Butter Makes it Better

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Butter.

That’s what this post is all about. It’s amazing, really. If I weren’t already a believer in a higher force at work in this life, butter would most definitely cinch it for me. Give me mountains of ashen rock, with magenta and amber hues reflecting the evening sun. Give me endless deserts stretching out with Pinion pines and junipers dotting as far as the eye can safely reach. Allow me to wake to the sounds and smells of the delicious rain on rusted, corrugated roofs.

Give me butter.

I’ve decided that butter is the magical ingredient in just about anything which tastes a step or two beyond amazing. In fact, if I were ever diagnosed with an incurable disease with only days to live, I’d make sure that each meal was drenched in rich, buttery goodness.

However, I did not always believe such. I used to subscribe to the thought that margarine was just as good as butter in any recipe and would do just as well.

Was I ever wrong.

My sister sent me the recipe for her infamous Jam Crumble Cookie Bars a week ago. How can I describe these cookies? Probably that they are akin to being taken on a conduit straight to heaven—especially when topped with generous portions of caramel praline ice cream…rivulets of rich, gooey caramel weaving its way in amongst the oats and strawberry.

Goodness to the Nth degree.

I followed my sister’s recipe to the letter, but instead of utilizing butter, I opted for margarine, simply because it was softer and easier to get at. Those of you who are schooled in the ways of baking are probably even now drawing in quickened breaths of shock, or at the very least rolling your eyes at this foolhardy decision.

Now so would I.

I mixed the ingredients. I added them to the pan. I baked them at the prescribed 350 degrees. Soon a smell that wafted about the house that whispered of deliciousness. One could almost taste the smell.

When the lightly browned dessert was cooled enough from the oven, I cut myself a generous portion and added mounds of ice cream.

It was terrible.

I had no idea of what I’d done wrong. There must have been something I missed; after all, when my sister had made them, they were fantastic.

I called.

“Did you follow the recipe?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Did you maybe forget an ingredient or something when you emailed it to me?”

She was adamant that she hadn’t. I mentioned at this point that I had substituted margarine instead of the butter the recipe called for. I received a slight browbeating at this point and was educated on the magical—as well as healing powers of—butter.

I thanked my sister, and I opted to give the recipe one more try. The previous attempt was unceremoniously dumped into the trash, and ingredients again scurried from their cupboards as I began to start anew.

All I can say is that now that I’ve been converted, and realize the mouth-watering ways of butter. I’ll ever go back. In taking that first spoonful of ice cream and crumble, I was taken away. It was like dying and being reborn all over again.

I am now convinced that butter is indeed the ultimate when cooking.

I’ll never go back.


For those of you who’d like to try this scrumptious delight:

Shawna's Jam Crumble Cookie Bars

Ingredients

2 cups oats
1 cup flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
3/4 cup butter, softened to room temperature
8 - 12 oz. jar of jam (raspberry, strawberry, apple butter, etc)

Directions:

Heat oven to 350 degrees and grease 9-inch square baking pan with nonstick cooking spray. In large bowl, combine oats, flour, sugar, salt and cinnamon. Add butter and beat with electric mixer on low until mixture is crumbly. Pat half of the mixture, about 2 cups into baking pan, press down firmly to form crust layer. Spread jam evenly over bottom crumb layer and then sprinkle remaining crumbs over jam, patting gently. Bake 30-35 minutes or until golden.

Enjoy with a scoop of your favorite ice cream (I suggest caramel praline). Also, drizzle with caramel for extra goodness.

An Open Letter - To My Teacher

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Dear Otamay,

I'm not sure if you would even remember me, but I hope that you would. I was one of your students at Summit Valley School, back in the days when you were still teaching in eastern Washington. I wanted to write to thank you for the influence you had on me when I was just a young boy. You were one of the best teachers I ever had—and I have thought about you many times over the past years of my life.

I still remember the day I first saw you—you had come to the school and were talking to Mrs. Cornwall in the back of the room. When I heard that you were going to take her place partway into the school year, I was mortified, and that first little while having you as a teacher was hard for me…but as time progressed I loved having you as a teacher. You had a remarkable ability to manage a room full of fourth, fifth and sixth graders at the same time in that two-room schoolhouse, giving us each the time we needed. It was you, Otamay, who helped me learn division, it was you who had faith I could learn fractions and wouldn't give up on me until I was able to do them on my own. Even at times when I tried to cheat on my timed tests by just scribbling answers, you and Miss Blue wouldn't let me get away with it but checked my times tests each time.

I will never forget how you made otherwise mundane afternoons into something magical. I loved it when you read us stories, and it was from you that I gained a deep appreciation and love of literature. I have since been an avid reader since elementary school and have encouraged all of my students to do the same. It was because of you that I discovered wonderful books like James and the Giant Peach, and Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of N.I.M.H. among many others.

