~a person once lived and had a story to tell~

I took a bit of a respite from school today and headed with Mike up to Lawton, a city only about half an hour away from home here along the Red River.  While we were there, we met up with my sister Sherry and brother-in-law Wes and spent the day visiting some places that I'd always wanted to see but hadn't yet gone to since we have been here.

Today was the day.

We journeyed to the local Army base in Lawton where we discovered the Apache Indian cemetery where the final remains of the great Apache chief named Geronimo are buried.  It had been several years since I had been there, in fact the last time was when my oldest son was only 5 years old.  Time had dimmed my memory a bit as to the exact location of his final resting spot, but we soon found it just where it had been all along.  It was nice to see it again and to walk with my sister to the very spot that we both stood together in way back in 1985.  By the looks of the coins scattered around the grave and upon his grave marker, we were not the only ones who have visited lately.

I was not familiar with the tradition of leaving money upon the graves of the fallen.  Mike explained to me that it was a ritual that has been going on for some time now.  The coins signify that one has paid a visit.  There were so many of them strewn about not only this grave but others as well.  They remained untouched.

Way back in 1985, Sherry and I brought our little children here to visit.  Not sure if they remember coming with their mommas but we remembered it today.

These two guys enjoyed walking around the graves and reading the stones.  It was like a living history lesson there amongst the dead.

After we finished lunch we decided to head out of town for a bit towards the national cemetery for Ft. Still.  I had often seen the sign for it as I drove back and forth to Kansas over the course of the last year but had never stopped to see it.  I was so glad that we did today.  I've been to many cemeteries over the course of my 6 decades of life, but this one was by far the most peaceful and serene of them all.

The volunteer caretaker for today described this magnificent place as a "100 year cemetery" that offers a place of final rest to any veteran, no matter what branch of service that they served under.  Just as an aside, he noticed the KU t-shirt that I was wearing and asked me if I was indeed from Kansas.  After I gave him the 60-second version of my life, he told me with a smile on his face that he was a Jayhawker as well, hailing from the wonderful town of Abilene, Kansas.  It was so nice to meet him and to realize that a fellow Kansan was taking care of this hallowed and most holy ground today.

It was so remarkable to see the neatly arranged, "straight as an arrow" rows of white markers denoting the person whose grave it was as well as their rank and branch of service.  Well over 4,000 folks have chosen this spot as the place of their final rest.  It was fascinating to walk amongst the graves and read the inscriptions on the markers.  Some were very young and others were quite old. They had one thing in common.

They served their country.

This was just a small sampling of graves that are spread out on over 390 acres of land.

Before we left, I stopped to take a photo of Old Glory as she waved in the mid-afternoon breeze.  The robin's egg blue, late summer sky was filled with interesting little puffy white clouds and the red, white, and blue of our flag made quite an impression as it flew from that flagstaff.

There was something very peaceful about the sight of our nation's flag waving in the breeze of a southwestern Oklahoma sky.  I thought about my 3rd graders at Big Pasture and the discussions that we have had about how important it is to honor that flag by pledging allegiance to it each and every day.  I remembered that two years ago, back in the mountains of southwestern Colorado, just how wonderful it was to have Lizzie Corn's grandpa come and hold the flag for us on Veteran's Day that year.  That big guy was a soldier of the Vietnam War and he came to school to tell the kids a little bit about what it was like to have served in a very unpopular war for its time.  Before he left, I asked him if he would hold the flag for us so we could pledge our allegiance to it together as a class.  That kind man didn't hesitate for a moment.  It was so touching to see him holding that classroom flag in his left hand and placing his right hand over his heart.  It was my favorite kind of lesson.

It was a life one.

And so the day is done.  I'm sitting at the kitchen table typing this with the sun going down in the west in the window right behind me.  We were gone all day long and when we awake tomorrow, there will only be one day of the weekend left for us to enjoy.  There were plenty of things that I could have done at school today.  There are lesson plans to make, papers to grade, a room to finish tidying up and a whole lot of reports to look at.  But you know what?  I'm thankful that I didn't worry about it. I'm glad that I took a moment from a really busy life to remember history and most of all, to spend precious time with my family.

As a child, I was taught many lessons by my folks.  One of those lessons was to always remember to honor the living but an even greater admonition they gave me was to honor the dead as well.  Today I did just that.

