Mantras Matter

Here was the prompt from The Nantucket Project:
"At TNP, we spend all year seeking the most energetic and curious people on earth. We then ask them the question: What matters? We have found this is an increasingly difficult question to answer in the noisy, messy world in which we live. How would you answer this? What matters to you? "

I grew up with two mantras growing up; one from each parent. As a youth I experienced annoyance or comfort when they were recited to me. As an adult when my youngest daughter was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, the father of my children and I divorced or my teenaged children made poor choices involving both minor and major setbacks, I would recite: “Look for the good and you will find it” and “This too shall pass.” One mantra from dad, one from mom.

I clung to both, desperate to reframe my circumstances in a more positive light. I was able to get up out of bed, parent, and go to work. Some days I got up teary eyed and some days I got up smiling, forming what I like to call my Happy Wrinkled Self. The point is, I got up. I moved forward. Those mantras propelled me forward, with forward-thinking.

I have been a teacher forever. I have taught in elementary, middle and high schools. Today I teach in an alternative public school, grades K-12. Life has been kind to some of my students with mentors, cheerleaders and champions in their lives.  Others have been raped, beaten, bullied and kicked out of their homes. They’ve been happy, driven and self-motivated or they have been sad, anxious or depressed.

What I’ve noticed is this: kids need mantras.

The miraculous part about where I work is the relationship that is fostered with students. And when that relationship evolves, I have the privilege of getting to know what they like, dislike, how they spend their free time and what makes them sparkle. Sometimes I get to catch a glimpse of a smile forming around their mouths and sometimes I pass the tissue box, first grabbing one for my Happily Wrinkled Self as we shed tears together.

I’ve shared my parents’ mantras and I've shared my personal teaching mantra,  “You are safe with me.”

As I get to know each child, I get to see each one slowly form their own mantra or incorporate those of others that ring true for them:

“I am unique.”

“I am different.”

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

So many students. So many mantras. The important thing about mantras, is that kids need one.

If they have don't, I am concerned about their lack of coping skills for a quality life.

Kids need mantras.

Keeping The Faith

I have not lost faith in our American Democracy and I will tell you why.

I am sitting on an airplane reflecting on the past 12 days in Boston, Massachusetts. The first four of them were spent doing all the typical touristy things one does in the birthplace of our Democracy. I walked the Freedom Trail, I visited an art museum, a garden museum, sailed in a tall ship, rode in a trolley car, ate in an Italian restaurant, window-shopped in a glitzy area and enjoyed seeing the wares of street vendors. I toured Harvard and MIT, I ate a BLT, fries and a milkshake and experienced the most beautiful sunset walk of my life along the Charles Riverbank and across the Longfellow Bridge with the sun's reflection on the mirrored skyscrapers creating the illusion of fire. There were a lineup of mini white sailboats with a colored stripe on each one, varied in every primary hue. The sky was pink and gray, the waters calm and I was captivated by the beauty of it all. I walked through lovely public parks, stood in cemeteries of our famous ancestors, including those of color and whom built many of the most picturesque buildings with their backbreaking slave labor. I also stood in the center of the circular cobblestones where the famous shot heard round the world, the first American public school was located and in front of the hall where our constitution was written. I even went to Fenway Park to watch a baseball game and you can't get much more American than that; except perhaps later in the week watching fireworks on the bank of the Charles River. These experiences and places were wonderful but could not compare to what I shall describe next.

I had come to an assembly of educators from my union. There were also guests observing the entire week of caucuses, meetings, events and assembly meetings. Over 11,000 people; 7,000 union members and over 1,000 from the state of California. People came to the assembly from all over the country, and from all political leanings. Conservatives, Liberals, Independents; moderate and staunch in their beliefs. Every skin color, body shape and size and members of all ages. There was even a nursing infant with his mother in attendance. 

It was beautiful.

It was passionate and loud at times and raucous and respectful. It was riveting and if I'm being truthful, sometimes boring.

But oh it would make you proud!

There were Ammendments to be debated and voted. There were New Business Items (over 150!) to be discussed, debated as well, and ultimately adopted or rejected. A charter school statement was decided upon; no easy task for such a large body of members and so much more.

Near the closing of our week together one member was injured and our president had to ask for silence from all 11,000 in attendance and when the nurses in our union ran up to help all were hopeful. When we found out it was not life-threatening we simultaneously raised our hands and did the silent clap waving our hands and wriggling our fingers so the medical personnel could hear one another communicate via walkie talkies in this huge convention center filled with people. 

You see, we can come together. Not just in times of crisis, but with a common goal even with ideological differences that are extreme. We were pressed for time because bus drivers had to end their day; per their state laws and so we HAD to finish the VERY IMPORTANT BUSINESS OF EDUCATING ALL OF OUR KIDS. Now THAT is something we can ALL agree on, can't we? 

I'm telling you, you would be proud.

