Five finger Gratitude....

 Today I am grateful. So very grateful.

1. I am grateful that the fires are 70% contained and that my home was not in the path of the devastation. Hallelujah.

2. I am grateful for the child in the other room, battling a migraine, hiding in the darkness. I love her. I am blessed because she was born. I don't show it enough.

3. I am grateful today for my kitten, Dommy. Domino. He's sleeping beside me, like a dog. He is a pain when he's tearing through the house across countertops and leaping onto the guinea pig cage and terrorizing the dogs. But he loves me and he comes to me and we have long conversations. I love him. I'm grateful he would not be a willing participant in the quest to rehome him as a young kitten. 

4. Sunshine. Today i'm a little bit snowblind. The sun is radiating off of the sleet-snow we had yesterday. It's bright for sure. But I'm grateful because it keeps the depression at bay. I start to come alive just like the natural world around me in springtime. I am grateful for the sun.

5. I am so grateful for the farm. I have named her the Hippie Chick Farm. And the house is so much of a mess. But a mess that came on 1.6 acres for a ridiculously low price. It's my mess. And I love the sound of the roosters crowing, the hush of the world out there, as it stays away from my little slice of paradise. I love the space, the sunsets, the porch sitting, the chickens and ducks and geese.... oh my. 

There is always something to be grateful for. And I have so much. I am rich. Penniless. But rich.

Hop on over to two writing sisters and read about everyone's slice of life today. The link in attached to the pic so just click on the slice. 

The weight is sometimes heavy

 Today I was able to merge the drawing prompt with what is on my heart, so I have a nifty illustration to accompany my slice of life today. Yay! Join other bloggers or just read and comment and enjoy by following the link for the Slice of Life Story Challenge, blogging every day in the month of March. Click on the link in the sentence or click the slice icon.

Today's SDD (Simple Daily Drawing) prompt was this: Hammerhead Shark. I got the hammer part, and I got the head part, but the shark part kinda got left out. 

Yesterday we saw and smelled the smoke/fire. It made me nervous. It made the animals nervous. They were a mess. One of my chickens even tried to come inside. Which is funny because not too many of my remaining chickens get confused about whether or not they are indoor or outdoor chickens. Uno has never really been confused or concerned about it. But last evening she ran to the back door. And the dogs walked around and whined, and the cats were just crazy. Everyone smelled it. All creatures at our "farm." They didn't like it. It smelled like danger. Amen. I completely agree. Ugh.

We came back from a back road sneak into town trip to the Dollar General. Ironically enough, the highway wasn't closed, we could have gone the other way. But we didn't. The roads were closed on the other side of the highway from DG though. So a mere 2 miles from us the roads were closed. And late last night I learned that a friend lost her home and animals. Not a super close friend, but more than a casual acquaintance. I bought a walking stick from her husband, she bought tiedye from me. We talk about teaching and kids and what's broken and what's not about education. 

I believe in God. A God. Not the god of my youth. But a power that is greater than myself. A force. Energy. Something that sustains me. It's name is often simply, "Good." At our house, it is known that Good takes care of us. But as good and as gentle as I believe this force is, sometimes I am stubborn. Too stubborn to pray, to ask for help, to submit. Knowing a power or force is greater and stronger than me and giving up my own stubborn will and ambitions, are two very different things. And sometimes I am only bent into pray through consistent and constant hammering of life situations until all that beating bends my neck and bows my head and I cry out for help. 

Hammering away on me are the daily struggles, the big things, the little things and currently, wildfires. Not metaphorically, though that is valid too, but literally. There's a lil ole Kansas wildfire that started raging yesterday afternoon and paralyzed me with fear. I now have emergency preparations of food, cages, bowls, blankets and so forth for critters. I have decided which critters will get packed up and which will be left to fend for themselves. I have a list of what needs to be included in the "go bag." For critters, the bag will pack swiftly. For the humans, that is more complicated. I am aware that I need to pack a go bag with toothbrush and toothpaste and all that good stuff for situations like this. And then just leave it alone. Not steal from it, etc. 

