Friends and Stuff

Ornaments of 2001

I began cleaning up Christmas with the plan to sort, weed out, and reorganize our decorations. I hoped to resent the Post-Holiday Fer of 2019 less than I did the 2018 Me when I opened our haphazardly and hastily packed boxes of decorations and ornaments this season.  I imagined myself testing for sparks of joy a la Marie Kondo to determine which tchotchkes to keep and which to discard.  I pictured fewer bins of decor in the garage.  I visualized a minimalist Christmas this December.

I enlisted Middle Sis, Tootsie, and her cousin to de-ornament the tree and my grand plans were quickly abandoned when one by one, the ornaments some of my oldest friends sent to me back in 2001 were plopped in my lap. 

In 2001 my then-fiance/now-husband and I bought our first house.  Amidst counting pennies from our change jar and trying to believe we'd "grow into" our mortgage (as our broker cheerfully reassured us we would), we packed boxes and piled them in the carport for ferrying across the bridge to our new (old) house and neighborhood.  The rental house we were leaving opened onto an alley, as do numerous rentals in the town in which we grew up.  Alleys in Coronado have their own characters, stories, and rules to live by.  Everyone knows that furniture and discards placed along the alley are up for grabs.  And nothing abandoned in an alley lasts long.

But my boxes of Christmas ornaments were stacked temporarily at the top of our carport driveway, nestled against our storage space attached to the house (in lieu of a garage).  Inside those boxes were the ornaments my parents had given me each year of my 30, often with a theme matching a family trip or significant event.  It's safe to say that those ornaments were probably the first, second, or third items I would grab in the event of fire, along with photo albums and some sentimental jewelry.

Needless to spell out, during the short time I and my fiance were away from the house, those boxes were taken.  All my ornaments.  I was crushed.

But because those were the only boxes left there, I figured whoever took them was likely disappointed or at least not interested in the contents and might return or discard them after recognizing their sentimental value.  It was 2001, so I placed an ad in the local paper with a passionate plea for their return, to no avail.  I lamented their loss to everyone I knew.

My parents, it turned out, had some duplicates of our annual ornaments which they gave me.  Family friends and students presented me with new ornaments. 

And then my high school friend group organized to send me ornaments from their current homes across the US.  The dolphin from my friend's annual holiday Hawaii trip is missing its tail, but the significance of not only the ornament, but those annual family trips which don't happen as frequently, sustains.

I learned in 2001 that beloved ornaments, like so many other material things, are just "stuff."  And while seemingly irreplaceable, if those ornaments my buddies sent me 18 years ago were to disappear tomorrow, I'd know that my friends, who remain true and present today, would come through. Instead of new ornaments, their enduring friendship is all I really need.

So sorry, Marie Kondo, this isn't the year for tossing ornaments.  And cheers to lifelong friends, true sparks of joy.

List: 2015 Thanksgiving Gratitudes

My multiple, ample, excessive cups runneth over.  I am pausing to appreciate the bounty.

Gratitudes:

1.  My husband with infinite patience for my job and its demands, as well as my habits... He's a rare find, this man, this father, this more-than-co-partner.  He inspires me with his patience, awareness of local and global issues, and earnest desire to teach, guide, and love our girls and pets.

2.  My daughters, who in their own unique ways give to their world, to their family, and to me.  As they and I grow older, I more deeply recognize how they reflect and gently guide me to be their better model and supporter.  Big Sis has discipline and drive as well as creativity and tenderness for family. Middle Sis celebrates a joie de vivre (goofiness) that is contagious, and a natural penchant for taking care of younger children. Tootsie is a force of nature, survivor of minor mishaps, talented copycat, and keen observer of all that occurs around her. Thank goodness she, our last, is a snuggler, too.

3.  My parents who are here and available for great conversation, family meals, childcare, professional mentorship, cheerleading, appropriate course corrections, financial assistance, grandparental cheerleading and support, and a safe place where we can flock.

4.  Extended family and friends who are wise and honest as well as forgiving and loyal and generous, and who step in, pick up our kids, create cousin company and aunt and uncle admiration, offer guidance, make us laugh, reassure, invite us over as well as come over, and support us unconditionally through life's mishaps.

5.  My job, which affords me the opportunity to bask every day in the company of people who exemplify what's possible:   Inspiring, creative, selfless professionals dedicated to enriching young people's minds and souls; and teenagers who are hilarious, infinitely intelligent, bursting with energy and potential, generous, insightful, wise beyond their years, and daily reminders that we adults don't know or control everything. Working in a public school is real work with real people and real rewards, and I'm grateful that the days that await me are full of problem solving, dreaming, teaching and learning, and evidence of what matters. 

6. Our neighborhood of community givers, activists, artists, business owners, non-profit supporters, hard workers, volunteers, and dreamers. How I love this place we've invested in and where we've bought two homes. Our environment boasts canyons, parks, playgrounds, trails, craftsman homes, hills, narrow streets, old trees, raccoons, coyotes, opossum, skunk, hawks, squirrels, rabbits, and tumbleweeds. 

