Each Unique Life

Uniquely shaped ~

each life its own. 

We are the sculptor, with 

many teachers along the way

where we came from ~

prairie or mountain, 

city or town, 

farm or village, 

poverty or abundance

who taught us how to be

grandparents, our parents, 

uncles and aunts, 

cousins and playmates

storekeepers and teachers 

the lady in the post office or

the man who repaired cars

when we were able to learn,

at any time in our life’s path,

we choose from tools on display

to create our own unique lives.

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, 

but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”

~ Maya Angelou

Play Date!!

Play dates are usually for children. Just because this 

child is approaching 77 does not mean that hide and seek is 

not in the cards. Or building a fort with a blanket and oddly 

shaped pillows. Or colouring dinosaurs and pterodactyls. 

Once in a while the great grandparent does 

surface when spelling words and teaching 

letter shapes are needed, when the eldest 

great grand daughter, just over 5 years old, 

is in need of coaching. Of course, the younger sister, 

flitted about like a little fairy, happy, scribbling colours 

and just wanting to be part of all the fun. 

“It’s the things we play with and the people who help us 

play that make a great difference in our lives.”

~ Fred Rogers, 1928 - 2003

Art and How to Play

I spent an hour with my Art and How to Play teacher this morning. As soon as her coat was off, she checked the toy cupboard and found ‘Bubbles!’ Immediately it was time for bubbles. After wet soapy liquid splashed floor, table and fridge, we moved that game outside to the back porch. Jumping and running around the porch, blowing bubbles, then popping them, laughing and excited. This would be repeated two or maybe three or four times. 

Art Class was a bit more ordered. More of a demand than a request she said ‘Colour with me.’ Sitting on the floor with her, I was asked what colour I wanted. If it was not to her liking - and that happened two of three times - I was told ‘No’ and was handed the correct colour. Although I thought I drew a pretty decent flower and house, the art teacher had a more abstract approach. One I’d never thought of before. Arch your wrist back, hold firmly to your marker and hit the tip on the board to create splashes and stripes in blue. With red, it is circles and doodles.The very faint face outlined in the lower right corner, I called a sideways face. With a grin she corrected me - ‘an angry face’. 

Finally concerned with washing off the ‘paper’ (my dry erase board), I gave her a wet rag. She did a swipe and went to get her train…..or was it the plastic fridge magnets?

Then it was time for bananas, orange juice and a cookie!

A good day all around.

“A little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest men.”

~ Roald Dahl

Old School

South Park School, Victoria B.C.

Old School

“Into the great……” Those were the words her English teacher had written on the chalkboard. It was Friday afternoon. Keeping her eyes on Miss Corman, their new teacher, Melody leaned over to her friend, Jasmine, and whispered. “What are we supposed to do with that!?” Quickly straightening up, she opened her notebook. Whispering angrily to herself, she said “We can’t even have our iPads or any kind of device in here.” She scribbled and doodled on the page hoping that the old biddy wouldn’t come down to her desk. Miss Corman had a bad habit of strolling between the desks and looking over everyone’s work. “Now class, take these three words home and write a story from them. Absolutely no changes.…and no excuses.” Melody tentatively put her hand up. “Miss Corman?” Her teacher stopped in mid stride and turned like she was in the military. “Yes, Melody?” Melody took a deep breath. “Umm. I actually have two questions.” Miss Corman’s already prune face, tightened. Tapping her foot she said sternly “Well, if you had let me finish you may already have your answers. Your story will have to be fifty words longer than the rest of the class.” She spun on her heel and returned to the front of the room. “Melody, your story is to be 300 words; for everyone else, 250 words. Stories must be turned in on Monday. English class is Monday morning and I don’t want to hear any excuses for late or missing stories.” 

“You can make anything by writing.”

~ C.S.Lewis

Author's note:

Old School: 250 words

Melody will have to figure out 50 more words!

