Indulge Me – Just an Evening of Random Thoughts

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December 11, 2009 - 9:14 P.M.

It’s been a long week.

But I loved it anyhow. Despite the frustrations and everything which comes from my chosen line of work.

Tonight I made my way home to a house which was cold and empty; however, it was light out still. A Subdued glow came from my kitchen, and outside countless neighbors sledded down the hills on toboggans and hurled snowballs.

I ignited the lights on the tree, and started to play some instrumental Christmas music. The candles were lit, and I turned up the thermostat. Soon the house became a warm, festooned place where I found myself drawing up my laptop and composing my thoughts.

What is it about these simple comforts of home which bring such peace and security?

While the cold rages outside, I find myself thinking of the countless blessings I’ve come to enjoy in my life. Granted—not all of them have been wonderful; however, they’ve been blessings all the same.

When I arrived at work this morning, my classroom was a dark and cold place as well. I ignited the varied lamps I’d brought, as well as the four-foot artificial tree flocked with snow and ashen lights. As I turned on that instrumental Christmas music, my classroom came to life. I was thinking that before I arrived, it was just a cold, hollow place—I thought of those cozy bookstores, or small shops we love to go to, and how that first person enters into that cold, lifeless place…and from there, it suddenly comes to life—somebody has to be the first.

By the time my students had arrived, it was warm—the cold edge was gone, and it felt like home. The light and feeling therein was welcoming. It was ready.

I had a Christmas earlier this year—I’d called it, “Christmas in September.” I said I’d post photos…or nearly enough. I didn’t. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t take any…only that I didn’t post any.


It’s amazing to me how the little things can escape from us, and we suddenly find ourselves running ragged and trying to catch up on all of our varied good intentions. Seems that there is always something more waiting in the wings for our attention to which we continually put off.

I had Peeps. They were frosted Christmas figures. They were from last year. I challenged my friend’s son, “Joey” to eat them. I’d even bribed him with a buck or two. I then told him I’d race him…

The Peeps were awful. The frosting had hardened. The marshmallow was crystallized sugar. The frosting cut into my gums and tasted like sweetened chalk.

I hate Peeps.

There is hamburger in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator waiting to be made into spaghetti sauce with basil and oregano. The Mint Bites on the kitchen counter are waiting to be consumed. Good friends will be here before I know it. But tonight I just wanted to speak out into that great space.

Why?

I cannot say, really. Only that tonight is going to be a great night. But only because I choose to make it so.

November 26, 2009

Pin It My mind is a tumult of thought.

I thought about Mom today; as I did, I found it strange that someone you care about in this life could suddenly be whisked away. Photographs still remain. Videos might be left behind. Recordings of their voice might still be in existence…yet they are no longer with us.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to write about Mom, about how I’ve felt, about the good and the bad moments over the previous months since that fateful day this past summer. A whole lifetime has passed since those heartrending moments, and yet, it feels like it was only as long ago as a whisper shared amongst friends.

Time keeps going on whether or not we’d like it to.

The house was a melee of smells as family members were preparing the food for our Thanksgiving feast; however, I just felt that I needed to get out for a little while—to be alone—to think.

I decided to take out the trash.

I moved outside into the bitter crisp of November as the Thanksgiving wind buffeted me from all sides. In the distance, the pale light of the sun shone through the horizon’s misty clouds. I wanted that sun to bury its warmth deep into the empty and dark places of my soul. I stood, breathing in with lungs capable of still doing so, feeling the oxygen filling me.

I thought of the meal we were about to eat; the meal that she would not be taking a part in. It just seemed so inequitable, so unfair.

I retreated to my basement office to escape everyone and everything. I decided to organize files—as well as the accumulated slices of decades’ worth of living—to take my mind from the pummel of reflection. I settled down and found boxes rising about me in the minefield of disorganization…

Letters, photographs, various knickknacks and paddywhacks; they surrounded me like a vestibule of yesterday.

As I sifted though these fragments of my own life’s history, I felt myself remembering this particular student, that specific moment of childhood—a fragmented memory which had long-since been forgotten and lain dusty and dormant.

It wasn’t long before my dad came into the room.

