a place to live.

we are looking for a place to live.
i have lived in three houses since i was born. the house i currently live in, however, i have lived in since i was eight.

sometimes we walk around the neighborhood - the park, my old elementary school. it is comforting to know an area, to have a strong connection with a place. i have been thinking about this since i will be moving out soon, perhaps to a different area. i love the charm of my city. the mid-century homes. the art deco brick work. the brick work, period. it is a microcosm. an iconic remnant of slow, small-town life. it is framed by four or more freeways, but is somehow removed from the frantic impulse of the city. i visit often. i walk the rotund and think, work out my life on my feet.

on saturday i visited a place that would give me the hidden, quiet existence i want. low hanging trees and whimsical, wild vegetation. front lawns. cozy homes with cozy neighbors and bad parking. not too far from coffeeshops and independently owned stores. a place to walk my thoughts. it is too small. the other apartments in the area have unexposed asbestos. is this a health hazard? is it worth risking to live in this enchanted area? maybe.

our home will probably be small and crammed with books and silence and music. there will be cornmeal on the floor from our pizzas and blankets tucked in every corner.

i will miss my home (and room) of fifteen years. by some magic my room itself has absorbed my character. it effuses who i am. this home is so unequivocally part of my history that i can't imagine a saturday morning waking anywhere else. but there is a pull and true desire to sink into a deep sleep with the feller and kiss him awake. to read by his side. to cook with him and, on occasion, for him. to create a home where others are safe and welcome. to, like my family, be completely and foolishly generous with our time and resources.

this will be my last holiday season living here. i will relish every detail.

eleven years

mom and dad have separated. it was eleven years in the making, which means nothing in regards to its impact. i have cried plenty: over love that does not put everything on the line, over shame that isolates, over unreciprocated attempts at togetherness.

i am convinced we are all damaged - it is the most unbearable truth of our time. we persist to escape, ignore, and hide it. what use is it to condemn such a human inclination? i, too, have lived out of a trunk of masks. i, too, have impolitely declined vulnerable conversations. brokenness resists exposure. we are all hopeless and damaged. inconsistent and contradictory and lost.

i once thought people could never change, sincerely. 'we are gorged on selfishness.' but over time, i found myself changing - the steadfastness of Others is a balm. so if i can change, then maybe others can. maybe not. it all depends on intentionality, rearranging priorities and training oneself to be good, not only to do good.

eleven years - can you believe it? some years were better than others. i wonder if that has more to do with ignorance and diligent secret keeping. some years were worse, characterized by a distinct pattern of discovery and disappointment, arguments and small changes that never turned into big changes. and here i am - here we are - at the end of it all: damaged, unchanging hearts in conflict still.

i know i said eleven years but could it be that it was two lifetimes in the making? could it be that it was the lifetimes of my grandparents and all those lives that touched and harmed and beat relentlessly on mom and dad? our personal histories are complex and layered. and doesn't it take a lifetime to unravel it all? and even at death isn't there still brokenness? aren't things still unresolved? and if we are still in such conflict at death, what does this all amount to?

i will be out

small things have been overwhelming me today.
instead of getting into the details here is a brief list:

car is in the shop.
noise.
unwanted company.
noise.
inability to work due to noise.
noise.
stranded at home.
noise.
tense friendships.
noise.
finances.
noise.
parental strife:
lectures and misunderstanding.
noise.

today i have been irritable and frustrated.
one day i will be out of this house.
a year maximum - better job, more money.
sigh.

ploughs forward.

two weeks ago i took the cbest. friends said it was easy and i believed them. that is, until the the night before. in true stacey fashion i was rattled with nervousness. the assault of worries :
i should have prepared better! math is not my strong subject. my first c was in math, for goodness sake. i haven't written a timed essay in years. why didn't i practice this? 
i looked up tips and review questions on my android. curse around the clock accessibility to the internet. what should have placated me only exacerbated my angst. i woke up exhausted at 5:30 am but rolled over and slept thirty minutes more. i could afford a half hour of uninterrupted rest. God knows, i would have spent it worrying.

what redeemed the forty minute drive south was the delightful green parading springs coming. it served both as distraction and anchor. a distraction from the reality of taking a standardized test in a high school classroom. an anchor to the reality that life and time and things keep going. spring will burst through winter's barren, endless white and summer will scorch springs' life and fall will strip summer of whatever radiance it has left. but the trees still grow if you lose your job or you get a promotion. life ploughs forward.

for three years, i have been a playground/after school supervisor. it offers flexibility and brief shifts. this was ideal my final two years in college. work never overtaxed me. it could be reenergizing, at times. and it has been nice working here post-grad in addition to my position at my church. it has aroused concern:

minimum wage, no matter how much i love my job and how many hours i scour from sick employees, isn't a sustainable income.
playground and daycare are easy. i enjoy preparing snacks, assisting with homework, and running around with those rascals. there are days when no body wants to listen and things go south, but discipline isn't difficult. my job is too easy.

the cbest offers an answer.

if i ever plan on moving out, getting married, paying off my loans i need a higher income. substitute teaching provides this, without nixing children whom i love.
it is also something i have never done and will challenge me. i've been encouraged by several friends, older, wiser, who have substitute taught or been full-time teachers. it will help me walk taller, command the room with authority and kindness, be sure of what i have to say (or humbly admit i have no idea what i'm doing). they say the classroom is the best training room for being a speaker, a leader. i need work in this area.

