American Pie

A long, long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile 

- Don McLean

I met a girl who sang the Blues, and I asked her for some happy news.  She just smiled and turned away.  I went down to the sacred store where I'd heard the music years before, but the man there said the music wouldn't play. And in the streets the children screamed, the lover's cried, and the poets dreamed.  But not a word was spoken.  The church bells all were broken.

Something touched me deep inside....the day....the music died.  

My blog is done.

Hummingbird

Hummingbird, hummingbird should be your name

Too restless to settle, too wild to tame

- Leon Russel

I am watching a documentary on public television about hummingbirds.  I love birds to begin with but hummingbirds are my favorite.  I am fascinated with their colors, watching their young, and most of all their ability to fly.  My husband has always been interested in aviation and held a pilot's license for a while.  He wanted me to get my pilot's license too.  I went to ground school and learned all the rules and regulations of flying.  I took flight lessons.  I soloed.  But I didn't have a passion for it.

I do remember the dreams I had when I was little, that if I went running down a flight of stairs and leaped down the last few, arms spread, I would be able to take off soaring.  THAT I have a passion for.  I love to watch birds in flight.  I would give anything to be able to fly in that manner.

Some cultures believe in totem animals.  I have a deep connection to this tiny little bird, enough so that I know it is my totem animal and for that reason, I had it tattooed on my leg.  Hummingbirds have long been considered a symbol of infinity - and science can now show that their wings allow them to hover by moving in a figure ∞ .  They are also considered symbols of healing and resurrection because although they need to eat almost constantly during the day to stay alive, they can stop eating at night and can survive very cold nights.  This is because they enter a state of "tupor" in which their body temperature lowers nightly to match the surrounding temperature, and its heartbeat slows dramatically.  Then in the morning warmth, the small bird warms back up again and resumes its normal heart rate.

But the real reason I love these birds is because they are rarely still.  They are constantly moving from one thing to the next to the next to the next.  And I understand that.  I feel it.  I feel I am flying with it.  I feel what I do mirrors it. They are delicate and breathless.

And they are the only living creature than can capture light and color. 

They are Joy.

Shambala

Wash away my trouble, wash away my pain
With the rain of Shambala

- Toby Keith

I am staring at the photos of my parents' house fire, photos I have seen dozens of times over the last 25 years, and for the first time ever I burst into tears.  My mother had them arranged in an old photo album, the kind with the static-cling pages.  The album cover had become tattered over the years and it sported a piece of masking tape that bore my mother's handwriting with two simple words: The Fire. 

As a teacher, I always used storytelling in my classroom to bring content alive for my students.  These photos, that showed the windows shattered by the fire department to let the smoke out, the burned and blackened walls, the melted tile and plaster, helped my students understand why fire drills were serious business.  My brother, the only one home at the time of the fire, got out safely.  But almost everything else was lost.  I would ask my students what their most prized possessions were...and after several answers were given, explain that all the things that I'd grown up with were gone.  That would really hit home with them.

The photos also showed the remains of the house being leveled and the new house that was built in its place - a new design, spacious rooms, and a deck that had never existed before.  This new house was the first house my daughters knew as Grandma and Grandpa's house.  And for that reason I decided to take the pictures out of the tattered photo album and chronicle the fire as one of my many scrapbook projects.

That was in March.  The same month I went to the doctor with a cough and temperature and asked them to take a chest x-ray to make sure the cough hadn't turned into pneumonia.  My lungs were clear, they said, but there was a mass that needed further examination.  Within four weeks' time I had a CT scan, a PET scan, and a lung biopsy, all inconclusive.  But all the doctors were in agreement: lung cancer is aggressive.  We've discovered this so early, it hasn't spread.  Six months from now, we might have problems.  And now I'm scheduled for thoracic surgery - opening the chest cavity from the back to remove the lobe of my lung where the tumor lies.  And I am a wreck.  Not because I have a tumor, but because I went through this surgery eighteen years ago.

Thoracic surgery is considered one of the most painful surgeries a person can endure.   In 1994 we discovered I had a tumor growing next to my aorta.  The only way to safely reach it was to open me up from the back.  My shoulder muscles were cut, ribs broken, and lung deflated.  I remember pain so severe I would slip in and out of consciousness, clogged chest tubes, and months of painful recovery.  After going through it once, I vowed that I would kill myself rather than ever go through that ordeal again, never imagining I would really be faced with another one.  Who has two of these surgeries?

Eighteen years ago, even though I had three very young daughters, it was very much about me.  The tumor, being on a nerve, was causing me pain.  I wanted the doctors to fix it, not thinking ahead to what I was in for.  I made routine arrangements for someone to take care of the girls, and was more worried about who was going to be at the hospital with me.  This time around, my husband asked me the day before the surgery if I was sure this is what I wanted to do?  Did I want to wait six months and repeat the scans and biopsies?  I knew exactly what I was in for this time and I was more sure than anything I have ever done.  It was about ensuring that I absolutely will not have cancer - for the sake of my three daughters.  Three amazing young women who I adore, who were now old enough to understand the seriousness of what their mom was facing, and I needed to reassure them I would be fine.  I would be there for them.  Period.

So at the end of April, having made arrangements to be gone from work, I  underwent the surgery. Although that surgery went well, I had to have emergency abdominal surgery while in the hospital, totally unrelated to the lung tumor, and there were complications with that.  Recovery took longer than planned.

