Mary Parrish was My Friend

I have avoided my iPad and phone all day.  I picked up a few times, but since I have been home, I kept finding other things to do. I knew that somewhere there woukd be posts telling me that Mary was gone and I just didn't want to read them.


But what I really want to say is that Mary was my friend.  When I went to teach at Comanche, that group of women were so quick to embrace me, to make me one of theirs.  They all are so dear to me. But a few stand out and Mary was one of them.

As a friend, Mary was precious.  I remember that when I found myself suddenly throwing together a wedding for Jack and me, she offered her and her husband's services as our photographers as a wedding present.  I never look at those pictures without remembering her and Max.  I am fairly certain she was responsible for the cake at Bella's baby shower, though perhaps Betty made that one.
They were the official cake bakers and decorators of the group.  We sometimes walked after school, up and down that hallway, looking funny in our skirts with our tennis shoes, burning those calories during the Weight Wathcers year.  We anguished over our kids together, mine a toddler, hers grown.

As a teacher, she was phenomenal, in the classroom and out.  We put on a prom together and chaperoned senior trips together after selling Lord knows how many suckers for fundraisers.  Mary and I teamed up for a year of after school gifted and talented classes for 5th grade (or maybe 4th), alternating her cool science projects with my creative writing.  I think I learned as much science as the kids did.  We did KidsPlace programs together, something I did for the money, but Mary always made it fun.  She just made everything fun, perhaps because she was so completely passionate and engaged in whatever she was doing.  She didn't do things by halves.  She taught her science classes without books, instead doing hands on work almost daily, even though she routinely stayed hours after school prepping labs.   Kids in her room got it.  If they were awake, she had them learning, and she had the most amazing test scores to prove it.  Better than that, she inspired kids.  I have no idea how many of our students went into medicine or bio medical careers becuase of her biology classes and her health careers club, but there are so many.  She may always have mixed people's names up (and she even had the grace to laugh at herself), but this woman could teach.


She was advice, she was laughter, she was always there for what ever I needed.  Mary, I am so sorry you are gone.  I am so thankful I got to be your friend.  I can almost hear you laugh right now.  Max, Crystal, Lyndsey, Carlton - Mary was a blessing.  Thank you so much for sharing her with the rest of us.

In Sync

I am sure every family, every couple has spells of being out of step, not arguing or even being discontent, but just being out of sync.  That was Jack's last weekend home and again this week.  In all fairness, Jack was sick this week and I was a wee bit stressed, but it was not a fun week.

Thankfully, weekend brought a return of "us."  Friday we came home to a non-achy, non-sleeping, non-grouchy Jack who was actually in the mood for conversation and his Friday night thing with Bell.  Every Friday he is home, they camp in the living room on the air bed, eat pop corn, play video games, and watch guy TV and Dr. Who.  It is just their thing and I rarely get involved unless, like this weekend, we decide to include a family movie.  Bell is on book 4 of Harry Potter (so much for the Box Car children and Ramona Quimby) and when she finishes each book, we watch the movie, so this weekend was Prisoner of Azkaban.

Saturday brought housework and cooking, but it also brought digging through travel brochures and websites planning out our weekend of escape to Broken Bow in two weeks.  I cannot wait - according to the fall foliage brochure, we will have our pick of gorgeous drives.  If the weather doesn't play nice for outside exploring, there are a few local wineries and our cabin promises to be cozy. No matter what, I am looking forward to "us" time.  We also started serious discussions about the what and when of summer vacation.  We will have to see what winter expenses bring, but maybe the budget will hold together and we can do a big, fun trip this year.  We haven't really done that since Bell was 5.

Saturday evening, we lit the chiminaya and laterns and torches for pumpkin carving outside on the picnic table.  We should have started earlier, but the day got away from us and it was just so nice out last night.  We got our pumpkins cleaned out with one for each of us to carve.  This year we used no patterns, and we all free handed our designs.  Add a scootch of wine by the fire and a bit of hand holding to round out the evening and I declared it perfect.

Today should have been church, but it was camp weekend for our church, and that is just not our thing so we were homebodies.  Bell brought home a recipe for power bars that she wanted me to make for after school snacks - though the recipe was a bit inferior to one of mine, I made them and she declared them good.  I made a pasta with a light cream sauce filled with chicken and loads of steamed veggies so Jack ate healthy with me.  Jack and Bell spent the afternoon working on some leather crafts - he worked on some big projects and taught her to stamp designs and make a bracelet.  I love watching them be artsy together.

It was not an exciting weekend at all, but it was some much needed together time for all of us.  It felt good to be quiet and just enjoy the us-ness of it all.  I think these days sustain us far more than the grand, exciting days.

