"..when I'm your age"

I’m in my third year of participating in the Y’s fitness classes.  Classes are held six days a week at the Y, but I figure participating three times per week gives me off days for morning appointments, coffee with friends, to say nothing of giving my muscles time to quit complaining.  And finally after these years, my body is starting to want these workouts; I can feel a gentle nudging to get going. “Move girl!” it says.

So yesterday the class was a synergy class--a mix of various stations in the synergy room where we participants perform a move for 45 seconds, before moving to the next station (we get 15 seconds for the transfer).  We continue pulling ropes, spinning, sprinting, or thrusting kettle bells until each station has been completed--yesterday we had 14 stations.  We finished the circuit three times.

But in the middle of my kicking the punching bag (each leg once and then performing four jump-squats), I must’ve appeared particularly focused.  “You look so cute,” my instructor said…”powerful cute.”  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but then a fellow class member commented,” I sure hope I look like that when I’m your age.”  I thought, when I’m your age.  Wow.

Now I know I’m about twice the age of most of the gals in the class--at least I know that in my head.  But in my heart I’m just as young and vibrant as they are.  I modify my moves to accommodate an older body; I choose lighter weights to lift over my head so my shoulder doesn’t complain. And yet just participating in that class with those young things makes my years feel younger.  I try to keep up and at least strive to jump as high and do as many pushups.

But that comment about “when I’m your age” set me back a bit.  It acknowledged outwardly what I inwardly try not to dwell on--that I have a 65-year-old body.  Yep...I know I should be thankful my body is as healthy and toned as it is, and I AM thankful.  I’m just bummed it hasn’t always been that way, that I didn’t always have time and focus to work out, to have time for myself.

Now that Pete is gone and my mom has also passed away, time to myself is a gift, and I don’t ever want to squander it.  I love waking in the morning, knowing my day is mine to fill with activities of my own choosing.  I delight in napping in the middle of the day, reading in the easy chair on a whim, or having popcorn for dinner (along with an apple to complete the meal).

And I guess I hope that when the gals in my fitness class are “my age,” they are as happy and content as I.

You gotta love irony

Absolute Stress it was called. What a name for the drink I was sharing with our Girls' Gourmet group, but the vodka, dark rum, peach schnapps, orange and cranberry juice mixture sounded just right for our November dinner.

 But the morning of that day began with the clatter of Pete's walker. I heard it as a newborn's mother hears things--something amiss despite the three closed doors and a white-noise machine separating us. The clock read 12:30. And when I crept into his room, there Pete was sprawled face down on the floor, his walker having careened in front of him. This time the task of getting him into bed was relatively simple: already flat on his belly, he had to first position himself on all fours. To do this he pushed up with his arms as I grabbed his belly and pulled up. Worked well this time. I didn't even have to afix the heavy cotton belt around his middle. Then he was able to turn and put his elbows up on his mattress (already raised to accommodate his needs). I grabbed the bathroom rug, its rubberized grip providing Pete some leverage for his feet to push, and then slipped his Nikes on him. Using his elbows and feet, he could now slide his belly onto the bed, pulling with his elbows and pushing with his shoes. Eventually he pulled most of his hips onto the bed and began to turn onto his back and onto the mattress, finally gripping the grab bar on the far side of the bed. Then little by little he scooted up so his head rested on his pillow. All this left him breathing heavily and me thrilled he hadn't been hurt and that no urine had spilled from his urinal.

Pete began urinating into a urinal next to his bed about 6 weeks previously when his legs began buckling on the way to the bathroom 15 feet from his bed. And too many times he'd been standing in front of the stool, waiting for his stream to hit the john in front of him. He'd stand and wait, and after teetering over one too many times, (despite the grab bar WIll had screwed in place for him) decided standing next to his bed slightly leaning back onto the mattress for support and urinating into a urinal was the best way to accomplish that task. Then if he teetered over, at least he had the mattress to catch him.
After fifteen minutes of hearing the clatter, I was able to retreat to my room and back to sleep, knowing Pete was safe and sound, at least for the next few minutes...

