happy birthday, abbey!

She was born two months after her older brother died, and she entered this world with more hope and joy than the average baby birth.

She was not a replacement for Wesley, not for one second, but she was instantly a bundle of joy and life and vivaciousness, breathing fresh life into a family still stinging from untimely death.

I was eight the year she came into this world, and I had been holding my breath for a girl the entire nine months she grew in my aunt's stomach. With one brother and three smelly boy cousins, I was desperate for a girl.

And there she was, a bundle of pink. Her parents were so good to my brother and me, allowing us to hold her from the get-go, when a sane parent would have probably feared we'd drop the baby.

We don't see each other often enough, but this girl, this cousin, has been the closest thing to a sister I've ever had. I remember her first haircut, putting her down for naps as a toddler, playing pirate ships with her in the bathtub at our grandparents house. She is seventeen, and lovely, and grown up too fast, and stubborn as all get out.

I caught a glimpse of the pride my grandfather has always had for all of us while I was watching her cheer this year. Our grandfather and grandmother have been at numerous events and watched our lives with complete devotion, never wasting a second to say how proud they are and impressed with us and all the things wonderful grandparents say. But I've always doubted a bit, thought they were crazy, over the top.

Watching Abbey at her pep rally this summer (while I was unemployed and had time to do such things) my face hurt from smiling. That was my cousin! She was once a toddler embarrassed and hiding back stage at dance recitals, now seventeen with tan long legs, glamorous eyelashes, and a bubbly smile. That was my cousin, with the high kicks and the crazy jumping skills.

It's funny, as a little girl loving my little girl cousin, I never thought about what it'd be like for us to be adults, and friends. But this summer, sitting at the movies, I realized that's what we were. As I tried on a dress at Urban Outfitters and asked her opinion, I realized how old she is - and how old I am. 25? 17? When did this happen?

I can't wait to see what holds for either of us in the next seventeen years. I pray for this sweet only-girl cousin of mine, to be blessed, full of joy and adventure and love and grace and challenges and ... to have LIFE, for the next seventeen years and beyond.

Maroon & Orange

I still get excited when I see "the tower" as I drive through or past Austin, Texas. My ears still perk up when I hear the words "Mack Brown" "Major Applewhite" or "Texas Fight." It was instilled in me, handed down to me, expected of me - love and devotion for all things at the University of Texas at Austin.

But, I'm an Aggie now. A proud one. The maroon sheep of the family. Sure, I don't wear an Aggie ring and it's still hard for me to put on maroon, but, I'm no 2%. I stood in line for football- and basketball!- tickets for hours. I was involved with five student organizations on a regular basis, and I graduated from the original college - College Of Agriculture. I learned the history and the traditions. (Three out-of-state friends this past weekend were convinced I was a tour guide as a student. Example: off the top of my head I can tell you that in 1907, five freshman were told to lead yells on the field during halftime and entertain the student body while they were dressed in janitor uniforms that were found in a closet of the stadium. Did you know how the yell leaders began? Or that revielle was a mutt that a member of the corps adopted after hitting her with his car one foggy night?)

Bottomline, Texas has a lot of great universities. TCU, UofH, Southwestern...I guess you could add a few others to the list. But the two largest and oldest have ties that date back more than 117 years, that connect almost every family and literally every town that dots a map of our great state. Yet somehow, we're letting money, and pride, and a few "good old boy" athletic directors change all of that. Both sides are in the wrong, and both sides think they're right.

I won't ramble about the negative stuff of which I haven't paid close attention. But, I will leave you with a great article my burnt-orange bleeding father sent me, and 2 minute clip of the band in 1999 - after 12 aggies died at the bonfire collapse. It tells everything you need to know about this college rivalry and why it's more than just a game. Article is here, video is here.

thank you

On Sept. 27, sitting in a beautiful public park in Salt Lake City, I wrote this as I waited for my former roommate and wonderful friend Katherine to finish her rounds as a bonafide doctor at a clinic down the street.

The grass on which I'm sitting has recently been cut, but is still thick enough that if I spread my fingers and push down, I lose sight of my fingernails. Don't you just love lush grass like that? I do, and in this time of extreme drought in Texas, I love it now more than ever.

There's giant trees spread out around me, but I can still see mountains to my left and a lake in front of me. People ride their bikes on the path behind me, ducks quack loudly from the water. The sky is a vibrant blue and wind rustles my hair against my neck every few moments.

In a word, this moment is beautiful. And yet, with all my being, I know the one who created this beauty values people above it. And I know that I should follow suit.

Just as the mighty one created beauty to show love in nature, he created us to love each other well. "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the works of his hands." Psalm 19:1 How comforting to know that I - and you - are more precious and valuable than these mountains, this clear day?

It makes me want to squish my funny-looking toes in the grass, raise my hands to the Heavens, twirl around and whisper "thank you."

Thank you, thank you.

"a love story with a twist of autism"

Autism.

It's funny that there is no cure, not even an exact definition. It's what the experts call a "spectrum" disease - meaning you can have it to varying degrees and extremes.

I never dreamt of being a "special ed" teacher, never personally knew someone with autism, did not request these two students. But I learned after ten months of teaching them, what "disabilities" really are: gifts. True, they are burdens, too - that is certain. It's a burden to the child, the family, their friends, their teachers, strangers they encounter.

But there is also a magical quality to working with these kids, and a reward different from teaching and loving the "mainstream" kids. Numerous days I was defeated, at school nearly eleven hours, heading home to return calls to their parents or email notes of the day's events and figure out how to be ready to do it all again the next day, and do it better.

Four months later I wake at night dreaming of my kiddos - sometimes its a vivid nightmare that leaves my face flushed and my stomach in knots. Other times waking with a smile on my face and sweet memories of meaningful moments.

I cannot let them go, and yet in so many ways, I already have.

I read this book this summer, and I don't even have the right words to describe how it made me feel proud of the work I did last year, the relationships I developed, the progress we made as a team. It also made me feel like I did not do enough, I did not appreciate them enough.

