Miracles

This is how I visualize it: the angels of the Heavenly Miracle Review Committee are sitting around in a circle of silver-lined clouds, looking through the last month's worth of miracles. The file is thick, so the committee is pleased with the thought that the monthly miracle quota has been met. They are about to sign off with a big gold checkmark when a tiny angel on a corner cloud pipes up: "Wait! I just have this feeling: we need ONE more miracle, just one more. And I know who it needs to go to."

The miracle went to my oldest (and pregnant) sister, who was T-boned by a drunk driver Wednesday night in Spokane. Her car spun in a full circle and flew up over the hood of a nearby vehicle. Four witnesses stopped their cars in a protective road-block, then watched in absolute disbelief as my sister stepped out of her totalled car. The passenger riding with the drunk driver collapsed onto the sidewalk in sobs, and another driver could not stop crying and shaking from what she had just witnessed. When the EMTs saw my sister's car they prepared to extricate a dead person. They couldn't believe she was standing right there in front of them. "People don't just walk away from hits like this," they kept saying. My sister is matter-of-fact about it: "God gave me a miracle. He was true to His promises."

Inspiration

For one of my literacy classes, I'm compiling 25 "multicultural children's literature cards" to be use in my future classroom. One of the books I selected for this project is entitled I Have A Sister, My Sister Is Deaf. I love this book - it's gentle, realistic, and best of all, provides numerous starting points for literacy activities. When I use this book in my classroom I'd like to have my students be "deaf for a day" - or at least 30 minutes - and reflect on the experience of not having one human sense on which to rely. The object is for them to learn how their other senses "fill in the gaps." This morning, I came across a video about a blind photographer. Here again, an example of a person who relies on his other senses to "fill in" for not being able to see. He does "see" images, but through the image of sound. Very cool concept. Check it out: http://vimeo.com/14179548. You may be inspired! 

Cowgirl at Heart

I lean against the sun-warmed fence, watching as Amy shows her horse to an interested couple. She has been trying to sell her horse for months now. No reason save lack of time. I find myself regretting this as I watch Amy. She is obviously happy around her horse. She sits tall in the saddle and moves in rhythm with her horse's stride, speaking a language only they two share. I smell the coppery warmth of Angel's coat, the sweet whiff of her breath. Her eyes are half-closed in the sunshine, but she is paying close attention to the people around her. Suddenly, I sense myself wanting to be close to this horse. I have never thought of myself as a "horse person," but why not? I love horses. I love their strength, their speed, their gentle power. I love how I feel next to a horse, awed and yet protected by a quiet giant. I love how I feel on top of a horse, free and at home in the closeness of a transferred trust. I love the smell of horses, hay, leather, and tack. The smells calm me and make me feel that everything's okay with the world. I love the sound of a horse's tail swishing, its breath whooshing and its long teeth cruching. I love the sight of horses running in the wind. Sometimes I can almost feel myself running with them, tossing my hair and racing the ground just to understand my own restlessness. During some of the worst days of my life, it was horses that helped heal my broken spirit. Trail riding the Grand Tetons was an journey I wanted never to end. I have dreamed of riding a wild horse, bareback and barefoot, full speed across the open country. Some day, even if it's in heaven, I know I will have just such an experience. Until then I am left wondering, am I actually, after all, a cowgirl at heart? 

Breathless Moments

While we were out walking this morning, my younger sister Amy contemplated aloud on this quote: "Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away." You can't plan those moments. I don't know if you can even purposely put yourself in a situation where such moments are more likely to occur. But you do play a conscious role in that you allow yourself to be open to wonder, to the unforeseen miracles that sneak up on you when you least expect them. Like the golden bloom of a daffodil that has survived late spring frosts. Or the laughter of an infant in her sleep. Or the touch of a friend you have not seen in years. Thank God for those moments that take our breath away. Those are the moments when a fold of heaven crinkles into our life on earth.

Enough

Matthew, one of my five brothers, is studying to be a doctor. He is also a born organizer. This year, he organized a "Wellness Challenge" to promote the health and well-being of family and friends. My sister Amy and I agreed to sign up for the challenge, if for nothing else to support Matthew's efforts. Every week we attempt to complete a list of activities designed to improve our mental and physical health.

This is Week 10 of the 10-week challenge, and I am assessing my results. Not such a pretty picture. Did I renew my gym membership? No. Did I register for and complete an "Athletic Event"? No. Did I make significant gains in lowering my cholestorol levels, losing weight, and eating a diet of nonprocessed foods? Um, no. In fact, I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life! So what's going on? Well, evidently I'm a "holder" of all the stress which has underlined our lives the past few months. The conflict between my parents, the upheaval of my family, the uncertain paths of my younger siblings, the adjustment into parenting my youngest sister... has all settled in my stomach. Add to that trying to perform well academically in my six college classes and four teacher Praxis tests - let's just say it hasn't been an easy semester. I haven't been able to devote myself as I had hoped to the Wellness Challenge, and subsequently have not arrived at the results I expected of myself. I always want success, but herein lies a lesson of accepting what is enough.

So what is enough? For now, it is awareness. Awareness of how I spend my days, as recorded in my Fitness Log in the form of meals eaten, exercise undertaken, activities enjoyed, and hours slept. Awareness of how I am fueling my body, mind, and heart. Awareness of how I can improve upon that baseline. So I didn't reach the results for which I'd hoped. But I did gain more awareness, knowledge which will at some future point be tangibly applied to my life. And that, for now, is enough.

May Day

Happy May, world! I stepped outside this morning into sunshine. And breathed it in with gratitude. Sunshine helps me breathe. I don't know why, but I forget to breathe. Seriously. I'll be going through my day or be in the middle of a physical activity, and realize I have forgotten to breathe. Maybe I need one of those blonde-joke heasets which repeats, "Breathe in, breathe out." Or maybe I just need sunshine. The warmth of golden rays reaches my heart, releases everything held inside, and pushes air through my lungs. I haven't read it, but I know of a book entitled "Breathing Lessons." Perhaps I ought to write an autobiography entitled "Learning to Breathe."

