I have discovered an ardent love for footy pajamas.
* * *
I am now on Christmas break. Started it off on a raucous note last night by collapsing into bed at 9pm. Hoping to ward off future narcoleptic attacks. At least until after New Year's Eve.
* * *
God must be trying to teach me something along the lines of "put your foot in your mouth and keep it there." I keep offending people.
* * *
Yesterday, the last day before break, I took my 7th period sophomores around the hallways caroling. Got some delighted looks from students; some ornery looks from teachers. (Well-- just Mr. Wa, but that's to be expected.) My rationale: no one's concentrating during the last 15 minutes anyway, so we may as well spread holiday cheer. Right?
* * *
Except I assigned homework over break. I know. I may as well have bombed Bethlehem.
* * *
Like I said, I keep offending people.
* * *
Description of recommended apparel for tonight's Christmas party: "Dress in holiday attire, but no tacky sweaters please. We're keeping it classy." How on earth does one dress "holidayish" if one can't wear a tacky sweater??
* * *
Today, when reading a book to my 4-year-old niece, I received an impromptu lecture on safe reading habits. "But you have to be careful when turning the pages Auntie Greta, because if you go like THIS, the pages will cut you, it will cut on your nail. This is a very sharp book."
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 14, 2010
One Fine Day
When I was in sixth grade, I developed a giant crush on the boy across the street. He was two years older than me-- my older brother's best friend. Therefore: irresistibly forbidden. The crush continued through middle school, through high school-- even into college. In between boyfriends, I would return to my crush on the boy across the street, and in all those days of pining, I would think of this song:
One fine day
You'll look at me
And you will know our love was
Meant to be
One fine day
You're gonna want me for your girl...
ONE day, I thought, that boy is going to decide that I'm the one he wants. Maybe after he goes off to college, I concluded. He'll come home, and WOWZA, I'll be all grown up, and then he'll like me!
And funny enough, that's what happened.
So this boy and I swung from the star-hung pendulum, reaching to one end of the galaxy in passion and sureness, and then swinging to the other where we said firm goodbyes... On one end, exchanging rhapsodic utterances, on the other, watching the star trails burn out with the darkened knowledge that the ride could only ever be temporary. Eventually, we were graced with Disappointment's dreary presence, and we stopped speaking, grew apart, fell out of favor, began forgetting.
And I fell in love with new boys.
And I learned about real heart-break.
Today, on my drive home, I heard on the radio--
One fine day
You'll look at me
And you will know our love was
Meant to be
One fine day
You're gonna want me for your girl...
... And I thought of the boy across the street: now a grown-up man with a fiance, in a city far far away. All I could do was shake my head in amazement at the way time has changed things. The memory of my fervent teenage affection now seems as fuzzy and old as the recording of that song. Yet forgetting, it turns out, brings a "finer day" than the two of us ever had with one another. The consummation of the "one fine day" was not his choosing me, but his forgetting me, and choosing someone else; the deliverance of the "one fine day" was not me receiving him, but forgetting him, and throwing open the doors of my heart to the great wide spaces of promise. Perhaps it isn't forgetting even, but rather remembering in a different way: this fine day's remembrance is colored-- not with longing and regret-- but with innocent nostalgia.
* * * * *
I say all this, because I'm forgetting again.
"I fell in love with new boys. And I learned about real heart-break."
Or rather, remembering in a different way than I have been remembering.
It is such a mercy to forget. Such a mercy to remember in a different way. Such a mercy to hear an old song, and realize that one fine day, I hear it with a different heart.
One fine day
You'll look at me
And you will know our love was
Meant to be
One fine day
You're gonna want me for your girl...
ONE day, I thought, that boy is going to decide that I'm the one he wants. Maybe after he goes off to college, I concluded. He'll come home, and WOWZA, I'll be all grown up, and then he'll like me!
And funny enough, that's what happened.
So this boy and I swung from the star-hung pendulum, reaching to one end of the galaxy in passion and sureness, and then swinging to the other where we said firm goodbyes... On one end, exchanging rhapsodic utterances, on the other, watching the star trails burn out with the darkened knowledge that the ride could only ever be temporary. Eventually, we were graced with Disappointment's dreary presence, and we stopped speaking, grew apart, fell out of favor, began forgetting.
And I fell in love with new boys.
And I learned about real heart-break.
Today, on my drive home, I heard on the radio--
One fine day
You'll look at me
And you will know our love was
Meant to be
One fine day
You're gonna want me for your girl...
... And I thought of the boy across the street: now a grown-up man with a fiance, in a city far far away. All I could do was shake my head in amazement at the way time has changed things. The memory of my fervent teenage affection now seems as fuzzy and old as the recording of that song. Yet forgetting, it turns out, brings a "finer day" than the two of us ever had with one another. The consummation of the "one fine day" was not his choosing me, but his forgetting me, and choosing someone else; the deliverance of the "one fine day" was not me receiving him, but forgetting him, and throwing open the doors of my heart to the great wide spaces of promise. Perhaps it isn't forgetting even, but rather remembering in a different way: this fine day's remembrance is colored-- not with longing and regret-- but with innocent nostalgia.
