Happy birthday, August!

It hardly seems real that we've already seen a year pass since we first saw this precious face.

The months that followed have been filled with joy and adventure that's impossible to describe.  Thank you, August, for choosing us to be your parents!  We love you more than we can put into words.

 

Farewell, Wild Thing

Yesterday was rough.  August was wearing his wolf suit, roaring his terrible roar and showing his terrible claws.

I secretly wished I could send my Wild Thing to bed without eating.

But at the end of the day, we curled up together to honor a writer gone too soon.  And while we were reading, all around us a forest grew.  August sighed as we watched the ceiling hang with vines, as we sailed off through night and day and came to the place where the wild things are.

Suddenly, it was as if someone else was in the room, yelling, "Be still!"  My king of all wild things relaxed and squealed as the wild rumpus began.  And soon he was back in his boat, sailing again through night and day, waving good-bye and traveling back to his very own room.

As Auggie sailed to sleep in my arms, we whispered together, "Oh please don't go!  I'll eat you up - I love you so."

Maternal Superstar

My mom is receiving an award for her amazing volunteer work at Rezek House in St. Paul.  Other retirees take up knitting or gardening; my mom reaches out to homeless teenagers.  She's uniquely amazing.

The recognition ceremony for this award is tomorrow night, and it has me running Carol Berg memories through the brain.  Who else's mother includes a quote from Hamlet in the senior ads portion of the high school yearbook?  Everyone else's said some Chaska variation of, "Go, Billy!  We love you!" but mine said, "Darling daughter: to thine own self be true."  I've done my best, Mom.

Then, of course, there's also the memory of the time she had the second margarita and gave us a very entertaining car ride home (from the passenger seat, naturally), but I'm sticking with the Shakespeare thing.

Happy Mother's Day!

And, thanks to my dear friend Mary, I'm also reminded that it's "Mothers' Day."

Something tells me my grammar-loving, bleeding-heart mother would appreciate this.  Is is any wonder I love her so?

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Opposites Attract

I read a study recently which found that siblings are more likely to be different than alike.  Scientists think it has something to do with expanding the gene pool. 

I heard an interview on Thanksgiving with the creator of Modern Family who said, regardless of how different they are, siblings are always bound together.

Happy birthday to someone with whom I have hardly anything in common, but whom I love and adore...like a sister.

Stapling the Bulletins

At the end of last summer, one of our pastors--and someone I'm lucky enough to call a dear friend--left her position as Assistant Pastor of our church to become the lone pastor of her own church.  Kristin's departure made for a rough summer, and I remember crying for most of the week (okay, month) before she left.  People reminded me that she wasn't dying or even moving to a different area code, but it was a rough road nonetheless.

Soon after she left, I visisted her at her new church.  When I got there, she and her secretary were having a discussion about whether or not to staple the bulletins for Sunday morning.  "Should they be stapled?" Kristin asked.  "I just don't know.  Are they usually stapled?  Would you want a stapled bulletin?"  This went on for a while until Kristin asked the secretary how it's usually done.  Apparently, they usually weren't stapled.  So they left it at that.  No staples.

Last weekend, Matt and I drove out to Westminster for Kristin's installation as the new pastor of her very lucky church.  Once again, I found myself crying.  But this time, I wasn't sobbing or feeling sorry for a loss.  I was smiling.  She was so at home, so comfortable.  And while I'm still sad that I don't get to see my friend every week, I'm happier to see her so fulfilled and content where she obviously needs to be.

And at her installation, the bulletins were stapled.

A Father's Influence

In honor of Father's Day, I'm sharing just one more story about Coach John Wooden. What stood out to me in this story was the emphasis on where Coach learned those life lessons for which he became famous--his father. You can listen to the story here.

The other thing I love about this story is the emphasis on Coach Wooden as a teacher. We learn our most important life lessons at home from our very first teachers, and I couldn't have hoped for a better set of instructors.

