Higgledy-Piggledy

Lather...

Monday - after work meeting, ballet, football practice, and YoungLife

Tuesday - soccer practice A, football practice, orthodontist appointment, and soccer practice B

Wednesday - football practice and ballet

Thursday - football game and soccer practice

Friday - much awaited guests coming to visit, football practice, soccer game, late dinner out and transmission seems to be acting up on the Suburbabus

Saturday - golf tournament, LAX practice, soccer game, babysitting, necessary part is finally ready for the out of commission Lt. Dan (oldest-one-of-three's car), trip to tire shop to repair flat for the VW, and mini photo session of a local event

Sunday - church, soccer game, grocery stop

Monday - rinse, repeat

About a week or two ago, I was greeted with a push notification on one of the school's iPads - a push notification from the Dictionary App.  Word of the day - Higgledy-Piggledy!  Now, those that know me, know I'm a word junkie and this one struck me on a number of levels.  

1 - I loved the way it looked, so similar and friendly with it's curvy Gs sandwiched in the middle.  It looked plump and happy - comfortable.  

2 - I loved the way it sounded aloud - almost gigglely - somewhat Seussical married to a nursery rhyme.  In fact, when I spoke it, I heard myself chuckle.  I'm all about repetition of sounds and Higgledy-Piggledy hit the proverbial spot!  

3 - I loved the definition - whoa!  Wait a minute - I loved the definition?  Who in their right mind loves when things are in a state of confusion or are jumbled?  Who loves living in a disorderly manner?  Me!  

It hit me right then and there - my life is Higgledy-Piggledy!  What a plump, happy, comfortable, Seussical married to nursery rhyme way to describe my wonderful day to day life.  Because among the higgledy-piggledy day to day life I live, I have the privilege of hearing my little nutter butter read to me in the car as we drive to and fro; I get to watch my healthly and strong kiddos run up and down sports fields while I cheer them along; I get to see the beautiful progress of a child's smile who was once missing an entire tooth and I'm blessed to be able to provide this for her; I get to watch my older two kiddos assist their dad with car repairs and see how they are not only building car knowledge but also lasting memories of time with him.

Higgledy- Piggledy?  You bet!  I'll take it any day of the week!

Standard 5

This time of year I am especially reflective.  At different points this week, I have looked back at the last ten months and asked myself - Did I really make a difference?  Even though I have poured out my best and I'm running on empty, I still think I could have done more. I evaluate - I wonder - I reflect. 

I'm not alone.  In fact, I'm one of over 95,000 just in my home state.  Do we all take this time to look over our shoulders at the past days, weeks, months? Absolutely not.  But the good ones do.  The good ones do it on a daily basis.  The good ones look at what we do and ask the hard question - how can I do this better? How can I make a bigger impact?

Who are we?  We are group of individuals dedicated to trying to make a difference - a difference in the lives of people we may never meet again after our ten month sprint - our students.  We are teachers.

Good teachers take what others may see as ordinary, incorrigible, and even at times, unloveable and we encourage, model, and love. Good teachers look beyond the ordinary and truly believe that each student holds promise.  Do we believe it everyday?  No way.  But then we pause, we take a step back, we reflect, and then we believe again.  

So while most, most outsiders that is, think we are olly olly oxen free because summer break is on the horizon; think again.  We are taking a good hard look at we've accomplished and  also, facing  a head on collision with the goals we didn't. We are looking ahead to how we can make the next year better.  We live Standard 5.   

Standard 5: Teachers reflect on their practice. 

My Summer Home

I frequented there often.  My visits would begin in the spring, not long after the temperatures started to rise ever so slightly.  The trees began to bud - leaves sprouting from long limbs that had slept all winter long.  They had had plenty of rest and were ready for action - so was I. 

 

It wasn't a large home, only one room but it was secluded and absolutely all mine - or so it seemed.  Plain, simple decor but that didn't matter. It's simplicity added to its charm. I'm not sure how long my summer home had been around before my visits began. Maybe 20-30 years.  I never bothered to ask - it didn't matter.  What did matter was that my summer home was a place where I spent hours playing, hidden away from the world - a place to pretend, dream, imagine.  All things that children do because they have absolutely not a care in the world - as it should be.  I miss it.