Osama bin Laden was killed by U.S. soldiers today. The news is all over the television. I am listening in a kind of half-there state, looking at the celebrating crowds at Capitol Hill and Ground Zero with mixed feelings. One thing I love about America is its resilient spirit, the collective force of millions which believe we have freedoms to believe in and fight for. September 2001 tore at our spirits as it challenged our freedoms. Of  course we want to celebrate the death of a man who symbolized  the antithesis to our American spirit. I get that. There's a bittersweet kind of justice that comes with the end of a terrorist. But at the same time, I can't join in the celebration of a life no longer. So many individuals, around the world, have sacrificed their lives for the cause of their country. My prayers go out to our men and women who continue to fight for what America believes, long past the end of one man in history.

Just Wondering...

...how do I help someone just "push the easy button"? I can't seem to get through to her that life really doesn't have to be so complicated.

...why do I keep having visions of a sunny beach? Is it because sunshine is the most elusive element outside right now?

...what do I have to do to get over my apprehension toward tests? Fail one?

...when will I finally know where I'm going to be student teaching? It seems as if a lot of other plans revolve around that one. 

...where can I go on spring break to shut my mind off? Completely.

Admissions

All right, I'll admit it: this snow is my fault. I left my Jeep out last night. Without fail, every time I decide to leave my Jeep outside the garage (thinking, oh so naively, that it will be a clear night), it snows. We have six inches already, and it's still snowing heavily. Now, we haven't gone an entire week without snow yet this spring; however, THIS is crazy! The world outside is completely reverted back to January. I am beginning to wonder if I am going crazy. Was the snow ever even melted? Were the green grass and colorful crocuses just a dream? And WHY did I write yesterday's blog ("Just A Dream")? Because I do believe it jinxed spring! Sorry, folks. I've learned my lesson. I'll keep my dreams to myself and my Jeep in the garage.

Was it Just A Dream?

Waking up
To golden streaks on my bedroom wall
Birds singing
Flower-scented air

We walk the neighborhood
Enjoying the laughter of children
Bikes, lawn mowers, rakes, and straw hats
Out from musty winter storage

The sky is blue
So blue I am dizzied by its brilliance
And the sun is warm
So warm the long winter inside me
Begins to melt

We open the garage
And begin to organize
I sort through bags of recyling -
Cardboard, aluminum, paper, plastic -
My life through a recyle bin

We sweep the porch
Brush down wasps' nests
Empty the gutters
Refill bee catchers

We beat the rugs
Vacuum the floor
Wipe down the vehicles
Remove streaks from the windows

Hamburgers on the grill
Jimmy Buffet from the loudspeakers
A whiskey sour in hand
I sit with my love
and watch the sun set over our quickly-greening lawn

My sister joins us
and we chat
We talk of ho-hum things
and mysteries beyond our knowledge

Sunshine has moved
from the atmosphere
into my heart
I am happy
I am sunburnt
THIS was a spring day
Or was it just a dream?

Memory Shelf

Last night I stopped in at my dad's house to pick up a couple children's books for one of my classes. As I looked over the shelf of choices, memories spilled over me. Memories of reading these books, alone and with my siblings, sprawled on the couch or curled up in one of my hideouts. These were the books that introduced me to the literary world. Just running my fingers over their well-worn titles, I could recall the images, the stories, and all the emotions that accompanied the time spent reading them. I did not find the books I was looking for (a series which somehow all NINE of my siblings still remember fondly!), but I did find several other books which hold significant memories for me in their yellowed pages.

By the way, if any of you are looking for an awesome children's book series, the "Woodland Folk" by Tony Wolf is my hands-down childhood favorite. You can check out some of the illustrations from the books at http://knittingiris.typepad.com/knitting_iris/2007/01/woodland_folk_b.html. I can't wait to track down our family's old series, wherever they are, and get lost in their magic!

Welcome to Alaska

One of the Spinoff activities I did with my sister for this class was to write a timeline of our lives, then look for the major transitions and choose one to "explode." For lack of inspiration in regards to today's blog, I'm just going to include my "exploded moment" (arriving in Alaska for the first time):

“Prepare for landing.” I slip off my headphones and stash them in my purse. My stomach flip flops as I peer out the tiny plane window in an attempt to discern the scenery below. Multi-hued lines of blue are quickly taking formation, revealing mountains and lakes pushed up against each other by glistening glaciers. The plane touches down with a grinding lurch. I’m here. “Welcome to Alaska,” the man next to me smiles. “You’ll love this land. I guarantee it.” The lack of doubt in his voice strikes me anew. I have spent the plane ride from Seattle talking to the native Alaskans around me who are returning home after their winter respite in warmer regions. They are at once genuinely welcoming and remotely defensive, as if they desperately want you to love Alaska like they do. Living in Alaska is a choice. These people wear the choice on their faces, deep grooves worn by years of fighting the harsh environment. They reflect the choice in their eyes, wells of determination and experience. I have not even set foot on Alaskan soil, but I already feel its wild power rushing through my body. It is time to experience the Great Land.

Where is Spring?

My last sight of the outdoors before dark closed in was of snow playing with the wind. So guess what I dreamed of? Snow. In the morning, snow was covering the kitchen countertops, drifting in fluffy patterns over every object left out from the night before. "What is THIS?" I yelled at my husband. "Isn't this what we have a roof for? To keep the SNOW out?" He was dressed in his winter gear - hat, gloves, and all. Smiling from ear to ear (he loves snow!) and shoveling - shoveling! - paths through our house. "Well, sometimes this happens," he explained as if it were the most reasonable occurrence in the world, "It happens when there's too much condensation in the air." You've got to be kidding me! I kept looking up at the roof, as if I expected to find the traitor holes that had let the snow in. "Where am I going to put all this snow?" I started crying. And woke up. Thank God that was just a dream. But obviously there's some processing going on here. WHERE IS SPRING?

Only Ten Minutes

With only 10 minutes, you could...
     ...do one set from a Pilates workout DVD.
     ...play fetch with your dog.
     ...sweep the kitchen floor.
     ...write a "thinking of you" card to a friend.
     ...fold a load of laundry.

