~hometowns are like that, you know?~

I remember well the early April morning that I was sitting in Mr. Hayes' algebra class back at Haven High School.  It was in the old building, second floor up on the west side, right adjacent to the fire escape.  The door was propped wide open, violating a "code of the future" I am sure, and the fresh spring air was blowing through.

From my desk at the edge of the classroom, I remember looking out at the tree tops and marveling to myself how green and beautiful they were.  Perhaps I was day dreaming.  To be honest, more than likely I was daydreaming.  Yet that memory of a once 14-year old girl remains to this day.

I thought of it earlier and for the life of me, I cannot imagine why.

That room was kind of special.  In the years to come, actually 10 years into the future, that young girl who daydreamed instead of listening to explanations of algebraic equations, would end up being the teacher.  Her students would be four great kids who were struggling a bit with math and just needed the chance to catch up and on a bit.

They were the first kids to call me "teacher".

For the first 20 years of my teaching career, I was very fortunate to be a teacher for my home district back in Haven, Kansas.  I'm not sure that I planned it that way, but it just worked out. Now nearly 40 years down the road, I realize even more what a privilege it was to go back and serve the school district that raised me up.  Not every teacher gets that chance and those of us who do, need to serve well.  

Sometimes I still smile at the realization that I never even had a formal interview in order to be hired.  I was a hometown kid and when that town is small like Haven, most folks know you. The superintendent,  who had been there for as long as I could remember, ran into me at the post office one Saturday morning about a month before I graduated.  He asked me if I had a job yet and I told him that I did not.  Mr. Voth asked me if I would go to work for him in a position he had open.  It took me all of a split second to say that I would take any classroom that needed me.

The rest is history.

No one gets to where they are in this life without the help and encouragement of a whole lot of folks.  I'm thankful for the people of my hometown who believed in me and knew that I could make a good teacher if given the chance to do so.  Half of my career was devoted to the children and the families of USD 312.  It will be twenty years that I will always considered well spent.

Haven was a great place to grow up in.

Somewhere along Main Street was a little old lady who watched me walk to school each day and wisely told me to hustle along when I was messing around and soon to be tardy. Somewhere in that old high school building was a secretary who saw the potential in me and asked me to be her office assistant during my last two years of school.  And somewhere in that old high school was a dear and sweet man named Neil Hayes, whose classroom during the school year of the spring of 1970 was to someday become mine.

Life came full circle for me there.
Perhaps that is why it still means so much to me this day.
Hometowns are like that, you know? 

 Two of those very first little kids that used to call me "teacher".  Now we are the best of friends.

She had no idea what life would have in store for her.  None, whatsoever.

4 years ago~
Mike went to school there as well.  We were back in town for my 40th high school reunion.  This year will be Mike's 40th.

                                         Haven, Kansas

~and it has always been worth it~

May 21st of 2010 I became a retired teacher after 32 years of service as an educator for the state of Kansas.  Retirement was fun while it lasted.  No wait a second, that's not right.  It was fun for about 2 weeks.  That's it.  14 days max.  I returned to the classroom in October that year and have been back at it ever since.  Thank goodness they let me come back.  I am not sure what I would have done with myself.

When the day comes, and I know that sooner than later it will, I'm afraid I am going to have a hard time with really retiring from teaching.  As the years have passed by since my original retirement date in May of 2010, I have realized just how fast the subsequent 7 years have flown by me.  Each year that has come and gone brings me closer to the time when I will finally find myself saying "It's enough."

 I wonder sometimes why I even retired in the first place after being a teacher only 32 years.  I was 54 and had taught my entire career in the same county in south central Kansas.  It had been a great time for me as an educator, learning from the best teachers that I ever had.

And those best teachers were the kids.

Often I have written of my students in this blog, mostly because they are a huge part of my life. Whenever I write of them, I usually always share it at school.  Just this past week I read one of my stories and is generally the case, when I come to an especially heart tugging spot they often see me pause and stop reading.  They know why I pause and so do I.

