Hijacked

Stories from a Life I Didn't Plan

Tag: Whimsy (Page 5 of 5)

Decking the Halls in October

October 10, 2014 /

imageThat’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.

Let’s Go Out to the Ball Game!

September 24, 2014 /

Misc Photos 021One of my early childhood memories is going to a Little League baseball game with my grown up first cousin once removed to watch my second cousins play ball. Since the memories of the very young seem to be more impression and sentiment than fact and precision, I do not remember the details of why I was the only out of my three sisters who went, but I have a vague impression of watching little people move around out on a diamond and enjoying a grape flavored lollipop. Somehow this mere impression of an experience left a tally mark on the positive side of life experiences. So, when a friend asked me, a person wholly indifferent to professional sports, to go to a local professional baseball game, I unhesitatingly agreed.

Out of all of the organized sports in the world, I probably understand baseball the best. It is not nearly as distracting as football or basketball. For me, there are four people at the most that you really have to pay attention to at one time, and that is only when the bases are loaded. Just narrowing the field helps me focus on where the action is going to be so I don’t miss out on the exciting stuff people are going to be reporting about on television afterward.

Without knowing much about what I was getting myself into, I checked the weather and made the appropriate preparations I thought would make my game viewing a comfortable experience. My general impression before arriving at our seats was that we had special, reserved seats and wouldn’t spend the evening fending off the crowd, the vendors, or team fanatics. To anyone with knowledge of sporting events, the term “club suite” will mean much more than it did to me until we arrived. Not only was the club suite located almost perfectly behind the catcher (which even I could figure out provided a wonderful view of the game), but it was also a very nice glassed in box with theater style seats, a mini sink, a hotel room-sized refrigerator stocked with soft drinks, and plentiful catered game appropriate foods.

The entire evening was a delight! The only negative thing I might say is that I picked the worst time to leave the game and missed the only ball knocked out of the park all night. Murphy’s Law. I console myself with the knowledge that the homer was for the visiting team, but admit I still would have liked to have seen a professional ball player knock it out of the park in person.

However, this small disappointment was insignificant in the overall excitement of the evening. Jumbo hotdogs with condiments galore; wonderfully well-mannered suitemates; and an exciting baseball match made for a happy memory of a lifetime.

I may not have left the game with the taste of grape lollipop in my mouth, but even though I am not a true sports enthusiast, I left with the happy memory of another well-enjoyed and sweet baseball game experience.

Misc Photos 025

Children Are Refreshingly Honest

September 10, 2014 /

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.

Rewriting a Jane Austen Classic

September 5, 2014 /

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.Rewriting a Jane Austen Classic

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.

What about you?

Crows Like Cookies

September 3, 2014 /

IMG_1525On 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.

Who would have thought that crows like cookies!

Let Them Be

August 15, 2014 /

One evening after a musical presentation near the end of a recent school year, I was chatting with parents of my young students. In conversation with one mom who works in a very impressive, high power field, she mentioned how happy she was that her extremely bright son was integrated with the rest of the class, instead of segregated as he had been the year before. Not understanding exactly what she meant, I was slightly confused when she stated, “You seem to let them be who they are.”

With her and her husband looking on, I burst out laughing. “Who else would I expect them to be? The world only needs one of me.” However, I suspected I knew what they meant. In a time when data is more important than individuality, creativity or innovation, there is an expectation that students produce the same final product. In fact, I am supposed to provide a model for them to pattern after. However, my developmental-social cognitive philosophy prevents me from rigidly adhering to such a strictly behaviorist approach to learning and more than once accepted an alternate assignment from this parent’s intelligent young son.

I am not so arrogant to think my students cannot come up with a more interesting story or captivating idea than I can. In reality, one of the things I love about teaching is that I get to read ideas from many different people who haven’t yet learned to believe that their ideas will never work. Their imagination is not yet jaded and the confidence in doing the impossible is not yet pricked.