7.  Our daughters' schools:  We are in our tenth year of appreciating the play-oriented, multi-age, loving preschool which has helped raise our girls. Middle Sis is attending our incredible neighborhood elementary school with its loyal and passionate teachers, tireless parent and community volunteers, and unparalleled performing arts, garden, and enrichment programs. Big Sis attends a large urban middle school where her teachers and peers, who represent true international diversity, inspire her. We love that these schools give awards for qualities and attributes versus achievements, and invite us to both shadow and participate in our kids' daily educational experiences.  

8.  My health and the health of my loved ones, which I do not take for granted. 

9.  Our house, which has had to compete with our cozy first home, but which has won me over with its peace and quiet, windows, space, views, safe cul de sac for Big Wheel races and skateboarding, and room for guests and gatherings. 

10.  Human tenderness:  One of life's pleasures is noticing the sweet spots, when siblings love on one another, when teammates share a victory or poignant loss, when acts of kindness happen spontaneously out there in the world.  I feel like I am often front row for those beautiful moments which make living worth it and humanity make sense.  

 Additional Gratitudes:

1.  Good books, good art, and good music.  I am so fortunate to know people who create all three, and my early mornings and late evenings rely on their accessibility and power to deepen my sense of my own existence.  

2.  Those who "let it go."  Ain't got time to hold on to grudges, dwell on disturbances, and generally make big deals. I am increasingly grateful for and drawn to people who keep moving forward, focused on solutions, and with a better, peaceful world in mind.  (After venting over a pint or glass).  

3.  Our coffeemaker with a timer (and the guy who loads it each evening).  My morning cup of coffee, secured before my morning pee, is an indulgence I appreciate EVERY DAY. 

4.  My iPad:  Its lit screen has allowed me to read with the lights off while our baby/toddler slumbers beside me. My books, my music, articles, photos, Facebook...all here.  

5.  Running.  Also known as jogging, limping, leaping, stumbling...we'll take it all.  

6.  Youth Soccer:  Our daughters play a lot of soccer and we spend a lot of time at games.  But the sidelines are where we've met amazing families and learned a few things about the culture of our neighborhood, kids' sports, and parenting.  

7.  Beautiful things and places:  The moon, my friend's living room, beach rocks at sunset, cloudscapes, that necklace, twinkling lights, flowers, architecture, fonts, the pattern on that fabric, your haircut, a garden.  

8.  Food:  I'm fortunate to have a brother who is a chef, a daughter who is a foodie, and a CSA box full of fresh vegetables each week.  I love cooking; I love combining flavors; I love the privilege of eating something different every day.   
9.  Comfy clothes.  The older I get, the more I appreciate an outfit comparable to mashed potatoes.  Soft, warm, unobtrusive, dependable, goes with anything.
10.  Funny stuff:  jokes, memes, videos, stories, our toddler, your mishap, Jimmy Fallon, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert...it's such a serious place, this world.  Cats afraid of cucumbers can make it all okay.  

2015: In Which Lice Appears to Be More Important Than Family News

Well, hello there 2015; I'm finally getting around to acknowledging your arrival.  We greeted you in the company of my parents with a champagne toast, fresh off the plane from a wonderful visit in the Caribbean with my brother’s family, where seven cousins, two extra aunties, as well as dogs, cats (both young and old and ailing*), guinea pigs, iguanas, geckos, and mosquitoes shared a house with a view of the sea.  We swam, ate, hiked, cooked, played football and baseball, talked, snuggled, and mostly just enjoyed being related and being together.  Tootsie soaked up love and attention twelve-fold. 

2015 opened with Middle Sis’s 3^rd grade teacher’s resolution that There Shall Be No More Lice in her classroom (even she contracted the critters, poor lady).  I’ll be discreet and share that we were intimately involved in a lice intervention the day before school resumed, and it was only a week later that we received the teacher’s email of surrender:  “Lice Is Back.”  If one can conjure humor while managing the specter or reality of lice, there’s a certain comedy to be recognized in its effects on otherwise sane-appearing and level-headed mothers.  Creatures so tiny with such magnitude of power to bring successful, confident, resourceful women to their knees!  We join a sisterhood around the trauma of lice, a sorority of horror and sharing of remedies, with crying and raw-scalped children who are victims of and audience to the drama of slathering, combing, shampooing, laundering, drying, spending, rinsing and repeating. 

Lice is prehistoric.  Lice doesn’t discriminate.  Lice will never be vanquished.  It’s kind of awesome, and I mean that literally, how the little buggers maintain their hegemony over us, no matter how rich, educated, clean, willful, and powerful we think we are.  It’s only our Type-A vigilance, our determination, that keeps the villains from rising up in whole new civilizations, complete with hierarchies and alphabets.

[And here's where Big Sis points out with disdain that I've devoted more of this blog post on lice than I have on our trip to the USVI--Ed.]

