~and I remember his legacy~

     My father would be 93 if he were still alive today.  Cancer took him from us when he was only 59 years old and the thought of him being an old guy is pretty hard for me to imagine.  In my mind, I can still see his kind and gentle face but I have only a vague remembrance of his voice.  The years that pass by have a way of dimming parts of our memory.  One thing shall remain for sure, even if I live to be 100 years old and forget most everything else. 
     
     I will always love my daddy.

     Daddy was gone a lot when we were kids growing up.  He was a custom harvester by trade and so each year by mid-May he was already on the road with his combines and crew to cut wheat throughout the Great Plains.  His first stops of the season, Davidson and Frederick, Oklahoma are within an hour's drive from us here in Burkburnett.  He would continue on as he headed north back into Kansas, Nebraska, and both of the Dakotas.  His last stop of the season was in Drake, North Dakota and if he was fortunate, he would finish up and return back home to Kansas sometime by mid-September.  Then it was time to change out the headers on the combines and get ready to head south to Dalhart, Texas to cut corn and milo.  Mom was always glad if he could make it home for good by early November.  We missed him when he wasn't there and to have him with us at long last was a really good thing.

     I went with him on the very last harvest of his life back in 1977.  It was an interesting experience for me and one that I wouldn't trade for the world.  It was a long and hot summer but I learned so much about my dad that I would not have known had I stayed home.  I always knew of his integrity and how he would go way beyond what was normally expected of him, just to be sure that his customers were happy with the job he had done.  I learned that by his example in early September that final season.

      When we got to the little town of Drake, North Dakota that year, the rains came and for 17 days we sat and did absolutely nothing.  His customers, all farmers that he had become good friends with over the years, were beginning to worry.  Their crops were still in the field because of the bad weather and many of them were afraid that my dad would have to pull out and head back south without cutting their wheat.  It was costing him a small fortune to sit there and wait.  Food and wages for the crew were huge considerations for him as well as the fact that he would be needed in Texas by early October.   My dad would not leave.  He had made a promise to those guys that he would cut their wheat and eventually about 3 weeks later, he had done just that.  I doubt that he made much money at his Drake stop but he came away with something that was worth far more to him.

     He came away with the respect and the undying gratitude of a handful of hardworking, North Dakota farmers.    

     By 1978 his health had begun to deteriorate.  The cost of being a custom harvester was skyrocketing.  Fuel prices were rising and just couldn't match what farmers were able to pay.  It was obvious that the time had come for him to quit.  25 years of being in the fields was to be no more.  Depression began to set in for him and when that happened, he just seemed to slip away.  For the next 4 years, his health went downhill and in the summer of 1981 he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  His heart had always been in poor condition and the doctors could not operate on him.  Radiation and chemotherapy could only shrink the lemon-sized tumor a tiny bit.  Later another tumor would begin to grow.  There was nothing that the doctors could do for him.  Two weeks before Christmas in 1982, he passed away.  

     I truly believe that I will see my father again in Heaven someday.  Even though I am now older than he was when he died, I will always consider myself to be my daddy's little girl.  I try my best to do things that he would have wanted me to do.  He would be glad that I am alive and well.  I feel much comfort living here in Burkburnett and I believe it's due to the fact that he once cut wheat so very close by.  Sometimes he even hauled the cut grain into the elevator here in town.  When I go by that place, I remember him and how happy that kind of life had made him.

     My father didn't leave a fortune to this world.  There are no buildings on college campuses that are named "The John B. Scott, Jr. Center".  My father left a legacy far more valuable.  John Scott left his children and they are his living legacies and a testament to the kind of man he truly was.

     So "Happy Birthday in Heaven" Daddy!  We'll meet up again one day.  You'll recognize me right away.  I will still be your little girl.

This is my favorite picture of him.  He was only 53 years old here.  Man, that seems so young!
Haven, Kansas  1976

He loved digging in the rich soil of the land and so do I.  Like father, like daughter.
     

~and so I just do~

~from Texas, good morning dear family and friends~

     Several of my students at school read this blog each week and one of them decided to give me a suggestion as to what I should write about.  The idea was pretty much short and sweet but it did plant a seed for writing.

"Mrs. Renfro, you oughta just write about why you love us kids so much.  That's all."

I smiled and said that I would indeed give that notion a try.  
So here goes and I hope that young lady reads it and knows that she was my inspiration today.

     One of my "cardinal rules of thumb" as a teacher has always been this.  I say it to the kids time and time again, so much so that they can finish my quote without hesitation.  I tell them....

"Do you  know what you do if you ever have a teacher who says that they don't love you?  You find another teacher.  That's what you do."

     Once this year, a young man asked me what that meant.  Did it literally mean to leave class and find a new teacher?  If so, how in the world did you do that?  I had a smile on my face when I replied to him.

"All that it means is that there should never be a teacher who doesn't love you or have your very best interests at heart each and every day.  99.9% of all the teachers you encounter in life will be that kind of teacher.  Don't worry.  It's a reminder for me."
     
     Children are actually very easy to love, especially so if we adults remember the fact that we were once one of them too.  Everything that they do, good or bad, we grownups have more than likely tried once or twice ourselves.  As the years go by, we seem to forget that.  In our now "grown up" version of the kids we used to be, we lose sight of that very fact.  
     As a seemingly "forever" version of a teacher, I've had the occasion to meet, teach, and to love many children over the years.  The little ones that I knew back in my first days of teaching are now in their early 40's and there is something that I have come to realize.  That feeling of keeping them in my heart didn't stop once I passed them on to the next grade in life.  Their teacher loved them back then and she still does today.  
     So why do I love children so much?  Why do I choose to be a teacher?  In one way it's hard to explain and in another, it is quite easy.  
    
    I just do.

She is the quiet and shy little girl that I used to be.  There were plenty of teachers who loved her very much.  Even though I struggled with math, couldn't run as fast as the other kids seemed to, and never could figure out how to hit a baseball during a recess game.....  they loved me even so.
     

