I don't like being a sandwich

They call this time period when your kids still need you and your aging parents do too, the sandwich generation. I don't like being a sandwich. I don't even know what kind of sandwich I am or suppose to be. Justin had the flu all week end, my Uncle Jim died Sunday morning, and my parents are starting to remind me of me and David.  Rob informed me that we are in a high wind, flooding, and tornado warning until 1 PM, as soon as I got out of bed.  I remember before I was a sandwich, Rob and I discussed things besides the weather and blood pressure medication. So off I head to school with this information, to do lesson plans and check in at school. Lessons plans sketched out, phone numbers exchanged with the sub, now for something to eat for breakfast. Before I was a sandwich, I didn't worry about eating breakfast but now I have to eat before I take my medications or I have a tendency to want to throw up. I remember thinking, at one time, that eating breakfast and taking medication was pretty lame. When I was a kid, the mothers in the neighborhood took "nerve medicine". I thought that was pretty lame too, but that too, was before I was a sandwich. I stop at McDonald's and get a diet Pepsi and a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. I know I should have gotten oatmeal but I can't eat oatmeal and drive and I need to head to Grafton to start my day. Driving through the downpours, thunder and lightening remind me of last Monday at Derek's funeral.  I start thinking about how I got from being a kid to being a sandwich driving through a storm to plan a funeral. I need to get my Mom some clothes for the viewing and funeral so I stop at Bealls in Grafton but they aren't open yet so to make the best use of my time I decide to start shopping for Justin's and Cassie's Easter baskets. These are the kind of things that sandwiches do, one minute you are shopping for your elderly parents and the next minute you are planning Easter baskets for the adult kids that still want Easter baskets. They are no fools. They see what life as a sandwich is like and they want no part of it. I don't blame them. I do some Easter basket shopping at the Dollar Store and wait for Bealls to open. I walk inside and the lady ask me if she can help me. I usually say no, but yes I want help today. "I need to pick out some dressy pant suits for my mother who is 82" I said. My Mom use to bring me to Grafton on the train to buy me dresses when I was little. That seemed like fun.  This doesn't. We walk to the back of the store and I pick out three pant suits and a pair of shoes. I call Mom to make sure my purchases are OK, because sandwiches still have to answer to their parents. On to the funeral home to meet my brother Rick and cousin Pam. They are both retired, which makes me a fresher sandwich than them. When you are a sandwich you start learning many things about funeral homes and planning funerals. I'm glad my uncle already had a few things picked out, like his casket. How do you pick out a casket for someone? When I pondered on that for a moment and thought of Justin picking out my casket, I decided that some decisions are probably better made when you are still alive. There are still a million things to choose and decide. We all thought the funeral home already had his suit. They didn't. We had to decide on a suit and tie. My cousin Pam thinks like me. One, it is all just going in the ground anyway and two if someone doesn't like the tie, we will just say that Uncle Jim picked it out before he died. So on to other decisions, the memorial book, the remembrance card cover, the remembrance poem, the obituary, the times for viewings and funeral. Somewhere in the middle of all of this Pam informs us that she has no place at her house for anymore flowers. We order flowers. When all the arrangements are made we decide to go eat lunch.  Before I was a sandwich, lunch could have been fries and a dessert. I order grilled chicken and the even older sandwiches order salads. I guess I should be happy that it isn't Ensure, which Rick gives me a case of to bring home to Mom. Lunch over, I head home. My cell phone rings. It is Justin. I can hear him but he can't hear me. That conversation reminded me alot of his entire freshman year at college. So home to Rowlesburg I go. I stop at Mom and Dad's house to drop off Mom's clothes, shoes, and Ensure. I haven't even made it in the door when Dad informs me that he needs clothes, too. I'm thinking why didn't you tell me when Mom told me and I could have shopped for you at the same time. Parents pay their kids back when they realize their kids are now sandwiches. My Dad tells me not to make a special trip, which means, you must love your mother more than me. At this point, I call Rob. I give him Dad's sizes and shopping list and tell him to stop in Morgantown before he comes home. I really don't want to drive back to Grafton or Morgantown. I don't remember asking to be a sandwich. It just happened, like everything else in life. You are just hanging around with your friends and the next thing you know you are a sandwich.

It is all true, but not my fault.

