2013

A new year looms...and in some ways it's a scary world out there.  Fiscal cliff, recalcitrant Congress, school shootings, children who are young adults navigating the shoals of relationships, careers, and college, a Diocese attempting to close a school and open another.  It's a year without my dad, the first I've faced in 57 years.

And, so I have been thinking about this new year full of possibilities, hope, and questions.  I'm not much of one for resolutions, but, I have put together a list of things that I want to do to make life richer and fuller.

1.  I want to laugh more.  Bill accused me just yesterday of having no sense of humor.  I happen to think I do have a sense of humor; I just don't think most of what he says is funny.  But, that said, I think it is important for us to laugh at the absurdities of life, at bad jokes, and sometimes at ourselves.

2.  I want to learn to make a good pie, with an excellent piecrust.  I think I finally have the best equipment, a Cuisinart that the kids bought me for Christmas.  So, even though I'm trying to lose weight, I want to make a pie like my grandmother did.  Wow, were they good!  My grandfather Wright always claimed that he would eat dessert first so that he could enjoy it.  I believe she made a pie each week for him.

3.  I want to learn the names of the birds that I've been feeding all winter.  I know the standard ones, the Cardinal and the woodpecker; but, I'd like to know the others.  I put up dad's bird feeder and I think I would like to add another.

4.  I want to stick with the exercise regime that I've started.  Ok, I'm on day 2; but still.  I've been trekking to Legacy Park.  It is so nice to work out there, especially since I no longer work there.  :)  I would to stay in touch with my friends from there though.  They are good people doing a tough job for low wages.

5.  I want to go to Gettysburg Battlefield site this summer, for the 150 anniversary of the battle.  I would like to go with my brothers.  I don't have to go on the exact 150th date, but I think it would be good to visit there on the 150th anniversary and remember the men who died there so that the Union would be preserved.  And, despite our many problems, it is a country worth working for and committing to, as hundreds and thousands of folks in armed services do each day.

6.  I really want to learn to knit and crochet.  I finally found a place, Joanns, that actually has classes.  I learned to knit and crochet in high school home economics.  But, I need a refresher.  I want to make baby blankets.

7.  I want to visit my elderly aunts and uncles this year.  They were so important to me as a young child and I want to stay in touch with them.  So, I'm planning trips to Iowa, Detroit, Palm Desert, and Tullahoma this year.

8.  I have a whole list of ideas around books.  I am reading a biography of James Garfield and I have some others on Ford, Carter, and Nixon in my to be read stack.  And, I want to read some really good young adult literature.  I think that's the librarian in me...my secret career that got away.  And, I want to keep collecting children's books.  I don't have any little ones really to share them with, but maybe one day I will.  And, I want to read across the political spectrum, so I've ordered up a subscription to National Review, Time, the New Republic on my ipad.  I want to remember that I am a part of a larger world, so I want to learn more about the Middle East, Africa, and Asia.

9.  I want to be a better teacher.  I am trying to figure out how to better use the ipad and other technologies.

10.  And finally, I want to be more thankful, generous and kind.  I want to worry about those things that matter and let those things that don't slip away.

It's going to be a great year!

Thoughts about Teachers on the Monday after Sandy Hook

Today was like any other Monday...and it wasn't.  So many of my teacher friends were apprehensive, going back to school on this last Monday before the "winter holiday", given the tragic events that had unfolded in Connecticut on Friday.  As the details of the shooting that left 20 children and six teachers dead were revealed, I could not get the little faces (and the older ones) out of my head, or heart.  Our administrative team met early to talk about security at our school where until today the door has always been unlocked.  Our building's office is far from the front entrance, something that the architects of the 1960s never worried about I am sure; but, which today gave us and some of our parents pause.  Our security guard was posted near that front door.  Typically, he hangs out in a van, labeled "security" watching primarily our property, our student's cars which from time to time have been targets of vandalism by random passers through.  Today, he concentrated on the people, smiling as our kids entered the building, streaming in for this last half day before finals begin tomorrow.  I had wondered what I would say to my class and I worried that some of my students would be upset.  Like the other administrators, I stayed in the halls as time grew near for classes to begin, joining the students and teachers in the gym for our last Advent prayer.  And, what I reflected on, as I prayed, was how normal  everything was.  Our kids were dressed in goofy Christmas sweaters and campus ministry tee shirts, the seniors sporting big bows, the "couples" dressing as "packages" in honor of a "free day" that they had won as part of a class competition.  It bothered me for awhile that these kids were not more upset.  Where were the tears?  the worried faces?

But, as I reflected about my own worries, I relaxed a bit.  Our kids were not immune to the tragedy in Connecticut.  Their "business as usual" demeanor was due to the fact, I think, that they trusted the adults in their lives..us...their teachers, their principal, their assistant principals, their coaches, their parents...to take care of them.  They felt safe in our building, in our gathering in prayer, in the Lasallian family that is O'Hara.  I believe that they were not worried because somehow we have conveyed to them through our presence, our prayers, our tweets, our quiet conversations, that they are safe, that they are loved, that we will help those who need help, care for those who need carrying for.  And, so they packaged Christmas gifts for the needy of Catholic Charities and gathered in the gym to pray around the Advent wreath, even those who think the whole praying thing can be overdone sometimes....and they played games on their ipads when they should have been taking notes and they were blissfully, thankfully, normal.  And, I gave thanks for them as I grieved for those students around the country who didn't feel safe or protected or loved.  And, although my heart is heavy with the tragedy of the deaths in Connecticut, I am overwhelmed with the outpouring of love and concern that I have heard from friends and from strangers.  Good does conquer evil. And, although tragedy can strike anywhere at any time, it is good thing that my kids were normal today, even as their parents and teachers were quieter and more appreciative and more watchful.  That is how it should be.  Adults take care of children,as they did in Connecticut and as they do each day in every school in America.  Hug a teacher and give thanks for those who teach. 

Tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut

Like the president, and like all parents, everywhere, my heart is broken today by the news from Newtown, Connecticut.  I cannot wrap my mind around the tragedy, the horror.  Who would be so disturbed as to attack without warning a school, focusing on a classroom of kindergarten children?  I cannot understand how my God of peace and love can allow this to have happened?  And, I am reminded, as Father Martin, SJ, tweeted earlier, that God, too, had a child who died and I think perhaps that God is as appalled and as hurt as I am.  I believe He is there with those parents who wait...with those teachers who did the best they could to save as many as they could...with those children who somehow escaped the carnage but will forever have to live with the memory of what happened today.  God walks with us and He weeps with us.

