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I’m a Fool for April

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April first and I made it through the whole day without being fooled once. I have to admit I kind of missed the silly attempts my students used to make to try and trick me.  “Your shoe’s untied, Miss Cindy”, “There’s a spider in your hair!”,  or their favorite rubber snake on my desk trick.  Of course I always had to act the fool for them (it really wasn’t too hard), but I didn’t mind because the sound of their “April Fools” and laughter filled this foolish ole teacher’s heart with joy.

It’s hard for me to believe but April also marks the year anniversary of my writing this blog. The journey began last year at this time with my involvement in Kevin Cordi’s Poetry Box Project and has continued to be an avenue for me to do what I love, write!

April is also special because it is officially designated Poetry Month. In honor of that, a storyteller I admire, Granny Sue, posted that she was going  to write a poem a day throughout this month and not only that, she also challenged her readers to do the same.  I have decided, foolish as it may be, to accept her challenge.  Maybe you’d like to join us “April Fools” too, and let your inner poet shine! I hope you do!

April 1, 2015

Unexpected Blessings

A card, a gift,

A wave or a smile

Lift our spirits

For quite a while.

A touch, a wink,

A warm embrace

Help to ease

The trials we face.

A photo, a prize

A laugh or a tear

Unexpected Blessings

Wish us to persevere.

 

 

56 Year Old Dreamer?

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When You Wish Upon a Star

When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you

If your heart is in your dream
No request is too extreme
When you wish upon a star
As dreamers do

Faith is kind
She brings to those she loves
The sweet fulfillment of
Their secret longing

Like a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through
When you wish upon a star
Your dreams come true

When we are young we all have dreams, goals, and longings. But what about now? I’m almost 56 years old. Are my dreaming days over? For a while I thought so, until I retired, that is, and now I have time to contemplate. Recently, I’ve begun to let a dream or two creep back into my mind and now my heart has joined in. Tiny flickers like stars in the summer sky waiting to ignite.

Unfortunately, accompanying these “flights of fancy” is an insistent voice that whispers things like “you’re too old”, “it will never work”, you’re not good enough” in an attempt to douse the flames of hope and excitement before I even give them a chance to shine.

I’d like to believe ole Jiminy Cricket, that making dreams come true is as easy as wishing on a star. Life has taught me however, that wishing and dreaming are the easy parts. It takes work and dedication to make them come true and sometimes even then they don’t. I’ve found it way too easy to just give up on dreaming and now I find that it’s uncomfortable for me to acknowledge these new desires of my soul. It’s much easier for this procrastinator to do just that. I love the quote; “Procrastination is the killer of dreams.” How true I’ve let that be for me!

Writing this post is my first step in giving myself permission to dream again and not just dream but to do everything I can to make my dreams come true. I will have to battle my worst enemy….myself. I’ll have to DO instead of just think. I’ll have to believe. I’ll have to risk failing. I’ll have to find ways to” fan the flames” until the burning desire in my heart is greater than the fear in my head. And maybe, just maybe tonight I’ll go outside, look up, and “wish on a star as dreamers do”….. just in case Jiminy’s right.

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Dare to believe
Realize it’s time to try
Envision success
Avoid Procrastination
Make it happen
Cindy

I hope to keep you up to date on my journey of following a dream. I would love to know what your dreams are! Feel free to share with me by leaving your comments.

It’s Time

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It’s time…..past time really.  For what you ask?  For taking down my hummingbird feeder for the year.  I’ve been diligently watching and waiting for an empty feeder, however, it hasn’t happened because there is one lone straggler.  I’m not sure why he’s staying behind.  Maybe he feels safe here, maybe it’s my special nectar recipe he’s become accustomed to, or maybe he feels weak and needs to build up his strength for the long trip that awaits him.  Whatever the reason, he’s here, he’s hungry, and I’m doing my best to help him prepare to be on his way.

I too, am a lingerer.  To me, the biggest benefit of retirement so far has been being able to take my mornings slowly.  I relish leisurely sipping my coffee, nectar if you will, and then refilling my cup as many times as I want.  Casually remaining in my PJ’s instead of quickly getting dressed is refreshing.    I’ve dreamed of this languid life and staying behind while the rest of the world rushes off is a great gift.  Maybe my hummingbird friend has discovered this too.

