Stormy Seas

 

This morning, in the weekly email that the Mat-Su College Campus Director sends out to all faculty, he described a recent Kenai Fjords boat tour that he had taken. It was a stormy day for a boat ride, and he was prone to seasickness. However, the day afforded him a once-in-a-lifetime look at Fin Whales and he closed his description with, "I was happy to have the open seas behind me, but the pictures are a reminder of the unknowns yet to be discovered way out there. ... I think this is a hard time to feel like you can do much of anything. If you have to be someplace during a global pandemic, then Alaska appears to be the right place. Bad beginnings don't always mean bad endings, it helps to keep on moving forward."

I identified so much with his analogy of being in the midst of a storm on the open sea that I sent him this response:

Thank you so much for this. You have no idea, or perhaps you do, how much I needed to hear/read this today. I, too, have questioned a big decision that I recently made, the decision to teach WRTG 110 even though it would be 100% online.

My husband and I moved to the road system, Sutton, just about a year ago from Unalakleet. More specifically, we lived 8 miles up the Unalakleet River from the village in an offgrid, 400sf cabin that he built 25 years ago. We were the only people who lived on the river year-round, but at 63 (him) and 52 (me), it was time to stop hauling water and climbing the side of a mountain to get to the outhouse. Actually, the social isolation had become more than I could bear, yearning for a life of book clubs, time with grandkids, and having guests over for dinner, I was even looking forward to teaching in a classroom again. I had been teaching online for UAF's Bristol Bay Campus for two years at that point. You read that right - when I cranked up our small, portable generator, I could get perfect internet capabilities in the middle of nowhere.

When January came, and our feet were firmly planted in Sutton, the idea of teaching at Mat-Su College was like a dream come true. Teaching WRTG 090 and 110 in the classroom that semester felt good, and being able to have that face-to-face connection with students was just what I needed. Then, Spring Break came. And went. Along with it went my face-to-face classes. Thankfully, having a background in online teaching helped the students and me to muddle through the rest of the semester.

Disheartened but determined when UA announced that the fall semester would be online, I signed the contract to teach WRTG 110. When 22 students initially registered, I was surprised. I asked all students to email a brief blurb to me describing their personal situation, why they were taking the class, etc., as I always do with online classes. When I read that my students were scattered from Anchorage to Qatar and most with little or no college or online class experience, I could see the storm coming and I was headed directly into the open seas.

Knowing that there would be no protected areas to shelter me from this storm, I steadied myself and set my course. I began to teach technology in tandem with writing. I was tasked with teaching students about rubrics, Blackboard, Zoom, Youtube, subtitles, Google docs, and... the waves just kept rolling in. Gone were the sunny days of class discussions about the assigned readings and raised hands with questions that others had and I could answer in 10 seconds. Feeling rudderless, I continued on.

In addition to now grading 20 discussion posts and replies every week (thankfully, 2 students dropped the class), there were now 20 grammar assignments to grade, because we couldn't simply go over the lesson together in class where I could gauge their understanding. Next, came the 20 reading quizzes to grade every week, because I could not simply take 3 minutes to walk around the room and look at their work or engage in a class discussion. Then came the 20 weekly exercises that needed to be graded, which would have taken the form of small group discussions in the classroom. Finally, the 20 essays come in which are often turned in off-topic because the students don't want to "bother" me with an email.

I have to believe that if the class hadn't been wide open for any UAA student to take, I would have had more control over the wind. My Spring Semester classroom had 13 students and a lot less grading. The very nature of online teaching requires more time. In addition, more students equates to even more time.

This morning, I woke to 72 assignments waiting to be graded in Blackboard from that one, single class.

Could I assign less work? Yes, but that would mean that students don't learn as much. I've already reduced the number of essays for the course. I love to teach writing, and I'm very good at it. However, stacking my class to capacity with students from all over, outside the Mat-Su area, some of whom have never taken a college course or been out of school for over a decade, most of whom have a very minimal understanding of online technology, leaves me with very little room to actually teach writing. Most days, like today, I feel like I will surely drown.

To pay an adjunct for 7 1/2 hours of work each week for a 3-credit class when there has been such a drastic change in course is akin to paying a fisherman for only those times when he's actually taking a fish off the hook.