I spent at least an hour of the time I should have been spending packing and preparing being overwhelmed and distracted and doing everything but what was needed. I gave THREE birds epsom salt baths for instance. I suppose on some level it made sense to me at the time. But really? Birds number one, Raven, I think she has bumblefoot. I think she's gonna lose some toes. How did it get this bad? Probably because I have only read about bumblefoot before, it's my first hen to try to treat. Then I find that my little Wood Duck drake, Diego, is limping. I don't know why. But I know what will cure him.... epsom salts. They are the miracle cure of the animal world. and the people world, so you know. When in doubt, soak it out....

So I soaked his feet. and then I inspected him the best I could. He wasn't a very willing participant. In spite of how cute and cuddly he appears, he was not all about being handled and hugged and turned and looked over. But I didn't really see or feel bumblefoot. So maybe I soaked his feet for not. Who knows. So.... I go to treat my injured hen that still needs to be sprayed with Vetericyn and saline wash. I see she has poop all over her fluff on her fluffy butt. So I clean it, and clean it, and clean it. Because it doesn't really want to come out of her soft, fluffy, downy-like feathers. And then, completely by accident, I felt it. A hard egg-sized spot just to the side of her vent. Could she be egg-bound? Oh boy. Into the epsom salt bath she goes. Epsom salt bath numero tres in the time I had designated to get prepared for the worst so we could believe for the best. (Latest check shows she has not passed the egg yet and her life could be in danger).

Alas, I was still not prepared and my chickens and ducks and geese were waiting impatiently for me to come through for them. Or at least to feed them. By now it's dark and dreary and the winds are somewhat calmer than earlier. So I feed and lock up pens and collect any eggs. Except a little nest of duck eggs. I am experimenting with that little nest to see if they sit and hatch their eggs. The nest says that they want to try. And I have a plenty of duck eggs already, so try my duckies, try. 

Finally, I'm inside from choring, I have prepared foods and whatever for animals should we be told to leave. It's almost 10. My kiddo is up from her "nap." lol. Seventeen. Her internal clock is WAY way different than mine. And it seems that we are safe from the fire hazards. Safe enough anyway to breathe, find some dinner, chat on the phone, sit and relax..... 

But my mind is still being hammered. 

When will I know about income? What will we do? What is the next step? Lord, I need your help. Oh, yeah, God, can you look after my kids? I know the oldest is overwhelmed, tired, stressed and stretched really thin. I know I miss her and want to spend time but that scheduling that could quite possibly be that one more thing that she doesn't need right now. So grateful she has "a life": husband, kid, bonus kids, job, friends, pets, and so on. But I have to tell you God, I just wish she wanted to spend time with me. What? What are you telling me God? You might be right. I don't really wish that. Because this seems right, normal, and she seems happy. So in spite of my loneliness, I am grateful. Thanks God for my kid and her health and happiness. Please protect her.

I'm worried. I am the mother of a trans kid. I had this beautiful, funny, intelligent daughter named Carolyn. She was such a bright spot in my bleak world. But she was scared, overwhelmed, closeted. I have been in the know for over a year now. My Carolyn is not a Carolyn after all. Because she is Levi. She is he. Him. I worry. I know he gets frustrated that my journey is slow to accept and embrace him as he is. Well, not-so-much-as-he-is-today. I mean, I'm sure I fall short. But I think I do okay with the present. It is the past. He was my girl, my Carolyn. And it irks me a bit that I'm not supposed to just acknowledge and relive those memories as they live in my head and heart, that my child feels like I am somehow making him less today by remembering her. My little one with the long red hair and the bright eyes and smile. This is only a tiny slice of my grief. There is my worry. Constant worry. What will happen if.... (fill in the blank). But a huge piece would be, what would happen if my Mom and sister were to be informed or somehow "accidentally" found out that my Carolyn is now Levi. That I have decided I am not going to play God and shame or blame or wish for the other. That I am going to love him to the end and pray to god that the end is not premature because of the overwhelming weight of his transgenderness (? is that a word?). Because in the face of my family's conservative Christianity (for lack of better terms), both he and I will be shamed. Possibly disowned. But not without some literature or letter writing about how we are wrong (him for who he is and me for choosing to just be a mother to the child I have without shaming or disowning him) and more heavy judgement. This worries me. And I think then about the fear that the LGBTQ+ community lives with daily. And I am bent farther and I must surrender and pray. 

