There's Me, then there's (me) - a Squirrel-Fur Story 8/31/13

The first week of school is over.  The routine has set in.  The big kids have already learned some stuff (ha ha, gotcha!), and more and more of the babies are opening their mouths and singing with me every day.  Here we go.  That's Me.  I will forever, though, equate this first week with the things I've had to do concerning probate, real estate, life insurance, and being the single parent.  That is (me).  There are barriers there.  I'm not going to share that information with everybody out there.  Yes, it may seem that I tell you a detail or two, but none of it chips the surface of the reality I'm living.

There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now.  Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house!  This is the kind of thing I do share.  Amusing anecdotes.  Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings.  (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!)  I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today.  That's my 'story of the day'.  Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold. 

Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue.  I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet.  I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.

College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school.  Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty.  I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc.  Not that difficult, but computers were his department.  I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments".  Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments.  Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his.  Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone.  I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday.  Success in one new territory.

If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success.  Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court?  Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch?  With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me).  My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone.  Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.

So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business.  I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me.  What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years.  My finger was a size 6 in 1984.  It's not anymore.  Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky.  It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on.  I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days.  Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it!  I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama.  That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.

Me can finish out this part of the story for you:  I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel.  My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?"  I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me.  "There is no squirrel!"  I exclaimed.  I knew the answer.  I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe.  The vacuum was in the corner in the pic.  I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back.  (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?)  The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house.  Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark.  I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today.  I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance.  Love, Me.

Being small is important, too! 8/25/13

A kindergartner once gave me a picture he had drawn.  (Once?  A million times, probably, but I'm thinking of one in particular.) In this picture, I am very, very tall and the child is very small.  It surprised me a little, because I forget just how tall I must seem to those little darlings. Honestly, they might even think I'm a giant!  I try to be very nice to them, so at least they think I'm a nice giant!  As the new year begins tomorrow morning, I will be making sure that I kneel to their level so they aren't scared of me, and see me as kind, caring and someone they can trust.  I will have a "BIG" day tomorrow.  I've found, though, that it is important to have "SMALL" days, also. 

In the classroom, I am a force.  I am in charge.  I am the one that answers the questions.  Right teachers?  Teachers are the ones that establish the procedures and make sure that they occur each day.  Teachers are the voice of authority.  Teachers loom in stature over students - figuratively and sometimes (as in my case) literally.  We are in charge.  Sometimes I'm in charge of so many things that my favorite moment of the day happens when I can say "I don't know, I'm not in charge of that!"

Within a family setting, the adults are BIG, too.  Whether you are a parent or not, you run a household of some sort; making financial decisions, taking care of day-to-day chores, planning vacations, deciding which social events to attend.  We are all BIG within our own house.  It should be that way - our house is where we are loved and valued. When conflict happens within a household, it hurts more, because everybody is BIG, so hurts are big, too.  If you look at the other side of the coin, though, happiness is magnified many times over in a loving house where everyone is BIG.

But what happens when we need to feel SMALL?  When I taught high school, I was BIG within the classroom.  Sometimes, during my planning, I walked one block east, then one block south so I could stand there and look out at the Gulf.  It's vast, and the waves never stop.  Just doing that for a few minutes gave me a peace that I could carry back into the classroom, where I was BIG again.

  I went for a hike in the woods today, with some friends.  As we walked, we talked about problems, victories, plans, hopes, dreams - all those things that you decide at home, where you are BIG.  But every now and then, I looked up from the path.  Enormous mature trees surrounded us.  The path under our feet was uneven, with huge roots crisscrossing under our feet.  Insects whizzed by us - it's their world, and we were interrupting!  I felt small. Really small.  It's a relief to be small for a while.  Our hike stopped for a while at an old cemetery.  We've visited before, it's small, well-kept, peaceful and beautiful in its own way.  I started looking at headstones that were shared by husbands and wives.  In that tiny cemetery, I saw so many wives that outlived their husbands by ten, twenty, even forty years.  Some of the births date back to the 1860s, while the deaths begin around 1880.  The thought occurred to me, while standing in that cemetery, that I am not the first widow in the history of the world, nor will I be the last.  The thing that has become my main identifying factor right now is actually smaller than I thought it was.  That doesn't make it any less sad, or difficult.  Me saying that it is small is not saying that it doesn't devastate me  I never know when it is going to strike me like a lightening bolt.  No, what I discovered in the cemetery today is that I will go on living.  That discovery lets me know that I will face BIG type choices about my own self, and will have be able to decide things and keep on living.