There are days when all my best childbirth visualization techniques, coupled with the pain medication, is not enough, but I am determined to keep myself busy and distracted from it and stay positive.  There are days when I look in the mirror, at scars 12 and 16 inches long that criss-cross my body, and I am thankful I don't wrestle with body image issues.  There are days when my stamina is low and fatigue is high, and I tell myself that these are good days for projects like writing and scrapbooking.

And so I pull out the project I am working on, the scrapbook about the fire, and I thumb through the pages I have sorted out, colored papers in the plastic sleeves along with the photos to go on each page.  I look at the destruction that left my childhood home in ruins and somehow it suddenly seems intertwined with the destruction that has been wreaked upon my body.  And the tears come.

My mother could have chosen not to chronicle the fire.  Or just to have included pictures of the fire without the rebuilding.  But she chose to chronicle both.  The destruction and the regrowth.  The surgery and the healing.  It takes time to rebuild.  It takes time to heal.  It isn't always easy.  If it was just me, I might have waited six months to repeat the tests.  But I wouldn't risk doing that to my daughters.  My mother called these things "a labor of love". 

Better Than I Used to Be

I know how to hold a grudge
I can send a bridge up in smoke
- Tim McGraw

When I was growing up, and was on the receiving end of something that made me angry enough to give a sarcastic response, lash out, or be vengeful, my mother always had the same response: "Don't stoop to their level." That's good advice; but difficult to live. My passions run deep whether it's excitement, anger, love, or irritation. And so when people irritate me or make me impatient, my knee-jerk response is to say something snarky.  My daughters don't hesitate to remind me of this tendency and I try to be more aware of it and keep it in check.

When I was growing up, if my parents did something I didn't like - that I really disagreed with - I remember making mental notes to myself not to do that as a parent to my own kids.  A lot of it had to do with respecting my maturity and willingness to be responsible about things.  Where we could, Greg and I tried to give our girls the information and resources to make their own decisions, help them through processes rather than tell them what they needed to do, and give them the skills to handle the bigger picture.

I was talking with a friend of mine today who is a parent educator, and that the way our husbands were raised weren't the kind of parents they wanted to be.  How both of them were determined to "break the pattern" so to speak, of the way they were raised and do things differently with their children.  And they both did.  Largely, they both did it by trusting us, their wives, the upbringing we'd had, and the strong desire to do things differently.  But she said that in many of her parenting classes, the desire to do things differently doesn't just make it so.  These young parents have to seek out information and skill sets and role models to replace the only patterns of parent-child interaction they are familiar with.  Some also need counseling so they can deal with, and put into perspective, the baggage they carry with them as they try to parent differently.  Some need to actually shield themselves from the toxicity that was their up-bringing in order to truly break the cycle.  My friend put it well when she said, "We all have baggage.  It's just a matter of how much and what kind.  And what are we willing to accept from others?"

My daughters have been raised by two people who took parenting seriously enough to put it above their own needs and above their own marriage - and for that I am grateful.  There are many people who will weigh in on the pros and cons of this philosophy, saying the marriage must come first, or that if you're not fulfilled as an adult you can't make your child happy.  But to help that child become productive, loving, disciplined, empathetic, and all the other traits we desire to see cannot happen by accident, cannot happen if it is put on the back burner, or "after" the adults are fulfilled in other ways.  There is no one right way to make it happen, but there are a lot of ways to make it go wrong.  I believe that in the end it comes down to treating children as the people you want them to become.

I'm learning who you've been

Ain't who you've got to be

No Hurry

Ain't in no hurry, I'd be a fool now to worry
About all those things I can't change
And the time that I borrow, can wait till tomorrow
Cause I ain't in no hurry today

- Zac Brown 

We all like to think we're in control of our lives.  We aren't.  Sometimes I think you can divide people into three groups: those who try to control everything, those who know what they have control over and what they don't, and those who just let life happen to them.  Under each of these three, of course, there are sub categories that carry different personality types, creedos, religions, self-help industries, outlooks, and behaviors.

When a person tries to control everything, I believe their degree of success depends greatly on the level of power they have in the situation.  It can be physical power in a relationship, positive in the field of sports, negative if it's an abusive romance.  It can be managerial power in the workplace, positive if it's used for the well-being of the company/clientele or negative when it's self-serving/micro-managing.  Or it can be delegated authority in a social situation such as the leader of a clique/club or someone who's been handed the reins whether they wanted it or not. If you have power, you have the ability to control.  If you have power along with other traits such as intellect, benevolence, money, drive, etc., you can be seen as a good leader.  Power without any of these other traits leads to tyranny.  

Then there are people who just let life happen.  Due to mental or physical or economic circumstance, they have so little control they just don't even bother trying - they never have or they have given up.  They are dealing with an addiction, overwhelming tragedy, mental illness, or other situation that often puts them in the care of our governmental and social service agencies, or in the care of a family member.

Most people, however, fall somewhere in the middle.  They don't have the wealth, social status, job, affluence, and time to be in control of all aspects of their life.  There are too many variables and life is just too complex.   So to get by, people set up schedules and routines, rules of etiquette, friendships and partnerships that work for them, etc.  There is a wonderfully complex social order to things - and every time something changes in the social order, however small, everything else must slightly shift as well.  Some people need more control than others.  It's a balancing act to establish the control one person needs without infringing on the liberties of another.  We see this in government, in business systems, in social systems, and in personal relationships.

