Mom

One might have thought my next blog post would focus on Iceland. I was there April 25-28. It was a truly amazing place. In fact, in the next year my plan is to go back with more time now that I know what adventures are to be had while there.

So so sooooo many beautiful things I reflected on in my note book as I traveled around and explored the natural wonders of Iceland. 

A science-dork’s dream-come-true trip. I was so stimulated and excited constantly… by … geology.

The problem, however, is Miss Lame's need to type out her messages. If I had just written my thoughts and experiences in my computer as they happened I would have flowed with intense expression. I would have produced a quality string of words, worthy of a blog post. Words that would do justice to Iceland.

I was so moved and I felt so strong there.

A few weeks since this stunning experience, I look down at the jagged words, intermingle with intense scribbles. “Use one line to cross out incorrect work!” A recurring instruction Miss Lame never seemed to absorb. A six year old’s writing?

The task seems daunting. The time and attention required to decipher my poopy handwriting, to get my mind back to the powerful feelings I had as I was confronted with such beautiful natural phenomena and gorgeous people, it all seemed like too much whilst in the midst of a marking frenzie. I must do Iceland justice and now is not the time.

More present in my mind is the thought of some of the most important people in my life. My family. Last week a very important day tried to pass me by but something jumped out at me. A picture.

Strong feelings flowed from prefrontal cortex to finger tips. I smash out my message, sat in a bustling café.  I cry, I smile, I drink coffee.

…

Who is the most influential person in your life?

After sharing my example, I ask my students to reflect and write. To tell me about their influential person.

...

Missed Mother’s day in Canada. Missed the thought, being so wrapped up in my hectic teaching world. My oldest friend, M, posts a picture of her Mother as a young woman. Facebook. My connect with my distant people. 

Post-secondary education done, my folks and her folks move from Ottawa to London Ontario together, to start their lives with careers, homes and children. God parents to my sister. A dear family to the Lame family.

M and I went to different primary schools and so during those years we spent less time together. We were less close. It was when we stepped into secondary school world, that we reunited and our friendship, plus two others, thrived.

“Crazy square of odd chicks”, we liked to call ourselves. I remember, no cares, just the self-centred teen thoughts of “nobody could be more silly and life-loving than us”. We fluttered about our secondary school halls, dancing when we felt like it, making up shocking rap songs, spearheading Equity Committee celebrations- “We hate people, who hate people”- The slogan we came up with. This suggestion as reluctantly, with a smirk, turned down by the Equity Committee supporting teacher due to negative connotation... 

WE HAD FUN. WE LOVED. WE LAUGHED. WE ATE TONS OF FOOD. AND CAME UP WITH RIDICULOUS PLANS ANS IDEAS… SO HAPPY. And, as I’ve come to notice, as an observer of teens every day, we were very fortunate.  I fondly reflect and can confidently conclude that this fortunate teenage experience of unconditional love and laughter was an important part in Miss Lame’s development. My lame-with-no-shame approach to life was completely accepted and celebrated with this circle or rather, square, of friends. It enabled my lameness to flourish. At a time where acceptance is paramount to the psyche, I had it, in the best possible way.  Not many teens can say they had this opportunity.

Crazy square of odd chicks

Going into grade 10, 16 years old or so, second last year of high school.  The “crazy square of odd chicks”, plus another important addition, beautiful "Nic-cool", were so strong. Becoming young women and nothing, absolutely nothing could be better. I remember this significant high-point- The sheer happiness and silliness, coupled with our thriving emotional maturity. It felt perfect.

A devastating quake. M’s Mom passed. Suddenly.

Her Mom.

Sitting in the back seat of my car pool into work on Monday this past week. The picture, on facebook, before my eyes. Alison, so beautiful and lively. I am overwhelmed with emotion.

The picture. The thoughts of these beautiful times. The thought of the loss. The pain I saw in M. The pain in me. The pain of losing the strong group of four. Losing connect with M.

