Nesting

We have a couple of robins building a nest in a giant old tree in our backyard. The first day we saw her, she had a mouthful of twigs. We followed her with our eyes to a very high branch. There was nothing visible from our vantage point. The next day, while sitting in our lawn chairs, in one corner of the yard, we noticed the tremendous amount of progress that had been made. This time, when we followed her flight back to the branch, a tiny nest was visible. Mr. Robin was also highly visible. He sat on branches, fence posts, wherever needed to protect his girl. He was ever vigilant as she diligently worked. By late afternoon, the nest had doubled in size. It was situated on a branch under an umbrella of leaves...the perfect little home. I've never seen a bird build a nest before. It was amazing and inspiring.

Today, I'm working in my own nest. We moved here ten months ago, and the place is still in a state of confusion. Much of our stuff is still packed in the garage, leaving me feel like I'm not really home. Today, I was arranging one of my husband's dresser drawers, and I found a special necklace I had been looking for, as well as two special crystals I had been wondering about. Every time I find something familiar, I feel more like I belong in this house. Since I don't believe in coincidence, I must give props to the PTB for leading me to them.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, there is something to be said for getting one's house in order. It feels good. It feels comforting, and comfortable. Each rediscovered treasure makes the house more ours... more a home. Just ask Mrs. Robin.

Respite

Well, I've been on vacation for almost two weeks now, and I'm starting to get into my summer rhythm. I'm not always waking at 5:30am and I feel like staying up past 9pm. It feels like more of a natural cycle. My stress level is going down, which is always a good thing.

I find I miss the kids...much more than I thought I would. I realized, this morning, that I now know over 100 teenagers in this town! It makes me feel more a part of the community knowing I know people.

I love not having to rush around in the morning. I lay in bed and listen to the birds until I feel like getting up. This is the summer I am going to begin nurturing my body and soul. I'm going to do things that feed me, and I'm not talking about spending a lot of time with Little Debbie ( oh, how I love those nasty little cakes.) I'm going to read, write, relax, spend time with people I care about, make new friends, and learn new things.

I've begun organizing my house...it's a big job. Much of our stuff is still unpacked, in the garage. Every time I bring in something familiar, it feels more like home. I want my house to be clean enough that I can invite people over without hesitation. I know, in the past, I've used the messy house thing to keep myself isolated.

So, I've begun taking care of myself, a little bit at a time... one task at a time. That way, life doesn't seem so overwhelming. So far, so good.

Connections

Today was the last day of school. I always feel a little empty around this time. I couldn't wait for it to be over, and now, I'm actually going to miss the kids. Until this year, I hadn't worked with teenagers for a very long time. It was quite a challenge. I learned so much about myself this year. I've uncovered, yet, more of myself that needs a good tweak. For this, I have the kids to thank. Without having to deal with their issues, some of mine would not have made themselves more clearly known. For example, I learned that chaos scares the hell out of me. I do not like feeling out of control...the idea of control being a whole other issue.

The most important thing I realized is, you don't have to be the perfect teacher, or the perfect student, to feel cared for and respected. Kids know when you care for them and when you're making an effort to connect. Here's something to illustrate what I mean. It happened just the other day. One of the kids and I were butting heads much of the year. Yet, we both kept trying to communicate with each other. Were the interactions perfect? No. They were, however, good enough, that on the second to the last day of school, when this kid went home ill, we hugged each other and he softly said, "It's been a good year." I can't describe the impact that interaction had on me. I will never forget it.

I realize that I have begun to build some new friendships. I've met some terrific people this year. I wanted to say awesome, but I hate that much over used word. However, with a respectful nod to the kids, who love the word, and because it's true, I'll rephrase... I met some awesome people this year. For that, I am truly thankful.

In a day or two, I'll start to feel like it's summer vacation, one I sorely need after the trials and tribulations of last summer (dramatic, aren't I?) For the moment, I'll allow myself to grieve for another school year gone by, and another group of kids I'll no longer see everyday. I'm sure the sadness will abate the first time I hear, "Hey, B!" as I'm strolling through the aisles of Wal-Mart.

I wish the kids, as well as my friends and colleagues, a great summer!

Fringe

I found out what my teaching assignment will be for next year - special ed - grades four, five, and six. I'm OK with that. This year, I taught eighth grade reading, actually, it was literature. I was hired to help out with the gigantic eighth grade class...too many kids, not enough teachers. I knew it was a temporary position. I'm OK with that, too.

I've never been a regular classroom teacher until this year. I was a special ed teacher for thirteen years and a Title 1 reading teacher for nine years. I liked the reading job the best. My current district was hoping to have a full time literacy opening next year, but, alas, funds won't allow for it.

