Norms

Henry V -- “We band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”

Lord of the Rings -- “A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship – but it is not this day!”

300 -- "This day we rescue a world from mysticism and tyranny and usher in a future brighter than anything we can imagine.”

Independence Day -- “And should we win the day, the 4th of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day when the world declared in one voice: ‘We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We’re going to live on! We’re going to survive!’ Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!”

Braveheart -- “And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!”

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No blood was shed today in the writing of our group norms. The preparation labor-some, the strategy was thoughtful, the result victorious.

Sometimes playing a comic-book version of my life, in my mind, is helpful...where I actually imagine myself closing the metal armor helmet and riding on to "fight the good fight."

How fortunate to arrive at the front lines only to discover there is no opposition.

Perseverance

Student services is offering a contest for students to write and reflect on either a situation or scenario in which they or someone they knew persevered. In and attempt to encourage my students to part-take in this, I told them that this is the kind of writing they have been doing all year and that in comparison to their current research paper, this should be a welcomed switch. They said if it is so valuable and blah blab blah, why don't you do it Ms. Nolan? I don't know why I engaged in their little game but I replied without hesitation, "Absolutely!" I finished my homework assignment from my students. Here it is. It's not finished because what piece of writing ever is, but well, it's due and 22 kids will be waiting for it.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

-Winston Churchill

            While my sisters, my mom and I headed to the beach from our cabin in Michigan, my dad was checking himself into the hospital. It wasn’t uncommon for him to miss the annual trip, either because of work or more so because this scenario wasn’t his cup of tea. However, as of late he hadn’t been feeling well and unfortunately, a stay at a hospital wasn’t unusual for my father either. So much so, that our packed bags easily found their way into our cars, and our minds without reservation set to vacation mode.

Just one day into the trip my mom received a phone call from the doctors at Palos hospital, my father had been moved to the ICU due to abnormal high fevers stemming from a growth that they had determined, with near certainty, was cancer. It would seem that this hospital visit was unlike any other. In his lifetime my father had battled back surgeries, colon surgeries, diabetes, diverticulitis attacks, a kidney transplant and eventually what we would come to learn was non hodgkins lymphoma. My sisters panicked, unsure of how to operate in the moment. It was late, should they wake their kids?  I don’t quite remember how my decision to drive alone in the darkness of cornfields and expressways evolved, nor do I have any memory of the actual journey home; however, I do recall crossing the threshold of his hospital room…the giant wide doors leading to a full staffed room of doctors and nurses overseeing just three patients in critical care. I suited up in a gown and gloves, anxious to see him I peeked my head in his door. He smiled and at the sight of me said weakly, “I think my fever just broke.”

I’ve known people who have had cancer.  I’ve walked for cancer. Raised money for cancer. Gotten teary at cancer commercials. But to hear that term, assigned to someone so close to me, someone I saw most every day, someone responsible for the core of who I am, made my heart freeze and then as if someone took a hammer to it, crushed into a million miserable pieces.

The disease moved quickly, spreading out to all the lymph nodes in his body. My dad was diagnosed in July, created a plan with the doctors in August and started his first chemo treatment in September. During these months he was still walking up and down stairs, still making himself breakfast, still holding full conversations without being winded and still regulating a semi-normal body temperature. The doctor’s faked optimism while we all held our breath. After all was said and done my dad had only made it through one chemo treatment. Yet, the one treatment had wrecked such havoc on his body. By the middle of October he was an emaciated version of himself, a skeleton of a man, whose skin peeled off in big patches, leaving what remained red, irritated and in pain. His tongue filled with sores, and his body too frail to move on its own, relied on the support and guidance of at least two people. Every time he went back to the doctor, the head honchos refused to give him another treatment, his body never recovering from the first. My dad was supposed to have a number of treatments by December in order to have a fighting chance.

So if the end of this story is my father’s passing where is the perseverance? While I wish the story had a different ending because what I wouldn’t give for one more conversation, one more hug, one more opportunity to affirm that our lives mattered to each other…in his last few moments my dad gave me the ultimate definition of the term. 

