by jphilo | Jun 21, 2013 | Out and About
The Cedar Falls Christian Writers’ Conference is underway at the Riverview Conference Center. I may be away from home, but I’m not homesick for a couple reasons.
First, in a former life Riverview belonged to the old Evangelical United Brethren (EUB) denomination where EUB rugrats like me went to church camp every summer. Those were golden weeks of childhood, so coming here is like coming home.
Second, Cedar Falls is about 60 miles north of where I live. So the late spring that ended last week in my neck of the woods is still underway. Which means some of my favorite flowers that are fading back home are in full bloom here. Things like:
and more roses.
Peonies,
daisies, and coral bells.
So far, no CSA with fresh strawberries,
but I’m dealing with that.
What makes you feel at home wherever you are? Leave a comment.
by jphilo | Apr 26, 2013 | Out and About
While we waited to board our flight,
You lowered your pregnant body to the floor,
And play dolls with your daughter,
Your attention fully focused on her.
From the aisle seat across from you, I watched you
Calm your little girl, so giddy with excitement about visiting Grandma.
You had a bag full of snacks, toys, and an iPad, which occupied her
Until the command came to power it down and fasten seat belts.
Then your sweet two-and-a-half year old went ballistic.
She screamed and kicked, threw off her shoes,
Squirmed and kicked her way out of the aisle seat twice,
Until somehow you belted her securely into the window seat.
Not once did you raise your voice.
Not once did you spank her bottom or slap her hand.
Instead you told her what she had to do,
Until finally she finally obeyed and fell asleep, exhausted.
Tears streamed down your face,
As you gazed through the window,
Too ashamed to make eye contact with me
Or the other passengers who’d witnessed the scene.
While your eyes were fixed on blue sky and clouds,
A packet of tissues and a note found its way into the empty seat beside you.
“Every parent on this plane’s been where you are today,” the note said.
“You’re a good mommy. Always remember that.”
photo source
by jphilo | Apr 22, 2013 | Out and About
The bro and me loving Mom at last summer’s Cousins Reunion
As a kid, I was pretty sure I was adopted since Mom and I didn’t look much alike.
Her hair was curly.
Mine was straight.
She had blue eyes.
Mine were hazel.
She was strong as Laura Ingalls Wilder’s proverbial French pony.
I was a a pathetic weakling.
Her face was round and freckled.
Mine was long and pale.
But last week, as we drove by a brick house with trim painted an unusual shade of blue, the adoption myth was laid to rest. In unison, we said, “I’m not sure that paint job does that house any favors.” In unison, we burst out laughing. And do you know what I found out when we hooked our little fingers and said, “Pinky friends?”
She’s still strong as that little French pony,
I’m still a pathetic weakling,
And I want to be her pinky friend forever.
by jphilo | Apr 15, 2013 | Out and About
On Saturday, I ate lunch with about 20 young princesses and their slightly older female rellies at a mother-daughter princess tea at a church here in Iowa. After lunch and the program, I chatted with several of the very excited young ladies and left the gala event with the following three observations:
- At these events, complete with a photo shoot that encourages the wearing of girlie regalia, princesses have something much more glamorous than toilet paper stuck to the bottom of their shoes. They have feather boa bits stuck to their ruby slippers.
- A little sparkle goes a long way when you’re between the ages of 5 and 9. Why else would little girls ask me, an aging woman in a frilly dress accessorized with a rhinestone tiara and glittery sash, if they could have my autograph and take my picture with their cell phones?
- When you’re a young girl with stars in her eyes, being a princess really is all about the clothes.
Oh my, they make me want to be little again!
by jphilo | Apr 8, 2013 | Out and About
Our gravel road is closed for Grandma duty today.
Come back tomorrow after I’ve had my baby fix!
Photo Credit: www.FreeDigitalPhotos.net
by jphilo | Mar 18, 2013 | Out and About
Last Thursday I went back to school for the first time in a long time. A former teaching colleague had asked me to represent the world of professional writing at the local high school’s career fair and then speak to some English classes after that. Due to a scheduling snafu that can be blamed on my calenderally-challenged brain, I arrived an hour and a half late for the two hour career fair.
That’s a story for another post–except for one thing.
Flustered by my late arrival, I totally forgot Thursday was the last day of school before spring break and a short day at that, due to parent-teacher conferences. If that realization had dawned earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have been so discouraged by the lack of response from the first two groups of students. To say they weren’t impressed by the life of a writer would be an understatement. They were a hard crowd, and I flopped. Miserably. During the passing time before the last class arrived, I finally remembered. The kids are just marking time until spring break.
So when the class settled in, I asked, “How many of you are counting the minutes until spring break?”
Every hand went up.
“Well,” I leaned toward them with a conspiratorial whisper, “If you’ll just pretend you’re interested in what I say, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
They leaned toward me.
“Every teacher in this building is counting the minutes, too.”
They laughed.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you know exactly when in the sweep of the second hand, the dismissal bell will ring?”
They nodded.
“Would somebody in the back of the room wave one minute before it rings, so I can finish and you can get out of here right away?”
Everyone in the back row gave a thumbs up…and we were off.
They asked questions, one after another.
Good questions.
Perceptive questions.
They laughed at my jokes.
They cracked a few jokes, too.
They talked about their writing likes and dislikes.
Their eyes sparkled.
Their faces glowed.
The magic was so strong,
we were all surprised when the dismissal bell rang.
Most students headed straight for the door.
But several stopped to say thank you.
I left the building with tired feet, a renewed appreciation for teachers, and a memory of why teaching had been my chosen profession for 25 years. It feels good to connect with students again, to hear them share their ideas, to see their potential, and to urge them to follow their dreams and use their imaginations.
When a teacher gets her mojo back, she can work magic in young lives.
photo credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net
