A Story of People and a Picture Message

I was in the middle of making lunch today when my phone let out a "ding-dong" announcing an incoming text. What I got wasn't a text, but a picture... in fact, a couple of pictures. Technology is so amazing that I was receiving (almost) real-time photos of an event in (delayed) progress taking place almost nine hundred miles away. A short phone call later and I found myself outside thinking about all the people I have met so far in this thing called life.

My world use to revolve only around a little town and not much farther than that. I laugh when I tell my kids about how I never ate Chinese food until I was twenty-one and in the service (they think it's funny because for the most part, they love Chinese food). The Air Force took me to a few places I would have never otherwise been where I met some interesting people. I remember a guy from New Orleans that had an accent I never did quite figure out, another from California who was without a doubt a typical surfer dude, a girl with poofy blonde hair from Georgia who called any kind of carbonated beverage a Coke, and yet another girl from Wisconsin who really did love cheese. I found all of these people interesting and am certain they found me something of a backward puzzle... I never could come up with a good answer on why I insisted words like "wash" and "Washington" were pronounced with an R (warsh, Warshington... get it?). Anyway, that short-lived experience was one of my first to other people outside of my small town circle. I will never forget those people I met.

Then came my days as a teacher. I know, I know... teachers aren't suppose to have favorite students, but don't students have favorite teachers? At any rate, I have enough sense to keep such things to myself and treat everyone the same so any comments or helpful advice on the issue can be saved for another time. When you have those students, though, that remain close to your heart long after their year with you has gone... well, those are the ones that stick with you. You're always curious to know how they're doing in school, what kind of friends they have, what their plans are after graduation... that kind of thing; just a general interest in their well-being. I had one girl who hated math to the point it made her sick, a couple who loved horses with a passion (and still do), one girl whose smile and enthusiasm could influence an entire classroom, a girl who loved McDonald's pies so much she stashed them in her lunchbox, a boy who matched his tennis shoes to his shirts, another who experienced random nose bleeds... good grief, I could go on and on. Whether from the Midwest or the South, I've got stacks of ribbon-tied cards, pictures, and notes buried deep in my cedar chest.

You know how some books are so long that they are not only divided into chapters, but also into parts? Sometimes I wonder if that is how life is. Is it wrong for me to hope, to pray, that this particular "part" is about to come to a close so another can begin? I know things can never go back to how they used to be, but we can certainly take experiences back to where we were. To be fair, I have met some interesting people in this part of life as well: a neighbor who became like a grandfather to our kids when they needed one close by, for instance. I have fallen in love with a thing called Carolina bar-be-que that I am pretty sure I won't find anywhere else. Our kids have been introduced to the Atlantic Ocean and the Smoky Mountains. I've experienced Civil War history in a way I never would have before. Those are the kind of things that make this part of life worth it.

So back to that "ding-dong" today that started this whole thing. A girl in the midst of a marriage proposal. Yes, she was a student of mine some time ago whose joy could win over an entire classroom. Earlier this year I got news of another engagement concerning another former student that I had the honor of teaching for four years and can still remember when she got her first horse. It's just something a bit unreal to watch these kids that you use to teach arithmetic and geography to embark on the whole grown-up-thing called life. My daughter will think I'm crazy and sentimental for writing these things and I suppose some feelings are hard to transcribe into something that makes sense. If my life were a book, though, it would be full of stories about the people close to my heart and forever in my thoughts.

And yes, Mom, there would be an entire "part" devoted to you.

Stains on the Tablecloth

During my latest round of afternoon tv, a commercial came on where the dad spills bar-be-que sauce on the tablecloth, gives a "no problem" look to the kids because he knows he has the perfect stain remover, and has the tablecloth washed, dried, and back in place by the time the mom gets home. Whatever.

At my house, the tablecloth would stay on the table along with all the dirty dishes (provided I'm not there to motivate anyone else to do it). Don't get me wrong... my kids can clean a kitchen and leave everything spotless within thirty minutes flat... they just need that mom-inspired motivation to do so. Before we had a dishwasher, I use to joke that I, in fact, had three: Nick, Andrew, and Katelyn. They use to rotate with one kid having the week off while the other two washed and dried. They still do that, it's just with an actual dishwasher now. Yeah. They have it made.

