You Know The Rest...

It's David's birthday today. He was one of my best friends in high school. He was the one who wrote 6 pages in my yearbook senior year. He was the one who fought with me about God, school, music, swimming... and yet always with a kindness and respect I've rarely experienced in this life. David and I worked together and even went on vacations together. He was a very important part of my development as a human. He was one of those friends who made me better and happier than I would have been had I not known him.

Today is David's 42nd birthday. We don't talk much these days as we live a thousand miles away from each other, and are both busy with our lives- spouses we adore, children we laugh with and jobs we want to make a difference in. Still, Dave will always be part of who I am. He was one of those friends- one my soul needed at an essential time, and one who was simply there.

Birthdays are strange... it is the one day we focus on to celebrate a person. It is the day we remember to tell them we miss them, or that they are special to us... I should tell Sir Dave this more often- but he knows. I don't know him well as the man he has become, but from the little I've seen, I continue to be impressed. Hey... after all, he started following this lame blog a few months ago, so I guess he can't be too bad!?

The Horrifying and Life-Affirming Sunday Evening...

It is the last evening of my summer. Such a weird time... most adults are done with the summer/school thing after college, but not teachers. The whole change is horrifying, and yet, life-affirming.

The weather is kindly cooperating... it has been cool and overcast for the last few days- thank you world for that.

I have no idea how I will get up tomorrow morning at 6am. I slept until 10am this morning. I had every intention in the world of going to bed early last night, but it was my last Saturday night of summer, and Halli really wanted to hang out... 1:30am was probably not a good bed time choice. Oops. Horrifying.

Still, like with the changing of the seasons, the annual ritual of "back to school" gives me a sense of movement in life- a sense of new opportunities and clean slates. Kids return and are alive with the change- excited to see friends and excited for the change, even if they aren't happy about being back in class.

One of the strangest things about my job is the fact that most of the people I work with NEVER age. They are always 14-18 years old. I think this gives me a false sense of being ageless myself. I know I act immature at times- I'm pretty sure I can blame the kids for immersing me in the teen hormonal pool that is high school... but it is a good thing. They help me remember what is really important- and that being silly is good- no matter how many gray hairs are peeking out.

So... I'll drag my old sorry *butt* out of bed tomorrow and jump back in... there is so much hope at school- so many moments of light bulbs turning on... so many opportunities to learn, to teach and to appreciate the horrifying yet life-affirming cycle that is "back to school"...

"It's the most wonderful time of the year..." (recall Staples commercial)

Aren't moms supposed to "know what's best"???

Yes, I know I've been gone for sometime...and I am sorry... I apologize to the 2-3 people who started bugging me about getting back to writing- I still struggle with the whole "if I plan to keep this thing going" question.

So motherhood has predominantly been on my mind lately. Not really the concept of it, or the how to's or the power of the position. Instead, I've just been cherishing my role as mom of the Gibson girls... and I've been learning. I'm continually impressed by the connection I feel to them. I see them as their own people... not little "Kelly robots" but I feel so fundamentally and emotionally connected to each. Yes, this might be obvious to many, but I've been feeling it all... noticing how much I miss them when I'm not with them; wondering what they think about ideas or people when I'm not there to ask; curious as to how they handle specific situations we haven't discussed... so much is left to that "general teaching" concept... we can't get them ready for every situation, but I have to admit it is weird when they actually use ideas we've given them.

One of these that keeps showing up is a lesson Rob and I learned years ago, specifically regarding each other. When the girls are having bad days- for whatever reason- we've talked about how much positive energy is created by simply taking time away from yourself and the bad day, and going out of your way to do something nice for someone else. Usually there is little to do to "fix" the bad day you are having- especially when you are a teenage girl... instead, we've suggested they use the day to help someone else. It is difficult to do, because we tend to be in a highly self-focused place when dark days descend... yet, it fundamentally changes the energy and focus of the day. The girls are continually amazed how well this works.

