BatBeard

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Has it really come to this?

Published July 24, 2019 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I did something very grown up today. I went to see my financial advisor. He is technically a “wealth manager”. Since I just went out to the parking lot to scrounge for quarters under my car seat, I find it difficult to believe that I have wealth to manage.

I do have some funds in an IRA and a 401k, mainly because I got half from my EH. It’s the law.

Anyway I was pleased to find out that unless the republic crumbles, I may actually be able to retire in seventeen years. (I’m not sure I will still be alive then, but I didn’t really think I would be on this side of fifty, so who knows?)

I asked my WM would he be able to warn me if society completely tanks and assets are grabbed. (I made it clear that I was referring to both my ethnicity and gender.)  He said that if that happened it would be without warning and would happen overnight.

I found that slightly reassuring, because my plan B is to hope that some friendly Anglos would help out. BatBeard is fully prepared to shoot zombies and marauders got protect me. (He is! I’ve seen the results of his target practice.)

I’ve made so little money over the past two years that I have gotten really good at this budgeting thing. So the upside of the surviving til retirement thing is that I  actually have some experience with the scrimping and pinching to make ends meet thing. I do like having a bit extra and I am in no way suffering.

Right this minute, I am ok and the only thing on my shopping list is cat toys.  Really.

I actually put pen to paper to remember cat toys.  This is because the little terror called Sabrina has disemboweled all of the catnip mice. There are other toys but she is insistent on playing fetch (BatBeard taught her to do that, and then went back to Myrtle Beach.) with the limp empty husks of catnip mice. There are tufts of catnip scented cotton all over the apartment.

So I need to get new catnip mice. It sounds like I’m spoiling the cats. I’m not. I’m not making a special trip or anything. But she prefers the mice from Target. So if I happen to be at Target, I will get her the mice. I’m not going to Target just for the cat.

I will let you know how I do with that.

 

 

Perhaps my need isn’t driving today.

Published June 20, 2019 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

At my age, practically fifty, if nine days equals practically, many a cliche has been lobbed my way.  As an editor and sometimes content re-writer of things, I am familiar with the slings and errors of other peoples words. (See what I did there?)  Right now I trying to focus my spinning brain. There is a lot going on and I am trying not to be precious with my words.  I have five more days of summer school to teach and the I will be unemployed. I’m not dead sure what I’m going to do, so I am trying to distract myself.

One of the things I do to distract myself, especially if I am supposed to be doing something else, like writing and editing articles, so I can keep what paltry ducats I do have coming in, or perhaps organizing my living room and for God’s-sake-getting- all-of-the-stuff-out-of-my car-because- Actor Boy and BatBeard are both coming in next week is watch documentaries. Ok, so I mostly scroll through the titles and descriptions of documentaries and decide that watching real life is just going to make me rage, and everyone keeps telling me to calm down and maybe I should consider decaf and would I just try meditating, and everyone knows how I feel about that, what with the whole, Id, Ego and SuperEgo chatting at me and how my neurologist never answered my question about my sanity, so I just stick to reading the description and then take a gander at the movies new, old and those which people keep telling me I NEED to see. (For the record, all I really need to do is drink water, feed the cats and stay mostly sentient for the next several days. )

So on that topic, BatBeard highly recommended that I watch A Star is Born. He also said, “I know you don’t like Bradley Cooper.” I don’ t NOT like Bradley Cooper. I’m just very confused at how he is always lurking somewhere in my To Watch List.

I’m not sure how I feel about seeing a Star is Born. In my personal opinion, I think there is too much protesting from Camp Gaga and Camp Cooper for the chemistry thing to be just rumor. And what makes me flurb about that is that even the thinnest sheen of lying and infidelity, but especially the lying and I didn’t suddenly go blind and what makes some of us good directors is that we can see chemistry and you aren’t fooling us with that costume and it’s not just us who notice and the “oh we’re just friends”.

Anyway, on the documentary list, there is one that the documentarian said “they were driven by a need”. I’m not dead sure where my need is driving to, but probably Target because I’m low on cat food.

I should get right on that.

Before I get distracted

Write where we are

Published November 22, 2018 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

As I have mentioned  a number of times, much of my education took place in Catholic Schools.  (Three actually) Now I am back on the Mother Ship, teaching et, al. basically living the dream.   I do have flashbacks.  In the lexicon of Catholic Education,the students who attend Catholic School have their Religious education needs met during the school day.  The children who attend public schools go to CCD. Not real sure if that’s what it’s still called.  These kids were taught in a less rigid, more folksy-summer-camp environment.

