Some Looking Back

This conversation took place during our last summer of still having conversations. We were both working on moving to Lancaster. Neither of us was sure where we would work or how we would subsist. We were low on cash, and discussed our situations frequently. Also, he and LBC had differing views on cursing.
A Conversation from July 21, 2008

10:18 PM Ken: [...]

  SPONTANEOUS!

  I found five dollars today while i was packing my books and throwing away trash

10:19 PM it was in an envelope from the President of LBC that I got when I graduated but never opened for some reason (hint: reason is that I would need it later)

 me: did the prez of LBC give all of the grads a $5?

 Ken: yes

  it comes with a form

  and a suggestion that you give it back to lbc

10:20 PM me: no

 Ken: and commit to giving five dollars every month

  hahaha

  no joke

  I don't feel even a little bad about this.

  It's GOD's money, right? And clearly he was saving it for my time of need. So LBC can shove it. hahahahhahaha

10:21 PM :P

 me: cuz God said so

 Ken: When I had my exit interview

  's'right

  they talked to me about donating as an alumnus

  and the guy doing the interview was actually (by chance, a bunch of different staff do the exits) the VP of Financial Affairs

10:22 PM and he started it with "Idk what God has in store for you. You know? You could be a millionaire--"

  And I started laughing pretty hard

  and then I said, "I promise, if God makes me a millionaire, I'll give some money back to LBC."

  hahaha

10:23 PM me: lol

 Ken: (Image of myself making out a 100 dollar check and writing something smart in the Memo line."

  )

 me: what would you write? c'mon on now

  my choice would be "because I am now a millionaire"

10:24 PM Ken: "As promised; Hope you don't mind this money from a dirty fucker."

  tell me not to write cusses!

  lol

  you know they'd still cash it, too

  hahaha

10:25 PM me: well, they might mumble something about the money of the rich being stored up for the poor...

  *money of the wicked

 Ken: same diff

  haha

  they might mumble

  but they'd mumble in line at the bank

10:26 PM Nick is convinced they are funded by the CIA

  (LBC)

 [...]

10:30 PM Ken: I know that the VP of Financial Affairs actually told me (when he was asking me to give) that for "some reason" LBC is one of the few colleges that isn't mostly supported financially by their alumni, b/c LBC alumni give a "shockingly" little amount to the college

 me: God works in mysterious ways...

 Ken: So does the CIA!

 me: lol

  i gotta go

 Ken: k

  have fun tomorrow

  don't get too lost

 me: thanks, sorry you can't come!

 Ken: it's okay

 me: i'll try hard not ot

  *to

 Ken: call my house if you get lost and need directions

  Cause I don't work until 5, I'll be packing

 me: expect a call

10:31 PM Ken: haha, okay

  bye!

 me: i'm serious

  cya!

 Ken: okay

  haha

I Doubt It

When I got back from London,
you gently demanded (how could you do that?)
a get-together.
We would decide what to do
when you got here.

You picked me up.
Sunroof open, sun in our hair,
We went to the park.

[My park. My favorite park.
How did you know? Did I ever tell you?
You never forgot a single thing I said.]

"I was thinking we could go fly kites," you said
As you pointed to two kites in your backseat.

[How odd, I had just been thinking about kites, I remember.
Did you know? Did I ever tell you?]

We ran about wildly inexperienced, getting our kites in the air.
Up they flew. Up. Bright. Sun in our hair, on our faces!
I was so relieved
That you had no confessions,
And I no heartbreaks
To share today.

I entangled my kitestring with yours and tried to pull it down.
You smiled and laughed, not to be bothered.
I loved you for it.

[Did you know? Did I ever tell you?]

Favorite Things

I have a notebook that Adriane gave me three years ago. I started to write things in it that make me happy in February of 2009. Here's the first installment of 90:

• a sunrise in the desert
• a sunrise over snow
• a sunrise in the mountains
• a sunrise
• down comforters
• embarrassing moments that become funny stories
• watching a movie
• changing routes all of a sudden
• clean sheets
• coming into an attic that is warm
• rearranging furniture
• sending letters 
• getting letters
• making lists
• running faster

feeling better after feeling sick
peanut soup (Lachelle's version)
Schnapps
praying with an old friend
taking the bus
those moments right before falling asleep
freshly-brushed teeth
just-shaven legs
new jewelry
used bookstores
friend requests on Facebook
fields of daffodils
S.I.S. sisterhood
sauteing garlic and onions
ice cream

• comments on papers (in red pen)
• Jane Austen
• Robert Frost
• Langston Hughes
• Valentine's Day
• Ogden Nash
• sleeping until 8:30am
• coffee 
• canoli
• Campus Deli honey mustard
• fresh green mango with hot sauce and salt
• popcorn
• baking
• striking up a conversation
• making a joke only you get

making a joke everyone gets
hearing a joke
any joke
bathroom breaks
tea breaks
just calling to say "hi"
spring break
winter break
summer break
school time
weddings
road trips in the summer time
a hare-brained idea that becomes reality
a surprise Valentine
old, comfy jeans

• new shoes
• old, comfy shoes
• new jeans
• having a crush
• flirting
• praying in quiet
• praying in loud
• when someone remembers your birthday
• orange and pink
• tassles
• sweaters
• Chapstick
• honeysuckle perfume
• women's suffrage
• exact change

putting on makeup
Google desktop with the notes and the world clock
finishing a classic
understanding what Plato is talking about

driving to see my brother and dad

stopping at Sheetz

horses and buggies

foreign accents

local accents

saying "ya'll" on purpose

maps

killing a bug with your notebook in the middle of class to everyone's surprise

being read to aloud

reading aloud

memorizing poetry
 

Humility Born of Struggles: November

I have been holding my head above water. Although the coming of cold often chills my bones, even my heart, this November has left me no time to think of it. I feel more alive than ever. Sometimes, I have as much sunshine in my heart as mid-summer at Black Rock. It is a secret how the sun shines within me, when outwardly the world seems to have gone grey. I feel as though I have been called to rise to the occasion. I have a deep joy in doing so.

A few instances this month have crashed over my head, leaving me sputtering, speechless, and grateful for air. The biggest instance I don't feel free to write about, but here are a few much smaller ones.

