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!

Crayons - from 2002 7/26/13

Written in 2002, and dedicated to anyone, parent or teacher, that gives of themselves to children.

Crayons

 

Can a crayon stay sharp?

Can a child keep them nice?

No.

Children eat crayons.

Children break crayons.

Some children are crayon-peelers.

Children color so hard that the crayon-tip becomes rounded and the crayon makes that sticky noise against the paper.

When the crayons start life, they live and fit in their box. When crayons meet children, they lose their balance, flopping around the box, stumbling and hurting themselves.

The longer crayons know the children, the more frayed and smooth they become.

The happiest crayons in the world are half the size they used to be, naked, and living in a commune in a Cool Whip tub.

We could learn a lot from these happy crayons. The reason they’re happy is because they have left a part of themselves behind with every child they’ve touched.

The Turning Point, or Rebounding from "Burnout" 7/21/13

When the last day of the school year arrives, I do not cry.  Yes, I'll miss the ones that are moving on.  No doubt.  One in particular this past year - more than any one in a LOT of years.  (Godspeed, Chelsea!) But by the time the beginning of June rolls around, there are no tears left.  There is just tiredness, backed up by being fed up with excuses, whining, arguing, meanness crying, roughhousing gone too far....in other words, burned out.

"Burned out" is one of the awful insider insults in the teaching field. We see another teacher lose their patience, not turn things in, arrive late, depart early......and we whisper "burned out" among ourselves. I personally am always showing signs of "burnout" by the time summer is here. When I am finally home day after day, it takes a while to re-charge.  For the remainder of June, I don't want to be around children, hear  child's voice, talk cute to a child.....thank goodness, mine are grown and there are only college-age semi-adults around.  But sometime in July, it always happens;  I miss the kids.

I start looking at kids again.  I start smiling at the things I hear them say.  (Let's face it, children are, quite often, hilarious!)  I watch them goof off in the grocery store, or at a restaurant.  I'm ready to interact with small humans again.  It takes about six weeks, but the turning point always arrives.  After that, I'm anxious to prepare the classroom and get ready for that first day of school.  Welcoming my little darlings is so much fun. I know that if they are greeting me with a smile, a big hug, and "I missed you so much!" that I'm doing something right in their little lives. I must not be completely "burned out".

I think the turning point has come for me is the past couple of days.  I wondered if events at home would delay the turning point and extend the summer "burnout".  That remains to be seen, because imagination and the actual classroom with the actual little darlings are two different things.  I have been lonely for a few days now, and I think (hope, wish, pray!) that my job is the perfect counterbalance to loneliness.  Children are always needy, or excited, or wondering, or hurt....you get it.  I see one hundred fifty different little ones each day!  There's no way I can be lonely if I truly connect and teach them.  I may be sad underneath, but I won't be lonely!

I do worry some about the coming school year.  I worry that my underneath sadness may surface and cause me to cry, or speak sharply to a child that just needs a gentle correction.  I worry that older little ones, now that they have probably heard why I missed a week last year, will ask me about it, and crack my happy shell and the sadness will pour out.  Hopefully, the very fact that I am worried about them - and how my actions will affect them - will keep me in check.  I like to think I have a protective instinct around the little ones. 

Let's say for now that the turning point seems to be happening, right on schedule.  So many other things have been happening right on schedule since Scott died:  the garbage is collected, the bills have to be paid, haircuts are needed, fingernails keep growing, meals have to be cooked and dishes washed, dogs need grooming.  It shouldn't be amazing to me that I would start feeling ready to see my little ones at school again.  But then again, any good feeling right now amazes me.

In a few weeks, the imagination will become reality.  I really do hope that I can keep the happy face on for the kids and that my twenty-fourth year of teaching music will be as fun for them as it has been for all the little ones through the years.  I'm thankful for the family of friends that will be there with me, and may we all stay away from the "burn-out"!

Words are my friends, most of the time. 7/16/13

I like words.  I can use words to get a point across.  One friend says that I can use fancy words to cuss people out, and they never know what's happened.  I've always enjoyed using my vocabulary well as well as humorously.  But now, I've had to use too many words to say "My husband died". 

