We Love You Phil Lesh! Get Well Soon!

Just a few days ago Phil Lesh announced on his web site that he has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. He says that the doctors have caught it early and they are optimistic about a full recovery.

My family has been touched by cancer beginning in 1979 and continuing until today, different family members, different types of cancer. I wanted to extend my thoughts and prayers to Phil. I pray for a full and speedy recovery - and more shows! :-)

http://www.phillesh.net/

God Grants Miracles

For those who do not know me and might be reading this, I am a HUGE DEADHEAD. My uncle brought me to my first show almost 20 years ago (wow that's friggin' scary) and every year I have managed to get to a show, except last year.

I know for some a concert, aka a show, is not a big deal. Not something worth praying for. Not something worth bothering God and his busy schedule for. But I am a concert go-er, averaging 4 shows a year to major acts. In 20 years I have seen the likes of Bob Dylan, The Grateful Dead, Pink Floyd, Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, Crosby-Stills-Nash & Young, The Turtles, Duran Duran, Pearl Jam, Spin Doctors, Paul Simon, Simon & Garfunkle, Barenaked Ladies, U2, Sting, Steve Miller Band, Keane, Rusted Root, Live, Sonny Rollins, Maceo Parker, Allman Brothers, Willie Nelson, The Monkees, Patti Smyth, Madonna, and more.

I find a release at a show that I cannot experience anywhere else. The freedom to dance and sing at the top of your lungs! To share the experience with friends and family. To stand in the rain during a tornado, where the raindrops hurt at times, and you're knee deep in water and need popcorn buckets to dump the water over the edge onto the people below. To jump from one level to the floor. To meet knew people and have this one brief moment of ecstasy brought on by the music. To dance with perfect strangers as if you know intimate details about each other only because "this song is awesome!". Leaving MSG singing "How Long, How Long must we sing this song" with 30,000 others who wanted the night to continue. Tailgating in the parking lot before and after a show making friends with those surrounding you just because they are there.

At shows nothing seems to matter except the music and the bond it forms between those around you. Shows exemplify love. The love that God has been trying to teach us for the past thousand years or so. The love that is so easily marred by pain and anger. The love that can bring us together as one. This is what a show means to me. And for me my top two artists that create this love at concerts, a love that I feel encompasses everything I have mention, my top two are The Grateful Dead & U2. Ironically these were the very first 2 concerts that I ever attended 20 years ago, both at MSG within one week of each other.

Due to my return to school the finances to attend concerts has dwindled. A sacrifice that I was willing make for higher education and for the betterment of my mind and soul. I was patiently waiting for something to turn up so I could attend a Dead show - any form of the Dead - RatDog, Lesh & Friends, Mickey Hart - but the well was dry and there was no rain in the forecast. I told my friends that my birthday was coming and they could get me tickets as my present. But finances are difficult for all, plus I would imagine that some may have feared attending the show with me (as many are not DeadHeads and going to a show would be shear torture). So I sat back and tried to put it behind me.

As the stress level has built due to school, work, friends and family needs, I began to feel the need for a show. The local bands did not suffice. The energy is not the same with 100 people there to drink compared to 30,000 there for music. My husband pointed out to me this picture of Bob Weir & Jerry Garcia. A friend came over with a bootleg Dead show from the late 70's that he had just found and was like, "You have got to listen to this Jerry solo! It's so beautiful!" Well, it quickly went downhill from there. Forget the soul is strong and the flesh is weak nonsense - for me the soul was not just weak but aching, pining for a Dead show. The more I thought about how I had not been to a show since 2004, the worse the pain in my heart became.

It was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. Everyday tickets were being sold to the show. Everyday I was not one of those buying the tickets. So I posted the following bulletin on MySpace.....

I NEED A MIRACLE
Okay - some may view this as sad or pathetic, but my damn shameless hippy ass can't resist....

HINT HINT HINT
November = birthday
Friends = thoughtfulness
RAT DOG playing on date @ venue = ONE FANTASTIC BIRTHDAY GIFT

As many know, I've had to limit my concert attendance due to the financial responsibilities of school. (Damn higher education) So this is a shameless attempt to help one hippy attend one hippy show - I sadly admit it's been almost 2 years since I've been to a show. I want to go. I need to go. I have to go for my own damn sanity.

Alrighty I'm done with self-pity and presenting my sad sad case - I mean wouldn't it break any DeadHead's heart?
Love you all!

So low and behold I received a miracle. Through the wonders of MySpace I have recently gotten in contact with quite a few old friends. One of which was someone I roomed with for close to 4 years. We shared many things that girlfriends do. We became an extended part of each other's family. Myself becoming friendly with her sibling and her becoming an intimate part of my younger cousins' lives. Sadly as time often manages to do to us all, we moved out of the apartment, on with our lives, and traveled in opposite directions in turn losing touch with one another.

It's been almost a year since we've reconnected and due to our busy schedules we have still yet to get together. A brief phone conversation scattered over the past months. A few e-mails now and again. But that is all that we have been able to accomplish.

So I sent out this "I NEED A MIRACLE" bulletin. I was secretly wishing that a group of my friends would get together and buy one ticket. I wouldn't have cared if it was 50 friends chipping in $1 each. And in the long run what did I have to lose – not go to the show? I was facing that anyway.

Much to my astonishment I received a message from my old roommate. She had bought 2 tickets to see RatDog – for me! for my birthday! I could not believe – hell, I still am in shock. Since this all began with a bulletin, I sent out another….

MIRACLE GRANTED

Some say be careful what you wish for because you may be surprised by what you receive.

