Middle School Mania

Remember what it was like to be a sixth grader? I have been spending a couple Friday afternoons per month subbing for a sixth grade teacher who is also a basketball coach. As the other sixth grade teacher commented to me the first day during PE, “Sixth grade boys are a different animal completely.” They certainly are, but so are the girls. Does any of this sound familiar?


Boys showing camaraderie through tackling,

Girls looking like little girls playing dress up,

Boys treating girls they’re interested in like other boys,

Girls wearing plastic jewelry,

Boys who can’t sit still,

Girls who can’t quit talking,

Arguing without really having a point,

Dressing as twins,

Moving as a pack,

Note passing, and

Tolerating unflattering nicknames that mean you are “accepted.”

Remember when the need to “clump” was so instinctive that boys went to the water fountain in pairs and a girl who was tagged during dodgeball refused to be “out” unless her friend went with her? Remember how “popular” kids coined slang and influenced group perceptions? Remember being an individual meant sometimes being given positive attention by the “in” group, but unpredictably being made fun of or left out at other times? Remember that unique state of fluctuating wildly between being silly and responsible, grown up and child-like?

Ah, yes. Sixth graders; a different animal, indeed.

Obsession or Creativity?

Here’s my latest project:  a calendar. Not a big deal, but it gives me something fun to do on the computer, which keeps me from going insane, and the final product is actually helpful. I’m quite pleased with the layout and design; plenty of room to write, breaks up the month visually, and includes lots of my favorite pictures. Yes, there are many other things that I should be doing instead, but, oh well.

I have lots of little things to keep my hands and mind occupied during the slower hours of caregiving. I blog, I read, I play with graphics, I photograph, I scrapbook, I pull weeds, I knit and I bake. Even though taking care of someone and making yourself continually available is definitely a great accomplishment and fulfilling in and of itself, having little projects around that are fun (do NOT insert "housekeeping" here) keeps me from feeling trapped and adds a sense of creativity and visible accomplishment to the day.

I wonder if this also explains Mom's determination to do certain things, as well. Maybe she works her crosswords, reads, and continually reorganizes different little areas of her room because she is bored and feeling trapped, too. Until now, I had thought of our roles as being opposite, but maybe caregiving and being cared for are, in  some ways, parallel paths.

What Matters

In our neck of the woods the new year dawned at a clear, crisp eight degrees and was up to a whopping twelve above zero by lunchtime. The sun shone on the ice-covered branches that sparkled against the blue sky and, in between popping in and out of Mom’s room to help her now and then, I leisurely snapped some pictures on this lovely, lazy day. Little did I know that the day would soon change.

Earlier in the week we had learned of the sudden death of my cousin, Shari, on Christmas Eve morning. We spent the ensuing days trying to grasp this unexpected news as memories flooded us. I tried to focus on the thought of her spending Christmas with the very One whose birth we were celebrating. We spent New Years Eve, the day of her funeral service, in prayer so that we might join the family in spirit.

Because of our loss, the first day of 2011 seemed even more like a beginning. We had had a reminder of the sanctity of life and the choice to live it whole heartedly and with humor and love, the way Shari had, and the radiant day seemed to invite us to do just that. Then we heard a double thump on the monitor that links us to Mom when she is in her room followed by her voice calling me. Sure enough, she had fallen. Hanging on to her walker while she reached sideways to pick up a Kleenex off her bed, she lost her delicate balance and tipped over. Somehow, in that narrow, carpeted space between the closet and her bed she scraped her head against something that left an inch-long gouge. A quick trip to the emergency room resulted in a CAT scan to make sure hidden blood vessels were not disturbed and then four staples closed the gap in her scalp. Of course, that took most of the afternoon and we trudged home with much less verve than we had started the day. Although Mom was muttering that she had gone without any makeup on and was appalled at the look of her matted hair when she got home, we were thankful that things were not worse and reassured her that she was not bound for a nursing home. I went to bed hoping for a New Years Day do-over; that this little mishap was not a premonition of things to come. Sure enough, today was better.

