Thursday, December 31, 2015

Kindness Resolution

I have, lately more than normal, been reflecting about the the burdens weighing on those around us.  As a teacher, I see this in other teachers and teenagers, but it is applicable everywhere to everyone.

A few weeks ago, another teacher and I were discussing a promising young lady who seemed to be overextending  in clubs and activities to the detriment of class work.  We weren't annoyed or angry or even disappointed.  The conversation was more about if we should intervene.  On one hand, we felt we should but on another we felt that this uber busyness on the student's part was a coping mechanism to deal with some big big sorrows life has handed her.

Yesterday, I took Bell to a shoe store to replace yet again sneakers that she outgrew rather than wore out.  A young man greeted me at the door with a friendly and cheerful hello and smile.  He was a former student who in the past wouldn't have had a smile for me.  When I first met this young man, his mother had died and he had been sent to live with a step mother while his dad was deployed.  His mother had been terminally ill and had refused to extend her life, choosing to die sooner than later, and the boy felt she had abandoned him.  Angry young man indeed. It was a long, trying year and I was glad yesterday to see a smile on his face.  I am sure he still has problems, but it was a nice change.

I encounter another boy frequently at school who has lost a father who also has had a difficult time though he has a wonderful mom.  Many of my students have parents who are deployed in the Middle East.  Others are alone and on their own because they aren't wanted or have no families.  And while I teach in a fairly new, nice modern building, I also have students who live in deplorable poverty - the kind where running hot water is not a given.  The kind with a trailer house with holes in the floor.  The kind where it turns out the house I thought was condemned and abandoned still has a family in it.  The kind where the gross school lunch was maybe the highlight of the day.

To be sure, I also have a large number of affluent students who wear brands I only dream of.  To be sure, some of them wear that sense of entitlement  I find insufferable.  There are also a lot of students who come from the same background I grew up in. Always just enough but never extra.

Some of these students who carry all these burdens excel in academics and some fail. I am not advocating a free pass to these students - at sometime in our lives, we must all choose what we want and who we will be, no matter our circumstances.  I know that teachers tend to try very hard to work with students who face difficulties.  We know that if we were facing poverty or loss, we wouldn't hold up well and these are just children, children in big bodies, but still children.

What worries me is that I can't possible know all that my children encounter. No where in my attendance program does it say "mother died last year" or "father has terminal illness" or "lives with abusive alcoholic parent."  Sometimes, a parent lets us know or another teacher who is acquainted with a family will let us know when problems arise, but so often, students arrive in my room with baggage that is kept in the dark.

I am not sure what I want you to do with all this rambling except be kind.  Extend that smile, that gentle gesture to everyone.  We know we are to help the homeless.  We are to take in the stray dog.  We are to take a casserole when someone dies.  But I want us to be cognizant that those around us, those seemingly ordinary people, may also be in need of our kindness for their burdens may be far greater than our own.

Sunday, December 27, 2015

The Stories of Being Us

Normally, at 7:46 on a Sunday morning, I would be poking Bell, trying to get her up so we could get ready for church.  This Sunday morning finds me snuggled into the recliner, coffee laced with rum and cream in hand, while Jack and Bell are still mostly asleep on the air bed where they did their weekly living room camp out.  The windows are glazed with ice and the weather can't decide if she wants to sleet or rain.  The forecast promises that I will have at least a glaze of ice to contend with later so no churching for us.

The animals have been very unwilling sent out to do their morning thing.  The tv sits silent. The lamps are dark.  The only sign of life is the occasional sound from the coffee maker.  My thoughts drift, reviewing the week, thinking of the stories we make.


Perhaps nostalgia is to blame, but my favorite moment Christmas Day was picking pecans.  After dinner but before presents and dessert, my dad asked if anyone wanted to go shake the pecans trees.  My mother and sister declined, having already picked the day before, and Ian was waiting on his girlfriend to get there, but the rest of us loaded up and went down to the creek bottom where dad had cleared areas under some of the trees.  Soon, the kids were playing some convoluted game involving nuts.  Tucker was up in a tree shaking the limbs while the the other men moved tarps around and made burn piles of fallen limbs and  Ben's friend Crystal and I scavenged for nuts that had fallen before we got the tarps down.  This sounds so mundane, but we were working and visiting and laughing.  It was a Wilson thing.  I thought of all the times when I was a child that after a meal, Grandpa would load everyone up, taking us down to the creek bottom where we would cut wood and pick pecans.  Sometimes, we would, instead, shoot clay pigeons  if the town cousins  brought some or bottles and cans if they didn't. If it had been a white Christmas, someone would hook the big sled to the tractor and pile the children on for a ride.  Looking back, maybe Grandpa was just getting us out of the house so the women could have a bit of peace, but sometimes the women came too.  Whether we were working or playing, we were together, all these strands of family that saw each other only once or maybe twice a year.  There are a lot of family pictures down on that creek bottom, smoky with bonfires and ringing with  laughter.

My heart hurts to think that those days are  gone.  The strands of our family have scattered like leaves swept by the winds.  With my aunts and uncles gone, there just isn't a reason for the family to gather anymore in that part of the state from which we ventured out. 

Friday afternoon was a different day, but it was day of promise for this new family we are, this family of Wilson children now bringing our own children home to grandma's house on the farm.  Later as we sat for presents and desserts and playing with Tuck's baby, I was satisfied with easy flow of conversation around me even as we had two new comers to the group.  We will create our stories.

Stories in general are the other thing I have loved this week.  Jack and I have been together in some form or fashion, first as friends then later as a family, for eighteen years. Even when we were just friends, he was my anchor in so many ways. So few people are able to build a story, write their own family mythology. .  People fall in and out of relationships carelessly and those relationships crumble.  Loved ones die.  Others haven't yet found a soulmate.  I am lucky to have not only found mine, but been by his side long enough to have a little bit of history. We have spent a lot of time lately saying "remember when . . ."  Bell sometimes seems bored by all this reminiscing, but she also says " tell me about the time when . . ."  I love that we have built this history.  The time we stole a cedar tree.  The time we got lost on the mountain.  The time I threw flowers out the window.  The time we . . . The time . . .

 As we drove south Friday, I held Jack's hand while he drove, easy in the silence between us, satisfied with thinking of all the stories we have shared, pondering the stories we will make in the coming year. Our time together is nothing compared to the lifetime my grandparents and his parents have spent together, but it is a good beginning to the lifetime of stories ahead. 

Saturday, December 19, 2015

words, words, words

For the past three weeks, I have been counting down days, partly assuring myself I could make it that long until break (which is silly since it was right after a week off at Thanksgiving) and partly in a panic that I wouldn't get everything done at school in that amount of time.  This Monday, I was still grading rhetorical analysis essays.

I wasn't really in a panic about my on-level classes, but we are pertually behind where I want them to be in AP.  There are just more of them than me, and I can't get all I want done in a day and answer questions and scaffold for slower students at the same time.    I started out the year short twenty books of every single book we use and it took almost month and a half to get them in . . . So that was a month and a half of no homework, no outside reading.    Though there was much pulling, wheedling, cajoling, nagging, and downright forcing on my part and much angst on their part, we are officially caught up writing wise and only a bit behind  in what we should be reading.  I am excited that over break, they are to read the first chunk of The Poisonwood Bible.  When I first read it back in 01, I knew I wanted to teach it someday and the time has come.  

One of my big mental fights this semester has been this great hole in my students' vocabulary and general knowledge of history.  I have always pushed the idea that great literature is often a reaction to something a writer experiences or something going on in society, but that means one needs a bit of history.  My kids constantly say that they don't know what words mean when they skim answer choices in multiple choice or when we analyze a passage.  They are stymied that I don't need a dictionary. I am stymied because I am pretty sure I knew what those words meant when I was their age.  I am pretty st sure that my nine year old's vocabulary is as good as my juniors and seniors in AP.  And how, oh how, do they have so much blank space where knowledge of world history should be?  How did I know when I was their age?  I took the same classes they do.  And certainly they are encouraged to read more than my generation was thanks to Accelerated Reader programs.  But maybe, just maybe, that encourages quantity over quality. 