There’s a danger to being a lingerer though.  For the hummingbird, tarrying can literally mean life or death.  For me, the peril is the life or death of my dreams. Living a fulfilling, meaningful life or dying in my procrastination and hesitation.  I have an inner creative, kooky side but for most of my life I’ve stifled the ideas and plans that have emerged from that part of me.  I vacillate and put off acting on them letting opportunities and experiences flitter away.  Oh, I develop those ideas in my mind.  I spend time with them but when it comes to taking off with them, I linger.  Fear shouts that I will look foolish, complacency reminds me that change is hard, and insecurity whispers that I’m not good enough.  I remain hungry for the journey I could have and should have taken.

For the first time in many, many years I have the opportunity to pursue some of those postponed dreams and create some new ones, too.  I’ve remained at “the feeder” long enough. God has gifted me with what I need and my life experiences have taught and prepared me to move ahead.  With the help and support of those around me and lots of prayer, it’s time….past time really, for me to be on my way and fly!

Dippity Doo and Red Hair Too

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“Burr Head”, “Bozo”, “Brillo Pad”……..just a few of the names I’ve been called, none of which mind you, I’ve particularly ever cared for. They are names I was called because of the curly hair that grows in a ball on my head…..my nemesis for life! Oh how I have suffered because of it! Let me just enlighten you to life with naturally curly hair.

When I was elementary school age my mom didn’t know what to do with my wiry stuff so she did what any mother would do. She had it cut off. I’m talking short! So short in fact, that I was often mistaken for a boy. I have a vivid memory of being in fifth grade and sent to pick something up at the shoe repair store. The nice gentleman behind the counter politely said, “What can I do for you today, son?” I immediately burst into tears and ran from the store. The poor man.

Then came Junior High. It was the 70’s and all the cool girls had long straight hair. Not me! Oh I tried…..every night I would smear “Dippity Doo” all over my stubborn curls and then cover the slimy mess with a tight cap. Each morning was the same sad story. I would go to the mirror only to find that as I removed the cap, stiff, crunchy curls would pop up all over my head. In my preteen mind it was the end of the world. As my thirteenth birthday approached I wanted only one thing, a fall, a hairpiece that attached to my hair giving me long, flowing, straight locks. I begged and begged and when the day arrived with great anticipation I opened my present. There before me was the most beautiful long hair I had ever seen and it was all mine! As you can imagine I put it right on, added a wide headband to cover where it attached, and modeled for my unimpressed younger sisters (who both have straight hair, by the way). Sleep came hard that night as I pictured over and over how stylish I would look the next day with my new long hair. Alas, again I have a vivid memory of Anthony Powell (yes I still remember your name if you’re out there) walking innocently up behind me at the bus stop, grabbing a handful of my lovely locks and yanking with all his might. As you might have guessed, he ripped the fall right off my head along with a nice chunk of my real hair too. Bursting into tears again, I ran home my dreams of fitting in dashed once more.

During High School and College my stubborn hair took on a life of its own as I attempted to grow it out, hoping the weight of it would pull out some of the curl.  It grew out alright.  Out, up, sideways, just not down.  Like a Chia Pet the sphere of hair got larger and larger around while the curls were…well, curly. No hair gel could tame them. No hairstylist could style them.  No more tears or running away.  I surrendered.  Instead of fitting in I sort of stood out…..not in a good way either.

Fast forward to motherhood.  I was teaching, had two small children, volunteering, and didn’t have time for my crazy hair so I did what any mother would do.  I cut it off.  I’m talking short. Elementary school short.  My friend the hairdresser will tell you that she never thought I would return after she followed my directions to scalp me.  I look back on those pictures now (as do my children) and wonder what in the world I was thinking. The truth is  I had no time to try to be fashionable and fitting in took a back seat to being uncomplicated and quick.

The cycle has continued through the years.  I grow out the mop and then cut it off.  Grow it out and then can’t stand the poodle ears and cut it off again.  In desperation to do something with the diabolical, graying poof on my head, I decided to tap into my hidden wild side and dyed my locks red.  I’ve had several shades of red…..cherry cola red, Lucille Ball red, I even went so far to dye the front of my hair a bright, wear your sunglasses, red.  Unfortunately, I didn’t think it through first and afterward realized that not only did I have to go to school the next morning like that but I was also about to go on a trip with three of my friends.  You can imagine the stares they endured as people around us wondered why three normal teachers would travel with some woman who had a “FarmAll Tractor red” streak across her forehead. One man told me I had stood out in the rain too long and was starting to rust…..oh the shear horror of it all!  On a positive note, they didn’t lose me in the crowd.  I was hard to miss. Much to her relief, I shed THAT red just in time for my daughter’s bridal shower.