The answers cannot be found in fear or hatred...in a retreat to homeschooling and the purchase of your own gun to keep your loved ones safe.  The answer lies in changing our society where violence is endemic, where it is okay to make fun of others, where it is acceptable to make excuses about behavior.  We have to hold each other accountable...to be kinder and gentler...we have to speak up for the voiceless, for the quiet kid in the back of the room, for the student who is bullied and for the bully.  We have to find ways to help families in trouble, to reach out to those who need resources....food, mental health care, friends.  We adults have to reach out to the kids that we know and even to those we don't know.  We have to be less absorbed in what we have and more absorbed in what we can give. 

We cannot change the world, all at once, in a big way, or at least most of us cannot.  We can, however, change our little piece of the world by giving more of our time and our money.  Smile.  Talk to someone who is lonely or afraid or lost.  Don't be afraid to ask, "how are you?" and mean it.  Buy fewer things at Apple and Target and give more to the Salvation Army and Catholic Charities.  Write your Congressman.  Volunteer. Be actively in the world so that when people see you, they see the face of God.  If each of us does what we can, when we can, we can bring about change.  We must be the change that we want to see in the world.  

And, if you know a teacher or a principal or a school nurse, hug them and pray for them.  My heart goes out to the teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary who shepherded their kids to safety as they could.  I cannot get out of my head the first grade teacher who hid her children in cabinets and told the gunman that they were in the gym.  That young, brave teacher, only 27, is my newest hero.  Each day teachers make a difference for good in the world.  Sometimes we, they, make mistakes, but mostly they do a difficult job for not enough pay.   Like policemen and social workers and nurses, teachers make a difference.  Encourage young people to teach, to take up the challenge of reaching kids who are troubled and afraid and lost and alone.  We can bemoan the world we live in or we can make an effort to change it for the better.  Let's do that.

I loved this article from Thomas Friedman who is likely to write more about the Middle East than the current election. I have always objected to the labels "pro life" and "pro choice". Who isn't PRO LIFE? And who isn't PRO CHOICE? These labels have been reduced to mean "pro abortion" and "anti abortion" but they are so much broader. Great article, Tom.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/28/opinion/sunday/friedman-why-i-am-pro-life.html?ref=thomaslfriedman

Tuscumbia and the Dog

On Saturday, September 29,  we said goodbye to my dad in a simple ceremony at the church that he had always attended in his hometown of Tuscumbia, Missouri.  Dad was a deacon in the Tuscumbia Christian Church, affiliated with the Disciples of Christ denomination.  His mother was a member of the Presbyterian Church in town.  The girls, Betty and Barbara, attended church with her and Dad attended with his father, Homer Lee.  I even have a picture of Homer Lee at age 10 or so standing in front of the very church.  Dad was buried in the Hauenstein plot in the Tuscumbia Cemetery where countless of my relatives (and his) are buried.  He is with mom, resting there in his beloved Miller County.

Tuscumbia is a small town, located along the Osage River.  It has an "upper town" and a "Goose bottom" along the river.  Sadly, the best days of the town are in the past, at least in part but the people who live there are gracious, lovely, kind, warm-hearted people.  When Harry Truman spoke of "God's Country", I am sure he was speaking of Tuscumbia.  It is still the county seat and there's still a high school and elementary school there.  My dad had been president of the school board back in the day and chairman of the Annual Homecoming Picnic for many years.  He was proud of his community and the people who lived there.  He worried about the cemetery and even in his papers I found some figures that he had put together on the costs of mowing the cemetery grounds, $5000 annually, according to Dad, and the annual Memorial Day donation, $3,000.  The cemetery is a private entity.  Dad's records indicate the land was deeded by a Goodrich (of some family connection) as a cemetery.  One of my earliest memories is accompanying my grandmother to the cemetery with some 30 plus containers for "Decoration Day".

On Saturday, I drove to the funeral services by myself.  We had been asked to get to the church early.  I made a trip from Jefferson City that I had driven many times, most recently at Memorial Day.  I was struck by the beauty of the morning.  The first early hint of fall has arrived in Central Missouri and the trees were beginning to turn hues of yellow, orange, and red.  The sumac that grows along the road was already a fiery red.  In places the trees almost touch over Highway 17 and it was peaceful, lovely drive.  As I reached Tuscumbia, nestled by the river, I saw the sign, Population 218.  It hasn't changed much.  I think when I lived there it was 258.  People who have never lived in a small town have a hard time understanding why anyone would do so and further HOW anyone did so.  Even then, I was a bit annoyed by the fact that cell service is intermittent at best.

I learned that it was a tradition in Tuscumbia for mourners to walk to the cemetery from the church.  It's a short walk, perhaps a half mile, and many of the people at Dad's service walked through the school yard and around the corner to the cemetery.  There, they picked up a dog, or rather a dog picked them up.  He was healthy looking dog, but obviously a mutt of mixed parentage.  As the military honor guard fired the guns and blew Taps, the dog nosed among the mourners, rubbing up against my leg and those of my brothers and wandering among our friends.  I smiled and thought how my dad would have loved that dog being there among us.  It was almost as though dad was there, checking out who was attending the services, reassuring us that everything was okay.  My girls are convinced that Bamber sent the dog or perhaps was there with us through the dog.  Later, after the lovely luncheon provided by the church, as we stood in the street, ready to leave Tuscumbia, the dog reappeared.  Becca wanted to take him home but I am sure he belonged there in Tuscumbia.  At least that's what I choose to believe.  I left another piece of my heart there on Saturday.  I'm so glad Dad is there, among his family in the community that he lived in and loved for most of his 93 years.  Welcome back, Dad.

Bamber Hauenstein Wright, 1919-2012

My dad died yesterday.  I don't think he was in any physical pain and I hope that he was not afraid or sad.  I want to think that he died with my mom welcoming him to heaven in that gentle way that she had.  I can hear her saying, "gees, Bam, what took you so long?"

