Suzie Bichovsky

Be a Sunflower

suziebichovsky@gmail.com (Suzie Bichovsky) — Mon, 10 Jul 2023 20:15:04 GMT

One Petal at a Time

There’s something about being outside surrounded or embraced by nature.

What’s a nature element that really speaks to you?

It could be the moment you notice the dark green of a treetop touching the vibrant blue of the sky. It could be the sound of the ocean waves crashing. It could be the smell of freshly mowed grass. It could be the sensation of bark on your skin as you hug a tree. It could be the taste of freshly plucked grapes. It could be the sudden stillness and silence as you realize you are “alone” with nature and your thoughts.

It could be all of the above. Or none.

If you haven’t found your nature moment, there’s no rush. Nature’s waiting for you!

I can’t tell you when the first time was that I saw a live sunflower and was all “That’s it!”

But I’ve always been surrounded by sunflowers through art. As the story goes, my maternal grandmother found art as an outlet to cope with challenging times. She would paint with me at her feet. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized sunflowers (or a sunflower like flower) was staring me in the face for a long time.

My paternal grandmother was artistic as well. (She also did the book cover for one of my book reports in the primary grades, but let’s keep that between us.)

With the combination of nature and nurture, I should be artistic, too, no? No. Not me. I have an eye that appreciates if not a hand that creates.

And my eye appreciates nature- especially sunflowers.

Sunflowers emit positive energy and good vibes. You can Google “sunflower meaning” and find that. For me…it is admirable that they emit said energy and vibes in spite of the conditions that they have weathered. High winds. Lack of rain or too much of it. Folks that want to pick at or trample them. They are resilient.

Sunflowers may symbolize adoration, loyalty, and longevity when given as a gift. I appreciate the concept of loyalty. My personal circle is very tight. Trust can be a challenge for me. What you pay attention to grows. If I look for signs of trust or distrust, I’ll see evidence of whatever I am focused on. Sunflowers are often a gift that I give to myself. Perhaps they are a reminder to look for the bright spots in my life and not the dark ones.

Sunflowers orient themselves to the light and face the sun . Have you ever been to a sunflower field? Do you think they are aware of their shadows? We should be aware of our own. I think it can sometimes be too tempting to turn away from the dark and miss the learning from it. Or, it can be easy to stay so focused on the positive that you downplay the impact of the negative until it shows itself in an unhealthy way. The next time you see a sunflower in nature, don’t just look at the flowerhead. Walk around and look it it from behind. Notice its strength and imperfections.

“The sunflower lifts through its stalk and shows its face to the sky with pride.”

I wrote this line for my book. For every nature reference in Because…You Matter, featured artist Leslie Gerhart created a beautiful piece. I had no idea what I would put on the cover. But, the moment I saw her sunflower?

I knew.

It made me cry. I felt calm and a pocket of peace. The line itself meant to me rising through challenge, showing resilience, and being…you.

And that can be overwhelming.

The sunflower is my touchstone for how I want to be on my best day. And on my worst day, I strive to be a bit like the sunflower still…one petal at a time.

I invite you to have grace and compassion for yourself as you continue to strive to be how you want to be one day, one hour, one petal at a time.

But Why Do You Post On Fridays?

Fri, 23 Jul 2021 14:26:00 GMT

I’m awful at business growth, meaning- I don’t post when algorithms say I should. I don’t “buy” likes or followers or traffic to my site. I post all things related to burnout prevention on Fridays which used to be one of the worst days to do so.

Why?

I quickly stepped out of recovery and focused on prevention. The term recovery brought folks to me who were either in the middle of depression without professional support (and were quickly referred to folks with training in that arena and/or collaborated with them on actions recommended by their therapists). Or, folks who were in addiction recovery. I value the work that is done in that field and did not want to overstep or confuse folks with what I could offer to them.

Fundamentally, at my core, I believe people need to know that they matter. The opposite message is what I believed of myself as a young child and adolescent. I overworked myself and sought perfectionism and people pleasing as my external badge that I did matter.

Until I didn’t any longer. Until I realized I was expendable and forgettable. Until the person who I was trying to ultimately prove myself to was gone. Until I recognized that the only person who could make me understand that I mattered was me.

So, I did the work. I’m not going to tell you what work I did because everyone’s story is different, it isn’t one size fits all, and I think it is dangerous and irresponsible to say, “I did this. You can do it, too! Just…”

But, I would advocate for you to to talk to someone about what YOUR block or lock on your heart, mind, or soul is and what the key might be to unlocking it. Start with a medical professional or online resource to point you in any direction that gets you started.

And so, I visualized the person who gets through their work week. It’s Friday. They are exhausted. Maybe feeling demoralized. Maybe they want to talk to someone about it, but they know the other person won’t understand or it will rile them up more. They open their phone. They go on the BookFace to see what folks are up to. They go on the Gram to see filtered pictures of joy. Or they hit up TweeterVille to see what is trending. Maybe it’s LinkedIn searching for a new job.

Or maybe they recognize the purple and green heart emojis that make some roll their eyes. And maybe just maybe…they take a breath. They see a quote that makes them think. Or a picture that makes them pause. Or follow a link to a post, podcast episode , or video that helps them reframe a thought or gives them permission to take an act of self care that is not selfish but precious.

Algorithms and experts may say that’s not good for business. But…I think it’s good for humanity. My goal with my Friday posts isn’t to reach as many folks as possible. It isn’t to get a new client or another podcast guest. It’s to reach that one person. Whoever they may be. And if that one person has a shift in how they see themselves or how they approach the rest of their day or weekend, then that ripples out to those they connect with.

That has been my why.

And, I’m still posting on Fridays. See you then.

Be well. Be safe. Be kind.

~Suzie

Path of Origin

Tue, 07 Jul 2020 02:42:00 GMT

I got a phone call on Wednesday night with a funeral date for a family member that passed in March.

During that conversation, we once again explored the path of origin. The surviving spouse got it from work (the area was an epicenter of contagion before we all knew what’s going on). The workplace was a school. It spread like wildfire (again, before anyone knew what it was).

People feel better when they find who they perceive or can blame as patient zero. That school’s alleged patient zero feels awful that they gave it to their colleague who gave it to their spouse that died. Also, my surviving family member specifically remembers a student coughing/sneezing directly into their face. Not in malice, but because kids are kids and things happen. Shortly thereafter, sick. My family member finds it very difficult to wear the mask, but they wear it. To protect others.

At my own school, I teach multiple sections a day. I already bring in my own cleaning products and pencils. Before the shutdown and again before anyone knew what was happening, our kids were dropping like flies. If a student was sitting in seat 2A and was then out, 2-3 days later, someone from another section sitting in 2A was out. Not to mention what happened to seats 2B, 2C, etc. Not to mention the guidance referrals for kids who had sick family members of this “thing” that could not be shaken off. To this day, I remember looking at the numbers with a sobbing student. “Look! New York only has one case. We will look each day if it makes you feel better.” How quickly that changed.

My colleagues and I sat in our team or department meetings and were truly stumped over what we were seeing. It wasn’t the flu. We’ve seen the effects and contagion of the flu. We knew the drill for that. This was something else. My husband and I tried to buy more pencils and more cleaning products and sanitizer for my classroom. None could be found. I predicted a specific closure date at one point (at least for a mass cleaning). I was told I was “crazy”. I was absolutely correct. I’ve never hated being right more.

