I linger
under the covers, feeling the warmth and safety of my bed
over a cup of coffee each morning, preparing for the demands of the day
over a glass of wine with my beloved, savoring each moment together
over my baby’s crib, watching her breath and smelling her sweet scent
over a book, enthralled with character and story, unaware of time passing
over a sunset, enjoying the beauty of creation
in the sun-warmed sand on a salty beach
in the arms of my beloved
I linger.
I admit it. I love Disney movies – the more singing, the better. I took my girls to the movie Frozen and was tempted to see it multiple times in the theater. We all stayed up to watch Idina Menzel sing at the Oscars and celebrated when “Let it Go” won best original song and Frozen won best animated feature. It was a GREAT movie.
But, what made it so great? Other than the music, which I loved. (Did I already mention I love musicals?) What made this movie unique was a non-traditional Disney love story. When it comes to Disney we are used to Princes and Princesses and true love’s kiss. Frozen shows us a different love story and teaches us six things about true love.
1. True Love is not just romantic love.
Now, I am not one to jump on the “Girl-power! Disney-finally-showed-us-you-don’t need-a-man-to-save-you!” bandwagon, but it is refreshing to see a different manifestation of true love. The best-selling book of all time says, “Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.” Both Elsa and Anna are seeking to save the other’s life. Elsa by hiding out so that Anna is not hurt again by her powers, and Anna by pursuing Elsa and ultimately coming between her and death. Elsa’s broken heart and sisterly embrace over Anna’s seeming death is the true love that thaws a frozen heart. They both lay down their life for the other.
2. True Love grows over time.
This isn’t the first movie where Disney has rightfully mocked its portrayal of love, engagement, and marriage at first sight (the movie Enchanted comes to mind.) However, I love the parallel stories of love in Frozen. You see the sisterly love, founded on family and the relationship they shared as young girls, which doesn’t diminish even though it is neglected. We also see the love between Anna and Christoff grow as they work toward a common goal together. The “Love at first sight” shared by Anna and Hans is revealed as a false love.
3. True Love requires sacrifice.
There are many instances of sacrifice in Frozen: Elsa sacrifices a relationship with her sister to protect her from her unpredictable powers, Christoff sacrifices his time and energy to help Anna find her sister, and Anna ultimately sacrifices her life to save Elsa. However, my favorite is Olaf building a fire for Anna. “Some people are worth melting for.” He says as his face starts to sag.
4. True Love requires change.
At the pinnacle of the movie, Elsa (Idina Menzel) sings the much loved and rightfully awarded song, Let It Go. However, listening to that song in isolation, I wonder what lessons it is teaching my daughters. Here is just a sampling: “I don’t care what they’re going to say,” “no right, no wrong, no rules for me,” “that perfect girl is gone.”
Now, I get the kind of isolation she had been living in trying to control and hide her gifts, but how tragic if the movie had ended there. She’s basically saying, “Screw the world! This is who I am and now I can let it go and be free!” Thankfully, there is more to the story.
Elsa realizes that if she doesn’t live in fear of her gift but uses it in conjunction with love for others she can control it in a positive way. Her love for her sister not only requires her to change her attitude, but also the way in which she wields her power.
5. True Love doesn’t give up.
Anna never stops pursuing her sister. First through closed doors, then through a snow storm and up a treacherous mountain. Her sacrificial love for her sister is what eventually breaks through Elsa’s icy demeanor.
6. True Love always has a happy ending.*
Ok, so Disney may be able to mock itself on some levels, but still doesn’t disappoint with the happy ending. What do you expect? Ultimately it’s a kids’ movie. Children should be able to see peril and tragedy happen and expect everything to turn out ok. At this stage that is how we want them to view life. Harsh reality will rear its ugly head eventually, but for now we can all enjoy the happy ending.
*Perfect love truly does have a happy ending: https://babystepstowriting.com/2014/04/01/perfect-love-casts-out-fear/
Are we failing students in the way we teach writing?
We have the new Common Core with a stronger emphasis on writing. We have more options than I can count on how to teach the Five Paragraph Essay. We assign creative essays, literary responses, and research papers, but are the students really learning how to write and what the writing process requires?
Let me show you how I approached writing assignments in school:
This worked fairly well for me and got me through high school and college with respectable GPA’s but it didn’t teach me how to write. It taught me how to compile sources and arrange thoughts in paragraphs in order to earn a grade.