The worries of the world are heavy and hammering away. But once I bend down my neck and pray, the hammering is less crippling.

For the love everything writing....

This sounds like the title to a piece about writing. But I am literally pounding the keys about the utensils I use when WRITING, drawing, coloring, filling out paperwork, making crafts and drafting a grocery list. Oh... for the love. This is my slice of life today, the 5th day of March, 2022. To read more, click on the Slice icon. The link will take you to today's Slice of Life posts. Scroll down to the comments and read and comment. It's what we love. 

For the love of.... 

flair pens. 

I mean, what's not to love?! 

The colors make my page say that what I am writing is

happy, bigger than ordinary, fun.

For the love of....

sharpies.

Really? Do I really need to explain this one? 

Sharpies are fun and bold and bright, or dark, 

and precise, or spread out--

sharpie on notebook paper equals smear and smudge

because they expand and spread and become somewhat fuzzy.

But sharpie on paintings,

sharpie on your cup, 

on plastic, or vinyl, or wood. 

Hooray for sharpies! 

I love sharpies.

But what about the love of....

Papermate InkJoy gel roller pens? 

Oh. my. stars. 

the lucky stars anyway.

These are perfect for

cards, both creating cards and signing cards;

calendars, who doesn't want to record all their scheduling and appointments and plans in color?

and doodling. (no descriptives needed)

I also love coloring. 

How about the smell of a freshly opened box of crayons? 

Is there any smell that is more educational?

any smell that is more filled with hope and preparedness and new beginnings?

But you know,

know what is also very public school, 

brand new year, 

I'm a big kid now? 

Colored pencils.

for creating... maps and charting growth and meeting reading goals,

and color papers and making cards and whatever a heart could desire. 

What about the love of....

the mechanical pencil? 

for sure. For sudokus and planning and list making and first drafts

for fun, for seriousness, for in-between.

But drawing.... 

for the love of drawing

there are drawing pencils and number 2 pencils and even the blessed Ticonderogas will work.

I love drawing. 

Last summertime, I indulged in

a set of drawing pencils.

All different softnesses and hardnesses. 

So don't even get me started on the love of paper....

notebooks and loose-leaf and printer paper and stationary and card stock and construction paper. Oh my! 

March Commitments...

 I belong to a drawing group on Facebook. This group is called Simple Daily Drawing. I am not so good at keeping it simple. But I am working on it. I have challenged myself to do the daily drawing prompt every day in the month of March. I missed day one. That's okay right? But I have posted days 2,3, and 4. Which is also like my other commitment this month. I signed up for Slice of Life writing challenge to get myself writing again. Did you know this is a blogging challenge for teachers? I guess I knew that. But I'm now a "former-teacher." I never meant to be part of that attrition statistic. But that is another day. Or days. What I want to touch on is.... March commitments: SoL and SDD. 

Simple daily drawing is a group that posts a new prompt every day of the month. They are posted for the entire month and you can post on a day that is not that day's prompt. I had a habit (maybe not the best one) of picking and choosing prompts and just posting 5-7 prompts a month. Okay, that works. In a way at least. But here are few things I have discovered or want to discover. 

One: there are many ways to follow and fulfill a prompt (and I'll include my March drawings at the end of this post). If you don't like the prompt per se, find a way to make it work. March 1st, I didn't do it, but I thought about it, a lot, that day. The prompt was #dart. Some friends drew lawn darts, some drew the darts for a game of darts, some drew a poison dart frog (which I would be enamored with, I think frogs are fascinating and poison dart frogs are beautiful and colorful), some friends drew a dart fish. I thought of darting quickly. Like a bicycle messenger darting in and out of traffic, or a super fast motorcycle zipping between cars on the freeway. Or a dart in a curtain or in your pants, and the art of sewing. 