If you work with kids, or you look reading about family dynamics, or autism, I recommend it. And actually, I found it at Target on the bestseller shelf. So it's been a hit before I recommended it ot you.

oh world of wonders

"oh world of ... wonders.

i dip my feet, i twirl my dress,

i stand on my head, i put my feet in the grass.

because i can."

it's funny, the moments in which i've felt most alive, have caught me off guard sometimes. when do you, dear reader, feel most alive? most fired up to be on this planet and thankful for the next breath you're about to take, the breath that will continue your heart pumping and your feet dancing as the earth spins slowly around a giant ball of gas?

sometimes, cheesy at it may sound, i feel it - that spark of life, that energy that comes from the thrill of enjoying the moment - while reading a really good book, words that jump from a page, grab you by the heart, and cause to think about your own world or just appreach a fictional one.

sometimes, silly as it may seem, i feel it in moments like this: my feet dangle off a sidewalk made of stones, suspended above a green river in the texas hill country. i sit next to someone i'd never imagine i would so much enjoy spending so much time with -and certainly would i never dare imagine they'd feel the same when spending time with me. it is a simple moment, full of sunshine and laughter and german beer, but it is a glorious moment nonetheless.

sometimes, surprising as it may seem, i feel the thrill of life at an elementary school. yes, the one where i used to work and so often prayed for strength to make it through the ten hour school day, yes, that one. at lunch last week, a former student of mine came up from behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and peeked up at my face under my arm. she had tears in her eyes as she told me how much she had missed at me and how glad she was to 'finally see you again for once in my life!' there is nothing like the joy of children to recharge your heart to beat.

i know my life is simple, i work in a cubicle! but it's also grand, full of great friends and wonderful blessings. i'm healthy and happy and could not ask for more. after walking a road rather lonely at times, and watching good friends struggle with things like diabetes and cancer, i know friends and health are things for which to alwaysbe grateful. i know that this life, and a "world of wonders" is something to cherish.

i hope you know what makes you feel most alive, and i hope you run after it. lots of love, crob

quotes

my blogging juices havent been flowing as much lately, but here's some stolen inspiration. (i borrowed these from pinterest. i literally limit my time to ten minutes whenever i log in, which at this point has been less than once a week. yikes.)

i'd like to frame all of these and put them somewhere in my house. in the meantime, i'll just put them on the internet for others to enjoy, too.

need to breathe - turn up the volume

Needtobreathe is one of my favorite bands of all time, and I'm not exaggerating. I've known them for only a few months, thanks to Katherine McClellan blaring them as we drove through the mountains of Utah. You should meet them, too.

Listen to their stuff. Tell me it doesn't get stuck in your head.

Click below, turn up the volume, dance around. I've included some pretty awesome lyrics from "slumber."

Slumber
Something Beautiful
Drive All Night

Tongues are violent, personal and focused
Tough to beat with your steady mind
But hearts are stronger after brokenS
o wake on up from your slumber
Baby, open up your eyes
All these victims stand in line for
The crumbs that fall from the table
Just enough to get by
All the while your invitation
Wake on up from your slumber
Baby open up your eyes
Wake on up from your slumber
Baby open up your eyes
Take from vandals all you want now
Please don't trade it in for life
Replace your feeble with the fable

C'mon sing like we used to
And dance like you want to
C'mon darlin' open your eyes
C'mon sing like we used to
C'mon dance like we want to
C'mon darlin' open up your eyes.

bring it on, Monday

Started a job last Monday. Kind of a big deal, and yet, kind of not. Sometimes it's sad to realize that being an adult is a bit more bills & health insurance & calendars than I planned. I miss the days of being a child. Things had different meanings back then. A thunderstorm meant bike rides through the puddles instead of traffic and a longer commute home. Christmas approaching meant snuggling under quilts and classic stories at bedtime, now it sometimes just means larger credit card bills and stressful calendar juggling.

In many ways, I think the root of the problem is a mindset issue. While we can't turn back the clock or get rid of responsibilities, we can change our mindset to be more childlike: full of faith, celebrating in the small things, silly for no reason, glad to be in the moment. Maybe Mondays wouldn't seem so stinkin' dreadful if I thought like that!

So here you go,pretty pics, quotes, & a beautiful song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=xXtVBJDPs6k

a story that needs to be told

it must be said that these days, other than a handful of loyal friends and my faithful grandparents, i have no idea who reads this thing. i did check my "stats" recently and someone has clicked more than a dozen times from FRANCE in the last month. Bonjour!

so, most of you may be bored with this story or the entire blog, so go read some news or visit http://blog.mrslilien.com/ or http://blackeiffel.blogspot.com/ or something.

Now, after that warning, no apologies for this story I'm merely getting down on paper for my own memory's sake.

Flashback to the first weekend of August. DC with Caitlin & Bonnie & LJ for a bit. Then, Philadelphia with Paige & Caitlin. What a wonderful, marvelous 40 hours. So, these two brunettes are hilarious and funny and caring and generally just, can't say enough good things. Normally I'd consider myself the embarrassing or weird or foolish one, or all of those things, but not for one morning in Philly. No, no, these two became all three traits: embarrassing. foolish. weird.

Where: We went to visit Christ Church on this warm summer morning, having walked across town from our hotel, crossing cobblestone streets and passing the Liberty Bell and other historical sites. We entered the ancient church, dripping with history and architecturally impressive, and sat in the same pews as our Founding Families. We listened to a tour guide weave the end of his tale, glanced at the gardens, and wandered around as the tour broke up. I wanted to look at William Penn's specific pew and these two wandered out to the gift shop.

The tour guide stood in the middle aisle of the glorious sanctuary. "You don't happen to have any questions for me, do you young lady?" He was a bit nerdy and wearing a name tag and tall socks. I figured I was foolish if I didn't ask a question. I don't remember what the first thing I asked was, but I know we talked for over ten minutes. He was THE OFFICIAL HISTORIAN of the CHRIST CHURCH. One of the oldest, most historical, religiously and otherwise, churches in the history of our NATION. All caps to emphasize my excitement to be talking to him, one on one, soaking up facts and culture and just, enjoying. I looked around, Paige & Caitlin no where in sight. They'll come back to find me, I thought, as he continued telling me about black slaves who were baptized during the slave services at the church long before integration was ever even a passing thought. Finally, I figured Paige and Caitlin must have abandoned me or I was being rude as they wanted to visit the next site on our list.

I thanked Homeboy Historian for his time, smiled a big smile, and walked out, feeling so privileged to have casually bumped into such a fountain of information, who was willing to talk to a ditsy, blonde girl as myself.

I purchased a few postcards for some students in the gift shop on my way out of the church and hurried to find my two wonderful friends. Not ten steps from the exit, among all the beautiful red brick and cobblestones and green, luscious trees, I saw them. Standing up against the church in semi provocative poses, laughing loudly, taking pictures of each other glamour-shot style, barely caring who noticed.

I was speechless.

Excuse me. What are you two doing? Is this what you have been doing the WHOLE time??

They were just a tad ashamed, but only a tad. "Yes," Caitlin confessed. "We even used a self timer because you weren't here. WHERE WERE YOU, by the way?"

"Oh, where was I? Where was I while you two were making eyes for the camera, fluffing your hair, and leaning against what I must admit is a great backdrop of old red brick? Where was I?"

"Um, yes, I think that's what I just asked you."

"Oh, just talking to the HEAD HISTORIAN of the church and listening to him tell stories!!!! You wanna hear 'em?!?!"

Paige avoided eye contact and fluffed her brown locks. Caitlin looked at Paige and then back to me. "Nope. But you wanna take our picture now that you're out here?" She smiled her most deviant smile and thrust me her camera.

If they weren't so goshed darn fun and usually normal and appreciative of history and America, I would have killed them. Instead, I made sure to get the best angle possible.

the human race

i continue to be in awe of the human race. while recently watching "the switch" and admiring jason bateman's comedic genius, I found this quote:

"Look at us, running around. Always rushed, always late. I guess that's why they call it the human race. What we crave most in this world is connection."