I wished for a miracle ticket.
I received a miracle ticket.
I received a reminder of a dear friend.
I received regret for lost time.
I received thankfulness for time having no meaning in friendship.
I received a blessing in my friend!
So for everyone reading this -
THANK YOU!
YOU ARE AMAZING!
I am GRATEFUL to have you in my life again!
Loveya Always

So here I sit with one more old friend who is once again proving how wonderful she is. You see it’s not that she spent the money. It’s not that she is trying to buy my friendship. She is only doing what a friend would do, if they could. (for those of you reading this that were unable to I still love you)

You see God has granted miracles today. The miracle of tickets to a Dead show for DeadHead. The miracle of friendship. More importantly – the miracle of love. You see it is love that draws me to these shows. It is love that allows a friendship to grow and blossom year after year. It is love that allows us to help others achieve their dreams. It is love that keeps us Truckin’ On!

Words cannot express how grateful I am. Thank you my Miracle friend!

Am I Crazy? Or are they?

Okay - let me pose this question...
Since we have hired this girl there have been several small instances that leave me puzzled...

1.) I was asked if she smelled.
2.) I was asked if she was working too slow.
3.) I was told that her attire was too casual and that my boss spoke to her in regards to this. Yet the following week the supposed inappropriate attire was worn again and nothing said.
4.) My boss calls me and asks me to address her attire as too casual for the front office. She said that it needed to come from me this time.
5.) The new hire had 2 family emergencies within one week of each other, causing her to be out for 3 days. When speaking to my boss about this, she said "Oh this is not good".

Now this attire thing is baffeling for a few reasons:
1.) On my first few days working here, over 8 years ago, I wore business attire and was told that I was too dressed and that were casual.
2.) I've worn jeans, sports jersey, t-shirts, tie dye, hippy dresses to work - in the fron office.
3.) Several other co-workers have worn sweat suits, jeans, t-shirts, and the likes - in the front office.
4.) When speaking with the new hire, I mentioned that the boss had already spoken to her about her attire. The new hire says no such discussion had ever occured. Now I have to believe her because the attire that was in question on the first occassion was worn again a week later as I mentioned earlier.

Oh - one more tidbit - the new hire is a minority.

So am I crazy for thinking something's wrong here? Or are they crazy for trying to pull this crap?

An Absuive Relationship with my Job

My job sucks! Please humor me by allowing me to vent a bit about the Hell I work in.

Brief background:
My one boss is ready to move on with his life and had not been involved with the business for about 3 years now who found the Lord and has been saved.
My other boss is a complete two-faced wuss who will avoid confrontation at any cost, yet provoke it by pitting people against each other and somehow still professes that she too has found the Lord and been saved.
The BFB is a white trash idiot who amazes me with her humanitarian outreach to some and baffles me with her condemnation of those who oppose her.

For almost 9 years I have worked there. I have done my best to protect the business. Yet when there are serious issues I am met with adversity, lack of follow through, and no back-up. Over the past 2 years we have been slowly losing business, including clientele that have been with us for years. Yet when inquiries are made into the reasons I present my bosses with numbers and fact which is in turn contradicted by the BFB who has a plausible explanation for everything which usually leads back to being my fault.

Although I have known that my one boss talks big but never has the balls to follow through on it I had more faith in her then to speak poorly of me behind my back. Now I'm not talking about when she has a bone to pick with me and vents - we all do that at some point. I'm talking about doggin me on an interview with a potential new employee. I'm talking about instructing me on property security procedures and then undermining them by telling other employees she doesn't understand why I implemented something.

I know I have been underappreciated and taken for granted over the years, but I have been willing to accept this until my departure. (Which can't come quick enough) I still in my naivete thought that the work I did was appreciated. Today it was confirmed that my work means nothing. The blood, sweat, and tears that I have poured into this damn disfunctional abusive place have all been for naught. I am truly disgusted. The main culprit of the business' decline has been given more and more control and authority while I sit acting as if my opinion is still valued. I am consistently placated and then undermined. I truly can't stand to be there for 8 hours of my precious day. To have my mood altered and affect by the atrocities and immaturity that happens on a consistent daily basis. I wish I could find a way out now, but I have apparently made a deal with the devil and am stuck until I have served my term.

Why do I care so damn much that I allow myself to still get upset over my bosses behavior and try to continually save the business?

I should let it all go to the crapper. Why not? Aren't they doing it by their inactions?

The one question that I would like to have answered is:
After all this time, after all this mental abuse, after all this non-Christian behavior why do I still care?

September can't get here quick enough so I can finally move on with my life.

My first official lesson and class presentation!

Last week I had the opportunity to give a presentation and lesson!

The presentation was related to the students’ lesson on volcanoes. As I recently had the wonderful opportunity to visit Volcanoes National Park in Hawaii, I created a display board with some of my pictures from Kilauea, an active volcano, along with pictures of types of lava and maps of lava flows dating back to 1940. The students were very eager for my presentation, which made me feel even more excited to share with them. I asked them questions about what they had learned about volcanoes as well as what they may like to know. We discussed the history of Kilauea, including the Thurston Lava Tube, the Volcano House, Halem’aum’ua, and Pele, the mythical Hawaiian goddess of fire (as Kilauea is believed to be her home). Overall I think it was a great! The students had been asking me all kinds of personal questions up to this point, and now I got to share something personal yet educational with them. The only think I was not prepared for was this one little girl challenging me about why people believed in Pele. I tried to explain that it was similar to why the ancient Greeks believed in their gods and goddesses, but she was quite persistent. (On a side note, I was surprised to learn that a few of the students knew about some Greek mythological creatures, gods, and goddesses.) My CT finally interjected and told her that the lesson was not about mythology and to reserve her questions for a later time. Although at the moment I was relieved that she ended the serious of questions, while reflecting on the situation I could have turned the tables on the student and asked her why she thought it was not logical to believe in a mythical creature, or why she felt so intrigued by ancient beliefs, or if she would give me a possible reason as to why people believe in mythology. Hopefully, I will be better prepared if there is a next time.

