Tag: navigating the world

Collaboration Qualm

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I came across this quote today, and I found it intriguing. Visualize a qualm….

To me, an academic assignment that involves group work is sort of like a dish of melting ice cream. You might be deeply interested in the topic or the assignment, but the fact that you have to complete it with a group is disappointing and takes the fun out of the process. You know that you will have someone in the group who doesn’t carry his or her weight, and you are concerned that one person’s lack of contribution will affect the outcome of the entire project. And the evaluation of said project. And ultimately, the grade.

I have witnessed a few too many group projects gone wrong. In truth, if I had a dime for every time a student came to me with a complaint about a group project, I would be a wealthy woman. “This person isn’t doing any work, so now I have to do her part and my part,” or “So-and-so won’t respond to my texts, and he hasn’t completed the research we need.”

Wouldn’t you think by now, teachers would realize that a group will always carry one or more individuals. Group projects are a punishment to the good students because one or two of them will be forced to do all of the work and the others will skate through on the work (and the grades) of those students.

I have qualms about collaborative assignments. You probably have your own qualms. A dish of melting ice cream, a deflated balloon, a sailboat in the middle of a lake without a lick of breeze in the air. Think about your own qualms and come up with a good metaphor to describe them.

[Image credit: http://www.relatably.com/q/qualms-quotes%5D

Lessons from the Road

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So I am at it again—driving with an inexperienced driver. Here’s the funny thing about driving with a new driver: When you get in the car, even if you know where you are going, you never really know how the drive will go. You might have a plan in your head when you embark on the journey, but when you get out of the car, you think, Well, that didn’t turn out the way I thought it would.

Take, for example, a drive we went on earlier this week. Unlike my older two children, this child is very anxious to be behind the wheel, and if we are going somewhere, he always asks if he can drive. So this week, we had to travel to the next town (a small city), and we had to get on the highway to get there. It was just past rush hour, and I knew a route that would skirt the main part of town and bring us to our destination without the worry of traffic, turns, and too many stoplights.

Well in advance of the exit ramp, I let the young driver know that the ramp was a sharp curve, and he would want to slow down. Way down. But the exit comes up quickly and there is traffic coming onto the highway that needs to be negotiated. As we careened around the turn, my son said, “Wow, that is a sharp curve!” But he was able to maintain control as he finally slowed to a better pace.

I took a couple deep breaths to calm my heart rate as he merged with the cars on the new road, and I said, “You’re going to want to get into the left lane.” I pointed ahead. “See that light? You’ll be turning left there.”

“Right there?” he asked, gesturing with a tilt of his head, as his hands were on the steering wheel.

“Yes,” I responded as we moved closer to the intersection that I was looking at. We remained two lanes away from the left-est lane. In my head, I knew we could go straight and still get to our destination, and I only briefly considered mentioning that by left lane, I meant all the way to the left. But I decided to let it slide.

We went straight through the light, and he asked where he was supposed to turn. “Back there,” I replied. “But you’re fine. We can get there this way.” In the end, we arrived at our destination safely and in plenty of time, and we got some unexpected experience navigating the city streets.

And I learned a valuable lesson, because learning is not exclusive to one person in any given teaching experience. I need to remember that even though—in my head, and with my years of experience—this driving thing is very straightforward, for a rookie navigator, the road system is a maze of unchartered territory. It’s always best to keep directions simple. Maybe we go a bit out of our way, but in doing so, we avoid the panic of directions given too swiftly and followed recklessly. It’s a process, this business of driving a car, and well… practice.

The point of driving hours is to practice rather than to reach a destination. Destination will be the next step. In the meantime, keep your hands on the wheel. Keep your seatbelt on. And (as Dad always said) watch out for the other guy.

13 Reasons Challenge

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Today, while I was doing my behind-the-scenes blog thing (i.e. reading, following, commenting on other bloggers’ work), I stumbled on an amazing blogging challenge that I could not pass up. This young blogger had seen the TV show “13 Reasons Why,” and she offered this challenge to other bloggers: Write a post on the 13 reasons why you are happy. What a great idea! Many thanks to Steph for putting forth this challenge. Here goes:

1 – Morning. The fact is, I woke up this morning, and that, in and of itself, is something to be happy about. Morning always comes, but as I get older, I realize the chances of not waking up increase just a bit each day. Life is temporary, and I am happy that I am still here on this planet.

