Remembering and Planning: Second Grade

I spent a good part of the day today working in my new classroom. After teaching 1st grade for ten years, I am excited to move down the hall to 2nd grade. I was thinking today, that I don’t remember much about my own 1st grade teacher, but what I remember about my 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Albright, and that 2nd grade year, helped to shape my life in some important ways.

In second grade I learned to create. My teacher invited an artist to visit our classroom and we got to create all sorts of wonderful things. In second grade I learned that it’s not always wise to pursue what one wants at the moment. I got in trouble when I talked to the girl next to me asking to borrow a silver crayon. I learned that I could do well in spite of bad circumstances when I managed to get good grades on my report card in spite of missing more than 20 days of school due to illnesses including chickenpox and a hospital stay for an appendectomy. I learned about “class” from my 2nd grade teacher who was well travelled and had a certain flair that I had never before noticed in someone I knew. In 2nd grade I learned that the gifts I am given are the ones I am meant to have. My teacher gave us each an Advent calendar as a gift and got upset when we started trading them with one another, and made us give them back to the person that had them to begin with. Mine had a beautiful candle in the center of the picture that was for the 24th…my birthday. I realized eventually that my teacher had cared enough to choose that one especially for me. I still have that Advent calendar, and I still have fond memories of my 2nd grade year.

As I begin to prepare to teach 2nd grade, I am mindful that now, perhaps more than ever, the things that I do and say, or don’t do and say, will have a lasting impact upon my students. I want the room to be just right for them. I want the way I interact with my students to meet their needs. I want my students to feel safe at every level and be happy to come to school each day. I want the lessons to inspire them to love learning, not just to prepare them to pass a test. I want my students to be able to think back when they are 50 and say, “I remember my second grade teacher and 2nd grade was an important year.”

Is UN-QUIT a word?

Long time no blog….

Ok, I admit that I’ve allowed myself to become discouraged with the whole blog thing. Mainly, I am confused by the technology. I want to do things that I don’t understand and don’t want to take the time to figure out, and don’t know how to begin to figure out.  I don’t think I’ve been doing the categories and tags right either.  Secondly, I’ve been asking my self, rather seriously, “just why do I do this anyway?” I didn’t much care for some of the answers I was coming up with. This reflection then led to the question, “just why would anyone anywhere want to read what I write anyway?” I concluded that anyone anywhere probably does not want to read this stuff, for the most part, although I must say “God Bless YOU” to anyone who does. I think the stats tell the story there. So, I quit.

I find that I miss it though…the discipline of writing on a regular basis, the occasional kind comment, the reading of the wise and funny words of some folks I’ve met through this mysterious (to me) electronic medium. So, I un-quit.

May the words begin to flow as the Spirit leads.

Where I’ve Been and A Place I’m Going

I approached Ash Wednesday with great anticipation. I felt ready to embark upon another journey into the ‘wilderness’ knowing that it would be a time of both self discovery (which may or may not…ok probably not…be comfortable) and of discovering God in a new way.

The journey began rather pleasantly (I will, perhaps, post the whole story in time) but I soon found myself in a place I did not want to be…ill in a hospital. Last school year I had become very ill and spent two weeks in hospital with severe pnemonia. With that in mind, I had become very germ conscious and was washing my hands at every opportunity and even had become adept at pushing a shopping cart without touching the handle. I really believed that I’d make it through the winter without serious illness again. That was not to be though.  I thought I had recovered from a mild flu when I suddenly spiked a fever and soon felt a familiar pain in my side, as it became harder to breathe. I did get away with only 3 days in my local hospital and, by the grace of God, it was actually a pretty good experience. In fact, while I was there I became convinced that I should become a hospital volunteer in spite of the fact that I don’t really need something else to do.

I begin my volunteer training this week by learning how to follow all those privacy regulations that health care workers and facilities must abide by. My job will be to staff the gift shop one evening a week. The shop is not currently open in the evenings, and for the time being the day I am there will be the only day it has evening hours. If all goes well, they’ll seek more volunteers for the evening shift. It’s a new adventure, and I must say I really don’t know why I am supposed to be doing this…I only know that I am.

