Last First Day of School

 Last First Day of School

I heard the rumble of voices outside my room as I sat at my computer.

They’re here, oh crap. Am I ready? What was my plan? The numbers, get the numbers for the seats.

I walked to the table beside the door and grabbed a stack of index cards, each had a number on it, 1-41, that corresponded to the seats in the room. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Staring back at me were sweet small faces with large eyes, some with glasses, some with bad hair cuts, some with braids, some with natural curly hair, some with jeans,and  some with pressed khaki’s. They stood in a line next to the wall beside my classroom waiting for directions.

“Buenos Dias. Good morning. I’m Mrs. Gardner and this is Spanish Connections. I’ll be handing you a card with a number on it, that number will tell you where to sit.”

I handed a number to the first kid, and he stood frozen.

“You can go ahead into the classroom.” I had forgotten about 6th graders. You have to tell them every little step. They wait for explicit directions before moving. Worlds apart from 7th graders.

“Here’s your number”, I said to the next student. “Go in and find your seat.”

After the last kid came in, I went in the room and closed the door. All faces looked to me for the next step. Funny though. I wasn’t sure how to start. This was different than my first day of student teaching 35 years ago. Somehow, I felt like an alien in my own classroom. There were humans in front of me. And I didn’t speak their language.

What’s the plan? What were you going to do? Look at your notes.

I found my little notepad which reminded me of my plan.

“Alright, the first thing I’m going to do is teach you how to say my name. Senora Jardinera.”

I broke it down to 3 parts. Senora. Jardin. Era. They eagerly repeated the musical sounding name. One kid spontaneous said, “Sounds like the beat’s about to drop.”

I piggy backed off this. “Yes, Spanish is quite a musical language. Let’s look at these 2 words. They both end with an ‘a’. That’s one reason it sounds like music. You hear a beautiful rhyme. I said it outloud, emphasizing the “a” at the end.

I took a deep breath and realized that spending the past 12 months as a virtual teacher had re-wired my brain. Transitioning, that’s what I was doing. Moving into a new realm, post Covid, Post-Virtual, Post-Trauma….Post-Everything I Knew..

“All right, so now I’m going to ask each of you to write down your name on a little card. I held up a blank index card for them to see. On one side you will write your name. Then you will finish the sentence, “Life is better with……”

On the other side, you will create a symbol that represents who you are.

“Does anyone know what symbol this is?” I pointed to a peace sign I had drawn on my whiteboard.

A kid on the front row raised his hand. “Go ahead.”

“Its a peace sign.”

“That’s right. I appreciate peace. In my work life and in my personal life. I don’t like fighting or conflict. I try to get along with everyone and have peace in my life.”

Some kids nodded, other’s looked like they were lost in another world.

“When I was in the 6th grade, this symbol was everywhere. The vietnam war was happening, and young people wanted peace. I drew this symbol on my notebook. It was also on patches on our bluejeans.”

You aren’t a history teacher, time to move on with things.

“So, before there was writing using alphabets, humans communicated with symbols. If they drew the sun, a simple circle with the rays, that meant ‘sun.’ So think about what your personal symbol would be for who you are, and draw a simple or complex symbol on the back of your card.”

I passed out cards, and showed the students the class set of crayons and colored pencils.. 

Before they started I showed them my own card.

Here’s an example for you.

“Side one-Your name.

Mine says Kathy Gardner

Life is better with…. Biscuits. I just love a good buttered biscuit.”

I waited for a reaction. It was like a lead balloon. I kept going.

“Here on the back, my symbol, (which looked like a picasso cubist drawn by a 5 year old). This symbolizes me. I love art.”

“I thought your symbol was peace.” a kid said.

“Yes, it is. But I also love art, so I wanted to show you a different symbol. This one is in color. You can do a simple black and white symbol, or a complex symbol in color.”

I then said, “Take as much time as you need. No hurry. You can move to a different seat if you need to, or sit on the floor, wherever you are comfortable. And I”ll pick these up from you at the end of class.”

I sat down at my desk and sighed with relief. 

You did it. Day 1, first class.

Two minutes later someone said, “I'm done, what do I do now?”

You’ve gotta be kidding me. This was supposed to take 15 minutes. What do I tell this kid? Can’t he see that I have NOTHING else planned!!!?? Just chill kid. 

“Well let me see what you’ve done.”

Jeffery had written and drawn everything on the same side. 

Jeffery Smith, life is better with family. 5 stick figures were underneath his sentence. The word family underneath it with arrows pointing up.

“Jeffery, life IS better with family. I love your symbol. 5 stick figures to symbolize family.

“They are holding hands.” He added.

“That’s really nice!”

I handed it back to him. “Keep it till the end of class. You can find a way to quietly entertain yourself for a few more minutes, can’t you?”

Jeffery smiled. “Yeah. I can.” He looked disappointed though.