I will continue to alter the course this semester to keep both my students and myself from going under. However, the experience has persuaded me to withdraw my name from the adjunct faculty pool, and head for safe harbor, for next semester and until we go back to in-person teaching.

Again, thank you for your timely message this morning. I hope I continue to receive them even during the time when I'm not a part of the adjunct faculty.

Clearing the Air

 I have a terrible habit of speaking the truth on social media, probably because I didn’t have a friend to vent to over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.

• Two people were illegally hunting moose after dark from a moving boat on the river in front of our cabin. That post nearly got me lynched. 

• The Unalakleet River Lodge used toxic cleaners in the cabins and the lodge (that post got me banned from the lodge). They didn’t use locally sourced ingredients and they served only the cheapest cuts of meat to the hard-working guides. I told the guests how delicious moose, caribou, and halibut were. The guests, who paid $5,300 per person for one week, would never get to taste them at the lodge and I was told to shut my mouth about local game. I could have gone on and on, but I won’t.

• I could order groceries for ⅓ as much, with free delivery from Target, as they charged at the local AC grocery store. That pissed off the store managers, who were besties with the lodge owner and manager, so that contributed to my banishment from the lodge.

• There were empty whiskey bottles on the school lawn, tobacco stains on my classroom carpet, and racism was rampant in Kwethluk. That blog post brought threats from the community that were so severe that I broke my teaching contract and left the village in March.

• The Unalakleet High School pressured me to give passing grades to athletes so that they could play in sporting events. That post got me fired, or non-retained as they say in the ed biz.

Silence!

 Being silenced is a feeling that has been with me since birth. 

• My mother has a boyfriend and we go to his house for dinner, but I shouldn’t tell my dad. 

• My grandma says bad things about my mother, but I shouldn’t tell my mother. 

• My mom screams and throws things at my dad every night after I go to bed, but that’s private, family business. 

• My dad uses a credit card to break into the house when Mom is not home - shhhhh. 

• My mom slapped my face, but she’s sorry - shhhhh. 

• I want to disappear - shhhh. 

• I climb on the bathroom sink so that I can open the medicine cabinet, and I eat all of the yummy, orange, baby aspirins. Maybe they will make me sleep and never wake up, but I drop the glass bottle in the sink and Mom comes to check on me. At the hospital, they make me puke and send me home. I was just trying to disappear, but I don’t dare tell anyone that. Shhhh.

That was all before I was 8 years old, and made a powerful impression on me.

Life went on.

Don’t tell your father.

Don’t tell your mother.

Don’t say that about your stepfather.

Don’t tell the school counselor.

Don’t say that.

Don’t write that.

Don’t look at me like that.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t smile.

Don’t go.

Don’t stay.

Don’t play.

Don’t look.

Don’t listen.

Be quiet.

Be good.

Be polite.

Be subservient.

Be invisible.

You are selfish.

You are weak.

You are a bad …

You will never ....

Stand straight.

Smile with your mouth closed.

Wear a little makeup.

Run faster.

Try harder.

Writing Through the Pandemic: Week Two - 19

19 dead in a nursing home

While 18-year olds feel the need to roam

Needlessly.

In the 17th century, it was the Bubonic Plague.

16 cases under the U.S. flag

In twenty-15.

The Order spreads hate with 14 Words,

Faster than 13 antibodies spread herd

Immunity.

What will the world look like 12 months from now?

Angel Number one-11 promises to somehow

Get our attention.

The 10-day forecast calls for sun,

Gaining 9 minutes of light for each one,

While social distancing.

Greenhouse gas emissions fell 8 percent.

Of 7 Deadly Sins, the worst - indulgence,

Gluttony.

6 degrees of separation.

5 fingers of desperation

Want a handshake.

Riots revealed on Channel 4.

Wearing masks, they charge the doors

At 3 Bears.

Experts predict 2 more years

For us to listen to the music of spheres

Alone. 

Hunker Down

In an effort to get my writing juices flowing again, I have joined a Writing Through the Pandemic group sponsored by the Homer Library (Homer, Alaska). Here is my first submission...

Prompt
Make a list of 16 observations of life during the COVID-19 pandemic:
* 4 of them in your immediate living situation (your home, your food, your family dynamics, etc.)
* 4 of them beyond the borders of your home but still close (neighborhood, hiking trails nearby, grocery store, town)
* 4 of them far from home (outside news, family or friends you're in touch with, news from faraway places)
* 4 things about your life that are non-COVID related (life goes on, what are some of the circumstances of your life right now that would be true with or without the virus?)

