The New School

Jack, my good friend, asks if I would write about my new school, and my new kids, and how it is all going. Now, while I can't imagine why any of you could possibly want to read about my days with my 41 sixth graders, I can surely babble on and on about them all and the absolutely amazing school that I have tumbled into...

The place is simply the most phenomenal educational setting I have ever encountered. It is not fancy, mind you. The building is old, and there is peeling paint and no air conditioning and certainly there are plenty of places where the "facilities" are far shinier and more impressive. BUT -- the energy and the vision and the execution and the pure dedication to the idea of education is simply stunning, and the community wrapped around the place is alive with the reality of it. I have spent the first weeks in a continual state of WOW -- when I haven't been just exhausted from trying to keep up with it...

Because everything happens at a breakneck pace there, I don't think there is any such thing as a normal schedule, and events and opportunities and demands come flying from every direction. It is intense. So far, I don't think I've missed much.

One of the very first BIG DEALS, three weeks into the year was that we hosted an International Exchange program during which some 70 students from Germany, Hungary, Russia, and The Netherlands (along with their teachers and chaperones) visited our school and worked on various art projects with our students for a week. They stayed with our families and toured the city. It was an incredible event. There were lots of extra projects going on around our building, lots of interactions between our kids and the visitors, lots of special assemblies and just general disruption. The lead up to it all meant a whole lot of preparatory work. One of the last bits was that the very last Friday, just before the impending arrival, we got word that classrooms should all be decorated to "welcome" the visitors." OH SURE! So, I put my kiddos to work doing the "10 minute bulletin board drill." Now mind you, these kids had been with me just about three weeks at that point. We were still getting to know each other. Things were not fully established, but they were pretty sure they had fallen into the clutches of a mad woman. I sent two of them to the office to obtain as many of the posters for the week as they could get their hands on. I had the others line up chairs across the front of the room so that I could "chair walk" and staple blue construction paper up over the top of the existing bulletin board. "After all," I told them, "the stuff we were putting up only needed to be up for the coming week -- after our company left, it would come right back down. No need to take down our perfectly good bulletin board." The two girls returned from the office bearing armloads of posters which could be cut up for our purposes. The inside of said posters had nice, big, stylized doves carrying olive branches -- symbols of peace and friendship. Every student set to work cutting out a dove. In no time at all we had 20 doves, and a half circle "world" with the motto for the week: "A week to change the world." We stapled our world up at one end of the banner board, and started putting up the doves in a great flock across the front of the room, flying toward the world -- most of them with hand written messages of friendship and welcome from my kids. The whole board was soon a charming flight of doves in flight from our classroom doorway across the whole front of the room. Total time spent: approximately 16 minutes flat. The whole crew was pretty amazed. And THEY owned that welcome! It was a first taste of how my classroom works -- organized chaos!

Since then, we've built models of cells from "found" stuff they collected and brought from home. We've learned how to analyze statistics by studying the "Great Homerun Hitters" of baseball history. We have delved into the ways of historians and anthropologists with a trunk full of treasures like you might find in your grandmother's attic, and we are currently exploring the nature of permeable mebranes with eggs that have spent the last two days floating in vinegar and are currently soaking in water as they balloon to rather remarkable size. We're having a grand time.

You might be surprised to learn, Jack (or maybe not) that I have a "bad boy" who's name is Jack. Imagine that! He is the leader of the pack, so to speak. One of Bad Boy Jack's (how awful can you be when you are only 12?) really horrible, rotten, defiant behaviors is that he simply refuses to tuck in his shirt. This is a hot button issue for our principal. So, I need to get this under control, or I am the one who is going to catch it from the boss. For the past couple of weeks, I've been hitting Bad Boy Jack with my brightest, most radiant smile every time I catch him with even the merest whisper of his shirt tucked in -- and in the chirpiest voice I can manage (and with an utterly straight face), I go on and on about how wonderfully mature, and responsible I think he is being to decide on his own to set such a great example for all of his buddies and start wearing his shirt tucked in! When I started this routine with him, he looked at me like I had lost my flipping mind, but I just went right on as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and then proceeded with whatever I was planning to teach. He would be left just shaking his head. Pretty soon, all his pals began to tuck in their shirts, AND remind him to tuck his in -- since he was setting the example for everyone else. So now, since his buddies have bought the story, his reputation is on the line, and he's caught in the fraud. He's not entirely sure whether I have really suckered him or not. I'd love to just giggle at the poor kid, but the fact is that it has worked. He mostly wears his shirt tucked in; he thinks I'm on his side; his buddies think he's pretty cool; and I'm getting a huge kick out of twisting the little devil's psyche in knots...

