Little Did I Know!

          I grew up in Bowie.  A more simplistic version back then, with sparse shopping, fewer homes, hardly a restaurant within miles, an extremely lower population and crime rate, but still, Bowie, my home.  And when I received some exciting news this week, it caused me to pause for a bit and smile in remembrance of the little girl I once was some 42 years ago.  A simple and quiet ten year old child, and like Bowie, I continuously trudged forward on a path of maturity.

            It was then that my schoolwork began requiring research reports; long, very long reports of one whole page, one side only, single spaced (smile) and usually of an historic topic.  I was brought to the Bowie Public Library by my mother each time with instructions to be finished with my research in two hours.  You see, the library housed shelves, endless shelves it seemed, of World Encyclopedias, whereas at my house, in keeping true to my simplistic nature, we owned a set of The Golden Book Encyclopedias, with a total width span on my sister's desk of possibly eighteen inches.

            I can so vividly remember the exact area I sat in the library; upstairs in the non-fiction section, with my head hung low in desperation and my long, straight, light brown hair forever a distraction to my concentration as I sat giving it my best shot not to plagiarize.  Already a dreamer with a growing imagination, I took the full two hours to get what I needed before packing up the few sheets of loose leaf paper securely attached to my clipboard.  And when I placed the encyclopedia back on the shelf and gazed at the thousands of books and endless shelving of stories, little did I know, or could have ever imagined, that I would one day be notified that the novel I created and poured my heart and soul into was now housed on the very same shelves that once intimidated me.

            I wasn't a strong student by any means and motivation was something I only called upon to finish my homework so I could play.  With a field of waist high wild grasses and straw, probably weeds in all honesty, behind my house, my extra time was spent there;  crawling through newly created paths, building forts, and pulling prickly stickers out of my hair.  With my best friend in tow, we climbed down into the drainage wells and wandered the streets in our neighborhood, only underground.  Truly fascinating it was to view life from different perspectives.  And when I think about it now in the present, those years of endless, care free playing were so important in developing who I am, who I've become and responsible for the imagination that thrives in me, forever begging a story of 'what if.' 

            A lot of jabber here for someone who once long ago feared a pencil and the written word.  But like the city of Bowie, time has contributed to change and maturity, and for me, the development of my stories that slowly learned how to find their way to paper.  And the long, straight, light brown strands that once offered me opportunities of thought more interesting to me than the study of world wars, now lay silver and curled upon my shoulders, pleased with what age has given them.

            So, yet, my story, First Creatures: A Journey Through Grief, has found another way to reach readers.  Aside from its availability on Amazon, Kindle and NOOK, it is now available for lending through the Prince George's County Memorial Library.

Little Did I Know

             I grew up in Bowie.  A more simplistic version back then, with sparse shopping, fewer homes, hardly a restaurant within miles, an extremely lower population and crime rate, but still, Bowie, my home.  And when I received some exciting news this week, it caused me to pause for a bit and smile in remembrance of the little girl I once was some 42 years ago.  A simple and quiet ten year old child, and like Bowie, I continuously trudged forward on a path of maturity.

            It was then that my schoolwork began requiring research reports; long, very long reports of one whole page, one side only, single spaced (smile) and usually of an historic topic.  I was brought to the Bowie Public Library by my mother each time with instructions to be finished with my research in two hours.  You see, the library housed shelves, endless shelves it seemed, of World Encyclopedias, whereas at my house, in keeping true to my simplistic nature, we owned a set of The Golden Book Encyclopedias, with a total width span on my sister's desk of possibly eighteen inches.

            I can so vividly remember the exact area I sat in the library; upstairs in the non-fiction section, with my head hung low in desperation and my long, straight, light brown hair forever a distraction to my concentration as I sat giving it my best shot not to plagiarize.  Already a dreamer with a growing imagination, I took the full two hours to get what I needed before packing up the few sheets of loose leaf paper securely attached to my clipboard.  And when I placed the encyclopedia back on the shelf and gazed at the thousands of books and endless shelving of stories, little did I know, or could have ever imagined, that I would one day be notified that the novel I created and poured my heart and soul into was now housed on the very same shelves that once intimidated me.

            I wasn't a strong student by any means and motivation was something I only called upon to finish my homework so I could play.  With a field of waist high wild grasses and straw, probably weeds in all honesty, behind my house, my extra time was spent there;  crawling through newly created paths, building forts, and pulling prickly stickers out of my hair.  With my best friend in tow, we climbed down into the drainage wells and wandered the streets in our neighborhood, only underground.  Truly fascinating it was to view life from different perspectives.  And when I think about it now in the present, those years of endless, care free playing were so important in developing who I am, who I've become and responsible for the imagination that thrives in me, forever begging a story of 'what if.' 

            A lot of jabber here for someone who once long ago feared a pencil and the written word.  But like the city of Bowie, time has contributed to change and maturity, and for me, the development of my stories that slowly learned how to find their way to paper.  And the long, straight, light brown strands that once offered me opportunities of thought more interesting to me than the study of world wars, now lay silver and curled upon my shoulders, pleased with what age has given them.

            So, yet, my story, First Creatures: A Journey Through Grief, has found another way to reach readers.  Aside from its availability on Amazon, Kindle and NOOK, it is now available for lending through the Prince George's County Memorial Library.

Make Room, My Heart

Change is in the air at the Liberati house.  There's a definite feel of excitement as smiles are swapped and shoulder-shrug grins are tossed about.  It's that feeling families get when a very important visitor is expected.  It's definitely the feeling I got when I was young and my grandparents, aunts and uncles from far away were coming for a visit.  I mean, the vacuum cleaner was out and we were still smiling and still being helpful.  The couch was moved over a foot or two, a table was slid to the opposite side of the room for better positioning, and another very important piece of furniture was washed and brought back to life from the garage.  It's not a visitor, though, that's arriving next weekend, and it's not a house guest all together.  It's not party preparation, and it's definitely not Santa Claus.  Nope, the event that's got our family in a constant state of anticipation is the arrival of a brand new baby puppy.

That's right.  We're doing it again, and we're starting from scratch.  Yesterday was our day to prepare 'her' room, the family room, that is.  And 'her' is an eight week old chocolate lab.  If you recall from an earlier blog post, we lost our beloved Toffee in early June.  Her void left a hole so deep and wide that we found ourselves still catching our breath at the realization that she's gone.  Not really an unexpected hole, but one that we thought we could fill with everyday life.  Turns out, as I told Officer Buckle, "We're dog people, you and I."

We thought our lives would be easier without a dog to take care of, without the added worry.  But as it turns out, our lives were not only easier with a dog, but more fulfilling when there was another living creature in the center hub of our family who was encouraging love and affection and reminding us how to love unconditionally.

But leave it to me to be the one who plays the part of 'Debbie Downer,' and who has a difficult time with change, even positive change.  When all was said and done yesterday, and all of the puppy's new essentials were bought and in their rightful place, I had an uncomfortable feeling I couldn't ignore.  So when my daughter went back to school and my son retreated upstairs, and Officer Buckle remained busy working on a new floor project in the office, all was quiet and I found myself alone once again in the quiet confines of my rocking chair; a place where my deepest of thoughts are given permission to rise and surface.  It was then I allowed the nagging feeling that had been tucked safely and so deeply inside of me to keep me from addressing it, to surface and bear its face.  And what was it, or better yet, who was it?  Ahh, the face of fear, dought, uncertainty, and...guilt.  Will we be good enough for this little puppy?  Will she be good enough for us; meaning, and I don't want to compare, but she as awfully big shoes to fill, paws, that is.  Am I expecting the new puppy to be exactly like Toffee?

 It reminded me of a time in my life eighteen years ago when I once wondered if number two could be as good as number one.  When I was expecting my second child, I became afraid near the due date.  I wondered how I could possibly love another baby as much as the one I already had.  (I told you I was a Debbie Downer)  I prayed about it and kept those thoughts to myself, and my answer came in full force when my son was placed in my arms.  You see, my heart grew when I held him and looked into his eyes.  I was in love again, my fears disappeared, and I understood.  So I understood again, yesterday, after calming down and thinking back in time.  Our new little puppy will be her own new creature with her own personality.  Perhaps there will be some similarities, as there often times are, but really, all she has to do is to be a puppy, and our hearts will grow.

I hope to share pictures and a name next time I write.  And, ooh, what's that feeling?  No bother, it's just my heart growing and making room.

