There is no such thing as a perfect life, only a life well lived. Frankly, it has taken me far too long to truly come to terms with this simple truth. If I look back along my timeline, I can pick out places where I tried way too hard for an ideal that doesn't exist, meanwhile the hours ticked past. After so much time wasted, I am extremely mindful now of what or whom I will (...or won't) give my time to, because I now understand that time is, hands down, my most precious commodity.

I am also aware of how much of me I held back from the world for a myriad of really silly reasons. Living life at "full throttle" is a different experience altogether, and it totally takes some getting used to. Sometimes I catch myself right on the tail end of some experience or another that is so raw and real I stop and fleetingly ask myself, "Was that okay?" Then I slam on my mental brakes, reminding myself of Mama Schaefer's words, "...in the end, you have nothing to lose." God, how right she was. Those who are my Tribe will stick no matter what comes, on either their road OR mine. Those who aren't will quietly fall away, and that's okay. Most aren't meant to stay on our path to its end and only share the journey with us for a little while.

I've been watching this sit-com lately on Netflix called "Grace and Frankie", and the episode last night was, in part, about having a "Say Yes" night out. "Say Yes" night is exactly what it sounds like...you say "yes" to everything ahead of you without hesitation (...although, let's face it, there would have to be SOME reservation, depending on what the experience was at hand). I want a "Say Yes" life with boundaries that are true to my own inner peace and balance. I know, I know, that's cheating, right? But not really, because saying no to anything that doesn't stick to your highest truth is a really GOOD thing. The spirit of a "Say Yes" life, however, can still be attained and that is what I want the rest of my days on this Earth to look like. Will doing that make my life "perfect"? Doubtful. What it will do is make it as close to perfect as possible and I'll take it and be grateful!

It is close, now...and end I cannot bear to think of and cannot stop. My hands shake and my soul rattles around inside this skeleton that holds up my body. I feel those tiny little electric sparks of life in the air and a panic stuck somewhere in my vocal chords that hold back screams of protest. I shove all of that into some padded lock-box inside and look around for every single scrap and sign of life. Here, with an ant highway crawling purposeful towards my garage doors, there in bird song high above, a mate calling out to his counterbalance somewhere in the front yard. Sprouts of new foliage shoot up from the Earth, some will grow into pesky weeds, while others reach for the heights of tall, majestic trees. Everywhere I look, life bustles and flourishes all around.

A day, a week, a month of breaths and sighs, sights and sounds...there is no measure of just how many grains of sand must spill before the bulbous glass of life sits empty, devoid of even residue on its surface. And isn't that true for all of us, regardless of health or circumstance? The only moment any of us are promised is this one. And if we're fortunate, this one will quietly slip into the next, and the next, until they string together to make a lifetime of memories. Today, every day, I do my very best to squeeze out every single drop of life from my moments, my hours, because I know, locked inside that padded box I know that one day I will open my hands to find all the drops are done, it is all...done, and no scream, no tear, no wish or prayer will buy another one.

I danced around the kitchen to some catchy dance club beat while I seared and prepped a pot roast for dinner. I was trying to concentrate on the task at hand (...and getting my boogie on), but my mind kept slipping back to words whispered in the dark before sleep the previous night. I'd nudged my husband, "You awake?" I whispered. "Barely," he grunted. "Do you ever feel as if your life has been broken down to eat, work, eat, sleep, repeat?" I asked. "What," he said, sounding more awake. I repeated the question to his resonating sigh. I could hear his brain turning over the words, "Seriously? NOW is when you want to have this discussion," but he humored me. "Yes, nearly every day Monday through Friday," he declared dismissively, the unspoken, "Now go to sleep" hanging in the darkened room. His answer made me sad.

As I lay awake turning it over in my mind, I thought about most people's ordinary days, my own included. People in, say, war-torn countries have ordinary days that probably resemble my worst nightmares and the ordinary days of people who live in third world countries, with no access to electricity or clean water, well, those lives are difficult for me to even wrap my brain around. I don't spend my days wondering from one moment to the next when I will eat, or how I will survive. I feel the press of heavier things pushing at my insides like some crushing weight and tears escape, unbidden, unwanted. Not my problem, I think, not my life, and as my husband would say, "not your bags to carry". And yet, carry them I do, especially when my "ordinary" can turn into rote boredom, while I forget to appreciate every single scrap of a blessing I possess (and I'm not talking about "things" here).

