Grandma's Got This One.

I'm not usually one for church hymns or Jesus-y blog postings. But with all of the chaos in my life, this verse couldn't have come at a better time. 

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide the future, as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.

And yes. I'm sharing the version with David Archuleta singing it. Deal with it.

Growing Up and Up

My mom sent me the most amazing birthday package. Included in it was a file, if you will, of many of the writings (done by yours truly) she'd kept hidden away throughout my childhood and adolescence. Talk about opening a time capsule! I was truly overwhelmed (in a good way) and awash in emotions as I relived some of the weirdest, most exciting and revolutionary times of my life. It was (and continues to be, since I keep staring at it) so interesting to look at my own work from a variety of perspectives: as an emerging teacher I critiqued and laughed at some of my funny grammatical errors...lingering over hand-written essays and laughing at a writing portfolio from the 5th grade with a very grown-up table of contents.

I guess I could keep writing about how all of this makes me feel...but it might be more fun for you if I just share.

Take a look at this picture. First of all: the little girl who can't write her s's? She's going to grow up and become an English teacher someday. And that picture? Yes. That's me. I am like a flower - ever growing. 5 year old me can't write a sentence but - damn - my picture sure is worth 1000 words. (You might need to click on it to see it better. The quality isn't great).

Here's another picture from my kindergarten years. I am clearly expressing something important that involves my mommy and a grocery cart.

Next - the first poem I ever wrote. I remember this day clearly. I was 8 years old and had been inspired by a book I'd just read. I just really wanted to create something amazing. Here it is:

Title: Lovely trees scrape my knees

I love trees they
scrape my knees.
I wear pathes patches on my rashes

Now - we jump forward to the 5th grade to my author portfolio :) The table of contents is as follows:

Fiction stories
Poems
Personal Neratives
Rough Drafts

What an organized child I was!

I wrote an epic story about three cats in a kingdom in which I made my real-life arch nemesis "as fragile as an eggshell" as well as born in jail. I wrote another story in which my uncles and aunts steal a bunch of fossils and go to prison. In yet another, my imagination takes me on a wild ride in which the birds on my non-existent wall paper peel off and fly away, and everyone in the world thinks I'm crazy because of one stupid reporter. But my favorite: the story that include MLK Jr. as my soccer coach.

Here are two short poems I wrote in that portfolio as well:

Me
Athletic, Energetic
Running, Hiding, Seeking
In a big bush
Nervous.

My Little Rose

Spikey little rose
Such a pretty sight to see
There is a small bee.

---

So there you have it. Some of my earliest writings. I have some others (from my more dramatic years), but those are best saved for the vaults. Instead, enjoy this picture of my cuteness:

Hey, Teacher.

Who Stole the Cookies From the Cookie Jar?

That, my friends, is the question of the hour. Only it sounds more like this:

Who stole my great grandmother's ring from my jewelry box?
Who stole the necklace Matt's mother gave him when he was confirmed from his cuff-link box?
Who took our iPods from the office?
Who took all of our change off our shelf?
(I think you're getting a hang of the pattern, here).

Last Tuesday (around Midnight) we arrived back in the U.S. after our marvelous honeymoon in Rome. That same evening, I noticed that my childhood pacifier had been moved from my jewelry box, and I was exceedingly irked. As I went to place it back in the box, I was greeted with several gaps. Some rings were missing! I told Matt, but he was certain I'd misplaced them.

The next day, he noticed the change was gone. And an irreplaceable knife.

We continued to discover things, here and there, that had seemingly disappeared during our trip to Rome. Nothing big. The laptop was still there, the camera, my very expensive flute, my most expensive jewelry - kitchen supplies. The stuff actually worth money was still safely in our clutches.

Let's not kid around, though, they stole thousands of dollars worth of property anyway...without breaking any windows.

But here is what doesn't make sense:
- Why not take all of it? (Don't worry, we have a theory)
- Why not the big stuff?
- Why the jewelry, when women obviously know their jewelry?
- Who were these people?

So here is theory #1:

While we were gone, we had maintenance done on our place. A leak was ruining the ceiling/wall, so they knocked it out, fixed it, replaced the wall. While the landlord denies it (although his story has changed 3 times already), we know of several instances during which these maintenance workers were in the building without the landlord present. The landlord also denies that the workers ever entered our bedroom. Well, tell that to the drywall all over my clothes, and the panel of new wall in the bedroom...

Why they went into the office is beyond me. It also looks as though they were under a time constraint, since they picked and chose what they'd take.

Or: because they do maintenance on multiple properties maybe they feel like it's safer to take little things from multiple places.

Here is theory #2:

We talked to the landcare guy who lives on site. He was saying that as the old tenants (of this apartment) were moving out, three teenage boys snuck into the building. They attempted to take bikes, and sure enough, they succeeded in taking change jars and jewelry from the girls who lived here. No one filed a police report, though, and apparently the boys only got in because the doors were unlocked.

But, while this theory fits somewhat - here are the flaws:
If 3 teenage boys have unlimited time in an unattended apartment, you can guarantee they aren't going to take a few gadgets and gizmos. Not in this city. Also, how would they have gotten in...unless someone unlocked the door for them?

