I got scared off from blogging for a while, because while visiting "him" one day I watched as he found my blog address in his favorites.
"What's this?" he wondered aloud, and I quickly did my best to keep him going in whatever his original direction had been. I think that was just after I had written something about "men who make me feel like a woman," and he was an inspiration for that.
So now it's a while later, we're dating, and he's telling me about his mom's last days. We're video chatting via Skype, and when that part of the conversation is done, I google her.
I come up with an obituary notice that includes her picture. He's resumed playing World of Warcraft," and I have a three-quarters view of his head. Oddly enough, that's about the angle of his mother's face in her picture. I think he looks more like his mom than his dad, and he's definitely got her nose.
I wonder about her hopes for him and her care for him. It's strange to think of her not being there in his home state. Not wondering if he's coming home for Christmas. It's strange to think of the detachment that death brings.
She looks nice.
I wish I could have seen them interact.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Tent on a Rooftop
Again, again--life was going well, I thought I was heeding God but really wasn't putting much energy into Him, and things crashed. Crawling from the rubble, my hand came across His Word--and I opened my eyes to see.
Part of what He led me toward was an article by Elisabeth Adams in the Boundless webzine. "Into the Wilderness" started off with a blurb about visiting and living in Jerusalem, which always piques my interest. Then she began talking about the Feast of Tabernacles or, from my Bible memory, the Feast of Booths, which took place on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. Imagine my joy as a child, reading that God had ordained a holiday to take place on my birthday. Imagine my disappointment when my mother pointed out that the ancient Hebrew calendar did not align with ours.
Adams' explanation is that the Feast of Tabernacles was meant to remind the people of where they had come from. They hadn't always lived in cozy houses with quick access to marketplace wares. They had lived in tents, had wandered in the desert...and the LORD had provided...
The bit that struck me in relation to current events in my life was the theme of Adams' statement, "I am always dependent on God: the desert just reminds me that I am."
I've done all I can in this current quandary. I've shaped my cozy house and know who will sell me the right stuff and how I can earn my keep. Yet a situation came along that reminded me that I am not in charge of my little world.
God is.
And I choose to be thankful for this tent.
Part of what He led me toward was an article by Elisabeth Adams in the Boundless webzine. "Into the Wilderness" started off with a blurb about visiting and living in Jerusalem, which always piques my interest. Then she began talking about the Feast of Tabernacles or, from my Bible memory, the Feast of Booths, which took place on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. Imagine my joy as a child, reading that God had ordained a holiday to take place on my birthday. Imagine my disappointment when my mother pointed out that the ancient Hebrew calendar did not align with ours.
Adams' explanation is that the Feast of Tabernacles was meant to remind the people of where they had come from. They hadn't always lived in cozy houses with quick access to marketplace wares. They had lived in tents, had wandered in the desert...and the LORD had provided...
The bit that struck me in relation to current events in my life was the theme of Adams' statement, "I am always dependent on God: the desert just reminds me that I am."
I've done all I can in this current quandary. I've shaped my cozy house and know who will sell me the right stuff and how I can earn my keep. Yet a situation came along that reminded me that I am not in charge of my little world.
God is.
And I choose to be thankful for this tent.
No, Wait--There's More!
We had parent-teacher conferences a couple of weeks ago. One mother dropped in with her son.
*This is his worst class. He's clearly not understanding the material on the quizzes. Can you give him something to help with that?*
I looked at the kid, who dropped himself into one of my comfy chairs and slouched there. *What about your notes?*
*Well, you go too fast...* he started. *And when I try to hurry up, I can't read my handwriting...*
Not an excuse. *Where can you go to get another copy of those notes?*
"Your website..." he mumbled.
*Well, what's this with these participation points?* the mother asked next.
*He lost those when he was sent into the hallway.*
*How do they get sent into the hallway?*
*If they're being a distraction in class...*
*So, to keep their participation points, they just need to sit there and not say anything?*
I got what she was implying: do nothing, and that counts as good participation. No. Be cooperative; don't be a dink.
I mentioned her son's proclivity toward talking to others, one student in particular.
*Well can you move them, so they're not sitting near each other?*
*T sits in the front of the room,* I told her, *and A's at the back. These kids talk all across the room!*
Then she asked why he was doing so poorly in my class. (His grade was a 69%, which, I believe, is substantially better than it was the previous year.) We didn't talk about his four late assignments, which I took past the due date. We didn't talk about the quiz he hadn't retaken though I'd given him the option and a personal reminder. I'm not in his other classes with him, so I turned to the kid. *Why are you doing more poorly here?* He shrugged. Conversation rotated then came back to the same dialogue: mother, me, kid. He still didn't know what made the difference.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best time to bring up putting her kid back on ADHD meds. But he'd been on them last year, and I appreciated that time. The kid learned, as did those around him. I'd called her about it in the springtime, but hadn't heard back. The issue kept coming up in team time with my colleagues, and the mom was in my room, so...
It did not go over well.
*Miss X [homeroom teacher] said he's doing better, and all his other teachers say he's doing well, so no. Meds are not an option.* There was a bit more blustering in there, including a line of, *His grades are...mostly okay in most of his classes, so, no.*
It was one of those cases in which I stood back and shrugged as minimaly as I could physically, but a whole darn lot facially. Big eyes. Not scared, but "you're the boss; this is in your hands" eyes.
I had another scheduled conference, so she left. She did control herself well throughout our talk; I could tell she was much more frustrated than she verbalized.
Later, I mentioned the incident to others on the team. Miss X said the kid had been better for her recently--and as teachers, we want to stress the positive--the hope for the future. Apparently, that was all the mom went away with. The other teachers were shocked. He's not doing well for them at all. They've since gotten emails from the mom, wondering how they can help her kid.
A few days ago, I talked to a friend who's also a local. She knows others who have been in this area their entire lives. She mentioned an old classmate of ours and how that classmate has a friend with kids in my school system. The mom is apparently out drinking numerous nights a week and is making some rather non-parental decisions.
Ironic, isn't it, that this lady's name is the same as my student's mother's?
*This is his worst class. He's clearly not understanding the material on the quizzes. Can you give him something to help with that?*
I looked at the kid, who dropped himself into one of my comfy chairs and slouched there. *What about your notes?*
*Well, you go too fast...* he started. *And when I try to hurry up, I can't read my handwriting...*
Not an excuse. *Where can you go to get another copy of those notes?*
"Your website..." he mumbled.
*Well, what's this with these participation points?* the mother asked next.
*He lost those when he was sent into the hallway.*
*How do they get sent into the hallway?*
*If they're being a distraction in class...*
*So, to keep their participation points, they just need to sit there and not say anything?*
I got what she was implying: do nothing, and that counts as good participation. No. Be cooperative; don't be a dink.
I mentioned her son's proclivity toward talking to others, one student in particular.
*Well can you move them, so they're not sitting near each other?*
*T sits in the front of the room,* I told her, *and A's at the back. These kids talk all across the room!*
Then she asked why he was doing so poorly in my class. (His grade was a 69%, which, I believe, is substantially better than it was the previous year.) We didn't talk about his four late assignments, which I took past the due date. We didn't talk about the quiz he hadn't retaken though I'd given him the option and a personal reminder. I'm not in his other classes with him, so I turned to the kid. *Why are you doing more poorly here?* He shrugged. Conversation rotated then came back to the same dialogue: mother, me, kid. He still didn't know what made the difference.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best time to bring up putting her kid back on ADHD meds. But he'd been on them last year, and I appreciated that time. The kid learned, as did those around him. I'd called her about it in the springtime, but hadn't heard back. The issue kept coming up in team time with my colleagues, and the mom was in my room, so...
It did not go over well.
*Miss X [homeroom teacher] said he's doing better, and all his other teachers say he's doing well, so no. Meds are not an option.* There was a bit more blustering in there, including a line of, *His grades are...mostly okay in most of his classes, so, no.*
It was one of those cases in which I stood back and shrugged as minimaly as I could physically, but a whole darn lot facially. Big eyes. Not scared, but "you're the boss; this is in your hands" eyes.
I had another scheduled conference, so she left. She did control herself well throughout our talk; I could tell she was much more frustrated than she verbalized.
Later, I mentioned the incident to others on the team. Miss X said the kid had been better for her recently--and as teachers, we want to stress the positive--the hope for the future. Apparently, that was all the mom went away with. The other teachers were shocked. He's not doing well for them at all. They've since gotten emails from the mom, wondering how they can help her kid.
A few days ago, I talked to a friend who's also a local. She knows others who have been in this area their entire lives. She mentioned an old classmate of ours and how that classmate has a friend with kids in my school system. The mom is apparently out drinking numerous nights a week and is making some rather non-parental decisions.
Ironic, isn't it, that this lady's name is the same as my student's mother's?
Can You Handle Another Whine?
I was feeling spiffy at work--I had my technology figured out. The marvelous world of Google Docs was discovered. I could make PowerPointish presentations and publish them to the Web. I could set up a Google Calendar for each of my classes and link my presentations to the relevant date for each class. I showed my students how to access my school page, in which I had embedded my Google Calendars. My little sixth graders were going online at home to print off notes when they were absent or when they knew their handwriting was too unreliable.
For my small-group classes, the day's activities were based on the Google Calendars. "Go to your class's page. Find today's date. Click on the link that will take you to the story we're going to read. When you're done with that, go back to the calendar. Click the link that will take you to the questions I put in via Google Docs. Bring up a new window/tab and go to your Google Site [which I had them create--using Gmail addresses but not using them for email, which is blocked on our system--circumvention!]. On your page called 'Answers,' type in your answers to the questions. Refer back to the story that is also online. Make a link to the original story. When you're done, check someone else's work by going to their site. Make corrections as they check yours. Refresh your screen to see the updates they've made. If no one else is done, I'll check yours--right from the comfort of my own laptop..."
It was beautiful.
And then, last week, our admin sent out an email saying that something was slowing down our network to the point of being ridiculous. Google has updated itself with components that are constantly scanning and active, which apparently uses up our bandwidth. If the problem is Google, we lose Google. So it was blocked.
All of it.
No search engine.
No calendar with meetings listed and assignments by class.
No documents for kids to print out.
No sites for kids to take ownership of and be excited about using, even though they're in a remedial class.
No relatively safe searches.
And now...I start...OVER...
For my small-group classes, the day's activities were based on the Google Calendars. "Go to your class's page. Find today's date. Click on the link that will take you to the story we're going to read. When you're done with that, go back to the calendar. Click the link that will take you to the questions I put in via Google Docs. Bring up a new window/tab and go to your Google Site [which I had them create--using Gmail addresses but not using them for email, which is blocked on our system--circumvention!]. On your page called 'Answers,' type in your answers to the questions. Refer back to the story that is also online. Make a link to the original story. When you're done, check someone else's work by going to their site. Make corrections as they check yours. Refresh your screen to see the updates they've made. If no one else is done, I'll check yours--right from the comfort of my own laptop..."
It was beautiful.
And then, last week, our admin sent out an email saying that something was slowing down our network to the point of being ridiculous. Google has updated itself with components that are constantly scanning and active, which apparently uses up our bandwidth. If the problem is Google, we lose Google. So it was blocked.
All of it.
No search engine.
No calendar with meetings listed and assignments by class.
No documents for kids to print out.
No sites for kids to take ownership of and be excited about using, even though they're in a remedial class.
No relatively safe searches.
And now...I start...OVER...
Bait-Cutting
How long do you keep fishing before you realize you're not getting anything? How long do you stay in a place before you realize there's nothing there for you?
Nothing.
It seems that God has been slowly stripping away things that keep me here. Friends move or have changes in their families, which moves them in a different direction. Others just...well, the connection's missing. They're here. I'm here. Lives are similar...but then I feel awkward and don't interact well, and they think...what...I'm snobby? Boring? Wish I knew...sort of... Anyway, I see myself at 33, still standing against the fence by the dugout. Pick me. Somebody. Please. Not that I want to play, and not that I'm that good at it. Just so I...don't...have to...stand...here...
So that makes it easier to switch "schools," as it were. I hadn't felt the impetus in years, but maybe that's what God is using to make it really uncomfortable here. It's scary to think of leaving my comfort zone...but it's not comfortable.
Nothing.
It seems that God has been slowly stripping away things that keep me here. Friends move or have changes in their families, which moves them in a different direction. Others just...well, the connection's missing. They're here. I'm here. Lives are similar...but then I feel awkward and don't interact well, and they think...what...I'm snobby? Boring? Wish I knew...sort of... Anyway, I see myself at 33, still standing against the fence by the dugout. Pick me. Somebody. Please. Not that I want to play, and not that I'm that good at it. Just so I...don't...have to...stand...here...
So that makes it easier to switch "schools," as it were. I hadn't felt the impetus in years, but maybe that's what God is using to make it really uncomfortable here. It's scary to think of leaving my comfort zone...but it's not comfortable.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Humbled
I went.
The oldest and the youngest were scampering around with pre-funeral jitters, but then came Shoes, trying to round them up. He stopped when he saw me.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came for you guys."
We talked for a moment, then he went off in search of his older brother. I made my way toward the doors, and an usher asked if I were family. No, just a teacher. Then Shoes appeared beside me.
"Family and close friends in the first three rows," he said, gesturing to where I should sit.
Oh, dear God, I'm glad I went!
The oldest and the youngest were scampering around with pre-funeral jitters, but then came Shoes, trying to round them up. He stopped when he saw me.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came for you guys."