So, I let the wash of more dance music pour over me and move as if I am the only person left in the world, trying to shake free a maudlin that is not my concern. I look down, and there on my shoe is one scrap of lone onion stuck soundly to the top! This makes me laugh and laugh, till tears again run down my face from the absurdity of the moment. I thought to myself, Yeah here's your "sexy onion girl", baby! Whatever! I am grateful for my ordinary days and achingly aware of the fact that millions of people, perhaps even more, would give almost anything to have them. If I could wave a magic wand and make it so, I would. RIGHT now! Instead, all I can do is dance, be grateful, and hope with my whole heart that someday humanity will actually embrace the humane, and each other.

Thoughts of my father are like a punch to the solar plexus...if I let those thoughts go too deep, the blow nearly knocks me off my feet (...and of course, it's me, so they go too deep all the damn time, but what are ya gonna do? I am who I am, for better or worse, and deep thought is the very nature of Amy-ness). He is a stubborn, proud, private man and therein basically is the extent to which I know him, except for one more thing...his time on this Earth is growing small. Someone recently asked me, "When he's gone, what will you regret?" The horrifying truth is...that list grows longer by the day. We got a raw deal, he and I, some of which was self-inflicted, while everything else was just life unfolding at our mutual exclusion. The sobering reality of that is, as with all things, there is no going back.

Mostly, I have made peace with what cannot be changed. It is the "now" that still plagues me. Here in the now I want to scream, "Let's make every day count! We can start from here and see where that takes us. It may not be far, but it will be something!" I want to scream this because...he is a stubborn, proud man, who digs his heels in and refuses to grab every scrap of life with a gusto! His lack of passion about anything except his own mulishness makes me crazy! I am ridiculously passionate about...well, almost everything, so it's extremely difficult to look through his eyes and see the world from his perspective. I mean, that's true of anyone really. We only know the order and shape of this world through our own lens, by design, and no matter what we think we know about another human being, or how close we are to them, it is impossible for us to process anything except through the filter of our eyes. In regards to my tenuous relationship with my dad, that fact, alone, leaves this gigantic chasm between us, one that I truly have no clue how to bridge except with the planks and rope of dogged determination. How well that will work is debatable, but what other way is there? Give up? Pffftttt! That is NOT a part of my genetic make up.

I could sit in my little corner and stew about what was, and what will never be, while he quietly slips from this world to the next...and I have done that, sulked about all that has been lost, more than I care to admit, wrapped in the cloak of my anger. While I'm not a fan of ol' Dr. Phil, his catch phrase is applicable, i.e. "How is that working for ya?" It isn't and no one would blame me if I kept doing it...no one, that is, except for myself. My mother once told me, "You don't let me get away with anything, but your father has always gotten a free pass! I just don't get it." Used to make her SO mad! And now it just makes me smile. Okay Mama, that finally sunk in. Sure, it took me, oh, like thirty plus years, give or take, but I got it now! And maybe wherever she is now, she's laughing at that and shaking her head at her slow-learning kid. But I can be taught! That old man of mine, he's NOT getting out of this life without experiencing the full force of the daughter he made. 

I don't know what kind of relationship any of you have with your own fathers, but with Father's Day just a blink away here in the United States, I offer you this...life is SO short. Every moment that ticks by is done and gone before we even know what happened, and those moments turn into years faster than it seems possible. Make those moments count. I believe we don't regret the chances we take, even if they don't turn out like we'd hoped. We only regret the ones we wished we'd taken. For me? I'm trying to keep those down to a VERY small number!

The room was filled with joyous laughter and happy chatter, as teachers sat at tables in the lunchroom swapping stories, summer plans, while enjoying a delicious catered meal. In the background, music videos streamed across the wall near the cake table, and every now and again, a lively or familiar tune inspired several people to dance in their seats. The end of a school year almost always comes with a wonderful sense of relief (at least for me), that you've successfully navigated another year of shaping young minds, inspiring new dreams, and generally preparing humans, be the small or large, for what comes next...which won't always be pretty. One-hundred and eighty days of pouring the best you have into the minds of our future is tough work, no matter what anyone thinks about the process (...I am reminded of that foolish saying, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach", which is a completely ridiculous sentiment). Sometimes I still feel very new to this profession, even though I've been an educator, in some capacity or another, for eleven years. I can say, however, with confidence, that I have come to tremendously admire most of my colleagues, and always attempt to learn as much as possible from them. Today, they taught me a most unexpected lesson, in patriotism!