And still, this is just one lesson... there are so many questions I don't have answers to... so many problems they will encounter that we haven't figured out ourselves- I plan to have a front row seat to watch them and cheer them- help them when they ask, and love every minute of this bizzare job.

Winning? "Well that's just sad..."

It has been an interesting week. Kobie, in her first year of softball, was recruited to the all stars team. Cool. The coaches explained, "This is the NOT FUN part of league play"... they weren't kidding. The 10 year olds have had practice EVERYDAY for 2 weeks except weekends. The final practice WAS fun... parents against the team (I hear you laughing, but I held my own... played 1st base with no errors and at my only "at bat" I hit a single!). At the beginning of the game I hear the coach telling the girls, "Okay team... you need to play HARD... all stars is about winning- not just having fun, but winning!" There was a pause, then a confused voice echoed over the field stating, "well that's just SAD." Yep... that's my girl: Kobie. The coach said, "IT ISN'T SAD- IT IS LIFE! WE ARE GOING IN ORDER TO WIN!"

I've been struggling with this ever since. For those curious, the series is over and Kobie's team placed second. They were clobbered in the final game- literally left in pieces on the field. She cried, and my stomach hurt. Is life really about winning? Must we really think of these situations as a "them or us"? As parents in the stands, most of us were just excited when our kids hit a ball, or fielded a grounder... did it really matter if they won? It mattered to Kobie. She's been taught that winning isn't important as long as you try your best, are kind to others and try to have fun... and still, this loss mattered to her. She was the one to question the coach at the beginning of the madness... she knew we didn't expect a win "or else"... and yet she was embarrassed and disappointed in the loss.

I'm left wondering about our choices as parents and humans to focus on the win. Maybe it is more a part of our instinct than I choose to believe... maybe it is such an inherent part of our culture it is inescapable... maybe it is time to rethink a world where in order for someone to win, someone else must lose.

The art of presence... jellybeans?

My summers are so different from most the other adults in my world. I go from constant lesson planning, grading, directing, editing, etc. into a world where I am simply living in the moment. My kids can say, "hey mom, let's go to a movie" and I can! During the school year, even on weekends, I am almost always preoccupied by what I "should be" doing rather than what I am doing. I make sure to spend time with my family, but I am often concerned about the pile of grading sitting on the kitchen table.

I wonder how often we spend time doing important things like playing with our kids, or talking with our spouses or enjoying time with friends and yet not really be mentally present... it is a problem I know I have... and I'm guessing I'm not the only one. Buddhism seems to speak to this- the idea of being present- seems like an obvious and simple idea, but how often are we completely present? Even now... as I type this, my attention is being pulled left and right by a partial conversation with a daughter, jellybeans, the errands I have to run this afternoon, the company coming in tomorrow, the yard that desperately needs work... for goodness sake, I'm writing about the importance of having presence of mind, and I can't stay focused! Ironic. No. Maybe just sad.

Okay... next goal for this summer: presence of mind. Just do it.

Fathers' Threads

Father's day is tomorrow. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've had many "father" figures in my life, and as much of a Hallmark holiday as this event can be, it has me reflecting on the need for fathers.

My dad meant well, but wasn't around much for my childhood. I learned about hard work from him however. Still, we learn from people the things we are ready to learn when someone who can teach us is ready to teach. I learned how to accept people and all their quirks from my brother Michael. I always think of him on Father's day, and somehow feel he should be honored that day too. I learned from my Grandfather how to be silly- how to never let the inner child be put to rest by the serious adult- I can picture him at the age of 80, standing up in the back of my Suzuki Samuri, holding the roll bar and screaming at me to drive faster... I miss him. My Papa taught me what unconditional love looked like. So many men have given me parts of understanding, knowledge of the world and of myself. I guess this is my shout out to all of them... for better or worse, they've contributed to my journey.

