Inside Recess Again

I was more than a little nervous to walk into the church for the first time. It was 1994, and I was a brand new resident of a new city, with a new job and a new apartment. I was freshly graduated from college and had landed in a place where I knew only exactly three people. I had conquered many of the “firsts” on my own–finding a grocery store, finding the library, but I had not yet walked into an unfamiliar church for the first time.

Fortunately, a resident of Ottumwa who had grown up in Fulton and knew my extended family saw my name in the paper as a newly hired teacher and sent word through relatives that I should come to her church and sing in her choir. I had never met this kind woman but decided that was as good a recommendation as any, and decided to start there. Although it was daunting to walk into a large sanctuary of strangers, one of my good friends drove up to go with me for the first Sunday and we went to the service together.

That was the beginning of a 20-plus year relationship with a church family that grew to mean the world to me. I did indeed join the choir and became part of a rowdy gang of altos that seemed to laugh even more than we sang. I followed a few of them to the bell choir and found a shared love of handbells and mayhem as we tackled challenging and exquisite pieces together. I formed friendships with people who became my family-away-from-family and invited me to their homes, asked me to baby-sit their kids, and even parented me when I needed advice on how to be an adult. I even took what seemed the impossible step of buying a house on the advice and guidance of people from my church family. I was surrounded by heart-friends who definitely made my life in Ottumwa feel more and more like home all the time.

As the years went on, of course, things changed. Church friends moved away, some of my “church moms” even passed away, breaking my heart. New people came and added to the congregation and made their own impact on my heart. Traditions and missions changed here and there. My section in the choir got a little less rowdy. Worshipping in that sanctuary still felt as much like home as any place ever had, but the rhythms of life brought lots of changes.. For me, there came a time that I was often spending time on weekends in other places, away from my church home. My connection to my Ottumwa church family was growing thinner, and at the same time there were becoming fewer and fewer of my cherished people there as well.

At one point, I made the difficult decision to transfer my membership to a different church where the location made more sense to attend and become involved. Once again I felt the jangled nerves of walking into a new space surrounded by strangers. There were some people I knew a little bit, however, and over time I started to feel more at home. I found my group of less-rowdy-but-still-mischievous altos in the choir and in handbells, and started to find my place in the congregation. I also soon realized that this particular church was absolutely the perfect fit for me. My heart had found another home and I started building relationships and enjoying friendships with new people.

Today though, on this summer Sunday, I decided to return for a visit to my Ottumwa church home once again. It’s been pulling at my heart for awhile, thinking of what it would feel like walking into that familiar space after a number of years. I stood in the back, slightly disoriented as I looked across the sanctuary and recognized no one. After a few moments, though, I was rescued by two ladies who were delighted to see me. I found a place to sit and contemplated throughout the service how it felt to be back in a place that holds so many memories. I decided it was a little bit like taking a tour of a childhood home. Everything looked familiar and also strange at the same time. There was a tension between what it used to be and how it is now. I didn’t recognize very many people at all, but as the service went on my memories came to life as I pictured the families and friends from my earlier years in their places. It was sweetly nostalgic but also a bit sad. I miss those days and those people very much.

I’m glad I took the morning to visit my first church home. Being in that space not only brought back the warm feelings of the kindness of the families I was close to, but also brought back memories long forgotten. I am so grateful that from that first Sunday many years ago I found something so special that lasted over the years. Even now I have precious connections to people all over the state and even the country who are still part of my Ottumwa church heart. I smile each time their names cross my screen on social media as they share their lives and we comment back and forth. I don’t know how many people are able to find the kind of loving connection I found in the first church I ever visited as a newly-minted grownup. I hope I can bring that spirit to my now-home-church and pass on the same kind of kindness that was given to me. It’s true that you can’t go home again, but I did find out that a little visit can bring back the best memories and the chance to honor the wonderful people who were my family for so many years. There was a sermon this morning, but what will stay with me most from today is my gratitude for the people who surrounded me with lessons and love from the time I walked through the door. I hope they remember our times together with as much fondness and love as I always will.

