Fabulous Fall

One of the two maples next to our driveway.

Finally, the maple trees in front of the house have turned red.  Several years ago, probably ten or more, we had new neighbors move in next door.  The first thing they did was chop down an old maple tree that was smack dab between our two driveways.  I came home from work to a very empty space, and a proud neighbor who shouted over to me, "Looks great, doesn't it?"  I wanted to cry, and I think I did.

The next weekend I went out to a nursery and bought two spindly maple trees and had my husband plant them on either side of our driveway, fully within our own property lines. Surprisingly, we still have a fairly good relationship with those neighbors . . . who have proceeded to chop down every tree on their property!

When I bought the trees, I asked specifically for trees that would turn color early in the fall.  Someone lead me astray and I got a little cranky that first year as I waited, and waited, and waited some more for the gorgeous red that comes so painstakingly slow to those trees.  But, oh boy, when it finally arrived, it was worth the wait.  I love the brilliant red, and have resigned myself to boasting that I have the last trees to turn in our section of town. 

This fall has been nothing short of fabulous.  Two weekends ago, I was fortunate to reunite with the infamous blogging Vashonistas, who all brought cameras and posted amazing photos on their blogs ~ Deb, DJan, Sally, Jann, and our organizer, Linda.  I think I'm the last one to blog about the reunion!  I wrote about it last year here.  My camera took lousy photos, for some reason, so I am especially enjoying the ones my fellow bloggers posted!

Taking off for Vashon this year, Deb and I wondered if it could possibly surpass our inaugural meeting in 2012.  Spending precious time with Deb, my traveling companion, dear friend and confidant, and co-cook in the kitchen, was an added bonus.  We needn't have worried, as every moment that someone was awake was filled with conversation and laughter.  We ate well, got more exercise than some of us bargained for, and renewed our friendships.  The weather was nearly perfect, and the occasional drizzle didn't slow us down, or dampen our spirits, one bit.

This morning I am blessed with a bit of extra time, as I have a follow up appointment with the dermatologist in a couple hours for my full body check!  Not one I look forward to, as last time I had two biopsies and cancer was discovered on my face.  I neglected to post about that somewhat traumatizing experience, but it's over now, and amazingly, the scar is barely noticeable.  Those surgeons are pretty good!

A later start gave me the luxury of an invigorating walk before breakfast, and although it is still foggy, it was pleasant wearing a sweatshirt.  It was the first walk I've taken since the Vashon weekend, as I ended up with quite a bit of knee pain for most of the week following our hike. For those who knew me before partial knee replacement in 2011, I'm still fighting discomfort and unable to hike as I could prior to surgery.  In fact, I have an appointment with the surgeon later this month to discuss the situation.


I love the vibrant colors of fall.  I love crunching through crisp golden leaves, big harvest moons, and cold, clear days. Walking into work last Friday, I looked over at my favorite maple tree in front of the school and realized there were just a few straggling leaves left.  Just a hint of moisture hovered in the air from my expelled breath and as I burst into the office I exclaimed, "Call me crazy, but I absolutely love fall mornings!"  The secretary looked at me as if I was truly insane, and shook her head, laughing.  Not everyone is an leaf lover, I guess.

Autumn is chock full of some of my favorite things ~ crisp apples, orange pumpkins, and anything made from either of those two food items.  I look forward to the new school year, fresh faced students, the heady scent of a just opened box of crayola crayons.  The days are full of promises, and the nights are beginning to lengthen ~ I anticipate the pleasure of curling up with a good book and a cup of tea in front of the stove.

This year feels like an ending rather than a beginning.  As I readied my classroom, met my students and their parents, began the arduous task of learning new requirements, and planning for upcoming curriculum changes, I found myself at a crossroads.  It's leaving time.  If I stick to my plan, this will be my last "beginning of the year" September. I thought I'd be excited about it.  I thought I couldn't wait for this.  But now, I don't know what to think.

I should be rejoicing. I feel like crying. And it's not just because it seems I always have a week's worth of papers to read, mark, and record.  Surely I would miss this aspect of teaching, wouldn't I?

