Mi Mejor Amiga (aka my BFF)

December 26, 2009 at 11:37 pm (Community, Family)
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I’ve decided that for this coming year’s blogdom… I’m going to dedicate most of my entries to honoring someone in my life.  I feel like we, okay, I… don’t spend enough time telling the people that I love and adore… how much and why… I love and adore them.  There’s something liberating… something exhilarating… something down right sexy about verbalizing your thoughts and feelings regarding someone dear.  Honestly, I don’t think any of us do it enough. And I’m a major culprit when it comes to suppressing compliments… so I’m calling myself out.  No more letting the moment pass just because I don’t want to feel awkward or silly. No more just thinking about how wonderful and fabulous I think someone is… and clamming up because I fear they’ll think I have ulterior motives. What is my fear anyway? The worst that can happen is that someone will be outwardly awkward (like me, because I’m not good with receiving compliments either) but inwardly they’re kinda thrilled and will bask in the glory of it all day. What’s to lose?

So, this… my first entry… will actually be my last of this year. And I’m dedicating it to my forever friend, Ms Diana (Guajardo) Nill. Mi Mejor Amiga. My BFF.

We grew up together. Her family moved in next door to ours when we were each barely a year old. I’ve never not known her. We’ve been best friends, and often more like sisters, for 45 years.  We’ve shared so much with each other: dreams, clothes, fears, bicycles, double popsicles from the ice cream truck, school plays, teachers, injuries (Little League), boyfriends, heartaches, recipes, crushes, tragedies, victories, advice, holidays, and our families.  Her mom calls me Mia (mee-ha) and my mom calls her Sweetheart (sweet-hart). I’m Aunt Debbie to her kids. We plan on being in each others lives until the very end. “Diapers to diapers” we like to say… “but of course, that all Depends”. Heh heh… yea, we’re corny like that… but we like it.

So, I guess the best way I know how to verbalize why I adore this friend of mine… is to make a list of why I think she’s so great. This is a compiled list of reasons I am thankful for her, admire her, am amused by her, want to be around her, want to be like her…and will always be her friend.

Here goes…

Diana:

  • She is quick to laugh and slow to anger.
  • She knows how to give a compliment or timely word of encouragement, and does so with great generosity.
  • She, without hesitation, will welcome you into her home and her family.
  • She will, at the last minute, stand in for you when you get the mumps and can’t be in the 5th grade Christmas play (seriously, it was a Brady Bunch episode in the making)
  • She is fiercely loyal to her family.
  • She will do crazy things with you like Mannequin Modeling for Sears even though you’re in Junior High and are supposed to be too insecure to do those kind of things.
  • She’s an amazing mom. Just ask her kids. They rise up and call her blessed.
  • If you’re with her, you have her full attention and she makes you feel like you’re the only one that matters.
  • She’ll thoroughly enjoy your antics, your mishaps, your klutziness and your inability to pronounce Spanish words… and never make you feel inadequate or inept. ( Vamos Y’all! )
  • She will not just remember details like your favorite wine, how you like your coffee, or that you like it really cold at night… she’ll make sure you’re provided for.
  • She will randomly take your hand, squeeze it and say, “I’m so glad you’re here”.
  • She will always have your back, sing your praises and defend your honor.
  • If she disagrees with you, it will be done gently, humbly and without judgement.
  • She’ll listen intently when you ramble on and on about cooking and recipes and photography and East Nashville and your church and your community and… and she knows just where to “ooh” and “aah” and make you feel heard.
  • She will make you feel like the most talented person she knows, even if you’re not.
  • She will embrace your passions and believe in the work you do, even though your careers and dreams are different.
  • She will always greet you with bear hugs and cheek kisses.
  • She will share her kids with you and allow you to become Aunt Debbie.
  • She will giggle with you into the wee hours of the night… even though you’re well over forty, thirty, twenty.
  • She throws caution to the wind and knows how to play and be silly… and will be a safe place for you to do the same.
  • She will share her heart honestly… and trust her fears and her dreams with you.
  • She will challenge you, though unintentionally, to be a better person. To love with abandon. To laugh loud and often. To encourage others freely. And to trust God because you can, not because you should.

So there you have it. My best friend Diana.

