Thursday, October 30, 2014

A Fair Catch 10/30/14

I get a little disappointed when my team doesn't try to run the kickoff.  I suppose the special teams players know exactly when they should take that chance and when they should just wave their arm and kneel, knowing they'll get to start from the twenty yard line.  Recently though, I looked at the fair catch from the kickoff returner's point of view.

He was looking high into the sky at the same time that all these enormous beings were rushing toward him with the sole purpose of knocking him flat, if not backward.  Between glances at the ball, which he must catch, he had to judge how many and how close the enormous beings were so that he could know whether to wave his arm casually and kneel down.  At that point, the enormous beings have to rein in their attack and run on past him, not touching him at all.

Robbie and I are engaged.  We first talked about getting married a while ago.  It was an inevitable, perfect progression from messaging, talking, meeting, dating, meeting family members and realizing that we loved each other and didn't want to be alone ever again.  Within that realization was also the clear-cut knowledge of what marriage involves.  Both of us have already successfully navigated richer or poorer,  better or worse, and especially sickness and health. We know what commitment means, and we are committed to each other now.

The engagement was not a surprise to the close family members.  Our parents and children, especially, love us, understand fully, and want us to be happy.  There were a few stirrings that we heard about secondhand.  People like to think that they know what's best in a situation when they have no idea what the situation is actually like.  I look on those individuals as the enormous defensive players bearing down on our situation that we are trying to carefully and happily enact.  To those people:  I wave my arm.  I call a fair catch.  Run on past us and let's start a new drive.  We'll return to the game together.  It may be on the twenty with a long way to go, but we're going to do it together.  I love Robbie and he loves me.  We know what's in store and we're ready.  Watch out - it's going to be a touchdown.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Effective Classroom Management Gone Bad 8/19/14

Back to school for teachers.  The meetings, the hugs, the surprise announcements of pregnancy and engagements.  The excitement/boredom combination that only that particular week can bring.  I've been to two days now, and something is disturbing me.  It's August 2014, and the town of Ferguson, MO is in such a state of unrest that it's affecting our nation.  The National Guard has helped out, and fifty-seven people were arrested last night.  They were protesting, throwing Molotov cocktails at and even shooting at police.  (The article stated that only four of those arrested lived in Ferguson, proving that people will go a distance to protest and cause harm.)  I am not taking a stand on the Michael Brown case. I feel so sorry for his family, just as I do for anyone that loses a family member.  I am commenting on the vaguely-named "protesters".  If you know me at all, you know that I am seriously anti-violence.  I have trouble with the idea of military and war at all, but this world makes forms of such an evil necessity.  I do know that a family lost somebody they loved and cared about, and rather than use the peaceful tools available, many of these "protesters" are causing more harm, injury and even death to try to.........what?

Yesterday, we played a game with our teacher handbook.  Various questions were asked, teachers had to locate the page number and answer, then run up front and ring a bell and see if their teams answer was correct.  Shorthand:  these are the issues that teachers don't do well on, let's pound them in your head with a game.  I stopped participating when something on page 14 caught my eye.  Under "Principles of Effective Classroom Management" it stated:  "Discipline students in private.  Do not redirect or reprimand in front of the other students."

I am at a loss for words.  I don't know if I can keep teaching.  I can't ask some boys and girls in my classroom "Please stop talking."" "Please don't touch her" "Put your rhythm sticks away, you broke the rules."?  I know there are many other ways, but sometimes a polite direct request works the little miracle we need at the time.  I teach between forty and fifty-five students at a time.  Alone.  Do I have to step out in the hallway with a student that is not allowing me to teach due to misbehavior?  Who watches the others?

Today, we had a presentation on classroom management.  The presenter was all about being positive.  Before I go any further, I have to say that I pride myself on being positive with children, and encouraging them constantly by praising good behavior.  The presenter this morning claimed that she only ever does that, and the worst children that are having a "bad day" are brought around by her praise.  Going into my twenty-fifth year, I can agree with that technique, but only for about 75% of the time.  There are some individuals, small as they may be, that (due to whatever life has dealt them) don't care, don't listen to the praise, abuse the privilege of being treated nicely and even cause a violent happening to a fellow student or myself.

I think there are grown-ups that don't care to obey the law today because the authorities in their young lives let them see by example that they would be rewarded if they chose to do wrong.  Should the authorities in Ferguson need to take one protester at a time to a side street and have a talk with them?  That's what education in America has led them to expect.  I'm glad I only have a few years left, and I hope I didn't scar any of the little darlings that I've corrected in class over the last twenty-five years.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Tourist - from Summer, 2002

In 2002, I was privileged to participate in the Live Oak Writing Project. It was a seminar on teaching writing, no matter what your subject.  We spent one of our days walking around New Orleans and writing about what we saw or felt. As a salute to all you "summer vacationers:", here's my observation of the "Tourist":


                                                             Tourist


                                                             Tourist
                                                            Straw hat
                                                            Backpack
                                                          Map in hand

                                                             Tourist
                                                         Reading menus
                                                           Figuring tips
                                                       Having discussions

                                                             Tourist
                                                     Eating breakfast out
                                                   Taking an afternoon nap
                                                    Dinner at a theme-chain
                                                           
                                                              Tourist
                                                            Tired feet
                                                           Sweaty hair
                                                        Two days 'til home

                                                              Tourist


Happy vacation-ing, eveybody!!




Sunday, July 13, 2014

Lunch and a Lecture

I feel like I just got in trouble.  Correction,  I feel as if I just got in trouble for something I didn't do.  I have written about the arbitrary timeline that people place on grief before.  However,  I never thought that somebody would look me right in the face and tell me that others could be offended or hurt if I didn't respect the one year period.

I do want to clarify a couple of things.  First of all, I am past the one year mark.  (I almost said finish line,  because that's the impression I got from today's lecture. ) I am, however, dating Robbie, who experienced his loss only nine months prior to the "words of warning". We are seriously dating.  We have not run away to Las Vegas.

When a widow even starts to date a widower, two entire families and countless other friends are affected. The couple has to choose how to balance getting to know each other and possibly letting a relationship grow with being mindful of the fact that a mother, father, sister, brother and a child are gone.  The remaining children, siblings and parents can't ever find someone that will allow a new start.  That kind of relationship can't be replaced. I like how this clip explains it - substitute your own relationship for the word Dad:

The Dead Dads Club


Discussions about how to respect, love, understand and ease the way for everybody have been a habit for Robbie and me since the beginning.  While we want all family members on both sides to be happy for us, we want them to know that we respect what they have lost.  We also want them to know that we hold our own memories sacred, and both of us completely comprehend that we were happy with another person for thirty years or so.  We are not trying to replace the ones that were lost.  That's impossible.

So we listened to the lecturer, remaining politely silent while knowing inside that we are definitely trying our utmost to respect everybody and live up to our responsibilities.  The only part where we missed the mark was on the one-year period of mourning.  Robbie later asked these questions: "What am I supposed to do for that year?  Go home to the empty house? Not talk to another woman? Not go on a date?  Be sad night after night?"

