Challenge

I've been warned.
I've been warned that my chosen career will drive me up a wall.
I've been warned that Children cry and get into stupid fights and have runny noses and always, always, always, need attention:
"Miss Michelle, watch me on the slide!  Look how good I fold my hands!  Miss Bennett, see my nice handwriting?  Miss Bennett, I need a pencil, I need a band-aid, I have to go to the bathroom, she hit me, he stuck his tongue out at me, I want to play with my friends, I want to draw."
But you know what?  I like it.  All of it.

I should have known that every day I'd go home exhausted.
I should have known that every day my head would ring with the sounds of a hundred battles.
"You need to pay attention, please follow directions, be kind to your friends, leave the woodchips on the ground, no you may not take that bug inside, it's time to be quiet."
But guess what?  I still like it.  From A to Z.

Here's a good one.  Two weeks ago:
I'd been warned that this little guy is a Handful.
I'd been warned by the raised eyebrows and implicative looks of the teachers.
I'd been warned by the spelling of the word "T-A-N-T-R-U-M" and mouthing of the word "Screamer."
I'd been warned, and I met him with a wide grin that masqueraded my apprehension.
But you know, when he started screaming so hard his lungs almost came out his throat, something in my mind kicked in and all I could think was, "poor guy," and I did what needed to be done.
I should have known that my years of education would come through for me.
I should have trusted in the reason I became a B.A. in the first place.

Here's today:
I've been warned that the new girl is a Wreaker of Havoc.
I've been warned by the report of her history of violence.
I've been warned by the defiance in her stare and in her lips.
I've been warned by her emphatic "NO!" and her forceful, spit-watered words.
I've been warned by the 40-minute time-out vigil (a ritual that was ended with the utterance of one small, simple word, "Sorry").

But you know what?  All that does is make me smile a more determined smile.
I won't allow the warnings to get to me--I'll just take them in stride.
I won't look at the danger signs and think, "Lost cause--pack up, go home."
I'm stronger than this wonderful little girl.
I'm more stubborn.
I will win.
I will win because I have to win if she is to have a fighting chance in the world.
You see, that's my Job.

But you know, it's a bit more than a job.  It's rather a Calling.
Despite the warnings, despite the signs, after all the battles and exhaustion and frustration, there's still nothing I'd rather do.
Did you hear me?  There's nothing I'd rather do.
You're right, that is not normal.
There's got to be something pumping into me that kind of passion and energy.
Someone's got to have had this planned out.
Why else would I cling to the thin thread of hope that there is Goodness and Change in even a Handful, even a Wreaker of Havoc?
Why else would I, rational being that I am, risk my sanity to take on challenge after challenge, day after day?
Why indeed?

Today

I begin to think that nothing is as good as it was in the past.  In days gone by, songs sounded nicer, food tasted better, games were more enjoyable...the air was clearer, the sky was bluer, and the sun was warmer.  It's hard to express melancholy thoughts on this day of perfect sunshine, breeze, and autumn crispness.  But I find myself gazing back longingly on how it used to be.

There used to be lots of days like this.  I remember them, because I feel their echoes today.  I used to be content on days like this--used to smile and mean it from the heart, used to go about my life with the contented feeling that this is one of the best days I've lived.  I'd thank God for making it, and for blessing me with the life and heart and mind to enjoy it.

Today, I wanted to smile deeply and close my eyes in the sunshine and be content.  But I couldn't.  I'm in the same house I was in ten years ago, in the midst of the same magical change of the seasons, but it's just...not the same.  I used to be a child.  I used to have two loving parents to take care of my every need--and more.  I used to know where I would be in another year.  I used to be able to look into the future and see my options and know that life would somehow be good no matter what.

Today, I don't know where I'm going to be four months from now.  I don't have two parents to take care of me.  I don't even have two parents, which, seven years later, still feels like a slap in the face.  I don't know how I'm going to get a job and provide for myself like a grown-up.  I don't know what my options are.  And I can't convince myself that I'll be okay no matter what.  Because today is not one of the best days of my life.  Do you understand?  It's not abysmal--it just used to be better.

