A gentle way

Is it a bird? A plane? Yep – it is a bat, and it is stuck to Nick’s shirt.

Two summers ago, Roger and I were still in China and Nicholas had a lifeguarding job in Dayton, Ohio where his cousin Melanie worked as pool manager and Aunt Joy played host at their house.

One morning the children at the pool found a bat. They screamed and hollered and called for help. The other lifeguards were scared and did not know what to do, so in true Nick Fender fashion, he sauntered up to the little creature and allowed him to latch on to his shirt. I don’t know how long that shift Nick sat in the lifeguard chair under an umbrella with a bat affixed to his T shirt, but we can rest assured that he made sure the bat was safe.

I missed my boy that summer and felt torn between worlds when he needed to be in the US working and I needed to be in Shanghai. I hear the children at the pool loved him with his critter catching ability, along with his silly, dry wit. But the story that touched me most from that summer actually came from Nicholas himself. I called one morning in Shanghai, his evening, and he routinely told me about his day.
That was the day of the week that the little old ladies had their water aerobics class. He was required to be on duty during the class, but here were no swimmers in the pool.

I sat in my chair in the window of my apartment, watching through the haze as the city awoke and Nick eased into his evening routine of throwing the Frisbee for Joy’s Weimaraner, Scout. Talking with me between breaths as he threw Scout’s Frisbee, and then praised her for her catches, he shared the previous morning. They like coffee; he told me about the ladies in the class. Each one likes her coffee differently, and he recounted exactly how each preferred coffee. After the early-morning class, he would make sure each of the ladies had a hot drink and a clean place to sit down and visit.

He sat with them during these respites after class to hear their stories. Nick was a 21-year-old boy who truly cared what others had to say. His had a gentle way of listening with care. One of the ladies lived in Germany before World War II and she is Jewish, he told me.

“How did she get out of Germany in those dangerous days?” I asked.

Nick told me he did not know, as she was much more interested in a one-day sale the ladies would attend later in the day. He did not push for a response because he patiently waited for people in their time. A gentle listener.

When he was a small boy, I would hustle around the house with a fly swatter getting rid of the varmints. He learned to quietly watch them in the windows as they fluttered. He measured their habits and flight patterns until he taught himself to safely catch the flies. Once he learned to catch flies, he asked me not to kill them any more – he would let them outside for me.

The gentle way continued as a theme with people and animals as he grew into an adult. Last spring, Nick was at our home in Franklin one weekend evening. He and Roger had been cleaning out the garden pond when Roger spotted a snake. Nicholas identified the snake and abandoned the work site to gather supplies and create a terrarium. He looked up the plants this snake would need and pulled them up from the yard; the project took a couple hours, and when complete he moved his new baby snake into its carefully constructed home. That was, until later that evening, when he brought the snake food and it rattled at him. Oops – misidentification.

He came down stairs to tell us of the foible, and Roger got up to help him “take care” of the problem. I anticipated his reaction and touched Roger’s arm. I whispered that you all were going to need to drive out in the country. He looked at me confused, as Nick, upstairs was pulling on his shoes and getting the terrarium ready to move. I knew he would not stand for killing the dangerous reptile; they put the tank in the car and released the baby rattle snake safely into a field.

Very few people can successfully walk through an entire life in the most gentle of ways, but Nicholas Fender did. I cannot remember a time when he intentionally set out to hurt.

I squash spiders, but I will say I feel guilty when I do, thanks to Nick. And, when possible, I let them outside. In his honor, I try to be more patient with people, listen better and conduct my life in a more gentle way.

Believe it and do it

Just think of all the people who knew, as teens, what they wanted to do when they when they grew up, studied, pursued it, and never looked back - then, there is the other 99.2 percent of America’s population.

Both of my kids had doubts of where their college majors were taking them about junior year. I changed my major, and so did Roger. Are we typical? I am thinking we are.

I did not start out as an English teacher. In fact, I was quite old when I entered the field of education, and never had aspirations of teaching, even though my mother taught as I was growing up. A little over a decade ago, I worked as a reporter at The Review Appeal in Franklin, Tennessee. Probably the coolest newspaper ever, but that is a story for another day.

At that time, my responsibilities included writing stories for the home and business sections of the paper. As I mused from time to time over what I wanted to do after newspaper, I thought about my skills, strengths, and weaknesses. Anything that had to do with math, I easily ruled out – don’t think anyone out there wants me as a personal accountant. I thought about corporate communications – I knew I could do that, and my mother suggesting studying for teaching licensure. Summers off, she exclaimed. (I hear all the teachers in this audience snickering at that ruse)

While Mom suggested teaching, and I thought in the direction of other channels, I had several interesting repeat occurrences that gave me pause for thought. It is so cool you can write, a Brentwood pediatrician told me. “I wish I could write.” I looked up from my notepad incredulously. Here a well-educated woman successful and respected in her field told me she wished she could write. Huh?

In the same week, I interviewed one of Franklin’s city administrators about development in Cool Springs. As I wrote notes, he commented on a recent story in the business section of the paper and said “I wish I could write.” This is someone who was very good at what he did and commanded great authority in the community, yet he told me he wished he could write. What?

I had a couple more similar occasions that made me ask the question – who on Earth was telling these people this nonsense? Who out there felt they had the authority or the right to strip intelligent and skilled people of the confidence to accomplish the simple task of telling a story? Goodness! Writing is no more than constructing a story with your fingers. We all can do it verbally; it just takes some fine tuning and training to move thoughts from tongue to finger tips. Simple for me to say because I have had a wealth of encouragement in my collection of careers, but I now had a new mission.

Less than two months later, I entered college as a very “non-traditional” student and started my journey of learning to teach. Goals and ideals change from year to year, but one thing never changes in what goes down in my classroom. I do everything in my power to instill confidence in kids that they have the ability and hold the power to put thoughts into words.

The key idea in this ramble is that we must encourage the people in our lives to follow their dreams and aspirations and never squash folks from believing in themselves. Some have greater strengths and aptitude than others in certain areas, but weak ability goes a long way with great confidence.