Every summer, when we go back to take care of Mom’s house and yard, we visit two of her best friends that are still alive and living in a retirement complex. I have spoken before of their humorous visits in which I am called upon to repeat everyone’s sentences so they can hear better. Last year, we did not get everyone together because Mom was not up to it in June, and her pacemaker surgery kept us from going back. Over Christmas Jen devised a plan for them to have a long distance visit over Skype and recruited a family friend who works at the retirement complex to help us. Today that visit took place and was every bit as hysterical and heart warming as ever. They laughed over age and mixed up memories, they talked over one another and relied on me for repetition and interpretation, they told our friend he was cute, and they waved and told each other good bye and that they loved and missed each other until I finally closed the connection. Their sounds of earnest sincerity will always be with me; a lesson in treasured friendship that I will never forget.

The end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011 has certainly been a time of transition for us. We are different. Things around us are different. We will sorely miss the good things of before, the people and lives that were so familiar and safe, but we have been reminded not to be afraid of what’s ahead. There will be moments of stumbling, but we still have each other to reach for and the light of friendship and love to guide us. Happy New Year to us all. May we live it with as much joy as possible.

The Digital Nativity Story

The Season of Choice

Jesus is the reason for the season. There is no denying that, but there is something more, something deeper that has crystallized for me this year. God gave us Himself in Jesus, bonded forever with humanity through Mary, but it doesn’t mean a thing unless we choose to accept Him. There it is: acceptance and free choice. What a Christmas gift; a double-edged sword.

Giving gifts is a natural extension of love, gratitude, and friendship and isn't limited to Christmas and birthdays. In its purest form it has nothing to do with commercialism or monetary value or tradition, but has everything to do with effort, time, and thoughtfulness. It could be an ugly tie meant to make the receiver laugh, a favorite dessert, or a thoughtful, handwritten note of appreciation. It could even be resentfully climbing a ladder to help decorate when you absolutely hate the job you are always given. Yet, giving isn’t complete without acceptance and both require free will, free choice.

Mom turned 97 last month. Although she expressed pride at reaching this age, she also noted quietly that the aunt who raised her died at 97. I hoped she wouldn’t dwell on it, but last week she commented that, although it was up to God, she figured this would be her last Christmas and maybe she would just give money and forget about trying to send cards or buy gifts. I kept putting out decorations and wrapping gifts and told her that she could do whatever she wanted, but that I would be free to take her to town any day that week. Three days later we made our trek through several stores with the “shopping chair” (wheel chair) and she picked out gifts and began talking about sending Christmas cards when we got home. What a difference attitude makes. We came home tired, but triumphant. When people unwrap her gifts this year, they will be seeing more than just the trinkets in the package. In their hands will be Mom's acceptance of the gift to choose happiness over pain and love of family over personal disappointment.

I am proud of Mom because, when faced with dismal thoughts of her own mortality and physical difficulties, she chose happiness; she chose to continue to live while she is still alive rather than lie down and wait for death. I think that is what Advent, Christmas, and faith are all about: acceptance…choosing to live, choosing to be happy, choosing joy and love and believing…choosing Life, with a capital L. I want to remember that the freedom to choose is the ultimate Christmas gift and that not choosing is still a choice: Mary chose, Joseph chose, Jesus chose, and we choose. Yes or no? Happy or sad? Alone or together? Full or empty? Victim or participant? It’s our call. So choose.

Ho, Ho, Ho

Last weekend I joined my shopping buddies in Portland for round the clock fun. We wear out sooner than we did when we started this tradition thirty years ago, but I'm pleased to announce that I can still do a mean mall walk. Jennifer, Sarah, and Danielle joined us at different times. It was really nice to connect with them, but it meant that they had to track us down by cell phone and try to pin us down to a meeting place. It's probably a little like trying to herd cats. As always, they were patient with us and good sports about wearing Betty's "Christmas Crowns" that she says spread cheer and help her find us in the stores when she's lost. We took a moment to let Sarah and Danielle entertain us with their wall climbing and bouldering. They had it worked out with management to give us turns, but we settled instead for taking pictures of them in action. Maybe next year.

