Category Archives: Reflection

Madonna-ing My Book

MADONNA-b-620x250

It has often been said that Madonna is the Queen of Reinvention as she has managed to reinvent herself time and again, continuing to hold her original fan base and finding a way to grab newbies.  This means she learns how to take on a new approach in image and audience, and I need to do the same.  I need to Madonna.

That’s right.  I just made a celebrity into a verb.  I can do that sort of thing because I’m a writer.  Shakespeare made stuff up all the time.  Comparing myself in any way to Shakespeare may seem like sacrilege, but that’s part of my point.  Reinventing myself means I may need to add a little sass and sauciness (as the bard would say) to my approach.

Don’t worry.  I don’t plan to strap black party hats onto my bosom and vogue or anything, and in fact that would be quite inappropriate for my target audience, but I’m going to be bold and reach out with a new confidence to them.  As far as I can tell, adults are the ones who have been reading my book, which is great because of its nostalgia factor, but the feelings and emotions of the book are better suited for current middle school girls, which keeps my book more relevant to them than adults.  This also means they are more likely to want to pass on a recommendation to others, since it is more impactful to them, thus keeping my book in the spotlight.

Of course, I don’t really hang out with a lot of girls in middle school, so I need help from those adults to pass the info on to daughters, cousins, young sisters, neighbors, random kids in the grocery store- whatever.  That’s part of being bold: asking people to spread the word, like asking you to share this link with someone you think might enjoy my book Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: The Middle-ish Ages.

Another part of reinvention is that my confidence in my product must be obvious. Drew Hotchner is one of my favorite young women ever, even if she is a fictional character, and I’m proud of the witty voice in my book, so I need to create awareness of this, probably by sharing short excerpts or one-liners, like the one a friend of mine brought to my attention that other day as one of her favorites:

“After all the time that had passed with Danny and I flirting and calling each other, I was still no closer to making him my boyfriend than Milli Vanilli were of singing their own songs.”

See, that’s good stuff, so I’m going to start tweeting, facebooking, and tumbling this stuff until I’ve completely Madonna-ized my book by giving it the attention it deserves.

Rant and self pep talk complete.  I feel much better.  Carry on.

Serenity Now!

Once upon a time, nine years ago, my husband and I bought our house with the anticipation that we would slowly renovate it to fit our grand vision.  We stripped wallpaper and painted.  We extirpated carpet and tiled. Lots of that sort of thing. Slowly it came to fit our dream, some parts more slowly than other parts, and in all honesty, we still have a few rooms to go.  In all of this, the largest and slowest endeavor both physically and emotionally was our master bathroom.  This bathroom is a symbol of patience and not giving up, no matter how hopeless something seems.

I wish I'd gotten a picture before I destroyed the old wallpaper.

I wish I’d gotten a picture before I destroyed the old wallpaper.

A few nights ago, we slept in our master bedroom for the first time in the nine years we’ve been in the house.  Being able to do this was contingent upon completing the bathroom because of the mess renovation can cause.  We figured any mess going on in the bathroom would come out into the bedroom and decided we would wait until the bathroom was complete.

Why yes, the tile is a peachy-pink!

Why yes, the tile is a peachy-pink!

First I stripped the peachy and flowery wallpaper (I despise wallpaper!) almost as soon as we moved in.  We picked colors and I painted the bedroom and bathroom to match.  Then we realize the bathroom needed more than just a new color. For an example of why we needed to pretty much gut the whole thing and start fresh, we had a seven foot countertop with just one sink.  About six years ago we ripped out the old tile, the bathtub, and the countertop with single sink.  Then we realized we needed to replace the walls around the bathtub because they had become moldy.  A few years later, because we only had limited time together to work on such a major project, we reframed an enormous bathtub and retiled the room.  Somewhere in that time I had found an amazing deal on the most beautiful red glass vessel sinks (two of them) with antiqued bronze fixtures.  Then not long after that, Robert suddenly found himself with more time to work on the bathroom, but that was because he had lost his job, so we had no money to work on the bathroom, leading to a two year hiatus from the project.