I was torn between wanting the literacy job and wanting a room with a door. I really do not like the pod set up. It's like teaching in a fishbowl condo. There are five rooms along the edges of a common area. The rooms all have floor to ceiling sliding glass doors. As if that weren't bad enough, the doors are designed not to close all the way. So, there is a four foot, open entrance leading to each classroom. I know - it's all the rage...middle school philosophy and all. I hate that set up. The kids are always distracted by what's going on in the other classes, as well as what's going on in the pod. You can hear everything everyone says. You can see everything everyone does. By the way, I hate the word pod. It's creepy. It's reminiscent of that futuristic old horror movie where everyone was taken over by aliens. Whales live in pods. For them, it's a good thing, as Martha Stewart would say. Not so much for eighth graders.

Until this year, I'd always led a rather autonomous existence in the schools in which I've worked. This year, I was entrenched in the eighth grade pod. The other teachers were very helpful to me, the newcomer. I appreciate their efforts. The whole set up is just not me. All the while I was asking the universe for the literacy position, I was also asking for a door. The two don't jive in this situation. The room with the door won out.

I'll be back to setting up my own program. I like having some freedom within the institution that is a public school. It's hard to find. Freedom is not a top priority in a building housing 700 kids for eight hours a day.

My new room is smaller. That's fine. I'll be back to working with smaller groups of kids and, hopefully, feeling like I'm making some kind of a difference for more of them. It's almost impossible to give individual help to a kid when there are twenty plus others also wanting your attention.

My new room will not be in a pod. It will be adjacent to a pod...on the fringe, you might say. Ah, back where I belong.

Pet Song

I want to write something today, but I'm not sure what. So, I'll just let things come out and we'll see where they lead. Today is Saturday. It's been overcast and chilly all day...not sure if I'll need to bring in my potted petunias. I've been feeling very emotional today. I find myself welling up with tears quite often. I'm alone today. My husband is working. I generally like some time alone. I need it.

I'm not really alone. My babies are with me. I have three dogs and two cats...my babies. Cheyenne, a big, beautiful, black rescue dog, is going to be 15 years old in the fall. My husband found her when she was about 8 weeks old, abandoned in a field, jumping and playing, never knowing she was destined to become a coyote's dinner. He brought her home. There has never been a happier, go with the flow type animal. The best word I can think of to describe her is soulful.

Marley is 13 years old. We got him from a friend who was trying to find homes for a litter of puppies. Originally, we were going to look at another pup she had described to us. But, when she called the puppies to come out of the shed, we couldn't take our eyes off of him. He is mostly white, with black and deep brown accents around his face. To this day, some of his toenails are pink. In many ways, he is the exact opposite of Cheyenne. He is easily frightened and wary of the world. He is strictly a family dog...our family dog. I'm not sure he'd be living so long in another family. We have always accepted him for who he is, and he has rewarded us by being a loving and very loyal dog.

Star is also going to be 15 this fall. She is my cat. I found her before my husband moved in with me. She was so tiny. She was sitting on the window ledge of the St. James Hotel, in Cimarron, meowing like crazy. Previous to this, I had never wanted a cat. I didn't identify with them at all. But, as soon as I saw her, I picked her up and took her into my home and heart. I named her Star because she was all black, except for one, tiny white spot on her throat. She has taught me so much. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it. She sleeps behind my knees most nights. She is feisty. She still goes outside every day. She runs and climbs trees. You would never guess her age.

Peanut is 12 years old. He was my mom's dog. I got him for her after the humane society made a trip to my school, with shelter animals, in an attempt to teach kids how to care for pets. He is a small, brownish red terrier mix. I first saw him sitting in the middle of a group of first graders on the gym floor. He was so gentle with the kids and so cute, I asked the people from the shelter to hold onto him. I said I'd come adopt him at the end of the day. My mother loved him dearly. When I finally had to put her in a nursing home, she kept asking why she didn't have Peanut anymore. I brought him to see her several times. It was a heartbreaking situation for all involved, including Peanut. After she passed, he became ours. I feel terribly responsible to keep him safe and happy.

Last, but certainly not least, is the ever elusive Raven . She is a three year old black cat my husband found wandering around the St. James, after work, one day. He brought her home the way I brought Star home...immediately. She is most definitely his cat. I hardly see her if he's not home. She has only begun to let me pet her. She is an indoor cat. Raven is very different from Star...very innocent.

We had another...Comet. He was 11 years old. He was the son of Cheyenne and Marley. Cheyenne had one litter of puppies before we had her spayed. There were eight puppies...all healthy and beautiful. It was difficult to give them up. We decided to keep one. We chose Comet. He was the last to be born, and my husband had to start him breathing. He died last October, quite suddenly, in our living room. The pain of losing him was more than difficult to bare. He was a joyous, large brown and white mutt, with a white comet tail running down his back, and a passion for chasing the frisbee.