I especially miss it this time of year because when I look out my bedroom window and into my backyard, I'm reminded - reminded of my sweet summer home.  Reminded, but not saddened.  It brings a smile to my face and happy memories that warm my heart.  Memories of my summer home and special memories of the man the "built" it - James Clebborn or as all knew him, JC.

I'm not sure when he planted the weeping cherry tree, my summer home, that gave me hours of joy as a special hiding place to play.  He often worked in the yard and I can just imagine him standing there determining the exact perfect spot to plant the small tree.  I'm sure he evaluated all options carefully - I'm mean after all, this man got the string and stakes out when plotting a garden.  Those rows had to be straight.  I smile again.

He spent hours in his roses as well - trimming, pruning, powdering.  Too many times to count did we drive up to his house and I'd see him in the side yard where they were planted.  Garden tools and gloves on hand. I smile again.

I knew JC as my paternal grandfather, my papaw as we say in the South; however, he wore many hats.  Gardener, framer, furniture refinisher, father of three boys, insurance salesman who never met a stranger.  

This time of year when I look out my bedroom window and into my backyard at my own little weeping cherry trees, those pink buds remind me of him.  

They remind me of -

my summer home,

his rose garden,

the owl that hung in his garage to mark just the right spot for parking,

the $5 he would slip me and my cousin when she came to visit,

the tools I would play with as I watched him work in his shop,

his insatiable sweet tooth that I have inherited,

trips to the movie theater only to look over a see him snoozing,

his snores in the recliner with an old western playing on the TV,

trips to the mall and having him disappear while we all shop but spotting him later at the ice cream shop,

Louis L'Amour books,

traveling on summer trips and sitting in the front seat between him and my daddy,

the sticky mess he would later find in his pants pocket because he had stuffed jelly packets in there after our breakfast stop on those trips,

cardigan sweaters,

the long rock wall that lined his driveway that served as a balance beam at times - built by his own hands,

the matching fireplace in the backyard,

a family man,

I smile again, and again, and again...

Not more than probably 7 feet tall, my summer home was the perfect height for my vertically challenged stature. As I entered the one and only room, its long draping and skinny brown limbs and dark slender leaves became my walls that hid me away and left me to my imagination. It's funny, I don't really even remember the blooms - the very thing that now takes me back to those carefree days, but I'm sure they were there.  The blooms that remind me of him.

Happy memories that warm my heart. I'm reminded, but not saddened. He was a wonderful part of my carefree world - I miss him.  I smile, still.

Oxymoron

Driving in the car a week or so ago, my eldest one-of-three says, "I just don't understand what it is with all English teachers and hyperbole!"  (Her pronunciation was hyper - bowl!)  The former English teacher in me took offense to this mispronunciation and said, "For the 10 millionth time, it's hi-per-bu-lee!"

Hyperbole, simile, metaphor, irony, pun, personification, and don't forget oxymoron! These all too familiar terms of an English teacher's vocabulary don't really excite others.  But to us word junkies...

Oxymoron - a figure of speech in which apparently contradictory terms appear in conjunction. 

This winter has to be the worst for winter weather that I can remember since leaving my Tennessee mountain home in 1992.  Just this week we were slammed, yet again, with another arctic blast that caused incredible destruction.  Power outages, entire trees toppled, large limbs from trees scattered.  

I left early Friday morning in the hail-like sleet to head for a conference about an hour east of my house. Thinking slick roads were my biggest concern showed that I clearly misunderstood the dangers of this winter weather. Upon returning home mid-afternoon, I was absolutely stunned by the sights during my drive. Stunned of course at the too-many-to-count trees that hadn't been able to bear the weight of the ice. But also, stunned at the terrible beauty of absolutely everything covered in ice. Oxymoron.  How could something so beautiful be so destructive?

I came home to no power, but everyone was safe in our comfortable misery.  So out came the camera.  I mean what's a photographer to do when faced with no power in an ice storm?  Take photos, charge her laptop with the AC converter in the car so she can edit, and post pics online using her phone hotspot if necessary! 

We spent an evening of melancholy merriment playing charades by candle and firelight.  Kiddo's laughed, logs popped, blankets were stacked high in our conspicuous absence of heat.   We slept in the deafening silence - no power, no white noise!  But we had a roof over our heads, no trees on our roof, and all were safe and healthy.  And that - that was awfully good! Oxymoron. 

I wish that we had duck feet...