The years have fled since the days that I was a young boy in your classroom, and I look back at those memories from so long ago…it is those memories of a teacher who took and made the time to make a childhood more wondrous, and helped me to realize that there is still magic in the world. It was this (and other things) that helped me decide what I wanted to do with my life when I grew up.

I wanted to teach.

I just wanted you to know that I graduated college and pursued a master's degree; I have since become a teacher. I have been a teacher now for twelve years, and have had hundreds of students pass though the doors of my classroom.

In closing I just wanted to thank you for everything that you've done for me, and I wanted to let you know something else...I felt a real connection with you when you would pull out your guitar in the afternoons and have us all sit on the floor and sing songs I will never forget. It is because of this that I learned how to play guitar and have played many of the same songs we used to sing. My students absolutely love them! I read many of the same books you read to me, but most importantly, I care about my students just as you cared about me.

I hope that this letter finds you well and that you can understand why I am writing it. I just felt that it was important for me to thank you for being such a vital part of my life.

Thanks again for everything.

Teachinfourth

Office Musicals and Lie Detectors

Pin It I can't believe that it was my topic for the week, and I totally spaced it! Of course, I guess I could always plead the busy card...which would work in this case. So, that's how to comes to be Friday and I finally decided that it was safe to post for the week so I wouldn't be stepping on the day of anybody else.

This was a chore to come up with something, it's like being asked which of your students is your favorite; however, I finally narrowed it down to two choices. You know, since Gerb had two, this is fair, right?

My thoughts exactly.

This first video is something I can only say that I wish that I'd thought of...talk about sheer brilliance.




This second video is one I wanted to post on my personal blog - as well as on Facebook. However, being a teacher, I felt a bit sketchy about posting it in either venue. But here it is, and all I can say is that when I wasn't horrified, I was laughing to beat the band.

Learning and Relearning

Pin It Topic: Describe a lesson that you have found yourself learning, over and over again, throughout your life.

There's a book that I love by Bill Peet. It's the story of a bear who enjoys rock tumbling. He rolls huge boulders down hillsides simply because he loves to watch them smash trees and destroy the undergrowth. As the rest of the forest creatures scurry pel-mel out of the way, Bruce laughs and laughs. To him, this is the greatest form of entertainment.


One day, Bruce sets a rock tumbling and nearly smashes a little witch who was out picking blueberries. When she confronts Bruce, he simply laughs at her. The witch warns him to be on the lookout, but Bruce ignores her and goes on his merry way.

The witch returns to her cottage where she creates a potion. She adds this potion to the contents of pie, which leaves in a place in the forest where Bruce is sure to find it. Upon discovering this pie, Bruce eats it and soon falls asleep. That is when the magic of the spell begins its work. When Bruce awakens some hours later, he is only a shadow of the bear he used to be. For you see, the spell had caused him to shrink down the size of a chipmunk.

Upon recognizing him, the other forest creatures begin to chase him, determined to let him know how it felt being held prey to the mercy of his rock tumbling. Bruce escapes, but soon realizes that the world is a big, unfriendly place.

Soon after nightfall, Roxy the witch finds Bruce and takes him home with her. Bruce is convinced that she's going to do something even worse to him - perhaps make him disappear altogether. Bruce is wrong and discovers that Roxy is a kind old woman. Soon, Bruce comes to like his new situation of being little, because little bears have short memories, and he has forgotten all about being the giant he once was.

The thing is, as the story ends, the author shows Bruce in Roxy's flower garden, tumbling pebbles to scare the ants, grasshoppers, and caterpillars. Because Bruce, from a bug-eyed view, is still a hairy and horrible brute of a beast.

When I think about my life lessons learned, as well as those things that I keep having to relearn throughout the years, I am often reminded of moments of sadness, being down, or simple depression.

These are feelings that we can all relate to, and have experienced at numerous times in our lives. However, I find it strange that I always seem to go about combating these negative feelings in the same way, though it’s been proven to me time and time again that they don’t work.

You see, when I start to feel down, I immediately find myself turning to the fridge, television, or lazing about and letting the feelings surmount. It’s interesting though that these ‘cures’ seldom—if ever—have the effect that I want; what they do is make me feel even worse because weight gain, apathy, or a feeling of non-accomplishment that always settles in, making the problems seem even worse than they were on their own.

And still, I am immediately drawn to these remedies though they have been proven time and time again not to be at all effective.

