6-6-11 11:54 a.m. Groceries, Dates, and Nails

Hello dear friends! While my postings were held hostage by an evil Internet troll, I went out looking for great resources to come back and share with you. Here are a few - hopefully some will interest you or someone you know:

Groceries: On-line shopping offers more than meets the eye. First of all, King Sooper's offers on-line grocery ordering here in Loveland. For a fee of $10.00 (waved for your first trial) they'll deliver your food to your kitchen counter. That may sound like a lot of money to pay someone for simply bringing in sacks of groceries. Here's what else it's paying for:

Let's say the store manager rearranges products on the shelves. With on-line shopping, some other poor sod hunts for your favorite, now relocated food item. Let's say the store tries to market to you by placing things you wouldn't normally buy right at eye-level. Or maybe they try to sell you 10 of something for $10.00, something which wasn't even on your list. Or maybe they try to market to your kids, thinking that you'll only put up with so much whining before that item lands in your cart. Slave-to-marketing no more! When someone else picks out your victuals, you get to enjoy looking at your flower garden, rather than resisting so much temptation in the grocery isles.

And about that individual picking out your groceries: his or her job performance at least partially depends on selecting exactly the items you specify in your order. I mean, down to the brand, type, weight, and measure. You can even specify things like "Please choose the greenest bananas available." I've given directions for listening for hollow melons, and sitting on my kitchen counter, this very moment, are some hollow-sounding melons. Depending on how trusting you feel, you can even specify to allow for substitutions. Otherwise, if the store is out of stock, you won't see the item in your purchase. Talk about control. Now, when I plan to spend $100.00 for a week's-worth of food, that's exactly what I spend, and not a penny more.

From a fuel-efficiency standpoint, what could be more efficient than grocery-deliver? Instead of those of us ordering, all making separate individual trips to and from the store, one delivery truck travels from the store to several points in sequence, and returns to the store in a single trip. Saves gas, my car from grocery cart dings, and those of us waiting at home for our food are happily going about our lives rather than negotiating crowded food isles. Yes, they honor my coupons. Yes, they honor my Sooper's card. Yes, I think on-line groceries are the next-best thing since sliced bread!

On to dates. We recently experienced the rare opportunity of having Anne spend the night away from home at a friend's house. Time for a date! We went to our old favorite Japanese restaurant, only to find that the owners had changed hands. So there we sat, water and pickled cucumbers sitting on the table, quietly expecting us to place a dinner order when it hit me: we'd not signed a contract, we'd simply been seated. We could order just an appetizer, and then go! Yes, you can get up without ordering, yet how to do that without making someone feel badly, or causing a scene? So after our beef negimaki we trolled for a meal elsewhere. Dinner was found at a trendy new cafe, and then dessert came to us from the basement of a very fancy hotel, speakeasy style. By the end of the night we'd patronized three different spots. Yes, we paid a bit more. Yes, we burned a bit more gas. Over-all, however, we felt elated. The night had been ours. We'd made it our own, and loved every minute of it! (When you get out as infrequently as us, a good date feels like a vacation.)

Nails. Have you had yours done lately? How do you feel about drills? Ever heard of shellac? Creative Nail Designs now offers a new technology in nails. You can apply it at home, they last like professional nails, and all at about a tenth of the cost. The longer you use your system at home, the lower the cost-per-use sinks. You need a CND UV lamp, base and top coats, the nail prep. liquid (I swear it seems a lot like alcohol), and whatever colour you choose. Lastly, you'll need nail wraps to take the shellac off after about two weeks. So, to re-cap: Professional-looking, long-lasting, non-polish, low-cost manicures. I'll do them myself, thanks! (p.s. amazon.com offers the products on-line. If there's another source, it's news to me. Local beauty-supply stores told me I need a license to buy this stuff, yet it can be bought on-line.)

OK, and may I add just one more little tid-bit? A couple of years ago we gave up our cable. It cost too much money to sit in front of the television switching channels to pay for this so-called "service". Then we signed up for Netflix, hoping to more purposefully spend time in front of the "idiot box" as my Mother's so fond of calling it. Then our monthly fee jumped, because I now realize, we were using the mail. For only about $10.00 per month, we can watch any instant "play now" offerings they make available. Needless to say, penny-pincher's that we are, we made the switch. So far, we're happy. Plus, this new routine has me thinking about Internet television, which I know is a growing force in the media-entertainment market.

Well, good friends, there they are, my latest finds. Harold is still adjusting to less time wondering the ketchup isle, and yet...he has yet to leap off the couch declaring a craving to run out and get groceries. Anne has all the television programming we'll allow her to watch, we're having more fun on our dates, an my nails look so nice! While not the keys to happiness, these little finds give us more choices about how we spend our time. In my opinion, that's resource accumulation.

6-6-11 11:53 a.m TEST BLOG

Ok, enough of typing and posting to no avail. This is a TEST post!

5-11-11 6:19 pm Sometimes Ya Just Gotta Have Faith

Thanks to some caring friends and co-workers, I held it together today. It's tough wondering about my future employment. Ironically I hurt, even though those who care about me reassure me. They're looking out for me. They tell me so, and I feel their love. The result is that I feel less lonely, a luxury to be sure. Still, it's painful to worry about the state of my career when I love what I do and the people with whom I work, so very much.

So, it was a busy day, attending to tasks, walking the halls sans tears, and teaching. Stopping off at church to pick up music to sing at next Sunday's service felt like a hastle on my list. I had to just make myself do it. We went the measly one mile out of our way, fiddled with the locks, picked up the music, and wound our way home.

The bath was necessary. Starting the laundry, a good idea. Yet I had to force myself to look the songs. Plunking out their notes on the keyboard felt like a Herculean effort. Slowly the notes began to come together. Melodies revealed themselves. "I Know that My Redeemer Lives" is actually a pretty cool hymn.

And now it's repeating in my mind. And it's making me feel better. Maybe the trip to church was divine intervention. I'm so glad I stopped to pick up that music.

5-9-11 5:30 am Mindfulness for a Child's Soul

Feeding a child's soul. It's easy. And easily forgotten. Kids need guidance, and mindfulness. Who of us knows what makes us happy, until we intentionally explore that question? For me and so many of my friends, this search begins sometime after childhood ends. Why the long delay?

Our children busy themselves trying to earn, retain, or confirm our love. Rich or poor, I see it all the time. They try to please us, even when we fear their rebellion. When in their day, at what time, do they feel free to explore their own joy?

Yesterday was Mother's Day. Harold concocted a lovely steak dinner, followed by a delightful desert of strawberries with chocolate fondue. In the space between dinner and desert, I asked Anne to clear the table. After all, Mother's Day requires I do nothing, yet feel pleased by everything. The pressure of that - it's another topic. Back to the table: Rather than put everything away, I wished for Anne to simply remove dinner items from our eating surface to make room for desert treats. I love feeling honored, and yet, I also felt ready for things to return to normal. I wanted to get on with it.

First came her plate. After bringing it to the counter she began asking for containers in which to store left-overs.

"For now, sweetheart, please just clear. We'll put away later."

"Oh! Sorry!" she begged.

Then came the butter tray. She also brought it over to the counter, began looking for the cover, found it, and placed it by the fridge.

"Anne, please, for now we're just removing items from the table. Please just leave them on the counter and we'll take care of them later."

"Oh! Right!" followed by a smile, again, asking forgiveness.

The last straw was her father's plate. She took it to the trash, and began scraping.

Her body began to visibly tighten. She felt frantic to me. Instead of a simple matter of listening and responding, it became something else entirely. And I began to worry, for the millionth time, for her soul. Her core. Her state-of-being.

When she appears to be checked out in this way, somewhat unresponsive, somewhere inside of herself she's shutting down. Worry takes over and her physiological response puts her amigdula in flight. She becomes unresponsive. The adult (thankfully not always me!) becomes frustrated, and the downward spiral beings.

She wanted to do right. It was Mother's Day. Somewhere in her mind the poisonous idea lurked: Mom must be entirely pleased, at every moment, with me and everything I do, all day and all evening long on this most special day of her year. Try living up to that one! A recipe for disaster for us both, indeed. So, the very second she sensed that I felt anything other than ultimate gratitude for her efforts at clearing the table, some part of her system felt...shock? shame? worry? Does it matter? Whatever she felt, it sent her amigdula into flight and she became unresponsive.

Trapped in my chair, unable to clean up myself, since after all, it was Mother's Day, my only recourse seemed analysis.

"Anne, what's going on? Even though I keep asking you to simply remove things from the table, and leave actually putting them away for later, you keep putting things away."

