In the fall of 1979, I was a senior in high school with no concrete plans. Most of the kids in my class had some sort of plan; they were headed to UT, A&M, TCU, Southwest Texas (now Texas State) and some were even leaving the great state of Texas to pursue their dreams. We lived in a nice, middle class area in southwest Houston where most of those that were interested found a way to get to college. Me, I had no plans.
My current boyfriend was attending Alvin Junior College on a baseball scholarship and my insecure self could not imagine myself anywhere but by his side to ward off any enthusiastic female fans. He elected not to play ball after that year, but suffice it to say that Alvin Junior College did not make my mother's list of "Top 50 Colleges for Young Women". She was determined that I attend college, I was just as determined to be as stubborn and unhelpful as remotely possible while still gaining my freedom. I wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, and college seemed to be the ticket out of the house.
So my research as to where I would make my great escape went something like this: I asked a friend at work.
Me: Friend, where are you going to college?
Friend: Stephen F. Austin
Me: Where is that?
Friend: Nacogdoches
Me: We drive through there on our way to Arkansas. Sounds good, I'll go there too.
I may have left out a few other exchanges, but that is pretty much the gist of it. I took the SAT and ACT, scored well enough for entrance and informed my beleaguered mother of my choice.
Fast forward to orientation.
I wasn't really sure about college, except as an escape route from the house, so I really didn't have any idea about what I wanted to major in.....quite honestly, it all sounded like a bunch of work! The poor orientation leader tried to engage me, but I didn't have a lot to offer.
Orientation Leader: What kind of things are you interested in?
Me: Summer camp?
Orientation Leader: What else are you interested in?
Me: Partying? (This was probably not said out loud as my mother was sitting there....)
Orientation Leader: Why don't you look through the catalog and see if something sparks your interest.
Me: Ok
Mother: Mindy, just choose something you think you might enjoy. You can always change your mind but it's good to have a plan. What did you enjoy most in school?
Me: Field trips, I enjoyed field trips. To anywhere.
I literally thumbed through the catalog and chose the major that had the most field trips. I became a Forestry major. This choice was celebrated by the orientation leader (because he finally got to move on to the next person), my mother (because I had a plan) and me (because I was going to get to go on field trips).
I lasted exactly one year in the Forestry program and took all sorts of field trips: to a plywood plant, learned how to make particle board, a sawmill, a pine tree seedling farm, and many trips (rain or shine) to the SFA Experimental Forest. I hiked all over the campus and surrounding woods gathering leaf specimens for Dendrology and learned how to measure and count trees. I learned how to report technical information and write lab reports. And absolutely none of that basic knowledge has gone to waste - ironically, 30 years later, I am using many of the things I learned as I pursue a terminal degree in Forest Hydrology.
My mother was right, it's good to have a plan. Even if you change your mind and travel down many other roads in between, knowledge is never wasted. And while I was too young and stubborn to appreciate it at the time, I appreciate the fact that she never gave up on me and always believed in me. May my children be equally blessed.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Life Filed in a Drawer
Saturday, July 17, 2010 I filled out my last summer camp medical form. My youngest child is leaving in a few weeks for her last summer as a camper. I cried hot tears as I filled out the forms, made copies of her insurance cards and shot records, and slowly gathered the materials that would allow her entrance into the gates of summer paradise she loves so much. You probably think I'm crazy, why would anyone get weepy over not having to fill out medical forms and dig out shot records? It's not the paperwork I will miss, because if you know me, you know that is not my gift. I'm sad because it's the end of an era.
When I was young, I worked as a camp counselor at a summer camp for several years. Indeed, it was one of the highlights of my youth. I absolutely loved the fact that I would get paid (very little) to go canoeing, horseback riding, sing around campfires, watch shooting stars, and tell stories of great interest to young girls away from home for the very first time. My job today is much like that summer camp job; I teach geology to young people - many of whom are living away from home for the first time - and help them find their way around campus, learn how to navigate the social hierarchy of college, and tell them glorious stories of geological wonder. (That's how it seems in my mind, they may have a different version!) I get paid to do something I love, share my passion about the Earth and its processes, go camping on field trips and get to meet many great young people along the way. Sounds almost like summer camp to me!
One of the things I always wanted to give my children was the summer camp experience. I loved it so much and I am very thankful that my children were able to attend summer camp. Children learn all sorts of things at summer camp that they would not learn during the school year and generally it is done in a very positive, safe, fun environment. Those lessons and the friends you make can be life long and incredibly valuable. As you can probably tell, I'm a big fan. Each of my children went to camp for several years, and my youngest will celebrate her 9th year as a camper. She loves it, has many friends from camp that she keeps up with during the year, and is so excited to go.
