Hey little sister

Remember when we...
saw life so perfectly organized and free from chaos from 10000 ft

got free Twix bars from a Hawaiian flight attendant

talked about Jesus with a billionaire CEO and you offered him your book

drove and fell in love with the most beautiful VW Jetta ever

were California girls

were questioned at every turn about vacationing in Charlotte

revelled in 88 degree weather
meet a State Trooper
drove 8 hours to spend an afternoon in One Tree Hill

stood in the Scott Home

touched Haley's scarred piano keys

explored the B. Davis' beach house

got a sneak peek into OTH future

simultaneously yelled SUNKIST and were officially considered lunatics by all around

saw the Comet

wandered through Red Bedroom Records

found the spot where Nathan hid a Valentine's gift

circled Lucas Scott's house too many times to count

airballed on the River Court

pretended to be the girl behind the red door

reminisced at Tric

cried tears of laughter over chicken nuggets

heard Katy Perry and the Gospel all in the same breath

saw Vegas lights in 3D

were Elevated

worshiped with strangers who were family
escaped

devoured Mexican Easter brunch

wished we had studied at UNC

spent an excessive amount of cash on tea

were convinced to buy 3 more pairs of jeans than we needed

discussed church with an airport security guard

recreated the airport scene from Home Alone
watched a thunder storm from above the clouds

felt whole, secure and happy again
fell in love with the Queen City

Don't know about you, but I'm ready to go back

North Carolina Loving...





 At the edge of the Cape Fear River in Wilmington, where Haley and Grace Potter sing in one of my favourite OTH scenes







Jamie & Quinn found a scavenger hunt clue in this very fountain... and once again I show how much of an obsessive fan I am



The brick walls of Tric were covered in OTH quotes and episode related lyrics.



Brooke Davis' house. The infamous red door.



Playing bball on the River Court. Without a ball. Or a net. Yup, ridiculous. 

 



Exploring the Charlotte campus of the University of North Carolina

The Student Union Centre @ UNC. This place puts Laurier Brantford past the point of shame.



Southern Comfort

I was blessed to spend the Easter weekend in Charlotte, North Carolina with my sister. The trip was nothing short of amazing. There's no way I could possibly write about all of it, but here are a few highlights for curious readers...


1. Charlotte is known as the Queen City, and it truly lives up to this name. It is gorgeously green and elegant. It amazing how much nature is packed into a city. Beautiful for a weekend drive, a hike by a nearby pond or river. And the housing... wow. Charlotte is a clearly city of affluence, but is not showy or gawdy by any means. No opulent palatial homes. Neither are there cookie cutter styles. Think more beautiful colonial meets modern designs surrounded by forests. 


2. The weather.  Sunshine and 30º vs. the snow we left here in Canada. Need I say more?


3. Elevation Church. The most thought provoking Easter Sunday I've had in a long while. This merits a blog entry of it's own. Stay tuned.


4. Charlotte is a scenic 4 hour drive from Wilmington. Really, every drive is scenic (see #1). Why is Wilmington such a big deal? Three words: One Tree Hill.  Take the best day of your life and multiply it by a zillion and you will not even come close to imagining how indescribable our day was in this little river-side town. Again, getting its own blog entry in the near future. 


5.  Shopping at Concord Mills Mall put a serious dent in my wallet, but oh so worth it. This place puts a whole new spin on retail therapy.


6. The people. North Carolinians have a warmth about them that rivals no other. We Canadians may have a reputation of being polite and considerate, but there is nothing like the southern hospitality offered by people of this state.


Above all , the best thing about this weekend was the feeling of being able to breathe. For the first time in a long while I was able to just enjoy where I was, free of worry or stress. North Carolina was healing in that way, it took the weight off my chest and allowed me to just be. I'm searching North Carolina real estate pages as I write this. Okay, maybe that's a bit extreme, but the feeling of being carefree was truly priceless.


On the show One Tree Hill,  protagonist Brooke Davis hangs a sign in her store Clothes Over Bros. The sign reads,


"Somebody told me that this is the place where everything's better and everything's safe".


For me, that's North Carolina.  

Caleb

I've been wrestling with the feeling of missing something all weekend. I don't know what's worse; knowing what you're longing for and aching for it, or being aware of the longing without knowing what exactly it is for.

The obvious and easiest answer would be my ex-boyfriend. But I think of him, and I can't describe what about him it is that I miss. It's made me realize that it's not him that I'm feeling empty without. It's a relief and a disappointment at the same time. When I used to complain to him that we didn't spend enough time together, it had never occured to me that the lack of seeing him throughout the week and a single weekend visit, twice if I was lucky, would one day be a blessing in disguise. It's made it easier to not expect his presence.

Okay, so it's not the ex. So what? The family's away this week. Mom, Dad and baby brother are vacationing in Cuba (and missing out on the freak Sunday afternoon snowfall I might add). Not having Diego around makes life quieter and less exciting, but Karla's here and we're getting some sisterly bonding time, something that doesn't happen very often. She's away at school for most of the year and tends to spend her summers out in the world, doing good. This year will see her spending her second summer in Guatemala, teaching in rural village.