~and he will remember the day that I came to meet Duke~

From upon the plains of the great state of Texas, good evening dear friends and family.  This is Saturday, the 23rd day of January, and a most wonderful day to have been alive in.  Wherever you are as read this post, I hope that you are safe and well.  I've been thinking about all of you today.

     I've been a teacher now for such a very long time.  Actually it's been nearly 40 years of a "long time".  Over the course of those many days, weeks, months, and years I have had the occasion to meet many young people and to work with them at school.  It's been my privilege, indeed my special honor, to have been called "teacher" by them.  Each child that has walked through my classroom door has been most precious to me.  The passage of that many years and children to go with them has somewhat dimmed my memory of a few of their names and faces.  Yet the love in my heart for them all will never go away.  I do not take the gifts of their "presence" lightly.  I know what it has meant to me.
     This morning I had the chance to spend a bit of time with one of my students in a setting far removed from the normal daily confines of our classroom.  This young man is a fine boy and one of many that I've come to know in my current position as a 4th-6th grade English teacher this year.  He's got a love in his heart for raising pigs and he's been learning how to show them in competitions this year.  I found out about it when he told me the story of how he was learning to show his first one.  I said that one day soon I would come and meet this creature called "Duke" and see for myself firsthand just what raising a show pig was all about.

      I kept my promise.
      Today was the day.

     Meet Carson, one of the great kids I get to spend time with at school each and every day.  That mighty fine looking Duroc pig is named "Duke".  Carson has been raising him up now for some time and is getting ready to show him at one more competition this season.  I wanted to be able to meet him before they headed off this upcoming week.  I'm sure glad that I did.
     I have long held to the notion that children can learn in a variety of ways and places.  Sitting in a classroom with their peers alongside them is a great place to begin.  Yet there is so much more out there for children to learn and there are things that their teachers cannot even begin to teach them.  They are called "life lessons" and some of the best ones around can be found in a pigpen.  I learned a few of them myself today.  
     I am a small town, Kansas farm girl who grew up around animals all of my life.  We had pigs on our farm too and the truth of the matter is that I really didn't like them all that much when I was a kid.  They scared me when I had to get into the pen with them.  It was with great dread that I had to feed them once in a while.  Sometimes they would get out, one by one, and it was always such a chore to get them to go back in.  I may have uttered the phrase, "You stupid old pig!" more than once as a child as we frantically tried to round them all up and get them back inside of their pen.
     I have grown older now and my appreciation for the members of the swine family has grown with me.  When Carson told the class and I about how he trained Duke with a marshmallow to respond to him, it brought a big smile to everyone's faces.  I knew then that I wanted to meet this fellow.  
     I was able to spend half of an hour with Carson and his mom today and to see all of the things that go into taking care of a pig like Duke.  Carson has learned quite well from the experience and knows exactly what it takes to get the job done.  He accepts the responsibility that his animal's well being is dependent upon him.  Pigs, just like any other living creature, need food and water, exercise, a clean bed and a plethora of other things in order to do well.  When Duke goes to a show with him, it is up to Carson to be able to handle his pig in the arena.  Armed with a small whip, he has to be able to make Duke do what he needs him to.  Sometimes just like in the classroom, there are others around to distract him.  It takes lots of concentration and patience in order to get the job done.  Young Carson excels.
     As we said our "good-byes" and each headed back to our own homes, I was really glad that I had taken the time on a Saturday morning to go visit our school's pig barn and be a witness to a different venue for learning.  As the old saying goes, "Anything done for a child is time not wasted".  Just like all the other kids at school,  in the years ahead Carson may not recall all of the lessons about writing and grammar that I taught him in the 4th grade but one thing is for sure.
     He will always remember the day that his teacher came to meet Duke.

I'm glad that I got over my fear of pigs.  Carson let me feed Duke his morning meal and that's what is happening in this picture.  I was a little bit scared but Carson came right over next to me and stood close by.  Duke is really a very friendly fellow and that young man standing in the photo is one very nice guy too.
     

~even though one is definitely not like the other~

     The days of moving heavy boxes and all of the rest of our stuff over the weekend have begun to take their toll on my lower back and poor "Old Lefty".  Even though we had plenty of good help in carting things in and out of our old house, I still picked up boxes that I had no business picking up.  My left arm was telling me, over and over again, "You might want to not do that."  Mostly I didn't listen.  

     After my accident in 2011, the one involving that unfortunate and last minute decision to jump the curb of the front lawn on my bicycle, my left arm underwent 4 surgeries to repair the damage that had been caused.  9 months of being encased in one type of cast or another  was not what I considered a fun deal.  But it was what it was and thankfully when it was all over, I had an arm that was fairly usable and at the very least, still attached to my body.  

     The accident is always something that I tell my students about.  I figure they will be noticing the zigzag scars anyways that run up and down my left arm.  When it seems as though I am constantly letting things slip from my left hand and fall onto the floor, they all realize it's because I cannot grasp as well any longer.  The numb feeling in my left hand is now spreading up the arm, slowly but surely.  I still wear long sleeves most of the time to cover up what I always felt was such a misshapen appearance.  But little by little, as I feel more comfortable with people, I don't mind that the scars show.  

     As I was going through some stories in this blog earlier, I wondered what it was like for me 4 years ago this time.  I was back in Kansas and nearly ready to be through with the ordeal caused by one fateful and split-second decision.  I wrote the blog post shown below about this time back in 2012.  I am including it with this one, if you would care to read it.

    You know we never think about being thankful for our arms, our legs, or any other part of our bodies for that matter.  We never do, well that is until we no longer have them.  So this morning I give thanks for my arms.

     Even if one of them is no longer quite like the other. 