Clapping at its Best!

I had the opportunity for a quick, spur of the moment, dinner out last night as a bon voyage for my daughter as she heads back to college today.  Her roommate is already in town and staying with our family so we gathered together along with my parents and turned it into something a little festive to send her off.

It was one of those nights where I felt as if I were seated perfectly in a restaurant so that I could see all who entered, and what most were up to as they waited in line.  A trait of mine that is becoming more apparent to me as I obtain more silver is my love of 'watching people,'  and not in a weird way, but just absorbing the different ways in which people communicate...or not.  I find it so intriguing the give and take of communication; facial expression, personal space, and, hand movement.  I might have been a fan of silent movies long after sound was introduced, mainly because of my fascination with 'seeing.' Perhaps this is because what I see holds such an important role for my imagination, really gets the 'what ifs' flying, or perhaps, it's just a blessing in disguise as my hearing is unfortunately getting closer to being something of the past.  

But back to communicating and hand movement.  Like the owner of the restaurant last night.  I could tell he recognized me right away when I walked in, and who wouldn't as it was my fourth time visiting his new restaurant this week.  I held up four fingers to him and he began laughing and clapping.  Just to put it out there...I don't normally eat out four times a week, but with 'back to school week' for teachers and our many meetings, we escaped our confines any chance we got.

During our meal last night I heard a little commotion and a squeal.  I looked up in time to see an older woman in line clapping her hands as a little girl, possibly her granddaughter of no more than two or three years, was running toward her, only to be scooped up by her and smothered with kisses.  It was definitely a treasured moment and I wish they knew what an impact it made on me.

And right before I left the restaurant, I heard and witnessed more clapping, but this time from a little boy whose excitement for pizza couldn't be contained with just a smile.  I laughed to myself silently, realizing that I felt the same excitement for pizza.

With all the clapping I had just experienced in a period of 45 minutes, I wondered where and how clapping all began and thought I'd look it up.  When I later sat down at my computer to 'Google' how clapping began, I got a little sidetracked with Facebook, and watched a video shared by a friend.  And wouldn't you know it, it was more clapping...and clapping at its best.   I would love to have been one of those people in the video doing a little of my own people watching when this began, but for now, I'll share the video with you.  For a one minute 'feel good' clapping experience, CLICK HERE.  Oh, and it turns out there's not much knowledge on the origin of clapping other than early Greek arenas and presentations, but I'm happy with the definition...A simple indicator of the average relative opinion of the entire group.

Faith in Humanity...Restored

It came in the nick of time, just when I couldn't take one more second of bad news, one more story to make my eyes cringe, and one more upset stomach.  I thought if I saw another picture of war torn countries...beatings of the innocent...corruption of government...or just plain old evil...I'd quit my newspaper subscription, turn off the news and put away Facebook.  Not a very grown up attitude, I know, but I was having a moment.  I had had it with sadness and with humans behaving so poorly that I was ashamed of mankind.

As I gave my newsfeed one more scroll I came across a friend whose posts I can count on to provide positive, feel good comments (thank you, Dave).  As it turns out, he was sharing a video that he said he could relate to.  He said, "This is mankind at our best."  My spirits immediately lightened and I clicked on the video.

Was it my hormones, did I wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or did I just need to cry?  I don't know.  But I needed this video, and I needed to know that kindness exists...even to those creatures most innocent.  Could I better relate to the video because of my strong belief that animals teach us to love unconditionally?  Or maybe this was just a chance to practice what I've learned from them?  Or...did the video just strike a certain chord deep inside of me and present itself to me at just the right time?

As always, I wondered what my silver learned from this moment.  If I couldn't find kindness or witness the act of it happening, and I was feeling disheartened, perhaps it was an opportunity for me to initiate a good deed, to start the ball rolling, to pay it forward.  So with that thought, I invite you to click on the following link to see the video Faith in Humanity...Restored 

And as is stated at the end of the video...Here's to the kind-hearted!

Farewell, My Faithful Friend

          I've been rather quiet the last couple of weeks, allowing a life altering event to catch up with me.  You see, while I was busy panicking about the next phase in my life; becoming the mother of all adult children with my youngest turning eighteen and graduating, another very large phase of life caught me off guard and slipped in.  My beloved chocolate lab, Toffee, took a turn for the worse, and my family and I made the decision to put her down on June 5th.  She would have been 13 today.

            We had known for some time she was battling an aggressive form of oral cancer.  But besides the tumor in her mouth, she was a very happy and healthy senior dog, which is why we opted for two surgeries over the course of 14 months.   We weren't ones to stick our heads in the sand and think she would live forever, but her vet agreed with us that she would do the same if Toffee were hers. 

            A few weeks ago, though, when Toffee slowly stopped eating and there was nothing more we could do to coax her, we knew 'it' had returned.  We also knew there was nothing we could do for her this time.  To say our hearts were broken seems to be putting it too mildly. 

            I'm not confused and thinking that she was human, but she was a very loyal and important part of our family.  In many ways she was the glue that bonded us so well.  I tried to think of what it was about her that makes me say that.  And while there are so many special traits about Toffee, she made it possible to keep the 'L' word alive in our house.  From the time my children were small, my husband and I were included in the same affections they proclaimed to Toffee.  Each time they left the house, we'd hear, "I love you, Toffee, I love you, Mom and Dad," before the door closed.

            I have always thought that I was a compassionate person, but my dog put me to shame here as well.  When Toffee was only 1, my sister lost her beloved dog.  She came to my house and sat at my kitchen table, devastated, crushed and sobbing.  I told her she could stay as long as she wanted, but I didn't know what else to do for her.  Toffee did.  It was the first of many times since then that I witnessed this as Toffee sat beside her and wrapped her two front legs around my sister's waist.  It had to have been pretty uncomfortable for Toffee to stay in that position, but she refused to leave her side.  She offered my sister 'touch' that she so desperately needed, something that I couldn't figure out. 

            Toffee pulled her weight in obedience and loyalty more so than any of our family members.  My husband, Officer Buckle, loves nothing more than to do projects about the house, both inside and out...every day.  Toffee was his sidekick for these projects, and if she could have held the ladder steady or looked through electrical outlet boxes for signs of tiny wire movement, I would have been out of a job.  She followed him inside and out 20 times a day.  I wonder if the same can be said about myself?

            As I'm sure is true with most dogs, Toffee's tail was an incredible mood indicator.  She smiled with her tail, and boy could she smile!  She was the meeter and greeter at our front door, welcoming all guests who entered, and thrived in the attention and the fact that everyone knew her.  But that, too, began to fade in her final days.  We wanted to be sure we were doing the right thing...letting her go.  We were asking so much of her, though, and the pain was too much for her to smile anymore.  So we gathered together as a family to create the courage needed to make the decision.  We knew...we all knew...it was just so very difficult.  Her final days were spent with those who knew and loved her, saying goodbye.  Her life impacted so many, and she had accumulated numerous friends in her years, both human and animal.

            So on this day, June 20th, which would have been your 13th birthday, I bid a public farewell to my good and loving friend...one of God's best creations.  I miss everything about you, from your warm welcome at the door, to the jingle of your tags, to your crazy wiggling on your back, and your constant companionship.  I miss seeing your beautiful brown pillow and your beautiful brown chocolate coat...all over the house.  I know our pain has and will continue to subside, but wow, were we blessed!  I miss you like crazy, Toffee...yeah, crazy.

It's the Little Things

            "I don't know what to do," I cried to my husband on the phone, pacing around my car yesterday.  "Why does this happen to me!"

            After some laughing and an offer to stay on the phone with me while I drove home, Officer Buckles gave me the only advice he could think of from his office, "You can get in the car and drive home, or you can walk.  I don't see any other option."

            And right at that exact moment of hanging up, there she was...like my guardian angel.  One of my grade partners had miraculously returned to school.  "Let me guess," she began, hopping out of her car, "Both car doors open...floor mat on the parking lot...there's a spider in your car?"

            Boy, does she know me!  "Yes!  It was huge and it ran up under the dash when I opened the door," I half cried, half laughed because of the ridiculous sight I knew she was looking at.

            "Allow me," she commanded, taking charge of the situation.  Head first she dove into the car, reaching her hands up behind the dash, and then sat, sticking her sandaled feet up there as well.  "You know that thing is already hiding in the engine," she said, careful not to repeat the 's' word.  "You'll be fine.  But why don't I drive your car home and you follow me in mine?"  As tempting as it was to accept her offer, I knew it wouldn't solve my phobia.  I thanked her profusely and we laughed together til it hurt, once again recognizing that it's the little things that, when put together, make our lives beautiful, interesting, and complete.