Those who try to establish more control than they have are often frustrated because their need for control can never be adequately fulfilled, leaving them trying to control even more and a great deal of stress.  Those who are put in control and not producing due to their own or or others' inability to come through also face a great deal of stress.  Those who try to follow the established routines, norms, or rules of etiquette and others don't respond as expected often face a great deal of stress.  And so we come to the Serenity Prayer: 

God grant me the courage to change the things I can

The serenity to accept the things I cannot

And the wisdom to know the difference

It is easy to take control when there there is the desire and there are no obstacles, but it takes courage when there is any level of responsibility or change.  It takes just as great an effort to "accept with serenity" the things we cannot change.  And it is here most people struggle and most people find or create the stress in their life.  The prayer Desiderata says,  As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.  I love this simple sentence.  It does not say to do anything to get along, it says as "far as possible".  And that is what brings us to having the wisdom to know the difference.

And so I have been thinking about my life these last few weeks.  And my stress level.  In two days' time I have endured what the doctors describe as the first and second most painful surgeries a person can undergo.  And yet (with only a few exceptions) I have been in good spirits and laughing with the hospital staff as they come to my room.  And why do I have such good humor in such dire circumstances, and such stress in my job where I am the boss and have so much "control" over things?  And I think it is this:  I really have no control over these surgeries.  None.  Not the circumstances that brought me here, nor the care I'm getting here.  Things are 100% out of my control.  So I have a choice.  I can be miserable or I can make the best of it.  I choose to make the best of it with humor and grace.  I will save my energy for the things I can change, not for getting upset over the things I can't.

Springsteen

Funny how a melody sounds like a memory
- Eric Church

Dear Sarah Margaret, Theresa Mae, and Laura Elizabeth,

All of these songs here are intertwined with my thoughts and memories.  Sometimes the song came first.  I would be driving or doing something around the house, radio on, and the song lyrics would spark the memory.  Sometimes the memory came first and as I wrote it down I searched for the perfect lyrics to go with it.  But they were always hand in hand.  Music is such an important part of my life.  It is a gift.  It was something I didn't have when I was young like you did because it wasn't a part of my mother's life.  And when the world of music opened up to me, it was magical.  I have carried music in my heart and in my head ever since and it's the reason every entry in this blog starts with song lyrics.  It is the reason the opening entry in this blog is called "The Music Is You."   Music, and you three, are two of the most important things in my life.  You changed my life forever as did music.  I am so proud of you and the amazing women you have become and will continue to be.

Don't worry about me 'cause I'll be alright...

I still love you more than anything in the world.
- Sugarland
 

Love,

Mama

Arms of an Angel

In the arms of an Angel; may you find some comfort here.
- Sarah McLachlan

I stayed overnight at a friend's house once when I was extremely upset and needed a place to go. In her guest room was a double bed that was practically a museum piece. It was enclosed on three sides and on top. The fourth side had drapes on it. The bed had I don't know how many pillows on it, and lots of soft, comfy quilts. I felt so cocooned, so calmed in that space, it's hard to describe.

In the wee hours of the morning, when I'm starting to sleep fitfully, I snuggle up next to my husband, he puts his arms around me, and I fall back to sleep. Much more easily than the mornings I don't.

I think about the time spent nursing my babies. How a baby's body melds into its mother's. Checks flush. They fall asleep. It's universal. I close my eyes and I can still feel them as babies in my arms.

It's called comfort.

The events of the past few weeks have put me on an emotional roller coaster. I alternate between falling apart and being matter of fact. The falling apart side of me stems from knowing pain. I had this surgery almost 20 years ago. It's horrendous. My sister-in-law talked me through it and I thought it would be okay. They handled the biopsy well and so the surgery will be fine too, I told myself. And then I got a jerk of an after-hours nurse when I called for information and I am afraid again.

The matter of fact side of me says it's either cancer or it's not. If not - great! If it is, we'll either beat it or we won't. If we do - great! If not, my mom is waiting for me. All positive outcomes. Maybe my family doesn't see the last one the same way I do, but it's okay in my mind. There have been times through this when I've been upset and for no apparent reason I feel my mother's presence very strongly. It's unexpected, startling, and real.

I have wished I could just stop, quit dealing with all my demands, and have someone wrap their arms around me, and make this all better. That won't happen. But I know my mother is still with me and I take comfort in that. So are some wonderful family and friends who are angels too.

Johnny Lobo

Locked inside a heaven gone to hell
All the dreams were gone but not forgotten
- Kris Kristofferson

I started a journal about 30 years ago, in which I wrote down all the things I was going to do in my lifetime. A lot of the entries were places I was going to travel to. Others were things I wanted to accomplish. One entry per page so I could write down the date I did it and any description or diary-like entry of what I did.

Some of them were a sign of the times, things I was involved in at the time I wrote them - like bicycling and rock climbing, with entries like "Cycle through the British Isles" or "Climb in the Tetons". And I listed traveling to all seven continents and fifty states. I haven't cycled or climbed anywhere outside the U.S. but I am close to getting to all fifty states and have made it to Canada, Mexico, Germany, Austria, Scotland, and twice to Ireland.

Some things listed were the routine things you'd expect: graduate from college, get married, have kids. I graduated with a degree in education, then went back twenty years later and got my Masters and my principal's license. Then went back five years after that to get my superintendent's license. I got married and next year will celebrate 30 years along with three beautiful daughters.

Some accomplishments, I'm really proud of. I wanted to learn chemistry just because. I never took it in high school and certainly didn't need it to become an elementary school teacher. But I wanted to understand it. So I took it in college - and got an A. I learned how to fly a plane when Greg belonged to a flying club. I've learned karate and how to ride horses.

