My High Techness

My screen saver has inexplicably begun doing something creepy: it changes images at will. The first time I noticed it was when I was surprised by a large photograph of a seagull I took in Maine. You think everything is big in Texas? You should see Maine gulls. They are the size of small dogs. Think how large they are on a computer screen. Spooky. But, I digress.

When ever I get my laptop out, I find it has played roulette with my photo files and selected a new image for display. It reminds me of HAL, the computer from the movie "2001, a Space Odyssey". My MacBook seems to be playing fast and loose with my controls. 

I know I must "accidentally" have pushed some button to cause this to happen. Probably 95% of what I do on the computer could be labeled the same way. That "accidentally" part. But somehow I manage to socially network without blowing the machine to smithereens. Not bragging--just the facts.

 I also know that I could grab the nearest six year olds and they would know exactly how to remedy this technical glitch. Mainly because their frontal lobes have not developed. They do not know, for example,  that calling up a school district banned website (like that dangerous YouTube) will result in an immediate call from the central office, with sirens and squealing tires soon to follow.  

I kid about the squealing tires. They'd never send out a warning like that; they'd just clip my ethernet.

At least my story is not as bad as the teacher next door. She used her school-issued computer at a hotel on vacation. Somehow she  came home with a file of pics that included several vacations of an Asian family she had never seen before. She can't seem to erase them, but maybe she can photoshop them for her Christmas card. 

Guess I'll just get a bowl of popcorn and enjoy the show until tech support calls me back. Looks like a run of Field Day pics are coming up.  

The Other Right

In first grade, six year-olds can be somewhat directionally challenged. For example, the words, "Put your right hand over your heart for the Pledge," do not guarantee that right hands are over the hearts of those sweet students. I try to give hints like, "It is the hand you write with," except this year I have a large crowd of lefties. Or, "Your left thumb and forefinger make an L for left."

I am full of the tricks of the trade. But, alas, even after 129 days of school (we count them in first grade), I still have to  make corrections with some students daily.

 I was not aware of how ingrained my words were until Friday morning's assembly. This is the way my students closest to me said the Pledge of Allegiance:

"Right hand over your heart. No, your other hand. I pledge allegiance to the flag..."

Hoping that can be unlearned before second grade.

I apologize if I did not speak to you at the mall...

I was given new evidence of The Fog Machine O' Grief at church Sunday morning. I had taken a lone seat on a back row pew, and was soon approached by a smiling, elderly woman. She called me by name and asked me to come sit with her and her husband so I wouldn't have to sit alone. My daughter, in her recent move to a new state, has convinced me of the value of saying "YES!" to all invitations when you are trying to meet new people.

I followed this sweet lady back to her pew, shook hands with her husband, and then settled back to try and figure out who in the world she was. She kept carrying on a friendly conversation, asking me very specific questions about my life and my children. I glanced at the name printed on her Bible and willed myself to remember it. The conversation got around to my GriefShare class right as the service began and talking stopped. I thanked her after the service for her kindness, and hightailed it home to check out my GriefShare class directories. I didn't see her name on the spring roster, but found out on the fall list that she had been a leader of my class. For 4 months. And I did not recognize her.

That makes me feel last fall must have been like an out of body experience: getting through, marking the days, willing the calendar pages to turn, and waiting for my brains to begin generating memory and thoughts again. I think I have a little better grasp on the reason that I was the only one who was "invited" (read that: strongly suggested) to return for a second session of the class.

And this time? I know everyone's names and faces. We only have two more classes, but I think I may graduate this time.

Maybe spring does make all things new.

Lessons Learned

One of my favorite blogs is called "Fiddledeedee", by a homeschooling mother of three who lives in an area of the country she lovingly refers to as "armpit Florida". She's honest and open, and I consider her writing a ministry. She touches my heart often, but especially in a post found here . It describes the difficult relationship she had with her late mother, and her desire to heal the wounds and do better in relationships with her own children. The comments that followed her post were precious affirmations of encouragement, and also confessions from fellow bloggy friends. Proof that social networking does not have to be impersonal.

As always, her post caused me to apply her reflections and insights onto my own life. And my relationship with my mother. I cannot think of one friend  who has ever met my mother. And I have friendships that have spanned four decades. My mother, quite simply, made the decision to not be part of my life, or the lives of my three siblings. 

My upbringing was so dysfunctional, that my way of rebelling was to go off to a Baptist university as soon as I graduated high school. It had a curfew, rules that allowed no males in female dorm rooms, and nightly room checks. I went from a family that only attended church annually on Easter Sundays (because my grandparents were treating to lunch at the local Luby's cafeteria after the service), to a school with required chapel services three times a week. Where they took roll and issued demerits for absences. And those unusually strict rules? They were a haven for me. It was the first time in my life that I had boundaries that made me feel safe and secure and loved.

Somewhere in there, I developed a passion to ensure that my own children, and the students in my classrooms, would feel that same unconditional love and safety. Many good things can rise out of the ashes of this life. "Extracting the precious from the worthless", the Bible calls it in Jeremiah 15:19. And in the squeezing tight places? That is where the diamonds are formed under extreme heat and pressure.

We trade our ashes for beauty. And the results of those hard earned lessons? They are the reason we can have joy in this often treacherous  journey of life. Amen.