I have been most blessed in my life by the generous and good men who have filled it.  From my childhood, Dr. Jack Gunn, Phil Smith, Clayton Smith, Dr. Paul Howard, Floyd Ouderkirk, Denzel Kallenbach, Dewey Kallenbach, Bill Lawson, Jim Clark;.my teachers, Dr. Charles Jones, Mac Green, Charles Kendrick, Dr. Jesse Wheeler, Ted Tarkow, Walter Schroeder...my friends, Dale Schmidt, Larry Habel, Walter Bowman, Stuart Bintner, Bob Mobley...my family, Uncles Carroll, Cecil, Sam and Bud, my brothers Phil and Jack.  The best of these good and gracious men from whom I have learned so much was my dad, Bamber Wright.

In many ways he was a simple man.  He worked for Anchor Milling Company for over forty years, under the thumb of his wealthier, older cousin.  He enlisted in the Air Force at the dawn of WWII, dropping out of the University of Missouri.  He dreamed of becoming a pilot; but, he became instead a part of a combat mapping squadron in the little known China, India, Burma theatre.  When he returned from the war he meet and wooed my mom, Marcella Schell.  Their courtship last seven years and was in many ways tumultuous; but, somehow they persevered, despite his parents' misgivings about marrying a Catholic.  He watched as mom took us each Sunday to church at Sacred Heart in Eldon.  Dad went his own way, a deacon at the Tuscumbia Christian Church.

He was a faithful son who visited his mother each night.  My brother Jack repaid these visits, in part, during the last year when he faithfully trekked each evening to the nursing home to help dad with his teeth and to turn down his bed.   He was a devoted brother of Barbara and Betty, Betty who called each night when he could hear, ending their two minute talks with "I love you little Sister."  "I love you, Big Brother," she always responded.

Dad was a good husband.  He and my mom were married for fifty-six years.  He missed her desperately in the last few years.  When mom wanted to move to Jefferson City, dad moved, even though we all knew it was hard for him.  He missed the house he and mom had built before they married, pouring the foundation as he always told me on July 4, 1952.  Mom shared that more than once as their wedding date approached she thought of calling off the whole thing; but, then she remembered she had $2000 invested in the new house.

Dad was a terrific father.  I don't remember that he ever spanked us and he rarely raised his voice.  I never heard him swear in anger at my mother or any of us.  Somehow, we always wanted to please him.  We were good kids; how much trouble could one get into in Tuscumbia in the 1960s?  Dad took us on endless "cat arounds" to give our working mom a few minutes of peace on a Sunday afternoon.  Often these trips ended at the "station" under the hill with an ice cream for everyone.  Almost every summer night, Dad took us to the Eldon Pool where he and Vic Luetkemeyer talked and we swam for hours.  Dad and Vic undoubtedly consumed a fair amount of Jack Daniel in these sessions.

Dad liked butter brickle ice cream, red roses, Old Spice cologne, the music of Jim Reeves, and the stories of Louis L'Amour.  He always drove a red pick up and he drove after he retired for Belt Chevrolet in Eldon.  He loved to drive and when he couldn't, he didn't complain, although I know it bothered him and dampened his irrepressible spirit.

Dad took us on vacations that are still some of my best memories of time spent with him.  We traveled to Disneyland, Boston, Colorado, Wyoming, Michigan, Tennessee, visiting friends and family.  Every summer we trekked to Iowa and even as late as 2009 he made the trip in his pick up, me worrying at every mile.

Dad was a great story teller.  He could remember everyone's name, thinking that we would remember them too.  "You know", he would say, "X was the salesman for Lone Star Cement, Weyerhauser, etc."  Even recently, dad could remember long lost family from Tuscumbia and Miller County.

Bamber was a good friend and he had friends of all ages.  The closest friends of his youth, Judson Berry, Phil Smith, Omer Goode, are gone now too...I have an idea that they are sitting around a celestial fire ring, toasting each other with a good glass of bourbon, dad's "bellywasher."  Other friends were faithful visitors to dad in Jefferson City and later at the nursing home.  He would regale me with stories of visits by Jim and Nancy, Jimmy Mays, the family of Lessie and Bill Jenks, Alan Wright and Joe Pryor.  Children loved my dad and he loved children, especially his eight grandchildren.  Even last week when I visited he wanted to know "how are the kids?" and he smiled with pleasure as I reported the antics of my three and their respective jobs and romances.

It is difficult to sum up the rich, full life of my dad.  He lives in my heart and in the smile of my son, Matthew. I see him in the hug and wry humor  of my brothers Phil and Jack.

Say hello to mom for me.  I miss you.  I love you.  My dad, the best man I've ever known.

Mary and Marla

It's Labor Day weekend and I have been reminded, once again, of the fragility of life and the sadness that loss brings to family and friends.  Mary Downs and Marla Harris never met each other but they died on Thursday and I knew them, albeit not well.  Mary was the wife of long time teacher, Terry Downs, and over the past twenty years (or so), I have talked with Mary at the odd faculty gathering.  I remember when she gave birth to Sara and her son, Brian, a current sophomore at O'Hara.  Just last May I marveled at the fact that she was driving the kids to and from O'Hara, having suffered for many years from some kind of a neurological, seizure disorder.  I talked last with her at the faculty gathering in May.  Diagnosed with cancer in July, Mary had only a short battle with the vicious disease.

Marla was the mother of  Megan, Becca's first college roommate and still dear friend.  I bonded with Marla over the travails of moving our two freshmen into a 8 x 10 room at Creighton and shared stories that first semester at Parents Weekend.  Megan decided to transfer at semester and Marla and I shared a Mexican meal with the girls at Habeneros as they parted.  Megan and Becca have remained fast friends with numerous road trips between Sedalia and Kansas City by both girls.  And, I kept up with Marla through Megan, from the devastating diagnosis of leukemia, through last Thursday.

And, so, although I did not know Mary or Marla very well, I do know their children, and I happen to believe that it is possible to learn a lot about a woman when one knows her children.  I know that Mary had incredible determination and faith because her daughter, Sara, showed that each day at O'Hara as she took the stage for various plays and served as a leader for our senior Kairos retreat.  That determination and faith live on in Sara and in Brian, who is just beginning his sophomore year at O'Hara.  And, I could see the enormous capacity for love that was Marla's gift to Megan.  Throughout her battle with leukemia, Megan started "Hope for Marla", a prayer campaign complete with wristbands.  Megan carried on at Mizzou and spent as much time as she could with her lovely mom.  A warm and caring woman, Marla had a quick smile for everyone she met and it was like meeting an old friend when I learned that she had grown up in Jefferson City.  So, we bonded about growing up in a small town in central Missouri.