But that has nothing to do with bar-be-que sauce and a tablecloth. At any rate, if you want to remove a stain before the mom gets home, Tide evidently can do the trick and she'll never know what you've been up to. Thank goodness for progress in the laundry department.

By the way, my lunch time with The Young and the Restless and another pepperoni hot pocket carried over to The Bold and the Beautiful and two double-stuffed oreos. I have to say, for better or worse, I was rather impressed. No twisted love triangles or glamorous big-money deals taking place, just a half hour focused on one woman's (Stephanie's) introduction to the homeless of the inner-city. Looks to be a interesting storyline, but I think I best break my habit before it becomes too comfortable (and let me tell you, a recliner with an open-door breeze and a curled-up cat is a very comfortable picture). Yep, I think I'm gonna have to move this party outside and away from the allure of Hollywood.

And with that, back to the Shenandoah Valley and Jackson's brilliant military strategy, chapter fourteen.

Soap for Lunch

I'm sitting here watching Nikki fall off the wagon on The Young and the Restless. She's crying about how she has been sober for seventeen years and doesn't understand how she could start drinking again. Funny that I can relate to that. Not necessarily the sober part, but the soap opera part. I've been soap opera free for fifteen years myself. What happened?

Normally I would have been working and besides, we all know that you can skip years on a soap and still perfectly understand what's going on when you randomly happen to tune in. Even during the summer when I was off with the kids, I never really felt the urge to sit around and watch tv all day. Typically once the Price is Right is over, the tv goes off. Heck, I'm not even an Oprah fan. Afternoon television has never done much for me.

Blame it on reading. I've been so engrossed in the same book for four weeks now that I've little time for anything extra. Usually I read while I eat lunch. Lately, though, to take a break from reading, I've been keeping company with the Newman family and I have to admit that I'm just a little more than intrigued.

When did Victoria change? Nick and Sharon aren't together anymore? Crickett is still around? And I thought Paul was the love of her life? Kathryn is married and apparently has a long, lost son that nobody really likes. Oh, and the same with Victor. His family tree alone must be a work of art.

I know, I know. I could be doing so much more with my time but in all fairness, the laundry gets folded, a question gets researched, and today... well, blogs and emails have shared the recliner with my remote and a pepperoni hot pocket. I would call that time well spent.

Besides, between my muting the steamy parts and ignoring the new characters in which I am clueless and/or not interested in, Nikki is really the only one who catches my attention. She really needs to get off that booze.

Katelyn's Tea

Somewhere I have a book (and at the moment I have no idea where), but somewhere I have a book that is basically a poem written by a mother to her daughter. It's all about growing from a baby to a girl to a woman and so forth. It really is a touching poem. I just have no idea where it is at the moment.

What got me thinking about it was, of course, my own daughter. Twelve years old and at times pushing sixteen (at least in her head), I sometimes forget what a remarkable young lady she is turning out to be.

I had three papers to write today. Partly due to procrastination and partly due to an unbelievable amount of required reading, we skipped church today just so a stressed-out mom could get a jump start on her homework. I dutifully swallowed my Prilosec, drank a couple of cups of coffee, spent some idle time on the front porch swing, then prepared myself for the drudgery that lay ahead. Little did I know the surprise that was in store for me.

"If you get started, Mom, I'll make us some tea and biscuits," said my girl as she watched me still squandering my time chatting with my own mom on Facebook. "Four minutes then you need to tell Granny you've got to work."

Who's the adult here?

I did as I was told as she headed into the kitchen. Just as I began to hear the sounds of pots and pans rattling around, she closed the door to the screened-in porch where I was sitting so I wouldn't guess what she was up to. I was getting the feeling there was going to be more to this tea than just biscuits. Sure enough, it wasn't long before some pretty sweet smells started drifting through the open kitchen windows. I was about two hundred words short of finishing the first paper when she opened the door and announced, "Ready!"