While we had to sing songs like “Lo’how rose ere blooming” ( I swear that song has about thirty verses.) and “Bloom where you’re planted” (I don’t even want to get into the problems I have with that song. Suffice it to say that  The Mom, she with her MRE and me, with my M.Ed and MA. had a conversation that ended with an agreeing to disagree.)

Meanwhile the CCD kids got to sing the rousing song”Thank you Lord for giving us life. Right where we are” by Diane Davis. That song is so rousing and catchy that I remember it after only hearing it once, forty years ago.

I’ve been thinking about that song a lot lately. Not just because I’m in a whirlwind of activity, but also because I am reminding me to be grateful

As for the above mentioned whirlwind:

I have this week, and this week alone, to finish moving out of the house where I have lived for 13 years. This house was selected by the Adulteress when she and EH were first a couple.  I lived here when I was recovering from that time my head blew up, because EH and I WERE STILL MARRIED. I don’t know why the rest of the world seemed to think it was acceptable that she still live here while I was trying to grow a new brain.

Here’s something I’ve never told anyone. (I know, so why not share it with the folk who don’t know me.) When I had finished my recovery and was ready to be released back into the wild, I decided to go back to Farmington and deal with all of the things I left behind there.  I did not stay because EH wouldn’t tell the Adulteress to get out.  So I went back to the desert to figure the rest of it out.

Now if I hadn’t gone back to F-town, I wouldn’t ever have met Actor Boy.   I can’t imagine a life without knowing him.

I really could have done without the heartbreak and angst and everything that followed, but here we are.  So I’m emptying the house (hard to do) And moving into an apartment. That’s actually pretty easy to do.  The hard stuff still has to be faced. My Amanda Friend has made suggestions that make sense. I’m trying to follow that.

I haven’t looked in the box of wedding pictures. I’m not going to have room for the piano. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that.  I’m looking for the box that has my Nativity set and my Christmas stocking in it.   The Mom made the stocking for me when I was a tiny child.

What I truly do not want to face is the eventuality that these parts of my past are gone. Just gone. I know they’re just things, but come on, I got rid of all of the pickled corn, I’ve dealt with the murky pool in the backyard. I said good-bye to Mr. Steve and sat in with his corpse until the funeral home decided to drive the half mile to come get him (I realize that Steve would have been perfectly ok with me wheeling him in his hospital bed down the frontage road to the home. It’s probably better that I didn’t.)  I have lived the last two years of my life without the love thereof because BatBeard’s work takes him elsewhere.

I live with thin layer of panic brewing because the country is being run by an orange madman. I work 10 hour days with very little resources and ever increasing demands.

I shouldn’t have to harness my rage to get over something I’m sure is already gone.

So am I grateful that I grew enough of my brain back to give me the wisdom to know the difference right where we are.

 

I’m NOT Loving it.

Published May 17, 2018 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

“It didn’t happen overnight”- So Sayeth Offred in the Handsmaid’s Tale. I’m not sure if that exact phrase appears in the novel, because I’m ankle deep in reviewing fraction reduction with children who are under the impression that Math in and of itself is fluid, with rules that can be debated and argued.  They also think that some test questions are optional,but that line of thinking will just give me Angina of the brain, so I’ll just leave that there.

One of the ongoing trials and tribulations that my long distance relationship finds challenging is that BatBeard and can’t have actual conversations about topics and events. (We are both ever so smart.) Some things are getting lost without the face to face conversation.

As you may have noticed, I don’t need an excuse or much of a reason to get good and cranked up about things. {In fact, I have been fully prepared for revolution since I started teaching. You, know because of that history repeating itself concept and the Mongol Horde destroying Rome because the Mongols had nothing left to lose and the Romans were so flush with cash and food that they would throw up to make room for more food so the Mongols decided”Hey, we’re hungry, let’s storm the city, wreck the place and start the Dark Ages, and there we were in 1992 with gangs a’plenty ( World’s worst stripper name) and ALL of the grants for non-profit organizations were going to builidng Bass Hall, and no one seemed to care that our children were suffering so they whole thing seemed a folly and it wouldn’t have surprised me if North Fort Worth stormed into Sundance Square and took the whole place down.}

I think I have made my point.