So, what does help when depression settles in? What is it that makes things often feel so much better? Most of the time it’s when I get up and exercise, it causes my mood to change toward being positive. I feel a sense of accomplishment, and my own little world seems like such a better place. Something else that helps is when I give service to others who are in need. When I spend my time trying to help those around me, my self-confidence and happiness always tends to skyrocket, and I feel much better. This is probably the reason why I enjoy teaching so much; I am constantly helping somebody else, and this does wonders for my sour or apathetic moods.

I wish I could say that these lessons that I learned happened once and only once. However, that would simply be untruthful. These are the lessons—or lesson—I sadly learn over and over again as the years go onward.

Like the Bruce, the little bear who kept doing the same thing over and over again--even after getting into quite a bit of trouble, I still keep making the same mistakes over and over again as well.

I guess it's true that little bears do have short memories...

Atalanta

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The Rip

Pin It “Tell us about one of your most embarrassing moments.”

It was my first year as a teacher. As most beginning educators (or teachers in general in any year they’ve taught), I had a very limited budget and looked for ways in which to save money. Because of this, many of my clothes were purchased at the local thrift industry store. I’m all about saving a few dollars here and there, and purchasing an entire ensemble for school for fewer than ten dollars was always a screaming deal.

One particular day found me purchasing a pair of pants that were awesome. They were just my size, and though a little worn in the seams, were a great deal for only four dollars. After all there were no stains, the legcuffs weren’t frayed at all, and the pockets didn’t have holes in them. I made my purchase and left the store. Over the next few weeks I wore my new acquisition, and I was relishing in the fact that I’d purchased them for such a great price.

I’m all about screaming deals.

One day, I was working the after-school program and had a group of students outside. I was explaining the rules to the game we’d be playing, and as I squatted down, I felt—as well as heard—the unmistakable sound; funny how you can ‘feel’ a sound isn’t it? I’m sure you know the sound I speak of when I add that the world got an awful lot breezier, too.

I quickly stood and talked even faster so that my students wouldn’t be aware of what had just happened (luckily, they had all been in front of me and none behind). I put my hands behind my back and could feel the rip—completely up the seam all along the backside.

My face reddened slightly as I wondered just how I could get out of this. I was out on the field with two dozen students left to my charge; there was no ready-made solution—I’d have to make it back to the building, unnoticed, and then go home to change.

Now the challenge was finding the way to get there without my rip—a gaping one at that—being observed.

I got the game going as quickly as I could, I put two responsible students in charge and then began backing the entire distance to the school building; I smiled, offered up encouragement, and pretended that everything was okay to the crowd of boys and girls who were playing. Occasionally I had to turn to one side or the other when another group’s student was in close proximity so as not to give them a show. In reality, I must have looked like a dancer twirling this direction and that before covering the distance to the building.

I had never noticed what a long walk it was from the field before…

I reached the building, walking sideways and making sure my backside was to the wall as I passed both teachers and students in the hallway. I breathed out a sign of relief as I reached my classroom sanctuary and began to look for something to cover the tear…there was nothing.

I finally opted for the only thing I could readily find: a girl’s jacket that had been hanging on one of the classroom racks for as long as I could remember. I tied it about my waist and headed to the hallway. In reality, it was pretty hot out and with a girl’s jacket I looked completely ridiculous, raising more than one pair of eyebrows as I walked down the hall.

Undaunted, I made my way to the program coordinator’s office and told her that an emergency had arisen and I’d need to go home.

She asked what was up.

I told her it was personal.

She asked why I had a girl’s jacket tied around my waist.

I had no choice but to explain what had happened.

My boss’ face showed concern. She told me that I was more than welcome to go home to change. She nodded appreciatively and didn’t say anything as I backed toward the door. Then her face split into a huge smile as she broke into uncontrollable laughter.

I guess it’s a good thing that I had a sense of humor, because instead of being even more embarrassed I laughed, too.

Since the horrendous day of the I-got-a-huge-rip-right-in-the-seat-of-the-you-know-where I decided to limit my purchases at said thrift store. After all, some deals just aren’t worth the possible costs of embarrassment in days of future passed.

However, the story I got in the end was totally worth it.

Let’s hear it for screaming deals.

Christmas, in January

Pin It I made a promise this year…

That promise was NOT to take down any of my Christmas decorations or the tree until it snowed.

To me, it seems that Christmas and snow are synonymous; snow is the proverbial icing on the cake when it comes to Christmas. It’s the glittery star placed on the pinnacle of the tree. Snow is the marshmallows floating in a cup of steamy hot chocolate.

Unfortunate for this holiday, there wasn’t any icing, glittery stars, or marshmallow froth.

To be honest, it was kind of a letdown.

