What's that they say about pride?

 I am so sore tonight. All day my bones have ached. My joints ache. My back aches. 

No, I didn't work out hard yesterday. Want to know what I did to cause these aches?

I fell. 

I didn't just fall, I bit it. 

We were downtown last night, a night on the town. I was walking but not watching where I was walking, my head turned to face my husband. Next thing I knew I was soaring through the air. 

I completely, totally, utterly missed a stair. And as I tumbled through the air, I kept thinking "What the fu...." I landed hard on the pavement, my hands luckily catching me, my knees scraping on the edge of the missed step. 

I landed with a literal ooof. I could hear the people around me gasp. As I rolled myself over to my butt, I did a mental inventory. I could feel my cheeks flushing.

My husband bent over me, horrified and worried. I took a deep breath. I felt myself welling up, willing myself not to cry. 

Our friends rushed over. "Are you okay?" they hovered. 

"I'm fine. Go away." That's what I said. Me, a grown woman. I just wanted to be invisible. 

And so today I hurt. My palms are bruised, my knee hurts, and I'm still pissed at the way that sidewalk disappeared right underneath me. 

And I'm reminded of how humbling it is to fall in front of people. I'm also thankful for being strong enough to catch myself. There's a metaphor in there, I'm sure. I'm too busy tending to my band-aids, though, to suss it out. 

I'm such a baby. But a bruised palm hurts! 

I haven't had a skinned knee in, oh, 20 years. At least! 

Things I Couldn't Live Without

I love being inspired by other slicers and I read this one about 13 Things I Couldn't Live Without - Classroom Edition. It got me thinking -- it's a fun exercise. I hope you try it! 

My Napping Blanket

Yes. Yes I am a 40-something-year-old woman who has a napping blanket. A blanky, I guess. It's one of my kids old comforters and there's something about it that is just perfection. It's not too heavy, instead creating the perfect cloud cover when I lie down for a mid-day snooze. I'm a habitual napper, too, so the napping blanket gets a good bit of use. In fact, I don't even bother to fold it and put it back in the closet. I just bunch it up and leave it on my chair. 

I only take naps in our bed, but very rarely under the covers. Enter the napping blanket. Keeps me cozy without getting the sheets dirty. 

The Damn Dog

My oldest son Jacob begged for a dog. We thought we were depriving him of a critical life experience by not having a dog. Finally, in a moment of weakness, my husband, a dedicated non-dog person, agreed to a dog. 

The kids and I did our research, picked out a dog. We got him home and the first night was so sweet. Sleeping on the couch next to the crate, I heard Jacob whisper "Welcome to your new home, Ollie." 

Now? Two years later? The dog is currently curled under my feet, never more than a foot away from me. Walks? Me. Training? Me. Food? Me. Baths? Me. We are the cliche come to life. The kids love the dog and play with him in fits and starts. The worst part? I love the damn dog so he's not going anywhere. 

Bird Feeders

It's a rite of passage, I think, to fall in fascination with bird feeders. I love watching the birds flock to them. I love how the finches devour the food. I love how they nest in the bird house. I even love the cacophony in the trees this time of year. 

Spiral Notebooks 

I didn't mean to collect notebooks. It just happened. I blame it on Ohio Writing Project. Each summer I'd fill a spiral with notes from the most amazing graduate classes anyone could ever take. And when the summer was over, the spirals were a reference book -- one full of lesson ideas, writing models, and inspired ideas.  

In my work as an instructional coach now, I have notebooks full of notes, to-do lists, things I need to follow up on. My most treasured gift came from my colleague Brandi who is an expert gift-giver. She culled through my social media posts about coaching and created this beautiful notebook. It's the perfect size. It has all my favorite moments on the cover, and I treasure every page. I'll be so sad when it's full and takes it's place on the shelf of spirals. 

Firepit

We live in a pretty modest house by middle class standards. Built in the 70s, it has regular old 8 feet ceilings, laundry in the basement, and cracks in the foundation. It's got plenty of space and beautiful upgrades, but it ain't fancy. About 7 years ago, though, during a patio installation, the contractor talked us into a fire pit. It's the cadillac of fire pits. They had to literally dig a perimeter and then bring in heavy machinery to install the fire pit. 