Big Sis wants No Part of Lice, so while I was out of the house for a few hours one day, she helpfully stripped our couches, beds, and pillows and generated a mountain of (quite possibly) unnecessary laundry.  It wasn’t long after I recovered from my own grousing and folding of sheets and towels that our elderly dog’s bladder control surrendered.  Into the washer and dryer went multiple loads of dog bedding and towels.  And it wasn’t long after I committed myself to the cycle of dog clean-ups that our washing machine surrendered.  And it wasn’t long before the washing machine broke that Husband conveniently left town.  Right after that I recognized that Tootsie had Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease.  Right after that our babysitter fell ill with a horrible flu.  Right after that Tootsie spent some time in my office at school.  Right after that I had my own cry right there in my office.  And my mother’s help and proximity became valuable AGAIN.  Not to mention her washing machine.

Meanwhile, Husband and Middle Sis were in Arlington, where his father was interred at the National Cemetery.  The special ceremony was on Husband’s birthday, and he was surrounded by a crowd of family members.  He and Middle Sis visited sites in Washington D.C., and bonded with cousins Middle Sis had never met.  The three of us who remained at home sent our hearts, and Big Sis worked through her disappointment over not attending and experiencing all the family bonding back East.    

And Middle Sis returned home last night with an eye infection* and was excluded from school today.  SIGH. 

Some weeks just bring more gifts than others.  I'm feeling gratitude that Husband is back, Middle Sis's eye is healing, Tootsie seems healthy, dog has puppy pads to pee on, we don't appear to have lice, and we've got a three-day weekend to purchase a new washer.  

Onward!

Easter Egg Cake Pops, Executed

We rallied and pulled off our Easter Egg Cake Pops.  Our project was saved from jettisoning by a lucky find in a Costco "Cake Pop" making set, which included colored candy coating discs, cake pop sticks, sprinkles, and a styrofoam platform for propping the pops.  We ditched the cake mix part of the set, because our recipe requires only a package of Oreo cookies and a package of cream cheese, food-processed, chilled, and shaped into eggs by little hands (no baking!).  We dipped them in the melted candy discs, sprinkled them--and then used the remnants of each melted candy color to make frosting swirls on some of the pops.  We nestled the "duds" that fell off their sticks into the paper grass. 

Voila!

Easter Ideas to Execute or Just...Consider

Last weekend the girls and I were feeling crafty, and the Easter box from the garage provided some inspiration.  We created a simple papier mache/decoupage egg project out of three materials:  plastic eggs, cut/torn tissue paper, and gluey water. 

All the eggs are waiting for now is a little Modge Podge shellacking, or some glitter glue stripes or ribbon, stickers, or...?  Note:  littler fingers can get frustrated with the gooey tissue paper...but I, who had many more important tasks to accomplish, found decorating these eggs (and "fixing" Little Sis's attempts) to be conveniently soothing and distracting.

We're going to a party on Saturday, and I'm tempted to make these cake pops (find recipe here):

We could shape them into eggy ovals and cover them with white chocolate and decorate...they don't require baking, and don't have eggs...perfect for our friend with allergies.   

But there's a very real possibility that the Easter Bunny will never get around to Modge Podge-ing the eggs above (I believe the Podge is packed in the storage container), and has enough to do figuring out how she's going to fill some baskets (and hide some eggs QUIETLY) on Sunday. 

What about you?  Any dyeing or decorating or basket-filling buds of inspiration?

List: Christmas Wonderfulness

1.  Friday was the first night of Winter Break, and we grabbed an auntie and headed to the mall to sit on Santa's lap, eat dinner at a restaurant where you order food with an iPad, and do a little shopping and a lot of soaking up the spirit and songs and window displays.  We started the evening with rockstar parking and ended it by finding a few funny gifts for friends.  It was the perfect start to some time off with family. 

2.  BFF Missy and her kids established an assembly line of toiletries and snacks at their house to make sock care packages for folks who are homeless. Big and Little Sis got to participate in the creation of a few of these stockings and we gave them out to brothers and sisters camping out under the freeway by our house. Thanks for the inspiration and opportunity, buddy.

3.  We came home from our annual Christmas Eve dinner tradition of red and green soups at Mammom's and Bampa's (minus Mammom and Bampa, who are with my sister and her husband and their three boys in Oregon) and I headed down the block to drop off a gift at our neighbor's house.  "Come back in ten minutes!" my neighbor/coworker exhorted us.  "You'll be just in time for Grandpa to play the accordion and our Christmas singalong!" 

I'm not one to turn down an accordion occasion, and it was as awesome as I thought it would be, with Grandpa accompanying and shouting out cues before various verses, "All the ladies now!" and a house full of family and friends.  Just when we thought the festivities were over, The Talent Competition was announced.  The first act was a family of red-nosed reindeer playing "Rudolph" on a keyboard.  Big Sis stepped up to be the second and last act, and won the competition with "If I Only Had a Brain" on the keyboard.  The prizes were scratch-off lottery tickets, and our neighbor host promised instant cash-out.  Big Sis walked away with $11 (from a party we crashed), while the second-place act reminded us that if it weren't for their keyboard...

4.  And then we returned home for construction time.  Christmas Wonderfulness features the cooperation and enthusiasm of determined Auntie and Honorary Auntie as well as Husband in the assembly of a key Santa gift, which we completed at midnight.  And note:  Honorary Auntie had already assembled one of these items in her own workshop at home the week prior, before we determined it was too big for the girls' bedroom.  And she still agreed to assemble one desk more.  Love.