i took the cbest and i passed. some of the questions were less intuitive but i passed.
eager to know how well i did, i scanned the page for my score.
the minimum passing requirement is 123, i scored a 172...

out of 240.
ouch. before i could celebrate the fact that i passed, i felt pummeled by disappointment. i am an idiot, i thought. my reading was my highest, math my second highest, and writing my lowest.
ouch. i love to write. sometimes i aspire to take writing classes and compile my words into a children's book? a collection of poetry and observations? into something true and alive. i am an idiot, i reminded myself.

i called the feller with the news - all of it. he is so good to me.
not until we hung up did i concede that i am not my score. in 11th grade AP english, my teacher talked with us about this subject concerning the looming SAT test we would be taking soon.

isn't this great? i says so much about our society's obsession with measured academic achievement that creates a hierarchy of intelligence and, thus, worth. i am not here to argue the validity of these tests, only to say that the scores reflect the ability of the test taker to apply selected information and skills in a standardized test (and test setting - ugh). these scores say nothing about who the test takers are.

i am good with kids. i can guide and direct and discipline and encourage them well.
their little successes make my heart leap.

so, while i could retake the test for a higher score, i know that it isn't necessary as it is incosequential to my getting a job. it would only be to satisfy my need for an A, which is a conditioned desire rooted in the human aspiriation for meaning and value. thank you, 'merica. thank you, childhood. 
i don't need to satisfy that need. i know who i am. and i am not an idiot.
i don't need to get hung up on this even though the idea of upcoming interviews almost paralyzes me.

in other news: after i hung up with the feller, i attempted to make cream of mushroom soup. cooking is relaxing. i cook slow and enjoy the process, the simmering, the melting, the mixing. it helps me think and focus. the cbest scores must have really put me in a funk because i forgot to check if i had the right amount of each ingredient. i am a planner, checker, double checker but my measurements were off. i continued cooking with fingers crossed. there was too much flour. down the garbage disposal.
i succombed to my new fallback: the grilled cheese with spinach and tomato.
slowly cooked to perfection and instantly satisfying over an episode of glee.
so while i felt disappointed that even my mushroom soup was a fail, i still managed to give thanks that life mercifully ploughs forward.

capable.

this past week, i was asked to help out backstage for a musical my work* was putting on. i have fond memories of  The Music Man. though i never participated in a stage performance of this musical theatre favorite, i watched it on dvd endlessly, my dad always humming behind me. the school performance was condensed - only an hour long.  it was a bullet list of main points and songs therefore it was no surprise when the storytelling proved bankrupt of artful development.
but it's okay, they are kids for goodness sake!

i showed up monday evening with no idea about what i was expected to do. two summers ago, i was asked to sit in the front row and cue lines when needed and cue choerography when the loud first grader was shocked by how bright the lights are and how he couldn't see mommy. but for that show, i attended all rehearsals. i wasn't sure what i would be assigned to do for these final three rehearsals and the almost-here six shows. the director - also the fifth grade teacher - walked me to the soundbooth and said i'd be stage manger. i would "call the book." i would learn the show before thursday's audience arrived. learning the show, for me, meant knowing when lights, curtain, mics, and music should be on, open, off, etc.

on hearing her expectation and instruction i had two thoughts:

nice. 

and 

what?

all and all, it was fun. it required organization, a feel for timing, the ability to process and respond to multiple variables the entire show, and a relaxed attitude.**
i put mics on kids, replaced batteries, and repeated the most powerful words all night - "standby" and "go."

brushing my teeth after a successful opening night, i realized that i don't have one thing in particular that i want to give myself to. i enjoy a lot of things. singing, writing, reading, design, organization, children, planning. i am a prepared and dependable individual who can see all of her interests contributing to one another, who can see herself doing three different things (and getting paid for them) at the same time for the rest of her life. however, there is part of me that is buckling down to become a master. no, not get my masters (that will come later?) but excavate my school resources, make appointments to meet with masters of a kind, and look over a few things until they are automatic, ingrained, imprinted.

during college i juggled the schedule of barack obama. i was, admittedly, overcommitted. i excelled at getting-things-done well. i received A's, approval from my supervisors, and was entrusted with (too) much at my internship. i am no master of my area of study, though. i mostly just crossed things off my to do list without absorbing subjects deeply enough to remember specifics after the "due date." however, this was my college experience: i become a more solid, anchored person who is honest and can say no.

The Music Man reminded me that i am talented, that i can apply my skills to many situations, and that i love musicals. that last one may have no relevance in my future. but it's true.

The Music Man mostly made me feel capable. and hungry to master something so that, in the future, i can be more so. and since i've been so scared of growing up, sitting behind the glass of the sound booth, dim lights, friendly banter and the directors' confidence felt so inexplicably good. like things might all work out some how. that i might get a side job here and another job here and i could be just as fulfilled as the doctor who accomplished an eon of schooling to check my reflexes. or that i could be a doctor. i forget which one.


*a k-8 private school. oh, the stories i could tell!

**working on this. i know sometimes i can be a frenzied presence. when josh called me a "stress case" sophomore year, my quick heart knew he was right. when i encounter people i want to be a calming presence. for example, the director seemed to be unphased by missing props, nervous fidgeting, and forgotten lines. she was self-possessed. she drank her diet coke leisurely. i took note and tried with every shivering bone in my body to follow suit.