My second presentation was an actual lesson, poetry to be exact. As it is nearing Halloween, I wanted to focus on that as a topic. However, being fully aware that not everyone celebrates Halloween I chose to focus on the feeling of Halloween and therefore was able to not mention it directly. I chose a spooky poem entitled “The Poltergeist” to read. It did not mention Halloween, was not too scary or gory, and did not mention the words spirit or dead (I thought these may be sensitive words to some and chose to avoid them). I gave each student a copy of the poem after I read it and asked them to look it over for some words they may not have recognized, unbeknownst to them I had a prepared list of words and definitions that I thought would be new to them – and it was quite accurate! After going over the new vocabulary, we talked about the AABB format of the poem and the rhyming aspect.

I then introduced to them that I would like for them to write their own spooky poem about any traditional monster they chose. I explained that the more spooky synonyms they used the more eerie the poem would be. We then as a class brainstormed some spooky words and I wrote them on the over head. Then I asked them about some things that they found spooky. Well, I wasn’t quite prepared to get answers like Chucky, Freddy Kruger, Michael, Jason, and the like. My Ct helped in bringing them back to naming more traditional (that was her word, and a great one at that) monsters like vampires and werewolves. Both the class and I had fun with this brainstorm; even my CT raised her hand with suggestions. When she did I asked the class, “Should we see what suggestion Mrs. M has?”, an enthusiastic “YES” resounded.

Mrs. M also made another good suggestion to write two lines with the class as a whole. We chose a sea monster known as the Kraken (thank you Pirates of the Caribbean) for our class sentences. Our first sentence was very creepy, but then we got a bit off track. They started to give me silly sentences instead of spooky ones. The last sentence I got was still a bit silly with no rhyme. To avoid continuing in this silly fashion I complimented the student on their idea and said, “Let’s see if we can take that same thought and make it spooky and rhyme.” This worked like a charm. Shortly after, the students began to write their own spooky poems. My CT and I walked around the class making sure they were on the right track. A few had missed the lesson because they were in an ELL class so we sat together in the back of the room I gave them their own personal mini-lesson. It was great to see their enthusiasm. I think even my CT was excited to see how into the poem writing they were.

I did however learn a few things from this lesson. First, I found myself allowing the students to call out ideas instead of having them wait for me to call on them. I did not find this to be a big deal in the moment, however, my CT pointed it out and I can see where this may cause a future discipline problem if I continue to conduct class in this fashion. My CT also felt that they were getting to noisy and therefore not paying attention at certain points. I know there may have been times where this was the case, but I also noticed that some were reading the poem aloud to themselves or trying to find a rhyme by saying the words. If this were my class, I would not see a problem with this behavior because the talking was related to the lesson at hand and not interfering with the class learning as a whole. I also think I could have prepared a worksheet for them, including the directions I gave verbally and an outline of the poem format. As I was helping the students I saw some writing in paragraphs, others wrote big and I could not tell were one line ended and another began. A worksheet may have helped them organize their poem better. I may also create a brainstorming sheet with one half focusing on the monster and its characteristics and the other on synonyms for spooky. This would have been a great reference for them and assisted them in focusing their ideas. I would also spent a little time on rhyming, maybe just a little demonstration on how I sometimes choice a rhyme. I write my first sentence and then think about how I substitute different letters in front of a word to help find one that rhymes.

I can’t wait until I get to read their poems and further develop their ideas.

EMOTIONAL

Lately I have been finding myself to be a complete and utter emotional wreck. I've been using all my strength just to keep it together. I have no idea - well, not that's a lie - I don't understand why everything has been hittin gme so hard lately.

I'm working, in what I affectionately call Hell, 5 days, assisting in 4th grade one day, taking 3.5 classes on a graduate level, assisting with the confirmation kids @ church, orgainizing a women's retreat (which I will elaborate cuz I just found out some stuff to add to everything), the maid of honor for my sister (matron sounds so old), support for my friends (2 going through a divorce, one moving far, one struggling with finding herself, one who needs assistance with her kids), and my crazy madre. Have I forgotten to mention the regular daily chores?

I thought some of the emotions last week were due to stress, lack of sleep, and my wonderful monthly visitor, but I'm not so sure anymore. I mean last week I was sitting in my office ready to cry (and not just because of my friend moving), then in the middle of the grocery store while with my husband I wanted to cry again. It took all my strength to hold it in, and finally on the way home I was a complete balling idiot. I've started crying at commercials, watching the Ghost Whisperer, I think it's a bit out of control.

I thought this week would start off better. I've gotten some sleep and my visitor has departed, but here I sit miserable and ready to cry again. I'm feeling a little insane with my efforts to control this weepiness. My poor husband has been nothing but wonderful - cooking dinner, doing laundry, taking care of the cats, offering cuddles of consolment - but this can't continue, I'm gonna make the poor man go batty.

It's been so bad I've even tried taking a Xanax. All that did was convert the tears into anger without the ability for me to keep my mouth shut - that's just dangerous. If people knew what was on my mind - especially at my job - I'd be in a whole lot of hot water. Then again, maybe I wouldn't be feeling this way.

I don't really know what the purpose is for posting this blog - maybe just the hope that puttin it in words would help exspell the sadness from my heart - maybe someone would give me sage advise as to how to handle this - maybe someone can prescribe more Xanax.