This past summer I realized that every time I looked at a vacation picture of myself my comment was always the same, “that hair”.  So once again, this past week I had it cut off.  Not only did I cut it off I also tried a new color.  I’m now a brunette (with a little red showing through).  It’s taking some getting used to but both the cut and color are growing on me.  More than that though, I have started to realize that for 50 years or so I’ve tried to control something that can’t be controlled.  It’s been frustrating, disappointing, agonizing, embarrassing, and so much more!  I wish I could go back and tell my younger self how much easier life could have been if I’d just embraced who I was, who God designed me to be.  I was born with and meant to have curly hair.  It makes me sad that for so long I have fought against myself and I can now see that it has carried over into other areas of my life.  I like control!  I need control!  I do not like to feel out of control!  Guess what?  Just like my hair, life can’t be controlled and trying feverishly to do so elicits in me the same feelings that fighting my hair has. It’s also occurred to me how self-centered and prideful worrying about my hair has been.  I mean truly, who cares what my hair looks like except me?  I want to shed more than the red.  I want to let go of all the insecurities I have felt about myself for so many years.  I want to feel comfortable in my own skin. (or should I say hair?)  I want to accept that I’m never going to have, the perfect body, the perfect life, or the perfect hairstyle and be ok with that.  I don’t know what it is about this new cut that has made me realize that it’s time to get to know my true self, hair and all.  But I do know that a trip to the hairdresser has opened my eyes and heart to the understanding that we can either cry and run away from who we are or we can shake loose those false expectations and stiff control, run our fingers through our hair letting it finally fall naturally, freeing ourselves to be exactly who we are supposed to be and love it!

 

The Story of My Life

The Story of My Life

Scoop’in Frogs

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Scoop'in Frogs

Scoop’in Frogs

Well, I had a new experience this week.  Something I’ve never done before.  What was it you ask?  For the first time ever (and maybe last) I scooped dead frogs, eight to be exact, out of my daughter’s pool. Now, I’ve had the reputation as “the teacher who loves frogs” and it is true, I loved to decorate with frogs, but touching them?….that’s another story….AND a fact I never let the kids know.  So, to see motionless frogs with their little arms stretched out, floating on the clear pool water was just a little disconcerting for me.  Wanting to be a helpful mother however, I ignored my squeamish stomach, bravely grasped the pool net, scooped those bloated, gelatinous amphibians out of the water and launched them over the fence where they plopped right onto their final resting place.  I’m sure that wasn’t the plan they had when they jumped into the cool, evening water.

I don’t know what caused the demise of those poor frogs.  Chlorine maybe or smothering under the solar cover.  Whatever it was wouldn’t have happened though if they hadn’t been somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. How like us humans is that?  We see something we want and ignoring the consequences we dive right in after it.   Food?  Relationships?  Spending?  The list goes on and on and it’s different for all of us.  We’ve all been there.  We want what we want.  Just like bugs to a light or frogs to a pool, we leap in head first after the bright and shiny, rich and juicy, attractive and available ignoring common sense or the voice of reason setting off alarms in our heads.  At that split second before impact we sometimes realize things might not be as they seemed, but it’s too late.  Splash! We are in over our heads.

I’m also curious why the frogs wandered to the swimming pool in the first place when there is a beautiful stream flowing nearby.  Were they misguided by the notion that what they had wasn’t good enough or did they blindly follow the frog crowd? Whatever the reason they’d been better off staying where they belonged.  We too, often overlook our blessings and presume that we deserve more.  Listening to popular culture we are led to believe there is a better way than our way.  I have fallen for these mistruths more times than I’d like to admit.  For example, while focusing on what I wish to weigh I have forgotten to be thankful for the food I have.  When worrying about whether my clothing is in style or the right brand I lack gratitude for my full closet. And so on and so on.  Wanting more leads to wanting more until we can become so weighted down with our wants that we sink in despair.  It is a lesson I need to take to heart and wish I could have learned sooner!

As fall quickly approaches I am challenging myself  to not wait until November but to have an attitude of Thanksgiving NOW! I am going to purposely look for blessings in everyday things. I want to express gratitude to those who are “hopping” along this journey with me.  I want to embrace who I am and where I belong.

Scoop’in frogs again isn’t in my future anytime soon but I am going to try to scoop up blessings until my net overflows. What about you? Have you thought about having an “attitude of gratitude”? Now’s the time!  Jump on in the water is fine! (if you’re not a frog that is)

Preparing for the Climb

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My First “Small” Summit

It’s been a tough week.  School started and I wasn’t there.  For the first time in thirty-three years I didn’t decorate my classroom with colorful frogs, prepare fun opening day activities, or pick out a “first day of school” outfit.  I am done, finished…….retired.  I fully expected to feel happy and free but instead I feel disconnected and at loose ends.

