Character Counts and Salvador Dali Clocks
When I tell you that I have a backlog of art lessons that I need to write up before they are lost forever, I am not exaggerating! About 6 months ago as I was organizing for a meeting to be able to teach at a local community center, I put together a portfolio for a potential client and found that I had taught close to 300 lessons. This is mind blowing to me that this all began about 5 years ago as a result of seeing the movie "Saving Mr. Banks" and wanting to make sense of the death of my own father, the diminished relationship with my oldest son and this desire to do something different in the form of a legacy to give to my daughter.
Today I sit here in awe of the fact that it is the slow and steady day to day activity that contributed to the type of teacher I am today in the classroom. I am like the cook that can look in the cupboard and see the 4 ingredients and create something that is pretty tasty. I did not believe this thing would ever go anywhere. I was just desperate to put some meaning behind all the pain I was feeling at the time. The pain is still there but the perspective has changed for sure.
Here is the link to the Salvador Dali lesson: CLICK HERE
Character Education with K-6th Grade - The Sun and the Stars
HI everyone,
I am taking this time where I am away from school for these next two weeks to write up the lessons we have done in our kindergarten classroom and at art events these last 20 minutes. Many times I just take a few snap shots of what we are doing to keep the essence of the project. The hard work is when I sit down to document for someone who is not in the room with me. People say to me that they are amazed by what ALL I am able to do with students that are only 5 years old. I say that I give the kiddos pretty high expectations and because they really do rise to the occasion, we are able to do some incredble things like work with acrylic paint and cook together with 20 students. I will try my best to offer as much behind the scenes as I can to help you experience similar success.
These pics are of a couple of character education lessons that I taught with k-6th grade. The first one was a lesson on shining bright in the world. The second one was able how to be a 'star' friend in the world.
The link to the shine bright lesson is HERE and the stars lesson will be available soon.
Soul Stories: Long Afterward I Came up on it Again
Long Afterward, I Came Up
on It Again…
The trees cascade by on
the winding road as we head back home.
Its been a long luxurious day of talking, hiking and skipping rocks with
a pizza lunch thrown in the middle.
25 years ago, I would
have considered myself an avid hiker. I
made my way to the mountains almost every weekend. The mountains felt like a spiritual
retreat. Though I couldn’t tell you what
I needed to retreat from back then.
Mostly it was about fresh air and exercise. I just barely committed to my relationship
with God and it felt pure. Young.
Limitless.
I liked my job as a
retail manager. I was mom to a sweet
little boy and though his dad and I were no longer together, we were amicable
with each other.
But at some point, I
stopped hiking. It began when I got
tangled up with someone who I let take me away from myself. Someone who I gave up my peace for. Hindsight is 20/20. I literally carved something sacred out of my
life to entertain something detrimental.
And I don’t know why. Except
maybe because I thought I was trying to form a life that I was told was
supposed to be the ideal. But honestly,
I really was already living an incredible life.
The hike today was
different from those hikes before. Because
so many experiences are bookended in between.
My heart needed to get back to the mountains. It was different to be in the mountains
today. There was more intention to
it. A recognition of what I had lost. Or should I say carelessly threw away. There is more power this time. The power is defined as rest.
Soul Stories: Write about Small Change
Write about small change.
Life does not seem to fall together in a straight
line. It’s more like chess. Or what I know about chess. Because I don’t know how to play chess. But I think its about strategy. And
Luck. Its sometimes looking like you are
losing and then suddenly seeing a path open in front if you. It’s struggling so long that you forget to
even think about when the struggle is going to end and then realizing you are
past it. It’s losing someone or
something and finding out something about yourself. Its seeing that the win doesn’t even matter
because of what you had to lose to get the win.
I used to think that life was clean. And clear.
