Here I sit, with coffee in bed on this first frosty morning of the fall; I should be cozy and content, yet I find myself snotty and teary. I don't even know exactly why. I am a mess of emotion, part worry, part thankfulness. Part tired and stressed. Just weepy.
Partly, I am overwhelmed with thankfulness for my dad. For those of you who don't know, he came home about two weeks ago. Dad is walking, talking, eating, putting his own clothes on, taking showers - all the normal things one does, just with a neck brace. He will have more physical therapy later when the neck brace comes off. We don't know if he will be able to return to life like it was before. For certain, there will be some limitations but we just don't know what kind or how many yet. There are still problems that have yet to resolve themselves so we don't yet what the future looks like. I do know this: I have never been so thankful to hear anyone's chuckle of amusement as I have his. I have never before been so grateful to hold someone's hand and have them squeeze back as I am with him. We have been given a second chance in our family. The terrible thing did not happen. My mother still has her soulmate, and we children still have our father.
I think back to that first terrible day and night, that first week. I think of watching my brothers, grown men who seem to handle anything, nearly broken. I remember watching Ben crying silently and praying at 2:00 AM and thinking that I wish that driver could see him. I wanted to take that man, lead him to my father, whose face was all that visible, body covered in tubes and machines. Take him to Rachel, still a baby at 21, still needing her parents whole. Take him to Ben, tears coursing down his face, and say, "Look. Look at what you have done. This is my family and look what you have done to them." I am not angry. I really am not bitter. People kept saying that I shouldn't be bitter. The thing is, when I think of the driver, I am not angry. I don't wish him ill. I hope he will be wiser in the future, more cautious, but goodness, we have all been guilty of inadvertently harming someone in someway at sometime. Instead of wishing him ill, I have been concerned - I cannot think what it would be to know I had caused this much harm to someone. I think of all the things we are not careful in, things we are ALL not careful in, not just him on that day.
Do we live deliberately or do we float through life, careless in our thoughts and actions? My dad has lived deliberately for a very long time, his choices in his work, where he lived, how he raised his children all a reflection of his commitment to God. No, my father is not a perfect man, but he is always becoming a better man. Both my parents live this way. I wonder how confidently we could have prayed had my dad been a different man, how much faith would have held my mom up had she been a different woman. I know that God gave us great mercy and I believe that mercy was given because my family, particularly my parents have been faithful to Him. Can we all expect great mercy? Are we living deliberately?
I think of that driver - I haven't spoken to him. I don't know him. But I wonder if he was floating along or deliberately, actively focused on being careful. Then these thoughts spill to me. How often am I deliberately careful with my thoughts and words and actions. Do I float along? Do I work at thinking and doing and speaking things that are Christlike? Somehow the idea of not being careful enough driving has become this bigger idea of being careful with my life and the lives that have been put in my care - my husband and child, my parents and siblings, my in laws and extended family, my students and co-workers. No, I am not deliberately bad, I am not deliberately careless, but I also think I am not always consciously choosing to be careful with what I have and who I am responsible for.
Deliberately. Carelessly. Thoreau went to the woods to live deliberately. I would like to think I am deliberately living - choosing for my life to be be meaningful. I know that mercy beyond measure has been shown to my father, to me and mine, in simply having Dad alive. Perhaps equally merciful is a reminder to live carefully, to make each day matter in the right ways. I want to have that peace and confidence in God's mercy and faithfulness toward me. I want to know that better than only doing no harm, I did something good. I think I needed reminding about the choices I make, while there was time to be reminded.
I look at this day of Thanksgiving that approaches. I cannot believe that November is half over - I still feel like I missed half the fall. Blessedly, we have been given so much more and been reminded to savor each moment of it.
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Waiting
I am so tired. Just so very tired. I can sleep the sleep of Ambien and be groggy the next day until noon or I can sleep of the fretful and be groggy till noon. It doesn't seem to matter. And while I say that I am so tired, I feel so guilty because my mother and brothers and sister and even Jack and Bell are just as tired, mom surely more so. But I am just so tired. Twice in the last two days I have lost my patience with Bell and snapped at her for something that was probably not snap worthy.
And I don't even know if I am so tired because because I haven't been able to exercise or eat enough green things or the emotional roller coaster each day has become or if it is just the sleep. I have been given a lot of help from above in being peaceful and not giving in to doubt and fear, but it creeps in when I least expect it. I find myself tearing up just driving down the road.
To say that someone is hit by a semi and then drowned sounds like a preposterous thing that happened to the coyote when one of his sabotages against road runner backfires. How can a man possibly survive? He has survived, but his future, and thus ours, remains uncertain. Every day there is a new hurdle - some cleared, some not. We made it through the scary surgery Tuesday and I suppose we all just felt so much hope afterwards. Then yesterday, he had to have an emergency tracheotomy when he wasn't able to breathe after being removed from the ventilator. Setback. Setback. Through the night, when I woke up, I prayed that his pneumonia be cleared and that when his sedation wears off today he will be calm and at peace. We don't even know for sure what he knows or thinks, just that he is sedated because he tried to remove some tubes yesterday on his own and was pretty angry acting. Maybe with the ventilator tube gone, today will be better. While I walked yesterday afternoon, I prayed he would be calm, at peace, and not discouraged or afraid, my prayer for us all.
We have had so many friends and co-workers and church family members reach out with prayers and generosity and it has made all the difference. I believe my father will be healed. That He will finish this work of healing that He has started, but I am weary.
Yesterday was my happy 14th anniversary with Jack Dear. Not a lot of celebrating around here, but let me say that I do not think I could have made it through the last 9 days without him. Fourteen years. It is unfathomable to me that life could have taken us down different roads. I am thankful for my family, for my husband, for the mercy my father and family has been shown while we wait. Wait and pray.
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Addendum to Summer of Run
Progress is slow, to be sure, but progress nonetheless. Today, I had to slow to answer a phone, carry a kitten, and slog up a hill against the wind, so my my pace was down. But my feet still moved.
My mother-in-law has been fussing. "You should just do a little light weights everyday" and "Walk while you watch TV" and "You just need to watch what you eat and you won't need to do all that" are her comments about how she thinks I shouldn't run. For some reason, she thinks I am not acting age appropriate and should just give all this up. Other days the point is that I should join a gym and exercise with people and run on a treadmill. I totally get that she hates me to run on the road. She is convinced that some one will run over me or steal me. However, I have zero desire to exercise with other people - I am around literally hundreds of people every day at school. Running is bit zen like - just me and my trail of cats and dogs who follow me - pied piper style is the way to run apparently. I certainly don't want to have say hi or even wave or head nod. I just want the solitude with my sweat. We have conceded to look for a treadmill to use when it gets cold - Rubilee thinks it will be too cold in just a month. I still plan to run on the road and brave that hill (it's like a glorified stair master) anyday it is decent. In Oklahoma, we have a lot of decent winter days. For now, it was a gloriously cool morning for August.