We seriously ripped the room to bare bones and started over.

We seriously ripped the room to bare bones and started over.

At the start of June, we had an entire week together and a renewed bathroom fund and completed another huge part of the project- placing bamboo flooring on part of the walls and the ceiling. After that week we built our own vanity for the sinks over whatever days Robert had off from work.  Last week, the project came to fully ripened fruition, and it looks like a spa resort according to some of our friends’ comments.

But all the time, those six years, that we struggled just to get tiny parts of the whole project completed were trying times.  We would get one project done and see a need to do something we had not thought of before.  Sometimes it felt like we would never get it done and I thought we might just have to cut corners in order to finish.  Fortunately, we never did that.  We held on to our vision and through massive amounts of patience and diligence, we got it done, finally.  So, the old adage is true- good things do come to those who wait, and wait, and wait…

Our serene spa bathroom

Our serene spa bathroom

Secular Writing or Not?

A question I’ve struggled with almost since the moment I knew I wanted to be a writer is, “As a Christian, am I obligated to write only Christian material?”  Other questions stemming from this idea include: What are our limits in the realm of entertainment?  What is right or wrong for a Christian to create in any type of art?  Do I have some sort of responsibility to teach biblical principles in all my writings?  Am I allowed to just write for the sake of fun entertainment?  If we are to do all things to the glory of God, am I allowed to take any credit for my masterpieces?

This is an area that really held me back in my writing for a long time.  For one thing, I never considered myself to be in any standing to “preach” to people; I just want to write because I enjoy putting together words, weaving tales, and creating characters.

Since Drew Hotchner, my protagonist in Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: the Middle-ish Ages, is modeled greatly after me and I grew up as a Christian, is it wrong that my book does not center around her Christianity?  Honestly, I wanted to create a lighthearted book with identifiable issues for almost any young girl, and when I was Drew’s age, I didn’t really live a good Christian life.  Drew isn’t a bad influence, but she isn’t making her own clothes at home school outings and preaching to her heathen friends.  The book is clean because that was important to me.

I’ll do my best to answer my own sub-questions here in order to see if I can answer the main one, but the truth is, I’m not sure if most my answers are correct.  You may disagree, and as long as you are nice about shaming me, you can even tell me where you think I’m wrong.

What are our (Christians) limits in the realm of entertainment? and What is right or wrong for a Christian to create in any type of art?  These two are closely linked, so I’ll deal with them together.   I certainly believe we must try to set good examples, but we also need to be real people.  That whole idea that all Christians are hypocrites comes from us trying to puff ourselves up to perfection when the truth is that we struggle with right living every day ourselves.  Showing we are trying but admitting we have vulnerabilities too is probably a good message to send, in all reality.  Telling dirty jokes on a stage or stripping are good places to draw a line.  We are not of this world, but we are living in it now, right?  So, keeping it clean and not using it to judge others might be a good rule.

Do I have some sort of responsibility to teach biblical principles in all my writings?  God gives us talents that He wants us to use to “further His kingdom.”  So, I should probably use my writing in some way to get the Good News out there, right?  And I do that sometimes right here on this blog.  Not everything I write has a spiritual message, but some of it does.  When I feel inspired, I write it.  Closely related to that is:

Am I allowed to just write for the sake of fun entertainment?  Again, if God has given me a writing talent, as a Christian I should probably try to see how I can use it to His glory, but I really don’t feel every single word I write has to be a bible lesson. But even secular entertainment often holds some biblical truths.  Most Christians have jobs that keep them in secular settings, because they are regular people who need to make a living and not everyone is called to be a preacher.  No matter what you do, whether it’s cleaning office buildings, putting out fires, cashing people’s checks at a bank, or being a lawyer (this one is more questionable though), you do it to the best of your ability and set an example.  And that leads to the last sub-question:

If we are to do all things to the glory of God, am I allowed to take any credit for my masterpieces?  I think we are not meant to brag about how great we are, but to give the thanks and credit to God for giving us the abilities we have.  I do proclaim self-awesomeness from time to time, and that’s probably wrong.  Of course, when I do I’m usually being silly anyway.  I do not take compliments well (I respond to them so very awkwardly), and I don’t really know how to brag about myself seriously anyway.