For every name that I read on a grave marker, a person once lived and had a story to tell.  May we never forget their sacrifices and service to this great country of ours.

It took an act of Congress, well kinda/sorta, for Mike and I to get on base.  Once we were cleared, we headed out to Geronimo's grave.  We are always up for an adventure, especially one that involves Sherry and Wes.

I suppose that sometimes people might think that these two girls find plenty of trouble to get into. That's just a rumor.  We hardly ever get in trouble.  Just from time to time.

~and it would be something to be proud of~

My older sister and I have spent a great deal of time together since Mike and I moved here to this part of the world last summer.  As a matter of fact, we probably have been able to see one another more times in the last 15 months than we have in the last 30+ years  that have passed since she and her family relocated to southwestern Oklahoma.  

It's been pretty nice to get to spend time with her once again.  

Often when we are together, both of us pause for a moment and take a picture of ourselves.  My phone is filled with photos such as those and for every picture that we have taken, there is always a story behind it.  Like last Sunday, just the day before yesterday, for example.

Sherry had come over for the day to help me at school as I began to make preparations for the week ahead.  She was a tremendous help to me and provided great company on a Sunday afternoon. We realized the value of the old saying, "Many hands make light work."  What you don't know about this picture is that it was the last one of about a gazillion that we tried to take.  Every time we would attempt a photo, one of us would look goofy, or stare away looking the other direction, or we'd just plain be cutting up laughing over it all.  Finally I told her that we had to settle down and get a picture taken before the battery went dead on my phone.  

And so we did.

I have very much appreciated my sister's advice in things, especially when it comes to the subject of my classrooms over the year.  Sherry is a master teacher, one who gave well over half of her life to the field of education and the well being of young children everywhere.  I've said so many times that it was because of her that I was able to be the teacher that I am today, simply because of the fact that she taught me most of what I know as an educator.  Oh sure, I have a couple of college degrees to my credit but those degrees didn't near prepare me for the job I would face each day as her personal example has.  

For that, I will always be glad and most thankful.  

Sherry may have really retired at this point in time, but she still offers me sound advice and years worth of wisdom when it comes to being an educator.  She can still take a look at a lesson manual and point out the things that are most important to teach.  I can be having a concern about the way something is going in the classroom and without thinking, she can come up with a strategy for me to try that I never even considered.  And oh yes, there's one other thing that she does very well.

Sherry takes care of my children.

She likes to buy snacks for the kids in my classroom and on her visit to Big Pasture on Sunday, she brought over several bags of them for us to enjoy in our third grade classroom.  Sherry is just like me.  We know that kids get hungry during the course of a school day.  It's pretty hard to fill their brains with knowledge if their bellies are empty and growling at them in distress. The boxes of cereal and graham crackers that she brought over were her gift to the kids in my room.  She wouldn't even think of letting me pay for them, saying that they were her treat to us. In the past couple of days, we have enjoyed some of them already and it's been nice to have them to share.

Everyone needs a role model to emulate, even 60-year old women.  As far as being an educator goes, I make it my goal to model my style of teaching after that of my sister.  I'm so proud of her for the many lives that she had an impact on in the city of Altus, Oklahoma as a teacher there for so many years.  In the end when my time in teaching finally comes to completion, I can only hope for one thing.

May I be half the teacher that Sherry was.  
Now that would give me something to be proud of.

6 years ago in the spring of 2010~
We actually retired at the same time.  Both of us went right back into the classroom.  

From a long, long time ago~May of 1958
I'm the little girl sitting on my big sister's lap at our grandparents' 50th wedding anniverary.  Those two little Kansas farm girls were destined to become career teachers.  We just didn't know it at the time.

~and they are the children~

During a moment or two of down time yesterday at school, I showed the kids my 55-year old Easter egg.  It's the one from the days of my own childhood and that I keep on my desk in our classroom.  The looks on their faces were priceless as I held the little basket up for all to see.  That poor little egg, the only one from 2 dozen real ones that my sister and I dyed way back in the early 1960's, stood as proud and tall as an ancient Easter egg could as the kids "oohed" at its appearance.  

