Days Like This

Days like this,

You look up at the sky above you.

Days like this,

You think about the ones that love you.

All I wanna do is live my life honestly;

I just wanna wake up and see your face next to me.

Every regret I have I will go set it free;

It will be good for me.

Days like this,

You think about the ones who went before you.

Days like this,

Have you ever seen the sky such a clear blue?

All I wanna do is live my life honestly;

I just wanna wake up and see your face next to me.

Every regret I have I will go set it free;

It will be good for me.

Days like this,

You think about the ones who love you.

Days like this,

Have you ever seen the sky such a clear blue?

Over the Rhine, "Days Like This," the sort of song you listen to on a day when you're saying goodbye...

Images: the sky on one side of our house and the other: low midmorning sun in the east, clear blue and feathery-clouded skies in the west

My Last Lazy Monday Morning

You guys, I think this is my last slow, lazy, at-my-own-pace Monday morning for awhile.

and I'm very happy about that for reasons I'll explain later in the week.

This is what I did with it:

The list of things I often think I am not is fairly simple: I am not an artist or a writer.  I'm not really a journaler or an art journaler or talented or whatever.  That's not the point of this, though, and so I'll just post that disqualified here.  The whole point of this exercise it to make, and this time?  This time it's not half bad.  I rather like how it turned out, all blue and swirl and layered.  It's okay that I don't have gesso (because I'm not an Artist), so I used acrylics.  It's okay that the pages warped a bit.  It's okay that a lot of things blurred and that one of the bird stamps didn't show up all the way.  It's imperfect and that's how it's supposed to be.

It's okay that this piece of art feels really personal, really myself, and posting it here feels vulnerable.

I'm even feeling silly about the not-so-great-syntax I'm using here, sentence after sentence of unclear pronouns (what is it?).  I tell myself the structure is for rhetorical emphasis.  I don't need to worry about that.  

If you can't quite read it, the words on her neck are "i am enough" (inspiration here).

Unexpected

This summer has not been what I expected.

I thought it'd be preparing for the next school year, for planning lessons and units and professional development.  I thought it'd be certainty of the next step.  And some of it has been: I compiled a first-week-of-school set of lessons--getting-to-know-you activities, a few possible stories to read together, and methods for establishing my expectations and classroom norms.

But it's also been a summer of turning inward, of exploring my own voice and ideas.  So I've been drawing/writing/scribbling/watercoloring.

Seriously, watercolors?  I love them.  I know nothing about art media, mediums, or methods, but I'm having fun with my little bargain watercolor set.  This is all about creating, about creativity for its own sake.  If something turns out pretty?  Awesome.  If something turns out ridiculous?  Fine.  Journaling and art journaling are about expressing, about getting something down, as Julia Cameron says (I think).

And that is how this summer will continue: getting something down, not making something up.  Adventures await, and I plan to savor them and record them and remember.  So when I found this poem by Erin Morgenstern today, I knew I had to write it down and splash a sky and earth and sun around it.

I don't know what to call this post or what pictures to pair with it.  A smattering of things have filled my thoughts lately while I'm developing so many things about myself--developing the person I am as a teacher and how that balances with the person I am at home.  I'm identifying how to practice kindness by finding the space between too strict and too permissive.  I am learning to be bold, to be brave, to do some of the things that scare me...

and at every moment, I am aware that I'm exactly where I am supposed to be, learning to do what I should be doing.  And there is nothing quite like that knowledge and that sense to make even the hard days worthwhile.

Here's what I've been reading as I work through these thoughts:

The Gifts of Imperfection and I Thought it was Just Me (but it isn't) and Brené Brown's work in general have helped me work through some personal struggles and strengths, but have also had a direct impact on how I approach my students and, now, my family and friends.  In particular, recognizing shame and vulnerability and naming it in myself has helped me to see where others experience both feelings--and where those feelings motivate their actions.  Some people seem to regard Brown's work as fluff, touchy-feely, self-centered (don't read 1-star reviews, in other words), but I've found that the stories and definitions and descriptions of her experience and others have helped me translate ideas into actions.

