A World of Choices

I have been playing with mortgage calculators and Zillow today and my goodness! if I had my credit cards paid off, I could have quite a beautiful house. I mentioned it to Karl and he too, was kind of ready to move on. Now, it will be a few years before I get the credit cards taken care of, but, is that the thing to do?
Sidenote: I also looked up the homes of some of my acquaintances. Some of you married well! Others made just the right choices to move up, up, and away (but you have small families and have lived in Missouri all your life, so the wealth is a trade-off-don't mind me-it's wine and jealousy talking-though I always wanted a big family-definitely rather be an Ingalls over an Oleson. Well, actually I always kind of liked Harriet Oleson on the TV series. I mean sure, she was mean, but she was also goodhearted deep inside. She just needed the right person to bring it out).

ANYHOO, it got me thinking about where exactly my priorities lie. It's a judgement free zone really. Nothing wrong with wanting a beautiful home in a prestigious neighborhood. This world is harsh and demands proof of your worthiness. A good zip code can help that. But travel! To see the world, isn't that the real dream? Or perhaps to enjoy more wonderful offspring-I do delight in seeing how the genes mesh together to make a new person. A new person with the potential to brighten the world with altruism, wisdom, or artistic beauty. And let's be honest, if I could have all three, that's what it would be. But if i have to choose-if I have to choose, which would I choose? Lovely house? Travel? More kid activities? Savings for kids? A new pair of shoes every now and then? Damn all the credit cards. I miss shopping. Maybe I should work on making this place more of what I want instead of wanting to throw in the towel and move on. Maybe living below our means is the key.

I don't know. I just find it so intriguing to consider all the many choices out there, and how each little choice can profoundly affect another.

And isn't it lovely, all these choices? All this possibility at our fingertips, waiting for us to pluck it off this tree of life, and taste the pulpy sweetness with nibbling teeth and eager tongue?

That's all.

I have decided, a decade late, perhaps, to read 50 Shades of Grey. Supposedly Anastastia is an INFP, though I think tonight I'd rather be the dreaded INFJ. Either way, I just...am...too...curious, ,and the thought of reading a deliciously unhealthy and unwholesome romance is just too tempting. Wish me luck!

"You Had a Bad Day."

You know it is one of those days when Daniel Powter's Bad Day is running through your brain like your theme song. It started early. It was just off. My classes were fine. The kids were fantastic. We talked and laughed, they asked questions, I answered. Behaviors were great. Even the kids who challenged me had valid points, which was refreshing. I got enough sleep. I liked my outfit. My hair was a little questionable, but nothing is perfect, right? But everything felt off. Every offhand comment felt like a smudge, a swipe, a swat against who I am as a person. And I felt this creeping shame crawling over my skin, flushing my face and branding me as a misfit. I dreamed of a hot bath and a good cry, but nothing was really WRONG. So there are no tears.
There was this thing nagging at me and bugging me, until big girl Jill, came up, snorted, labeled it jealousy, and I had no choice but to deny it and build a story to fight against it, or acknowledge it and roll with it. Big girl Jill is actually pretty wise, so I listened to her.
Then Tierney had a phone call from an upset customer wanting to know where her things were. I get it-she sent us a lot of money-but she neglected to note the page said these were preorders and wouldn't begin shipping until mid-February. So I called her back and soothed her, but this flashing "Failure" sign was lighting up my brain.

I haven't had my morning time this week. People keep waking up early, early before 5:30 a.m. and breaking into my spiritual time. I haven't FELT like listening to deep thoughts this week from my ebooks, and just want to coast along on a romantic song and a cloud. But without that time, my fortitude is down. My emotions are raw rather than cared for. So, I came home, made some brownies, and decided to pull it together.

So! here is my have a better day mini-pack. You're welcome.

First some ideas  https://www.theodysseyonline.com/100-things-to-do-when-youve-had-bad-day

Make some brownies. Seriously. Brownie batter makes everything better. Just don't get salmonella.

Listen to some of my favorite songs (don't laugh at my song choices, I fear I am a simple cliche. That's okay, you know. The right people still love me).
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYjZBZyb8_3DaOm16CLfq4lRNcrXvZpLO

I often go out for a diet soda in the evening to listen to music, get a break from putting Alec to bed, and get my second wind. But I think I might just take a bath tonight and just soak (but I am restless, so I don't know how that will go. It's hard to lay in a hot tub when your nerves are hopping all over the place).

