tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63324090404887844352024-02-20T22:29:40.186-08:00my storyin her words.
Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.comBlogger394125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-38707012145361395832021-12-29T08:45:00.002-08:002021-12-29T08:45:30.957-08:0012.29.21<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhA0cX89htOVOO1EiKWvtUuk2Ws6VW_f78WixzBTOGPHn0veoJYMuo6WxydvMVdmaXUVX1zSGMX3Epv1pYR03Jjp0l09zc96VPA6D9UjSYaIMLFdkbUxH0r3ClSA-SJAuADYTvgw1v1-P-dyGT7qtBYWQ6EEUzdGHb7abt5fLn9iIZ30JFZXWYYhiZW=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhA0cX89htOVOO1EiKWvtUuk2Ws6VW_f78WixzBTOGPHn0veoJYMuo6WxydvMVdmaXUVX1zSGMX3Epv1pYR03Jjp0l09zc96VPA6D9UjSYaIMLFdkbUxH0r3ClSA-SJAuADYTvgw1v1-P-dyGT7qtBYWQ6EEUzdGHb7abt5fLn9iIZ30JFZXWYYhiZW=s320" width="144" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">How I wish I had something good to report </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But she is gone</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And I am sad. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That is all that needs to be said.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-57289069420009549802021-12-05T09:56:00.000-08:002021-12-05T09:56:11.015-08:0012.5<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRwMeGtBZucZUQEph12ACtKls7775Ojdc-JNP7vB_GMyz3GxovJvILxV-ZXveVIPqI_Z0xt2F0lBRTsHm-Y4URz5a-753ALlrsh5Bos7y_msIrnRWd38IEG2CgKF-9gthntyWU8EIMJA/s2643/20211205_082038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2643" data-original-width="1189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRwMeGtBZucZUQEph12ACtKls7775Ojdc-JNP7vB_GMyz3GxovJvILxV-ZXveVIPqI_Z0xt2F0lBRTsHm-Y4URz5a-753ALlrsh5Bos7y_msIrnRWd38IEG2CgKF-9gthntyWU8EIMJA/s320/20211205_082038.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>My earth sign is fire.<div>I often wonder if I should put stock<div>In the idea of signs and stars</div><div>And how the planets align</div><div>But when I come to the water</div><div>My body calms</div><div>I can breathe </div><div>Water soothes</div><div>These moments I believe</div><div>The opposites of earth </div><div>Bring peace to our souls.</div><div><br /></div></div>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-32809367674395775902021-11-27T17:26:00.001-08:002021-11-27T17:26:21.727-08:0011.27<p> Holding on to the good</p><p>Even if moments bring us down</p><p>Fortunate to be in a good place </p><p>And trying to hold up those</p><p>Who aren't so lucky.</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-83198575344529317092021-11-23T18:06:00.000-08:002021-11-23T18:06:04.133-08:0011.23<p> Challenges</p><p>I keep singing that song tonight.</p><p>They are good.</p><p>It's a shot at putting the past behind</p><p>Starting fresh</p><p>Letting go of hurts</p><p>And becoming something</p><p>You always wanted to become.</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-92189100797332682422021-11-22T16:54:00.001-08:002021-11-22T16:54:11.201-08:0011-22<p> The waiting is the hardest part</p><p>The not knowing</p><p>The fear of rejection</p><p>Jumping into something new</p><p>Letting go</p><p>And being vulnerable </p><p>Trying to let go</p><p>Of the worry</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-83918483091618359752021-11-02T18:39:00.001-07:002021-11-02T18:39:48.870-07:0011.2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfGVYeyOttOFSVBwA-jFoT2lmO6oXuzB9eWanPbog0-0ZSx34vcqv920Tur68IYQptSwVEKIySl5-WAnXSCNd1v6DvdhKQSalh1dnV-XCLCd1JXpr5sK-4iT8FPc7hbuBEm0KMc4q_Ts/s2643/20211031_173644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2643" data-original-width="1189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfGVYeyOttOFSVBwA-jFoT2lmO6oXuzB9eWanPbog0-0ZSx34vcqv920Tur68IYQptSwVEKIySl5-WAnXSCNd1v6DvdhKQSalh1dnV-XCLCd1JXpr5sK-4iT8FPc7hbuBEm0KMc4q_Ts/s320/20211031_173644.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>There is a little bit more confidence in where I stand<p></p><p>A pride.</p><p>But a fear</p><p>That this too can be fleeting</p><p>Not so confident after all.</p><p>I took a walk and felt relief. Breathing in the last of a season that had so many ups and downs. There is a solid ground. I pray to keep this balance.</p><p><br /></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-24311266221308966112021-10-22T17:17:00.001-07:002021-10-22T17:17:32.816-07:0010.22<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMbQxgP7WA44K7S6ShLwaoiXXaVJ7oQ2vth4WJgaIL_TH9C86EIKGjdPEWQM7RIbu9IbR4S_xePEcHeAARb7lyD0VNB4uX-H0AT-CKCoSE-KFYxUhq4C9wAglAr8z_vco_o0ur-EQI0M/s2643/20211022_080432.