Someone at school ask me the other day, after my blog about being born in a car, if I was really born in a car. I was actually born in a car. I told Rob tonight, sometimes I really think I am boring but when I re-read some of my blogs I'm not sure. Things do seem to happen to me and the people around me. I always just had this desire to be left alone and lead a nice calm quite life but it just never seemed to happen. When I was little it was my brothers, who bothered me and disturbed my peace. They use to carry snakes around in their pockets and scare me with them. They were little black racer snakes. I didn't think carrying snakes around in your pockets was normal behavior but they did. I liked playing Barbies but my brothers didn't so I spent a lot of  time playing war and guns. I have old black and white photos of me holding guns and wearing Army helmets. David was always thinking up things we should do and so he wouldn't get in trouble he would tell me to tell Mom it was my idea. David had a lot of dumb ideas. David and I had a passion for dirt from a very early age and the dirtier we could get, the better. We still tend to like to go against the norm or stir things up a bit. This entire train of thought leads me to something else I discussed with someone at school this week. Why my parents are so tired. There are four kids in our family. I always knew my brothers were difficult for my parents but it just never dawned on me that I was a problem at all. At least not until I took my Dad to the doctor one day and he informed the doctor that I was the difficult child to raise. I was shocked. I mean really shocked. It just never dawned on me that everyone hadn't done the things that I had done. I look back now and realize maybe that things weren't as boring as I thought and maybe I'm not as innocent as I always thought. I know I'm tired and my parents are really tired and maybe there is a reason, but most of the stuff was David's idea.

Favorites

Favorite movie - Dr. Zhivago, Favorite book - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,  Favorite Candy - M&M's, Favorite shoes - flip flops, Berks,  Favorite colors - Light Blue, Aqua, & Pink, Favorite Beatle - Paul,  Favorite clothes - sweats, capris and summer tops,  Favorite toy- Barbie dolls,  Favorite place to get ice cream - Sarris Candy in Cannonsburg,PA,  Favorite activity- beaching it, Favorite thing to shop for - Home decorating items,  Favorite shows - NCIS, Grey's Anatomy, HGTV shows &Food Network,  Favorite Person to Annoy- my brother David,  Favorite Friday night food - pizza,  Favorite music - good old rock and roll,  Favorite middle age activities - sleeping, face book, napping,  Favorite escape places - The Meadow & Ormond Beach,  Favorite drink - Diet Pepsi,  Favorite sport - swimming,  Favorite things to do in the evening - play with my jewelry and beads, read, face book, Favorite summer activities - being outside in the yard, playing with plants and flowers, eating outside, sitting in the sun,  Favorite foods - desserts & pasta, Favorite furniture - family antiques,  Favorite activity - writing,  Favorite shrink - mine, Favorite people - family,  Favorite hair color - blonde in women, dark brown in men,  Favorite need - to be waited on,  Rob's favorite thing - for me to shut up!

Rob and the Wet Tee Shirt Contest

The other day while we were out eating, Justin asked me why I was so needy and demanding. He was told the following story because I thought at 24 he was finally old enough to hear it. First, I informed him, I use to be a nice, mellow person, but that was at a young age before your uncles and father destroyed my very being. Second, the following story is just one reason that your Dad has to wait on me hand and foot. So the story begins........ It was a hot summer afternoon in the late 70's in Morgantown. Your father and I were at a laundromat on the Suncrest side of Morgantown. We had loads and loads of laundry. It was hot. The laundromat was hot and humid. After starting a few loads, your father volunteered to walk down to the 7-Eleven and get us an ice cold, cherry Slurpee. That sounded so good. I remained at the laundromat filling the washers and driers with one load of clothes after another. I was hot, sweaty and so looking forward to that nice, cold Slurpee. Your father didn't come and didn't come. I began to worry, like I did in those years before Prozac. Had he been run over, arrested for something, maybe gotten into a fight ??????? What could it be? Where was he? I walked outside after folding some clothes and noticed lots of people and traffic at the 7-Eleven. I was right. There must have been an accident. What should I do? As I was trying to gather our clothes and thoughts, a young man walked into the laundromat. I asked him what was going on at the 7-Eleven. Had someone been hurt? Was it an accident? He laughed. No it is a wet tee shirt contest. WET TEE SHIRT CONTEST, I asked? Yes, he replied. My blood pressure rose instantly, my already over heated body became even hotter, and acts of violence came to my mind. YOUR FATHER WAS AT A WET TEE SHIRT CONTEST WITH MY SLURPEE WHILE I'M DOING THE LAUNDRY. Hours later your father showed up and tried to explain to me how difficult it was trying to get back up the street with all the traffic. Fire erupted from my mouth. When it ended, I needed my drink more than ever and demanded YOUR FATHER give it to me. He said he couldn't because he had drank them both while watching the WET TEE SHIRT CONTEST. It was hot standing in the sun, he said.  My blood pressure and mood change to this day telling this story, I informed Justin. That is just one of the many things that your father has done that he is still paying for to this day. Anymore questions, Justin????