• An email from a community member saying my floor's bathroom was not clean. It wasn't. Keeping the students accountable for cleaning has been one of my greatest struggles of the dorm. Many of the students have never been responsible for cleaning in their homes. Moms and maids take care of the cleaning. School is pressing; they don't think about the cleaning until I hound them. No wonder moms become known for nagging. Sure, you can give up the fight and clean it yourself. Total number of people that is helping: 0.

• A parent-teacher conference in which I had to acknowledge to the parents that I was not expecting enough of their son. I was making too many accommodations for his particular disabilities.

• A conversation with another teacher where I had to begin with an apology for being rude. She said she had just been on her way to see me. We sat down and she started by apologizing, telling me that she had been praying for me; she knew how difficult my job was, and the hardship of the first year of teaching. I set my part right, too. We prayed together.

• Many ungraded research papers. It's been three weeks.

More Stories From Real Life

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon and evening in the dorm office. So the weekends go. I bring my grading with hopes of getting it done while accomplishing a long stint in the office.
The afternoon went beautifully. But I found myself getting a little punchy by 8pm.

A Portrait of 8-10pm, in three parts

Part I:  Sitting Next to the Wireless Router

Rika comes in. Her back hurts often. We talk about what kind of treatment she might need to look into this week. Rika remains, pretending to study vocabulary for the SATs, but really just talking to me (better practice, anyway, we all agree).

Sherrie enters the office. She begins to speak in Chinese to someone on the other end of her computer.

Hue comes in and sits next to Sherrie. They are best friends. They do not speak to each other now, each plugged in to their respective devices. Sherrie's volume always rising; Hue never making a sound.

Gow (a squat 15-year-old from China, an incredible pianist, the sweetest and funniest of all the students) comes in with his computer. He asks me whether I can't make his computer play all for a list of illegally downloaded video clips. It's all in Chinese, except a few command buttons. I say "no," I can't help. I couldn't help if it were all in English.

Rika leaves, called away to something. Gow sits at the desk near me, occasionally asking me questions about movies I like. Slowly, I realize that the smell I have been hardly noticing is emanating from this boy. He is edging ever closer, refusing to raise his voice as Sherrie's conversation grows louder and I keep asking him to repeat himself.

Sherrie gets excited sometimes. Gow looks behind, furtively annoyed with Sherrie. I tell her to take her talking elsewhere. She leaves. Gow takes her seat and hunches over his computer.

Part II: Still Sitting Next to the Wireless Router

Andy has been pacing around the downstairs with John and Wu (all Chinese guys). I am speaking with a student when Andy hands me his phone, "I can't understand," he says with his Brit-Chinese accent. I take the phone, "hello?" I hear something garbled "...food."

"I'm sorry? Who is this?"

"Chinese food." The voice is muffled, and has a deep, not-Chinese accent. Could it be Mexican? Seriously? I look at John and Wu.

"Are you guys ordering Chinese food?" They nod enthusiastically with big smiles that could be suspicious or merely indicative of their fondness for Chinese food. I look to Andy: he is laughing with Rika. Is this a joke? "What are you ordering?"

"Duck. Lo Mein..." John replies. They cannot remember their order.

"I'm sorry," I hang up and hand the phone to Andy. I expect him to tell me it was a joke. Hah. Hilarious.

"What did he say?" Andy asks.

"I don't know. I couldn't understand him," I reply.

"Is he here yet?" We exchange the most perplexed looks with one another. Rika is from then on the intermediary between the British-Chinese-accented Andy and the American-Mexican Chinese food delivery man.

Part III: Still Sitting Next to the Friggin' Wireless Router

The snow has stopped outside and I hear the scraping of a shovel. Herb has come to clear the treacherous steps. I go out, sensing a responsibility. "Hi Herb. I looked for a shovel... the dorm's responsibility... of course. In the future... (oops). Thanks, Herb."

"Turn down the show, girls." I return to the office. I pick up a research paper to grade. Where is the works cited, for crying out loud? This is draft two!

What is that smell? Oh, Gow.

"I am locked out of my room," Yan says.

"Here's your room's key, return it when you're done." Maybe I'll catch up on online Scrabble for a minute.

Aw, the internet is down. No problem, I'll go back to the research papers. Only 21 to go.

Sherrie, sitting just outside the office door, pokes her head around the doorframe, "Excuse me, Carolyn, the internet is not working." Fine. I restart the router. A minute passes. Still no internet.

Gow asks, "Can you access the internet settings on your computer?"

"No."

From a distance, Lia shouts, "Sherrie, could you ask Caroline to restart the router?"

I'm annoyed. That's not my name. I've already restarted the router. Find something to do that doesn't require the internet or complaining to me about the internet.

A few minutes pass. Gow speaks up again, "Can you access the internet settings from your computer?"

"No," I snap, "I already told you that." He sinks his head.

A few minutes pass in which I look at page two of a research paper about the history and importance of numbers. I have written nothing on it.

Students are coming out of their internet stupor. They are making interactive sounds. They are thinking of ways to amuse themselves that don't involve the internet. With only 25 minutes until curfew, I could have awake, alert 16-year-olds coming into the office to talk to me, to ask for food, to ask if we can have a snowball fight. This night is going downhill fast. With some guilt, I text Chad to take a look at the internet. He comes out of his apartment. He moves a wire or two. We have internet. Things quiet down. I give up on the papers. I play Scrabble. It's nice to have the internet.

New Spellings

of my last name:

Makalubs

McKlapus

McKalubs

CaryLin

Ms. Kalips

Mrs. Carolyn

Ms. Makalup

Miss. Klips

Miss. Catlips

Miss. Cowlips

Miss. Kay-lips

Miss McKaliaps

I'm serious.

Stories from Real Life

Last night, Ben and I asked Hunchao if he was planning to go to Hershey Park with everyone else. He responded, "I don't maybe want to go because I am afraid of the holocaust." He made motions with his hand.

"You mean, 'roller coaster.'"

Panyeng is one of the burliest guys in the dorm. He's easygoing, but he's big, and he has an imposing scar on the right side of his face. Judging by looks only, he is one with whom you would hate to cross paths in a dark alley. That is why it was extra funny when he fell asleep tonight in study hall. He was in front of a computer, and unresponsive to his name. I did a quick search for puppy images, and left an especially fluffy one on his screen for when he awoke.