We talked for a moment, then he went off in search of his older brother. I made my way toward the doors, and an usher asked if I were family. No, just a teacher. Then Shoes appeared beside me.
"Family and close friends in the first three rows," he said, gesturing to where I should sit.
Oh, dear God, I'm glad I went!
Friday, September 26, 2008
I really don't want to go.
The three brothers were sent home from school with headlice just last week.
I don't want to go.
I missed tonight; tomorrow's my only shot.
Three boys, all ungainly; one too big, one too small, the other with a mind that's ten years behind his body. The younger two are the ones I've had in class. My room still smelled after they left each day. I called their mom to express the need for new shoes for one of them, but that only solved part of the problem. Hair uncut, unbrushed; things falling out of it. Other students knew which chairs they'd used and tried to avoid those seats.
I don't want to go; don't want to hug them; don't want to be touched...
Don't want to face this futility. Don't dare to hope for a future for these boys--already misguided, but now, even less guided. I don't want to go to their dad's funeral.
I don't suppose they do, either.
The three brothers were sent home from school with headlice just last week.
I don't want to go.
I missed tonight; tomorrow's my only shot.
Three boys, all ungainly; one too big, one too small, the other with a mind that's ten years behind his body. The younger two are the ones I've had in class. My room still smelled after they left each day. I called their mom to express the need for new shoes for one of them, but that only solved part of the problem. Hair uncut, unbrushed; things falling out of it. Other students knew which chairs they'd used and tried to avoid those seats.
I don't want to go; don't want to hug them; don't want to be touched...
Don't want to face this futility. Don't dare to hope for a future for these boys--already misguided, but now, even less guided. I don't want to go to their dad's funeral.
I don't suppose they do, either.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Ignorance
The thing that pushes my buttons the most is getting ignored. I don't mean that the thing is getting ignored, but that I get ignored. Hate that. When I fought with my mother while growing up, the thing that made me maddest was when she closed me off. Talk to me; work it through; don't close me out...
It ticks me off when my students do that, and maybe that's more an issue of respect. With my mother, it was a sign of her not knowing how to deal with me...or a way of refraining from saying something she'd regret.
I still don't react well to it. The more tired and stressed I become, the worse and more disproportionate my reaction to...ignorance...is. It becomes one of those "world is crashing down on me" moments, which, really, it's not. Maybe it's an earthquake; maybe it is significant. So stand in a doorway, self. Crawl under a table. A bit of ceiling may fall down, but it's not the end of your world.
It ticks me off when my students do that, and maybe that's more an issue of respect. With my mother, it was a sign of her not knowing how to deal with me...or a way of refraining from saying something she'd regret.
I still don't react well to it. The more tired and stressed I become, the worse and more disproportionate my reaction to...ignorance...is. It becomes one of those "world is crashing down on me" moments, which, really, it's not. Maybe it's an earthquake; maybe it is significant. So stand in a doorway, self. Crawl under a table. A bit of ceiling may fall down, but it's not the end of your world.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Why Being Single Is Fun
Elementary school's principal comes up to you on bus duty and asks if any magical relationships developed over the summer. When you respond in the negative, she mentions the single son of a friend, and offers to keep looking if he's not compatible.
Nosy neighbor across street approaches and clarifies that you're (still) single. "Howcome? You're a good lookin' gal. You get better lookin' with age!"
White-haired school custodian pauses in his sweeping and says, as a sultry Mr. Rogers, "Have you ever been in a line around some Spanish-speaking men, and heard them comment on how beautiful and sexy you are? 'Cause you will..."
Maybe that's not fun. Maybe that's just creepy...
Nosy neighbor across street approaches and clarifies that you're (still) single. "Howcome? You're a good lookin' gal. You get better lookin' with age!"
White-haired school custodian pauses in his sweeping and says, as a sultry Mr. Rogers, "Have you ever been in a line around some Spanish-speaking men, and heard them comment on how beautiful and sexy you are? 'Cause you will..."
Maybe that's not fun. Maybe that's just creepy...
Monday, September 01, 2008
This year's LifeLight Festival wasn't as yee-haw as last year's. I'm allergic to dust, hay, cats, and whatever seasonal allergy is out there. Three of those seemed to be present in the cornfield where we were. Perhaps it was the hour it took me to get out of the parking lot that was the biggest downer. But there were highlights.
I volunteered for MVett, which meant that we ran errands around the grounds after my shift was done. The air had cooled, Michael W. Smith was singing, people were happy, and I was in motion. The world was grand.
The spot of my volunteerism was the Prize Tent, which led into the merchandise tent. It was an excellent place to sit, because oodles of people passed through. For some reason, if you're sitting behind a table in a tent, people think you know something. My favorite was the 7-ish-year-old who came up to me with big eyes.
"Have you seen my mom? She's wearing a green shirt and brown pants and she has brown hair and..."
There are over 100,000 people here, kid. "Does she have a cell phone?" I asked. "What's her number?"
The kid rambled it off, including at least two extra digits.
"Hold on. Write it down." She did, with the appropriate number of digits, and I called. The mother was grateful, and I had the kid stay at the table until she was picked up by family. How is it that I can feel maternal while taking care of someone else's kid?
The other favorite moments were when two different groups of kids came up with mud-splattered skin, footwear, and clothing. "I went into the mud. Do you know of somewhere where I can wash off?" MVett and I sent them back out the door of the tent to a spigot directly in front of them.
"You know where that mud puddle is?" I asked a confused one. "That's where the spigot is--it's what made the mud."
"Ohhhhh!"
Dingbats. But it was fun to help out.
I volunteered for MVett, which meant that we ran errands around the grounds after my shift was done. The air had cooled, Michael W. Smith was singing, people were happy, and I was in motion. The world was grand.
The spot of my volunteerism was the Prize Tent, which led into the merchandise tent. It was an excellent place to sit, because oodles of people passed through. For some reason, if you're sitting behind a table in a tent, people think you know something. My favorite was the 7-ish-year-old who came up to me with big eyes.
"Have you seen my mom? She's wearing a green shirt and brown pants and she has brown hair and..."
There are over 100,000 people here, kid. "Does she have a cell phone?" I asked. "What's her number?"
The kid rambled it off, including at least two extra digits.
"Hold on. Write it down." She did, with the appropriate number of digits, and I called. The mother was grateful, and I had the kid stay at the table until she was picked up by family. How is it that I can feel maternal while taking care of someone else's kid?
The other favorite moments were when two different groups of kids came up with mud-splattered skin, footwear, and clothing. "I went into the mud. Do you know of somewhere where I can wash off?" MVett and I sent them back out the door of the tent to a spigot directly in front of them.
"You know where that mud puddle is?" I asked a confused one. "That's where the spigot is--it's what made the mud."
"Ohhhhh!"
Dingbats. But it was fun to help out.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Sweet Baby James
Today, I wandered down a trail of blogs until I came to a halt at this one: Sweet Baby James.
I'm still processing my feelings from it. Amazement at the faith of these parents and their "reminders to self" to keep said faith. Hopelessness at the medical trials, tests and speculations, given the ending. Suspicion at God for leading this couple along such a path. Fear that if I marry and have children, this may "randomly" be part of my lot. Closeness to Jesus, knowing that He does care--for this couple, for their children, and for me.
I'm still processing my feelings from it. Amazement at the faith of these parents and their "reminders to self" to keep said faith. Hopelessness at the medical trials, tests and speculations, given the ending. Suspicion at God for leading this couple along such a path. Fear that if I marry and have children, this may "randomly" be part of my lot. Closeness to Jesus, knowing that He does care--for this couple, for their children, and for me.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Morning
I really am a firm believer in roughing it. Last year, friends camped at a park; I joined them for socialization time, then headed back to the cabin to sleep. It turned out to be a good choice, since it rained that night and my friends slept in their cars. (I had offered the cabin, but they were determined to stick it out.)
So here I am, in what's basically a studio apartment at the lake. I'm not sure whose wireless I'm picking up, but it really makes it hard to think I'm roughing it. I suppose for me, that term involves the concept of "packing up all my necessities and lugging them to my overnight point of interest." Having to use trial-sized shampoo. Pre-planning and packaging the food I'll need. Once, the water heater didn't kick in soon enough to give me more than a tepid shower. Horror, I know.
Despite having most of the comforts of home, this place is unique for me. Last night's creature notwithstanding, I breathe relaxation when I walk in the door. The lake-side wall is mostly windows, which means I can sit practically anywhere and see tall grasses, cottonwoods waving, the blue of the lake, and sky. For whatever reason, I awoke around three this morning. Moonlight streamed in through those lake-side windows and echoed geometric shapes on the floor. Had I been conscious, I would have enjoyed it more, but the incident was poignant enough for my memory to retain until I got up.
Birds and trees; wind and sky. Geese that passed overhead last night rise up from the lake this morning. Fall, apparently, is here.
So here I am, in what's basically a studio apartment at the lake. I'm not sure whose wireless I'm picking up, but it really makes it hard to think I'm roughing it. I suppose for me, that term involves the concept of "packing up all my necessities and lugging them to my overnight point of interest." Having to use trial-sized shampoo. Pre-planning and packaging the food I'll need. Once, the water heater didn't kick in soon enough to give me more than a tepid shower. Horror, I know.
Despite having most of the comforts of home, this place is unique for me. Last night's creature notwithstanding, I breathe relaxation when I walk in the door. The lake-side wall is mostly windows, which means I can sit practically anywhere and see tall grasses, cottonwoods waving, the blue of the lake, and sky. For whatever reason, I awoke around three this morning. Moonlight streamed in through those lake-side windows and echoed geometric shapes on the floor. Had I been conscious, I would have enjoyed it more, but the incident was poignant enough for my memory to retain until I got up.
Birds and trees; wind and sky. Geese that passed overhead last night rise up from the lake this morning. Fall, apparently, is here.
Friday, August 22, 2008
It's a Lonely Ol' Night...
It's a good night, really. I'm staying at E&C's cabin by the lake, which is a fantastic spot. I arrived here hours after planning to, plopped down and read for a bit, then went up to the main house for a visit. After seeing other friends, I came back in the dark...to darkness, having forgotten to leave a light on for myself.
I'm not a big fan of darkness and being alone, especially in non-home settings. This being the case, I made sure I was on the phone when I returned. SOMEone would know if something happened to me in the 40 feet between my car and the cabin. I got in, checked the corners, then hung up with my friend. Safe. Inside. Alone. Content.
It was when I went for my salad that I realized I had no water. There were water bottles aplenty in the car...but none inside... Eleven pm. Who could I call? I tried two friends, but neither answered. I texted another. Nothing. 40 feet. It was only 40 feet...in the dark...next to the lake...40 feet...I could do it...
I unlocked the door. Stepped onto the porch. Rustlerustlerustle went the grasses and brush by the corner of the cabin. I froze, alarmed but not wanting to look stupid. (a) An animal would care? b) An attacker would care?) As serenely but quickly as I could, I stepped back inside the cabin then closed and locked the door.
WHAT was big enough to make those sounds? Not going out again.
I sucked in some tea and some milk, but really missed water. It wasn't worth braving the ferocious rustling sound, though. NOTHING was.
Soon, however, the Warrior texted back, and I called him to explain the matter. His voice gladly accompanied me to my car, and I talked loudly enough to drown out or frighten away any local creatures.
Along the way, I noticed the moon rising over the lake. It's turned the water white, in a path that leads, well, straight to my door. It's a beautiful ol' night.
Update, 12:01 am:
Something just walked across the porch. It seemed to be cat-sized and didn't make much noise. Have I told you about the giant, prehistoric raccoon I saw out here a couple of months ago? I wonder if that was it. I wonder if it was rabid. I wonder if it can smell salad.
And I'm supposed to sleep here?
Six more hours 'till dawn...
I'm not a big fan of darkness and being alone, especially in non-home settings. This being the case, I made sure I was on the phone when I returned. SOMEone would know if something happened to me in the 40 feet between my car and the cabin. I got in, checked the corners, then hung up with my friend. Safe. Inside. Alone. Content.
It was when I went for my salad that I realized I had no water. There were water bottles aplenty in the car...but none inside... Eleven pm. Who could I call? I tried two friends, but neither answered. I texted another. Nothing. 40 feet. It was only 40 feet...in the dark...next to the lake...40 feet...I could do it...
I unlocked the door. Stepped onto the porch. Rustlerustlerustle went the grasses and brush by the corner of the cabin. I froze, alarmed but not wanting to look stupid. (a) An animal would care? b) An attacker would care?) As serenely but quickly as I could, I stepped back inside the cabin then closed and locked the door.
WHAT was big enough to make those sounds? Not going out again.
I sucked in some tea and some milk, but really missed water. It wasn't worth braving the ferocious rustling sound, though. NOTHING was.
Soon, however, the Warrior texted back, and I called him to explain the matter. His voice gladly accompanied me to my car, and I talked loudly enough to drown out or frighten away any local creatures.
Along the way, I noticed the moon rising over the lake. It's turned the water white, in a path that leads, well, straight to my door. It's a beautiful ol' night.
Update, 12:01 am:
Something just walked across the porch. It seemed to be cat-sized and didn't make much noise. Have I told you about the giant, prehistoric raccoon I saw out here a couple of months ago? I wonder if that was it. I wonder if it was rabid. I wonder if it can smell salad.
And I'm supposed to sleep here?