Now I know that it is messy and complicated. And has no map. That sometimes multiple choices are equally
good. That there is such a thing as a
‘no win’ situation. That sometimes you
think something it over and then slowly it revives itself. That love does come back. That you really can let go. That you will live and not die. And that some scars that you think will never
heal somehow do. With enough time. And patience.
And release. And quiet.
Soul Stories: Write about the Making of Beds
Write about the making of beds.
Every morning without fail my bed was made. It was a rule in my house. You did not leave your room until your bed
was made. I did not question the
rule. I just made my bed every
morning. When I grew up and moved away
and lived in my own space, I made my bed every morning. I like how it felt to start my day that
way. And intention for the day. A prayer.
Smoothing the sheets, fluffing the pillow, turning down the
comforter. Give us this day our daily
bread. Give me this day what I
need. What did I need?
Stability. Comfort. Peace.
I don’t make my bed much anymore, except sheet washing
days. I married a man who stays in bed.
Longer than I do. Always. So, he makes
the bed. Every day. Without fail.
We have never had a conversation about this. I don’t know what the rule was in his house
as a kid. It was a house full of boys,
so I could assume they had no such rule, but his dad was in the military so
maybe they did have that rule. My dad
was in the military too.
My husband has been in the military for over 20 years
so perhaps that is why he make the bed.
He is a creature of habit and a lot of the ways he handles things are
inspired by those times when he has to be away for months at a time on
deployments. Like the way he folds his
socks or the way he packs for a trip.
Maybe he makes the bed to be helpful.
I know there is something about seeing the bed made
that gives me comfort. Makes me feel
loved somehow. That even in the hardest
seasons of our lives, he makes the bed.
And somehow that act nudges me to see love in it.
This is where I went wrong.
I admire you so much that you look for the jobs that
interest you. I said this to my daughter
in law one time and I truly meant these words.
She worked as a baker’s assistant because she loved baking. She worked at the kennels because she loved
animals. I thought this was so
sweet. A bit naive. Dare I say lucky, I mean I haven’t really
worked at jobs that I hated. Other than
a collections agent but it was kind of a bait and switch situation and I needed
the money, so I stuck it out for 119 days.
Yes, I counted the days. In 10-minute breaks and 30-minute lunch
breaks.
Right now, I am taking classes to become a
paralegal. It feels a bit scandalous.
And indulgent. 50 years old and learning
yet another skill. I have a certification as a life coach, a Montessori teacher
and degrees in business and theology. Yes,
I like to learn but not this much and certainly not with this price tag.
I have looked at this paralegal certification a few
times. I am interested in law. I have been all my life. I don’t remember much about my childhood, but
I remember when I was 8 years old I had one of those little fortune teller
paper games. And I remember one day
choosing the perfect life: 25 years old, driving a jeep, a lawyer in Colorado,
married with 2 kids.
I started the paralegal certification about 2 weeks
ago now. But I am kind of keeping it a
secret. Again, with school, Robin? But the thing is as I am learning all the
legal terminology, it all feels so familiar to me. And memories are starting to come back to me. Like one of my first jobs was at a law firm
as a file clerk. And I got promoted to
legal bookkeeper. But then I got
pregnant with my first child and I needed to make more money. So, I waited,
hoping for a raise. 18 months in and
still no raise. The office manager said
there was a freeze on wages. So, I
started to look for another job. And I
became practical. I now have been
trained in accounting. So, I started
doing accounting jobs. Then I was promoted to supervisor. So, I started taking
on roles as managers.
I got a glimpse of my path again about 20 years
later. While I was at the collections
job, I had plenty of time to think. So,
I looked on Craig’s list and found a job for a law assistant. I applied all
starry eyed and felt the winds of change.
Until the manager reconfigured the position to tax assistant instead of
the promised role of legal assistant.
And then my oldest suddenly got married.
And then my dad suddenly died.
And I was kind of paralyzed. So,
I quit that job and began hobbling something new together. Art. Teaching.
Another wrong turn? Who’s to say.
