Saturday, February 22, 2014

Medford Teacher Strike February 2014





THE STRIKE HAS ENDED! 

I go back to my room tomorrow and have kids on Monday.  I am waiting to see if I have to make up any days.  I have lots of anger issues over this that I will be working through.  Plus I am exhausted.  It was a great civics lesson and makes me appreciate our Constitution even more.  Yep, I'm a union thug now.  Going to hug and squeeze those kids and do what is right for them and their education because I am in the one in the classroom who knows them and I have the professional training to know what is BS and what is good and right for them.  We are taking back our profession from the people who are clueless about what goes on in the classroom and do not have the professional training or education to know what is good and right for children.  

As a side note out of 600 teachers only 20 crossed the line, and our numbers on the line stayed the same during 13 days of strike.  The others unions say that is unheard in a strike to have such a high percentage go out on strike and keep the same numbers on the line. We are MEA!

Picketing sucks.  It was cold.  It rained.  It snowed.  It's boring. It's heartbreaking to see your kid's faces in bus windows, and behind fences and you can't hug them. It was infuriating to hear stories of the "quality education" going on inside when your CLA tells you of the 6th grade sub who had the kids compare the price of a 64 oz beer to a case of beer. Or the sub(scab) who slapped a child.  Of subs letting them chew gum.  Of subs checking their dating sights on school computers.  Coloring sheets in highschools.  Of our classified staff having to teach the lessons because the subs could not figure out how to do it.  The scabs, and I use it on purpose because not only were they the bottom of the barrel but were only in it for the money, were paid over $300.00 a day plus room, board, meals, training and catered meals.  Money that could have been used to settle a fair contract.

Then there was the waste of money on "rent a cops" to protect the sites and students from us dangerous teachers.  Security people who smoked cigarettes on the school ground and had felony history.

It was unbearable to read the lies about us in the newspaper and on the news from our superintendent when he tells them that we make $102,000. Or that they refused to bargain for 4 days over the holiday weekend, and the school board chair was in Las Vegas for a soccer tournament.  Or watching this timeline unfold that was planned all along by the school board and admin.  That they cared so little for the children, parents , and us .  

On the other hand, the overwhelming support on the streets from our public was amazing 200 thumbs up to 4 thumbs down or the middle finger.  Oh yes we were flipped off.  I even had a 70 year old lady stick her tongue out at me.  Of coffee, donuts, muffins, water, pizza, sandwiches, soup, and checks sent to us by education associations all around the state and country. 

Finally when we lined the streets, 600 strong on Barnett to show our solidarity, with drums pounding, a wall of signs , and hands waving we felt the strength of the most creative, inspiring, loyal, ethical, group of people I have ever known!

Our district could NOT break us.  They kept telling the press how we were going to break and cross over and how we were losing out on 3000.00 a week.  (REALLY?????!!!!)  We stood firm.  We stood tall.  We did not play in their sand box.  We took the higher road.  We did not delete posts off face book if they did not agree with us  like the district did.  We DID NOT lie about the numbers like they did on their web site.  We did not spin the truth to the cameras to make us look reasonable.  We did not sling mud against the people who lied about us.  


We deserve a fair contract that doesn't change 118 things in it.  We deserve to have a COLA after not having one for 8 years.  We deserve to have protected prep time and fair special ed. numbers across the schools. We are self insured.  We don't need a cap on our insurance costs.  We saved the district money on the insurance . So much so they moved millions to the general fund our of our insurance pool.  

Finally, don't just eliminate the early retirement benefit without phasing it out. We only asked for a year. Don't throw your veteran teachers off the cliff.  You gave admin. 2 years to phase it out.  You gave us 3 months. 



We did what we do best- we educated with numbers, we stood up to the bullying, and we used all our skills we use in the classroom to educate our students.  We are teachers.  We are united.  Don't come between us and our students.  We know what is best for them.  We are in the trenches. We deserve to be treated with respect and to have an admin that works with us collaboratively instead of dictating to us every single thing we do.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=share&v=tADc5a3A1v0&app=desktop 





Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Sunday, December 29, 2013

Christmas Vacation

I have got to stop doing these Christmas vacations away from my support groups and mental health strategies!  I love my family of mom, sisters, nephews and nieces, but the pain of the loss of my own boys is almost more than I can bear anymore.  I am not suicidal, but I can truly see why people kill themselves during the holidays.  We just want the pain to END.

It has been three years since I  have seen any of my boys.  I truly don't understand what I did to deserve this treatment.  How can you treat your mom like she doesn't exist?     I refuse to believe I was such a horrible mom or person.  I won't believe it.

Now that I am home I can operate in my adult.

Next year I hope I can be stronger without crying everyday.

In my lowest moments I hate them for what they are doing to me on purpose. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to forgive them?  