Our friend was one of the early-on patients. My husband posted about him continuously at the start of this. Maybe if people “knew” someone who had it (even vicariously through us), it would make a difference. He was on a vent, coma, his own father passed during this while he was in a coma, and- with a team and family that fought for him- he recovered. “Yay!” says the world. Even today after a phone call with my husband, he is out of breath. In early June, he commented on his own page and I share with permission, “9 people were infected through me. 3 were wearing masks. 1 died! I still wear a mask in public despite being 75 days free and rich with antibodies.”

(You can learn more about our friend’s experience here.)

“Well, this is life,” non scientists and non doctors comment. “Some people are going to die.” I invite you to look at your spouse, your parent, your family member, your colleague, your child. I invite you to be OK with them dying. Or, someone else suggesting that you should be.

I have a friend who is health compromised. More than one. But, let’s stick with the one. She has been told by people in her circle that if she is so afraid, stay home. Well, she has. She is. But, like others, shouldn’t she have the chance to also return to a degree of normalcy? All she hears is that her life is less valuable than someone else’s because…well, you know. People are going to die. My friend is disposable.

“But, Suzie…the protesters…”

Stop. That’s like bringing the Gremlins into the DC versus Marvel Universe discussion. Or saying your favorite color is four. If you need to discuss that, you can find plenty of people to “chat” with you on Twitter.

“But, Suzie…the real virus is fear.”

Dude. Yes, and…Fear. Is. Real. Embrace all of your emotions, just don’t stay stuck in them. Telling people to not recognize or allow their fear is an insult. They only reason that there is love and light and rainbows is because people have experienced fear and dark and clouds as contrast. Offer people love and light but don’t diminish other people’s feelings.

“But, Suzie…the whole reason this…”

I love a good conspiracy with a dash of reality. I read science fiction and horror all the time. Whether this virus was made in nature, a lab, your grandma’s basement; whether the Illuminati did it or three of the countries we’ve previously defeated coordinated and released it world wide just to get us; whether a political puppet on any side of the aisle brokered a deal to destroy us from within; or whether it’s the aliens terraforming so they can harvest our crystals, so be it.

It’s here.

In the movie version of this, there’s a secret group getting to the bottom of all of this. There’s also the extra standing on the side hoping to see her friends, students, and family one day. I’m the extra. That’s my lane.

I’m asking you to reflect on your lane. Your part of the movie. Your choices. Your mindset. How are you affecting others around you?

I’ve said from the beginning that if this was affecting children to the degree it was affecting others, you would see a change in attitude because “My child is precious.” My family member who is no longer with us was precious. Our friend who survived and is struggling is precious. My friend who is trapped at home is precious. Dare I say it? I’m precious to someone.

And as we push to reopen schools, we will continue to protect your children. We were willing to take bullets for them. I guess we will take this, too. I want to remind you that if school staff die or have diminished lung capacity for the rest of their lives and have to leave the job, you can donate pencils and cleaning supplies to their school in their name. If you can find them.

I continue to think about and write about legacy (in another spot) and can’t even begin to think about what legacy we are leaving behind. But I invite you to think about your own. Your legacy. This isn’t about wearing a mask or not. This isn’t about who is to blame. This isn’t about competing narratives or my perceived rights versus yours. This is about thinking beyond ourselves. This is a pivotal moment of our own history right here in the making. We are concurrently addressing a pandemic and a society that continues to show evidence by its behavior that not all lives matter despite its outcry to the contrary.

Our behavior, our thoughts, and our actions are the path of origin for our future’s history. You don’t have to decide what “side” of history you’ll be on. Simply think about what your footnote is going to be.

We are all going to be history.

Whispers of Wisdom

Fri, 03 Apr 2020 03:35:00 GMT

I know that you know this, but I think someone needs to hear this. Some of us are grieving: situations, people, places, jobs, routines, security. It goes on. Grief lets you have a pocket of peace and then smacks you in the face with a pocketbook full of cinderblocks. This is a piece I found on my computer- just now. The intention of it was to serve as an opening for a book that may or may not come one day.

But, today? Someone needs this.

“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”

~ Rumi

The tears were understandable but not planned for. I never keep tissues on hand, and the glove compartment was out of fast food restaurant napkins.

I had received confirmation that my mother was in from Florida and raced over in my car to pick her up. I didn’t want to be late.

I parked my car and jogged inside with about 5 minutes to spare.

“I’m here to pick up my mom,” I said breathlessly to the man behind the counter.

He titled his head and squinted his eyes. “Where was she from?”

“Bocca, I think. That was the message. But she lives in Miami. Lived. She lived in Miami.”

“Ah,” he sighed. “She’s right over here. One sec.”

No, I thought. No sighing. My throat got tight and it felt like sandpaper when I swallowed. Who was stabbing my eyeballs with icepicks?

He reappeared and gave me a something to sign. He passed her over to me, staring at me. “You want me to call Chuck?”

Chuck was my husband and the unofficial mayor/ambassador/handyman/volunteer/you-name-it for our community. No, I didn’t want him to call him. I can handle this. I’m a big kid now.

“No, I’m fine. How are you?” I was both aware and unaware of the tears pouring down my face. Run! Run to your car and get out of here. Stay! Show him how fine you are.

“You sure?” he asked. “It’s no…”

“I’m good. Good to see you. See you next time you are on the block.” I dashed to my car. I imagine I dashed. I don’t know. One moment, I’m at the post office talking to one of our carriers. He always has treats for the neighborhood dogs. The next moment, I’m in my car- staring at the box from the crematorium.

I pulled out my phone and texted someone. I don’t remember who. I tapped out:

My mom’s here.

When my mother was dying, I didn’t talk about it. Not much. I emailed my peeps and told them I would update them but pretty much asked to be left alone. My workmate knew so if I needed to vent, I could. My supervisor knew in case I needed to take leave and advocate for her. My husband knew so my newest level of rage would be understood.

Others didn’t. I didn’t talk about my mom much. That was my survival mechanism for the relationship at the time. Also during that time, I lost a friend to suicide and a younger family member was battling cancer. If I would have opened up my mouth, I fear a primal scream would have erupted that would have caused ears to bleed and glass to break. That’s how I felt on the inside. All. The. Time.

When I was informed of a new assignment for the following school year, I raged against it at a restaurant. I think people thought I was breaking up with my husband. I was having a crisis of identity. When a colleague came to my office to comment on my change of assignment, she didn’t expect me to cry. I was having a crisis of purpose. Right? Nope.

I was raging and crying because my mother was dying and I didn’t feel allowed or entitled to cry over that. So, I turned off the faucet of that spout and the pressure built and built and built until it exploded in other ways. I grieved over work because I would not allow myself to grieve for my mother.

I was putting on Spanx when I got the call that she died. No joke. I’m stepping into and pulling on these gravity defying skin sucking soul lying body shapers in preparation for my high school reunion. The phone call was simple. They respected her DNR and what did I want to do with her body. I hung up the phone, took off my Spanx, and looked at my suitcase neatly packed to travel out of the country for work the following day. And, I left.

