The Old and the New

This morning I woke up to rain.  I cannot think when in the last few years I have not been happy to hear rain except perhaps when I was driving. I know that it makes everything sloppy and squelchy, but I  started fretting about rain and lack of it a few years ago.  Maybe this is a good way to end the year;  I would like to think it is an omen of more coming rains in this new year.

There are so many things I want to see us put behind us, not just drought of the land. When I look at my immediate family, my wider family, and our family of friends, I think we must be an enduring lot, for the past year has not been an easy one.

For me and mine, we have struggled with finding new jobs.  I know Jack is unspeakably frustrated on that front.  I found a job, but it has been a rough transition.  The kind of rough when I come home having somehow having rubbed my make up off when I buried my face in my hands again.  The kind of rough that keeps me always on edge and never really relaxing.  I have watched my parents struggle with job issues as my dad escaped his job in Saudi Arabia, but ended up still working away during the week.  I know my mom is so tired of only having him around on the weekend.

The Wilsons and Ruckers have dealt with countless stomach bugs, trouble with bones and joints, major surgeries, heart break, marriages failing, death, livestock problems . . . The list just goes on and on.  My mother can either be able to walk or take the medicine that keeps her cholesterol in check, but not both. My grandparents and Jack's parents (who are all 80ish) are always dealing with the frailties of age and life has become tenuous.  It just seems to be a battle of small things that wear us down.

I know that this hard year has been unspeakably hard for my family of friends.  We watched from afar as Cindy and Chris battled cancer and had to hope that she was strengthened by the love from her vast circle of friends and family.  I have worried so much for her this year, even though I know she is strong and had the help of those closer.  And then Hooper, that has been one more weight.

I look at the rest of the circle and see friends who have have lost parents this year.  There were house fires.  Apartments that didn't happen.  School that seems never ending.  I see friends who work so hard. Who juggle stolen phones and house repairs.  Who learn new things like buying cars.  Who write plays and make quilts.  Who manage more stress  than I can fathom.

It has just been a hard year.  A year of loss, of struggle, a year of enduring.  I do see some bright spots though.  Just the fact that Talaura is still pursuing her dream.  Misti is almost there.  I see some love blooming in her life.  Cindy writes of things of beauty.  She finds some joy in her little house and garden.  She ventures more than I ever could.  I see new relationships forming for my brother.  I see my child overcoming some hurdles.  I see reason to hope.

So in this last post of the year, I pray this for us, all of us who read and post here.   May this year be a year of renewal.  Let us be given new purpose, new strength, and new grace. May we be kinder to ourselves and to each other.  Let us have what we need, what we truly need.  Homes.  Jobs.  Loves.  Health.  I ask for blessings to rain down on us, soaking into our lives.

Dead Birds and Old Friends Make for Worn Out Today

Let me begin by saying that Thursday was a perfectly horrid day.  I wasn't in sync with the rest of the world.  Nothing went right.  It was with relief that I woke up Saturday with that feeling that things had balanced again, that my slate was clean.

Poor Jack.  His day wasn't as smooth.  One of the things that makes him crazy is having people at the lake.  His dad has given lots of people permission to use the lake, which isn't that bad except that sometimes they don't behave courteously.  Over the past few weeks, we have been woken at dawn by duck hunters, teens from down the road who aren't good about picking up their debris.  Yesterday, the hunters were back.  They started off badly by killing a goose and leaving it in the center of the ice.  Of course, their excuse was that they couldn't get it.  Of course not.  The lake was frozen over and they had neither boat nor dog.  Bell and I sang loudly every time we were outside, hoping to ruin their experience, but they didn't take the hint.  When Jack found the cormorant they killed, he sent them packing.  But the whole thing had him agitated.  And that cormorant?  My lovely Huxley brought it to the house for me.  It smells just heavenly, all fishy and such, and is now frozen in the snow outside the back door.

We cleaned up our filthy selves.  Bell and I had been trekking in the woods all afternoon and poking holes in the iced over lake.  She looked like she had been rolled down the hill a time or two.  Jack had been burning brush and driving the tractor.  Mmmm.  Diesel and smoke.

The day hadn't been bad, even with the hunters, but it finished on a sweet note.  We gathered at Misti's to see Talaura and Cindy while they were in.  There were new people to meet who turned out to be the right kind of funny.  It was so good to reconnect with old friends.  We took Bell, who was a bit high maintenance, but she settled down . . . eventually.  She took a lot of pictures, though I am not sure she caught any of us at our best, except Kikimama and the snowman under the tree.  Mostly, it was good food, good people, and good laughter.  I don't people to worry too much about censoring themselves around the kid.  I can live with her knowing a colorful vocabulary if it means also getting to draw from the riches of these people.  I  want Bell to learn to be with these people without being hyper, to learn to appreciate their humor and soak in their wit and wisdom.  These are the sort of people we connect with, the sort that she needs to know, who can show her different ways of thinking, how it's okay to be strong and independent but also how to be connected.

It was a cold drive home, Jack seems to have picked up some crud along the way, and we are tired this morning, but we are pretty content this morning.  I will leave my poor sick husband at home and Bell and I will finally venture down to my folks.  I think we are even going to try for the Chickasha lights since we laughed too long last night.

An Uncertain Christmas

As Christmas approached this year, I fretted a bit about the weather.  In all my years, I can think of very few holidays that weren't spent with my family.  Jack's mom and dad usually did a holiday meal the day before or after.  Sometimes his brother would be there, but often not.  I can only think of 2 holidays that one of my brothers was missing.

The predictions of snow grew daily, bouncing from a measly 20% to an ominous 100%.  I really thought I was going to be very upset about not going to Loco.  I grumbled a bit.  I took gifts down on Sunday. I waited and the sun shone.

Sure enough, the sky darkened Christmas Eve and the temps dropped.  Morning came and Jack knew that Bell and I wanted to go to the clan gathering that is a  Wilson holiday, so I made food, we bundled up, and we set forth.

We set forth for all of five miles . . . And then returned.   It was just too slick and too risky.  Oddly enough, I wasn't upset or even annoyed.  Sometime the day before I had started thinking that perhaps we just needed to be here.  The snow began in earnest, gusting huge fat flakes and obliterating the lake from view.   We bundled up and trekked across the pasture, this time to have lunch up at the big house with Harold and Rubilee.  It was a contented, peaceful day.  Dusk found the three of us curled up together under blankets watching The Christmas Story. There was time to play with Christmas gifts. Time to just be us, with us, for us.

Jack has walked to his mom's twice everyday. There have been multiple sledding outings.
Attempted snow men.  Chunks of wood skidded out on the ice of the lake.  Brush piles finally burned.  Enough mud tracked into my kitchen to plant seeds.

The roads are still too slick to venture to Loco. . . at least our drive way is.  Jack spent the morning digging his Dad's truck out to take him to the ER.  Harold just couldn't seem to breathe. They are on their way home now, after several hours at the hospital.

Perhaps we will go to Loco tomorrow.  Perhaps it will sleet tonight and we won't get there until Sunday.  I am okay with that.  I am home already.

The Up and Down, the Soberness and Magic of it All

I was slow to ease into the swing of holidays this year.  We did the usual putting of the tree on Thanksgiving weekend. We made the wickedly rummy fruitcake.  But somehow, the soberness I had just didn't shake.  There are stresses this year with jobs and lack of jobs and the wrong jobs.  Bell has a few struggles with school.  I have some worries about the Wilson half of my family and we always worry about Jack's folks.  I haven't even been on Facebook much.  I felt like I was hunkering down, just trying to make it to break.

Then last weekend, Jack brought home all that pile of Christmas music.  There are still a few songs on LP's we need to burn, favorites from my childhood like the "Do you see what I see?" song.  We copied everything else into a playlist featuring the bests of everyone from Jimmy Durante, Sinatra, Crosby, and Julie Andrews to a few more contemporary artists.

I imagine my family cringes every time I turn on the music now, but I am still smitten.  It doesn't really matter if it is Frosty the Snowman or Away in the Manger.  I like it.  Some time in the last week, I finally felt like it was Christmas and I remembered that I liked it all.  I like the pageantry.  The children's class play in which my child was the angel atop a tree.  The crowds.  The lights.  The music.  The baking and messing in the kitchen.  Eggnog.  The smells of cinnamon and nutmeg.  Boughs of evergreen tied in red ribbon.  Today was spent shopping almost the entire day, yet  I met not a single grumpy or unsmiling person. Not even the cashiers showed their weariness.  I even met a man named Princess Bob and I liked him too.  There is just magic in the air, particularly when there is a small child soaking it up with me.

