tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55930779683379444612024-03-11T23:54:49.135-07:00Grace in the Ordinary"Sometimes grace manifests itself as synchronicity -- its energy brings together people or events in a soothing, helpful, or dramatic way when you most need it and least expect it. At other times grace is the energy that suddenly illuminates us with understanding, allowing us to see what we had not been able to grasp before. Grace can also lift us into an altered state of consciousness, suffused by an unfamiliar energy -- an indescribable combination of love, hope and fearlessness."Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01315157187969436504noreply@blogger.comBlogger215125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-59495645262032981762020-05-08T15:01:00.000-07:002020-05-08T15:01:36.750-07:00The Flavor of Smartness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSNCVh4fgSrcqLWJHAtMSBCtsLMdAavH2-mVa7IVVO5uy31_WCSbZ5TFQpsBrRGMei4PLMVSSNMisg2JdBEMyCWZfjK4XnGFxb1ikrYVQFFrd0gnmiZehgSMZcv9EbSl4Q2tFS8yv3niEk/s1600/BtAz_kkIQAAT3Zp.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="484" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSNCVh4fgSrcqLWJHAtMSBCtsLMdAavH2-mVa7IVVO5uy31_WCSbZ5TFQpsBrRGMei4PLMVSSNMisg2JdBEMyCWZfjK4XnGFxb1ikrYVQFFrd0gnmiZehgSMZcv9EbSl4Q2tFS8yv3niEk/s640/BtAz_kkIQAAT3Zp.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>"What is the flavor of smartness?"</b></div>
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The kindergarten teacher asked that question of her students through the computer screen.</div>
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As an observer I wrote it down in my notes...</div>
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and promptly began to consider such a compelling question.</div>
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What is the flavor of smartness?<br />
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The kindergarteners looked through their screens at their teacher.</div>
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She was wearing a plastic shield over her face.</div>
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She was sitting in her empty classroom with the afternoon kindergarten teacher sitting a proper distance away.</div>
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The teacher lets the question sit in the air...and then quickly says that the flavor of smartness is chocolate chip cookies.</div>
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She leans in to the screen and asks her students what they think the flavor of smartness might be.</div>
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I am an extra box on the grid of people attending this virtual classroom.</div>
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I observe teachers for my job.</div>
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I watch them on the tightrope of teaching...twisting to connect with a student...walking with flare to model the latest educational concept...gripping the rope as they barely hang on as it sways with uncertainty and upheaval.</div>
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Mostly I observe beginning teachers...but sometimes I am gifted with a shining moment of academic clarity or super human compassion from the resident teacher that generously shares the classroom with and mentors my student teachers.</div>
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This was one of those times.</div>
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What is happening in virtual classrooms right now has never been done before.</div>
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It is innovative.</div>
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Creative.</div>
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Difficult.</div>
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Heartbreaking.</div>
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Silly.</div>
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Embarrassing.</div>
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Brilliant.</div>
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Teachers are exposed like never before.</div>
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The ones I see, labor for hours figuring out an app or a website or a way forward for students.</div>
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They read stories.</div>
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Do art projects.</div>
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Tackle science experiments.</div>
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Sing and dance.</div>
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Teach math and history...</div>
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all over a screen.</div>
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They try to make the distance shorter with familiarity.</div>
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They use pocket charts or posters or puppets that the students know from school.</div>
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They try to maintain the routines that made their classroom a community.</div>
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They smile and cheer over a screen.</div>
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What is left unsaid is the colossal loss for the students.</div>
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Classrooms are more than the shared space.</div>
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They are more than the students and teachers.</div>
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They are a magical brew of intimacy and knowing...the instantaneous teacher response to a student's facial expression or body language...the unwritten comfort of a teacher placing a student in a specific space...or the hand over hand guidance of beginning writing...or the millions of micro-encouraging moments that teachers do without even thinking...</div>
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the smile...the eyebrow uplift...the wink...the nod...the deep breath.</div>
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It's the give and take of conversation...and commotion...</div>
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that kids and adults have everyday in the classroom.</div>
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All of that is lost today.</div>
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But for a split second, the magic happened over the screen with that mind-tickling question.</div>
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*****</div>
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Eight weeks earlier...that same mentor teacher used her decades of knowledge of five year olds and her deep understanding that all students want to learn...and tried something unusual with a student who was struggling.</div>
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It was center time and this student was working on handwriting and letter formation. </div>
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The student put his head down.</div>
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Forming words with a pencil, fitting it onto a line...it all seemed like too much.</div>
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Overwhelming.</div>
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In order to avoid that, the student left the table and meandered over to the easel. </div>
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He crawled underneath it.</div>
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Positioned himself like the roly poly bugs the kindergarteners find in the garden.</div>
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Most teachers would cajole the student...or reprimand the student...or sigh at the student and imply that the student was making a bad choice.</div>
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The master teacher chose none of those options.</div>
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<b>Instead, she was curious.</b></div>
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She asked a question:</div>
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"I see you are over here in a tucked in place but you don't look happy. Do you know why?"</div>
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The student pointed at the table.</div>
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She asked him if he would like to try writing in this small tucked in space.</div>
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He nodded.</div>
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The teacher created a hard, stable writing platform resting on two wooden blocks...</div>
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AND THE STUDENT WROTE.</div>
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After a while, the student walked himself back over to the larger table where students were working on handwriting.</div>
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The teacher made space for the student to learn.</div>
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She sent the message that she knew the student could do the work.</div>
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She offered her encouragement and her belief in him.</div>
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She adjusted and modified.</div>
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While at the same time holding the student to the same expectations as other students.</div>
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Her ability to be curious instead of angry allowed the moment to be educational and productive.</div>
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I just took notes.</div>
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*****</div>
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What is the flavor of smartness?</div>
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Like so much of life, there is no right answer.</div>
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It is wide open.</div>
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Negotiable.</div>
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Is it the crisp freshness of a crunchy apple?</div>
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The cozy of hot buttered cinnamon toast?</div>
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The comfort of ginger peach tea?</div>
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The tang of an orange?</div>
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The exotic gift of mangoes?</div>
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The flavor of smartness is within every student.</div>
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It takes a master chef to see the beauty in each ingredient.</div>
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To find a way to bring out the flavors in a complex dish.</div>
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Whether it is done over a screen or in the classroom, </div>
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teachers find a way to bring out the flavor of smartness in their students.</div>
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Indescribable.</div>
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Ineffable.</div>
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Sometimes impossible...yet they do.</div>
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<b>May we stop and notice the impossible done with grace.</b></div>
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Thank a teacher. Today.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-37463272378425731152020-03-11T14:24:00.000-07:002020-03-11T14:46:53.474-07:00Thoughts on a Normal Day in the Time of Coronavirus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpi7rCNVioQ1hlLY3dC6THS8Qeb-jnvEHhpZeOoIFXkEpZwEWzceIELd9TSOuZCLDGNPDvbSPpZfBR4qGp28xuzSGgejaD7QZj_jyoczNcXxr_P_uI73IdMcb2iUPOVvv1Jn-qtwG9576Z/s1600/Mary-Jean-Irion-Normal-day-From-Let-Me-Hold-You-While-I-May.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="936" data-original-width="792" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpi7rCNVioQ1hlLY3dC6THS8Qeb-jnvEHhpZeOoIFXkEpZwEWzceIELd9TSOuZCLDGNPDvbSPpZfBR4qGp28xuzSGgejaD7QZj_jyoczNcXxr_P_uI73IdMcb2iUPOVvv1Jn-qtwG9576Z/s640/Mary-Jean-Irion-Normal-day-From-Let-Me-Hold-You-While-I-May.jpg" width="540" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the essay: Let Me Hold You While I May by Mary Jean Irion<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today was a normal day...Patrick home from Spring Break, Caroline off to school, John off to work, dogs begging for a walk and me with work to do.<br /><br />Dinner to make.<br />Chores to be done.<br />Emails to reply to.<br />Bills to pay.<br /><br />It all feels very surreal as I know a tsunami of illness will soon be consuming my community and my country.<br /><br />We can pretend that it's not coming...but with social media, we can allow ourselves a peek into what is happening in confined and locked down Italy, in China, in South Korea.<br /><br />We get the notices that games are cancelled, meetings delayed, events postponed and<br />schools sure to be closing soon.<br /><br />But, today, is a normal day.<br />Sunshine and spring breezes.<br /><br />I don't know anymore than the average American...but I can feel the anxiety...the unsureness of the moment and I have student teachers to guide...and so I offer some thoughts.<br /><br />This is the email that I sent to my student teachers this morning.<br /><br />I hope it helps.<br /><br />*****</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We are all wondering what is going to happen in the next few weeks with our teaching program, the EdTPA and the coronavirus escalation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's a serious question that has no good answer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So, today, we get to soak in the questions</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>that have no clear answer.</b><br /><br />Not everyday is given to considering the hard questions of life...but today is one.<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">None of us have ever dealt with a pandemic before.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">We don’t know how quickly it will spread, how much it will impact our health or the larger effect on our communities and vulnerable loved ones.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I have been in isolation before when my son Patrick was three years old and had leukemia.<br />He had zero detectable white blood cells and so we were quarantined for over 60 days...<br />just me and Patrick.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I was scared out of my mind that he would catch any and all terrible diseases (he did not!)...and I was mad about it and did not want to be quarantined at all.</span><br />I wanted to protest and pout.<br /><br />Sometimes, it's a terrible thing to be an adult and that was one of those times.<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Being quarantined was the safest thing to do...<br />and so we did it...<br />begrudgingly...<br />but we wanted more than just sitting at home.<br /><br />We needed to be away from people.<br /><br />But did we really have to stay cooped up inside?<br /><br />The doctors just told us to stay away from people so I made the executive decision to take some adventures away from home...and away from people.<br />We got creative.<br /><br />We got really good at finding empty parks, empty beaches, empty paths to walk slowly.<br />We took long drives and noticed the beauty just outside the window.<br /><b>We danced and played and enjoyed our days.</b></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">It was during these 60 days that I developed this mantra:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><b>Nothing is worth more than this day.</b></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Our day, this day, is all we have...even if it is unknown or unexpectedly hard...<br />it is still a precious gift.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Don’t spend time worrying about the program...<br />we will find a way to have you earn your credential and get you ready to find a job.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Do spend time finding ways to support one another through this unexpected, weird time.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">If you need a place to stay or a ride to somewhere or food or anything, I can help.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">My daughter is a brand new nurse in the largest most critical care hospital in Oregon, so I am thinking of ways to support her and the people she works with...<br />if you have a good idea, let me know.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">As with anything difficult, there will be amazing opportunities and revelations that we would never learn otherwise...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: large;">I’m curious to see those.<br /><br /><b>I believe that this time will provide a unique opportunity for us to grow our hearts bigger,<br />to become more generous,<br />to find a way to see ourselves in others.</b><br /><br />It feels like perfect timing for that.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: large;">Sending love to all of us.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENVwHC_Jh9oQ2Kncvroxt1ZijshgLFALYOUQSA_rkHQ3Ec5WpllI0mazQd8Lv9RkeBdDMdEhFoOPX_bmSi-99EVlOpODuoxdSFAE6yo1NprVL-OA1AcNOV3hOfTSHLCCZy5uWHj0VC2t8/s1600/IMG_0096.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENVwHC_Jh9oQ2Kncvroxt1ZijshgLFALYOUQSA_rkHQ3Ec5WpllI0mazQd8Lv9RkeBdDMdEhFoOPX_bmSi-99EVlOpODuoxdSFAE6yo1NprVL-OA1AcNOV3hOfTSHLCCZy5uWHj0VC2t8/s640/IMG_0096.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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One of the favorite parts of my Normal Day: these guys! </div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-86534306835101925442020-02-07T10:12:00.000-08:002020-02-07T10:17:03.714-08:00The Little Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Y810OaaxrBLBpIhrJjk7Lqvt2WvU_UJ5Hrc5a5wxqO2-UZO0Yrs8bHVjyk9xFkiyL8dtsMEUeBxwMBij4e-xUAGXuSUmNnJDdL5DAwY6DB4dPRLPMJzliiskoknnwdIEvuY6hmvE96EO/s1600/61EGQ4IvVbL._SX425_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="425" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Y810OaaxrBLBpIhrJjk7Lqvt2WvU_UJ5Hrc5a5wxqO2-UZO0Yrs8bHVjyk9xFkiyL8dtsMEUeBxwMBij4e-xUAGXuSUmNnJDdL5DAwY6DB4dPRLPMJzliiskoknnwdIEvuY6hmvE96EO/s640/61EGQ4IvVbL._SX425_.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's been a hard few days...real hard...and when that happens I sneak off to one of my favorite places in my town: </div>
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a redwood grove.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo38LM_tRVGf3OJw9MUSJ_Te5qlckblq6t6rk3Fr20j7W3fM0RpSxkyw4XciJv95DOh-i057jQ3yN8-PI6KOx8OachwEP6Y-k7MJWkZCBA6SUQyEqaI3StjKOiEalviwyMvdK6mVFE5hGg/s1600/IMG_9367.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo38LM_tRVGf3OJw9MUSJ_Te5qlckblq6t6rk3Fr20j7W3fM0RpSxkyw4XciJv95DOh-i057jQ3yN8-PI6KOx8OachwEP6Y-k7MJWkZCBA6SUQyEqaI3StjKOiEalviwyMvdK6mVFE5hGg/s640/IMG_9367.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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California redwoods are slow growing and have no business being in my part of California.</div>
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They are coastal.</div>
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I'm not.</div>
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They don't like heat.</div>
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My summers routinely have 100 degree days.</div>
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<b>Every single one of these redwoods is an outrageous miracle.</b></div>
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They didn't get the memo that this isn't their habitat.</div>
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That's because they were tenderly planted by people who should have known better.</div>
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People who didn't listen to the odds-makers.</div>
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Why not have a redwood grove in Davis?</div>
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So, in the late 1930's a band of renegade redwood lovers, planted and watered and BELIEVED IN the redwoods...</div>
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BELIEVED IN the beauty of this dream.</div>
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<b>They kept at it until the impossible happened.</b></div>
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Voila!</div>
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90 years later we have a redwood grove in the middle of the central valley!</div>
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Every time things feel heavy...or discouraging...or impossible...</div>
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I make my way to the redwood grove and find comfort in this tiny grove of impossibility-made-real.</div>
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I soak up the beauty.</div>
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I imagine the people who took the time to plant and tend the baby redwoods so long ago.</div>
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I thank them.</div>
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So, as the past few days have been careening and I watch Republicans choose themselves over our country...and watch a rude, despicable person lead our country...and watch with fatigue at the vendettas and the grievances from a man who has literally everything...I come to the redwoods.</div>
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<b>I decide to make it a Daily Double.</b></div>
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I'll see your Impossible-That-Is-Real and double it...</div>
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calling my son, who the world deems intellectually disabled, AT HIS COLLEGE.</div>
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Yes, just like those people in the central valley heat who planted redwoods, </div>
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some educators planted another incredible impossibility:</div>
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college options for those with an intellectual disability.</div>
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Who does that?</div>
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<b>Who believes so much in dignity and equity and freedom that they build the impossible??</b></div>
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The same kind of people who plant redwoods in Davis.</div>
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The kind of people who don't listen to the nay-sayers.</div>
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The people who know that the long odds are worth it.</div>
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The people willing to do the work.</div>
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The people who tend so carefully to the people that the rest of the world overlooks.</div>
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I called Patrick, my 20 year old with Down Syndrome...and he didn't pick up.</div>
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College life is like that, you know.</div>
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He's busy.</div>
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So I continued my walk and looked up.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYkuf8fEfHYmHKkbIMV8I9Tyep9IFqYp3tjXkJK5DLuaU1UcmxS0v27fEbBUAfyiB_3Imc9NU31z0VkZ0Tlb9h9ImaXvJjrJMOcf0S-UTphPDOO7ggExyC1UoKENLDXiCi5vBgI0KClKx/s1600/IMG_9370.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYkuf8fEfHYmHKkbIMV8I9Tyep9IFqYp3tjXkJK5DLuaU1UcmxS0v27fEbBUAfyiB_3Imc9NU31z0VkZ0Tlb9h9ImaXvJjrJMOcf0S-UTphPDOO7ggExyC1UoKENLDXiCi5vBgI0KClKx/s640/IMG_9370.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Redwoods have soft bark...it's thick and tough but springy to the touch...it's a bit of magic...</div>
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a reminder that just because you're big doesn't mean you can't be soft too...</div>
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and redwoods have incredibly durable, beautiful wood underneath that bark.</div>
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<b>So softness is no indicator of strength.</b></div>
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As I am walking, my phone rings...with Facetime.</div>
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My 20 year old is smiling and joyful.</div>
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Turns out: college is pretty awesome.</div>
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He's doing his laundry.</div>
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Folding clothes and chatting.</div>
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Laughing and smiling.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WRFt1sk29uNuL8D0c8lFwNxeUJP7sSYcmYp2nMM0IGrWmu5fLuTF5oVrD5XKOw7lfjs4DTi1bQodDWrFHTPHwWYobx-hLuMbAbtpAe-U5ACAUpBpY4hPy0k9NKrlLgR6wRIevx_cVyqF/s1600/IMG_9728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="672" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WRFt1sk29uNuL8D0c8lFwNxeUJP7sSYcmYp2nMM0IGrWmu5fLuTF5oVrD5XKOw7lfjs4DTi1bQodDWrFHTPHwWYobx-hLuMbAbtpAe-U5ACAUpBpY4hPy0k9NKrlLgR6wRIevx_cVyqF/s640/IMG_9728.jpg" width="420" /></a></div>
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He's got his friends close by...</div>
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they share stories with me of what's been going on...</div>
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filling in the details of the little bits I hear about Patrick's days.</div>
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<b>It's so ordinary that it takes my breath away.</b></div>
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I'm staring at Patrick's redwood grove of Impossiblility-Made-Real.</div>
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When Patrick was born, all the outside world told me were the things Patrick was not going to be able to do.</div>
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College?</div>
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Are you kidding?</div>
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That didn't exist.</div>
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As I held tiny newborn Patrick, my obstetrician told me what a gift it was that Patrick would be living with me for the rest of his life.</div>
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Implied that he would be a very large lamp in our living room.</div>
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Going nowhere.</div>
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No one told me Patrick would have dreams of his own.</div>
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Or thoughts of his own.</div>
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Or opinions.</div>
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<b>No one - that I knew - imagined a world where Patrick would be a vibrant adult.</b></div>
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But somebody did.</div>
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On the other side of the country, a group of parents and a group of educators created a program where an independent, supported adulthood could begin.</div>
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They planted it.</div>
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Tended it.</div>
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Ignored the non-believers.</div>
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<b>Voila!</b></div>
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<b>College for people with disabilities.</b></div>
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Why shouldn't people with disabilities do their laundry with friends?</div>
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Why shouldn't people with disabilities attend college?</div>
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Why shouldn't they imagine a life with a solid job, a group of friends, and supported living?</div>
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Of course they should.</div>
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So today, I'm sprinkling the world with two stories of POSSIBILITY.</div>
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<b>With enough tending, redwoods can grow in unlikely places.</b></div>
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<b>With enough tending, people with Down Syndrome can go away to college.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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In a cosmic way, I think that the redwoods and Patrick at college are intertwined.</div>
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There's no doubt that living in a place where the impossible really does exist</div>
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helps to nurture other crazy, out-of-bounds dreams.</div>
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<b>So, know that the impossible IS possible.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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If you're lucky, you might even get a call.</div>
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You might witness the ordinary routine of laundry being done far away...</div>
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with smiles and chatter from friends.</div>
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You might learn the perfectly boring details of what your son had for dinner...</div>
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or what he's doing this week-end.</div>
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You might be graced with the little details of life.</div>
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That we all know aren't little at all.</div>
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You might be privileged to see a life that is an outrageous miracle.</div>
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Made possible by those that believed in the impossible.</div>
