Falling in Love with Edward Cullen and Other Appetites

I have been a reader for as long as I can remember.  I can recall getting books Christmas morning and finishing them by Christmas night.  Two caveats: I often skimmed the books because I was so excited to find out what happened next, so my comprehension wasn’t necessarily all that hot.  Second, this usually meant I was holed up in some corner reading instead of interacting with my family, which often caused my mom to come snatch me up to join the festivities.  

Some of the titles I read when I was 11 or 12 were quite adult in nature: think V.C. Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic series.  Some were more geared toward young adults (The Incredible Cat Caper), some sophisticated in the science (anything Dean Koontz), and some flat-out creepy (Stephen King, anyone?).  When I think about the books I read when I was in tweendom, I wonder if I truly understood the concepts or if my naive brain just read on the surface level.

I recently read a book about reading in schools, and the premise is that the way reading is presented and “encouraged” in schools is the way to surely kill the pleasure of reading.  I couldn’t agree more.  What was interesting, though, in the beginning of the book was an anecdote he shared about a group of girls reading an article and struggling with it.  The article was about terrorism in the post-9/11 world, and the girls had to answer questions, one of which was about the goals of al Qaeda.  When they called the teacher over to ask for help, they explained that they read the article but they couldn’t answer the one question because they didn’t know who “Al” was.  A perfect example of what I have been coming to believe more and more the longer I read and teach: we get out of literature what we bring to it.


The books I read when I was younger would taste different now.  The horror of a mother locking her children in an attic would leave a bitter aftertaste.  The antics of a would-be preteen detective discovering the identity of a cat burglar would be the lingering sweetness of the penny candy I used to get at the dairy every summer.  A creeping clown hiding in sewers? Acrid on my tongue.

It is not just age, or experience, as was the case with the girls who weren’t familiar with al Qaeda. I believe our emotional states at the time we read a book will render that book powerful enough to knock the wind from us or bland enough to collect dust on the shelf, never to be read again.  Aside: I am an avid re-reader!  There are times when a movie jogs a memory of a phrase, or a TV show reminds me of a plot, or a song elicits the mood of a favorite book, and I quite literally go to my book room to find the book and find the spot... with some of the books, I know them so well I can open to the general area and find it within minutes.  Others take yet another re-reading to get there.


Many people think I am nuts for re-reading, but I so frequently find deeper meanings or more relevant insights or just funny stuff that I missed the first time(s) in my quest to discover the ending.  For instance, I have re-read To Kill a Mockingbird every year for the past 15 while I am teaching it.  Every year, I discover something new.  There was the year that I was reading aloud, and I read the name of the dog’s owner.  You know, the dog Atticus had to kill?  Yeah, well, when I asked my squirrelly juniors to tell me about Harry Johnson, there were more than a few chuckles.  It wasn’t until I had said it out loud that I realized the double entendre.  Then there was the year when we were going through Atticus’s closing argument, and Lee actually writes the words “no child left behind.”  My epiphany, and horror, was thinking that the horrendous law that has made education barely tolerable came from one of the best books ever written.  (If it did, Ms. Lee, I apologize on behalf of humanity for it.)

There are young adult books I read now that I know would have zoomed right over my head if I had actually read them as a young adult.  The Book Thief? There is no way I would have caught, and thus fell in love with, the subtle allusions and beautiful reflection of such an ugly time.  The Hunger Games?  I don’t think my 14-year-old-brain would have made the connection to the politics and governmental allegory.  Harry Potter?  Please, I can’t even begin... that’s another writing of its own.

I don’t think books are the only medium to which this philosophy applies.  I think of movies, TV shows, songs that I have loved and hated, and I might feel differently about them now if I were to experience them for the first time again.  I think of how I have avoided things I thought inane or above me only to discover, at the right time, they are exactly what I need.

Now for my admission, much to the dismay of many of my friends and the delight of my sister and niece: I have discovered the Twilight series.  Mind you, I have not read the books but watched the movies.  I have read the summaries of the books, looked for clips of the last movie that I haven’t seen yet, and researched some of the themes.  I have even downloaded one of the songs from a soundtrack.  