Six more hours 'till dawn...
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Mmm...
A few nights ago, I sat with a friend in his roommate's hot tub. He had three chapters to read for school, so I pulled out _Jurassic Park_ and we slid into the bubbles. Nerdy, but good. When we were sufficiently broiled (not quite through a whole chapter), out we went. A pause, though; "When I grow up, I want one of these," he said. I agreed.
Today, I had another "When I grow up, I want..." moment. A coworker sent out an email asking if anyone wanted fish. She and her husband had put in a koi pond and didn't realize that having koi meant having more koi...and more koi... I followed her home at noon, and the place is just luscious! There are perennials along the perimeter of the property, and a big, old Victorian house with a 3/4 wraparound porch. The koi pond parallels two of the sides--so it seems to just keep going. I took the few steps up onto the porch and was astounded. It was a windy afternoon, and I could just imagine sitting there in the shade, being rocked in the swing... Then came the "I want this moment:" at the southwest corner of the porch is a stairway going out to the yard. The stairs drop you off at a bridge that runs over the koi pond. A bridge with a point! You know the "ballroom stairs" moment? Like in A Cinderella Story and others of that sort, in which the princess character descends with flowing gown? I'm not a very flowy gowny sort of person, but I felt like a princess as I descended those steps. It was a beautiful feeling!
When I grow up...
Today, I had another "When I grow up, I want..." moment. A coworker sent out an email asking if anyone wanted fish. She and her husband had put in a koi pond and didn't realize that having koi meant having more koi...and more koi... I followed her home at noon, and the place is just luscious! There are perennials along the perimeter of the property, and a big, old Victorian house with a 3/4 wraparound porch. The koi pond parallels two of the sides--so it seems to just keep going. I took the few steps up onto the porch and was astounded. It was a windy afternoon, and I could just imagine sitting there in the shade, being rocked in the swing... Then came the "I want this moment:" at the southwest corner of the porch is a stairway going out to the yard. The stairs drop you off at a bridge that runs over the koi pond. A bridge with a point! You know the "ballroom stairs" moment? Like in A Cinderella Story and others of that sort, in which the princess character descends with flowing gown? I'm not a very flowy gowny sort of person, but I felt like a princess as I descended those steps. It was a beautiful feeling!
When I grow up...
I Got Dumped--AHGAIN!
Same guy.
I hadn't written back to him because I hadn't figured out a tactful way to tell him off. You know, lovingly, kindly...but not too lovingly or kindly. A week later, I got an email saying he wondered if he had jumped the gun, and was open to discussing issues that had come up. I had just decided to not write a telling-off (nicely) message. He still wanted communication? Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. He wrote again on Sunday, wondering if I had gotten his email. Yes...but to say I'd gotten his email would mean I should respond. Again, I didn't know how to respond nicely. And then life got busy. I was out of town, inservice began, we had Back-to-School Night...
Tonight's message was simple: my name, followed by "I'm not going to pursue anything in regards to you. Take Care," followed by his name.
So, nice...but presumptuous. After two weeks with no response, did he think I was interested?
I hadn't written back to him because I hadn't figured out a tactful way to tell him off. You know, lovingly, kindly...but not too lovingly or kindly. A week later, I got an email saying he wondered if he had jumped the gun, and was open to discussing issues that had come up. I had just decided to not write a telling-off (nicely) message. He still wanted communication? Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. He wrote again on Sunday, wondering if I had gotten his email. Yes...but to say I'd gotten his email would mean I should respond. Again, I didn't know how to respond nicely. And then life got busy. I was out of town, inservice began, we had Back-to-School Night...
Tonight's message was simple: my name, followed by "I'm not going to pursue anything in regards to you. Take Care," followed by his name.
So, nice...but presumptuous. After two weeks with no response, did he think I was interested?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Chivalry Is...
...a guy friend hauling your kayak out of your car for you, even though you're quite capable of doing it yourself.
...a friend opening the oven door for you to take out caramel rolls.
...a friend's friend standing up to greet your father...and tactfully trying to not notice the underwear hanging on the clothesline.
...a friend bringing you pizza for your lunch break during classes on your birthday.
...a new friend taking your water bottle from his car into a friend's place--because you may want it.
...a friend's roommate opening your car door for you, even when you're the one driving.
...a friend coming over to get a dead thing out of the yard--a dead thing so mangled that the only reason you know it was alive is because you know most certainly that it's dead.
...a friend removing the moonroof from his truck so you can climb in through the hole (after stargazing in the truckbed) without having to put your cold, wet socks and shoes back on (after running through puddles in the springtime). Bonus points: it took another 15 minutes to get the moonroof replaced. (It was an old truck.)
...your new friend's husband grilling your cheese sandwich for you because you are completely inept when it comes to cookouts.
...when your friend lends you the stocking cap off his head as you sit in the outdoor hot tub on a -10' January day--especially because he had offered you one earlier and you had refused.
...your faithful friends who answer every conceivable question you may have in regard to cars and technology.
...a friend's friend taking your 5-year-old friend for a horseback ride on his birthday.
Life is good, and thank You, God!
...a friend opening the oven door for you to take out caramel rolls.
...a friend's friend standing up to greet your father...and tactfully trying to not notice the underwear hanging on the clothesline.
...a friend bringing you pizza for your lunch break during classes on your birthday.
...a new friend taking your water bottle from his car into a friend's place--because you may want it.
...a friend's roommate opening your car door for you, even when you're the one driving.
...a friend coming over to get a dead thing out of the yard--a dead thing so mangled that the only reason you know it was alive is because you know most certainly that it's dead.
...a friend removing the moonroof from his truck so you can climb in through the hole (after stargazing in the truckbed) without having to put your cold, wet socks and shoes back on (after running through puddles in the springtime). Bonus points: it took another 15 minutes to get the moonroof replaced. (It was an old truck.)
...your new friend's husband grilling your cheese sandwich for you because you are completely inept when it comes to cookouts.
...when your friend lends you the stocking cap off his head as you sit in the outdoor hot tub on a -10' January day--especially because he had offered you one earlier and you had refused.
...your faithful friends who answer every conceivable question you may have in regard to cars and technology.
...a friend's friend taking your 5-year-old friend for a horseback ride on his birthday.
Life is good, and thank You, God!
Benalmadena, Costa del Sol
A bombing in Spain today... I was there--Benalmadena--just after I graduated from high school. I wonder what the bunch of us would have done if it had happened when we were there. And on the flip side of the desk, I wonder what I, as the teacher, would do with my group of 12 students.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
70 x 7
My grandparents recently left after their two-month stay in my hometown. Gramp and I had bonded. He found a table that we dragged home and I began refinishing. I made him sit through both "National Treasure" movies, and he didn't gripe about them too much. I made a special point of getting pizza for the family and including Pepsi (at Grandpa's previous request). Gram has supplied me with a stash of hot pepper (home-dried and crushed), of which Gramp and I are the only ones who partake.
This, compared to all other years, was good. We had two conversations in which he tried forcing his views upon me, but at the end of both of them we agreed congenially to disagree. I wasn't cornered this summer. It was good.
As we said our goodbyes yesterday, Grandpa walked directly toward me with a kindly look in his eyes. Soft. He liked me. He approved of me. This hard, at times legalistic, previously abusive man was finally my loving grandfather.
Hands on my arms, face in front of mine, he said, "If I were a younger man..."
Yes? I smiled, having heard the line from other sweet elderly people.
"I would look for a lady who wears less makeup and lets her God-given beauty shine through."
An excellent parting shot. True to form. His clincher was, "Keep the faith," then he walked to the truck and got in.
All sorts of responses came to me later. "If I were a much older woman I wouldn't _want_ a man like you to look at me..." "You don't deserve my Gram..." "I am _not_ my cousin (who wears no makeup and is inhibitedly conservative)..." "The next time you see me, I'll be wearing so much makeup that I could be confused for a member of KISS..."
The ironic part was that Mom had been put off by something Grandpa had said the night before--and even the day before that and the day before that. He's a crusty, grumpy man around family. Yesterday morning, I had listened to a song that talked about being Jesus to others, and mentioned it to Mom in regard to her frustrations. Despite his rudeness and proclaimed faith, my grandpa needed to be shown Jesus, too. An hour later, did that still apply? A day later, does it still apply?
This, compared to all other years, was good. We had two conversations in which he tried forcing his views upon me, but at the end of both of them we agreed congenially to disagree. I wasn't cornered this summer. It was good.
As we said our goodbyes yesterday, Grandpa walked directly toward me with a kindly look in his eyes. Soft. He liked me. He approved of me. This hard, at times legalistic, previously abusive man was finally my loving grandfather.
Hands on my arms, face in front of mine, he said, "If I were a younger man..."
Yes? I smiled, having heard the line from other sweet elderly people.
"I would look for a lady who wears less makeup and lets her God-given beauty shine through."
An excellent parting shot. True to form. His clincher was, "Keep the faith," then he walked to the truck and got in.
All sorts of responses came to me later. "If I were a much older woman I wouldn't _want_ a man like you to look at me..." "You don't deserve my Gram..." "I am _not_ my cousin (who wears no makeup and is inhibitedly conservative)..." "The next time you see me, I'll be wearing so much makeup that I could be confused for a member of KISS..."
The ironic part was that Mom had been put off by something Grandpa had said the night before--and even the day before that and the day before that. He's a crusty, grumpy man around family. Yesterday morning, I had listened to a song that talked about being Jesus to others, and mentioned it to Mom in regard to her frustrations. Despite his rudeness and proclaimed faith, my grandpa needed to be shown Jesus, too. An hour later, did that still apply? A day later, does it still apply?
Friday, August 08, 2008
I spent time with my mom and grandma today, and Mom began telling Gram of a rough time I'd had with my paternal grandma in my teenage years. I, never intoxicated, ever-the-virgin, had become the black sheep of the family despite my pregnant teen, underage drinking cousins' existence. Things came to a good resolution before my grandma died, but the emotion of hurt came back quickly today.
Gram looked across the table at me and admonished me, lovingly, to remember the good things. She said that my grandma may have acted upon unfounded advice, but that she really had loved me dearly. Then Gram told me that _she_ loves me dearly, and if there ever comes a time I don't believe that, I should talk to her about it. If I don't, she'll take me outside and...invoke some sort of bodily punishment reminiscent of discipline when I was a child. I laughed and said it was nice to know she loves me enough to smack me around. Then I went around the table, hugged her, and almost burst into tears when she whispered fiercely, "I love you!"
All I could get out was a "You, too," before I escaped. A tear shot out of my eye--not a nice, little, drippy one, but a real shot--something that would have a "boing" sound effect.
I think that being loved hurts almost as much as feeling unloved does. Maybe because self-worth comes into question? Maybe because there's responsibility attached? Maybe because there's the potential (inevitability) for loss? It's a good hurt...just not one I'm used to feeling.
Gram looked across the table at me and admonished me, lovingly, to remember the good things. She said that my grandma may have acted upon unfounded advice, but that she really had loved me dearly. Then Gram told me that _she_ loves me dearly, and if there ever comes a time I don't believe that, I should talk to her about it. If I don't, she'll take me outside and...invoke some sort of bodily punishment reminiscent of discipline when I was a child. I laughed and said it was nice to know she loves me enough to smack me around. Then I went around the table, hugged her, and almost burst into tears when she whispered fiercely, "I love you!"
All I could get out was a "You, too," before I escaped. A tear shot out of my eye--not a nice, little, drippy one, but a real shot--something that would have a "boing" sound effect.
I think that being loved hurts almost as much as feeling unloved does. Maybe because self-worth comes into question? Maybe because there's responsibility attached? Maybe because there's the potential (inevitability) for loss? It's a good hurt...just not one I'm used to feeling.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
I Got Dumped Last Night...
The funny part is that...I didn't know I was dating anyone... Before there's a relationship to end, you'd think the guy would know the girl's last name, and have had at least one phone conversation with her...
In one of my emails from the past three weeks of communication with a match, I mentioned going to a bar with a coworker who had asked me to join her at least seven times already. I want to cultivate a friendship with her, and accepting someone's invitation seems a progressive way of doing that. The match then asked my thoughts on drinking and on dancing. I told him that I choose to not drink, and that, as a member of my church, I'm also committed to not drinking. Some people can drink quite nicely, and others can't. I wouldn't be comfortable if my significant other chose to drink on occasion, but it wouldn't be a hill I'd be willing to die on, either.
I wouldn't initiate going to a bar with a friend (despite our lack of alternative entertainment in a small town), and it's not the sort of environment I would choose to spend time in, but I don't have a problem with crossing the threshold.
As far as dancing goes, I'm so uncoordinated that only slow dancing works for me. Due to its nature, I would only want to engage in said activity with someone I was very comfortable with and probably somewhat interested in. Based on P's previous comments (in our three weeks of communication), I knew he was conservative but wanted to make sure he wasn't rigidly so. I mentioned that, yes, dancing can bring up thoughts that are not conducive to purity, but so can words and photographs. Should we shun those things as well?
Somehow, out of all of that, the only thing he understood is that I don't have a problem going to a bar with a coworker. He wrote that he wouldn't want to be in a relationship or marriage in which his wife went to bars or went out dancing. What if we went to a bar and someone else asked me to dance?
Oh, for pity's sake...really? I'm monogamous even in my crushes (generally). There is no way I would go dance with some random stranger and leave my boyfriend/husband spinning around on a little stool!