Sometimes I am lucky and can stifle back a tear or two. Other times I am not and it takes a while for me to get it together so I can finish.  More than once a tear has rolled down my face and if they could see inside of me, they would find my heart swollen beyond belief with love for them all.  I used to worry about crying in front of children, fearful of what they would think or what their parents would say.  I no longer fear that.  My students know me as their teacher and their teacher is a human being.

My life has revolved around children forever now.  Not only have I been blessed with classrooms in Kansas, I've also been privileged to teach 2 years in Colorado, a year in Texas, and am now finishing up my first year in Oklahoma.  My hope is to go one more year to attain my personal goal of 40 years as a teacher.  A friend asked me the other day why it was that I had taught in so many schools since I left Kansas.  I didn't really have a good answer for her at the time, but I do have one now.

I believe I was sent to every single school that I have had the privilege to teach in by a God who knew way more than I did about where I needed to be.  At times my journey would take me not only to a new classroom but a new state as well.   Sometimes my stay was not for long, but perhaps that is the way it was meant to be.

It hasn't always been easy.
It has always been worth it.

                               Retirement day~May of 2010
                               Hutchinson, Kansas

~and it was for the kids~

And the good Lord has blessed me.

I got to spend the entire day at school, doing a job that I love more than any other.  Being a teacher is an honorable thing, a profession I would not have chosen at first but one that I was destined to be a part of.  I got to my classroom before 6 and left nearly 10 1/2 hours later as the last of the tutorial students was picked up.  I was tired and ready for the day to be done, but as is always the case there is nothing else that I would rather be doing with my life.

Yes, I would say that I have been quite blessed.

Yesterday at school, I received a most beautiful gift from a young man, who just like the rest of his classmates, has a piece of my heart.  He told me that he wanted me to have a new billfold and that he had made one just for me.  That young man was so proud of it and I will be the first to tell you that I had much admiration for the job that he did.  It's quite a special thing to me to receive a gift that could never be purchased in the purse/wallet aisle at Walmart.  It was a present given from his hands to mine and it meant the world to me.  

I intend to use it and do so often.
It was his labor of love for a teacher who thinks he is a pretty neat kid.

In all the many things that teachers face and continue to have on their plates these days, it's really actually nice to stop and pause for a moment every once in a while.  And in that brief instant, it's rewarding to remember why I got into this business in the first place now nearly 40 years ago.  

It wasn't for money or fame, that's for sure.   It was for something far greater than anything else to me in my life.
It was for the kids.

And the good Lord has blessed me.

Once I was a kid too.  Jack and Janet was the very first book I learned to read.  I'm thankful for my first grade teacher who worked with a shy little girl as she began to pick up this idea of the printed word.

~as times get even tighter~

They called my grandfather "Sweet Potato Brown" because he had this knack for being able to grow sweet potatoes unlike any other person around.  In the late 1920's and mid 1930's, while the country was deep into the Great Depression, Andrew Brown was helping his family stay self sufficient by the construction of hot beds enough to fill the entire huge acreage to the front of his farmstead.  Inside of those hot beds, he grew starter sweet potato plants and other things that he sold to people in the area.  The sandy soil of that part of Harvey County, Kansas was just perfect and my grandfather was wise enough to use that to his advantage.  

I never knew him.
He died when I was 7 months old.
One time my mother told me that he held me a few weeks before he passed away.  He looked up at her and said the sweetest 9 words in my memory.

"Wouldn't it be nice to be this young again?"

I thought of my Grandfather Brown this afternoon as I was helping Mike outdoors with a raised gardening bed area he is working on for us.  Even though I never knew my granddad, I feel like a part of him lives within me, a tiny baby he barely knew.  He loved growing things and playing in the dirt.  The truth of the matter is, so do I.

