Happy Birthday, Mitzi!

Mitzi turned two yesterday.  Mitzi is my Mitsubishi Outlander.  Although she's only two, she already has 42,000 miles.  Once I bought Mitzi, life shifted into the fast lane.  I wrote a little story about test driving Mitzi and Peter Frampton playing on the radio.  A man named Robbie made a comment about my story in a grief forum.  A couple of weeks later he messaged me.  Now that I know Robbie, I am surprised he ever sent that message!  The story that I shared  with the world ended where Robbie and I got engaged.  The truth is that the engagement started a whirlwind of activity that has only just started to slow down a bit!

Planning a wedding wasn't easy, even as small of an event as we had.  There were only thirty family and close friends invited and the wedding was held at a beautiful nine-bedroom house in Destin, Florida.  It could not have happened without the help of said family and friends and for that we are forever grateful.  The only regret was that both of our fathers were unable to be there.  We loved our ceremony and the fact that both families were able to remember and honor those that we lost while still celebrating with us in our new found happiness. 

We decided, not long after, that moving to the Mississippi Coast would be our goal.  We were still sending wedding thank-yous  as I began filling out job applications.  Once interviews were scheduled, preliminary plans for selling the Texas house began.  Once I got a job, searching for a place to live (with six pets!!!) was difficult.  It began as wanting to rent a house for a year to figure out what we wanted, but soon changed to going ahead and buying a house.  Buying takes a little time, so we had to also find a furnished apartment to rent so that I could start the new job.  I kept a calendar over the summer, using code letters for which house we actually slept in that evening.  There was only one occasion where we spent more than seven nights in one place.  A triangle was carved on the highways from Houston to Jackson to Biloxi.  And Mitzi was the champ that traveled those miles.  She was relieved upon occasion by a Penske truck or two, but she also took her turn pulling "Dino", the 12-foot Uhaul trailer.  Mitzi has taken us on uncertain rides, heard us complain and cry and voice our fears; but Mitzi has also heard our laughter, our hopes, our wonder at the beautiful sunsets and rainbows.  And yes, Mitzi has seen our hugs and kisses along the way.  Just this past Christmas, she traveled, full of presents and wearing reindeer antlers, to bring family - and three dogs - together for the holiday.   

Mitzi turned two yesterday.  She has two dents, but don't we all?  I took her for a full wash and cleaning at Classy Chassis.  She deserved it.

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.

A Fair Catch 10/30/14

I get a little disappointed when my team doesn't try to run the kickoff.  I suppose the special teams players know exactly when they should take that chance and when they should just wave their arm and kneel, knowing they'll get to start from the twenty yard line.  Recently though, I looked at the fair catch from the kickoff returner's point of view.

He was looking high into the sky at the same time that all these enormous beings were rushing toward him with the sole purpose of knocking him flat, if not backward.  Between glances at the ball, which he must catch, he had to judge how many and how close the enormous beings were so that he could know whether to wave his arm casually and kneel down.  At that point, the enormous beings have to rein in their attack and run on past him, not touching him at all.

Robbie and I are engaged.  We first talked about getting married a while ago.  It was an inevitable, perfect progression from messaging, talking, meeting, dating, meeting family members and realizing that we loved each other and didn't want to be alone ever again.  Within that realization was also the clear-cut knowledge of what marriage involves.  Both of us have already successfully navigated richer or poorer,  better or worse, and especially sickness and health. We know what commitment means, and we are committed to each other now.

The engagement was not a surprise to the close family members.  Our parents and children, especially, love us, understand fully, and want us to be happy.  There were a few stirrings that we heard about secondhand.  People like to think that they know what's best in a situation when they have no idea what the situation is actually like.  I look on those individuals as the enormous defensive players bearing down on our situation that we are trying to carefully and happily enact.  To those people:  I wave my arm.  I call a fair catch.  Run on past us and let's start a new drive.  We'll return to the game together.  It may be on the twenty with a long way to go, but we're going to do it together.  I love Robbie and he loves me.  We know what's in store and we're ready.  Watch out - it's going to be a touchdown.

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.