I did have a really good history teacher in highschool . . . though my English teachers were ineffectual at best.  More importantly, I read.  I came from a family who read.  We talked about what what we were reading.  We talked about current events.  Through my dad's job, he knew many people from other countries and we learned about those places when he brought them home to dinner.  My father doesn't have a prestigious job - he is an oil field chemist and we lived in Velma that was so urban and progressive that my class had 26 people in it. My mother who was a special Ed teacher before she became a home school mom read the Wall Street Journal every day.  For every book of fiction, she also devoured a book of essays, a biography, a history . . . 

As the semester wound down and parents saw that their child who has never had less than an A might be getting a B, the emails came flooding into my inbox. Invariably, they all boiled down to "what can I do to help my child be a faster reader, be a more sophisticated writer, and have a better vocabulary?"  And my answer is obviously to actually take note of all those suggestions I leave on the essays, but more importantly, read well written books.  And then we hit a wall because they often don't know what they should be reading, what constitutes well written. 

"What do you read, my lord" "Words, words, words."  

And so, I am making a list of those books that shaped me, shaped my my conscience, my world view, my essence.  They were fiction, but they piqued my interest enough that I then read non-fiction to further explore those ideas, places, and people.  To be sure, it will be an evolving list that includes authors and titles from now but also, more importantly, ones I discovered when I was sixteen and seventeen.  It is a wide and disparate list of genres and names, but perhaps it is a starting place.  Perhaps a student will fall in love with Bojalian or Kingsolver or Uris.  Perhaps the words will be seared into their minds and souls and leave a more important mark than just a bigger vocabulary.

If you have suggestions for this Rucker Reads list, be it classics or contemporary, please share.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Finding my voice, getting in the groove

I haven't written in months, in ages.  I would love to say it is that I have been busy, but that doesn't fly because we all lead such busy, busy lives. I could tell you that I have been depressed, but that isn't really it either, at least not the sorts of depression I have lived in the past.

I have simply been in a funk that has stretched on far too long.  I wasn't unhappy.  I wasn't sad.  I wasn't discontent per say.  I was just in a mental funk.  For months. Probably, a  lot of factors  each fed this negative spirit, but I need to be done with it and feel that I am ready to set it aside, ready to reach back in and find myself again.

This shift away from me didn't happen suddenly and I doubt it ends suddenly either.  I don't even know when it began, though I am sure some of it started when I couldn't garden or clean or exercise like I wanted because of my shoulder most of the summer.  Just now, is it getting better, though the bursitis/tendonitis problems are still not gone. When you give up aerobics, you gain weight. Then your clothes don't fit. Then you realize you don't have a stockpile of jars of garden produce because the garden was a bust.  Then you . . . Then . . .and of course now that I am doing physical therapy for it, I am not getting home until supper time and still have no time to exercise or cook the way I want.

At work, things are good.  Bell is having a better year that she has in several years.  But.  There is always a but.  At home, Jack and I have been out of sync. Not fighting, not mad, just out of step.  Bell and I have been out of sync.  Maybe it is the stress that comes with being caretakers.  Maybe it is Jack 's uncertain job (the oilfield is all about uncertainty).  Maybe, just maybe, I am the one who has been out sync.

A few weeks ago, Jack and I left a very unwilling and unhappy child with my parents and went to Shiloh Morning Inn near Dickson. I think it was a good reset button for us.  Just us, no one else.  We only manage this once a year.  We never, never get away even just to go see a movie.  It seems we are closer to being in step since we came home, though we have had a few bad days since then.  Not truly bad, not the sort where there is door slamming and shouting - just that inability to communicate that ends with someone annoyed, but most days found us back to reaching out to touch each other as we passed through a room.  They found me falling asleep on Jack's shoulder, tucked into his side.  This makes me sigh with relief as those gentle gestures seem to let all the stress escape like air hissing out of a punctured balloon.

   We didn't manage to get that elusive picture this fall - the one that tells the world that we are still a happy family, that all is right within our household.  Either it rained or blew or we had a sick kid almost every time Jack was home for the last month.  I find myself not even wanting to send out cards this year.  Maybe we will manage an in front of the tree picture, maybe we won't. Perhaps I don't really need to do cards.  I am okay with that now though I was frustrated to tears about it just days ago. It will just be what it will be but it is not worth stress.


I needed this week off.  We spent a day with Jack's family and a day with mine.  I spent a day with Jack's mom in town stocking up at SAM's and Aldis.  Really, something was going on every day until yesterday and today.  The world is frozen, sheeted and slick with crystals.  A branch the size of Bell's bedroom came down right outside her window.  But it didn't hit the car a few feet away.  It didn't damage the house.  Jack is not on a drilling site or sliding into a ditch on a northern highway.   We are home, warm with hot tea, a sparkling Christmas tree, an Elf watchful from an upper bookcase, snuggly blankets cocooning us.

I find myself wanting to sing out my thankfulness for this life I have been given.  I know that we are supposed to be thankful during the holiday season as we remember our Lord's sacrifices and care for us, our families who hold us dear, but it is more than that.  It is that deeper satisfaction in what we have, that deeper knowledge that we are given what we need and are to use it, to be joyful in it.  And  I am thankful for so many things big and small  - for the gift of speech my daughter was granted that allowed her to confidently to give a speech this year, the jobs that provide for us, the warmth of my house today, my family who forgives and is patient with me.  I am thankful for you my friends who are still there reading a post from a blog that seemed to have died months ago.






Saturday, August 1, 2015

The Clock is Ticking While I Savor This Second Cup.

It is Saturday.  I should be asleep on this post rainy day morning.  There should be a chilly room with soft sheets and silence. I should be sleeping in.  I so wanted to sleep in on my last Saturday. 

The reality is that Bella slept with me last night and started flopping about like a fish out of water just before 6.  The other reality is that we live in an old house with window units which are confused and thought the outside temp was the inside temp and offered me not a chilly room, but a warmish room and a place for the outside cats to perch and howl for their breakfast.  I did not manage to sleep past 6 until July.  I haven't managed sleeping past 6:30 until the past two weeks.  Thus, I should not be surprised that my last true Saturday of summer break found me flipping through Pinterest ideas for school at 6:30 A.M. while I sipped a second cup of coffee, a luxury only allowed on Saturdays.   I am not overly pleased, though I do relish the alone time so am letting the flopping fish sleep in. 

The weather is beguilingly fall-like, the air damp and cool, beckoning me to outside projects, to take a jog, to work in the garden. A wee bit cooler and I would drizzle some Irish whiskey into this coffee.   If Jack were home, I would con him into taking us to the mountains for a hike.  He isn't and really none of those outside things will likely happen.  A walk perhaps, but nothing more.  Inside tasks will be limited as well - I need to scrub the bathtub, to roast and put up peppers, to mop the kitchen.  In reality, I will wash the sheets, do only the musts in the kitchen and wipe out my Netflix backlog today.  I believe I promised the kid some board game time and we ABOSLUTELY MUST FOR SURE deal with her room.  In the last week it seems to have exploded.  