I apologize to the family members that I neglected to call. Time always zooms by and I had more trouble than usual keeping my phone charged. We kept ourselves pretty busy hopping between shopping centers and individual stores scattered around the area, trying to at least find the things we could only get in the city. I still have some online ordering to do and some local shopping, but I can breath a little easier. The place where we stayed set up a wrapping room complete with Christmas paper, bows, labels, ribbon, scissors, and tape so we spent our last evening wrapping about half of our packages.

Here Danielle is tutoring Betty in a shirt folding trick that takes a certain flick of the wrist. After giving everyone individual lessons, they practiced on their own clothes the rest of the evening and the next morning when we packed up to leave. I guess we're pretty easily entertained.

Now it's time for the hot tub! What a group. We have so much fun every year, we have come to realize that it is less about the shopping and more about the personal connections. Each of us has had our share of difficult moments, but no matter where life takes us, we always have this time set aside for each other; a time for wise cracks, silliness, commiserating, and fun with a little shopping, eating, and margaritas on the side. Get ready! Only 364 days until we're back!

Blackboards, Whiteboards, and Smart Boards

Technology is amazing. Mom has lived from Model T days when trains were the most common way to cover long distances through today’s computerized age where she can Skype her grandkids. Even I have watched much progression from people walking on the moon to living in an orbiting space station, from black party-line wall phones with rotary dials to iPhones with touch screens and GPS applications. But the real eye-opener is in the school systems where even my children might be surprised at the changes.

Mom first learned to write on a chalkboard slate, but I had the modern convenience of pencil and paper from the start. Both of us learned touch typing in high school on standard punch-key typewriters. Soon, however, I graduated to an IBM electric typewriter that was smooth and fast. My kids learned touch typing in junior high, however, on Apple’s first computers. Now, fourth graders are learning touch typing on internet applications because they access computers too often to wait until seventh grade.

Besides several computers in each classroom, the 21st century also sports some other interesting equipment. Overhead projectors and transparencies have largely been replaced by document cameras that display onto the wall images laid beneath them, such as book pages, worksheets, and small objects. Movie projectors and dry erase boards have been replaced with computers and Smart Boards where websites and digital videos can be displayed and interactively manipulated. Instead of markers, digital pens control the computerized display and write on the Smart Board in digital colors that disappear with the touch of a button. Even our small rural schools have managed these resources with grants, but some schools go one step further with iPods, Kindles, and laptops for each student. As communication technology becomes more affordable, it equalizes and greatly expands the academic playing field. It’s definitely a different world; an excitingly fast-paced one.

In my latest literacy class, this subject of technology brought up some interesting questions. Technological literacy is necessary for children to function adequately in modern society, but what are the trade-offs and challenges? For instance, it goes without saying that thirty students wandering aimlessly on internet is not a good thing, yet safe sites and strict protocol rules, consequences, and monitoring can make it a rich source of information and a positive experience. Likewise, we must teach ways to discern the validity and reliability of sites and information as well as direct its use to a specific purpose.

Carefully done, it’s great stuff. Third grade students in EO can email penpals in Australia or Japan, and fifth graders can access the Smithsonian Institute website for their reports on Lewis and Clark and then create a podcast to share with parents and other students. But how far should we go? Does the advent of more economical Kindles and iPads completely replace textbooks and libraries? Should it? Will there still be a place for the word printed on rich, creamy paper sewn between hard bound covers to hold in our hands and leaf through the pages or will these be left on museum shelves to be protected like ancient Dead Sea scrolls? Should we bother to teach handwriting any more? D’Nealian printing perhaps, but not script? We don’t miss the old Underwoods, will we miss the pen? I don’t know. I guess we just have to stay tuned to find out, but in the meantime, let’s think about it.