Don’t be jealous.

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Mama’s Girl

November 27, 2009 at 8:30 pm (Community, Family, Need A Laugh?)
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I’ve been battling a head and chest cold for a couple of weeks now.  I’m not a very good sick person. I’m not one of those women who can be sick as a dog and still just pull up her boot straps and carry on. She can be running a fever, coughing up a lung and her head can be so congested it feels like an elephant is standing on it under water. But she still gets up, feeds the kids, irons her husband’s shirt, runs the carpool, grocery shops, does the banking, unclogs the toilet, cuts the grass, prepares dinner and wins a Nobel Peace Prize all by 6:00 pm.

Yea, that’s not me.

I blame it on my mom. When I was a kid… I was pretty healthy. I didn’t get any of the typical childhood illnesses. I’ve still never had the Chicken Pox or Whooping Cough. I had one mump in 5th grade.  Just one. On the left side. It was no big deal, but it did keep me from being in the school Christmas play. So my best friend, Diana, got to be the winter fairy and toss snowflakes made out of shaved soap instead of me.  It was a Brady Bunch special in the making.

All that to say, on the rare occasion that I did get sick, Mom would thoroughly dote on me.  She’d make a special little bed on the couch and prop me up on big fluffy pillows. She’d make me a mug of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup, put a cold wash cloth on my forehead and stroke my hair saying things like, “My poor baby feels icky”.

It’s no wonder I become such a big baby when I’m feeling sick. Instead of rationally thinking about beefing up my Vitamin C, downing Airbourne and sucking Zinc tablets… my first thought is simply, “I want my Mommy”…

But because Mom lives 2500 miles away… being sick is not nearly as enjoyable as it used to be. So I’ve had to

seek out other means of comfort when under the weather (aka “on death’s doorstep”… I’m not dramatic or anything).  I’ve tried many a home remedy. I’ve gone the holistic natural route. But the only joy I’ve found comparable is in that beautiful emerald green liquid called, “NyQuil”.

Yes, the NyQuil magic that causes your toes to tingle moments before entering into an unconscious bliss. Sure, there’s a few seconds of gag reflex immediately after downing a little plastic cup full. But a quick gulp of Diet Coke as a chaser and you’re good to go.

Within about 20 minutes that warm fuzzy feeling starts to wash over your body and the next thing you know you are in a lovely NyQuil Coma. Lovely.

There’s really no point to this post other than I wanted to whine a little about feeling sick. I wanted a little sympathy since Mom isn’t here to stroke my hair and feed me soup. I am grateful for friends and community who reach out when you don’t feel well. I’m thankful for my neighbor Miss Josephine who popped in on me to see how I was feeling. And thankful for the people in my Neighborhood Group who covered for me and ran things without me. And thankful for my friend Missi who stealthily snuck on my porch and left lemons for my tea and Whole Foods chicken soup. And for my roommate Meghan who lets me drink her orange juice (um, she may not know I do that)…

Anyway, “Mom” is always the best source of comfort but when she’s not available I am so very grateful for my friends who love me well… and for NyQuil… yes, really grateful for NyQuil.

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seeing clearly…

November 11, 2009 at 5:24 pm (Need A Laugh?)
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focusI recently went to the eye doctor to update my prescription. It had been three years since my last exam and though I only wear glasses for reading and driving at night… I knew it was time. Okay, truth be told… I found a really cute pair of frames and wanted to some trendy new glasses. Don’t judge.

So, I headed over to LensCrafters in the good old Opry Mills Mall (or as I like to say, Shopry Mills)… and a very energetic sales women with a very deep Southern accent informed me that since my prescription was 3 years old I need  to have a fresh eye exam. All righty then.

So I walked next door to the little attached Optometrist’s office and asked to see the doctor. After a few minutes of paper work the receptionist ushered me into an exam room in the back. Moments later, Dr. Solomon walked in and sat on the chair facing me.

I tried desperately not to react. But Dr. Solomon had a glass eye. An eye doctor with a glass eye. And it wasn’t just any old ordinary glass eye… no, it was bulging from his eye socket as if it were improperly fit. And it was crooked, kind of looking up and off to the left. And it was the wrong color. His natural eye color was brown… the bulging orb had a blue iris. A blue, glassy iris.