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2643" data-original-width="1189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMbQxgP7WA44K7S6ShLwaoiXXaVJ7oQ2vth4WJgaIL_TH9C86EIKGjdPEWQM7RIbu9IbR4S_xePEcHeAARb7lyD0VNB4uX-H0AT-CKCoSE-KFYxUhq4C9wAglAr8z_vco_o0ur-EQI0M/s320/20211022_080432.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I wake before the sun</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And sleep after the first star awakens</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is where I want to be</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amongst the frost</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The barren trees</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Life is on pause</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But it still goes on.</div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-19547575998132846422021-10-18T16:32:00.001-07:002021-11-02T19:09:04.710-07:0010.18<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPGph8nWCQhLXhFgqCfARto78uwcTfmKG0CVQSotjIG724ARNjsvgVZOBkHNpYtWnj4AIEtrp5gI-0kSSaISiRJjMZs31JyBgzPaRfHLgEMfcaVnOkJMgUQ_1eKtknUNQ2v5IfqQ9ffU/s2048/20211018_180321.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1143" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPGph8nWCQhLXhFgqCfARto78uwcTfmKG0CVQSotjIG724ARNjsvgVZOBkHNpYtWnj4AIEtrp5gI-0kSSaISiRJjMZs31JyBgzPaRfHLgEMfcaVnOkJMgUQ_1eKtknUNQ2v5IfqQ9ffU/s320/20211018_180321.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgBA-K7-wKx7la6Pd0lC4UsX1NkJFvZcabqlDzXhJv8dn1WSv8JOiwA5lETfb3fL5ZT3atYsCbQNtEZqeivUaHuqHhhfvOMPiKyW-ylpp9raJB7p8Ct1fwDBC0I9uJawc054RS2DkvrA/s2643/20211016_132048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2643" data-original-width="1189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgBA-K7-wKx7la6Pd0lC4UsX1NkJFvZcabqlDzXhJv8dn1WSv8JOiwA5lETfb3fL5ZT3atYsCbQNtEZqeivUaHuqHhhfvOMPiKyW-ylpp9raJB7p8Ct1fwDBC0I9uJawc054RS2DkvrA/s320/20211016_132048.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These full circle moments lend themselves to me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am the witness and the executor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All the battles, the tears, the losses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We have come to the other side.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We break bread at a table and share his memory.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We absorb the music on the floor of her room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We enjoy our company and share dreams.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oh if I could stay in this space forever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This full circle will surround me </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And make me whole again.</div><br /><p></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-8171171104565630582021-10-17T13:57:00.002-07:002021-10-18T19:16:23.284-07:0010.17<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSg0ARkF8InhwKshXPNqcgwkpdYkP2LrWC7SVQjajGgzqntf7VaSYlTkokoHztZ4tcq5GqffJYz3tCg4Wh6T4dxXqHJLySAzXuTvVpc6mZxlsOlve0MX41vmB2G9OSYV2PlUc0H5FCZo/s2048/20211017_144451.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1377" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSg0ARkF8InhwKshXPNqcgwkpdYkP2LrWC7SVQjajGgzqntf7VaSYlTkokoHztZ4tcq5GqffJYz3tCg4Wh6T4dxXqHJLySAzXuTvVpc6mZxlsOlve0MX41vmB2G9OSYV2PlUc0H5FCZo/w154-h229/20211017_144451.jpg" width="154" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I find myself here from time to time</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The stillness surronds </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and there is a quiet</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To see who once was a</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Son of</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Daughter of</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Husband of</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wife of.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some stones glisten, a sign of care and newness</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then the stones that can't be read</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stone wore smooth from the wind and rain</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">but ultimitaly a consequnece of the time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All of it a consequence of time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A guilt can wash over</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No one here belongs to me</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I belong to no one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">but somehow I believe</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">that just a whisper of a name</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">somehow gives life again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGS3j9_BZ7VTTelcmGj6MW4cN40RDsBtjP8Hd1-3rsO1kVG-eh8OOXsiSQIPYP0OyiHATekUBAIZw4w2VHMrLsK_IOnEGKCcf0eLr-HVdBEGGO_4Xc2ul2ZG1BtVRfTPkpZd0DhhQmYY/s2643/20211017_144049.