I used to be afraid of blogging, but now I feel I am sharing with friends.
I used to think that I could never write days in a row, but now I know I can do it.
I used to think that I could never make a friend through writing, but now I know, thanks to Carol, I can.
I used to think I would write nearly all of my Slice of Life posts about my work as a principal, but now I know I can cultivate many other ideas.
I used to think I could never find time to write, but now I know that I can, should and must.
I used to think that no one would ever take the time to comment on my writing, but now I know that that are caring and thoughtful people from all the world who really care about what I try to say.
I used to think that being a high school principal would inhibit me sharing truly personal feelings about life and family, but I know it has made me a better person to do so.
I used to think that writing blog post was just like writing on paper, just digital, but now I have learned about digital literacy, inserting links, inserting photos, and important photo and intellectual attribution.
I used to think that I really knew everything about my daughter, but now I have so much more to know, love and learn,
I used to be afraid of reading and commenting on other's writings publicly, but now I have learned that I, too, am an important part of this wonderful experience.
I used to think that I could not connect emotionally to a stranger's writing, but now I know I can and I must.
I used to be unaware of the connected lives of a community of readers and writers, but now I have learned that I have been missing a significant part of life and the lives of others.
I used to be afraid, but now I am brave.
I used to feel alone, but now I am connected.
I used to miss the details and beauty in the everyday lives of others, but now I have a deeper understanding of life itself and our daily stories and journeys.
I used to write and respond as an individual, but now I am a slice-of-lifer.
I used to lack full appreciation for the details and observations of others and their lives, but now I have experienced a metamorphosis of my own life by experiencing a slice of theirs.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Can we go home again?
You can't go home again. We have all heard that phrase. And for those of us whose parents are no longer alive it sometimes rings as loud as a fire alarm and as bright as a spotlight on a dark night.
On Thursday my daughter, now almost 30, and I took one of our many return trips to Marietta, OH, my hometown.
The place where I have memories of every stage of my life. Born in Marietta, living first in a small white clapboard house across the street from Mound Cemetery, one of the most historical cemeteries in the United States.
You see, Marietta is a proud small river town with one of the richest histories of any other USA small town. It was the first established settlement in the Northwest Territory, established in 1788.
In this month's issue, Smithsonian magazine ranks America's Best Small Towns, the Greatest Little Places to Visit This Year, and Marietta is listed 6th.
Highlights that the magazine lists include the watching the coal barges still passing through on the river, the Sternwheeler races in September, and the 19th century working dams and locks that open while riders take pleasure cruises on the Valley Gem, a historic sternwheeler. The downtown is marked by historic buildings with unique shops such as Twisted Sisters, a West Side completely restored that can be accessed by an old railroad trestle crossing the Muskingum River and now a footbridge to yesterday, and a Sweet Corn festival in July.
Situated in the unglaciated part of Ohio, Marietta is built on a series of hills that only locals are comfortable navigating, with narrow streets, frequent road closings due to hill slippages, and sweeping overlooks of both the Ohio and Muskingum River Valleys.
For for me, the 130 miles to Marietta via I-270 to I-70 East. I-70 East to I-77 South, to Exit 1, Marietta, is a trip from a busy and sometimes stressful lifestyle as a high school principal to my childhood, my memories, and a piece of me that no one else knows.
By Zanesville, the world starts to change. And by Cambridge the stress starts to leave my shoulders. By Dexter City, the hills become so familiar and by Lower Salem I know we are only six miles from the exit.
I make the right turn on to Exit 1, merge onto Pike Street, and my head floods with memories. Past my Dad's VFW where he went to "sign the book" every day. Pike turns into Greene Street and rather than turn down 7th Street to my parents home, or former home, Jennifer and I head to the Hotel Lafayette, one of America's finest and oldest hotels. I surprise her with the Captain's Room, the largest room in the hotel, with a wraparound balcony that overlooks the Ohio River dramatically, just a few steps from the levee.
In this present Marietta, Jennifer and I visit all of our favorite restaurants and shops, the Coca-Cola Museum and old diner on the West Side, with the jukebox where 25 cents still gets you two plays and one of the few places real Broughton's ice cream is still served. Teri Ann's boutique also beckons on Front Street and we slowly make our way into all of the quaint shops in buildings that date to the late 1800's and early 1900's.
When we enter Schafer's Leather, open since 1867, I am surprisingly greeted by Becky, one of my high school classmates, and we catch up where locals still buy cowboy boots and pick up repaired ones.
Time to walk along the levee, where my Dad's voice laughingly echoes in my head every time with "When you are down by the river, drop in." He always loved the irony in the advertising slogan of the Lafayette.