Or, with only 10 minutes, you could...
     ...skydive from 12,500 feet.
     ...rappell down a 300-foot cliff.
     ...climb a W.3 ice fall.

Or, with only 10 minutes, you could just post an entry on BlogSpot!

Randomness

Twirling, tapping, pointing, floating... Amy and I are watching the varied choreographies at DanceFest. I am impressed, but not inspired to take up dancing again myself. When I see the Scottish Highland dancers on stage, I can remember every step, feel the swish of the kilt and the lift of the leg - but I don't want to be a Scottish Highland dancer again. That was a time, a past time.

Talking, laughing, questioning, screeching - I'm trying to help Amy with her advanced grammar lesson. I tell her one thing, and her computer program says something else. Once upon a time I knew all these terms. Why can't I remember what a dangling participle is? What's more, how applicable is this knowledge?

Clanging, banging, potting, plating - my husband is cooking dinner. Barbecued steak, no less. The smell makes me long for summertime. There are still patches of snow on our lawn from where it snowed this morning. I want to go somewhere warm, somewhere sunny, and sleep... and sleep...

My Own Interpretations

Have you heard of TLA's? It's the language we increasingly speak in, the longer we are involved with any given field and the more experienced we become with terms. TLA stands for three-letter acronyms, like ABE (Adult Basic Education). It refers to the host of acronyms that accompanies any given field. For this blog entry, I'm going to amuse myself by making up my very own interpretations for special education TLA's.

IEP (formerly Individualized Education Plan) - Information Excess Problem. The situation in which you are bombarded by way more information than you can possibly take in. In other words, school.

RTI (formerly Response to Intervention) - Really Tremendous Indifference. The state of mind you entertain toward any form of studying, homework, or assignments by the end of the semester - or right after a mid-term break, for that matter.

LRE (formerly Least Restrictive Environment) - Least Renewed Energy. The personal label that sets you apart from other students at your college who actually GOT a spring break.

BIP (formerly Behavior Intervention Plan) - Behaving Irrationally Periodically.  The behavior condition which seems to plague you more and more frequently as the semester wears on... and on...

APE (formerly Adapted Physical Education) - Already Past Estimation.  The hours you have spent staring at a computer screen in order to complete your online classes.

This blog entry is dedicated to students who can understand the paradoxical challenges we take on to earn a way-too-important piece of paper (i.e., college degree).

School

At this point in the semester (and my degree), I feel as if I'm only doing school to get to an endpoint. I anticipate the point in the week where my assignments are all done, and the point in the year where I have a few days off. I wish I could maintain a more consistent motivation toward school. It seems to be caught somewhere between the stacks of textbooks, computer folders, online discussion boards, and Praxis tests. While on our daily walk this morning, my little sister Amy and I got to talking about school. I don't know how the NCLB Act came up, but it did; and I got on a roll. From standardized testing to inclusion practices to content standards, I covered it all - and then some. We were still talking half an hour after getting back home. Amy got almost as impassioned as I when I mentioned the things that are going on in Idaho education/educational politics right now. "What can I DO?" she asks. Her willing enthusiasm makes me smile. What CAN we do? I am not yet a teacher. So what I can do is buckle down and finish out this education which will certify me for being a teacher, for doing what I can to improve the future of our educational system. 

Silly Doggy

Since Day 1, my dog Kona and I have had a challenging relationship. I drove the truck and my husband held Kona when we took him home at seven-and-a-half weeks. He whined the whole way. That night, in his new kennel with a fuzzy blanket and stuffed animal, he let loose noises like I have never heard. The closest I could say is a mix between a cat whose tail is caught under a rocking chair, a hyena trying to swallow an alligator, and a siren flooded with water. The whining - and the "special" crying - didn't stop once Kona got accustomed to his new home. He seemed to take pleasure in voicing himself every time he was exposed to a new element or situation. For months, he would suddenly start barking growling and barking at some random item in our house that had been there before him but that he finally noticed.

I've never had an inside dog, so I've really had to adjust to the noises, smells, dog hair, and accommodations which naturally come with a dog being part of the family. It hasn't been easy. Kona, as a chocolate lab, requires constant supervision. Only in the past few weeks have I been able to leave him alone for a few minutes without worrying that he will consume the kitchen baseboard or the contents of the washroom trashcan. So far - knock on wood - we haven't lost anything to his strong chewing tendencies. (A small miracle, I suppose, if you're familiar with the story "Marley and Me"!) 

Kona will continue to be a challenge. But I don't know if I'd want it any other way. He makes us laugh. He loves to chase his tail in figure-eights around our legs, howl along with my little sister when she plays her accordion, and race crazily around the livingroom with his rear end tucked under and his ears back. He's the only dog I've ever met that doesn't like riding in the car - when he thinks he has to go with us, he runs into his kennel and stands quietly peeking out, as if we can't see him. Yesterday, I looked outside to find him standing on the edge of the deck, just checking out the world:

When my little sister Amy goes outside to call Kona in, he will run behind a tree and stand there as if he thinks she can't see him:

Thank heaven for dogs. Sometimes they are far more enjoyable than people.

Living Color

I love color. I love the color that appears in nature, the brilliant blue of the sky and the crystal green of a mountain lake. I love the color that appears in food, the rich blush of a pepper and the smooth yellow of a banana. I love the color that appears in clothing, the vibrant strands of an Indian weave and the flaming red of a Spanish skirt. But most of all, I love the color that appears in humanity, the flush of pink that accompanies surprise and the glow of golden life shining from someone's eyes.

Here are just a few snapshots I've taken lately of the color around my home...

Taking A Break

Does anyone else find it difficult to take a break? I was raised with the mindset that time is for productivity. Sitting about and relaxing is not productive, therefore should be engaged in as little as possible. Thankfully, I've been able to learn that sitting around and relaxing is not only productive, but is also necessary at times. Sometimes you've just gotta take a break. Unfortunately, I still haven't figured out how to let my mind take a break. It's always racing along to the next thing I have to do, the last thing I learned, the situations and people around me. I've tried meditation - and fall asleep. I've tried running - and just think about other things. So now I'm trying just "letting it go" and giving myself a break. Self-talk: "I've done the best I can. That's all for now." Problem is, "try" is an operative word, and I need to stop operating. Hmmm...

