Voices

 Once when I was a child, elementary school aged, I told my parents that I heard voices in the wall at night when I was in bed.  Immediately they reacted with a very worried/upsetting look which hit me in the chest like shrapnel. I realized I'd said something that should.not.be.said.  I fumbled to retract the statement.  But it was true.  And in the last few years I figured out what I was hearing.

When I used the hated electric pump a decade ago to extract milk for Anne before I went off to teach up north two days a week, its rhythmic noise sorted itself into nonsense words in my mind.  "Breco breco breco Greco greco..."  I tried to hear it as mechanical noise, but it insisted on becoming words that still ring in my mind.

My hearing used to be far more sensitive before violining, and I remember hearing all kinds of tiny noises at night both inside my body and inside the walls - flowing water and electricity and brain synapses firing and such, I presume.  And all these little noises became nonsense words in my mind, just like that pump, and particularly as my mind was entering that wierd state of unreality in the process of crossing the threshold into slumber.

I happened to hear a story on another topic while watching a web seminar a couple of years ago, when I learned, as an aside, that this reaction to inanimate sounds is a known experience for some people.

First Responders

Some things I have come across during the course of normal life in the last two weeks:

There is a house about three blocks from us that has seemed vaguely sketchy since I have lived here, and I cannot put my finger on which exact detail pushed it over the edge into that vibe.  It has been inhabited by two or more males who seemed to be hanging around in various states of undress at random hours, sometimes arguing or climbing in and out of basement windows, music blaring, smoking or drinking on the front steps or out of the broken basement window.  Nothing was well kept.   The yard contained occasional broken stuff. 

Last week while walking by, I noticed seven unmarked county sheriff cars  (unmarked, but still identifiable en masse) parked across the street.  Seven nearly plain clothes sheriffs in flack vests were chit-chating on the sidewalk in a very congenial and clubby way.  The following day when I walked by the same location, I turned my attention to Sketchy House, rather than to where the rather shockingly large number of officers had been taking up space on the opposite sidewalk the previous day.  I noticed that the house was empty, and there were none of the usual cars present in front of it.  A free upholstered chair and a free dog cage sat on the yard, and there was posted a No Trespassing notice from the King County Sherrif's Department on the door.  A couple of days later the chair and crate were gone, and a for sale sign went up.   The house, with good bones, but in poor condition, sold in a day or two.  I imagine a flipper is going to make something out of it, as a large number of houses in the neighborhood get that treatment these days.

A few days later and a few blocks further from home on the eastbound part of my walking route, I noticed two Renton police cars calmly turning onto a small side street I was about to turn onto.   When I got three blocks up, I met up with them again, quietly parked on two sides of a corner.  I continued on, and saw two more cop cars parked at two sides of another corner. And then I came round a bend and saw two more cop cars parked nose to nose, with an officer standing in the street flying a drone.   I figured maybe they were looking for an unarmed suspect whom they surmised was on foot in a yard, and they had lots of quiet back-up ready in case they needed it.  They weren't shooing pedestrians away and I was soon out of range, so it was more curious than alarming.  It was the first time I had seen a drone used in policing, and though I typically have a visceral negative reaction to drones, it seemed so much nicer than the typical helicopter chase that I found it almost pleasantly quaint.

This morning, a few blocks further on my walking route when I was again west-bound, I came upon a ladder truck, two cop cars, and an ambulance on another quiet residential street corner.  The ambulance doors were being closed by police officers who were returning to their cars.  As I passed, I could hear a woman's voice screaming imprecations from the inside of the ambulance,  begging to be let out.  It was very upsetting thinking about what might have led to that scene, and how everyone involved in it might feel, and how the story might continue after I walked out of sight, and how there may be no possible satisfactory ending.  I had to discontinue my audiobook for the rest of the walk, because it was just too much to bear.  All that could be done was to pray.