Immediate Living Situation

1. In many ways, it feels like I’m back at our cabin on the Unalakleet River. It’s break-up and the river is unnavigable, so we are hunkered down for several weeks until we can move again. However, having just moved into our home in Sutton in December, we have a lot of projects to work on, inside and out, so it is nice to have the time, and the restrictions, to do so.
2. I haven’t been to a grocery store since March 13. Because I am one of those high risk people, my husband does all of the grocery shopping. I am a list maker, so I send him to the store with a detailed list every 10 days or so. However, he is an impulse buyer, so he always comes home with things not on the list. I joke that it’s like Chopped every night for dinner. Having lived offgrid for the last 3 years, I am used to having a stocked pantry, so this is not much of a change for us.
3. Gregg and I are used to being in close quarters together for extended periods of time, and I’m actually going to miss it when he starts work at Fish & Game on May 1. Our three dogs, garden, and greenhouse promise to keep me busy, though.
4. Since my job was mainly online before this all started (online UAF professor and holding a distance staff position as Writing Support Specialist for UAF-Bristol Bay Campus), not much has changed in that arena. However, most of my online students in the Aleutian and Pribilof Islands no longer have internet access with the school’s being closed. I have learned that Distance Learning is not synonymous with Online Learning, so I email hoards of files and self-made videos to central contacts in Unalaska and Togiak which they then download onto thumb drives. The drives are then taped on an outside office door for the students to pick up. They are returned the same way, and then my contacts email the completed assignments back to me. It really took a lot of out-of-the-box thinking to figure that all out!

Neighborhood

1. Moving to Sutton last December was a chance for me to have friends again, a chance to be a part of a community, something that I hadn’t really had for 6 years or so. This place is perfect for me in that the library is the heart of the community. The good news is that even though the building is closed, the library is alive and well. The exercise class that I attended there is now via audio conference. The book club, game nights, and stitching get-togethers have been cancelled for now, and that is difficult. However, last week, the library did start checking out books again! So, I can put books on hold online, call the library before I go there, and they put the books, with my name on them, on a table outside for me to pick up. I do miss chatting with the ladies who work there, though. That’s where I met everyone I know in town.
2. Sutton’s population is small, 1,600, but mighty. We have a local general store with an attached cafe. We can buy local, fresh eggs and order take-out. We love our neighbors so we order take-out every Friday as a show of support during this time. This week, we’ve already decided that it’s going to be pizza - fresh-made crust and fresh toppings with a slightly spicy red sauce and plenty of cheese! The best part is that it’s only half a mile from our house. Again, I always send Gregg there now, so I miss the lively conversation that a small general store produces.
3. Since we live in a place carved out of the wilderness and pressed tightly between the Matanuska River to the south and the Talkeetna Mountains to the north, the backcountry is only a mile away. I hopped on the 4-wheeler yesterday to go exploring. Just being able to feel the cool wind on my face and enjoy the beauty we live in freshened my spirit.
4. Our neighborhood is in hunker down mode. We see families riding around on 4-wheelers and dirt bikes, walking dogs, and pushing strollers. We all keep our distance and wave. I am cognizant of keeping my own dog, a chocolate lab named Nuka, close when we are out for a walk. She is used to going up to people and asking for a rub, but I understand that the virus is so contagious, that that is not optimal right now. Nuka doesn’t understand.

