Hmm. Obviously still working to distract myself. Here it is 7:45 and I have 10 minutes between grocery shopping, dinner, kitchen cleaning, and bedtime grind. Ten favorite TV moms? I hardly watched TV growing up. And I don't think Law & Order and Star Trek: Next Generation had a lot of moms to look up to. Although Next Gen had one.
1. Lucille Bluth from Arrested Development. I mean, come on.
2. The Dowager Countess (Maggie Smith) on Downton Abbey. I wish she were in my family.
3. Colleen Donaghy on 30 Rock. When she and Jack talk, I can hear my family if my family were just a little bit quicker on the uptake.
4. All the mothers on Charlie Brown cartoons. I often feel like my voice is just a warbling trumpet when I talk to my kids.
5. K'Ehleyr, mother of Alexander (whose father is Worf). There. A TV mom I can relate to. Half Klingon, half human, she thinks Klingons are ridiculous but isn't quite at home with humanity. She is sarcastic and aloof and shares her opinions freely with her son. When she dies (of course she dies), Worf has a hard time breaking Alexander of bad habits (in his eyes) that K'Ehleyr allowed. Which is probably what would happen if I were killed by a grudge-holding Klingon hoping to bribe me to win the leadership of the council.
6. Jessica Tate from Soap. Completely absolutely clueless, does she even know who her children are?
7. Everyone on Parenthood. I know they're not all moms. But it's my family, if Bevin made a few big mistakes, if Ian had actually been more selfish and clueless, if Colleen were a lawyer instead of a bike polo player, and if I were a guy. Otherwise, there we are. And they are excruciating to watch. In a good way.
8. Dahlia Malloy (Minnie Driver) from The Riches. Recovering meth addict Irish Traveller who assumes the identity of a rich dead woman. Who lets her children do what they need to do and the whole mess starts because she and her husband (played by Eddie Izzard) run away from their clan to keep their daughter from marrying the dim relative that their clan set her up with.
9. Linda Flynn-Fletcher from Phineas and Ferb. I am already having the sorts of conversations with Fiona that she has with Candace. Of course not involving backyard roller coasters and space rockets. But still.
10. Louisa Glasson from Doc Martin, especially her interactions with her own mother and with the father of her child AND balancing a teaching career with kids. It's all good.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
John 21:3
So I am still working to get a job for next year.
And it's making me a tad crazy.
Finally Billy's godmother Gretchen told me on facebook: stop it. Spend time doing something you love.
I thought about it. Teaching is all I know how to do. Zelda corrected me. I was a jack of all trades. True, but how do I turn that into a job that isn't in the classroom? I kept looking at other want ads and I don't have anything they're looking for. What will I do in August if I don't have my own classroom? Will I keep subbing?
But Gretchen was right. I can't freak about about the what-ifs right now. I need a distraction. The other thing I can do besides teach? I can quilt.
And I can pray.
So I'm combining those two things. I haven't done lectio seriously in a long time (meditating over a very short piece of writing, usually a biblical verse, letting it settle into your heart and living in it for a time--Benedictines do this every day; I haven't done it for some time because life got out of hand).
This is John 21:3. Simon Peter said to them, "I am going fishing." Why does he go fishing? It is post-resurrection and everything is in flux and Peter is a fisherman after all and this is what he used to do, this is all he knows how to do, this is all he has now that everything is changed and this is what he must do now because it is what he is. Who he is. This is it.
Of course what happens next is that Jesus appears to them on the shore and tells them to cast their nets out into the deep. Fr. Miguel gave a homily on this a few weeks back that had me leaning forward in the pew to hear him over Billy and Daisy fidgeting near me. But even though I feel like I'm casting my own nets into the deep again and again these days, I'm still caught up with Simon Peter casting about for something worth doing, something he can understand, something he knows, something he has left.
I'm hoping that come August I will have a job. I'm hoping things will work out. But if they don't? Where is the deep I need to cast into?
But that's months away. For now, I'm going to make these little 11 or 12 inch square quilts, a few a week. Today I made another: John 20:15-17. But it's not done yet. I'll hem it at school tomorrow to keep from worrying about what I cannot control.
And it's making me a tad crazy.
Finally Billy's godmother Gretchen told me on facebook: stop it. Spend time doing something you love.
I thought about it. Teaching is all I know how to do. Zelda corrected me. I was a jack of all trades. True, but how do I turn that into a job that isn't in the classroom? I kept looking at other want ads and I don't have anything they're looking for. What will I do in August if I don't have my own classroom? Will I keep subbing?