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Grateful doesn't cover it.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-15502346720211774282019-06-14T09:26:00.000-07:002019-06-14T09:33:42.372-07:00Radical Kinship - Somebody To Talk To<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72_YiYBT20tZQL_Ub-v4q1W9iKldlyCmb7uk9b2zPKPapTCBi32vYTuaslIySOruI3ubmaxoZgL-T6vrSce8rgu-aw_lP8UnZVy1OrEE05BKJ1YMjhppaHg4KdtxFjYN4B6UVqzoI02wT/s1600/Nelson-Mandela-Quote-The-Little-Market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72_YiYBT20tZQL_Ub-v4q1W9iKldlyCmb7uk9b2zPKPapTCBi32vYTuaslIySOruI3ubmaxoZgL-T6vrSce8rgu-aw_lP8UnZVy1OrEE05BKJ1YMjhppaHg4KdtxFjYN4B6UVqzoI02wT/s640/Nelson-Mandela-Quote-The-Little-Market.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I was busy.</div>
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That's how these stories always start.</div>
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Thinking about MY things...MY obligations...MY emails that hadn't been returned...or MY laundry that wasn't done...or MY leak at MY home...</div>
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Busy.</div>
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I was looking down...sitting on a stoop in a public park...when he asked me if I was ok.</div>
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He checked in.</div>
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A stranger.</div>
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I looked up and the first thing I noticed was the bird...</div>
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I would find out later that it was a Goffins Cockatoo.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-C8okbER_lO6VFU3z4rlydlmBY8WiU8yrMBimUn1jBtIMy7KbvWf_dqP0PhfFwFDltE-3IQWNyKH3PtPkUa9-y0kWIFhWk6zS8ZvrZkHzP19G2wrk9eugv4oQAr9NQ4DKQY8KwSPLNuJ/s1600/goffins-cockatoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="637" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-C8okbER_lO6VFU3z4rlydlmBY8WiU8yrMBimUn1jBtIMy7KbvWf_dqP0PhfFwFDltE-3IQWNyKH3PtPkUa9-y0kWIFhWk6zS8ZvrZkHzP19G2wrk9eugv4oQAr9NQ4DKQY8KwSPLNuJ/s640/goffins-cockatoo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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A cockatoo just like this was sitting on this guy's shoulder.</div>
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Truthfully, the next thing I noticed was the poop of the cockatoo on the guy's white t-shirt...I suddenly realized that this cockatoo and this guy were besties...I mean, I haven't worn anyone's poop around on my shirt...but I have worn spit up...plenty of times...and I thought of those times...remembered how short the Spit Up Era really is and answered his question.</div>
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I was ok...just sitting.</div>
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He asked me if I knew Ed Sheeran (yes) and if I'd seen him sing with Andrea Bocceli (yes) - </div>
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treat yourself here to that incredible musical gift: <a href="http://ed%20and%20andrea%20sing%21/">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eiDiKwbGfIY</a></div>
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That seemed like an unusual opening line...but I went with it.</div>
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He asked me if I had seen another amazing singing performance...I hadn't...so he shared his phone with me and I watched it...a four minute video of two children making musical magic...watched it in the cool of the shade in a park...</div>
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and that four minute pause was the knob on the telescope that brings things into focus.</div>
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When I looked up...I could see.</div>
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Really see.</div>
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This man with the gentle eyes and scruffy days old white beard, was wearing a vest of loneliness.</div>
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It was palpable...and painful.</div>
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We talked some more about Maya, his amazing cockatoo. About her playfulness and cleverness and the way the Goffins Cockatoo almost went extinct...but bird lovers from the United Staes and Australia worked together to save the species.</div>
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About how he ended up sleeping in his car near the park...how he would find a place to stay.soon.</div>
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About his life of knowing that something was wrong with his body - they told him it was polio - but recently discovered through an MRI that it was trauma from forceps </div>
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and instead he was diagnosed as having cerebral palsy...</div>
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I looked down to see one strong leg and one leg that was so thin it looked painful to walk on.</div>
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We talked about our struggles...and the gift of seeing the resilience in the students who graduated from Paradise High School - a town that had been burned to the ground this November - and in particular, a student who painted on his graduation cap the mantra: </div>
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<b>Trust Your Struggle</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9qsPAJUi1MNf6_WfpQKOQFCSqywm3dCbd4DFxfP019ZUt43yFb_x3vghrb8f4MU2_j_iCNctWOyrJSvowS1kV_N8Q_DST1YlbTX7qsH7XMwGzJUtEVt3Yxoo_GTKQkwO0LZ2izezuYERj/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-06-14+at+8.08.25+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="222" data-original-width="413" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9qsPAJUi1MNf6_WfpQKOQFCSqywm3dCbd4DFxfP019ZUt43yFb_x3vghrb8f4MU2_j_iCNctWOyrJSvowS1kV_N8Q_DST1YlbTX7qsH7XMwGzJUtEVt3Yxoo_GTKQkwO0LZ2izezuYERj/s640/Screen+Shot+2019-06-14+at+8.08.25+AM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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It was then that I learned his name: Tom.</div>
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We talked some more about Maya...</div>
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as she tickled me with her claws and crawled all over my shoulders.</div>
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We both agreed that this park, McKinley Park, was very special...that it brought rest and hope and joy with its big trees, walking path and rose garden.</div>
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And, then the spell was broken...real life came tugging back...kids to pick up...places to be.</div>
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I said good-bye to Tom...but he stayed with me as I got in my dirty car and imagined having to sleep there.</div>
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I found a few dollars and drove down the street to his car...and there he was...back inside.</div>
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Did it feel safe?</div>
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Claustrophobic?</div>
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Frightening?</div>
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Comforting?</div>
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Desperate?</div>
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I knocked on his window and tried to give him a few dollars.</div>
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He shooed away the money and paid me back with this truth:</div>
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<b>"I wanted to tell you how grateful I am to have had somebody to talk to."</b></div>
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I told him I felt the same...our conversation was a gift.</div>
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<b>Sometimes we just need someone to acknowledge that we are on the planet at the same time.</b></div>
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<b>That we are companions on this journey. </b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>As Ram Dass says so well:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheiisVDF3fARuSFAnM2JZnYuM5WseCZR3UQIPAWZw0J7lOJTLTAoRqdLCNoQH2U2EgLbn_UihVttULUriWyxrgWuVHdjY17PlFqF4STP6IWr41DrSE1Yt0lav_IKyY26Xno9r8inM-mwut/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-06-14+at+9.14.55+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="925" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheiisVDF3fARuSFAnM2JZnYuM5WseCZR3UQIPAWZw0J7lOJTLTAoRqdLCNoQH2U2EgLbn_UihVttULUriWyxrgWuVHdjY17PlFqF4STP6IWr41DrSE1Yt0lav_IKyY26Xno9r8inM-mwut/s640/Screen+Shot+2019-06-14+at+9.14.55+AM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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We need to know we are not alone.</div>
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Tom and Maya gave me that extraordinary gift yesterday.</div>
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My gift to you is to share them...for you to see them too.</div>
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Be on the lookout for a man with kind eyes and a Goffins Cockatoo named Maya...if you're lucky, you might get to listen to a song...and have a bird dance across your shoulders.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1fs8nd2aX6UNh67bwWR30Ng5zY7sRqNRpq5em8UiDYVtb4G9aY5nIUZROLuTIOa0a3S1I6GSE8caPFXyouAPMGD5xKR45KDz5bBsSrwJ5kUmEpKZ0Qkhj82cME2SodBWVPwbNjfEtBIjP/s1600/IMG_6454.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1fs8nd2aX6UNh67bwWR30Ng5zY7sRqNRpq5em8UiDYVtb4G9aY5nIUZROLuTIOa0a3S1I6GSE8caPFXyouAPMGD5xKR45KDz5bBsSrwJ5kUmEpKZ0Qkhj82cME2SodBWVPwbNjfEtBIjP/s640/IMG_6454.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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Thank you, Tom...and Maya. </div>
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Thank you.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-46725420352654531262019-05-01T00:28:00.000-07:002019-05-01T00:29:12.770-07:00Making Time For Monet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xphX_Qk9Dt77AwFa1022BgHmLmUCDszMGPmyxRkMnEQZEGdCUUpYREtROS9NQxPV66KTnhejnDW77GGeHREeAa1PS1MmNaeOx50zc3RjXyvn497QJQjpBXGG8ni4dqoHfh2ZA3iK7an1/s1600/90AA9B34-2276-43B1-ABBC-C4B7E5D23C9A.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xphX_Qk9Dt77AwFa1022BgHmLmUCDszMGPmyxRkMnEQZEGdCUUpYREtROS9NQxPV66KTnhejnDW77GGeHREeAa1PS1MmNaeOx50zc3RjXyvn497QJQjpBXGG8ni4dqoHfh2ZA3iK7an1/s640/90AA9B34-2276-43B1-ABBC-C4B7E5D23C9A.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“It's on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So we must dig and delve unceasingly.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">- Claude Monet</span></span></div>
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It was a crazy busy day...it included a two hour drive through traffic...a forgotten wallet and all sorts of must-dos pushed over the side.</div>
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I didn't have time for this.</div>
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It was decadent...and dreamy...a morning with Monet and some friends??</div>
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My heart said YES...and I've gotten good at following those whispers so I made it happen.</div>
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Two of my childhood friends were going to meet me in San Francisco.</div>
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Waking up, I heard about a terrible accident on the Bay Bridge...so I called my friends and said that I would take a different way into the city in the hopes that I could get the tickets...and a chance at signing up for the docent led tour.</div>
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They had really only one way over to the city so they would be late...we'd cross our fingers and hope it worked out.</div>
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As I was driving, I realized that I left my wallet at home.</div>
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Busted.</div>
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So, as I'm driving I'm considering all the pockets in my car that might have some money stashed away...I'm wondering how I will pay for parking...and decide I can mooch off these people who have known me for more than a few decades.</div>
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They know my slumber party secrets for goodness sake.</div>
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They've seen my dad in his underwear...they would pay for parking.</div>
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I made it to the ticket counter and pleaded my case.</div>
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Would she let me buy tickets if I could tell her my credit card number?</div>
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Would she set aside tickets?</div>
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Finally, I figured out a way to get the tickets...got the spot for a tour and had time to look around.</div>
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I was sitting in a world class museum...by myself...with nothing but time.</div>
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It was a long deep breath of goodness.</div>
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I paused in reverence of those who think to make museums and create galleries and find the art that belongs.</div>
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It takes vision and money and talent to create a space like the DeYoung Museum...</div>
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and as I was soaking up all that hard work I was so very grateful.</div>
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Breathlessly, my friends arrive.</div>
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We join the tour with seconds to spare...and we are plunged into hues of purples and blues and yellows and greens and Monet's garden of agapanthus and lilies and waterlilies floating under a Japanese bridge.</div>
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We learn that Monet painted every day, starting at 4am...and that these later years were filled with sorrow and loss.</div>
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His wife of thirty years dies.</div>
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His son dies.</div>
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World War One is tearing his country apart...and killing a generation of Frenchmen.</div>
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All through the sorrow, he paints.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yv9735ebHBBnZ0ZuNQGiMwANirWtjhWzb5rRItL8kc74Z8uEz-Wqs-L3xG0JWIrd4nLE2_NSwfe2EfweES6ABJs2_ctkDZFHHReFWbK8QhrBmJ1hm65m0tBlZURTHSzl-3qmUByDNN3P/s1600/IMG_5517.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yv9735ebHBBnZ0ZuNQGiMwANirWtjhWzb5rRItL8kc74Z8uEz-Wqs-L3xG0JWIrd4nLE2_NSwfe2EfweES6ABJs2_ctkDZFHHReFWbK8QhrBmJ1hm65m0tBlZURTHSzl-3qmUByDNN3P/s640/IMG_5517.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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He paints the same scenes over and over...noticing that it is never the same...always changing...forever a mystery...</div>
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intangible in its impermanence...tantalizing in its mystery.</div>
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Yes, Monet had his garden...and it was his garden that he considered his masterpiece.</div>
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His paintings were attempts to capture the beauty and freeze it for the moment.</div>
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Standing amidst these waterlilies and weeping willows I realized that Monet didn't paint when everything was working in his life.</div>
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<b>He painted when everything wasn't.</b></div>
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He painted through the sorrow...during the joy...as he was going blind.</div>
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He just painted.</div>
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His Herculean efforts to find a way to cherish the passing beauty...to acknowledge the sacred in the ordinary...to SEE what his days offered him...worked its way into my heart.</div>
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It finally dawned on me that the crappy times, the boring times, the shockingly horrible times are just exactly that...</div>
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times.</div>
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Like the waterlilies and the light...it is ever changing.</div>
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Waiting for the right minute isn't a thing.</div>
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There is no right minute.</div>
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<b>There is only this minute.</b></div>
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Make time for it, because then it's gone.</div>
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Hanging out with some Monets today brought my heart some peace.</div>
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It suffused me with joy.</div>
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What a gift.</div>
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After we finished with the exhibit, we walked over to the Japanese Tea Garden.</div>
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It wasn't Monet's garden but it was just as beautiful.</div>
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Because we had eyes that were ready to see.</div>
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We lingered amid the bonsai trees.</div>
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In the middle of a giant city...we sat in a literal zen garden...and the calm enveloped us.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There's a lot of hard out there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A lot of tragedy...sadness and cruelty.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But then are waterlilies.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And azaleas...</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And friends.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not to mention Monet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's awful and amazing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the same time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">So, today, I'm grateful for Monet...museum makers...and moments with friends.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I'm grateful for the ordinary nuisance of traffic...a forgotten wallet...a maze of annoyances that peppered this day...because without them, it wouldn't have been today.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">My one and only April 30, 2019.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Never to be repeated.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Grateful for this moment right now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Big. Deep. Zen Breaths.</span></span></div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-61000098675466686102019-01-10T01:01:00.000-08:002019-01-10T01:01:11.010-08:00Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FjWMPXtkjX32DImWbT-OrrMFrHvwjU5aVCTKNt69ScCd-cVaM17Tz4eYHx37dEvyx38LOZqGcdd45-BVtuH8taLA-6-437YDNoIIlAhFSYa2iQ8BGHg5noS0xILbAU3Q34cBRWcx3r44/s1600/Hope-e1481611166872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="600" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FjWMPXtkjX32DImWbT-OrrMFrHvwjU5aVCTKNt69ScCd-cVaM17Tz4eYHx37dEvyx38LOZqGcdd45-BVtuH8taLA-6-437YDNoIIlAhFSYa2iQ8BGHg5noS0xILbAU3Q34cBRWcx3r44/s640/Hope-e1481611166872.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen." - Rumi</b></span></div>
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It's been a hard few days.</div>
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The skies are gloomy.</div>
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The weather is cold.</div>
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My interior life duplicates what the exterior world provides.</div>
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I talk to someone who spends her days working with families who have children with disabilities who have lost everything in a massive, all-consuming wildfire.</div>
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There is no housing for any of them...so they squish themselves into RVs and try to make it work.</div>
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The reservoir that provides all of the water for this same community has been contaminated with metals and chemicals and other toxic items all oozing into the water.</div>
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No housing.</div>
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No potable water.</div>
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No jobs.</div>
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It's catastrophic.</div>
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To top it off, our president enjoys punishing people for their tragedy.</div>
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Maybe it's because he has always had a home.</div>
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Always had access to drinking water.</div>
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Always known safety.</div>
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His bitterness seeps into our collective conscience as he tweets his condemnation for the unpreparedness for the fires.</div>
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There is no understanding loss.</div>
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Or cruelty.</div>
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As Jewel sings so well, "Only kindness matters."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgph0iLfaSedJnEqQVIqdOAxHCLmONlQNIgQ5A4dz9OkMjWrT5KoRaLe9aerScRhBK-AHOideyGcE09uFOiqaoFgECgr5KH9f7GejTgW9mKr71cb19RMTDPBJd6ocz3pmu2w3zmj8h4zYDw/s1600/poudremoonhaiku.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="750" height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgph0iLfaSedJnEqQVIqdOAxHCLmONlQNIgQ5A4dz9OkMjWrT5KoRaLe9aerScRhBK-AHOideyGcE09uFOiqaoFgECgr5KH9f7GejTgW9mKr71cb19RMTDPBJd6ocz3pmu2w3zmj8h4zYDw/s640/poudremoonhaiku.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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These past few days, sadness seeping in...the pain of so many suffering...so much loss...</div>
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I gift myself with a visit to my local coffee store.</div>
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I delight in my order,</div>
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smile my shy smile and say,<br />"I'd like Enlightenment please."</div>
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They steam up some milk, coat the cup with honey, add some green tea and call it Enlightenment.</div>
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[It should be noted that I could also order Bliss...but Enlightenment wins out every time.]</div>
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On my way out the door, someone calls my name.</div>
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It's a person I know only a bit...but she brings sunshine with her...serious calmness...and although I don't know her that well, </div>
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I owe her.</div>
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She, of course, does not know my debt.</div>
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Has no idea.</div>
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19 years ago, when my baby was born with both Down Syndrome and a heart defect...and I was wondering how anyone mothers three children in any successful way, let alone a child with a disability in the mix, she graced my life.</div>
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She taught pilates out of her home.</div>
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I don't know how I found out about her class.</div>
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I have no idea who was watching my three kids </div>
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while I did pilates in her home...</div>
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but somehow the universe made it happen and my heart knew what I needed.</div>
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I only did it for a few months.</div>
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But, she ended every class with this wisdom:</div>
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leading us with big deep breaths...</div>
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three times...</div>
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Inhale gratitude, Exhale judgment.</div>
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That four word phrase and those big deep breaths stuck.</div>
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They became a part of me.</div>
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In and out...</div>
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Sucking up gratitude and exhaling away so much.</div>
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In that fragile time of my life, I took the tiniest step forward toward self-care with that pilates class.</div>
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I didn't know it then. </div>
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Didn't have the vocabulary or the life experience to be able to talk about that in any real way...</div>
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I just knew that those moments at pilates helped give me my breath back.</div>
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And, my teacher had no idea.</div>
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Years passed.</div>
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Breathing in gratitude.</div>
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Exhaling judgment.</div>
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Guiding student teachers or small children in hard moments with big breaths.</div>
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I wanted to say thanks.</div>
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Kept meaning to...</div>
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but it felt like the time had passed.</div>
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<b>I let the thank you sit unsaid.</b></div>
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But today, on my way out of the coffee shop, there she was...she stopped me and introduced me to her daughter, Hope, a grad student working at the Perkins School for the Blind (Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller's school!!)...and we got to talking...and talking...and it was Hope who asked,</div>
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"How do you guys know each other?"</div>
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Her mom referenced it in three words:<br />Pilates on Parkside.</div>
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And, like a red-checkered picnic blanket, the universe spread out the moment before me.</div>
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I knew I could finally thank her for the gifts of restoration and care and breathing and kindness she gave to me.</div>
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Through tears, I asked if she remembered the way she ended her class all those years ago.</div>
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She shook her head no.</div>
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I did.</div>
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<b>Inhale gratitude.</b></div>
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<b>Exhale judgment.</b></div>
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My time with Hope and her mom was rare and precious...we all could feel it...</div>
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and we all knew it couldn't end right then...</div>
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but real life was in our way.</div>
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Obligations.</div>
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Places to be.</div>
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We decided to meet later that afternoon.</div>
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Who does that?</div>
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People who listen to their heart.</div>
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In that precious afternoon chunk, Hope and I talked about people with disabilities, opportunities, inclusion, barriers, common sense, education, systemic problems and so much more.</div>
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It was kismet.</div>
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Magic.</div>
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A sunshine spiral.</div>
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I still can't believe it happened.</div>
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All we have is today...and the people who cross our path...in this moment, </div>
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right now.</div>
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For some blessed reason, today, my heart was listening...right when Hope and Dion called my name.</div>
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Tonight, I take a deep, fresh breath of gratitude...for kindness and kismet...wrapped up in Hope.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-2268517937247854602018-11-18T09:53:00.000-08:002018-11-18T09:53:27.651-08:00Doing It On Your Own<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been 86 days since my son went away to college.</div>
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It's been the longest he's ever been away from me and the farthest he's ever been from me physically.</div>
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He's across the country at George Mason University.</div>
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He's a California kid - see shorts that he's wearing in November - and he lives most of the time in Virginia now.</div>
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There aren't any four year college programs here in California.</div>
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Our search for colleges that are created especially for people with intellectual disabilities took us all over the country...but sadly, hardly anywhere in the west.</div>
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Every single step I wondered if it was right.</div>
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I tried to follow Patrick's lead...tried to gauge whether it was he who cared about college or me.</div>