Back in the winter, my shoulder started aching off and on when I spent a lot time chopping veggies or doing serious scrubbing.  Then opening my class door and driving began to sometimes ache.  I thought two weeks of vacation might help, but by June, I was hurting most of the time and something as simple as washing dishes was really painful.  I made an appointment with the doc but wasn't able to get in until mid July.  An x-Ray didn't reveal much except that things just weren't quite right.  It took fourteen business days to have an MRI approved and another four to actually have it done.  Turns out I only have tendonitis and bursitis. (Three cheers for nothing major!) I started oral steroids yesterday - if that doesn't work, maybe some steroid injections and who knows what else - shouldn't be anything big.  In the meantime, I am supposed to be babying the shoulder. It hurt enough that I didn't go pick blackberries last week even though I knew where some were. I never pass up blackberries.  No weed eating.  No weed pulling.  Really shouldn't mess with those peppers.  No scrubbing bathtubs. 

 If you know me well, you know that I am not good at sitting still - I always have a project and I get really antsy right before school.  It is a bit like that flurry of activity women have right before babies are born.  I feel the need to get every big house chore done because I know I won't again have the time, energy, or inclination all at once  until next summer. I feel the pressing need to do one last fun thing with Jack and Bell.  I feel this clock ticking down the seconds to school starting.  Impending doom.  Stress.  Jumping the hurdles of state dept requirements. Dealing with parents.  Motivating those who don't wish to be motivated.  Grading essays.  Improving our test scores.  I return officially to work on Thursday and I am just not ready. 

Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, this uncharacteristically cool first August Saturday morning finds me perusing Pinterst for first day activities, ways to improve rhetorical analysis lessons, things to improve my teaching, and things to cook for Jack Dear and grow in my garden (you know, more of those non-shoulder babying activities).  After Pinterest, I looked at fall break camping plans and then a place for a Jack and I only weekend.  I know, school hasn't started and I am already plotting my escapes.  Happy Saturday.  Happy Second Cuppa Day. 



Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Hypocritically and Snobishly Wielding a Wooden Spoon

I fully admit to being a snob is soooo many ways.  I am snobbish about grammar and spelling.  I typically hide Facebook posts from people who are educated yet type exclusively in text speak and with bad grammar.  I own up to sometimes missing something - I type horribly on an iPad and phone, but typos and occasional misspellings do not bug me while phrases like " I done"  and "we wasn't"  and "I seen" make me twitchy.

Perhaps worse than language, I am a snob about cooking.  I grew up in a house with a mom who worked and still had time for homemade bread almost every week.  I am not even sure I knew you could buy pie crust in the freezer sections of grocery stores until I was grown. Let me say that I am not mother.  I have never made cheese or yogurt after milking a cow.  I have never butchered a chicken.  I don't make sourdough. I don't make pickles or any of the thousand other things mom does so well.  However, I do cook and if possible, I cook from scratch.  If I run across a recipe that calls for a cake, pancake, or bread mix it is automatically discarded just because I don't keep those things in the house.

I have always enjoyed cooking, but several years ago, I abandoned shortcuts like canned cream soups and mixes.  On one hand, I find making a cream soup starting with a roux to be magic; satisfaction swells in me as I transform something as simple as butter and flour and cream into rich, smooth, thick, bubbly sauces.  I have a love affair with my stand mixer, food processor and blender, but I am happiest when my tools are an old fashioned wire whisk and wooden spoon.  The simplicity of tools while making something divine appeals to me.   It is amplified when I am using ingredients from our land and garden to make something for my family, but that is a different post.  For now, just know that even though that wild plum jam was a mess Saturday, I loved the doing of it. An added bonus is that Bella is taking some interest in the kitchen happenings.  For now, she doesn't have to learn how to make jelly or pie crust right now; it is enough that she knows these things can be made instead of just purchased.

On the other hand, over the past few years, we have been conscious of how much processed food we eat - the more I cook from basic ingredients, the less processed food we eat.  Look at what is in my mixing bowl on bread day.  Look at the label on a loaf of store bread - they are not the same.  Salad dressing, salsa, cornbread dressing, pimento cheese salad . . . The list is never ending and has the same results.  These foods are full of extra junk that I am convinced our bodies just don't need.  I really do avoid products that have more than five ingredients and I buy organic when I can, though where we live, it often isn't even an option.

While I love to cook and love to make sure we eat clean, I also recognize that my family doesn't buy into this as much as I do.  I also know sometimes, we just have to break the rules.  I still buy Bella ice cream because she doesn't care for homemade (but I am choosy and a careful label reader).  We buy mustard and mayo and sandwhich bread and so many other things.  I buy chips and cheese and pasta,  and sometimes, I even buy a pizza because while I love to cook and care about what we eat, I also work and exercise and have a kid and a husband and a garden.  I have a life beyond the kitchen and garden.

Yes, the pancakes Bella has been consuming daily are from basic ingredients found in my cabinet and fridge and not from a box.  Yes, when I made shortbread and peaches and whipped cream last night, the whipped cream started out as a carton of heavy cream in my mixing bowl.  Yes, I am puzzled by what other people put in their shopping carts (at least until we are in a trip and I am buying some of those same premade packages of food, hoping no one looks in my cart or until I am neck deep in papers and handing my kid a frozen pizza for supper).

Yes, I am a hypocrit - I sometimes fall off the wagon of clean eating and whole foods, not processed
foods while at the same time wondering why my grandmother even owns pancake mix.  But I am also
snobbishly pleased when good food, real food finds its way from my stove to my family mouths.

Monday, July 13, 2015

Forty Panic

I stood in front of the mirror this morning doing a bit of serious lamenting.  Fine lines are beginning to etch the corners of my eyes.  There are some splotches on my cheekbones, the kind that come from sun and age.  There are five more pounds than there were this time last year and I just can't seem to shake them.  My shoulder and knee joints hurt more than they don't.  But this morning's lament was not sparked by those things.  Instead, for the second time in one week, I found a silvery hair.  The second time.  In one week.  My stylist told me a year ago that she saw a bit of silver, but I had never spotted it until this week.  It came as a bit of a blow.

I fully realize that in a few months I will be forty.  I know I cannot complain because if I am headed to forty, then Dear Jack is headed to fifty, but I am starting to panic a bit at this whole aging thing.  Some of it is panic that we aren't doing what we want relationship wise  or career wise, mostly because we are stretched too thin time wise. What if by the time we can get the farm and orchard going, we are too old?  What if by the time we aren't responsible for Isabella and  Rubilee and Harold twenty four seven, we don't have what it takes for crazy, passionate sex? What if we aren't able to travel and see the world?  As it is, I see some serious lags in the amount of energy we have compared to even fiver years ago.

At the same time I was lamenting this whole aging problem, I was also satisfied, even pleased, with what I saw in the mirror this morning.   Right before school was out, one of my students made the "Wow!  You are older than my mom!" comment and then asked if I missed being young.  You know, despite the silver hair and the lines and aches, I really do not miss being young.  Most of highschool was stressful and miserable.  I had a few close friends but I mostly was on the fringes of highschool society.  Often, I was on the receiving end of the cattiness that is so ore lane taming highschool girls. I don't think all that bothered me, but what did bother me was my own lack of confidence or feeling of self worth.  I don't think I ever walked into a room confident about ALL of me until I was in my late twenties.

I am not sure when I began looking in the mirror and seeing something I liked, but at some point I did.   I know that my body is not the same as before I had a child - perkiness is a foreign idea but stretch marks certainly  aren't.   My body is not as trim as it was even three years ago, despite my frequent workouts and mostly good choices in eating.  So, yes, there are flaws, but at some point I began seeing myself as attractive too.  Sure, doubt still assails me at times, but mostly, I am good with what I see, with how my body moves, with the way my clothes fit.


It doesn't hurt to be married to a man who freely pats my backside when he walks through the kitchen while I cook, whose eyes enjoy the me has, who touches me even while he sleeps.  However, a lot of this comes from generally figuring out who I am as opposed to who I tried to be to fill the role I thought was expected of me.  It is not a  realistic  job to fit the image of beautiful   women portrayed in media when your workout time is often sacrificed to take care of a family or grade papers.  I am not great at being as good of a cook as my mom and as good of a teacher as Amy and a sometimes caretaker and . . . I am just not Wonder Woman, but I am okay with being me.  I am okay with my political thoughts and opinions and likes and dislikes and even my body.  It is certainly more fun to enjoy all of me than to fret about what I am or am not. It is okay that I don't fit into the images expected of me.  I will take this me, silver hairs and all.


