grad school?

Before mom got really bad off, I was in the graduate anthropology program at CSUN. I finally dropped out because I couldn't handle the workload, stress, etc. while working full time, and caring for mom. I remember telling my advisor I wouldn't be able to come back until after mom died. I was a sobbing mess - poor lady having to deal with me.

Now I'm thinking about going back to school, but switching programs. I love anthro, but I'm more of a dabbler/amateur/armchair anthro-wannabe. It is a road not traveled and it's not very practical to double back to that fork. I was having to take undergrad classes to be prepared for my grad classes.

I think the graduate program in Educational Psychology and Counseling with emphasis in development, learning, and instruction makes a lot more sense. Plus, I would actually use it every day.

I was at first just thinking about taking a class or two in psychology to help me deal with troubled students. Then as I looked at the program I thought it would be a good fit. I obviously have background and experience that will help me.

I think I'm officially on leave from CSUN and may be able to return and change programs without reapplying. The application deadline is in February, so I have time to figure it out.

I'm excited at the thought, but then I wonder am I crazy to take on something new. Maybe I need to relax for awhile. Well, if I do it it wouldn't start until the fall - almost a year from now.

interior decorating and crossroads

Today was the Santa Clarita Marathon. It made me sad not be in it, but also happy to know it's there when I'm ready. As far as being ready - I'm not. I'm not even ready to start getting ready.

Yesterday I walked the dogs about three miles and today about four. It was great to get out and just walk. I'd like to do a one mile walk before school, but so far I haven't. I'm still getting used to not being tied to the house.

I've decided I should try visualizing what I want - nothing crazy, really. For example, rather than thinking about what I want to do with our front living room - a process, I should think of how I want it to look when it's done. This may seem like the normal way to do it, but I've always thought of the process rather than the final product.

I want to try it with my future too. If I know what I want-what it will look like, then I can map how to get there. I mean stream of consciousness has its place of course, but in life you only get so many do overs and rewrites. I feel like I'm at a crossroad. I can keep going straight, but if I do I want it to be my choice not by default.

line, circle, spring

When I was in elementary school I learned about timelines. They are great for visualizing when something happened compared to other events. Time marches forward leaving events neatly along that straight line.

In one of my first anthropology courses I learned some societies think of time as a circle. How interesting. I couldn't see it. Time obviously is a one-way street. The past is getting farther and farther away as we move into the present always striding towards the future.

Funny thing about walking off into the unknown, you often pass a tree that looks oddly familiar. After awhile you notice you're following footprints that look a lot like your own. Finally, as I have now, you realize you're going in circles.

I've decided that the line and circle analogies should be melded into a coil, like a spring. Yes time circles. There is a cycle, a pattern that repeats. But there is also forward movement. Each circle winds atop the last. Sometimes the springlike coil of time is stretched and the turns seem farther apart. Sometimes each coil is pressed tight to the next and time seems to cycle while standing still. In a coil two places along the line can be far apart and yet lay right next to each other. Every Thanksgiving lies atop the last with a year coiling around between them. Each birth touches previous births, each first day of school, each first love, each marriage, each life, each death, coils of time bring them close together even when they are far apart.

In the last few years I've noticed that time isn't straight. I feel like a traveler that realizes the world isn't flat. I guess I am a traveler coiling my way through time.

personal vs private

It is always so tempting to whine when blogging. To pour out all the angst, the "poor me"s, and "why me"s. To vent and to wallow.

I do that a lot. Usually I erase it all rather than publish. Those whiny laments aren't for mass or even minor consumption. I certainly don't need coworkers or parents of students attending my pity parties.

I try to keep private thoughts offline and personal thoughts out of the public arena. But then why blog at all? Why keep a journal? I write therefor I am? If a blogger blogs and no one reads it does it really confirm the blogger's existence?

I guess I just need to vent and wallow from time to time. I am therefor I am. Whether anyone reads it or not. So to those of you that didn't get invited to the party, don't feel slighted. You're welcome to attend. Just don't expect it to be...anything.

Oh, and if a blogger doesn't blog it still exists. It's just too soon, or too late, or too big, or too small, or too painful, or too private, or too personal.

Going down with the ship

I feel like the captain going down with the ship. I can't stop it. Good thing I can swim.