More than a few of us find ourselves at crossroads in life these days. We either want to or must shift gears and head into that dreaded intersection. If so, we must know we are not alone in life change; we can manage this glitch, then lift our feet from the clutch with attitude and forge ahead before the car stalls.

Morning brightens the outlook

It was a newly-built house with a terrific sun room/family room, but narrow and difficult to arrange furniture. Roger and I put kindergarten Nicholas and second grade Elise to bed and pondered rearranging the family room. After staring all the way around for a long time and standing in different locations, we pushed and pulled until we had the furniture placed in a way that would work for our active and busy family.

Nick sleepily came down the stairs the next morning in his jammies, climbed over the couch placed in what was once a walkway and muttered something about preferring Fruit Loops over a scrambled egg. Elise followed down the stairs only after she was completely ready for school with her back pack in order. Just before the step into the sunken room, she stopped in her tracks and insisted on knowing just what happened in the house last night.

After demanding a full explanation, Elise sat on the floor and let us know in no uncertain terms that now would be a good time to get the place back into order and stop the nonsense of changing things that just should not be changed.

Change. If there ever were a four-letter word that takes six to spell out – it would be change. I hate it and raised a daughter to do the same. But change keeps coming like a buck snorting and pawing in the snow ready to charge. We, as people of resilience have to grasp it by the antlers and wrestle it to the ground before it gets us down.

Elise and I both still struggle with change, yet it keeps charging at us, and most of the time, we are able to either embrace it or just beat the tar out of it before it gets us first. Elise grew up still resisting change, and always rolling with it in the end, but the furniture issue rears its ugly head every once in a while.

With a heart for adventure, she went to college a thousand miles from home where she met the love of her life. After she spent three months volunteering in Africa, the two travelled to St. Louis where she taught seventh grade and he attended graduate school. With a diploma under Scott’s belt, their adventure escalated by moving to Boston where Scott accepted a research position and Elise took her turn at graduate school. And that is where the story continues….

On a hot and balmy Saturday night last July, after two days of traveling with a U-Haul trailer, a dog and most of their Earthly goods, Elise and Scott arrived at their dream apartment. The night was dark, except the bright city light that shined in the apartment. They knew they were close to the train because their windows rattled as it clanked along. Their beds and furniture would not arrive for a couple days, and in a world defined by order, Elise looked around at a dirty, yucky place that barely resembled the realtor’s advertisement. She called me and cried. Through exhausted sobs, she said the kitchen was gross and the bathroom made her gag. Their things would surely not fit and the train drove them crazy.

Things are always better in the morning, I advised. Sleep, then dive in and deal with it. They unpacked cleaning supplies before toiletries. I worried all day Sunday, not wanting to call before they powered through the distress. About 4 p.m., I was relieved and anxious to see her name pop up on my phone. Oh, Mom, she announced. The bathroom is so cute. I love it.

This change-resistant, yet resilient hero of mine plowed through one room at a time and chose the smallest to begin. With a bucket of elbow grease, she scrubbed one room while Scott scrubbed another. Then, they rewarded themselves with a trip to Target for the finishing touches that make it feel like home.

We visited the apartment last fall and it is just as sweet as they describe. Very close to Boston College campus and near a train stop, the building is about 90 or so years old with high ceilings, window transoms and tall old-fashioned wood trim to give it character. They love it and the real thing looks much better than the realtor’s ad. Incidentally, the train that gave them fits the first night only uses that route on occasion – barely noticeable.

When we hit those lows and the outlook seems so bleak, morning sunshine can make the whole room look different. Change frightens and rattles us like the train in the night; it only beats us if we allow it.

That is assuming your parents don’t change the furniture while you sleep.

Caught between worlds

Tomorrow, I will say “see you later” to a dear friend of my heart. The time has arrived that she must travel back to her home more than 7000 miles away from her children and extended family. When the plane lands, exhausted, she will greet the husband who misses her so much, and after a few days of jet lag, she will step back into her entirely other life.

I understand, as I have straddled the fence of living at home with the kids in Tennessee with Roger far, far away, and living at home with him “on the other side” in China. The overseas life for my friend is a good one, and I knew that side of her life long before I knew the Michigan side. Hers is a good life “on the other side.” She and her husband share quality time together; she has friends who love to come to her apartment for good homemade food. I was one of those friends, and a trip to her place meant leaving with food in my belly, a package of food in my hands to take home to Roger, and warmth in my heart as I enjoyed those afternoons in her fifth-floor apartment looking out over Shimao’s fake lake, knitting and visiting. Her Michigan life centers around her children, extended family and the kitchen as well. Both separate worlds are good, but far apart, and she feels, as we all do for one reason or another – stretched and caught in the middle.

How many times do we find ourselves caught between worlds? Working parents know the feeling of being caught between worlds when they hand the baby over in day care and drive off to work. Some of the best teachers and co-workers I have ever known agonize over the feeling of separation at that moment in the morning, followed by knowing they enjoy their jobs and create good things to happen in their work environments.

I remember taking Elise, my first born, to Miami for her first semester at the U. She was a young small-town girl, and here I was, embarking on the task of leaving her seemingly all alone in this big city. As I struggled with encouraging independence in this child, I wanted her close to me at all times. She did not quite share this struggle, and waved her hand wildly as Roger and I slipped away from her on that steamy August Sunday morning as she skipped up to her new free, fresh, fun and stress-filled life. We felt so caught between the worlds of protective and strict parenting, to the world of allowing that butterfly to emerge from the cocoon we had so carefully constructed and maintained.

But, emerge she did, and now lives and thrives in Boston with her husband, Scott. While I now view her strong independent streak with much more confidence, I still keep the Boston weather report on my home page, as I somehow feel knowing her weather brings me closer to her world.

