I love writing. I do. But, lawdhavemercy, I know how my workbabies feel when they "can't think of anything to write about!" I recently started to understand that maybe the reason they struggle (I struggle) is that there are TOO MANY topics to know where to start. The clutter of stories writers collect in their heads can prevent the average perfectionist from just getting started. This is where keeping a notebook religiously can come in handy, but that is STILL not a habit I've developed. Alas.
As summer comes to a close, I realize how many stories I want to capture before too much time interferes with my being able to access the details and emotions that make a story readable. This is always a dance for me, too - I like to have a little time to let an experience sink in, to wrap my heart and head around it before wrapping my words around it, but if I wait too long, those thoughts become less clear. Then I just decide maybe the story wasn't worth telling at all. Ridiculous.
So, in the spirit of keeping this effort alive and reminding myself of a few stories you gotta hear (or I just gotta tell, maybe?), here's a classic list of Stories I Could Tell Here. I'm pretty sure I've done this before, and I'm equally sure I've never actually gone back and written those, but maybe you people will hold me accountable, hmm?
Summer 2014 Stories Worth Writing, Possibly Worth Reading
1. Voyage2K14 - The Voyagers in Adolescence at ECSSSJ take Manhattan and the Jersey (City) Shore, learning a thing or two about each other, about ourselves, about our world, about our Savior. This could be a series of stories, including "Where the Hell is Jesus in NYC? AKA Planning a meaningful trip" and "There Are No Fat Bulldogs in the City." Might even get a little poem out of there... We'll see.
2. The Hallelujah Girls - Oh, what a disservice I've done myself not reflecting formally on this yet. I haven't felt more myself in years than when I was pretending to be Sugar Lee. THAT could be an indication of some mental illness, I suppose, but more likely, it's just evidence of how much I love performing. Always have. Really excited about future opportunities I might explore with it. Yes, I'll admit I love the attention - really, who doesn't? - but more than anything I am crazy in love with the process. It's a shame I never really pursued it, and a disappointment that the opportunities really weren't there for me beyond sixth grade, but I am learning there is a crazy strong theatre community here in the greater metro, and I might just have the courage to spend a little more time becoming part of it.
3. Social Media and other addictions - Enough said. Maybe I should just print out my excessive number of status updates and go from there. Each one of them is a mini-story, a random thought that compelled me to put words out there. I could certainly fill in the blanks behind many of them.
4. Emptier Nest - Soon enough, our nest will be empty, and this summer was our first good taste of what it feels like when one or both of our babies are gone long term. I love the people they are becoming, and I am going to miss them beyond measure, but I am eager to learn how to be a grown-up with adult children. The four of us have to learn to negotiate our way through this next part together and to appreciate what we have.
Look for one of these soon. Soonish. I mean, school starts next week and I'll be all focused on that, but whatevs. With a little BICFOK (Butt In Chair, Fingers On Keyboard, per Lester Laminack), I can do this.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Monday, July 7, 2014
One of these days...
One of these days...
...I will live in a house that I designed, filled with fixtures and pieces that I picked out, on a lot that I chose because it is overlooking a body of water and has unusually large trees. I will hold my grandbabies on my lap in my porch rocker, sway with them and their parents in the hammock out back, toast marshmallows in the firepit, and dig for worms in the compost bin. My truelove and I will hold hands and walk nowhere in particular, singing the songs of our youth, remembering how easy love is, despite how difficult marriage can be.
...my heart will skip with joy when my children call me, their caller ID bringing instant smiles and excitement that they want time with their giving tree. They will tell me the tales of the life I wished for them, sharing their woes, simultaneously breaking my heart and filling it with pride. I will wait for them to tell me that they are coming to see me or that they want me to come see them, whether they are minutes or continents away. I will do whatever it takes to make my old body available for them, just to have one more opportunity to hold them and breathe them in.