And then Harold wanted to know why things felt "tense". More gentle questioning from me, more introspection for Anne, time, search for strategies rather than blame, all those ingredients combined in some proportion to let us move on to the strawberries. Eventually.

We got there. She allowed as how maybe she wasn't responding. Honestly, the final resolution eludes me now. And truly, it's secondary.

Dirty dishes be damned! Messy counters will wait. What I want is for my daughter to know herself. I want her to better know herself so she can better care for the lovely being that she is. I want her to know herself so that she can experience love. She deserves to acquire, retain, and regularly use the skill of caring for herself. To me, her self awareness and care might look like this:

- If she knows that her chest is tightening, she notices, and tells herself to breathe more slowly.
- When her mind begins to race, she sees observes the speed and slow down.
- If she feels disappointed, she conciously decides tocreate something to which she can look forward.

It's soul care. Care for her core. Self-awareness. She can learn to sew, cook, change the oil, and write a resume. Yet, what good is any of that if she fails to care for her core being in this critical way?

So, the questioning begins:

"How do you feel?" I ask her a lot. Happy, sad, either way I ask the same questions. "How does your tummy feel? Your head? Your chest? What might you notice about your body right now?" It's important to me that she note the differences in her physical state. When she takes a moment to check in with herself, the next step becomes obvious. She knows what to do once she realizes how she feels, physically. It's more a matter of taking the time to figure out that critical piece, to answer that critical question: "What is my body telling me right now?" It's mindfulness.

5-4-11 5:27 pm Recipe: Happiness

OK, there's a formula, at least for me, and here it is:

In equal parts:

Comfort (physical)
Purpose (raison d'etre)
Say (input)

Make sure each exist in every moment of life. When one comes up short, the others only make up for so much. Each ingredient requires its own measure. When I address each one, good results occur. I snack less, my patience increases, and I and others know me better.

We all set out to experience a good day. And those of us with initiatives, be they to smile more or smoke less, feel both some excitement and perhaps even some pressure to live up to our hopes and dreams. And then the day unfolds.

Sometimes the folds feel bumpy, or down-right puncturing. Someone comments "You look tired", and even if they maybe meant, hey, how are you?, it feels like: you look awful!

So. Apply the recipe. Comfort? Check, hopefully. Purpose? Check, hopefully. Say? Who knows, and yet sometimes when others make comments about me, I take it as truth. No say. Time to act. It's time to have say.

Different verbal responses elicit a variety of things. "Oh man, bad make-up day for me!" which may bring the commenter to his or her knees with apologies, or a laugh for you both. It sheds light, however, on the bleeding obvious: Don't judge a book by its cover.

"Yes, I feel tired" could win you some help, which may be a good thing. This is a "thanks for recognizing my needs" response. Something about that feels uncomfortable to me, and I think it may have to do with uncertainty. Occasionally I like it when others notice I need support. I want to decide when I ask for help much of the time. Ultimately I think there's a better way to offer help than commenting on one's deficiencies, like: "I have some extra time, would you like any help?" Offer devoid of judgement. Safe. It invites the possibly tired one to have say. That's a true gift.

Another alternative response: "Darn, I was going for 'Goth'!" certainly leaves room for a good belly-laugh. This one assumes that the original commenter can swing with verbal punches. Really, the "you look tired" comment carries its own assumptions so the 'goth' comment feels dangerously 'tit-for-tat' to me. However, if it really seems time for a wake-up call to the commenter, it is at least a fun way to do it. After all, it take care of one-tenth of our daily healthy dose of laughter, maximizing both parties' DNA potential. That's good for everyone!

"Ouch", my favorite for conveying the message: hey, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. In the end, what's said may matter less than taking time to realize that someone else's label for me may not be true. In order for me to have that magic ingredient "say", I need to take time to decide what message I want to share, and then how best to share it. I need to take time to have say, or the other person may just go around making that sort of comment, thinking it's fine.

We all feel passion of one kind or another, I think, throughout the day. The magic in sharing ourselves reveals itself by taking time to reveal ourselves with tact and intelligence, intentionally. For me, the burying of that passion stifles. Oppression, anger, resentment all build and suddenly I'm avoiding certain people. That's when I start feeling boxed in, and then that filth just smears itself all over the rest of my life.

Instead, I need to have say. Comfort and purpose I can do. It's having say and sharing it that feels scary. And yet, the more I talk, the more I have my say, the more love I share with others. We all really do need to know how to talk to one another. It's an art and a science.

We're all teachers. Even those of us who pursue other professions, we're all teachers when we take time to learn about ourselves, and then teach others, overtly and with kindness. I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

4-29-11 4:49 pm Weeds, Bicycles, and Love

Weeding: a metaphor for having say in my life. The plants for which I leave room in my garden result from my own selection. Instead of dandelions, I see tulips. Instead of crab grass, I see an open space where we'll someday put a patio. The design stems from intention, regardless of the seeds wind plants on our property.

And I can weed that for which I wish to leave less room, out of my life with relative success. When I pack up and leave at the end of my contract day, it affords more time to spend with Anne. When I tell someone I need to set up a time to meet with them rather than attending to each professional the moment they seek me out, it leaves room for me to prioritize. Intentional decisions about how to spend time affords needed time for important things. It lets me plan. It lets me thoughtfully approach and attend to projects and tasks. The act of decision-making is a renewable resource, whose only charge is the degree of courage it may take to set boundaries. And like weeding, I can do it any time.

Intentionality. It's conscious planning. And it's a huge resource. Yesterday Harold took us out for a spin on our new bikes. He later told me that the idea occurred on his drive home, inspired by the weather and available daylight.

"I wanted to see you on that new bike again. You looked so happy on your first ride home with it the other day, and the weather's been bad. It's been too long, so I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity." -(or something very close to that.)

He wanted to see me as happy again on my new bike as the first day we brought it home. And his intentional planning paid off. I felt on top of the world, simply riding around a few blocks in our neighborhood. The ride felt smooth and comfortable. My body felt safe and relaxed, whereas on the mountain bike I felt neither. We gazed around at the spring lawns and the homes to which they belonged. And I offered him the comment "I'm having at least as much fun as skiing. Maybe more." After all, our neighborhood roll was lift-ticket free, required no transport of equipment before use, and without commute. We simply hopped on and went. Delightful.

Even sweeter was Harold's wish for my happiness, intentionally materialized into fruition, and truly savoured. I felt love. His caring act of thought, intention, and action, into such a simple pleasure held it's own beauty, quite apart from the love I felt from him. Huge deposit into the "love-account".

When we first married, we may both have projected that an enduring union involved escalating degrees of tolerance. Quick to add, we were, that our overwhelming love for one another would easily make up for it. Not so, at least I've found. We're both fairly insistent about getting our needs met, and tolerate a fairly small margin of inconvenience from one another to that end. It may be less about virtue, and more about fear.

"How can you leave dirty dishes the sink, when you know I need to make my lunch before leaving for work in the morning?" It's more about "don't you care about me?" and less about "the straw that broke the camel's back". So our marriage's longevity so far seems to benefit from looking at what needs caring for more than what can be tolerated.

Harold hates it when I leave the garage open. We have valuable stuff in there, and our garage has been robbed before. He has a valid point about closing, and even locking the door. I, on the other hand, have to heave that beast with all my might in order to slide it open. "Inconvenient" barely touches describing it, for me. So, I agree to keep it closed, and he agrees to open it for me. And we do a fair amount of simply leaving the cars in the driveway.

That sort of recognition and honoring one another's needs makes up part of the maintenance. Another piece more represents theory behind "love languages". When we can identify what brings happiness to one another, and then show a desire to create those situations, we're saying with actions (speaking, of course, louder than words), "I love you. I want you to be happy, and I know this brings you joy, so I'm doing what I can to bring that circumstance into your life."

So, when Harold took me out on our bikes yesterday evening, I felt really on top of the world. The feel of my new Cruiser very closely resembles how my childhood bike felt. I gave myself permission about when and where to go. Someone who truly loves me took the time to come with me. And he let me decide on the route. Maybe we were gone 15 minutes. The relative cost was free. Yet I've spent many hundreds of dollars with the intent to enjoy myself, and failed miserably. Yesterday love brought me great joy. Even the memory fills my cup to over-flowing. This, truly, is the life!

4-24-11 1:57 pm Windfalls, Visions, and Beauty

We got a little windfall in the mail. It's nice to know that the unexpected still happens. Out of the many needs demanding our financial resources, we went with cruiser bicycles.