But Gretchen was right. I can't freak about about the what-ifs right now. I need a distraction. The other thing I can do besides teach? I can quilt.
And I can pray.
So I'm combining those two things. I haven't done lectio seriously in a long time (meditating over a very short piece of writing, usually a biblical verse, letting it settle into your heart and living in it for a time--Benedictines do this every day; I haven't done it for some time because life got out of hand).
This is John 21:3. Simon Peter said to them, "I am going fishing." Why does he go fishing? It is post-resurrection and everything is in flux and Peter is a fisherman after all and this is what he used to do, this is all he knows how to do, this is all he has now that everything is changed and this is what he must do now because it is what he is. Who he is. This is it.
Of course what happens next is that Jesus appears to them on the shore and tells them to cast their nets out into the deep. Fr. Miguel gave a homily on this a few weeks back that had me leaning forward in the pew to hear him over Billy and Daisy fidgeting near me. But even though I feel like I'm casting my own nets into the deep again and again these days, I'm still caught up with Simon Peter casting about for something worth doing, something he can understand, something he knows, something he has left.
I'm hoping that come August I will have a job. I'm hoping things will work out. But if they don't? Where is the deep I need to cast into?
But that's months away. For now, I'm going to make these little 11 or 12 inch square quilts, a few a week. Today I made another: John 20:15-17. But it's not done yet. I'll hem it at school tomorrow to keep from worrying about what I cannot control.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
6th Grade Yarn
I'm teaching some art.
Mostly K-4, but I have two classes at the middle school, each 6th grade. One 6th grade class is not even worth talking about. They are so unpleasant, and there are 35 of them. It is impossible to make connections, to get any real learning done. But the other one started out the same way, even though there's only 21 of them. The teacher I replaced wrote pages on a certain boy in there, I'll call him Patrick, about all of his behavior issues and how hard he was to handle. I walked in the first day braced for Patrick.
I could see why she thought he was behavior disordered. Some "That's not how Mrs. Green did it" kind of mumbling to me, and when I held my line, he mumbled other things under his breath. Shouting out in class. Being annoying on purpose.
I thought about this later, a lot, because I needed this class to work and really, he was the problem. It all revolved around his doing the right thing. And the next time I came in, he and his friends had a bunch of erasers that fit together like puzzles. They wouldn't put them away. I swiped one, fast, with one hand, and stuck it in my pocket. Some whining followed. I told them they'd get them back when they calmed down (I refrained from using the words I was thinking) and showed the class some respect. They didn't get them at the end of class.
The next class, he walked up to me at the beginning and asked if I still had his eraser. I told him I did and let's see how class went. He seemed to understand me.
Suddenly he reminded me of the fact that 6th grade boys are my favorite genre of students to teach.
The rest of class went well. I was teaching the basics of weaving and showing them the little bags we were going to make with a cardboard loom. It was very difficult to warp the loom without help, and I floated through the class explaining it to them a table at a time because the room was too big and there's no chalkboard and I'm too old-school to figure out the document camera. Plus my hand to their hand works best. Patrick caught on immediately and told me he'd help the rest of his table, I could move on to the rest. And I did.
He came up to get his needle and weft yarn before anyone else. He asked me if I knew how to knit "by hand". I told him yes. "Do you put the stitches on the sticks with your hand like a gun?" he asked. I knew exactly what he meant, and nodded. "I know how to do that," he admitted, sitting back down to start weaving.
At the end of class I gave him his eraser. And threw away Mrs. Green's notes (please note: she was dead-on about many of the students in the other class...just not this one).
Patrick finished his bag in two class periods, when many students still weren't understanding "over under" tabby weave. I switch tables each class, sitting with different groups and letting kids come to me if they're stuck, or need to switch colors for the first time. And so I was sitting at the table with Patrick and Cody and Devon while Patrick was able to take his bag off the cardboard loom and start adding a drawstring. And he mentioned knitting again.
"You know this is the first thing I've liked in art," he tells me. "It's, like, something useful I could do again or something."
"I know," I agree, fixing Renee's knot in her weft yarn. "I like teaching art that is useful, more like craft, really."
"And, just so you know, I'm not gay, but I like doing stuff with yarn like this," he looked between me and Cody and Devon as he says this.
"I wasn't assuming you were," I assure him.
"It's just, cool to figure out how to do stuff with it. You can, you know, make things and try stuff with it, not like drawing and stuff. I already know how to draw. But now I know how to make something."