...I will spend my days in the service of others, giving time to some young kid who needs an adult friend, to someone older who needs a young friend, to causes that heal my old wounds and expose new ones. My money will come from the work I've already done, and it will be enough. My needs will be few, my wants will be fewer, my bucket will be full. I will take time to do what I enjoy, to be myself, to discover my gifts every day.
...the number of continents I've visited will outnumber the ones I haven't. I will have the opportunity to live short-term in any of a number of countries and cities. New York, London, Toronto, San Francisco, provincial France, the Riviera - at least one of these would have been my home for weeks, or months, or a year. I will have lived the lives of the locals, developed a new perspective, and captured their essence in writing or film. And home will have always been home.
...I will capture the dreams of a middle-aged woman whose life is already better than any dream, and I will share them with other dreamers, in search of fellow travelers. Y'all come along.
...I will live in a house that I designed, filled with fixtures and pieces that I picked out, on a lot that I chose because it is overlooking a body of water and has unusually large trees. I will hold my grandbabies on my lap in my porch rocker, sway with them and their parents in the hammock out back, toast marshmallows in the firepit, and dig for worms in the compost bin. My truelove and I will hold hands and walk nowhere in particular, singing the songs of our youth, remembering how easy love is, despite how difficult marriage can be.
...my heart will skip with joy when my children call me, their caller ID bringing instant smiles and excitement that they want time with their giving tree. They will tell me the tales of the life I wished for them, sharing their woes, simultaneously breaking my heart and filling it with pride. I will wait for them to tell me that they are coming to see me or that they want me to come see them, whether they are minutes or continents away. I will do whatever it takes to make my old body available for them, just to have one more opportunity to hold them and breathe them in.
...I will spend my days in the service of others, giving time to some young kid who needs an adult friend, to someone older who needs a young friend, to causes that heal my old wounds and expose new ones. My money will come from the work I've already done, and it will be enough. My needs will be few, my wants will be fewer, my bucket will be full. I will take time to do what I enjoy, to be myself, to discover my gifts every day.
...the number of continents I've visited will outnumber the ones I haven't. I will have the opportunity to live short-term in any of a number of countries and cities. New York, London, Toronto, San Francisco, provincial France, the Riviera - at least one of these would have been my home for weeks, or months, or a year. I will have lived the lives of the locals, developed a new perspective, and captured their essence in writing or film. And home will have always been home.
...I will capture the dreams of a middle-aged woman whose life is already better than any dream, and I will share them with other dreamers, in search of fellow travelers. Y'all come along.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Anticipation
Picked blackberries with the truelove last night. They grow wild everywhere along the roadsides out here in our little neck of the boonies. I love that he wants to do this more than I want to. I love that he talks me into it and we go off together like a couple of young lovers or old married people (is there much difference?), holding hands, toting buckets, devil-may-care.
You forget how brambly and prickly blackberries are until you are reaching for just one more juice-laden big'un and every article of clothing is pulling in a different direction because it's caught on a different vine. But that doesn't stop a die-hard, slightly OCD picker. There is such tremendous satisfaction in removing every ripe berry from any given cluster of vines before moving on, knowing that there will be more ripe ones the next day. Foraging like animals, sweating like pigs, paying careful attention that Brer Snake is nowhere near, we picked four cups or so before we gave up and trod through the woods to get back to the road.
So tonight we are making a blackberry pie with our harvest using some recipe found online that only called for ingredients we had on hand. Well, we only marginally had enough sugar, and couldn't find the cornstarch anywhere, so we sent out a mass text to the neighborwives and scored a few tablespoons. (Beauty part is that we found ours when we were cleaning up...) Who knows if it will turn out okay, but with enough ice cream, it's sure to satisfy, at least.
The hardest part is not picking the berries, although working for your food makes it so much more satisfying than buying it ready made. It's not waiting for the crust to reach a perfectly golden-brown state of flaky goodness. It's waiting for the darn thing to cool and set. I'm not at all hungry and have actually put on a couple of previously-lost pounds in the last few days of sloth, but I am READY for some dang pie. The anticipation is the struggle and the test of one's mettle. Truelove is going to want to cut into it as soon as it's out of the oven, but I'm going to try a little delayed gratification for once and see if I can wait until it reaches a reasonable temperature.