Saturday, July 4, 2015

The Books That Make Us

I spent some time in the plum patch this week, just me and my thoughts working our way down the line of trees with our five gallon bucket. I mostly thought about why I am who I am.

For sure, my parents and upbringing shape me, as do my faith and education experiences, but there is another force just as important.  Books.  I have always been a reader - if my mother had ever really wanted to punish me, she would have grounded me from reading. I remember devouring everything from all of Beverly Cleary's books to Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lousia May Alcott, LM Montgomery.  As I grew, my mother made sure I was exposed to all the classics.  I remember reading everything from historic fiction to Mary Higgins Clark mysteries.  I am still this way, though somewhat pickier - I have little time to read so if I find myself fifty pages in  and bored, I have no compunction about tossing it aside and picking up something new. 

These books I grew up were often fluff, but they also often were meat.  I think the first book that I was conscious of being shaped by was Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry.  Later, I know some fiction and non-fiction about the Jewish Holocaust left its Mark, but as a young teen, I think To Kill A Mockingbird was the most important book I read.  Since then, I have no idea how many times I have read it . . . but enough that I can quote passages.  Every time I read it, I love it a little more than before, I find new depths, new poetry, new truths about life.

Sunday, Jack spent the day with his dad at the hospital and I am sure was tired, but while getting his dad prescriptions filled at the CVs, he saw this month's copy of Life with Gregory Peck reading Mockingbird, and despite being tired, he bought it for me.  I made it to the second page before I was crying.  Of all books I have always wanted to teach, mockingbird is at the top of the list, yet I really have not had the chance.  At Comanche, it was a sophomore book while I taught freshmen, and at Elgin it is a freshman book while I teach sophomores - (thankfully, I always get my dose of Gatsby with my Juniors). From a literary standpoint, the book is just so teachable, but really, I wanted to make someone fall just as in love with Lee's words as I was.  This book.  It is just so full of hard truths and beautiful truths, of innocence and love, all tempered by the evils of the world as seen through the eyes of a my favorite narrator of all time. I am always right there with Scout and Jem and  Dill as they sneak into the Radley's porch, while they sit with the reverend in the balcony as Atticus tries to do the impossible, with Scout as she walks with her hand tucked in Arthur's arm.  I  still haven't made it all the way through the magazine - I have to read every caption, examine every photo, put the lines down for awhile when tears blur the words, ponder over Lee's passages again. I am savoring.

To be sure, it affects the way I see classrooms with the inevitable Burris Ewells and the Walter Cunninghams and occasionally, even a Scout Finch.  I have not actually seen first hand much discrimination of race, but I have certainly seen it concerning socio-economic status and sex and Although the problems with race still abound, they have been subtle around me.  It affects the way I see the world and people around me, for all those characters are indeed in our world, the many Miss Stephanies and a few Miss  Maudies, the rare Atticus.  They are all here if we look - we even see Dill under the collards.  There are rabid dogs and monsters to fight, though they may not be monsters in the flesh.  The narrowness of lives and minds still abounds.

Mockingbird does not stand alone.   Before I left highschool, I had discovered Michener and more importantly, Leon Uris with his books of Ireland and then Exodus, perhaps the most influential book of my highschool life.   Later, I found Thoreau and Emerson and Houseman and Yeats and even Kingsolver and Quindlen and Moyes and so many, many others.  So many wonderful, hard books.  Even just a few years ago we were blessed with The Help.   But I often wonder if that novel and so many other modern books would have been what they are without Harper Lee's words that dared to make people question, that dared to step on toes.


Thank you to all those authors who so bravely committed their immortal words to paper.

Friday, July 3, 2015

Sync

When Jack came home last week, we started off the week out of sync.  Partly my fault, partly his.  Neither of us gave what the other needed.  He needed peace and I needed back up in dealing with Bell.  We ended up meeting in the middle later on, but not until the tone was set and it seemed impossible to unset it. 

I hate that.  I hate the way five bad minutes can color the next six days.  Don't misunderstand me, A lot of good happened in the week and a lot of stress happened in the week, particularly stress for Jack. 

On the plus side, with Jack's help, I got the last of the apricots down, processed and put in the freezer.  I got a five gallon bucket of plums processed (frozen for now, but will be jam eventually).  We got some work done on the blackberry patch.  And as Bell said, it was the week of household upgrades.  The microwave died which led to going to the the store and fitting not only a microwave, but also four bags of mulch, six window blinds, and a new grill into the subaru.  Later in the week, new towels were also on the list as well as a blender that actually blends.  Jack got the debri from the flood cleaned up around the lake and hauled off three trailers of junk and trash.  I reorganized and threw away a fourth of the hall closet's contents.  Jack got to go swim with Bell.  He tinkered with the air conditioner and it is cooling better. 

On the bad side, there were more ER trips and doctor visits for Jack's parents. There was stress over poor communication with each and between his parents and amongst all of us.  There were plans that were changed and changed and changed again.  There were conversations about work schedules that were not exactly positive.   We didn't fight or argue - we just were off. 

Normally, when Jack leaves for a week, I am not thrilled, but I stay busy and the week is gone fairly quickly.  Today, I just feel melancholy.  Bell and I did very well as a pair - she worked out with me, we had pancakes with blueberries and blackberries I picked this morning.  We just generally have gotten along better today than I can remember in a long time, so I shouldn't feel melancholy at all.  And part of me is not - part of me is thrilled and has reveled in the perfect connection with Bell.  But the rest of me would gladly return the new appliances and towels just for a week of meshing with Jack.   Six days and I can try again. 

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Balance

Every summer begins with me being torn over just reading and resting the summer away and my need to be busy and do all the projects I don't normally have time for.  Some years I have refinished furniture or painted rooms.  One year, I rebuilt my entire school year's worth of units for every class I taught.  Another summer, I over hauled my recipe collection and threw away half the contents of my desk and book shelves.

This year, I don't have quite such grand plans, but I am already struggling a bit with balancing.  Monday morning, I fully intended to do a major cleaning of the kitchen - pull the blue willow China down to wash, scrub the cabinet fronts, clean out the fridge and wash it down, the works. Instead, the apricots began falling off the tree in earnest and all of three of us spent the afternoon putting up fruit. They are small and some have bad spots, but they are free and pesticide free, so even though 4 gallons of raw fruit only equalled 1 gallon of proceeded fruit, it is worth it to me.  I will be glad when I am making apricot jam and cobblers in the winter.

I really need to carve out some time for school - I am changing some things for my AP class and grammar for my regular classes.  I may need to address these things sooner or later just to let my brain rest.  I couldn't get to sleep last night and before long, my brain was running with ideas of how to restructure my research papers and whether or not we could skip chapters of Huck Finn.  At the same time,  I do intend to deep clean the house, room by room.  There will be garden work and canning and mowing and don't forget about the in-laws.

Jack has been fairly busy with his parents this week.  Monday, we had to run our car up to have hail damage fixed (the hail damage was from before we bought it) that we finally had time to deal with.  At the same time, we took Jack's mom to buy a car.  We had tentative plans for a fun day on Tuesday, but Jack's dad wanted to go the shop.  He is still weak and  not well from his bout with pneumonia, so a trip to the shop means Jack has to go too.  Jack had to teach his mom how to work everything on the new car.  Before long, it turned into a day.  His dad didn't go to the shop, but didn't decide not to go until it was too late for us to go do anything fun. The thing with old people is that they move slowly - what would take me ten minutes, becomes 30 minutes with them.  We can't just do everything for them or they lose all empowerment and sense of worth. Patience. Balance.