            Last time I blogged I was in the beginning stage of a very normal pattern for many parents; running through the motions of high school graduation and all that it entails.  My youngest was graduating and I was in a tizzy wondering how I would survive making his final bagged lunch.  As it turns out, he made it easy on me.  The night before the big event...the final lunch...one that would have included a sentimental note from me,  he informed me, "Hey, Mom, don't pack a lunch for me tomorrow because a bunch of us are going out for barbecue after school."  And there it was...done...and as I stood there, frozen, I realized that the grand finale had already happened that very morning.  Do as a worm and breathe, I remembered.

            The week that followed also included many milestones, and with the help of 'little things' I made it through.  My son, the one who denied his mother the final bagged lunch, turned 18 on Friday, went to his senior prom on Saturday, graduated on Wednesday and left for beach week on Friday (yesterday) with the family car...and I'm happy to report that all is good.

            You see, just an hour after sending him off to beach week, I arrived at school, a place where so many 'little things' happen on a daily basis that help to blend life's puzzle together.  As our first grade team gathered together to say hello, we looked at what each of us was holding in our hands and burst out laughing.  We all had the same idea and brought treats to share with each other.  And over the course of 10 minutes and bites of homemade cookies and cheesecake, we relished another moment made, another 'little things' moment to cherish.

Do As Worms Do

Looking out my window early Sunday morning and it's crystal clear, already sunny, the birds are singing, and of course, the grass is spectacular, better than normal.  Why?  Other than being spring?  It rained this week.  It rained and rained and rained!  It rained so much that it was particularly hard to think happy thoughts on Monday...Tuesday...Wednesday...when all the students were trapped inside, but we made sure to concentrate on what was happy and what we were thankful for during our morning prayer.  The first thing we do in my class is thank God for what's in our lives.  And this week it was...rain.  And when someone blurted out 'worms' I had to agree.  Worms are great!  And they were everywhere this week. 

They covered my driveway and the parking lots at school.  There was no way to avoid stepping on them during recess, and the students got used to them.  All my life I thought that worms came out in the rain to play because they loved it so much.  Kind of a cool happy thought, but I recently learned differently from my son, whose teacher also happened to think about worms.  They're not coming up from the soil because they like rain, they're drowning.  What!  All these years I imagined them coming out to play.  Wrong.  As it turns out, there's a certain amount of oxygen in the soil that worms require and are able to obtain in moist soil.  Not rain saturated soil, just moist.  So, when they worms are overwhelmed with rain and lack of oxygen, they get their heads (actually their skin) out of the ground.    

As it turns out, I needed to follow the advice of worms this week when I was feeling overwhelmed, drowning in anxiety, and feeling panicky.  My silver status is reaching another milestone and I need to do as the worms, and concentrate on breathing.  My youngest is graduating.  There, I said it.  I'm so very proud of him and all that he's accomplished throughout his school years, but I'm not really thinking about him as much as...ME.  I know that he'll receive his diploma very soon, and yes, I'm so very, very excited for him, but I'm being selfish and thinking how this will affect me and what I'm about to lose.  I have to say goodbye to a part of my life that I treasure!  Being a mother of school-aged children has been my way of life for 15 years, and it's all about to change. 

My family went to his high school concert on Friday night...his final concert.  If you were there and noticed something out of sorts...someone jumping seats and aisles to get a better view, that was me.  I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but I didn't want to lose sight of him for a second.   He's a percussionist, and percussionists physically move locations throughout the songs to play different instruments.  Maybe if I somehow never lost sight of him...stared at him, jumped seats and taped him, I could hold on to his childhood for just a little longer.

And next Wednesday when I stand at the kitchen counter, the same one I've stood for the last 15 years, and have kiddingly nicknamed 'the lunch station,' and reach for the last brown paper bag to make his lunch, will I be able to do it with composure?  Will I be able to do it without another cry?

And how about in two weeks when he so proudly goes off for his prom..."Your last prom, Mom," he has said.  Will I be the only mother crying?

Life is about change, and change can be more difficult for some than others.  My silver know this so very well as my tears have been drowning me in anticipation of what is to come.  So I'll do as the worms do and find my oxygen.  I'll concentrate the next couple of weeks and think positively, thinking of the next stage of life that both my son and myself will be entering, and looking forward to the new and exciting activities that lay ahead.  Breathe...

On a lighter side note...Officer Buckle can't understand my tears.  "What about me?  What about my lunch?  Oh, and now that the weather is warming, put in an extra ice pack."

What Are The Chances?

I was speaking with an old friend recently, and by old I mean, I met her thirteen years ago.  She called to tell me that her family had just experienced tragedy with the death of a young friend, and they were reeling in shock.  It came as quite a surprise to me, and I didn't know what to say to her at first, so I listened.  I listened to her cry and share the agony her family was feeling as their hearts were breaking.  It was so very gut wrenching to hear her pain, but, you know what?  I was glad to have been there for her on the other end of the line...but I almost wasn't.

You see, way back in the fall of 2001, my youngest had started kindergarten in a half day afternoon program.  I knew some of the students in his class, and I was happy with the situation.  My mornings were free to run errands or just spend some quality time with my son before dropping him off at school.  It was a routine I had fallen in to, and it was simple.  I enjoyed it.  That was until this pesky mother who had a lot more energy than I created a plan for an every Wednesday morning field trip...before school.  What?  "No thank you," I told her.  "I have a lot of family in the area."  Can you believe I said that?  Like that had anything to do with early morning field trips.

"No problem," she responded.  "Is it okay if I pick up your son so he can join us?"

Wow!  How embarrassing.  I felt like a pretty lazy mother at that point so I decided to join the group, just to give it a try.  Needless to say, we became fast friends, that pesky mother and I.  We laughed countless times about my idiotic excuse and repeated it often when deciding whether or not to make some plans.

What if I hadn't changed my mind.  What if pesky mother hadn't had such initiative.  What if...that chance had never occurred.  It really makes me stop and wonder when I think of things like this.  Chance.  It only takes a split second to see someone for the first time, to take another look, to stop and think about someone, to say...yes.  How different our lives would be if we had missed a particular chance...or turned it down.

Have you ever thought the same?  Have you had any near misses where your life might have been extremely different?  Almost missed meeting your spouse?  Almost chose a different career?  Listened to your mother?  Didn't listen?  I'd like to hear it.  Share you experience in the comments section.  We'd all like to hear.

And as for my dear friend, pesky mother.  I thank you for the hundreds of good times we've shared from Wednesday morning field trips to backyard Easter egg hunts to following us down camping at Myrtle Beach.  And who, I might add, can make my Officer Buckle blush so!  You pack all the living you can into your life and that of your childrens', and I'm so terribly sorry that one, almost like your own, is gone.  I'm so glad your heart had the chance to love him.

Do You See What I See?

I've never been much of an auditory learner.  When I was a student, even recently, I knew I really needed to see the printed words or pictures to help the subject matter sink in.  I mean, I can hear, though I admit it's getting harder every day, but even as a child, I learned better when I could see what the teacher was delivering.  It's not right or wrong, it's just the way I'm wired to learn...I'm a visual learner.  What I see travels faster and processes faster in my brain than what I hear.  At least that's the best way I can explain it.  If you'd like to take a simple ten-question quiz to find out your learning preference, click on, Find Out Your Learning Style Preference.  I took the quiz even though I knew what the outcome would be, and it stated, you are a very visual learner.

So imagine my delight a few years ago when I purchased my first smart phone and smiley faces were sometimes interspersed in the texts I received.  I loved it...right away!  The technical term for these emotional faces (just on the off chance that you don't have a smart phone or just don't know the name) is, emoji.  Emoji means 'picture letter' in Japanese, and is the type of emoticon used on iphones, ipads, Androids, Windows phones and Macs.  And when I learned, probably from my kids, that there was even an emoji keyboard to add to my smart phone that would enable me to speak with pictures, including all sorts of emotions, figures, plants and animals, I confess, I became the queen of smiley faces. It's probably a fair assessment to say that I use them with almost every text I send. 