Think gas savings. Carless transportation. Lower fossil fuel consumption. Physical fitness. We got Anne a new bike for Christmas. That felt easy, since she's growing all the time. In fact, she was well over-due.

For Harold and me it seemed different. Although our mountain bikes feel like medieval torture devices, they were and still are a hot item. We picked them out, and rode them faithfully for years.

We've got plenty of get-up-and-go about us, and yet, we're now mature enough to fess up. We hate those things. It's time for something more comfortable. Harold seems to love his new bike.

He rode down the street wearing a huge grin. "It feels like my old Stingray!" he exclaimed on dismounting. His joy made my heart leap. It's fun to see a grown man giddy.

As for my cruiser, it's robin's egg blue with white accents. It has beautiful lines and curves. The seat feels like a seat instead of a wedge. It needs a white bike lock.

To quote Dr. Seuss, "Oh, the Place's [I'll] go!" My hope is that this new purchase will still look good on me when I'm gray. I hope it will take me to many of the locations that meetings and tight schedules have required a car to complete. And between trips, I'll just look at it. It's beautiful.

4-11-11 8:35 pm Make Them Eat...Their Own Cooking!

It's a popular topic, "why we should eat dinner together". Although I'd have to locate research to support it empirically, my hunch is that even rushed, instant, and restaurant meals provide families time enough to sit across the table from one another, sharing conversation, time, and stories from the day. Eating together seems like a wholesome idea regardless of circumstance. Of course it's wholesome, and yet distractions compete with this institution of well-intended time together. The television blares a sports game, attractive wait persons offer another re-fill to the water-glasses, and this week's spelling list needs reviewing. The relative quality of shared time directly connects to various degrees of the hellatiousness it entails. If disagreements regularly surface, questions about unpaid bills, or how the job search fared today, family members might begin to avoid the dinner table. The institution of an evening meal, when everyone rejoins at a common table, requires intentionality and care. And in today's world of instantly-available food, it's especially important to ferret out what it is about dinner together that we most enjoy. Tonight I'm reminded of one thing I most enjoy: when everyone cooks. My mother, even my grandmother, might be saying to themselves as they read these words (based on a recent conversation) "What is she talking about? I only cook with certain people in the kitchen - everyone is not necessarily welcome." I think this is why my maternal betters might be doubting me: Some activities require the kind of attention that lets all worries, all distractors fall away. Playing a musical instrument, driving a motorcycle, and rock climbing all come to mind. Cooking, like science experiments, requires deliberation, and the kind of attention that demands a similar focus to those undistractable activities. Even if you avoid measuring tools, chances are you use taste to guide adding ingredients. And coordination plays a key role. Hot foods, in order to remain hot when platted, must cook at just the right rate (time and temperature). Creating a meal requires the full attention of its cooks. Cooks cooking together, well, it's a little like performing with spontaneous choreography. It requires faith and commitment. Kitchens can feel small. Multiple cooks might interrupt or get in one another's way. It ain't pretty. And the same is true for real life. It's messy, rife with injustice, and full of accidents. And when we stick together through it all, the journey brings us closer together. It seems worth the investment. It's just that you have to look carefully and practice a great deal of patience for the returns. They are sometimes disguised as huge pains in the butt. Tonight Anne made our salad. She took too long to slice up the apples. Way too much spinach sat in the top half of the salad bowl. The entire task took her, (I may be exaggerating here) 20 minutes! The lettuce was pre-washed and everything. While she whittled away at the salad, Harold managed to perfectly steam two salmon fillets, and I concocted a lovely salad dressing, made the rice, re-heated left-over homemade tomato soup and garnished it with fresh slices of avocado. Obviously, an apparent time and effort discrepancy rears its ugly head, yet who has the most experience? I do. It's natural I'd get more done, so I can replace "equal effort" with "equitable effort" as one of my goals for our co-cooking. In fact, I remember intentionally assigning Anne a task at which she could take as much time as she wanted, that was completely independent of our other cooking projects. Autonomy gave her freedom from nagging adults who otherwise might have needed her to complete one step in a dish so that we could then move in with our parts. In the end, her memory of the task was hopefully a revisitable enough one so that she'll do it again tomorrow night. She also seems sensitive to respect, so when I asked her to make us a salad, it sounded more like, "Oh, Anne, you have such good taste in salads, would you make ours tonight?" than "Anne, make the salad." An added bonus: she seems to eat more of her salad serving when she makes it. Go figure. Harold. He trusts me with meats, especially when it comes to cooking fish. It was hard-earned trust, and since I have it now we're fairly efficient. He asks me what to do, I tell him, and he does it. "Put the fillets in this pan, fill it with just enough water to almost cover the fillets, and heat it on high in the microwave for ten minutes." That done, he sat at the table and passed out vitamins while the rest of us finished our tasks. He's tired after a long day of delivering mail. Besides, he had to touch raw meat, and I didn't. Yay. Let's hear it for equity! My soup project was ready well before the rest of the meal. And the natives were restless. So, instead serving everything en semble, we ate in courses. I hear they do that at all the fancy restaurants. And at the end of our time together at the table, everyone felt good and tired. We all cleared the table because it was too big a job for just one person. In between the cooking and the clearing came conversation. We talked about our days, up-coming visits from relatives, manners, we joked, and we laughed. The act of cooking forced our worries of the day into the periphery of our minds, in order to make room for feeding ourselves. On really fun nights we blast a little Jimmy Buffett, "Cheeseburger in Paradise" and dance around the kitchen. To me, this is quality family time. It's ultimately about enjoyment. When meal preparation becomes unpleasant, it's about something else. When we work to make this task a coordinated effort, it brings us closer. One person cooking the meal is a little like a solo vacation. You might get exactly what you're after, but in the end, with whom do you have to share it? So, eating out, I think, is OK. And instant mac'n cheese holds a permanent place of honor in my book of life's necessities. Yet, when a seemingly menial daily task presents an opportunity for getting to know one another better, for making a little history, and it's fun, it demands attention. Kids, I think, are more likely to eat their own cooking. They'll certainly learn something useful in the process. Reading. Measuring. Equivalency. Team work. Love. Tonight Anne accumulated a memory that filled her heart and her mind. Affording her that opportunity helped make me feel like a better parent. And my hard-working husband got fed. So many layers of resource accumulation demands my deliberate attention and continued effort. If you want to get closer with someone, try cooking. It's essentially free, and we all need to eat!

4-6-11 7:04 pm Snow Storm

Because of my neighbors' generosity of space, we can all look forward to homegrown asparagus. A gift that will continue to give. Because of my husband's sensitivity, generosity of time and effort, and excellent memory, I have had perfect coffee, flowers, and culinary delights of all kinds today. We have more deposits into the veritable bank account of our relationship. Because of my daughter's intellect, sensitivity, and heightening awareness, I experience the most pleasurable journey of parenthood imaginable. She keeps getting smarter and more sensitive. Because of thoughtful co-workers, I enjoyed several very fun rounds of bowling today. My job may not be there next year, yet the memory remains. Because my friends and colleagues at work trust me to do my job, I get repeated opportunities to hone my craft. Honing these skills helps me help others, the greatest gift. Because of gratitude, I continually relive the most pleasurable memories of my life. They will be mine, forever, to share with anyone who might like to listen to them.

3-28-11 10:30 pm Dirt

I'm exhausted. I've moved a garden bed, filled it, planted another, moved a full compost bin, taken down part of a fence, laid down landscaping fabric, you get the idea. How could I not though, with time off work, the sun shining, and Anne engrossed in a book. It was the perfect day to roll up my sleeves and dig. That compost bin has been a thorn in our sides ever since we started using it four or five years ago. It's so big. And it seems to take a really long time to do its job. In fact, I could still see bits of food long ago dumped in, from the low holes in the side. I thought the stuff at the bottom was supposed to be dirt by now. The prospect of relocating it (we're trying to spiff up the yard a bit so we can enjoy more time outside this summer) was getting grosser by the minute. Armed with black plastic bags (I recently read that one of the easiest ways to compost involves simply filling black plastic bags with yard and kitchen waste, sinching the top, and letting it sit in the sun for about three weeks. Gargage going it, dirt coming out. Sounds good to me, and quick too!) I set to work. The top layer was leaves. No problem. Then came the egg shells. My bad. A few dried out melon rinds. At least the smell was gone. And then I struck GOLD! I mean...dirt. Really. There it was, black, thick, rich, nutrient-filled dirt. So, I switched destinations and started moving from that wonderful, large, round black bin to the raised garden bed with shovels full of good, clean, FREE dirt. I guess the food items closest to the outside of the bin held their shape, but deeper towards the center of the bin held many bags worth of wonderful soil. "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust", I saw it today. I know I didn't put all that dirt in there. The magic of simply letting nature run its course helped me plant a better garden bed today. And all I had to do was wait. It begs the question,"Why hurry?" I think I'll slow down a little, and wait for more good dirt to come my way.