Tomorrow is the first day of school for students.  As teachers, we actually have to be enormous tomorrow.  We have to establish procedure, start building relationships, be kind, caring and loving at the same time we are laying behavioral groundwork, going over the rules and nipping potential foolish students in the bud.  It's huge.

 I hope that all my teacher friends have found some time to be SMALL this weekend. It can be nature that gives you that feeling.  It can be a crowd - I'll bet my friends that were at the Texans game today felt SMALL.  Sunday worship reminds us how SMALL, yet valuable we are. There are plenty of ways to feel SMALL, so that you can go back to being BIG - successfully.  Nothing is worse than a mean giant.  I wish all of you equal amounts of BIG and SMALL

The T-shirt Rebellion 8/22/13

I wore a uniform to school from fourth grade until I graduated. We hated them.  Doesn't everybody that has to wear a school uniform hate them?  Blue plaid and white blouses.  Dress-style jumpers over the blouses through sixth grade, and skirts with the blouses starting in seventh.  Solid color blue, green or white socks.  Solid color blue, green or white sweaters.  No dangling earrings.  Closed-toed shoes.  Skirts had to touch the floor when kneeling.  The rules seemed never-ending.  The dream of being able to choose what I got to wear each day was a part of the enticement of college.

At college, I was sometimes overwhelmed by the question of  "What am I going to wear today?"  There was no real group to follow - different people dressed casual, sporty, dressy, stylish - I had to start making up my mind who I was, as far as fashion was concerned.  It was work.  I remember thinking that it would be so nice just to put on my white blouse and plaid skirt and go.  But instead, I set out to carve my individuality in the world using my clothes.  I wasn't Lady Gaga of that little Baptist college, but I did set my own style and let my personality show. 

Now, I'm an elementary teacher.  Let me explain why that matters.  There is a shelf or drawer in every elementary school teacher's house that is full of school t-shirts.  After a few years, if you don't weed them out, they will run over!  Just this week alone, I was given two t-shirts and told when to wear them (and sometimes, what to wear them with!)  It was also announced that we will be able to order another t-shirt to wear on Mondays to advertise our behavioral program!  So if I wear that one on Mondays, the committee shirt on the Wednesdays of meetings, and the spirit shirt every Friday, that leaves Tuesday and Thursday to wear my own clothes!  Wow!

I am not anti-t-shirt.  I think they have a place.  One school shirt is cute, especially when you have special days or competitions, and especially when you can wear the same design the little ones wear.  They think that's cool.  And t-shirts are great for exercising.  My prejudice actually stems from vanity. I do not look good in t-shirts.  I am no longer as thin as I was in college, and my bust (not thin, either) is accentuated by the high neck on a t-shirt.  I spend the whole day making sure the t-shirt is pulled down far enough in the front and back, and not pulling too tight in certain spots.  I am not as comfortable in a t-shirt as I am in my professional clothes.  And, believe it or not, in spite of my age, I still want to be an individual!

So, whether the blame lies with the seven years of plaid uniforms, or with my vanity about wanting to choose more flattering outfits, I would like to publicly state my aversion to the number of t-shirts and days that we are required to wear them.  I know the publicly stating anything won't change the t-shirt trend, but I just had to get it off my chest.  I wish I could do that with the t-shirts.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go choose a design for the t-shirts my children in choir will be required (by me) to wear.

The First Day Blues 8/19/13

First day blues.....I got 'em.  I prepared myself to go back to work, I did.  I wrote another piece to tell people how I feel, but please treat me normally - and they did!  I love them!  I went in with dear friends last week who helped do some of the not-fun work in the classroom!  I'm ahead of my usual game! (So I thought....)  Then, it happened.

I was up until midnight, having caught a flight back to Houston from instilling dear daughters in their college apartment.  I told them goodbye, hugged them, told them I loved them and walked away.  It took until after I got through security for it to hit me - I'm alone.  I can do what I want right now, as long as I make my plane.  And that won't change.  After I get home tonight, I can do what I want, and nobody will even have a clue.  Whether I watch TV, eat a snack, play the piano, read a book, do some sewing, clean house, play computer games, blog.......it's my time and nobody is there to interrupt it.  The very thought that used to sound idyllic is now nothing but sad. 

