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

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

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

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

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

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

"From the day we arrive on the planet

And blinking, step into the sun.

There's more to see than can ever be seen,

more to do than can ever be done.

There's far too much to take in here,

More to find than can ever be found.

But the sun rolling high 

Through the sapphire sky

Keeps great and small on the endless round

It's the Circle of Life

And it moves us all

Through despair and hope

Through faith and love

Till we find our place 

On the path unwinding

It's the Circle,

The Circle of Life"

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

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

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

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.

The Volcano vs. The Timeline - My Messy Beautiful

The Volcano vs. The Timeline

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

                               

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!

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!

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.

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.

Double Classes and Taking a Breath

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few of the royal rules:

1.       “No” can be used as a complete sentence.  Often.

2.       When nobody else gives you flowers for a while, buy them for yourself

3.       If I set foot in the ocean, every sailfish, grouper, whale, salmon, ray, octopus, turtle, dolphin, hippo, shark, and anything else out there will come bite my toes.

4.       Any creature that doesn't live in the ocean is welcome in my house. (Except big snakes.)

5.       Every now and then, you just gotta buy yourself a Camaro.

6.       Always wear your lipstick and polish your toes, you never know who you’re going to meet.

7.       If you’re good at something and it benefits others, say ‘yes’ more often than you say ‘no’.

8.       Electronics purchases are based on how pretty the lights are.

9.       Wear a slip.

10.   Call when you get there.

11.   Whatever your creative self does, do it to make yourself happy.  Don’t worry about getting rich or famous, just do it for fun.

12.   There is no stopping point to the acquisition of jewelry (that one is really mine…)

13.   Plants are friends.

14.   Shoes are not friends.

15.   Dogs and cats are equals.

16.   Any recipe can be adapted.

17.   A good tan hides a lot.

18.   Every now and then, spending the entire Saturday with your best friend is just necessary.

19.   Kids are everything.  Until grandkids come along, and then there is a new category of everything.

20.   Pray without ceasing.

I love you, mom!

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

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

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

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

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

Hate-Memes and Hiding Friends 2/21/14

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

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

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

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

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