Doing nothing.

In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.
Theodore Roosevelt

                                                 

So many people do nothing. The older I get, the more this bothers me. I am tired of people who play both sides, ride the fence, turn their heads, refuse to speak up. I feel that the people who watch wrong and do nothing are just as guilty as the person doing the wrong. There is a show on TV called  "What would you do?" I see so many people every day letting the bully get their way. They walk away. Act like it is not their problem. I admit that standing up for yourself or others is never easy, but believe me it feels much better than being a coward. How many things could have been prevented? How many things could have been made better? How many people could have been helped? How many people could have been saved, if just one person would have done the right thing? No not the easy thing, but the right thing.  The easy thing is doing nothing, but that is also the worst thing you can do. Don't walk away, don't ride the fence, don't play both sides, have some courage and do the right thing.

An Everyday Extraordinary Hero, My Cousin Pam

In our world of big names, curiously, our true heroes tend to be anonymous. In this life of illusion and quasi-illusion, the person of solid virtues who can be admired for something more substantial than his well-knownness often proves to be the unsung hero: the teacher, the nurse, the mother, the honest cop, the hard worker at lonely, underpaid, unglamorous, unpublicized jobs.
Daniel J. Boorstin

I thought I should return to my therapy (my writing) tonight, but what could I write about after the last week. Rob and I both came home drained today. My first landing was the couch with chocolate. I checked out my e-mail, face book and took a nap. I awoke and thought about what could motivate me to want to do anything. I started thinking about my cousin Pam (Derek's Mom). Many kind words have been said about Derek this past week. Words have been used like courage, honorable, hero. Derek is deserving of all of these words, but another person also very deserving of these words are his mother, Pam. Pam is an inspiration to many. She is especially an inspiration to me. She is what I want to be someday. She is strong, kind, spiritual, forgiving, and full of faith and love. She shows great strength during the most trying times and unbearable pain. When my young cousin was shot and killed last week in the line of duty, I was angry. During the funeral service for her son, the national head of the US Marshal Service spoke of how Pam had consoled her when she had called Pam to give her support. I've felt the same during this week. I constantly find myself asking "how does she do it?" Pam lost her husband 10 years ago and raised her teenage sons by herself while working full time as a teacher. During Pam's eulogy for her son, she spoke of praying for all the US Marshals and seem to step forward and tell us in the end it will all be OK. Pam is an unsung hero. She is a wonderful mother, teacher, friend to many, an inspiration to all who know her. She is also funny, a good cook and a devote Christian.  Pam is someone to admire. In these modern times of false heroes in the entertainment and sports industry, we need to look for and acknowledge the true everyday heroes all around us and in our families, so this blog tonight is dedicated to one of my heroes, my cousin Pam, who demonstrated for her younger cousin once again what it means to be strong, courageous, kind, spiritual and a true Christian. I love you, Pam.

Moving on with dignity

I have always admired people who move on after a tragedy. It isn't that the loss was any easier for them than any of the rest of us, but they seem to pick up the pieces, pull themselves together, and move on with what needs done. I remember my Grandfather cleaning out the debris in his sister's house the day after she died in a fire in her home. I remember thinking how can he pull himself together to do that. As I have aged, I have begun to understand the day, that at the time seemed so foreign to me. One, we are a working class family. We don't have the luxury of down time to recoup our hearts, souls, and minds. We need to get back to work, clothes need washed, bills need paid, kids need feed. The other is an almost West Virginia, pioneer state of mind. You stay tough no matter what. I've seen this after my small hometown was nearly destroyed by flooding. I've seen it when someone becomes very ill in our family. I've seen it after divorce, car wrecks, deaths, and lean financial times.  We didn't have the money to abandon our homes after the flood so you shoveled mud, you did without utilities and you thanked God you still had a house to shovel mud out of and a wood burning stove to sit around at the end of a long day. I've watched family members move on after great loss, and they moved on with dignity. My cousin Pam has suffered great loss in her life but she will use her faith in God and support of family and friends to move on with dignity. She will be in unimaginable pain and grief but she will move on because that is what we do. We get up, we do what needs to be done, and we move on.        " Courage is not the absence of fear, but simply moving on with dignity despite that fear. ~ "