Yesterday Mom told me she was scared. I didn't know how to respond except to say I was scared too. I called her minister. I should have been in touch with him more. I took her to church until it was too confusing and hard for her. Then I dropped the ball. I'm an atheist, but she isn't. Maybe his visit will be comforting.

I'm taking the day off today because going to work after her "scared" comment was torture yesterday. She is unintelligible most of the time. Those words were so clear.

commuting to work

Every morning as I walk to work I pass a white standard poodle of undetermined sex. It has a stereotypical cut and could easily fit in a Disney cartoon. Every day it barks at me and I'm surprised by its deep real dog voice. I always expect a cartoon yip.

A few houses past Monsieur Woof I start to hear the squawk of a large bird. I imagine it's a parrot doing alarm clock duty. I always think of Dee and Jim when I hear it.

I play a game of "read the headline" on my way to work. I read the newspapers lying on the driveways. The Signal has never been a journalistic masterpiece, but it is home. I can only read half of each headline because the papers are folded. The "rules" say I can't flip a paper over to see the rest of the headline so I try to imagine the other half. Yesterday I read Michael Jackson died from a drug overdose. Wow, that's news.

Just before the final turn I pass the house with flamingos. There is also a frog that quietly sits hoping for a kiss. This is just before the house with three Astro vans of varying vintage. Why?

On my way home from work I get a different perspective on the same route. There is a house that is always decorated to the extreme for the holidays. Now in August, month of nothing, the house is pretty plain. Today though the garage door was open and I could see Rudolph and his team flying in the corner champing at the bit for the day after Thanksgiving when they would once again headline.

As I walk passed Crazy Lady's house I cross my fingers that she is inside and not waiting to waylay any passing neighbor. I toy with feeling guilty for avoiding her and calling her Crazy Lady. Then I think of all the encounters I've had with her and cross my toes as well.

My own dogs bark as I approach my driveway. I stride to the door and sigh with relief that I'm finally done for another day.

Four Hours of Errands

Today I had to run errands with my mom. She is quite far along in the miserable journey of Alzheimer's. Although she can still walk a little, we used the wheel chair.

On the drive to the dentist's office she became fearful and asked that I stay with her in case they tried to...

I couldn't understand what she was afraid of. Probably she just knew she didn't know what was going on. She really can't put sentences together very often anymore. Understanding what she is trying to say is the gestalt of knowing her, her history, and her body language. Of course sometimes she is just talking and isn't trying to get across anything.

The dentist was uneventful. I stayed in the room with her. Dr. Poitras has been our dentist for 20 years. His staff is wonderful and they "get it" when it comes to elderly patients with dementia.

Our next stop was the Social Security Administration. Mom needs a new card. Believe it or not, my dog ate her old one. We've done fine without replacing it for years, but now the attorney helping us with estate planning wants a copy.

The handicap parking at the office was in the shade of a huge old Oak tree. Hurray! It was about 101 degrees at this point. I was surprised how many people were in the S.S. office. Fortunately we didn't have to wait too long. The young woman who helped us was very nice. The only hitch was mom had to sign the form. She can barely make a mark in the right place, but that's all they need. Apparently it doesn't matter that she has no idea what she's signing. I explained it, but she didn't really understand.

Time for lunch! I decided to stop at Pizza Hut. Mom likes pizza and it's finger food so she can handle it. When we got inside there was no one at the counter. A big set of keys was sitting on the register and I could hear someone puttering around in the kitchen. I waited patiently expecting someone to come out soon since a chime announced our entry. After several minutes I shouted, "Hello!" There was no response, so we left. I plan on writing to the manager.

We ended up in a coffee/sandwich shop in the same parking lot. I had a fantastic bowl of oatmeal with pecans and fruit. Mom had a ham and cheese sandwich. The waitress was great and I was glad to have discovered it. I plan on writing a very different letter to their manager.

Now for our final stop, the DMV. Mom's handicap placard needed to be renewed. Again, the people were wonderful. We were helped right away and the workers were understanding. Mom had to sign again, but this time I gave her a roller ball pen instead of a regular ball point. It made it easier. Her mark looks nothing like a signature and it looks different every time, but as long as they have something in the signature box they're happy.

Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.