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I wanted to be careful about pressuring him into something that wasn't right...plus I have an intense desire for each of my children to live their authentic life, not mine.</div>
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But with someone with a disability, there is usually more parent participation and looking for college was no different.</div>
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He applied.</div>
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He interviewed.</div>
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He got accepted.</div>
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And then the hard part began...we had to imagine what life without Patrick in our every day sphere would mean.</div>
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We had to be okay with him going.</div>
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We had to be more than okay...we had to be excited for him...and shove our fears and worries to the side.</div>
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86 days ago he moved into a dorm.</div>
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He lives with two other people with disabilities and a typical student who is a 4th year mechanical engineering major...from New Jersey.</div>
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His name is Stav.</div>
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This was Stav and Patrick on Move In Day...and the friendship has only grown.</div>
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What's happened for Patrick is a lot of growth...personally and emotionally. </div>
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But something else has happened...something that you wish for each of your children and almost never can picture for your adult child with a disability.</div>
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Patrick has found a COMMUNITY.</div>
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He has something that Dr. Erik Carter from Vanderbilt University identifies so well:</div>
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<b>BELONGING.</b></div>
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It has developed slowly over these months...but today, 86 days later, it is easy to spot.</div>
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When we visited Patrick and were dropping him back off in his dorm, a friend saw him, opened the door to his own room and yelled to another friend,<br />"Patrick's back!"</div>
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Dr. Carter speaks about true Belonging as "an ache when someone is missing" and there it was...</div>
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people noticed he was gone...people wanted him back.</div>
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<b>He had his peeps.</b></div>
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When we call him and Facetime him, he is often surrounded with people:</div>
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He is busy and learning alongside of friends.</div>
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<b>TOGETHER</b> they have strength and courage</div>
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...they can do the hard things...</div>
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they can work through the glitches and figure it out.</div>
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Just a couple of weeks ago, we called Patrick and there were four people holding up his foot.</div>
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He showed us their faces and we asked what was going on.</div>
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Patrick had a blister...a little blood...and his crew was working together to figure out how to help.</div>
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Honestly.</div>
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Truly.</div>
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Really.</div>
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This is what we all long for...what our hearts yearn for...</div>
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we crave connection.</div>
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Today, Patrick flies across the country on his own for Thanksgiving...</div>
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only we know the truth.</div>
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This HUGE milestone would not be possible if it wasn't for the experiences he has had over these </div>
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86 days.</div>
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He's not alone.</div>
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He has a friend of mine who is willing to take him to the airport, guide him through security and show him the way.</div>
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He has a community that believes in him </div>
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AND OFFERS SUPPORTS WHEN NECESSARY.</div>
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Isn't that what we all need?</div>
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Watching Patrick has made me more determined than ever to create a community where I live that offers that same beauty of welcome and belonging.</div>
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Support and kindness.</div>
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Patrick is living a life that is all his...with support from so many.</div>
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That's the kind of world we all want.</div>
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The kind we all need.</div>
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This Thanksgiving, we will count milestones and blessings and be clear...</div>
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none of us do this on our own.</div>
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We need each other.</div>
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Together, with all our foibles and fumbles, we are better.</div>
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Grateful doesn't cover it.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-1472793452559042222018-09-17T15:43:00.003-07:002018-09-17T16:02:39.358-07:00Grace at the Lake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I didn't want to go.</div>
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In fact, if I could have reverted to my small child self...I might have had a tantrum and just refused to move.</div>
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Another week-end.</div>
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Another soccer tournament.</div>
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I am over it.</div>
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I should know better.</div>
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I got into the car on a Friday night and began a three hour trek into the mountains.</div>
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My 12 year old grabbed the cell phone and made a comment about how I needed a better phone.</div>
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What?</div>
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She complained about the car we were in.</div>
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She didn't like my music.</div>
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I didn't like her vibe.</div>
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As I sat in traffic, I fumed.</div>
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I couldn't take one more millisecond of the ingratitude.</div>
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I lost it.</div>
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Like a surveyor, I reminded her of the topographical lines of her life...the deepest blessings coming first...</div>
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Did you notice that you're healthy?</div>
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That I'm healthy?</div>
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That we have a car to drive?</div>
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That we have gas in the car?</div>
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We have the amazing ability to spend a week-end playing soccer?</div>
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You have a mom who is willing to devote a week-end to soccer?</div>
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That we are together when so many moms and daughters don't get that chance?</div>
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As I assailed her with her blessings...</div>
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the boomerang effect took place.</div>
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Hey, Beth, are you listening to yourself?</div>
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Stop your complaining and start noticing.</div>
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As we meandered at dusk through the mountains, the reset button was pushed.</div>
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We stopped for dinner and we both took a deep breath...</div>
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we inhaled the scent of the pines...</div>
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it was going to be okay.</div>
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We had a soccer game at a high school where giant pines surround the field.</div>
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I tripped over a giant root and noticed extra large pine cones...</div>
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the sky was a shade of blue that made me consider paint colors:</div>
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Cobalt</div>
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Cerulean</div>
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Cornflower</div>
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True Blue</div>
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Azure</div>
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After some weeks of fires and smoke near me, the color of the sky was a long lost friend.</div>
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We had a break and some time until the next game.</div>
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Some moms had rented a cabin together so they invited the team to hang out there.</div>
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We walked into a welcome where the team cheered when Caroline came in.</div>
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She had been injured in the game - a serious bonk to the head - and her team, in that moment, let her know that she mattered.</div>
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I could see her body relax...comfortably finding a spot at the big table to paint a few paper flowers.</div>
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Parents were tracing flowers, cutting flowers, making paint and paintbrushes available to anyone -</div>
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it was an anthill of effort.</div>
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The flowers were for our coach, who had lost his mother during the week.</div>
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The hand-painted flowers would be a perpetual bouquet for Coach Mike...</div>
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a way for 12 year old girls to say:</div>
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We see you going through this hard thing...we are so sorry...we are sending love and friendship.</div>
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I was so humbled watching these mothers (and fathers) showing their daughters how to love someone through something hard.</div>
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I picked up a tracer and a pencil and swallowed hard.</div>
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These parents were strangers to me...</div>
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but they were mothering my daughter...</div>
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right in front of my eyes.</div>
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Their love was better than any ice pack.</div>
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She was given the gift of thinking of someone else...</div>
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the gift of doing good with paper and paint.</div>
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Together, we were reminded that it is so often the simplest acts of kindness that last.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dKScjWx7l0rN1oO2TF_7sQDEwykUSMirssOVQsWU315vpEZVe9e3JlSdBORFh46cMHBSYP0rd7BNev0mFIjdnlz-URBMsR0Yq-JB7pFcPc3th7u0oq6di5LQo9JuaSgMZgIMQJDcB4us/s1600/IMG_3174.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1488" data-original-width="1600" height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dKScjWx7l0rN1oO2TF_7sQDEwykUSMirssOVQsWU315vpEZVe9e3JlSdBORFh46cMHBSYP0rd7BNev0mFIjdnlz-URBMsR0Yq-JB7pFcPc3th7u0oq6di5LQo9JuaSgMZgIMQJDcB4us/s640/IMG_3174.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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After another soccer game, we had the grim consideration of dinner for 40.</div>
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How would that work?</div>
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What restaurant would serve us?</div>
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Instead, another group of moms opened up their cabin...and told us all to bring a little something.</div>
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Something turned into quite the banquet.</div>
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Moms know how to feed their people.</div>
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The girls devoured bowls of pasta, while the adults ate tasty tidbits and watched with wonder more flowers being painted...the designs getting more intricate and beautiful with each effort.</div>
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The cabin was at the edge of Lake Tahoe and so the team wandered down to the lake...the girls swam and the sun did its downward dance...gilding the sky...reminding us that this ordinary holiness...this beauty of light...tattoos our world every day for the briefest of moments.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sWVACxcTmeAQNQRD25QHxK3mGAoH85k9s7gN9SLNBZTTxfuctquYOGK0bS7ejhIpDq6R17JC2Fs0D3zrIeM_enxdAPdCQIurerteaeFvqRxT7JfORVGIO_M8slB4KEJfkSheqtoJ5OG7/s1600/IMG_3176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sWVACxcTmeAQNQRD25QHxK3mGAoH85k9s7gN9SLNBZTTxfuctquYOGK0bS7ejhIpDq6R17JC2Fs0D3zrIeM_enxdAPdCQIurerteaeFvqRxT7JfORVGIO_M8slB4KEJfkSheqtoJ5OG7/s640/IMG_3176.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Against the backdrop of waves and feet buried in sand and a chill in the air and a purplish dusk, a group of moms talked about family and the challenges that go with helping our girls grow up...we talked writing and teaching blanketing over the real messages of care and love.</div>
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One mom echoed what we all were feeling:</div>
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how grateful she was that her daughter was surrounded by these moms (and dads)</div>
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...she called it a clan...</div>
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a tribe...</div>
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an echo from the times when grandmothers and aunties and cousins and others watched over the little ones and made sure it was all as it should be.</div>
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In that last little breath of light before the dark, my heart was full.</div>
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She was exactly right.</div>
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This team has traversed the territory of strangers on the sidelines and moved to a higher plane:</div>
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a community that cares.</div>
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It was seemingly effortless...but it wasn't.</div>
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It took one mom to consider the coach and find a way for 12 year olds to deal with grief.</div>
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It took another mom to open her cabin.</div>
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It took moms and dads to buy food and take the time to make food and create </div>
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a space that welcomed everyone.</div>
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It took coaches who had loosened their control on the team for something organic to grow.</div>
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It took problem solvers to figure out seating and clean up and all sorts of other glitches.</div>
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It took effort.</div>
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There, at Lake Tahoe in the middle of a soccer tournament, grace was in abundance.</div>
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I didn't have a cabin to offer...</div>
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I brought very little food...</div>
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I didn't bring art supplies or any ideas.</div>
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I pretty much was on the sidelines just watching the miracle unfold.</div>
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I guess I'll be the recorder.</div>
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When's the next tournament?</div>
bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-42804296442314094112018-08-19T14:14:00.001-07:002018-08-19T14:14:17.008-07:00Four Years Later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mouK81fsOzs_WirQoCBIAVpaVBFPOJpeqGI0I-2sUC3q_ygHW3AJ5j37bk_SlojrmJtw9mMDEJTdERLMGL-UwPQYSU8l38f2zhfeLe6vZTCYaLpQPgJAXtDLw6qer9ENU8E1-NjZECf6/s1600/1445597323-pooh-friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mouK81fsOzs_WirQoCBIAVpaVBFPOJpeqGI0I-2sUC3q_ygHW3AJ5j37bk_SlojrmJtw9mMDEJTdERLMGL-UwPQYSU8l38f2zhfeLe6vZTCYaLpQPgJAXtDLw6qer9ENU8E1-NjZECf6/s640/1445597323-pooh-friends.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
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Four years ago, you may remember this post:</div>
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<a href="https://grace-in-the-ordinary.blogspot.com/2014/02/dear-8th-graders.html"><span style="color: blue;">Dear 8th Graders</span></a></div>
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In it, I write to the 8th graders in Patrick's class.</div>
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They had spent nine years together - from Kindergarten to 8th grade - and truthfully, they were an experiment.</div>
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Never before, in our local Catholic school </div>
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- or even in our entire diocese -</div>
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had a student with Down Syndrome been fully included.</div>
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Patrick was included in kindergarten and we had no idea what would happen.</div>
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Would it be possible for him to learn?</div>
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Would he make friends?</div>
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Would he understand what was going on?</div>
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Could he make his sacraments?<br />Go on field trips?</div>
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Attend 6th grade sleep away science camp?</div>
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Could he be a big buddy to younger students?</div>
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The short answer: YES.</div>
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<b>A resounding, giant, huge, YES!</b></div>
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But, we weren't sure what the other students would do.</div>
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Would their learning be negatively impacted?</div>
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NO.</div>
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Would they include Patrick?</div>
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YES.</div>
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Would they accept Patrick?</div>
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YES.</div>
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We shouldn't be so surprised...</div>
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children are children.</div>
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They accept everyone.</div>
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They find a way.</div>
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They figure it out.</div>
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It's always the adults who think it can't be done.</div>
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Well, four years later, those 8th graders have graduated from high school.</div>
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Most are off to college.</div>
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We decided to host a reunion for those 8th graders and see what it was like four years later.</div>
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<b>Short answer: BETTER THAN BEFORE</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfjOgDJhYwcEE1THkIf4b8vV00L3HlEDNZk5xS-AJnS54-qxEOpLe1oWWVrmV0meh_z485RrfXWONcdj0-_4aAly_IMJFP17JqsuFCnXU6dHdjVBhn8S2uHELmYGoPU3JD-xNWY9q_8Ml/s1600/IMG_2929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfjOgDJhYwcEE1THkIf4b8vV00L3HlEDNZk5xS-AJnS54-qxEOpLe1oWWVrmV0meh_z485RrfXWONcdj0-_4aAly_IMJFP17JqsuFCnXU6dHdjVBhn8S2uHELmYGoPU3JD-xNWY9q_8Ml/s640/IMG_2929.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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They came with their parents...or by themselves...or with a friend...but they knocked on the door, shyly walked in and made their way to the backyard table.</div>
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The table comfortably sits 8 people.</div>
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But, like the famous clown car...or Mary Poppins' bag...the table kept welcoming more and more...they just kept scooting their chairs further and further out...welcoming the next person so naturally it was as if they had seen each other four hours ago, rather than four YEARS ago.</div>
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By the time everyone dribbled in, the kids were in a circle of chairs...</div>
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the table merely a nice centerpiece.</div>
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I thought they might sit in small groups...catching up on what has happened over the past four years...</div>
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but they wanted to sit together.</div>
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It was organic.</div>
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Natural.</div>
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Comfy.</div>
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Watching this group, my heart expanded...in fact, it burst.</div>
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This.right.here.is what's possible when we welcome everyone to the table.</div>
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The table falls away.</div>
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<b>It becomes a circle.</b></div>
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As these young adults go out into the world, their heart is inclusive.</div>
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They've been given the gift of learning alongside each other and they know what's possible.</div>
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It's not a big deal.</div>
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It's the way it should be.</div>
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<br />Imagine one of these young adults as a teacher.</div>
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A doctor giving a prenatal diagnosis of Down Syndrome.</div>
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A banker who reads a bank loan document from someone with an intellectual disability.</div>
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A small business owner who needs to hire someone.</div>
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An apartment owner who will willingly rent his place.</div>
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A parent.</div>
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Their life experience will give them the courage to say yes to people on the margins...</div>
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and that changes everything.</div>
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They understand what's possible.</div>
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They know that people with disabilities are capable and valuable and have something important to offer the larger group.</div>
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They know that it's possible to be friends.</div>
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Watching the Class of 2018, I knew these young people would change the world...</div>
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just by being in the world.</div>
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They know the secret.</div>
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We aren't so different, you and me.</div>
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Blessings to you, Class of 2018.</div>
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May your journey into adult life be filled with love, adventure, friendship and peace.</div>
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May you visit home often.</div>
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We're going to miss your sunshine...but the world needs your light.</div>
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Shine bright, sweet students, shine bright.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-1535057042232991472018-06-21T01:27:00.000-07:002018-06-21T01:27:23.977-07:00The Junk Yard vs. Poetry Beach<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8HPDKEGBRNZMC3j7Vp7Az6uibycZnjg7sFMZiaywCNjPK0WrjgJeiDJGVaGpqWBtGk56lihhHUu8x2fmpwTM4-7wOx4JQZC3zKQDFK-PK9qkU2f5LRZ43Ul21uw8mV7RXeN9vCwSVprM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-06-21+at+12.11.51+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="507" height="628" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8HPDKEGBRNZMC3j7Vp7Az6uibycZnjg7sFMZiaywCNjPK0WrjgJeiDJGVaGpqWBtGk56lihhHUu8x2fmpwTM4-7wOx4JQZC3zKQDFK-PK9qkU2f5LRZ43Ul21uw8mV7RXeN9vCwSVprM/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-06-21+at+12.11.51+AM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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There's been a lot of sorrow.</div>
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Deep sadness.</div>
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Tears.</div>
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Worry.</div>
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Fear.</div>
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I try not to think about it...but every tiny act of mothering is a reminder.</div>
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Tonight I clipped my child's fingernails.</div>
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I wondered who clips the nails of the children in cages.</div>
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Does anyone notice when their nails are too long...or too dirty.</div>
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Yesterday, my 12 year old daughter asked me to braid her hair.</div>
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It's a rare treat these days so I seized on the moment to brush and tend and love her via her hair.</div>
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I wove her hair with a heart that is tattered...I saw the tiny stripes the sun has tinted in her hair already...I knew the area on her head where the braid always gets bumpy...I smoothed and tightened and thought of all the young girls with no one to fix their hair.</div>
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Children are being taken and separated from their families.</div>
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Intentionally.</div>
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The government is working to bring the most pain to bear on immigrants.</div>
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It's working to harm the youngest and most vulnerable.</div>
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I can hardly believe this nightmare is true.</div>
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A few days ago, I was moving my daughter up to Portland.</div>
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Despondent over these babies and mothers I went for a walk along the Willamette River.</div>
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I tried to lose myself in that new place...tried to notice something new with each step...</div>
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a wildflower here...a tiny bird there.</div>
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It felt good to walk along a river and notice the current that never falters...always moving forward.</div>
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Lost in my thoughts I abruptly hit the end of the path...</div>
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a dead end with a junk yard attached.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3SLORffYUkd2qA_JouHY-7PPrw9NWVXOtZuKROy_zOIEaoWUeLSRWJJfJCdNEV2NtauIESN0ehNf1AQyIZveyGNroWv3UYYdx_EyAq4y4R1KaVnifnflov_lKnBlfMLce4i4I0ag3ng6/s1600/IMG_2270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3SLORffYUkd2qA_JouHY-7PPrw9NWVXOtZuKROy_zOIEaoWUeLSRWJJfJCdNEV2NtauIESN0ehNf1AQyIZveyGNroWv3UYYdx_EyAq4y4R1KaVnifnflov_lKnBlfMLce4i4I0ag3ng6/s640/IMG_2270.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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How cosmically perfect.</div>
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Gross - Dead - Polluted - Junk</div>
