I am a banana.
I joined the world a little green, clumped together with others who looked just like me, hoping to be handled gently.

I am a banana.
I ripened nicely with gentle care, adequate light and a temperate climate.

I am a banana.
Now that you have peeled me back, you know I’ve got good fruit.  And…
I combine nicely with other foods – like yogurt, cereal, other fruits.

I am a banana.
Be careful with me – if you carelessly discard me I’ve been known to trip people up.

I am banana.
You could just hang me out to dry.
But then you’d be stuck with just a chip of the original.

I am a banana.
I bruise easily, in fact, you could smash me beyond recognition.  But the real essence of me will still be there and I’ll make a darn good smoothie.

Or better yet, bake me into bread.
I don’t even mind being put together with a few nuts.

I am a banana.
Bottom-line…
I’m recyclable.

Two and half weeks ago we had freezing temperatures and 8-14 inches of snow on the ground.  But this past week ended with a burst of sunshine and temperatures in the fifties.

Everybody here goes a bit nuts when the sun comes out after a cold spell.   My students quickly peeled their coats and threw their mittens on the ground.  They played like newborn lambs in the grass!

The scenic route to Larrabee State Park was lined with cars and people were on the beach kayaking, rock climbing, picnicking, taking pictures.

I strolled around with my camera and then drove further south hoping to catch a scenic sunset.  I wasn’t the only one enjoying a February miracle!

We emerge from womb to world
slipping from one tangle to the next.

Some swaddle and embrace,
some snarl and snag.

With both tenderness and teeth,
life plays catch and release.

Catch
and release.

The snow week had me contemplating time.  I recently heard someone say that we should see time as a servant, not a master.  It helped to have extra time on hand to contemplate ways I could accomplish that reversal.

One thing I noticed about having “extra” time because of being snowbound, was that I was willing to  spend an occasional quarter-hour on a quick chore without feeling robbed.  If I would just exercise this same incremental approach all the time, perhaps I wouldn’t have to use whole days to catch up.

I consider the early morning hours to be “me time.” Most people sleep in on their days off and I’m sure many of my friends got the call about school being cancelled and rolled over and joyfully went back to dreamland.  But even on my weekends,  I like to wake up at my usual time.  The hours between 5:30 and when the rest of my household wake up, are precious – and if I don’t have to go to work, they are pure gold!

Worried about my body turning to jelly – or more of me turning to jelly – I spent time on extra walks this last week.  I tried to get out at least twice a day beyond just the usual dog-to-the-field-outings.   I put on all my snow gear and trudged around in the neighborhood and woods.  I wasn’t thinking about “pace” or “heart rate” or even length of time or distance.  I just went outside.

These were perhaps the best gifts of extra time, and definitely ways in which time served me well.

“Magic is closer to the surface in the snow.”  Isn’t that a wonderful secret?  A fellow Minnesotan whispered this to the author of Breadcrumbs, Anne Ursu, and she shared it in an interview on NPR.

I find that after a snowfall I become an intrepid explorer in the landscape beyond my front door.  Fields and paths I was once intimately familiar with have become completely transformed by the white blanket of snow, the wind and sheerness of the atmosphere.  The change entices me to go beyond my usual walks and onto paths I’ve only glanced at in the past.

Boundaries disappear.  Only the presence of fences, organized plantings of orchards and thawed ditches tell me that this terrain of white belongs to somebody and that I have left the public path.  Wrapped and coated from head to toe, I am a trespasser across back yards and driveways, knowing my presence will most likely be ignored or go unwitnessed by those behind darkened window panes.

My dog winces in the wind, turning her face and pulling on the leash back towards home.  The horse in a neighbor’s field peeks from his small shed at me, perhaps wishing I was bringing a treat or coming to rescue him from the elements.  No elderly men with walkers or mothers pushing strollers, no kids on skate boards or bicycles are out and about today.

I feel like I am the last inhabitant in this whipped and whited world.  I walk through the woods able to look farther than before because the weight of the snow has crushed the underbrush and the trees are bare of leaves. Tree limbs knock and whine in the wind, a hawk flies above.  A red wing blackbird flits beside me, and hops to my footprints when I move on. Finally I come to a fence and forced to turn around, I head back home looking up now towards the sky and the foggy grayness of more snow on its way.

I woke up today thinking about pride.  I poked around a bit on the internet and most of the quotations associated with pride are about the negative side of pride – you know the ones: “pride goeth before a fall.”  This is not the kind of pride I’m thinking about.  I’m not thinking about vanity and boastfulness; I’m thinking about positive self-regard, a vision of oneself as  gifted, loved, cherished, worthy.

From Wikipedia:

“With a positive connotation, pride refers to a satisfied sense of attachment toward one’s own or another’s choices and actions, or toward a whole group of people, and is a product of praise, independent self-reflection, or a fulfilled feeling of belonging. Philosophers and social psychologists have noted that pride is a complex secondary emotion which requires the development of a sense of self and the mastery of relevant conceptual distinctions (e.g., that pride is distinct from happiness and joy) through language-based interaction with others.”

Why was I thinking about pride?  Because I think it is the best word to describe a virtue I think is indispensable to going forward each day in a way that fills that day with all that is possible.  I’m not sure how one gains a sense of pride but I know it when I see it in others, and in myself, and somehow I want to figure out a way to foster it and sustain it.