I told them about my Grandmother Brown, the sainted woman who took care of my little sister and I on the weekends when we were kids, and about how one Easter when we were hiding eggs that we lost track of one.  It wasn't found until several days later and when it was, Grandmother tucked it into the tiny basket that would end up being its "forever home".  For years that little lost treasure stayed inside her built in china cupboard and the story was retold of its journey time and time again.  When she passed away at the age of nearly 106, the egg came back to me.  Just as an aside here, when I began to move my things to Colorado after Mike and I got married, the egg was just about the first thing to be packed.  Mike had no idea what it was but I told him right away.

"Mike, wherever I go, this egg goes with me."
And that was that.

While we were finishing up talking about things as we were ready to get back to work, one of them noticed the picture that I keep atop the little library back in the corner of the room.  They asked me if that was my grandmother.  With a smile on my face I told them that it wasn't her but that she was a grandmother too.  I explained that she was my mom.  They all smiled and said they knew because they thought I looked just like her.  I'm sure I returned their cute little grins with one of my own when I said.....

"Yes.  I get reminded of that all the time!  I see my mom's reflection when I look into the mirror each day."
And it's true.  I do.

Of course they wanted to know about her and I told them all how much she would have loved them.  I said that I wished she would have lived long enough to meet them, to see what great boys and girls they were.  They found out that she was the world's best cookie and cupcake baker and that if she would have been here, my mom would have always been sending some of those delicious treats to school for them to enjoy.  It was nice to be able to talk about her again. I miss being able to do that sometimes, to share her life and truly the legacy that she left behind here on earth.

When it was time to get back to the business of studying our lessons for the afternoon, one very sweet little girl asked me where the snowflake came from.  I had to stop a minute and remember.  Once I figured out that she was talking about my dad's art work, made when he was just about the same age as they were, I was able to fill them in on the story behind it.  I told them that I found it one day in a sack of trash that was destined to be deposited into the Reno County Landfill.  It was all folded up with a message on the back written in my Grandma Scott's handwriting, saying that my father had made it back in the 1930's.  I took it out and salvaged it, asking one of the local frame shops if they could make something to protect the fragile piece of cut paper.  Something that my father had made when he was just a little 9-year old boy was now mine to keep.  I brought it to school to remind me to always look for the good in people, especially children.  It was nice to talk about him as well.  I miss my folks and even though I am older myself, I still try to do the things in my own life that would make them proud of me.  

I was once their little girl.

Our classroom community is filled with many things that represent who I am not only as a teacher, but as a person as well.  The picture, the snowflake, that old Easter egg, Aunt Margaret's candy dish, and a dozen other things are very special to me.  Yet even having said all of that, I know for sure what the most precious things are.

And they are the children.

~and I might make it!~

I saw an old picture last evening that always makes me smile.  It was of a young girl with her blue eyes sparkling and the countenance that she bore upon on her face was sincerely happy, coming straight from the heart. There were no wrinkles upon her skin nor streaks of gray in her short brown hair.  Come to think of it, her left arm looked just like her right arm did at the time.

And she was me.

I hadn't quite made it to my 21st birthday on the day this picture was taken back in Kansas. Oh how I loved that blue gingham checked shirt I had on.  I remember the day that I purchased it in a store that is now long gone in Hutchinson.  The denim jumper was one of my favorites too and even though that clothing has long since been retired from my closet, I still remember.

Soon, very soon, I will be approaching my 61st birthday and the older I get, the more gratitude I have in my heart for just being allowed to still be here in the first place.  I'd be lying if I told you that the aches and pains that come with advancing years don't bother me, because they do. One by one here lately, seems like another body part or two asks for my attention.  I wish that I could get up and down off the floor with ease just as I did when that photo was taken.  Yet, I cannot.  I have forgotten what it was like to go nonstop from sunup to sundown because now I allow myself the much needed gift of rest from time to time.

That young woman shown above, the one that I used to be, really had no earthly clue what life was all about.  I would not have correctly predicted anything that would await me in the 40 years between then and now.  Some of the things that happened to me were not even on the "radar" at that time.  There was so much good that came, so many blessings that were mine that even the things that happened which were bad found themselves completely overshadowed by that which was good.  

Turning 61 in late October is just another milestone in the life of a little farm girl from south central Kansas.  I'm not afraid of growing older and as a matter of fact, I'm setting my sights on age 64 if the good Lord sees fit that I should get there.  Not sure why that's such a special age to me and it has nothing to do with retirement either.  Hey, I just like the sound of the number. Once I get past there, I might even want to challenge myself to stay well and make it to #74 and #84.  You just never know.

