I'm dedicating tonight's entry to a friend of mine from Minnesota.

Ruth is a middle school English teacher in the small town where I began my first teaching job. My first year (ever) of teaching was spent trying to survive, so personal relationships took a backseat to that "trying to keep my head above water" syndrome of a newbie teacher.

However, at that time, Ruth was in her early forties, and was just discovering love and planning a wedding, so she really didn't take much notice of me, I'm sure. :)

But, as I settled in, she and I became friends...mainly because of our love of gabbing. We'd eat lunch together, talk, laugh...and pretty soon, we were doing things outside of school together, like going out for breakfast before an inservice morning. Or go Christmas shopping in the Cities. Or attend plays at the Civic Center.

She really became one of my true confidantes. We'd commiserate about our husbands, the "corporateness" of the company they worked for...but sometimes, these gripe sessions would get dead serious. She was in the throes of a first marriage (a second for her husband), and the ex-wife was being nasty, or the step-kids were being nasty. And Ruth, being of a gentle-hearted nature, would get very emotional during some of our talks. But yet, she always tried to put up a brave front and soldier on. She still could laugh...and it was a hearty laugh at that.

So...in my last full year of teaching in Minnesota (2004-2005), she was very down about her marriage. Things were not going well, there were divorce talks, but finally she was able to get her husband to some kind of counseling...and they seemed well on their way to recovery.

We moved back to Iowa in August 2005. At that point, I still emailed Ruth every now and then, but here I was in first-year teaching mode again, and time and correspondence simply got away from me. I visited her at Christmas and then I heard from her in May when she emailed to congratulate me on the sale of our Minnesota house.

Fast forward to earlier this week. With some extra time on my hands, I got the urge to reforge my personal networks and emailed Ruth again to catch up. I expected to hear from her, but I was shocked when she told me her husband had left her for another woman. That was this last June. He would not grant her a divorce, stating it was too expensive...and she had not heard from him since early September. Her words to me then were "I'm so frazzled and I'm hanging on by a very, very thin thread.

And so now, I cannot stop thinking about this woman, this friend of mine. She is one of the most generous, kind-hearted people I know. She's the one who remembered birthdays and house-warming presents. My heart feels so sad for her, because she simply doesn't deserve this anguish. I've been thinking about her all day, and I guess I just wanted to send some love and thoughts and prayers her way. I hope things get better soon.

High school kids who fail their classes.

Let me clarify - high school kids who fail their classes because they do not do the work.

It boggles the mind. One time in college, I had to retake a Literary Criticism and Analysis (gag) because I had a C-, and I was supposed to have a C or better in all my major classes. I cannot begin to even express to you, dear readers, how disgusted I was to be sitting in THAT same class again. Of course, I had the advantage of having a totally different professor teach the same course - and I did much better. Also, the fact that I WAS A REPEATER definitely motivated me the second time around.

DISCLAIMER: So that you don't think I'm a completely lazy nimrod, the first professor was teaching LC & A for the first time, and no idea what she was doing. And she was icky.

Now, apply my little episode of discomfort to high school kids. This trimester, I have about five repeaters, four sophomores and one junior. This is where you must imagine me with an expression of amazement. An 11th grader taking a freshman English course? Yes, it's true, because he hasn't passed it the first two times he took it. And then, I think, OMG. To sit for twelve weeks, in a class, listening to the same old-same old as last year. Reading the same short stories. Doing the same research paper assignment. Of course, it's mostly because they DIDN'T do these things that they're back in the class. I just cannot imagine sitting amongst students who KNOW I'm a repeater, wasting my time in a class I should have passed the first time! Let me reiterate here that these are students I had last year who failed only because they did not turn in their work. Honestly, I have not had a repeater yet who was back because they didn't understand the work of the class.

And when I talk to these students, they express indifference at their predicament, and tell me they really don't like school and don't care about it that much. So...if they don't like it that much, why are they taking the longest route of getting out of there?

I'm not trying to pass judgment...but I don't understand where the apathy comes from. Has it been fostered at home? Did they have a really bad school experience somewhere along the way? Are they bad at reading, and so they've just stopped trying?

All I know is, they're not ready for the real world. You can't do 32% of your job. You don't get "do-overs." You don't just decide you don't feel like doing certain parts of your job. If you do, you don't have a job.