* * * * *
I say all this, because I'm forgetting again.
"I fell in love with new boys. And I learned about real heart-break."
Or rather, remembering in a different way than I have been remembering.
It is such a mercy to forget. Such a mercy to remember in a different way. Such a mercy to hear an old song, and realize that one fine day, I hear it with a different heart.
Dec 13, 2010
I tried posting this as a status update but it was too long.
By me.
(Forgive the breaches in iambic pentameter.)
To leave or not to leave? That is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the long run to suffer
The long oppression of my classroom,
Or to take off from school,
And sink into the comfort of my couch?
To leave, to part-- no more.
And in parting, to say I end the thousands of messy papers
Stacked on my desk and simply forget them.
'Tis oblivion devoutly to be wished. To leave, to vacate...
To vacate, perchance to VACATION... Ay, there's the rub,
For in Christmas vacation what dreams will come!
Yet before I shuffle off this grading coil,
I first must pause... There's the respect
That makes for such long hours at school.
For who would bear the messy desk, the flourescent lights,
The piles of papers, the students' slacking,
The incessant planning, the papers still to come--
When I might simply leave and go home
To my hot tub? Who would all this bear,
To grunt and sweat for this difficult profession,
But that the dread of grading over Christmas vacation
Makes me rather sweat it out now, and try to get 'er done...
So that come Friday I'm just a little bit more free than I am right now.
Thus, conscience does make drudges of us all...
And thus the native tendency to procrastinate
Weakens and cowers when such Christmasy freedom beckons on the horizon.
Soft you now, the AP timed writes...! Back to work and grading...
p.s. Have I mentioned recently that I really DO like my job...? Most of the time...?
(Forgive the breaches in iambic pentameter.)
To leave or not to leave? That is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the long run to suffer
The long oppression of my classroom,
Or to take off from school,
And sink into the comfort of my couch?
To leave, to part-- no more.
And in parting, to say I end the thousands of messy papers
Stacked on my desk and simply forget them.
'Tis oblivion devoutly to be wished. To leave, to vacate...
To vacate, perchance to VACATION... Ay, there's the rub,
For in Christmas vacation what dreams will come!
Yet before I shuffle off this grading coil,
I first must pause... There's the respect
That makes for such long hours at school.
For who would bear the messy desk, the flourescent lights,
The piles of papers, the students' slacking,
The incessant planning, the papers still to come--
When I might simply leave and go home
To my hot tub? Who would all this bear,
To grunt and sweat for this difficult profession,
But that the dread of grading over Christmas vacation
Makes me rather sweat it out now, and try to get 'er done...
So that come Friday I'm just a little bit more free than I am right now.
Thus, conscience does make drudges of us all...
And thus the native tendency to procrastinate
Weakens and cowers when such Christmasy freedom beckons on the horizon.
Soft you now, the AP timed writes...! Back to work and grading...
p.s. Have I mentioned recently that I really DO like my job...? Most of the time...?
Nov 23, 2010
Thanksgiving Song
When I taught 1st grade Sunday school several years ago, I wrote a Thanksgiving song to teach the little bitties. It went:
I'm thankful for
The things that I eat
The shoes on my feet
I'm thankful Lord!
I'm thankful for
A house and a home
And that I'm not alone
I'm thankful Lord.
And I will sing
A prayer of Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving!
I'm thankful Lord!
I'm thankful Lord,
I'm thankful Lord.
And you know-- even though there are many thoughts clamoring in my head and many mixed feelings about the holidays... I am so thankful, for all those things. I have good food to eat; I have shoes and warm clothes and a cozy home. I am not alone-- not only because I have wonderful friends in my life and a family that loves me, but because I am a daughter of the King and He is with me every moment.
I'm thankful Lord!
I'm thankful for
The things that I eat
The shoes on my feet
I'm thankful Lord!
I'm thankful for
A house and a home
And that I'm not alone
I'm thankful Lord.
And I will sing
A prayer of Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving!
I'm thankful Lord!
I'm thankful Lord,
I'm thankful Lord.
And you know-- even though there are many thoughts clamoring in my head and many mixed feelings about the holidays... I am so thankful, for all those things. I have good food to eat; I have shoes and warm clothes and a cozy home. I am not alone-- not only because I have wonderful friends in my life and a family that loves me, but because I am a daughter of the King and He is with me every moment.
I'm thankful Lord!
Nov 19, 2010
Lions and Teacups
Oh, Pobrecita
Tragic little tea-cup
Did he go and shatter you again?
But the way that you're cryin'
Is more like a lion
Licks her wounds before she seeks revenge.
- Bishop Allen
Listened to this song this morning. I think most women are a mixture of fragile tea-cups, and lionesses. Perhaps that's why we confuse men so much sometimes. They expect lion, and we're tea-cup. They expect tea-cup and we're suddenly lion.
I think that's alright.
Tragic little tea-cup
Did he go and shatter you again?
But the way that you're cryin'
Is more like a lion
Licks her wounds before she seeks revenge.
