Kismet on a Friday Morning

Today, I was a victim of Kismet. It's been a long time since I found myself in the cross hairs of fate, but recognizing the moment today, I had the opportunity to meet a very interesting gentlemen. It's one of those line of circumstances sort of thing. First, I have been working part time at Crossroads IGA to earn spending cash for our trip to Europe this summer. As a result,I have been working every weekend for almost the past 2 months. So... when Isaiah needed a ride to WKU for honor's band today, I sacrificed myself and took a day off from work - mostly because I had a student teacher and would not have to make lesson plans (for the non-teaching set lesson plans are worse than any illness that does not involve vomiting - and then they still suck - but are worth it so you don't have to move away from the toilet, trash can, or receipticle of choice). Anyway, I was going to stop at Panera to kill the hour needed before the pet store opened (where I needed to purchase crickets and meal worms). Along the way, I remembered I had a $6 off coupon at staples - it was open - I found 50 cent composition notebooks - SCORE - bought all they had which was EXACTLY $6. Then tooled on to Panera for breakfast. As I walked in, a gentleman was having a good time with the cashier - the same way my mother would interact with people in public. He was offering to buy her breakfast, and just visiting with her. When she refused, he offered to buy me breakfast instead. And then we were joking/chatting in line. So, after the fact, instead of sitting alone in the corner doing the vacation planning I had intended -- I grabbed all my crap and introduced myself and sat next to him and proceeded to have a very enjoyable almost 3 hour conversation. It turns out that this gentleman was is a retired professor of statistics at WKU. He hails from San Fransisco even if he sounded as if he was from New England somewhere - to which I then responded that California accents don't count because they sound like everywhere -- Sam Elliot hailing from San Diego case in point. I also learned that he is the John who on Friday mornings talks on the radio about the Humane Society Pet of the Week (you know you've heard him - and he does not sound like Californian a.k.a. Keanu Reeves). And he gets really excited about statistics - One of the 3 pleasures in life he claims - after only food and sex. I sort of feel like there should be belly laughs of your children, maybe a nice, light breeze on a warm, sunny day should be in there - but it's his list -- and a man (which accounts for sex maybe being higher in the list than it should be -- ). He is one of those people who seems inherently positive. He knew almost everyone in Panera -- ok that's an exaggeration - but he knew at least 3 of the people who works there -- And when I called him on it - he totally claimed to only be friendly because he wanted to get free food -- I feel like there are plenty of ways to get free food - but we are all allowed to define our own realities. Of the 3 young ladies who worked at Panera who came over, he was offering encouraging advice to them related to school or job either way. I see that as being the teacher in him - but I may also be projecting. It was no different with me. He asked me several times if I was a writer or wanted to write (though i suspect he is mostly looking for someone who would help him with the paper he is writing about -- perhaps the predictability of STAR reading test scores on ACT achievement - if not that topic then something like that -- I also suspect trolling Panera is probably a good place to find people who fancy themselves as writer) - and he also suggested on several occasions that I should get my doctorate in education and teach at university. Which is flattering - and not anything that I have ever really wanted to pursue - mostly because there are no good stories in the education textbooks -- Not that I would know first hand as I didn't read the ones that I purchased for my own classes. And again, his push and encouragement of a virtual stranger says more about him and the teacher that he is than it says about me -- I do not believe that I have imaginary fluorescent lights signalling that I am a TEACHER of TEACHERS.... but it is nice for a minute to think that someone who does not know me - sees something in me that indicates that I am good at my job - and would be good at teaching others to do my job. Anyway, the conversation was not unlike those college conversations that you had in your 20s when you first get to meet someone - but you no longer have when you are married and have children because who really has the time. It is not very often that such chances to meet a new person comes along - at least for those of us who live in the largely anti-social sect -- and the time to sit down and talk to someone is even less. So, I am glad that I took a second, and forced my company on someone - though based on the number of people who came to say hello, or whom he spoke to - he was not needing my company - he was apparently one of those people who interacts with all people -- so for him - today- probably nothing out the new -- for me - an exceptionally nice moment.