Two: it is a good discipline to do what everyone else does even if I do insist on ALWAYS thinking outside the box. Following prompts.... following directions, keeping a job, being able to be directed or coached. Good ideas. So I want to develop the discipline to follow the daily prompts.

Three: drawing every day of the month would be the same thing. Discipline. And who doesn't need to practice self-discipline?! Well, okay, I don't actually know about you all, but what I know about me.... I need a little discipline and a little less whimsy in my life. So commit. And do the damn drawing prompt already. Sheesh.

Four: Drawing. you know my favorite quote about art? I have probably paraphrased it to the point that the original author of the quote wouldn't even recognize it, so at this point it might even my own made up artsy quote. Here it is: "If you are good at art, you're an artist. If you are not good at art: you're an artist!" Hey, hey! Because let's face, the science supports it. Creating is calming. And coloring is rhythmic and calming and downright healing to our over-stimulated brains. So.... art.

Five: connection. 

Six: I can make this list expand all day.

Seven: well, okay, I'm moving on now. I could seriously keep going, but I am also passionate about writing and want to expound on my Slice of Life commitment as well. 

Two-writing teachers started this writing challenge a WHILE ago now. And several years I have attempted to do the writing challenge and write and post it every day in the month of March. This year, I am unemployed. Ironically, I am busy as heck. But not a "real" job. Just writing and drawing and creating and farming and tending to chickens and a kid and throw in some "normal" stuff too.... housecleaning, cooking, laundry, etc. In order to read today's Slice of Life posts, visit the blog by clicking on the Slice of Life image.

Currently we are one car household. The really interesting thing is that it is the kid's car. She bought it with her own money, it is her name on the title. But she is battling some mystery illnesses and I'm the primary driver. So I taxi to all kinds of appointments that are 10 miles away at the least and 30+ on average. Anywho.... 

I signed up for Slice of Life Story challenge on the 1st and then went about our daily stuff. Except we didn't get home until like 8:30 in the evening and then I had to feed and water the outside birds (chickens, ducks, geese), tend to the inside birds (the back room is the place for birds that need special attention and Carrie's whack-a-doodle veterinary services). After that it is time to take care of dogs and cats and make sure the people eat something. So... after signing up to slice in the morning, the next time it crossed my mind it was after midnight. So I figured that starting in earnest of the 2nd was good enough. 

And I love it. I love writing about a slice of my life ev

ery day. I have big ambitions to write a book. Probably just in blog form. or whatever. I mean, once I finish a blog post, I am exhausted. And it makes for great bathroom reading. Or something like that. Coffee table fodder? 

These are my commitments this month. But my kiddo just stuck her head out of her room to remind me that I also committed to help her and I said I'd be ready 5 minutes ago. Time to get busy on life outside the blogging community. 

I am adding my drawing so far this month. March 2 prompt was upside down, the 3rd was roaming ostrich, and today's prompt (the 4th) was Blue Jean Baby.

Starting the day...

 Today's slice of life is brought to you in a free form poem. So much goodness in the morning... 

To visit Slice of Life, Day 3 stories, click on the icon, the link *should* take you there! Happy Thursday. 

Sensing the Day
coffee brewing,
smells of heaven
guineas squawking,
sounds of life
Sunshine on my face
wind across my body
earthy smells
dirt and grass and fresh springtime
Princess is howling
reminding me that she needs me 
and loves me
a cat chases a fly 
sailing through the air
running off tail up high
Daytime sights
sounds
smells.
Today will be a good day.
Today.
is a good day.

~Carrie Suderman/Carrie Horn

(Of course, so much to critique. Do I like the title? not sure. I am also transitioning my thinking about my name and what name I wish to use when I write... my maiden name, or my ex-husband's last name.... )

March is Slice of Life month...