I recently had a conversation with a group of women, some strangers and some not, and several confessed to being in a pretty lonely place in life. For once, I am not. (And I don't necessarily mean romantically, two of these women were married and still struggling with lonely stuff.)

It struck me how funny that we go through emotions and periods of life at different times from those around us, that we become equipped to relate to others, to help them cope, to breathe empathy? It's as if it's, oh, I don't know, some kind of... plan. How funny!

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord. "Plans for your welfare, not destruction, to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11

I'll tell you, I do not claim to understand the plan or the reasons, but I do know that the older I get, the more receptive to this plan I become. The more trusting. The less doubtful, guarded, cynical.

Recently a high school friend of mine (literally, a friend of mine who is currently in high school) showed up at my house (oops, my parents' house in which i currently reside) and was a mess. Crying, upset, hurting. I may sound insane, but I felt full of warm fuzzy feelings. I had walked this road before and come out alive. There I was, an instrument of grace, sharing wisdom not from myself but from scriptures and books and lessons learned before this sweet girl. I was so thankful, grateful, to have been able to be there for her, even if just for sixty minutes. Isn't that what life is about? Relating to others in their troubles. Loving others. Trusting. Sometimes hurting, other times tilted towards the sun, smile on the face, wind in the hair. Sometimes sunshine, sometimes dark and rainy. Regardless, always hopeful.

For whatever reason, though family members around me are hurting and friends are going through growing pains and life isn't blissful, I am overwhelmed by hope today.

Psalm 31:24 "Be strong, and let your heart take courage, All you who hope in the LORD."

a little inspiration for thursday

there's not really a reason for this post, other than to share a few pictures from a public art project in philadelphia, and other random things. you should listen to this, too. see youtube link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCj9dRu0ksM

this has been saved to my desktop for, literally, years, but i just love the shot. i stole it from a blog, can't remember the name though. have a marvelous day!

hearts on fire

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d21OZAkedoQ

This is the acoustic version of a song I recently heard on Houston's 103.7 (you should listen to it daily if you don't already) and i loved it for several reasons: a) band is British b) lyrics are strange c) that's pretty much it.

In the spirit of sharing music with the blogging world, here's a few other things i can't stop listening to.

Kyle Park. All of his music is streaming at his website, kylepark.com

A Fine Frenzy. All of their music is on their website too, i loved to blast it when the children weren't in the classroom and i needed motivation to get work done.
http://www.afinefrenzy.com/ electric twist, blow away.

Etta James recently popped up on my pandora to sing "At Last." Here's beyonce's version.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vx_AhWeFcOU&feature=related

And, quite possibly best for last. Foster the People. Houdini. On repeat, I recommend.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04TXoFI6CSM

Happy Listening!

"my friends are my estate." -emily dickinson

august 2009

Sororities are laughable, I understand that, what with their parties and binge drinkers and stereotypes and pearls and houses full of gossip. But at their core, they do stand for great things: philanthropic service, friendship, academic dedication, leadership.

The sorority I joined in the fall of 2004 is not different from the others, really; it is dedicated to the same things. Though parts of my time as an “active” seemed silly, and I absolutely detested some of the songs we were forced to sing, I found some of the richest friendships I’ve ever known, and they continue to bless my life today.

[As a side note, experiences with my sorority and positions on my resume helped me land an internship at the White House my senior year, as well as provided me with a steady closet full of colored t-shirts and the constant need to be on the lookout for a fun date.]

The sorority to which I pledged at TCU, and later affiliated with at Texas A&M, often labels themselves as “classy.” (I will acknowledge that many of our members and our events do not always give off the best image of “classy,” but for today’s purpose we will overlook that as something out of my control.)

Webster says classic is “serving as a standard of excellence, of recognized value.” My first night as a new member of my sorority in Fort Worth, I met a girl who could not be more “classic.” Her clothes, her personality, her outlook on life, the way she carries herself: classic.
If they sold friends at a cute little boutique, I know this girl would fly off the racks. She is thoughtful, loyal, kind, patient, an excellent listener, and wise beyond her years. She has been this way since I met her seven years ago. Seven years ago, could it really have been that long? You see, she is one of those rare finds that after months of life in different cities, you can pick up right where you left and not even notice.

She is a loving aunt to numerous nieces and nephews. She is the youngest of six daughters, and to be honest, I have lost count exactly how many nieces and nephews she has. When we first became friends, I was proud of myself just for knowing all five of her sisters’ names in chronological order.

TCU ended up not being the best place for me, for whatever reason I was meant to break my father’s heart and become a loud, obnoxious, proud Aggie. But my days at TCU were brightened by this friend, and all of my best memories from there involve her. Whether it was escorting a fellow sorority member up the stairs of our dorm as she projected blue margaritas everywhere, or racing each other down the stairs and me always winding up injured, or leaving each other notes in our dorm rooms, or football games or chasing my brother my down or just dinner and an episode of friends, she was my constant. She was my favorite. And, anyone who could put up with me for as long as she has deserves some sort of medal.

This sorority sister of mine is a kind of girl you’d like your daughter to find to be friends with: she is not judgmental, she is not flashy, she decorates her home and closet with impeccable taste, she never fails to ask about others before she talks about herself.

I’ve probably rambled on long enough, but one thing I’ve learned in these “adult” years post-college is that we cannot be too appreciative of the blessings in our life. They are not deserved, as is this friendship not deserved. This friend wrote me several notes or emails over the past two years of teaching, saying how proud she was of me and other kind thoughts. She’s put up with my crazy schedule and continues to see me on a regular basis.

She easily could have written me off her list six years ago after I transferred to that country little town called College Station, Texas. But she has not, and I remain proud to call her friend.

Editor’s note: I do not want to give off the impression this lady is perfect. She is not, and it must be noted that you CANNOT rush her. Just don't even try.

The past three weeks teaching has been on my mind a lot, particularly my time as a PreK teacher; my students faces and voices have flashed through my mind as I think about my friends and colleagues who have gone back to school (work) and as I struggle to decide what job is next for me.

Most readers know how close I came to walking away from teaching in the middle of my first year, for a whole host of reasons. A child wetting his pants while sitting in my lap and therefore wetting my pants too was reason number 18, and that was only on the second day. http://courtneyrob.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-think-i-just-peed-in-my-pants.html

Through the grace of God and very supportive friends & family, I survived. I may have even done a pretty good job with those thirty eight three year olds. Even though I was adamant about teaching older children for my second year of TFA, I left the PreK classroom knowing that I would forever be an advocate for early childhood, and that was huge: I had started the year wondering what the point of me even showing up for work every day was. Glorified babysitting? That is certainly what it feels like at times. But with the right school leader and the right curriculum (huge shout out to KIPP SHINE Prep) early childhood is transformational in a child’s life, especially those growing up in poverty or underserved communities.