Scott had a small business.  Very small.  He was the only employee.  The business allowed all those companies in Norway and Scotland and New Zealand, etc to hire him as a contractor.  Most hiring was done through the UK and Norway.  I went through his e-mail contacts and notified everyone in there with a beautifully written note about two weeks after he died.  They wanted him to work, I had to!  I got quite a few comforting and heart-warming responses, so I'm glad I did it, instead of letting those e-mails pile up in his inbox. 

The agents that weren't in his address book have still tried to contact him, on the average about one a week since he's been gone.  I respond with my correct, solemn, well-worded information: "I regret to inform you...."  "I apologize for sending such sensitive information in an e-mail......" "Thank you for all you've done through the years". Oh, the proper-ness!!!  I sometimes wish I could get away from it!

However, I'll wish that one day and get a response like this the next:

"So sorry to hear the bad news.  In our brief interaction with Scott we found him to be polite and up front about his likes and dislikes and were well aware of his ability to cause a stir on hydrographic web forums.  I hope this finds you as well as can be expected and I thank you for letting us know during what must be such a sad time.  Please accept our deepest condolences from all of us here."

How can that not make your day? When I think about that response, I smile, rather than cry, because that summed up a big portion of his personality.  The author of that e-mail, Ben Jones, from the Swathe Services Group in Cornwall, United Kingdom, has lifted my heart with his words. 

There have been phone calls, too.  Most will also talk to me, so no info needed to share.  Some, though, ask for him, and when I say he's not available, may I help.......they hang up.  One, in particular, has done this a few times now.  Today......today I let loose.  A little. She called again, and asked for Mr. McCarty.  I replied "He's not available right now, may I help you?"  She said "Thank you, good-bye."  At that point, recognizing the same once-a-week voice, I yelled "WAIT A MINUTE!"  "MR. MCCARTY WON'T EVER BE AVAILABLE BECAUSE HE PASSED AWAY TWO MONTHS AGO, CAN I HELP YOU???"  ............nothing.  Silence.  She was gone.

So I decided to use my words.  In a different way.  Spoken, not written.  Caller ID has its uses, you know.  I called the woman back, words swirling angrily through my head while the phone rang.  And then - very briefly- "Leave a message".  Deep breath.  "This is Diane McCarty.  My husband is Scott McCarty.  You have called here several times to speak to him.  He passed away two months ago, so you either need to deal with me or stop calling here."  No big drama, just facts.  No cursing, just tell it like it is.  No fun phrases that I concocted to humorously make a point.  Once upon a time, I concocted a favorite: "testicular fortitude".  Yeah, you can say that one in front of children!  I don't know if I adopted it from someone along the line or just came up with it on my own, but it's a good one. No, I didn't use any of my fancy words on the phone caller today.  But it took a lot of testicular fortitude for me to call her back and leave that message. One day, one thing, one take-a-deep-breath brave act at a time.  That's all I can do. 

Summer - or broken engagement? 7/16/13

Teacher like to enjoy summer.  Jealous?  Then try teaching.....that's all I have to say about that.  What do teachers do in the summer?  Plan one nice vacation, if they're lucky.  Relax?  Maybe.  Enjoy their families?  Of course.  Search pinterest for classroom ideas?  Some do.  Plan how to decorate next year's room?  Yes, some do....you see, a teacher is always looking for the best ways to engage students.  "Engage" is one of the latest buzzwords in education.  It was preceded by "on-task", and "focused" and many others.  It simply means that the teacher has worked enough magic to get the students all doing what they are supposed to be doing.

Summer!!  It's a running joke that the teachers count down for summer more than the students.  In some cases, it's true.  A lot of students don't look forward to staying home or going to day care while Mom and Dad go to work.  Being at school all day with their friends is much more fun.  Other students are privileged to know that sleeping in, Disney vacations, visits from Grandma, trips to the beach are all on the calendar.  Between those that are not anticipating summer, and those that can't wait, the last few weeks of school are extra-tiring for the teachers.  We are expected to use whatever is in our bag of tricks to keep the students on-task and "engaged".  We all preach the same sermons; "The rules are in effect until the very last day". "It is not summer YET!" We all find extra-special ways to reward good behavior, in order to stave off the mean talk, hitting, etc.  On the last day that teachers are in the building, that "clean-up and get out!" day, teachers are exhausted.

