Books: My Magic

“Books are a uniquely portable magic.”

― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft  

I love books mainly because I have discovered that Stephen King is right. Books are magic! When I was a kid my parents and grandparents encouraged me to read.I can remember my Mama Maggie, Granny Jett, and Grandpa Cornelius reading to me and my Papa Jack having me read to him. Papa didn’t know how to read, so he knew how important it was for me to be a reader. My family made sure I was supplied with books. I was never told no when I ask for a new one.

The first books I can remember falling in love with were the Nancy Drew books. I wanted to be a girl detective like Nancy when I grew up. I still have my collection of Nancy Drew (all fifty something of them) in my bedroom. Nancy was not my only love; I also read Encyclopedia Brown, Pippi Longstocking, and Ralph the Motorcycle Mouse. I devoured books.

As I entered my teenage years, I discover the Flowers in the Attic books, Harlequin romances, and my one true love in books, Stephen King. During all of this, my parents never told me books were bad, I shouldn’t be reading that book, or in any way discouraged me from reading. I did hear why do you and Kim want to read that stuff by King, but never a “no.” They both read, so naturally I should read also.

Parents tell me everyday, “I can’t get them to read” talking about their kids. My question is: do you read? It is imperative that parents model what they want to see in their children. If parents don’t show their children that reading is important by engaging in reading themselves, their kids won’t read. My parents read to me. I saw them and my grandparents reading. Even my Papa Jack, who could not read or write, looked at the newspaper every day, so I saw these people who were important in my life, that I looked up to, modeling a behavior that was passed on to me.

It was natural for me, starting when I married into a step-son, that I would read to my kids. Every night, there was a story before bedtime. Kids books were plentiful in my house. Dr, Seuss, Ninja Turtles, Goosebumps, and eventually, that new true love in the form of a boy wizard, Harry Potter littered bedroom floors and bedtime rituals. At book fair, I would buy seven or eight books and be ask for more the next week. I was happy to spend the money. Why? Because studies show that kids who read at least twenty minutes a day are the ones who are honor roll students not only in elementary and secondary schools but also in their college days. And I, like Stephen King, know that “Books are a uniquely portable magic” that I want in my life and my kids lives everyday.

Christmas Morning Reflection

          This morning is Christmas. As I started my day, I thought about that day over two thousand years ago. The news of the Savior's birth must have been starting to spread. After all, there were all of those angels singing loudly last night. And, why are all of these sheppards in town? They must have been hearing the news and celebrated this birth just as we are doing today. With this child, promises were being fulfilled.

           I wanted to take a picture of this dawn that is having a bit of a rocky start. Clouds are looming over head fortelling the coming rain, reminding me of the clouds of a few days ago that hid the mountains during the storms. These storms destroyed lives and homes, but today is a promise of a place where the storms of life, both real and metaphorical, cannot touch us anymore. An eternal home where we will be safe with our Savior. 

           As I stand on my porch, I begin to think of my friends who are in the midst of those metaphorical storms. They are facing cancer and other diseases, sick children, missing children. I pray that God will fulfill their needs today as  He has done for me in the past. I know that the child whose birth I will celebrate today can give peace, comfort, strengh, and answers. It is a part of His promise to me.     

           Turning to go back into the house, I see the mountain that was obscured by clouds a few days before. The other mountains are bathed in gloom, but this one is lit by the rising sun. The promise of sunlight after the storms.

            I see what you did there God. A little "Good morning. I heard your prayer." A reminder that the mountain made it through those storms, so will we. And after the storm, the Light of the World is waiting. All of this because we celebrate that promised child born so long ago. Happy birthday, Jesus.

My Happiness Zone

I am a country girl. I loved my neighborhood when I lived in Crossett, but I wanted to be back in a place where it was just a short walk to the cow pasture or the woods. I am also a gardener. My old yard was years in the making, and when I left it, it was still not finished. My pride and joy was a huge two level water garden complete with Japanese Koi who were my babies. I had some withdrawals when I left that huge unfinished project.

When I moved, I began by transplanting my Mama Maggie's roses and my Granny Jett s irises. Once again, I had my project. I am moving a little more slowly building this garden. The yard is still speaking in the language that only people who love to help nature compose her song can understand. What needs to go where has yet to be decided, but a few things are falling into place.

