, which is May 29, 2007
Life moves so quickly. I have or more realistically, make no time to write. This spring I went to Gruene with my sisters-in-law, Donna and Nelda. We spent the day wandering in and out of antique shops, in search of treasures yet unknown. By day's end, I purchased an antique writing desk, as my soul cried out for one. If only I had the perfect place to retire to, I would write more.
Today however, my heart aches over the approaching death of my granny, who will turn 94 on June 5th. Nora is the strongest woman I know. She left school in the 3rd grade to go to work. I know she washed dairy equipment near her home for just a few cents a day, and had to share her earnings with a sister who stayed home to tend the house. I know that once during a tornado she threw her body atop her younger brother in order to save him. But nothing else.
A cloud of mystery encircles my grandmother's life. How did she meet my grandfather? What was their courtship like? Who are her brothers and sisters? What were my great grandparents like? My granny never spoke of the past. "It's best left where it is-look to the future-live in the present," these were her only comments when asked about her past.
I have a vague notion of her reasons for keeping the past locked-still-maybe-that is the hole my family struggles to fill.
If the past makes us who we are, forms our character, then how do we form when shrouded by secrets?
Of Mothers and Daughters
Picture if you will, a mother with two daughters. The mother truly believes she shares a special bond with each; she truly believes she knows their deepest desires; and she truly believes each feels close to her. However, in reality she has painted an illusion to fit a vision she needs to believe in.
The first daughter has lived her life in fear of never quite measuring up, of never being quite good enough to earn her mother's approval. She has lived her life trying to please her mother. The second has lived her life trying to separate from the mother; trying to prove that she can exist and prosper without her mother's advice. The sad truth is that both daughters would like to share an equal bond of love and admiration with their mother; but some invisible force seems to stand in the way.
When either daughter tries to share her own viewpoint with the mother, she becomes defensive and throws out the old adage that a mother never stops mothering. Almost instinctively, the mother keeps her daughters at arms length. She wants to draw them close, but doesn't quite know how.
Now picture a very young girl of perhaps ten years old. Overnight, her family left behind the only home she ever knew, along with all their kin. Her parents were modern pioneers; leaving everything and everyone behind to start afresh in a new town. All ties were cut. However, the young girl remembers a promise made by a favored aunt on their departure. This aunt will bring the young child a new dress when she comes to visit. The visitor never comes. The wide eyed girl with the beautiful walnut colored hair and the longing of a child reminds her mother of the promise. Her mother brushes her aside and scolds her to forget it. The visitor will never come. With the sadness only found in the face of a broken hearted child, she pleads with her mother to call the aunt, to find out the reason for the stall, but her mother, stonily refuses. Finally, the poor babe cries and pleads, when her mother holds her firmly in hand and hesitantly whispers to her about the spiders in the attic. With renewed silent tears, the last of the child's heart breaks and she runs from the room, throws herself down on her bed, and pours out her soul to God. The mother, thinking she has averted the danger of the spiders' release, offers the poor girl a candy bar, as a means to soothe her pain. But the candy only fills the hole temporarily, and for the rest of her life she has tried to heal the scar by filling the hole. With the truth never far from the surface, all her relationships have been painted, a necessity she perpetuated in order to survive.
So how does one build a house on thin ice?
Fireflies
Lately, my thoughts have been flitting aimlessly like fireflies on a warm summer evening. Maybe it's my age that makes me want to bring some meaning to my life and my relationships with the people closest to me. I feel like so much of who I am is tied to things I don't really understand. I am a Catholic, and our entire belief system is based on rituals. Rituals that date back centuries, and we learn to understand our faith by reflecting on scriptures written in the past. So, who I am religiously is based on understanding the history of the Church. We study history in school, in order to appreciate the sacrifices of our forefathers. We have museums solely dedicated to honoring and remembering the past.
Until recently, I was only aware of a family history on my father's side. My mother's family did not relish the idea of discussing the memories of their ancestors. All I was ever told of them was that they were dead. Dead. The word is so final, so absolute, so awful, that I grew up afraid of dying. I did not want someone to say of me, "she's dead." Where are all the stories?
Suddenly to my delight and surprise I have uncovered some stories from the past. My great-grandmother was widowed while her children were still young. Now I fully understand why my granny had to leave school at such a young age to earn money for the family. I have learned that my great-grandmother was a kind and caring lady who lovingly sewed dresses for one of her granddaughters. She also orchestrated the remodeling of an old bicycle, so that her young granddaughter could have a bike just like all her friends. It may not seem like much to some, but to me my great-grandmother now has a face and a soul. She is no longer just dead.
It's not just my thoughts that flit about like fireflies, but my family too. We are all searching for something to bring meaning to our lives, but we just don't know where to look or what we are looking for. If we could only walk through the past like we stroll through a musuem we might just find what we never knew we lacked.
