Uncle Buddy

Sometimes I flip through the notebook that I keep for writing with my kids when I give them a prompt, and realize that I write a lot of things that I forget that I wrote. I have a lot of beginnings, and a lot of unfinished thoughts. I found one today that hit me so hard I nearly burst into tears, which is the same sort of way I felt on the day I started this. It was unfinished, because I ran out of time, but I think it's a thought I need to finish.

The assignment I gave my kids that day was to choose one line from a random autobiography quickwrite we had done, and do some more writing about that single line. My single line was:

"My uncle died of cancer and our family will never be the same without his laugh"

This is the rest:

I miss you.

It startles me how much sometimes. I can go for long stretches of forgetting, well, not forgetting but of being distracted by life. I will never totally forget, although I guess that we have a way of blocking out things that hurt too much.

When I saw Gigi wish you a happy 65th birthday, or would-be birthday, on facebook, I felt like I stopped, like my heart stopped, froze, remembered the excruciating truth of your gone-ness. Time slowed to a painful drip, and I was unable to move. Sometimes a moment hits you hard, like the cliched punch in your gut. Memory, strong and sudden, has a way of opening up the scars on your heart without mercy, like the wounds are fresh instead of slowly scabbed over and finally bearable.

65? I can't picture you that old, can't believe that would-be number implies all those years without you have gone by. Your laugh filled up a room, rooms that seem empty now without you.

Our family isn't and wasn't the kissing, hugging, I love you sort of bunch. But, I loved you. I love you still, and I would plant the biggest kiss on your prickly cheek if I had the chance to now.

I visit your grave sometimes, which I hope you know, because I can't stand the thought of something as wonderful as you ceasing to exist. I cling to the thought that you are still with us, on some other plane, some realm my brain can't find a way to process or connect to - yet. My heart, and my gut force me to believe you are not gone even though it is so painfully true that our lives will never be the same without you.

On Brandon and Cheryl's wedding day, I cried in the church. Not because I was happy, which I was, but because your memory washed over me like a flood and I felt the sadness of missing you hanging so heavy in the rafters that I couldn't breathe. You should have been there. I hope you were there, but I couldn't help but mourn your physical absence on your son's big day. I know you would have been gushing and glowing, just like Aunt Regina. I sure would have loved to see you strolling her down the aisle, and I would have given anything to see you filling in the gap of that first pew where you absence was felt by many.

I miss you. It startles me how much sometimes, but I really don't know how to stop these moments as they come, the ones that jar me every time with their intensity, the ones that make me wonder how your wife, your children must feel if I feel like this. I guess I never will be able to stop them, and that's ok because remembering you is all that I have now. "Well, isn't that something?"

I miss you.

apropos

Penny Kittle is a teacher at Kennett High School, and I took one of her seminars last year. I think she is fantastic. I found this question/answer in some of her materials, and it couldn't be more perfect.

Q. How do you work with an administrator who thinks the only important things in writing are grammar, punctuation, and spelling?
A. I remember a middle school principal I had years ago. She was a smart woman, but when I started teaching seventh grade she gave me a grammar textbook as curriculum. I took it home that night and went back the next morning with a sticky note of ques- tions. I asked her, “What’s a gerund and when was the last time you used one? Do you know what an appositive does in a sentence?” She laughed and admitted she had no idea. We then talked about what students at the school needed to learn, and she let me go on with my work. I made a point to show her how I taught and assessed mechanics in class and to show her the progress students were making with the writing workshop approach.

Seemed fairly relevant to my life right now, and it's nice to be reminded that there are so many people out there that "get it."

Today was my first day with the kids in Alton. Overwhelming but great at the same time. My day started with the principal seeking me out, checking in with me, making sure I didn't have any questions or needs, and wishing me a great first day. I told her I wasn't used to that. She smiled and told told me I should get used to it. I think I will :) I also couldn't ask for better teammates who have gone above and beyond to make sure I am on board and not floundering.

Tonight I'm thinking about my former co-workers from Strafford, who I love so much, and hoping that their first day is fantastic tomorrow. I'm sad that I won't be seeing all those familiar faces this year, and returning to all those kids that I love, but I'm excited for new opportunities and experiences at the same time.

I have no closing tonight, so I guess that's all for now! Abrupt, but true.

Nadamente

Here's what's on my mind right now in no particular order - an exercise in stream of consciousness listiness.