Against the wall was a collection of artwork Dad had given to me on that last visit home, nestled amongst them were the sticheries, those which Arlene had done while she was still alive. Dad stared silently at each of these pieces in turn and then asked:

“Did you know that she wrote to you on the back of this one?”

I looked up from the papers I’d been sorting through, and shook my head. I arose from my place and moved slowly to where my dad was standing. The stichery was large, proclaiming “Welcome to the Zimmerman’s” proudly from its frame.

I turned the frame with trembling fingers and looked down at the brown paper backing. There, scrawled in curls I immediately recognized, I saw a message written to me. Mom had written it, she’d written sometime before—before the final days and moments that had taken her inescapably away.

I read over the note she’d written, my mouth dropping open. I was devoid of speech for several moments—I simply gazed at the writing before me.

And, just for a moment, she was there. Whispering those things I so much needed to hear, a message spoken from beyond the blistering confines of this thorny life.

When my dad departed from the room, I remained a few moments longer, gazing at the letter written to me.

I smiled.

Photographs still remain. Videos might be left behind. Recordings of voices might still be in existence…and testaments of love will not be forgotten.

Darkness and Light

Pin It I hadn’t planned on posting tonight.

I’d planned on wallowing in a pool of self-pity.

Isn’t that the fashionable thing to do? After all, it’s all about being ‘in,’ right?

The past few days have been a battle for me...I’m not going to lie; it’s been a skirmish in endurance and perseverance.

…make that survival.

Do you ever find yourself in the midst of those days when you just feel that you can’t go any further? That you can’t do any more than what you’re already doing? That you have given your all, and it’s just not enough? That every time you start to get a bit ahead, you suddenly find yourself three steps behind where you originally thought you’d be? Then, to top it all off, when the day has ended, there is still far too much to do?

The inbox is still full.

The outbox is much too empty.

The dishes are piling up.

When you came to work the past few mornings, the sun still had at least an hour before it even considered coming over the horizon; then, when you left, it had set many hours before, leaving you in total darkness…

It’s been one of those days, for the past several days.

I came home tonight in darkness. I walked outside feeling as empty as the parking lot which was laid out before me, a shadowy reflection of myself in the twilight.

I closed my eyes, allowing it to drench me, to consume me, and overflow to capacity.

I breathed in the warm evening air.

I opened my car door and started the ignition, thinking of tomorrow. Despite it all, I smiled. I found myself taking comfort in the fact that a warm bed awaited me, and a new day was readying itself in the wings for the morrow. When I was to awaken, everything would begin again yet anew, and it would be better.

The sun would rise again…and when it did, I would see it.

Friends, there is light.

Diving in

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12:57 a.m.

It was a hardish day.

I use the term ‘ish’ rather loosely because there have been others that have been far worse over the past week or two; today was not the chart-topper, but would most certainly rate amongst the top ten.

Have you ever felt like you could literally eat your way through the walls which surround you? Have you ever before felt that terrible sensation...a kind of horribleness which seems to grow, spreading like the tendrils of a noxious, wild plant—threatening to strangle you? Have you ever been in a store and wanted to start grabbing objects off of the shelves and start hurtling them across the room?

That’s exactly how I was starting to feel today. It was relentless and eating away at my insides, like that scene in “Alien” when the creature is lodged in the man’s chest and rips its way out…

I know. Gross.

Mom and I sat alone in the deafening silence of the hushed-up house for a couple of hours today. After a while, I finally had to have some type of background noise—it was far too silent: a movie, music, something.

I’d been very selective with my dad lately when it came to movies, and knew I had to be careful.

“Put in a movie,” he’d say. As I’d thumb through the collection I’d brought, I’d discard options immediately.

Mr. Deeds…No, cancer references.

Sleepless in Seattle…No, death.

Moulin Rouge?…No, death.

Pay it Forward?...No, death.

The Bucket List? Most definitely not.

So instead of a movie playing in the background, I opted for some music; instrumental strains to lift and fill. I adjusted my iPod to Jon Schmidt and then began the arduous task of being.

I was fine, until this song began to play.

