A Grocery Store Revolution

We must all.........

Everybody has an answer to fill in the blank.  Everybody knows what it takes. Words like love, respect, prayer, patience, peace, tolerance, reform, control, matter; words, words, words, ideas, ideas, ideas.    Let me ask a question: When you walk out of your door, get in your car and go buy groceries, are you living up to your words?  Are you practicing your ideas? How do we do that?

Everybody has to buy groceries.  We don't always enjoy it, but we do it to live.  Let's take a scene at the local Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market.  It's weekly shopping time.  Everyone arrives at the store in their own way - driving, walking, bus, however.  When you walk through the doors of the Market, you become a "grocery-store person".  You choose your buggy (cart, basket).  So does everyone else.  You walk each aisle according to your list, or your shopping style. So does everyone else.  Do you ever really pay attention to the "grocery-store people"?

There's a family blocking the cereal aisle because the four kids won't stay on one side.  There are teenagers being loud, perhaps even pushing one another in the cart.  There are senior citizens moving slowly and standing for what seems like forever in front of the eggs, just when you need some.  Do you practice your ideas on these people?  I'm not specifying what race or religion, these are just grocery-store people.  Do you smile?  Do you speak a kind word?  Do you respect?  Do you remind yourself in your own mind that they were once you, or could be the future you? 

I think this is where it starts.  I have had many occasions to simply smile at someone that may have made me impatient or uncomfortable.  I'm also not so innocent that I don't think of how to defend myself in certain places and situations - but I don't think that will build the better world for which we all long.  I don't pretend to have the answer as to what will build that better world; but I do know that you can give it a jump-start at the grocery store. Start a revolution.  Smile at someone today.  

Speak Up!

One year ago today, I received a message.  It was an unsolicited message.  It was very nice.  It was sent by another person just reaching out to say 'Hey! You're doing all right!" Do you ever have the feeling that you should just tell someone they're doing well?  It's a wonderful instinct that, in my opinion, should be followed as often as you can!

A year ago, I read and occasionally posted in a grief forum for spouse/partner loss.  I had recently started posting links to this blog.  Everyone on there was going through the same thing.  They still are now, and new ones have appeared.  There is a lot of explaining and sharing each one's personal story, encouragement and asking "Is this normal?".  Forums may be right for some, not right for others.  As a matter of fact, not every forum is right for every person.  The truth is:  when you've lost your spouse and come home to an empty house, the forums are.......there.  An empty house becomes a living, breathing reminder that you are alone.  These days, however, it is possible to sit at your computer and communicate with others, therefore feeling not so alone.

On this particular forum, you could post, comment on posts and send private messages.  There had been a few instances in December 2013 when I had commented on posts by a 'Robbie R' (and vice- versa).  Those comments are still there today.  On January 26th, I received a private message from him.  It was very sweet and encouraging and talked a bit about the loneliness.  I answered it just as sweetly (of course!) and the exchange of communication began.

Today, we are twelve days away from getting married.  We've yet to decide on a cake topper, but the idea of two computers has popped into my mind more than a few times!  I want to take this opportunity to thank 'Robbie R' for having the courage to send me a message.  It wasn't flirtatious or suggestive, it was simply straightforward and encouraging.  I did write a few blogs that complained about subjects (surprise!) and he was able to agree with me and say "Yeah, what about that?".  He spoke up.  It takes nerve to speak up.

If you hear or see something that makes you want to speak up, you should give it some thought, and then do it if it seems right.  From the grief-stricken to the most happy, everyone needs to hear things like "I agree with you."  "You're doing a great job."  "I feel the same way."  "You'll never know how what you did affected me." and "Keep up the good work.".  Robbie and I are examples of how speaking up at the right time can bring change to your life.  I'm not going to promise that yours will lead to marriage, of course, but the effect of kind encouraging words on others can make this world a better place.

