A Turkey Trot of a different sort. Like everything this year, even the Turkey Trot was a little different. Over the past few years, I have participated in the Turkey Trot with my older sister. Running the Turkey Trot with my sister has become a delightful tradition that I have come to anticipate each year. Unfortunately, for the past two Thanksgivings I have been unable to be with my sister and have missed our festive Thanksgiving morning excursions.
This year, on the day after Thanksgiving I had my own little Turkey Trot. While driving down a residential street in a Bay Area city, I caught a glimpse of the unmistakable profile of a female turkey lounging on the grass next to a parked car. Incredulous that the feathered creature had survived our day of giving thanks, I quickly pulled over so my passenger and I could jump out to see this surprising city dweller.
The turkey was still on high alert, so it took off at full speed. I was amazed at how fast a turkey runs. While not exactly a roadrunner, the bird made good time and ultimately escaped our attempt to box it in. In spite of the turkey’s hurried escape, it was quite an enjoyably unexpected escapade.
Ironically, a couple of hours later as I traveled down the same street I spied a beautiful, fluffy black and white-haired creature scurrying across the street and onto the lawn of a well-populated housing complex. With tail held high as it scuttled along, the creature quickly disappeared without me becoming even the slightest bit tempted to pull over to investigate more closely.
Later, I realized my drive down the same street might be somewhat of a metaphor for life. Sometimes a turkey in your path can be easily driven away and other times just staying the course can help avoid a real stink.
Making political phone bank cold calls was never something I envisioned doing. As an introvert, the thought of talking to some unknown person on the other end of the line was a rather daunting prospect. However, recently, I became part of something I normally avoid: political action. In part because of the extreme polarization of the political system in the United States and also due to my experience living overseas for a number of years, I normally avoid discussions about politics and do not really engage with the process except for getting out to cast my vote and proudly wearing my “I Voted” sticker. However, a couple of the races in the recent elections in California had the potential to impact my life in rather significant ways. Consequently, when volunteers were requested for precinct walking and phone banking, I realized I needed to be involved and participate in a phone bank for a local election.
Contrary to my expectation, phone bank calling was virtually painless. I found it was relatively non-threatening. Most people let the unrecognized phone number I was calling from go straight to voicemail, but a few kind souls took a couple of minutes to listen and a few agreed to consider voting for the candidate I supported. Others said they had already voted. Still others said they have moved and not eligible to vote in the school board election or simply were not the person I thought I was calling. Gratefully, not one of these wary voters was rude or slammed down the phone in my ear.
After a while, I found the calls to be more of a challenge and less of a threat. In fact, I was proud of becoming more natural with the script and making it through my entire list of telephone numbers in the two hours I spent calling.
Unfortunately, my effort turned out to be in vain. The candidate I supported lost the election. But, I think I may be hooked on making political phone bank cold calls. And who knows, maybe I will even take a summer job as a telemarketer!
Having technology on tap can make life very much convenient. They say when it rains it pours and in recent months I have found it to be true, especially in the case of various kinds of technology that have become quotidian necessities. But my non-relationship with technology needs a little bit of background. Over the summer, I moved from a quiet cottage to an apartment in a remodeled Victorian on a well-traveled street in the third largest city in California in the heart of Silicon Valley.
Soon after moving, the screen on my trusty laptop went a pixelly green and then black. Absolutely nothing. Although I am not a hardware savvy, I could tell the screen was at the end of its life of useful function. So, I put it away and just pretended it did not exist for a couple of days. After letting it rest, I again tried to boot it up and got the same blank response from the display. When I had done this a couple of times, I slowly awoke to the reality that this computer needed some serious attention. However, as I was still in the throes of moving, I did not have the time or energy for it at that moment.
Busily settling into my new-old home, I was intent on finding just the right spot for each thing, and in many cases the right spot was the Salvation Army donation center just a couple of blocks away. However, in the process of moving furniture around late one evening, I ended up with my well-used and fairly elderly tablet falling about four feet and landing with a resounding boom from the impact of its metal cover against the historic hardwood floor. At first, it went all red and white stripes and black screen that were sometimes scrolling and sometimes static. In one moment of thoughtlessness, I was not just down one laptop, but one laptop and one tablet!