Everything shifts. We learned. A very difficult lesson. Loss. And it’s lack of discernment and compassion.

 

The picture highlights for me flaw in the notion that time that heals. Not really. Sadness and the loss never goes. The experience never erases. Alison never returns. Sure, time may make it hurt less constantly, enables M to speak more comfortably and openly about her Mom, display beautiful pictures of her, in celebration of her. But it still hurts deeply.

I still cry and hurt. For M. For the loss. For Alison’s loss of life.

Mother’s day can mean such different things to different individuals. The picture highlighted this too.

This picture. The thought of M’s Mom. Always, as it would for any, translates to thoughts of my own Mother. The loss, so close. Real.  I am forever haunted by this terrifying thought since the devastating quake- It can happen.

The picture. Moves me. Makes me reflect on the most influential person in my life.

Mom.

So many valuable things, she's taught me. She showed me love and acceptance. She taught me empathy. She taught me to find and celebrate the beauty in people. To hear. To feel. For other and self. To feel and love with my whole heart.

She gave me so much love and room to grow that I can love with my whole heart.   

My Mom- Sally Lame- Who she has been to me. And who she allows me to be. 

...

The picture. Missing Mother’s day. I felt a sadness. I wanted to celebrate the most influential person in my life. I didn’t know how to from across the pond.

I decide to share her with my students. My sweet children. This is how I celebrate and appreciate my mother. I think of her and inspire my students to reflect. At least I hope I do.

Little Sally Lame in the middle!

Their reflections back tell me that they are inspired. They indicate to me that Mother's day would mean vastly different things to different students. Some, like me, discuss their family too, but my students' person of influence varied greatly. Connection and unconditional love is at the core of each story. I am moved and feel I’ve connected with my Mother, living thousands of kilometres away. 

I miss you Mom. I am so so so lucky to have you and I don’t know how to tell you just how much.

This story, I hope. For me, for you and for the world to know.

Sally Lame is my Mother and she is amazing. 

BM

Moments for me: 1

The last two weeks of teaching before Easter holidays were, as the kids call it, “bare long”. Bare long and anxious.  Too much work, not enough Miss Lame time, or sleep. Also, my day-to-day had been uprooted by an unfortunate experience a few weeks before. Suddenly very disordered and inefficient, Miss Lame had to begin to navigate her teaching world she’s become accustom to for a year now, in a new way.  In those last two weeks, Miss Lame even started to feel detachment from her beautiful students, as her stress levels rose. The joy and heart of my teaching world was deteriorating too.

The last day of school. I stopped.  I decided, only relaxed, quality time with my students. A moment for me and for them- To end on a positive note.

“Step to the line if you’ve tried Canadian maple syrup”

… A community building activity, the statements start simple and fun, such as the example above, and progressively delved into more reflective and challenging requests- a focus on social awareness and bullying.  Students were invited to step to the masking tape line down the centre of the classroom if the statement applied to them, but they were not required- Their comfort was paramount. Students reflected and related together, as a unit. They saw that their experiences were not unlike their peers.

“Step to the line if you’ve ever felt bullied”- nearly 100% of students hesitantly stepped forward.

Powerful.

The final request “Step to the line if you could use a dose of dancing right about now!”

Tension broken, my students laughed and leapt on to the line.

Music on, Miss Lame carefully chose the new fad song- “Harlem Shake”. “Gangnam Style” is out.

WALL FLOWERS!!!!! Arms crossed, grinning, my students stood around the perimeter of dance floor we had created in the centre of my classroom. Softly chatting with their neighbouring friends, grinning shyly as I passed them by dancing and trying to engage them with my “chicken dance”.  The wallflowers were rooted and immovable. Then, unexpectedly, “C”, approaches me: “Miss Lame, would it be ok if I danced with you for this song?”

MISS LAME IS INSTANTLY OVERCOME WITH EXTREME JOY: “YESSSS!!!” I give “C” an scarily enthusiastic double high five. 