  Pat Riley

In Memory of Derek

I stayed home yesterday from school to go to the doctor for this lingering cough (bronchitis). I had just arrived home and was laying on the couch when my brother called. He told me that our cousin Derek, Pam's son, had been shot in Elkins. I had heard about the US Marshals being shot in Elkins but it didn't register with me that it could possibly be Derek. Rick said he had been taken to Ruby in Morgantown and was in surgery. I quickly got on the Internet.  Maybe it was a state of denial,  but although three Marshals had been shot, it seemed like they were all going to survive.I called my parents to let them know. I talked to my Dad but told him not to tell my Mom, yet. I was trying to process all this information when my brother called back and told me his neighbor in Morgantown had just informed him that the Marshal who had been shot in the neck had died in surgery, I caught my breath and asked, "Where did Derek get shot?" I called my Dad and told him to tell Mom because he had died and it would be on the news. I called Rob and Justin. I thought of my cousin Pam, who had lost her husband at a young age. He was also a police officer. Today I'm angry. I'm angry that a young life was taken so senselessly. I'm angry that it was taken by a worthless drug dealer. I'm angry that someone had no value for their own life or others. I don't know why things like this happen. I know it isn't God's will, but couldn't he have saved Derek's life? Why does Pam have to go through this most unimaginable pain of loosing a child? Derek was only 24. Justin's age. Why couldn't the guy just have surrendered? Derek did everything right in life. He was a good kid. He worked hard. He lost his father young. I thought I would see Pam at a funeral soon but not her son's funeral. I thought I would see her at our uncle's funeral, who is in a personal care home, with rapidly declining health. Pam and I go to see our uncle but never seem to time our visits at the same time. I asked myself "Why?" many times today and nothing makes sense. I can think of nothing reassuring to say to my cousin. It will never be better. How can it be? She is the one with great faith. Not me. I wish I could think of something inspirational. I can't. I told a fellow teacher on the playground today that this would be my worst nightmare, to loose my son. I know I sound bitter, but the only plus seems to be that the shooter was killed and we won't have to spend tax dollars keeping the drug dealer in prison forever. I wish I could think about forgiveness, I can't. I spent much time today thinking about our society? Do we need to get stricter about many things. Derek's mother and I are both teachers. Schools definitely need to return to a stricter environment. I see student's everyday that feel that they should be able to say and do whatever they want and get by with it. Our society seems to have an almost hero worship of sports stars and entertainment celebrities whose daily behavior seems to consist of drugs, breaking the law and other inappropriate behavior. The man who gunned down my cousin obviously felt like there should be no consequences for his bad behavior and if anyone got in his way, he was armed to kill. I think it is time to make everyone accountable for their behavior, starting at school, at home, and in our neighborhoods. Stop making excuses and glorifying bad behavior. Stop raising children to be juvenile deliquents who grow up and think it is OK to shoot federal marshals doing their job. Derek was a good man. Someone's son. Someone's brother. He did things the right way in life. Can we say the same thing?

I guess I'll go to the doctor

Rob is sick of listening to me cough. My friends on face book are sick of listening to me talk about my cough. Susan wouldn't let me touch her phone yesterday. David has no sympathy for me, as usual. Rob quit sleeping in the same bed with me a few nights ago, and I am almost out of my cough medicine with codeine. I guess I'll go to the doctor today. I would have gone yesterday but I slept through the morning right into the afternoon. I really don't like going to the doctor when I'm sick because I'm sick and tired. My doctor or Rob doesn't understand this concept. To me it is very simple. Who feels like getting dress, going outside, getting in the car and driving somewhere when you are sick? I just want to stay in bed or on the couch and sleep. This very moment I'm trying to force myself to stay awake so I can call school and the doctor. I think I will probably have to have someone give me a wake up call so I can call the doctor at nine. Then when you get to the doctor, he always asks me what is wrong. I could take at least a half of a day answering that question, but I assume he just wants my symptoms. I always look my symptoms up on the Internet now and report to him what I think my diagnoses is at this time. He calls me Web MD, which I don't think is meant to be a compliment. Anyway, last night I also got my face book friends opinion, which should make my diagnoses more valid,  My symptoms are coughing, headache, slight fever, tired, chest congestion and pain. He will look at me, listen to my lungs, look down my throat, look at my ears and tell me to loose weight. I'm serious. He will tell me to loose weight. I asked him what that has to do with anything and what about this cough. He will say "oh yea, you have an upper respiratory infection, but you need to loose weight." The last time I went to the doctor when I was sick in January, I had lost 6 pounds. My doctor and Rob both said it didn't count because I was sick. So now there are conditions on my weight lose. I always get a lecture, too, about why I wait so long to finally come to the doctor. I want to make sure I'm really sick, and I think if I wait a few more days I may drop a couple of pounds. So, I'm going to call Rob and tell him to give me a wake up call at nine so I can call my doctor. Rob will happily do this because he is just excited to know someone else has to listen to me for a few minutes instead of him. I think he pays the doctor a little extra on the side to give me something that will knock me out for a few days. He is considerate like that.