   ~in the beginning~

~not the way that the good Lord intended for them to be~

~my reminder to NEVER give up~

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Old Lefty Update~

I cannot believe how fast the time has flown since "old  lefty's" freedom date, now nearly 2 weeks ago.  I have 4 more weeks in the "hot pink, get the heck out of my way" long arm splint and then perhaps another 3 weeks in the shorter version of one before I am dismissed from Dr. Chan's care.  All in all, it still looks like I will have the "once in a lifetime" opportunity to go through all 4 seasons of the year before "old lefty" is finally in the clear.  It's been a long time coming friends....and when it's done...I hope it will be a long time gone! (Oh man, I love THAT CSNY song!  Little kids reading this blog and scratching heads now, CSNY=the best group EVER to come out of the '70s.  It's a "Woodstock" thing.  You probably won't understand.)

Every day it seems like my arm tries harder to look more normal in its appearance but there are some things that will just have to always be a little different.  Yesterday when I was teaching my little people at school, I had the splint off so my arm could rest a bit out of its confinement.  I noticed one of the little boys staring at it...not in a bad way but rather in an inquisitive and concerned manner.  He said to me, "Mrs. Miller, how come your left hand is smaller than the right hand is?"  So I tried to explain, as best  as you can to a little guy, just why that was so.


 You know, when I first noticed the obvious difference in size just a couple of months back, it really bothered me.  The LAST thing I wanted anyone to notice was the fact of how much "old lefty" had seemed to begun to wither away!  But I've "grown up" a little bit during the course of this ordeal.  Vanity has taken a far back seat in my life now and gratitude has moved right up front, riding "shotgun" if you will, in the life of one very thankful, now much more practical, woman.


It's going to take much more time, I'm afraid, for everything to return to the "state" it once was.  Some of you may remember that after the first surgery in August, washing my own hair proved to be quite the challenge.  I'm finding that to be the same for me this time around.  Because I don't have much of my left wrist's range of motion, just the simple act of turning my hand over (something we do without thinking, right?) is painfully difficult.  So when I squirt a nice amount of shampoo or conditioner onto my left palm, I can pretty much guarantee that only about half of it will make it to my scalp, just like before.  The only difference now is, I don't break down and cry as I see shampoo making its way down the side of my arm instead of to the top of my head.  See, I TOLD you that I'm growing up!  :)  All in all, I'm making progress, albeit at a "snail's pace"....but it's forward movement.  I plan to make it all the way.


Hey, I really have to be honest in saying that some good ALWAYS comes from bad.  Sometimes you just have to wait with "eyes open" to see it happen.  The photo below shows one of the new blessings in life....

It's been quite a while, 20 years to be exact, that I could wear my high school class ring.  Way back in the "good old days of 1973" my left ring finger was a size 4.  The years that followed took their "toll" on me and before the accident in August, my ring size was a 6.  You know I always liked that ring so when "good old lefty" finally heals up, I intend to begin wearing it again.  Hey, to my friends reading this from Haven High School's class of 1973, do you guys still have yours?   Weird, I still remember that it cost $35 and having to save my tips from working at my folk's restaurant to pay for it.  One of the few things I have left from my days of being a kid and a very permanent member of the "over my dead body pile".


Well, I'm trading "daylight for dark" again and if I don't get a "move on" I'm going to be late for school.  I send you greetings, ALL, for a wonderful Thursday, January 26, 2012.  It's such a great day to be alive~  :)

~from a place not so far away after all~

Good morning dear friends and family from a place that is really not so far away after all.  Though there may be many miles between us all, rest assured that I carry you with me each day.  There is a spot for each of you deep within my heart.  Sometimes it gets a little crowded in there but that is the wonderful thing about the human heart.  It's expandable with always room for one more.  

We are trying to settle in at our new home here in Burkburnett.  After 5 days of being here, there are still boxes upon boxes strewn about the place.  I have a feeling it will take a couple of months before everything is unpacked and placed in its new position.  That's ok though.  Mike and I will make it through those things yet to come by following the same motto that we determined before we left Colorado for the great unknown of Texas.

We will just hold hands and stick together.
So far, it's worked out pretty good.

This house was created in 1955, just like me.  We are both celebrating 60 full years of living.  I see some irony in that all, but then what else is new for me?  My middle name at times has been "ironic" and I've grown used to it over the years.  Our new home reminds me of the very first home I recollect living in as a child and it too was built in 1955.  My father built our ever growing family's first home back in 1955 in the Sandhills of Harvey County, Kansas.  Baby number 6 (that's me) was on the way and the home we had been living in was growing much too small.  My parents wanted to own a place of their own, one that would belong to them.  So for the grand sum of $10,000, my father set to work building it.  We moved there when I was just a toddler and our family would live there for the next 9 years before we moved to our new home in Haven, Kansas.

This new house reminds me a lot of that one.  They share the same design concept of a long formal living room and the cabinetry in the kitchen is nearly identical.  Even though I was so young when I lived in the Sandhills place, I still have memories of it.  When I walked in for the first time after we signed the papers last week, it all came rushing back to me.  It was a nice feeling. 

It was peaceful.

We have met new neighbors and all of them are quite friendly.  They have welcomed us into this neighborhood, making us feel so much more to home.  The move puts my drive to school each day about 4 miles further but it will work out fine.  I'll just leave the house about 10 minutes earlier each morning with little trouble in getting there on time.  

It took faith and a whole of it by the way, in order to make the move to the state of Texas in the first place.  We had no idea of what would be ahead of us along the way.  Would we find jobs?  Would we even like it here?  Would things work out?  The answer to all of the questions is a resounding "YES".  

God in his mercy has taken good care of us all the while.  I knew he wouldn't just bring us out here into the wilderness, dump us off, and say "good luck".  We have listened and followed.  

Here we are now.
Neither of us have regrets.
May your life be lived "regret free" as well dear friends, for we love you guys!  One and all.

Even the little 55-year old Easter egg made the move.  Still intact and still slightly colored.

I love this old sign on the depot here in town.  3 great states are all aligned up together.

The old mud room back in Montrose was always my favorite one of all.  I hope to decorate a room here in our new house in a similar fashion.  It was so peaceful and quiet there.  Many a blog post was written in the early morning hours at that little table.

