Last week I was in Utah and got to visit with my oldest brother, Robbie, (43 this year) whom I hadn't seen in years and years. It was wonderful to catch up with him--new job, new home, new stuff his kids are doing. The conversation somehow began to center on blogs and blogging. When I told him that I had not only one, but two blog sites, he was so surprised that he blurted out "What do you have to blog about?" I couldn't believe how defensive I felt when he asked me--mainly because I didn't really have an answer to give him.
Since then, that question has had me thinking over and over about what I have written. My only scholarly publication was 20 years ago—about the need to have students practice writing skills: an example of a classroom lesson that I had used to allow the students to apply the principles of subjective assertions supported by objective statements. Another article was about my change in priorities from wife and student to mother. Even the book that I’m writing with Megan is just a simple story about family. I have written thousands and thousands of pages of personal essays—journal-type observations organized around distinct ideas or themes. They aren't based on scholarly research, but are peppered heavily with ideas and observations from other authors whose books I read. Usually I don’t even start an essay with an original thought of my own: I write out the reaction that I have had in response to something I’ve heard or something that I’ve read or something that Brent and I have talked about. I am not a Chaucer or DaVinci or Copernicus or Aristotle or Goethe or Einstein. I sing the songs that others write. I read the words that others have written. I write about things that I have heard or experienced in other places. I remember that Mom used to complain to me that I could do lots of things well, but I had mastered none of them.
I look at Brent’s resume and there is nothing I’ve done that can compete with that. I quit before I finished my PhD. I missed 6 weeks of my mission recuperating from operations. I have not even worked enough hours in my 50 years to qualify for social security when I turn 65. I suppose that I demonstrate a fair amount of chutzpa in leaking my thoughts onto paper or into my computer and offering them for others to read. I am self-centered enough to believe that what I think and how I present it is significant and interesting enough that others will find it worth reading.
I have not accomplished much in my 50 years that would be worth putting on a resume. I have created teaching methodologies specific to the ways that Megan and Nathan learn so that they have been able to comprehend math, composition, and science. I have learned through my own experience how to propagate (the few plants that flourish in my yard) from cuttings. I was once called a Master Teacher. I was voted Teacher of the Year at a junior college where I taught. When I was 19, a fellow ballet student told me that she loved to watch me dance. My children tell me that I have done the right things at the right times to allow them to grow up and do the things that they want to do and become the people that they wanted to be. I can play the piano and speak Spanish and sing and swim and ride horses and sew and cross-stitch and take pictures and raise rabbits and cook what needs to be cooked. Mom was right. I do lots of things—but I have not mastered any of them.
So what do I have to write about?
I guess I just write about the fact that I am still learning and doing and discovering things. I’m not an accomplished writer, but sharing what I think, try, hope, read, and believe is satisfying somehow. I suppose that I put stuff on my blogs for the purely selfish reason that I like doing it.

Frustration, teaching, donuts, friends

I can hear the voices of some 2 dozen people behind me. I can smell coffee and burnt toast. I am sitting on a fairly uncomfortable chair. I am in the Palm Beach Community College's cafeteria/student center. There is the ubiquitous cafeteria and a new Dunkin' Donut counter. (Guess where most people buy food?) Nathan treated me to breakfast this morning. I had two cake donuts and a medium hot chocolate (combo 1) and a milk. Nathan bought a coffee roll (a large glazed donut with cinnamon throughout) which he at most of. He also purchased a medium hot chocolate and breakfast egg-and-cheese-and-sausage-on-a-slightly-squashed-croussant. Neither of which he ate. A good lesson to remember next time he has to spend his own money on food. Since living in Argentina, I have ceased to look at how much food cost. There, if you could find something you wanted, you bought all that they had. There was no way to know how many months (or years) would pass before they were able to import more of the same. Foods like cheddar cheese, saltine crackers, cranberry juice, good granola bars (and sometimes even root beer)--I horded all that I could find. I still find myself buying four instead of one--gallons when I need cups--a case when I need a can. I suppose it is like the body's response when it finds itself in starvation mode--save all that you can, expend as little as possible. We are learning about diets and body training right now in Health. Nate needs it for his GE requirements and I'm in there to take notes. The professor is a former college gymnast, coach and personal trainer who is probably my age (about 50) who possesses a singularly dry sense of humor. He names our class his favorite--and the kids are starting to open up in response to his 1/2 teasing 1/2 serious presentations. He is overly careful not to preach about whether people should eat empty calories, take steroids, or get inoculated for the HPV. Especially he wishes that they would stop smoking--but he couches his warnings of the its effects in phrases like "I'm not telling you to stop smoking, BUT those who do reduce their risk of heart attack by 25% (or whatever the number is)." I have come to appreciate his precarious position--official spokesman for PBCC and bound by its policy of "non-interferience" in the lives of his students. But, as a teacher, isn't he suppose to be an influence on them? It seems that this idea is the essence of what it means to teach. All of my life, I have dreamed of changing those around me--even those who never knew me--for the better by the things I do. My children constantly affirm that I have been a good mother and am a good friend--which pleases me in ways I cannot express. I would hope that those who pass through the classes that I teach and who read the things that I write would also come away with more insite into themselves, more curiousity about the world around them, more compassion for those around them. I would always want to be a good teacher.