Christmas Cards

I like sending Christmas cards and sending them where they begin to arrive the day after Thanksgiving. Many members of my church say they look forward to receiving them because it "officially starts the Christmas season." (Their words.)

When taking down the Christmas decorations, I like to re-read my Christmas cards. There's such a variety:

Some are very personalized - they include a picture. When I put these away in my photo box, it's always neat to see how the children grow and change from one year to another.

Others depict the sender's personality. For example, my cousin and his wife both have Harleys, so their card was a picture of Santa on a Harley motorcycle. An ex-student and her family raise and show Saddlebreds, so her card pictured Santa upon a Saddlebred, prancing through the snow-covered forest.

We have this one friend who loves to pull pranks. You know the card samples that come in the mail? Last year we got one of those. This year he really put some effort into his cards. He went around the city and picked up the little notes garbage men had left with their customers (you know the ones-little reminders to leave a tip). He scratched out the names of the garbage men and wrote his name. He's really a hoot!

Then I have a student who has always been so thoughtful and goes and picks out a "For My Teacher" card.

The weirdest one this year came from my brother-in-law and his wife. The card and message wasn't weird; it's how they signed it. They didn't put their names; they put "Clay and Jennifer"! It looked like we had sent ourselves a card. (I know people put the names of the people they're sending it to, but doesn't the name usally go at the top, before the message? Anyway, it is the thought that counts!)

And because it is the reason for the season, there are the cards with the religious pictures and message. Personally, I don't send these kinds of cards because the ones I've come across are just so blah looking.

Two messages really stood out this year. One card was so cute, showing a mouse dressed warmly beside a Christmas tree, looking up as the snow fell down from the sky. It's message read, "The fun of Christmas passes all too quickly...(open card) but the joy of Jesus lasts forever. Praying Your Christmas Is Filled With His Joy." The second card showed the three wise men (one of those "blah" pictures) but its message was the best one this year: (open card) "We're not asked to be kings and travel afar, By following leads from a bright, shining star. We're not asked to bring gifts from a storehouse of treasure, We're just asked to love Him, and to love without measure. Merry Christmas"

What a gift a simple card can be.

Moe

In the winter of 1998, Clay and I traveled to Auburn, Alabama, (an hour's drive) to buy a dog. It was our first time ever "buying" one. I don't remember exactly the cost; we either spent $100 or $150, and we wondered if we were going to get our money's worth.

Eight years later, I can look back and say we got a bargin.

Dogs are wonderful, and Moe was one of the best. I remember driving back home with her curled on my lap, and we were trying to figure out names and running through the gamut. While thinking about different T.V. stars, the Three Stooges came to mind, so I called those out. "Moe," Clay said. "I like Moe." However, "Moe" was a girl. "How about her name be 'Mona,' but her nickname be 'Moe'?" Clay agreed, and she was never referred to as "Mona" again.

She loved squeeky toys. She tolerated a lot, but she had no problems fighting if any other dog went after her toy. Clay really didn't want her to have a toy outside because she would carry it around everywhere, but she loved them. Whenever she came inside, she would go to the basket right away and pull out the squirrel squeeky. She was so funny about it - as if no one noticed. It's still there from last night. I haven't put it back in the basket.

I don't mean to be sacrilegious, but if people acted like good dogs, they would be more Christ-like in their actions. Basically, dogs want to be around you, they want to pleae you, they don't worry what you wear or look like, how much money you make, the level of education you've had, the new additions that become part of the family, they'll still want to lick you in the face when they have to be disciplined, and they tolerate pain without complaining. In Moe's case, both her bottom canine teeth had been broken off, her joints were stiff from arthritis from the numerous kicks she's had, and recently she's had to endure the constant attention of our lab-mix, Gus, who, by the way, thinks he is also a blue heeler. Unfortunately, Gus had not figured out that Moe couldn't pay attention to the heels of cows and also play with him, so she also suffered many kicks trying to babysit.

As she got older and her arthritis got worse, she didn't do much field work. She would wait under an oak tree for Clay to bring the cows out of the pature. She was smart; she knew Clay would return and the real work would begin - in the pens.

Certain dogs are bred to do certain jobs. Not letting them fulfill their purpose breaks their spirit a little, I think. We had talked about "retiring" Moe and getting another puppy, but Moe wouldn't work with other dogs. We were afraid that if we got one, she would quit working totally. We couldn't take away from her what she loved.

There are some people who don't believe that their working dogs should be treated as pets. I disagree. Dogs offer too much. If you just tap into one resource they provide, you miss out on so much more.

Moe died tonight. She's buried under that oak tree - ready and waiting, in spirit, to work.

We're going to miss you, Moe-Moe.

My Own Ifs

It's a Saturday afternoon, and instead of the "what it should be" temperature for this time of year, it's in the seventies today. While sitting at the computer, I look out at the lake and its tranquility, but trapped inside is a wasp (with these old windows, wasps are always getting trapped inside) buzzing at the window. His escape back outside is hopeless, but he doesn't give up. Looking at him, my mind starts to wander, and eventually my own list of Ifs are composed...