A Day in the Life of a Family

Life in a family is very much life the seasons of a year or the circular wedding ring worn on the left ring finger. Tonight as I lay by this winter's evening fire, I reflect on this day in the life of my family. I woke this morning and turned to my husband and said "Let's get up, shower, dress, and head to Grafton to see Uncle Jim."  Uncle Jim is my Mom's last remaining brother. He has no children, is wife is deceased and he spends his days now in a personal care home sleeping and staring at the ceiling. When I walked in his room this morning, he got tears in his eyes. He is tired and worn out. Everything needs to be done for him. I sat with him for a couple of hours, holding his glass for him while he sipped juice from a straw. He is weak, frail, and slipping away.All I can do is be there for him. Hold his hand, help him with his drink, and let him know he still has family. He is on oxygen and can only say a few words at a time. I wonder why life has to end like this? Justin checks in and let's me know that he has checked on his Grandparents (my Mom and Dad), brought them lunch, and that they need milk. Rob and I leave Uncle Jim. I tell him I will be back. We stop to pick up milk and I pick out candy for my parents. My parents like candy and I buy it for them. They are 82, if they want candy they can have it. It is very difficult to watch your parents age. I become torn at times, although you want your parents to live forever, I also do not want to see them spending their day in bed sleeping and staring at the ceiling. I know I don't want that for myself. The trip home is quiet. A nap and then off to meet Liane and the kids for dinner. Justin and Cassie come along. The evening is full of youthful laughter of children, chatter of young adults, discussions of up coming trips. On the ride back, Rob and I in the front seat and Justin and Cassie in the back, my mind floats to times Rob and I were in the backseat of our parents car. Life is circling around me as the adults become childlike, and the children become adult life and Rob and I are somewhere in the middle. I can see my past in Justin and Cassie but also my future in my parents and uncle.The seasons of life shared by a family. The photos by a fireplace now faded. The faces somewhat familiar but seem so old. The promise of new ones to come. A day in the life of a family.

I am only one

I am only one,
But still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
But still I can do something;
And because I cannot do everything
I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.
       - Edward Everett Hale     
I am only one but I am at the age where I can not stand back any longer when I know that things are wrong. I am secure enough in my own being if I have to make people angry or have people disagree with me then be it. I am also at the age or maturity level when I realize it is not about me. I am only one but I can not stand by or flow with the majority because it is easy. In the last week I have closely followed the news in Egypt. It does my heart good to know that there are still people brave enough to join together for change. This morning before I left for school, I felt the presence of God and gave him thanks. Thanks for giving me courage to stand alone in the last few months in a battle I had to take on. A battle that is not only for me but for others. Knowledge forces us to accept change even if we really don't want to at times. The knowledge of how children learn, learning disabilities, emotional and mental disabilities has increased astronomically in my 30 years of teaching. The need for acceptance of all people and children, especially, has been brought to our attention in recent years. We know more about many things than we did thirty years ago when I started my career. We can no longer as educators use 20 year old plans or accept the views that we had years ago on learning, learning disabilities, and mental health. We have to utilize the information and help that are available to our students or children now. I told a colleague tonight that I feel like we are ready to step into a new educational arena. We are no longer just teachers, but need to have the ability to look at children and recognize the symptoms or characteristics for physical, intellectual, emotional, or mental disabilities. This didn't use to be part of our job, but it is know. I see many of my colleagues struggling with these issues. It is difficult. Many of us were at the very threshold of special education. It is a new world every day, but that doesn't mean that it isn't a real world or a world that, even though it is changing, is not going to continue to be here for a long time. I have found myself learning on my own about the disabilities and conditions that my students bring into the door with them. Some feel that if a student isn't "normal" they have no place in the regular classroom. Who, of us, can stand up and say I am perfect. I can't. I am one of these students. We can no longer assume that we can order a child to do something and that if they really wanted to, they could or would do it. I think many adults are beginning to realize that if they were in school now, they too would have a label. There are many of us. We are not going away and we are not going to be shoved down the hall or locked away. So this morning, as I thought about, why as only one, do I take on these battles? That is when I felt God's presence, as if to say ........"Debra, I will give you the strength and courage, if you will defend them, and yourself." And then he gave me a beautiful morning drive on the river road, a glorious sunny morning, blue sky, and trees sparkling with ice crystals. We can not continue to discriminate or play favorites. None of us are perfect, many of us are flawed. We know better now and we have to do better. Even if that means starting with just me because I will not refuse to do something that I can.

