It's a room full of rascals....

I have a little rascal in Summer Reading Camp. Well, truthfully, it's a whole  class of little rascals, but George is the rascally of the rascals.

The King of the Rascals, we’ll call him.

We were working in their Kid Writing journals at my table a few kids at a time... and I called George over to join us.

“George!  Time to put the iPad down and come on over for Kid Writing.” I said ever so sweetly.

He looked at me for a moment, and turned his attention back to the iPad.

“George,” I said sternly, “It’s time for YOU to come HERE and work on Kid Writing.” I added a HUGE smile as I waved for him to come over. 

“Uh-uh,” he said as he looked me in the eyes and shook his head.  

“George…” I said once again….

“You’re gonna have to DOUBLE DOG DARE ME!” he said in his booming voice.

I looked at him in shock and stood up slowly.  I walked over to him (trying so @(#* hard not to double dog dare him) and placed my hand gently on his shoulder.  I leaned over and said quietly in his ear, “Hey George, do you see that bench outside the window?  The one by the playground we use at RECESS?”

He looked to where I was pointing.  "Oh MAN!" he said.  He knew exactly which bench I was talking about. He then looked up at me and said, “Where’s my pencil?”

And with that we walked every so sweetly back to my table.

(Double Dog Dare me my @$$.)


I keep my guardian angels PRETTY busy. Or is it the other way around???

I gathered boxes, newspapers, packing tape, sharpies and started packing… again.

I tried not to think about how overwhelming it is to pack your whole life into boxes.

I tried not to.

I wrapped my vases, blue glass collection, photo albums, cookbooks, glasses, pitchers, candlesticks and my mother’s glass collection and placed them carefully in the egg carton boxes I had procured from the supermarket.  My best friend came over and emptied out my linen closet, my bookshelves, and various nooks and crannies and labeled each box that she packed.  

We worked quietly, lost in our own thoughts and the task at hand.  I wanted to laugh.  I wanted to joke.  I wanted to exchange witty banter and laugh out loud until tears streamed down our faces.  

But we worked quietly, lost in our own thoughts and the task at hand.   This was the third time she stood by me, helping me pack up my world.  Fortunately by now I have managed to take a little off the top and off the sides so that my world fits neatly into a small, three-bedroom apartment. 

I noticed her sitting on tops of some boxes of books leafing through an old photo album.  She dropped it on the floor and grabbed another, smiling at the glimpses into my younger life.  I watched her on the boxes, and finally sat down on the floor.

“There have been so many things that have been painful these last four years,” I said, “But one thing that is so hard to get used to is not having a place of my own.  A place that I can really call home, where I can have my gardens, sit on the porch and relax, you know?  That’s been a very, very tough thing.”

She looked at me thoughtfully. 

“You know what?  Your home is there,” she said as she pointed at my heart.  “Your home is right there in your heart.  And if you can make it through ALL of this and realize that, then you can do just about anything.”

I looked at her, “Oh my GOD, you’re right!  And you know what?  I am about this close to being there.  Now, let’s get off our asses and finish this.”


Some days you just have to trust life....and that ain't always easy.....

I held my breath, trusting that life would work itself out.  I sat on the bench this morning, surrounded by the familiar smells that languished in the halls of the musty, old courthouse.  It smelled vaguely of old worn leather, of decaying files, dashed hopes and dreams, desperation and resignation. The smells wrapped around me like an old memory that lingers in your heart; one that taps on your door until you slowly open it.

I cautiously allowed the memory to enter and saw myself as a young girl following my father through a courthouse.   He held my hand and his briefcase as he made his way from one office to another.  He was always friendly and kind, and many would stop to shake his hand or share a story.  I thought then that he was a handsome and happy man, but this day offers the reality that he must have carried many heavy burdens in that worn,leather briefcase of his.
I was waiting for my own lawyer as I watched several attorneys carry their large briefcases up and down the hall, followed by clients who looked anxious, afraid and stoic as they tried to keep up.   Those attorneys are charged with holding their clients precious future in their hands, and that is a heavy burden indeed.

I walked out of the courthouse a bit later with a heavy heart knowing that my journey was going to be delayed a few more months, but quickly reminded myself about how lucky I was indeed.  Although the circumstances were painful, my choice to leave law school and a career as an attorney to pursue a career in education has given me so many thousands of incredibly happy days.  Days that are not wrapped in the scent of old leather and dashed dreams, but of bubble gum, cotton candy, happiness and great expectation.

Sure, I carry a person’s future in my hands for a year or so, but my clients are three feet tall, five years-old and are usually happy, giggling, na├»ve, joyful and thrilled at what life has to offer.  I take their hand, and with a smile on my face I turn their faces towards the sun.