The more I study eloquent writers and their writing processes and the more time I spend writing, I realize there are many things I never learned about writing. My procrastination driven college writing process only ever produced a first draft that was turned in and graded.
Here is the sad truth: I don’t know how to go about the tedious work of revision. The act of taking a machete to what I have written and chopping it up until only the best bits remain. Of then taking those best bits and reaching into the depths of my creativity to add to the manuscript using those as my foundation. This is possibly the most important part of the writing process that I entirely skipped over under the false pretense that my first finished draft was good enough.
Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your perspective) it was good enough to earn a respectable grade and move on, but it didn’t teach me how to write. Now granted, there are certain types of academic writing that once you learn the formula, you plug in the information and voila! Instant essay! But as far as publishable creative essays or fiction writing? Not even close.
How do I not fail my students in this area? I have them write frequently because we all know that to be a better writer you need to write all the time. But, as is common with curriculum, we complete a writing assignment for a unit of study and move on. Should I assign fewer writing assignments and spend more time on them going through the whole writing and revising process with my students?
I would love to hear from other writers and teachers regarding how you approach this in your classrooms.
Seattle: known for its coffee, rain, hipsters, liberals, and independence. Not typically known for its sports teams – until now.
When we moved here almost nine years ago, the Sonics were still here. I hear they had won a championship, so there’s that. But when they left it was commonly quoted that “Seattle can’t support a sports team.” I guess our indie rock artists and computer programmers just aren’t that into sports. Then there was Super Bowl XL. Can’t say much about that except that ref-bashing became the standard topic of conversation for the next year (or eight). Then the Sounders showed up. And all of a sudden “football” took on a whole new meaning. The city rallied around soccer and all of our teams added neon green to their uniforms.
With the Sonics leaving, the Seahawks actually making it into a Superbowl, and the Sounders joining our city, people realized not only what a sports legacy Seattle had, but also dared to have hope for the future.
There has been much said about this present Seahawks team put together over the last two years by Paul Allen, Pete Carroll, and John Schneider. Including the infamous ranking by ESPN draft analyst Mel Kiper Jr. who gave them the worst grade in the league for their 2012 draft picks. But apart from the Seahawks clearly proving themselves on the football field, what have they taught me about the city of Seattle?
They have shown me that people who pride themselves on independence will come together 700,000 strong in uncharacteristic freezing temperatures to celebrate with their winning team.
They have shown me that a city with only 30% who claim any religion at all will support and embrace openly Christian players.
They have shown me the lengths not only fans but local government will go to in support of their team including renaming Mount Rainier to Mt. Seattle Seahawks, and renaming a neighboring community, Issaquah, to 12saquah.
They have shown me that this community clearly can and will support a sports team even when they don’t have a winning record. The Seahawks have had a waiting list for season ticket holders for several years.
Finally they have shown me what community spirit can do to a rainy, dreary Seattle winter. People are smiling more and have something in common to talk about…other than the lousy weather.
Now bring on summer and the Mariners!
I love Downton Abbey. I really do. It is one of few shows my husband and I watch together (though he may not readily admit it). But lately it is bringing me down. Moira MacDonald says it well:
We’ve quickly escalated from scandal (Lady Mary’s indiscretion), war, and relationship drama to senseless death and tragedy. I know war could be considered senseless death and tragedy, but at least it is expected. Matthew dying in a car accident after he has been miraculously healed from his war injury and has finally realized happiness with the love he so long denied, is unexpected and downright jarring. Don’t even get me started on Lady Sybil. And now rape?
It is easy to understand and sympathize (or judge) when characters endure misery of their own making. But sweet, favorite, Anna has done nothing but be a loyal, loving, beautiful gem among the servants.
My husband was mostly done with Downton after Matthew’s death….I may be close behind him.
I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions. I haven’t always felt this way, but anything that involves me “resolving” to do something that I have been unable to discipline myself to do the many years I have been alive, seems to be a set-up for failure. There have been some years that I have purchased the obligatory gym membership in January, and other years I have bought a new journal vowing to write everyday of the year. We all know how this goes… By May the gym barely knows I exist, and the journal is buried under a stack of books and magazines with the last entry dated March 3rd and the entry before that is probably February 13th with the first line being, “sorry I haven’t written in a while.” (Who am I apologizing to anyway?)
