~because I listened to a child~

September's song will soon begin to play and with record speed the year 2017 is 3/4 of the way done.  For the life of me, I must ask over and over again, "where does this time go to?" Once long ago, I was only 17 and the greatest thing on my mind was the wonder if I had enough tip money saved up from my job as a waitress to fill up the gas tank of my car for a Saturday night in Hutch with my friends.  Just yesterday, I was 40 years old and a teacher for only 20 years, raising up my little family of 3 children.  Now I am almost 62 and with all that I have in me, I'm still trying to run in the race called "life" and doing everything I can before crossing the finish line at the end of it all.

Much of my waking day is spent at school where I share my time with 11 young people who are just in the beginning stages of their lives here on earth.  I look at them and often times remember the little kid I used to be.  Their love of reading and writing stories was once and still is my love of it all.  Those struggles with math and science were truly once shared by a little girl named Peggy.  

I've been there and done that.
I know.
All too well.

Time goes so quickly during the course of any given school day.  In the beginning of my teaching career I didn't notice it as much, leastwise I guess I don't ever remember noticing it. But in the 8 years since I retired and returned quickly back to the classroom, it is very apparent that time is not standing still for me, nor is it standing still for you either.

In the fast pace of it all, teachers have to remember to get in every bit of academic time they can possibly squeeze in.  In our room there is never a moment that is wasted and surely not an hour when we are standing around questioning what we will do next.  The plan for the day is goal driven and as much as possible, we stick to it.  

I have found though that my favorite part of a hectic and fast paced 7 hours worth of school time is that moment in the day when in my mind and heart I say to myself, "STOP."  Cease talking at them in my incessant quest to get everything in before that last bell rings for the day. The very best time of the day is when I close my mouth and start listening to them and what they really have on their minds at that precise moment.  Surprisingly enough, it's not always about what the main idea and details of a story were about.  As a matter of fact, it's not always about anything related to the 2nd grade curriculum.  Rather when I really stop to listen to them for a change, it's about something else far more precious and lesson filled.

And they call it life.

Over the last 4 decades of my teaching career, I've been entertained by countless stories of what children have done with their families.  My ears have been the recipient of tales told about summer vacation or the excitement of waking up on Christmas morning.  I know some of the best ways ever to play a trick on a sibling, catch a fish using a hot dog for bait, pull teeth, and clean up a bedroom by putting everything in the bedroom closet.  I've also been saddened to hear of grandparents and even moms and dads who have passed on much too quickly, and been the giver of hugs when I found those children at their desks with tear filled eyes.  

Today is the 10th day of school and when I get there this morning there is so much to do. Before I know it, that 3:00 bell will ring and out the door they will disappear.  In the short span of slightly over 420 minutes, I hope to get everything done in the lesson plan book.  If I'm lucky, I can do it, but if for some reason I do not then I surely hope that the cause of it all can be attributed to one thing.

I was listening to a child.

This little boy traveled all over the world with his family while his father was in the Navy. When I saw him reading his book on the front porch after supper last evening, it did my heart good.  I hope that somewhere along the line, a teacher listened to a little guy named Mike when he had an important story to tell about life.  

~maybe like forever~

Long before the days of text messages, social media and voice mail, my mom did the most awesome thing.  She took a pen, a sheet of paper and an envelope, then sat down at the table and proceeded to practice a nearly lost art today.

She wrote letters.

I came across some of them this past weekend as I helped to clear out the belongings of my sister Sherry.  They were tucked away into envelopes and baskets just where Sherry had left them. The dates postmarked were from long, long ago.  As a matter of fact, well over ten years of long ago.  I recognized the writing on them immediately as that of my mom who died a couple of weeks after her 87th birthday in September of 2007.  Her scrawl never changed and as I held the envelopes in my hand, I couldn't help but remember what my mom would often ask me to do.

"I wrote Sherry a letter today.  Could you come by after school and take it to the mailbox for me?"
And I always did.

I believe that my sister must have kept nearly every piece of correspondence that she ever received from our mom.  If she didn't, then surely she only discarded a few of them.  Now that both of those precious women are gone from this earth, I am so glad to have those messages to once again reread.  To both of them, I owe a word of thanks.