Life is not static.  Changes come like the rise and fall of the mountains.  Just when we sigh a breath of relief on the downhill side another slope ascends before us.  Right now I feel like I am facing Spruce Knob, the highest point in West Virginia.  I can’t see what waits for me on the other side and the climb seems difficult, my footing unsure .  I am reminded that it is in exactly these times that faith propels us to the top.  It is faith that helps us take that first step, faith that whispers “don’t look down”, and faith that assures us that we’re almost there.

When I focus on ME and try to control the climb, I stumble every time.  But when I concentrate less on my own effort and more on “The Guide” the rise to the summit seems possible.  Now, I am not there yet but I am “in training”.  Taking baby steps and scaling small peaks is preparing me for the precipice that is this new life of mine. We all face cliffs and crags in our lives, but remembering to cling to “The Rock” helps us face those challenges and the unknown without the fear of falling.  Let’s shout that from the mountaintops!

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Dive On In

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Diving Pelican

Diving Pelican

One of my favorite things at the beach are the pelicans. There’s just something about them.  They are large, majestic birds that fly with such a grace and beauty. The expressions they wear, so wise.   I simply can’t keep from looking up at them whenever they fly overhead. (yes, I know the dangers all too well, but I still can’t take my eyes off of them).  It is amazing to watch as they seemingly skim the tops of the ocean waves barely moving their wings as they sail down the coast.  I am enthralled most though, with a pelican’s precision, determination, and courage as they dive for food!  First, it scans the sea from high above somehow sensing where fish swim below.  Then, stopping mid-air, the pelican turns it’s body into a perfect dive position, freezing in the exact spot for a split second, and then at high speed, plunges head first into the foamy waters below.  Amidst the splash and waves, up comes the pelican with a gulp and he is off again to continue on to the next course of his meal.  The rise and ebb of the waves don’t deter them.  The loud cries of nearby seagulls don’t distract them from their goal.  They simply do what they set out to do, without hesitation,  as many times as it takes to fulfill their need.

You would think after all the years I’ve watched pelicans I might have learned a thing or two from them, but it wasn’t until this past respite on the shore that I began to see the lessons they have to share.  Being at any new place in the journey of life, retirement for me, is exciting but it’s also scary.  People keep asking me how I’m going to fill my time.  I smile, and tell them something will come along.  Oh sure, I have dreams, plans, and schemes,  but the question is, am I brave enough, determined enough to go “head first” after them? You see that’s the thing about me and maybe with you too, I don’t like the unknown and I don’t like to fail.  These traits don’t often lead to our goals and dreams being realized.   I think my pelican friends have been showing me that it’s time to set my sights on something and plunge right in!  Sure, the waters may get rough and I might not always find what I set out to find but with faith, I can rise up and dive again.  It’s an important lesson I need to put into action!  I’ve spent most of my life afraid to try new things: foods, roads, relationships, activites….the list goes on and on.  I have allowed my dreams to be drowned out by my own cries of insecurity which has left a sinking feeling in my heart.   No more!   I’m sensing God leading me to new hopes and dreams and a braver, maybe little wiser me rising up.  I no longer want anything to hold me back, mid-air if you will. So, armed with my new “pelican lessons” I think I’m finally ready to get into position and without hesitation DIVE ON IN!

 

Simple Love Notes

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It took six days but I finally have my classroom cleaned out of 32 years of saving, creating, collecting, and reusing stuff!  It only took five or six wheelbarrow loads a short trip to the dumpster and a LONG walk down memory lane.  Deep in the corners of drawers, cupboards and shelves I found trinkets, artwork, and gifts I have received through the years.  Precious things that a teacher just cannot throw away.  Amongst these treasures were a variety of love notes from former students.  Some scribbled on scraps of paper.  Others drawn with crayons or markers and the paper filled with colorful drawings.  Reading those forgotten notes brought back vivid memories of children I taught who are now adults with children of their own as well as students I have had more recently.  Many letters had no name on them to identify the writer just the words “I love you” in a child’s print, but I saved them all just the same.

The offering of love is a precious gift. One that we should all freely give.   Children seem to understand this better than we adults.  Four little words,  You’re the best teacher”, scribbled on  the back of an old wrinkled spelling test years ago, filled me with such joy when I received it and again when I uncovered it last week.  Six words…..”I wish you were my mother”.  Three words….”I love you”.  It seems so simple….feel something and express it, but we know that giving love is risky.  We might be hurt or made fun of.  The feeling may not be returned.  We can think of many reasons for not opening our hearts to others.  It seems easier just to keep it to ourselves.