Last year, our second summer here in the state of Texas, we put in a small garden area.  With a huge backyard, we knew there would be plenty of room for it.  Everything went in nicely and because the drought had broken, we knew there would be sufficient water available.  It worked out ok but one thing became apparent as the summer went on.  Mike and I were both feeling the aches and pains of pulling weeds and keeping things nice and neat.  Before the summer was over, Mike had determined that he would begin the plans for a raised bed system for the summer of 2017.  No more ups and downs for us.  There was an easier way and we were ready to find it.

One thing that Mike is good at is his ability to look at something that seemingly has outlived its usefulness and find a way to repurpose it into something else.  When our good friend Dwight told us about tearing his old deck apart and wanting to get rid of the wood, Mike figured it would be perfect for a part of the raised garden beds.  All we had to do was go over to his house and load it up.  On a warm Sunday afternoon this past autumn, we brought them all home. There were nails to pull from the boards but that ended up being not so bad.  When Mike had torn down the old carport last summer, the roof had been covered with sheets of tin that were still quite useable.  He figured those sheets would be good to cover the sides of each raised bed system.  Mike was right.  They really do work quite well.  

It's not a fast process to build this kind of garden and Mike takes the time he needs to be sure that it is done correctly.  Little by little, it has gone in and sooner or later, the finished product will be there for us to enjoy this summer.  It's been rewarding to see things that might have been cast away to the local landfill, instead being constructed into something that will provide the home for our family's garden this summer upcoming and for many more to come.  

I have learned in the process many valuable things.  Measuring for accuracy, sometimes over and over,  is perhaps at the top of the list.  Yet maybe the greatest thing I have learned of all is the reminder of a character trait that was passed down to my generation from those who survived the most bleak of economical periods in American history.  Like my grandfather before me, I believe I know one thing for sure.

Make do with what you  have.
As times get even tighter (and it's hard to imagine that they could be), it's a realization that we all sooner or later may have to come to.

Gardening is the best form of therapy that I know of.
I can't wait to get my hands in the dirt.

"Sweet Potato" Brown grew many good things.  One of the greatest was a little girl who would one day become my mother.

~as they grow in heart and grow in spirit~

My good husband keeps telling me that I need to get a hobby so that when I finally do stop teaching some time in the future, I will have something to keep me busy and occupied.  Each time he asks me what it shall be, I always have the same answer for him.

"I have no idea."

My hobby for the past nearly 40 some odd years has been children, in particular it has been the growing of children.  I have been blessed to keep them for 9 months of a year and do my best to feed and nurture them with as much knowledge, wisdom, and love as I could possible give them before sending them on to the next grade.  I have been able to measure how much they grew from the beginning to the end of the school year by whatever type of standardized tests they were given.  I was happy for them and quite proud of the academic growth they displayed, no matter the degree of it.  Every child is different academically and I see that for what it is truly worth.  Yet growing "book smarter" is not the least of the signs of growth that I look for.  In my very humble opinion, there is something worth so very much more than that.

I want them to grow in heart and spirit.  
I desire to teach them as many life lessons as I can in such a very short span of time.

I don't even know when I started to realize that I was a teacher of life lessons.  I think it kind of snuck up on me, somewhere back in about year #5.  It probably happened one day when I was telling a story about something that had happened to me or perhaps to someone I knew.  In my memory, I think perhaps that I might have told a different remembrance day after day until finally one time when I was teaching back in Hutchinson, some kid one day said this.

"Teacher, are you ever going to stop telling us stories?"

At first, I was taken aback for just a moment.  Geesch, maybe I was telling them too much stuff. Maybe I should just stick to the book, you know?  Nowhere on the lesson plans was there the notation to pause a moment and tell them about the time when I was little that we basically had only two pairs of shoes to wear, and one of them could be referred to as "bare feet".

In my shame and horror that maybe I was indeed veering off track, I decided to ask that young man if he thought I should not talk so much about things like that.  I didn't know what he would say and as his response came back to me, I could see the broad smile on his little first grade face.