If I would have stayed home and received messages of condolence, I. Would. Have. Lost. It.

Responsible Suzie took over and met her travel partner at the airport the next day. “How was your ride in? Are you as excited as I am to teach in Mexico? By the way, my mom died yesterday. Do you want to get a coffee before we board?”

Yup. That was me. But it was what I needed at the time. I had previously arranged for my mother to be cremated upon her death. My aunt and her son flew to Florida and followed up on that. My husband did the obligatory Facebook post and thanks to spotty wifi, I didn’t see it right away. I stayed in my bubble. That bubble burst twice.

The first burst was an angry one. We arranged for her to be taken out to sea. My husband called me and asked if that was what I really wanted. Did I not just flee the country to escape this? I told him to do what he wanted to do which lead me to picking her up from the post office.

The second burst was different. I was reading a favorite book Love You Forever by Robert Munch to a group teachers. I always loved reading this book and watching how it affected people. In the past, I’ve had grown men leave the room and call their mothers. I got to the part where the grown man picks up his dying mother and rocks her and I stopped. My face was leaking. My teaching partner finished the book and explained to the group that my mother had just passed. #ProfessionalSuzieWon’tBeInvitedBackToMexico (Spoiler- she was!) The group surrounded me and offered me comfort in a way that I would not accept back home. As I walked the cobbled street back to my hotel, I knew it was a step toward healing.

A different car. A different destination. Another summer. Five summers later to be precise. And still? No tissues. This time, the tears were different. They were calming and wise. As I drove over 7 hours to my friend’s house to teach yoga (you read that right), all of the lessons I directly or indirectly learned from my mom washed over me. I was aware of some of them while she was alive and some revealed themselves to me after she left. Some were actually judgements that I had of her that were transformed into unintentional words or whispers of wisdom.

And, so, I share this catalogue of whispers with you. As I type this, I see her clearly for the first time in years. She’s laughing, twirling her hair, NOT smoking a cigarette (because this is my vision, not hers), and nursing a cup of hot coffee. She’s smiling so big that her eyes squint and disappear. I see her in love and with appreciation and as tears drip down my face one more- in gratitude- I hope that each tap of a character on my keyboard sends her a hug and an apology. I was not the daughter she wanted me to be when she needed me to be but I’ve become a better person because of her.

My mother passed in 2013. I wrote this piece in 2018. I found it in 2020.

Yes, grieve. It’s a gift to the memory or experience.

But, live. It’s a gift to your promise of life.

You will one day be grieved. Live a life worthy of it.

One pocket of peace within a pocketbook of cinderblocks at a time.

~Suzie

Level Up

Tue, 05 Mar 2019 21:54:00 GMT

“So, you wanted her to end up alone?”

Once upon a time, there was a restaurant. This restaurant had arcade video game tables. You could sit at the table, play your video game, and eat your meal.

Shirley Temple in hand, my game of choice was Pac-Man. My love for it was only extinguished by Ms. Pac-Man.

I was talking to my students about theme and exploring theme beyond text. What are the messages we get from magazines, movies, television, comics, and video games? Being a critical thinker means recognizing implied messages and valuing or devaluing them for yourself. Question the messages. Investigate your path of curiosity.

In sharing some thoughts about current pop culture, I simply shared something about Ms. Pac-Man. I was younger than them when I started to get annoyed at the rewards offered to Ms. Pac-Man for eating her dots, avoiding her ghosts, and escaping through hidden chambers. As she advanced levels and the “story” screen would appear, she was rewarded with love/marriage and kids. I questioned why this was a reward for a job well done versus getting a corner office, a red convertible, a shopping spree at Toys R Us, some fancy shoes. (I know, but I liked shoes!)

“So, you wanted her to end up alone?” This was asked by one of my male students. There were some giggles, some groans, and some curiosity. I simply responded that even at that age, I felt I was getting a message of what a “good girl” should win and it didn’t resonate with me. “Why can’t Ms. Pac-Man win a vacation?” I asked. I saved the digging deep for myself and for later.

For the record, I didn’t want her to end up alone. I also am not someone who has an issue with any decision any other Ms. Pac-Man makes with her private and professional lives.

Around the time that I started to question this message of the video game, the Mr. & Ms. Pac-Man that I lived with were moving to separate games. I didn’t view marriage and children as a reward at that time. Instead, I viewed it as loneliness, suitcases, courtrooms, and impossible choices.
So, I was a good girl. I ate my dots. I didn’t chase my ghosts, but I hid from them. I loved escaping in books and movies. I watched my mom find an untapped source of strength to create a new life for herself and fight to have space for me in it. I watched her find a new Mr. Pac-Man who I also deeply loved. But, I watched her give him up as he was unaccepted by her family.

As I transitioned into adulthood, I guess I played Frogger. My destiny or my vision was across the way, but I couldn’t reach it let alone see it. I kept dodging the cars trying to run me over. I moved my joystick up one, to the left, to the left, forward one, and then back, Back, BACK before getting squashed. Sometimes, I played Space Invaders. I never had a strategy. I just shot everything falling out of the sky in one straight line, hardly moving, and hoped for the best.

One day, I simply stopped playing. I thought long and hard about not what I wanted but rather how I wanted to be. I put a quarter in that machine instead. I’ve never looked back.

If I had to describe my current game, I would say it looks like a burning flame in the middle of a lake. With ocean waves in it. The waves carry the flame out toward the land, pausing to share with anyone floating along the way. Once it reaches the land, it gathers resources needed to level up without burning anyone or anything else. As it returns to the center, it does so with grace, compassion, and confidence that it is exactly where it needs to be and as it is.

“So, you wanted her to end up alone?”

No way. Many helped her find her path and message. Her rewards are the ripples both out toward others and those that return to her. As she levels up, so do those who watch her play.

Are you ready to play?

An Anthem for Adulting

Wed, 20 Feb 2019 01:03:00 GMT

“What we think, we become.” ~Buddha.

Music permeates and seeps into the mind, body, and soul. If we are what we eat, then we must also be what we hear. I use meditation music to get my day started and to get grounded. BUT…

If meditation music slows me down, then my anthem speeds me up. Cleaning, paying bills, quick writes, I turn to Express Yourself by Diplo featuring Nicky da B. For real.

I was first drawn to this for its beat and a misheard lyric on my part. “Express yourself…release your goal.” (The real lyric is “Release the glow.”) Another real lyric that I love is “Put your back in it.”

This is what I do. I use my voice to express myself and support others in doing so. I step fully into choices that make my goals a reality instead of dreams. I give my all to what I am committed to and passionate about.

When the words drop out and the frenzy kicks in, my inner hip hop goddess emerges. My dance moves are epic and private: I’m all head, shoulders, hand movements at the chest level, resting think face. That’s right- Resting. Think. Face. I zone out and get pumped. I can take on the world! Or…my to do list.

While it might be expected that I would have more moments of clarity when tuned into stillness, lively and vibrant beats often reveal inspiration to me.

“In the midst of movement and chaos, keep stillness inside of you.” ~Deepak Chopra

Reflection:

This post called to me because my to-do list was growing, and I was running away from it. Why? If it feels like homework, I resist. Yes, I will get all of my “stuff” done. I simply acknowledge that my block is about how I expend my energy and a fear of missing out on opportunities to connect or recharge.