As I spoke to the teacher sitting beside me, the National Anthem (Whitney Houston's version) came up on the song playlist that was running in the background. Without thinking, I stopped and stood by my seat. The third grade teacher sitting across from me turned to me and asked quite sincerely, "Should we stand?" I wanted to kiss her, but held that desire in check as I nodded. Without question or hesitation, she stood. Not a moment passed before the entire cafeteria was silent, everyone standing, most of them with hands over their hearts...and in that instant, I feel more deeply in love with this group of educators than I already felt. These people, whom I've worked with for nearly two years...laughed with, vented to, and listened while they shared their own frustrations, every one of them payed their respects to our Old Glory and all she represents. Here was this delightful group, in this humble, rural place, a photo snapshot of typical smalltown America, pushing pause on their celebration and reminding me of why I am so very proud to BE an American. I thought of my military family, spread out around the globe, my Freckles at the beginning of her Navy flight school, and of all the people who are so very passionate about their pride for what America is supposed to stand for. I wished, in that moment, that the whole world could see and feel the power and depth of solidarity that permeated around that room.

You know you're on the right path when you can't wait to get to work (...yeah, it sounds weird to me, too)! This morning I rushed through breakfast, then scurried around gathering various plant clippings, putting them in little plastic bags. I chopped off a piece of fauna from my pond and made a tiny habitat for the snail my husband had fished out for me and then I grabbed my bag, anxious to get my treasures to the children! Upon my arrival, magic ensued!

First, I took the snail habitat around to all of the classes, letting the children use a magnifying glass to see up close all the neat things scooped up with the pond water, i.e. a watery green plant, mosquito larvae, and several tadpoles, as well as the snail rock star! The kids "oooohhh'd" & "ahhhhh'd" while they learned words like larvae, debris, an contamination. They asked me tons of questions, most of which I had THEM answer (...which they rose to magnificently ). Before moving on to my next lesson plan, one student said, "Mrs. Schaefer, I thought you were a Reading Teacher. Isn't this science?" "Well of course it's science, silly," I told her. "Don't we read when we're doing scientific stuff?" Her face lit up! "I love science, but I'm not so good at reading," she confessed. "You've done fabulous with both today," I offered. She looked relieved at making the connection between the two.

I spent the rest of my day with short humans sniffing and munching on mint leaves, arguing about whether or not Thyme smelled like pizza, and cutting off bits of aloe, squishing the snot-like substance from the leaves into tiny fingers who rubbed the sticky substance in gloriously grotesque awe! It was perhaps one of the most fun things I've ever earned a paycheck doing!

It wasn't easy leaving the students today, as I made my trek home knowing it would be the last time I ever got to read and play with them. My deepest hope is that they will remember how much fun they've had just flat out learning like crazy with me and their classroom teachers all year, and that feeling will stick with them the rest of their lives. As for me, I'll continue to remind myself that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I was called to do!

On a side-note to my students: Yes, I did put the tiny snail, mosquito larvae, and tadpoles back into the pond immediately after I got home! Do no harm! :)

The inky blackness stretched out above me, as I lay in the cool grass star-gazing, grateful to be far enough away from light pollution to clearly see the night sky. It was too chilly for crickets tonight, but the ever present sounds of a location way too near a bustling, small city crashed around what might otherwise be a peaceful evening. Too many people, I thought, too close and noisy and irritating. I forced myself to focus on the notion that above me, above our Earth, space was extremely quiet. I contemplated various ways to get "there".

I think what I find so distasteful about living in such a densely populated urban area is the noise, especially at night...traffic sounds, people's conversations, barking dogs, the distant sounds of a helicopter, and the constant hum of electrical noises, i.e. air conditioners, heating units, power lines, etc. I want to hear the "stillness" of the world, maybe because my head is always also full of noise that I crave an utter quiet somewhere. I remember vividly what it sounds like when the woods are filled with fresh snow, the complete lack of sounds reminding me of cotton stuffed in my ears. I remember growing up in a place where traffic sounds were nearly non-existent, replaced instead with mourning doves, robins, cicadas, and the occasional hoot owl.

There is a part of me that paces restlessly inside, anxiously awaiting my break from being so close to civilization. I have to ease that desire, otherwise I'd forget to live in the "now", but it's not easy. I have too many memories of how solitude feels, the ache of it just out of reach sometimes making me whacky koo koo crazy, especially when the chaos in my head is at a crescendo. Tonight, I will settle for a long soak in a tub, my ears underwater as I wash my hair. For the moment, it's the best I can do. Soon...soon I will reside in a place less "peopley", and that will be, for me, nearly Heaven.

*Que frou frou music, as the woman's coaxing voice begins to speak* "The words 'I love you' are just words. Show her how much you really love her with a gift from Shiffman's."

I fumble with the setting change, quickly finding another station, as my blood begins to boil. With a random song now playing, my brain is still caught on the commercial I couldn't get rid of fast enough. I mumble a string of swearwords at the woman on the radio who obviously can't hear me, as I eviscerate her thoughts on love in a mini-tirade. My husband will tell you that he hates marketing, and in this instance, I'm in total agreement. Jewelry commercials make me crazy!

