Thursday, May 27, 2010

Songs about Home

     I can remember living with my parents and being left home alone (at a completely appropriate age), and just feeling weird.  Lonely, maybe?  A Little freaked out? I dunno.  


But tonight, Tim is at Paul's puttering around with guitars, and I am here doing laundry and grading papers


I am here contemplating making coffee and playing on the internet.  


     And I don't feel weird.  I just feel like I am...at home.  Alone.  


I can also remember wondering what it would be like to be homesick for somewhere else other than my parents' house.  


Somewhere else.  


And when I leave here, I miss it.  


Which is a good thing, I guess.  


     This weekend, we are planting our garden.  There are 5 days of school left. Our entire weekend is booked.  Two out of three evenings include plans in which I will see this sweet face. 


Sometimes, things get so good that I find myself asking, "OKAY GOD WHEN IS THE OTHER SHOE GOING TO DROP?"


Like, I am looking for the ying to my yang.  As if there is always an inevitable balance of good vs. bad.  


Well. I have to quit doing that.  I have to stop.  


God is not a mathematician.  Last time I checked, he does not function in patterns.  I think in some ways, he is a God of chance.  


And we've learned by now that we always find what we are looking for.  So, love and no more bad habits.  H.  

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Something to Consider

The noise of the hammers was loud, yet somehow, they managed to chat in a way that seemed quiet. faint. Hushed, even.   

She asked about his dreams.  She said she knew, if given the chance, that he would work with his hands for a living- that he would build things.  Beautiful instruments made with love and wood, strings and passion.  

She asked what he thought she would do.  

She asked him about her dream.  

She was testing him.  

"What would he say?" She wondered.  

She wanted, so desperately, for him to know the answer-  for him to know and not have to pause or hesitate or guess.   

Without a moment's hesitation, over the noise of the hammers and the bending of the wood he said, 

"Well, you would write, of course." 

And she smiled.  

For in that moment, she knew that as far as husbands are concerned, she had chosen wisely.  

Love, 
H.    

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The Week in Review, I suppose.

I remember a time when you told me to be careful of the questions I asked because once you ask and you learn the answers, you can never take it back.  You can never un-know it and sometimes that is sad or weird or just hard to get over.  That knowledge is there forever, dancing around in your head like grouchy little hornets waiting to attack.  






And I wish I would have listened and next time I will. I mean really will.  


And I think maybe this blue color I seem to be wearing on my mug lately is just poor timing.  An abundance of late-spring rain and too much Kate Rusby on repeat.  


I'm better now, see.  


Well, two good things happened this week. 


 1.)  We received this pretty package in the mail and we leave very, very soon.  ((sigh)) There is much to do before we can plunk ourselves into the Pacific Ocean or enjoy the stretch of road between Monterrey and Big Sur.  I have a feeling it will be exactly what we need.  California/Hawaii, here we come.   






2.)  We are making a lot of headway on these shiny new floors.  More on that later, I'm sure. Hooray for less vacuuming and fewer allergies!  Boo on you carpet, I say Boo!  


Think of 2 good things and post them enthusiastically. And leave one of these. :) 


My best to you.  


Love, H.  

Thursday, May 13, 2010

F is for Family

I love that I belong right here in this mix of silly, fun, hilarious and loving people.  



What a Lucky Duck am I.  

It reminds me of that verse in Luke...

"To those whom much have been given, much is required."

I want to spend everyday of my life loving the people and critters around me and, essentially, paying it forward.  


My best to you, Love, H.  

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

A post in which I try not to be ridiculous.

     I should probably tell you that I wrote this a few days ago.  Well, five days to be exact.  Who has the time to post things in a timely manner anyway, right?  Not this girl.  


Well, now is the time.  



     Today is a special day.  For today marks the five year anniversary of a strange and interesting accident involving hundreds of kids, a walking field trip, a van that couldn't stop, and me.  That's right.  Me.


     If you've got a large cup of coffee, and a comfy chair, you can read my story in it's entirety here.  However, if you don't have hours and hours of time on your hands to go scrolling through old blogs (I don't blame you), then I will tell you my version in the quickest way I know how.