Here is where the trouble with balance comes in.  Tuesday evening, Jack came home saying that Wednesday his mom wanted him to take her to the cemetery to get her Memorial Day plants.  We actually got into a bit of an argument and I was not as nice or patient as I should have been: I told Jack no.  I believe my words were, " They can't have you every damn day." His response was to ask if I  just expected him to say no.  It was exactly what I wanted, but we didn't need to have raised, impatient voices.  Jack goes back to work today so Wednesday was our last shot at a fun day.  I could take her to the cemetery after he went back.  I absolutely hate fighting about his parents - they are old and sick and need our help.  There is a lot we should do that we don't do, but sometimes, I also get frustrated that they forget that his time off has to be shared.  From their point of view, they just want him for an hour here and there scattered out through the day, so they think they are sharing.

We did end up sort of having a fun day - we went to the Grear Plains State Park for a bit of walking/gentle hiking amidst the boulders.  We had lunch out, found a geocache, did our hike, and had some ice cream on the way home.  It wasn't the best trail ever and we won't likely go back, but it was a day out and we explored a new place, which was worth it to me.

We are also working for balance with Bell.  She is very unhappy with me. Her summer expectations involved staying up as late as she wanted and sleeping as late as she wanted while spending her day on the iPad.   I am insisting on her getting up at 7, doing some exercise and math practice, and only using the iPad some.  We have had more than one battle so far and I don't expect it to get better.

Today, it is back to the normal routine.  Jack went to his mom's to do some chores for her and then presumably, will be off to work.  I have another bucket of apricots.   I think left to my own devices, I could hit a fairly zen stride of productivity, rest and reflection, and doing pleasurable things.  Hitting that stride while managing the needs of two households that range from 9 years old to 87 years old is proving to be more of a challenge.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Subaru 34

On our trip, we had two car games.  One was counting the huge billboards of a particular lawyer whose face was plastered on every billboard from Mississippi to Florida and back. The other was counting subarus.  Once we finally bought a car after of months of waffling, we were so glad that we bought the outback instead of the CRV.  We didn't quite realize how few of them we would see on the road.  To be precise, from here to Orlando and back we saw only 34.

We have been home six days and I miss our car games.  I have plenty of down time, plenty of time to putter, plenty of time to clean and get back in the groove, but it has also been somewhat stressful.   Sometimes, I wonder how long we can keep things smooth in my in-laws' world while still managing our own lives and careers.  There are weeks in a row when they don't need much other than general checking on.  Then there are weeks when they could hire a full time errand runner and chauffeur.

This is one of those weeks.  I could be gone almost everyday running their errands or taking them somewhere.  Out of the five weekdays this week, I am signed up for three, possibly four mornings.  Next week doesn't look much better - we have to take our Subaru in for its first oil change and we are taking Rubilee car shopping.  At some point in the next few days, I predict another ER run for Harold.  I am not complaining - I am fretting.  I have wondered what will happen if Jack has a different job someday and works every day.  Right now, our delicate balance is maintained because even when I am at work, Jack is home every other week and we just try to plan all their days out for when he is home or when Jack's brother is home.

Eventually, our luck is going to run out and something will have to give.  I am just not sure who or what it will be.  For now, I wish for simple things to fill my free summer hours. Picking apricots which will soon be ripe.  Reading books in Overdrive.  Playing card games with Bell. Counting subarus and looking for number 35.


Highway 30A


I know that deep in the winter when the ice has crusted every surface and the wind is howling through my drafty windows, I am going to be longing for those beaches along Highway 30A in Florida.  After our magical trip to Orlando, we headed east and relocated to Defuniak Springs for a few days.  No, there is nothing special about that little town except that my Uncle Dave and his family live there . . . and it is 30 minutes from the beach but less than half the price of staying at the beach.  As much as I would have loved one of those beach houses on stilts overlooking the water, we opted to go the cheap route for this leg of the journey and stayed in town at night, but drove down to Hwy 30A each day.  After the beaches of 30A, I want to move to the ocean now.  If we had no responsibilities here, I would already be job and house hunting.

Originally, this trip started out with a plan to go to Orange Beach.  Once we added the Orlando aspect, we started looking at Florida beaches instead.  All the tourist info, satellite maps, and Aunt Kathy concurred that the emptiest beach would be at Grayton State Park along Hwy 30A.  Indeed, it was the perfect beach for anti-social tourists such as the Ruckers.   Each day, we had plenty of empty beach to choose from when setting up camp.  The water and sand were clean, the other beachgoers more family types than party types, the shells abundant - in other words, short of having our own private beach, this was about perfect. 

I had been to the ocean once before on a trip with my grandparents to Florida for a wedding, but the weather was iffy and we weren't allowed to get in the water the one day we went to the beach.  There was no second day.  I have always wanted to go back, and Bell has been begging to go for ages - this was nothing new for my ex-Navy husband, but I am thankful he indulged us.  I am not sure what day was best - we had the best waves the first day but the sting ray and sea turtle were on later days.   I could have spent all day every day with my toes in the sand or playing in the water.  I just didn't get tired of it, but Bell did get tired, not of the ocean, but just plain old crabby, worn out tired so our days were shorter than I would have liked. 

We did manage a little family time as well with my extended family.  I have never gotten to know my grandfather's younger brother well because we have always lived far apart, but Uncle Dave and his wife Kathy graciously invited us over for supper.  It was definitely one of the best evenings of the trip.  They had a granddaughter a bit younger than Bella so she had someone to play with for the first time.  We laughed and visited and got to know each other a bit better - it was uncanny how much Dave is like my grandfather even though they have spent so little time together in the past fifty years. I had worried that it be an awkward visit, but the evening was a delight.

Day three got stormed out so we decided to go back and spend another day instead of driving home on day four as Jack had originally planned.  Then we found out that Jack's dad had gone to the hospital leaving Rubilee home alone.  Plans had to be modified.  We packed the car with the intention of going to the beach for a few early morning hours and then leaving directly from the beach, sandy bodies and saltwater hair and all.  By the time we left Grayton the next day, it was only mid-morning. Though I had not at all got my fill of sand and sun, I just felt guilty that we weren't home taking care of Harold and Rubilee like we should have been.

We wove our way east on Hwy 30A and stopped at a kitchy tourist shop since souvenir shopping had been neglected. We snaked in out of little beach towns, through Destin, into Alabama, into Mississippi.  It was different than our drive from Oklahoma to Memphis to Orlando, but just as pretty; I never got tired of watching the scenery and I remembered how much I love road trips.  The going there was as good as the there. 

As we drove, I felt tears hot in my eyes.  It was one of those moments of reflection, of knowing that this is as good as it gets - holding hands with Bell as she played in the water, laughing with Jack while we watched a fish swim into his shorts, all of us singing along with radio.  These are the moments that make the trip, not the where (even if the beach is magic).  Would there ever be enough of these moments to fill me, to sustain me?  I know we are not to fear or doubt or worry, but I am a worrier.  I fret about what might be more than what is.  I cannot know the future, but I know that we live but a moment, some for short moments and some for long ones.  When we started discussing vacation, there was some worry about leaving my in-laws.  They mostly do fairly well on a day to day basis, but there is always the threat of a fall or an ER trip.  They cannot do things simple like bring in groceries out of the car so leaving them for almost two weeks was risky.  We debated whether we should go, but we also know that if we put our lives on hold, we might be putting them on hold for ten years or more.  By then, I would have a 19 year old instead of a 9 year old, so we decided to go.  We also know that there is no guarantee of a tomorrow.  We know we have to live in the now, make these moments we have count.  That means taking the trips, singing the songs together, holding hands when we can.  As badly as I already want to go back to the beach, I am beyond thankful for these days living in the now.