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1189" data-original-width="2643" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGS3j9_BZ7VTTelcmGj6MW4cN40RDsBtjP8Hd1-3rsO1kVG-eh8OOXsiSQIPYP0OyiHATekUBAIZw4w2VHMrLsK_IOnEGKCcf0eLr-HVdBEGGO_4Xc2ul2ZG1BtVRfTPkpZd0DhhQmYY/s320/20211017_144049.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-37627059884363219932021-10-13T18:27:00.002-07:002021-10-13T18:27:48.853-07:0010.13<p> I was wondering when it will all come to pass</p><p>There is a lesson in this</p><p>Or maybe two or three</p><p>And once I think I understand</p><p>I doubt myself</p><p>It easier to joke and make fun of</p><p>The fate life has thrown. </p><p>Acceptance seems like a bargain</p><p>I am not willing to accept.</p><p><br /></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-84756972044169241622021-10-12T18:04:00.003-07:002021-10-13T18:28:37.170-07:0010.12<p> If there is a good day </p><p>With nothing to write about </p><p>I am placated by normalcy </p><p>And feel this feeling is nothing </p><p>To write home about .</p><p>Or hear about. </p><p>Maybe tomorrow's drama</p><p>Will lend itself to an insight</p><p>I so desperately need</p><p>Or a realization that</p><p>Maybe I am right where I am </p><p>Suppose to be.</p><p><br /></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-42616417181884081602021-10-10T05:31:00.000-07:002021-10-10T05:31:03.291-07:0010.10<p> I had hoped there was beauty</p><p>In taking care of those who took care of you</p><p>Mostly it is just heart-crushing pain</p><p>Because no matter how hard you press for dignity</p><p>The veil slips</p><p>And you are reminded </p><p>Of the pain that is yet to come.</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-58981979011705586872021-10-08T07:21:00.003-07:002021-10-08T07:21:32.389-07:0010.8<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTQQdegSpdzpXD3XStSgInWk6c9eLmqkDCmQZNNKyFwlFVMpRaXSnO-8QcFC6T1YLFEtNMFOoNTy3bwBBu006GkZVpHfnv_0-HyFrTSsS8IZUnbJzzE0NWeE-WLZy2HtLC_0eTF-B9rY/s2643/20211008_085534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2643" data-original-width="1189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTQQdegSpdzpXD3XStSgInWk6c9eLmqkDCmQZNNKyFwlFVMpRaXSnO-8QcFC6T1YLFEtNMFOoNTy3bwBBu006GkZVpHfnv_0-HyFrTSsS8IZUnbJzzE0NWeE-WLZy2HtLC_0eTF-B9rY/s320/20211008_085534.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />I find I never regret this journey<p></p><p>Because even on the</p><p>coldest</p><p>wettest </p><p>dreariest</p><p>Of days</p><p>When the body is dry</p><p>And the blood is warm</p><p>I am so thankful for the hike.</p><p><br /></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-35075774008442507032021-10-05T16:34:00.003-07:002021-10-10T05:32:31.828-07:0010/5<p> This could be just an exercise </p><p>Or an exorcism.</p><p>A chance to rid the demons</p><p>That plagued away my days</p><p><br /></p><p>Or it's like a ride on a bike</p><p>Something you never seem to lose</p><p>Always the first time on</p><p>A little stumble happens</p><p>But somehow the ability is there. </p><p><br /></p><p>Or maybe it's both.</p><p>A trial in finding my way</p><p>Back to a person I wanted to be</p><p>And not the devil I have come to be.</p><p><br /></p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-32536700957403947642021-10-02T08:31:00.001-07:002021-10-02T08:32:36.377-07:0010/2<p> I went back and looked</p><p>at all the things I have written</p><p>there was a desire to delete</p><p>the things I was not proud of</p><p>or questioned my intent</p><p>or felt embarassed of</p><p>but that is where I was at</p><p>in that moment in time</p><p>and I had to let it go</p><p>There was a few</p><p>where I could not rememeber </p><p>the anger or the hurt</p><p>that I had felt that exact time</p><p>And today I had a reminder</p><p>that the hurt goes away</p><p>and becomes a distant memory</p><p>that I am living today</p><p>I have to remind myself always</p><p>that this too shall past.</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-84545998335711703762021-09-30T02:15:00.002-07:002021-09-30T02:15:43.400-07:009/30<p> A month's end couldn't come sooner. A lot of beaten down and beaten up situations. September ate me up and spit me up. Here is hoping October is a bit more gentler.