- Bishop Allen
Listened to this song this morning. I think most women are a mixture of fragile tea-cups, and lionesses. Perhaps that's why we confuse men so much sometimes. They expect lion, and we're tea-cup. They expect tea-cup and we're suddenly lion.
I think that's alright.
Nov 18, 2010
Pandora's Last Hope
One thing that I love about teaching literature is that the stories are constantly teaching me-- even ones that I've already become familiar with. Poems shift in their significance as I get older and stories likewise take on greater depth.
Tonight, Annie and I were talking about hope-- and how, difficult as it may be to maintain at times, we are absolutely called to preserve it. We MUST do whatever we can to blow our fragile breath on hope's dying embers... to coax its wilting bloom back to life.
Our conversation made me think of Pandora. Pandora, as I'm sure you know, was the one that opened the box-- THE box, the one from which all the world's evils escaped. This first woman, created as a punishment for mankind (yes. according to the ancient Greeks, woman was created as a punishment for man), Pandora was sent to her absent-minded husband Epimetheus with a giant, elaborately carved box as a dowry. Inside the box, writhed all the pregnant evils of the world: hate and bitterness and anger and fear and greed and pride and lust and lies and selfishness-- everything devoid of goodness or love. At one point, when left to her own devices, Pandora's curiosity got the best of her, and she opened the box--- thereby releasing all the contagion of the world. Pandora is Greek mythology's version of Eve; her action led to a darkened world. Punishment for mankind, indeed.
At this point, the stories begin to vary. Some versions say that Pandora managed to clap the lid of the box shut before the last inhabitant flew out-- and ended up shutting the lid on "hopelessness." Because Hope was preserved, we are able to withstand the evils that were released. Other versions say that Pandora initially shut the lid on Hope, but that the sweet bird clamored to get out. In that version, Pandora eventually opens the lid once more and Hope is released, ready to offer a balm to the world's wounded souls. Another version says that Hope remained forever imprisoned in the box; but in those versions, it is still somehow understood that Hope is what enables us to survive the rest. Hope is the only thing that keeps us from giving over to utter darkness and despair.
Those variations came to mind as Annie and I talked tonight. It's fitting, I think, that we don't exactly know whether Hope was imprisoned or released; whether it was Hopelessness or Hope that was left. Hope is such a slippery entity at times, isn't it? Sometimes it seems like the meanest thing to hold on to. We cultivate it and feed it bits of our heart, only to sometimes be ultimately disappointed. In other moments, Hope truly is the only life preserver. When all is lost, Hope is our ONLY sustenance. In those moments, the myth of Pandora's box seems especially relevant. In the face of overwhelming evil, we are kept alive by one thing alone: Hope.
Annie posted as her facebook status yesterday: "Hope takes practice, and practice doesn't always make perfect. But it's still worth practicing."
This is why Annie is my best friend. I couldn't agree more.
Tonight, Annie and I were talking about hope-- and how, difficult as it may be to maintain at times, we are absolutely called to preserve it. We MUST do whatever we can to blow our fragile breath on hope's dying embers... to coax its wilting bloom back to life.
Our conversation made me think of Pandora. Pandora, as I'm sure you know, was the one that opened the box-- THE box, the one from which all the world's evils escaped. This first woman, created as a punishment for mankind (yes. according to the ancient Greeks, woman was created as a punishment for man), Pandora was sent to her absent-minded husband Epimetheus with a giant, elaborately carved box as a dowry. Inside the box, writhed all the pregnant evils of the world: hate and bitterness and anger and fear and greed and pride and lust and lies and selfishness-- everything devoid of goodness or love. At one point, when left to her own devices, Pandora's curiosity got the best of her, and she opened the box--- thereby releasing all the contagion of the world. Pandora is Greek mythology's version of Eve; her action led to a darkened world. Punishment for mankind, indeed.
At this point, the stories begin to vary. Some versions say that Pandora managed to clap the lid of the box shut before the last inhabitant flew out-- and ended up shutting the lid on "hopelessness." Because Hope was preserved, we are able to withstand the evils that were released. Other versions say that Pandora initially shut the lid on Hope, but that the sweet bird clamored to get out. In that version, Pandora eventually opens the lid once more and Hope is released, ready to offer a balm to the world's wounded souls. Another version says that Hope remained forever imprisoned in the box; but in those versions, it is still somehow understood that Hope is what enables us to survive the rest. Hope is the only thing that keeps us from giving over to utter darkness and despair.
Those variations came to mind as Annie and I talked tonight. It's fitting, I think, that we don't exactly know whether Hope was imprisoned or released; whether it was Hopelessness or Hope that was left. Hope is such a slippery entity at times, isn't it? Sometimes it seems like the meanest thing to hold on to. We cultivate it and feed it bits of our heart, only to sometimes be ultimately disappointed. In other moments, Hope truly is the only life preserver. When all is lost, Hope is our ONLY sustenance. In those moments, the myth of Pandora's box seems especially relevant. In the face of overwhelming evil, we are kept alive by one thing alone: Hope.
Annie posted as her facebook status yesterday: "Hope takes practice, and practice doesn't always make perfect. But it's still worth practicing."
This is why Annie is my best friend. I couldn't agree more.
