Handbuilder Diary: The Fixer

You can't sketch with eyebrow pencil...

I work in a job where I fix problems all day long. I try to teach fourth graders how to take responsibility for solving their own problems. Unfortunately, I also work with clay. There are numerous problems which can happen during the ceramic process. Many are irreparable. Things are fragile. Things break.

Lately, I've been trying to help out my aging father. My dad has always had back and leg pain. It has gotten so much worse, now that he's approaching his nineties. Yesterday, he was in so much pain while I was driving him home from my sister's house, that he almost vomited. His pain medication, an opioid, isn't strong enough. And, he doesn't want to become addicted. I've been investigating other pain treatment methods. This has plunked me down into the wide world of marijuana. I've been to dispensaries, and searched for patches, balms, and oils online. Nothing seems to fill the bill with my dad. It is very frustrating. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help my mom with her Leukemia, and this feeling of helplessness is repeating.

So, after I dropped him off at his house, I took some mental health time at the beach. It was weird being at "our" beach without the dogs. I sat down on the sand, and pulled my sketchbook out of my purse. The first page opened to a seed packet from a funeral that I recently attended. Then, instead of a pen, I pulled out an eyebrow pencil accidentally. It had been lingering in my purse from back when I gave my students beards, stubble, and mustaches for our Gold Rush presentation. It's good to just listen to the constant waves. And, it's good to sketch with an actual pen.

I also started fretting about my upcoming interview with the Office of Civil Rights attorney. I worked at a school which actually practiced segregation based on language, class, ethnicity, and ability. After trying to be a part of the solution, by working with the students who were daily disenfranchised, I finally left after 13 years. I guess I rationalized that I was providing enrichment and excellent teaching for those poor kids. Actually, I was just being the nicest guard at the prison, or the friendliest overseer at the plantation. My participation enabled the situation to endure. Now, I'm hoping to help other like minded individuals to make it implode. But, this comes with a price of dredging up angry memories of my last year there. I've been trying to replace them with memories of some of the kids that I probably did help at that school. Wish me luck helping to fix this one.