crazy, stupid, ....

Someone at school today told me to go home and write something on my blog tonight. I'm glad that everyone finds my life so amusing. I actually thought for a second that maybe I'll run out of things to say or write about but I don't think that is going to happen because honestly, crazy, stupid, shit just always seems to happen to me, or around me. For example, the 4th grade was testing today and the test was being given by professional testers but we had to stay in the room. I thought near the end of testing, OK this went reasonably well. At precisely that moment one of my boys raised his hand and ask the tester if she wanted her pencils back because that kid over there just ate his. That is pretty much how my life has gone. Just when you think it is safe to go back into the water some stupid, crazy shark comes by and takes a nice big bite out of your behind. That is probably why I am always so tired. It is subzero outside and I hate to be cold.  It is because I spend my days trying to educate nine year olds who have no desire to be educated. It is because Justin decided we needed to spend half the night at the cell phone store because he needed the latest greatest cell phone. Then it dawned on me that I'm tired because of the 52 years of dumb, crazy, shit I've done with my crazy ass friends and family. I mean these are people who teachers dreaded, cops told to go in for the night so they could get some sleep, and parents thought would never grow up. It is tiring to keep up with people like this. I was usually the innocent bystander but it took a toll. I tried to talk these people out of doing the crazy things they did, but like now in  my life no one would listen. Believe me, it was not me who caught the backseat of the car on fire.  It was not me who thought Jack Daniels would taste good in a milkshake. It was not me who stuck pencils up their nose in biology class. It was not me who spiked the punch at the seventh grade dance. It was not me who conducted the lobotomy on the chicken in advanced biology class. It was not me who thought that Mom and Dad will never find out. It was not me who thought it was a great idea to call the Principal and say HI on skip day.  Yes, I was there but these things were not my idea.

Twin II The Saga Begins

Well, Twin II, that would be David, is feeling left out and neglected, so this blog will focus on David and me. We have two older brothers. That is enough on them. My Mom and Dad decided they wanted a little girl. Great, but wait so where does David come into the picture? I've always asked myself the same thing. Mom gets pregnant and during that time in the 1950's there weren't the sophisticated tests to indicate twins or sex of the baby. My Mom grew huge during the pregnancy. The doctor said he only heard one heart beat so it had to be just one baby. My Great-Grandmother is the only one to call the pregnancy correct. She conducted the very scientific "pencil over the belly" test and concluded that the pregnancy was twins. No one believed her. So one night in early May of 1958 my Mom informed my Dad that she thought it was time for the baby. That would be me. She had my two older brothers at the hospital in Oakland, Maryland so that is where they headed after picking up my Grandmother. Well, outside of Aurora my Mom told my Dad the baby was coming. He pulled over and my Grandmother delivered me. This would be a nice end to the story but no, my life has and never will be easy. So, I'm wrapped up in a blanket thinking this will be great. The only girl with two older brothers, when my Mom says something is wrong. I feel something. My Grandmother tried to reassure her that everything was fine and that they would be at the hospital soon. She said no something is wrong, so on the Ben DeWitt Road in Maryland my Dad pulled the car off the road again. Guess who shows up? You guessed it, David. Not only did he show up, but he wasn't planned. My parents didn't need another boy. They had two. They needed me. Then in typical David fashion, he becomes the center of attention because my Grandmother thinks he isn't breathing. He is breathing. He is just holding his breathe. I had just spent nine months with him in close quarters. Nobody knows David better than me. So throw Debra on the backseat and cuddle poor little David, who conveniently started crying outside the hospital. This is just great. My Dad runs in the hospital and tells the ER folks that his wife is out in the car having babies, like we belong to a litter or something. The nurses run out and get us all into the hospital but decide that David and I are contaminated because we were born in car. We aren't allowed in the nursery with the other babies, so I'm stuck in some room with David, by myself. I've already spent nine months alone with him. He is annoying. He is whiny. All he does is cry and hold is breathe. Then my Dad has to try and explain to the hospital that we were born in two different states. Unbelievable, I should have known at this point what my life was going to be like. To make me feel better, through out my life my Mom tried to convince me that David was a gift from God. That they (Mom and Dad), were worried that I would be lonely because my brothers were older and I would have no one to play with as a child, so God gave me David as a playmate. What ever happened to just getting a kid a dog?