I was so distracted. I barely muttered answers to his getting to know you questions. Oh, he was pleasant enough – jolly in fact. An older gentleman with a white comb-over and rosy cheeks. Kind of like Santa Claus without the beard, and well… two good eyes.

And he was quick with the tests. I mean, really quick. Flipping the little focusing dials back and forth, back and forth. ”Does this look better? Or this? This? Or this? This? Or this?” Such lightning speed I barely had time to tell which actually looked better.

Then comes the chart reading. He would ask me to read a line while looking through the view finders. I was having trouble with the first and last letters on each line. I told him such and he merely said, “It’ll be okay”. I’m not sure why I didn’t question him more… but I didn’t. He showed me what my old prescription looked like and it was remarkably fuzzy. And the new one was certainly more clear. But I was still worried that I couldn’t see the first & last letters on the chart lines, but Dr. Solomon chuckled, looked at me and off to the left simultaneously and merely said, “It’ll be okay”.

So, still dumbfounded and feeling a little dizzy from all the dial flipping… I walked numbly out of the office and back over to LenCrafters. The perky sales woman, still eager to help, snatched my prescription from my hand and went about placing the order.

Perky Sales Woman: “So, did Dr. Solomon take good care of you?”
Me: “Uh, yes, I suppose.”
Perky Sales Woman: “Was he wearing his Titans Game Day eye?”
Me: “Pardon?”
Perky Sales Woman: “His game day eye! Oh, he has a glass eye with the blue Titans logo on it! He likes to wear it on game days…”
Me: “Oh. Um, no… he wasn’t wearing it. I think he was just wearing his every day eye.”
Perky Sales Woman: “Oh, too bad.”
Me: “Yeah, too bad.”
Perky Sales Woman: “Ok, you’re all set! Ready in ’bout an hour!”

So off I went, hoping for the best… and to kill some time in Shopry Mills Mall. After ’bout an hour of doing additional financial damage in Bed, Bath & Beyond (I mean, it really is beyond – they have everything!) I headed back to LenCrafters. When I walked in, my helpful sales lady was being perky with someone else, so I had a seat and waited. Another helpful sales person came over and brought me my glasses to try on. They fit well and looked great. I glanced around the room and I seemed to be able to see through them okay. But then I looked down and tried to read the sign in front of me. I had a hard time. “Just move your head around”, she said. “Move my head around?” “Yes, until you can see the words. They’re progressive lenses.  It’ll take a little while for you to learn to see through them.”

“This is crazy”, I thought. Now I have to learn to see through my glasses? But she assured me that after a few days of wearing them – that I’d be able to see fine.

Two days later, I went back. I still couldn’t see through them and they gave me a headache trying to focus and see the words. I was having better luck with my plain old $20 readers from Target. They checked my glasses and said that they were done correctly and insisted that I was still on a learning curve. So I left defeated, and still unable to read with my glasses.

It’s been 3 weeks. I’ve not learned to see with my glasses. In fact, it’s gotten worse. If I wear them for more than 5 minutes I get a major headache. Like when you try on someone else’s glasses and when you take them off you have to shake your head to get your vision back. So, I’m taking the advice of my friend Jenny and I’m going to call another LensCrafters and tell them the situation. I really think my prescription was written incorrectly. Sorry Dr. Solomon… nothing personal.

So, all that said… maybe sometimes we really do need to learn to focus. And sometimes, no matter how perky the saleswoman and regardless if your one-eyed eye doctor says “it’ll be okay”… sometimes the situation really is skewed and too difficult to see… and you just might need a second opinion.

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less is more… or the fine art of overkill

August 28, 2009 at 7:05 pm (Observations)
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We’ve all heard the old adage “less is more”… whether it’s regarding decorating a home, accessorizing an outfit, putting on make up, or simply in the execution of modern visual art & design.

I’m a minimalist by nature. Never been a fan of knick-knacks, bric-a-brac or pattywhacks (I actually have no idea what a pattywhack is). But to me it’s all clutter. I’m not a scrap-booker… I don’t want to decoupage, bejewel or bedazzle anything. I like clean lines, solid colors and museum-style displays. And I’m a bit of a clean freak.