I was invited to write this for Heather Harlen in 2016. I’ve had a longing to return to writing. I’ve substituted some other activities in its place. Until I dive in, I’m reposting some goodies. This is no longer on Heather’s site thanks to Gremlins. (Never feed them after midnight.) It’s going to hang out here until Baby carries the watermelon to the party and awkwardly dances with Johnny Castle. PS- If you get those references, you can join our squad!

Heather is my friend, an educator, and author. You can follow her on Instagram @harlenwrites or Facebook at Heather Harlen- Writer.

Life Marks: Suzie, The Slightly Scarred Egg

Tue, 29 Aug 2017 23:23:00 GMT

Books have always been a part of my life. They were an escape when I was younger. When I moved out on my own, my birthday tradition involved surrounding myself with piles of possibility at a bookstore and selecting a few. With each year of adulthood, I would add to my personal library.

Why a small selection? Because all of my money went toward funding my classroom library at that time.

One of my earliest selections was Eggbert, The Slightly Cracked Egg written by Tom Ross and illustrated by Rex Barron.

In an eggshell, Eggbert gets kicked out of his refrigerator for starting to crack. A talented artist (he really should be on Face Off), he tries to camouflage himself to fit in but it never lasts. Eggbert has an aha moment when he realizes the world is full of cracks and they are beautiful. He accepts himself and goes on a journey, visiting these cracks.

I’ve used this book in elementary, secondary, and university settings. The themes are varied but universal. Rejection. Acceptance. Love. Forgiveness.

One page in particular has always stood out to me. It would appear to me from within my inner slideshow.

I loved the artwork and the text- “From then on, Eggbert traveled around the world…but he never forgot his friends back home in the fridge.” That transition of “From then on” marked a change in his life. Moving forward on a path that he wanted but remembering and staying connected to his past. (He painted and sent them postcards of his adventures.)

Terminal illnesses and tragedy have marked my circle of friends and family. Each event has left a life mark and, if not immediately impacted, the legacy of loss rippled out to others. I’m sure many can relate to this.

In the fall, I had a routine screening which lead to a diagnosis which lead to a precautionary surgery which lead to a scar. No matter how scared I was, I was grateful that the surgery would heal me. Compared to what others in my life were experiencing, this was a 3 out of 10 on the alarm scale.

I felt like I had no reason to complain because I was alive and what I had was treatable. I had a wonderful partner who wrapped my arm every day. My colleague opened up my water bottle for me at lunch. My supervisor made it easy for me to take the time I needed.

But, to keep it honest, I was fixated on the scar. Because it was gross. And long. With unevenly sized “football” stitching. While I love Halloween and zombies, I didn’t fancy having an immediately noticeable imperfection. I like to lure people in before they notice my cracks. I started to create this narrative in my head. “No one will want to coach with you. You look broken.” “You’ll never participate in a TEDTalk. That’s for pretty people.” “Stop all the steps you are taking toward your vision. You’ll probably die before you get started.”

Thanks to my training, I knew I was falling out of alignment and had started to link my self worth toward the external instead of the internal. This is my default under stress. I allowed myself to wallow in the narrative for less than a week and numbed myself with TV. After that, I dug in to dig out.

I knew a big piece of this was legacy. I worked with my coaches in this area. I knew another part was the age old theme of treating my body like my friend instead of my enemy.

So, I named my scar Scarina. I said hello to her each morning. While my bandage was being changed, I told her I loved her. In my head. I didn’t want my…cats…to question my sanity. I was really telling myself that I loved me and was making Scarina part of my whole self, not a broken part.

When I healed, I invested in temporary tattoos from Conscious Ink. My favorite one said “I AM” and was surrounded by the chakra colors. I would notice it and say, “I am healthy” or “I am whole” or “I am love.” The great thing is that I can still see the memory of the tattoo when I notice Scarina and feel the way I felt when I said those things to myself.

Bottom line. I reframed how I viewed my scar. It is a life mark. And, it says, “I’m still here.”

So, back to Eggbert.

Scar. Crack. Rejection. Acceptance. Love. Forgiveness. Mental slideshow of Eggbert’s cracks and adventure.

I knew I was meant to go to the Grand Canyon for the first time ever. And I did. During the summer.

Day 1- Started on a boat trip down the Colorado River where I got to see the canyon from the base up. (Side note: I was the first in group to go in and under the 47 degree water.)

Day 2- Saw the Colorado River from the top of the canyon down. Without barriers. Walking path could fit 1.5 people on it width wise. Ankle height “boulder” “protecting me” from the sheer drop off to no recovery. Stuck in fear on a bench. (Side note: I’ve discovered I have a fear of falling- not heights. I also learned that the appropriate word to describe the panic or anxiety I was feeling is terror. I got myself off of the “I’m going to die” train by focusing on my breath and following each death thought with a gratitude practice.)

Day 3- Stuck to areas with clear boundaries and guardrails. Took pictures with my Eggbert book! (Side note: My external self had her nose claimed by something with a stinger and I also had a self inflicted hole on my cheek BUT my internal self was at complete peace and happy to take photos to commemorate the experience.)

Had it not been for Eggbert, I don’t know that I would have thought to go to the Grand Canyon to connect with nature and heal. I’m thankful to authors like Tom Ross who craft timeless pieces of literature that resonate with youth and- ahem- non youth. I’m grateful to illustrators like Rex Barron whose artistry causes food in refrigerators to emote and readers to reflect.

And, I’m oddly grateful to Scarina. A reminder that I am here. Each day, I contribute toward my legacy by contributing to the legacy of others. That’s my life mark.

Just a Teacher

Wed, 08 Feb 2017 01:05:00 GMT

An Honest Exchange with Betsy DeVos.

Dear Mrs. DeVos,

Hi! Congratulations on your appointment to the Department of Education. As a former student and current urban educator, I have about 37 years invested in this system.

I enjoy reading fiction, watching Netflix, and am steadily working on eliminating empty carbs from my food environment. Why am I sharing this with you? I’d like to invite you to a good old-fashioned slumber party.

But first, I value transparency.

When I first heard about your nomination, I quickly looked at Twitter to see what your platform was. I noted all of your pro school choice tweets and tried to reserve judgement. I heard you talk about grizzly bears and somewhat tried to defend you. I watched Al Franken pop quiz you on Proficiency versus Growth models. I cringed for you and got worried.

Full disclosure- I did contact my state senator and requested that he not affirm you. I did it on the grounds that I wanted someone in your position to equally advocate for public, private, and charter education.

Now, on to the sleepover!

I really want to practice what I model for my students: inclusivity, love, compassion, forgiveness, and researching topics of interest in order to develop a credible claim with supporting evidence and a complete analysis without run on sentences and with proper use of punctuation, always capitalizing “I.”

Please come and shadow me at work for a full week. Not the VIP 5 minute stroll or one class or one day.