However, when I awoke this morning, I had a migraine. It wasn’t yet light out, and I stumbled downstairs for some new medication that I got from my neurologist yesterday afternoon. When I got to the kitchen, I glanced out the window to see that it was lighter than it should have been at this early hour.

I drew in a gasp of wonder.

Crystalline flakes were drifting from the skies, and the park behind my house was laid out before me, beneath a blanket of snowy white.

I watched the snow for a few moments and felt a smile creep up my cheeks.

I ignited the lights on my Christmas tree, and I sat in my living room with a slew of music from the holidays wafting about the house.

And so this morning I share the photo I captured, and a playlist of Christmas music just for you.

Merry Christmas…but better late than not at all.

  

It's Been A While

Pin It I logged onto Blogger and was given a quiet reminder that I had another site.

This site.

Ah life, with its intricacies, business, and all of the things that make it what it is. I guess it’s safe to say that with my job, my photography, and the myriad of everything else, Four Perspectives has taken somewhat of a backseat in my life lately.

…oh, it’s still here, it just now sits on the proverbial back burner of all the things I need to do and accomplish, never seeming to be that pot I notice to be boiling over and in the need of the most attention.

When I saw that the last post on this site was a month ago—mine being back on September 1st—I was thinking that something most certainly needed to be done about this.

And so I am.

I awoke this morning with a feeling that autumn has now kicked into full swing, and it’s always at this time of year I’m given a reminder of what life is—what it could be—and what it isn’t. It’s a changing of the guard and movement into a holiday adorned with rich colors and a season festooned with a chill in the air and heaps of leaves to wade in up to your ankles or knees.

I love this time of year…I long for it like oxygen, but I don’t wish for the long, cold of winter to be here. I would wish for the fall season to last a little bit longer though and give me the world adorned in her best fashions.

In honor of this, I wanted to build you a list of tunes for the season…list of music to share the feeling of wonderment that I do at this time, but unfortunately, the songs were not available on Playlist for a readily made alliance of awesome. To remedy this, I decided to upload a few tunes to my server and link them in, but I soon found that the songs I linked had already been blocked due to copyright restrictions.

Oh, my friends…for this I apologize.

So for you I had an autumn playlist, which should have filled beyond brimming with forty to fifty songs, but instead has only about ten. This is unfortunate because I felt that these captured something about the season…that magic and feeling autumn brings; after all, you probably know that there’s not too many autumn carols out there.

Because I can only I give you what I can in the playlist, I will tell you the names of those which I cannot give.

Deal?

Happy autumn, and Happy closing of the year.

- Teachinfourth

  

This Time of Year - John McCutcheon
The Silver Run - John McCutcheon
Is My Family - John McCutcheon
Soup - John McCutcheon
Wintersong - John McCutcheon
Waiting for Snow - John McCutcheon
Mending Fences - John McCutcheon
Closing the Bookstore - John McCutcheon
When Fall Comes to New England - Cheryl Wheeler
If These Walls Could Speak - Amy Grant
Let it Fall - Sean Watkins
When You Come Back Down - Nickel Creek
See Right Through You - Jerrytown
River - Joni Mitchell
Southbound Train - Julie Gold
Island of Time - Patty Larkin
I Have a Song - Lucy Simon
Sweet Baby James - James Taylor
You've Got a Friend - James Taylor
Copperline - James Taylor
Song for You far Away - James Taylor
What About - Peter Breinholt
Teeming Autumn - David Tolk
Autumn Road - David Tolk
Holocene (edited) - Bon Iver
Can't Find My Way Home - Blind Faith
Set the World on Fire - Britt Nicole
You've Got a Friend - James Taylor

Thinking of Home

Pin It I’ve been dwelling lately.

I’ve been thinking about Cloverleaf Beach on the Columbia River.


It’s been on my mind for the past several weeks.

I do a photo meme each week and someone posted a set of images from a trip they took. One of the shots this week reminded me of this little beach I went to all throughout my growing up which is located in Eastern Washington.

The funny thing is that I started to dwell on this even before I saw the image…the photo just made it more pronounced for some reason. This week I started to catch faint whiffs of pine needles and the scent of river air occasionally as I made to go into my house or left my school in the late afternoon/early evening sun—though no pine trees were nearby.

It’s odd, really...after all, I haven’t been to Cloverleaf Beach in years.

If it was feasible, possible, or in all reality if I were able, I’d drive there tonight and sit on the beach. I’d take off my shoes and soak my feet in the cool water. I’d lean back and gaze out at the expanse of the river, allowing the gentle lapping of that shimmering water against sand to ebb and wash away the dust and worries of everyday life.

I’d breathe in the sweet scent of pine pitch heavily laden in air.

I’d soak in the heat wafting from the sand, and burrow my fingers underneath its coarse grains.