So often, I hear myself saying the maxims for which my own father has become famous. "Is that a Fredism?" Matt asks when I say things like, "Your what hurts?" or "I can't hear a nod." When we're watching a high-scoring baseball game, I say, "This is a real pitchers duel." When we're watching a team from New York play a team from Los Angeles, I cheer for "a power outage." Who can pull for a winner in that match-up? I could go on and on and on...and on.

Keep teaching, Dad, and we'll keep listening, because, as more than one great man has said, "when you're through learning, you're through."

Edited with one more classic Fredism that my dear sister reminded me of: "Don't get into a pissing match with a skunk." Classic Dad.

OMG, it's Cyrano de Bergerac!

As their final major assignment this year, my students were tasked with creating something that looked as much as possible like a Facebook page for one of the main characters in the classic play, Cyrano de Bergerac. The project was inspired by Sarah Schmelling's amazing book, Ophelia Joined the Group Maidens Who Don't Float.

While I told students to create something that resembled a Facebook page, these technology-loving members of the Millennial Generation asked if they could create a new Facebook account instead. I agreed. And I'm so glad I did.

Letting them create the project in this familiar platform gave them such amazing freedom to convey the emotions and relationships so inherent to the understanding (and, more importantly, the appreciation) of this play.

I have to share an example of the type of work my students created. I'm sharing this in part because the work is so terribly entertaining, but I'm mostly sharing it because these students won't be my students after next week. What better way to pay tribute to them than by showing off their work?

Take some time to poke through all three of these profiles (as well as the groups characters have joined and other creations; you'll see some actual Facebook users joining their groups): First, Cyrano de Bergerac, the brilliant swordsman who is quick-witted, but embarrassed about the size of his nose. Second, beautiful Roxane, the woman whom Cyrano loves, but who loves the handsome Christian instead. Cyrano helps Christian woo Roxane, only to find out too late that she came to love Cyrano's soul, not Christian's looks. It's a classic love triangle, which is why it lends itself so well to Facebook...and teenagers.

They Called Him Coach

In the middle of July in 1987, my family piled into our Toyota minivan and drove from Minnesota to California. The highlights of the trip were supposed to be Disneyland and visiting family, and for most of us, they were. For my dad, however, the highlight was having his picture taken at center court at UCLA.

John Wooden, the inveterate coach of the Bruins who passed away yesterday, won ten national championships in twelve years. And, more importantly to me, he was my dad's hero. My dad owns an autographed copy of Coach Wooden's book They Call Me Coach (thanks to my mom), and he even met Coach Wooden in an elevator once (a story I've heard at least 200 times).

John Wooden was obviously an amazing coach, but he was an even more amazing person. He taught his players as much about life as he did about athletics, famously saying, "What you are as a person is far more important that what you are as a basketball player." If modern-day coaches (not to mention any other type of leader) could follow just one of Coach Wooden's famous maxims, imagine the world we'd live in:

"Make each day your masterpiece."

"Don't measure yourself by what you have accomplished, but by what you should have accomplished with your ability."

"If you're not making mistakes, then you're not doing anything. I'm positive that a doer makes mistakes."

"Success comes from knowing that you did your best to become the best that you are capable of becoming."

"Success is never final; failure is never fatal. It's courage that counts."

"The worst thing about new books is that they keep us from reading the old ones."

"Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out."

"Winning takes talent, to repeat takes character."

"You can't live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you."

And my personal favorite:

"It's what you learn after you know it all that counts."

We fought the bees, and the bees (nearly) won

I've written much recently (perhaps too much) about what a Renaissance Man my husband is. From woodworking to mechanics, it seemed he could do it all. Then, we met the bees, and we had to call in a professional.

It's not that Matt didn't do everything he could do get rid of our friendly infestation. He dressed in his best homemade beer keeper outfit...

and built a contraption to try to combat the bees from the outside:



In retrospect, it may not have been surprising that sealing up the house and sucking the bees into a ShopVac only put a Band-Aid on the problem. It was a lot of fun, but it was a Band-Aid nonetheless.