A few months back, though, I sadly figured out that one of my friends whom I texted frequently, and, who had a smart phone, didn't have the type of smart phone that could read emoji.  What!  Do you mean to say that for the past two years, I'd been sending her all kinds of emotional faces to help tell my story, and she wasn't getting them?  She very kindly told me that everything was okay...she could feel my emotion through my words.  Phew!  But, all is okay now, as she just got a new phone and sends me my very own smiley faces now.

So I'm a visual learner.  I think that's where I was going with this before.  I love my eyes, and I treasure what I can see...every little thing.  And I can feel so much from what I see.  I'm definitely a people watcher; not in a strange way, but in a curious way.  I like to watch peoples' actions, and then watch their faces to see their expressions.  Except, sometimes I don't like the expressions that come my way. 

Just yesterday while I was in the grocery store, there was a mother really snapping at her little boy.  She was leaning forward toward him, and her words were too loud for public, and enunciated clearly enough for everyone around her to hear.  Get over here and don't touch anything!  She was just about spitting at him!  I didn't know her or know anything about their situation, so I'm not judging, well maybe I am, but it was the little boy's expression that my eyes saw and wished I hadn't.  It was shame.  I could feel his shame and embarrassment, and I know he caught me looking. 

There are other times, though, that my eyes catch something so powerful, and so good that I'm sure I'm downright rude  with the amount of starring I do.  Just the other night I attended the Holy Thursday Mass.  There was a mix of people there, and I didn't know many of them because the parishioners from all masses came together at this one.  There just so happened to be a giant sitting in the row in front of me.  Really, a giant.  I'm tall so I know giant when I see one.  This man had to be seven feet tall with a huge frame to go along with his height.  Being a giant alone wasn't the interesting part, but watching him interact with the littlest person in his family was.  There were a number of people in his family, and he was on the very left of them on the aisle.  Several times I noticed him motioning past the whole line of them to very end...to the toddler.  He was demonstrating how to make the sign of the cross.  I didn't want it to be apparent that I was more interested in this man than in the mass, so I almost got eye strain moving my eyes back and forth from the very left to the very right.  I wanted to watch the toddler try to do what her father was teaching.  But his actions didn't stop there, and I couldn't stop my eyes from taking it all in.  After receiving Communion, he didn't kneel like all others.  Perhaps he didn't fit on the kneeler, but he remained standing with his hands over his eyes, clearly moved, clearly aware that he was in the presence of the Lord, and all I could do was stare.

Did I learn from him?  Did my silver learn?  I certainly did.  I could feel his pain in remembering what Jesus did for us on the following day, Good Friday.  I could feel his respect as he moved to the aisle and fell to his knees when the Communion line passed, and I was able to witness him fathering, yet again, after we moved from the church to the hall where the Holy Eucharist was moved.  Because he sat in front of me, I was able to follow him to the hall.  He carried his toddler all the way to the hall, and then placed her ever so gently right next to him, coaxing her to her knees to do like him.  He demonstrated the sign of the cross again to his little girl, and I stood, mesmerized, by his fatherly actions.  I learned from this giant of a man, definitely. 

Was this my visual learning style in action?  I think so.  All of this man's acknowledgement of what Jesus did for him was evident in his actions.  I've been taught the story of Jesus' death and what He has done for you and for me 51 times, and it's made me who I am today, but this year I learned it from a giant...from a man whose tender heart was carried on the outside for me to see, and I'm so thankful my eyes had the opportunity.

My wish for you this Blessed Easter?  To also have the opportunity to witness and learn from others loving Jesus.  May the impact of others' loving actions help you to realize your own loving way toward those in your life.  Happy Easter.

A Wide Load

There's a scene from my all time favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life, that reminds me of myself in the morning.  You know how the banister knob comes off in George Bailey's hand every time he walks up the stairs?  That's me every school morning, except I'm not on the stairs, I'm in my garage.

 I find myself running on autopilot most mornings before school.  All routines are just that...routine, and they run smoothly.  From making lunches and coffee to making breakfast and getting dressed, it's a smooth process, and there are no major mishaps...that is until I walk out the door...or at least try.  I don't fit.  My bag has banged into the same laundry room door so many times, that it, too, has become routine.  I open the door with my right hand and continue walking into the garage as I'm reaching behind me with the same hand to swing the door closed.  But as I straighten my path...boom.  My school bag bangs into the door, stopping it from closing.  I have to turn around...everyday...to close the door again.

I remember the blog I wrote a while back called, What's in Your Bag?  There were so many funny responses about what's found in our bags, and it was comical to share in the misery of heavy bags and the ever so important items found within.

But the bag I'm talking about this time is my school bag, my 'magic bag.'  It frequently weighs a ton, but I don't see how I can remove anything from it.  And my George Bailey moment doesn't just happen with my laundry room door...it's every door.   Upon arriving at school, I unlock the heavy front church door, hold it open with my foot so I can re-lock it, and then try to make it through.  So many mornings, such as this one, I literally can't.  My body, my laptop, my purse and my school bag are wedged in the opening.  My feet keep marching through the motions, but I'm not going anywhere.  As I rock side to side, slowly making progress through the jam, I feel like a pinball, racking up points.  As soon as I'm free from that squeeze, gravity acts as the flipper on the pinball machine and sends me into orbit only to rack up additional points at the next door.

As I make my way down the hallway, parts of my wide load begin to downsize.  Into one classroom goes a half loaf of rye bread.  I like this brand so much that I wanted to share it with another lover of rye.  Into another classroom I stop to drop off a heating pad and extension cord.  One of my co-workers threw out her back and forgot to bring her pad to school.

So I'm a little more narrow by the time I reach my own classroom, and it's a relief to glide through the final door jam.  I plop down my laptop, plop down my purse (my original mysterious bag), and heave down my school bag.  Out comes my lunch, a quart of water, and an oversized folder with lesson plans and graded papers. 

What?  That doesn't seem like so much, so what's the big deal?  It's probably not what I can see, but what I can't.  I think I speak for all teachers in saying that it's the things we can't see that weigh the most heavily on our shoulders. A closer look into a teacher's bag would reveal its magic as there are items inside that include packages without shape and density.

If I, or any teacher, reached in blindly, I could pull out a shapeless bundle of compassion.  The little people come to us with hundreds, if not thousands of unique situations found in their home lives.  They come to us broken, chipped, scarred and hurting.  It's not possible for all of them to receive what they need at home, so they're looking to us for self-worth, a pat on the back, and a simple hug or smile.  Compassion doesn't have a particular shape or form, but it's easy to tuck in our bags, and easy to distribute.  I don't know about everyone else, but it's the most simple of things that make me soar and believe in myself.  A smile and a kind word can keep me running all day long.

And what kind of shape does the ability to demonstrate and teach integrity take?  I don't know, but I think it could be accomplished by teacher after teacher, year after year, demonstrating right from wrong from the very beginning with the simplest of actions. It's a role model position that we, as teachers, have accepted.  Today's world is tricky and difficult to grow up in.  Dishonesty and corruption are masked in accessibility.  Once thought to be wrong simply because it is, is now wrong only if caught. 

And if you look closely in a teacher's bag, you will see the invisible pair of saddle shoes and megaphone that make up part of our cheerleading outfit.  The little people come to us with hopes and dreams, but they need encouragement to help them grow and become more than just a dream.  I've witnessed this first hand in my own home when listening to my son share stories of his teachers.  He's a senior in high school, and some of his teachers have made the biggest impact on him simply because he feels liked by them.  He knows they're interested in his activities and want to know of his accomplishments.  Even now during prom season with the rage of 'promposals' floating in the air.  The boys are nervous and have included some of their teachers for support and involvement.  Boys are storing flowers and other items that are part of the 'big ask' in the classrooms of teachers they feel close with, but only with the promise to share the outcome.

And the final shapeless bundle found in my bag...found in all of our bags?  Love.  What shape does it take?  What does it look like?  Well, that depends.  It takes the shape of every kind word, every caring glance, every thoughtful deed, and heartfelt concern.  It grows and mutates to fill empty spaces where hurt lives.  It attaches to compassion and encourages the warmth to be shared.  It helps to create the lesson of integrity so a child fully understands and really feels that honesty is always the correct choice, even when no one is looking.  And it demonstrates how to live, how to treat others, and how to live the Golden Rule, do unto others.