~and they patiently waited their turn~

We checked the weather forecast a whole lot in the past 48 hours.  Back and forth, back and forth between Mike and I, yet the answer was still the same.  

There was about a hundred gazillion percent chance of rain/snow/sleet and any other kind of moisture one could think of that was forecast to move into our Texoma region yesterday morning.  They were right.  From about 7 a.m. all the way up until early afternoon, first rain and then huge snowflakes fell from the sky.  Our plans for getting our big furniture moved from   our old house to the new one here on the other side of town were cancelled.  There was no getting around it.  So we gave up that notion and rescheduled everything for today.  It will work out.

Knowing by 6 a.m. what we were going up against, Mike and I decided to take both of our cars to the new house and unload everything that we could before the rain came down.  We had packed both of them to the point of "critical mass" before we went to bed Friday night.  Good thing we had to drive only 4 miles because those two cars were very heavily laden.  We laughed when we both realized how much stuff two people can accumulate in life.  Not sure how much of it is really necessary in the whole scheme of things, but that's another blog post.

We had kind of a system that seemed to work.  I unloaded the vehicles, put the things on the front porch, and Mike relayed them to the spare bedroom in the house.  All the while the temperatures started to drop and you could just feel the moisture in the air.  But we kept on and hoped to goodness that we could get the last box unloaded and into the house before the first wave of rains came down.  Sure enough, that's exactly what happened.  Literally to the last box, I felt the first raindrop fall upon us.  God answered our prayer of getting it all in before getting drenched in the rain.

The rest of the day was spent moving over as much as we could on our own and cleaning both houses as we went.  Today we will have plenty of help to get things moved.  My sister and brother-in-law, a friend of Mike's from work, my partner teacher from school and her husband, plus the young man stationed at the nearby Air Force base who we were privileged to meet and have to Thanksgiving dinner will all be here.  

We couldn't get everything done like we wanted to yesterday but that doesn't matter.  God provides always and today we shall.  The rain/snow mixture was an inconvenience and we really weren't wishing for it.  But one of the very first things we learned about moving to this part of the state last June was how desperate everyone was for nearly a 5 year period of time for the very thing that slowed us up yesterday.  They needed water and they needed it badly.  So for the people of this land of the former drought, of which Mike and I are now a part of, we say a word of thanks for any time in which the gift of water is given.  

Even on days when you would like to be moving furniture.  

We love this house and slowly will be settling in.  There is much to do here and things that need some attention right away.  Mike is very good at fixing things and I love to paint walls so we figure we'll make it just fine.  It was built in 1955, the same year that I was born.  It has much potential to be an even prettier house than it already is.  It just needs some attention and a little bit of love.  

The Renfro family intends to provide just that.

And they patiently waited their turn~

to find their place at the table~

~a little organized chaos~

Organized chaos.  
That's a good way to describe what it looks like inside of our house tonight.
Tomorrow is moving day.  "Sign your life away" day, some call it.
We are very glad and most thankful for the chance to have a home of our own.
Tomorrow morning, we shall.

     It's been a while since Mike and I have been here.  As a matter of fact, it's been over 8 months of a while.  When we first moved here, we weren't even sure that we would like it enough to stay.  We rented a house, looked for jobs, and waited for a sign that this was the place to be.
     Back in March as we first thought about what part of Texas we'd move to, Mike got out the atlas.  I still remember us sitting at the kitchen table back in our old home of Montrose, Colorado.  We laid that book of maps between us, took a pencil and circled the area around Wichita Falls.  There was no reason why we should have chosen it.  We just did.  
     For some reason or another, Mike and I both felt drawn to that particular area.  Texas is a big state and there were plenty of locations here to choose from.  Wichita Falls caught our eye and once we decided this was the place, we never looked back.  Not even once.
     Tomorrow we make the commitment to stay here and continue to plant our feet in the fertile soil of the Lone Star state.  We have no clue what lies ahead of us but come to think of it, you don't either.  We're in good company with one another.  So what do you say, let's just stick it out together, ok?
      It was faith that brought us here and that same faith tells us that it's fine to stay.  Sometimes you just need to have the reminder to trust God and leave it to Him to show the way.   
     Good night dear friends and family~We love you guys all.

 I remember how sad it was to say good-bye to these two sweet friends from the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.  We only got to teach together for two years but at least we had that much time.  God bless them for taking me under their wings.  Not sure how I would have survived without them.

     

~and where is it that you call home?~

     Everyday living is kind of a mess around here as we prepare for our upcoming move this Friday.  It is thankfully a move of only 4 miles away, just on the other side of town.  How wonderful it will be to have a home that belongs to us, one that we can redo to our own liking.  We just have to get through the last 2 days of shuffling around the boxes and stacks of things to go.  Friday is the day of the week much anticipated.
     Montrose, Colorado and old Silverjack Mountain seem so very far away now.  It's been nearly 8 months since we left.  Sometimes when Mike and I are sitting here at home, we think of that place and remember it in our hearts and minds.  Last night I saw one of my favorite views of it in a picture that I took during our time there.  It always seemed like it stood guard over us, as if it was a sentinel placed there especially for that purpose.  I liked it.  Perhaps it was my most favorite of all the mountains and regretfully I realize that I never made it to the top to see the view.