My mother-in-law has been fussing. "You should just do a little light weights everyday" and "Walk while you watch TV" and "You just need to watch what you eat and you won't need to do all that" are her comments about how she thinks I shouldn't run. For some reason, she thinks I am not acting age appropriate and should just give all this up. Other days the point is that I should join a gym and exercise with people and run on a treadmill. I totally get that she hates me to run on the road. She is convinced that some one will run over me or steal me. However, I have zero desire to exercise with other people - I am around literally hundreds of people every day at school. Running is bit zen like - just me and my trail of cats and dogs who follow me - pied piper style is the way to run apparently. I certainly don't want to have say hi or even wave or head nod. I just want the solitude with my sweat. We have conceded to look for a treadmill to use when it gets cold - Rubilee thinks it will be too cold in just a month. I still plan to run on the road and brave that hill (it's like a glorified stair master) anyday it is decent. In Oklahoma, we have a lot of decent winter days. For now, it was a gloriously cool morning for August.
Graceful Living
I am purely exhausted this morning. I need sleep in the worst way - elusive is far too gentle a word to describe my connection to sleep the past several days. I should be out running on this gloriously cool morning but I sit here with coffee. Now I will have a bit for coffee and running don't have a good relationship for me.
I am neither in the mood nor do I have liberty to address the stress that I think is driving away my sleep and inviting ludicrous anxiety ridden dreams. Instead, I would rather think of strength and grace in the face of adversity. Some people, by bent of temperament, just seem to have more natural calm and poise than others, joy that daily defines their interactions with the world, quiet strength that marks their struggles. Perhaps some is termperment. Perhaps some is something they cultivate, choosing mindfully each day. Perhaps some is given by God, a blessing for their faith.
This year, I have more students with learning disabilities than any year since I taught classes dedicated to remedial English. Students with these hurdles are like all other students - they deserve an education and they should be held accountable for learning in a manner aappropriate for their particular needs and abilities. At the same, just like any other student, they can be likeable and a joy or students I have to work to simply tolerate. Eager, class clowns, surly, conscientious, lazy, creative, disorganized. What ever label can be found for a "regular" student can be found for a special needs student. One child in particular makes me think of Flowers for Algernon. I wonder is this student knows the difficulties and limitations that are reality. Every morning, I am greeted with enthusiasm and a smile. If we bump into each other during they day, this child seems genuinely happy to see me and every one else, for that matter. What ever we talk about during class - grammar, lit, whatever - that hand is up volunteering answers and asking questions with more eagerness than I see the entire rest of the day. Where does this well of positivity spring from? Does she know that she likely won't have the same opportunities as others for education and careers? Does she know how much she faces? I am in awe. I want to yell a bit at everyone else and say, "look how much she does with so little."
I have an adult friend who generates a similar response in me. To be sure, she has many blessings, but she also deals with some very serious health issues that limit her ability to go and do. I know life and future are always uncertainties for all of us, but short of miracles in medical advances or divine healing, it seems certain that her health issues are not going away and will likely worsen. Some people are stoic and closed off in the face of such things, but this friend just keeps working, momming, friending, walking in all her roles of life full of grace and kindness. There are no complaints. She admits concerns and difficulties, but seems to let living her life rather than living in fear and worry dictate her actions and attitude. I inwardly yell at me, saying "look at what she does despite so much burden."
I am tired. I have not slept enough in three days to equal one good night. I am concerned about so many things, fretting about things I can only pray about rather than actively take on myself. I need to dig deeper, rely more on God to resolve issues and to know that he will give me the grace and strength I need to deal with them. I need to tap into that joy and power I see these two examples modeling everyday.
I am neither in the mood nor do I have liberty to address the stress that I think is driving away my sleep and inviting ludicrous anxiety ridden dreams. Instead, I would rather think of strength and grace in the face of adversity. Some people, by bent of temperament, just seem to have more natural calm and poise than others, joy that daily defines their interactions with the world, quiet strength that marks their struggles. Perhaps some is termperment. Perhaps some is something they cultivate, choosing mindfully each day. Perhaps some is given by God, a blessing for their faith.
This year, I have more students with learning disabilities than any year since I taught classes dedicated to remedial English. Students with these hurdles are like all other students - they deserve an education and they should be held accountable for learning in a manner aappropriate for their particular needs and abilities. At the same, just like any other student, they can be likeable and a joy or students I have to work to simply tolerate. Eager, class clowns, surly, conscientious, lazy, creative, disorganized. What ever label can be found for a "regular" student can be found for a special needs student. One child in particular makes me think of Flowers for Algernon. I wonder is this student knows the difficulties and limitations that are reality. Every morning, I am greeted with enthusiasm and a smile. If we bump into each other during they day, this child seems genuinely happy to see me and every one else, for that matter. What ever we talk about during class - grammar, lit, whatever - that hand is up volunteering answers and asking questions with more eagerness than I see the entire rest of the day. Where does this well of positivity spring from? Does she know that she likely won't have the same opportunities as others for education and careers? Does she know how much she faces? I am in awe. I want to yell a bit at everyone else and say, "look how much she does with so little."
I have an adult friend who generates a similar response in me. To be sure, she has many blessings, but she also deals with some very serious health issues that limit her ability to go and do. I know life and future are always uncertainties for all of us, but short of miracles in medical advances or divine healing, it seems certain that her health issues are not going away and will likely worsen. Some people are stoic and closed off in the face of such things, but this friend just keeps working, momming, friending, walking in all her roles of life full of grace and kindness. There are no complaints. She admits concerns and difficulties, but seems to let living her life rather than living in fear and worry dictate her actions and attitude. I inwardly yell at me, saying "look at what she does despite so much burden."
I am tired. I have not slept enough in three days to equal one good night. I am concerned about so many things, fretting about things I can only pray about rather than actively take on myself. I need to dig deeper, rely more on God to resolve issues and to know that he will give me the grace and strength I need to deal with them. I need to tap into that joy and power I see these two examples modeling everyday.
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Before I take a nap, let me say . . .
It is the last Saturday. So much in the way of what I should've done and could've done but didn't do floats around in my head, mixing with the mental stretching that comes with that first cup of coffee, mixing with the reading of education blogs telling me how to start my year.
So I have been evaluating this whole "what I accomplished this summer" thing over my coffee this morning, thinking in terms of garden, fitness, home, school. I think it is just a wash. I need a do over for sure. The garden? Well the cucs died, the greens were too bitter to eat, those peppers are the slowest to ripen. I have had plenty of tomatoes but have fought summer blight so much I am about ready to just give up. Likewise, I got very little done towards school. I love my job but I just really needed a break from all things educational or studentish. I just don't have enough oomph to care much about any of it right now. Instead, I chose to do things like strip and repaint my old desk during the last week off. It is easy work and let's the brain drift.