If he doesn't do those things,  will he get in trouble?  Will I get in trouble if I'm involved? Would we not be "received" in polite society? Will our daughters never be presented?  Will our sons never be invited to join the country club? Last century, perhaps, or the one before. We are not concerned with rules or silly consequences.  We are concerned that all of our family members that suffered irreplaceable loss are given the time they need to understand that we haven't forgotten anybody; nor are we trying to replace them. We've made up our own rules, with love, responsibility and understanding as the guidelines.  To answer the lecturer: it will probably take that long, but not because it's a magic number of days or months.  It may take that long because we hold so many of you dear and love you as much or more than we care for ourselves. The lecturer is one of the dearest and most deeply affected.  We want to do the right thing, timeline or not.  We love you all.










Wednesday, June 25, 2014

You shine whether you know it or not! 6/24/14

I've spent a bit of time on planes this month.  Most of my flights have been at night. Flights are just to be tolerated, you know, for the sheer convenience of not having to drive hours and hours. One of the most welcome moments is when they announce "Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our descent into xxxx. (wherever you're headed...) Please be seated, stow your tray tables, return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seat belts."  It's welcome because the flight is almost over, but also because you can once again see something out of the window besides clouds or just black night.

As I look down on city xxxx from the heights, I can see lights.  Big lights, small lights.  Lights that look like shopping centers, highways or neighborhoods with cul-de-sacs.  The patterns of the lights identify the type of place.  Some are white, most are yellowish from the great height.  Of course there are red lights, too.  The red ones you can see from above are found mostly on tower-like structures as if they are saying "Danger! Please don't hit us, Mr. Airplane!"  The red lights serve as a warning.

I was also intrigued, whilst on one of my evening flights, at the variety of styles and colors of lights on the takeoff runway. I noticed at one point the the giant plane I was on (an A320 EOW, according to the safety card) was surrounded by lines of white lights with blue ones off to the side.  However, the nose of the plane followed one straight line of green lights down the runway.  The color and path created by those green lights led us down the runway into the sky.

We compare ourselves to lights sometimes.  We encourage each other to SHINE and be the STAR that you are!  These comparisons have to do with finding your inner strength and doing your best.  But what if we are meant to be a different type of light?  What if our main purpose in "shining" is to guide others?  Suppose we are part of a team that forms the line of green lights to help someone else take off?

After 9/11, one of my favorite artists, Peter Frampton, realeased a song that expressed his views on how to deal with that horrible tragedy.  He mentions holding hands, singing songs, and not forgetting.  What spoke to me, though,  was a refrain that repeats over and over near the end:  "Find your light, turn it on, shine it down on everyone."  You can hear it here.  The light part happens at about 2:10:

Peter Frampton - Not Forgotten

In the end, Peter says (sorry for the familiarity, I feel I know him!), we can help others by "shining our light on everyone".  I want to go a step further and say that we don't need to wait for a tragedy to shine.  We are all lights.  Perhaps we warn, maybe we illuminate for clear understanding, we might even encourage action like a green traffic light!  Some may even have the tactful skill of acting as a yellow or red traffic light by gently guiding friends or loved ones away from danger or bad decisions.  I want to encourage everyone to find your light, turn it on, let it shine on everyone; the individual that needs our light may be someone very close or an utter stranger.  "Shine like the star you are" doesn't necessarily mean you're on stage.  Our lives are our stage and our daily activities can be lit-up runways, welcoming porch lights or even a red stop light.  Shine on no matter who is watching - or not.  Everyone is on a journey and you might be the one that helps light their way.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

A Tribute to Dad 6/13/14

Dad is eighty-one.  He'll be eighty-two in November, one month and one day after I turn fifty-two.  That means he turned thirty a month after I was born.  How cool that he lived a whole life before his children started showing up - and that he left that life and embraced being a husband and a father with the vigor and single-mindedness that only he can muster.

I think Dad probably could've played college basketball somewhere.  Instead, there was a broken leg, then he joined the service, as many depression-era children ended up doing.  He spent time in Japan, which I always thought was so exotic - there was even a kimono that I could dress up in every now and then!

Dad ended up with three daughters.  I do think perhaps that God purposely meant for him to have three girls! Maybe he would have been too demanding on boys - who can tell?  Having girls was perfect.  He supported our arts efforts as well as sports.

Dad was always involved, with a capital "I".  Whether it was a softball team at work or being a deacon/Sunday School teacher/coach at church; Dad got a kick out of either running the show or helping out. His involvement spilled over to include us.  I had a speaking part in a grown-up church skit when I was seven.  Dad and his friend started a sports league for fifth through eighth graders at small private schools. Of course we played every sport. My Dad helped share church services at nursing homes on Sunday afternoons - and took my sisters and me along to sing and play piano.

If he wasn't in charge, he was supporting.  My Dad came to every ball game that work would allow.  He had a special outfit in school colors, and a jacket with our numbers embroidered on it. Each number was surrounded by a star for each year we lettered in basketball.

Dad made experiences special.  When I turned thirteen, I got to order prime rib in a restaurant. My fourteenth birthday, Dad took just me to see "Oklahoma!" at a dinner theater.  My sweet sixteenth birthday gift was a tailgating trip with friends to a Florida Gators game!

When I left for college, Dad did something very special. He wrote me one letter every week.  Dad just caught me up on the household and sports news.  In each letter was a one dollar bill.  He never missed.  My senior year, the ones turned into fives!   Four years of college - one letter a week.  That's my Dad.

Dad was the only one there with me when I took the walk down the aisle to get married.  I'll never forget how we stayed out of sight until the last bridesmaid headed toward the front. Then he looked at me with his eyes a little shiny and said "Let's give them what they're waiting for!"

Dad doesn't remember a lot these days. The processes of age have taken the clarity and replaced it with confusion. Every now and then, a joke can find its way through.  However, I remember all of the
things I've mentioned and more. I hope to tell him about recent changes.  I know that even if he doesn't understand it, that somewhere inside, he's cheering me on wholeheartedly.  He is half of the team that made me who I am; he is encouraging, involved, a bit silly and most importantly, a loving Christian father.  Thank you Dad.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

One year, cloudy water and Mother's Day

This was intended to be my final post.  I told myself  "I'll end it at the one year anniversary.  I'll just let it be about the first year of grief."  I tell myself a lot of things that don't happen.  There's a story that is my life and I've chosen to chronicle it here.  It would be unfair to leave it hanging at this point.  I'm wanting to know what happens myself!

Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy.  Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude.  Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day.  Not horrible, not great, just a day.  I called his mom, I called my girls.  I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute.  Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.

I received one note in the mail before that day.  It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September.  Maria gets it.  She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again.  Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited."  I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th.  I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.

Friday turned out to be a positive day.  Robbie sent me flowers at work.  That's a big deal.  A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note.  Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner.  Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants.  Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands.  My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie.  Not too bad.

Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point).  When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc.  I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time.  It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself!  The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love.  I was only alone for a portion of the morning.  I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family.  As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much.  Some days are just hard.


I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself.  Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while.  Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present.  The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself.  All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.

Most of the past year has been cloudy for me.  I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time.  It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier.  Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time.  Go away, cloudy days.  I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Letting It Go 5/1/14

We watched "Frozen" this past weekend, Robbie and I.  I have had a secret longing to see it for a while now.  Any movie that captures that many kid's hearts has to have some bit of greatness to it.  Truthfully, for me it didn't compare with "Lion King" or "Beauty and the Beast", but it tried. It was very well done and the music was amazing.  I personally was excited and thankful to hear the choral music sprinkled throughout.  Nice job.  So now I can join all the others of you out there in the "Let It Go" craze.

