Mary Parrish was My Friend

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


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

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

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


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

In Sync

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going Home

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

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

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

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

Bella laughing as she tamed the hay bales at dusk

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

Thought Soup

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Twelve

I am fairly certain that money has been made and lost.  I am fairly certain that wagers were made that we wouldn't last a year, surely not five, certainly not ten.  Today is happy twelve to us.  Tomorrow is my birthday, but I care not a whit about that.  What I am blissful about is that Jack Rucker still loves me.

We have certainly had ups and downs.  There were moments when I thought that that marrying me was surely a bad decision on Jack's part, times when I wondered if he had truly counted the costs of life with me.  But every year we get better at this, better at loving each other, at working together, at being gentle and passionate and friends and believing in each other.

I could go on and on and on about this man, about us, but it would get pathetically sappy.  Just know this:  I am deeply thankful we found each other, that we didn't choose other paths, that we choose each other every day.  Because that is what it takes - every day choosing life and love, not selfishness or pride.  Every day we choose us and the family we have together.

Do You Really Want to be a Teacher?

I know so many students former students who are planning on getting I to education and I just gave this urge to tell them to run to the mountain and look not behind them.

I have a frequent argument with my mother -in-law that goes something like this:

Me:  I really think it is time to quit and homeschool.
Rubilee:  But going to work everyday is good for you.  You wouldn't like to be home.
Me:  Actually, I would.
Rubilee:  But think of all the good teachers you would deprive Bella of.
Me:  It is just a gamble - we could just as likely have a bad teacher as a good teacher.
Rubilee:  Surely there aren't really that many bad teachers out there.
Me:   Let me tell you about ( and I rattle off a story about a former teacher of my own or one I know)
Rubilee:  Stunned silence
Rubilee: Well then, it is your duty to stay in and be a good teacher

We have this argument at least every other month.  Shs really believes I have this duty to serve mankind as a teacher.  Let me tell you that it is not your duty, not when it comes at the sacrifice of your own child or sanity.  We have been lucky and out of five teachers, Bella has had only one that wasn't a really good teacher.  That one was simply young and brand new and not experienced yet.    We have been lucky that I haven't gone completely batty.  But there have been moments.  There have been weeks. It is not my duty.  I just don't buy into that whole duty to mankind business.  I buy into follow my own bliss.  If it is right, then I will be doing something good for mankind on my own.  It will be something doesn't make my eye twitch.

I am a class sponsor so that means I get to spend my evenings building a float for homecoming next week.  I really despise this.  I do not care about floats.  If parents want their children to have floats, they should build them.  I am more worried about when my own child will get her homework done and eat supper since I will be a single parent that week.  I also honestly do not care if there is a prom or not, but my co sponsor is spearheading this year's fundraisers and as long as I was getting a float organized, I needed to get parents on board for fundraisers too.  And no, I do not get paid extra for any of this.

As much as I hate homecoming and raising money, here is what really galls me.  OAM.  Other academic measures.  It is a goal with measurable outcomes that teachers each had to write this year.  If we don't meet our goal at the end of the year, we lose 30% of our pay for next year.  We aren't allowed to write goals like "I will increase parent communication by 10%."  These goals are all tied to student performance.  So six thousand dollars depends on whether my kiddos come to school ready to learn and perform.  I can teach hard all day, but that doesn't mean my kids are ready to learn or perform.  Did they have breakfast?  Are mom and dad fighting?  Did they get high?  Are they pregnant?  Do they live in a shelter? These kids don't all live with June and Ward Clever.  I understand that many professions have merit pay, but many of those professions don't have so many factors beyond the control of the employee.  I am putting my fate in the hands of a teenager and his or her parents.  That is a frightening proposition that every teacher in Oklahoma faces this year.  It means we will spend more time making sure your children reach this goal and pass that ridiculous end of instruction test and less time teaching things that really matter.  Let's face it. Teachers don't make much anyway.  With sixteen years of experience I still make less than $40,000.  If I lose six thousand of that, I will  hand in my keys and walk out the door.