Tourist - from Summer, 2002

In 2002, I was privileged to participate in the Live Oak Writing Project. It was a seminar on teaching writing, no matter what your subject.  We spent one of our days walking around New Orleans and writing about what we saw or felt. As a salute to all you "summer vacationers:", here's my observation of the "Tourist":


                                                             Tourist


                                                             Tourist
                                                            Straw hat
                                                            Backpack
                                                          Map in hand

                                                             Tourist
                                                         Reading menus
                                                           Figuring tips
                                                       Having discussions

                                                             Tourist
                                                     Eating breakfast out
                                                   Taking an afternoon nap
                                                    Dinner at a theme-chain
                                                           
                                                              Tourist
                                                            Tired feet
                                                           Sweaty hair
                                                        Two days 'til home

                                                              Tourist


Happy vacation-ing, eveybody!!

Lunch and a Lecture

I feel like I just got in trouble.  Correction,  I feel as if I just got in trouble for something I didn't do.  I have written about the arbitrary timeline that people place on grief before.  However,  I never thought that somebody would look me right in the face and tell me that others could be offended or hurt if I didn't respect the one year period.

I do want to clarify a couple of things.  First of all, I am past the one year mark.  (I almost said finish line,  because that's the impression I got from today's lecture. ) I am, however, dating Robbie, who experienced his loss only nine months prior to the "words of warning". We are seriously dating.  We have not run away to Las Vegas.

When a widow even starts to date a widower, two entire families and countless other friends are affected. The couple has to choose how to balance getting to know each other and possibly letting a relationship grow with being mindful of the fact that a mother, father, sister, brother and a child are gone.  The remaining children, siblings and parents can't ever find someone that will allow a new start.  That kind of relationship can't be replaced. I like how this clip explains it - substitute your own relationship for the word Dad:

The Dead Dads Club


Discussions about how to respect, love, understand and ease the way for everybody have been a habit for Robbie and me since the beginning.  While we want all family members on both sides to be happy for us, we want them to know that we respect what they have lost.  We also want them to know that we hold our own memories sacred, and both of us completely comprehend that we were happy with another person for thirty years or so.  We are not trying to replace the ones that were lost.  That's impossible.

So we listened to the lecturer, remaining politely silent while knowing inside that we are definitely trying our utmost to respect everybody and live up to our responsibilities.  The only part where we missed the mark was on the one-year period of mourning.  Robbie later asked these questions: "What am I supposed to do for that year?  Go home to the empty house? Not talk to another woman? Not go on a date?  Be sad night after night?"

If he doesn't do those things,  will he get in trouble?  Will I get in trouble if I'm involved? Would we not be "received" in polite society? Will our daughters never be presented?  Will our sons never be invited to join the country club? Last century, perhaps, or the one before. We are not concerned with rules or silly consequences.  We are concerned that all of our family members that suffered irreplaceable loss are given the time they need to understand that we haven't forgotten anybody; nor are we trying to replace them. We've made up our own rules, with love, responsibility and understanding as the guidelines.  To answer the lecturer: it will probably take that long, but not because it's a magic number of days or months.  It may take that long because we hold so many of you dear and love you as much or more than we care for ourselves. The lecturer is one of the dearest and most deeply affected.  We want to do the right thing, timeline or not.  We love you all.

You shine whether you know it or not! 6/24/14

I've spent a bit of time on planes this month.  Most of my flights have been at night. Flights are just to be tolerated, you know, for the sheer convenience of not having to drive hours and hours. One of the most welcome moments is when they announce "Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our descent into xxxx. (wherever you're headed...) Please be seated, stow your tray tables, return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seat belts."  It's welcome because the flight is almost over, but also because you can once again see something out of the window besides clouds or just black night.

As I look down on city xxxx from the heights, I can see lights.  Big lights, small lights.  Lights that look like shopping centers, highways or neighborhoods with cul-de-sacs.  The patterns of the lights identify the type of place.  Some are white, most are yellowish from the great height.  Of course there are red lights, too.  The red ones you can see from above are found mostly on tower-like structures as if they are saying "Danger! Please don't hit us, Mr. Airplane!"  The red lights serve as a warning.

I was also intrigued, whilst on one of my evening flights, at the variety of styles and colors of lights on the takeoff runway. I noticed at one point the the giant plane I was on (an A320 EOW, according to the safety card) was surrounded by lines of white lights with blue ones off to the side.  However, the nose of the plane followed one straight line of green lights down the runway.  The color and path created by those green lights led us down the runway into the sky.