The Power of Our Words, by Elizabeth Denton, may have been written for elementary school teachers, but translates directly into work with middle schoolers.  It builds on many ideas that I also noticed in Brown's books--shame and disrespect don't motivate us to do better, to be better.  They simply make us think we are bad, not that we've made a mistake.  Denton's book is full of practical applications and actual examples of words that guide and correct without shaming children.

I usually skip past the motivational/life-coach type blog posts that show up in my Feedly reader, but I didn't skip "Why Fear and Failure Are Your New Best Friends" from Katherine at The Beauty of Life and I'm glad.  I'm approaching a million adventures this year and sometimes I'm caught up in the fear that I won't be successful in them...but that's okay.  I have to go forward and try and learn from fears and failures.  This might be common sense, but I still need reminders to practice risk-taking, and I'm okay with that.

...and this post on the word "should" presents an idea that's sat with me lately and translated into a new approach to others: instead of looking at what people should know, should do, should think, I look at what they actually know, do, and think.  I've found, rather quickly, that I'm less frustrated with others because I realize that even if something should be different, worrying about what should be doesn't help me do anything about what is.

In a few days or weeks or whenever I have time, I'll explore these ideas,  each in their own posts.  What have you been thinking about lately?  What ideas have filled your days?

Settling

 

A blurry snapshot of my almost-settled office space.

A kitchen with countertops I thought I'd dream of for ages rather than have

and fresh-baked chocolate chip banana bread, because having a beautiful kitchen makes me want to cook.

The improbable progress a week made in our settling-in, cherry floors, and the daily work of a pup checking the perimeters of his new home.

This is home and I still cannot make full sense of the fact that it is ours and we live here and we are this lucky.  

Sometimes the internal struggle to reconcile some of the things I want to do with my life--matter in a way that blesses others' lives, to connect with students who are different from me, whose circumstances haven't been privileged the way mine have been/are, who might look at me and see only the trappings of the life I still cannot believe is mine, rather than the person who wants to see them succeed in their own way, to celebrate who they are and help them achieve their dreams--and the beauty and safety and security of this place I call home overwhelms me.

Then I look around, and realize that although I don't need this incredible space in order to have the strength and peace of mind to do all those things I want to do with my life, I do need to let myself be at peace with all these blessings.  Because letting your home be a place that brings you joy and respite means that you are even more able to be the person you want to be in the lives of students.

And there you have a few run-on sentences and fragments that tell the journey of the first week in our first home and the attitude with which I approach my twenty-fifth birthday this week.

This is Home

This is my hundredth post and I love that it is about something so wonderful.

We've arrived.

The boxes are everywhere, but thanks to our incredible family and friends, we have everything in our home and our most-needed things unpacked and I can sit quietly at the kitchen with my breakfast.  The dog wants to go out out to the fenced-in yard and come back in again and go back out again and so on...

I cannot even begin to say how blessed we have been always and especially through this new adventure.

We have a house, and it already feels like home.

Keeping Cool

This is July in our little home:
The first week, the air conditioner stopped cooling.  We put in a new filter and it helped enough.
The next week, it stopped turning on unless we fiddled with the thermostat for awhile.  Maintenance put in a new thermostat, and it worked.
The next week, it stopped turning on altogether.  Maintenance put in a new blower motor, and it worked.
This week, it stopped doing anything and smelled like toasted marshmallows.  There's a wiring problem and who knows what else.

It's getting fixed right now, and we're hoping that we'll have air conditioning in August, because August in Kentucky without air conditioning is awful.  I know, because my old car didn't have air conditioning for the last two years I drove it.

So I've been keeping it cool by enjoying the mornings before the sun is beating down and lying low in the afternoon and evening.

And I realize after a little thought that I'm actually quite fortunate to be having these problems, because I actually have an air conditioner, and also because they've come at a time when I can easily be home for the maintenance staff and now a contractor to come by.  And I'm fortunate because we are moving into a home soon with an air conditioner that's only a year old.  And I'm fortunate because this is one of the coolest summers we've had in Louisville in years.

And that is how I find grace and gratitude in the mundane and annoying.

["Fountains, Madison Sq. Parek on hot day" from the George Grantham Bain Collection of the Library of Congress, via The Commons on Flickr]

Thirteen

I don't much care for thirteens.