This morning I went to one more museum. While there a mature grandmother fell backwards, tripping on a carpet, causing a velvet rope and brass stand to fall against a marble table and just barely miss hitting her head on the corner of it, which I believe could have proven fatal. The docent in the room rushed over as did many of us. The grandma was fine, embarrassed and concerned about the marble table, the priceless woven wool carpet and other items. The docent, she uttered a beautiful sentence, "You need not be concerned with anything as you are more valuable than any object in this museum." 

I cried.

I patted the grandma on her back shoulder and said I was glad she was ok.

She scurried away.

Later, on my flight home I observed the seasoned gentleman next to me place the $5 airline blanket upon his wife and gently tuck her in. His simple gesture was sweet and loving and kind.
I was reminded again we have more goodness in us yet.

Today was the day I felt hopeful again, friends. We will be alright.

We have more good in common than bad.

We have people all over our nation who care for our children's education and for that I remain hopeful in our Democracy and future.

Note: I originally posted this on Facebook.

A Broken Shovel

Sometimes I want to write the truth but in doing so I might hurt other people. I've had a lot going on since last August and have had to self-censor my writing. I just couldn't write what was on my heart because it was either not my story to tell or because I was not allowed to write about it.  I'm going to try and tell my story without the details that might hurt others. Excuse the use of this swear word but really, it involves a lot of *shit.*

I recently got back from an adventure vacation with my oldest daughter and a dear friend. We visited some great spots in the Eastern Sierras and ate delicious meals. I should write a post about it because there were so many lovely places that you should go. But not today.

Today I'm going to talk about life. And how it is precious. I've been reminded several times in the past 6 months and today I had yet another *aha* moment while trying to reassemble a backpacking tool that I broke. I discovered it's kind of useless for backpacking but can be used when I go snow camping next season. In hard granite dirt it won't work. The tool is a small shovel for digging cat holes. For those not in the know, that is the polite way of saying a hole for poop. In the high sierras you have to frequently carry the poop out in a wag bag, which is not for dogs. It's for human excrement. If you are fortunate to be in an area to dig cat holes, count yourself lucky. My daughter had a heavy shovel and in a last minute decision I bought a lightweight one while we picked up our wilderness permit. But it broke within fix minutes of purchasing it and I knew when I got home I would try to fix it for next winter.

Anyhow, since my last posting on this ancient blog lots has occurred.

My job: it was my most difficult year ever. More difficult than my first year of teaching, which was my second most difficult year. My first year was tough because I have high standards, I was a perfectionist and never felt like I had "arrived" as a teacher (in time I learned one never arrives; if you feel that way you probably should move on to another job as you're either boring or not giving it your all and even when you are, it is a stressful being creative, balancing academic standards and doing what is developmentally appropriate for the age you are teaching, making it both challenging and fun, building relationships all while being current and fresh). This year was not awful with the kids or with parents (except maybe one who was challenging if I'm being honest). I can't tell you why it was awful but believe me IT WAS AWFUL. I worked during lunches, after school and on weekends to try and do what I felt was in the best interest of my students and help make the situation better. I lost sleep. I lost time. I lost workouts. I gained weight. IT WAS STRESSFUL. And I am trying very hard to hit the restart button for next year. I am taking a summer off, something I have rarely done. I know next year will be a key one for me and for our school. I know I need a more balanced life and I've started to brainstorm what that might look like as I begin again in August. I have ideas. I know it will be better.

My family: I love them. I have one member who celebrated one year being cancer-free only to have another member diagnosed weeks later. We were devastated and shocked. Both of them are role models to me for so many reasons. The one who is battling cancer now is someone I want to be more like in my life. She is humble, kind, generous, loving and a quiet leader.  She is spiritual but not preachy or religious and she has been my biggest cheerleader the past 12 years. I feel like time with her is HOLY. She is married to a man who is energetic and the two of them are constantly setting the bar of what I hope to achieve if I marry again. They put the other first, have great amounts of laughter and teamwork. They are not perfect but know how to say they are sorry. They love their families, live within their means and are making a difference in the world.

I think of her in my garden as we've spent time together working in it every year. I think of her when I'm in my little cottage because she has come over and we like being together here because it is almost like a doll house for us now that we are grown-ups.  And I think of how she is listening to her body and sleeping and being with a few select people only when she is able and I want to be like her. I want to make my home my safe haven and spend time here nesting and then going out in the wilderness for camping and hiking and biking and kayaking and then come home again. Home. I've learned I have a home that can be my respite.

My life: In one weekend in June another family member, my niece,  lost all of her belongings in a Chicago apartment fire. Everything. She and the others in the building were lucky to escape but I keep thinking about her and how that must feel. I think of her every day as I make various little decisions; which shoes or earrings or dress I want to wear. She does not have that choice or luxury of what stuff to wear or toss. It is all gone. We were all in a state of shock as we read texts about the fire in the early morning and then we flew down to my youngest child's graduation.