I won’t go into detail of what I felt as the music played, but I felt it; I could have switched it off…I probably should have, but I didn’t. I allowed it to overpower me, to consume me, to envelop me in a vesicle of anguish.

It.was.horrible.

It was later that my dad arrived back home and around 8:00 this evening I found myself down on the elevated railroad tracks which traverse over Lake Pend Oreille. I stared at the swirling rivulets of water—trillions of droplets combined together creating this massive lake.

I sat there for a long time as the sun set over the mountains, and eventually sat down on the rocks at the water’s edge, staring.

I felt the urge to jump.

But no, I’d brought no swimming trunks, and wasn’t prepared to swim.

Suddenly, I didn’t care. Giving way to impulse, I stripped away my shoes and leapt into the placid waters. I soared through the air for a moment and then was enveloped in a saturated deluge. As the water closed over me, I felt something come away, like a layer of gloom

It was like I’d been revitalized, refilled, reanimated yet again. A smile came to my face as I felt the coolness of the water flowing about me and I clambered onto the shoreline rocks.

The summer wind blew my hair as the water dripped from my clothes.

I jumped in again.

Yes, I had finally found the great and powerful Wizard of Oz, I’d found what I’d been looking for all along.

At least for today.

Violation

Pin It Have you ever felt like somebody stepped into your life and rooted around without your consent?

Have you ever felt like somebody looked into the depths of…well, you?

That’s exactly what I feel like right now; what I’ve felt like all day.

It’s hard to explain, really. This blog post is an attempt to expound on how this felt, and one of the reasons why this weekend was such a difficult ordeal—a marathon in endurance—so to speak. While some of the hardships brought on were of my own doing, many of them were the direct result of the actions of others.

Today was a day off for kids and a work day for teachers. We were to be at work by 8:00 and work until 3:00, giving us ample time to get standard reports ready, and to get prepared for parent-teacher conferences on Wednesday. I was driving to school when I noticed that I had a message from a fellow teacher on my phone. I listened as I drove, and I was shocked by what I heard. Sometime, last night between 9:00 and this morning, my school had been broken into. I was instructed in the message not to come to school until 9:30; that way the police investigation would be complete.

My school was a crime scene.

I promptly turned my car around and began to drive home, wondering whose rooms had been broken into; wondering just what had been taken.

A few minutes later I pulled into my parking space when my phone rang. It was the school. I needed to come in as soon as possible—my room had been broken into.

My heartbeat quickened as I drove to the building, envisioning the worst possible scenarios. Stolen computer monitors, TV, overhead projector, stoplight, and so on. As I drove, I felt sick to my stomach and called my sister—I needed to talk to someone about what was happening. As I drove, the migraine I’d woken up with this morning had returned in a fury and began throbbing in the center of my skull like the heartbeat of a bull moose.

When I pulled up to the school parking lot, I at once noticed the police car.

All was quiet.

As I entered the office, I noticed that the principal’s door had been forced open, and all of his cabinets had been rifled through. The school office as also in a state of ‘unkemptness;’ it was obvious that whoever had been looking for valuables had been in a hurry.

I saw the small huddle of teachers who’d been phoned to come to the school because their rooms had been broken into. I at once felt close to each and every one of them—we were all in the same boat.

The police officers were still doing their policely things, and we were informed—for the time being—to simply wait until they were finished.


It wasn’t long before we were escorted to our classrooms; the feeling of trepidation was rising incrementally as we came nearer and nearer to ground zero. As I walked by a few other classrooms, I noticed that each of them had had the doorknobs broken off—probably with a sledgehammer—realization of what had really happened began to sink into my marrows.

I stood at my door, staring at the dents and broken door handle, wondering what I would find when I went inside.


As I snapped on the light, my eyes shot around the room, doing a quick inventory. I had expected to find all of my flatscreen computer monitors gone, perhaps the TV, and wanton senseless destruction left in the wake of those bent on the larceny and anguish of others.

As I began to analyze my classroom, I noticed that my desk had been rummaged through, as well as several of the cabinets.