"Well, I hope you don't 'cause I like them."

And so it went on.

If I could give advice to a new teacher starting up in this business of education, I think the very best wisdom that I could impart would be this.  Don't stick to the book and don't ever fear talking about things that are not even in the lesson plans for the day.  Sometimes the best lessons that a teacher can teach are those that pop up daily right in front of your very eyes.  No need to worry that you won't recognize them because when they arise, you will know it in an instant.  You will feel it right inside of your very heart and I know you have one.

You are a teacher.

Lessons of kindness, patience, integrity, service, goodwill, tolerance, diversity, understanding, empathy, sympathy, and a host of a thousand others are waiting to be taught.  Although they are not listed among the standards of the state of Oklahoma, or any other state for that matter, one thing is for certain.

They most certainly should be.
Life~teach about it.  It makes for a really great lesson.

These pictures, taken back in 2006, were from a 5-year period of time that I was a CNA back in Hutchinson, Kansas.  I took care of the elders who lived in the Wheaton Greenhouse every weekend and during the breaks from school.  Talk about learning some great life lessons, only this time it was they who taught me.  Neva Jane and Marion were 2 of the 10 folks who lived there.  The saddest life lesson to learn, that of dying, was taught to me by all ten of them.  The greatest benefit from learning that particular lesson was realizing that sooner or later, it shall be taught to us all.

~and as we read on~

The halfway through point of spring break has arrived.  Our days away from school have flown by quickly, just as I knew they would.  Sooner than later, we will be returning to the classroom next Monday to finish up the last 9 weeks of school for this year.  I say it over and over, even more often as I grow older.

Where does it all go to?
Time surely flies when you are living your life.

I ran into one of the kids from school at the public library here in town last week as I was returning the books our classroom had checked out.  She was gathering up a store of books to be reading while on spring break and I complimented her on it.  Her comment to me was short and sweet when I asked her why she was getting so many books.  That sweet girl's words made this teacher's heart smile.

"I just like reading books, Mrs. Renfro."
Not sure if I could have asked for any better response.

That little freckle face girl got me to thinking of what I was doing as far as reading was concerned back when I was the ripe old age of 8, just like she is now.  At that time we were still living on our family farm that was tucked 7 miles back in the sand hills of Harvey County, Kansas.  A trip to the library hardly ever happened in those days.  There were 7 of us kids and with a dad who was a farmer as well as a mom who didn't know how to drive, well you can understand why going to the library would have been considered a rarity.

That's because it was.

One of the things that I do remember reading were all of the old magazines and newspapers that my grandmother would bring out when she came to visit us from town.  It was always a treat to see her old pale yellow Chevy with green trim coming down the dirt road and to know that inside on the back seat there would be a brown paper bag with its edges folded down.  Nestled deep inside would be copies of the Newton newspaper, Capper's Weekly, and the Grit that the little kid down the block delivered as he rode his bike up and down Locust Street.  I could sit and read that kind of material for hours on end.

And I did.

I enjoyed reading everything that she brought, but I was actually most partial to the Newton Kansan. My favorite part of the paper was the wedding section and I would peruse the official marriage announcements upon opening it up.  I would read their stores, awestruck at how beautiful their ceremonies must have been.  Unlike today, when wedding reports are brief and to the point, back in 1963 there were detailed descriptions about the bride's gown.  A reader knew just how long the train of the dress was, what kind of neckline was fashioned, whether it was made of lace or satin, and every little tiny detail of the headpiece that the bride wore.  The same kind of writing went into describing everything from the attendants' dresses to what the keeper of the guest register wore. Everything was included and in my little 8 year old mind, I could imagine just what it was like to be there.

I miss that kind of reading.
It reminds me of my grandmother.

