The Stars At Night...

I had forgotten just how beautiful a clear, cool night in Texas can be. Away from the city lights, the stars and moon illuminate the earth below, and memories of evenings spent staring up at the sky, time spent searching for some peace of mind, come flooding back. I have been wanting to see the stars...really see them...for some time now. For some reason, I find comfort in seeing the vastness of the universe spread out before me.  It reminds me of my own insignificance and all my problems (not at all as bad as it sounds...a little perspective sometimes is a good thing).  It speaks of places yet unseen. And, it makes me marvel at just how impressive the world we live in truly is.

Homeward Bound

I am headed home tomorrow. It sounds strange to say it that way considering I haven't lived at 'home' for over five years. Still, when everyone asked me what I was doing for Christmas, the words came naturally--"I'm going home." At first, I said this with hesitance, perhaps even a bit of dismay. Here I had a perfectly good week of vacation time where I could go anywhere, do anything, and I was heading to the small town of Marion, just outside of San Antonio, Texas, revisiting a past that, if I remember correctly, I was more than eager to leave behind.

As the weeks drew closer and life seemed to be getting more confused and hectic, the sound of home wasn't so bad. My parents are in Texas. My grandpa is in Texas. One of my best friends is in Texas. So is my sister. They alone are worth the trip, right? Quite simply, yes. Because even if I were able to embark on a fantastic trip in some far off land, I would be missing out on time with them, something far more valuable to me than even the greatest trip I could imagine.

Home is complicated for me, which is one of the reasons for my initial hesitance. I have many fond memories of Christmases past, and I have some Christmases I wish I could obliterate from my memory altogether (those were the ones that resulted in yelling, tears, and so much anger). But for the most part, I look back with a great deal of nostalgia.

The festivities always began Christmas Eve, where it was off to church for the Children's Mass (when I was younger, I would be a part of the pageant. As I got older, I acted as a sort of assistant music director). I still go to this Mass, and I still love singing "Silent Night" during communion and belting out "Joy to the World" at the end. After Mass, we would head over to my grandparents and open gifts from them and have dinner. For awhile, we would get things like dolls or tea sets from my grandma. During Christmas, my grandpa was given an allowance, and he would go out and buy jewelry he thought we would like. I still have a lot of that jewelry, many of it still in their original boxes. (He meant well, but his taste is eclectic.) After the gifts had been opened, we would head home and open one gift under the tree, usually the gift from my grandparents here in KC. Then off to bed so Santa could come. We would leave cookies and milk and a few carrots (you cannot forget the reindeer!).

Christmas morning for the first several years was the four of us. Now, it is just me, my mom, and my dad. And while I would be lying if I said the presents weren't important, it was more the small rituals we had on Christmas morning that made a difference. My sister and I would wake up early, but we never bothered waking my parents right away. We would usually take a look in our stockings and asses the presents around the tree, then watch television quietly until a decent hour arrived. My dad would usually be the first up, and he would make up a batch of scrambled eggs (a welcome change to the cereal we were used to). By the time they were ready, my mom would be up, and with painstaking slowness, we would eat. Then it would be time to open our gifts, where inevitably there was some genuine excitement mixed in with the feigned appreciation.

Often, depending on the gifts, my sister and I would change and head outside. (Something I never truly appreciated about Christmas in Texas--more often than not, you did not have to worry about weather getting in your way of enjoying your new toys.) Usually, it was the toys that elicited the most excitement that would be most quickly cast aside, and the present initially overlooked that would bring lasting entertainment. My sister and I often got joint gifts, which meant I spent a good amount of time watching my sister play with it. And yet, I never minded. It was fun, it was exciting, and it was family.

Eventually, we would wander up to my grandparents' place and enjoy Christmas dinner. I cannot recall any of the foods really beyond the sugar cookies that my grandmother, sister, and I (and sometimes my mom) had rolled out and decorated a few days before. They were always in this large plastic Santa cookie jar, that looking back was kind of strange looking. But then again, my Grandma Tanner had a lot of strange Santa things in her house (she collected them), so perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. While the adults talked and my sister did her own thing, I would often sneak away to the den, where laid out on the coffee table was the Christmas village.

Made up of houses of all different shapes and sizes, the village was something I enjoyed setting up each year, and when I could, I would make up stories for its residents. Perhaps the strangest thing about the village, though, was the HUGE nativity scene at the end. The manger itself was huge, at least twice as tall as even the biggest house. Mary and Joseph and all the rest were giants, looming over the houses. The wisemen had a few scrapes and bruises (one had an unfortunate accident that deprived him of a hand), and the animals looked a little more worse for wear. Let's just say that triggered the more imaginative (and perhaps blasphemous/irreverent) part of my brain, and it would be safe to say there was never quite another village like that one. And although we have a Christmas village here, it is nothing like the one from Texas. One of the many things I cannot recreate.

After dinner, and after we had exhausted our interest in our new toys, the day would wind down, and we would all settle in to watch either tv or movies. There was never a particular movie...we didn't always watch "It's A Wonderful Life" or "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" or anything. What I do remember is hot chocolate and British comedies. Not sure why that is...