We begin jumping and flailing energetically, whilst the wallflowers grin and stay rooted. 

About “C”:

I’ve not met a more impressive individual of the age of 13- so kind-hearted, driven and brave. “C” has recently been diagnosed with Crohn’s disease.  His diet for the previous 3 weeks had consisted of merely water and a high calorie, “vial” (as he puts it) shake, which he must carry on with for a month’s time. The treatment for his new diagnosis. "C" accepts this and carries on in his beautiful way.  “C” is also autistic and has the most wonderful things to share in the classroom. He is an absolute sponge for knowledge. Very sensitive to others, he apologises constantly:

C: “I’m sorry I’m late Miss Lame…” …“It’s ok “C”, don’t be sorry! I’m glad you’re here!”… C: “I’m sorry…” deeply sincere, “C” settles into his seat.

… Back to the dance party…

“C” and I dance our gosh darn hearts out for the entirety of “Harlem Shake” and at the end “C” approaches me again, “Ok, Miss Lame, I am tired now and need to rest. My condition makes me really, very tired… I am sorry.”

““C”! You’ve just made my week.”

In fact, this moment of joyous dance with “C” was the source of full-on smiles and random instances of laughter for Miss Lame for several days to follow.

…

Moments for me: 2

On holidays.

The first half week of my holidays was a whirl-wind of fun, friends, being out, eating out. This was lovely, but I quickly realised my internal tornado of anxiety built up from the last few weeks of teaching, had not yet quelled.

I needed to JUST STOP.

I did just that, for an ENTIRE DAY. A downright awesome, day-long “moment” for me.

Thursday April 3, 2013- To be marked as a day of dedication entirely to my lame self. A momentous occasion for Miss Lame.
   

PURE PAMPERING, PLEASURE AND GLUTTONY SCHEDULE:

1.       Sweat- A free trial of a “boot camp pilates” class with my dear friend Bea. We struggled and felt awkward together- giggling and making faces as we butchered the movements, while the stealth, serious pilates instructor and regulars swung their limbs around with pristine coordination. We were likely very annoying.

2.       Consume- mouth-watering parma ham, roasted tomato and mozzarella sandwich. Cappuccino. Omm nom nom!

3.       Sweat- Ironmonger Row Baths, owned by Spa London- Steam rooms, dry saunas, cold pools, hot ginger and peppermint teas, quite rooms for reading and sleeping.

4.       Get touched- Back massage treatment.

5.       Sweat- 30 more minutes of steam, heat, sweat. A nap in the quite room.

6.       Consume + movement- Glowing with warmth, Bea and I mowed down on whole red peppers and carrots coated in hummus as we dozily walked down the street… Heading for Swedish bakery- Cardamom bun. Cappuccino. Ommmmmmmm nom nom!

7.       Movement-  Carry on walking to my home with Bea. Feeling light and like a baby coming-to after a long nap.

8.       Consume- Dinner. Fresh salad with warm beetroot. Happy tummy, happy soul… Ommmm nom nom... AGAIN!

9.       Rest and digest- film with Bea

… making room in order to…

10.   Consume- White Rabbit for a freshly made salted caramel filled donut with ganache on the side and some hazelnut crumbly yum-yum.

… A lot of consuming.

A powerful realisation came to me, between consuming dinner and consuming donut.

The moment:

During the film, I turn to Bea, “Maybe before heading to get our donut we could pop into the Sainsbury’s to grab some hand soap for my bathroom… I’m all out”.  

My words hung in the air. 

Bea looks at me, semi-bewildered, likely holding back full-on bewildered feelings inside… And gently suggests popping into a corner shop if I need to grab some hand soap… “Do you need it today?”…

I come-to. I realise what I’ve just done.

Miss Lame's growing, subconscious need to accomplish something "purposeful" in her day, to be efficient, had slipped out and into the open living room space. Exposed. 

Maybe I should sharpen the knives, count coffee beans and organise the “stuff drawer” in my kitchen while I’m at it.

