Don't think this means I've made peace with it, but...

**Disclaimer** Please be aware that what you are about to read contains an over-use of quotation marks and perhaps borders a bit too much on satirical humor. So much so that it becomes, dare I say it, cynical at moments. You don’t have to read it, but if you do, please refrain from giving me “advice.”

What I began blogging about isn’t what I finished thinking about. Like Colbie, I had to begin again, but in a much different context. Of course it was—she’s in another league, another breed, falls in and out of love 8 times a year. And she sells lots of albums telling us about it. On that note, how is everybody getting married? I don’t get it. And it’s not just a small percentage of the population, it’s EVERYONE. I mean, some people manage to get married multiple times. What is going on there? What are they able to do a lot of that I can’t do any of? Pretty sure I belong on another planet. Pretty sure I’m sick of people gifting me the same pieces of “advice” year after year. Pretty sure only people in relationships actually believe those things and pretty sure they only “believe” them because they don’t actually have to believe them anymore. The idea is that everyone has advice, but it all pretty much boils down to: you need to be somebody different, act different, and completely do the opposite of what you’re doing right now no matter what you’re doing right now but stay true to yourself. Oh, I see…

“It’ll happen when you aren’t looking anymore.” That’s great. Except it’s a huge lie. “You just have to put yourself out there.” I’m sorry, where exactly is “there” and are you aware this completely contradicts the looking thing? Oh, but he’s “just around the corner.” Which corner? Am I on the right block? When do I get the map? “If he wants to ask you out, he’ll ask you out”, oh but “you just need to be more forward; you’re not trying hard enough.” Yes, ok, that makes a lot of no sense.

How exactly are people “going places” and “meeting people”? They go to camps and come back married. They go to weddings and then start planning their own. What is going on? What is happening in conversations for this to take place? And I’m completely aware that I’m just about the age where it doesn’t matter anymore. A Christian girl not married by the age of 25 is, well, an anomaly. So if I can’t figure out what I keep missing by tomorrow, then it’s pretty much over for me, folks. Breathe in, breathe out, breath in…

It’s ok, though. There are some truths bigger than these (and these are truths), some I cannot deny their greatness. I’ve been thinking a lot about commitment lately. Media writes it up in the horror section—a scary road we postpone until someone writes a good screenplay. But it’s a big deal. And we all end up committed to something or someone sooner or later—even if it’s to never committing. We will all grow our own theology. Where our heart is, there our treasure will be, and our heart will be somewhere.

My opinion? People need to stop playing telephone with this lie that there is someone out there for you—that it’s all about timing or waiting or looking or not looking or going “out there.” The radio needs to stop telling me that it’s the reason I’m alive—that I can’t be complete without it. That’s not helpful; that’s not true. I need to be reminded about what is true—that the greatest love story has already been told, and it’s beyond good enough—that I’m committed to enlarging the Kingdom, not fluffing my screenplay.

I’m attempting to understand this Kingdom and every once in a while I catch a glimpse of it. I know it’s more important than anything else I could ever work toward, complain about, be advised in. It’s perfect. I have to believe that some writer is hard at work, and even if it’s a story that ends without ever rounding the “right” corner, it’s going to be a good story. The best story. So good, Colbie would stop selling.

What will I miss most?...Berry Weiss, of course.

If you listen to enough John Mayer, you, too, will write.

I sit at the North Avenue Beach nostalgic over this summer. The city ogles over my right shoulder quite aware that this is one of the last times we’ll be meeting like this. I try not to make too much eye contact—makes these things harder, you know?

In front of me: the lake—the Great Lake. Its vastness not understood until one greets it properly. A group of thirty-somethings play toss with a football. The girl in the water can’t catch, and it frustrates me.

To my right, a teenager takes a picture of his friends in the water careful not to get his IPod wet. He can see their smiles but can’t hear their laughter. Why do we do that?

To my left, four young girls buy ice cream from Mr. Good Humor. They each walk away with the same treat. I wonder if that’s really what each one wanted. There must be a leader in the group.

Edging along the beach, an old woman, nothing short of 90, enters my vision. She walks along the water wearing a yellow jump suit. She’s the tannest one of all of us. Her grin is noticeable. Undoubtedly, we all wonder what was so good? What is so good? She pits a stop 5 feet from the water line and reveals a bathing suit. While she lies back, she uses her hands to hold her head up, not taking her eyes off the view one second. Who could blame her?