5.  Big Sis has been asking for her own room.  And though we contemplated making a move to a different house this year, it wasn't meant to be (and wouldn't necessarily result in "own rooms," either).  Though she asked for a Kindle, Big Sis got "room of her own" for Christmas this year, in the form of a desk, lamp, blotter/calendar, bulletin board, and retro-refurbished chair set up in a corner of the bedroom which is now all hers.  I haven't been so excited about a gift in a long time. 

6.  Big Sis and Little Sis independently thought of and chose very thoughtful gifts for each other, and it made me teary to watch them exchange presents and observe their reactions.

7.  We spent mid-Christmas Day with Husband's family at our niece's house, where she hosted a scrambled-egg-and-bacon breakfast a la Grandma Shirley.  In keeping with tradition, we were packed in a small house and spilling out of doors, where there was scooter-riding, remote-control-helicopter-flying, and all combinations of relatives sharing conversations and love. 

8.  One of the coolest gifts received this year was for Big Sis--a set of juggling sticks from our niece.  Our niece demonstrated her crazy stick skills, inspiring Big Sis, who spent a good part of the morning practicing until she could catch one after flipping it in the air. 

9.  My dad's sister, Auntie, has stayed at our house this year--on the futon couch in the living room as that is the only "guest room" we've got.  That puts her front and center for all our goings-on and it's been great to have a guest so game.  Also, we went for a jog her first morning here...and she kicked my tail.  Note to self:  be fit like her when I'm 62. 

10.  We headed back to Mammom's and Bampa's for Christmas Dinner, which was actually breakfast made by my chef brother:  waffles, apple-cider doughnuts, and the family tradition of huevos rancheros (with fresh avocado).  We ate till stuffed, exchanged gifts, and then played Catch Phrase with the kids.  We came home with hearts and tummies full. 

Though our families couldn't all be together, we felt a special appreciation for the efforts of everyone near and far to create connections and continue traditions. 

And...another year of believing:  Magic.

On Fairy Bundles and Fleeting Moments

It was a warm September afternoon, and we were in the backyard entertaining friends while our kids busied themselves scurrying in and out of the house.  They hula-hooped and jumped rope and petted the rabbit and carried dolls and dragged one another around in the wagon and drew and glued and made herb potions from the garden and created habitats for creatures and hung fairy bundles from branches.  We paid half attention to their comings and goings and doings, oohing over artifacts they shared, applauding their short performances, and admiring feats of skill. 

But children leave wakes that demand our examination and I don't mean wet towels and dirty socks. I mean carefully-laid-out tea parties and Lego-Squinky-Polly-Pocket-dollhouse-furniture complexes and toys lined up outside the bedroom in orderly avoidance.  These are the ephemera we absentmindedly tidy up, trip over, and vacuum.

On that September evening, though, as I swept the backyard for dishes and glasses and wayward dolls,  I found a potted tree on our patio adorned with elfish ornaments:  coconut husks filled with cotton, leaves, and flower petals; bows tied on branches; tufts of dried wild grasses and blossoms wrapped in ribbon.  By night the breeze would blow at least one of the delicate packages asunder.  So I grabbed my camera.

May you find fairy bundles in the backyard...and magic all year long

Our holiday card this year features a photo of that backyard fairy bundle, my reminder to myself and friends that beautiful moments occur beneath our noses, and we might miss the magic if we look away (or at our phones) too often.

I'm acknowledging that "dragons live forever, but not so little boys."  That fairies fly away and "painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys."

But I also have to fight an urge to mourn the passing of days and childish ways.  Wonder, I'm noticing, is around the bend at every stage if I resolve to put nostalgia in its proper positive place and embrace the present.

This season, I celebrate the fairy bundle:  my daughters' gift of now.

Gratitude That Made Me Gulp

On Saturday I found a letter in the mail that looked like a holiday card (isn't it fun to open mail this month?).  I recognized the surname in the return address area and ripped open the envelope in anticipation. 

It was a thank-you card.  It was a thank-you card from Florence's parents, the cousin of one of my close friends from college and his wife.  It was a card from their family, expressing gratitude for a donation I made in 2010 to COTA, the Children's Organ Transplant Association. 

It was the kind of thank-you note I suggested writing a few weeks ago.  Except that this note came from the parents of a little six-year-old girl who died in March of a rare disease called autoimmune encephalitis.  Florence's spark, and her life and her battle, inspired all sorts of support (see Mom-101's plea on behalf of her family here and here and here, and the COTA page to read Florence's story). 

Her family's blog is a poignant and inspiring glimpse of their journey with Florence, her big sister, and each other.  And still, they March Forth (as they plan an event to honor Florence that "evokes moving forward, focusing on children, improving medical care, curing rare diseases, and helping families and kids.") 

I imagine Florence's mom and dad writing hundreds of notes of gratitude to donors and supporters during a season when many of us are scribbling signatures on photocards featuring healthy families. 