Well, now I know why I've been so weepy all day. I think about losing my babies more and more lately. I try to focus on the joy they have brought to us. I try to focus on what good lives we have given them. Still, some days the idea of losing them makes me so sad. They are so much more than animals. Loving them has helped me learn to be more loving, more patient, and more compassionate. For that, as well as all the years of joy they have given, I will be forever grateful.

Life must be lived one day at a time, sometimes, one moment at a time. It is bittersweet. On this day, in this moment, all my babies are happy and well. I can't ask for more.

Heat

There are some fascinating men on TV...talented and good looking, too. Here is a list of my favorites:

-David Boreanaz

-Hugh Laurie

-Julian McMahon

-Denis Leary


First, is David Boreanaz. I never thought I'd be able to view him as anyone but the hottest vampire ever... Angel. I love him as Seeley Booth, the macho, capable, and, occasionally, soft hearted, FBI agent, on Bones.

Next, there is Dr. Gregory House, himself - Hugh Laurie. Need I say more? OK, you twisted my arm. Is there anybody as brilliant, and equally as damaged, on television? This combination makes him irresistible to women.

Julian McMahon was deemed to smarmy to play James Bond. Well, the big screen's loss is TV's gain. Whether playing Cole Turner, on Charmed, or Dr. Christian Troy, on Nip/Tuck, this man is sinfully fun to watch.

Denis Leary produces, directs, writes, and plays the lead role in Rescue Me. His Tommy Gavin, the NY firefighter desperately trying to come to terms with the aftermath of 911, is one of the funniest and most heartbreaking characters ever developed.


These are the men I watch, week in and week out, on my favorite shows. They give me a different kind of hot flash, not quite the same as those I've been experiencing the last several months. They range in age from late thirties to early fifties. Yet, all of the characters they play possess similar qualities...the characteristics that make many women crazy. They are all very masculine while, occasionally, exhibiting the vulnerable side women crave. They are not inclined to discuss their deepest feelings, because all of these characters are suffering from deep emotional pain...every woman's dream, or, nightmare. Are you following me? If you're a woman, you probably understand. It comes down to the need to take care of him. At some point, in the lives of women, many of us are certain our love can transform the pain. The caretaker syndrome is very prevalent in us. These men are irresistible. Along with their considerable damage, they are bright, funny and charismatic. In real life, these men are never easy. What we are really trying to do by loving them, is to fix our own pain. Eventually, we realize, hopefully, we can't fix anyone else. We can only change our own circumstance. Sometimes it works out. More often, I fear, it doesn't. It depends on how committed both people are to connecting to their true nature.

The actors who portray these complex men are oozing sex appeal. They sizzle on the screen. They are fun to watch. Enjoy watching their women counterparts try to uncover and heal their hurts. When the TV is off, I find it best to work on myself.

Ripples

I just finished watching the You Tube clip of Susan Boyle singing, I Dreamed a Dream, from Les Miserables. I was so filled with emotion, it came spilling out as tears. This clip is affecting on so many levels. There are reasons it's gotten so much attention.

First, there is the song. It is one of my favorites. You can feel your soul being stroked by the music and the lyrics are heart wrenching. Then, there's the woman... a simple, unadorned, middle aged female in a frumpy dress with graying hair and bushy, dark eyebrows. She walked on to the stage to the rolling of eyes and the snickering comments of the judges and audience members alike. No one expected anything of her. Everyone was so certain some horrendous sound was going to exit her mouth. No one could have been more wrong. She opened her mouth and the angels sang. She opened her mouth and the universe spoke. The entire atmosphere of the place shifted. Everyone present shifted from a place of sarcastic judgment to a space where hearts were laid bare. Even Simon Cowell was moved. It was touching to see him rest his head between his hands, take a deep breath, and smile the innocent smile of a child. There was not a hint of his usual arrogance in that moment.

Susan Boyle uplifted everyone in that studio, as well as everyone who has watched that clip. For a moment in time, she reminded the world that not all good things come wrapped in pretty little packages. Talent is not only a property of youth. Authenticity is the home of true beauty. Having the courage to share one's gifts is what makes one truly special.

Will this small act of greatness change the world? If one person decides to open his or her heart to the possibilities existing outside of what society currently deems acceptable, or popular, a ripple has been cast. A change has taken place, and we are all the better for it.

This experience has reminded me, in a very profound way, that anything is possible and dreams do come true. I dreamed a dream in time gone by...I let fear claim it. I have felt the momentum of that ripple. It's time to create my own.