I may be the most frustrated with my personal body. Last fall, I went to the doctor for my yearly lady appointment. My cholesterol was a bit high which was new. Usually, all my numbers are so low, someone asks if I am actually a member of the undead. So I have been making better food choices, though they were already good ones. I have been a conscious eater for years, but I tried to trim back some foods a bit more. I got serious about it all in February. I have been losing weight, wogging and running, lifting and doing all of it for over six months now. Everyone always says, "lose weight, exercise, drink more water, eat these greens. You will look and feel great". I don't. I have spent the last few weeks simply exhausted. I just want to sleep. I am crabby. My body doesn't feel any stronger, any more limber, any fitter than it did twelve pounds and six months ago. My bursitis is flaring up. My sinuses are a mess. I have spots on my face despite my diligence in wearing a hat. Mostly, I just feel tired. I will admit that I look better. I like what I see in the mirror. I feel content, confident, often sexy. But I am too tired to do much with those positive feelings. I have tried to work in some rest time but it isn't helping. By the time I need to start supper, I am barely thinking clearly enough to chop an onion, let alone follow a recipe. By the time I get the kitchen cleaned up, it is all I can do to set the coffee pot for the morning and stumble out of the kitchen. My mother asked if I was losing weight too fast. I haven't lost an ounce in a week so I don't think that is it. She asked if I exercised too much. Less than an hour a day doesn't feel like too much. She asked if I was getting plenty of iron and taking the vitamins I am supposed to take. Yes, yes, yes.
I am sure some of this is stress. Harold and Rubilee have not been a picnic lately. I love my in laws but sometimes keeping two households, one ten year old, and two 80 somethings who act like ten year olds on an even keel is tricky. It isn't so much that I do lots of work for them. I send extra portions of our dinner up a few days a week. We check on them twice a day. We groceries shop for them and run their errands. But there lots of surprises - things like surprise company that we need to help with or the doctor appointments they failed to tell us about or just days they decide they need us as chauffeur. They often don't make good decisions so we have to deal with the consequences. Yet, they also aren't ready to give up their autonomy. I am also stressed about Jack's lack of work. I keep praying that a door will open. I am terrified of what happens when unemployment runs out soon. He has put in applications everywhere he can think of. It is always under qualified and over qualified.
So I don't know about the success of the summer. I swear, the next chipper person who asks how the summer went . . . I may be too tired to answer.
Let me say that I am not depressed. I had my best run ever yesterday. I am excited to start some new things at school and have a new batch of great kids. Things are more than okay with Jack and me on a personal level - who knew that being middle aged and married would be so much fun? I am just so damned tired.
So I have been evaluating this whole "what I accomplished this summer" thing over my coffee this morning, thinking in terms of garden, fitness, home, school. I think it is just a wash. I need a do over for sure. The garden? Well the cucs died, the greens were too bitter to eat, those peppers are the slowest to ripen. I have had plenty of tomatoes but have fought summer blight so much I am about ready to just give up. Likewise, I got very little done towards school. I love my job but I just really needed a break from all things educational or studentish. I just don't have enough oomph to care much about any of it right now. Instead, I chose to do things like strip and repaint my old desk during the last week off. It is easy work and let's the brain drift.
I may be the most frustrated with my personal body. Last fall, I went to the doctor for my yearly lady appointment. My cholesterol was a bit high which was new. Usually, all my numbers are so low, someone asks if I am actually a member of the undead. So I have been making better food choices, though they were already good ones. I have been a conscious eater for years, but I tried to trim back some foods a bit more. I got serious about it all in February. I have been losing weight, wogging and running, lifting and doing all of it for over six months now. Everyone always says, "lose weight, exercise, drink more water, eat these greens. You will look and feel great". I don't. I have spent the last few weeks simply exhausted. I just want to sleep. I am crabby. My body doesn't feel any stronger, any more limber, any fitter than it did twelve pounds and six months ago. My bursitis is flaring up. My sinuses are a mess. I have spots on my face despite my diligence in wearing a hat. Mostly, I just feel tired. I will admit that I look better. I like what I see in the mirror. I feel content, confident, often sexy. But I am too tired to do much with those positive feelings. I have tried to work in some rest time but it isn't helping. By the time I need to start supper, I am barely thinking clearly enough to chop an onion, let alone follow a recipe. By the time I get the kitchen cleaned up, it is all I can do to set the coffee pot for the morning and stumble out of the kitchen. My mother asked if I was losing weight too fast. I haven't lost an ounce in a week so I don't think that is it. She asked if I exercised too much. Less than an hour a day doesn't feel like too much. She asked if I was getting plenty of iron and taking the vitamins I am supposed to take. Yes, yes, yes.
I am sure some of this is stress. Harold and Rubilee have not been a picnic lately. I love my in laws but sometimes keeping two households, one ten year old, and two 80 somethings who act like ten year olds on an even keel is tricky. It isn't so much that I do lots of work for them. I send extra portions of our dinner up a few days a week. We check on them twice a day. We groceries shop for them and run their errands. But there lots of surprises - things like surprise company that we need to help with or the doctor appointments they failed to tell us about or just days they decide they need us as chauffeur. They often don't make good decisions so we have to deal with the consequences. Yet, they also aren't ready to give up their autonomy. I am also stressed about Jack's lack of work. I keep praying that a door will open. I am terrified of what happens when unemployment runs out soon. He has put in applications everywhere he can think of. It is always under qualified and over qualified.
So I don't know about the success of the summer. I swear, the next chipper person who asks how the summer went . . . I may be too tired to answer.
Let me say that I am not depressed. I had my best run ever yesterday. I am excited to start some new things at school and have a new batch of great kids. Things are more than okay with Jack and me on a personal level - who knew that being middle aged and married would be so much fun? I am just so damned tired.
Before i take a nap, I would just like to say . . .
It is the last Saturday. So much in the way of what I should've done and could've done but didn't do floats around in my head, mixing with the mental stretching that comes with that first cup of coffee, mixing with the reading of education blogs telling me how to start my year.
So I have been evaluating this whole "what I accomplished this summer" thing over my coffee this morning, thinking in terms of garden, fitness, home, school. I think it is just a wash. I need a do over for sure. The garden? Well the cucs died, the greens were too bitter to eat, those peppers are the slowest to ripen. I have had plenty of tomatoes but have fought summer blight so much I am about ready to just give up. Likewise, I got very little done towards school. I love my job but I just really needed a break from all things educational or studentish. I just don't have enough oomph to care much about any of it right now. Instead, I chose to do things like strip and repaint my old desk during the last week off. It is easy work and let's the brain drift.
I may be the most frustrated with my personal body. Last fall, I went to the doctor for my yearly lady appointment. My cholesterol was a bit high which was new. Usually, all my numbers are so low, someone asks if I am actually a member of the undead. So I have been making better food choices, though they were already good ones. I have been a conscious eater for years, but I tried to trim back some foods a bit more. I got serious about it all in February. I have been losing weight, wogging and running, lifting and doing all of it for over six months now. Everyone always says, "lose weight, exercise, drink more water, eat these greens. You will look and feel great". I don't. I have spent the last few weeks simply exhausted. I just want to sleep. I am crabby. My body doesn't feel any stronger, any more limber, any fitter than it did twelve pounds and six months ago. My bursitis is flaring up. My sinuses are a mess. I have spots on my face despite my diligence in wearing a hat. Mostly, I just feel tired. I will admit that I look better. I like what I see in the mirror. I feel content, confident, often sexy. But I am too tired to do much with those positive feelings. I have tried to work in some rest time but it isn't helping. By the time I need to start supper, I am barely thinking clearly enough to chop an onion, let alone follow a recipe. By the time I get the kitchen cleaned up, it is all I can do to set the coffee pot for the morning and stumble out of the kitchen. My mother asked if I was losing weight too fast. I haven't lost an ounce in a week so I don't think that is it. She asked if I exercised too much. Less than an hour a day doesn't feel like too much. She asked if I was getting plenty of iron and taking the vitamins I am supposed to take. Yes, yes, yes.