It’s a beautiful day—not a degree above 78, and the sky is clear. One of those days you can’t justify ignoring for casual duties. I wonder what brings so many to the beach on a weekday. We can’t all have the luxury of free summers, can we?

I haven’t done much this summer besides what I’ve wanted to do. But that’s how it was supposed to be. Nestled into a studio apartment in the heart of Lincoln Park (twenty-something’s city center) and four blocks from the beach, Tara and I aimed high this summer. With no internet, no television, and an unsatisfying Chicago radio, the room’s activities were bounded. We thought things to circles, talked things to annoyance (me mostly), and reflected past any moment of learning.

We dug deep and sometimes to our own detriments, but you can’t regret something like that. There were nights I didn’t fall asleep until Tara woke up—an over-conscious mind and 90 degree apartment working well together against me. I digress...

I can’t decide how I feel about leaving this place. I must continue to remind myself: summer is an exception, right?

When I leave Saturday morning, I’ll be heading toward a lot of new, a lot of concern, and a lot of possible mistakes. Life has paused for me this summer, though, as if to make up for three years of severance and prepare me for two more. I cannot be more appreciative of this.

Life has paused so I can be with my friends and remember why our company is so great and why college was so good—not that I ever forgot.

Life has paused so I can meet my niece and spend hours in a Costco while my brother changes a ridiculous diaper. So I can see him be a dad.

Life has paused so I can greet my nephew without leaving the day after. A visit that I hope makes the next introduction a little less scary for him…

Life has paused so I can sit outside 720, drink something that is not Berry Weiss, and enjoy an unusual break and moment of chatter with my favorite people.

Life has paused so I can remember where my humor comes from and help Gary one more time with the computer.

Life has paused so I can appreciate the two people who love enough to let me go, and I wonder, if one day, I will love like that.

Life has paused so I can think, talk and reflect with my buddy, and remember to never, ever underestimate her.

Life has paused so I can feel ready to push play again, ‘cause Saturday is coming, and I know nothing slows down anymore.

The clouds have moved in…no, they haven’t, but my phone reminds me it’s time to move on. We’re making pizza at Jack’s tonight, and tonight I say good-bye to my buddy.

As I walk away, I look back at the old woman one last time. Her head rests back on the sand now but still angled at the horizon. She reminds me that no matter how old we get, we’re never too old to wonder: what’s next?

It'll change my life...

I got really tired today. I mean, it hit me hard. I even dozed a little after school while students were still in my room. I blame it on bad habits nurtured in the West Coast Crawl. Yes, we capitalize it around here. If you knew, you’d understand. We fueled ourselves with four lattes a day, on average. That is a latte. Cutting back to one coffee each morning is cutting my lifeline. It’s not just this, though. My head is heavy with the decision.

I was talking to my trigonometry class today. We spoke about periodic functions, you know, functions that repeat values at regular intervals. I sketched two graphs—one showing the yearly weather of Chicago, and one with the yearly weather of Seattle. I kept referring to the Seattle graph as theirs, and the Chicago graph as mine. Then they finally broke it to me, “You’re one of us now, Ms. Steiner. You live here, not there.” I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

Here are my options:

1.) Go to UW part-time, work at highline fulltime for one more year, then go to UW full time the second year. (2 year commitment)

2.) Go to UW fulltime and find some sort of part-time job. (1.5ish year commitment, I think.)

3.) Go to NU fulltime and find some sort of part time job in Chicago. (1 year commitment.)

Here are the factors:

CLASS OF ’10-- I love them. They make me love my job. I was a freshman when they were freshmen. I want to leave when they leave. Not to mention I’m in love with my AVID class.

T-REX-- Tara, my dear college friend and road trip associate. She will probably be married by next summer or thereabouts, and this is my last opportunity to live with her. I can only imagine the greatness that could come from this. She makes me love life more than I already do.

JACK and FLIPPER-- Jack is the nephew of mine who lives a few blocks from the campus of NU. Need I say more? Flipper is the womb-name of the niece about to spring out in May from the Michigan brother, well his wife, whatever. If I am never going to have kiddos, I need to be around them at some point. And I don’t want to be the weird Aunt who lives far away and no one ever really knows.

RACHEL-- One of my friends is finally moving to Seattle! I would finally have a roommate that could hang with my weirdness.