It looked like most everything was in place. That’s when I realized that my HD video camera was missing, as well as my new Nikon Coolpix camera. My heart skipped a beat as I suddenly remembered the 5th grade late-nighter activity on Friday night. I remembered a parent staying after to help put things away when the activity had ended, and she had taken my video camera and put it in my car. I didn’t usually take it home, but this weekend I did, I remembered that it was on my kitchen counter.

I breathed out a heavy sigh of relief—that camera had cost nearly $1,700 when I’d bought it. I searched for my Nikon, but it was nowhere to be found. I chalked up the $200 loss as ‘it could have been much worse.’ As I traversed the school and saw the losses of others, I felt very fortunate; some teachers had lost projectors, laptops, digital cameras, and video cameras; basically anything which was lightweight, electronic, and worth money was taken.

Luckily, the projector in my classroom was the oldest in the school…the proverbial ‘brick’ projector. I am pretty sure that it was the same projector Noah brought with him on the Ark. Since it was obviously old and archaic, it was left behind as worthless.

When went into the kiva by the library, I felt my heart drop out of my chest. Whoever had broken in had taken the two carts containing the school laptops and cleared them out. The cart doors had been ripped off and every one of the computers was gone. One of the printers on the cart top had been shoved to the floor, where it had broken into several pieces; it was now ruined.


I felt myself not only sickened, but angry. I was angry that someone would break into an elementary school and steal from kids.

I was at the school for a couple of hours, but it felt different to me now. I felt…violated. I found myself not wanting to be there as I worked on students’ scores for standard reports. In the end, I talked to the principal and got permission to come home to work.

I still feel ill by what happened. I find myself speechless.

As I dug in my computer bag, I was grateful that I’d made it a habit to take my Nikon D60, my laptop, and my iPod home each night. In fact, for some reason or another I’d taken home most of my other small valuables this weekend. As I reached into in an inner pocket of my laptop bag I found my Nikon Coolpix.

Like I said, I was fortunate.

By the way, you can read more about it HERE.

No turning back

Pin It I went out to dinner with a friend tonight.

We went to this lavish restaurant; perhaps you’ve heard of it: Village Inn.

As we sat in the pinkish, cracking, vinyl booth, we conversed about the answers to all of life’s posing questions. Overhead music undulated through the air, via the speakers embedded in the ceiling; like songs playing from the heavens.

As we talked, the music progressed from songs of my childhood to those which have just recently come out. It was as if each song had been selected simply for me…a summation of the transitory years of my life to the current moment.

I felt…blank; like a videocassette that has been recorded over in far too many places with static.

Though all of the music was recognized, I couldn’t readily recall the time I’d first heard each song. There were only fleeting glimpses of memories; tired and washed-out. There were far too many holes; so many open places left behind where I might find myself falling into the nothingness there.

As we finished our meal and made our way into the bracing coldness beyond the swinging glass doors, I turned and began walking to my car. My breath rose in stiff puffs of steam in the night air as I climbed into my CR-V and started the ignition.

I pulled onto the busy avenue, turning my wheels towards home. As I drove along the darkened streets, I found a song from yesterday playing inside my head. As it did, I realized that Tears for Fears were right…

There is no turning back. But still...welcome to your life.

To ‘Joey.’

Pin It I know you’re reading this, because I know you come here.

I know you feel horrible about where you are right now in life. Seems like you’re in that place again, doesn’t it? However, ask yourself the question: Are you doing better than you were yesterday? Than you were last week?

I know you are. I know you’re trying.

We all slip, we all stumble. Every time you fall, get right back up again, dust yourself off, recommit, and get going again. Wallowing in a pool of self-pity and despair does nothing for anybody—including yourself.

Room 26

Pin It I packed up my room.

No, not my bedroom…my classroom.

As the items which made this room their home for the past several years found their way into boxes and were stacked up in the back, I could see nearly a decade of my life being put away with it. I found myself confronted by similar feelings to which I imagine Kathleen Kelly, the character in You’ve Got Mail, must have felt when her bookstore was closing down.

“Soon [I’ll] just be a memory. In fact someone, some foolish person, will probably think it’s a tribute to this [school], the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. I know, because that's the sort of thing I’m always saying. But the truth is; I’m heartbroken. I feel as if part of me has died, and no one can ever make it right.”

