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.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
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.
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
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.
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". ;)
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:
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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.
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.
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