Did all, or even any of this, work to help answer my original question, “As a Christian, am I obligated to write only Christian material?”  I think so.  As long as I remain open to writing what I feel inspired to write, I’m sure from time to time those inspirations will be leadings from God to write something to help others.  And honestly, who is to say that Drew can’t be that vessel to teach others something good?  We should use good judgment in our entertainment, but I truly believe God wanted us to have enjoyment in our lives. If not, He never would have given us bacon (if you are Jewish, replace bacon with chocolate- both are big loves of mine).

Proud to be a Grammar Nazi

Yes, it is true.  Apparently, I am a grammar nazi, not to be confused with an actual Nazi of the Nazi party- I certainly am not one of those.  However, I do enjoy neat and orderly grammar and mechanics when I am reading, and I take offense to the butchering of these important guidelines of communication, because getting them wrong can completely change or obscure the meaning in one’s writing.

Today, I saw a car on which someone had used window paint (at least I hope it was something equally as temporary, for the sake of the car’s owner) on the back window to write, “TAG your it:)”  This could have been a fun and harmless prank if written correctly, but the use of your instead of you’re actually brought several questions to mind.  “Your it” could be a reference to a number of that person’s personal objects, right?  How will the owner of the car know what he or she should tag (and why was TAG all in capital letters)?  Perhaps the car is the “it.”  A simple understanding that your shows ownership and you’re means “you are” is important in order to get across the proper idea.

Written communication is at least as important now as it ever was, and perhaps more so, yet people are becoming more lax about using it properly. Aside from the usual suspects of texting and email,  I blame spell check, grammar check,  and auto correct.  Because of these, today’s society is fostering the idea that being thorough in our spelling, grammar, and mechanics is not that important anymore.  Why think for ourselves when a machine can sometimes successfully do it for us?  Few people proof read.  In other fields of study, such as chemistry, just being close could cause an unintended explosion, or even inadvertently cost someone his or her life.  Yet if someone tries to helpfully point out the correct use of their, there, or they’re, oftentimes the response is, “Whatever.  It’s close enough.  You knew what I meant.”  That may be, but sometimes the only way I know what someone’s mistake actually means is because I know what people tend to get careless about and I have to try all possible combinations in order to figure it out for sure.  Sometimes I never do figure it out.

I just ask that people pay more attention to the words they write.  My head hurts sometimes when I read posts on Facebook… probably because I tend to bang my head on the desk when I see this type of grammar abuse.

Remember, even the placement of something so small as a comma (imagine if I had typed coma) can make the difference between being a cannibal or feeding your grandmother:

Let’s eat Grandma.

Let’s eat, Grandma.

I was told by some students that this video reminded them of me.  The very end may be a little gross, so consider yourselves warned.

My Road Less Traveled

As a literature major, obviously I realize one could analyze many different meanings from the well-loved and timeless poem “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost, but one thing about poetry is that the meanings of works may change for the various readers, and that’s okay.  As this school year ended, I found myself becoming even more reflective than usual, as I had never taught seniors before, and of course I knew I was nearing the end of my teaching career.  As I sought to do something nice and symbolic, English teacher style, I thought of this poem.  I printed out copies and glued them onto card stock with Dr. Seuss illustrations from Oh, The Places You Will Go on one side and wrote a little message for each of my seniors: “Don’t be afraid to take the road less traveled.”  While I worked on this project, I realized that I am doing exactly what I told my students to do, and I felt proud to not just be someone who says to do something, but I am a living example of actually taking that less traveled path.