On accepting praise

Julia Roberts in the movie pretty woman said that the bad stuff is easier to believe. Seems an odd way to begin, but as I have been working my waythrough this weightless journey, I am finding myself victim to more compliments than I know what to do with. I realize that saying that I AM a victim of praise is like begging someone to give you another compliment. But I suppose that mostly it's because I don't much look at where I am - at least with work - and do not think this is what is wrong with what I did and how can I make it better. Unfortunately, I do the same thing with everything else - so as well as learning to just say Thank you, I need to learn to just say Great Job. I hope though that I am never content to be just where I am - but to always be better.

How to Say Goodbye

So this year, I began teaching my 18th year at Greenwood High School. And I was lucky enough to have seniors for 3 out of the 6 classes. And as the semester and the school year wind down, I am finding that my whole perspective on goodbyes has shifted dramatically in the past year. This year has been, in no small part, a bit of an homage to my mom. I think that the part of me that is the most like her comes out when I am teaching high school kids. And I have tried to share my life experiences with my students to some degree. That has happened more with some classes than others. But the reason that I mention my mother is so that I can explain the new emotional roller coaster that becomes goodbyes. Until this year, saying goodbye was never so difficult. It was always a see you later -- and then out of sight out of mind kind of way of being. I just let stuff go. But this year, saying goodbye to these kids just brings up the goodbye to my momma... and then the waterworks begin. It's really sometimes so very strange - this out of body observation of newly emotional self, trying to figure out what is going on and why I am so upset. But these are not just a little while goodbyes, see you after summer goodbyes with my senior babies. This is I'll probably never see you again goodbyes and I am not sure that I want the world to work that way. I guess that means it wasn't until I was 47 that I learned that sometimes people leave and never come back. But these kids are on the precipice of their life about to jump off, and I must watch them leave. I am so excited and happy for them -- but grieving for myself. But, there are by far much worse things than learning how much you care about someone or something through tears.

Being an Orphan.... The first big thing

2 months ago, tomorrow my mom died. It seems like yesterday; it seems like a a year ago; it seems like she's still sitting at home on the couch smoking (and she'd be complaining about donald trump for sure). And I am learning about this is that there are a lot of things that people don't tell you. I mean when you are pregnant or have a new baby, women come out of the woodwork to give their advice and tell you how you should deal with this or that. They tell you what you're going to feel, experience, see, smell, do, etc. And you are totally wishing that everyone would just go away....until you need them. But with this, it's different. It is some secret private club that no one really talks about - or maybe I just wasn't listening. Or maybe grief is a much more private thing, I don't know. But ever since I went for a mammogram and discovered that they have these little metal nipple guards that go on the weirdly placed nipple for breasticles I realized that there is nothing in the world that is unique to me alone. And that is comforting for the most part (though sometimes a little sad to think that really we are all ... no on special in the world...settle for somewhat special in my small locale). So, here, my future readers (probably my boys when I have passed away), is a message for you. Last night was the first big thing that my mama missed. As Isaiah had been practicing for months, I just never connected that performance night and the fact that mama was gone. She has long been the one for whom I have recorded and photographed my life. And yesterday and last night, she was gone and I wanted so much for her to see Isaiah. Insert platitude about how she saw him from whatever space she is in right now - I hesitate to say it's heaven because well there is an indoctrination of religious beliefs there and I don't really do that. And I know that her spirit was there because I was carrying her with me all day. But as always there is not a thing I would not have given for her to have laughed out loud at his performance and to have said she as proud of him (and then me by default because really, I get to take some credit for who he is). And there you have, this was the first big thing that mama missed which makes me miss her. There is a whole other mess of crap to write about when it comes to these life lessons... And really, though I have been writing in a journal occasionally, you really forget how much it annoys a body to write with your hand of all things after years of keyboarding.

