Bessie and Me: Shifting Gears

"Perfection is the highest form of self-abuse." ~ A Very Wise Woman    Non-Perfect Sugar Cookies It starts the end of September when the glossy 'women's magazines' line the checkout aisles, their covers depicting Fall decorations; pumpkins that could have been carved by Michelangelo, outlandish Halloween snacks that require hours of assembly, and air brushed sugar cookies that no one in their right mind would dare eat. The publishers of these glossy rags ramp it up for Thanksgiving with dinner tables that look like they were painted by Normal Rockwell himself. And boy, by December they are in full swing with the message: if your holiday table or house doesn't look like this... you are less than perfect.   When I was young and stupid I drank the Kool-Aid. One year I bought several expensive hand stamps with ink and a roll of plain white butcher paper. Proceeded to hand stamp/decorate all of my wrapping paper because that is what one particular 'women's

“We carry the lives we've imagined as we carry the lives we have, and sometimes a reckoning comes of all the lives we have lost.” ―  Helen Macdonald,  H is for Hawk My spirit animal made its appearance yesterday. Yes. I have a spirit animal - it is the hawk. The hawk makes its (I refer to the hawk as 'it' because I have no idea if it is male or female, I like to think it is gender neutral) appearance shortly after a loved one has died. My dear friend Charmian passed away last Thursday. No, I don't believe the hawk is the loved one. Thats not exactly how spirit animals work. If you read my book 'Riding Soulo' you know I devoted a chapter to Spirit Animal. My friend Butch had just died in a motorcycle accident - I was devastated of course. I was traveling on Bessie and planned to embark on the Circle Tour of Lake Superior after visiting family. The appearance of the hawk on a desolate county road at dawn surrounded by cornfields was powerful medicine for a grievin

  Charmian Gatlin - A Daisy to Remember Life and Death. Their appearance in our brief trajectory on this planet is both startling and covert.  Life. I anxiously anticipated the birth of my granddaughter - Eloise Jaye - on the 21st of November. Babies being babies she presented herself - startling us all with her early entrance into the world - on Monday the 10th. I am  over the moon thrilled with my new granddaughter - New Life - a celebration; made all the sweeter as she is the baby girl of my baby girl.  Death. Two days later I receive the startling news that my Daisy, my dear friend of 28 years - Charmian - passed away (on her late husbands birthday no less). I spoke with Charmian a few days prior as she was in the hospital recovering from a fall. Charmian was her usual, ornery, upbeat self - giggly and lucid from pain meds - assuring me that she was 'okay' and 'I'll be home in a few days.' The news of her passing was like a punch in the gut. My heart goes out to

 "We only regret the rides we didn't take." I personally have never experienced any significant growth as a human being by staying inside my comfort zone. The only real growth I've acquired is when I'm challenged to move beyond that which is comfortable or within my skill set. Growth requires change; I've learned that many times over and in many different ways since my teen years. Discomfort and often times outright pain are necessary as well.  I like to think I'm a glass-half-full kind of person. Weather Report: 30% chance of rain. Me: 70% chance it won't, let's ride! Weather Report: 40 mph wind gusts Me: Yeehaw! Cowboy up and ride bitches! When I started riding in January of '08, I was riding with the Buffalo Soldiers (I know ...right?!). Looking back, I was totally out of my element with that group, but they embraced me as a rider. And if you know anything about the Soldiers...they ride. Before you are accepted as a 'prospect' you ha

 My meditation this morning read, "The world has more depth in autumn. So, it seems does my soul."   My first reaction was bullshit. Then I reminded myself this was supposed to be the quiet, reflective, meditative beginning to my morning, not a contentious reflection or a brow-beating. Fall is a difficult feeling in Florida where it is still 90 degrees, sunny, and lushly green. I wonder if anyone else feels like everything tangible is just out of reach? Half of the year so far has been spent in limbo; quarantine, shut down, social distancing, open, not open, cancelled, half capacity. Even my students appear as little tiny squares on my computer screen; intangible, just out of reach.  After a stint in the hospital, I find it necessary to downshift and live in a lower gear. This is not the place I am accustomed to but the place that will keep me healthy. I'm grateful for the ability to recognize burnout before I was completely charred. Setting the world on fire comes with

Children returned to school this past week in my district after months of quarantine and a few more months of statewide wrangling over what safely opening schools 'looked like.'  I personally chose eSchool online teaching and was granted that assignment; many of my colleagues were not granted their requests for eSchool. That's a whole different blog post. After weeks of frustration, resistance, emails, social media posts...I have resigned myself to the task at hand and that is educating children. This is the hand I've been dealt, I will play it as deftly as I can. I enter an empty classroom each morning; void of student desks, void of student product or motivational posters on the walls, void of noisy chatter, and void of smiling anxious faces looking back at me as I sit down to my lone desk. I have 240 kids on my roster in 3 different grade levels. I am on campus, but not interacting with any of the F2F students or teachers; eSchool teachers are dangling out there on o