I am sure some of this is stress. Harold and Rubilee have not been a picnic lately. I love my in laws but sometimes keeping two households, one ten year old, and two 80 somethings who act like ten year olds on an even keel is tricky. It isn't so much that I do lots of work for them. I send extra portions of our dinner up a few days a week. We check on them twice a day. We groceries shop for them and run their errands. But there lots of surprises - things like surprise company that we need to help with or the doctor appointments they failed to tell us about or just days they decide they need us as chauffeur. They often don't make good decisions so we have to deal with the consequences. Yet, they also aren't ready to give up their autonomy. I am also stressed about Jack's lack of work. I keep praying that a door will open. I am terrified of what happens when unemployment runs out soon. He has put in applications everywhere he can think of. It is always under qualified and over qualified.
So I don't know about the success of the summer. I swear, the next chipper person who asks how the summer went . . . I may be too tired to answer.
Let me say that I am not depressed. I had my best run ever yesterday. I am excited to start some new things at school and have a new batch of great kids. Things are more than okay with Jack and me on a personal level - who knew that being middle aged and married would be so much fun? I am just so damned tired.
So I have been evaluating this whole "what I accomplished this summer" thing over my coffee this morning, thinking in terms of garden, fitness, home, school. I think it is just a wash. I need a do over for sure. The garden? Well the cucs died, the greens were too bitter to eat, those peppers are the slowest to ripen. I have had plenty of tomatoes but have fought summer blight so much I am about ready to just give up. Likewise, I got very little done towards school. I love my job but I just really needed a break from all things educational or studentish. I just don't have enough oomph to care much about any of it right now. Instead, I chose to do things like strip and repaint my old desk during the last week off. It is easy work and let's the brain drift.
I may be the most frustrated with my personal body. Last fall, I went to the doctor for my yearly lady appointment. My cholesterol was a bit high which was new. Usually, all my numbers are so low, someone asks if I am actually a member of the undead. So I have been making better food choices, though they were already good ones. I have been a conscious eater for years, but I tried to trim back some foods a bit more. I got serious about it all in February. I have been losing weight, wogging and running, lifting and doing all of it for over six months now. Everyone always says, "lose weight, exercise, drink more water, eat these greens. You will look and feel great". I don't. I have spent the last few weeks simply exhausted. I just want to sleep. I am crabby. My body doesn't feel any stronger, any more limber, any fitter than it did twelve pounds and six months ago. My bursitis is flaring up. My sinuses are a mess. I have spots on my face despite my diligence in wearing a hat. Mostly, I just feel tired. I will admit that I look better. I like what I see in the mirror. I feel content, confident, often sexy. But I am too tired to do much with those positive feelings. I have tried to work in some rest time but it isn't helping. By the time I need to start supper, I am barely thinking clearly enough to chop an onion, let alone follow a recipe. By the time I get the kitchen cleaned up, it is all I can do to set the coffee pot for the morning and stumble out of the kitchen. My mother asked if I was losing weight too fast. I haven't lost an ounce in a week so I don't think that is it. She asked if I exercised too much. Less than an hour a day doesn't feel like too much. She asked if I was getting plenty of iron and taking the vitamins I am supposed to take. Yes, yes, yes.
I am sure some of this is stress. Harold and Rubilee have not been a picnic lately. I love my in laws but sometimes keeping two households, one ten year old, and two 80 somethings who act like ten year olds on an even keel is tricky. It isn't so much that I do lots of work for them. I send extra portions of our dinner up a few days a week. We check on them twice a day. We groceries shop for them and run their errands. But there lots of surprises - things like surprise company that we need to help with or the doctor appointments they failed to tell us about or just days they decide they need us as chauffeur. They often don't make good decisions so we have to deal with the consequences. Yet, they also aren't ready to give up their autonomy. I am also stressed about Jack's lack of work. I keep praying that a door will open. I am terrified of what happens when unemployment runs out soon. He has put in applications everywhere he can think of. It is always under qualified and over qualified.
So I don't know about the success of the summer. I swear, the next chipper person who asks how the summer went . . . I may be too tired to answer.
Let me say that I am not depressed. I had my best run ever yesterday. I am excited to start some new things at school and have a new batch of great kids. Things are more than okay with Jack and me on a personal level - who knew that being middle aged and married would be so much fun? I am just so damned tired.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
On Cue
While running this morning, I thought about careers. I think I was distracting myself from how many minutes I had left of a running interval, but I fell down a rabbit hole of reflection about what I thought I would do and what I actually do. When I was in high school, I was adamant about not wanting to go into teaching. Zero desire. I also didn't want to follow the path of so many other Wilsons into medicine or law. Instead, I had become addicted to the high of public speaking. I haven't really played with theatre, but I think that must be a similar high. I am rubbish at talking with people, especially in mundane small talk and social niceties. I am shy to the point of being miserable. You've no idea the lengths to which I will go to avoid speaking with someone I don't know. So how does a shy girl end up giving speeches? Well, there is art to public speaking and it is magic to persuade someone. There is a cue and then you are in the spotlight for a few minutes and no one talks back. You have this golden oportunity to sway your audience to believe something, to take an action, to make a change. You don't have to learn their names, you will never see them again, the Q and A afterwards will be be about the topic and not personal . . . At the same time, it is exhausting. To be sure, there is a high, but it is followed by a crash because you pour your everything into making those few minutes count, making them really spectacular for your audience. You have to be charismatic, inspirational . . . You are selling something and have to be Salesman of the Year. I am not sure it can be explained to someone who hasn't done it, but public speaking was one of my great passions. I really wanted to be a professional public speaker or perhaps a speech writer, because although I'd never heard of logos, ethos, and pathos, I was also a good writer.
Then I went off to college and had crappy advisers who told me those weren't real careers and I somehow drifted to the English department since I only seemed good at reading and writing and really couldn't think of anything else I'd really like to do except horticulture, which my parents discouraged. Once there, I was told that I must teach, for what else is there to do with an English degree? And so I became a teacher, not for any lofty goals of bettering mankind or wishing to serve or even love of teaching or language. I just fell into it.
In a few weeks, I will be starting year nineteen of teaching English. That is a long for time for a career I didn't passionately pursue. Somewhere along the way, I did discover that I really do like what I do. Often, I love it. Sometimes, I don't at all. I am not at all the most fabulous teacher ever, but I am good at it, hopefully better than just good. What I didn't foresee is how much like public speaking it would be. When I am up in front of twenty or thirty sophomores or juniors, I have a narrow window of time to get them to buy into what I am selling. Maybe it is a grammar skill that I need to convince them to learn. Maybe a point of view I need them to consider about what we are reading. I have to be enthusiastic, I have to teach the skill, I must be ready for the Q & A, I have to hold their attention for as long as it takes. It is not option for them to not buy into the idea - there is a state test that will determine all our fates. Trickier than public speaking, I also am doing a little refereeing and crowd control, maybe real discipline. I might have to move a child or make someone put away a phone. I might have to play counselor. Maybe dispense a band aid to the child who discovers a cut while I am in the middle of verb tenses. If I am lucky, I will only be interrupted twice by the intercom or a knock on the door. Don't forget, I have to hold their attention and sell the idea, which means I have to believe in my product. It is fifty minutes of being on a stage with an audience that might argue and whine. And most days, I love it. Between classes, I will race to the bathroom or sort out some class sponsor thing or run a paper to the office or answer a question about what we did yesterday . . . until the bell rings again. That's my cue to start class.