My mom and I rented a car and on Highway 5 we were hit from behind by an 18 wheeler minutes later.  We spun around and around and around and across several lanes. As I was spinning, my first thought was to try to relax as much as I could while trying to regain control of the car. I had learned in bike clinics to do this when falling and thought in a fleeting moment this would be helpful.  I could see cars swerving to avoid us in my rear view mirror and knew we were headed in the direction of the median strip. The second thought was, "This is not how I thought I would die." I thought we might die. We had another impact on my side and my window broke with glass pieces imploding on the inside. We stopped somehow facing the correct direction. I grabbed my mom's hand with mine and gave it a strong, silent squeeze. And then I said, "THANK YOU JESUS. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU" (I was thinking of my niece and now us).

My eldest daughter summed it up by stating we were either the luckiest family or the unluckiest. My children's dad, a retired assistant chief for the fire department, shook his head in amazement and said how usually people do not walk away from being hit by 18 wheelers, they get run over. I had to recount what happened to yet another insurance adjuster two days ago and cried in the retelling of it. I guess I've learned to be grateful and realize it is not my time to go, my mom's or my niece's. Not yet. I must have really needed this drilled into my head and heart because a few weeks ago while driving a local freeway I was frightened by what sounded like a nearby gunshot. It was another 18 wheeler, the tire blew and flew on my windshield. Miraculously I remained in control and my window was not damaged and the truck swerved and avoided me. Okay, I get it. It really is not my time.

My children: My kids are okay. In fact they are more than okay. They have all graduated from college and two have launched into their careers. One has had a rough time this year. The saying that you are only as good as your unhappiest child is true in many regards. I think of my mom, my sisters and brother and friends who have had or have children struggling right now. As parents we want to fix it, and make everything better. But in short, we can't. It is up to our children. This is the hardest parenting lesson ever I think. We must let them go and find their inner strength.

I was recently up in Tahoe and one of my kids and I were having a miscommunication on the phone. It was upsetting. A few minutes later I looked out and there was a coyote who came right up to the window as I was thinking about our discussion. He was looking at us, eating a mouse or a scrap of food. This was not normal behavior, right up against the house's living room window. I had trouble sleeping and in the middle of the night I remembered a few years ago texting a friend who had found out his son had been killed in a drunk driving accident. Another child of mine was in a crisis mode and I was distraught, even more so for my friend. I was sitting in the exact same spot near the window where the coyote had visited and where I was sitting when the father and I were texting. At his son's funeral, the father had told all of us when we see a coyote we should say hi to his son. I believe that night the coyote visit was a pointed reminder of no matter how hard communication or the struggles are with my kids or how I am concerned for them, I need to be thankful that I have them and can witness their struggles. Our time in this life is limited.

My broken cat hole shovel:  I stood in my laundry room with my shovel and tried to reassemble it. It took time and a few innovations but after a great deal of persistence I fixed it. I remember a few years ago I had started to date a man and my bike tool kit fell apart. I jokingly said it was the key to my heart. He was patient and determined and fixed it. That man touched my heart, maybe even more so after we broke up because I recognized he was creating and living a new life after a nasty divorce. From what I can read and see he is in love and happy and evolving as a person.  It is a visual reminder that one can evolve as a person for the better, even at our age.

I thought of my life of late; my job struggles, cancer, accidents, struggles of my children and that the lesson I think I've needed to learn, I mean, REALLY LEARN is that I have the know-how that can fix a broken tool. I guess that means I have the key to my own heart. My time on Earth is limited. I will make the most of it.

Legacy of Love

My dad's "Heaven Day" anniversary is Aug 14th. He was not perfect. He was flawed. He made mistakes. But in the end, he lived a good life. I wrote him a letter six months before he died on Valentines Day. For his memorial service I read a short introduction and the letter to our family and friends. He would be 85 this year.

Here it is....

~Kathy~

Several years ago my dad turned seventy. We wanted to make that night a special one to honor him and we wanted to create a memory. Not only, I remember my sister Paula saying, for my dad and mom, or “us” (his kids), but for our children, HIS grandchildren. We set about preparing the evening in “Chuck Fehely”-style, which included the foot-long hot dogs and angel food cake. The stage had the perfect homey feel to it: a clothesline running the length of the exterior of our house, multiple strands of white lights and a backdrop of colorful quilts. We had our very first annual “Fehely Talent Show.” I use the word, “Talent” quite liberally for the majority of us: yes, we sang, we kazooed, we drummed and strummed, danced, recited and even performed fake raspberries to one of grandpa’s favorite tunes. It was, by all of our “Reflective Fehely” standards, a perfect night. To conclude the evening we gave dad letters where we wrote to him, telling how much we loved him, how proud we were to be his kids citing special gestures, expressions or stories about him that we enjoyed.

