I’m between a roq and dust.
During the past few weeks, I’ve been blessed by a run of substitute teaching days that have generated MANNA — more accurately MONEY for manna — on a two week delay. The check arrives two weeks after turning in the blue card at the pay office. Now, simmering through the final days when school is open, and going two straight days without subbing, what I anticipated would happen is not happening.
For years, I’ve regarded the aviation collection as my ticket to a legacy. And it is. I get hit by a truck this afternoon, the aviation people will remember me more fondly than the poets. That’s okay. I can live with that. Over the years I’ve substituted, engaging students seldomly more than once or twice a week and seldom more than four times a month, I’ve resented the intrusion of sub teaching, and usually focused easily on the myriad tasks demanding my attention the day after a day or two “at school.” Not any more. I’m wondering, like a neglected paramour, what the heck is wrong with me? Two frikking days and nobody wants me. And this is depressing as hell. I’d MUCH RATHER BE with the kids, doing something productive. So many know me, react well to me, and when they don’t react well to me, I can usually figure out what I did wrong. But what a reason to be, interacting with human beings pro duc tive ly provides joy to this grumpy interovert poet.!
And in a few days, they will stop calling at all for the duration of summer. What is my game plan? I’ve been delaying action on a promise to myself and a friend to visit the Illinois employment office on Nirth Street. An acquaintance works there. He could probably help. Normal Mailer isn’t worried. Michael Bschloss, Walt Boyne, Cinda Klickna . . . their writing careers are secure. I’m not gaining on them. But I’m not going to visit the employment office until I KNOW I am done substituting. I am not going to risk making an appointment for a job interview, only to have to cancel it when the sub line calls. Ooo bla dee, ooo blah dah . . . .
Cindy Sheehan who made a new career for herself after one of her children was killed in the Iraq War, has publicly announced she is stepping down from her national soap box. All I know (and I won’t look further into this) is that she’s been frustrated by the chants of “media whore,” and other unhappy expletives. She’s also unhappy because legions of the Democrat Party faithful encouraged and supported her in the early days have turned tail. She apparently said some things which peeved them. Now both sides don’t like her. Sacre bleu!
I wonder if in her early days at center stage, she was more concerned with being a good Democrat Party exemplar than being a peace activist. If she made friends along party lines and then crossed the line, offending some of her pals, I can but imagine her issues were never peace and bringing the troops home. I hope that my efforts, incredibly modest and as far reaching as about three inches from my longest finger on my extended right arm, engages Republicans AND Democrats who speak for peace.
Cindy says she’s returning home to California to be a mother for the rest of her family. This is a surprise. I can’t imagine anyone being a something MORE than a parent. That’s easy for me to say; I’m only an uncle and a brother. My guess is that Cindy became infatuated with the illusion that one can be more than a mother, the way some men fall for the lie that says they can be more than fathers, once the birth of their offspring have taken place. I can’t believe Cindy Sheehan didn’t believe this, and that’s okay; I have not walked a mile in her shoes. But I do believe her return is propitious, that bodes well for her and her family. I wish her only the best. God speed, Cindy. Thank you for your contribution to our shared cause.
Live long . . . . and proper.