Nov 15, 2010
Playing Dress-Up
Lots of costumes lately. This: I love. And furthermore, order my students to participate in.
We started with Beowulf. After being told that they had 20 minutes to create costumes out of found objects around the school, the seniors then reported back to class, and enacted the Battle between Beowulf and the evil swamp monster Grendel:
Grendel, spawn of demons, ostracized, lonely, and bitter, comes to Herot Hall to eat the sleeping Danes where his grief and anger is sated with their blood...
But on this night, Grendel's feast does not proceed without interruption. The great hero Beowulf lies in wait, pretending to sleep and biding his time until the monster is close enough to attack...
And then-- Beowulf leaps up, and STRIKES the monster!
They battle ferociously, ramming into the walls of the great hall, until at last Beowulf subdues his foe--
--And ultimately, rips off the arm of the swamp monster. Grendel, defeated and wounded, limps back to the swamp to die alone, leaving a trail of blood behind him...
For Beowulf's second battle I took a tamer approach, telling the four groups of kids that they needed to paraphrase their assigned sections of text in the style of snooty brits, southern hicks, valley girls, and Napoleon Dynamite/Kip, respectively. That got them practicing paraphrasing the text AND writing to a specific audience/ utilizing a specific style/voice. But the kids wanted to go back to acting it all out in costumes for Beowulf's last battle. So once more, they took 20 minutes to find costumes for Beowulf and the dragon:
King Beowulf, now old and at the end of his life, approaches the dragon in his cave...
They begin to fight. It is a fierce battle, for though Beowulf is now an old man, he is still a fierce warrior... However, it will take everything he has to break through those dragon scale balloons...
At long last, Beowulf is engulfed by the dragon's flames... (Please note my student "S" who represents the embodiment of the dragon's fire.) Beowulf, alas! begins to die.
All is not lost however! A new hero emerges: the young Wiglaf rushes to his king's aid, risking life and limb to defeat the dragon. As he dies, Beowulf passes his proverbial "torch" to the young hero...
And in this interpretation, his beard as well...
Finally, Beowulf dies, and his devoted followers grieve his passing with great solemnity...
Fun, right? WE all were entertained, in any case.
Next it was the sophomores' turn. To end their mythology unit, I had all the sophs sign up to play a character from mythology; they then had to research this character and act the part out during one fabulous mythological lunchtime extravaganza. Incidentally, the end of the unit fell on October 29th-- the Friday before Halloween. Note: my private Christian school kids are not allowed to dress up for Halloween. Some of the older male teachers, I must admit, watched my sophomores parade around in their togas with great suspicion, at one point telling me, "So THIS was your way of getting around the 'no dress up' rule, huh?"
I responded-- in full toga regalia-- "The end of my mythology unit just HAPPENED to fall on this Friday. Halloween has nothing to do with it."
"Suuure," they teased, good-naturedly. "And you probably planned waaaay out in advance to make sure it fell on this day, didn't you?"
"I WISH I could plan that far in advance!" I retorted.
In any case, the sophomores did a great job!
From left to right, we have a Muse (goddess of inspiration), Artemis (goddess of the hunt, hence the leopard skin), Athena (goddess of wisdom and war), and Aphrodite (goddess of love, and mother of Cupid who is represented in baby doll form.)
In another part of the cafeteria, Achilles gets ready to strike Hector, while the god of War, Ares, urges them on...
Meanwhile, Dionysus, god of Wine, proceeds to imbibe in a corner...
Narcissus, of course, is busy gazing at himself in any reflective surface he finds...
While Hercules, fresh off his lion kill, converses with Argus, the hundred-eyed guard...
Cronus, unfortunately, is still trying to prevent being overthrown by eating his children as soon as they're born...
And Daedalus-- master inventor, most well-known for his homemade wings which his son Icarus famously ruined by flying too close to the sun-- is interviewed by one of my seniors who is currently earning extra credit.
Can you spot the teacher??
Don't worry. I make sure I get in on the action too-- about a month ago, the Mentorship class hosted a murder-mystery-themed event and I got asked to play the trophy wife of the clubbed victim. I got to be the one to scream bloody murder-- remember?
That's the exciting stuff. Most days, however, consist of normal clothing and relatively calm-- albeit goofy-- learning activities in class. And finally, most days end with me sitting at my desk, utterly knackered, head spinning after another full day, and trying to reassemble my brain for some grade-entering before I leave.
It's a gift-- I try to remember that every day. I'm so blessed to get to do what I love.
We started with Beowulf. After being told that they had 20 minutes to create costumes out of found objects around the school, the seniors then reported back to class, and enacted the Battle between Beowulf and the evil swamp monster Grendel:
Grendel, spawn of demons, ostracized, lonely, and bitter, comes to Herot Hall to eat the sleeping Danes where his grief and anger is sated with their blood...
But on this night, Grendel's feast does not proceed without interruption. The great hero Beowulf lies in wait, pretending to sleep and biding his time until the monster is close enough to attack...
And then-- Beowulf leaps up, and STRIKES the monster!