Mundane Musings

I have two cherished friends from high school, and the three of us regularly email each other with the subject title "News of the Mundane". Nothing seems too small to share or comment on, and I love keeping up with the  details of their day-to-day lives from their homes in too-far-away Oklahoma. I've decided to adapt that format for this post, because it will be a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and not a whole lot in the end.

• Today, one of my six-year-old best friends asked me what time my "bedtime" was. (We are learning to tell time in my first grade classroom.) "Well," I replied, "I usually head to bed around 9:oo pm." His eyes got wide and he said, "Wow. That is amazing that you can go to bed so late and still come to school and be such a good teacher." And here MeMaw thought she was retiring with the chickens.
• In other school news, the day before Spring Break, my class dwindled to 8 students. (Grades were turned in on Wednesday, Sports Day was Thursday, and Friday was...how do we say it? A good day to start the break early.) I pulled out some centers that only see the light of day once a year; usually the day after Sports Day. Legos, Playmobiles, Happy Meal toys, and Lincoln Logs were among the favorites spread out all over the floor. The Lone 8 students wasted no time sharing this good fortune with the other students upon our return today. Cries of "No Fair!" rang through the room from children who apparently would have traded Disney in California, skiing in Denver or shopping at the Mall of America for a day with toys on the classroom floor. Parents: my toys are now for rent and I know how to save you a chunk of change next time you are planning a vacation.
• I ran into old friends at the grocery store today, and seeing them brought back so many happy memories. They are the parents of 6  children, and when my son was tiny, he referred to them as the "Lotsa Browns". (This was so as to not  confuse them with another church family of the same last name who only had two children.) Well, 5 of their 6 now-grown children were married within the last two years. I'm thinking if the last son will just take it for the team and marry quickly, they could be offered their own reality series on TLC.
• I have finally located the phone number for the lawn service Dave used last year. They will be just in time to harvest our weeds before they are mistaken for a Christmas tree farm. I will apologize to my new neighbors who border the jungle side of my lawn when they make eye contact with me again.
• My married daughter has begun a blog, and a recent post of hers was picked up by the Texas Baptist Children's Home here. Those precious people turned one of the most devastating events of our lives into some of our happiest memories.

Did you notice multiple instances of The Happy here? The fog must be lifting. Maybe Spring is bringing in some new life.

Tour of Homes

Perhaps you wonder how my home remodeling is coming. I'm having the entire house "freshened up" as a realtor friend likes to call it. All walls, ceilings and trim painted. All unfinished projects finished. And all prayer going toward the decision of do I stay in a four bedroom home alone or move on to something more manageable for just little old me?

Well, here is the bedroom that was formerly Katy's. It is holding the contents of Chris' former room while it is being painted. Katy is now married and living in Pennsylvania, so I'm feeling like she won't need this room anymore.
Here is the room that was Heather and Emily's. Heather is now a graduate student at Brite Divinity in Fort Worth and Emily is in Washington State studying to be a veterinarian's assistant. The room now holds the contents of the living room as it is being repainted. 
Last but not least, Chris' former room. Where he dumped everything last year before he left for his summer studies in Costa Rica. And where it all still remains in a big pile under a painting tarp. Chris will graduate from Texas State University in May. The piles will be greatly reduced when he has to decide what to keep and what to take with him for his new life. I'm thinking the bank carved from a coconut to look like a monkey (a souvenir of Hawaii) will probably not make the cut to his own future home.
And amidst the remodeling chaos, I am at peace. 

Believing that changes and rearrangements are also being made in my heart. 

And that everything will end up where it belongs.

Including me.

Hersheys and Home

The Young Couple's moves around the country have allowed me to fulfill some of my Bucket List travels. Their years in Missouri included a visit to the Laura Ingalls Wilder home and a viewing of Pa's fiddle.

Their most recent move rewarded me a pilgrimage to the Happiest Place on Earth. (And it's not Disney...)

Hershey, Pennsylvania: the home of all things chocolate.
What is not to love about a town with streetlights shaped like Hershey kisses?

 And this intersection? It is the corner of Chocolate Street and Cocoa Avenue. Unparalleled bliss.
We took a tour of the town, where the conductor kept handing out chocolate. This is a very happy population. For many reasons.

Did you know that the proceeds of the all things Hershey go toward maintaining the 100-year old Milton Hershey School, which supplies a residential home and school for orphans and children whose parents are no longer able to care for them? Every student who works hard is taught a trade or given a full scholarship to the college of their choice, and with an endowment in the billions, the good work will continue. You can read about it here. 

So, you can feel even better about eating Hershey products. Taking it for the team by supporting these kids with your chocolate intake.
Here we are at the Hershey factory: a real-life "I Love Lucy"-like production of candy-kiss production.
A chocolate store the size of a small mall.

And a reason to return to Pennsylvania this summer:
Personalized chocolate bars.

Laura Ingalls Wilder and Pa's fiddle in Missouri. Check!

Hershey, Pennsylvania and all things chocolate. Check!

Now if we can just get Young Son In Law to consider a move to Texas when grandchildren begin arriving.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

Now I'm returned to Texas, where the bus drivers do not pass out chocolate bars to passengers.

 But there's no place like home.