Breathe and Pray

  I love hair appointment days that go as planned!  My Mother-In-Law was even able to help get the kids on the bus so I could squeeze in an early appointment.  I was able to get highlighted, beautified, AND stop in at Sally's Beauty supply store for intense conditioner.  What is this thing called free time?  In my world it is what happens when a professor falls ill and has to cancel class.  This was the euphoria I was in when an automated message called from the school of my older two children.  The mechanical voice let me know reports of a shooting threat against the school had been posted on social media then reassured me all was under control and police were handling the details.  Within a minute my phone buzzed with the arrival of automated texts generated to let my eyes read what my ears just heard.  I hate this.  This was not the first time these poor kids had to deal with fear of such possibilities.  I wish technology had invented a way to inject some human warmth and compassion into the computerized calling system.  I'd even settle for a robotic, "There, there Ma--ma...ev-er-y-thing will be just fine.," when receiving notice of a threat against my loved ones.

I took a deep breath in time to hear my phone ring again, this time it's a different school in the same district calling and I anxiously answer.  It was the school nurse calling to tell me my elementary aged son can't breathe.  It was the last thing I expected to hear.  It took me a second to shift from the worry of the automated call I had just hung up with and place this call in context.  I had an "A-ha moment, and asked if she was sure he wasn't feeling a bit of anxiety since he was expected to give his book report about Albert Einstein in front of the class...dressed as Albert Einstein.  I heard her muffled giggle then her query to my son.  "No," she responded, "he's saying that's not it." 

  This being  the second time he'd been to the nurse in two days raised my suspicion.  To be fair, the first visit was due to a stoved pinky finger that he insisted was broken.  Well, since I had her on the phone I figured I better check on the pinky status. 

  I am the one who asked...but really? A pulmanologist and an x-ray visit are needed?  Now I can't
breathe.  I'm not begrudging my son care, honestly, just trying to mentally envision penciling the doctor visits alongside the other mounting appointments.  Somehow we'll figure it out.  I continue to ensure my son is stable as we work out a game plan if the situation worsens.  "Yes," I confirm, "I am back in school.  Uh- huh,  I do have school today but my professor canceled my afternoon class...yes, but a group project has been scheduled into the canceled class time slot.  Still- call me if you need me."  With that, I hang up and head out of Sally's Beauty Supply parking lot to meet up with my assigned group for our video production project.  What a surreal transition.

  I get to class and roll a chair over to the group right as my eldest son calls me from college.  I had forgotten to silence my phone- and I'm glad.  I head out of the room to ensure this son is ok and tell him I'll call after class.  Heading back in, I glance down and notice the texts from my daughter. She's filling me in on how scary it was to be at the threatened school and letting me know the rumors that were floating around: a loaded gun found in a locker as well as an arrest having been made.  I am so grateful she has a phone (a hard fought battle on her end) and I can comfort her with reassurance and heart  emojis.

How do I shift into the mode of helping create a script for a video project in the midst of this?  Prayer and the reminder to just breathe. Thankfully, the next automated text received from the threatened school was informing us that it was a non-substantiated threat and classes would resume as normal in the morning.  Whew!!

  The scripting went fine.  What surprised me was yet another phone call that came in as I was walking to my car to head home.  It was the elementary school nurse telling me my son was back in her office...again.  He was fine but complaining of some chest discomfort.  At this point I can really relate.  We chatted, I thanked her for her suggestion of a good allergist who deals with pulmonary issues, and we agreed to touch base soon.

  I think my favorite part of this day, besides actually making my hair appointment, was the moment after I called my Mom when she asked, "So, how was your day?"...  

 

 

 

Writer's Block

  How bizarre is it that I am sitting in a McDonalds (for the free wifi... and a few fries) with my laptop open, waiting for my 16 year-old son to finish his conditioning for the spring lacrosse season, and I am suffering from writers block?

   I know, I know...writers block is neither bizarre nor rare.  And yet, for me, it kinda is.  I typically thrive on the the thrill of a "writing date" when I often experience great relief as my words are allowed and encouraged to tumble out nearly as quick as my unconscious stream of thought.  Not so much this time.
   This flow of ideas used to fall into place quite naturally.  These days it happens briefly, as my head hits the pillow.  The comforting dark envelops and coos to my tired thoughts, coaxing my mind to

connect with the rest of me.  Over the years I have come to appreciate mindfulness and that hushed serenity that swaddles me while the rest of the house which has nestled in for the night cradles my true loves in their beds.  My senses are lulled into an easy going repertoire as a quiet joy, similar to old friends meeting, settles over me.  That is the time when the day, which will never be again, makes peace with my body and spirit, which have just carried me safely through its' past 24 hours.