They battle ferociously, ramming into the walls of the great hall, until at last Beowulf subdues his foe--
--And ultimately, rips off the arm of the swamp monster. Grendel, defeated and wounded, limps back to the swamp to die alone, leaving a trail of blood behind him...
For Beowulf's second battle I took a tamer approach, telling the four groups of kids that they needed to paraphrase their assigned sections of text in the style of snooty brits, southern hicks, valley girls, and Napoleon Dynamite/Kip, respectively. That got them practicing paraphrasing the text AND writing to a specific audience/ utilizing a specific style/voice. But the kids wanted to go back to acting it all out in costumes for Beowulf's last battle. So once more, they took 20 minutes to find costumes for Beowulf and the dragon:
King Beowulf, now old and at the end of his life, approaches the dragon in his cave...
They begin to fight. It is a fierce battle, for though Beowulf is now an old man, he is still a fierce warrior... However, it will take everything he has to break through those dragon scale balloons...
At long last, Beowulf is engulfed by the dragon's flames... (Please note my student "S" who represents the embodiment of the dragon's fire.) Beowulf, alas! begins to die.
All is not lost however! A new hero emerges: the young Wiglaf rushes to his king's aid, risking life and limb to defeat the dragon. As he dies, Beowulf passes his proverbial "torch" to the young hero...
And in this interpretation, his beard as well...
Finally, Beowulf dies, and his devoted followers grieve his passing with great solemnity...
Fun, right? WE all were entertained, in any case.
Next it was the sophomores' turn. To end their mythology unit, I had all the sophs sign up to play a character from mythology; they then had to research this character and act the part out during one fabulous mythological lunchtime extravaganza. Incidentally, the end of the unit fell on October 29th-- the Friday before Halloween. Note: my private Christian school kids are not allowed to dress up for Halloween. Some of the older male teachers, I must admit, watched my sophomores parade around in their togas with great suspicion, at one point telling me, "So THIS was your way of getting around the 'no dress up' rule, huh?"
I responded-- in full toga regalia-- "The end of my mythology unit just HAPPENED to fall on this Friday. Halloween has nothing to do with it."
"Suuure," they teased, good-naturedly. "And you probably planned waaaay out in advance to make sure it fell on this day, didn't you?"
"I WISH I could plan that far in advance!" I retorted.
In any case, the sophomores did a great job!
From left to right, we have a Muse (goddess of inspiration), Artemis (goddess of the hunt, hence the leopard skin), Athena (goddess of wisdom and war), and Aphrodite (goddess of love, and mother of Cupid who is represented in baby doll form.)
In another part of the cafeteria, Achilles gets ready to strike Hector, while the god of War, Ares, urges them on...
Meanwhile, Dionysus, god of Wine, proceeds to imbibe in a corner...
Narcissus, of course, is busy gazing at himself in any reflective surface he finds...
While Hercules, fresh off his lion kill, converses with Argus, the hundred-eyed guard...
Cronus, unfortunately, is still trying to prevent being overthrown by eating his children as soon as they're born...
And Daedalus-- master inventor, most well-known for his homemade wings which his son Icarus famously ruined by flying too close to the sun-- is interviewed by one of my seniors who is currently earning extra credit.
Can you spot the teacher??
Don't worry. I make sure I get in on the action too-- about a month ago, the Mentorship class hosted a murder-mystery-themed event and I got asked to play the trophy wife of the clubbed victim. I got to be the one to scream bloody murder-- remember?
That's the exciting stuff. Most days, however, consist of normal clothing and relatively calm-- albeit goofy-- learning activities in class. And finally, most days end with me sitting at my desk, utterly knackered, head spinning after another full day, and trying to reassemble my brain for some grade-entering before I leave.
It's a gift-- I try to remember that every day. I'm so blessed to get to do what I love.
Nov 14, 2010
Wanting and Sand-dollars
My friend Shannon does this thing.
She sometimes will ask people point blank, in a very serious tone of voice, "What do you want?" She asks them to respond truthfully, and to be vulnerable. She gets impatient when people respond with answers like, "World peace," because that's too easy. Apparently a guy responded with that once, and Shannon said, "No-- come on. You have to get real. What do YOU want?"
He looked at her and said defensively, "Okay. You really want to know? I want a harem. That's what guys are really thinking when you ask them that."
I sort of hope that's not true for all guys, but in any case: Shannon asks people to get real, and typically succeeds in getting a REAL response. That's just the way it works for a person like Shannon.
She asked me once what I wanted. I said, "Honestly?" And paused. Then, in an apologetic tone, I said, "I want to be a wife and mom. That's what I really want."
I think I feel the need to apologize because I wish I could be one of those women who just doesn't care-- who doesn't think twice about the fact that she's 26 and single. But-- in all honestly-- I really hope I get to be a wife and mom someday. I don't want that because I'm dissatisfied with my life right now; I really love my life right now. I love getting to go on adventures, and I love that my heart is finally starting to feel restful again, and I feel strongly that I'm not married yet for a good reason. God knows what He's doing in that area of my life. He's making a good story with my life.
I really hope that story eventually includes being a wife and mom.