Then again, the ice cream cools it off, right?
You forget how brambly and prickly blackberries are until you are reaching for just one more juice-laden big'un and every article of clothing is pulling in a different direction because it's caught on a different vine. But that doesn't stop a die-hard, slightly OCD picker. There is such tremendous satisfaction in removing every ripe berry from any given cluster of vines before moving on, knowing that there will be more ripe ones the next day. Foraging like animals, sweating like pigs, paying careful attention that Brer Snake is nowhere near, we picked four cups or so before we gave up and trod through the woods to get back to the road.
So tonight we are making a blackberry pie with our harvest using some recipe found online that only called for ingredients we had on hand. Well, we only marginally had enough sugar, and couldn't find the cornstarch anywhere, so we sent out a mass text to the neighborwives and scored a few tablespoons. (Beauty part is that we found ours when we were cleaning up...) Who knows if it will turn out okay, but with enough ice cream, it's sure to satisfy, at least.
The hardest part is not picking the berries, although working for your food makes it so much more satisfying than buying it ready made. It's not waiting for the crust to reach a perfectly golden-brown state of flaky goodness. It's waiting for the darn thing to cool and set. I'm not at all hungry and have actually put on a couple of previously-lost pounds in the last few days of sloth, but I am READY for some dang pie. The anticipation is the struggle and the test of one's mettle. Truelove is going to want to cut into it as soon as it's out of the oven, but I'm going to try a little delayed gratification for once and see if I can wait until it reaches a reasonable temperature.
Then again, the ice cream cools it off, right?
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Saddle Up
Remember that scene in The Lion King when Rafiki says, "It is time" and goes all baboon-loony about Simba claiming his throne? So, that's where I am these days.
It is time to get back to the pleasure that is putting my words into a computer and seeing what comes out of them. I've neglected my writerlife for too long now. I thought about starting a few different blogs with different themes - one place for family life reflections, another for teaching perspectives, still a third for my "work" with Voyagers in Adolescence - but here's the thing: all of those are inseparable parts of this chick. So, if you're here, be prepared to never know what to expect.
It is time to assess my priorities and time expenditures. Time is so precious, and here on the first of July already, I am sensing the wasted hours so far this summer - just sitting, watching tv, thinking about getting up and doing something, and lordhavemercy the social media obsessing. The most accomplished I've felt all summer was the day I entertained myself by making a "ta-dah" list (on twitter, like a dork) instead of a "to-do" list. But it's time to make the occasional list of tasks that must be handled. It's entirely too easy to neglect my responsibilities or to pawn them off on the other people who share my life. It's even easier to neglect the responsibility to use the gifts I know I've been given. If you would, please, be patient with me and recognize that, more often than not, this blog will be random and nonsensical, very drafty, and largely unimportant. But it will exist. I will work out the kinks of making it part of my routine to share thoughts with you and let you decide if they mean anything. I know I need to develop a writing discipline. I also need to get back in touch with the other talents and/or passions that have been too long dormant. So don't expect this to be my only creative outlet!
It is time to awaken and behold all the majesty that this life holds. I can't help it that I was born a chronic optimist and that finding silver linings seems to be one of those gifts I mentioned. I don't have time for negative energy in my space, whether I create it or it surrounds me. It's high time I focus on shifting what I can and separating from what I can't shift. Mine is a charmed life, and I want to live grateful for it.
So, I'm in the saddle again, heading somewhere bound to be beautiful, hoping you'll join in the journey on occasion. I'm a glutton for attention and praise, but also a big fan of honesty. Comment, people. Interact with me. If I say something stupid, challenge me. If something here resonates, tell me your story. We all need to connect in real ways about real life. It is time.