 Finally 6:30 am and morning coffee. Though I knew my mom was recovery from a tumble in her apartment, I felt I could take the time to hit the Y and my challenging Monday class before checking in on her. I NEEDED that class, to sweat, groan, feel like I'd accomplished the impossible when the agony was over. And it did feel good.

 After a shower and checking in a Pete (he was still sleeping--even at 10:30) I shopped at the market, picking up the final ingredients for the evening's aperitif before stopping in at Mom's apartment. I found her dressed, her feet propped up in front of her, quiet, but obviously in pain. Her vacant eyes told me the extent of the pain, and I hurt for her. Her tumble had done more damage than we'd thought. I fed her a few spoonfuls of the soup I'd brought and heated, but she explained she just wasn't hungry--didn't want much. Her memory clouded by pain, she had no recollection of when she might have taken her last Tylenol, though I suspected the nurse had given her some earlier in the morning. I chatted with her about my trip to Grand Marais and my class on chair caning and the crazy weather outside--the threat of rain, ice, snow all in one twelve-hour period.

 Back home I found Pete had awakened, and with the promise of an egg salad sandwich, he got up, motored into the kitchen and ate. Quickly moving the dirty dishes to the counter, I grabbed my coat and jumped into Will's pickup to trek up to Faribault and the lumber yard. We needed to haul the 6 porch windows and door back to Albert Lea to eventually install, though the wintery weather might make that task a bit challenging.

As we drove north, the dry roadway became damp, the mist becoming more intense and the ceiling of clouds descended. By the time we reached Faribault, the temp had dropped noticeably and though we'd wanted to stop in my favorite El Tequila there for a beer, we decided driving home pronto was the best, given the weather's threat. Already cars and trucks coming from the North were snow-covered.

 So home we drove, the little 1970s pickup's defrost having a tough time keeping up with the vapor forming on the windows. Unloading the windows was surprisingly easy and we stored them in their boxes in the very porch they were going to enclose.
In the kitchen we welcomed the beer and popcorn we felt we'd earned when Pete mentioned Mary Ann had called, worried about Mom. I thought, just one beer and a few minutes to relax before checking on her, but it was not to be. The phone rang with "Hazel" on the caller ID. "Hello," I answered. Nothing. Just a rustle, rustle. "Hello! Mom!" I tried again. The rustling sound was all I got.

 So it was time to call Becky, the house-mother at Mom's senior apartment. Becky said she's check on mom and called back to say mom really needed to be taken to the hospital, her confusion, pain more than mom could bear. It was 4:45. Urgent care? ER? I wasn't sure where the best place to take her might be. And Girls' Gourmet. It began at 6. I was bringing the drinks. Absolute Stress--what an appropriate name! Before I left, I grabbed stew from the freezer for Pete's dinner. Then I boxed the ingredients' bottles, tossed in the recipe and was about to drop those at the hostess's house before zooming to mom's apartment, when Becky called again to say she felt the least painful way to get mom to the hospital was via ambulance. Good idea, I figured, given the weather now was freezing and windy and damp. The girls would have to mix up their own drinks, but maybe if all went well I could at least join them for dessert. I dropped the ingredients at the hostess's house, shared my regrets, and was off to the hospital.

 Perhaps one (the ONLY one?) of the plusses about being seen frequently in the ER is that people recognize you. Jeremy (nurse #1) knew me from my trips there with Pete ("Oh yeah--you're the one who taught at USC") and Jonelle (nurse #2) was a former student whom I'd encounter at least yearly when bringing in either Mom or Pete. So our discussion regarding mom was easy--we understood each other's expertise of the health issues of the person in the gurney. All Mom's meds, allergies, etc. were at my fingertips on my ipad and I could tell Jeremy was impressed with my organization.

Diagnosis: UTI, O2 level low, potassium low, severe pain following a fall. Despite the fact the xrays again showed nothing broken, I asked that Mom be admitted so they could continue with diagnosing the cause of her pain and begin treating her UTI. The weather had turned icy--ambulances were bringing in accident victims from I35 crashes, and despite the fact we were told we might have to be placed in the hall so the ER room could accommodate these victims, we were thankfully wheeled into a room before that occurred.