I want that so badly in fact that, whenever people talk about whether or not they'd be ready to die or, "What if the world ended today and we all were up in heaven, wouldn't that be awesome?" I always say, "-- I wouldn't be ready yet. There's too much I still want to do on earth."
When I say that, I'm thinking: ride on an elephant, sky-dive, write a book, live in France for a year. I'm also thinking: I want to experienced being married to a best friend. I want to push my own child on a swing.
I want that.
Frankly-- I don't think that's the right answer. I think you're supposed to want to go to heaven lickety split, no matter what you haven't done on earth yet. My second semester's unit for my AP English class is structured around a line from a Wordsworth poem: "The world is too much with us." All the books for second semester feature characters that are overwhelmed by societal concerns or worldly constraints.
Probably, the world is too much with me.
Shannon and Carly and I were talking about this again-- what we want-- when we were in the hot tub the other night. I'll tell you what folks: conversation is rich in the hot tub. "What did you answer again?" Shannon asked me. I reminded her. I sort of felt miffed that I had to remind her. It made me feel like my answer hadn't been very remarkable, even though I'd felt like it was a major thing to openly confess. So I tried again.
"I guess I could answer, 'I want the sand-dollar moment again,'" I told Shannon. She and Carly both looked at me.
"The sand dollar moment?"
The sand dollar moment is from a beach walk I'd taken when I lived in Malibu. It was this incredible day-- I felt full and happy and my heart felt like it was a giant helium balloon. I got my pants soaked, because I couldn't help skipping in the waves. I climbed a giant rock at one point and let the waves congratulate me, and I did ballet moves on top of the rock, and if I'd fallen I might have died, but I was so happy I didn't think it was possible-- I felt like I would more likely have floated off. And, at the beginning of the walk, I had found sand-dollars. I'd told myself, "These are magical sand-dollars. I can buy anything I want with these." ... But-- I couldn't think of anything I really wanted that I didn't already have. I found mussels that had opened and looked like butterflies. I found starfish. I found sea anemones, and made friends with strangers. I saw happy children. I felt so RICH-- I felt so full and so happy. I ended up throwing the sand-dollars back into the waves because I decided I didn't need them. I had everything.
I told all this to Carly and Shannon. I said, "I think that's what I really want. To not want anything. To be content and FULL with what I already have."
Shannon nodded slowly. "'I want the sand dollar moment.' Yeah."
My cousin turned 17 this week. We celebrated her birthday last night, and I gave her a sand-dollar necklace that I'd found at a vintage store. I wore my own sand-dollar necklace that I'd found years ago at another vintage store. I told my cousin the story of my sand dollar walk, and told her it seemed like a "getting older" gift.
So today, at church, Pastor Richard talked about what it means to live in a place of freedom, in a place that's free of fear, that's free of clutching onto things. It was basically a sermon for those whom "the world is too much with." Richard talked about living with the ending in mind. Those that are free from fear live like they already know the ending to the story. Essentially, they live with heaven in mind. They have every reason to hope. They don't need to feel afraid for one second.
If the world ended today, those fear-free people would be pumped.
I think it's okay that I want to be a wife and mom someday. But I think it's better to seek the sand-dollar moment. I would like to be someone that would be ready for a place like heaven lickety splity-- even though I haven't had a ride on an elephant yet. Even though I'm not yet married.
I think I'm going to try to let go of the first want. It will probably take a little while to get there, but that's the way it goes with getting anywhere. I'm going to try to open my hands and let the clutchy desire to be a wife and mom float away like a full helium balloon, because when it comes down to it: I don't need to buy anything with my magical sand-dollars. I am right where I need to be, and I can be content with exactly what I have. Other gifts may come eventually, and if that happens, then wow: rock on.
But if they don't, I want to be someone that radiates "Enough." I want to radiate, "Content." I want to radiate, "Peaceful."
There I go again. "I want."
I want open hands. I want baby steps. I want the ending in mind.
I want a long slow arc of a magical sand-dollar being tossed back into congratulatory waves.
She sometimes will ask people point blank, in a very serious tone of voice, "What do you want?" She asks them to respond truthfully, and to be vulnerable. She gets impatient when people respond with answers like, "World peace," because that's too easy. Apparently a guy responded with that once, and Shannon said, "No-- come on. You have to get real. What do YOU want?"
He looked at her and said defensively, "Okay. You really want to know? I want a harem. That's what guys are really thinking when you ask them that."
I sort of hope that's not true for all guys, but in any case: Shannon asks people to get real, and typically succeeds in getting a REAL response. That's just the way it works for a person like Shannon.
She asked me once what I wanted. I said, "Honestly?" And paused. Then, in an apologetic tone, I said, "I want to be a wife and mom. That's what I really want."
I think I feel the need to apologize because I wish I could be one of those women who just doesn't care-- who doesn't think twice about the fact that she's 26 and single. But-- in all honestly-- I really hope I get to be a wife and mom someday. I don't want that because I'm dissatisfied with my life right now; I really love my life right now. I love getting to go on adventures, and I love that my heart is finally starting to feel restful again, and I feel strongly that I'm not married yet for a good reason. God knows what He's doing in that area of my life. He's making a good story with my life.