I suppose.

Just a couple weeks ago we held fall conferences.  I diligently went through the grade book, determined averages, recorded missing assignments, and typed up a half-sheet to give to the parents of each of my 27 students regarding each subject.  At first, I was just planning to do this for my ELL students, as they will be translated into Spanish.  Then, I decided, "What the heck!  I'll just do it for everyone."  While I've always prepared a hand written sort of progress report for parents at conferences, I hadn't typed them up before.  I now think it's a great idea and wish I'd thought of it years ago.

It doesn't really make much sense, but I'm going to miss fall conferences!  Exhausting as they are to prep for, I love the opportunity to get to know the families of my students, and for them to get to know me.

As I write, I also think about why retirement seemed like such a good idea last spring when David and I talked about it.  We had just lost David's closest and longest friend to brain cancer.  We were numb with grief and the shock of how quickly life can be extinguished. We looked at each other and both agreed that life was too short; and we wanted to make the most of whatever years (months?? days??) we have left. So, we discussed finances and made some decisions.  I was practically giddy with the thought of being "done" with the continual political demands of teaching that have so little to do with teaching.

Right now, I can honestly say the last thing I want to do is retire.  I love my job.  I love the kids, and some of my favorite people are my fellow teachers.  And, I selfishly think about how much I enjoy a steady paycheck, that allows me to live, if not in luxury, at least in comfort. I'm happy with my life as it is, and while I really do want to retire and travel in the near future, I'm not so sure it needs to be this coming June.

I'm not making any definite decisions, yet.  But I am going to enjoy this fabulous fall with every fiber of my being, knowing well that there are no guarantees in how many my future holds. 

The ADD Teacher

It’s the third day of school and I can’t find my lunch count paper and money envelope.  The kids keep coming up and asking me, as several have cash for lunch, and I haven’t a clue. I can’t remember if I picked it up from my mailbox that morning, or the afternoon before.

Fortunately, I have a one-on-one staff assistant this year for a student in a wheel chair with muscular dystrophy.  I ask her to please run to the office to check my mailbox.  She returns empty handed, telling me she checked the other boxes nearby, the staff table, and the women’s restroom, all for naught.

I keep a smile on my face, and shuffle through my desk drawer for an envelope to put the kids money in.  Then I write their name, lunch number and amount of money on a post it, along with the lunch count and my name and room number.  I smirk a bit when I notice my coffee mug;  “Keep Calm and Carry On” emblazoned across the front.

A few minutes later, the kitchen lady calls my room and says she doesn’t know who brought money.  It seems the post it fell off.  The kids and I recreate the needed information.  Once again, we carry on.  The next morning, I stop by the kitchen and humbly ask for a replacement lunch sheet and envelope.  I had thought perhaps I had picked them up inadvertently and left them with a stack of correcting at home.  I had not.

Of course, several days later I did find the missing materials, under a stack of “Read All About Me” posters on the counter.  I now have a spare set, which I will surely use.

The morning progresses, with my usual hunt for my favorite purple dry erase marker, or my cute new owl pointer, and the never-ending search for the clipboard with my planning notes. It’s a typical day in Room 111.

Later, I’ll be frantically tossing papers off my desk, trying to find the science folio that I was reading while eating my salad at lunch.  I give up; open the connecting door between my room and Angie’s, telling her I can’t find it. She offers hers, which I gratefully grab as I’m opening my door for the kids to come in. This year we’ve extended the lunch recess, and given up the late afternoon one.  Great idea in theory, but in reality tough, as there is no break between literacy and science, so I need to be prepared for both before the kids return from lunch recess.

I shouldn’t really need the teacher notes, as I’ve been teaching this same exact science unit for a decade!  I know it, or should know it, by heart.  But, a funny thing happens on the way through my lessons.  I forget chunks, or fairly important vocabulary words, or leave out part of the directions.  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve taught it so much that I just forget I haven’t already said what I need to say (this year!), or if it’s the ADD running amok within.

