Posts

© Catherine Haslag

Unanswered

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I thought about you during yoga class tonight. Smiled as I remembered how we would leave work and head to have tea/coffee before yoga class. First classes with Beth and Tammy. Then eventually with Abbe at the old firehouse on Commercial. It was one of our rituals. You turned me onto this practice of dogs that face upward and downward.

Our lunches at Tea Bar and Bites was another ritual. We practically ran from the building on those days. Our little retreat from that toxic office. Our table was in the backroom, where we could talk privately. Then there was that period we ate lunches and played backgammon on a fellow yogi’s porch in Roundtree. I can’t remember her name. You taught me backgammon. I loved our games. I can’t bring myself to play now.

Our table at Tea Bar and Bites – a respite from a miserable job.

You showed me the little things in life that made it wonderful. Walks in beautiful neighborhoods, the joys of living simply. Good food. Soft sheets and towels. You said the things you touch should feel good. I still only buy things that feel good to the touch.

We met when I was a young wife, a new homeowner, and fresh to the full-time workforce. You were my friend who had “been there, done that.” Marriages, kids, jobs, life. You had seen a lot of life. You helped me see I deserved more from life. Gave me space to figure out what to do as my marriage disintegrated. Provided the wine, sympathetic ear, and friendship on many nights, I miss those conversations at your Stickley kitchen table where we talked about life and solved the world’s problems.

You encouraged me to find a new job. Move away. Gave me a kick in the pants when I needed it. Allowed me to cry when I moved to a scary new place and was overwhelmed by it all. We talked for hours on the phone nearly every night for months. Five hundred miles disappeared with a single phone call.

I know we had been drifting apart for a while. I know our friendship wasn’t what it once was the last time we spoke. I don’t know why you just stopped talking to me. Never returned my calls or texts. Our friendship ended in an argument in late 2017. Ten years of friendship ended in a heartbeat without an explanation.

The smell of cedar bows at Christmas in your home. The warmth of your hug. The joy of drinking wine and talking with you.

Your company was gone in an instant.

© Catherine Haslag

Un

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I live life by the semester as a college teacher: fall, spring, and summer.

It’s generally an excellent rhythm for me. I have time and space to work on new ideas for my classes in the summer. This is important because it’s hard to work on new ideas for courses while teaching. Then, in the fall and spring, I put those ideas to use and focus on working with my students.

This fall was the first time I wasn’t giddy about going back to school. It wasn’t the usual fresh start I previously relished. Usually, I enjoy the buzz and energy of the new school year, but not this year. This August felt more like a trudge into the repetitive and mundane. I wasn’t starting as my usual, fresh from summer self.

This semester has been one of the hardest of my career. I see the exhaustion in my students and feel that same exhaustion in myself. So many mornings, I have said “Good morning” at the start of class and received silence in return. The students I see are shell-shocked and burned, even at 9am. This doesn’t bode well if they have later classes. It’s hard to keep students motivated when they are already running at less than half a tank. It’s even more complicated when your tank is low as well.

I know my students and I aren’t the only ones who feel the weight of it all. We are about to enter year 3 of a pandemic with no unified approach and no definite end in sight. Our country is divided as it has been for more than 150 years. Misinformation runs through the internet and cable wires like wildfire, adding to the mess. We went on as best we could with life as usual, but this is a time of the unusual, the uncertain, the unsettled, the uncomfortable, the unrest…this is a time of the un.

There is no semester rhythm in the time of the un.

Next week, I will give finals, figure grades, and make a game plan for the short break between the fall and spring semesters. This is a time to rest and prepare for the spring semester – when I will do my best to deal with the un of life…and hope my students will too.

©2023 Catherine Haslag, All Rights Reserved.

Attention

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Everyone wants your attention.

The junk mail.

The spam texts.

The telemarketers.

The jingles on the radio.

The commercials on TV.

The ads on social media.

The Billboards along the roadside.

The videos blaring at the gas stations.

The sponsored content in online news.

Each one stealing a little from you,

Until you have nothing left to give.