On my thirteenth birthday, I had strep throat and had to cancel my birthday party.  And then the unthinkable happened--as some of you might know, I was born on the eleventh of September.

And so I don't much care for thirteens.

So when the calendar turned to 2013, I wasn't as greatly optimistic about the new year as I typically am.

Yet the thirteenth year of the twenty-first century has been full of incredible beginnings--working in actual schools and this slow and steady process of buying our first home.  Thirteen isn't such a bad number--it's even in our house number, sort of.

And so I'm coming around to the number thirteen.


["House Thirteen" by Caroline/Caro's Lines on Flickr, creative commons license]

Nesting

My husband and I received the VERY exciting news that the offer we made on a house we love was accepted.  In six weeks (!!!), we'll hopefully close and be ready to move in.

And now the nesting bug has hit me awfully hard.  I'm planning up a storm, mentally arranging our things, wondering how many bookshelves I'll have to find, all the things we need to care for our yard (we'll have a yard!), if I can plant a garden, if we should buy a new sofa or keep the old one, and so on...

It's incredibly stressful but also far more exciting, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Well-wishes and advice are much appreciated!

[funny story: I searched the creative commons on flickr for "nesting" and found lots of pictures of birds, which terrify me.  so enjoy the picture of too many books instead, please?

Grace

These words from Ann Voskamp* arrived in my inbox the other day, but I only read them this morning:

Every ungracious moment means someone doesn’t understand grace.

And I thought, this all makes sense.  When we don't understand grace, when we haven't been able to receive it--from others, from God (or whatever we believe in), from ourselves--then how can we be fully gracious?  

And then I thought, what kind of grace do I need to give myself so that I can extend it to others?

It reminds me of those words I've stumbled across a few dozen times: be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.



*you may notice I reference Voskamp a lot--it is because I connect to her words in a way I haven't found in faith writing in a long time.  also, I fall for her words because she is a poet even in her prose.  the whole post, though it's more like a journal, really, can be found here

[image of downtown Louisville, looking out from The Henry Clay, where my best friend got married on the first of June in a ceremony full of grace and joy and crazy gorgeous flowers...and a heart-swelling sunset outside.]

Summer

I spent the last semester working as a sub/floater at the Alfred Binet* School, a public school that serves students with multiple disabilities.

The job was tiring, messy, and also exceptionally fun.  When kids smile--little or big--my heart swells.

And even though I have never worked with special needs students before, I found myself figuring it out with the help of many kind teachers and assistants.

Now that the school year is over, I don't know if I'll be returning in the fall or if I'll begin subbing as a teacher, rather than as an assistant.  And I realize that I'm going to miss those kids and my colleagues so much this summer.  I'm not sure when, but I'll definitely be paying them a visit, even if I don't work there.  Some of the kids might not remember me, but I'll remember them and I can't wait to see how they've grown.

(pronounced bih-'ney; named for this psychologist)

Papa, Part 2: Grinning

My Papa had this smile when he said something funny--his eyes would narrow, he'd tilt his head back just the slightest bit, and grin: mouth open, teeth apart, a sound away from a chuckle.  We didn't always get his jokes and so we usually relied on that full-face grin to know when he made a joke.  Even if the joke wasn't funny,  his expression was enough to make us laugh.

A lot of his jokes were mildly inappropriate (as in, kids wouldn't catch it), only slightly related to the conversation at hand, and quite frequently political.  Oma would usually shake her head at him (and roll her eyes, though I don't know if she realized it) and say (smiling but trying to look stern) "Frank!" in a chiding voice.  We'd all share a look and a laugh while he chuckled to himself.

And if you told a joke, and it made him laugh, his face would take on the same grin and then he'd tilt his head back further and laugh.  It was an "ahh-ha-ha-ha" kind of wheezing laugh, and I remember him slapping his knee (or the table).  He'd alway follow it with "very good, (your name--or your mother/sister/cousin/aunt's name--here), very good."

In my head, I hear his voice saying those words as I write and remember them.

We laid him to rest on Saturday.  We surrounded Oma with all of our love for her and him and each other and sobbed when the bagpipes played and laughed when scattering the ashes proved more difficult than we'd planned--as most of his plans always turned out to be.  Still, we managed--he'd surely say very good, everyone, very good.

