 "Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know." --Pema Chodron
My Aunt Debbie calls herself a dream killer but I disagree. She is a realist and thank the baby Jesus some of that DNA rubbed off on me! I think I have about a 60/40 split of realist to dreamer ratio, and I believe it is okay to abandon a dream when it no longer serves its purpose. When I was ten, I wanted to marry Batman. In my teens and early twenties, I wanted to be a police officer, partly because I so wanted to be one of Charlie's Angels (because they were the epitome of cool) and partly because I really admired Aunt Debbie, who was a police officer. In my thirties, I was determined to become a lawyer so I could fight the world's injustices. I was torn between Constitutional Law and Family Law, specializing in Child Advocacy. Becoming a teacher wasn't even on my radar. I took a detour on my road to Law School when I accepted a teaching job in Surprise, Arizona and fell in love with my students and the classroom (which I think actually happens all the time, discovering a new dream you never even thought of while working towards something completely different). I thought I'd stay on the teaching path until I was ready to retire and then, I stepped into the teaching job from hell! The only things that got me through that school year were amazing students I refused to abandon, several staff members who were very supportive, and a strong anchor with my family. Once I found myself on the wrong side of the political and philosophical bureaucratic quagmire that education in North Carolina, and perhaps nationwide has become, fighting for my teacher dream became nearly impossible. I tried, boy did I try! When that year was done, I interviewed all over in a neighboring county, while my former administration made sure I was "black-balled" from behind the scenes. I talked to two different Central Offices, attorney's, and professors at various universities about what I could do. All of them conveyed the same message, "You can't fight the system!" In my righteous indignation, I thought, "This is America! Of course you can fight the system!" I proceeded to come up with various ways to fight--running for the school board, talking to local reporters, emailing Anderson Cooper from CNN to plead my case. I even entertained the idea of running for governor (and God bless my family for not having me committed)! Ultimately, however, I had to concede my dream of continuing to be a teacher because while I won't go so far as to say "You can't fight the system", I will say that taking on something so big and broken is messy, costly both financially and emotionally, and too much for me to do alone. Knowing when to push through all obstacles and when to walk away is a lesson I continue to learn. I set aside my dream of joining law enforcement because I had a husband who deployed all the time and two little girls that needed me to anchor them. I abandoned my dream of going to Law School because I was unwilling to play by the "Good ol' boy" rules in order to get things done. I'm following through with my life-long dream of becoming a writer and it is amazing! I am, however, completely bummed about having to toss the dream of marrying Batman aside, although I did marry a "superhero". He wore combat boots, dog tags, and he fought every day of his military career for the rights of those of us living in America to pursue our dreams with reckless abandon. *Image from joker_card_by_chronoperates-d4x0js9
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 Mom (left) & her Youngest Sister "You are terrifying and strange and beautiful, something not everyone knows how to love." --Warsan Shire With Mother's Day fast approaching, my mom occupies my thoughts a lot. When she died, many people told me that someday I would find closure. Oh, how I've come to loathe that word! Some people, when they leave our lives for whatever reason, leave a hole inside of us that can never be filled. We learn to live around it, things grow up that cover it, like fond memories of the one who's gone, but the empty space remains. Mama could be a hard woman to love and even more difficult to understand, especially when I was a child. She needed constant praise and reassurances to combat her numerous insecurities and she also needed to be the center of attention in almost any situation. She was prone to serious bouts of jealousy, even of her own child, and dealing with her required a lot of patience. When she was angry, she could be extremely cruel and she was very adept at finding a weakness in someone and exploiting it, a lesson she learned from her own mother. I was grown before I understood the reasons behind all of these things. As an adult, I remember frequently picking the brain of Mama's youngest sister, whom she was very close to, in order to find a way to make peace with Mom.Learning about my Mom's many demons helped to heal the deep anger and resentment I felt towards her as a child. I didn't live with her very long when I was growing up, but the brief times that I did hold no fond memories for me. Thankfully, I do HAVE fond memories of her and I am learning to embrace and be joyful for some of the qualities she's given to me, such as my artistic abilities, although compared to her I have only novice skills.I have her hands and her soft skin. I also have her deep love and appreciation for a wide range of music. Wherever she is, she's smiling at my headlong spiral into a love affair with the Blues! Mom was a talented artist and had the singing voice of an angel. She was breathtakingly beautiful and had a fire in her heart, a light in her eyes that people responded to, and a gentle way with animals. She was an amazing cook and knew how to throw a party where all of her guests felt welcome, special, and had a great time! She was also a dreamer, although she didn't have enough realist in her, or drive in the face of frustrations, to see any of those dreams come true. The few times I remember her showering me with love made me feel invincible! I miss her sparkling personality, although she'd have hated "getting old", and I still mourn all of the opportunities she will never have. She died lonely, alone and afraid and I would give almost anything to be able to have the last five minutes of her life with her so that I could tell her this: "I forgive you, Mama, for leaving me and hurting me and making me feel afraid to shine, myself, because I didn't want to take any of the light 'away' from you. I'm sorry I was so angry at you because you didn't live up to my expectations as a child and I know now that if you love someone, really, deeply love them, then you accept all of them, and all that comes with them for as long as you live, even the things you don't like. I miss you...every single day, but I'm glad that where you are now, light and love have finally chased your demons away." 