I highly recommend reading the UNICEF website if you want to learn more about early childhood around the globe. For disadvantaged children, the initial deficit of interventions for development has a multiplying effect: children raised in poverty complete far less education than middle class children, due in part to their lowered ability to learn in school. The opportunity to help disadvantaged children attain a more equal start in schooling is in the earliest years of life, when children’s brains are developing most rapidly, and the basis for their cognitive, social and emotional development is being formed. A commitment to reducing poverty and increasing the chances of success for all children requires investment in the earliest years. -unicef

One quick example of how I came to know early childhood is really important: I had a student, we’ll call him Rick, who did not like being left at school. He was in the afternoon class and when his family would start to get him ready for the school day, he did not want to go. He was struggling to learn all of his letters and numbers at school and still speaking a lot of Spanish and little English. As the year went on, his progress was slow and he clung to his dad or mom or older sister at the door to be dropped off. By January though, Rick was thriving. He had made friends in the class, he was extremely talkative, and always wanted to show me a new discovery or a building he had created or read me a book. (He still calls me Ms. Roberson. Replace the “in” with “er.”)

Rick finished the year very strong academically, on target with kindergarteners across the city though he was just going to start PreK4. He was so sweet, his face lit up when he arrived at the classroom door beginning sometime in January, and on a few days he would run down the hallway to get to class quickly, and get in trouble for not waiting for his sister at the front door.
His sister had graduated from high school the previous year and was a huge help to their parents with Rick and his first grade sister. She stopped me in late April when we passed each other in the hallway.

“Ms. Robinson, I think you should know Rick loves you.”
I smiled a huge smile. “Well, I love him too! He is having such a great year, has made friends in class and is just a delight!”
I figured that was the end of our conversation, but she kept talking. “No, I don’t know if Rick really likes school or his friends.” Weird, I thought. “Some days, he’s running around the house or singing songs or watching Disney when we tell him he has to shower and get dressed to go to school. He will not stop what he is doing until we mention your name. Then, Rick will say, ‘I have to get dressed to go see Ms. Roberson! I have to go see Ms. Roberson!’ And then we can’t get him calm until he’s in the car headed here.”

My voice caught in my throat and I gave the sister a quick hug. I looked in her eyes. “Thank you so much for sharing that with me. You and sweet Rick have just made my day! Completely!”

I think without early childhood and free PreK that our school provided Rick with what he needed to start kindergarten on the same playing field as his middle class peers, and allowed him to learn to love teachers, and school, and learning, and “growing his brain.”

It may have taken me many months to see the value of preschool for toddlers; I know now that quality early childhood programs are worth every penny and a few extra. And you should feel the same way! Be sure to vote for local politicians who support early childhood.

http://www.unicef.org/earlychildhood/index_40748.html

Weddings! Weddings! Weddings!

Cliche but true: I love weddings. Who doesn't love a good, fun wedding with good, fun people? So let's talk about true love and fluffy dresses and hilarious people for just a second.

First, my bff Renza's twin brother got married over Memorial Day weekend, it was the coolest story and Will (groom) and Maddie (bride) are one of the coolest, most fun, genuine couples you'll find.

I won't ramble here, their story and pictures made it on to a legit, awesome wedding website. See it all at the link below! And, take note that Will asked his sister to be his "Best Woman" and the bride asked her brother to be "Man of Honor." See? I told you they were cool.

http://www.stylemepretty.com/2011/08/30/greenville-country-club-wedding-from-mk-photography

Next I'd like to draw your attention to the BEST WEDDING WEBSITE I HAVE EVER SEEN. Sure, I've been known to exaggerate, but I am serious. I'm no wedding website professional reader or anything, but I've visited a few in my day. And this one takes the cake. (Cake, get it? Wedding cake? Bahaha.)

Okay, so I'd like you to notice that David & Annie both went to Princeton, are super attractive, are very down to earth, love their families, started out as really good friends, and are laugh-out-loud funny. I'd also like you to notice how stinking awesome their photos are and how much David must be in love to take lovey-dovey, model-esque photos with his bride to be.

I am honored to know them and have numerous fond memories of life in high school with David Colquitt. In fact, when he's a famous GOP advisor, I'll be able to say I took him as my date to senior cotillion & his dance moves blew everyone away. Truly. As did his Sister Act re-enactments. Couldn't be more excited for such a fun couple! Now, get on over to their website.

http://davidlovesannie.com/

Renza has hit the blog world!

I am blessed to have such amazing friends, who make my life colorful, witty, and even dazzling. There are a few crazy friends who are more family than friends, more loved than they know, more valuable than gold. One such friend has taught me to recycle, to travel, to love peonies, to be good to my family, to hold out for the best.

She has encouraged me in everything I’ve done, since the summer we met between our seventh and eighth grade years, and now, finally, after a bit of encouragement from me to start a blog...

colorado 2009

I am proud to announce that Renza, a talented storyteller, photographer, and food connoisseur has launched her own blog. Hooray!

http://rsharpewrites.blogspot.com/

Rome 2009

holes that cannot be filled

There is a hole there, a hole that cannot be filled, try as we may to fill it up. We cannot replace him, but we can honor his desire for us to continue to live life abundantly.

Admiration flows over for them: their willingness to not only survive but thrive in his absence. To think of him often, to hear his laughter in his brothers’ similar chuckle, to love each other well, to serve each other, to continue smiling.

He longs to pick up the phone and ask advice from his friend, to share a funny moment, to hear him talk, or simply breathe. It is a waste to attempt to understand why he is gone, but a joy to know where he has gone. The mountains and beauty of the places he took his family reveal a higher power, a creator, a love too deep to end life with something like a word “cancer.”
A sacrifice was made on a hill, and we trust in that, and know that “cancer” was just the beginning of something glorious. Glory.

There is a hole, a void, which will never be closed.

But there is a triumph in our lives as we press on, telling stories and repeating his name, clinging, not in a desperate way, but as she, his love Mary, models for us, in a holy, honorable, peaceful way.

Jay. His name is, at times, a battle cry. A challenge to take nothing for granted, not one day. To never fall asleep angry, to love who and what you love immensely.

His name is courage. Jay.

unanswered questions

His eyes are dark, perhaps darker than any I have ever seen. If the room is not well lit, it is nearly impossible to detect where his pupils end and the iris begins.

Those eyes could get my blood boiling in an instant, or inspire and breathe new life into my teaching methods for an entire school day. In his moments of feisty defiance, I saw my brother in this boy: oh so frustrating, yet impossible to not love him. And oh, how I loved him!
This third grader’s thirst for knowledge about planets and astronomy and math facts and presidential history was unquenchable. I like to think that on most days I stoked that fire and did not extinguish it, even if he was interrupting or a nuisance during lessons.

A sweet soul hides behind those eyes, his kindness evident everyday in the way he protects his younger sister, or the way he adores his mom, dad, and most days, his teacher – me. His huge heart is visible when he reaches out to our classmates who have been diagnosed with severe social disorders. He was one of many in my classroom, and quite the thorn in my side on some days, disruptive in class, at times full of attitude, his temper like a short fuse ready to ignite. But when this child is motivated and stimulated, an environment a good teacher would provide every day, he was the kind of pupil all teachers dream of: hungry for knowledge, eager to teach his peers, engaged in the lesson.