If people thought about their occupation more than
"It's a job"
If the justice system really worked
If the joy of learning never grew old
If families ate dinner together without
interruption
If no one was trying to make a quick buck
If people really did treat others as they
wanted to be treated
If the word love wasn't overused
If people didn't throw trash out their cars
If a cure for cancer and other diseases was found
If children, the elderly, people in general,
and pets were't abused
If bigotry was eliminated
If everyone could have affordable health care
If we could all die peacefully in our sleep
If we all kept a bit of modesty
If people would think on their own and not be
a victim of mob mentality
If those in power didn't abuse their position
If the words hunger, homeless, poverty, and
destitute were obsolete
If everyone believed in and trusted God
If...

Over and Out

Last day before Christmas break. There's got to be something planned; I can only take so many hours of partying. The class times were shorten; just enough time to finish reading A Christmas Carol in seventh grade, the sixth graders recited their poems as did the eighth graders. Chrirstmas lunch, back to homeroom for present exchange, and CLEAN THE ROOM BEFORE ANYONE LEAVES!!!!!!!!

Now it's ready for January 2! But I miss my "snowflakes" hanging from the ceilings along with the lights...

If

Rudyard Kipling is probably best known for his story The Jungle Book and short story "Riki-Tiki-Tavi"; however, he is also a poet and has a beautiful poem entitled If that I would like to share with you. It's so great that my sixth graders, in groups, have to memorize a stanza and then in their groups recite it as a whole.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with orn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold On!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
When sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

To live by these words - what an achievement!

Coming of Age

When I was a senior in high school, I was a teacher's aide for a lovely woman, and even after fifteen years, we still keep in contact. Several years ago (and after I had graduated from college) she wrote in a letter that I could call her by her first name. I have always thought of her as Mrs. H**, and the whole idea seemed weird to me. Matter of fact, one of my old college classmates, who is about fifteen/twenty years older than I, became really good friends with one of our professors (they are in the same age bracket), and whenever my friend refers to my ex-professor by her first name, I do a quick mental reminder of who the person is. Needless to say, I still call my friend, for whom I was an aide, Mrs. H**.

I guess I'm showing my age because it seems the times are a changing! It's happened to me twice now. I've had two ex-students (who are seniors in college now)call me by my first name. Not that I minded; it just took me by surprise. I had both in ninth grade English, and then one took yearbook, so I had her for three more years. Four years of hearing "Mrs. C**" and now it's "Jennifer."

Weird, but neat, too. They are, afterall, adults now.

Sorry, Mrs. H**. Maybe one day, but not yet.

Controlled Chaos

I like the word chaos; although it's not an onomatopoeic word, it just sounds confusing. I especially like one of the definitions (found in Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary) that states, "A state of things in which chance is supreme." When students ask me if I'll get something graded, I can say, "There's a chance I'll get to it."
I also think the term Controlled Chaos is a fabulous oxymoron. Most people want to believe they're in control when the fact of the matter is that they aren't. Other times it's just plain old procrastination. Finally I just have to break down and admit, "My desk is out of control!!" I can stand clutter for a bit, but then that anal trait (that would be the second definition in Webster's Ninth) kicks in and I have to get things organized.

I think, too, that there are times I work better under stress, but one would think I have enough teaching middle school students. Maybe the sense of "catching up" is more fulfilling than "staying on top of things."

So with that, I'll sign off and get busy grading papers!

I also have a yearbook deadline coming up next week, too. I'm such a glutton for punishment.

Dancing at Funerals

This afternoon I attended a memorial service of a woman I had just met once. She was the mother of one of my sixth graders, who had recently moved to the area from Ireland.

The few funerals I've attended have been rather solemn; a contradiction, in my opinion, of what a funeral should be. As Christians, haven't we been told that Jesus has prepared for us a home? Aren't we told that the spirit will return to God who gave it? Shouldn't we be happy? Of course we're not, because as humans, we tend to be selfish and want our loved ones here with us. I guess it's just our nature.

I've attended one black funeral and left thinking, "Now that's the way it should be!" Granted, it was long, but who cared?

The one I attended today wasn't a black funeral, but it was the second time I left thinking, "Now that's the way it should be!" It was long, too - three hours, but who cared? It was a celebration of life! What I also thought was great was that time was set aside to allow people to come up and speak in memory of this lady. I told the husband I was a bit envious that I didn't get the chance to really know his wife, but I was reminded that since I teach her son, I do know her. At this particular church, they dance, and because this woman just loved this part of the worship service, the husband thought it would be fitting if everyone danced (and his children all agreed). So the song "Spirit in the Sky" came on over the loud speakers, and the church's congregation got up and started to do the Electric Slide. I was right there among them, celebrating a life and celebrating God.

Dancing at a funeral. Whoever would have thought.......I want people to dance at mine, too, and celebrate!