Gosh darn hand soap?!?!?!?! Unless that hunk of soap was to create a hot bubble bath or being rubbed all over my body by a beautiful man, the soap was NOT part of my purely pleasurable, pampered and gluttonous day!

I revoked my words and ate them whole: “Film then donuts straight after. Om nom nom!!!!”

Thank you Bea for helping me through this moment of clarity.

This seemingly minute slippery subconscious moment about hand soap, ultimately brought Miss Lame to the realisation that it has literally been YEARS- since she was a dependent, gallivanting, self-centered child, post 18- that she last made it through an ENTIRE day solely for her, with no “purposeful” task. 
A run to the grocery store, email to send, work, school or social thing to take on and coordinate, the possibilities for “purposeful” daily endeavours are endless for Miss Lame, and for years now, since I can remember, I've managed to make this possibilities a reality.

A NEW LEAF OF SELF LOVIN’ HAS OFFICIALLY BEEN TURNED.  There WILL be more days of pure pampering, pleasure and gluttony for Miss Lame. A band on "purposeful" endeavours. 

BM:

Brain Movement.

I’ve struggled quite a bit over the past 3 or so months, to have some sort of brain movement. I was seriously afflicted with a case of brain constipation. A kajumble of ideas, half passed. I was in an inconclusive state about my pending future. Fearful to make a decision about what direction to take my life, come the end of June, when my current working visa runs out.

Brain constipation = no writing inspiration.  

Miss Lame likes to write stories where she realises her direction, knows her emotions. It makes for a more meaningful and fluid writing experience.  Better constructed and deliberate, I imagine readers would connect with my words better and enjoy reading more. Much like in teaching, a successful lesson or message stems from having this big picture to work from. If you know where you want your lesson to end up, you share the message and content in a much more engaging way.

Bloated, stuck brain is uncomfortable.  Regular BMs feel great.

Recently, a particularly uprooting experience jerked my comfortable teaching world off-kilter (mentioned in the beginning of this entry).  This resulted in a major, successful BM. Finally.  Emotions rampaged out of my brain, down my motor neurons, into my hands and are converted to digital information in my computer. "Save".  

This writing purge contains sensitive subject matter and so, I've held off posting it. A part of my adventure in becoming Miss Lame, I've felt strong about the message and have struggled to move on to new topics since. 

Symptoms of brain constipation returning. 

Miss Lame's writing and life approach surrounds this idea of utter honesty. I feel a responsibility to myself and my readers to stay true to this approach.I want to paint a full picture. Be frank about experiences. I know I am not alone and I don't want to be afraid to say it. I love relating to others through honesty. 

Saying nothing does not promote change and growth.

My solution (laxative, so to speak): Friends of facebook please do not hesitate to request this BM by messaging me your email address. I will gladly send it along.

 NOTE: Any words that are bolded, italicized, underlined and in red are suggested/preferred words by Mom. She doesn’t like me saying words like fuck, shit, ass (etc) on the internet… I feel these words better illustrate my feelings at times, so just imagine them in there if you will.

LOUD. choices.

Sorry for the delay lovelies... I wrote this segment a while ago and should have posted. BUSY BEE.  More current post is in the works. :) 

CANADARRR. 

“I am so sorry to interrupt”... The flight attendant, gentle, smiling, apologetic places her hand on the side of my seat near my shoulder.

“You have such a beautiful voice, just beautiful!...”

I know what she is going to say and laugh as I reflect on the excited conversation I was just having with the young fellow I was sat next to- My volume building and filling the cabin as I buzz with joyous agitation. My lifelong struggles with volume control. "Loudest Girl Award" at high school prom- the moment I realized my extraordinary loudness... I am minutes from embracing my beloved parents after 9 months. The happiest of holidays.

The flight attendant: “It really is such a beautiful voice, but it just seems to be carrying and I can hear you down the other end of the plane... But just a lovely voice...” She kindly pads her message- “shut the heck up”- with positive. She is genuine.