I feel so deeply for the Downs and Harris families.  I so cherish my adult time with my own mom, and I feel sad that Sara, Brian, Megan, and her brothers have been cheated of that experience with their own moms.  But, the gifts of their moms will live on in them.  And, so I am reminded of how precious and fragile life is.  We are here but for a short time.  Please don't waste that time arguing with your mom or wishing your child could be this way or that.  Hold on to each other.  Cherish each moment, even the arguments over hair length and curfew.   I know that I will do so.  It's especially important on this weekend.  Twenty years ago I gave birth to my last child, Matthew.  His name means "Child of God" and each day I thank God for bringing him (and his sisters) to us.  I plan to spend a little more time with these "gifts" because none of us knows what the future might bring.  I hope to live to be a very old grandma, but that is in someone else's hands.  What I can do is live life fully, in appreciation and joy.  

Advertising...Why Can't It Be a Force for Good?

While enjoying my morning tea, I was catching up on some Olympic coverage of the amazing Serena Williams, and thoroughly relishing the fact that I had nothing pressing to do for the next couple of hours.  And, then, a commercial from Arbys flashed on the screen.  It features a young man enjoying the newest Arby's promotion, Snap and Rock.  Evidently one snaps a picture, texts Arby's, and wins, according to the ad, every time.  As the young man was reveling in his rewards, he was proceeding to walk down a street destroying mirrors and other property set outside an antique store.  For his reward, he was narrowly missed by a piano falling from an upper window.  

Even my modern advertising standards, this commercial is bad.  It appears to endorse wanton destruction of someone else's property and ends in the fable that somehow one can escape misfortune by snapping pictures of Arbys food.  Ridiculous and irresponsible.  So, I promptly got on the web, located the "contact us" button for Arbys and fired off an email.  If more people would take the time to register indignation, corporate America would pay more attention.  They get away with this kind of outrageous message because we let them.  Let's wake up!  Corporate America is only as good as the Americans who watch the ads and buy the products.

Change the World

As I was looking through my twitter feed today, a teacher I follow, Kay Connors, had posted a story from CNN called "Give a Child A Camera and Change the World."  "Give a Child a Camera"Of course, I was hooked and I went on to read the story on CNN.  Four college students got the idea to travel to distant parts of the world to teach children how to use a camera, the idea being that these children would take pictures of their day to day reality, pictures that could then be posted and eventually sold.  The money from the sales would go to "boots on the ground" organizations in these countries that would help the children.  The CNN story shared the details of an orphanage in Sudan where the money earned from the pictures helped build a fence and secure reliable transportation.  The college students eventually turned their idea into a non-profit and have gone on to work in New York and Cuba.  100 Cameras   As I read the article, I was cheered.  Young people, probably close in age to the young man who opened fire on the movie theatre in Colorado, had an idea that they could make a difference for good in the world and they found the courage and the means to make their idea a reality.  It happens that their actions fit nicely into my personal philosophy which I have explained to my students and my own kids.  Summed up it is simply you are either a part of the problem OR you are a part of the solution.  There's so sitting idly by, watching the world go by.  If you can read about stories of injustice and poverty and NOT feel compelled to do something, anything, then, in my view, you are a part of the problem.  The college students highlighted in the CNN story are working toward a solution.  As the comments on the CNN story indicate their work is not without its critics.  Several people noted things that ran along the lines of, "you can't solve this big a problem with cameras," "how do you know the organizations are giving the money back to the children?"  While some of these criticisms may be legitimate, I put these naysayers firmly in the "part of the problem" side of the world.  Yes, there are probably lots of problems with this idealistic view that if you give a camera to a child in poverty then you can somehow change the world.  But, isn't it wonderful in our too cynical world, where some young people open fire on innocent movie goers, that some college students decided THEY could make a difference.  What made them newsworthy is that they did it.  May all of our young people feel so empowered.  That is, after all, one of the most important goals of education in the Lasallian tradition, helping people realize that they can be a force for good in the world.  To sit on the sidelines is to be a part of the problem.  Don't sit on the sidelines.  Choose to be involved in the world.  The rewards for all are immeasurable.

Saturday

It's Saturday.  It's the day when I used to get all the chores done that had piled up during the week like grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, dusting, etc.  Most Saturdays though I go to Jeff to see my Dad.  I'm not sure how much he enjoys my visits because they are always really short, but Jack told me that it helps him when I do go, so I've gone every Saturday since Dad moved into assisted living back in October.  Except today.  And, I'm feeling a bit guilty.  Life is like that, though.  It's one giant juggling act between what we need to do and what we want to do.   I decided to stay home today and do some of the things that have been piling up.  I started painting the deck today.  I have it over half finished, but I ran out of paint, so will finish later in the week.  The kids are all gone this weekend.  Matt's with the Freelands, Becca went to Hays with Corey, and Sarah is in Columbia with Joe.  I miss them, but it's been fun cleaning and organizing without anyone but Grady under foot.  The dog got a little paint on his nose because he got a bit too close to the action this morning.  And, now I just have to finish the myriad of tasks I've set for myself before my precious Saturday is gone.

Summer

I have been thinking a lot about the summers of my childhood.  And, a variety of memories have surfaced, each poignant and delightful, each bittersweet in its own way.  I remember...The Tuscumbia Picnic.  It wasn't actually a picnic...it was more like a, Lees Summit Downtown Days. . .a carnival came to down replete with rides and sideshows. . .the PTA hosted a delicious chicken dinner....there was a dance...square dancing...a beer garden that parents strongly discouraged...there were swimming lessons at the Lake of the Ozarks...my mom's garden...I think we ate wilted lettuce every night for at least two months...my Aunt Betty who came to visit in late June and stayed until August...the 56 Chevys...the bookmobile...there were nights swimming at the Eldon Country Club...our annual visit to Iowa to pick up Grandma Wright who had gone for a visit to Aunt Barbara's and stayed for three weeks, or more...my brothers' birthdays...both born in the summer...vacations with the Smiths to San Diego, Wyoming and Colorado.  Who could forget camping in the wilds of the Snake River during August when the temperatures dipped into the 40s?  My dad, having a "bellywasher" with Phil Smith, on the banks of the Snake....we picked blackberries with my grandmothers Tilly and Lizzie.  My brothers and cousin Ron collected minnows at Gum Creeek while I...read...ah, the books...Ah.  It was a simpler time.  I hope that my children's memories of summer are as rich...