Riverview Cemetery

I was going to have a Super Bowl food blog here but Justin stole my food photos and posted them on his Foggy Mountain Meanderings blog, so this blog will be about the Rowlesburg Riverview Cemetery. The cemetery located in the south end of Rowlesburg, in the section of town, known as Tar Hole to the locals, sets on a riverbank hillside on the Cheat River. The lower end of the cemetery is at the corner of Oak and Cemetery Streets and the upper end of the cemetery is located at the corner of Buffalo and Cemetery. I grew up on Oak Street with my brothers and still live on Oak Street but at the other end of the street. I miss having the cemetery as my neighbor. Many folks growing up made comments about how scary or unusual it must be to live by a cemetery. I never thought so. Maybe that is because my parents were so passive about it. Many people consider the residents of a cemetery the best neighbors you can have.  They are quiet, don't gossip, never complain. You don't have to worry about their kids or pets. Our parents in the neighborhood had rules about the cemetery. We weren't allowed to play in the cemetery. When we were playing street ball, if a ball went into the cemetery it was an automatic home run and only one person was allowed to go get it. If you went into the cemetery you had to be respectful, no walking on a grave, no loud talking ( I'm not sure why we had that rule), and no bothering anything.  I liked to walk in the cemetery and look at the monuments and grave markers and still do. After my walks in the cemetery I always came home and had a million questions about people in the cemetery for my Mom. The Riverview Cemetery is a wonderful history lesson on Rowlesburg. The monuments are a work of art. Everyone growing up in the vicinity of the cemetery has memories of it. Many seem to have memories of their brothers scaring them with stories. I really don't have any of those memories. I think I went to the cemetery to escape my brothers. I remember sitting on the cemetery steps, as many kids in our neighborhood did. I remember sitting and walking on the wall surrounding it. I remember strangers parking on our street and carrying flowers into the cemetery.  I remember having a seance in the cemetery when I was a teenager with some of my friends. I know we brought back John Kennedy with that Ouija Board that summer evening. Funny the things that you take for granted when you are a kid that become important to you as an aging adult, maybe that is why so many of us now are ready to donate our time to sprucing up the Riverview Cemetery. I visit other cemeteries when I travel. There are big and beautiful cemeteries in places like Savannah and New Orleans but none are quite as charming as Riverview on the Cheat.

Super Bowl and Food

Justin thinks I need to start featuring photos, food, and recipes in my blog. This is the child who told me I was too old for a face book page and nobody would want to be my friend. So a couple of years later I have a face book page with a few friends (almost 500) and a blog, which a few people read each day. Obviously, I have gone from too old to keep up with technology Mom. I thought this weekend would be a good weekend to spend some time in the kitchen. Rob will be there too, so I will also be featuring some of his food masterpieces. My family loves food.  This love of food goes back for generations. My Grandma Felton's house was always full of canned foods, baked goods, candy, fresh eggs, home grown fruits and vegetables, homemade candy, and delicious meals waiting on the table.  My Mom was also a wonderful cook, although time has caught up with her. I had the benefit of a stay at home Mom who had a homemade breakfast for us in the morning and homemade snacks waiting after school. Sunday dinner after church was always a family affair at our house. I still like Sunday dinner at home. Big extended family meals took place at my Grandparents on holidays and after Rob and I were married we usually went to my Grandparents once a week for dinner. There are some evenings after school that I would love to be able to see my Grandparents again and enjoy one of my Grandmother's meals with them. Every holiday with my family involves food. We just really like food, so I guess Justin is right, I need to include some food blogs once in awhile.

Hey look at me!