I was looking at old pictures of my family when we were all young.  Life was simpler, far simpler.  We wore wonderful ridiculous clothes, and we were entertained for hours by rocks and dirt and a bucket and a ball.  We were happy.  (Even though it's a childish happiness, I believe in it.  That kind of happiness should not go extinct.  It has to stay alive.  If not for me, then for someone else.  I take that as part of my life's work.)

Maybe it's just how life goes, that the past is better than the future.  Maybe someone has never known the old life-contentment (let break my heart).  Maybe that contentment is a fantasy, wishful thinking.  Or maybe you, dear reader, are happy today--content and smiling deeply.  Maybe today is one of the best days of your life.  Thank God.  Because you will see tragedy.  It will touch you deeply and change your view of the sunshine.  In any case, thank God for today.  Remember that you have known happiness in past or present, and thank God.  I won't say carpe diem, because I have a hard time understanding how one can "seize" a period of time.  But at least thank God that today exists.  It's here, at least.  It showed up.  It's yours to enjoy as you can.


On thinking about this topic, I was reminded of an essay I wrote my freshman year in college about how a child and an adult experiences the same thing differently.  It's right here, and it's probably better than my article today.  :^D

Volume, Part, Issue, Installment II

You remember that Nora Charles, the unemployed college grad who had found a magical overnight case, had taken a turn up, and we left her flying through space in her DeLorean (didn’t I mention what kind of car it was?).

As her feeling of exhilaration settled into that of excited contentment, Nora’s mind cleared, and a small voice drifted into her mind,

You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

You’re on your own.  And you know what you know.  And

YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

She took her cue and began thinking about where she would like to go.  After a few minutes of drawing blanks, she decided that she had better find someone to give her some advice.  So she turned the car toward Dagobah to find a little green Counselor she had heard of who lived on that planet.  After she landed on the swampy terrain, Nora called out to the Counselor, but no one appeared to counsel her.  After a few minutes of calling, with one last desperate attempt she yelled out her question, “Counselor, what is out there for me?”  At this, these words came floating back to her like an echo, “Only what you take with you....”  Nora decided that someone must be watching some sci-fi movie and didn’t have time for her.  So she hopped back in the car and decided to make her own way.

The next planet Vulcan was a mass of deserts and mountain ranges.  The moment she landed, her mind was suddenly invaded by what felt like a finger of energy probing into her innermost thoughts.  Since this was a very unpleasant feeling, Nora immediately kicked the DeLorean into high-gear and high-tailed it out of there.  As she sped away, she concluded the mind-probe must have been some device created by the Romulans as an attempt to take over the planet.  She was tempted to go back and join forces with the Vulcans to fight the invasion, but she determined that she could not have done much with a DeLorean and a bachelor’s degree.  Logically speaking.

So far, Nora had seen many strange planets of all different shapes and sizes.  But she had yet to meet an alien.  Then she remembered one planet where three races lived together.  She set her course toward Lusitania, mounting excitement for seeing the pequeninos and formics.  But when the planet finally hovered into view through the windshield, a message appeared across the dash, reading: “The Starways Congress forbids any vehicles running on gasoline to enter the delicately balanced atmosphere of this planet.  Thank you for your cooperation.”  Hopes dashed, Nora took one last long glance toward the planet and steered away.

Since leaving Earth, Nora had flown many lightyears, traveling far into space, “boldly going where no one had gone before.”  A rumble from the vicinity of her belly reminded her that it was getting toward suppertime, so she decided to turn toward home, and stop for a bite to eat on the way.  Her next stop was the Moon.  Upon landing, she was delighted to see two old friends—a man and his newspaper-reading dog.  Parking the DeLorean nearby their picnic spot, she debarked and joined the pair, after having been requested by them to do so.  An hour and a full belly of moon-cheese later, she politely bid farewell and returned to the car, thoughts whirling in a British accent.  And as she drove the short distance from the moon to her driveway, she couldn’t stop grinning over the delightful day she had had.  She fell asleep with planets and stars spinning in her mind.