I Knew

Really! And how do I know? Because I learned

from the greatest teacher ~ Life.

all the good

all the bad

sifting through frayed fragments

my view fogged and blackened

until I choked on my own thoughts

gasping for air, for light

and when I gave in, unable to breathe

sunlight filtered in under my eyelids

oxygen filled each cell of my body

my eyes opened ~

and I knew.

“I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.”

~ Maya Angelou

Chapter Two, Episode Fourteen - Tanya’s Career Path - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Edit and Update:

These letters to the Storyteller, have given me an opportunity to write more character development for secondary characters like Tanya. 

The few revisions I made were minor wording changes. Otherwise it seemed a fairly easy read.

Tanya's Career Path

Seventeen year old Tanya Meadows had read her last book. Throughout the pandemic restrictions she had tried to get books from the library and was successful for the most part until winter set in. Winter on the Island was not like East coast winters where her cousins lived. Apparently, those winters were horrible; great mounds of wet snow, winds that whipped off the Atlantic Ocean that kept everyone indoors even before the pandemic. Here, it was just rain. There had been white Christmas’ most years, but they only lasted for a few days. She was not sure she cared for snow. Tanya had been in some good snow ball fights. One year when the snow lasted longer she had seen some beautiful snow sculptures in the park across from her school. Isolated from her friends, Tanya couldn’t even babysit because she was not in the right bubbles as recommended by Public Health. She especially missed the Richardson children, Ben and Abby. Mrs. Richardson worked from home most days. Her mother did the child care when she had to work at the school. Looking after the Richardson children was a favourite for Tanya. But stewing over it wasn’t making her feel any better.

She closed the cover of Mystery at the Blue Lagoon and sighed. What was she to do now? Her chores were all done. Her homework was all caught up. It was raining and cold. It was supposed to rain heavily all day. The library was closed through the Christmas holidays, so she couldn’t get any new books. She was going stir crazy. The letter. She had an email from Martha out at the Beaufort Estate asking if she would write something about her life for the Storyteller. She had almost deleted the email, not sure she had anything to contribute. That’s what she could do. Picking up her stack of books, she put them on her mother’s old credenza in the hallway. She ran lightly up the stairs to her room. Clearing off her desk except for one of her notebooks, she selected one of her favourite coloured pens - mauve. It always made her smile.

~~~~~

Hello, Miss Storyteller. We have never met but I’ve heard so much about you from Mrs. Haverstock-Digby. I understand that even her grandchildren Ben and Abby Richardson have written their little stories. They are my favourite children to babysit. (Don’t tell Ben I used the ‘baby’ word - he does get quite offended.) I think they are really my only connection to the Beaufort Estate. I think I’ve been the Richardson babysitter since Abby was born, so that would be about five years. Mrs. Richardson was on maternity leave for quite a while, so didn’t have to return to work right away. Mr. Richardson had not yet taken the job off island. About twice a week, Mrs.Richardson needed some help with housework so I would go out after school for two hours. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Richardson would have a date night every two weeks. They planned it for evenings when I was there anyway, so I would give the children their supper and get them to bed. Mr. Richardson gave me a ride home when they returned from their outing. Looking after them really has given me some ideas about what I want to do with my life. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher, but didn’t know what grades I would like to teach. I couldn’t see myself teaching high school. Too close to my own age. But working with Ben, Abby and all the other children I had worked with suggested an elementary school grade. Oh, I just about forgot. I also looked after Mr. Thornton’s four boys occasionally. Mr. Thornton is the Beaufort chauffeur. Those children are a bit old but still in the elementary school ages. My experiences with them all has been so enlightening. Children are so creative and love to learn. Sometimes in very interesting ways. Like the sign that Ben and I made for Mrs. Richardson’s mother. At the time, Mrs. Richardson lived in the other side of the duplex that her mother owned. The sign was on the gate between the two yards. The children were running back and forth to visit with their grandmother without any warning or permission. In short, the sign was teaching about the need of privacy for their grandmother, as well good manners. Asking permission was the other part of the lesson. The children’s mother still lives there, but Mrs. Haverstock-Digby, has married Mr. Digby the butler. They moved to their own cottage. When the new person moved in, we had to modify the sign - lesson number two. I enjoy listening to the children, their suggestions and their solutions. I suppose that is how they have helped me to outline my career path. I do hope that doesn’t sound too odd. During the pandemic restrictions, I do miss the children. A whole classroom of children? I do hope I can manage that but that is my objective. To be honest, I really was searching for something interesting to fill some time. This turned out to be more interesting than I expected/

Thank you for this opportunity.