Some dreams though, fall by the wayside for one reason or another. I always wanted to learn to play the piano, but never did in all the years we had my sister's piano here at our house. It's one of the few regrets I have but I was busy with grad school and simply put my time elsewhere. I always wanted to take swim lessons and learn how to swim well; conquer my fear of deep water. With two chest/shoulder surgeries, that just won't happen. Neither will learning to play the bagpipes. And I will probably hang up my dream of learning how to parachute. Saying I wanted to parachute is how I met my husband. He heard me say that the night a group of us went out to a bar and he decided he wanted to get to know me better. But when you've had surgeries as extensive as these, you know better than to put yourself in a position where you could ever be in that much pain again. And parachuting, like motorcycles, carries too much risk for my comfort. It's sad when you let your dreams go, whatever the reason. You realize you're mortal...that you're growing older...that you've got limited funds...or time...or.....

There is one entry in that journal, entered Feb 1982 - 30 years ago - that says "publish some of my writing". Through my involvement with La Leche League, I became an editor for their Leader magazine Leaven which is read by their leader volunteers all over the world. On occasion, I wrote articles for them that were published in that journal. So I can say I've accomplished that goal. But I am revising it. I want to devote enough time to my writing that I can submit a manuscript to a publisher and have a book published. That's my dream now.

It Happens

Missed my alarm clock ringing
Woke up, telephone screaming
Boss man singing his same old song
- Sugarland

I was getting a massage today and the masseuse was telling me that one of the reasons she likes her job is the peaceful work environment. Interesting thought... Peaceful music that's laced with the sounds of trickling water, birds, the wind. Dim lights. Aroma therapy in the massage oils. And it made me think about the posting we use when we're hiring teachers:

Aspen Academy strives to create a collaborative and positive work environment where teachers want to work.

And I wonder how much thought most places of business put into their work environments? Consider the typical office with harsh lights, phones ringing, people making demands, and deadlines people are knuckling under. It is no wonder that the number one priority on every teacher's list for our new school is dimmer switches on the lights. My teaching partner used to always keep the lights half off. He felt it kept the kids calmer.

Greg's work environment is underground and in the winter he drives to work in the dark, works underground, and drives home in the dark. I struggle with my work environment simply because the nature of my work is nothing but interruptions all day long. Not here and there all day long, but minute by minute interruptions all day long. I went into work last Friday with only one thing on my to-do list. I never even got to open the file folder.

My Dean of Students asked me if I felt the work she was doing was of value. While everyone has a role in contributing to a "collaborative and positive" work environment, she is pivotal. The work she does is not shallow. It is not the rah-rah employee of the week kind of positive she is putting forward. She is systematically and thoughtfully building a culture in which she is helping teachers and students identify what it is they value, how they want to work together to achieve it, and how they want to acknowledge it. That is the highest form of collaboration, requiring top-notch facilitation skills, and a degree of patience that allows the positives to develop over time.

Rhymes and Reasons

And you wonder where we're going
Where's the rhyme, where's the reason
- John Denver

I believe things happen for a reason. I had a friend once who vehemently disagreed with that. He said that implied that man had no free will. Everything was preordained and there was no point in even trying. I disagreed. I believe things happen for a reason but what you choose to do about it is exactly why we have free will.

I have another friend who doesn't like to hear me say things happen for a reason. She's been through some unimaginable hardships. To say there was a purpose behind these seemingly senseless tragedies is an unkindness and I'm careful not to say that around her. But when senseless things happen, I have to believe that sometimes there is a reason too far removed for me to see or too far away in time for me to comprehend yet - or it would be truly senseless and to me that is unspeakable. So although I may go through frustration or anger or grief this belief helps me get through it because I have faith that there is some larger purpose, if not for me, then for someone else. I may play a role in someone else's larger reason and I accept that. It is not all about me.

There is a newspaper columnist whom I highly respect for his reporting on social issues in the metropolitan area. A year ago he was diagnosed with an incurable cancer. He is still here today and in his column this week, he commented that he has yet to ask the question, "Why me?" I have mixed feelings about that. I understand what he's saying in that you shouldn't ask it from a pity point of view, but I do believe you should ask it from a learning point of view. Whenever I'm thrown into tough circumstances, I ask myself what I can learn from it. Sometimes it takes me a while to get past the anger or the heartache, but eventually, I look for the rhymes and reasons. They're usually there. If not for me, for someone close to me.

A friend of mine posted on Facebook: "Sometimes when things are falling apart, they may actually be falling into place." Something to think about....

Cold Nights in Canada

And one is a teacher and one a beginner
Just wanting to be there, wanting to know
- John Denver

I was having lunch with my Baby Girl and was telling her about a conversation with one of my teachers in which I was trying to help this teacher understand what one of my students needed to be successful. The teacher started the list by saying the student would need to be able to hold down a job and I stopped her right there. This is elementary school. What does the student need right now, to be successful in her classroom? She had to really stop and think about it, and finally said it would be the Phy Ed teacher coming in on a daily basis to give this student an activity break. I asked her why and her reasoning was sound. But then she followed with, "But if I insist that assignments be finished before [the student] can have the activity break, he will say he doesn't care about the activity break and it won't work. And I had to explain that if she was giving him what he needed to be successful vs leveraging desired behavior, those were two very different situations. One was a safety net, the other was a power struggle. She really had to think about that too.

And my Baby Girl asked if all principals mentor their teachers this much? I told her I don't think so. At least not from my experience or my conversations with my colleagues. The closest I came to it in the school setting was a school psychologist I worked with, but he was so over-extended his time came in snippets and, while useful, never drilled down to the depth anyone needed. So who were - or are - the mentors in my life?

