Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

Name that tune. Someday I'll tell you about the college non-boyfriend with whom that was our non-song, but that's for another time. It feels a little cheesy now, but I always liked that line, and it works here.

I haven't been doing so hot at the blogging thing the past several weeks, as I was trying to get my seniors graduated and my sophomores to pass the Gateway and myself to pass the classes I was taking and at some point, I had to sleep. I had a great mini-vacation in the middle of it all and a nifty spring weekender in Nashville a couple of weeks after that, but the past couple of months have taken their toll on everything--my physical health, my creativity, my emotions, and my will to do much of anything besides sleep. When there's time for sleep.

And now, all of a sudden, it's over. I graduated my babies, standardized tests came and went (and not one of my sophomores failed, thank you very much), and the longest week in recorded time finally ended yesterday. I guess I thought I would whoop and cartwheel my way out the door the last time I left Gestapo High, but in the end, I just said bye to my co-teachers and got in the car.

Everything isn't over, of course. I'm about to start a whirlwind of classes and packing, all crammed into the month of June. But, my parents did come today and take a very large load of my possessions back to Nashville. Thing is, though, I failed to go much past the beginning of anything besides my teaching here--as great as my congregation is, I spend too much time out of town or in class to really get to know people, for instance. Nice, well-meaning members still introduce themselves to me all the time, thinking I'm a visitor. I made friends with some of my co-teachers, but only a couple of them turned out not to be typical small-town-school-system back-stabbers, sadly enough. Maybe I'll write about that someday, too, but in the end I'm still leaving...and that part of my life has come to an end.

My teaching, though I feel like I plumbed the depths of it this year, is very much still at its beginning. That's exciting. I had thought moving to Nashville was my grand new beginning a couple of years ago. And, in some ways, I don't feel like my Nashville era has completely ended--at times, I've felt like I somehow still lived in Nashville, but commuted 3 hours and kept a place over here to stay at for the sake of my job. The beginnings will keep beginning, though, whether I end up back in my beloved Nashville or over in the mountains of my dreams--or in some other as-yet-unthought-of place.

And the beginning I'm really looking forward to? My niece's debut appearance in July :). I love her so much already, and I can't wait for her to get here.

Anyway, beginnings are thrilling and new and fun and scary and hopeful, and I dig that. I'm ready, though, to stop having such frequent beginnings--as in, I'd like for my parents not to have to drive to wherever I am and move me to some other place once a year as we've done for the past few. I'm ready to get where I'm going. I just don't know where that is yet.

As for right now, I'm just trying to figure out what to do with myself. I know I need to pack, and classes start soon, but I still have a few days to kill and no money to burn. I'm thinking--dare I say it?--that I might read something. And, possibly, watch a movie that's not just background to paper-grading. And walk in the evenings, and do yoga in the mornings. I almost don't believe it--I feel like there must be something else I'm supposed to do...but, really, it appears I've been granted some time just for me. That hasn't happened in a long time. I welcome it.

Elegy upon a Mac.

It was with near-hyperventilation and great chagrin that I fully realized this morning that my sweet Mac will be taken from me tomorrow. I must admit it was one of the great selling points of moving here, and since August, it has been a companion second only to Dorian. No, it's not the Holy Grail/panacea to all the world's ills/balm of Gilead that Mac users get accused of touting, but there really is something smooth and intuitive about it. And, not having to worry about viruses is something I very quickly got used to.

...which makes the fossilizing PC on my desk at home all the more pitiful. I've been needing to replace it for probably about two years now. The disk space is gone. I mean, it's served me well for the most part, but I've had it since 2004, and we all know that was the stone age in technology terms. I want to pare down and replace it and my outgoing laptop with my own Mac laptop.

So, I'm asking you, my tech-savvy readers: what do I need to be sure to get in terms of disk space, memory, and anything else I have no idea how to ask about? I don't need anything earth-shattering, but it will be my only computer, so it needs to be sufficient. Also, I have a lot of music on iTunes, so I need to make sure to accommodate for that.

Most likely, I won't be able to afford a new one due to the aforementioned impending unemployment, but I can't go without a computer. Thus, I'm looking at refurbished ones at The Apple Store and MacAuthority.

Help...

Pomp, circumstance, and Big J.

This morning, I gave my last final exam to my last group of kids at this particular high school. My only real emotions at their departure when the bell rang were of the positive kind--sophomores, I gotta say, are not my favorite.

Watching my senior babies graduate, however, was another matter. I taught three (out of six total) blocks of seniors over the past year. As you may recall, they did what they could to break me. Sometimes they won. Sometimes, I said mean things. Often, they did the same. The difference was that I knew it wasn't okay to do so. In the beginning, I was even reduced to tears a few times by the end of the school day.