After experiencing the overwhelming warmth of love I felt as I read each note I found, I’m determined to be braver and more willing to show others how I feel about them.  Maybe it will be through a smile, a hug, a gift, or who knows, even through a love note.  It doesn’t have to be elaborate.  It doesn’t have to be planned.  It just simply has to be shared.

Before I started cleaning out my classroom, I promised myself (and my husband) that I wouldn’t bring too much home with me.  I must confess though, that I could not bring myself to throw away those precious acts of love I had been so freely given.  I tucked them away in a special box to be gone through again when my heart needs reminding about the wonderful power of a simple love note.

A Simple Love Note

A Simple Love Note

Count Down To Retirement~Day 5

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Well let’s see, since I last posted,  I’ve ridden a school bus for my final class field trip, cheered through my last Field Day, and today, graded the last set of papers of my career.  I have to be honest.  I won’t miss field trips, field days, or grading papers too much and yet it makes me melancholy just the same. As I reflect on that, I guess even though they weren’t my favorite things about being a teacher, they are still part of the job. As with anything, you take the good with the bad and if you’re lucky the good outweighs the bad.  I’ve been very lucky.

For the last 32 years I have been honored to work with the most wonderful teachers and staff.  Our school has been a place of support, cooperation, and encouragement for our students and each other.  My fellow teachers have been my sounding board, shoulder to cry on, and at times the voice of reason that I needed.  I truly couldn’t have made it this far without them.  I’ve tried to figure out a way to let them know what they mean to me but have decided it’s impossible.  How do I put into words all the feelings that fill my heart?  First of all, I am an emotional wreck in the best of times. This week will probably be a super storm of feelings for me anyway, so actually saying the words (if I had them) will be virtually impossible.  I only hope that a smile through my tears, hugs that are tighter than usual, and whispered thank yous will convey to them more than just those simple gestures.  I hope it will let them know that they are blessings in my life and have given me the best gift anyone can receive.  They have turned a school into so much more…..a place to turn to when I am troubled, a place to share my joys, a place of protection, a place of inspiration, a place to laugh, and a place to grow.  The good has abundantly outweighed the bad. I may have been a teacher for 32 years but I have learned more from my school family than they’ll ever know.  And for that, I am eternally grateful.  Yes, I have been VERY lucky!

Hands

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imageOur month with the Poetry Box was quickly coming to an end and I needed one more actvity for the last Friday.  My co-teacher Leslie handed me that idea and it was a fun one!  We created Watercolor Poems.  The students chose a color and brainstormed ideas about what that color looked, smelled, sounded, tasted, and felt like.  They then put their ideas together and created a poem.  Once in the cafeteria on brightly clothed tables the poets/artists went to work.  They wrote their poem on watercolor paper, drew pictures around the outside of the paper to illustrate their poem, and finally painted their pictures in their chosen color.  The room was filled with quiet chatter and the sound of brushes being swirled in cups of water.  It was beautiful!  My favorite part of these Friday get-togethers has been hearing the words, “Miss Cindy, come read my poem!”  Music to this teacher’s ears and joy for my soul!

I love how the picture above turned out.  When I sat down to go through my photos I realized I had taken several of just the children’s hands.  They resonated with me and once I put them together I knew it was the way it was supposed to be.  These are pictures of hands gently creating beauty, hands unsure at first, gaining more confidence, and hands helping and guiding other hands.  A moment captured in time with my camera that expresses what our lives should express.   When we reach out and give encouragement, support, comfort, and love with a touch of our hand, we are giving a priceless gift to those who receive it.  I’ve found though, that it is a gift that returns to the giver as well.  Using our hands to create a beautiful connection with someone, to reassure another who lacks confidence, or to gently guide a person who is feeling lost and alone toward the bright color of friendship, is when we are truly doing God’s work.  Bill Withers said it best in his song, “Lean on Me”. He sang, “You just call on me brother, when you need a hand, we all need somebody to lean on.”  Whether in the school cafeteria, our workplace, out in the community, or inside our home we have the ability to reach out and touch someone in a way no one else can.  When we do lend a hand, we create a moment where pain, sorrow, and problems are made lighter.    Is there someone who needs to lean on you today? Just reach out your hand, “tell them you understand and help them carry on,”  because lending a hand adds color where there is dark, melody where there is quiet, and verse to this poem called life.