The day has finally arrived. Tomorrow I will be on my way to Estonia for a week.
Not only do I get to spend time with one of my favorite people in the world, but I have an action packed week full of interesting destinations and culture, art, and history galore. I plan to detail my journeys for the next week. My mom has given me her camera which means I will have high quality photographs of my adventure.
See ya later California!
Finally a piece of art that I can relate to.
Woman Encircled by the Flight of a Bird, 1941 by Joan Miro
I am happy to report that I will be traveling to Spain in June, and I am hoping that somewhere along the way, I can stumble on this masterpiece.
In 12 days I will be on a plane bound for Estonia.
In 207 days I will be on a plane bound for Spain, Portugal, and Gibraltar.
In 264 days my prison sentence is lifted and I no longer have to interact with the bullies.
I finished a draft draft methodology chapter today. It is not 100% the project that I want to do, but I am proud of how it came together, and I am excited to get feedback from the professor before I present it as part of my proposal at the end of next semester.
I cannot wait for the traveling to begin.
I have been very negative lately. My life has been a revolving cycle of work, school, research, grade, repeat. Because of that, I let myself get caught up in the drama of my cohort, and really let five horrible women almost drive me from the program. While I am still not sold on staying, I am learning to let what goes on in that room once a week stay there. That room does not represent the real world, and does not represent the people I will be working with, and the students I hope to help.
Today I felt vindicated. I am in the process of completing a basic skills certification for my job. For the last few months I have been attending workshops that range from how to help students read their textbook to how to reduce stress in the classroom. The workshop this morning was entitled: How to Overcome the Institutional Alienation of At-risk African American and Hispanic Students. At first I wasn’t going to go. I get enough of this from my cohort, and I did not think I could sit for two hours and listen to how horrible I am because I am white. I need the hours, and I feel that helping at-risk students regardless of race is important, so I decided I would give it a shot. When I left the house this morning, I decided that I was going to sit in the back of the room and not say anything. I can not afford to make anymore waves in my bubble, and pissing off people where I work is not something that I want to do.
I could not have been more shocked about the workshop I participated in today. While the statistics presented demonstrated that people of color are the most at-risk when they enter college, the discussion that we had was about how to help at-risk students. The only time race was mentioned was when the presenters mentioned that at the conference they went to, the presenter was the number one thing a teacher can do to alienate a student in their classroom is see them as a monolith for their race, and treat them based on the color of their skin. The discussion revolved around barriers that any at-risk student would have entering college, and what the institution can do to help break down these barriers and help promote student success.
It was the discussion that I wish I could have every Tuesday night. The presenters kept saying “What can WE as an institution do to help students?” The room was full of men, women, old, young, humanities teachers, math teachers, and science teachers. There were Asians, African Americans, Hispanics and Latinos, and White people. No one was singled out by their race, and the blame was placed on the institution as a whole, not on the race of the people involved. I left that workshop finally understanding what it meant to grow and learn as a educator, and finally learning what it would be like for me working in the real world. This is how educators behave. This is how open and honest conversation brings about change. When I discussed a bit of what the conversations are like in my class, one of the presenters told me that was a retrograde way of thinking, and that was not how progressive educators worked.
So while the program is still awful, and I am far from being a proud Titan, it feels good to know that I have now been snapped out of the Twilight Zone, and when I make it into the working world as a professional, my ideas about change, and my strategies for helping students are valuable, and have merit. Why it took me so long to figure out, I have no idea, but I am happy that my eyes are open now.
Connective Tissue Disorder: 2; Kim: 0
Thanks to MediCal, it has been almost a year since I have seen my rhuematologist. I have been referred to three different specialists only to be told that they do not take MediCal, so I bit the bullet and went to my old doc as a cash patient. I was happy to see him and his nurses. He has been treating me since I was diagnosed in 2008, and I trust and value his care plan for me. I was properly chastised for not coming in sooner, and thoroughly questions about how I have been feeling. I’m always honest with him about all my aches, pains, and general wellness practices, but today is one of those days that I wish I wasn’t.