I sat still in the passenger seat, trying to compose myself but sitting on the edge of panic. I loved my job. I was excited every day to go to my job. I worked that summer in the box office of the Showboat Theatre, an authentic paddlewheel riverboat drydocked on the edge of the Mississippi River. Every summer a new group of actors arrived to perform in five summer stock shows in the Showboat. I loved watching rehearsal and getting to know the performers. For a teenage theatre lover, this job was a dream come true. Until…this day.

My mom drove me over the river to the Iowa side and pulled up next to the Showboat. I knew before we arrived that I would have a problem but I was not prepared to the extent which I would be debilitated right there in the car. It was early July, and the temperature in the river had reached that perfectly certain point that prompts millions of shadflies to hatch and emerge from the river in swarms. Swarms. Millions of flying insects that do nothing but stick to things. They stick to windows. They stick to people. And they stick to the roadway, including the dock and the gangplank leading to the Showboat. In order to get into the box office and open for business, I was going to have to walk on and through a blizzard of shadflies.

I don’t remember how I got into the box office. I must have blacked out between the car and the locked door inside. I do remember my mother telling me I had to get out of the car NOW. I spent the rest of the day selling tickets over the phone while watching patrons come and go with shadflies attached to every part of them, even in their hair which seemed particularly horrible. Fortunately my box office windows only had a small opening for passing money and tickets so I could be fairly aggressive about keeping the bugs out of my personal space. Yet the shadflies were all anyone could talk about that day and they were impossible to ignore. The stage manager came through and told us that when he went out back to switch on the air conditioners he was enveloped in a cloud of shadflies. He told us they were even in his ears, and the fact that I remember this detail 35 years later is a testament to my extreme horror of this particular bug.

Shadflies hatch, fly, mate, lay eggs in the water, and die. They have no mouths, so they don’t eat. They are fish food except when they end up on land. They coat the roadways, especially the bridges, and can even cause cars to slide as if on ice. They live for about 24 hours and then all is left of the swarm are the carcasses. Those who live along or near the river use hoses, squeegees, and maybe a snow shovel or two to remove the shadflies. For a few nights the streetlights across the bridges are turned off. In some places I’ve heard they use snowplows across the bridges to remove the bugs. I just know that I plan my summer trips home around The Hatch, and if I see evidence that they are starting to show up I will pack my bags and head safely back into the countryside of Iowa. So in short, I can handle the spiders. I don’t mind the fireflies. I stay calm when a wasp flies in an open window into my classroom. But shadfly season is where I draw a hard line. They might be the worst bugs I’ve ever met. Summertime is a beautiful time of year…EXCEPT for the few days where the shadflies take over. I leave my readers with the sad fact that if you happen to see me around during early July and I spy evidence of a shadfly invasion, I will most likely embarrass myself and you will have to forgive me. Some bugs just bug me more than can be endured.

I have developed a new habit when I go to concerts. While delighting in the sparkly atmosphere and excitement of the performance, in the back of my mind I am trying to memorize the set list as it happens. I don’t really have strong skills for this–I keep repeating the sequence of titles at top speed until I can get to my phone and type them in my Notes app. It’s a little exhausting. I use this to create playlists of the concert so I can keep the memories always and relive the experience whenever I want, usually in the car with the volume up. One night my manic repetition of titles was interrupted when one of my favorite artists, Amy Grant, held her guitar still and told a story. As it turned out, the lesson I learned from her words stayed with me much longer than the playlist I recreated later.

Amy talked about a relationship in her life (maybe a neighbor, or an friend) who was going through a tough time in their life. She wondered what she could possibly do to lighten their load a little without being intrusive. In thinking about this person, she got a little nudge of an idea. At first it seemed a little crazy or too hard to pull off, but she took a deep breath and followed through. (Since my brain was still trying to hold on to song titles while she was telling the story, I’m not sure I remember all the details correctly.) It seems to me that the idea was to get a team of people and go to this person’s home to do all of the outside work that could be found–mowing, trimming, pulling weeds–anything that had been neglected while they were away from home. When the family pulled into their long driveway, they were astounded at how beautiful their yard looked. That kind of care gave them the kind of lift that made a real difference in their heavy hearts. Amy talked about listening to her nudge, never ignoring a nudge like that, because it is the calling of our hearts to care for others through taking some kind of action. I took those words to heart and resolved to be the kind of person who listened to a nudge.

