so many shit weeks
that this is my Tuesday pic:
are we winning yet?
I’m Up Front
determination
Blindsided by a Blizzard
pretty much our life
once the mountains release us:
a whiteout of stress
The Story of my Life
I can’t write about all the things I wish to write about, but it has been HELL at work.
It’s not the kids (it is never the kids).
You know the burdens if you have carried them. Weights of national, state, and school district policies that bear down on our daily instruction. Weights of internal decisions that are never made with the voice of a teacher who sits each day with those kids. Weights of parents who sometimes don’t have any idea what it’s like to gather, with full attention, the love of thirty-two strangers. Every. Day.
And here we are, Friday Night Lights, chasing our peaks.
The sun is setting later now, and our ski seasons are coming to an end. I can’t even write the sentence without crying.
Because skiing is a luxury afforded to rich white people, which we have been for exactly four years and nine months.
Because this is our last little weekend getaway for a long time.
Because whenever we open our home, it seems like the world closes its doors.
But check out this sauna:
It comes at the very affordable $94 rate for the singular queen-size bed and free breakfast, just 47 minutes from the closest free parking lot (shuttle to the slopes).
It comes quickly and too hot and it feels amazing on my too-cold skin. My skin that has shivered for a week with news I don’t want to carry.
It is the story of every American. That, even with two raises, even after a teachers’ strike, even after committing seventeen years to a profession, I cannot afford to pay for my house or my bills on a singular salary.
It is the story of my husband who can fix anything you ever asked for with his hands, from laying a hardwood floor to replacing a toilet to connecting fiber optic wires to fully cleaning the impossibly-dirty grout in my parents’ bathroom… But who did not earn a degree, only four years of service to this God Bless America Country that has done nothing other than save us from down payments on properties.
It is the story of health insurance that we will either no longer have or can no longer pay for because I make too much to qualify for Medicaid but shouldn’t I provide shelter for the four children living under my roof?
It is the story of my life.
And we have less than three months to figure out exactly how to win these mountains back.
Ballots, Not Bullets
all the hope i have
rests in this fateful ballot
(can hope win the vote?)
Perfectly Cracked, Perfectly Hopeful
i walk my puppy,
fight weekend grocery store crowds,
and bake a cheesecake
before 10 a.m.,
i cook raspberry compote
and finish laundry
by noon, i’m ready
to begin this Sunday cleanse
and climb out of here
the city beckons
(no, no—the world beckons
for another chance)
our democracy
and the fate of our future
rest with how we vote
(even though it’s cracked,
my daughter’s birthday cheesecake
is one of many)
let this election
be one of many chances
to give us all hope
Instead of Bitching…
Tuesday win! I found this great recipe for one of my favorites, chicken marsala. That’s right, on a blah Tuesday night, I made chicken marsala!
Only instead of fettuccine, penne; instead of fresh thyme, dried thyme; instead of a purple shallot, a red onion; instead of heavy cream, evaporated milk; instead of chicken broth, vegetable broth; instead of mushrooms, artichoke hearts and cream of mushroom soup (40% less fat); and last but not least… instead of marsala wine, cooking wine mixed with Botabox Pinot Noir.
I know you’re jealous. It takes a really creative digger to be this good of a Tuesday night chef.
And instead of complaining, all the kids said they preferred this version instead of the original.
So instead of bitching, I’ll just enjoy these leftovers tomorrow.
Snowed Day
So Steamboat didn’t happen. They closed I-70 right after we bought chains, and closed 285 right when we’d gathered our courage to leave.
The roads are atrocious, the highways are closed, and it took so much planning and money and sub plans and my entire car packed for six people… And it’s heartbreaking.
And our Airbnb hostess tried to argue with me about going the Walden route and not refunding me.
Bitch, I’m a Taurus, and I WILL spend an hour on hold and send links to every damn CDOT warning ever made to get my money back.
So now I have a snowy weekend with this snow-loving Pomapoo, my money, and my family safe at home.
I love you snow, but you’re kind of killing me right now. Time to get out the Nordic skis.
Th-th-thank You
the mid-winter blues:
sometimes words stick in our teeth
unspittable pith
but i will teach them
the ‘t-h’ intricacies
of learning English
i will not give up
’cause they’ve crossed every border
to learn love’s language
La Bestia Beckons
we will never know
how sketchy the ride will be
until we arrive
New Year’s Eve
in 2019
Bruce learned to ski from up high
into a new life
in 2019
a drain drained our resources
and worsened our debt
in 2019
my girls adjusted again
to life’s challenges
in 2019
we were given the rare chance
to make a difference
in 2019
we traveled through the country
searching for ourselves
in 2020
we’ll make a better life
everywhere we go