Maybe surprisingly, most of them were mothers in La Leche League. Their simple motto, to help one mother and baby at a time, grew into a world-wide organization that now operates in hundreds of countries and has helped millions of mothers and babies. All one mother and baby at a time. Important to ponder for people who set out to make a difference, to change the world. If La Leche League had tried to do something global from the onset, they may never have made it, but to quietly do what was important and let it take root, to bring others into the fold, and to see what it has become 60 years later is important to understand. All one mother and baby at a time.

From Jill, I learned that if people don't have enough ownership in their job, then why would they want to do it? How will they have investment? She believed they need to have enough say, enough control to make it their own. This philosophy has helped make me an administrator with a collaborative leadership style. Someone who is willing to tell her staff what the parameters are and then make group decisions. Not everyone is comfortable with this. Some people want to be told what to do. Some people don't want to take the time required to come to such decisions. Others take this to mean they can do whatever they want. It's different, but for those who can work within this style of leadership, there is a great deal of commitment.

From Peggy, I learned the importance of grooming new leadership. You're not going to be at the helm forever. Eventually, you want others to be able to step up to the plate. In the best of circumstances, the organization is vibrant and growing. In those situations, you can't do it all. Grooming new leadership helps people see themselves as someone who can contribute and help that growth. It involves seeing people's strengths and nurturing them.

From Ginger, I learned how to facilitate board work and committee work, and the difference between administrative work and policy work, and how to manage the information that needs to come from both.

From Nate, I learned a lot of the day-to-day of running a business. He and his wife operated their own business, but they had a rule of not discussing work at home. They didn't want to live it 24/7. But often he needed to vent about work things. I was constantly making mental notes...hiring and firing issues, liability concerns, how to handle difficult situations.

But those are all on the professional end of things. On the parenting end of things, I probably learned more from a La Leche League leader named Donna than anyone else. She was the mother of seven and at the time I met her, the grandmother of I don't know how many - and still active in League. She had the funniest sense of humor, and more common sense than most. One of the best things I learned from her was the belief that too many parents feel that since they can't control everything, they abdicate everything, and how important it was to parent what you could. And I drew on the collective wisdom of mothers who believed in listening to their children, meeting their needs, and positive parenting that didn't equate indulgence. I learned as I went, along with friends like Deb and Sandee, who I still am friends with today, even though our children are in college and beyond.

And most of all, I learned from role models in my own family. My own parents, but also wonderful grandparents and aunts and uncles who were very much a part of my life. I knew I could (and did) go to them as much as my own parents. It was my grandmother who told me to bring my colicky baby to bed with me, my aunt who modeled the matter-of-fact conversations I try to have with my girls and students, another aunt who taught me how to reason through difficult situations for positive outcomes. It was my mother who taught me what it really means to listen.

And all of this taught me that kids really do need lots of adults in their lives. Lots of people who care. I am thrilled that my girls spend as much time as they do with their aunt, and that they keep in touch with their relatives in Georgia. I try hard to make my school a place where all students feel they belong, feel they are successful. As adults, we don't always hit the mark for our kids, for our students. That's why it's important to have others standing by in the wings.

It's A Great Day to Be Alive

Well I might go get me a new tattoo
- Travis Tritt

I have seven tattoos now. And I'm waiting on the eighth. My first tattoo was a humming bird, that I had tattooed mid-calf in 2004 after I got my Masters degree. A few years ago, I had my girls' names tattooed around my left ankle. Above Laura's name is the Sugarland logo of a heart with wings that symbolizes their song "Baby Girl". Theresa drew me a frog that I had tattooed above her name today. And while I was at it, I had him do a yellow rose to symbolize my mom. The hummingbird is dipping it's beak into the rose. The eighth would be whatever Sarah draws me to go above her name.

I'm fascinated with body art. I have always felt clothes and hair should be fun, something that was probably gained from my upbringing with so many family members in theater. It's why I have always had a flair for the dramatic in the clothes I wear. It's why I don't care what others think of how I look. It's why I didn't care if my daughters wanted to dye their hair purple or any other color. Go ahead and express yourself! Have fun! Try on different personae! Just make sure it's appropriate when it matters, like a job interview, but beyond that, be yourself. Or try on different things if you're trying to figure out who you are.

But when it comes to body art, I've just told them you have to be absolutely sure you can live with it for the rest of your life before you do it. Interestingly enough, I've had my tattoos now for 8 years and none of my girls have gotten any tattoos. They may at some point, but not yet - at least that I know of. Piercings, yes, but those can close back up. No tattoos that I'm aware of. I remember reading about totem animals once and was fascinated with the concept. I think that's akin to what author Philip Pullman did in the "Golden Compass" series. Mine would be a hummingbird which is why I have one tattooed on my leg. It is something I can live with for all of my life because they are so much a part of my soul. As are my daughters. And I want something above each of their names to remind me of them as well. Names and images both have power. I'm happy to have both on my body as a reminder of them.

Yellow roses symbolize one's mother. I've been thinking about the yellow rose for a long time.

It's a great day to be alive
I know the sun's still shining when I close my eyes

Flyover States

Feel that freedom on your face
Breathe in all that open space
- Jason Aldean

I grew up in Minneapolis near what was referred to as "The Chain of Lakes." Lake of the Isles, Lake Calhoun, Lake Harriet, and Lake Nakomis...and meandering near them was Minnehaha Creek. Minneapolis is known for its parkway system, its bike paths and walking paths that connect them all. I spent more hours than I can count in, on, and around those lakes, especially Harriet and Nakomis. Walking, rollerskating, swimming, tanning, sailing, and particularly biking.