You know, Mom didn't write about anything earthshaking.  It was usually about the weather, how her health had been, which kid or grandkid had stopped by, or the fact that one of her favorite programs on television had been pre-empted by the football game on Sunday afternoon.  In her letters to Sherry, Mom would always ask about the kids at school and how they were doing that particular year.  She would inquire about Sherry's own kids and later on grandkids too.   Her letters were most likely a couple of pages long and always written on both sides because she believed in getting her money's worth out of that postage stamp that was affixed to the right hand corner of the envelope.  Mom tried to keep a regular schedule of writing, trying for once a week and mailing them out on Mondays.  She was just like that.

I brought the letters home to read once again before discarding them once and for all.  I sat down and opened a couple of them Saturday evening before going to bed.  The very humble thoughts of my mom are now quite precious to me.  Reading those old and forgotten letters is like sitting down beside her at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in hand to discuss the day's happenings together.  I can hear my mom's voice in them and realize now all the many lessons she taught me.  Many of those things I had forgotten but so many of them I do remember.

There wasn't enough time to go through them all so I placed them into the spare bedroom closet and will look at them another time.  What was once going to be discarded by me, is now more than likely to remain safely nestled away into the manila envelope they are all stored in.  Those letters don't take up that much room and who knows?

Maybe, just maybe, I will keep them a little bit longer than I planned.
Maybe like forever.

~and I am on my own now~

You know, I made it through my first day back at school since my older sister Sherry passed away this summer.  I did great, just like she told me that I would.  I thought about her off and on during the course of the day, but I didn't cry even though I was afraid I might.  One of the last conversations we had as sisters before she passed away on June 16th, revolved around the kids I'd be teaching this year at Grandfield.  As I think about it and how that conversation went, I realize now that she was doing her own version of "cutting the apron strings" as my mentor.

She must have known.

I was telling her all about the ideas I had and sharing the concerns I was feeling about heading to a new school and a different grade assignment.  Sherry listened to me intently from her bed at the hospital in Altus as I told her some of the plans I was making.  Every once in a while she would have to stop a moment to straighten up in bed in order to breathe more easily.  Then she would focus back in on what I was explaining.  At the end of my spiel on what I thought the first few days would look like for me this year, I fully expected her to respond back that she would get well soon and be able to help me out.  She'd be making a trip to the local Dollar Tree and find some things that she thought would work out in my room.  Knowing her, I really kind of figured she would give me her thoughts on how to map out the reading program and some different online sites she knew about for math and science.  

She did not.  
Her reply back was so simple and sweet.

"Girl, you are going to do fine!"

And that was it.
Seven simple words that in retrospect were a message to me that her time was through and if I hadn't learned it by now, then it wasn't important enough to worry about in the first place.

Just a few days later, she was gone.

I told the kids all about her the very first day of school, just like I said that I would.  I explained that many of the wonderful things in class like school supplies, toys and books, posters, and games were actually those that she had of her own.  Now they would belong to us. We had our first class meeting of the year in "Sherry's corner", a place filled with things that kids all love like books and stuffed animals.  As we sit around our little campfire together every day, I will be remembering of her in my heart and I'm pretty sure that's what she would want me to do.

The other day when I was helping my brother-in-law clean out some of her personal belongings, I came across something that looked really familiar to me.  It didn't take long to recognize what it was and the story behind it.  I asked to bring it home with me and now it is tucked safely into the hallway closet.  Not sure what I will do with it but that doesn't matter.  The story behind it is precious enough.  A guy doesn't really have to do anything with it except to just let it be.

51 years ago after saving money she earned by selling cream to the Ark Valley Creamery on South Main back home in Hutchinson, Sherry bought the typewriter shown in the picture above.  I remember it so well even though I was only in the 5th grade.  She would go out every day and milk our two cows, strain off the cream, and save it in the icebox until there was enough to take to town.  It took a long time but she didn't give up and the day that she handed that $25 over in exchange for the typewriter was a happy day for her.  She had just begun school at the local community college and a typewriter was a necessary purchase in order to complete the many term papers that would lie ahead.  Even after she began teaching for the first time in 1970, the keys of that old Smith-Corona manual typewriter would pound out many study sheets for the kids she was teaching in Salina, Kansas.  It's precious to me and represents the strong work ethic that all 7 kids in our farming family were brought up with.  To see it once again this summer was like a trip down that old "Memory Lane".