Maybe it’s my ADD tendencies (I’m highly distractable) or the fact that much of my work is spent in a fairly loud and chaotic environment… but cleanliness, organization and simplicity are extremely attractive to me and help center me after a busy weekend at work.

This weekend, we’re in Atlanta, GA (we as in Women of Faith and World Vision). Here, at the Phillips Arena they are very enthusiastic in their decor and motif. I mean seriously, there’s really not a square inch left uncovered. Flashing lights, 20 ft plasma screens, larger than life sports figures, 40 foot kites hanging from the ceiling, sports flags, team banners, streaming CNN news tickers, 4 tv monitors wrapped around every pole down every aisle, a Jack Daniel’s sign the size of my front yard, and 5 digital clocks ticking off the minutes in Moscow, Paris, Atlanta, Tokyo and Los Angeles. Not to mention the giant assorted Disney-esque 3D food items such as 4ft french fries, 3ft umbrella drinks, and a 5ft dancing jalapeño wearing a sombrero that hover above our heads – all threatening to come to life if we just buy their $7.00 Cocoa-Colas. All of this is visible just from my booth. Portal 8, Section 112.

Overkill. Over-stimulus. Over-saturation. I’m pretty sure the brain will just shut down when it becomes too much. I’m convinced of that… because it’s happening to me right now as I peer out over my table.

Less is more. I believe that. Simplicity and moderation allow you to fully enjoy that which you are engaging… whether a thing, a moment, or a person. You can focus, dwell, absorb. You can hear, ponder, process. You can retain, remember, relish.

You get the picture. We live in a land of excess. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wanting to chide our great country at all. I’m humbled that I get to live in a place that offers choices in abundance. That I don’t wonder if I’m going to eat… just what I’m going to eat. What am I in the mood for? What if it’s not in the cupboards? We’ll just go get it! Simple as that….

But all this overkill… all this more is more I’m surrounded by this weekend… has just got me thinking about the simpler things in life. How I long to sit in the sand on a deserted beach where the only sounds are waves crashing against the shore and seagulls… well, seagulling (what is it they do?).

So take a few moments today and enjoy something simple. If your life and heart are filled with clutter and business… make sure you give yourself a place to be quiet. Maybe it’s just a quiet escape to the porch for morning coffee… listening to the sounds of your neighborhood. Or a hot bubble bath. Or if you have the luxury to escape to a beach or the mountains… give yourself that gift. It puts everything else in perspective.

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Distractions

July 21, 2009 at 1:04 am (Family, Need A Laugh?)
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So sorry friends, for the lack of blogging lately. I’ve been caught up in a few things that have kept me distracted. One being, my crazy travel schedule starting up in full force. Another, playing with my newly potted vegetable and herb garden.

And of course, I love being distracted with experimenting in the kitchen so I can post on my Recipe Blog… and not to mention wanting to spend the rest of my down-time sitting on my porch enjoying some of these amazing summer nights (and afternoons!)…

But the most important, and probably the most understandable, distraction has been walking through Mom’s cancer and hip surgery… and currently, her barrage of treatments and evaluations. It’s been overwhelming at best. But as I’ve continued to say throughout this time, “The Lord is on His throne… and that’s all I need to find rest at night”.

However, a couple of weeks ago, I was in Rochester, NY for a Women of Faith weekend. It had been a crazy time of trying to do my World Vision job on the road and squeezing phone calls in to doctors, nurses, family, mom’s friends, etc… After a typically hectic travel day on Sunday… I got home and collapsed in bed. Only to be wakened early the next morning with an onslaught of more phone calls.

(Content Warning: TMI below…)

After dealing with what I needed to… I decided, for mental health purposes, I needed to give myself a break. So I turned off my phone and headed out of the house to run some errands. Bank, post office, gas station… and then the fun part… Target! I needed a few things like shampoo & conditioner, toothpaste, Advil PM… and well, a bra. It had been awhile, after all, since I’d purchased a new one, and it was high time.

So, I found myself meandering through tall fixtures that displayed all sorts of frilly things on little plastic hangers… and though I was enjoying myself, my mind kept wandering and thinking of all the people I still needed to call and I was just worried about my mom. She’d been on heavy pain meds for a week, making her incoherent and I had been unable to talk to her. And I really missed my mom.

