to die is easy to live is hard

I went to a funeral today, and I didn't bring my Kleenex. After all she was just the mother of one of my students; we had no real connection. But as I sat in the pew--on my mother's birthday of all days--I found myself somehow entering his pain. Earlier in the week he had been surprisingly smiling, bouncing around, making funeral arrangements at the church much like an adult. Laughing with his buddy.

When I saw him today, he was a child again even younger than his 12 years. This young man who had put on such a tough face in the last few days--was finally feeling. I was glad to see him letting others be the grown-ups, but his pain soaked over, and I began to wish I had packed my tissues.

The sea of pink at her funeral stood testament to her fight against breast cancer. In her blog, Tracy wrote, "It is easy to die, it is more difficult to live." I am sad today, but yet somehow more alive as I sit here reminded of my mortality, reminded that now is the only reality, the only certainty. Thank you Tracey for coming into my life, even at the end of yours.

Life is a gift. Too often we see it as our right--tomorrow somehow guaranteed.

20 Days Later

I have discovered that I am good at things for short periods of time.

Exercising for a week. . . forgetting to exercise completely the following week.

Blogging for a week. . . forgetting to blog for 20 days.

I like doing both of these things. My new year's resolution (starting today on my mother's birthday) is to develop consistency muscles.

two thumbs up

During our youth group Superbowl party, one of the high school girls leaned over following a commercial and whispered to me with a very straight and concerned face, "What is go-daddy?  Is it porn?"

Two thumbs way up:

1. Thumbs up American advertising.  Only you could take domain hosting and advertise it in a way that causes this type of confusion.
2. Thumbs up cable TV.  Only you could convince a high schooler that it would be perfectly acceptable to advertise porn during the Superbowl.

kinda sexy, kinda ditzy

Friend:  "Hi Evi!  We are doing a community play and there is a part that will be just perfect for you.  We're doing Harvey."

Evi: "Cool" (While thinking) Great, yet another bout of playing the old lady, the drunk, the social outcast.  I shall never be the ingenue.

Friend:  "Oh this play will be fun.  We'll practice about twice a week.  The part you'll play is a nurse.  She is pretty sexy, kind of younger, a flirt, a little ditzy."
Evi: "Sounds like fun." (Thinking) I hope this isn't her version of typecasting.  I need to stop giving off the impression that I am sexy or ditzy or some combination of the two.

*All contrary thoughts aside. . . I'm so excited for magic of being in a play again.  Can't wait for rehearsals.

this stuff

Each Thursday this spring I have been trudging through the slushy snow to co-teach a class to pre-service teachers at UNL. The students are doing a child study in their practicum settings where they are asked to do assessments of one child's literacy skills. Yesterday, my team-teacher and I asked the college students to fill out a form that looks at the whole child. It asked for the child's interests, his or her family background, social/emotional behavior, etc. In short, we asked--what is this kid like outside of literacy stuff. Who is he? How is she unique?

As many dutifully filled in the blanks on their white sheets, I saw one head hunched over, pen tapping, her other fist holding up her head. When I stopped to ask what the trouble was, she rolled her eyes, "I didn't know I was supposed to be paying attention this stuff with Carlos."

How she managed to observe and work with a third-grade child numerous times without even noticing a shred of his humanity made me want to give her shaken college student syndrome and generally forced words into my head that aren't at all professional. Just what the #$%@ were you paying attention to?

Somehow I managed to compose my thoughts.

"Well, maybe when you work with Carlos next time you should try to get to know him a bit."
"Yeah, I could probably do that."

As I trudged back to my car through the slushy snow, exasperated, I finally did smile knowing someone learned something today that mattered. I smiled thinking about her next meeting with Carlos.