On the Nest

I’m mad. Mad at politics harming people I love. Mad at the fact that after nearly 30 years of teaching, I’m struggling to afford to live in the same county in which I teach and my daughter goes to school. Mad that I cannot get adequate care for an autoimmune disease I suffer with because insurance doesn’t think they should cover it. Mad that obedience and compliance is prioritized over individuals’ needs in the district in which I work.

This week is spring break. I’m soaking in the hot springs. I’m hiking the land. I’m listening to the birds. I’m creating some art just for me.

Filling my own cup from nature and creation this week, letting the Earth hold me, lovingly, so that I may lovingly hold my family and students and myself the last two months of school.

Resistance comes in many forms. Survival is one of them.

In light of the offensive, but not surprising, information about Cesar Chavez, I wanted to highlight the work I made for an auction benefitting the Indiana Dems a few years back. I lovingly drew, stitched, and painted Dolores Huerta’s face.
Long ago, I read about her co-founding the National Farm Workers Association, and I always had materials about her in my classrooms over the years because she was born in Dawson, NM and I wanted to show students that even when you come from a small town, you can do big things.
She has always inspired me to be brave and use my voice.

She is 96. She’s held secrets for decades. I hope she can now find a measure of peace knowing that the movement is more than that man and that her legacy will always be strength and honor.

It’s been a challenging year. I’ve been struggling with more chronic pain again, med changes, and trying to find work-life balance in a job where the demands are always demanding something more. I’ve been struggling with my mental health as well, as this country’s government slides into territory I didn’t think I’d live to see. But there have been joyful moments, peaceful moments, and I’ve had time to discover interests that might carry me through my next 15-20 years (should I be lucky enough to have them). So I persist, feisty as ever and my heart full of love. Onward.

While we humans read and nibble, the dogs 😴 snooze. Cozy holiday times this year, when so much feels so out of control.

Getting my holiday hair done at .enoirsalon is a treat! Thank you to Ebonie & Ginger for the pampering. 🩵

I would love to listen to a a watch along with this movie —Gandahar. Whew, what a movie.

This year’s school ID.
Posting, because along with my green eyes and my perpetually dyed hair, my conviction for separation of public education and religion is just part of who I am.
Posting, because as long as I wear glasses I will defend the right to have public education free from white nationalists as staff in the school.

Just in case there was any doubt about who I am or what I stand for.

I’m putting this here because soon I’m going to need to speak out about things and I don’t want any confusion about this.

Happy LOTR marathon day to all who celebrate.

This morning I had a doctor’s appointment so I was at home in the morning instead of at work. The neighbors’ goats visited and the dogs lost their minds trying to get outside to herd them. But I got my microdose of being a shepherd, so that was lovely.

External me; Internal me. I voted today in my teeny town of 450 people. I was voter number 112 by 12:30 today, so I’m taking it as a good sign. But internal me is having a tough time eating and sleeping so…. I’m off to listen to The Cure again.

A blink of an eye or a lifetime ago, a high school boyfriend who shall not be named but knows who he is introduced me to The Cure. We sat in his car in the student parking lot of our high school listening to his tapes of Disintegration and Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me and I was captivated. My bedroom walls were soon covered with posters of The Cure and I purchased my own tapes and CDs.

Now, more than 3 decades later, I’m watching their latest concert on YouTube as I work. I have Tuesday’s election on my mind, and the agitation of being in my 50s is always there in the background of my mind. But watching this concert, hearing Robert Smith’s voice sing true, the lyrics always saying the things my heart needs, is bringing me back to those high school days when there was promise and potential on the horizon and the stretch of time ahead seemed endless.