something

Today's the last day of slicing, and, for the sake of closure, I'm making myself write....something.... anything.

So here goes...

I didn't do a very good job this year. I've written, but haven't shared. Not on my blog, and not on social media, I didn't know how. Recent events have left me emotionally paralyzed? No, paralyzed is not correct. I can and do feel emotions. Indescribable emotions... emotions I don't know how to express

So for now, I'll leave you with this...I know it's not much, but it's something... and for the moment, it's the best I can do. 'Til next time. xoxo

                                                

(March 4th, 2020) On my way back from patrol duty, I suddenly found myself struck by the beauty of an "ordinary" moment, (thus this photo). What I didn't know is HOW beautiful this moment actually was. If you look real close you can see our students bustling into the school. Missing all of my #143 peeps, and can't wait til our beautiful "ordinary" moments return.... ♥️

Nothing's normal

We're all in this together, I think, watching the first graders line up at the exit door.

Little bodies scramble to find their spot. Hugging their books, they giggle, smile, and excitedly wave their goodbye's.

"See you at lunch time."  I announce with a big grin, pretending everything's normal.

But nothing is normal!

.NCAA Tournament canceled
.NHL suspends season
.MLB to halt Spring training
.St. Patrick's Day Parade in Chicago 'postponed'
.President Trump bans Europe flights
.Chicago-area schools closing
.Hand sanitizers, bleach, and toilet tissue cannot be found

the list goes on...

I have fifteen minutes..

I try to write 
But my thoughts dissipate before I can share.  

I breathe... trying to indulge in the solitude of the moment... 

Sunlit, spacious, safe, and serene, I love this place!

"Ding!" the incoming email interrupts my thoughts. 

"How to access Google Classroom at home", it reads.

Nothing is normal!

I swallow the angst before it can rise, thankful for the shuffling sound in the hallway. My next class is here.

"Hi Mrs. Mitchell", the student's voice lifts up my spirit

I respond with a smile and wipe down the tables as they walk in the door.

Clean surfaces will help, I think.

I hope to keep them safe until the day things are normal again.

Hoping that things will be normal soon.

pretend it away

I listen to the news,

I try not to hear it.

I skim through the Internet, 

I try not to read it.

I chat with my friends,

I try not to discuss it.

I feel the panic,

I try not to absorb it. 

I'm aware of it's name, 

I try not to acknowledge it.

I try to act as though it doesn't exist

I try with all my might to pretend it away.  

Betrayal

What constitutes betrayal?  How does one know they've actually been betrayed? 

Deep blacks and bright whites exist only in my mind.

Searching for truths veiled in smoky shadows of gray

Filtering through remnants of truths once ignored

dispersing the haze

revealing the lies

I trusted you! I trusted you! 

I trusted you as much as I knew how to trust!

I do not trust you now!

It hurts

but I will survive

the bitter sting of betrayal. 

The gift of perfection...

My senses soar as I  breathe in the early morning air. Crisp, clean, fragrant, holding the promise of spring, 

My heart smiles. 

I watch intently. Chittering birds flit from tree to tree, setting a perfect backdrop for mother nature's ,(soon to be), glorious show.

And then it happens...

Muted skies burst into a symphony of firy colors, welcoming the new day

I stand frozen, 

Breathlessly trying to hold on to the magic  before it slips away.

Feverishly I write, an attempt to capture the purity of the moment.

I fail, but do not despair.

My fingers continue to fly accoss the keyboard. 

I say thank you! 

Dawn is the gift of perfection. 

It's only fear..

“Fear is only as deep as the mind allows.”

— Japanese Proverb

It was time!

Time to face the very demons she's tried to avoid her entire life.

It will be hard!

Yes, she's forgiven them, or has she?

and will that be enough?

Her heart races, her gut screams,Be careful! You're treading on dangerous territory!

The snakes that are fear coil at her feet, their venomous tongues flicking furiously as they wait to be fed...

discomfort grows

turmoil ensues

her resolve begins to fade

But wisdom prevails

She refuses to be consumed...

not this time

It's only fear

"It's time do this", she says with a confidence she's never known, "We've got important things to discuss." 

Dismissing her fear, this time she knows she'll succeed.

  

  

Mastering the art...

Hmmmm.....I've been tossing around ideas for hours.

Should I write something deep and throught provoking?

Should I write something light and humorous?

I begin to write

draft after draft

No, too deep!

No, too cheesy!

No! No! No!

Wait! Finally, I've got it!

I think I'll write a  compelling slice on the controversial art of procrastination...

Tomorrow!!!

A story I cannot tell....

The story is true but not for the faint of heart. For that reason, I barely speak of it, even in my dreams.

Her tormented eyes still plague me, fragmenting my soul with images; refusing to let me forget. It's over now, but that's not the end of her story. In fact, it is only the beginning of a tale so haunting it's much too painful to write. I must find a way...