The clematis vines on either side of the steps that I like to call the twins even though one is larger than the other are starting to bloom white stars that look like they fell from the heavens. The phlox by my mom's house is coming to the end of its bloom and is dropping purple petals into the shade of the maple tree. The crepe myrtle that was the first thing I bought has finally come into its glory. It stretches tall over the top of the house, and the thing I lamented because I thought it would never happen has begun; its branches are now bending into graceful arches of pink clusters. It's purple and red baby brothers have not caught up with it's growth, but I have faith that they will soon. I love these small glimpses of what could be, but one area perplexes me.

Next to my house is a huge maple tree that instead of being trimmed and tamed was let run riot as it grew. Next to it are a semi-circle of smaller maples and mulberries. The branches of these trees form a place where I can be surrounded by a tiny forest. Where I can sit in shade and see out, but others can't see in; my spot of solitude in a busy world. I have wondered what to plant there. Should I build raised flower beds or not? Would anything grow in all that shade? I don't know. And, for months I have pondered what to put there.

As I walked through the yard tonight with Stormy, my trusted canine companion, I looked at the sky over the trees that grow on the edges of what used to be the cow pasture and found beauty there in the simplicity of trees and grass and sky. It didn't need anything else to be perfect. The sky was painted the perfect shades of pink, blue, and purple. The giant oaks were a dark almost black green against the pastel sky, and the grass was a paler wispy base to my piece of heaven. I thought about what my Papa Jack must have seen when he first considered buying this land, and I think it must have looked close the the same. Perfect. Peaceful. A place where a person can make a good life.

I think I'm going to stop worrying about what goes under those trees.

The Dating Game

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single teacher in possession of good students must be in want of a husband. (Paraphrase Jane Austen).

The first week of school is always a little slow as kids catch up with each other and with what has happened to their teachers during the summer. As some of you know, there is a a group of my students that I fondly refer to as the Ms. Rounds Manhunt Society. Well, today the tenth grade chapter decided it was time for a meeting in my second period class.

In the middle of impromptu speeches about what happened this summer and one girl telling how she had broke up with one boyfriend and promptly picked up another, I hear a voice asking, " Ms Rounds have you found a man yet?"
I almost had time to give my normal reply of "you know I don't need another pet" before I start hearing discussion of my lack of a husband and students questioning why would you ask that. So instead I told the class that several members of the Society were in the room.

The conversation continues as follows:

Student 1: I found you a new guy that I'm going to set you up with.

Student 2: Who is it.

1: Billy Goat. (No. Really, this is the real name!)

2. Oh, you'll like him. He's nice.

Me: Seriously? His name is Billy Goat.

1: It's his nick name.

Me: (incredulously) Billy Goat? OMG.

Chorus of He's awesome. He's really cute. You'll like him. ( It seems several people in my class know Mr. Goat)

Me: (Looking very perplexed) Guys, really. This getting out of control.

1: You should let us set you up. He's got a really nice house, and drives a Corvette.

Me: (because they know I love fast cars) Hmmm....a Corvette. Tell me more.

Everyone laughs.

1:  I know you just saying that to be funny, but you know we are going to find you a man.

Bell rings. Yeah! I'm saved from the Manhunt Society by the bell.

1 and 2 on the way out the door. Maybe we should set her up with.........

And so it continues........

The Day Before

It's the day before school starts, and the doubts are rolling in like the ocean waves I wish I was standing in today. Did I get everything ready? Do I have enough planned for the week? Am I really ready for this?

I am sitting here thinking about the list of things to print in the morning. My class rosters,  the sign up form for the office, and myriad other things that teachers have to do. It will all get done, but if it doesn't will they know? Of course not.

Tomorrow, they will be in a world of what changed this year?  Who's new today? Talking to friends that have only been a text for three long months. Absorbed in the business of being teenagers, they will just be excited to be back.

I am going to enjoy watching the ebb and flow of chaos settle into the routine of learning. The dance of the teenage hormones that is highlighted by makeups and breakups will play out to the tune of crying on my shoulder or anger in my classroom or elation that the special someone finally asked me out. The I can't do this; I got my phone out because I was finished; and my reminding them from across the room that the only reason one smiles at one's glowing lap is because the phone is out. 