So what has my silver learned?  It learns every day, and today I acknowledge the importance of teachers and their impact on the little people.  My wide load bangs into door frames, and my shoulders and arms ache like those of all teachers.  That's okay...that's more than okay.  It's an ache I cherish, an ache that reminds me daily that I have the privilege to be involved in character development, and an ache that makes me proudly say...I am a teacher!

If you're like me and like videos, then feel free to click on, The Importance of Teachers Who Care.  This is for my fellow co-workers and my children's teachers.  Enjoy.

Mary and Martha

Most of the time it seems that we, as a whole, are able to experience life in the way we prefer...in the living.  Normal everyday life revolves around the daily give and take of routine, and most of the time, people don't make it through a day without hearing about or participating in a circumstance of joy, either for themselves or for those around them.  We live for these moments, and it makes everyday life perfect.    

And if we're lucky, when the time comes to say goodbye to those we love, we hope it's only because they've lived a long and fulfilling life.  And though it's sad to say goodbye, it seems more of a natural progression, the next normal step in the process of life.

But for the city in which I live, we're grieving.  We're saying goodbye to a man who didn't fit into that normal progression.  45 years and 1 day isn't normal by any standard, and because this particular person was so well loved by many, his early departure felt just so...unnatural.

The news of his death saturated social media and the school where I teach.  I've taught five of his children with the youngest yet to be in elementary school.  Such an outpouring of love drenched his family members in so many different forms, that it was overwhelming to witness. 

While running errands on Saturday I realized that I was running a bit late if I were to make it in time for the 5:00 Mass, the one I attend.  I put myself into high gear and hustled to make sure I wouldn't be late.  After the emotional week I had experienced, I wasn't about to miss Mass...I needed God.  I needed to hear my priest speak once again how God works.  I know the answers, and I've heard them many times before, but I needed to hear it again.  I had been the 'adult' all week, the one with the answers for the little people who didn't understand, but it was my turn to be the child, to be the one with questions who was looking for answers.

My pastor spoke to a hungry parish.  He spoke to the weeping and the devastated.  He was calm and stoic even though he knew that many were wondering how this continues to happen.  In a world of modern medicine, how can this still happen?  And more importantly, why does God let this happen.

His words were ones that I had heard before, but needed again.  God takes us from despair to hope...from death to life.  If we believe...really believe...then we know without a doubt that our loved ones, no matter how untimely their death, live on with God.  I have to find consolation in that...that my loved ones live on.  He went on to discuss the reading, the one about Lazarus' death, and our ability to classify ourselves into two types of grievers; like those of Lazarus' sisters, Mary and Martha.  They both grieved for their brother, yet in very different ways.  Martha left her house and met Jesus on the road, questioning him of his delay, visibly upset with Him, while Mary remained at home and wept.  When I heard this, it occurred to me that there is probably both Martha and Mary in all of us...like necessary stages of grief.  When death comes too early, we're upset, we're angry, and we lash out, often times at God!  And other times, we weep in the confinement of our own homes...alone.  My pastor was still talking while I was thinking about this man and those grieving for him, but I did catch his final message.  Jesus said to Martha and Mary, "Whoever believes in me, Jesus Christ, receives spiritual life that even physical death can never take away."

It's been tough to imagine and think about this man's family, but has my silver learned?  Does it help knowing what Jesus said?  Some.  Does it still hurt?  Yes.  Will his family continue to hurt, cry out and crave him?  Yes.  But has their loved one received spiritual life that even his physical death can never take away?  Yes.  He was a spiritual man.  He loved God, brought his children to God and taught them to believe.  So while we pick up the slack and play the role of both Mary and Martha, we'll continue to surround his family with love and support, while praying for the gift of peace.

One Tiny Skittle

I experienced another 'ah ha' moment in the classroom the other day.  I like to play learning games with the students when we're finished with our lessons, and our favorite game is like Wheel of Fortune (without the wheel).  I put a sentence on the board in the form of spaces and go around the room allowing each student to guess a letter.  We go round and round until the sentence is guessed.  If a student guesses a letter correctly, he/she gets one Skittle...one tiny Skittle.  You would think it was money or a vacation the way they react.  As the year progresses, the students get better and better at playing, and come to understand the 'popular' consonants and the importance of knowing if all of the vowels have been guessed, including y, the 'sometimes vowel.'

I should probably back up this story a bit and say that on this particular day, we were playing this game following a spelling test that also had a fun finish, except for one little guy.  The students are excited each week to take their spelling test because when they're finished, they get to turn their papers over and write a sentence on the back. It's not the sentence alone that excites them, but the two Skittles they win if their sentence is written correctly.  There are only three rules that apply to them for their particular sentence.  The spelling word has to be spelled correctly, the sentence must begin with a capital letter, AND, it must have the correct ending mark.  In order to have a higher success rate and to help promote their confidence, the students know that it's okay if other words in the sentence are misspelled.  They know they won't receive any help from me while writing because I can read anything as long as they've sounded it out.  We have a whole little routine we follow that has built through the year that the students seem to love.  They rush their papers to me, take their seats, and the wiggling begins.  They know that we'll sing the 'Everyday I'm shuffling' song as I shuffle their papers.  Their names aren't on the back so I don't know whose sentence is whose while I'm reading them out loud until I turn it over.  But before I begin reading, we all hold up our pinkies and recite the Pinky Promise, promising not to cry since we're all learning...all part of our ritual.

Well, don't you know that every single sentence was correct...until the last one...written by, who I'll refer to as, Little Guy A.  Little Guy A clearly wrote a question, asking me about a game that he likes.  The only problem was that he ended it with a period.  No problem.  Disappointment is difficult, but part of the learning process, and  I don't make a big deal out of it.  I state why a question mark was needed and quickly move on to push past the sniffle I thought I noticed.  And that's when I realized we had enough time for a game.  Alright!  Another opportunity to have some good old fashioned learning fun, and...another chance to win an almighty Skittle.

Wrong!  As it turned out, Little Guy A was having a difficult time recouping from the spelling test, and was now making poor and frantic guesses.  It's not too often that the letters, Q and Z are used.  As the sentence was forming on the board...by the other classmates...Little Guy A's eyes were filling with tears.  He was trying to hold it together...and so was I.  He didn't know that I was silently bracing each time his turn came, hoping that he'd make a wise guess.  But no such luck...J.  Another letter not used too often.

Teaching moment!  Do I say something to him, causing him more embarrassment?  Do I ignore him?  We're learning, right?  How much suffering do I consider normal all in the name of learning before I sway from my rules?  All I really want is for Little Guy A to find some relief without me making a big deal out of him.  He's trying so hard to hold it together.  What do I do?

In my blur of panic and while writing another's correct choice on the board, I never noticed Little Guy B quietly getting up from his seat across the room.  By the time I could have said anything to him, he ever so gently placed his winning Skittle in front of Little Guy A.  No words were spoken, no other movement made, just the gentle placing of one tiny Skittle on a desk.

Once again...the smallest of gestures spoke the loudest.  I stood there, dumbfounded, in awe of Little Boy B.  He took his seat, shyly looking at me, wondering if it was okay of what he did.  I smiled and nodded, letting him know that his action was more than I could have thought of.

Sometimes, enough is enough in the name of learning.  They're only seven, and this time, it took a seven year old to teach ME.  I should have changed my course, whispered an answer, coached him...something...anything but what I was doing.  Sometimes, just wanting to do something isn't enough.  But thankfully for me, a very small and unpretentious little boy had his head in the game and kept his cool.  I haven't been able to stop thinking of Little Boy B and the action he took.  Was he wondering what was taking me so long to notice just how upset another was?  I'm so very grateful for Little Boy B and the opportunity to have learned from someone so small...yet so aware of the feelings of others.  I wonder what will become of Little Boy B?  With such perception at this young age...is this his calling...to stand up for others?  I hope so.  How lucky for us if it is.

I've been teaching for a while, and opportunities such as this arise from time to time.  But did I rise to the occasion?  No.  But did I learn something...did my silver learn?  Absolutely!  I love it that I can learn from little people.  I love it that it's not just one-sided and that they only learn from me.  I'll remember Little Boy B's small gesture and his compassion for someone who was hurting.

What's in Your Mayonnaise Jar?

As you know from previous posts, I teach.  My school is my home away from home, and it's a lovely place.   I consider my grade partners and all of the lower school teachers around me as my extended family, and we get pretty cozy together.  The hallways are a fun place for teachers no matter the time of day, but there is a common denominator that is only prevalent during the morning hours in the school...and that would be, coffee.  This is probably true in most professions in the morning, but I can only speak for teachers, and as I mentioned last week, we're 'loving and mothering' our way through the day, so...it's cozier in a school.