~I’m going to stop this description for a moment to say that birthday evening was not unlike what we’ve tried to create here today, a lovely memory for all of us, bragging about this amazing man, and I know he would have LOVED this…. because he loved all of YOU so much~

Well for some reason, I never gave my dad a letter that night. I had been a little busy, but the truth was, I just needed more time to marinate on how to put into words all of the feelings and expressions of love that I wanted to paint for my dad. This February, I finally gave him that letter and it is what I am going to read to you today. When I gave it to him, I gave it quietly with just he and my mom there. I then let him read it privately. I knew it meant something because my mom said he had tears streaming down his face (but a little known secret to outsiders is that my dad is a sentimental crybaby).  When I REALLY knew it meant something, was when we shared his scrapbook with me and I found the letter in it.

 Legacy of Love~

Today I am writing a letter to you, my dad, otherwise known as Charles Frank Fehely. “Charlie” or “Chuck” to some, but dad or grandpa to the rest of us…

There is a moment when those of us who are teachers, well, where we would use the term “teachable moment” -the kind of moment when it feels almost supernatural or “spiritual” in the classroom. It could be some kind of conflict on the playground, national or world events, it could simply be a story you’ve just read to your students or the way a class conversation has headed in a new direction…as a teacher you know this is “it,” a teachable moment. Dad, as I think of your life, and your current battle with cancer, and how as your daughter I have witnessed who you are, I realize I am here…I am currently living the reality of a “teachable moment.” I can use this moment to write about you, let you know how much I love you and let you know how you are a teacher to everyone who surrounds you.

Dad you are leaving all of us a “Legacy of Love” that spans across all ages, races and religions. The “Legacy” you have left me is an example of how I want to live my own life. It begins with mom:

You and mom have a love that is tangible, real. If you look at the DVD we made, I want you to notice and pay close attention to you and mom: the looks you give one another, the chemistry you have and the love you so obviously feel for one another. For all of your children, grandchildren, friends & family you’ve left a “Legacy of Love” for one’s spouse. Growing up we all felt it, we were lucky to have been raised by parents that loved one another…who weathered some storms but who mainly lived with sunnier times. Even now, your love for one another can only be summed up as miraculous and a testimony to each of us, your children. You are both my heroes by the love you have for one another.

Dad you’ve also left a “Legacy of Love” for each of us: Mike, Paula, Laura, and myself. Growing up we all felt your love and pride. You were at all of our events, and as we became adults that circle grew: football, synchronized swimming, baseball, plays, musicals, church events, school and more. As we married, and yes, even divorced & dated, your legacy spread to a preschool teacher, a plumber, a man in retail, a firefighter and currently, a man in investment. Your love expanded to each of us as we “grew up” over the years. And to know you, is to know your pride for all of us, even today.

The “Legacy of Love,” of course, includes your nine grandchildren: Ryan, Jill, Morgan, Evan, Brad, Tommy, Troy, Shelby and Mary. Your love includes all of their collective interests, hobbies, sports, and more: football, swimming, soccer, lacrosse, 4-H, music, dancing, vintner studies, construction management, plumbing, the discussion of sports pages, religious beliefs and more. We recently celebrated your birthday. While doing so, we all created the gift for you that listed all of the reasons we loved you so much. In it, each of your nine grandchildren expressed how they felt special, unique and loved just for being themselves. On a side note: your legacy rubbed off on your wife because when we made her a similar gift your grandchildren felt the same way about their grandma. They all felt, and feel, loved by both you and mom.

Your “Legacy of Love” also includes a circle of people that aren’t quite blood-related but that the term “friends” doesn’t quite cover, it is simply too broad. Specifically your “Legacy of Love” included young lives. Judy Rodriquez, whom you walked down the aisle for her wedding, would fit this circle. John Berry, who moved into our house when he was a senior at CV High and we, the “Fehely” kids were still quite little. This circle included all of your players that you took to college games to expand their dreams. It included the united work of mom baking her Jet Pride cookies for the players of the week. The meager earnings you made while coaching or teaching were spent building dreams for these kids, blending your belief in the saving grace of sports and most importantly, your faith in young people.

You had two careers in my lifetime and your love included all your co-workers from both. You remained friends with the men and women you worked with as a probation officer, and the friends you later made while coaching and teaching, being an athletic director. Your friendships were an example of love: you still remain friends with boys from grammar school, junior and senior high school, your days in the Army, semi-pro football, and, as mentioned, through the Alameda County Probation Department and the halls of Encinal, Menlo Atherton and Castro Valley High. It includes friends with conservative beliefs in Contra Costa County and liberal ones from Alameda. It includes men, and women, of every race and every economic class: both rich and poor. An early memory I have of you is calling friends up to arrange time together: Saturday football, drafts, tennis matches, basketball games, lunch, dinner, golf, vacations and more. When I was in high school or college trying to decide what to do on a rare free Saturday night, I would think of your ability to create times together with all of your many friendships. I would then pick up the phone myself to plan some grand adventure of my own, mimicking your actions. Your “Legacy of Love” includes your friends and how you see them as an extension of our family.