 Once in Room 260, mom seemed much more relaxed, but I guess that's what your IV filled with pain meds and antibiotics and do for you when you need them. The nurse again took an excruciatingly long time filling in mom's profile and info on her computer ("any recreational drug use?" she asked. "What's that?" mom replied). I had to smile. This woman who hours before had been so vacant was powering back. Responding to the nurse's question about being able to dress herself, etc., I responded quietly that we were going to ask for additional help with dressing and the dispensing of medication. "Additional help?" Mom said. "We are?" Nope, she wasn't missing a thing.

 Finally I made my way down the steps to the first floor, the elevators not functioning as they were being repaired. The car was glazed with ice, the dessert with the girls long since devoured, and truthfully all I wanted was the warmth of my own place.
Eight-thirty at night. Gather garbage for Tuesday pickup. Wash lunch dishes, beer glasses. Put away the stew Pete had elected not to eat ("I'm getting sick of left-overs.")

"Absolute Stress." My friend Jane says she has the ingredients in her car to return to me. You can be sure I'm going to enjoy one or two those suckers tonight...


Labor Day Weekend

It all begins now--the schedule I've followed since 1975 when I first began teaching in Duluth. A life regulated by bells, by assignments, by student activities, by assessments. I put on a watch again, plan my appointments so they fall "after school," and subconsciously inventory food available and evening meals for the week.

How to prepare for this gearing up? This weekend we prepared 10 pints of dilly beans, defrosted the small refrigerator, changed the oil on the car, froze corn from Biseks, and before the end of the day, I hope to have jars of jalapeño pepper jam made. I hung curtains in mom's apartment, and joyfully am harvesting tomatoes from the 6 plants I'd gotten from Kara last spring. A bumper crop!

This morning the air suddenly turned crisp (well--just 52), but it was enough to cause mist to rise from the lake. SUCH a relief after sweating it out on 3rd floor in the old school building during teacher workshop. I've left the windows open a bit--and am looking forward to a cool room tomorrow when I enter.


Will this be my last year? I'm really quite unsure. Not teaching the college English class will free up so much of my time, I'm hoping. Other challenges arise--another year of adventures!

 

Sunday in August


 

What I like about early mornings like this are the quiet on the porch, the silent hummingbird at the feeder, the cracking of the tires as a cyclist cruises past--calm sounds of nature, of the gentle life in Minnesota. The sun and cloudless sky and rather "crisp" air beckon me to enjoy a summer day, though the fact it's fleeting makes it all the more precious.

I'm at a stage of transition. The summer (filled with plans and goals) is ending and the rigor of school looms before me. I've noticed I'm edgier, and I awaken with an "electric" sensation most mornings--anxiety, I assume. But I have THIS day, and a trip to NYC with my gal pals and a few more things to accomplish before my other life as a teacher begins. I want to feel ready, and days like this fill me with the energy that sustains me as my life becomes regulated by bells, not by the rise and set of the sun.

 

July 11 Early Morning Biking

What I like about that early morning zip around the lake isn't really the exercise, although I admit it's great to see those thighs tone up a bit. What I like is the multi-faceted adventure--half touring my past playground of memories and half discovering (and evaluating) the new.

I start off taking a left on Ridge (the city's begun it's work on the curb/gutters, I see) and turn left onto Garden Road. A right on Martin Road winds me down to the bridge on Richway--remembering the vision my brother Lloyd must've had as he looked down one day while on his paper route to find a submerged motor tossed there--probably by kids--and the $5 reward the owners sent to him. Then on to the new bike trail, formerly the back road to the tennis courts where we played in a league--my dad and uncle devoted players. Peddling on into the Catholic cemetery, I pass the spot Lloyd and I used to fish for bullheads--venturing through the "Willow Woods" to get there. I don't remember we'd never keep any-- but I do remember the challenge of removing the hook without getting stung. We probably used worms for bait--probably went to the fields to dig them, but...our spot was special to me; we were rarely disturbed, since the only access then was the cemetery's road, and few visited then.