He flipped the scenario--what if he were the one at the bar, and someone hit on him, flirted with him, encouraged him to drink? How would that make me feel? A) I'd expect it. B) Where does personal responsibility come in? I expect to be in a relationship with someone I can trust to hang out with a coworker at a bar and not succumb to flirtatious whims. I would hope he would expect he were getting the same in me.
I was amused by his "drawing the line" and saying that things were over between us if I didn't subscribe to the idea of never setting foot in a bar and never getting jiggy with it. Now, though, I'm just ticked off. When I am in a relationship, I want it to be with someone who respects my integrity--and probably even knows my last name.
In one of my emails from the past three weeks of communication with a match, I mentioned going to a bar with a coworker who had asked me to join her at least seven times already. I want to cultivate a friendship with her, and accepting someone's invitation seems a progressive way of doing that. The match then asked my thoughts on drinking and on dancing. I told him that I choose to not drink, and that, as a member of my church, I'm also committed to not drinking. Some people can drink quite nicely, and others can't. I wouldn't be comfortable if my significant other chose to drink on occasion, but it wouldn't be a hill I'd be willing to die on, either.
I wouldn't initiate going to a bar with a friend (despite our lack of alternative entertainment in a small town), and it's not the sort of environment I would choose to spend time in, but I don't have a problem with crossing the threshold.
As far as dancing goes, I'm so uncoordinated that only slow dancing works for me. Due to its nature, I would only want to engage in said activity with someone I was very comfortable with and probably somewhat interested in. Based on P's previous comments (in our three weeks of communication), I knew he was conservative but wanted to make sure he wasn't rigidly so. I mentioned that, yes, dancing can bring up thoughts that are not conducive to purity, but so can words and photographs. Should we shun those things as well?
Somehow, out of all of that, the only thing he understood is that I don't have a problem going to a bar with a coworker. He wrote that he wouldn't want to be in a relationship or marriage in which his wife went to bars or went out dancing. What if we went to a bar and someone else asked me to dance?
Oh, for pity's sake...really? I'm monogamous even in my crushes (generally). There is no way I would go dance with some random stranger and leave my boyfriend/husband spinning around on a little stool!
He flipped the scenario--what if he were the one at the bar, and someone hit on him, flirted with him, encouraged him to drink? How would that make me feel? A) I'd expect it. B) Where does personal responsibility come in? I expect to be in a relationship with someone I can trust to hang out with a coworker at a bar and not succumb to flirtatious whims. I would hope he would expect he were getting the same in me.
I was amused by his "drawing the line" and saying that things were over between us if I didn't subscribe to the idea of never setting foot in a bar and never getting jiggy with it. Now, though, I'm just ticked off. When I am in a relationship, I want it to be with someone who respects my integrity--and probably even knows my last name.
Monday, August 04, 2008
I'm still reluctant to enter the world of chatting. It's enough of a struggle to get cohesive thoughts without having them be interrupted by people saying hi. Not that that's not nice, but it usually doesn't end with just "Hi." For some reason, I didn't turn off the chat feature when I switched to the "new" version of Yahoo mail--and an acquaintance messaged me tonight.
H was having problems getting downloaded photos onto Facebook; after a few back and forth messages, I gave her my phone number and we walked through a few steps until we figured out the problem. Then she told me that the photos were from her son's funeral, and wondered if they were appropriate to share on Facebook. She said that since I'd helped her, she'd share them with me and get my reaction.
I'm still teary. It was only about sixteen photos, but they showed a mother's grief--naked, wrenching emotion from as far deep in the soul as one can get. There was her husband, trying to hold back the emotion of losing his son. Little girl who would never teach or run with her brother. Young cousins who noted the seriousness of the event with solemn eyes. The father's mother standing behind him, with her hand on his shoulder... That green, fake lawn that covers the hole... Tiny white casket...
Maybe it's the educator in me that sucks everything in and processes it, but I thought the pictures were fine. They show the grieving process. Hopefully, they can help someone else who's been through the same situation. That reminds me of why I blog--to process things, but also to encourage someone else who's following a parallel trail. It's not always pretty, but it's not always morbid. It's, well, life.
H was having problems getting downloaded photos onto Facebook; after a few back and forth messages, I gave her my phone number and we walked through a few steps until we figured out the problem. Then she told me that the photos were from her son's funeral, and wondered if they were appropriate to share on Facebook. She said that since I'd helped her, she'd share them with me and get my reaction.
I'm still teary. It was only about sixteen photos, but they showed a mother's grief--naked, wrenching emotion from as far deep in the soul as one can get. There was her husband, trying to hold back the emotion of losing his son. Little girl who would never teach or run with her brother. Young cousins who noted the seriousness of the event with solemn eyes. The father's mother standing behind him, with her hand on his shoulder... That green, fake lawn that covers the hole... Tiny white casket...
Maybe it's the educator in me that sucks everything in and processes it, but I thought the pictures were fine. They show the grieving process. Hopefully, they can help someone else who's been through the same situation. That reminds me of why I blog--to process things, but also to encourage someone else who's following a parallel trail. It's not always pretty, but it's not always morbid. It's, well, life.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
A Wii Bullet of Prayer
I still have an affinity for playing Mario Kart on the little purple box, since it was my first real love affair with a gaming system. However, when I have access to friends and the Wii version, I enjoy it a great deal.
In the Wii version, if a person is really stinking it up in last place, she sometimes acquires a "bullet" as an item. It's a magical bullet, capable of pulling her wee little kart through the perils of whatever course she's on, and into a place where she can finish not dead last. It's like the "star" item in the purple box version, but even better--no steering is necessary. It's a burst of speed and one has only to relax until the bullet slows and the kart is again powered by her own hand.
Today felt a lot like I was on a bullet. I don't know if there was some intense praying going on, but it was a wonderful day. I had to be at class early, realized I'd forgotten to do an assignment for another class, and didn't have my textbook with me anyway. But it was still good.
The "yay" for the day started with a message from Hohu, who told me she understands all my previous diatribe and shared a bit more of her life. She's one of those unexpected blessings, since, really, I don't know her. She once made an interesting comment on a friend's Facebook wall, and her profile was open, which led me in to read an interesting note she'd written. I sent her a quick message expressing my appreciation for her note, and she wrote back--and added me as a friend. I'm not even sure how long ago that was, but she's been a lifeline at times I really needed one.
I made it to class, which contained a lecture by a different presenter--who had an accent, talked quickly, did not have adequate speaker coverage in the long commons area, and had a habit of looking away from her mic when she spoke to us. Interesting, animated lady, but I got nothing out of it. Rather than whining, I decided to look at the content standards and revamp my curriculum for the upcoming year. That meant I needed a copy of them, so I ran to another building during a break, hopped online, and started printing. I checked my email and was suddenly struck by the realization that I had an incomplete assignment--and that my book was nowhere nearby. I returned to the presentation and saw a classmate who I had just learned is in the online class with me. He had his book, miraculously, and let me borrow it. Another classmate was willing to lend me his laptop to submit my work (but our teacher soon resumed her seat near him, so that plan wouldn't work out). I sat in the back of the hall and crammed. With a supposed 45 minutes left in the presentation, I headed back to the building with Internet access and began submitting my homework. Another classmate texted to say that the presentation was done early, so I ran over, retrieved my belongings, and returned to the computer. I got that assignment completed before noon, which I hope hope hope was the actual deadline.
"A" has tried to work out a lunch get-together with me for some time, and today finally worked. He brought me pizza, and we sat outside in the shade and breeze on campus. I loved the company, we talked about saving trees by using paper (long story, but the gist is that paper is made from trees that are planted for that purpose; unanticipated deforestation does not occur based upon our paper consumption), and really, it was cool that someone cared enough to bring me lunch on my birthday. Who knew a three dollar pizza could make one so happy? That really was another big "yay" in my day.
Other people had input in the littlest ways, but meant so much to me. Maybe God's point in my recent social woes was to grant a big dose of humility and gratitude. And they're starting to stick--thank God! Today was a fantastic bullet ride.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Boo Yay Yay Stall Boo Yay
There have been a few stories in the news lately in which amusement park rides are not good things. One girl lost her leg/foot; another kid actually got decapitated. I think my emotions have been on those same amusement park rides.
Tuesday was a "boo" day, as evidenced by my sorry state of blogging and the long-time-coming need to do so.
Wednesday was a "yay" day since CLE texted me an invitation to join people I like and do things that I like. (How strange the timing, too, that it was something he'd mentioned earlier but hadn't thought to do until that day.)
Thursday was a "yay" since I texted a friend and said "I NEED HUMAN CONTACT" and was obliged quite kindly.
Friday was a "stalled" sort of feeling, with its evening being comprised of "obligatory" socialization--being around people I enjoy, but not in my optimum interactive environment. Still an enjoyable evening.
Saturday contained its social "boos," but it was much easier to deal with them based upon the previous days' interactions. My social tank was full, and I could coast. I also embraced the new form of Yahoo mail and found that my cousin was online. We chatted for an hour (the third time in our lives we've interacted that much), and due to that conversation (and others), I think I'm going to buy a Macbook.
Yesterday was a definite "yay," containing a conversation in which a friend and I moved from teasing to sharing frustrations to, well, my being vindicated from a previous post's "not following through with a responsibility" issue. It was huge, in that one moment, for this friend to volunteer to clear my name.
Kdel and I kayaked after church--our "anniversary voyage," of sorts, since it was two years ago almost to the day that she first got me out on the water. We even found ourselves at the same lake as that original time, and, being smarter, I used sunscreen this time. (My knees and thighs are great, my shoulders are fine, but there is now a definite distinction, highlighted in pink and white, of where my tank top was and was not.)
BH has moved out of town but was back for a bit yesterday afternoon. She connected with me, and I was able to wander around a park with her and her family. Little DDH is almost 11 months old and, though able to totter around, was content with my holding him. I wanted to switch him from my right hip to my left after a bit, but one of his hands was on my shoulder and the other was on my wrist. There was no way I was moving that child; the moment was too special. Despite DDH's adorableness, it was also fantastic to see BH. She's one of those "birthday friends"--the kind who makes you feel special as you reach another milestone in life. She'd brought a present for me, since she knew she wouldn't see me on the actual day. It was an "aww--you remembered" moments that was a definite "yay" on the roller coaster.
CLE informed me of another gathering later that night, and I got to play Mario Kart with "the people." There's only room for four, so controllers get passed around and the guys are quite good at being non-dominant. That's not "non-dominating," because they kick my butt most every time--but at least they share the gaming time. My favorite moments come when the peanut gallery gives input--"If you pull up on the controller, you do a wheelie and go faster. Okay--THERE--do it!" When it works, and I win, I am most delighted and most grateful.
Our host and hostess also have a four-month-old, BabyG. She's becoming more interactive, more attentive. I loved her giddy expressions last night when her aunt leaned down to get close to her face. As L moved in, BabyG just started getting squirmy in eager anticipation of the attention.
If you stand with empty arms for long enough, BabyG's mother will ask if you want to hold her. Of course! Eventually, BabyG dozed in my arms while I watched ARG unlock more features of Mario Kart and listened to the others playing fiercely competitive card games around us. It was perfect. Contentment and companionship.
Today is another stall. The one day a year that a person is allowed to think the world revolves around her, is perhaps also the most depressing when she realizes it doesn't. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I plan to utilize the opportunity to spend it with my parents and grandparents. It seems that there are bubbles of friends--friends who care and friends I hang out with. Spending time with my parents and grandparents means playing cards, and the en vogue game is one in which equal numbers of players are needed. Thus comes the dilemma and the accompanying Smack of Singleness. I have to find that "Number Six." The Friends Who Care are most likely the only ones I can talk to and say, "Hey--do you want to hang out with my parents, grandparents and I?" But the reason they don't fall under the Friends I Hang Out With category is that they're married, out of town, have kids, etc. They are lovingly entangled. On one hand's worth of digits, I can count people who fall into both categories in some amazing way. Of those, only one is in town this week. Of course I extended the invitation to be the coveted "Number Six," but was turned down in a way that made me wonder if the person realized the significance of the day. It's not just any day; it's my birthday; hang around with me; be my friend; let me enjoy your company. It's kind of hard to say that to a person without being whiny, so I'll blog it for the three of you who have actually read to this point.
Last Wednesday really was a huge turning point. It wasn't so much CLE's texted invitation, but the timing of it. God and I had big talks that Tuesday night, and it wasn't until we were straighter that He let CLE into the equation. A few days later, I asked CLE what had prompted his text that day. I'm not sure if I've shared this blog address with him, but I know at least one member of his family has it. Had someone said something? Someone prompted...? CLE said it was just that he had remembered he wanted to include me in events. He said it wasn't anything cosmic or supernatural. So it wasn't a person. It was just the day after I felt more frustrated and lonely than I had in a long time, that he "happened" to reach out. To me, that is "cosmic" and "supernatural." It's the King of the Universe saying, "Hey--I still care about you." And through this past week, I've been able to see that.
Tuesday was a "boo" day, as evidenced by my sorry state of blogging and the long-time-coming need to do so.
Wednesday was a "yay" day since CLE texted me an invitation to join people I like and do things that I like. (How strange the timing, too, that it was something he'd mentioned earlier but hadn't thought to do until that day.)
Thursday was a "yay" since I texted a friend and said "I NEED HUMAN CONTACT" and was obliged quite kindly.