But the other side of that coin is - summer does arrive!  No more morning alarm, unless you choose to schedule yourself for something.  No more waiting 90 minutes or more to use the restroom, because you just can't walk out on a room of seven-year-olds! (Not my favorite part of teaching, truth be told.)  No "show" to put on all day long to cause "engagement" by those around us. Have you ever seen a teacher take their own kids to a museum during summer vacation and constantly read and show everything as if they were a guide?  Turning off the engagement mentality is not always easy.  Even worse, the teachers in an adult group - Vegas vacation, concert outing, grown-ups at the beach - that insist on everyone playing the game, or going to the restaurant, or seeing the show, etc. etc.  A teacher's instinct is to include all, engage all! Not always relaxing.

All careers have their pressures, their busy seasons, their horrible bosses, their deadlines....that's a fact of life.  And many careers have a small portion of their day or week where they have to present an idea, pitch a product, and keep the attention of others for a period of time. I do dare to say, though, that teaching is fairly unique in the realm of having to keep others engaged during all working hours.

Teaching is just one of those careers that have the human element woven in to all the pressures, deadlines, and busy seasons. I truly believe that nurses and first responders fall squarely in that category as well.  I also know that there are many similar "human dependent" careers that I am not mentioning, because I am focusing on teachers.   Not only are teachers expected to mold, hypnotize, enthrall and engage between 20 and 150 different humans for 7 hours a day, the humans are of the immature variety.  One indicator of our performance assessment is the observer ranking us on whether the students are engaged!  Thank goodness, so far in my career I've had observers that understand how random this can be.  If there's a class of thirty 6-year-olds, and two are engaged in an argument left over from the playground, one is engaged with a blister on her foot and another is engaged in asking for the restroom, chances are that the other twenty-six are not engaged in the skill the teacher is trying to convey!

Teachers juggle these situations daily.  Not just once daily, but consistently, all-day-long, daily.  It's the by-product of our educational system and calendar.  Too much togetherness can breed over-familiarity; good and bad routines can spring from such situations.  I will stop and say right here that most  (95%) of the teachers that I have ever worked with are amazing, patient, creative and overly giving.  Teachers are indeed a special group.  However, I know, being a part of the crowd, that those amazing individuals go home many a night with nothing left for their families.  Or they go home, take a deep breath, do just as much for their families in the evening, get a little sleep, and wake up exhausted only to do it all again.

So, teacher friends, say hello to summer with a smile.  You deserve a break.  A break in the consistency of pressure, deadlines, meetings, parent phone calls, evaluations.......although you're still going to run into those little darlings at the local store!  You (in my current place) have 11 weeks off to recharge, stop worrying and rest up. So be quiet, read a book, soak up the sun, see a movie - and quit trying to engage everyone around you.  Because as soon as that date to return rolls around, you have to start engaging everybody all day long once again! 

I Know Why 7/12/13

Three times now, I've tried to write a bit.  Three times now, the page crashed and the bits were lost.  They weren't enough to make me famous or anything, they just had real sentiments that I'm not sure I can ever express the same way.  Paper and pen, you just scored a point. 

This title....I Know Why.  Maybe I should explain a little more.  I don't know WHY.  Who does, really?  I'm closer to knowing stuff, because of my experience, but nobody really ever knows WHY.  I should have stretched the title to say "I know why widows wear black". (wore? Right now I have on a blue t-shirt and white capris, so those days are kind of over.) I went out with some friends a few nights ago and it helped me to realize that an outward symbol of grief might not be creepy, and might actually be very helpful!

My main historical knowledge of "mourning" clothes comes from "Gone With the Wind" - when Scarlett most assuredly did NOT want to wear widow-black......and more recently, "Downton Abbey" - when Mary Crawley most assuredly did NOT want to wear black for mourning.  I guess it wasn't the most popular thing to be seen in, at any point in history, therefore the demise of the custom.