Magic in Orlando

Hogsmead
 
Hogwarts Castle


 
I know that Disney is supposed to be the Magic Kingdom, but we found it at Universal Studios.  Truly,  magic is the wonder on a little girl's face at seeing everything from simple things like the hotel room to amazing things like the first glimpse of Hogwarts Castle and disappearing at 9 3/4 King's Cross. 

Casting spells on Hagrid's bike

During our days at Universal, we kept asking Bella what the best part was.  She always knew what wasn't the best part - the walking, the heat, the lines, a few of the rides that were a little too much; she had more trouble with the best part.  Was it Diagon Alley and Hogsmead themselves, with their quirky shops and butterbeer?  Perhaps from a half block away, feeling the heat from the dragon atop Gringotts?  Buying a wand? The rides?  She said it was all the best.

 For me, it was the attention to detail in  the recreation of everything from the buildings  and merchandise and shop window displays tothe staff's absolute immersion into their characters - It was stepping into the pages of the books.  It was definitely not the rides - one ride that I endured was enough.  I was the official bag holder, chatting with people  
from all over while waiting on my adventurers. 


DJ booth at Margaritaville
 
I know Bell and Jack enjoyed other aspects of Universal besides Harry Potter - they shot aliens and became minions and jumped around with Spider Man while I looked and looked at people and things, but after Harry Potter, Bell's highlight was going to Margaritaville.  We have got to stop letting her listen to so much Jimmy Buffet.  I cringe to think what drinking related comments she is going to utter at school next year.  After a particularly frustrating time of trying to placate a tired child and   find food we all agreed upon, she commented that we all needed "something tall and strong."  We managed to get a table in front of the DJ booth while JD Spradlin was on the air.  While he had songs playing, he visited with Bell and let her come up in his booth for some pictures - he even played Fruitcakes for her.  I know it is part of his job to be nice tourists, but he really made her day.   It was surely a kind gesture that we appreciated - the look on her face when he put his headphones on her was worth the trip.

Actually, the best part of the trip was all those looks of wonder on a little girl's face.  Glimpsing the  hotel as we crossed a wooden bridge over a lagoon, seeing our hotel room that looked like it fell out of Casa Blanca, rounding a corner and stepping into snow capped Hogsmead with the castle in the distance.  Later the looks of delight were just as profound as she stepped into King's Cross and onto the train.  There were the gasps as the dragon roared from Gringotts.  There was even look of glee in  killing more aliens than Jack in Men in Black. All those chuckles and gasps and wide eyes were worth the trip.  I think everyone from 9 to 49 shared that bit of magic.







 
 














Saturday, May 23, 2015

Five O'Clock Somewhere

Inappropriately, one of Bella's current favorite songs is "Five o'Clock Somewhere," along with "Pencil Thin Moustache" and "Margaritaville." Can you tell that the radio stays on Radio Margaritaville a  fair bit?  It has been our reminder for the past three weeks of clouds and rain that Florida sun and beaches were right around the corner.  I think Jack and I were more excited than Bell - it has been a long winter and a stressful spring.  And you know, other than a quick weekend away last fall, it has been a long time since we had a true vacation.  Last summer we went to Grand Lake for three days, but I was sick with a migraine half the time and it rained the other half. Otherwise, the last vacation was fossil digging and state park geocaching in Mineral Wells FOUR years ago.  Our only other big trip ever was a week in Colorado 11 years ago.  We just don't do big vacations.  Until now.

Bell has known for months that we were going to have a beach trip as soon as school was out, but she didn't know that the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at aunversal existed, much less that we were going there.  Everyday when we got Bell out of bed and she moaned and groaned, we had to say "just 22 more days," then it was 21 and 20 and 19 until it was 3 and 2 and 1. Jack bought our tickets back in November and we have been very good secret keepers, lest something go wrong and vaca get cancelled.  Tuesday we finally gave her the owl that came in the mail and showed her pictures on line.  The plan is 4 days in Orlando and then a few days on the beaches around Destin on the return trip.  Yesterday was teacher check out day for me and laundry and packing day.  I came home from turning in paperwork and locking my room and just wanted to sit - Jack was in "let's pack, let's pack, let's pack" mode.  I piddled at packing all day because I knew once I was done, I would want to get in the car and go, despite takeoff day still being a day away.

Sometimes, I have to really work to like Bell - she can get in such a unmotivated, blah, only want to sit and be plugged mood.  That drives me nuts.  I want to jog and take walks and go explore and sometimes I get soon tired of how much effort it takes to get her into whatever new thing we want try.    I tend to be very motivated, no matter what is at hand, no matter if it is a hike or something mundane like weeding the garden.  Anyway, I was expecting a morning of crankiness - last time we went somewhere, it was Great Wolf at her behest and getting her out of that recliner and into the car was a monumental effort that left all of us out of sorts.  

This morning I woke up at 5:23 to quiet noises in the house.  I woke up to investigate and found Bell up reading.  We had coffee, milk, and donuts, washed the breakfast dishes, finished packing,  and were out the door by 7:14.  We were hoping to be gone by 8 but only really expected to leave at 9 or 10, so 7:14 was resounding success . . . until we got to OKC and realized that Jack left his phone at home.  We could lose two hours and go back and get it and drive through rain the whole day.  Instead, we opted to forge ahead and beat the rain to Arkansas.

We have driven by towns with funny names and old men on motorcycles with crutches in saddlebags, over flooded rivers and past dozens of soggy fields, through hills and forests of the biggest pine trees, and finally over the Mississippi and past the pyramid into Memphis and then south into the edge of Mississippi.

Bella played a little in a frigid pool at the hotel - I am waiting for warmer temps before I plunge in.  We snagged a Mississippi geocache and drove back over the border to claim one in a weird little pet cemetery (I wondered at a family who managed to go through 12 pets) in Tennesee, and we are calling it an evening.   We are not to beaches and and yet or even Hogwarts, but tomorrow, we will forge ahead to Alabama and then Monday we will arrive in Orlando.

I am equally excited about boat drinks and sand as I am about the world of Harry Potter; however, I am not sure either can beat the fun of watching Bell and Jack laugh and joke as we drove today.  The two of them are magic and I am so looking forward to family time with them.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Thoughts on the Education Rally

You have to be saying, "Here she goes again, back on her soapbox, ready to rail against the government some more."  You are right.  I am.  It is the most unfair time of year, the time of year when I question my participation in such a corrupt system, for a system that lines the pockets of curriculum and test companies with our tax dollars without any meaningful result is indeed corrupt.

Monday, I went with my friend Suzanne, a science teacher in my building, to the Capitol to rally for education.  We were both there, proudly representing Elgin and our profession in general.  The crowd was not as large or as vehement as last year, but I wasn't surprised.  Teachers are cautious by nature.  We don't like to rock the boat, we are often treading a fine line between things - the curriculum we believe in vs. the standards of the state, the rules of the class vs. the desires of a parent, what our boss expects vs what may be more realistic on any given day, what the state pays us vs. what we are worth.   We are trying to please all the stake holders while remaining true to our ideals, and most of us have been on the wrong side of an administrator at least once, enough to be cautious.   Last year we were stronger in number, louder in voice, but it got us no where.  It got us the tax cuts we fought against, no changes in most things, and only a temporary suspension  of the third grade reading test law.  This year, though there were fewer of us, I for one was so proud to go.  This year, I yelled louder, until my throat was raw, waving a sign with a gimpy arm, feeling the sunburn creep down my neck.  I cheered when there was cheering to be done, and I might have even booed a thing or two.