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Might as well be describing our government...or my mood.</div>
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It felt maddening and sickeningly spot on.</div>
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What could I do but turn around?</div>
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I literally made an about face to begin walking back and discovered a path called Poetry at the Beach.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8YXCGMaYb41zulCdmC7G4a5e5Wmr3wI_Xu6SW9C2xmZKsnG9nvW1tQMvt_G8pUcBTe4cncL2xDKIZ1h23XvN6VWMbuaU0d9Kqa1KBEOKGWYa8n-gXZJ4ZF9zEy7bRSnQ9sNU4qTSwLr9/s1600/IMG_2254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8YXCGMaYb41zulCdmC7G4a5e5Wmr3wI_Xu6SW9C2xmZKsnG9nvW1tQMvt_G8pUcBTe4cncL2xDKIZ1h23XvN6VWMbuaU0d9Kqa1KBEOKGWYa8n-gXZJ4ZF9zEy7bRSnQ9sNU4qTSwLr9/s640/IMG_2254.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I marveled at this mystery.</div>
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What was going on?</div>
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How could there be poetry at the beach?</div>
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Literally, two of my favorite things embedded in some sort of spiritual mash up...what??</div>
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I should head back...I had chores to begin...and commitments to attend to...but I knew that wouldn't be happening.</div>
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I had to walk the path...</div>
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I discovered stones that had the words of children...the poems that children created carved into them...voices of Native American children who pondered the Willamette River and what it </div>
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meant to them - felt to them - inspired in them.</div>
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Here are their hearts etched into stone:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOAxr4oDO4SQb8sxTxNEhA4VYBxAoeZmFCJwlcL9rJ5h-vxfXi9gSFEe_9KpgqQQLLrdGHenMnr3g5pqLSFPqEhVUE1M-nr4I5MgS0_cy73z-C4wpqBCDIPpq0TaEHQxOlifcMvMYUor6/s1600/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOAxr4oDO4SQb8sxTxNEhA4VYBxAoeZmFCJwlcL9rJ5h-vxfXi9gSFEe_9KpgqQQLLrdGHenMnr3g5pqLSFPqEhVUE1M-nr4I5MgS0_cy73z-C4wpqBCDIPpq0TaEHQxOlifcMvMYUor6/s640/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There's always one over-achiever...meet Jordan.<br /><br />Every carved stone captured me...I wondered where the student wrote the poem...who did the carving...where did the rock come from...who funded it all...who did the work of placing the stones in their spot...all of it seemed like one big surprise party made only for me.<br /><br />Every stone echoed in my heart.<br /><br />I came upon stones that had the Native word for our ordinary words:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_TDq2hN_scZ-mLzKWTB8co_gGloLI3i5tbkBLluN2uSvi_foIE5kp0aW7lm3VKgKF0I9kH1jMpNkXZ0mM1DuSAJZY1qcCL_7pK5W1dNxJ9l02D0Dqrh0ybuA8eoy6wrpf1MQJy2AlUw4/s1600/FullSizeRender+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_TDq2hN_scZ-mLzKWTB8co_gGloLI3i5tbkBLluN2uSvi_foIE5kp0aW7lm3VKgKF0I9kH1jMpNkXZ0mM1DuSAJZY1qcCL_7pK5W1dNxJ9l02D0Dqrh0ybuA8eoy6wrpf1MQJy2AlUw4/s640/FullSizeRender+5.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div>
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It felt like I was being handed a secret code...or a blanket from the past...</div>
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Sit here.</div>
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Wrap yourself up in our words and our ways.</div>
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Know that the Willamette was here before you and will remain long after you.</div>
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Find comfort in the unwavering strength of stone...the unstoppable movement of the river...</div>
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<b>the beauty that waits for you to notice.</b></div>
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That beauty is yours every day.</div>
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Poetry at the Beach</div>
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Here she is:</div>
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Meet the Willamette.</div>
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I walked along that stunning slice of sand...soaking up the driftwood so beautifully, carelessly tossed right where it was meant to be...looking at the gray stones and seeing </div>
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gunmetal, silver, ash, slate, smoky, dove's egg, charcoal...the twists and turns of gray...</div>
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and the gift of being able to see every last hue between black and white.</div>
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I started my walk despondent over the now...alone...I ended my walk soaked in the people who came before me...the river that spans both and will arch into the future as well.</div>
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We have junkyards and poetry.</div>
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Stones waiting to be carved and poems still left to write.</div>
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Every single day, it's up to us to find the poems.</div>
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Up to us to notice...and leave our mark.</div>
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You get to choose:</div>
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junkyard or poetry.</div>
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Today, I thank the eagle, the frog, the Canadian geese, the otter and the driftwood.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBF7pmwskIbjY97fnZG4pSTzJpgZRHaDY8v_Wo7SlJJkHsmIIzIsMN2xgJK6-dj3k5gcJ_qVPs8QtwTHgocGnFoxWUXK3-tkfv7T3wDcqk3HHmrgL63y4lCRlwFO0hMP9ZB1q9t6CA_XC/s1600/IMG_2269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBF7pmwskIbjY97fnZG4pSTzJpgZRHaDY8v_Wo7SlJJkHsmIIzIsMN2xgJK6-dj3k5gcJ_qVPs8QtwTHgocGnFoxWUXK3-tkfv7T3wDcqk3HHmrgL63y4lCRlwFO0hMP9ZB1q9t6CA_XC/s640/IMG_2269.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I thank whoever found the swimming otter driftwood and left it for me to enjoy too.</div>
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I thank the stone carvers and the poets...the dreamers and the visionaries...those who thought to combine Native history and language with the beauty of the beach and children's voices.</div>
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Mostly, I thank the Willamette River who has seen her fair share of junkyard and poetry...</div>
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and still she flows.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-67678957037597788212018-06-04T15:26:00.000-07:002018-06-04T15:28:49.084-07:00My Love Letter To Davis, California <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLo9W397lVuV6H4sAyeMaujZ3W-gtMmws3SvsUr2Zuiy7yKt-OSzvi3hjywWmHK3InwZ4ff6da9U39MuEghAO4fJ1JclftgQ8JzxO63c3DdcVV_VOw453hAYTiKVVj5BbXFZUU1AwXolv/s1600/Love+Letter+to+Davis+-+Bike+Pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLo9W397lVuV6H4sAyeMaujZ3W-gtMmws3SvsUr2Zuiy7yKt-OSzvi3hjywWmHK3InwZ4ff6da9U39MuEghAO4fJ1JclftgQ8JzxO63c3DdcVV_VOw453hAYTiKVVj5BbXFZUU1AwXolv/s640/Love+Letter+to+Davis+-+Bike+Pic.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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It was 3:50 am, the streets empty and the school dark when I walked Patrick up.</div>
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He was carrying his black backpack - full of a lunch, sunscreen, baseball hat, change of clothes, headphones and freedom.</div>
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The guy was headed to Disneyland with his senior class.</div>
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Graduating in a few days, his senior classmates got the chance to spend two days down in southern California...time at Disneyland plus time at the beach...throw in a dinner at Spaghetti Factory and it was perfection. </div>
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Teacher Scott Bell was there at dawn...along with the school superwoman, Adela, and the director of internships, Susan, and the paraeducator who said YES when asked to support a student who needed it - my son, Patrick - and was willing to attend a field trip that lasted more than 48 hours.</div>
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<b>SHOUT OUT to Antwanette!!</b></div>
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There were parents I knew from other parts of my life - also willing to chaperone the adventure.</div>
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I walked back to my car in the dark, got into my isolated seat and burst into tears.</div>
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How is this possible??</div>
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In this moment of independence for Patrick there are so many supporters...</div>
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so many willing to find a way...</div>
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so many who think nothing of it...</div>
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of course, they say.</div>
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It's going to be great.</div>
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<b>My town, Davis, California, goes like that.</b></div>
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It's a gem of a spot with a creek, double decker buses, a big university and lots of bikes...but like any home...</div>
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it isn't the place, it's the people that make it comfy.</div>
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I flash back to preschool.</div>
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A little co-op preschool that had a tractor in the playground for kids to climb.</div>
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We had only been in Davis for a year before Patrick was born and my older daughter, Mary Kate was in the four year old program at Davis Community Church Nursery School - the famous DCCNS.</div>
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A co-op means parent participation and when Patrick was born, well, he needed open heart surgery right away at nine weeks old.</div>
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I couldn't work at the preschool and felt deep shame about that - so crazy how we hold ourselves to impossible ideals in the middle of a crisis - I couldn't shirk my responsibility!</div>
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I wondered if I would have to give up the preschool and find another.</div>
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As I was carrying Patrick in his carseat sending Mary Kate off to school, the director of the school, Teacher Betsy, came up to me.</div>
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Inwardly I cringed...could she know that I couldn't work...couldn't hold up my end of the bargain?</div>
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She smiled and said words that changed my life:</div>
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<b>"When you are considering preschools for Patrick, I hope you will consider us."</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA80swt4XQuNrZ3eNGTsSGBFhGVWloeGzBZms020N1eEPknTIF-7UZKzpcKqns57xD0u6HH-Z434CumQc4KG0DQp-KHNhliO_YYj36HH9Lo7ZeYlL9NvzT32i7fulFGo6cUJqJ3mM5Y39h/s1600/Patrick+in+Baby+Swing+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="573" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA80swt4XQuNrZ3eNGTsSGBFhGVWloeGzBZms020N1eEPknTIF-7UZKzpcKqns57xD0u6HH-Z434CumQc4KG0DQp-KHNhliO_YYj36HH9Lo7ZeYlL9NvzT32i7fulFGo6cUJqJ3mM5Y39h/s640/Patrick+in+Baby+Swing+.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Almost 19 years later and still that act of full throttle welcome brings me to tears.</div>
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In my world, Patrick was living with almost no choices.</div>
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He would be stuck attending whatever school would take him.</div>
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He would be unable to participate in regular activities.</div>
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He would be limited.</div>
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He had Down Syndrome.</div>
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Her words took a sledge hammer to the limitations I envisioned.</div>
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Her words held an idea that I didn't think existed for Patrick:</div>
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CONSIDERATIONS.</div>
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I would be considering different options for preschool??</div>
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He would have choices??</div>
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<b>It was a game changer.</b></div>
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It was also quintessentially Davis.</div>
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Davis offers plenty of choices...in all arenas.</div>
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Food - Fun - Schools - Life</div>
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Why couldn't Patrick have choices?</div>
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Patrick DID attend DCCNS as well as the special ed preschool that the school district offered.</div>
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He had a blended program and that's pretty much been his entire life.</div>
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Our local Catholic school said YES.</div>
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Our local Boy Scout troop.</div>
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Our local swim team.</div>
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Our rec department.</div>
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Our art center.</div>
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Our city.</div>
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Patrick loved singing and dancing and holding the microphone as a little guy.</div>
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In third grade we tried a theater class at the art center with the amazing Miss Mindy.</div>
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She accepted Patrick, guided the other students and offered opportunities to sing and dance and be part of some of his favorites, including High School Musical and Camp Rock.</div>
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Just as he was aging out of Miss Mindy's classes I worried that he was older and possibly more difficult to place...</div>
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in that moment came the incredible Dottie.</div>
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She wrote her own plays with twists on the classics AND she had an adult son with Down Syndrome.</div>
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She understood equity and opportunity and welcomed Patrick into theater during the awkward time of junior high.</div>
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As Patrick was moving into high school he was unable to be fully included in high school theater...his one time when he was shut out...and so Acme Theater, a local theater troupe for high schoolers, said YES.</div>
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He was included in Camp Shakespeare.</div>
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He got a job at our local city pool in the snack bar.</div>
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He was fully included in his high school - Da Vinci High School - and able to earn a California high school diploma.</div>
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At Da Vinci, Patrick had an internship with Acme Theater.</div>
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He made friends, went to dances - where the city provided support (!), created clubs...made his way.</div>
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In four days, he graduates from high school.</div>
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In this moment of one door closing, another door opens:</div>
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Patrick is headed to college.</div>
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Patrick has been blessed with a gift beyond measure...a community that believes in him.</div>
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He's been taken seriously and given opportunities.</div>
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He has been supported without reservation.</div>
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He's been enveloped in kindness.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My heart is so full of gratitude and light that I feel like Ironman...with a blinking bright target in the center of my sternum.</div>
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<br /></div>
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How do you thank a town?</div>
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How can I possibly express what this town with its big open heart, its sense of let's-figure-it-out, with every person who was willing allowed to transpire for Patrick as he grew up here.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Davis, thank you.</div>
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Aquamonsters - Pete and Koren</div>
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Miss Mindy</div>
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Dottie</div>
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Mr. Bell</div>
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Mrs. Kirby</div>
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Adela</div>
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Ms.U</div>
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Sarah and Antwanette and Tammy</div>
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The entire faculty at Da Vinci High</div>
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Mike at Holmes</div>
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Father Dan and Mary Kay Bolz</div>
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All of the faculty at St. James School, especially Bev.</div>
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Teacher Betsy</div>
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Teacher Mary</div>
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Teacher Ellen</div>
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Teacher Lonna</div>
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Teacher Patty</div>
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And the families at DCCNS and St. James</div>
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Acme Theater</div>
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Emily Henderson</div>
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Hollay Shayegi</div>
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Sarah Barnes</div>
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Steve Rubin</div>
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Ashley Shuell</div>
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Robin from First Steps/Early Intervention</div>
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Karen Edmiston and Center for Speech Pathology</div>
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THANK YOU! </div>
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It is because of your open hearted compassion that Patrick is the person he is.</div>
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It's been an incredible ride.</div>
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He's off to great places!</div>
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All thanks to you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFWEFR84Bks4p5Af9EHBkOngKWzfYhhpzEDqBQlswN9WAvE7WT3TPiXjbLyYLV2w1_ZELUY9VuzK7HrH0OP3DZDwPIYrnXigWXSHCbDyAU0FwcTWFqOZCrYNVtMe6QFmrMk6Akl9vbrMV/s1600/Patrick%2527s+Senior+Pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="782" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFWEFR84Bks4p5Af9EHBkOngKWzfYhhpzEDqBQlswN9WAvE7WT3TPiXjbLyYLV2w1_ZELUY9VuzK7HrH0OP3DZDwPIYrnXigWXSHCbDyAU0FwcTWFqOZCrYNVtMe6QFmrMk6Akl9vbrMV/s640/Patrick%2527s+Senior+Pic.jpg" width="520" /></a></div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-22227012062147863742018-04-13T01:13:00.000-07:002018-04-22T22:50:00.643-07:00The Last IEP or How A White Poppy Blooms <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2kOtgfzWX9lxPlHXb0cJpwclriQzbC0ITWz2meVS2HHGixQyfdFtMDVOkaxJtgsafyI0-H1EKzeq6_-Lmk0WLtNrDy-Pff77H6MzWturtG5jQcBrrIonjTvSyJnmZlpKsyJlKMja3KFt/s1600/DaiIKEWVwAAB5ca.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="632" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2kOtgfzWX9lxPlHXb0cJpwclriQzbC0ITWz2meVS2HHGixQyfdFtMDVOkaxJtgsafyI0-H1EKzeq6_-Lmk0WLtNrDy-Pff77H6MzWturtG5jQcBrrIonjTvSyJnmZlpKsyJlKMja3KFt/s640/DaiIKEWVwAAB5ca.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<br />
IEPs suck.<br />
There's no other way around it.<br />
<br />
I've thought about this a lot...having been through many, many, many.<br />
<br />
It feels like we could make them easier on the mama's heart.<br />
We could just stop talking about all of the many ways the student isn't measuring up and start considering the one-of-a-kind, unrepeatable gifts they bring to the class.<br />
<br />
Why must we test and test and test...<br />
using measurement tools that have not been created for people with intellectual disabilities at all?<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I would fail a test in Chinese...it wasn't made for me.<br />
<br />
Why do we force kids with Down Syndrome to take tests that weren't made for them and then act surprised when the scores reveal that the test wasn't made for them?<br />
<br />
Why do we make educating children so hard?<br />
<br />
Why do we sit as a panel of experts judging, critiquing, analyzing...<br />
while the parent waits with dread at the guilty verdict:<br />
<b>We pronounce your child disabled.</b><br />
<br />
Why do we see disability as brokenness?<br />
<br />
<b>Why can't we see the rare gift of the individual?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygYS4JCBu_P_YqiCFr1QdBDLg4KNnUUxRsnPi8KtjQDLJCLPLCDHi1mbBaJICAsOPe5sIdFN4-FwTDoHS1BlEk1EPqYsnmrHzKSerpYpqvoOIOhka8baGtEbXfPJDc9cxxz_nm0eSTvoy/s1600/One+White+Poppy+in+a+Sea+of+Golden+Ones.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygYS4JCBu_P_YqiCFr1QdBDLg4KNnUUxRsnPi8KtjQDLJCLPLCDHi1mbBaJICAsOPe5sIdFN4-FwTDoHS1BlEk1EPqYsnmrHzKSerpYpqvoOIOhka8baGtEbXfPJDc9cxxz_nm0eSTvoy/s640/One+White+Poppy+in+a+Sea+of+Golden+Ones.jpg" width="640" /></a></b><br />
<br />
Before Patrick, I would have been bothered by that bold white poppy.<br />
I would have disgustedly thought it should fit in.<br />
<br />
Its difference would annoy me.<br />
<br />
Today I see that poppy and cheer...or, in this case, stop and take a pic.<br />
<br />
You, Go, White Poppy!<br />
<br />
How did you become white?<br />
Aren't you your bad self, standing there so bold and defiant.<br />
<br />
Best of all, I marvel at the environment.<br />
Somehow, some way, the circumstances were configured so that this white poppy could bloom...alongside the orange ones.<br />
<br />
How can we help our classrooms be like that?<br />
<br />
What does it take?<br />
<br />
It sure doesn't take a panel of poppies sitting around a table pointing out the whiteness...<br />
or should we say "severe lack of orange-ness"...the deficit in orange is noticeable.<br />
<br />
Spoiler alert: it's never becoming orange.<br />
<br />
And, yet, it is beautiful and capable of being a white poppy perfectly and<br />
needs no panel of experts telling it what to do.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
I propose this for the next IEP you must attend:<br />
<br />
Ask them to tell you about your white poppy.<br />
Ask them to SEE the beauty in your white poppy.<br />
Ask them to understand that the white poppy is never never turning orange and yet it must live among the orange bounty.<br />
<br />
What can they do to ensure the vibrancy and flourishing of the white poppy<br />
among so many orange ones?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Let's just start by valuing the white poppy.</b><br />
<br />
Let's stop trying to make the white poppy anything else.<br />
<br />
Let's just notice the beauty...and work to fertilize the soil and water it enough and offer sunlight.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
Today, we reached the end of a long long journey.<br />
No more IEPs and panels and tests.<br />
<br />
I can hardly believe it.<br />
<br />
Patrick's journey through kindergarten to high school is almost complete.<br />
Because Patrick is graduating with a high school diploma,<br />
he will have no transition services<br />
from 18 -21.<br />
<br />
Somehow, miraculously, my white poppy has been able to grow/thrive/learn/live with all the<br />
orange poppies.<br />
<br />
Yes, there were people who thought that my white poppy didn't belong...<br />
but there were way, way more gardeners who saw his unusual beauty<br />
and created the climate for him to thrive.<br />
<br />
I am so grateful to the teachers who said yes.<br />
So grateful for the willing hearts.<br />
So humbled by the gift of educators who found a way to welcome a white poppy<br />
into an orange world.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfi60Kh8OrTMmnX1E1Pr2zZQ0w7edHJr_lgB7wksnkOQEutATUvHti071HQttP5hAssS-1LFWJ65jj3r42Zt6cu_kaVLJNmD8EDrZtWxaaivKR5-dDoyV6nhIEfD6899RGECkhIiAYjro3/s1600/Patrick%2527s+Last+IEP.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfi60Kh8OrTMmnX1E1Pr2zZQ0w7edHJr_lgB7wksnkOQEutATUvHti071HQttP5hAssS-1LFWJ65jj3r42Zt6cu_kaVLJNmD8EDrZtWxaaivKR5-dDoyV6nhIEfD6899RGECkhIiAYjro3/s640/Patrick%2527s+Last+IEP.jpg" width="630" /></a><br />
<br />
Today, my 18 year old son with Down Syndrome signed his own damn IEP.<br />
<br />
He shared his hopes and dreams - his strengths and his struggles.<br />
He offered his vision for his future to a bunch of adults.<br />
He acknowledged his heroes and dreamed out loud.<br />
<br />
I sincerely doubt if I could have done anything close to that when I was 18.<br />
<br />
It was a crystal clear moment of courage and clarity.<br />
<br />
I was sidelined and in the cheering section...<br />
as it should be.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
I can only echo the words that are at the top:<br />
<b>Believe in your child so much the world thinks you're crazy.</b><br />
<b>Then believe more.</b><br />
<br />
The problem isn't that we dream too big...<br />
I know that much.<br />
<br />
Today, I am grateful for the grace of endings, the blessing of beginnings and the power of prayer.<br />
Lord, hold him close.</div>
bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-46144595014569048522018-02-19T08:07:00.004-08:002018-02-19T08:17:30.728-08:00Just Shine<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMqTNhS95K1LvJlGH-lBNJiSxSFv6rfR7duPTWWiW0DoeHJOR6FJ89e4DjV60MflXrlrvCdvTQ_R2o3oM1-IMpzlDJc-GArSETQhBWMvmwjSv01pbh8EQ0zkfYmByM43ezCd3-pX2pXCb/s1600/6ff60fbfdde676bfb192dcbfff52f2d8--sparkle-quotes-shine-quotes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMqTNhS95K1LvJlGH-lBNJiSxSFv6rfR7duPTWWiW0DoeHJOR6FJ89e4DjV60MflXrlrvCdvTQ_R2o3oM1-IMpzlDJc-GArSETQhBWMvmwjSv01pbh8EQ0zkfYmByM43ezCd3-pX2pXCb/s400/6ff60fbfdde676bfb192dcbfff52f2d8--sparkle-quotes-shine-quotes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
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I am sitting in the MIX...the George Mason University study space...after just dropping Patrick off to his George Mason LIFE program interview. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On that summer day in July 1999 when Patrick was born,<br />
George Mason LIFE was also in its infancy...almost no other post secondary programs existed in the United States for students like Patrick.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nobody on the west coast knew of George Mason...or of this possibility...or of what could be.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We heard the word “Sorry” a lot.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“I’m so sorry” they would say as they looked at my sleepy brand new baby.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The incongruence of that never made sense.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Pro-Tip #1:</b> if you see a tiny baby say only one thing: <b>CONGRATULATIONS!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Yes, even if the baby has a heart defect and needs open heart surgery right away.</div>
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Yes, even if the baby has Down Syndrome.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yes, even if the future is unknown.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Say CONGRATULATIONS...because what it has taken for this little sprite to land in our midst is worthy of congratulations.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It’s a miracle.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And the miracle is no less miraculous if the sprite lasts one day among us or lives for 75 years.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Miracles are miracles and they should be noted.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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*****</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Patrick left his icy cold water (one of his favorite things on the planet) in my bag...<br />
I text him...asking if he would like me to drop it off.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No response.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The guy is busy with a college interview.</div>
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What am I thinking?</div>
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I take a swig, just to be close to him.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This moment is so bittersweet...six weeks after Patrick was born I went to my OB/GYN follow up appointment. I took my little baby in a bucket with me...my sweet tiny baby boy who would need open heart surgery in just three more weeks.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