His eyes searched mine for answers that I did not have. Those darks eyes of his, inquisitive every single day, asked me unspoken questions frequently. Why are the odds stacked against me, the first of my family born in America? Why will I struggle to pay for college, and statistically unlikely to even get there? Why do one out of ten of my peers in my same financial situation graduate from high school? One out of 10?!

This child, with his huge heart and dark eyes and hungry brain, deserves exactly what my white, middle class brother and I had – great teachers, strong principals, and limitless opportunities as long as you’re willing to work for them. Yet statistically, my brown eyed boy is at a disadvantage because of his family’s ethnicity and income level. However, he’s at a KIPP school in Houston, and though they have their own list of challenges and trials, because he’s a KIPPster he’s above level in reading and math and on target to study space or pediatric medicine, his two dreams. But this over-achiever would also like to a soldier of some sort after college and he would “love to learn as much about the president’s as I can!” What does he want to do with his free time? Become a great mechanic so he can help his dad with his job.

He is one of dozens that have forever changed my outlook: education statistics have a face, and that face has very dark eyes asking me: Why am I not guaranteed free public education similar to the boy down the street, living in the house bigger than mine?

Why are the schools I must attend due to zoning laws failing me, yet they remain open? How will my best friend, who did not get into the KIPP lottery, learn about the solar system? “He doesn’t have a great teacher like you, Ms. Rob! They have not talked about the planets at all. She doesn’t even read out loud to them!”

These are questions we need to answer. Programs like Teach for America are on the frontlines, attempting to find solutions with their “whatever it takes” mindset and their dedicated, fired up teachers. I admittedly left the classroom after two years, and we need people who will stay much longer than that. But, we need to ensure that those who are in the classroom are the best instructional coaches possible, and I wasn’t sure that was me. I do know this: I love this brown eyed boy, and there are literally millions of him out there, waiting for answers.

When? When will our schools be equal?

Why? Why is the answer to many of our questions “no?” Why hasn’t this been fixed yet?

Where? Where are the solutions and the hopeful future we deserve?

How? How is it that a 10th grader in rural Mississippi is reading on a 4th grade level? How is she going to pursue life, liberty, or happiness?

We hear your questions, and organizations like TFA and charters and good politicians and active families are fighting for the answers you deserve. Until then, brown eyed boy, keep reaching for the stars. Study the planets with gusto, my friend. Your passion for knowledge is contagious, and I have full faith in you and your classmates. I am thankful to you, and your parents for letting me get to know you so closely. I am thankful to my school leader for the responsibilities I was given as your teacher. And perhaps most importantly, I am thankful to Teach for America for such a wonderful opportunity. Without the existence or support of that organization, I would not have had this experience, this time to learn about life, America’s students, and our education system. Brown eyed boy, keep reaching for the stars, and hopefully one day soon you won’t have to stretch further or work harder than the boy down the street. Keep reaching!

email from a student

Teachers are underpaid, undersupported, and not recognized nearly enough for the daily impact they have on society, our youth, and our future. In the past two years I've come to admire and adore the thousands of great teachers out there, and remain confused why people that hate teaching continue to show up for a draining, challenging job.

Through all my late nights and frazzled moments and doubts about my abilities as a teacher, I was blessed with some of the most appreciative, loving children. (Before you think it was all roses, let me remind you I had a student that threatened to kill me with an AK-47, and a parent that wanted me fired/sued/paid less money.)

Thought I'd share with you the joy of this email I got last week, and remind myself and hopefully others that sometimes, we do not even know how much a small thing, a simple hug and encouraging word, can change the heart of a child forever. As they say at institute, teach 'em up.

"Dear ms.robinson ,This letter is four [4] you because all the things you have done for me. OH my brothers and sister said thank you for taking them with you. (to hang out for a few hours)They really enjoyed going with you and again they said thank you so much and me too thank you very much. So ms. Rob how are your dogs . ___ talks about them everyday. ___ missis them alot. Ms .rob so what have you bin doing. Have you found a job yet. Well if you haven’t I hope you fine one soon. You now what ms.rob I miss your big hugs. Ms.rob I want you to take these words in your heart that Even if we don’t see each other alot I will always remember you in my heart as a teacher and as friend and almost as my 2nd mother. I love you so much ."

What a sweet, sweet child! Thanks for reading!
Ms. Rob

thoughts from the mountains

Quick update: I left Houston on Wednesday morning, spent two nights with my great grandparents. Friday morning I woke up at 6 to be sure I was in Albuerqueque to pick up Genie by 6 MST. It was a long, great drive, the farthest I've ever driven solo. And other than the return trip, probably the longest I will ever drive solo. I brought a whole new definition to the word delirious after about, oh, mile 642.

I love how the trees here are not quiet – the wind whips through them and the stream running by the house gurgles its’ reply. I am reminded of God’s immense power and majesty as He creates such different scenery and shows love to us in such different ways. Beauty in Houston can be sought and is certainly in the eye of the beholder, but...the beauty in Taos and the mountains cannot be ignored (and is much more unanimously agreed upon.) But love through people and hugs and comfort is in Houston. He shows up all over, and it is in the moving around that reminds me of his steadfast, everlasting love.

"The LORD appeared to us, saying: "I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness." Jeremiah 31:3

you'll leave this world naked

From 8/8/11 (3 years to the day from college graduation!)
The cobblestoned streets we walked this weekend once supported the feet of American heroes like Thomas Paine, Ben Franklin, George Washington, and dozens and dozens more. As we remembered the sacrifice and bravery of these men – and the incredible women who did their laundry, bore their children, and loved them well – it was evident we’ll likely die without our names in the history books. Does that stop us – or you – from living meaningful, memorable lives? No.

No, we press on through life with the same thirst for freedom, passion for democracy, and appreciation of those around us. We drink our tea just as they did (though ours is over ice with a bit of splenda) and we discuss many of the same things Abigail Adams – or her husband John – discussed. What job will best fulfill our talents & desires? Details of love interests and family moments are exchanged, as we wander the streets in the shadow of the liberty bell.
We ate delicious food in a darkly lit restaurant and conversed of faith, love, hope for the coming years. One of us moving to Greece within a month, one of us perhaps across the country someday but for now in the capitol, one of us contentedly settled in Houston.


It had been too long since I had seen their faces, and it will be too long before I see them again. I thas been too long since I appreciated the privilege of living in a free society, or tipped my hat in reverence to those who protect us, and acknowledged the difference between a woman born in the 1980s and the 1780s.


As news broke that thirty military service members had been killed in Afghanistan, and that two bystanders were severely beat up one month prior in the same city block we’d eaten dinner, I felt thankful for the joy of being alive, deeply aware how fleeting this life is. We take nothing out of this world. The minister on Sunday said we have arrived naked and we will leave that way, too. What then do we live for?