I always dread school starting and look forward to it at the same time. Working with teenagers is this perplexing mix of exhaustion and rejuvenation. All those new ideas, still some measure of innocence, new minds just waiting to be stretched. I dread being "on" for six hours a day. Five days a week. Every week. It purely wipes me out. I think I physically wilt for a few minutes when the last kid walks out. On the other hand, there is some magic that still happens in the give and take of being in a classroom. And until this morning, I hadn't thought about how alike teaching and public speaking are.
Then I went off to college and had crappy advisers who told me those weren't real careers and I somehow drifted to the English department since I only seemed good at reading and writing and really couldn't think of anything else I'd really like to do except horticulture, which my parents discouraged. Once there, I was told that I must teach, for what else is there to do with an English degree? And so I became a teacher, not for any lofty goals of bettering mankind or wishing to serve or even love of teaching or language. I just fell into it.
In a few weeks, I will be starting year nineteen of teaching English. That is a long for time for a career I didn't passionately pursue. Somewhere along the way, I did discover that I really do like what I do. Often, I love it. Sometimes, I don't at all. I am not at all the most fabulous teacher ever, but I am good at it, hopefully better than just good. What I didn't foresee is how much like public speaking it would be. When I am up in front of twenty or thirty sophomores or juniors, I have a narrow window of time to get them to buy into what I am selling. Maybe it is a grammar skill that I need to convince them to learn. Maybe a point of view I need them to consider about what we are reading. I have to be enthusiastic, I have to teach the skill, I must be ready for the Q & A, I have to hold their attention for as long as it takes. It is not option for them to not buy into the idea - there is a state test that will determine all our fates. Trickier than public speaking, I also am doing a little refereeing and crowd control, maybe real discipline. I might have to move a child or make someone put away a phone. I might have to play counselor. Maybe dispense a band aid to the child who discovers a cut while I am in the middle of verb tenses. If I am lucky, I will only be interrupted twice by the intercom or a knock on the door. Don't forget, I have to hold their attention and sell the idea, which means I have to believe in my product. It is fifty minutes of being on a stage with an audience that might argue and whine. And most days, I love it. Between classes, I will race to the bathroom or sort out some class sponsor thing or run a paper to the office or answer a question about what we did yesterday . . . until the bell rings again. That's my cue to start class.
I always dread school starting and look forward to it at the same time. Working with teenagers is this perplexing mix of exhaustion and rejuvenation. All those new ideas, still some measure of innocence, new minds just waiting to be stretched. I dread being "on" for six hours a day. Five days a week. Every week. It purely wipes me out. I think I physically wilt for a few minutes when the last kid walks out. On the other hand, there is some magic that still happens in the give and take of being in a classroom. And until this morning, I hadn't thought about how alike teaching and public speaking are.
Friday, July 22, 2016
The Summer of Run
Back in January, I bought my self a Fitbit. I had bought one for Jack for Christmas and liked his so much that I felt the need for one as well. At first, I just tried to keep my step count up. Then in mid February, I joined Weight Watchers online. I had gained a few pounds a year each year for the past four years and hit a point that just wasn't acceptable to me. I had really gained a lot in the past year when I quit exercising because of the shoulder trouble I had. It was a wake up call, as if those clothes that I couldn't wear weren't calling loudly enough already. I know that the nearly 41 year old me does not have the energy, stamina, and metabolism to manage the goal weight I managed at 31, so I set some realistic goals. I am fine with not being thin, but I do need to be healthy. And I need to be able to fit in my clothes. My immediate/ necessary goal was twelve pounds, with loftier amounts set as secondary goals.
So anyway, all spring I worked at getting a little more exercise and eating better. Jack put up our old Bowflex that had been in storage. I started walking on the road, trying to work in a few minutes of jogging during each mile. I did well until the last month of school and lost about six pounds. Things got hectic, there were going away dinners and banquets, and just too much stress and not enough me. I gained back some of my progress but swore that as soon as school was out, I would get serious about getting fit.
I will be honest - the first week that school was out, I did little more than sit in the recliner and read. I just felt mentally wiped out, but since then I have made up for it. I made it a point to wog (walk and jog) two miles a day and lift every other day. I kept track of my WW points. I bumped up to three miles a day. Jack and I went to Red Coyote and got better running shoes and started the Couch to 5k training. (Let me just say that it was easy until week 4, which just sucked yesterday. ) There were plateaus, and I swear this whole thing has been so much "one step forward, two steps back" followed by a few steps forward all at once. Today, I finally hit the 12 pound down mark after six months. When I was 32, that only took six weeks, not six months. It is a sobering reminder of age, and I am sure I am due for another step back.
What really worries me is managing to keep this loss up or at least sustain it once school starts. My routine has been to wake up around 5:30, and as soon as it is light enough to see the road, I am warming up. Then on lift days, I manage to lift before the well house (where the Bowflex lives) gets hot. I have been up by at least 6:00 every day but Sunday the entire summer. Sunday is the day off. It is just too hot later in the day. When school starts, I have to walk out the door at 7:30 in the morning, which means waiting for daylight and getting in a few miles every morning and still getting presentable afterwards will be impossible. Each day, it gets light a little later. Factor in a shower and hair wash and making sure the kid is ready and fed. Ugh. I suppose I will have to shift to evening runs, but until October, it will still be stifling until after dark.
I think this encroachment into my time of getting healthy is what I dread most about school. Despite Jack's lack of job and the accompanying money worries, it has not been a bad summer. I run, I garden, I pick berries, I have canned summer bounty. I have snuck in afternoon naps with my husband, I have read and read and read, I have snuck in morning naps with my husband, I have worn only the amount of clothes I wanted to wear and not makeup at all. We have actually worked pretty hard, with gardens and for the in-laws and on a bedroom remodel for Bell. There have been lots of days when I worked until I made myself ill and couldn't take another step. And all of these things were part of physical health and mental health. Each choice fulfilled a different need in me. Working hard and running hard and living in a pajama shirt have all felt like really healthy choices. It was my choice to get up before the sun came up and lace up those shoes and run. Yes, my sides heaved and muscles and lungs complained. And yes, I relished the quiet of a solitary run that let me listen and learn what a scissor tail's voice sounded like. Yes, I liked doing something just for me. I am simply not ready to give up the summer of run.
So anyway, all spring I worked at getting a little more exercise and eating better. Jack put up our old Bowflex that had been in storage. I started walking on the road, trying to work in a few minutes of jogging during each mile. I did well until the last month of school and lost about six pounds. Things got hectic, there were going away dinners and banquets, and just too much stress and not enough me. I gained back some of my progress but swore that as soon as school was out, I would get serious about getting fit.