After telling us he loved us, he looked to the pastor in the room and asked, “Am I going to have the big adventure?” To which, our priest responded, “Yes John, I believe you will.”

Dreams

In and out of consciousness today my brain was filled with so many odd images and scenarios. I would wake up and need a few seconds to collect myself, know who and where I was. I'm not even on any strange meds, this is just what stress and illness compiled looks like I guess.

At one point I was running through the hallways of my school and I reached my classroom, opened the door out of breath and I said to the substitute taking my place for the day, "I just had to check in - make sure everyone was okay." Then I looked down and realized I hadn't bothered to change out of my penguins skiing pajama pants, but had managed to put on a professional looking suit coat. Smiling, embarrassed, I eased myself out of the room. Running back to my car, always running, I found it full of friends and someone's grandma asleep in the back seat. My friends honked my horn, saying they couldn't wait to take me to lunch. I looked at them like they were crazy! What were they doing all the way out in the cornfields and why today? I was sick! Then I felt guilty for having my first thought be one of selfishness, they had traveled all this way after all, I should be more grateful.

Jolting awake, I sat up, heart racing -- wondering if I had gone into school or not --wondering why my tonsils were so big -- hoping that I wouldn't throw up again -- not really looking forward to closing my eyes into the wacky world of my subconscious.

JINX

At mass today the priest advised that we not shake hands during the sign of peace to avoid sharing germs during this horrific flu season. I ignored it and hugged, kissed and shook because that's what I do.

At their dinner table, PJ's mom said that thankfully her family hasn't gotten too sick with this flu virus. I proudly claimed my immune system to be top-notch even sans flu shot!

Current status: Headache. Fever. Nausea.

I spoke too soon.

Pre-Cana

"How did you know you were going to marry this person" was the ice breaker question during PJ and my pre-cana session at our church today.

Noticing the room was a little stuffy with all of our discomfort, not knowing each other but yet being asked something more intimate than you would share otherwise, PJ said, "Trial and error."

Everyone laughed. We needed that. He's good at that.

The five hour session slipped by rather quickly for me, though I can only speak for myself, and I found it reassuring that PJ and I had already talked extensively about most all of the topics covered.

I used to be really intimidated by marriage, not sure if it was for me, if I was up to the task. The responsibility of another person's happiness and vice versa made me skeptical. My views were rather apparent, most notably on a school field trip when I announced them. A teacher, who had recently proposed to another teacher in our school asked us students sitting at the front (is it surprising that you could always find me towards the front of the bus?) , "What do you guys think about marriage, is it a good idea?" -- I think he was more or less being silly, looking for our excitement and encouragement. Everyone supplied that but me, who stated that I didn't believe in it. At least not for myself. Seems like a bad idea.

Someone got through my wall.

And now, the scary part is thinking about life without him.

Mistake

"A man's mistakes are his portals of discovery." - James Joyce
There are days where I can reflect on my actions with Joyce's optimism -- then there are days like today when I feel as though the portal I have unlocked is to my own personal hell.

I messed up today. Actually I messed up nearly a month ago only to feel the effects of that mistake today -- unfortunately, what makes it exponentially worse is that it affected other people as well.

We've all been there. The moment you realize it. The panic, the heart racing, head throbbing, spewing apologies as if all other vocabulary has been drained from your mental reservoir. 

How fortunate to be with people who looked at me and said, "We all make mistakes." -- How fortunate that these people are flexible and understanding.

How fortunate.

I suppose, Joyce was right after all. My mistake allowed me to re-discover how lucky I am to work with the people I do.

Curriculum

I would like to make a trailer spoof on what it's like to write curriculum, at least the experience I have had with it. My colleague and I looked back to a document that we produced last year and we had no idea what was in our heads at the time of its composure. It was sweet however, that we had written so many notes in the margins of our common core packets, highlighting conversations and ideas that we had. I joked that I felt compelled to scrapbook our time spent here. Some teachers are creating this curriculum for a whole grade level on their own and I can't imagine doing this solo. There would be a lot less to scrapbook, that's for sure.