In part, we live for friendships. Deep, rich, loyal, hilarious, true. And freedom – for ourselves, but also for others. It feels cliché, after a simple weekend in Philadelphia with two delightful friends, but I am renewed and rejoice at the gifts given to me: such amazing friendships, among endless freedoms here in America. My cup runneth over.

back to school...yet not for me

Today, August 15, 2011, is the first day back of the new school year at SHINE. A place whose hallways I have memorized and whose mission will forever be written on my heart: quality education for all children, regardless of skin color or zip code. It is not an exaggeration to say that some of the very best days of my life, and some of the very worst, were spent there over the past two years. It feels quite strange and sad to not find myself there today, greeting faces and getting hugs and generally stressed about having everything ready to go for the day: lessons, copies, materials, emails. Yet I know I am moving on to the next part of life, and that my two years at SHINE taught me so, so much. I left with a passion for ensuring all children have the kind of education they deserve: the kind of education the kids at KIPP schools are getting right this very minute on this hot August Monday morning.

As my thoughts drift back to my thirty-eight three year olds who are officially kindergartners today, my stomach churns with emotion. I think of my student, my beaten up & bruised baby, who was thriving last time I saw him, big eyes lit up to tell me of the latest happenings in his class. To tell me he remembers me and give me a big hug. I think of the lows we went through together our first year, him throwing up from being so upset over what I still do not know, the way his eyes seemed haunted as he ran away from me and everyone else in the cafeteria day after day. I think of the times he hit others or stabbed himself with a pencil, or the days he crawled into my lap, put my hands over his, and rocked back and forth. I think of the days he tried to teach a friend their numbers, because he already knew his. I think of the days he danced with delight on our carpet. I think of the many times he tried to run from the classroom, from the building, from love, and I was forced to restrain him, my legs over his little, very strong ones until he finally gave in and was no longer a threat to his own safety.

There were so many happy moments over that year, so many laugh out loud, kind, simple things that flow from toddlers mouths. From the mouths of babes, as they say. It made the painful, confusing days of struggle brighter. My students’ excitement for learning, for each other, for the world around them, made my year worth it.
Here are a few quotes to get your Monday going, too:

Ms. Robinson: "Why are you eating crayons? Why?"
Student: "Oh." Blue crayon in student’s teeth and chin as he says: "I should only eat fooood???"
----
Ms. Rob: “D, you must take a time out. You just hit your friend in the face. You will take a three minute time out.”
D: “YOU ARE NOT COMING TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY! YOU ARE NOT COMING TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY! WE ARE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE!!!”
Note: This was in December. D’s birthday is in May.
---
One day during dismissal one of the students' parents was very late to pick him up, so I moved the fish bowl to the center of one of our class tables. We sat and watched “Carrietta” together. Very entertaining to watch a fish swim around if you're three years old. The student looked up at me after a few minutes and wanted to know: "So, Ms. Robinson, where did you put the batteries in the fish?"
----
An excellent student who never, ever breaks rules or causes trouble, or does things such as run around in the cafeteria, jumped from her seat and started sprinting to the other side of the table.
"Why are you out of your seat, Alice*? You should be eating your lunch."
Alice wraps her arms around me. "I just want to give you a hug, Ms. Robinson!!"

camp longhorn alumni weekend

Nothing has changed, and yet nearly everything has. The old screened in cabins are the same, with a coat of fresh paint on some. The music flows from the same speakers blanketing, all of camp in a familiar song. The lake is in the exact same spot as it was when we were counselors four summers ago, and the four summers before that. Nothing has changed, and yet nearly everything has.

For starters, one of us is dating a yell leader, and brought him along for alumni weekend. Two of us are madly in love and married: to each other! A few of us were rowdier than we had ever even thought about being during our actual camp days. We have jobs (or in my case, applications floating about) and rent (or in my case, not currently) and bills and responsibilities and schedules to juggle. Nothing has changed, and yet nearly everything has.

Camp Longhorn is timeless. One of its best features is that campers, counselors, and alumni alike are all able to let nearly 365 days pass, or more, and come back to right where they left off. I wonder if Pat & Tex Robertson knew what they were doing in 1939: creating for thousands and thousands what would be some of their best memories, best friendships, and best lessons learned. I have talked about my experience at CLH in nearly every job interview. I have thought about CLH and the values to which camp founders are devoted, and looked at my own life in comparison. I have internalized that it is okay to go without air conditioning or make up or cell phones for a while. I have been reminded that people matter more than anything else on the planet.

Camp Longhorn is our safe place. Some of the activities and cabin names look unfamiliar, but as we bounced on the blob and raced down the water socks (slides), it felt as though no time had passed. Our muscles and knees told us differently the next day, but while we were there, how great to have 24 hours of the good life.

We have lost loved ones and been through pain. We have moved to DC and Chicago and back. We have danced by the light of the moon, made some really great decisions, and some really silly ones, too. We have grown up. We have walked by faith. And we have spent some quality time together, back at one of the greatest places on earth. As we loaded our car for the weekend & put ice in our cooler, I found myself offering a prayer of thanks. I’m not sure how I found these friends, nor what I would do without them. I just know that for them I will forever be thankful.

It was the same, nine years ago, our last year as campers. I was not sure what was in store next, I simply knew I would come back to be a counselor for as many years as possible, and hope that Renza, and Paige, and Peter, and Jennie, and Haley, and my brother, and Tres, and others would be there along with me. And later, we met the other “crob,” the real one, and I held on to her as tight as I could. I did not know how I had found such wonderful friends, nor what I would do without them. You see, not much has changed. And yet, almost everything has.

the honesty of children

The world would most likely be a much happier, peaceful place if we listened to children more often. I’m not the first one to recognize this: there are books and tshirts and entire movements dedicated to listening to children. Have you not received that email about what love is from four to eight year olds kids at least once? Exactly.

Yesterday I had the joy of picking up two former students and their siblings. I had E when he was a three year old in my Orange Owls classroom, and his sweet, thoughtful self made it hard to avoid having “favorites.” The next year, I had his older sister, N, who was a bright spot in my classroom: wants to be a teacher when she grows up, works hard, often left me notes in the classroom to tell me she loved me, cried when her friends got in trouble because she “wants better for them.” She’s nine years old.

So, I picked up the two of them, and their other brother and sister who are starting first and sixth grade respectively. Their parents, somewhere around the age of thirty, are hard-working, caring, involved, excellent role models for their children. Anyways, I digress; all you need to know is that I spent about five hours with them yesterday.

We went to lunch at Jason’s deli: their kids menu is healthy, under $3, and there’s free frozen yogurt for all who finish their lunch. While waiting for our food to arrive, I snapped some silly pictures of them on my camera phone. N took a picture of five year old E and I sitting together, and I laughed when I looked at the image she had captured.

I smiled and looked at E. “Oh my gosh, my hair looks crazy!” He giggled.
N looked at me, a shy smile on her face. “Ms. Rob, it doesn’t look like it did when we were at SHINE. (The name of our school.) It looks like, well… it looks like you just woke up.”

Apparently I have really let myself go in this season of unemployment.

“N, thanks for being honest! I appreciate that. I let it air dry last night instead of blow drying it like I always, always do.”