Bubble Tea

Do you know what a "small joy" is? It's the little glimpse of heaven's sunshine filtering through life's tasks. It's the "something" that gives you a little hiccup of happiness when you least expect it. Like bubble tea. Bubble tea is a traditional Vietnamese sweet drink, made with large tapioca pearls and various ice- or cream- based flavors. I first tried bubble tea when I visited New York City in 2005. I loved it. Let's just say it's one of the most fun experiences you can have with a beverage. I had my fair share of bubble tea experiences while living in the NoVA/DC area. It was the first thing I went for when going "back east" to visit. This area of the country isn't as diverse, so I was absolutely amazed when I saw a BUBBLE TEA! sign on the corner of Trent and Sullivan in Spokane. Seriously? Yep, now it's my weekly tradition to stop by Lalozy's coffee stand when driving my little sis to Spokane. We chat with the adorable Vietnamese couple who run the shop and drive away with smiles, content that even here in our little corner of the country we can experience a taste of another culture. Small joy, but not insignificant. 

Good Teacher

This morning I was thinking about a particular teacher who should not be a teacher. There, I said it. Who am I to toss that judgment out against someone else? Well, for one, I was his student. I was affected by his absolute disregard for students' needs and learning constraints. Secondly, I was his evaluator. I knew that no active learning was going on his class.

So what kind of person should be a teacher? The kind of person who I was fortunate enough to have for two separate classes. This woman was incredible. She connected with her students. She showed, through her instruction and her interactions, that she cared about each student as a person and as a learner. She found a way to get through to every student on a level that made sense to them. She observed her class for comprehension and modified her teaching to ensure comprehension. She made things make sense. She was human - she shared her own stories and thoughts with genuine ease. She made us love her. She created breakthroughs for her students. She gave us confidence in ourselves, confidence in areas we had never before experienced. She showed us how to make sense of our own learning process. She helped us to enjoy not only our time in her classroom, but also the time we spent studying a subject that most of us feared. She inspired us. 

I will always be grateful for having been a student in this woman's classroom. She is an outstanding example of a teacher, but also as a person who positively impacts the lives around her. 

Perspective

Lately I've been pretty down. Blame it on the grey weather (snow has once again covered our landscape up here!), blame it on the endless online assignments, blame it on alternating bouts of sickness and health... I just feel as if, no matter how hard I try, I can't pull myself out of a low-grade "muck." Reading, when I make the time for it, has been a welcome escape. And also provided much-needed perspective. The books I've read - Kabul Beauty School and A Thousand Splendid Suns - have reminded me of the enormously privileged life I have here in the United States. Here I am, 26 years old and able to pursue just about any path I choose, while in a certain war-torn part of the world, women my same age are imprisoned for daring to speak or to dream. I wake up wondering what decisions will be the most beneficial, whereas these global sisters of mine wake up wondering if they will make it through the day. I am enveloped in the love of a devoted husband, while most of these women suffer through endless abuse. Compared to many of my American peers, my life has been "harder" and filled with more challenges. But up against the lives of Afghan peers, mine is one of luxury. I am chastened to think that I can sit here bemoaning the fact that I am not mentally stimulated enough from my studies, when women all around the world are still not allowed to pursue their education or develop their potential.

There is no conclusion to my thoughts this morning. I have to say, though, that I have been given a restored perspective of my place here in this world; and I aim to take advantage of the opportunities I have so fortunately been given with a more grateful heart.

NCAA Bracket

UCONN won the NCAA Championship game last night. Good on them, because I selected them for my bracket. Making a straight tie between my husband and I for the entire March Madness experience. This is the first year I've ever filled out an NCAA bracket. I didn't even watch sports on TV before marrying my sports-fan husband. But I've found a distinct kind of pleasure in learning to follow sports in their relative seasons, even on my limited level. I actually know now what "Elite Eight" is referring to. I know that "line of scrimmage" doesn't mean a domestic argument, and that "on-deck" isn't just a marine term. When I see people wearing sports regalia, I can distinguish between names of basketball, baseball, and football teams. I can at least pretend to have a knowledge about the latest sports upsets and victories. (Just don't press for details!) 

This "sports talk" is new to me. I've never been a product of my generation. I can't name artists or actors, politicians or comedians. My knowledge of pop culture is severely limited. Part of this is due to choice, part due to obstinance, and part due to being raised in a very conservative family. Sometimes I have found this limited knowledge of pop culture places me on the outer edge of social interactions. (It's amazing to me how being able to quote movie lines and discuss the latest Hollywood gossip can get you right into the middle of a conversation!) Since I don't come by this knowledge from experience, I would have to gain it through conscious exposure. And yet, it must just not matter enough to me; because I'm still pretty clueless.

Thoughts on Writing

I finally finished reading Jane Yolen's Take Joy: A Book for Writers. I'd recommend it to anyone who pursues the art of writing. Some of Yolen's thoughts:

"Literature is a textual act between consenting individuals."

"Sacred in story has to do with that moment you are reading and suddenly the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rise up. The moment when you and the story ascend a level of humanity and touch the very hem of heaven."

"We write not just to show off, to tell, or only to have written. We write to know ourselves."

Writing has helped me to know myself better my entire life, but lately it's helped me to know things I didn't before even consider as part of me. Some of which aren't so welcome. Like the fact that I often sacrifice the unfolding of creativity to the restraint of time. Or the fact that I sometimes measure a day's worth by whether anything occurs that is interesting enough to record. I'm curious how my fellow classmates have come to know themselves through their writing this semester?  

I'll Never

We've all heard the phrase "Never say never!" But don't we each have certain things we KNOW we'll never really do? I'll never...
* pierce my bellybutton. Doesn't it hurt?
* be a professional tennis player. Coordination isn't my strong suit.
* own 10 cats. I don't even own one.
* base jump from the Eiffel Tower. But maybe another structure?
* wear chain mail. It looks heavy.
* hate my family. They're family!
* deny love. To do so is to deny breath to the soul.