Time for the tough part of the trip, a visit to Mound Cemetery, yes, that first cemetery I lived across from as a toddler, now the site of Mom and Dad's resting place. We carefully remove the now red and brown grave blanket and brush the dead leaves from the grave stone. I remember all of the times I had walked downtown to visit my mother in her job at the Washington County Health Department from home, walking past the beautiful cemetery with the large conical Moundbuilders Indian Mound in the center, and never dreaming that now, every trip to Marietta would include a visit to place where it is now their final rest.
The cemetery, rimmed by uneven brick streets, is also unique in that many founders of Marietta and former Revolutionary War Soldiers are buried here with a map of the cemetery indicating their names and locations. But for me, the names are the names of my classmates and friends' families. Col William Stacy, Col Buell, Rufus Putnam, Whipple, Bartlett, may be the names on the historic grave markers from the 1700's, but the last names are those the rolls of Washington Elementary School, Marietta Junior High and Marietta High School. I recall being in their homes, working with them at the Marietta Pool, and being in English class with them.
From the cemetery, we park at the corner of 7th and Wooster Streets, my home, or what I will always consider my home. The current owners have left it unchanged now for the past 12 years, the last time my parents lived there, and I am conflicted on whether that is good or bad.
The positive is that it floods our thoughts with so many good memories. My Dad warming up my car in the driveway for me during high school, building the garage door himself, and building the deck with my husband when we were first married. His squirrel feeder that so delighted him is now broken but still there and the eagle is still above the front door. For so long his proud Marine 4th Division insignia was still on the garage door window. It is eerie and beckoning to us as if to say, come in. Mom will be in the kitchen and Dad will be in his chair in the living room, and they will be so thrilled to see us.
But that quickly fades, as the sun does on a cloudy day, and we disappointedly pull away from the curb, knowing that Mom and Dad no longer wait at the window, looking forward to our visit, ready to call my sister and nieces and nephews to get the entire family together as only the bedlam of family time can cause.
Trips to Marietta are still special, for every trip with my daughter is special. Just as she was a little girl, and now a young woman, I am still seeing Marietta through her eyes, and she has always loved these trips, and so have I.
Can we go home again? Yes. Of course we can. But it is different. The sights, sounds, and smells of Marietta in many ways are the same. Sun glistening off the river while small waves lap on the old brick levee.
In the middle of the night, as we slept in the Captain's Room, the night was split by a sound only those who live on the river know, the blaring whistle from the Pilot's house of a barge, rounding the curve at the mouth of the Muskingum as the barge slowly traverses toward the Williamstown Bridge.
At our home on 7th Street, as I lay in my bed, we were often lucky enough to hear those loud whistles as the Delta Queen, the Mississippi Queen, and the American Queen would announce to the entire town that they were docking at the levee. The calliope and Dixieland band played River Boat favorites, and we would rush downtown to the levee to see the travelers disembark and gaze in awe at the magnificence of these Mark Twain era paddle boats
In the Hotel Lafayette this trip, as the barge continues to blast its large whistle to warn all other river travelers, I wake again, and for a short time, I am home. On the river. Where I belong, and where generations of my family have lived, and will live always in my mind.
On Thursday my daughter, now almost 30, and I took one of our many return trips to Marietta, OH, my hometown.
The place where I have memories of every stage of my life. Born in Marietta, living first in a small white clapboard house across the street from Mound Cemetery, one of the most historical cemeteries in the United States.
You see, Marietta is a proud small river town with one of the richest histories of any other USA small town. It was the first established settlement in the Northwest Territory, established in 1788.
In this month's issue, Smithsonian magazine ranks America's Best Small Towns, the Greatest Little Places to Visit This Year, and Marietta is listed 6th.
Highlights that the magazine lists include the watching the coal barges still passing through on the river, the Sternwheeler races in September, and the 19th century working dams and locks that open while riders take pleasure cruises on the Valley Gem, a historic sternwheeler. The downtown is marked by historic buildings with unique shops such as Twisted Sisters, a West Side completely restored that can be accessed by an old railroad trestle crossing the Muskingum River and now a footbridge to yesterday, and a Sweet Corn festival in July.
Situated in the unglaciated part of Ohio, Marietta is built on a series of hills that only locals are comfortable navigating, with narrow streets, frequent road closings due to hill slippages, and sweeping overlooks of both the Ohio and Muskingum River Valleys.
For for me, the 130 miles to Marietta via I-270 to I-70 East. I-70 East to I-77 South, to Exit 1, Marietta, is a trip from a busy and sometimes stressful lifestyle as a high school principal to my childhood, my memories, and a piece of me that no one else knows.
By Zanesville, the world starts to change. And by Cambridge the stress starts to leave my shoulders. By Dexter City, the hills become so familiar and by Lower Salem I know we are only six miles from the exit.