Christmas at home isn't quite like the Christmas of my childhood. Sadly, my Grandma Tanner isn't around to share it with--I haven't made those sugar cookies in years. My sister isn't really around to share my gifts with, and she certainly isn't there to take them away from me so "we" could use them together.  After being harangued by my mom for a few years, Grandpa now gives money instead. I kind of miss the jewelry, to be honest. We still do the hot chocolate and tv/movie thing. A few years back, my father stumbled upon this strange old movie with Rupert the Squirrel  and Jimmy Durante, and we watch that together instead of British comedies. My dad still makes sure to hang the Christmas lights, particularly the star that has been in his family for years. And most years, we have a tree. We may never had a conventional Christmas, but I cannot imagine how they could have been any better.

Writing this reflection helped me realize something. I am fortunate in so many ways. I am grateful to have such fond memories, I am fortunate to have a place to go, a place I WANT to go. And I know that not everyone out there has this opportunity, and for those of you out there, know that I wish you and your loved ones all the best. For those who can be with family, enjoy them. Have fun. Try to overlook the things that make you most frustrated and focus on the good stuff. Wherever you are, whatever you do, may this holiday season be a good one for you, and may you always find a place you can call home.

Something to Smile About

Tonight, I had the most unexpected conversation, and I am still smiling about it. One of my favorite students from my year of teaching messaged me on Facebook, and it was amazing to hear from him for several reasons. First, I never really expected any of my students to reach out to me, particularly since it has been seven years since I taught them. But more importantly than that, I was so very happy to hear that this particular student is only one semester away from graduating from college with a B.A. in Music with plans to pursue an master's in library science soon. 

So, I am not really sure how much I have ever shared about my time at St. Greg's, but a bit of background will help to explain why I find this so exciting. St. Greg's served a special purpose, providing students who had fallen through the cracks a chance at receiving an education that might prepare them for a future after high school. As harsh as it may sound, it was apparent college was not an option for the majority of the students, and even our best students faced a long road to getting into college and finishing a degree.

 During my brief stint there, I did my best to teach English to freshman, sophomores, and juniors without inflicting any permanent damage to their language skills. (To all you teachers out there, I have no idea how you do it. You are amazing!) This particular student was probably the hardest working of all of them, and it showed as he was always one of my top-performing sophomores. His writing was always thoughtful, his contributions to the class always productive. He never missed turning in an assignment, and he never complained. Really, he was a dream student. And while you may think he sounds like a teacher's pet and that he would elicit the ridicule of others, that wasn't really the case. Something about him was so earnest, so honest, that even his peers recognized it. Perhaps it was because his dedication to all things carried through onto the basketball court, where he may not have been the star athlete but was always the one everyone could cheer for. I still remember one game where he was called out to play, and he managed not to make just one basket, but several. Those of us in the stands were on our feet celebrating with him, and his teammates were right there along with us cheering their hearts out. Like all of my students, he was someone special, and to hear what he has accomplished since then is so exciting. 

When we were training for our year of volunteer service, one thing that was drummed into our heads is that in we were planting seeds. It could take years before what we did would ever take root, and even then, the likelihood that we would see it was minimal. Especially being fresh out of college, I was, naively, expecting more immediate results. I quickly learned to scale my expectations back significantly, and in recent years, I hadn't even really thought I would hear from any of my students again. I was content with having done what I could, knowing that I did the best I could.

So, yeah, that flashing bar telling me I had a message on Facebook made my night. It transported me back to that time where I learned so much more than I ever taught. Gosh...my time at St. Greg's really deserves a lot more than a single blog post because it was such a amazing, complex, wonderful experience, where I met some of the most dedicated educators I have known and some of the sweetest, most charming students ever, but there is SO much to share, I never know where to begin. I am so grateful that this student gave me a way to share something about my time there, and I hope that his success is representative of several of my students. He mentioned that one of his classmates (and another one of my sophomores) is studying exercise science at the same university, which is another piece of good news. Now, my curiosity is piqued...I wonder what some of my other students are doing now.

Have you ever had an unexpected conversation like this, one that leaves you happy for the person you just talked with? 

Is It the Weekend Yet?

The one drawback of taking a whirlwind weekend trip where you get little if any sleep is that it eventually catches up with you. It seemed to hit me full-force today. At least that is going to be my excuse for being a little less rational and far more emotional today. If I were to admit that all the stressers at work were finally wearing my defenses down and I was succumbing to all the angers, frustrations, and fears I have been sublimating...well, that would be a sign of weakness, right? And, dang it, I am not weak!

I noticed that I was pretty close to the brink today as I found myself blinking back tears as I made what had to be the fifth Excel spreadsheet to request certain updates for the website, trying to think how poorly I must have communicated the changes the first four times that a fifth request was needed. I realized also that while this particular request would take care of one section of the content on our website, several other areas may have the same errors, so I would have to verify that those, too, hadn't been incorrectly updated. It wasn't as bad as I had feared, but there was a need to create spreadsheet number six.