It is time to get back to the pleasure that is putting my words into a computer and seeing what comes out of them. I've neglected my writerlife for too long now. I thought about starting a few different blogs with different themes - one place for family life reflections, another for teaching perspectives, still a third for my "work" with Voyagers in Adolescence - but here's the thing: all of those are inseparable parts of this chick. So, if you're here, be prepared to never know what to expect.
It is time to assess my priorities and time expenditures. Time is so precious, and here on the first of July already, I am sensing the wasted hours so far this summer - just sitting, watching tv, thinking about getting up and doing something, and lordhavemercy the social media obsessing. The most accomplished I've felt all summer was the day I entertained myself by making a "ta-dah" list (on twitter, like a dork) instead of a "to-do" list. But it's time to make the occasional list of tasks that must be handled. It's entirely too easy to neglect my responsibilities or to pawn them off on the other people who share my life. It's even easier to neglect the responsibility to use the gifts I know I've been given. If you would, please, be patient with me and recognize that, more often than not, this blog will be random and nonsensical, very drafty, and largely unimportant. But it will exist. I will work out the kinks of making it part of my routine to share thoughts with you and let you decide if they mean anything. I know I need to develop a writing discipline. I also need to get back in touch with the other talents and/or passions that have been too long dormant. So don't expect this to be my only creative outlet!
It is time to awaken and behold all the majesty that this life holds. I can't help it that I was born a chronic optimist and that finding silver linings seems to be one of those gifts I mentioned. I don't have time for negative energy in my space, whether I create it or it surrounds me. It's high time I focus on shifting what I can and separating from what I can't shift. Mine is a charmed life, and I want to live grateful for it.
So, I'm in the saddle again, heading somewhere bound to be beautiful, hoping you'll join in the journey on occasion. I'm a glutton for attention and praise, but also a big fan of honesty. Comment, people. Interact with me. If I say something stupid, challenge me. If something here resonates, tell me your story. We all need to connect in real ways about real life. It is time.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Oh, my blogness.
Holy cow. I popped in on my blog for the first time in foooor-eeeeeev-eeeeeerrrrrr (what movie was that? Sandlot?) and the whole stinkin' thing has changed. I don't even know or remember what I thought I was going to write about, as I am so freaked out by the new format I am seeing right now. Yikes! Learning curve alert! Woooop! wooop!
I am going to a two-day workshop on google apps in early June. Maybe I'll get some super secret blogger tips then. Heck, I don't even know how to customize my layout - I just use one of the templates google gave me - so maybe at the very least I'll figure that out. But I'm guessing I'll learn more about synchronizing calendars and sharing docs and all that. Either way, I have always considered myself reasonably tech savvy, but lately I am seeing how dusty and rusty I've become.
Working with kids makes me realize how easily they can comprehend and adapt to the torrent of technology that pummels their generation. I know I can count on them to help each other (and me) figure out all the tricks that make using applications easier. This is a good thing. But I marvel at how few of their parents respond to (or even check) their emails - would they ever join an edmodo board? Or comment on a blog their kid kept? Or are they also overwhelmed by all the screen-time in our lives? If I were to position myself (and grow into the practice) as a 21st Century Literacy teacher, requiring lots of digital thinking alongside story times and conversations and handwritten journals, would the parents be inspired to grow with their kids? OR would they be out of the loop? Where do I draw the line?
A few Saturday morning thoughts I had no intention of having, I guess...
More soon.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Reasons I Love Teaching, Episode 3,492
I don't even know if I can sufficiently describe this moment of pure joy between my fifth graders and me this morning. But I want to record it, and I've already updated my facebook status too many times for an average person to appreciate today, so here goes.
Imagine my classroom, normally a busy and inviting place with desks clumped together in work groups and a big open place on the floor for us to gather around the coffee table and share. During standardized testing, however, the desks are all in rows, spread the required three feet apart. The work we've created for the walls is all covered up in scrap paper. The comfy-ness disappears. It's just ugly.