I was a little worried that the year might be too tough for me, that without her there would be no reason to continue teaching.  I was so wrong!  I have a wonderful class of second graders with parents who are going to be so supportive and helpful along the way.  I work in a fine elementary school that is part of a great school district.  My year ahead is going to be successful and I know I can do this!  

Even without her.
Love you my dear sister.  I am on my own now.

Between the two of us, we have ended up with more than 80 years of combined service in the classroom.  Oh how I miss her but I'm doing way better than I thought I would.  She was that good of a teacher.

It still had the sticker on it from where it was purchased in Hutchinson.  She took such good care of it, something that comes naturally when you have to work so hard to get it in the first place.

~and at least I could do it~

Sometimes we lose sight of what we should be thankful for.  I know I do.  Take anything for example.  Take mowing the yard.  It's what I've been doing for the past hour.

On this hot, 99 degrees in the afternoon August day upon the plains of northern Texas, I've been pushing our mower to get a head start on the job of cutting the grass that sooner or later has got to be done.  Mike and I have always worked it out.  He cuts the huge yard in the back with our riding mower, and I cut off the front yard and around the trees in the back yard with a push mower.  It works out, kind of/sort of and in the end we have a pretty decent looking yard, all things considered.

But today it seems unbearably hot and the job feels like it could go on forever and ever, AMEN. I stopped for plenty of drink breaks and sit in the shade time and now that I've finally finished my part, I have one thing to remember.

At least I could do it.

The mower started on the first pull and the gas tank was full to the brim.  The grass had grown rather quickly because of all the recent showers that have sprinkled themselves upon this dry land of ours.  Just a couple of years back when the drought was so deeply entrenched in this area, folks would have begged to be able to cut their grass even every other week, for it would have been a sign that at least they were getting a bit of moisture.  

And still I find myself sometimes complaining.

This has been an interesting summer of weather and in the final days that remain of that season so many of us love, I am thinking about how thankful I should be.  May 19th a hail storm came through and for the first time, I saw what golfball sized hail looked like.  I couldn't believe it and my heart sunk as I heard it pound on the roof and strike against the windows on the west side of the house.  We knew there was probably damage and sure enough, a whole new roof is in order.  Yet we have insurance and have found a good contractor to help us put the new shingles in place of the old ones, so we really have much to be grateful for. 

The tornado sirens didn't go off this summer, leastwise not while we were home.  There was no need to go to shelter and in the life of folks living in Tornado Alley, that's kind of a miracle.  Not saying of course that it can't happen before the severe weather season is officially through, but at least for now we have much to give thanks for.

I just took the last drink of my cherry limeade and that's the signal for time to go put the mower in the shed and sweep up the last of the grass from the sidewalk.  Did I just say that I had a cherry limeade to drink?  Oh yeah, and I surely should be happy that I had the coins in my pocket to buy one.  

Just one more thing to be beholden for among many. 
As it says in the Good Book~In everything, in the very least of things, we best be giving thanks.

Not only did the rains make the grass grow, it always breathed wonderful new life into the flowers.  They have fared pretty well in the dog days of summer, thanks to the gift of moisture.

~a letter to the children~

Today is the first day of my 40th year of being a teacher.  As I read those words, I can hardly imagine it to be true and wonder as always where the years have gone.  This year I am so blessed to be a part of the staff at Grandfield Elementary School, in a small Oklahoma town not unlike the one I grew up in back home in Kansas.  Last night at our "meet the teacher" activity, I met nearly all of the students and their parents.  They are all good folks, kind and most willing to help me and the kids in any way that they can.  As my good friend Joe once told us during a staff meeting back at Olathe Elementary in Colorado, "They send us their best each and every day."  This morning I will introduce the kids to my blog and read to them their first day of school letter from me.  I can't wait to get this started!