3-25-11 6:45 pm The Ring

My Mom gave me a beautiful ring a few years ago, maybe for my birthday? Hard to say. Four or five dark aquamarine stones, cut into rhombuses, sit straight across in a row with tiny diamonds paired and vertically placed above and below where the vertexes of the rhombuses meet. She found it just lying on the floor in her guest room.

About ten years ago my parents bought a townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia. After living there for about three years she found this beautiful ring, sitting on the carpeted floor of the guest room. After countless calls, letters, and conversations with everyone who'd been or stayed as an over-night guest, it remained unclaimed. The ring reminded her of me, so she passed it on to my possession.

For the gift I'm very grateful. Even more compelling, is the mystery behind it. When, where, and most importantly, why was it purchased? Who owned it? And who might be missing it?

Could it be a left-over gift in an unrequited love story? An anniversary ring? A mother's ring for a woman who had four or five children all in the same month of different years? Perhaps it's an anniversary ring. It could have been a token of love in an illicit romance. What if it's an apology ring after admitting to an affair. Maybe it was borrowed for a special occasion and never returned. A family heirloom? A graduation gift? Jewelry can have deep sentimental meaning. Almost as wonderful as admiring the ring itself, is the wondering: What's the story behind this ring?

Every time I wear it I wonder: Who's was this? Then my imagination runs wild. So I'm twice-blessed with this gift from my mother. It's a delight to the eyes and the curious mind. Others have also wondered at its tale.

And to anyone who might be missing it: I will keep it in good care. If you claim it, it's yours. Just please, tell me its tale.

3-24-11 7:06 pm Guardian Angels and the Miraculous Gift of Time

The first time I remember something bigger than me talking to me, I was about four-years-old. As I closed our apartment door, the words "it will get better than this" came to my young mind. And as the vision of an old steam radiator and a too-dim light came into focus, I thought, "Good." Suddenly, whatever weighed on my mind, regardless of the unpleasant errand, in spite of what others sometimes predicted for me just evaporated. I felt lighter, unencumbered, and special. In that little moment, when those six tiny words strung together in my mind, I felt connected to something larger than myself. I walked taller, and possessed a deeper sense of connectedness to something larger, and more reassuring than my two little legs.

About two years later I took quite a tumble. Some kids I'd never before met were playing with me at a new house, in a new part of the world. We were on a country dirt road. I'd thought dirt was for gardens in the country, because I played in parks and back alleys. These were real streets made of packed-down, pebbly dirt. They were riding bikes, and allowed me to join them. I was all out of my element. I had to use the one with training wheels, even though I was already six-years-old. It didn't matter, they didn't wait up for me, much anyway. Still, I was riding! And then I saw it: a pick-up truck was headed our way. It was a long straight road, and you could see it coming at us from a long way off.

When my companions scattered I yelled to them: "Hey! We forgot our bikes!"

"Just leave 'em!" someone shouted back, and then they disappeared into the woods. There I stood, a stranger in a strange land, in the middle of a dirt road, littered with bikes, and a truck coming at it all, including me. It's hard to believe now that at such a young age I still felt responsible. Connected to something bigger than me. So I hooked all those handlebars together, and drug the whole lot of metal frames and rubber wheels back, off the side of the road. And then I was tumbling in mid-air. First rocks. Then sky. Then rocks. Then my glasses were knocked off. Then I was wet. Water flowed around my calves, my shoulders, and I could feel it on my finger tips. Then black. Then an older couple running down the bank. The panicked look on their faces remained as they gathered my glasses, me, and one of the bikes. I just wasn't my time to die that day.

The next time I was looking for an apartment in a strange city. Yes, I could read a map. Yes, I had the address, and yes, I could read the bus schedule. All of that had little impact on my ability to find an apartment for myself. An older woman stopped to help. She steered me in the right direction, and I did the rest. I managed to accomplish something that felt significant, without the help of my parents. That moment inspired me again and again throughout my young adult years.

And then one day I was sick. I needed help getting to the doctor's office. And I was late. I couldn't find my way, and I felt down-right disorientated. And I swear, it was God, or someone, but he pulled up by the sidewalk in his old, maybe Volvo wagon. "You look like you could use some help."

Before I knew it he was giving me a ride to my doctor's office. He somehow knew right where it was when I gave him the address. His acumen just left me dumbfounded. His car was loaded tot he gills with papers, files, maybe ledgers. He apologized several times for the mess, I think telling me he worked out of his car. He offered to take me into the building. Maybe I said something like: "It's OK. You're busy, and I'm OK now that I'm here." And then he was gone. I forget the moment when he drove out of sight. My heart ached for the love and kindness he showed me. I missed that terribly for days. He was no hunk. I'm sure he was in his 50's. He was certainly a fine-looking man, but nothing my 21-year-old self fancied. His heart, however, was the size of Texas. Bigger, probably. If a time-space continuum could be altered in standard reality, I'd attest that it was my now husband, having lept forward in time to help me.

And then a few years later my now husband asked me to marry him. Without hesitation I said "yes". Later I began to wonder: "Is this the right one?" And the source of powerful words entered my mind again, only this time with only one word: "Yes." I pressed: "Are you sure?" And then I felt scolded: "Are you doubting me?"

Call it what you will, it's what happened for me. I choose to believe it. Thank you God. Thank you guardian angels. Thank you real live people who genuinely want to help others for the good deed itself. Thank you for your time. I am here. I am loved. I am truly blessed with a loving heart towards others. And I have the privilege of showing loving care to over 200 children every day. We show others that their faith is well-placed when we make room for them in our lives.

It's giving our time that supports the well-being of human kind. It's in the moment I close my magazine to look at what Anne has brought to me. It's when I look up from the computer to talk with my husband. It's when I put my thoughts aside to really listen to a child. That moment when we all choose between pressing on with our mission, or pausing for another. It's in the pausing that love shows its reassuring presence.

3-22-11 6:32 pm Counting:

1. Food: Anne bakes a nifty loaf of Irish Soda bread. So much so that when we're expecting guests, she's the baker. Today she came through with a tall, golden, perfectly lumpy loaf. And the house smells so warm!

2. Friends: Tonight book club is at my house. I feel so...included, and so want everyone to feel welcome and comfortable.

3. Dreams Coming True: OK, I know about dream interpretation. Dreams about a child can point to the more vulnerable self. When I dream about a cat scratching at the door, it might really be about fears of neglecting my father. I get all that. Of late, my dreams seem to take a different course. There was the dream where my now late Grandfather came to me. A dear friend recently returned from a long trip. I dreamt of her as well, returning and embracing me in one of her reassuring hugs. And another recent "reality dream" slips my mind at the moment. This is a new way of dreaming for me, and I find it extremely comforting.

4 Faith: I sang in church recently, and really messed up a psalm. They kept me anyway. A dear friend and superior at work, is taking a new direction, and many close to me professionally demanded to know when I might be able to step in such a leadership role. Others' visions for me are their gift of faith in me. It's humbling.

5. Garden Beds: We now have two of them ready for filling or planting. We'll have fresh produce this year. Given the economy, that's good timing!

So many gifts, and all free. Just looking around, simply taking time to notice the things that bring joy, good food, and love, calm me down. I feel less like a bleeding wound, and more like a smiling Buddha.

3-16-11 8:17 pm Japanese Slaves, One Thing at a Time, and Power

Hard to believe, research says we only ever really think about one thing at a time. I can do six things at once, poorly and distracted. One thing at a time. It lets me savor each thing. If Anne's talking to me, I can text, as long as she's willing to repeat herself. Even though most people I've told disagree, it seems to be true. Maybe we can do more than one thing at a time. It seems in my life, though, I can only think effectively, and act well, one thing at a time.

Savor. That's what the one-thing-at-a-time allows. Savor the conversation, when there's room to focus on it. Relish doing quality work, because there's time to appreciate it. Stop and smell the roses, the fruits of our labors.

Multi-tasking lets things drop, hap-hazardly, unpredictably. It seems that doing one thing at a time offers a true opportunity for resource accumulation because that allows for true appreciation. It's like taking a trip and having the luxury of really taking in the new place. Doing only one thing at time lets me absorb the events in daily life. Bringing my full self to bear, at each turn lends a quality, a genuineness that eludes me in more distracted states.

