Releasing Some Steam?

I learned a very long time ago that if you don’t follow the rules, important people in your life will leave you.  Step on too many toes?  Make someone mad?  Spend too much money?  Become an inconvenience?  Yep, you guessed it:  they are gone.  Conditional love is what I have always thought it to be.  "I will love you only until I don’t" mantra.

I was watching this TV show the other night called Good Girls.  It really is a stupid show, but I am hooked because I keep thinking, “There is no way they will write the next episode.”  Then, the next episode airs.  In it, the younger sister is always dating these guys who are shifty or live in their car (because they don’t want responsibility) or just plain treat her badly.  She’s been going to this therapist.  He tells her the other day that she dates these kinds of men because as long as she does, she doesn’t have to worry about a genuine relationship.  She cannot get hurt.  Those weren’t his exact words, but that is what I gleaned from him.  She got it, too.  She was shocked.  Maybe even a little relieved.  Maybe with this new knowledge, she could help herself.  Maybe find true love.  I know it's just a show, but there is some truth in what he said.

I have been married for 28 years.  Just celebrated my wedding anniversary last week.  Did I choose him because he was safe?  I never rock the boat.  I do not put any demands on him.  I can count on one hand how many arguments we’ve had.  I am sure I am annoying because I am a perfectionist.  I am sure he would love to have a younger model, someone who would be considered the trophy wife, maybe.  We have lived in the same house with my mother-in-law for 15 years.  That’s more than half of our married life.  I have been playing second fiddle to her the entire time.  I cannot ever relax.  I always feel like "I've got company."  Deep down, I don't feel like I have my own home; we live with her.

Today, I was sitting at the kitchen table, grading papers on my computer, answering emails from students, letting the dogs outside when they asked.  My mother-in-law was in the her room, talking to a friend on the phone.  She's loud.  Door is open.  She says, “Yea, Tonya’s in the kitchen.  I can’t go out of my room and do any of the things I normally do.  She’s such an inconvenience.”  I really think that is the last straw.

I went into my room and finished grading papers.  My son texted me to find out where I was.  When I came out of my room, my son, my husband, and my mother-in-law were all in the kitchen, hanging out, making lunch, putting away dishes.  When they asked what I had been doing, I told them that I had gone to my room to work because I was such an inconvenience to Sue.  That woke everyone up!  Right, I am the rude one.  I am the one in whom my husband is disappointed—a new low, according to him.  I am the one who has decided I am done.  I won’t make him choose between me or his mother.  I will. 

My Sanctuary

During spring break, I visited a shop that was closing down.  This shop has been a huge part of my life and the community for almost 30 years.  It is sad to see them close their doors for the final time.

While perusing the remaining stock, I found these happy, bright red lanterns.  At first glance, I thought they were designed so that votive candles went inside so that you would get this soft glow and flickering of the flames.  However, once I got them home, I realized they were solar powered and had tiny bulbs inside.  They didn't work at first.  There was no sun until yesterday.

Last night, I opened my backdoor to find this calming scene.  There were pale blue reflections of butterflies floating on my table and the ground, even out into the grass.  The low lights filled the yard and invited us all to come sit in the swing.  This is my sanctuary.  Sitting in my swing under the wisteria and honeysuckle with the mimosa tree stretching its limbs over our heads, I can breathe.  It is peaceful being surrounded by the beauty God gives us every day.  Even with my weeping willow missing from my yard, all the green envelopes me and keeps me grounded.  These lanterns are a purchase I will enjoy for a long time.

The Clean Crew

The sun was shining today.  The first day in almost a week of rain.  Maybe our backyard will dry up a little and cease being a wet and slippery pit full of giant clay paw prints like molded dark grey Play-Doh.  After this week, the new grass is tall and in need of a mowing.  We can barely see Paddy when she walks outside.

By being in the sunlight, your body absorbs vitamins D.  Plus, my favorite place to be is in the swing under the blooming wisteria and the mimosa tree I planted when it was only four inches tall.  This day feels so alive and peaceful, full of promises.  Then, the wet soaks through my leggings!  Meat's soft slimy lips drape over my knee, coated with slobber and grass.  Eww!