Knowing that all little people (especially mine!) struggle with sitting in a seat for a few hours straight, and knowing that I'd need to rest my brain after pushing it to its limit all morning, I allow the kids to bring a pillow or a lovey or combination of the two (pillow pet, for example) so they can sit comfortably and then nap on the floor when they finish. Yes, they are 10 and 11 years old, but who doesn't appreciate a good nap? Especially if that nap involves a purple unicorn and a frog blanket?
So, this morning, all the little well-rested and well-fed people were in their carefully selected seats, ready for us to begin, when one of my friends asked me if I would wear his necklace so he wouldn't mess with it during the test. Picture a silver chain, just long enough to go over your head, and just manly enough without being gangsta. Add the one-inch silver cross, and you can see how one might need one's teacher to help avoid distraction. As everyone was watching him taking off the necklace and me putting it on, another friend was making sure his plush brown Snuggie was adjusted perfectly so it would stay on in a slightly-bent-forward-over-a-bubble-sheet position.
Necklace Friend to Snuggie Friend: You look like you ought to be in the choir.
Snuggie Friend: Huh?
NF: That looks like a big fuzzy choir robe!
Another Friend: Naw, he looks like a preacher!
Me: I kinda think he looks more like a monk.
(Extreme giggles all around. It doesn't take much with this crowd. Imagine them murmuring, "She said he looks like a monk! You look like a monk, man!")
Now, I haven't mentioned yet that Snuggie friend has been bringing a grey wave cap for two days, as he doesn't want his new twists to get messed up while he is napping after the test. This is critical to the story, So sorry for having waited so long to plant that little part for you! Okay, back to the room...
So I start walking around chanting, while holding my Test Administrator's Manual like a Bible in procession. Pie Jesu, Domine... Much more giggling, but it was polite, as we were trying to set a proper tone for testing, of course.
And then it hit me - a terribly clever idea, a combination of all the comedic elements right there before me. I do think before acting most of the time, but I needed some more giggles in the room, and I needed them to be my own. So I went for it.
Me to Snuggie Friend: Dude, give me the robe!
SF: Why, Ms. Hays?
Me: Trust me! Trust me! It'll be great. (I don the robe. Children are silent with anticipation.) Okay, wait for it, wait for it... (I pull the big silver cross chain out from under the Snuggie and gently place it upon the microfiber vestment) Pie Jesu Domine... (more chanting with the TAM...)
Yeah, man, we laughed. Another friend suggested that I wasn't fat enough to be a monk (A+ for that kid!), so I snatched the nearest Angry Birds Plush Pig and shoved it under the frock, continuing my chant as the portly Friar Hays. Yet another noted that I should be bald. Enter the wave cap! Snuggie Friend put it on my head, and the full effect was achieved.
Yes, friends, I was a spontaneous monk this morning. And we loved it. It will be one of those "Y'all remember when..." moments my kids will have years from now, and it brings me so much joy to think that they will also remember that it was on the morning of some silly test. Okay, maybe they won't remember that part, but I will, because it will serve as a reminder that a little levity goes a long way.
So, as poorly and quickly told as this format and my time allows, there it is. That's one of the countless reasons I love what I do and where I do it. More importantly, that's why I love the little people I get to work with every day.
(And sorry, we didn't get a picture. All of our electronics were shut off for the test, duh!)
Imagine my classroom, normally a busy and inviting place with desks clumped together in work groups and a big open place on the floor for us to gather around the coffee table and share. During standardized testing, however, the desks are all in rows, spread the required three feet apart. The work we've created for the walls is all covered up in scrap paper. The comfy-ness disappears. It's just ugly.
Knowing that all little people (especially mine!) struggle with sitting in a seat for a few hours straight, and knowing that I'd need to rest my brain after pushing it to its limit all morning, I allow the kids to bring a pillow or a lovey or combination of the two (pillow pet, for example) so they can sit comfortably and then nap on the floor when they finish. Yes, they are 10 and 11 years old, but who doesn't appreciate a good nap? Especially if that nap involves a purple unicorn and a frog blanket?