Many thousands of years ago, in feudal Japanese society, slaves discovered a silent rebellion, a way to take back their lives. Their strategy: perform each task singularly, and with utter focus. If sweeping, they noticed their hands on the broom handle, their feet on the ground, the way the bristles moved the dirt. Their actions were slow, yet on task. The strategy left no room for complaint by their owners and gave something back to the slaves themselves. It provided something no serf could beat out of them - self-possession.

In self-possession lies power. Socrates said "know thy self". Knowing one's self somehow renders, well for me, an unflappableness. A rock-steadiness only I can muster. It's a gift we give ourselves by choosing it. Self-possession costs nothing, requires no advanced degree, and truly I believe that when it's combined with utter positivity contains an infinite supply of...je ne sais quoi...that certain something that makes us compelling.

Me. I'm my own resource, and through getting to know me better, I have more to offer the world. Mathematically balanced. Incredible!

3-14-11 6:37 pm Perception, Perspective, and Other "P" Words

My family routinely gives me the opportunity to gain perspective by showing me theirs. Harold and I try to run an even balance when it comes to the business of parenting. He monitors chores, room-cleaning, and making lunches, and I monitor homework, instrument practices and anything else after school. When one of us lets a job go, the others feel it, in entirely unanticipated, yet probably predictable, ways.

A few weeks slip by and I realize Anne's instrument practices maybe slid a bit in quality. How do I know? Her music teacher shares a look of concern with me as we both listen to her play during a lesson. And then it hits. Those times I've cooked dinner, rather than listen and support her during practices leaves Anne to figure out maybe a little too much on her own. Luckily her music teacher knows me, and I rectify things at home.

So, these last few weeks after coming home to Anne's messy room after school, I've felt reluctant to say too much. Harold wants her to get to school on time. I want that plus a clean room so that at least some of our mother-daughter time together is spent joyfully. From my perspective, if she's late for school one day, maybe she'll learn her lesson and just begin keeping her room cleaner on her own. And yet, I get it. Harold wants to get her to school on time. He's just blind to the consequences that choice leaves for me, later in the day.

The struggle has been, why does Harold let her get by with a cursory job at cleaning without, say, asking her to start earlier, maybe get up sooner? Who knows? What I do know is that our perspectives differ because we happen to be different people, noticing different things, at different times of the day. He's home later in the evenings. He sees us only after all her chores and practices are done. He may feel Anne's life and our mother-daughter time together balance perfectly. My perspective shows us frantically attempting to get everything done before he's home for supper and the evening comes to a close. A solution lurks somewhere between our vastly different perspectives. I think...maybe Anne's room gets cleaned after school when she puts her things away in the first place. She practices an instrument in the mornings, and our afternoons sound a bit quieter. (Headaches haunt me, daily threatening severe pain). Anne knows what she needs to do in order to keep the privilege of deciding herself when she practices, when she cleans her room, and when she enjoys a little r & r.

Honestly this issue has been a thorn in my side for a very long time - maybe several school years. I'm glad to resist the urge to throw a fit (past records indicate that as a futile effort anyway), and wait until sensible solutions surface. Punishing is how it's felt to me, yet why pass that on to others? Perception prevented Harold from seeing the big picture. Perhaps age precluded Anne from seeing her own power to determine her fate. Problems are just solutions waiting to happen. Patience usually pays off, as I hope it will this time.

3-11-11 7:25 pm Bubbles, Illusions, and Traditions

Isolation, the ultimate illusion, sometimes feels like a bubble of safety, and at others feels like relegation and underappreciation. Working on a new idea, at the stage past brainstorming and well into visualization, often tricks me into a feeling of wanting to protect an idea from other permutations. It's major bubble-time. Solo execution of any task, small or large, on the other hand leaves me feeling deserted and sometimes unappreciated. Ultimately both illusions get shattered in a reality of co-existence.

I'm learning to break through the bubble. Just today, working on a staff development project, I checked in with two other experts: a 20-year veteran teacher, and our school counselor. Explaining my thinking felt good. Verbalizing my plan clarified my thinking. They felt included and affirmed as stake-holders just by my reaching out. They shared useful insights that deepened my understanding and increased the quality of my work. Ultimately the benefactors are participants. Additional positive ripple effects go beyond building community. Sharing thinking builds trust, a shared vision, and unifies a team.

Conversely, times of burdensome blame (perceived) provided an different kind of opportunity for broadening the circle of input that relieved a feeling of isolation threatening to overpower me. Some staff wanted my help with behavior issues. After conferring, I carried out a plan that we'd agreed upon. On the first day it quickly became clear that our shared vision left out important details. I almost cowered. I almost threw my hands up. Instead I came right back to the planning table, drawing back in my two co-workers, thereby keeping the lines of communication open. What we thought was a one-time plan became a week-long process. Gratification, in work thoroughly executed, feels like its own reward. The behavior issues may continue to one degree or another. Yet our time together supported intentionally cooperative work among school professionals from which students ultimately benefit.

How was the week? Productive. Inspiring. It felt full of learning. Indeed, I feel fortunate.

Traditions: Tomorrow Harold and I will be married 17 years. Some better than others, still I feel extremely fortunate to co-build this relationship. This morning met with a surprise cup of perfectly-made coffee, and this afternoon saw a beautiful bunch of flowers on the kitchen counter. And he said we'd celebrate this year on the cheep!

Traditions feed our collective memories, and that's its own resource. Anne saw the flowers and began complimenting her father's character. I concurred, and took advantage of the moment to advertise good qualities to look for in a husband: trustworthiness, kindness, self-care, and consideration. Kids learn from what they see more than from what they hear, I know. This time, she saw and heard, hopefully a powerful combination.

Most of what I have falls into the category of beliefs. I believe in building collaborative relationships, supporting loving relationships, and self-care. Everything else results as symptoms of those core beliefs. We make our destinies when we intentionally execute our lives.

3-10-11 5:15 pm Hugs

I read somewhere that in order to maximize our DNA potential to ward off diseases, we need 16 hugs per day. Something about joyful safe touch boosting the immune system, if I remember correctly. I love hugs. They feel warm, safe, and they let me breathe more deeply. Admittedly, hugs by the wrong person or at the wrong time are just weird. Other than that, I generally love them.

Harold, Anne, and I all hug one another, and that's wonderful. Some families live a hug-less lives. I am fortunate to live and work amongst a veritable community of huggers. I hug my boss, my co-workers, parents and students at the elementary school where I work, friends, etc.

Every time I'm in an embrace, that "16 hugs" factoid comes to mind. It's a little like if sugar were good for you. It tastes so good, if it were healthful that would just make the whole experience bliss. Hugs are like that for me. They feel good and they're good for me.

Today I got five hugs from students, three from my daughter and about three from other co-workers. Sometimes I find myself hugging me. Who knows why? Sometimes its' obvious - I'm worried or feeling isolated. Other times it just happens for no apparent reason. Maybe my immune system is in a weakened state. Five more are in order for today, and that's good with me!

Some people aren't huggers. Seems like not eating or sleeping to me - impossible. It's OK, though, we huggers find one another. It's like a shared secret. A smile, a reached-out hand, and suddenly a hug is shared between two people who need it. And we're richer for it. We're healthier, we feel loved, we get a shot of safety and belonging. Embraces equally give and receive simultaneously. What else in the world does that?

Controversial is hugging students at school. Touch the shoulder only, or don't touch at all. These kids come to school starved, literally not having eaten breakfast, and neglected. Some aer given what they need at home, and the rest, well, they have a game box, a television, a snack cupboard if they're lucky, and not much else. They get sick due to poor nutrition and lack of attention including hugs. I have one little student, "T" who says to me at least three times per week: "Mrs. Sponheim, I just need a hug!" She says it like she's starving or sleep-deprived. It's a basic thirst in her that needs quenching. When she throws her arms around me, I hug her back. And I let go first. When I can I give half-hugs. When children need hugs, they are seeking trust, a feeling of belonging, acceptance. Hugs become controversial when they cease to be hugs and become something inappropriate. I don't chase children down for hugs. I don't even hug my own daughter without permission. There is, however, something magical and healing about them, and they're free, controversial as they may be.

Today I feel richer, grateful, at peace because of the hugs I've given and received. Thank you to all those in my life who hug me. I'm privileged to be able to hug you all back!

3-9-11 6:53pm Kindness Adds Up

I believe in a cosmic balance principle: you reap what you sew. Case in point: Anne & I went to our stylist for our semi-quarterly haircuts. She's nice to us every time we're in, so we keep returning. Anne's cut, by the way, looks striking on her. I, on the other hand, received no charge for basically no cut. What's up? Well, when I showed our stylist, "K" what I wanted, she commented that a bit more length might get me there sooner. So she simply trimmed my bangs and let me walk. She may actually practice a "give more than you get" strategy, as this was the third time she's given us a good turn.