I think I will close this rant with a question.

Who's got a solution??

At least, this was the message of a gentleman in my church Sunday School class today.

The topic of discussion today was the commercialism of Christmas, and how so many people forget 'the reason for the season.' This one gentleman in my group (who is very nice, but very conservative) goes on to say that if you switched the letters in SANTA around, you would have SATAN. And in fact, he says, Santa has stolen much of Jesus' thunder, and that is the working of Satan.

'Tweech his own. But I had to intervene.

I said that I was actually OK with the idea of Santa Claus. He represents the spirit of giving and children. The IDEA of SC is a good one...it's our society that has turned him and the holiday into something different. I left it at that.

I would have liked to include in my little spiel...

For me, personally...Jesus is NOT the reason for the season. We celebrate his birthday on December 25th...but as he wasn't even born in December. He was born in the spring. Early Christianity superimposed his birthday and subsequent celebrations onto the pagan holiday of Yule. There was no way the Church could eradicate all the pagan/rural celebrations in and around the 25th of December, so they decided 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.' It's all very interesting how many of the Christmas/holiday traditions we do today have roots in Paganism. Evergreens, wreaths, red/green, Christmas trees, decorating our houses with lights - ALL pagan origins.

OK, I'm getting worked up. It's probably a good place to stop. Ultimately, I do not actively encourage Santa at our house (lists, letters to the North Pole, visits on his lap), however, I do not disdain the idea of Santa. I think he represents what is more needed in our society - Giving.

So...we're getting ready for church this morning. Spencer and Kirby usually take a book with them to church, sometimes to read during the service, sometimes not. Anyway, this morning, my seven-year-old comes to me, clutching my copy of Tolkien's "The Hobbit" in his hand.

I was aghast. I mean, he's seven. I asked him if he really wanted to take that book. He said yes. I told him he may not understand it. He was OK with it and off to church we went.

I think he might have only gotten to the second page, and I don't think he comprehended much. But still!! He wants to read Tolkien! He is my child!

Anyway, guess what book we've started reading aloud tonight?

For years, I have always thought I was "strong."

Because I argued, I spoke my mind, and I didn't put up with people's crap. I didn't bend, or break, or beg, or grovel. And for that, I was tough. I was strong.

So - why does my husband have the upper hand in our relationship?

He controls the sex, the money, the parenting, the stamp of approval...and I have CONSCIOUSLY given over control in only ONE of those above areas.

You all would never know this if you saw the guy walking down the street. You might think he was the softest-spoken, most easy-going guy ever. You might even think of the word 'gullible.' I'd use the word 'malleable.' Easily distracted, shaped, molded, and pushed over. Until recently, I thought so too. Until recently, I thought I was the strong one, the one who got my way all the time, the 'willow in the storm'.

1. So why do we have sex so little? It only seems to be when he's in the mood or not tired or whatever. Also, I know we will never persue those kinky avenues of sex, because he doesn't want to (I wouldn't mind). The few times we've discussed fantasies, mine are too weird (he never says that, but the vibe is there). And so, that sexually adventurous part of my personality has been repressed over the years. These days, I'm embarrassed if he sees me without my clothes.

2. This is the one I've let go a bit. He does the business with our financial guy and sets up portfolios and college funds. He sits down to write out the bills. I really only care about the amount in the checkbook.

3. I will admit to you all right now...I am not the most patient and nurturing of parental figures. Brent has upbraided me (once, maybe twice in our marriage) about not being a good mom. Of course, you must understand his way...he does not verbally abuse me or shout at me. It is all in that quiet, wounded way that seems so innocent (Heather, it just seems you don't want to spend time with your children...).

4. I cannot remember the last time he told me was proud of me. Or that he liked something I was wearing. Or that I fixed a really good dinner. Or that I was beautiful naked. Or that he bragged to other people about me. Or that I was really good at something.

If I were strong, I would not care about his stamp of approval. If I were the willow, I would tell him to piss off and love me for who I am. I would parent my children the way I saw fit and I would not feel guilty about that. I would be able to feel comfortable expressing myself sexually and I would not feel like a deviant.

I would not feel like shit right now. And adrift. And lost in a sea of loneliness.