"Yeah," Cody interjects. "He, like, made a scarf for his mom this one time."
Patrick nods. "I had to make a spool out of a couple of boards and some nails so I could store it while I kept knitting on it, it was so long. And she wears it, too."
Totally my favorite genre.
Mostly K-4, but I have two classes at the middle school, each 6th grade. One 6th grade class is not even worth talking about. They are so unpleasant, and there are 35 of them. It is impossible to make connections, to get any real learning done. But the other one started out the same way, even though there's only 21 of them. The teacher I replaced wrote pages on a certain boy in there, I'll call him Patrick, about all of his behavior issues and how hard he was to handle. I walked in the first day braced for Patrick.
I could see why she thought he was behavior disordered. Some "That's not how Mrs. Green did it" kind of mumbling to me, and when I held my line, he mumbled other things under his breath. Shouting out in class. Being annoying on purpose.
I thought about this later, a lot, because I needed this class to work and really, he was the problem. It all revolved around his doing the right thing. And the next time I came in, he and his friends had a bunch of erasers that fit together like puzzles. They wouldn't put them away. I swiped one, fast, with one hand, and stuck it in my pocket. Some whining followed. I told them they'd get them back when they calmed down (I refrained from using the words I was thinking) and showed the class some respect. They didn't get them at the end of class.
The next class, he walked up to me at the beginning and asked if I still had his eraser. I told him I did and let's see how class went. He seemed to understand me.
Suddenly he reminded me of the fact that 6th grade boys are my favorite genre of students to teach.
The rest of class went well. I was teaching the basics of weaving and showing them the little bags we were going to make with a cardboard loom. It was very difficult to warp the loom without help, and I floated through the class explaining it to them a table at a time because the room was too big and there's no chalkboard and I'm too old-school to figure out the document camera. Plus my hand to their hand works best. Patrick caught on immediately and told me he'd help the rest of his table, I could move on to the rest. And I did.
He came up to get his needle and weft yarn before anyone else. He asked me if I knew how to knit "by hand". I told him yes. "Do you put the stitches on the sticks with your hand like a gun?" he asked. I knew exactly what he meant, and nodded. "I know how to do that," he admitted, sitting back down to start weaving.
At the end of class I gave him his eraser. And threw away Mrs. Green's notes (please note: she was dead-on about many of the students in the other class...just not this one).
Patrick finished his bag in two class periods, when many students still weren't understanding "over under" tabby weave. I switch tables each class, sitting with different groups and letting kids come to me if they're stuck, or need to switch colors for the first time. And so I was sitting at the table with Patrick and Cody and Devon while Patrick was able to take his bag off the cardboard loom and start adding a drawstring. And he mentioned knitting again.
"You know this is the first thing I've liked in art," he tells me. "It's, like, something useful I could do again or something."
"I know," I agree, fixing Renee's knot in her weft yarn. "I like teaching art that is useful, more like craft, really."
"And, just so you know, I'm not gay, but I like doing stuff with yarn like this," he looked between me and Cody and Devon as he says this.
"I wasn't assuming you were," I assure him.
"It's just, cool to figure out how to do stuff with it. You can, you know, make things and try stuff with it, not like drawing and stuff. I already know how to draw. But now I know how to make something."
"Yeah," Cody interjects. "He, like, made a scarf for his mom this one time."
Patrick nods. "I had to make a spool out of a couple of boards and some nails so I could store it while I kept knitting on it, it was so long. And she wears it, too."
Totally my favorite genre.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Idle
gonna waste some time with you and let this world go
keep my heart idle
It's Saturday. Everything is on pause.
It's raining. There are kids in my house, upstairs in the attic making a mess, I'm sure. This will lead to frustrated conversations later but right now it's good for me.
Pandora Radio is on, playing my latter day deadhead station. Which has not been ruined by something inappropriate that changes it to something else, like country or opera or something else bizarre.
I'm working on a quilt, a set of banners for church. Ordinary time is coming.
We went to my brother- and sister-in-law's bakery after tae kwon do. Came home and friends called.
The house is clean.
I fixed the flowers at church. They needed fixin'. Alone, morning, time by myself listening to the silence.
I got a call about another job, playing phone tag. For next year.
Routine is good. And Saturday is good. My brain is designed for monastery life, short sections of work divided by times of prayer.