Volunteer Types

Nine students and I went to Global Aid Network's warehouse to help with the semi-annual, huge, pack-stuff-in-a-million-boxes party. We were herded in amid hundreds of volunteers and our group was assigned to help with the shoe sorting. I sent my nine to separate areas in the crowd to gain instructions from the people who already knew what they were doing. I was--I am--so proud of them. I watched them throughout our two hour bout with lots of dirty shoes. They maintained smiles; they worked hard. When the work got slow elsewhere, a few even went over to the shoe cleaning area and picked up a scrub brush. Nasty work, that.

None of these students had struck me as being any particular volunteer type. But my judgments have been poor company lately.

I wanted to name the post, "I've Got Sole But I'm Not a Soldier" That's right, a pun, folks. But I felt too much shame to retain it... and it didn't make any sense.

Conversations

I've just had a second conversation in two days with two different students about their feelings of abandonment from parents. I suppose in a high school boarding program, this is to be expected. But my heart is stirred by conversations like these. What do I have to tell them? I remember having feelings similar to these. The world is not so big, after all.

We often have questions as dorm advisers. We wonder what to do: should we allow Momo to go to New York to visit her friend, even though her mother didn't list her friend in her additional contacts, and her friend only turned 18 (literally) yesterday? No, of course. But her sister is listed as an additional contact, and it's so very important that she visit her friend! And her sister will take care that should anything happen... Should anything happen. Should anything happen--! We live in fear of anything happening. We must answer for all of it. Honestly, I feel like an unqualified babysitter much of the time (where is Stephen's manual for Babysitting Teenagers from China, Korea, and Ethiopia?).

But beautiful gifts are all mixed in with the mundane decisions. Yesterday, I was in the office during the morning. Dahin came in and we chatted about life and morals and Christ. She asked so many good questions: how are the Jews different from Christians? Why did Hitler single them out? Why does the U.S. support Israel now? I appreciated her poignant questions. My heart filled up, and I'm afraid I got long-winded.

I must not have driven her away forever, for today she came back; severely bored, she said. We talked about more of life and boys and relationships. And suddenly I did not appreciate her poignant questions as much. Later, Rika came in for grammar help on an essay. Her essay was on her "spiritual pilgrimage." She wasn't very interested in my commenting on her grammar, though. She preferred to converse about the meaning of the essay as a whole. She needed to discuss her spiritual pilgrimage, for she is in the midst of many new outlooks, filled with choices and confusion.

How do I wrap this up? That's not the end of all I have to say about my life right now. If it were the end, I hope I'd be doing something cooler than blogging.

Hand-written Comments

When I received a paper back from a teacher, the first thing I did was look at the grade. But I barely hesitated before reading the comments all over the piece. Indeed, I barely breathed as I read them. As I read those comments, I learned so much. My favorite teachers of writing were those who wrote a lot on my papers. That was where they proved themselves to me: I can still picture some of those comments. I took that advice and improved.

This is my second post about grading papers. Different ones today, of course. But my own experience leads me to believe there may be other writers just like me, hungry for the ability to communicate clearly and beautifully.

I say go ahead, use red pen!--make the paper bleed! I will try to resurrect it.

What I Am Doing vs. What I Want To Do

Joella texted me today to notify me that she and Becky had made it safely to the outback of Ontario. I was sincerely happy for them. May they enjoy themselves.

I have been grading papers all this glorious day. It's been so hard to concentrate. If you, reader, are or have recently been in any education courses, you'll be happy to know that I am using a purple pen.

Also, I have self-diagnosed inattentive ADHD. Back to grad--

Evening Study Hall

I didn't realize so many students were watching shows and movies with their evening study hall time. But I saw one kid, Yang, watching a TV show in Chinese with his headphones. I was interested in the story line. I wasn't there to scold him, although I could have been there to scold him: he and Tong had been especially loud for a library.

 

About Yang: he's a social fellow, but quiet with authority, willing (at least outwardly) to bend. His sense of humor is somewhat delayed. Dry humor is lost completely. 

I sat down next to him and became engrossed in the show, sans sound. He turned to look at me. He looked at Tong. He looked at me. I kept watching the show. He kept watching me. Finally, unexpectedly, he said, "okay, I'll go back to my seat."

Hahaha! I love this job.

Babysitting a McKalips, by Stephen (Part III)

Contact Lists


--(NOTE: We do not have a land line, or "home phone," so it will be necessary to have a cellular phone and charger)

List A: Emergency
Fire, Flood, Loss of Life

#911

List B: Questions
Who, What, Where, When

...Meg
...Steve
...Staci
...Staci Cell

List C: Yellowbook
Food, Fun, What Have You

(Refer to Cabinet A in Fig. 1 Kitchen)

A: Random things, batteries, pens, screwdrivers, phonebooks, takeout menus, misc. medicines
B: Glasses, baking dishes, aluminum foil, plastic wrap
C: Coffee cups (random), measuring cups, random set of old dishes
D/E: Fiestaware (all dishes one might need)
F: Misc. spices, vinegar, oil, baking supplies, extra condiments
G: Snacks, crackers, cookies, poptarts, misc. junkfood, tea
H: Cereal
I: Pasta
*J*: Baby food, canned vegetables, canned soups, peanut butter
K: Broom & Swiffer
L: Toaster, crock pot, extra tissues, paper towels, pots and pans
*M: Pots and pans, *baby formula, blender, strainer
N: Forks, spoons, knives, utensils, pot holders, misc. cooking things
O: Chips, pretzels, misc. junk food
P: Tupperware, plastic food storage containers
Q/R: Swiffer pads, cleaning supplies, trash bags (white and black)
--Coffee filters can be located in drawer under coffee pot.
--Any questions pertaining to Figure 1 (Kitchen), consult Contact List B.