     Our life here in Texas has proven to be quite interesting.  One thing we learned from the "get go" is just how big this state truly is.  At over 260,000 square miles, our new state comes in at the #2 spot in ranking by state size.  Only dear Alaska has us beat in square miles.  There is so much of it that Mike and I have never even seen yet but in the future we hope to get the chance to.  Our new home here is right along the border with Oklahoma and all we need to do in order to travel to the Sooner State is to head north a couple of miles and cross over the mighty Red River.  It's a journey that we've made countless times, especially as we went back and forth to my old home in Kansas.  
     Mike and I were asked so many times when we came here last summer just why it was that we had relocated.  When we told folks that we had moved from the mountains of southwestern Colorado, the words that we heard most commonly uttered in response were "Why on earth would you do that?"  Our answer was always in return, "Well, why not?"  
     I have called many places my home in this life of mine.  For nearly 57 years it was the same small south-central Kansas community.  I was happy there and surviving quite well, despite numerous challenges and hardships along the way.  When I married Mike in 2013 and was uprooted from my "comfort zone" as I traveled 600 miles to the southwest, I felt like a stranger in a foreign land.   It seemed as if it would take forever to feel at home there but little by little it did indeed happen.  I found myself feeling at home there as well.
     Then came last summer and the second leg of our journey together.  We traveled over the mountains and down onto the Great Plains of Texas, a trip of over 800 miles.  Out of necessity, we quickly obtained a rental home until we could figure out how everything would work out here for us.  Both of us knew that it was a temporary arrangement and we had hopes that sooner or later we would find a home to buy and call our own.
     In mid-December we did just that.  As is the case most times in my life, we just came across it one day as we were looking around at homes that were for sale.  We walked into it and knew right away that it was the one we wanted to call our new home.  It's certainly not fancy and we didn't find it under the heading "homes for $100,000 to $200,000" but it doesn't matter.  Our new home will be just right for us.  Since both of us are feeling a bit too old to move all the stuff around again, we are hoping this will be our last move~a forever home, if you will.  God willing, it will surely be just that.  
     So where is it that you call "home"?  I have learned in the past couple of years that home isn't so much an address or post office box.  Rather, it is truly where your heart is.  I have left my heart in Kansas and Colorado.  Now, I am giving it to Texas.

the old view

a new life

     

     

~upon doing your swan song~

It happened this past week at school.
It came up all of a sudden and most surely wasn't planned.
But that's the way it is.  Sometimes it's just like that.  It happens.

     Fridays are spelling test days in my classroom at school.  The system is pretty routine, really predictable as all things go.  The room gets quiet and I begin to pronounce the words one at a time.  I say the word, give it in a sentence, and then say it once again.  I know it's "old school" by some standards but it's how I do it.  Works out, you know?
     Right before I began with the first group of students, a section of 6th graders, I reminded them about the upcoming spelling bee on January 14th.  It's something they have been hearing me talk about for months now and I wanted to give them one more reminder before we began our day.  Then the weekly spelling test began.
     As I was pronouncing the 20th word, I felt this huge lump come up in my throat and I struggled to get the word out.  By the time I had finished the 25th and final word, I noticed a tear begin to well up in my eye.  A couple of the kids saw it and I felt compelled to stop and say something.  
     I took a breath and looked out at them.

"I have to tell you something.  I'm a little sad right now.  I feel like I could cry. "
And the room became really unusually quiet.

     I stood there in front of those 6th grade boys and girls, ones who seemed to have grown 2 inches taller in the course of 18 short weeks, and told them that I couldn't believe how fast the time was going.  For goodness sakes, it really didn't seem all that long ago that I told them about the spelling bee in the first place.  That was back in September, now nearly 4 months ago.  Where in the world had the time gone?  Where was the school year going?  I told them once again of how happy I was to be their teacher.  I told them all, each of them, that I loved them, through good days and the not so good ones.  They listened to every single word I said to them and not one of them made a sound.  
     In my half-embarrassment and half-"Geesch, I can't believe I did that" kind of moment, I grabbed a tissue and dabbed the tear from my eye before any more of them fell.   Then we went on and the really nice thing was this~
They understood and the truth is that kids are naturals at understanding.  We grownups don't give them near enough credit.
     I'm 60 now and my years in teaching will sooner or later have to wind down and come to an end.  They cannot go on forever~I only wish that they could.  I'm hoping to achieve my personal goal of being in the classroom for 40 years and with only two more years to go, I believe that I can make it.  If the time in the future goes as quickly as the time in the present has, then I don't have that much longer to wait.
     I am preparing right now to present my "swan song" as an educator.  As I do so, I constantly remind myself of all of the many children that I've had a chance to teach over the years.  Hundreds, maybe even a thousand or two, have entered my classrooms in south central Kansas,  the Rocky Mountains of southwestern Colorado, and now here in north central Texas.  I have been fortunate enough to see so many of them grow up, start families, and become successful people in the world today.  They have made their old teacher so very proud!
     Yet I find myself being a little sad because I can do the math.  At age 60, there's a good chance that I might not be around to see the little children I come across each day sitting in the cafeteria, as grownups.  But that doesn't stop me from meeting them, giving them a hug or even one of those "teacher" looks when I see them doing what they are not supposed to be doing.  It will never stop me from loving all of them, no matter what and definitely "no questions asked".  
     Mike keeps reminding me, as all good husbands would do, that I really need to get a hobby.  He tells me that I need to find something to do that will occupy my time when I really do retire in the short few years ahead.  He is right, of course, but I'm not sure at this point in time what that will be.  For nearly 40 years and shoot, that's nearly half of a century, my hobby has been raising up children.  All things considered, it's worked out pretty well for me.  
     I can go to sleep at night.

I thought I was doing my "swan song" in 2010 when I retired for the first time.  I took photos every day of the wonderful things that kids were doing at our school back home in Hutchinson, Kansas.  I wanted to preserve every single moment in time.  As teachers, we are given no guarantees of anything.  We all would be wise to cherish each day as the gift that has been given.  I had to learn that lesson the hard way once.

The 3 "Giovanni"s and I~It was a wonderful place to teach!
     



     

~and life is full of do-overs~

I've enjoyed teaching children over the past nearly 4 decades.  It's been fun and even on the bad days, which only come every so often anyways, in my heart I have known that there was no where else that I'd rather be.  If there was a "teacher scoreboard" somewhere that gave the count of good days vs. bad, mine would probably look like this.

Good days 13,000~Bad days 382
or something like that~ you get the idea

I've taught a lot of subjects over the years and basically if it was an elementary classroom, I had experience with all of them.  I have shared my love of reading, writing, and spelling as well as commiserated alongside my students as they often times struggled through math.  Having been a charter member of the "I Hate Math Club" (5th grade class of 1965, Haven Grade School) I have felt their pain.  Mostly I have taught self-contained classrooms but have also had many years of experience in working with Title I and ESL students in small group settings.  It's been great and I have been thankful for each year of experience.  God has surely been good to me.