I find this laughable, truly.  I am not a vampire or a romance kind of reader.  I mean, there were werewolves in Harry Potter, but they weren’t quite the same.  There has been romance in many of the books I have read, but it’s never been the central plotline.  That I have become so transfixed with this particular series has intrigued me, and thanks to a little research and reflection, I have realized it captivates me because of the themes: that each of us can choose our paths not based on things beyond our control but rather based on who we want to be, and that when you love someone, you want to protect them from the hurts of the world.  The former is something I have been working on for the past several months while the latter is something I have always believed.

They say the taste buds regenerate every 5-7 years.  If this holds true, what we once find sour may become sweet, and what we once find savory may become bitter.  The important thing, I have learned, is to be open not only in trying something for the first time.  Sometimes, our appetites change with the experiences we have.  The aroma that once made us turn our noses begins to draw us in, and the favorite tang of a trusted dish becomes bland.  We will not know unless we sample the dish.

I Take It Personally

Dear Teenagers:

If you have ever wondered why a teacher gets angry when you have a lame excuse for being in the hall, or why a teacher raises her voice when you try to justify being late to class, or why a teacher stops talking altogether after the seven hundredth time you say “I don’t wanna do the vocabulary,” I am going to give you the answer.

It is because we spend countless hours planning lessons we hope will be engaging, challenging, and relevant.  It is because we spend countless hours aching over students who do not achieve or understand.  It is because we sacrifice time and sleep and energy because we want YOU to succeed.  

It is because I take it personally when I tax my physical and sometimes mental health to give you the priceless gift of education the best way I know how and you skip class, yelling as you roam the halls and distracting the kids who do care.  It is because I take it personally when I invest time and money to learn new ways to engage you and you mock it or ignore it.  

It is because I take my job personally.  Because it means something to me to help students see the world beyond the city limits in which they live.  It means something to me to see a student get it, the a-ha moment, after struggling for days or sometimes years.  

You mean something to me.  

And when you swear at me, or ignore me, or roll your eyes, or put your head down, I take it personally.

Sincerely,

Teachers Everywhere

Dawn

I have been sad for over a year.  Not curl-in-a-fetal-position sad, at least not on a regular basis, but sad nonetheless.  I've spent many days and nights laying on the couch watching TV shows I've seen hundreds of times before or sitting on my back porch playing mindless games on an iPad.  I stopped working out.

This past summer, I spent the majority of my time watching past episodes of a TV show that happened to be in reruns.  I declined offers to go out and about from most people.  The four gazillion ideas I had from Pinterest to landscape my yard or organize my house or craft away didn't get done.  The plan to properly leash-train my pup fell by the wayside.

Worst of all, I stopped praying for myself.  I prayed quite often for others, but I stopped talking to Him about me, about my weaknesses, about my thanks, about my hopes.  I felt, for a very long time, that I was failing at life.

About a month ago, I went to the doctor for a check-up.  I didn't have anything in mind other than it had been quite a while since I'd been and I thought I was due.  I mentioned feeling super cranky with hormones, so the doc prescribed Prozac.  Just to be sure, she drew blood to run some tests.  A few days later, lo and behold, it turns out my thyroid has begun to fizzle out.

So I went to my GP for more blood tests, an ultrasound of my thyroid, and a confirmation of hypothyroidism.  Want to guess what the symptoms are?  Depression.  Lethargy.  Weight gain.  Fatigue.

I wish I could express what a relief it was to learn this.  I wish I could explain how quickly my eyes filled with tears with the knowledge that I wasn't going completely bananas.  I mean, let's face it, I'm kinda nutty on my own but it's nice to know that's just a fun personality quirk and not a condition that leads to the men with the white jackets ringing my doorbell.

I have been taking thyroid hormone for about a month, and they're still regulating the dosage, but good golly, what a difference!  I feel like I am a completely different person!  It's not just the energy difference; with teaching and coaching, I'm still pretty wiped.  It's the difference in my thoughts.  I am not focusing on the negative.  I am not sad anymore.  I no longer feel worthless.  Best of all, I am praying again.

I'm not one to talk about my feelings a whole bunch.  I might mention something in passing, but I rarely reach out for fear of burdening someone else.  I remember talking about this particular feeling a handful of times.  I am thankful for one friend who listened and encouraged rather than some others who dismissed it as nonsensical.  I didn't even want to write about it because it feels like I'm just whining, but I have been thinking a lot about how much my life has changed in the past two or three years, about how much of that change has been internal as well as external.