So today, as I was filling out the forms, I went to my desk drawer to pull out her shot record and I was struck by the nine folders hanging there waiting for me. Three folders of shot records; three folders of report cards; three folders of test results, awards, commendations and other school paraphernalia; three folders for each child, two of whom are children no longer and one almost grown. In a few years, no one will care about any of that except me. These folders give a very brief glimpse into their lives; they were immunized, they attended school, they made decent grades (most of the time), they won a few awards and scored acceptable test scores on some standardized tests. Many years from now, someone will open that drawer and wonder why I kept all of that for so long. They will wonder why I never threw away all the little awards from various schools and organizations.
It's because sometimes, I like to pull it all out and remember. Remember funny band aids from the doctor's office covering injection sites, kisses and hugs to lessen the sting, grateful eyes as we left the office. I like to remember Dairy Queen after the first day of school, great fanfare as report cards were produced, serious deliberations over possible conduct infractions. Proud smiles on a school cafeteria stage, silly pictures with friends and the wonder that lit their face as their names were called. The energy as they bounded to the stage to claim their prize. I remember it all.
Of course none of those things are in the folders, they contain only the written record of past accomplishments and milestones. Those papers are just the triggers for the memories that follow. The memories that are written on my heart, the memories that will remain for years after these tear-stained pages have faded and torn. One day, when my children clean out this drawer, they will wonder why I kept it all. I hope they remember.
When I was young, I worked as a camp counselor at a summer camp for several years. Indeed, it was one of the highlights of my youth. I absolutely loved the fact that I would get paid (very little) to go canoeing, horseback riding, sing around campfires, watch shooting stars, and tell stories of great interest to young girls away from home for the very first time. My job today is much like that summer camp job; I teach geology to young people - many of whom are living away from home for the first time - and help them find their way around campus, learn how to navigate the social hierarchy of college, and tell them glorious stories of geological wonder. (That's how it seems in my mind, they may have a different version!) I get paid to do something I love, share my passion about the Earth and its processes, go camping on field trips and get to meet many great young people along the way. Sounds almost like summer camp to me!
One of the things I always wanted to give my children was the summer camp experience. I loved it so much and I am very thankful that my children were able to attend summer camp. Children learn all sorts of things at summer camp that they would not learn during the school year and generally it is done in a very positive, safe, fun environment. Those lessons and the friends you make can be life long and incredibly valuable. As you can probably tell, I'm a big fan. Each of my children went to camp for several years, and my youngest will celebrate her 9th year as a camper. She loves it, has many friends from camp that she keeps up with during the year, and is so excited to go.
So today, as I was filling out the forms, I went to my desk drawer to pull out her shot record and I was struck by the nine folders hanging there waiting for me. Three folders of shot records; three folders of report cards; three folders of test results, awards, commendations and other school paraphernalia; three folders for each child, two of whom are children no longer and one almost grown. In a few years, no one will care about any of that except me. These folders give a very brief glimpse into their lives; they were immunized, they attended school, they made decent grades (most of the time), they won a few awards and scored acceptable test scores on some standardized tests. Many years from now, someone will open that drawer and wonder why I kept all of that for so long. They will wonder why I never threw away all the little awards from various schools and organizations.
It's because sometimes, I like to pull it all out and remember. Remember funny band aids from the doctor's office covering injection sites, kisses and hugs to lessen the sting, grateful eyes as we left the office. I like to remember Dairy Queen after the first day of school, great fanfare as report cards were produced, serious deliberations over possible conduct infractions. Proud smiles on a school cafeteria stage, silly pictures with friends and the wonder that lit their face as their names were called. The energy as they bounded to the stage to claim their prize. I remember it all.
Of course none of those things are in the folders, they contain only the written record of past accomplishments and milestones. Those papers are just the triggers for the memories that follow. The memories that are written on my heart, the memories that will remain for years after these tear-stained pages have faded and torn. One day, when my children clean out this drawer, they will wonder why I kept it all. I hope they remember.
Sunshine Through My Window, February 1987
February 28, 1987 was a work day. My apartment had shutters on the windows and in an effort to make myself get out of bed and to work on time, I had opened them slightly to allow morning sun to shine through. As the light filtered through the oak trees outside, in my window and on to my pillow, I cursed the trick I was trying to play on myself. I groaned and rolled over on my stomach attempting to escape the sunlight and enjoy one last swipe of the snooze button on my alarm.