During the years Roger travelled almost every week, people would routinely ask me where he was. Quite frankly, sometimes I did not remember and at others I just knew he was not in the world of sharing carpool, dinner, and evening television. I would tell people he was in “the land of gone,” but will be home on Friday. We lived in the same world, but did not share it on a daily basis. He wanted to be home, but loved the job he was doing in those days. Caught between worlds.

Finding resilience when we want to, but cannot be in two – or more – places requires a level of adaptability that is hard to achieve, but gives us a sense of accomplishment when we do. “Bloom where you are planted” is an old cliché, and I even remember a poster with that slogan in my dorm room days of yore, but it is a good one. To take circumstances that we cannot change and life opportunities for growth that should not be squelched and thrive is a signal of strength.

We cannot be everywhere at one time and must go where the winds take us, or allow others in our lives to do the same, but in adapting to the changes in our worlds, we break down the barriers that separate and give us the personal freedom to “bloom.”

I will miss my dear friend and look forward to reuniting with her this summer – She embodies the spirit of blooming where she is planted. Until then, I hope she shops for me. I really miss that part of her world.

Every encounter bears a reason

I don’t know how many miles span the Earth, nor do I know how many people call it home, but I do know that this planet is getting smaller by the day.

Social networking sites connect us around the world in ways we never thought possible, and we are in touch with more people than we could have dreamed of, say, 10 years ago. Last spring, I got together with a college roommate who was in town on business, and it felt like we really did know each other, even though it had been more than 20 years since our last encounter. We did not even bring the once-essential picture album – we had already reviewed all the pictures. I love the connections, and the mass transit of information.

I also know that the non-techno aspect of our world is shrinking in a very fascinating way. Today, I had lunch with people in my neighborhood. One person mused that everyone who crosses our paths, does so for a purpose. Think of the people we run into on a daily basis who turn out to be just the people we needed to see, for very specific reason. Are these coincidences or cosmic clashes?

More than three years ago, when I first arrived in Shanghai and knew virtually no one, I attended an American Women’s social function. This was a casual occasion and I wore a long sleeved tee shirt with a small Red Cross symbol, and in tiny letters, Williamson County written around the bottom of the circle. In a loud room, a woman leaned into the long table, about six crowded chairs down from me and asked across the din if my shirt referred to Williamson County, Tennessee.

It did, I replied, and she went on to tell me she once lived in Brentwood. I made a little joke about hailing from across the tracks in nearby Franklin and went about the business of meeting the people around me. At the end of the evening, the lady from across the table came over and introduced herself to me and told me had taught seventh grade English at Page Middle School in Franklin.

I recognized her name immediately as a favorite teacher of both Elise and Nicholas at Page Middle. We became friends immediately, and she even got to meet her former students while they visited China.

At lunch today, I shared this story of the social coincidences in our world, and another person shared a story about looking for a place to see a beautiful sunset across a Great Lake in northern Michigan. The family searched for the perfect spot to enjoy the colorful end of the day ritual, and they found a bench situated perfectly to see the sunset. As they sat and watched nature’s palette, an elderly gentleman came and told them about “his” bench. He told the family that he built the bench perfectly situated to watch the beautiful sunsets, as he wanted visitors to enjoy sunsets as much as he does.

The little girl of this family went back to her home in Troy, MI and told her teacher about this special grandpa. Her teacher actually knew the daughter of this kind man, and the family had even written a book about their dad’s special bench that he built to allow people a comfortable place to watch sun’s disappearance on the water’s horizon every evening.

Stories abound of people running into someone who knows someone who knows something in common. We do live in a small, small world. I reflect on the many people I have met along my way who have affected me so deeply. Some are those unique coincidences that make us ponder, and others serve as the happenstance of kindness that give my heart a lift in my world where I far too often find myself as the new kid on the block. As I walked through the local gym recently, my thoughts deliberately rested on my lament of how much I miss the familiar faces of the people back home. As I was lost in this thought, I felt a tap on my arm, and it was a neighbor I had only met once who wanted to say hello.

Yes, everyone passes through our lives for a reason, and each encounter, no matter how small, can make a difference. Let me know about your casual brushes that turn into more than a coincidence.

Find a lucky clover

“I found you a four-leaf clover, Mom.” I have heard these words dozens of times over the years, so many times that I can hardly form them on this keyboard.
My son, Nicholas could find a four-leaf clover just about anywhere and anytime. When he was a little boy and would get underfoot, I would tell him I needed a four-leaf clover. He would scamper out in the yard, be gone for about 20 to 30 minutes (which would account for time being side tracked) and come in to present me the treasure. If only I had kept those wilted gifts from over the years. The little green clovers have stuck to refrigerators in at least three of our houses, marked my place in many books, given me luck taped on school desks, and the latest one withered in front of my license in my wallet until I threw it away.
While the little green clovers are but a memory, I have a bright and shiny Clover radiating happiness and joy to me every day, waking me up at three in the morning, and even lying at my feet as I write. Last Thanksgiving, Nick had just transferred to Middle Tennessee State from his former school in Arkansas. Because he had dorm life behind him, we all agreed the time was right to make his dreams come true and give him a dog. Not just a dog, but his dog – one he would train in his own way, take to the dog park, and allow on the sofa.
We told him Christmas would be the puppy of his choice, so in Nick Fender fashion, he began the research. What breed would be suitable for apartment life, have a peppy personality, and absolutely most importantly, serve as a hiking trail companion? We all fell in love with Elise and Scott’s sweet Riley, a wheaten terrier. The more Nick researched into the perfect dog breed for him, the wheaten kept creeping back into the picture.
We found a breeder nearby in Mt. Juliet, TN with a brand new litter only a couple days old. As I entered the warm living room, the babies were warming on the floor in front of the hearth. I saw bald hamsters, Nick saw love. He reserved pick of the litter and we returned home to prepare for the eight-week wait.
Each week, Nicholas visited the breeder and got to know all of the puppies. He made his choice early on – the only black female pup. He would stop by after classes, then regale me with stories about how this puppy was different. Special. She was independent, he told me. When the others were chasing a toy, she found one of her own and played with it. She was inventive, he shared. She could always find a way out of the box.
Stories kept coming, as did the musing over what to name her. My favorite of his names was “Squirrel.” One day, on the way out of the breeder’s home, he bent down, spotted a four-leaf clover, and his little puppy had a name. From that moment on, each time he referred to her, he proudly proclaimed “Clover.”
Clover came and the boy and his dog bonded. He trained her after carefully researching for the best technique. She rested in his bed when he studied. Until she was big enough for walks, he carried her in the pocket of his hoodie.
I always said the two were like peanut butter and jelly. When Clover was big enough for a challenging hike, Nick took her to Virgin Falls. She loved it and he sent me a picture of her on the trail. Sadly, that was his last hike, and he took it with his beloved Clover.
I have loved Clover dearly from the very first time I saw the little black fur ball weave across the kitchen floor, but she means so much more to me now. Clover is the living and breathing representation of Nicholas. When she looks at me with her button eyes, I know those are the eyes that looked lovingly at her “daddy.” When she runs circles around our Michigan yard, I picture Nick walking lap after lap around our Tennessee pool. When Clover lays her head in my lap, I feel a hug from my boy.
If tragedy strikes, or more likely, when bad times come, it is so important to find a light that shines through the darkness. Last night, I looked out at the cold, clear sky and saw a single bright star. I smiled as I looked up and said “hi Buddy.” We need those lights that don’t make the darkness go away, but give us a reason to smile – a reason to look ahead.
Legend has it that a four-leaf clover brings good luck. One thing I know for sure is that our four-legged Clover is a pot of gold.