All month?! All month. The challenge is to write a slice about your day, every day, during the month of March and share it on the blog developed by Two Writing Sisters. I have not been successful in the past. I've been incredibly hit and miss. And for several years now I haven't even tried to participate. But the timing is changing and my life seems to be in a space where I am ready to accept and rise to the challenge. 

I've been encompassed by my past life, teaching, of late. I was not invited back to a teaching position last year. And that in and of itself is a whole gamut of emotion. Up and down and angry and twisty and knotted and sad and indignant and blaming and then self-blaming and hopeless and then back to angry. and let's just go around another time. Ugh... 

Last year, I took on a whole lot of new. A new grade, in a new district, including a move to a new community, and more. I moved from 1st grade to 5th grade. And I was lost. Lost, lost, lost. But to compound things, I was teaching the smallest class I had ever had (11 at it's largest), with 2 of those students having parents on the school board and a 3rd student having a parent that was besties with the family of the president of the school board. There was no room for error. I made an exorbitant amount of errors.

I could have developed a love for 5th grade and even a niche for it. It could have been my jam. But not with the amount of time I had and the margin for error that was afforded to me. Zero. That was the margin. 

Not by my administration. My principal/superintendent afforded me a margin. An amazingly wide margin, knowing what I was up against with the parents and students. She was amazing and she did everything she possibly could have done in order to help me. She guided, she encouraged, she empathized, she ran interference, she found me some capable assistance, she counseled. So what was my deal? That is the question I still ask myself almost daily. 

Why, with that amount of kind, accepting support, could I not succeed? Was it pure laziness? Self-loathing? ineptitude? Was I just too overwhelmed? Too tired? Too scattered? Was I simply in over my head? 

Why?

Seriously though.

My inner chatter goes through this on the regular. And I vacillate. One day it's all about the indignant, self-righteousness, and the voices in my head blame those sons-a-bitches who had the audacity to treat me with less than fair and reasonable expectations. One day, or maybe the same day that starts out angry, self-righteous, and indignant, the overwhelming take away is my own failures. And self-ridicule. What is the hell ever made me think that I could teach? And teach 5th grade?! I am a Kinder teacher at heart and an okay first grade teacher. I can stretch those little minds and make them readers and make them love me and do literally anything I ask of them, which makes them try. try. Try. TRY. 

I went into this gig thinking I could make 5th graders try. (insert insane laughter here). I do not have that much power. I cannot influence them in the same way I can Firsties. And I cannot influence them when they are NOT SUPPOSED TO BE INFLUENCED according to parental dictates and judgements. 

On the good days, I still strongly believe I was on a right and good path with some things. Writing. My students had to journal every day. Every morning, whether we met in person or in a Zoom meeting, there was a journal prompt waiting for them in google classroom. Every morning. And a rubric to measure their writing quality that laid out clear expectations. Which is something parents seemed to want. But apparently their children were not to journal because the parents thought it was dumb." I had no way of showing them what all their children were learning when they follow the prompts. So some students did the minimum and got the marks to match. Which furthered the divide. Some of them didn't do the journaling at all. In spite of parent contacts and detention. So you can lead a young writer to the blank page/screen, but you cannot make said writer pound it out on the keyboard. 

Okay, that is only one tiny slice of that slice of my life. It's like if I took this piece of my teaching life, this one small year and split it into a million other pieces and then chose one of those pieces and slivered it down even farther. I know. So that means that this is not a clear and complete view of this part of my life. Maybe not even a complete slice. But it has drained me and saddened me and overwhelmed me in just this short glimpse. So that's all folks. Tomorrow being a new day, I may or may not give you another slice of this same cake. Only tomorrow will tell. 

If you want to read everyone else's slice, visit here: https://twowritingteachers.org/2022/03/02/day-2-sol22/

Sometimes the answer is just RIGHT THERE

Lately my days are full of humble pie. Two-slice Hilly humble pie. Well, maybe not totally, because Hilly ate two slices because it still tasted good. My pie doesn't taste good. Like last night one of our dogs gorged herself in order to be a bully to the puppy and eat all her food. And then it all came up again. And when I went to clean it up, first I had to tell the other dogs not to eat it and then I also had to tell the cats. But I myself, I was gagging at the smell alone. Now imagine eating something that smells like that and invokes an internal reflex like the gag reflex. That is how my pie tastes. So I'm kind of over the daily dose. 