I know in education its common to create - then re-create - again and again and again. At times, this can be daunting, but more often than not I'm thankful for the process of beginning anew. It seems to me that my job is then filled with hope.

Absence...

...makes the heart grow fonder.

I'm preparing to be absent for two days this week from the classroom for curriculum meetings at the district office. A teacher absence is not easy any which way you look at it. From the substitute's point of view, they have to come into a classroom they don't know, with students they don't know, learn a lesson in a short period of time, and try to conduct procedures as closely to the teacher's as possible. From the student's point of view, sometimes they have to be patient with someone learning the procedures and protocols, they are expected (and most often follow through) to be respectful, helpful, avoiding the "what can I get away with?" type mentality. For me, I worry about both the sub and the students, wanting both parties to have a good day. I don't think I've ever written sub plans and prepped my room and materials in under 2 hours.

After my meetings I'll go back to school and check in to see how the day went via sub reports; I can't sleep through the night otherwise. As I'm writing this I'm thinking, I need to relax. PJ thinks I'm shortening our life together with the weight of my worry. I hate that he has to say this in order for my perspective to broaden a bit, in order for me to take a deep breath and repeat my mantra, "everything will be alright."

Because it will. Because it always is.

Registry

Mike was our tour guide through the ever-expansive Bed Bath and Beyond in Downer's Grove. I couldn't believe he didn't make commission as he advised on and explained endless products in the store. He was with us for our three and half our journey informing us on how knives are made and how bands on towels can unravel when dried at a high heat. A few million decisions later, and here we are. 

Cheesy but true, marrying PJ will be the easiest of all the decisions I'll have to make. 

Close

Calvin Harris began singing his lyrics, "Feel so close," the moment I had finally located my dad's grave site. 

I had a bridal shower today that was across the street from the cemetery where he is buried and in true Carolyn fashion I was thirty minutes early to the celebration. With the extra time, I felt it obvious where I should be -- however -- the times when I had ventured to visit, I had always been the passenger, and apparently not a very alert one. I stumbled through the streets of the cemetery, none looking familiar, embarrassed and a bit panicked that I couldn't find my own father. Where were the three trees and the open space? 

When it was first chosen, my mom had mentioned that she really liked the location of my dad's plot, that there was something about it that represented him the free spirit that he was. In front of the grave site is a fairly large stone sculpture of the holy family. A few feet behind the site are three evergreen trees and beyond those is wide-open space. My first impression instantly reminded me when my dad had asked the priest during one of his final days, Am I going to have the big adventure? This space seemed to answer, yes.

I drove around and ended up back at the beginning and almost left, worried again and I'm ashamed to admit it, about time. Determination fueled inside of me and I drove down another road hoping to be lead to him. A few turns later, all feeling wrong and counter-intuitive, is when I saw it, the three trees. The holy family. My dad. Cue Calvin Harris:

"I feel so close to you right now

it's a force field.

I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal"

 -- I hadn't been really aware of the radio during my search, but as my panic subdued, my other senses awoke and I thought, I at least feel closer to you than I did ten minutes ago.

 

Personal

Kathleen Kelly: And what's so wrong with being personal, anyway? 
Joe Fox: Uh, nothing. 
Kathleen Kelly: Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.

You've Got Mail (1998)

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Earlier this week, You've Got Mail, was on in the background while I half-listened and strove to be productive with school work.  

As a side note, I know this movie is less than mediocre but I'm a sucker for the Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks duo. They are MFEO. Additional and final side note, that little girl, Jessica, in Sleepless in Seattle was cutting edge with all her abbreviations. 

At any rate, I stopped working when Meg Ryan's character Kathleen states that "it ought to begin by being personal." I put my pencil down and gestured both of my hands at the screen, saying "thank you!" I have been wrestling with these concepts of professional and personal and how they are sometimes posed in opposition to each other.