At some point toward the middle part of this semester--and I have no idea when this happened--though, I had some sort of turnaround...I grew thicker skin. My worry up to that point had been, "I want them to be good, but I don't want them to think I'm mean!" At some point, though, it shifted--the worry didn't completely go away, but it subsided quite a bit. Once I stopped dwelling so much on how mean I was worried about being, I was nicer.

But still sarcastic. Always sarcastic.

Thing is, when honest with themselves, there's not one student who can say with any integrity that I did not work with them on a one-on-one basis. Humans tend to gang up when given any time together, especially in confined spaces, though, thus I had to "get smart," as they put it, when they chose to do so against me. Of course, it was much better than the alternative, which would be Miss Holly completely losing it on their tails, but that doesn't often occur. Meh.

Someday I'll be a good teacher who always speaks in hushed tones. I have a feeling, though, that that will be the day it's time to quit and start the coffee shop.

Back to graduation. Unlike the freshmen and sophomores I taught this year, my seniors and I eventually reached an understanding. I learned that I had to be stricter on the front end and not take anything personally. They learned I actually would give them an F if that's what they earned.

Toward the end of the spring semester, too many supposedly-graduating seniors had earned Fs, so the assistant principal and I worked out a contract plan with several of them. By the time grades were due, all but about two students--both of whom were failing other classes as well and had made it known they couldn't care less about graduating--were passing. I couldn't have been prouder of these kids, some of whom had come from WAY behind to realize that life wasn't just going to hand them success. Or, at least, that Miss Holly wasn't going to.

It was my privilege to sit and watch them awkwardly teeter in dress shoes, with tassels quivering to the right of their caps, to accept their diplomas. I knew I was going to miss them and think of them fondly, but I had no idea what a direct connection my heart would have to their accomplishment. Some of them overcame overwhelming personal odds to achieve this goal--a goal that maybe no one else in their family had achieved--a goal that a striking percentage of their entering freshman class had given up on long since.

***

Let me tell you about Big J. Big J and I had a rocky start. He started my fall English IV class a little later, having transferred out of another class for reasons unknown (but subsequently easily inferred). Big J is around 6'4" and weighs 300 if he's a pound. He has a knack for slapstick humor and a major chip on his shoulder brought about by his weight, his race, and, I imagine, some other matters that you and I will most likely never understand.

Big J decided he was going to be the star of English IV. For one thing, he is almost incapable of sitting still. He's like a first-grader right before recess. At all times. He's also almost incapable of keeping his mouth shut, even when he knows the consequence. As a first-time high-school teacher already drowning in student animosity and apathy, he was at times more than I could handle. After several write-ups, scoldings, and "let's have a talk in the hall"s, though, he figured out that I meant what I said--but that I also meant him no harm.

Big J failed English IV last fall. When he did his work, it was obvious he was not a dumb student. A senior research project is required for all students, however, and he somehow neglected to fully internalize that fact. When he didn't turn it in, it broke my heart, but I had no choice but to fail him.

After stomping out of credit recovery sessions, he arrived--late again--in my spring English IV class. At some point in the fall, he had begrudgingly decided I was okay. I cringed, but only slightly, when he transferred back in...in all reality, I had to say his mischievous grin was a welcome sight. His mantra became "I ain't tryin' to fail again, Miss Holly," and he worked his substantial tail off to make sure it didn't happen again.

The last week of school, Big J came to me every day at the beginning of class to get a goodbye hug. On graduation night, as he filed past me into his designated seat, he sought out eye contact, beamed, and waved.

He didn't even do that to his mama.

There are many reasons I came here. I know there are, though I don't know just a whole lot of them now. Regardless of what they turn out to be, I consider Big J very near the top of the list.

In which I blog at work in order to let you know about a couple of things I'm digging.

I totally shouldn't be doing this, but since my seniors' classes ended, that only leaves me with one class a day to teach. So, instead of paying bills, grading tests, or doing inventory, I'm going to tell you about some stuff that has caught my eye lately:

1. The new Nashvillest blog. I LOVE this! Quirky, fun, lighthearted--it highlights the grooviest parts of Nashville (the, ahem, Nashvillest) without losing its edge. It's a refreshing, informative, and up-to-the-minute take on the city I love and miss. They're doing a great job over there--go discover it before the trolls do!

2. Raven's Brew coffee. Ohhhh my. This is one of those rare splurges I mentioned last post. The link will take you to the "coffee shop" portion of my friends Jennifer and Chris's website, which I highly recommend you browse through. And buy the coffee. It's the first coffee I've had that actually tastes like it smells. Shipping is expensive, but I got a free travel mug with mine (amazing, right?), so it might kind of even out if you take the plunge.