A Reading Life

On my way to work today (Friday), I decided to stop by Neighbors' Cafe in downtown Lees Summit and treat myself to breakfast.  Of course, I had a book to keep me company, although my children would be aghast at the thought of me eating alone.  Since it's 105, or it seems like that, I ordered an ice tea instead of my usual coffee and sat down with "I Wish I'd Been There", a book I've assigned for summer reading.  As I began, I checked my email and I had a new post from the Nerdy Book Club blog that I follow.  Today's post was about developing a habit of reading over a lifetime.  As I sat with my breakfast, I reminisced about how I became a reader.

The easy answer is that I'm not sure.  I remember loving to learn to read in Mrs. Hazel Schulte's first grade class room.  We read from the "Dick and Jane" primer series and I can still remember the magic as I decoded the first words, "See Dick run."   Mrs. Schulte also taught phonics but I missed about 1/4 of my first grade year so phonics never really "took" and I became a sight reader.  I still today have some trouble pronouncing words that I have never heard (or seen) before.  In Third grade, Mrs. Kallenbach read to us every day after recess.  Here I heard Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer and Strawberry Girl.  Sometimes I think I should read to my AP class, just a few pages every day of some good work of fiction.  Perhaps I will this year, despite the rigors of the AP curriculum which has us running from Columbus to Clinton in just 9 short months.

By 3rd and 4th grade, I was a voracious reader.  Sometimes I attribute my love of reading to the fact that I grew up in the country.  My best friend moved to Tucson when I was in 4th grade and I remember the rest of that year and the following ones, until she returned in 8th grade, as lonely.  My two brothers were busy building forts in the back yard and catching minnows and I was more than content to curl up on the sofa with a good book.  My mother fed my love of books.  I still remember that she would walk to the Jefferson City library on her lunch hour and with the help of the young adult librarian, select a stack of books for my reading  pleasure.  She did this every week, especially in the summers.  And, then there was my Grandmother Lizzie who loved to read.  She started me on the Little House series and I read all of them and then later read them all to my own girls from the same set she had given me.

Mom turned me on to the Zane Grey series and for a while I read only westerns.  Then, grandma introduced me to the fiction of Frances Parkinson Keyes and I became immersed in the world of the antebellum south.  I read all the Nancy Drew books and eagerly awaited new titles.  These were the only books I bought until I was much older.  I also read the entire Hardy Boys series and Trixie Belden, solidifying my current love of mysteries.

It was great fun in the summer to go with Grandma (who couldn't drive) and my aunt (who visited all summer) to the bookmobile.  I still remember climbing into the van and having such fun selecting books.  I read everything.  Books about raising puppies and books about gardening and novels and histories.  Grandma and I would each emerge with a stack to enjoy until the bookmobile came around again.  I posted its scheduled and eagerly awaited its arrival.

Later in high school, I read through virtually every book in our tiny library, enjoying for the first time the work of Kenneth Roberts.  His Northwest Passage still is one of the best works of historical fiction that I have read.  Our English teacher, Pam Breedlove, encouraged my love of reading and urged me to read in genres that I had not explored.

As a young mom, I read all the classics to and with my kids.  Goodnight Moon was a perpetual bedtime favorite as was Runaway Bunny, the Velveteen Rabbit, and Go, Dog, Go.  And, although my kids enjoy reading, they are most definitely not members of the Nerdy Book Club, pulled in other directions by the allure organized sports.  It remains one of the great mysteries of my life why I, who love to read, have children who do not.

Today, I am surrounded by books.  On my summer reading list and nightstand are the books I've assigned to my AP class, (Devil in the Shape of a Woman and the aforementioned I Wish I'd Been There), the books that our Honors Sophomores English students are reading (Bean Trees and Cold, Sassy Tree)
the Hemmingses of Monticello, a Pulitzer prize winning tome by Annette Gordon-Reed, Devil's Brood,
a fictional tale of the family of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, and some professional education books, required for my current coursework.    I have books stacked up in my Kindle and am eagerly planning to purchase a Nook.  I read on my iPad through the Kindle app and I Tunes books.  I read the Christian Science Monitor and Time and some of the Washington Post each day.  I'm listening to Fallen Giants on my android phone and generally have at least one book tucked into my purse and another few on tape in the car.

Books have shaped my life and are one of the great joys of my life.  Trying to encourage my AP students to read widely and for pleasure, as well as for education, remains one of my most important goals each year.

Happy Reading!

Swimming and Summer

I finally made it back to the pool today.  It was wonderful!

Some of my best memories are associated with swimming.  I remember those glorious summer nights when Dad would take us to the pool at the golf club in Eldon.  We would swim for two or three hours with the Luetkemeyers, playing Marco Polo, while Dad and Vic looked on with a drink or two.   Dad took us at least two or three times a week, giving Mom a much needed rest and completely wearing us out.  In July and August, Cousin Ron would tag along for even more fun.  Dad was the pool manager and found that a particularly thankless task but we reveled in the pool.

I got my first job as a lifeguard at El Rancho.  Fortunately, I never had to deal with a serious infraction, which was fortunate, because it was a relatively shallow pool, only 6 feet, with a diving board.  I took many lessons there as a child as well.

There were the chilly summer mornings when my brothers and I climbed aboard the Miller County R-III school bus and were off to swimming lessons at Lake Ozark.  I still remember the boats that sprayed what I think was DTD while we were splashing around, learning to swim and teaching wee ones.  For whatever reason, I always had the little ones who were afraid of the water.  My best friend, Connie, had the advanced class, something I envied until one of her students disappeared while swimming.  We found him after several minutes of panic, hiding under a dock.  6th graders haven't changed all that much....I cannot smell rubbing alcohol without thinking of Shirley Phillips putting drops into our ears to kill the lake bacteria.  And, I remember some serious cases of swimmer's ear.  I will always be thankful to Shirley who took some extra time to re-certify my lifeguard certification, after a particularly nasty class conducted by some college boys who were more concerned with looking good than certifying us as lifeguards.

