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.

Treasure Box Day 11/16/13

There he sat, at the front of his row.  A little five-year-old boy.  Blond hair, cute as a button.  Because he was at the front, the other kids couldn't see what he was doing.  His eyes shut tightly, his lips mouthing unintelligible words and his hands clasped together with only knuckles showing.......he was praying.  My heart melted at the same time I laughed out loud with delight.  I didn't tell everyone, I simply enjoyed the moment.  You see, it was Friday;  time for me, the teacher, to select the treasure box winners.  Little boy only wanted a toy truck or a plastic bug.  And yes, he was praying HARD for it!

You see, as the 'ruler' of my classroom, I employ some 'tricks of the trade'.  I had told the same little boy on Wednesday that he was having a WONDERFUL week, and that I could tell he was trying to get the treasure on Friday.  The power of suggestion and dollar store goodies goes a long way in my little kingdom.  I must clarify one thing:  little boy is not a troublesome kid.  He is also not perfect.  He is a regular little boy.  He knows that he talks when he shouldn't sometimes, and that he stuck his tongue out at a friend once.  He is.....normal. And once in awhile, normal wins.

I love the hope that was expressed by this happening.  I love the balance in this world.  On the same Wednesday that I praised little boy, I had a horrible morning.  I needed a regular blood test, the kind where you have to not eat after midnight.  No problem in the evening.  BIG problem in the morning.  If I don't get my coffee and Cocoa Krispies, I don't function well.  Yes, every day, without fail, coffee and a bowl of Cocoa Krispies.  Since I was ten. (Well, not the coffee...) So I grouchily skipped breakfast and headed out early Wednesday morning for the lab, knowing there were loads of drive-thrus between the lab and work.  About halfway there - BOOM!!  Someone ran into the back of my car.  No coffee, no cereal, and now, rear-ended.  We pulled over, took a look - not bad at all - he gave me all his info, there was a baby in his car.....he was nice, I was nice, and I left and headed to the lab.  Offering my arm was easy compared to skipping breakfast and getting hit!  As I left the lab and headed for the drive-thru, I got a message on my phone.  A message from a dear, far-away friend.  It just said "Good Morning! You've been on my mind this morning...hope you have a great day! love and hugs!"  I cried.  I knew I needed to head straight to work, no down time to 'shake off' the events of the morning before teaching my large groups of darlings.  And with that message, I was reminded that so many people out there are thinking about me and praying for me.  It's the other thing, besides the precious little children, that give me the hope and the balance. 

When we pray for, think about and encourage each other, we are storing up treasure in a much more important treasure box than the one in my classroom. I have been more aware, since my tragedy, of the sending of a card, or the sharing of some words of comfort.  I'm not perfectly batting .1000, but I'm trying to reach out more.  You see, little boy actually earned his treasure (yes, he got picked!) through the whole week.  His 'prayer' was adorable, but his constancy of behavior won me over.  I appreciate the constancy of encouragement that I get right now.  Whether it's in the form of notes, words, smiles, conversations.....or prayer; I love you and thank you for balancing my days.  And, along with little treasure boy, every now and then I can raise my fist and say "YES!" .  Because I'm going to make it.

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.

The thing about Keswick...

 

Dedicated to the friends and teachers from my time at Keswick Christian School, and especially to the class of 1980, all 31 of us!

I went to a private school.  That always elicits responses – “I went to Catholic school, too!”  No, I went to a private school.  “Oh, you mean like a rich boarding school or something?”  Time to expound.  No, I went to a private, Christian, non-denominational school.  Silence.  Not a church-based school, no one denomination, I explain.  Just a private, Christian school.  And the thing is…..it was a special place.

This school was not large.  There were thirty-one in my graduating class.  But we acted large.  We stepped out with faith and had soccer, volleyball, basketball, swimming, track, baseball, softball, band, chorus, drama, clubs, student council, banquets, class trips, you name it.  (Conspicuously absent from that list: football.  They have it now, though.) 

At a school that small, you get to know each other.  I mean KNOW each other.  I’m not saying that level of comfort lasted through to adult life – it dissipates after graduation.  Jobs and college cause new circles of friends to finally happen.  Also – having acquaintances finally happens.  Nobody was just an acquaintance at Keswick.  If they weren’t a good friend, they were “in your class”.  “In your class” at Keswick was just another way of saying you spent every day together, listening, learning, praying, laughing, creating, practicing, traveling, eating and trying to be big kids, just like public school.

It goes without saying, then, that Keswick students don’t forget each other.  They move on, marry other type people (most of the time), move away, claim their college or university over their high school (a normal progression), have families, most of their children go to different (even public!) schools; but bring up a Keswick name, and they immediately know who it is and how they used to act.  Bring up a Keswick teacher’s name, and the stories and memories come flooding back.  And most of all: let some sort of difficulty, even tragedy, befall a Keswick person, and support is automatically there from the other Keswick people.

It’s funny – I asked Facebook friends to share a favorite Keswick memory, and most of what was shared involved small details or equipment/activities that set us apart from other schools.  I thought I would get a response about the friendships formed; the kind of friendships where you can just pick up talking again after thirty years.  That was what my “thing” about Keswick is:  the people.  I recently saw three Keswick friends – from my class of thirty-one – at my husband’s memorial service.  They drove almost three hours to be there for me. Many others contacted me in various ways. That, to me, is what has lasted – the friendships.  True, some of my Facebook people mentioned “good friends”.  Evidently, though, there are many other strong memories and lasting effects of having attended Keswick.