I make the right turn on to Exit 1, merge onto Pike Street, and my head floods with memories. Past my Dad's VFW where he went to "sign the book" every day. Pike turns into Greene Street and rather than turn down 7th Street to my parents home, or former home, Jennifer and I head to the Hotel Lafayette, one of America's finest and oldest hotels. I surprise her with the Captain's Room, the largest room in the hotel, with a wraparound balcony that overlooks the Ohio River dramatically, just a few steps from the levee.
In this present Marietta, Jennifer and I visit all of our favorite restaurants and shops, the Coca-Cola Museum and old diner on the West Side, with the jukebox where 25 cents still gets you two plays and one of the few places real Broughton's ice cream is still served. Teri Ann's boutique also beckons on Front Street and we slowly make our way into all of the quaint shops in buildings that date to the late 1800's and early 1900's.
When we enter Schafer's Leather, open since 1867, I am surprisingly greeted by Becky, one of my high school classmates, and we catch up where locals still buy cowboy boots and pick up repaired ones.
Time to walk along the levee, where my Dad's voice laughingly echoes in my head every time with "When you are down by the river, drop in." He always loved the irony in the advertising slogan of the Lafayette.
Time for the tough part of the trip, a visit to Mound Cemetery, yes, that first cemetery I lived across from as a toddler, now the site of Mom and Dad's resting place. We carefully remove the now red and brown grave blanket and brush the dead leaves from the grave stone. I remember all of the times I had walked downtown to visit my mother in her job at the Washington County Health Department from home, walking past the beautiful cemetery with the large conical Moundbuilders Indian Mound in the center, and never dreaming that now, every trip to Marietta would include a visit to place where it is now their final rest.
The cemetery, rimmed by uneven brick streets, is also unique in that many founders of Marietta and former Revolutionary War Soldiers are buried here with a map of the cemetery indicating their names and locations. But for me, the names are the names of my classmates and friends' families. Col William Stacy, Col Buell, Rufus Putnam, Whipple, Bartlett, may be the names on the historic grave markers from the 1700's, but the last names are those the rolls of Washington Elementary School, Marietta Junior High and Marietta High School. I recall being in their homes, working with them at the Marietta Pool, and being in English class with them.
From the cemetery, we park at the corner of 7th and Wooster Streets, my home, or what I will always consider my home. The current owners have left it unchanged now for the past 12 years, the last time my parents lived there, and I am conflicted on whether that is good or bad.
The positive is that it floods our thoughts with so many good memories. My Dad warming up my car in the driveway for me during high school, building the garage door himself, and building the deck with my husband when we were first married. His squirrel feeder that so delighted him is now broken but still there and the eagle is still above the front door. For so long his proud Marine 4th Division insignia was still on the garage door window. It is eerie and beckoning to us as if to say, come in. Mom will be in the kitchen and Dad will be in his chair in the living room, and they will be so thrilled to see us.
But that quickly fades, as the sun does on a cloudy day, and we disappointedly pull away from the curb, knowing that Mom and Dad no longer wait at the window, looking forward to our visit, ready to call my sister and nieces and nephews to get the entire family together as only the bedlam of family time can cause.
Trips to Marietta are still special, for every trip with my daughter is special. Just as she was a little girl, and now a young woman, I am still seeing Marietta through her eyes, and she has always loved these trips, and so have I.
Can we go home again? Yes. Of course we can. But it is different. The sights, sounds, and smells of Marietta in many ways are the same. Sun glistening off the river while small waves lap on the old brick levee.
In the middle of the night, as we slept in the Captain's Room, the night was split by a sound only those who live on the river know, the blaring whistle from the Pilot's house of a barge, rounding the curve at the mouth of the Muskingum as the barge slowly traverses toward the Williamstown Bridge.
At our home on 7th Street, as I lay in my bed, we were often lucky enough to hear those loud whistles as the Delta Queen, the Mississippi Queen, and the American Queen would announce to the entire town that they were docking at the levee. The calliope and Dixieland band played River Boat favorites, and we would rush downtown to the levee to see the travelers disembark and gaze in awe at the magnificence of these Mark Twain era paddle boats
In the Hotel Lafayette this trip, as the barge continues to blast its large whistle to warn all other river travelers, I wake again, and for a short time, I am home. On the river. Where I belong, and where generations of my family have lived, and will live always in my mind.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Dancing for Sales May Make the Difference
I was never a Girl Scout. I remember asking about it, but apparently my older sister had wanted to be a Girl Scout, begged to be a Girl Scout, and my parents relented.
Money was very short in my family and neither of my parents had any experience with Girl Scouting. Apparently a hard sell ensued by both the Girl Scout leader to my parents and by my sister, cherub-faced, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Surely they could not let their first child ruined for life by missing out on the Girl Scout experience in our small town of Marietta.
I am not sure what happened, but I get the feeling that after purchases of uniform, uniform accessories, patches, dues, outings, supplying treats for meetings, and etc. my sister lost interest in being a Girl Scout, most likely affirming my parents initial fears.