The landlord swears up and down that the doors were never unlocked. That's a lie. The day we moved in, we found the back door unlocked. And, since we know he wasn't with the maintenance folks the whole time...who says they didn't leave it unlocked and go to lunch (since they have no keys)? Maybe, then, nervous boys DID come in and rush - looking for the things that seemed expensive.

---

Obviously, whoever robbed us has no idea of what expensive jewelry looks like. My great grandmother's ring is, in my opinion, priceless. It's the only thing of hers that I've ever owned. But - that being said - monetarily it's worth very little. It's costume jewelry. They chose that ring over a butterfly ring, sitting right next to it, which has opal and ruby in it...(actually worth money). They didn't take my expensive watch. They didn't take my expensive necklaces.

And, obviously, they touched stuff. Let's hope they weren't smart enough to be wearing gloves.

Sock it to 'em.

So close, husband. So close.

The Few, The Proud...

We should be allowed to enjoy our good days.

I'll admit, that's a place where I need practice. I let the good days slide by, forgetting to write them down. To put them somewhere that I'm going to remember them.

Today was a good day. In so many ways.

I had a very successful teaching day. The students were able to actively engage in discussion. They worked together to solve problems. They asked questions. They were respectful of the space and each other. A lot of that was them, but it was me too. I was able to structure class in a way that allowed for success.

What a huge deal for me.

I even got a lovely note from my cooperating teacher. And, let's be honest, nothing makes me feel better than knowing I've done my superiors proud. (Here's where some of you think I'm being sarcastic. But I'm not. Which is why I'm awesome).

Also, I got all of my MTLE (teaching exam) scores back today. I'm officially done with my licensure tests. I've passed them all!

Tomorrow, I walk in graduation for my Masters of Education. That sounds like a good thing to me.

My parents came in to town today. I spent the afternoon doing absolutely random things with my mom. MY mom. I got to spend the day with MY mom for once. Not your mom. Not your friend's mom. Not my friends. Not my cats. My mom. She got me some cute gifts :)

Then my mom, dad, Matt & I went to a stellar restaurant for dinner - to celebrate my degree.

So, I feel like today is a day I should be allowed to enjoy. I have the people I love nearby. I have made huge strides in my student teaching. I'm taking the steps toward the future I've worked so hard for.

I get to be proud of that. 

Mid-February Shouldn't Be So Scary

When I walk around cemeteries, I am always fascinated by the headstones. Some are modest, little plaques that say nothing more than a name and a date. Some are crazy large monuments. Others are strange symbolic figures that are comparable to abstract modern art. But, no matter what they look like, they are a very real signifier that beneath the stone - and my feet - lays a person who was once loved - is still loved - by many.

This plaque above will be on the back of Jamie's headstone.

His headstone. Did I just type that? It still feels unreal. I'm still waiting for him to send a text that says "JK everybody! Did you miss me?" I wouldn't even be mad. I had this sinking feeling in my chest as they closed the casket over him - would he be lonely? Was there enough space? Can I see him just a moment longer? When they put him in the ground, I had similar thoughts: would it be too cold for him? - It became very real. He was gone, and it was time to say goodbye. I just hate(d) thinking about him being under the ground when he belonged above the ground. With his wife. With his friends. Flying planes.

I let myself slip into denial from time to time. Maybe it's not healthy, but it's true. Sometimes, I just want to pretend he's still around. That I can send him that text. That he will still be taking my brother to lunch in the near future. That we will see him and the wife at conference and we will all play conference bingo together.

So, seeing the plaque brings me both joy and sorrow. Joy that we have all made it this far. Sorrow that we had to make it at all. It makes me sad that people may stand over his headstone, doing what I do so often when I walk through the cemetery... they will wonder what happened to this young man. Where are the people that love him? They will wonder at what his middle name was, and they will always be wrong because they won't know that it only ever was D. It makes me sad that people will pass by his headstone but not know him. They will not know his love for cherry dipped cones. They will not know his funny laugh. They will not know that he loved Firefly or Tomcat F-14s or F-18 Super Hornets. They will not know about how he proposed to his wife. They won't know about Lolita or his mission to South Korea or any of his funny sayings: Make all 100's! Remember who you are! Don't embarrass the family! Now - get out of my car!! They will not know that he achieved his dream and they will not know the pure love and joy this man embodied. His selflessness. His spontaneity. His steadfast faith in God.

Instead, they will simply know his name.

They will see his plaque. They will wonder - and then they will do what so many of us will struggle to do for the rest of our lives: they'll move on in a different direction.

I suppose that I'll have to visit him sometime. I know the story. I won't have to wonder. Not about this man. I will be able to stand at his headstone and know - remember.

And it is a beautiful plaque to be mounted aback a beautiful granite headstone that will appropriately mark the beautiful resting place of a truly beautiful human being who, to use the word one more time, brought a love of beautiful things to my life and the life of many others. So, this headstone brings me sorrow. But it also brings me joy. Sorrow that the world lost a truly righteous, honest, loving man and joy that, in this moment, I get to remember him...and Him...in such wonderful and powerful ways. Joy that I ever had such a friendship, and sorrow that it will be such a long time before we see each other again. Joy that the plaque brings a comfort, marks a milestone, signifies a wonderful life lived. Sorrow that comfort is needed, that milestones are being reached and that his wonderful live isn't still being lived.

So it is bittersweet. But it is beautiful. Just like he was.