The madness of 150 teenagers a day is about to erupt into my life again, and if I said I dread it, I would be lying to you. Bring on the groans because we are reading Shakespeare today, the I can't think of anything to writes, and the he said he doesn't love me anymores (as if ninth graders know about love). I am ready for it all. It's time to bring the Timberwolves back.

Stress, Stress, and more Stress!

As most of you know, I am in the process of moving my classroom, Well, it's nine days until school starts and my room is still not ready. In fact,  the blue wall just got a third coat of paint. I had the joy (this is sacrasm in case you missed it) of watching it go on the wall. I am moving today anyway. Before I leave school today, I will have all of my stuff in that room.

 I am determined.

 I will probably have a major meltdown also.

I have been in full avoidance mode of all the stress that is circling me trying to find a place to land. It's birds that are picking little chunks out of me every time I let them get close. I think last night the next to last bird landed. Today's bird may be the one that finishes me off. The good thing for me is writing is my way of dealing with the birds. It helps me banish them back to the trees. 

The room kicked off my summer of stress, but last week I got news that I did not want to hear. I know the woman I had always considered my extra grandma was nearing the end of her life. She has been suffering from dementia, not eating, the normal signals of the end nearing, but as humans we always manage to avoid thinking about these things. Last week the word cancer reared its ugly head. She has it in her liver-a rather large tumor that has enveloped half of he liver- and in her lungs. There is no hope of treatment. I still managed to avoid the pain that comes with these pronouncements and shoved the thought to the back of my mind.  Last night, it came back full force.

The trigger for this was finding out that a friend's mom also has cancer. Seeing the pain that she is going through made it all but impossible to hide from mine. Mini-meltdown. The birds started landing. 

I realized that in a few short weeks I will probably be attending a funeral for a woman I love dearly. No more trips to the big house in the woods. No more stopping at every yard sale we see. No more being griped at because I said a bad word, and her lecturing me that it's simply not lady-like, that I should know better because I am better than that. 

I know that Monday, if the furniture is not moved to my new classroom, if I am two days from open house with a room that looks like a nuclear bomb was dropped, the last bird will come home to roost, and I will disolve away under all this stress and a fountain of tears.

Today is another mini-meltdown.

 But there is also that still small voice at the back of my mind that is saying "Why are you not letting me carry this load for you?" 

Today, I am ready to let You have part of this. Today, I am ready to lean on someone who is bigger than my stress. Today, I am giving this mess I call my life to God and leaning on Him again to carry me through all of this hurt and stress, because after all I am still His, and He still loves me. 

The Simple Life

Today, I had to get up early and "adult." I had a dentist appointment, allergy shots, grocery shopping, and a trip to the Farmers Market. Not really a busy day, but one that awoke filled with promise.

I was up in time to see the end of a beautiful sunrise and spend some quality time with Stormy the Blue Heeler. I checked the peach tree in my yard and decided that today is the day to harvest the half dozen or so peaches that are clinging desperately to this tiny tree. As I write this, I am cooking black-eyed peas and comtemplating the joys of jelly making later in the week. These may all sound like the most boring things in the world to you, but to me, these things are full of promise.

They are the promise of blessings to be received today and in the days ahead. The promise of seeing happiness on my daughter's face when she realizes that in addition to her favorite blackberry jelly, there is also her second favorite, peach. The promise of a good meal when so many in the world go hungry. The promise of good health when I have friends who would count it a blessing to have one day with no pain or to be able to walk with their family members. And in that beautiful sunrise, the promise of another day in which I can do anything or nothing at all. The choice is mine, and that is the best promise I am given. A life of choices.

I have chosen a simple life of serving God, raising my children, teaching, and spending time with my family. Again, many people would find this boring, but I don't. I like my life of quite evenings at home, cheering on the Timberwolves with my friends at ball games, going to the fair, listening to music on the Square in Mt. View, wading in creeks, and from time to time venturing forth to see the beauty of the world God has created for us to inhabit.

Could I live a grander, more exciting life? Sure. But I choose not to. The part of me that is an introvert loves this life. My extrovert side still leads me to loud concerts and craziness with my friends, but quite contemplation always brings me back to this simple life.