Yet even after all of the academic lessons have been taught, and they extremely important by the way, my greatest joy has been in the teachings of life's lessons.  They are the ones that can never be found in a textbook or scrawled across the page of some teacher's lesson plan book.  Sometimes they aren't even planned out a week in advance.  Many times they present themselves at a moment's notice.  

I like them.
They are the best lessons to teach.
You will never convince me otherwise.

Life lessons help to teach kids (and adults too, by the way) how to be better people.  They give instruction in the development of "good character".  Life lessons really make you pause a moment and look at the situation as well yourself.  As I teach them, I want my students to know that even if they forget everything I tell them during the course of one class session that at least I want them to remember this.

"I want them to know that their teacher loves them, unconditionally and without reservation.  I want them to be good and kind to each other.  I want them to care about what they say and most certainly what they do.  You can be the best reader or the greatest mathematician in the whole world but if you heart is "hard" then it will be for naught."

Long ago, in fact nearly 15 years of a "long ago",  I had the chance to teach a class of first grade students back home in Hutchinson, Kansas a life lesson.  I wrote about it in a very early blog post, only a couple of days before I left on the Bike Across Kansas.  I had forgotten it had been written but came across it a few days ago.  I'm sharing it below.  

Life is full of do-overs and I'm glad that in my heart I could offer one that day, now so very many years ago.

One of the little ones that I've had the chance to teach over the years.  Little NaDonna and I both had broken arms together.  It was getting colder and neither of us had gloves.  So I went to Walmart and bought 6 pairs.  She wore the left one and I wore the right one.  It was kind of fun :)  This is the two of us together at her house when I made her special delivery.  I loved the smiles on both of our faces.  If you have to have a broken arm, you might just as well make the best of it.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

MOST MEMORABLE RIDE

If someone were to ask me what my favorite memory of a bike ride was, I'd be able to tell them without hesitation the following story.  Some of you have already heard it from me before...so if you are one of those folks, bear with me.  For those that have not, here's how it goes.


One spring day in 2001, I was riding my bike near where I now live in Hutch.  I was at the end of the ride, getting ready to head back home.  I noticed that a car had driven alongside me, very close at hand, and was slowing down so that it was almost so close that I could have touched it.   I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that whoever was in the car was rolling down the window.  Out of the window came the barrel of what looked to be a gun.  In an instant, I went from being scared to death that "this was it",  to being totally soaked with water.  The two guys inside the car were looking for people that day to spray "water blasters" on.  


It caught me so off guard that I swerved on my bike and about laid it on its side.  The two guys in the vehicle sped off but for some reason or another decided to stop about half of a block away and look back.  I got their car tag and called the police.  And here's where the "good part" comes in.


These two guys were not real "rocket scientists".  Their car tag led the police immediately to the HCC parking lot by the boys' dorms. There, lying in the back seat, were two really nice water blaster guns.  In their carelessness, they had left them in plain sight.   It took a matter of only a few minutes before the police and HCC officials were able to find the two young men involved.


To make a long story "short",  HCC Dean, Randy Myers, arranged a meeting between the two students and myself so that we could have a little "visit" with one another.  The next day, I arrived at Randy's office and faced, for the first time, the two guys involved in this.  It was so interesting to hear why they did it-they were out, obviously bored, and looking for people to spray water blasters on.  They admitted it without hesitation.  They saw me riding and thought since I was so little, that I must have been a kid.  They said to the police officer, "We didn't know she was a teacher."  I about came out of my chair and I looked them in the eyes and said, "You mean it's ok to do this to a kid, but not an adult?  So, like, is it ok to do it at all?" I reminded them about how unsafe it was, that I almost wrecked my bike because of it.  


I remember one of them asking the police officer what would happen to them because of it.  And here's where the very best part comes in.  The officer looked at me and asked me what I thought should happen.  With a huge smile on my face I asked the officer if I could choose their punishment rather than them receiving a citation.  He agreed without hesitation.  I was able to come up with a plan that was a "win-win" one for all concerned....the two young men, myself, and my classroom of 15 1st graders.  And it went like this....


Two weeks later, close to the end of school for the year, those two young men showed up at my classroom at Lincoln Elementary with boxes filled with brand-new helmets for each of my students.  They also presented a lesson on bicycle safety for the kids and told them of the importance of taking bicycling seriously.  It was ok to have fun but to always be safe when they were out riding around.  They were only scheduled to be there for 30 minutes but ended up staying most of the afternoon talking with the kids.  When they left, I gave each of them a hug and  my forgiveness for their part in the incident.  I heard from them later on, each doing fine.  I'm not sure where they are today, but I doubt very seriously if either of them ever "water blasted" anyone else.  Life is full of DO-OVERS and those two guys deserved to get one of them that day.

~99 more to go and we walked his walk~

It seems I lost my "voice" a lot in 2015.  
I noticed it.  
The kids in my classroom here in Texas noticed it too.
And I wondered where it had gone.

     I have used this blog as a teaching tool for the past couple of years as I've introduced the process of writing to students in Kansas, Colorado, and now in Texas.  My stories have been read and discussed by a couple of hundred children.  They've even been "edited" as we read them with one another.  Seems like some child would find a mistake or two or even three that I had missed before publishing them. That didn't bother me that much because at least I knew they were learning something from it all.
     We have also looked at the "numbers", the statistics that are contained along the right hand margin.  They show the years that I've written this blog (2011 to 2016), how many times I have written each month, as well as the year's grand total.  We were looking at the blog on Monday of this week as we all came back to class together, when one of the kids made a comment to me.

"You sure didn't write as much in 2015 Mrs. Renfro."
And you know what?
He was right.