The soberness is still there.  Alone in the car today, I found my self crying as I sang Silent Night.  I think of those that we loved that are not here this year, friends and family.  I think of Sandy Hook.  War.  The students I have.  I worry about grandparents who might not be here next year.  But I also think of the things that are promised and seem about to bloom.  Spring and gardens.  A new niece.  The new loves I see at working around us.  The fact that Jack and I still find things to delight in about each other.  And so overall, there is  sense of peace and hope, at least for me and mine.  

The day seemed to close on a good note.  Jack was cuing up Charlie Brown and I was making a living room picnic of bread, cheese, fruit, and wine.  I stepped to the door to evict a cat but, instead, noticed the lake.  I am not sure I have ever seen the water so still that individual tree branches and trunks were reflected.  Even though trees were bare and it was a wintry lake, the simple beauty just seemed to reinforce this mood of peace and joy I have wallowed in all day.  So, I grabbed Jack's coat and my camera and trooped down to the water to watch the sun go down, supper forgotten in that  moment when it was hard to tell which was the up and which was the down. 

Let there be music and mess

There is perfection in a day that begins with having had a solid night's sleep.  Bell crawled in our bed, but not until 7.    I luxuriated in clean sheets and a snuggle bunny.  There was good Saturday coffee.  Everyone woke up in a good mood.

Perhaps the good night's sleep was because we were all more or less well.  Jack slept in bed and not propped up in the recliner.  There was no school to fret about.

Morning found us all curled up on the couch trying to pick out Christmas music on ITunes.  My poor family does not love Christmas carols like I do, and they just endure it.  My mom always spent the entire month of December singing old fashioned songs.  As a little girl, I am not sure I knew that there was music beyond sweet melodies of Silent Night and O Christmas Tree.  She didn't go in for silly things like Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.  Most of my piano music was always in the form of these same songs.  Thus, a carol junkie was born.

We downloaded some last year, but some of my favorites are missing.  This morning, Jack foolishly revealed that his mom has loads of old LP's with Chirstmas carols.  He needs to do some work up there so I shall go rummage, even though it means putting on real clothes.  Probably leggings are not going to cut it.

My housecleaning is already done which leaves cookie messing and some bread making on the rest of the list.  My chocolate cookie dough is made and ready to bake.  Yesterday, I came home with a bag full of toppings from toffee chips to coconut to peppermint.  I foresee a mopping of the floors at the end of the day.  I wonder if I will be allowed to sing while I mop.

Tucking In

There are just days that make you want to crawl under quilts and snuggle in, your little one tucked in beside you.

That was pretty much my whole week.  Bell was sick for four days before Jacked got sick Tuesday.  I have just felt achy, throat and head hurting . . . blah.  I went to school anyway.  I so did not want to draw out the Revolution and The Age of Enlightenment over a two week break so we plowed ahead and finished up today.  Every day, though, I just came home and existed.  It was the bare minimum of housework.  Food was comforting soup.  Clothes were soft.  Homework happened in a basic sort of way.

Part of the blah was not feeling great, part of it was continuing frustration over my bad class.  Every day has just seemed to take huge effort.

 Today, though, was gray, with damp air eating its way into my bones.  The chill never went away.  It was a somber day.  I just couldn't bear to listen to the news so I avoided the work room.  The kids at least are banned their phones and it is a closed campus so most hadn't heard the news and therefore didn't talk about it.  We had class.  I prepped for next week.  I looked at lesson plans and all that good stuff.  I went through the motions.

It was the sort of day that demanded leggings and Jack's big Henley shirt, pieces of fresh bread and butter, and a lap full of Bella tucked in under a blanket.  We will hibernate for a day or two and then maybe face the world again.  We will make Christmas goodies to share tomorrow.  We will regenerate. For this night, we are just going gel, tucked in with each other watching cartoons.

The Quiet

I am really unused to quiet and solitude.   Last night Jack took her to a Girl Scout lock in and he didn't get in until after I was in bed, and now he has gone back for crafts morning.  It is so strange here.

I spent my evening in a slow bath and watching Sherlock.  I spent some of it beng weepy . . . I have been really emotional lately, some depressed, some stressed.  In such a tiny house I try not to give in to those moments because I am afraid it would be contagious.  This morning was a slow, sweet, quiet morning with Jack Dear.  We don't get many of those since we are too far away for Bell to easily stay over at my mom's.  She used to do that every now and then so we could have an "us" night.

It is chilly and damp, I've had my coffee and a smoothie.  I am curled up in leggings and one of Jack's big shirts.  Pioneer Woman is on, not Disney channel.  I am going to let myself have a bit more slow time, but I need to do some  clearing in Bell's room.  She is a hoarder and still has toys she has long out grown.  I am going to put them in a trunk and put them in the barn for now until I can finally talk her into letting go completely.  This has to happen while she is gone this morning.

I have promised to go with Jack's mama and her garden club friends to lunch and on a home tour.  I have to say this.  My mother-in-law is wonderful.  I would do anything for her . . . including  cheerfully spending this day on a home tour.  Not my thing.  I don't typically like trendy homes.  I really am not up to lots of little old ladies I don't know.  It is all far too much politeness.  Oohing and awing.  But it is for Rubilee and it is far better than lots of Girl Scout moms I might have to chit chat with.

So just a little more couch time and then I have to turn into a person with make up and everything.

Story Time Tonight is brought to you by . . .

One of the highlights of my day is bed time stories with Bell. During the day, we encourage her to read to us, but at night, I crawl in her bed.  She snuggles in next to me with a glass of warm milk, her blanket, and book of choice.  We read everything from non fiction books about snakes to classics like Charlotte's Webb.

She has been on a comic book kick for awhile.  I am not big on them.  Their story lines don't appeal to me very often, but worse, their font is hard for me to read.  I literally have trouble seeing the words.  The letters run together.  However, bed time stories are for pleasure only, so she gets to choose.

Every few nights, she picks a book.  Right now her book is usually a Skippyjon Jones.  I love these books that have  the right amount of silly with good vocabulary thrown in.  Lots of poetic devices make them appealing to the ear. Good artwork.  Funny stories.  But the best part is when Skippy and his friends, a pack  of  imaginary chihuahuas, speak in a sort of Spanish/English mash up.   Suddenly, I am channeling Cheech Moran.  I just can't help it.  By the end of the book, my si amigo sounds like a slightly stoned student from Stewie's Spanish class.  I am lost in letting my holy frijoles roll off my tongue just right.

Bell never let's me do voices.  I sneak in inflections some, but am banned from voices and accents.  If she is tired, she might not notice if I am C3PO in the Star Wars Book, but being British for Beatrix Potter is forbidden.  Cheech is the exception.  I think there is something very wrong with a child's book sounding as if  it is read by Cheech, but it is a compulsion and she likes it.

Whatever we read, it is a satisfying part of the day.  The day's woes at school and our battle of wills over homework are forgotten.  She is getting better at reading to herself. ( I think the glasses are helping because she isn't turning as many letters around. ). I am just not ready to give up this rich moment of the day yet.

Alter Ego

I really hope hope that if there other dimensions and universes and such, that my other self is graceful, her culinary endeavors smooth, and her joints not so arthritic.

I have been on a roll lately.  The kind where Jack rolls his eyes a lot.  Not the kind that gets admiring whistles.  I am not sure when this spree of goofiness started . . .

Last week, I was really looking forward to making some salsa.  I wanted the tang of lime and cilantro and the edge of salt and tomato.  I was geared up for it.  I had it all assembled and took the first taste test only to find it a little odd.  There was smokiness to it that wasn't right.  I went and got the cumin back out and added a little more.  It was permanently odd and no doctoring helped.  The next day when moving things in the cabinet, I discovered that the curry had been in the cumin spot.  I knew for sure that the second dose of cumin had been right because I had opened a new jar for that, but the first bit of curry meant the whole batch was just off.

There is a string of chipped and broken dishes.  I would love to blame carpal tunnel, but my family would assure you  that this is normal.  There are rummy sweaters.  I lost the bag of chicken last week and thought we were out.  Turns out it was in the wrong freezer.  There have been more drips, spills, and general mess than anyone should be capable of.

Tonight, though, was the worst.  I was frying ranch chicken and managed to knock a bowl full of raw chicken, yogurt, eggs, and milk off the counter.  It flew up, hit the floor and bounced. My leg dripped.  The counter.  The stove.  All of it was purely disgusting.  I should have just let the animals come in and enjoy the mess.  Instead,  I found a new roll of paper towels.  Ultimately, dinner was readied and consumed.  The dishes done, the floor mopped, the cook bathed.  All the mess has been erased.

