Nine Days Apart

At the second funeral, the rabbi said they were soul mates. My dad couldn’t live without her so he followed her nine days later.

She had brain cancer. We all thought she beat the lung cancer and of course the colon cancer all those years ago. But this time cancer had other plans. Doctors said treatment wouldn’t cure her and would completely destroy the quality of her remaining 3 months of life.

She lived those last months under hospice care in a nursing home. He was there too…congestive heart failure and a host of other complications that he didn’t have to die from. She charmed the nurses, the orderlies, the aides, their kids who came to visit, and me. She was a difficult broad but an easy patient. She let me do her nails, brush her hair, stroke her soft cheek, play Andre Bocelli CDs for her, help her with her toileting. He charmed the girls too..he was a difficult patient; refusing to admit he needed any help at all. He let me read the news to him but he was just being polite; he just didn’t care that much about anything really, at least not the way he cared so passionately when he was so much more….alive.

They died in the fall between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. The period of shiva was cut short on account of the High Holy Days.

I said Kaddish for them for eleven months. It comforted me; helped me feel close to them; I knew they’d be proud and honored that I did that for them.

It’s been seven and one half years since their passing. I miss them more as the days go by; as their granddaughters accomplish more; as I understand them more. I miss them more when I attend funerals; on their birthdays; on my kids’ birthdays; when I visit the cemetery; when I think of how much like them I am.

I just miss them.

Morning Stretch

Each morning since my running – impeded hip injury last summer, I do my stretching routine in front of the Today Show. NBC calls it a news show but seriously, watching Matt and Savannah report on political warring, infidelity, hostile paparazzi encounters, unmarried celebrity pregnancies, and horrific violence ad naseum is not the kind of news I want to watch as I begin my day.

But on Sunday, there’s a very special morning show that illuminates the start of my day and highlights the courage and grace of the human spirit. Without spouting nary a host’s personal opinion, CBS News Sunday Morning is an absolute breath of fresh air!

The battle for morning ratings could easily be won if the weekday shows would consider the CBS Sunday Morning model model. Imagine a day that begins with an inspirational story about bravery, compassion, kindness, and the unsinkable grit of real-life role models!

Surely I can’t be the only early riser who would prefer to start her morning on an up note.

Don't Count the Comments

I’ll admit that with each slice I post, I count the comments. It’s funny, I know I shouldn’t. But let's face it; comments make us feel good and urge writers onward. They act as proof that we have touched someone with our written words. 

Yesterday's comment competition validated my obsession. It also got me thinking about the influence our posts have on readers who may not leave a comment. 

For example, the other morning I was poking around in different slices and I came across an absolutely incredible poem for teaching second graders about list poems. Not only was the poem out of this world, but the slicer put it on a Haiku Deck (which if you haven’t ever seen, you must check out as soon as you finish reading my slice)! I was so caught up in the brilliance of it, that I lost track of the time and neglected to comment.

So here’s a belated comment for Diana Martin at One Literacy Coach

Dear Diana,

Thank you so very much for inspiring my writing lesson for today. My students took off with their These I Am poems in the way that every teacher of writing hopes her students will take off! And as if the poetry writing wasn’t enough, I told my best friend at work, a major techie about Haiku Deck and now she’s using it with her newly acquired classroom iPads.

And one more thing, today I received an email from Adam Tratt, CEO at Haiku Deck and this is what he said:

                             ….welcome to our community of dreamers,

 idea creators, information energizers, classroom igniters, and

thought provokers.   I just may add them to my own These I Am poem!

by jaeden

by grace

by lauren

by megan

Ralph and Norton

When our girls were little, I began a campaign to convince my husband that we needed a dog. “They’re not used to dogs,” I told him. “They need to get used to dogs,” He wouldn’t budge. He worried that the job of taking care of a dog would ultimately fall on his shoulders. Since he was busy growing a new business, he felt he couldn’t take on any additional household responsibilities. And furthermore, his argument about his allergies was something I couldn’t ignore.

Arguments aside, I still wanted a dog. After all, I grew up in a family that babysat the friends’ dogs, took in stray dogs, and adopted dogs from the shelter. Not to mention the cute little Labrador puppy and the angry full grown Shih Tzu my Uncle Arthur brought to our house knowing my mom would never say no.

I begged; I cajoled; I even bribed. Until one year, sometime before the holidays rolled around, Cary started to cave. I had chipped away at him until he admitted a cute little puppy might just be the perfect gift for our daughters, then nine and six and still uncomfortably inexperienced around dogs.

We chose a 6 week-old chocolate brown poodle. Actually, I let Cary choose him. To be honest, I think our puppy chose us. He was tiny and perfect and HYPOALLERGENIC! We couldn’t wait to pick him up and surprise the girls. We spent hours discussing the perfect name. Coming up with Norton from our beloved Honeymooners sealed the deal.

Norty was the perfect dog. He was gentle and affectionate and helped our daughters become dog lovers. He was easy going. He’d sit on my lap as I sipped my morning coffee and read the newspapers. He slept in his crate until we were ready to have him sleep in our bedroom. He posed for photos with hats and costumes. He sat still and played fetch. He was part of the fabric of our lives.

We were all heartbroken when he passed on at the young age of eight. Crying, we buried him in the rain in our backyard and planted a dogwood tree in his memory. As sad as we all were, it was Cary who insisted we not wait and get another dog right away. It seemed that Cary bonded with Norton in a way that I never could have predicted. And so, I agreed to another puppy but not without being persuaded, sweet-talked, and bribed.

Ralph was the runt of the litter. Utterly unique, he is not without “issues.” He never once slept in his crate.  Often, he wakes up at three a.m. to pee. He tapdances throughout the night on the wooden floor in our bedroom where he has his own bed at the foot of ours. He won’t eat his lunch from the same bowl as his breakfast. His water must always be cold and never served at room temperature.

Hey there, Ralphie boy!

A haiku for you.....:)

                              end the day yearning

to unwind recharge fill up
bring on tomorrow

Tossin' and Turnin'

Sleeping was so always easy for me.  Falling asleep? Staying asleep? Never a problem.

Until now.

Now I’ve got post menopausal, ragingly hormonal sleeps.

Getting really tired isn’t difficult. I’m a second grade teacher. Need I say more?

So each night, exhausted I climb into bed with the dreaded anticipation that I will awaken to use the loo and stay awake.

And that’s pretty much my nightly sleeptime adventure beginning with an early bedtime and getting interrupted at 2:30 am.

I used to boast that as a commuter without a seat on the railroad, I was able to fall asleep standing up! Although I’m still able to steal a 5 minute catnap anywhere and anytime, these little dozes do nothing to replenish my energy like a good night’s sleep.

But, as much as I fear sleeplessness why do I still greet bedtime with such delight?

The Important Thing

My second graders and I were inspired to write after reading Margaret Wise Brown's

the important thing about the sky
by margaret wise brown

The Important Book.


We wrote this together as a shared writing piece after brainstorming ideas about why
         
writing is important..

The important thing about writing is that it lets you give out your emotions and tell the world how you feel.

Sometimes you feel sad and that’s ok to write about.

Sometimes the person who reads your writing will feel sad or maybe….will cheer you up!

Sometimes you can write about your hopes and dreams.
But the important thing about writing is to write what is in your heart.

by kabir

by noa

by carly