My Love Story

Happy Valentine's Day.

I don't need big diamonds, fancy dinners, or weekend trips to romantic beaches (although I would not turn down any of these) to know how much my husband loves me. He shows me in a hundred different ways each day. Like when he makes a quick trip to the grocery store because he knows I hate grocery shopping. Or when he empties the dishwasher to surprise me. He has been the primary breadwinner in this household for nearly 27 years. Wait, I take that back. For three of those years, while he was in law school, I was. But I digress.

I know Valentine's Day is mostly inhabited by those of us in the throws of young, excited, blooming love. That is a wonderful time of life. I feel more deeply in love with David all the time, but it is not always that fluttering heart kind of love. It's a love that knows anger, heartbreak, hurt, sickness, depression, and pain. It's a love that has been forged in a fire of living. Raising three kids. Making dumb financial choices and having to dig ourselves out of it. Muddling along together as a team, as partners. The kind of love that "does not alter when alteration finds." (I hope I quoted that correctly. I'm too lazy to look it up right now. If you catch me in a mistake, please comment with a correction.)

So I feel compelled today to tell a little of the story of my love affair with David, the man I've loved for 33 years. (Yikes.) Just a little.

My first memory of David is from second grade. That's right. We grew up in the same tiny South Dakota town of Hot Springs. My first day of second grade, a new kid in school, I remember seeing him across the room. Then I don't remember him at all until sometime around middle school. Our families went to the same church, so we were in youth group together. He also played flute in band--poor little thing. He was not a very good flute player. And he had to compete with me!I remember jr. high youth group trips when he and his friend Doug Tinaglia would sit on the bus or the van or whatever we were in and recite Bill Cosby routines. (Reminds me of my son, Peter, who now does the same with today's comedians.) They would pull silly pranks in restaurants. And in general be typical middle school jerks.

Another good friend of David's was Al Twocrow. We were all in debate, band, and almost everything else together. When there's only 400 kids in your whole high school, everyone has to be in everything. So we knew each other very well before we ever dated. In sophomore biology class, I could tell David kind of liked me because he sat right behind me and he would tease me. How mature. But it worked. I took notice.

I remember our first date. It was a dance in the city auditorium. I had spent the day downhill skiing and was really tired and sore. Dancing was not really what I wanted to do. But we went. He was very nice and asked if it was okay if he danced with other girls since I was too tired. I said okay. But I really didn't want him to. Despite that rather lackluster beginning, we went to many more dances, movies, and whatever else one could find to do in Hot Springs--some of it not so wholesome.

We ended up being debate partners our junior and senior years. We made a really good team. And we won lots of tournaments. I think I first knew I loved David when we were at debate camp in Denver. Spending two solid weeks together, even if was in such an academic environment, was wonderful.

David and I have always liked to joke about who is smarter. I was a valedictorian of our high school class. I had straight A's. He had one B in all of high school --in shop class no less. I studied harder, but he probably was more genuinely brilliant. He became a National Merit Scholar.

We started out at separate colleges, but I ended up transferring to Carleton where he was. Yes, mostly because he was there. Sounds sappy and hopelessly romantic, but I've never been good at being apart from my other half. Carleton was a wonderful place where we got to be total academic geeks and theater nerds. We got married two weeks after graduation.

That was nearly 27 years ago. It's really unusual for high school sweethearts to still be married. Although I have to say, it is probably because David is a practical and reasonable person, while I am more ruled by my emotions. I wanted to get married after high school, but he wanted to wait. Obviously, he was right. Who knows if we would still be together had we married at 17 or 18? But here we are.

There is so much story that goes with our lives together, but the main one is this: I love David because he is an honorable, loving, kind, considerate, smart, and noble person. Heaven knows why he loves me. I feel very lucky. He always has a comment to lighten the moment with humor, and that has made a huge impact on our lives. If we can laugh at ourselves and our situation, then we can probably get through it.

Happy Valentine's Day to my adorable, funny, loving husband.

Random Musings

My mind is in a whirl the last few days, so I am going to unload here. If you want cogent, thoughtful commentary, I suggest you look elsewhere. However, if you want an insider's view of a crazy person's mind, keep reading.

Okay. For starters, 14 year olds are difficult to raise. I'm in the midst of that with Peter, who is usually an even-keel kind of person. But he IS 14. As such, he has his moments. The last few days have been one giant moment. As far as I can tell, there is nothing of any major catostrophic urgency that is wrong, but that doesn't matter when you're 14. It's ALL catostrophic at this age. Thank goodness he is my last child. I am getting too old for this. I am sympathetic, and at the same time annoyed. Patient, but agitated. My children don't seem to realize that long after their problems have resolved, a mother's heart still carries the hurt for a while. We will get through this and many other times ahead, I know. It just sucks when you're in the middle of it.