Somewhere out there, there must be a me that has it together.  It is certain that this me is just a mess.  Jack did point out that I should move the red pepper away from where it sat next to the cinnamon on the counter, lest my smoothie in the morning have a little kick.

Ol' Dead Eye

Today is a one for the annals of Wilson-Rucker History.  A grandchild was introduced to guns.

I remember being a wee bitty girl, smaller than Bell is now, and having my grandpa set up a hay bale for the rifle to rest on.  My little arms just weren't big enough to hold it.  I learned about sighting it and learned to hit the tin cans lined on a board.  Later, I learned about loading and pistols and all that goes with guns.  Always, always it was taught that guns were revered in both their importance and danger.  They were not taken lightly or handled without care.  Children certainly didn't handle them without Grandpa right there behind us to make sure we didn't hurt ourselves or anyone else. 

I know I have city friends who would never think of owning a gun, but to some of us, they are vital. They were revered because knowing to use a gun in the country meant knowing how to put down an animal that was suffering.  It meant killing a rabid skunk.  It meant protecting livestock from predators. It meant supper sometimes.  I have  needed one a very few times, but was glad I had the necessary skills when those few times came.

Bella's grandma is a great shot.  Her aunt is really good.  I am adequate.  Bell might be great someday.  Today, Bell just sat with her dad and got a glimpse of what it is about.   She sat on the ground between her dad's legs.  He showed her how to sight and helped her hold it.  She decided it was too loud for her tastes.  That was how I felt at that age too.  It is an acquired taste perhaps.   Today, I stayed longer to do a little target practice.  You know, just in case the zombies come.

The World People

   My favorite time of day is when the sun is coming up over the lake and the valley behind us glows.  After that, dusk is sweet and gathers us into the house for the day.  But right now one of  my favorite times is now when the lights are low and tree is still lit.

    It reminds me of going to my grandparents for Christmas.  We would always arrive late at night, but the tree would still be lit so we kids could see it.  My sleepy eyes always found the world people first.  I have no idea how old these ornaments are for sure, but I know my grandma got them early on in her life with grandpa.  There are 5 of them, but I think there were a few more when I was tiny.  They are glass painted with metallic paints.  Some have bits of fabric too and some have doll like hair. There is a girl, perhaps Chinese, with a flower in her hair.  A little man who might be Eastern European or Russian looks as if he will suddenly begin to sing "Tradition. Tradition!" and then do the leaping, leg kicking dance.  One man seems to be Latin and another is wearing a very proper uniform like the guards outside of Buckingham.

When I was little bitty I would admire them daily as long as the tree was up.  I remember finally being allowed to touch them.  I was over the moon.  I remember helping take the tree down and under careful supervision, wrapping the pieces in layers of tissue paper.  When I was in college, I lived with Grandma for a year and got to put the tree up.  It was up to me to choose where the world people went.  Grandma thought it was funny that I still loved them.

When I was small, I would ask for them and Grandma would always smile and say "when you have your own family."  The first Christmas we were married, Jack and I spent Christmas with my Grandparents, and Grandma sent the world people home with me. I didn't ask; she just remembered.   They are pretty rough looking now.  Their hair has frizzed.  Their paint is dulled and flaked.  Truly, they are a bit scary, but I still love them, though the reasons have changed.   Foolishly sentimental, sappy old me.  I actually get teary every year when I open their box.

Bell can admire them, she has handled them sitting, but I hang them.  They can be hers someday.  For now, they glow gently in the lights of our tree.

The Injustice of it All

There is just something about walking down the high school hallway and spotting my child happily skipping down the way with her buddy Jake.  That happy face makes up for my bratty last hour class.

And then there is something about seeing her with head down, that small body trudging as if the world is hers to carry. My heart sinks and something catches in my throat. That was today.  As soon as she spotted me, those big blue eyes got bigger and wetter and the chin wobbled a bit.  She has some trouble with some boys knocking her around, but today was worse.  Her feelings had been trampled and abused.

I should say that Bell's social skills are lacking.  We have few friends with children.  She plays with us. She can tell you about scarab beetles and Osiris or the life cycle of a butterfly or how the moon was created,  but she isn't really good with other kids.  Jack and I were odd ducks as kids . . . still are . . . so we aren't sure what to tell her.  Jack didn't mind being a loner.  I did mind, but I never figured out the trick to it all.  I think we are just programmed to fit into Davis Hall and not the rest of the world.  Mostly, she lets the coldness roll off, ignores the turned backs, and just plays on the fringe of what ever group gives in that day.

Today, some adult was handing out candy in her building.  She tried to join the other kids, but some of the other teachers' kids wouldn't let her.  Maybe there was a reason that those kids got candy.  Maybe it was a prize for a good grade.  What is certain is she felt rejected.

I cannot fix all the world and make it nice.  I can intervene some, but I would not let her grow if I fought her battles.  Instead, we talk about standing up for ourselves when boys push us around.  We talk about forgiveness when we are rejected.  We talk about how doing our own thing is cool.  In reality, it is hard to find the balance of independence and not caring what the world thinks, of listening to Whitman, Emerson, and Thoreau.  We balance that with walking in love and making sure that we are the ones who do no harm.

We will learn how to make it. Things might get easier in high school when she can get in Ag or GT, do speech and drama . . . Find out that there are lots of weird kids out there.  But today, all I had to offer was the comfort and safety of my arms.

Some Rum with that Sweater?

A few years ago I was introduced to real fruit cake.  This is the sort that has not encountered  any sickly sweet, gummy candied fruit.  Instead, it has pounds of dried apricots and pineapple, dates and figs, sour cherries and cranberries.  Cups and cups of toasted pecans and walnuts.  Are you drooling yet?  I mix the concoction with other good things and bake very slowly.  Hours go by.

Then things get more interesting.  After I dig out some clean tea towels, I give each cake a healthy swig of rum or brandy.  This year I made mini cakes and tried all sorts of liqueurs on them. (My father-in-law has already claimed the role of official taste tester so don't beg).  Once each cake is pleasantly damp and wafting fumes of alcohol from my now sticky kitchen, it is wrapped in a towel.  I further ensure its integrity by sealing it up in a zip lock bag.  Now each will get to ripen for a month with periodic re-wettings with the rum or brandy . . . Or amaretto . . . Or . . .

In years past, the fruit cakes lived in a dark cupboard of the laundry room.  Oh, if life were so simple.  My washer is in my kitchen and the dryer is in the well house.  There are no cupboards out there, but I have a strong suspicion there are lots of mice.  The kitchen is much too warm.

To me, the solution was perfectly logical.  The only dark, cool place that was also cat/mouse/dog proof was the hall linen closet.  My sweater drawer had a little space, so those aromatic little cakes were tucked in with the cardigans and cowl necked sweaters as if they belonged.  I saw nothing wrong with this, though my family bluntly laughed at me.

It still seems a good idea, though I had no idea that THAT much smell would leak out of those sealed bags.  I opened the drawer for the first time today for a cardigan and it was a little stout.  I am sure I aired out by the time I got to school.  Let us hope that the look from the student at my desk today was at my crazy hair and not my rummy self.  My principal always gives me a hard time so after a funny look from her too, I just stayed in room.  It just seemed the least complicated.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

Our tree is up and in typical Wilson - Rucker fashion, it is a bit haphazard.  That's okay.  By the time it comes down, it will be positively disheveled.  I hold with the notion that trees are for children.  They are magic, delight, and wonder all lit up and tinseled to our heart's desire, even the child's heart in this grown up body.  When I was a child, my mother always made hot chocolate and we decorated the tree  we had all trooped into a pasture to cut down.  If she was really good, there was singing of Christmas carols too.   Sappy, right?  Not for us.   It was just mystical.

Trees, at least for me, are not about decor, design, or style.  I shall never end up with a tree that is decorated in just one color or theme.  Better Homes and Gardens won't be doing a holiday photo shoot with us.

Instead, it is a family tree.  I did discreetly move a few of the 7 identical balls off the single branch that held them.  I might have moved a few of the favorite things out of cat pawing reach.  Overall, though, it was decorated by Bell and me (Jack brought it in,  put it up, and did the lights) and we used a hodge podge of decorations that were given to us and that we made, filling in the gaps with a few store bought things.