Effective Classroom Management Gone Bad 8/19/14

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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'm cornbread - Who are you? 12/30/13

Have you ever had a piece of really fine, Southern-cooked cornbread?  Bacon grease, buttermilk, and an iron skillet are all involved in creating the delectable treat.  Its rich, flavorful, crunchy-soft texture makes it perfect as a bread or a "sopper" - a side dish designed to mop up grave or juices so nothing of a delicious meal is wasted.

It's obvious, is it not, that I am a fan of cornbread.  But this story has nothing to do with actually eating cornbread.  There was no cornbread in either of the Christmas meals in which I participated.  Ham was the main dish at both sides of the family's gatherings. The breads of choice were potato rolls and yeast rolls.  No, cornbread just popped into my mind one day.  The sixth day of our holiday trip, I was sitting in the living room with many beloved family members, and the thought just occurred - "I feel like a piece of cornbread.".  I was in the overwhelming emotional state of love, grief, exhaustion, recovery from illness, desire to help, desire to sleep - and I pictured myself as a triangle of cornbread.  I don't mean that I had been stirred and baked at a high heat.  I mean that the consistency and purposes of the piece of cornbread as it sits on the dinner plate seemed to perfectly portray my perception of how I react to all overtures and approaches to me.

First things first - I feel loved. I feel loved by friends.  I feel loved at work.  I especially felt loved when visiting the families this past week.  It's so good to get to see the family.  I love seeing and spending time with everyone.  We're all different, yet all a part of the same group.  I think of it as a meal on a plate - all your different items, and I'm the piece of cornbread.  Nobody would not want the cornbread there - I belong.

I feel covered.  I feel as if everyone wants to spread a layer of protection over me like so much butter!  Thank you, by the way.  I have needed a lot of protection this year.   Sometimes, without that layer of people to step up to others and say "Do you know who this is?" or "Let me tell you what you're dealing with here...", I would have dried up and crumbled away.  Many family, friends, and even social media acquaintances have spread a layer of protection over me by coming to my defense in some matter or sympathizing with their own experience stories that make me laugh and feel as if I'm not alone.

A good cornbread is a little crumbly.  It's a coarse bread, so those pieces sometimes just crumble away. I can identify with the crumbly nature of cornbread.  Innocent things - tv commercials, e-mails, greeting cards, comments, questions, advice - all of those can crumble me in a second.  Just as the fork doesn't mean to hit the cornbread on its way to the vegetables, the world doesn't mean to stab me. My consistency right now makes it easy for little things to just stick in and knock a piece of me away.  If anyone can actually give me a real, factual system for not being too sensitive, I will listen and try it.  How do you change the way you are emotionally made?  The important part, though, is that even though I may get a bit crumbled, so many others are there for me to hold me together.

To know I'm not alone is such an advantage.  There are big chunks of time when I am now physically alone.  (There will be another post someday on the advantages of dogs and cats.)  But I am not alone in any way other than that. Just as all the servings of food on a plate bump into each other, and the juices roll around to be soaked up by the cornbread, I am surrounded, in spirit, with so many of you that drop everything to be there if I call, text,  make a comment, or cry out through a status.  You reach out and I soak it up.  Thank you.  Just as cornbread is made richer by soaking in some juice (I'm thinking good old-fashioned beans and cornbread, a little sausage with it....), I am made richer and stronger by your support.  I am trying to take steps on the road to recovery.  When I stop still and stare, it may be your simple smile or pat on the arm that gives me strength to pick up my foot and take another step.

So, here's to the new year. I can make an honest toast that says "May it be better than 2013."  Even thinking that hurts, though, because 2013 contained my last months of my "old" life.  The life I thought I'd live forever. Thank goodness for the love and ideas and wisdom out there that this little ol' piece of cornbread can soak up. I might sit and stare and act a little bland, but please know I gather in your wishes, hugs and love and convert them to the strength to go on.  Happy New Year.