Grey

Grey, monochromatic shades outside my window and inside my mind. Shifting but flat movement, lacking energy or flow. Everywhere I look, a dormant promise of something: matted moss about to sprout into neon-green grass, low-hanging clouds about to split into blue sunshine, wet earth about to let loose its flurry of sprouts and small animal life. My "happy lamp" is on and my Vitamin D level is high, but I'm still grey inside. What dormant promise lies inside? An adventure yet to be experienced, a truth yet to be uncovered?

Taking the Time

I enjoy finding ironies in life. I know, weird right, but it gives me amusement. One irony I've been considering over the past couple weeks: I chose Literacy as one of my minors because I want to help students discover the joy of reading and writing as a lifelong journey, but I myself have rarely made the time for reading and writing outside of school. Last night I started to read a book. Not for a class, not for specific learning, but just for the sake of reading. My husband asked me as we headed for bed, "Whatever were you reading? I don't think I've ever seen you so engrossed in a book, just tuning out the world around you." I think that's what a good book should do. It should sweep you up and never put you down, even after the last word. It has been a while since I've read such a book. Or maybe it's just been a while since I've allowed myself to be swept up. So ladies, here's to surrendering yourself to a book that wants to be read. 

Three Cups of Tea

Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea, spoke at Gonzaga University last night. He spoke to a sold-out auditorium. I was surprised at the age span represented in the audience, from infants to individuals seemingly in their 80s. Mortenson just returned from Afghanistan, so his talk was affected by his jet lag. However, he still shared some touching stories and even more thought-provoking insights. I am impressed by the openness of this man's spirit. I know there are people all over the world who are making a big impact, but Mortenson was able to tap into the media outlet to expand his impact. Underlying his work is the message that "the pen is mightier than the sword." Education is the best way to fight the ignorance that breeds conflict and wars. I've been feeling somewhat discouraged about the field of education lately (especially in Idaho). Mortenson is such a strong advocate for education, and teachers, that I was reminded again why I chose this field.

No Soul in Sight

Prompt: Write about what you would do to entertain yourself if you did not see a soul for 7 days.

Day One, I think I'd be excited to be all on my own. No pressures, no worrying about making other people happy, no trying to juggle everyone's needs and schedules. I'd go hiking. All day. Allow the solitude to infiltrate my inner mind and remind me to embrace the stillness of quiet.

Day Two, I'd retrieve one of the leatherbound journals stored in my library and fill its blank pages with reflections I gained from my day spent outdoors. I'd drink chai tea and breathe in the smell of spices mixed with the scent of recyled paper and fresh ink.

Day Three, I'd head outside with a tote full of gardening tools and spend my time in the dirt. Barefoot and bare-handed, I would drink in the earth as I planted, hoed, weeded, and raked.

Day Four, I'd clean the house from top to bottom. I'd even polish the hickory cabinets. I would listen to music while I worked, every different style imaginable, and dance.

Day Five, I'd read the stack of books which has been tempting me for months.

Day Six, I'd bake five different kinds of cookies and deliver them to neighbors' doorsteps anonymously on my bike. In the afternoon I would make popcorn and watch an entire video series from start to finish.

Day Seven, I'd call a friend. I need human interaction!

I Wish Someone Would've Told Me

I wish someone would've told me...

...that it's okay to fail. Failure shows that you at least tried. Maybe the failure comes as a blessing in disguise, because success might make you stop trying.

...that love is not easy. To maintain a true, long, and lasting love, you have to apply conscious effort.

...that love comes in endless forms. Why restrict it with your own expectations?

...to make healthy exercise a regular part of my life even when I was young. It would have been so much easier to continue a habit rather than continually try to start it.

...that it's okay to do the things you said you'd never do. People change. You change.

Service

It's probably clear by now that I have quite a few pet peeves. Bad drivers, paperwork,... I have another one to add to the list today: bad service. Can anyone tell me why a person who is horrible at service should be in a service position? I shouldn't have to feel guilty for asking a department store employee where to find an item, or a medical receptionist to make an appointment. Is it just my perception, or does service seem to be getting worse with time?

Enough venting, here's the "Pollyanna" side: I went for fastfood at a drive-through (which I hardly EVER do!), and the lady serving behind the window was incredibly cheerful and efficient. I watched her with the car in front of me, and was impressed by her personable manner. When I pulled up to her window, she acted as if I had just made her day. I'll probably never see that lady again, but I want her to know that she made MY day by her modeling the philosophy "service with a smile"! 

Educational Issues

The field of education is one I have chosen to enter. Sometimes I am thrilled about this decision, and at other times I am disheartened. Over spring break, I read several books to reawaken my enthusiasm for teaching. One of the books, "Letters to A Young Teacher," presented so many educational issues that I actually got more overwhelmed by reading it. I get too impassioned about high-stakes testing, political legislation, diversity, and resource allocation to take an objectively optimistic view toward teaching. At the same time, I wouldn't want to be objective because issues that matter in education require us to have opinions. Change doesn't come from lack of passion.

This semester, I've been growing frustrated with the jargon that seems to accompany my daily reading, writing, and discussing educational issues. I'll admit, I have employed educational jargon in my class papers because that's what our instructors often seem to look for. A few buzz words, and you can seem as if you know what you're talking about. But often I'm left thinking, is that what I wrote what I really know? Could I have eliminated all the "noise words" and just stated knowledge or ideas in simple, simple language? Educational author Jonathan Kozol says it best: "Teachers need to fight hard to take pride in their own voices too. The jargon factory in education is a very busy place and it will doubtless keep on churning out new words and phrases that are no less cumbersome, or lacking in substantial meaning, than the ones in use today. Defend the freshness of your voice. Defend its authenticity."

So to all of you whose writing I have had the privilege to experience this semester... thank you. You have each shown me what it means to defend the freshness and authenticity of your own voice.