I’d listen to the rippling of the water and the cries of birds as the creaking of the old floating dock as it moved about in the center of the swimming area.

I’d wait as darkness fell and the chime of crickets swept over the area like the gentle rolling of thunder down distant canyons.

I’d feel as if I were home.

Saying No

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I finally self-diagnosed myself with a condition I’ve long suspected that I’d been the carrier for.

Over the span of years this ailment has had ample opportunity to gestate, grow, and mutate into something far more perpetually grotesque than what it originally started out as: something innocent and benign…and I’m sure that there are those out there that would have originally called this a blessing; however, it grew into nothing shy of an obscenity over the blight of years. In fact, I have a feeling that some of you may be carriers of this particular disease as well:

The inability to say no.

I remember being asked to do things for work, family, church, friends, and various others that I didn’t mind in the slightest over the years. When asked if there were any volunteers, I found myself suffering from what some have been known to call, ‘helium hands,’ and the willingness to help out when nobody else seemed to be willing.

This was all fine and good—well, for a while.

I learned something important about myself over the years, though. While it’s good to help others in need, there comes a time when one needs to realize their own limit, and admit to themselves—and to the world—that they are not the Superman everyone might think they are, especially those of us who are perfectionists with Narcissistic tendencies…such a dangerous combination; I don’t know what Mother Nature was thinking when she threw those two permutations into the mix.

So, here I start off with perfectionism? And you ask me to do something on a grand scale? If it isn’t grand to begin with, chances are…I’ll try to make it become so.

I remember my second year at my local university when they needed someone to take charge of the children’s carnival for Fall Fling. Nobody would head up the program and it seemed that it was doomed to be a failure. However, somebody mentioned that Teachinfourth was in the Elementary Education Program and therefore, he would be a prime candidate for the job—after all, that makes sense doesn’t it?

Without a team of any sort at my disposal, I went about organizing a program I had no experience at. I spent countless hours planning, replanning, organizing, reorganizing, working, reworking, stressing, restressing, panicking, repanicking, and so on, and so on - all with a very limited budget.

And then, when things finally reached their worst, I turned to a few of my neighbors to help me out because I couldn’t take on a venture of this magnitude completely on my own, and not have it totally blow up in my face.

I think I might even have generated a stomach ulcer or two…but the night’s festivities were festive, and the fun was fun. The kids loved it.

Then I stayed and cleaned up everything afterward.

Fast-forward ten or so years into the future, when I finally came to the realization that it’s good to sometimes tell people no. After all, there would be times that to someone else—a simple job or task—that for somebody else (like myself) who needed it to be perfect—it would take hours until it was done right. While that other person simply wanted it done, I would want to make sure it was done with grandeur and awesomeness.

In other words: all they wanted was Panda Express, I was wanting to give them P.F. Chang’s and Cheesecake Factory for dessert.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are times I still say yes.

Friends come and ask me to take photos.

I love photography, you know.

But there are times I tell people no to sessions as well.

I simply do not have the time or energy to devote to them with being a full-time teacher, blogger, person and everything else in my life that is spinning about me. I have to think about my sanity…sometimes. Besides, I’m really not looking for helium hands anymore; I let the air out of those things months ago. I really don’t need relapse…or another intervention.

The Post About the Next Post

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I’ve decided to change it up a bit this week—for next week. This week’s post reflects what next week’s post will be. Please let me know what you’d like me to write the next post about from the available list. The choices listed are either the titles, or a phrase which will be used in the said post.

Thanks,

Teachinfourth



Fake it Until You Make It.

It was like a scene out of Lord of the Flies.

And so I said No.

A Funeral for Myself.

The Polaroid.

I’m an Addict.

Cranyons.

The Attic.

The Exhilaration of Life


Photo garnished from www.ivanwalsh.com

Hansel, Gretel, and Katy Perry

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I stood in the midst of my classroom yesterday afternoon, feeling lost—somewhat akin to the mood I imagine lingering about Hansel and Gretel as they found themselves disoriented deep in the forest and surrounded by wild and ferocious animals.

I sank into one of my student’s chairs.

I’d worked at the juvenile detention center for a hefty chunk of the summer, and spent a good portion of it putting my classroom back together again—all the king’s horses and all of his men had nothing on me, I’ll tell you that. However, even after hours of work, there were all of those little things that never seemed to find their places. At home, I’d automatically shoved them into the junk drawer where they’d magically find their way into another day’s adventure at some clandestined future moment, when they were most desperately needed…like the room of requirement at Hogwarts.

Alas, my classroom was not Hogwarts.

…at least not yet.