In truth, the reality was a couple of games of that candy game, then sleep.  Alarm ringing far too early, and going about the morning routine that I've followed for years.  Monday morning kicking me..."keep moving!"  it says.  Realizing as I leave the house that I can turn off the coffee and all the lights, nobody else is there to wake up later.  Getting to work and seeing my good friends, and all the other precious people.  They have chik-fil-a breakfast biscuits!!  Woo-hoo!  All good, healthy intentions go out the window as I get a biscuit to go with my coffee.  I sit in my assigned place, take two bites of breakfast deliciousness (in-between talking) and then the announcement begins.  "Time for our ice-breaker!"  With all the veracity in the world, and no sarcasm (although I know that my faithful readers always imagine my sarcasm, because they know me), it was not a bad ice-breaker. Clever idea.  Comment or contact me somehow if you weren't there and want to know the details.  But was my mind on the game?  NO!  There was a chicken biscuit sitting there getting cold, doesn't anyone see how dire the situation is?  Alas, it was not warm at all by the time the ice-breaker was over.  That was a real shame, as for the next twenty-three minutes, I had to watch an inspirational speaker on video.  Great ideas, of course.  They wouldn't pay for/use these things if they weren't good.  But did they know my biscuit was cold and the cafeteria seat was only three-quarters the size of my personal seating area?

The meetings weren't too bad.  It's as if someone even heard some of my suggestions.  Yes, there was some reading of papers (not even a powerpoint - just a paper under an Elmo document viewer, as if anyone in the room could read it.) , but there were also a lot of portions where just the new and important information was given.  Not great, but not bad. 

The hard part was a simple thing.  Every year we fill out an emergency contact sheet.  You know, who to contact in case of emergency.  I saw everyone around me putting their husband's/wife's name on the first line, and the "I'm so weird!" brick hit me again.  The tears were just behind my eyes the rest of the day. Almost.  Lunch with my team was good and fun.  But being in the classroom just feels different now.  All afternoon to work in the classroom, too!  But the core of me knows I'm alone, even if I'm surrounded by friends.  Oh, I also found out that another car needs a $400 repair and the dogs escaped today.  They were back home by the time I saw the text, I'm thankful for that and for dear friend that hunts down my dogs.

The point is....there's no point.  I am alone.  But not totally.  Pouring these words onto the computer helps.  I actually think the day might've felt different, though, if I would have gotten to finish that biscuit before it got cold.  Maybe tomorrow.

Just Ok 8/14/13

*The opinions and scenarios below are not intended to cause guilt, blame or any such feeling from anyone.  If anything, I feel guilty for being the one with baggage, the one you must be "careful" around. 

"How was your summer?"  The opening line of anyone going back to school - students and teachers.  Contrary to what you may think, not all teachers hang out together all summer long.  We intend to "get together", and then the next thing you know, it's time to go back to those glorious meetings. 

My school family knows me, they know my situation, and they know that my answer - "just ok" - is justified.  It's not a bad attitude, it's not a diagnosed condition, it's just that truthfully - trying to make it through the last three months since my husband has been gone has only been "just ok".  Matter of fact, sometimes, it's been horrible.  Sometimes it's been numbing.  Sometimes it's been manic - when I feel a little happiness, I go a little nuts because I'm not sure I'll feel happy again for a while.

I am blessed to have a work family that knows and understands.  I want them to know - I don't care what you say to me. "How was your summer?" is normal.  "How've you been?" is normal.  I want to be normal.  But I also have been changed in such a way that my answer to you might be "Just ok." or "Not so good.".  Please don't let my honesty make you uncomfortable, just go with the flow. Tell me "I guess not." or "I understand." or "You're allowed.".  Then we'll keep talking.  If I turn insular for a moment, talking on and on about myself,  wait until I take a breath and tell me where you went on your vacation.  Every time I talk with someone or some group in a regular way, I am walking that path back to being normal.

I am just ok, by the way.  I am a bundle of fears, plans, wishes, pain, hopes, loneliness, perseverance, wanting to give up, positive one day/negative the next....and did I say fears?  I might talk your ear off about having to sell my house because it's too ridiculously big for us, or I might keep it from you that I have to go to court for probate one day. In trying to be normal, I hope you, all my friends, will let me choose what to share and what to keep.  You are all so kind and understanding, I know you will.