Now the new biking trail connects the Catholic cemetery with the next one, as well a Pioneer Park. As I peddle, I notice the house closest to the park (the one nearly identical to the one we grew up in on the farm) is being renovated--and surprisingly, I like it! Nice lines, great color, new windows. I wind past the beach and onto the sidewalk as I tackle the hill--the road there! When will they ever fix it?! I grimace at the "KEEP OUT, Private Property" sign at the new condos' driveways by the lake and wonder how signs can scream and yell like that. I'd never live in an area with such an attitude.

Then down again to the lake--past Catherine Island where I'd meet mom during lunchtime as a young girl at Northside School. She's bring a picnic and read to me as I munched on a sandwich. Why this memory gives me such a hug I can't say; perhaps the magic of such a special time with just her and me, when she could see and the world was opening to me...

I usually stop at the dam, and nowadays dab my nose, but earlier I'd simply watch in amazement at the power of the water, of nature's force, while water spilled over into the channel leading to "Lower Lake" as mother used to call Albert Lea Lake. Continuing along Bridge Street, I turn onto Fountain and along the path Lloyd and I used to walk to piano lessons--from Lakewood to Park Avenue? Seems like such a long way for two kids, but that was "back then," and then it wasn't so far somehow. Up the hill by the water tower, I notice the work the city's doing on Broadway--a nice update, I hope--friendlier, more aesthetically pleasing, perhaps providing us with a more positive outlook on downtown.

Past our church, the hospital, which has grown and changed the landscape, and finally down to Lakeview Blvd. I take a right onto that road and am again nearly in my paternal grandmother's backyard. How I loved the alley that runs parallel to the street. What's it called? Court Lane? And I recall the house she lived in as I pass it--the night I stayed with her when my sister was born, the lights of the cars careening around the walls as they passed, the next bedroom with a fireplace, the attic, which was a treasure trove of trunks and dusty magic. I remember playing "teacher" in the living room that faced the lake, and the back room with the amazing ironing contraption that ironed sheets (who irons sheets?!). And I remember sitting at the dining room table, trying to keep my elbows from making their way onto it (a big faux pas in Grandma Kepple's eyes).

As I continue past Lakeview School, my kids' early days there flood back, and oddly I don't recall as much as I probably should. Was I not so involved in their elementary years, in their education? Past the "little island" I breathe in the scent of the North Shore--what that particular smell is remains a mystery to me, yet occasionally it's there, strong and clearly identifiable to me, something I can't explain to others. It's a fresh, clean scent--and when it waifs in the air, somehow it's like an elixir, calming and wrapping its arms around me. Odd, I know, yet I love that smell.

I peddle past the "Little Store," now a residence, and around to the new bridge--up the Fairway's hill and left onto Ridge. My thighs ache, me heart pounds, and I'm again on even ground as I pull into the driveway. I see the grass is growing (yeah!) where the winter kill had left a huge brown spot. I park the bike on the side of the garage, cover the seat to keep off any rain, and stride into the house for a robust cup of coffee, having visited a world I cherish.

 

June

I watched the sun go down on June tonight--orange ball floating on a purple blue horizon. Gorgeous, shimmering, fleeting. I'd read on the patio for 90 minutes after dinner, finishing my second book for the day, MoJo keeping me company on the wicker couch. My 12006 steps around the yard followed my bike ride around the lake. At 7 this morning the air was crisp and wind minimal. Then the perfect weather signaled a "carpe diem" moment in me to move hosta, pull weeds, fertilize the earth on the south side of the yard. I trimmed the honeysuckles and spent hours (like 6) on the garden. With a good audio book (Baldacci's The Hit), time flew and I was in the zone--having a great day playing in the garden.