The OB/GYN did not know how to speak of Down Syndrome or heart defects or any other “abnormalities”...the privilege of working in a first world hospital made difficult conversations rare, I guess...or maybe there is no training for this...but what she told me in those aching awkward minutes has stayed with me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She was trying, really she was.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know this.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And still, it was a stabbing wound, no matter how unintentional.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She said, “Well, I know we all fear our kids growing up and going away and well, that won’t be something you have to fear with your baby. He will always be with you...and I think that’s great.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Future doctors of the world, take note: this is not something you tell a sleep deprived, anxious, mom of a newborn facing open heart surgery and two other little ones at home.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>THINK THIS TO YOURSELF.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You don’t have to try so hard...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Refer back to Pro-Tip #1...say Congratulations...and win the Oscar, mean it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Even mumbling something about how cute the baby is would work.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As soon as my OB/GYN said this I wondered if that was true...and that’s the beauty of humanity.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>We don’t have to believe the stuff they tell us.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We can notice the gates as they are being put up...we can plan to knock them down...or find the entrance.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have wondered about that prediction for 18 years...but around year 6 I knew it was wrong.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Patrick has no interest in hanging out with me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After three years of leukemia treatment as a toddler, it was time for Patrick to start kindergarten.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He hadn’t felt good for three of his six years.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Half his life.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I could have home-schooled him...or figured out a modified kinder program for him...but he was determined to go to school with his big brother and sister.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I still consider that one of my greatest acts of kindness as a mom.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wanted to play with my guy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wanted the fun...the laughter...the joy of a healthy Patrick.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wanted it for me...just me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>He wanted it for the world.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And so I had to follow his lead and find a way to make that happen.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He never looked back.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He never cried to come home...or told me he missed me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But, trust me, I squeezed him tight every afternoon.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Kindergarten was the preamble to what is happening now...and I feel the same way.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He is following that big brother and sister again...and he knows he’s ready.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Me, not so much...but it can’t be about me, can it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Getting ready this morning for his George Mason interview, lying in a hotel bed across from me,<br />
he smiled his sleepy smile...one that only a mother knows.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I got up and walked over to his bed and I gave him a good morning hug and I looked at his sleepy eyes up close.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“Patrick, I haven’t told you how proud I am of you. You did such a great job at your Clemson interview and I am so proud of you.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“Why?” He asks...and I weigh the two opposing ideas: he really doesn’t know or he just wants to hear great things about himself...the reason doesn’t matter and I smile...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“Because your job as a person is to shine your light...you are the only one with your light...and you shined it so bright Patrick that not only could I see it but the Clemson people could too.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He smiled.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He knew I was right.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some people ask what the whole point of living is and I think it is just to shine.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There is so much darkness.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So much woundedness.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Too much suffering.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The only way forward is to shine...shine so bright that they need sunglasses to stare.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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So, friends, let us work to find more ways for our kids to shine...more ways for ourselves to shine...Patrick is going to find his way, really, it’s pretty obvious now...we all must find our way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moments before the Clemson Interview...anxiety free...ready to shine.</td></tr>
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<b>Step 1: Just Shine.</b></div>
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On this cloudy day in Fairfax, Virginia, I need my sunglasses.<br />
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-28339936053900550222018-01-12T14:58:00.000-08:002018-01-12T15:05:54.329-08:00Artisans of the Common Good<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been a long hard year.</div>
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We've had leadership that is undignified, unprofessional, unkind at the highest level.</div>
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That places a pall over our country, even our world...</div>
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...and yet, every single day, in my world, I see kindness and compassion,</div>
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curiosity and integrity.</div>
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I drop my children off at school and feel grateful for the teachers who work so hard, every single day, to be role models and to find a way to educate every student in their class.</div>
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They come to school with difficulties of their own and yet, they place them to the side and advocate for children...work with children...honor and cherish children...and the best of them set a child on a course of learning and growing that is life-changing.</div>
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I drop them off with gratitude in my heart...but I want to yell </div>
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<b>YOU ROCK!!</b></div>
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These teachers and principals, lunch people and custodians are</div>
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the very threads that make our country beautiful...</div>
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they are, as Pope Francis so gracefully said,</div>
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<b>"artisans of the common good"</b></div>
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Yesterday, I went to an oak grove and I found a worker raking the path.</div>
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I listened as the rake clawed at the ground over and over, cleaning the way for people like me who enjoy wandering among tall oaks in the mist.</div>
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I smiled but I wanted to shout <b>THANK YOU!</b></div>
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He is an artisan of the common good.</div>
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I mailed off a package that was important to me...</div>
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it holds a dream, an opportunity, a wish.</div>
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I handed it to Laura, one of the local people in my town who mails things off...</div>
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I wanted to hug her and thank her...instead I just gave her my few dollars - safe in the knowledge that my package would make it across the country because of her expertise.</div>
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Another artisan.</div>
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I walked my dog and noticed the street sweeper had swept the gutters of my street.</div>
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Another artisan...invisible but holding us together.</div>
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We have firefighters, policemen, </div>
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nurses and doctors,</div>
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ambulance drivers,</div>
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city workers,</div>
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the highway patrol,</div>
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the people who build our bridges and smooth our roads,</div>
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the tree trimmers,</div>
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the park maintenance workers...who bring WD40 and find a way to help the swings lose the grinding metal on metal sound...honestly, these park guys do that (!)</div>
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we have people who plant flowers</div>
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and paint stripes on the roads,</div>
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the people who keep our electricity running</div>
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our water clean and flowing...</div>
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our garbage picked up,</div>
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our sewer system functioning,</div>
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our street lights on</div>
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our signs clearly marking the way,</div>
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our railroads in operation,</div>
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our city buses with wheelchair access...</div>
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we have artists who create public art...</div>
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farmers who bring their food to the local farmers market...</div>
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we have musicians playing on the sidewalk...and even bicycle taxis.</div>
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Our local co-op grocery store sponsors a candlelight walk at Christmas time...</div>
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Together, our community is a magical place...</div>
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the keyword: <b>TOGETHER.</b></div>
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<b>WE are who we have been waiting for.</b></div>
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<b>WE are the artisans of the common good.</b></div>
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Every time you stop completely at the stop sign and wait your turn in traffic and truly only take 20 minutes or less in that 20 minute parking spot, YOU are contributing to the common good.</div>
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When you sweep your sidewalk, pick up the litter, share whatever extra you have with the people who have nothing, YOU are an artisan.</div>
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Today, I'm so very grateful for the people who go about their day just doing their good work...faithfully, professionally, honestly.</div>
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I'm so struck at the grace of that.</div>
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The interdependence we all have with each other.</div>
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Thank you, each one of you, for making our world a better place.</div>
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Love</div>
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Kindness</div>
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Compassion</div>
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Deep breaths</div>
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Friendship</div>
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Together, friends, we are the artisans of the common good.</div>
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We'll get our leadership to reflect our common good...soon, very soon.</div>
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Until then, craft your corner of the world with beauty and compassion.</div>
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Together, with other artisans.</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-60620542324670500202017-12-11T00:11:00.001-08:002017-12-11T00:12:00.062-08:00Whispering to Remember - Christmas 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hope - Peace - Joy - Love - The Four Candles of Advent</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">It's Christmas 2017.<br />One entire year of the Trump Administration.<br /><br />Usually reflecting on the year, no matter how hard, is a joy...<br />we have each other...<br />we will get through.<br /><br />During the four weeks of Advent, one of my favorite traditions is the Advent Wreath.<br />We have four candles, three purple and one pink, set in a circle.<br />We get to light one each week...so that by the time Christmas comes around, <br />there is serious light in the darkness...<br />four bright candles...shining triumphantly.<br />Holding open the spot...creating space for a baby...and a miracle...and family.<br /><br />I was pregnant at Christmas time twenty five years ago.<br />All these years later, I cherish that extra special time of singing and preparing for two babies during that Advent in 1992, <br />not just one.<br /><br />But this year is different.<br /><br />I feel the weight of a year's worth of lies.<br />A year's worth of looking the other way.<br />A year's worth of pretending everything is ok.<br /><br />I feel the crushing crashing of dreams of so many Americans withering on the vine...<br />this week it is grad students due to the tax bill that gives massive deductions to corporations over its citizens...<br />months ago, it was those with disabilities...<br />those with medical conditions...<br />...people of color...<br />...women...<br />...the LGBTQ community...<br />...or immigrants...<br />...or refugees...<br />...or children.<br /><br />A year ago, I could feel an entire nation of children's eyes watching the adults in the room <br />make excuses...<br />it doesn't matter that she's never been in a public school classroom...<br />or that he derides the Environmental Protection Agency...<br />or that he flies private planes all over the United States at our expense...<br />lower your eyes...<br />pretend you don't see.<br /><br />Are our children any better twelve months later?<br />Sadly, no.<br /><br />They've seen open racism and half-hearted excuses.<br /><br />They've witnessed their President UNwelcome entire nations of people.<br /><br />The've had to accept a new normal and the sickening taunts of a president...<br />corruption and people so achingly out-in-the-open greedy that it insults those that work to teach integrity and honesty.<br />They've witnessed the open disregard for suffering people in Puerto Rico...<br />the pointed, barbed insults to people hidden in the shadows working for our safety...<br />the FBI, the CIA...<br />and our press...<br />daily derided...<br />with blatant untruths...<br />and intentional misinformation.<br /><br />*****<br /><br /><b>This Christmas I want to whisper who we are.</b>I want to remind each of us what it means to be American.<br /><br />Like the Advent candles, first I offer <b>HOPE.</b>We are better than this.<br />Integrity.<br />Character.<br />Honesty.<br />Humility.<br /><b>THESE THINGS STILL MATTER.</b><br />Millions resist openly.<br />Millions more resist in the smallest of ways.<br />Two-thirds of us...the majority of us say <b>NO</b>.<br /><br /><b>Light the candle of hope...and see how it breaks the darkness.</b><br />The second offering is <b>LOVE.</b><br />Love is opening the circle wider...building a longer table...<br />love is recognizing fear and still pushing up your sleeves to do the work.<br />Love is the answer...the only response to racism and sexism.<br />Love is knowing that all humans are equal and working against injustice...<br />it's seeing yourself in the stranger.<br />It is living in the present moment.<br />What can I do right now?<br />and then taking the first step to begin.<br /><br /><b>Choose love and you change the trajectory.</b><br /><br />Ours is not a small God...the endless, timeless beauty of the universe whispers the grandeur of Higher Love.<br />Seize it.<br />Breathe it in.<br />It is yours everyday for the taking...<br />grace in the ordinary.<br /><br />Can you hear the murmurings??<br /><br />The third offering is <b>JOY.</b><br />With so much hatred, corruption and villainy...joy can be hard to find...but it is there.<br />There, in the ironic plot twist of a transgender women winning the seat away from someone who bragged that he was "Chief Homophobe" in Virginia.<br />In the way the sun still sets...the clouds still swirl across the sky...<br />the perfect simplicity of a cup of tea...or an act of kindness...a baby's laugh...a toddler's wonder...<br />rain on a rooftop...clothes fresh from a dryer...firefighters who work to save houses...and teachers who read out loud to students stories that bind us together.<br />Pick up a rock.<br />Try to watch the dance of a snowflake.<br />Gather friends together and cherish their company.<br />Walk your dog.<br />Hug your kid.<br />Dance.<br /><br />Laugh.<br /><br />The last offering is <b>PEACE.</b>This seems like a wish.<br />A fantasy.<br />Something out of reach.<br />But tonight I listened to a mother who had to bury her first grader after he was murdered at his elementary school in Newtown live her life with forgiveness at its core.<br />Five years after every mother's worst heartbreak, a woman named Scarlett showed me the way.<br />Forgiveness carries peace on its wings.<br />Scarlett mentioned:<br /><b>Nurturing, Healing Love.</b><br />She wants every human to have that and recognizes that her child's killer was unable to <br />either receive or give love.<br /><br />One year of Trump's despicable behavior...his devastating cruelty...his duplicitous companions that tolerate the tarnishing of all that is sacred about our country...<br />one entire year.<br /><br />Advent offers light in the darkness.<br />My whisper blows it forward...<br />to you...<br />to another you...and another you...<br />as <a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/pope_francis_why_the_only_future_worth_building_includes_everyone?language=en"><span style="color: blue;">Pope Francis said in his TED Talk:</span></a><br />"Hope begins with you and then another you and another you<br />until it becomes US.<br />When there is an us, there is a <b>Revolution of Tenderness</b>."<br /><br />I'm ready for the Revolution.<br /><br />I know you are too...<br />let us begin.<br />Light the candle.<br />Notice the warmth.<br />Offer it to others.<br />Remember the way home.<br />Be honest.<br />Work hard.<br />Resist.<br /><br />We are better than this.<br />Demand it.</span></td></tr>
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<br />bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-74478437135013288062017-08-22T01:07:00.000-07:002017-08-23T00:20:29.078-07:00Totality<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X0nEb86ZrDwbUD8h41xumLQJJKk_Hbenz79wPgNNoS_kbRZbsuIralN6nnfPuOtBFWnR6uD-82racZAPGRJAI8uWOloh0__OV70Qfu5xMZa4aWmrfBoQKRkMwKp4VQHuQlnyNCaMELDS/s1600/576583-Sri-Aurobindo-Quote-This-world-is-a-vast-unbroken-totality-a-deep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X0nEb86ZrDwbUD8h41xumLQJJKk_Hbenz79wPgNNoS_kbRZbsuIralN6nnfPuOtBFWnR6uD-82racZAPGRJAI8uWOloh0__OV70Qfu5xMZa4aWmrfBoQKRkMwKp4VQHuQlnyNCaMELDS/s640/576583-Sri-Aurobindo-Quote-This-world-is-a-vast-unbroken-totality-a-deep.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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For a few months I'd been hearing about the eclipse that was coming to North America...</div>
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it was a rare full solar eclipse within driving distance from my house.</div>
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It would be a schlep.</div>
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A definite road trip.</div>
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School would have started.</div>
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Life would be interrupted.</div>
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Plenty of reasons to not make the effort...</div>
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but it was like a tiny little magnet was tucked into my soul...and the pull was the shadow of the moon.</div>
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I knew it was a must.</div>
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I've gotten good at listening to this inner whisper of mine...and it doesn't disappoint.</div>
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It always leads me to some moment that was exactly what my heart needed.</div>
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Turns out today, my heart needed totality.</div>
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Totality.</div>
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Every last drop.</div>
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ALL of it.</div>
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Yes, that's exactly what my heart needed.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I found a nursery and wedding venue that was mostly a lovingly tended herb garden that was willing to open their place to people to camp there.</div>
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It was called Thyme Garden.</div>
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The universe had fun with words today, trust me.</div>
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In rural Oregon...in the coastal mountain range, is a little spot called Alsea.</div>
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Located in a valley is the Thyme Garden.</div>
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I had no recommendations from Trip Advisor...no good friend who pointed the way...just an email that was delightful and inviting and open hearted...</div>
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my kind of people.</div>
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The Thyme Garden...is a gift of time...and beauty...and color...and grace.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5uD31_nccVeHOElOd6sdAM6p6qL4cSdR-zulLTBrKVDDGaGpx55-41REa8eZlD947h4Ya4NvyB4sw_PxGjzj-NHGStt0nwzgv0IZIM5eIgpYTbSI4l0kBn11214xzMlsOAhnaD9WHSJY/s1600/IMG_8841+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5uD31_nccVeHOElOd6sdAM6p6qL4cSdR-zulLTBrKVDDGaGpx55-41REa8eZlD947h4Ya4NvyB4sw_PxGjzj-NHGStt0nwzgv0IZIM5eIgpYTbSI4l0kBn11214xzMlsOAhnaD9WHSJY/s640/IMG_8841+4.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I made my deposit and five of us made our way up to watch the solar eclipse in their garden.</div>
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As we were driving, we left our comfort of continuous cell service...</div>
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instant information...24 hour shopping.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW27Nfn61iU2vorwIGTe_grykO4UC1g0do1AhKPeNw2lLBS4AwZCx4yamsgQKsJd8NkXqqHJwaG-wcX_X9-uL57zzLHik4fcfmm4_ylVhgEct_7MjhpjkF7k3nEGRIujWlZNEAKx0ePWTr/s1600/IMG_8845+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1419" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW27Nfn61iU2vorwIGTe_grykO4UC1g0do1AhKPeNw2lLBS4AwZCx4yamsgQKsJd8NkXqqHJwaG-wcX_X9-uL57zzLHik4fcfmm4_ylVhgEct_7MjhpjkF7k3nEGRIujWlZNEAKx0ePWTr/s640/IMG_8845+4.JPG" width="566" /></a></div>
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We left behind a bustling, busy life and plopped into a garden that was off the grid.</div>
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With people who string white fairy lights into trees and on tables...who decorate with flowers...and cook with herbs...people who love the land they live on and who want nothing more than to share it with others.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_q5J7W9v8xARsFhE1lZ-kxUHAGHPc55tFdJYdk0xfgJoC4WNAaXFtkrJFhKKYpkhN8cmR2BLSsiZpXyEi96OGrohtSvTGsU52mYHb571GtOqkfws0jgbmv0BPyBlvfWdGYZrKTccaZ4j/s1600/IMG_8850+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_q5J7W9v8xARsFhE1lZ-kxUHAGHPc55tFdJYdk0xfgJoC4WNAaXFtkrJFhKKYpkhN8cmR2BLSsiZpXyEi96OGrohtSvTGsU52mYHb571GtOqkfws0jgbmv0BPyBlvfWdGYZrKTccaZ4j/s640/IMG_8850+4.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This open hearted warmth...seems like some sort of illusion, but it is the farthest thing from it.</div>
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In fact, for those twenty four hours, it felt exactly the way we are all supposed to live.</div>
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Authentic.</div>
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Caring.</div>
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Loving.</div>
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Real.</div>
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Rolfe, the visionary behind the Thyme Garden, enthusiastically shared the story of his place and the people behind it. He proudly offered up the home-cooked food that was at once the comfort of home and taste of the exotic...it was totality...</div>
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earth's bounty lovingly provided...</div>
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in just the right moment.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GsAt3zApG4iWP50CK-5cwdgaPlBNrMpXI1FlCJHbindgiRZc3phnyOoG9LmsGigFMjEmAEbAV3uJvE6G-MgxwFZreNEG5xGK6yl9GpLcZy4fkKTfe-XuwWv7ucSD3FIOuHr0WkyGk_Z8/s1600/Menu+for+Totality.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GsAt3zApG4iWP50CK-5cwdgaPlBNrMpXI1FlCJHbindgiRZc3phnyOoG9LmsGigFMjEmAEbAV3uJvE6G-MgxwFZreNEG5xGK6yl9GpLcZy4fkKTfe-XuwWv7ucSD3FIOuHr0WkyGk_Z8/s640/Menu+for+Totality.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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About 60 people showed up at the Thyme Garden.</div>
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Families, some with babies, other who were single, young couples and old couples...able bodied and others who needed support...it didn't matter...</div>
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it was totality.</div>
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Rolfe, after the litany of delicious treats paused and talked for a moment about the eclipse and the plans around it...and then he looked up and said,</div>
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"It's kind of amazing that we are all here for just 57 seconds of totality...</div>
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the moon perfectly covering the sun...</div>
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a shadow for such a short time...</div>
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but I think it's really great."</div>
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We all nodded...</div>
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it was already pretty great...</div>
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a simple shangri-la that reminded us all of the important things:</div>
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the gifts of family, friendship, beauty, harmony with nature, and always the food.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The morning dawned blue and still...</div>
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a moment in time that was sparkling with expectation.</div>
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We all ventured out from our tents with dew on our shoes and huddled together with coffee and the famous local cinnamon rolls.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0thfEJ6JvQLgcy8iH0Lxe1Aq4CLOZ3fumVAUGyeeasoHUjeNqfGX5FfOON8qUDrS6l84aHIwo2TOvxwgR5mWpf_g56RjcVd1r3X8oCXl5Fs1u53USwuKyI-049FAR-cWCJuuzou1woxF/s1600/Eclipse+2017+-+Jack+and+Patrick+with+Coffee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0thfEJ6JvQLgcy8iH0Lxe1Aq4CLOZ3fumVAUGyeeasoHUjeNqfGX5FfOON8qUDrS6l84aHIwo2TOvxwgR5mWpf_g56RjcVd1r3X8oCXl5Fs1u53USwuKyI-049FAR-cWCJuuzou1woxF/s640/Eclipse+2017+-+Jack+and+Patrick+with+Coffee.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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After our coffee and cinnamon roll, we got ready for nature's show...we joked about our worries about missing it...how much of a deal could it really be...<br />
were we crazy for driving all this way for 57 seconds?<br />
<br />
Short answer: no.<br />
<br />
Totality is exactly what it says.<br />
100% of the sun is covered by the moon...<br />
miraculously, the sun is 400 times bigger than our moon AND the sun just happens to be 400 times the distance from the moon...they perfectly align when the tilt of the moon is just so...and a million incredible configurations work like cogs in a clock to create the perception of the moon slowly, slowly moving across the surface of the sun to slide in place and cover it...totally.<br />
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In those final seconds before it is covered up, the earth is an unusual bluish hue, it's colder - enough to see the frost of your breath in August - and it looks like the sun is putting up a fight...it keeps shining a bright red thin thread until it finally lets go...<br />
into totality.<br />
<br />
When that happened...the campers around us cheered.<br />
We joined in.<br />
It was joyous in a mesmerizing way...and then for 57 seconds we could see the corona...<br />
the atmosphere of the sun that is hidden from us earthly mortals every other moment.<br />
<br />
For 57 seconds we sat in marvel...awe...wonder...stunned by the beauty and the cosmic perfection of this moment...I found myself crying...looking at my family in their bluish tint...wanting to crystallize the fleeting...and knowing I never could.<br />