The good news is that I was busy unpacking, cleaning, and settling in. As a matter of fact, I was so occupied with pressing household tasks that I practically quit eating. While it was a pleasant surprise to accidentally lose weight, that is a subject for another day.
For a few days or maybe a couple of weeks, I didn’t miss my ailing technology much at all. But, as I settled into my new-old home, I found that not only were my laptop and tablet kaput, but my cell phone received an inconsistent and weak signal and my little television did not receive even one local station!
By now, I felt like things were getting out of hand! With life readying to move into high gear, I decided to take my laptop into a nearby repair center to ask what it would involve to repair or replace. After a big move, my budget for replacement was non-existent, so I hoped for a simple, economical repair. The tech at the service center confirmed the display that was in fact faulty, not the hard drive or motherboard or anything related to information processing. However, it would still cost $500 to replace what I call the screen. I suppose the screen is pretty important since the display of data on the computer is indispensable. Well, I already knew I could buy a new tablet for $500, so I simply had to decide which option would work best for me.
In the meantime, with desperation for technology and the ready connection it brings to people far away starting to set in, I decided to look into tablet repairs. Since the aging tablet was no longer under warranty, I learned the cost of the repair would be as much as a new tablet. Armed with the knowledge that the tablet was not worth fixing, I conveniently started gently and strategically banging it around trying to get something inside it to reconnect and give me a decent display. Finally, one of my frustrated taps against a solid surface resulted in a grainy, green pixel display. I was over the moon. Finally, I could reconnect with the 21st Century world! My tablet green pixel display tablet went with me everywhere and before I knew it, I had knocked it off of a counter and it had landed glass face down on the stone tile floor. With apprehension, I picked up the tablet and held my breath as I turned it over to look at the display. Not only was the picture still discernible, but it was the clearest display I had seen in months!
The good news is that tablets provide much of the functionality of laptop computers, so there was a lot I was able to accomplish with my trusty old tablet. Life went on and I developed a new normal as I limped along with the combined efforts of my resurrected tablet, an old, fossilized laptop, and a hare-brained mini notebook. Each one provided a slightly nuanced function in my newly emerging technological world. Somehow, it worked. It was neither efficient nor enjoyable, but it worked and life moved along–tediously, but at least we were moving along.
After more than two months of making this tedious ensemble of technological wonders work, I found a shop, Friendly Computing, in Redding where I could have my laptop repaired for less than half of what it was going to cost in the third largest city in California. Although I had to leave it there and return to life as I know it in the city, over the weekend I was reunited with my laptop and its beautifully crystalline display.
Suddenly, life is quite a bit less tedious and infinitely more clear! Now that the majority of my productive technology is back in working order, perhaps I will find the desire and creativity to solve the issue with my lack of television stations or maybe I will just give the television a good tap!
That’s right! I’m decking the halls in October. My Christmas tree is decorated and the house is mostly decked with holiday ornamentation. A friend came over last weekend and we decided some Christmas cheer would really cheer us through this autumn. We put on some Christmas music and dug through storage totes looking for just the right things to brighten things up.
Some of you may be shaking your heads and saying it is too early. And, your anti-materialist sentiment might equate my premature decking of the tree with overspending and an overemphasis on material goods. However, those of you who know me will remember rightly that I am not all about material things.
The simple reality is that this time of the year gets really busy. I turn around once and it is Halloween. I turn around again and it is Thanksgiving. I turn around yet again and it is New Year’s Day. Christmas is a mere memory and I have missed it.
On top of my exuberance for all things Christmas, I find that life experiences have also shaped why I feel the need to have my Christmas Tree decorated already. For a number of years I lived in Ecuador, where neither Halloween nor Thanksgiving is celebrated. So, everyone, not just stores trying to boost lagging sales, puts up Christmas décor with soaring Holiday cheer and expectation.