PEOPLE VS PEOPLE-- It’s not right to compare, but there’s a difference between the two groups. Leaving home, I had little to fear in terms of losing relationships. I knew the people I was leaving would always be there because I would always be returning. Family does not go away, and the friends I have are, even through the little communication some months, there for long haul. I am scared to leave Seattle because I don’t want to lose the family I’ve met here. It’s painful to think about, but we all get busy and the lists become longer the older we get it seems. Of course it is not purposeful, but it would never be the same, and I don’t want to lose the present. But when I look at it this way, it is as if I am taking my Chicago family and friends for granted and not giving them the time they deserve ‘cause I know they will always be there. It could be great if I was there too. It is tough in Seattle because everyone here still has their home friends, and I’m not exactly part of that crowd.

MISSING OUT-- Not being present for baby showers, baby births, selling of Grammy’s house, trips to hospitals, meeting fiancés of important friends, etc. It stiiiiinks.

SEATTLE-- What gorgeous place! Could I leave the mountains, hills, water, evergreens? And I LOVE the weather. If the mountains could talk back, I’d have to stay. But I need some conversation.

CHICAGO-- I haven’t live in Chicago for a long time (since high school) aside from breaks and summers. I want to breathe with the city through all seasons without an upcoming departure date forcing me to squeeze all my contacts and activities together.

THE ILLINI, etc.-- I will never be a seattle/UW sports fan; it’s just not gonna happen. I miss the illini, the sox, the bears…I am just so uninformed in seattle, and I’ve become a slacker fan. I owe them so much more…

OPRF-- I’ve always had teaching at my alma mater high school at the top of my list. It has been my dream job, and I feel I have the connections to snag it up.

NORTHWESTERN-- Better brand name when you want a position at a competitively fought after school. Not to mention the small scholarship offered to me, which is the reason I have to decide so freaking quickly.

FLEXIBILITY-- The 2 year commitment to Seattle scares me. I don’t like not having an opt out. But, I know that if I were to start teaching at OPRF, I’d be locked in for life, and that is even scarier. I love the west, it’s where I would like to live for good eventually. 1 year commitment at NU gives me some slack should I wish to return.

HIGHLINE-- Aside from the kids, kind of bugs me sometimes.

After all this, I can’t clearly see it. When I tentatively make a decision, it makes me physically sick to think about the opportunity cost. I’m not complaining, though. It is a blessing and honor to have 2 great places and 2 great groups of people to want to accompany in life. I’m finding that there may not be a “right” way to go. I just have to go and be ok to saying no to the other.

The one constant is Friday. Friday I will know if my trig students were right. Friday I have to tell Northwestern if I’ll be walking their campus next fall. Friday looms over my head, on my shoulders, and in my breakfast. Friday makes me tired.

Everybody's on the food chain, not so funny.

Monday—little ice glazes the road…2 hours late

Tuesday—little ice glazes the road…2 hours late

Wednesday—nicest day of the week…No School

Thursday—Snowing by 5am…still snowing at 6am….still snowing at 7 am…1 hour late

This cannot be right. I refresh the page. I refresh it again. It will change, it has to change. After my 5^th call to Tarvin, inquiring as to whether or not she has gotten up yet, I get up. No one will show up today, so I don’t need a shower. PITT sweatshirt compliments of the East Coast Road Trip, and we are off. I brushed the snow off Jack. He’s not used to this. We get rumblin’ and Jack is a little touchy in the beginning, but he warms up once we get to West Marginal Way, no biggie. Stop into S’Bucks to grab an extra hot peppermint mocha because this will be one of those days, I can feel it in my hands and toes.

The day begins with a glance at the absent list. 20 teachers, not bad. Then over to shoot the breeze with none other than Breezey. I am subject to a coffee taste test. Leonard wins, and I am shunned out of the office. Oops! What else can I do before I can’t do it anymore? Mailbox. Another rejected DID day form. “Dear Highline, I do my job and spend my weekends planning and working, please give me my money and stop making me jump through hoops.” I get a little angry and a little sassy with my response. I will probably be hearing about it after the break, but oh well, I’ve had it.

Weiss has 4 students, Tarvin 7?, 8? They keep walking in and out, so we really don’t know. Students are being picked up and taken home. The morning is somewhat of a success, though, as I find my Alvin and the Chipmunks DVD. Super! I now have some solid lessons plans for periods 2, 3, and 4.