Honestly, don't all of us just want to be noticed, loved, cared about and made to feel special once in awhile. I notice this with kids at school. I started reading poems to a student today at school.  The student brought me over a book of poetry and I couldn't help but start reading the poetry aloud. Before long, I was surrounded by a group of students. I tend to sometimes give students nicknames at school.  This year I've had students come up to me and ask me to make up a nickname for them. I really think we are all alike pretty much at any age, we want to feel like we matter to someone. I think sometimes students who have the most problems at school for some reason have the feeling that nobody cares for them. I try to create a family atmosphere in my classroom.  A classroom where everyone has a feeling of belonging, but also a sense of responsibility to the entire group. The older I've become the more I feel that kids perform better for someone that they sense cares about them. They accept discipline and lectures better and are more willing to do the right thing to try and please you. Sometimes I just have to stop and remind myself to let the kids know I care. A teacher can get so caught up in teaching, testing, grading papers and test scores that we forget that these are human beings that need nourishment for their hearts and souls also. A child is just not a test score or a grade on a report card, and sometimes we all have to remember this. They are like us. They are trying to get our attention and say "Hey, look at me."  I have a heart, soul, and mind. I want to be notice, loved, cared about and made to feel special once in awhile. What a great idea and goal to strive for during the month of Valentine's Day. Listen for those little voices saying "Hey look at me".

My life changed in second grade

I'm not sure why but I remember more about second grade than many of the other, even later years, of my education.  Some times I think that maybe the moral fiber of my very being was developed that year. Two things stand out in my mind. One, at Christmas time a little girl in my class said she wasn't getting anything for Christmas. I worried about that the rest of the entire school day. I came home that evening and told my Mom and insisted we buy a doll for the little girl in my class, so she had something for Christmas morning. My Mom bought a doll and and gave it to my teacher to see that the little girl received it in time for Christmas. I, at that time in my young life.  realized that it isn't fun being a poor kid. I also realized it is also not their fault. I am still amazed that many blessed and educated adults still do not "get" something that I learned in second grade. I, everyday, see poor kids being discriminated against, pushed aside, treated like left overs.  It saddens me that those that are blessed would take from those, who already have so little. I wasn't poor but I certainly wasn't an affluent child. I grew up in what most people would consider a poor working class community. Guess what? As kids we didn't know it. We were all pretty much in the same boat, some had a little more, some a little less but we all looked out for each other and still do. I could call any of my classmates 34 years later and they would do anything for me, as I would do for them. I don't see this in schools I teach in now where people build and support a caste system based on parents income. The second major thing that stands out in my mind is when one of my classmates little sister was killed by a train. I can still see him standing at our classroom door crying as he was told about the death of his little sister. They were a family, like many families in our town that didn't have a great deal financially, but it didn't make that little girl's death any less significant or any easier to grieve if she had been the President's daughter. I learned in second grade being human is about being human. It doesn't matter if you are rich or poor, young or old, black or white. Feelings, emotions, fortune and misfortune do not judge like may of us do. The little girl's grave is in the graveyard near my home. I go there to ground myself and to remind myself about how my life changed in second grade.
                                                                                                                                                                       

Advice from a 10 year old

Today at school one of my little girls informed me that I probably needed to put a word or symbol on my face book posts that indicated sarcasm. I asked her if she understood my sarcasm and why was she looking at my posts when I had defriended anyone under 18? She said yes she understood my sarcasm and she was on her Mom's FB page and her Mom said it was OK. We then get into a discussion about if she was a 10 year old in fourth grade and understood my sarcasm why wouldn't adults. She replied with, "I'm just saying Mrs. Morell, I think the sarcasm indicator would be a good thing for you."  I replied back that I thought that if an adult couldn't understand the sarcasm that a 10 year old could, maybe they shouldn't be following me or my face book posts. One of the boys in the class at that point commented that you most definitely should not follow Mrs. Morell's Face book if you don't understand sarcasm. I think that was a compliment, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I guess my kids are looking out for me because they are afraid someone might not understand me, even though they do. It is really nice to have a bunch of 9 and 10 year olds looking out for you because honestly, they are honest. They are refreshing and they tell each other the way it is everyday. They aren't two-faced or fake. You know where they stand and they let you know what they really think. If they think your hair looks stupid they tell you. If they think your being boring, they put their heads down and go to sleep. If they think lunch sucks, you know it. I never have to wonder what they really think or what they are up to. Maybe that is why I've always liked kids better than adults.