Friday was a "stalled" sort of feeling, with its evening being comprised of "obligatory" socialization--being around people I enjoy, but not in my optimum interactive environment. Still an enjoyable evening.
Saturday contained its social "boos," but it was much easier to deal with them based upon the previous days' interactions. My social tank was full, and I could coast. I also embraced the new form of Yahoo mail and found that my cousin was online. We chatted for an hour (the third time in our lives we've interacted that much), and due to that conversation (and others), I think I'm going to buy a Macbook.
Yesterday was a definite "yay," containing a conversation in which a friend and I moved from teasing to sharing frustrations to, well, my being vindicated from a previous post's "not following through with a responsibility" issue. It was huge, in that one moment, for this friend to volunteer to clear my name.
Kdel and I kayaked after church--our "anniversary voyage," of sorts, since it was two years ago almost to the day that she first got me out on the water. We even found ourselves at the same lake as that original time, and, being smarter, I used sunscreen this time. (My knees and thighs are great, my shoulders are fine, but there is now a definite distinction, highlighted in pink and white, of where my tank top was and was not.)
BH has moved out of town but was back for a bit yesterday afternoon. She connected with me, and I was able to wander around a park with her and her family. Little DDH is almost 11 months old and, though able to totter around, was content with my holding him. I wanted to switch him from my right hip to my left after a bit, but one of his hands was on my shoulder and the other was on my wrist. There was no way I was moving that child; the moment was too special. Despite DDH's adorableness, it was also fantastic to see BH. She's one of those "birthday friends"--the kind who makes you feel special as you reach another milestone in life. She'd brought a present for me, since she knew she wouldn't see me on the actual day. It was an "aww--you remembered" moments that was a definite "yay" on the roller coaster.
CLE informed me of another gathering later that night, and I got to play Mario Kart with "the people." There's only room for four, so controllers get passed around and the guys are quite good at being non-dominant. That's not "non-dominating," because they kick my butt most every time--but at least they share the gaming time. My favorite moments come when the peanut gallery gives input--"If you pull up on the controller, you do a wheelie and go faster. Okay--THERE--do it!" When it works, and I win, I am most delighted and most grateful.
Our host and hostess also have a four-month-old, BabyG. She's becoming more interactive, more attentive. I loved her giddy expressions last night when her aunt leaned down to get close to her face. As L moved in, BabyG just started getting squirmy in eager anticipation of the attention.
If you stand with empty arms for long enough, BabyG's mother will ask if you want to hold her. Of course! Eventually, BabyG dozed in my arms while I watched ARG unlock more features of Mario Kart and listened to the others playing fiercely competitive card games around us. It was perfect. Contentment and companionship.
Today is another stall. The one day a year that a person is allowed to think the world revolves around her, is perhaps also the most depressing when she realizes it doesn't. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I plan to utilize the opportunity to spend it with my parents and grandparents. It seems that there are bubbles of friends--friends who care and friends I hang out with. Spending time with my parents and grandparents means playing cards, and the en vogue game is one in which equal numbers of players are needed. Thus comes the dilemma and the accompanying Smack of Singleness. I have to find that "Number Six." The Friends Who Care are most likely the only ones I can talk to and say, "Hey--do you want to hang out with my parents, grandparents and I?" But the reason they don't fall under the Friends I Hang Out With category is that they're married, out of town, have kids, etc. They are lovingly entangled. On one hand's worth of digits, I can count people who fall into both categories in some amazing way. Of those, only one is in town this week. Of course I extended the invitation to be the coveted "Number Six," but was turned down in a way that made me wonder if the person realized the significance of the day. It's not just any day; it's my birthday; hang around with me; be my friend; let me enjoy your company. It's kind of hard to say that to a person without being whiny, so I'll blog it for the three of you who have actually read to this point.
Last Wednesday really was a huge turning point. It wasn't so much CLE's texted invitation, but the timing of it. God and I had big talks that Tuesday night, and it wasn't until we were straighter that He let CLE into the equation. A few days later, I asked CLE what had prompted his text that day. I'm not sure if I've shared this blog address with him, but I know at least one member of his family has it. Had someone said something? Someone prompted...? CLE said it was just that he had remembered he wanted to include me in events. He said it wasn't anything cosmic or supernatural. So it wasn't a person. It was just the day after I felt more frustrated and lonely than I had in a long time, that he "happened" to reach out. To me, that is "cosmic" and "supernatural." It's the King of the Universe saying, "Hey--I still care about you." And through this past week, I've been able to see that.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Emotional Update
Does it make much sense to defend my whininess by whining? Can I add to yesterday's posts the frustration brought about last week--that because someone else didn't follow through with her promise, I couldn't keep my commitment to a responsibility assigned by her? That internal war of "I didn't follow through" followed by "She didn't keep the agreed-upon conditions..."
Stress! I almost cried at "WALL-E" today, and did tear up when a friend told me she had to put her family's dog down. Why am I so on edge?
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Oh, AND...
I had to file a fraud alert because some of my files were stolen from the bank.
On the plus side: I went to the local liquor store on Saturday night to buy vodka. The checkout lady knew I was new when I asked where the vodka was; she replied, "See up there on the wall above the shelves, where it says..."
"Aah, yes--where it says VODKA... Thank you!" Off I went.
When I returned with the small bottle, Checkout Lady virtually refused to hand me a pen until I'd slid my ID across the counter to her. Then came one of my favorite comments of the week: "You're a bit older than I would have guessed..." It wasn't exactly a compliment, but it was a complimentary comment. Due to that interchange, I shared my vanilla-making secret with her: if you put a vanilla bean in a bottle of vodka and let it sit for a few weeks, it makes better cooking vanilla than you can buy in most stores.
It still felt strange to walk across the parking lot with a little brown paper bag...
On the plus side: I went to the local liquor store on Saturday night to buy vodka. The checkout lady knew I was new when I asked where the vodka was; she replied, "See up there on the wall above the shelves, where it says..."
"Aah, yes--where it says VODKA... Thank you!" Off I went.
When I returned with the small bottle, Checkout Lady virtually refused to hand me a pen until I'd slid my ID across the counter to her. Then came one of my favorite comments of the week: "You're a bit older than I would have guessed..." It wasn't exactly a compliment, but it was a complimentary comment. Due to that interchange, I shared my vanilla-making secret with her: if you put a vanilla bean in a bottle of vodka and let it sit for a few weeks, it makes better cooking vanilla than you can buy in most stores.
It still felt strange to walk across the parking lot with a little brown paper bag...
It Had to Come...You Knew That, Right?
After the whining and moping of earlier this evening, I realized that other factors had compounded my frustration. A minor one is now solved...I hope...
Do you ever get something in your head that you can't let go of? I'd thought the movie "WALL-E" would be interesting to see if I got the chance. Then I mentioned it around friends, and one seemed particularly interested in going. That got the idea stuck in my head: the little group of us would go.
Only, it didn't work out that way. I made a tentative plan and didn't hear anything back from the others. I made another suggestion, which didn't work out for one of them. The negatory response didn't include an option for another time, so I wondered how much further to go. How does one be an effective communicator without being pushy?
In the meantime, it seems that other people I used to spend time with have already seen the movie. So, not only does that make it quite difficult to find accompaniment, but it also smacks of "I didn't get invited."
Tonight's cheap night at the theater, and I tried to get a different set of friends lined up. Both offered their "maybes," and then neither worked out.
The point isn't the movie at all, though I'm beginning to hate it. The point is, I really wish I fit somewhere. Where _does_ an almost 33-year-old non-bar-hopping single female fit in a small town?
And that's really not the point of this at all, though I've let myself start crying again.
When, through my tears, I ask God "WHY?", He reminds me of others who are lonely and others who want or need my attention. I spent time with my grandparents tonight, and afterward, called another friend. Seven years ago, I babysat her infant son in the church nursery. He hadn't yet reached the crawling stage, and the other inmates were all toddling. Therefore, he was my watch, my charge, the little creature with the soulful brown eyes. And now, I have a "date" to see "WALL-E" tomorrow.
Do you ever get something in your head that you can't let go of? I'd thought the movie "WALL-E" would be interesting to see if I got the chance. Then I mentioned it around friends, and one seemed particularly interested in going. That got the idea stuck in my head: the little group of us would go.
Only, it didn't work out that way. I made a tentative plan and didn't hear anything back from the others. I made another suggestion, which didn't work out for one of them. The negatory response didn't include an option for another time, so I wondered how much further to go. How does one be an effective communicator without being pushy?
In the meantime, it seems that other people I used to spend time with have already seen the movie. So, not only does that make it quite difficult to find accompaniment, but it also smacks of "I didn't get invited."
Tonight's cheap night at the theater, and I tried to get a different set of friends lined up. Both offered their "maybes," and then neither worked out.
The point isn't the movie at all, though I'm beginning to hate it. The point is, I really wish I fit somewhere. Where _does_ an almost 33-year-old non-bar-hopping single female fit in a small town?
And that's really not the point of this at all, though I've let myself start crying again.
When, through my tears, I ask God "WHY?", He reminds me of others who are lonely and others who want or need my attention. I spent time with my grandparents tonight, and afterward, called another friend. Seven years ago, I babysat her infant son in the church nursery. He hadn't yet reached the crawling stage, and the other inmates were all toddling. Therefore, he was my watch, my charge, the little creature with the soulful brown eyes. And now, I have a "date" to see "WALL-E" tomorrow.
It's Been a While
I found B's comment today--the "Where are you?" one. Sweet B...
I love living in a small town and being an hour or so away from a bigger town that supplies most anything else I could "need." I love that the evening rush hour lasts twenty minutes and consists of, at most, five minutes of idling time. I love safety and the ability to bike or even walk to any place in town if needed.
Then come the times I want to flee--not necessarily to a bigger city, but away from the scenes I don't like here. I don't like not belonging. I don't like listening to event anecdotes from people who hang out with people I used to hang out with. I don't like hearing of their fun times, and knowing I wasn't included.
The more alone time I have, the more time I have to wonder why I'm alone. Contacts and adorable blond highlights seem to have been pointless, which indicates something worse: the problem is with my character.
Well. Doesn't that just suck?
So, B, dear, this possibly accounts for my lack of blogging. If my words have a negative slant, they should be leading up to a positive ("I thought blah blah blah, but then I realized blah blah, and that was good!"). Or they should be funny. And right now, they're neither. My closest friends are married with families, which means our situations aren't the same for both conversation and scheduling.
I've heard, "You're young and single! Have fun!" Okay. With whom?
And I wondered why I'd gotten so stinking autonomous...
I love living in a small town and being an hour or so away from a bigger town that supplies most anything else I could "need." I love that the evening rush hour lasts twenty minutes and consists of, at most, five minutes of idling time. I love safety and the ability to bike or even walk to any place in town if needed.
Then come the times I want to flee--not necessarily to a bigger city, but away from the scenes I don't like here. I don't like not belonging. I don't like listening to event anecdotes from people who hang out with people I used to hang out with. I don't like hearing of their fun times, and knowing I wasn't included.
The more alone time I have, the more time I have to wonder why I'm alone. Contacts and adorable blond highlights seem to have been pointless, which indicates something worse: the problem is with my character.
Well. Doesn't that just suck?
So, B, dear, this possibly accounts for my lack of blogging. If my words have a negative slant, they should be leading up to a positive ("I thought blah blah blah, but then I realized blah blah, and that was good!"). Or they should be funny. And right now, they're neither. My closest friends are married with families, which means our situations aren't the same for both conversation and scheduling.
I've heard, "You're young and single! Have fun!" Okay. With whom?
And I wondered why I'd gotten so stinking autonomous...
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Ever feel like you're at the bottom of the pile? Life can be going along fine, then bam--you're in an elevator that's had its cables cut. And it's not...anything...in particular, really. Maybe it was not getting elected tonight as a delegate or alternate for our church's upcoming district conference. Could have been from hauling three kids to the office in two days--one for being disrespectful, and two for fighting on the playground.
Maybe it was being at an end-of-the-year staff celebration, in which we welcomed the newly adopted baby of a co-worker. The kid is beautiful and fits so perfectly in my arms. Maybe it was sitting across from a friend and co-worker who is pregnant and eagerly shares her experiences with the rest of us. Maybe it was looking down the table toward another friend/co-worker who recently got engaged. It's not at all that I'm not happy for these people... It's that when I come home, alone, it's just me and Him. When will I get it--that He is enough?
Maybe it was being at an end-of-the-year staff celebration, in which we welcomed the newly adopted baby of a co-worker. The kid is beautiful and fits so perfectly in my arms. Maybe it was sitting across from a friend and co-worker who is pregnant and eagerly shares her experiences with the rest of us. Maybe it was looking down the table toward another friend/co-worker who recently got engaged. It's not at all that I'm not happy for these people... It's that when I come home, alone, it's just me and Him. When will I get it--that He is enough?
Sunday, May 11, 2008
30 Minutes on a Treadmill
Have you seen that commercial? The one with the lady running, and the caption reading, "30 minutes on a treadmill..." and the camera panning out to her plastic water bottle, followed by "...a lifetime in a landfill..."
I've been rather lax about recycling; if it wasn't convenient (green box with "Recycle" symbols in front of my face), I didn't do it. Maybe it was that commercial that convicted me, or maybe it was the Discovery Channel's documentary on things made with recycled plastic. Regardless, I've picked up the practice.