I might make it!

We'll have to just wait and see.

From two years ago now~

Spending time with children each day helps me to keep my life in perspective.  It's a nice feeling to have.  I can sleep at night.

~and I haven't stopped learning~

I made it through the first day of school yesterday with little trouble or worry.   If I didn't know about something or had questions, well I just asked.  I haven't encountered one person yet that wouldn't give me a hand, or an answer to my question, or a smile, or a friendly "hello".  I love that about my new school.  It made my day go so much smoother!

As I type these words to you this morning I'm tired,  but it's a good kind of tired!

I don't have anything really profound to say this morning.  I only feel this sense of gratitude and thankfulness for the chance once more to be a teacher and to be entrusted with the gift of children.  In as much as I find myself approaching the age of really being retired, I can't help but to believe that God actually has a few more things in store for me as a teacher.  I truly feel like I have had the greatest of experiences in whatever school district I have taught in.  This teacher's heart is full to the brim and near to overflowing with lovely memories of kids and teachers in Kansas, Colorado, and Texas.  If it had been over with year #38 and there were no more classrooms that needed someone like me, I could not rightly have complained.

Yet for some reason, I believe that the good Lord has saved the very best of them for the last and a little tiny place called Big Pasture is where I was destined to go.  I meant what I said when I spoke these words.  

Although I hope to teach for at least a few more years, I'm going to teach every day this year as if it was the very last one that I would ever have.  When it is all said and done, if I teach in such a manner then I will have no regrets.

All teachers wish to go out of the profession on the top of it when their time comes.  I pray that I can keep a right spirit, my good health, and the ability to use the very best of strategies in order to help my students learn.  I'm not a spring chicken any longer but I don't feel like I'm ready for the "stew pot" either.  There's a plan for me and if I wait long enough, it will be shown.  

I have no doubt.

Big Pasture is the place where I will do my "swan song" in the classroom.  God had it right all along.  I had to get a whole lot older to figure it all out.

4:54 a.m.
Time to get a move on.  Those little people will be there before I know it.

You know an education has to start somewhere.  Mine began back in the early 1960's at Haven Grade School in Kansas.  I haven't stopped learning!

~in a letter to the children~

Year #39 begins in just a few hours and the best school year EVER will begin.  I plan to use this blog as a teaching tool from time to time and today I will introduce it to my children.  It is my hope to inspire them to endeavor to be writers as well.  I wasn't sure who I would be teaching this school year and spent many long weeks wondering, praying, and hoping that I would find someone who needed me.  In mid-June, I found them and "the 20" were only a few miles away from me, across the Red River and into the great state of Oklahoma.  ("God's country" as my good friend LeRoy often refers to his home state)  How grateful, happy, and most blessed do I feel this day!  This is their blog post and it's called  "A Letter to the Children".

A Letter to the Children~

Dear 3rd graders,

     It is the early morning hours at my house here in Burkburnett.  I'm the only one up, well that is save for Crosby the Cat who at this very moment in time is sitting on the table alongside the computer, watching every move that my fingers make on the keyboard.  Sally the Dog stayed up long enough to take her usual bathroom break in the backyard but she has gone right back to sleep on the floor on Mr. Renfro's side of the bed.  I think she loves to hear him as he softly snores her back to sleep.  Mr. Renfro and Sally are faithful friends to one another.  Crosby and Sally get along pretty well for a cat and dog.  Their favorite activity is to lie with their bellies up on the laminate floor of the living room, just underneath the ceiling fan.  They patiently wait for someone to come along and rub their soft tummies.  Usually they don't have to wait too long!

It's still very early.
4:30 a.m. in the morning~

     I am imagining that you all had quite a time getting to bed and sleep last night.  Were you as excited as I was?  I tossed and turned for a long while as I thought of everything that would be happening for us on our first day of school.  Did I have everything done?  Would everything be ok?  When I finally got to sleep, I knew our first day together would be just fine.  In only a couple of hours more, we will be together and our adventure called "Third Grade" will begin.

     There is so much for us to learn this year.  Reading, math, social studies, science, spelling, writing, music, pe,  and many more things await us.  I want you to learn to be the very best that you can be in each of those subjects.  It's so important for us to cover each of the standards that the state of Oklahoma wants for its children to learn from but don't worry.  We can do it!