Being a teacher is an honorable and very noble profession.  I'm glad I listened to His calling.  This is truly the mission field.

Dear boys and girls,

     It's early in the morning as I write this letter to you.  As a matter of fact, the clock doesn't even say 4:30 a.m. yet.  I imagine that you are all still snuggled in bed, sound asleep as you dream of the day ahead of you.  I always wake up early, especially so on the first day of school.  I'm anxious to get there and start my day with you all.  It's going to be a great year.  I promise!

     Did you know that I was a second grader once too?  Yes.  It's true!  I loved second grade because it was the first year I remember really taking off as a reader and finding a love for writing stories on my Big Chief tablet.  (I'll explain what one of those was later on.)  Our teacher's name was Irene Thompson and she was a wonderful woman.  I ate my first lemon drops in her class.  On Fridays after our spelling tests, no matter how good or bad we might have done, Mrs. Thompson would call us up to her desk to pick up our papers and reach into her bottom drawer to take out one of the sweet/sour treats.  Mrs. Thompson is no longer here, yet I still remember her kindness now well over 55 years later.

     We have so much to learn together this year as you become readers and writers!  The title "mathematician" can be put behind your name with all of the many math skills you undoubtedly will acquire.  Do you like science and social studies?  Are you curious about the world around you and how things work?  That curiosity will lead you to learn even more than you already must know!  We will draw and do art work together, make our bodies even healthier during PE time, sing a song or two together, go to the library, and a thousand other things before the year is completed.

     Yet even with all of that, there is one thing else that I wish to teach you that will be just as important.  I want to help you learn what it is to become a good person, not just for now while you are still a kid but for always.  You will probably hear me call them "life lessons", because that's truly what they are.  I want for us to learn to be kind to one another in class as well as kind to any person you would ever chance to meet.  I want for your hearts to always be "good" and to have great strength of character.  You will find out today that the only "rule" this class has to follow is one of honoring each other and sticking together.   I look forward to us doing just that!

     By the time you hear me read this letter, school will be well underway for this first day.  You may find yourself tired or hungry, missing home or even ready for a nap!  Don't worry.  Everything will be ok. We will all be here together and you know what?  I think we are going to make it just fine.

     Have a great first day of school in the second grade everyone.  I hope it is your best year EVER!

     Love,
     Mrs. Renfro

                                                     Once I was a little kid, just like you!

~and so today I danced with the Chickasaw People~

In the nearly 62 years of life that I have enjoyed on this planet, I've had my share of regrets. You know how it goes.  There are things that you do that you end up wishing you had not as well as things you wish you would have tried, but never did.  I think it's the way this thing called "life" goes, and by the way that's not just for me.  It's for you as well.

Last year, Mike and I traveled to the town of Sulphur to visit the Chickasaw Cultural Center. It was a Saturday morning kind of trip, one that we'd been looking forward to for some time.  We enjoyed it immensely as we moved from building to building, learning about the Native American people known as the Chickasaw Tribe.  While we were there, we went into the auditorium to be entertained and educated in the ways of the Chickasaw dance.  It was really amazing to hear their story and to realize just how proud they were of their heritage.  Towards the end of their program, they did one final dance and invited anyone from the audience to come and join them as "friends" to the Chickasaw people.  

I remember thinking at the time how much fun it might be to do that.  I looked at Mike and could tell by the look on his face that he preferred not to go down on the stage with the others. Admittedly, I really didn't have the courage to join them all by myself and so I sat in my seat near the top row and watched the others who had decided to participate.  When it was over, I ended up kind of kicking myself for not giving it a try and thought perhaps there would never be another chance to do so again.

I was wrong.
Today I got my chance.

This year I am teaching the second grade in a wonderful Oklahoma district that is just 14 miles up the road to the north and across the Red River from our home here in Burkburnett.  This morning all of the teachers from the elementary and the high school went on a field trip together, sans students, to visit the Chickasaw Cultural Center.  The patrons of the Grandfield, Oklahoma School District have a very wise superintendent who sees the value in team building activities for his staff.  The arrangements were made and by 7:30 this morning we had all boarded the school bus headed for Sulphur.  