As I rolled over, I was instantly wide awake and I knew. I knew I was not alone, that there was someone else there with me. Everything felt different. My breasts were tender, but not like the premenstral tender. My lower belly was slightly bloated, but not like the premenstral bloated. I knew there were tiny cells in my uterus, furiously dividing and growing, making a tiny person. I was not alone. I did not need a pregnancy test, I did not need a doctor's confirmation, I knew.
I laid there for a few more minutes as I tried to somehow justify the thoughts that had just run through my head. Surely this was not right, surely now that I was slowly getting my life on track this could not be happening, and most surely it was. I was not married, not even in a relationship (see Resolution #3, 1987) and had no business trying to raise a child. I was never even a good babysitter! Surely God would cut a deal with me, after all I was really trying to be healthy, trying to be good, trying to understand, but the only deal He gave me was His deal - and I could not be more thankful. It has truly been one of the very best things that has ever happened to me. At the time, it scared me beyond measure, but through the years I have come to realize that God's wisdom in that sun-dappled bedroom could not have been greater.
He chose me to be the keeper of those tiny cells, to grow them in the safe haven of my body, to love them beyond measure. He chose me; truly a defining moment.
As I rolled over, I was instantly wide awake and I knew. I knew I was not alone, that there was someone else there with me. Everything felt different. My breasts were tender, but not like the premenstral tender. My lower belly was slightly bloated, but not like the premenstral bloated. I knew there were tiny cells in my uterus, furiously dividing and growing, making a tiny person. I was not alone. I did not need a pregnancy test, I did not need a doctor's confirmation, I knew.
I laid there for a few more minutes as I tried to somehow justify the thoughts that had just run through my head. Surely this was not right, surely now that I was slowly getting my life on track this could not be happening, and most surely it was. I was not married, not even in a relationship (see Resolution #3, 1987) and had no business trying to raise a child. I was never even a good babysitter! Surely God would cut a deal with me, after all I was really trying to be healthy, trying to be good, trying to understand, but the only deal He gave me was His deal - and I could not be more thankful. It has truly been one of the very best things that has ever happened to me. At the time, it scared me beyond measure, but through the years I have come to realize that God's wisdom in that sun-dappled bedroom could not have been greater.
He chose me to be the keeper of those tiny cells, to grow them in the safe haven of my body, to love them beyond measure. He chose me; truly a defining moment.
The Resolutions of 1987
I woke up on January 2nd, 1987 ready to make my New Years Resolutions. Yes, I realize that they are normally made on the 1st but it usually takes me some time to really wrap my mind around those types of decisions. More than likely, based on my lifestyle at the time, I was probably a tab bit hungover and too tired to make any sort of decision other than which pain reliever I was going to take and which tummy-settling combination of carbs and grease would ease my discomfort.
After a lazy day and a good night's sleep, I was ready to tackle the new year. I had just turned 25 years old, I had a good job, lived in a posh, upscale apartment and was ready to make some changes in my life. Truthfully, these were things that I had been considering for some time and January 2nd seemed like the perfect time to start fresh. My resolutions were these:
1) Quit drinking
2) Start eating healthy and exercising
3) End my current relationship (although I may have been the only one "in" that relationship)
4) Figure out what I could figure out about God
Note: This is the only year that I can remember in my whole life that I have made significant resolutions and kept them.
Resolution #1 was actually quite easy. I had discovered that I had a problem with alcohol and that I generally made very poor decisions when I drank too much. So, I quit drinking. Not forever, and I did not give myself a restart date, but I wanted to think about why I drank and how I drank. It turns out, I took a 12 year break for a variety of reasons and it was good.
Resolution #2 I embraced with gusto. Being blessed at the time with a young metabolism and no encumbrances, I began eating healthy and exercising. The results were amazing; the combination of no alcohol, a healthy diet and exercise cannot be overstated. This gave me more confidence and more willpower to continue with the plan.
Resolution #3 was a bit more tricky. It took most of the first two months of 1987 to realize this goal, but certain events which I will explain in future posts made this resolution a reality by the end of February - to the relief of all concerned.
Resolution #4 was and still is an ongoing journey but I still will claim that I kept that resolution. As a young child, I attended church with my parents and it seemed we were there every time the doors opened. In fact, it seemed like we had the keys to open the doors and our attendance at virtually every function was mandatory. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it at the time and had many friends there. After my parent's divorce in the early 1970s, it seems we were divorced from the church as well and never again attended any one church with the same zest and zeal.