Shaking my head in an attempt to “snap out of it”… I grabbed the first bra in front of me. “Huh, it’s my size and it’s pretty and made of that stretchy lace I love”, I thought. “Sold!”, I actually said allowed. No need to try it on… thanks to Target’s great return policy. Besides, I’m exhausted and now I’m thinking I need to get home and get back to the phone calling. So I hastily grabbed the other things I needed and checked out.

Once home and once my calls were done for awhile… I decided to try on my purchase. “Wow, this thing is really comfortable! It fits like a glove! This may be the most comfortable bra I’ve ever had…”. I was quite pleased with myself. So pleased that I wore it every day for 3 days.

On the 3rd day… I came home late in the evening and decided to get undressed and shower before bed. As I was removing said purchase… I looked down and saw this little clasp thingy on the front of the strap. And another thingy on the other side. “Huh, what are these for?” I asked myself as I unclasped one…

Yep. You guessed it.

I had purchased a nursing bra.

So there you have it. Fatigue, distraction and shopping don’t mix. This I can attest to. But I must say… since I’ve never had children and don’t ever plan to (at least not in the birthing sense)… I may never have intentionally purchased a nursing bra. And I would have never known just how very comfortable they are… I mean, they’re really comfortable.

In spite of my sudden embarrassment, I was so taken with the humor of it all that I burst into a fit of laughter. Seriously, I still laugh when I think of it. But I’m so grateful to the Lord for giving me a little comic relief in the midst of such intense drama going on in my life. And I’m glad that it’s at my own expense and not someone else’s. And I’m grateful that He allowed such a hasty purchase to still turn out okay.

Because yeah, in case you’re wondering…

I’m still wearing it.

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Out of Control…

May 21, 2009 at 6:39 pm (Faith, Family)
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Now, I would never classify myself as a “control freak”… freak might be a little harsh… maybe just a “control fan” would be a more accurate description. But nonetheless, there are times when I do not like letting go of the reins and trusting the ride I’m on. Now, is one of those times….

Finding out that my sweet mama has breast and bone cancer… and as of this week… finding out it’s at Stage 4… leaves me feeling helpless, uncertain, scared, frustrated and well, out of control. I’m a ‘fixer’ by nature. I’m resourceful, creative, a problem solver, a manager, a take-the-bull-by-the-horns-kinda-gal. If I see something gone awry… I don’t mess around. I whip out my proverbial tool belt (even though the tools are pink and kinda girlie)… and I get to work. I am a true McGuyver.

I can’t fix Mom’s problem.

Sigh.

Because this is all in God’s hands. The Maker of the Universe. The Creator of all that is good and right and holy. My Father. My Savior. Mom’s Father. Mom’s Savior. The Lover of both our souls.

So why do I think that my abilities and wisdom and love for my mother would be a better resource for her? I mean, I don’t really think that. But… I really do. At least I act like I do when I think I’m her better option. When I panic and worry and struggle with my lack of control. When I try to dictate to the Lord how to solve these issues and I try to wrestle Him into submission. When I advise the Creator of the Universe as to how He should answer my prayers. “All ya gotta do Lord is…“

It’s one thing to pray in faith and believe that God can and will do miracles and to know that He has my best interest in His heart… it’s another thing to take back the reins (reign) and hope He jumps in on my agenda.

So, as you pray for me, my mom and our family… pray also that my faith would increase. That my ability to trust the One, who is the only One worth trusting, would increase and that my desire to McGuyver my way through life would be what’s wrestled in to submission.

Thanks friends.

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Pages of Inspiration

May 5, 2009 at 2:54 pm (Observations)
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My friend Annie just wrote on her blog about needing inspiration to write… and asked her readers to chime in on how they find said inspiration. I started to comment and then realized my comment was turning into

its very own blog post…

When I need inspiration to write… I usually don’t get it from reading other works… I mean, sometimes I do. But I think I often lose my motivation and inspiration for writing because the written word seems to have lost some of its specialness and mystery. Thanks to modern technology, books, magazines, articles, news, and information is instantaneously at our fingertips. Internet savvy publishers, powerful search engines, Kindles, iPhones… all provide us with an immediate access to just about anything we want to read. Don’t get me wrong… I love technologyy (insert Napoleon Dynamite song here)! Trust me, I know how convenient some of these high-tech avenues have made our lives, and I for one, am grateful to their inventors.