And so, I was never a Girl Scout.
However, I did become a Girl Scout Leader when my daughter expressed interest in being a Girl Scout, right from the beginning as a Daisy. Her Preschool teacher had planted the seed, she remembered that she had to be in kindergarten to be one, and in kindergarten we excitedly traveled to her elementary school to the initial Girl Scout troop organization meeting.
Since I had zero experience in scouting, thanks to my big sister being a Girl Scout dropout, I assumed we would go to the meeting, I would sign her up for the troop, and I would be a Girl Scout Mom.
That was not the case. In fact, there was no troop leader. If you wanted to have a troop, you had to start the troop. Mary, our neighbor, and her daughter Lizzie, one of Jennifer's best friends on the street, had also come to the meeting. We had two smiling, excited desperately want-to-be Daisies. She looked at me and said, "I can do crafts." And I, the former teacher turned Mom at that point, looked at her and said, "I can do kids." And the troop and co-leaders were born.
In fact, it was the start of an amazing Girl Scout mother-daughter journey. Daisies grew into Brownies, who grew into Juniors, who grew into Cadets. We camped, made crafts, baked, and earned hundreds of try-its and badges. The girls even served as ushers at OSU football games and participated in a halftime show with The Ohio State University Marching Band. Who would have thought that only about 6 years later, our daughter would be in The Best Damn Band In The Land.
We bridged every level and largely kept the same 10-12 girls in the troop all of those years. Lifelong friendships for both the parents and the girls. And yes, we sold cookies, thousands of boxes as a troop, earning money for troop outings and activities, and we thought we were pretty good. Until today.
Today I read that that Girl Scout Katie Francis of Oklahoma City sold 18,017 cookies. Whoa! One girl? When I first hear the story on TV, I was mentally disqualifying Katie as someone who used social media or the internet to sell.
Nope. According to the paper, Katie canvasses neighborhoods pulling cookies through snow-covered streets and "breaks into song and dance if necessary."
So that's the key. Dancing and singing to sell cookies-- who would have thought it? Katie broke the old 30-year record for cookies of 18,000 and has a goal of selling 20,000 boxes by the end of March.
I couldn't help but think how many moves does Katie know. I mean-- she is only 11-years-old. And so, I wanted to send her, or anyone else out to break the national cookie-selling record a link to the best-ever dance video. The Evolution of Dance is sure to provide enough moves to anyone, whether you are selling Girl Scout cookies or anything else. So put your dancing shoes on and start selling.
Money was very short in my family and neither of my parents had any experience with Girl Scouting. Apparently a hard sell ensued by both the Girl Scout leader to my parents and by my sister, cherub-faced, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Surely they could not let their first child ruined for life by missing out on the Girl Scout experience in our small town of Marietta.
I am not sure what happened, but I get the feeling that after purchases of uniform, uniform accessories, patches, dues, outings, supplying treats for meetings, and etc. my sister lost interest in being a Girl Scout, most likely affirming my parents initial fears.
And so, I was never a Girl Scout.
However, I did become a Girl Scout Leader when my daughter expressed interest in being a Girl Scout, right from the beginning as a Daisy. Her Preschool teacher had planted the seed, she remembered that she had to be in kindergarten to be one, and in kindergarten we excitedly traveled to her elementary school to the initial Girl Scout troop organization meeting.
Since I had zero experience in scouting, thanks to my big sister being a Girl Scout dropout, I assumed we would go to the meeting, I would sign her up for the troop, and I would be a Girl Scout Mom.
That was not the case. In fact, there was no troop leader. If you wanted to have a troop, you had to start the troop. Mary, our neighbor, and her daughter Lizzie, one of Jennifer's best friends on the street, had also come to the meeting. We had two smiling, excited desperately want-to-be Daisies. She looked at me and said, "I can do crafts." And I, the former teacher turned Mom at that point, looked at her and said, "I can do kids." And the troop and co-leaders were born.
In fact, it was the start of an amazing Girl Scout mother-daughter journey. Daisies grew into Brownies, who grew into Juniors, who grew into Cadets. We camped, made crafts, baked, and earned hundreds of try-its and badges. The girls even served as ushers at OSU football games and participated in a halftime show with The Ohio State University Marching Band. Who would have thought that only about 6 years later, our daughter would be in The Best Damn Band In The Land.
We bridged every level and largely kept the same 10-12 girls in the troop all of those years. Lifelong friendships for both the parents and the girls. And yes, we sold cookies, thousands of boxes as a troop, earning money for troop outings and activities, and we thought we were pretty good. Until today.
 |
| photo credit: Marit & Toomas Hinnosaar via photopin cc |
Nope. According to the paper, Katie canvasses neighborhoods pulling cookies through snow-covered streets and "breaks into song and dance if necessary."