One of the important things that I desire for all children is that they always have access to as many books and other reading materials as they can get their hands on.  Children don't have as much left to the imagination these days, and much of what they have is technology driven.  I appreciate all the modern conveniences to be sure, but I just hope that children don't lose sight of the power and knowledge that holding the printed word in their hands provides.

A book, a flashlight, and a kid reading past their bedtime.
Now that's my favorite kind of picture.
Read on people.
Read on.

The little girl that I used to be was quiet and shy.  She loved reading and imagining a world that was just waiting for her to find it.  One day, that little girl did just that.

~somewhere along the road~

Good morning from Burkburnett, Texas~

Time has flown so quickly since Mike and I first arrived here in this part of the country in May of 2015.  So hard to honestly imagine that nearly two years have come and gone since our arrival that day.  The drought had finally been broken and the floodwaters had all but receded as we drove our moving van and vehicles across the Wichita County line.  It had been a two day journey since we pulled out of the driveway of our old home back in the mountains of Colorado.

We didn't realize just how huge the state of Texas was until we arrived and began driving around seeing a few of the sights close by us.  Our home here along the nearly 1,400 mile long Red River is at the top of the state.  If we ever want to travel to the bottom of the state to say Galveston, we need to plan for a trip of nearly 500 miles.  There's a lot of Texas to see and it will take us some time to do all of that.

Today we are taking out to a couple of places that we've heard about on the news all of the time and certainly on the weather reports as severe thunderstorms have passed through.  In just a little while we will load up in the car and take out to the southeast for a while.  It's actually kind of nice to have so much to see that can be done in short day kinds of trips.  You don't find yourself nearly so tired and expense wise, it can be kept at reasonable amount.  Mike and I will soon make our acquaintance with the communities of Bowie and Nocona, Texas.  Not sure what we will find there, but that doesn't really matter.

It's the adventure that counts.

When I lived back home in Kansas, I had the chance to see nearly all of that good state.  I visited all 105 counties and had the opportunity to meet many fine people along the way.  Of course Reno County is the best one of them all, but there are 104 others that come in a close second.  It was always fun to go to Coronado Heights near the town of Lindsborg and to look out at the land that was there before me.  The sweetest little baby girl who calls me "grandma" lives in one far corner of the state.  The Flint Hills area to the northeast is just about as beautiful as a person could ask for.   A host of friends live back in Hutchinson and Wichita plus many other good people all along the way.  Kansas is a great state and I'm proud to say it is where I am from and always will be.  

In the spring of my soon to be 62nd year, I realize just how important it is to see everything that I can before it's too late to do so.  Sadly, I know many people who wanted to get out and travel to see the world but kept putting it off because they said they didn't have time.  They are the ones who lived to regret that thought.  I used to be one of those people as well and can still find myself using that excuse some times.  

Yet, not today.  

In a world filled with so much discord and unrest, it's easy to think that there is nothing but bad.  At the very least, it's easy to feel that there is very little good.  I'm here to tell you that is so wrong and that the good is out there.  You only have to be willing to go and find it.

I'll bet we do today.

Somewhere along the road between here and there.

As they say here in Texas, we are soon fixing to find out.

Leaving behind these two dear friends was a difficult thing to do that day in May of 2015. Those two ladies are proof that there are good people everywhere you go.  

~with a road map that is folded and worn~

Someone wisely mentioned to me in conversation this past week that we all carry a roadmap to get us where we need to be in this life.  For those who don't carry one, the road is a little more unsure and the propensity to become lost along the way becomes pretty much a given.

I've carried a road map forever it would seem, one that is now quite folded and worn.
Maps are kind of important and a useful tool to keep us on track and headed in the right direction.  

When Mike and I first decided to leave our Colorado home in 2015, we sat down at the kitchen table and spread an atlas out before us.  Mike turned to Texas because that was the general area we knew we would be heading.  He literally looked at the two page spread devoted to the Lone Star state for all of about a minute and then took his pencil and made a circle around the city of Wichita Falls.  Actually there was no real reason for him to do that.  Locating there had never been a topic of our discussion at any time.