There would be no sorting ceremonies, quite simply I was Hufflepuff…I took everyone, not the brave, not the crafty, or the most clever...I would take the lot: the hodgepodge mix of what makes a classroom what it is.

If I had a choice I think my classroom would be Slytheryn. It seems that the Slytheryns always seem to have the most fun.

I arose from my student’s chair and looked longingly at my empty Dr. Pepper cup from Walker’s Gas Station down the road from previous working visit.

Okay, Teachinfourth…work. You’ve got to get to work…

Into the playlist went a repeated sampling of Katy Perry songs and I tried my best to find my way out of the forested jungle of my classroom.

My desk is still a pile of the unknown, but the rest of the classroom looks pretty great.

Tomorrow is ‘officially’ my first day back to work for meetings and such, through truthfully, I’ve spent a good chunk of the summer there. However, I’m still hoping that the trail of breadcrumbs will lead me to where I need to be before Thursday’s Back to School Night. After all, all of those little wild animals will come, whether or not I’ve found my way through that dratted forest…

Who Are You?

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A weed cannot stop being a weed

It is simply what it is destined to become.

A thistle cannot become a rose.

A skunk cabbage cannot change to a rhubarb plant.

They are what they are.

I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit lately, and how we cannot alter the fact that we are human beings; we cannot change that we are people any more than any other creature can change its species or genome.

There is something that we can change, though. We can change our nature. We can alter the decisions we choose to make from day to day…we can decide how to treat others around us.

There is nobody that controls our destiny.

We are whom we decide to become.

Who are you today?


Image garnered from here.

Two Days Late and A Dollar Short

Pin It Teachinfourth, here it is a Thursday and you are finally posting? What’s up with this?

Yeah, I’m a slacker…tends to happen on occasion with all of us, doesn’t it? My dad used to call it being a day late and a dollar short.

In this case it’s two days late…and probably two dollars.

In the pregnancy world I’m told that this is not so much a big deal – you know – being two days late, but this is Mel’s day. I guess it’s a good thing I had dinner with her the other night, and we had a great time enjoying each other’s company, so I figure that she won’t mind…of course I didn’t ask her permission though.

I guess a good thing she and I are such great friends.

Good friendships.

I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit lately.

It seems that the older I’ve been getting, the more selective I’ve gotten in those I include in my circle of ‘good’ friends. That circle appears to get smaller and smaller all the time, too.

Of course, when I was in elementary school the circle was HUGE. My attitude back then was something more like, I’m having a birthday and I want the WHOLE WORLD to come (after all, more guests = more presents) but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that my circle of friends has diminished drastically. Not that I don’t have friends. But those that I choose to hang out with on a regular basis seems to have declined drastically over the passing of years.

I was thinking of this the other night when I went through my Facebook account and deleted all of my contacts, everyone, even my family members. I remember thinking that I didn’t have anywhere near 600 friends and that some of these people were simply those I’d pass on the street and wave to, and probably not have more than a two minute conversation with.

I couldn’t even pass the Facebook test with some of them.

It felt liberating. Nobody could say that I’d simply deleted him or her and was a jerk; after all, I’d deleted everyone.

Today I’m up to somewhere around 150, people started to notice that I was no longer their contact and I’ve started to get some re-requests. However, this is still a far cry from where I started.

I’m comfortable having fewer friends.

I’d like to have five gourmet chocolate chip cookies rather than an entire boxful of those that just aren’t quite so delicious.

So, I’m two days late.

And probably a dollar short.

Well, that’s what my dad would say.

But at least I have some good friends.

And it’s a Thursday.

Life in the South (of Utah)

Pin It I moved to the covered front porch and sat on one of the rocking chairs, letting the cool evening breeze cool my skin as I gazed out over the deep auburn glow on the rock cliffs of the eastern ridge, rising up like a tidal wave above pecan trees lining the opposite side of the road. Earlier today the neighborhood trees had been buffeted quite a bit by a gale and Michelle’s youngest mancub – a few years older now since the last time I’d written about him (well not counting the post from last week) – had run amongst them though neighbors’ backyards as they rained down pecans by the fistfuls upon him from the blustering winds.

But, as night falls, all is now calm and still on the street before me.

A few birds chirp as a light breeze stirs the leaves slightly. The laughter of a few neighborhood children drift up the street as the chime of crickets join the thong. The last few rays of sunlight wink out of sight and the blanket of night wraps itself around the neighborhood.

From under the covered porch I sit on a rocking chair, smelling the night breeze and relishing in its coolness as the night as the pale glow of accent lights twinkle green, red, yellow, and blue—changing colors like lights on a Christmas tree.

My phone is silent.

My wireless is haphazard at best.

I’m more or less cut off from the world at large.