They're reaching out to their village. 

In this time of giving, here are two ways to honor the life of Florence and other children needing  transplants:

Duke's Pediatric Bone Marrow Unit's Family Support Program:  Checks should be made out to Duke University with "In Memory of Florence McDow" in the memo line. They should be mailed to:

Family Support Program
Duke University Medical Center
1400 Morreene Rd.
Durham, NC 27705

You can also donate to COTA (Children's Organ Transplant Association) here. 

Thank YOU, McDow family.

Thank you...Again!

One of the challenges of weeding out toys and stuffed animals from our daughters' room is that they have an uncanny memory for who gave them what, and when.  The impassioned pleas tend to wear me down.  Hence, the constant need to purge. 

They come by it honestly, though.  In my own daily life I find I, too, have great affection for stuff other people have given us. Generous friends gave us beautiful wedding gifts (paintings and a homemade quilt come easily to mind), but there's also a dish towel I use that was part of a gift from my high school physics teacher and friend, and water goblets chosen by a fellow book club member who loved hers so much she had to give us some.  I know who gave us the fluffy Pottery Barn bath towels, our KitchenAid mixer, and our salad bowl set. 

From time to time I've sent a second thank-you note to someone whose gift keeps giving, so they know their wedding present was more than another box we opened post-Honeymoon, more than another plate or towel on a shelf.  But maybe what I'm really communicating is, "Hey, you've been significant in our lives for a long time, and I'm thankful for you."

So, with a week left before we celebrate gratitude with our family and turkey and mashed potatoes, I'm going to send out some thank-you notes.

Remember when you were waiting on the doorstep of our newly-purchased home with a six-pack of beer as we turned the keys in the door for the first time?  We do too; thanks!

I'm going to thank the friend who sneakily bought me a necklace I admired--the same friend whose  patience and generosity with me manifests in so many ways.

There's a colleague of mine who reads this blog and listens to me carefully, finding ways to encourage my interests with books in the mail and other unexpected gifts.  I'm grateful for him and people like him. 

What about you?  Whom can you thank for their enduring gifts this Thanksgiving?

Oh Beautiful Day

Feeling so grateful for where we live, and for how we live.

We had a wonderful family day at the beach with friends:  frisbee, sandcastles, rock climbing, tidepools, sand-bombs-against-rocks throwing, chasing, basking, dancing.

Thank you, veterans, for this day of being free and together. 

Sugar Crashing

This morning, still woozy from sleep and high blood sugar, Little Sis grabbed her bag of candy and snuggled with it on the couch, brandishing a full-sized Kit Kat with wonder and anticipation.  On my way out the door for work, and in the gentlest way possible, I let her know we'd be talking this evening about our plan for Hallo-wean-ing ourselves off an entire cache of candy. 

Last night Little Sis was an adorable Dorothy as promised, with only a little concern about my braiding skills (she likes them tight; I confess that I am a loose plaiter).  Big Sis, who planned to be a veterinarian, had an alter-identity crisis ("But, Mom!  No one is going to be a job for Halloween!") and effected a late-in-game switcheroo to "Island Princess," which, despite my shallow experience with the genre, I believe she pulled off tropically and triumphantly (if not, at first, tearfully). 

Note:  one costume I won't ever try to make myself:  Fourth Grader. It's far too shape-shifting. 

I went as a bat.  Or as a cat, or a witch, depending on your interpretation and commitment to scrutinizing my accessories.  It was another year of raiding the children's costume crate, so my bat wings extended only to my elbows. 

Grandparents and aunts and uncle joined the trick-or-treating entourage through our friendly neighborhood.  We came home with only 45 minutes or so left of peak scavenging left, but threw ourselves wholeheartedly into giving the older trick-or-treaters a hard time while the girls sorted and sifted their bounty.

When a teenager wearing street clothes and a gratuitous mask approached the porch, my brother greeted him.  "That's pretty weak, man," he nodded at the kid's mask.

The young man shrugged as he held out his candy bag.  "Oh yeah, well, it's the recession."

P.S.  We told the girls they could choose 10 pieces of candy to keep, and we'd give them $10 for the rest.  How do you negotiate the gobs of gobstoppers and gummies?

Apparently I am the Witch of the West

Little Sis sat down at the counter at Mammom's and Bampa's to write about one of her favorite holidays while we finished preparing Sunday night dinner.  Someone is excited about Halloween.  I am excited about her frankenheart in the upper right-hand corner.

It is allmost Halloween night I am going to be dorothy in the wizard of oz and my sister is going to be a animal nurse my mom is going to be the witch of the west and my friend is going to be a fairy I love halloween.

On another Halloween note, if you haven't seen the movie Hotel Transylvania, treat yourself (no trick!) and your little goblins.  It's hilarious.

'Tis the Season

I'm appreciating my Facebook Friendships with former students lately.  My page is full of college kids counting down days till they return to our hometown, snapshots of the bridge to our small city, and taggings of old friends with new:  "I wish you could meet my roommate/high school buddy; you two would love each other!"  Ahhhh, it makes me nostalgic. 