As stated earlier, your “Legacy of Love” includes your spouse, my mom, your children and grandchildren, friends & co-workers. However, your “Legacy” also involves your Faith. You were quiet about it, but it is real. If I remember correctly, you grew up with a father who was an atheist and a mother who you used to say was a “good Christian woman” and whom you sweetly regarded as a saint. It wasn’t until you attended St. Mary’s College that I think you really found God. You became a Catholic…but really, for you, it was about getting a relationship with God at that point, a conscious decision. There were times in your life when you have been upset with decisions the Church has made and you would not attend for a while. In more recent times you’ve begun attending services again. The thing is, each of us, your children, have been allowed and encouraged to develop our own faith in God. Anyone who has been in attendance at our family events: birthdays, holidays and gatherings, they would know we have a tradition where we stand in a giant circle holding hands. You lead us in a prayer…I use that term loosely because really, your eyes are open and sometimes it’s more like you are preaching to us or sharing some of life’s lessons. Sometimes there are tears, usually there is laughter, but always there is love. You shared a story with us at Christmas that involved your Faith. You talked about your love for all of us:  mom, each of your children, grandkids and then you talked about how you get through your radiation treatments. You shared how when you are lying there; wearing your mask like a Phantom of the Opera character partaking in an act you really didn’t like and how the claustrophobic feelings could potentially take over. You talked about how you would then think about (or imagine) each of us: wife, children & spouses, and grandchildren surrounding you in prayer. Your faith is what seems to get you through the awful parts of your cancer treatments.

You are my dad, the teacher, and you have left me a “Legacy of Love” in nearly all areas of life: your love for my mom, kids, grandkids, friends, family, work and faith. Your latest teaching lesson, the “teachable moment” I am writing about today is this: that although you won’t always be physically present, your love, your “Legacy of Love,” will always be right here, in my heart. My memories of growing up with you and your “Legacy” will serve as an example to me for years to come. Your “Legacy of Love,” really is just that, a legacy for all of us in the “Fehely Family” to be inspired and to try and our lives in the same fashion. 

Love to you, Kathy

Transitions: A Perfect Night

Transitions are not always easy.Take childbirth, for example. For me, the transition was the worst part. Not back labor. Not pushing. Not even record-breaking head sizes or shoulders. With the birth of each of my three children, the transitions were the most unpleasant part. I mean literally and figuratively.

Most people that know me, and know that I'm a teacher, would be surprised to learn that I said I never wanted children while growing up. That is not cool to admit when you're a mom, but there you have it. I think it is because I was the fourth of four kids. I could see it was work.

I didn't want to get a Mrs. degree either. At least until I was old, like, you know, in my forties. 

I grew up in a very typical town at that time. Most of my peers married young. In my journey I found God and my faith and then wound up in love and married by the age of 22. I had become a teacher. I loved children. My husband I both came from big families and wanted one too, so by the age of 30 we had three kids. 

Now I'm in transition. 

My youngest daughter turned 21 yesterday. The weather was mild and lovely. There was a birthday tiara made of succulents, flowers and feathers and a "Birthday Girl" sash worn while we celebrated. We had brunch with her sister in San Francisco. We shared a beer with their childhood friend. There was a birthday cupcake for photos mixed with a little moodiness when one of us got tired or hungry. We were joined by her brother and the four of us went to a concert in Berkeley. It was a perfect day.

While the band was performing, I laid down on the grass and closed my eyes. My kids thought I was falling asleep and took turns putting their hands over my face. I was remembering a time in our past. It was almost as if we were lying back under the Magnolia tree, a pile of four bodies and quilts, pillows, stuffed animals, flashlights and picture books. And a small dog, he was there too. I could remember for a moment, what the chill in the air felt like if a foot poked out of the edge of the blanket, the kids nudging and bickering. The stars dotting the sky. It was a perfect day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As far as my parenting goes when my kids were very small, I don't have many regrets.  

I can say my kids went to bed at a too-early-for-them-but-kept-mom-sane hour. They had three meals a day with a protein, a vegetable and a starch. We did not always eat dessert but they would get woken up on occasion for their birthday and get to eat the corner piece of the birthday cake, a cookie or a slice of apple or pumpkin pie. They were always well-dressed and did some kind of exercise every day. As babies they were carried or biked or pushed in a stroller to concerts, museums, parks, sporting venues and shopping. This was replaced by family biking, swimming, walks and even dancing in the park for summer concerts. They talked about their highs and their lows of the day at the dinner table. They were read bedtime stories every night and said their prayers cuddled in bed. They played dress-up, make-believe, baked elaborate sugar cookies for every holiday and had tea parties, with real food. There were dolls and superheroes and fairytales. There was a co-op preschool with a mom and a dad who volunteered, as well as field trips with both. There were cousins, lots of them. And with the cousins came holidays, birthdays, many days in the park, playing at one another's houses and vacations mostly in Tahoe or Yosemite. They camped in tents and trailers and even in the backyard on a blue tarp with the stars overhead canopied by an old magnolia tree. There were special late nights to go to the midnight book sale parties for the latest Harry Potter edition. And there were more late nights involving movie releases as the clock struck 12 on several Thursdays. They had Survivor dinners of pineapple, rice and other island foods and there were forts in the family room left up overnight. As they grew older and expressed an interest they played soccer, basketball, lacrosse, baseball, competed in Irish dancing, bowling, scouting and 4-H. They debated. They sewed. There were crafts and kites and fishing. There were boo-boos and kisses and hugs and love.

