("firecracker" dandelion photographed at Graceland)12/31/08
Last chance for 2008. Another year is heading out and I eye the one coming with suspicion. What will it hold? A new President for starters, thank goodness. More political shifts throughout the world, no doubt. Further economic downturn? Probably a blizzard here, a hurricane down there, twisters in the middle, and unpredictable floods somewhere. Some people will get well and others will receive unpromising diagnoses. And amidst it all, faith will seed and grow, offering to carry us through.
Looking back on 2008 helps me to understand why I'm so comfortable with it coming to an end. Early in the year I helped my elderly parents finally make the grueling decision to sell their beautiful country land and home in Texas and move into town for their last years. Finding them a new home, selling the old, dealing with animals, and packing up their long lives were extremely challenging endeavors. Settling them into a different environment in their mid-eighties and watching them re-sort belongings into different kitchen drawers, while learning to navigate an unfamiliar house and new town was difficult. But they are no longer isolated in the country far from help. How must it feel to make such a monumental change near the end of one’s life? I'm so sorry my parents had to go through this, and sure hope I never do.
Mid-year our dearest friends told Bill and me they were splitting up. We were stunned. Had we been so unaware as to not see there were serious problems? We shared weekly dinners with these friends, holiday and birthday celebrations, and regular journeys to the valley where we have land close to one another. When deciding to move a few years ago, being in close proximity to this couple had been at the top of our wanted list in a new home. Now three blocks away, the friend-family we had grown accustomed to and had come to love so deeply abruptly began to drop away. We felt a gaping hole in our lives with the loss of those times we all regularly shared together, our hearts aching for what our friends were going through. Remembering our own relationship’s unpredictable journey, we reached for compassion and understanding, realizing how our decisions of many years ago may have impacted those we are close to in difficult ways as well.
In the middle and at the end of this year, two people I worked with died unexpectedly. Shawna, our MHM office person, gave in to heartache and a treatable respiratory infection. (Refer to “That Duck” piece of 11/26/08.) Then Dave, a formidable teacher candidate just finishing our arduous year-long program, died several days before Christmas a little over three weeks after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Dave is still fresh in my memory due to our recent discussions about artifacts he had selected and reflections he had written for his final portfolio. Images of both Shawna and Dave remain crisp in my memory, whether it's how Shawna’s hair fell so beautifully onto her shoulders, or the neon orange winter cap Dave popped on his head when leaving class. I can still hear how each of them laughed. And unfortunately with both, I remember hastily ending our last conversations so that I could get back to my “schedule”.
This past fall, when our class venue changed, I found myself confronted with the necessity of teaching the value of reflective practice to a huge group of students in a large, vacuous space. The environment certainly wasn’t conducive to quiet reflection, but most of all my challenges of standing in front of large groups hit me square in the gut. I couldn’t hear well, I stammered, I got lost. Trying to navigate away from the quiet groups around conference tables in Houston classes, to the circular tables in smaller classrooms of the La Academia School, to the uncomfortable picnic tables of this warehouse space with half the students’ backs turned to me felt miserable. Struggling and determined to be flexible with the environmental and number challenges, I made significant yet disappointing changes in my curriculum that have not revealed the same growth in teachers’ abilities to be self-reflective that I have noticed in the past.
The year ended with the Texas Christmas fiasco. Trying to coordinate with multiple families and expectations proved dismal and hopelessly chaotic. Our desires to create a space for a family time ran amuck and Bill and I fell into bed most evenings questioning our intentions and vowing to stay upbeat. Exhausted, on our flight home we determined that in the future we will certainly visit family regularly, but not on holidays, removing ourselves from the unpredictable and apparently unsolvable equation of how to celebrate or spend time with everyone. The necessity for amends from this trip still hang in the air, regrets that have left tender, sore spots on several hearts.
Moving into 2009 is just fine with me. In all fairness, however, let me mention some of the brighter moments of 2008 and promises of ‘09. My parents are in a safer place. Our friends that split up seem to be forging a supportive friendship. I think I’m learning to not rush so much, to listen more carefully and let conversations linger, recognizing that I never know when it could be the last with someone. After our final November class, it looks like we’ll have smaller groups in different classrooms when classes begin again in February. Bill and I look forward to those non-holiday Texas visits in 2009, visiting family we love, soon to include another grandchild arriving in August. And of course we predict our garden will be as beautiful and productive this coming summer as last, supplying delicious food for our cooking and dinner ventures.
Bear with me a moment while I rattle off a list of treasures from '08. Visits from Bill’s brother in June, and our son Shawn and his family in August. Reestablishing contact with Billy, Bill’s oldest son, and another grandchild, Kayla. Rusty & Cece’s trip earlier in the year, more precious visits from Nancy and Malcolm, reconnecting with Blake in May, then having Peggy, Mary, Connie, and Carolyn all come to Graceland (our place in the valley), and the Durango and Taos trip in October to visit friends in their homes. Sharon and I making poetry mobiles this summer while Pat grilled goodies. Becoming closer to our neighbor Kathy - a high spot of our move to this ‘hood. Ann and Ben, other neighbors, promising us opportunities of babysitting soon with a baby coming in April. Weekly meetings with our writer’s group and the commitment Rebecca, Karla, and I have made to regular writing retreats. And of course the relief and blessing of watching QKS, Quality Knife & Supply/http://www.qks.com/, (Bill’s small business) hold steady in strange times.
A new year? There are sure to be more testy challenges a-comin', along with ample occasions for joy. My wish: may our faith in the future continue to be nourished, growing ever stronger regardless of how we label the experiences we encounter.