</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-32441394173122539912021-09-26T17:03:00.001-07:002021-09-26T17:03:34.216-07:009/26<p> I tend to write cryptic</p><p>Like I am afraid </p><p>That the truth will hurt</p><p>Or maybe saying a little</p><p>Is saying enough</p><p>I tend to hold onto things </p><p>For way too long</p><p>The cycle of doubt</p><p>I dream in circles</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-59653951446314579572021-09-24T19:49:00.003-07:002021-09-24T20:03:41.078-07:009/24<p> That feeling you get when you're the fifth wheel. The four sit side by side and across. And to one side is you. Part of a side but not the whole. You shout to be heard but the conversation has changed. </p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-10862833678512803922021-09-22T15:15:00.001-07:002021-09-22T15:15:30.910-07:009/22<p> Today I made a vow to shift what I am proud of. Before I worked hard to be proud of being a good mom, worker, wife. That pride in a way is dependent on others, it is dependent on how other's view the work I do. If they are happy I am happy. </p><p>For the most part those prides have been met. But suddenly but really slowly I find that what once brought me pride is now evaporating. The kids are older and their needs are less. I find myself relying on myself for the comfort I need. Work has not been the same boat I sailed on nine year ago. You learn quickly that you can't rely on others for your own happiness, you have to find it within yourself.</p><p><br /></p><p>So what made me happy? At one time this. This space. And maybe at one time my words mattered to someone. Mostly they mattered to me. And that is the magic I need to recapture. I need to shift what makes me feel proud.</p>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-49940612445933018532020-06-11T06:55:00.002-07:002020-06-11T06:55:51.405-07:00Day 13: WorkWriting from Course Work: <a href="https://www.coursera.org/learn/race-cultural-diversity-american-life/home/welcome">Race and Cultural Diversity in American Life and History</a><div><a href="https://www.coursera.org/learn/race-cultural-diversity-american-life/home/welcome">by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign</a></div><div><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: OpenSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;">In simplest terms I define myself as White and Woman. Going beyond that I can say I don’t know much else. Not because I didn’t want to know but because of what I was told. If I asked my father it was a mix of Dutch, English, Scottish and American Indian. When my sister tanned after a summer in the pool my dad informed us that we were also ‘Black.’ I knew this as a joke and can admit I laughed at the joke, even though I know it hurt my sister immensely. Not because she was sad to be Black, but sad knowing how my father felt about Black. My father further joked that it was quite possible as our roots can be traced as being white slave owners in Tennessee; and trips down south where to solidify that. The family can be traced back to the Revolutionary War in the footholds of the Virginia Mountains. There is no claim to a specific country, only the country we live in today. Today I can say I am: White, Woman, Cis, Straight, American, Teacher.</p><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;" /><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: OpenSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;">One of the cultural groups I identify with is Woman. This group is the strongest for me and I feel as a whole I have the most support. I see me in the role in every aspect, as mother, sister, daughter. In the family most of the older generation are divorced mothers who took on the role of single mom. The 80’s divorce culture did not favor the man, <a href="https://fathersrights.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2972d1; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank" title="Link: https://fathersrights.com/">my dad utilized multiple organizations set up for men to gain custody of their children.</a><a href="https://fathersrights.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2972d1; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank" title="Link: https://fathersrights.com/"> </a> By the time the 90's came, and my father gained custody I was shown the ways by a young step-mother. As a girl I was taught to not only care for family but to work and support family. I can say that my perceptions of motherhood were not quite as utopic as June Cleaver nor as horrendous as Roseanne Barr. </p><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;" /><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: OpenSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;">Not being able to claim a Motherland has never really bothered me too much. I was just American. We celebrated the holidays of a Christian Faith, marched as Americans in parades and worshiped the ‘One True God.’ Once I lived with my Step-mother more culture came into play. Her family embraced their Polish and French roots. I imagined I was Polish as I tasted pierogies and sausage. Although I won’t admit to it when ‘Dumb Polish’ jokes were told. I think I only yearned for the best parts of the cultures that I wanted to identify with. Today I cook no special dishes or prepare special feast days. Ultimately I am defined by the ‘Red, White and Blue.’</p><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;" /><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: OpenSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;">Being a White Woman Teacher has been my biggest struggle. <a href="https://madison365.com/new-federal-data-shows-wisconsin-has-largest-racial-gap-in-high-school-graduation-rates/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2972d1; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank" title="Link: https://madison365.com/new-federal-data-shows-wisconsin-has-largest-racial-gap-in-high-school-graduation-rates/">The state I live in, Wisconsin, has the worst achievement gaps in the nation, specifically as it related to the graduation of Students of Color in the nation.</a> This is eye-opening to me and made me seek out a re-education of how I work with Students of Color. I am interested in diving into the topic of modern day school segregation that is part of this course. Just glancing at the <a href="https://www.gao.gov/products/GAO-16-345" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2972d1; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank">GAO report</a> we see that the gap just doesn't lie in education but in levels of poverty for Students of Color. I am also interested in gaining insight from others regarding the doll experiment and the change in behavior in children when the experiment was first performed and now.</p>I will say this definition of how I define myself as American leads me here. Over the past few years I have been disappointed in myself and my culture. Working in the school district I have seen my role as being part of the problem and not the solution. I struggle with interacting with those, adult and child, that have a defined culture that goes beyond White America. I really had noticed this culture of White, Woman, Cis, Straight, American is a privilege I have gained the benefits of. <p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: OpenSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1f1f1f;" /></p></div>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-36055719426379789182020-06-09T18:27:00.001-07:002020-06-09T18:27:42.050-07:00Day Eleven and Twelve: ChoicesYesterday was a day back at the school. Outside. Cars of kids paraded around gathering supplies and one last good bye. It felt different. I felt different. A mix of everything. Being forced away. The need for equality for our students of color. This flicker. <div><br /></div><div>Today was a listening session. A student spoke and to me this was the biggest a-ha! moment. Seeing another teacher of color that I worked side-by-side with share his story. I didn't know their pain. Or ask about them. Connect.<br /><div><br /></div><div>I am still reading Francois Clemmon's book. I can't help but feel the punch at the choices he had to make. He faced not only being a man of color in the height of the battle to desegregation. He had to fight battles for being a gay man in the beginning of the battles for equal rights. The blatant racism. The blatant homophobia. It seemed to me that a lot of the choices he made had to do with survival. But he still made beautiful music. He still valued his desire to help. To be a helper. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think I often fear being seen as a racist. Saying the wrong thing. Doing the wrong thing. Being accused that I put up walls to protect myself. I don't give the same attention out of fear. This is just another way to be racist. I can't demand anyone point out my racism, I need to be able recognize it myself. The way I do this is by keep doing the hard work.</div><div><br /></div><div>My choices need to be to lead with compassion. </div><div><br /></div></div>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-41208300729390456152020-06-07T20:42:00.001-07:002020-06-07T20:42:13.295-07:00Day Ten: ChoicesI had made a choice not to write today, a break. But sleep is not coming as fast as the thoughts do.<div>I want to make a joke about how I have turned to Mr. Rogers in this chaotic time and isn't that the most white girl thing to do?