And it was beautiful and fitting.

Papa, Part 1: Grocery Shopping

I used to drive my Papa to do his grocery shopping.  It was never because they needed more food--their two upstairs freezers were overflowing and the downstairs one was full until Cory and I moved in.  He wanted specific things, always: kefir, pickled herring, low sodium tomato sauce, and whatever happened to be on manager's special that day.  When my unofficial little sister, Abby, who considered him her adopted grandfather, began to drive him to do his errands, he even bought sushi that was discounted because it expired that day.  We always laughed about his finds and would secretly discard them at times because they were a little too old to eat.

When Papa and I went to Aldi, he would occupy the entire aisle with his wheelchair and the cart.  I always found myself apologizing to people as he ran into them or blocked their way--it was never on purpose.  He was always on the hunt.  And he would always get something for the person who drove him--a diet coke for me, a chocolate bar for Abby, and so on.  We once went to Sam's Club, where the motorized scooters are equipped with a loud beeping sound for whenever their driver backs up.  When he backed up directly into another customer's cart, which then rolled into her, he didn't notice--by then, he couldn't swivel his head anyway.  Thankfully, the woman just smiled and went on her way.  After that, I was sure not to let him out of my sight.

And whenever I drove him anywhere--Aldi, Sam's, or Meijer--he would tell me how much more each item he found would cost at Kroger, and how much better the food quality was than Wal-Mart.  He was one of those people who would rather drive across town to spend fifty cents less on a gallon of milk than buy it nearby--even when the cost of gas alone would make the trip cost more than he was actually saving.

Papa was set on being supplied against anything.  I think it is the result of being a desperately poor child during the Great Depression, living during the Cold War (true story: my Oma was pregnant with my mom and her twin sisters, and in the basement storage area in their Chicago apartment building, he set up a place to deliver the baby--they didn't know there were two yet), and being the sort of person who always has a plan.

Five or six years ago, I decided that our family motto was this: We're Walkers.  We come prepared and then go shopping.  Also, we tend to keep everything.

Will you let me reminisce over all the silly and wonderful things about my eccentric, slightly crazy, brilliant, and dearly missed grandfather?

Thank you.

When Words Are Not Enough (and you write them anyway)

For when you hear and see and read about so many things that shatter your heart.

When people aren't safe on the street.

Or inside.

When things happen that you cannot explain.

When you think this world is too much sorrow.

When you feel you cannot lift your head.

For when your struggles seem tiny

Yet you are still overwhelmed.

For those moments when you feel faint.

For when you tire of blame and division

And want to retreat inside...

Keep on hoping, keep on praying, keep on going.

This is the daily work of living even on the days that it's a fight to be an optimist and a dreamer...

Look for all of the good in this world, like the sudden startling beauty of a pear tree blossoming briefly against the bluest sky you've seen in months.

And maybe start listing your gifts as you feel gratitude birth greater hope in your heart.

One Thousand Gifts

There is an app for everything, and I just found my new favorite.  In the fall of 2011, I read Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are.  Since then, I've made a few sad attempts at keeping gratitude journals, but I always lose track or forget.  And in the meantime, I've returned to Voskamp's website on occasion.  This time, I discovered the (free!) 1000 gifts app and it's wonderfully easy to use.  You'll notice it on my twitter feed (oh, yeah, I have a twitter account!) if you follow me, and I plan to share a collection of gratitudes on a weekly basis, because I HAVE SO MANY.  Seriously.  I have SO MUCH to be thankful for, like the hot coffee next to me and the bowl of oatmeal topped with nutella in front of me and this bright morning and the unexpected extra time today to pause, linger over my breakfast, and start the week right.  Or the sight and sound of the springhouse at the side of the hill in our apartment complex and the scent of spring in the air.

It's about time I started writing this all down.

[no one asked me to write this post or try the app.  I'm just excited to start cataloguing all my little joys and having a reserve to look back upon when I need a reminder of how blessed I am]

Realization

Even as little as a month ago, I wouldn't have had the guts to write something about my beliefs on a controversial issue on Facebook.  I mean, it is just Facebook, and it's probably a little stupid/naive to think I can put a thoughtfully written post there, but I have enough faith in most of my friends, family, and acquaintances to believe that they'll extend the same decency of thoughtfulness to me.