Mom's Painting-Sailboat In The Bahamas
 "Dream big. Work hard. Be nice!"
I put this message on the board every year as a guide for my students, not knowing it would also become a mantra for me. I have been thinking a lot about the depth of what this little phrase actually means. Is it enough to have big dreams? How does one work hard to attain them? And what, exactly, does it mean to be nice? Does it apply to everyone we meet, even if it may seem like they don't deserve our kindness or if being nice seems to get us nowhere? Is it true that "no good deed goes unpunished"? I am a consummate dreamer. Sometimes my brain fills up with so many ideas I don't know where to put them all. They clutter up my gray matter to the point of becoming clogged, white noise and I must find an outlet for those thoughts, those dreams so that I can think straight again! Writing has been a great outlet for me, as well as an organizer for me to sort those thoughts according to their "do-ability" and prioritize them based on my own wants and needs. And let's be real...some dreams, like owning a stable full of winged horses or moving to a distant planet in space are just not feasible. I can, however, create those experiences in books. In that regard, I am only limited by my imagination! As for other dreams, ones more attainable in the fleshy world, the next step beyond the "thought" is to research what I want and then follow the road to actualizing those dreams. This is where the "work hard" part comes into play, because any dream that is possible requires dedication and hard work that focuses on the fruition of said goal. Often that path to get "there" is fraught with frustration and obstacles. The truth is, if you really want something, you will find a way to attain it and if you don't, you'll make excuses as to why it's impossible. "I have not failed. I have just found 10,000 ways that won't work."--Thomas Edison As for being nice...that has less to do with attaining your dreams and more to do with filling up your own soul, your own spirit. It is easy to be kind to those who are kind in return, but it is important to be kind to those who aren't. Often, we don't know what burdens others are carrying, nor how those burdens manifest themselves, frequently projecting negatively onto others. What we ought to know, however, is that EVERYONE experiences burdens and carries their own sorrows, pains, and darkness. Perhaps in this way spreading our kindness to ALL helps shine light on those who are in darkness, and bolsters those who live in the light, making our world, and humanity a more fertile ground for growing dreams!  Note: I have posted Part I of a short story I wrote in 1999 in honor of Aunt Mattie.