Far Away

1. Far away has a different connotation now than it did a couple of months ago. I used to have one daughter who lived far away, in Wisconsin, and one daughter who lived close, in Eagle River. Now, they are both far away. I’m thankful for FaceTime. Sarah, in Eagle River, FaceTimed me just yesterday to ask me about gardening, since she is getting ready to sow seeds. I wish I could be beside her with my hands in the dirt next to hers, but that’s not going to happen this year.
2. April, in Wisconsin, was supposed to come visit this summer with her husband and two-year old son, but of course that has been cancelled. I haven’t seen my grandson, Jack, in over a year and it may be another year before I get the chance again. I guess I should qualify that statement by saying that I haven’t seen Jack in person, because we do FaceTime and that makes my heart sing.
3. I also keep in touch with family and friends in the far-flung corners of the Lower 48 - Lori’s in Florida, Vicki’s in Texas, Robin’s in Louisiana, Holly, my sister, is in Washington state. All of them are in the high risk category and are often frustrated by the lack of consideration that the general populations are showing in their areas by not respecting social distancing and not wearing masks. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for their safety.
4. Then, there are those friends and family members who think this is overblown, a hoax, a conspiracy, or whatever. I wish I could just say, “You do you,” but I can’t. What they do affects those around them, whether it’s browsing through Walmart and then visiting older family members, spreading false news (who really knows what is fake anymore), rebuffing social distancing mandates, or refusing to wear masks. No matter what their political views, it’s still better to be selfless than careless.

Non-COVID

1. We brought home two Miniature American Eskimo puppies, a breeding pair, from Minnesota when we were there 6 weeks ago for Spring Break. They are smart and lively and we love them to pieces. I found them online and when we went to pick them up, we realized it was a puppy mill. They were scared to death and had no human socialization. We have loved them to pieces and they are cuddly little creatures now. I look forward to training them to do some fun tricks, because the breed has a history of being circus performers.
2. I have hundreds of seeds planted, waiting for the snow to melt so that they can settle into their new home in the fertile Matanuska River Valley. I love growing my own edible flowers from seeds and making flavorful and colorful jellies out of the petals, and I’m looking forward to a successful vegetable growing season after 3 failed attempts in Unalakleet!
3. Our “new” home is a 19-year-old, 1 bedroom, 1 bath (just a shower, no tub), 1,000 square foot, log cabin a stone’s throw from the river one way and a mountain range the other. It is beautiful. It is quaint. It is on a dirt road. It has modern appliances and a big kitchen. It is perfect for us.
4. Gregg and I just celebrated our 3rd Anniversary. We are happy. We are thankful.

Day 19

In the past 15 years, I’ve had pneumonia 7 times. Every year that I was teaching in a public school classroom, I came down with a respiratory infection that turned into bronchitis that turned into pneumonia. Every year. I was bracing myself for it this year, since I was back in the classroom, albeit a college classroom, when COVID-19 shut everything down.

The doctors say that my lungs are misshapen; my lungs and surrounding organs are pushed to one side, most likely because of scoliosis that went undetected until I was 29. Therefore, infections settle in my lungs very quickly. Because of this, I fall into the high-risk category for COVID-19.

That is one reason why I’m on Day 19 of extreme social distancing. The other reason is because of the carelessness of others. I wish I could care less about this virus, but I need to remain vigilant if I want to remain upright. Those who can care less, do. They meet up with friends for a quick visit. They take their entire family with them to go grocery shopping. They hug their grandchildren. They even go to packed church services. By doing those things, they are encouraging the spread of the virus. By doing those things, they are lengthening my isolation. By doing those things, they are encouraging others to do the same.

I send Gregg to the grocery store, have him wash his clothes and take a shower as soon as he gets home, and I only let him go during the senior shopping hours early in the morning when the carts have been freshly sanitized and the store isn’t open to the general public, those who care less. I love to cook and bake and I miss going to the store. It is one of the great pleasures of living on the road system, to see what’s in the produce department. I’m not willing to take the chance. I’m not willing to put myself into the category of the 5% of people who develop complications from the virus.

I was put on a ventilator last September and the intubation damaged my vocal cords. Despite the prognosis, I recovered. If I lost my voice permanently, it would be devastating for me and my career. I don’t want to take the chance of being put on a ventilator ever again.

Yes, I’ve had the flu shot before… and still came down with the flu.
Yes, I’ve had the pneumonia shot before… and came down with pneumonia twice that year.
I don’t believe in submitting myself to any more of those vaccines because they only target a select few of the viruses floating around. Viruses mutate and change and make the vaccines unreliable, at best. The best prevention is being careful, staying away from the general public, and teaching people to care more, not less.

With 3 feet of snow on the ground in April, it’s easy to get cabin fever. However, I combat it by taking long walks or going for a drive. There are so many mountain roads and communities to explore!

Is it an extreme reaction? Well, that’s the thing about opinions - everybody has one.