A. Whole. Week. The good. The bad. The “Um…what just happened?”

The only catch is- I can’t stop and talk to you. I can’t answer your questions while I’m teaching. You’ll see how I use every single second…

*Judiciously delivering the curriculum

*Adapting to the responses from my students

*Responding to nonverbal cues

*Making fun of myself a lot to make my children feel better

*Creating high expectations

*Providing structure

*Celebrating problem solving

*Giving out pencils

*Sipping my coffee (I can make 8 ounces last 4 hours. #NoBathroomBreaksForTeachers)

*Signing nurse and bathroom passes

*Acknowledging inappropriate behaviors and championing self monitoring of noted behaviors

*Sending emergency emails to the gigantic network of support available to our children (well, no longer gigantic due to cuts but we do the best we can)

*Occasionally teaching a New Kids On The Block chorus. (You never know what will be on the test.)

(BTW #1- With the highest level of respect intended, you can only use the bathroom when I can use the bathroom.)

(BTW #2- Lesson planning isn’t on the list- I can’t do that while the students are in the room. That’s on my own time. Yes, I get a prep. After running to the bathroom- see BTW #1- I find 30-ish minutes isn’t sufficient for analyzing, reflecting, and planning.)

I can’t guarantee what time we will leave. It varies on the to do list each day. On some days, I am able to book out the door about 15 minutes after my contracted time. On those days, I’m running to a doctor, my second job, or to Wegman’s…to get my second cup of coffee and do more work. We will have to sit in the cafe area- they kicked me out of the restaurant part in the fall. As kind as they were, they frowned upon me taking up a table for 3 hours to grade essays. Other days, I’m leaving in the dark. I’m pleased by my accomplishments and distraught at what was not yet achieved. Maybe you’ll get lucky and your week will coincide with my adolescent coaching group. I offer this service for free. These young women are the future of our society, and they already show such wisdom and intuition. It’s not measurable on a test, but I think it is the most valuable part of their education.

Don’t forget the sleepover. That’s a deal breaker for me. I think it is important for you to see what the “non school life” of an educator is. You should know I have a guest room totally available for your use. It’s crowded by the back stretcher I bought years ago due to a work related injury. I am often too tired to remember to use it, but my cats love it. Oh! My cats! I have two. I hope you aren’t allergic. And, don’t be alarmed if you hear me talk in my sleep or scream. I often dream about school, too.

You may be thinking, “Once we get to Suzie’s house, this will be a great time to ask questions and share feedback about the day over dinner.” #NotGonnaHappen

I’ll need that time to decompress, work my second (and sometimes third) job, grade more essays and multiple choice tests in preparation for our benchmark tests in preparation for the state test, return emails, shop for school supplies (Lysol wipes and hand sanitizer are getting expensive), make dinner (or, let’s be honest- stop at Five Guys, there’s no time to make dinner or I think there will be or plan for there to be but a child related emergency at school derails all of my plans and anything I hoped to achieve gets pushed back), pet my cats if they let me, and watch Netflix. When I’m watching Netflix, it may look like I am relaxed or free or not busy. Netflix is my mediation. 20% of my brain is still thinking about school, 30% of my brain is thinking about empty carbs, 40% of my brain is also thinking about school again, 5% is thinking about paying my bills, and the rest is watching TV. I’m not very good at meditation.

We can absolutely talk at the end of the week! It would have to be early. I’m usually asleep on the couch around 7:30ish on Friday nights.

Then, to make this exchange honest, I will shadow you for a whole week. I’m truly and sincerely and not sarcastically interested in your job and all of its moving parts. I genuinely look forward to having my world expanded. I also want to assure you that you do not need to provide me with dinner or evening entertainment when I sleep over. I do require a hot shower in the morning and a coffee to get me going. I will bring along my protein shakes, electronic device to watch Netflix, and my essays to grade.

Because even if I take a week off? The work does not go away.

Please, my tone is not intended to be condescending. This is me. Not a polished manicured version of myself. Simply my thoughts. I do not want to spend the next 4-8 years in an antogonistic relationship with the federal or state departments charged with education. A wise mentor of mine once said, “Children deserve a high quality education no matter their zip code.” Her intention was to improve the education within the zip code, not bus them out. Please, support my zip code.

With regards,

Just a Teacher

PS. I’m honestly very tired as I write this and reread it. It has been a long day. I’m confident that there are typos and hope that my message is still clear. Under the scoring guidelines provided by my state’s Department of Education, “Few errors may be present in grammar, usage, spelling, and punctuation; errors present do not interfere with meaning.” [Note- The comma between grammar and usage bothers me. I’ll let it go.]

Relation Chips

Fri, 03 Feb 2017 01:08:00 GMT

Have you ever broken a bone or witnessed it happen to someone? I’m talking a B level horror movie in which you hear it snap, see the bone, the affected area is physically changed, there are screams of agony, and maybe a prop guy causing blood to spurt everywhere.

It’s clear what needs to be done in this case: vomit, seek medical attention, get surgery or casted (purple, of course), tell your story over and over and over again when asked, and- most importantly- assess what caused your bone to break. Decide whether or not it is a set of circumstances worthy of your return.

The same can be true of relationships. We each have our own set of red flags for relationships. We also have the potential to see those red flags and explain them away as being really yellow or green because of (*insert your rationale here*). We may find ourselves invested in telling the story over and over and over again- perhaps because we are asked, perhaps because we have a need to be heard. Where we put our attention grows. Where we put the attention of those who listen to our stories also grows. And, where we choose to invest our energy in these scenarios is telling. Is it invested in the storytelling, the assessing, or the deciding? Do we expend so much energy in the telling that we do not get to the rest? Is there a cast to fix the relationship? And, who is cleaning up the aftermath of the gore?

But what happens when you have less of a clear and obvious break? What happens when it is a fracture?

I was training for a half marathon. All I remember is training with my partners one afternoon, limping around IKEA the following day, and being in agonizing pain the next. No one believed my pain level. I earned the nickname Delicate Flower. It took two weeks, an X-ray, and an MRI to have my fracture identified and be gifted with crutches.

Relationships have fractures, too. These are harder to see, harder to prove, harder to explain, harder to make clear to the doubters, harder to assess the cause, and harder to decide whether you return.

These fractures can occur in all relationships: New or old. Romantic or work. Family or friends. Your doctor or your mechanic. Neighbor or boss.

Fractures may be less of a red flag issue and more of an intuition inkling that something isn’t “right” at this time. Not broken…simply not as whole. How do fractures repair? Do all fractures need to be repaired? If left untreated, can we function the same, or are we in jeopardy of additional harm?

My old fracture is rarely on my mind. I was unable to compete in the half marathon. I walked (did not run) in the companion 5K. I actually finished 3rd in the 5K- 3rd from last. (They were picking up the orange cones as I passed them.) I did earn a participation medal thanks to my entry fee. I smile when I see it. On a really cold day, I still feel an ache at the fracture site.

Some of my relationships are marathons and I’m still in training but not competing. Some are 5Ks and have been completed. I smile when I see their medals, too. And others have left their own aches that get triggered on colder days. But I’m wiser for having had them, warmed by their memories, and forever grateful.

Space…My Current Frontier

Fri, 02 Sep 2016 02:44:00 GMT

I like to ramble. I purge words and see how they land, mostly for me and not for audience. Writing gives me the space for this. So do recordings.