Today, I watched the cute, cute video of some Marines watching "Frozen" and singing along with "Let It Go". It's adorable.  They go absolutely crazy when Elsa throws it down near the end, hair escaping and Oscar-worthy ice evening gown spinning up from her magic. Watch this if you have the time. Play it and forward to 2:20 if you don't.

Marines watch "Frozen" (5/9/14 - my apologies, but I guess the owner disabled the link!  It was adorable, though!) (6/3/14 CLICK IT!!!  It's back, for a while at least!!)

Here's the point, simple and clear.  Elsa was finally being HERSELF.  Totally herself.  And the men went crazy.  Sure, she's drawn beautifully; what Disney heroine isn't?  But I choose to believe that this video has a 'moral to the story'.  Men want strong women that don't hide anything and are just......themselves.  I should qualify that and say "most men".  By most, I mean the ones worth keeping.

I'm vain.  There it is.  Clothes, hair, makeup?  Very important.  I like to look as nice as possible and I enjoy compliments.  If you've read past blogs, you know that it's just a part of who I am.  When I started dating again, I had a serious desire....to look good!  I'm realistic, I don't deny the root touch-up, I complain about the zit on my chin (even though I'm fifty-one) and I call myself  'medium', because skinny was many years ago.  I just want it to be known that I still care and I still try.

I had quite a few moments of panic, starting to date....until I realized that 'he' actually liked me.  Robbie actually liked ME. Wow.  My confidence came back with a vengeance.  I got teased about "being bitten by the love bug" because I was wearing red lipstick.  I suppose that could actually be a clue, if things work as I'm thinking right now.

Then, I wrote the blog about "The Circle of Life" from "The Lion King".  A sweet friend messaged me privately, saying many nice things, including this:

" I think Let it go from Frozen would be more appropriate for the teacher I knew so long ago and more accommodating to your beautiful singing voice."

Wait, I just watched "Frozen"! I know what you're talking about!  I have stepped out and just decided to let it go....to let life go on, and to be myself without apologies!  It worked, too!  He liked it!  I was me from the start.  There were no gloves involved......and it turned out fine!

So, those Marines were showing us a truth.....no matter who you are, or what it is you need to "Let Go", be yourself.  Don't pretend not to eat if you're hungry, or that spiders are gross if you like them, or laugh quietly if you really don't.  Be YOURSELF.  You are beautiful and the right person will see it.  Let it go......in the way that allows you to be you.

P.S.  There is a comment under the Marine video, by the person that posted it, that says they went crazy when she shook her hair down because it was "hot".  I just decided to interpret what "hot" meant.  Interpreting and encouraging - that's the "real me".  ;)

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Sometimes I Can't Say It, But Disney Can 4/29/14




I can't say certain things.  I have a code that I employ.  Those close to me usually know what I mean, but I avoid the most direct words.  I don't know why,  I should be able to speak clearly about anything.  I enjoy employing the right words to get a message across.  So why am I shut down when it comes to talking about Scott's death and all the things that happen afterward?  I didn't even want to type those words in that last sentence.

Many of you have heard me speak directly, contradicting what I just said.  It does happen.  I try hard.  I act. I pretend that I can say that and move on with the story or conversation at hand.  I fool myself and it works for a while. Other times, I just can't. My voice can't speak "when Scott died", so I say "...with what happened...", usually with a wave of my hand and a sad look on my face.  People understand.  They don't push.  I'm pretty sure people would understand anything, though, so I don't know why I hide.

I hide what I'm doing.  If I say I need to "get some things done", I am probably finally cleaning his clothes out of the chest of drawers and taking them to Goodwill.  If I have a "meeting", I am probably finding out how to transfer assets or close an account (or even a business) by seeing a professional in person or talking on the phone.

I'm trying now, though.  Since I'm starting to be open about the fact that I'm seeing someone (dating, have a boyfriend, in a relationship.....what's it called when you're in your 50s??), I'm really attempting to state the facts. Today, though, Disney made it clear.  You see, there are some Disney movies that, when they are showing, I can play every word of dialogue and every song lyric in my head.  I can do a complete talk and sing-along with these certain few movies.  Today, it was "The Lion King".

It's "Field Day" at school for the the next three days.  During Field Day, a grade level goes outside for their fun races/relays for half of the school day.  Six grade levels, one half day each  = three entire days.  Since the coaches run field day, the 'large group' time happens with me and the art teacher.  All the kids in the grade level, sitting in the gym, watching a movie.  Sounds easy, right?  It is, about eighty percent of the time.  The other twenty percent is filled with the challenge of pre-teens that have attitudes, eight-year-olds that hit each other, or little ones that throw up or bite someone. Today I play imperial ruler and choose which movie will entertain a grade level the best.  I decided that third grade would get "The Lion King".  They needed a powerful movie because they came in all dressed in their colored t-shirts, ready to go for their afternoon of field day.  I was blindly singing along when I sang these words:

"From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun.
There's more to see than can ever be seen,
more to do than can ever be done.
There's far too much to take in here,
More to find than can ever be found.
But the sun rolling high 
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place 
On the path unwinding
It's the Circle,
The Circle of Life"

I'd heard it at least five hundred times before. I've sung along, taught the notes, conducted it in performance. I've even heard it several times since Scott died.  (See what I did there? I'm trying!)  But I heard it differently today because of the progression of events in my life.  Who knew that a cartoon about lions could validate what I was discovering;  that life can move on - from despair to hope?  Quite often though, I find that songs or writings can give me inspiration, validation and a sense of confirmation for what I am feeling.  I think we all do, and that's part of the reason the arts exist.

Moving on doesn't mean we leave our past behind. (Or "your behind in your past" , as Pumbaa says!) Simba didn't want to talk about Mufasa's death, either.  But his friends encouraged him to try to keep enjoying life. "Moving on" is not about forgetting the past;  for me it means finding my place on "the path unwinding".  I have my own personal "Timons and Pumbaas".  Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to find my place.

Last, but not least, a round of applause for Tim Rice, lyricist, and Disney - well said, my friends.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Double Classes and Holding My Breath 4/17/14

Surprise!  The art teacher is sick today and there's no substitute!  "Of course, I'll take those classes.  No problem."  I mean, what choice is there, really?  Somebody has to take the extra group; I have one and PE already has two.  Simple math, the music teacher takes the extra group.

So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy.  Alone.  I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.

The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath.  Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of  "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun.  I am a little further along that path now.  A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not?  My itinerary has been busy lately.

I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing.  the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow.  Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.

Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation.  Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend.  Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.

Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference.  Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future.  The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written.  So talk on, big groups of kids.  I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

The Volcano vs. The Timeline - My Messy Beautiful



The Volcano vs. The Timeline



We think in numbers and time.  We earn salaries, go shopping, pay bills and buy houses.  We state our age, our graduation date, how long we've lived somewhere, and how old our dogs are in "dog-years".  I truly believe we cling to numbers and time because they are concrete.  They can't fade or morph from one fact to another. With our clingy-ness to numbers, though, comes human expectations.  "If I make so much, I'll be happy at last."  "Once this child is five, parenting will be a breeze!"  (Or potty-trained, or in school, or out of braces, or driving.......on and on.) "When a whole year has passed, I'll feel better!"  My mind tells me that last one again and again - that I need to physically push time ahead to get past the one-year anniversary of my husband's death to start feeling better and moving on.