     The spring of my first year of teaching, my school took a walking field trip to a nearby playhouse to see a production of The Jungle Book.  On the way home, we crossed the street that had been closed for the safety of the children.  As I crossed at the back of my line, I was hit by an oncoming van that had lost power in it's brakes.  I remember waking up to the most gorgeous blue sky and a massive headache.  I walked away with some cuts and bruises.  Physically, for the most part, I was fine, but mentally, I was cuh-razy.  It was a sad and interesting time.  I spent my summer making regular visits to see a counselor named Charlie who usually treated people with drug and alcohol addictions (and sometimes maniacal teachers).  **edit: I was NOT addicted to drugs or alcohol.  He took me on as a "special PTSD case" per a mutual friend's request.** :)   


Maybe someday, I will tell you about all the amazing things I learned and the silly thoughts I had while staring at the poster on his wall.  Someday, but not now.

     So, here we are, five years later and "normal" as ever.  I will probably have to take a valium every Halloween when we take our kids trick-or-treating...too much traffic... and there are other little "quirks" I've acquired along the way, but that is just life.  That is par for the course. (I love saying that).

      In no way am I comparing an accident to the death of a child, a failed marriage, or burying a spouse.  I don't think I can even begin to fathom that kind of pain BUT...

      It taught me that a trauma is a trauma no matter how seemingly large or small.  Trauma is the great equalizer; I found that I was able to relate to people who had been divorced, lost a child, been in accidents, had loved ones survive accidents, and that opened a new avenue to God.  It gave me an edge.  It made me a bit more raw.  It was like taking sand paper to my edges.  And somehow, it was good.  

     I was able to say, "I have so been there."  When you just know you have suffered a great loss, even if you can't identify exactly what is missing.  That is the worst.

I think this guy says it best.  

"Pain is pain.  Brokenness is brokenness."
Nick Vujicic

      So, I am tempted to get on here and tell you that we are having company and my house is messy and I am stressed out for silly reasons and feeling incredibly guilty for feeling such concerns, on this day of all days, no less.

But instead, I will try not to be ridiculous.

     Instead, I will tell you that I drove home with the windows down and admired how wonderfully our rhododendron is blooming.  I will tell you that I am trying to STOP simply staying alive.

     I am trying to LIVE.

     Sometimes, when the children are telling me stories, I find myself listening so closely, but feeling quite distracted.  I find myself sometimes-sort-of-scowling from all the work and the hard-ness and the listening and then my heart has to tell my brain to tell my mouth to smile.  It says, "Here is a child who is being kind and silly and good.  Smile."  And then later I think to myself, "What is that all about?"

     I feel such a pull.  Such a desire to live.  I think about Hawaii and the decision we have made to spend a little money and abandon all other obligations and just explore.  I do not want to live the kind of life where a sense of adventure and wonder is reserved for such occasions...for two week vacations to tropical islands. No siree.


I am trying to LIVE.  I am trying to LIVE and enjoy the process.


P.S. How much do you love this nose?

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Google University

Last night, I googled the question, "How to tell if you are too emotionally dependent on your dog."  I found few answers, but that's okay.  We are happy.  Life is good.  Today feels like the end of September.  It is windy and cool and I secretly love it (no matter how much I complain).  


My best to you.  Love, H.  



Sunday, May 2, 2010

Arbre

I love trees.  I don't know why, but it is a love affair that started long ago.  


I just love trees. 


      Sometimes, when we are driving, I pick out trees that I find beautiful or interesting and I ask God to put them in the backyard that is waiting for me in heaven.  I hope he listens and I hope this is one of them.  






"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given..." Luke 11:9 (a)  




All my Love, 
H. 

Saturday, May 1, 2010

It's a Hard Knock Life

     There is a little girl in my class who is teeny tiny and has one of those pretty, old-fashioned, full names that I just love.  It is classic and vintage just the way I like it, but I do not care much for the fact that she is not very well taken care of.  Dirty shoes, small clothes, tangled hair and shaggy too-long-bangs that itch her eyes when she reads.  And no one at home cares to cut them.  


     So this year, I was bold enough to buy her a hair brush and a set of colored plastic barrettes and every morning, I quietly call her back to my desk.  We talk about dogs and breakfast foods and recess and the weather while I run a brush through her hair and clip back her monstrous bangs.  
     
     If things keep going the way they've been going, she is going to have a very hard life, but it is my prayer every single day that when she is older, she can look back at The Year She Turned 8 and  know that there once was an adult who drank too much coffee and wore sparkly shoes and loved her as if she was her own.  
   

Love, H.                                                    (joytotheblog.blogspot.com)