This headline worries me:

Healy Health Tip: Viagra for Jet Lag?

'A terrific study on the neurobiology of jet lag just appeared in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences', no fly-by-night journal, I assure you. It has created an international splash and serves up fodder for late-night TV. That's not because it happens to be an elegant study of biological clocks in hamster brains. Rather it's because the chemical the researchers from Buenos Aires used to successfully help the hamsters adjust to the equivalent of a forward time shift, such as a trip from New York to London, was none other than sildenafil. Viagra, that is. Even a low dose insufficient to affect male erectile function had a beneficial effect, though the higher doses worked better.'

NO!

I am especially concerned since I am about to make a long trip over the Atlantic...by myself! And most men are like. so. totally. gross! Argh! And so are hamsters!

It's a good thing my mom sent me to college fully aware of how to walk confidently so as not to be bothered, how to scream loudly if a stranger approaches, and how to hold a key as a weapon (I won't even mention the pepper spray, the whistle, and the personal belt loop alarm she packed in my luggage).

Also thank goodness for the school security guard who, during a teacher inservice, taught me to PRACTICE screaming so that my vocal chords will work when I need them. She also taught me to yell (and I quote), "Get the hell away from me you mother f*cking a#$hole!! I'll show you "a f*cking good time". Do you like crazy, b*@ch? Yeah. Come to momma, you P#*$y. Let me introduce you to a friend of mine called Genital Herpes!

Hellllp!!

Fiiiiire!!"

(We actually practiced this at school. Nothing fulfills a person more than hearing their school librarian or the 80 year old math curmudgeon take part in this "exercise.")

The security guard also told me to leave something behind at the crime scene so that the authorities could know how to find my body in a more timely manner, since, according to her, the a$@hole would car jack me, murder me (after the obligatory assault, of course), and then leave my body in Death Valley - apparently a very difficult place for finding bodies. And, after all, my family will appreciate the immediate closure.

Cheery, right? So you can see my cause for concern here. No one needs extra excuse, "jet lag" Viagra to perpetuate the situation!

Fortunately for me, the article ends with, "Since Viagra is known to cause blood-pressure drops and chest pain in those who have heart disease, this could be risky when you're flying high across the ocean far from a good emergency room. For now, I'd make those no-smoking flights Viagra-free too."

Whew. That was close.

Fear culture, indeed!

**Disclaimer - I do believe in protecting women, and I do believe that education and awareness do save women from horrendous crimes. And you better believe that I will be screaming if someone approaches me in a sinister way, and I will park under street lights. I won't be afraid to ask someone (even a security officer) to walk with me when I feel afraid, and I know there is safety in numbers. This is part of my Womanifesto.

**Disclaimer again - I have no idea why some of the profanity ended up as links, but I am wildly amused at this.. I guess blogger decided we needed some more enlightenment?

Poppies

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn't a place
in this world that doesn't

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it's done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

-Mary Oliver

(photo, "poppies at montreaux 07," captured and shared by Mark B)

A taboo subject airing out on the line

Perhaps it is considered tacky to air out one's laundry on a blog, but then I consider my blog part of my community. I know that the majority of you are my dearest friends, and the rest of you are people with whom I'd like to be friends or have in my community. Also, I have NEVER begrudged anyone their emotions in the blogosphere. I usually put my hand over my heart and and sometimes touch the monitor when I read an especially heart wrenching post because if I know the writer, I want to hug her because I love her and can identify. If I don't know the writer, I want to hug her because I love her and can identify. There are times when we just need to metaphorically sit with each other and recognize that we are all together, with each other - being human together. So today it's my turn.

Until Sunday, I was two weeks shy of being through my first trimester. I was pregnant. The baby had a heart. She had a brain and fingers and toes. She had ears and a nose. She even had a name. I was pretty sure I had lost her on Sunday evening, but found out for certain yesterday.

This pregnancy was a surprise, as far as pregnancies can be. I didn't figure we were even able to have kids, which was pretty much fine with me since I teach school and am constantly playing mother to my students. In fact, I was sort of pissed off about being pregnant because it "wasn't the plan."

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a list maker. There is always a plan. If the plan goes out of order or is interrupted, it crushes my soul (Thanks, OCD). I have to actually PLAN to be spontaneous.

So, the overall plan was to go to Spain, to Machu Picchu, to continue traveling East until I was brave enough to go to India and Asia. I (have always)wanted to live in Britain and be in the places where my favorite writers walked. I wanted to go at least for the summer (possibly do some sort of teaching exchange there), if I couldn't make the move a reality. I've applied to several programs and have done tons of research.