Smiles around the world

People’s resiliency shines in every culture and every different walk of life. All cultures have their own problems to face and crosses to bear. Some individuals choose to look trials in the face, shake their fists and say “you can’t keep me,” and others don’t come out with such great strength.

Resiliency is a powerful word and I have been working it over in my mind lately like a big mound of red Play Doh. In the face of adversity, no matter how great or seemingly small – pain is pain, and pain hurts. I feel how people handle the pain in the long run defines them.

Last night, Roger and I sat at the dinner table and discussed the concept of resiliency, how it relates to us and the world around us. He reminded me of the strength and kindness toward each other we saw in the Cambodian people on a trip to Siem Reap two years ago.

We hired a driver and tour guide to show us the various temple ruins such as Angkor Wat. He told us stories behind the stories of the temple ruins. He worked very hard and still took time to walk around, talk to the children at the sites we toured and offer them water. People of Siem Reap always held smiles in hot, dry conditions where they spent long days working.

I loved the natural wit we encountered. A young woman saw me eyeing the scarves from her booth and tried to get a bite from Roger, who could care less about pretty scarves. He told her “I need nothing.”

“I HAVE nothing!” she teasingly replied and offered to sell Roger some of that “nothing” for $10. He bought a scarf. We also fondly remember the moment when we were about to hike up a great hill to watch the sun set over Angkor Wat. After a long, hot day of touring, we looked up the path with narrow eyes and an opportunist little boy ran up to us trying to sell us a cold drink from his mother. She had a cooler full of only Angkor, a local Cambodian beer. That did not look appetizing for us before a hike, but the little boy was convincing as he stood behind the cooler and next to his mamma.

“OK” Roger relented, “I will pay your price, but only if you give me two.” The boy quickly agreed, took our money and sent us along the way.

One afternoon, we stopped to drink some water in the shade, and our tour guide broke down in a rare and poignant moment. We were confused at first, but, with language barriers, he shared some experiences with government corruption. At this time, Roger and I had lived in China for about two years and knew better than ask about or discuss political issues in sensitive countries.

Knowing we were foreigners living in China, he told us that Cambodia is not the free country the government claims it to be. Hearing the pain in his voice, we listened to stories of abject poverty, poor medical care, and the needs of the people. Every month, he said, he sends what little money he can to a school for children affected by the tragedies of Cambodia’s civil war 35 years ago.

When traveling abroad, Roger and I always try to get a chance to get away from the tourism scene and see the way people really live. We rented bikes and rode alongside rice paddies and two small villages. Here again, we saw beauty among the stark realities. I remember a lovely green rug with a peacock intricately woven into the pattern hanging outside a dusty hut situated on a muddy creek. . We saw a little girl sitting cross legged on the floor of her hut with elbows planted in front diligently working on homework or coloring something lovely.

When we rode the bikes through the villages, children ran after us yelling “hello!” I rarely take pictures of locals when we travel, as I do not want to intrude, but these kids desperately wanted their pictures taken. We took a picture of one little girl and at least a dozen kids appeared immediately with cheesy grins planted on their faces. They wanted pictures made so they could see themselves on the back of the camera. We showed them their pictures and watched as the kids giggled, guffawed, and the boys playfully shoved at each other.

So, if in our culture resiliency means to roll with the punches of life, take the hits and come out standing on the other side, I would say we must live on a resilient planet. People inspire me wherever I look.

Use your powers for good

Use your powers for good!

This request, admonishment, battle cry is one of my favorite in working with my very intelligent students, and my own very intelligent kids.

We have a very scary world out there where we cannot leave our electronic toys out in sight in a locked car, where the news sometimes sounds like a horror movie, and we are very leery to allow our children out of our sight.

But, in reality, there are far more good things happening in this wide, wide world, and I am so happy for the fine men, women and youths who look beyond the scary to use their powers for good. I came across a Website for a great organization that’s name represents itself, Create The Good. While tooling around on www.CreateTheGood.org today, I read the stories of people from all ages and all walks of life using their powers for good in the world. My heart felt especially warm at the story of a young woman who referenced high school English reading assignment Reviving Ophelia by Mary Pipher. The book, Stephanie explained, shows how our culture can turn confident young girls into insecure adolescents. As a result of this literature and concern for her own little sister, Stephanie volunteers for Big Brother/Big Sister and mentors pre-adolescent girls.