Everything about my job is entirely personal and I don't see how that can ever or should ever be eliminated, masked or altered. Taking things "personally" comes with the territory, but I think we navigate the land with this in mind. 

Some might say that I'm arguing semantics...I say, heck yes I am. :)

Why

A teacher approached me today about a student who had apparently gotten under his skin. The student is new to his class while I have had the 8th grader since August.

"What's his deal?"

Having some idea as to what the problem could have been I responded, "He's brilliant. -- He questions because that's the way his mind is working, to see every angle. And if you let it work, you will be continuously amazed."

The student had questioned the teacher's methods. Something that not every teacher is comfortable with and I understand. I came from a household of because I said so and there is certainly some merit in that. My dad used to say that middle school was the age where they thought they knew everything but they knew nothing. I wouldn't go that far but I can see where he was coming from too.

Why, is such a great question. A question of purpose. I have found that when that is known the product is much greater, and I'm not necessarily talking about my assignment, but the student's brain -- because they continue to ask it. They continue to search.

Trust

“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.” 
― Friedrich Nietzsche

“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” 
― Ernest Hemingway

“Have enough courage to trust and love one more time and always one more time.” 
― Maya Angelou

“To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved.” 
― George MacDonald

Trust was the topic of graduate school today -- a concept that has shown up in every facet of my life. It's embedded or sadly absent from every interaction I encounter -- its presence having the power to enrich, sustain, encourage, motivate, comfort -- its absence causes frustration, disengagement, disappointment and distance.

I read that for every one instance of distrust it takes nine more trustworthy moments to counteract the effects. Yikes. What happens when the debt is too high?

Theory

As I was cleaning/packing/organizing my room this evening I came across notes tucked in a book I haven't looked at since college called, The Theory Toolbox. The professor I had at the time advised us to read-re-read this book from that moment on -- perpetually revisiting these ideas because sometimes, falling into a routine, we can forget them.

Is it pretentious to say that it was college courses like my creative writing class where I felt as though I had finally found "my people" -- those individuals who cared about writing and literature -- who questioned how we see the world -- how the world sees us -- and how that perspective was shaped. People who, as Thoreau said, sucked the marrow out of life.

I enjoyed coming across these notes again -- and while I have many things to do, I must find some time to heed that professor's advice and re-read.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter One --> Why Theory?

*If we avoid the reflexive critical questions then we risk each day seeming like a "natural fact" -- everything seems self-evident.

*What we think changes how we act.

*Upsetting "natural fact" yields being able to see things differently

*Theory = everything is suspicious

Thinking begins by provocation.

Calluses

...would make great comparison/description for my prospective adolescent lit novel (that I'm not writing) -- perhaps a character in a tumultuous relationship, hardhearted by the perpetual friction occurring, transforming all that is alive and healthy.

This thought popped in my head as I ran my fingers over the tops of my palms where I have one callus for each finger -- I sport them like medals of honor, tales of my survival at cross fit boot camp. I'm at this place where I'm not fit enough to get the gloves. That protective gear is for the athletes who have arrived at Olympian status. I cannot even do a pull up.

ANYWAY - I always think, where do author's get their inspiration for their creative comparisons? So I'll pocket this one away for a rainy day. You never know what can come from a simple idea.

Bibliotherapy...

It happened when I wasn't searching for it and when I thought that the topic was closed. But as I read the pages of North of Beautiful I felt an old life starring back at me.

Sometimes you want to read literature so that you feel like you are less alone, characters with personalities or experiences like yours -- this time I want nothing to do with it.

Those chapters of my own life are closed. And I like it that way.

Stop

PJ's subject line of his email read, "Ahem..."

He loves when he's right. And he loves when he finds literature to back him up. Inside his email was this article: Click here.

The publication discusses the importance and necessity of taking a day to relax, something which is near extinction in the United States.

A few weeks ago when I went to visit PJ over my break I did just that. I took a day where I did close to nothing. We watched movies. Made dinner. Stayed in Pajamas. Read. It was absolutely lovely.