You see, I think it helped everyone.  I feel as if I'm walking around with a mark on my forehead.  I feel this, but other people don't see it. If you know me, sure...you know what happened, and you understand if I hang my head for a minute.  If you are a stranger, you can't tell that I've been through a great tragedy, an immense loss, and am right now suffering from deep, dark, sadness.  You can't tell, because it doesn't often show.  The outward appearance, the routine of life, the talking with people and friends that even involves laughter - who could tell?  Matter of fact, I sometimes look around at strangers and wonder what deep, dark feeling they are carrying.

It's not deep and dark because anyone purposely hides it.  My sadness is deep and dark because of the immensity of what happened.  Losing my husband, my partner in all aspects of life, the person that loved me more than himself, has left such a deep hurt that I will never be the same.  I don't try to hide that, but I also don't tell every stranger I see.  It's a part of me, and if you know me now, or get to know me in the future, it just is, it just exists, it can't be changed.

Back when widows wore black, I think it demanded that others, even strangers, treat them a little more gently. This is all conjecture on my part, but I just imagine an old-fashioned grocery store; a widow dressed in black checking out, and everyone just speaking a little more softly, kindly......yeah, my imagination.  I imagine that a teacher wearing black for mourning was respected, and all the children behaved beautifully, because they understood that sadness was somewhere in there. Crazy thoughts, huh?

So, if I don't know the WHY of life, I'm sorry.  But trust me, I ask about it probably more than you do.  But as far as the why of openly signifying mourning?  I truly believe that must have been (most of the time) a gentle, soothing way of easing back into life while doing so with your new deep dark sadness; and it gave those around you the opportunity to show extra kindness and understanding, especially when you stumbled along the way. 

The moral here is that we could be nicer.  It's blithely said every day, especially now on social media, but it's true:  "You never know what someone is going through".  Be nice, everyone.  Nice and kind beats all.  That's all.

The Restoration of Joy as a Whack-a-Mole 6/30/13

I started to wonder today if I will ever feel pure joy again.  The true, pure, bubbling-from-inside joy that we feel when something is incorrupt, happy , adorable, innocent, comical, surprising......you get it, right?

It's as if my joy has become a whack-a-mole.  I hear something funny.  I laugh.  I think: "oh wait until I tell Scott.."  whack.  I see a commercial for a cool new show.  "Cool! I'll have to tell Scott!"  whack.
The kitten (is anything a more pure joy than a kitten?) is jumping great distances, playing with a new toy, just being so joyfully CUTE - and I think "I can't wait until Scott sees her...." WHACK!!!

If I'm with someone - maybe one of you that actually reads this - and I laugh......it's not fake!  I do still find things funny, amusing, frustrating, you name it!  It's just that when I feel those emotions, I had thirty years of being able to share them with him.  Funny was funny twice.  Frustration got shared and ridiculed.  (Sometimes the ridicule was pointed at me for getting frustrated!!)  Cute animal stuff was a staple of our lives.  If one of the dogs was asleep, dreaming and yelping, sitting an adorable way - we had a code - "Look at big white dog!" - because we knew saying their name would distract them and change the moment.

I know that joy is promised from God.  I can still hear that lady singing "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation...."in church when I was young.  That particular quote came from David - yes, the Old Testament King David.  But David needed his joy restored because he had sinned big time (adultery, murder....big time).  What did I do to deserve this? Was this a plan for him and me from the beginning?  I don't think I would have agreed to it. Why us? Why me? One of the many questions I have for that big Q&A session in the sky. 

I will try, you know.  I don't intend to become a depressed, sad, mean person.  But don't forget that underneath the trying, I'm not whole.  He was indeed my other half, so I'm not complete any more.  But will I ever feel joy without getting whacked?  I'm not sure.  I think all happy occasions that may occur for me for the rest of my life will be tinged with sadness.  I can't imagine it happening any other way.  So please understand if something really happy or funny is going on - and I just close my eyes and get quiet for a minute.  It's to absorb the whack.

"It'll be hard", they said. 6/24/13

"It'll be hard", they said. "You have to make sure you take care of yourself", they said.  "All the feelings will come back again", they said.  And they were right.

People tell you how you will feel for certain events.  Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc.  Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too.  Mostly, they are right on track.  Mostly.