 I have been asking myself for months why are some of our legislators ever elected to begin with.  Party Ticket voting is just asinine and it has to be the reason we have Sally Kern and Scooter Park along with so many others at the Capitol.    And where did these people ever get the idea that their constituents, the people from their own districts, wanted to get rid of AP classes  or take away a teacher's right to a payroll deduction?  Were there town hall meetings when these men and women stood before their communities and asked for a show of hands of all people who didn't like AP history?  There surely must have been, or they have no justification, no right  to vote this way if they were, in truth, elected by the people for the people . . .  Rep. Park's office didn't return a single phone call, a single email, though he claimed to be pro-education in November. I have spent the afternoon researching the voting record on every single education bill.  This is my personal resolution:  I will continue to pay closer attention to the way our officials vote in all matters, not just education.  I will make my voice heard.  If they do not listen, if they do not reply to emails, I will not sit passively by.  I will actively campaign not just for their opponents, but I will actively campaign against them.  I do not expect an elected official to agree with me or vote according to my will alone, but when the majority of Oklahomans speak out, the people's will should be done.

 In truth, there are good men and women fighting for education at the Capitol, yet they do not get recognition for their work. Some thank you notes are on my to do list.

As I stood in front of the Capitol, flags snapping in the breeze, students singing the anthem, hundreds of people solemnly pledging their allegiance to these United States, what I really wished is that Bella and my students were with me.  Tears in my eyes, I stood there humbled that I had the right to be there. In some other country or in some other time, this would have ended with police and arrests and perhaps death.  I maybe furious with the poor quality of so many Oklahoma leaders, I may rail against the system, and I may resent the injustice and ineffectiveness of high stakes testing that decends on my classroom in exactly seven school days.  Nonetheless, I don't take lightly the life and freedom and rights we have here.  It is all the more reason that my child, my hundred some children by proxy, all of us should be passionate in our beliefs and demand the sort of leaders who will protect our right to express these beliefs, whether it be in the press, at a rally, in a blog, in a tweet.   I do not know if the kids would have felt that moment of awe in my heart, but I like to think a few might have felt a spark.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Happy Nine

It is absolutely hard to believe that nine years ago at this time in the morning, I was getting to hold Margaret Isabella for the first time, her already clean and swaddled, me still in recovery and not very coherent after a c-section, Jack so happy that his feet didn't touch the ground.  7:30 this morning found me discovering that maybe I did like frosting after all, as I carefully made delicate ruffled edges around a cake. Truly, this truffle frosting is divine.

Jack's cake cutting privileges have been revoked  - that is enough for four girls!
We didn't do anything huge for her birthday this year - we had a state park spring break last week, we are planning a short trip for an upcoming long weekend, and a big trip is hovering on the horizon.  Couple this with a girl who really couldn't think of anything she wanted, and we decided a low-key birthday was on order.  I found a box set of Percy Jackson for her and  I also picked up The Twenty One Balloons for her since she has been dying to read it and our library doesn't have it.  Jack and Bell are already reading it together, cuddled up on the couch while I blog.  As big as she is, as much as she reads on her own, thankfully,  she still enjoys snuggling with one of us and being read to. There were some other small science things that all met approval. In a few hours, we will get ourselves together and head to town with Grandma Rubilee for a birthday lunch and movie.

I think this is going to be a year of a lot of change for Bella.  A month ago, we had to go training bra shopping.  She doesn't need one nearly all the time, but she has budded out just enough that a few  shirts are too clingy.  Two months ago, we had to force her to wear clothes at home.  Now, she insists on clothes 24 hours a day, her preference being to put on Old Navy pajama pants and camis as soon as she gets home.  Not exactly public appearance clothes, but a big step from wanting to be a streaker.   Acne has appeared, but she is doing a great job of using her new cleansing products.  Suddenly, instead of us making her brush her hair, she locks herself in her room to spend 30 minutes getting ready.  And the mood swings.  Lord, the mood swings.  I have no idea if this is normal. I remember 12 and 13 being difficult, but not 9. Some days, she is as logical and rational as an adult.  Some days, we have reverted to toddlerhood.  There are days when she is very responsible, helpful, and proactive in doing things for herself.  Other times she seems offended that we hadn't signed up to be her servants.  I love my child dearly, but I just never know which version of her will climb out of bed in the morning.  Maybe this will level out sooner than later.  In the meantime, we are taking the "encourage and praise approach" when she deserves it and firmly putting her back on track when she gets off, usually with a lot of drama on her part.   I do love the glimpses of progress I see, whether it be in the conversations she begins (yesterday was questions about Civil Rights in the 1880s vs 1930s vs now) or her volunteering to do some job to help me out.   We will certainly need wisdom as we help her grow into what is hopefully a compassionate, wise and Godly girl.

 Happy Birthday, Missy B.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Adventure Girl Exploring



  Spring Break should be fun in the sun, perhaps on a beach with an umbrella drink.  At least for other people than the Ruckers it might be.  Last year I think I spent spring break moving dirt and manure into my raised beds  and the year before we went to my grandparents.  This year we were ready for some adventure.  We haven't had much in the way of adventure since Jack hurt his leg almost a year and a half ago, but he is much stronger now and the limp is lessening.  We have a rather big trip planned in May so we need to start getting back into shape as far as long walks and hikes go.  Since Jack had to work this week and since we girls haven't really explored the northwestern part of the state, we joined Jack in Alva.  He did have to work, but his schedule allowed him some time every day to go adventuring. 
 The first day did not bode well.  Bella started off all right, but as soon as she found out that the Gloss Mountains were part of a state park, she was angry and pouty.  Apparently she wanted true groundbreaking adventure, the sort where no one had ever gone before.  She just couldn't grasp that all the state wonders were already discovered and made into parks.  

'  Bella, fueled by indignation, made it to the top of the mesa long before we did.  Once to the top, she forgot about being angry.  There were rocks to chuck off the top, geocaches to be found on the top and down the sides, fissures to poke into . . . enough to keep a kid happy, and there was no one there but us.  One of the fun moments was discovering that between the time we got to the park and the time we were ready to come down, an enterprising young romantic had hauled in rocks to spell out a prom invitation that could only be read from the top of the mesa.  As we were descending, he was rock climbing with his young lady friend, headed to the top.  He got style points in our book.


We had expected drizzle that day and were not at all bothered that the drizzle never happened.  Going down that mesa would have been slick work.  We still had some afternoon available and Jack and I wanted to let Bella have a taste of less tame exploring.  East of Alva, there is a canyon that runs across private land.  In the side of the canyon are caves, including a fairly large one.  Faulkner Cave has recently been opened to the public, but it isn't "tame."  There is a rough map available online, but basically, one climbs a fence and treks across a pasture toward what is obviously a canyon.  There are flags marking the path once close to the cave, but we found those on the way out rather than on the way in.  Bella forged ahead and found a path down to the creek in the bottom.  Since there was quite a bit of water still, we had to go along the side of the canyon wall until we got lucky and found the cave.  It was no where as grand or huge as Alabaster Caverns, but it there was no hand rail, no walkway. Just craggy rocks, darkness. spider webs. and what appeared to be a giant rat nest of sticks and grass.  We had flashlights, but no rubber boots.  Bell didn't mind wet feet so she forged into the cave as far we could still see her.  Not counting the side tunnels, the cave was probably close to the size of my kitchen.  The entire canyon just begged to be inspected - there were logs fallen across the creek, mysterious looking algae, and I am sure if it had been warmer, snakes.  We would have stayed longer, but could suddenly smell smoke - there were wild fires a few miles away, but we know how fast they can move so felt we needed to call it a day while we were safe.
The next day was Alabaster Caverns and rain and cold and more rain and cold.  The Caverns were amazing - I am not sure if Bell enjoyed the sleeping bats or the cave more, but it was a successful day.  Apparently Faulkner had fed her desire for the untrampled wild and she was ready to appreciate what someone else had found.