This afternoon when I went to pick up Anne from school, I passed a car wreck just about three blocks from my destination where one car had the bumper off, and the other, an SUV, was on its side.  As it was across the street from the fenced lot where the Tukwila police store their vehicles,  three cop cars were there already, including their giant RV-sized thing. Otherwise no first responders had arrived yet.  When we came back south a few minutes later, all northbound traffic was being diverted after the freeway, and  the fire department was there working with  the overturned SUV.  They had affixed large red and blue jacks on the underbelly and roof to keep it from rolling any further, and one firefighter was using the elephantine clippers I've heard referred to but never seen, to cut open the vehicle's roof to reach the occupants.  (Instant thoughts on the folly of a world rushing around in gas-powered metal machines of death like so many ants in a hive flashed through my mind's screen.) Quite a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk to gawk, and an ambulance was arriving.   Given the road and intersection,  it could not have been a very high speed crash. I can't quite imagine what tipped the SUV, and I imagine the occupants were not mortally wounded...

One Step Forward

I have finally had enough experience to understand that life and learning are not linear.  One step forward,  two steps back, a step to the side, and doh-si-doh, is the real nature of things.  Some of you have probably known this for decades, but my pattern-loving brain really wants things to fit into tidy boxes and narratives and sequences, just like I have read in books. Of course, this may not be obvious, as my physical life tends to appear rather lassiez faire and random and messy.

Last year at this time, the heat was on, so to speak.  Eldest had just started public school for the first time and wanted to be there,  though the transition was overwhelming for her and for the parents who were now driving two hours a day.  Middle was signed up for two days a week at outdoor school for Kindergarten, which parents dreamt up for him but was not his dream.  Youngest was feeling left out and was in the throes of intensive brain development and was experiencing a lot of separation anxiety.  I ended up having to attend every single day of forest school, usually with a distraught, whimpering, shrieking, biting toddler on my back while trying to support my little Kindergarten participant, who felt incredibly anxious and out of place.   We were trying to move the whole family's sleep schedule from musician-time to early-morning-school-time, while still teaching late, as circumstances required. I had a record number of teaching hours each week. It was really, really not fun.

In the year before, we had finally agreed, grudgingly, on a parental strategy of allowing each kid unlimited, unmonitored screen time on their own separate devices, first while both parents were teaching, and then any time I was teaching, in addition. Both adults, having grown up with more active, imaginative, nearly screen-free childhoods, knew that this was NOT what we had dreamed of for our own brood.  But we, and mostly I, was under intense pressure trying to calmly and judiciously meet the needs of three children plus the student in front of me simultaneously,  with the added pressure of knowing that the students were paying customers who were helping me keep a roof over our heads.  From nursing times, I had been the preferred go-to parent for all requests.  It felt panic-inducingly impossible to me, and our physical and financial circumstances,  not to mention long-harbored assumptions, made childcare nearly impossible.  

I feel in the last month we have turned a corner.  One step forward, for now.  While the younger two have played well together for years, they have had some mental and emotional leaps in being able to sort out squabbles with less violence on average, have found themselves able to obtain preferred foods on their own, and are able to fully manage their own toileting, and are weaned....  They have reached a new stage of independence and interdependence as a team.  They are also often able to help in group projects around the household as part of a team now, too, and often enjoy feeling needed.

So now we are starting a new school year, and we are trying out a much more limited screen time schedule, which has evolved from the August camping trip.  The two younger ones are playing creatively for hours and hours and hours more together, and it feels do-able from an adult perspective and seems really healthy, too.  They also play with kids on the alley some days a well.

Eldest had a month of angst about what this school year might hold and what format schooling should take.  Every option on the table had some big upsides and some big downsides, but for the moment, it seems the choice is a happy one.  May that continue... and I am ready to make a change at any time if it seems there is a risk of serious decline in mental health.

Littlest likes the idea of routine and homeschool, and thus is happy, so far, sitting at the table during middle's first grade instruction time, playing at her own schooling, so I have enough brain to divert to the coveted-in-my-life One Thing At A Time.  This, in itself, is a new unknown pleasure in my decade of being a parent.