What would you do if you were given the opportunity to have a complete "do-over" of your life? What would you change? Where would you go? Who would you want to be? Come with Mattie on a fantastical journey back in time! *Image from pollyannapumpkin.tumblr.com  "Fervet olla, vivit amicitia. --While the pot boils, friendship endures." -Latin Proverb
Uncle George (one of Aunt Mattie's younger brothers) was a large, jovial man with a big, booming voice, a hearty laugh, and a talent for cooking. His signature dish, and one of my all-time favorites, was his stellar pot of chicken n' dumplins. Southerns have long been known for their love affair with food, but I would add that it's not just the favorite foods particularly from our childhood that we love, so much as it's the happy memories they invoke within us of simpler times, simple pleasures, and the people who cooked for us with love. For me, when I think of his chicken n' dumplins, I recall large Hill family gatherings, children's laughter as cousins ran and played together in the yard, bare feet, and sitting with a plate of food in the cool grass with the grown-ups close by swapping stories about their own childhood. With all of the Hill children, who were the great-aunts and uncles of my youth, now gone, I wish I could capture those moments and re-tell their happiest tales. While the ghost of those stories still lingers in my mind, the details are fractured and out of focus. The taste, however, of tender chicken, buttery broth, and smooth, rich, paper-thin dumplin's remains a vivid memory to my palate. Below is his famous recipe, which I am sharing with you in the hope that you will recreate it for those you love and inspire new memories, good memories! Bon appetit! George Hill's Chicken n' Dumplins Boil a whole chicken in a large stock pot with bacon fat or fried fat back, salt, pepper and accent. While the chicken is cooking, make a thickening. Thickening: Fill a large glass 1/4 way full with flour and then add milk to the top of the glass. Mix well and set aside. Make dumplins: Using about 4 cups of self-rising flour and 1/2 cup of water, mix together until the flour is sticky. Roll out dough onto a floured surface until it is very thin, i.e. PAPER thin (coat your hands well with flour and then pat some onto the sticky dough to help get it on the rolling surface)! Cut into long strips. When chicken is done stewing, take out and separate meat from all the bones and skin and set aside (reserve all stock). To the stock add 1 stick of butter or margarine and the glass of thickening. Bring stock to a boil, add chicken pieces, and boil for about five minutes, stirring frequently (you want it to boil up to the top of the pot at least two times and when it gets that high, take it off the heat until it settles down, then add it back). Once it's boiled up two times, begin adding dumplins, pinching off pieces of the long strips and gently putting them into the boiling stock.Make sure the stock is bubbling as you add the dumplins and if it stops bubbling wait until it starts again before adding more. Continue to do this until you've added all of your dumplin' strips. When the dumplins get "fat", it is done. *Recipe provided to me by his daughter Carolyn  I sat on the tarmac, a diaper bag full of toys and snacks at my side. My little girls toddled around me unaware of what was about to happen. Meanwhile, uniformed men and women checked in, registered duffel bags, and bustled from place to place in preparation to board the cargo jets waiting to take them to a Middle Eastern desert. Families were scattered around the tarmac with me, waiting to say goodbye. When it was time, my husband came over to us, picked up our oldest daughter and the diaper bag while I carried the little one. He and I held hands, not speaking. We stopped at the end of the line for the bus to take him to the plane and he leaned close, kissing the top of the little one's head while she quietly watched him and sucked on her pacifier. He hugged the oldest, nuzzled her neck and told her goodbye, then he tried to hand her to me. She threw her chubby little arms around his neck and latched on tight, refusing to let him go. He pried her arms from him and handed her to me. She kicked and screamed and as he turned away, she shouted, "Don't go Daddy! Don't leave me!" The little one, who had remained quiet up to that point, began to wail at seeing her sister in such distress. My husband turned away and focused on what was ahead of him, not looking back. I stumbled my way to the car with two screaming, crying babies. I don't know how we made it home, but after that first deployment, my husband didn't ask us to come and see him off again for subsequent deployments, instead slipping out of the house while the children were sleeping.
. Military children are very special to me for all of the things they must endure throughout their childhood. They learn early how to fit in almost anywhere, how to make new friends, and how to say goodbye. They learn to thrive wherever they are planted and they learn about hope, sacrifice and honor. April is the month of the military child. To all of the military brats, young, old, and every age in between, I salute your courage, your strength and thank you for the light you shine on this great Nation. And to MY two military brats, thank you for the comfort and strength you gave to me while we rode out the storms together. I couldn't have done it without you! (Untitled) - A poem about the military brat: My hometown is nowhere, my friends are everywhere. I grew up with the knowledge that home is where the heart is and the family.... Mobility is my way of life. Some would wonder about roots, yet they are as deep and strong as the mighty oak. I sink them