It was not a glamorous few days.  Jack has a five gallon hot water tank so I don't even think I successfully shaved my legs while there.  That is okay since sleeping in a little camper trailer with an 8 year old four feet away is not conducive to romance of any sort.  There was the rain and the cold.  That said, it was a well spent few days.  Seeing Jack and Bell climb up and down all those rocks, watching him show her how to separate the layers of crystals into glass like sheets, just being with the two of them so filled my heart with contentment.  I always appreciate his patience with Bella and his willingness to share wonders with her.  He is not a "go play and leave me alone" dad.  Instead he is the man who wrestles with her at night, helps her fill my car with rocks during the day, and then holds my hand  while he drives us across the river towards home.  I can live with a few non glamorous vacation days if it is with a man like that.









Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Can You Hear the Rrrrrr?

I seem to be in a bit of a mental fog these days with just enough brain power to make it through the day but not enough left over to even read at night, though I did just start Chris Bojalian's Sandcastle Girls.  It is spring break, that brief week that renews us teachers enough to gird up and make it through spring testing.  Though I am counting the days till summer break, something huge is going on at home.

When Bella was little, she was diagnosed with Apraxia of speech/language.  We were told that she might never read or write and would maybe only be competent at verbal communication.  I know that Jack is not exactly academically driven, but to me the word "competent" was devastating.  You have all met my child and know that she does indeed talk and read and write and is more than just competent, thanks to hundreds and hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars of therapy with a pathologist named Robin Emerson.  I am not sure I have ever been as thankful for a non-family member as I am for Mrs. Emerson and her work with Bell.

Even when we switched to just using the school provided therapist at Comanche instead of the the one at the hospital, we were still making progress with all those tricky sounds.  When we moved here, most of our progress just stopped.  We gained a little because I still made Bell practice at home, but last spring I was so disheartened.  Her therapist actually said that maybe it was time for to quit, that she just was not going to get the R, CH, and SH.    We still had another therapist, but I begged the special ed director for the new one that was being hired.

And this is where God steps in.  In September, Bella started working with Miss Jessica and the first day came home home saying the SH more clearly than I have ever heard before. It was so  sudden and surprising, that I actually turned around while driving when it came our of Bell's mouth.  Then came the CH.  The  initial R followed.  Progress indeed.  However, though Bell could make these sounds in single words, she often did not consistently use them in a conversation, so we were doing a fair amount of practice (unwillingly on Bella's part) at home. And the vocalic R (think girl or far) was almost non-existent.  About two months ago, Bella suddenly started self-monitoring her speech and began talking slowly and almost over enunciating to get in the SH and CH.  Two weeks later she added the initial R.  Now she is pretty fluid with everything but the vocalic R, though it is progressing nicely.  The other sounds still sound a bit exaggerated, but every day they get a bit smoother, a bit more natural, as does the R.  Words like world are tricky, and sometimes it is still hard to distinguish between girl and gull, but they get clearer every day.  Only about once a day do I have to make Bella repeat a word.

Last week, we had our annual IEP meeting (meetings to plan the education for learning disability students).  I was dreading it.  On paper, Bella has gone from 51 % accuracy with R (September score) to 93% (February score).  Those sorts of numbers (paired with good grades and a crazy big vocabulary and high reading level) suggested that she no longer needed therapy, but they are somewhat misleading because they only reflect single words and not conversational speech.  We also were going to lose our therapist and be sent to one with a reputation for being ineffective.  But we still have God's hand in this.  We compromised at going to one day a week instead of two and Miss Jessica will continue to work with Bell next year.  The hope is that if she continues to self monitor and progress as much as she has since Christmas, after next year, she can quit therapy.

I have no idea why Bella started working so hard to speak clearly.  I know she was teased a lot at school and many kids thought she was from a foreign country.  I just don't what switch finally flipped, but one did.  I am not sure why God sent Miss Jessica to Elgin.  I am sure her role here is bigger than than making sure we are the Ruckers and not the Wuckers.  I do know this.   Every time she speaks, every time she tells me a story right now, I smile as I hear Bella clearly and confidently make those sounds I had only three months ago despaired of ever hearing.  I wish you could hear her.  It is just amazing and I am so thankful.

I am thankful for her progress, but it also reminds me of work that needed done in my own life, some things in my spiritual life that I was neglecting.  Watching her has reminded me of the gifts we are given if we are faithful to do our part.  I listen to Bella talk and see God behind her progress but I know I was supposed to learn something too.

We are getting ready to go see Jack today for a day or two of hiking the Gloss Mountains ( probably in the rain) and maybe exploring the Alabaster caverns if they reopen after yesterday's wild fires there.  It is spring break.  And we have the R.  There is so much to be thankful for this bright morning that my heart is full.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Snow Day

It would be so easy to be discouraged with winter, the gray, the cold that seeps into my bones and settles there. I suppose I am really just a spring and summer girl at heart for I won't be any happier in August when the heat has sucked the life out of me.

In truth, we haven't missed much school for bad weather - today, yesterday, and perhaps one other day. Most of the snow and ice has come in on weekends keeping me from church. The worst was missing Misti and Mark's wedding. I am not a big wedding goer - it requires in general too much mingling, socializing, and politeness than I typically have in me. But this was important - Misti finding her soul mate was worth wearing a dress for, was worth going to lend our voices in joyous celebration. We were looking forward to seeing some of the old Davis hall crowd as well. Our crowd has become scattered to the winds. We have lost a few - just thinking of Chris and John make a few tears come to my eyes but also smile in memory. We have all grown enough to know that the world a rough, tough place. We are wise enough to know that happiness must be seized and gaurded and treasured. We want the best for each other and Misti has found the best. That is something to celebrate.

As much as we wanted to go, I think when I crept home Friday afternoon, my car was the last car to go up our road until things began to thaw on Sunday. We were snowed in. I am thankful that though we missed the Pryor to McClellan extravaganza, that we were warm and safe and well fed. During one snow event last year, our well went out and we had to live with Rubilee for over a week. Another snow event involved Harold waiting until we were snowed in to decide he needed to go the ER, and the EMT's had to carry Harold up the hill since they couldn't get the ambulance down the hill to the house. Yet another winter storm led to Jack having to drive Harold in to the ER over icy roads at night. None of that has happened this year. Yes, I am tired of draining water lines every time I water the berries and fruit trees. I am tired of trecking through the cold to the well house with laundry. However, if I missed the wedding, I did so with a husband who cooked supper and made creme brulee for me. Bella and I sledded down everything from Rubilee's driveway to the backside of hte lake dam.  That might have been a bit too fast for me.  Either way, I was home with the ones I love and that is worth a good deal.

For the moment, I am thankful for the brilliant streaks of sunlight that lit up the eastern rim of the lake this morning. We are one week and one day away from Spring Break. We don't have big plans, but it will mean that spring is right around the corner. I have almost 200 baby plants under grow lights that will be ready to move to the greenhouse as soon as Jack gets it up. I didn't plant a single garden vegetable - since I am doing a raised bed, the 12 tomato and pepper plants I have to buy won't break the bank, but I spent an embarrising amount of money on bedding plants last year so am trying to grow my own this year. 200 sounds like a lot, but I am sure not all will make it. I could have happily planted another 200. I know. Plant addiction.

The most stressful time of the year is coming up at school - End of Instruction tests are looming. The AP exam is right around the corner. The EOI is a from a new vendor this year, and for the first time a portion of my yearly eval will be determined by test scores for a test that students are not required to pass. Stress indeed.

But not today. Today, I will clean a little house. I will finish the last half of AP essay grading. When the snow melts, I will go get Rubilee's paper for her and have my daily chat/check in with the in-laws. For the moment, I am sitting in the sunshine with good coffee, a girl scout cookie, baby plants in view, and a child who is glad for a stay home day.