So that's the key. Dancing and singing to sell cookies-- who would have thought it? Katie broke the old 30-year record for cookies of 18,000 and has a goal of selling 20,000 boxes by the end of March.
I couldn't help but think how many moves does Katie know. I mean-- she is only 11-years-old. And so, I wanted to send her, or anyone else out to break the national cookie-selling record a link to the best-ever dance video. The Evolution of Dance is sure to provide enough moves to anyone, whether you are selling Girl Scout cookies or anything else. So put your dancing shoes on and start selling.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
And miles to go before I sleep
On the way to pick up my husband today from his work, I drove through a driving snow squall. Didn't spring officially start on March 20? After one of the coldest and snowiest winters in Central Ohio history, I could hardly believe it.
Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, and I became nervous because I rarely drive the 40 miles to my husband's work. He had given me specific landmarks to see in the last two miles to get ready to make the right turn, and blowing snow obliterated my view of anything beyond the berm.
White-knuckled I slowed to 35 MPH to go the last mile and finally spot the barely visible Rt. 347 sign to take me to TRC Dr. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I entered the gates of his work to pick him up for his doctor's appointment.
Once we drove about 10 miles to the east, the snow dissipated to a few blowing flurries and we made it back the 40 miles still on time for the appointment. I kept thinking that this was no weather for spring break, how tired we all were of the white stuff and the cold that came with it. Even 50 degrees would seem like summer at this point, and I wanted to be done with snow and winter.
Until we arrived back home, opened the back drapes and gasped. There it was, the beautiful winter wonderland that always takes our breath away all winter long. Undisturbed and unfettered snow, coating our yard and the woods behind it. Stunningly beautiful as afternoon sunlight reflected in glittering snowflakes.
We just stared. Soon a Cooper's hawk came swooping in, balancing on a branch and frightening the squirrels and songbirds away, only visible because of the snowfall. All winter we have enjoyed a family of five deer who venture into our woods, bedding down sometimes and browsing on the ends of small branches. Without the snow that fills our woods, the deer would go unseen, camouflaged as nature intended.
And suddenly in my mind our daughter Jennifer is a small child again, and we are gazing at a different woods with snow. The words of the Robert Frost poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" starts spilling out from our mouths as my husband stares at us, grinning as always. I have always loved poetry, and so does Jennifer, and we recited many poems orally rotating lines from one to the other, mother to daughter, and back again.
This poem was one of our winter favorites, and we recited it often. Tonight it came off my lips, and although the little girl is grown and has a home of her own, I can still see her smiling face and hear her little voice as the snow falls.
And now today's snow is no longer an unwanted visitor, but a warm recollection of the past.
How lucky we are to live in Ohio, where the change of the seasons reminds of the seasons of our lives with our loved ones, just as the poem paints a picture of scenes and voices from the past.
Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, and I became nervous because I rarely drive the 40 miles to my husband's work. He had given me specific landmarks to see in the last two miles to get ready to make the right turn, and blowing snow obliterated my view of anything beyond the berm.
White-knuckled I slowed to 35 MPH to go the last mile and finally spot the barely visible Rt. 347 sign to take me to TRC Dr. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I entered the gates of his work to pick him up for his doctor's appointment.
Once we drove about 10 miles to the east, the snow dissipated to a few blowing flurries and we made it back the 40 miles still on time for the appointment. I kept thinking that this was no weather for spring break, how tired we all were of the white stuff and the cold that came with it. Even 50 degrees would seem like summer at this point, and I wanted to be done with snow and winter.
Until we arrived back home, opened the back drapes and gasped. There it was, the beautiful winter wonderland that always takes our breath away all winter long. Undisturbed and unfettered snow, coating our yard and the woods behind it. Stunningly beautiful as afternoon sunlight reflected in glittering snowflakes.
We just stared. Soon a Cooper's hawk came swooping in, balancing on a branch and frightening the squirrels and songbirds away, only visible because of the snowfall. All winter we have enjoyed a family of five deer who venture into our woods, bedding down sometimes and browsing on the ends of small branches. Without the snow that fills our woods, the deer would go unseen, camouflaged as nature intended.
And suddenly in my mind our daughter Jennifer is a small child again, and we are gazing at a different woods with snow. The words of the Robert Frost poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" starts spilling out from our mouths as my husband stares at us, grinning as always. I have always loved poetry, and so does Jennifer, and we recited many poems orally rotating lines from one to the other, mother to daughter, and back again.
This poem was one of our winter favorites, and we recited it often. Tonight it came off my lips, and although the little girl is grown and has a home of her own, I can still see her smiling face and hear her little voice as the snow falls.
And now today's snow is no longer an unwanted visitor, but a warm recollection of the past.
How lucky we are to live in Ohio, where the change of the seasons reminds of the seasons of our lives with our loved ones, just as the poem paints a picture of scenes and voices from the past.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Does your face shine with sunbeams?