I'd like to think it was a mostly-good childhood for all three kids, despite my shortcomings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As we were leaving the concert and headed to our car late last night we were reflecting on the evening.  "I know you thought I was falling asleep on the grass but I wasn't. I was pretending I was camping in the backyard with the three of you under the Mag-no-li-a," my voice stammered. "Under the Magnolia tree," I finished saying, while choking up.

My kids looked at me, concern on their faces. 

I smiled at them, wiping my tears. 

They started groaning and laughing. They weren't being mean. They were rolling their eyes and exchanging the oh-my-God-would-you-look-at-our-dorky-sappy-mom-but-we-love-her looks with one another.

I started laughing through my tears and we all kept walking.

I think the Head And The Heart song called "Let's Be Still" has one stanza that perfectly states how I felt while lying down at that concert:

The world's just spinning

A little too fast

If things don't slow down soon we might not last

So just for the moment, let's be still

I think, for me, transitions will continue to be one of my least favorite things. But I view last night's as a gift. It was a perfect night.

The Plastic Baggie

So I have a confession to make. 

Yesterday I drove down to Felton to spend the night at my dear friend Adria's house. She has a smart, savvy four year old girl, Ayla. Ayla was asleep when I arrived so Adria and I had several hours to catch up on various goals, dreams, aspirations, a few failures and in matters of the heart. 

Adria would tell you she lives pretty simply. I see she eats organic healthy foods and uses cloth napkins. She has a garden where she uses the compost she's made from her leftovers. She is strong and athletic and is a female firefighter. She is independent and smart and feminine and once again made me marvel at her maturity and wisdom despite being younger in years. Her healthy natural beauty is only surpassed by her lovely inner qualities. I see this demonstrated by how she patiently and tenderly cares for her daughter.  I hear this by how she reacted with another woman recently in a very trying situation. She let the amazing shared spirit of sisterhood take precedence over a wrong done to her. 

I love Adria and she is one of my favorite people. 

In the morning, Ayla and I played while Adria cooked breakfast. We played with wooden tangram puzzles and make-believe games of Beauty Parlor and Halloween. I was reminded with a tug of my heart how my own girls and son would play similarly when they were little. Many adventures with Barbies and Robinhood, Batman and princesses were created on Fairway Dr with my kids. We had tea parties and baking and coloring and painting and drawing, climbing, building and assembling. When my youngest daughter played Beauty Parlor with me my scalp hurt a lot more and her devilish laugh would coincide with the tight twists of the comb or the many clips. Ayla was a kinder, gentler beautician but still I remembered what it was like with fondness. 

It was much chillier than we had anticipated the day before so I put on all the layers of clothes I had packed wearing bike shorts with a skirt over it, a tank top, long-sleeved shirt and a vest. I wore a headband beneath my bike helmet and though it was not sunny I wore glasses as a shield for my eyes and my thickest pair of wool socks. Adria and Ayla were similarly dressed, but only after a little struggle as Ayla was asserting her independence by choosing what to wear. Adria was a master of negotiation and soon Ayla had on leggings and layers and a cozy coat. I then recalled how I teasingly used to say I wanted to market buttons to pin on my children that would read, "I dressed myself" as a disclaimer as they asserted their independence, just as Ayla was doing.

Adria assembled a tasty lunch and packed it along with all of the gear necessary to pull Ayla on her bike trailer called a Weehoo. It's a bigger endeavor than some would attempt but Ayla, Adria and I had gone on a similar ride last month and we all looked forward to our day. I followed in my own car with my bike and gear so I could go home directly after our riding. While we were driving I was remembering the children's seat I had attached to the back of a bike I owned when my children were babies. Later it was replaced by a Burley bike trailer which I used to pull two children at times, as well as swimsuits, towels and food for the day while we hung out at the nearby neighborhood swim club. I remembered sometimes passing golfers in a nearby private golf course a development over and they would comment that I must be the babysitter not the mommy. At the time I was too tired or happy to be outside and aware they were too old to be bothered by the comments. But for today I remembered a string of outings involving my children and bikes and realized this love I have for my two-wheeled friends is not a new love, it's simply a renewed one.  

Just before we started our pedaling, Ayla asked if she could eat a snack while riding. Adria complied and gave her a choice of apple slices or a healthy trail mix with nuts and a few tiny, dark chocolate squares. Ayla chose the trail mix. 

We pedaled across a bridge, along the river with a few shady characters, and then past the Santa Cruz Boardwalk until we reached the path along the ocean's edge where all of the surfers were gathered. It was not as crowded on the road as it had been last month and we were traveling at a steady clip.

That is the excuse I will use as to what I did next. 