Only guess what?  Feelings don't happen in number or time order. Feelings are the mercury you spilled (on purpose) on the science lab table in high school just to watch how randomly it squirmed and propelled itself around. Feelings do not follow the number-line or the timeline.  That is why recovery has been so messy and beautiful.  Grief recovery is messy because I don't know which feelings will rise to the surface on any given day or even moment.  Grief recovery is beautiful because - somewhere in there - there is recovery.

My first true feelings when I realized that my husband would not recover and wake up from that heart attack were nothing but fear.  I think I said over and over "What will I do?"  It took weeks and months of sorting, filing, notifying, phone calling, visiting, etc. etc., to get to the place I'm at now.  By place, I mean the numbers place.  The cost, the income, the security.  I actually am in an okay place as far as that goes.  The fear still attacks every now and then, though. And that is what is Messy, Beautiful about my journey.  I had a BEFORE and now I have an AFTER.  BEFORE was still regular life.  So happy together, but with the usual disappointments at work, challenges with children, unexpected expenses that threw us for a loop.  AFTER is a volcano.  AFTER left me with a fighter's attitude that was totally in conflict with the curled-in-fetal-position mourning widow that I thought I should have been.

 I plunged right back into work, opportunities, vacations:  in other words, life.  I had to learn that the volcano could explode whenever it wanted.  When my elementary choir sang "Keep Your Head Up", and one asked me afterward "Mrs. McCarty, were you crying because we sang so pretty?".  Yes, sweetie, of course.  You're too young to know about the volcano.  When I clicked on the wrong button on the computer screen during a training session, lost someone else's work in the process, and broke out sobbing so hard I had to leave the room to recover: explosions.

 Some have been big, some small.  Some have been predictable, some completely out of the blue.  I like an agenda.  I like a schedule.  (I also liked to check off what had happened on the church bulletin with the little pew pencil when I was young.  Keep everything in order!!) So the randomness of AFTER has left me searching for order.

I started writing to find order.  I wrote about the fear, the fighter's attitude vs. the public perception of who I should be.  I wrote about feeling happy when I shouldn't.  I wrote about feeling as if I would be alone forever.  I wrote funny things the kiddos at school said and did - I wasn't even scared to tell about the third grade girl that told me I had hair on my toes!  I also went online to understand grief.  Surely if this happens to unsuspecting humans every day, there must be some rhyme or reason as to how to control the volcano!  I joined a grief forum specific to loss of spouses.  The writing and the forum then joined hands to shake the volcano even more.

A man on the forum followed a link to my writings and read every single one of them. Then he messaged me.  Then we started talking on the phone (in spite of the fact that I wrote what I did about my toes)!  "WAIT!!"  screamed my sense of order and propriety.  "It hasn't been a year!!"  My logical self wanted the numbers and time in order.  My old-fashioned self wanted to make sure I did nothing wrong or unseemly.  The volcano, however, does its own thing.

We actually met in person a few weeks ago, and it was beautiful. We met again two weeks later and it's even more beautiful. In our case, the beautiful makes it messy.   It's messy because we don't live in the same place, and we have both recently lost spouses. If we hadn't liked each other, (beautiful) it wouldn't be as difficult (messy).

I can say this, though:  If mercury belongs to nature and can take that unexpected little dart across the table, then why can't human feelings?  He and I will find out; we're going to see each other again.  Sometimes you just have to let the volcano do its thing and blow up the timeline.


This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!











                               



Saturday, April 5, 2014

Help-books and Fun-books....

Just today, I stumbled across the fact that there are actually books out there meant to help people like me. Help-books. Not being much of a non-fiction reader, this fact did not surprise me as much as the number of them available.  The funny part is, I've thought and planned to turn these blog posts into a book, in case they could help someone else that is grieving.  I just didn't know that lots of people have already done that! I'm not sure whether any of them have the plot twist of meeting someone new so soon, as I have. I'm trying to record and remember all the feelings that go with along with it - don't know if any of those other books do that!  I should probably read them all and find out!

Do these books give advice? I think some do. They are meant to be Help-books.  I did peruse one at Barnes and Noble one evening.  It had chapters on everything from immediately after your spouse's death to a chapter called "Widows and Sex".  I did not buy it - I did what anybody would do, looked at the 'good' parts and put it back down.  I didn't really learn anything new or groundbreaking, so you will get no details from me!

I feel a little guilty, though, that I've done all this writing and not read what others have said before me. (I generally feel guilty about most everything, no surprise there!) I've read little bits, just not books.  A blog post is about the right length for my concentration these days. I started reading a John Grisham book that a friend lent me in January.  To me, that's a Fun-book.  It's April and I'm on page 72.  I'm only able to sit for so long until thoughts and ideas flood my brain and I have to just get up and do something.  Sometimes the something is writing down the thoughts.  Sometimes it's cleaning out a drawer.  You never know.

I jump up, do whatever it is I feel needs "doing", and move on to the next thing.  I don't go back to the book. That is not the person I used to be, when a Fun-book could devour my days and nights until I finished it. Readers are a special breed of people.  The list of things we can ignore while immersed in a book can include family, friends, pets, hunger, chores....on and on.  I am one of those, usually, just not lately.

 I did research and read Help-stuff.  Not books. Thank goodness there are web pages and support forums out there that I could read in a 'drive-by' style. They did help, a bit.  But what helped mostly was sitting here and organizing what I was feeling into sentences, paragraphs and full posts.  I've been pretty honest about what I've been feeling for the last eleven months.  I want to remain true to form, just because everyone has been so loving, supportive and encouraging.  Writing these little posts has been my therapy, my meditation, my crutch, punching bag and wailing wall. I think writing took the place of immersion in Fun-books.

I don't think I'll read the other Help-books.  I am moving forward on my own. Well, mostly on my own.  My boyfriend has been through the same loss, so I have a new sounding board; one that has been there.  Perhaps, though, I'll just keep writing in case this one turns into a Help-book itself.  It would be a privilege to help anyone.  Anyone at all.  It's also non-fiction, so I probably wouldn't read it, but that's all right; I'm living a non-fiction life right now and it's turning into a story that I wouldn't put down!

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Are you entertaining? 4/1/14 (not an April fool!)

It was the cutest question ever.  I'm a sucker for the old-fashioned phrases anyway, but this one just made me giggle, blush and think "Oh, how cute!" at the same time.  There is this adorable, very stylish, Southern LADY (capitals on purpose!) at my workplace.  She is a source of inspiration to me because her charm and happy attitude never falter.  She also went through losing her husband suddenly - but is now happily re-married.