It's time for a bath.  All of them are grungy and dirty so Jacob and I take towels and soap and brushes and the water hose to the driveway.  Meat's first.  Washing him is like washing a car.  He's huge--150 pounds!  He stands still getting scrubbed, dried.  Next is Mousse.  She usually gets really nervous and poops a lot during a bath at the groomers.  She didn't even pass gas today.  I think the cold water feels good to her.  Shadow, our old lady dog, is third in line.  She is shaking a little bit while the suds and cold water soak her down.  She is short, only one foot tall, so Jacob is the one scrubbing her clean.  Last but not least is shy, sweet Maggie.  My foster fail is quiet unless she is protecting me, which she does often.  During her bath, a lawn crew show up at the yard across the street.  Maggie maintains her good behavior but keeps an ever watchful eye on the extra noise.  Using the brushes and then the gloves that have bristles, we collect a huge pile of loose fur.  The birds will have something to use for nests.

Clean and tired, everyone is in the house, napping now.  The best smelling pups on the street.

Sounds of Silence

Maggie's soft snores

the dishwasher draining

Shadow's toenails click-clacking on the tile

the washing machine spinning

cardinals outside singing

pots clanging in the kitchen

children's laughter wafting through the window

leaves rustling in the wind

All are music to my ears in quiet moments
                     spent resting in the spring afternoon.

Short and Sweet

It feels like the first day of school is tomorrow.  I was feeling a little anxious earlier with a nauseous stomach and a small headache.  I revisited my Canvas page, added my video, and feel confident that everything is good-to-go.  There is no need to feel nervous.  Even if something goes wrong tomorrow, it will all work out in the end.  Students are sweet and are always helpful.  Everything will work out for the best!

Hidden Power

from Nikki Grimes's Ordinary Hazards:

"You know," she said, eyes firmly fixed
on the six o'clock news,
"Writers are a dime a dozen."
And just like that--bam!--
she slammed my heart
in the door of her words.

Sitting in the wooden desk in the front row right by the window, I listen as Mrs. Morgan, my English I teacher, explains that she is trying something new.  She had gone to a training and wants to see how we respond to an activity she learned there.  Leaning against the wall, just below the blackboard, is a large framed picture.  We cannot see the front since it is facing the wall.  Mrs. Morgan is asking us to take out some notebook paper, explaining we will have the entire class period to write.  She says we can write whatever we want, using the framed picture for inspiration.  Writing like this is a new technique she learned at the training.  She turns the picture around.

A typical framed picture that most people during this Spring of 1983 hang over the back of their sofa leans against the wall.  It is a country scene with a red barn on the left and green, rolling hills and large shade trees.  Was there a boy?  My memory is unclear about the boy, but I will forever remember what I wrote.  Studying the picture, a story develops in my mind.  I begin writing.  I am describing the scene, the adventure ahead, even the concerns of the day, but once I get to a certain point, I reveal to the reader that the barn is telling the story.  It is from the barn's perspective.  The bell rings so I hand Mrs. Morgan my writing and go to my next class.

Sometime in the next week, Mrs. Morgan gives the class some overall feedback on what she had gleaned from our writing.  Then, she asks me if she has my permission to keep my writing.  She loves how I used a creative perspective and wants to use it with future classes.  My heart swells!  I am validated as a writer.  

For the first time, I had written and received praise for writing from a trusted person, someone I admired.  Almost forty years have passed, but when I read Nikki Grimes's poem this morning, that moment in Mrs. Morgan's class is as fresh in my mind as if it happened just yesterday.

As I sit here in my recliner, writing for the 21st day of the Slice of Life writing challenge, I know that Mrs. Morgan could have easily crushed our spirits, expecting perfection with punctuation, verb tense, capitalization, spelling, everything.  I have that power as an LA teacher.  But not only do we as teachers have that power, many others do as well:  parents, friends.  A kind word goes a long way!  Building people--writers--up!  Who will you affect today?

Voila! Pie!

Voila!  Pie!

I have been doing double-duty lately.  This week, I started my own writing challenge for my students,  using our blog.  Only a portion of them have joined, but those who did have written from the heart.  It is my hope that the writing is helping them as much as it has me.

I Am Still Needed

"Mom."  I think I hear my name.  "Hey, Mom!"  Definitely, that was someone calling me.

"Mom, are you in here?"  Jacob asks through the door.

"Just a second, please.  Let me turn off the hair dryer," I respond.  What is that saying about once you're a mom, you are never alone in the bathroom again?  Yep, it is definitely so true!  When Jacob was an infant, I would put him in his carrier and set him outside my shower.  He could see me and wouldn't cry because I could talk to him, sing to him.  I know, right?  You don't want to hear me sing, but Jacob and  Hope loved it.  As he got older, there was the lifeskill of potty training so I was always  in the bathroom with him, teaching him about the toilet and how it makes all this noise but won't swallow you up.  Oh how he loved to drop Cheerios in the water and watch them disappear!  Of course, since I was in there with him while he potty'd, and I would get all excited, "Yay, you went pee-pee!", he thought it was perfectly fine to be in the bathroom when I went.  Fair is only fair.