On a different note, I must say that it feels good to be writing again. I think one thing that kept me away from the blog for so long is that I still don’t think I’m doing it right. I don’t quite get the categories and tags, and have trouble posting pictures…which is why I don’t do it very often. It’s work to figure all this stuff out and I guess I just wanted to get out of it!

Happy Birthday to Me: The Best is Yet to Be

note: the publish date says Dec. 25, but it’s really the 24th as I write this.

Today is my birthday. Not just any birthday, but the Big 5-0. The birthday I’ve been dreading for years.

Somehow I’d gotten the idea that the age of 50 was the beginning of the end, or something. I certainly wasn’t looking at being 50 as an assest. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in recent weeks though, and I have decided that this attitude is something that needs to fade into the past along with the decade of the 40’s.

I know lots of people that are older than I am. Many of them don’t seem any older to me, but I know that they are. As I’ve thought about people I know that are older than I, I have discovered that they all do cool and amazing things. Some of those things they didn’t even start doing until they were past 50. For instance, there is Dick who is perhaps old enough to be my father. He sings in the church choir even though it’s difficult for him to climb the steps to the choir loft with a foot that gives him trouble all the time. He takes voice lessons and sings in recitals. Then there is my dear friend Kerry who holds two jobs, sings, paints, quilts, and writes books to give to all her neices and nephews and a few others.  Wow!  We go walking together so I know she’s in decent shape too. Linda, who is about 15 years ahead of me in the age range,  hikes in Colorado where she and her husband moved only a year ago. She leads Bible studies and does tons of other stuff too, and this all while dealing with health issues as well.  My aunt Martha has lost a kidney and is diabetic, but manages to care for her handicapped granddaughter many days during the week, volunteers at a hospital, and goes to a health club to keep fit. Jo has survived a divorce, lost lots of weight and is looking super, is still a great teacher after more than 30 years, and is winning another fight with breast cancer. And she has a sense of humor to boot! The list could go on; I’ve discovered that doing interesting and valuable and fun things is not just for those in the realm of the young, or even the middle-aged.

So now I’m beginning to think that perhaps the best years of my life may be yet to come. Compared to when I was say 35, I am more confident, wiser, sassier, and I no longer have children living at home. I also laugh easier and longer, feel freer to be me than I ever have, and care less about what others may think. I am full of potential!

Camping in the Land of Should

This time a year ago I was lying in a hospital bed with a very serious case of pneumonia. I’ve written that story before, and have an intense desire NOT to revisit it, which explains why I’ve not been writing of late.

I’m now on my second antibiotic for bronchitis, and have even resorted to using the nebulizer I had used during my illness last year. I admit to having had a real battle with fear in the past week. The pain and vulnerability of that time of serious illness has been right there staring me in the face. I couldn’t seem to stuff it back in the drawer I’d packed it away in along with that nebulizer. I thought I was healthy. I was stronger and healthier this summer than I’d been in years, so why am I not able to fight this off? Why am I going down that all too familiar road of some sort of respiratory dysfunction? What is wrong with me?

When I settled down enough to listen, I got some answers. It seems that I’ve wandered back into ‘the land of SHOULD’ and camped out there for too long.  During the long recovery from that serious illness I put myself first. Not in a selfish way, but rather in a necessary way. When I was tired, I left things undone. I learned to do the necessary first, knowing I may never get to the nice. I ate better than I probably have ever. I was very conscious of the things that caused stress in my life and as often as possible either eliminated those things or just plain decided not to get upset. I took time for my spirit in ways ranging from prayer and meditation to keeping fresh flowers around and reading books that I enjoyed. I said no to things I didn’t want to do, and said no to some things I did want to do but knew would not be in my best interest at the time. I didn’t care what anyone thought I should do. I haven’t been doing some of things at all anymore, and some others not much since school started.  Hummm, maybe this all has something to do with why I was not able to resist those germs flying around my workspace from coughing children; maybe it has something to do with why I’m having such a hard time getting over this bronchitis. Maybe I need to do something about the situation. Yes. More on that later.