The day before I had merrily taken the kids on a jaunt around the building, with notebooks and pencils in hand.  We were busily counting our footsteps, along each wall, and we were going to create a “birds eye view” map of the building. We’re all having a grand ole time, despite the 95-degree temp.  We return to the classroom, and I model for them how to draw out the building, and never once get back to the averaging lesson I had planned on, using their group data to determine approximate distance for each wall.  I also neglected to discuss and post the new vocabulary: model, grid lines, boundary, map, and cartographer.  There’s always tomorrow.

Suddenly, the patrol kids are getting ready to go, so we stop for planners, then the kinder helpers get ready to go, and the rest of us get ready to go and play silent ball. Day over!

Nobody tries harder than I do to stay organized. I am the Queen Bee of organizational tools.  I have labeled file drawers, labeled cubbies.  I label the supply drawers.  I have files and file holders and labels up the kazoo . . . and I can’t find a darn thing. I paid my daughter to come in last spring and completely reorganize my four-drawer file cabinet.  She did a beautiful job, and all files are in alphabetical order: algebra, area, decimals, division and so on.  She consolidated all multiple folders into one, (I think she found four or five labeled algebra) and I love it.

The problems arise when I remove a file, or a few papers from a file. They get lost, buried beneath the scads of papers that pass through my fingertips each day. I have a file box labeled with the days of the week, presumably so that I can file the papers I will need for any given day.  This would be fabulous if, one, I actually put the papers in the correct file, or two, if I remember that I did put the papers in the correct file folder! Many days I’m looking for a set of papers, that I had seen moments earlier, but forget that I put them in the file (and never once look there until I am filing the next week’s papers!)

When my dear friend Deb was my teaching pal, she always kept the important papers.  She kept an accurate calendar, knew when to order what, and the 5^th grade team was a smooth running machine.  When she moved to another school, she passed all her files on to me.  Yep, it was scary.

For a couple years, I was the only consistent member of the team, as my teammates kept changing grade level positions. I was in charge. Yikes!

I managed to hold it together, and get things ordered in a timely manner, for the most part. I was good about passing materials on to my teammates, but it was a running joke whether I could keep track of my own.  I was often borrowing back one copy so I could go run a copy for myself until I ran across the curiously hidden copies of my own.  Just so you know, I nearly always find my papers eventually.  I draw the line at wasting paper on making new ones (unless they’re really important.)

You’d think that, as a teacher, I would recognize ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) in myself.  Lord knows I’ve had plenty of students who are “attention challenged”. Yet, it wasn’t until one of my daughters was diagnosed while in high school that I realized I was, too.  After going over the checklist of behaviors for her, it was sobering to discover there were very few I didn’t exhibit.  I just always thought I was scatterbrained.  (Which I am, but, there’s a diagnosis for that now!) Whew!

Several years ago, while chatting with my then principal, I mentioned it.  She looked at me and said, “It must be very hard for you!” It is, no question about it.  It’s hard keeping track, and it’s even harder to stay on track.  But, I’m a good teacher, and maybe, the ADD kind of works in my favor.  I totally “get” the kids who share my challenges.  I can laugh with them.  I hopefully help them with organization.  My kids grow and improve and test scores demonstrate success. My students love me as much as I love them.  They continue to come back to visit, volunteer in my classroom when in high school, and invite me to their graduation parties. 

The current kids help me, too. They become pros at keeping track of my teaching stuff.  It’s way better losing my clipboard at school, as one of the kids can spot it in a matter of seconds.  At home, it’s a totally different story.  I can lose stuff for years.  (Well, I can do that at school too.  I still can’t find my favorite red timer that I lost last April!) It’s a mystery.

This may, or may not, be my last year teaching.  I would imagine that any job is hard if you’re ADD, but I find it incredibly frustrating.  I waste a lot of time, searching, shuffling through stacks of papers, and sadly, re-creating. It is a daunting task to attempt to keep up, and I fail miserably on a daily basis. Across the room as I write, there is a rolling cart stuffed with papers that I brought home on Friday to sort through and organize.  I’m exhausted just thinking about that task. Yet, it true and typical ADD fashion, I’ve completely gotten sidetracked and written this blog post instead of doing my homework!

