So there’s a new girl in town named Shelley. Shelley was born in Oregon but moved at an early age and spent the majority of her life in Arizona. I haven’t been there (or the southwest for that matter) myself – it’s on my list – but from what I’ve gathered, while the desert does hold its own unique beauty, there is not much in the way of color or change of seasons. Oh, and the heat, I’ve heard her mention the heat.
Although I don’t know Shelley all that well yet, she is my Facebook friend. I’ve been noticing her status updates, especially over the last month. The reason I bring this up, I’m from the Midwest. I’ve had the opportunity to do some traveling and I always marvel at how stunning nature is at the different locations I’ve visited.
The last time my family came home from a trip, I mentioned to my husband that we need to find something beautiful about Indiana (aside from the people – I love my peeps) that we’re just missing because we’re too familiar with the scenery. Of course, he scoffed. He’s a lifelong resident of Indiana. He’d move to Florida in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for his family living here.
Back to Shelley’s updates. She seems enthralled with Indiana’s weather. For example, we had rainy days; she loved them. Last weekend we had frost. Her post? “We are so excited to wake up to the first frost! It sparkles!” She took lots of pictures of trees and bushes changing colors, commenting she’s soaking it all in. And get this, her friends were excited right along with her. I’m assuming these friends are also from Arizona.
I enjoy the changing colors, but I’ve been paying more attention this year.
Shelley’s opening my eyes to that something beautiful in nature I’ve been craving here in Indiana. I hope her enthusiasm for that first snow will get me through the icy temps and slush that inevitably follows. Shelley, will you invite me to go sledding?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Memories of a Mentor
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” ~Maya Angelou
Do you remember two adults, excluding your parents, who made an impact on your life as a young person, positive or negative? I participated in a mentor training class over the weekend and that was a question the trainer asked. I remember one of each.
Let’s get the negative out of the way first. My high school guidance counselor was reviewing some test results and told me I was not college material. I left his office feeling stunned, later angry, and still later wanting to prove him wrong. So even though the guy was a jerk, it pushed me harder to succeed.
Now for the positive, Mrs. Sepich, my typing/shorthand teacher. When I first met her, she seemed a bit grouchy and intimidating. From what I remember, her mouth was set in a frequent frown, and her classes were run in a no-nonsense style. This is my perception - I could be wrong on that frown memory - because as I look through my yearbook, I see a beautiful smile. But I vividly remember I was going to mind my Ps and Qs. Thankfully I loved typing and shorthand classes so no trouble was coming out of me.
She wasn’t a grandmotherly/soft-spoken type of mentor. Being on the receiving end of a smile made me feel I had achieved success. When she gave me assignments from the school office, like typing up the rosters for the basketball home games, it made me feel competent and trusted. Getting involved in a regional shorthand/typing competition at her prompting helped me build confidence in my skills.
Mrs. S helped me by submitting my name for a scholarship, as well as helped me get a job at the courthouse in the city where I would be taking my classes. When I decided not to continue my education (I had this new job after all), the next time we met, she urged me to stay in school. When I traded in my goal of becoming a legal secretary for a court reporter, again, the smile. Her support instilled that I-can-do-anything-I-put-my-mind-to feeling.
I had a successful 20-year career as a court reporter. Now I’m moving on to try new ventures. As I write this, I realize 25-ish years later she still impacts my life. Thanks, Mrs. S.
Do you remember two adults, excluding your parents, who made an impact on your life as a young person, positive or negative? I participated in a mentor training class over the weekend and that was a question the trainer asked. I remember one of each.
Let’s get the negative out of the way first. My high school guidance counselor was reviewing some test results and told me I was not college material. I left his office feeling stunned, later angry, and still later wanting to prove him wrong. So even though the guy was a jerk, it pushed me harder to succeed.
Now for the positive, Mrs. Sepich, my typing/shorthand teacher. When I first met her, she seemed a bit grouchy and intimidating. From what I remember, her mouth was set in a frequent frown, and her classes were run in a no-nonsense style. This is my perception - I could be wrong on that frown memory - because as I look through my yearbook, I see a beautiful smile. But I vividly remember I was going to mind my Ps and Qs. Thankfully I loved typing and shorthand classes so no trouble was coming out of me.
She wasn’t a grandmotherly/soft-spoken type of mentor. Being on the receiving end of a smile made me feel I had achieved success. When she gave me assignments from the school office, like typing up the rosters for the basketball home games, it made me feel competent and trusted. Getting involved in a regional shorthand/typing competition at her prompting helped me build confidence in my skills.