   Yet, here I am, engulfed in classic rock that pumps from this get-away's surround sound mashed with chatter that blends a foreign tongue and a familiar language forcefully voiced by a child pleading to his parents to take him to the bathroom.  A steadfast middle-aged female employee winds her way through the colorful ensemble, faithfully attending to her duties of wiping down tables.  I am grateful for the cleanliness.  This particular location neighbors a nearby motel casting it's bright light toward the thruway and several gas stations.  It is a veritable way-lay for the travelers seeking a pit-stop on their journey elsewhere this evening.  I hear a nasally voice asking a tired, "did you get that coffee yet?,"  to which her colleague responds with a lackluster "yeah, it's in the cupholder."  The "Na na naaa, na naa, naaaa" from a band, unfamiliar to me, tries to infuse energy in the joint.  The guys, speaking a language I still can't place, spontaneously burst into laughter- which actually does lift the mood and make me smile.

 My grin lingers while a realization dawns...mindfulness itself has healed my writer's block.  The cloying scent of percolating caffeine, readied to assist travelers on their drive through the night, is so heavy it disrupts my reverie and brings me to my senses.  Time to go.  I gather my things and take a closer look around.  I am not the first to leave our temporary community, which shared the last 30 minutes of our lives. Most likely this was the only time our collective group will be together on earth.  This thought wakens the gratitude for always having something to be grateful for and serves as a reminder to sit up and take notice of who we share our journey with. We're on to a different tune now.  So let the drummer drum and the singer sing this very poignant song that plays as I depart:

Give A Little Bit 

Give a little bit
Give a little bit of your love to me                                      
Give a little bit
I'll give a little bit of my love to you
There's so much that we need to share
Send a smile and show you care
I'll give a little bit
I'll give a little bit of my life for you
So give a little bit
Give a little bit of your time to me
See the man with the lonely eyes
Take his hand, you'll be surprised
Give a little bit
Give a little bit of your love to me
I'll give a little bit of my life for you
Now's the time that we need to share
So find yourself, we're on our way back home
Going home
Don't you need to feel at home
Oh yeah, we gotta sing

Written by Richard Davies, Roger Hodgson • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group

 

Life Long Learning

  The school bell doth toll...this time for ME!  Yep, 45 years old and I'm a backpack toting, Psych 101 studying, note taking, BONAFIDE student.

    Admittedly, this is not the first time I have answered the call of the "bell."  My first college experience was while I was in the Navy, stationed in Spain.  I added English and Ethics courses to my regular duties as a "Squid" overseas.  Not a bad way to break the scholastic ice.  The next time I headed back to school was sheerly for knowledge itself.  I was on a spiritual quest and wanted to know WHY I believed WHAT I believed.  So, off to the Franciscan University of Steubenville I went, with a course load of theology, sociology, and even an acting class (SO much fun!).  I then took time off to apply some of this knowledge in a practical way.
 
   A few years passed before I heard the Diiing...Dooong...ringing a beckon to further knowledge.  I answered with, "Yes please, I'll have a course of Public Speaking with a side order of Principles of Management."  By this time I had a little one to chase around so this was a whole new ball game figuring out how to manage time.  I decided the timing wasn't right to go for my undergrad degree.  However, that was not to be my last attempt. I eventually tried going back when I was the mother of four children.  That trial period lasted one semester of four classes.  Clarity struck when one of my children was standing a mere foot away repeating, "Mommy, Mommy, Mama, Mom..." in an effort to gain my attention. I was bleary-

eyed from staying up til 3:30 A.M., hunched over my keyboard searching for the perfect ending to a history essay assignment when a flashback struck like a lightning bolt. The flashback was a vision of what kind of Mommy I had always thought I'd be and it was in stark contrast with my then current abilities as wife and mother of four kiddos aged six and under, attempting a full time course load.  Aaand...I was expecting again.  That semester was a defining moment, teaching me to "let it go."

  Here I am, 13 years later, not regretting a single moment my choice allowed me.  In fact I'm grateful I had the opportunity to be present to my family, give myself fully to my loves, and live life in the moment.  Though I am far from not being needed as "Mom" (may that never be the case!), the pealing bell summons again.  This time, it's a family affair.

My 6 year old finds neurons interesting...sort of

  My youngest of seven is in first grade and she fakes interest while I describe how the synaptic vessels deliver neurotransmitters.  My seventh grader is willing to discuss the topic of "fake news" with me since we are both currently covering this matter in our respective classrooms, and my tenth grader has volunteered to tutor me in Algebra if need be.  Trust me...if I have to take any math class, the need will definitely BE.


