All posts tagged metaphor


Published July 25, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

This is the time of the year when I catch up on, well, everything.  I’m falling behind on my housekeeping, mostly because I don’t give a teeny tiny little rats behind, but I can still see the floor and find the cats fairly easily, so I’m ok.

I had breakfast with my dad (to celebrate my birthday, which was a month ago but the time, it do fly.) Our conversation drifted to the current state of affairs. (In the country, not in my life, and now that I mention it, why the hell is every third person so damn interested in my ability to trap Batman?)   We discussed the incredibly stream of stupid that exploded when I simply shared an article about the mania that is Trump’s America.   This lead us to the discussion that as a whole, we (society, not me, my dad and Batman-World’s Worst YA novel.) are missing the damn point of dystopia TV.

As the wise rabbi in World War Z says, most of the time, Zombies, doesn’t mean Zombies. (He also went on to say that sometimes it actually does mean Zombies, but that doesn’t serve my point. You see how quotes can be manipulated? Hmm?)  The point I was making with to my dad is that the point of The Walking Dead, at least by my extrapolation, is that in the face pandemic disaster, our politics are going to matter very little. If human kind is to survive we have to stop arguing about the collective stupidity that makes up current bi partisan politics.  Life is far too short to fight amongst ourselves, especially since it looks like the problem is going to be bigger than  Zombies.

To pursue that rabbit down another hole,  (What’s a metaphor? Sheep!)   I recall yet another episode of  The Walking Dead, (Let’s agree that I watch entirely too much television.) One of the denizens of one of the more advanced sub-societies of the post-Apocalyptic future/alternate universe, remarked that he listened to some music when he gets bored. One of the our protagonist group replies, “I can’t remember the last time I felt safe enough to be bored”

I know it seems a long way to go to get the point, but it’s all a matter of perspective.  Perspective is a word that gets bandied about a lot these days, as is mindfulness.   Mindfulness means fine tuning your perspective so that you are hyper aware of the moment to moment-ness of you life. Kind of like when your world is full of Zombies.

And we’re back.


I had no idea they were interchangeable.

Published July 11, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I got an email saying that my Glow in the Dark T-Rex was out of stock.  The email was very apologetic, as I guess one would have to be when stating the obvious, after all, the actual T-Rex is permanently out of stock (although to be honest, I would not at all be surprised to see one totally dominating the Starbucks drive-thru.)  I was offered the option of waiting for it’s eventual return, or selecting another creature in exchange.

I think waiting for the return of the T-Rex is too spot on a metaphor for most of my life, so I selected a Blue Kangaroo (How could you not? It just sounds delightful)

Before someone alerts the nut-wagon to come and shake me out of my tree, I am referring to a prize that I won playing Total Trivia. Yes, yes, I did get bored enough to click on a Facebook link (an enterprise akin to picking up a bottle that says, ” Drink Me.” and taking a big glug.) and have subsequently played. To date, I have won a bracelet, a necklace, a laptop sleeve, two tote bags and the aforementioned T-Rex.

Why?  Well, I have jewelry, I have tote bags, but I don’t have a glow in the dark creature. I don’t need anymore of the above, but my new classroom will definitely be enhanced by a blue kangaroo.  It will fit right in with atmosphere of acceptance and  creativity.

As I prepare myself for a complete shift in methodology, (I’m ever so smart!) as I will be teaching a fourth grade in  self-contained environment, I am reading and researching a lot. I know my weakest area is Classroom Management and I am most comfortable teaching three of the four core subjects. I want to be effective in all areas so I do have a lot of prep work to do. (This will also be the first time in 26 years that I haven’t taught Theatre.)

Something I have run across is that the first impression to students and parents is what they will carry through for the rest of the year.  I know I need to appear professional and pulled together, especially since I’m don’t look my age. (I have actually had more than one person look at my resume (Twenty plus years teaching, five endorsements on my certificate, two Master’s Degrees, etc.) and say, “I thought you would be an older teacher.”  I AM an older teacher.  The polite thing is not to mention it. At least no one has said to me what they said to Laurie Notaro, “I thought you would be prettier.”

So what impression will a Blue Kangaroo make?  Maybe I should get him a coat and tie for the first day of school.

So there you go

Published November 14, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

As much as I love teaching, there is one definite by product that I sure could do without: the contagion of small children.  A week ago, I subbed in a third grade classroom. It was a self contained all day affair and I loved it. It was extremely tiring, but the experience was well worth it.