Babysitting a McKalips (Part II), by Stephen

I. Rest and Relaxation

--Rest and relaxation, also known as "R&R," is key to a person's morale and wellbeing.
There are many ways to rest and relax.
Many of them are legal in the United States.
--Television is a widely accepted way of relaxing.
703 Fairfield Avenue is equipped with a 42"-high definition TV with well over 250 channels.
There is also a modest library of books in the living room.
--Consuming moderate amounts of alcohol is also a widely used method of relaxing.
Drinking alcohol (wine, beer) to "excess" is generally frowned upon and carries a social stigma.
(NOTE: It is illegal to furnish alcohol to people under the age of 21.)
Keeping this in mind, there is a bottle of wine in the refrigerator not shown in Fig. 1 (Kitchen).

II. Rest and Relaxation

There are many ways of entertaining oneself on the internet.
The internet, or "worldwide web," is a network of computers.
It is regarded as the peak of human collective knowledge.
The pin for our computer is *****.
If you have any questions or comments concerning Rest and Relaxation, please refer to Contact List B.

Babysitting a McKalips, by Stephen

My mother once babysat my nephew over a weekend while Stephen and Megan went away. My brother, Stephen, handed my mom these instructions, which you also might find helpful when babysitting, as a general guide. They are extensive, so I shall give them in three parts.

I. Bottle/Nap Instructions


--6-7 oz. warm tap water
--2 scoops of formula
--every 3 1/2-5 hours

In the event that Holden cries/fusses after a bottle DO NOT GIVE HIM ANOTHER BOTTLE.
Instead attempt to "burp" him.
After five minutes if he is still hungry give him some baby food.
(Refer to J cabinet in Figure 1.)
Do not feed him baby food more than three times daily.
Do not give him more than one bottle in a 3 1/2 hour period, as it will cause unnecessary discomfort or vomiting.

II. Bottle/Nap Instructions Continued

To avoid prolonged fussiness ensure that Holden receives a 1 1/2-3 hour nap daily.
Be sure to give a pacifier or "binky" when administering nap.
Be sure to close door to the bedroom after turning off light.
(NOTE: Children often sleep better in dark, quiet rooms.)
In the event that Holden should wake up in less than 1 1/2 hours, (NOTE: You will be able to tell he is not asleep because of the loud screaming noise accompanied by shrieks emanating from his room) replace pacifier and leave room.

III. Bottle/Nap Instructions Continued

Holden enjoys warm, fuzzy blankets while napping.
The seafoam green one is his favorite.
Any questions pertaining to Bottle/Nap Instructions, consult Contact List B.

Outside Bethany

Dear Martha saw You from afar. She has been looking for You. She sees You and Your disciples. They cannot meet her strained expression and reddened eyes. You meet her eyes, and she falls into step beside You as You finish the last mile to Bethany.

"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." She had been repeating it over and over as she hurried to meet You. But now she cannot leave it at this. She wants to berate You. How could You come late? She cannot find a voice for the pain in her heart. It does not well up. It is a fact, like the dry crust of earth she is walking upon. Her eyes are dry. All has gone terribly dry, and cracks. She cannot leave it at this. She loves You; she respects You; and even now she has not forgotten herself. So she tries to say something more: "But I know that even now God will give You whatever You ask."

Did she just say that? Martha wonders what she meant, exactly. Nothing is impossible for this friend. And now, as she tries to mend what might have looked like reproach, she has asked the Christ to raise the dead. She would have been silent now if You had not responded. She needs... oh, she does not know what she needs. But as she walks beside You, the duststorm of her soul begins to quiet.

You break the silence of her settling heart and the anxious men walking bravely around You, "Your brother will rise again."

Martha looks up with pleading--how could You say something so benignly conciliatory? How can You watch her heart break before You? You know her heart through and through, and this is Your response?

"I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day." Martha looks hard ahead. The details of the small houses on the outside of the town are quite visible; she squints at the patchy-looking walls where the clay has been built up, a colorful blue rug being used as a door in one house, a sack for a door on the next house. Coals are smoldering in that house where the smoke rises.

You stop walking. Everyone stops. You have been looking at her this whole time. You bring her to stand face to face with a motion of her shoulders. Martha can see something in your eyes she did not detect before: pain.

"I am the resurrection and the life. If someone believes in me, he will live, even though he dies. And whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe me, Martha?"

Martha's heart begins to flood. The dry, cracked earth she feels will never be fit for life again--on that earth, drops of water fall. Many drops. And now, Martha finds voice through tears that well in her eyes and fall onto the rough garments she wears, "Yes Lord," with passion she did not know she could feel (she did not know she could feel) she takes Your hand, "I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world."

She is covered in tears. She releases Your hand and walks away, thinking of water and earth and green shoots and how those green shoots can lull her to sleep after more than a week of standing watch over her dying brother and receiving mourners. She walks ahead, to their home, the second street after the blue-curtained doorway, and the smoke rising.

You stand a moment, your hands at your sides. You lift your head upward, Your eyes full.

Hangers

Not long ago, this May, I wrote about the distinct discomfort of uncertainty. I had no plans for after camp. Shortly thereafter, I interviewed at LMH and was offered a job there. This came four days before camp began.

Camp is over, of course; school has begun, of course. Moving is done (for now). I have retained all necessary hangers (refer to May post, "The Twins Across the Street" for clarification). But even if I had not brought a single hanger, I would have discovered a closet full of unclaimed hangers in the storage room. Isn't that nice?

William and Dorothy were Brother and Sister, so it's like that

Dear *******,

You will always be the William to my Dorothy Wordsworth. I guess some people are simply meant to write together. I will be the prose. You can make sense of the metrics. I will look at the mist and give you a detailed description of the fauna; and you can become famous after making nature accessible and beautiful for those who will still bother to pick up books.

As a Teacher...

Ha! I am not used to the title, and I might as well be honest about it. It is mighty fun to be in the classroom, though, finally learning the details that escaped me as a student teacher. I am struggling now with myriad questions, the theme of which is how I am perceived by my students.

• How much of my life is appropriate to cast abroad? (Like this post, for instance... Do I need to de-personalize my writing? Am I even capable of such a thing?)
• Do all students notice when a teacher begins to repeat her wardrobe? (This has already begun, of course, since it's been over a week.)
• How much should I care about how I am perceived? (Not at all? I've seen that be really, really good, and I've seen that be sad and pathetic.)
• How do I "come off as strict" only in the beginning of the school year? Am I strict? (I sincerely hope so. I think that strictness provides structure for people to count on, and makes school a safer place. Even if my students don't like me, I hope they know they can trust me.)
• Do I talk too fast? (Usually. Why would the classroom be any different?)
• Do I know enough? (No. I don't even know what I don't know.)

