the auto company!) batteries in the last week of school? Let’s just say weak.

I managed to beg, borrow and steal enough batteries to cobble together the lesson. So far, so….okay. But then one of the critical websites disappeared. Not okay. I scrambled to find a work around while my kids (did I mention last week of school) got ever nuttier. The day was capped off by one of my students telling me he hated me and hated my class. If you’ve ever thought being around middle schoolers all day is sunshine and roses, you may need to take a Saturday trip to mall. And then try to make the random teenagers do math.

A coworker was driving me home where I was supposed to go with my husband to pick up the car. On the way, I received a text, “Will you grab my wallet out of the driver’s side door of my car on your way in?”

“Sure,” I responded.

Minutes later, I struggled to locate his wallet with my purse strangling me and my suitcase-sized lunch bag (no joke) bumping into my car behind me.

My car!?!

I’m embarrassed to admit it took me a few moments (a few meaning several here) to notice that my car was in the garage. I blame emotional exhaustion.

I bolted upstairs.

“What, why, how…?”

“I took care of it.”

He then referenced an old conversation. He used to ride motorcycles back when we met. He sold his bike when he decided it was too risky. Ever since, he’s been talking about getting a Corvette in its place at some point in the near future. I expressed some reservations, mainly arising from my own fears. I worried that if a Corvette was in the picture and my car suffered a premature death, that I would be in a bind. He assured me during that conversation that he had my back.

“Do you remember when we talked about the Corvette and I said I had your back with your car?”

“Yes.”

“Today I showed it.”

 

The cost.

The stress of dealing with it.

The uncertainty of work while being carless.

All done.

Taken care of.

See. How could I not cry?

In most ways, I trust him easily now. But when it comes to money and my basic needs (like a car), it’s harder for me to be dependent on someone else.

I depended before, and I was horribly burned.

But that was then, and this is now.

And after today, when he says, “I’ve got your back,” I’ll trust him to catch me if I fall.

Just as the tears are falling now.

 

And, yeah, he IS a keeper!

 

 

 

Baptism By Tears

Posted on by stilllearning2b

September 12, 2001 was my first day in a classroom as a teacher.

I walked into that classroom still shocky and raw, my face puffy and eyes red from a sleepless night spent watching the news. My body protested its now-upward stance, wanting to re-establish the fetal curl that it had formed for the last day.

I walked into that classroom still unsure of the state of the country and even more unsure of my role with these students. I wanted someone to tell me it was going to be okay. I wanted someone to tell me what to do. But now I was the one who was supposed to the calming and the directing.

I walked into that classroom and saw dozens of faces, questioning and scared, mirroring my own. I may have been the teacher, but this was one lesson I didn’t know the answer to.

The pledge that morning broke out of its usual autopilot, each word felt as well as spoken. During the moment of silence that followed, more than one tear dripped from mournful eyes, falling silently onto the carpeted floor.

We gathered together that day, more than one class filling a room. It was as though we needed the support of numbers and feared the threat of isolation. Without prompting, the students arranged the chairs to form a messy circle. They understood that in order to get though this, they needed to be united.

As the morning progressed, the teachers pushed their own fears and sorrows aside in order to tend to those of the students. They told stories. They asked questions. We listened and we talked. One student had a parent that was still unaccounted for. Another had an uncle working the front lines. We may have been hundreds of miles away from ground zero, but we were only inches away from tragedy.

The boundaries of teacher and student blurred on that day. We were all reduced to the lowest common denominator of humanness. And nothing else mattered. It was a moment between.

Over the next few days, we re-asssumed the roles of teachers and students, the former safely tucking emotions away in order to be the stoic guide.

It was a strange introduction to teaching.

A baptism by tears.

 

Years later, I again entered a classroom with my face stained and puffy from lack of sleep and an excess of tears. But this was a personal tragedy, one that I did not share with the students. I tried to remain stoic and composed, but sometimes the pain broke through. And even though we never spoke of it, the students somehow knew. And they met my vulnerability with compassion and patience. They never questioned my absences or my laspes in attention.  They may never know how much their kind words or unexpected hugs helped me through that year.

 

It was a reminder that we are all students as well as teachers.

That vulnerability can be embraced rather than attacked.

And that tears are a christening that we all understand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alert Levels

Posted on by stilllearning2b

As a country, we became familiar with alert levels in travel after 9/11. We felt the apprehension of a code red and perhaps even modified our plans. We grew comfortable with the ever-present code orange, understanding that some level of threat is always present, even while dreaming of a day when all airports operate under a code green.

These alert levels were accepted as prudent. It was not a way of assuming culpability for the attacks nor was it lamented that we shouldn’t have to be alert. Rather, it was simply an acknowledgement that we needed to pay attention and respond to any information coming in.

As someone who faced deception and betrayal in her marriage, I became familiar with alert levels in relationships. And I realized and rectified the mistake the  mistake I made in my first marriage.

Relationship Code Red

There are times when all the sirens should be sounding. This is an appropriate alert level if you discover deception or face abuse. In those cases, proceed cautiously and call for back-up. Often, one or both partners is operating in a code red even when there no triggers within the marriage. This can arise from prior relationships or from insecurity, where fear is sounding a false alarm. A healthy relationship cannot exist under prolonged code red conditions. Get help or get out.

Relationship Code Orange

I think this is a healthy alert state for the infancy of a relationship. It can be all too easy to fall with the heart and leave the brain behind. No matter the attraction, it is important to remember that the person is still largely unknown to you. This is a time to question and verify. In an established relationship, a code orange is sounded when there are perceived significant difficulties – a lack of intimacy or connection, a lie, a breaking of a boundary. It is a reminder to be aware of your partner and your circumstances. It may be a minor blip that can be corrected easily or it may require outside assistance. Prolonged code orange isn’t healthy; it leads to a marriage filled with suspicions and doubts. Listen to the alert. It’s telling you to pay attention.

Relationship Code Yellow

A code yellow is not necessarily cause for alarm. It is an appropriate level during times of change – birth of child, new job, a move. All of these place new demands on the relationship and it is smart to be aware of potential complications. It is a reminder to not put your spouse or your marriage on autopilot, to be present in your relationship. Think of it as a nudge. If ignored, the threat level can easily escalate. But just a little attention can put things back on the right track.

Relationship Code Green

This is the ideal state for a healthy, established relationship that is built on trust. The alert system is on, yet it is reporting no threats.

So the mistake I made? After getting to know my ex husband, I turned off the alert system. I trusted him. I trusted him to remain trustworthy. Now, who knows? Even if my alarm system was fully operational, his brilliant deceptions may still have gone unnoticed. And it’s certainly no excuse for his behavior. But that’s no reason for me not to do my part.

So now my relationship alert system is on and fully operational, humming along at code green.