In that tradition, my premature Christmas tree is lighting the way to a brighter and more promising winter.
Who knew that hands free walking would become a hill to fight on.
I suppose when we all begin our chosen profession or vocation we anticipate an idealized version of our work. And if we do anticipate challenges, we know that we are prepared, passionate, and motivated enough to make a difference or to change the course of history by sheer will and determination.
However, as time marches on and the banality of fighting the good fight sets in, we are pestered by all manner of irritations, limitations, and prohibitions imposed by the powers that be, and we realize our efforts have little impact on the status quo. In the case of public schools, an archaic system that divides children into chronological age groups in order to prepare them for work in an industrialized society, shockingly little has changed over time.
In my conversations with a friend who teaches even younger children than I do, I have decided we are outliers. Our greatest frustrations come not from the little people in our classrooms, but by the shocking focus of big people on how classes of students walk across campus or other topics minimally related to student learning or well-being. On both of our campuses, even the youngest students are taught to march silently around the school with hands clasped behind their backs. Incredibly, these are not isolated incidents. Parents have advocated for and against this practice in various locations.
During a recent discussion about student walking without their hands free, I learned that at a school where the practice was enforced, a young student walking with hands behind the back had fallen, lost some teeth, and been badly hurt. In light of events, the parents threatened litigation and the school rethought its hand behind the back policy.
When my teacher friend, who is a trained dancer, explained how human arms are used for balance in dance, I quickly realized I was doing my young students a grave disservice. So, I headed back to school and talked to my students about how we were going to continue to walk safely, quietly, and without bothering anyone around us. We were going to walk hands free to catch us if we stumble. Simply put, I wanted them to have their arms free to swing and to catch them in the event of a fall.
Freedom Walking Hands Free
One of the first times we made the jaunt across campus with this newfound freedom, hands free, I noticed one of my students moving freely, in a dancelike swagger. Such a little thing, but that option restored a modicum of individuality and freedom with noticeable results.
On any given day, you may now find my students and me flying across campus like airplanes or finding other interesting, yet safe means of moving from point a to point b. It has leant a lighthearted tenor to our cross campus movement that was absent. In an era when teachers compete with high tech graphics and audio, I would much rather my students fly across campus with energy and excitement than to form a silent chain gang drudging from one dull task to another.
Not everyone shares my appreciation of freely swinging appendages. At my friend’s school, a virtual firestorm has resulted from her decision to allow her students to move across campus hands free. The perception is that without hands firmly tucked behind the back, there is no order or safety. One day with hands raised in appreciation of birds flying toward them, my friend’s little students gleefully celebrated the act of flight and remembered an earlier discussion in class about birds. The unfortunate timing of a colleague walking a class across campus at that exact moment ensured that my friend was flown at by a staff member decrying the children’s raised hands instead of celebrating a real world experience practically conjured from a discussion that had taken place inside the four walls of the classroom.
You are asking yourself rightly why this would be worth blogging about. I agree wholeheartedly. This is a non-issue. Real issues would be how to advocate for much needed services and intervention to support these same students who are forced to walk around campus with their hands behind their backs or how we can encourage them to be excited about school, to be happy and successful, and to learn to dream about more than simply having their hands free to walk as they please.
Young children are refreshingly honest. In their innocence they ask all kinds of uncomfortable questions of the grow ups around them. Working with five and six year olds on a daily basis, I have come to find great amusement in their unvarnished honesty. As children are developing their language and interpersonal skills, they can ask inconvenient questions or make unflattering observations with hilarious results.
One honest young lady asked one day if I had been crying, which can be a disconcerting prospect for a six-year-old. The teacher is not supposed to cry at school. Well, sometimes that teacher can have a cry on a difficult day. And on this particular day, not only had a had a lunchtime weep fest, but I had also forgotten to put on mascara. In a somewhat mendacious ploy both to allay her fears and put her curiosity to rest, I did explain that I had forgotten to put on mascara that morning while gently avoiding further discussion of whether or not I had been crying.