Peonies

Not until June this year did the peonies pop. So much rain that we all grumbled, gritted our teeth and hoped--hoped for the sunshine and warmth a June usually brings us. In our changing neighborhood (two houses for sale--one next door, one across the street) I spotted the first peonies to squint at the sun. I doubt Jo had planted them, but I know she loved these growing on the south side of the house she'd lived in before the cancer took her. Now with Bob traveling and the house nearly empty, I decided to enjoy Jo's peonies, and felt no remorse walking over and snapping a few stems to slip into a vase for the table. But then I looked at them--really looked--and saw exquisite colors, delicate petals, alabaster glow. Jo's peonies were glorious, nothing like those I'd seen over the years. I studied them, enjoying the scent, their beauty, and realized the agony of a hesitant spring can be erased in a moment with such a creation before me. The melding of the yellow and pink, along with the delicate petals themselves, centered me. I'd found summer.

II
 

 

 

The Wren

The wren's song woke me this morning. I can't really call it "our" wren yet, since I know from experience how fickle they can be when choosing a nesting area and how overly hopeful I am that one will choose our yard (even our wren house) to lay eggs and raise its young. For years I've celebrated when I'd see one pop in and out of one of the wren houses in the yard, only to be disappointed that it hadn't stayed. I mourned its choice to nest elsewhere and could enjoy its melody only when passing someone else's yard. But his year despite all the rain, all the struggles to replant winter "burned" grass, all the cold and morning fog, one just might be hanging out with us for awhile--literally.

As I began the shift into summer, I'd forgotten about the brightly painted gourd that doubled as a bird house--found it hanging in the garage and knew it would add a bit of color to the patio, if nothing else. So I hung in the breeze under the eaves and enjoyed the swirling colors as I read on the loveseat and enjoyed the lake's shimmer.

But then last week I was shocked and pleased to see a wee bit of a bird hop into the gourd to look around. Then I saw it a second time, then a third. Could it be? A wren? Here? I didn't hold much hope until Pete noticed one trying to pull a six-inch twig into the one inch diameter opening--which didn't fit naturally and fell to the patio ledge. But now and then we've seen it trying to add to the nest. We'll have to be patient. I try not to be overly hopeful, but by now there are nearly a dozen twigs that've not made it into the nest and are lying beneath the little house. Stay tuned...

 

 

June 6, 2013

A year ago Jane and I took off on our adventure--last night I saw a PBS program on Victoria Falls and it brought back so many memories of the Zambezi and the animals. Lovely.

I begin the summer rather at loose ends. No big trips planned, No great projects--well I guess I DO have "projects"--Pete and my mom. Both quite needy and I'm their "go-to" person.

The lake this morning is shrouded in mist. Two pelicans float on a nearly glass-like Edgewater Bay. Just as our last summer was too dry, this spring is sharing too much rain, too much water, and the outcry from the farmers and the heaviness of the natural disasters is getting us all down. The weather has become the top news story of late--tornadoes, floods, landslides, fires...so much carnage that if one isn't careful, the entire world's problems (brought to us instantly by modern technology) can overwhelm us.

My goal is to turn inward a bit and keep myself more fit--physically and mentally. My "Fit Bit" (or as Pete calls it, my "fit bitch,") allows me to see how many steps I'm taking each day--strive for the 10,000 or about 5 miles. On the rainy days, however--only 5 non-precipitation days in May--it's not easy to enjoy an outdoor walk. I have to force myself outside in the mornings instead of enjoying a cup of coffee. The initial morning hours are my more creative ones, the moments I can write or read or study. But they're also the hours I best get some exercise, so I'll have to figure something out... I seem to be more concerned about my aging, now that I'm 61, and that's probably quite natural. But I am amazed at an eyelash product that somehow is allowing my lashes (sparse as they are) to grow longer than ever before. Very noticeable to me, and somehow that delights me. Never had a product ever show results like this and I'm having a bit of fun with it. Also concerned about really keeping my skin in shape and I'm seeing Dr. Davis in Mpls. to assure I have the right approach and products.

So the summer (I'm now in Day 2 of summer vacation) looms before me. The fact I have no College English next year still hasn't quite sunk in, yet I know I won't have the hours and hours of papers to correct next year. So looking forward to what life was like before my 13 years of 70 hour work weeks. Only two preps next year will be like semi-retirement!