"How was your summer?"  "It was just ok, how about you?"  The ball's in your court. Help me back to normal. I love you, my friends.

Only One First 8/12/13

We drove about 800 miles this summer with a kitten in the car.  My sister found her abandoned in Florida while we were visiting.  My girls had planned on adopting a kitten for their college apartment.  It was a match made in heaven.  "Isis", of the long tail. pointy ears, and pointy nose, has been walking, running, leaping joy in our house this summer.  Joy helps put a little ointment on grief occasionally, so I think it was meant to be.   Isis was a tiny baby kitten during this car trip, six weeks old at the most.  We all cooed and baby-talked to her.  Near the end of the trip, Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio.  I said "Awwww, it's Isis' first Bohemian Rhapsody.".  We laughed - every tiny thing that happened to that new little creature could be a "first". 

I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy.  Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of  'firsts'.  And nobody will say "Awwwww!"  These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life.  I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together.  I research and calculate and figure and plan.  The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost. 

My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter.  We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone.  With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars.  We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs.  Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department.  With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.

It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability.  It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay.  It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business.  They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend. 

I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work.  It should be a breeze, right?  I had already done all the research!  First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it.  The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense.  I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk. 

Thank goodness for the phone!  It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together.  I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit.  I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk.  They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying!  After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office.  Then, the next question threw me.

Did I want to add a complete warranty?  (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!)  It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea!  Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script!  Oh no!  Who can I ask?  I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up.  When will I learn to carry tissues?  Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed.  All by myself. 

That's it!  Write it up!  Pay the total!  Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house.  That sounds easy.  Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back.  I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache.  I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first".  It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either.  The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once.  They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend:  In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well.  It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it. 

Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor.  I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect.  You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true.  You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?"  There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.

Getting The Back To School Letter (Wrong Papers, Wrong Walls, Wrong Stuff) 8/5/13

It happened today.  That letter, or e-mail, in this day and time, that says "HEADS UP!  OUT OF THE POOL!!  YOU GO BACK TO SCHOOL IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS!!"  Well, it says that in so many words.  A welcome back letter, with staff changes included.  Information on when we can move in to our classrooms.  Rules upon rules.  No paper here, don't plug anything there, less is more, keep it tidy.....I feel the stress in my stomach already.

We always go back at the end of the summer.  And in a way, I'm ready.  It's just that I can't stand repetitiveness.  Every year the same speeches, meetings, discussions dragged on by people who just have to find the holes and complain, or question ridiculous details.  Repeat, repeat.  Yes, I remember a year later.  I went to new student orientation at Texas Tech last week, for the second time.  Chancellor Nance gave the same speech to the parents as he did a year ago - word for word.  Don't get me wrong, it was an awesome speech, and Tech is an awesome school.  But I felt, as I always do when made to 'sit through it again', that my time was devalued by the presentation.  It's as if someone says to you:  "I don't care that you've heard this before, your time doesn't matter, you are of no consequence, because it has to be said and your ears have to hear it again."  It feels personal.

There are some items of value in the back-to-school meetings.  Meeting new staff.  Catching up with everyone.  Any big changes.  In other words, anything we haven't already been over a million times before.  Is my time better served figuring out the first couple of week's lessons, or running through the building for some sort of team-building race?  If I teach your child, which would you prefer?

Our letter also had staff changes.  I knew that a team member of ours was leaving, and I look forward to meeting the new person. That's right, none of us have met them yet, so don't ask us about them!  We weren't involved.  Nobody asked us.

I want what I always want - to be a good teacher and have a good year.  To inspire children.  To get off the subject every now and then just to talk about history, or current events, or that popular Youtube video. I want to encourage, problem-solve, cheer, smile, demand, praise, connect: TEACH!!!  If you let me do that, I promise not to stick the wrong papers on the wrong walls with the wrong stuff.  Thank you.

Why Do I Teach Music? 8/3/13

I started out as a music teacher because I could explain those musical ideas clearly.  Helping other people understand notes and what they say - I was good at that! More than that, the result was fun!  I could watch young people learn how to create music.  I was disappointed to discover, soon into my career, that music teachers were looked upon as break time for the "real " teachers.  One "real" teacher used to stand at my door with her class and tap her watch if we weren't exactly on time.  I've heard an administrator describe my subject as "fluff".  I've had countless parents say, "Oh, my child just loves your class, the say it's so much fun!"  I have come to the conclusion that the rest of the world may indeed see my subject as fun. In many districts, the classes that teach the arts are the first on the chopping block when budget issues arise.  I've been fearful several times over my twenty-four years that my position would be cut. I have mulled over my personal defense for teaching music for most of those years.  As I enter my twenty-fifth year, I'd like to explain why I chose and keep this career.  Only a few experienced individuals and I know that I'm truly working hard at opening a new world for children each time they enter my door.

