Little Letters

Dear Naps,
Aside from the drool, we're cooler than Cool Whip together. Wouldn't you agree?
Love,
Sleepy McSleeperstein

Dear Reluctant Readers,
You're missing out on worlds and worlds and worlds. You're missing out on dear friends. You're missing out on discovering who you are and the kind of person you want to be and taking risks without significant consequence to get there. Oh, darlings, you are missing out.
Love,
Your book-lovin' teacher

Dear KFC,
Your biscuits (w/honey--oh my!) and mashed potatoes are the only reason I'll ever really eat you. Your chicken...not so much. I mean, what happened there?
Signed,
The Carbivore

Dear Instagram,
You're kind of my favorite app. I want more friends and folks to follow/be followed by with your li'l piece of smart phone joy. It feels like a really important goal for the new year. (Is it desperate and pitiful if I ask my blogging pals to find me or join just so we can instagram together? I don't care.)
Love,
afterword

Dear Facebook,
I feel like breaking up 75% of the time. But then I remember all the good things that have come of you and I realize I just need to train this tick of mine that makes me check you regularly into ignoring you more often. FOMO my eye!
Signed,
Enough with the political tomfoolery

Dear Puppy,
I'm sorry about the crap weather. I'm a little stir crazy too.
Love,
Your ever-smitten mama

Dear "Nubbins" the Toy Moose,
Sorry Puppy "The Teeth" Betsy has completely removed your plastic limb via a slow and gnawing torture. Your sacrifice is appreciated around here. 
Signed,
Better you than me

Dear Inversion,
I'm sick of writing to you. Go. Away. Forever.
Signed,
Dizzy and depressed from your funk

Dear Books,
What a sweet gift you are to my life. I gush about you. Did you know that? I do. I gush. I get excited when I start a good one. I feel lost and forlorn when I finish a great one (hello, reading the final word of Harry Potter 7 left me depressed for days). Going to a place filled with your spines, a library, a bookstore. These are my own little pieces of heaven. Who or what would I be without the companion you've been to me throughout my life. Methinks this little letter warrants an entire post. Wouldn't you say? So would I.
Love,
A bona fide book lover

Miserably Cold

After several weeks of highs around 20, 

I'm missing summer desperately. What about you?

On. And on. And on.

I rather loathe this time of year--what seems to be an everlasting winter. The inversion hanging heavy in the sky. The light at the end of this bitter tunnel so very distant.

And yet, here it is: January. Which will eventually bleed into February which will eventually end. Eventually.

But until then I'm left trudging through the days. And that is precisely what I'm doing: trudging. Slowly making my way from here to there.

So much of life is like this: moving from one place to the next, journeying so slowly. Looking to the next milepost until I reach it. Then looking to the next and the next and carrying onward.

Except, lately I've been thinking that this mile is so much longer than the others. I feel myself lodged in January. I am stagnant in a way I never expected. I am ready to move on to the distant post but I never seem to reach it.

* * *

Tonight I went to my yoga class. I moved my body so gently. I breathed. At the end of the session I lay on the floor listening to the soft, simple notes breathing with me. The instructor told us to, "imagine [our] thoughts settling as sand to the ocean floor." So many thoughts. So many worries. Sand upon sand upon sand sifting and settling. My body sinking and drifting and floating down with each idea. I felt myself falling somewhere safe, as snow into the backyard of my childhood.

* * *

A good friend (and yes, I have so very many good friends--I am rich with an abundance of good people in my life) told me after dinner the other night that I simply need to get out of my own way. How right she was. How perceptive of my doubts and concerns for things I cannot control, for things that may never happen. She recommended I read this by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland.

Among the many truths I found in Elder Holland's address, this one idea keeps brushing against the edges of my mind:

It is the plain and very sobering truth that
before great moments,
certainly before great spiritual moments,
there can come adversity, opposition, and darkness.
Life has some of those moments for us,
and occasionally they come
just as we are approaching an important decision
or a significant step in our life.

* * *

Sometimes I imagine the people my arms might hold one day: my husband, my children, even my grandchildren. I imagine what it would be like to hold these beings close to me. To have them fill up my days, my thoughts, my time and energy in a way that will leave me questioning who I ever was before. These thoughts fill me with longing and dread; the act feels both foreign and familiar.

* * *

So often I've written here about waiting. About enduring. About how life is beautiful and rich and full. And yet, here is a piece of truth I must also admit: sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it feels empty and difficult and not what I expect or want. Sometimes life is so lovely it hurts. At other times it hurts so much it is ugly.

* * *

Each day on January's calendar will eventually show signs of wear: a list checked off, an X through each square day. I'll tear the thin sheet of paper from my desk and move on to the next clean month. Eventually--and I know this--eventually it will happen.

That Time of Year

It has reached that time of the year when all I can really think about is this:

And how, wish as I might, it isn't going to happen any time soon. 

Because, lately, my life is a bit more like this:

(Oh, don't be offended. We all need to giggle every now and again.)

Lazy Blogger

I have been a terrible blogger lately. Blame Facebook (after much pushing, I finally signed up and holy moly! the people that come out of the woodwork). Blame my new obsession with sewing (did I tell you about the $25 Bernina sewing machine in perfect condition that I scored in a silent auction at school?). Blame the holidays. Or blame the fact that I'm now back in school after my break (and had the worst week in the classroom I've had in a long time). Frankly, I haven't had much spare time and in that spare time I've been doing anything but blogging.

But, frankly, I haven't got a single thing to say lately. Other then Happy New Year! I'm working on it.

Oh, and so that it is just out there in the universe and I can rest easy knowing I said it: Winter is my enemy. My toes haven't been warm in days, I swear (okay, maybe a wee bit of hyperbole, there). I'm cold and sick of snow. Boo to winter.

I promise, the blog will be updated with a real post soon.

The White Stuff

Today, while stuck spinning out on a ridiculously steep incline a mere quarter mile from my school (for over half an hour until the plow truck salted the road. Yes I said "OVER HALF AN HOUR." Stuck. In my car. Trapped there because I had spun my last spin in front of some poor sap's driveway and couldn't abandon my car in front of their only access to the road/ice slide while I took the treacherous hike up to the school). Anyway, while stuck, I thought to myself how snow is sort of like a Hollywood actress. Oh, at surface value she is beautiful. Pristine. Her mere appearance makes the world quiet and lovely and soft. But beneath the perfect veneer lies an iciness that could rival Cruella De Vil. Yes, snow might look pretty, but deep down it's a B!T@#!

Under Pressure

Some days I just want a break from responsibility. No to do list. No students needing letters of recommendation or missing work. No meetings I'm running late to. No dishes waiting in the sink or gyms that mock me because, yet again, I didn't make time that day. Just a break from the pressure. I won't bore you all with my to do list in the coming weeks, but know that it sucks.

I will, however, take an agenda

that looks a little like this:

Is It Spring Yet?

In case any of you were wondering...



I loathe these final winter months like I loathe an ingrown toenail. They are painful, slow to disappear, unsightly, and every step you take reminds you of their presence.