Yesterday hubby and I celebrated our anniversary.  We travelled to the southern part of the state to spend the day at a Renaissance Faire and had a wonderful time. Friday evening as we were on the road to the hotel where we were to spend the night, we began searching our minds for good memories. BK (before kids) we took several nice vacations and these times were some of the first things we came up with. I’ll never forget the first time I saw the Atlantic Ocean! While there are many good memories over the years we’ve spent together, there are many more that are bittersweet at best. I find that I don’t really enjoy looking at the old photos because for every good memory that is stirred, there seems to be something lurking closely about that I’d rather forget. All this remembering has made me aware, once again, that I need to make peace with some things, but that’s another discussion.

It turned out that the weekend theme at the Renaissance Faire was “romance.” Perfect! The set of the little town includes a church, where a mass renewal of vows was held. So we “got married again” by a priest who was probably just an actor in a little church that reminded me of a fancy picnic shelter with a nice altar at the front, and we have a certificate to prove it. It was a serious affair though, unlike anything else we witnessed that day. The brief service was adapted from an Anglican prayer book from the early 1800’s, and the whole thing was, I thought, quite meaningful. So now, I mentioned to hubby, we have started over and we can do things right this time around! With 28 years of previous experience, and the grace of God, we ought to be able to enjoy a wonderful marriage!

The Fate of Glory

My quiet (at least when I am at home) life is back to being quiet. After a brief 2 1/2 days home dear daughter moved into her apartment near the university she attends, and will begin her last year of college on Monday. I find that I miss her all the time, even when she IS here, simply because she is not REALLY here anymore. The mother/daughter dynamic has been forever changed by this point. Not that this is bad, it just is, and it is different.

My daughter is better than I am at many things, not the least of which is the way she treats  houseplants.  Yes, houseplants. I’ve never been very good at houseplants and even the ones that are easy to grow generally fail to grow much for me. I did once have a plant called a ‘prayer plant’ for over 10 years, but that may have had more to do with the fact that the plant folded it’s lovely leaves in prayer each evening when the sun went down than it had to do with my care of it. Anyway, 2 years ago daughter and I each bought a small philodendron at the grocery store. We repotted them with the same soil. She took her plant to college with her, talked to it, water it, carried it home in a box when she came for holiday breaks, and named it Glory. I watered mine and hoped for the best. Two years later, Glory is huge, several feet long, and my little plant has grown maybe 6 inches. At least it is still alive.

I lamented to daughter over the fact that her plant was a giant, while mine still a midget. “Do you talk to it?,” she asked. “Did you name your plant?”  No and no.

I was left in charge of Glory this summer while daughter worked at a camp in another state. With some trepidation I accepted the challenge. I watered her and talked to her at the same time. Sometimes I’d just go in to say ‘HI’. I prayed for God’s blessing on the little, or rather not so little, plant.  Hubby even said ‘good morning’ a few times. Glory made it through the summer with only one yellow leaf. What a relief! Then yesterday, when I am helping daughter unload her car which she had parked the day before in front of the apartment, what, or rather who, do we find forgotten in the car? A very wilted and slightly cooked Glory. I was shocked! Not only that, but little Braveheart (Jade plant sprout) was there, forgotten, as well. Shaking my head I carried the poor plants to the kitchen and poured cool water on the soil and the leaves and urged them to live in spite of it all. What will happen to poor old Glory is now in the hands of her Creator. I told daughter that she’d probably need to prune Glory rather severely to save her, but I thought she might make it. We’ll see.

I’m sure there is a really profound spiritual point to this story, but it hasn’t come to me yet.  The only thing I can come up with is “don’t forget about something or someone you care for”, or “a little neglect can lead to a quick death.”  I don’t know. I think it’s time to go say a prayer for daughter and her plants.

A Day Can Make All the Difference

A day of rest and quiet in a beautiful place can do wonders for a person. Add to it that the beautiful setting is also a holy place, and the experience can be transforming.