3. Kombucha. I debated recommending this, then realized how hip I would sound if I did, so it must be the right thing to do [/tongue-cheek implantation]. It doesn't taste good, per se, but it has the strangest effect on the bod. A lithe, glowing yoga instructor staying in the same B&B on my Asheville trip recommended it--said she was addicted. We wanted to look like her, so we went to the local co-op and stocked up. It tastes like slightly-fruity, beeresque vinegar. Another splurge, but it's in the name of health, right? I can't buy it that often, though, as I have to go to Nashville or Memphis to procure it, and it's not worth the gas, I must admit. Try it if you'd like an organic little lift or a gentle cleanse throughout your day. I'm waiting to turn into a lithe, glowing yoga instructor. Any day now.

4. I'm on Flickr now. I'd link it, but it's blocked here at Gestapo High. I've added a badge to the right, though. I don't have much on there right now--I just put most of the photos I already had on my Mac, as I'm having to surrender it back to the powers that be next week. I'm hoping to be a more active picture-taker if I have somewhere to organize them. I don't have anything artistic up yet, but feel free to check out my snapshots.

Happy Wednesday to you.

Riding on a chrome horse with my diplomat.

Once upon a time, before I had my license, my daddy would pick me up after school sometimes. Since, in some ways, our personalities are near-identical, some days we'd sit the entire 15 minutes home in complete silence. Some days, though, he'd humor my blossoming adolescent mind and listen to some half-cocked theory I'd developed about the universe that very day. (He still does this, by the way--I'm just not an adolescent anymore.)

I don't remember the date or even the year, but one such afternoon, Bob Dylan's "Like A Rolling Stone" was playing on the radio as he turned out of the parking lot of the school. He chuckled and said, "you know, Bob woke up that morning and had some stuff to get off his chest."

That's me today. Disclaimer: I have neither the lyricism of Mr. Zimmerman nor any authoritative knowledge of the things I'm about to rant about, so if you have either of those, it's best you keep moving on, as I'm just going to sound like...well, like my adolescent self half-cocking some theories, that's what.

First off, I read this by Newscoma, and it really resonated with me. I don't do politics, but when I drive a Ford Focus and am paying almost $40 to fill up, something is wrong, and all the stump speeches in the world are not going to fix it. I drive 30 minutes one way to work every day, and for the past school year, I've been taking classes twice a week at 1.5 hours round trip each. Toss in a weekend trip every once in a while to Nashville, and some months I've spent almost $300 on gas alone. That doesn't touch what people in SUVs are paying, I know, but that's kind of the point--I drive a tiny little fuel-efficient hatchback. I'm not extravagant in my lifestyle.

I cannot complain; I have a family who kicks in generously when I over-extend myself. Those times have come all too frequently lately, though my few splurges are becoming fewer and cheaper. I cannot imagine what this whole recession--non-recession, whatever--looks like to someone not so fortunate.

If you're waiting for some profound closing statement on this, I have none. That, too, seems to be the point. There's lots of complaining going on, but ultimately the voices that are being heard are not the ones who have to skip the pickles...or the groceries in general. I'm just thankful that, thus far, I'm only part of the former group and not the latter. Without family, though, I have no doubt that I would be.

***

I read a blog not too long ago in which the author felt the need--in all caps, no less--to inform teachers that if a student makes a low score on a test, the student did not get the concept being tested. The author went on, based upon one experience, to accuse teachers of not caring whether students learn or not. The case study described was a frustrating one, and it did appear that the one teacher was not as caring as s/he should have been. I'm also pretty sure the author did not mean to generalize all teachers.

As a teacher myself, though, reading the blog was a definite slap in the face. It was also a reminder, however, that I used to get frustrated with teachers in the public school system as well. As a college instructor, I used to wonder just what teachers were doing in high schools, because they certainly weren't teaching my incoming freshmen how to write. When I decided to try teaching again, I got the big idea that I'd try to go help fix the situation (I do that--get big ideas--sometimes).

What I hadn't bargained for--well, you know what my experience has been. I haven't slept just a whole lot this year. I've bent over backwards, begging students to talk to me about any problems they're having, staying after school (or coming before school) to help salvage grades, and giving chance after chance to make up work. When I remember what I used to think about secondary educators now, I cringe and want to apologize for any verbalized thoughts I might have had.

The thing is, though--things are not as they should be. I wish the public would question what's going on in schools more. That would be productive. What's not productive is passing judgment. I understand the frustration, though--I feel it every day. I guess I just want to let you all know--we're trying.

***

Now for some more personal nonsense:

I'm quitting sugar again. As of today. And it's already killing me. Someday I'll probably break down and tell you more about my body than you want to know, but for now, suffice it to say, sugar is poison to me.