“Or you can take a quick nap.” I added

He smiled at me and I walked away.

“I guess I’ll nap, I’m tired.” he said.

Surrender

Healing heart and spirit

The salve of surrender

Warmth enveloping me

Surrounding me

Like a blanket fresh from the drier

On a cold crisp day

Every muscle relaxes

As I slump into restful slumber

Yet remain awake 

To relish the feeling of completeness

My broken heart, 

Mended with Love

Coming from Surrender

And Acceptance

Losing something I cherished

Gave me a gift of compassion

And understanding

When what was lost

Is returned

Then, and only then, can I see what

It is really worth

My perspective has changed

I no longer see my role in one dimension

I see how my prayers were answered

And God did for me what I could not do for myself

Mud

I wake up with that familiar heaviness
My body pushes through the muddy past
Trying to find the surface so I can breath
I push, but there's only more mud

I slip down, and then decide to just sit in the mud for a while
It is familiar and warm
but it is heavy
And I'm too tired to carry anything heavy anymore

This place that I'm in, I used to think of as
the past
But it's not
It's the present
And on many occasions, the mud isn't here
But today, it is
The rain came down hard, 5 inches at once
And instead of washing things clean
Created mud puddles
I'm pretty good at dancing around them

But when I see someone else dodging them,
And getting mud on themselves
I get this feeling of guilt
Because I somehow, feel like I made the mud

Its odd that mud is simply dry dirt with water added.
As long as it was dry dirt, I could stomp around
But the rain came, when I prayed for a way out

Yes, I had a boat, and I sailed away.
But the rain came, the torments, the tornadoes
The wind, the hail

Storms that created damage to everything it hit.
Hurricanes get names
But this storm didn't get one
If I could name it....

Basher, Crasher, Smasher
Tormentor, Terrorist
Definitive Disaster
Blasting Blight
Washout

When you see an animal back away from something, squinting it's eyes
You know that it sees danger
With its body crouched down and the tail tucked
Its clear what they are feeling

When you see that same response in a child
It hurts to the core
Because you remember that feeling
And maybe the child is stronger than you were
Nevertheless
Your stomach is in a knot
Recalling the storm that ripped around your house for years
And sucked your children out windows that weren't even open

They smiled, thinking it was a ride
But now you see the scars
No one speaks of the tornado
It's like the pink elephant in the room

We must still tip-toe around it
For a little while longer

And when the child comes to me
I will be here
To hold them, wipe a tear, laugh, cry, look at a sunset
or listen to a song

Blackberry Heaven

 The grass is tall and golden behind my house

It looks like a field you'd see in Kansas

The colors vary from green to light golden, and during a drought- a sad brown

There's a patch  beneath a large oak in the field, that looks like weeds

I've never explored that region on my walks, so I'm not sure what it is

A few weeks ago I changed my walking route, and decided to follow the fence line which leads to a small creek.

The grass was up to my knees, and the further down the hill I went, the more briars I discovered yanking and scraping my ankles 

While removing some of the thorns, I noticed a small green berry under the white blossom

"Oooooh, this looks like a blackberry bush. "

Today, I headed out to check on the wild bushes, hoping to see a few ripe berries.

I put on long pants and my garden boots and headed out just after sunrise.

I unlocked the rusty chain that hung loosely on the gate. The grass is taller now, and a deep golden hue. Hugging the fence line, I walked in a straight line. My eyes stayed peeled to the ground, in case a snake was creeping at my feet.

As I approached the corner of our yard, I glanced down and saw black and red berries. 

"What! Berries right here, at the corner?!" Just steps away from my back door, the first bush smiled at me. I began picking the berries, avoiding the thorns. I took a few steps, and there was another bush, this one was loaded with heavy ripe berries. 

"Abundance, right here, right beside my house, and I never saw them! I've been here 7 years, and never saw them."

I felt a sense of humility, the generosity of God is amazing. I did nothing to create these berries. I didn't water, fertilize or nurture these. Yet, I get to enjoy them. It's a gift handed to me. Literally, at my finger tips. I felt a rush of emotions: gratitude, joy, love. An awareness of the abundance here for me, if I will simply walk on a new path.

Thank you God for showing me your glory today.

I am not a Mother

 I am not a Mother

I am a child wanting a Mother

Will you rock me?

Will you sing to me?

Will you play with me?

Will you tell me what makes you happy?

Will you tell me what makes you sad?

Will you share your dreams and fears with me?

Will you tell me stories about your childhood?

I am not a Mother

I am a child wanting to stand beside My Mother

I will ask her questions while she cooks

I am not a Mother

I am a teenager wanting to ask My Mother about why my body feels strange

I'm wanting her to tell me about when my breasts will get bigger

I'm wanting her to explain to me how to behave on a date with a boy

I'm wanting her to tell me about intimacy and passion 

I am not a Mother

I am a young adult wanting to ask my Mother about how to know if a man loves me

I'm wanting her to explain to me how to take care of myself and how to set boundaries with friends

I am not  Mother

I am a college student discovering my passions and dreams

I'm wanting to share my creative explorations with My Mother

She listens to me, and shares her passion for quilting with me

I am not  Mother

I am a college graduate and I'm scared about living life on my own.