</div><div>I really am a true Mr. Rogers' fan. I watched it as a child well beyond what most would find acceptable. I had younger siblings, so well into my teens. Fred is not a false narrative, and this is what I crave, need in my life.</div><div>Earlier this year I listened to the podcast <a href="https://www.fatherly.com/finding-fred-rogers-podcast/">'Finding Fred' by Carvell Wallace</a> which sparked an interest in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Officer-Clemmons-Dr-Fran%C3%A7ois-S-ebook/dp/B07WCSLV81">Francois Clemmons' autobiography. </a> Which came out early last month. I</div>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-46798534388470792322020-06-06T18:30:00.003-07:002020-06-06T20:31:38.470-07:00Day Nine: A little betterI have been thinking a lot about<a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/baratunde_thurston_how_to_deconstruct_racism_one_headline_at_a_time?utm_campaign=social&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_content=talk&utm_term=global-social%20issues&fbclid=IwAR3NVTOPEaFkUkhppah0eT6KzdMdE3oieWMhM8Sl7FR1fsTpdEJoihHdMAw" target="_blank"> this Ted Talk</a> by Baratunde Thurston. A lot of what I am learning is about a pause. To stop and think before my reaction becomes an action of racism. This seems simple but I know it is not. I have 42 years of learnt behavior to unravel. To adjust and renew. I am going to make mistakes. I am going to hurt people. I will not walk into school next year the best teacher to brown and black students. I will just be ready to do better. Be better. <br />
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<a href="https://twitter.com/IjeomaOluo?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor" target="_blank">This helps too....</a></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/IjeomaOluo?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor" target="_blank"><img height="272" src="https://scontent-ort2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/101896416_10158005451728301_8788358159770058752_n.jpg?_nc_cat=111&_nc_sid=730e14&_nc_oc=AQm4cJmGl97YoE44M4p6uPDvemAERveULdv3mHOKCjm4t1-RAdSLTkBR5rnzdy48qWk&_nc_ht=scontent-ort2-1.xx&oh=0e74a6a3a037f8521db429e6e29043cb&oe=5F0398C1" width="320" /></a> </div>
Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-51164441983497838112020-06-05T15:12:00.000-07:002020-06-05T15:12:05.257-07:00Day Eight: Real LifeToday I was dealing with the stuff regular life throws at you, and then some. Major care-givers fatigue. Caring for issues with family and still needing to work with students and find cooperation with the kids in their school. Almost ALMOST done with the school year. One more week to go, which is crazy as everyone else has been living their summer.<div><br /></div><div>I finished <i>Between the World and Me </i>by Ta-Nehisi Coates. This book appealed to the poetic side of me, the real side that captures real emotions and feelings. It was heart-wrenching because it was so real. I think empathy grows when you can see someone's real. It was real. And some points too real, the UNCOMFORTABLE I have been hearing so much about. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finishing up the school year means helping students with last minute projects and I saw that realness from one of my find students. I so would like to get into specifics but this feels so sacred. I don't know if I would have saw this realness, this sacred truth, if I hadn't dived into Mr. Coates. For that I am eternally grateful. This is what it is all about.</div><div><br /></div><div>I talked with a neighbor, friend, young black woman that I watched grow-up. Our conversation was brief. I asked "If I had to go back in the classroom tomorrow what is the one change I could make?" </div><div>Her reply rocked me: "Just ask how we are doing?" A simple desire. An everyday gesture. She stated she often felt the sad she felt, the frustration she felt, the anxiety she felt was never acknowledged. Those simple human feelings were twisted and manipulated. The request seemed simple but not simple. This one human gesture could mean so much to someone. </div><div>I needed to sit on this and really consider what she said. Our conversation was short but it said a lot. </div>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6332409040488784435.post-4444039647365366802020-06-04T16:42:00.001-07:002020-06-04T16:42:29.708-07:00Day Seven: FeelingsAll the too much and not enough yesterday made me pause today. <div>I talked with a student today and so much to process there. </div><div>Breathe. </div><div><br /></div>Susan Lindgrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05413881180512087964noreply@blogger.com0