I had moments in days following however, where I verbalized that the day as a "waste." And while I'm obviously not alone in this mindset (cue article) - it doesn't mean that it's healthy. PJ was justifiably upset to hear me say this as he knew, before reading the article, how valuable it is to relax from time to time.

Last night, after my work out I enjoyed a dinner with PJ and we watched the second half of Shawshank Redeption (one of my favorite movies of all time!) Today we went to breakfast together and afterward I've been working on this blog.

Even though I can feel my chest tightening with anxiety as I glance at the clock and have yet to scratch anything off of my ever-growing to do list -- I'm not going to look back at the last twenty hours with regret. I'm thankful to have someone in my life that reminds me to not only fight for it but also not to feel guilty for it.

Partner

I have been a little under the weather and coincidentally missed a cross fit day this week. Today, I desperately wanted to go home, get in pajamas and sleep away the uncomfortable sinus situation I have going on.

Instead, I pushed myself to the gym where our work out was to be completed in partners. At first I felt guilty -- I know I'm not the most fit and I'm not feeling great, I didn't want to slow Jackie down. She assured me that it would not be the case.

While one partner runs a 200m -- the other partner does five wall balls and then as many kettle bells swings as she can until the runner returns and then you switch. In addition to seeing how many rounds of this you and your partner can complete in 20 minutes, you also add up your kettle bells swings.

The workout was a challenge but my guilt turned into gratitude to have someone in the trenches with me. After each round we exchanged kettle bell swing totals and looks of complete exhaustion -- yet, underneath it was triumph.

Jackie posted pictures of two models in bikinis on our fridge and labeled them with our names and summer 2013. :)  I've never worn a bikini in my life and can't imagine ever being at that place where 1.) it looks good and 2.) I have the confidence to sport it.

But what I can say is how thankful I am to have people in my life who support and encourage me. I think with this, accomplishments multiply. With this, the struggles are bearable and the successes even more enjoyable.

Tonsils

The largest tonsils ever recorded being removed were from a 21 year old. One of his tonsils measured 2.1 inches (5.3 cm) long, 1.1 inches (2.8 cm) wide, and 0.7 inch (1.8 cm) thick, while the other measured 1.9 inches (4.8 cm) long, 1 inch (2.5 cm) wide, and 0.7 inch (1.8 cm) thick.

I've been acutely aware of my tonsils now for a few years. Whenever a doctor has to look at my throat it's always a topic of conversation. They are pretty big, not a point of pride, but rather like those people who don't get social cues, you'd like to exit the conversation but they keep incessantly talking. My tonsils are not getting the "I'd like to quit you" vibe. Instead they house bacteria and viruses and continue to linger prominently in the back of my throat.

Apparently (and maybe I need new doctors) I'm passed the age of the tonsil removal surgery. I've been told they are here to stay and I must find a way to deal with them. Gurgling with salt water, nasal rinses, cold smoothies, cough drops are ways I try to combat their gargantuan nature. 

So far in this battle I am losing. I suppose, just like those socially inept people, my tonsils will stick around until they have deemed it appropriate to do otherwise.

Class

It's my last class of my program. It's my last class of my program. It's my last class of my program. There is such euphoria emanating from that sentence!

Let's break this down in a yes or no format:

Am I happy I got my masters in Educational Leadership? Yes.
Am I happy I got my masters for Aurora? No.
Am I proud of the degree? No. (not really).
Will I be attending the graduation? No.
Did I bond with new colleagues through this program? No.
Did I feel challenged? No.
Did the work I completed feel properly and closely judged? No.

But as I said the other day to someone who asked if I was nearing the end of my program...I guess I learned more that I would have had I not completed it.

Sleep

How can your body not respond to a sleeping pattern interrupted and cut in half? I got home today, feeling as though I had lived multiple days in one. The initial rush of seeing all their friends has passed and the students seem a bit sluggish too. I think we are giving each other a break.