You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief.  You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH!  Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind.  Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.

So I'll agree - it was hard.  Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard.  Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard.  It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing.  Because those friends weren't just there for him.  They were there for us.  That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing.  You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces.  Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass. 

All of that was hard.  But you know what's even harder?  After.  The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing.  Nothing to look forward to.  Waking up and thinking "why?"  The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again.  Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.

It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc.  And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross).  There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.

So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel.  At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning.  If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever.  And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.

Truer words were never spoken.

No right or wrong......right? 6/10/13

Please just keep telling me there is no right or wrong way to handle this.  If I laugh at something, I feel guilty.  If I eat, I feel guilty.  If I haven't teared up or cried in a while, I feel guilty.  I am not the picture of a woman whose husband has just died suddenly and young.

Well, maybe not.  If you count the obsessiveness over the event and surroundings, then maybe I am.  If you count the blank staring time, yeah, maybe. If you count the very act of sitting and typing these words to try to make myself feel better - I am a picture, just not a typical one.  But what is typical?

Everyone says "Do what you feel".  "Go back to work when you feel ready".  On and on, emphasizing that our personalities are all different and what is right for one person may not be right for another.  At least society has come that far.  I want to get back to normal, I just don't want to stumble along the way.  But I probably will.

I just want to be me.  I like attention, but not this kind.  I am held together and propelled onward, however, by the fact that people have reached out to me with cards, food, gift cards, flowers, and facebook messages.  Now that they are slowing down, I keep looking for more.  Is that wrong?  Oh yeah, no right, no wrong - right?

There's too much when this happens.  Too much to do, too much that I think is expected, too much to share, too much to keep in.  Too much exhaustion and too much of being wired with no sleep.  Too much food.  Too many fears.  I just don't know what to do with all the too.

I worry for my kids.  Not about them, they are strong and wonderful.  But for them.  Does that make sense?

This morning, someone posted a Sondheim song on facebook - "Losing My Mind".  I guess the song is about a wanna-be affair, but what a message!   I wake up, I think of you.  I eat breakfast, I think of you......sometimes I just stand still, not moving......and I think of you.  Truth.

I consider a night of sleep without taking a pill a victory. 

Crying in the grocery store is ok, right?


Three weeks yesterday.  Time just goes on, and time has no idea that my husband is gone.

A little something is wrong with one of the cars - I feel his absence as if someone has ripped out my insides.

I'm starting to feel tired.  I've been standing, walking, working, talking, decision-making, questioning, researching, communicating......living but without the joy.......and it's become exhausting.  I think people are worried about me if I'm alone, but I need to be alone a little bit.  I feel all the work weighing down on me, like the world on Atlas.  I need peaceful rest.  It will be four weeks in a couple days, and I feel as if every muscle has been clenched since it happened. 

The sadness is a stealthy attacker.  I tried to go see a movie. One of the previews was something we would have wanted to see together - and I realized I would never see a movie with him again.  Crying during previews - not usually done.  Not wrong, because nothing is wrong......right?

I've realized a lot of things will never happen again.  I've realized that now - when shock and grief is as fresh as the dawn - you accomplish all the things that need to get done with the help of loving family and friends.  I've realized that songs are going to make me cry.  Seeing certain items in the grocery store is going to make me cry.  Typing about crying will make me cry.  But the main thing I've realized is that when you love someone as much as I loved him, you miss them every day, hour, and second of your life when they are gone. I don't think this will change once a year has gone by, instead of just a month.  Sorry.  If I'm driving, laughing, doing laundry, teaching, talking on the phone, shopping........anything.......I miss him. I'll love him for all of my life.  Good thing that can't be wrong.

Piece by piece...... 5/5/13

I bought a raffle ticket for a beautiful quilt back in February.  Either I didn't win, or they haven't had the drawing yet, I don't even remember.  I just know that it was a good cause and it was pretty.  Even though there are no quilts actually covering any of the beds in my house, I really love them.  The designs, the fine stitching, the stories of how quilting served a social and practical purpose in history; all of that is fascinating to me. 