     I love being a teacher and it brings my heart much joy to help children learn all that they need to know.  You don't realize it yet, but some of my greatest lessons to teach are those that I often call the "lessons of life".  I want you to understand how to be good citizens of our classroom and the world around you.  It's imperative to me that you become aware of just how important it is to get along with the people you encounter each day, even if you don't always like them or agree with them.  I want you to have good hearts, ones that are kind and caring towards others.  You know little ones, you can be the smartest mathematician or the best reader in the entire world, but if you heart is not loving and caring, it just won't be the same.  You all are wonderful children and I can't wait to greet you and give you a hug this morning.  It's going to be the best first day that there ever was!

     I'm  very glad that I was chosen to be your teacher this year.  We will stick together and make every day of 3rd grade one to remember.  See you very soon!

     Love you,

     Mrs. Renfro

 Once I was a little kid, just like you!

~and there is no place that I would rather be~

School begins tomorrow and I can't think of any other place that I'd rather be than just up the road a bit to the north and over the Red River.

I never thought that I'd be able to teach for this many years and oh what a blessing I will forever consider this to be.  39 years is a quite a stretch in the field of education and God willing, I can attain a few more beyond this one.  My health is pretty good for a nearly 61-year old and I pray that it stays that way for many, many years to come.  My spirit is as high as it can be at this point in time.  I'm so anxious to get things going and before long, I won't have to wait any longer.  

Last night at school I met many of my students and their good families.  Those little 3rd graders don't know how good their nice hugs felt to this teacher.  Their parents are fine people who want just what any other parent would want for their kids.  They want a good life for them now and in the years to come as well.  I appreciate so deeply their trust in me as their child's teacher and I will strive hard to keep that trust and do the things that are best for all of us.

The teacher that I used to be back in 1979 on that first day of school looks so different than the one I see in the mirror today.  My face has its share of wrinkles, there are gray hairs upon my head, and poor "old lefty" is getting a little bit worn out in appearance.  But the one thing that isn't visible from the outside is my heart and thankfully it is still young and very much filled with love for children and teaching.  

I don't know how many more years I will have in the classroom.  I still strive to get to my 40 years in education.  If I have the drive to do this and remain an effective teacher, I may try to stay a couple of years more yet after year #40.  One thing I have learned since retiring the first time back in 2010 is this.  You should never take any teaching assignment for granted, no matter how long you have been doing it.  Things change.  Life happens.

So this is my philosophy for the 2016-2017 school year.  I'm going to teach every day as if it was the last year that I would ever be a teacher.  I'm going to make each day count for something very good for my children and for myself as well.  I'm going to remember even more than I already do what a privilege, honor, and real blessing it is to be called someone's "teacher".   Even though I've already been afforded 38 wonderful years in the classroom, this 39th year will be the very best one that I ever had!  You just wait and see.

School begins tomorrow and I can't think of any other place that I'd rather be than just up the road a bit to the north and over the Red River.

I always take Kansas with me wherever it is in this great big world of ours.  Greetings from the Red River area of Burkburnett, Texas.

~he was right~

With only a few days left before returning to school, I've spent part of this day cleaning up around the house and taking care of things that I've let go all summer.  One of the first chores of the day was to dust off shelves in the living room that hold special things that I've collected over the years.  One of those was a box that contains all of the cards and letters that Mike and I received when we were married 3 years ago on May 21, 2013.

It's a special box that we bought in Grand Junction, Colorado with one purpose in mind.  We wanted to have a place to store all of the happy memories of our wedding and the greeting cards that were given to us by our friends and family back there in Kansas.  It was filled to the brim after that day and I remember sitting with Mike at my old dining room table back in Hutchinson as we read the cards and messages that were written.  Right before we left for our new life in Colorado, I tucked that special floral wrapped box into my car and I nestled it safely between some other things in the back seat.  I didn't want to ever lose track of it.  That box contained the sweet greetings of people that I had grown to love and care deeply about.  I couldn't take those folks with me to the mountains but I could read their messages from time to time.