Hooky

Yesterday morning I woke up with all the motivation of a dormant turnip. After sitting at my laptop for two hours and accomplishing, well, nothing, I agreed to my husband's invitation of accompanying him to town. Yay, a chance to play hooky! It was so fun to just hang out with my best friend. Running errands in the pouring rain, we had lots of laughs, hugs, and "close time." I helped Scot pick out a new suit jacket, dress shirts, and dress shoes. And I have to say, men are SO EASY to shop for/with! It took him about 10 minutes to collect and purchase his spring wardrobe. What I would give to have that kind of shopping ability!

So this morning I'm having nearly as hard a time getting back to school... and I'm wondering, what can I do to get motivated? Even the highlighted deadlines on my calendar are doing little to prompt me to work. I just feel tired and like I don't care anymore, or at least not enough to continue investing days on end to my studies. It makes me wonder, how can I turn my experience with lack of motivation into a future advantage for my students? How can I show them how to hurdle over apathy and approach assignments with eagerness?

Signs of Spring

When I stepped outside this morning to retrieve the newspaper, a drizzly mist enveloped our house. But there, on the apex of our roof, appeared a robin. The first sign of spring! I am not a bird-lover, but the sight of robins in springtime is still so happily reassuring. Many of you have probably been experiencing the change of seasons already, but up here on our "mountain plateau," the snow sits stubbornly (sometimes until May). I was surprised to look out the kitchen windows early one morning last week to see daffodil bulbs peeking through the snow/ice. What resilient little beings! Every day during spring break I experienced the urge to do yardwork outside, but there's really not a whole lot I could do yet in the two-by-two-foot patch of bare earth. I am ready for the snow to be gone!

Ten Minutes

Today I don't feel like writing. I am tired of composing words in logical form for so many assignments. I'm going to set a timer for ten minutes and just write about what's in front of me...

A plant. A Norwegian folk pine, to be exact. It caught my eye in at Lowes during a Christmas shopping excursion. I like to have greenery around my house, so each room has a living, breathing thing. One of my kitchen plants is getting a little scrawny. I gave it a hug last night. Well, I was actually opening the kitchen window behind it, but gave the plant a "hug" in the process. Some cultures believe we are connected to all living things. Some people talk to and play music for their plants. I wonder if they can sense us.

An epoxy stone entryway. Epoxy stone is a more recent home style trend. I'm so glad our builder chose to use it for three of our home entryways. It is durable, and it never shows dirt. That reminds me, today was supposed to be my cleaning day. Oh well, maybe next week. There's never-ending job security in home cleaning.

A loft deck. Where Scot and I sat, before we were married, and pondered the question of having our own child someday. I don't know if I'm any closer to reaching a decision. I would prefer to keep an open heart and leave the rest up to God.

A patio set. On that table I hosted an early summer bruncheon for my mother one day, complete with candles, flowers, and all her favorite foods. I wish I could do so for her more often. Mothers need pampering every now and again, to feel as if they, too, are valued individuals who deserve special care and attention.

Trees. Snow. When will spring be here? It wasn't until this week, where the snow, sleet, and ice rain seemed to pour into every cell of my being, that I grew exhausted of winter.

Beginning A Book

“Elissa.“ Ice crystals glittered across my field of vision as I sucked in a deep breath and turned to Lloyd. The rising sun, still dim but creating shadows on the snow, gave his face an azure hue. “Elissa, you do realize that if you don’t move we are most likely going to die here?” I turned back to face the wall of winter on which we clung like water droplets on a stem. Leaning my forehead against that mass, I looked down, down between my stiff legs, shifting my eyes to each side. Thousands of feet of vertical drop lay beneath us. I took another deep breath and forced it out with an airy “poohew.” Pressure breathing. It was supposed to help retain energy. I needed every bit of energy possible.

Lloyd called my name again, this time more softly. “Elissa, don’t be scared.” I smiled. I wasn’t scared. I had every right to be, but I wasn’t. “I’m fine, Lloyd. I just can’t move.” There. That word: can’t. It echoed across the windswept headwall, curved up over frozen cornices, and slid back down ice falls to haunt the four mountaineers whose life depended on the ability to defy that word. After all, wasn’t it to prove the meaning of can that I had joined the Spokane Mountaineers? My mind raced back to a day, five months earlier…

And so my story begins. The events took place six years ago, but I never finished writing about them. My goal was to do so before this weekend, and publish the story into book form for my mountaineer husband's birthday on Monday. So much for that goal - I have been SWAMPED with homework. But still, in the back of my mind is that faint glimmer of hope, telling me this story is closer to being completed than ever before. And it now has a Part 2 - falling in love with and marrying the man who inspired me into mountain adventures six years ago. The universe has such an ironic sense of humor.

Snow Caving

Watch weather patterns and snow accumulation; determine the most appropriate destination for your adventure. Discuss gear and food considerations with your husband; make shopping lists; purchase necessary items. Assemble gear and prepare food. Cook a carb-rich dinner to load your body up with calories for the extra exertion. Attempt to get a good night's sleep knowing that tomorrow night you will not have the comfort of a bed or a thermostat.

Wake at 5-o'-dark; try to choke down a protein-rich breakfast to give your body something to burn for hours of activity. Load packs, snowshoes, trekking poles, dog bed, and dog into truck - oh, shoot, I forgot to get the tailgate fixed - hoist everything up over the locked tailgate. (Why is my pack so heavy?) Drive through dawn's light to a pass in Montana, which reportedly received more snow in the past couple days than any mountain in the entire world. (Don't look at the dropping numbers on your truck's temperature readout!)

Slip heat packs into your boots; strap on your gaiters, snowshoes, and pack. (Wow, my pack is still heavy!) Clip saddlebags on your dog; contain him while your mountaineering friends arrive and gear up. Grab your trekking poles; check the trail time; try not to trip on your snowshoes as your dog bounds up the trail connected to you by a leash. Ease into a steady pace; allow your pack to settle against your back. Breathe. (They say breathing is really important. So why is this pack so heavy?)

Now just walk. Or backpack, or snowshoe, or whatever you want to call this method of movement into the mountains. Don't engage in confrontation with the snowmobilers who have chosen your one marked hiking trail rather than their hundreds of marked snowmobiling trails to get into the Basin. Try to ignore their exhaust fumes which are making you nauseous as the trail gets steeper, their revving engines which are obliterating all other noises about you. (I could have stood out on the freeway if I wanted to breathe in exhaust and hear engines!)