"Do you hear that?"  Jacob would whisper.  "Listen, there it goes!  You went pee-pee.  Yay!"  His sweet laughter would fill the room; his claps (and sometimes his whole body jumping up and down) would echo throughout the house.  His face would be animated with surprise if anything bigger happened.  You know...like pooping.  BIG praise then!

Currently on spring break, Jacob is spending his time with us, enjoying some time away from the home he has made away from home this year.  Just 25 years old, he is a head baseball coach and 7th grade math teacher, along with numerous other coaching duties in his tiny school.  He said just yesterday as he was walking upstairs with his sweet iced tea in one hand and his Goldfish crackers in the other, "I feel like I am 13 again, going upstairs to play X-Box with my friends online."

"Mom, can you hear me now?"  His voice brings me back to the present moment.  "When you are done in there, will you do me a favor?  I need you to pop this pimple in my nose."

Even when they are grown, your children will still need you, especially for those special tasks.  And because you love them unconditionally, you will take care of them the best way possible.  Treasure those moments; they are the memorable ones.

Hope

With the sun trying to make its way around the clouds, the world is aglow in my backyard.  The fresh raindrops cling to the green, green grass.  Irises with purple and yellow petals stand tall in the corner, almost commanding attention from anyone who enters their space.  In the trees with their new budding leaves, the birds sing to each other.  Or is it a warning?  Cardinals with their bright red feathers fly from one tree to another.  The female, camouflaged with her brown body, is near.  Are eggs in a nest?  There was a blue jay yesterday who visited my garden.  Blue jays have such a ferocious reputation!  I later found feathers scattered by the fence.  The sun streaks across my window in a moment of triumph.  There is hope for a better day.

A New Task

Sitting in my chair, I am nervously getting my phone in video mode.  I know what I want to say.  I have notes.  I have practiced.  I have thought about it since early this morning.

The living room is my best choice for places to record right now.  The lighting is good, and it is almost silent here.  Except.  Except for the NOM! NOM! NOM! noises that Meat begins to make right in the middle of the recording.  These noises are screaming in my ear.  I just know they will overpower the video.  Meat, of course, decides at that moment to get up and get a little love by laying his head in my lap.  I have truly lost my focus now and begin laughing.  What else can I do, right?  Then, he gives me a big ole kiss!  He is only ten months old but currently weighs a whopping 150 pounds.  He is a slobber machine!

Videos are just not for me.  I love to record other people and to watch videos.  I just don't like being recorded myself.  I finished.  I viewed it.  I think I covered all that I wanted to say.  I hope I reminded my students how much I will miss them.  They are the highlight of my days.  I wish each one well!

Ask for What We Need

"When we ask for what we need, it allows others to show up for us."  Gravity Goldberg posted a simple message on Facebook tonight about how you may not always get what you ask for, but if you at least ask, others are able to step up.

Tonight, I am truly overwhelmed with feeling as if on one level so many others are controlling what I am supposed to be doing.  I am ready for some semblance of a routine.  Yes, I am one of those who doesn't need the daily schedule printed out as I have always lived with some sort of permanent daily schedule right here in my brain.  I am a self-starter and rarely rely on anyone else.  (This is a huge flaw of mine.)  I will be there in a second if you need me though.

Last night, I sent out an email to my students wishing them well and letting them know I was thinking about them.  I told them what I was reading and encouraged them to continue to read each day.  I even set up a discussion board for them to put what they are reading out there for others to see and maybe get some reading suggestions.  Then, I created a writing challenge on our class blog.  I know there is one here on the Slice of Life, but our technology is very restricted.  I was very nervous that I was creating the writing challenge (because I have so enjoyed the SOLSC) and no one would join.  I made it active at 1:30 and by 6:00, there were students signed up.  I was tickled pink!

As I was needing some TV time, I turned on Netflix and found Freedom Writers is now available.  This will be a wonderful ending to my day.  Not only did I meet Erin Gruwell many years ago and hear her speak, but I have read all of her materials and even used some of the activities in my own classes.  This is such a "feel-good" movie for me.  She gave it all she had and helped so many students be successful.  That is truly what I want:  to be helpful to my students, to give them what they need to be successful.

