There is Always Hope

I was on Facebook tonight and came across a video of a child with autism who also happens to be blind singing the National Anthem. I thought, how awesome, what a great opportunity for this special little girl. Then I watched it. Then I listened. Then I teared up. It reminded me that there is hope for every child. That even when our toughest student, or our own child, is up against obstacles they can amaze us. There is hope for every child. We just have to believe in them and they will lead us to their talent. Their WILL to share what they have to offer the world overcomes their disabilities. We just have to believe.

Take a Deep Breath

All I could think is...
I don't blame anyone
It was an accident
It's okay

But tonight, a half glass of ice water spilled on my laptop because my kids got a little excited while playing in the basement and decided to kick a ball. EEk! And over it went, my ice water, all over my lap top. Both of them went running upstairs in terror, crying. They knew it was a big deal. They know I have been working on a big project and that this little act of negligence would have an impact. But I am happy to say that while that happened, and while I was calmly upset, (a tear was shed) I am typing this slice on my laptop. It seems okay. I went to both of them and tried to express that I was not mad. I was okay. It was only a computer and they are more important. But they know it was a close call. We all learned a lesson tonight. Don't kick balls in the house. Don't have a glass of water while kids are playing nearby. It's all good. Deep breaths. It's all okay.

For My Grandmas

I was looking today, for the elusive creamer that has us all wondering. I went to the box. You know which one. I looked. I took out each piece of fragile memories, unwrapped them, set them carefully down and moved onto the next. I looked in every corner and under every plate or cup where it could be hiding. I still didn't see it. So, to help the creamer live on in whatever box it is currently lying I wrote it a poem.

The Creamer

Lying dormant
in a box
I wonder about you.
Where are you?
You and your iris print
and herring bone pattern,
aged depression glass
textured in stripes
"Check inside the soup tureen."
I think she is telling me,
but I look,
a teacup lives there.
"Look in the tomato box."
I search and find her smell
wrapped in a tea towel
barely holding a sugar bowl.
"Did you move aside the pitcher?"
"Yes, yes I did."
"Look again."
I look, only to find a ladle.
I wonder about you,
missing your matching dishes
lying somewhere
dormant
wishing for some cream.

Writing Space

About two years ago I created a nice writing space for myself in our basement. It worked for a little while. I used it frequently and then it became a place to "put" things. Kind of like a treadmill becomes a clothes hanger. I got overwhelmed with the space and gave up. I started writing on my couch again and it worked, sort of. There are just so many distractions and it becomes hard to focus and not get pulled in many directions.
This past weekend my husband stayed up until 2:00 a.m. cleaning off his desk and began to purge our basement. It started a pattern for the week of purging and sorting. It was good. We have continued to organize and I started to see a new space in the basement that could become my own. I needed a pretty space that was large enough for my books and desk but away from the toys and play that is bound to take place.
Last night I spent several hours moving furniture, sorting books and searching for artwork. I created a nice spot for myself once again and I am more determined now to keep it that way. I hope to write many good slices, poems, blog posts and maybe someday, even a book in this spot. One can dream.

Now I just need a comfy chair!

Identity

I just finished a Google Hangout with three of the five other writers at Two Writing Teachers. As we talked we circled around purpose, audience, independence but what really stuck with me was the word, identity. I think it was Tara who brought it up. She talked about a writer's identity. I thought back to my life as a writer. I don't remember myself feeling like a writer as a kid. I wish I had, but there was very little encouragement and even less flexibility to write about your own stories. I wonder what they would have sounded like if I had been able to write them. I will never know. It's kind of sad. I hope that my students save all their journals and booklets to cherish, even if just for a little while. I hope it helps them find their identity as a writer. I hope just being in my classroom with hope and encouragement helps them find their identity, their voice, their inspiration. I know I have found that in this writing community. It is what got me started on a writing journey and what anchors me to do this for the long haul...the rest of my life.

Terrifying? Wonderful.

A week ago I had more anxiety than I knew what to do with. I was going to be going on a plane for the first time ever, navigating an airport for the first time ever and attending/presenting at NCTE for the first time ever. It was a bit overwhelming. I wasn't too worried about the presentation, but excited. I was, however, terrified of flying. I knew it would be better than I expected. Boy was I right! Airports have this thing down to a science. I was able to figure it all out with the help of very nice people. I got on the plane and felt calm. Sitting near the window I wondered how that would go, seeing everything. We were delayed! Really delayed. There was snow and ice on the plane and four people had to leave because the plane was too heavy. Oh boy! I was amazed that people actually volunteered to leave. They de-iced the plane twice and then it sounded like we were ready. I was ready. I sat there ready to brace myself and then we started to take off. It was exciting! I looked out the window at the blowing snow wondering if we would get above it. Slowly we went higher and higher. All I could think was, "I'm in the air!" I may have even said it out loud. Because of the delay I was going to have to really truck to my next plane to make it on time. We landed, I got my bag and ran. I ran and ran and ran through the Detroit Metro Airport. It was almost a mile of running. I found the gate and was amazed to see a short line still waiting to board. Lucky me they were running a bit behind. I was out of breath and sweating, hands trembling, but I had made it. Once again in the air, there wasn't a flake in the sky and we were up without a problem. As we got closer to Washington D.C., my destination, I saw all the monuments. It was amazing. I was also reminded what autumn is suppose to look like. We landed and I was elated and relieved. Found my bag in baggage claim without missing a beat and boarded my shuttle to the hotel. What an amazing experience. I was so proud of myself for doing something completely out of my comfort zone.

The Magic of Silver

I remember the day. I got my first set of 64 crayola crayons. I remember looking over all the colors and being in awe of the silver and gold.
Today I had a student ask me for a gray. Needless to say, I couldn't find one anywhere. I do have a stash of a few silver and gold crayons tucked away in one of my cupboards, so I brought out a silver. You should have seen the sparkle in his eyes.
"A silver? Gage, Gage, we've got a silver!?"