I get to meet my new students on Monday!
Irene seems to be making everyone crazy.
I want to have an idea for a young adult novel project to work on in writer's group, I might have one brewing.
Charlie Sherman is the Executive Director of New Horizons? Who knew.
I miss my old co-workers and love my new ones all at the same time.
Myloh is a crazy weirdo.
Tomorrow will be bustling with yard clean up and preparations (just in case)
I can't stop thinking about "One Day." I thought I hated it at first, but now I know I loved it.
Jane Eyre book club needs to happen soon.
I think my Warrior Dash rash scars might be permanent and I'm pissed about it.
I want a new tattoo or two.
I think I'm the only one in the world who likes the new show Wilfred.
I start a lot of sentences with the word I.
yoga, yoga, yoga would feel great right now. I need a new mat.
My trashy television addiction is out of control. I'm already ready for a new Jersey Shore and it was only on last night.
Is it hockey season yet?
This blog stinks on ice. I just wanted to let my thoughts flow for a few minutes, so purpose served.

Redundancies

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves....

I have had that Lewis Carroll line randomly stuck in my head for the last 2 hours or so. I'm not very sure how it got there, but it's there and it doesn't seem to be going anywhere. I hate when I have a touch of OCD and repeat things like that over and over and over in my head.

I spent alllllllll day trying to set up my classroom in Alton. Setting up my room always makes me feel stressed and inadequate, like I'm not quite sure what the heck I'm doing. It also reminded me that I would rather be setting up a classroom in Strafford where I already know that I love my co-workers and feel like a part of things. I hate starting over. I know I will be fine, and I know I will end up loving people in Alton too, but I'm not good with change. Not good at all. This makes my apparent inability to acquire anything but one-year teaching positions a great misfortune. Either that, or a challenge that will make me stronger. I hope it is the latter.

I have writers group again tomorrow after a too long summer hiatus. I am really grateful to be a part of such a great group of people who always have good writing, good ideas, and good laughter (not to mention good wine.)

I had an uncharacteristic bout of insomnia last night. Now, if you know me at all, I can fall asleep usually in under a minute. I can sleep through anything, fall asleep anywhere, and usually do. However, last night I watched an entire movie (Brothers, which was very good by the way) from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. without so much as a yawn. I didn't fall asleep until 4:15 a.m. By that point, I was actually contemplating just getting up and starting my day which must have done the trick and sent me over the edge. It seems like I should be asleep by now because of this, but I don't even feel tired. Too much stress maybe.

My dogs are snoring, my cats are brawling, my husband is relaxing, and I am unmotivated to do several things that need to be done.

I never feel like my blogs are exciting enough to post, but maybe they are more for me than they are for you. So, I will post them anyway.

Adios.

The Beginning

Here goes nothing.

Way back in the "olden days" of myspace, I used to blog all the time. Then, facebook came and swept me off my feet, and constant status updates took the place of sitting down and writing my thoughts out. Now, the shine has worn off, and I'm barely doing any status updates, much to the dismay of certain people I know. That leads me to this.

My shiny new blog.

Now, I am infamous for starting things and never finishing them. My problem in that department is epic. But maybe, just maybe, I will keep updating this blog that I always think about writing, and talk about writing, and never actually write. Kind of like all the books I haven't published yet that I know I will eventually publish, just as soon as I write them. My writer's group is a step in the right direction for that, but even though I go to writer's group, I still find that I don't write nearly enough for my own liking. I'm hoping this will be one more incentive to sit down and write regularly.

I called it Channeling Mr. Whitman because I am inspired regularly by his poetry. I used to hate poetry. And I mean HATE. I didn't think I understood it, didn't think it had much value, and mostly thought I couldn't write it. I was too inhibited and shy. Too worried about sucking when I put pencil to paper to try and come up with something. Teaching middle schoolers to spill their guts without being self conscious about it has certainly helped me get over that. Come to find out, I actually love poetry, and I love writing it, and sometimes, I'm actually good at it. So, for now, my blog will be called this because he inspires me, and his prolific thoughts on life and love and human existence always spark me to do more, be better, and most importantly, to think.

I stink at titles as a general rule, so I'm sure I'll get discouraged with this one and move onto another shortly. I'm a work in progress.

To close out my first entry, here's one of my favorites from Mr. Whitman himself:

When I heard the learn’d astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

Until next time...