I will be honest - the first week that school was out, I did little more than sit in the recliner and read. I just felt mentally wiped out, but since then I have made up for it. I made it a point to wog (walk and jog) two miles a day and lift every other day. I kept track of my WW points. I bumped up to three miles a day. Jack and I went to Red Coyote and got better running shoes and started the Couch to 5k training. (Let me just say that it was easy until week 4, which just sucked yesterday. ) There were plateaus, and I swear this whole thing has been so much "one step forward, two steps back" followed by a few steps forward all at once. Today, I finally hit the 12 pound down mark after six months. When I was 32, that only took six weeks, not six months. It is a sobering reminder of age, and I am sure I am due for another step back.
What really worries me is managing to keep this loss up or at least sustain it once school starts. My routine has been to wake up around 5:30, and as soon as it is light enough to see the road, I am warming up. Then on lift days, I manage to lift before the well house (where the Bowflex lives) gets hot. I have been up by at least 6:00 every day but Sunday the entire summer. Sunday is the day off. It is just too hot later in the day. When school starts, I have to walk out the door at 7:30 in the morning, which means waiting for daylight and getting in a few miles every morning and still getting presentable afterwards will be impossible. Each day, it gets light a little later. Factor in a shower and hair wash and making sure the kid is ready and fed. Ugh. I suppose I will have to shift to evening runs, but until October, it will still be stifling until after dark.
I think this encroachment into my time of getting healthy is what I dread most about school. Despite Jack's lack of job and the accompanying money worries, it has not been a bad summer. I run, I garden, I pick berries, I have canned summer bounty. I have snuck in afternoon naps with my husband, I have read and read and read, I have snuck in morning naps with my husband, I have worn only the amount of clothes I wanted to wear and not makeup at all. We have actually worked pretty hard, with gardens and for the in-laws and on a bedroom remodel for Bell. There have been lots of days when I worked until I made myself ill and couldn't take another step. And all of these things were part of physical health and mental health. Each choice fulfilled a different need in me. Working hard and running hard and living in a pajama shirt have all felt like really healthy choices. It was my choice to get up before the sun came up and lace up those shoes and run. Yes, my sides heaved and muscles and lungs complained. And yes, I relished the quiet of a solitary run that let me listen and learn what a scissor tail's voice sounded like. Yes, I liked doing something just for me. I am simply not ready to give up the summer of run.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Green Therapy
Right this moment, I am dreading school starting. I am dreading the intrusion on my time, waking up early to work rather than to run, not losing track of hours as I muck about in the garden. I dread the rushing and busy and noisy and . . . Well, I just dread it.
This morning I woke up at six to run and lift and then spent my morning in the garden. I need this green therapy. When I am pruning plants and picking berries, I am not thinking about the actual problems with elderly, ill in-laws (as opposed to annoyances that I am shrugging off). I am not worrying about what will happen with a job or lack of job for Jack. I am not fretting about Bell. I just am. I think about green - what I am going to grow in the fall, what is ripe or needs pruning, what I will cook with it, what Thoreau said about it. And then my mind is off on tangents - maybe I have fallen down a literary rabbit hole, maybe I am dreaming of what we can do if we are really a farm, maybe I am sailing through the islands with Jack and have left English in the dust of Oklahoma. What ever it is, I am not worrying.
So what is it that I am growing? The tomatoes are finally here, at least in amounts to satisfy my daily requirements. I am fighting something that I think is summer blight - maybe this copper fungicide will do the trick. Some of the peppers are ready and the plants are loaded. The Armenian cucumber has tiny babies that will be big in a week, but alas, I found squash bugs on the squash today. I have picked four quarts of blackberries from my six tame plants and the same from the wild bushes on the lake. Both plots still have red fruit so I will get a few more quarts in before it's over. The blueberries are not doing so well - they are just existing and not really growing so we are looking into some changes for their care. The herbs - well, they just need an intervention - they are literally taking over.
I do grow pretty things as well. Jack and I looked at some wooden rectangular planters that were pricey, pricey so he built me his own version. They line the back sidewalk and are over flowing with flowers - geraniums, impatiens, periwinkles, salvia, all manner of trailing vines. In the front, mixed in with day lilies are giant zinnias, cactus zinnias, cosmos, amaranth, lantana, nasturtiums, and pentas. The dahlia bed is sharing space with butterfly weed and yarrow and unidentified things I dug up at my grandmother's. Jack's passion fruit vine is covered in flowers that smell exotic and enticing, and he has seed trays full of tiny cacti and succulents,
I have a few more weeks of green therapy but August first is looming. Positively looming. Until it gets here, you will probably find me in the green things.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Patience Or Dealing with the Elderly.
As I poured my coffee this morning, my gaze fell upon a basket of odds and ends seed packets - some empty, some not - all being saved for the plant descriptions so I wouldn't inadvertently plant a dahlia that grows to three feet tall in front of one that only grows two feet. You laugh, but it happens. I lose track of which seeds are in which flats and what each one will turn into.
But I digress. What I was really thinking about was the packet on top, one for Butterfly Weed that Rubilee had given to me a few weeks ago when she brought them home from garden club. She handed me the packet and told me that I should plant them. I told her it was really too late to start more seeds and that I already had butterfly weed this year, but I would gladly plant them next spring. She said, "No, you have butterfly bush," to which I replied, "No, my plants are all butterfly weed." And she repeated herself and I repeated myself and she repeated herself. And then I just said, "well, then you should call Baker Creek Seeds and Territorial Seeds because they believe those plants are butterfly weed." And that was the end. Sort of. I find myself in these conversations a lot with her. Sometimes it is about what she thinks I want vs what I really want. Sometimes it is about some education policy of the state department. You name it, and lately, we can't get on the same page. Often it is what she tells me Harold won't eat. . . Until I make it and he eats all of it. Last week, she was one hundred percent sure that the lake got too high and killed all the wild black berries. She wouldn't believe me that there were berries until I brought her a pie.
I am sure she is right and I am wrong sometimes, but she hasn't seen my flower beds. Not once this year. Surely, I know what I planted. But hell, what do I know? Maybe it isn't butterfly weed at all but really something crazy like petunias. I do feel at times that I have a perilous grasp on things. Just wait until school starts - I will be worthless then.
Lately, the root of the problem is that one hand, I really love my in-laws. They have done so much for us, still do, really. They have gone beyond what could be expected and are never anything but nice too me. On the other hand, being their neighbor and co-chief care taker on call twenty four seven can take its toll when they are stubborn. No, it absolutely doesn't matter if she stubbornly believes I planted a butterfly bush or that the berries are dead. It does matter when she stubbornly insists that she has enough dog food to last another day instead of letting me get it when I am already in town today. The store is almost forty minutes away and I try to only go once a week. It does matter when Harold knows all day he needs to go the ER but waits until bedtime because he "didn't want to interrupt Jack's day and was waiting until he wasn't busy." It matters because we still need the energy to be parents and spouses and lovers. I want them to ask for help when they need it, but I also want them to take help when I offer it rather than waiting until we have hit an emergency situation.