Why am I ranting to you?  It is an election year.  For starters, I am putting my hopes behind John Cox for state supe.   I think he is the teachers' best hope.  But governor is equally important.  Janet Baressi did a lot of bad things to education, but it was done with Governor Fallin's backing.  I am not telling you how to vote, but I will not be voting for Fallin.

  I will quit ranting with this final note - as much as I really do love teaching, I spend more time jumping through hoops than I do teaching.  If I had this to do over, I would make a different choice.  If we ever have enough money to start farming I will quit without a backward glance.

Who Is This Child?

I have been negligent in writing - it seems as that by the end of each day, I have enough oomph to read a few pages of something before I just give up on all intelligent thought.  It has been a good beginning to school, though a bit stressful (that rant is for a different post), but as always, there doesn't seem to be quite enough of me to go around.  Yesterday was different.  It was such odd day that it's glow was still with me when I woke up this morning.

For those of you who have met Isabella, you know she is not overly girly.  Her favorite clothes are no clothes.  I have given up making her wear anything more than underwear in the house.  When she goes places, the clothing and shoes have to plain- no frills, no ribbons, nothing very girly and especially no pink.  She only found two summer dresses she liked this year - each one navy blue knit - one with a batik print and one with a paisley print and she alternated those on Sunday all summer.  They were cute, but ultra plain.  Her hair can only be brushed and left down and unadorned.  Earrings are rare.  When I try to get her to buy clothes, the path involving the least tears and sulking is online and me saying "pick the shades of blue and green you like best."

  The kiddo is in an honor choir production next week and is supposed to dress up a bit like a teenager.  She (who only wears elastic waisted shorts that feel like pajamas) wanted jeans, flats, and a top, so off to Lawton we went.  I was dubious and figured that at the first store, she would just pick the first thing in her size and be done.  Boy, was I wrong.

Penney's had too much pink and the clothes in her size were too little girly cute.  Justice had only one acceptable top, but it wasn't in her size ( thank goodness, since it was almost $40).  Things picked up at Old Navy.  Several jeans were tried on until she found the look - skinny, but not super skinny or boy friend skinny. Alas, no shirt.  She really wanted a wide necked off the shoulder sweater, but I wasn't prepared for my 8 year old to look like she was working a street corner and no store had such a creation.  She assured me that Children's Place would only have little girl clothes, but was game to check it out.  Then the weirdest thing happened;  she opened her mouth and these words came out, "Ooohhh, that is cute.  I could wear it with jeans and wear it all the time."  She was pointing at a leopard print cardigan. How girly can you get? Then she spotted leopard print ballet flats and a hat.  I thought we had THE outfit.  She loved it, but the shoes didn't fit in any size and she wanted it all to look just right.  So she thought we should keep looking because she wanted these clothes just to wear everyday and  thought they weren't sparkly or fancy enough for on stage.  You could have pushed me over with a feather.  So on and on we looked, finally ending up in Dillards.  Hanging on the wall was a row of plaid short skirts with button down shirts, sweaters, and matching ties.  Too cute.  She actually asked to try some on.  I again thought we had found something that worked, but once again she wanted these clothes just to wear to church and school.  Then she spotted the clearance rack with wide necked (though not off the shoulder), flowing, sequined shirts in jewel tones.  This was it.  The one.  We actually left Dillards with both the sequined short and the skirt/shirt/sweater/tie ensemble because, well, it is so rare for Bella to really like any clothes and ask for them.  She actually spotted lots of other things she liked as well, but she was also getting hungry and it was getting late.

We ended the evening with her finding a pair of ballet flats that will look cute with jeans or the skirt and a visit to Claire's - that child had such a hard time deciding between hair flowers and head bands and earrings but managed to spend a good deal of my money.

The whole evening she chatted and held my hand in the mall.  She was funny and smart.  I don't often enjoy shopping for myself, much less with and for her, but we had so much fun last night.  It wasn't about her enjoying the clothes, it was about her being generally enthusiastic and fun about so etching that didn't involve bugs, bones, and video games.   I think if I am alone next time I go to town and leopard print sweater and hat are still there, I will have to get them.  Maybe for Christmas.  Maybe just because.