A retired man who has a background in counseling, now volunteers his time to counsel former soldiers affected by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Lacy, through her Los Angeles area Bible study delivers sack lunches to the needy. There are many more inspiring stories on the Face Book page supporting this organization: http://www.facebook.com/createthegood?v=app_176011239081880.
When I was a very young girl, my maternal grandfather died after a valiant fight with Parkinson’s disease. After his death, my grandmother, left with two young sons, felt the despair of grief. As my mother tells the story, Grandma decided one day that the best way to feel better is to go out and make other people feel better. Her “power” was art, so she “used her powers for good” by painting hair brushes and handing them out at a nursing home. Seeing the happy and gracious faces eased her grief, and I sure the residents appreciated her gifts.

Excuses are so easy and valid in our busy and heavily laden lives. So, I really grabbed on to the motto of “Create The Good – Be a force for good whether you have five minutes, five hours, or five days.” I read about a woman who works for an agency in South Florida that that organizes volunteers over 55 to work with young students, do yard work and more. These volunteers are folks who have worked hard all their lives, I am sure done good time in volunteering, and now when they are in the golf and bingo season of life, they give their time to help others.

In reflecting on my grandmother’s hair brushes I recently decided I needed to find a place to use my powers. Now, finding a place to volunteer or give of ourselves is not difficult at all, nor is living in a new community any sort of excuse. I spend quite a bit of at home these days, and needed something I could do from home. So, after having lunch one day with Mary, a labor and delivery nurse, I asked her if the hospital needs knitted preemie caps. She told me that there were no volunteer organizations donating preemie caps, and they were greatly needed.

I looked up patterns for head covering for the tiniest of folks. They were so small, that they made me shudder. Mary’s words stuck with me – many of the tiniest do not survive and if a baby wears a hand-knit cap, the parents may take this gift home to have something their little baby wore. So, I knit in hopes that this little bit of wool can give a struggling little fighter warmth.

Last spring, while I still lived in the Nashville area, people came out from everywhere to help victims of the flood. Stories kept coming of the many people who gave up work time, risked their safety, rolled up their sleeves, and pants to work for those whose homes took in mucky water. One of my teaching colleagues told me of her mother who used her dry home to lay out her neighbors’ family pictures, used her dishwasher to clean muddy kitchen ware, and her washing machine to clean loads and loads of clothes and towels.

The stories go on, and when I hear of what a scary world we live in, I do get frightened – but think of the much greater majority of people out there using their powers to create a better world for all of us. Thanks.

A spring walk goes awry

Living in Shanghai, one of my favorite activities was going out on foot and enjoying the city.

Rather than the sweatshirt and jeans I had been so accustomed to wearing on off days back home, living in Shanghai taught me that leaving the house correctly meant hair done, nice shoes, smart outfit.

Because I am one who likes to use time wisely, I kept lipstick hidden away by the elevator, so I could take care of that little task during my wait. My building’s elevator doors were mirrored, so imagine the looks I received when doors opened unsuspectingly to a lean-in and pucker.

One morning I left the apartment with a list and a plan. It was early spring and one of those days when the weather broke, warmth filled the air, birds hung in cages from balconies and sang so sweetly. One of the birds of choice among the people of Shanghai is the canary, whose song carries above the street sounds of traffic, outdoor cooking, and people shuffling. This day was one of those lovely early spring days when I could enjoy my walk in a new outfit – a green and white blouse – sans coat or jacket.

I don’t know when the malfunction that defined that day occurred, but at some point it did, and it would have helped to have a little more Chinese in my repertoire, or just a keener eye to notice the obvious cues around me.

My first stop was the knitting shop. I enjoyed everything about this tiny little alcove of curiosity. Yarn and fibers are my passion. The shop on Pucheng Lu held a cornucopia of colors and fibers stuffed on shelves all the way up one wall; I had to dig around to find my choice of yarns. I loved it.

I pulled out a knitting magazine from back home, showed the shop owner and pointed to the picture of a pattern that called for a silky fiber. I perused the dusty shelves crammed with everything from scratchy wool to cashmere.

To visit a knitting shop brought joy to my heart. No matter that we did not share language, but in the tiny, untidy shop sat women, usually older women squatting on tiny stools just about eight inches off the ground. Watching these ladies with knitting needles was a feast for my eyes. They gossiped, laughed, and looked after babies, all the while not missing a stitch.

The shopkeeper’s husband often stopped by and helped in the shop or passed time with his friends on the front steps. In the evenings, he often played games with the other men on makeshift boards propped on stools.

On this lovely spring-preview day, I perused the shelves, while the shopkeeper examined the picture. I would choose yarns, feel them, hold them against my arm, smooth them on my face, and the shopkeeper would scrunch her face, shake her head and say “bu hao.” No good. So, deferring to the expert, I would venture on to the next shelf. We selected an ivory silk fiber; I paid her and continued my errands while she rerolled the yarn into a neat hank.

My malfunction. Where did it begin? I can only guess, but this outcome was the last thing on my mind of such a glorious precursor to spring.

At the vegetable market, the chicken man seemed to look at me funny, which was not unusual, given the many shopping faux pas I made on a daily basis. I strode on to my favorite vegetable vendor who complimented, through hand gestures, my green and white striped blouse. I thanked her profusely in Chinese. I bought my bell peppers – where green, yellow, red, and orange are all the same price –and handed her the money. As she continued to point to my blouse, I, again appreciated the compliment, and thanked her again, both for the vegetables, and the compliment.

As I ascended the steps to pick up my new yarn, the men who had abandoned their board game for a leisurely smoke looked at me and averted eye contact. The ladies in their knitting circle all looked up at me with narrow eyes. Before handing me my bundle, the shop keeper tried to tell me something. It must have been yet another compliment, I thought, until I looked down and saw two buttons had burst from my blouse.

The borrowed sweater could not cover my blushing face, but I had to laugh at my many “compliments” that day, the lovely sunshine giving me no need for a cover, and thoughts of who will be more embarrassed the when I go to return the sweater.