Finally, Matt found the source of our buzzing buddies. He cut a hole in our basement ceiling and found a papery hive the size of a basketball:

When a strategically placed bug bomb only killed the bees that were already outside of the hive, we decided it was time to call in a professional. Never having called an exterminator before, we called a big-name company, Terminix. The technician who arrived was pleasant enough, but he nearly fell off the ladder when he saw the hive. He then screamed like a child and ran upstairs, waving his arms wildly above his head (no exaggeration). Matt followed him up the stairs and said, as only Matt can say, "I have to tell you, dude. That reaction doesn't inspire confidence."

The Terminix guy made a few frantic calls to superiors, all of whom told him that it was "illegal" to remove bees and that our only solution was a year-long contract involving the spraying of various chemicals. When he hung up the phone, I told him there was no such law and he said, "Yeah...I really don't know." Never being happy with the idea of either spraying needless chemicals or giving money to big business, Matt and I decided to keep our options open.

The next day, we found a listing for a local bee-removal specialist. John Roswell's company (if one could even call it that) was nothing fancy--just a one-man operation. He drove up to our house in an old Chevrolet Astro van, and he stepped out with a big glove and a stick. While the Terminix man (aka "Chemical Ali") ran away from our problem, John climbed up the ladder, sprayed something on the hive to kill all the bees, then used the big stick to poke at the hive. He then went out to his van for an old cardboard box and scraped the hive remains into it. We told him that the Terminix guy said he'd never seen anything like our hive. John laughed and said, "Then he hasn't seen that much."

After the entire hive was removed, John showed us the larve in the hive and explained how queens are bred and the hives are built, all the while speaking with a sense of respect for his 30-year adversary. By the end of the conversation, all three of us were captivated by what had once been an infestation. This is just a tiny piece of what was extracted from our ceiling:
John was a mixture of insane bravery and old-school charm. He charged half what Terminix would have, but I would have paid him twice as much.

Farewell, Keith Waterhouse

I wasn't too familiar with Keith Waterhouse while he was alive, but I wish now that I had been. David sent me a link to Mr. Waterhouse's recent obituary, which read, in part:

"His last column for The Daily Mail, 'It’s English as She Is Spoke Innit?,' written in May, dealt with language education. He was the founder and life president of the Association for the Annihilation of the Aberrant Apostrophe, a fictional organization dedicated to combating false plurals like tomato’s and road signs like the one he spotted near Sevenoaks, with letters three feet high that read BUSE’S ONLY."

After a long week of trying to make 15-year-olds care why "BUSE'S" is wrong, it's that much more depressing that someone who not only cared, but championed our cause, is no longer with us.

Click here to read more about Mr. Waterhouse, England's "All-Rounder."

Dar-licious

What a great way to say good-bye to summer vacation. This weekend, Matt and I saw Dar Williams at a tiny performance venue in Annapolis, Ram's Head (Take notice of that apostrophe, "Rams Head," and please add it).

Since high school, Dar's music has been my constant companion. When I've been lonely, her music has comforted me. When I've struggled, her music has lifted me up. When I've rejoiced, her music has celebrated with me. Every time I think back to an amazing life experience, I remember also the Dar Williams song that accompanied me on the journey. Somehow, I remained calm enough to tell her this, even though the meeting moved me to tears. I'm so grateful that I had the chance to tell her what her presence through her music and her lyrics has meant to me.

For those who aren't familiar with Dar Williams, I encourage you to visit her website and listen to her music. If it sparks even a fraction of the emotion it's sparked in me over the last ten years, it will be worth the visit.

In the meantime, here are videos of a couple of my favorite songs, "I Won't Be Your Yoko Ono" and "After All." They're great examples of how diverse her songs are and what an amazing lyricist she is.

Around the world in 365 days

While scouring YouTube and other such reputable sources for up-to-date supplementary materials for my 9th graders, I discovered this story of one man's modern-day Odyssey. His goal is to visit every country in the world (and by "every country" he means the 192 U.N. member states) in a single year. The most interesting part of the journey is that he's vowed not to take any planes or cars, but to rely on public transportation and the kindness of strangers as much as possible. Hopefully, he can also avoid all Cyclopses and Sirens.

I'm just sorry I'm discovering him mid-way through his journey. Hopefully, he'll have a successful finish before we get to Homer's epic this winter.