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The closest thing to understand the ethereal beauty of the moon's shadow is trying to describe a rainbow...almost everyone has seen one...and we know that photos rarely capture the truth of something as magical as a rainbow but still we try...<br />
<br />
there was no capturing the corona...<br />
words certainly can't contain it...<br />
my mind's eye holds it clearly and that's why I'm writing so carefully now...<br />
<br />
somehow I want to remember the gift of knowing that for 57 seconds it all made sense...<br />
what mattered was that perfect moment,<br />
shared with people you love...<br />
and the rest of the world who took the time to step into the shadow as well.<br />
<br />
Totality makes sense in a deep, soulful way.<br />
We are all connected in such a beautiful, sacred, holy way...and with totality, you catch that glimpse.<br />
<br />
For tonight, I am grateful for that whisper that told me to go...<br />
for the joyous, gracious hospitality of the Thyme Garden...<br />
and for the celestial magic that is totality.</div>
bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-27079632591613775082017-06-09T00:58:00.000-07:002017-06-09T00:58:18.457-07:00The Guy on the Street<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MvJWwSaXAdHGjX1LL_SWom8KshfVfew6wHNxOrHRUdYUpkiE9cwAgKq1Q_yUVi0qTT1LwkWoyUZx8fQUtjA62KaGbbx6gZXuJqpHDg9CLmUwCAQla6yhCCeydTNotrfOXj-Rnc7M1msJ/s1600/c4f4c40dfefa7d0c190f3c741b717bb6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MvJWwSaXAdHGjX1LL_SWom8KshfVfew6wHNxOrHRUdYUpkiE9cwAgKq1Q_yUVi0qTT1LwkWoyUZx8fQUtjA62KaGbbx6gZXuJqpHDg9CLmUwCAQla6yhCCeydTNotrfOXj-Rnc7M1msJ/s640/c4f4c40dfefa7d0c190f3c741b717bb6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yesterday was a busy day...</div>
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for those of you who are moms, you know what the end of the school year is like.</div>
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If you're a teacher, too, well then, these days of May and early June feel like the end of a </div>
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Fourth of July show.</div>
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One after another, bigger and brighter, blasting higher and louder, the days pass by...building and building to the crazy feeling of "OK, that's enough now."</div>
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"When will it stop?"</div>
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And suddenly it does...life gets quiet.</div>
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Lunches aren't being made.</div>
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Homework isn't being discussed.</div>
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Obligations melt away.</div>
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Beautiful summer.</div>
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Today, was the last day of high school for Patrick and I volunteered to organize and put on the </div>
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Senior Lunch.</div>
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I had done it last year and enjoyed seeing these smart, thoughtful teens/adults on the verge of life.</div>
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I loved the buzz of both nostalgia and excitement.</div>
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So, I ordered the deli sandwiches, filled up the cooler with ice, gather the cookies and grapes and chips and some minimal decorations and got ready.</div>
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It was raining in the morning...the scent was lovely...but the vibe was not picnicky.</div>
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Oh well.</div>
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The message from the school: the picnic must go on.</div>
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Rain or shine.</div>
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So, I do what I'm super good at...</div>
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Long ago, someone gave me this tip and it has really helped:</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Act as if, then you will be.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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For a new teacher, a new mommy, just whenever you have no clue...</div>
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act as if you do.</div>
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Soon enough, you will morph into that thing you were hoping to be.</div>
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Ready. Go.</div>
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Last Day of School Picnic is ON.</div>
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The deli sandwiches were piled high.</div>
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The grapes, washed and ready.</div>
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Chips galore.</div>
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Water bottles + grad balloons + random frisbee = legit picnic.</div>
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The lunch goes easily and the grateful teens eat their fill and depart </div>
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to practice for the graduation ceremony.</div>
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What was left was plenty of leftover picnic.</div>
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I stared at it and was struck by the gift of food.</div>
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The gift of community...</div>
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and belonging.</div>
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The land of plenty.</div>
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So obvious...and so much left over.</div>
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I consoled myself with the leftovers thinking I could bring it back to school and the teachers could use it the next day when everyone would be in the post-graduation slump.</div>
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Packed up the van and headed out.</div>
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I wanted to stop at Starbucks on my way to the high school to get some gift cards.</div>
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I walked down the street...rushing because of the left overs...needing to get going...when I hear a request coming near my feet.</div>
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I look down and there is a man in his 20's or 30's...</div>
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dirty, big bushy hair, slumped shoulders.</div>
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Looking up.</div>
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<b>He asks, "Do you think you could buy me a lunch?"</b></div>
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[I'd like to stop right here and say that never has someone asked me that. They've asked if I had any extra money...or if I could help them out. But, never has someone asked for a lunch.]</div>
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<br /></div>
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Those syllables and sounds of one human to another instead of irritating me, work their way through my ear, pierce my heart and into a brain that stops my forward movement and shakes me awake.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>This guy needs a lunch??</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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In that movie, Inside Out, I imagine my emotions discussing in real time my situation...it is a split second mash up of Disgust, trying to shout down Joy...Sadness wrestling with Anger...and an </div>
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Emergency Fire Alarm going off in there.</div>
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WOOOO OOOOO WOOOO OOOOO</div>
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I am frozen and I smile so big.</div>
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<b>"You need a lunch? Really?"</b></div>
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I look him in the eyes and smile and keep smiling.</div>
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I tell him that he is not going to believe this but I just finished up providing a lunch to a bunch of graduating seniors and I have plenty of lunch just for him.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I ask him to walk just a few cars down the street and I open the door to my van and show him a platter of sandwiches just waiting for him...and then he shyly says,</div>
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<b>"I have some friends."</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>"You do??"</b></div>
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"Would they want some lunch too?"</div>
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He nods...</div>
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and I hand him the whole platter.</div>
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I put a bunch of grapes in a bag...some chips and ice cold waters...</div>
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and he just can't believe it.</div>
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Neither can I.</div>
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Or maybe I can.</div>
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It feels so right.</div>
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So cosmically perfect that I take a deep breath as I watch him walk away.</div>
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Then I spy the cookies - hidden beneath some towels.</div>
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He needs some cookies doesn't he?</div>
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I quick close up my van and begin jogging toward the guy holding a platter shuffling down the street like a waiter who's been ambushed...big bushy hair, dirty jacket, untied shoes.</div>
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I catch up to him with my cookies and it's my turn to be shy.</div>
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<b>"Would you want some cookies?"</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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His hands, already too full, magically maneuver different items to create a spot just for cookies.</div>
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It was then that I ask him his name.</div>
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He smiles, "Ben." </div>
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He offers it like the gift it is.</div>
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He smiles again when I tell him my name and for a moment life makes sense.</div>
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The weird obstacle course of my days somehow feels in perfect alignment.</div>
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How stunning to have too much food.</div>
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How understandable to have too little.</div>
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How blessed to cross paths in just that moment.</div>
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Unloading the food and filling up my heart...</div>
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it wasn't really a fair swap.</div>
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But the grace goes both ways.</div>
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Today, I'm grateful to bushy-haired Ben...who went from stranger to secret friend </div>
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in less than five minutes.</div>
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Grateful for too much food that found its way into the hands of people who have far too little.</div>
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Grateful for the hopeful whisper that started it all.</div>
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Grateful for the heart that could hear it.</div>
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Think I'll sign up to do that Senior Lunch next year.</div>
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Maybe I'll meet Ben again.</div>
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Until then, happy summer.</div>
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Cue the fireworks.</div>
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<br />bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-18853779257206289732017-04-06T23:45:00.000-07:002017-04-06T23:45:10.552-07:00Down The Rabbit Hole of Gratitude<div style="text-align: center;">
Our world is messed up.</div>
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Seriously messed up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We have a president that openly lies...few call him on it.</div>
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So truth becomes "fake news".</div>
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Down is up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Refugees are shut out.</div>
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Immigrants pushed to the shadows.<br />
<br /></div>
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Public schools are on notice...maybe they don't need the money that they have...maybe they can donate to a private school in the name of "choice"...another false narrative.</div>
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There's no choice when they won't let you in...</div>
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except for maybe Historically Black Colleges - touted as the originators of choice by the woman running the Department of Education - who never worked in a public school.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The Environmental Protection Agency...maybe that should be optional.</div>
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Maybe not everybody is equal.</div>
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Freedom is negotiable...show your documents as you exit your domestic flight.<br />
<br />
Let's watch Republicans change 230 years of precedent when it comes to the Supreme Court...<br />
like Veruca Salt, THEY WANT IT NOW, DADDY!<br />
<br /></div>
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Those Trump-Russia ties are only in your imagination.</div>
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Along with climate change.</div>
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<br />
And what about the immigrants...taken from schools and courthouses, placed in detention centers...<br />
where and for how long?<br />
No one can answer.<br />
No one knows.<br />
<br />
It is disgraceful.<br />
<br /></div>
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As you can see...the world is upside down.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Deep breathing, long walks, fervent prayers aside what is a person to do?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Since books are my happy place, I hunkered down into The Book of Joy - a conversation between the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It became the salve of my heart.</div>
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My haven.</div>
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Something I carried with me wherever I went.<br />
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<br />
I've lived a grateful focused life since I began the practice of writing down<br />
<a href="https://grace-in-the-ordinary.blogspot.com/2012/11/my-secret.html?m=0"><span style="color: blue;">5 things as a project for Lent</span></a>...in 2003.<br />
<br />
I have many many journals filled with those moments of gratitude.<br />
<br />
It's a part of the way I see the world now.<br />
Embedded into almost every interaction with others, every small moment with my kids, every ordinary chore like washing dishes or even washing my hands.<br />
<br />
I think...hot water, soap, the ability to squish my hands together under the running water, the gift of clean hands to prepare a meal...and away I go. Finished with my chore and filled up with gratitude.<br />
<br />
It's a life changing vantage point.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
So, reading The Book of Joy, I nodded knowingly when both the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu kept circling back to the importance of gratitude.<br />
<br />
I got this.<br />
This is something I am good at...<br />
Gratefulness 101 = A+<br />
<br />
Only those two don't teach the beginner course on gratitude...they move it deeper...they nudge you further down the road.<br />
<br />
You can get your PhD in it if you hang out with those guys long enough.<br />
<br />
Like anyone really great in their field, both of these men offer their wisdom freely.<br />
They share.<br />
They work to get the word out.<br />
<br />
No price of admission.<br />
<br />
If you read The Book of Joy to the end, you will get to their "Joy Practices".<br />
<br />
<b>Mental Immunity</b><br />
<b>Morning Intention Setting</b><br />
<b>Overcoming Obstacles to Joy</b><br />
<b>Cultivating the Eight Pillars of joy</b><br />
<b>Rejoicing in your Day</b><br />
<b>Relationship and Community - The Greatest Joy</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It was here where I tumbled down the Rabbit Hole of Gratitude.<br />
<br />
Under Humility - A Lojong Practice - I found what my heart needed that day...<br />
and it has helped in this upside down world every day since.<br />
<br />
The book asks you to:<br /><b>"Reflect on all the people who are responsible for your life."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
At first, I was simplistic...thought of my mom and dad and moved on...<br />
to this:<br />
<br />
<i>"Think of your parents who gave you life, your teachers who taught you, the people who grew your food and who made your clothes, the countless others who are responsible for your having the life that you have each and every day. Now think of all those who discovered and created all of the things we take for granted, the housing, the crops, and the medicines that keep you alive. </i><br />
<i>Think of all the ancestors, who had to live and survive, so that you could be born, who braved enormous hardship so that you could have the life that you do. </i><br />
<i>Now think of the family and friends who give your life meaning."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
That one paragraph stopped me cold.<br />
<br />
In all of the years that I have been keeping a Grateful Journal, did I ever stop and thank the people who came before me?<br />
Or the inventors, the designers, the researchers, the creative artists who have influenced my life?<br />
<br />
Not really.<br />
<br />
If you stop and try to thank all of these people it can be a rabbit hole of amazing.<br />
<br />
It goes like this...step into a public restroom.<br />
<br />
Consider:<br />
Who came up with the idea and effort and work to place this restroom here?<br />
Who actually dug the pipes?<br />
Who invented the pipes?<br />Who mined the copper?<br />
Where did that come from?<br />
Who designed and created the place that collects the water that flows through these pipes?<br />
Who designed the tile on the floor?<br />
Who made the tile?<br />Shipped it?<br />
Laid it?<br />
Who designed the sink?<br />
The faucet?<br />The paper towel dispenser?<br />
The toilet paper??<br />(thank you!)<br />
The blow dryer hand dryer?<br />
The soap?<br />
Who created the first window?<br />
What about the lights?<br />
The actual structure of the building?<br />
Who were the people who worked on my behalf to build it?<br />
Who funded it?<br />Was it a city?<br />Who founded the city?<br />
<br />
On and on it goes...<br />
<br />
Literally, you can get lost in the gratefulness.<br />
<br />
This "humility" as the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu describe it is mind blowing.<br />
<br />
In those moments of consideration,<br />
you see the interconnectedness of our world...<br />
you see the beauty of hard work, creativity, persistence, boldness,<br />
ordinary mankind finding a way to make things better.<br />
<br />
If you have gotten down in the rabbit hole with me,<br />
you can imagine what it feels like when you enter a grocery store.<br />
Lately, tears have sprung to my eyes as I stop to look at the produce and consider the many hundreds or thousands of people who have been working so hard on farms, in food production, in food companies, in advertising and grocery stores just to bring me this food.<br />
<br />
How about a coffee store?<br />
A library?<br />
A road?<br />
A sidewalk?<br />A park?<br />
A building?<br />
A garden?<br />
<br />
Trying to come up out of the rabbit hole...and into daily life gets harder and harder.<br />
It's like Alice says when looking through the looking glass:<br />
<br />"Well, now that we have seen each other," said the unicorn,<br />
"if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you."<br />
-- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, And What Alice Found There<br />
<br />
I've seen a unicorn.<br />
<br />
Or have I?<br />
<br />
Like Einstein notices...each of us gets to choose:<br />
either everything is a miracle or nothing is.<br />
<br />
Today, I choose miracle.<br />
Ordinary miracle.<br />
Ordinary holiness.<br />
<br />
So many gifts freely available down that rabbit hole.<br />
Try it.<br />
Let me know what you see.<br />
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-66585759494823633682017-02-09T09:14:00.002-08:002017-02-09T09:14:46.877-08:00Grace Bats Last<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZjT5sdtlsSyzzg52nmFMcitfHWh6g41-VOY4aW7Lvo_NjdPDIJcsmIdzRcZZasvAqE76BxfVugbWqas9aeXrsqavLotj-oy1F3smbhQBbwDU70EocKSz0O_KZDhr3y0WLcipD3qVJR3e/s1600/Grace-always-bats-last-it-just-does-and-finally-w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZjT5sdtlsSyzzg52nmFMcitfHWh6g41-VOY4aW7Lvo_NjdPDIJcsmIdzRcZZasvAqE76BxfVugbWqas9aeXrsqavLotj-oy1F3smbhQBbwDU70EocKSz0O_KZDhr3y0WLcipD3qVJR3e/s640/Grace-always-bats-last-it-just-does-and-finally-w.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I didn't mean to do it.</div>
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I was rushing - trying to get my kids to school - calculating the opportunity cost of three minutes , maybe it would be two, of putting on my shoes.</div>
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No time.</div>
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I couldn't afford another tardy.</div>
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I broke my ankle last August and the sheer obstacle course of living my life without bearing weight on one of my legs for eight weeks made for quite a few tardies in my son's life.</div>
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So, on this rainy day, I walked barefoot to my car.</div>
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Dropped the kids off successfully.</div>
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Went to get out of my car and my feet landed in a very small puddle.</div>
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It was a foot baptism.</div>
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It brought me to the moment.</div>
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Took me out of my to-do list...</div>
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my oh-my-gosh-our-world-has-gone-nuts list...</div>
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my distracted movement through my days...</div>
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to a tiny puddle.</div>
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It felt so good that a thought popped into my mind:</div>
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take Buddy for a walk, barefoot.</div>
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I did just that.</div>
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Giggling at the craziness.</div>
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Enjoying the light-heartedness.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Relishing my ankle's new found strength...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I baptized myself.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was just what my heart needed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I want you know something very important:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>YOU and YOU alone know your path to healing.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Even if its weird, or makes no sense, or seems impossible like walking the Pacific Crest Trail did for <a href="http://www.cherylstrayed.com/"><span style="color: blue;">Cheryl Strayed</span></a>, you know it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So I walked and felt the bumpy earth, the soft grass, the twigs and leaves still left on the ground.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I walked and thought of all the many people who can't walk, who are in a hospital fighting for their life, in a prison locked away, in a grief stupor too deep to feel anything...and felt the breath of grace.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As I walked, I reminded myself of my warm shower, my cozy clothes, my very happy stripe-y umbrella and again thought of the blessings I often do not notice.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkvX1hzMWmAgJ9WpoSUmlvX2MzI3GKp-HOqI4-mXBZR9eRIHScxivUS9wtfZ8LmwpnrBwSZ5Ong-jJzmVKzVv5Zz4vZglTxAcxmkXxkHjZvJmLIvnwGYvjUZYsY5YfxxpOvF31X7X2tVr/s1600/IMG_5747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkvX1hzMWmAgJ9WpoSUmlvX2MzI3GKp-HOqI4-mXBZR9eRIHScxivUS9wtfZ8LmwpnrBwSZ5Ong-jJzmVKzVv5Zz4vZglTxAcxmkXxkHjZvJmLIvnwGYvjUZYsY5YfxxpOvF31X7X2tVr/s640/IMG_5747.JPG" width="512" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This past week-end, dear friends of mine celebrated their eight day old son's Bris.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They called it Superbowl Bris Day.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What's a Bris?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It is a celebration of life - an ancient faith-filled tradition for people of the Jewish faith.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
At the Bris, the family reveals the Hebrew name they have given their son.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Etan's Hebrew name is Elie Shimon.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He is named after two incredible heroes of the Jewish faith that passed away while his mother was pregnant with him.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.eliewieselfoundation.org/eliewiesel.aspx"><span style="color: blue;">Elie Wiesel</span></a> and <a href="http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/shimon-peres"><span style="color: blue;">Shimon Peres</span></a>...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
one a Nobel prize winning author and Holocaust survivor, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the other an Israeli politician that was both the President and the Prime Minister...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and peace-maker.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Watching Etan's family welcome him in such a mindful, intentional way was humbling and healing.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Having the opportunity to read these words at his Bris is a gift I hold very close to my heart:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"You are your parents' dream realized, their hopes fulfilled.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You are the latest and best chapter in the unfolding lives of your family.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You are a bridge over which we, who welcome you, can gaze from this day into future days, </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>from our generation into yours.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You are the newest link in the endless chain of our shared history."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Etan's parents shared a powerful quote of Elie Wiesel's:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Mankind must remember that peace is not God's gift to us,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
peace is our gift that we give to each other."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Peace.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Like the rain, at some moments it is ever-present and at other times it can feel far off.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It is within our grasp.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We must only stop and stare with wonder and joy at the gifts showered upon us every single day.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, for today...I'm grateful for the rain.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For my dog.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For being able to be barefoot and steady...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for friendship and faith...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
blessings and grace.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mostly, I'm grateful for love.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It is sovereign here.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-79927847936592641912017-01-27T17:47:00.000-08:002017-01-27T17:47:54.076-08:00Dear Old World...<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-TNKlv1stE_QWIbPtW7XoIJ2KrbzvS-Iciqj33TD6e4CBQxEz-XAgX2jtD8AkFMy1gv2YhV_6ea0JSYj3MOnDSjLqIWUOEqgwjgYRoSPSgGC7Re-oxIsd-PaPgcoxhi9BXBZeNwu4lwO/s1600/dear-old-world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-TNKlv1stE_QWIbPtW7XoIJ2KrbzvS-Iciqj33TD6e4CBQxEz-XAgX2jtD8AkFMy1gv2YhV_6ea0JSYj3MOnDSjLqIWUOEqgwjgYRoSPSgGC7Re-oxIsd-PaPgcoxhi9BXBZeNwu4lwO/s640/dear-old-world.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Dear Old World,</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You're such a contradiction...roses, tea time, hot water, friendship, kindness, love...</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lies, undrinkable water, rubber bullets, tyranny, corruption, disregard...</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How can it be reconciled?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What does a person do?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Read.<br />
Read.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Read.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just a couple of weeks ago, my 24 year old son was lamenting our world and then asked,<br />