The cold I wound up with was an unexpected bonus.  I had a flu shot, but that doesn’t do anything about the common cold that is generally spread by small germy children and since the school board and common decency doesn’t allow us to spritz the little darlings down with disinfectant, I just had to grin and bear it. Sure the coughing, rough voice, no voice, low grade fever and generally crummy feeling has been fun, and it has been nice to have an excuse for my malaise and inability to give a teeny tiny rat’s behind about anything, but I’m getting tired of the being tired.

I had a brief outing with my Amanda Friend.  Our silly was punctuated by actual important conversation and one thing I have learned in my recent work is that I really want to be back in a classroom. I would love to teach at one of the schools for which I am subbing, but I don’t think there are any openings in the near future. Another factor in my need for working is, of course, the need to support myself.

I’m not panicking or anything, the universe and my savings are gracing me with the gift of patience. (Meaning I’m not running around in tight little circles visibly freaking out.) I have enough funds secured to get me through the next two months.

There is the other revelation unearthed by my Amanda-Chat: I have got to get out of this house.  Today I made my first mortgage payment. As per my divorce decree, EH paid the mortgage for the first full calendar year after our divorce. It’s been a year, so now I have to actually pay for the roof over my head. Now said  roof  is officially in my name. (Whee)  And I have come to the conclusion that I do not want to live here for the rest of my life.  To be honest, I don’t particular want to live here for the rest of the year, but I can’t do anything about that.

I could embark on a litany of all the things I would have to do to get the house sold, or even to just get all of my stuff out of it. (Here’s a hint, it has taken me almost four months to get the pre-sort piles together.  Each pile has been assigned a room. The sock project is almost complete.)  It’s in furiating, but I think acknowledging that I do want to get out from under the constantly shifting foundation of the albatross in which I live (What’s a metaphor? Sheep!)  is a strong first step.

Facing reality puts the Groan in Grown-Up

You may now roll your eyes.

It’s time to sit up and face the mustard!

Published June 17, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I have some time on my hands right now. This is a huge change for me after racing around and around the exercise wheel that is public education.  I’m having a bit of trouble relaxing and taking a break. A big part of this is because now that I don’t have the constant whirl of the wheel to block out my thoughts.  (See, I’ve manged to stay within the same basic metaphor. And what’s a metaphor? Sheep!)

One of my ongoing streams of consciousness is somehow relating every weird bizarre event in humanity to another; fitting all of  the pieces together to make one big jigsaw puzzle. Anyone else every feel like they could make sense of things if they could just get the edges finished?

One of the bigger threads in the stream is the fact that I keep getting evidence to push forward the I’ve-actually-been-dead-for-over-a-decade-but-I’m-fighting-my-way-through-purgatory concept.

This is exactly why I have to sleep with the TV on. Because we all know what happens when my thoughts get free reign. Except, since I don’t have satellite TV anymore and have to watch through Hipster Cable (Netflix, Hulu, Youtube  and borrowed Amazon and HBOGO) I get regular doses of selected advertising.

To be honest, I am offended by the commercials introducing Heinz’s new mustard. Apparently Heinz has been with the wrong mustard all of these years, and now he is Oh  So Very Happy with one of his own kind. They were MADE  for each other.  As someone who was unceremoniously disposed of for a new product,I am wrankled.  On a non-personal level, I think the Heinz company is trying to push their own political agenda.  Think about it, clearly Heinz wants us to believe that “French’s” product is inferior and weak (in one of the commercials, a casual nudge makes the French’s lose their mustard.) and isn’t the Ketchup MUCH better off with one of his OWN KIND?! I think that’s just plain bizarre. And I watch entirely too much television.

It’s also possible I am on the verge of making an Inception level break through. Except I didn’t see that movie. EH swears I saw it with him. I did not. One of my former students, Bird, told me that it would make my head hurt.  I think EH saw it with the Crusty Mustard.

And we’re back.

Bob Dylan was right; the times they are a changin’

Published October 2, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

So tired I can barely sit upright. The last week or so has been, shall we say, challenging. I still feel overwhelmed, just not as much. I do love the job. I love the kids. I would miss each and every one of them if they weren’t there. I love them individually. Collectively they drive me crazy.   There are some bright spots. Actually there are quite a few bright spots. I need to write them down so I can pull them out one by one to look over as I am grading tests tomorrow and the next day.