So anyway, unless you have been in cave on Mars with your fingers in your ears, you have noticed that there is a LOT of news about Race.  Por ejemplo, (yes that Espanol was used for effect), the incident of the  two Native Americans who were on a college tour and an Anglo woman was nervous so she called the police because she was scared of their Heavy Metal t-shirts and dark skin.  (Prompting me to state that the only scary Mexican in a dark t-shirt is me.) And then the YALE grad student who was having a snooze in a dorm common room while a Doctoral student called the police because a black person was sleeping on the premises. YALE, people.

And today, the news reports that Trump called immigrants animals. As in the people who walked for weeks to get to the US Border seeking asylum.

I know there is a certain amount of news bias. I know this. I’m aware that news stories such as this are probably dog wagging, and that we are probably not getting the whole story.  But  it’s only been a few decades that interracial marriage has been legal.  If the Us vs them mentality continues who knows where it can go?

This is the hueso of contention between Batbeard and I.  He thinks I should stay away from the news because of it makes me growly and stabby.  I think I should remain vigilant, if not growly (Stabby is just part of the territory for teachers at this time of the year.)  I also think it is easy to choose to stay away from the news if you are Anglo, Male and have blue eyes.

I wonder if there will come a day when someone will call him a race traitor: Race traitor is a pejorative reference to a person who is perceived as supporting attitudes or positions thought to be against the interests or well-being of that person’s own race.

I sure hope not.

But it won’t happen over night

 

The thighs the limit

Published March 31, 2018 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

My inner thighs caused the first argument between me and BatBeard. (I know, we are both volatile performer types and it took almost 2 years for us to have a harsh word match.)

I don’t know which of the preceding statements concerns me more. Clearly, my thighs have overwhelmed me to the point of hysteria. I have no idea why it suddenly flabbed a harsh response from me; my thighs have always been a problem. Every time I took them anywhere they would misbehave by causing discomfort in the leg crossing arena and were ridiculous when wedged into tights for some of the many productions I was cast in along with smaller thighed people.

One of my favorite productions, Godspell, was sullied by the presence of my thighs. I had lost a considerable amount of weight the semester before and was not happy when the production designer kept nixing my costume choices. My thighs refused to behave in tights or cotton bike shorts, but were subdued in black leggings.  (I still maintain that my thighs were not nearly as focus pulling as another actor’s super round tummy on display in a black unitard or the rotund buns of still another actor whose wrap skirt let her globes peek out.

So suffice it to say, I have been annoyed with my thighs since 1990.  I rarely think about them, but from time to time they pop up. I know my problem isn’t unique; there are a number of products aimed at the amply thighed. Many of us know the shame and stigma of Chub Rub (yes, this is a thing, and if you live in the South, it’s actually a nightmare.)

I don’t think about it often, but from time to time something just pushes me over the edge. This last week was tense. I have been especially overwhelmed, not just because of my job, but I am facing another long year of long distance romance and at the same time I am facing another spring in my leaky, foundation shifty house.  (I am planning to get out of the house by October, so at least I will be slightly more comfortable in my long distance relationship.)

Anyway, my thighs were a bit chafy from a poor wardrobe choice and I was angry at my years of ignoring the fat and feeling less than attractive.

I let my negative thinking and my fat tell me I am unworthy and because of that I got into an argument about the wifi.

I can’t think which part of that is the most insane.

I’m not even sure why my thighs took over my brain to write this blog.

I’m sure there’s an answer, because after all, the thighs the limit.

 

I know, it’s because I want things to make sense

Published December 21, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

My brain is a little flustered today. I have a million things to do and some of them are not  important, some of them are. The fluster comes from trying to figure it out.

As per BatBeard’s recommendation, I’m trying to remain calm, particularly about the news. I have been trying to stay away from it all but the best I can do is try to distract myself by finding the weird little side points in the stories.

For example, on CNN’s page today there is a story about a FSU Fraternity pledge, Andrew Coffey, died due to alcohol poisoning. Unfortunately this is not an uncommon event. I am saddened by the time, money and brain cells that are being sacrificed in the name of Greek Life.

Now, I don’t wish to take away from the sadness of this horrific affair but I really must ask why CNN’s staff writers found it necessary to refer to preface the meat of the article with:

“On November 2, Coffey was attending Big Brother Night, a party to celebrate pledges joining a mentorship with a “big brother.” The members, pledges and two hired strippers attended the party at an off-campus home, according to the presentment.”full article here

Now, was it really necessary to point out that the strippers were hired? Are there a number of strippers wandering around Florida hoping a gig will just appear. I know this isn’t the point of the article, but really?