Speaking of sucking and being in the middle of things, we have officially become the sandwich generation. David's dad has been in the hospital for a month with pneumonia. He was in ICU for two weeks, and finally this week, things seem to be going in the right direction. His white blood count continues to fall, he has a little more energy every day. David and his siblings have taken turns flying out to Oregon to help out. David is on his second stint this week. I hate having him gone. I have been very lucky in life that my husband has not had a job requiring travel. He is almost always here. And even for mundane things like teacher conferences or dentist appointments, he has always been available. I hate having him gone. Did I say that already? Oh. It's because I hate having him gone. Oh, I manage okay and stuff, but we are such a team that it's very hard to lose half your team for a week. He will be home Sunday. And I don't begrudge his dad the attention and care of his children; certainly he needs to be with his dad.

So my dad's birthday is next week. Wow. (So is David's dad's birthday, actually. Their birthdays are two days apart.) Happy birthday!

Living in a very conservative state like Idaho can be tough when you're a liberal like me. Frequent letters to the editor will use the word communist or socialist to desribe anyone more to the left than the right. I don't care if you're a centrist, independent; in Idaho you are a commie. Which makes me realize that my opinions are confirmed; most people don't think. At its base concept, communism is just the idea that everybody puts into the pot and everyone gets out their fair share. It's not really intended to be a centralized form of government. It works better in small community situations--kind of like Jesus and his disciples. Feeding of the 5,000 was communism. Living in community strikes me as a great thing. Really, that's what a family is. Out of five of us, only one makes a livable wage. The rest of us throw into the communal pot what we have. But we all get out what we need. Very fair and rational.

When you think about it, what is the system we have now. We all pay in taxes, varying levels depending on our income. Those taxes go out to various places, often in the form of someone's level of need: medicare, medicaid, welfare, social security, education. I'm okay with that. What is so bad about us all chipping in to make all of society better?

Then I think about facism. In my understanding, that is where the corporate world pretty much owns the government. Hmmm. Think it's not how it is in the good ol' U S of A? Think again. Look at all the lobbies in Washington. Who's lobbying? Monsanto. Tobacco companies. Pharmaceutical companies. Look at how many former Monsanto employees now work in the agricultural agencies of the government. Coincidence? Not at all. Look at the votes congressmen and women are making, then look at who is contributing to their campaigns and try to tell me with a straight face that the government is not beholden to the corporate world. We in the US like to think of ourselves as so wonderful and advanced, but we're not. I think most of the rest of the westernized world has a better grip on things than we do. Of course, we have a huge country and they don't. But still. I would rather have individuals paying taxes to help out fellow citizens than have my government owned by the corporations. If that makes me a communist--why, then, hello comrades.

I don't even want to get started on our own state government. It is so messed up I have lost all hope. Our superintendent of public education, whose name I will not print here in order to keep a little dignity on my blog, is such a lunatic that he wants to force high school students to take two classes a year online--not by choice, but by mandate. He thinks this will improve education. Yikes. Guess who contributed to his campaign? Educational software and related companies. Hmmm.

Lest I come off as uber curmugdeonly, let me say that I am heartened almost every day by the spirit and effort, mostly of young people to make their world better. I am heartened by my dogs' tail wagging every time they see me. I am proud that my city gave us all enormous recycling bins so that I can fill it up and leave my own garbage can barely filled at all. I am heartened by the aborist who came out to tell me how he could make my trees healthier and his love for what he does. I am thrilled that Emily loves her gas-saving car. I like working for people who believe in small, local businesses and making connections in that community. And I am in awe of the farmers and local businesses who deliver me a bunch of delicious stuff every week and every month. People right here, down the road a ways, who I can talk to if I want. Real faces, not corporations. See, I'm not really that much of a downer, am I?

Of course, I haven't opened today's newspaper yet. Don't even get me started....

Christmas Letter, Blog Style

So high everyone I never seem to have time to write actual cards and letters to:

Merry Christmas and every other day of the year.

What is the Jensen family up to these days? Well, let me tell you, it's a fantastical, fun, and immenently dull life we live, so I'll try to spice it up a little.

Okay: Kids first.