~~~~~

Tanya read over her essay. She wasn’t sure what kind of mark she’d get for it. She had never been very good at essay writing. “I’ll take this over to the Estate tomorrow - that’s if it stops raining - but at least I won't be tromping through snow.” She slipped the folded page into an envelope and propped it up against her bust of William Shakespeare. Just then her mother called out that supper was ready. “Be right there mom!”

“The discipline of writing something down 

is the first step toward making it happen.”

~ Lee Iacocca

Even a Glance

 

Even a Glance

Nerves of steel that vibrate like the tension on his guitar strings when he tuned them too tightly, became scary. But Josh would not let them snap. What did his martial arts dojo tell him? “Breathe, Joshua. Breathe gentle control into your muscles. Push away the desire to destroy your opponent. Stand in your truth.” 

Standing in front of a full length mirror in his bedroom, suited up for his upcoming competition, he was his opponent. If he allowed even a glance past his image into the depths of his mirror, he lost focus. The computer screen beckoned him. His desk - strewn with a jumble of pens, pencils, notebooks, the model race car he was building and old food that had a brush of grey green; dry crusts of old pizza, made him want to snap. Let himself sweep it all away in one grand swoop. Not one that just put all on the floor, but had the power of magic behind it. Every bit of clutter would crumble and sparkle into dust. He wanted the same cleanliness around him that he felt in his practiced control. His grandfather, would tell him “Slow up, son. Just start in one corner. But make sure that corner is within your reach.” That pulled Josh back right away. He looked past himself into the depths of the mirror again. He knew even if he turned around, he would still have to walk across the room to get to the jumble on his desk. He’d have to pass his unmade bed, trip over his jeans that he’s left lying where he stepped out out them last night. He heard his grandfather’s voice again - or was it his dojo. “Feel your feet on the ground, son.That is where you start.”

“One can be the master of what one does, but never of what one feels.”

~ Gustave Flaubert

Curb Appeal

          Curb Appeal

“When he lifted his head, she barely recognized him for the bruises.”

What kind of a writing prompt is that? Melanie really had no ideas about this one. There was no fun in that sentence. She only want to hear something funny, see sunshine, feel joy. She just knew that her teacher obviously didn’t care about how she felt. Letting out a big sigh, she got out her pen and notebook and began to write………

…….When he lifted his head, she barely recognized him for the bruises. One swollen eye and tiny cuts seeping blood. His glasses were gone! His wonderful handsome face so broken. Instantly, Lissa felt guilty that her first thought hadn’t been what his pain must be!

Lissa had gotten all dressed up for the prom and her date with Tad, the most popular boy in school. A new dress, a new pair of shoes and even a trip to the beauty salon. Ready to be whisked away, she had been ready right on time. Ten minutes past the tick of the clock she began to tap her feet. She began to shrivel up inside, sure he had decided to stand her up. Just as she giving up, her mother asked her the impossible. ‘Throw your coat on and run down to the corner store for some butter, dear. If Tad gets here before you get back, I’ll visit with him.’

She really, really was p.o.’d but whether at her mother or Tad she couldn’t tell and it just flippin’ didn’t matter. Grabbing her coat, Lissa slammed out the door. What was that on the sidewalk? Somebody throwing out good clothes? Lissa sniffed at the way people just left things lying around. Then she saw movement. It was a man! Lying on the sidewalk! Was he drunk? What was he doing there?!  One more thing to ruin her evening. First Tad, then her mother and now this!