A Little Gloom with a Ray of Sunshine

April showers bring May flowers, right?  March is supposed to be our windy month, but for so many days now, it is just raining.  Sometimes, it is this fine mist that falls and causes the world to look as if it is covered in fog.  The gloom and dreariness seem to reflect the current state of uncertainty.  No one seems to know what the next step should be.  If we plan out lessons, can they be used?  For some strange reason, we have to wait until we get directions in order to teach our students.  Will we be out of school for the next two weeks or more?  Will we continue to be socially-distanced or become quarantined?  It's almost like being a marionette with someone else pulling the strings.

I did go out on a limb tonight.  Several of my students have emailed me, wanting to know what they should do about schoolwork.  You see, we were at the end of a research project and were to have the main writing and display pieces ready-to-go on Tuesday, the 18th, when everyone returned from Spring Break.  Then, beginning on Wednesday, we would have our Dinner Parties, which are the presentations finalizing the project.  Well, I cannot give them info on those items as of yet, but I did send out an email challenging them to continue reading and to check out our class blog tomorrow by noon.  At that time, we will begin a writing challenge.  Prizes will be involved.  All of this is voluntary, of course, but if they will continue to read and to write, my heart will be happy.  It will be like a ray of sunshine in all of this gloom to know they are continuing what we started in our class.

Beware the Ides of March

Mike and I were married 28 years ago.

Anniversaries are normally spent with our children.

Road trip on our 25th was the one time it was just the two of us.

Cruise to the Bahamas marked our honeymoon (our wedding if you ask Mike).

Here's to looking forward to many shared years to come!

15, 1992

Hug a Little Tighter

Sitting here in my living room, I can see all three of my favorite people:  my daughter Hope, my son Jacob, and my husband Mike.  To be self-quarantined with these three people would be heaven.  We fit together, love being together.  This will be short-lived though because Hope has to fly to Ohio tomorrow.  Her cat is in boarding there; little Woof needs to be taken home.  She and Hope will self-quarantine in her apartment.  My heart is scared.  I keep telling myself to remember "Faith over Fear," but it is difficult.

My district announced today that our spring break has been extended until March 30.  Upon the recommendation of the Tarrant County Health Department, our district along with neighboring ones, will be closed from March 16-23.  We will provide online learning opportunities beginning the second week of closure.  That is the first week of the fourth nine weeks so that makes sense.  I will send out a message to my students to remember to read.  It is so important to keep that practice in place.

My family and I are watching the movie called Outbreak right now.  It is crazy how it is based around a virus that is like the flu with coughing and a fever.  It is airborne and does begin to spread VERY quickly.

Is this COVID-19 going to be contained?  Are we going to stop its spreading by staying home?  Are we being told everything there is to know about it?  Is there something more to it that the government knows that we don't?

I am sure others have the same questions as I do.  Our society is so accustomed to the Go, Go, Go Mentality that it has difficulty staying in one spot.  Can we all do that?

Hug your loved ones a little tighter tonight.  Keep your family close.

Deja Vu -- my first time

We are in Ruston today and visited LA Tech to see if my daughter's brick had been lain.  She graduated last year and is now in law school.  Here is my brick from 1991.  Hope is fourth generation Moreland to attend LA Tech so there are many relatives who have bricks here as well.

In 1986, I moved into Miller Dorm at Louisiana Tech University in Ruston, LA.  In the Spring, I moved into the brand new Aswell Dorm and then later into Harper Dorm.  My years of living in dorm rooms were very similar to living at home:  I had two sisters with whom I often shared a room.  My college roommates were wonderful women who taught me the importance of being encouraging.

In the Fall of 2016, my daughter moved into Harper Hall.  For me, walking into the dorm, was an eye-opening experience.  We walked in on Move-In Day, and I not only knew exactly where things were, but the smell.... was .... exactly .... the same.  It was as if I had never left.  I walked across the lobby and straight to the small hallway where the elevators were located.  We rode up to the third floor and found Hope's room.  It had the same floor plan as my seventh-floor room.  As we unloaded her boxes, we helped set up her room.  When the drawers to the built-in dresser were sticking, I knew the old trick of using a bar of Ivory soap to rub along the rails to help the drawers slide easily.  When searching for the living area and the washroom, I walked in and memories flooded back.  There were faded walls and evidence of where mirrors used to be, sinks, even bulletin boards.  The furniture was the same pieces that had been there when I had lived there.  In fact, Harper Hall has been slated to be torn down.  It is my wish to own at least one of the night stands we had in our rooms.