Melissa is a junior at Boise State (yes the football place, go Broncos!). She is majoring in history. You're shocked, I can tell. Who would have thought history freak would actually major in her favorite subject? She seems quite enthralled with it, and she hopes to minor in art history. Melissa was thinking of teaching, but when faced with the incredibly banal curriculum ed majors have to endure, she opted to forgo that option. She is thinking of going to graduate school, but still has gobs of time to figure that out. I encourage her to stay in school as long as possible, since there are no jobs out here in the real world anyway. Melissa moved into her own apartment where she happily lives with herself. No sharing, no scheduling the showers, no having other people eat the food in the refrigerator. Her only burden is an intense fear of the smoke detector being ignited by any and all smells, temperatures, and steam from showers/stoves.

Emily graduated from Boise High last spring with something like a 4.2 GPA and with AP Scholar with Honors distinction. (Graduation night: below.)During a whirlwind of changing plans, she was planning at first to go to New Mexico Tech this fall, but then decided she needed a year off. So then an exchange program was plan B. She was all lined up to travel to Belgium and perfect her French, but opted out of that as well. So plan C, current version, is what she is currently doing: hanging out in Boise and working while trying to finish up her pilot's license, which she started working on a while back. She thinks she might attend BSU for a year or two to learn more languages before heading to New Mexico to major in astrophysics. Having goals is important, don't you think? Setting them awfully high means being in school for the rest of her life, but hey, no jobs in the real world, etc. Emily has a boyfriend named Isaac who is very sweet, smart, and fun to be around. Which is why she spends most of her time with him.

Peter is a certified band geek, chess geek, Boy Scout geek. He is also a choir nerd. As an 8th grader this year, he is learning all the joys of digital media, video broadcasting, along with European history (they're on the Renaissance right now), accelerated algebra, earth science, and English. Plus, did I mention, band? He is a percussionist and also plays in jazz band. He earned his Star level in Scouts, did a 50 mile backpack scout trip, camped in the winter in snow qunizies, and spent a week in the Black Hills at scout camp. He is emerging as quite an effective leader in scouts, which is very good for him. He likes that role. Most nights, you can find Peter in front of the tv, with his iPod in his ears, and working on algebra problems for at least an hour. He is totally into comedians: We've seen Brian Regan and will see Jeff Dunham in January. Peter's next adventure? In six months, he'll be old enough for driver's ed. Yay!?

Okay, enough with the kids already. Now onto what's really important: the dogs. Just kidding. All three dogs are still kicking, barking, leaping, pooping, and shedding. 'Nuf said.

David is always our quick summary. Still at the same firm for 20 years, for which he received a lovely...clock. He's extremely active in scouts with Peter's troop and also mentoring Webelos as they transition up. The troop camps once a month all year long, and I think it's nice for David to get that time away--albeit with 20 teenaged boys. He also ushers at church, which involves hanging out in the back of the church chatting with his buddies.

Neysa, sigh, alas, did not get hired as a teacher. Which is probably for the best, since as you know, I'm not big on mornings. It has all worked out pretty well, however, because I went back to freelancing and have more work than I really have time for. I also am working part time in my favorite indie bookstore, which is totally fun. Writing lots, making lots of music with lots of different people, and working on losing weight. So far, 35 pounds gone. (Melissa has lost 50. You wouldn't recognize her.)

In other life events, all of us except Emily traveled to New York to participate in a performance at Carnegie Hall, conducted by our good friend Paul Aitken. Melissa and Peter both sang in Carnegie (photo, above), plus we saw a Broadway show, played tourist, and had a great time. (Lest you think we were mean to Emily, the reason she wasn't booked into the trip was because she had been planning on being in Belgium at the time.) David and I had our 30th high school reunion--yes, we really are that old. Sigh. We've gotten out into Idaho and played in the snow, the water, and the mountains. (That's us snowshoeing below. Okay, actually we're standing in the snow, but we were snowshoeing just seconds before.)

Oh, I'm sure there are lots of other details you'd like to know about us, but are afraid to ask. So I'll answer them for you:

1. No, we don't quite know what happened to Boise State at Nevada. They messed up. Thank goodness, the bowl game they'll be in will at least have a worthy opponent in Univ. of Utah.

2. Yes, I did forget to mention that Peter played tennis this fall. He has improved quite a bit over last year.

3. You're right, seven hours in the Met is just not enough time, but hey, you take what you can get. On the up side, the Shake Shack near the Natural History Museum.

4. It's true: David likes to sleep with the window open, and I like it closed. Somehow, we are still married after 26 years.

5. Empty nest is just a myth. Even when kids move out, they come over a lot: to do laundry, get money, complain, and sometimes even to just hang out.