But I think sometimes the value of having a physical book in my hands… one that I had to hunt for on the shelves of the bookstore or library… in my mind, increases its worth. If all I did was hit the download button, it seems to have cheapened its specialness. It’s kind of like dating relationships… if someone is too accessible… their mystery and desirability lessens. Yes, I said it.

So… what really brings me inspiration to write…. is engaging my other senses. I’ll go into an antique store and find the old book section. I gingerly pick up the dusty, faded and tattered hardbacks and listen to the binding creak as I slowly open to its contents. I hold my face close to the yellowed pages and breath deep the musty scent from years of use and storage. I run my fingers across the frayed leather or cloth hard-backing and try to imagine all that it had gone through. I try to make out the faded gold-stamped title and author that was once shiny on its spine. Each faded volume has its own character and history and story that goes far beyond the tale written on its pages.

Then I look for hand-scribbled notes in margins and heartfelt dedications written on inside cover pages and I am drawn into the relationship that all the different readers have had with this book. And I remember how important, how meaningful, how moving, how life changing the written word can be and our innate need to communicate our thoughts and to discover nuggets of wisdom and creativity from others.

So… need inspiration? Just try it… find that treasure-filled corner of your local antique store, pick up a dusty novel or frayed collection of essays. Maybe a thick book of poems, a tear-stained hymnal or even a doodled text book. But enter into the lives of those books… and the life they’ve brought to others. Fall in love again with the written word and the beauty of a well-worn volume.

…….

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bunheads with banana feet

April 16, 2009 at 8:31 pm (Observations)
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I have what’s called a StatCounter that’s linked to my Blog which tells me not just how much traffic I get on a daily basis… but I can even see what cities, states and countries you, my readers, are from, and sometimes what site you found my link on. And I must say, I’m always surprised at the random places readers are from… Australia, Japan, Norway, Kenya, even New Jersey! I’m always curious as to how they found me. I’m also very intrigued that I have a regular reader(s) from the American Airlines office in Dallas – one day I hope they’ll come out of hiding and say hi!

Many people land on my Blog because of a word search through Google or Yahoo. Stealing an idea from this guy… I searched through the recent Keyword Activity to find out what words or phrases people were entering, in hopes of discovering some informative website that would answer all their burning questions about said entered subject… but instead they found me. Sorry to disappoint… but hopefully you found something mildly entertaining, so as not to have wasted your time.

Here are the words and phrases that have landed people on my site in the last 30 days:

making of just dance
should have googled, ‘making of complete sentence’
worst jilted lover letter
I feel your pain… feel free to plagiarize
ketter by jilted lover
And Google probably asked, “Did you mean ‘letter’ by jilted lover?” So helpful those Google people.
is little rock racist
I’m pretty sure we all are to some degree… oh, fallen world of ours.
april spring teasers
I hate a tease… don’t you?
bunheads with banana feet
this had several searches – huh?
Africa photographer
take me! take me!
allergic to mzungu
which means you’re allergic to white people. Understandable.
Tall pepper plant
Consider yourself warned. And you’re welcome.

Google is a strange and wonderful thing, I must say. Happy reading. And don’t be afraid to say hi if you visit… even if it’s by mistake.

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Fa Me Sew La Ray Tea Doe

April 15, 2009 at 2:30 am (Need A Laugh?)
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This just makes me unbelievably happy. So I had to share.

Enjoy.

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You’re not the boss of me. Ok, maybe you are…

April 1, 2009 at 4:10 pm (Family, Observations)
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I was talking to my friend & roommate, Meghan, yesterday and confessing that I still get tremendously nervous when having to “perform” in front of people who have positions of authority over me. Whether performing my job, speaking, executing a plan, or sometimes just answering direct questions… I get instant dry mouth, my jaw will subtly quiver, and the normally fluid phrases & words in my head will become fragmented and erratic. Now this doesn’t happen when I’m around said authoritative figures during just our normal daily interactions… just when it’s time for me to be “on”.