Story Keepers
All families have them. Someone who shares their memories of the past, and brings light to future generations. My favorite television show growing up was the Waltons. It is such a heartwarming show. The family sits on the porch on warm evenings and the grandfather relates stories of when he was young. The entire show is narrated by the oldest child who remember simple events in their lives and transposes them into his journals. Maybe that is where I first got the idea to keep a journal of my own.
Ever since I can remember I have scribbled down my thoughts and feelings in a diary. As a teenager, I kept a diary religiously. I kept track of all my boyfriends in that diary. When I entered college, one of my theatre professors insisted that we keep a journal. So, I did off and on. Only they are long gone now. I bought a journal when I got engaged the first time round, and kept a log of our early life together. I also have a journal for each of my children to record the important moments of their lives. When they were little I wrote in them more frequently, but as they grew and life got busy the entries grew few and far between. I usually pull them out at the beginning of each new school year, to relate the years events and catalog any especially important moments or trying times that we are working to overcome. Its more of a "this is how I feel about where we are now, and where we are headed and what my hopes and dreams are for you, and that I hope all your dreams come true" kind of thing. I also purchased a journal to record events and feelings and struggles for my second marriage, and just recently purchased a leather bound journal to keep track of my responses to an online bible study that I was invited to join.
I guess because neither my dad or mother have ever told many stories from their youth, that I wanted to leave something for my own children. We talk about the crazy things I did in high school and college, and about my friends and our escapades. I want them to see me as more than just mom. I want them to hear my experiences and compare them to their own. So that when I say, "I know how you feel, I felt the same things," they will know that it is more than just words.
I do not know when I will give my children their journals to read. At first, I thought when they go off to college, but now that the time is nearing, I am thinking wedding day. Who knows. At least, I will have something to leave them.
I have found a story keeper in my family and am thankful for their love and insight. It is exactly the right time in my life to receive these stories.
Memories
I want to thank my story keeper, my Aunt Dee. I have shared with her, this summer, my desire to bring some sort of meaning to my life. I want to connect to the past so that I can fully appreciate the fabric of my family. She sent this to me today, and it really touched my heart...
Passing through my memory today is a Sunday that your family drove to Boerne to visit me at the Benedictine Convent of St. Scholastica. This particular day was in the fall of 1964 when you were just one-year-old, and I was fifteen. Your mom, dad, Roni, Kevin, and I were sitting very primly and properly on the Victorian-era sofa and chairs in what the prioress, Mother Madeleine,liked to consider the formal living room. Your mother was trying to hold you in her lap to keep your unsteady toddling away from delicate-looking vases and figurines. You were not content in her lap or your dad's. Determined to do your own walking (more like the teetering of a drunken sailor on shore leave) you squirmed off Lois's lap over and over. Wanting to maintain the serious tone of the convent atmosphere, she was dismayed at your insistence to be off and about. It may seem impossible to you that I can remember what I was thinking at the time, but I do. It struck me that you were being the same Nancy that I had seen you be as an infant. You enjoyed being held for only brief periods of time. You did not like being held in one place for too long. It's as if you were off to see, to try, to risk with no evident feeling of fear.
What touches me most about this memory is that I feel as if that has been my life. I am not comfortable in one place for too long. I do not know if it is that I long for the excitement of a new challenge or that I am weary of permanence. I hope it is not the latter. This summer has been a time or transition for me if not transformation. I feel the need to reevaluate my life, my choices, my dreams. Have I been true to myself? I know we all make choices we regret, and that there are things we'd like to have a chance to redo, but if we dwell on that then are we missing the point of life. We must move forward and look to the future, but it is nice to remember the past. The past gives us roots to grow and sprout. As a side bar, my aunt did not complete her time at the convent. Turns out it was not the life for her. She has a beautiful daughter of her own, and taught school for many years. I guess, in some ways, I have tried to emulate her. Such a beautiful lady, inside and out.
Stormy Seas
All families encounter storms in their lives, some more fierce than others. Some families battle cancer, divorce, affairs, etc...There are all sorts of furies that can bring a family to its knees. Recently, the young people in our family have had difficulty navigating the waters of freedom.
These waters are troubling because when sailed into with poor visibility seeing what lies ahead is not always easy. Freedom comes with responsibility. One has to understand that whatever choices one makes one has to be willing to accept the consequences whether good or bad. At times like these, we start to reevaluate our parenting. What have I left undone? What could I have done differently? The questions are endless, and as I my dear brother said to me just yesterday, sometimes there just are no reasons. Things are what they are. I don't know if I agree with that are not. I suppose sometimes people do things for no good reason at all, they simply just don't think. On the other hand, sometimes there are undercurrents that our consciousness is not aware of, because these events are so embedded in our souls they become a part of us without our even realizing it. These undercurrents pull us along and before we know it we are lost.
