I Remember Donnie & Troy

In honor of Memorial Day, I would like to pause and remember two men.

Desert Storm occurred while I was in high school.  This was before the social media storm and the 24 hour news cycle.  Yes, there was a CNN but, to the best of my memory, most of us had 3, 6, and 10.  Those of us with cable (or with friends that had cable) were more interested in MTV's Downtown Julie Brown than anchorman Bernard Shaw.

We were tasked with writing servicemen letters as part of our history class; however,  I started a long-lasting exchange with two soldiers, Donnie and Troy.  I remember one describing the desert sky at night and the other requesting that I not put my return address on the envelopes I sent for fear it would be intercepted and something threatening would be sent to me.

I do not know what happened to these gentlemen.  I chickened out of meeting one and the letter writing was lost to the rights of teen passage- dating, prom, graduation.  I do quietly and privately think of each of them, on Veterans Day and Memorial Day, hoping that the first occasion is a more appropriate remembrance.

I do not envision that these gentlemen are searching for me in the Google-Age but, if they ever do, I want them to know that as I enjoy my view, I say a quiet affirmation for their good health.  They are remembered.  And thanked.

What's Possible?

I don't know about you- I'm really good at playing the "But, What If?" game with myself.  I don't need any external factors to shoot down my dreams.  I do just fine on my own.  How did I learn this?  How do I unlearn this?

[DISCLAIMER: If you are under 18, call me "Mrs. BT," and happen upon this on a Google search- yes, you!- you are not my target audience for this post.  Kindly click your back arrow.  And...tuck in your shirt.]

I can't help but wonder what my mother wanted for me when I was born.  My best memories of our time together range from reading to impromptu dance parties; my dressing up as Wonder Woman and tying her up with my Lasso of Truth to raid the cookie jar; being allowed to shop for the groceries By Myself while she sat on a bench.  Would my mother have wanted me to have children?  Maybe.

I have children.  It's true that they are on loan to me for ten months, seven hours a day.  But, they are mine.  I take my charge to instruct them seriously.  Above that, I place keeping them safe.  And, above that, I hold teachable moments that integrate life lessons most precious.   I absolutely want them to learn how to infer and determine the central idea.  But, if they remember to slow down and consider the impact of their words on themselves and others, then...Huzzah!  I'm overwhelmed sometimes by holding "What's possible?" for them in a container made out of care and lidded by reality.  I envision that lid is askew so dreams can pop out.

What would life be if I committed to playing the "What's possible?" game with myself?  I've been playing it a lot this year.  A change in assignment allowed me to explore what I WANT versus what I must DO.  The loss of my mother is still too fresh for me write about but these three gems are helping.  This change has really allowed for me to dare myself to dream about the future and all of the possibility it holds.  I've stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.  (It's reduced to a sock.)  I've made smart and safe decisions for so long- it's been a long road back to the kind of dreaming that existed when I played with Barbies and Easy Bake Ovens.

While I'm not looking to live out the life I imagined when I was 8 years old (very disappointed that I can't push a button and put my house in a briefcase), I'm thrilled to honor my teenage dream to write in whatever forum I can without my middle school pen name- Suzanna Skye.  (I know...awesome!)

Will I ever publish a book or pen a column?  Will I participate in space colonization?  Will I win a cooking contest?  Will I travel the world and provide coaching to those in need? Who knows!  I just know that I love asking the questions and not requiring myself to know the answers.  I'll know them when I look back at my life thirty years from now.  Gotta go- I've a lot to make myself wonder about in the future!

Guest Blogger: Welcome to the Universe, Kristin Weller!

I met Kristin years ago through Penn State Lehigh Valley Writing Project and it's been on like Donkey Kong ever since.  I was drawn to Kristin's reflective presence as an educator, writer, and friend.  Plus, she's wicked funny.  Her writing always touches my soul and this piece certainly helps me evaluate how I can work "being present" into my existing routines.  Enjoy!

When Heeling the Dog means Healing the Hurry

Green appeared like brush strokes on a dry canvas today. Cool dew replaced the iciness of morning frost. Birdsong lit up the morning before the sun rose. Springtime surrounds us with her hopeful cloak, whispering sweetly about possibility. 

Me? I’m lacing up my rock-trail shoes, pocketing a roll of blue bags, and loading up my dogs for the first of many weekly road trips. This’ll be year eight for me and Coda, and five for Ladybug.  We all crave the energy of fresh air and collaboration. Our training classes together are a meditation in motion. I spend most of the 45 minute drive trying to find center, to open up my senses, and to feel the present. Buggie sits in the back, alert, excited. She knows where we’re going. She communes with drivers behind me, while Coda curls into a kidney bean… which makes me wonder what they’re all thinking, and just like that, I’ve slid left of center.

It happens all the time. The demands of teaching in a high-pressure environment, of managing home maintenance, a marriage – an aging body. It fills up my mind to overflowing, causing flash-flooding in the wake of torrential planning. A woman’s mind is full of bees; if she’s quiet for too long, rest assured that she’s either trying to calm them, or whipping them up into a frenzy. 

To me, dog handling is the opposite of frenzy. The leash becomes an energy bridge connecting one to the other. The only way to be successful at it, to become a collaborative team, is to breathe, and be present. We warm up. “Heel,” left-foot first, the pack-walk starts. “Left-about,” and we spin to the back. “Right – and under-the-hurry,” we turn and jog in tandem. “Drop the leash,” and we all do. And just like that, the leash gone, yet the connection continues to flow.

I think meditation is heeling with a dog, because if you can walk in the moment, the moment becomes you. You keep moving, and it builds its own momentum, which, when unleashed,  continues to radiate through you into all that you touch. Like spring, it recharges and renews all parts of your being – even those that seemed shriveled as dried leaves. Happy Spring! I’m off to dog class.

Kristin Weller, teacher, writer, and book store enthusiast lives and works in the Lehigh Valley area. Kristin facilitates a local, adult writer’s group called Write Nights on the first and third Monday each month at 7PM at the Nazareth Center for the Arts 30 Belvidere Street, Nazareth PA. When she’s not writing, working, or tending to her home, Kristin meditates with her two boxer dogs through obedience and agility classes.  Click here to learn more about Write Nights.