6. We are so lucky to have a warm place to sleep, food to eat, clean water to keep us alive, and a loving family to support us. We wish this for all the inhabitants of the world. Yes, we CAN make it happen if we all dig our heads out of the sand, take an interest besides ourselves, and give a little of our incredible wealth to see these goals through. Sorry to go all serious on you, but that's how I roll.

Bullying

With all the different suicides in the news lately, mostly gay teens who have been treated horribly, the subject of bullying is on everyone's mind, and rightly so. Our newspaper ran an article on how to protect your kids from cyberbullying.

And here's my response:

Why not run an article on how to know if your kid is one of the bullies. Nobody wants to think about that, do they? We all assume that we are the good ones, the ones who don't bully, would never treat someone that way, would never shun, spread rumors, out someone online, etc. And certainly our kids would never do that.

Oftentimes, when bullying takes place, the very people to whom one turns for help--teachers, principles, councilors, parents--do not believe the kid being bullied. "How could Janie be bullying you? She's a very nice girl. You must be misinterpreting her intentions."

Uh, no. Very often, it's the "nice" kids who are the worst bullies. They achieve their bullying in very subtle, but pervasive ways. They spread rumors, they shun you, they give you evil stares, they treat you like a nobody. And when you complain, they act like abusive spouses act in front of the authorities: they are all nice and pleasant. And so the victim is the one who ends up being blamed.

Look to the board in your own eye first. Do not be in denial that your kids are the "good ones" who would never treat someone this way. They probably do on more than one occasion. Yes, they've probably also been on the receiving end as well, but that just means they know how it all works, and are just as happy to dish it out when the chance presents itself.

In other words, we are all capable and culpable. We all have the capacity to treat others as lesser than ourselves.

We need to teach and learn empathy. And we need to face the ugly in ourselves. This is the only way episodes will stop. Parents and teachers especially need to make ourselves familiar with the ways "nice kids" bully, and let them know it is completely unacceptable. Teach them how to do better, be better.

To learn more about this subject, I recommend the book Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls by Rachel Simmons. It is a fabulous study in the way girls bully.

Obviously, this is a big issue, and one that has multiple solutions and actions we can take. My first action is to look inward and to my own children to make sure we are not contributing to the problem.

Life, the Universe, and Everything

No, this post isn't about Douglas Adams, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, don't worry. Someday you will.

This is about my life. To sum up briefly, I have spent the last 21 years being a mom, a writer, and a volunteer. A few years ago, I had the urge to go out into the workplace and add more money to our family income. I began substitute teaching. That was okay, somewhat fun, and at least intellectually stimulating. I love teaching, love kids, love the idea of helping them make their way in the world. I've worked with kids for years and years. I love being part of their lives.

After a while of that, I thought I'd much rather be a permanent teacher with my own classroom and in charge of my own teaching. So I got my teaching certificate. For two school years now, I have tried to find a teaching job to no avail. There just aren't that many openings for secondary English teachers here. If I were in special ed, science/math I might be having better luck. But I'm not going there.

For the last several months, I've applied for other kinds of job as well, mostly writing jobs for which I at least have the necessary skills. Again, to no avail.

I realize there's a recession on, so I am not so much dejected at not getting a job. Sometimes I am, but mostly, lately, I am of the opinion that the universe is telling me that I am not here for that kind of work. Sigh.

Okay, universe, you win. I accept the closed doors as verification that I am here for other work. Whatever that might be. And thank goodness, someone else in our household has steady, secure, income-producing work so we can remain housed, fed, and clothed.

Just for fun, here are a few of the ways the universe has been communicating with me, aside from the lack of job offers:

1. a sudden increase in available freelance jobs coming my way, which indicates to me that working at home is where I still need to be.

2. a massive creative surge with numerous new book ideas, writing events, opportunities, etc. that indicates to me my writing is the best way I have to help kids make their way in this world.

3. a blog post by a teacher detailing her horrific experiences with an administration that did not support her worthy, innovative, and effective teaching techniques and instead copped out when parents suggested the literature she was using should be banned, which reminded me that I don't do well in situations where I have to do what the authorities say even if I disagree.

4. the still small voice within reminding me that I have much to offer the world but that I will not be paid for it, indicating to me that I have the unique position of being financially supported so that I can offer my time to those in need. And indeed, the most rewarding pieces of my life are in service without pay, again indicating that my work may not be paid, but pays great dividends.

5. dozens of articles, horoscopes, quotes, and reminders that come my way through serendipity to remind me that a job would only deaden the impact of the gifts I have been given and should be embracing and using.

So, universe, I am starting to listen and pay attention, okay? I realize you have been bashing me over the head with messages, and I have been too stubborn to heed them. I realize I don't always like to hear the truth about my life. But I get it now. I'm here. I'm trying to open my heart and mind to the work I am here to do. (It seems I have to go through this about every ten years or so.)