For the last year I have been having a problem with dry eyes and a dry mouth. My last couple of trips to the dentist have been stress educing. Until two years ago I had only ever had one cavity. Now I am in the double digits for the number of ones I’ve had filled. What I didn’t know was that all of these things were new symptoms of my disease. Dr. Fab (yes, my doctor’s name is Dr. Fab….well it is Fabricant, but everyone calls him Dr. Fab) informed me that my diet is going to have to change in order to counterbalance some of the things my body is doing to me. That included a new toothpaste, and giving up sugar.
No more sugar.
No more peach rings, no sour gummy worms, no more chocolate (I’ve been stress eating that a lot lately), no more ice cream, and no more mojitos. A few months ago I decided to give up dairy (well, tried. I gave up after a month and substantially reduced my diary intake) in order to help with joint pain, and now I am giving up sugar to save my teeth.
I am a sad girl. The next step is to visit a nutritionist so that I can make a diet plan of foods I can eat and ways I can eat them so I don’t get bored.
On the upside, I leave for Estonia in 32 days, there is only 284 days until I am finally rid of the awful people in my program, and I just booked a trip to Spain and Portugal in June. I am beyond excited for all of the trips on the horizon. It is really the only thing keeping me going right now.
I’m sitting in the middle of my qualitative inquiry class and all I want to do is cry (okay, let’s be honest, I cried. I actually got up and left the room and cried. Giant hiccuping sobs Snot, hiccups, and embarrassment. I came home before the second class started and had a beer, french fries and onion rings). Since I started this program I have continually battled with whether or not I made the right choice.
Days like tonight make the answer very clear: no. I made the wrong choice. I am now extremely depressed in a program that touts me as a racist, and today I learned that the program has never approved a proposal for action research. For anyone who isn’t aware of what action research is, here is a quick breakdown:
Action research is a practical approach to professional inquiry in any social situation. The examples in this component relate to education and are therefore of particular relevance to teachers or lecturers engaged in their daily contact with children or students. But professional practice need not be teaching: it may be management or administration in a school or college, or it may be in an unrelated area, such as medicine or the social services. The context for professional inquiry might change, but the principles and processes involved in action research are the same, regardless of the nature of the practice. (Water-Adams, 2006)
I believe as a future leader, and current practitioner that it is important to look at, and understand the practices in the classroom, and what needs to be changed in order to promote student success. I believe that my proposal not only lends itself to a dissertation, but it has merit and value in the field of basic skills writing. I also believe that as a future leader, I should be looking beyond race when I set out to help my students. I currently have 60 students, and I cannot, for the life of me, tell your the ethnic breakdown of my students.
In the program, that makes me a racist. I have made no secret to my displeasure in class, and my frustration with the mindset of some of the people. I have spent countless hours in therapy trying to deal with the boat I am in, but it is harder and harder for me to remember why I decided to stay in the program. Tonight I was told I have no critical consciousness, and therefore cannot be a good leader, because I do not look at the race, and I do not tailor my classes so that nonwhite students are given priority. I was also told that it is not my fault, I am white, and privileged, so I do not understand how to help students who are not white. I lack professional development which is just as much a problem of the college for not offering it, and me for not seeking it out.
Today I told my professor I saw no reason for me to continue in this program. Between hiccups I told her how attacked I felt, and how this program was only teaching me to be racist. I am not a quitter. I think anyone who really knows me knows that, but for the last year, all I have thought about is quitting. This program is one of the major reasons that I cannot wait to get back overseas. I was willing to just about break my bank to go to Estonia for a week at Thanksgiving, just so I don’t have to be anywhere near this program and these people. I’m seriously considering how bad it would be if I did not come home.
My friends have been pretty great. A few of the people in the program emailed and text me to make sure that I am okay. and my best friend sent me these words of wisdom:
It’s a long road. We’ll be 30 soon though, far smarter than our peers, angry at the world, paying of debt and having the times of our lives
He’s right. I just have to make it to 30. I will still be friends with the few people in the program I have really connected with, and I will never have to deal with the rest of them ever again.