As much as I struggle to find something useful to say as I stand up in front of a group of young people, I feel favor as I do so. I feel an energy come over me. So far, so good.

To the Owner of the Blue Oral-B Toothbrush

In their honor, I shall post a note that was forced to write last semester. It was mid-student teaching time. It was late at night. I stuck this to the mirror the next day.

To the Owner of the Blue Oral-B Toothbrush:

My sincerest apologies.

Last night, your toothbrush bore a great resemblance to my own, and was therefore dreadfully misapplied to my teeth.

No more than a moment elapsed before I discovered my error. But alas, germs are faster-moving than the most elastic mind (which I do not claim to be).

The fact having occurred so long before your arrival, and so close to my bedtime, I acted not at all on your behalf, to save you the contamination of the sullied toothbrush. That is, until this evening, when the events of last night came rushing back. I took the more welcome liberty of boiling your toothbrush first, then mine.

Since both are now clean, you may take your pick. And henceforth I, like you last night, will not be the wiser for your choice of toothbrush.

I beg your pardon, however, and never hope to do it again.

Earnestly,
C

Well, I knew this would happen. I miss my housemates here at the dorm.

End Year 23

I sometimes think about how strange it is that agriculture dictates our education system and therefore the rhythm that we use to plan our lives. This means that mid-August is naturally a time of chaotic rearrangement. Kids and young adults shuffle off to school, teachers return to their kitchens and coffee pots to start a new school year after summers which they must relegate to dreamworlds untold. I am, for the first time, in the latter category instead of the former.

But before all of that, comes my birthday. And my birthday this year was incredible...

Let's begin at 10:15 am, when I left LMH in Lachelle and Brian's car, listening exclusively to a very beautiful piece: "The Last Waltz," the perfect blend of beauty and sorrow and change, with other significance attached in other ways. I arrived at Jordan's house to meet Krystle, Shelby, Alyssa, and Jordan. We left for Longwood Gardens together and met Garrett just inside, so we made six.

I've been to Longwood before, but my impressions of this day were something different from ever before. The sun's whole face was laughing. My imagination took over! We marveled at a treehouse; I felt like an elf, finally home. We stood above the Italian water garden; I felt like I was attending a ball, dressed in satin and lace. We stood in the triple fountain, south of the DuPont house; I felt like a duckling, delighted! We ran around the meadow; I felt like the Von Trapp children, set free! We stood under the wrought-iron gazebo above the coy fish; I felt like a goddess on Olympus, everywhere I laid my eyes was mine.

For lunch, we left the gardens and made hamburgers at Garrett's house nearby. Fun. So fun. Summer is cutting tomatoes and watermelon and doing dishes at someone else's house with good friends. The sun went right on laughing. Back to the gardens for the other, more exquisite half. We were walking our legs off by this time.

It's worth mentioning that sometimes when you have a few people together who love the Lord, your fellowship grows. At one point, I counted our group of six and thought, "wait, aren't there seven of us?" It has to be the Holy Spirit who comes and makes seven.

We departed for Jordan's house where we met up with David, pizza, and a fire after sunset. Why not finish with ice cream and conversation? Why not, indeed.

Themes of Entertainment

How much can the entertainment you choose tell about your personality? I'm guessing... a lot.

I have been using Leah's Netflix for a few months now. It automatically makes suggestions based on an original viewing questionnaire. But after a while, it seems to suggest based solely on your viewing choices. Here are the categories that show up for Leah and me:

1. Romantic Dramas Featuring a Strong Female Lead

2. Witty Sci-Fi and Fantasy

3. Goofy TV Shows

4. Feel Good Screwball Comedies

5. Quirky TV Comedies

6. Sentimental Children and Family Movies

7. Classic Musicals

8. Foreign Action and Adventure

9. Cerebral TV Dramas

10. Independent Movies

11. Faith and Spirituality

Reflections on Moving

What am I reading right now? The Shepherd's Castle by George MacDonald; The LMH staff Handbook; the Gospel of John.

My mom came to pick me up from camp on Sunday morning. I finally knew how all the campers felt when their parents picked them up each Saturday morning. Relief mingled with a feeling of somehow not being finished. They would longingly look back, waving, cherishing a vague feeling that camp was still going on, even with no campers.

We moved things from camp to the dorm, then from 409 (my former residence) to the dorm. It was a long day which culminated in a dinner with Brian and Lachelle, who inhabit the downstairs advisors' apartment. All the same, I went to bed with a dissatisfied, empty feeling in my stomach.

I can tell that as I go through changes in location and responsibilities, I am getting better at accepting them. But you must understand that I used to be really, really bad at accepting change. I mean, bad. If someone turned a figurine to the side in my room, I could sense it. Save your OCD jokes. I'm not diagnosed. The point is, I'm improving. And I like change. I feel alive and awake and scared all at once.

Everywhere I look, there's something I could buy to add to my apartment. One of my goals in life is to live simply. Sometimes that means forgetting that there is an easier way if I only had a ________, and making do with what I already have. Besides, I like to be somewhat dependent upon people around me for things. What kind of relationship can you build with people if neither of you need each other for anything?

I don't know. I'm going outside.

Nearing

Camp is nearing the end.

Foley Stromboli night has just passed. Camp affirmations have just finished with a Tim Tam Slam Fest. God is good. He's been good this summer. More details later. That should be sufficient for now.

Midsummer Days

It's been so good. Mini-week was full of adorable little kids. So little. So lovable. The week is so short, since the children are so young. But it was enough for me. It was difficult to always be hung upon and questioned. I found myself occasionally yearning for teen week. We happened to play a game (called Bug-Bug) in which half the camp ends up "dead" on the far side of the ballfield. The rest of the camp must carry or drag the "dead bugs" to the other side of the field. It is a wretched, hot game to play. I found myself yearning for teen week as I lay dead under the bushes. Small children came up to me, lifted one of my legs, then dropped it, quickly deciding that I was too much for them to muster.