This weekend I have to prepare files for three students who will be leaving my class on Wednesday.  Emotionally, that’s hard.  I’ve known since the first day of school (nearly two weeks ago) that we were overloaded, but the shift wasn’t decided on until Friday.  Sitting in the conference room with the principal and the other 4^th and 5^th grade teachers, trying to determine who would be a good “fit” for the newly created 4/5 split, was hard. 

The general public often doesn’t understand the teacher heart.  We miraculously love those kids the moment we meet them.  They may try our patience, exasperate us, and confound us.  But nothing stops us from that unconditional love that seeps into our heart once a child is placed in our classroom. When they leave, either willingly or unwillingly, a piece of our heart goes with them. This may be truer for elementary teachers than middle or high school, but I think all teachers feel the tug.

That’s another post . . .

On the Road Again . . .

 Not sure how the title will fit this blog, but let’s get started!  Background first, since I haven’t blogged in a bazillion days . . .

Over the past couple months I’ve been on yet another “road to health” that has left me with mixed emotions.  Yeah, I’m losing weight, and I’m more active, and I’ve given away every piece of clothing that is too big. This meant two trips of boxes and bags to our local family homeless shelter, as I found several bins of “just because” clothing on shelves in the garage while doing my summer cleaning! But . . . I’m fighting a very real feeling that this isn’t the health program for me.  I don’t like the road I’m on for a number of reasons.

I won’t go into the details, or badmouth the program, as many love it and are true blue fans.  That’s ok for them, but it isn’t feeling right for me, and quite honestly, I had to talk myself into it in the first place. I haven’t been 100% committed, although I have followed it faithfully, hoping that I would find myself in that state of near Nirvana others spoke of while taking this particular road to good health. (It didn’t happen; more energy and euphoria continues to elude me!)

So I thought about what does feel right ~ frequent small meals that are high in protein and low in carbohydrates, exercise daily, stay clear of sugary treats and junk food ~ and decided that I will wean myself off of the program and instead trust myself to make healthy choices on my own.

Novel idea, I agree!  I know my strengths, and weaknesses, quite well.  I know that in the past twenty-five years I have been unable to maintain any kind of weight loss program on my own. I’ve needed incentive to stick to it ~ other people to commiserate with, and usually paying big $$ for food and/or supplements.

(Little FYI ~ I never had a weight problem until I quit smoking 26 years ago.  Do I have a compulsive personality?  Yeah, I think so.  However, I draw the line at picking up the smoking habit as a mode to weight loss!  Some roads I simply will not take again!)

But, alas, this past was before I changed to my new primary care doctor, who has left no stone unturned in making sure I get healthy, come hell or high water.  Our first conversation was 75 minutes long last January.  I was in tears: I pretty much hated her and never wanted to see her again.  She told me I was depressed, and I didn’t believe her until I started a medication for depression.  She was right, I got really depressed when I gained 10 more pounds in a month!

In the meantime, she had ordered blood work that came back leading her to believe I was on the road to self-destruction. (I guess my “road” title is working out) She said, “Get some weight off, NOW!”  I cried some more and blamed the medication . . . so, she changed it and told me I had three months to bring down my cholesterol and blood sugar numbers before I’d be put on more medication.

Well, the new depression medication was amazing.  I didn’t know I was supposed to be happy, and was surprised to discover that I liked being in happy mode. Hmmm . . .

There were a few other medical alerts during the spring: suspicious moles (I had a chunk of my cheek removed due to skin cancer, which was sewn up beautifully!) and problems suspected in my bladder and kidneys (had a couple unpleasant procedures, and then had a kidney stone blasted to smithereens, as it was too big to pass without surgery).

I lost a few pounds on my own, but heard about a “miracle program”  (I know, where was my brain you wonder??) and I was enticed with the magic of dropping more weight quicker and being in a state of “Optimal Health” so I signed up and got started in May.