I teach music for the wide-eyed wonder of the Thors.  Thor entered kindergarten the same year that Mississippi had one pilot kindergarten homeroom at each elementary school.  He and his twenty classmates looked like younger siblings that had gotten lost on a school visit.  The first time this class came to my room, I sat them on the floor in a circle, sang a song called "Happy Train", and accompanied myself on the autoharp.  Little hands reached toward the instrument.  Only the most mature few could manage to listen to the words of the song, as they had been instructed.  Thor was in awe.  It wasn't quiet awe, it was bubbly, noisy, questioning awe.  I gave everyone a turn to touch, feel, and try to make a sound on the instrument.  Eventually, we sang one verse of the song with each child's name included - "I see Thor on the happy train....."  They all tried to sing along, turned red, clapped - Thor beamed.  Every new song we learned, through the weeks - "I've Been Working On The Railroad", "Chicken Soup" and "Skinnamarink-a-dink-a-dink" - Thor sang out, mistakes or no, with a five-year-old voice that bounced off the walls with exuberance.  I taught Thor every year through fourth grade.  He matured, learned to smirk, learned to talk in class and giggle with friends when he shouldn't.  But one thing didn't change, at least through fourth grade.  When I began the piano introduction to one of out 'fun songs', Thor sat up, knew when to come in, and, like very few fourth grade boys tend to do, he sang with all his heart.

I teach music for the seriously talented.  There are too many to name, and I would surely accidentally omit one, so no names here.  I have run across serious talent at every age level I have taught.  I had the joy of taking a high school choir to state-level competition.  They listened to every concrete and abstract idea I wanted them to express in Cherubini's "Sanctus in C minor".  I watched a high school group take the wide range of choral literature that we had learned during the school year, and come up with a final concert that took on the guise of a radio show.  They wrote a script so all the songs fit in as poetry, gospel hour, even commercials!  I was able to share how to hit those high notes a little better, how to pace yourself when dancing and singing the same show eight times in one day, how to pronounce words to blend with other singers.  I saw them get in trouble at home, at school, fail classes, ace classes, get scholarships, get accepted at prestigious universities (with the help of choir as an activity), try out for parts, get them, not get them, finish college, get married, not get married, have families, experience loss - but most of all, I've seen them live their dreams.  Some of them are still performing, even teaching themselves!  I am so proud.  It doesn't matter to me if they went on to study music.  I feel I have shown them a hobby that can last a lifetime.  If you love music, you can find a place where people are sharing it.

I teach music for everyone.  Some students walk into the room and are enthusiastic from day one.  Later, it turns out they can't even sing on pitch.  By the time that discovery is made, it doesn't matter.  Anyone can sing in the place I call my music room.  Just sing your own way.  Some students excel in the paperwork on notes, rests, and meter.  They discover that the great puzzle that is music makes perfect sense to them.  I can actually see them glowing from the brain light bulb while the rest of the class struggles along and asks question after question.  At that point, I allow the one that excels to take over answering questions and helping.  I also get to instruct them to help humbly, slowly, make sure that understanding happens, and never condescend.  What am I teaching at that point?  I call it music, but there is so much more. 

I teach music to recruit new members for the families known as band, choir and orchestra. I love to encourage students to join one of the groups in middle school, for musical and behavioral/social reasons.  In today's climate, students that feel they belong to a group tend to be more successful at all of their activities.  Recently I saw a family in a restaurant.  I had taught both children, and both are now in middle school band.  I smiled and spoke, they filled me in on their activities, and I told them I was proud, and encouraged them a little more. They assured me it would continue through high school.  The father looked at me and said "This is really great, because we were never in band!"  I smiled even bigger.  Mission accomplished.

Teaching music is a power tool that should be used with care. Music is a personal thing. I try to open windows and doors that expose children to all the many, many, types of music that can enrich their life.  I also still explain those notes and rests.  By teaching music, I am more than break time for the teacher.  I am handing out tools with which our children will carve their own personal happiness.