I know. I am in Canada now.

I do not receive the “Silly-pants American” tone I have become accustom to in the UK, rather, a compliment sandwich, sweetly requesting I moderate my “beautiful” volume.

OH CANADA! 

Choice.

I leapt across the pond for the holidays.  I sat at the kitchen island. Writing. Trying to write. The kitchen island has been the main hub of the Lame house over the years- The place of weeknight family dinners and elaborate mind map creating during university time. It has been the centre of social gatherings since the days of bad-bum high school parties to present day “adult” shindigs...

I feel I need to clarify.

-Adult as in, we are considered adult in age, not that I'm hosting elaborate swingers parties..

-And quotation marks- “...”- to highlight the pause I experience as I contemplate the level of maturity with which my friends and I carry ourselves during these momentous occasions. 

"King's cup", a routine game and social lubricant at Lame house parties- the very serious rule that all participants must crescendo and touch Jay's nipple before taking a drink. 

“Immature is the word boring people use to describe fun people”

(Some Facebooker post. 2012. Facebook)  

As I spent time at the infamous Lame house island over the holidays- eating, drinking, engaging with family and dear old friends, and particularly as I sat on my own reflecting and writing- I was overcome with bitter-sweet feelings.

The history and old roots collided with Miss Lame's current and prospering world. New, self-grown roots.

I was suddenly slapped sharply with the reality of my near future.  Two year visa. 1.5 years experienced. I was not sure where I will be headed come July. 

Discomfort in uncertainty. New, big choices to be made.

“No matter what you choose or where you go you are always going to be missing out on something and friends somewhere else.”

(A fellow traveler- Miss Anne, my Mom and other folks I'm sure...2012. Conversation.)

Had I made different choices, I could be chillin' with my (hypothetical) friend, Vera, in the city of Moscow or playing a fierce game of life-size chess in a park somewhere. Hand-stands on a beach in Australia? Seeing old friends and family more.

Homebody or world explorer- there are beautiful people and potential moments-good and bad- just waiting to be experienced or passed by.  

Next choice, next route. Constant opportunities for growth.

Reflect to gain.

Miss Lame in London England 1.5 years- teaching, growing and making new connections. My current place, a result of a compilation of many small, daily decisions (To begin a chat with a stranger..."falafel or chicken shish?!"... jk.) and big over-arching decisions such as the one I made in grade 11- "I want to be a teacher." And about 2 years ago- "I will go teach in London England."

I love my choices to date and who they have made me. Or rather, what I have made of them.

A bit of both. 

“Trust yourself to make the right decision" 

(Doodle, Niccer. 2012. Wise words.)

 NOTE: Any words that are bolded, italicized, underlined and in red are suggested/preferred words by Mom. She doesn’t like me saying words like fuck, shit, ass (etc) on the internet… I feel these words better illustrate my feelings at times, so just imagine them in there if you will.

Listening

I crawl through “The Alchemist”, a few pages per night at a time. A more recent Miss Lame rule- must spend minimum 10 minutes reading HER OWN book before turning off the lights for bed- a good rule.

Amongst the magical happenings and discourse on god, I absorb and celebrate the core message of the book- Listen to your heart. Follow it.

This is where happiness is found- Within.

This is when we can find and appreciate love of our self and others- With openness and  
assuredness.  

Listen to your heart. Follow it- An honest and beautiful message.

As cliché and simplified as this message sounds, this idea and our ability to fulfill it, is easier said than done.

We can all reflect on those times when we knew, deep down, we were not truly listening. The emotional and even physical discomfort experienced as the brain (logic) fights ferociously to suppress the desire and yearning of the heart.

THE CHALLENGE: 

Habit versus Change

Norm versus Deviation

Known versus Unknown
FEAR controlling decisions versus COURAGE controlling decisions

 

 This battle, the imbalance, torments ones soul. 