I found out my lease is up June 30. This means I'm going to be cramming in 9 hours of graduate work and packing up my entire apartment in the space of one month. In better news, the school year is almost over and I'll have a few days off before I begin classes again. I'm feeling a nice peace with how things have ended up at school, even if some circumstances haven't been ideal.

Oh, I'm just praying and thinking and hoping lots of things, but I guess I'll leave it at that for now. I took my last sick day today because of a headache, but the headache is already better. Lots of things are already better.

THIS is why I love Starbucks.

Call it instant coffee karma. Today I had one of the grooviest experiences I've ever had with my erstwhile employer.

Some background: I've been looking for a new travel mug to take my coffee to work in. I've been scoping them out and pricing them, but haven't taken the plunge yet. A minor decision to most, but one that will have daily ramifications for me. It must be airtight, so as not to become a dribble mug. It must be ergonomic and pleasant to hold, and preferably shiny and pretty. And, most importantly, it must NOT topple out of the car's cup-holder.

After meeting a friend for lunch a couple of towns over--the only town within 45 minutes of where I live that actually has a Starbucks--I drove through to get an iced-triple-grande-nonfat-no-whip mocha. The cute kid at the window gave me a card and asked me if I wanted to participate in a fundraising event they were conducting for the troops. It's a fabulous idea--the customer buys a pound of coffee beans, and Starbucks pays to send it overseas. I loved the thought of the soldiers being able to have a little taste of home--we send so many practical things that are so important and, I know, appreciated. I would imagine, though, that coffee--especially good coffee--is a little luxury they might not be able to indulge in incredibly often.

So, I bought a pound, and as the barista handed me my card, before I could drive away, he said, "wait--you get a goody bag!"

You can see where this is going :).

I drove a few yards and couldn't stand it--I had to open the bag. Yup. A shiny black, smooth-handled, airtight, weighted travel mug. It's exactly what I would have bought myself. I'd have felt good driving away anyway, thinking of one of our country's heroes having a warm cup of comfort--but I must admit this was a delicious little serendipity.

Oh, and Dorian likes it too.

The weirdest thing.

Since getting kinda-sorta sacked (I really will explain later, but I'm trying to avoid getting semi-dooced, so sorry for being vague), this glorious perspective has descended upon me. It was already coming, honestly, but I was in denial for a while about it. It seemed so very contrary to all the NCLB-spanking, self-kicking, mommy-calling misery I've bemoaned so much here and elsewhere.

Against my best intentions, I really like my job. I really like teaching.

What's more, I like teaching these kids.

And I'm going to miss their tails.

It's a rough school. Not big-city-ghetto rough, not metal-detector-requiring rough, but only a couple of steps backward from it. And it's rough in a way that is the most heartbreaking of all: the hopelessness of so many situations of so many students is surpassed only by their apathy. And yet...

And yet. It's not all of them all the time. This is the part where I'm supposed to say, "for instance, today while reading 'She Walks in Beauty,' I saw the spark of a Romantic poet in their eyes" or something like that. Nope. They HATE the Romantics (which I'm torturing them with because they're what made me want to be an English major years ago), and they hate poetry in general. They make that very clear. They make very clear that they're only humoring me by doing the worksheet because they know I'll give them a 0 if they don't, and they want to graduate.

But, sometimes I connect. It does happen. It's usually when I'm doing one of my goofy, gesticulating paraphrases. Or when I just set them free with it--we've had some surprisingly insightful moments. Regardless, the moments that get to me are the "Miss Holly, are you going to miss us when we graduate?" moments. Sure, they're joking...but not really. Oh, dear me. I actually have to shift focus for a bit now because I'm getting teary.

Point being, there's something about knowing you're leaving a place that makes you appreciate it more. "Place," in this case, not being this town or county or region (for the most part), as I still haven't gotten used to the utter void and flatness of it, but instead it's this "place" in my life, I guess. Beyond the English dept., very few other teachers have even bothered to get to know the outsider, so it's not my colleagues that I appreciate so much. It's this time and what I've learned from it...and these kids and what I've learned from them. They have managed--at least some of them--to see past my sarcasm and frustration and realize that hey, I actually want good things from them--that I'm on their side. And, in a way only teenagers can, they've every once in a while managed to show some appreciation for it.

Of course, the moment usually passes and the eyerolling commences as soon as I assign the writing prompt, but I caught it anyway. And I'm going to keep it with me.

When I tell people what school I teach for, nine times out of ten I get my heart blessed. Thing is, though--I'm not sure what I'll do if I end up moving to a school in which parents are involved and kids care about the subject and there isn't dress code absurdity. As gut-wrenching as it was in the beginning, I must admit something in me likes the challenge. I like figuring out what will help them learn, often against their will.

I'll say it again, I'm so glad I'm here.

I'm also so glad to be leaving. And those feelings aren't contradictory at all.