 It just happened that way.

We set our sights in that general vicinity, veering no more than 30 miles either way around the city.  Neither of us really had a clue of what would lie ahead of us and in blind faith we went forward.  We had no prospect of jobs and not even a home to say would be ours.  Two years later we find ourselves very settled in the town of Burkburnett, certainly not where we thought we were coming at first but definitely where the good Lord above intended for us to be all along. Life has been good to us here.

For me, the journey I've been on has been a strange one that has been filled with so many changes, especially in the last few years.

My life's road map started out simply enough and actually for the first 50 so odd years of my life didn't really get all that worn out.  I stayed put, quite content to stay in the state I was born in.  Shoot, I was ok with staying in the same county I had lived in forever.  I would put a crease or two in the map every once in a while, I suppose just for good measure.   The truth be told, I did indeed lose my road map not once, but several times along the way.  Each time I found it, I did one thing for certain.

I would dust off the map, straighten it back up, put another fold in, and started off again.

In this the spring of my 62nd year upcoming,  I have no idea where life will lead me in the future.  Just when I think I have it all figured out, something else seems to arise.  When it does, yet another fold goes in.  Every once in a while the thought of not knowing exactly what will happen to me in the months and years ahead becomes unnerving.  Yet I have faith and for me that means believing that my part of the plan is still unfolding.  It will be my place to wait patiently and see, trusting always in someone far greater than me.

In the end, when the final crease finds its way into the compass that I've carried with me all along, then I will finally know where it was intended for me to be. 

Maps~they take you where you are going.
See you there friends and family, when we all get there.  I'm looking forward to it.

A sweet young 4th grade boy named Ezequiel drew the design for the top of the wedding cake that was made for Mike and I in 2013.  It was just another road map that showed how life changed for this Kansas school teacher.

It was fun to teach students at St. Patrick's school in Owego , New York all about the great state of Kansas in 2013.

First grade children in Olathe, Colorado learned all about a kind man named Norman by following his journey across America in 2014.

Wow, did I ever follow this map about a gazillion times going back and forth between Hutchinson and Montrose.  I could have driven it with my eyes closed most times, yet I promise you that I never did.

~and it was a $10 lesson~

I learned a $10 lesson this morning at school and it all happened before 8:20.  
I was "schooled" by twenty-two 3rd graders.

The students in my third grade classroom have been working hard, very hard as a matter of fact, in preparing for the upcoming assessments given by the state of Oklahoma.  Our particular grade level will have tests in both reading and math come the mid-part of next month.  Not only do we work diligently during the school day, we also have after school tutorials 4 times a week. We are doing our best to be ready but as of late we have grown weary and tired of it all.  

Today I promised them that we would have a respite from the rigor of state assessment practice and actually do some things that were different and fun for a change.  I told them that they would not hear me say the words "test" or "state assessment" once during the course of the day.  If they did, then I owed them each a piece of candy for every time that it happened.  Last night we went to town with the purpose of picking up a bag of treats.  I ended up reaching for a huge bag of miniature chocolate bars.  I told Mike that whatever was left over (and I was sure that it would be more than a plenty) could go into his candy jar at work.  I was confident that I would not say any of those words.

I was wrong.
Really wrong.

I almost slipped immediately upon starting the day when I was referring to our weekly spelling tests that happen each Friday morning.

"You all need to be ready to take your spelling t.......", I found myself stopping on that beginning consonant sound of t.  

Several of the kids noticed it and I reminded them that the sound of t didn't make the word test.  My journey down the slippery slope had begun.

I can't believe how fast I failed.  By 8:20 in the morning, only 25 minutes into the school day, I had already said the word "test" 5 times.  I did the math.  That big old $10 bag of miniature chocolate candy would be gone in a matter of minutes.  The kids were happy, as well kids would be when they are able to catch their teacher doing something she said that she would not do.  