I asked her, shortly after I started talking to someone, how soon after her husband died she started dating, or met her second husband.  I was trying to sort through my own feelings of stepping into any kind of involvement, especially when a year had not passed. (Her answer was more proper than my situation, so I just tucked that knowledge away and carried on!)  I just get the feeling that if I do something too quickly or without seeming to show proper respect, that everyone will pass judgement.  Maybe I've watched too much "Gone With the Wind", but this is what my mind sees when people ask a question and I answer honestly:



So instead, I drop hints or keep quiet.  If you read this, then you know - but there are very few of you, to tell the truth.  I'm not sure some of my relatives even read it!  It's a fact I can share now, though; I'm dating.  He lost his special someone, too, so we have that in common.  I didn't search for him, he searched for me.  I feel like a character from a book because things have been so coincidental and magical.  It's early days right now, but it's very nice.

I thought I was keeping things to myself and a few close friends, until the cute question today.  Precious Southern lady came into the workroom for lunch, and started looking around while her food was heating in the microwave.  "I just love to look at what everybody brings for lunch!" she drawled.  Focusing on my little dish:  "Oooh, you made a pot roast?  For just you?"  I blushed, and just shook my head 'no'.  She then whisper-exclaimed (oh, so properly...) "Oh my goodness, are you entertaining?"  I nodded, laughing, while she gave me a big hug.  "I'm so glad to hear that, good for you!"   I could only agree.  Please don't faint like Aunt Pittypat.....please just accept the notion that I might be "entertaining" and it might be making me happier than I have been in a long time!

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Let's Save the World, Teachers!! (Or at least finish the year!) 3/23/14

I saw "Divergent" last night.  I really like the movies set in the dystopian future, especially ones based on YA novels that I have read.  The young people have to overcome all the wrongs that have been set in place by silly grown-ups since the world ended/big war/great disaster...whatever happened in whichever book.  There is always a challenge.  The characters at that point in the story are stretched to their mental and physical limits trying to make it out/in/to the next stage/stay alive. The formula varies, but the final challenge, in the novels and the movies, remains the most tense, suspenseful, casualty-filled part of the story.

All teachers are getting ready to enter their final challenge.  When I thought about going back to school after spring break, I thought about the last thirty minutes of "Divergent".  I also thought about "The Hunger Games" and every single "Harry Potter" book.  We're in the last months now.  Almost every school has about ten to fourteen weeks left.  Testing will be occurring on a regular basis.  Administrators will be needing to wear diapers worrying about testing abnormalities and audits.  Students will be getting in fights and falling in love.  It's funny that they are tested right around the time when their year-long relationship with the others that surround them reaches its peak!

Spring Break is just what is says: a small break.  The imminent end-of-year hill that we climb is in sight even though we are on vacation. (Is it subliminal that I accidentally typed 'hell' instead of 'hill'?)  I hope, all my teacher friends, that you were wise enough to treat yourself well this past week, because that may not happen again for a while.  We all know it, and our smiles and laughs to each other during the day will help us through.

So here we are, teachers....our final battle of this novel (or movie) is approaching.  Choose your weapons, revive your skill-set, encourage your team.  The good guys always win, don't they?  I'm right beside you, let's go!

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

A strange path to a very happy place 3/17/14

Very happy?  How?  I've been on my own for 10 months and had to do more "stuff", and endure more than the normal share of hardships. Hidden away from the world, with only a relative or very good friend on the phone or with me, I've broken down so many times that I started to think I was broken.  I started to think that my outward brave face and strong attitude was holding me back because I didn't give myself an appropriate amount of "sulking around in public" time.  Well, sorry, people, I'm not going to pout for all of you.  I know for a fact that some people thought it was strange how quickly I went back to work last year, and how I've just carried on........as if nothing at all happened. I'd like to see how those people react in the face of a tragedy. (Obviously though, I do not wish tragedy on anyone.)  I think many of them would then realize that going back to work and seeing people and sharing stories-sad, funny, or happy-can be healing and comforting.

I did pour feelings out through my writing, though.  The first few pieces I wrote after Scott died, I sobbed the whole way through writing.  Some later pieces, I pounded the keys of the computer unreasonably hard, because I was very angry about the subject.  I also had to let some sit and take their time - as well as completely delete some and not publish others.  I became obsessed with tracking my page views.  This blog engine has a stats page for me, on which I can see how many views each post has, how many views today, last month, and all time for the blog.  I can also see the referring website, the country you are in, and which browsers have been used.  Not in a personal way, just numbers accumulation.  I quickly became obsessed with my 'numbers'.  I've been known to check my page counts at dinner, in the airport, at school and while shopping.  In trying to 'boost' my numbers, I shared links to my blog in a lot of places.  I just never realized that somebody in one of those places would go back and read every one of them.  Not only read every one of them, but then contact me, end up talking with me, and later on want to meet me.

At this point, I have to apologize for my earlier post that ranted against the lady that told me to "meet someone online".  Kind of.  That was still somewhat insensitive of her.  If we still wore black for a "period of mourning", it might not have happened.  But never mind the online love lady, I want to talk about this person  that found a link to my writing I posted in a grief support forum. This person sent me a private message almost two months ago on the forum, saying they admired the job I was doing as a mom and a teacher after my loss.  They had experienced loss, also, and we started messaging back and forth and talking about different things.  I suppose you've figured out by now that it's a 'he'.  Where did this come from?  I didn't ask for this, or go looking for this, or sign up or join or advertise.....it found me.  From my writing.  Whoa.

We progressed to talking on the phone.  I'm two months behind on my recorded TV shows.  It's very scary when you don't know someone at all, but then you're talking and sharing experiences, and you feel you start to know them.  And then he got the nerve (I know for a fact that it was just as scary for him...) to ask if we could meet.  My answer?  "Not yet, I'll think about it.".  I mean, what is a girl supposed to say?  Then I went to Mardi Gras.  There will be a chapter in the book that tells what happened at Mardi Gras to make my decision clearer. (I dream about making these writings into a book that may help others who travel this path. Everyone can dream, right?) The week after Mardi Gras, he asked again to meet.  I said yes.  We worked out a plan for him to come visit me in Texas.  It was exciting, but I experienced a nervousness that beat out any performance nerves.  I felt I knew him, after two months of talking.....and I was comfortable enough to tell him on the phone: "Well, I know you're not an ax-murderer, so yes, I will invite you!"

Without throwing details to the world in my writing (because there is another person involved in this story....) I would like to say, with all respect to everything that has happened in the past year, that this weekend was like a fairy tale or a Hallmark channel movie.  It started with flowers and ended with a good-bye kiss. I didn't even check my blog stats one time.  I'm happy at the moment, in spite of the strange path.  I hope you can be happy for me, too. I'll be careful, I promise.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

When The Music Starts - My Choir at the Toyota Center! 3/9/14




It was the busiest of weeks.  I define 'busy' as any length of time where your focus is required to be on something besides that which you want to be doing.  So I guess any work day is busy.  But even work days have small breaks, lunch, planning...things like that during which you can take a breath, check your e-mail, look at your phone...without other requirements panting at you like a dog.

The undertaking of an elementary field trip is no small task.  Add in the fact that the little darlings are all in different grades and homerooms, they must wear their choir shirt, they have to perform, and certain paperwork must be turned in on every one of the forty-nine students (49!), and I received a busy week.  I was bombarded by questions, papers, looking for papers, figuring how to collect them and feed them after school, figuring out how to get them on the bus and get to the Toyota Center in time....I worked, planned, e-mailed, texted, made phone calls, and typed up papers. Don't get me wrong, I didn't procrastinate; I've been working on this since August.  It's just that the last week is crunch time, and I wanted to go over every detail as many times as possible. When the music starts, we all need to be ready!  I don't like to be wrong about anything!