At the end of one long, full day with these uncensored little ones, I found myself gazing absently into a mirrored window while making a call from my classroom telephone. As I gazed at my mirrored image wondering how long it had been since I combed my hair, I realized all of a sudden that I was wearing two completely mismatched earrings. They were not even close to the same design or color. Howling with laughter, I realized this dangly mismatch had escaped notice all day by old and young alike.
I certainly do hope that means I had provided everyone with much more engaging things to ponder, rather than how I made it out the door that morning in this mismatched state. While they may be unobservant at times, I can unequivocally affirm that children are refreshingly honest.
Sometimes I contemplate rewriting a Jane Austen Classic to make all the characters meet with the poetic justice their comportment demands. Many Jane Austen novels, both print and celluloid versions, are old friends. I find familiar comfort in the oft read characters and settings that transport me to simpler times. I applaud the tidy neatness of how Austen sets her vain, proud characters in their place, but elevates her humble egalitarians. A fan of happy endings, I enjoy Austen’s neat denouements with the inevitable banishment of sadness and grief, which may even have been brought into the lives of characters by their own poor or selfish choices. Love and goodness always triumph.
However, there is one detail in a much loved story that leaves my simplistic nature dissatisfied: in Sense and Sensibility, Miss Lucy Steele’s conniving nature pays off. She ditches Edward Ferrars, her diffident, disowned fiancé for his proud younger brother, gains the esteem (and fortune) of her new mother-in-law, and lives comfortably in spite of her self-serving machinations. I find that aspect of the novel difficult to accept, but all too parallel to life. I would like for such intrigues to utterly fail and yield absolutely no net result.
But, life isn’t like that. So I guess Austen was right to let Miss Lucy Steele gain greater status and remuneration from her wealthy mother-in-law than the pious Miss Elinor Dashwood.
Actually, I do not think that Elinor would have minded the turn of events at all. In my reading of the story, Elinor’s principal enjoyment in life was entirely independent of her income or situation. She found practicality, duty, honor, and commitment to be far greater wealth than capricious favor bestowed or withheld based on one’s performance. While noble and admirable, Elinor’s attitude would not have put food on her table or a roof over her head, so I am profoundly grateful that Colonel Brandon gave Edward Ferrars the living at Delaford and that Mrs. Ferrars relented and gave Edward and Elinor a small annual income to help them along. It was just enough to be comfortable and independent without being ostentatious or proud.
So all things considered, I guess Elinor’s lot in life was far superior to Lucy’s.
But, if I were rewriting a Jane Austen classic or creating an “Austenesque” novel of my life, I wonder if I would write myself in as Lucy or as Elinor.
On a trip to the Central Coast region of California earlier this year, I found myself near Hearst’s famed Castle at San Simeon. Opting not to repeat the historical tour of Hearst Castle, I browsed through the visitor’s center, stopping to take full advantage of the observation areas. After a leisurely walkthrough, admiring the lovely grounds and galloping zebras, I drove down toward the Sebastian Store in San Simeon.
In my preparation for my brief getaway, I had read about the Sebastian Store that offers sandwiches made with Hearst Beef. I decided it was definitely a site worth savoring. So, after standing in line and getting my Classic Beef sandwich, I headed down to the Hearst State Beach to sit at a picnic table and admire the view of the crashing surf while enjoying the local fare. As I soaked up sun, was lulled by the waves, and savored my classic sandwich, I took care to spook off the numerous birds attracted by my tasty lunch.
Not long after I began enjoying my lunch, I noticed the vehicle that had parked in front of my car at Sebastian’s had also pulled into the beach parking area. The driver hopped out and placed his to go box from Sebastian’s on the table before returning to the vehicle to retrieve something.