I hate stopping my work when I am that close to finishing. Sometimes the train of thought that I am on is hard to pick up again, but what do you do? You hit "save" and go have tea... that's what you do.

Did I say I thought there would be more to it than biscuits and tea? Well, let me tell you what I saw: a three-tiered tray with tiny biscuits on top complete with a jar of pumpkin butter (my fall favorite), a middle plate with tiny ham sandwiches cut into triangles, and a bottom dessert plate with freshly baked brownies topped with a Hershey's square of chocolate (boy, was I glad I had went to the store before the weekend!). Two pots of tea ~ chocolate mint for her; apple crunch for me, completed the table that had been set with Grandma's china along with milk and sugar. The best part of all? A young lady (who to me is still a little girl) beaming with pride. When I asked if I could take her picture for Granny, she didn't hesitate one second. She was very pleased with what she done.

That was, without a doubt, the best half hour of the day. Everything was soooo good, I ate one biscuit too many, and just when I finished off a brownie (a center piece, she suggested), she jumped up to get the final course... two tiny teacups filled with ice-cream. The girl literally thought of everything.

It goes without saying that any work I had to do was a breeze after that. When I finally finished everything up around eight o'clock this evening, she said, "Wow, Mom. When you have that much to do you are usually working on it till late."

"It was that tea," I told her. "All that tea and goodies really motivated me and helped me get everything done."

She just smiled as she went back to reading her book. "Yep. I knew that would do the trick."

Little does she know that it was the GIRL behind the tea and goodies that did the trick.

If I ever find that book, I just might read it and cry. Thank you, God, for my daughter and thank you, Mom, for helping me to become the kind of mother that would have a daughter like her.

Saturday Mornings

I was just thinking how quiet a Saturday morning usually is around here. Two out of three kids are usually up before I am and well into their individual cyberworlds while the third one doesn't come up for air till noon. The husband is always busy on someone else's project trying to make some extra weekend cash and doesn't reappear around the house till late afternoon for lunch (or supper, depending on the time). When I finally do get up, my spot on the couch stays occupied with coffee-in-hand while I watch a couple of episodes of Raven and one of Hannah Montana (that's what we get for sticking to free tv courtesy of an antenna). Anyway, the point is the house is usually very quiet.

Not today. In just the last few hours I've endured two electric guitars being simultaneously played on the back porch (still going as we speak), two preteen girls roaming around telling me how bored they are (in fairness, it's just MY girl telling me how bored SHE is), and a house cat that wandered unnoticed off the front porch to stubbornly refuse to come out from UNDER the front porch (wouldn't give it much thought except he has no front claws). For us, that's quite an eventful morning.

The front porch is nice. There's a slight breeze, birds are chirping, water is trickling, and I can only hear faint streams of guitar music filtering through the windows... of course, the fact that they are on the back porch and I'm on the front suggests that the amps are no longer set on volume one. All in all, though, I suppose it's not a bad way to start off a Saturday. I still miss my mom, still have this mysterious pain in my chest that won't leave me alone, and still have one too many papers to write before the sun goes down tomorrow; but I guess I'll enjoy this not-the-usual Saturday while it's here. 

Wonder what those boys would do if I plugged in a microphone and joined them...

Missing In Action

For the last few weeks I feel like I have been missing-in-action on this thing called life. I started a new course on one of my favorite American historical subjects of all time, the Civil War, and have since then been immersed in a thousand-page book and unlimited DVD documentaries from the library on the subject.. not to mention writing a minimum of three papers a week. Throw into this mix a philosophy class that is at the maximum boredom level ever (and yet still requires me to discuss and write about things that I will never understand or care about) and I would say that I am on the borderline of academic burn-out. Don't get me wrong... I want this degree. I NEED this degree. But I'm getting a little tired of the whole degree thing.