2^nd period before Alvin, Tarvin and I let the kids go play outside for a bit, I decide to go with them ‘cause I’m 4 years old. Fosberg tells us to go back to class. Oh, class. You mean Alvin and the Chipmunks? Yes, we wouldn’t want to forgo that. Let me take my 5 students back to class. Worthless.

Ok. Lunch time, I guess. It’s all the same at this point. I tell the students to take both lunches. The e-mail comes, emergency release. Emergency Release!? That’s great, Highline, you drag me here, and now I am released and can’t go anywhere. I love you.

Over the lunch table we discuss the best routes. Rosser says he will drive my car if I give him ride home. For some reason, I decide this is a good deal, even though I probably have more experience driving in the white stuff than he does. We leave. We get out of the parking lot. We cross 1^st Ave……and we sit there. Jack cannot make it up the hill. Yes, you may have never noticed it, but there is a hill on 152^nd right after you cross first.

THUD! Um, did someone just hit us?!? We turn around to see a dusted guy getting up from behind my car. He’s trying to push us. “Go, Go, Go!” THUD! He falls again, but we are going. Rosser insists on putting chains on my car. I tell him, I have mini van chains from my aunt and uncle. We decide to try it. He does one of those spinning moves in the middle of the parking lot. Thanks. We spend 45 minutes trying to boogietrap the chains on the tires. We’re off. Cruising down 152^nd. I’m sorry, did I just say “cruising.” I mean slower than walking speed. For some reason, I seem to be the only car having issues.

Rosser makes me pull over again to check the chains. By this time I should mention we’ve picked up a student, and both add-ons are trying to fix the chains. Looks good, decent, doable, ok, let’s just go anyway. OK. We continue. Right turn onto Ambaum. Jack is slipping all over the place, and something keeps hitting my car. Rosser sticks his head out the window and says the chain is just hitting under the car. Oh ok, just under the car. We make the decision to take one of the chains off. Rosser says to leave the other one on so I have breaking power. OK. You are so full of good ideas. Pull over, remove chain. Attempt to pull back on…”I don’t understand why everyone else’s car can do it, but yours can’t,” remarks Rosser. “Thanks, go push my car.”

Back on the road. Now one wheel spins while the other stops. Hmmmm, not such a good idea after all. Rosser and student are preparing to leave me in the death trap. Close to tears, we make the decision to abandon Jack Johnson on a side street. What then? Who knows?

Student leaves. Rosser and I meet up with Caitlin and then go to Rosser’s infested living quarters. He has 5 roommates, all named McFly. Here we discuss solutions, and agree on taking the 120 and walking the rest of the way. Later, fools.

Bus stop waiting for 15 minutes. Two guys who walk past me say they’ve been waiting for an hour. Awesome. Report to Rosser, he says go down to next bus stop and wait for 560. OK. Why am I still so inclined to take his advice? Silence.

At the next station, nothing. Continue walking to the next station. Little boys on the corner are throwing snowballs at cars. One tells me he’s the horse, and I’m suppose to go for a ride. Is this how you talk to all your teachers? Apparently, the walk signals have taken a lunch break. Oh, nevermind, see ya, morons, I hope someone skids and runs you over.

How are all these cars driving with such traction? Jack could do this. The roads look salted now. Jack could so do this…Oh, there goes the bus. That’s nice, but we all knew it would happen.

Well, Jack. It’s you and me. Let’s do this. First, I will have to take the one chain off. Oh, what’s that? It’s already been stolen? Sweet, love those mugga’s. Here we go, turn around. I drive better backwards.

Right onto Ambaum. Yes, here come the curves and hill. Ok, Jack, you want to go right? But the road is left. Let’s go left, come on. Right? OK, right…..riiiight into the side of the road. A family in a ’93 rusted Camry stops to ask if I need help. I tell them to shove it, and they drive off.

Now stops a mid-twenties knight. I tell him the wheels keep spinning. He tries to push Jack out. Not working. He set up a tow and brings me up to the next intersection. What a sweetheart. Jack tries to get goin’. Not working. At a flash, hero off the sidewalk is pushing, and Jack spins out and starts going.

The trick is to never stop moving because if I stop, I stop. I attempt to time all the lights. It’s working. Into the woods of White Center. I have never understood what happens in this neighborhood. Somehow all the roads converge and one becomes 16^th and then Delridge, but I’ve never been able to find exactly where. What a perfect situation. Here’s Roxbury, should I turn? Looks like more slush than white. Yes. Turn.