It's no big secret that my first two months in Colorado were pretty much awful.  I was so lonesome and homesick for Kansas that most days I just cried when it became all too overwhelming.  I learned pretty quickly that you just can't up and leave a place that you've spent most of your life in and expect to settle into a new life without a little bit of consternation.  57 years of my existence here on planet Earth were spent in the very same county in south central Kansas.  Now,  611 miles and one huge mountain range stood in between the life I used to know and the one I was now experiencing.  Often times when I would get so homesick that I thought my heart would break, I'd remember that special box filled with such lovely memories.  Every once in a while I would open it up and read a card or two but that was it.  The tears would come to my eyes too quickly and so I would have to put the lid back on it.  I couldn't bear the thought of how far away those people were, even though the distance could have been so much further.

It wasn't like I had moved to Rhode Island or something.

Luckily for me, Mike was more than patient and kind.  He understood what was troubling me and never once did he take it personally.  He encouraged me to just take little baby steps towards getting used to life in a new place that really seemed more like a foreign country than my home state's next door neighbor.  All summer long I would take a couple of those steps forward and sometimes a half of a step backwards but I kept trying.  Little by little, it did get better and by the time the fall arrived, I was doing so much better that I often opened up that box and read more than a note or two.  Sometimes I just plain dumped the contents of that box out onto our bed and enjoyed rereading their kind messages over and over again.  I did well with only an occasional tear falling from time to time.

I grew as a person that summer.
I counted it as progress when I had to stop and think about when the last time was that I said "I miss Kansas.  I want to go home!"

I found that box again this morning as I was cleaning and I stopped to once more dump out its contents onto the spare bed and smiled when I realized just how long ago it had been.  Mike and I have been married for more than 3 years now.  Much has changed for us since that day back at Lincoln Elementary School in Hutchinson, Kansas where we were married in front all the kids, teachers, friends, and our families.  We no longer live where the mountains come between us.  It's been well over a year now since I said my "good-byes" to the friends that I met in Olathe, Colorado.  My year of teaching at Petrolia, Texas is now completed and I'm moving on to a position in nearby Randlett, Oklahoma.  Mike loves his job as the manager of the hardware store here in Burkburnett.  Both of us have made friends with plenty of new people.  We never forgot about the ones we left behind and will always carry them in our hearts.

Life went on.

I put all of those things back into the box a while ago and added a small package of notes that were written by some of the kids I had at Petrolia last year.  I read through them all this summer and smiled at the remembrances of what they were writing about.  One in particular tugged at my heart.

"Dear Mrs. Renfro,  I think what I will remember about you is that you always gave us kids another chance.  It was nice that you told us that each day was a new beginning for us and that it is a do over for us all.  I think you probably gave me more chances than I deserved but I am glad that you did.  I will miss you and I hope you will remember me.  I think that I would like to try to be an even better writer than I am right now."

I had to think of my first experiences as a homesick newlywed when I read that note. I'm glad that I gave life in Colorado more than one chance.  Mike reminded me many times during those first 8 weeks together that each day I would get better.  He gave me encouragement that every passing day would offer up the possibility to find something very positive about life in a new place.  Even more importantly, he told me that he knew that I would always love Kansas and that he didn't expect anything more of me.  He told me to take baby steps and it would seem easier.

And you know what?
He was right.
It did.

Amazing how life turns out, isn't it?

~helping to grow the thing that I love the most~

Even though the calendar won't reflect it until mid-September, for all intents and purposes summer is just about over for me.  It's nearly time to return to school and my new 3rd grade classroom just up the road aways, over the Red River and into Oklahoma.  I am more than excited and definitely ready to go.  It will be the best year ever!

This has been a busy summer, even more so than they usually are.  I asked Mike yesterday what it was that we did in June.  I'd totally lost track of everything because each day seemed to blend right into the next.  He reminded me of a few things that brought my recollections all back together.  Time flies when you are living your life.  Just ask someone who is growing older.

This has been a summer for practicing our gardening skills in the rich red soil of our new land. We learned so much about growing things here in this part of the world.  One thing we found out was just how early you can get seeds into the ground here compared to where we have been before.  By late April to early May, my zinnia seeds were up and growing tall along the fence row to the south of the house.  It made my heart so happy to see their beautiful colors and varying heights as they opened up each day.  

The Russian Mammoth sunflowers that I planted to the southwest part of the house grew to be absolutely giant, well at least to me they did.  They too were planted early and by mid-July were totally opened up in all of their yellow splendor.  My tallest one grew to 10 feet in height.  I loved to look at them because they reminded me of Kansas and home.  One of our neighbors is also from the same part of Kansas as I am and he loved to look at them as well for the very same reason.  I love this Texoma region that I live in now but I will never forget the very first place that I called "home".