And, when my own kids were little we joined the Y in South Kansas City.  I still remember standing in the pool with Matt, as a baby, watching while Becca climbed the slide.  I calmly called to the lifeguard "you'll have to get her, she can't swim."  "What?" he responded as Becca came down the slide and he bailed in.  She thought it was a great time!  And, we joined another pool and spent delightful afternoons with the Storms family, swimming and sunning.  There were afternoons at the old Lees Summit pool.

So, it seems natural to be back in the water at Legacy.

I am in the office today, pretty much alone, which is okay because we are technically closed on Fridays.  I like to work on days like these because I have time to think, to check my twitter feed, to read some history books that are piling up in my "to read stack", and to catch up on some of the never ending paperwork and organizational tasks that I can never quite get a handle on.

One of the things I've been reading and thinking about are my evaluations that our principal gave me today.  I was somewhat apprehensive as I approached them, relatively sure that they would be positive, but concerned that the views expressed in these anonymous evaluations would be both honest and helpful.  And, as I have read them, I am both humbled and challenged.  It's pretty easy to see which comments are from staff that are both friends and colleagues and those are deeply appreciated.  My strengths, if these evaluations tell the story (and I am not sure they tell the WHOLE story but they definitely reveal an important element in the story) are in compassion, communication, and empathy.  Those are definitely important aspects of my job.  Some of the challenges that these evaluations reveal are also important. . .being more visible in the hallways for both staff AND students. . .becoming better organized in terms of tasks. . .student services. . .and a couple of more personal challenges that I shall not share here but to which I am committed to changing.   We will see if those changes are noted in next year's evaluations.  (insert smiley face)

I did a self evaluation for our principal that was eerily similar to the evaluations I received, noting some strengths and some weaknesses.  So I am thinking. . .of what to do and how to do it.  Details to follow. . .maybe next Friday.

What Motivates Us

Interesting video about the value of rewards...from a teaching perspective...It makes me think about our traditional grading system...this as I am writing questions for the new AP US History exam.

Still Learning

I'm 57.  But, I swear this week I felt as though I was back in high school.  17 and unsure.  I re-learned two important lessons this week... 1) gossip is ALWAYS bad and 2) rules are rules... Lesson 1 comes from my primary job where I was reminded...again... that gossip is gossip and is almost always hurtful....that people will respect you far more for what you do than for what you say...and that what you say can be misinterpreted and isn't easily forgotten, once its said.   And, yet, as I was reminded, we of the human condition are quite ordinary and fallible, prone to stupidity, ignorance and self-aggrandizement.  And.....lesson # 2 from my part time job where despite giving 110%, upper management chose to focus on what I wasn't doing, instead of on what I was doing....


So, in addition to the reminder that I'm still learning about how to act, I am reminded that listening is perhaps the skill that I need to work on the most.   A passionate listener is something that we all long for when we are talking, but it's so much harder to be that person, the person who listens with all of her heart and mind...who engages in the conversation...who puts the to do list on the shelf for a bit...who pays attention to the speaker and doesn't focus on the million other things that vie for attention.


I feel myself pulled in a million different directions.  It's as though when I am at work, part of me is worrying about the kids or my dad or the bills.  And, when I'm home, I'm worried about my colleagues, my to do list, my students, my content.  So, part of trying to commit to being a better listener is commiting to simply BEING THERE wherever I am.  

A Mom's View by an Assistant Principal

As an assistant principal, a student, a teacher, and the mother of a teacher I think that I have a unique perspective on the business of school.  Today, Sarah got a less than terrific evaluation from her principal which is a shame because she’s one of the best young teachers that I know.  It caused me to reflect a bit on this time of year in schools and on some of the fundamental differences between Catholic and public schools. 

I have worked most of my teaching career in Catholic schools, specifically Archbishop O’Hara High School.  And, as most of us who have worked in Catholic schools have thought from time to time, I’ve wondered whether I sacrificed too much in terms of salary or teacher retirement in staying in one place for so long.   But today, again, I feel reaffirmed in my decision.  Sarah’s principal is a product of the public school mind set, as I have come to see it during my course work for my master’s.    Cultivating strong relationships, helping teachers to grow and improve, caring for the whole child…these appear not much a part of her agenda, nor of the agenda of many of the public school principals that I’ve interacted with over the past year. 

It’s too bad.  Sarah is a terrific teacher, and I don’t just say that because she is my daughter.  Her cooperating teacher at her student teaching assignment saw it, her professors at Creighton recognized it, and her evaluations by this principal have been strong, until today.  The summative evaluation that the principal filled out was undoubtedly influenced by the harpings of an older crowd of teachers who disapproved of Sarah’s methods and were probably jealous of her youth, enthusiasm and energy.  That a principal could be influenced by a cadre of cronies could happen in a Catholic school, but it seems less likely too.  Catholic school teachers that I know are not much threatened by innovation, energy, or enthusiasm…probably because they’re too busy teaching, cleaning the bathrooms, vacuuming, and doing all of the other myriad of tasks that parochial school teachers do as a matter of course.  I have to confess that as a Catholic school teacher I haven’t been regularly evaluated and yet I know because of my regular interaction with my principal and colleagues when I’ve done a good job and when I haven’t.  When problems arise, as they always do, I talk them out with a colleague or the principal and it’s been that way since I started at O’Hara.  The staff is congenial and there’s no jealously, or at least not much.    No one worries about tenure because it doesn’t exist for us.  Even when we’re mad or frustrated or angry, it’s like a family squabble.  No one worries much about politics. 

It’s no wonder that young teachers get discouraged in the impersonal, meat-grinder atmosphere of many public schools.  I know that it’s not that way in all schools, but in far too many, emphasis is on management, not teaching; regulation, not learning; control, not care.   My advice to all young teachers…hold on, stay tough, don’t let the older or embittered or bureaucratic wear you down.  You are important in the life of a child.  Remember and hold on to that and when you are a principal, or a department chair, remember to embrace the new teachers. . .encourage them. . .make them a part of your community.  Then, and only then, will education be improved in this country. . .unless, of course, public schools embrace the Catholic model.  Spoken like a Lasallian educator.

Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day and I miss my mom. I did a bit of research and discovered that we have Julia Ward Howe and the carnage of the Civil War to thank for the idea of Mother's Day. Julia Ward Howe who is better known as the author of the Battle Hymn of the Republic proposed a day to celebrate Mothers and Peace after she witnessed the thousands dead. And, so today we honor moms. I remember those friends and family who are moms and I thank them for their gifts. There are so many moms whose stories give me courage and hope, who inspire...For Joan, who lost a job and beat cancer and found the courage to start anew....For Maura and Michelle whose fierce determination to give their sons with Down Syndrome a Catholic education that will help them be all that they can be....For Walter whose wife died and had to be both mom and dad for his two young children....for the nameless moms...the mother of Moses who set her son in a basket of rushes and watched from afar as he was raised in a stranger's home....for the Jewish moms of Nazi Germany who sent their children away to save them, knowing that they would likely never see them again....for the mother of Frederick Douglass who walked miles in the night to lie with her son for a few precious hours before she had to walk home to begin her day of labor on the plantation...for the young moms at O'Hara who spend countless hours juggling their role as teacher and mom and do so with grace and enthusiasm...for the countless Catholic sisters who chose not to have children so they could teach and nurse and pray for the children of others...for the young mom in Lees Summit whose baby died in her car while she taught the children of others...for the moms who have lost their child...For Cathy and Eileen and Kim...who somehow found the courage to go on. For all moms, everywhere, for those who live in grinding poverty and who lack the basic necessities of water and food and shelter...for those moms in the nursing home whose daughters come each day to feed them and talk with them, even though they do not understand. . .for those moms who accept grubby, half dead flowers from little hands and know that they've received a precious, invaluable gift. . .Thank you for your sacrifice. Your stories are mine because I too am a mom. It's the best thing I've ever done and ever hope to do and each day brings smiles and tears, hope and fear. Does any mom hear an ambulance go by and not wonder where her children are at that moment. . .We want so much for our kids. Mostly I want them to live lives that are filled with hope and relationships that bring them mostly joy. And, I hope that my kids know that I love being a mom. My mom and I were close but now that she is gone, I find myself wondering and thinking more about her as a woman. What were her fears and hopes and dreams? We talked every day but I feel as though I never really knew her. And, oh, how I wish I had known her better. I knew she didn't really like living in Tuscumbia but she did it anyway. She worked most of her life outside the home. How did she feel about that? She was smart and had gone to secretarial school...did she ever wish she had done more? She had some friends but I don't know who she confided in about us or about her marriage. Mom was a pragmatist and a realist...perhaps she didn't think about these things, but I remember that she would spend 2 or 3 nights a week on the river, fishing...normally by herslef, although sometimes one of the boys or my dad would go with her. I think there she found peace and solitude and had time to reflect. I wish I had sat with her....even in silence I would have learned more about her. I miss you mom. Happy Mother's day.

An Editorial Worth Sharing

We Are All Nuns, Great Editorial

My New Commitment to Exercise

Remember the Sisters

Abigail Adams once admonished her husband to "remember the ladies."  Pope Benedict might do well to listen to her advice.  I cannot believe the Vatican has decided to crack down on the 57,000 nuns in the United States who have somehow run afoul of church hierarchy, supposedly for not doing enough to stand up against homosexuality and the ordination of women.  "Unsullied by the clerical sex abuse scandals and recognized as central to the ministries and mission of the Church, Catholic sisters are these days often seen as the best of the institution and the finest representatives it has — women who worship God and emulate Jesus, and workers who minister to the poor and run schools and hospitals."  The following blog post is must reading for all Catholics.  I remember with great affection the nuns who traveled each Saturday to teach catechism for the poor public school kids of Eldon who did not have the advantage of a Catholic school.  They were nuns of the School Sisters of Notre Dame, an order well known for its teaching mission.  They were committed and involved women who showed us what it meant to live a life for others.  Click on the link to read the blog post from "She the People" in the Washington Post.Remember the Nuns

What a Terrific Story. Read and Enjoy.

A life without left turns
Posted 6/15/2006 9:57 PM ET E-mail | Print |

Enlarge Gartner family photo

Carl Gartner in 1934.
By Michael Gartner
My father never drove a car.
Well, that's not quite right.

I should say I never saw him drive a car. He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.

"In those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it."

At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in:

"Oh, bull——!" she said. "He hit a horse."

"Well," my father said, "there was that, too."

So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars — the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford — but we had none. My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines, would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.

Our 1950 Chevy

My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that was that. But, sometimes, my father would say, "But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one."

It was as if he wasn't sure which one of us would turn 16 first.

But, sure enough, my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown. It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car.

Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother. So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying once.

For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps — though they seldom left the city limits — and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.

The ritual walk to church

Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage. (Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.) He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin's Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home. If it was the assistant pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church.

He called the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."

After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. (In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored.") If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out — and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream.

As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long life?" "I guess so," I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.

"No left turns," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic. As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn."

"What?" I said again. "No left turns," he said. "Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer. So we always make three rights."

"You're kidding!" I said, and I turned to my mother for support. "No," she said, "your father is right. We make three rights. It works."

But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."

I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing. "Loses count?" I asked. "Yes," my father admitted, "that sometimes happens. But it's not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you're okay again."

I couldn't resist. "Do you ever go for 11?" I asked.

"No," he said. "If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can't be put off another day or another week."

My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving. That was in 1999, when she was 90. She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102. They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom — the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.) He continued to walk daily — he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising — and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.

A happy life

One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news. A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, "You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred." At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm probably not going to live much longer." "You're probably right," I said. "Why would you say that?" he countered, somewhat irritated. "Because you're 102 years old," I said. "Yes," he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day. That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night. He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said: "I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet." An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:

"I want you to know," he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."

A short time later, he died.

I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.

I can't figure out if it was because he walked through life.

Or because he quit taking left turns.

Michael Gartner has been editor of newspapers large and small and president of NBC News. In 1997, he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing.