Within a week, since I had a re-check appointment with Dr. Kill Joy (not her real name), I was half hoping she would tell me I couldn’t do the program.  She snickered when I told her what it was (first time she has cracked a smile) asking how I liked the food (I personally think it’s pretty awful!) and agreed I could stay on it, as I was already losing weight and she was happy to see that.  However, she ordered further blood work to be sure my numbers were where they were supposed to be. 

My blood pressure had been high the last three times, however in all fairness, two of them were prior to medical procedures and I wasn’t too alarmed.  Dr. KJ was, naturally, and told me to stick to a low sodium diet, buy a blood pressure cuff and record readings at least twice a day.  Luckily, this food program made it easy to track the sodium, but it was still a challenge to stay below 1500 mg per day.  And, my blood pressure continued to be in the “you’re not dead yet, but you’re in danger” zone, so the doctor required me to start blood pressure medication.  The first one made me dizzy, despite the fact I was on ½ of the dose.  However, the current one is working well, with no dizziness.

I’ve learned a few things on this road trip to health. 

First, although I should have been prepared for this, I am more fully aware of my limitations as I flounder in the 60’s. Nothing comes easy, everything takes twice as long as it used to, and half of what I used to know I’ve forgotten. 

Second, I’ve found myself scared into submission.  The focus has shifted from “I wish I could lose weight” to “I have to lose weight” if I want to enjoy a certain quality of life.  Lately, I like the fact that I can easily bend over to pick beans in the garden, or paint my own toes.  Simple pleasures, but I’ll take them.

Third, I have two daughters planning weddings in the not so distant future.  I really want to look good in those family photos that will hang for posterity on the family room wall.

Oh yeah, and if I eat right, exercise and take care of myself, maybe I can keep a few of those prescriptions out of my life a while longer. 

There has never been a better time for me to reward myself with good health, so I’m on the road again . . .

Dreaming of a . . .

Nope, I'm not dreaming of a white Christmas!  I'm dreaming of a "pain free" Christmas, just like the ones I used to know.  Before I got old and unbalanced, and tripped over my own feet. (Or over a bin of boxes I put in the kitchen!)

December 20 ~ I'm on vacation!  Both daughters are home!  We have four days to get last minute presents made, and wrapped and be ready for Christmas festivities!  Jess and I have been sitting in the family room, chatting and entertained by watching Kailyn's kitten.  Kailyn's out on a date; David has been in bed asleep for hours. I pick up one of the beautiful poinsettia plants in the family room and carry it to the kitchen for a dose of water.

Suddenly, I am falling, the plant goes flying and SPLAT goes my body, onto the kitchen floor. At first, I just laid there, cursing, while Jess picked up the plant, scooping the dirt back into the pot.  The obviously indestructible Fiesta ware saucer doesn't have a crack in it, although I'm fairly sure my ribs do.

I am so mad at myself.  I'm the one who put a plastic bin of boxes in that spot a few hours previously, ready to be used for gift wrapping. How on earth did I trip over what I knew was there?  It wasn't even in the doorway; I almost had to go out of my way to find it with my left foot!

After I managed to get upright, I hobbled to the couch in the family room and Nurse Jess brought me ice packs for my chest and knees. (At that point I didn't know what hurt worse, so we covered all areas of impact)  Fortunately I had leftover pain pills from an earlier shoulder injury (which I'm still doing physical therapy for) and I got to bed around midnight.  Not a happy place to be I discovered.  There was no comfortable position.

The next morning I called the doctor and made an appointment to come in for x-rays   I found it was easier to sit upright, or stand, than to lay down, so I puttered in my sewing room for much of the day while I awaited my appointment time, guiding Jess as she made her first pair of pajama pants. (She did an excellent job!)

Just as I was getting ready to leave, I received a phone call telling me my doctor was delivering a baby and I'd need to reschedule for the next morning!  I was told I could go to urgent care to get x-rays if I wished, but since I didn't really want to get in the car anyway, I decided it wouldn't make much difference either way.  I found that the pain pills weren't doing a lot for the pain, but helped my disposition, so I took another one!