Some favorites on the tree are the eggs that Jack and I blew out and painted when he helped me put up my first tree after I was on my own.  We dyed them with Rit dye and then blew the centers out.  The problem was that the dye rubbed off on our mouths, and we both walked around for a few days with rainbow lips.    A lot have been broken so Bell and I made more last year to go with the few originals.  (We blew first, colored second.  Yep, older and wiser).  There are the ginger bread men that Jack and I made the first year we were married.  Once again, some have been broken so Bell and I made some additions two years ago.  Of course, there is an ornament that Bell has picked out every year, sometimes Hallmark, sometimes not.  I might be seeing a definite Disney theme here.

The stockings have been found.  Bell put the "God people" under the tree (I do realize there is some culture clashing in that).  The iron reindeer are out.  The Elf has been making his appearances and even whisked the Christmas list away last night.  Right now, it is pretty and perfect, but it is temporary.  Buttercup has already been removed from it once.  She was giving it the hairy eyeball and swatting ornaments.   Coco just wants to alternately sleep on the tree skirt and wrestle other cats under the tree.  Huxley has stolen and eaten a 2 year old gingerbread man.    In a few weeks, the lower branches will have been redecorated several times as whims seize my child.   That is all fine.  It is what Christmas trees are for at this house.

Good Company Feeds the Soul

The last day of a break is always a little dismal.  I don't ever want to leave that routine of getting home and family things done with out being rushed.  But this break is done and over.

We had planned on being at church and then dinner with the family, but church got nixed when Jack needed to help his mom this morning with some car issues.  This was the last chance to see my grands though, so we went ahead and headed to Loco for lunch.  I used to see my grandparents almost every day they visited since their cabin is right up the trail from our old house, but they were down 10 days this time and we only managed two visits.  Not cool.  Not cool.

It was a bittersweet visit.  I can tell that they have aged a lot in the last year and that makes me sad.  I have always been super close to them and even lived with them twice, so the whole old age thing makes me weepy and morose, but it was so right to be able to pop down to the cabin to check in on them and have them invite my child to stay for lunch.  According to Bell, it was the best lunch ever with each bite filling her mouth with "an explosion of taste."  Jack and I lunched up at the big house because we had company.

One of the church families came for lunch and fellowship.  Their kids and my sister and brother are all friends and both families are enjoying becoming better friends.  My grandparents came for dessert and everyone chatted and laughed while the younger set played cards.  It was good to see everyone from 6 to 83 enjoying each other's company.  We all knew that we were on the same page in life, choosing the same things.  There was no awkwardness, no pretense.  Just fellowship.

Not a single exciting thing happened today.  Instead, it was the sort of day that left me feeling content, blessed . . . My soul just felt fed from the day with those I loved and admired.

Sisters can be super-cool amazing

Since we were Ruckers on Thanksgiving day, we got to be Wilsons yesterday.  We loaded up our food contributions and drove to Loco in the sunshine and wind.

It was a typical holiday meal for us.  All five of us children plus two spouses and three children were there at my parents' house.  My grandparents made it down.  There were no extras this year, no friends, no girlfriends.  Just us.  The food was perfect right down to the stuffing that was my mama's mother's recipe.  Also typical of my family, there was a house project going on.  It is a rare year that my dad hasn't been building or remodeling something.  The addition he built for me when I had given up on Jack.  My grandparents' cabin.  This year he was putting a hardwood floor in my addition that has now become a huge family room. That means some sawdust, a really loud nail gun and and a planer on the porch.  There were stories, laughter, and squealing of small children.

I think one of the highlights of the day was my sister.  Rachel and I have an odd sibling relationship.  I am nearly 20 years older than her and never lived at home much after she was born.  I was almost grown when Ian was born, so he and I never got fuss either.  That means that they never bit the foot off my Barbie (thanks Tucker) or got barbecue sauce on my friend (and thanks Ben).

Ra has always been a quirky kid - artsy, tomboyish, funny sense of humor. In the last year, she has really blossomed into a gorgeous young woman, but she is still quirky and artsy.   Really the only difference is that she now wears lipgloss to ride a horse and young men drool when she walks past.  Yesterday, she let me read her children's story that she is writing.  It was about two small children who go plum picking with their mother.  She had notes in the margins about what pictures should be for certain paragraphs. I felt like I was reading my childhood or perhaps about when I have taken Bell berry picking.  It was vivid yet written in language that would appeal to a child.  The story might have been too real for city people who don't know about cow skeletons in pastures, but perhaps that realness is what appealed to me.  It reminded me of  Robert McCloskey's  Blueberries for Sal.  It was not surprising that sis wrote something worthy of any child's bookshelf.  She has made a lot of my jewelry.  I have a pile of artwork that she has sketched or painted for our house.  She is just that super cool kind of kid.  It is just that she isn't a kid any more.  She is the kind of girl I want Bell to grow up to be.

The Gathering of the Clan

 I see all these jokes on Facebook about enduring family gatherings, and I honestly don't get those jokes. When I was a little girl up until after Isabella was born, Thanksgiving and Christmas always meant a trek across the state to Bluejacket.  Holidays meant that all of  Dad's family would gather at my grandparents' house or at one of Grandpa's sibling's homes.

There was no dread of unpleasant relatives, no one to avoid.  It was the simply the gathering of the Wilson clan . . . and we were a clan.  There might be 15 to 25 of us on any given holiday.  It was a time of reconnecting, of good food that never saw the inside of a can or box, it was the children's table.  Before dinner it was playing on hay bales and being ran out of the kitchen.  Some years it was the big sled being pulled by the tractor.  On warm years after dinner, it was shooting skeet or just bottles and cans, all the while showing off new guns, cherishing old ones, and teaching the children the art of being a good shot.  Often there was a lot going on during those holiday weekends.  Wood was cut for Grandpa.  We picked pecans.  We butchered a hog or a steer and maybe a deer.  Movies and popcorn and shelling nuts made up our evenings.  The very first year Jack came, he got sucked into butchering day . . . I remember my family being proud that he just jumped right in as part of them.  My mom said he was more Wilson than some of the Wilsons.

The best and most important part was the stories.  As we sat around the big table, we didn't have small talk or discuss politics.  Instead the adults told the stories of their youth, of war and depression, of high jinks and escapades.  Grandpa would tell of pranks he pulled with Uncle Bob.  Grandma might tell of the time she looked out a window and saw a handsome man on the street so she whistled at that man who became Grandpa.   Perhaps there is the story of the time Uncle Ben shot Dad with the BB gun or the time Dad dumped ice water on a sunbathing Aunt Margaret.   We learned the lore of the family, of what and who we came from.

 We became a clan.  If you do a kindness for one of us, we are all grateful.  If you wrong one of us, you will contend with all of us. We became a clan that loves each other no matter what, even if we don't always agree on politics.  We became a clan that counted every cousin family, no matter how distant.

My dad's parents are all that is left of that older generation.  The distant cousins are all moved away and we have outgrown my grandparents home.  I think they must be in awe that though they only had two sons, they now have 8 grown grandchildren and three great grands.  We simply ooze out of the house now, so the gatherings have relocated to Mama's house.  My Grandparents come down,  my sibs are all there.  My child fights with her cousins.  But the stories are still told and we are still family, still part of the clan.

It's My Job

Last week was a dark week and I have thought long and hard about writing about it . . . I read about teachers who get fired over things that show up online.

Every week, I am supposed to contact the parent of each student who is failing.  I always try to get all this done using the school's computer and phones, but it does not always work that way.  There is one particular parent that I was unable to get in touch with and ended up calling him from my cell one evening. The parent was polite and seemed supportive.  There were no problems with the call until a week later.

The student of said parent often has trouble getting to class on time and the principal gave the student some days of in school suspension.  The kid was furious and believed I was lying about the tardies. At bedtime I received a ugly text message saying a few choice words and that I "needed to change it."  No name.  No specification as to what "it" was. I was angry, but just deleted it and determined that I was not going to let it ruin my evening.  I was tired and did not really think about who might have sent the text.  I just deleted it.  It did ruin my evening though.  I fretted, tossed, and stewed myself into a midnight headache.

Morning came with another text saying that ignoring the sender would not make "it" go away. By now, I had decided I knew who was sending the messages and my suspicions were confirmed with a little sleuthing at school.  The tardy student had been texting and got my number from said parent.  By now I was angry.  Jack had teased me about something before school not knowing about the texts.  I responded with a complete melt down full of tears and snot.  This was not a good way to begin the day.