The thing I did was nothing. 

I saw Ayla's plastic baggies blow out of the Weehoo and onto the road. Adria was ahead and I did not want to stop in the street to get the baggie and fall behind as we had just stopped to take off a layer of clothing.  There was a person walking and I reasoned with myself that they would pick up the baggie. 

Still, I felt guilty. I should have stopped but I didn't.

But then it got worse. 

We arrived at Wilder Ranch, now a state park. We parked our bikes and were unpacking the lunch and walking to the picnic table when Adria asked Ayla,  "Where  is your trail mix baggie?"

"I don't know, " Ayla said. 

 They discussed it further. 

"Have you seen the baggie?" Ayla asked.

"Yes, I saw it," I answered.  I avoided saying specifically that I had seen it blow out of the carrier and onto the pavement.  Ayla was concerned about the baggie but then joined her mommy at the table to begin eating lunch. I still felt guilty. 

We ate. Then we played. We climbed in the tree, walked in the magical bushes, sucked on the ends of the sour flowers and then fed the chickens. We got back on the bikes and visited the horses and saw a bobcat. 

Ayla wanted the rest of her apple slices, also in a baggie. She mentioned the missing baggie. Again. She looked right at me. "Did you see the baggie?" she asked innocently.

I avoided the question with a question, "Why don't we look for it on the way back? Maybe we can find it and pick it up?"

We headed up a big hill and then when we got to the top we realized Ayla had lost her water bottle. The one with a sippy spout and stickers from Trader Joe's on it. I volunteered to go back and re-ride our path at the ranch to find it. I zipped down the hill, I rode by the tree, the bushes, the barn, the port-a-potty, the chickens, the horses and darned if the bobcat hadn't appeared next to me again next to a group of quail. He was probably annoyed with me for thwarting his hunting twice that day. 

I could not find the bottle anywhere and headed up the small, steep hill toward the mother-daughter duo. And there was the water bottle, lying in the middle of the path. I stopped, picked it up and pedaled to my friends.

"Yay! I found it!" I smiled. "Now maybe we can find the baggie too!"

 Please God, I prayed.

We pedaled across the railroad tracks, down a street and along the ocean's path. All along I kept looking for that baggie.

Please let me find that baggie.

And then we pedaled around a curve and there along the edge of the curb, next to the path we had ridden earlier was the baggie. This time I was leading and stopped. "There it is! The baggie!" I exclaimed. 

Thank you, God, I prayed.

Now some will say it was a coincidence. Some would say it was a stupid baggie. Some would laugh, as my sister did when I told her this story over the phone tonight. 

Earlier I should have stopped but didn't. I should have said something but didn't. 

I've done that before in my life. Made mistakes.  

But here is the beautiful thing. I got a second chance to right the wrong. 

Sometimes we get a chance to right a wrong in a real, tangible way. Sometimes it is only through words. Or time. Or forgiveness, mainly to ourselves.

I got to remember today what it was like to play make-believe with my sister Laura. This time I got to remember all the good times, not the times I got angry and we fought. I got to remember what it was like as a young mommy and making lunches and snacks and packing up for adventures with a bike and Burley trailer with three kids or a giant red suburban filled with gear. I got to remember all the healthy things they ate and not the times when I let them eat something that was not organic before organic was the norm, or if I was tired or impatient, bored or cross. 

I'm going to remember today as a gift of memories of childhood, being a mommy and of second chances. 

Oh. And I have an empty baggie in my vest pocket that I'm going to throw away too. 

(Nearly) No Shopping for One Year

December 18th will mark the one year anniversary of my self-imposed, nearly no shopping challenge.

Why? I had bought a very sweet 1940's cottage and with that purchase came new light fixtures and re-wiring and appliances and paint and curtains and accessories. I also bought a new car. And I had done a great deal of training for an athletic event which required more purchases for fitness equipment, coaching and entry fees. I also had two children still in college. And I had a closet filled with cute, mostly-on-sale clothes and accessories. When I moved I had made numerous trips to the local thrift store with carloads of donations, I had given many items away to friends and family and had even left more on the curbside in a dumpster or as giveaways to neighbors. Even after giving away lots of stuff, I still had closets packed and a garage filled with more items. It made me sick to my stomach when I thought about it. 

Don't get me wrong, I have good stuff. Ask anyone. The recipients of my giveaways would agree. But I started realizing the more items I got rid of, the more I still needed to weed through and throw or giveaway. And I did not need to add anything. So after finishing up my Christmas shopping which more recently always included a few items for myself, I decided I wanted to just stop buying for one year. I wanted my children, who also have had the privilege of excess, see their mom not buy stuff too. 

I had a few rules for myself. I could buy gifts for others for birthdays, wedding, holidays, etc. I could also buy anything I really needed for myself that was for a physical necessity. I had broken my ankle and the truth was that a lot of shoes hurt me and if I wore them I felt it would slow down my healing process and I wondered if I would ever get to run again. I also told myself if I received gift certificates I could spend them if I wanted. I had my first out of the country trip planned sometime in the spring and I told myself I could buy items there too. 