 My husband takes my breath away with his support.  He works hard to help me carve out the necessary time for homework yet balances me with an invite to tuck the younger kids in and say their prayers.  My teens still burst in or quietly wander through the office door and flop in my easy chair to ask questions, share their highs and lows of the day, or willingly be subjected to the latest chapter on Human Behavior.  I never took down the chin-up bar from when my eldest occupied this room so I have a pretty constant call to watch daring feats of strength while I'm memorizing definitions.

60s means heat wave in Erie

  I've learned the way for me to achieve balance is to include my family in my studies and insert my studies where my family is.  This weekend the beautiful weather whispered, well, more like shouted
our names with temperatures in the 60s.  We couldn't let that call go unanswered, so off to the park we went.  I read from the text book while my youngest played on the jungle gym and her older brothers shot hoops.  When she tired of climbing, she asked for a push on the swing.  I readily complied then jumped on the open swing next to her and pumped my legs til my feet touched the sky. We giggled like crazy as butterflies filled our bellies.

  Maybe I needed to be taught more from the school called LIFE before the "school bell" called me back.  I find myself relating what I learn in the classroom to moments I've lived through and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have a deep well of experience to draw from.  Feels like the timing's right.  We shall see.  Diiiing...Doooong.



GIFTED Art

  I'm going with an old adage I've heard that says it's NEVER too late to say thank you.
  So, here goes..."Thank you, Mr. Brian Pardini!"

  Utterly whimsical and completely captivating, your gift to me was freely offered and spontaneously found.  It embodies the spirit of fun and your playful presentation itself, highlighted the surprise and lent to the magic of receiving. 

  To those of you have no idea what I'm talking about...allow me to explain:
  A few years ago I brought a few of my children into the Lincoln Center Community Library and was unexpectedly transported to a delightfully playful world of imaginative creativity.  I was, for the first time, encountering Brian Pardini's display of incredibly cool driftwood pieces, which formed fantastic creatures, ingenious animals, and insightful people.  Resting atop the neatly ordered book shelves and nestled into nooks and crannies these creations called to me...I simply couldn't get enough.  My children and I wandered the library, lost in the allure of inventive pieces fashioned from the kind of material we had undoubtedly walked by countless times on our trips to Presque Isle and other jaunts down to the shores of Lake Erie.  Now we were seeing natures gifts with new eyes- through the lens of possibility!

  I researched Brian's work but never got up the nerve to reach out to tell him how his work inspired me with it's light-hearted creativity and use of what was naturally offered.  Over the next several months I saw pieces of the collection move to the Raymond M.Blasco, M.D. Memorial Library and even read an article in the paper about him. 

  What I did not expect...at all...was to be presented with my very own Pardini original.  In keeping with his fun, playful style and much like the first time I encountered this art- I happened upon it.  I was walking the Karl Boyes Multipurpose Trail  at Presque Isle State Park with a friend, when something out of the ordinary caught my eye.  THIS very piece was sitting on a park bench.  I

Thank you Mr. Pardini!

immediately recognized the style but had no idea why it was there...unescorted.  How could this be?  Was it stolen from the library and discarded anonymously during a sudden bout of thief's remorse?  Was it forgotten during a lunch date on that frosty bench?  Was I being pranked or tested?  Whatever the case, I was not about to let this work of art sit out in the elements, which I suppose is funny since that's where it originated.  I looked around to see if anyone might have just stepped away for a moment with the intent of coming back for it.  No one fit the bill.  In a split decision, I snatched it up and kept on down the path, talking my friend's ear off about my fascination with these creations.  It's a signed piece- this was special!  I was determined to find it's rightful home.  I even considered a book I had read titled UNthink, by Erik Wahl, a graffiti artist/motivational speaker.  In each town he visits he hides an original piece of his art and leaves clues for it to be found as in a scavenger hunt.  Could I be that lucky?


  Days passed before I worked up the nerve to bashfully approach a librarian at Lincoln library to ask if she'd heard of a piece of the Pardini collection gone missing.  She laughed and conspiratorially leaned forward to reassure me, "That's what he does.  He'll randomly leave a piece of his work near an area he collects material as a thank you.  It's for the finder to keep." 

  I was dumbstruck in a sudden tumble of appreciation, relief, and inspiration. "HOW FUN IS THAT!?!," I thought.  What a cool way to pay it forward.  My family was elated that I would not be a suspect for thievery (whew! ha ha)...and that we were, in fact, the proud owners of a Brian Pardini original!  It's rightful home was mine and I was thrilled!

Legitimately ours: A Pardini original!

  Therefore, a very heart-felt and official THANK YOU, Mr. Brian Pardini, for the inspiration to see beyond what the eye sees and for the gift of spontaneity and generosity.  Your art and your spirit are themselves, a true gift to this world.


  Brace yourself for inspiration as you check out more of Brian's work here:
Brian Pardini: Art

**Make sure to read Brian's "STATEMENT" on the left hand column of his site...Intriguing!