The goodbyes were hard with my students, both the ones that were current and the others stopping by because they had heard I was leaving.  Explaining why was even harder, but quite a few got it, or at least they got it enough that I know when they look back at it later, they’ll see it clearly.  The goodbyes at the last faculty/staff meeting of the year were tough too.  Not everyone knew I was leaving before that.  Then I had to clean out my classroom.  My husband took the day off just so he could be there for me, and so he could be the voice of reason on what I should keep and what I should leave behind for the next teacher.  That went much more smoothly than I had expected, until the moment I turned out the lights and I closed and locked the door for the last time. No analogies or metaphors can truly capture what I felt in that moment, so I won’t try.  I pried my name plate off the door and that is when the tears came, but just for a moment, because sometimes even when goodbyes are hard, they are necessary.  Sometimes they allow us to step off that well-trodden and obvious path in order to take the one where we must forge our own way.  But that is how we find out who we truly are.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost
classroom pic

Quitting My Day (evening, weekend, and vacation) Job

It’s here, and I have been fantasizing about this for a couple years now.  This week will be my last as a teacher, not just for the summer, but forever (as far as I know anyway).  If you’ve followed my blog for at least a year now, this comes as no surprise; I’ve been hinting at it at least that long.  Also, if you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, I apologize for slacking the last month or so, but I’ve been busy preparing to quit my day job.

This Thursday will be the end of my seven year stretch as a high school English teacher.  Due to some of the adult reactions I’ve had to this news, and undoubtedly some of your reactions, I feel the need to clarify that it is NOT because “kids these days are horrible.”  Whether they are or not is all subjective, and even if they are, I love them anyway.  The problem with my job has never been my students.  Sure, I’ve had bad days, and I’ve even had a few kids I wanted to throttle from time to time, but overall, they have been the best part of my job.  Not everybody likes teenagers, but I find them to be fascinating.  They’re not adults yet, but they’re not really kids anymore, and they’ve got great ideas and unique views on life that make conversations with them so very interesting.

I have had amazing classroom moments and interactions with my kids when I just knew I was changing lives for the better, and I have had times when I wondered why I even bothered.  I have been lucky enough to have students deem me as important enough in their worlds to share exciting news about getting parts in plays, doing well in band competitions, getting into the colleges of their dreams, passing their hardest classes, and even having baby siblings or getting new puppies.  I have also had students who sensed my concern for them and found me trustworthy enough to express to me their biggest fears, their hearts’ desires, and their home and family struggles.  My heart has both soared and broken for and with them on more occasions than I can remember.  I have no regrets for the time I spent as a teacher.  Even though I am leaving the profession, I feel it is the noblest of all careers.

Therein lies the problem.  I never do anything partway or just “kinda good.”  When I do something, I throw myself into it completely, and honestly, it was taking a hard toll on me.  I would never make it another 23 years at the rate I was going.  Teaching advanced level language arts classes requires evenings, weekends, and vacations.  It’s a good thing I never felt the need to become a mother, but my poor husband became second to my job almost immediately, and though I have consciously tried to rectify that, the nature of the job only allows me to do that sometimes.   We don’t have a bad marriage, and in fact I feel ours is healthier and stronger than most, but I know it can be better.  Fortunately, I have an amazingly understanding husband; however, my priorities were askew.  I need God first, my husband second, the rest of my family and friends third, and then my job.

So, what am I going to do now?  This is the question everyone wants to know.  Oddly (and it really is odd for a planner like me), I do not know…exactly.  I need time off to figure that out, and so leaving my career is necessary.

My principal gave a great speech at graduation this past week.  She told the students not to worry so much about the “what,” but to worry about the “why” of their futures.  I felt like that speech spoke to me.  I do not have the exact “what.”  But I do have the “why.”  My why is getting my life back and prioritizing it the way I believe God wants it to be, and then Robert and I are going to figure out what the plan is for US.  We both feel there is something else for us…together, because we are together for a reason and we both have a passion for social justice against human trafficking.  It’s funny that there was a rumor going around that I was leaving to join the Peace Corps.  Other than almost every teenager who graduated from high school on a sit-com in the ’80s getting into a fight with their parents about this, I don’t really know much about the Peace Corps.  But I do have a desire to reach beyond my current world to seek justice for those who cannot achieve it on their own.  I know that will not be easy either, and then why would I want to leave one stressful job for another?  Because I feel lead to do so, and this time, I’ll be doing it with Robert.