Lucky Teachers

If, during this crisis, you have uttered the words, "Lucky teachers," or something like it, you need to wash your mouth out with soap. Even as a college classroom teacher, it breaks my heart to have to teach online the rest of the semester. Before Spring Break, we were just at midterm, just getting to know one another. Our writing groups were just beginning to bloom. Discussions were becoming lively. Peer editing was becoming more honest and thorough. All of this was just barely starting to happen.

It feels like someone took a machete to my beautiful garden of flowers. Actually, it truly feels like that hailstorm we had last June that ravished my garden, destroying cucumbers and stunting zuchinni. They never recovered. They never reached their full potential.

I was finally back in the classroom for the first time in 3 years. Now, that experience is over, just like that. I feel many things: sadness, angry, helpless, and overwhelmed.

I’m sad not only for myself, not being able to have that classroom interaction, but moreso for my students. They are losing out on quality learning. Many struggle to find adequate internet access. Many have, or had, full time jobs where they are either being asked to work additional hours because they aren’t “in school,” or they have been laid off and are struggling, financially. Just one more stressor has been added to their plates. Most, if not all of my students, said, “Thank you,” to me at the end of every class. They enjoyed our time together. That’s over.

Some of my students are high school juniors and seniors, taking my online course for college credit. Those teenagers won’t have a Prom this year. They won’t attend a graduation ceremony and shake the hand of their principal when he hands them their diplomas. They are home, taking care of younger siblings while trying to complete not only their newly-online high school courses, but also their college course or courses. They are struggling. They are sad. We are all struggling. We are all sad.

I’m angry, too. I’m angry with our POTUS who stuck his head in the sand for weeks while this virus spread from other countries to our own soil, to our own backyard. I’m angry with the absolute ignorance that has led to hoarding, empty store shelves, and “lucky teachers.” I’m angry that I’m now paying for health insurance that I can’t use except in a case of emergency. I was looking forward to getting my teeth cleaned for the first time in a couple of years. I need new glasses, and I’m overdue for my glaucoma testing. I have a lump in my armpit and am overdue for a mammogram. It has all been postponed, indefinitely, right along with my counseling sessions.

I feel helpless. My new position as Writing Support Specialist for the Bristol Bay region was supposed to include traveling to the Aleutian and Pribilof Islands to meet with students and teachers in remote villages about college success and how to improve writing skills. Now, that’s not going to happen for the foreseeable future. Now, I’m scrambling to gather student phone numbers to make personal calls to offer my help in whatever way I can. It’s just not the same.

Yes, I have experience with online teaching. Yes, I’m better prepared than most teachers to deal with this crisis, but I’m wishing for a way to support those other teachers. I have so much that I could offer to them as far as interactive online activities, discussion forums, chat rooms, YouTube videos, creating assignments and tests, and even how to create grading rubrics that work extremely well in an online learning situation. Yet, here I sit, just another teacher in a crisis, unable to connect with students or collaborate with teachers.

Overwhelmed is not a big enough word for how emotionally exhausted I am. The torrent of information, meant to be helpful, is actually drowning me. Thirty-plus emails each day regarding COVID-19 leave me struggling to stay afloat with creating lesson plans. So many online educational resources have stepped up to the plate, making their material free for teachers and students, that it makes for a long, hard slog to find the best tools for my classes. Added to this overflow of information are hour and a half Zoom meetings about online teaching, health and safety, and state and federal mandates that are being updated again and again. It’s relentless.

Lucky Teachers. The 200 year old punishment of washing someone’s mouth out with soap for verbally disrespecting another person applies here with absolute certainty.

So Much

How do I write honestly about my life and thoughts without offending others? That’s a question that I struggle with daily, and it is the main reason that I don’t write and publish more. I could change names and places, but those close to me would still recognize themselves and others.

There is a lot going on both inside of my head and outside, around me, that I would like to write about because I think it might provide insight to others who are going through the same things, or possibly shed light on a topic or situation that folks wonder about.

As you can see, this is my first blog post since last July. It is the first thing that I have written, other than lesson plans and emails, since last July. I have so many words bottled up inside of me, just waiting for an outlet of some small sort. I worry that by merely writing this post, the crack will have been made and the floodgates will now open.

My life has turned on its head since last July. So much change. So much progress. So much pain. So much. So so much.

What to do? What to do...