I drive to work in the morning and it is pitch black, the moon guiding me into the building. And when I leave at the end of the day the sun has already descended. My point being that I'm surrounded by an environment that is sleeping and cannot add to it.

Return

I anticipated that the overall atmosphere of my classes would be exhaustion and dread, the students having woken up earlier than they probably had in the two weeks they were off, not to mention the context of what they were getting up for...school. As I walked down the hallways while the sea of children crashed down them, I was surprised to be greeted with enthusiastic tones and friendly smiles.

The day continued to be just as pleasant as it began, with student eager to share stories about their breaks and I have to say, I learned a lot. Most notably, that if you hold a chicken upside down it calms down but that theory isn't applicable to other animals like cats.

I told the students that I had missed them and that I was anxious to return, and oddly I found myself meaning it.

Overwhelmed

Chastity: I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just 
be whelmed? 
Bianca: I think you can in Europe. 

- 10 Things I Hate About You

I just wrote a post about how much I enjoy reading student writing -- which is true, I do -- however, I'm not a fan of leaving the grading to accomplish in large chunks. Why can't I be more diligent and stagger the grading perhaps then I wouldn't be so overwhelmed.

Courtesy of my favorite word history website: etymonline.com...

overwhelm (v.) 

early 14c., "to turn upside down, to overthrow," from over- + M.E. whelmen "to turn upside down" (see whelm). Meaning "to submerge completely" is mid-15c. Perhaps the connecting notion is a boat, etc., washed over, and overset, by a big wave. Figurative sense of "to bring to ruin" is attested from 1520s. Related: Overwhelmed; overwhelming;overwhelmingly.

whelm (v.) 

c.1300, probably from a parallel form of O.E. -hwielfan (W.Saxon), -hwelfan (Mercian), in ahwelfan "cover over;" probably altered by association with O.E. helmian "to cover" (seehelmet). 

Perspective

Typically I am a go-with-the-flow kind of gal -- but today I had a schedule in mind and wanted to stick to it to accomplish an overwhelming to do list. Life had other plans however, and the day didn't unfold the way I had intended with its share of setbacks and coinciding frustrations.

I cried rivers.

The forces messing with my daily agenda again intervened at my rush of emotion, as if to suggest that I should, "keep things in perspective." That urging came in the form of an elderly woman who was driving on the wrong side of a major road in my home town, the same one I happened to be on, running an unexpected but necessary errand. I quickly and repeatedly blinked and every time my eyes saw the front of that car and my brain processed "Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!"  Thankfully I was able to move lanes while this woman ended up pulling her car into a repair shop, a few hundred feet from my vehicle.

Dumbfounded, starring blankly at the road ahead I thought, did that just happen? The sight most certainly had a way of drying up the rivers. At least my less-than-ideal day, didn't involve a head on collision; it can always be worse and there is always something to be grateful for...so long as I can get my mind in a place to recognize it. 

Gross

I have immensely enjoyed teaching writing this year and getting to know my students even more through this gateway to their thoughts and ideas.

Looking through their personal narratives this morning, I came across a student's work that made me laugh out loud. He's a serious kid in the classroom, bright and blunt. He complies with every task even though for many of them I can tell he'd rather be doing just about anything else. From just the short time I've known him, I can tell he's a bigger picture kid and his narrative proves why. A few years ago his father had to go on strike and ended up losing his job. The family had to move in with the grandparents and my student attests that the experience was horrendous. I braced myself for the worst and read this:

They are the kind of people that only eat food if it is organic, gluten free, grain free etc. It's not a bad thing to eat heatlhy, but this was a little extreme. Their pantry is full of food that starving children wouldn't eat. That's not all of it. They practically forced me to read old books for fun, and if I read for a half hour, she'd make me gross snacks and have us paint rocks.

I can completely see how this wouldn't be ideal to a upper elementary/middle school boy, yet still his frankness made me smile. The rest of his essay explains how he is ultimately quite grateful to his grandparents and to have family in general.

If I had to write a personal narrative on my growing culture and how it's defined and shaped -- how could I not include these remarkable individuals who teach me every day?