I’m sure the details will not be made clear for some time, and I’m ok with that.  I need some time off anyway (I’ll use some of it to write more), and then I’ll do projects, or part time work in order to supplement Robert’s income.  It will all work out, and though it’s a bit frightening, I know it’s the right thing, and I feel happier than I have in years.  I feel completely at peace, which really says something for me, because I can be a bit tightly wound.

I say goodbye to my kids this week, to my colleagues, to my classroom, and to my school.  Though I know I’ve made the right decision, this will not be easy.  I’ve tried to make it clear to my students that they are not the reason I’m leaving.  I hope they get that.  I also hope that they won’t be afraid to come say hi if they see me out in public, and that they know that even though I may have been hard on them, it’s because I really cared all along, and I want them to be successful.  I don’t know if they can ever know or understand how much they have all meant to me along the way, but I hope they do, and I wish them all the best.

From some of my students.  It was supposed to say "Scruffy-faced nerf herder," but I guess the guy decorating the cake didn't get it; however, I guess (other than the spelling) the nerd herder part makes sense considering the classes I taught.  It was definitely one of the coolest gifts I've ever received.

From some of my students. It was supposed to say “Scruffy-faced nerf herder,” but I guess the guy decorating the cake didn’t get it; however, I guess (other than the spelling) the nerd herder part makes sense considering the classes I taught. It was definitely one of the coolest gifts I’ve ever received.

Having a Mary Moment

When I think about my personality, I realize I’m a Martha, as in Martha and Mary, Lazarus’s sisters (the guy Jesus raised from the dead).   How cool would it be to just hang out with Jesus like these siblings did?

Luke 10:38-42

[38] As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. [39] She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. [40] But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

[41] “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, [42] but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

So, Martha was a type “A” perfectionist.  I totally identify with her.  She probably labelled and color coded her clay pots and wineskins.  I get that.  I once took a “Which Friends Character are You?” quiz and came out between a Monica and a Chandler (I guess I would be their offspring), so I’m a goofy, anal retentive person.

Anyway, I digress.    Martha was working hard, like she probably always did, trying to make everything perfect while her guest was there, and she saw her sister just sitting around hanging with Jesus, so she got mad at Mary.  Deep down, Martha wanted to be the one hanging out, listening to Jesus tell stories, but she couldn’t let go of all the “stuff” that needed to be done.  Out of anger and jealousy of Mary’s ability to just chill, Martha called out her sister, but got a surprise response.

Mary had already taken stock of the situation and she realized spending time with Jesus was far more important than making sure the dirt floor got swept again.  Seriously, the disciples were just going to keep on tracking in more dirt anyway.  It isn’t that we should ignore our responsibilities (there are plenty of scriptures against laziness), but we need to prioritize sometimes and realize that time with the Lord should come first.  We should keep a day of rest.

When I got to church today, I kept thinking about all the research papers I have to get graded in the near future and was planning how many I would get through today.  Then the message was about worship and letting God know we love Him by spending time with Him in worship.

I’ve had many circumstances on my mind lately, some big and some small, and I have seen many prayers answered.  While I sat in church today, I began to realize that I should probably carve out some time from grading research papers and the many other “things” that always keep me busy (after all, I worked on similar tasks all day yesterday already), and spend some time with God.  So that is what I’m going to do today…

prioritize.

For Boston

We watch in shock from hundreds or even thousands of miles away.  We hurt for the victims, and we cry for them.  Why?  We most likely don’t personally know any of them.

