The Daily Writes

Flying Erasers

by

I attended a parochial school and had nuns as teachers through fifth grade. They wore habits and were very old school. But they provided me with a lifetime worth of stories and a good education.

My fourth grade teacher, Sister Geraldine, used to use a long wooden pointer to pound on your desk and get your attention. She could also spot dirt or something out of place from 10 feet away. She seemed superhuman, and scary.

In Fifth grade, Sister Antonia was friendly and less exacting, but she had the precision aim of a World Series pitcher. When she taught she often used the blackboard. With her back to the class she could sense if a student was misbehaving and with one swift move she’d grab an eraser, pivot and throw it at the offender. She was always dead on with her aim and to this day I can visualize the clouds of chalk dust that rose when the eraser hit its target.

In Sixth grade we did not have a nun, but I think it was that year that a nun came to our class to talk about her experience being ‘Called”. She shared with us how God had spoken to her and told her that serving for him was what he wanted her to do with her life. She talked about the convent and being a nun. I remember leaving that class for recess and wandering around, praying the whole time that God would not call me, I new at that young age that I would not be a good candidate.

I’m not Catholic now but I look back fondly on my 12 years of parochial school. The rules were strict but clear, the education was straightforward, and we learned manners. All things I value now.

Involuntary Spasms

by

I am afraid of heights. My gut clenches when I stand near a ledge or even when I see something high on TV. I tell my husband that one never knows when they may have an involuntary body spasm and accidentally throw themselves from a high space.

He used to laugh at this but as we watch our son grow, he realizes that there is some credibility to my theory. Our son regularly experiences these types of spasms. He will be standing or walking and all of a sudden, he will fall over or jerk around and lose his balance, a daily example of involuntary body spasms.

I realized recently that there are also involuntary bouts of insecurity. Usually these come at a certain time in the month. But I now believe they can be as random as involuntary body spasms.

Questions that I would normally consider stupid come out of the blue. “I wonder if my new friend really likes me” or, “ Did I seem too pushy in that email?” After quick mental calculations, and a scan of how the day is going, I decide my brain is having a spasm.

My son looks at me sometimes when he is crying, I can tell he is waiting to see how I will respond or comfort him. Depending on the situation, I will likely look at him and say, “I know buddy, this stinks. Let it out, tell me how you feel.” I do this so he can cry his way through his feelings. This is the way to handle involuntary bouts of insecurity. Let them run amok for awhile and they will likely pass.

Mixed Tapes

by

Music is my memory holder. Hearing certain songs brings me back to a moment in time in vivid detail. An ACDC song takes me back to 1986 when I drove a 1978 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. The car, purchased used by my dad, had an 8 track music player. The seller graciously donated a shoe box full of Barbara Streisand tracks. While I like Streisand and her music, at 16 it wasn’t really my thing. While I saved diligently to buy a real car stereo, I used a boom box to play cassette tapes while driving. ACDC was on a favorite mixed tape along with Poison and Van Halen, I was big into rock.

Boston reminds me of my brother and his room in our house growing up. The Carpenters and Elton John remind me of the times my older sisters and I would listen to the radio in the St. Boniface parking lot. Styx makes me think of green shag carpet because that’s what was on the floor of my parents bedroom. I would sit on that carpet in front of the record player and read the album cover, singing along with the lyrics. Air Supply still reminds me of the nights I would lie on my bedroom floor rewinding the cassette over and over to see if I could hold the final note of “All Out of Love” as long as the lead singer did.

I never could hold the note of that Air Supply singer, and I don’t listen to mixed tapes anymore. I hate how everything is digital and I can’t drop a record onto a player. But I will always love the old stuff, and the places it takes me.

This is your life…as a butter knife

by

When I was young, my Dad would occasionally talk to me about life. This often happened at dinnertime, and oddly there was usually a butter knife involved.

“This is your life” he would say, while putting his fingers on either end of a butter knife, “You are here”. His finger would move just slightly to show a minuscule advance on the knife turned ruler. I remember rolling my eyes and thinking, “Whatever Dad”. It seemed that grown ups always had some tale like this, talking about how short life is and how it goes faster and faster all the time. I knew I certainly felt more grown up than I was then, and was definitely at least halfway on the butter knife scale.

Now at 43, I understand what he meant. I don’t feel older, but as the  days and months pass by, when I hear music and it brings me back to the mini skirt, frosted lipstick, big hair days of my youth, I realize that I am getting old. I now have a hair strategy (telling in and of itself) that “incorporates” the gray that is growing in so rapidly. I refuse to succumb to monthly hair appointments or to hiding the signs of my age. I want to wear wrinkles and gray hair as a badge, and to move forward with my head held high into the next few decades. I think anyway.

The butter knife analogy comes to me often these days. And I use the phrase, “Back in the day” way more than I should.