‘Help me, Lissa!’

‘Tad? OMG! Tad!  What happened?’

When he lifted his head, she barely recognized him for the bruises. One swollen eye and tiny cuts seeping blood. His glasses were gone! His wonderful handsome face so broken. Instantly, Lissa felt guilty that her first thought hadn’t been what his pain must be!

“I tripped on the stupid curb and did a royal face plant on the cement! I was trying so hard to be on time. Your flowers! Where are they?”

Then they both began to laugh, all their nervousness and teenage angst gone. Lissa wiped Tad’s face with the sash from her new dress. She cleaned his glasses with her sweater - actually kind of smeared them and put them on his beat up face.

“I guess we’ll be late for the prom. Come on in the house and we’ll get cleaned up.”

“It is not so much what happens to you 

as how you think about what happens.”

~ Epictetus

It's a Small World

The air was cool and barely misty
The grounds were green, trees coated with moss.
Buds beginning to grace grand old trees at
Royal Roads University anchored in Hatley Castle where students of the Masters in Leadership class were to congregate for two weeks.
I was blessed to take one of the students, niece Karla,
with bag and baggage to the on site residence.
We strolled the grounds, examined the gift shop and had lunch.
A surprise: her teacher is Beth Page!
A friend and a past member of Writer’s Ink. 

“The only separate truth is that there is nothing simple in 

this complex universe. Everything relates. Everything connects.”

~ Johnny Rich, The Human Script

A Career Choice

A Career Choice

Rosie looked at her grandmother’s picture. Her grandmother, Della, had been 24 years old at her graduation. A teacher. She had worked in the school system for many years and was loved by her students and colleagues. Well, not all of them. Her grandmother said that was not true, and wouldn’t even have been possible over so many years. But there was one that had hated her - at least to begin with. His name had been Tomàs. He spoke Spanish and her grandmother didn’t speak a word of Spanish. He walked into school angry and sullen, determined to get kicked out,  expecting to be shunned and bullied. But he was tough. He was trying to be brave. Fights and challenges didn’t scare him. His bravery was just walking into class. A class of white bread kids, rich kids and preppies. He was only there because he had promised his mother that he would get an education. He had been dragging himself into schools over and over, barely passing. No interest in anything.

And then Rosie’s grandmother was his teacher. It was her first year teaching.  The only job she had been able to get was at a school on the border of inner city and the suburbs. Teenagers. Some that came for the social life. Some that came to learn. And then there was Tomàs - and others like him. One look at Tomàs and Della thought she saw a softer side covered in fear and anger. She let him sit at the back of the room, but she challenged him to learn. When she found his natural aptitude for science, his curiosity, his detailed thinking, Della introduced him to science books, the libraries and kept encouraging him. She had loved watching his bristling shell soften. It took a long time, but Tomàs did graduate and went on to live a comfortable life with a family and friends. Always learning, always growing.

Rosie smiled. Yes, she did want to be a teacher, just like her grandmother. She sealed her application to the university. The air was clean and clear. She walked to the post office with a spring in her step.

“I am not a teacher, but an awakener.”

~ Robert Frost

Percival's Perception

Percival's Perception 

Percival had his own ideas about the way life should go. 

Every time he heard Mr. Isaac, his English teacher, rave about ‘the wit and wisdom’ of Chaucer, and Mrs Sanderingham, the Home Ec teacher whining about how women’s work should be men and women’s work, he cringed.
Really?!
Characters like those two teachers spoke against everything he had been taught by his dad and, for that matter, some of the other teachers!
Enthusiasm for these strange ways of looking at things was just not something he could work up.
Perhaps if he could write an editorial for the school paper about the correct ways of living, the teachers would sit up, take notice and correct the error of their ways.
Taking out his laptop, Percival sat down at his desk and wrote out his opinions in what he thought was a pretty eloquent manner.