I think it is very easy to look at those around us and imagine them to be happier than we are, more successful, skinnier, prettier, whatever-ier, and lose sight of the fact that they've got a lot going on inside as well.  I think it is easy to forget that everyone struggles and not everyone wears it on their sleeves.  I think it is important to remember that a little compassion, a little empathy, can make someone's struggle a bit more bearable, if even for a moment.

A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. ~ Proverbs 17:17

Closed for Renovation

I spend a lot of time in my head.  That sounds fairly obvious; I mean, who isn’t in their own heads?  (I will pause here so you can fill in the blank for that question - I’m sure everyone can think of one person who just doesn’t seem like s/he EVER spends time in thought.)  I am constantly thinking, analyzing, pondering, wondering... It doesn’t matter if I am with others, either; though, engaging with other people does manage to turn down the volume on the inner monologue that sometimes screams at me late at night.  I just cannot seem to get out of my head.

There are times when my thoughts are very focused, like when I am generating lists of things that need to be done for a particular lesson, in order to pack for vacation, or the preparation for a social gathering.  When I have something on which to focus the raw energy of my thoughts, it’s downright scary what I can accomplish in a short amount of time.  For example, in preparing for my recent vacation, I procrastinated getting started despite the ticker tape of things I knew I needed to do.  Lo and behold, two days before I was to leave, I wrote the list and got my butt in gear.  In two days, I managed to cook for the wonderful people who volunteered to pup-sit, cook for the trip, do laundry, clean the house, mow the yard, and pack my clothes and car.  Not a ton of stuff, but considering I still had to run practice, managed to play tennis, and have lunch with some pretty awesome ladies during that 48-hour time period, I am relatively proud that I got everything done.

Now, when there is no focus for my thoughts, well, I imagine if someone were to be able to hear my inner monologue, s/he might believe me to be the poster child for Ritalin.  Laying down to sleep, working in the yard, driving longer than ten minutes, sitting on the beach watching the sun rise... the thoughts are like pinballs, traveling in one direction only to bounce wildly in a completely different and often unanticipated direction.  This morning, for instance, as I sat and watched the sun rise, my brain covered the following gamut: what I need to do to get fit, what I need to plan for an upcoming conference, how to get my mom and aunts to start talking like rational human beings, how to let go of some old resentments, what I need to do to get ready for school, what I need to do to prepare for my season, what God’s plan is for me, how much I miss playing volleyball, how much I hope my nieces will experience all the good in this world, if I’m ever going to meet someone, how annoying the sand fleas were that nipped at my ankles, and what I wanted to read next.  Two hours, my inner monologue at mach-5.  The nap I took after that was delightful.

Sometimes, I wish I had a mute button.  (Go ahead, say it.  Some of you wish that, too.)  I wish there were a way to mute the internal narrative, or at least a way to turn the volume way down.  It’s not so much that I mind reflection or introspection or rumination.  I think it is important to be able to do those things honestly in order to grow.  The problem with spending so much time in my head is two-fold:  1.  I’m sick of myself.  You know how it gets when you go on vacation with someone, and it rains so you are stuck in the hotel or condo together for days at a time?  It gets so annoying that even the way they breathe makes you want to stab a pen in both eyes... yeah, that’s how I feel about my brain right now.  And 2.  The constant analysis is creating a ridiculous amount of negative self-talk.  The ever-lasting, ipod shuffle-and-loop playlist of my brain seems only to focus on my flaws and failures.  This delightful by-product, in turn, increases #1 which then exacerbates the negativity.  To be cliche, it is a vicious cycle.

I think most people would advise me to simply find a focus to keep that energy harnessed.  If I were talking to someone else who expressed the same things, I would tell her or him to do just that.  Why in the world, then, is it so unbelievably difficult to do that?  Reading helps, but I may spend my retirement fund on books if that is going to be my only escape.  Pinterest can also be a labyrinthine distraction, as can be the mind-numbing apps on the iPad, but somehow I think there is more to living than these things.

Perhaps this is my eviction notice to myself.  Or, maybe not an eviction, but a notice of renovation.  It’s time to get out of my head.  Or, perhaps not get out, but let in the sunlight and fresh air that surrounds me because I gotta tell you, the air is getting stale and oppressive, and the ambience is dreary.  If anyone can recommend some good cleaning techniques, let me know.