The Hardest Questions of All. Thanks, Santa. 12/12/13

Little ones ask so many questions.  Personal questions - "How old are you?"  Silly questions - "Can I have that bracelet?"  Blunt questions - "Are those real diamonds?"  But the two hardest questions of all occur this time of year:  "Mrs. Rush, is Santa real?"  followed by "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?"  Elementary teachers have to face the fact the there are as many levels of belief in their classroom as there are students.  We also have to face the fact that those students believe whatever we say.  We are the teachers.  We speak wisdom and truth!  I bill myself as a teacher that only tells the truth.  So, when I was asked these difficult questions today, as I have been so many years in a row, I gave an answer that has been many years in the making:

"Is Santa real?  Jailynn says he's not."  Oh boy, here we go.  Carefully worded truth. These were second graders.  I personally found out the truth from a kid in my class in third grade.  I was angry and disappointed.  Considering this little questioner was about the same age, I spoke very cautiously:

"Now, my little friends, you might be hearing all sorts of things about Santa from your friends here in your class at school. I think that Santa is very much alive in the spirit of giving.  Different families have different ways that they share that with their kids, so please believe whatever your parents tell you.  This season is about love and giving.  Sometimes we give gifts, sometimes we give a song, sometimes we give our time to help someone.  Santa is one of the leaders behind all that giving, but we are all involved in it.  I hope that you have the chance to give a little bit this season and see how it makes you happy.  Even if what you give is your best smile." (The room erupts into smiley faces.)

"But what about what Jailynn said?"  "Well, her family still believes in giving and being sweet.  Her parents just explain it in a different way from your parents.  But that's ok if the real purpose is being nice."

"Why doesn't Santa bring presents to grown-ups?"  "Well, it's not because all grown-ups are bad.  I'm certainly not bad!" (giggle eruption).  "I think it's because when you are very little you only know how to get stuff.  When you get older, you learn how to give yourself, so Santa doesn't have to give you things to teach you that anymore." (Can we please sing now?)

Then, the granddaddy of them all:  "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?"  Dead silence.  They think they've got me.  "I have to say yes, my friends.  I believe in Santa as he represents the spirit of giving.  I believe in Santa in the idea that if you are good, good things come to you.  I try to practice that all year long on you boys and girls by giving treasure box goodies to the well-behaved children.  I believe that once you really know Santa as a grown-up, you understand that giving is so much more than a present.  Giving can be a smile, saying someone looks nice, visiting someone, calling them, writing them a note, or singing them a song. This is the truth that Santa represents and in my heart I know it's true.  Believe what your mom and dad tell you. That will be different for everyone in here, but don't we celebrate differences at our school?" (Nodding heads) "Santa wants you to grow up to have a giving heart, so he sets the example."  (Quiet.....)  "Now let's sing - please give me some beautiful songs with beautiful voices today!"  Smiles - music - action.  Thanks, Santa.

Treasure Box Day 11/16/13

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

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

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

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

From MTAI to PDAS: M&Ms, Zombies and Mice

The year, I believe, was 1987.  All teachers in Mississippi now had to be evaluated according to state standards.  "MTAI" was the acronym of the year, Mississippi Teacher Appraisal Instrument.  All teachers now had to be officially assessed, according to guidelines set out by the state. These guidelines included several different areas, or "domains" in which a score was given.  We were carefully trained (made to sit through hours of meetings....), so there would be no way we could score badly.  We chose a class period, turned in a lesson plan - in the hand-written lesson plan book with the carbon copy pages - had a meeting to discuss the plan, and then the day came.  The principal had to stay thirty minutes.  They watched and checked everything. I remember leaving the lesson plan on my desk with a pack of M&Ms, as if chocolate could make anything I did wrong disappear!  I was, and still am, quite good at putting on a show, so it went very well, high scores all around.  But in between the observation and the actual knowledge of the scores, my brain told me everything I did was wrong.  "Uh-oh, you accidentally started the wrong song on the record the first time."  "You shouldn't have given that Mean Look, maybe that brought the score down."  "WHY OH WHY did that kid have to do a total snot-sneeze in the middle of the lesson?"  I am my own worst critic, and almost every teacher I know is the same way. 

Evaluations have evolved, and still exist in every state. They are a federal requirement. Remember "No Child Left Behind"?  It required every state to evaluate their teachers yearly.  Everybody likes to think that a "bad" teacher would get a poor evaluation, and poof! - disappear.  It doesn't happen that way, though. The evaluations sound harsh, but if you don' score well, you're given many opportunities to fix it. 