quickly, absorbing all an area offers and hopefully, giving enrichment in return. Travel has taught me to be open. Shaking hands with the universe, I find brotherhood in all men. Farewells are never easy. Yet, even in sorrow comes strength and ability to face tomorrow with anticipation....if when we leave one place, I feel that half my world is left behind. I also know that the other half is waiting to be met. Friendships are formed in hours and kept for decades. I will never grow up with someone, but I will mature with many. Be it inevitable that paths part, there is constant hope that they will meet again. Love of country, respect and pride fill my being when Old Glory passes in review. When I stand to honor that flag, so also do I stand in honor of all soldiers, and most especially, to the parents whose life created mine Because of this, I have shared in the rich heritage of Military life. Anonymous *Poem found at www.operationwearehere.com/militarypoemsessays.html  "Fill your house with stacks of books, in all the crannies and all the nooks." -Dr. Seuss
Dr. Laura Zaidmen, who lost her battle to breast cancer in 2005, is responsible for my discovery of the beloved Harry Potter series. I was taking a Children's Lit Class from her at the University of South Carolina Sumter and we had to write a paper on a controversy found in Children's Literature (i.e. banning books, or scary messages, etc.). She suggested I look into the uproar in the Bible Belt surrounding Harry Potter, so I started reading articles on the topic and was amazed to see such venom from parents and communities about a book! I thought, "What on earth could be in THIS book?" Once I picked up the first one, I could not put it down! Once I started writing the paper, I couldn't get my thoughts out fast enough and I wondered many times if any of the people calling for the banning of those books had even bothered to read them. The conclusion to my findings was two-fold: books that inspire so many children to fall in love with reading are more magical than any wand or spell could ever be; and censorship can be a very dangerous thing. In the Harry Potter series, which I devoured as fast as I could read them, I found a new love for reading and the strongest message I took with me from them is that we all have light and dark inside of us. The real importance is what we choose to do with them that matters. If we choose the dark, we become misshapen and twisted and devoid of love. If we choose the light, there is no obstacle we can't overcome and no fear we can't conquer. As I dove into The Hunger Games series with my students, I was struck with how deeply the message of standing up for what's right even when it's difficult, potentially dangerous, is worth living, fighting, and dying for. And later, with the Divergent series,I was delighted to find messages of compassion, tolerance and love woven into the words on nearly every page. Courage, bravery, and intellect are important, but meaningless if we lose our humanity and our ability to love those like us, as well as those who are very different. What great messages to send to our youth! May we, as adults, remember to live in a way that exemplifies these messages, so that our lives reflect these values. To Little Man, who has great taste in books: If I were your teacher, I'd tell you how delighted I am that you have learned at such a young age the joy and magic of reading. If I were your mother, I'd say you are surrounded by love. Let the love that shines inside of you touch all that you do, all that you say, and all whom you meet today, tomorrow, and always. Mark the moments in your life that are special because no "thing" will ever fill you with joy the way an amazing experience can. Hold those lessons tight, and when the time comes, you will know what a good man is and how to become one.  Inside My Mind
by Amy M. Schaefer The motions of the day's routine Occupy my mind with inconsequential things Until the scent of new Spring flowers tickles my nose. I walk through steps in places I have worn bare, smooth as glass My feet know the way Until a soft, warm breeze catches my hair, teasing my face. The echoes of familiar words pass my lips As I speak mundane words to a dozen strangers, or a hundred Until a song catches my ear and my mind floods with a thousand images. I cannot process them all, merely catching glimpses; A warm embrace... Tender lips brushing mine... A whisper of love words. I process them all with colours- ...flaming red ...clear-water blue ...vivid green ...melting yellows and golds ...chocolate browns. And taste- ...sweet wine ...musky rain ...bitter leaves ...honey-suckle tang ...a velvet saccharine on wet taste buds. In the dark, when the world is quiet, behind closed eyes The images blur to mere streaks of colour And then, I dream. *Image from www.wallsave.com/wallpaper/  "We are dangerous when we are not conscious of our responsibility for how we behave, think, and feel." -Marshall B. Rosenberg