Here's the thing I know that I don't want to know. Or don't like, or it makes me so uncomfortable I go into avoidance mode (Ostrich mode: head in the sand mode; run away mode; geographical fix mode). I am at the center of all of actions, shitty ones and not-so-shitty ones. And until I actually eat the humble pie and choke it down and keep it down and learn the freaking lesson, I will continue to endure humiliation. over and over and over. and over. 

(insert disclaimer here >>) So I started this a couple weeks ago already. But being plagued with a plethora of shortcomings, I have managed to enthusiastically avoid coming back to it. And then again, much has changed since beginning this post. The shit pie I was talking about largely had to do with my constant compulsion to over-share.  I even know that the consequences could be big and I could be overwhelmed with humiliation and shame and regret. But as you know (or maybe you don't), compulsions don't easily succumb to reason. So then I have an overwhelming compulsion to over-share, knowing the end result could be disastrous is not enough to control the urge. I don't know about anyone else, but I have found that regret tastes similar to humble pie. It is not as bitter going down, but the bitter aftertaste lingers and seeps into all the flavors around it. 

I want to tell you about all the lessons I've learned and the wisdom that I've gained through over-sharing my elephant with you. But the truth is, that bitter aftertaste, well, it leaves me shuffling off into the nothingness to wallow alone and to bask in my self-pity. 

On the surface level of the problem, the actual no-money-no-job-no-insurance level, many have reached out and offered assistance through prayer, through resources, through ca$h (let's be honest, that is probably my favorite kind of assistance/connection), through hooking me up with what has been deemed "social capital" (it's not what you know, it's WHO you know), through caring words, through thoughts and prayers and even fund-raising. These have not cured what ails me. Because let's be honest, what ails me lives inside of me. 

What these gestures have done though, is give me hope. Like a tiny seedling struggling to take root, it has brought the tiniest glimpse of hope to me and it is continuing to grow into a vining, green plant of hope, with blossoms that are beginning to open and beauty that is seen by fresh eyes... seeing the color seep into the gray and color my world. 

What all of this has done is give me hope. God promises that if we have faith the size of a grain of a mustard seed, we will see it grow. That is how I feel about this hope. It is many tiniest of actions that bond together and form something formidable and real. A big, bright, ball of hope that is not to be discounted or discarded. 

The update about the Hippie Chick Farm. She is going to make it. My one last-ditch effort to find a solution, to stop the hemorrhaging, was a bust. Hopeless. I felt hopeless. This was on the morning of the Friday before the Tuesday when the sale was scheduled. So three days to get my hopelessness under control (I'd just as soon see her run over by a train), find hope and a solution, present said solution to the lawyer in the suit and get the sale cancelled.

However, this last idea that I had to gain a shred of hope, the free consultation with a bankruptcy lawyer, was summed up by him saying that he could not help me. But what he did was stay on the line for the rest of the 30 minute consultation and spit-ball ideas. And I/we came across an idea that had not come to me before. Or let me say, if someone suggested it earlier in the game, I did not hear it. Know how it is that you cannot hear some things no matter how clearly they are presented? But for whatever reason, this resonated. Loudly. I did some checking and low-and-behold this idea would get me out of hot water. So I called the lawyer, who could not commit to an answer, but called his client, and called back with the final outcome being that we reached a solution and the sale has been cancelled. 

Today, the shortest day of the year, Winter Solstice, is a day I will bask in hope and I will reap the joy that lies within the smallest glimmers of hope that friends and my community bestow upon me. And low and behold, I know the days of sun will begin to get longer. Not just in the sky and view that I love so much from my farm, but in my heart as well. Seems a fitting analogy. Today I will respect the cold, dark depth of the Winter Solstice, but I will look forward with hope, knowing the days of sun will continue to grow.