Friends

I follow an advice columnist, Carolyn Hax, on Facebook.  She is not the “dear Abby” kind of columnist but rather one who is honest, sometimes gentle and sometimes sarcastic, and will gently redirect someone in pain as often as she’ll call someone out who has his/her head up a butt.  In short, I’m a fan.  She has a live discussion every Friday and sometimes will develop question threads into a stand-alone column.  Today, her column was just that and its subject was “How to end, or mend, a friendship.” (I suggest reading the comments section - her followers are hysterical!)

I have been on both sides of this equation, and it is fascinating to me how differently the equation plays out for all of us.  I have had friends with whom our common bond ceased to be common, and there seemed to be a natural fade.   I had one friend who crossed a line of hurt that just changed the way I saw her.  I admit to not handling it well, ignoring calls and texts.  When she finally asked about it, I did explain it, and she just erupted with an “I-can’t-believe-you’re-still-upset-about-that.”  I have also had a friend who stopped talking to me rather abruptly.  While I think about the other friendships that have passed from my life from time to time, this last one is the most painful, most likely because it is the most recent and it was a 20 year friendship that ended.

I have talked about this with a friend (who, bless her heart, is still very present in the weirdness that is my life) and she is probably reading this and banging her head off the keyboard.  She doesn’t understand why I won’t contact my former friend, why I won’t ask what happened.  She doesn’t understand my (il)logical thinking of “if 20 years of friendship isn’t worth a conversation, then why should I try to force it?”  Yeah, yeah.  I know what you’re thinking: I should swap “(il)logical” for stubborn.  I think this is a natural reaction to hurt, to try to block it by being flippant.  The truth is, though, that it does hurt.

I am not a fan of pain.  I imagine most people aren’t.  I think it’s natural to try to avoid it.  However, at some point, a person has to face it, feel it, and figure out what to do with it.  This is the part that I am a fan of: pain brings growth.  It can be for the better or for the worse, but hurting presents an opportunity to grow.  I’m not quite certain, yet, what kind of growth this particular hurt will bring.  Perhaps it will be to remind me to cherish the friends I have present.  Perhaps it will be to bring me closer to God.  Perhaps it will be to make me a better friend to others.

I am grateful for the friendships I have and have had in my life.  Some friends have taught me an appreciation for music, some taught me how to be selfless.  Some friends have taught me an appreciation for the healing laughter can bring, others taught me the strength to be found in humility.  Some have challenged me to be a better teacher, some have challenged to be closer in my walk with God.  All of them have contributed to who I am.

Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend. (Proverbs 27:17)

Manning the Ships

There are many types of sea-going vessels: boats, ships, canoes, kayaks, scows, barges, dinghies, gondolas, yachts, submarines, etc. Some are small, meant only for one occupant; others large, meant for groups.  Some are for leisure, a quiet place to fish as the sun rises or a raucous place to party with a group of friends.  Some are for provision, carrying coal from one part of the country to another or hauling in myriad types of seafood for consumption.  Whatever the size, whatever the purpose, each vessel needs proper maintenance in order to function.

I’ve been thinking about a different type of ship recently: relationships.  Like sea-going vessels, there are many types.  There are the overreaching categories, familial, platonic, and romantic, and within each of those, there are several subcategories.  We have different relationships with parents than we do with siblings, different relationships with colleagues than we do with friends, and different relationships with flirtations than long-term significant others.  

When I was growing up, my mom told my sister and me that friends and boyfriends may come and go, but our sister would always be there.  Every time we fought, she would remind us of this, and I am thankful for the relationship she and I now share, not only because of the comfort, advice, and shared memories we provide each other, but also because I see my nieces developing the same kind of relationship and it makes my heart smile.  

Recently, though, my mom and my aunts have been struggling, the stress that comes with caring for my gram as well as personality clashes have led to more and more tension.  This makes me sad and afraid.  Sad that their relationships are not weathering the storms of life and afraid that, if I am not careful, if I don’t take proper precautions, the same could happen for me.  Sad that my nieces see this, too, and afraid they might think it’s okay to allow the storms of life wash over their relationship and sink it.