The nature of my job and the fact that I have four children means our year revolves around the school calendar. Our “new year” really starts in September. I like to picture our year as a mountain with a lush valley and lake on the other side (not that different from our natural habitat). We start up the mountain in September and it is a grueling climb fraught with promise. School and sports schedules control us with the trifecta of holidays looming ever closer. The powers that be might want to revisit the idea of having Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all within two months of each other.
In the course of our climb we lose sleep, get cranky, and want to give up, but we keep going because with each week and holiday we pass, we are that much closer to the top of the mountain. November and December pass quickly filled with food and fun times with family. By the end of December we feel almost comatose. Then we reach January. January is the top of our mountain. The routine is set, the rest of the year is downhill, and sometimes we can even see the plush valley below that I like to call summer – ah, summer!! The most refreshing word in a teacher or child’s vocabulary.
With the fall behind us and the holidays over we can take a deep breath and prepare for the downhill climb – which in the nature of the school calendar includes several relaxing breaks.
The downhill climb is much more conducive to breathing and thinking. Having time to breath and think enables me to put my priorities in order and make positive changes in my life. I usually have time once again to exercise, get my house in order, and even read for pleasure. But, don’t get me wrong. These positive changes are in no way “resolutions.” I make no resolutions except to arrive at that lush green meadow in one piece and bask in the sunshine while trying not to think about the next mountain that looms on the other side of the valley.
Sometimes when I am traveling and lost in my thoughts I look in the windows of passing houses and cars and think, ‘There are people in there I do not and probably will never know, living lives that I know nothing about.’ It is a humbling thought about my small place in the universe and the many strangers who occupy it living mundane or possibly fascinating lives. There is a curious part of me that wants to know them. To know what is going on behind the brightly lit window. Is it a happy family just sitting down to dinner? Or a family torn apart by tragedy wondering if they will ever smile again.
The man driving the car next to me while his wife rests her head against the window: who is he? Have they had a long trip or is she weighed down with weariness? I wonder what the anchor tattoo on his shoulder means and when and where he got it.
If I had one superpower, it would be to look into a person’s eyes and know their life’s story. Maybe I’m too curious for my own good; I suppose some would call it nosy. Maybe it is my love of story and wanting to know where people are coming from and what makes them who they are.
There are billions of people on this planet with their own lives and fascinating stories. Every once in a while we hear about one of them through an uplifting or tragic news piece. It is just a blip on the continuum of time and then we go about our business returning to the rhythm of our ordinary days. As I pass by the windows, my imagination takes over and creates the story of the family who lives there or the destination of the car beside me.
I imagine the man with the anchor tattoo celebrating with his former Navy buddies when Seal Team 6 took out Bin Laden. In their revelry they agree to matching tattoos. Right now he and his wife are on their way to the graduation of their oldest son from the Naval Academy. She is reminiscing about her boy’s childhood and wondering how they got here so fast as she rests her head against the window.
I imagine an elderly couple in the 1940’s bungalow we just passed. She is slowly clearing rose patterned dishes from the table while he sips his coffee from a dainty chipped cup: the last remaining piece of their wedding china. She joins him at the table as they comfortably chat about news of the kids and grandkids.
I have no way of knowing if these stories are true. The characters don’t even know I exist. I am merely someone passing by in the car. An outsider.
Apparently neither is mind-reading.
While loading my van at Costco I was composing Facebook rants in my head such as, “The best rain dance I can think of is a trip to Costco” and “Why does the checker fill the box so damn full, I can’t lift it out of my cart” (I don’t usually swear out loud, but remember this was all in my head) and finally “If you are going to sit and wait 15 minutes for my parking spot, you might as well get out and help me!”
Well apparently the man waiting for my spot was a mind reader. It was either that or the aforementioned box spilling half its contents on the ground as I wrestled it out of my cart. He jumped out and offered to help. I gladly accepted and then said something that will make many of you cringe: “I don’t usually come to Costco without my husband’s help.”
It almost sounded politically incorrect to my own ears. Did I just admit that I really needed a man’s help? I used to go to Costco by myself….if I was lucky! Sometimes I had three little helpers with me. Now a couple of those helpers are teenagers who are too busy to shop with me and I could easily fill two carts at Costco. Between the shopping, loading the car at Costco, and unloading the car at home, I consider my trips to Costco my workout for the day. So do I need my husband’s help? No, not necessarily. I could be an independent woman and handle it on my own. Do I want my husband’s help? Most certainly. We enjoy each other’s company, it makes it much easier for me, and he gets to throw things in the cart that I don’t normally buy.
