Overheard from a substitute teacher...

Student: “I can imitate any animal!  Ask me for any animal sound!”

Teacher: “How about a giraffe in space”

Student: “I can combine breeds too!  Ask me about any two dogs!”

Teacher: “A poodle and a lab mix in space.”

Student: “Why do you love space so much?”

Teacher: “There are no children there.”

“I  ran out of things to do with my 2^nd grade class so I taught them Ubbi Dubbi (Turkey Talk).  They thought it was the coolest thing ever and managed to acquire a rough working knowledge of it before the end of the day.  Now it’s spread throughout the school and I get dirty looks from various staff members when I show up to sub.  Also, it somehow has turned from Ubbi Dubbi into Hobby Wobby.”

Teacher to me via text message: “Quick!  What’s x3y2z9/x5y2z3? 

Me: “Umm.  54xyz/30xyz.  Or 9/5.

Teacher to me: “No!  The numbers were exponents!  Help—I’m in class and I have no clue what to do!”

Me: <Puts head down on desk and laughs.>

 “I once subbed for a fifth grade English class.  Their assignment was to work quietly writing a paragraph about some topic…I don’t remember what it was about.  Anyway, kids these days all have hand-held spell checkers.  The class worked relatively quietly, with the only noise being the computerized, monotone voice of their spell checkers pronouncing words.  “Coun-ty…”  “Cha-rac-ter…”  “Boob…”  “Boob.”  “Boob.  Boob.  Boob. Boob.  Boob…”  Needless to say, the class was gone for the rest of the period.

Fifty isn't old. Not at all.

Today my dad turns 50.  This is a big deal, although perhaps not as embarrassing in my family as in others.  He and my mom enjoyed a quiet weekend away together and there are no plans for a huge party as far as I know.  This is fitting, as my dad is a relatively quiet, thoughtful guy.  I’ve only been around for half of his lifetime, but wanted to share a few of my favorite memories we’ve enjoyed together…

My first time throwing a softball with him in the backyard was unforgettable.  I was 7 and definitely had no concept of turning the glove over to catch tosses above the waist.  The hard softball (we realized a few weeks later after the season started that they were actually using “soft” balls) bounced off the heel of the glove and gave me my first fat lip.  In spite of my reluctance, he got me back outside again and I became a pretty decent fielder.

We’re even though, because once he was pushing me on our new swing set and I was trying to help too much and gave him a fat lip with the back of my foot. 

Learning how to drive was an adventure.  Dad wanted me to drive standard first.  I generally pick up things fairly quickly, but driving a stick shift was as far away from natural to me as learning to breathe underwater.  I can remember stalling out in the middle of a turn several times and, instead of getting a move on, totally freezing.  Dad’s quiet, calm voice raised slightly (a lot for him) as he urged me to please find a way to get out of the intersection.  Driving was one of those few things Dad actually backed off on and I didn’t finish learning standard for real until 5 years later, when I bought my first car.  (I secretly think he found my little Neon a great car because it forced me to go back in time and get it right.)

Dad is tenacious.  Unlike me and driving, he doesn’t give up on things that don’t come easily.  One summer we went to a family camp and he decided to master the Eskimo roll in a kayak.  Every day he would get in the pool with the kayak and somebody to assist when he would inevitably get stuck under the water.  He would slap the bottom of the kayak (now pointing at the sky) and Mom would go over and help him crawl out.  He did this over and over, making little bits of progress but never actually accomplishing the roll.  Finally, towards the end of the week the kayak went down, I heard the “pop” and “slap” as it broke on the other side and Dad popped up again all by himself.  The look on his face was priceless as he thrust his paddle to the sky and shouted, “YES!!!”  And then the kayak flipped over again and Mom had to help him out.

As I think back, perhaps the most vivid memory is spending time each school day going over math homework with Dad.  As a homeschooler, I relied on my parents for my education, especially as things got more complicated in high school.  They did a great job (I think so anyway…and my SAT scores aren’t bad either), but I’m afraid I resented Dad coming back from his day job because it meant at least 1, if not 2 or 3, hours doing math together.  We would correct all of my wrong problems from that day and then tackle the next day’s lesson together.  I used to hate it.  Dad would spend a lot of time reading the next lesson carefully and making sure he understood it thoroughly before he would explain it.  When I was 16 I thought it was because he was really fascinated by it and didn’t really care about my impatience.  But that wasn’t really the case.  I do think he enjoyed refreshing himself on high school math, but he gave me a gift each day by sharing his valuable time off of work to help prepare me for my future.  And that time we spent together is beyond measure when you consider how many daughters never see their daddies, much less have hours to spend together every day, just the two of them. 