Giving a gift of jewelry is NOT proving your love to someone, unless the person you're giving it to is shallow, materialistic, and has zero sense of what "real" love means. And while I realize the words from some marketing ad are designed to entice customers to shop there, I find it extremely distasteful to use distorted definitions of love in order to promote some ridiculous product.

We live in a world that inundates us with mixed messages, lies, and digs to create insecurities in order to drive the capitalism train. Be more beautiful...be more popular...be cool...buy her/his love...I have had it with being told I'm flawed but your miracle product can "fix" me. And how many ways can various media venues tell us we're all broken, while claiming they have the magic bullet to fix us? Turns out, a BUNCH. What's worse, absolutely none of those ads speak to anything truly important or offer solutions to fix real problems! It. Drives. Me. Bonkers!

If you're the kind of person who likes bling....great! If you're the kind of person who thinks you're flawed, somehow, without it, or that a show of love requires a materialistic gift...no bueno!!! Don't get me wrong, I like presents. I even like jewelry. I do not, however, confuse them for someone expressing their love for me. People's actions (...to exclude, but are not limited to buying me jewelry) tell me everything I need to know, about who they are and how they feel about me, and others. And yes, my inner lawyer reared her head to pipe in on this matter. Wanna show someone how much they mean to you? There are about a thousand ways to do so, none of which involves a purchase of any kind. Wanna show ME how much you love me? One great way is to change the radio station quickly when a jewelry commercial comes on.

A book fair is an extremely dangerous place for a girl like me! As I walked among the stacks and piles of literary treasures, I mentally counted up how much of a hit my bank account could take. A book on a back shelf caught my eye, the colorful picture of a goldfish on the cover intriguing me. What on Earth could possibly be said in a chapter book about goldfish? I opened the front, but before I began to read, a young fifth grader touched my elbow.

"Have you read that?" she asked.
"No, I've never even heard of this author," I told her.
"Oh, she's good. I've read stuff by her before and was thinking about maybe getting that one, but I don't think I brought enough money this time," she sighed glumly. I smiled at her.
"That settles it, then," I decided. "I'll buy it and read it, then you can find me and ask how it was. Maybe if it's good, you can add it to your summer reading list."
"Deal," she agreed, happily.

I carried my stack, goldfish book on top, to the harrowed check-out lady. My purchases didn't break the bank, thank goodness, but I also didn't buy as many books as I'd have like to on my book fair trip.

After a long, stressful week, I came home from work today determined to finish The Fourteenth Goldfish by Jennifer L. Holm. I stretched out on the sofa and sank into the awkward world of middle school (*insert dramatic shudder here*). With a twist of the fantastical, young Ellie (the main character of the book) discovers the magic of science, while also learning some tough life lessons about people, and change, and relationships that are often complicated. Her "fish" tale is fabulous, and when I close the book after reading the final words, I can't help but smile down to my bones. That was exactly what I needed to purge the tension I'd been carrying around.

Below the beaker with the goldfish on the cover of the book are printed the words, "Believe in the possible" (which is written under the crossed out word "impossible). It is a tidbit of advice we seem to start forgetting about middle school age, because when we're younger than that, absolutely nothing seems impossible, except for maybe growing up. Believe in the possible...it is a lesson I want to remember, along with the fact that almost all things are possible, if you are willing to pay the price to attain them.

There is an art to controlling your temper, and fortunately I am learning how to play with every single nuance of said medium. I have no clue what I did before I developed strategies to soothe those fiery flames, but I'm sure it wasn't pretty!

Today, when I could feel that heat licking at my emotions, the first thing I did was seek out someone whom I knew would talk me off the ledge just by her lovely presence. My confidant and sounding board comes in a bubbly package of a woman with a sweet personality and often a happy dance in her step. It's tough to do anything but smile when she's around. She patiently listened to my silly rant, giggled when I reverted to toddler tantrum phase, and when it was all said and done, sent me on my way (...I, too, nearly danced out the door).

There are people in this world who are balm to my soul, and sometimes they come from unexpected places. Man, do I love it when that happens! It's like getting a gift you really want on some random day when you REALLY need it. I hope I've been that person to at least one someone in my life, even if that someone was just passing by. If not, it is a quality I aspire to develop, because to my mind, those individuals are true magic in a world that really needs a bit of that (...or perhaps more than just a bit).

Note: The image above was taken in 1975. My grandmother wanted me to model all of my new school clothes she'd bought for my first grade school year. As you can see, I was not happy about this at all! I probably still make that face when I'm torked.