I must say a huge 'thank you' to our office staff and all the teachers that helped with the little details.  And I thank the principal for just letting me handle it all and staying out of my way.  I prefer to work unassisted and without a hawk looking over my shoulder, questioning everything I do.  And I got it my way!  Pure luck, I know.  The big day, Friday, rolled around and I was up early.  Packing what I would need and getting dressed and ready.  There was a five-minute space when I, the choir director, could not find my own choir t-shirt.  But it was only temporary, the shirt was found and on with the show.  Headed to school, my choir and I got a shout-out on the radio from local morning show Dean and Rog.  That made me very happy, and I hoped that a lot of our teachers and parents had heard it.  I parked at school, carried in all my 'stuff' and was late for the staff meeting.  Not only late, but had already been mentioned, so everyone knew I wasn't there on time.  I claim Rockets game excuse!

Let it be known that during this day, I taught my full schedule of classes, except when the assistant principal spelled me for thirty minutes due to having won an hour lunch with my team.  I was missing a permission slip, I had to call the parent.  I had no less than four students without their t-shirts, and only five to spare.  I typed an agenda for the afternoon to give my principal, who was riding the bus with us.  I figured out how many students I needed to place on each row for our performance from the stands. I dealt with the fact that my underwire on one side was a goner, and hoped that the effect would not be seen on the big screen.  The day went by.  I left during planning and picked up their pizzas.  I was ready for the crowd immediately after school.

They were wound up, to say the least.  I kept them corralled, with the help of precious friends that volunteered to stay for the pizza portion.  They ate healthy portions, and then the orange things appeared. Those obnoxious blow-up noise makers were springing up all around the room!  I outlawed them immediately.  Do not blow them up, put them away, I do not want to see them.  Little did I know that one parent had supplied her child with enough orange things for every one of the 49 kids to have two!   That's a new rule to chalk up for next year.

We loaded the bus.  The principal, me, the bus driver's family and 49 kids.  We told them:  same rules as always.  The bus driver turned on the radio.  The kids sang and took selfies.  I had to trust that all those ten and eleven year olds were taking decent pics!  It got loud.  We had to tell a few to sit back down.  The principal looked unhappy most of the time.  Half-way there, she informed me that we had a "seat-hopper", so she went and sat toward the back.  I frowned at my children (they know if my smile is gone, it's a biggie) and we rode the rest of the way there.

When you take 49 students on a 90 minute bus ride, restrooms at the destination are of the utmost importance.  When that was taken care of, our escorts took our group up to our spot via the freight elevator! There were some scared little darlings, but I, the fearless leader, told them if they want to be a famous singer or actor, they have to learn about arriving the 'secret way'!  Once in our rows, we waited to sing.  Parents were arriving and bringing their child some food, the arena was filling up, kids were clapping noisy orange things and asking for the restroom again... one mom (who has been precious and helpful and kind for six years now) handed me a bottle of water.  "For you, Mrs. McCarty".  True kindness exists.

We got our three minute warning and the kids put away the orange things and focused.  Once the music started, they were in auto-mode.  They got a little distracted by the big screen, but the sound was amazing - on key, energized and sweet.  I realized that I don't focus on bus behavior or how they interact with each other.  I touch on those things - but what I really teach is how they should act and what they should do when the music starts.  They did it.  I was proud.

The rest of the evening was a nightmare of restroom trips, loud clappy orange things in my ear and a few that couldn't behave. It was also a big win for the Rockets, so that made it fun.  What I am going to choose to remember most is the sound that came from my choir, because what you do when the music starts is really important.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Double Classes and Taking a Breath

Double classes.  Sometimes it's terrible.  Sometimes it's perfectly fine.  Sometimes even - one hour of terrible followed by one hour of wonderful.  Double classes for a "large group" teacher does not mean two homerooms.  It means three to four homerooms of darling children.

It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group.  There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out".  It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.

Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".

Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside.  But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only.  I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me).  They say "She's doing great!"  and best of all; "Her spirits are good."  The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.

I am not calling those people liars.  They are telling the truth as they interpret it.  They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world.  The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear.  I have fooled them all, haha!  Until now.  Today, my smile felt real.  Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter.  On a double class day, no less!

It's a journey.  On a journey, you make progress.  Some are quicker, some are slower.  There is no minimum or maximum speed.  Some progress is internal.  Some is very public.  And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are.  It was an abrupt realization.  In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive.  My emotions did that recently.  That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it.  Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.

Today, I was doing great.  The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today.  It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think.  You just couldn't see it.  Today, the double class did not incur my wrath.  (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.)  Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me.  I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.

Friday, February 28, 2014

Princess manners or; Lessons from my Mom 2/28/14

I had a 'princess tea party' with a four year old last night.  She was adorable.  I think it was an excuse to con me out of a cookie and some ice cream, but we had fun.  Real sweet tea in the teapot, Disney princess cups, the works.  She asked the cutest question along the way:  "Do princesses always have to use their manners?" I answered very thoughtfully (this not being my child.....) "Of course they do!  But every now and then, a princess might be hanging out with her other princess girl friend and they might not need quite as many manners."  Answer accepted.  A few minutes later, when she said something about dog poop, I surmised that I was now a princess girl friend and the tea party was over.

She made me think of all the wisdom that women give their little princesses all through life. Some is fun, some very serious. I made a little list, just to honor all the fun, loving and very important things I learned from my mom....and her mom, her aunt, and others along the way!

A few of the royal rules:

1.       “No” can be used as a complete sentence.  Often.
2.       When nobody else gives you flowers for a while, buy them for yourself
3.       If I set foot in the ocean, every sailfish, grouper, whale, salmon, ray, octopus, turtle, dolphin, hippo, shark, and anything else out there will come bite my toes.
4.       Any creature that doesn't live in the ocean is welcome in my house. (Except big snakes.)
5.       Every now and then, you just gotta buy yourself a Camaro.
6.       Always wear your lipstick and polish your toes, you never know who you’re going to meet.
7.       If you’re good at something and it benefits others, say ‘yes’ more often than you say ‘no’.
8.       Electronics purchases are based on how pretty the lights are.
9.       Wear a slip.
10.   Call when you get there.
11.   Whatever your creative self does, do it to make yourself happy.  Don’t worry about getting rich or famous, just do it for fun.
12.   There is no stopping point to the acquisition of jewelry (that one is really mine…)
13.   Plants are friends.
14.   Shoes are not friends.
15.   Dogs and cats are equals.
16.   Any recipe can be adapted.
17.   A good tan hides a lot.
18.   Every now and then, spending the entire Saturday with your best friend is just necessary.
19.   Kids are everything.  Until grandkids come along, and then there is a new category of everything.

20.   Pray without ceasing.

I love you, mom!

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Getting Poked, Prodded, and Patted 2/26/14

I ran over a nail.  My new car beeped at me "Low Tire Pressure!!".  I saw the nail - it was toward the outside of the tire, just stuck in there.  I went to get it fixed and ended up having to buy a tire for my new car.  My car had 825 miles on it that day.  I laughed it off, texting my friend: "Life keeps poking me." As in a nail...in a tire....get it?