I'm wanting My Mother to explain to me what to expect in the workforce

She tells me that "any job is a good job"

I am a first year teacher, and I'm feeling  lonely and scared and overwhelmed

I feel so terribly sad, I ask My Mother to come get me because I can't stop crying

I spend the weekend feeling desperate. I visit with my Uncle Stanley

And I tell him about my hostile work environment

He counsels me to put on a suit of armour and finish out the school year

He shares with me his experiences in challenging jobs

We share a beer and watch TV

He helps me make the decision to go back to the hostile work place and finish the year.

An emotional Bomb explodes at work, and a professional tells me to pack my things and leave.

I don't call My Mother, because I know what she will say, "any job is a good job"

So I stay in my apartment and cry, and cry and cry.

I don't go to work. I don't call work. I just stay in my room and cry.

I feel broken, and helpless and hopeless. 

There is no suit of armour thick enough for this job.

There is a knock on my door. It is him.

The ex-boyfriend who told me I was broken, just like him.

The ex-boyfriend who told me that no one else would love me, except him, because I was broken.

I believed him. 

Our history was rocky. He called me names, and threatened to commit suicide when I broke up with him.

He followed me around, and constantly accused me of looking at other guys.

I told him I felt smothered, and broke up with him.

He showed up at my dorm room, holding his mattress, he said his roomate had kicked him out and he needed a place to stay.

I felt sorry for him, so I let him stay.

I was lonely, so I let him stay.

I was scared, so I let him stay.

I thought I could help him, so I let him stay.

He drank too much. But I thought I could help him.

He smoked too much. But I thought I could help him.

He was so smart. Smarter than anyone I'd every know, except my father.

I was broken, he was broken. So we fit.

In a very toxic way, we fit.

I am not a Mother.

I am a young adult needing direction. The only one standing in front of me was the ex-boyfriend who said, " I love you, and I will help you."

The next day, I went back to work. But nothing had changed. It was hostile and cruel.

When I got home, I was met at the door of my apartment by a very angry man. He called me horrible names, and I sat and listened to him.

I was down, and he emotionally kicked me.

I cried, and believed every word he said.

If there was any part of me that wasn't broken, then at that moment, the last remaining part of me broke.

I gave up on life. I was sick and latched onto another sick human. We were sick together.

It was a perfect match of poison.

It never got better. It only got worse.

I am Not a Mother, I am a young adult, on the verge of marrying someone I didn't love, but this was an alternative to being alone and scared.

I wanted to talk to my Mother about love and relationships. 

She couldn't because she had never been taught how to do that.

In spite of all of this, I still love My Mother.

Giving birth child doesn't make you a mother, but losing your Mother helps you understand what a Mother is.

When your children are grown, then you understand what a Mother is.

I tried to give my children what I needed from My Mother.

But when the marriage is based on toxicity and fear and anger, then striving to be a Mother changes.

I choose toxic, I thrived on chaos and crises. I was very sick. 

Getting well started when I went to my first Al-Anon meeting and asked someone to help me get well.

"Can God fix me?" 

She said, "God can restore you to sanity, but you must let go."

When you let go of a toxic marriage, and see that you were wanting something that could never be, and you are not focused on others, you cannot be a good Mother.

We you learn that you must focus on taking care of yourself, then you can begin to be a Mother.

When darts are fired, and you hold up a shield, you can only protect the children from some of the darts.

The scars remain, but someday, we can heal.

The Ranch

 I'd like to go somewhere

And discover myself

I'll drive you

I'll help you pack

It was a short drive that seemed to last a month

His playlist, his life

Sister in the backseat, like a supportive backbrace

Helping to hold you up till you could collapse

And feel what you needed to feel

To cry the tears you couldn't cry then

For the first time, I know that my hugs and kisses

won't help

I place you in the hands of others

And I find peace because I know you are walking on your path

Your journey, to find your place in life

Thank you Tim

Dear Tim,

My heart is overflowing with gratitude for you
What you give me
yourself
Your endless patience, kindness, generosity
You didn't know what this would be
Yet, you said yes.
Your quiet strength and anchor
Helps me to keep steady on the path
That God laid out for me
You forgive me so easily
And coax me out of my shell
When I get scared
You hold me when I cry
And laugh with me when I chuckle

I am free now
Free to love you
Free to be your mate
Because the heavy weights are slowing sliding
off my shoulders
Your hands point me to the place
Where I need to lay my burdens down
You show me how to carry them to another place
You place wings on my burdens with your wisdom

I am so deeply grateful for your love