“…At a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the world’s greatest lie.” (The Alchemist, P. 17)

“The boy” in The Alchemist represents an individual who has the courage to change his path, to follow his heart and fight the distractions of current life, the logic thoughts and fear of unknown. His example and his growth is inspiring.

I recall my hearts aches and cries for change that brought me here, across the pond.  

A period in my life of fierce battle- brain v. heart- Heart won. I listened.

Seeking. Growing. Empowered.  At peace internally, I felt as “the boy” did in his triumphant moments that came from listening to his heart…

“I’m an adventurer, looking for treasure” (The Alchemist, P. 40)

Throughout the novel the boy highlights moments of growth and realisation. His lens is constantly transforming through his active reflection of both new and revisited experiences.

“He was learning a lot of new things. Some of them were things that he had already experienced, and weren’t really new, but that he had never perceived before. And he hadn’t perceived them because he had become accustomed to them.”

Year two of my teaching career and life in the big London.

Following an exciting and unexpected summer, filled with new experiences, and new connections, I am confronted with the new academic year.  Despite many things about my life continuing on the same- the daily journey, working in the same darling secondary school in suburbia, just north of London- there is an abrupt and noticeable change in my world and lens.

  
Simple things, like the Ridley Road street scape, with it's eerie charm, now takes on a new feeling as I commute to work. No longer a stranger. I am part of it now. The vendors' "heyyy darrrrlllliinnn'"s are no longer perceived as menacing and requiring efforts to avoid engagement.  I bounce back, my Canadian smile and bubble, "Good morning!"  These interactions- regular, authentic and shared- start Miss Lame's day of right.  

As autumn term kicks into full gear, I sense changes within. There is an aged feeling in my spirit. I know my world more confidently, but things around me are not as colourful. My heart is starting to ache and moan. I am losing balance and there is a lack of clarity. My lens is getting dirty.  
Clouded with anxiety, it is difficult to see the answers. I struggle to control this hardening of spirit. 

Frustrated, I think "Miss Lame of all people knows how to look on the bright side". 
 

As I start into my newest book, a lend from my good friend Bea, A mind of its own: How the brain distorts and deceives, I begin to see where the recent heart ache might be coming from.

For “the boy” in The Alchemist and myself, a year and a half ago, the imbalance that led to heart ache and need for change were more overt- a desire for a new personal journey. To see new places, people and things. To grow as an individual. Sometimes, however, the need for change is more subtle, but equally affecting.

Chapter 1, Cordelia Fine discusses some core ways the brain deceives to self-enhance and preserve the ego.

For example: 
When Miss Lame mastered “the worm” dancing technique, she owed this achievement to her own dedication, efforts and awesomeness. This self-promoting habit of the brain helps to build one up.
Conversely, when Miss Lame struggled to triumph the “baby freeze” she began reasoning the failure, claiming her pants (trousers) we a bit slippery and that her “caboose” (booty) was influencing her centre of mass, thus the laws of physics were an obstacle. External reasons for failure in order to preserve the ego.

Fine highlights how important these “positive illusions” are in “keeping your head high and your heart out of your boots” (p.4).

“Survival of the fittest”- The “vainglorious brain” is a subconscious behavioural adaptation connected to survival and success in the human species- we are animals too (science-dork moment).

As I hyper-analyse Fine’s discourse on the “vainglorious brain”, I start to identify that perhaps I am lacking some of these self-preserving qualities as of late.  Naturally, as a new teacher, self-doubt is completely expected, as it is when we are faced with any new and important frontiers in life.

Miss Lame’s mistake is that she has allowed her teaching world to define her.

Who am I? EDUCATOR MISS LAME- my identity.

Any successes and failures in the teaching world are directly linked to my abilities, beauties and weaknesses as a person.

• Success feels fucking glorious. Cloud nine. My identity, “Educator Miss Lame”, who I am, is reinforced. 
• Failure, however, results in a debilitating blow to my ego. The violent brawl that ensues in the boxing ring that is my brain, clouds me. I become an anxious, useless puddle of self-disappointment. I, “Educator Miss Lame”, am a failure.