I went to the doctor.  The first round of pills had not cleared the bronchitis and I felt worse.  He sat me on the table and checked ears, nose, throat, told me I was very congested (I didn't feel like I was...) and then told me he was going to press on my face, let him know if it was painful.  He even moved my bangs out of the way.  That is a big deal, you know, those bangs are carefully placed and lightly, oh so lightly sprayed each morning so as to look naturally carefree and beautiful.  I am a product of the Farrah years, you know.  The doctor moved my bangs and pressed and prodded my whole face.  It did not hurt.  Worrying about getting my bangs fixed hurt a lot more. He prescribed more pills to make me well, and I repaired my hair once I got in the car.

I pet my dogs and cats regularly, I love them and can't resist giving them a good pat or scratch.  They seem to like it, the cute little furbabies.  I also get petted regularly.  No, that is not leading where you think!  Every work day of my life, I teach little ones in the afternoon.  Five and six year olds.  They also have to walk right past me every day to switch from music to PE, or the other way round.  Here's what it looks like when a child that age wants to tell me something:  They stand, their little head waist-high to my adult self, elbow bent, with their hand patting the first part of me it can find.  I get my stomach patted several times a day.  They don't care or look when they pat, they just want to tell some news!  "It's my mom's birthday today!" "My tooth came out!" "Joey hit me!' The stomach pat makes sure that I will bend my head and look right into their earnest little eyes.

There are also the same little darlings that think the pat should be used to get my attention if my back is turned.  Let's just say that it does!  All in all, I think all the poking, prodding and patting that happens in my life serves to move me around a bit, but then put me right back where I was before.  It's not fun to have to buy a new tire just because of a nail.  It's not fun to get my face prodded, be prescribed more medicine and get my hair messed up, either. It's not really fun to get my tummy patted as if I were a household pet - but then again, those little faces and their excitement over what they have to share makes the tire and the hair fall back into second place because they love me and want to tell me their "stuff".  The nail in my tire didn't love me, and I'm fairly sure after all these years that my hair doesn't love me (maybe love-hate...) but the 'patters'?  They love me.  So I teach them to just speak to me, or raise their hand, but all the way until they turn eleven and leave me for middle school, I remember the little arm that used to pat me; and I laugh inside.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Hate-Memes and Hiding Friends 2/21/14

Life is a contest, right? Who makes the most, has the most loving family, looks the best, drives the best, chooses the most "in" entertainment, restaurants, activities....all a competition.  We brag, we share "neat" things we did, we applaud our friends and family on social networking, we sometimes talk in mysterious code, acronyms, specialized terms from our new activity - just so we look like we are the best.

Everyone wants to be the smartest, too.  Just invent an app that is an IQ test and gives great results; the average person can score a '160' on your scale.  You'll make your million by shares on social networking, because everybody wants to be a genius.  Make people feel smart and you will win.  

Social networking also lends itself to the sharing of beliefs.  It's a rare person that does not have their 'religion' listed as something.  It's a rare person that doesn't every now and then thank some entity or another for a wonderful event, or request prayer for difficult times.  The thing is; as we compete to be the best, and strongly state our beliefs, some start tearing down others.  It is not enough for some folks these days to post positive things about what they believe, they must tear down and disprove any opposing beliefs. Many choose to do so with the ready-made worded photos that sometimes have a link to a ranting, one-sided news story.  I call these "hate memes".   Hate memes sprinkle my social network page with regularity.  I know, you believe in your cause, you believe you're right and you're out to set everybody else straight.  Only guess what?  It doesn't work.  Most people ignore them.  The ones that 'like' them, or comment on them either completely agree with you, or are looking for a good argument....but never to change their mind.  Maybe there is some alternate group of friends that discuss things thoughtfully and weigh the evidence of what others believe against their own beliefs carefully.........nah.

I have actually hidden a few of my more common "hate-meme" posting friends from my news feed.  I didn't un-friend them, I like them as people. They don't know I've hidden them, so there are no repercussions.  I just don't enjoy knowing how much you hate this politico or that.  I'm secure in my personal beliefs and will gladly enjoy what you have to share;  (as long as you don't call other's beliefs stupid) recipes, favorite old song videos, and quizzes (see, my preferences may annoy you!)  It's fun sometimes to spend an hour or two on Facebook - and post several links to things you enjoy.  Others may get tired of my Peter Frampton videos, pictures of my pets, bragging about my choir and especially those pesky blog posts.  I get it - everyone is free to look or not look.  Also - free to hide or not hide - a great Facebook feature that keeps feelings from being hurt.

My main concern, though, comes with those that have started to interact on a personal basis as if they are personifying a hate-meme.  I have seen people tell each other they are idiots, they don't know anything, they don't deserve an answer.....all sorts of rude things.  I honestly think that if your goal is to look intelligent enough to prove that your beliefs are much better than someone else's (because, after all, you are smarter...) then you need to be told that you are painting yourself into the dunce's corner every time you belittle or hurt someone else.  I suppose I'm throwing out a Rodney King-type plea here "Can't we all just get along?" - and it won't ever happen because humans want to be the best.  I just wanted to say, though, you don't win if you're mean.  The Internet makes it a lot easier to be mean, and too many have fallen into that trap.  So, take your 180 IQ that the Facebook test says you have and use it to be humble, informed and positive about your own beliefs.  Quit being mean just because you're only sitting at a keyboard or using a phone and none of those people out there seem real.  You won't win.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Still no right or wrong? (With apologies to the Yankees...)





The "D" is wearing off my ring; my spoon ring that Mom had made from the DuRant family monogrammed silver. Yes, I will probably joke with you and tell you that we hid that silver from the Yankees, just as Scarlett would have, but I really don't think it's been around that long.  It makes me sad that the initial is a lot less pronounced than it used to be, but I don't want to stop wearing it.  It's one of my favorite pieces of jewelry. What's the right thing to do?  Who will ever love the ring more than I do?  Shouldn't I get the full enjoyment from it?  It's quite a silly dilemma, I know, and it doesn't matter.  I still wonder about how you decide things of this nature, though. Can I truly just do what I want?  Am I really still allowed to say there is no right and no wrong?

    I don't know anymore.  What's right, that is....or what's wrong.  And this sentiment has nothing to do with people that have questioned me or told me "You better watch out...."  I am a very fortunate woman; everyone supports me, cheers me on, tells me how smart I am, etc.  I am obviously smart enough to surround myself with the right people, wink wink.  Here's what I don't know - when do  I throw out that "no right, no wrong" philosophy because it has become a crutch that allows me to be a spoiled brat that says "I want this...." and gets it, with no regard for anyone involved in whatever "it" is?

This is a subject that needs a lot of "thought".  I wish it could be all light and fun.  But it's not, and I do mean to approach it still.  I want to ensure that I take the right path.  I've seen and known people that use their circumstance as an excuse to be selfish.  A "dowager countess", or "poor widow" attitude - where everyone in society still today makes excuses for their behavior.

I know that I am not a selfish bitch.  Please don't look at this and think that you have to say "Oh, no, you're not, blah blah blah.....".  I know that.  I am talking more about an inner attitude than outward actions.  I can behave myself with the best of them.   It's what I think when something is happening that has changed.  You would never know.  If you know me at all, you know that it's very difficult to tell how I really, truly feel, much less what I think; unless I let you. I have a privacy fence around my true feelings that has very few gates.