Roald Dahl wrote, "If you have good thoughts, they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."
I love this vivid metaphoric image. For all of my life, I have been told I have a telegraphic face. I think that is most likely good and bad.
I think it is good because I try very hard each day to exude positivity. I make a point to smile at our high school students from when they enter in the morning and throughout the day. I am cognizant that for some students we may be the only positive interaction in the day, the only sunbeam they will see. I think the same way about our interactions with staff and parents. Even on days where we may not be having a "good" day, we are creating first and lasting impressions with just our faces. If we shine like sunbeams, we can often turn a possibly negative situation into a positive one.
But try as I may, there are times both at work and at home when my sunbeams do not shine and my face shows the stress or discomfort of the moment.
I think that is why I love the beauty of this quote. I keep it on my desk to remind me to let my good thoughts shine in my face.
I also appreciate those people that I encounter during my day at school who also let their good thoughts shine in their faces for all of us to enjoy. Those people who never seem to let a cloud block their sunbeams, who never let negativity or negative people change their positive countenance. I love being around these people and appreciate the sunshine they bring to life with their faces.
In my family, I am blessed to have a daughter, husband, and son-in-law who are all known by others for the good thoughts in their hearts and the sunbeams on their faces. There is rarely a day that goes by that someone does not mention their great smiles to me.
During this spring break week, I carry good thoughts of things that I know will make sunbeams shine on my face:
1. Looking into my husband's eyes. I cherish each time and have for the last 36 years.
2. Taking time to play my piano. It is the same one that I have had since my childhood when we got it free and brought it home from New Lexington in the back of a pickup truck, nearly losing the load. I am certain that the person who got rid of a piano they likely no longer needed would never guess the joy and goodness it has brought to my life of having it for over 50 years in every home I have known. Playing the old songs brings back memories of the favorite songs that my grandma, my Dad, and my boyfriend-turned-husband loved hearing over and over again.
3. Traveling back "home" to Marietta with my daughter. Though we only visit Mom and Dad in the cemetery now, seeing life and home again through my daughter's eyes is a joy that will surely make my face shine. We will stay at the Hotel Lafayette, walk the levee along the mighty Ohio River, cross the footbridge across the Muskingum River to our favorite old diner, and browse the Front Street shops. It always brings tears to our eyes, but reinforces the love in our hearts.
4. Down time. Spring break brings time to linger over some poetry to inspire my heart, time in the evenings to curl up on the couch, time to clean that which never gets done -- or not. Time to write notes to those I know deserve them so much but I rarely take the time to let know.
5. The gift of time. To generate good thoughts so that sunbeams will shine on my face.
I love this vivid metaphoric image. For all of my life, I have been told I have a telegraphic face. I think that is most likely good and bad.
I think it is good because I try very hard each day to exude positivity. I make a point to smile at our high school students from when they enter in the morning and throughout the day. I am cognizant that for some students we may be the only positive interaction in the day, the only sunbeam they will see. I think the same way about our interactions with staff and parents. Even on days where we may not be having a "good" day, we are creating first and lasting impressions with just our faces. If we shine like sunbeams, we can often turn a possibly negative situation into a positive one.
But try as I may, there are times both at work and at home when my sunbeams do not shine and my face shows the stress or discomfort of the moment.
I think that is why I love the beauty of this quote. I keep it on my desk to remind me to let my good thoughts shine in my face.
I also appreciate those people that I encounter during my day at school who also let their good thoughts shine in their faces for all of us to enjoy. Those people who never seem to let a cloud block their sunbeams, who never let negativity or negative people change their positive countenance. I love being around these people and appreciate the sunshine they bring to life with their faces.
In my family, I am blessed to have a daughter, husband, and son-in-law who are all known by others for the good thoughts in their hearts and the sunbeams on their faces. There is rarely a day that goes by that someone does not mention their great smiles to me.
During this spring break week, I carry good thoughts of things that I know will make sunbeams shine on my face:
1. Looking into my husband's eyes. I cherish each time and have for the last 36 years.
2. Taking time to play my piano. It is the same one that I have had since my childhood when we got it free and brought it home from New Lexington in the back of a pickup truck, nearly losing the load. I am certain that the person who got rid of a piano they likely no longer needed would never guess the joy and goodness it has brought to my life of having it for over 50 years in every home I have known. Playing the old songs brings back memories of the favorite songs that my grandma, my Dad, and my boyfriend-turned-husband loved hearing over and over again.
3. Traveling back "home" to Marietta with my daughter. Though we only visit Mom and Dad in the cemetery now, seeing life and home again through my daughter's eyes is a joy that will surely make my face shine. We will stay at the Hotel Lafayette, walk the levee along the mighty Ohio River, cross the footbridge across the Muskingum River to our favorite old diner, and browse the Front Street shops. It always brings tears to our eyes, but reinforces the love in our hearts.