What exacerbates this be-all-end-all perception and eats away at my soul is my allowance of the teaching world to consume all of my time. No space has been left for other aspects of Miss Lame- the adventurer/seeker, the dancing machine, the footballer, the chef, a great friend.

I realise: "This hurts and this is why my heart aches."

Last week, half term break, gave me breathing room. Time to read, write this entry and zoom out of the teaching world.  My lens has been cleaned and I can see- A new lame approach is needed. Going to work on that “vainglorious brain”.

For me, my friends, my students. 

 

Evolution:

“I DOWNRIGHT HATE this lesson! GOSH DARN Conrad HAS to be in the GOSH DARN class! The boys are such DOWNRIGHT POOP-HEADS!” Phyllis, expels her disdain and leaves me at the door with a sharp, hostile turn. A negative tornado, she angrily proceeds into the classroom and slumps into her seat. 

Crusty senior sass.

“I’m sorry to hear you feel that way, Phyllis. There are some things that do need to change in here.” I agree with her.

…

Class “in session” (technically speaking). 

“TEDRA THE TANK!”George hollers.  

In the front row an anxiety attack ensues- Gertrude shakes and tears. Head in her hands.

The boy with Asperger’s, overstimulated, repeatedly expels foul words.

Chaos, the volume perpetuates the building anxiety in us all.

The classroom is ROARING. 

…Where does Miss Lame begin?

Perplexed, I wonder, “How can I possibly change this toxic environment around?”

...

Student removals from lesson. Trial and error. MUCH error.

Lesson after lesson, this chaos carries on…

Miss Lame’s last straw:

I turn around from helping one of the select few students actually attempting to accomplish work in this catastrophic space, to find trembling Gertrude- in the midst of one of her anxiety attacks- with “rubber” bits (“eraser” in Canadian terms) and a glue stick in her hair. Obviously launched by one of the boys- leaders in the anarchy.

Rage takes over. A very rare sensation for Miss Lame.

Words eject, “I AM SO DOWNRIGHT DISAPPOINTED RIGHT NOW!”

Emphasis on “downright”.

I have their attention.

The class is silent and looking.

“THE LACK OF CONSIDERATION FOR OTHERS IN THIS CLASSROOM IS ABSOLUTELY DISCUSTING!”

I carry on, my tone sharp, direct, sure. I feel my words cutting into them. The boy with Asperger’s is the only other source of sound. Laughter. He is not sure how to respond to Miss Lame’s rage.     

Results:

This moment of real Miss Lame rage. Her slip of the tongue- an emphasis on “downright”. Not right but not wrong. 

The message: Miss Lame has a line. It was crossed. RESPECT.
 

From this day forward, a new atmosphere began to evolve in the classroom. 

A few weeks ago...

“GOOOOOoOOOOODDD morninnn’ miss, goooodddddd morrnnin’!” Deloris serenades Miss Lame as she skips through the door and into the classroom. One of the “old” songs Miss Lame often starts class with in the AM. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qu4v5hB1dKk

WIN.

Conclusion: 

Even on the most clouded days, I can still say without hesitation: I am meant to teach. 

I love the quell in my heart that I feel as I contemplate this. Happiness found within.

Listen to your hear. Follow it. 

 NOTE: Any words that are bolded, italicized, underlined and in red are suggested/preferred words by Mom. She doesn’t like me saying words like fuck, shit, ass (etc) on the internet… I feel these words better illustrate my feelings at times, so just imagine them in there if you will.

BRIGHT IDEA.

Bright idea

The spreading of my late Grandfather, Robert Lyman Lein’s, ashes- Thursday August 16th.

The celebration of his life- Saturday August 18th.

Living and existing on a different continent as my family came together, across the pond- relating, hugging, learning about Grandpa, family dynamics and history.

Sorting through memories and pictures. Reminiscing.

I was missing.

With this going on and out of grasp, I decided I had to do something. For me. For him. 