Finally before bed I will watch a favorite show with my husband. Our go-to is Zoolander, but there won't be enough time. We'll probably catch some of The Office. Who doesn't love that show?

And it will be better.

What do YOU do to cheer yourself up?


https://youtu.be/gH476CxJxfg

Simple Habit

I may have mentioned it before, but since I am on anxiety level red alert (something just feels amiss in my gut, but I fully admit it could just be pms), I am leaning pretty hard on the app Simple Habit (as well as hourly half-cups of baking soda water for indigestion) , which was recommended to me by a cheerful co-worker.
It has numerous meditations, many of them free, and I usually start my morning with a short talk and then I listen to some soothing music while I sit quietly.

I highly recommend it as a starting point for meditation and calmness. The 31 Day Fresh Start selection is perfect for beginners. Then finish with the theta wave music for ten minutes of peace. I can't wait for morning  to get back into my daily routine 😀

One Day More-Another viewing of Les Mis

Today, to celebrate our anniversary earlier this month, my husband and I went to see the traveling production of Les Miserables at the performance hall in town. The first time I saw the musical was at the local theatre and I was instantly hooked. It had everything I loved-hope, renewal, love, passion-all wrapped in one vibrant package. Soon after the musical version of the movie came out, and again I was entranced. There were personal memories accompanying that, as you can read more deeply in this post on my personal blog page, The Whisper Within. But this is just a musical after my own heart.

I love the idea that no matter where you come from, no matter your misdeeds, you can always choose a new path. As we see in the story of Fantine, things do not always work out for us here, but by moving forth in love (for her child) she did get her redemption. Jean Valjean reeks of inspiration and goodness-and even Javert-unyielding- is sympathetic. Javert is the stubborn child within us, the passive-aggressive pout when we refuse own happiness to keep another from getting what they want. I love sweet Marius and tolerate the saccharine Cozette, and Eponine is just the best ever. Eponine with her unjust upbringing who still brings beauty with her love for Marius and thwarted hopes and dreams, is so close to the heart of any among us who have suffered (and who hasn't?).

I love the idea that we are all capable and deserving of redemption. As I wrote in an earlier post, we are all just babies crawling around messing up. We are all in need of grace. We are all in need of mercy. All Javert has to do is just yield-just one small bit, just one deep breath, and let his hand fall, but like so many of us, he clings to what he believes, he cannot let it go-it is worth his own life to hold onto his beliefs and pride. And I think that is what I love so much about this musical. We can see ourselves playing out in so many of the roles and see the outcomes each path might bring. We can see which choices lead to good and which choices lead to pain. And we learn as we identify. We cry as we understand.

I love the boys of the rebellion, the passionate music, the hints and bits of childhood innocence. Even after leaving I hear the ringing, rising tones as One Day More echos in my head, stirring the tears waiting behind my tired eyes and held in by my raging headache. Thankfully, the lady to my right cried as much as I, and I witnessed her wiping the tears that had dripped down her neck away, even as I wiped them off my chest.

All in all, a perfectly passionate day.

A few of my favorite things and a great article link.

I have been swimming in blueness for a couple of days, and while the less than happy memories can bring their own dramatic pleasure ( like a nail in the gumline), eventually a return to what is good, to what is right, is necessary. So I thought I would share a few things I am currently loving.

The delicious order I received around 2:30a.m. and the fact that it was in stock with that supplier and is now shipped. Happiness.

Wal-Mart French Roast K -cups.

Anne With an E. It's not the Anne of the books or the Meghan Follows version. It is too PC to represent the times, but oh! The cinematography is luscious.

The light of our home, dimpled Alec, will be three this week. I rejoice in his youthfulness, just as I see the light at the end of the constant mess tunnel.

My calico, Spitfire. From the sweet young cat who gave birth beside me to the frail elderly feline grouch she is now,we have had many years together.

Possible wintry weather. ❤️❄️
Nothing warms the soul like gathering with one's family as the storm rages outside the walls.

These are simple delights, nothing poetic or fancy, but they are mine.

I do wish you would comment below with a few of your favorite things.

And as promised:

https://thepowerofsilence.co/stop-giving-a-damn-about-things-you-have-no-control-over-and-focus-on-yourself/

Jane Shurtz-The teacher I will never forget

Okay, upon rereading, this sounds very much like a middle school essay. I think it is because I wasn't inspired, I went with a writing prompt. Lesson learned?