Mid-camp break began when mini-week ended. On Wednesday, the little children headed home for much-needed naps, and we went (napless) to Camp Andrews for a relaxing Wednesday night and Thursday. We spent the day loving their climbing equipment, and their beautiful creek, and their hidden caves, and their pool. On Friday, Black Rock treated us to a day at Hershey Park!

It rained in the afternoon. We left for Chocolate World after waiting unsuccessfully (in the rain) for an hour in line for Fahrenheit. Everyone was in Chocolate World. You could have lost a limb in the crowd and not known it til much later. We eventually returned to the main park and rode a few more roller coasters, including Fahrenheit. The best part of the day was the companionship of the people. Camp contains the combination of people where you can never go wrong, no matter how you slice it. There is no boring, or lame, or undesirable group. I know because I'm sitting in a room full of them right now. They're practicing swing dance, throwing tape at each other, practicing a skit about Cupid shooting people (to advertise archery), tripping over large white boxes, and smelling strange because they were canoeing all day... actually, the last is just me.

We're preparing for teen week, folks. Tomorrow the older kids come. And it will be so good.

Walking to Devotions This Morning

After rain,

His glory:

shafts of light--

because the mist is so thick,

that we swim through the forest

as we walk.

Drip-

Drop.

Camp Staff

Nothing is like living at camp. I tell my campers at the beginning of the week to watch the way the staff interact with one another. Listen to the way they speak to one another. They don't over-compete. They apologize. They encourage each other. They work together as a matter of course. Every job can be made fun. The Kingdom come.

4th and 5th Grade Week One

• Girls have cooties
• Bedtimes are 8pm
• Attention spans are 10 minutes at best
• Missing Mom, Dad, and dog
• "Pharoah, Pharoah"

Special Week

As we near the end of special week, each cabin writes about one of the events we did together.

What I wrote:

Wilderness time for the ladies of Cardinal B was a hoot! Dee Dee listened next to her friend Nora as the wilderness directors explained the function of rabbit fur. Jessica took pictures of the animals, exclaiming about the many facts she knew about each animal. She snapped a few shots as best friends Willianne and Faye cuddled the rabbit, Amelia. Bobby didn’t seem to mind the fur sticking to her shirt at all! Later, each lady touched the gecko and the bearded dragon! Amanda bravely petted Timmy the turtle, who had risen from the depths of his little pond. Sandy petted Amelia. She whispered to the rabbit as Ameila settled into her gentle grasp.

What actually happened:

Dee Dee stared silently. She sat next to Nora. Jessica took pictures and commented on the furriness of rabbits. Willee and Faye cuddled the rabbitt... til the rabbit "scratched" Willee. (It was actually a scar that had been on her arm for a long, long time). Bobby touched the rabbit. Amanda petted Timmy. Sandy ran out of the class after petting the rabbit, going for the glass door. She missed the door and went for the glass wall, thereby bruising and cutting her left leg slightly. The rest of the afternoon I spent in one-on-one time with Sandy, telling the nurses about her leg, which warranted a single band-aid.

Pre-Camp

Today was a beautiful, windy day at camp. We are a week into pre-camp training. We began today day with first aid training: Check. Call. Care. Passed!

Then a rare opportunity arose for the majority of the staff to use their free time to go into town to buy essentials. While in this process, I ran into, not one, but two former campers of mine whose names I forgot on the spot! (Tina and Taylor, I am so sorry.)

A few things: The staff are so beautiful! I can already see the Kingdom come in our interactions. Next week is special week. My co-counselor is tops. It's gonna be a fun-fun time.

For purposes of writing to me:

Carolyn McKalips

c/o Black Rock Retreat

1235 Kirkwood Pk.

Quarryville, PA 17566

A Full Day (part III)

[If you thought this day was over, you are very wrong.]

2:30pm: Angela, Leah, Joella, and I meet up with Becky briefly, then part to eat lunch elsewhere. We find a Coffee Shop Diner (yeah, weird... the theme of the diner was "coffee shop") and ate (!) and drank a lot of water. We then recollect Becky and leave for Pennsylvania. Becky has had a shower and looks bright and feels sore. I envy her cleanness, and wish to take a shower after those eight miles. I had never before run/walked eight miles!

4:45pm: We arrive in Lancaster in time for showers and brief naps before our dinner plans.

6pm: Carmen comes and we walk to Sukhothai to celebrate Leah's birthday! We are so relaxed at our long table in the middle of that blue and green restaurant, with lily pad-shaped lights above us. We realize that we have much to celebrate: Leah is one year older, Becky finished her marathon, Carmen graduated from her clinical pastoral education and received a position as an associate pastor nearby, I graduated from college, Carmen will be joining the house as I move out, and we are six friends sitting around one table. The last is reason enough to celebrate.

We walk home in a cold rain, the sky still light, the air fresher and scented with invisible honeysuckle.

A Full Day (part II)

7am: The marathon begins! Angela and I see Becky and scream a little.

7:45am: After an ordeal, we find a McDonald's that is open and not corded off for the race. Leah befriends the cashier.

8:30am: We find a good spot for cheering between the 17th and 18th mile markers. We figure we will wait over an hour for Becky to pass by. So we get comfortable, ready to read, making friends with other cheerers: a woman in a wheelchair, and her husband.

It's not long before we put our books away. The runners are passing by, looking sweaty, tired, in need of encouraging words. We begin to clap, loudly pointing out shirt colors and hat colors in an effort to single out the runners, so they know we are encouraging them specifically. This is great fun, by the way! They perk up as we clap and tell them how far they have come. Their posture improves. Their breathing looks less labored. They know they can do it, too.

10:08am: I find Becky. She is looking incredibly tired. She says she has just thrown up all her liquids and she needs water. But she's worried she'll drink too much and throw it all up again. We run past 18 miles. She throws up.

We run past 19 miles and meet up with Joella. Then we begin to ascend a ridiculous hill/mountain. A 70-year-old Polish man comes up behind us. He sees Becky struggling. "I will pull you up this mountain," he breathes, and holds onto her arm, bringing her forward, ahead of Jo and me. We crest the hill/mountain.

10:46am: We pass the 20-mile mark. Becky's new personal record for 20 miles. The last time, it took her four hours and six minutes to get that far. This time, three hours, 46 minutes.