Summer!


Summer--it begins for me today.  I struggled with two voices before getting up, and "lardass!" won.  Peeking out the bathroom window showed a winner of a day and...pelicans, four of them, lazily floating on the bay.  No question where I was riding my bike.  I had to see those guys. For me the pelicans are more than just glorious birds. Tension leaves me as I watch them, their movements graceful, deliberate, focused.  As I neared Edgewater Park, a loud pickup rattled by and the pelicans took off, soaring just above the water, then gaining altitude and clearing the trees.  Man, a great way to begin the summer. My bike's tires crackled and popped as I rode the outer rim of the park.  Sun streamed through the tree trunks, birds called, rabbits hopped about.  Why had I even considered staying in bed a bit longer?  

Now with a good cup of coffee on the porch here, I contemplate the coming months, already mourning the summer equinox when the sun will begin to set further to the south.  How can it be that I'm thinking about that and not appreciateing the "right now"?  Not living in the present will surely do me in. I'm shifting my focus from school (yesterday was graduation) to my adventure with Jane (Africa). Inbetween there's all the "extras" to take care of.  "Kummern" is the German verb for the taking care of stuff, and that's on my plate now for the next five days.

First on the list is a Mayo trip with Pete.  Into the unknown once again. So many questions I have about the days ahead.  So many fears, but so many strategies, so much support I have and am grateful. So here's to you, summer.  Let's have one heck of an adventure.

Last Student Day--May 31, 2012

Rarely do I get positive feedback from students.  Today, however, was different.  During lunch a former student (graduated 9 years ago) stopped me in the hall--Violeta.  She said she just wanted to say thank you to all her teachers for helping her.  I recall her quite well, despite the years. She was focused, driven.  Having arrived in American in 4th grade, she began her schooling at USC.  During her senior year, she wrote a paper about her relatives and their journey from Mexico to the U.S. using a coyote.  I still had a copy of that paper, one of those that stayed with me due to its content and skill of writing. Violeta shared that after taking senior English, she was a well prepared writer, her first essay at college composed of 36 pages.  She said she's used the resume and career writing as well and time and again complimented me and my curriculum.  Man that was incredible.  As she left my classroom, she said to the sophomores there, "This is a great teacher.  Take more classes from her.  You'll learn."  I was able to get my hands on a copy of that essay of hers from 2003 and gave it to her for her files.  I wish her luck as she does an internship in Mexico.

The next rather unusual positive feedback happened at the end of 7th hr.  Finishing our poetry unit with Dead Poets Society, we filled our writing folders with pieces of writing from the year.  As students were filing out, one gal stopped and shoved a note into my hand.  "Here, this is for you," she said.  "Have a great summer!"  Later I opened her typed page and read her amazing kudos.  She recalled a day I'd stopped her, concerned about her after the foreign exchange student who'd lived at her house, had been forced to return to Germany.  She wrote how much my concern had helped her face kids who were saying rotten things about her and her family. Then she also shared how much she appreciated my class and couldn't wait until she was a senior and could have me as a teacher again.

Wow; a great way to end the school year.  Not one, but TWO incidents of gratitude.  Almost makes me want to come back next year--haha!


Fall 2011--School Days

All these years I've been waiting to see that perhaps I've made a difference in someone's life in the classroom.  I've wanted to "get to" someone who was wandering, wanted to help them focus, help them realize their potential.  I've read about this happening plenty in books, articles, but it's never happened to me, unless maybe it's beginning?

A kid I'll call "Andrew" shrugged into my 7th hr. English class this year--someone new to me.  He'd been at a neighboring school for the past couple of years and this year came to us.  Tall, dark hair, one heck of a scar on his face.  His eyes were vacant; his clothes disheveled, hanging about him as one might expect when the body grows tall rapidly.