We all do though, don't we? Whether the influence is positive or negative... whether we come away wishing to emulate a mentor or choose an opposite path, we've been effected. I don't think I remember that often enough. Each of us is part of the threads that make up the lives of others... kind of powerful.

So... thank you to: Dad, Grandpa, Papa, Michael, Uncle Greg, Mark, Robert, Chuck, Jim, Scott, David, Richie, Dan, Howard, Bill, Curley, John, Jeff, Gordon, Gary, Mike, Tom, Ken, Steven, Shaun, Derk, Joe, Josh... but most of all, thank you Rob... Happy Father's day... to everyone who is a father, or has taught what a father should teach...You've helped dragonflies learn to ride the breeze.

The Graduation Speech... 2010

I was simply unsure how to begin this speech. In the 3 years I’ve known this group of students, I’ve never quite found the words to describe them… or explain them… I figured I could talk about the inspiration I feel each time I hear Chrystian Johnson speak of the future, or the sheer impressive nature of Emily Kocsis’s art work and how it makes me believe in creative power. I could speak of James Fimbres’s unique academic excellence or the courageous friendship of Alex Updegraff and Simone Brech. I thought I might be able to get up here and tell you something incredibly practical like, “WEAR SUNSCREEN!” Or more poignant, like “treat others as you’d like to be treated.” Or “You must create your own happiness- don’t wait for someone else to give it to you.” Then I recalled all the good advice teachers have given you such as: use graphic organizers! Shut up and do the work! And of course, “abstinence is the best policy!” I threw these ideas out as somewhat cliché. I moved onto the idea I’d highlight your accomplishments- athletic record holders, AP literature testers, equestrian and carpentry medalists… but those folks have been honored in one way or another… I wanted this speech to be what you, the graduates, wanted it to be. When I asked you, I was told to tell the truth up here…you said this knowing I wouldn’t take you up on it… knowing that what happens in Sophomore English, stays in Sophomore English… so I decided to let the graduates help me write this… their last group assignment… and they did. Each of them was allowed to give me a word to add to the speech… each the opportunity to hear his or her word as part of the momentous day. And to let our audience in on our fun, I’d like the graduates to raise their hands when they hear their words. So listen carefully… we will get this speech done together.
So, I ain’t going to tell you a true story; it also won’t begin with a rough struggle, magical love, slothful debauchery or a Studebaker disaster. I won’t use onomatopoeia in the writing of it, or country music wafting through the background as I tell it. It won’t focus on just a few like Cole Watson, Tom Cermak, Marvin or even Dog the Bounty Hunter “ya kna wat I mean?” My story is about a rabble of Rogue River students- ridonculous in many ways… who moved beyond their cadywhompus, and bazinga behaviors into a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious level of existence. Their individual worlds had always been exceptional, but as a group of partying swamp buddies, they tended to be regarded as thugs.
They preferred a nine-year-old childhood where pretending to be a fox was a bodacious activity; Captain Crunch, Philly cheese and jellybeans were a more-than-reasonable breakfast to be masticated with delight, and wherein the lollipop flavors of Mike and Ike were a veritable cornucopia. They knew their habits were somewhat self-indulgent, and generally unhealthy, but the call of kumquats, sweet grapes and dictionaries went unheard.
Eventually they graduated, yelled “chyeah!” left their cuddlerainbowbluebrainbuddies behind, finally matured, became working citizens, educated students, hubbys, wifeys and eventually parents. They forgot games of Mermaids, Dragons and Unicorns and instead shopped for hammers, diapers and antiseptic while sipping on their chai teas. They laughed as they powdered babylegs and deciphered the babble of a 2 year old proclaiming, “nada near nada nada”… and one day they watched as their beautiful children became the teenagers they once were… they were proud of the hard won B- the son had earned in Spanish with his 81%, and they went to Ray’s Food Place to buy Frankenberries to celebrate. They remembered their own teen years and the solidarity that existed among their graduating class. They wondered when they’d stopped laughing at words like flibbertigibbet, mobbin’, charving and hillbilly. They grinned as they remembered torturing their sophomore English teacher during 7th period with a nice round of “hide the backpack from the guy in front of you.” And suddenly they realized they’d come full circle. As a group, they were difficult for their teachers to write speeches about, but as individuals they were amazingly terrific, and they’d found their place in the world.
No matter what, RRHS graduates of 2010, you all must know that your community, teachers, parents and friends believe in you because we are still here supporting you. Still here believing in you, and absolutely sure that you will each make lives we will all be proud of. So this speech will officially be the last assignment you do together. In writing it, I have found myself quite sentimental about your leaving… yes, believe it or not, you will be missed. Yes, you’ve made your mark on RRHS. Oh, and before I leave, there is one more word submitted I couldn’t figure how to fit in the speech… especially since it comes with movement… so…here goes…
Kamahameha!