I really hope that story eventually includes being a wife and mom.
I want that so badly in fact that, whenever people talk about whether or not they'd be ready to die or, "What if the world ended today and we all were up in heaven, wouldn't that be awesome?" I always say, "-- I wouldn't be ready yet. There's too much I still want to do on earth."
When I say that, I'm thinking: ride on an elephant, sky-dive, write a book, live in France for a year. I'm also thinking: I want to experienced being married to a best friend. I want to push my own child on a swing.
I want that.
Frankly-- I don't think that's the right answer. I think you're supposed to want to go to heaven lickety split, no matter what you haven't done on earth yet. My second semester's unit for my AP English class is structured around a line from a Wordsworth poem: "The world is too much with us." All the books for second semester feature characters that are overwhelmed by societal concerns or worldly constraints.
Probably, the world is too much with me.
Shannon and Carly and I were talking about this again-- what we want-- when we were in the hot tub the other night. I'll tell you what folks: conversation is rich in the hot tub. "What did you answer again?" Shannon asked me. I reminded her. I sort of felt miffed that I had to remind her. It made me feel like my answer hadn't been very remarkable, even though I'd felt like it was a major thing to openly confess. So I tried again.
"I guess I could answer, 'I want the sand-dollar moment again,'" I told Shannon. She and Carly both looked at me.
"The sand dollar moment?"
The sand dollar moment is from a beach walk I'd taken when I lived in Malibu. It was this incredible day-- I felt full and happy and my heart felt like it was a giant helium balloon. I got my pants soaked, because I couldn't help skipping in the waves. I climbed a giant rock at one point and let the waves congratulate me, and I did ballet moves on top of the rock, and if I'd fallen I might have died, but I was so happy I didn't think it was possible-- I felt like I would more likely have floated off. And, at the beginning of the walk, I had found sand-dollars. I'd told myself, "These are magical sand-dollars. I can buy anything I want with these." ... But-- I couldn't think of anything I really wanted that I didn't already have. I found mussels that had opened and looked like butterflies. I found starfish. I found sea anemones, and made friends with strangers. I saw happy children. I felt so RICH-- I felt so full and so happy. I ended up throwing the sand-dollars back into the waves because I decided I didn't need them. I had everything.
I told all this to Carly and Shannon. I said, "I think that's what I really want. To not want anything. To be content and FULL with what I already have."
Shannon nodded slowly. "'I want the sand dollar moment.' Yeah."
My cousin turned 17 this week. We celebrated her birthday last night, and I gave her a sand-dollar necklace that I'd found at a vintage store. I wore my own sand-dollar necklace that I'd found years ago at another vintage store. I told my cousin the story of my sand dollar walk, and told her it seemed like a "getting older" gift.
So today, at church, Pastor Richard talked about what it means to live in a place of freedom, in a place that's free of fear, that's free of clutching onto things. It was basically a sermon for those whom "the world is too much with." Richard talked about living with the ending in mind. Those that are free from fear live like they already know the ending to the story. Essentially, they live with heaven in mind. They have every reason to hope. They don't need to feel afraid for one second.
If the world ended today, those fear-free people would be pumped.
I think it's okay that I want to be a wife and mom someday. But I think it's better to seek the sand-dollar moment. I would like to be someone that would be ready for a place like heaven lickety splity-- even though I haven't had a ride on an elephant yet. Even though I'm not yet married.
I think I'm going to try to let go of the first want. It will probably take a little while to get there, but that's the way it goes with getting anywhere. I'm going to try to open my hands and let the clutchy desire to be a wife and mom float away like a full helium balloon, because when it comes down to it: I don't need to buy anything with my magical sand-dollars. I am right where I need to be, and I can be content with exactly what I have. Other gifts may come eventually, and if that happens, then wow: rock on.
But if they don't, I want to be someone that radiates "Enough." I want to radiate, "Content." I want to radiate, "Peaceful."
There I go again. "I want."
I want open hands. I want baby steps. I want the ending in mind.
I want a long slow arc of a magical sand-dollar being tossed back into congratulatory waves.
Nov 11, 2010
Circles
I currently have a song running through my head.
The song is one that was written and recorded by one of my AP seniors, who shyly, happily passed along a CD of her songs after I asked for it.
This senior wrote this song partially based off the poem "Litany" by Billy Collins, which she was exposed to on the first day of school.
On the first day of school, I had showed my AP students THIS video of "Litany" being performed by a 3-year-old, and told my students they needed to rewrite the poem as a way to introduce themselves.
I had found that video on THIS friend's blog.
Just yesterday, I posted the link to THIS story , published by NPR, on that friend's facebook about the 3-year-old getting to meet Billy Collins, after little Sam's youtube video collected more than 300,000 hits.
On Monday I plan to show the same story to my AP students. I hope my little songwriter is as delighted by the sequence of events as I've been.
From a poet's head, to a small boy's memorized words, to a viral video, to a blog, to a lesson plan, to an assignment, and then back into a different poet's lyrics, music, and beautiful vocals...
I currently have a song running through my head.