Climb the last rise to reach the plateau tucked into the hillside. Stamp down enough snow to take off your pack, put on another layer, and rehydrate. Slip into your Gore-tex and assemble your shovel – it’s time to dig!

Four hours later, you have constructed a 6x6-foot sitting area and a 6x9-foot kitchen complete with benches for sitting, counters for cooking, and cubbyholes for storing gear. You have shoveled until your back is screaming and your abs are no longer willing to hold your body in an upright position. But there, in the side of the hill, is a four-foot tunnel leading into a spacious, circular cave – your home for the night. You crawl inside and peel off your sweat-soaked layers to change into dry clothes before hypothermia sets in, at the same time spreading out a tarp, sleep pads, and sleeping bags on the raised floor.

By this time, your incredible husband has arranged all the cooking gear in the kitchen and is boiling snow for hot cocoa and cup-o-noodle soup. (I never knew ramen could taste so good!) Your sister wants to go photograph everyone else’s snow caves, so you join her for a parade-of-homes tour in which you realize that everyone has a different method for constructing the ultimate home-in-the-snow. While you have fought your claustrophobia all day, you can’t help but notice when you return to your cave that the roof seems to be sinking where your dog walked on top during the early shoveling phase. (What was he thinking? Didn’t he know that the snow wasn’t set up yet? Why is he even up there? Didn’t I give him a rawhide to amuse himself with? Oh, that’s right – it was white, and the snow is white; so, we’ll never see it again.)

Dinner is amazing. The wind and cold have rendered your camp stove almost inoperative, but your husband has somehow coaxed it along to cook hamburgers on a miniature frying pan. (Thank goodness he likes this stuff – I would have stuck with granola bars and trail mix!)

You have packed in all the ingredients for an Oreo pie, which you assemble and let set up in the snow (instant refrigeration!). Your mountaineering friends come from their respective snow caves to your kitchen for a surprise birthday celebration. While there isn’t enough pie for you to have a piece, you’re pretty sure that it turned out from all the happy smiles on your friends’ faces. Relaxed, they begin to tell stories – stories of adventure, death-defying experiences, stories that convey our shared love for the outdoors. Snow flurries give way to a starry sky as you listen, trying to keep your extremities from freezing.

Bedtime. All right, this is where it gets fun. You have to trek into the woods to relieve yourself, making sure that you don’t fall into a tree well or freeze your butt off when you wrestle out of your seventeen layers. You are cold, tired, and grouchy by the time you get back to camp, but you still have to figure out your strategy for the night. Put on a dry base layer? Wear my down parka to bed? Hold my warmed water bottle against my coat or down by my feet? Forget it – just throw everything into your pack, stash your pack in the snow, and drop to your knees to crawl down the tunnel into the cave. (Brr, when did this snow turn to ice?) Oh, no, the worst as happened – where your dog walked earlier, the ceiling has sunk almost to the floor of the cave. There’s enough space for one or two people to sleep against the still-raised side, but the thought makes you so claustrophobic you have to back quickly out of the tunnel to breathe.

You decide along with your husband not to risk the cave falling in on you. So you have to pull all the sleeping pads and bags back out of the cave and arrange them in the pit of your kitchen. Your dog is scrambling up everything you lay down, and your trekking poles won’t grab enough snow to hold the bivvy sack you are trying to string out over your heads. Oh well, just hope it doesn’t snow on you in the middle of the night. (Didn’t they just get six inches here last night?)

One by one, you, your husband, and your sister slide into your sleeping bags. Toss and turn for about nineteen minutes until you find a semi-comfortable position where your sleeping pad is at least somewhat under you. Pull your sleeping bag tightly enough around your face that your nose won’t turn to ice but you won’t die of claustrophobia, either. (Oh, wow, those stars are beautiful!)

And then it begins. A restless night in which your dog decides he can not sleep on his own pad covered in blankets. He must walk across your head, attempt to get in your sleeping bag with you, run down your body, bite your feet, and turn three circles before he finally lays down between you and your husband. He pushes his legs out so you slide completely off your sleeping pad onto your sister. She groans. You try to sleep. Two hours later, the process repeats. Three hours later, your dog is running laps across all of your bodies and snuffling loudly. At 5 AM, you lie in quiet exhaustion as your husband struggles to quiet the dog who is now standing on your backside. (WHY did we ever decide to bring him with us?)

You don’t even want to smile when you finally get out of your sleeping bag at 6 AM and begin pulling on boots and gaiters frozen stiff with ice. Your husband feels miserable that you aren’t smiling, but you are just grouchy as can be at your dog. (Yeah, he’s just a puppy, but so what, doesn’t he know I need my sleep?)

And then, you look up. There is the most beautiful pinkish-golden glow curling across the mountains. The air is cold – 17 degrees – but crisp and gleaming with snow diamonds. Your husband is making coffee for you. You smile. You know that you will do this again, because this is who you are – a person who lives for adventure. 

Take Joy in Writing

This week we are asked to reflect in our class discussion about our blogging/writing experiences over the past several weeks. A timely assignment, given the fact that I have also this week been attempting to complete writing a non-fiction book while reading Take Joy for Writers by Jane Yolen. I haven't gotten very far on either, but Yolen's advice is encouraging: "Uncovery, discovery, recovery are all part of that [process of writing]. So take the joy in the the process." Blogging consistently has helped me to uncover new truths about writing, discover that I have changed immensely from the last time I wrote on a consistent basis, and recover my love of writing. To be completely honest, I have been scared to write for the past few years. It used to be one of my favorite activities, but after a severe and long-lasting depression I felt unable to write. In a way, I think I was scared because writing makes me face my own mental processes, and as anyone who has dealt with depression knows, your mental processes can hurt you. I have been healthy and happy for some time now, but it wasn't until this class that I finally forced myself to start writing again. And I realized that it's okay - that I am okay. I may continue to struggle with things in my mind and reflect those struggles in my writing, but they won't defeat me. I have something more to believe in now. So once again, I can take joy in writing.  