Just because I am listening, doesn't mean I hear...

Life is busy. And messy. And emotional. But life is fundamentally good... I've been off of this blog the last 3 weeks for two main reasons: I am a high school English teacher, and it is the end of the year, and our computer died... not a normal computer death, but something that resembled computer plague... it was a quick, ugly and complete death. I'm typing this on our new laptop, and I'm trying to get used to the feel of it. I like the compact nature of it, but somehow I miss the substance of the machine that was.

Graduation was yesterday, and I always find it interesting that I am suddenly sad to lose the kids the moment their caps are thrown in the air. I never feel the sense of loss until it is in my face... too busy I guess. This group was entering the building as freshmen only about 5 minutes ago. Halli will be graduating day after tomorrow at this rate. This group asked me to be the speaker at their ceremony. Can I tell you how much I do not enjoy speaking to massive crowds? I struggled for weeks with what to say, and eventually forced each senior to give me a word to include in the speech. I wove 70+ words into the final product. What was interesting was how much I learned in the process. As a teacher, I'm used to hearing and seeing my words in their work. I know I am listened to because they want to pass their class. I was fundamentally amazed to see their reactions to my speech. They were really surprised to hear their words. They were almost tickled at the idea I'd not only listened to them, but that they were included. And suddenly I remembered how strange it was as a teen to have a conversation with any adult who seemed to value what I had to say. My mom was great at it- but almost all the other adults in my memory would smile at me and nod their heads at whatever I espoused with a blank look in their eyes. I wonder how important it is for us, as humans to be heard... to be valued in a way that our ideas and thoughts are valid enough to be really listened to? I started to ask myself how often I truly listen... to everyone... the 10 year old under my roof... the 90 year old at Thanksgiving dinner... how often do I free myself from my own ideas long enough to fully wrap my brain around someone else's ideas?

New goal... learn to listen... I thought I did, but I think I might just "look" like I listen- just because you are listening doesn't mean you hear. I guess it is time to make sure I am hearing.

Summer is almost here... I'm sure there will be many more posts to torture you all with...

Does Anyone Miss His or Her Typewriter?

Can you feel it? Sure seems like everyone is... this strange apprehension... this sense that all is not right in the world. Even the kids are reacting- it is unlike anything I've seen or felt before, but it is not entirely ominous. In fact, it feels like fundamental change. We are changing... as a people, as a species, as a world... and we are doing it quickly- so quickly, I think we can actually feel the change.

I remember the first time I read The Time Machine by H.G. Wells- when he goes forward- far forward into the future and the people have become like sheep- happy grazing sheep (who are eventually used for food). I've been thinking about that book lately. I've also been thinking about the film Wall-E... people love their technology and turn into slumbering slugs. These visions of the future seem too familiar... too possible. And yet, I continually am surprised by how much good can come from our "new" world if channeled well.