It was hard to believe, but the second night was even worse for sleeping, so I was grateful for the morning appointment.  My husband drove me to the doctor, and after x-rays showed I had no broken ribs, I was given a different prescription pain reliever and told I would likely feel worse the next day, but that I would see improvement (SLOWLY) over the next several weeks.  The doctor said that treatment is basically the same, with or without broken ribs, and that it's the bruised muscles that are causing the pain. I was told to be sure and take deep breaths at least once an hour, as pneumonia was a concern with this type of injury. Merry Christmas to me!

We headed over to my Dad's to pick him up for the l-o-n-g drive to my brother's house for the family Christmas party, which was scheduled for noon that day.  Arriving at my Dad's, he told us he preferred taking his van, and driving, as it was most comfortable for him (he is healing from a broken hip!) and I figured it wasn't going to matter much for me, so we let him drive.  My brother lives in a gorgeous home, on top of a mountain, outside of Woodland, Washington, complete with hairpin curves the seven miles up from the main road.  Despite a pain pill and later two extra strength Tylenol, I was in misery, and not a little cranky.  Once at my brother's, I stood and tried to be sociable, (no easy task!) until it was mercifully time to go home. Everyone was solicitous and no one hugged me hard, so I wasn't any worse off when we left.

Christmas Eve we drove to my husband's sister's house for another family gathering.  By that morning, I was feeling like there was a light at the end of the tunnel (hmm, sounds like my last post . . .) and I was even able to sit awhile in almost comfort while we were there.  When it was time to go, we all went around for our good bye hugs, and my brother-in-law, whom I love, gave me a bear hug that literally brought tears to me eyes.  (In his defense, he knew nothing of my recent fall, as we hadn't told anyone there.)

When we got to the car I told my family about the hug, and we all kind of laughed about it, as that's just Uncle Guy, known for his bear hugs, and I didn't think much more about it.

Yesterday I went back to PT (for my shoulder) and told my therapist about my fall.  She was very cautious with me as we went through my routine, and I felt like I was doing alright until she asked me to lay on the bench.  As soon as my back hit the bench, I was in immediate pain.  She saw my eyes fill with tears and quickly helped me stand up. I asked why my back hurt so bad, when I landed on my front, and she explained the ways the muscles surround the body, and that back pain showed how deep my bruising was.

Last night I was carrying some recycling stuff to the garage and dropped it.  David heard me cussing and came to help me pick it up, saying, "I'll get it."

I told him, "I'm not mad about dropping it so much as I'm mad that it hurts so much to bend over and pick anything up.  I'm so tired of being in pain!"

I can see through the window that it isn't raining outside, so I am going to go through the misery of getting dressed and putting on my shoes, so I can enjoy some fresh air and a walk.  I'm sick of laying/sitting around, especially since I can't do much of either for longer than about an hour before I'm uncomfortable. 

It just occured to me that dreaming of a pain free existence isn't going to make it happen.  Movement will be a start . . . careful, paying close attention to my surroundings, movement . . . it's a start.

Let There Be Light

Kailyn and Cleo

I've been up for hours, read the paper, caught up on a few blogs, and it's still dark as I look out my kitchen window.  It is the time of darkness.  No wonder the Christian world decided it would be a good time to celebrate Christmas!  It makes perfect sense. We need a little light in this world.

For the past seven years, I've dreaded December doubly, with the darkness of grief commingling with the dreariness of winter. This year was no exception.  It started on December first, attending a memorial service for a friend's husband, sobbing in the pew as the painful memories pierced my heart, not only for myself, but so many of my friends who have lost their children too soon and especially those whose anniversaries are also in December.

It continued, building to a crescendo as the days marched on, dreading the coming of the anniversary of my son's death on December 16.  For some reason, this year seemed especially poignant. I cried frequently, with no warnings.  I was also battling a raging anger inside that I couldn't name, but was erupting with intensity and frankly, scaring the daylights out of me.  My counselor gave me a simple two sentence meditation that I latched onto and was repeating to myself endlessly, "May I be happy again.  May this pain pass."