I know that this decision was mine and mine alone, however, how can one merely leave a place they’ve loved, had so many experiences in, and that has fundamentally changed their life?

You can’t.

I remember a friend of mine once saying, “You never truly leave a place you love. Part of it you take with you, leaving a part of yourself behind.”

It is at times like this that I question that statement. In time I will become nothing more than a faded memory…much like the faces of the past, those who’ve been a part of the school, but have faded into oblivion. Who knows these people now? Does anybody really care?

Such are the facedly-jaded moments of time which inevitably come to an end.

WE remember, but life does go on.

Today was hard and yet easy at the same time. We had graduation, photos were taken with students, and I found myself trying to prolong the inevitable…the closing down of the bookstore. As long as I was conversing with parents, having a photo taken with a student, or one of about a million other things, I was prolonging my time at the school which I’ve worked at for eight years.

However, like it inescapably does, the time came and then it passed. My life has been fundamentally changed and there is no going back. The items were moved, lights were turned off, farewells were spoken, and finally…the name plaque came down.

Room 26.

As I made ready to leave the room I found myself facing some writing left on the chalkboard by my students. It was with this that I felt a new emotion. I was not going to miss a room, but the people who made that room what it was. Like my longtime friend, Val Dixon, it is not her home which I love, but the family which make those four walls come to life.

A room is but a room.

I know that new adventures are waiting in the wings for their cue to take the center stage, but there is also a portion of my soul which dreads the change which the future is so eager to present to me.

“…my store is closing this week. I own a store. Did I ever tell you that? Probably not. It’s a lovely store—and in a week, it will be something really depressing, like a Baby Gap. I am being amazingly brave — ”

Storms...and He that Calms Them

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Remember when I said that I had a soundtrack to my life?

I do.

I remember when I compiled the varied songs that there were far too many to simply have a one, or even a two-disk compilation. There are just too many songs which have become interwoven into the threads of my experiences. Their words, as well as the emotions they invoke, would also need to be included in that simple “soundtrack” to my life.

I needed more.

I went for a walk tonight, enjoying the crisp, evening air and the empty streets a Sunday night always seems to provide. It was nice to be outside and away from the things in a week which, at times, has been hectic and draining for me. As I was walking on a road overlooking the city, I stopped to gaze at the lights spread out below me…

In this vast panorama which lay before me, I could imagine a veritable trove of people, all with their individual lives and problems, struggles and challenges, joys and accomplishments. As I stood looking out over the city, it seemed so calm, so quiet. Into my mind came the words from a song I’d first heard many years before, as I drank in the calmness all around me, I felt at peace.

The calmer of the storm does look down and He sees us all, and is mindful of everything we experience in our lives. All of our pains, trials, and everything which bombard us each day; I need to remember to take the time to raise my eyes and not concentrate on the waves crashing around me.

My favorite stanza from the song is the following:

“There on the storm I am learning to let go.
The white wave’s high, it’s crashing o’er the deck
And I don’t know where I go.
Where are You Lord? Is my ship going down?
The mast is gone so throw the anchor…
Should I jump and try to swim to land?”

Thank you, Calmer of the Storm.

Calmer of the Storm
Down Here

When everything is wrong
The day has passed and nothing’s done
And the whole world seems against me
When I’m rolling in my bed, there’s a storm in my head
I’m afraid of sinking in despair.

Teach me, Lord to have faith
In what You’re bringing me will
Change my life and bring You glory

There on the storm I am learning to let go
Of the will that I so long to control
There may I be in Your arms eternally
I thank you, Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

You rebuke the wind and the waves
Once again I find I’m amazed by the power of Your will
‘Cause I’m a child of little faith
I feel the wind and forget Your grace
And You say, “Peace, be still.”

Teach me, Lord to have faith
In what You’re bringing me will
Change my life and bring You glory

There on the storm I am learning to let go
Of the will that I so long to control
There may I be in Your arms eternally
I thank you, Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

Oh when the torment blows
The middle of the sea.
May I never trust, never trust in me.
‘Cause there in Your arms I find
No tragedy.