Roommate

(starring at the blinking cursor)

C: I think some days you just don't have words

J: How about "void"...I'm void of emotion...

C: I have no feelings -- I'm numb! No.

J: Okay, bag lady

C:  that's two words

J: I think that's splitting hairs but okay...

J: Or how about Muffin Top

(she grabs her stomach - we laugh)

J: Okay, how about laughter

J: Or how about how laughter can't cure my pants problem

---

Here's a snap shot of my quick-witted roommate who wrote my post for me today. There's not really a dull moment, especially with her sense of humor which I appreciate every day! 

Family

"My family is not like yours."

Envelopes, stamps, pens, print-shops -- all components of assembling our save the dates. <-- did that sentence look like it knew what it was talking about? Being new at the wedding DIY biz, I have felt pretty clueless all day...but that sentence felt good. :) 

In the midst of Hobby Lobby, my 6th store of the day, starring at a wall of endless pens of all different colors, sizes and purposes, I was cursing myself for not being a more crafty. If I were, this process wouldn't seem like such a crap shoot.

And then, as if the stationary gods took pity on me, I turned the corner to find a childhood friend who has made quite the hobby out of stamps and card-stock. I hadn't seen her since her wedding in November (for which she designed and crafted her own invitations) and unfortunately life had been rough for her this past December.

She told me about her grandmother's failing health and eventual passing and about a recent back injury. When I asked about her immediate family she didn't have much positive news on that front either: increasing conflict with her mother, and dealing with the disappointment of a distant (both physically and emotionally) sister.

When I became defensive for my friend, questioning the lack of loyalty that surrounded her -- she cut me off, "Carolyn, my family isn't like yours. We're not close." That shut me up.

This was not her intention, but what could I say? She was telling me that the scenarios were not worth battling and she said it with such saddened exhaustion -- I felt us both wincing and shrugging our shoulders, not in a way that signified it was okay...just that it was what it was. 

I adore this girl and will forever wonder how she got dealt that hand.

Later today, I ran back to Michael's to make an exchange at the suggestion of my friend who advised that the wax sealing I bought would not likely go through the mail. Upon leaving the store I ran into my cousin who greeted me lovingly and cheerfully talked about my wedding.

When I hugged my cousin goodbye I almost thanked her, which would have been awkward. (Not that my family isn't used to my awkwardness) But I was indebted to my friend who made me think about family a little bit differently today...and I was overcome with gratefulness.

Love

All you need is love.

While this may be a cheesy start to my word blog, it rings true to the spirit of the New Year. When I reflected on the past year and looked forward to the events of 2013, the thoughts and memories conjured were wrapped entirely in love.

Sean Penn said, "I like to believe that love is a reciprocal thing, that it can't really be felt, truly, by one." Consequently, it makes sense that this reflection also centers on people.I'm grateful for all the ways in which love has found its way into my life.

To list a few...

1.) To have the love and patience of an extraordinary man: July 12, 2013

2.) The little embraces of my nieces and nephews whose presence curb any sour mood.

3.) Sisters: my role models, my compasses, the carriers of our history.

4.) Visiting during the holidays, pictures shared on facebook, cousin's fests, gift exchanges, any time my family is together love is a vital factor

5.) All the conversations and laughs that encompass my friendships -- who makes it through this life without the support of such people?

6.) Colleagues who love their work and who encourage and motivate others every day

7.) Love of travel -- I believe everything is connected -- so when I'm standing on the cliffs of Moher this summer, I have this feeling as though I'm at home.

And because it's New Years Day and because my resolution this year has to do entirely with my word of the day, I'll share...it's my hope that I'll approach more people and situations with this driving force. There have been times in my life when I have loved but have masked it with frustration and anger which can cause other parties to do the same. Death has a way of breaking those walls down, but not offerring the time to change it. I ran out of time, waited too long before. I don't wish to do it again.

Life is short, love is neccesary, why bother with any other way? :)

Happy New Year everyone.