That sounds well and good, but listening to a nudge is difficult. Immediately following many a nudge, I get all kinds of irrational thoughts about why that action won’t work, is too hard, won’t help, and is actually a completely useless and ridiculous idea. I have to fight through a lot of unhelpful thoughts to actually take a deep breath and carry out a nudge. I’ve been nudged to do both small easy things and also some more extensive tasks. Sometimes my idea for what I should do seems corny, and other times seems like something maybe no one else has thought of. A nudge can lead me to give something to someone, send a text message, or even just ask a question. A nudge sometimes results in volunteering for something that is out of my comfort zone or offering to help with something I’ve never done before. But Amy’s story has made me much more aware of being nudged, and then deciding how to respond.

Although I am now more sensitive and aware of the nudges I receive, I have questions for Amy. I don’t always know what to do with the results of my actions. Many times I immediately see that I have helped at least a little bit, encouraged someone, or given a listening ear at a good moment. Those reactions definitely reinforce my belief that I should never ignore a nudge. However, other times my response to a nudge falls flat. I fear that I’ve disturbed a situation, or annoyed a person and I’m embarrassed from it. I can’t really take it back and am left feeling pretty foolish. This can happen just as soon as I press “SEND” and last for a long time. I want to know if she ever has that “Oh, I shouldn’t really have done that” feeling as well, and if there is any way to predict which nudges are genuinely good and which ones are going to leave me feeling like I should disappear into a hole. Fortunately, the good results far outweigh the bad, and I haven’t abandoned my attention to being nudged. It would just be nice to know which nudges come with a “red-face” warning so I can decide how I want to respond to it.

I love listening to the playlist from the Amy Grant concert that night. I wish my memory of her story was just as vivid, or that I could listen to her tell about it again. Regardless, her instruction to pay attention to nudges has made a big difference in the way I move through life and interact with people. I will keep working on recognizing when I’m about to put my foot in my mouth and hope that even an embarrassing nudge can be meaningful in some small way. Not long ago, I was nudged to say a small something and immediately regretted it, which led to a lot of thought about nudges. Since then, I’ve been nudged with increasingly louder nudges to write out my thoughts about nudges, with the result that now I’m processing all my thoughts about nudges on my long-lost blog. Maybe that’s the nudge that was more helpful in the long run after all. In the meantime, we should all listen to Amy, think carefully of the people in and out of our lives, and never ignore a gentle nudge.

I think my students are actually walking piñatas.  I secretly think they are wired to burst with winter confetti as soon as they reach the classroom.  Every morning, our classroom seems normal before school.  I walk in and feel the peace of the clean, dark classroom before all the students walk in. The desks are straightened. The floor is all picked up. All their belongings are tucked inside their desks. Most mornings I am reluctant to turn on the bright lights just so I can enjoy the quiet for a few extra moments. It’s a delight to enjoy those first minutes and get focused for the day.

Then…the minute hand on the clock ticks to 8:02.  It almost feels like the hallways take a deep breath before the bell rings (maybe it’s actually the teachers). In a moment, a flood of second graders bursts through the door, dressed in winter gear with arms full of lunchboxes, books, and computer cases.  They seem like normal children, but when they get to their desk, they EXPLODE!  That’s the only explanation I can think of!  Coats and hats and gloves and backpacks and papers and boots and Kleenex and Bulldog Bucks and pencils land EVERYWHERE!  It’s as if they jumped in the air and burst into winter school confetti.  Then they land, sit calmly at their desks and start up their computers like nothing ever happened and everything is fine.  BUT THE FLOOR IS A WINTER DEBRIS FIELD OF CRAZY!  We will spend the rest of the day desperately stuffing items into backpacks, recycling papers, tucking away boots and hats until the students waddle out the door at the end of the day, loaded down with all their random belongings. I hope their families are ready for what is about to happen when they walk through their door at home…

“Turn around, don’t drown!”

Yesterday was an exciting day.  I had tickets to see Hamilton with a friend in Des Moines and was beyond excited.  I listened (and sang along) to the cast album in the car under sunny skies all the way on the long trip from home.  The performance did not disappoint, and it was on a high note that my friend and I made our way back to the house.  On the way home, the sky was clouding over a bit, but there was not much indication of the perfect (perfectly awful) situation that was about to brew with the weather.