Their struggle is certainly not unique to sisters; most relationships face such moments at one point or another, though perhaps not as intense.  When I think about the times I’ve faced them in my own relationships, I wonder if I have made the passage easier or if I have been a lightning rod.  I wonder if my pride has gotten in the way or if I’ve allowed His grace to guide my own.  Sadly, I know I have contributed to the rocky waves more than I would like to admit.  

When we encounter those tempests that threaten, what is the proper balance to fortify the ship?  There is a power balance in relationships that aren’t quite recognizable in fair weather.  People will sail along in blue skies, laughing and bonding.  Friends laughing at the latest episode of Modern Family, lovers gazing adoringly in each others‘ eyes while enjoying a sunset, family celebrating the birth of a child.  When the winds pick up, though, navigating the squall together can be a difficult thing, especially when there is more than one alpha in the mix.

I can’t remember where I read it, but I recall a quote that goes something along the lines of, “Saying I am sorry doesn’t always mean you’ve lost.  Sometimes it means you value the relationship more than you value being right.”  I think relationships are built, and broken, in the typhoons and hurricanes of life.  These are the times when we discover our own strengths and weaknesses as well as each others’.  If we are brave enough to be honest with ourselves and each other, brave enough to recognize where we are placing the value, we can adjust the sails or rudders together.  

A Father's Love

My parents divorced when I was young; thus, my father wasn’t as present in my life as those whose fathers lived with them.  My grandparents lived next door to us growing up, and my grandfather gave us more than enough love to guide us and nurture is in the day-to-day growing.  He was a man of discipline and hard work who also loved to laugh and have a good time.  I remember holiday gatherings, with him at the head of the table and cracking jokes.  I remember the way he looked at my gram and the way he looked at my mom and her sisters.  He may not have been one to say it with words, but he loved the women in his life very much.

My stepfather may have started on the periphery when we first met him, but his presence in our lives now is indelible.  He is also a man of discipline and hard work who loves to laugh and have a good time.  He came to every volleyball tournament when I was in high school, even those across the country, something he continues to do with my nieces, his granddaughters.  He climbed through feet of snow to go house-hunting with me, and he has given me much time, sweat, and energy in making my house a home and a safe one at that, something I know he does with my step-brother and sister as well.  His generosity is quiet, and he asks for nothing in return.  

While my dad wasn’t around for the day-to-day stuff when I was growing up, and while we don’t have a typical father-daughter relationship now, I know he’s a good dad.  I’ve seen him with my younger half-sisters; they know they are loved deeply.  I will not lie and say it doesn’t hurt at times, but he and I have our own moments: funny conversations waiting for the movie to begin, seeing all the sci-fi and silly movies no one else wants to see, a shared sense of humor.

My brother-in-law has been a member of the family for 24 years, my sister’s high school sweetheart who’ve built an amazing life together.  I’ve seen my brother-in-law be silly, be serious, be patient, be stern, be playful, be loving, and sometimes, be sad.  I’ve seen him be a brother, a son, a husband, a dad, an uncle, a grand-son, and a friend. Last summer, though, was the first time I had the chance to see him be a dad in the every-day business of it: the disciplining, tucking-in, playing-in-the-sand, meal-preparing every-day business of it.  And it was awesome.

Another Father’s Day comes upon us this weekend, and I’ve been thinking about fathers.  Everyone has a different relationship with their fathers, and everyone defines fatherhood differently.  Some dads are hands-on, some more comfortable providing in other ways.  Some dads are great spiritual leaders, some are stars at the grill.  Some dads rock at crawling around on the floor at play, some make books come to life.  Yes, dads have flaws because dads are humans; sometimes those flaws hurt but sometimes they make us stronger.  

In Luke 15, the Lord tells the story of the prodigal son, taking his inheritance from his father, leaving, and spending it riotously.  Finding himself in dire straits, he worked the fields, eating the same meal as the swine with which he slept, before realizing the offense in his rejection of his father’s love and humbly returning.  Rather than disowning him or lashing out in anger, his father thrilled at his return, embraced him, and called for the finest raiments and a feast.  It is this unconditional love that I celebrate this Father’s Day.  This unconditional love with which I have been blessed by the pretty amazing father-figures I have had in my life as well as the extraordinary fathers with whom I am friends.  Flaws and all, they have inspired me, encouraged me, and made me into the woman I am.  

To you, I wish the greatest of days: may you find yourselves surrounded by good food, good conversation, and may you find the unconditional love you give given in return.