The Wish

There once lived a lonely girl.  Every morning the girl would slowly gather herself out of bed and begin to mope about, pacing aimlessly to and fro, occasionally stopping at the window to gaze at all the busy world around her.  She would watch the people scurry and amble by, off to the barber or to the market or to meet a friend to talk and laugh.  Her heart was heavy as she wondered how she could fit in to this bustling world of people, work, and happenings.  Of course, she had her dreams, but the road to their realization was fraught with many obstacles, and it so happened that she was presently up against several difficulties that had her completely baffled.  And so she waited and dreamed and wondered what she might do.

One night, the girl was lying on the grass outside, gazing up at the distant stars.  Suddenly, a small white glow flashed across the sky.  As she watched it, a smile crept to her face.  It was a shooting star.  She would make a wish.  So she closed her eyes, wished, and breathed a sigh.  When she opened her eyes, she saw kneeling before her a fairy brilliant with a white light.  The fairy whispered to her that she had heard her wish and that it would be granted in good time.  The girl fell asleep that night with a gentle smile on her lips.

Several weeks passed.  The days went by, wearing on in much the same fashion as they had before the night of the Wish.  The girl forgot all about the Wish and the visit from the beautiful fairy.  Then one day, she found a letter on her doorstep.  Her hand trembled as she picked it up, for upon seeing the scrolled writing on the envelope, she had suddenly in her mind the beautiful fairy kneeling by her side and whispering to her those words of hope.  Her eyes scanned the letter.  It said simply, in the same scrolled lettering:

Now is the time to keep your eye

From missing chances passing by,

With open mind, now listen, see,

Fly from your despondency.

Tears of remembrance and gratefulness wet her cheek as she folded the note and tucked it away.  Then, slipping on her boots, she ventured forth into the town.  Just as she was passing the town square, her eyes suddenly met with those of a young man wandering along in much the same manner as she—with a step and expression exhibiting both aimlessness and hope.  She remembered the fairy’s warning to not allow chances to pass her by, and with a timid but determined step she walked toward the man.

Within seconds the two young people were acquaintances; an hour made them friends.  The man thanked his lucky stars to have met such a one with whom he could share laughter and dreams and good times.  As the two happily danced the night away, the girl also smiled and thanked her own shooting star and her good fairy for so beautifully fulfilling the Wish of Friendship.

This stuff only happens in Fairy Tales.  ;^D

On Matchmaking

"Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, Find me a find, catch me a catch…”  That old song has been on my mind today.  Strangely enough (…she remarked wryly enough).  Amidst the autumnal infusion of rain, wind, clouds, and ugly bugs which I observe outside my window at present, I also calmly note a burst of matchmaking energy in my vicinity.  But when I meditate on this phenomenon, I realize that the custom of Matchmaking, sponsored by the goodwill of caring friends and family, is inevitably imposed to some degree on the life of any woman over twenty years of age until the day when she is safely married off.  You see, there is the biological clock to consider.  (For men, the age may be slightly higher—but the fairer sex is not the exclusive focus of various philanthropists’ romantic meddling.  After all, it takes two to tango.)

At any rate, I’ve freshly heard it through the grapevine that a certain young man of my acquaintance has been selected as my tango partner.  (This came as little surprise to me, as there is simply a paucity of options within this particular set of people.)  Conversely, I have recently been selected as a romantic candidate for another young man of my acquaintance.  This not to mention the multitude of thoughtful setups in my history—they range from the well-thought-out-considering-personalities-and-compatibility sort to the eyeing-that-attractive-guy-across-the-room type.  By nature, moms are the worst.  And you know exactly who you are and what I mean.

I have one dear friend in particular who sincerely believes she is The Authority when it comes to matchmaking—a maven in the field of romantic arrangement.  Her motto may well be borrowed from Emma: “The most beautiful thing in the world is a match well made.”  (Forgive me, but it was necessary to regurgitate a previous quotation.)  She cites the two “successful” unions which appear on her contrived record as reason enough to trust implicitly her judgment on such matters, consistently disregarding the fact that Some of her subjects (yours truly included) continue to reject her unaltered choice for their supposed Mr. Right.  Really, some people are just incorrigible.