Last chance for 2008. Another year is heading out and I eye the one coming with suspicion. What will it hold? A new President for starters, thank goodness. More political shifts throughout the world, no doubt. Further economic downturn? Probably a blizzard here, a hurricane down there, twisters in the middle, and unpredictable floods somewhere. Some people will get well and others will receive unpromising diagnoses. And amidst it all, faith will seed and grow, offering to carry us through.
Looking back on 2008 helps me to understand why I'm so comfortable with it coming to an end. Early in the year I helped my elderly parents finally make the grueling decision to sell their beautiful country land and home in Texas and move into town for their last years. Finding them a new home, selling the old, dealing with animals, and packing up their long lives were extremely challenging endeavors. Settling them into a different environment in their mid-eighties and watching them re-sort belongings into different kitchen drawers, while learning to navigate an unfamiliar house and new town was difficult. But they are no longer isolated in the country far from help. How must it feel to make such a monumental change near the end of one’s life? I'm so sorry my parents had to go through this, and sure hope I never do.
Mid-year our dearest friends told Bill and me they were splitting up. We were stunned. Had we been so unaware as to not see there were serious problems? We shared weekly dinners with these friends, holiday and birthday celebrations, and regular journeys to the valley where we have land close to one another. When deciding to move a few years ago, being in close proximity to this couple had been at the top of our wanted list in a new home. Now three blocks away, the friend-family we had grown accustomed to and had come to love so deeply abruptly began to drop away. We felt a gaping hole in our lives with the loss of those times we all regularly shared together, our hearts aching for what our friends were going through. Remembering our own relationship’s unpredictable journey, we reached for compassion and understanding, realizing how our decisions of many years ago may have impacted those we are close to in difficult ways as well.
In the middle and at the end of this year, two people I worked with died unexpectedly. Shawna, our MHM office person, gave in to heartache and a treatable respiratory infection. (Refer to “That Duck” piece of 11/26/08.) Then Dave, a formidable teacher candidate just finishing our arduous year-long program, died several days before Christmas a little over three weeks after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Dave is still fresh in my memory due to our recent discussions about artifacts he had selected and reflections he had written for his final portfolio. Images of both Shawna and Dave remain crisp in my memory, whether it's how Shawna’s hair fell so beautifully onto her shoulders, or the neon orange winter cap Dave popped on his head when leaving class. I can still hear how each of them laughed. And unfortunately with both, I remember hastily ending our last conversations so that I could get back to my “schedule”.
This past fall, when our class venue changed, I found myself confronted with the necessity of teaching the value of reflective practice to a huge group of students in a large, vacuous space. The environment certainly wasn’t conducive to quiet reflection, but most of all my challenges of standing in front of large groups hit me square in the gut. I couldn’t hear well, I stammered, I got lost. Trying to navigate away from the quiet groups around conference tables in Houston classes, to the circular tables in smaller classrooms of the La Academia School, to the uncomfortable picnic tables of this warehouse space with half the students’ backs turned to me felt miserable. Struggling and determined to be flexible with the environmental and number challenges, I made significant yet disappointing changes in my curriculum that have not revealed the same growth in teachers’ abilities to be self-reflective that I have noticed in the past.
The year ended with the Texas Christmas fiasco. Trying to coordinate with multiple families and expectations proved dismal and hopelessly chaotic. Our desires to create a space for a family time ran amuck and Bill and I fell into bed most evenings questioning our intentions and vowing to stay upbeat. Exhausted, on our flight home we determined that in the future we will certainly visit family regularly, but not on holidays, removing ourselves from the unpredictable and apparently unsolvable equation of how to celebrate or spend time with everyone. The necessity for amends from this trip still hang in the air, regrets that have left tender, sore spots on several hearts.
Moving into 2009 is just fine with me. In all fairness, however, let me mention some of the brighter moments of 2008 and promises of ‘09. My parents are in a safer place. Our friends that split up seem to be forging a supportive friendship. I think I’m learning to not rush so much, to listen more carefully and let conversations linger, recognizing that I never know when it could be the last with someone. After our final November class, it looks like we’ll have smaller groups in different classrooms when classes begin again in February. Bill and I look forward to those non-holiday Texas visits in 2009, visiting family we love, soon to include another grandchild arriving in August. And of course we predict our garden will be as beautiful and productive this coming summer as last, supplying delicious food for our cooking and dinner ventures.
Bear with me a moment while I rattle off a list of treasures from '08. Visits from Bill’s brother in June, and our son Shawn and his family in August. Reestablishing contact with Billy, Bill’s oldest son, and another grandchild, Kayla. Rusty & Cece’s trip earlier in the year, more precious visits from Nancy and Malcolm, reconnecting with Blake in May, then having Peggy, Mary, Connie, and Carolyn all come to Graceland (our place in the valley), and the Durango and Taos trip in October to visit friends in their homes. Sharon and I making poetry mobiles this summer while Pat grilled goodies. Becoming closer to our neighbor Kathy - a high spot of our move to this ‘hood. Ann and Ben, other neighbors, promising us opportunities of babysitting soon with a baby coming in April. Weekly meetings with our writer’s group and the commitment Rebecca, Karla, and I have made to regular writing retreats. And of course the relief and blessing of watching QKS, Quality Knife & Supply/http://www.qks.com/, (Bill’s small business) hold steady in strange times.
A new year? There are sure to be more testy challenges a-comin', along with ample occasions for joy. My wish: may our faith in the future continue to be nourished, growing ever stronger regardless of how we label the experiences we encounter.
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