And so there I was, the shortest kid on the bus once again.  It's ok.  After 62 years, I'm used to it.

I thought about the trip and what we would do and see while were there.  I knew that if we went to see the dance in the auditorium that they would more than likely call up anyone who wanted to partake in the dance of friendship.  I determined on that 2 hour bus ride over that I was not going to miss my chance this time.  When they called for volunteers, they wouldn't have to ask this girl twice.  Sure enough, mid way through the program they sent out the call from the stage for volunteers to join them.  It took me about 5 seconds to make up my mind.

So today I danced with the Chickasaw People and you know what?
It was fun!

I wasn't the only Grandfield staff member to give it a try, and for that I was glad.  It was a wonderful experience to be a part of the culture of another group of people.  Sure, it felt a little awkward sometimes as new things often do.  But the longer we remained on stage, the easier it became.  I thought it would be scary, but the crazy thing was this.

It wasn't scary at all.

Sometimes when faced with new situations in life, it takes some courage to move forward and embrace those moments that we hope not to regret in the end.  Switching schools this year and moving on to Grandfield was one of those moments.  When the school year ended in May, I was happy with my former position at another school very nearby.  I was perfectly content to stay put.

Then a new opportunity was presented to me and it was one that I knew I needed to take.  I felt in my heart that I would have sorely regretted it if I had not.  It was a little scary on our first day back Monday of this week.  So many new people and the faces of so many strangers looked back at me when I first walked in the room.  For a moment I felt like the very shy little 9-year old girl that I used to be.  I wasn't sure how I would ever make friends with any of them.  I found myself wondering....

"Peggy, what were you thinking?  A new school? Why didn't you just stay put?  At least you knew people."

Yet as we settled in, I once again felt that feeling of assuredness that everything would be ok. Every single person in that room of strangers welcomed me warmly.  All of them were glad that I came to be a part of their team. They are good folks who all share the same goal, one of teaching and nurturing some of the greatest kids around.   I know that I made the right decision to take a position there, and it's a place I hope to spend my remaining years in teaching at.  

I'll more than likely never be a professional Native American dancer.  I made mistakes as I moved along with the rest of the group on the stage, yet none of that matters.  What does matter is this.

I didn't pass up the chance this time and for that I have one thing.
No regret.

             I loved seeing the beautiful and colorful clothing of the Chickasaw People.  

~and their character counts~

Every year teachers all over the country spend a fortune, mostly of their own money, to outfit their classrooms with the things they believe are necessary to ensure a successful year for their students.  From borders to bulletin board cutouts and school supplies to the latest "how to" books to raise state assessment scores, I've seen them buy it all.  Hey, I've been in those "teacher shoes" many times myself.  But just a few years back I learned a really interesting lesson and that lesson is this.

Sometimes some of the greatest learning takes place by simply using an old empty jar.
Plain and simple.
An old empty Mason jar.

In my classroom this year as in 39 years gone by, my greatest goal is not to teach kids everything they need to know in order to pass the yearly state assessment.  Please don't get me wrong.  I know how important it is to teach to the state standards and I do my best to make sure they are ready to succeed in the next grade.  Always.  Yet the truth of the matter is this.  My greatest desire in teaching my students is to help them grow into the best young ladies and gentlemen that I can.  I want to do my part in raising them up to be decent human beings who care about each other and the world that they live in.  They will hear me say many times throughout the year the same thing, over and over again.

"Children, listen to me.  Anyone can be the best reader, the most award winning writer, or the greatest mathematician in the world but what good will it do them if they do not have a good and kind heart?"  

To me, it's much more important to teach them these lessons of life than it is to teach them any other academic subject, and I do it sometimes with the help of a Mason jar.
Like this one, for example.