Nevertheless, in 1987, I made a concerted effort to reconcile my childhood beliefs with my current situation and made great strides in attempting to understand and define my faith. This journey has traveled down many broken roads and if I told you I was "all done" with #4, it would be a lie. There are many questions yet to be answered, but I am still claiming that I kept this resolution in 1987.
All of this was very necessary and laid the groundwork for the rest of the year. The making of those resolutions was truly a defining moment that helped prepare me for all of the beauty, love, trials and hard work that lay ahead.
After a lazy day and a good night's sleep, I was ready to tackle the new year. I had just turned 25 years old, I had a good job, lived in a posh, upscale apartment and was ready to make some changes in my life. Truthfully, these were things that I had been considering for some time and January 2nd seemed like the perfect time to start fresh. My resolutions were these:
1) Quit drinking
2) Start eating healthy and exercising
3) End my current relationship (although I may have been the only one "in" that relationship)
4) Figure out what I could figure out about God
Note: This is the only year that I can remember in my whole life that I have made significant resolutions and kept them.
Resolution #1 was actually quite easy. I had discovered that I had a problem with alcohol and that I generally made very poor decisions when I drank too much. So, I quit drinking. Not forever, and I did not give myself a restart date, but I wanted to think about why I drank and how I drank. It turns out, I took a 12 year break for a variety of reasons and it was good.
Resolution #2 I embraced with gusto. Being blessed at the time with a young metabolism and no encumbrances, I began eating healthy and exercising. The results were amazing; the combination of no alcohol, a healthy diet and exercise cannot be overstated. This gave me more confidence and more willpower to continue with the plan.
Resolution #3 was a bit more tricky. It took most of the first two months of 1987 to realize this goal, but certain events which I will explain in future posts made this resolution a reality by the end of February - to the relief of all concerned.
Resolution #4 was and still is an ongoing journey but I still will claim that I kept that resolution. As a young child, I attended church with my parents and it seemed we were there every time the doors opened. In fact, it seemed like we had the keys to open the doors and our attendance at virtually every function was mandatory. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it at the time and had many friends there. After my parent's divorce in the early 1970s, it seems we were divorced from the church as well and never again attended any one church with the same zest and zeal.
Nevertheless, in 1987, I made a concerted effort to reconcile my childhood beliefs with my current situation and made great strides in attempting to understand and define my faith. This journey has traveled down many broken roads and if I told you I was "all done" with #4, it would be a lie. There are many questions yet to be answered, but I am still claiming that I kept this resolution in 1987.
All of this was very necessary and laid the groundwork for the rest of the year. The making of those resolutions was truly a defining moment that helped prepare me for all of the beauty, love, trials and hard work that lay ahead.
Friday, April 2, 2010
The First Day of School, 1994
When you have a child, and you hold that beautiful baby in your arms for the first time, all the tomorrows are promises. The future stretches out like a beautiful, rich oriental runner with colors and shapes flowing and changing in endless possibilities. There are so many firsts that will come.....first smile, first laugh, first steps - all treasures to be discovered and experienced. Some make you smile, some make you laugh, some make you cry - but all are beautiful firsts waiting for the right time.
One of those promised firsts, the first day of school, took place in August of 1994. My oldest daughter was starting the first grade. She had attended kindergarten with her preschool Montessori class, so this would be her first day of first grade in a new school. Needless to say, I was a little.......scared, nervous, anxious, excited, proud.......fill in the blank. Many years ago, after I returned from taking her to the bus stop, my heart was so full that I had to write about the experience.
This is what I wrote:
One of those promised firsts, the first day of school, took place in August of 1994. My oldest daughter was starting the first grade. She had attended kindergarten with her preschool Montessori class, so this would be her first day of first grade in a new school. Needless to say, I was a little.......scared, nervous, anxious, excited, proud.......fill in the blank. Many years ago, after I returned from taking her to the bus stop, my heart was so full that I had to write about the experience.
This is what I wrote:
The alarm rang at 4:45 a.m., a bit too early for me and 99% of the world. I stumbled to the shower, determined to make the best of this day, August 22, 1994, your first day of first grade. As I dress, my mind is still too asleep to absorb all that is going to happen the next few hours.