I've never been very maternal anyway, and couldn't imagine wanting to change my lifestyle. I loved that if I wanted to, I could hop on a plane for a last minute adventure. I was a size 6 for the first time since high school. I had major bikini plans.

So, the pregnancy made me a bit bitter and sad (my plan was certainly interrupted), and I felt like I didn't want the baby at first. The shock turned into embarrassment and then to anger at myself for being so selfish. Finally, I got used to the idea. I started thinking about cribs and diaper bags and names. I started planning financially and began looking at day cares and insurance policies. My family, for the most part, was so happy. The first grand kid was on her way! This part was both fun and stressful, but manageable. And I started to talk to the baby, and plan with her. She was becoming a reality and I was learning to be excited, like Rich who was completely over the moon about it.

The entire time I was pregnant, I was bleeding. I knew that that was bad, but I also knew that it happens. Every doctor visit was stressful because we were so worried about what they would tell us. But I was almost finished with my first trimester, the time when things were supposed to be more "safe". I didn't let myself get too excited about that, but I did start cautiously whispering the news to some of my friends who were really excited for us.

Then it happened.

I am such a control freak. I knew it was happening, but because I'm me, I tried to will myself to stop it, physically even. I made a doctor appointment the very next day. The news was hopeful. My body still 'felt' pregnant.

But then there was yesterday.

I can't describe to you the loneliness and silence associated with looking at an empty uterus on a sonogram screen. It is almost ridiculously calm (or maybe still is the better word), and maybe would've been so had my heart not been sinking with the realization that I was staring at nothing. Nothing was there. There was nothing.

Rich was not able to be with me and I have never felt so completely by myself.

When a doctor came in to talk to me about "options," I couldn't look up. I couldn't respond or blink or breathe. The doctor put her hand on my wrist and stood there, probably praying for me, but I couldn't imagine why anyone would pray over nothing on a screen. It was too late for prayer.

I only sort of heard what she was saying, and I know that I received a shot of some sort and signed some paperwork to do with surgery next week. I had to initial a disclaimer that it wasn't the doctor's fault if I died on the operating table and something about a transfusion.

I immediately started calling my family, irrationally apologizing to Rich first because I felt (feel) some sort of responsibility for losing the baby.(Maybe I didn't want her enough, or worse, maybe she didn't want me.) I started writing to people who knew about the pregnancy, and throwing away calendars that had due dates and weeks numbered. I threw away all of my "baby" lists, and cancelled all of the up coming appointments. I threw away the mother's day cards I received this year, and unsubscribed from the "this is what your baby looks like at ___weeks" newsletter I was receiving.

No one knows quite what to say to me, and some people say the silliest things. Some people are mean without meaning to be, and some are insensitive. But it's weird because even these things are said in an attempt to comfort. They're said in love.
The worst is when people say things like, 'These things happen for a reason.' No they don't. There is no 'reason' in a miscarriage. There is not a rationale, at least not one that I can accept right now. Or they say, 'Probably something was wrong with the baby and this is God's gentle and natural way of taking care of that defect." Uh. So God aborts some babies, but not all of them, and yours is the one he picked today (and we give him credit for all of the healthy, 'miracle' babies who weren't 'defective' at ten weeks?). Reason doesn't play into this one. But like I said, these things were said out of concern.

There are some people who have said wonderfully beautiful things. My favorites are that "in some beautiful way, our bodies reabsorb most of the baby, which means that baby is and will always be a part of you." Another is that I "will always be a moma. From now on and forever, and that because the baby was in me, I can know that the life she had was happy." Or, "Having a miscarriage doesn't mean that you can't eventually have a baby, but we need to mourn this baby right now. This is a loss and it's OK to be sad."

And those of you who simply cry with me and tell me "I love you" over and over.. That's the most valuable. That's all I need. I NEED "I love you".

I don't know why women don't talk about this sort of loss. I guess it is considered too personal. Or maybe it's just too sad. Or maybe unless you can't say 'I love you' to someone or you haven't been in the situation and find it awkward (which it is), it's easier to just not talk about it. I don't know. I find it horrifying that so many women have endured this loss, and that we can't be vulnerable with each other about it.

It's just a sad, sad time. I am fighting irrational thoughts, which is 'normal' from what I understand, and my hormones are going crazy. Physically, I'm not 'finished' with the miscarriage since it is a process, and I have to constantly think about it. It's painful and gut wrenching, both physically and emotionally.

