Wednesday, June 02, 2010

the truth of it...

I've been very poetic lately when I write because I've had so many feelings and things going on, I hardly know how to begin.
I figured that it was about time I wrote plainly, rather than prosey.
I am feeling that I'm in a stage of BEGINNING.
I have such a hard time working in a job that I am over-qualified and under-payed at.
But I'm pretty proud of myself for not giving in to that feeling. I've spent lots of time just giving this job my absolute best, and yes, overdoing almost every single day.
I've also spent most of this school year in packing my goods away, paring down my house so it can be put up for sale...again.
I've put myself into a place of truthful, honest-to-goodness optimism. It is AMAZING.
Of course I have days where I just want to cry at all the disappointments
and clutching at dreams, but I pick myself up, put up my chin, thank my pioneering Mothers and say,
"No matter. We'll just keep going. There is a goal in mind here. I'm about getting it, don't you know."

There is terrible news for public schools since yesterday, here in Oregon, with our governor having to cut that spending by 9%...and I can hardly believe it. The cuts at our little school alone have to go much deeper than salary freezes, cutting back days, or reducing spending budgets. They are cutting back from what they don't have to cut from.
I do not understand how you can get blood from a turnip. If I let it, I can get downright red-in-the-face over the state of education in Oregon right now.
And I worry about not getting my job back next year.

BUT, I have this tingly, sensitive little feeling in the soles of my feet that says, "You are just about to get what you've been wanting. Are you ready for it?"

I just can't explain it, but in the midst of all this bad news, I hold onto this lantern of optimism.

I see myself teaching next year.
I see myself living in the middle of farmland in an old farmhouse next year.
I can hear it.
I can smell it.
I can feel myself in it, letting tears of happiness run down my cheeks and letting them dry in a warm wind on a summer day.

I can hear the wind through the leaves of an old tree.
I can hear my goats bleating at me for attention.
I can feel kitties at my feet.
I can hear my kids laughing and running as fast as they can in the openness.
I can smell the fresh cut grass.
I can feel the coolness of the wind off of the pond every so often.
I'll lay down under my tree and open my eyes and see the bluest sky I've ever seen.
I'll see a little sparrow flying from the eaves of our barn.
And then I'll grab the grass in my fists and say, "This is mine. I dreamed this and now it is here."

I want it for my children. I want it for my husband. I want it for myself.
The happiest moments in my life were spent in the openness, in the grasses, and the sprinklers. My most precious memories are of being caked with mud and sunshine and wind and finally getting my pig back in her pen, or scratching behind the ears of our lead cow, or throwing buckets of tadpoles in the pond that I'd rescued from evaporating puddles.
I want to give them this gift of sweet freedom and confidence.

And, I think it is beginning...



2 comments:

Naquillity said...

good morning Katiebird~ i love your vision and your new beginning. hold on tight and when it's here let it unfold gently so as to savor every moment. love the collage too. hope all is well.

Christine Crocker said...

good morning my little bird~

I can hear it, taste it, smell it and feel it for you, too...it's right there...hold it close.
it won't be long.