There was a great stretch of bike path that ran along the creek between Harriet and Nakomis that, if you came up to it fast enough and weren't slowed down by anyone in your way, you could coast for half a mile or more as you dropped down lower and lower into the creek bottom. It was cool and dark and green, fragrant with the humidity that comes from lushness. I would ride this stretch with a sense of abandon that was good for my soul. I loved the feel of the rushing air against my skin and in my hair. In my high school summers, on almost a daily basis, I would ride around Lake Harriet, head over to Nakomis, ride around that lake, and head back home. At least a ten mile jaunt. Of course when there were friends at the beach, or places to stop at along the way, all the better, but it was the rush of freedom of the ride I was really after.

When I went to work at Camp Tamarac, I pushed to be assigned to the out-of-camp bike tour, and finally was the last session of camp. I was thrilled to go on my first cross-country bike trip. We averaged about 20-25 miles a day on that trip, easy for me to do. And along the way I learned everything there was to know about bike maintenance - necessary when you're on the road that far from everything. I learned how to repair or change a flat tire. I learned how to true a bent wheel, how to take apart, fix and put back together a bike chain. How to adjust seats, handle bars, and derailleurs. How to adjust or fix brake cables. I also learned how to pack light. If you have to carry all your own gear, including tent, sleeping bag, clothes, food, and water on your bike, you travel even more lightly than you do backpacking - because backpackers aren't lugging a bike on top of everything else. And so we biked from Hinckley, MN to Madeline Island, WI and back, a round trip of about 320 miles.

And when camp was over, a friend and I went on another trip, this time from Stillwater, MN to Copper Harbor, MI which was about 700 miles round trip. Most days we went about 80 miles or so. One day, with a terrific tailwind at our back, we were bound and determined to do 100 miles in one day. I think we only did about 97 simply because we ran out of road, reaching our destination. But I remember parts of that trip... The day when it was raining and so we set out to bike to the nearest down for breakfast since a campfire was pointless. And biking uphill for many miles with no calories to burn and so we were burning sheer muscle in our legs and the pain of it, but having no choice but to push forward. Grim.

Pair that with the downhill ride with the tailwind, and the glorious feel of freedom you can experience only when you cycle through this great country of ours up close and personal. When you smell September wheat drying in the sun. When you see the steepled, whitewashed church in the middle of nowhere. When you hear small children laughing and playing in the municipal park. When you see railroad cars full of goods and graffiti. When you meet people who are proud of where they come from and the work they do.

You'll understand why God made
Those fly over states

Sounds of Silence

Hello, Darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk to you again
About a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
- Simon and Garfunkel

I love the night. I always have. It brings a sense of calm that is found nowhere else - and smells that are not present during the day. It has a life of its own. There are times I open my windows, close my eyes, and just breathe in the night. And its transforms me. I think that is why I don't like this shift of going to bed earlier and getting up earlier. I get the same amount of sleep, and there are beautiful things about the morning and the sunrise, but they do not restore me like the night does.

When my girls were little, we had a book called, "Walk When the Moon is Full." It was about a mom that took her children out for a night walk every full moon for a year. She wrote about the things they saw on those walks and it was a simpl,e beautiful book. We did that. Went on our own midnight walks during the full moon for a year. We had that luxury, me being an at-home mom and homeschooling my daughters at the time.

When you're away from the city, and truly experiencing the night, it does not place demands on a person. It is a time to let go, relax, and experience a different state of being. And at those times, I am most likely to have my visions come to me. I don't know if we all have it and some are just more sensitive to it, or if only some people have it. I read a book once called, "The Intuitive Principal: A Guide to Leadership." It was about how good leaders pay attention to all the surrounding sensory information without even realizing it, and how to develop that part of leadership to benefit your students and staff.

When I can truly clear my mind, I am amazed at what "percolates" to the top, the visions or premonitions I have. There are times I know it goes beyond the sensory information I have available and I've learned to trust it. I know it comes from the Boe side of the family. My sister has it, my cousin has experienced it. We just guard it is all.

I knew I would marry Greg long before I started dating him. I knew to drive to my sister's house at 10pm with a newborn baby in tow because I had a premonition something was terribly wrong and only months later did she tell me she had planned to kill herself that night. I have had premonitions about my daughters that I still hold tightly. I have heard my mother's voice at unexpected times. These things do not make sense to the rational person. And yet they are.

That is why I need the night. To clear my head. So I can hear everything I am supposed to hear, and not all the noise and clatter of the daytime.

Better Than I Used to Be

I know how to hold a grudge
I can send a bridge up in smoke
- Tim McGraw

When I was growing up, and we were on the receiving end of something that made us angry, angry enough to give a sarcastic response, lash out, or be vengeful, my mother always had the same response: "Don't stoop to their level."

That's good advice, but difficult to live. My passions run deep whether it's excitement, anger, love, or irritation. And so when people irritate me or make me impatient, my knee-jerk response is to say something snarky. And at the same time I know that's how bridges get burnt.