It’s a good – as well as different – feeling.

I lean back in the rocking chair and close my eyes.

Life is wonderful...

The Mancub - Appropriate Decisions

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The other evening I ventured into the living room with my laptop from the home of my friends down here in Hurricane, Utah. On the flatscreen was a movie I’d never seen before playing vaguely from somewhere in the background as I rhythmically typed away at the keys of my blogpost for today. Everyone else had left the room with the exception of Michelle’s youngest mancub. I wasn’t paying too much attention to the movie, but working on my post when one of the characters said something.

It was the one particular word that caught my attention.

This isn’t a word one uses in civilized conversation. In fact, this isn’t a word one uses in any type of normal conversation.

The mancub looked at me.

He asked me what that word meant.

A blankness flashed across my mind.

This was not a topic to be broached by someone to their friend’s kid because the subject matter. Heck, this wasn't even covered in the 5th or 6th grade maturation sessions at my elementary school.

I made ready to deflect the boy, letting him know that he should ask his dad at a later time what this particular thing was, but the mancub seemed to catch the gist and said, “Oh, I get it…this is something inappropriate, isn’t it?”

I concurred with the statement and felt a rush of pride in this boy as he went on to say, “Then I don’t think this is a movie we should be watching,” right before I was about to suggest changing to something else.

We watched The Incredibles instead.

I’m still proud of him for making that decision - and for parents who teach their children about making appropriate decisions...even when they aren't always there to help them do it.

Eating Our Words

Pin It Have you ever said something before and then immediately regretted it?

I know that I have.

I think there have been times in each and every one of our lives that we’ve said something that we wish we could take back; however, once we’ve said those particular words, it has already become too late…they suddenly become history. The terrible thing about words is that they also seem have a way of coming back to haunt us…

You see we live in a world where much of the communication we have is shared verbally, as well as with the written word. Obviously you must be a person who shares things with written words because you’re reading this blog post. But how often have you been reading something and then had to reread, positive that you must have read it wrong? After all, there’s no way that somebody would have written that and put it out there for the entire world to see.

Yeah, you know the kinds of things I’m talking about.

Sometimes these choice little tidbits have been put on peoples’ blogs, or on their Facebook statuses, and these individuals were seemingly confident that the person they were writing about would never see them.

But like I said before, words have a way of coming back to haunt us.

My good friend, Karen, from A Peek into Karen’s World once said, “We've gotten so used to our LOLs and JKs, and hiding behind a computer screen that we often forget [that these] there are real people on the other side with real feelings.‬”

Now, I’m not saying that we should sugar coat everything we write, but we really should be more careful that the things we put online aren't things we wouldn't be willing to say to someone else face to face. Chances are, our words will come to find them somehow, and then have a way of coming back to us as well.

I think of Madonna, a woman known for her singing for the past few decades – but slightly less well known for the books she’s written for children. One book Madonna wrote a few years ago is set in 1949 and is titled, Mr. Peabody’s Apples.

Mr. Peabody is a baseball coach and teacher in Happyville, USA. One day, he finds himself coming to an empty baseball field and wondering why. One boy, Billy, the batboy, approaches him with a desolate look letting him know that another student spread a rumor that Mr. Peabody was a thief after he’d seen him taking apples from a local market.

Mr. Peabody was instantly judged by the people of the town—and most of them started to avoid him after that. Mr. Peabody decides that he needs to show this rumor-spreading student, Tommy, that what matters is the truth – not how things might simply appear. He teaches Tommy a lesson about how important it is to carefully choose our words and to not cause harm to other people around us.

The lesson is simple, and yet powerful…like feathers in the wind.

We use words to communicate each and every day. I know that I do. I try to make it so that I choose my words carefully.

Do I always? Unfortunately not.

Am I trying to do better? Absolutely.

In the words of Thumper’s mother from the movie, Bambi, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

What wise words indeed.

Are You there, God? It’s Me, Teachinfourth

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I’d always been taught that there was a God.

I’d been told that he was our Father. I’d been taught that he lived in heaven and was always looking down on us, giving us help and guidance along the journey we take along this road known as life.

Without question throughout my adolescence I believed this. I never doubted that God was there; I never mistrusted that He wasn’t. I knew that He was orchestrating the pathways of the stars and planets - The Creator, The Navigator of the universe itself, intertwining our lives together in a masterpiece we would someday look upon and understand the true beauty of...

That is, until recently.

Now, it wasn’t as if I woke up one day and simply decided that God did not exist; it wasn’t anything like that…it was that I just started to wonder when I looked up into that big space above me.

I think it may have started with the death of Arlene.