I, of course, headed straight for my principal's office.  She was pretty angry too.  The kid was questioned, refused to give up the cell phone to be checked, I had to write up a detailed report, and I was still angry.  I was angry because it made me look like I can't handle my class.  I was angry because I have worked so hard to help this kid who is often a jerk.  I was angry that because no actual threat had been made there was little I could do, especially since I had deleted the first email.  I was angry that Jack now felt like he wasn't doing his job as protector of the family.  I was angry that this kid could  waltz back to my class having gotten away with being rude and ugly.        

I spoke with kid later in the day about an assignment.  Oh so polite.  This kid was a model of good manners.  That seemed to just take the heart out of my week. I am over it, it is a new week, I have 90 other kids that I mostly enjoy.    I actually spent the afternoon helping this kid salvage the research paper that had been ignored for a week even though it was due today. Crazy and weird, I know, but I need to be professional.  There cannot be any suspicion that I am being vindictive.  It is my job to teach.   But I won't forget.  My desk drawer will stay locked.  I will watch my child closely on her way to school.  I will be vigilant . . . Because that is my job too.

Are You Sure About That?

The kids were hyped up today after a long weekend and in anticipation of another long weekend to come next week.  Some skipped.  Some showed up with more bad parenting issues that I was supposed to fix.  Some were lazy and some were just goofy.  It was one of those days when I really didn't have to say much.

Heard in my room today:

Them:  Caesar was a real person.  He was a Greek God.
     Me: Are you sure about that?  (followed by a crash course in geography and mythology)

Them:  The book is wrong.  Poe was to British.
      Me:  Are you sure about that?   (Followed by directions to an encyclopedia)

Them (looking at some posters I put up):  Why did you up all those billboards?
      Me. . . Raised eyebrow and silent

Them:  I decided I am just going to finish my project tomorrow.  You'll still take it, right?
     Me:  Are you sure about that?  (followed by an inquiry about their intent in passing my class)

Them:  You aren't nearly as old as we thought!
     Me:  more raised eyebrows and silence followed by head shaking


Pretty much every hour there was someone just wasn't on the same page with me.  Who knows if that kid even had a page.  And then seventh hour came.  One kid was razzing the other about his typing.  The second, very loudly proclaimed, "look, I am just a chicken pecker!"

At this point I just turned to the wall and silently shook with laughter. I am not sure if he ever figured out that he was a "hunt and peck" typist rather than just a chicken pecker.

Them (as the bell rang):  Mrs. Rucker, what kinda class are you runnin'?
     Me:  I wish I knew.  Let's go home
   

Night Alarums or Cat Tales

Let me begin by saying that 1) I have no desire to cause any animal harm and 2) no animals have been harmed.  That being said, I am sure that some of pet loving friends may never speak to me again after reading this.

I am a classic non-sleeper. Usually takes me forever to get to sleep, wake up often and cannot get back to sleep, yada, yada, yada.  Since we moved, I have mostly slept well.  Still takes me a long time to get to sleep, buy once there I stay there until 5ish.  The ugliness of no sleep has taken over again, but I blame the animals in our house.

Huxley sleeps in the house because he barks all night if left out.  So regardless of where we put his nice bed, he spends the night wedging himself under our bed and then trying to roll over.  Gets stuck. Collar jingles.  Bed shakes.  I am awake.

Dr. Coconut was in until he started jumping on Bell and demanding to go out at 3 a.m.  Princess Buttercup mostly does okay, but she sometimes jumps on Bell too.  Then I have a small body wedging herself into my bed, leaving no room for me.

Nora Jane has been the catalyst of my ire.  Nora spent all summer meowing to come in.  I got worn down.  I felt guilty because the other cats came in for some petting and loving, but poor Nora was all alone.  Now please remember that she is NOT our cat.  Just a stray.  Nevertheless, I caved and started letting her in a bit in the morning and in the evening.  Nora thanked me by first acting sweet.  Then she snuck into the kitchen ate the top off the cooling pizza.  The next day she had some more pizza. One day it was sweet and sour pork when I stepped out of the kitchen for a moment.  Despite all the scolding, Jack let her stay in one night.  She peed on Bell's bed.  Needless, to say Nora is back to outside status.  Now she scratches as the door.  12.3.5. All night.  Huxley and I hear her.  Yesterday morning in the shower at an ungodly early hour, I wondered what would happen if we plastered the door with unfolded glue traps.  I bet the scratching would become shrieking and I surely would not want to be the one to unstick her.  But just maybe she would go sleep in the barn. The idea of electrifying the back door held possibility.   Not to hurt, just to give a tiny shock.  Just enough to warn her back.

My temper had settled a bit until this morning Buttercup decided to chase her tail under the edge of the bed.  I am sure she didn't realize that it was my side or that she was making noise.  I am sure that it was purely innocent that she returned at 5 to do it some more.  Maybe she will have more space to chase her tail in the yard tonight.

Whew!

I have certainly griped and by turns fretted about my up coming evaluations enough that I am sure you guys are sick up to your eye balls of it. Today I got an email from the site where our observations and evals  are kept track of.  So far my principal has done one walk through and two observations that all added up into one evaluation.  I got a mix of  effectives and highly effectives.  I was worried a bit.   Last time the boss visited, I was in a contest of wills with the grading program and my kids were getting started on a writing assignment.  I wasn't teaching a lesson.  I wasn't walking around the room yet monitoring.  It was not getting things off to good start and I did fret a bit the rest of the day.

Finally today, the whole eval posted and I could breathe again.  I have always worked hard but I have also had times when I could have worked harder.  I am not really sure there is a harder right now.  I am certainly not saying that I have all the techniques or answers, but right now, I am about maxed out.  It was satisfying to see that validated today.

After school I helped a kid that was behind.  Tomorrow I am off to something called ILI (imaginative learning institute).  I can't even just be present since I am going with one of the principals. Maybe I will come back with some new ideas or at least new energy.  What ever it is, I can breath for a bit before the last two observations of the year come.

News Flash: Ice Girl Saves the Day

Last night, I took Bell to do the whole Halloween thing.  We were going  trick-or-treating with friends of ours.   We have gone together before since their kid and ours are best friends, but they are moving so it  was our last chance to do this together.  The kids were a little sad.

I have to say that Bell's costume was typical Rucker -a combination of her genius and our last minute desperation.  Bell was a garden variety fairy  last year.  It really went against my upbringing to let her go looking like every other little girl, so this year I was thrilled when she went with her own super hero:  Ice Girl.  (I know, she is wearing a snowflake and not ice, but I couldn't find a big crystal).  I had great aspirations for this costume, but suddenly time was up and we were using face glitter and snowflakes and a silver cape sewn to her shirt. Bell is like having a pet crow sometimes - the flashier and more glittery, the more she is interested.  Thankfully, it got the official Bell Stamp of Approval.

We were a little rushed and I felt scattered, but Bell was just her cheerful self, trooping along with her pumpkin bucket bouncing against her leg. The kids lost their somberness in the fun of the evening.  I got a chance to gab with a friend.

I hate doing these things without Jack - almost feels disloyal, but at least I had my silver caped heroine beside me ready to save me from villains or at least hold my hand and keep it warm.

Antsy

This was written last night when the insomnia and distractions almost got me.  But they did not.  Somehow, the act of writing was almost as numbing as reading Campbell at bed time.   I was literally too sleepy to post:

I have about forty two things on the back burner of my brain.  Even though they are all things that can wait, I want to just hurry up and go.  I am not really a patient person.  As soon as I get an idea in my head, it becomes either an obsessive need or it is something I fret over.

This moment right now should be about losing my self in sleep.  Instead I hear Jack's cousin's hounds down by the water.  I am sure they are after a coon and I am sure they think it is fun.  I am not having  as much fun as they are.  The geese have been stirred up and sound like they are going take the roof with them as they fly over.  So I am awake and I list.

I know a lot of list makers.  I am sure it is a control thing for me.  Yep, I am super organized, but better, it gives me a semblance of control over the circus life we live.

So this list.  The haircut I need to get from Misti.  The fall pic we need to do for the family Christmas card.  Jack wants the cards out early so people have our new address.  The perfect trick for my challenging hour - the fix from last week has already worn off.  It may just be that I have to get beyond bitchy and there be no room for any sort of fun.  Insurance.  What to do with Nora the cat.  Find a tree to plant in front.  Christmas shopping.

And before I know it, the list has taken on a life of its own and I am frantic about things that do not matter tonight.  So the dogs will bark.  They always get quiet eventually.  I have not harmed the owner of said dogs.  Yet.