The first time was after my first cut. It just felt off to me. So, I sucked up my courage and went back to her with a kind request for a change. She offered it at no charge, and thanked me for coming back. Ever so much better than my just feeling disappointed and seeking out a different stylist. The next time was actually at our previous visit about two months ago. Somehow the schedule was messed up, and Anne's appointment was missed. Well, "K" sat her down and gave her a quick trim for free. I left her a $10.00 tip after she insisted on taking nothing for Anne's cut. You see the pattern.

The effect: She has built two very loyal customers. She has accumulated a resource. And I kept more money in my wallet. Another resource. Who knows what "K"'s thinking is? Who cares? She's kind, giving, and I now know that when she thinks I don't need a cut, she won't give it to me, and for that I feel eternally grateful.

3-7-11 6:26 pm Smiles and Paychecks

People want to be with other people who are happy. Smiling can get you a job, a partner, a favor, and maybe more. Humans naturally want to be around others who make them feel good, and usually smiling puts people in some positive state of mind.

The job market slowly recovers. Why not smile? Maybe if we keep a grin between our cheeks we can all take something to the bank. Now that's resource accumulation.

And what about friends? Community? Smiles make the most powerful request: "I'm happy, and hope you can be happy with me." It's an invitation to connect. In this human world, I think smiles might be the most potent tool to use in orchestrating joy.

I am renewing my smile mission. Maybe it will help me keep my job!

3-1-11 6:10 pm Conventions, Slumber Parties for Grown-Ups

We watch Anne have them: Sleep-overs. Her anticipation appears far more enjoyable than the event itself, especially from the next day's vantage point. In the end we feel sure she'll never want to do it again, what with the fatigue, the schedule changes, the compromising, and everything she must make up - chores, instrument practices, and sleep. Oh does she pout, and drag, and clearly suffer. She seems capable of one thing after a sleep-over: curling up on the couch with a book she might or might not have the energy to actually read. And the next Friday we receive what can only now be labelled "predictable" request: "Can we do another sleep-over?" It must be the networking. With whomever she has a sleep-over, the next week is full of fun recesses. She's got a buddy in her social back pocket, and everyone wants that.

I recently returned from CCIRA, a literacy conference held in Denver. Like Anne with sleepovers, I have a love-hate relationship with conferences. I want to go. When we're there, (three or four of us usually go together) sure we compromise, sure we sometimes struggle to find balance, but we help each other out, even on diminishing amounts of sleep. And then the eventual, the dreaded always occurs. We return to catch up with the daily demands of our previous commitments: family, jobs, laundry. It's enough to turn one off to this sort of activity. And then we keep in touch, those of us who go. We reconnect in between conferences. We collaborate. We capitalize on the social networks and the shared experiences of the conference. It supports us socially, and in the end I believe, economically.

Now there's another conference I want to go to for Cognitive Coaching SM. It costs way too much, and I'd likely be going alone. Who knows how those problems might resolve themselves? That question unanswered leaves me with an emotional pout that would put Anne to shame. I want the fun. I want to make new connections. I want to resource accumulation, the economic and social capital this sort of time and money investment return. It's about more than the fun. Knowing what I want is the first step...

2-27-11 6:43 pm Memories

Here's what I know: my dear friend, "D", welcomed me in her home for something like over five hours today, I own three beautiful jewelry sets now, I've had over an hour of alone-time at home while Harold and Anne have run errands in Fort Collins, and all my outfits are set out for the entire week to come.

Who knows how Harold and Anne fare up in Fort Collins with grocery shopping, concert orchestra rehearsal, and dinner? Who knows what my friend "D's" evening bears out for her and her family? Who knows how my substitute will do tomorrow? I feel at peace, ready for the week, and relaxed.

And yet, I could worry: What if "D's" welcome was merely lip-service? What if Harold wishes I were with him? What if Anne needs more help with her instruments? What if my outfits don't work for the week?

Any one or all of those wonderings' answers hold potential negative answers, and with that I realize too, better that I not question and worry. If I overstayed my welcome, I certainly was made welcome. If Harold misses me, it'll be all the sweeter the next time we're together. If Anne needs support, she certainly knows where to find it. If the weather changes, my clothes and I'll adjust.

I count so many gifts and blessings every day, yet truest among them seems their recognition. I love the jewelry "D" helped me bead today, and more than that, I appreciate her letting me into her life, sharing time and family with me - the time, I know, she sacrificed to give both before and after our hours together. Harold's willingness to get the groceries seems impossible in some relationships, I know, and more than that his performing the task solo without the least question of me truly shows his level of commitment and ownership in our lives together. Anne practices faithfully every day, and asks for help as needed, and at 11 I recognize a tenacity, her own special determination that reassures me she'll get what she wants from her life. As for me, I will survive. Weather changes, economic changes, job changes, behavior changes, I've made it through all of those things, and will again if the need arises.

In the mean time, I appreciate the resources of love, time, and commitment those around me offer. I appreciate feeling capable of thriving in most any condition and circumstance. I appreciate the luxury of making memories. Thank you all.

2-23-11 7:09 Book-Magic

Maybe five years ago or so, Harold picked up In a Sunburnned Country by Bill Bryson. After enough guffawing, I had to ask: "What's so funny?" The main character traipses through Australia, meeting all kinds of colorful characters and navigating a myriad of calamities. Bryson writes about them from an intensely humorous perspective. Harold agreed to read me a few passages. One thing led to another, and I started asking him to read it aloud to me every night before bed. It quickly became a nightly ritual, one that I think got us through an extended interior decorating phase.

We'd moved our bed into the laundry room so we could paint, patch, and refinish the walls in our bedroom. It was wedged in so that we could only lie down by crawling into bed from the foot. The light, a single exposed bulb, hung from a fixture attached to the middle of the ceiling. Mr. Bryson's levity transcended the whole situation, and we enjoyed many nights of laughter in those long, ultra-bright evenings.

These days he's reading Kitchen Confidential, by Anthony Bourdain. More guffaws. Another request. More evening reading. Honestly, aside from marital relations, it's the most fun I think either of us has had in bed. And we can talk about it with friends, with Anne, with anyone. What a lovely way to spend the evening together. It gives us a rich shared experience.

Anne reads herself to sleep most nights. We used to read to her faithfully. Then she learned to read, developed her own tastes in literature, and well, one thing led to another. We hardly read to her anymore. The other night I insisted. We picked up Ginger Pye, and it'd been so long that we had to recap previous readings by skimming through the first seven chapters. Right now the Pye family is frantically searching for their missing dog Ginger. The best part? Kissing Anne goodnight. Her eyelids droopy, slight smile across her face, and obviously warm and cozy disposition gave me that inexplicable maternal satisfaction.

Reading Rocks!

2-21-11 2:41 pm Looking a Little Deeper into Time, Boundaries, Mind-Space, and...Dirty Laundry

Planning. Grading. Dishes. Laundry. Fun-time. Exercise. Cooking. Dishes. Yard work. Who has time for all that? And, I understand, some people find time for ... vacations. Imagine!

Actually, I'm getting somewhere. My planning, grading, and dishes are done. Yay! Fun-time waits; in an hour or so we'll have a family wii interval, maybe tennis today, and that'll fill some exercise needs as well. Calgon....take me away!!!! Hidden deep within the pile of dirty laundry lay my saving grace.

Harold and Anne wanted to go to the Rec. Center. I get it: the steam room, lazy river, two hot tubs, all sound delightful. And I still wanted to stay home. I pleaded laundry. (Harold hates to run appliances with no one in the house, and we both feel clean laundry is a basic need. Need I go into a hamper description? Suffice it to say: "Pew!") And so now, they're gone. The house is empty. I got time to myself. Laundry aside, and I'm ever-so grateful.

Now for the deeper look:

With one in place (time, boundaries, or thinking space), the others appear confluently. They each require intent and action. When I need more time, a prioritized list helps. When I need to get to work, boundaries are in order. Making quiet time by setting some aside planfully allows me mind-space to get some thinking accomplished. Thank you, dirty, smelly linens, for helping me acquire the quietude in which I now type.

So often I go after it all at once: boundaries, time, and thinking space. I start feeling frustrated because multi-tasking my intentions feels impossibly overwhelming, and I'm just looking to feel sane. Most of the time I go around simply hoping I won't bust!