'Tis the season for lamentations about finals, too.  And I have some sympathy for my modern-day earnest scholar-friends.  I mean, it was hard enough to study in college during the age of doors with dry-erase boards and landlines, the time of no cell phones or computers.  Can you imagine the distractions these days?  The texts?  The TV shows and movies downloaded to the device sitting right there on your desk?  I can't!  Even without those temptations I managed to distract myself in the library, making new friends and talking to lampshades if all else failed.  But I also can't imagine how I found my friends on weekends in college, without phones and "check-ins" and such, what with the whimsy of "maybe I'll hit up that frat party...no wait, I changed my mind; I'm gonna go to the improv show instead."  Nevertheless, I somehow managed a healthy serendipitous social life. 

But I remember final exams.  I remember that when I made my airline reservations in the fall with a return ticket at the end of the semester, I'd always have to book my flight on the last possible day of finals, just in case one of the courses I chose scheduled a final for that 2:00 PM slot on December 22nd.  Most of the time, I had a day or two post-exams to pack and languish in the dorm with the few folks stuck studying, but fall semester junior year, I had the last final on the last day, with a flight out early the next morning.  I would be studying abroad in Italy during spring semester, which meant I had to pack All My Stuff and haul it into the basement that night after my final, where it would await my return fall of senior year. 

I wasn't looking forward to this packing and hauling at all.  I wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye to my boyfriend for an eight-month separation.  The only thing I was glad about was being done with my History of China final, which I thought I had rocked.  That class was my favorite thus far; I had actually read the whole book my professor wrote along with associated readings, and was fascinated by the twists and turns in Chinese politics juxtaposed with the constants of its culture.  To celebrate the end of finals, I planned to enjoy a leisurely Last Supper with friends in the dining hall and then burn the midnight oil packing. 

There's a joke that circulated during finals about a kid taking his exam who didn't heed the warning to turn in his blue books immediately when the exam session was over.  He sat, instead, at his desk and continued to write, even as he was threatened by the proctor that his exam would not be graded.  When he finally finished, he carried his blue books to the front of the lecture hall, where the exasperated T.A. stood beside a table stacked with completed exams. 

"Do you know who I am?" he challenged the T.A.

"No...?" replied the T.A. 

"Good," said the student, as he shoved his blue books into the middle of the pile of exams.  "Have a great holiday!"

Turns out I would have my own blue book mishap, no joke.  After dinner, I returned to my dorm room with my backpack to begin sorting, packing, cleaning, and lugging.  I emptied my backpack first.  I had a habit of grabbing extra blank blue books and using a few for notes or outlining while I was taking exams.  I had turned in the essays and answers and thrown the blue books with notes into my backpack.  Or so I thought.  I recall my gut turning over and blood draining from my face as I realized that instead, I had taken my exam books with me, and turned in my notes.  On the last day of finals.  By this time, hours had gone by, hours in which classroom buildings were being locked, T.A.s were loading up cars and heading home for the holidays, and professors were long gone.  Hours during which I, conceivably, could have been writing exam answers in my room with my course books open, only to claim later that I accidentally turned in the wrong blue books.  I felt completely, hopelessly, irrevocably screwed. 

When I was finally able to stop flapping my arms, pacing, and hyperventilating, I did the only thing I could do:  call my T.A.  She was my discussion section leader, and we had made conversation after class a number of times.  I admired her; she was wise and organized and kind.  She would actually know who I was.  Maybe trust me.  If I could find her. 

Her number was listed in the phone book, miraculously, and I left a long, rambling, and desperate message on her answering machine.  And then commenced worrying and packing and bemoaning my plight and stupidity.  By the time she returned my call I was resigned to failing the class, the class I loved with the professor who was legendary and my cool T.A.  But she returned my call, and she listened to me and believed me and we made arrangements for me to leave my exam books in her grad school mailbox.  I had probably never felt more relief and gratitude combined before. 

Ah, that T.A. with her mercy and trust in me.  Now an educator myself, I've never forgotten the value of those two gifts in my work with growing and developing humans.  But the real moral of the story lies in relationships.  Had I not connected with my T.A., and had she not made herself available to students, I might have had some insightful but worthless essays, short answers, and identification pairs to take home for the holidays, as well as a bad grade in that awesome history class. 

So, my Facebook friends with finals, make yourself known to your professors, T.A.s, deans, and R.A.s (in all the right ways, of course).  Stay connected with old friends (and teachers!) and bring your two worlds--former and current--together when you can.  Pay forward the strong connections you've cultivated by reaching out to underclassmen and younger siblings.  Share your wisdom and mercy.  Be honest.  Don't forget to double-check your tests and exams and slow down a little.

And while I am dispensing free advice, I'll throw in one more helpful hint:  If you happen to enroll in a class in which the professor announces on the first day that your grade will be based on either the midterm and final, or just the final exam--your choice!--TAKE THE MIDTERM, PEOPLE.  It turns out you can't read all the books about U.S. History from 1900 to 1950 in a week.  Trust me on this one. 

Good luck!  A full night's sleep is right around the corner.