I'm stepping into uncharted territory.  I'm doing my best to finish: probate, transfers of property, vehicle sales and purchases, taxes, completing a year alone, making every decision, and always being the one to pet every animal.  I've done it.  I haven't been perfect, but I don't allow myself to be far off perfect.  However, I am also now a single person.  That's frightening.  I mean.......I realized I was  'single' the night my husband died. I just didn't put all the accessories with it, because the all-engulfing sadness of losing your spouse doesn't let you do that.  As I have traveled the road of time, I am able to put the feelings in their place.  The sadness is there.  So is laughter, pride, aggravation and loneliness.  But it also has me realizing that a part of my life is wearing off.  It's becoming a memory instead of a reality.

I suppose some people choose to put all their feelings under glass and live out the rest of their life in a sort of acid-free, preserved way. And others choose to shift the feelings as they change; to sort them and file them in the right place. Personally, I'm at a crossroads right now.  I know that it's my prerogative to sort the feelings as I choose.  I know that what's right for me is really what's right.  But when the attitude and feelings of others could possibly be affected by my sorting....I have to start caring again.  I have to start thinking along the lines of right and wrong. If you know me, you know that I can't be the snooty widow that does what she wants just because life slapped me in the face one time.  There are things to consider.

I'm still wearing the ring, and probably always will.  It's a thing; a beautiful thing. But its scratches don't actually cause it any pain.  My attitude has to be different toward life and real feelings that actually affect real people.  If I could, I would hide everyone's feelings to protect them, just as the silver was hidden from the Yankees.  As it is, I will remember that right and wrong have re-surfaced for me and I will travel the road carefully, with the rules in mind.  After all......tomorrow is another day!

Friday, February 14, 2014

To my girls, on Valentine's Day



To my girls, on Valentine's day:

I know for a fact that you will probably consider the past nine months one of the worst periods of your life - for your entire life.  I can't know how much it hurts to lose your dad.  I still have mine. We share grief for your dad, you and me, but with different dynamics.  I am so proud of the way you have been able to carry on with school, hold jobs, make the more grown-up choice, and just keep on becoming the beautiful, strong, idealistic and witty women your dad would have wanted you to be.

Each Valentine's day, we got very special candy, didn't we?  He absolutely loved checking Consumer Reports for the best-rated chocolates and having them delivered to us, no matter where he was in the world at the time.  I can't be just like him, but I hope you have already gotten your Valentine goodies from me.  I know it's a 'sweetheart' day; but there are forever loves in the world, and you two are my forever loves.  I wanted to tell you and everyone else a few things I'm proud of - it's always a good thing to tell someone when you're proud, and not take it for granted that they know.  You are both amazing, and here are some of the reasons why:

I am proud of your perseverance.  Neither one of you skipped a beat in continuing school.  Some people would probably have taken some time for themselves, or cut back to make life a little easier for a while.  The two of you jumped right back in to classes and keep looking forward. You remind me a little of your dad when he was on a 'frenzy'.  Remember?  Those times he was so focused on a task that we sometimes didn't even get to eat until he got what he needed?  I tried to explain it to you when you were little, and I tried to inject in the explanation that it could be a very good trait.  I believe you picked some of that up along the way.

I am proud of your progress.  Is that the same thing as perseverance?  Not really.  You could have persevered with school and still not have moved forward.  But in your cases, you are making the necessary grades, you have the degree plans in the works, and you have both grown so much emotionally and intellectually that you have narrowed down and decided on a career path. You also both have worked since your dad has been gone - not everyone can do that and do well in school also. That's a huge challenge and I am so proud of the steps that both of you have made to start making all of your dreams come true.

I am proud of the patience you've had with me, and your protection toward me.  Although we sometimes approach tasks at very different speeds, you have let me do things in my own time and in my own way.  I believe that you have suppressed your own wishes for when certain things would get done, just to protect my emotional health and let me make sure that I am doing everything right for the three of us.  You also give me great advice, the kind of advice we give in our family. (Like.."tell them the car turns into a superhero at night and any marks are battle scars"....) And I'm sure there's been a time or two that you just made excuses for me and told someone to just leave me alone. ("I'm going out for a while, Mom, but if you need me, you call...I'll come right home.")

Most of all, I am proud of your passion for life, no matter what.  Your dad would be proud, too.  Whenever one of you went through a 'quiet phase', it worried him.  He wanted you involved - (even if it meant him sitting through musicals and dance recitals) and he wanted you to set goals and work hard to reach them, just as he did.  He wanted you to think your own thoughts, not be a 'sheep', and he wanted you to be well-versed enough in your beliefs to intelligently challenge those with whom you do not agree. I want that, too, but make sure you do it in a nice way! (Although you should let me know when you reach the McCarty milestone of being banned from a forum for your opinions.  I'll take his place and celebrate with you.) You are still able to laugh and cry, as well as live your life to the fullest, which you know your dad totally believed in.

I hope one day you can love someone as much as a parent loves a child.  There is no end to that love. It exists in the parent for no other reason than the fact that you, the child, exist. But there's an added bonus:  When I look at you, listen to you, and watch you live life, I see your dad.  It reminds me that even though he's gone, so much of him will live on through the two of you. I love you, Mallory and Maddy, with all my being. Forever.

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Briefcases and Tiffany hearts 2/8/14

There were these guys when I was in fifth or sixth grade.  They were smart.  They played kickball, did a little music, but mostly they were the smart guys.  Then all of the sudden, they all started carrying briefcases to school.  A briefcase - like a Wall Street broker or something.  The rest of us just giggled a bit and went back to band, swim team, staking out our favorite equipment on the playground (do the words 'witch's hat' spark a memory, anyone?) and yes - we all played massive kickball tournaments, even briefcase guys.  When the briefcases started their run, I was carrying a clarinet, some played sports, some loved makeup, clothes and shoes, others were under the hood of a car before they could drive.  It's as if, somewhere around ten or eleven years old, a great imaginary dividing ceremony takes place and sends us to our group.

If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age.  The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life.  I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year.  In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone.  Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc.  And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there:  I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances.  They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come.  By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'.  I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.

I've been living the very adult version of  'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss.  Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes.  But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children.  I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th.  I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.

Tiffany hearts?  Yes, they made me think.  I wore these earrings on Thursday and Friday.  Invariably, every time I looked in the mirror, one heart was upside down.  I fixed it, tightened the back, but to no avail.  Of course, the earrings being hearts, it made me think - my heart has felt upside-down lately. It just jumped out at me that we always need to find our group.  Life changes, and life changes us.  I'm still the person I was before, but with a new addition to my personality.  And it makes me gravitate toward certain people.  I have been able to have better heart-to-heart conversations with friends that have experienced loss than with others lately.  I'm not saying "I'm not your friend anymore" to anyone.  I'm simply feeling more of a kinship with those that always have their 'event' in the front of their minds, just as I do.

The upside-down heart brought that home to me.  A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'!  An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back.  Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled.  But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group.  And that's okay.  I think every heart should have an upside-down section.  It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.

The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school.  The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes.  Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit.  Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.