I remember it like yesterday, sitting alone with her in the silence as the minutes passed on. In one of her more lucid moments she looked over at me and began to cry. “I don’t want to die.” She whispered, the tears flowing down her cheeks.

I cried, too. Knowing that there was nothing I could do as the cancer slowly ate away at her body from the inside out.

I was powerless.

She was scared.

And so was I.

After an excruciating few weeks she was finally whisked away from this mortal frame, and I was left behind.

I think that it is in moments such as these that people seem to find themselves dithering one way or the other. They either seem to find solace in the belief in the afterlife, or they carry a bitterment and anger directed toward the heavens – possibly even to question the very existence of a higher being. Perhaps the need for a God.

I recall a scene from the movie Signs when Mel Gibson’s character, Graham, is consoling his brother, Merrill, when he is in a moment of distress. In his character’s words:

People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance...what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?



As the years compress themselves together like the body of an accordion, I find myself slipping from one group to another. I discover that in my life, though having traveled a myriad of pathways and scores of years, I find myself wanting more, wanting the knowledge it to be deeper than it was.

I look at the heavens; I think of a world where there is no God.

It is a terrifying thought.

I have no voices that speak to me. I have no angels that descend from the heavens bearing tidings. I see neither grand miracles nor seas being parted—making way for me to pass through as the armies mount behind me.

Yet, I look upon the world around me, I see the looming splendor of the majestic mountains. I breathe in the heavy scent of lilacs and stand beneath the towering Redwoods. I feel the warmth of the setting sun on my face as it turns to gold and melts into a skyline of liquid indigo and buttery maroon. I stand at the edge of the ocean and feel the salty air as it coats my nostrils and the waves pound upon the shoreline and reverberate in my chest. I gaze at the billions of stars as they burst forth from the shadowy skies like handfuls of glitter blown about by the winds of spring. I stand in the midst of a thunderstorm as the rain drenches my skin, feeling the torrential downpour saturate me as the ominous clouds twist and moil overhead and jagged streaks of lightning shatter the skies.

I’ve been taught that God is our Father. I’ve been taught that he lives in heaven and is always looking down on us, giving us help and guidance along the journey we take along the road known as life.

Without question throughout my adolescence I believed this; I never doubted that God was there. I never mistrusted that He wasn’t; I knew that He was orchestrating the pathways of the stars and planets - The Creator, The Navigator of the universe itself, intertwining our lives together in a masterpiece we would someday look upon and understand the true beauty of…

There's Something About Lilacs

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I was driving home from work a week or three ago.

Not a big surprise when you think back on my biking episode—which is the reason why I’ll probably stick to driving to school for the rest of my life. On the particular route I choose to take each day, I pass numerous yards with large green bushes decorated with enchanting purple blossoms around this time of year.

I just love these purple blooms with the aromatic scent that seems to saturate the cotton-fluff air, and is one of the most telltale signs of the shifting of spring to summer.

Now, I’m not a big flowery kind of person; I mean sure, flowers are nice, I enjoy seeing from time to time, but that’s about it. Yet, with these tiny, lavender blooms there is something more. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that the elementary school I attended when growing up had several large lilac bushes lining the front of the building. Maybe it’s because they’re the same color as the huckleberries we went out to pick high up in the summited mountains, or even quite possibly it’s because they remind me so much of Shasta grape soda, and the ‘Purple Cows’ my family used to make on occasion instead of root beer floats.

Nonetheless, I’ve always enjoyed the scent of these violetish flowers that usually seem find themselves spent by the end of May.

There’s just something about that fragrance…

Not long ago I was driving home late from work and found myself passing by numerous bushes of varying shades and hue. Realizing that I simply couldn’t stop in someone’s yard and pick these, I enjoyed them from a distance—and yet I longed for that lilac-y smell. That’s about the time I noticed a few wild bushes growing next to the freeway—two or three of differing types. I pulled my car off to the side of the road and picked a couple of the clumps.

They smelled like childhood.

I took them home and put them in water but was discouraged to discover that they only lasted two days before they wilted and were lifelessly gone.

Such is the fate of all wonderful things.

So now I think that maybe it's time to invest in a real-life lilac bush…or perhaps a good air freshener, after all, it will probably last longer.

Oh, and just in case you were interested...I’m posting over at my own blog today, too.

The first photo is courtesy of yours truly while the second was pilfered shamelessly from http://www.myrecipes.com

I Don't Have it in Me

Pin It Usually I go the other direction and link from my other blog to my post here at 4p; however, with the composing of the post last night, I realized that I simply don't have enough in me to write anything else this morning.

Really.

However, I'd like to cordially invite you to join me over at Adventures & Misadventures of Daily Living today.

I think you'll be glad you did.

Just know though that I'm totally biased...