A random seating chart placed him fourth row back from the front.  He didn't talk much and sort of slouched down trying to hide.  Though his performance wasn't terrible and his attendance was quite good, he teetered on the brink of failing.  He was easily distracted, but didn't overtly misbehave. It was obvious no work was getting done outside of the classroom, but I knew he was pretty smart

Toward the middle of October I began bringing my green plants into my room to "winter over."  My large east-facing windows are perfect for that, and there's something...well...pleasant about green plants in the classroom.  Makes it more comfortable.  Better learning environment.

One day I noticed Andrew looking at the spider plant, fingering its arching baby "spiders."  He asked me what type of plant it was and after explaining it was simply called a spider plant, I asked him on a whim if he'd like one.  I had another "young" one at home.  I'd make him a deal, I told him...I'd water the plant and he'd have to talk to it to encourage and nurture it.  The hint a smile was the first I'd seen cross Andrew's face.  

So a few days later I brought in the plant and told Andrew, "That plant over there?  That one's yours.  I think you need to name it; but sure to talk to it now and then; I'll water it with the others."  That same week I asked Andrew if he'd introduced himself to the plant, if he'd talked to it yet.  And darned if later that day he wasn't over at the window chatting up the plant.  He told me he was going to name it "Curly," and that's when I saw Andrew's face soften, his eyes relax and a smile emerge.  He was playing this game along with me.

Following Andrew's absences the next week, I told Andrew Curly was pissed he hadn't been in class.  "You'd better explain yourself," I told him, and later he was again at the windows, chatting briefly.  Yesterday I ran a grade sheet for Andrew that showed he was nearly passing--just a percentage or two below 60%.  Then I remembered he's turned in a book review and it was one of those I'd graded.  I quickly entered that grade and...suddenly the percentage jumped above 60.  He wasn't doing great, but he WAS passing.  I could tell he was pleased;  he took the new grade sheet over to the window, held it up to Curly and said, "Hey Curly, I'm passing!" And then I heard him tell others kids in the room the same thing.  He was proud and so was I.

But still...the project we've been working on for over month that requires he interview an older person hadn't been started.  "Take your Grandmother out for coffee," I told him.  "Ask her a few questions; jot down the answers, and get some old photos to upload for our project."

He's on the edge, on the brink of passing first quarter.  I told him he was too smart to fail my class and I wasn't going to let him.  "I'm dragging you over the finish line," I said.  Hope he talks to his grandma this weekend.  If not, he's got some explaining to do--to Curly and me.

Sun goes down on summer

With the East Coast gearing up for Hurricane Irene this weekend, I felt in a similar situation:  I was shoring up my resolve and energy for another school year.  I've completed nearly all my summer "chores," and cleaned the dog hair off the floor and carpets, completed several loads of wash and cooked a nice dinner.  Then a last summertime after-dinner walk.  Thirty minutes of peace as I walked down the gravel road near the lake, the damp evening air massaging me and energizing me for what's to come tomorrow.  I have such trouble transitioning from school to summer, summer to school.  I'm anticipating the yearly teacher-workshop headache--will have to be sure to be kind to myself.  Interactive board?  We'll see how long it takes to get me used to it.

Nearly the end of summer...

It's been catch-up time, my not having counted on the back surgeries this summer.  Catching up on relaxing, reading, biking, re-energizing.  But the last weeks have been luscious.  Two bedrooms and the bathroom redone, windows scraped and finished, Ginny's visit and the girls' 3-day marathon.  I never thought I'd be so tired from going, going, going each day.  So worth it.

Now the syllabus for MnSU class has been approved, the other syllabi completed, and I'm slowly working my way toward school.  Changes there, too with 7th/8th graders' lockers just outside my door, 4 classes straight in the afternoon.  An inter-active board that confounds me is now about to be attached to my room's wall.  I'm breathing deeply and hoping to eliminate daily stress and all the craziness that I find drag me down.

Looking forward to PLC's and even leading one.  Also am pleased that my largest class isn't more than 25. Only four college papers this year.  And the focus of teaching only 3 more years.  This job ends June 2014.