We do this because we realize that something so senseless, because it is so senseless, could feasibly happen anywhere and to anyone.  So we watch our brothers and sisters in humanity and our hearts reach out to them.

Humanity…the quality obviously lacking in the cowards who would attack innocent people.  Or is humanity just broken?

I say no.  In the midst of such horrible attacks, those with humanity bond together and jump in to help in any way they can, like the soldiers present on scene in Boston who wanted to help and ran to the closest hospital to see if they could donate blood or do anything else to help, and numerous others who used their instincts to help their fallen brethren.  I hate when inhumane acts kill, injure, and lead us to question humanity, but I love the stories that come out of the chaos of those who quickly reach out to their fellow man and step up, proving humanity is not completely broken.

Please pray for all those touched by this incident, and for the city of Boston, so they do not have to live in fear.

Pruning

I recently pruned a tree.  This sad looking tree has been dying a slow, miserable death in my front yard for a while now, and it’s been agonizing for me to watch, and most likely for the neighbors as well.  Seriously, this is the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of the crepe myrtle world.  I really don’t know much about pruning trees, or really doing anything it seems to take to keep them alive (apparently), but I knew it was time I took some sort of action to help get rid of the “parasites” pulling life and nutrients out of the tree.  I have also now put out some fertilizer for my twiggy friend in hopes that some green leaves and little blossoms may appear once spring really gets going.

Now it’s a waiting game.  Will it pull through?

Then I realized the metaphor of this decrepit little tree as my own life.  Yeah, that’s depressing.  I’ve got parasites hanging on my branches, sucking the life and nutrients from my very soul!  What can I do about them?  Prune those suckers (pun totally intended, in case you were wondering)!  Where do I begin?  How much should I prune?  Will lively branches grow back?

I have a huge parasitic branch I know I will be trimming soon, but what will grow back in its place?  It will be another waiting game.

Always Daddy’s Little Girl

My handsome dad

My handsome dad

Today my dad turns 75, putting the time of this picture around 57 years ago.  Wow!  The truth is, my dad is still a handsome man and I’m proud to be his baby girl (I’m the youngest of the four women he used to tell his coworkers he lived with).  I’m fortunate to still have both of my amazing parents in my life, and I never want to take their love and support for granted.

I posted a picture a few posts back of a lunchbox my dad had given to me.  The way he had rigged up that lunchbox made me reminisce on how handy my dad has always been (his first project after retirement was to build a boat from scratch).  When we lived in California it seemed my dad was always tearing down walls around the house and putting them up in other places.  My friends were surprised each time they came over.  Sometimes I was surprised too.

By the time I crashed my first car it had three toggle switches on the dashboard: one for using the “brights” mode for my headlights because I broke the lever; another for my horn, but it only made one part of the horn work and sounded like a dying duck; and the last…I do not even remember, but I know it was there.

These are endearing memories to me.

As I searched for a picture of my father and myself, I remembered another endearing moment, though maybe not so much at the time.  It was almost time for the wedding march and one of my bridesmaids peeked out from our back room, came back and informed me that my father was already sitting down.  He forgot he needed to walk me down the aisle!  He made it back before I had a meltdown, fortunately.  When I watched the video later I got to see my mother looking surprised, then irritated, and then him jumping up and going back to get me.  Oops!  We had rehearsed it, but I guess it was all different in the moment and with all those people there.

Dancing with Dad

Dancing with Dad

When I was small and my dad was always remodeling our home, I wanted to be his helper.  Usually that meant I was a hammer holder, until I got bored.  And I remember hanging out with my dad outside and watering the plants and his garden together in the evenings when he worked the day shift.  But usually Dad worked the swing shift, which put him home sometime around midnight.  When I was a teenager I often fell asleep reading, and a I remember times when I woke up to find my dad had placed my bookmark in my book and turned out my light when he came home.

Other memories are warm hugs, kisses on the cheek, and being carried to bed when I was too sleepy to make it on my own.

Dad, I love you and wish you a happy birthday!