Teachers are often the first people, outside of parents, with whom children have regular contact. As the other adult in a child's life, their impact should not be underestimated. A good teacher can be the shining light in a child's life, while a poor one can be the daily disappointment, if not nightmare, in a  child's life. And ironically, the students who so desperately need a teacher the most, are the ones who often struggle the most to form a good bond with a teacher.

I went through the early years of my schooling with the fuzzy, innocent view only the unawakened have. I was never a teacher's pet, frequently in trouble for talking, and sent to sit with the boys who didn't behave at the back table. I didn't really think too much about it. I had been talking, it didn't really occur to me my teacher's heart might not dance with joy to see my face. In second grade I was becoming a little more aware of power struggles and hierarchies, but was still pretty innocent. In third grade, at age eight, I was awake. I liked my teacher, I was good and fast at the work, and even though I wasn't a cool, popular girl, I had a good friend or two. Fourth grade, brought on Hell, fast and quick. This was after several moves, and I started at a very small school in a mixed 3/4th grade class. There were only four fourth grade girls and the fighting was constant and bitter. This was topped off by a teacher who wore dress skirts and kitten heels and pantyhose. She was fancy and fastidious and reserved, and I was her opposite. She did not like me, and as hard as I tried to please her, I was never the sweet, obedient child she preferred. I mumble. I have strong opinions. I TALKED out loud. I was raised with boys, a bit rough, and I often had holes in the toes of my shoes (which I totally would have forgotten if it wasn't for my big toes poking out in the class photo).  It was a bad year.

The following year, our school joined with another and our tiny building housed the 5th and 6th graders. The teachers split up core subjects and each student was assigned a homeroom. This teacher was an inspiration. I loved her. She wore jeans even though she was overweight, which seemed so cool to me. She had preppy sweaters with shirt collars underneath, and grey hair and a big smile. She hugged me and asked why I didn't hug back. She made me feel like I was someone even when I wasn't perfect. Mrs. Shurtz was the designated language arts teacher at a time when my passion was writing. She encouraged me and helped me perfect my childish pieces and encouraged us to use five dollar words. She believed in my crappy poetry. The next year, after we had moved to St. Louis and returned to Springfield in February or March, she had become a sixth grade teacher, and smiled and said she would take me in her room. I was so happy.

Now I got in trouble with Mrs. Shurtz. I still talked too much. I still gave her major attitude, which eventually led to a long tear-soaked lecture with her and the principal while the other kids got an extra recess. But she always made me feel loved. She always made a big deal out of our grades and we girls fought to be the one whose report card would read "Top Score!" on various subjects. When I was floundering in the popular group, she wisely moved me to another group of girls who were more accepting (through the wisdom of a seating chart). I felt the relief of a more forgiving social structure, and it wasn't until years later that I realized this was probably planned.

Mrs. Shurtz was the teacher I always wanted to be. While I don't have the natural warmth she exuded, I feel blessed to have had her as an influence in my life. If someone were to ask me, who inspired me to be a teacher, it would have to be Mrs. Shurtz (along with Laura in These Happy Golden Years, of course. Anyone who knows me well, knows I am not very good with names. I tend to rely to strongly on right brain cues to make associations with people. But the name, Jane Shurtz, along with She Who Must Not Be Named, will remained etched into my brain long into my life.

Self-forgiveness.~ Why knowing is half the battle

Urg. At the end of last week, I was met with an angry acquaintance and realize a carelessly thoughtless act on my part had hurt their feelings. I quickly attempted to make amends, however, they were not ready.

And then I sat there kicking myself. How could I have screwed this up? I thought I was becoming a better person. Why do I always make such stupid mistakes and end up feeling on the outside, when I want to just be friendly and make friends. Why is my logic so weird, and why do I have such blind spots?

I have been fretting about this for two days now, and finally have come to the realization that I have to practice self-forgiveness more. I can apologize, and other people may or may not forgive me. That is out of my hands. But I cannot let a mistake on my part ruin my life.  A little self-flagellation for a few hours perhaps might be in order, but not a weekend, week, or month worth of pain. We all screw up. We all have to practice forgiveness as well as ask for it.

I found a lovely little article, Learn to Forgive Yourself Even When You Have Hurt Someone Else, by Michael Davidson, and eagerly read, searching for some absolution.

I wish I could say I feel a sense of relief and can wash my hands of the matter. Unfortunately, my desire to please and belong and be thought of "as a good person" are too strong for me to easily let myself off the hook emotionally. But intellectually, I know I am okay. I am good and I have a light, and it will not be snuffed out by the winds of error.

And as a wise G.I. Joe once said, "Knowing is half the battle."