July 5, 2011

After the most lovely 4th of July weather EVER... part II of summer begins.  Pete's surgery for a herniated disk has gotten him back on his feet, but hasn't eliminated pain.  He's done his part and walked, and to my horror, has attached a dodo bird to his walker.  Is it any wonder I won't claim to know him?  So now the summer moves into work mode. Windows, paint, etc.

Father's Day June 19, 2011

The third day after Pete's surgery that removed his back's bolts.  All went well and then...muscle spasm?  He's been in bed Fri/Sat/Sun. IN BED--the only place he wasn't in pain. I've been emptying urinal after urinal, bathing him, helping him with getting clean clothes, changing his linens, etc.  Then the worst--the thing I NEVER wanted to do--put together his pills.  But there I was at the dining room table, all the pill bottles before me, and I was filling the AM and PM pills.  Strange day.  Hoping the coming week brings answers.

Coming home

So what did I do to get senior high English out of my system?  Absolutely nothing...really.  After Sarah left for work, I poured another cup of coffee, played around on the computer, watched some shows I'd missed, read, explored Rapid City, and was in charge of noone but me.  Divine!  Just knowing I was in charge of my time was liberating.  No bells, no meetings, no deadlines.  Bliss.

We did get up to Mt. Rushmore and walk a trail and listen to the documentary.  Loved that so few people were there, since I hate crowds.  And we decided we liked our 50 degree weather instead of the 95 degrees it could be.
Driving home was a breeze--no wind, nicely cloudy so I didn't bake in the car or need sunglasses.  Stopping for gas and a Culver's cone at Mitchell was all I needed.

And then home to a cool summer.  The front steps had been completed, the irises were finished blooming and I knew I'd now have to really transition into summer, something that's not easy for me.

Today I cleaned the house, did wash, stored things Sarah had sent home with me and accompanied Mom to a tea at the art center--actually the reason I'd come home on Friday.  Mom's and my wedding dress was on display, and it was fun to see it again.

Pete and PJ seemed fine, yet the pain's weight is more than I can stand Pete having to bear.  He no longer hides it all from me.  So it seems like he complains constantly, when in fact I know he's just telling it like it is.

But here's why I love him so:  he loves and adores me.  Despite all my admonitions, all my disregard, all my brushoffs, I know I'm still his one and only.  Before I left for Rapid City, we had an unusual heat wave--several days of 99 degrees.  I watered and prepped the lawn, shrubs and plants, and asked Pete to water them while I was gone.

On the table today I found the following note he'd written to remind himself.  It read, "Water schedule: Tonight--geraniums by garage, hanging basket by garage.  Every Hour: Send wife kisses."
How is it the man is such an angel?

Rapid City

After the whirlwind of a school year, I'm decompressing, letting out the air, learning to relax, to rediscover joy, to be ME.  Driving out to see Sarah in Rapid City was effortless, despite curious anxiety about the open road. Her country apartment is rustic, charming in a laid-back way.

Off to discover the city...

April 10, 2011: My own church service

An hour-long walk, navigating the crawling, scrawling worms after last night's storm.  The air heavy with humidity, rich in springtime smells.  I took a walk, just God and me, to experience the magic and glory of spring.  Boy I needed it.  Even two weeks ago we shivered in snow-laden houses, drove in glazed streets.  But now...the transformation's begun.

 There's something so personal and freeing about my walks alone.  The quiet, only the thod thod of my shoes on the blacktop.  I hear more intensely, feel God's hug more fully, and understand His glory more deeply.  I walk the path and tear up, remembering the day I took Mom and Dad (wheelchair bound) down the same path to smell the summer-time lake, to hear the boats and feel the wind again.  How Dad loved and relied on the wind, on knowing its velocity and direction.  It had affected his sailing, his flying, his livelihood, perhaps even his mood.  And I feel sudden tears roll down my cheeks as I realize Pete would give anything to walk as painfree as I--my dear man, my dear, sweet husband.

My heart sings the anthem, my lips share the verses, and God talks.  He reminds me once again that all will be well, to trust him, to walk with him and to let him carry the cares and worries.  Such a magical morning.