We compare ourselves to lights sometimes.  We encourage each other to SHINE and be the STAR that you are!  These comparisons have to do with finding your inner strength and doing your best.  But what if we are meant to be a different type of light?  What if our main purpose in "shining" is to guide others?  Suppose we are part of a team that forms the line of green lights to help someone else take off?

After 9/11, one of my favorite artists, Peter Frampton, realeased a song that expressed his views on how to deal with that horrible tragedy.  He mentions holding hands, singing songs, and not forgetting.  What spoke to me, though,  was a refrain that repeats over and over near the end:  "Find your light, turn it on, shine it down on everyone."  You can hear it here.  The light part happens at about 2:10:

Peter Frampton - Not Forgotten

In the end, Peter says (sorry for the familiarity, I feel I know him!), we can help others by "shining our light on everyone".  I want to go a step further and say that we don't need to wait for a tragedy to shine.  We are all lights.  Perhaps we warn, maybe we illuminate for clear understanding, we might even encourage action like a green traffic light!  Some may even have the tactful skill of acting as a yellow or red traffic light by gently guiding friends or loved ones away from danger or bad decisions.  I want to encourage everyone to find your light, turn it on, let it shine on everyone; the individual that needs our light may be someone very close or an utter stranger.  "Shine like the star you are" doesn't necessarily mean you're on stage.  Our lives are our stage and our daily activities can be lit-up runways, welcoming porch lights or even a red stop light.  Shine on no matter who is watching - or not.  Everyone is on a journey and you might be the one that helps light their way.

A Tribute to Dad 6/13/14

Dad is eighty-one.  He'll be eighty-two in November, one month and one day after I turn fifty-two.  That means he turned thirty a month after I was born.  How cool that he lived a whole life before his children started showing up - and that he left that life and embraced being a husband and a father with the vigor and single-mindedness that only he can muster.

I think Dad probably could've played college basketball somewhere.  Instead, there was a broken leg, then he joined the service, as many depression-era children ended up doing.  He spent time in Japan, which I always thought was so exotic - there was even a kimono that I could dress up in every now and then!

Dad ended up with three daughters.  I do think perhaps that God purposely meant for him to have three girls! Maybe he would have been too demanding on boys - who can tell?  Having girls was perfect.  He supported our arts efforts as well as sports.

Dad was always involved, with a capital "I".  Whether it was a softball team at work or being a deacon/Sunday School teacher/coach at church; Dad got a kick out of either running the show or helping out. His involvement spilled over to include us.  I had a speaking part in a grown-up church skit when I was seven.  Dad and his friend started a sports league for fifth through eighth graders at small private schools. Of course we played every sport. My Dad helped share church services at nursing homes on Sunday afternoons - and took my sisters and me along to sing and play piano.

If he wasn't in charge, he was supporting.  My Dad came to every ball game that work would allow.  He had a special outfit in school colors, and a jacket with our numbers embroidered on it. Each number was surrounded by a star for each year we lettered in basketball.

Dad made experiences special.  When I turned thirteen, I got to order prime rib in a restaurant. My fourteenth birthday, Dad took just me to see "Oklahoma!" at a dinner theater.  My sweet sixteenth birthday gift was a tailgating trip with friends to a Florida Gators game!

When I left for college, Dad did something very special. He wrote me one letter every week.  Dad just caught me up on the household and sports news.  In each letter was a one dollar bill.  He never missed.  My senior year, the ones turned into fives!   Four years of college - one letter a week.  That's my Dad.

Dad was the only one there with me when I took the walk down the aisle to get married.  I'll never forget how we stayed out of sight until the last bridesmaid headed toward the front. Then he looked at me with his eyes a little shiny and said "Let's give them what they're waiting for!"

Dad doesn't remember a lot these days. The processes of age have taken the clarity and replaced it with confusion. Every now and then, a joke can find its way through.  However, I remember all of the

things I've mentioned and more. I hope to tell him about recent changes.  I know that even if he doesn't understand it, that somewhere inside, he's cheering me on wholeheartedly.  He is half of the team that made me who I am; he is encouraging, involved, a bit silly and most importantly, a loving Christian father.  Thank you Dad.