Sentimental Tears for a Dear Friend

In my junior year of high school this crazy blonde haired girl moved to my town from California. The first time we met she was on the back of the bus being all loud and laughing with her long hair. I was instantly intrigued. How our first conversation began I can’t remember, but a beautiful friendship blossomed.

For the next two years we were inseparable. Although I can’t forget the third amiga, she was an integral part of the mix as well however being a bit more conservative than us there were certain activities she opted not to participate in. California and I were in theatre, marching band, and the church youth group together. We shared clothes, shoes, drinks, and even men. We were two young girls a bit lost and bewildered by the insanity of the world. We were trying to discover who we were and fighting the peer pressure to conform to the norm. We didn’t “fit in” to a particular group. We weren’t preps, or burnouts, or punks, or nerds, and definitely not jocks. We wore tie-dye listened to all kinds of music from classic rock to Madonna to classical to Broadway. We read poetry and classic literature. We would even spend our summers hiking through the state park.

We partied, and partied hard sometimes. During one of these momentous times, we synced up the Doors Morrison Hotel album (yes I do mean vinyl) to Disney’s original Fantasia – pretty freaky. We even decided to build a shrine to Jim Morrison on my front lawn out of leaves, grass, and anything else that was biodegradable. The Doors were blasting from my house and we were on the front lawn trying to hold on to stop ourselves from falling off the earth. (This would have been one of those times the third amiga came over to hang out with us and decided that she didn’t want to be there. Probably a good choice too.) There were the “Boomers” and that night in the hot tub when it began to snow. The time when we scheduled which day we were to be with “our” boyfriend. We were a lethal pair; any man that got in the way of this Leo-Scorpio team would either be in heaven or perish.

My other friends were wonderful, especially the two who are probably going to read this, but my relationship with each of them was a little different. They were both more reserved (which probably saved my life at certain times), not very into the dating scene (both dated 2 different guys in HS that later came out of the closet), not into rock and roll as much as I, and both had the responsibility of younger siblings and overbearing mothers. I love them both, they have been my solid foundation through many difficult times, and I know they would support me through ANYTHING. But at this crucial time in my life California was the only girl who I could relate to on certain levels. She was more open to exploring different areas of life and we feed off of each other when it came to this. (Well isn’t that a nice poetic way of putting it.)

When I left for college our relationship began to change. She was a senior in HS and I a freshman in college. Two very different experiences. Two very different needs and ideas of support. We managed to keep in touch during the fall semester – hours on the phone, men driving us around, and more. Then I had a major pitfall in life that January. We still kept in touch, but I was in a much different place and she was developing friendships with people I did not care for. After the spring HS musical the phone calls got less and less. And then one day they just stopped. There was no reason for this other than we were just growing apart. Our lives were beginning down a path that we were meant to travel without each other.

About five years later we ran into each in town. The conversation was brief and awkward. But not in a bad way, just in a “hey haven’t seen you in years where the hell do we start.” We talked for a few minutes and then parted.

Just last summer I became addicted to one of those websites that you can have your own personal web page for free and keep in touch with your friends. California was on there and somehow or another we found each other. She was purging her life of people and things that were not positive influences for her. I was in a reminiscing mode and thinking about certain people that were once important in my life during my younger years, wishing and hoping that I could make contact with some of them. I wanted to know where life had taken them and possibly have the opportunity to ask for forgiveness from some.

At first we were both a bit hesitant to “get to know each other” again. I guess we weren’t sure how the other was going to respond or feel, so we kept things to e-mail at first. Then we spoke on the phone, and this was a marathon conversation. It was pretty amazing that first conversation, for 10 years had passed yet it was like only a day or two. I had maintained my friendships with the third amiga and other conservative friend, and when I told them California and I were talking they had their reservations. They ultimately kept open minds and realized that none of us were 17 anymore.

The first night we hung out was great. We drank limoncello and wine and talked and talked and talked and talked. A short time passed and we went to see a local band play. We did shots, shook our asses, and laughed all night. My husband said he hadn’t seen me have fun like that in a long time. Plus since I was in such a good mood he got lucky – and it was wild.

California and my relationship began to blossom again. She reminded me how important it was to spend time with friends, something I had forgotten with hectic northeast lifestyle. We laughed. We cried. We kayaked. We helped get rid of an ex. We were material girls. We were rocking in the free world. We sang about Bad Medicine. We brought sexy back. We sat in silence. And then she told me she was moving south.

I don’t know what came over me, but I’ve been having a terrible time with this – more so than I would like to admit. See I’m supposed to be strong, thick skinned, have a solution for everything, yet every time I think about her leaving I feel weepy. Not to sound like a little kid, but it’s not fair. How could she come back into my life after 10 years only to be taken away from me again? I know this is not easy for her. I know she may not have been ready for this at this time. I know this affects more than just me, but this is my blog and these are my feelings. I’m starting to come to terms with this, but not really.

The 3 amigas went out for a farewell dinner with California and her cousin. We had a blast things were great until it was time to leave. As we hugged she began to cry. My damn Scorpio exterior held her tight, but allowed no tears to fall. I didn’t want to let her go. I don’t ever want to let her go. I don’t want her to be so far away. I like knowing that she is close by, we’ve been too far away from each other for too long. Her mere presence has helped me to begin to remember who I am, to find that damn inner strength I used to flaunt with ease. I am scared to loose her again.

So she walked out the door the other night, and I began to cry. I’m actually crying right now – at work while I’m writing this, just fantastic.