I collaborated on a video recording with the intention of identifying who I am as a coach and educator. Through that process, I heard my voice repeat “space” over and over again. “Sacred coaching space,” “Cultivate a space,” “Establish a space where,” “Using this space to dare to dream,” and on and on and on. Instead of judging myself for being so repetitive, I made a choice to listen deeper. Why was space such a recurring theme and why was it showing up at this time?

The school year had ended on the loveliest note possible. I had felt a strong compulsion to share a heartfelt message with my students and was worried I would either run out of time or nerve. So, I made an audio recording. One take. I debated whether I should play it or not. What if they thought I was the biggest dork? OK- maybe they thought that already. What if they thought it was too little too late? Is it ever too late?

I played it for all of my sections before they left. In the recording, I assured them that state testing couldn’t measure their level of awesomeness- their gifts, talents, and interests. My advice for them for next year, “Be you. Try not to impress anyone other than yourself.” I provided them with a copy of a post that I wrote in their honor, How 2B a #Grownup . Each student received a personalized message at the bottom. There were a lot of smiles. There were a surprising amount of tears. I was bombarded with hugs in the hallway. I was glad that I trusted my intuition and shared with them. I loved the space that we ended in. I floated in that space for days.

For those engaged in transformational coaching, we live to cultivate a space where people grow what they know and we serve them in truly living how they want to be. Catherine Cowan of The Holistic Way was facilitating a session on the Chakras. Catherine referred to our learning space as a “container” that she would hold open for us. That really resonated with me. It reminded me of my “Teacher’s Stand.”

“I am committed to remembering that my students are children. I hold their dreams in a container constructed of possibility and lidded by reality. It is my goal to keep the lid of reality askew so my students can reach their potential and beyond.”

It’s been well over two years since I’ve looked at those words. My audio recording held the heart of this stance, even if I felt it missing in practice from time to time. No wonder I wanted to float in this space once it was rediscovered.

I believe the theme of space bubbled in my cauldron of words on Video Recording Day because I recognized that I failed to live up to it with a few of my peeps. Some part of me was screaming to reclaim it. But, that’s OK. Failure can inspire recommitment.

In coaching, goals or missions are often tied to imagery. Something quick that can be visualized or looked at or touched to stay grounded. Committed to in moments of stress or derailment. I use this with students, too. And, with myself.

In Decorative, Not Empty I wrote about a photo of a bench from my college years and how it represents my vision for my future. Julie is one of my clients. Throughout most of her journey, Julie has held her own metaphor of a bench. It is symbolic of how she wants to show up in her relationships. She makes choices that reflect being on the bench with the other person. The bench can shift from representing equality to care giving and care receiving or from safety to compassionate service. As with my failures, I draw inspiration from my clients’ transformations.

It’s not enough to hold a container and prop a lid. I need to be on the bench. How I show up on that bench needs to be flexible, tailored with who shares the space.

To the readers that roll their eyes or doubt my sincerity- I see you, I hear you. It’s OK. Here’s what I know about judgement. It points to an unmet need. I hope that you have the gift of space to process it. When you’re ready to explore your own cauldron of words, I’ll be waiting. On the bench.

Meanwhile, I’m going to take my own advice for this year. “Be you. Try not to impress anyone other than yourself.”

Take a Breath

Tue, 31 May 2016 21:34:00 GMT

Everyone can benefit from taking a breather- even if it is for less than one minute. We all have our trusted sources. For me, I connect the ocean with breath. So, if you find yourself needing a timeout, you have your choice of coasts below!

Click one of the ocean links for a well deserved mini break or try to count the footprints in the sand in the photo for a little escape.

East Coast Atlantic Ocean

West Coast Pacific Ocean

Voice and Choice

Fri, 11 Mar 2016 21:34:00 GMT

Love at first sight.

That’s what it was.

I knew she was meant for me.

Gorgeous!

The moment I saw this work of art, I was transfixed and transformed. She is the part of me that I often tame down in professional settings. My giggles. Massive storytelling. Distracted by the urge to create. Yearning to dye my hair purple. This is the Suzie who is brave. Takes risks. Travels alone. Talks to strangers. Hugs people with wild abandon within a few seconds of meeting them. I love her.

I kept this image in my mind’s eye as I stepped into boldness. It also surfaced in moments of regret. Why didn’t I take her? What if someone else did? She could be lost to me forever. There was such a fierce longing in me.

But, then.

Then?

Then….

I saw her.

Breathtaking.

She spoke to me. I was calmed and connected. She is the part of me that is compassionate and serves. My sighs. Attentive listening. Compelled by the desire to support others in finding their voice and living from choice. Hoping to negotiate peace. This is the Suzie who is still. Makes inquires. Holds space. Breathes with oceans. Holds loved ones close for quiet moments whenever I can grab them. I love her.

There was no thought of taking home one over the other. I knew that leaving one behind would be like rejecting a part of myself.

I wondered if others would be as impacted.

I shared this art with some of my potential adolescent coaching clientele. Requesting them to write their thoughts about each painting, I unveiled them one at a time. Valuing transparency, I did disclose that I would share their comments with the artist. Here’s a small sampling.

*Her colorfulness represents her uniqueness.

*Humans don’t have one core personality trait…sometimes we don’t embrace it.

*There is a storm and a woman is standing her ground.

*…it looks like she is nervous because it looks like she is hiding.

*It makes me feel sad because it looks like she’s trapped in a world she doesn’t wanna be in, going through something.

*I need this picture in my life!

Wow.

They saw it, too.

I asked them to select one face with which they most identified and connected. They lined up on either side of the room. There was an even split.

But, then.

Then?

Then….

I told them the secret. YOU DON’T HAVE TO CHOOSE !

I shared with them how each woman spoke to a different part of me and I needed both in my life. In order for me to tune into my compassion and be of service to others, the Wildness in me needs to let her hair down. In order for me to “let” myself have fun, the Mother Earth in me needs to connect with my breath and make sure that all my needs are met and my responsibilities are fulfilled.

There was a sniffle or two in the room. My eyes were a bit damp.

The goal isn’t to quiet parts of ourselves or make our voices small. We need all parts of ourselves to be heard, so we feel connected. Connected to ourselves and others. Embrace ourselves and stand our ground. When our voices are heard, we can make decisions from a place of choice. We can be brave and take risks.

We can be.

Note about the artist:

Leslie at Glossy Stones perfectly captured my inner selves without even knowing it or me.

How 2B a #Grownup (Part 1)

Tue, 01 Mar 2016 22:44:00 GMT

Dear Peeps,

I worry about you. I smile about you. I cry about you. I eat more cupcakes than I should thinking about you. I think about this world that you are growing up in and I can’t even imagine the courage that it takes to be you.

You inspire me. I see you. You are silly, smart, fierce, beautiful, talented, courageous, strong, curious, and unique.

My biggest fear is that we are crushing you. We, the adults- your family, educators, coaches, advisors. We are crushing you with good intention. We are crushing you by asking one question.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Boom! You have a label, a college or vocational list to pursue, a skill set to develop, a sport to perfect, a threshold for failure or for success to be measured by others and by a paycheck. While this question has its place, its importance, its benefits, there’s a bigger one.

Are you ready? Deep breath.

How do you want to be when you grow up? How? How do you want to be?