All I can do right now is what I can do. I can't force anyone to do anything (except perhaps girls to clean their rooms, but even then they can choose to, you know, never go outside again instead). I can't make the rain stop, I can't make the new kitten like me, I can't make the principal call me and set up a formal interview, I can't do anything right now except what I can--drink a little coffee, sift through writing for my portfolio, make some banners out of tie-dyed fabric and listen to the Dead.
That's what I do.
keep my heart idle
It's Saturday. Everything is on pause.
It's raining. There are kids in my house, upstairs in the attic making a mess, I'm sure. This will lead to frustrated conversations later but right now it's good for me.
Pandora Radio is on, playing my latter day deadhead station. Which has not been ruined by something inappropriate that changes it to something else, like country or opera or something else bizarre.
I'm working on a quilt, a set of banners for church. Ordinary time is coming.
We went to my brother- and sister-in-law's bakery after tae kwon do. Came home and friends called.
The house is clean.
I fixed the flowers at church. They needed fixin'. Alone, morning, time by myself listening to the silence.
I got a call about another job, playing phone tag. For next year.
Routine is good. And Saturday is good. My brain is designed for monastery life, short sections of work divided by times of prayer.
All I can do right now is what I can do. I can't force anyone to do anything (except perhaps girls to clean their rooms, but even then they can choose to, you know, never go outside again instead). I can't make the rain stop, I can't make the new kitten like me, I can't make the principal call me and set up a formal interview, I can't do anything right now except what I can--drink a little coffee, sift through writing for my portfolio, make some banners out of tie-dyed fabric and listen to the Dead.
That's what I do.
Friday, April 26, 2013
My First Week
So I'm teaching some art. I spent Tuesday shadowing the teacher before she left for the year (turns out, not a maternity leave, but a surgery leave). Most of the day was spent reminding me that she didn't get any breaks or plan periods, but PE and Music teachers did. Several formal complaints were discussed. We started the morning at the intermediate school across the parking lot, where she teaches a single class each day, and I observed while this group of 33 6th graders walked all over her. Then after the class she filled me in on the next day's class--it's an A/B schedule school. I braced myself.
The rest of the morning was similar--I watched someone who had already checked out. I took over after lunch for two classes and this was one conversation between me and a 1st grade class I'd been bitterly warned about:
"Your art teacher will be back next year, she is fine but needed to take some time off. I'm going to finish the year with you."
"YES!" says one little girl in the back of the room, fist pump and all.
Here's my assessment after 4 days:
1. Walking to the intermediate school makes me smile. I go outside and experience the world for a moment.
2. The secretaries at both schools are friendly.
3. The 6th grade classes are doozies. I spoke to the full time art teacher in that building, who does all the planning for my classes as well (I wonder what formal complaint was filed to get that to happen). She told me I had a big hole to dig myself out of.
4. I have some classroom control. I was able to home in on the difficult students early and take it from there. Most of them are just 6th grade silliness--how far can they push, that sort of thing. But one is more than that and I'm being careful there.
5. The walk back from the intermediate school is just long enough to forget all about the drudgery at the intermediate school.
6. I have plenty of breaks. 20 minutes travel time to get back to the elementary. 15 minutes after the first class (2nd grade). A 65 minute lunch every day--the regular teachers get 45. Yes, if I look at a classroom teacher and her 5 45-minute breaks a week, I guess I might get frustrated, but I don't do lunch duty, after school, before school, recess: nothing. And I only have to grade 4th grade and the 6th grade across the lot. Everyone else just gets to experience art. Why is this hard?
7. But before I get jealous and wring my hands because this teacher has this cushy job she can't stand because she feels put upon and shortchanged (I will say that both schools put art in the back hallways by the custodial closets and special education offices, while music is in the main hallways by the libraries...), the fact of the matter is that the commute sucks worse than I thought it would. I drop off Fiona at school at 7:25 and I get to school at 8:30. And the way home, I leave at 3:40 and get home between 4:20 and 5:00. It would KILL me to do this longer than just this month. Seriously.
8. The school has paraprofessionals in many classes to help with special education situations. There are many, many children in this school with problems. Many. It surprised me.
9. My favorite: explaining to the secretary why I will be 15 minutes late next Thursday, I point out that I'm coming from South St. Louis. "Oh, really?" she asks, stunned. "Do your kids go to Lindbergh schools? My daughter teaches there." I clarify that I mean SLU Hospital, Busch Stadium, Forest Park, etc. She stares at me kind of blankly.
10. Kind of drowning in housework. Summer will be good.
The rest of the morning was similar--I watched someone who had already checked out. I took over after lunch for two classes and this was one conversation between me and a 1st grade class I'd been bitterly warned about:
"Your art teacher will be back next year, she is fine but needed to take some time off. I'm going to finish the year with you."