Will my heart ever find the words?


Once upon a time there was this lady...

To be continued...

Riddikulus

She stands alone, realizing it's now or never. She's ready. Life's been preparing her for this moment since the day she was born. The hard lessons have fortified her strength. 

Today, she marches into the battlefield, armed with the power of knowledge and determination, awaiting her adversaries undeterred. Her heart beat quickens,  excitement fills the air....

As she faces her fears for the very first time, she smiles! heir not that scary at all! 

Riddikulus!

Embracing the messy side....

It's not for lack of trying!! I continually strive to be more like my calm, collected, perfectly organized, "annoyingly" logical, left brain friends. If only I could be more like my them... I dream... I envision...I emulate ... only to have the other side emerge....

It's not that the other side is bad, it's just different.... More chaotic, more passionate, more heated! It's the side of me that is obsessive and compulsive, and fun. It's the side that can spend hours on end searching, reading, writing, drawing, plotting, or praying. It's the side of me that gets overly excited, takes everything to heart, and is capable of loving and hating the very same person at the very same time. It's my artistic side, my sensitive side, the side that will listen intently one day, and barely hear the next. It's the side I am always trying to improve and forever trying to defend.


It's messy!

I think too deeply, care to deeply, love too hard , get angry too often. I forgive, but never forget, and sometimes I only "think" I forgive.....

It's exhausting! 

Oh, how I admire the logical, organized, decisive peeps that live in my world. How I envy their apparent ability to glide through life with a sense of serenity I can never seem to achieve. The decision makers, the organizers, the intellectuals who use logic, and never base a decision on raw emotion. The people I can always count when I really need a friend. 

I like to tell myself that one day I'll be more like them,  but after all these years, I don't see that happening. So for now, I'll  work on embracing the messy side. For only then will I be able to embrace the real me. 

A prayer of gratitude

Soft morning sounds rouse me into wakefulness. I stretch, I yawn, I rise, reveling in the precious peacefulness of these predawn moments. I gaze through the window; hoping to remember. The inky blues and muted purples of twighlight meld, seamlessly before my eyes, into radiant golden hues that represent hope to a waking world.

I sigh and whisper a prayer of gratitude, thankful to bear witness to the glorious beginning of a brand new day. 

All she could do...

She sat in silence, her body soaking up the golden rays of the morning sun. 

They needed to talk, but she could only listen.

They were the same she and him, cut from the same cloth she could practically read his thoughts. His stormy eyes flashed in her direction, stabbing her with his despair.

Her instinct was to console him. To touch his shoulder, to coo soft reassuring words, to smooth his tousled curls like she had when he was little.

But she sat in silence, absorbing his pain, wrapping herself in the armor that is motherhood.

The hands of time had shifted her place. With compassionate soul, and thankful heart, she lovingly stepped aside.

She knew he needed to find his way, and all she could do is listen. 

A Strange Request

A strange Request at a Piano Bar

A tiny gasp escapes her lips as the sunlight pierces through the clouds.In a matter of seconds the aged structure is bathed in a bright yellow light, magnifying the deep crevices that mar the faded surface of her grandfather's dream. The, once majestic, Sassafras Lounge.

The sign still hangs, but barely. Beaten by smoke and oxidation. it's remains are a dismal reminder of time's heavy hand and and broken dreams. Now, somber and grey, it looms like a shadow darkening the hollowed windows that mirror the sadness in her soul. 

Juvenile memories flood her mind. Grandpa's twinkling eyes and hearty laughter, his fingers magically flying across the keys of the old mahogany piano. Grandma's enchanting tales of exotic places. Her hands expertly weaving apple red remnants into flowing skirts, and teaching her twirl them to rich ethnic melodies.

She was little then. A child too young to conceive the long term effects prejudice and controversy. But the biting words of the townspeople are still etched in her brain. A carnival, they'd called it. A den of thieves. A den of dirty thieves....
   
"This place, my Mädchen, the music, it was supposed to bring happiness to the people." grandpa whispered, as he watched his world go up in flames. "It was supposed to bring happiness to you..."

The groan of advancing bulldozers jerks her back to reality. The collective buzz of mumbling voices grow as townspeople assemble to witness the curiosity.


Donning a mask of stoicism she grips the walnut butt for balance and continues her daunting trek up the rocky drive. Slow and awkward, she calculates her final steps. Refusing to allow a sprained ankle or broken heart to get in her way, she makes it to the top.

"Get outta the way, lady!" cries a man in a white hard hat. "You crazy or what?" 

She doesn't answer, and doesn't move. But leaning the smooth butt of shotgun beneath her palm, she waits with anticipation. 

The final outcome, she's decides, will be up to them.  