The song is one that was written and recorded by one of my AP seniors, who shyly, happily passed along a CD of her songs after I asked for it.
This senior wrote this song partially based off the poem "Litany" by Billy Collins, which she was exposed to on the first day of school.
On the first day of school, I had showed my AP students THIS video of "Litany" being performed by a 3-year-old, and told my students they needed to rewrite the poem as a way to introduce themselves.
I had found that video on THIS friend's blog.
Just yesterday, I posted the link to THIS story , published by NPR, on that friend's facebook about the 3-year-old getting to meet Billy Collins, after little Sam's youtube video collected more than 300,000 hits.
On Monday I plan to show the same story to my AP students. I hope my little songwriter is as delighted by the sequence of events as I've been.
From a poet's head, to a small boy's memorized words, to a viral video, to a blog, to a lesson plan, to an assignment, and then back into a different poet's lyrics, music, and beautiful vocals...
I currently have a song running through my head.
Nov 2, 2010
Hot-tub Breathing
Our landlord unveiled a hot-tub. It has always been there; only now it works. In the space underneath the raised, second-story deck sits our hot-tub centerpiece, flanked by shelves of tools and cob-webbed patio furniture.
Carly and I broke it in last night. Dark; shivering; bare feet on patio cement; lift off the heavy lid; whispered, "Shhh!"; "Can you see?"; "Here it is"; eyes adjusted to darkness; climb; sink into warmth.
The jets hummed.
We talked about past elations, and heart-heaviness, and wondered out loud at how things might be. Carly listened, and prayed for me, and we stayed until we knew we couldn't stay any longer.
Monday was a stressful day. That time in the hot-tub with my dear friend was just what I needed.
Today was even more stressful. Grades for the quarter are due this next Monday, and I feel absolutely buried-- I feel overwhelmed. At one point today, when staring at my to-do list, I felt like I might start crying. I have no idea how it's all going to get done.
The day's one promised respite was a yoga class I planned to take with Deidra. My frantically beating heart would finally begin to calm, I thought, once I stretched out and worked my body.
We got to the studio and found out the class was already full. Thwarted.
So:
after getting home,
I went out to the hot-tub instead.
I sank into warmth; rested my head against the edge of the tub. Underneath the water, a light shone into the stirring and made a tiny rainbow swim beside me. I looked up at the sky, which was partially visible beyond the corrugated metal patio ceiling.
Cold air.
Quiet.
One tree trembled with brown, dried leaves, and I thought, quivering. I looked at the trees opposing it which had nothing left and I thought, threadbare. A tiny spider twirled from one of the rafters, increasingly silhouetted against the sky in the fading light and I wondered at the way things were.
Cold wind buffeted my face and hair. Dry leaves skittered across the patio. The evaporating water left nibbling, cold, chlorine kisses against my face.
I prayed.
The closest thing I know of surrender, I think, is the feeling that comes when sinking into deep water, when every muscle is finally-- finally-- allowed to relax. In the hot tub then, I let my muscles and my mind drift away from me. The cold air, the warm water, the skittering leaves, and the quiet voice somewhere deep in my heart spun together in a hum of rest.
You are safe. Be at peace.
Carly and I broke it in last night. Dark; shivering; bare feet on patio cement; lift off the heavy lid; whispered, "Shhh!"; "Can you see?"; "Here it is"; eyes adjusted to darkness; climb; sink into warmth.
The jets hummed.
We talked about past elations, and heart-heaviness, and wondered out loud at how things might be. Carly listened, and prayed for me, and we stayed until we knew we couldn't stay any longer.
Monday was a stressful day. That time in the hot-tub with my dear friend was just what I needed.
Today was even more stressful. Grades for the quarter are due this next Monday, and I feel absolutely buried-- I feel overwhelmed. At one point today, when staring at my to-do list, I felt like I might start crying. I have no idea how it's all going to get done.
The day's one promised respite was a yoga class I planned to take with Deidra. My frantically beating heart would finally begin to calm, I thought, once I stretched out and worked my body.
We got to the studio and found out the class was already full. Thwarted.
So:
after getting home,
I went out to the hot-tub instead.
I sank into warmth; rested my head against the edge of the tub. Underneath the water, a light shone into the stirring and made a tiny rainbow swim beside me. I looked up at the sky, which was partially visible beyond the corrugated metal patio ceiling.
Cold air.
Quiet.
One tree trembled with brown, dried leaves, and I thought, quivering. I looked at the trees opposing it which had nothing left and I thought, threadbare. A tiny spider twirled from one of the rafters, increasingly silhouetted against the sky in the fading light and I wondered at the way things were.
Cold wind buffeted my face and hair. Dry leaves skittered across the patio. The evaporating water left nibbling, cold, chlorine kisses against my face.
I prayed.
The closest thing I know of surrender, I think, is the feeling that comes when sinking into deep water, when every muscle is finally-- finally-- allowed to relax. In the hot tub then, I let my muscles and my mind drift away from me. The cold air, the warm water, the skittering leaves, and the quiet voice somewhere deep in my heart spun together in a hum of rest.
You are safe. Be at peace.
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