Our world is saturated with derogatory commentary in magazines, via social media, on our news networks, and any number of other venues. We are a people who seem adept at tearing one another down in order to prove our point. And often we allow ourselves to use or fall prey to common fallacies (mistaken beliefs; invalid arguments), such as the frequent posts seen on places like Facebook, where people go after one another for their thoughts and beliefs in regards to any number of topics. Behavior like this is a classic example of Argumentum Ad Hominem, or a personal attack that fits into the abusive category which is defined as follows: (1) Abusive Argumentum Ad Hominem: To argue that proposals, assertions, or arguments must be false or dangerous because they originate with atheists, Christians, Muslims, Communists, Capitalists...etc., or any other group is fallacious. This persuasion comes from irrational psychological transference rather than from an appeal to evidence or logic concerning the issue at hand. When I taught Social Studies to middle schoolers, during our lessons on the U.S. Constitution, it was common for my students to pontificate on their Constitutional Rights. Freedom of speech always sparked lively debates. I would begin by asking them to explain their rights in words and through visual representation, and then as a whole class we would discuss their conclusions. I would ask, "What is the meaning of free speech as outlined in the First Amendment?" Then, I would hear, "It means in America we have the right to say anything we want." And as long as what "we" say is not liable, slander, or a threat, that is true; however that should not be the end of the lesson. If it is, then we have failed as educators, parents, adults, Americans, and human beings. Just because we can do a thing without fear of going to jail, or worse, doesn't mean we should. Mocking someone for their religious beliefs, sexual orientation, political ideas, looks, gender, etc., is not exercising our right to free speech, it's bullying. Verbally attacking someone because we disagree with them about, well, anything, does not make us intelligent or superior to them. Instead, it makes us look illogical, uneducated, and narcissistic. The lesson to my students was that "We the people..." have a right and a responsibility to use our voices, but in doing so, we understand that every utterance comes with consequences. Part of our responsibility is not to just spew verbal vomit because we can, but to present and be able to logically defend our position and views on any given topic in a way that makes sense without causing harm. As for understanding the consequences of the words that come from our lips and fingertips...one should not have to tear down others in order to express their views of the world around them. I want my students, my daughters, my nieces and nephews, cousins and everyone else to live in a world of logic, intelligence, tolerance and compassion, where we can freely build up our Earth and each other instead of blindly, cruelly plowing everyone and everything down. *Logical Fallacies Handlist, http://web.cn.edu/kwheeler/fallacies_list.html.  "Some see a weed, some see a wish."
My mother searched for "happy" her whole life. "If I just had this...or him...or that...I'd be happy." She was in a constant state of flux, moving around various places, changing jobs, changing the men in her life, forever testing combinations of people, places, and things, ever-searching for that magical brass ring. As a child, I did not understand her obsessive need to be in constant motion, continuing to vibrate like a tuning fork being struck over and over again to draw out that which would truly, deeply fill her soul with music. For me, most of the time I wanted to make myself as small as possible, invisible to a world full of monsters and nightmares, happy to have the spotlight focused on anyone or anything but myself so that I'd be safe. I often wondered, "What is mommy looking for?" It took me years to have any real insight to that answer. One of Aunt Mattie's favorite sayings was, "Your life is what you make it, and the world is how you take it." Sounds simple enough, however it is anything but. I've known many people over the years, myself included, who try to fill up the "empty" with various people and things...men who use a series of women to take what they need until they are used up and then on to the next toy...women who devote themselves to everyone and everything around them at the expense of themselves, until there is nothing left of who they are anymore...people who bury their "empty" with drugs, alcohol, sex, risky behavior, material things or anything to get a "high" that masks the black hole of nothingness...and worse, those who hide behind attitudes like, "It is what it is," negating any and all responsibility for changing their own circumstances. I have yet to decide if we allow ourselves to become stuck in, well, whatever we get stuck in due to our own laziness or our fear that our own actions won't be enough to fix ourselves out of that hole. I do, however, know with utmost certainty, that if we wish our lives to be different or we have empty spaces to fill, we are the ones solely responsible for making that happen. "It is what it is," is a cop-out that denotes we have resigned ourselves to our 'lot in life" and have no power to change it. As I sat in the warm sun, surrounded by family and laughter this Easter Sunday, I soaked up the "happy" and the "peace" emitting from those around me...kids playing in the cool grass, discovering new things all around them, marveled by a pink quartz stone, or flowers in bloom, or ladybugs tucked amidst the violets...lots of hugging...countertops overflowing with good food...homemade cookies...soft Blues playing in the background...a colorful mosaic of laughter, love, renewal and Spring.Alive! Vibrant! Breathtakingly beautiful! "Your life is what you make it, and the world is how you take it." I'll take mine with cookies, please! |
About The Author
I grew up in rural North Carolina. When I was only nineteen, I moved away and became a military wife. My only aspiration at that tender time in my life was to create an adult life that "fixed" all of the "injustices" of my childhood. Secretly, however, I wanted to reach for the sky! I wanted to be a writer and find ways to "save the world" (my mother used to say, "You have Save the World Syndrome".). Mostly, I wanted to matter. Archives
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