I know! If you know me, you are thinking, “What is Mrs. B-T going on about now? And…will we write an essay about it?” If you don’t know me (or even if you do), you are most likely steeped in curiosity. How does one figure out how they want to be? You are in luck. I’ve prepared a little CoachUcation for you.

Here are some tips on How 2B a #Grownup.

1. Understand Judgments

Judgements about yourself or others mostly come from an unmet need. Once you understand that, your world will change. Needs can evolve from something that your life is lacking or something that you wish for. Needs are abstract nouns like safety, acceptance, trust, freedom, and space. Needs are not concrete nouns like cellphones, sneakers, concert tickets, deodorant, and pencils. You will make judgments. You will walk into a room and in a manner of seconds compare yourself to those that are in it. You will be more athletic, intelligent, beautiful, compassionate, or talented than someone. Or, you will be less than. Or, so you will think. This thought is normal . You are not alone. While you are so busy having this thought, so is everyone else. If they say they are not, then they are lying. If they say they are not and they truly are not, it’s because they can answer the big question from above. Make that person yours. Be like a cat. Scan the room and sit in the sunshine. Having a judgment can be powerful. It can prompt you to take an action to better yourself or help another. Here’s what is not OK. Having a judgement and taking an action that harms another.

2. Breathe

Before you make a choice, take an action, or respond- breathe. You can breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. You can connect with your breath. Count inside your head while you breathe or tap your thumb and each finger against your bicep or thigh, one at a time. Take a moment and scan your body. Notice any tension or excitement that is present. Unlock your jaw, drop your shoulder, and shift your hips. How do you want to be? Make your choice, take an action, or respond from this place. Do not be like a cat. A cat will jump 10 feet in the air when scared, will vomit a hairball because it is Wednesday, or will glare at you for breathing while she is breathing. Unless she is in the sunshine. Taking a moment or several moments (or days!) to breathe can help you make choices that are aligned with how you want to be.

3. Own Your Choices

Your choices are yours. You made them. Yes, you have things that are outside of your control. Things that are bigger than having a bedtime or following a dress code. You have definitely inherited a history, but it doesn’t have to be YOURstory. (#newword. You’re welcome!) You do not have to wait until you are 18, 25, or 40 to start making choices that reflect who you are and who you want to become. Yes, it’s harder, Yes, it takes practice. Yes, it takes support. You can do it. While you are doing it, remember to allow for change of mind. Your mind. Others’ minds. Cats’ minds. Just like a cat who sits in a box. Jumps out of a box. Ignores the box for months. Cries until you return the box after you threw it out. People grow. We learn. We reflect. We change. That means we may make new choices. We may repeat old ones. We may throw ourselves on the floor and cry after we have thrown out our cupcakes for our physical health and want one at midnight. (Wait…that was just me when I was doing my report cards. Sorry.) You are not your choices but your choices are yours.

Unless you’ve skipped the title (and I’ve taught you better than that- text features are on the test), you will have noticed this is Part 1. You can infer there will be a Part 2. I haven’t decided if Part 2 will be:

a. another post

b. a book

c. a podcast

d. a TEDTalk (#kidding #notkidding #catvomit!)

But, there will be more. There must be more. There has to be more.

You matter. I vow to do my part to protect the part of you that is still. Still Being. Still Growing. Still Learning How to be.

Share with a friend or a grownup. (Here’s a secret- we need reminders, too.)

~With Gratitude

250-ish Hours in 3 Minutes or Less

Sun, 14 Dec 2014 14:06:00 GMT

I’ve given a year of my life to a Coaching for Transformation program at Leadership That Works. A series of events opened up space and possibility for me to question “What’s Next?” and lead me to this program. I knew that I wanted to help people find their inner leaders, their voices, their bliss. I had no concept of to what degree this experience would help me find mine.

Reputionalism

Wed, 26 Nov 2014 14:35:00 GMT

What do I value? What do I stand for? How do my actions in all aspects of my life reflect this? These are some questions that have been brewing around my heart. I say my heart because my mind has always had questions crowding it, worries elbowing their way in, eliminating any room for what is most important.

Tick Tock at My Door

Sun, 19 Oct 2014 11:02:00 GMT

Eckhart Tolle

Practicing the Power of Now

The Soundtrack of My…OHHHHH—Butterfly!

Sun, 14 Sep 2014 15:19:00 GMT

Game Over?

Sun, 10 Aug 2014 14:27:00 GMT

Tetris may be game over for me but that leaves space for other things. Like connection. Reflection. And… Pac-Man .

Midlife Revelation

Thu, 31 Jul 2014 07:05:00 GMT

birthday

hubbub

Guest Blogger: Welcome to the Universe, Sarah Haykel!

Sun, 13 Jul 2014 10:56:00 GMT

Dear Chaney

Sun, 22 Jun 2014 19:17:00 GMT

It was a year ago today that I got the call. The day before that was June 21, 2013. My mother’ birthday. Her 67th. For her 66th, I sent her a birthday card. The most beautiful card she had ever received. I spent 15 minutes picking that one out. For her 67th, I spent less time because I was sobbing in the card aisle. How do you pick out what you sense is the last card your mother will ever receive?

I Remember Donnie & Troy

Sun, 25 May 2014 14:32:00 GMT

In honor of Memorial Day, I would like to pause and remember two men. Desert Storm occurred while I was in high school. This was before the social media storm and the 24 hour news cycle. Yes, there was a CNN but, to the best of my memory, most of us had 3, 6, and 10. Those of us with cable (or with friends that had cable) were more interested in MTV’s Downtown Julie Brown than anchorman Bernard Shaw.

What’s Possible?

Sun, 11 May 2014 08:29:00 GMT

Guest Blogger: Welcome to the Universe, Kristin Weller!

Sun, 04 May 2014 11:49:00 GMT

here

Dear George Clooney

Tue, 29 Apr 2014 13:34:00 GMT

Congratulations on your engagement! I wish you and your beloved nothing but the best. CNN was kind enough to post an article telling us the most important things about your loved one. If you agree with CNN’s synopsis, I just wanted to bring your attention to my equally compelling qualifications.

The Giver, The Getter, & The Gotter

Sun, 13 Apr 2014 12:11:00 GMT

Do you know people who are just great gift givers?

One of my friends gave me an awesome purple necklace. Well, it’s a wrap bracelet and I’m totally inept at fastening it, so I wear it as a necklace. It’s unique in presentation as one observant individual noted- “The beads’ spacing is off.” Yes, it is. It’s a morse code bracelet! The message is “Kindness is my religion.” The necklet (new word!) itself is funky but I doubt it was selected for me based upon color and unique concept alone. This person KNEW me. The fact that SHE selected THIS expression for ME brought us that much closer together. Do you ever feel that you try and try and try but…no one sees you? I felt seen.

Another friend gave me a “just because” gift. She repurposed an empty glass jar of sour balls that I had given to her. (To be clear, there were sour balls in them when I gave them to her. But, I’m not bitter…) The inside of the jar was sweet. Notes. Lots and lots of notes. Morsels for me to chew on. I was supposed to pull out one at a time, from time to time. Nuh-uh! Not me. I poured them out like a waterfall of love and was moved to tears at their creativity. Tonight, I randomly pulled out five. The “…” are to maintain some mystery. (Plus, I hope she will transform them into a feel good book. And dedicate it to me. Because.)