Dad prepared me for my own family by providing me with an incredible role model.  He is forever a teacher, even reminding me right before we walked down the aisle to VWH, “Now, be sure to speak up when you say your vows.”  (Thanks Dad…)   VWH and I still turn to him for advice often and are honored to be in his presence.  I can’t believe I get to call him Dad, but I do.  Everybody else out there should be very jealous.

Happy birthday dear Daddy.  I love you.  Plain as that.  More than I can say.

 

I am not a mall rat.

I just want to say first-off that today’s font is called “Shruti.”  If I start typing about beets and Chinese throwing stars, please understand that it’s not me.  It’s the font.

Last night I went to the mall with a dear friend.  You know she was a dear friend because I went with her to a mall.  Malls aren’t exactly my preferred stomping grounds.  When I was little, going to the mall meant hours of wandering around watching my mom shop for necessities.  My brothers and I took it upon ourselves to practice hiding in the racks of clearance.  (This generally incurred the same disciplinary measure we “earned” at the grocery store.)  Yes, mall shopping to me means sore feet and that tantalizing smell that wafts for 100 yards in every direction of the soft pretzel shop.  As a 7 year old, you drool at the aroma, but never have enough coinage to actually get it into your mouth.

Now that I’m grown up I can buy a pretzel if I want, but the average mall demographic still consists of 14 year old girls who are already dressing for a future in…modeling, 14 year old boys wearing “pants” that start at the knees and end several yards below their feet, 80 year olds doing their daily exercise (pace approximately 0.04 mph), and 2 year olds who have escaped their parents’ clutches and are running around, screaming with unmatched delight.  It’s like being inside a Pacman game.

VWH likes malls even less than I do.  He seems to think that there are certain rules that must be followed upon entering said establishment.  These include and are not limited to:

1.    Speed-walking

2.    Sighing a lot

3.    Getting distracted and bumping into people (usually the elderly or the toddlers)

4.    Sitting on the floor whenever we enter a store and opening his current book

5.    Hiding in the racks of clearance

All of these reasons contribute to my aversion to shopping malls.  But I love my dear friend, who was on a mission for some very important items for another mutual dear friend.  I didn’t want her to brave it alone, so I said I’d go along.  I figured we needed two items, both probably purchasable from the same place, so we could be in and out.

Well, our excursion got off on the expected wrong foot when, not 30 seconds into our visit, Dear Friend literally yanked me away from a large pool of puke in the middle of the walkway.  Yum.  Of course we did make it to the desired stores eventually and of course they didn’t have what we were looking for.  So we had to go to a separate store apart from the mall, where we did end up finding the invitations we had been searching for.  And in spite of the puke, we had a decent time (this is due almost entirely to her wonderfulness, and that the total cost of the necessary items was minimal).  But I still don’t really like malls. 

So I think VWH might have the right idea when it comes to mall shopping.  Get in, get out, go quick, and then hit the road.  And I think my chances of being successful are pretty high.  After all, I am faster than 80% of all snakes.

Earthly economics

In other slightly more appropriate news, I just attended a most fabulous chapel service on campus.  The speaker was my all-time favorite professor outside of music, whom I haven’t heard lecture in 4 years.  He spoke on “A Biblical and Wesleyan View on Ministry to the Poor.”  His delivery style is this magical balance of calm wisdom while never resting audibly or mentally until the final statement.  As usual, I experienced the major exhale as he closed and prayed the Lord’s wisdom to be imparted on us. 

Jesus and Wealth

Money is a…

1.       Strangler

2.       Damning

3.       Idol

Wesley and Wealth

1.       Equal wealth

2.       Gain all you can (so you can…)

3.       Save all you can (so you can…)

4.       Give all you can

I’m never positive that I totally agree with this professor, but he does an outstanding job of raising questions and demanding you to consider something outside your comfort zone. 

Freedom, freedom, it's what we all need...

Today I am experiencing an experience never experienced before.  I didn’t realize I was experiencing anything out of the norm until about a half-hour after I got to work, which is unfortunate, because I’m not thrilled to be experiencing what I am experiencing.  I am truly a liberated woman today.  VWH posted this poem yesterday and he had no idea how appropriate it was:

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free;
Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

Today I am very thankful that I sit at a desk, with a jacket to zip up, and don’t run races for a living.

Creativity below...not in the title.