I wish her all the best. I know this is just another turn in the road of life and I have faith that since we have found each other again after all this time and since we have a new found love and respect for our friendship that we will not lose touch with each other. But I just can’t help but feel the pain of loss. (Damn it crying again)

California – I’m sorry that I haven’t expressed this to you sooner be it in any form of communication. It’s just taken me so long to admit to myself how I was feeling and you know how difficult it is for me verbalize my feelings. I love you very much and wish there was a way for you to stay here with us. Please know that no matter what I am here for you. I even can be as bold as to speak for the third amiga and your cousin and your brother and say WE ARE ALL HERE FOR YOU. If you need anything please let us know. You are a beautiful ray of sunshine in all our lives. We are blessed to be warmed by your love and laughter. Thank you for being you. I love you.

You Me And Dupree - Part II

So, my husband and I returned from our vacation to paradise. 10 beautiful, wonderful, sunshine, fish eating (I LOVE fish), steel guitar, culture enriching, ocean surrounded, fantastic, picturesque vacation. The tension of the prior weeks seemed like a far away memory. So far away, that when I saw our priest for the first time since our return, he asked me "So how are you?" Now he said it by accentual the right words, so I understood that he was meaning it in more than a "How Ya Doin" kinda of way.

And my first response was to think to myself, "Wow! That's kind weird that he's asking it like that. I wonder why?" So I quickly answered with the generic, "Great!" Father looked at me kinda funny and then was pulled away. I stood there and continued to think about our brief little encounter. After about 5 minutes I finally got it! He didn't want to know "How ya doin?" He wanted to know how my husband and I were doing! I'm such a numb nut sometimes. But I guess my slow reaction truly reflected the wonderful time we had just spent together.

The weekend after out return the phone rang. Dupree was trying to reach us. This was the first time since he moved, and since we came home. I admit I was nervous about this call. I could just feel that something was wrong and he needed our help again. My husband called him back, and guess what? Dupree needed a place to stay.

Now we must keep in mind that I believe the friend he was renting the room from didn't really want him to move in to begin with. The friend also liked to drink. Not to stereotype but he was Irish, his friends were policemen and firefighters and - well - Irish. What is one thing the Irish are known for? You got it - drinking! (I feel the freedom to say this as I am part Irish and can drink like a fish.) So for me, Dupree moving in with him was not a permanent thing anyway. I felt it was only a matter of time before it fell apart.

According to Dupree, he and his friend went to the bar where the friend worked. (Why a recovering alcoholic is at a bar is a bit puzzling, but I digress) The evening was drawing to a close. The patrons were gone and only the barkeep, the friend, a waitress, and Dupree remained. While the barkeep and crew were cleaning up, the barkeep asked Dupree to step outside while they handled the putting the money away and Dupree obliged. Okay, maybe strange, maybe legit. A few minutes passed, then a few more, than an hour, than a little more. After an alleged 2 hours outside in the middle of the night, the waitress walked out ready to go home. Dupree stopped her to ask where his friend was, if he was coming out anytime soon, and on and on and on. (I must pause at this point to talk about 2 things. First when Dupree is intoxicated he has this uncanny way of loosing track of time. One time what was only 30 minutes transformed into 3 hours. At first I believe him, but when I saw the police record compared to the time of the call - it was only 30 minutes. Second, when intoxicate Dupree, a naturally angry person, becomes easily incensed.) After being indirectly cursed at (Dupree was cursing the friend not her) the waitress went inside to get the friend. The friend came out in a rage and he and Dupree exchanged words. Mind you Dupree felt like he was ignored, abandoned, left alone for 2 hours. With this altercation the friend at first told him to leave that night, then thinking better of himself and Dupree's situation, he said Dupree had until the end of the weekend. So our house phone went ring ring.

My husband looked at me and hesitated to tell me what had happened. We discussed the problems we encountered before. We recognized the fact that Dupree had no where else to go. We couldn't let him out on the streets, right? He did get a job. He did help keep the house tidy. He wasn't drinking. He was making an excellent effort to get his life together. So we agreed to allow him to stay with us again.

It did not take long before things began to spiral out of control. Dupree began to drink. At first it was just ONE beer. I spoke with my husband about my concerns, but he assured me that it was just a night cap. Dupree had worked hard manual labor in the hot summer sun and deserved one indulgence. I told him I felt uncomfortable with it, but I would trust him as he is my husband and would never harm me or anyone I loved.

Dupree came upon a few obstacles, mostly financial, while getting his life in order. Some of these setbacks were of high monetary value, but he scrimped and saved and worked hard. He was beginning to see the fruits of his labor and was able to pay off a few of debts. I began to let my guard down. For this I feel guilty. I don't even think I have expressed this to anyone, but I feel that I began to enable Dupree's drinking and so did my husband. My husband would be attending rehearsal and Dupree and I would be home alone talking. (Don't get any funny ideas people - I would never EVER break my marriage vows. My Catholic upbringing will always remind me to honor my husband and our covenant before G-d.) Dupree and I would talk for hours, about all kinds of things including some very personal and emotional things. While we spoke, we drank.

Like I stated earlier, I can hold my own. But to have 3 beers on a nightly basis - even every other night - hell, more than twice a week, is way too much for me. I'm not blah blah years old anymore. I'd like to believe I am past that part of my life - although it was fun, I am past it.