“It is impossible to understand Chaucer, therefore his wit and wisdom are not understandable. 
Operating machinery, definitely only a strong person’s task, should be done by men, who are strong, and definitely not by women as everyone knows that women are the weaker sex.”

Now that he had written it down, he grinned, puffed out his chest and pulled out the vacuum cleaner to get the rug vacuumed before his mother got home from a hard day on the tractor in the family orchard.

“There is always one moment in childhood 

when the door opens and lets the future in.”

~ Graham Greene

Aim for the Moon

Aim for the Moon

Where does possibility come from? There was no way that anything could be done. He knew it. His mom kept telling him that the world was full of possibilities, that he should just do what he wanted to do. But when he told her that he wanted to be an astronaut, she turned back to the stove and stirred the soup she had just stirred. ‘OK honey that sounds exciting. Do you know what you need to do to become an astronaut? It may be a bit difficult when we live in this little town so far away from any space centers.’ 

Her words got smaller and smaller in his ears. He finished his cereal, picked up his backpack and left. He didn’t slam the door. ‘Bye mom’ His mom even knew that Chris Hadfield was coming to his school. She knew that he was just a farm kid. His teacher called it ‘a vision’ that he wanted to be like a guy like Chris Hadfield. But he didn’t play guitar. Didn’t even like guitars. But he really wanted to float and be up in the sky beside the moon. The scientific stuff was interesting too.

What did his mom mean about possibilities when she didn’t seem to think this ‘vision’ of his was one of them. Billie would just keep reading about being an astronaut. He pulled out his drawing of an astronaut with the name Billie on the space suit. He hoisted his back pack more firmly on his shoulders. Maybe his mom didn’t know about astronauts being possibilities.

“Don’t let life kick you into the adult you don’t want to be.”

~ Chris Hadfield

Just A Thought..

Education opens windows and doors.

Teacher and student collaborate on learning.

Ideas and goals blossom and shower the world with creativity.

“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two 

chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

~ C.G.Jung

Educational Cycles

Seeds planted in the fertile soil of a child’s mind and heart.
Gardeners gently till, water and weed tender plants until, growing and spreading on their own,
curious tendrils and branches reach for more sunlight,
soak up nourishing rain
rest with dark seasons.
The child chooses 
which seeds to nurture
which seeds to discard
some seeds are scattered, neglected and remain dormant until….
A new voice, a new teacher appears
opening a door long sealed shut.
The cracked seal peels slowly away
sunlight and rain soften hardened soil of heart and mind.
Blossoms appear as if from nowhere. 
Education begins again.
Student becomes teacher.

“Learned we may be with another man’s learning:

We can only be wise with wisdom of our own.”

~ Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Essays

Teaching for Health's Sake

A leg was broken, no longer a faithful support
life changed, now supported by crutches

A heart attack stopped a day’s work, a party in mid swing, a drive to the country.
life changed dramatically.

A list of acute health conditions invade lives 
life changes must be made or not

After the diagnosis, after the surgery, during healing
how to manage medication, dressings, treatments and wellbeing.

Nurses become teachers and coaches
defending against curling up, turning away from life.

Health teaching ~
A nursing task that speaks cheer and direction to body and soul.

“The man (or woman) who can make hard things easy is the educator.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Mother's Days ~ Theme for May, 2013

Multitasking ~ juggling groceries, clothes or gifts when money’s to be spent.

Omnipotent ~ eyes in the back of their head

Teaching ~ lessons not learned until children become parents

Healing ~ broken hearts, not broken bones, but maybe a bit of broken china.

Encouraging ~ any activity that doesn’t involve extra clean-up

Refereeing ~ sibling rivalry ~ ‘nuff said

Saying No ~ when 'yes' was the desired answer.

“The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom

 of which you will always find forgiveness.”

~ Honore de Balzac