2 – My three great kids. Even though sometimes I may complain (as most parents do), they really are amazing—talented, funny, caring, etc. And I am honored to be here to watch them grow in competence, confidence, and independence.

3 – My family. They are the best! In addition to my kids, my mom and my sister are two of my favorite [adult] people in the world. I also have extended family members who are always around to remind me that the tree we all fell from was full of nuts. Really, I’m not the only crazy one.

4 –My wonderful Partner in Everything (PiE), one of my other most favorite adults. Every day, I know he loves me, supports me, challenges me, pushes me to be a better me, even if sometimes he thinks I am crazy (see #3) or I make him tear his hair out. Hey, relationships can’t be all sunshine and roses now, can they?

5 – Being a single mother. For 14 and a half years, I have lived this lifestyle. And I have survived. Really, I have done more than survive. As challenging as it has sometimes been, I love begin a single mother to these three crazy creatives of mine. I believe single parenting was by far the best choice for us, as a family.

6 – My home, which is warm and safe and dry. Even though we might not have as much space as we want at any given moment, our home has served us well. It gave us a bit of space to grow, and we’ve been able to figure it out. With its lack of storage space, it has also limited the amount of “stuff” we can acquire, which is always a good thing.

7 – Amazing neighbors. How many people can say that?

8 – My wonderful church family. It is a small parish and a welcoming community, which has allowed my children to recognize that there are people outside of our family who love and care for them.

9 – I am not going to say I am happy for the hard times. However, I will say, the hard times offer an opportunity to put the good times in perspective. Therefore, I am happy for the resilience that hard times bring.

10 – Spring. It is spring in my geographical area, though there are days it doesn’t feel like it; it has been mostly cold and raw and rainy. Despite the cooler temps, flowers are blooming, trees are sprouting leaves, and the spring peepers are peeping. This time of year makes me happy.

11 – I have three awesome, cuddly cats, and I love them dearly. They make me laugh; they allow me to talk to myself, and if anyone overhears me, I can blame one of them. “Oh, I was just talking to the cat.” And it has been scientifically proven that petting cats will lower my blood pressure. Perfect excuses to have a cat… or three.

12 – Tradition. You know, sometimes I think I don’t have many traditions with my children, but when I really think about it, I realize there are quite a few. Whether it is the manner in which we celebrate Christmas, the simple things eating on the deck in the summer, or our annual trip to Family Camp, we definitely have traditions, and I treasure them.

13 – Creativity. I am so happy that I am able to create something from nothing. Or more likely, create something useful from things like leaves and string and glue and tissue. Creativity is sort of like magic that way.

Can you think of 13 things that make you happy? Maybe you can include one or two in the comments.

Fridge Lock

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It is interesting how conversations progress in my house, and how quickly things change.

A week ago, my son came home from college and in all honestly, he might not have eaten the entire time he was there. On one of his first days home, he was eating a container of apricot yogurt. I didn’t know he liked apricot yogurt, and there were other flavors in the fridge I thought he did like. So I mentioned to him that I had purchased the apricot for his brother.

At first, he stared at me as though I had somehow insulted him. Deeply. And then he marched to the fridge, threw open the doors, and said, “Tell me which food in here is mine, Mom. What has my name on it?” He made a sweeping motion with his hand, indicating the contents of the fridge. “Can you tell me? Because I see none.” He turned and looked directly at me, taunting me, daring me to answer him. I stared back. Then I smiled and shrugged, but I did not answer.

Fast forward to today. I purchased bagels earlier in the week at his urging, but today he complained, “There are no bagels left. I only ate one of them, and the rest disappeared.” He was disappointed. Somehow, he had forgotten that food tends to disappear in a house with three hungry teenagers. And my house doesn’t have the seemingly endless supply of food that he enjoyed in his college dining hall.

“We should put a lock on the fridge,” he proposed, apparently backing off on his open-refrigerator policy of just a few short days ago.

“And that would mean that only I would have access to the food,” I countered, suddenly recognizing what a great idea this might be to have complete control of the food.