I have absolutely no idea whatsoever where I came up with this idea.  All I know is that it came to me one late summer day back in the little Rocky Mountain community of Olathe, Colorado. Before school began that year, I had traveled to the Puget Sound area of Washington state for a visit with my children, and while I was there I noticed these beautiful rocks that looked like none I had ever seen before.  I gathered them all up and nestled them deep into my suitcase before I headed back home again.  I got to thinking about how my little first graders would love them that year and I figured I had enough for each of them to have one.  About that same time, I came across the jar shown on the desk above in my new classroom this year at Grandfield.  I got to thinking and these random ideas started popping in my head.  Because I believe in the idea of a classroom community approach to teaching, I developed the idea of having a community rock jar.  So on the first day of school that year, I asked the kids to one by one come up and choose a rock.  They had to say their name and tell the other kids something they were good at that had absolutely nothing to do with school.  As soon as they had finished, they carefully placed the rock into the glass jar so that it would not be broken.  I told the kids that the jar was like our "feelings" and that sometimes harsh words or careless actions can hurt us deep inside of our hearts.  When we finished, the jar would contain rocks that represented each of us, but since there was still room for additional stones we would include others from school who wanted to join our little classroom community as well.  It might be another teacher, a parent, the custodian, our principal, a school board member, and once even a total stranger.  They all became part of our school day family.  When times got rough once in a while, as they sometimes do when you are together 7+ hours a day, I'd go over and pick up the jar to remind them that we all agreed on the very first day of school that we would stick together.  The little community rock jar helped us to solve classroom problems on our own, more times than not. Very, very seldom did we ever have to ask for help from our principal or our parents.  

And you know what?
I like that.

I like to teach life lessons.
Sometimes I do it with the help of Mason jars.
Just like these two.

I have my sweet sister Sherry to thank for these two ideas.  Last year while I was at Big Pasture, Sherry suggested that I take home her huge jug of marbles that she used in her own classroom before retiring at Altus, Oklahoma in 2010.  I told her that I was looking for a way to teach some lessons on kindness and with a smile on her face, she told me of how she used to do it.  I remember what she said.

"Every time that someone does something kind for another, no matter how little it might seem, have them take a marble from my jar and put it into another one.  Be sure to have them say what it was that was kind before they do it.  When you get it filled, then figure out a way to reward them.  It works every time."
And she was right.
It did work.

It worked so well that all year long we continued to do it.  I ended up only giving a class reward a couple of times.  They had so much fun doing it that they stopped expecting anything in return.  It made me so happy to know that they were practicing kindness just because it was the right thing to do.

 In my mind, I can still remember the comments that kids would make to me before they placed their marble inside the jar.  They caught on quickly as to what acts of kindness looked like.

"I just lent my good eraser to Graciela, Mrs. Renfro."
"Jace helped me clean up all around everyone's desks just now."
"Everyone said 'thank you' to me while I held the door coming in from recess."
"Mrs. Renfro, you just did an act of kindness.  You forgave us for being too noisy in the hallway."
And it went on, and on, and on.

The other one,  our "Something to Be Happy About Jar", will be new this year.  I was inspired by a similar jar that Sherry used during the last few months of her life.  Each day she would think of something positive and good that had happened for her.  When she thought of it, she'd take a small piece of paper, jot it down, and then place it into the jar.  While her last year of life was pretty rough due to the health problems that late stage COPD presented her, I marvel in the fact that she realized the power of positive thinking and a very grateful heart.  I hope that each day my students will be able to add their own thoughts of happiness and gratefulness, both extremely important in these uncertain times we seem to find ourselves in today.

The first day of school is rapidly approaching and I'm anxious to begin.  We'll be learning a whole lot of reading, math, language, science, social studies, and writing.  On the last day of school, they will be ready and prepared to move on to the next grade.  I'm going to do my best to make sure that they know what they need to in order to find success.  Yet in the busyness of every school day, I plan to keep one thing in mind.

What kind of children am I training them up to be?
Their character counts.

                                               Once I was a little kid.  Just like them!

~life at 62~

I can remember a time not all that long ago, when I thought reaching the age of 62 would put me straight into the category of "really old".  Crazy how we think of things like age for instance, and determine the kind of person we are to be simply by the number assigned to us according to our year of birth.  Come this October 26th and the good Lord willing, I'll put those "imaginary" candles on my birthday cake and celebrate another year of life and another year of revolving around the sun.  