My divorce was finalized this morning. It took less than an hour. It took me longer to get my oil changed. .

I feel kind of hollow. I know there is the whisper of greatness in the wind. (The cheesy metaphor is a sign of how tired I am. What’s a Metaphor? Sheep!)

I have been discussing goals and objectives with my students. I asked them to think about where they want to be in the next few years. I have a seventh grader who wants to be  a Navy Seal.  One of my ninth graders wants to be a professional actor.

I one hundred percent believe they will make it.

When I turned forty, I asked myself where I wanted to be in five years.

I wanted to be a full time theater teacher.

There is more than cheese and greatness in the wind.

There is hope.


Han shot first?

Published August 11, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I’m having a strange day.I was on the way to the lawyer’s office to pick up the paperwork that will close out my 20 plus year relationship with EH when the reality of the horror that comes with the knowledge that Han shot first hit me.  It’s much easier to believe the scruffy bad guy with the heart of gold is, at heart, a good guy.

But at the beginning, before all of the life changing interaction with Leia, Luke and the cutie-droids, he is a bad guy. So we shouldn’t be surprised and heartbroken to find out that he did, in fact, shoot first.

Now that mystery is solved, I have to realize that to create a balance in the universe, the direct opposite must be true; A nice guy who has always done the right thing can possibly be changed or at least swayed by the action and interaction with people who may or may not have their own selfishness and mean spirited intentions.

What’s a metaphor? Sheep!

Everyday my mother asks my grandmother to raise her hands or recite the alphabet or something to make sure she’s not having a stroke. This morning, my grandmother feigned a karate chop in my mother’s direction, ostensibly to preclude a query about her neurological health.

I told my mother that I understand where my grandmother is coming from; everyday someone asks me something that essentially is an assurance that I am not having a nervous breakdown.

My response to that: I don’t remember breaking a banana.

I can clarify this a bit with a quote from Leo Tolstoy. “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

All crazy families unravel in their own ways.  My dad unravels by mowing the lawn. EH unraveled by shaving his head. Actor Boy unraveled by throwing things away. I’m not real sure how my unravelation will finish. Or if it can be stopped by a dab of clear nail polish or if I have to tie a knot. (or untie, as it were.)

I cut myself on Occam’s Razor.

Published August 10, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

The crazier things get, the more they seem to make sense.  I am parsing the bits and pieces of my life in my spare time because, really, if I have to study in every spare moment I will either OD on coffee or simply grab the cat and the bunny and throw a match over my shoulder as I race, cackling into the night. (Although if I decide to go that route, tomorrow would be a pretty good time, what with the Supermoon and meteor shower and all. It will only be a few more years that I will be able to handle the backlighting.)

For those of you sciency types who may be apoplecting because of my possible misuse of  the  principle attributed to the 14th century logician and Franciscan friar William of Ockham, I’m using it as a metaphor. It may be putting a fine point on it, but how many angels could dance on that point? (What’s a meta for? Sheep!)

In addition to my soul searching, life-unraveling thread pulling, I have been reading various stories  biographies and testimonials on Insane Asylums. (I don’t think we are allowed to call  a mental health facility “The Crazy House.” )

There is so much immediate madness that it actually seems normal. The craziest thing seems absolutely correct and not just in an “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” kind of way. I always think of Lane Meyer’s reaction to finding out that Ricky and Monique were presumably the “International  Language of Love.” He said, “Her? and Him?”  and nodded saying, oh yeah that makes sense and prepared to take his jar of lighter fluid into the garage and then Ricky’s mom blew up. (If you haven’t seen Better Off Dead, treat yourself.John Cusack had such a huge influence on my adolescence that I got to know a guy just because of his vague resemblance to John.  No. He’s not a guy. He’s a man . That would be Lloyd Dobbler in Say Anything.  “Don’t be a guy Lloyd. Be a man. I love John Cusack.)

I am spending too much time with my brain and it is making me rambly.  I am still playing the game where the cosmos doesn’t want me to listen to music while I’m trying not to bash my face into the computer, on a notebook, or an a test guidebook. So no face bashing.

The job search continues. So far I have jumped through many a hoop and have done everything short of gathering a group of former students and choreographing a kick-line on the lawn of various schools who have my applications.

That might actually work.

“You would think living in a house full of crazy people would be fun, but actually it’s kind of depressing.” -Bart Simpson