It's a carefree shopping day, maybe with a friend, maybe by myself.  I'm, of course, stopping by the shoe department because what shopping day would be complete without trying on a pair of shoes.  I can't resist - even though I already have two of the same color in my closet.  They are a great buy so I add them to my collection.  I arrive home, anxious to see how this newest pair will look with just the right outfit.  As I walk into the house and before I can put down my bags, I trip over a giant size 10 1/2 pair of Vans that belong to my 13 year old - my middle-one-of three.  I look down at my bags, I'm not carrying shoes at all! I'm carrying 15 grocery bags on each arm.  I was dreaming - dreaming of a shopping experience BK - before kids.

Now don't get the hangman's noose out yet.  I'm not at all saying that I would trade for one single solitary second my life with my three crazy kiddos for anything in the world, but I did have a ridiculous thought yesterday that completely took me by surprise. My thought - I wish we all had duck feet!

Seriously, I was standing with broom in hand thinking to myself that I wish no one in my house ever had to wear shoes!  The one fashion item that I really had always loved shopping for, even when I didn't need them - especially when I didn't need them!  These very same fashion items have become my nemesis!  I trip over them, I sweep around them when I don't feel like moving them, I harp to my children about picking them up!  Years ago I created a "solution" to house them in one spot to avoid the tripping, the dodging, and the harping.  It's not working!

The shoes spill over and out of the crates and out of the closet. Fights ensue because oldest one-of-three can't seem to keep her shoes out of middle one-of-three's crate!  Youngest one-of-three never seems to find her shoes in her crate because she forgets to put them there to begin with!  Then when the rule is enforced, socks seemed to get stripped off with the shoes and end up in the closet and not the laundry!  The problems just compound.

Shoes everywhere!  Tennis shoes, snow shoes, mocassins, sandals, Crocs, wedges, work boots, cleats, ballet shoes, flats...  They never end and they never find their homes.  As I type, middle one-of-three's slippers are at my feet.  I wish we all had duck feet!  How much easier would that be??  No shoes required means nothing to trip over, nothing to sweep around or pick up before sweeping.  Nothing to harp on with my kiddos.  Nothing to stink up the mud room. No fights that ensue.

But then, no shoes means no cute boots to go with that just right dress or great pair of jeans.  No polka dots to cheer me on the rainy days.  No red heels to make me feel great on date with the hubster.  No perfect wedges to go with that great summer dress.

Ok - maybe I don't wish we all had duck feet.  It took a few photos to help me remember how much fun shoes really still are.  Maybe, just maybe, I wish THEY all had duck feet.  Ok, so maybe not. :-)

Water Tower Tour

Yes, it's weird.  I am completely aware of that.  But for some ridiculous reason, I have a fascination with water towers.  I liken it to my bizarrity to photograph feet.  I wrote about that in another blog post.  I don't like feet one iota of a smidge, but I love shots of people from the knees down.  Strange but true.  The same holds true for water towers.  I mean after all, I am not the mechanical one of our hubby/wifey duo, and water towers and their workings are quite mechanical, but there's something about these gigantuous water tanks that strike me as interesting.

Maybe it's how they rise so tall to silhouette again the sky, or maybe it's how they dot the tops of tall buildings in a cramped city scape, or maybe it's the nostalgia of the old towers - they are most definitely my favorites.  Or just maybe it's the pride towns can take in them and speak to passers-by saying, "Hey, this is our town!" Or maybe, ...

Regardless of the reason, I have embraced my weird fascination and have been on a photographic quest of sorts to capture these H2O giants on film, or really my SD card.  All but two of these towers live in the little corner of our world that we call home. Our county has quite the textile history and as a result has many little mill towns that are being restored.  Look up among the old mill buildings by the rivers that helped them run, and one will usually find an old water tower or even two.

Surprisingly (since I am usually all about the aesthetic), in the midst of my water tower tour, I began to wonder how these elevated tanks really worked.  The librarian corner of my mind went into action and I did what comes natural - research.  I found out that indeed there is a purpose for their elevation; it creates more pressure.  And since municipalities push water to our houses, pressure is a good thing.  These elevated tanks are connected to the maze of water pipes running through our towns and in the event of an emergency need, they act as a back up reservoir.  One of my favorite "who would have known" sites does a good job of explaining it if you care to check it out. 