So not the ex-boyfriend. Not the familia. I'm at a loss.

Until, as I am in the kitchen making lunch, the thought of Caleb pops into my head, and tears well up in my eyes. Yup, that's it.

Caleb is the "adopted" child of my ex's family. He has been diagnosed with both Downs Syndrome and Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. He will be turning 16 this year and has no prospects of ever living an independent life. During the week, he lives with his adoptive mom and dad. On most Fridays, he leaves his home and spends the weekend with my ex's family. This gives his parents a "break". Apparently, taking care of their son is so taxing, they can't handle more than 5 consecutive days with him. I am convinced the only reason they even keep him that long is because he's in school. He's spent the last two Christmases, as well as every other major holiday, with the my ex's family instead of in his own home. The love the this family has for Caleb is unarguable, they treat him as one of their own.

Knowing all of the adversity that Caleb endures, I am amazed to know the unconditional love this child shows. Walking in the door, he greets me with a stuttered "Hello Al". The moment my boyfriend got off of the couch, Caleb snuggles into his spot next to me. He would plant wet kisses on my nose, and use his sign lanuage as he stutters "I... love... Al". He would ask if I was happy. This treatment was repeated for everyone in the house, especially towards those who didn't welcome it. Caleb has a tendency to gravitate to those who avoid him as much as possible. At times he is yelled at for misbehaving, put in the corner because he had pushed buttons on the TV remote. A brief look of saddness would cross his face as he apologizes. The minute punishment was over, he smiles and cuddles up to the one he has wronged. His love is unconditional.

Aside from a weekly visit to my boyfriend's house, I never saw him much. Yet every time, the warmness towards me only grew. When the family would argue about whose house Caleb would stay at that night, I always used to say I would take him. They would tell me I was crazy for wanting him around. I think I would be crazy not to. I don't think anyone has ever loved me the way Caleb has.

2 steps forward, 10 steps back

When I woke up this morning, I didn't dread throwing off the covers. Usual thoughts of the past weren't the first ones on my mind. It was light outside, and it was beautiful.

The day at work was productive. I laughed. Joked with co-workers. I smiled and meant it.

Not half an hour ago, my cell phone buzzed. One text message undid the day.

How is it possible for one person to completely unravel the other, without even trying?

Sunday morning reassurance

He is jealous for me,

Loves like a hurricane,

I am a tree bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy

When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions
Eclipsed by glory

And I realize just how beautiful You are
And how great Your affections are for me

And oh, how He loves us,

Oh, how He loves us,

how He loves us

We are His portion and He is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes
If His grace is an ocean, we're all sinking

And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don't have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way

Oh, how He loves us, oh
Oh, how He loves us, how He loves all
How He loves

Dancing Shoes

Last night, few friends and I met up at a local club. The night started off slow. I kept staring out the window towards the line-up forming outside. I was simultaneously hoping and dreading the idea that my ex would appear on the other side of the glass. To top it all off, my well-intentioned friend invited along a guy for me to meet. He conveniently shared the same first name as my ex. Wonderful.

It was the usual club scene. Underagers trying to look like they legally fit in while those above 25 years of age are left feeling downright old. Loud techo and house music accented by an overpowering light display that could surely put any individual into epileptic shock. But all of it in good fun. For most anyway.

By now it was about 12:30 am and  for me the night hit a point where it could have gone one of two ways. I could've called it quits, cabbed it home and pouted in my misery like the masochist I sometimes am. Or say the hell with it and hit the dance floor. Thankfully, I chose option two. My friend and I decided to make it our mission to find some boys who would be willing to dance with us. Not necessarily a huge issue at a club, if you aren't picky. Any guy will be more than happy to grab at various parts of you if you let them, sometimes even if you don't. This, to them, passes off as dancing. Not to us.

We found a group of guys we thought looked quiet, somewhat respectable. Danced our way over and before long one of them had me by the hand and was quickly proving himself to be a decent partner. His interest was not elsewhere, he was focused on spinning me around the floor in tune to the blaring bass. Oh yes, I said spinning. I had found myself a makeshift salsa dancer, which was way more than I could have asked for. He was flirtatous, but respectful. Felt the music without feeling the need to be all over me. He didn't care how silly we may have looked to his buddies, or to any others around us for that matter. We danced non-stop until the club shut down for the night.

I've had a dance here and there with a boyfriend in the past. In fact, dance played a big role in the beginnings of our relationship. We paired up to teach salsa to our classmates as a project in teacher's college, and the rest was history. But in recent years that joy was quelled by a variety of factors, mostly who else was around at the time and what they might think. I am trying hard right now to recall, but I can't remember at all the last time he made the rest of the world disappear, put his hands on my waist and swept me off my feet.

I danced with someone last night for the first time in a really long while. And even though it was only for a few hours,  it took me back to where I long to be.

Restoring far more than justice

The lastest craze in problem solving at school is called a restorative justice circle. Students sit in a circle and air out their feelings. There's no cross talk, and only the person with the talking stick (in our case, a ruler) may speak. There are no put downs, no negative comments, just open communication - in theory :)

The girls in my class have been asking for to have an RJ circle for the past few days. Apparently the boys have been driving them crazy. So today we sacrificed our math period (much to everyone's relief), pushed all furniture to the edge of the room and formed our makeshift circle in the middle.