And then the horror of Sandy Hook Elementary shook our world, rattled our sensibilities, and my own dance with grief was sidelined.  My broken heart wept with those newly broken hearted parents. As the news traveled across the school, as I met the red eyes of fellow teachers in the hallways, silently embracing, I was reminded of September 11, 2001.  When I could grasp the words from my spinning brain, I'd repeat my mantra from earlier in the week, no longer singular, but plural.  We got through the day, sending our unknowing students off for the weekend, perhaps giving more hugs than usual as they left our classrooms.

Time does not stop.  As I've written (and been interrupted by my dog and my husband) the day has lightened and the birds are feasting at the various feeders outside my window.  The fire is warming, the still fresh evergreen aroma of the Christmas tree fills my nostrils.  I look around at the chaos Christmas, and of both daughters home for the holidays, including my new baby grandkitty, Cleo!

Yesterday I celebrated 62 years of living. I was literally showered with love. My students gifts, cards and notes reassured me that I am right where I am supposed to be.  I was doubly blessed, as my birthday coincided with the last day of school before winter break. (Happy Birthday to me!) From the specially chosen and carefully wrapped green apple, to the hand knit (by one of my spitfire little guys!) purple scarf, to the boxes of candy, ornaments, mugs, nick knacks, stuffed bears and perfume (yes, perfume!) my aching heart healed a little more.

This day also brought the happy news that my oldest daughter, Jessica, was officially hired as a certificated substitute for the district I work for. (I will have a live-in sub; how cool is that?)  My youngest daughter, Kailyn was coming home, with baby Cleo, and my sister was hosting a family dinner in honor of my birthday. The day was long, but filled with laughter. Being encircled by so much love truly lifted my heart and soul.

Having lived through my own raw Christmas grief, I have firsthand experience with darkness during the season of light. I know that it will come back to haunt me, year after year, because it is right that I  miss my son; his presence in my life. But, I also know that though the tunnel of darkness can be long, and seemingly without end, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Let there be light for you, and for those you love.  

Trick or Treat?

Little did I realize a couple weeks ago, when I decided I'd make my class cake pops, what a trick it would be.  Or the mess.  Or the frustration.  Or, the expense.  I must have been crazy, truly, to think that making cake pops for 27 would be, well, a piece of cake.  Not.

I made the cake on Sunday ($ 0.99).  I crumbled it up and added the frosting ($ 1.29) on Monday, and attempted to form nice little round balls of sticky cake.  Messy, very messy.  I melted white chocolate  ($2.59) and dipped the little white stick in ($1.99), and stuck it in the little round sticky balls of cake.  About half of them crumbled on the cookie sheet.  I fixed them and put them in the freezer to "set".

Meanwhile, I melted orange candy melts ($2.99) in the microwave.  I waited patiently for my 20 minutes to be up for the cake balls to "set" then dipped the first one in the melted candy.

It broke apart and I had to fish it's pieces out of the bowl with a spoon.

I crammed it back together (I think the melted candy kind of helped it hold its shape) and put them all back in the freezer and decided to leave them there until this morning.

Mostly awake at 5:15 AM, I began melting the candy (again) while I read the paper.  Once it was melted, I tried dipping again with greater success.  I liberally coated the dipped cake balls with sprinkles ($2.99) these are for fifth graders after all! and poked them into the rather expensive chunks of styrofoam I bought for just this purpose (3 @ $3.99 each) to dry.

Luckily, I had also bought a bag of yellow candy melts ($2.99) as I soon realized that the bag of orange wasn't enough to cover all of the cake pops.  For some strange reason, the yellow candy seemed thicker, and those cake balls are fatter than the orange ones. Oh well.

I finished clearing the melted candy off the counter, swept up the spilled sprinkles, and put the finished cake pops in the fridge to harden around 7:00 AM.  Then it was a frantic rush to get out of the house and get to work.