The Write Gift

I received former student Lindsey's holiday card in the mail yesterday.  Along with being a gifted poet and person, Lindsey creates and sells handmade paper products.  Her card was hand-stamped (read her process here) and included a postage-stamped postcard to tear off and send someone (Lindsey, by the way, was the inspiration behind my post about postcards earlier this year).  How wonderful is a gift which comes with a gift you can turn and send someone?  Pretty niftily wonderful, I should say.

So I thought about gifts of writing and their value.  And about how low cost they are but also how difficult they can be to produce.  Which, nevertheless, should not deter you (despite the fact that I haven't been able to write here on this blog for the past week and a half, due in part to my obsession with Friday Night Lights, and to various and sundry life events alternately inspiring stress, relief, and mental zombiehood).  Creativity often requires a nudge, a nugget.  Thus I am offering you an idea for writing to and for someone you love. 

Personally, I feel a personal letter written on weighty, significant, or beautiful paper with a pen you love, and stamped and sent, is a simple, lovely, and all-too-rare gift. 

Poems win, though.  And one of my favorites to use as a template for writing a tribute to someone is Sandra Cisneros's "Abuelito Who."  I once posted my own version about Big Sis on her birthday, and here is an example I wrote about a former student:

Jared

Jared who is a silent redwood in a willow forest
And asks who is a true friend
Who is songs and docks
Who is camp and a green jacket
Whose smile is genuine
Is writing a story
Who tells us to listen
Who tells us be gentle
Whose eyes are pleading
Is making friends
Remembers summers and boats
Is hopeful
Is a cathedral of joyful voices
Is sad give him a hug
Has moved one time too many
Who hears chords in his head
Is adjectives and verses and tenors
Who soothes and serves and serves and soothes
Is the teaching tree in the listening forest
Asking who is a true friend
Who is a true friend who?

Try it.  I know I'd much rather have a poem (like my husband's wedding vows to me, which are framed and memorialized) than a new water heater.

Hallowinning

People, it's barely halfway through the month, and I am proud to report that we have halfway decorated our home and have two complete Halloween costumes waiting to be worn.  They're being worn every day, as a matter of fact.  We have a witch and an Alice in Wonderland, and there will be No Changing of Minds.  Instead of changing their minds, our spooky duet is simply planning costumes for 2012 and '13. 

Mama was saved this year from the financial black hole which is Homemade Costumes.  I mean, I was proud of the mermaid costume I sewed in '09, but it wound up costing the equivalent of a prom dress (and I have enough leftover fabric to make one) and my relationship with the sewing machine.  Little Sis already owns a blue dress the perfect hue and style for Alice; however, when I researched "ruffled white apron" online, I found that the whole Alice costume shebang, which includes a plastic noggin-hurting headband, was cheaper than the apron.  And Big Sis can wear her black shirt, black skirt, and black boots post-Halloween.  Or tomorrow, which she is dying to do. 

Meanwhile, "krackle" nail polish is all the rage at high school.  I learn about the latest in accessories and hair styles at long work meetings when my observational skills sometimes shift to the characters in attendance.  A colleague was sporting this spooky lacquer combo, and I had to get me some.  You can layer any color underneath, and the "krackle" polish splinters upon application.  Check it out!



Not cracking under the pressure of Halloween planning



Happy Valentine's Day

Don't be afrayed, strong heart. 

"Let yourself be silently drawn by the pull of what you really love."  --Rumi

January, Joy

Our cousin from (snowy) Colorado is visiting and we spent a glorious day at the beach today with him. 

Truly, does it get better than this:  watching kiddoes play together, outside, on a beautiful day? 

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. 

Cruise Chronicles

We spent the last week virtually internet- and cell-phone free on a cruise to Mexico with 22 extended family members, special thanks to Mammom and Bampa. 

As I type, the room is rocking...

Monday, December 27

Last night I could not sleep as I anxiously conjured visions of children falling overboard.  My mind played out the entire grim scenario, vividly, repeatedly:  the plunging, the flailing, the ship speeding away, the hopelessness and helplessness...

Feeling only slightly more rational this morning, I checked our kids into Kids' Camp (no balconies or railings in sight), lost my party, and lounged alone by the pool reading The Sun.  I caught only snatches of dialogue from the family sitting ahead of me but my ears perked up when a woman mentioned that "statistically, on an eight-day cruise of a few thousand people, someone on board dies." 

Great.

Tuesday, December 28

I figured out why cruising is not my ideal vacation.  It's not the crowds or claustrophobia--there are plenty of perks to make up for those relative cons.  It's the lack of living things, like plants.  I've come to equate vacation with escape to beautiful natural surroundings or exotic locales.  From the cruise ship, one experiences nature and foreign countries sort of like through museum glass.

Wednesday, December 29

I almost exclusively run outside and rarely work out in a gym.  Today I exercised on an elliptical machine and on a treadmill while on the cruise ship.  Then I fell down the stairs and almost took out a woman doing weights. 

Thursday, December 30

Old Mazatlan reminds me of Guatemala.  I love it.