Going Home

We don't get up to my grandparents much anymore.  Now that we live here on the farm, it seems hard to leave the in-laws for even a weekend.  It also seems mean to drag Jack away when he is gone so much.  Last weekend was fall break, and because Jack Dear was a working man and Harold and Rubilee were well and had other relatives visiting for a change, Bella and I stole off to the northeastern corner of the state.  Thirty minutes farther north and we would have been in Kansas, thirty minutes east and we would have been in Missouri, but just inside the state borders we stopped at the Wilson farm outside of Bluejacket, once a thriving town, now no more than a village.

I cannot tell you how much this old farm means to me.  I have always regarded it as my most permanent home, there with my dad's parents.  I have lived with them twice, once for a few months, once for a year.  Every holiday and summer vacation until marriage was spent there and even a few after Jack came along.  I have waded the creek in summers and picked pecans on its banks in the fall.  I learned to shoot  there, helped with firewood and butchering of livestock and soap making and gardening, have sewn with Grandma, pulled garden weeds, learned to drive a truck and later the tractor, built innumerable bonfires . . . And later in life, it is where I sat on a tree stump in the far meadow at dusk and contemplated the life that then seemed to be one spent alone and where I took lone walks down the pasture road questioning the meaning of a world where Aunt Margaret would not be.  It is the place of molding, of living deep, of roots.

As a child, I thought it was the most beautiful place ever.  The house was nicer than any other, the food better, the grass greener.  These eyes see the driveway isn't nearly as long as I thought, the tree that has gone through the barn roof, the sagging facia boards, the orchard gone a bit wild, the bathroom that distinctly smells of old age and illness.  Bella's eyes did not see these blemishes.  She still has the eyes of wonder and innocence.

Despite the air of age and neglect beginning to creep in around the edges of the farm, it is still full of life.  Bella  found row upon row of big hay bales to tame and a pyramid of small bales in the barn to scale.  She went to check cows across the creek with Grandpa in the mornings and with Grandma in the evenings.  Later I taught her to drive the four wheeler and we scouted the pecan trees only to find that this year there would be few to pick.  We loaded up a truck load of wood and got it stacked near the door.  Smart girls wear rubber boots when they cut wood - that way they can can go catch frogs in the creek on the way home.  I would have thought the frogs would have tucked in for their winter nap already, but the creek was full of minnows and frogs, one of which had to be a pet for a day and was relocated to the flower bed at the house.  That's okay - I am sure it joined the frogs in the pond just beyond the yard.

Bella laughing as she tamed the hay bales at dusk

It was a long weekend with no internet and almost no TV.  It was a short weekend of evenings of storytelling around the kitchen table, of exploring for Bell and remembering for me, of me saying, "that is where I . . ." or "when I was nine, . . ." It was a really just such a blessing to be there when they both felt good and when Bell could soak up some of their time without sharing it with the other cousins.  Every time I leave now it is with a full heart, full of gladness that I had one more visit yet heavy always knowing at their age, it might be the last. No matter that it was not a glamorous vacation, it was indeed most satisfying.

Thought Soup

I need to quit my job.  This has nothing to do with the bijillion parents I emailed and phoned today about their children's grades.  It has nothing to do with the fiasco of a homecoming float I bear responsibility for.  It does not  even have anything to do with the Little Caeser's fundraiser kits that came in that I failed to get after school becuase I flat out forgot it while I was creating research paper guidelines.

I need to quit my job for sleep.  This is how I operate.  About August 1st, my sleep starts being disturbed by dreams of school.  Then a week later those dreams turn dark.  By the end of the second week of school, I do pretty well focusing on the task at hand during the day (except Little Caeser's pizza), managing my circus fairly well.  Alas, as soon as I lie down, my brain begins to bubble.  It isn't that I have bad dreams, more that I just can't fall asleep.

Last night I had so many thoughts sliding around, I think it must have looked like a pot of word soup bubbling in my brain.  Research paper rubric popped up next to rhetoric project.  Patrick Henry slid across new birthday boots much like a noodle gliding past a vegetable as soup simmers on the back burner.  I know that for at least forty five minutes last night, I pondered how to plan the next month for my juniors, how to phrase research paper topics on The Crucible, whether I should go see Jack or my grandma for fall break, the cabin we are renting in November, the homecoming float, my dr appointment on Friday, Bella's speech therapy, my looming evaluation by my boss, why my kids were having such a hard time with clauses, the water leak, . . .  Literally these ideas would bubble to the surface and in just moments be submerged by a new thought which would likewise be edged out by yet another.  Finally, I succumbed to sleep.

I procured some sleep essential oils and a diffuser - but I have not used them consistently enough to be in a good routine.  I do better when I exercise, but there has just been no time the last two and a half weeks.  I think I need to start getting up at 5 and working out, but in my tiny house, I would wake Jack and Bell.  But. But. But.

But here is the thing.  About two weeks after school is out in May, the stress evaporates and I learn to sleep again.  May is a long time away.  I could quit my job, but then I would fret about being penniless.  I have a sleep therapy disc - I think it is time to try that in combination with the essential oils.

At least it is almost weekend - I just about always sleep well Friday and Saturday.  Then my thoughts are more like warm vanilla pudding.  Just comforting.