When I examine my own experiences with pride, I think of how people in my life have helped me feel successful and notice my abilities, strengths, capacities, and I am also very aware of how I had to “buy-in” to their beliefs before I truly felt pride.

I witnessed pride this week when one of my preschoolers demonstrated his new skill of spelling his entire name in front of his classmates.  Yes – I had highlighted this skill as one that is important, and yes – we have been taking steps to become successful, but the little spark of pride that glinted in his eyes at his own achievement is not something I could’ve kindled to flame  without this child’s intrinsic desire to own pride for himself. 

Other teachers I know are struggling with building the intrinsic desire to learn.  I’m coming to believe that pride in oneself and a recognition of one’s own worthiness is a necessary first step – “pride carry-eth one forward” – and so I’m going to think some more about how to support my students in noticing pride in themselves more often.

“Of course we can do it,” I told her.  “We”ve already got our theme book,  Blueberry Girl, right? It’s perfect for these times.  I’ve got a bunch of ideas.”

And so we met soon after that, with only 4 weeks to go.  Sharry says I came to our meeting with a “retreat-in-a-box.”

I had some “flying wish” paper leftover that I knew would be fun to use the first evening when we gathered. Using the opening lines in Neil Gaiman’s book, Blueberry Girl, as inspiration, (“Keep her from spindles and sleeps at sixteen..,”)  I suggested that we have mothers and daughters talk about the female characters or other heroines in books that were a source of inspiration for them.  This was a topic that all ages could engage in – from the youngest preschooler to the oldest grandmother – as my mom notes so well in her blog entry!

The discussion carried over into the next day as we sat in mixed age groups.  We talked as we drew pictures or cut out parts of magazines to collage small dioramas to illustrate our feelings. Many of us had the same favorite books and characters: Anne of Green Gables, Pippi Longstocking, Nancy Drew.  It was an interesting way to get to know more about each other.

And as my mother notes in her writing, the new-found friendships blossoming among the young girls was fun to watch.  But there was  connecting among those of us over 12 as well.  While we might not physically carry each other  piggy-back, there is a sharing of burdens and a quiet recognition of bonding that always happens on this weekend,
that happens in church,
that happens in community…..
period.

and there’s no need to kindle a fire in my belly

thoughts tumble like sparks onto the page

writing writing writing writing

words pop and crackle – i’m on fire

writing writing writing

until only embers remain

2011 was my first experience with One Little Word.  My word was “notice.”

I have thoroughly enjoyed this endeavor.  While I didn’t always like the prompt suggested by Ali Edwards, and occasionally created my own, I found the questions and tasks provocative and worthy of thought.  Discerning why I wanted to engage in the prompt, or not, was often the most valuable part of the exercise.  It helped that I was intent on creating a book that I treasured, not just a collection of monthly projects. (It was sweet to hear my daughter say, “I want this book  someday.”)

The months that were the most fun for me involved photography, art and poetry. Prompts where I felt forced to take a perspective that wasn’t natural for me were the most challenging but thinking about why the prompt bothered me told me things about myself I hadn’t been aware of.

I love the word I chose this year; in fact I don’t think I’ll really be leaving it behind next year, rather, my new word will become a layer over the old – like lace over silk.  I am sure the two words will interact with each other in ways I can’t imagine.  I’m excited to see what happens.

I’ve been thinking hard the past few weeks about a word for 2012.  Knowing how it felt to explore my word creatively and in writing over this past year has me looking for a word with lots of dimensions.

Right now I have chosen the word “thirst.”  I’ve got a week for it to take up residence in my soul before I begin a new journey.

update 12-31-2011
I thought about being thirsty all week and realized I was most thirsty for delight – 2011 was a tough year.  So my One Little Word for 2012 will be “delight.”  Bring it on!

“The world outside my window,
is a world of color I see.
Fiddle dee dee, outside my window,
there’s a world of color I see. 
Rainbow, rainbow, rainbow ’round me.
Rainbow, rainbow, rainbow ’round me.”

Tom Hunter was a minstrel, a pastor and a teacher -  all of these all the time.  I heard him first as a young parent with my children at the library for a sing-a-long. Then I heard him on his “circuit,” presenting at conferences for teachers around the country.  But I appreciated him most as a spiritual leader in our community, gathering generations together at a local theater each December for stories and songs contemplating the Christmas season.

He died suddenly 3 years ago but his songs live on in my memory. There are the songs I love as a teacher, I Have a Box:

“I have a box, it’s an old shoe box and it’s just about this big square…if you come over here, you can look in my box, ’cause my favorite things are there…..”

The tired mom in me is often humming the lullaby, Rock Me to Sleep:  “Tonight I’d like you to rock me to sleep, I’d like you to sing me a song.  I’m tired of trying to figure things out, I’m tired of being so strong.”

But the song that sticks in my head the whole year round is Angels:  “Angels might be anywhere at all, listening, gossiping, anywhere at all.  On a cloud or a rooftop or climbing up the wall, angels might be anywhere at all.”

Last Sunday, his songs were once again being sung by our congregation.  Tears fell in remembrance and joy.