Now, on another note, I've had several parents (of girls) report to me in the last 24 hours that the boys are playing the "penis" game in class, and that this is embarrasing the girls. If you are not familiar with this particular little bit of "frolicsome fun," the object of the game is to say the word "penis" in progressively louder voice until someone either refuses to say it or until someone gets caught. Of course, in a classroom, the "thrill" (if you are a 12 year old boy) is that saying PENIS out loud in school embarrasses many of the girls around you to death, and of course risks serious consequences if you get caught. So, playing the game is a way to prove that you are a "manly" man. Tomorrow I'll get to yank some young fellows up short and see if we can't remember our manners. AHEM!

So, Jack, that's the report from the new school. Aren't you glad you asked? Anyone else want to play junior high with me?

swan

Just Keep Swimming

If you happened to ever see the animated movie "Finding Nemo," then you might remember the character of Dory who was voiced by Ellen Degeneres. Dory was the ditzy, skinny, blue fish with the sunny personaliy and no practical sense of direction who somehow always ended up in the right place anyway. Her advice to Nemo's father when things got tough was to "keep on swimming, swimming, swimming -- it's what we do."

I'm thinking that Dory is the model for what I'm doing these days: just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. Everytime I think that things might slow down just a bit; settle enough to get a breather; come to a place where I could think about what would work to make things feel calmer and better; give us a chance to talk and really reach some resolution -- another hurdle comes at us at full speed. That seems to be the way of it; life never sends just one challenge. There is the escalating issue of elders with significant cognitive decline and the need for that to be addressed soon, more of our own health issues loom and dictate even more lifestyle changes, work life changes have changed our routines just enough to have us unsettled and "off" kilter...

Around it all is the sense that the world spins too fast and with a tinge of meanness that grows steadily more ominous. We recently got word of some input to a planning process that is going on with Master's agency. The word came to us in such a fashion that it felt as if there might be something insidious in the information -- we were immediately thrown into worrying about whether it was "about us." It turned out that it wasn't that at all, but it put us once again into the space where we were made aware of the edge we walk -- how vulnerable we are to gossip and vindictiveness should someone choose to use our lifestyle against us.

And, through it all, we keep swimming. It is what we do.

swan

I am Depressed

I am depressed.

It is terribly hard for me to write those words.

I have fought and avoided saying that; fought admitting the truth of it for many months now. I am ashamed to have to say it here, but it is a fact, and it is overwhelming much of my life right now. It keeps me mute here much of the time; keeps me from saying anything of substance a good part of the time; prevents me from contributing around the circle in any very meaningful way; and too often brings me out sounding and feeling angry and bitter. The simple reality is that I am often envious of those who by virtue of age or luck have their femininity intact, their sexuality undiminished -- and I am often threatened and prone to see enemies where none exist.

I cannot sleep. I am beyond sad. I cry at things that mean almost nothing. I am ready to fight at the slightest provocation. My anger is wide ranging and without bounds. It pours forth as my joy and happiness used to. I lie awake in the darkness of the night, alone with my hurt and my rage, and imagine using His many and varied knives to cut my flesh simply so that I might watch the blood flow... I consider the potential for suicide and homicide. I have not acted on any of that, but the thoughts are there, and they scare the heck out of me.

This morning, in just a few minutes, I will leave for the doctor's office to seek help with this problem that I cannot fix by myself. I am terrified, horrified, embarrassed. I feel broken and lost and weak. I've tried to "choose to be happy," hoping that if I pretended happiness, it would take somehow, but the depression is only getting worse. He will be with me, otherwise, I don't think I could do this.

I am sorry if you have gotten caught in one of my rages, one of my tantrums, one of the barages I've sent out in all of this. None of you have deserved any of it. I apologize. I know I should have been better, stronger, more balanced. Please forgive me.

swan

The Wedding (I'm Back)

The wedding was wonderful! My handsome son now has a lovely wife and I have a beautiful daughter in law. They were totally delighted in each other, and their day was full with their good friends and good food and good wine. The sun shone and it was just about perfect.