We brought a game called "Things" which entertained us in the pre-dinner hour. Everyone writes answers to a category ("things adults wish they could still do"), answers are read ("breastfeed," "pee in my pants," "throw a tantrum," "believe in everything"), and then guesses are made about which responses are whose. The game is great fun (don't get bogged down in the scoring).

Friday, December 31

Cabo San Lucas and fish tacos. 

Last time we cruised I won $100 playing blackjack and bought my husband a massage. That must have been beginner's luck; this cruise, I focused on maintaining my "allowance" for the week. I made it to New Year's Eve. And then, thankfully, I knew when to walk away (particularly after watching a fellow player lose $1000 in fifteen minutes).

Big Sis and her cousin rang in the New Year dancing with their Mammom and Bampa.  Toasting my siblings, kissing my husband...almost all my family members in one place:  a great way to start the new year.

Saturday, January 1

In keeping with my resolution to eat better, I started the day with an egg white omelet with veggies.  Then I ate more fish tacos.  Then we went to the Steak House for dinner.

At Guest Services this afternoon I stood in line behind a man and his teenage son; the tension between them was palpable.  As Dad approached the desk he announced, "Let me introduce you to my son, who decided to drink too much champagne last night, and got sick all over our cabin.  He'd like to pay for the cleaning."

Sunday, January 2

A windy, wind-down day. 

Little Sis entered herself and a friend in the Kids' Camp Talent Show. They sang the ABC Song.

If I thought any part of my personality was "cruise director," Stu's ebullient and superfluous use of the word "splendid" over the loudspeaker and the course of the week set me straight. 

Today, he declared, was "crackin'." 

Monday, January 3

Last year, when our family booked a short cruise to Ensenada over Thanksgiving week, I forgot to wonder if one of students might be on the same ship, until we watched passengers boarding behind us from my parents' cabin balcony:  perfect timing to catch a former student heading toward the gangway.  This year, I was slated to share my vacation with a current 11th grader, but our ship's engine burned up and the cruise was cancelled.  Our families rebooked on a new ship--the same one!  But we disembarked the ship this morning, and he's boarding this afternoon.

Best Gift

Two weeks ago Big Sis was working on something in her office, something she'd scramble to hide when I approached.  She rolled it up, wrapped it, labeled it from her to me, and placed it beneath the tree.

I opened her present this morning:  a kaleidoscope drawing of some of the special things we experienced together this year. 

She included representations of her soccer team that I "coached," the fairies we attracted to our backyard, the Jolly Rancher ornaments we made over Thanksgiving, and her second grade field trip to the pumpkin patch I chaperoned. 

Ultimately, time is what we crave most, despite all the items money can buy.  I remain convinced that the most valuable gifts we bestow upon one another are time and attention. 

My daughter's little present tells me she too recognizes and cherishes our time.  And she's wise enough to know that acknowledging and honoring our time together would be a most precious gift. 

If they weren't clear already, priorities for 2011 are even more obvious now. 

Meaning

The holidays are here and so are the stresses and tensions of being joyful and grateful and reflective and excited about the new beginnings represented by the turn of the year. 

If your life is in order and you're simply marking traditions and time passing, it's safe to whine about the weather and items to accomplish on the to-do list before each holiday event and happening.  In this case, happiness abounds, particularly when you lift your head and count your blessings.

But if life has come skidding to a sudden halt or floats in limbo--if someone is in the hospital or far away, if you're losing your house or your marriage--then it could be the 22nd of December or the 3rd of January for all that date and time matter. 

I think about this sudden convergence of what truly matters when bad things happen.  I think about the cookies I'm baking and errands I'm running and cards I'm addressing and stamping and old friends I'm seeing and gifts I'm buying and making and bags I'm packing, and how luxurious all that is. 

I think of those for whom the holidays are on hold or not happening this year.  Or for whom they're different. 

We're out of school and removed from the tangible grief of our students for their classmate.  Removed from his name on our rosters and his family's home, not ten blocks from his math and English classes.  I am getting ready for Christmas.  But I am conscious that his family, cookies baking or not, holiday traditions maintaining or not, is still mourning.  Forever, in some measure.

The significance of the passing of a member of one's community is aply captured by an anonymous student who signed the butcher paper stretched on our cafeteria tables in the hours, days, and weeks after his death in honor of D, our lost classmate.   

Without the explicit permission from their author, I share these words.  They resonate.

I didn't know you.
I never met you, spoke to you, saw you.  But you were one of us.  A classmate.  A friend, a son, a person. 



The loss of any life is heartbreaking. 
Even though we never met.  Never talked.
Never waved at each other from across the hall. 
Never made a private joke about one of our teachers. 
Even though none of this happened between you and I, doesn't mean it didn't occur.  It doesn't make you unimportant in my eyes simply because I never met you.

I am so, so sorry.  Your life is lost,
and that is unbelievably sad.  And even
though I never met you, I'll miss you.  I'll
remember you.  You are important.  You
may be lost, but you will live on in
memory.  Memory of a smile.  An inside joke.
Your friends and family miss you,
and I'm sorry for their loss. 
Please be in peace,
wherever you are. 
Please stay in our memories. 
I never met you,
but I love you.