There on the storm I am learning to let go
The white wave’s high, it’s crashing o’er the deck
And I don’t know where I go
Where are You Lord, is my ship going down?
The mast is gone so throw the anchor
Should I jump and try to swim to land?

There on the storm, teach me God to understand
Of Your will that I just cannot control.
There may I see all Your love protecting me
I thank you Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

Why I Hate Christmas

Pin It ...being over.

About six or seven weeks ago I found myself taking down the Christmas decorations which festooned my home and made it feel bright and cheery. As I took them down, I suddenly felt a longing for Christmas yet again.

I feel it again today.

I love Angela Landsbury’s rendition of, “We Need a Little Christmas” from the musical, Mame. There are times when I feel that I can really relate to Mame, especially as she and her nephew, Patrick, decide that they really need a little something to keep them going...they need a little Christmas. I firmly believe that we all, at times, need a little Christmas too.

The main reasons I hate Christmas being over are:

7. The “newness” feeling of the snow is missing.

6. The white lights and decorations are down.

5. My sister's AMAZING cooking and meals.

4. The feeling of anticipation is gone.

3. No more Christmas music of the Savior on the radio.

2. No candy cane cookies.

1. I miss my brother.

The Living Years

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When I turned five years old I got a really cool little puppy for my birthday. He was a half St. Bernard/half Golden Retriever mix (If you’ve ever seen the movie, ‘Beethoven’ you have a basic idea of just how big he really was). We decided to name him Grizzly Bear but we just called him Grizzly or Griz for short. He was a fantastic dog that I played with as a young boy and loved very much.

As the years trudged on and I became older, I began to play less and less with Grizzly. Though I didn’t seem to notice, as I got older, Grizzly did too. But no matter what, he was always there for me, even during a period of time where I pretty much ignored him because I had other things going on in my life. Unfortunately, as he got older he became and sick, and eventually couldn’t walk anymore, his fur was falling out, and he was in pain. We called the Vet who gave us the devastating news that Grizzly had simply grown too old and would need to be put to sleep.

I will never forget the day that the vet came out and gave Grizzly a shot that made him fall asleep. I remember knowing that once he fell asleep that he wouldn’t ever wake up again. As I watched from my bedroom window I thought of all the times I didn’t play with him. I was angry at myself for letting all that time go on and ignoring him until it was too late. We wrapped him in my favorite blanket, one that I’d had since I was four or five and buried him. I felt horrible inside, like I wanted to run and scream and hit something until the pain would go away. I had lost my best friend.

Isn’t it strange that so often we get caught up in life and don’t seem to truly notice our pets, friends, and sometimes even our family? One of the most terrible things that can happen is when we do not truly appreciate someone or something until they are gone. A group called “Mike and the Mechanics” came out with a song nearly twenty years ago entitled “The Living Years”; this song tells the story of a man who never really took the opportunity to tell his dad that he loved him. His dad dies and the man feels a hollow emptiness inside, wishing that he’d told his father how he’d always felt. In the end he basically expresses just how important it is for us to tell the people we love that we love them, while they are still here and so are we.

I guess my point is that it’s easy for us to create memories with others but so often we don’t. The TV set usually wins out over family conversation and long hours at work can consume a lifetime. When we, or a loved one are about to pass on from this life, will we have the right memories to take with us, or will it be reruns of our favorite television programs? I just hope that we can all think of experiences such as these in our lives and remember that the people around us won’t be around forever. In any moment of time they could suddenly be gone...would you have told them everything you’d have wanted to? Would you have spent the time with them, showing them how much you loved them? I think of this too and I realize in writing this that there are several people in my life that I really need to let know that I love them, to tell them that they are important to me, and that I haven’t forgotten them. Sometimes this can be hard when it feels that there is so much demanding our time in regards to school, work, and everyday life around us. It is my hope that we will all take the time to reach out while we are still in our “living years.”

Nothingness

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I have tried to compose a blog several times now, and nothing seems to come. The only line I’ve had thus far is, “Life can change on a dime.” I think that Kathleen Kelly, Meg Ryan’s character in You’ve Got Mail, summed up how I am feeling perfectly when she said,

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but circumscribed. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book [or saw in a movie], when shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So goodnight, dear void.”

That is it.