Resilience: the ability to roll with the punches, and find the humor in the end.

Living the dream

Keep the dream alive…

Today, I watched Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s famous “I Have a Dream” speech on my brand new beloved little I Pad. On this day, we reflect on the dream he eloquently shared with us so many years ago, reminding all people in this country that we are one, that we must stand together to fight injustice, and that the dream of equality must be sought by everyone.

This week marks the anniversary of the self-inflicted death of Phoebe, a Massachusetts teenager who, those who were near her say she felt unaccepted, taunted, and bullied by fellow students. She was different; she spoke in a different dialect from the others; she was new to the community. Only three months ago, a talented classical musician, and freshman from Rutgers, intentionally slipped off the George Washington Bridge; reports indicate he intended to escape taunting from his peers. He marched to the beat of a different drummer; his roommate is accused of publicly outing the boy.

Prejudice and reprehensible treatment of people knows no zip code. Bad behavior toward kids considered “different” knows no region, socio economic status, nor branch of faith. We have all seen it, we all know of it, but what do we do to not just deter – to not just stop demeaning treatment of others, but to not accept bullying in our own zip codes?

Dr. King states in his famous speech that he hopes his “four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” Parents today have come very far in realizing Dr. King’s dream of racial equality. Those who would never even think of using a racial slur anywhere, let alone in front of their children, comfortably poke fun at “nerdy” differences in other children.

In the years my Elise and Nick were growing up, I heard many times from parents (and shamefully, even myself), snickering at other children’s girth, mannerisms, and behaviors. I have stories, we all do, but they are not for this conversation, as repeating them perpetuates the “joke.”

We must begin early by reading books to our children that promote acceptance, that the television characters we encourage not be ones that demonstrate cruelty and stereotypes, but perpetuate caring and kindness. I remember the television show Everybody Loves Raymond, where too many jokes seem to center around put downs and insults. Raymond represents the misunderstood hero, and everybody loves him. Welcome to the fantasy of television –somewhere along the line (long ago) it became ok to laugh at ourselves and the foibles of others. Self-deprecating humor is probably my favorite, but we cross a line when we use our own insecurities to hurt others.

When people attempt to feel better at the expense of others, we perpetuate the very behavior that thousands marched on Washington with Dr. King to break down and destroy. Dr. King rallied for a united nation. “One nation under God.” He equated equality to freedom, and expressed his dream that all people be recognized for their inner selves, not from appearances and backgrounds. I love him for that, and thank you to all teachers who show students this speech in honor of Dr. King’s birthday.

Tomorrow: we will shift gears and continents and I will share a story of resiliency in the face of a street-side wardrobe malfunction in Shanghai.

When the water gets hot....

A frog, when placed in water that heats slowly over time, will adjust to the water, and eventually burn. I don’t really have a point to this statement, but it is a lasting memory from my high school biology class, and it does remind me of a fable from long ago.
A young woman sat in the kitchen of her mother’s home. The mother nervously took care of her daily tasks while listening to daughter weep. The mother, filled with the angst from her daughter’s pain, brought carrots up from the root cellar, eggs from the back porch, and coffee from the cupboard.
She silently lit the stove and placed three pans of water over the fire. The daughter continued rocking backward and forward, pouring out her grief. As steam arose and rolling tumult escaped the tops of the pans, the mother place carrots in one, eggs in another, and ground coffee in the third. She sat and held her daughter’s hands in hers with a silent and heavy heart.
After 20 minutes, the mother walked to the stove, placed the carrots and eggs on a plate, and fixed the young woman a cup of coffee. The smell of coffee already wafted through the tiny kitchen and the daughter held the steaming cup against her chin and inhaled deeply. As she inhaled the pungent aroma, she allowed slow exhales through her mouth. As her spirit calmed, her mother began to speak.
Carrots are strong, hard, and unrelenting. When they face the adversity of boiling water, they undergo change. With the adversity behind them the carrots are left soft and weak.
Eggs were submerged in the merciless conditions with a thin, fragile outer shell to protect the liquid inside. After enduring the water, they came through looking the same on the outside, but hardened on the inside.
Coffee had a unique quality, however. When the ground coffee beans were subjected to the same adversity as the carrots and the eggs, the beans changed the water – they gave it richness and flavor.
Now, if I were to tell this tale in a tenth grade English class, I would probably end the story by asking students to reflect and write on whether they are carrots that when faced with pain become soft and lose strength. Are they eggs that start with fluid spirits and after grief and trials, become stiff and hard? Do their shells look the same, but on the insides they have a hardened hearts?
Or, lastly, I would ask students if they are like the coffee bean that changes the very circumstances that bring the pain, release fragrance and flavor.
I mused on this literary assignment and decided that maybe the leading response to this story, that we should be coffee, and use adversity to create good is somewhat naive. While we would like to affect change in the aftermath of our tragedies, a journey must ensue.
In reflection, I think we should cut up those soft carrots, chop the eggs, add tortellini, fresh parmesan, a warm olive oil dressing and call it salad because emerging from grief and pain is not that simple. In order to recover from tragedy, we must give ourselves permission to become weak at times. Adversity hurts, and through that hurt, sometimes we have to suck it up on the outside, and hold tight on the inside.
Different circumstances call for different reactions, emotions, and responses to adversity in our lives.
At the end of the day, we want to be coffee and affect change in the world around us, but that takes time and a journey through seasons of weakness and seasons of strength because we are not frogs, and we can get through the tough times to come out on the other side.