The first grade boy spoke up. “Ya, it does look kind of bad. Not really bad, but… kind of bad.” I laughed out loud. His sixth grade sister politely poked him under the table.
“No, L, it’s okay. Being honest, in a nice way, is great! I said my hair looked crazy and C was just being honest instead of pretending it doesn’t look bad. Thank you.”

We all laughed as I attempted to pull some of my hair back from my face. I thought to myself, I wonder what the world would look like if we never abandoned our honesty, as most of us do around age nine or ten.

I’m blessed with parents/roommates/friends who usually tell me when my hair looks out of control or “kind of bad.” I have people tell me when they think I’m making an unwise choice or when they think I’m crazy for having a crush on someone that is…well, crazy. (I’m not saying I ever have.)

My first grade friend’s honesty yesterday made his compliments all the more sincere. Later that day, when he whispered to me in the middle of a movie that he loves, loves, loves my dogs, I know he was not saying it to be nice. He really, actually loves our lab and golden retriever a LOT. And when he got out of the car, gave me a hug, and told me had so, so much fun with me, well, I knew he meant it. And I also knew that my hair did not look its best.

If these kiddos had not been so nice about breaking the news to me about my crazy curls, it could have been rude. But they love me, and they’ve been raised to be so well mannered and thoughtful. Honesty wrapped in love is so easy to little kids. Why is it so hard for adults? What have we forgotten? We are too concerned with being liked or being popular or stepping out of line that we’ve grown up and forgotten this: if your intentions are kind and cased in love, criticism is really not so bad. But, apparently my hair is when I allow it to dry by itself…

deep breaths

They say life is not the big moments, but the small ones. I used to think that quote was silly: milestone birthdays, graduations, weddings: aren’t the big moments the ones that lead us to the small ones? Is it not the big days, the big events, the white dress and the graduation gown and the final job interviews, that determine the little ones? Of this, I’m not so sure anymore.



My thinking about a lot of things (at the risk of sounding dramatic, I’ll say everything) has been shifted during my time in Teach for America. The days following June 3rd, my last day as a “corps member” have allowed reflection on just how much I’ve changed, grown up, become more appreciative of the world around me, and been given clearer eyes to see harsh realities.



My two years as a teacher in a community struggling to overcome poverty radically changed my day to to day life. I will not bore you with the details but I will say this: it was absolutely the small, everyday, at times monotonous moments that led us to the huge ones.





It was the daily review of colors and their names that finally helped my very quiet, non-English speaking three year old successfully be able to recognize all ten colors in English, which is a kindergarten objective in the state of Texas. It was the daily struggle to teach basic reading skills that moved my class to very high scores on high-stakes state test day. In fact, more than half of my students scored “commended” on our state reading test. The daily practice though, made the moment of achievement possible.





My two years and my student’s success was very much about getting out of bed every morning and putting one foot in front of the other: small moments. Which led to huge ones.



I have been given a gift this summer: paychecks until early August and no job responsibilities in June or July. In this space of deep breaths and late nights and sunsets and sunrises and travel, I have discovered that I was wrong about that quote. The small moments are probably more important than the big ones. A weekend in Salt Lake City with three hilarious girls was one of the best I’ve had maybe… ever. It did not have any extravagant events or anything particular that happened: it was just friends gathered together. And sure, we hiked and went tubing and packed our schedule full of adventure, but really, it was a lot of small moments that made it such a delight. Making mojittos in Katherine’s backyard with her fresh-grown mint: a small moment, but one that I’ll likely remember for the next several decades.






Simplicity cannot be overrated, in my opinion. That feels strange, coming from someone as loud and fast-talking and silly as myself, but it’s true. What has made this such an enjoyable, over-the-top happy summer? The simple things. Floating in the lake with a friend from Oklahoma, talking about nothing and everything, or dancing on our living room table as the ipod blares in the background: simple moments. But it is in those moments I feel most blessed by her friendship.





Coffee with Jen Jenkins in Houston. Meeting Marnita for an adult beverage to talk school and catch up. Grown up lunches with Crossley, a week hiking in Colorado with little advance planning, visits to my great-grandparents house in Dallas. Sitting on the boat dock, staring at the Texas summer night sky. Swimming with eight-year-olds in a friend’s backyard pool. Bike rides to nowhere, or to grab a margarita with my Dad. This summer has been packed full of small moments that add up to a giant pile of smiles, friends, celebrations, reflections, melancholy moments, and life lived to the fullest.

Thanks for reading, being a part of my small moments even if you weren’t mentioned, and being a friend. Wishing you dozens of happy tiny moments that you lead you to the big things.
Much love, Courtney

my grandfather loves the bachelorette

I say it often because it’s true: I’m immensely blessed by my loud, crazy, fun, faithful, loyal family. Most twenty-somethings do not have three of their four grandparents still living, as well as bonus great-grandparents still loving life and pretty healthy on a regular basis. But I do, and I know it’s not something I should take for granted.

Grandfathers should not like the Bachelorette. I mean, most grandfathers would make fun of you for watching it, instead of request that you call and remind him when the final episode is airing. But my grandfather is not like your average grandfather. For starters, he should not be alive. Five heart attacks since his mid-thirties, numerous by-pass surgeries, at least two major strokes: his medical miracles are a story for another day though, dear readers. Today we’re here to talk about trashy reality television.

I’m embarrassed to say I’ve watched almost every moment of this season’s Bachelorette. I’m unsure how it got started, as I was not attached to Ashley and did not watch last season. However, I’ve found myself tuning in each week, catching up online or via DVR when I’ve been out of town. My birthday weekend at the lake was the “take home” episode where the four remaining men take the Bachelorette home to meet their parents. My grandfather sat at the lake and watched all two hours with me, commenting on what a catch each of the dudes are and why.

“Well, sweet pea, if she doesn’t pick that Ames fella she doesn’t deserve any of ‘em.”
“Well, look at that Greek guy! He’s a looker! She can’t go wrong there!”
And my personal my favorite. “Hell, sweet pea, does this girl have a “connection” with EVERY guy?”

I told him I thought ABC should consult him so that they could reach an entirely new demographic with his input/commentary. He made me promise to remind him when the final week aired and possibly watch with him.

So, last Monday, we ate dinner with my grandmother, who could careless about the show but laughed at us yelling at the television, and my grandfather and I anxiously awaited the proposal. At one point he tapped my hand. “Shh, now let me hear this!” It was just as if I was watching the show with my high school girls from the younglife trip earlier this summer. But I wasn’t. I was watching with my seventy-two year old grandfather. Priceless.

He really liked Ben, the winemaker. And I told him, that’s who I would pick, because he’s hilarious, but this girl is in love with J.P., who is also great. I called it weeks ago.

As the first airplane approached the beach where ABC had set up the Bachelorette for the best camera shots possible, he looked at me. “Alright, sweet pea,” my grandfather said. “I hope this girl tells her tattooed crazy sister to stick it, and picks that bald P.J. fella. Whew, this should be good.”