I walk into your room and gaze at you sleeping for a moment. Can it be that you are ready for school? Panic consumes me - have I prepared you? Do you know your phone number? Can they find me if you are sick? But more important, what about you and me? Have we laughed enough, cried enough? Have I loved you enough to let you go a little, just a little? Do you know how important you are to me? Do you know how much I love you, how hard I fought for you, how much......? I lean down and gently kiss your forehead, my baby for the last minute. You stretch and I am transported back in time seeing you as an infant, stretching in a cuddly sleeper, a sturdy toddler, stretching to wake up from a nap you were sure you didn't need, a sweet four year old, a thousand stretches, a thousand sleepy smiles.
"It's time to get up now." We smile at each other, our unspoken bond traveling between our eyes. You quietly gather your clothes and bring them into the den. You dress and I prepare breakfast. You eat and I make your lunch. You're not hungry and I worry. I pack an extra banana for a snack on the bus. I fix your hair, you brush your teeth. As I sit down to strap on your watch, I notice the time. It's going too quickly! We walk outside in a cover of darkness. I still want to take your picture, even though it probably won't turn out.
We join hands and take off for the bus stop. The stars are still twinkling in the sky and a big white moon hangs above us. You are so excited about today. You practice saying your teacher's name, a difficult task with two missing teeth. We talk about where to meet this afternoon and what you think you will do this first day. We look for the brightest star, because you are sure that is where God is right now. I silently pray for Him to abandon that star and stick with you today.
All too soon we are at the bus stop. The sky is just beginning to pinken in the east. The buses come and go, picking up sleepy children, but not yours yet. Suddenly I'm out of time - there's so much to say but the lump in my throat is growing too big. Will you cry if I do? Will you be embarrassed? Will I be embarrassed? Will I care? I ask if you are ready, you grin and nod, "I am", you say confidently.
A bus appears around the corner and slows, lights flashing. "I think this is it" you tell me and start moving toward it. "Wait" I cry out, "I need to take your picture!" Grudgingly you turn and smile for me and before I've recovered you're climbing the steps and moving away. A small voice inside me cries "I didn't get to hug her, I had so many things to tell her". But I smile and step back, waving and mentally sending you all that's still within me. I watch you take your seat and search for your seat belt. The driver closes the door and releases the brake. As she starts to drive off, I want to run after the bus screaming, "She's too little, she's still a baby. She can't go yet, it's too early, it's too far, she's not ready!"
Oh but she is, my heart says. My baby has disappeared long ago and been replaced by a beautiful child, strong, smart and confident. To hold you back now when you are so ready to fly would be a sin. If I clipped your wings today, I would cripple you for tomorrow - and that I cannot do. I stand alone in the dawn, the stars now fading, with tears running down my cheeks. The bus begins to turn the corner, and finally I can no longer hold back what I wanted to say. "I love you" I whisper to the tail lights retreating from sight.
Since that early morning, I've sent two other children off for their first day of school and even myself in 1999 when I returned to college. It never gets any easier to let them grow up just a little, but it is so necessary.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Defining Moments
What is a defining moment? To me, a defining moment is an earthquake of the soul. Those that know me would say, "Oh, that's the geologist in her, she always needs to compare it to something happening in the earth!" But it is - think about it. Thanks to instant media and around the clock Discovery channel, History channel, Planet Earth, etc., we all know more about earthquakes than we have in years past. An earthquake is a release of energy, the earth shifts and moves to release stress and strain. And in that moment, the earth is freed from its constraints and shifts just a bit. If the earthquake is big enough, the earth can spin a little faster, the poles move slightly, and its obliquity can be altered.
When we have a defining moment, something happens to shift our focus. A tremor in our soul moves us and suddenly that which seemed overwhelming and impossible just moments before is suddenly clear and possible. That should not be confused with easy or pain-free, just doable. Many of these moments are filled with anguish and heartache, yet looking back on them allows us to see and appreciate all that has defined us in the past and what we have to look forward to in the future.
I have been privileged to have experienced many such defining moments and my hope is to record them here - for myself, for my family, and for my friends - those in my life now and those I have yet to meet.
When we have a defining moment, something happens to shift our focus. A tremor in our soul moves us and suddenly that which seemed overwhelming and impossible just moments before is suddenly clear and possible. That should not be confused with easy or pain-free, just doable. Many of these moments are filled with anguish and heartache, yet looking back on them allows us to see and appreciate all that has defined us in the past and what we have to look forward to in the future.
I have been privileged to have experienced many such defining moments and my hope is to record them here - for myself, for my family, and for my friends - those in my life now and those I have yet to meet.
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