Today I’m going to write about one of my nearest and dearest friends.  Somebody who knows me inside and out, for better and for worse, and still seems to think that I’m a decent person.  And seriously, when you consider the things I’ve forced this person to do, that’s saying a lot.  This person is my brother, whose identity I will not reveal except to say that I am one of a proud few who is allowed to call him by his full name which is Daniel.

Daniel was born two years after me in the boonies of Pennsylvania.  (I was born in the boonies of West Virginia, but then my folks decided to get in touch with culture, so they moved to Wells Tannery, PA.  It was not a big step in the right direction.)  Our other brother, Tim, was born a year or so later, but I will write about him another time.  He is also one of my nearest and dearest friends, but I just chatted with Daniel online so he’s on the brain.  Daniel, by default, became my best buddy after his birth.  I am told that I was initially pretty reluctant about his presence, not being a sharer by nature, but after he started to hold his head up I realized the vast potential in having another kid around.

Daniel and I were both pretty quiet when we were little, at least until Tim was born (again, more on that later), but that doesn’t mean we didn’t connive.  Yes indeed, we got in our fair share of trouble, particularly in the grocery store, which is a treasure trove of tactile delights for tykes.  (Behold, a tongue-twister is born.)  We wanted to touch everything, even after being told repeatedly that things were, quite literally, hands-off.  In hindsight, I blame my mom a little bit because she only shopped once a month for groceries, so it was a most-of-the-day event.  I see her logic though when I consider how our behavior nose-dived whenever we walked (…ran…) through those sliding doors.  We would get back from the store(s), eat lunch, and await the inevitable discipline being doled out upstairs.  Being the oldest, I went last and had to sit at the kitchen table forever, awaiting my fate, bravery weakening by the second.

I’m afraid I took my oldest sibling status a little too seriously at times.  Now that Daniel is an overly confident grownup, he will remind me of my many “flaws.”  He says I was bossy and tattled a lot.  I like to think I had a heart for justice, but all I can do is think it because he is way taller and more muscled than me.  Gone are the days when I could take on both my brothers and destroy them in wrestling.  But, back then, I could convince Daniel that playing with Barbies was cooler than Tonka trucks.  We practiced vaulting over the laundry baskets and did figure skating routines in the living room (he being the girl since he was a lot lighter and I could lift him up and spin him around).  There’s a picture of us, no older than 2 and 4, dressed as…pioneers I think??  But we were obviously going for Laura and Mary, not Laura and Pa, if you get my drift.  He did what I did, because he was that sweet and selfless (certainly not because I was that bossy).

Daniel’s always looked out for me, even as the younger one.  We stayed close as teenagers, going to movies together and making time to talk in the midst of our whacked-out hormones.  He wouldn’t speak to VWH for a year after we began dating because he was my watchman, my protector.  And when I treated Daniel like dirt a few weeks before our wedding, because of stress and other issues which are not excuses, he was devastated.  I have absolutely taken advantage of our relationship at times and, while I can laugh at our childhood antics, will forever have a scar from some of the things I did to him later in life. 

Now he’s getting married.  His wife-to-be is beautiful, charming, and everything I could hope for him.  But I worry a little bit that we won’t be as close after he belongs to her (as he rightfully should).  My prayer is that we continue in our closeness, even as we begin our own families and lives in separate states.  And I hope that I can still be his big sister, no matter the changes that befall us.

That being said, I should grab that pioneer picture and make sure it shows up in his reception slideshow…

minimalist

I have nothing to say today.  I’ve thought all day about what I could write and I’ve got nothing.  I’m currently mulling over the choice of eating a tangerine or not.  It’s sitting here, slightly bruised and imperfect, but still very orange.  This citrusy pleasure is easily the brightest thing on my desk, although the neon post-its come pretty close.  But I’m only here for 40 more minutes and then I’ll start dinner, so I don’t really need a snack.

We lost power for an hour today on campus.  See my previous post about the level of panic that sweeps through this place when we are less than fully functional.  It was very quiet without the hum of machines.  The staff cleared out shortly after it went off for an all-staff event but I stayed behind to man the phones.  It was really peaceful.  You don’t realize that heaters and computers and copiers all have an audible presence.  Shut them up and it’s almost like being outside in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe that’s why I don’t want to write today.  I just want to be in a forest, with green trees all around.  No co-workers, no machines, no screens or phones.  Just quiet.  Perhaps VWH and I need to consider a camping trip in the next few months.

Thanks, God, for peace.  Thanks for quiet places in the midst of a culture that only operates at breakneck speed.  Thanks for the gift of sleep.  And thanks for warm blankets and soft pillows with which we can embrace it.  Thanks for a day that is not overly confusing or analytical.  Just a day that is what it is.