And we love it. We've spent so many nights gathered around that circle, looking at stars, watching satellites, making s'mores. I think a fire is hypnotizing and I can't wait for our yard to dry out enough to use it again. 

Bumper stickers

Have you noticed bumper stickers lately? The kids and I were driving back from my parent's house a few months ago and I was appalled at the vitriol on the truck ahead of me. The f-word was all over the back window. This word is certainly no stranger to my vocabulary, but on this stranger's car it felt personal. 

"F*( Joe Biden"

"Let's Go Brandon"

"F- your mask"

As we pulled into a gas station, I noticed the truck was there too. From the cab emerged a man who I couldn't imagine would ever say those things to my face. I was so angry that had I been by myself, I likely would have said something. And what would that have accomplished? But here I was, after following the guy on the highway for 25 minutes, personally affronted. 

Fast forward a week later. I was grabbing my morning Dt. Coke at McD's, and I noticed the car in front of me had a sticker. But this time, the message read "I hope something good happens to you today." I felt such a visceral dopamine hit. I realized I was smiling. It was a kindness from a stranger and it altered my mood. I carried that with me all day.

I ordered my own stickers the next day. I have it on the back of my minivan and sometimes it's a reminder to myself, to breathe. To treat people in the way this message reminds me. To look for the good in people, even when it's a little (or a lot) hard. 

It's also giving me something to live up to. How can I be rude or angry when I have such a sticker? What kind of hypocrite would I be? 

I hope something good happens to you today too. And here's a link if you want one too. 

(sorry for the dark picture...I had to run out at night to take it!)

Rambling Autobiography #sol22 Day 4

 Linda Rief's Quickwrites are my favorite! Here's her "Rambling Autobiography" followed by mine. 

Angela's Rambling Autobiography: 

I was born right before a blizzard, my young parents taking their new little family to a friend's house, one with a fireplace and lots of warmth. I adore Dietsch's chocolate covered pretzels. I bought my favorite pair or corduroy pants from Salvation Army and sewed a butterfly patch over the hole I burnt with a cigarette, back when I smoked (a lifetime ago). I snuck a copy of Forever by Judy Blume from desk to desk, a bunch of 8th grade kids at Catholic school trying to glean more than what the religion class tells us. That was the same year I prayed "God, please don't call me to be a nun. I really want to make out" after visiting a convent and hearing all about answering God's call. When I was 9, I lost my baby sister when she crawled through a tear in the screened in porch. My favorite place to hide was the tree house across the street, the one the older boys built. I can still smell the baby powder my mom would sprinkle on our newly cleaned sheets, something my husband still does for me today (only on my side of the bed). I am a daughter who grew up, a mom trying to create memories just as indelible. 

My life in numbers #sol22 - Day 3

(with thanks to Alison Gettler for inspiration)

I am1020 Hurd, a life spent spilling off a porch, grabbing sticks of gum from Grandma's junk drawer. I am 419 through and through, with a little bit of 33967. I am from alleys and bike rides and sidewalks. All my favorite houses have porches.

I am 1995, and then no pomp again until 2000. I liked being a Bobcat. A lot. I am brick sidewalks and arches. Big hills (the only school where you lose 15 pounds freshman year). I am South Green all the way with ass trees (Seriously. Who planted those?) haunting in the spring.

I am 2001, defining moments of my first year of teaching: living through national tragedy, joining a bowling league, falling in love with my craft and my life. 

I am from 2004, dancing my way through the year. Saying yes to Greg has been the absolute best decision I've ever made. Then we were the Faulhaber Five, 2007 a double whammy, then 2010 our little exclamation point. It feels like we've been running ever since. 

I am a word nerd trying to live in the moment, balancing nostalgia and excogitating (I had to use the google for that one; it's ok if you do too). 