"YES!" says one little girl in the back of the room, fist pump and all.
Here's my assessment after 4 days:
1. Walking to the intermediate school makes me smile. I go outside and experience the world for a moment.
2. The secretaries at both schools are friendly.
3. The 6th grade classes are doozies. I spoke to the full time art teacher in that building, who does all the planning for my classes as well (I wonder what formal complaint was filed to get that to happen). She told me I had a big hole to dig myself out of.
4. I have some classroom control. I was able to home in on the difficult students early and take it from there. Most of them are just 6th grade silliness--how far can they push, that sort of thing. But one is more than that and I'm being careful there.
5. The walk back from the intermediate school is just long enough to forget all about the drudgery at the intermediate school.
6. I have plenty of breaks. 20 minutes travel time to get back to the elementary. 15 minutes after the first class (2nd grade). A 65 minute lunch every day--the regular teachers get 45. Yes, if I look at a classroom teacher and her 5 45-minute breaks a week, I guess I might get frustrated, but I don't do lunch duty, after school, before school, recess: nothing. And I only have to grade 4th grade and the 6th grade across the lot. Everyone else just gets to experience art. Why is this hard?
7. But before I get jealous and wring my hands because this teacher has this cushy job she can't stand because she feels put upon and shortchanged (I will say that both schools put art in the back hallways by the custodial closets and special education offices, while music is in the main hallways by the libraries...), the fact of the matter is that the commute sucks worse than I thought it would. I drop off Fiona at school at 7:25 and I get to school at 8:30. And the way home, I leave at 3:40 and get home between 4:20 and 5:00. It would KILL me to do this longer than just this month. Seriously.
8. The school has paraprofessionals in many classes to help with special education situations. There are many, many children in this school with problems. Many. It surprised me.
9. My favorite: explaining to the secretary why I will be 15 minutes late next Thursday, I point out that I'm coming from South St. Louis. "Oh, really?" she asks, stunned. "Do your kids go to Lindbergh schools? My daughter teaches there." I clarify that I mean SLU Hospital, Busch Stadium, Forest Park, etc. She stares at me kind of blankly.
10. Kind of drowning in housework. Summer will be good.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Job
I have one.
It's only for the rest of the year--a maternity leave position--but it requires the certifications I have and I will have full time art teacher job starting Tuesday. A good way to practice having a full time job for next year. Answering questions like:
What do we do about after school hours for our own kids while I make my way home?
Teacher meeting Fridays?
How do we keep the house clean and laundry done?
Morning routine?
Like training for a race, I am making the situation harder than what I will do next year. This is a district further away than I would normally even apply to (I didn't know they existed, for that matter, a tiny little district about 35 minutes away). I can drop Fiona off and get there in plenty of time to actually work. On the other hand, as an art teacher, I don't have a homeroom and therefore can head out the door with the final bell. But on the third hand, I don't have any planning periods Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. So that's unique. And hard.
It's 25 days, all told. A steady slow jog to the finish line. It will keep my mind off the job search while still giving me time in the evenings to work on it--I won't have stuff to grade, for instance.
Nice district, nice people thus far. Just like the other one I've been subbing in. Too bad they are so far away...I couldn't do it my whole life. But one month, I can do that.
It's only for the rest of the year--a maternity leave position--but it requires the certifications I have and I will have full time art teacher job starting Tuesday. A good way to practice having a full time job for next year. Answering questions like:
What do we do about after school hours for our own kids while I make my way home?
Teacher meeting Fridays?
How do we keep the house clean and laundry done?
Morning routine?
Like training for a race, I am making the situation harder than what I will do next year. This is a district further away than I would normally even apply to (I didn't know they existed, for that matter, a tiny little district about 35 minutes away). I can drop Fiona off and get there in plenty of time to actually work. On the other hand, as an art teacher, I don't have a homeroom and therefore can head out the door with the final bell. But on the third hand, I don't have any planning periods Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. So that's unique. And hard.
It's 25 days, all told. A steady slow jog to the finish line. It will keep my mind off the job search while still giving me time in the evenings to work on it--I won't have stuff to grade, for instance.
Nice district, nice people thus far. Just like the other one I've been subbing in. Too bad they are so far away...I couldn't do it my whole life. But one month, I can do that.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Vanity, all things are vanity
Is there something here you really liked? Even if you only vaguely remember the topic, could you send me a note in the comments or via email?