The one thing that I have decided to do is fight this system. I am going to do an action research dissertation. I was the first person they ever allowed to defer admittance, so why can I not be the first person to do action research? I know I shouldn’t try and change the world right now with my work, but I want to do something I am proud of, and I will not be proud of anything less than the study I designed. This will be my giant “f-you” to the program. I haven’t decided if I am going to quit the program or not, but I have a meeting with the director on Monday to discuss my future. That gives me a few days to cool off and think about what I want, and how I am going to get it. In the meantime, I am going to ignore the classes, focus on my writing students, and figure out how to get myself into a clear mindset.
In 54 days, 11 hours, and 29 minutes I will be on a plane to Estonia.
This caged bird is getting a week of freedom. My credit card is sad, but my heart is happy. I will get to spend a week with one of my best friends, and get to explore a new country. I don’t care if it snows, or if none of my other friends can make it, the week long break from all that is going on in my bubble here is worth it.
The countdown keeps me going. None of the drama of the program, my frustrations with the research job, or any of my feelings about being home seem that bad when I know that in 54 days I get a break.
This marks the third year in a row that I will not be home for Thanksgiving. I am extremely thankful for the chance to escape my gilded cage. I cannot wait to plan my adventure. I have already decided to visit Helsinki, and Latvia. My family is from Latvia, so I think seeing my roots for a bit might do me a bit of good.
The only thing that would make this trip perfect is if some of my friends from Scotland can come along as well. A year without seeing each other is far too long.
316 days, 11 hours, and 52 minutes until I complete my coursework for the EdD program.
64 days, 12 hours, 51 minutes until Thanksgiving break.
Not that I am counting.
Thanksgiving means a chance to go to Estonia (I hope) and see one of my best friends, and the end of my coursework means a trip to Spain and Portugal with my parents.
My gypsy soul needs to wander soon. I’m getting restless.
“There’s a race of women that don’t fit in, A race that can’t sit still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;Their’s is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.”
― Robert W. Service
Today I finished my second week of teaching.
Good news! I still love it.
For the start of every class I teach, I have the student correct a sentence to practice their grammar and sentence writing, and then I have them answer a question or prompt. My goal with these exercises is to help my student keep their grammar skills in check, and to get themselves in a writing mindset. The journal questions range from “If you were stuck on an island with the Kardashians, who would you kill first and why?” to “Tell me about your favorite school experience to date.” The goal of the exercise is not to stump my students, but allow them ten or so minutes to write some pretty prose. This week I introduced them to the concept of writing from recall. To get class started, I asked my students what their favorite childhood toy was.
I got some very interesting answers. One student said they loved a battery operated red hen that laid eggs. The hen had been a 4th birthday gift. Another student mentioned how much they loved collecting and playing marbles. While I read their entries tonight, I thought about my favorite toy. I’ve had a lot of them. I used to love playing with my Barbies, and with my Polly Pockets. I loved Polly Pockets.
There was one thing that I loved more than Barbies, Polly Pockets, and any other toy that I owned.
His name was Bun. The exact origin of Bun is unknown, but he was my best friend. He went everywhere with me. I was a really shy kid (I know, hard to believe), so more often than not, you could find me sitting alone sucking my thumb and rubbing Bun’s ear.
Bun had his fair share of adventures. I remember one such outing to the local Price Club (now known as Costco). My brother, sister and I were sitting in the cart on our way to the car. My brother and I ended up in a tug-of-war over Bun. Before I knew it, I pulled Bun back to safety….or at least I thought I did. I had Bun in my hands, and my brother had Bun’d ear in the other. I screamed bloody murder. I cried until the next door neighbor sewed the ear back on and returned Bun safely to me. Before too long, Bun got old and warn out. He was replaced with Bun number 2. Bun 2.0 was just as special as Bun the original. He went everywhere with me. I quickly rubbed down all of the fir on his arm and ear with my worrying. I continued to suck my thumb.
My parents were really worried that I would walk down the aisle sucking my thumb, so they decided that the only way I was going to break the habit was if I no longer had bun. My mom had been reading me the Velveteen Rabbit for years, and it was one of my favorite stories.