If I'm lucky, my coffee won't disappear too quickly, and it will last through the morning hours.  When I report to the two first grade classrooms to pick up my reading groups, we, meaning my grade partner, students and I, greet each other warmly and socialize for a bit...and our coffee is present.  It's definitely an amiable way to begin class, and the students are relaxed and receptive.

Sometimes, it's more than coffee we share.  On one particular day when I arrived at my second classroom, I wasn't feeling good.  I was hungry and lightheaded and thought I should sit down.  That particular grade partner had just started peeling an orange, one of those little 'cuties.'  I wouldn't normally ask her for a bite of her food (well, maybe I might), but this time I did.  She handed me half of her cutie and we shared the slices while reviewing for the upcoming class, all the while, the first grade children sat and observed while their teachers demonstrated care and kindness to each other.

Later that evening while I was on a walk, I received a text message from that same teacher.  She just wanted to let me know how much she enjoyed sharing her orange slices with me.  She said, "You know, it's the little things in life that are so important."  I laughed out loud and thanked her again before continuing on with my walk, thinking about what she had said.  She was absolutely right.  It was a little thing, but her small gesture had made such an impact on both her students who witnessed it and me, that it really should have been categorized as one of the bigger things in life.

And with that thought, I was reminded of a video I had seen.  I hadn't given the thought of categorizing life too much until I saw the video, but I guess we all kind of do it without realizing.  It makes sense that we reserve the most amount of time for what's really important in our lives, and allow only a small amount of time for what's not so important...and it's imperative to not reverse this process.  The video really brings it home for me, though, perhaps since I'm a multi sensory learner.  I do my best learning when I hear it, read it, and feel it, emotionally.  I've seen different versions of this video, but like this one best because of the music.  It's five minutes long, but well worth your time, and the ending is perfect...brings it all home.

If you have the time, click on, The Mayonnaise Jar.  You won't be disappointed.  I enjoy teaching moments that stay with me, causing me to give it some extra thought.  I think it is easy to see what my silver has learned from this...that I already knew just how important the big things in life are...even if they are very small. 

Powerful Thing, Love Is

I've mentioned before that I work in a school.  It's an incredible place, and for so many reasons.  But now that spring is right around the corner, I'm getting my panic on.  As a teacher, I've been 'in a relationship,' if you will, with these little people for seven months, but we're about to enter the last phase of that relationship...the fourth quarter.  And the fourth quarter might as well be summer vacation because time moves so quickly.  I've often thought, and told the parents, that the children seem to learn the most after their Easter vacation.  I don't know why that happens because we've all been together since the beginning and I'm not doing anything differently...or am I?  Do I feel the end coming?  Am I holding on tighter?  Or am I simply loving them more because we've spent an appropriate amount of time together...enough time to build a solid relationship. 

My feelings are the same every spring...it's panic before saying goodbye.  I want them to know so much before I let them go.  It really is a 'mothering' type of feeling.  Have I taught them enough to let them go to the next grade?  I know I have, but I need more time...more time with them before saying goodbye.  And it certainly isn't just about the three R's.  Children learn so much more in school than just the academics.  The intellect always seems to come, but it's all the other stuff that's equally important, or maybe more...like how to get along and survive in this world.

I teach thirty specific phonics skills throughout the school year, but I teach one particular survival skill ALL YEAR LONG in the classroom and during recess...how to get along.  Some of the children have this skill down pat by the beginning of first grade, and others are still working on it.

I panic and wonder if they know how I'm feeling.  I want to say so much to them...things like, "Do you know that you have somehow made me a better person by experiencing you, helping you, loving you, impacting you, bringing you closer to God?  Will you remember me?  Did I make a difference?  You were a part of my life.  You were 'given' to me.  You were my charge.  I was in charge....or were you?  We've laughed together while wearing silly costumes in the fall, we've given thanks together while wearing handmade headbands and sharing a feast, we've shopped together for our loved ones at the bazaar, and acted out the birth of Christ.  We've expressed our love for each other with the exchange of conversation hearts, shared our snow day escapades when we should have been reading, and wore pink and sung silly 'pig songs' together.  We've traveled and grown so much together through the school year, and I hope it feels the same to you that it does to me...that we've 'loved' our way through the school year."

The teachers had the opportunity to attend a faculty retreat yesterday with the most unbelievable speaker.  Fr. Dan Leary from St. Andrew's Parish led us through the day with talks on...love.  How appropriate.  It was wonderful, and how do I rate it?  By quoting myself again, "It was so good, I cried myself all the way through."  He said so many incredible things to us and I tried remembering them, but the one thing that sticks out in my mind is this.  He asked us, "Do you know why parents send their children to Catholic school?...to be loved."  So true.  Our job is to teach them, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.  The best part, for sure is...to love them.  The learning will come if they feel loved.  Are some harder to love than others?  Yes.  But he said this, too, "They're only repeating history...living out their parents' history, perhaps, who are perhaps living out their parents' history.  We have the opportunity, as teachers, to break the pattern...with love."  Pretty powerful.  He said it happened like that with him.  He was the youngest of six...six rambunctious  children from an alcoholic home.  He credits one nun for making the difference in his life...because she loved him...he knew it and he could feel it!  Powerful thing, love is.

The link below is to a story that 'gets me' every time.  Just as what Fr. Dan said to me yesterday, these little people have been put in my charge.  I don't know 'their story' or what's going on in their lives...but I can make a difference...with love.  I wish I could say the following story is true, but it's not.  It's just a very well told story that has a big impact.

The Story of Teddy Stoddard

The past ten years have been very good to me because of my chance to teach little people and to work with a beautiful team.  It isn't just luck that made this happen...but part of God's plan for me.  The stories and opportunities I've experienced have been full of joy, and they've impacted me so very much.  I've grown with them...become silver with them, and realized for the umpteenth time that...love is a powerful thing.

My New Digs

Of the many, many things I've learned since beginning my search for publication, the most important has been for me to keep my eyes and ears open.  It was recently suggested that I find a different home for my blog-one that would eventually offer more possibilities...whether it be for the blog itself, for future endeavors on the topic of silver living, or a better opportunity to advertise First Creatures.

That being said, after a little research and A LOT of help, my blog is taking up residence on my new website, www.thesilversideoflife.com  It's in its early stages, and I must say that it's very exciting!  My blog will continue as normal, but it will now show up here.  While I was sad to lose the pretty green background of my original blog (see what's important to me?), my web designer had a feeling of what I'd like...and he was right.  Now instead of the pretty green, I've got Russian Sage...which goes great with silver!

Anyway, feel free to check it out...and to watch it grow.  And what has my silver taught me?  It's never too late to learn something new.

First Creatures update ** I hope to have a page on the website very soon solely for First Creatures, where I will provide updates on the search for publication.  I've started really venturing out of my protective shell lately and I've offered test reads of First Creatures to more than just family and close friends.  Over thirty people have so far volunteered to be my reading guinea pigs, and it has been receiving very nice reviews!  If you are local and would like to read a copy, please let me know.  I'm not yet willing to send it electronically...it's the protective mother in me.  Drop me a message in the 'contact' section of my website and I'll get you a copy as soon as I can.

It won't be long before I begin to approach literary agents, once again looking for a home for First Creatures.

Son of God

**Non-spoiler alert-I'm going to talk about the movie, Son of God.  I can't possibly spoil it for you...the story remains the same. Tonight I watched the movie, Son of God.  I don't know what to say; I'm still shaking and still so very moved.  It is by far a movie that has affected me more than any other.  I've seen lots of movies about Jesus, and I've loved them all; The Passion of Christ, The Ten Commandments, I've even seen and loved Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell.  But this one...this one topped them all.  Maybe for me, it was the casting...all of the actors.  True, the actor, Diogo Morgado, who played, Jesus, was super handsome, and has earned himself the hash tag title, #HotJesus, but that's not what I'm referring to.  It was something so much more than that.  He played the role to perfection...for me.  He moved and looked at people just the way I have always imagined Jesus to do so.  Every story and every reading that I've heard in all of my years about Jesus, from the weekly readings at mass to the messages I help pass on to the teens at Edge, to what I taught to the kindergarteners in CCD, came pouring out of this man's mouth the way I imagine Jesus to be...not old school harsh or boring...but with the most passionate expressions.  I've seen it and heard it countless times...it's just that this particular movie had the biggest effect on me.