A month into my daughter's first quarter at Tech, I came to visit.  I stayed in the dorm with her.  As I lay in the twin bed that was positioned in the same place in Hope's room as the one I had in my old room, I closed my eyes and was transported back thirty years.  In the darkness of the night, the most unique feeling enveloped me.  Sounds of showers in shared bathrooms turning on, the metal echo of doors opening and closing, the massive air conditioning unit outside blowing, cars and conversations outside, all took me back.  I was 20 years old again and could hear my roommate breathing across the room.  Deja vu...

Growing up, my mother moved us many times, sometimes every couple of months, sometimes every couple of days.  To "go home" once I was older was visiting my mom in the apartment or home where she currently lived.  That changed frequently, too, until the day she had her stroke, and I was in control of where she lived.  I had never experienced deja vu -- ever.  When I experienced it that night in Hope's room in Harper Hall, I was overwhelmed with a sense of home, of coming back, to something I knew well.  Memories flooded my mind.  Even the next year, when Hope moved into Aswell Dorm, it was hauntingly familiar.  I never slept in her room that year, but it always felt like I was returning to something that was inherently mine and now, my daughter's.

The Call of the Wild venting

***Spoiler Alert***

In 2003, I returned to teaching in public schools.  I was hired to teach English Literature and Math Quest.  Part of the English Literature semester course was the teaching of Jack London's The Call of the Wild.  I did it a little differently than the other teachers (as I seem to always do).  We would listen to parts of the novel using a recording on cassette tapes, stopping when students had questions or when I felt we needed to discuss scenes or at predetermined stops to end the reading for the day.  At one point, I skipped watching the movie in its entirety at the end of the novel to viewing clips of what we read the day before at the beginning of class the next day.  This was helpful as it opened discussion for those who had read, those who were absent, those who had questions, and prepared us for that day's reading.

I saw the newest movie tonight.  It was a cute movie.  It could easily be used in a movie/book comparison.  It will open some good dialogue.  It had direct narration from the novel and followed many of the main points from the novel.  The characters were all there except Francois is a woman in the movie.

What is it that was different?  Any of Buck's hardships -- the brutal loss of Curly, the death of Spitz (not really a hardship), the beating from the man in the red sweater, the loss of the team, even the killing of the bear, the moose -- are gone.  Yes, this movie insinuates these in some cases, but it is very minor and are hidden.  Children can watch the movie and not be scared.  However, it doesn't build the immensity of Buck's growth, his Call to the Wild.  Part of this Call involves Buck's killing of larger and larger animals.  The last is killing man, cutting the last thread to domesticity.  The movie is more civil.

One of the things I asked my students to do when we read the novel was to compare Buck's relationship to all the different owners in the novel:  Judge Miller, the man in the red sweater, Perrault and Francois, the mailman, Hal and Mercedes and her husband, and then John Thornton.  By studying these relationships, the reader comes to understand that Buck never truly loved any human until John Thornton.  As the Call becomes stronger and stronger, only the love for John Thornton pulls him back to domesticity.  When John Thornton is killed and Buck kills the Indians, the reader feels Buck's pain but is spared the hurt of seeing John Thornton dead as he is in the pool of water.  The reader and Buck know he's there, but he is unseen.  Buck is now free to answer the Call.  He fathers many descendants and becomes a legend in the folklore.

The movie does make a good connection between Buck and John Thornton, but it is not as strong as the novel.

Is the movie good?  Yes.  Is it as good as the novel?  No.  Do most people read a novel to the same depth as we studied it?  No.  So is the movie a good replacement for those who don't read the novel?  Uhm, I guess so.

Education or Space Travel

During my senior year in high school, Sally Ride came to my school.  She met with all the seniors and talked with us about space travel.  There were only 55 students in my class as we were a very small school in north Louisiana.  Since I was sitting on the front row, I could easily have reached out my hand and touched her.

I had already decided I wanted to major in Mathematics at Louisiana Tech University.  What I hadn't quite decided was whether I wanted to focus on education or NASA.  Mathematics is like a second language to me, a puzzle to be solved.  When I watched the movie Hidden Figures, I could easily relate to the mathematician Katherine when she is staring at the numbers and knows she remembers a formula and goes to find the book that has that info.  I never used a scientific calculator--you know the ones that have the graphing screens and memory function.  I just remembered the formulas.

During my time at LA Tech, I chose to focus on education.  I feel teaching is what I was born to do.