So I thought of my poem, "Ascension" tonight because of the fog.  I'm still there....
                                                                                                                             

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Retreat






The stillness,

after the wind dies,
after the mountains
have been thrown down,
when fire burns the bushes,
ignites the trees,

the stillness
is in the death of flames.

The low whisper of rocks
falling from the path,
echoes
in the gullies, canyons, and valleys.

The stillness of a heart monitor
in a hospital room.
Death comes.


The Word of the Lord
is my stillness.
I am hidden in the clefts.

I wrap the stillness
around my joints
where age saps my strength,
misfires my heart,
dims my perceptual vision,
and muffles my ears in white noise.

When I am alone,
in wind,
 fire,
 earthquake,
cobbled in rock,
your word of 7000
 is my comfort.




Monday, September 9, 2013

The Creature from the Black Lagoon



Tears hide at the eye's sharp corners.
Sorrow reveals the creases, buried
in skin, between the ground and mourners.
Gathered like weeds, submerged and ferried.

The current ties the sodden stalks 'tween
ankles, flipping memories: black lagoon
creature with opal eyes and fins of green
mohawk feathers.  Death swims naked in moon
shadows, brushing my thighs with whispery
nails.

Leaving reminders, scratches, contam-
inated,with trace 'neath finger nails, matches
the DNA of sin from Adam's slam
against his Eve.  The clumps, soil detaching
marks creation's fall.  Leaving tears in veils,
drowning death daily, with rusty red nails.


Tuesday, July 9, 2013

More thoughts on talking to a Paraglider from NY







The dreams were free at night.  I'd launch my 5 year old body(?) off gray shingles that left silvers in my bottom when I'd slide myself down the roof.  Below the peak of the barn roof was a haystack half as tall as the peak.  I'd soar off that roof and try to touch the clouds.  I would do swirls, twirls, somersaults and cartwheel through the air.  It was easy, and it was freeing.  I remember feeling the pure joy of flying, not in the black night of dreams but in the cerulean blue of hot Kansas skies.

The dreams were so real to me I actually thought I did fly at night while I was sleeping.  The dreams occurred with regularity and became something I always looked forward to at night.  I was never scared, and I never fell to the ground.

I don't remember how old I was when the dreams stopped.  Life just kind of got in the way and anchored me to the earth.  Daddy got sick.  We moved off the farm to Lincoln, KS.  Daddy died.  We moved to Salina, KS.  With each year the chains of gravity kept me grounded, and I forgot all about the dreams of flying.

It wasn't until after I was married and started having children that an aunt of Pat's talked to me about her dreams of flying.  Estelle, also had dreams of flying when she was young in Iowa.  We compared stories, and once again I remembered the thrill of soaring through the air and the wonder of the earth below.

I often wonder what those dreams symbolized for me.  Estell really believed she flew.  Did I?  It was so real and so natural in my dreams.  It was a time in my life where sorrow had not touched me.

This year I attended a dinner for the paragliders racing in the Woodrat Paragliding race at Fiasco Winery in Ruch.  Sitting next to me was a man from New York who had flown Paragliders all over the world.  He encouraged me to try a tandem flight.  I mentioned to him my dreams of flight as a child.  He told me that people who have those dreams usually wind up paragliding.

HUMMMM.

That got me to thinking. I thought of flying.  I thought of the symbolism ripe in the act of flying with a paraglider.  I thought of turkey vultures and how they use the thermals to kettle.  I wondered how paragliders got from Woodrat to Grants Pass and back again.  I was intrigued by the whole idea of comparing and contrasting my childhood flights with the act of paragliding  today.

I tried my hand at a sonnet because I've also been thinking about William Wordsworth.  I combined my thoughts of flying with the craft of writing a sonnet.  Sonnets are HARD work!  It's like Sudoku for my brain!  I'm not too fond of my results, but I like the difficulty and challenge of writing in iambic pentameter and rhyming.

I'm currently working on a free verse with the same theme.  Maybe someday I will take the venture and do a tandem paragliding ride.  I think I should in honor of that happy, free spirit of a child I was back on the barn roof, launching my body skyward!












Wednesday, July 3, 2013

On Talking to a Paraglider from New York in form




In nights of dreams, the clouds fly high above
barn steeples, grazing hay, and toeing trees,
as westward blades of windmills list, shove
the wisps amongst the limbs.  The lee
of slope running on shingles gray with age.
The step I take : a foot launch, lifts the wing.
I kettle up the core, Vario gage
beeping .  Dew creates bases. Arms I fling
to catch my cloud quay.  Unstable as Geier
in flight.  I fear not dreams of flying high
to heaven.  Gravity of dust, flyer
in hell of air foil collapsing. I die 
of trees and rooted rock, awake and bound
once more, in beds of iron, and chains of ground.