 In his book "Tuesdays With Morrie," author Mitch Album writes about the time he spent with a former college professor who suffered from ALS and the lessons he learned from the dying. According to Morrie, the way you put meaning in your life is to devote yourself to loving others, the community around you and a devotion to something that gives you purpose. My grandson will probably not recall the summer he spent with Mimi when the pandemic of 2020 shut all life down as we know it. But Mimi will certainly remember it. Today was the last Wednesday for my grandson and I as I return to school next week. It is just as well, he moved into the two-year-old class at daycare and I can tell he misses interacting with the other toddlers, his buds.  Under 'normal' circumstances if I agreed to provide care for my grandson we would not be confined to home and the surrounding area. As I did with my own two daughters at this age we would set out each day for Legoland, Disney World,

  An audible gasp escaped from Della’s mouth with the same velocity as if she had been punched in the gut, robbing her of air. Her eyes flew from the doctor to Bree who perched serenely on the edge of the exam table, the flimsy patient gown seemed to swallow her slight body whole, one thin bare shoulder peeking out of the too big neckline. Bree’s facial expression was frozen in a tight, thin lipped half smile as she received the news.   Dr. Jordan, supposedly the best oncologist in the Chicago area, delivered the diagnosis in a wearisome tone as if he did this too many times already today, “I’m sorry Ms. Maxwell your recent CT scan reveals the cancer has metastasized to your liver, meaning it is no longer confined to the pancreas.”   Bree’s shoulders drooped slightly, her chin jutted forward valiantly, and her voice quivered as she asked, “What are my treatment options Doctor?” Della, seated in a chair in a corner behind Bree, moved to the edge her hands on either armrest, her muscles

" No no no Don't it always seem to go, That you don't know what you've got Til its gone They paved paradise And put up a parking lot" ~ Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi lyrics Catching a Sunrise Joni Mitchell's song ran through my head this morning as I watched the sunrise then left home for an early morning cruise on Bessie. A few years ago I could leave my comfortable subdivision and in five minutes tops be cruising a cool, moss-draped oak tree shaded backroad surrounded by the fragrant smell of orange blossoms. This morning I realized it was a good twenty minutes before traffic thinned then disappeared. I love Central Florida because of the wide open spaces; the close (but not too close) proximity to the metropolitan areas of Orlando and Tampa as well as easy access to the beaches of either coast. The Florida backroads I've known and loved for the past three decades are becoming as elusive as the Florida panther; hard to find and on the endangered list. 

"Myths can't be translated as they did in their ancient soil. We can only find our own meaning in our own time." ~ Margaret Atwood, author of 'A Handmaid's Tale' I feel as though I'm standing on the shores of the River Styx where Hades, God of the Underworld has just assigned my soul to the Asphodel Meadows for all eternity. 'Meadows' sounds pleasant and it IS better than having your soul condemned to Tartarus; in Greek Mythology t he Asphodel Meadows is the region of the Underworld where the majority of the deceased arrive. It is the region of indifference , where those who had lived neither an overly good nor an overly bad life would end up.  Ultimately, one wants to shoot for the Elysian Fields when you arrive on the shore of the River Styx. As an educator, I belong in a classroom...in front of children...preferably children who are eager to learn. Educators have been in purgatory (the Meadows)  these last several months....that netherworld whe

"I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I'm beautiful. I say if I'm strong. You will not determine my story—I will."   ~ Amy Schumer If you follow my blog you know I generally write about something that has set my brain on fire. Yesterday I spent five and a half hours in a Harley-Davidson dealership buying a new bike. I LOVE this dealership; the people are warm and friendly, the atmosphere is warm and fuzzy and the whole experience was positive. This blog post is not about THEM, it is about the culture of LABELING human beings, especially women.  "Female biker" We don't say, "Male biker." Same with "Female President," "Black Athlete," "Lesbian Soccer Star," "Gay Presidential Candidate (I mean, we don't say "Heterosexual Presidential Candidate), and "Autistic Artist." Too many labels. Labels limit human potential. I see it everyday in public education, but that

How does a grown woman get so emotionally attached to an 800 pound hunk of steel? Easy. My '09 Road King - and before that, my '02 Heritage Softail - was the vehicle that delivered me to a new way of life; a life with no restraints, a life of confidence, independence, and joy. My motorcycle has transported me on a spiritual journey that I have never been able to experience in a church, in prayer, at a retreat or in meditation.   Bssie2 was the bike that delivered me from physical pain, isolation, depression, and anger after my accident on Bssie1 in April of 2012. After being scraped off the pavement and airlifted to the nearest trauma center, I spent 11 months recovering emotionally and physically; literally learning to walk straight again. Bssie2 was my salvation. I was terrified to get back on a bike, but knew I did not want to give up riding. I embarked on my first solo trip astride Bssie2 in the summer of 2013, determined to tackle some of the most challenging roads in the

Pedagogy: noun meaning  the method and practice of teaching, especially as an academic subject or theoretical concept. I teach 6th grade Language Arts at an IB Academy (writing books is merely a side hustle...or is it vice versa??) and I will admit to a great deal of anxiety, frustration, and good ole fashioned hand-wringing since school closure (Florida) the second week of March due to the Coronavirus pandemic. Five months of staying close to home (okay, okay, there was a little 6,000 mile ride out west and back but mostly staying close to home...) and 9 weeks of teaching online has me bonkers! I know my administrator friends/colleagues are at the nail-biting-Tums-chewing stage as we rapidly approach 7/31 with no concrete plan to execute (Note: this is why I choose to be in the classroom and decline to use my Master's in Ed Leadership. You guys just go ahead and lead...I'll follow). The question of how/when to return to school is a legitimate nightmare. As I write, the issue i