Like I said, I say it often because it’s true: I’m blessed. You find me another girl whose seventy two year old grandfather will watch three hours of the Bachelorette with you while your grandmother cooks fish and pours the wine. I win.

a thousand thank yous

I ask too many questions, I overanalyze things, I doubt. A weekend in Salt Lake City was a time to throw questions and details to the wind, and forget them forever. It did not matter how I had met these amazing women or what I had done to deserve their friendship. It did not matter what I was wearing, if I had lost ten pounds before the trip as planned, or what my plane ticket cost.

It was a summer Friday afternoon, and I found myself in a backyard owned by people I did not know nor would I likely see again, in a city I had never before visited.

The sun was slowly making its way to the horizon, mountains visible in the distance, a touch of snow on their peaks. We had gone out west to visit our friend Katherine, who was six weeks into her residency: a genuine, real-life medical doctor. She had taken us to a backyard gathering; while she mingled among other medical people, Lauren and Genie and I took over the backyard badminton area. Lauren and Genie, both teachers in Houston, are hilarious, delightful, witty, ridiculous. I love them with all my heart.

As I threw my head back in laughter while they teased me for whiffing the ball so many times, I knew this life was something for which to be thankful. Sure, a lot of things are up in the air right now: what will my next source of income be? When will I move out of my parents’ house? What century will true love show up? When will I ever have children of my own? Not all are things which cross my mind daily, but they come pretty close. Yet this, right here, this moment in a strange backyard with terrific friends, well… “thank you” desperately wanted to spill out of my mouth and cover everything around me. A thousand thank yous would not be enough.

I’m healthy, and happy. I’m surrounded by beautiful friends, standing barefoot in the grass at a July backyard bash, soaking up the cool weather of a mountain town. Details, they’re for the birds. Questions, ask ‘em later. This, right now, is something many never have or forget to reach out for. This is time to laugh, appreciate life, love others. This, right now, is a glorious blessing. This is my time to just…be.

summatime quotes

"Never gonna grow old, never gonna slow down

We were shinin' like lighters in the dark in the middle of a rock show

We were doin' it right, we were comin' alive,

We were caught up in a southern summer, barefoot bluejean night."

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance." ~Bern Williams

"A life without love is like a year without summer." ~Swedish Proverb

"Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language." ~Henry James

“Sun is shining. Weather is sweet. Make you wanna move your dancing feet.” Bob Marley

Trying a Triathlon

This past weekend, my dad and my brother and I did the Marble Falls Triathlon. It’s a 1km swim (.74 miles), 23 mi bike ride, and 4.4 mi run. Very manageable, when you look at it on paper. Not so much if you do not adequately prepare.

This was my brother’s fourth year to participate and my dad’s third. It was my first, and though I thought my week of hiking with a heavy backpack in Colorado would boost my training, I have not been swimming or biking nearly enough. 3 hours and 10 minutes later, I was really glad I did it, but I was a sweaty, defeated mess. Tom & Gentry were very supportive and smiled at me every time they passed me, and my mom, grandmother, and good friend Renza woke up early to drive the chase car as we rode on the highway. All in all, I was glad that I proved I could do it, just like a turtle: slow and steady wins the race. It was really, really, really hard, and as I ran the first mile I doubted my sanity. Three more miles to go? I reminded myself of the gift I have, the ability to move my feet one in front of the other, a healthy body that I need to challenge.

In addition to being inspired by my dad and brother and motivated to sign up for another tri, (and actually train more), I learned a few things along the way. In the spirit of “sharing is caring,” you can find my newfound knowledge below.

A few things I’ve learned about the Marble Falls triathlon:

1) I’ll see you in the arctic. Out of the 360 something participants, there were approximately 3 chubby people. We stuck out like sore thumbs prior to entering the lake. I think my next tri will be somewhere in the arctic so that everyone is covered up as much as possible prior to the swim. Because standing around in a swimsuit for 20 minutes among hundreds of legit athletes sounds more like torture than a “fun goal to set and reach for.”

2) When I’m famous/governor of Texas (please note I did not say if) I’ll have to put a stop to all of this nonsense. For the two (short) triathlons I’ve done, my least favorite part was exiting the lake with people standing around, taking mental pictures of my wobbly bits as I remove a bright red swim cap and attempt to run towards my bicycle while I’m soaking wet. Can you imagine the paparazzi there to capture it on film? No. Jennifer Lopez can do triathlons all she wants. Famous me, on the other hand? No way, Jose.

3) Triathlon officials are mean. They must be, because why else would they have all participants write their age on their calf? Here’s why: they want everyone to see it and know how old other participants are and therefore how fit they should be. I’ll tell ya, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of peddling your bike up a hill, thinking you’re doing pretty good, breathing quickly but not about to die, and then, whoosh, “on your left” goes a 45 year old woman dressed in pink from head to toe. Or a 52 year old man. Or a 73 year old thin as a stick old man who smiles as he passes you-as if he’s enjoying it! Because he is. Really, triathlon officials, I’m already getting passed. Do I really need to know how much older than me the person is who just flew by me? I think not.

4) Spandex is awkward. I doubt you need me to elaborate on this one.

5) I absolutely love riding down steep hills. Again, elaboration unnecessary.

6) Little in life compares to the feeling of being passed by your father, who started the race three minutes after you and cannot swim to save his life, who should be thirty minutes behind you but instead is passing you about five miles into your bike ride, well… not much can top that. Worst part was, I heard someone in a chipper voice say “Good Morning” to the lady biking behind me. (Yes, there were in fact, people behind me.) I glanced over my left shoulder, and there he was, peddling away, smiling and nodding at me. I could only gather enough oxygen to mutter “I knew it was you.” I knew the perky, cheerful man must be my father.

7) Having a friend off to the side to do cheerleading jumps and chant your name and say “Do it for the Teach for America kids!!!!!” is something you just can’t buy or achieve through training. If you could, I would recommend everyone purchase a Renza Sharpe before race day.

8) Training is, surprisingly enough, not overrated. I had basically given up on the biking portion of training, other than a few spin classes at the gym recently. Other than a 10 mile ride with my dad on a stretch of highway three days prior to the race, I was not ready for the 23 very hilly ride. So the fact that a) I never got off to walk b) I did not cry c) I pretty much enjoyed myself and d) I averaged my goal of 14 mph, I feel pretty good about myself. And a bit embarrassed that I did such little training. Oopsies, see you next year I guess.

What remains unknown after the Marble Falls triathlon:
1) Who in the world eats those brownies post-race? I saw the scrumptious brownies lying out near the water buckets after I crossed the finish line. And I saw the hundreds of thin, toned, athletic people standing around celebrating the fact they’d finished, set a personal record, etc. And I just do not understand who eats the post race brownies, because it cannot be the triathletes with 3.2% body fat who finished an hour before I did. And if it is, I’d like to push ‘em back into the lake.

2) Where does my father finds his strength/energy/athletic ability? He’s 52 and crazy if you ask me. And, it must be said, a horrible swimmer. At least I have him beat there.