And now, It appears that Ivanka Trump dropped in at a High School in Connecticut to promote STEM programs. Some parents are upset because they did not have the option to keep their child out of school that day.  I have no idea how I feel about that.  Now if Ivanka showed up at my school, which would be interesting because the socio-economic world in which I work is so far below the Trump radar, and I would probably choke to death so as to appear gracious and not point out the many, many areas where extra funding could be used, except of course ,we are not eligible for public school funding, and even though we are a private school, the kind of vouchers that the Secretary of Education touts will in no way help or effect the kind of students my school serves and I would have to press on my miraculous medal in hopes that hand of God will reach down and Deus ex Machina me right out of there and now I’m freaking out about something that didn’t even happen to me or is likely to ever happen to me.

And that’s why I need to spend most of time watching videos of kittens sleeping. In the background I’m listening to Lorelai Gilmore complain about the kind of proposal she just got from Max Medina. (I have been rewatching the first season of the Gilmore Girls, and I’m starting to wonder if Lorelai is a narcissist, and why it’s so important to me.)

What truly makes me flurb is that even after the mega tantrum Lorelai throws where she complains about her proposal because a proposal should have a 1000 yellow daisies. And the FOOL ACTUALLY SURPRISES HER WITH 1000 YELLOW DAISIES. That’s about 800 dollars.  And the Prep School teacher who loves her ponied up the cash for that and next day delivery.

Although I’m sure that a teacher in a prep school in Connecticut makes far more than the average 47K per year (Hint, I make no where near that, but as I said I’m in a below the radar school)  An $800 layout on a pre-posal is pretty extensive.  The ring is featured in another episode.  Which reminds me, I seem to have misplaced my engagement ring.

It’s the centerpiece of my “You can have it when you pry it off of my cold dead hands collection.”

So now I have to clean. And I will not watch the Gilmore girls.

Condolences to the Coffey family. And to the Fraternity that let this young man die, I hope you all have the life you deserve. But you probably won’t.

f

 

 

 

Sorry, Mr. Wordsworth, part one.

Published December 17, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I’m fully acknowledge that I sound like a snob or, heaven forfend, Ted Mosby (seriously how did those smug people put up with each other? At least The New Adventures of Old Christine acknowledged that they were terrible) but  the Words are Worth (see what I did there?) saying:

The world is too much with us. In spite of my natural tendency to flail, I can’t just wander about Higgledy Piggledy hoping to land in the right place (of course if you were to see the myriad of bruises marring my landscape you would think I was doing just that.)

BatBeard continues to warn me on a regular basis to stop reading the news because it upsets me. Well, I’m not going to stop, (So there!)

The same teacher who introduced me to Wordworth (She also introduced me to Alfred Noyes, but that’s a fish for another basket) also introduced me to the duo consisting of Knowledge and Responsibility.

I’m pretty sure she wasn’t a familiar with Spiderman or his uncle Ben(But how cool would it be if that Uncle Ben was the same person as the guy from the box of rice? These are the ideas that keep me from sleeping very deeply.)  She explained that knowledge made one responsible for choosing. One had to choose between action and inaction.

I have taken this to heart every single day. My heart and I have been full of decisions lately.  It is not new to this particular administration, because the problems have always been with us.  As Mr. Wordsworth went on to say:

“Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;”

A colleague whose opinion I truly cherish said ,”It’s worse than it’s ever been.”  So while the madness around me has been roiling for decades, or at least since 1802 when Wordsworth tossed this poem out to frame his thoughts, it appears to be getting worse.

As much as it makes my head and heart hurt to look, I can’t help it.

In a related tangent, I read the Handmaid’s Tale around the same time as I learned this poem. Since I was twelve, I didn’t quite absorb all of it’s meaning, but the gist of the story stayed with me. So, when BatBeard, the same pirate hero who has warned and cajoled me to remain calm raved about the series, I began watching the series (I in no way blame BatBeard for any of my angst, in fact, he is truly loved by the Mom, my Amanda Friend and Actor Boy for bringing my smile back from wherever it had been hiding.) I could only watch one episode at time because the words and the knowledge began to form thoughts and choice in my head.

Take care when thoughts are provoked.

Here’s the one that got me:

“It didn’t happen overnight.”