A Generous Gift

Last weekend I was at a conference here in Michigan. It was amazing. I saw and listened to some great voices in education. Some I had never been lucky enough to hear before.

The last day of the three-day conference Ellin Oliver Keene was the keynote. I've been curious to read her new book, Engaging Children, but hadn't gotten it yet.

I listened to her talk. I was not surprised by my furious note-taking so I could attempt to capture as many words as possible. One quote she shared is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. It has given me pause. It's made me think about whether I'm generous in this way. Am I too caught up in my own thoughts? I tend to think a lot and fast and sometimes this causes me to miss important moments. To not pay attention.

What I appreciated most was developing a better understanding of what engagement really is and what it really isn't. Attention is a generous gift we give to someone in front of us. I like thinking of it in this way and it makes me want to give more of my attention away. 

March 17, 2019

Memories seem so intangible at times. Do I remember that right? Did I just fill in a blank? They are intangible until you cry a tear and the tear is touchable. A touchable memory.

Memories feel so far away. I mean, they are memories, so it makes sense. It's just so hard to think sometimes that moments become memories and yet so many others just become forgotten.

Today marks the 28th anniversary of my grandmother's death. Many years have passed, and many times I have written about that day. Sometimes I haven't. I have many memories on that day some of which I have objects from that make it more of a tangible memory.

I wish I had more memories of time with my grandmother. I only got twelve years with her, and the things I remember are probably enough but feel too small.

• Skipping in the parking lot of D&W.

• The green fruit salad bowl.

• Her terrarium that she cherished. Climbing into her bed on Christmas morning because it was too early. 

• Angel food cake with strawberries.

• Peeking through the opening of the kitchen to the living room.

• Her smile.

• Her laugh--a faint sound in the back of my mind.

I wish I remembered more. I wish some of my happiest memories with her were as touchable in my thoughts as the day she died.

Not every link below is a story of my grandmother, but almost all of them are. I've rounded them up here because I know next year I will want to go back and read all the posts I've written on this day. Your welcome Betsy of 2020. Betsy of 2019 was thinking ahead for you.

March 17, 2018
March 17, 2017
March 17, 2016
March 17, 2015
March 17, 2014
March 17, 2013
March 17, 2012

I Heard You

The last few days have been teasingly nice at times. We still managed to have some crazy winds, rain, and tornadoes in Michigan this week but more bizarre, there was sun. I was putting my coat in the backseat at the end of the school day. I was feeling rays of warmth on my cheek and this made me happy even if it was only 45 degrees outside.

I woke up this morning ready-ing myself to head out for the morning. It was a balmy 30 degrees (wink) but I wasn't feeling my winter coat so I threw on a hoody and grabbed my purse.  I opened the garage and stopped dead in my tracks at the sound.

D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d

Tiptoeing to the edge I saw snow-covered blades of green attempting to regain a place in the world.

D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d

My eyes dart up.
Where is it? Is that what I think it is?

D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d

I stood in my driveway and stopped.
I listened.
I would be late.

Best Part of My Week

I'm not going to lie, this week was long, hard, and rough around all the edges. At times I felt as though I was torturing myself. Which, I realize sounds dramatic. It's meant to sound that way. I rarely over-exaggerate or complain, at least I hope I rarely entangle myself in those behaviors. But, wow, it felt hard.

Then, there were these fifteen minutes. Fifteen glorious little minutes where I surrounded myself with wonder, possibility, and joy.

I went to preschool.

Just to visit. Just to be around the little people. It was by far the best part of my week. I met kids I've never met before. I banged on a drum. I watched a dinosaur fight a bear. I played with baby dolls. I listened to a story about myself and my imaginary baby, named Jason all drawn out on the corner of a piece of paper. I could not have been showered with more happiness and engagement than those precious fifteen minutes. It was the perfect dose of play and conversation with little people who didn't know me.

It was the best part of my week.

Is There Anything More Exhilarating?

I just...just, finished report cards. I suddenly have this feeling of freedom.
I was finding myself thinking, there is nothing more exhilarating!
Then I thought, um...yes there is.

It is really something how I find myself often completely wrapped up in everything that is education, my students, late phone calls to parents, adjusting lesson plans, finishing report cards, mapping out data. It feels like everything is revolving around my work life yet here I sit, my daughter across from me, eating a late dinner because I "had no time."

It makes me a little uneasy. I am going to get back to a balance, but at the moment I'm tipping the scale way too far and I probably need to pump the breaks a bit.

There are many things more exhilarating than finishing report cards and I have three of those things in my home with me right now.

"What's that Smell?"

Someone blew out a candle.
But
I didn't know.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, papers all over, highlighters, points, scores, blah. My head hurt. I was a bit cranky. Not a good combination going into the evening.

"Does anyone smell that? I smell heat. It smells like something melting, Can anyone hear me? Do you smell it?" I know my voice was a bit sharp. My words gained speed. I didn't wait for any responses I just kept yelling out questions.

"Um, I kind of smell crayon. Is that what you smell?" my daughter asked.

Then, from the front of the house, I hear, "I blew out a candle. It's fine," from my husband.

"Oh, good. I couldn't tell what that was, " I yelled back. I suddenly was breathing easier.

We don't typically light candles at my house anymore. It's an occasional thing but I'm usually fully aware of the candle. This time, not so much. That little whiff of smokey heat made me super alert and aware.

I've always had things that triggered certain memories. Songs that made me think about past summers. Clothes that make me remember smaller children. Photos, or the taste of foods. But smoke, heat, anything even remotely electrical in odor sends a rush of endorphins like I might need to run for my life. It is the oddest and most legitimate of feelings, but I am still caught off guard by it at times. 

Nostalgic Rays

"Mom, what's nostalgia mean?"

My son asked me this question from the passenger seat on the way home from school tonight, and I was trying to find the right words to explain nostalgia. Fatigue was definitely making it difficult to find the right words.

"Well, I can't quite put my finger on a dictionary-like definition, but if I were to give you an example, it would be the feeling I get when I see you and Jane playing at the beach. We've been to the beach a bunch of times and often when we are there I think of when you were little. The place is sort of the same but you are both different, and I get a feeling of nostalgia or a longing for you to be small again. It's sort of a trigger I guess. I get nostalgic when something reminds me of a happy time in the past."

I glanced over to see his face. He seemed to be in deep thought.
"Any, particular reason you were thinking about it?" I asked him.

"Yeah, yesterday I went for a bike ride, and it was like I got a rush of all these feeling from the fall. I was thinking about how much fun it was to ride my bike in all the same places, and the fresh air was making my dopamine go crazy," he said, in an intelligently bewildered sort of way.

"Huh, I could see how that might happen, it's been a long time since you rode your bike. You sort of got a brief taste of freedom."

The sun has come out two days in a row in Michigan. I am feeling the same nostalgia my son is feeling. The longing for bright skies, breezy fresh air, and being outdoors.