After I strip off the trimmings and rinse a plastic bottle, it's left on the bathroom floor to air out before it goes into the recycling bin. Currently, there's a miniature army of two Pepsi bottles, a water bottle, a protein water bottle, a gel container and a contact solution bottle lined up on the floor. The army's not pretty, and I rather wish it weren't there. Then it strikes me that this is just the refuse from one person, and it's only a few days' worth of material.
Makes me a little more conscious of what I use, when I begin living with my trash...
I've been rather lax about recycling; if it wasn't convenient (green box with "Recycle" symbols in front of my face), I didn't do it. Maybe it was that commercial that convicted me, or maybe it was the Discovery Channel's documentary on things made with recycled plastic. Regardless, I've picked up the practice.
After I strip off the trimmings and rinse a plastic bottle, it's left on the bathroom floor to air out before it goes into the recycling bin. Currently, there's a miniature army of two Pepsi bottles, a water bottle, a protein water bottle, a gel container and a contact solution bottle lined up on the floor. The army's not pretty, and I rather wish it weren't there. Then it strikes me that this is just the refuse from one person, and it's only a few days' worth of material.
Makes me a little more conscious of what I use, when I begin living with my trash...
And a Happy Mother's Day to You...
My pastor started out this morning's services with a rather unusual prayer. The first people he mentioned were the women struggling with infertility, the ones who lost a child prematurely, and those who have had abortions. It's a rough day for many, in light of those factors.
When my eyes opened, I noticed one woman and realized she is still dealing with a long-ago abortion. Her body was tense, in a "Let's just get through this" stance.
Moments after the prayer, a young, out-of-town couple came up the aisle and slid in next to this woman and her husband. They carried their infant son, her grandson.
The child looked around, acclimating himself to his surroundings. Then his arms reached out and his body leaned forward, and he was passed along into the eager embrace of Grandma.
There is forgiveness.
When my eyes opened, I noticed one woman and realized she is still dealing with a long-ago abortion. Her body was tense, in a "Let's just get through this" stance.
Moments after the prayer, a young, out-of-town couple came up the aisle and slid in next to this woman and her husband. They carried their infant son, her grandson.
The child looked around, acclimating himself to his surroundings. Then his arms reached out and his body leaned forward, and he was passed along into the eager embrace of Grandma.
There is forgiveness.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Highness called as I was leaving work.
"I sent you a Facebook message, but wanted to call, too."
"You called me to tell me you sent me a Facebook message? I get messages in my email inbox about that, too, you know--but how nice of you!"
"Yeah... You remember K and D [old friends]? Well, they were packing to move, and were cleaning, and this window was open..."
He paused too long. Talk faster. Keep going. This isn't good.
"Yeah...?"
"Well, their two-year-old daughter..."
Another pause.
KEEP TALKING.
"Well, she got up into the window...and she...fell out..."
"And...?"
"And she died instantly."
End of life? The pretty little baby I'd held at the outdoor wedding of mutual friends... This beautiful little thing I'd comforted by walking around and around with under the shade of trees... The first child of her parents...the treasure of their hearts... End?
Hours later, after the events of the evening, I googled her. Ten results...the only person with her name... Only one news article mentioned her humanness--running around in brightly-colored springtime boots, smiling and laughing. To everyone else, she's a number, a cause, a past part of someone else's life. A little girl noted amid ads for medical advice, preventing identity theft, and unlimited nationwide calling.
"I sent you a Facebook message, but wanted to call, too."
"You called me to tell me you sent me a Facebook message? I get messages in my email inbox about that, too, you know--but how nice of you!"
"Yeah... You remember K and D [old friends]? Well, they were packing to move, and were cleaning, and this window was open..."
He paused too long. Talk faster. Keep going. This isn't good.
"Yeah...?"
"Well, their two-year-old daughter..."
Another pause.
KEEP TALKING.
"Well, she got up into the window...and she...fell out..."
"And...?"
"And she died instantly."
End of life? The pretty little baby I'd held at the outdoor wedding of mutual friends... This beautiful little thing I'd comforted by walking around and around with under the shade of trees... The first child of her parents...the treasure of their hearts... End?
Hours later, after the events of the evening, I googled her. Ten results...the only person with her name... Only one news article mentioned her humanness--running around in brightly-colored springtime boots, smiling and laughing. To everyone else, she's a number, a cause, a past part of someone else's life. A little girl noted amid ads for medical advice, preventing identity theft, and unlimited nationwide calling.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
I am entirely of the opinion that a midlife crisis consists of dealing with wrinkles and zits simultaneously. It's been a bit of a skin-care dilemma of late, but tonight--tonight cured all.
Last night, I got repeated text messages from a friend/coworker: "You should come downtown. My fiancee's friend is in town, and he's single."
Bars aren't my place, and being thrown into a "Hey, you should meet this guy" situation on top of that wouldn't make for a good first impression. And I was getting a cold...and I was tired...and I had some ministry work to finish... So I didn't.
Tonight, a few of us from work went to a movie. Side note: don't bother with "Leatherheads" at full price. If you don't watch it for its quirks, it won't be worth it even on cheap night. L actually dozed off a few times; but then, she's not an Office fan, so she can be forgiven. In light of her disappointment with the movie, I decided to accompany her downtown afterward. Therein lay the highlight of my evening. It wasn't in the setup, but in, ironically, the door girl.
L and I walked into the bar and grill, and she paused. I noticed her flipping open her wallet and realized, from my college days of playing pool with a friend at the bar across the street, that this was ID time. I slid mine out of my wallet, handed it to the girl, and held my breath. I'm 5'1"...what if she thinks it's fake... She studied it, then handed it back.
"You look amazing for your age."
I...uh...I...thank you...
"Brown Eyed Girl" came on the radio, and though L is 6'1" and strikingly beautiful, I didn't feel shorted on anything as we strode down the aisle to meet her friends.
Last night, I got repeated text messages from a friend/coworker: "You should come downtown. My fiancee's friend is in town, and he's single."
Bars aren't my place, and being thrown into a "Hey, you should meet this guy" situation on top of that wouldn't make for a good first impression. And I was getting a cold...and I was tired...and I had some ministry work to finish... So I didn't.
Tonight, a few of us from work went to a movie. Side note: don't bother with "Leatherheads" at full price. If you don't watch it for its quirks, it won't be worth it even on cheap night. L actually dozed off a few times; but then, she's not an Office fan, so she can be forgiven. In light of her disappointment with the movie, I decided to accompany her downtown afterward. Therein lay the highlight of my evening. It wasn't in the setup, but in, ironically, the door girl.
L and I walked into the bar and grill, and she paused. I noticed her flipping open her wallet and realized, from my college days of playing pool with a friend at the bar across the street, that this was ID time. I slid mine out of my wallet, handed it to the girl, and held my breath. I'm 5'1"...what if she thinks it's fake... She studied it, then handed it back.
"You look amazing for your age."
I...uh...I...thank you...
"Brown Eyed Girl" came on the radio, and though L is 6'1" and strikingly beautiful, I didn't feel shorted on anything as we strode down the aisle to meet her friends.
Monday, April 07, 2008
A Good Day, in All...
So I'm at a conference. A coworker recommended me as a presenter, so I applied and am in. I had things ready and online. I ran through my presentation with a couple of guinea pigs, and we all survived. I reworked things last night and couldn't fall asleep. My hotel room was fantastic, with windows overlooking a pond and paddling ducks. My sequential alarms helped me enjoy the morning at 6 minute intervals, and then it was time to leave.
Nerves were getting to me even yesterday, so I skipped breakfast. No time to stop for a green tea, so I grabbed a Mtn. Dew from the machine in the lobby. This apparently is not a good start to a day when you're already nervous.
I went to the main speaker, then spent time during the next session trying to prep for my session. No wireless access. Sigh... A nice little techie joined me on my bench and talked me through some troubleshooting things, but to no avail. And if I couldn't access the wireless connections, chances were good that my class wouldn't, either...
The techies got me an ethernet cable and granted me access to the overhead projector. But all my stuff was online--no paper handouts; nothing. Because, you know, the wireless world works. If you're presenting on technology, why not use it?
My class came in...the room filled up...60 teachers staring at me...
I started, and asked for people with laptops and connections to raise their hands. A small handful. How do you walk people through something when they don't have the tools for it? And I was tethered to the machines, unable to walk around like I can in my classroom. Disoriented. Plan D. Some nice looks, then a lady (who could connect) with frustrations. She could follow along if I went slowly enough...but others who couldn't follow along would get bored. Oh sigh... What to do?
My body compensated. I couldn't think. Things got fuzzy. And then they closed in--again. I looked around for a chair to sit in but couldn't see. I moved toward the closest chair, hoping the person would move. She did...but then I didn't know where I was trying to go, and waddled, rear end poised, backward. Someone guided me into the seat, and I barely landed on the edge of it. They were talking and clucking around me, but I didn't know what they said. Someone came back with water. Another had a wet cloth. Trash can... I want a trash can...
They hovered politely nearby, and one of the conference workers came in with juice and crackers. I heard "Are you diabetic?" a number of times. No... Just... I'll be fine...
And soon, I was--more or less. I decided to stay in my chair to give the rest of my presentation. There were more questions, which I muddled through answers to. Some people left early, and I can't blame them...although I probably would have stuck around to see if the instructor actually ended up on the ground at some point.
Nerves were getting to me even yesterday, so I skipped breakfast. No time to stop for a green tea, so I grabbed a Mtn. Dew from the machine in the lobby. This apparently is not a good start to a day when you're already nervous.
I went to the main speaker, then spent time during the next session trying to prep for my session. No wireless access. Sigh... A nice little techie joined me on my bench and talked me through some troubleshooting things, but to no avail. And if I couldn't access the wireless connections, chances were good that my class wouldn't, either...
The techies got me an ethernet cable and granted me access to the overhead projector. But all my stuff was online--no paper handouts; nothing. Because, you know, the wireless world works. If you're presenting on technology, why not use it?
My class came in...the room filled up...60 teachers staring at me...
I started, and asked for people with laptops and connections to raise their hands. A small handful. How do you walk people through something when they don't have the tools for it? And I was tethered to the machines, unable to walk around like I can in my classroom. Disoriented. Plan D. Some nice looks, then a lady (who could connect) with frustrations. She could follow along if I went slowly enough...but others who couldn't follow along would get bored. Oh sigh... What to do?
My body compensated. I couldn't think. Things got fuzzy. And then they closed in--again. I looked around for a chair to sit in but couldn't see. I moved toward the closest chair, hoping the person would move. She did...but then I didn't know where I was trying to go, and waddled, rear end poised, backward. Someone guided me into the seat, and I barely landed on the edge of it. They were talking and clucking around me, but I didn't know what they said. Someone came back with water. Another had a wet cloth. Trash can... I want a trash can...
They hovered politely nearby, and one of the conference workers came in with juice and crackers. I heard "Are you diabetic?" a number of times. No... Just... I'll be fine...
And soon, I was--more or less. I decided to stay in my chair to give the rest of my presentation. There were more questions, which I muddled through answers to. Some people left early, and I can't blame them...although I probably would have stuck around to see if the instructor actually ended up on the ground at some point.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Advice on Shopping for Men...or Clothing...
#1: Just because you're not a size 6 anymore doesn't mean you're a size 2. If you don't fit with a 2, it's okay. There may be a misplaced 4 around.
#2: Your favorite item may seem to be out of your price range right now, but don't disregard it completely. It may go on sale after time. Even if it doesn't, chances are good that you'll find something quite comparable and even more happiness-inducing.
#2: Your favorite item may seem to be out of your price range right now, but don't disregard it completely. It may go on sale after time. Even if it doesn't, chances are good that you'll find something quite comparable and even more happiness-inducing.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Ever been so lonely that you just wanted to be...alone?
I think maybe Jesus at Gethsemane felt like a single teacher at the end of winter--crap yet to be put up with, and going it alone.
Again: "Huh--He does get me!
UPDATE, about an hour later: I caught up on emails and six or so online Scrabble games. I checked local and national news, ate a sandwich, drank a pop. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING fixed my loneliness, frustration, angst. Didn't I write once about a child fighting off sleep? And how I do that with Him? So I caved, went to my "Devotions" bookmark folder, and found a link for "Hate Your Life." (Things aren't that bad, but I appreciated the sentiment.)
I think maybe Jesus at Gethsemane felt like a single teacher at the end of winter--crap yet to be put up with, and going it alone.
Again: "Huh--He does get me!
UPDATE, about an hour later: I caught up on emails and six or so online Scrabble games. I checked local and national news, ate a sandwich, drank a pop. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING fixed my loneliness, frustration, angst. Didn't I write once about a child fighting off sleep? And how I do that with Him? So I caved, went to my "Devotions" bookmark folder, and found a link for "Hate Your Life." (Things aren't that bad, but I appreciated the sentiment.)
What I hadn't realized all that time was that God was waiting for me. He was waiting for me to be willing to decrease so that He could increase. He was waiting for me to say (and believe) that I needed Him more than I needed my dreams to happen. He was waiting for me to know that His grace is more than enough to not only heal my broken heart, but to fill it overflowing. He was waiting for me to realize that no check-marked box on the agenda list of my life could make me feel as whole and fulfilled as picking up my cross and following Christ would. He was waiting for me to trust that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.
