Author: Jocelyn
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Dump It
She changed me. Her name is Keri, and although she started out as a student in a few of my classes, she ended up becoming a friend for life, someone whose innate light defeated the chilling darkness of her early years. Keri was treated as harshly as a person can be. Yet when I think of her,…
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I’m Glad That’s Over
Sometimes I get ranty on my students. This happens, in particular, when they kvetch about having to take classes that are “stupid” because some courses “don’t have anything to do with what I’m going into.” Of course, were these students expressing their frustrations at the keyboard, that sentiment would read “tehy are stuppid cause they dont…
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The Maps Within Us
My head is muzzy, and I am out of sorts. I stayed up too late, lost in a compelling book, and then woke up too early, my brain–still full of images from the book–unable to rest. My head hurts; my body is empty of energy. I have class in an hour. The idea of putting on clothes feels…
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Ultimate Gestures of Love
Byron and I are saying goodnight to Paco, giving him kisses and discussing the next day’s plans, when Byron rubs at his armpit. “What’s going on in there, Champ?” I ask. “You got chiggers?” His answer is better than chiggers. “I have this weird knot in my armpit hair. I think it must’ve gotten clumped…
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Going for a Run in Turkey
[aesop_parallax img=”http://omightycrisis.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/DSC00061.jpg” parallaxbg=”on” captionposition=”bottom-left” lightbox=”on” floater=”off” floaterposition=”left” floaterdirection=”up”] I wrote the post below five years ago, when our family lived in the Cappadocia region of Turkey. Since that time, not a day goes by when I don’t feel some resonance from that experience. I look in our spice drawer in the kitchen, and I see…
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Up, Up, and Away
My physical therapist stands in front of me, pulling back his shoulders and lifting his sternum towards the ceiling. “Like that,” he says, demonstrating the latest addition to my ever-growing list of shoulder-improving exercises. His movements have triggered a memory. “Oh, man, Mike. That posture-improving move there reminds me of taking ballet lessons when I was a…
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Get a Job
I slip into the high school classroom a few minutes late–hell if I could find Room 3031, tucked back there in the Foreign Languages suite. Since when do high schools have “suites”? Did the demise of the smoking lounge make way for the rise of the language suite? Most of the chairs are occupied already,…
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7 Reasons You Need the Free Crap We Set out on the Curb
I’m an accomplished trudger. Every time I carry a basket of dirty clothes from the master bedroom down two floors to the basement, I adopt a full-on trudge. Usually no one’s home when I do the trudge, but even if they are, they don’t care. The ingrates hardly notice my slow, heavy footfalls. Yet there I am,…
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Competitive Potlucking: Party
We had a concept. We had an invitation. We had a guest list. We had promotion. Eventually, the big day arrived. It was time to potluck. Competitively. As always, the set-up took a fair bit of time. Fortunately, after the Children’s Stories Potluck of 2014, we’d set our neighbors’ long tables (borrowed for the event) on…
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Competitive Potlucking: Promotion
The beauty of social media is that it can not only be used to issue invitations to a party, it can also be used to remind invitees of the upcoming event. The hosts can occasionally post a little tidbit to the event page, attempting to wring one or two more responses from the semi-responsive guest…