This summer undercurrents have been in the news frequently. We are told that when we encounter them we should ride them out until we can swim safely ashore. That is what our family must do now. Ride this out and when the tide subsides, hopefully we will find ourselves safely ashore. In the meantime, all we can do is pray that the young members of our family learn to navigate their lives carefully and prepare themselves for the stormy seas. When the seas are calm it is easy to forget the dangers in the sea of life.
Tranquility
Its funny how my friend Barb and I always seem to be on the same wave length. As I read her blog today it remined me of my thoughts from yesterday. While I was out for my morning jog/walk, I was breathing in the tranquility of a new day. The wind was softly swishing through the grass making the sound waves make as they hit the shore. The morning birds were welcoming the day with their songs, a lone dog could be heard barking in the distance, and the air was frought with moisture like just before a rain. With all the turmoil in my life, I needed the early moments alone to clear my head and steady me for the day.
All summer, I have enjoyed these early walks in nature, and have basked in the natural beauty surrounding my country home. With a new school year on the horizon, and the fear of what lies ahead for my family I needed these moments now more than ever. A peace settled in my soul yesterday, and although my concern for my family is still with me, the fear has subsided.
My father made an astute observation. He said, "a person cannot enjoy all the wonders of the world without acknowledging that there is a greater power than us at work. Whether a person believes in the same God we worship or not, they simply cannot deny that the world as we see it with the mountains and the lakes, the planets and the stars, the prairies and the seas, and all the varieties of animals and birds, did not just pop into existance without the assistance of a higher power." I found that statement very poetic and reassuring.
Barb and I enjoy the same since of peace that these walks bring, and that is just one more thing that unites us as soul sisters.
The Chris McCandless in Me
If you have not read Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer you need to. There are times in my life when I have desired to do what he did. Leave it all behind and head into the wild. I agree with Jon Krakauer;I do not think Chris meant to kill himself. This was not a suicide mission. His escape into the Alaskan territory was in my opinion a way to discover what was really important. He had many pent up hostilities toward his family. He felt oppressed, betrayed, and maybe even lost. From what I gather from the reading he wanted to reestablish a connection with the earth that modern man has lost. A willingness to live off the land, and what? I really do not know how to put it into words. But I want it too. I want to stop worrying about all the little stuff, and focus on what is important. Does it really matter what kind of house we live in, or what car we drive? Money is a necessity of life in the 21st century to be sure, but in the grand scheme of things it is such a small matter. Chris lived alone by his own devices for months. After returning to school this week for teacher in-service I was faced with a barrage of situations that I would love to have avoided at all costs. Without going into great detail, an incident occurred this summer that put me in the middle of a situation that ended very badly. I was caught in the middle of a school related situation that left me feeling betrayed and unappreciated. One of the teachers involved cornered me, and bomb barded me with questions about my attitude toward her, knowing full well that she knew the exact cause for my distress, just increased my tension and anxiety. My inner Chris rose to the surface, and all I wanted to do was escape. I did not want to deal with the situation at hand. I did not want to justify my anger, nor did I want to listen to her try to justify her actions. No, Chris was not a fool or a nut with a death wish. He was simply a young man who needed time to sort things out for his self. That's what I wanted, however it is not what I got. After the confrontation with her, the principal called me into her office, and I had to listen to her tell me how much I was admired, respected, and appreciated by her, the students, etc... You'd think that would have made me feel better, but it only made me feel worse. Before it was all over, I was in tears. Tears of what? frustration? anger? stress? Maybe all three and more. Without escaping into the wild, I learned that maybe the best thing is to face your troubles head on, talk things through, listen, and most importantly put everything into perspective. Which brings me full circle to my mantra: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." I can just imagine Chris's last prayers in his last conscious moments, he had made peace with himself, and forgiven those he loved, and maybe even regretted the fact that he'd never be able to tell them. I had the opportunity to hug my friend, that had perhaps unintentionally hurt my feelings, and I forgave her and her me. Things may never be the same, but we will always know exactly where we stand. Maybe that's all anyone can ask for. Chris's story had such a profound impact on me, and there are so many ideas and questions about this novel that I want to explore. Hopefully, in the coming days I will have time to expand on what I started here, and maybe you will discover your inner Chris.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5
Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, 10
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. 15