“Rock out to ‘Mahna Mahna’…goofball.” “Stop on a random line of a favorite book…finish the thought any way you’d like.” “You are ahead of your time…forgive them.” “Write about it…for three minutes…You go now!” “I love you. That is all.”

That is all? Are you kidding me? That’s everything! It’s a jar of love. Someone who knows me, someone who sees me, someone who gets me? Do you ever feel like it would be so much better if someone just got you?

Two different gifts. One purchased, one homemade. One selected with intention. One designed with it. Both reflect with such clarity how much “got” I am. (Yes, grammar police. I get that ain’t right.) I can’t help but wonder how the depth with which I get myself helped my friends to get me. Kindness IS my practice and words ARE my passion. A gift I hope to give myself is an openness to share them with others without fear of judgement.

It’s wonderful for others to get me…but I’ve got to get myself if I want to be a great giver.

Cabin Pressure

Mon, 31 Mar 2014 14:52:00 GMT

Bichovsky Backflash: ‘Tis the Season to be Writing

Sun, 23 Mar 2014 11:20:00 GMT

Moravian Book Shop. Coffee and baked goods abound. Pens moving, keys clacking. The synergy was scintillating. A variety of age, creed, and experience were brought together by the life-giving force of writing. Eight lady Fellows were engaged in a Writing ‘Treat . For one small moment, each had given themselves the gift of time. Some wrote holiday letters. Another, scene six in a book. One penned a family welcome to a newborn. What a gift writing was- for themselves and others.

Embracing Silence for 28…

Sun, 16 Mar 2014 14:17:00 GMT

Guest Blogger: Welcome to the Universe, Heather Harlen!

Sun, 23 Feb 2014 12:33:00 GMT

How do I know Heather? Let me count the ways: friend, writer, friend, teacher, friend, advocate, friend, published novelist, friend, cheesy music listener and horrible complainer when not doing well in a game (just saying). Did I remember to mention friend? Excuse me… FR iend ? Thanks for visiting my Universe, Dear Heather.

My Mission To…

Sun, 09 Feb 2014 13:34:00 GMT

Mars

Not convinced of my credentials? Here are some snippets from my most recent letters of recommendation:

Decorative, not Empty

Sun, 26 Jan 2014 13:25:00 GMT

“Bend in the Road”

Sun, 12 Jan 2014 12:59:00 GMT

Huge disclaimer- huge. I no longer sing. Haven’t since high school. Out of tune birthday songs drive me batty. Rocking out in the car when I’m alone and misquoting lyrics is my thing.

New Year’s Resolu-Dos

Sun, 29 Dec 2013 14:40:00 GMT

All I Want…

Tue, 24 Dec 2013 10:48:00 GMT

The Imperfect Ten

Sun, 22 Dec 2013 15:39:00 GMT

“Who’s your doctor?”

Sun, 15 Dec 2013 14:28:00 GMT

“Who’s your doctor?”
Response A- Blurts out family doctor.
Response B- “There’s nothing wrong with me!”
Response C- Says the name of one of 12-14ish possibilities associated with Doctor Who .
Thanks, A. See you soon, B, (with my clipboard and pen in hand…). Helloooooooo, C!

Matt Smith’s appearance as the Doctor was my entrance into the series. I was hooked from fish fingers and custard . If you would have asked me who my Doctor was, my response would have been clear. Smith. As the 50th anniversary loomed, I binge-watched from the first episode of the new series. Christopher Eccleston became MY Doctor. My heart broke for him. Then, David Tennant was on the scene. Wait- HE’S my Doctor. (Come on- he did that horrible thing to his people because he HAD to and then had to pretty much do it AGAIN when You Know Who came back.) But, then, I watched some of Matt Smith’s finest hours again. (His goodbye to the redhead ? Well, to both redheads …)

I cannot commit to just one Doctor. The beauty of the show is you can watch the series in order and appreciate all of the inside jokes/continuous storylines OR you can watch it out of order- the episodes stand on their own as do the players.

That got me thinking. If I do not have to view my Doctors in any order, how about my past? I don’t have a TARDIS (to travel back and forth in time and space for my non Whovians). But I have an excellent memory. Do I have to remember events in a specific sequence or can I watch the highlights? If someone Hurt me in the past, does that negate all of the good memories?

How does changing the order in which we view things impact our perception of them? And of ourselves? Instead of worrying about glasses being half full or empty or being Rose colored, perhaps we should wear rear view mirrored monoculars so we don’t forget. I often hear people say we should look at the big picture. If I’ve learned anything from watching Doctor Who it’s that some timey-wimey stuff definitely impacts the bigger picture and it deserves a closer look. (And… bow ties ARE cool.)

“Wanna Be FRiends?”

Sun, 08 Dec 2013 13:31:00 GMT

A wonderful FR iend is making her new house a home. I remember my experience when I was in the market for a house and the lessons I learned.

A Tale of Two Suzies

Sun, 01 Dec 2013 13:01:00 GMT

A poem originally crafted from my grandmother’s point of view inspired this week’s post. These are impressions formed from my memories as a little girl and stories told to me over time. This bit from “She Remembers” called to me.

She remembers her niece Susie S-U-S-I-E with eyes as black as marbles.
She had a stomach ache and a stuffed animal in the hospital.
The stuffed animal came home.
She remembers, years later, when Suzie with a Z was born into a family with a legacy of loss.
Great aunt never met thanks to a car that never stopped.
One great uncle claimed by the ocean; One that never returned from a trip to the corner store.
She remembers to tell her granddaughter to turn the tide.
And, I try.

Comma Optional

Sat, 23 Nov 2013 11:59:00 GMT

Letting Go

Sun, 17 Nov 2013 13:10:00 GMT

Just Playing

Sun, 10 Nov 2013 16:09:00 GMT

If you have children, work with children, know children, or were once a child, then…you are familiar with the following phrase. “We were just playing.”

HallowSanta

Sun, 03 Nov 2013 14:42:00 GMT

Halloween is my ultimate holiday. We had a Halloween themed wedding, a pumpkin of mints sits on my workspace all yearlong, and we don’t take our decorations down until after Thanksgiving. We have a zombie in our yard who stays until the snow starts to fall.

I Live Your Thoughts

Sun, 27 Oct 2013 17:13:00 GMT

Homecoming

olive incident

Bichovsky Backflash: Happiness Is…

Sun, 20 Oct 2013 13:45:00 GMT

I wrote this list in response to a book I read when I was experimenting with blogging .

Beware the Troll

Sun, 13 Oct 2013 09:48:00 GMT

Dipping My Toe

Mon, 07 Oct 2013 16:59:00 GMT

Guest Blog- Living the Writing Life
Dear Universe,
I was honored to be asked to share what it has been like to dip my toe into the public writing arena. Please click on this link to read more and stay around to check out the gems within Heather Harlen’s site. Guest Blog- Living the Writing Life
Thanks, Heather!

Bichovsky Backflash: What’s Eating You?

Sat, 05 Oct 2013 10:07:00 GMT

Ode to Workout Pants

Sun, 29 Sep 2013 10:07:00 GMT

Hip Hop Abs

Shaun T’s