Mrs. S helped me by submitting my name for a scholarship, as well as helped me get a job at the courthouse in the city where I would be taking my classes. When I decided not to continue my education (I had this new job after all), the next time we met, she urged me to stay in school. When I traded in my goal of becoming a legal secretary for a court reporter, again, the smile. Her support instilled that I-can-do-anything-I-put-my-mind-to feeling.
I had a successful 20-year career as a court reporter. Now I’m moving on to try new ventures. As I write this, I realize 25-ish years later she still impacts my life. Thanks, Mrs. S.
Monday, October 5, 2009
It Takes a Neighborhood
The neighborhood we lived in until I was seven felt like its own little world. I remember playing well with my brothers, making mud pies, smuggling sugar snap peas from a neighbor’s garden, lying on the ground and trying to decipher the shapes of puffy white clouds. I learned to ride a bike in that neighborhood, as well as ride with no hands. I was quite the showoff, riding up and down the street.
I changed my dress multiple times a day, but I did not care for hairbrushes and face washing. Early one morning I could not find a clean pair of underwear, but I still chose to wear a dress. I remember shifting from one fanny cheek to the other while sitting on our frigid cement front stoop, waiting for my friend to come out and play.
The coolest kid on the block, whose first name was Kirby, came complete with leather jacket and mini-bike, and I pondered whether he was related to the Kirby name on my mom’s vacuum cleaner. I was thrilled when he came to my older brother’s pirate-themed birthday party and oh how I hoped he would notice me.
The woods behind our house was thick with sections of trees and berry bushes and was our place for adventure. We would run straight to the fort with a friend’s older sibling’s Mad magazine or comic book, clueless on what we were reading. There would be dares to try an unknown potentially poisonous berry. The real thrill was keeping an ear out for bears – an unsubstantiated rumor.
We played until dark or until we couldn’t take any more mosquito bites. My habit was scratching until they were oozing, and the remedy was cotton balls soaked in alcohol held on by Band-aids. After the initial urge-to-scream reaction, the bites quickly stopped itching and healed. I haven’t found a better remedy yet – although my son has no interest in trying this method.
These memories conjure up feelings of safety, happiness, high self-esteem, being nurtured, and I’m not talking just from my parents. Neighbors were an integral part. Neighbors looked out for each other. If a family had to rush one of their children to the hospital for an emergency, the siblings went to a neighbor’s house for the night. If a kid was down the road causing some trouble, an adult knew who the culprit was and yelled out, “I’m calling your mother.” No police, just calling the parent.
Is it any more dangerous for children now than it was then? I don’t know. We have more media coverage and awareness. But what I have noticed and have been guilty of is there isn’t a lot of neighborhood support, neighbors knowing neighbors. The neighbors down at the end of my street wouldn’t recognize my kid in a lineup, nor would I know theirs (no pun intended).
For me, this is a call to balance out my time on the back deck with some time on the front stoop (underwear included) and spend time getting to know these kids. From what I’m learning in the mentor program with which I’m involved, lives are easily touched by interactions with adults. I’m in!
I changed my dress multiple times a day, but I did not care for hairbrushes and face washing. Early one morning I could not find a clean pair of underwear, but I still chose to wear a dress. I remember shifting from one fanny cheek to the other while sitting on our frigid cement front stoop, waiting for my friend to come out and play.
The coolest kid on the block, whose first name was Kirby, came complete with leather jacket and mini-bike, and I pondered whether he was related to the Kirby name on my mom’s vacuum cleaner. I was thrilled when he came to my older brother’s pirate-themed birthday party and oh how I hoped he would notice me.
The woods behind our house was thick with sections of trees and berry bushes and was our place for adventure. We would run straight to the fort with a friend’s older sibling’s Mad magazine or comic book, clueless on what we were reading. There would be dares to try an unknown potentially poisonous berry. The real thrill was keeping an ear out for bears – an unsubstantiated rumor.
We played until dark or until we couldn’t take any more mosquito bites. My habit was scratching until they were oozing, and the remedy was cotton balls soaked in alcohol held on by Band-aids. After the initial urge-to-scream reaction, the bites quickly stopped itching and healed. I haven’t found a better remedy yet – although my son has no interest in trying this method.
These memories conjure up feelings of safety, happiness, high self-esteem, being nurtured, and I’m not talking just from my parents. Neighbors were an integral part. Neighbors looked out for each other. If a family had to rush one of their children to the hospital for an emergency, the siblings went to a neighbor’s house for the night. If a kid was down the road causing some trouble, an adult knew who the culprit was and yelled out, “I’m calling your mother.” No police, just calling the parent.