Becoming My Mother

A Sunday usually finds us up early, if not bright, and on our way to church.  We still go to church  in Velma  even though it a long drive.  It means an early morning, but it is where we are fed, where our church family is.  Afterwards, we go home to my parents' house for dinner and visiting.  Really, lots  and lots of visiting.  Mom and I discuss everything under the sun from politics in third world countries to the progress on their house remodeling.

Bell thinks it is funny that I still like to see my mom that much.  She knows Grandma Jo is my mom,  but  Bell doesn't think about my mom and I having a relationship.  So many of the things I do with Isabella are the things that someone did with me.  Bella started cooking with me long before she was 2.  I remember sitting on my grandma's counter with a mixing spoon.  My momma always made cookies or bread and let us kids mess in it with her, never complaining about the flour in the flour or a dropped egg. The "little mouse " game is one my Aunt Margaret played with me.  I used to be her Bitty Girl and now Bell is mine.  I remember helping my mother and grandmother in the garden just as I let Bell do.
Tonight Isabella was explaining the word appropriate to me.  Then she gave me a little lesson on sarcasm.  I don't know if I knew about sarcasm at her age, but I do know all my big words as a child came not just from books, but from my mother.

We did not go to church today because there was not a regular hunch service and because I thought we might have company (which did not come to pass - this house needs some guests).  I got crazy amounts of work done from cooking and cleaning to getting winter coat and pjs ordered for Bell.  Despite feeling like the super housewife today, I did still miss my mom.  She is the sort of mom who invests time in her tribe of children, not just money.    So today, even though I was busy, I made sure there was time for pumpkin carving.  A walk to Grandma Rubilee's with an apple pie to share.  A little lap time before bed.  A tuck-in story.  Some people always make becoming one's parents sound bad, derisive.  I would take it as a compliment.

And Then Tuesday Came

There were no tears today.  There were lots of laughs over "by zombies" thanks to that lesson on active and passive voice.  There were questions about paraphrasing and parenthetical citations.  But no tears.

Yesterday, every time I thought about school, even when I was writing the Nitty Gritty, I would tear up.  And I wrote and complained and vented.  And then I was encouraged.  I was encouraged by friends and former co-workers.  But then the nicest thing happened.  I had an Ann moment.  Misti and Talaura will know what I mean because they were given the same blessing of having Ann Frankland as a guide, teacher, encourager . . . super amazing woman that taught us to think.  I have always held Ann, Sarah Webb, Roger (and others) up as my gold standard.  That is what I want to be when I am in class.  I want to give students permission to be themselves, to think for themselves, to dream, to find their bliss and not let go.  Oh yeah, there are state standards and all that too.  

Sometimes, it is really hard to tell if I am hitting the mark.  There are always kids who sit, eyes glazed over just waiting for the bell, and then there are kids that listen.  But do they get it?

And then just as I was shutting down all the gizmos for the night, I got an email from a student, a friend now, who once sat in my class.   She got it.  She appreciated it but more importantly, she got - from me- all those things that Ann gave us.  Permission.  Inspiration.  Courage.  Independence.  The idea of a powerful woman.

And I cried and snotted some more. Thankful tears.  Reassured, I went back to my challenging class today.  They were still a handful, but I don't think they enjoyed it as much today.  Turns out I still had a few tricks in my magic bag of class management.  I handled them with grace because some one reminded me that I could.  The rest of us learned a little that hour.

Thank you my friends.

Mondays - Let this one not be repeated

I will honestly say that I got a wee bit of refresher in changing schools.  Maybe it was just a change of scenery.  Fewer students.  Working harder at teaching. I don't know, but I have not been quite as burned out feeling this year.

Until today.  Today may be the first day I cried on the way home in 15 years.  I don't mean about heartbreaking situations or death;  I have cried buckets over those things.  I mean flat out bad behavior. The kind that made me cry and then abandon tears for hard exercise.

My day sails usually sails by so smoothly as far as the kids go. Except for 1 class. It is a small class but has an over abundance personality.  In a typical day, all teachers see kids whose parents don't parent, whether it is from lack of interest or lack of ability.  And those children consume the bulk of our attention.  Either we are nudging and prodding and nurturing or we are being disciplinarians.  Somewhere in there, we actually teach our subjects.  I don't know what factors came into play today.  But I know I have no desire to baby sit and I am not qualified to be a therapist.

Today, after dealing with a very few kids who were determined to act up, after dealing with their indignation at being punished, after listening to them convince themselves that they were innocent, I was reminded that this is what makes me weary.

Before you say it, yes I am tired.  Yes, I am sure I will feel better tomorrow.  Yes, I know this is what I signed on for.  Yes, I know that good teachers are so important.  Yes, I want Bell to have good dedicated  teachers.  I know.  I get it.  And some days,  I really think that education should be a privilege and not a requirement.  I am sure a shovel could be found for those not interested.  Some days I really just want to walk away.

But I am not going to walk away and I am not willing to be a bad teacher.  So tomorrow, maybe the saints of strategy will send something my way.

Seeing the Things We See

Over and over again since we moved, I have been reminded what a lovely place it is to which we have moved. 

The garden is mown down and tidy. But that is not it. It is the gorgeous yellow - not canary, not butter - but yellow with a tinge of green that the huge elm down at the lake has turned. 

We had a frost last Monday morning that was the ruination of my garden, but it was the glorification of the trees. Perhaps they had been changing and I just was not seeing. Now, I am seeing the scarlet sumac that I always look forward to and more color in the autumn trees than I  am used to. Possibly, it is being just a bit further north, and possibly, our recent rains 

helped.

The other thing I am smitten with is the fields. I purely love fields of green winter wheat - they just are so lush and look like somewhere one should lie down and watch the clouds.  On the country road I drive every day, some fields have been planted with something that was not harvested or at least not cut down - milo perhaps. The plants have turned golden brown, still neat in their assigned rows. In multiple fields, I see only strips and patches that have been cut rather than the entire field, but I do not know why. I know nothing about bird hunting, but I wonder if these plots are supposed to be providing food and cover for birds. Maybe even food for the deer.  Jack thinks the field across from us is patchy just because the farmer got tired of mowing, which is a funny thought.

I am not ready for this show to be replaced with winter.  I am still content with crisp beginnings and endings and warm in-betweens. I am more than content with the view, with seeing where I live.

Urban Adventurer

Today, we traded our muddy edged pants that we wear to the pasture for our town clothes and pretended we were city people.

A month ago, we promised Bell that we would take a vacation over this break, but budgets and jobs conspired against us.  We still hope to at least go on an over night in the next month or so, but for today we went to Bricktown.  Bell had never really been in downtown OKC before and I think she enjoyed the different sights.  She particularly liked crosswalks.

Our primary destination was Pumpkinville at the Myriad Gardens.  In hindsight, it was really meant for kids a bit younger, but she really enjoyed herself.  She made a salt dough pumpkin, decorated a real pumpkin, took a turn at a cider press . . . and fell down a slide and face planted.  Blood.  Lots of blood.  But she rebounded quickly and had more fun.

We explored the Oklahoma Land Run Monument then walked along the canal and grabbed lunch. We then headed back to the Gardens and went in the Crystal Bridge.  That is one of our favorite places.  I remember trips there forever ago when it was just the two of us.  It was probably the second place Jack ever took me back in our college days.  Today was Bell's first time and she was enchanted.  She staked out a spot on a bridge over the fishy stream and under the hanging vines.  It was her "thinking" spot and we old people were not welcome.  So she mediated with the coy and we relaxed in the sun.  It was pleasure for us to watch her enjoy something we loved.  We are thinking we probably need to get a membership.

We ended on a sweet note.  Our car was parked at Bass Pro so on our way back to the car, we made a detour at Pinkitzel.  Bell had a beautiful cupcake and we called it a beautiful day.

Stressed a bit

For some reason this fall which I soooo looked forward to has just blown chunks to quote Jack Dear.

I think am still so  stressed about work that I am stressed about things I cannot change.  I know for certain that I am doing a good job of teaching with the sophomores.  We have done so much more writing that is more academic and less personal, unlike last year.   We are starting a big project in a week that I am doing jointly with other classes  . . really out of my comfort zone though that is exactly why I am doing it.  I need to push myself a bit more so I have agreed to do this project with the other sophomore teacher.   My juniors started research for our big Great Americans paper last week.  Guess what I get to spend my next month doing?  I hate teaching research, but mostly because I dread the grading which starts a month from tomorrow.    No matter what, I am in this never ending loop of crazy fast prepping-teaching-grading.