Flash forward 26 years to this past Friday.  I was not 'officially' evaluated.  First of all, after so many years in Texas, you move to an advanced level that just requires three "drop-ins" a year.  Each drop-in is about ten minutes.  Secondly, drop-ins haven't started yet this year.  However, the district has added something called "mega-monitoring".  We've been told what they look for when they mega us, but we've not seen any feedback, or been told how the statistics will be used.  All I know is that they enter the classroom when a lesson is in full bloom, stand there and look around while playing on their phones.  Ok, that's exaggeration - because we are aware that they are checking a checklist of the required items on their phones.  (I wonder if the district pays for the administration's Iphones???)  About three to five minutes, and whoever mega'd you is gone. This past Friday, I had the illustrious experience of being mega-monitored twice in thirty minutes.  The first time, it was the main boss.  In she comes, while we're singing "Zombie Style" (a lovely parody of "Gangnam Style).  I was scared to death.  Schools are not very open about celebrating Halloween these days.  I personally choose the attitude that I don't do anything scary, only fun.  "Zombie Style" is fun!  Quickly, when the song ended, I called the class' attention to the vocabulary word 'parody', already written on the board.  Quick thinking.  In a flash, she was gone.  The class sang a few more songs that they got to choose.  I call it "Fun Song Friday", and it's one of my ways to foster a singing student body.  They can choose ANY song!  So when the assistant main boss walked in, the kids were singing "Mousie In the Snow".  It's definitely a Christmas song.  And it's early October.  Every child singing, smiling, doing motions.....did that count?  I went with my mental defenses and told myself not to worry. 

I didn't worry - until the students were gone and it was my lunch.  Then I started thinking.  (Oh no, not again.....) Why did I tell that child that I didn't have to give him a reason for changing some one's seat?  Why were we singing a Christmas song?   Why did I have magazines in a Guinness Stout box sitting on the table?  Why do I teach?  Why don't I answer phones and create spreadsheets somewhere? 

After lunch, there was a nice note in my teacher mailbox from the assistant main boss, telling me how much she had enjoyed her visit and seeing all the smiles on the students' faces.  If she had told me in person, I probably would have said "That's because I gave them the Guinness, haha" very nervously.
It's a good thing that the feedback from the official evaluations is on paper.  I should have three drop-ins this year.  For the past two years, my evaluator(s) did not finish my three by the deadline.  Once again, I took it personally.  I felt that nobody wanted to come see me teach, because they would have to be writing down so many things that go wrong!  Once again, I did well.  I don't know what I worry about, except that I truly care about being a good music teacher.  I made my peace about eight years ago with the fact that I am "just a music teacher".  I decided to be the best one I could be.    I certainly hope, though, that this year's person is able evaluate in a timely manner. Evidently I'm quite awesome, zombies, mice and all.


"Zombie Style" and "Mousie In the Snow" published by Music K-8 Magazine
Plank Road Publishing, Inc.

*I learned that the district does not supply the Iphones for the mega's.  They use their own phones, but the app is free.  Cheapskates.

Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13

I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2".  If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies.  When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time.  I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people.  Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first.  Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality? 

Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another.  I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.

I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair.  It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings.  I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off.  These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house.  In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face.  I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.

This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage.  I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it.  I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed.  I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it.  Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs.  Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain.  That's not scary, though. That is comforting.

I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from.  I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter.  One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic.  The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased.  Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window.  That's scary, but only for a minute.  My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.

Sometimes, there's just sadness.  In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child.  Sadness.  My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis.  In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit.  I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more.  After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis.  I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley.  Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.

Then again, there is the example of Riley.  We took her to the scary movie today.  Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate.  We promised her she could sit between us.  As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy.  We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad.  She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started.  After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously.  It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity.  Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped!  Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day.  And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie?  On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!"  I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going.  What an example.  Take that, scary stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Do I Teach Music? 8/3/13

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

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

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

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

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

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