Was it my mood...or my hormones...or the fact that I was sitting in-between my mother and daughter (which was very special), but everything about the movie got to me.  In one of the earliest scenes, Jesus came across Matthew, the tax collector, who was collecting money from the poorest of people.  The crowds following Jesus were quick to scorn Matthew...but you should have seen the look in Matthew's eyes when he saw Jesus.  I can't even describe it, but I think it was, shame.  Yea, shame. He was so incredibly sorry that Jesus saw him robbing the poor.  Matthew's eyes filled up with pools of tears...but it was as if I were looking into my own eyes when I've done something wrong.  And all Jesus did, was to return the look with love in his own eyes as he outstretched his hand toward Matthew's.  Oh, my God!  Was it there that I began crying?  Or was I already crying?  I can't remember.  But, they weren't Matthew's tears, they were mine...and Jesus wasn't looking at Matthew, He was looking at ME!  That's how powerful the acting was.

The movie went on to show all of the well-known stories I've heard about; Jesus healing the lame, feeding the crowds with just a few fish, raising Lazarus from the dead, and giving permission to the crowds of men to stone the adulteress if they were without sin.  They held fist sized stones aimed at the woman, who was bound.  The stones were dry, covered in a thick dust, and held by the hands of many covered in sin.  The filth that rose from the falling stones signified their understanding of what this one man was saying, and was so visually impacting to experience.  I was moved in all of the past movies I watched about Jesus, but the key word being, watched.  In, Son of God, I felt like I was part of the crowd, walking with Jesus.  It was filming at its best.  It portrayed the disciples' wonderment and growing love for Jesus, their fear of safety, and it of course, exposed Judas betraying Him and Peter denying Him.  There was so much to pack into two hours...but I would have sat for much longer.  The emotion was running on high throughout the entire movie that I never had time to properly recover from one scene before moving to the next.  I'm going to quote myself from a different emotional movie with, "It was so good, I cried myself all the way through!"

As a viewer, I was walked through the trial with Jesus and saw how fear from both the high priest and Pontius Pilate led to His death.  I felt the forty lashes He received as punishment, and felt the crown of thorns being pushed into His scalp.  And then came His final walk, carrying His cross to Golgotha, the place of the skull.  The cross was huge...I never knew how big it was.  When Jesus fell, it was filmed in slow motion and the theater walls shook.  The camera was on the ground and received the full impact of His fall...each time.  When Jesus could no longer get up, and Simon of Cyrene was grabbed from the crowd to help, I wanted to jump from my seat to help.  But instead, I sat...I sat and cried with shame.

At that point, I could hear Jesus telling me that it was okay.  He was doing this for me because He loves me.  He said that I, too, have a cross to carry.  We all do.  The cross of our sins is heavy, the cross of our hardships is heavy, and the cross of our walk in this life is heavy.  But what I've learned in the past, and heard again tonight, is that He is helping me.  Jesus is my Simon of Cyrene, and it's His love that helps me.

Jesus' resurrection was as beautiful as I've ever imagined it to be.  Once again, I felt as if I were sitting with the disciples when He arrived.  I was Thomas when he felt the holes in Jesus' hands, and I listened to Him explain about everlasting life.  I was with all of them on the mountain after forty days when He ascended to Heaven.

Phew.  What an experience!  When the movie ended and the credits began rolling, no one moved.  I won't spoil what song was playing, but I will tell you that the tears from the audience just kept coming.  Somehow I managed to drive my mother home, but in complete silence.  My daughter and I shared just a few words after that.  What could I say? Just a few grunts.  I must have been a sight when I came home from the movie because poor Officer Buckle paced about the kitchen while I continued to ponder the evening with swollen eyes nearly shut.  "The movie was good?" he asked.  "Good, good, can you iron a shirt for me?"  That, of course, was his way of saying, "I'm sorry that you're so upset.  Let's get you back on auto-pilot."

When I started typing this blog, I made the mistake of reading an online review.  Big mistake...but not for me.  The poor man thought the story of Jesus' walk of life was lame and told too many times...or not well enough.  Wrong!  This is my fifty-second time entering into the season of Lent, and what has my silver taught me?  The story of Jesus' life and what He has done for ME and YOU gets better and better every year, makes more sense.  And now, I'm able to experience it as if I'm walking with Jesus by the use of digital technology.  Lame and too many times?  Never!  I rate movies not but what I see, but by what I feel.  I think it's safe to say that I don't watch movies, I feel them.  If a movie brings out my emotion and leaves me stuck...stuck and unable to stop thinking about it, then it's a job well done...no matter what other critics may say.

I encourage each of you to see, Son of God.  What perfect planning it was that went in to the timing of the release...the beginning of Lent.  The story of God's love, hope, and everlasting life will never grow old.

I saw the Son of God.

How Well Do You Merge?

Here I am again thinking about a word...a real word this time.  But none the less, it's caused me to have a flashback to the summer following my senior year of high school.  I was the passenger in a 66 souped up Mustang being driven by my boyfriend, and was blaring a cassette tape of, Let the Good Times Roll by The Cars while the windows were down.  I was relaxed and didn't have a care in the world.  We were traveling along side of another Mustang being driven by his best friend, who also had his girlfriend in the car.  We were probably coming back from the bowling alley and heading toward home.  Those of you who are familiar with the roads near to where I grew up (hint, same place as now) will recognize this location.  We were heading west on Rt. 450 just off of Rt. 3, nearing Sacred Heart Church.  There were two lanes in both directions on a divided highway at this point, but eventually, and quite suddenly, they merged into only one lane on one single road...merge being the key word.  I vaguely remember my boyfriend looking past me while smiling toward his friend when all of a sudden I felt the car go into some kind of a super hyper warp speed, and I had my first and only experience ever of g-force.   My entire body was thrown against my seat, and I'm sure my cheeks were blowing backward over my ears.  I have no idea how fast we were going, but it felt as if I were going to break right through my seat.  I could tell ever so briefly that our friend next to us was flying as well, when I realized that I, little meek and timid me, was involved in a game of chicken.  Who would reach the single lane first?  I have to pause here for a second and apologize to my parents (who are reading this), and, to you know who...Officer Buckle, because they've never heard this story.  But, I was not driving!  And, I didn't appreciate what was happening.  I don't know who got to the single lane first, but I can guarantee you, that when I found my voice, I let him have it, and he never played that game again with me in the car. The dictionary defines, merge, as:  to combine, to unite, to swallow up, to be absorbed, to lose one's identity by uniting or blending.  Well, according to this definition, that is about what happened to me all those years ago...I just about merged with a Mustang, and became part of the cracked vinyl seating.

I would think that most of you reading this are familiar with merge signs on the road.  Aside from any idiots playing chicken on the highway, how many of you have had problems merging into one lane.  The opportunities to merge are endless, and the results are often times aggressive.  Why, at the last second of completing a merge, does a car speed up to pass me?  It happens so often that I wonder if there is a sign on the back of my car instructing to do so.

Where are you going, that you had to jump in front of me?

Are you going to get to your destination quicker by doing this?

What is your problem?

These are some of the thoughts I've had in the past during my unsuccessful mergings.  But then I had an opportunity recently to watch a short video that taught me a couple of things:  I absolutely don't have the ability to know what's going on with the hundreds or thousands of people I pass in my vehicle each day, AND I absolutely should know the incredible impact that my one small positive gesture may make.  In other words, maybe there's a reason, other than being aggressive, that causes someone to push, shove and pass unfairly...maybe.  And maybe the way I handle the situation will make better for everyone involved.

Take a moment to watch this video if you can.  It's four minutes long, but it really left me with something important to think about.  For those of you new to opening a hyperlink, right click on the link and select 'open in new window.'  It's called, Get Service.

The video really did give me a different perspective on how to handle opportunities of merging, which, I think, could really be thought of as opportunities on how to live life.

It seems to me that so much of society is ready to fight, ready to let words fly or horns honk, or worse, ready to hurt...and over what?  It seems that tempers fly so quickly that people are really missing out on something big...happiness...and the opportunity to be the kind person.