Sometimes we just have to eat the chicken

“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude. Don’t complain.” – Maya Angelou
How I love simple words to declare a very complex point. Author and Poet Laureate Maya Angelou holds more than a gift for crafting words, her insight provokes introspection.
No all changes are huge and out of our control, some are just daily parts of life that we can take hold of or just allow them to make us miserable. When I was teaching, I remember nothing could bring about more grumbling and outright ruin someone’s day more than a daily schedule rearrangement. I am not just talking about set-in-their ways teachers, but 16-year-olds. If circumstances dictated that third period class would be held during the sixth period time slot, everyone seemed to walk around discombobulated and confused, with moaning served as the main dish in the cafeteria.
High school class scheduling is a minute change in the scheme of life, but how we handle the little ones sets us up for dealing with true difficulties in life.
I remember words shared on Oprah on Maya Angelou’s 70th birthday. During that hour, Angelou offered the simplest form of wisdom. "I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."
Job loss, home foreclosure, and the big three: divorce, disease, and death can affect people’s lives forever. Handling this level of adversity requires not only a high degree of tenacity and strength, but the ability to accept weakness, to grieve and weep. Maybe the way we handle the little things paves the way for the great and seeming insurmountable challenges if or when they come our way.
How one exits a taxi into a puddle in driving rain on a busy street in fragile heels says a great deal about how one might manage the life-altering changes that could come our way without warning. I can say this with true sense of experience and wonder about myself because during my years in Shanghai, I travelled by taxi cab most days and have left them under these conditions many times. Now some times, I have laughed at my own bumbling and marched on my merry way, but others, well – let’s just say there have been cases when my hissy fits became spontaneous street-side entertainment.
Speaking of Shanghai, and on a simpler note in dealing with change, I am reminded of the early months in our move to China. We were warned not to buy meats at the local markets, but imports from Australia or New Zealand. Our systems were not used to the bacteria, and could make us sick, we were told. So, I bought the wildly expensive chicken, beef and pork from off continent until one day when I was on a jog past the international grocery store and saw a flat of meat stacked on a skid in the sun. I did not know how long it had been there, but all of a sudden, the origin of the meat had less meaning to me.
That day, I began what became a lovely relationship with the local “wet” market. I bought chicken, took it home and served it to my husband, Roger. Remember when we introduced new foods to our babies, one food at a time, so as to check for adverse reactions? Well, I remembered this technique and quietly fed my husband chicken for a couple days, then watched his health and “behaviors.” He seemed comfortable and happy, there did not appear to be any stomach episodes, so I bought pork and followed the same plan. Now while I am not entirely proud of trying this experiment at his expense and without consent, it did work and we enjoyed local meats and vegetables for the duration of our time in China.
I know dietary changes are small in the many of life challenges that come our way, but how we manage them is a great indicator of how we will hold up when the storms roll in and threaten to drown us in despair. Will we grab a lifeline and pull, untangle the lights, dry our dripping, hair, and just eat the chicken?
Please share your thoughts on change and resilience in our daily walk. Tomorrow, I will discuss carrots, eggs, and coffee beans.

And the Earth just keeps spinning

Resilience can be associated with the ability to ride with change. I have never been a glide-on-the-wings-of-an-eagle kind of girl, and could really be characterized as quite change resistant, but sometimes life circumstances grab us by the nose, squeeze, then pull us along for a ride.

This morning, I awoke to a winter wonderland. The woods outside my Michigan window still glisten and look downright magical. But, contrary to my Tennessee standard of snow-day norm, life goes on here even when it snows. What I mean is that if I were still in Middle Tennessee, I would have looked longingly out the window with steam rising from my green tea and tickling my nose, and feel the fuzz from my slippers between my toes. Here, a snowy morning means the feel of wool around my face, the sound of grit under my shoes, and the business end of a snow shovel in my hand.

Resilience, drifted into my mind, and I recalled that I do have the ability to go with the flow, and groove with the move. So, as I shoveled, I reminded myself that I really felt warm under my layers, I earned a good workout, and the colors surrounding me, snow white, sky blue, and evergreen looked like a painting to hang over a fireplace in a woodsy lodge. It was a downright nice sight on which to rest my eyes.

One evening years ago, when my son, Nicholas was about four years old, we found ourselves in a scurry to make it to his sister, Elise's, softball game on time. "Run in the house and grab a jacket," I implored to the boy. "When the Sun goes down, it is going to get chilly."

A child who could not be rushed, he slowly considered what I said and matter-of-factly shared that the Sun does not move, it is the Earth that rotates.
I hurriedly sent him in for a jacket because when the Earth rotates to the dusk place, he was going to get cold.

This was one of the many life lessons my boy taught me - the Earth does not stop moving for any person, or any issue. When we feel heavily burdened with our problems and worries, the Sun still rises in the morning (and I believe we established that means figuratively), birds still sing, and snow still falls. People still must get up and go to work; dogs still need walked and cupboards still must be filled with groceries. Even on the days when we consume ourselves with the worries of life and cannot seem to hit the mute button on those voices of burden, the Earth continues to rotate.

The good news in the whole Earth rotation imagery thing is that the Sun continues to hold still. In other words, when issues of life spin out of control, we must find a constant that holds us firmly in place amid the chaos.

This “sun” could be anything that gives you a sense of stability and represents that tiny little place that will not change. I like to make mental lists of those elements in my life that will remain still among the whirlwinds of noise, confusion, chaos, and general Earth rotations that threaten my peace.

First, my faith. I know God's love and care for me is a sun that will never move. Without this assurance, I could not get my socks on in the morning, let alone, the snow shoveled.

After that, I have a long list, as do you, of the lovely pleasures in my life that I can count on as my unshakeable sun. In the furious blizzard of change and disruption in my life, what would I do without hot baths at night, dark chocolate in the checkout lane, oatmeal in the mornings, tea with milk, dogs at my feet, calls from my daughter, and the sound of the garage door opening when my husband is due home?

I don’t like to accept and handle change, but the Earth keeps moving, so I try as I might to hang on to something that holds still when I need to, and do my best to ride the waves of change rather than fight them.

The depths of love

Resilient:
1. Springing back; rebounding; buoyant
2. Returning back to original form after being bent, compressed, or stretched
Synonyms: Elastic, flexible, springy

This morning on the Today Show, actor Michael Douglas, surviving the rigors of treatment of throat cancer, suggested the depth of love shown with cancer patients could be a physiological response. In the interview, Douglas described the greater sense of love his family shows for him and each other in the wake of his cancer diagnosis. Matt Lauer nodded in affirmation, as if Douglas suggested that puppies were cute. It was as though this was the most obvious of all phenomena, but the idea of tragedy evoking a physiological response of love gave me pause for thought.