She throws up once more after this. People are concerned, asking a few times if they should call for help or a ride. Jo and I reassure them as Becky shakes her head: she has determined to finish.

11something am: Cathy's sisters (Cath is Becky's running partner) join us wearing bright orange regalia and inflated ducky inner tubes. Their encouragement is so jubilant that everyone around us perks up! One man says to me, "I'm being passed by inflatable animals. Should I be worried?"

At this point, we are headed back down the mountain. Joella and I wonder how we will exit the race and still make it to the finish line ahead of Becky...without getting lost. Is there any chance for us? With less than four miles left of the race, we begin to think we will have to finish with her. Super.

Becky is looking better. She has color. She starts to run with some speed that tires me.

12:01pm: We meet again with the Polish man. He has been ahead this whole time. Becky, Jo, Debby, and Patty pass him. I decide to stay with him (for his sake and for mine). He asks me questions; he can still maintain conversation despite the fact that we're at mile 25! He has run over 230 (yeah, read that again) marathons. Next week he'll run a marathon in Fargo, his 49th state.

12:11pm: Becky finishes her first marathon!

A Full Day (part I)

4:30am: Leah, Joella, Angela, and I leave our house for Wilmington, Delaware. Why? We want to see Becky run her marathon. Ang and I made posters to cheer her on. We brought our lawn chairs and books. If I knitted, I would have brought that, too.

6:15am: We decide we should begin to think about a breakfast stop before getting to the race location. As we are turning onto route 100, Angela spots something out of the ordinary: a girl is lying on her face on the sidewalk next to this high-traffic road, just in front of a pizza shop. "Should we stop? Do you think she needs help?" Angela asks. Of course, as she says this, she is turning off the road, near the sidewalk. Leah is the first out of the car. In our heads, we each think, "I'm so glad Leah is a doctor."

The girl is conscious, trembling, soaking wet from mid-torso down. She has no shoes on, her eyes are open. Her arm hangs out into the street. We can't move her, of course, so we grab two blankets from the car to cover her. She looks so cold. And though it has been raining, it doesn't seem to make sense that she is so unevenly wet. Joella exits the car already on her phone, calling 911. A couple pulls up. The man sits in the road, holding her hand, saying, "you're gonna be fine, sweetie. You're gonna be fine."

Another woman comes up. She thinks she knows the girl. She keeps saying, "are you all right? Is your name Jade? I know this girl!" She is worried; she is overly excited, and therefore not helpful. I am annoyed. Of course the girl is not all right.

When the ambulance arrives, the EMTs check her vitals, brace her neck, move her onto a stretcher, then onto the gurney, into the ambulance, out of sight and away from the loud woman. We stand about waiting for a few moments, in case we could be of any use. Our work is done here, so we leave, praying for her.

6:45am: Breakfast will have to wait until after the race begins at 7am.

The Twins Across the Street

Transition.

(oops! Did I just drop that word? How clumsy of me! And nowhere to put it. Maybe I'll just throw it up there, high on that shelf that I can't see or reach with a ten-foot pole, right next to "fasting" and "jihad"--out of sight out of mind.)

Across the street live two elderly couples. Already, communal living in the U.S. is odd enough. But even stranger, they always dress as twins. The men dress exactly alike, and the ladies dress exactly alike. Every day. I just saw the ladies leaving their house in dark blue elastic pants and light yellow sweaters. They had their basket on wheels, going to a store downtown. They brought so much order to my disheveled spirit. I thought, "their lives have continued past the age of 22. Now there is a feat. I can do this."

It is strange, the comfort I have taken in just seeing elderly people recently. In the high school where I was student teaching, most of the teachers were rather young, and of course the students were 18 or under. The university is comprised of many young people. Even my church is primarily under 35. I simply have not had a diverse range of ages in my life over the last four years. How sweet to see these two couples living in unity as though never perturbed. I wish I knew them. I wish I could see up close what thoughts come with being over 70.

My grandparents are now looking toward 80, and with it has come a marked change in their lives. My grandmother is looking after my grandfather, caring for the home, the expenses, the driving, the doctor's appointments. He is not allowed out of her sight for extended periods of time. They are downsizing: packing, selling, trashing, and preparing to move into a retirement community. My thought: major suckfest. But for what it's worth, it puts my own transitions into perspective.

I need less stuff. I need more Christ. I know the response post for this one, in three or four months' time, will be something to do with not knowing where I have put my hangers. They always seem to be lost in the shuffle. I know that uncertainty regarding a job will not be the determining factor of the age I live to see.

Maybe, one day, I will even marry a man with a twin brother; and I will walk to the store with this twin brother's wife, dressed exactly the same: a show of solidarity: we have lived long, and no amount of living can drive from us our sense of humor!

Letter to Student Teachers of English

Dear Student Teacher of English,

I'll start where we usually start: if you're nervous about student teaching, and tired of listening to the naysayers regarding “the economy and everything,” I feel for you. Whatever. Try hard not to listen to them. The thing about teaching is that we always need teachers. There is no lack of students in the world. Maybe there is a lack of funding. For now. But you are learning how to transmit a worthwhile area of knowledge. English is valuable and English teachers are valuable. Keep your head up.

I can't ever tell you how much I have to learn in teaching. Even if your cooperating teacher is a slacker or a jerk, you still have a lot to learn from him/her. My cooperating teacher was a model of professionalism. And, of course, all the areas of professionalism you've heard about are important. My co-op came in at 7:25 every morning, the last possible minute per her contract (but she was never, ever late). A few times this semester, I arrived a minute or two later than her. She noticed. I felt like a real idiot.

If you want to take professionalism to a whole new level, refuse to complain. A few times I was openly annoyed about having to cooperate with (what I thought was) an unjust IEP. I shouldn't have said anything about it. I noticed my cooperating teacher's silence when she had the opportunity of agreeing with me and complaining about the system. She didn't blame or mud-sling. She came to work. And she worked hard. You always have the opportunity to complain. But complaining is the lowest form of interaction. Why not analyze something? Or invent something new? Or laugh? Or friggin' grade something? You have a lot of that to do all the time. That is the kind of person you want to be in the classroom.