Holding Her Close

I see you:

That 

       river 

              of 

                 tears 

                        that 

                              courses 

                                         behind your eyes, your smile  

disturbing the flow,

Pain pulsing just below the surface, visible to us few.

I see you,
Your heart beating for others

Living with love for a child                     l o s t       

But wrapped in love keeping her close.

I see you.

Passion that fills a room —

Teaching, creating, journaling, advocating.

I hear you

      Whispering memories —

                     Her life strong when you close your eyes —

                                                                      Making a difference.

I feel you!

Comfort — receiving and giving

Healing   

        Her forever near.

Hebrews 11:1 Faith is the evidence of things not seen.

***I attended an ALAN Master Class in November.  The presenter spoke of her young  daughter who had committed suicide not too long before.  My mother had passed in August, and my heart still ached for her.  To say I saw more than the presentation is an understatement.  The next day, this presenter was still on my mind, and I wrote this poem for her.  I have revised it, but I have never just sat down and written a poem before with ease.  Maybe some day I will send it to her.***

A Taste to Remember

The day had turned out much like a warm spring day at home.  The showers having passed with the wind blowing strongly, bringing the sunshine with it, Hope and I exited the Palace grounds and began our walk to the train station.  It's not too far, maybe a mile, but I am strolling along trying to store all that I see in my mental bank.

Green trees line the streets.  The sun shines smartly down on our heads, but it is a welcome respite from the cool showers of the morning.  Wide, shaded sidewalks make their way down the hill to the little shops we had passed that morning on our way to the Palace of Versailles.  What a beautiful city!  It feels as it we have stepped back in time.

"Is it still open?  I have to try one from this city, too,"  I tell Hope.  She is worried we will miss the train back to Paris.  "I'll be quick!"  I duck into the tiny macarons shop.  Up on the top shelf is a flavor I haven't seen yet so I buy two.  The owner assures me they are the best.

Stepping back onto the sidewalk, I open the tiny brown bag and take out a salted caramel macaron.  It has to be the ugliest one I have seen so far.  With black crumbles that look like bits of pepper covering the outside, the macaron has a light greyish shell.  I sniff it and look at Hope.  She gives me a sour look.  It's been a long day, and I am walking at a leisurely pace.  She's wanting to sprint.  I take a tiny bite and stop in my tracks.  Closing my eyes, I moan and rub my tongue all over the roof of my mouth, swallowing regretfully as that bite is gone.  I am in heaven!  Oh the creaminess, the smooth caramel with just the right smidge of salt, and of course the crunch adds the final touch.

Hope is several paces in front of me.  "Are you sure you don't want a bite?"  I ask her.

"Mom, come on!"

As I pick up the pace, I savor the final bites of these two unforgettable cookies, making a mental note to find a replica at the next macaron shop I pass.  Believe it or not, those were a unique experience.  Throughout the week, Hope and I had many macarons but never two as satisfying as those.

We did make it to the train station with time to spare, happy we decided to take this unforgettable day trip.

Back in the Game

My husband dug the camera and its charger out of the cabinet.  Covered in dust from the last baseball game, it's been hidden away for about six years now.  During Jacob's high school years, I would take pictures of him pitching, batting, running the bases, sliding in...  It transferred to my taking action shots of all the boys on the team.  There were some amazing shots.  It kept me focused on the game and helped me feel useful, needed.

Today, during a tournament game, I took pictures of the young men on the high school team that Jacob coaches.  I want to help them see that they look professional, be able to see their stances, catch those action shots.  The metal fence was a challenge as I had to be balanced in order to the correct focus, a good angle.  Although it added a tiny bit of blur around the frame of the picture, almost like a filter.  If I needed to turn quickly for a quick play at the plate, I had to be able to frame the lens with the fence.  I got some pretty good shots.  This inexperienced team looks big time!

At the end of the game, Jacob comes out of the dugout, gives me a hug, and tells me "thank you" for taking the pics.

"I hope there are some good ones,"  I told him.

"Did you take any of me?"

"Yes, I cannot resist taking pictures of you!"

"They'll be great then!"  he says in his joking way.

Hope is Here --- Almost

I can't wait:  Hope will be home tomorrow!  We pick her up from the airport at 9 in the morning.  Then we will have her for a whole week.

Hope is my blonde-haired, blue-eyed twin.  Full of quiet spunk, she is a dedicated, loving young woman.  She is a beautiful writer and can read more quickly than anyone I know.  She is in her first year of law school and is loving every minute of it.  The only thing I dislike about it is the fact that she is so far away from me.  I miss her.