I began to not want to drink - at all. I was avoiding it. I would pick up Dupree on my way home from work and he would ask to stop at the liquor store to buy a 6 pack. I refused. I began to notice that he was drinking more and more. Again I approached my husband about this. Again I was placated and asked to trust in my husband and his judgment. I was still uncomfortable. I now started to notice my husband's behavior. He was drinking right along with Dupree. I don't mean that he was drinking WITH Dupree. I mean he was keeping up with Dupree. This became a nightly thing between the two of them. My husband and I went from being content with each other, making new promises to always consider the others feelings, acknowledge all the good the other does to help, and GREAT SEX - to well almost nothing. He was staying up all night - I do mean until 3 or 4 AM - drinking with Dupree, while I waited for him in our bedroom.

My husband doesn't work during the summer, so his main concern was to get up in the morning to bring Dupree to work. I however do work in the summer, therefore my routine does not change. I was finding it difficult to sleep knowing that my husband was up - and at times hearing that they were up. When he finally decided to come to bed he was so clumsy, sloppy and stank of liquor/beer that it would wake me up and then I would have difficulties falling back asleep. Dupree had to leave the house by 7AM to make it to work. Some mornings they had been partying so hard that neither one of them could be woken up. Hence the several mornings of missed worked by Dupree.
Missed work = no pay = no moving out.

One day Dupree comes home and happily shows me a new tattoo. I did what I could to hold myself together. I could not believe he just spent f-in money on a f-in tattoo! Wasn't he supposed to be saving money to pay of his debts and move out? Yet here he is spending hundreds of dollars on a f-in stupid, angry, f-ed up tattoo??!!! What the f- was he thinking? Well, wait a minute, there's the problem he wasn't thinking. To make it even worse, the artist did a crappy job and now Dupree had to make some waves to get it fixed. I talked to my husband about my disappointment and frustration with Dupree spending money on a tattoo right now. Yet again my husband calmed me by saying he's allowed to pamper himself once and again, it will make him feel better and by feeling better it will give him confidence to move on. COME ON!!!!! GIVE ME a F-in BREAK? But I went against my instincts and once again trusted my husband who would never harm me or anyone he loved.

Somewhere amidst all this I had noticed that my bottle of Kahlua had only one shot left. I distinctly remember the last time I had it and thinking "Hmm, there's still 1/2 a bottle left." One night I went for a night cap, and there was barely anything left in the bottle. I approached my husband about this and my suspicions about Dupree drinking it. He offered other possibilities of which I investigated and came up with nothing. He asked Dupree if he drank it and of course Dupree denied it. I told my husband this was the last straw. I would believe him this one last time and agreed to put it behind me.

Dupree's one drink, turned into 3, which increased to a 6 pack of 12 oz. beer, then a 6 pack of 16 oz bottles, ultimately becoming a 6 pack of 20 oz bottles. And like I said, my husband was not far behind him. Then the shit hit the fan.

I went to a concert with my friend. We got home around 1AM. My husband and Dupree were shitfaced. Even my friend - who likes to tie a few on herself - slipped in a few snide remarks about how much they drank and their behavior. After she left, the two of them prayed on my good mood and encouraged me to do a few shots. They even cracked open a new bottle of tequila for me (my fave). I made them promise me that if I did shots with them they would go to sleep no later than 1:30 and that Dupree would go to work. They both promised and spun a web of serious faces and outright lies. I did the shots in good faith. I went to bed at 1:25, reminded them of their promise and assured they were getting ready for bed too. For the next 3 hours I heard footsteps in the hallway, doors opening and closing, and laughter. At 4:30 my drunken husband crawled into bed. I awoke at 7AM, the time Dupree had to leave to get to work - remember he promised. Neither my husband nor he could be woken from their stupor. I was pretty mad, and decided that we ALL would talk about it when I got home.

I prepared to feed my 3 pussy cats. As I was getting the food ready for them only 2 came to say good morning. This was odd as usually all 3 come. At first I thought that Q was just in a deep sleep. I began to call his name, look in his regular spots, but I could not find him. He was not even responding with a meow like he normally would - especially if he accidentally had gotten locked in the basement, which has happened. I began to panic. The last cat that did not partake in her normal routine has never woken up. Where was my baby? Near panic I headed for the downstairs in the hopes that he did get stuck down there but I just couldn't hear him. On my way down I glanced out the back window onto the patio. There - outside -on our patio chair was my precious baby Q. He was frightened and so was I. I flung open the door to let him in. He was covered in grease, spider webs, leaves, and his white paws were blackened from mud. I began to think about when I got home last night he had not come to greet me nor say good night. It dawned on me that my baby was outside all night by himself! I think I actually did go into orbit.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, "GET UP!!!! GET THE FUCK UP!!!!" They were still in such a state that they did not awake. I had to shake my husband and scream in his face to get him up. He awoke with a panic. I quickly dug into him. I told him how disappointed I was in him and Dupree. How they both broke their promises. And more so how could my husband be so irresponsible as to not only let Q out (even if by accident) but to not even realized - ALL night - that he was gone. I broke down in tears. I couldn't help it. I was so angry, scared, relieved that Q was okay and disappointed I just cried.

My husband woke up Dupree and questioned him. Of course Dupree said he didn't "let" Q out. He began to raise his voice towards my husband. I walked into where they two of them were and told them it didn't matter if "let" him out or not - it didn't even matter WHO "let" him out - all that mattered was the irresponsibility that he got out and no one noticed! I told them both I was so angry I did not even want to speak with them. I had to go to work, stop at the vet to get medicine for all 3 cats for fleas and ticks, pray Q didn’t pick up any worms, and stop at the pet store to get shampoo so I could give him a bath to get the grease off of him.