Intrigued by the box, a couple of crows took control of the table top in the diner’s absence. Watching from a safe distance, I assumed the driver would return before the crows could figure out how to open the box. Little did I know that there was a cookie in a white paper bag right next to the box! Much to my surprise, before I could startle the crows away one of them had grabbed the bag with its beak and carried it several feet before dropping it over a fence that separated the picnic area from the dangerous cliff above the ocean. Safely over the fence, the crow and its fellows could eat the cookie in apparent safety.
Chuckling at the ingenuity of the crows I reported the cookie’s loss to my fellow diner, who had returned with a second box of takeout food. Although one cookie down, my fellow diner seemed unconcerned and still seemed to have plenty to eat.
This morning as I drove to work, excitement flowed through my veins. Sounds like I had a new workout routine, but actually it was the relief that today I didn’t have to look for street parking. At my school, we have a nearly non-existent parking lot. So, most of the employees scour the streets looking for available curb space between resident vehicles and trash receptacles.
Not being a morning person, I do not arrive an hour and a half before the 8:00 bell to begin my day. So, for this sluggish morning person, I was heady with expectation, knowing that for once I didn’t have to worry about parking because I was awarded the favor of parking in the special, reserved spot this week. Because of the Labor Day holiday on Monday, my days in the parking lot were already one shorter than the average work week, but I just reminded myself that I wouldn’t need a place to park on Monday anyway and tried to look on the bright side.
So, as I gleefully pulled into the parking lot, the warm expectation pulsing through my veins turned to ice water in a split second when I noticed that it looked like someone was parking in the reserved spot. Incredulous that this could actually be happening, I pulled through the lot to confirm that someone else had indeed parked in the spot that was supposed to have been reserved for me. Crushed expectations can really impact a day or a year or a decade or two.
Needless to say, it took a little while to readjust. Not only were my regular curbside spots taken, but the streets were already so crowded that I had to park on a neighboring street. Frustration and utter disappointment cannot begin to express how I felt.
I work with a wonderful group of people and I know the person who parked in my spot did not do it maliciously. In fact, there is not a person on my staff that I believe would deprive another of the special spot on purpose. Someone just didn’t get the memo. It wasn’t personal on either side, but I it still meant unmet expectation and disappointment.
Sure. Just get over it. Easy. But, wow. Not so fast! Wouldn’t that have been nice if it had ended there.
The person who parked in my spot was quickly cannibalized by other staff members for parking in the reserved spot, so the car was soon moved. During my lunch, I noticed the spot was vacant. Thinking there was no time like the present, I decided to drive my car around the block and into my spot-for-the-not-quite-a-week. Only, and you know what is coming, it was taken again. However, the (new) person who had parked in the spot was still at the car and graciously moved the vehicle so I could pull in.
And I was grateful.
Tomorrow when I drive to school, I will do so with adjusted expectations. I have much bigger expectations for myself, my friends, my family, my students and my colleagues than I focused on today. And if I keep my big expectations clearly in mind, then where I park cannot again make or break my day.
When spoken, this word evokes feelings as diverse as each family. In some people, they feel a sense of belonging and community. For others, something entirely different and not at all pleasant.
Along my journey in life, that word family has engendered different feelings in me, too. When I was around 13, embarrassment was probably the keenest sentiment I experienced. But today, I would have to say pride and joy in belonging ring most true.
My parents both retired early. And, although stories abound recounting the boredom of retirement, I have been amazed at how my parents have found new interests and have pursued them with passion and commitment. To my astonishment, their new pursuits have forced them to learn how to use newer technologies, including how to Skype, text on a cell phone and research safely using the internet. Their continued adventures into new and complicated fields inspires and reminds me once again how much I want to be exactly like them when I grow up.
In fact, today, my mom is one of my greatest heroes. When what we had hoped for turned hopeless recently and I was losing sleep, she said, “I just can’t give up.” So with the fearless tenacity I have seen in her countless times over the course of my life, my mother perseveres in the face of hopelessness with indomitable heart.
No matter what has happened, what is happening right now, or what might happen in the future, I know my mom loves me, my sisters, and her grandchildren with relentless, fearless love.
So for me, probably the most precious word I know is family.