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. 20 This is my favorite poem, maybe because I identify with it so well. I have spent my entire life trying to make my own way. If everyone followed the same path, think how much our world would lack. Early explorers such as Galileo were considered heretics just because they dared to think “outside the box.” And this way of thinking has put me at odds with many of my loved ones as well. Maybe my choices weren’t always the best, but they were mine. And good or bad, the outcomes were mine too. Chris McCandless also took the road less traveled, and his life was neither glamorous nor easy, but isn’t that what he was looking for, a challenge, an opportunity to prove himself to himself. That is all I have ever wanted, to be uniquely me. Lately, I have been in flight mode. If I were free of responsibilities as Chris was, there is no doubt in my mine, that I would leave everything behind and re-invent myself, free from the scrutiny of family. I think I have passed this gene on to my own children. I hope I have fostered this desire to be unique. Conformity is not all it’s cracked up to be. Joey is Awesome! If you walk into my classroom one of the first things you will see is a blue cabinet with the words Mrs. Pawelek Rocks, and then on a separate piece of paper the words “Nancy is Crazy” written by Joey’s beautiful hand. When he wrote it, he did so in an endearing way which is why I never even tried to wipe it off. If you look up the word crazy in the dictionary, you will see that it has various meanings, ranging from mentally deranged to intensely enthusiastic to passionately excited to impractical, unusual, bizarre, and of course the slang use of one being wonderful, excellent or perfect. I choose to believe that he thought of me as the latter and not the first-although on some days I may seem mental. So last night, as I lie awake unable to comprehend the loss of my dear student and friend, I wondered, if I were to choose one word to describe Joey what would it be? Many came to mind-determined, strong-willed, and independent, creative, joyful, fun-loving, but none suited him until the word awesome popped into mind-no doubt Joey was shouting it from heaven. Awesome. That suits Joey. I looked it up this morning and the definition that struck me was-inspiring awe-A mixed emotion of reverence, respect, dread and wonder inspired by genius and great beauty. That’s Joey.
If you know anything about our teacher-student relationship, or have ever been in class with the two of us you know it’s complicated. Joey could drive me to distraction, and inspire me to try things I never thought possible. His enthusiasm was contagious. Just ask our superintendent. Every time Joey discovered the amazing possibilities of a new technology he had me so excited that we were running to her begging for funds so Joey could work his magic. That’s how I have come to have a Mac in my classroom. It is loaded with the latest of everything. Just recently he came into my room nearly bursting at the seams. His latest computer searches led him to Podcasts that gave step by step instructions on how to do just about anything with Adobe Photoshop. He set his computer on my desk and we watched the instructor bring two ships in a harbor closer together without distorting the picture in any way. He was so impressed by this technology that he convinced me we needed to have the latest version of Adobe. So of course, I began inquiring into costs, etc… So, Ms. Bettin, our superintendent can expect a visit from me soon. If Joey said we need it, then by golly I’m going to get it.
I didn’t just have Joey in my journalism class, he was in my senior English class, he was my student aide, and in my art class too. So out of seven periods, he was scheduled to be with me for four. Although, he was in and out of my class all day long. And honestly, I loved it. I must make a confession here to my colleagues; he wasn’t always working on his journalism projects. He just couldn’t stay in one place for long periods of time that he was flitting in and out of every office and classroom in the school all day long.
He did so many awesome things with our new computer this year I don’t even know where to begin. During football season, he was the cheerleaders’ and dance teams’ master music mixer. At his suggestion we videoed every pep rally and he created a highlight video that just took my breath away. He taught himself how to convert the video to be usable then spent hours, no days, cutting and splicing until it was just perfect. I was so worried it wouldn’t be ready before Christmas since we went so far in the playoffs, but I should have known that Joey would come through. In his spare time, he helped Tammy Kirchhoff create three awesome videos for the football team and I don’t know who was more pumped him or her. They were down right giddy.
When I started teaching they told me that it only takes one student to make it all worth while. Well, I guess then I’m blessed, because countless students have touched my heart. But, Joey will always have a special place. I will never ever sit down at a computer, watch a video, or look at a yearbook without thinking of him. Not only was he one of favorite people, he was my daughter’s best friend. He and Tara used to argue about who I loved more. She always told him it was him. But they both agreed that it was Willie. Truth be told I loved them all. Love has no measure. Drought How does one describe the dry crackled earth withering under the blazing hot Texas sun? Desolate, lifeless, lonely. Lonely seems to fit. There are no children playing on the lawn, no lemonade stands, no dogs chasing cats, All is still. Every creature seeks refuge in the shade, yet there is no cool place to lay. The winds when they do blow, blow a miserable heat, drying out what little green is left. Looking out my window I see many shades of brown blended with harsh shades of yellow. The land is completely without movement. If I were in tune with my Native American roots, but I would attempt to perform The Native American Rain Dance. A rich tradition which is still performed in some regions of the Southwestern United States. Maybe I'll just play the Rain Dance Flute Song. |