So, this morning, all the little well-rested and well-fed people were in their carefully selected seats, ready for us to begin, when one of my friends asked me if I would wear his necklace so he wouldn't mess with it during the test. Picture a silver chain, just long enough to go over your head, and just manly enough without being gangsta. Add the one-inch silver cross, and you can see how one might need one's teacher to help avoid distraction. As everyone was watching him taking off the necklace and me putting it on, another friend was making sure his plush brown Snuggie was adjusted perfectly so it would stay on in a slightly-bent-forward-over-a-bubble-sheet position.
Necklace Friend to Snuggie Friend: You look like you ought to be in the choir.
Snuggie Friend: Huh?
NF: That looks like a big fuzzy choir robe!
Another Friend: Naw, he looks like a preacher!
Me: I kinda think he looks more like a monk.
(Extreme giggles all around. It doesn't take much with this crowd. Imagine them murmuring, "She said he looks like a monk! You look like a monk, man!")
Now, I haven't mentioned yet that Snuggie friend has been bringing a grey wave cap for two days, as he doesn't want his new twists to get messed up while he is napping after the test. This is critical to the story, So sorry for having waited so long to plant that little part for you! Okay, back to the room...
So I start walking around chanting, while holding my Test Administrator's Manual like a Bible in procession. Pie Jesu, Domine... Much more giggling, but it was polite, as we were trying to set a proper tone for testing, of course.
And then it hit me - a terribly clever idea, a combination of all the comedic elements right there before me. I do think before acting most of the time, but I needed some more giggles in the room, and I needed them to be my own. So I went for it.
Me to Snuggie Friend: Dude, give me the robe!
SF: Why, Ms. Hays?
Me: Trust me! Trust me! It'll be great. (I don the robe. Children are silent with anticipation.) Okay, wait for it, wait for it... (I pull the big silver cross chain out from under the Snuggie and gently place it upon the microfiber vestment) Pie Jesu Domine... (more chanting with the TAM...)
Yeah, man, we laughed. Another friend suggested that I wasn't fat enough to be a monk (A+ for that kid!), so I snatched the nearest Angry Birds Plush Pig and shoved it under the frock, continuing my chant as the portly Friar Hays. Yet another noted that I should be bald. Enter the wave cap! Snuggie Friend put it on my head, and the full effect was achieved.
Yes, friends, I was a spontaneous monk this morning. And we loved it. It will be one of those "Y'all remember when..." moments my kids will have years from now, and it brings me so much joy to think that they will also remember that it was on the morning of some silly test. Okay, maybe they won't remember that part, but I will, because it will serve as a reminder that a little levity goes a long way.
So, as poorly and quickly told as this format and my time allows, there it is. That's one of the countless reasons I love what I do and where I do it. More importantly, that's why I love the little people I get to work with every day.
(And sorry, we didn't get a picture. All of our electronics were shut off for the test, duh!)
Monday, March 19, 2012
Mojo
A few folks whose blogs I love have recently nudged me about my absence here. One said, "And what is up with YOU not writing?" Another simply cleared her throat in my direction. But a third nailed it today by questioning whether I had lost my writing mojo.
Yeah, I think I have. And I miss my mojo. Not just my writing mojo, but my teaching mojo, my parenting mojo, my wifing mojo, my friendship mojo... You get the idea.
Some people get all miserable and grey as summer turns to winter turns to fall. Me? I think I struggle more with the transition toward the warmer months. Can you get Seasonal Affective Disorder this time of year? If so, I have it.
Those of you who teach might understand better than those who don't. This is the time of year when everything is drawing to a close. We have testing and registration and talk of who-is-teaching-what-next-year to remind us that our time with our favorite people is drawing to a close. Each time we dust the pollen off our windshields, we are reminded that there is no more hope for a much-coveted snow day this year. The days get longer, and the little people are decidedly sleepier in the afternoon. I am left with little but my thoughts and reflections about how the year has gone while faced with the fourth quarter - which inevitably is gone before you know it. All of it gets to me a little. It's a what's-done-is-done time of year. It's too late to reset, too early to stick a fork in it and call it done.