That morning for 5 hours, my husband called me at worked expressing his remorse. Reinforcing that he should have been more responsible, that his drinking was out of control, and that I should come home say whatever was on my mind and he would support me 100%. And I did just that. I laid it on a little thick, but I was so livid. I told them I was disappointed that they lied to me by not keeping their promise, that the endangerment to life of a member of my family was not something to be taken lightly and that the drinking was going to stop and stop NOW. My husband began to speak, and I told him I heard what he had to say earlier in the day I accepted his apology and did not want to hear any more from him. Dupree began to apologize, but it was slowly twisting into an excuse and when he started to say if anything would have happened to Q he would move out - I shot him a glance that would have put him in his grave. I said something did happen to him, although he was not injured did not mean that nothing happened and I questioned him about how I was supposed to take the offer of him moving out "if" something happened to Q. Was that supposed to be a relief for me? I told him that I had half a mind to kick them both out right now, but that would be irrational of me and that I did not want hear anything else unless it was sincere.

I hid all the liquor. I barely spoke for days. I washed my cat and spent nearly $100 on medicine. I bought collars with bells for all 3 cats so there would be an auditory sensor that they were around as I did not trust them. My husband tried to tell me that I was overreacting with the collars - I told him he best not go there and reminded him that he promised to support me 100%.

A few days later I went out to the movies with my friends. When we returned things seemed to be normal, then my friends and I noticed my husband get testy and Dupree disappeared onto the patio. I later learned that Dupree had bought beer and was going to take one outside to drink when my husband saw him. He questioned Dupree about why he might think this was acceptable; he said that I said there would be no more drinking in the house and since the patio was not in the house that he thought I would not mind. My husband told him he better not drink at all because I was still pissed off.

Later that weekend at 1PM on Sunday Dupree asked if he could do a load of laundry. We both said - of course. He informed us that he was going to do a load and would be out of the house by 5PM. After several questions, we learned that Dupree was intending to move out that day - just like that. Since it was raining my husband offered to drive him to this supposed friend's house. He declined. After some insisting he agreed to the ride, but he wanted to be dropped of at his job because his friend was going to come pick him up there. So they pulled up to the job site. Dupree hopped the fence, opened up a van, lit a cigarette and cracked open a beer.

The following weekend we heard he stayed at a mutual friend's house. When he left the wife went for a glass of wine only to find all the liquor bottles left with just a shot in them - nearly $500.00 in alcohol consumed by Dupree. Dupree lived in the company van for a few weeks until his boss fired him for reasons I do not know. Shortly thereafter another friend of his had a room available for rent, and to the best of my knowledge he has been there for the past month.

As for my marriage - well it has become stronger than ever. I feel that my husband listens to me a bit more now when I express my feelings and I am more attentive to his needs. Through everything this experience has strengthened our bond as man and wife. I thank G-d for granting us the grace, strength, wisdom, and love to get through this difficult time and to help us grow closer to each other. I also thank Dupree for being a part of this experience. He truly is a good hearted man who has a disease. I hold no anger towards him and can only pray that he finds help before it's too late. And Dupree, if you ever have the opportunity to read this - I love you, and I hope that one day our friendship can be mended through your recovery.

A Lesson - Have a Little Heart

I began my student practicum in Mrs. M’s 4th grade class at the end of September. At first I was a bit nervous about how I would be received by the cooperating teacher and her students, but that quickly came to pass once the students walked in the classroom. They were all excited to see a new “teacher” and greeted me with big smiles.

Mrs. M explained to me what was expected of the students prior to their arrival. They had the first few minutes to unpack their book bags, begin the morning language arts practice sheets, and settle into their seats for the day. Well, as with most children they weren’t quite ready by the time the morning announcements came and a few came in late. With a little prompting from Mrs. M the students were ready to begin their day. During this time Mrs. M collected lunch orders, picture money, and a few other odds and ends from the students. She asked some of the students if they had done their homework and entertained their questions.

In her dealing with two of the students I began to feel a bit uncomfortable as I felt she was being too harsh with them. As this was my first day I said nothing and just observed, hoping that Mrs. M’s reactions were caused by her knowledge of the children she had been with for the past 3 weeks.

The one girl, Jenny, didn’t have her picture money and it was picture day. Without her money she would not be able to get an individual picture taken and she was upset when she learned she could not bring it in the next day. Mrs. M told Jenny that she would still be in the class picture but she wouldn’t have a personal portrait taken. She turned away from Jenny and said to me, “Watch there will be tears now”, and then walked away from the girl. At first I thought that this was a bit harsh and that she could have provided Jenny with a possible solution, like going to the office to call one of her parents, but I dared not make that suggestion. I did not know if it was acceptable in this school for the students to go to the office to call their parents for something like this.

Within minutes Jenny began to cry. Her face turned red, and all I could think of was that this little girl was going to be in her class picture with teary, swollen eyes and nose and a red face. Before Mrs. M began her first lesson she told Jenny several times to calm down, stop overeating, to pull herself together, and that she has to stop reacting like this all the time. I deal with children at my job everyday. Although I am not in the classroom with them I am the one who handles discipline problems, upset stomachs, and children waiting for their parents to pick them up. I frequently see the children work themselves up towards a potential melt down and try to circumvent it by taking their minds off of whatever is bothering them. But Mrs. M just continued with her daily routine and ignored Jenny. After about 45 minutes, Jenny raised her hand and asked to go to the office to call her dad to see if he could bring the picture money, and to my surprise Mrs. M allowed her to go. I couldn’t help but wonder why Mrs. M did not make this suggestion to Jenny sooner. I know that sometimes children overreact to things, but I thought that it was the responsibility of the teacher to help children work through it when the situation was at hand. I also understand that this is not always possible, but when faced with such a small problem that was causing such distress I would hope that there would be enough time to present a potential solution to the problem. In the end I was happy that Jenny found her our solution, I just felt bad for her.