My thick skin and straight-forwardness mean I have to make a conscious effort to filter what I say, to consider how it will be received by others. I think this is why I find my job so tiring. I love what I do, but when my office is an endless parade of upset parents, worried teachers, misbehaving students, and other people who want my time, I have to be on my game for 10 hours straight, constantly filtering what I say. Am I being politic? Compassionate? Looking at the issue from everyone's perspective? Framing my response diplomatically? Finding the balance between firmness and kindness? Leaving everyone's dignity intact? Leaving everyone's dignity intact is so important, however, that I've written it into the performance review for all of my staff. In all situations, whether they are working with students, parents, or colleagues, there is never reason to ridicule or demean another human being.

I watch my daughters and how they deal with others and wonder if they are just much more patient than I am, or if they have learned to respond better than I have. But I am impressed, over and over, with their ability to handle themselves with grace in difficult situations. With life experiences, they will continue to be challenged, and I am convinced they will continue to grow. That is the challenge of any adult, to continue to strive to be a better person.

I'm learning who you've been
Ain't who you've got to be

Highway 20 Ride

A day might come you'll realize
That if you see through my eyes
There was no other way to work it out
And a part of you might hate me
But son, please don’t mistake me
For a man that didn’t care at all
-Zac Brown Band

Today at work we had to call County Social Services. A family whose kids go to my school is going through a nasty divorce and at conferences, one of the boys said that his father had been beating him. We know the family though, and strongly suspect Mom put him up to it as a way to get back at Dad during the divorce proceedings. But we're mandatory reporters. We have to call social services and let them sort it out. Dad called us later, upset and wanting to know what was said. We don't go there. Social services gets to sort that out too.

In the school setting, I've watched enough families go through divorces to see the good, the bad, and the ugly. The good is where the parents realize it just wasn't meant to be for whatever reason, or it's time to move on. They make the decision to make the best of it and try to work together to cause the least disruption in their kids' lives. There may be a few bumps in the road while they're trying to get it figured out but for the most part, it's the best it can be given the circumstances.

The bad is where one parent is injured and isn't able to heal. And because of that, they child has to keep reliving it over and over. The other parent is then put in the position of trying to help a child who is stuck. Depending on the age of the child and the skills of the parent, the child be able to move past the injured parent - or maybe not. But if they can't, the school that sees all sorts of behaviors along the way....insecurities, absenteeism, acting out, poor grades, disorganization, anxiety.

When it gets ugly, we see things where one parent cannot move past their own pain and actively seeks to damage the other - with disregard for the impact it's having on the child. Or maybe with some sort of understanding of the damage it's doing, but feels the need to damage the other parent outweighs the well-being of their child. When the need to damage another adult overtakes the need to protect one's child, something is very wrong. A parent may try to stage the situation, implying that the other parent is at fault and they are only protecting their child from these actions. In almost every instance I've been witness to, the child knows what he is seeing does not fit with what he is being told and one of two things happen... If they are young, their minds are trying to come up with some rationale to explain the dichotomy and it causes them a great deal of angst. Or if they are old enough to see through it, it simply causes a great deal of anger.

I have actually had this family in my office and talked to them about all this. And that for the sake of their kids, they need to find some neutral ground because I've seen what happens when families don't. For a while, they were managing - at least where school was concerned. Dad especially. I see how he interacts with his boys, and it's clear he really does try to be a good dad but he's caught in an impossible situation. If it's getting so extreme that they can't maintain that neutral ground, it's not always a bad thing that social services gets involved. As upset as this dad is, social services might bring some normalcy to these boys' lives where he can't.

And my whole world
It begins and ends with you
On that Highway 20 ride

The video for this song is sweet. You watch Zac Brown driving down the road and you think he's going to see his son. But at the end of the video, it's an old man who opens the door. And you realize he's the boy in the song, all grown up, going to visit his dad. It's tender and loving. Despite all the difficulties kids go through, they know when their loved. And they know when adults genuinely care about them. And that's the best we can do. These two boys at school act out a lot. And it's no small wonder with everything they're going through. But they have a free pass to come to my office and talk to me whenever they want to. I want my office to be a safe place for them - because they don't have a safe place at home. Because I want them to know I care and will always take the time for them - because the adults at home have a hard time with that. And because I want them to excuse themselves when they feel close to the edge - rather than get sent down after they're in trouble. We need places for kids to feel safe and feel loved.

Cool An' Green An' Shady

Find yourself a piece of grassy ground,
Lay down close your eyes.
Lose yourself or maybe find yourself
While your free spirit flies.
- John Denver

When women prepare for childbirth, the instructors will tell them to visualize something that takes their mind off the contractions. I do the same thing when I am getting a cavity filled because I don't let the dentist use Novocaine - my dislike of needles is so intense, I would rather just take my mind somewhere else than be jabbed with a needle. Being able to do this is a skill many disciplines use. And the place I always go is the same...up to the woods where our cabin was in Cushing, MN. This week was particularly stressful for me at work, and as I went to my Saturday massage, I needed to do everything I could to relax for that one hour and make it worth my money for the massage. So I sent my mind up to Cushing while the masseuse took care of my body. And I was astounded at what I could recall...

My dad and his two sisters bought eighty acres of woods from a local farmer in the small town of Cushing, MN. Almost every weekend, we'd pack up the station wagon and head up there. We parked down at what we called Campsite Number One, the level spot down by the road, and walked up the trail past Campsite Number Two on our left. Then the path got narrow between two marshy areas that were lush with ferns and the horsetail rushes we'd make ornate necklaces with. Small logs crossed the path here to help us keep our footing where the ground got muddy. It took a lot of trips up and down the trail to bring up clothes and food and water - and no one wanted to get stuck carrying the five gallon galvanized water jug. It was heavy.