And then there is all the remembering. March means momma's birthday. April means Daddy died. May means Momma died. I don't want those months to mean those things, but they always will, just like November means Thanksgiving and December means Christmas. It's not like I make a big deal out of it, or at least I don't think I do. But I notice. And I am not at the point where I always like noticing - yet. Just today, I was working on a prompt-response challenge with my little friends and one of them said something about one reason he'd like to meet Dan Uggla is because he plays for the Braves. When I asked him, "So what?" (My sneaky way to remind them to elaborate) he said, "Because I have always loved the Braves and my grandpa loved the Braves and I would love to meet him so I could spend some time thinking about my grandpa." Now, mind you, I had taught them they can always use the "Fake Grandpa" elaboration when they can't think of any other way to explain what they mean by one of their statements. But THAT Fake Grandpa choked me up!
Anyway...
It's the time of year when I realize I have been existing more than living. I just don't like that.
(So what?)
Existing is no way to live. I want to cherish moments, appreciate wonders, and use my time fully. I want to get the junk done I need to do so I can do what I WANT to do. I long for new challenges to embrace, new accomplishments to have achieved. I need that fresh perspective spring ought to bring to kick me in the butt and keep me going, looking for my mojo, reclaiming it.
So, thank you, fellow writers and friends, for reminding me about this way to process and express all the thinking that goes on in this noggin. I'm here, like the Whos Horton heard - I am here! I am here! I am here!
Yeah, I think I have. And I miss my mojo. Not just my writing mojo, but my teaching mojo, my parenting mojo, my wifing mojo, my friendship mojo... You get the idea.
Some people get all miserable and grey as summer turns to winter turns to fall. Me? I think I struggle more with the transition toward the warmer months. Can you get Seasonal Affective Disorder this time of year? If so, I have it.
Those of you who teach might understand better than those who don't. This is the time of year when everything is drawing to a close. We have testing and registration and talk of who-is-teaching-what-next-year to remind us that our time with our favorite people is drawing to a close. Each time we dust the pollen off our windshields, we are reminded that there is no more hope for a much-coveted snow day this year. The days get longer, and the little people are decidedly sleepier in the afternoon. I am left with little but my thoughts and reflections about how the year has gone while faced with the fourth quarter - which inevitably is gone before you know it. All of it gets to me a little. It's a what's-done-is-done time of year. It's too late to reset, too early to stick a fork in it and call it done.
And then there is all the remembering. March means momma's birthday. April means Daddy died. May means Momma died. I don't want those months to mean those things, but they always will, just like November means Thanksgiving and December means Christmas. It's not like I make a big deal out of it, or at least I don't think I do. But I notice. And I am not at the point where I always like noticing - yet. Just today, I was working on a prompt-response challenge with my little friends and one of them said something about one reason he'd like to meet Dan Uggla is because he plays for the Braves. When I asked him, "So what?" (My sneaky way to remind them to elaborate) he said, "Because I have always loved the Braves and my grandpa loved the Braves and I would love to meet him so I could spend some time thinking about my grandpa." Now, mind you, I had taught them they can always use the "Fake Grandpa" elaboration when they can't think of any other way to explain what they mean by one of their statements. But THAT Fake Grandpa choked me up!
Anyway...
It's the time of year when I realize I have been existing more than living. I just don't like that.
(So what?)
Existing is no way to live. I want to cherish moments, appreciate wonders, and use my time fully. I want to get the junk done I need to do so I can do what I WANT to do. I long for new challenges to embrace, new accomplishments to have achieved. I need that fresh perspective spring ought to bring to kick me in the butt and keep me going, looking for my mojo, reclaiming it.
So, thank you, fellow writers and friends, for reminding me about this way to process and express all the thinking that goes on in this noggin. I'm here, like the Whos Horton heard - I am here! I am here! I am here!
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