Did you know that texting is actually allowing kids to be more honest with each other? It is almost like we are returning to the days of letter writing- when we could spill our thoughts out with care and allow our readers to ingest our thoughts without interruption... I'm sure it isn't that way for everyone, but instead of fighting the system, and the new, we might want to look at what is good in it.

We are changing- but we have to be active in the change rather than fight it, don't we? Doesn't history tell us that change will come regardless? Just maybe we could become excited by this apprehension... this feeling... maybe we could embrace it and move with it- nobody complains about giving up typewriters and correction fluid for word processors...

The Ups- The Downs- The Tears... and the elipses

Wow. I've started writing this post 3 times now, but I can't actually get it finished because I keep being interrupted by life. When I began this blogging adventure, I remember thinking I was nuts because I would never actually have time to do it. I was right.

So... since my last post I have: put up Death Takes a Holiday, taken down Death Takes a Holiday, hosted a cast party, run 2 AP Lit. study sessions at my house, survived AP Lit. testing day (there is always a question as to whether or not my heart will hold out), sent Halli off to prom, hosted 3 sets of guests at the house, been to Corvallis to see an old student in a college play, celebrated mother's day with the bestest mama in the world (mine), made an ASTOUNDING meal of white chicken enchiladas, got my grades in for progress reports, been to 5 or 6 of Kobie's softball games, survived the last 4 weeks of being a teacher in RR, and tonight, I'm having a bunch of 8th grade girls over for a sleepover.

Whew.

I'm tired.

This time of year is always insane. I move in a fog as I simply try to keep moving... but now things slow down. Now I look around and realize there are students, kids who are being successful in ways they never thought possible; I see my beautiful family and wonder why they still love me when I'm pretty sure I've forgotten to feed them for the last 2 months (except those amazing enchiladas, of course!); I have these cool friends- who put up with my crap (thank you folks- don't know why you stick around...)- they seem to know I mean well, even when I'm too busy to remember to call, much less spend time with them... and I'm up... I'm down... I'm crying tears of exhaustion that lead to tears of joy... cheesy? Yep. But really, how fricking lucky are we to even be here in the first place? Have you ever thought about it? There were millions of sperm... hundreds to thousands of eggs... the chances of you being you, or me being me... the chance that our mothers managed to not only conceive, but then wanted to have us, and didn't fall down, or get sick, or whatever... we've all won the cosmic lottery... billions of chances to one that you and I are here. That we are us... how amazingly lucky we are... how honored we should feel to feel the joy and pain of life- when so many didn't make it this far. We get to feel- to love... to fight... to cry... we get to BE.

Don't give up on it- or on anyone around you- we are too few- too unique to lose.

If Death Takes a Holiday, I Should Get One Too!

For those of you who know me well... know my life... know my "flit" mode as my buddy Kim calls it, you know that "show-week" means insanity. Here I am- 3 days away from our spring show opening- a wonderful cast split with students who know how theater works, and those getting their feet wet for the first time... and as I awake in a panic at 2am I ask myself, "WHY? Why in the bleeding-frickity-frackity-blankity-blank do I put myself through this torture twice a year?" (Again, for those of you who know me well, you know that although I often fail at filtering my verbal words, I'm much better about filtering what is written down for posterity!)In the last week, I have been running around in circles: shopping for costumes, buying paint, writing up light cues, running rehearsals, sending out press releases, etc. Did I mention I have a full-time teaching job in addition to this? Oh, and then there are those pesky people at my house who call themselves my "family" and seem to think I should help feed children, do laundry, drive kids around, etc. Honestly, I'm not a very good person during this week. I'm short tempered. I'm easily freaked. I simply don't play well with others. My mind is going in about 500 different directions at once. So why? Why does Death get a holiday and I get stress attacks?