After the marshes the trail got steeper and went through a grove of Aspen trees that, on sunny days, were whiter than white. We would peel bark off them to draw on and do other crafts until my father explained you could kill the tree if you took too much. I can still picture almost every tree along the way. And so we continued up the hill to Campsite Number Three where at the top, you took a slight left and there you were: the open space that held the shed, the A-frame and the dome. The shed was a 10x10' metal shed that stored much of our stuff between seasons while we were still tent camping and before the cabin was built. The A-frame was a small scale experiment into one possible model for our cabin-to-be, but my father and uncle decided not to go with that idea. The little A-frame became the outhouse. And then there was the dome.

My father and uncle researched and decided to build a geodesic dome for our cabin. They laid a floor of old railroad ties and second-hand planking. They cut all the pieces for the dome in my uncle's garage, brought them to Cushing, and then we worked to assemble them. Many years later, my aunt referred to it as "our hippie days". I never thought of my parents as hippies, only that spending all our weekends in the woods was a wonderful way to grow up.

If you went past the dome there was a small path that led to a wonderful rope swing. My cousin Mark took a 100' coil of rope and scaled an impossible height in a perfect tree. It was at the bottom of a hill with very little brush around it. We tied a stick to the bottom of the rope to make a seat. And at the top of the hill, we built a tree stand of sorts to stand on - a log laid across the V of two other trees. You could climb up on it to get extra height, then jump with the rope in a mad tangle of legs to get yourself situated on the seat, and swing across into the treetops on the other side of the little valley at he bottom of the hill. It was exhilarating and we would take turns doing it for hours.

But when I needed to be alone, I went the other direction. Back toward the dome, across the campsite, and a short walk into the woods would take you to a large open grassy area, the gas line. It was about 300' wide and miles long and the county gas line ran under ground. If I kept going, and crossed into the woods on the other side, if I looked for the deer path that provided a small break in the foliage, it would lead me to the place I still go to in my mind 40 years later.

It was at the top of a ridge that gently sloped down to a marsh. I could see all the wildlife that came and went around the edges of the marsh. There was a fallen log to the left that made a wonderful place to sit. I would sit for hours...in peace. There was something that drew me to that place...and still does. All these years later. I can picture every tree. I can feel the warmth of the sun and see how it filters through the leaves. The smell of dried leaves mixes with the fresh humid smell of the earth. The smell of sun mixed with shade.

It was amazing how much more I remembered today during an hour of massage, instead of after an hour of drilling or hours of labor. Still, it's a good place to go. It always has been.

Amarillo Sky

He just takes the tractor another round
And pulls the plow across the ground
And sends up another prayer
He says Lord I never complain I never ask why
But please don't let my dream run dry
Underneath, underneath this amarillo sky
- Jason Aldean

What is important about this song is the video that goes with it. Jason Aldean put three real farmers in it...three young men, ages 17, 19, and 19, who are third or fourth generation farmers, holding onto the family farm. You hear about farming on the news from time to time, and certainly come elections, but it tends to stop there. It's not glamorous, it doesn't provide the dramatic visuals that our news media loves to play, but those of us who aren't farmers need to be cognizant of what they do, and so good for people like Jason Aldean for putting these young men in his video.

There are farmers along the county road where I live and my sister lives next door to farmers, even though we're technically part of the Twin Cities - that's how engrained it is in the Midwest. I know several people who farm, and there's a reason it comes up during every election. Their livelihood affects us all...and so we need to be educating our children about these issues along with all the other election issues during Civics classes. Jason Aldean also has a song about "Fly-Over States", the states that don't have the big economic centers and cities in them like New York or LA, the states that are simply known for their farming. And yet it's the commodities from these fly-over states that provide the business and trade for the large cities.

On his knees every night he prays
Please let my crops and children grow
Cause that's all he's ever known

And this is what I love about Country Music. It constantly reminds us what is real, and important, and keeps us centered. It keeps us humble, and reminds us what really matters.

The Marine's Hymn

First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
Of United States Marine.

The night before the burial of her husband 2nd Lt. James Cathey of the United States Marine Corps, killed in Iraq, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket, asking to sleep next to his body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for her, tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before she fell asleep, she opened her laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of him, and one of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she slept. "I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it" she said. "I think that's what he would have wanted".

This is an excerpt from a series by a pair of journalists who were chronicling the stories of families who lost loved ones in Iraq. I found the picture so moving, I kept coming back to it. When I looked into the whole series, and this story in particular, it moved me to tears.

There was a book I read for a college class once called "Canek" that was about South American culture, particularly the ancient Mayan cultures. At one point in the story, they talked about needing to send men off to war, and so they sent their young men off to fight, but these men were young and foolish and they ran and did not fight. And so they sent their felons and prisoners, who were horrified at what they saw and threw down their arms and ran. Finally there was no one left to fight except the husbands and fathers. And these men fought with honor and bravery and fierceness - because they had something worth defending. That thought has never left me, and I have kept that book all these years.

To love another human being so unselfishly that you would give your life for them is a hard concept to understand, I think, until you become a parent. To love our country and our liberties and our ideals enough to be willing to give your life for them is an even greater commitment. And this is why we need to honor our Servicemen and Women, and support their families, and teach our children patriotism.

And on this Valentines Day, I see no greater illustration of love. A man who died because he loved his country, and his wife who so visibly loved him that she spent her last possible night with him, and the Marine who watched over them both. What the photo does not show you, what you find out if you read the whole article that goes with this photo, is that she is pregnant with his son.