I personally have only ever made one quilt square.  The ladies of the church each constructed a square.  The squares were then sewn together and quilted with batting and backing as a gift for the departing preacher's wife.  I don't know if my square held up or not, but the final product was very nice - especially when I compared it in my mind to my one raw-edged square.

Since I have lived in a few different places, I think and reminisce about friends all over the world quite often.  Certain people are just strongholds to me.  Others are acquaintances with whom it is fun to laugh and joke.  Many of my friends were my students at one time.  I still feel that I have the role of encourager to them - even though they are well-grown with families of their own.  The way that everyone you know is connected to you is unique - like a quilt.

Imagine a weekend morning where you stayed in bed a little longer, all cozy. You know the comforting weight of the covers that keep your body warm?  That is your daily network - everyone that is a part of your routine.  Co-workers, teachers, students, the same worker where you buy your coffee every day.....they hold us in place and keep us steady. 

The beautiful, spread-out, cool section of the quilt - you know, you kick out and run your foot under it every now and then - is the part of our network that remains with us even though we have moved on.  The cousins, friends from school, the ones from our first job, the former students, the other parents from when your own children were young; they remain a part of our covering even years later. 

What about the corners of the quilt?  You know that there are the people that you knew, spent time with and laughed with, yet you are only in contact with them if you there is a tragedy or a need.  They are beautiful, helpful members of your quilt - they just don't receive as much wear from you.

Finally -  that part of the covers that you pull up next to your face to snuggle?  That is the part of your quilt that you need daily - your family, your best friends, the ones that help you with problems ranging from running out of eggs to serious illness or job struggles. All of us need those who are the always-there, constant people in our lives, and we feel cold and uncomfortable without them.

My quilt is beautiful.  It's also unique. Everyone's is unique!  I am thankful for all the friends and influences I have had in my life - and I am going to keep trying to smooth and take care of the snugly part of my quilt - as well as to straighten and appreciate the corners and everyone in-between. 

"Did you know that student over there is banging his head on the table?" 4/27/13

Yes, there was some head-banging happening.  Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to show off.  Four teachers had tried to talk to this student about the issue, but he would just scream and cry.  The main teacher of the student faces this behavior from this same student almost every day.  We know the personality well enough to let them calm down a bit first, then take care of whatever may be wrong, or may have been done wrong. 


At the place where I teach, there is a discipline "program" that we follow.  Let's call it "***".  *** involves rewards for positive behavior.  Many teacher hours go into creating guidelines for behavior in every area of the school; as well as the challenge of constantly being urged to come up with "new, fresh and exciting" rewards.  *** just doesn't work.  It also has given administrative staff the freedom to look at a teacher and say "you need to handle this yourself".

Now, before I expound upon a subject that is not only part of my everyday life, but what I feel is a huge contributor to the greater wrongs in this world, I will at least specify where my experience lies.  I teach elementary music, grades kindergarten through fifth, in a public school in a very large district in Texas.  Our school population for those ages I teach is a little over nine hundred. You may not get the impression from this particular post that I enjoy my career, but I do.  I think I'm very good at a) teaching music basics, b) understanding little ones, respecting and meeting their needs, when possible, and c) using humor and structure to keep order within my classroom.

It's not just bad or ineffective parents that are creating the little ones of today with the "sense of entitlement" and plain old bad manners.  Our schools, starting at the top echelon of each district, are bent on insisting that bad behavior of students is on the decrease.  Programs such as **** serve one purpose - to lower the number of office referrals.  In other words, students that misbehave no longer face consequences.  Therefore, those acts of misbehavior do not become part of the record.

The old-fashioned among you (I include myself) may ask - "What is the purpose of not punishing wrong-doers?  Isn't our whole society based on the concept of law and order?"  You may disbelieve what I am telling you:  that teachers are left to creatively discipline every child for every offense, without any backup or higher consequence.  And yes, it is definitely not a true statement that NOBODY gets in trouble.  If another child is harmed, there are consequences.  If other parents call and complain about things their innocent child is a witness to, or worse, subjected to, steps are taken. If it makes the news, a consequence is part of the press release.  In a nutshell - most things fly under the radar these days, without any serious repercussion for most serious misbehavior. Is it any wonder that some of our young adults that are facing the challenge of mental illness feel more free to act out with violence?