Mentally Engaged

I’ve just spent the last ten weeks taking a couple online graduate classes in teaching literacy. The credits add to the continuing education that I need to renew my license and the courses can be applied toward a reading endorsement, or, if I have enough stamina and motivation, an MS degree, but I don’t expect to take it that far. I have to admit that the reading has been very interesting. I didn’t realize all the factors that contribute to a child’s learning to read and write. Even “environmental print” plays an important part. That’s the words on packaging, price tags, the McDonald’s logo, road signs, and billboards.

There are lots of things that can put children at-risk for reading. Besides learning difficulties, factors such as cultural diversity, being an English language learner, low socio-economic status, low family literacy, and lack of environmental print experiences can all challenge reading development. I have also learned that scribbling is important and that there are different kinds of scribbling that denote motor development. It just goes to show how much we take for granted in the learning process.

As mentally stimulating as these courses have been, however, I almost bit off more than I could chew along with subbing and spending time with Mom. I got a head start on the reading, but writing two papers and six half page responses to other people’s papers each week plus two ongoing projects caught up with me about halfway through the term. Part of my problem is that obsessive desire to make things perfect coupled with the random refusal of the technological “Blackboard” system to cooperate with posting my work. Now I am racing to finish up the last papers and final application projects that denote the end; reveling in how much “good stuff” I have learned while counting the days until I am free to immerse myself in the luxury of reading for fun again. Yet, even as I breathe this sigh of relief at the light that has reached my eyes from the end of the tunnel, I wonder what will be next to help me fill some of those restless hours of the day.

A Celebration

Time. It's easy to take it for granted. Wasn't it only last week that I sat in her lap in the middle of the night, my pulsating ear up against her chest while she waited with me for morning when we could go to the clinic for some relief? And I'm sure it was just yesterday that she told me she would dry the dishes so that I could go on out and play before the summer evening was over since being a kid didn't last very long. She made my wedding dress, held my babies while they slept, and silently prayed us through every uncertainty of life. Mom, we are not just celebrating your birthday; we celebrate YOU.

97 Years Young

Ninety-seven. It's a number that is hard to wrap one's head around in regards to age. Even with her frailty Mom's age surprises people. I think it is because her spirit is still young.

Family and friends were all good about remembering her with flowers, cards, calls, and emails. I am touched by the people in this community who took the trouble to send her good wishes.

Coletta and Bob came up for a few days. Here Coletta is giving Mom a wild ride on her walker (or go cart, as she prefers to call it) into the dining room for a lasagna supper. Steering seemed to be a problem.

SKYPE calls and phone calls came in all day. Mom loved it, but sometimes got confused when too many people talked at once. Here someone called in time to help us sing "Happy Birthday."

Three amaryllis plants will bloom by Christmas.

Happy 97th Birthday, Mom. We love you. You have touched all of us with your gentle, determined spirit of love.

What Notes?

Wow! I just subbed a class more harrowing than welding…fourth grade band. You know:  the year they typically get their first instrument of choice. Considering how much they learn by spring, it might not be as risky to sub later in the year; however, the second month of school is not a sane idea. Of all the classes, they were the most eager to actually practice with their instruments. Others brought homework to work on or divided into sections and practiced rhythms and theory, both relatively quiet functions. NOT so the beginners. Although they, too, divided into sections, each section in a different room, the noise was deafening. Not music, by any stretch of the imagination. Noise. They knew a couple notes, but not in any recognizably melodic pattern. And I must particularly take care to mention that the drums and the saxophone were especially pulsating amid the other squawks and warbles. Not a flute in the bunch either. How’s that for ironic? Seventeen fledgling musicians sounded like fifty. It was a lo-o-o-ng half hour. 

Halloween Fun For Big Cats

Reflections

Thursday, October 28, 2004

Home.

A Sense of Humor is Good

Dr. Dave sends around the funnest videos. This one is dedicated to Sarah for her next vacation venture.

Happy Birthday, Jeremy!

A contagious wit, a social nature;

A creative eye and a generous role.

A sensitive heart, an analytical mind;

Measured risks and a patient soul.

Let's Dance!

Here's a fun editing marvel that spans a lot of recognizable movies.