Aren't they just fabuolus?

I won't discuss the nasty business of trying to fly across this country these days. It is just stupid. I survived. Made it there and made it back. Wouldn't have missed it for the world.

There was the added bonus of connecting with my 12 year old globe-trotting grand-daughter and her mother, who (by virtue of a bit of serendipity) I happened to run down just a few days before I took off. I came back exhausted, but happy. It was quite the trip.

I was utterly thrilled to be back home on Sunday. And maybe the most interesting thing about that is that it really does feel (finally) like HOME.

swan

Wedding

In just a few days, I'll get on a plane and fly west for my son's wedding. An occasion of great joy. I'll be gone just two nights, and back here on Sunday afternoon.

There'll be practically none of my family there as far as I can tell -- not my mother (she'll be on a cruise), neither of my two brothers, maybe not my daughter... I believe that my former husband's family may turn out in force, but my own folks will be notably absent. That's, perhaps fodder for another post (if I can figure out how to do it without sounding snarky).

I'm terribly nervous about making this trip. It is odd.

I used to travel on my own all the time. Off on business on a regular basis. In and out of hotels and airports in strange cities all over the country -- renting cars, and negotiating all the details of navigating my way around without blinking an eye...

But that was another lifetime. I was another person. I was in charge of everything then. I'm not that person anymore.

I haven't been on my own, by myself for a very long time. It is a daunting prospect. I'm significantly freaked out. I had a mini-meltdown yesterday. T took me under her wing and ushered me out shopping to fetch a decent wedding gift -- bless her. We came away with fabulous, wonderful goodies for the kiddos, and I was thrilled and glad, but I was utterly incapable of moving to it on my own.

I just have to get through the week; focus on my boy and his lady; get there, smile and hug; and get home.

swan

What's Inside

Traveler, in a comment on the previous post asked:

what benefit, what release, what resolve, comes by this for you? how have you, assuming you have, made peace with such seemingly difficult desires?

I have probably written all over the place about how this works for me; how it feels and what it means... Here, and at "The Swan's Heart," there's been a running internal monologue as I've mused about how SM and M/s works in my head and my heart and my soul and my body. If, Traveler (or anyone else for that matter), you are interested in a sampling of the historical ramblings, look here and here and here --

The short answer to the questions asked is that this is quintissentially who I am. I fight it, and I struggle with it. I fear it and I dread it, and there are times when I quite literally hate it and wish it might be otherwise, but I cannot be other. It is me. It is gift in very definitive ways. It connects me to the One that I am called to love more deeply than I can describe. When I am separated from this expression of my erotic nature, I am bereft and flat. I understand that to read of these encouters can be difficult and mystifying for those who do not feel these urges and these drives. I am aware that it can seem strange and extreme to those who do not have this kind of orientation... It is like trying to explain what "blue" is to someone without sight, or to explain a Brahms symphony to one who has never had any sense of hearing.

I get pain, and pleasure, joy and anger, fear and triumph, sadness and security, wonder and weariness. I learn and grow and doubt and know. I am forever unsure and absolutely certain. I am incredibly small and utterly expanded. I am nothing and everything. I chose once -- to have no choice again. It is a path I make in the walking.

swan

Fantasy... and Reality

It started sometime in the beginning part of last week. Or maybe it was closer to the middle of the week. I'm not really sure. a comment made in passing almost, early one morning as we were still in bed together. He told me that He'd been having huge fantasies about switching.

I felt my stomach clutch and my breath catch for just an instant, but I managed a question that served as the agreement He was seeking: "Will you hold me afterwards?"

From that point on, the impending switching was in the back of my mind as I flew through the rest of a very busy, very demanding, very exhausting week. We didn't talk about it anymore, but I knew it hadn't gone away. Each time it crossed my mind there was the dark fear mingled with just the passing bit of heat. Whippings, floggings, paddlings, canings, strappings -- there is nothing that terrifies me more than switching. There is probably nothing He loves more. I've only ever been switched once; in the spring when I visited before we were living together full time. We've come close a few times since...

Then there was Friday night. Late. He'd had more than a little Jamison's by the time we'd gone to bed, and the struggle that has been stirring between us for months finally bubbled to the surface. Spanking, paddling, caning -- did I find any of it erotic anymore? I struggled to find an answer. What's erotic? My body doesn't DO that anymore! Not like that. So is that the only way to talk about this?