As we chatted about the show and fixed supper, it started to storm.  It was a typical thunderstorm, with torrents of rain and a lot of thunder and lightning.  Our conversation and attention revolved mainly around the dogs, sensing their anxiety and watching their reaction to the loud thundering noise.  Although the storm lasted for quite a long time and various warnings came across in the media, we didn’t pay much mind.  After all, it is summer in Iowa, and especially this month storms are pretty common.

After a time, I thought I should head for home.  I could tell from the radar that once I left Des Moines and went south a little bit, I would be completely in the clear with the rain.  I wanted to make some of the trip in the little bit of light that was left, so I headed out.  There were still thunderstorm and flash flood warnings, but nothing seemed that unusual.

But as soon as I left the townhouse complex, I knew I was in trouble.  The right side of the road was puddling pretty quickly, and my windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the rain, even on high speed.  I leaned to the left a little bit and realized the left side of the road was accumulating water just as quickly.  Then as soon as I started to worry, the road went up a little incline and I was fine.  I shook my head and considered my options.  Without being too familiar with that area in a rainstorm, I wondered if that was just a low spot where water accumulated a little.  I really didn’t want to turn around and go back through it, although part of me wondered if I should just stay put for the night and make the trip home in the morning.  By then I had come to a stoplight, and other cars were slowly making their way around me, so I shook it off and turned to the left.

As soon as I rounded the corner I was in trouble.  I was in the water before I saw it.  There was no chance to “turn around, don’t drown”, and no warning to stop or think about whether I should try to proceed or not.  I was in deep water.  A lot of thoughts went through my head, including thinking my car would be swept away and picturing being rescued from the roof.  To my left, another driver was stranded–the water up to his headlights.  Yelling for help at the top of my lungs, I slowly kept going, mainly because I didn’t know what else to do.  I expected my car to stop at any moment and I fully panicked at the thought.  It was the worst scenario I could have imagined.

I have no words to explain how I managed to get through that water.  I steadily kept going and then I was out of it and on firm pavement.  There was a man with a flashlight who had come out of his house and was frantically trying to stop other people who couldn’t see the danger ahead.  He told me not to go any further because the next intersection was even worse than what I had just gone through.  He didn’t need to tell me twice because I was completely shaken and ready to be done with driving. Fortunately, there was a small college up just ahead with a side road leading to it, so I carefully pulled over onto the side under a streetlight and tried to gather my emotions and thoughts.

I learned several lessons last night.  First of all, I realize many people largely pay less attention to flash flood warnings than other types of warnings–myself included.  And for the most part, people are aware of areas that flood easily during bad weather.  However, the northern part of Ankeny, where I was driving, was under a deluge that resulted in TEN INCHES of rain falling within three hours.  The roads and intersections that flooded had never done so before.  There was not a river nearby.  No one could have anticipated the flooding that occurred, and many drivers were caught unaware.  First lesson–pay attention to warnings and be aware of road conditions as best as possible before venturing out.  Second lesson–thunderstorms make things dark.  Was there a streetlight out on that corner?  I don’t remember.  But I know I did not see the water until I was in it and becoming submerged.  In the dark, it’s best to stay where you are until the rainstorm is over.  And third lesson–pay attention to the radar.  If I had checked more carefully, I may have been alarmed by the fact that wave after wave of heavy rain was aimed right over Ankeny with almost no end in sight.  I don’t know if that would have translated to thinking seriously about flooding, but it was another indicator that something wasn’t normal about this summer rainstorm after all.

My story had a happy ending.  I was able to make it out of the deep water without my car stalling.  I didn’t have to be rescued or leave my car in water.  I found a safe place to park and was able to call friends and family for help.  There was even a kind lady traveling with her dog who pulled in behind me and was just as frightened, but just as glad to have someone to talk to.  In the end, I had only traveled a mile from my friend’s house.  She dressed head to toe in waterproof gear and came for me on foot.  My friend, the lady and her dog, and I walked the mile back to the townhouse complex through the wet soggy yards and I had a dry, safe place to sleep.  Upon retrieving my car in the morning, it was in perfect running order and none the worse for its trip through the floodwaters.