The fact that water towers come in all shapes and sizes made my tour quite interesting.  The most unusual was the famous peach water tower that I photographed on a trip down I-85.  The largest was the huge, shiny silver city tower.  The typical tower holds the water of about 50 normal size swimming pools inside the its tank.  If that's the average size, I can't imagine how much water this silver guy holds!  Other facts of interest, pilots of small aircraft can use these towering city features as points of reference and these keepers of the water help lower insurance rates because they guarantee a water source in the event of a fire!

Call me crazy, but at times these towers seem almost romanticized. Ok, so laugh, but think about a movie scene, old friends sitting atop their little town's tower, feet dangling, solving life's problems... Ok, so romanticized might be a little strong.  And besides, every water tower I visited was surrounded at the base by fencing which usually involved barbs! So I settled for a view from below.  While most look fairly ordinary and standard, like this tower, the look completely change at night.  I didn't plan to photograph the same tower at night but I couldn't resist the shot when I saw it glowing from the spotlight with the stars overhead.

While it may seem that I'm making up for my blog deliquency with this rambling post about my weird but true fascination, my words do have a purpose.  Let me get down to the nitty gritty of my water tower tour.

I had already begun my photographic quest of water towers when for almost a solid week this past fall we started having amazing sunsets.  When picking up my youngest-one-of-three from ballet one Monday, I had already spotted the tower with the amazing sunset behind it as seen in the photo at the very top of this post but to my dismay, my camera was not with me. So, when I noticed a repeat performance from the sun the very next time she had ballet, I took my camera along. My middle-one-of-three tagged along, we picked up his sister from ballet, and headed across the interstate to capture the sun before it set.  My time window was brief but I was able to get the shot.

In my rush to get my camera together and get my daughter picked up in time, I had forgotten that I needed to bring her some pants to put on after ballet because we weren't going back home. It had turned drastically cooler and she needed something more than a tutu to wear on our after ballet errand. Going back home wasn't an option due to time constraints.  Across from her studio is a small store called Dollar General, we affectionately call it DG. My thinking is I'll swing by, pick her up some cheap sweatpants (she could use them anyway) and then quickly be on our errand before having to pick up my oldest-one-of-three from soccer practice.  A few minutes later and a six dollar pair a sweatpants in the bag, we were ready to go. Mission accomplished.  I backed out of the store parking lot, pulled onto what I would consider a cut through street from the parking lot to a main road, and I spotted him - a young man carrying a handsaw.

At first, alarm bells went off.  I mean it was dark, no one else was around and a man was in the road with a handsaw!  But then I began to reason.  Ok, so I've never read a news story about a handsaw murderer - after all, the old adage is ax murderer! So my thoughts turn to who in the world even uses a handsaw anymore? This is 2013, people use power tools not handsaws.  And who, especially, walks around with one through a dimly lit parking lot and across a very low traffic cut through street? 

Who?  Someone who's walking toward a tree on a night of our very first cold snap of the season.  Who?  Someone who looks a little awkward as he drops the handsaw to his side when he sees that I notice.  Who?  Someone who doesn't notice that I see in my rear view mirror as he grabs a tree limb.  Who?  Someone who doesn't have heat for the night - that's who.  

I'm processing all of these thoughts as I drive and tears come to my eyes just as they are now as I type.  I had just raced around to catch the perfect sunset shot behind a water tower.  A water tower that maybe provides unlimited water flow to my house - my wonderfully heated house.  I had just stopped, really out of convenience, to buy my child a pair of sweatpants to keep her warm on a quick errand.  My same child who gets to attend ballet class.  I would soon be picking up my oldest-one-of-three who's only worry is that it's a cool night for soccer practice, not how will we stay warm tonight.  My son, sitting in the passenger seat, his only care is which radio station he should pick. Truly, I was overwhelmed with gratitude.  Gratitude for my limitless blessings.  Gratitude for warmth.  

Maybe it's how they rise so tall to silhouette again the sky, or maybe it's how they dot the tops of tall buildings in a cramped city scape, or maybe it's the nostalgia of the old towers - they are most definitely my favorites.  Or maybe it's the pride towns can take in them and speak to passers-by saying, "Hey, this is our town!" Or maybe, ... just maybe, it's that my fascination found meaning on this water tower tour.  Reminders, standing oh so tall for me to vividly see; reminders of my blessings.