Okay... this is why: there are these amazing kids I work with. Some of them are strong students, and some are strong athletes. Some of the kids run with the "alternative" crowd, and some hide behind soda machines so they aren't seen. But when they come into the student center, and we make this art together, they become a family. They figure out how to work with kids they'd never talk to in the hallways. They clap- loudly even- for the young actress who finally figures out how to scream from backstage. They become beautifully human- treasuring in each other the skills that will bring them all to opening night. And I am entirely honored to be the lucky adult who is there to witness it all.

People always try to "box" drama club in with after school sports... but there is a fundamental difference... we do not compete. We create. We share. There are no trophies, nor any state playoffs. And we, we happy few are okay with that.

So much to say... and so few words to say it...

Yes, I've been gone from here for a month, and YES, I am sorry for the lapse in the blogging work... however, I've been busy putting on plays, travelling in Europe and swimming in my very own estrogen pool, also known as home. So much to say here and so few words to express it all...

I've recently become very sensitive to our inability to face each other and tell the truth. Not the mean "your face looks like it got run over by a truck" truth, but the type of truth that makes us vulnerable- the type of truth that makes us more human. In part, because our truths can often be recognized as personal opinions, I suppose people shy from personal honesty for fear of confrontation. Immersed in the teen world as a high school teacher, these inabilities become apparent. I watch brave kids bare their souls while peers, uncomfortable with this vulnerability, run in fear. I watch kids say they do not want what they so obviously desire. I don't understand how society has taught them to close up and protect themselves at all costs, but in so many cases, this seems to be the lesson learned. "Stiff upper lip kids... don't show them they've hurt you..." Why? Why isn't it okay to be vulnerable? Why isn't it okay to get hurt, be hurt, act hurt, then heal without hiding all the hurt? Wouldn't it be better for us to tell each other how we really feel? Again, I'm not talking about doing this in anger- but with kindness and without a desire to hurt others, wouldn't it be nice to just be able to say to each other: "I think you are amazing... It hurts me when you ignore me... I hate the fact we don't laugh... I want you to know who I really am..." After months or years in relationships, we occasionally get to this level of intimacy with our spouses, but for many people, that is it. How amazing might our world be if we could have open, kind and truly honest relationships with those around us?

And yet, we teach our children to fear the judgement of others... to hide their vulnerable emotions from outsiders... we are so afraid of being hurt, do we forget to connect?

Reading French on St. Patrick's Day...

So Hal and I are off to France, the Swiss Alps and Germany for spring break. We are packing and continually saying, "Oh crap! I forgot...(fill in the blank)" We are tired, excited, nervous, and so much more. In the midst of the insanity, I find a bit of grounding in batch of corned beef and cabbage, expertly prepared by one of my favorite people, and I remember, as a child, smelling the same aroma at my grandmother's house and wondering what had died. We have such interesting memories from childhood... we hold onto the most random information while we forget the names of the new neighbors. We hold onto the injustices and triumphs of years past, and forget to revel in the beauty of today. And yet, those pesky memories hold tight...

I remember a poster I had as a child that was of the "Bear Country Jamboree"- a cute attraction at Disneyland, yet the stupid poster gave me nightmares... I can close my eyes and see it... all these years later, I hate that poster and I wonder how many nights I lost sleep being sure that creepy things were going to crawl out of that picture. Tonight, over the cabbage, my friend gave me a note in French... and 23 years after I had a French class, I read the thing and understood each word... and yet, today I forgot the PIN number on the ATM card I've used almost everyday for 6 years.

I wonder what I will remember 20 years from now of this time period... I hope I've cleared enough French from the brain vaults to have memories of tonight... the packing, the silliness, the "have a great time" phone calls... tonight is good; tonight shouldn't be forgotten... but I could live without memories of corned beef at Nana's... yuck.

Laughing at Hamlet, Giggling with Darcy, and Finding Truth is Missing...

Okay, it is late, and this might be random... but the idea is saturating me right now, so here it comes...