Feeling small

So, as we drive home, I am reflecting on our trip. And it occurred to me that all week long I was often aware of how small I am...driving to DC along the Appalachian mountains, was for me a constant reminder of how tiny we are compared to the vastness of the mountains, the seas, the earth and the galaxy. And whe in the presence of their majesty, I feel sad that I could not see them before the spread of humanity scarred the countryside with roads and trappings of civilization. Makes me feel like I am part of a race of termites eating nature and leaving trash. It was not too much different traveling through DC. The sheer volume of people is overwhelming. There is no external quiet. I think that it would take no small amount of mental training for me to be able to live in such a place. If. I couldn't find external peace and solitude,then I would have to find it within. But at what risk? I think that among those masses of people, it would be so easy to shut yourself away from everyone...all the people you don't know and don't care about. It's a recipe for loneliness I think. In small towns, physical space is mental space. There are places to take a break, to be alone and solitary. But there is also the knowledge that there are people who know me, my family, and know that I am someone. I suspect that I could live in a town like DC for years and not feel secure in that knowledge. Add to the masses of humanity, the monuments to our history. The scale of these tributes to greatness is hard to comprehend. At times I felt like they were needlessly large. But in retrospect, they are more than appropriate. Why shouldn't the monument to Lincoln not be so large, when compared to the impact he had on our nation. Why shouldn't the journey from one place to the next not be long. The men and women who secured our freedoms walked much further in less hospitable conditions...though when walking in the bright sunshine with aching feet, it's hard to focus on these types of thoughts. And walking though the Capitol, with the statues of men and women who shaped our present, how can you not be inspired? It makes me a bit ashamed of our congressmen and senators. How can they walk and work daily with such reminders of the ideology of America and continue to play petty games of politics. How can they not all be more mr. Smith goes to washington? The reminders of ep what we should be and our patriotic duty is about them every single day. The reminder

of the men and women who lived and died is about them...but the squander their time and efforts for personal gain.. If you can work in a living monument to our nations spirit and history and block it from your mind, then really you need not be there at all. As for me, I am glad that I went. I didn't see everything, I was overwhelmed and discomfited by all the people. I loved hearing voices from across the globe. I am glad to have seen the places that have been heretofore in pictures and on television. I am honored to have walked in the footsteps of my forefathers. And I am grateful for those people who were as small in their place in the world who had this passion, drove, and dedication to shape our world for those like me who are content to live smaller lives.

Proactively Passive Agressive?

So, last night Jose made his announcement that we were going to church in the morning. His desire to go is usually dependent upon how much work he's done on Saturday. So, I told him that I didn't think that it was fair that he expected everyone (by everyone I really meant me) to dedicate time and energy to something that he felt was so important when he was unwilling to put forth an effort to focus on something that I felt was important. And then, because old habits die hard (especially the ones that seem to work pretty well), I said that I wasn't going to church until he was willing to dedicate equal time each week to making our family better. And yes, I know that I'm in the south and many of you (or the one person who is reading this) is going to think going to church makes your family better. To which I reply, that is an entirely different issue and we're not going there today. This morning Jose got Elijah and Isaiah up and they got ready. I reminded him that we hadn't solved this issue yet, and he just walked away. So I got up, in my pajamas and went to sit on the couch. Jose walked by me like 10 times, and 15 minutes before we were to go, I asked him if he realized that I was still in my pajamas. To which he replied, well I guess you're going to church in your pajamas. And then he said he didn't want to be Chuck and go to church by himself. And I just repeated that this 7 habits thing was important to me and I wanted us to try it. And if he wanted me to dedicate time in my week, then I needed him to give some time to us as well. I need to give a special thanks to Isaiah and Elijah who were able to answer Jose's "I don't understand what this is, it's not important, and it's xbox and tv's fault avoidance tactics." I didn't have to answer any of those questions, I only had to ask them to help answer. And when Jose blamed tv... I learned that suggesting that he be the first to lose his tv so that he could live by example seemed to make that argument less than successful to him. On another reflective note: Affirmation is important to me. But should I get it, I don't really believe it. How messed up is that? Isn't it nice to find areas of personal growth on which to focus your energies.