I apologize if the paragraph above doesn't make a whole lot of sense. To be honest, it makes little sense to me. The way in which I do my job should be much simpler. I am not sure if I am the one who has made it as complicated as it is by 1) not asserting my boundaries or my abilities more clearly or by 2) not having the creativity or insight to think of a better process with the technology/tools we have available. And while I would like to believe that up until this point, I have managed pretty well in my job, I doubt even that. With every update I request, I feel like my grasp on things is slipping. If I were doing my job well, I would be contributing to a positive consumer experience. Instead, I feel like all I do is add noise to the site. 

I occasionally voice some of my frustrations to my very patient and understanding co-workers, but I am not sure I do not convey just how insane this makes me. There are some days I cannot look at the website because I know that the second I lay eyes on it, I will immediately find three things I have done wrong.  Seriously, at the end of a day like today, I am convinced that it would be better for everyone if I walked away, leaving it all behind, maybe taking my around-the-world trip I have been dreaming about for so long...or at least finding a job that I wouldn't screw up so badly.

Am I really as incompetent as I feel today? If I were fair to myself, I would say no. Indeed, I would say that on a good day, I do my job well. My greatest frustration comes from the fact that in NOT doing my job well, I feel as if I am not holding up my part of the business. I am not providing the support to my co-workers that they deserve--this year in particular has been stressful, and despite challenges outside of our control, they have created some amazing product. The last thing I want is to do something that would prevent the consumer from seeing their efforts, and in turn, prevent making that sale. I don't want to contribute to an already stressful situation with my incompetence. 

Will tomorrow be as rough as today? Probably not. I will come in, foolish optimism renewed, thinking that this time, everything will fall into place, and that maybe, just maybe, this time we will all be able to effect some kind of change. Because if I stop trying, then I really will be letting my co-workers down. In truth, we all just need a break. It feels like we have been running on near empty for so long now, that soon we will just stall altogether. (Know that this is probably my projecting onto others...I have never asked them directly how they feel nor do I pretend to speak for them on this. It is just my impression of department morale.)

Of course, maybe all we need will be the between Christmas and New Years. A little over a week, and we all will have a nice, long break from it all, time to spend with family and friends, doing whatever we please. I'll be in Texas, visiting my parents and grandpa, and also seeing a good friend from high school.  That should be a huge help. Until then, I will just count down until tomorrow evening so I can have just two days :)

Good Times

I think most people have a friend in their lives who, no matter what, can make life a lot of fun. She is the friend that helps you forget all your crazy hangups, who encourages you to lower your inhibitions, and who always manages to make even the most mundane things memorable. This weekend, I headed north to Minnesota to visit her (and to celebrate her 30th birthday), and I have had more fun than I have had in ages.

Carrie and I first met during freshman orientation in college. We were in the same freshmen seminar, and while I don't remember all the details about our first real conversation, I swear it had something to do with getting lost in one of the university buildings and trying to navigate our way out. While not the most auspicious way to meet (FYI: getting lost in random places would become a recurring issue for us), it didn't prevent us from becoming good friends. Carrie has the kindest heart, the biggest smile, and the most fun-loving spirit of just about anyone I know. (You can also include smart, talented, funny...) And, most amazing of all, Carrie is one of the few people in this world who can convince me to do crazy things. Nothing dangerous or stupid mind you (well, most of the time), but things that I would never, ever do on my own--dance in public, sing out loud in random places, go to a frat party (okay, this only happened once in college and never again). 

This weekend was no exception. At her party, I didn't stand to the sidelines, an idle observer. Instead,  I jumped in, playing all sorts of Kinect games (I am fairly good at ping-pong, fall flat on my back when trying to long jump, and am absolute rubbish at volleyball).  I think we probably provided the most amusement when Carrie and I played one of the dancing games. Well, Carrie was good at it. I did my best to follow the moves, but that usually meant being about two steps behind and moving as if my muscles were permanently tensed. Still, instead of giving up after the first song, I kept at it, forgetting how absolutely ridiculous I must look and just had fun. After she beat me soundly in our little dance-off, we each grabbed a beer and headed upstairs to chat a while about old times. 

As we sat there just talking, I wondered why we didn't make more time for this kind of thing more often. And while I had first dismissed the idea of even coming--I mean, it is a six hour drive north and heaven forbid I ever do anything to change my routine--I couldn't believe I had ever considered not being there. We are all so busy in our lives that we forget to take that time to nurture our relationships. Life gets in the way, it is inevitable. But sometimes, our priorities get so skewed in the process that we forget that we won't starve if we put of getting groceries for one more day or that the world will not fall apart if you bow out of other obligations every once in a while.  It is a hard habit to break, but doing so can be so very liberating. Carrie has always been the best at reminding me of this, which made it all the harder to leave this morning. I am not only leaving her behind, but it was like I was waving good-bye to the part of myself, the part of myself so few people have a chance to see but I suspect many people would like (probably far better than the part of me that I usually show to everyone else). 

Is it possible not only to miss someone but also the person you are when you are with them? Perhaps it is a sign of great dependency, but I often find this to be the truth in regard to how I relate to my best friends...but perhaps that is best left to explore at a later time.