I have learned a lot about learning since my eldest was a homeschooler at this stage.  I knew she needed a more relaxed approach, so I took that to mean: just do one subject or curriculum at a time and follow instructions more or less.   How I wish I knew how much that was NOT the right approach for her.  My middle likes routine in a way eldest does not (and indeed struggles mightly with) and that makes the tricky bits for him easier to handle.  But also, when I see a struggle, I do not assume it's just a bad behavior we need to get around, and I do not see it as a lack of motivation.  Instead, I see it as an invitation to step back and watch.  Watch to see what connections are already happening, to see what learning is already going on, watching to see where my expectations are strictly my own wishes or cultural constructs, watching to see where I may have created the problem myself by rushing on some level or being rigid to ease my own anxiety.  I so wish I had had this viewpoint when I started the homeschool journey with my oldest, but the intense burnout we both experienced was a catalyst for my learning some of these new things...

Eldest is not yet onboard with the new screen-time cut back, and I am sort of letting it slide, while we are encouraging the exploring of more long-format documentaries instead of constant, quick drivel.  School, despite what is loved about it, uses up a lot of "spoons," and eldest has a lot of difficulty (as her mother did at that age and beyond) regulating her sleep schedule.  Experience has taught us that you cannot force someone to sleep, and this child needs their own learning experiences and victories and mishaps around sorting out their sleep times and sleep "hygiene" as it's labeled these days, and their general free time.  So when she is not at school,  she may well be using devices, or crafting, or napping, or calling up her best buddy to arrange get-togethers, or cooking things at weird hours, as she doesn't generally want any food we offer.  And she is getting more and more capable of managing those things herself, though not in a traditional way.  I am sure many would be (and are!) horrified at our seeming negligence in managing her and training her, and our weird mix of very high and very low expectations for her - including, at times, our selves.  Yet, this approach is not without careful thought on our parts, and it is borne out of a decade of experience that many, even those who know us well, cannot imagine.

So for the moment, the new school year is feeling manageable and positive.  Group classes have been rearranged and lengthened, and I think they are going to be more fun and productive.  We are working on monthly studio foci, and while we may not improve the lives of every student this way, if we can just help a few, it will be worthwhile.  Jared is unexpectedly teaching a bit less, but he has more performances on his docket, which is a dream and joy for him.  I was also slated to be teaching a bit less, but thanks to a generous colleague, I have picked up two new students this week who seem eager to learn what I have to offer, even though it will be a lot of difficult work for them.  One student, whose lack of progress in the last year felt a depressing conundrum for all of us, seems to have come round with a collaborative solution for the moment.  I have managed for a few weeks now to stay the course several days a week of doing some excercises for my foot that I messed up five years ago and had gotten far worse....

Teacher In-service

When Jared and I were planning out our summer schedule (which is totally a separate meeting or two from our school year schedule planning), I was looking at what we were penciling onto our three monthly pages each.  Some weeks of teaching 5 days a week, some weeks of 4, and many of just 3... and yet I felt so very, very tired. I look at Jared and said, "I just need a break..."  He replied that we should take off two weeks in August.  I felt sort of skeptical.  Don't I need to see my students???  

But... it worked out really well.  We had time to camp on the Peninsula, to go to the opera, to try to get Anne settled into her first week of school, to stay home due to covid...  and I did watercolor and read and knitted....  My students were all fine without me.

That left me with one week at the end of the month to finish all my summer lessons, and to do all the get-ready-for-fall-schedule stuff without feeling totally exhausted and burned out.  It worked well, which is to say, I think it could become a tradition.

Jared said it was my teacher in-service week.  Good call.

Projects done:

• Finalized everyone's new lesson times and sent out individual schedules and tuition numbers to each (29 students and counting)
• Sorted the older group class into chamber groups, selected pieces for them, marked and recorded parts, and sent recordings and scores around
• Did some thinking and planning for younger group class goals 
• Prepared a complete in-house weekly graph with all of our regularly scheduled lessons, classes, school transport, homeschool, and dinner serving
• Dreamed up and orchestrated our September studio focus (video if you care to watch... ) and sent it around to our students
• Bought a beautiful sheet at Goodwill and turned it into a new curtain to divide our kitchen annex/mudroom/utility room from the dining/living room of our small cabin for when we have students in three rooms for our Monday group classes 
• Planned out the essentials of our homeschool year with the younger two and collaborated on daily charts for them

Now we have the long weekend, and then we dive into the new schedule and celebrate Lazarus's seventh birthday!