4. Down time. Spring break brings time to linger over some poetry to inspire my heart, time in the evenings to curl up on the couch, time to clean that which never gets done -- or not. Time to write notes to those I know deserve them so much but I rarely take the time to let know.
5. The gift of time. To generate good thoughts so that sunbeams will shine on my face.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
March Madness: Do you have it?
It seems that everywhere we go we see people in college team sweatshirts these days. We just left Giant Eagle and the cashier was wearing his Kentucky blue sweatshirt. Not surprisingly, UK is playing vs Wichita State right now in March Madness.
Why madness? This year mostly because the underdogs seem to be breaking most brackets. After Thursday's Day 1 of the tournament had finished, Yahoo reported that by Friday morning only 1% of the brackets still had a chance of picking each game perfectly.
Did you know that Warren Buffett put up a $1 Billion prize for the person who picked every winner correctly? Although 16 people were still in the running Friday morning by Saturday the number was 0. Yes, Mr. Buffett's money is safe for another year thanks to Dayton, Harvard, Mercer and Stanford to name a few. Mercer defeating Duke-- unbelievable.
We love college basketball and come from a family of Ohio State graduates so the Buckeyes are our team. Unfortunately they lost their first game to Dayton this year and I can tell you there is a big difference watching the tournament when your team is out from when your team is still in.
We have been lucky enough in some years to follow the Bucks during the tourney to Cleveland OH, Pittsburgh, PA, Detroit, MI, and Lexington, KY. The tourney sites are so much fun with rival fans staking out a bar/restaurant with flags in school colors near the arena. The local Alumni Association usually arranges for the school's pep band and cheerleaders to visit the bar before the contest and hearing the fight song in a small space is always invigorating. My daughter and son-in-law both played in Ohio State pep bands at rallies in Cleveland and Pittsburgh and it was a thrill both for the fans and the family-- great memories we will always cherish.
But this year, despite the Buckeyes being out, we are still intently watching the games. Did you fill out a bracket? I didn't this year, but we do watch at least parts of most of the games mostly because we enjoy college basketball so much. And yes, I still find myself rooting for certain teams although I have no affiliation at all with that team or school. And I will root for ANY team playing Michigan. You have to be a true Buckeye to understand.
I always have questions that pop in my head during the game about the teams, none of which is related at all to basketball. For example, where is Creighton? I googled it out of curiosity? Omaha, NE.
How about Mercer?
What about those mascots? We know the Buckeyes and all of the other Big Ten schools but after that I struggle. How about you? Can you name the mascot of Virginia? How about Stephen Austin? Villanova?
I have a very good friend in California with whom we would always play a challenging March Madness game. Let's see how good you are with it.
Most mascots end in -S. For example, Buckeyes, Hawkeyes, Volunteers, Cardinals, Jayhawks, and so on.
How many Div I teams can you name whose mascot does not end in -S? What about teams in March Madness?
I'll get you started: The Cardinal of Stanford. Now you are on your own. Good luck. After all, when your team is not playing, there is lots of other ways to still enjoy March Madness!
Why madness? This year mostly because the underdogs seem to be breaking most brackets. After Thursday's Day 1 of the tournament had finished, Yahoo reported that by Friday morning only 1% of the brackets still had a chance of picking each game perfectly.
Did you know that Warren Buffett put up a $1 Billion prize for the person who picked every winner correctly? Although 16 people were still in the running Friday morning by Saturday the number was 0. Yes, Mr. Buffett's money is safe for another year thanks to Dayton, Harvard, Mercer and Stanford to name a few. Mercer defeating Duke-- unbelievable.
We love college basketball and come from a family of Ohio State graduates so the Buckeyes are our team. Unfortunately they lost their first game to Dayton this year and I can tell you there is a big difference watching the tournament when your team is out from when your team is still in.
We have been lucky enough in some years to follow the Bucks during the tourney to Cleveland OH, Pittsburgh, PA, Detroit, MI, and Lexington, KY. The tourney sites are so much fun with rival fans staking out a bar/restaurant with flags in school colors near the arena. The local Alumni Association usually arranges for the school's pep band and cheerleaders to visit the bar before the contest and hearing the fight song in a small space is always invigorating. My daughter and son-in-law both played in Ohio State pep bands at rallies in Cleveland and Pittsburgh and it was a thrill both for the fans and the family-- great memories we will always cherish.
But this year, despite the Buckeyes being out, we are still intently watching the games. Did you fill out a bracket? I didn't this year, but we do watch at least parts of most of the games mostly because we enjoy college basketball so much. And yes, I still find myself rooting for certain teams although I have no affiliation at all with that team or school. And I will root for ANY team playing Michigan. You have to be a true Buckeye to understand.