And somewhere the stress from the never ending loop is bleeding through into my own life.  I should not fret about the garden dying with the frost.  There really weren't that many tomatoes left and the pumpkin patch was a bust anyway.  But I did fret.  And I fret about Bell - she got glasses this week but it was a really weird diagnosis.  My own body is just getting old or it has gone on strike because of stress.  For weeks and weeks, I have agonized over the possibility of being pregnant again.  Don't you dare snicker.  I would just sit down and cry if it were true.  It is not true, but this approaching 40 body has just decided to not behave any more in so many ways.  I am doing weird things like staying the same weight with out dieting.  I even sleep hard at night and that never happens . . . except when I was pregnant with Bell. I fretted and fretted about my hand . . .

 And then days after the shots should have kicked in and I had resigned my self to surgery, I really began to pray about it.  I just could not fathom the money and complications of surgery and asked for healing.  It is not 100% better, but it only gets numb a few times a week.  Still no strength or grip, but I can live with the current state for a long time.          

I used to say that I worked best under stress.  I would always pull things together and do well.  I think I need to get back to everyday workouts instead of a few days a week.  It was my chief stress reliever the past few years.  I think all that stress is overrated.  The school stuff will get done . . . Or it won't.  I will grow pumpkins next year.  And I will get old.  In the meantime, I hope this wrinkle preventing cream I bought works.

Happy Anniversary to Us

      Today is our day, Jack's and mine.  Ten years ago we had our funny little wedding in my family's back yard and started on what has been a blessing.  Fun.  Adventure. Frustration.  Sadness.  Contentment.  Exhaustion.  Romance.  A Child.  All these things in turns,  but a blessing always.

Some of our friends know our back story and some don't.  I wish I could say that we were in love at first sight, but we simply were not.  I was told he was bad news and I think he said he thought I was stuck up.  Eventually we were friends and were that for a long time before we were anything more.  We spent the year before we got married not even in contact at all with each other because we couldn't figure out what we wanted or how to make it work or if we even wanted it to work.  But once we found each other again, we knew exactly what we wanted.  It was all or nothing.

I was adamant that I wanted something small and simple, a backyard affair with just close friends and family.  This morphed into the church coming and suddenly I needed chairs for more than 200 people instead of the 50 I had envisioned.   I spent the summer planting grass and pulling up sod from the nice green cow lot and moving it the bare spots in the back yard. Most people pick a venue that does not involve digging up the cow lot.  I know that now.  My mother spent the summer making my dress, refitting it what was surely dozens of times.  I was also adamant that I didn't want a veil, but my hair was too short for an up-do so I wanted a hat.  For some reason, there was not a white hat to be had anywhere that summer,  so I took my old garden hat and covered it with leftover dress material.  That is one of my few regrets - not buying a hat was a mistake.

Adding to the chaos, I was firm on not having a huge reception but having a picnic type luncheon for family afterward.  The two days before the wedding found Jack Dear and I renting some metal arbor thing from a place in Marlow and cooking with my mother and grandmother.  I just couldn't buy all that food.  So we made it.  We roasted meats and made salads and goodness knows how many little croissant rolls.  Cheesecakes.  Fruit.  Everything.  My mother made our cake, and Jack and I decorated it the day before the wedding.  That poor cake.  It was lopsided and we should have been sick from eating too much frosting.  But it was good.  Chocolate Town Special cake with cream cheese frosting  decorated with edible flowers.  I know.  Goofy.  Lots of other people helped too or we never would have managed.  Mary and Lou and Di.  My parents.  Lots of people had a hand in this.

It wasn't that we intended to have a strange, goofy wedding.  It was more that we wanted to do it ourselves, for ourselves, for each other.  That is also why I did not want an engagement ring and wedding band from a jewelry store.  When Jack asked me what I wanted, I asked him to make something for us. He did and they are perfect.  I never fail to think of it as his work when I put my ring on in the morning.  I like knowing that he made these rings and they were never intended for anyone but us.  Those jewelry store rings could have potentially been anyone's.  My ring was only ever for me.

We have so  many funny, funny memories of that day.   I am glad that some of our family had that day with us, family that is now gone.   I love that we have stories to tell Isabella.  Stories like "right there is where I married your Daddy."  We laughed so much that day and we cried some too. Perhaps my favorite funny of that day is how teary eyed people in the audience got when Jack reached up during our vows and brushed my cheek.  They all thought he was brushing away a tear.  It was really just an adventurous bug crawling up my face.

That is a lot of our life still - lots of DIY, lots of laughing, a few tears.  It has not always been easy.  I cannot say that we have never been mad.  I cannot even say that we have always been as careful with each other as we should have been.  But we learn and keep loving and learn more.  We are more patient and mellow.  We are kinder and gentler.  We are more romantic.  We love more and take for granted less.  I always think that every year has been better than the one before.  I think that is what we have to give each other now, the promise of continuing to get better at this every year, of loving more and deeper and stronger.

Zoppe! Zoppe!

Last Sunday, on  its very last day, we hauled our tired  selves to the state fair.  Bell had never been to more than the little county fair, and even though I wanted to dawdle over merchants' booths and quilt displays, we decided we would gear this toward Bell, working in our old people sights when and if we could.  The only thing we determined was that we would begin with the circus.  I was not expecting much; after all, it was free, so how good could it be? Yet, something about it beckoned.

I should admit that about every year a small circus comes through Comanche or Duncan, and I always hope Bell does not find out and ask to go.  I had no desire to see a small, two bit circus. I had an idea they would be dirty, shoddy, seedy.  At the other end of the spectrum, a few years ago a friend gave us tickets to the big Shriners circus in the City.  It was fun, lots of dazzle and splendor and daring feats.  We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and it was a day well spent.

But this day, it was not an expensive big circus with high wires and elephants and three rings.  Before the show began, Giovanni (Nino) Zoppe stood outside the tent playing the crowd a bit with his troupe.  There was accordion music, clapping, and the shouting of "HEY" a lot, along with the joke of music requests that always turned into their old world "Hey" music.  Some of the crowd didn't get it, but it was funny in a dry way.  It was more an old world style circus complete with Mama Zoppe who had a scary lot of makeup and seemed to speak only canned lines.  Mama Zoppe would have fit perfectly behind a fortune teller's table replete with crystal ball.  There were no big cats, though there was a ring full of small dogs, fast dogs, and spotted dogs that could all do tricks.  Oh, a fat pony also made an appearance with some larger horses.  I was a little creeped out by Mama Zoppe, but I was charmed by the clowns and the other entertainers.  Nino the clown was spectacular, along with his cohort whose name I did not catch. Until that day, I have only seen one clown act that I liked, but that act was not nearly in the same caliber as this.  The jugglers were funny.  The trapeze artist, thrilling.  We laughed and we cried and we were so very glad we went.  Only an hour long, the show didn't take up much of our time, but we would have stayed in our seats willingly had the show been longer.

I think what I loved is that this was a show that the audience interacted with.  It was integral to the pre-show and to the show itself.  Even Jack Dear was calling out to Niño at one point.  We were close enough that though we could see them sweat in the heat of the tent, we could also see them smile, their eyes softening with the applause.  That also meant that we were close enough that they were people, not just entertainment.   It was theater wonderment in a ring of sawdust.  I was offended by the bulk of audience who walked out during the closing, those people who were too in a hurry to wait for a single bow.  Those performers had given us laughter.  The least we could do is not be in a rush . . . the rest of the fair would surely wait a few more minutes.

I do not wish to romanticize this thing we saw.  It was a circus and smelled like one.  A few of the artists could have used a fresh shampoo.  Their props had a few tatters. I am sure they were every bit as gritty and seedy as I expected the ones to be in Comanche.  I have no desire to run away and join their life.  I also am sure we will again see a big three ring affair - they sell us some different sort of entertainment.

I so much wish I had taken a camera that day (we decided water bottles needed to be in the backpack instead).  I would have caught my child and her father's profiles absolutely lit up, delighting in that spinning trapeze boy or that Chaplin-esque clown.  I would have taken a picture of them with Mr. Zoppe as he stood at the door afterwards shaking hands and thanking us for coming as we thanked him for his magic.

State Fair

When I was a wee bitty girl, and to my great delight, I was allowed to accompany my dad to the State Fair.  Actually, I remember going several time when I was small.  My daddy was the Ag teacher and some years, momma would take us kids with him when he had to take students.  I remember at least one of my brothers being in a stroller at the fair.  I remember once Daddy parked the bus right over a mud puddle which I promptly fell into.  For years I had a wooden recorder that was a fair souvenier and somewhere, I still have some collector's coins that were fair purchases.  Eventually, we stopped going with dad.  My guess is that later on, Momma was also teaching and then once there were more of us kids, it probably just wore her out and got too expensive.