So what has my silver learned from the merges of yesterday and today?  I want to be the one who makes the difference in small and continuous ways in others' lives.  So now, when I'm presented with the occasion to line up, merge, or take a turn, I try to feel the presence of those around me.  Does someone need a kind word or inviting gesture simply because...simply because my words or action might stick with them...might just be the tiny little difference they needed NOT to crack.  And, I hope my silver may never think of the word, merge, in the same way again.

**As many of you know, my purpose in beginning this blog was to help build my social media platform in order to get my name 'out there.'  Thank you to everyone who has been visiting my blog regularly, clicking on the 'follow button,' and sending me words of encouragement.  Revisions to my story are complete, and I am now ready to begin approaching literary agents.  Let the fun begin!

Valentine's Day...Buckle Style

Caught up in the emotion of Valentine's weekend, with hearts, chocolate and roses in a swirling frenzy through the social media statuses and News Feeds, I'm happy to report of my own successful Valentine's gift from none other than...Officer Buckle.  I did receive a box of chocolates, which didn't take up residence for long in the kitchen and...I did receive a very touching card.  It states, "Our love is like a fairy tale."  And on the card was a king holding a broom (how perfect) standing behind his queen, who was seated at her desk holding a feather pen.  Officer Buckle had inscribed the words, blog and book writing, onto her papers.  There, you see...he loves me!  Proof.  But...the gift, in reality, had already been delivered time and time again. Let me back up a bit.  Two nights before Valentine's with a blizzard a comin', Buckle was just about to tuck himself into bed when his phone rang...never a good sign an hour before midnight.  "Oh, no, the night-watch commander hadn't reported to duty; a mix-up," he said, pulling back on his pants.  The snow was really coming down now as our long awaited for blizzard of the season was upon us, and it was a beautiful sight...from the inside...by the fire...or, from under the electric blanket.  But Buckle was about to experience it from the other side.  After pleading with him to take the truck (nope) and to be careful...now think of whom I'm talking with, I tucked my tail and my own self into bed.

Through the night I awakened to the sound of sleet and snow plows, and I wondered how he was holding up.  Truth be told, the commander commands from behind a desk...inside, but there was still the driving to and from the desk and the chance of a quick trip to 7-11 or Wawa that had me worried.

When I finally awakened at 8:00 a.m. and he still wasn't home, I jumped up and looked out of the window.  There he was, shoveling himself back ONTO the driveway.  The plows had done a nice job on the streets, but you know what that means?  A very large and icy ridge at the bottom of the driveway.  Once he had made enough clearance to get his car off the street, he came inside...to go to bed, I thought, since he had now been awake for 27 hours.  "How was your evening?  Did you stay busy?  I re-set the electric blanket and it's ready."

"I've got to go back out again.  Is my green sweatshirt dry?" he said, grabbing a granola bar.

"Yes, but aren't you tired?" I inquired, jogging after him through the house.

Three hours later he proclaimed himself, finished.  He had cleared the driveway, cleared the cars, cleared the sidewalk, fed the birds, check the gutters to make sure they weren't frozen shut AND cleared a path for them to drain.  He had also checked on his beloved newly cut log pile, which he had covered with plastic the day before in anticipation of snow.  He wanted to make sure it would stay dry during the storm.  I knew all of this, of course, because I had run from window to window throughout the morning to check on him.  Hey, I had a friend a couple of winters ago wonder what was taking her husband so long while shoveling, only to find him with a broken hip on the driveway...so I needed to be sure.  This is something my silver has taught me.

So come lunch time, there he was in the garage stomping off the excess snow from his boots, probably wondering what his reward would be for being the ever efficient storm trooper...a bowl of hot soup or maybe a mug of freshly made hot chocolate with marshmallows before climbing into bed?  When all of a sudden...POING!  There went the spring on the garage door.  Uh, oh.  And when he reached above the door and pulled on the safety cord to disengage it...BAM!...the door slammed to the floor, carrying Officer Buckle with it...he almost slid into home plate...forever!

Oh, well, so much for rewards.  But, as far as me and my Valentine's gift...I have my Officer Buckle ready and waiting for what ever action life may bring...whether it be blizzards and frozen gutters, broken garage doors (and already fixed I might add), or more log piles waiting to be split.  My silver has taught me this...THIS is good.  I love you and Happy Valentine's Day, Officer Buckle.

Below are the 'fruits' of my window hopping...enjoy!

You'd Better Watch Out!

So, what began as a quick trip to the grocery store ended differently than expected.  As long as I've got plenty of time, going to the grocery has long been one of my "feel goods."  I wanted to go for just a few items, but truly, I know how that usually ends...with an over flowing cart.  Anyhow, after filling in the seat compartment of my cart with various fruits and deli items, I came across a good deal on cases of water. As I was loading in the second case under my cart, I naturally began conversing with another woman doing the same. That's how it works for me at the grocery which is why I enjoy shopping. Most times I bump into one or two folks that I know, and if I'm really lucky, I may hear in a shocked six year old voice, "Mrs. Liberati, what are you doing here?  I didn't know you lived here, too." It never grows old to hear the amazement in their voices when seeing me in a public establishment. You see, it's often assumed that I live in my classroom at school...so to find out that I have not one, but two homes...speechless! I went about my merry way and found that it was one good deal after another during this particular spree...which brought me, next, to the soda aisle. I had a coupon for a FREE  six pack of Coke products. It turns out that Coke has made a brand new skinny case of six cans...very clever for a give-a-way. While gazing, it was time to start talking to another woman also perusing for her selection. It's amazing how easy it is to talk with someone when the items are not just on sale...but free! We started exchanging who drinks what in our households, and it was so easy to talk with her, I just about invited her to dinner!  Luckily, I stopped myself...but she was awfully nice.  I told her that I was looking for Diet Coke, not Coke Zero since I already had much of it at home.  Not finding any, I took the latter choice and went on in search of the next good deal.  Well don't you know, that same woman found me a few aisles over, and in her hands was a six pack of Diet Coke.  She said I had missed the display so she grabbed one herself and went looking for me.  Wow!  Isn't that nice? I thanked her profusely as I tucked it on top of the water cases...under my cart.  Her good samaritan actions didn't stop there, though.  She then offered to take back the Coke Zero to the shelf.

I was feeling on top of the world and rather giddy about her kindness, and  I didn't have much shopping left at this point.  All I had to do was pick out a couple of birthday cards...what could possible happen...and why would I think something would happen?  As usual, I got engrossed in the cards...had to find just the right one...and wasn't paying attention to my surroundings.  Once I had them picked out, I headed toward the checkout.  When I bent down to get my waters and Diet Coke...I HAD BEEN ROBBED!  One of my cases of water AND my Diet Coke were GONE!

At first I thought I had the wrong cart.  Realizing that it was indeed mine...minus my water and Diet Coke...I pulled out of line.  I don't know what kind of state I went into...some kind of silver induced possibly...but I just mumbled something to the person behind me incoherently that I had lost something.  What does one say when they've been robbed of something they hadn't even yet purchased.  Was it mine?  Well, yea, kind of...but I didn't own it.

I know that what was taken was SO LITTLE in comparison to what could have happened, but I was rattled!  I couldn't even find the soda aisle to replenish my stolen goods...and I'm the queen of the grocery!

When I finally got safely checked out and into my car, I was able to think clearly about what happened.  You know, I've been so incredibly lucky...safe...blessed...I haven't been the victim before.  I REALLY DO REALIZE that this is very small potatoes in comparison to what could have happened...like a practice wake up call.  It could have been my purse...or worse a child.  As always I ask myself...what has my silver learned from this experience?  A re-hash on safety.  Stay alert!  And I am in most situations...like parking lots and gas stations.  But this now includes IN the grocery as well.  This made me realize just how easy it was for someone to take...heave...my case of water and soda.  They had to have bent down right next to me to get it.  Did they laugh?  Did they think they pulled one off on a old lady?  Mean!  I don't think like that so I really can't imagine who or why it was done.

On a lighter note, when I got home and relayed the events to Officer Buckle, perhaps hoping to be consoled of my near catastrophe, he quickly inquired about my bag.  "Was anything missing?" he asked.  I told him that my bag had been buried under the groceries and was spared, but no.  "Here, dump it...right on the kitchen table.  Is anything missing?"  So sad...apparently Officer Buckle hasn't been reading my posts to know just how much is in my bag and how long it would take for a search and rescue!  He consented with a quick peek to make sure my wallet was of the same weight.

The moral of today?  A refresher course in safety, and...be on the lookout for lazy shoppers helping themselves from your 'display' cart.