By mid April I was having a great time buying perennials for our front yard's flower bed.  Mike worked hard to rototill up all of the soil after the old bushes and overgrown plants were pulled out.  Once the ground was ready, I started digging in and planting.  I remember the first few weeks we had to watch for late season frosts.  Sometimes we would have to go out before dark and put sacks and old sheets over everything.  We were fortunate to never lose one plant and now those tiny little things are beautiful and fully grown.  Filling that front bed with flowers provided us a lesson in learning more about the things we planted.  We looked for anything that was perennial, drought resistant, and appealing in its color and variety.  Next year we will add more but for now we are still enjoying their beauty.

These tiny purple French hollyhocks were my favorite new flower to plant.  We got the seed one day at a flower show in Wichita Falls.  I'd never seen such tiny ones before.

My favorite pastime is growing things. Putting my hands into freshly plowed earth is about as soothing to me as it gets.  In the summer I have fun with flowers and vegetables but as the summer comes to an end, I always desire to return to the classroom and help to grow the thing that I love most.

Children.

One week from today,  I will find myself back with them.  I have always praised God for the gift of being a teacher but this year I will praise Him even more!  I have been blessed to be entrusted with the lives and well being of so many young people for nearly 4 decades now.  May the fruits of the labors of so many educators out there be seen in the days, weeks, months, and years that lie ahead of us.

There is a "bumper crop" of children awaiting us all across this great nation of ours.  I can't wait to meet mine.

~and it was the day that I met "Daryl"~

It will soon be 5 years now that my accident happened and I really cannot tell you how fast those years went by.  The old adage "time flies" holds true here, especially while you spend it changing your life.

August 4th is coming up this Thursday and more than likely I'll be busy at school getting my classroom ready for the kids who will arrive the next week.  But on that date in 2011, things were different.  Very different.  In the early morning hours of that exceptionally cool Kansas morning, I took out on my bicycle for my usual 10-mile morning ride.  It was wonderful to be out and having fun as I raced down the city streets of my old home in Hutchinson, Kansas.  Everything was great that morning with nice temperatures for a change.  At the end of the ride as I headed towards my house, I was cruising at about 10 mph.  I wasn't paying attention and missed the driveway into my place so I made a split, last second decision to jump the curb instead of going on to the next drive way.  

It was the worst decision I could have ever made.
It ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.

Looking back on it now, I realize how crazy it was and how foolish I was to even think of doing that "curb jumping" thing.  I really believed that I could do it or else I wouldn't have tried.  That piece of edging, poured in '36, was not forgiving.  I met it head on and the end result didn't look pretty.  My bike ended up in the neighbor's driveway while my poor 55-year old body landed in a crumpled heap upon the ground.  At first everything was still.  I couldn't feel a thing but after a second or two when the numb feeling went away, the pain arrived.  I knew I was in big trouble when I had to reach down and scoop my left arm up from the ground.  At least I could still walk and I hadn't been knocked out, but "old lefty" was beyond being in trouble and I knew it.

After a wild ride to the hospital, 4 surgeries to repair all the damage that I did to my arm, nearly 9 months in a series of long arm casts and splints, the doctor pronounced me as good as I was ever going to get.  What began as a simple morning spin around town ended up being a $100,000 lesson in how to ride a bicycle safely.  But that wasn't all that I took away from the experience. The most important part of it all came on August 10, 2011 at the hospital in Wichita, Kansas.

That's the day I met "Daryl".  

While undergoing surgery number 2, I was awake and able to listen from time to time as to what they were saying.  "Old lefty" was numb and even though I'd been given medicine to help me relax and not worry about what they were doing, I found it interesting to kind of/sort of follow the procedure.  I was surprised several times to hear my surgeon ask for another bag of croutons.  I heard it not once but at least a couple of times.  In my mind, I thought,

"Geesch, I'm glad someone is having a nice lunch over there because I'm sure hungry."

At the end of the surgery, I was taken to the recovery room and the long process to healing began.  I will never forget what happened then.  Before they even took my vital signs or anything else for that matter, I was given an envelope that had a message in it.  It would end up explaining what those "croutons" really were.  The nurse told me that while I was in surgery, the doctor found the damage was so severe that the only way to repair it was by using donated bone tissue material from someone who had died.  If I wished to, she told me that I could use the string of numbers underneath my name to write and thank the person's family.  