"I still fantasize," I told Him.

Not good enough. He wanted specifics. "What kind of fantasies?"

"Spanking." I told Him.

Still not good enough. "Tell me how. Tell me exactly."

So, I told Him. About imagining being tightly restrained, unable to get away, unable to protect myself, and being flogged on my front -- thighs, belly, breasts, and cunt. Told Him how I imagined the whipping intensifying and my helplessness to do anything about it. I told Him that, in my fantasy, I would be turned over and then whipped and paddled on my butt, still unable to escape or avoid any of it. The whole scene, in my fantasies, ends in fantastic sex and the kind of release that I don't experience any longer...

All this spoken into His chest as I shivered and shook in fear. Fear, because I know that the fantasy, given to Him, will take me beyond my imaginings into realms that He controls; beyond pain that is for pleasure into pain that is dark. He told me to hold onto the fantasy, He would make it happen for me.

On Saturday, long weeks and months of playing at significantly restrained levels came to an end. The two fantasies, spoken aloud between us found their confluence.

We began, after a serious paddling, with an expedition out into a misty rain to hunt for switches. It took some persistence, but we eventually came upon a grove of willows and cut a number of good green switches. He even delighted in testing one out on me right there where we were cutting them on the edge of the thicket. It only took a couple of strokes to have me yelping in pain. We brought the fresh boughs home, put them in a warm bath, and I scrubbed them clean with anti-bacterial soap.

We set up the futon in the living room so that He could restrain me on my back there.

Tied tightly, wrists and ankles, it began. Not with the flogging I'd been playing in my head but with a leather paddle slapped hard to my tender breasts. It wasn't long before I was yelping and begging, crying and pleading for it to stop. Not long before He was well into the game. Paddling went shortly to flogging, and then from suede to rubber. He'd promised that there would be switches at the end. I quickly became hysterical. It was far more intense; far more severe than I'd imagined.

I am not a happy masochist, but I might be a sadist's dream. With the right push, I'll cry, I'll beg, I'll scream, I'll curse like a sailor, I'll sweat, and drool, and bleed. At some point, He let me know that the way to end the torment was to ask Him to put me into the stocks and give me a good switching. The battle was joined. I hardened my resolve, and tried to hang on. For awhile. But He always has more cards to play in that game than I do. It didn't take long before I capitulated: "Please, Sir -- put me in the stocks and switch me." Close enough.

He unfastened me from the ends of the futon, and then... flipped me over and refastened me face down over some pillows, making sure that I was securely fastened. At the last moment, He'd decided not to put me into the stocks for the switching. A small but significant mercy. I asked for a gag, and He easily agreed to my request. I could hear the blood roaring in my ears, and feel the darkeness dragging at my mind before He even started.

It is His belief that switching should be administered over a fresh paddling. I don't remember if that happened. Don't remember it, but I'm sure it must have. And then the switching started. Fire! Simple, plain, unrelenting burning. Over and over and over. No escape and no way out. Somewhere in the very early going, I hit the edge, and went over it. To pure and unadulterated fury.

I roared. I swore. I screamed. I cursed Him and threatened every kind of destruction imaginable. I'm sure that there was a "Sir" in there somewhere, because if there was any possibility that a "Sir" would have sprung me from that trap, I'd have surely used it. No dice. Thank all the mercies for that gag.

He wore out I don't know how many of those evil switches. Fewer than a million. Enough that the raging animal in my head and guts finally wore itself out. I felt the wave of darkness sweep in and engulf me finally and snuff out the tempest. When the light came back, He was there, holding me, as I knew He would be.

Perhaps that is the answer to His question -- THIS is not "erotic" in the usual sense. It is more that I need Him to guide me into the darkest reaches where I cannot safely go alone. There is no one else that I would trust to take me into that place and bring me safely through it. I know that He delights in my struggle, and simultaneously suffers in my anger directed at Him alone in those moments. For surely, if there is a "BEAST" it dwells within me and comes roaring after Him; intent on murder.

I know that in these long, weary, painful, sad months, He has held back from the hurting because He loves me. It is a difficult path when love is expressed in a dance of pain that unleashes power. We choose the path that takes us to the heights and to the depths.

There are more fantasies. Another day. There's time.

swan