Monday night, our new pastor/elder in charge of developing our church body through teaching & education… showed up unexpectedly to my Neighborhood Group. He and his wife came to sit in and observe and get to know my group. And to observe my leadership and my teaching of the series we’re going through as a church. Ugh.


Now don’t get me wrong… I love Tom and I’m thrilled he’s taking this position with our church. It’s very much needed and I think he’s an amazing gift to our church, at just the right time. That said…

I went instantly into nervous-mode the second I saw them walk into the room… especially since I was not feeling very well that night, had just come off the road and was exhausted, and… and… I know, I know…

Excuses. Excuses.

But I felt off my game nonetheless.

It’s just amazing to me that with all my growing and maturing over the years… I can still be instantly transported back to a quivering, knock-kneed child. Granted, I’m not nearly as bad as I was as a kid. I remember spending almost my entire 2nd Grade year in tears. My mom paid a lot of visits to the Principal’s office that year. Not because I was in trouble… but because of how often I came home sobbing. And just FYI – I wouldn’t recommend asking my mom about it. To this day, her blood pressure goes through the roof at its mere mention…

My 2nd Grade teacher, Mrs. Guest, was large and scary and always seemed to be looming over me (think Sybil’s mother). Her tightly-pulled, ashy-white hair knot and chunky white eyebrows were a stark backdrop to the thick ebony-rimmed glasses that balanced on the tip of her nose. She wore her standard charcoal-gray woolen shift-dress everyday, paired with thick opaque support-hose that always fell shy of her dress hem and sagged at her ankles above chunky black shoes.

Mrs. Guest could reduce me to instant tears with her fierce, chastising look. Hand on hip and finger pointed, she nicknamed me “Hippie” because (yes, it was in the early 7o’s) my mom dressed me in some pretty happenin’ outfits, and she did not approve of my “style”. More often than I care to remember… she would raise her voice and bellow complicated questions at me like, “Ms. Hippie, what is the answer to problem number 12?” But all I could see on my paper was a swirl of numbers and blurry figures that seemed to mock me and then run pell-mell all over the page (although numbers still do that to me – but I digress). Unable to mutter a sound, my tears would flow and Mrs. Guest would shake her jowly face with a tsk tsk tsk of her tongue and say… “That’s what I thought. Yes siree. Not a clue.”

I grew up in a home with no outward conflict (key word: outward). And my first two years at school were delightful! So, neither my family, nor Kindergarten or 1st Grade had prepared me for handling the wrath of the 2nd Grade Gestapo.

Mrs. Curren was my 1st grade teacher. She was sweet and kind, gave frequent hugs and smelled like apples.

Sometimes she would stick a little daisy in her blond up-do. She had bright flowers on her dresses and a lilting voice that drew you in and made you smile even when she was asking you about a math problem. She drew cute little faces on our homework and clapped her hands and jumped up & down when you got the answer right in class. She never scolded. She always encouraged. I raised my hand a lot that year. It’s how I think 1st Grade should always be remembered.

Mrs. Guest had the unfortunate lottery of following one of my favorite heroes in all of Elementary School… and though 2nd Grade felt like a prison camp in comparison to my blissful year under the tutelage of Mrs. Curren… I’ve always wondered if I had just demonized poor Mrs. Guest because she couldn’t live up to the likes of Saint Curren. I mean, Mrs. Guest wasn’t a good teacher. She wasn’t kind. She said and did some pretty mean things to me that year. And I’m pretty sure that much of my still becoming a blithering idiot in front of authority-figures was a result of my spending a year being molded by Heir Commandant. But maybe, just maybe… her knuckle-wrapping, name-calling, spirit-crushing ways were how she thought 2nd Grade kids would respond best? Maybe she… she…

Oh forget it. Even I can’t find the silver-lining in this one.

Needless to say, I am still working through childhood dramas that continue to affect me today. I’m assuming we all are. Fortunately, the good things from childhood still affect us, as well. I will always believe that the Mrs. Currens of the world exist, because well, they did once. And thanks to her example, I will always believe that love does cover a multitude of sins (including math)… and that kindness is possible in authority… and smelling like apples is a good thing.

Thanks Mrs. Curren.

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