Nevertheless, I find it oddly pleasant to know that I am not the only one rooting for my romantic bliss.

Cats. Wind. Me.

Common thread: they’re all about freedom.

[Disclaimer: you must try to keep a straight face.  What appears in the following paragraph is quite in earnest.  And you who know me know that I am serious when it comes to the honored genus Felis.  Ask Sam Tappe from fifth grade, with whom I had an ongoing Cat v. dog debate in art throughout the entire year.]

Fact: it is truly unfortunate that “cat lady” carries the connotation of a feeble old lady who has lost her mind decades ago, manifested by the fact that she serves her houseful of Cats as if she is serving a household of dignitaries.  I regret that it is so, for you see, Cats are the King.  No need for a vote.  (Sorry, dogs, popularity isn’t everything—look at the 2000 presidential election.)  The Feline breed rules by a look and a tail-shake.  How aloof!  How fully aware of their own importance!  How bored they appear with the truly mundane events of the world!  Because of their attitude of independence and self-sufficiency, Cats have the freedom to roam the planet, ruling civilizations, easily acquiring their throne on the savannah, playing both the hero and the villain (see The Jungle Book), some becoming tame, some remaining wild.  But at heart, Cats are the same—they embody the ideal of freedom and exercise it at will.

Wind is freedom.  The only good thing about Wyoming (sincere apologies to those who inhabit this vast, dull state) is that when you step outside on most any day of the year, you can feel the glorious blustery wind tugging you, pushing you (probably telling you to get the heck out of here and find a more interesting place to live).  I’ve never particularly been one to personify inanimate objects (unlike some college roommates I know—my favorite is, “I don’t know yet, my computer is thinking”).  To me, the wind has always been Weather.  But it’s the only weather that moves.  That’s all that matters.  It comes and goes in and among the objects on earth—trees, houses, people, balloons—rustling, terrorizing, swirling, scooping, brandishing, sighing, haunting, rocking uplifting....  It makes its own way and...lives...sentient or not.

And I, I am only a human being, craving the free mind of a

cat, the free movement of wind.  As it is, I do what I can.  I make plans, I write, I read of Otherplace and Othertime, and I watch Otherone live a life of adventure.  Some plans come to pass.  Some remain in words and dreams.  But see, I'm not quite at the end of my life yet.  Like I said, I do what I can.

Volume, Part, Issue, Installment I

Aussie Bites.  Giant cucumbers.  Slumber parties.  Zoos.  Jungle cats.  Clark Gable.  Good Earth tea.  Band practice.  Church picnic.

Sorry, just brainstorming things to BLOG about.  Ice cream.  Hey, don’t scoff.  I have real stories.  Really….

Okay, you got me.  My life is mainly of no interest to anyone, myself included.  I guess I’ll make up a story and say it happened to me.  (Shouldn’t tell you that—you didn’t see anything.)

Once upon a time, there was a plaid overnight case.  One day it was found buried under an ancient stack of books filmed with dust by an unemployed college grad, just grubbing around for a copy of The Three Musketeers.  An old guy had once told her, “Carpe diem—seize the day, make your life extraordinary.”  Pondering these words, she straightaway grabbed the case, swiftly walked to her car, and drove off into the sunset.  She had an odd feeling that she wouldn’t need anything else.  Not even a toothbrush.  (She was right).

Soon this now starry-eyed traveler (let us call her Nora Charles) came to a fork in the road.  Without hesitation, she turned…up.  And the road?  Well, where she was going, she didn’t need roads.  In minutes, Nora was among the stars, and the earth was in the rearview mirror.  She thought, “This is space!  Course, I'm just in the beginning of space--I haven't even got to outer space yet!”  It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.  (Of course, the most beautiful thing in the world is a match well made.  However, as Nora did not have first-hand experience of this phenomenon, Space remained in the number-one spot.)

[to be CONTINUED…]

You may wonder what I’m doing BLOGging on a Friday night.  I don’t know either.  So…see ya.