It was fair.
I knew it.

While they were taking their selection test for this morning in reading, I had the chance to stop and think for a moment about what had just happened.  If they had heard me say that word 5 times in such a short span of a morning, I could only imagine how many times I say it during the course of any given school day.  

It made me stop and think.
It gave me a sobering feeling.
It's no wonder sometimes that kids get test anxiety.
Why wouldn't they?
They hear it way too often.

Test taking, especially state assessment test taking, is a necessary component of being in school these days. It's not just Oklahoma either.  Students in Texas, Colorado, Kansas, and every other state in the U.S. are in the same boat.  At the ripe old age of 9, students are already expected to be able to pass reading and math.  There's a great deal of stress involved for all concerned, grown ups and kids alike. It's not my favorite part of being a teacher.

In the days and weeks ahead, my hope is to have them ready to succeed.  They don't know it, but their teacher intends to pray them through those exams as I walk around and monitor my classroom on test day.  Of course I wish for them to do well.  That's the whole reason behind this all.  But even in all of that, there is one thing most important to me.

No matter what the ending outcome shall be, I ask them to do their best and give 100 percent that day with integrity and honor.  

The test graders will not know just how far the students have all come.  They won't realize how much work each child and their respective families have put into learning everything they could to be ready.  Even if they don't know it, I know there is someone who does.

And the someone is me.

What a privilege it has been to meet so many good kids who would eventually call me their teacher.

                                 Olathe Elementary in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado~

                               Lincoln Elementary back home in Reno County, Kansas~

Little first grade girls who grew up with their old teacher~a quarter of a century later.

~and their teacher loved writing~

Back in Montrose, this time of day was my favorite one to write in this blog.  The early morning hours afforded me a few moments to collect my thoughts and spill out onto the computer screen that which was on my mind and in my heart.  In those first few very lonely months, I relied on the art form of writing to calm my fears and provide a compass on which way to go in my brand new life in the mountains of southwestern Colorado.

It worked.

I think of those two years in Colorado often it would seem.  They were growing years for me and actually a gift from the good Lord above.  Those first tough weeks and months refined my very being.  I desperately missed my family and friends that I had to leave behind.  There was more than one tear shed for my old life back in Kansas and this homesick girl was never really sure if she would make it or not.

For the record, she did.

From our old kitchen window, I could look out in the pre-dawn darkness and see the stars hanging in the sky above old Silver Jack mountain.  Although I never once got the chance to go upon it, I considered that big old rock to be like a close friend.  One thing about it, Silver Jack never went away.  It was always there each morning to greet me and I grew to like that.  I remember watching the headlights of the cars and trucks going along Highway 50 to the east towards Kansas. Sometimes, especially in the early days, I would wonder if any of them were going to my home state.   Perhaps there was the outside chance that they were going to Hutchinson.  I thought of crazy things like that back then.

Here on the plains of Texas, I find myself writing at different times of the day and sometimes I have realized lately that I don't write at all.  I got an email from a friend yesterday who wondered if something had happened to me.  She hadn't see me write anything hardly at all during February.  I laughed and thanked her for checking in on me, but I was fine and not to worry. There are times when no words really come to me.  Little did she realize that during February there were plenty of times that I began to write something, only to delete the words halfway into things.  

There are lots of blog posts that I have written since May of 2011 that were only read by me. Those were the times when a concern was on my mind and I was questioning a feeling about something.  Writing helped me.  In the past nearly 6 years now, I've written nearly 1,100 times. I'm amazed when I go back and look at them all.  Rereading them is strange at times.  For the most part, I have trouble recalling what I wrote.  I look at the titles, click on them, and all of a sudden my life comes rushing back to me in the words that I have spoken.  It's fun and sad at the same time to see some of them.  Yet even in all of that, I am so glad that I have written them.