"I need to find some uplifting fiction."</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Since we were talking on the phone, I just decided to Google it right then and there...</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the number one book on the list:</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Anne of Green Gables.</b></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I laughed out loud.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd been reading this book every night for a few months with my younger daughter, 10 year old Caroline...and, indeed, I found it to be my very favorite part of my day.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was a respite.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A haven.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sweet Anne just melted my heart every time.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
First off, you need to know that Anne is an orphan who lands at a house in the darling town of Avonlea on Prince Edward Island as a mistake. An adult brother and sister who live on a farm and are both unmarried had put in that they wanted a young orphan boy to help with chores on the farm...</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But when Matthew comes to the train station to pick up the orphan boy he is surprised to find a little girl of about eleven years old.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Matthew is shocked to find this young girl...and shocked more when the train official says, "I asked her to go into the ladies' waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she preferred to stay outside. "There was more scope for imagination," she said."</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Right there on p. 15 we meet Anne and we find out an important clue into her heart.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Imagination matters.</b></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It had been a long time since my imagination was summoned, but Anne called to it like some sort of Emergency Broadcast System and it found its way back home.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Turns out that Anne's imagination was her defense against a difficult world. </div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When Matthew meets Anne she immediately showers him with all of her thoughts.<br />
She shares her plans if he had not come, she shares about her carpet bag and she shares this tidbit:</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Oh it seems so wonderful that I am going to live with you and belong to you.<br />
I've never belonged to anybody - not really."</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That sentence caught in my throat as I said it out loud.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Belonging.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have had the privilege of belonging for my entire life.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So many many children ache for it.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm crushed to consider Anne's plight...even if for a moment.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Anne is so full of life and light that her conversation with Matthew is a comfort to all of us. She points out the beauty of cherry blossoms. The fun of not knowing and asking questions, the joy of having a companion to notice things with...she continues:<br />
<b>"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? </b><br />
<b>It just makes me feel glad to be alive - it's such an interesting world."</b><br />
<br />
She is on the look out for kindred spirits...and she finds them, plenty of them, in some of the most unlikely people, including a crotchety old woman and darling, shy Matthew.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHO9rfbdDAczmYWCJl_gBcSx8OfH3g-cLxUGpXKX_XVSiMgG7n3gRbzomwkMG9TJ-Z0GRWMmArjhox5C20E9D5yCTFM8HHpc8iHcKyojU5e9VP5PHikwyo_w8rr0J9DpjFTudViXpbj9d4/s1600/kindred+spirits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHO9rfbdDAczmYWCJl_gBcSx8OfH3g-cLxUGpXKX_XVSiMgG7n3gRbzomwkMG9TJ-Z0GRWMmArjhox5C20E9D5yCTFM8HHpc8iHcKyojU5e9VP5PHikwyo_w8rr0J9DpjFTudViXpbj9d4/s640/kindred+spirits.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always be on the look out for a kindred spirit...they are all around. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Anne makes plenty of mistakes...<br />
which lead to this gem:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
She is stubborn, super smart, over dramatic and hilarious.<br />
<br />
She's reflective, which in turn helped Caroline and me to consider things...like this:<br />
"What a splendid day! said Anne drawing a long breath, "I pity the people who aren't born yet for missing it.<br />
They may have good days, of course, but they can never have this one."<br />
<br />
Never have I pitied those who haven't been born for the loss they have endured for not living my wonderful day...but after that, I started to consider what amazing days came before my life and how much I may have missed...more than that, I stopped to gratefully cherish this day right now...<br />
it will never come again...<br />
those babies are missing it...<br />
and it's pretty incredible.<br />
<br />
But, it was the very last chapter, The Bend in the Road, that sealed my Anne Adoration.<br />
<br />
Anne has won a scholarship to college. This is a very prestigious prize since at the time very few women go to college.<br />
But, as life does, hard things happened.<br />
Precious Matthew, her biggest fan and best encourager, passes away in a shocking way.<br />
Marilla, Anne's adoptive mother and Matthew's sister, is ailing and looks to be unable to care for Green Gables. Marilla, seeing no other solution, puts Green Gables up for sale.<br />
<br />
Anne will have none of that.<br />
<br />
She changes her plans and works to find a way to work as a teacher nearby.<br />
She will stay at Green Gables with Marilla.<br />
<br />
"<b>I shall give my life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return.</b><br />
When I left Queen's my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road.<br />
I thought I could see along it for many a milestone.<br />
Now there's a bend in it.<br />
I don't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the best does.<br />
It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla.<br />
I wonder how the road beyond it goes - what there is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows - what new landscapes - what new beauties - what curves and hills and valleys farther on...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
...Anne's horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there after coming home from Queen's but if the path set before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would blossom along it. The joys of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams."<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjdntJutKsgwSE8kWbqBrPTlRt0MUDXCLpwGaZYUWfyRwbgD2fcp1Lnuhc7yKAMN6XWkh86zrskfirFHUzpeI5-E3NQsG1kdOPkjSc7-Y-dEUZWEom6mMqXbC3RN1Ro94pMhsF1ub1gOy/s1600/c1d561b4c4012062877940ecc202151e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjdntJutKsgwSE8kWbqBrPTlRt0MUDXCLpwGaZYUWfyRwbgD2fcp1Lnuhc7yKAMN6XWkh86zrskfirFHUzpeI5-E3NQsG1kdOPkjSc7-Y-dEUZWEom6mMqXbC3RN1Ro94pMhsF1ub1gOy/s640/c1d561b4c4012062877940ecc202151e.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Anne's ability to handle the bend in the road with her one-of-a-kind grace and graciousness were just the lift up my heart needed.<br />
<br />
Watching her think through the options and adjust so nimbly was a great reminder.<br />
We are capable of so much goodness.<br />
So much kindness.<br />
So much belonging.<br />
<br />
So...in this world where so much difficulty lies, what books have soothed your soul?<br />
Spoken to your spirit?<br />
Nourished the aching parts?<br />
<br />
<br />
For Caroline and me, it's been sweet Anne.<br />
With an "e".<br />
<br />
Enjoying the pearls in our days.<br />
How about you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-41519146108260762632017-01-05T23:32:00.000-08:002017-01-05T23:32:01.422-08:00My One Word for 2017...What's Yours?<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span id="goog_644082973"></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Happy New Year!</span></b><br />
<br />
It's 2017...which makes Y2K look kind of cute.<br />
Remember all that craziness?<br />
For those of you too young to remember, our computers weren't going to be able to handle moving from 1999 to 2000...we needed Y2K kits and preparation.<br />
Not.<br />
<br />
Now, 17 years later, we have different craziness.<br />
Other worries.<br />
<br />
And a brand new deck of 365 beautiful days.<br />
Aren't we lucky?<br />
<br />
Stop.<br />
Right this minute, think of the many people who wish for just one more day...<br />
and you have a red carpet of days rolled out just for you.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
There's this thing going around Twitter asking you to choose a word for the New Year.<br />
#One Word2017<br />
<br />
This word is to serve as a guide, a motivator, a touchstone...a rudder for the year.<br />
<br />
As a lover of words...this is a nearly impossible task.<br />
Last year, I skipped the hype...too overwhelmed at the thought.<br />
<br />
But, this year, my word found me.<br />
<br />
Remember Naomi Shihab Nye?<br />
If not, read this blog post about this lovely soul right <a href="http://grace-in-the-ordinary.blogspot.com/2016/12/why-poets-should-negotiate-peace.html"><span style="color: blue;">here.</span></a><br />
<br />
In preparing to meet Naomi, I listened to a beautiful interview with her on a podcast called <a href="http://www.onbeing.org/program/naomi-shihab-nye-your-life-is-a-poem/8720"><span style="color: blue;">On Being</span></a>.<br />
In it, she reveals a beautiful interaction with a student.<br />
<br />
Naomi had traveled to Japan for a poetry-teaching trip.<br />
Before every class, on every chalkboard, she would write something on the board up in the corner:<br />
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<span style="color: #020202; font-family: "lora";"><span style="font-size: large;">“You are living in a poem.”</span></span></div>
<div>
She wrote this as a subliminal message.</div>
<div>
She wouldn't spend time discussing it...she had other more important things to share...</div>
<div>
like poems or poets or observations or ways to seamlessly include poetry in your life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But she wanted students to consider it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the On Being episode, Naomi thinks out loud:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"When you think, </div>
<div>
when you're in a very quiet place, </div>
<div>
when you're remembering,</div>
<div>
when you're savoring an image, </div>
<div>
when you're allowing your mind to calmly leap from one thought to another, </div>
<div>
that's a poem.</div>
<div>
That's what a poem does."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After her trip, Naomi received a letter from one of the students in Yokohama, Japan.</div>
<div>
Reflecting on Naomi's visit, the student gifts her with this observation:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Here in Japan, we have a concept called <b>Yutori</b>.</div>
<div>
<b>It is spaciousness.</b></div>
<div>
It's a kind of living with spaciousness.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For example, it is leaving early enough to get somewhere so that you know you are going to arrive early, so when you get there,</div>
<div>
you have time to look around...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...and after you read a poem, </div>
<div>
Yutori is...</div>
<div>
just knowing you can hold it,</div>
<div>
you can be in that space of the poem</div>
<div>
and it can hold you in that space...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
and you don't have to explain it,</div>
<div>
you don't have to paraphrase it,</div>
<div>
<b>you just hold it...</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b>...and it allows you to see differently."</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
And, BAM.</div>
<div>
In that minute, Yutori captured me.</div>
<div>
Hypnotized me.</div>
<div>
Like a song that gets stuck in your head, Yutori would not get out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe it's because my life is busy...</div>
<div>
and spaciousness doesn't seem like a very common part of my life.</div>
<div>
Maybe it's because I often feel distracted when I want to be present.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe it's the world I live in...</div>
<div>
constant constraints...</div>
<div>
a series of reasons why it can't be done...</div>
<div>
why it is impossible...</div>
<div>
always feeling like I am pushing against walls...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
the idea of spaciousness has stuck to my heart like a sticky leaf.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
*****</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of my favorite phrases for teachers </div>
<div>
and parents</div>
<div>
and mostly myself...<br />
is Emily Dickinson's:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUZ_FKwSljJIWrVj_W9zaMtXDYNudJ5zL_adtis3YFsh33_Jyq_Nx2H6bazIJ63AHqOpNLAjpbzmVZNFKgFJvdCSiHDl7LYACNHBXamf_Y-0hUgkJWMSjpD0ecwnbYFcruNUH1LIbvsfyR/s1600/11449-Emily-Dickinson-Quote-I-dwell-in-possibility.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUZ_FKwSljJIWrVj_W9zaMtXDYNudJ5zL_adtis3YFsh33_Jyq_Nx2H6bazIJ63AHqOpNLAjpbzmVZNFKgFJvdCSiHDl7LYACNHBXamf_Y-0hUgkJWMSjpD0ecwnbYFcruNUH1LIbvsfyR/s640/11449-Emily-Dickinson-Quote-I-dwell-in-possibility.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I LOVE to dwell in possibility.</div>
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Soak up possibility like it is a warm bath.</div>
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Anything is possible.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I believe it, completely.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So maybe Yutori is just a reflection of that.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Spaciousness makes room for possibility.</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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All I can tell you is that living with spaciousness, I feel different.</div>
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Open.</div>
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Ready.</div>
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Unhurried.</div>
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Willing to linger...</div>
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...and that is what I need in 2017.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My heart knows it intuitively.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, my gift to you is this precious word.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Yutori.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1CS9bKzpAEMRHT6s5fDnoiR8W3tq1bsB6tnE0LDhIjTI3JdjjGU9-3Q_PvVvTsIF6730jb8eY6_Y_-NSwBujAzhKlL21-okdlmiBGzaPUlCkN6koeEHnbAsGrqr7R5sSZ5lJEfhgldfo/s1600/C1NfosQWgAAkY1B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1CS9bKzpAEMRHT6s5fDnoiR8W3tq1bsB6tnE0LDhIjTI3JdjjGU9-3Q_PvVvTsIF6730jb8eY6_Y_-NSwBujAzhKlL21-okdlmiBGzaPUlCkN6koeEHnbAsGrqr7R5sSZ5lJEfhgldfo/s640/C1NfosQWgAAkY1B.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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I hope it offers you the comfort of enough...</div>
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more than enough.</div>
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The gift of feeling that anything is possible.</div>
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The treasure of a peaceful heart...</div>
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and a willing mind.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Roll it around in your head and let me know...</div>
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and if that's not the word for you...</div>
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test out a few others.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
Share with me the word that finds you.<br />
<br />
Until then, let your head find some open space and rest.<br />
Let your heart find comfort in plenty of room.<br />
Stretch out...<br />
you're wanted here.</div>
</div>
bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-25755826210802980062016-12-18T11:51:00.005-08:002016-12-18T12:06:33.271-08:00Why Poets Should Negotiate Peace Treaties or The Power of a Clump of Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5c8KUqVE6HoH18E9gCkHEneUYhBlOJeiRx_q7MlNfG5VAf-q-x9qQyY_c2I8pxSNWfhDGMqsWS3yIvqGeyOP97Qj63rzulCdxrsMmwYm91yCU_Npgo0_Q9MLD1OHR8pKoTpzPzelNyMG/s1600/we-start-out-as-little-bits-of-disconnected-dust-quote-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5c8KUqVE6HoH18E9gCkHEneUYhBlOJeiRx_q7MlNfG5VAf-q-x9qQyY_c2I8pxSNWfhDGMqsWS3yIvqGeyOP97Qj63rzulCdxrsMmwYm91yCU_Npgo0_Q9MLD1OHR8pKoTpzPzelNyMG/s640/we-start-out-as-little-bits-of-disconnected-dust-quote-1.jpg" width="496" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the fall after Patrick was diagnosed with leukemia - Fall 2002 - </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was making lunch for Patrick and listening to CNN.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I heard a lively anchor share a news story in an upbeat voice...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">she had something great to share...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and I needed great...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">so I listened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I paused my lunch making and listened:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"The latest research shows that if your child is in day care, </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">they have less chance of developing leukemia."</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Shit, really?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You mean, if Patrick had been in day care we could have avoided all this?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Really?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I rewound the past few years of Patrick's baby life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">His birth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">His instant diagnosis of Down Syndrome...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">not even a single day of life free from that label...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">another diagnosis that took only a few days of life: a heart defect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In need of open heart surgery at nine weeks old...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">coming home from the hospital and just wanting to love my baby...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and somehow, some way, tend to my other kids...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">day care was last on my list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now, just a mere two years later, the leukemia diagnosis and the Three Year Protocol - always sated with capital letters - and the big unknowns...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Life...what does it look like three years from now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Health? Is that possible three years from now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Family? What does that feel like three years after this?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Just hours after that CNN report, in the dark of night as I am not sleeping, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I watch Bill Moyers interview a poet, a Palestinian-American poet,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Naomi Shihab Nye</b>,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and I hear her voice read a poem...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">this poem...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and it changes my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On.The.Spot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm instantly different because of the words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I gift them to you, right here:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><a href="https://www.brainpickings.org/2016/11/10/naomi-shihab-nye-kindness/">Kindness</a></i></b></span></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Before you know what kindness really is</span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">you must lose things,</span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">feel the future dissolve in a moment</span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">like salt in a weakened broth.</span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">What you held in your hand,</span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">what you counted and carefully saved,</span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">all this must go so you know</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">how desolate the landscape can be</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">between the regions of kindness.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">How you ride and ride</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">thinking the bus will never stop,</span></b></i></div>
<div style="color: #1a1a1a; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">the passengers eating maize and chicken</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">will stare out the window forever.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">lies dead by the side of the road.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You must see how this could be you,</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">how he too was someone</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">who journeyed through the night with plans</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and the simple breath that kept him alive.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You must wake up with sorrow.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You must speak to it till your voice</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">catches the thread of all sorrows</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and you see the size of the cloth.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">only kindness that ties your shoes</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">only kindness that raises its head</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">from the crowd of the world to say</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It is I you have been looking for,</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and then goes with you everywhere</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">like a shadow or a friend.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">*****</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Those words made everything in my world make sense.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I clung to them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sorrow became a tattoo that I could locate on others...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">which allowed me to locate the kindness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I wish I could convey the depth of those words in the engraving on my heart...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">...but as life likes to do,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I moved on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Patrick survived - truthfully, thrived - through the Three Year Protocol.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I stumbled and bumbled through it...with plenty of bad attitude and crushing worry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2005 happened and our family cheered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We snuck away from blood counts and chemo...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">we hid from conversations about blood cancer...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and we got away with it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">No one came looking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2006 arrived and brought its amazing grace, sweet baby Caroline, and life got busy...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">with the regular things...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">school lunches, soccer practice, homework...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Naomi's poem hibernated within my heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2016 arrived with election insanity...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">meanness as an accepted way to live in our world...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">shutting our collective eyes to refugees...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">so, so, so, so many of them...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">plugging our ears to the din of the poor, the overlooked, the desperately lonely...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and along comes Naomi Shihab Nye - chosen as the UC Davis School of Education's </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Author in Residence and Words Take Wing Author.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Something within me, sleepy from slumber, awakened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">What?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She will be here...in my orbit...how?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I couldn't fathom the good fortune.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Couldn't take it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kept shoving it down...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and then it happened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">December 13th, 2016 Naomi Shihab Nye was hanging out in Davis and our worlds collided.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I first got to hear her speak to student teachers...a room full of worn out beginning teachers...so vulnerable and shy...about 40 of them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Do you know what she tells them?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">First thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know because I took copious notes the entire time she was around...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">like a stenographer on steroids...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">she said:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I congratulate you on your life choice to go into teaching and knowing that teaching is the center of where it happens."</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">*****</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You may not hang out with beginning teachers...or any teachers...but I want to stop here and point out how incredibly UNcommon this gift was that she gave the student teachers...why? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Well, virtually NO ONE congratulates someone on going into teaching.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">They get the constant refrain of one of these reactions:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A) Well, you get your summers off, that's awesome!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">B) Yeah, I thought of teaching too... (as if it is the best second place option around)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">C) Are you sure? You make so little money. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's hard work to become a teacher - really hard - and to be met with those three reactions wears even the most optimistic, badass beginning teacher down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, to have a world-renown, award-winning poet come in an begin with a congratulations...well, it was a gift. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A genuine gift. And we could all feel it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">*****</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She reads an excerpt from a book called, News of the World:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Maybe life is just carrying the news...surviving to carry the news...maybe we just have one message, it is delivered to us the day we are born..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And then she asks us to think about our message.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">What is it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She asks us to write it down.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And she says:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I'm not going to ask you to read this, it's just for you to hold.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She reminds the teachers that</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>"Creative writing needs to be an ongoing practice - not saved for the last weeks of May."</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[Beth, are you listening??]</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She makes writing accessible to each of us...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
shows the teachers how to help their students write with their hearts...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
makes it seem effortless...</div>
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like, of course, I could write a poem...</div>
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she shares the poems of 6 year olds and Palestinians...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
she reminds us that we are Living in a Poem...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and touches us with the beauty of a lemon, a walk with a friend, a note of hope.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Her gift is helping all of us see poetry.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Like hieroglyphics, we all think it's cool. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We feel a kinship.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We want to know what it means.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Naomi, shows us what poetry is...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and helps us to feel that it is essential.</div>
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Like oxygen.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After school, Naomi does another session for the Resident Teachers that host our student teachers.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Her energy is palpable.</div>
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Her reverence for the teachers is a gift she bestows on them...</div>