Is it any more dangerous for children now than it was then? I don’t know. We have more media coverage and awareness. But what I have noticed and have been guilty of is there isn’t a lot of neighborhood support, neighbors knowing neighbors. The neighbors down at the end of my street wouldn’t recognize my kid in a lineup, nor would I know theirs (no pun intended).
For me, this is a call to balance out my time on the back deck with some time on the front stoop (underwear included) and spend time getting to know these kids. From what I’m learning in the mentor program with which I’m involved, lives are easily touched by interactions with adults. I’m in!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
TMI? I Think Not
To paraphrase Rapunzel from the movie Shrek the Third, “Everyone toots, Beauty,” and I’m going there with my blog today.
As some of you know, I was a court reporter for many years. I was setting up my equipment for a deposition one morning. There were two men in the room, an attorney and a witness. It was quiet except for the rustle of setting up my equipment. My case was on the floor, so I would bend down to get an accessory, stand back up, down and up.
Well, on one of the rotations it squeaked out - yes, I’ll say it, I farted. Oh how I was mortified. In my quick thinking I contemplated my options: Could I blame it on the squeaky chair next to me or maybe that I kicked my case? No. I saw they had looked up, and I decided to acknowledge my shame. I said it. “Excuse me.” I turned beet red, flaming red. My armpits immediately began to perspire. I still turn red to this day.
I tend to take myself a bit too seriously, take things too personally. Let me tell you, this event inspired my journey to lighten up, to try to laugh at myself more. If I don’t get the joke, I’m going to tell you I don’t get the joke. (Eeek, the “ohhh” moment years later when I figured out “what’s black and white and red/read all over.) The joke’s on me, baby. Bring it.
As some of you know, I was a court reporter for many years. I was setting up my equipment for a deposition one morning. There were two men in the room, an attorney and a witness. It was quiet except for the rustle of setting up my equipment. My case was on the floor, so I would bend down to get an accessory, stand back up, down and up.
Well, on one of the rotations it squeaked out - yes, I’ll say it, I farted. Oh how I was mortified. In my quick thinking I contemplated my options: Could I blame it on the squeaky chair next to me or maybe that I kicked my case? No. I saw they had looked up, and I decided to acknowledge my shame. I said it. “Excuse me.” I turned beet red, flaming red. My armpits immediately began to perspire. I still turn red to this day.
I tend to take myself a bit too seriously, take things too personally. Let me tell you, this event inspired my journey to lighten up, to try to laugh at myself more. If I don’t get the joke, I’m going to tell you I don’t get the joke. (Eeek, the “ohhh” moment years later when I figured out “what’s black and white and red/read all over.) The joke’s on me, baby. Bring it.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
You're Such a Loser, Sweetie
In the course of reading Pete Gall’s book “Learning My Name,” in Chapter 2 he challenges me to figure out the name I call myself when I do something stupid.
There were lots of names. I spent a heap of energy trying to narrow them down to the core zinger that would capture them all. If you put that much effort into thinking about your negative names, you feel pretty darn lousy. It just brings all those feelings of failure right to the surface whether you are in the midst of doing something stupid or not.
I decided to break the thought pattern and focus on the next challenge in the book, to think of the name God calls me, because as Pete said (and I believe) The Big Guy’s not up there calling me that zinger.
It was challenging, thinking this way. My initial feeling was discomfort, like it was too prideful (which is actually reverse pride, but I digress on what I’ve learned in therapy). His example in the book for himself is “sweetheart.” I took some time to contemplate mine and “sweetie” kept coming back to me. The more I chewed on it, the better I felt it fit.
I used it this week. I was having a particularly rough day. Instead of thinking, “What is your problem? Snap out of it, Loser!”, I focused on God asking me, “What’s wrong, Sweetie?” I remember a feeling of sweet relief. It’s all in the name, isn’t it.
There were lots of names. I spent a heap of energy trying to narrow them down to the core zinger that would capture them all. If you put that much effort into thinking about your negative names, you feel pretty darn lousy. It just brings all those feelings of failure right to the surface whether you are in the midst of doing something stupid or not.
I decided to break the thought pattern and focus on the next challenge in the book, to think of the name God calls me, because as Pete said (and I believe) The Big Guy’s not up there calling me that zinger.
It was challenging, thinking this way. My initial feeling was discomfort, like it was too prideful (which is actually reverse pride, but I digress on what I’ve learned in therapy). His example in the book for himself is “sweetheart.” I took some time to contemplate mine and “sweetie” kept coming back to me. The more I chewed on it, the better I felt it fit.