One year, cloudy water and Mother's Day

This was intended to be my final post.  I told myself  "I'll end it at the one year anniversary.  I'll just let it be about the first year of grief."  I tell myself a lot of things that don't happen.  There's a story that is my life and I've chosen to chronicle it here.  It would be unfair to leave it hanging at this point.  I'm wanting to know what happens myself!

Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy.  Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude.  Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day.  Not horrible, not great, just a day.  I called his mom, I called my girls.  I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute.  Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.

I received one note in the mail before that day.  It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September.  Maria gets it.  She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again.  Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited."  I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th.  I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.

Friday turned out to be a positive day.  Robbie sent me flowers at work.  That's a big deal.  A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note.  Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner.  Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants.  Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands.  My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie.  Not too bad.

Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point).  When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc.  I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time.  It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself!  The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love.  I was only alone for a portion of the morning.  I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family.  As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much.  Some days are just hard.


I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself.  Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while.  Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present.  The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself.  All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.

Most of the past year has been cloudy for me.  I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time.  It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier.  Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time.  Go away, cloudy days.  I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.

Letting It Go 5/1/14

We watched "Frozen" this past weekend, Robbie and I.  I have had a secret longing to see it for a while now.  Any movie that captures that many kid's hearts has to have some bit of greatness to it.  Truthfully, for me it didn't compare with "Lion King" or "Beauty and the Beast", but it tried. It was very well done and the music was amazing.  I personally was excited and thankful to hear the choral music sprinkled throughout.  Nice job.  So now I can join all the others of you out there in the "Let It Go" craze.

Today, I watched the cute, cute video of some Marines watching "Frozen" and singing along with "Let It Go". It's adorable.  They go absolutely crazy when Elsa throws it down near the end, hair escaping and Oscar-worthy ice evening gown spinning up from her magic. Watch this if you have the time. Play it and forward to 2:20 if you don't.

Marines watch "Frozen" (5/9/14 - my apologies, but I guess the owner disabled the link!  It was adorable, though!) (6/3/14 CLICK IT!!!  It's back, for a while at least!!)

Here's the point, simple and clear.  Elsa was finally being HERSELF.  Totally herself.  And the men went crazy.  Sure, she's drawn beautifully; what Disney heroine isn't?  But I choose to believe that this video has a 'moral to the story'.  Men want strong women that don't hide anything and are just......themselves.  I should qualify that and say "most men".  By most, I mean the ones worth keeping.

I'm vain.  There it is.  Clothes, hair, makeup?  Very important.  I like to look as nice as possible and I enjoy compliments.  If you've read past blogs, you know that it's just a part of who I am.  When I started dating again, I had a serious desire....to look good!  I'm realistic, I don't deny the root touch-up, I complain about the zit on my chin (even though I'm fifty-one) and I call myself  'medium', because skinny was many years ago.  I just want it to be known that I still care and I still try.

I had quite a few moments of panic, starting to date....until I realized that 'he' actually liked me.  Robbie actually liked ME. Wow.  My confidence came back with a vengeance.  I got teased about "being bitten by the love bug" because I was wearing red lipstick.  I suppose that could actually be a clue, if things work as I'm thinking right now.

Then, I wrote the blog about "The Circle of Life" from "The Lion King".  A sweet friend messaged me privately, saying many nice things, including this:

" I think Let it go from Frozen would be more appropriate for the teacher I knew so long ago and more accommodating to your beautiful singing voice."

Wait, I just watched "Frozen"! I know what you're talking about!  I have stepped out and just decided to let it go....to let life go on, and to be myself without apologies!  It worked, too!  He liked it!  I was me from the start.  There were no gloves involved......and it turned out fine!

So, those Marines were showing us a truth.....no matter who you are, or what it is you need to "Let Go", be yourself.  Don't pretend not to eat if you're hungry, or that spiders are gross if you like them, or laugh quietly if you really don't.  Be YOURSELF.  You are beautiful and the right person will see it.  Let it go......in the way that allows you to be you.

P.S.  There is a comment under the Marine video, by the person that posted it, that says they went crazy when she shook her hair down because it was "hot".  I just decided to interpret what "hot" meant.  Interpreting and encouraging - that's the "real me".  ;)

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.