    I had actually noticed it for some time.  Mike made mention of it to me as well.  I don't know why, but I just wasn't driven to say as much on this online blog site last year.  Perhaps it was because I was just staying in the "pre-write" stage of it all.  That's a big part of the writing process and one that the kids don't get near enough time to stay in.  Sometimes we just have to think a while to know what it is even that we wish to put into words.  It would appear that I've plenty of time to think.
     I made a promise to all the kids and the promise was this.....I vowed to them that I would use my "voice" to make it to blog post #1,000 before the last day of school this year.  I'm 100 away from that at this point in time.  The way I look at it is this.  If I'm their teacher and I ask them to write each day then I would probably do well to do the same.  They told me that they thought I could do it and if they think I can, then who am I to wonder?
     The statistics in most blogging sites include all kinds of numbers.  The one that I was looking at just now shows the story that has received the greatest number of readers.  For me, it was a story written back in 2014 that told of the most wonderful of experiences that Mike and I had while living back in Colorado.  It's reprinted below if you would care to read.  
     Time to get a move on here on the plains of Texas.  School will begin in just 3 hours more.  So here you go kids.....99 more to go.  I believe that I can do it.

Monday, July 7, 2014

~and we walked his walk~

Ok, ok.....  so I probably wouldn't have wanted our good friend Norman to realize it, but about .25 of a mile into my first mile walking alongside him yesterday, my soon to be approaching 59-year old body was sending me a message and the message kinda/sorta went like this~

"Peggy Ann Renfro are you CRAZY?"  That was it, the message in full.  But I kept on walking  because more than anything else on that hot and humid summer morning,  I wanted to make it to the state line of Kansas with the man who has become a friend to both Mike and I since we met him for the first time, 3 weeks back as he walked along the roadway near our home in Montrose, Colorado.  And just for the record, I did.

The end of the first mile that was in all actuality really 1.2 miles.  Who would ever think 2/10 of a mile could mean so much?  It surely did  to me:)  I didn't die out there.  I only thought I might a couple of times.

A lot has happened in the nearly 1 month's time since we first saw this young man walking along pushing a cart in front of him on the road up by Morrow Point as we were heading back to Kansas for the weekend.  The garden finally started to grow and a few deer made sporadic appearances in the alfalfa field across the roadway from our house.  We had two garage sales and cleaned out all of our storage units in both Colorado and Kansas.  I signed my teaching contract for next year at Olathe Elementary and just this past weekend signed a lease agreement with a nice couple from Hutchinson who are now going to rent my house back there  for the next 12 months' period of time.  And oh yes.  Norman walked.  He took out on foot from the Montrose area, crossed the great Continental Divide at Monarch Pass, meandered through the canyon lands to come out on the other side at Canon City and just yesterday was able to cross over the state line of Kansas.  I'm not even going to try and figure how many miles just that leg of the journey was for him.  Let's just call it 10,000 ok?  Because even though that number is a little on the high side, I'm sure that at times it probably has felt like it to him.  

Meeting up with Norman has solidified the idea that I always knew all along, that people are brought together in this life for a reason, not because of the random and chaotic order of the universe.  Rather, it's all a part of a much greater plan that any of us normal and ordinary people could ever devise on our own.  Had Mike not known we should be looking for Norman  that first evening we encountered him, we might have just missed out all together.  Yet we found him, introduced ourselves to him, and became friends, all in the short span of 5 or 10 minutes.  Strangers NO more.  I like that.

I have spoken of Norm several times in my past few blog posts and I decided that if we should come across him along the way back to Colorado yesterday from Kansas, that I would like to get out and walk a mile with him on the highway.  He was most happy to have someone join him and between Mike and I, we took turns as we went all the way from Holly, Colorado to the Kansas border. It was a distance of a little over 4 miles but we made it without too many issues. 

Yesterday Mike and I only got a slight taste of what it  is like for Norm Horn every single day that he has been out there, now since early April.  I'm going to tell you that it wouldn't be something that I could do, this walking across America thing but Norman can and does.  It takes a lot of determination and spirit to make it all the way and those two things are ones that Norm has plenty of.  As I walked with him yesterday, we spoke of many things and I'm grateful that I was able to continue to talk as we walked in that humid and hot Kansas air.  I listened to his every word and as I did, I could feel the sweat just dripping off of my face and neck.  By the time I had finished up to the first mile corner, Mike and I switched places and he would walk alongside Norm for the next mile.  It did my heart good to see those two men moving down the road, one step at a time, having a great conversation about life.  

Mike Renfro and Norman Horn, two men who used to be strangers and now have become friends as they were on the road yesterday walking together just two miles west of the Colorado and Kansas lines.  It all started with Mike watching the interview done on a Grand Junction TV station of Norman and his mission to spread awareness about pediatric cancer.  A month or so later on down the road, Mike was able to join him for at least a few steps of his walk.

The last 1 1/2 miles were mine to walk with Norm and I'm thankful that if I did any of them with him yesterday that I did the ones that would take him to the border and that we might be with him as he crossed over into my home state of Kansas.  Mike knew that it would mean a lot to me to able to do this with Norm, so he drove his car down to the end of the path leading out of Colorado and waited for us to arrive.  I was glad that I'd had a moment to rest while Mike walked and when it came my time to finish, Gatorade in hand I joined Norm for the last steps of the journey.  We talked and talked and in so doing, the time seemed to fly by us.  It was hot and humid but somehow at that point in time, I really didn't notice it all that much any way!

Still a little ways to go but we would soon make it to the sign that says "Welcome to Kansas"!

Well it turned out that we made it to the sign, crossing over the border without any mishaps along the way.  Sure it was hot but we were in Kansas on an early July day for heaven's sake!  I told Norm "Welcome to my state!" and we stood below the sign that I see each and every time I make the journey back and forth between Hutchinson and Montrose.  A sign that means even more to me since I have been gone.  

The walking team of Renfro and Horn~
We made it to the "finish line", well it was the finish line for me.  Norm has at least a couple more miles to go until he makes it to the east coast come this October.