I couldn't believe it.  I had no idea that it would be so bad inside my wrist that I would need the help of someone else to even remotely get better.  Even if I live to be 100 (or 85 for that matter), I will never forget that moment.  I reached over with my right hand and hugged my left wrist buried deep underneath that surgical cast and whispered a message with tear-filled eyes.

"I don't know who you are but thank you!  I love you!"

There's a long, long story about what all happened in the days that would follow but that's another blogpost.  Even though I wrote and never heard back from the donor's family, I took solace in knowing that I did at least thank them.  Later on, when no response came back I was able to learn more about who my donor was.  That first Christmas I found out that he was a 45-year old man from Missouri.  In 2014, I learned that he woke up one morning having chest pains and shortness of breath but he died on the way to the hospital as he was being raced to the ER for help.  I also learned something that was so important to me.  I found out his name was Daryl.  I understood that I could not learn his last name because of privacy issues and I respected that.  I was just so grateful for him and the love his family had for him by allowing his body to be used in such a manner upon death.

Life continued on as I healed and got better.  I have said that from that point in time my life became better and that having that accident was the very best thing that could have ever happened to me.  I stand by that statement today in 2016, almost 5 years to the day from when this all began.  I no longer take my life for granted.  When I see things I want to do, I do them.  My old "non-adventurous" self stepped aside and a new person emerged.  Life is way too short and the fragility of it all is apparent.  

There is a tattoo on the inside of my right leg that honors Daryl and the experience that I went through.  I used a quote from a wonderful movie, "eyes closed, heart wide open" to remember how precious the gift of life is and how important it is to be a donor upon passing from this earth.  Then there is a cross to remember the one thing most important to me.  Right below the cross, the name "Eleanore" appears.  That name came to me immediately after being told that I had been the recipient of someone's bone material.  I have no idea why that name came to my head nor why it would not leave me until I found out 3 month's later at Christmas time. My sister had done some research and learned that the name basically translates into the gift of compassion and healing.  Underneath it, is the date 8-10-11.  That's the date of my surgery and really the start to a whole new life for me. Underneath the date is the abbreviation "Mo.-Ks." for Daryl and I.  Finally at the bottom of the tattoo, the verse from the Good Book,  John 15:13 can be found.

"No greater love hath a man, that he would lay down his life for a friend."

Maybe it was because the 5th year anniversary of my accident was coming up soon, but towards the very last part of July this year I began to think more and more about Daryl.  I couldn't figure out why for sure.  It got me to thinking so much about it all that I made a call back to the office that has handled all of my questions so far about who this man was. It had been two years since I made the last call and as always, the person I spoke with was kind and helpful.  Most information is private and I most certainly respect and honor that.  One thing I had always wondered about was the date of Daryl's death.  I had never known that before and so I asked this time.  I was able to learn that he had died not all that long before my accident and that his date of death was July 21, 2010.  It was strangely ironic to think that I had been wondering about it just recently so close to the anniversary of his death.  

It's been a great summer and soon it will come to an end.  Yet before it does come to a close, I'm going to make one last plea in all of this.  It comes from me and from Daryl as well.  Please consider being an organ and tissue donor upon your death.  It's not something that people like to talk about sometimes but at least give it a thought.  Each day there are folks who are on the waiting list for transplants and sadly to say, according to one site that I found online an average of 22 people die each day waiting for a donor.  It doesn't have to be that way.

Although I never learned his last name, it doesn't matter.  Some day I will meet Daryl in Heaven, a place where surnames aren't even important any longer.  When I do, I can't wait to give him a hug and say something long overdue to him.

"Thanks my friend!"

I got to come home the day after the accident but promptly returned to the hospital for 3 more additional days.  The pain was a little bit too much to manage without help.

I had done so much damage to my arm that the doctors in Hutchinson attached this external fixator device to it and referred me on to Wichita.  They told me that my arm looked like a bomb had gone off inside of it.

I started school that year right on schedule.  The surgical cast (shown above) would be removed about a week after the photo was taken.  I then began the 9-months series of one long arm cast after another.  If asked, I would say that I would never, ever, ever try to jump a curb on a bike again.

And I mean it.