I don't want to grow old. I don't want to do this to Bell. I know it is ages away but I want her to not dread dealing with me. Definitely, it makes me cognizant of what I do on a daily basis that might unnecessarily complicate Jack's life. I need to be wise and careful in my choices and aware of the ripple effects around me. I also know that I am perfect and that perhaps I need these lessons in patience and tolerance.
But I digress. What I was really thinking about was the packet on top, one for Butterfly Weed that Rubilee had given to me a few weeks ago when she brought them home from garden club. She handed me the packet and told me that I should plant them. I told her it was really too late to start more seeds and that I already had butterfly weed this year, but I would gladly plant them next spring. She said, "No, you have butterfly bush," to which I replied, "No, my plants are all butterfly weed." And she repeated herself and I repeated myself and she repeated herself. And then I just said, "well, then you should call Baker Creek Seeds and Territorial Seeds because they believe those plants are butterfly weed." And that was the end. Sort of. I find myself in these conversations a lot with her. Sometimes it is about what she thinks I want vs what I really want. Sometimes it is about some education policy of the state department. You name it, and lately, we can't get on the same page. Often it is what she tells me Harold won't eat. . . Until I make it and he eats all of it. Last week, she was one hundred percent sure that the lake got too high and killed all the wild black berries. She wouldn't believe me that there were berries until I brought her a pie.
I am sure she is right and I am wrong sometimes, but she hasn't seen my flower beds. Not once this year. Surely, I know what I planted. But hell, what do I know? Maybe it isn't butterfly weed at all but really something crazy like petunias. I do feel at times that I have a perilous grasp on things. Just wait until school starts - I will be worthless then.
Lately, the root of the problem is that one hand, I really love my in-laws. They have done so much for us, still do, really. They have gone beyond what could be expected and are never anything but nice too me. On the other hand, being their neighbor and co-chief care taker on call twenty four seven can take its toll when they are stubborn. No, it absolutely doesn't matter if she stubbornly believes I planted a butterfly bush or that the berries are dead. It does matter when she stubbornly insists that she has enough dog food to last another day instead of letting me get it when I am already in town today. The store is almost forty minutes away and I try to only go once a week. It does matter when Harold knows all day he needs to go the ER but waits until bedtime because he "didn't want to interrupt Jack's day and was waiting until he wasn't busy." It matters because we still need the energy to be parents and spouses and lovers. I want them to ask for help when they need it, but I also want them to take help when I offer it rather than waiting until we have hit an emergency situation.
I don't want to grow old. I don't want to do this to Bell. I know it is ages away but I want her to not dread dealing with me. Definitely, it makes me cognizant of what I do on a daily basis that might unnecessarily complicate Jack's life. I need to be wise and careful in my choices and aware of the ripple effects around me. I also know that I am perfect and that perhaps I need these lessons in patience and tolerance.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Turning the Last Page
Book lovers know how bittersweet turning the last page of beloved story can be. If there is a sequal, it isn't as sad, but I always hate to finish a really good book, the sort that I have lived and breathed as the left the page and became internalized.
I feel that the end of this school year is a bit like the end of that book. Don't get me wrong. I was so beyond ready for the end of the term. I had given up writing real lesson plans by the first of April and just had assignments/project steps jotted on a calendar around all the days we were out of class for this and that. I definitely don't feel like I did any real meaningful teaching the entire month of May except perhaps to my juniors who did the This I Believe project. I had my classroom packed days before the semester tests. My inventories were done. I was ready to walk out the door.
Really the last day for me was going to The Oklahoma Foundation for Excellence banquet with one of my seniors who was awarded Academic All State. I was so honored to get to see her accomplishments acknowledged. Haley is one of those really special students that I will miss, though I can't wait to see all the amazing things she will do next. I am also saying goodbye to the best sophomores and juniors I have ever had. I don't think I have ever enjoyed a group of kids more. But these kids leaving means that my window of opportunity for teaching them what they need to know is closed. There is something bittersweet about the end of something we work hard on. It feels good to reach the end, but I also wonder how much better I could have done in this and that. It's also anticlimactic. We work so hard to get them to pass state tests, to get our at risk kids to simply pass the class, and then, POOF! they are just gone.
It was also the last year of elementary school for Bell. Compared to elementary, middle school seems daunting, threatening all sorts if pitfalls from mean girls to mean teachers. I remember very little good from my own years in those grades and I worry that my already awkward kiddo will get lost in these years.
It was also the end of a job for Jack. He was discontent with his job for various reasons, but it was a pretty stable pay check for three years. The job market is a scary place right now. My dad has been out of work for over three months with no prospects. Jack is almost at the two month point. He did go to an interview for a job he wasn't sure he would want or be able to take because of the distance from home. Of course now, he really wants it and they haven't called back. I am praying the boss just took a long holiday weekend instead of deciding they needed someone closer and younger.
Really the last day for me was going to The Oklahoma Foundation for Excellence banquet with one of my seniors who was awarded Academic All State. I was so honored to get to see her accomplishments acknowledged. Haley is one of those really special students that I will miss, though I can't wait to see all the amazing things she will do next. I am also saying goodbye to the best sophomores and juniors I have ever had. I don't think I have ever enjoyed a group of kids more. But these kids leaving means that my window of opportunity for teaching them what they need to know is closed. There is something bittersweet about the end of something we work hard on. It feels good to reach the end, but I also wonder how much better I could have done in this and that. It's also anticlimactic. We work so hard to get them to pass state tests, to get our at risk kids to simply pass the class, and then, POOF! they are just gone.
It was also the last year of elementary school for Bell. Compared to elementary, middle school seems daunting, threatening all sorts if pitfalls from mean girls to mean teachers. I remember very little good from my own years in those grades and I worry that my already awkward kiddo will get lost in these years.
It was also the end of a job for Jack. He was discontent with his job for various reasons, but it was a pretty stable pay check for three years. The job market is a scary place right now. My dad has been out of work for over three months with no prospects. Jack is almost at the two month point. He did go to an interview for a job he wasn't sure he would want or be able to take because of the distance from home. Of course now, he really wants it and they haven't called back. I am praying the boss just took a long holiday weekend instead of deciding they needed someone closer and younger.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
I Teach You. You Teach Me. This I believe.
Earlier this week, I sat through an agonizingly long awards ceremony at our highschool. While I admit that it is a totally boring way to spend one's morning, it was also rewarding and encouraging to see so many of my former students excelling. Teens do a lot of stupid things, really stupid things. Many don't at all care about education and only graduate because we drag them kicking and screaming through their school years. But not all, not nearly all. An astonishing amount of scholarship money was awarded. Students who placed at area scholastic meets received medals. We have a young man who was awarded a spot at the Air Force Academy. We have a National Merit Scholar and an Academic All Stater. Another student was just elected State FFA President. These students all sat in my class. They worked their hearts for me and let me teach them instead of resisting education with all their might.