Ok, so big hill, just need to time the light at the bottom, and even if I cannot, I’m still going. It’s just one of those days in which the rules do not apply. Greeeeen!

35^th? Is that a 35^th sign? I know where I am. I’m at the base of a huge hill. Right turn. Just need to keep moving and try not to steer. Time the lights. Get…..up…..the……hill. Good. The thought occurs to me that there is a rather large drop off at the end of all this. I seem to recall my mom impressed with the hill on her last visit. Jack slides a bit to keep me honest. Ok, I understand. We will not be greedy this day. Jack, you get me to the top of this thing, I will park and walk the rest. Ok?

Graciously, Jack slides into the right side snow bank. No sign. Looks like I can park here. Does it even matter? No. I grab my laptop bag and anything else I think I want to bring back to the City that plows because I know deep down, I may be seeing Jack Steiner before I ever see Jack Johnson again.

I pull out the Ipod God left in my pocket and press play. Real World. That’s about right. Crank it. This is a day to be stared at, and I left my inhibitions back at Highline or maybe, they left me, so we sing out loud. It’s a delightful walk. When you know you can’t die, snow becomes delightful. I’m not even cold.

Stop for a hot apple cider at the corner coffee and continue quite thrilled. Ain’t no love in the heart of the city, say it again, Jay. Take me to church ‘cause I’ve been prayin’ alllllll day long.

At 5pm, Notorious B.I.G. walks me up to Unit 309. If I had mo’ money, I’d have 4-Wheel drive and no problems, boy. I feel a zing as I walk through the door. Grab the Rumor. Rosser wants to know if I’m home yet.

Reflection: I’d like to thank Jesus. I’ve probably never spoken to the man more in a single day. I’d like to thank the numerous people who took it upon themselves to push my car without being asked. I’d like to thank my future boyfriend who towed Jack out of peril. I would like to punch John Welch. I would like to trash the house of the creator of DID days. I would like thank mother nature for keeping me humble. And I’d like to thank Alaska Airlines for taking me home tomorrow to a place I can drive in. Yes, there is more snow, more ice in Chicago, but you see, people shovel, trucks plow and salt. The land is flat there. I wouldn’t have to leave Jack on top of a hill. But, perhaps, in Chicago, you have to ask if you want help. And, in Chicago, the walk home would have been much colder.

So how ‘bout it? Am I home yet? I’m still trying to decide. In the mean time, who's taking me to the airport?

We're baaaaaaaaaaack

It's the moment you've all been waiting for. After many months (years, really) estranged from the blog, Steiner and I have decided to rekindle our blomance and grace the world with our wit and charm once again. You may recall the quipping, amusing, and sometimes heart-wrenching stories that once graced the pages our old blog, "Listen to Us, Fool." I assume you've been mourning the abandonment of that long-lost blog, and you probably feel a dark void lingering in the very deepest corner of your soul. Well, throw off that blanket of sorrow...a new blog has come! (That sounds spiritual...maybe I'm influenced by the Christmas spirit, or maybe our blog really is a source of hope and light for the world.)

Now be aware that in my years of teaching (one and a half, to be exact), my writing ability has declined. Ironic, yes, but after reading hundreds of fragments, unfocused essays, and their/there/they're mishaps, the creative juices that once flowed through my veins have slowly been sucked out by my less-than-gifted students. With this in mind, I bid you this warning: my portion of the blog may suck. I have full faith that Karen will still be able to produce insightful, clever anecdotes, but I cannot promise the same from myself. Therefore (look at that great use of a transition), I will not be offended if you decide to glance over my posts. Obviously, I will have no knowledge if you do this(don't you like how I'm speaking directly to you, the reader? I love when my students do this in their formal essays...it's almost as if we're having a private conversation), so I suppose you can disregard the previous 4 or so sentences.

Anyhoo, I'm already tired of writing. I don't last long these days. I think it will take me awhile to build back up to the multi-paragraph blogs I used to write (although I guess this is a multi-paragraph blog). Also, if you want to check out our old blog to see how funny I used to be, you can check it out at http://www.trexkmart.blogspot.com/. Karen wanted me to copy and paste all of our old posts into this one, but I refused (even though it woud only be like, 6 1/2 posts). Alright, peace out players. I will hit you up again in another month or so. Mwuahahahaha.