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like one of the Three Kings.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She's a bright light.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sunshine</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Starlight.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Spoiler alert: we shared starlight...big time.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She shows us our humanity and the thread that binds us.</div>
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Holds it up and then weaves it...</div>
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reminds us of our connection...</div>
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our beauty...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
our messages and stories that we each MUST share.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She reads us poem after poem - of other poets -</div>
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friends of hers, mentors.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She shares the story of Juan Felipe Herrera - our nation's current Poet Laureate - how when he was in school, he said no words out loud, tried to disappear -</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
embarrassed by his inability to speak English - he hid behind a bush and sang a song that his mother and grandmother sang to him during lunch...passing on the other side of the bush, Juan Felipe's 3rd grade teacher...she stopped to listen.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Juan Felipe tells the story that after lunch, his teacher asked him to come to the front of the classroom and sing. He was shocked! Afraid! Disoriented...but his teacher had asked and so he did.</div>
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The classmates applauded and the teacher said the words that changed his life.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Five words.</div>
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<b>"You have a beautiful voice."</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With that little bit of encouragement, Juan Felipe began raising his hand, began seeing himself as a student, began to believe in himself and share his voice.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sprinkling that story on the teachers, Naomi reminded them that they too,</div>
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have a beautiful voice...and beautiful profession...</div>
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a noble duty.</div>
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A sacred calling. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She gifted them a chance to see the beauty in their work.</div>
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The importance of their influence.</div>
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Pausing and reminding them that they change lives.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She had us write "clumps of words" and used those clumps to help us write poems.</div>
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We shared them in this small group at 5 o'clock at night...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
watching the twilight...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
feeling connected.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This Palestinian American poet brought with her a cloud of grace...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
peace...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
community...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and it was then that I wanted to be in charge of the world.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wanted to be able to appoint peace negotiators...</div>
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what if we had a Palestinian poet, an Israeli poet and a Palestinian-American poet all gather and forge out some peace with a few "clumps of words".</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It might only take five words, like it did for Juan Felipe.</div>
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It might take twenty five...but we know poets are known for their choosy, careful way with words...we can be sure that unnecessary phrases would be absent. </div>
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No posturing.</div>
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No facades.</div>
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No misleading text...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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everything cut away to just a few words:</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Thank you, Naomi Shihab Nye for your heroic ability to </b></div>
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<b>step out of your line and draw a larger circle.</b></div>
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Thank you for reminding me of the power of a clump of words...</div>
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the beauty in Kindness...</div>
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the love of the ordinary...</div>
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and the gift of a few clumps of words.</div>
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My circle is larger thanks to you.</div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-85477134880369821422016-12-02T22:35:00.001-08:002016-12-03T12:00:05.755-08:00How The 4 Rules of Improv Are The 4 Rules of Inclusion...Maybe The 4 Rules of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAX3Ie41Vi7MQeLKScIvmB7bL6he9T2nT7xp-mFBq4rINaqiw3XDMUNDnCbW7rd7Tdwodvqom-BIzKSKi98RXb5Q3-8GIQzLEOIAJ-JaT6Wf8rWXiQ2EAPnev6BaNYqFfCwXZvy_n3V1v/s1600/4+Rules+of+Improv+Title.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAX3Ie41Vi7MQeLKScIvmB7bL6he9T2nT7xp-mFBq4rINaqiw3XDMUNDnCbW7rd7Tdwodvqom-BIzKSKi98RXb5Q3-8GIQzLEOIAJ-JaT6Wf8rWXiQ2EAPnev6BaNYqFfCwXZvy_n3V1v/s640/4+Rules+of+Improv+Title.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Recently I read Tina Fey's <u>Bossypants</u> for my book club.</div>
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I don't usually like to read autobiographies of celebrities...</div>
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but Tina Fey offered some lightness and laughs that I have been sorely needing,<br />
so I did what I've been doing since I was a little girl...</div>
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escaped down the rabbit hole of story.l</div>
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Tina Fey offers all sorts of insights and observations that are pretty spot on in our crazy world.</div>
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One of my favorites is when she speaks about her dad, both a Korean War veteran and a firefighter, who was no nonsense and sensible at every turn.</div>
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This quote as she considers what she can do when parenting her tiny daughter, Alice,</div>
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was a classic insight into the insanity of our times:</div>
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"How can I give her what Don Fey gave me? The gift of anxiety. The fear of getting into trouble.<br />
The knowledge that while you are loved, you are not above the law.<br />
The World Wide Parental Anxiety System is failing if this many of us have made sex tapes." </div>
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#truth</div>
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What the heck is going on?</div>
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Do we need a world-wide Don Fey moment?</div>
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Sure feels like it.</div>
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Maybe we can all get called into the principal's office, </div>
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reconsider our transgressions and straighten the hell up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But, the part that made me become a Fan For Life is Tina Fey's 4 Rules of Improv.</div>
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<b>Let's start with Rule #1 - SAY YES </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gkL-yhcqFkQI479Fpyv0yZYccsYv3Psr5bBMm09x1V7uIrOFYaj2w6dJvenWUqmVQP-GYhnL-s110F8U9RXIZleg0flidupsPJzNG02JnUwstIROl4cqQrtvz0S-g6XhZQeAHOATXq1U/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-12-02+at+9.53.16+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gkL-yhcqFkQI479Fpyv0yZYccsYv3Psr5bBMm09x1V7uIrOFYaj2w6dJvenWUqmVQP-GYhnL-s110F8U9RXIZleg0flidupsPJzNG02JnUwstIROl4cqQrtvz0S-g6XhZQeAHOATXq1U/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-12-02+at+9.53.16+PM.png" width="292" /></a></div>
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This is a pretty great place to start.</div>
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Just imagine if you began with an open mind every single day.</div>
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Mom, can I climb that tree?</div>
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Yes.</div>
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Can you help me out?</div>
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Yes.</div>
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Can that student be in your classroom?</div>
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<b>YES!</b></div>
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In education - and especially at IEP time - (which is the Individualized Educational Plan for a student with identified learning needs - go buy yourself a lotto ticket if you have never heard of such a thing and thought it meant I Eat Pancakes) - teachers and specialists sit around a table and ask burning questions, like, how much time can the student be in the regular classroom.<br />
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Cheat sheet answer: ALL THE TIME<br />
YES!<br />
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Yes, we can figure it out.<br />
Yes, we can do this.<br />
Yes.<br />
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What if we started with yes in our lives??<br />
<b>What if we lived an open-hearted life?</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS5kWtxYRzEXQoxyTpTQ3yzCvCs8QO3DIp_KhiyWpFPjSaJHl3knzRR2y5qVR4TCy6PV4BQBh4SE42UF2_a-U5-Mwns0AwN0oZVoMwhzwBGZ-etHC9eg0IXZQ_0H7rNfOFSAJ2LSjSgqNA/s1600/2nd+Rule.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS5kWtxYRzEXQoxyTpTQ3yzCvCs8QO3DIp_KhiyWpFPjSaJHl3knzRR2y5qVR4TCy6PV4BQBh4SE42UF2_a-U5-Mwns0AwN0oZVoMwhzwBGZ-etHC9eg0IXZQ_0H7rNfOFSAJ2LSjSgqNA/s640/2nd+Rule.png" width="294" /></a></div>
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<b>Rule #2: It's not just Yes...</b><br />
<b>SAY YES, AND...</b><br />
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<b>Add something of your own.</b><br />
This is huge.<br />
Because sometimes when you say yes, you are just dragging your feet.<br />
You don't really mean it.<br />
So it's a half-hearted yes.<br />
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The YES, AND forces the issue and asks you to be better than that.<br />
The YES, AND asks you to be ALL IN.<br />
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You have to put some of yourself out there.<br />
If you're in an IEP meeting and they ask, can this student be in your room...<br />
if you are following Rule #2, you must say,<br />
"Yes, and..." and create a real path to being fully in that room.<br />
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Tina Fey goes further, she reminds us: "Don't be afraid to contribute. Always make sure you are adding something to the discussion. Your initiations are worthwhile."<br />
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Meaning, you're better than the simple yes.<br />
The lazy, wimpy well, ok.<br />
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<b>Commit.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhfAC-chnlcptHERGxLROjo5vZZeaVIuOcFz1d-TUieZTOLNOeMjn0Qgw3V5BN6795MFatgIPRDOpZzY-hmNV-JidU4kGm7Z8UqoN67SJMdK_eCrcc3Bdezv6qzXtl8TaqvFCztmsPfEkn/s1600/Rule+%25233.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhfAC-chnlcptHERGxLROjo5vZZeaVIuOcFz1d-TUieZTOLNOeMjn0Qgw3V5BN6795MFatgIPRDOpZzY-hmNV-JidU4kGm7Z8UqoN67SJMdK_eCrcc3Bdezv6qzXtl8TaqvFCztmsPfEkn/s640/Rule+%25233.png" width="288" /></a></div>
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<b>Rule #3: Make Statements</b></div>
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This means, don't ask questions all the time.</div>
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When you ask questions, you are putting pressure on someone else to come up with all of the answers.</div>
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<b>BE PART OF THE SOLUTION</b></div>
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Get creative.</div>
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Problem solve.</div>
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Think like a kid.</div>
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Don't be the person who is just sitting around pointing out all of the obstacles.</div>
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As Tina Fey so clearly says, "That person is a drag."</div>
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Can I get an Amen?</div>
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We've all been around that person.</div>
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The It's-Always-Been-Done-This-Way person...</div>
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Or the I'm-Not-So-Sure person...</div>
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Schools like to reach consensus on difficult decisions...</div>
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but those side-line questioners make that nearly impossible...</div>
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which means things never get done...</div>
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or students wait on the sidelines hoping to get a chance.</div>
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Find a way to figure it out.</div>
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<b>Rule #4: There are NO mistakes</b></div>
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This is the Growth Mindset in its stealth fighter jet mode.</div>
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If we come from the vantage point that there are no mistakes,</div>
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all we see are opportunities.</div>
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Or as Tina Fey likes to remind us: Beautiful, Happy Accidents.</div>
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Adults get good at avoiding moments that are risky.</div>
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We opt out.</div>
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Or say no.</div>
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What if we stepped out of our comfort zone and found a way to enjoy our mistakes?</div>
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Now, that could be life-changing.</div>
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Now imagine a child watching you...</div>
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learning from you...</div>
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realizing that this is where the growth is.</div>
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The sweet spot of learning.</div>
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Besides, it just makes for a happier workplace and a happier home.</div>
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<b>It's not so serious.</b></div>
<b>Take a chill pill.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2zran5jJnwL6-JNnwtAYpUqAZo8WeW95ezg0zQu0lz0jLzCBfPVJ4rwb0UbZlNw5i0L-xwLhLiTloHHvY6hMTreGZidcBbDueisdeshXB9ssjPJe4EB86jt2bgCtp0P50ygdsxqa_gsb/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-12-02+at+10.27.57+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2zran5jJnwL6-JNnwtAYpUqAZo8WeW95ezg0zQu0lz0jLzCBfPVJ4rwb0UbZlNw5i0L-xwLhLiTloHHvY6hMTreGZidcBbDueisdeshXB9ssjPJe4EB86jt2bgCtp0P50ygdsxqa_gsb/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-12-02+at+10.27.57+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Put them all together and I'm thinking you have a great life mantra...</div>
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or at the very least a guide to improv,</div>
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AND a guide to inclusion in schools.</div>
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We need more people to say yes.</div>
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Laugh a little.</div>
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Open your heart.</div>
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Be one of those people.</div>
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<b>We need you now more than ever.</b></div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-11190920834608926752016-11-11T00:37:00.002-08:002016-11-11T00:37:48.059-08:00Grace Under Pressure: America's Teachers<div style="text-align: center;">
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Wednesday, November 9th, 2016, the day after the most contentious presidential election in our recent memory,<br />
was a school day.</div>
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School teachers and principals everywhere had to find a way, any way, to create unity in a time of division and open cruelty.</div>
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Donald Trump is now the President.</div>
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Donald Trump - who acted throughout the entire election season in a disrespectful, antagonistic, loud-mouthed, divisive way - won.</div>
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So, teachers who work on holding their students to standards of respect, tolerance and kindness for the first time had to look at their President and then look away.</div>
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Then they had to enter their classrooms and find a way to change the message.</div>
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As the universe would have it, I had to be in classrooms that day.</div>
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Normally, in the fall, I only go into classrooms on Mondays and Tuesdays, but because of a scheduling glitch I had to be there this Wednesday.</div>
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I like to think of it as divine intervention.</div>
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I was melancholy watching so much hatred and vitriol and as someone who loves children - hangs out with children all the time - I couldn't comprehend this new reality for them.<br />
For us.<br />
<br />
What would school be like?<br />
What would my student teachers face?<br />
How could a school create unity when the country was so divided?<br />
<br />
How can you hold kids accountable when the adults in the room are acting anything but?<br />
<br />
I walked onto an elementary school campus and was greeted with three third graders marching and saying: "We need a recount. Recount. Recount."<br />
Who even knows that word in third grade?<br />
<br />
I walked into a classroom before school had even started and found two veteran teachers in tears...and my student teacher just quietly watching.<br />
<br />
"What do we tell the students?<br />
How can we ask our students to behave with kindness and respect when we have this President?"<br />
<br />
Good questions.<br />
<br />
But time was ticking.<br />
They didn't have a script.<br />
No instruction manual...<br />
students were coming.<br />
<br />
Deep breaths.<br />
Game faces on.<br />
<br />
Good morning.<br />
<br />
I watched it unfold in classroom after classroom.<br />
<br />
Sat in awe as teachers comforted and listened.<br />
<br />
Sometimes they gathered their students together and reaffirmed for them that this school in this place was safe and most importantly was theirs.<br />
<br />
Sometimes they talked about democracy and founding fathers and the idea that every single one of us gets a vote.<br />
<br />
I watched a student teacher guarantee her students safety, tolerance and respect in such a commanding way that I got teary eyed taking my notes with her words.<br />
She helped her students see the beauty in our nation...<br />
in our equality...<br />
in our traditions and our government.<br />
<br />
She offered every student herself.<br />
<br />
If they didn't feel safe;<br />
if they felt like they wanted to talk;<br />
if they wanted to share a story...<br />
she was there to listen.<br />
<br />
I know a teacher who took the last part of the day to make friendship bracelets.<br />
"Go ahead and work on a bracelet and think about who you will give it to in this classroom."<br />
<br />
<b>We are all friends here.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>That guidance.</b><br />
<b>That steady hand.</b><br />
<b>Those loving arms.</b><br />
<b>Big hearts.</b><br />
<b>Listening ears...</b><br />
<b>that's what happened in school today.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
All around the country, America's teachers steadied the course.<br />
They went to work...<br />
picking up the pieces and creating a beautiful mosaic.<br />
<br />
Holding the expectations high.<br />
Showing children what it means to be American.<br />
<br />
These incredible people are stitching our children together,<br />
binding them with love and kindness.<br />
<br />
Living tolerance.<br />
Breathing respect.<br />
Inhaling peace.<br />
Exhaling chaos.<br />
<br />
If you want to know where to look during this time of disequilibrium and division...stop at a school.<br />
<br />
Watch a teacher in action.<br />
Listen to her big book about friendship.<br />
Let the music of children's voices float over you.<br />
Rise to the expectations of a child's best version of you.<br />
<br />
We can do this.<br />
<br />
We have their example.<br />
<br />
Follow their rules:<br />
<br />
Be safe.<br />
Be productive.<br />
Be kind.<br />
<br />
America's teachers offer all of us a glimpse of extraordinary grace<br />
during the least ordinary of times.<br />
<br />
All we can do is follow their lead.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuk7UdhW-VnVzXjOddBY9UWiRNJwyji-GOW0S2KUjPjERydZY1M9msvIhhXeGinM_NhQ0weOY-vbwpPjy7P9yt2qDxXtdwoxaLxTieOgAUUGUflmVmPF-muyVdKejk4uS_vtFbXrVJU4G/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-10+at+11.57.54+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuk7UdhW-VnVzXjOddBY9UWiRNJwyji-GOW0S2KUjPjERydZY1M9msvIhhXeGinM_NhQ0weOY-vbwpPjy7P9yt2qDxXtdwoxaLxTieOgAUUGUflmVmPF-muyVdKejk4uS_vtFbXrVJU4G/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-11-10+at+11.57.54+PM.png" width="638" /></a></div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5593077968337944461.post-40222227988302109602016-10-20T11:46:00.000-07:002016-10-20T12:27:21.624-07:00The Growth Mindset - Literally!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipteBT62kR5GUjwc2FzdAg3BF80PLcwXyrl2uMa0b3C1wf0Xi27wCze4hsAUvYGgbhoEk8IHylAaNwri_BBaEZlOeJVsXMyOm3AdmpDopkm1iUC7x5RzQCiR9jPf88i7r1ZjhLOw-45y1V/s1600/IMG_0728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipteBT62kR5GUjwc2FzdAg3BF80PLcwXyrl2uMa0b3C1wf0Xi27wCze4hsAUvYGgbhoEk8IHylAaNwri_BBaEZlOeJVsXMyOm3AdmpDopkm1iUC7x5RzQCiR9jPf88i7r1ZjhLOw-45y1V/s640/IMG_0728.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you recognize Dr. Suess's <u>Oh! The Places You Go!</u> Here's one of the places I've been hanging out lately.<br />
Yes, my arms are sore. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's been eight weeks of being one legged from a broken ankle. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">No weight-bearing.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It shouldn't really be that big a deal right? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm in good health otherwise...but this whole thing has shaken me. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Big time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Every single step, every single movement, even sleeping or waiting at a stand still, is difficult.</span></span></div>
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Every ordinary difficulty: your keys falling under the car, your scrap of paper on the ground, putting your suitcase away, taking a shower, buying groceries, eating, sitting, waiting in a line...everything.is.hard.</div>
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Or you can tell yourself: another chance to be brave.</div>
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And, man, am I brave!</div>
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It can become a mental test...</div>
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as the universe would have it, I had decided to embrace a new way of looking at students and learning right before this whole thing happened.</div>
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Two days before that fateful meeting of basketball and foot,<br />
I excitedly told Caroline that the theme for this school year was having a "Growth Mindset".</div>
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For quite awhile, educators have been throwing around the term "Growth Mindset" and I've been doing that famous thing we all do when we think we already know about things: </div>
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"Oh yeah, yeah, yeah..."</div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222;">But then I started listening to </span><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.youcubed.org/"><span style="color: blue;">Jo Boaler</span></a> </span><span style="color: #222222;">- math educator extraordinaire - and my mind started soaking it in. Jo Boaler is an educational math researcher and she is revolutionizing the way math is being taught. Her research out of Stanford is stunning; her results are extraordinary.</span></div>
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I became a convert.</div>
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The tenets of a "Growth Mindset" include these things:</div>
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• <b>Struggle is the sweet spot of learning </b>- this is where your brain grows. During struggle, you form new synapses and create new brain pathways. You want to struggle. [In classrooms that really embody the Growth Mindset, it is not unusual to hear a student say in a disappointed way, "Aww, I didn't get to struggle!" when somebody else shouts out the answer.] </div>
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• <b>Mistakes are a good thing.</b> There is no shame. There should be no embarrassment. Accept that mistakes are going to happen...wait for them and feel excited. When we analyze our mistakes, more growth happens.</div>
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• <b>Speed is not important.</b> Deep thinking matters. Careful consideration matters. Considering different viewpoints and other angles matters. What is so awesome about being speedy? That's for Google. Humans can slow down and focus on what matters.</div>
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• <b>The Power of Yet </b>- our brain has plasticity...it changes and grows with every new experience. If you can't do something, it doesn't mean you won't. With the right support, you can learn and do anything!</div>
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• There is absolutely <b>no research that supports the idea that you are born with a "math brain"</b> or an "art gift". Simply untrue. These are the limits we place on ourselves and on our children or students. We MUST dismantle that fixed mindset</div>
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• <b>If you believe you can, you can! </b>Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy...that is real.</div>
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Imagine learning in a classroom that embraces a Growth Mindset?</div>
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<b>How about living with a Growth Mindset?</b></div>
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I highly recommend it!</div>
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These past eight weeks have been ridiculous.</div>
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Difficult.</div>
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Annoying.</div>
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Agonizing.</div>
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Slow.</div>
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Humbling.</div>
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But with a Growth Mindset, they have been bearable. </div>
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Every insane obstacle became an opportunity for my brain to grow. I accepted my mistakes. I keep telling myself that I have The Power of Yet with me. Instead of thinking of all the things I couldn't do, I was able to tell myself YET and believe that I will - eventually.</div>
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These eight weeks have been hard...but if I hadn't believed in the Growth Mindset, </div>
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I would have been in a full funk.</div>
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And, hey! I am literally growing something...not just my brain.</div>
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It's clear that this injury is going to take a long while to heal fully.</div>
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No biking.</div>
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No walking my dog.</div>
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No long walks just because...</div>
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but with a Growth Mindset, I know I will do those things again.</div>
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<b>It's a tiny, powerful word: YET.</b></div>
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I'll get there.</div>
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Eventually.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17prVDiP04cLzPTtE-aaNBHje2tk2qL905COxLxKK3p6D6iQXmoHaFPqfNyp-1kiXTl2dKRnbKvyjfOYkmEoazS6SgKOfrvJz7SN3zspm4AWKpLAbybRkUWoOUVipY1uElNbg_HL8-_oM/s1600/IMG_0726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17prVDiP04cLzPTtE-aaNBHje2tk2qL905COxLxKK3p6D6iQXmoHaFPqfNyp-1kiXTl2dKRnbKvyjfOYkmEoazS6SgKOfrvJz7SN3zspm4AWKpLAbybRkUWoOUVipY1uElNbg_HL8-_oM/s640/IMG_0726.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Until then, go enjoy your ankles. :)</div>
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bforakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988080828770906296noreply@blogger.com0