I used it this week. I was having a particularly rough day. Instead of thinking, “What is your problem? Snap out of it, Loser!”, I focused on God asking me, “What’s wrong, Sweetie?” I remember a feeling of sweet relief. It’s all in the name, isn’t it.
Monday, August 31, 2009
I Flunked
The church I attend had a series on anger last winter. There was so much information and insight I learned from the experience; i.e., imploders, exploders, and those who do both. I would say I do both.
I did not miss a Sunday during that series. I was riveted by the information I was learning. I am impaired in the arguing department. My style is to give the silent treatment until the other person “blinks”; and after enough anger builds up, well, look out for the tornado.
That’s why I was blown away by this series. Light bulbs turned on over my head. After completion, I was actually a little cocky – ok, not a little, I was cocky - in thinking, Hey, this girl’s got skills now for arguing. It’s too bad my husband didn’t learn this useful information, but he will really benefit from my new-found knowledge. We don’t argue THAT much, so I was almost looking forward to the next one to show off my new techniques.
I flunked. I became instantly defensive, bull-headed, indignant, self-righteous. It went south from the get-go. Think Linda Blair. I believe it’s the worst argument we’ve ever had – yes, my dearly beloved confirmed that’s the angriest he’s ever seen me. We don’t even remember what we were arguing about – just the anger.
What I’ve learned?
1. Listening to a series, while beneficial, is one thing; practicing new-found knowledge is another.
2. The last year and a half of counseling has been worth every minute of time and penny of money. My husband’s worth it; I’m worth it; our family is worth it. And after 17 years of marriage, we’re closer than ever.
I did not miss a Sunday during that series. I was riveted by the information I was learning. I am impaired in the arguing department. My style is to give the silent treatment until the other person “blinks”; and after enough anger builds up, well, look out for the tornado.
That’s why I was blown away by this series. Light bulbs turned on over my head. After completion, I was actually a little cocky – ok, not a little, I was cocky - in thinking, Hey, this girl’s got skills now for arguing. It’s too bad my husband didn’t learn this useful information, but he will really benefit from my new-found knowledge. We don’t argue THAT much, so I was almost looking forward to the next one to show off my new techniques.
I flunked. I became instantly defensive, bull-headed, indignant, self-righteous. It went south from the get-go. Think Linda Blair. I believe it’s the worst argument we’ve ever had – yes, my dearly beloved confirmed that’s the angriest he’s ever seen me. We don’t even remember what we were arguing about – just the anger.
What I’ve learned?
1. Listening to a series, while beneficial, is one thing; practicing new-found knowledge is another.
2. The last year and a half of counseling has been worth every minute of time and penny of money. My husband’s worth it; I’m worth it; our family is worth it. And after 17 years of marriage, we’re closer than ever.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I HAVE EVERYTHING!
I feel a bit sheepish as I glance over last week’s blog. After I hit "send" last week, it occurred to me my counselor would have asked me to think about what I do have. So here are just a few things that come to mind. Please understand they are addressing the complaints from last week. I am very grateful for my family, health, home, food – a very long list.
I have the opportunity to work with an organization I feel really passionate about: working with kids who would benefit from adult mentoring. Now that makes my heart sing. Kids make my heart sing.
I prayed for the chance to take on some change in my life. Boy, am I getting that opportunity. I’m seeing from this past week that I can succeed; that it’s okay to have failures (while not fun, it is progress in the perfectionist department); and that having the support of wizard techno people to help me with my Cra- – I mean Blackberry issues has saved my sanity.
I am still struggling with the crabby virus this week, but I am fortunate to have family and friends who are patient. I am hearing myself more in the midst of my crabbiness and apologizing quicker (at least I hope so – confirmation, dear?).
So to quote a wise sixth-grader from his first English paper of the year, “I’m not perfect, but I’m going to keep trying new things and having fun.” Thanks, buddy.
I have the opportunity to work with an organization I feel really passionate about: working with kids who would benefit from adult mentoring. Now that makes my heart sing. Kids make my heart sing.
I prayed for the chance to take on some change in my life. Boy, am I getting that opportunity. I’m seeing from this past week that I can succeed; that it’s okay to have failures (while not fun, it is progress in the perfectionist department); and that having the support of wizard techno people to help me with my Cra- – I mean Blackberry issues has saved my sanity.
I am still struggling with the crabby virus this week, but I am fortunate to have family and friends who are patient. I am hearing myself more in the midst of my crabbiness and apologizing quicker (at least I hope so – confirmation, dear?).
So to quote a wise sixth-grader from his first English paper of the year, “I’m not perfect, but I’m going to keep trying new things and having fun.” Thanks, buddy.
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