Times They Are a Changing or Living Life Fat

So this week and next week have been what Steve Covey would call transition moments. i have been working toward a momentous change in my life since December, thank you Dr. Gass for your promise that it would be ok, safe and that you'd feel bad if I died. This Tuesday, July 30th at 7:30 in the morning, I am going to have a gastric sleeve procedure. This means that approximately 80% of my stomach is going to be removed (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleeve_gastrectomy). After 3 years of trying to successfully lose weight with a doctor's assistance, by myself, with fad diets, etc, I have decided that the surgery is going to be the way to go. My first feelings about capitulating to the surgery was that i was admitting failure. I couldn't do this on my own, what sort of loser was I. But then, when I realized all the really hard mental and physical work that goes into the the post-surgical life, I didn't feel quite so bad. Same amount of work, but with results. I have been fat for as long as I can remember. Strike that I was chubby when I was little. After my appendix ruptured when I was 12, I slid on over to fat and stayed there for the next 32 years. My weight has been the best security blanket and worse nightmare that a girl could ever want. I didn't have friends in high school, no one really liked me, because I was fat. I never had a boyfriend, my first boyfriend was WAY GAY, because I was fat. In relationships being fat gave me an easier reason for these than honestly facing my personal demons -- although who are we kidding, no one faces those personal demons when they are a teenager. So, on the cusp of this surgery, I am overcome with fear. Part of me is really afraid of the surgery. But the biggest part of me is full of fear like I imagine I would be if someone asked me to jump off the edge of the grand canyon with a parachute, a bungee, and any number of other safety restraints. My greatest excuse for my relationship failures (which to my mind include my lack of inclination to create relationships) will be diminishing. This extra person that I've been carrying around with me in the form of body fat, is comfortable. It's cozy. Oh, and it likes to best restaurants and has such great ideas for desserts. That person will be gone, and I have to figure out what to put in its place. That's scary. At least for me. But, as I've spent this week in deep, wild introspective reflection and self-analysis, I have to also own the fact that my quest to find the snarky comment is another tool I've used to maintain distance between myself and everyone. Defensive me wants to say that using humor is a way to find the bright side, to lighten the load. And that's true enough I suppose. But it's also a way to keep anyone from seeing vulnerability, fear, insecurity. And shouldn't there be people in our lives who we let see those things? Shouldn't there be people in our lives who share those burdens. I have worked hard for the past weeks to keep myself from being emotional in front of people. I have been less successful with those people whom I love and trust the most, but even with those select few, I have tried to keep these unwanted outbursts to a minimum. And why is that I've asked myself. And the answer I get to is trust. And the lack is all on me. I am afraid to let people see the not quick witted, snotty nose, scared, frightened, insecure, jealous me. It's not their fault, it's mine. And sitting here, I'm thinking to myself "but, i don't know how to do that." But I imagine that it's probably a bit like any skill. I'm going to have to practice to get better. But I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like any of this any more than I'm going to like diet and exercise. However, if i'm willing to make this big physical change in order to make my life longer and better, then I better make this commitment to my persona life as well, or what's the point really. So, welcome one and all the the starting line. And here's hoping that the route is scenic. I thank everyone for their love and support.