I had planned out my destination. I had prepared for the journey. I wanted to go where I wanted to go. But, while I prayed and begged to move ahead, the Lord wanted me to stand still. Like Moses told the children of Israel, I knew the Lord was saying to me, "Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall see again no more forever. The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace" (Exodus 14:13-14).
The Lord will...fight for me? For me?
Yeah. It's that kind of love.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Sacrifice
Dejected, I plopped myself down in one of the balcony pews. The stage had been cleaned up and readied for Easter morning. All that remained of hours of work by dozens of people were the cross anchored in the false flooring and the empty tomb displayed in the choir loft.
And I sat there and bemoaned my unworthy videotaping skills to Him in the darkness. The production was over, most people were gone, and the only light trickled in from a hallway.
"I stank. We all watched it on the big screen at the cast party, and I stank."
I butted in on my thoughts. "Wasn't your camera (you don't have a videocamera); wasn't your tripod (you don't have a tripod)."
And then I argued with my thoughts. "So. Should've been better. There my name was listed under 'videography,' and everyone watched it and probably thought, 'Why did _she_ do this? Never have _her_ do it again!'"
"It was your fourth time taping ANYthing!"
"So. Still stank. Wasn't perfect."
"Fine. It wasn't. You do stink." And then the cross and the empty tomb lined up in my view. "Why do you think you need a Savior?"
It hit me that my videography skills are much like my life--never going to be perfect, never going to be enough. That's a need for a Savior.
People walked past the doors to back halls on their way to pick up personal effects before leaving. More lights winked off.
"But I wish I could have shown them--shown them the good version, from the second performance. The one where I had the transitions down better and knew how to find my spot in the darkness."
He gently prodded me. "And why didn't you?"
"Because the sound was better on the first recording, and if I were one of the singers, _I'd_ want to be able to hear myself well."
"So you sacrificed what would have made you look better, for what made _them_ better?"
"Well...yeah..."
"So it was a sacrifice."
I suddenly realized I was sitting above the aisle I'd watched "Jesus" carry his cross up the other night. I remembered the "soldiers" mocking him, and tonight, one even kicked him. "GET UP!" the "Roman" had yelled when "Jesus" had stumbled.
"You don't think I didn't want to?" He seemed to whisper to me tonight. "You don't think I couldn't have called down all sorts of...whatever, and smote the tar out of them? I didn't have to come out looking bad. But it was a sacrifice."
Oh.
Oh.
It's not that I understand Him a lot better...but I know that He understands me.
And I sat there and bemoaned my unworthy videotaping skills to Him in the darkness. The production was over, most people were gone, and the only light trickled in from a hallway.
"I stank. We all watched it on the big screen at the cast party, and I stank."
I butted in on my thoughts. "Wasn't your camera (you don't have a videocamera); wasn't your tripod (you don't have a tripod)."
And then I argued with my thoughts. "So. Should've been better. There my name was listed under 'videography,' and everyone watched it and probably thought, 'Why did _she_ do this? Never have _her_ do it again!'"
"It was your fourth time taping ANYthing!"
"So. Still stank. Wasn't perfect."
"Fine. It wasn't. You do stink." And then the cross and the empty tomb lined up in my view. "Why do you think you need a Savior?"
It hit me that my videography skills are much like my life--never going to be perfect, never going to be enough. That's a need for a Savior.
People walked past the doors to back halls on their way to pick up personal effects before leaving. More lights winked off.
"But I wish I could have shown them--shown them the good version, from the second performance. The one where I had the transitions down better and knew how to find my spot in the darkness."
He gently prodded me. "And why didn't you?"
"Because the sound was better on the first recording, and if I were one of the singers, _I'd_ want to be able to hear myself well."
"So you sacrificed what would have made you look better, for what made _them_ better?"
"Well...yeah..."
"So it was a sacrifice."
I suddenly realized I was sitting above the aisle I'd watched "Jesus" carry his cross up the other night. I remembered the "soldiers" mocking him, and tonight, one even kicked him. "GET UP!" the "Roman" had yelled when "Jesus" had stumbled.
"You don't think I didn't want to?" He seemed to whisper to me tonight. "You don't think I couldn't have called down all sorts of...whatever, and smote the tar out of them? I didn't have to come out looking bad. But it was a sacrifice."
Oh.
Oh.
It's not that I understand Him a lot better...but I know that He understands me.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
You Are Loved
I remember a time in college when I was incredibly frustrated/depressed/sad/lonely... Not being incredibly into self injury, I stood under a tree in the cold. Yep. Pretty extremist. But that was my little form of masochism. Something on the outside had to hurt or get my attention more than something on the inside.
Later, I took to driving--driving fast (which meant going out of town, because I'd still only go four miles above the limit) and with the music on loudly. It was a sort of catharsis.
Tonight, I found that the two melded. Driving with no reason when gas prices are at $3.15/gallon _is_ a form of masochism.
I was "sinking" about an issue, and prayed about it. And I've felt encouraged to fight for it. I've just been reading in Wild at Heart and am learning that it's okay for women to have a warrior heart. We're made in the image of the Creator, and He _is_ a mighty Warrior. I need guidance, but I'm strapping on my armor. Training, until I know what to shoot and how to aim.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Not Just Another Shiny Icon
I slipped through the darkened back hallway before rehearsal and stumbled upon "Jesus" spattering "blood" upon his cross.
He paused in his work. "What do you think?"
It was dark, dirty, red, gouged, scarred... My eyes took in the darkest parts and associated them with the appropriate body parts.
"It's horrible." I looked away. Kept going.
I ran into the thing again as I walked through another hallway later on. It looked even more hideous in the light. Juicy. Not in a "fruity candy" sort of way, but in a "fresh kill" sort of way.
And that's what it was, wasn't it, that moment of crucifixion? Like a carnivorous beast that requires its meat to be fresh, so it was for the sacrifice for sin. Fresh and alive--enough for the blood to drip--until the lungs were still and the heart was silent.
And it was His blood--the blood of that Guy I know.
The same thing that makes me want to run and vomit, simultaneously makes me want to curl up at the base of that cross and wait three days. He's coming back.
He paused in his work. "What do you think?"
It was dark, dirty, red, gouged, scarred... My eyes took in the darkest parts and associated them with the appropriate body parts.
"It's horrible." I looked away. Kept going.
I ran into the thing again as I walked through another hallway later on. It looked even more hideous in the light. Juicy. Not in a "fruity candy" sort of way, but in a "fresh kill" sort of way.
And that's what it was, wasn't it, that moment of crucifixion? Like a carnivorous beast that requires its meat to be fresh, so it was for the sacrifice for sin. Fresh and alive--enough for the blood to drip--until the lungs were still and the heart was silent.
And it was His blood--the blood of that Guy I know.
The same thing that makes me want to run and vomit, simultaneously makes me want to curl up at the base of that cross and wait three days. He's coming back.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Don't I Know You from Somewhere?
What is it that makes you stand by, look away, when someone you know is being hurt? Cowardice? Fear? He's yelled at, mocked--and you're silent, removed.
In this case, it was the director of the musical that kept me from intervening. But I knew that guy--knew the guy who was stumbling, tripping, dragging his cross and then falling with a thud at the crest of the hill. I knew the guy with the crown of thorns--the guy showing the patience of the Creator of Job. He was placed on the cross, and it was raised until its base settled into a hole in the floor of the stage. And there he hung. The lights went dim. I knew that guy.
They rehearsed it again--yell...shuffle...stomp...fall...
Couldn't watch it.
I'd seen "The Passion of the Christ" a couple of times, and it was easy enough to distance myself from the crucifixion scene in that one. Fake blood; fake hand; Jim Caviezel got paid.
But tonight, sitting six pews from the front and again hearing the commotion of soldiers and a Savior coming up the aisle beside me, it struck me: I know that Guy.
In this case, it was the director of the musical that kept me from intervening. But I knew that guy--knew the guy who was stumbling, tripping, dragging his cross and then falling with a thud at the crest of the hill. I knew the guy with the crown of thorns--the guy showing the patience of the Creator of Job. He was placed on the cross, and it was raised until its base settled into a hole in the floor of the stage. And there he hung. The lights went dim. I knew that guy.
They rehearsed it again--yell...shuffle...stomp...fall...
Couldn't watch it.
I'd seen "The Passion of the Christ" a couple of times, and it was easy enough to distance myself from the crucifixion scene in that one. Fake blood; fake hand; Jim Caviezel got paid.
But tonight, sitting six pews from the front and again hearing the commotion of soldiers and a Savior coming up the aisle beside me, it struck me: I know that Guy.
It's a Small, Small, Small, Small World
E and J are in Ukraine to pick up their new son. While there, they get to spend time with E2.
H is still in China.
J is currently on a plane from Chicago to home, having just returned from Ethiopia.
M and B are heading to Russia in a few days to meet their infant son.
S, B, A, Highness and others are heading for New York City next weekend on a missions trip.
It's a small, small, small, small world...
H is still in China.
J is currently on a plane from Chicago to home, having just returned from Ethiopia.
M and B are heading to Russia in a few days to meet their infant son.
S, B, A, Highness and others are heading for New York City next weekend on a missions trip.
It's a small, small, small, small world...
Friday, March 07, 2008
One of the Coolest Compliments
I had dinner with a fairly new friend and her husband tonight. Somehow during the course of the conversation, she brought up the possibility of her premature death.
"I told him," she said, glancing at her husband, "'If I die early, I fully expect you to go ahead and remarry. And if you do, and if Goalie's still single, well, I'd like you to marry her.'"
It's one of those things that makes your heart smile--not about him, but about her love for you.
"I told him," she said, glancing at her husband, "'If I die early, I fully expect you to go ahead and remarry. And if you do, and if Goalie's still single, well, I'd like you to marry her.'"
It's one of those things that makes your heart smile--not about him, but about her love for you.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I stood in the cotton ball aisle and debated the merits of name brand and store brand products. If both were 100% cotton, did it really matter?
In the midst of my analysis, I became aware of the second calling of "Ma'am!"
Ma'am?
Black leather jacket, black purse, black dress pants and black dress shoes...but ma'am?
I turned to her.
"What kind of make-up would you recommend?"
Say what? She was, ironically, standing in front of my favorite brand. I pointed to what I use and said I mostly like it.
"Does it look good?" she asked.
You tell me; you're a foot away from my face!
I told her I plan to get more of the same when it comes time to reload. I pointed out the powder I use. She then asked how to match skin tones.
Are you serious? I'm the one who's done this to other strangers in store aisles. What made her think I had any credentials? We matched the tube to the back of her hand, but she didn't seem eager to leave.
Ask her to church.
Don't want to!
Ask her to church.
She'll think I'm a freak! Somebody who's accosted her in a public discount center...
She talked to you...
And we have this Easter production coming up...perfect, less-threatening intro... But I couldn't just launch in.
"Are you from around here?" I asked.
She nodded and told me about a little town down the road. "But I work here."
"Where do you work?" Seemed like a logical question, though possibly a bit forward for two strangers.
She told me, and I smiled. "Do you know B?" I asked. He's a friend, the husband of one of my most trusted friends, and my boss as well through a freelance web design project that supports the business my new stranger-friend works at. B and I also go to the same church.
She said she hadn't met him yet, but that gave me the "church" connection. I blathered on about how if she didn't have a church, she should check out this Easter thing we're having. It's a good way to get your foot in the door without necessarily getting committed to something until you're sure about it.
And she didn't walk away.
Didn't make up an excuse and run. Even when her five-year-old son threw the container of makeup out of her cart, she stayed engaged.
"I haven't been going much lately, and I need to. I went all the time when I was pregnant, but now my boyfriend doesn't go, and... I've gone to this other church a few times, but it's all old people, and they look at me like, 'Why doesn't she raise her kid better?' I'm a single mom, and I just need to get to church..."
I'm really protective of my time and my phone number, but I asked if she had a cell phone and I gave her my number. "Call me," I said, "if you're interested in going some morning. And they've got lots of stuff for little people."
My time... My phone number...
I've been reading in Second Peter lately, and my M.O. is to read the same passages until I "get" something. I read the same passage a lot of mornings in a row.
II Peter 1: 6-8
"Next, learn to put aside your own desires so that you will become patient and godly, gladly letting God have his way with you. This will make possible the next step, which is for you to enjoy other people and to like them, and finally you will grow to love them deeply. The more you go on in this way, the more you will grow strong spiritually and become fruitful and useful to our Lord Jesus Christ."
I think I can go on to verse nine tomorrow morning.
In the midst of my analysis, I became aware of the second calling of "Ma'am!"
Ma'am?
Black leather jacket, black purse, black dress pants and black dress shoes...but ma'am?
I turned to her.
"What kind of make-up would you recommend?"
Say what? She was, ironically, standing in front of my favorite brand. I pointed to what I use and said I mostly like it.
"Does it look good?" she asked.
You tell me; you're a foot away from my face!
I told her I plan to get more of the same when it comes time to reload. I pointed out the powder I use. She then asked how to match skin tones.
Are you serious? I'm the one who's done this to other strangers in store aisles. What made her think I had any credentials? We matched the tube to the back of her hand, but she didn't seem eager to leave.
Ask her to church.
Don't want to!
Ask her to church.
She'll think I'm a freak! Somebody who's accosted her in a public discount center...
She talked to you...
And we have this Easter production coming up...perfect, less-threatening intro... But I couldn't just launch in.
"Are you from around here?" I asked.
She nodded and told me about a little town down the road. "But I work here."
"Where do you work?" Seemed like a logical question, though possibly a bit forward for two strangers.