Dear God

I would like to respectfully register a complaint about the lack of adequate communication between us. Although I heartily accept all the responsibility for every misunderstanding, I have to lay the problem of fixing it at your feet because I can’t do it myself. That’s right; I’m happy to openly admit it: I need your help. And, we’re talking about ALWAYS, here, not just once to pacify me for the moment.

This journey we are on takes us through a breathtaking world of harrowing, mysterious, and truly incredible moments. Kudos to you for the planning and imagination that you took to create it. It is certainly quite the ride! I know you have done all of the hard part and I shouldn’t expect any more from you, but, let’s face it…I do. I love that your Son has shown us the way and I treasure the experiences of hearing your Spirit’s breathy whisper in my ear as I try to maneuver through the unknown, but – and I don’t mean to sound unappreciative here – could you please be a little less subtle with the directions?

If I remember correctly, we have had this discussion before. Perhaps you thought I meant just the once…or twice…or three times that I asked, but surely by now you know that I am a slow learner (and stubborn to boot, although, I really am trying to work on that). Besides that, we now have to add slightly deaf in one ear, unsure, self-absorbed, and forgetful to the list of issues that make me short-sighted.

These decisions and choices that I keep stumbling over probably seem simple and clear to you, but I really struggle sometimes in knowing what to do. I don’t mean the black and white, good and evil type of choices, but the gray area decisions about what to do with my life. The ones that are not necessarily right or wrong, but will somehow affect the next choice. As is evident throughout my pilgrimage, a small turn can have a significant impact down the road. So, from here on out, could you please add me to the list of handicapped followers who need obvious signs. Not the little nudges and whispers that are enough for holier people than me, but huge, flashing arrows and bright neon signs that say, “Michelle, go THIS way! Love, God.” Yell it in a voice that I will recognize as yours and, when I stand frozen with indecision, please give me a hard shove in the right direction to make sure I get moving.

Anyway, “Ask and you shall receive, knock and it shall be opened,” so here I am, respectfully asking for some clarification. Please don’t leave me in the middle of any more intersections, dizzy from spinning around as I try to discern which is the best path for me. (You know I will mess it up on my own!) I promise to continue trying to keep myself open to your will, watching for your footsteps, listening for your voice, calling your name, if you will but speak louder, write more boldly in the sky, and grab me by the scruff of the neck and drop kick me into place when I miss the gentler cues. Life is precious and I don’t want to waste any more of it wandering in the wrong direction.

Love,
Your struggling child (M.)

Pink Glove Dance in the Starlight Parade

Blessed are the Care Givers and Givees

Here's a woman who really knows how to deliver an entertaining invocation! Don't stop it until you hear her whole delivery. Very sweet and very funny.

We're All Here

And so the halls of education are once again open and echoing with the familiar sounds of scuffling footsteps, clanking locker doors, slamming books, and not-so-quiet voices. Isn’t it great how well humankind is represented in each classroom?

The studious get right to work, unable to stop themselves, the restless constantly fidget within their seats as trapped energy surges up and down their spines looking for an outlet. The fashion-conscious adjust their hair, or shoes, or latest gadget, and the socialites press their heads together to incessantly whisper about nothing and everything because it’s all too important to wait for break. The prim roll their eyes at me for being too lenient with their counterparts while the slackers in the back corner roll theirs because I am a stick-in-the-mud. The gentle just gaze at all of us with a smile of silent sympathy.

The permanently bored, the never serious, the sarcastic, the sullen, and the irritatingly cheerful; they are all there, present and accounted for. The sweet, the snide, the shy, and the devious peer up through lowered lashes to make sure I am not watching them while the beady stares of the self-assured, the insatiably curious, the tattle-tales, and the desperate attention-seekers hope that I am.

As I waded through my first day of substitute teaching, instead of focusing on differences, I couldn’t help but think how these predictable groups of learners represented other congregations, as well. Age, in fact, really doesn’t seem to matter much for, although I was with adolescents today, I have met these same personalities in kindergarten, in church, in college, in staff meetings, and in jury rooms. America is all about individualism, but sometimes, collectively, we don’t really seem all that different.