The early morning hours pass quickly and now it's time to get ready for school.  Somewhere out there, 22 little children are still fast asleep in their beds, safe and sound.  There is much for them to learn this day and it's my part of the plan to help them get to where they need to be in this part of their life.  In the years to come, perhaps they too shall begin to read this blog and remember a very special thing~

Their teacher loved writing and she loved them too.

My first time to see snow in the summertime came atop the Grand Mesa in June of 2013.

The children who saved me and they didn't even know they were doing so.  My fourth graders at Olathe, Colorado were my first class to teach in the Rocky Mountains.

This sweet young woman is a "Jayhawker" too.  Claire and I taught together that first year in Colorado.  She and her family have since returned to Oklahoma and we live close together now.  

~and it finally got better~

It was during the morning math time today that I told them.  I'd been meaning to for quite a while now but I just hadn't gotten around to it.  This seemed as good a moment as any to let them in on a secret about their teacher, one that not all that many students over nearly 40 years have figured out.

"I want to let you in on a little secret everyone.  I don't tell very many people about it, but I think you guys should know it." Their ears perked up to listen and their eyes were upon mine.  "I want you to know that I understand the struggles that you are having in math from time to time.  When I was in the 5th grade, math was so very difficult for me.  I hated it as a matter of fact.  I could not make sense of it for the life of me and I didn't understand it like all the other kids seemed to.  I hated it so much that I made up a club in my mind.  It was called "The I Hate Math Club of 5th Grade" and I was its president and a charter member."  They looked at me in amazement and I'm not quite sure they all believed me. There were smiles on their faces and several of them kind of laughed.

I went on to tell them that my dislike for mathematics carried on well into high school.  I never felt like I was the genius that I perceived many of my friends to be.  I struggled my way through barely making a grade of "C" and always thankful to have at least received that particular mark.  It could have been so much worse.  At least by the time I made it into college, math seemed to become more meaningful to me.  One thing for sure, my attitude about it all began to change.

Math got better.

The third graders have been working very, very hard to prepare for our state assessments in reading and math.  There are hard working after school tutorial groups that continue on together well after the buses leave at 2:50 each day.  It's nearly 4:15 before students go home.  My brain is filled to the brim each day with numbers and vocabulary words that students will more than likely see.  I know that the kids are growing weary and the truth of the matter is this.

So am I.

I told the kids that there is a little "9 year old girl" who still lives within me.  Every once in a while that little girl gives me a nudge, especially when I see anyone struggling.  It is then that I remember the difficulties that a little girl named Peggy Ann once had in a subject that they used to call arithmetic.  I can empathize with their struggles as they come across concepts that make absolutely no sense to them.  Their tears used to be my tears; their test anxiety once belonged to me as well.  I know how they must be feeling.

Really, I do.

I have always believed that students need to understand that their teachers are human beings too.  I reminded them that if they ever had a teacher who said that they knew everything they were supposed to know, that would more often than not be a non-truth.  Sometimes school was a challenge for me and more than likely in the years to follow, that fact would prove to be the greatest of attributes that I could bring to that proverbial table of teacher-student learning.  

So to those in my class who sometimes struggle not only with math but any other subject, I tell them to never give up.  I remind them to continue to learn from their mistakes and those things which they might perceive as failure, are really just the stepping stones to gaining the understanding of it all.

I can't really say that I adore math, leastwise not like I love spelling or writing, but I have learned how to stick with it and apply the knowledge I have gained into many facets of my life. It took a while for me to get there but when the time was right, I found that level of tolerance.  

My membership from 5th grade has now expired and I laugh to remember the time that a quiet little girl named Peggy had such disdain for numbers.  Little did I know that in the years to come, I would share that experience with 22 children who mean the world to me.  

May the life lesson that I learned then be one they can take heart from now.  Difficulties in math, like all the other challenges of life, don't last forever.  It definitely does get better.