Another March

Another March
sweet 
exquisite words
beautiful sentiments 
inspiring hearts
evoking tears 

Another March
Perspectives shared
humor 
laughter 
knowledge
teaching
learning together 
from one another

Another March
unbridled emotions
compassionate hearts
new friendships found
old friendships renewed
bonds deepened

Another March 
over and well spent
slicing with a talented circle of friends.

Today I'm in love

So here I am on this rainy morning, sipping coffee, listening jazz, wrapping myself in a warmth that cannot be conveyed. 

Silvery gray flecks of light filter through my  shades, subtle hues, leaving my mind to interpret their emotion.

Gentle droplets transform into tiny pools, reminding me of memories long forgotten.

Laughing, giggling, splashing, loving.

No room for dismal and drab, today, I decide.

Today, I shall choose tranquility and joy.

Today, I'm in love with the rain. 

Gliding (a Haiku)

Gliding on a breeze

through sapphire skies he roams

freedom unconstrained

She is Life

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Clear and cool she remains supreme.
our earth, her playground
she provides.

Pure cascading droplets
transmute into energy before wondering eyes.
sparkling, trickling
splashing, spraying, sprinkling
misting and rumbling, 

She roars.
She rules. 
she reigns.

She is power.
She is water.
She is life.

Her son

They were the same she and him, cut from the same cloth. She could practically read his thoughts. His stormy eyes flashed in her direction, stabbing her with the depth of his despair.

Her instinct was to console him. To touch his shoulder, to coo soft reassuring words, to smooth his tousled curls like she had when he was little.

Instead, she sat in silence, absorbing his pain, wrapping herself in the protective armor that is motherhood.

The hands of time had gently shifted her place, but she didn't fret. For everything was as it was meant to be.

With compassion in her soul and thankful heart, she lovingly stepped aside.

Her son, she knew, would be okay.

After all, he was in the very best of hands. 

And another tear falls

She tosses and turns. Ripping the blanket off her weary body, she flings it into the night. Too hot, too cold.  The PM's she took an hour ago have done nothing to relieve the pounding in her head. The incessant voices continue to wrack her brain with endless agitation. Too exhausted to move, her mind is her prison.

So very very selfish, she scolds herself harshly. You should be ecstatic! What's wrong with you? You're stronger than this! Get a damned grip!

She realizes there's no winning.

Her chastisement only serves to escalate the very guilt she's trying to shirk. 

She had convinced herself she was getting better. 

She replays the events of the last few days. The ups, the downs, the helplessness, the hope. The thirty plus sleepless hours she'd made it through with barely a thought. She had been strong. She had stayed focused. She had done what she needed to do for the sake of their son.

She'd been swept up in the joy and elation with everyone else. 
Like waking to sunshine after a long stormy night, she could feel God's hand as she cradled, for the very first time, their God given angel. 

The angel he should have been here to see. 

Now, as she lay alone in her bed, she allows it to consumes her. The aching loneliness, the familiar feeling of soul gripping gloom.

Why? she whispers, can't you be here with us? 

And why, she wonders, can't I accept that you're not?

Exhausted from fighting a battle she knows she can't win...she gives in.

For it seems that it's in her happiest moments, she finds herself missing him most...

and another tear falls.....

Her eyes tell the story.

It's Monday. 

"I can't find my book", she mutters, sauntering slowly past my desk.

"No problem", I answer as kindly as possible. She does this every week. "Just bring them back whenever you do."

She looks at me, as if waiting for me to say more, but doesn't speak.

She doesn't have to. Her eyes tell the story. 

So young to be so calloused, I think sadly.

Note to self:  Try harder in the future!

It's Friday. 

She slips in quietly placing the overdue book on my desk.

"Awesome, you found it!" I exclaim.

She nods without looking and walks toward the graphic novels.

"How are you doing today?" I ask, hoping to disarm her with a smile.

"Good", she replies halfheartedly. But she's not, not really. Her eyes tell the story.

She searches, I organize....and for awhile we're entrenched in our own private thoughts. 

"Are you doing anything fun this weekend?" I ask finally, attempting to make a connection.

She mumbles, I can't hear her, I ask her to repeat, a little louder, please. She deserves to be heard.

She repeats.

I listen.

Her tone becomes more animated as her plans for the weekend unfold. (A recital, A costumes, A hairdo, Her dad.)

I hear her, really hear her.  She knows.  Her eyes tell the story.

"You'll do great", I encourage her as we walk toward the door. 

I mean it! she knows it! Her eyes tell the story.  


It's Monday

"I remembered my books", she announces, stopping at my desk.

"Awesome!" I grin. My eyes meet hers.  "How was your dance recital?" I remember to ask.

"It was great!" she exclaims, and I know it's the truth. Her eyes tell the story.