The Great Haste - Elijah's Story

The Great Haste
Everyone knows Martian Mickey. If you don’t, you will soon.:” On one special day, Mickey was at his house; you know just chillin’. Then the mailman knocked on the door. Knock! Knock! Mickey filled with excitement. He rushed to the door as fast as he could. When he opened the door he was shocked. The mailman has pimples! Ewww! And he had a box too. He asked “uh…what is this?”
The mailman replied, “why this is a letter from our local community.”
Mickey thought and wondered a bit before he was issued the box. After a while, he replied, “OK . . . I guess.” Then he was handed the box. HE slowly made it back to where he was chillin’.
He wondered what the letter was. Once he opened it, he gazed at all of the words. HE couldn’t believe what he saw. How could forget?! The most horrible place on Earth!!! The doctor’s office!!!
Martian Mickey almost burst into tears. The letter reminded him that he had an appointment tomorrow. Mickey tried to keep it together. He began to think that somehow he could run away, or he could try to fight. He even thought about hiding in the closet. He decided to take a drink . He picked up a soda and gulp, gulp then crush.
After hours of thinking and two policemen came to talk about a noise complaint, he decided to go. Thankfully he had a plan. The next day, Mickey headed to the doctor’s office with two things: his pride and a bottle of shampoo. As he got in his car-mobile, he said, “It’s just me and you doctor’s office.” Five minutes later, he exited his car-mobile and approached the big doors. He took a big gulp and walked inside with the shampoo “duh duh duh duh.” (scary music played in his head.)
The nurse inside nicely asked him to sit down. Mickey replied, “shut it! Umm… I mean… ok.” The nurse was shocked. Mickey waited four hours. The glares from the nursed did not make him feel any better, and he was already feeling kind of sick to his stomach.
After many scary moments with the nurse, the doctor was ready. Mickey followed the so-called doctor (a.k.a. Evil Master Mind) to his office, and on the way, Mickey was so scared he almost threw up. Mickey was very surprised that the doctor’s evil lair (office) was actually very clean. The Evil Master Mind (slash doctor) told Mickey to wait. Mickey stumbled, “O…K….” He waited and waited. HE was getting tired. He then remembered about his plan. He pulled the shampoo bottle out of his pocket and began thinking and thinking and thinking.
Then he got it. Just at the right time too, because that very second the doctor (slash Evil Master Mind) walked ino the door. Mickey quickly shoved the shampoo down his pocket.
The Evil Master Mind (slash doctor) asked Mickey to slowly open his mouth. Mickey laid down and did as he was told, and he slowly pulled the shampoo out of his pocket. The doctor (slash Evil Master Mind) slowly pulled out his tools. Mickey slowly opened the cap and aimed at the Evil Master Mind (slash doctor)’s head. The doctor (slash Evil Master Mind) turned around. Mickey gave only a few seconds for the doctor to realize the situation. Then SPLAT!!! Soap was all around the Evil Master Mind’s (aka doctor)’s face. 1…. 2…. 3….
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH” screamed the doctor. Mickey jumped up and dashed away. Mickey dashed down the hall. SPLAT!! SPLOOSH! People screamed “AAAAHHHH! My eyes!”
Mickey rand down the hall. HE could see the door. He said excitedly, breathing hard, “Yes! I made it.” Then the police smashed the door and yelled, “FREEZE!”
Mickey stopped and sprayed all of htem, but there were so many. He decided to jump out the window. HE got into his car-mobile and drove away.
When he got to his house, he quickly bolted the door and blocked the windows. Mickey was breathing really hard and muttered, “I made it.” But from behind, a shadow appeared. The figure whispered, “we need you.”
Mickey answered, “Wh…what?”
The shadow replied, “we need you on our side.”
Mickey yelled “Come out! I got soap! I’m not afraid to use it.”
The shadow slowly crept out of the corner. The shadow was a shady man. HE said, “Mickey, I saw what you did in the Doctor’s office (slash Evil Master Mind’s Lair).”
Mickey replied, “wait…you saw?” The man said, “we want you to join the FBI. We saw you with the soap. You’re a professional.”
Mickey was surprised but he always dreamed of being a secret agent man. So he agreed, and began saving the world with his awesome soap bottle.
The End