Archive for September, 2009

Without Pen in Hand

I spoke with a fellow blogger recently and we agreed that busyness is bad news for blogging.  Brain juices required for writing dry up, not to mention the minutes that it takes to sit down at the keyboard and put thoughts on the blank screen.

I have a new job–teaching 4 classes/3 class sessions (one class is a combo class) at the local community college each week–and it is taking a lot of my time (time I do not begrudge; I love this new adventure!).  I am hopeful that, as time passes, I will become more efficient in my prep and will reach the ideal that my boss (who was my friend long before she was my boss–I think she will remain my friend!) uses as her rule of thumb–two hours of prep for every hour in the classroom.

So, days pass between posts.  But not so much time passes between significant, blog-worthy happenings.  The ups and downs of the first days back to school for the teenager who is a junior in high school (WHEN did THAT happen?!?).  The ups and downs, ins and outs,  of the husband’s job hunt and wonderings about what comes next.  The giggles and only occasional tears of the almost two-year-old (Is it possible?!?) granddaughter (and, yes, she may present her parents with “terrible two” syndrome at some point–she is, after all, maturing and, according to some developmental theorists, all maturation requires those cycles of equilibrium and disequilibrium.  Personally, I think that’s true–it’s just that some get farther off-kilter  in the disequilibrium cycles than others…more “terrible”, if you will.)

Then there are the always-interesting students in the new job–some finding their ways through American college culture and the English language while their roots run deep in their home cultures of Burma or Darfur; others having missed many little cogs in the wheels that turn automatically for their peers who may achieve higher than they academically, but who do not lack motivation to make something of themselves so they can contribute something to this great life.

There is the subtle shift from summer to fall that will within weeks burst out in a blaze of colors that will make the morning drive with the sun coming up a trip through God’s seasonal art gallery.  There are slowly ripening cherry tomatoes, some not ever making it to the kitchen but, instead, providing a burst of summer sun to my taste buds on the short walk from garden patch to side door.

There is the anticipation of children awaking to new possibilities as they try their hands and hearts at telling stories through drama (I’m helping with a Young Playwrights Workshop this weekend…I stand to learn as much as the K-2nd graders!) or gearing up to be champion Bible quizzers “walking with Jesus” through the Bible book of Luke.

There are the books and the songs.  The 19th Wife had my attention the last few weeks as I read it in preparation for my book club’s discussion of it this Second Sunday.  A fascinating–sometimes sad, sometimes disgusting– look, through fiction, at polygamy in the earlier days of the Mormon Church.  Every week’s Worship Celebration recently has planted a different song that bursts out in the shower, while writing student assignments on the white board, while putting the dishes back in the cupboard from their drying place in the drainer.

There are those random thoughts or observations that are followed immediately by the automatic-now-after-close-to-five-years-as-a-blogger thought, “I should write a post about that”.  Those are the thoughts I most miss putting into words here–blogging, if it is nothing else, has the potential to make the ordinary seem extraordinary, to write on the sticky note that says “Take notice, Dear Reader” about that which would otherwise go unnoticed, to underline life’s moments….life’s significant moments.

But without pen in hand–or computer keyboard at the fingertips–those moments go unrecorded.  However, they are not lost.  Inasmuch as I savor and embrace and process all of the above until they gently but firmly tie into the warp and woof of the weaving of who I am, they are kept; perhaps not shared, but preserved in a place inside of me, from where they just might reappear in another post, another day.


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