Watching the reports of the shooting in Tucson last weekend, we see the good in people rallying to pray for the victims - political leaders and regular citizens, children and adults joining together in support. If tragedy does not provoke a true and real physical response in people, how can we watch a news report of events involving complete strangers, and weep for them?

I lived in Shanghai, China during the great earthquake hit the western part of the country in spring 2008. In a city of 20 million people, noise is inescapable. Cars honk just to heard, the ubiquitous sound of jack hammers rattle the brain, barges on the Huang Pu blow air horns, and human banter wafts as far up as our 39th floor apartment. A couple days after the earthquake, which was felt in Shanghai, as far from the epicenter as New York is to Phoenix, people still walked the streets stunned, almost immobile.

This particular day, the Chinese Government set aside a time of silence for the earthquake victims. This moment, I saw the depth of love shared in the aftermath of tragedy. The city fell silent. I left my apartment before the 2 p.m. hour to show my support and share in the sound of silence – the sound of love rising from sorrow as a phoenix from ashes.

Just before 2, taxi drivers stopped. They, along with their passengers, stepped out of the cars in the middle of the street with caps over hearts. Bicyclists stopped riding and held their bikes. Barges on the Huang Pu floated in silence. Pedestrian stopped in their tracks as if unable to move, and shop keepers came out onto the sidewalks, giving up valuable sales time. An eerie and unnatural quiet filled our ears and hearts for at least five minutes.

Never have I felt such deep emotion for people I do not know, whose language I do not speak, nor culture do I fully understand. But, pain moves us all, even if we have not experienced the exact suffering another person feels.

Two months ago, my family began a journey into the gut-wrenching despair of loss. Our son and brother, Nicholas, tragically and suddenly passed away. We had just moved from the town where we lived all of his life, and had no home base for our return. My friend, Martha, before we even arrived in town, moved out of her home and in with her daughter to give us her house for the duration. Warm food – life’s sustenance - arrived with people to serve it. Dear friends suspended their busy lives to take care of the grim details of moving his apartment, caring for his dog, holding our hands, and reminding us to brush our teeth.

Strangers – now friends – in our new town responded similarly. People looked at me with eyes welled in tears, and I felt the pain they felt for me. These were people who did not know me, nor had they ever met Nicholas – the physiological response of love in the wake of others’ hurt seemed to seep out the pores of family, friends, and strangers.

Michael Douglas, Academy Award winner, and now cancer survivor verbalized what we as humans know instinctively – our love for one another deepens when faced with trials and suffering.

One definition for resilience is the ability to return to original form after being bent, compressed, or stretched. I don’t know what normal is, or if I will ever see my old normal again, but I do know that with a community of love, we can unbend, decompress, and unstretch our ailing hearts.

Tomorrow, I will explore the concept of normalcy in a changed world and visa versa.

"The time has come," the walrus said.

A blog - the beginning....of the middle...to reach a piece of the end.
“The time has come,” the walrus said, “to talk of many things - Of shoes and ships and sealing wax - Of cabbages and kings - Of why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings.”
More than a century ago when Lewis Carroll penned these words as part of the politically driven poem The Walrus and the Carpenter, I feel quite certain the wildly creative writer may have – in a very different time – begun his first blog post in much the same manner.
As with many of life's beginnings, this time in life is really one more piece of the middle, carrying me back and forth from beginnings to middles and back again to give me hints of the ends. Sound discombobulated? I like to think of our life stories as multi-faceted – some sides connect, and some, are just parts on the other side of the stone.
I begin this conversation at a crossroad in life that is definitely a beginning slammed smack dab in the center of a middle. After a menagerie of career paths and episodes of self-definition, my life has taken a few twists veered toward a new branch in the middle In my early and middle professional years, I worked as a newspaper reporter following assignments and documenting countless stories of the world around me. Between those gigs, I followed my own assignments as a freelance writer documenting stories of the world around me. Later, I found myself in my favorite life role to date, and that was as an English teacher, inspiring students to follow my assignments creating stories of the world around them.
In the middle beyond that, I moved to China for a couple years, and back to America in a displaced geographical location where I must redefine myself. Sound familiar? it seems that many of the people I meet stand at that metaphorical intersection, looking both ways, then forward and backward and all around again, hoping the light will stay red for just a few minutes before changing and forcing us to readjust and redirect.
Last summer, after leaving 500 miles of inch-deep heel marks due north and relocating, I found myself at that intersection waiting for the light to change, and hoping it would stay red for just a while longer so I would not have to take the nose dive into my new life. I decided to go back to my roots and investigate my situation through dancing my fingers across a keyboard.
I began keying through on this journey by focusing on the word “resiliency” - its definition or redefinition for me. Then, just eight weeks after my big move, that traffic light changed with a lightning strike, hurricane-force winds, ice on the roads, and oncoming traffic honking chaotically and veering in every direction - all toward my family and me.
That was the day I had to face a new painful beginning, a horrific ending, and figure out how I would define resiliency and create a new and frightfully unexpected middle to my story.
That sunny and colorful October day, just two long/short months ago, the world stopped spinning when my son, the younger of two children, only boy, senior biology major, backpacker, bug catcher and releaser, musician, and dear one to all who knew him, died in his college apartment.
And such are our beginnings, middles and endings. They do not happen on monumental days, but on random Fridays when we have other plans in place. Life changes redirect the course, sometimes in the most wonderful of ways, and sometimes in the most tragic, but as it is said, the only constant in life is change, and it is up to us to face it, embrace it and power through the intersection to create a new middle to our stories, and a new sense of direction.
Tomorrow, my story will continue with a focus on resiliency - it's meaning for me, and importance in all our lives.