“No… I would have access, too,” he told me. “I know about fridges. I majored in culinary in high school.”

I laughed. “Interesting thought, but that might cause more problems.” I imagined one of his siblings trying unsuccessfully to get into the fridge—even for a glass of water, and I shuddered.

Yes, the conversations change quickly around here. This afternoon, as I left the grocery store with a full cart, I said to my boyfriend, “There. Now I won’t have to come back for at least two days!” It seems it might be a long summer of frequent food shopping. Maybe a lock is not such a bad idea.

Image credit: FreeImages.com / Griszka Niewiadomski

Healing

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I am happy to say that I have found a solution to my mug problem. I now have new mug from which to drink my coffee and reminisce in the mornings.

As the weather grew warmer and spring was definitely arriving, the Christmas mug—despite the sentiments it held for me—was starting to feel a bit wrong. There was snow and a Christmas wreath on the mug, but outside, the weather was reflecting an altogether different season. So on my last, rather timely trip to visit Mom, I acquired a new old mug.

This mug was Dad’s and is one that I made back when my children were little. That Christmas, I made several similar but unique mugs to give as gifts. I painted faces (which barely resembled) my three children, and I included names of the grandparents. This mug—the Grampa mug—is now mine.

I thought it would be the perfect replacement for my Christmas mug. My sister questioned whether I would actually use a mug that says “Grampa” on it, and admittedly, it might seem a bit odd. Here I am, a woman of a medium age, using a mug made for a Grampa.

Do I care? Not at all. I use it every day! I think it might just help in my healing process.

 

Winter’s Release

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This is the time of year when winter releases the many captives it has taken during the long, snow-smothered months. One never knows what will appear when the snow melts, and sometimes the discoveries can be downright surprising.

Two winters ago, I recovered a cell phone that had been buried in the snow for the better part of the winter. When I turned it on, it still worked, though the service had been disconnected weeks earlier by its owner. My challenge then was to find the owner and return the phone, which I was ultimately able to do by finding common contacts.

When my children were young, I found a wallet plowed into a pile of gooey brown road-slush. I took it home to dry it out and find its rightful owner. The wallet contained cash, credit cards, and identification, and I don’t think the man’s wife was pleased that a strange woman was calling her husband relatively late at night—at least not until she found out the reason for my call. The next day, I delivered the wallet to the bakery cafe where the man worked, and he gave my children each a large cookie from the display case.

One night this week, when I stopped at our mailboxes on my way home from work, I noticed a pair of eyeglasses in a case sitting on top of the box. The case looked naggingly familiar. It pulled at the memories contained in my brain, and as I dragged out the heavy box in which I store all useless tidbits of memory, the lid squeaked from lack of use. Interestingly, memories can slip into the storage box nearly unnoticed, but getting them out again can sometimes take great work and strain.

The memory started to emerge: A month ago—maybe two—my BF appeared at my house with new reading glasses (because we are at that age, and reading without them is challenging). He had purchased a new pair because… well, because he misplaces them. All. The. Time. These new glasses were contained in a nice case.

But the next day, the glasses had gone missing. BF seemed to think he had left them at my house, and he launched a futile search. I tried to tell him the glasses weren’t there, but he wouldn’t believe me until he didn’t find them there. He then thought he had left them in his car, but I never saw the glasses again after that. Until now.

Because now, they were sitting on top of the mailboxes, dirty from the weeks spent in the snow, but they were intact, unbroken, and in good shape. Luckily, it seemed they had not been plowed into a snowbank or run over by a car. And the case had done a good job of keeping them free of scratches. BF now has them back. At least for now.

Sometimes, I am amazed that anything can emerge intact after months buried in snow. And sometimes, I just wish winter would give up the fight and release the spring….

Student Emotion

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I was walking through one of the study areas at work yesterday, and I passed by one of my student tutors. She was sitting at a computer desk, her homework spread out around her. The non-work items on the desk were few since it was a public space, but she had a brightly colored box of tissues next to her. The box sported pictures of cartoony-looking fish from Finding Dory, giving me the impression it was not the nondescript pattern typically associated with institutional tissue boxes. Because we are (hopefully) emerging from the thick of cold and flu season, I pointed to the box. “Are you bringing your own tissues to work with you now?”