Not everyone was so fortunate.  There were cars abandoned that looked to be quite damaged.  There were people wandering through yards and down streets trying to help others or figure out how to get home themselves.  And one man lost his life when his car stalled in the floodwaters and he tried to escape.  All of those facts weigh heavily on my mind when I think about my own experience and how easily there could have been a different outcome.  I have no doubt that I was guided through those waters, and I am very grateful.  I will always think differently before driving during a thunderstorm and be much more aware of the situation as it develops.  This was an emergency that took the whole community by surprise.  People were immediately out in the storm helping each other and supporting those who were in trouble.  There were a lot of lessons to be learned last night, and the cost was high for many people, homes, and businesses.  Pay attention–more than you think you might have to.  Don’t take safety for granted.  Keep a level head and freak out afterwards.  Look for people who might help you and then help someone else along the way.  And don’t live under the illusion that you will always have time to stop and turn around so you don’t drown.  Summer storms can be beautiful, amazing, powerful, and very dangerous all at the same time.  I’ll drive differently during them now, and I hope you will, too.

It happens once in awhile that someone has a little accident at recess.  There are all sorts of kids running in all sorts of directions, so it’s no surprise that occasionally someone falls down and gets a bump.

Today, Chloe was running without looking and bumped into the slide.  At first, she was most upset because she was so surprised that the slide was in her way.  Then she cried even harder because the pain of the bump set in.  The playground teacher checked her over carefully and sent her in for an ice pack.

When we returned from lunch, Chloe was feeling a bit better.  She had kept the ice pack on for quite some time and her head wasn’t even hurting anymore.  She was still tearful, however, and wanted to tell me the whole story.

The more I heard, the more I was concerned that her head bump really was all right.  She seemed to get more and more upset as she told the story, until she really wasn’t making much sense at all.  I asked her questions, which only made her more inconsolable.

Finally, after I apparently asked one question too many, she stamped her foot, shook her head, and said…’

“I don’t KNOW!  I bumped my HEAD!  I have SHORT MEMORY LOSS!!”

 

I’ve been waiting for a long time.  From the time my nephew was small and I noticed that he not only listened to my bedtime story reading with rapt attention, but actually seemed to absorb the stories and then live in them through his imagination, I just knew.  When the time came, he was going to love Harry Potter.

He was not only going to love Harry Potter–he was going to become immersed in the world of Hogwarts.  In other words, he would not be a Muggle by any means.  I wished for him to have as close to the best experience as possible, which is hard now that the books and movies are all out and so easy to get.  I was afraid he would start watching the movies and go through all of them before reading the books.

A lot of people have accessed Harry Potter through the movies first, and have enjoyed that approach very much.  It’s just that knowing him so well and knowing his love of words and story, I wanted him to discover everything through reading the books before watching each movie.  It’s a magical experience!

And after years of fending off offers to watch the movies with him from well-meaning relatives (thanks, Grandpa), it has finally happened.  He’s ready!  Some of his friends at school are reading the books and they are talking about them and playing out scenes during recess.  That is what got him hooked.  He has formerly been a little hesitant about reading the books because they are lengthy and packed full of unfamiliar words.  But his desire to know what his friends are talking about has caused him to jump the hurdle, and he has avidly been reading The Sorcerer’s Stone.

I’ve been cautiously optimistic, but today I got really excited.  He wants me to bring him the second book so he has it in his hand before he finishes the first.  He wants to know if when he finishes the first book that he can watch the movie. (Yes)

And my sister texted and wants to know why her son is wandering the house in a bathrobe with a paper wand, muttering things she doesn’t understand…

This is going to be so much fun!

 

The house is so quiet.  I’m here by myself, waiting.

I’ve just come from a family funeral.  My mom’s aunt passed away last weekend, and the services were today.  So I’ve just come from a place of sadness and heavy hearts.  My parents have dropped me off at home so I can be here to greet the visitors.

My brother’s family will be here soon.  They are just coming for the day so we can visit and we can all go over and see Grandma.  As soon as they walk in, the house will be filled with joy, smiles, and laughter.  There are so many things I want to do with them in the few short hours they will be here–so I have board games set up, lunch ready on the counter, and fun hidden around every corner.

This day will run the gamut of emotions–but the hard part is over, and now bring on the fun!