Christmas of the year I turned five, my mom snuck Bun 2.0 from my bed. I woke up and was stressed that I couldn’t find my best friend. My mom told me to just come out to the living room to open presents and then she would help me find Bun. When I walked into the living room, I saw a pink cage with a small white rabbit in it. There was a note from Santa (that looked a lot like my mom’s handwriting now that I think about it) saying that since I loved Bun 2.0 so much, Santa was turning him into a real rabbit for me to love and take care of. I of course named him Bun.
He didn’t stay little for long. He was huge! I remember him sitting at the back door thumping his feet at coyotes and stray cats. I remember him chewing on everything. I bought him a pink leash and used to take him on walks in the backyard.
When my parents got divorced and we moved to a condo, Bun had free run of the house. He dug a hole in the small patio and found himself a cool place to lay. He ate the lining out of my mom’s golf bag and made himself a nest in the garage on really hot days. He spent a lot of time hiding in the garage. I used to go out and try to coax out of hiding. I remember holding him on my lap, and how annoyed Kelly got when I wanted him to sleep in our room (I guess 2 am calisthenics is not for everyone).
Bun lived a long time. When he was six years old, my mom found him in the garage. It might have been the heat, it might have been his age, but he went to the big alfalfa field in the sky. I wasn’t home when my mom found him, but I remember crying until I had the hiccups. I called my best friend Julia (Who is still a friend to this day) and left a sad message on her answering machine. A few years after my parents had replaced Bun 2.0, Socks, the family cat accidentally found his hiding place in my mom’s closet. I got to have Bun, and Bun 2.0. When Bun died, I pulled Bun 2.0 off the shelf and he slept in my bed for years after that.
When I moved to Merced to go to college, I left Bun at home. When my family came up to visit on parent’s weekend, my mom brought him with her and left him on my bed before they returned home. He moved with me to San Diego, and then back home before I went to Scotland. He stayed in the States, and now holds a place of honor on my dresser. Every now and then, when I am having a rough day, I pull him off the shelf and rub his ear and his arm to comfort myself.
27 years later, he is still my favorite toy.
I’ve finally completed my first week of teaching, and the first week of my second year of the doctoral program.
Teaching is great. I love my students. The first class I teach is at night, but they try to stifle their yawns, and they ask questions and engage with my lecture. The second class is a four hour once a week class, and although we have only met once, I have a feeling that I will get a lot of great work out of them. I like being in front of the class, and it has been awhile since I actually enjoyed my job. While I miss two of the women from the library, I do not miss the drama there. So far, teaching is a drama free environment. I can’t wait to really get into the teaching and the discussions with the students.
Being in the grad program has really changed the way that I view my students. I understand boring classes, and as someone who spends a lot of time looking at cat videos on the internet during the lectures, I have decided to be a little more relaxed about my phone and laptop policy. So far the students have respected it.
The second year of the program is off to a rough start. The results of the qualifying exam didn’t go well for a few people, and I do not like the way that it is being handled. If someone looked really closely at this program, I am not sure that it would be allowed to continue. It is clear that race plays a part in who gets to succeed int he program, and since I still have two years left, I am going to just bow my head and keep silent.
I didn’t do well keeping silent on the first day, but I will be trying a lot harder from now on. I have never been in a place where racism was so rampant and blatant, and people who claim to hate racial stereotypes and labels applied to them place so many labels and stereotypes on white people. It is very clear that if I was struggling in classes, or having a hard time with the program that I would be on my own to figure it out.
We have a new professor this semester, and when he wasn’t talking down to us, or telling us how he wrote Achieving the Dream, he spared a few seconds to ask us what we wanted to do with this degree. After each of the cohort members talked about their end game, he had some comment about how he had done it, or how he could make that happen for us. He was so arrogant and annoying. What was even more annoying was the plans for a lot of these people want to be deans and presidents of colleges, yet, they only want to help a certain group of students. These people are not going to work to make the educational system a better place. They are going to perpetuate the stereotypes and color focused system we have in place now.
But being on this soapbox gives me a headache, and it is a losing battle.
85 days until Thanksgiving vacation.
Thank the sweet baby Jesus I love my job.
If I didn’t need the fancy letters after my name to move overseas and start a life, I would have already quit the program and saved myself the aggravation.
The Scamp Abroad 