Do not let yourself be made afraid of anything or anyone. You're ready for this. Be fearless. Every afternoon when you get in the car, forgive yourself for what you did stupidly. If you're like me, you're going to do a whole lot of stupid crap. You will look in your rearview mirror, and catch your own eye, and scowl, and say to yourself, “seriously? Where did you escape from?” Forgive yourself. Before you go into the building the next morning, release yourself again from yesterday's mistakes. It's a new day, and it's going to be okay.

Write your cooperating teacher a letter of gratitude afterward, no matter what kind of person he/she was. You shared a classroom. You're bonded. Deal with it.

Alright, stop reading this and go do a great job!

Sincerely,

Carolyn

A Skateboarder Being Interviewed

"Simple," I replied,"I don't think about falling."

"But, surely, you will fall," he said.

"Sure, I have fallen and fallen often:

I remember a time

as I jumped up to grind--

my speed was perfect as I hit the rail--

my truck snagged a lip,

unintentional flip.

I landed facedown on the pavement.

Bloody nose.

Bruised face.

Pavement-burnt hands.

The wind all gone out of my body.

I have befriended the

ground, pavement, floor.

And I'll risk it again, every time.

I must soar."

Wait Time

Teacher jargon is the overuse of common words. Time that you wait for an answer is called "wait time." Changing your original class plans to meet one student's needs is called "differentiation." Telling people background information before introducing a new subject is called "scaffolding." Let me be clear: any of these words or phrases is probably the subject of several books (which I hope to never read).

"Wait time" is one of my biggest weaknesses in the classroom. I am constantly asking my students a question, then plowing on into the answer before they have had time to think. As a student, one of my greatest complaints was not being given time to think about the question. So I'm surprised that it's one of my greatest struggles in the area of presentation of a lesson (planning a lesson has a whole other set of struggles for me).

"Wait time" is one of my biggest weaknesses in life, too. I must wait to see what will happen in a few key facets of my life. I take into consideration my hopes of having a career as a teacher, while never disconnecting from the state of the world, which is in uproar regarding education. Has it always been this political? So I must give in to the silence I feel surrounding me. I must let it grow warm, touch my skin as it closes in. Silence. Yet I am moving at a hundred miles per hour. Silently.

Book Report

I looked in the mirror.

I looked at my paper.

And back in the mirror,

and down at my shoes.

I remembered my mommy

and all that she'd told me.

And my teacher, Miss Holly,

the way that she scolds me:

Eye contact. Posture. My

FINAL GRADE!

I wish I had read about

the British Light Brigade...

Here goes, Miss Holly, I plod to the front:

"I chose a book about Billy the Kid,

How he robbed the stage coaches,

And if I were him--

I'd overtake the whole West, those lawless red roaches! I'd overtake saloons and gun-sling til I got all the gold and the frills from the drinkers and girls. Then I'd sit at the piano and sing about the sea til the sun began setting, my cue to leave. And I'd hop on six horses and ride away easy, on into the sunset, my kingdom at peace."

-Miss McKalips

Giving In

Beets are beets:

like meat, but unabashedly vegetable;

loud color, but unexpectedly edible.

They are unwilling to be changed

into something other than beets.

But sweet,

if you are willing to like beets

for beets.

When You Don't Have a Coin to Flip

In class today, we were deciding on speech topics. Mrs. A called on Jim to choose his topic. The pressure was on. He had been deciding between two topic possibilities when it came to be his turn. He cast about for something like a coin to toss. He looked first at his literature book, and decided against it. We were all waiting. His gaze fell upon his binder. That would do. He made note aloud that the backside up would be topic number four and hurriedly tossed it in the air. It fell to the ground with a clatter, papers everywhere, inside out. Neither front nor back was facing up, and we all stared at the binder's scattered insides.

"Uh... Number 6," Jim replied, ending our suspense, "I should have flipped your laptop, Miss McKalips."

Consequences

What do you expect to happen because you didn't read the assignment?

Do you think that because you didn't read we will:

forgo the discussion and instead look out the window?

have a naptime?

create fingerprint art?

have impromptu comic book character comparison time? (Well, I'll consider it.)

I'll tell you what is going to happen. We will have something I will call discussion, but really:

I'll ask a question,

you'll avoid my gaze,

I'll call on you anyway,

you'll look sheepish, stunned, frightened, ashamed, angry, disappointed (or all of these in succession)

with either me or yourself,

then I will wait for you to mumble something,

and the discussion will drag on

until we all want to gouge our eyes out,

for a change of scenery.

I will then institute daily quizzes.

(Which will daily involve inventing, typing, copying, cutting, passing out, collecting, scoring, entering scores, re-passing out, discussing why you can't have half a point)

And when I ask Jim's daughter's name from chapter 23 in Huckleberry Finn, I will still get all the following:

Tory

Sally
Mary
Jima
Jameka
Grace
Ophelia
Emily

...except 'Lizabeth.

Dubious Origins

As we were going over vocabulary words last week, I was calling on students at random to give the answer for the exercise. Note here that I often employ phrases in Spanish while speaking normally. This day was no different, "James, would you read, por favor?"

The class snickered, and it didn't take me long to realize my mistake: James is the only Spanish speaker in this whole class. He speaks English perfectly well, without an accent, even. And I do not often think about the fact that he used to be an ESL student. I hadn't thought about it at all, actually. But I realized it now.

I thought quickly.

The best way to proceed? Act like nothing happened. Do damage control later? Maybe. After class, I decided that I might as well just let it drop. When I have been on the other side, I didn't always like people to acknowledge that I was not a native speaker.

But the next day when he came in for a library pass, I thought, "shoot. I'll just get that awkward moment out of the way and explain coolly how I hadn't meant any disrespect."

"James," I said, "I wanted to apologize for what may have looked like insensitivity yesterday. I wasn't thinking about your Spanish-speaking background when I switched into Spanish for that second. I wasn't thinking about anything at all, really."

His face was inscrutable, "uh... it's okay. I don't speak Spanish." I was a tad stunned.

"Really? Well, you should, it's a great language. Mmmkay, well. Good... But weren't you an ESL student until this year?"

"Yeah. I'm from Egypt."

As they say in the song, gentle audience, "Everyone's a little bit racist sometimes."