Which is to say, I'm focusing on writing and helping out those in need wherever I can. I'm still not totally comfortable giving up the idea of getting a job. I still look at all the job boards I was on. They still have nothing for me. It's going to take time to refocus and get to work. I'm going to have to re-accept that my position in this world is one in which I am a helper, a guide. And I am called to that in whatever capacity it comes for me.

On Whether Writer's Block is Real

Yesterday I had a job interview for a writing position. During the interview, one of the people asked me what I do when I have writer's block. I said, "I don't get writer's block." He gave me the most incredulous look and implied that everybody gets writer's block. I reiterated that I don't. I said that if something is just not coming out the way I want, I just write "gobble-di-gook" until something good happens. He nodded knowingly, like he was thinking "see, you DO get writer's block."

Truly, I don't believe in writer's block. Maybe this is just me. My brain has so many thoughts and ideas zinging around at warp speed that, if anything, I have writing overload. I can't possibly write fast enough to get it all down.

Now, I will confess that I suffer from my own self-imposed writer's procrastination syndrome, in which I sometimes avoid the butt-in-chair action of sitting down and physically writing. I also have this life that doesn't always mean I have the time on any given day to make it to the butt-in-chair mode.

However, I feel that I am always writing, in my head if nothing else. I'm always going over scenes in my head, thinking up little phrases that I might use somewhere in ten years, pondering why a character seems flat.

Even when I have to write to a specific assignment and on a deadline, I don't usually have a problem with coming up with stuff to write. I almost always end up writing about twice as much as I need, and then have to cut most of it out.

So I was kind of appalled that this guy implied that I was lying about not having writer's block. Maybe I just don't call it that. Or maybe we define it differently. But even when I'm pondering, pondering, thinking, thinking, staring out the window, figuring out what words need to go on paper, I consider that writing. That is a very important part of my writing process. I have to think a long time about something before it gets put down. I don't think of that as writer's block. I think of that as the process.

I'd be curious to hear what other people experience. Because I'm willing to concede I might be wrong. (Although I'm sure I'm not. I mean, I should know what my own experience has been, right? But that might just be only me.)

Trying to Find a Teaching Job

I realize the economy sucks right now, and has virtually since the moment I started trying to find a job. Lucky for me. But this goes beyond finding a job for me. It goes to what I want to do with my time at this point in my life.

I've been applying for every teaching job that I feel even remotely qualified for or interested in. That's a lot of jobs. Not a nibble. School starts in two days and I have nada. I've applied for other relevant jobs that have nothing to do with teaching but that sounded fun or at least interesting. Nada.

My friend Paul suggests I should focus on writing and give up this crazy notion of working at a job. I want to agree with him. I love writing. I want to spend all my time writing.

Here's the thing, though. I also want to work, to feel that I'm making a difference to other people. Yes, I know writing makes a difference. How many books can I name that impacted me? One for every day of my life. But until my books are published, I also feel the need to be of use right now.

I love working with kids. I adore them. Especially teenagers. They are awesome. That's why I decided teaching was the thing for me. But evidently, teaching doesn't agree. Or at least potential employers don't agree. Or the economy doesn't agree.

This has caused me to spend the summer pondering my place in the universe and other big thoughts like that. In a big way, not just a small way. I seem to go through this kind of upheaval every ten years or so.

I also really want to contribute to the income and financial stability of my family. Sometimes, especially in the current economy with one child in college and one about to be, with one still coming up, I feel the need to earn actual money. (As opposed to the projected sort of money that I might earn when I get my books published.)

I suppose all artists go through this kind of thing. How to earn a living while still working on your art.

So my ponderings and ramblings have left me with this: I want to be of use to the world, I want to work with and teach teenagers, I want to write, I want to earn some money. There you have it. And that brings to mind my mantra from the Rolling Stones: "you can't always get what you want." Sigh.

This morning I had the freeing thought that what if I just quit trying so dang hard? What if I just acknowledge that there is nothing out there for me at the moment, and in the meantime I can do what my heart desires with the trust that if and when something appears, I will be here waiting for it? That is scary. That requires letting go and not trying to control the situation. That requires that I allow God, the universe, and whatever fates affect the state of education and the economy to work while I throw up my hands. Can it be done? Should it be done?

Well, I have always believed that if you put out into the universe what you want, somehow it will materialize. (I don't mean lottery winnings or stuff like that. I mean intangible things.) So this is me, putting it out there. Universe, it is in your hands now.