From the moment Hope was born, she has been right by me.  We love doing everything together.



Jacob was the first one to hold Hope after she was born.  As the big brother, he was all smiles and kisses.  When she was just one day old, Hope lay next to Jacob in the hospital bed while he read to her.  They've been there for each other since.

Born with dark, almost black red hair, Hope was so tiny.  She weighed 8 lbs. 3 oz., a small baby.  She was like my living baby doll.  I could dress her up in gowns and bows.


My mind is all over the place tonight.  I have so many memories of Hope swimming around in my head.  I will choose one and expand it later.

A Little Motivation

"Coach Mo, it's your turn!  Let's see those homeruns!"

It's the end of practice.  The young men on the team have never taken the game of baseball seriously.  When baseball season came along, they saw it as a fun way to miss class, to hang out.  Whether they won or most often lost, they played the game.  This year, my son is their coach.  He lives and breathes baseball.  He sees this opportunity to coach as a way to help young men progress in their sport, their leadership, their growth as a man.  Jacob has made a deal with the players that at the end of each practice, he will go to bat and hit one more homerun than they have.  Nothing like a little competition!

The first time Jacob hit at the end of practice, he hit four pitches.  The third one bounced over the outfield fence.  The fourth easily sailed over the wall.

Jacob played his first t-ball game when he was three years old.  Blonde, brown-eyed with his tiny red baseball t-shirt and his baseball pants that were the smallest we could find but still had the knee patch at Jacob's ankle.  He stepped up to the plate.  First pitch, he swung and hit the ball down the left-field line.  Dropping his bat, he took off running.  He didn't know that in this league the players only ran one baselength at a time, so when he approached first base, he kept on trucking, rounding first base and heading to second.  Those little feet picking up the dirt.  Parents and friends and family were yelling and cheering!  Calling out for Jacob to stop.  While the other team players were trying to field the ball, Jacob rounded second and headed to third.  The mound of little boys has fielded the ball at this time, but there is no stopping Jacob now.  On to home, he goes!  As he approached home plate, he slid in even though there was not a throw he needed to avoid.  Bless his heart!  He had watched his father and I play softball so he knew how the game worked.  He didn't need to advance one base at a time.

At the end of his college baseball days, Jacob was invited to play on an independent league ball team.  He was closer to his dream of playing pro ball.  After a while, he came home and knew coaching was his next step.

Jacob steps up to the plate.  The assistant coach is getting ready to pitch to him.  None of his players hit a homerun during practice so per their agreement he only has to hit one over the wall.  Today, he receives two pitches.  The second one went over!  Great job giving your players a little motivation to improve and to take your game seriously.

Is it spring break yet?

I was stoked today when looking out over my classroom at students sitting in groups at the couch and with partners at tables and working and helping each other be successful.  I was proud.  They are working so hard.

Then, my seventh period class walks in.  Like the men on this YouTube channel that are dropping cars onto a trampoline they designed, the boys in my class are full of something.  Excitement, pent-up energy, anger?  I don't know, but they came in today and just could not (or would not) follow instruction.  One almost got in a fight!  What?!!!  Yea, even after I spoke with him in the hall to find out what was going on.  What was causing him to not be focused.  Even telling him to walk the "block" of classes to release some energy and to calm down, he comes into class and just can't do what he's supposed to do.

Tomorrow is a another day, right?  We start fresh each day and get to build new habits.  We will make better choices and earn some praise and be one day closer to spring break and the rest we all need.

What I Needed

"Hey, I know you!" she said as she turned her buggy around, her big smile shining.

After a sweet hug, we catch up by reminiscing about our last days on the campus we shared, where we are now, and what our upcoming plans are.  She is trying to secure a salaried position on her campus.  This would not only be great for her but for the students she will teach.  She has a beautiful soul!

Sincerely, nervously, I tell her I am sorry about the loss of her little girl.  She smiles even bigger and says that she knows and believes that we all have a day we must die.  This was her little girl's time.  

             I needed to hear that.  Be reminded of that.

Her little girl was born with Down's syndrome.  Oh what a shining spirit!  Two older sisters who just loved her.  The little girl thrived with her mother being her constant support.  Nothing got in her way. However, at almost three years old, she passed away suddenly, unexpectedly. 

              I cannot even fathom losing one of my children.