It is so interesting to me how we feel we know truth... how, when we are children we ask questions, and are free to acknowledge the state of ignorance. Yet as we age, we feel we must have answers for when we are the adults and the children ask the questions of us. When I was younger, I remember realizing that most of my ideas about the world were simply my opinions, and that I knew little truth. Years passed. I aged. I experienced. Some of my ideas were disproved, while others were supported. The latter group took root, and every time the world showed an opinion as good-real-possible-agreed upon... every time, the roots grew deeper. Eventually those roots blossomed and sprouted my truths, and at some point, my opinions became my truths.

In the last 24+ hours I have seen two very strong reminders that my "truths" are often still nothing more than strongly reinforced opinions. Last night, I laughed at Hamlet. I laughed hard. I laughed darkly and ironically, but I laughed. I've never laughed at that play before. Have you read it? Everyone dies. Painfully. Tragically. Alone. It isn't funny- it is the "Great Tragedy". I thought that because a professor told me it was. "Okay" I said. Then I read it. I thought, "sad play"... tragedy... roots... truth. My truth upon entering the Bowmer Theater at OSF last night was that this was a play with only one laughable moment: the gravediggers... and the rest was palpably and painfully sad. How can truth be wrong? It was a truth built upon opinion... and when I was allowed to remember that, I was given the gift of seeing the play and the character of Hamlet in a new light-still tragic, yet with so many new shades... colors other than black and grey.

Tonight, my beautifully shy, but always stoic Mr. Darcy made me giggle with his awkwardness... and another one of the roots in my life was torn up... and it was wonderful.

Why is it we desperately cling to these truths that root us to one spot, and refuse to let us move? We can only see the world from a singular perspective when rooted down... and we miss so much.

Audrey Hepburn, Michael Jackson and a large cup of mocha...

The world is full of wonder...

I'm fairly sure Saturday mornings are a teacher's reward for an exhausting week. There is simply nothing more wonderful than awaking at 6:05am to the alarm, only to realize I forgot to turn it off the night before, and curling up under the covers to crash for another 3 hours. What could be better than that? Simple and wonderful. And yet, what could make it better? Audrey Hepburn, Michael Jackson and a large cup of mocha (not necessarily in that order).


The day began with a quiet breakfast in a wonderful coffee shop filled with old men just returned from a bike ride, and a middle aged couple, married 17 years now, who still love to sneak off for a quiet bite to eat when the kids aren't looking. One large, perfect mocha, a table for two... wonderful.

Somehow, the mocha led to a small used record store. As a 41 year old, needless to say, Michael Jackson has been an ever-present part of my life (whether I wanted him there or not). However, my fondest memory of Michael involves the love of my life from when I was 14. Her name was Lisa, and she was my wonderful 1 year old sister, who could "shake it" better than anyone I knew to Jackson's "Beat It". Among the thousands of albums in the store, I stumbled across a perfect copy of Thriller. It is the exact topper to the wedding gift I've been preparing for Lisa- whose marriage is set for March 13th. Karma? Luck? Chance? Wonderful.

Rob, mocha, Michael and I arrived home to find Kobie and Hal lounging in the sun. Kobie had picked up a copy of Audrey Hepburn's biography that Rob had left on the kitchen table for Hal (Hepburn is Hal's favorite). She perused the pages of photos and watched as the winkles took over the beautiful face... she noticed the face, however wrinkled, remained beautiful. She wondered aloud, "why is she holding the African baby?" Then she questioned, "What does m-a-l-n-o-u-r-i-s-h-e-d spell?" Together we began to read and discovered (or remembered) the fact that Hepburn spent her later years using her celebrity to bring attention to the work UNICEF was doing. Giving back. Kobie was inspired and awed... wonderful.

And now... now Audrey, Michael, and an empty mocha cup sit on my table... and I... I am sure my world, our world is a wonderful place.

Cloudy Days and Existentialism...