She looked up at me from behind the large the desk where she sat. “Yeah. It’s that point in the semester.” She blinked sad eyes for effect. “I brought them in case I need to cry.” Her face was more serious than usual.

I stopped abruptly. “Oh!” I studied her face. “Are you all right?”

She smiled. “They’re not really mine.”

“Okay,” I released a relieved sigh. “That sounded just like something my daughter would say,” I added.

“Yeah. It’s a girl thing,” she shrugged. But then she considered what she had said. “No, maybe not. I think it’s an age thing.”

I studied her face for a moment. In it, I could see hints of my daughter, of several of the students I work with, of so many people I know, young and old. “Maybe,” I pretended to accept this explanation as I turned to walk away, but I was certain it wasn’t an “age thing.”

What I really wanted to say was, “I think it’s a life thing!” But some things are better left unsaid.

Controversy

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Lately, I have been running cold. No wait, that’s not right.

If I am completely honest, I have been cold every winter since I can remember. It seems, every little draft finds me and circulates around me, tickling my neck and spiraling down my spine.

My daughter would disagree. She would claim that my … ahem, middle age … is ruining her life. Her controversy is that it’s cold in the house, I won’t let her turn up the heat so she can get warm, and blah, blah, blah…. In her case, it’s more about dressing in something that’s not minimal and tissue paper thin. And I’m always happy to let her borrow a sweatshirt … or two.

At home, my temperature is generally fine because I’m moving, baking, cleaning, etc. But at work, I freeze. I have often considered bringing in a blanket and spending the day under it. But I might fall asleep, and that would not be good.

This morning, as I sat in my office working, I suddenly realized I was somewhat chillier than usual. I turned on my space heater, which cut the chill a bit. But then I began to smell fresh air. My boss had come in, decided it was too hot, and opened her office window. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one shivering, and she closed it.

Ah well, such is cold weather life in New England. It’s a good thing spring is (slowly) creeping in!

A Random Cardinal

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These days, there is always some random something lurking around every twist in the road that can flip the switch that allows grief to flood through me like a downpour.

Today, as I drove home from work, it was a cardinal that flew in front of my car as I navigated down the same street I drive every day. In fact, I was enjoying the routine of the drive. I was relishing the late afternoon light brought in by the weekend’s time change. I was enjoying the snow-less ground with its brown grass and scattered leaves left over from autumn, as it seemed it would be only hours before the landscape is once again buried under the heavy weight of winter’s last hurrah. (It’s almost spring, I have to remind myself. It won’t last long.)

But then it appeared—the cardinal. The vivid red bird flew across my path, dipping slightly as it crossed the road and disappeared into a row of bushes. My breath caught as I was simultaneously reminded that spring is near and that Dad is not. He would have noticed that bird before I did. “Look, at that cardinal!” he’d say, pointing. Sometimes it would be an oriole, or a bluebird, or a redwing blackbird. He always had a keen, birds-eye view that spotted them first.

It was that bird that brought the tears today—a random cardinal on a sunny Monday at the end of winter. While spring may bring the promise of new life and increased light, the newness will be intertwined with a million more random somethings just waiting to slip in and spark the grief anew.

{Image credit: FreeImages.com / Mike Munchel}

Blurring

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Sometimes, I have to wonder. My children—even as teens, or maybe especially as teens—tend to shed their belongings as they walk in the front door and through the house. The shoes are the first to come off onto the boot tray. Then the backpack, landing on the floor by the chair. The jacket is sometimes hung up, but usually ends up thrown on the back of a chair or on the table. Sweatshirt, sweaters, hat, socks, etc. As my children shed these items, they get dropped along the path. It’s a blur of doors and limbs and kids and belongings.

At the end of last week, I had just returned home from work. I emptied and put away my lunchbox, and I made my way up to my room to change from my work clothes before I made dinner. As I raised my foot to step on the first stair, I heard, “Don’t step on my shirt!”

What? Ah yes. Someone had dropped a shirt, right there in the middle of the bottom step.

Perhaps the problem is not really me stepping on the shirt. It seems, the problem might be more about the shirt being in the middle of the steps where it doesn’t belong. Just a thought.