My friend explains what she learned about her daughter's death.  The challenges with her spouse and her new move and her new job.  She said that God does move in mysterious ways.  That God had a plan all along.  He slowed the building of their house in the Spring because He knew of the heartbreak that would occur in the Winter.  He knew.  She trusted.  She smiles and that smile reaches her eyes.

             I lost my mother in August, the first week of school.  Even though she was in a nursing home,  she counted on me as her caregiver to make decisions for her.  To fight with the nursing home staff about overmedication and proper care and just basic needs.  In this last year, I visited with her just about every evening, spending time painting and just talking, keeping her company--me company.  She had been in the hospital three different times this past summer and on the last hospital stay was told she would have about six months to live.  She returned to the nursing home with hospice as a way to keep her comfortable and with me to make sure she gets anything she needed.  She died a week later.  Somehow, I felt it was her time.  I left school that Friday morning, stayed with her all day, couldn't leave that night.  I stayed awake, talking when I felt she needed to hear a voice, but mostly, just being by her side, hoping she knew I was there.  I made sure she got the medications every hour that she needed so she would feel no pain.  On Saturday morning, I am standing on one side of her bed and Mom's favorite nurse was on the other side.  DeAndra and I were talking as we did most Saturdays about her son and my family and whatnot.  Mom normally would have been right in the middle of our conversation, giving advice, laughing.  Girls having fun.  Mom took her last breath that morning.  We both felt she passed doing what she loved:  spending time with us, just hanging out.

            At Mom's funeral, I was with family and I know Mom is in a better place.  I went to work and back home.  During Christmas break, I feel like I finally took time to grieve. 

           But just last week, I continue to wake up during the night having vivid dreams of failure where my mother is concerned.  What could I have done differently to make sure she would have been safe? Why did this have to happen to her?  She was so young.  Did she have a good life in the end?  I tried to make sure she was comfortable.  There is so much.  My mind simply takes over and is taking my joy.

    My friend lost her little girl.  A toddler who had her entire life ahead of her.  My friend smiles.  Glows!  She trusts God had a plan and is following through with it.  In my heart, I know He has plans for my mother.  I know she joined her twin sister who had passed only four months before.  Why can't I be at peace?  What am I missing?  Thank you, my friend, for being a light in this dark world.  You are what I needed.  

A Vivid Dream

It's so difficult to concentrate, but I try to focus on my hands.  I have them cupped and am moving one hand on top of the other.  While I am containing something, I can feel it moving.  I am unsure of what it is.  I think to myself:  "What am I doing?  Is this something I need?"

I look over and see Hope although everything where she is seems blurry, almost like there is a triple filter on it.  I see Hope's long legs on top of the puffy, soft white cotton duvets.  Her slender feet are hanging off the side of the bed.  I cannot see her face.

"Don't let it get away!"  Looking down, I move my right hand to act as a dome to my left hand.  I see it now.  Its legs, body, fangs are covered in tan fur, spiky to the touch, large black eyes.  It looks me straight in the eye, rears back and pounces on the inside of my palm, sinking-or trying to sink its fangs into my hand.  The fangs are furry, too.  It looks shocked that its fangs didn't sink into my skin.  It tries again.  Watching this large spider, I am not afraid.  It continues to try to bite me, but I tell him that it is no use.

I turn to Hope and begin talking with her.  What she and I discuss is not clear, but I do know we are focused on catching up and talking about school.  I am so proud of all her hard work.

As she fades into the background, I look back at this humongous spider with his tan fur and dark black eyes.  "You're not going anywhere."

Surreal

I lean back so that I am laying slightly behind Jacob's shoulder.  Looking passed his ear and the dark curl of his beard, I can see little Cooper.  Having them both in my view is surreal.  We are sitting on the couch:  mother, son, grandson.  Jacob has his feet on the coffee table so that little Cooper is laying on Jacob's thighs and can see both of us.

A sweet smile spreads across Cooper's face as he watches his daddy, listens to him.  The corners of his mouth tilt and flex.  The top lip stretching long, curving upwards.  His bottom lip parts with happiness.  Eyes twinkling, he coos and kicks his bare feet.  His lips are slick and shiny with saliva, and a bubble begins to peek out.  Between his eyebrows, lines crinkle his forehead as he looks in turn from me to his daddy.

Sitting here next to my son while he is holding his 3-month-old son, I feel blessed.  This man beside me, once my baby, is now a father!  It seems like just yesterday that I was the one holding him as an infant.  The love that is in Jacob's heart for Cooper can be seen in every pore of his being.  I can't wait to watch these two for years to come.