I don’t know what this next step will look like. I am not assuming the answer is paralegal
because the world is such a different place and this step can mean so many
things. But that talk I had with my daughter in law rings in my head that there
is nothing wrong with doing something you like to do.
Soul Stories: Someone's Playing the Piano
Someone’s playing the piano
ON the eve of my birthday, I wanted to reminisce about
how this life could possibly have spanned 50 years already. My memories of constantly working to make
ends meet either monetarily or emotionally feels insatiable. And relentless. I look up and I see the leisure of others
taking place all around me and I wonder: when is it my turn? Because even the ‘down’ times of my life when
there was no literal workplace to go to, I was working. Scrounging for the morsels to cobble together
so that there was always just enough.
Literally. Just enough,
But something opened up in my life recently. It began
at the end of last year really.
Something about turning 50 awakened me.
Slowly. It was like a march to
50. I planned to go on this amazing
trip. And began to make payments towards
it. Then something happened. With our finances of course. And I had to course correct. But the march continued toward the goal. And then another unexpected twist. A car accident. And something began to bubble to the
surface. Anger. Rage. Enough. Fuck you. This constant scrambling to
the shore collecting shells of joy from the ridiculous remnants of mishaps,
disappointments, broken expectations.
Fuck that. I am going to rent a
cabin. Father’s Day. Yep that is the perfect excuse for renting a
cabin. Looks like its about him. Really its about me. And I sat in that cabin and I read. And I
wrote. And I drank coffee. And I created. Luxuriously.
And now I am hooked.
My birthday is the following weekend. We rent a cabin for the weekend. The military did not pay. Again. It is going on 8 weeks. Waiting on three weeks’ worth of pay. Fuck that.
It costs so much? So, fucking what? 50 years of life. I am going to a mother fucking cabin.
And here I am.
Hooked. On ME. On who God is
making me. On what I have become. ON early sunlight. and fresh air. And wind.
And tress rustling. And coffee. And reading.
And writing. And ME.
Soul Stories: It was Sunday, the time is Happened
It was Sunday, the time is happened…
The cupcakes needed to be made. What did I need from the pantry? Flour, sugar, butter, yes for sure. Cupcakes on a Sunday. For no reason. Or. For so many reasons. To celebrate an awakening. An invitation to do more that just what is
needed. To be more extraordinary in the
ordinary. Cupcakes seems to me to be
just the right amount of cake.
I never let myself have cake. Like EVER.
There is so much guilt tied to it.
I remember eating a piece of cake when I was younger and my mom saying,
“you are going to need to run around the block a few times to get it off.” How old was I? I lived in the house on
Harned. In Detroit. So younger than 12 or 13 I think. The same age that Josey is now. I noticed the other day that Josey has a body
identical to mine. And she is in no way
fat. And this is the body my mom was
talking to.
Soul Stories: This is what you see by Starlight
This is what you can see by starlight
The cares of the day must flee when night falls. You put on your armor to take on all that the
day will hold. The things that came into
your world unexpectedly that made you feel remembered. Or forgotten. Where does your help come from?
You had every intention to do right, to say the right
thing. To let the thing go. But it takes
two and you forget that sometimes. You
realize that though you armor up with tools that help you to fight the battles
of the day, you also have this soft and open heart that betrays you. Because no matter how much you try to respond
in kind to the harshness that comes at you unprovoked, this stupid heart wants
to think that her intentions are good, or he must not understand how what he is
doing affects so many. Hour by hour you
feel the worship, the prayer, the affirmation deposits you placed on this day
being withdrawn from.
You raise your eyes up to…
Where does your help come from…?
But when night falls, you whisper to the things of
this day, “HUSH”
You get quiet and you let the darkness envelop you.
You forgive others and you forgive yourself.
Because in the starlight you see that while your circumstances
are meant to shape you, they do not define you.
IN the starlight, you are
reminded to “HUSH” before the only one who DOES define you.