Right away I was given some gift certificates during Christmas. Knowing that I would want to spend them wisely, I was careful. I remember I had one $50 gift card to the GAP. I was able to purchase a black and white striped skirt and two pairs of pants on sale and felt like I was really getting a good bargain. I also admit about 6 months later when I began to go through my closet in earnest, I gave away one of the pairs of pants. Why? They were too big and I had only worn them one time. I learned a good lesson: only buy items that fit well. Shoes cramp your toes? Do not buy them. Pants that are loosely comfortable in the dressing room will be sloppily baggy after one wearing. Take inventory of what you already own before you purchase anything new.

However, I did purchase some items. I bought two pairs of sandals for $14 apiece. I teach and all my other sandals, even the ones with small heels on caused my ankle to hurt. They were worth every penny. Before I went to Ireland I bought a really great waterproof raincoat. It only sprinkled one day as the Irish people said I brought the sun from California. Did I return the jacket when I returned? No. The truth is I plan to use it on other trips, especially ones while bike touring. I also had bought a comfy pair of black ballet shoes that I could wear during my trip. Sadly I left them in my hotel and had to replace them. I also bought an Irish knit sweater and poncho and a dress. I have worn all of those items numerous times and every time they remind me of my Irish holiday. I also purchased gifts for my loved ones while there. And that brought me joy. And I learned how to pack very light for a ten day trip so I would have room for the gift purchases. One day I swam before school. I went to get dressed and realized I left all my clothes at home, except for my baggy torn sweatpants which I had worn over my swimsuit. I had to make a quick run to a local store and found a simple black t-shirt dress for $29. I wore it a few times and ended up giving it to my youngest daughter.  Another time I was with my youngest daughter in Rockridge at a vintage clothing store. We pulled a lovely handmade black velvet dress off the rack that looked like it might be my size. I tried it on and it fit perfect and was only $40. I thought about it long and hard before I decided I could purchase it too. I do not claim to be perfect but I am practical. I knew I'd have some holiday parties and this dress would work. And when I grew tired of it some day I could easily resell it or give it away as it is a classic cut. I also bought a black dress at an outdoor clothing store that I can wear year-round and was on clearance. I have worn it no less than fifteen times and it is the kind of dress that won't really ever go out of style. I feel slightly guilty about it but not enough to have skipped purchasing it.

Even with all of my justifications I purchased far less than I would normally. I also found myself taking every item of clothing out of my closets and dressers, boxes and bins this past September. I gave away a few bags of items to my girlfriend. I gave away another couple to my sister-in-law and her sisters. I then filled up my car with the remainder of donations for my local thrift store. I had a friend who was available and I would take a photo of items and have her help me decide. Fortunately for me she was on a break between jobs and helped me with some tough decisions. I would be lying if I said I didn't take a few items from the give-away pile and place them back in my closet. But I would also be telling you the truth when I say I will go through it all again at the end of the next four seasons and purge again. 

I have gone through my garage twice to get rid of items. My friends and family will attest to the fact that I love to decorate for the holidays. This year for Halloween, rather than take down the four or more bins of decor, I hung one wreath and one banner. I displayed exactly three votives and purchased three pumpkins on my porch. The pumpkins will remain until Thanksgiving, if they don't spoil. I don't know that I will pull out the fall decor at all this year. It will depend on what I decide to do the week I have off. Will I spend a day decorating or a day hiking or running or biking? For Christmas I'm sure I will decorate as my youngest daughter has been away at college this year. But I'm not sure what will make it's way out of the garage and the bins and into the house. 

I do know this: I am sure I have more money, though the truth is I have spent the past months paying myself back for the trip I took to Ireland. It was worth it. I also began to pull out clothing from years ago and wear it in new and creative ways. I  like having less to choose from when I go to get dressed. I enjoy giving it away to friends and family who genuinely appreciate the gesture. I also have more time. I do not ever go window shopping or run into a store just because I have a free evening. Instead I read or write or go outside on an adventure or I call up a friend and spend time with them. 

I have learned that I have been a bit of a hoarder. It probably stems from being the fourth kid in my family and the third girl, wearing hand-me-downs and on-sale items growing up.

I think if you came over to look today, you'd be shocked at how much I still have inside my house, my garage and my closets. I feel better but I will continue to discard. And with each item I set aside, I know I will continue to feel lighter.  

When Dec 18th comes, friends have asked if I will run to the store for a shopping spree. The answer is no, with one exception which I will share about in another blog posting.  The fact is I'm sure I could go another year without purchasing one item and I would be fine. I know  I will never spend recklessly again. I will spend thoughtfully. Does it match items I already own or is it too similar? Does it fit? Will I wear it? Will I use it in my home? Is it timeless or if it's trendy, is it lower in cost because I know I won't be wearing it in a few years.

Overall I think it's been a good mindset to have and one that I will practice in my life moving forward.