I did a little research - very little, I might add.  I don't know to whom state education agencies are held accountable.  The federal government, for monetary aid?  The taxpayers and voters?  I do know, simply by checking a few state education agency websites, that the public can view the discipline data by district, broken down by offense, race, and economics.  Therefore, it is clear that every school district reports its "dirty laundry" - expulsions, felonious offenses, assault of faculty, even truants and in-school suspensions - to its governing state agency every year. 

Can you imagine the picture of the superintendent of each district lining up at a confession booth?  Every suit and tie business person that runs a district stepping in one at a time to confess the 'sins' of their children?  Of course, that's just imagery on my part.  But it is all reported.  There is paperwork to be done, computer reports to submit, and, eventually, one grand table to be filled in on the state website, for all to see.  Do the results affect anything at a state level?  My research didn't give a clear answer.  But when I checked the Texas Education Agency's website for discipline subjects, I did find a link to the Texas Education Code, Chapter 37, which charges each district to have a code of conduct that specifies everything that could lead to removal from the classroom up to expulsion.  The terms are general, when you look from a elementary viewpoint.  (They also have a misspelled word, which disturbs me on a completely different level.)  I truly believe, with the wording being as general as it is in "Chapter 37", that those discipline reports could be used against a district when it came to funding decisions.  A school district's best bet is to look as perfect as possible.

Perfect?  With children?  Children are not perfect.  They run indoors, they push and hit each other, they interrupt adults, they lie, they show their privates to others, they pitch screaming kicking fits, they peel paint off walls and trash restrooms.  That's just what I could say with one breath.  I've been teaching for twenty-three years.  I'm not being mean - those are the bare facts!  Most children used to be taught to control the afore-mentioned impulses before attending school, but that's where times have changed.  With the advent of more and more working parents and electronic entertainment, over half of a new kindergarten class does not know how to look at an adult and speak their first and last name.  I'm not talking about shyness, I'm talking about social skills.  Instead of being nurtured, experienced in public behavior, learning to sit quietly while be talked to or read to, and having some small responsibilities of which they can be proud of accomplishing, many new kindergarten age (5 years old) students cannot speak their name, do not know if they are a boy or a girl, and cannot walk around the corner to use the restroom alone. Instead of teaching them to start reading and counting and sorting, the first nine weeks of school are used to teach social skills.

Do I have the perfect answer?  Of course not, or I would be in every state capital, selling my "method" to every state agency for the big bucks, like so many other companies and individuals out there.  I've heard and used many methods in all my years.  Most of them are a re-bottling of a college class I took in 1983, called Educational Psychology.  The only new things I learned after that were the changing acronyms and certain gang information that I didn't learn in college!   I know from experience, though, when the shark got jumped.  I know what caused things to head down the wrong path.  It is simply the fact that consequences were removed for general bad behavior.  If a child is nothing but talkative, the teacher must deal with it.  Silent lunch, take recess, sit apart, simple little things.  For a very talkative child (yes, he may need medication, but no teacher can even imply that....or say anything if he is supposed to get it, but doesn't!) those consequences accomplish nothing.  If sending him home would go on that state record, it doesn't happen! That child is free, with only small results, to keep all the other children in the classroom distracted.  Children today are learning that breaking little rules doesn't matter.

My heart goes out to our children that have severe problems, diagnoses, whatever their challenge may be. The child that was banging their head on the table had gotten caught in a lie and was upset with himself. I did go talk to him (again), managed to let him know I would be fair with him when he settled himself and we resolved the issue about thirty minutes later. This child was a ten-year-old.  As I said, I am kind to all and respect them as people even though they are little.  I also manage to keep the terrible behaviors at bay with humor, kindness, a little wisdom (a good seating chart works wonders!!) and a little help from my friends!  But I mourn the loss of the day when teachers, administrators, parents and the community worked as one to make sure that children learned how to behave correctly before they went on to middle school or high school.  I fear that there will be many more violent lessons before we regain the strength and fortitude to actually discipline.  I pray I'm wrong.

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.