What I love is history. That's what keeps me focused. What can I use this history degree for? A year ago I would have said without a doubt for teaching; after all, that is another thing that I absolutely love. Now I'm not so sure. I can see working in a museum or giving tours around a historical battlefield or plantation home. The more documentaries I watch the more I think about taking part in re-enactments. One thing is for certain, I need to find others that share the same passion about history that I do whether it is in the rare student that actually listens or a straggling tourist following a battleground map... I try to limit the sharing I do at home due the ever-present glazed look that seems to befall my family any time I begin a sentence by saying, "Let me tell you what I learned today."

With that said, my unemployment status that began on July 3, 2009, continues as I  try to better my career options while at the same time not get too addicted to Facebook, Kathie Lee and Hoda, and The Young and the Restless. The plus side is that the house stays clean, the cat stays fed, and I am always available when I get those stray phone calls that say, "Mom, I missed the bus." My husband says I am living the dream (minus the bon-bons) and I suppose in a way, I am. Of course, my dreams lately have involved Civil War generals and the like, but I guess that's a part of it. One day when this phase is over, I'll most likely long for the days when I could putter around the house in sweatpants and slippers and look suspiciously at the phone when it rings. For now, though, I kind of miss that social aspect of the workplace and those alien creatures called friends... I can count on one hand the people who will call: Heath, Nick, Mom, Dad (notice I did not even need the whole hand for that!). My days are indeed quiet and for now, that's a good thing- I've got two more chapters to finish today.

Back to my missing-in-action life.

Pokemon - Ten Years Later

While watching television last night, my two teenage boys presented me with a question that is still puzzling me this morning. Their inquiry went something like this, "Why couldn't we watch Pokemon when we were little?" Easy enough question, I suppose; but as I sat there listening to the youngest inform me how awkward this restriction was when NOTHING else was on, for example, I really could not come up with a reason to explain my own actions. Why didn't I let them watch Pokemon? Let's think back ten years or so...

Hmmmm... Pokemon was believed to be (at least in my Pentecostal circle) of a demonic nature and highly addictive for kids.The name itself means "pocket monster" and in some articles a quick Google search will reveal, "pocket demon." Powers are contained within the characters and those that use them have access to the same magical tools of mischief. As a mom of young kids trying to guard them from the evils of the world, I am assuming that's why I banned the funky little critters from our home.

Of course, a reasonable argument from the powers that be (in this case my children) could be the fact that while Pokemon was not allowed anywhere near my beloved babies for their spiritual good, Power Rangers and Bionicles ran amuck in my boys' bedroom with a particular fascination stemming from my middle child. Have you ever watched Power Rangers? If not, they are brightly costumed young people complete with masks, high kicks, and supernatural powers that allow them to morph in all kinds of crazy, evil-fighting heroes that save the world on a regular basis. And Bionicles? Well, I'm quite sure I'm not even close to figuring these odd-shaped, creepy-looking, long-clawed varmints out; but I think their powers originate from the different masks that they acquire. The only thing I do know for sure is that we have a tote box full of an assortment of Bionicle parts that would entertain that child of mine for hours on end.

Kids and powers. They do kind of go hand-in-hand, don't they? Who has never imagined what it might be like to zap their enemies with a quick laser from the eye or take a running leap and soar high above the clouds? I believe my fascination was in Wonder Woman. If time had pushed me forward to my kids' generation, maybe the Powder Puff Girls would have been my thing.

Now don't get me wrong. I know that cartoons can be a perfect hiding place for harmful concepts that target our children and I'm not necessarily backing away from my Pokemon stance. Of course, those boys have long outgrown any desire to be associated with Pokemon memorabilia, the Power Ranger collection is safely tucked in the attic, and the Bionicle tote has become a good place to stash just about anything in its convenient spot between the bed and the wall. However, that question presented to me last night did cause me to step back and ponder my role as a parent. Have I done it perfectly? Nope. Have I overreacted when it comes to protecting my kids? Probably. I can only hope that they see through my mistakes to find a mom that just wanted to shield them from every evil this world has to offer for as long as she could... even if she thought that evil might be in the form of funky-eyed monsters with their pictures on trading cards.