For the next 3 weeks or so, Norm will be making his way through the Sunflower state and meeting all kinds of new people.  I just have a feeling, a really strong one, that Norm is going to encounter so many good folks who will help him along his way.  Kansans are just like that, good people who will go out of their way to help a stranger who, in the end, will end up becoming their very good friend.  Thank you friends and family for helping to watch out for him, for checking on him and making sure that he is well.  Many of you have already volunteered to provide him a place to rest for the night, food for his belly, and drink for his thirst.  Thank you for so doing.  It means so much to Norm and to the rest of the folks who are trying to secure the things that he needs for safe passage straight through the heart of the country. As you travel down 50 Highway in the days ahead, please keep your eyes open for him and be sure to stop and say "hello Norm!" if you should see him.  A good jug of nice cold water would always be appreciated and if you are in the Cliff bar aisles in the grocery store, maybe you could pick up a couple and drop them off for him should you happen to come across him walking on the road.  You can't miss him!  He's the friendliest guy out there :)

July 4th in Lamar, Colorado-Mike and Norm with Norm's "new buggy".  One step at a time from coast to coast.

~seems like only yesterday~

The alarm clock within me went off much earlier than I planned today.   Good thing I've been taking all of those naps during Christmas vacation.  Even after 38 years of doing this, I still find it difficult to sleep the day before school begins in August as well as the day before we go back to school in January.  

It was surely no different this time around.

The next five months at school will fly by us at record breaking speed.  The kids and grown ups alike have much to learn about and share together.  After being away from the kids for over 2 weeks, I felt that feeling of "I've been there before" when yesterday I said to Mike,

"Man, I hope I can still remember all of their names!"  
He smiled at me and said not to worry.  I'd remember.

I was recollecting the feeling of spending the first month of school trying to sort out the names and match them to the faces of over 125 students that would be in my care when they came to my English class.  I felt so bad during those first weeks of school back in August and September when I struggled with that very thing.  I'd come home at night and tell Mike that I thought I'd NEVER remember their names.  I worried what the kids would think if I continued to make mistakes as I called one kid by another kid's name.  I need not have worried because one thing I've learned about kids over the years is this.

They are actually very understanding.  They know how to forgive.

It's 4:15 in the morning.  Somewhere out there, they are asleep in bed and still dreaming of all the fun things they did over vacation.  Seems strange to think that in four hours more we will all be together once again.  May this second semester of school be a productive one that is filled with peace, hope, and lots of learning.  

This is my 13, 378th day of being a teacher.
Seems like only yesterday.

This picture always helps me keep things in perspective.  It was taken in the early morning hours of my 54th birthday back in 2009.  I had taken the day off from school to celebrate another year of life and to turn in my retirement papers to the school district office back home in Hutchinson.  I had no idea where the years ahead would lead me.  That didn't matter.

God knew.

~and it couldn't hurt to try it, you know?~

I've been practicing the fine art of napping during the course of the last couple of weeks of Christmas vacation.  In fact, I've been taking a nap every single day.  So far, it's been working out pretty well for me.  It seemed kind of silly at first, this thought of stopping what ever it was that I might have been doing at the time and lying down to rest.  But I did it anyways and it is with some degree of regret that I realize something.

Tomorrow's gonna hurt a little bit.

I've never been one to get enough sleep for the better part of my life.  I used to the think that sleep and rest were a huge waste of time.  I would lie there and think of all the things that I could be doing, would be doing, or should be doing if I only weren't trying to sleep.  

No more.  Those days are gone.

All of us, me included and right at the top of the list, take on way too much these days.  We plow forward with super human effort and the very best of intentions, only to wear ourselves out to the point of almost making ourselves sick.  It appears that losing weight or getting in shape are at the top of many folks' resolutions for 2016.  I think mine is going to be the desire to allow myself to rest more from time to time without feeling guilty.

It couldn't hurt to try it, you know?

The day around here begins pretty early, especially on school days.  I like to get up at 4 to have at least a bit of time to think, reflect, and get myself together.  I leave the house before 6 a.m. in order to make the nearly 30 mile drive to school.  I get there about 6:30 where I have the chance to do a little bit more thinking and planning for the day.  By 7:30 the buses have begun arriving and by the time I make it over to the cafeteria, the happy sounds of children talking and laughing can be heard.   The day begins.

By the time I make the drive home from school it is usually about 4:30 or so before I arrive back here.  When 8:00 rolls around each evening, I'm thinking it's time to start getting my pajamas on.  Shortly before 9 I head to bed, well that it is I haven't already fallen asleep in my recliner in front of the TV first. 

I found a photo over this break that I'd kind of forgotten about.  It shows a much younger version of me, taken in January of 1979.  I was nearly finished with my college classes and would be graduating in May.  I looked at the person that I used to be and somehow wished that if I could go back in time and whisper just one bit of advice to her, then it would be this.

"You are young now but some day you will be a whole lot older.  Learn to take care of yourself.  Get some rest.  Don't think you have to do everything.  Never be afraid to ask for help when things get a little overwhelming.  Love yourself and remember you are here for a reason.  Life will be good."

Good advice for the young woman I used to be.  
Still good advice for the older woman that I have now become.
Hey come to think of it~
It will probably work for you as well.

Happy Sunday everyone!  Back to school tomorrow.  It might be the end of naps as I have known them, but that's ok.  I need to be with children and there will be a whole bunch of them waiting on me.  There is no other place that I would rather be tomorrow than right there with them.

From a long, long time ago~My old friends from my days of being a teaching assistant in the learning disabilities room at Haven Grade School. Later on I would graduate and my first official teaching assignment would be there at Haven.  It was a wonderful experience to be able to go back and teach at the very same elementary school that I attended as a child.  

I practiced the art of napping using the warm lap robe that my 1st graders from last year at Olathe Elementary made for me.  It was the sweetest of things to receive it from them on the very last morning of school.  Their little handprints and names are emblazoned on the front of it.  Their old teacher loves them still.