But at least once, when I was five or six, just a little thing, my daddy let me go with him and the Ag kids while Momma stayed home.  I know it was a rainy day and cool.  I remember having damp feet all day.  But I also remember feeling important as my father's shadow.  We did lots that day, but what I remember best is Dad taking time from the Ag  barn just for me.  I remember the midway and exhibits, but the best was going to a star show.  We went in a building and laid down on mats and watched a beautiful star and laser light show.  I was entranced.  I doubt I had ever seen anything like that before, and I never saw anything like that kaleidoscope again.  But just as clearly as those dancing colors, I remember lying next to dad to watch it.

All these years later, I still love those memories with my dad.  Probably after that, the memories are mostly shared with Ben and Tuck and later on Ian and Rachel.  But that was my time with him.

Yesterday was Bell's first trip to the State Fair.  We were already tired from a long week, and Jack and Bell were tired from sleeping in a tent down on the water, but we went since it was the last day.  I don't think she saw any thing that just glued into her mind yesterday, but it was so fun showing her around.  To her unjaded little eyes, everything was new and exciting.  Probably the best of today was watching her face just lit up with wonder while she watched the Zoppe circus.  I enjoyed it too, but watching her soak up the magic of good performers was magic in itself.  Holding that little hand in mine while her daddy held the other, walking in the sunshine, seeing wonders through her eyes.  That was what it was about.

Choosing love and life

It was homecoming week in Elgin.  Since I am the class sophomore class sponsor, that meant Jack Dear got to build a float.  As expected, it was perfect.  The other sponsor had the idea of an Elk graveyard (our opponents' mascot is an elk).  Jack made wonderfully realistic tombstones, plus an open grave with 4 elk feet sticking up.  The feet were on springs so they jiggled as the float rolled down the parade route.  We tied for 1st place and so the class account will get a little cash prize.  I think all my husband got was the profound gratitude of two stressed and inept sponsors.  There was also an evening of window decorating, a girl scout meeting, and the game itself this week.  Whew!

On the upside, I got 1 out of 4 observations done with my boss.  I was satisfied with my scores, a mix of effective and highly effectives. Now that I know what to expect, I am really not worried about the rest of them.

On the downside, I still have not been to the police department to be fingerprinted.  Ugh.  I think that has been moved to this week's schedule, along with a chiro appointment.

I think the bulk of this week, for me, was about rembering to appreciate the things I am blessed with.  I was really disappointed last weekend over having to cancel a trip that I have been plotting for months. This week will be our tenth anniversary.  I know ten years is not that long, but it feels big to me.  For years, the most we have ever done is had a date night, but I had been planning an actual "leave the kid with Grandma weekend and go somewhere" type thing.This morphed into a mini family vacay after Isabella had to skip Girl Scout camp.  I felt really guilty about us doing something cool without her, so instead of hotels and museums, we  were thinking camping and hiking at Cap Rock. The whole thing has been shelved because Jack has a side job every weekend in October.  Last weekend I was furious.  Angry.   The thing is, I was not mad at Jack for working.  In fact, I even told him to do it.  I was more mad at the situation, at the fact that this job lined up with fall break.  Mad that this is the only chance we have for this trip until next year. This spilled into being mad about other things.  But, in the midst of being mad, came a very clear revelation that I was not walking in love.  It did not matter that I was stressed, that I was tired, etc.  I simply was not trusting or hoping.  I was not being patient.  I was not doing any of things I had promised to do 10 years ago.  I was selfish. It was a vacation that was canceled.  That was all.  I still had a house to live in.  Our bills were paid.  We were healthy.  I have a husband who is an amazing father.  I have a family who not only supports me in my job, but goes along with all the extra stuff I have to do . .  Like floats.  I have a husband that loves me, even after 10 years.  Even when I don't deserve it.


I know, logically, that a lot of my anger had to do with being stressed about work.  About my hand (which does seem a little better) and the rest of my body which has just gone generally haywire . . . Nothing sinister, just annoying stuff.  But I also know that spirits come against us to destroy whatever we are not holding tightly to.   I also know that I am probably not finished putting off selfishness and anger and putting on love.   I have decided that this is one of those tests and I am going to choose Life.  I am going to choose it today, and tomorrow, and all of the tomorrows after that.

Treading Water

I haven't written much because there has not been much to write.   It is this holding pattern of waiting.

We seem to be caught in this wave of "wait until payday" but it was to be expected.  With the job change, I entirely missed the August pay cycle at the old school and the new school.  Factor in job changes for Jack too, and it has been a slim month with a few more slim weeks to go.

I have been in a funk about my hand too.  A lot of you know that I have had some issues that seem to be carpal tunnel in my right arm.  Mostly it is an annoyance because my hand and arm are asleep most of the time, making awkward what should be simple tasks. Awkward. Typing, drinking coffee, and all those normal things.  Really the worst is at night because it keeps me awake.  Now, I have this brace that I have worn since July and it helps some, but it does not get rid of the issue.   Last week I had my doctor shoot my wrist full of steroids (Jack was not invited to watch); but the numbness came back immediately.  I am in this limbo now waiting to see how much of the injections the insurance pays for before I move on to seeing a surgeon.  Part of me wants to go ahead and take care of the wrist this fall.  The other part of me says wait until January so I have a full year to enjoy having met my deductible.  If I wait, I get a whole year of  cheap chiropractor visits, which is nothing to scoff at.

Work is work.  I still haven't had the promised and dreaded evaluation but that is just because we are such a big school that I haven't had a turn before the firing squad yet.  I do not have more than the current units planned out, but I absolutely need to map out the whole year with this curriculum.  This kills me.  The past several years I started the year with detailed lesson plans for the whole year plus contingency plans in case we didn't get as far as I wanted.   I remember that when I went on maternity  leave I even had every paper copied for the next 9 weeks.  This flying by the seat of my pants is not natural for me.

In the midst of it all, Jack's brother is supposed to be up at the big house for  the weekend.  There was fundraiser stuff for Bell this week.  Girl Scout deadlines are upon us.  Next week there is a homecoming float to build.  Jack has traveling coming up off and on all fall.  My pumpkins are booming like crazy, but little pumpkins are few and far between.  To top it off, today I found out that for a state required background check, I have to be finger printed . . . only after 6 pm . . . without a tag along child . . . at the Lawton PD.  This was not my agenda for the week.



Okay.  I have whined and vented and whined some more and that is quite enough.  Despite uncertainties and my lack of preparedness, we are fine.  We are mostly healthy.  The bills are paid.  We all still love each other.  Really, if I would drag myself out of bed earlier to work out, I would probably be calmer and less stressed.

I sat in church Sunday watching a woman whose small child had drowned.  Another person battled cancer.  The couple who longed for children.  I somehow think I am pretty okay.  I am blessed and just need to remember it.  I might actually be supposed to be getting better at waiting.

September Girl

I find a lot to love in any season. Winter is skirts and my flat heeled riding boots.  It is curling up with books and a blanket and hot tea from Upton's.  Of course spring is planting and shorts and open windows.  Summer is bare skin and my own schedule and tomatoes.  Glorious tomatoes.

But fall is perhaps the best.  It is the start of things for me.  As children we start the adventure of school in the fall and repeat it every year right up through college.  I still do since school is my present work.  But I see more than just school when I think of fall.  It is a season of anticipation.  At this time of year, even now, if I try, I can already smell a difference in the air in the morning and at dusk.  A crispness that was not there just two weeks ago.  This smell is the herald of changing leaves and geese in the sky.  It hints at wood fires around brush piles, at grass crunchy and glistening with frost, at baking bread and pots of stew again after a summer of salads.    It is the promise of holidays to come.

Perhaps for me, I think of fall the best because it has been my own private bringer of good things.  That cusp between seasons was when we had gotten over the shock of knowing we would be parents and had moved into the enjoyment and anticipatory part of us having Isabella.  We dared to start baby shopping and name planning. Years before that, September was also the season of last minute grass planting and wedding dress fittings.  Cake trials.  More dress fittings.  Finding a house and making it our space. And years before that, it was skipping a class for stolen outings, treks up mountains in September mists. Lordy, I get teary just thinking about all those things. 

I do not know what this September will bring.  Icky stuff like homecoming floats and evaluations are looming.  Jack has a lot of travel coming up.  Girl Scouts is gearing up. Another year older.  Our tenth anniversary . . . I am just glad it is almost here, this month of mine.