I always have questions that pop in my head during the game about the teams, none of which is related at all to basketball. For example, where is Creighton? I googled it out of curiosity? Omaha, NE.
How about Mercer?
What about those mascots? We know the Buckeyes and all of the other Big Ten schools but after that I struggle. How about you? Can you name the mascot of Virginia? How about Stephen Austin? Villanova?
I have a very good friend in California with whom we would always play a challenging March Madness game. Let's see how good you are with it.
Most mascots end in -S. For example, Buckeyes, Hawkeyes, Volunteers, Cardinals, Jayhawks, and so on.
How many Div I teams can you name whose mascot does not end in -S? What about teams in March Madness?
I'll get you started: The Cardinal of Stanford. Now you are on your own. Good luck. After all, when your team is not playing, there is lots of other ways to still enjoy March Madness!
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Der Dutchman: A trip back in time
Plain City is a small town community located at the intersection of Routes 42 and 161 in Central Ohio. As most small Ohio towns, it has a main drag with its only funeral home, Ferguson Funeral Home, on the main drag, two pizza parlors, and one mom and pop ice cream store, still closed because our winter this year is doing its best to obliterate spring.
As I turn from 161 onto 42, I pass the closed down gas station on the left and the McDonald's on the right, advertising two fish sandwiches for 99 cents on the lit sign. Passing Plain City Lanes on the left, the town's only bowling alley known for aging lanes and shoes and great pizza, we see the building we have made the roughly 15-mile trek from Dublin: Der Dutchman.
Here on Route 42, at the edge of the sleepy town of Plain City and before the 42 interchange with I-70 is one of the best restaurants in America, Der Dutchman, a mammoth respite for hundreds of people who flock to it each day to enjoy Amish cooking.
If you live in an area without Amish or Amish cooking, you are missing one of life's treasures. The Amish live primarily in Ohio, Indiana and Pennsylvania and live a "plain" or simple life. One of the strict Mennonite groups, the Amish are noted for farming with horse-drawn machinery, houses without electricity, and using horse-drawn buggies for transportation. The men and women wear homemade clothing of dark colors with no belts and often no buttons. Although the Amish local community usually defines the strictness of the local Amish, there are parts of Ohio where you can still drive down a country road and see a farmer plowing his field with a work horse and see Amish families traveling to town in their buggies.
Der Dutchman advertises Amish cooking, and tonight there was a wait in the mammoth restaurant with over a couple of hundred tables of well over an hour. And everyone waited in anticipation of the scrumptious homemade cooking, with their wait buzzer in hand.
To pass the time, the building also houses a giant gift store of quaint, handmade furnishings, Vera Bradley bags, Ohio State memorabilia and unique scarves, shawls, jewelry, and kids books. We move from the gift shoppe to another huge draw of Der Dutchman, Amish desserts and homemade cheeses.
We walk down the aisles of the bakery, past the pie cooler with home-baked chocolate-cream pies and strawberry pies, past the just baked peanut-butter cookies, over to pick out our favorite Amish cheese, lacey Swiss, and past the irresistible pecan rolls. We pay for our blueberry pie, cheese, peanut butter cookies, and pecan rolls for Sunday breakfast, get our two shopping bags, and carry them to the car before we are called to our table. Is there something wrong wearing a FitBit to track steps when the steps are going to and from the Amish bakery to the car?
Soon after we return to the restaurant our buzzer lets us know and table is ready, and we can't wait for the Amish dinner.
Although you can order off of the menu, most of the hundreds of diners choose the dinner buffet. Mmmmm. It is hard to describe this made-from-scratch Amish cooking of mashed potatoes, egg noodles, fried chicken, gravies, bread and rolls, and more salads than I can list. But I can tell you the potato salad and macaroni salad are unlike those I have had anywhere else. Sweet and finely chopped.
All-you-can-eat is an understatement. I go up twice and my husband three times, picking between servings of fried chicken and egg noodles, too good for words.
Yes, that really is my husband's second plate. Again, I think of my FitBit. I seriously doubt that it was meant to record steps to an from an Amish buffet. Does it matter that I really did eat mainly fruits for my lunch? I doubt it at this point.
Finally it is time to decide-- dessert or no dessert. There is no hesitation. I order my all-time favorite pie, Chocolate cream, and my husband orders homemade blueberry with vanilla ice cream.
As always, I ask for a take-home container for the remaining chocolate pie. It is a wondrous meal!
In today's world of sports bars with 20 blaring televisions and beer, wine and other alcoholic beverages punctuating noisy bar restaurants, Der Dutchman is truly worth the drive. No televisions, no alcohol, no NCAA March Madness. Just some of America's best food cooked and served by genuinely kind, small-town folks who really know how to work hard and serve others. And we are lucky to live close enough to enjoy it!
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