Pieces of the Quilt

I used to dance on the top of my brothers toes. Twirling me around the kitchen, he would be able to avoid having to do the dishes. He always made it seem like a privilege for me to "get" to put away the silverware. That was my job--putting away the silverware.

I had a best friend from the time I was four. She lived diagonally behind me, and we met while in our respective backyards. One time, in the middle of summer, we sat on the edge of her pool, fully clothed, and splashed our way into sopping wet bursts of laughter.

My sister borrowed a dollar from me when I was very young. She never paid me back.

One time, we found a stray dog on the street going to our old pool. It was a tiny little white puppy, with a scratchy pink tongue. We cared for it for a few days and named it Woodland. (The name of the street...totally lame name.) I fell in love with that dog so fast, and it crushed me when its owners retrieved it.

For my sixth birthday, my grandmother bought me these cut-out dolls. I opened the present right after school, before my party, and for some reason, I said I "knew I wouldn't like it" when I opened it. I was immediately banished to my room and spent the rest of my birthday "grounded."

My dad built me a swing-set in our backyard. The coolest part was that one of the swings was actually a boat bumper. I would sit on it and talk my way into "pumping" high. I would convince myself that I had super powers.

I found empty bottles of alcohol hidden in an upstairs closet. My dad just couldn't break that habit; my mom just couldn't stand it any longer.

I had many Barbies when I was younger. I played with them all the time. One day, they went missing. Some clothes were left, but all of the dolls disappeared out of my playroom. That mystery has never been solved.

I threw up at Chuck E. Cheese while standing in line to get into the ball pit. The characters were all real then; they weren't robots dressed in ridiculous attire.

I collected stickers with my friend Erin when I was little. We would trade them. She lived in an actual log cabin, and I went to the symphony with her family. She also introduced me to God.

I loved the Pirates, Pittsburgh's baseball team. We got to sit in my dad's company's box seats and watch games. I didn't even know football and basketball existed.

I met Chris, one of my best friends through childhood, while playing a game with a hula hoop in kindergarten. He was brilliant. He had a computer. Mostly, we traversed through our imaginations together.

I don't know why I started typing this. I had no intentions when I sat down. I just started typing bits and pieces of my collective memory, and these are the first moments that came out. I wonder why we hold some pieces so dearly, while others vanish after a short time. As I am constantly thinking and wondering what it actually means to grow older, wondering what it means to be me, I am flabbergasted as to the transformation that must happen in every single life. How seemingly unimportant scraps of time have a profound impact on our perception of ourselves and the world. And, at the same time, it is amazing to me that I can continue to push forward, pretending that I am utterly unaffected by yesterday, only holding onto the promise of tomorrow.

The Sound of Silence

I am at my mom's house, so I have internet access for a few hours. My mind has been on full-throttle, but I have been living inside my head so much. There are no sounds from apartments, there is no television, I learn about nothing (unimportant as it may be) from anyone I know on Facebook, and I don't really talk to anyone on the phone. I have been stuck in a new place, stuck only because I am freaked out by all that isn't the way I want it to be, and I have felt pretty alone.

Yet, I don't waste hours watching television or learning nothing about people on Facebook...so, that's good, right?

All I know is that at this point in January, I have already felt the doldrums of winter settling in, and usually that doesn't happen until February. Yikes.

I have resolved to pour my heart into re-designing my classes and learning to see all of my students as children of God before I see them as failing statistics. I have resolved to be more thankful and not dwell on all that will make me uncomfortable in the coming years due to gross spending inadequacies in the state and federal budgets for education. It isn't supposed to be about me, right? Oh yea...I have also resolved to cherish the remaining months that I have with the class of 2010. Our days are numbered, and I am fighting all urges to take a year off of teaching so that I don't have to learn to be at school without them.

This was a sad post. Or boring.
Sorry.

Winter does that to me.