I set out at 9:30am on Thursday August 23^rd- a solo bike ride of 100km before me.

To Brighton.

Why cycle? Reasons for my “bright idea”:

It is not that my Grandfather was into cycling in the slightest. In fact, he spent much of his life abusing his body- smoking and enjoying his beer- and not cycling. But the idea- “biking in honour of Grandpa”- just seemed right. Perhaps for the following reasons…

• I was being healthy for him?

• Hesitant that I did not spell my Grandfather’s middle name (Lyman) correctly in this blog entry I took a moment to use the inter-webs for some reassurance.  During this exploration, I discovered the old English meaning of “Lyman"

          “clearing, meadow”. I read.

          That’s it. I passed a ton of meadows when cycling.  A little retrospective reasoning…

• The solo-ness of the adventure made it feel relevant as well. That I would be sorting out my own path, on my own terms, as Miss Lame does.  It would be just me and Grandpa’s crusty but deeply loving spirit, ploughing along the South of England country-side.

GRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWRRRRRR…

A primal cry. A sort of innate, unrestrained growl escapes from my core filling- contrasting- sharply cutting the calm country-side air. Just me. This great sound takes me by surprise and drives me. Forward. Out of the saddle of my bike, with a final blip of energy, all that I have left, my legs pump and force the pedals round the axel- crude and irregular in pace.  

Recognising the effectiveness of this vulgar, audible release I persist to discharge grunts, growls, profanity, you name it, as I power myself up miniscule inclines that for the first 2/3 of the cycle went unnoticed by Miss fitness queen Lame. Unaffected. No problem.    

Usually the first to poke fun at the neaderthals at the gym for their caveman grunts, alone in the country-side, I became Beth “neadrathal” Lame.

Feeling my physiology

ATP stock down. I can feel it so clearly. I am bankrupt of this incredible, life-sustaining molecule, which I need so direly to burst apart, to drive my muscle cells to contract in a concise, powerful way. Incapable of harnessing the beautiful and very helpful physics of forward momentum, I stagger forward, one, slow-motion, degrading pump at a time. Standing over my pedals, using my body weight.    

“So this is what it feels like to be obese… IT SUCKSSSS!!!!!!!!!” Feelings of lethargy overpower me and I am incapable of more.

I know, with certainty, that my face is grey and drawn. My eyes dull- they gaze, unfocused.

Stop.

Water.

1 minute of dead-eyed-gazing at the endless landscape before me- A hint of weary resentment.

Ok. No choice. Must continue.

I reluctantly place my foot on the pedal.

Brain instructions travel down my motor neurons to the muscle fibres in my legs- “contract and coordinate, aight?”

Newfound energy- I am surprised- MY LEGS RESPOND!

Legs: “LEZGO YO!”

(yes, my tissues and organs talk in “gangsta”)

I cycle along at a new, smooth pace.

…For approximately 5 minutes...

A distinct drop. Everything sinks. Miss Lame experiences obesity again.

Whhhattt happennneddd??? Science-dork Miss Lame will tell you.

• The minute of break in combination with a gulp of water (a crucial molecule involved in the making of ATP) gave my muscle cells the opportunity to construct a small reserve of ATP. Supplying my short burst of energy. 

The remainder of my trip was a series of brief, teasing moments of motor heroism, followed by abrupt, bodily defeat. 
 

Miss Lame found this incredibly intriguing and downright stupid all at once.

Food tasted quite good after.

Soooo happy to be eating!

 The next morning I enjoyed sitting on the beach, looking out at the ocean and visited Brighton Pier.

Back to school

Incredibly nervous. 

Will Miss Lame be able to “set the right tone” in her very own classes, day one of the NEW school year?

To be continuedddd…

NOTE: Any words that are bolded, italicized, underlined and in red are suggested/preferred words by Mom. She doesn’t like me saying words like fuck, shit, ass (etc) on the internet… I feel these words better illustrate my feelings as times, so just imagine them in there if you will.