The second thing I observed within in these few minutes that bothered me was conversation between Mrs. M and another student, Samantha. It was evident to me that this girl was a bit scattered. Her books and paper were thrown in her desk and some were hanging out. Her back pack was stuffed with school work and she was struggling to get it unpacked. As she was empting out the crumbled papers from her bag Mrs. M approached her about a worksheet that she had apparently lost earlier in the week. Mrs. M held the paper in front of Samantha and asked her in a harsh tone if she knew where Mrs. M had found the paper. Samantha looked up at Mrs. M with her eyes beginning to brim with tears and said she didn’t know. Mrs. M explained that she had found in Samantha’s desk the day before and wanted to know why Samantha was unable to find it herself. Samantha said she didn’t know but that she did look for it. Mrs. M then told her that she better not lie to her anymore. Samantha quickly became defensive and explained that she wasn’t lying and that she did try to find the paper. Mrs. M did not accept this defense, told her it better not happen again and walked away. As she was walking towards me she rolled her eyes in disgust. Again, I did not know Samantha or anything that may have transpired over the past few weeks but I still felt that the situation was handled rather harshly. How could Mrs. M be so certain that this girl did not attempt to look for this paper? It was obvious to me that she was disorganized, and as I observed through the course of the day, Mrs. M moves at a rapid pace there may not have been enough time for Samantha to dig through her desk to find it. Confronting Samantha about finding the missing paper was the right thing to do, but to accuse her of lying was a bit over the top. Maybe this could have been a lesson about being more organized. Maybe Samantha would have to miss recess so she could take the time to organize her desk to avoid future situations like this. This interaction set the tone for Mrs. M and Samantha for the rest of the day.

When Mrs. M broke the children into groups so they could begin their math station review, she explained to one girl that she would be working with her since she was absent. She then began to call out the student’s names according to their groups. Once their name was called they were to proceed to their math station and begin their work. The girl who was absent got her math workbook and began to work while she waited for Mrs. M, but in the back corner stood Samantha, alone. Mrs. M had not called her name, nor instructed her about what she was to do. Again the tears began to swell in Samantha’s eyes. Mrs. M finally acknowledged her by asking why she was just standing there. Samantha explained that her name wasn’t called and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. The teacher, in a condescending voice, asked her why she was confused because every time the class did math stations she was to work on her own. Samantha just stared at her and then got her workbook and began working.

As I was going around helping the class with their work, I made a point to go check on Samantha. Mrs. M had been focusing all her attention on the absentee girl and had not checked up on the others, including Samantha. As I worked with her I realized that she needed attention, positive attention. She was struggling with her work and explained to me that when she asked her parents for help, they did not understand the work so were unable to assist. I also realized that she did not comprehend the work at hand. She could not remember what was taught in the class, it was almost as if she was never taught this particular lesson. I tried my best to explain it to her, and used a few different approaches. I recognized that to a certain extent she was “not getting it” because she needed my attention, so I suggested that she try the first 5 problems alone and told her I would come back to check on her. I walked away and began to help other students. When I returned a few minutes later she had completed the 5 problems. Some of her answers were wrong, but at least she made an attempt. I asked her how she came up with the answers and then I re-explained the lesson told her try to correct the ones she got wrong and then continue with the next 5 and I would be back. I repeated this throughout the time period, and guess what? By the end of the math station session, she had completed the entire worksheet and answered many of the questions correctly! Mrs. M was surprised. Samantha now had a sense of accomplishment.

As the day progressed I continued to see the tension between Mrs. M and Samantha increase. Upon the class’ return from lunch they were to prepare for their science test. As Samantha went to get her science book and notes, everything fell out of her desk. She tried desperately to put it all back before the test was to begin, but was unable to. Mrs. M chastised her for having things on her desk before a test, even though the child was on the floor obviously trying to clean up. Mrs. M began to select certain students at random to move to another location in the room for the test, one of the students was Samantha. Well, I guess the days events had built up the tension between the two and Samantha had an outburst. She slammed her chair under her desk and raised her voice asking why she had to move, what did Mrs. M think that she was going to cheat? Samantha said everyone in the class knew she was going to fail and that the only reason she was being asked to move was because Mrs. M didn’t like her. A hush fell over the class. Mrs. M paused a moment and then asked Samantha to go into the hallway and wait for her. When she talked in private to Samantha she told her she expected an apology for her outburst and a promise that it would never happen again. When Samantha returned to the class she was crying and began taking her test. I feel that this entire episode was avoidable. If Mrs. M had been more sensitive to her needs and handled certain situations throughout the day with more care Samantha would not have felt Mrs. M’s animosity and not have had an outburst. It is amazing how children can sense how others feel about them.

I learned at the end of the day that Samantha came from a very poor family. Their house was recently condemned due to all the flooding over the past few years and they were forced to move out. As a matter of fact, the next day was Samantha’s last day at this school. I also learned that her parents did not spend enough time with her at home and had personal adult problems they were dealing with. Mrs. M told me that she knew Samantha needed attention but she felt that it was not her job to give it to her. My heart just broke. I could not imagine myself, not now nor when I am a teacher, feeling that it was not my job to give a child attention. I know that you cannot focus all your attention on one student when you have a class of 20, but you could give just a little. This was a valuable lesson for me. If I’m ever faced with a similar situation with a student, I’m certain exacting how I would respond, but I know I would try to be more understanding and kind hearted. I’ve seen a second grade teacher in an Abbot District school with 25 students facing many more obstacles than this one little girl, but the teacher did her utmost best to acknowledge every student and give them individual time. I would like to try to emulate this second grade teacher when I have my own class.