Today's happy accident seems like the exception. How often does quiet time bestow itself on a full-time working mom and wife like me? (rarely!!!) and I got it by setting a boundary: I'm unwilling to start the week with dirty laundry. Ordinarily boundaries are a growth area for me. I can set them, and yet by the time I realize I needed to, it feels a little late, and the boundary-setting words sometimes come out a little too strongly. Today, everyone's needs helped me find my own space and quiet thinking time. The sward that usually cuts through all this business is the magical prioritized list. I need one today, and my boundaries have given me the thinking time to get started.

In addition to all the other to-do's, also on my mind are: Putting together three classes for our district this summer, actually make it four (a tech. class, a classroom management class, an assessment literacy class, and an independent study/coaching class). Also, I'd like to begin writing some articles for publication in parenting and teaching periodicals, and exploring some teaching abroad possibilities (if any exist) for over the summer. Oh yeah! Then there's the summer classes for our elementary students I'd like to offer: "Global Glogging" The tag might read: Get your galoshes, gear up the grey matter, and do some globe-trotting glogger-style! OK, it needs work, but clearly, there's a lot, too much, going on upstairs in my own grey matter!

How will I ever find the time? I gotta stop typing and make a list. Then maybe the accumulation of resources will reveal itself, and I'll have more time to appreciate it. It's definitely time to start.

2-19-11 8:42 pm The Bike

We looked at a new bike for me today. What a thrill! It's a 2010 Raleigh Venture, a cruising bike. I've wanted to bike to school rather than walk on days when time matters, with out my back hurting from bending over uncomfortably on my old mountain bike.

I'd really like to know, after the mountain bike craze, who all has those uncomfortable things stuffed away somewhere in storage? Maybe other people only buy comfortable equipment. I, however, fell for the craze, regardless of how torturous that thing felt - even when I bought it. My back, the seat, my shoulders, it's made for riding down a mountain side, and I have yet to, and may never, engage in that activity unless I somehow find myself at the top of a mountain, coincidentally with a bike, and a bear starts chasing after me. So, there it hangs in my garage, my Balance Mountain bike with G.R.I.D. (gravity reduction integrated design) engineering, just waiting for some crazed maniac to take it on the kind of spin for which it was designed.

The Balance has been in our painful possession for over a decade. It's time for something new, and this little silver-painted gem, with it's wide seat and upright handle bars fills the bill nicely, and for a nice price too. What about that spending money? If it fills the bill for a car, well, it's quite a deal, and it's good for the environment.

Still, money spend is money out of our wallets and into someone else's. So, giving Harold a hair cut today felt particularly sweet. We began as newly weds, trying to save money. We just kept on doing it. Calculating the amount of money we've saved because I've cut his hair for pretty much our entire marriage, I'm sure we've saved enough to purchase new bikes like the Raleigh, several times over. Let's see: 16 years of marriage multiplied by about 8 cuts per year puts us at about 128 total cuts. If the average cut costs (ed) about $20.00, we've saved about $2,560, if my calculations added up correctly. I think I'm good to buy the bike, and still consider it resource gathering rather than squandering. Maybe we should get one for him too...

2-16-11 9:40 pm Keeping it All Together

Conferences for teachers compare to tax time for accountants. We halt our exercise programs, compromise our diets, put everything aside to make room for a lot of extra hours at work. In the last week I've lost a bag full of cameras and voice recorders, a flip recorder, and today, the piece de resistance, my purse!

My breath left my chest when I realized its absence this evening. We searched the house, the cars, nothing. So at 8:30 I drove back through town, stopping at the few places I'd run errands over the last few days. Called the police to report it missing, and eventually ended up back at school. At the door our night custodian greeted me sternly: "NOW what are you doing back here!?" I stayed at school until midnight one day last week, and she gave me the dickens for staying so late.

Yet when I told her my tale, which she took in soundbites between comments to the officer on the other end of my call, she launched into a mission. And within 30 seconds, somehow magically located my purse. What a relief.

And it shows more than the work of an employee ready to go home. She willingly took my hug as thanks (me, still on the phone with mr. police officer, who treated me so kindly, how can I ever thank him for his compassion? He kept reassuring me, empathizing that he'd experienced this very thing and knew just how awful it felt.)

I always try to appreciate others, and show it through greetings, questions, and listening. Of course I think about smiling, using "and" instead of "but", and look on the bright side of all problems. Tonight my friends and community surrounded me with their love, compassion, and support. These things money cannot buy, and poverty cannot remove. I feel more and more convinced of my power to create a happy life for myself, entirely outside of my paycheck. That feels powerful.

2-13-11 9:19 pm Community and Comments!

Cars! Every Sunday morning as we trek off to church, we navigate a larger-than-originally-planned-for number of parked cars on our street. Old-town Loveland Colorado, at least in our residential areas, boasts fairly wide streets. And, when cars park right up to the block corners, or right up to the driveway entrance, Harold and I sometimes find ourselves lamenting the crowds.

Anne piped up this morning: "Why don't they put in a parking lot? That would solve the problem!" And so we reflected on the implications of that solution. A house sold, razed, and then a lot put in. So much for the residential feel of our area.

That idea nixed, I pondered: What good comes from this, a crowded church in a residential place? Harold commented that neighborhood churches were meant to serve a pedestrian community. And there-in lies at least part of my inspiration for "carless transportation", which, given the weather and our schedule, seems very possible this week - yay! Pedestrian communities serve our health, our environment, and crowd control.

So. The good that comes from throngs of faithful church-goers to our little neighborhood? More customers at our coffee shops maybe? More life and activity around here? I wish them well, and look forward to their bell ringing in the 10 o'clock hour each Sunday. And they seem to care well for their property. In the end. I think we benefit. In the mean time, we need to breathe, and go off to our own church each week. They boast a parking lot and a huge field on which to rest our tired eyes.

And comments! I confess, until tonight reader comments went unchecked, for lack of understanding on my part. This evening I located a link showing all comments. What a find! The kind words from so many friends, well, what to say? I definitely felt loved reading them. This opportunity to freely share feels like the ultimate free speech. It brings us all closer together, and from that we all benefit. Thank you all for commenting. I promise to respond!

2-10-11 8:09 pm Validation

I think validation seems accumulable, if that made-up word makes sense.

We found a new t.v. series we love, "The Big Bang Theory". Who knows where or when it originally aired. Netflix led us to this recent find.

The cast: geeky physicists rent an apartment across the hall from a socially "normal" girl. Leonard takes the role of almost-socially normal, incredibly smart scientist. His friend Raj plays the Indian scientist, who seems entirely unable to speak to women. Howard is a sex-obsessed scientist who overcompensates for is inexperience by smothering women. Penny, the young lady across the hall, leads a "normal", happy life, sans Phd. Sheldon, he plays my favorite character of all.

Sheldon's brilliance makes him the smartest scientist of the bunch. His social ineptitude also surpasses that of his friends. Aside from his lack of social exposure which handicaps his judgement on a regular basis, he suffers from thinking of just about everything, from all perspectives, at every turn. Needless to say, each word, action, and thought comes fraught with bombardment all this thinking brings. And he shamelessly showers this wide thinking on his friends. They love him, in spite of the rain.

My smart-factor seems relatively normal. It's the barrage of multiple perspectives and perpetual thinking that connects me to the character of Sheldon. And therein lies my validation. Someone out there understands, well enough to write about it, well enough to act it out, what too much thinking feels and looks like. And I do it all the time. When we invite someone to dinner, or several someones, I run through the potential experiences of each person scheduled to come to the table, based on as wide a variety of possible outcomes as I feel able, from the time we know about the event, until days after it. Sounds obsessive. Maybe obsessive. Regardless, clearly I am not alone. Thank you "Big Bang".

I feel validated, however artificially; it makes me feel better. My family loves me, and tolerates my, for a better word, worrying. I know how to stop obsessing when necessary. And, still it feels good to see a part of me reflected in a work of art, created by total strangers. It gives me confidence to proceed, just the way I came, a wide thinker.

2-9-11 5:23 pm Blog: The Internet's Front Porch

We accumulate shared thinking when we open up to those around us. It seems so obvious, and then what happens? We keep them to ourselves.

Another follower appeared on my "Followers" list today, making me ecstatic all over again. That sounds ... somehow conceited. Yet rather than that list representing some sort of "flock" for me, it simply represents a wider circle of ... openness. When people read blogs in general I feel a sense of renewed faith.

Faith. The faith feels connected to community. How disconnected we seem, sucked into our 21st century world-wide-web culture. After almost ten years at this house, we know a grand total of three of our neighbors. And those three we hardly see. Somehow in the quagmire of shifting social standards, readers logging on and checking in with others seems almost warm and fuzzy, in a...digital sort of way.