Inspirational Video

Hunger Games. . .Not

I know it may seem like the popular thing to do, but I cannot help but weigh in on the Hunger Games. My daughter, the middle school teacher, bought the book and began reading it to me on the two hour drive between Jefferson City (where my dad has been newly installed into a nursing home) and our home in Lee's Summit (food for another blog). After about a chapter, I made her stop. I couldn't take it. Children selected at random for "games" that seem nothing short of the days of gladiators. . .a dystopian future, destroyed by nuclear or some other kind of war, where the US is carved into districts and Denver. . .repeat. . .Denver is the capital? Enough already. I hated it. I know. Everyone, including my daughter, and my 50 year old brother, LOVE the book. I did not. I am not much on futuristic fiction anyway. . .the future is scaring enough without authors imagining how it will be. . .I prefer my fiction murderous, cozy, and in the past.

Exhausted AGAIN

It's March 22. As the parking garage attendant reminded me today, "miss, it's not the 21st. . .that was yesterday. The first day of spring." Wow. Of course, the nice lady at the National Council for History Education who handed me a free parking pass is to blame. . .it said March 21st. But, really, the whole experience is sort of a metaphor for my life. Seriously. I am SO tired and so busy. How could spring have gotten here? It's completely lovely in KC this year. The redbud and dogwood are in bloom, already. It's at least a month too early. But, it's lovely. The grass is a foot high. And, there's dad's yard. . .the conference. . .school. . .grading. . .housework. . .Legacy job. Park classes. WW classes. Even looking at the list wears me out. I CANNOT wait for spring break!

Exhausted

How can I be SO tired on a Tuesday? I felt like crying a dozen times today for no particular reason. My class has embarked on the Gilded Age project with after just 2 days a very mixed review. Some students are working diligently, finding websites, organizing the work, creating a shared google doc, blogging...and others are blowing it off. I suppose this is not uncommon. Students used to blow off opportunities to research in the library. Trying to keep them focused is a challenging task.

And, my desk. It's overflowing with paper. I cannot, and have not been able to for several years, get a real handle on the paper. One would think in this digital age that much of the desk paperwork could be eliminated and I guess it has, but my desk still seems to spill over. I am about ready to start a filing process that consists of putting everything into a file folder with a label! ACT scores, scholarship information, stuff for new school, etc., etc., etc.

New Year Reflections

I am not big on resolutions. I make them. I break them. Sometimes on the same day. That said, I believe that reflection is important and something that I think we could do more of. These reflections are not meant as black and white statements of what I will and won't do, but rather as thoughtful reflection about what I should do, what I must do, what I want to do, and what I want others to do. I have decided to break them up into categories. . personal, professional, home, and family.

I begin with personal. I know it sounds pretty selfish, but I would like 2012 to be a year for and about me. . .I cannot take care of others if I do not take care of myself. So I hope to do a better job of watching what I eat, concentrating on


Personally,

a) taking a salad each day for work
b) eating less red meat and processed foods
c) eliminating dairy. (My mom and dad told me that as a child I was extremely allergic to all things dairy. I think perhaps that my system is still sensitive, more so than I have listened to in the past.)
d) drinking 8 glasses of water each day
e) getting 7 hours of sleep each night
f) walking 10,000 steps each day
g) refraining from using my credit cards and paying with cash
h) reading a book about health each month, starting with Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease by Esselstyn, tweeted about today in a Time.com piece about former President Clinton and his new vegetarian regime
i) drinking only red wine, 5 ounces per night, as recommended by heart specialist
j) taking my blood pressure medicine each day
k) eating breakfast every morning
l) going to Mass at least once-twice each month at St. Margaret's
m) reading all of the Newberry award books
n) reading a biography of each American president, excluding Washington, Adams, Jefferson, and Lincoln, which I have already read.

Professionally
a) recommitting to communicating with teachers in the building
b) getting into the teacher's classrooms, a different teacher each day, to observe, comment.
c) following up the visit with a comment to the teacher
d) finishing my master's degree
e) continuing to read professionally
f) attending 2-3 workshops on topics including special education (and I hope) the ISTE conference in San Diego this summer
g) becoming a stronger advocate for the teaching staff, especially with the administrative team. Sometimes, I let myself be bullied or pushed into cooperation without time to reflect on HOW our decisions impact teachers or HOW we could be more collaborative
h) continue to connect with people in the diocesan school office as we look toward the building of a new high school
i) work on Ipad deployment for 2012-2013 school year, helping teachers make the best use of 21st century technology and tools
j) commit to getting student papers back into their hands within 1 week
k) commit to quality lesson planning and wide reading
l) continue to develop strategies to improve the teaching of my AP US History course
m) pray with my students each day, bringing to them stories from the news that are about peace and justice
n) finally reading De La Salle's biography

Family
a) being more honest with my kids and husband about what bothers me
b) asking the kids to text me each night when they are away from home, telling me they are safe and who they are with
c) being more proactive about Bill's alcoholism, refusing to cover or hide
d) helping my dad as I can without feeling guilty when I cannot
e) sending my dad an email each day about things we are doing and what is going on in the family
f) take more pictures
g) go to church together
h) prepare an evening meal for the family at least 3-4 times each week
i) go to a movie with someone in the family at least once a month
j) encourage the kids to make more healthy life decisions and to be with people who make good decisions
k) talk with Matt more, via email, text, or whatever means I can use to get him to listen
l) try and not let my brother Phil get under my skin because of his resolves not to "take on other peoples' problems", etc.
m) work on being less envious about Phil and Sue's situation and more thankful of the positive things in my life
n) remember to keep family first
0) refraining from giving Grady table treats

Home

a) get deck repainted and repaired
b) get door jamb on outside door repaired and repainted
c) clean out garage (throw away!)
d) paint! (downstairs, Becca's room, my room, ceilings, upstairs bathroom, kitchen
e) cut back the rest of the shrubs
f) fix drawer in kitchen
g) buy new washer, dryer, refrigerator, and dishwasher and maybe stove (yeah, right)
h) fix Becca's downstairs toilet
i) get flooring for Becca's bathroom and for entryway
j) fix fireplace
k) replace windows
l) never go to bed with the kitchen looking a mess
m) reorganize utensil drawers
n) buy George Foreman
o) buy toster oven, although I am not sure hwere it would set, must measure
p) vacuum each week
q) dust each week
r) ask kids to keep their rooms up, go through closets and throw out what is not being worn or used (starting with mine!)
s) do the same with the cabinets and drawersjavascript:void(0)
t) buy a really good set of cookware. . .and not charge it. :)
u) buy more plates and bowls from Fiesta ware (that match) and not charge it

OK. There they are. . .thoughts, resolutions, to do lists, priorities.