When they first sat down, all girls sat on one side of the circle, boys on the other. At the risk of starting World War III, I requested a seating change; a boy-girl pattern. I've never had so many simultaneous dirty looks, but they complied.

The girls spoke of feeling inferior. They didn't think they mattered. The boys were making them feel worthless. They tell them to stop acting like "such girls" when they are upset or angry. Call them sluts, lesbians, hoes. They eavesdrop on conversations, instigate fights among groups of girls and stand back to watch the drama unfold.

The boys felt attacked. Surely, not all of them are that way. Yes, they've said things in passing. Called names just to tease. Laughed as the girls were mean to one another, calling them drama queens, spazzes, saying they need to be on pills to help with their anger. But never did they mean to hurt.

What was most poigniant was when the boys began apologizing. They told everyone how much they really cared about them. They didn't hesitate to say that this class was, in a way, their family. And that they should be treating their family better. One spoke up and told us that as a Christian, he believed we were all brothers and sisters. Everyone, regardless of belief, agreed. They all shared how they loved everyone and ought to regard everyone as equals. They stood up as young men today. They opened their hearts, spoke their minds, with honesty being of the outmost importance.

In no way did I guide this discussion. I did not force conversation or ask questions. In fact, I sat in silence for the duration and just listened. Not one person said anything that they thought I, as a teacher, wanted to hear, or what anyone else wanted to hear for that matter. Each spoke from the heart. When a girl cried, a boy stood up to get her kleenex. I'm sorries were exchanged. There were hugs, smiles.

I closed telling them that they were all strong people with beautiful hearts. That they needed to carry the discussion beyond our class doors, to the playground, to their homes, into every relationship. That one day, they would need to have open, heart-felt discussions with their parents, boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, children. I told them to remember the day in the sixth grade when they allowed themselves to be vulnerable, to be honest, treating one another with love and respect.

I'm so proud of my 27. They give me hope.

Long weekends

Never in my wildest dreams would I think that I would loathe weekends. That I would count the hours until Monday arrived, bringing a week of demands that I am starting to look forward to.

I’m an elementary school teacher, and so I do not work the regular 9-5 day as much of the world.  My work day does not end when the final bell goes. Nor does it end when I go home. There is always more to do.  Don’t take this the wrong way and think I’m just another complaining educator, claiming to be overworked and underpaid. I love my job.  Since I was an innocent second grader I dreamed of having my own class, and today I am there.

I have a class of 27 sixth graders. Twenty-seven eleven year olds who warm my heart with hope for future generations and make me want to bang my head against the wall all at the same time.  There are days when I speak to them as equals, days they are wise beyond their short lifetimes, and days when I still see them for who they truly are – children.  And despite their complicated nature, their struggle to maintain innocence in a world that shoves them into adulthood at an ever quickening pace, they have somehow managed to be an anchoring force in my life.

I know that when the  bell rings at 8:40 tomorrow morning, I will be greeted with “Good morning” which will be quickly followed up with “Do we have gym today”???.  I’ll tell them to take off their sweaters to appease our uniform policies, and wait for them to line up quietly. I refuse to take them down the hall for their favourite class until they are silent. I’ll collect the late slips and tell the girls to hurry out of the change rooms, they’ll have time to finish gossiping at recess. They’ll ask for extra silent reading time, which always encourages me to think I may have had a hand in cultivating readers, an activity which was my own first love.  We’ll end the day with math, a time of day that no one is luke warm about. Math is either loved or disdained by these kids.

I long for Monday because these twenty-seven are there. There are some that make me question my decision to become a teacher. There are others that reaffirm my choice. But all of them are loyal. I can say with confidence that if asked, not one would choose to be in another class over mine. They groan at the prospect of a supply teacher, and tell me they missed me when I return from a day at a workshop.  They trust me enough to ask me to sit with them to help mediate problems between friends they can not solve on their own. They smile when I say I am proud of them because they know it’s true.  Those twenty seven lives make me feel needed and worthwhile. Perhaps that makes me selfish and arrogant .  But it’s what I find encouragement in these days.

So Sunday night better get here soon. I don’t know how much more of the weekend I can take.

What comes next

Hello world. I’m looking forward to meeting you on my own terms. Discovering what I love about you, what I hate, what surprises or frightens me, what comforts and soothes.

I’m  in my mid-twenties. I’ve spent the majority of my young life in a series of long term relationships, the most recent of which ended two weeks ago yesterday. And the irony of it all is that I feel like I’m done. So much time and energy dedicated to my other halves, that I turned into a girl that doesn’t feel whole on her own. I don’t know how to be  me without the attachment of my love’s name to mine. It’s always been me and him. The him changed once or twice, but the need for attachment didn’t.

So this is where I find myself. Excited to see the world with eyes unbiased by another's opinion of it all. But terrified all the while. Learning not to be afraid of tomorrow, or even the next hour. Rather, seeking to embrace the beauty of the world. Hopefully it hugs me back.