So yes, I try to let them be who they are and they in turn, let me be who I am—and that is a pretty fabulous arrangement.

Joy in the Journey

August 8, 2014 /

Up until recently my commute, although not nearly as stressful as others in the San Francisco Bay Area, could sometimes be frustrating after a long, stressful day at work. I find myself impatient and irritable by the various impediments or slowdowns, whether they come in the form of inopportune pedestrians or slowly driving cars. Occasionally, however, vignettes of life penetrate my perturbation and remind me of the joy in living.

Once after an irritating day with too many tasks to complete in too little time and too little appreciation received when completed exceptionally, I found my irritation rising when forced to stop mid-street for an elderly pedestrian accompanying a small child on a tiny bicycle with training wheels. Although initially piqued by this time-stopping delay, as I watched their measured progress across the wide street, I suddenly found myself thinking fondly of years before when I learned to ride a bicycle. In that moment, a lengthy delay morphed into a moment of wonder as I shared the history-making experience of a youngster learning the delight of self-propelled wheeled motion. Transformed by serendipity.

The next day, I left work a little earlier than customary and after stopping by my favorite eating place—a place where, Nick, the young man who makes my coffee and toasts my bread, knows my name, and the fare is organic and fresh—I found myself in the thick of commute traffic that was nearly stock still. To avoid the overwhelming stress of brake and accelerate traffic, I opted for a circuitous route that took me twice as long as the normal course would have, but with far fewer vehicles to compete.

As I found myself at an extremely long red light waiting to turn left on a major street, the melody of a popular song booming from the car next door penetrated my simmering irritability at the tedious length of the light. Turning to look at the vehicle, I was surprised and utterly amused to find a 40-, or perhaps early 50-, something singing and grooving along with the music. I struggled to maintain my deadpan gaze and to not gawk at the free entertainment, but could scarcely keep from rubbernecking all the same. To my chagrin, my fellow commuter’s green light came first. Though I lost my entertaining spectacle, I gained freedom to enjoy my ill-concealed mirth.

For that brief moment, it was almost as though I were looking into a mirror. Considering how many times I have boosted the sound on the radio, allowing a favorite or apropos tune to drown out clamoring thoughts from the day that were loath to be otherwise silenced, I realized that though I might be alone in my car, I was not alone in the effort to leave drudgery behind by choosing to revel in a spontaneous celebration of the miracle of being alive.

My Hijacked Life

August 5, 2014 /

My Hijacked Life

My hijacked life doesn’t look like I expected it would. As a little girl, all kinds of people conditioned me with ideas and dreams about what life would be like when I grew up; when I become a woman. Little did I know that I would never become a woman, at least not in the way idealized by many of my mother’s generation.

Although I went through the requisite pubescent transformation, I never became a mother. In fact, I have never become many of the things everyone told me or expected of me: a lover, a mother or a caregiver. In fact, in some ways I feel as though my life has been hijacked.

I always thought I was doing something worthwhile in teaching and becoming a missionary and I believed while I pursued those worthy vocations that perhaps I would meet a man with similar interests and life paths and we would continue on pursing those worthy vocations together. As the years went by, the dream of children in that equation faded as it inevitably does, but oddly enough the anticipated find a potential mate has yet to be realized.

The Continuation of My Hijacked Life

Finally in the summer of 2015, spurred to action by my desire to be a parent I decided to investigate local foster family agencies and to attend classes for future foster parents. I had explored foster to adopt at other times and in other places, but the timing had always been wrong. This particular summer, just as I had completed all but one of the required training courses through the Bill Wilson Center and was preparing to submit my application to become a foster parent, I was diagnosed with cancer. Those plans to finally become a parent were immediately derailed and once again, I felt the crushing weight of disappointment in my hijacked life.

It seems like there is always another surprise on the way. Unexpected disappointments can crush and break, but one can rise up in brokenness with anticipation and faith that life is still good, even when it seems like our hopes and dreams have been hijacked.

 

My Hijacked Life

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