And you know what I have discovered?
62 isn't old at all.
Nope.  Not even close to old.

I have begun to accept the fact that perhaps the gray in my hair doesn't even have to be really covered any longer.  If perchance I have a stray silver hair that finds it way to the top of my head, well really who cares anyways?  The wrinkles on my face seem more and more visible each year but hey, if I live to be 100 (and I'm actually aiming for that milestone), then I bet my face will look pretty young at age 62.  It takes a little while longer to climb a ladder and when I get to the top, I wonder what in the heck I'm doing up there in the first place.  When the world starts to spin, I do what my Grandmother Brown always did when she picked cherries in her later years at the orchard on Cheney Lake back home in Kansas.

I get down off the ladder.  
And I stay down.

I never thought I'd be teaching at the age I am now, and certainly never figured that I'd make it for over 40 years in the field of education.  Yet here I am, still going fairly strong.  One of the things I've learned while being a teacher for these past two years in the great state of Oklahoma is this.

"It's been my experience that veteran teachers are honored and respected.  We are valued for what we can bring into the school setting.  People listen to us here, and truly they care about and solicit our opinions on many matters related to school and the kids and families that we serve."

For what it is worth.

My thought is now to stay in education for at least the next 4 years and if all works as planned, I hope to remain at the new district I am assigned to for the coming year.  It's a great place to teach children in and if I am getting ready to do my "swan song" in education, then I am glad that it is in a place called Grandfield.  Even in my later years, I am still filled with joy that I get to spend my days doing just what I love the  most. 

Teaching children.

Rather than bemoaning the fact that I am no longer a spring chicken, I give thanks that I'm not ready for the stew pot either.  With all of the years that I have left in me, I intend to give my best towards my school and my students.  I've been approached by several friends lately who have asked me why not retire?  Why not stop and enjoy life while I still can?  My answer to that is pretty simple.

"I already enjoy life and the best life for me is being surrounded by children."  
I've heard it said so many times before.
Age is just a number.

My number is fixing to be a new one.
And that number is 62.

We may look like grownups, but sometimes it's nice to just be a 9-year old once more.  

~along the back roads~

When Mike and I moved to Burkburnett, Texas in late May of 2015, we were thankful to finally be close enough to see some special family members and spend what would end up being very precious time with them.  Our home here along the Red River put us within an hour's drive to the south of Mike's Aunt Margaret and to the northwest to my sister and brother-in-law. 

Olney, Texas and Altus, Oklahoma were "home" to those special people.
How glad we were that we got here just in time.

Only 4 months after our arrival on the plains of the great Lone Star state, Mike's aunt passed away.  We were sad because it seemed as though we had only just arrived here.  Even though Mike and I  went nearly every single weekend to visit her, we found ourselves wishing for a bit more time with her.  In the end, we gave thanks that at least we had a summer to enjoy her. The road to Olney was nearly 120 miles long in both the going and the coming back.  Yet it was worth every inch of it to spend time with that dear and now sainted woman.

Slightly over 2 years after we got here, my dear sister Sherry passed away on June 16th of this summer.  Even though she was so terribly ill with the effects of end stage COPD, losing her was still a bitter pill for me to swallow.  We had grown as sisters during that short 2 years of time and when she took her final breath, I felt as if my best friend in the whole world had gone away.  I'm doing better now, even though I still miss her.  Once in a while when I get to bemoaning the fact that she is gone, my dear husband Mike always reminds me of the same thing.

"Peggy, look at this way.  At least you were able to have 2 good years with her here."

And he is right.  
I did.

This morning I went over to Altus to help my brother-in-law with a few of Sherry's things as we sorted and figured out what to do with items no longer needed.  It's not the most fun job ever but certainly one that is necessary.  We've been at it awhile and are nearly done.  At noontime I started home once again, making my way along the back roads from there to here.  I've kind of found I enjoy the trip going that way instead of south into Vernon and then over here to Burkburnett from there.  There is something peaceful and quiet about it all, and it gives me time to think about things and just where it is that I am going from this point in time.