My point is that teens get a bad rap sometimes. Look on the news or on social media. It is full of images of teens making poor decisions. While I do honestly worry about this generation's ability to make wise voting choices and to contribute meaningfully to society, it is our job and perhaps our pleasure to spend time with these same kids making sure they learn to think. A lot of my friends interact with young people all the time. They are in education or other professions or programs that center around kids, like ministry, Girl Scouts or Duncan's Teen Theater. We have so many opportunities to be with kids in a positive way, and while many kids surely need some guidance, others just need to be encouraged in the already good things they believe and do.
As our end of the year project, my AP Lang classes worked our way through the This I Believe personal essay project. Think back to those broadcasts of This I Believe speeches on NPR. That is just what we did minus recording our speeches and sending them to someone. We did lots of small reflective journal writings, some collaborative work, and finally wrote and presented essays on some personal philosophy they held about an aspect of life. They wrote about everything. These were painful, soul searching essays. Students wrote about success and defeat. Fear. Aspirations. Coming out. Mental illness. Faith. You name it and we probably heard it. We went through a box of Kleenex during presentation days.
Let me just say that I was in awe of the collective wisdom in that room. They may just be sixteen and seventeen and eighteen year olds, but they know a lot. They have strong and solid beliefs that will help guide them. They know themselves far better than I did before I went off to college. One would think they had just came out of Ann Frankland's class on Campbell. I was really afraid they would blow this assignment off as an easy A, go through the motions, and turn in trite easy essays. A few did. Perhaps three out of fifty. Most were well written, had gorgeous style and dug deep. These were from the heart and I couldn't have been prouder of them. They badgered me to write one too - it was hard. How do I pick just one philopshy and make it relatable?
Through out the year, I learned so much from this group of kids. It was honestly the best year ever. It was just a wonderful group of kids. I poured my heart into the class and they did to. I learned from them all year - what ever we read or wrote, they always had some new perspective, some new slant I hadn't thought of. I learned a lot about teaching and just people this year.
I think sometimes I get so caught up in teaching what the state department or College Board mandates, that I put teaching the important things on the back burner. I did a better job of making them look at important issues and face difficult "life" issues this year. In the process I was reminded of how much they teach me when I am supposed to be teaching them.
One of my seniors gave me a card a few days ago. I stood in my room reading it, tears tracking down my cheeks. She said that she hadn't planned to take my class but that it was a God thing that she had and that we read what we did. Of course it was - I know she and others were put in my room to teach me a thing or two this year. I may be on the door step of middle age and she may be young, but I believe if we are listening and paying attention, we teach each other.
My point is that teens get a bad rap sometimes. Look on the news or on social media. It is full of images of teens making poor decisions. While I do honestly worry about this generation's ability to make wise voting choices and to contribute meaningfully to society, it is our job and perhaps our pleasure to spend time with these same kids making sure they learn to think. A lot of my friends interact with young people all the time. They are in education or other professions or programs that center around kids, like ministry, Girl Scouts or Duncan's Teen Theater. We have so many opportunities to be with kids in a positive way, and while many kids surely need some guidance, others just need to be encouraged in the already good things they believe and do.
As our end of the year project, my AP Lang classes worked our way through the This I Believe personal essay project. Think back to those broadcasts of This I Believe speeches on NPR. That is just what we did minus recording our speeches and sending them to someone. We did lots of small reflective journal writings, some collaborative work, and finally wrote and presented essays on some personal philosophy they held about an aspect of life. They wrote about everything. These were painful, soul searching essays. Students wrote about success and defeat. Fear. Aspirations. Coming out. Mental illness. Faith. You name it and we probably heard it. We went through a box of Kleenex during presentation days.
Let me just say that I was in awe of the collective wisdom in that room. They may just be sixteen and seventeen and eighteen year olds, but they know a lot. They have strong and solid beliefs that will help guide them. They know themselves far better than I did before I went off to college. One would think they had just came out of Ann Frankland's class on Campbell. I was really afraid they would blow this assignment off as an easy A, go through the motions, and turn in trite easy essays. A few did. Perhaps three out of fifty. Most were well written, had gorgeous style and dug deep. These were from the heart and I couldn't have been prouder of them. They badgered me to write one too - it was hard. How do I pick just one philopshy and make it relatable?
Through out the year, I learned so much from this group of kids. It was honestly the best year ever. It was just a wonderful group of kids. I poured my heart into the class and they did to. I learned from them all year - what ever we read or wrote, they always had some new perspective, some new slant I hadn't thought of. I learned a lot about teaching and just people this year.
I think sometimes I get so caught up in teaching what the state department or College Board mandates, that I put teaching the important things on the back burner. I did a better job of making them look at important issues and face difficult "life" issues this year. In the process I was reminded of how much they teach me when I am supposed to be teaching them.
One of my seniors gave me a card a few days ago. I stood in my room reading it, tears tracking down my cheeks. She said that she hadn't planned to take my class but that it was a God thing that she had and that we read what we did. Of course it was - I know she and others were put in my room to teach me a thing or two this year. I may be on the door step of middle age and she may be young, but I believe if we are listening and paying attention, we teach each other.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
April Showers
I need May flowers. I need May to burst forth in a riot of color and life and vigor, literally and figuratively.
I am not overly fond of the word "suck" but I can think of no other word I am willing to publish to describe the month of April than that it was a purely sucky month. I know. I have a degree in English and am always on my kids about an enriched vocabulary. I can surely do better.
I am sure most of our friends know that about three weeks ago Jack was laid off. No severance package. No pay for unused vacation. Just cut loose. There have been some hiccups with unemployment paychecks, but they are in the process of happening. In the meantime he has spent whole days online searching for work, applying for jobs. The thing is, we are stuck. He doesn't feel we can leave here because of his parents needing us as caretakers and I at least have a job, one that I like. And he is not the most employable - a theater degree is close to worthless here. Since then, we have had to replace an air conditioner, had a major malfunction that resulted in a flooded house and a new hot water heater, discovered termites, Jack has to have a cavity dealt with, and we are still cleaning up tree debri from last weekend's tornado that went between our house and his mom's. Today, I have a sick kid. If I were a drinking woman, I would be in a stupor. Ann Frankland once said something to the effect that kicking a flat tire and loosing a few good curse words was effective. I am not there but I will totally admit that April sucked.
A co-worker has suggested that it was a way to keep me on my knees before God, humbled and prayerful. I think there may be something to that. It does feel like a test and I am not sure how much my faith is holding up. I am not panicked, not nearly. But I am concerned. I am organized, a planner, a worrier. And certainly not a risk taker . . . Yes, it is time to be prayerful, to listen. To ask that the doors meant for us be opened and the doors to distractions and wrong paths be closed.
It is also a time to reexamine what I do have. This time of no work lets Jack be of more help to his parents. It meant he was home to deal with ruptured hot water heater and flooded carpets and walls. It meant he was home during tornados to be with us. I have that gorgeous view of the lake morning and evening. I have a husband I am madly in love with who still loves me and who is a great dad to our child. I have had the best year ever at school. We are mostly healthy. My shoulder seems worlds better - I am thankful that God has given relief there since he knows I can't afford the surgery I was sure I had to have. Maybe these are coincidences. Maybe they are little miracles. I rather think they are.
April wasn't so much showers of difficulties. It has been more like monsoon season. I need patience, wisdom, faith that in May or June or in God's timing, there will be relief, reward. Flowers.
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