Except just right now, I am still waiting.

They have been asking for awhile now.  It’s starting to turn into pestering.  They can sense that they are wearing me down, but they can’t quite convince me.  The kids in my class want to change their seats.

I usually like making new room arrangements and finding new ways to group kids together.  It’s just that we changed the room around just a couple of weeks ago, and it still feels fresh.  Plus, I have ulterior motives when I move them around.  The kids who carry on continuous running conversations with me sometimes need to be placed farther away from my usual landing places.  The kids who quietly play with lip gloss in their desk during math need to be closer to the front.  The kids who do their best in a quiet environment need peaceful people in their group.  The kids who like to cause a ruckus need to be spaced out carefully.  It’s a delicate balance!  I usually reach a point when the room arrangement starts driving me crazy, and then I know it is time to change.

Apparently this time the room arrangement is driving them crazy.  So I decided to tell them we would switch things up, but then they started writing persuasive letters outlining their requests and reasons for requesting and I decided to let that play out for a little bit.  I’m enjoying the letters that I’ve received so far!

“I don’t want to sit on the mealworm side any more.”  (Yeah, kid…I’m with you on that.)

“I’m smashed over here.  No pressure.”  (Move your desk over.  Less smashing.)

“There are boys sitting by girls.”  (well…yes.  No way out of that one.)

“My friends are driving me up that wall.”  (Hey!  That figurative language lesson is catching on!)

The thing is, although we don’t have “flexible seating furniture”, we practice a sort of flexible seating.  As we move through the day, students group themselves and move pretty freely around the room.  It’s not that big of a deal to me where they settle in to read, write, or do assignments.  They use their own desks as places for keeping their belongings and having their own “real estate” when they want to have space to themselves.

Regardless, since they are going to the trouble of writing me letters, I will let myself be persuaded.  Besides…just when I think I’ve seen it all I get a letter like this:

“My neighbors are driving me up the wall.  And R is kicking me non stop. And also he won’t stop singing.  And he can’t read in his head.  And C can not keep her feet to herself.  And she also always talks in a high pitched voice and I hate it and it never stops.”

I had better rescue him…

 

 

We are doing a Breakout Box challenge with our third grade friends today.  This involves a series of puzzles or clues to solve that lead to the combinations of several kinds of locks.  We’ve solved three Breakout challenges as a class already, and the students find it a whole lot of fun mixed with some intense thinking and a dash of frustration.  It’s not only tough to solve some of the puzzles, but then figuring out how the solution relates to a lock combination can be mystifying for the kids.

On the other hand, the hardest part for me as a teacher is setting all of this up!  I have to read the instructions several times to get the big picture, and then there are pages to print and post around the room.  That is fairly straightforward, but then I have to take a deep breath and face the hardest part…setting the locks.

I started with one of the hardest locks–the directional lock.  I read and reread the instructions.  I watched a YouTube video twice.  I took the whole lock apart and put it back together…and it worked!  I reset the combination successfully!  I grabbed the ABC lock (which works the same way) and reset that one as well.  I felt great!  This was going to be a piece of cake this time!

I should have known better.  Not only could I not figure out how to reset the 4-digit lock, I couldn’t even get it open.  I had to look up the last Challenge we did to figure out the combination we used.  Then I followed the directions and reset the numbers.  It wouldn’t close.  I did it again.  And again.  And again.  I rewatched the video.  I had the custodian try it.  It wouldn’t close not matter what we tried!  I considered just hanging it on the lockbox and telling the kids to PRETEND it was locked..but that seemed pretty lame.  I put it down in desperation and worked on the 3-digit lock.

The 3-digit lock was easy to reset!  Hmmmm…so the 4-digit lock should not be so obstinate!  I knew what I was doing, it just wouldn’t cooperate.  I tried again, and then again.  I wasn’t going to give up!  I thought maybe I was holding it at the wrong angle, so I hooked it to my desk drawer and pushed and pulled for all I was worth.  It locked!  Success!  Thank goodness!  I was relieved to know that our Breakout Box Challenge (which was now just a short time away) would go off without a hitch.

I can’t get the lock off of my drawer.  It won’t open.  The drawer won’t open.

Forget Breakout Boxes…I need to break out of this day.