Today for some reason as I was driving the back way home, I was thinking of Sherry and when we were kids growing up on the farm in Kansas.  There was nothing in particular on my mind, just nice remembrances of a life that was so much simpler than the one I live today. The passage of more than 60 years of time has erased part of the memories of my very early days.
Yet there remain happy recollections aplenty of a life that I wish all kids could grow up in.  

You know, I think I need to take those back roads more often.  Something about them actually provides a sense of healing, and certainly they seem to relieve a feeling of stress as a result of not only losing a loved one, but simply by living in the hurried pace that we all seem to find ourselves in from to time.

I have lost two sisters this summer, both within 6 weeks of one another.  Someone asked me the other day how I was doing, and I believe my reply was that I was just doing my best to stay alive.  I feel sure that God has a plan yet for me here on this planet called Earth.  I believe that there are still things that I will be called to do and of this I am assured.

The one God who has my remaining days in His hands, will not leave me alone in the wilderness.  I figure He will be with me wherever it is that I may travel.

Even along the back roads.

~a ripening milo field between Altus and Tipton, Oklahoma today as I traveled home along nearly 70 miles of back roads~

~and now for August~

And now for August~

213 days have made their appearance on the calendar for 2017.  Seems like a lot of them and you would think it would have taken more time to go through them all, but it has not.  January 1st seems like it happened last month.  

April 5th?
Well that was last week.

When I was younger I never thought about how fast time flew.  Really.  I never did.  Time drug along.  It seemed like I would never get to to kindergarten like all of my older brothers and sisters did.  My October birthday arrived on the "slower than molasses" train each year when I was a kid.  Santa? Well sometimes I was sure that he wouldn't arrive much faster than my birthday did.   I waited forever to become a teenager and then even longer to go to college.  

It was when I became a mother to 3 little babies that I began to realize how fast time was going. Likewise, by the time I had 10 years of teaching under my belt, I sensed as well just how quickly my career in education would go.  The brevity of this thing called life is pretty sobering and for all those moments that I wished time would go by quicker, I now beg for it to slow down a bit.

It goes as it goes.
Time has a mind and a will of its own.

2017 has thus far been an eventful year.  When it began on January 1st, I was a teacher at a great school just up the road aways in Randlett, Oklahoma.  The 3rd graders in my class were getting ready for one giant push to do what was needed to excel in their state assessments that would be coming up in late March.  We would end up putting in extra time out of our school day in order to have some extra practice.  For 10 weeks, the kids and I stayed after school each day except Friday and worked for an extra hour on different concepts we had some struggles with.

It paid off.
I'm so proud of them.

On January 1st, my sister Sherry was alive and still going as strong as she could.  I remember talking to her that New Year's Day and we both recalled when we were much younger that neither of us ever expected to live until that time in the future that they were calling the year "2000".  It seemed so strange and foreign to think of it back in the '60s and '70s.

Yet we did.

There are now, including this day, 153 days left in this fine year.  Trust me when I say they probably will go by just as quickly.  What shall I do with them?  Will I spend them wisely? Will I wish some of them away?

In about two weeks, I'll begin a new school year in a brand new grade in a different school in Oklahoma.  I am looking forward to beginning it as if it were the first year I ever was a teacher. I'm excited for the possibility of a new challenge and plan to learn even more about what it takes to be a great educator.  My sidekick, my mentor and older sister, won't be physically here with me any longer.  No more phone calls along the way home to talk about the school day. Gone are the visits with her in person to look over students' work, to grade papers together, or just to sit and laugh about life.    I'm going to have to do something that I have never done before in 4 decades of being a teacher.

I am going to have to make it on my own.

My hope is to end this year of 2017 on a great note.  I want to look back on New Year's Eve night and know that I did my best to accomplish all that I could.  And hey, you know what?

That's all we can be expected to do in the first place.
Our best.

This was the view looking up one day while we were sitting underneath the old Cottonwood trees in our front yard in the mountains of Colorado.  (summer of 2014)