This is 45 Day 2 #sol22

"Man, it's so hot in here, huh?" I asked my colleague. From his noncomittal response, I could tell that no, it wasn't hot in here. Not to him anyway. 

Later, I mentioned it to the school secretary, asking if the heat could be turned down.

Ten minutes later, the head custodian walked into our meeting room, holding a probe in his hand, looking like he was hunting ghosts. 

"It's 67 degrees in here," he said to the room, the probe showing the temperature. "Who said it was hot in here?" 

I wanted to melt into a puddle (much like the one that was pooling in my pits). Others looked around confused. "I think it's really comfortable," said a young man who has never had a hormone flare.

I smiled and walked over to this dear man, trying to ward him off from declaring the temperature again. "Scully," I playfully hissed. "Are you trying to pre-menopause shame me?" He laughed, used to working with women. 

Kayaking - a 17 year anniversary adventure

We had just passed the yellow sign tacked to a tree alerting us that we were on mile four of the river. I’d been doing great, surprising myself. I was in the lead, Greg trailing behind me. I had managed to navigate the river like this wasn’t the third time I’d ever kayaked (first time in a river), dragging my paddle when I needed to slow down, digging deep when I needed to speed up. It’s safe to say, I was impressed with myself. 

So impressed, in fact, that I started to think I might have missed a calling. Are there adult rowing teams, I wondered as I navigated around a small rapid. My shoulders had never felt stronger, my posture never better. Just minutes ago, I had paddled UPSTREAM in order to wait for Greg when he was stuck on a log. I was basically a pro. 

And then. Ahead, hanging over the river was a fallen tree, reaching out over the water. And from that tree hung some branches. I’d come up against branches before, ducking under them, making it to the other side. Sure this branch was thicker than the others, more dense. 

I felt the instant it happened, that tree trunk in the sky hooking my life vest, snagging me, yanking me back. My kayak tipped, spilling me into the river. I curled my toes, trying to keep my new Teva flip-flops on my feet. I scooped up my favorite Reds cap, grabbed for my paddle, all while hanging on to the kayak. My feet sank into silt. 

I looked back at Greg, trying to drag his paddle to stop to help. 

“Do you still have your phone?” he hollered. I felt my pocket. I nodded, pulling it out, noticing I was getting text messages as the river rushed around me. I handed it to him as he floated past. Priorities. 

Thankfully there were some experienced kayakers just ahead of us. They noticed me standing there, chest deep, Greg trying to stay even with me. They paddled up the river, talking me through how to get myself back on track. They crowded me into a calm spot. The bearded guy, the one who looked like one of my former students, held my paddle, sidled his kayak up to mine and held it steady.

“Go ahead,” he said encouragingly. 

“This isn’t going to be pretty,” I said to him, laughing but embarrassed. Putting my pride aside, I plopped my body back into the kayak. 

Thoughts of joining an adult rowing team were dashed as he gave me the most rudimentary lessons in kayaking — things I already knew, but he felt like he needed to tell me: how to hold the paddle, how far to dip them in, how to turn. That’s how ridiculous I looked to him. 

The group of men let us go ahead of them; they with their life-jackets stowed near their feet, playing a game of catch, their ease on the river a mockery of my mishap. We said our thanks and continued on our way. 

A mile later, not yet dry, I tipped again. Same situation. Trees dipping reaching towards the river snagged me. It was as if I were a magnet for these dense, cataclysmic branches. This time, I knew what to do. I flipped the kayak back over and shoved it to the small beach I’d been trying to avoid. Once again, of course, I had an audience. 

Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers. I hurried to get back into the kayak, glancing up river. I did not want to be wading in the water when my rescuers from earlier came around the bend. 

We made it the final two miles without much fanfare. I managed to avoid any more trees, only getting caught and stuck once. I had given up my dream of an adult rowing team by mile seven, right around the time I got beached up against a snarl of tree branches and had to push myself off twice. At mile eight, I paddled my kayak into the small bank and barely dragged it up to the grassy area. 

It was a good day. Inspiring & invigorating. Humbling.