If I Could Return This, Please - Another View of Grief 8/2/13

I'd like to return this item, please.  A couple of months ago, I was given this device.  It works by randomly shaking up my emotions and super-intensifying the one it lands on.  I have always been fairly happy and even-tempered with the occasional flare-up of anger or sadness.  It's a smooth path in life, and quite enjoyable.  I did not give it up willingly.  This device, this "grief magnometer", has taken over my thoughts, feelings, opinions, and actions.  It's a dictator with one agenda; to keep me feeling the opposite of how I used to.

Let's talk about sadness.  I have always cried at commercials, animal stories, my own and my family's hurt feelings, and especially when tragedy happened in other families.  It rarely cut me inside with knives like the sadness from the grief magnometer.  This device knows how to read when I am performing a simple task, like putting on makeup, washing dishes, starting the car....and then it attacks.  It uses triggers that I didn't even know existed to bring on the memories, followed by the trembling lip and tears rolling from the eyes.  If I could change the setting, I would have it schedule an appropriate time for sadness and a good cry, then I could carry on with the day.  (Holly Hunter did that brilliantly in a scene from "Broadcast News", by the way.  Check it out.)

The magnometer also knows how to scare me.  I am sensible and smart.  I have made plans to live without my husband's salary.  He loved us so much, and left us in good shape for the future.  But this crazy grief-device unleashes feelings of being afraid if we happen to spend thirty-five dollars on something, or if one of the cars makes a funny noise, or I see a bit of peeling paint out on the porch.  I usually take charge and fix things - fix them myself if I can.  But this new feelings device forces me to sit, stare, shake, cry a bit, (whine a bit) and even talk of giving up.  Thank goodness for family and friends that talk me through these situations and encourage me to be my old self and handle them.  This device is just plain old mean!

Speaking of mean.....that is one word that has never really described me.  I'm sure I had my moments as a young person, but as an adult, I think that I've only been considered to be a 'nice' person.  I like to joke when a new student comes in at the middle of the school year by introducing myself and saying loudly  "......and I'm the meanest teacher here!"  Of course, all the other little ones start saying "No, you're the nicest!"  "You're not mean!"  (If you're insecure, or an attention-hog, I highly recommend being a good elementary music teacher.)  I try to ALWAYS be nice to people.  So, mean feelings surprise me.  Feeling mean is different from feeling angry.  Feeling mean is strange.  The grief magnometer sometimes likes to shake things up and make me feel mean when people are trying to help me.  Not good friends, but people that I might have to call, or have an appointment with - people that have my best interests in mind!  I sit on the phone with them, or drive to my appointment, thinking mean thoughts about them, and concocting mean things I can do to them.  Feeling this way is so unlike me.  This is the main emotion shake-up that makes me so angry.

Oh, anger!!  When I was in college, my roommate took a class called "Death and Dying".  She would share portions of what they learned - it was such a foreign concept to college kids!  They memorized the stages of grief as set forth by Elizabeth Kubler Ross.  I remember Maria telling me the stages, they were novel and interesting at the time.  I understood all of them except anger.  I mean, yes, "you can be angry that someone is gone, but aren't you more sad?" I thought.  My twenty-year-old self thought that.  My present self knows that the anger is the quickest emotion to flare in my state of grief.  Everything triggers anger, because it doesn't matter if the feeling is good or bad to start with, the anger comes around in the form of "Why aren't you here to share this beautiful thing/help me with this difficult thing?" I'm angry at fate, I'm angry at him, I'm angry at the life insurance company, I'm angry at my financial advisor, I'm angry at anyone that expresses a different opinion, I'm angry at the companies that keep sending bills, I'm angry at my fingernails for continuing to grow, I'm angry at the grocery store for not hiding that chili and those hot wings from my eyes, I'm..........angry. Very recently, I went into a yelling, screaming, cursing rage fit.  Ninety minutes later, I was so embarrassed by my own self, I was in tears.  Thank goodness family understands.  I am controlled by this grief device.  I just never know which button it's going to push on which day.

It's too bad that this grief magnometer is a final sale item.  I cannot return it.  The thing it came in to replace is permanently gone, and it is permanently here.  I think I can change some habits and surroundings and learn to live with it, but I wouldn't if I didn't have to.