Some of the contributions:  Four-square in the morning before school!  (Unsupervised, mind you – unheard of today.)  Never wanting to wear plaid again!  Getting paddled!  Sitting out on the log!  Unique P.E. subjects – swimming, trampoline, and archery!  Unique playground equipment – the witches hat! Teachers with trademark sayings – “semi, semi, semi, space”  “There’s allllllllways the two percent!”  Then there was the very fact that we had to wear a uniform skirt and HAD to wear socks and closed- toe shoes. This led to many interesting fashion choices, albeit on feet only. (Mine?  Yellow penny loafers and gold suede Adidas.)  The campus was so spread out that they used a school bus to take us to the cafeteria on rainy days.  Great memories!  Honestly?  Not all memories were perfect.  There were times when I was treated very unfairly.  (And I'm not talking about never making the cheerleading squad!)  I think every former "Keswickian" can recall a time when the need to follow all the rules left innocent individuals in undeserved trouble.  The way I see it now, it just makes a great story to tell every now and then.  To me, the privileges available, the fun, our senses of humor and the close-knit setting outweighed those "other" moments.

 But last, and probably greatest of the memories that were shared (said by another, but also said by myself so many times over the past thirty years) “John 10:10 burned into my head permanently”.  What?  John 10:10? The Bible verse?  Yes, but only three words of it.  The condensed version.  It looked like this:  Life………..more abundantly. Underneath, in smaller letters, it said John 10:10, in case you forgot, week after week.  This verse-portion was on the front wall of our chapel, where we attended service once a week.  I’m sure that back in the 1970s, I knew exactly how many dots were between ‘Life’ and ‘more’. 

I did say Keswick was a Christian school, right?  We prayed before every class, every ball game, every concert and play.  Many families gave unselfishly to causes or the school itself.  We could find ourselves discussing spiritual truths in Algebra, Science, English, you-name-it.  Our teachers were not only teachers of their subject, but they were charged with caring for our growth into fine young Christian adults.  (I don’t think they got paid enough!!)  One that I know personally has always lived what she preached.  I think almost all the faculty at that school felt and acted the same.  This might all sound a little over the top to today’s people.  But in our case, it worked.  The atmosphere, the unique-ness, the guidance received, and the rules (sorry, everyone) but mostly the care of a group of teachers that were actually our teen-life shepherds, turned us, for the most part, into the people we are today.

It’s very sad that a death in my immediate family made me realize what I’ve known inside all along: Keswick friends are forever friends. Denomination still doesn't matter.   If you are truly hurting or in need, those people will reach out to you.  At Keswick, we were prepared to be servants and to live “New Life” to the fullest.  These habits are ingrained and minister to the world today many years later, through many individuals.  The thing about Keswick is...it really did teach us, in spite of any present heartache, to live

“Life………more abundantly.”

                                                                                                                                John 10:10


*Ok, maybe I'm a little bitter about not being a cheerleader.....:)  I welcome comments and memories from all!

I'm not who I used to be - but why? 4/3/13

I'M NOT WHO I USED TO BE!!!

I may see you after 20 to 30 years, at a reunion, or while visiting my family.  I look older, not skinny anymore, and the face - still smiley.  The makeup still done.  The rings, bracelets, earrings - still the same style.  But you don't know me.  I am not who I used to be.

I may have the same smile, the same laugh, and the same old eyes.  But I'm not that person anymore.  I keep that sweet, innocent, faith-that-could-change-the-world girl in a special place in my heart.  Every now and then, she has to surface.  It may be to comfort someone, it may be to fake it through a conversation, or it may be to defuse a situation with her peaceful, positive attitude.  But she stays put away unless needed.  She is not who I am anymore.

What changed?  Whose fault is it?  I have tried to analyze it so many times.  Was it moving a lot?  Was it having children?  Was it family? Friends?  Church people?  Disappointments?  The answer is yes.  As I have traveled the road from youth through middle age, everything has affected my beliefs and my core values.  Some things that I would have condemned when I was young are now things that I can not only accept, but stand for. 

What I wonder is - does this happen in every generation?  Could a 16-year-old that was raised with slavery turn into a 50-year-old that ran an equal opportunity business?  Did a 20-year-old that campaigned for prohibition later become a middle-aged social drinker?  I'm sure it did happen.  And so...I am one of the ones that has changed.  But what about those that don't?   Really- what's it like to be one of those people?

I have many friends on a certain social network that are from my high school days.  I sometimes take a "stalker-ish" look at their particular page to see if they've changed like I have.  Sometimes I don't need to look.  Some of them are still saying, endorsing, and espousing the same ideas and doctrines that we were fed in high school.  Some of them still have that change-the-world faith.  I'm a bit jealous of them in particular.  Others drop hints that they too, have changed.  Others declare it openly.  I just wonder how I "landed" in the changed group.

"Jaded" - an older word, meaning hardened, cynical, negative.  Am I jaded?  I hope not.  My career allows me to be a positive influence on little children all day long.  I couldn't manage that successfully if I were jaded.  But then something happens.  A little five-year-old girl tells me that mom and dad were fighting all night and dad threw mom down to the ground.  A nine-year-old boy tells me that his new step dad doesn't like him and makes him do chores from the time he gets home from school until bedtime.  The special beast that is the preteen almost-middle-schooler learns to get attention by putting down others hurtfully and publicly.  I always jump in and help, bridge, strive to foster healing.  It's my instinct.  But every instance over the years has taken away my innocence and belief that I can change the world.  Therein lies the problem.  As individuals, we cannot change the world. 

I think part of my answer (to the "how did I end up this way? question) has come to me while sharing these thoughts.  The blind faith gains sight - or insight - into particular situations when they cross my path.  And I - I do the grown-up thing and allow these situations to change me in the way I think honors and protects the precious souls and feelings of the individuals in this world that receive hurt after hurt.  Whether those individuals are children or adults, I think I owe them fairness.  And kindness.  And a listening ear and understanding heart.  I owe them love.  And if love has been what changed me, so be it.