Rogue River was overcast and dark for the first day in many. Kids frowned, grumped and bickered today. They struck out at each other, frustrated by the intangible sense that rainy days always bring... the idea that we are oppressed- the idea that they are not completely free. And yet... in AP Lit. we discussed the idea of existentialism... we exist...but after that, all meanings, feelings, beliefs are only created in our minds- our sense of "real" exists only in our conception of it... therefore, I wondered if these cloudy days were more of an excuse- a reason for grumpy to exist, when we have no other legitimate reason to feel badly. It is interesting how much we thrive on feeling... we struggle with any stasis- even enjoyable emotions... we like change- it makes us believe we are alive and changing or growing. I wonder why we don't actively teach our children, and attempt to push ourselves toward acceptance of what is in front of us- a time and place where we can simply be, instead of fighting to be elsewhere, or be something else. Cloudy days are beautiful- colors exist in them unlike any other days.

Cyndi Lauper and Texting...

Family night- chicken parmesean- freshly puchased Girl Scout cookies- an unplayed game, left-over from Christmas- You Tube searches for long lost 80's music- can't believe I still know every single word to "Time After Time" by Lauper... and in the midst of it all, we break down; we discuss the importance of texting, and rules, and why we haven't allowed the girls to have cell phones thus far... We are accused of being "behind the times" as "99 Luft Balloons" wafts through our ears. We are accused of "not listening" but we do. We listen, and we worry. We want our kids to know how to form face to face relationships- ones that exist within the realm of whole sentence structures and sincere thoughts. Certainly we have never wanted to hurt them, and yet, we do. Parenting isn't just hard- it is sometimes simply impossible to do "right"- and yet, it is the most important and most rewarding thing we do. Maybe, at the end of it all, we simply must love them, and trust them... and be there to pick up the pieces if things fall apart... time after time.

Lessons in truth...

At 9:41 this morning, Halli blurted out "SHIT"... she isn't one to cuss regularly... and mornings here, especially on Saturdays, move slowly. We had stumbled into a moment- a teachable moment, as my education professors called it- where truth was to be recognized as the powerful force it is. I think our world has forgotten the importance of owning up to one's mistakes and poor choices. I believe we unintentionally teach our children to find a "way out" with the least amount of casualties to self or others. However, in the process, it seems truth is often throw by the wayside, and "white lies" take root, and flourish. Hal had simply forgotten a volleyball tournament her team was playing in... she was already 2 hours late, and instantly in a panic. "What do I do? What will I tell them?" I asked her what she would need to hear from a teammate who'd been in the same situation- had Hal made the start time, while someone else accidentally slept in... and she knew her answer. Simply, she needed to be honest. Not blame others- face her coach, her team, and apologize. She needed to accept their anger, blame, frustration, and acknowledge their right to these feelings. She isn't used to letting people down, and this was overwhelming to her... but she did it... she faced the team, the coach, and is playing now... and I think she is a bit more of a grown-up than she was at 9:41.

Beginnings...

Beginnings are always difficult, and yet they hold the power, the anticipation and the joy of what is essential to the concept of hope. Life is filled with beautiful and difficult beginnings~ my life has been no different, and yet, I am often sure that Alice was not alone in falling down the rabbit hole, but instead was surely followed by an unremarkable child named Kelly, who found herself sitting with a Mad Hatter, and sipping from a teacup rarely used. The unique elixir created a vision of something more powerful than the cliche butterfly... something denoting the importance of growth, change, and flight~ a dragonfly. Just as dragonflies have "multifaceted" eyes, I seek discovery of my own vision, and to never allow my sight to stagnate. More importantly, the hind wings of this creature are larger than the forewings; symbolically, the past colors and powers the present, moving me ever forward, and ever toward tomorrows filled with education, laughter, hugs from my children, and most certainly, love.

I have no idea what this blog will hold~ what will be at the bottom of the hole~ what will find its way from my classroom, my conversations, my family or my life onto the pages that follow.. but the journey is what is fascinating... the destination is often irrelevant~