And, of course, I made it clear that I expect compassion, thoughtfulness, and kindness in any responses to my post, since making your expectations clear is good pedagogy and I had my methods class earlier today.  It's also good practice in relationships, perhaps?

This is a little success that I'm recording.  A little bit of honesty and bravery: the first a force of habit, and the latter a struggle.

["BE BRAVE" art print by Kelli Murray; available in her Society6 Shop]

Successes

Record your successes.

Why this took me so long to realize, I don't know.  I forget my successes if I never write them, forget that I'm more capable than I give myself credit for.  

Like this: I will mentally harass myself for being late to something, because it is my worst habit and I'm only just beginning to break it.  But I'll forget that I completed that assignment and got an outstanding grade because I worked hard for it and earned it.  

There are these things that I write about teaching my someday students: how to find their voice, to tell their stories.  Then I go and forget to practice these things myself.  How can I someday expect my students to believe that their voices are worth hearing if I don't act on that belief about myself?

That's part of why blogger and I took so much time apart in recent months.  I have been looking for my voice, trying to recapture it so that I can try to teach others to find their voices, too.  That exploration came in fits and starts and although I haven't moved past my wordy sentences or over-reliance on clichés or weak verbs, my voice is making its way through onto paper and computer screen.

And that's what matters: putting words down, no matter how unpolished.

["joie de vivre" by Ana Luísa Pinto (Luminous Photography), on Flickr.  Please give credit & link back to her before sharing the image!]

Sudden Shout-Out

You guys, I sort of taught a lesson on Friday.  Off the cuff.  Because we wound up with time to fill in the class before lunch.  So I filled that time, and it went so. well.  I got into the lesson, looking at the students, and realized how amazing it is to know your kids for even a few months.  I mean, I've been tutoring for a few years, but teaching a little classroom?  That scared me, especially in front of experienced professionals.  And then I did it.  And it was fine.  And I liked it.

I've decided a few things.  One, I'm focusing on writing as I feel--not with perfect grammar, punctuation, or spelling, but rather whatever writing style is going to reflect the tone I'm trying to convey.

And I will blog when I feel like it and write more often.  I put pencil to paper in my journal two days straight and wrote here today.  That's good, right?

and this is my word this year: matter.

As in, this year, I will find ways to matter.  As soon as I put those words on paper last Wednesday night, something in me shifted, and then there were two days and two opportunities to matter.  Then the weekend arrived and I celebrated with my best friend at her bridal shower yesterday and spent today nursing a cold.

I have three instructions for myself this year, so far.  In January, I promised to be brave.  In February, I promised to be kind.  Here is March, almost past, and I've discovered that my word for the month is to matter.  All three of those words color the rest of my year.  Be brave.  Be kind.  Matter.


And for heaven's sake, stop sneezing already.


[photo of a perfectly lovely origami butterfly by Karen B. of todolwen.  I made a bunch of these last week but can't seem to get a decent photo of them]

No. 66 :: This I Believe

I cannot stop listening to this song.

"Changes Come"

Over the Rhine

Changes come,
turn my world around.
Changes come,
turn my world around. 

I have my father's hands;
I have my mother's tongue.
I look for redemption in everyone. 

I want to wear your ring;
I have a song to sing.
It ain't over, babe,
in fact, it's just begun. 

Changes come,
turn my world around.
Changes come,
bring the whole thing down. 

I want to have our baby;
some days I think that maybe
this whole world's too f----d up for any firstborn son. 

There is all this untouched beauty,
the light, the dark both running through me.
Is there still redemption for anyone? 

Changes come,
turn my world around.
Changes come,
bring the whole thing down. 

Jesus come,
turn this world around.
Jesus come,
bring the whole thing down.

[edited to add the jump]

No. 59

I was going to tell you about my puppy's story last week.  But then taking care of him, school, marriage, and myself got to be far too much for a few days, and his story had to wait a bit, because it breaks my heart.  I debated sharing at all.  It's not a story I liked hearing and I almost wish it could be buried.  But we've given little Jack a happy home and the story a happy ending, so I will share.