I went away for a 26 hours to a retreat center run by Franciscan nuns. The center is next to their convent. The accomodations were simple yet comfortable, and grounds provided lovely places to walk or sit in the shade (or sun if you prefer). Space to think, read, pray, and just be, is something I have longed for all summer and this proved to be the perfect setting for such activities. One of the most moving things about my brief stay there was attending Mass with the Sisters at the convent chapel. I’d never attended a Catholic Mass before and made that clear to the Sister who invited me. The liturgy was similar in so many ways to our Episcopal liturgy that I ended up feeling quite comfortable.  I had expected to not be permitted to partake in the Eucharist,  but Sister D. warmly invited me saying that I obviously believe, so it’s ok. It is always very special to me to recieve Christ’s body and blood in the bread and wine. I felt honored to be able to share the meal with those devoted women.

It’s good to get away to a place where there is nothing to do but tend to the needs of my heart. I needed the quiet in which to listen to the voice of the Spirit. I needed the love extended to me by those I met there. I needed the beauty to feed my soul. I needed to be undistracted to begin to get to the heart of those thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head. If I could do this once a month, I think my life would be changed.

 

Hair Today, Hair Tomorrow

I’ve been wanting to get someone to take my picture so I can download it to appear on my web page. I like to see who’s written what I’m reading, so figure maybe other people may feel that way too. I wanted to wait until I got my hair done though, so haven’t done it yet.

Now, hair is obviously not the most important thing about me, or any of us. I’m no good at fixing hair and would prefer not to fuss with it a lot. I’ve known women who fussed excessively about their hair and found them to be rather shallow and annoying. BUT, I am now forced to admit that my hair is a more important issue than I thought. (If you are a guy and happened to land on this post, you might want to just mosey along now before you get bored out of your analytical mind.) I’m way to young for my hair to be as , ahem, pigment deprived as it is. Therefore I do something I said in my 20’s that I would NEVER do….I color my hair.  I spend the money and have it done by a professional because I don’t want to mess it up.  More and more of those pigment deficient strands keep growing in, so I decided a few months ago to go lighter, so maybe those pale strands would be less obvious as the hair grows out.  This met with mixed reviews. Daughter was shocked, parents and son wern’t sure what to think, hubby refused to comment, and my co-workers said I LOOKED YOUNGER.  It had turned out lighter than I planned, but eventually I decided I liked it and figured I’d keep it about that shade.

Today, I went to my hair stylist. I made the grave error of asking hubby what he really thought about my hair. He didn’t like it light. He wanted it darker, as before, and was quite clear about his opinion. Well, if I’m going to try to impress anyone with my appearance it should be hubby, (not that anyone else WOULD be impressed), so I thought, “What the heck, it’s just hair, I’ll make him happy.”

It had turned out lighter than I planned when I went light; now it turned out darker than I wanted. And I think it makes me look OLDER. It seems that there is no happy medium. Sorry hair stylist, but my hair doesn’t look like the little fake hair swatch on the color board, no matter what you say! Probably, since it had been processed in such a way as to make it lighter, it now picked up the dark color too well, or some such thing. I know it will look better in a couple of weeks, as it always seems to lighten up a little – especially those strands lacking in natural pigment. I think I’ll wash it every day and use cheap shampoo a couple of times and stay out in the sun a lot. All that should accomplish something!

So, I won’t be taking that picture for a couple of weeks, at least. On a more positive note however, I will mention that I am very grateful to have hair. I knew a woman once that had some rare disease causing her to have no hair. When I was very ill a few months back I was losing a lot of hair and was getting worried. So I am GLAD to have hair, whatever it looks like.

I just hope hubby is happy.

Hello World!

This blog is the new and (hopefully) improved version of  Along the Way/Along the Way of Grace previously published at blogspot.com. I’ve imported the old blog in it’s entirety, but will be deleting (possibly) many of those old posts and re-categorizing everything as time allows.

Change is exciting, so stop again and find out what life is like with Ladygrace.