Generate Your Own Thoughts, Please

This morning's message from my leadership society was about core values. It motivated me to think about my core values, what they are and how they guide my life. One of those values is integrity. I still can't explain exactly why, but I feel so violated when I encounter plagiarism.

The first time someone copied one of my ideas, I thought it was just a coincidence. Maybe we thought alike. The second time someone took my words and made them his own, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just too tired to formulate his own words. The third time someone marketed my project as her own, I didn't know how to respond.

The incidents above actually occurred in my childhood. Returning to college for an elementary ed degree, I've learned that age is not necessarily an indicator of people's maturity or integrity. My academic work has been plagiarized a number of times. In one particular online course, a classmate copied my entire post, added a couple personal sentences, and re-posted it as her own. I can understand distance learning students coming up with similar reflections in response to assignments - it actually happens a lot - but the same exact words? Come on! It makes me wonder. Do these students like my work so much that they think they can't improve on it themselves? Have they been taught that it's okay to "borrow" other persons' ideas, as long as they don't get caught? Are they under the impression that they aren't accountable for their own cognitive processes? Are they just too lazy to think for themselves? 

Yes, I'm on a soapbox. And yes, I am frustrated. Where I typically stick to myself and only impose my values/standards on myself, this is one area where I do see in black and white across the human spectrum. It's not okay to plagiarize. You can be inspired by someone's ideas, be inflamed by someone's ideas, quote another person or refer to their words or works; but don't steal the product of their time, energy, and thought and say it's yours. Just don't do it. 

Sunshine

My doctor says I need more Vitamin D. Who doesn't? After all, this is North Idaho, where the sun only shines a few days out of our six-month-long winter! This morning I was scurrying all around trying to get ready for our weekend trip, plan out a town errand list, and finish up homework for the week. And then I noticed Kona sitting quietly in our entryway, doing nothing but feeling the sunshine pouring through the glass front door. I sat down next to him, just sat and felt the warmth of a none-too-common but oh-so-needed natural light. So calming. So good. Who says a dog can't teach humans?

Lost the Routine

I don't know what it was about being sick for two weeks, but I just can't get back into the swing of things. I had such a good routine going before I got sick -it was the best online semester yet. Maybe I need something to really shake me out of this blah state. Like a mountain climb? One of our mountaineering friends invited me to climb Mt. Hood in a couple weeks. I know I could do it, but I can also think of a hundred excuses not to. Maybe it's time to stop the excuses and look for some reasons why I SHOULD start doing more things. Oh, on that note, we're going snow caving this weekend. So when you're all snuggly and warm inside your homes think of us out in our shovel-carved hole in the snow. Yee-haw.

Brilliant Epiphanies

So... I don't know if it's the returned onslaught of wintry weather, or the typical "I'm-ready-for-spring-and-sunshine" blues, but I've been a little blah lately. Yesterday I had so much homework to do that I decided to take a nap. By 5:30 p.m. I decided I had worked (slept?) long enough, so I turned to other activities to make me feel more productive. And thus had some brilliant epiphanies that can only be experienced when going about the mundane routines in life...

#1) Cooking dinner: I love trying new foods! In my pantry was a package of Vietnamese spring roll wrappers from last year's visit to an Asian food mart in northern Virginia. And thus, my first attempt at making spring rolls! Served with steamed broccoli, meat patties, seaweed, and sesame rice crackers, they at least passed as a meal. But I think I would prefer learning to prepare ethnic dishes from members within their own culture...

#2) Washing dishes: I love unloading the dishwasher! Why is it so satisfying to put all the clean plates, bowls, glasses, silverware, and tupperware into their respective places around the kitchen? I wonder if it's because I so appreciate organization...

#3) Exercising: I love being sore! It means I've finally awoken those muscles which have attempted to remain hidden from motivation for so long. Pilates, even over three sessions, has built up enough soreness in my abs as to make laughing painful...

#4) Paperwork: I love organizing! Oh, so I guess that answers my wondering from Epiphany #2. Maybe I'll never actually DO everything on those lists I wrote out, but hey, at least they helped me FEEL ever so industrious. And I really like throwing things away - like all those receipts from purchases months and months ago... 

Time

Wow, it's March. Already!? If my outdated and undone lists and schedules weren't enough to make me think it's still January, then this snow is. I could have a full-time job shoveling our porches and driveway!

Time management has been a big issue with me lately. I have never had such a hard time getting my schedule under control and getting everything I need to done. But between all the responsibilities, chores, and activities going on, I go to bed every night feeling as if I just didn't get enough done. Isn't strange how much of our obligatory stress is self-imposed? Do you ever wonder if you just did nothing, if the world would even notice?  

Connections

How interesting that several of us in this writing group have been sick and recovering within weeks of each other. Like Allison and KTO, I too finally feel as if I am recovered from a horribly long and exhuasting sickness. I have all this new-found energy, and yet somewhere within those two weeks of being sick I lost the momentum I had in school and can't get it back. Poo. Do any of the rest of you find yourselves writing in this blog just to get your mind going before tackling other school assignments? To be honest, I didn't think this blog would help me much as a writer, but I am beginning to see more connections within my own writing process. And though I still don't know how I'm going to "teach" writing, I am more capable of identifying with the various stages and challenges of writing.

COLD

Brrr, hello COLD! It's so beautifully blue and crisp outside now, with sunshine that makes every color pop. But frigid. And Scot wants to sleep outside tonight! I told him I'd join him, but just because I know I can always come back inside if/when I freeze into an ice cube. If nothing else, dealing with the cold will get me in the mode for our planned snow caving outing next weekend.

Hey, guess what, I got the research paper done. It "only" took 10 hours! My brain was fried last night, but I still elected to study for my next Praxis test and read a compilation of first-person narratives by "GBLT"s. Homosexuality is an issue that I just don't know how to deal with. I know it's probably not politically correct to even talk about it here, but it's on my mind. I usually push this issue out of my mind, since I can never come to an easy resolve. But I'm not naive - I know I will have to address it in the classroom. Respect is really, really important to me, so I want to establish respect in the classroom and be able to discuss any issue with respect. How best to be prepared?