But on the other hand, I do need my husband. There is nothing wrong with needing another human being. Americans have made independence an art form and a soapbox to stand on. If either gender needs the other than you are “whipped” if you are a man or “repressed and anti-feminist” if you are a woman. Why don’t we all just admit that on a basic human level we need each other. We were created for it. It says in Genesis that a “man will leave his father and mother… and the two will become one flesh.” One flesh. I don’t know about you, but I desperately need all of my flesh.
My students are studying Medieval literature and chivalry. Chivalry is defined as: bravery, courtesy, honor, and gallantry toward women. In other words being fierce and brave in battle and courteous and gentle in the parlor. This isn’t popular in today’s society because we mistakenly believe that for a man to be chivalrous a woman must be weak and in need of a knight in shining armor. But what in the definition of chivalry indicates weakness in women? Chivalry is holding one human being to a high standard in the way they treat another human being. Seems to me that we could all stand to be more chivalrous with each other male or female.
So thank you, man at Costco, for showing courtesy and honor and coming to my aid one human being to another.
I don’t often miss my babies, but when I do it comes over me in a wave so powerful I can feel their soft bodies in my arms and smell the baby smell of warm milk mixed with baby powder.
As I dropped my youngest off at school today, I thought of returning home to a quiet house with dishes and laundry to do, papers to grade, and the quietness of no interruptions. There were many days I longed for this. Oh, how I longed to have a few quiet hours with no little person tugging at my leg while her sister was screaming in the crib. But now that those days are here, I sometimes find myself suffocated by the quiet and missing the little warm bodies that needed me more than anything in the world. The way their bodies meld and fit so perfectly in my arms, The wispy hair that always seemed to smell so good, and even their sweet and sometimes not so sweet little cries are all part of an overwhelming stage of life that we usually wish away.
We can’t wait for them to grow more and more independent, to give us some of our independence back. And then you wake up one morning and realize you have arrived. That was it. That was all you got. Just a few years of never enough cuddles, wiping away tears, and being the center of their world. Now it’s friends, iPods, closed doors and navigating the reality of raising young adults. This stage is fun and beautiful in its own way, but so very different.
When we are in the midst of struggle and hard times, we often hear the adage, ‘This too shall pass.’ Unfortunately the same holds true with times we treasure.
I am a distracted driver. There, I said it. I know what you think of me. I’ve ridden with my husband enough times to fear that I am the “crazy driver” he is often frustrated with. But before you call me a menace to society or wish me permanently banned from the roads, I think you should know a little something about me.
I have not been in an accident or even had a speeding ticket since 1996. (ok, one photo-enforced speeding ticket, but we all know those are evil and don’t count).
I have a job, a husband, and four children which means I have a million things on my mind at any given time, and most likely, there are at least 3 different conversations going on in my car that may sound something like this:
Child #1 “Are we stopping at Safeway?”
Child #2 “Can Olivia spend the night tonight and bring her dog for us to keep?”
Me “Yes.”
Child #2 “Really?!! We get a dog?”
Me “What? No, of course not. I was talking to your sister.”
Child #2 “Moooom! But, you said, YES!”
Child #3 “MOM!! I’ve been telling her to stop touching me for like 20 minutes!”
Child #4 “That’s impossible. We’ve only been in the car for 9 minutes.”
You get the picture. Anyone with more than one child is very familiar with the above scenario.
So yes, I am a distracted driver. I may cut you off in traffic. I may miss an opportunity to let you merge. I may even inadvertently block the entrance to the apartment building you are trying to turn into because the light changed and the line of traffic didn’t move as far forward as I anticipated.
I’M SORRY! I really am. I’m not an idiot. I’m not a bad driver. I’m just distracted.
For my part, I will strive to focus on the task at hand and be more aware of being extra courteous to you, my fellow drivers.
For your part, before you mouth horrible things at me to express your rage or even pretend to shoot me with your finger (yes, that really happened) can we just give each other a little grace. Whatever I did to elicit such a response was in no way intentional, and if we’re not exchanging insurance information then no harm was done. So take a moment and think about your response. If your destination is so life altering that arriving two minutes later will wreck everything, than by all means, spew your hatred. Otherwise, just accept the mouthed apology of a frazzled woman and move on.
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