What I'm trying to do: I'm trying to expand my portfolio for teaching. I want to demonstrate that I know how to write, at least a bit, and thus perhaps I would know how to handle writing instruction for grade school kids (like 8 years old and up--I can demonstrate reading and writing instruction for young children because I taught 1st grade for 3 years).
Given that, I would be looking for entries I've written with rated-PG or better topics (most of them are, at least the last few years). My old blogs are fair game as well. And I wouldn't be looking for "my ten favorite foods" kinds of posts or a rundown of our camping trip. Like when I focus enough to write something of some quality about something.
I know what my favorites are, but I'm kind of vain.
What I'm trying to do: I'm trying to expand my portfolio for teaching. I want to demonstrate that I know how to write, at least a bit, and thus perhaps I would know how to handle writing instruction for grade school kids (like 8 years old and up--I can demonstrate reading and writing instruction for young children because I taught 1st grade for 3 years).
Given that, I would be looking for entries I've written with rated-PG or better topics (most of them are, at least the last few years). My old blogs are fair game as well. And I wouldn't be looking for "my ten favorite foods" kinds of posts or a rundown of our camping trip. Like when I focus enough to write something of some quality about something.
I know what my favorites are, but I'm kind of vain.
Facebook After Death
There were two deaths in my family this year (and yes Mali, when I talk about year I almost always mean school year, about August to May--summer doesn't count!). My aunt died in October and an uncle in March.
The day after my aunt died, some folks posted about her on Facebook and it linked to her account. So there are posts there after she died, obviously not from her but from folks mentioning they were going to her funeral, or my other aunts giving dates and times for the memorial and so forth. And one message from her daughter, my cousin who has had a hard time getting her life together:
I look so much like her, I almost can't look in the mirror.
My uncle died, and although still too soon and very sudden like my aunt, it wasn't as huge a shock. His Facebook page, which was in his name but really run by his wife, filled up with reminiscent posts that were more like this:
I love the story about when you were about 12(?), you spotted him walking down the street and told your mom that one day you were "going to marry that boy." You did just that. And considering they said it would never last, 50 years together ain't bad!
People remembered songs he sang and messages he left on their answering machines. Pictures were posted. His wife continues to use the account under his name.
How long does it go on? At what point do we delete, or even disconnect ourselves, from the dead on Facebook? I don't mean this flippantly. These are the first two people who have died in my life since I joined FB (rather, who were also on FB with me) and it's eerie to have posts from them or about them show up in my newsfeed.
Or maybe it's not. In my uncle's case, the name is the same but it is his wife. In my aunt's situation, I think her kids need to still be friends with her on Facebook for a while. Is there even a way to delete another person without having the password? When my parents die will I bother to track that information down? Probably not.
Eventually, will there be whole circles of people who are dead and friends only with other dead people? I think about that creepy post-apocalyptic story I only half remember, with the radio transmission on an endless loop warning outsiders not to enter the city, there were no survivors.
The day after my aunt died, some folks posted about her on Facebook and it linked to her account. So there are posts there after she died, obviously not from her but from folks mentioning they were going to her funeral, or my other aunts giving dates and times for the memorial and so forth. And one message from her daughter, my cousin who has had a hard time getting her life together:
I look so much like her, I almost can't look in the mirror.
My uncle died, and although still too soon and very sudden like my aunt, it wasn't as huge a shock. His Facebook page, which was in his name but really run by his wife, filled up with reminiscent posts that were more like this:
I love the story about when you were about 12(?), you spotted him walking down the street and told your mom that one day you were "going to marry that boy." You did just that. And considering they said it would never last, 50 years together ain't bad!
People remembered songs he sang and messages he left on their answering machines. Pictures were posted. His wife continues to use the account under his name.
How long does it go on? At what point do we delete, or even disconnect ourselves, from the dead on Facebook? I don't mean this flippantly. These are the first two people who have died in my life since I joined FB (rather, who were also on FB with me) and it's eerie to have posts from them or about them show up in my newsfeed.
Or maybe it's not. In my uncle's case, the name is the same but it is his wife. In my aunt's situation, I think her kids need to still be friends with her on Facebook for a while. Is there even a way to delete another person without having the password? When my parents die will I bother to track that information down? Probably not.
Eventually, will there be whole circles of people who are dead and friends only with other dead people? I think about that creepy post-apocalyptic story I only half remember, with the radio transmission on an endless loop warning outsiders not to enter the city, there were no survivors.
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