I'm going to be OK, but not today. And that's OK.

So that's the laundry, uncomfortably aired out on my blog. So sit with me if you want. Be with me here in this comfortably uncomfortable space.

She Talks To Angels - The Black Crowes

Jars Of Clay - Work

College Revisited

Black Moon Creeping - The Black Crowes

Wonderwall - Oasis

Been Caught Stealing - Janes Addiction

Give it Away - RHCP

Drown - The Smashing Pumpkins

TAKS SCHMAKS

I hate that TAKS makes teachers feel like they haven't done their jobs properly. What's worse is when the administrators put undue pressure on their teachers or judge them according to their students' test results. When I taught juniors (exit level TAKS), I had one class that performed beautifully! I think 98% of them passed. In my other class, I had something like 74% pass. I used the same strategies in both classes. There was little variation in my teaching. So why the huge difference?

Because kids are all different!

I read in the Arlington Star Telegram that over 40,000 kids in Texas did not graduate this year because of TAKS. This is an indication that there is something wrong with the test and the system, not the teachers.

I find it wildly hilarious that W thinks he is improving the national educational system with policies that hurt the teachers and the children (see No Child Left Behind, for example), and he comes from the state that is low man on the totem pole (nationally)as far as education is concerned. What are we? Third from the bottom?

There is a bright spot, though. TAKS is on its way out, at least for higher levels, and so is W. Maybe there is hope for education.All of that means that it isn't about how well you do your job!

When I interviewed at my high school, I asked my wonderful principal, "How are the TAKS scores at AHS?" He said, "Oh, I can't remember. I think the results are buried on my desk somewhere." I grinned and knew that I wanted to work for him. He also constantly talks about the fact the what's important to our kids is not a test that tells them whether or not they can take a test well. What's important is the character building and the experiences they take with them into the real world.

That's not to say that curriculum is not important. It is! It just means that there is no pressure to teach to the test. It turns out that our school is one of the top ten schools in the metroplex. We are among the top 10 who have the fewest number of kids who need remedial classes when they get to college. Is there a correlation between not teaching to the TAKS and college preparedness? I am starting to think so.

I do think there needs to be some sort of standard for graduation, and I think there needs to be some sort of measure of teacher effectiveness in the classroom. Both of these make for better students and teachers. The TAKS test is not that measure for either.

Whew.

The point is:

HEY TEACHERS!

Don't worry about those stupid numbers. They really don't say anything about you OR about your kids.

Oh and Happy Summer in 5 days!

(Taking Sides Is Too Easy.)

"Please Call Me By My True Names"
- Thich Nhat Hanh

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive every second
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, whose wings are still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope,
the rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly
metamorphosing on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird which, when spring comes,
arrives in time to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily
in the clear of a pond,
and I am also the grass snake who,
approaching in silence, feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean,
after being raped by a sea pirate,
and I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man
who has to pay his "debt of blood" to my people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom.
my pain is like a river of tears,
so full it fills up the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can bear all my cries and my laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are but one.

Please call me by my true names,
so that I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

Green Peas Take The Field

Hey, check out the up-and-coming Green Pea site if you haven't already! Maybe we can make them an international community. So, love 'em and link 'em!

Here's an adorable excerpt from one of the Corduroy Kid's latest posts regarding the group's Sunday "field trip" or search to find their new community center:

'we spied a distant shadowy figure in the romantic mist, standing by what looked like a plume of smoke coming out of a barrel. Someone was having a fire in the rain! I waved at the figure and gestured somehow (I forget exactly how) as if to say 'can we come in?'

To our enormous and palapable joy, he waved back, signalling for us to come round to the other side, near where we had originally parked the car. Great! I thought, this is it ~ it could only mean one thing, couldn't it? Squatters!

Excitedly, thinking this was our big break ~ we would easily now make friends with these lovely people, and then of course the rest would be history ~ I urged the others to run with me around the building, we were like puppies slipping and sliding with brollies akimbo, rushing to meet our new soon-to-be-best-friends.

Turned out of course that the individuals were, bizarrely, a somewhat well-dressed group of Romanians, paid to live in and look after the property to protect it from, you guessed it, squatters!'[for more go here]

Also see NewSov and RPMT for other revolutionizing visions.

Quote of the Day

"Mrs. H, it's not our fault you have such a crappy attention span. Seriously. You make a gold fish look attentive!" -Ruben G.

He's right. Remember. This is how my brain works. No wait. It's like this.