"Digital" sounds cold. Really, what's more personal than our inner thoughts and opinions? Neighbors once sat on front porches trading thoughts and opinions. Maybe blogs are the internet's version of that front porch, except you can live outside the neighborhood and still listen in ... and even contribute to the conversation.

Fortune, and Tomorrow

Blessings. Luck. Fortune. Whatever you call things for which to feel greatful, taking the time to recognize them makes us who we are on a scale reaching from greatful and inspiring to resentful and ... conspiring?

Things for which I feel grateful today:
Anne's smile, getting to work and home safely, having plenty of food to eat, clean water to drink, a warm house in which to sleep, a husband with my best interests at heart, the patience of others, the opportunity to help others, opportunities to build trust. Keeping those points of gratitude in mind inspires me to go back tomorrow, and do it all over again. I hope I make a positive difference in someone's life.

Writing a list of gripes only makes me vulnerable to self-perpetuating negative energy. And the result leaves me in exactly the same place I started: resentful. The question on my mind becomes "How can I avoid those problems tomorrow?" And therein lies a negative seed planted, the assumption that tomorrow will present the same challenges of today, or maybe worse ones.

Ah! I discovered the thing for which I feel absolutely most grateful: the possibility of tomorrow.

1-31-11 Coconut!

I love Altan Brown. Clarification: I appreciate the knowledge he shares on his show "Good Eats". Until today, my favorite factoid included his caution that regardless of cooking time or temperature, wine contains trace amounts of alcohol. This impacted our family steak au jous recipe for the better, in regards to Anne. Alcohol, I feel, needs to remain absent from her diet until her brain develops more fully. Interestingly, pomegranate juice works surprisingly well instead of the wine. For that happy discovery I claim the credit.

Today I feel grateful for a new discovery, thanks to Mr. Brown. A little background first: Sometime in my early teenage years my parents brought home a whole, hairy, brown coconut from the grocery store. They devised some method of slicing off bits of the white flesh to eat using a knife. Knife and coconut in hand, while watching t.v., I managed to slice my coconut, along with a small portion of the tip of my left index finger. A tiny crescent scar remains.

So my interest piqued when Mr. Brown, in his customary methodical manner, demonstrated safe removal of the meat of a coconut:

1. Pierce the eyes of the nut with hammer and nail
2. Bake in the oven at some high temperature for a while
3. Remove
4. Allow to cool
5. Whack at it with a hammer
6. Peel the meat away from the shell.

OK, I employed the use of a butter knife on that last step. And it worked, beautifully. Now, sitting on a cookie sheet atop our stove, filling our kitchen with its sweet, warm aroma, tempts my lovely, peeled-and-sliced coconut. Anne and I love it!

Something about possessing the knowledge of how to do things for myself feels exciting. Like a child now able to tie my own shoes, I feel happy to go forth in the world, sharing coconut. This gift of knowledge shares easily with others. That seems like resource accumulation for myself and those around me. Ti's better to give...

1-29-11 4:00 pm Readers, and time to write!

Whomever you are, thank you! Four people follow this blog now, and three follow several others. What a celebration! So...that's the resource accumulated today.

OK, that and time. At this very moment, as I move along laundry cycles and my Lentil Barley stew sputters away in our crock pot, Harold cleans the kitchen floor, and Anne vacuums her bedroom rug. It's the coolest thing, composed of approximately 1,000, one-inch-in-diameter, 100% spun wool balls in bold earthen colors of goldenrod, pumpkin, plum, cranberry, robin's-egg blue, and black. Those little fuzzy mounds grab dust and dirt quite efficiently. Anyway, we're all contributing to the household chores, and the resulting time means I can do this - write!

16 years of perfecting balanced domestic chores, 11 years of parenting, and almost 40 years of getting to know myself back the entire system. 67 cumulative years to a peaceful, clean home...this week. I feel slightly guilty pecking away at the keyboard while everyone else puts elbow grease into our home. And yet...

As if I don't do enough, let's see: christmas cards to both sides of the family, all the laundry, the cooking, daily homework and instrument practices and lessons coordination, meal-planning, decorating for each season (my family - they're sad without the bunny wreathe, Christmas tree, Valentine's basket, birthday streamers, etc., whereas I could do without almost all of it), family gift-purchasing for both sides, family social calendar coordinating, vacation planning, cleaning the kitchen and laundry appliances, windows, and gardening.

Yes, it's a lot, but for the most part, those are the chores I most enjoy, and the rest of the family suffers without them. I know, I've tried letting those go somewhere along the path, with rather disastrous results. For instance, I can tell you that dissassembling the tree on December 26th brings with it a dark cloud over my husband fully until New Year's Eve. It's simply not worth it, and ultimately, unneccessary.

With all of us contributing to routine household chores, we have more time for other things: spelling bees, orchestra practice, lunch with friends, brewing, connecting with family, reading, relaxing, and planning for more fun. Sounds simple, certainly, and it is. We enjoy living together this way. A clean kitchen floor looks more appealing after our own efforts made it happen. We've had cleaning help in the past. I found myself scrutinizing her work. After I found out her nine-year-old daughter did most of the scrubbing, we ended our arrangement immediately. Anyway, these last ten years cleaning on our own have given us opportunities to work and grow as a tighter team, and that results in, as I was saying, more time.

Today, for instance, a good friend of mine and I enjoyed a two-hour lunch together. We caught up on the last six months, made snow-shoing plans for the next few weeks, and supported one another in the kind of conversation you can only have with someone else in a very similar life situation as your own. Our time together filled my social-networking cup, reenergizing me for the other parts of my life. And, (here's the icing), when I came home Anne had completed two of her three "necessaries" today, sans nagging. Beautiful.

So we played Scrabble. She out-scored me. She out-scored me by coming up from behind which required gumption, smarts, and strategy. I love it when she wins. So, of course, does she. And then she patted me. "It's OK mom, you were so close!" What a love!

A tight team. That's what our family operates as at this point in time. I feel more than fortunate. I'm gratified for the efforts we've expended to make it all happen. Today, it feels absolutely worth it. I love the time afforded for me to write. And when I need to spend extra hours at work, my family understands. Harold often comes home after seven in the evening, so he really gets it. And Anne, she simply blesses us with her patience and creativity. And we dote on her every chance we get. We talk, walk, problem-solve, tell jokes, play games, and watch movies. We interact, and she's now independent enough to take care of herself in small amounts of time.

Parenting, marriage, and family all consume ever-so-much-more effort, time, and thought than doe-eyed lovers think at the outset. Today, 16-plus years later it feels worth everything. Every tear, every hurtful word, every contraction, every cross-country move, every fissure we ever felt required healing makes us stronger. And now here we are, three relatively happy, healthy people living cooperatively together. That's a blessing.

1-27-11 5:29 pm Height

A growth-spurt changed our plans this evening. Spending quality time with Anne for a bit early tonight felt like a top priority. And now there she lies, reading, snacking, and just resting on the couch. I think she grew a full inch just today.

In her first year I could tell when Anne was growing. She'd eat and sleep for days at a time. That was it. I'd wait for her to want to play, interact, and those energies would be usurped by the growing. She could barely manage to talk after school today. I began feeling guilty: I'd stayed too long at school, she just needed to get home, etc. And then with our things packed, ready to head out the door, food detoured us. Actually, it turned out to be the perfect destination. That child, after scrambled eggs and two pieces of toast for breakfast, a sandwich, apple and cheese stick for lunch, a water bottle, and crackers for snack, felt famished. Who knew?

So, we stopped and she ate, thanks to a good friend at school. Then we got in the car, me seriously considering stopping at Good Times on the way home, as she continued to ask for food. Then in the back seat, one mile into the trip, guess who slept in restful splendor? My much-taller-now baby. Upon entering the house, after a pit-stop, she crashed on the couch. I just kept bringing her things: a blanket and pillow, crackers and a water bottle, two books. She kept rewarding me with puppy-dog eyes and "I love you, Mom!" - quiet, gratitude-filled, powerful declarations.

She's still obligated to instrument practices, homework, and a nominal chore, maybe setting the dinner-table. These token moments today simply pay homage to routines and build confidence. I want "growth-spurts" to seem manageable for her; she has more to go, I feel sure. Her getting used to this seems prudent.

Today we gained a taller daughter. We reaffirmed the kind of trust caring for someone earns. Maybe we made a deposit in our "love" account. I hope so. At any rate, I guess I also gained a little unexpected time. She continues to rest on the couch.