Just before I left, I tried to cover the cake pops with the little plastic treat bags I had bought ($1.99) for this purpose.  The bags were too small.

I went to work, left at noon for an ELL training at district office, hurried to my accupuncture session at 4:00, and ran by the craft store to buy bigger treat bags ($4.99 - they only came in a package of 100!)

Now I sit.  I have bagged the cake pops, baked mini pumpkin muffins, had dinner, and I'm ready to call it a night.  I've gotten no school work accomplished for two evenings now, and tomorrow night I'll be interrupted every five minutes with trick or treaters.

I did the math.  $34.78 (without the tax) which comes out to about $1.29 per student.

I think I've been tricked. I could have bought them at Starbucks for about the same price! Although, I have no desire to eat these . . . the ones at Starbucks however would have been much more tempting!

Happy Halloween!

Update!
Last night I decided to slap a bit of leftover frosting on the mini pumpkin muffins, then add the left over sprinkles, but alas, I ran out of frosting a little over half way through. I went to bed, as it was nearly 10:00.

This morning I thought I'd whip up more frosting, but it seemed like too much effort for the 1/2 cup I needed.  Then I remembered I still had four squares of white chocolate.  Viola!  I melted those down, dipped the remaining mini muffins in the melted chocolate, then in the last of the orange and black sprinkles!

Now I have to cart all this stuff to school in an hour!  But, it will be fun to see the kids faces! That will be my "treat"!

Treasure Island

I can't say that I've honestly ever fantasized about meeting up with a bunch of strangers to spend a weekend stranded on an island.  However, when I received an email asking if I might be interested in doing such a thing, I barely hesitated to respond with an affirmative answer.  I was intrigued by the thought of meeting four women I felt that I "knew" through blogging over the past year or so.  I had built a relationship with them, reading and responding to their stories, as they reciprocated to mine.  I knew quite a lot about them, and wondered if there would be any "surprises" in real life.  My old and trustworthy friend, Deb (aka Catbird Scout) was part of the package, so I knew I wouldn't be alone in this adventure.

Linda (aka Bag Lady in Waiting) scoured the internet, looking for a list of suitable accommodations, and we all were drawn to idyllic sounding Lavender Hills Farm on Vashon Island.  Within a matter of days, the dates were set, the farmhouse was booked, and we'd all sent Linda our share of the rental.

And then, in the hustle and bustle of September, I sort of put any thoughts about the "blogger weekend" out of my head.

Suddenly, it was October, and emails were flying, filled with who was bringing what, and who was driving with who, and who was arriving when.  Deb and I met up, giddy as school girls on holiday, to make the drive north on what promised to be a glorious fall Friday.

And glorious it was, despite losing our way enroute to the ferry, and while finally on the ferry, receiving a phone call from our unmet new friends, telling us they also were lost (but finally found!) and discovered Deb & I would arrive at our destination first, instead of last.

We arrived, and met with the caretaker, who gave us a tour of truly one of the most beautiful old farm houses I've ever had the privilege to visit.  Every step, every corner turned, drew oohs and aahs. (alas, I neglected to take many photos, and actually can't find my camera at the moment, so if you want to see photos, hop on over to DJan's blog!)

Deb and I were just finishing unloading the van when our weekend roommates drove up.  We all hugged like long lost friends, and immediately DJan had her camera out.  The tone was set and a passerby would have never guessed we'd met only moments before.  Our time flew and was truly a fantasy come true.

Were there "surprises"?  Oh yes, but learning more about our cyber friends only made them more endearing.  We discovered much more in common than previously known, and tenuous connections via blogger were strengthened and woven tightly together during our time spent sharing, exploring, discovering and eating!

Rounding out our group of six was Sally, who came all the way from Colorado, and Jann, both of whom have written their own versions of our fantastic weekend!

Linda, Sally, DJan, Deb and Jann 

It wouldn't have occurred to me to instigate a gathering such as this one,  but I'm so thrilled I was included.  Our time spent getting to know one another was time I will forever treasure.