She told me, and I smiled. "Do you know B?" I asked. He's a friend, the husband of one of my most trusted friends, and my boss as well through a freelance web design project that supports the business my new stranger-friend works at. B and I also go to the same church.
She said she hadn't met him yet, but that gave me the "church" connection. I blathered on about how if she didn't have a church, she should check out this Easter thing we're having. It's a good way to get your foot in the door without necessarily getting committed to something until you're sure about it.
And she didn't walk away.
Didn't make up an excuse and run. Even when her five-year-old son threw the container of makeup out of her cart, she stayed engaged.
"I haven't been going much lately, and I need to. I went all the time when I was pregnant, but now my boyfriend doesn't go, and... I've gone to this other church a few times, but it's all old people, and they look at me like, 'Why doesn't she raise her kid better?' I'm a single mom, and I just need to get to church..."
I'm really protective of my time and my phone number, but I asked if she had a cell phone and I gave her my number. "Call me," I said, "if you're interested in going some morning. And they've got lots of stuff for little people."
My time... My phone number...
I've been reading in Second Peter lately, and my M.O. is to read the same passages until I "get" something. I read the same passage a lot of mornings in a row.
II Peter 1: 6-8
"Next, learn to put aside your own desires so that you will become patient and godly, gladly letting God have his way with you. This will make possible the next step, which is for you to enjoy other people and to like them, and finally you will grow to love them deeply. The more you go on in this way, the more you will grow strong spiritually and become fruitful and useful to our Lord Jesus Christ."
I think I can go on to verse nine tomorrow morning.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Drifting Along
In these days of -40 windchills and such, it's nice to daydream in thaw-time.
I'm in my kayak and floating, being pushed along by the current. It's dusk. Stars are out and reflecting on the water. Sunset's on the other side of the sky, and the shore slides past beside me. The only thing marring the perfection is wondering if I'll have to paddle my way back.
But while I float, oh my, is it nice...
I'm in my kayak and floating, being pushed along by the current. It's dusk. Stars are out and reflecting on the water. Sunset's on the other side of the sky, and the shore slides past beside me. The only thing marring the perfection is wondering if I'll have to paddle my way back.
But while I float, oh my, is it nice...
Friday, February 15, 2008
I'm 5'1", and she's a head shorter than I am. Little, spunky sixth grader with long lashes that radiate from eyes of vivid blue. "I hate my eyes," she pouts, but she's adorable.
Each time my back is turned, she writes on my whiteboard. One day, it was "Dear Ms. [Goalie], you are the BEST teacher eva! That's why I love you!" This week, she just hung by my desk whenever there was free time in class.
I stayed late after work today, and she came bursting in my door with a friend. They wrote on my board and acted like children...until she perched on a table and looked at me intently.
"Can I ask you a question? I need your advice on something. My mom goes to the bars, and I don't like that. So we made this deal--that she'd only go one night a week. But when I'm gone, I know she goes then. So how do I get her to stop going? I've told her I don't like it, and I've written her notes. I tell her good things, but then when she reads 'bar,' she rips it up and throws it away. She spends all this time with her boyfriend and puts him on her calendar, but she never has time for us."
How, child, do I tell you how angry I am toward this woman you love? How do I tell you you're right without spitting out how wrong she is?
"I gave her a Valentine's present, and she didn't even say 'Thank you.' It was this fluffy white dog with a red collar that said 'I love you,' and she just took it and nodded and put it in her room. She didn't even say 'Thank you...'"
I had nothing to say, and was struck by the realization that I had almost shooed the girls out because I had "work" to get done. A sigh of relief that I had not done so.
"I'll pray, okay?"
She looked at me in a confused sort of way as her friend pulled her out the door to their awaiting ride.
And I will. I don't know in what way, but I will.
Each time my back is turned, she writes on my whiteboard. One day, it was "Dear Ms. [Goalie], you are the BEST teacher eva! That's why I love you!" This week, she just hung by my desk whenever there was free time in class.
I stayed late after work today, and she came bursting in my door with a friend. They wrote on my board and acted like children...until she perched on a table and looked at me intently.
"Can I ask you a question? I need your advice on something. My mom goes to the bars, and I don't like that. So we made this deal--that she'd only go one night a week. But when I'm gone, I know she goes then. So how do I get her to stop going? I've told her I don't like it, and I've written her notes. I tell her good things, but then when she reads 'bar,' she rips it up and throws it away. She spends all this time with her boyfriend and puts him on her calendar, but she never has time for us."
How, child, do I tell you how angry I am toward this woman you love? How do I tell you you're right without spitting out how wrong she is?
"I gave her a Valentine's present, and she didn't even say 'Thank you.' It was this fluffy white dog with a red collar that said 'I love you,' and she just took it and nodded and put it in her room. She didn't even say 'Thank you...'"
I had nothing to say, and was struck by the realization that I had almost shooed the girls out because I had "work" to get done. A sigh of relief that I had not done so.
"I'll pray, okay?"
She looked at me in a confused sort of way as her friend pulled her out the door to their awaiting ride.
And I will. I don't know in what way, but I will.
She's an eighth grader; he's a high school junior. She rides piggyback through the gym; they kiss in the hall. Peer pressure is ineffective for him; he's never been liked anyway. Her friend's little sister tells me, "He only likes her 'cause she's got big...boobs!" Whisper and giggle. I grimace.
The principal's involved, the counselor too. High school and middle school teachers alike separate the duo in our K-12 school on the prairie.
I had bus duty last week and watched them walk out of the building together. Arms around each other, they stepped behind the last bus in line, embraced passionately, and engaged in a little liplock. They turned to look at me. "We're off school grounds!" she yelled. I shook my head. They kissed again, then parted--she to her bus and him to the high school parking lot.
On Wednesday came legal action of a sort. I'm not sure what brought it about, since the girl's mother had previously treated the boy like a member of the family.
I had bus duty again yesterday and saw the girl walk out of the building toward the big yellow lineup. She pulled out her phone and stopped.
"Where are you? ... In front of the busses. ... Yeah."
She turned to a little kid. "Tell the driver I'm not riding today."
A tinted-window, blue four-door with duct tape covering a rear window pulled up. She hopped into the backseat and slammed the door. Parked at the apex of a T-intersection in front of the elementary wing, the driver reversed into traffic and across the crosswalk, then drove the wrong way until he could merge back into the right lane. I assume it wasn't the girl's mother. I hope not.
I told the principal and the counselor and trust that things are in their capable hands. Then I sighed. It takes an entire school system to raise someone else's child.
The principal's involved, the counselor too. High school and middle school teachers alike separate the duo in our K-12 school on the prairie.
I had bus duty last week and watched them walk out of the building together. Arms around each other, they stepped behind the last bus in line, embraced passionately, and engaged in a little liplock. They turned to look at me. "We're off school grounds!" she yelled. I shook my head. They kissed again, then parted--she to her bus and him to the high school parking lot.
On Wednesday came legal action of a sort. I'm not sure what brought it about, since the girl's mother had previously treated the boy like a member of the family.
I had bus duty again yesterday and saw the girl walk out of the building toward the big yellow lineup. She pulled out her phone and stopped.
"Where are you? ... In front of the busses. ... Yeah."
She turned to a little kid. "Tell the driver I'm not riding today."
A tinted-window, blue four-door with duct tape covering a rear window pulled up. She hopped into the backseat and slammed the door. Parked at the apex of a T-intersection in front of the elementary wing, the driver reversed into traffic and across the crosswalk, then drove the wrong way until he could merge back into the right lane. I assume it wasn't the girl's mother. I hope not.
I told the principal and the counselor and trust that things are in their capable hands. Then I sighed. It takes an entire school system to raise someone else's child.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Just a few pieces of white paper with Courier-style font. "Durable Power of Attorney..."
I'm an only child. I know that my parents will eventually be gone. And I joked with Dad through it as we talked about my responsibilities and benefits when my parents have both passed away. (He does not want balloons at his funeral. He said he wanted it to be a celebratory event, but...)
It was okay for a while. Then I had to get out of there.
When I was little, I panicked if I didn't say goodbye to my dad before he left for work. I ran to the bathroom window (open a crack even in the winter to let steam out--in the days before ceiling exhausts) and called out to him. If the old, wooden window frame was stuck, I banged on the glass until he turned. I signed out "I love you," and he nodded, waved, and continued on his way.
Always a fear of "what if." What if I didn't do it right? What if I didn't say goodbye? What if I disappointed him? What if...that was it?
Tonight, we made flippant comments about casket choices (not really going to care at that point!) and more pointed ones about my parents being buried in the cemetery where dad's parents are buried.
And that took me back to a tiny, two-stopsign town in Minnesota. A cemetery on a rise just a cornfield away from the church. Grandpa. Grandma.
Mom left Grandma's viewing before its official end, and Dad and I were the last ones left in the room. I'd avoided her until that point, but he was standing there. I slid my arm through his and he put his arm around me. And we stood there. Trying to be Norwegian about it, but running out of tissues anyway.
"You know, this is pretty special," Dad said, carefully controlling his voice. "Tomorrow, there will be people all around. This is pretty much the last time...the last time to say goodbye."
So maybe that's why I'm running out of tissues now? Wondering...who will be there with me?
I'm an only child. I know that my parents will eventually be gone. And I joked with Dad through it as we talked about my responsibilities and benefits when my parents have both passed away. (He does not want balloons at his funeral. He said he wanted it to be a celebratory event, but...)
It was okay for a while. Then I had to get out of there.
When I was little, I panicked if I didn't say goodbye to my dad before he left for work. I ran to the bathroom window (open a crack even in the winter to let steam out--in the days before ceiling exhausts) and called out to him. If the old, wooden window frame was stuck, I banged on the glass until he turned. I signed out "I love you," and he nodded, waved, and continued on his way.
Always a fear of "what if." What if I didn't do it right? What if I didn't say goodbye? What if I disappointed him? What if...that was it?
Tonight, we made flippant comments about casket choices (not really going to care at that point!) and more pointed ones about my parents being buried in the cemetery where dad's parents are buried.
And that took me back to a tiny, two-stopsign town in Minnesota. A cemetery on a rise just a cornfield away from the church. Grandpa. Grandma.
Mom left Grandma's viewing before its official end, and Dad and I were the last ones left in the room. I'd avoided her until that point, but he was standing there. I slid my arm through his and he put his arm around me. And we stood there. Trying to be Norwegian about it, but running out of tissues anyway.
"You know, this is pretty special," Dad said, carefully controlling his voice. "Tomorrow, there will be people all around. This is pretty much the last time...the last time to say goodbye."
So maybe that's why I'm running out of tissues now? Wondering...who will be there with me?
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Finding My Clownfish
Once I got over feeling like a prostitute, it started to be fun. After wading for years in kiddie pools, I set foot in the ocean and found [gasp] other fish!
While I'm pleased to report findings of perch, snappers and mackerel, there have also been a few carp. Here are my (least) favorites:
PS: For those wondering, this is my version of Xeno's saga.
While I'm pleased to report findings of perch, snappers and mackerel, there have also been a few carp. Here are my (least) favorites:
- A, who said he wants his woman to have long hair and no makeup, and wear skirts--because that's how he believes things originally were. In his leisure time, he likes to play Nintendo.
- B, who says he is not a virgin...but will not consider anyone who is not one.
- C, whose "Must Haves" included "I must have someone who is mature and experienced as a potential sexual partner and is able to express himself/herself freely."
- D, who had fantastic potential until I actually heard him on the phone. Think "Mr. Rogers trying to seduce you."
PS: For those wondering, this is my version of Xeno's saga.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
I craved a hug so much it almost made me sick. What happens when you realize that the hug is needed on the inside?
I dislike not being aware of my surroundings. I felt that way tonight, walking into the funeral home, until I saw him. It wasn't him, though--but those eyes were the same gentle and inquisitive ones I'd known as a child. And it hit me that Mr. Bailey was loved and missed by more than just me.
That ice-breaking resource, the slide show, was playing in a corner nearby. Faces passed--Mr. and Mrs. Bailey with children who were grown and gone before I entered their world. Then, later years--Mrs. Bailey's curly brown hair gone gray and close-cropped. The lopsided smile. The unsure eyes.
Staff at her nursing hope were upset when he died, I heard. He'd visited every day. A month ago, he learned he had brain cancer.
I know people die. It's expected and accepted. But when a man who befriends an awkward kid is, twenty years later, still showing love by remaining faithful to his Alzheimer's-stricken wife, that man is special. And...well...it's okay to cry when he's gone.
I dislike not being aware of my surroundings. I felt that way tonight, walking into the funeral home, until I saw him. It wasn't him, though--but those eyes were the same gentle and inquisitive ones I'd known as a child. And it hit me that Mr. Bailey was loved and missed by more than just me.
That ice-breaking resource, the slide show, was playing in a corner nearby. Faces passed--Mr. and Mrs. Bailey with children who were grown and gone before I entered their world. Then, later years--Mrs. Bailey's curly brown hair gone gray and close-cropped. The lopsided smile. The unsure eyes.
Staff at her nursing hope were upset when he died, I heard. He'd visited every day. A month ago, he learned he had brain cancer.
I know people die. It's expected and accepted. But when a man who befriends an awkward kid is, twenty years later, still showing love by remaining faithful to his Alzheimer's-stricken wife, that man is special. And...well...it's okay to cry when he's gone.
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