Everyone Loves Maryellen

  Let me describe Maryellen. She was the first smiling face to welcome me on the school playground when I moved here ten years ago. She is obviously, observant. She is warm and friendly, and quickly invites even strangers into a conversation. She is easy to get to know and she lets you in on her world, at the moment. And you can relate. She is cheerful, and will bring out the smile in you, even if you didn't realize one was there. She speaks fast. Her words run together the way passengers crowd a New York City Subway train, fast and furious. She is petite, perky and even in her late 40's she makes bikini's look natural. And she has a radiant beauty that comes from within, and is reflected in her eyes, smile, and her singing voice.

   Some of our children are similar in age, so we have spent time together doing family outings, beach days, picnics, and even school events. At first we would go blueberry picking with young children. Now, we field teenage antics and spend time together on the high school bleachers cheering on our athletes. Our children have enough time together over the years, that they call each other family. Through thick and thin, I know they watch out for each other, even as they expand their own friendship circles. We have prayed together, done Bible Studies together, fostered scouting events, and attended funerals together. All time well spent. 

   Maryellen told me once that her mother was a very wise woman. She said that when she first moved here as a child, she would come home from school crying about kids who didn't welcome her.  She would complain about who was mean to her, and who said unkind things. Her wise Mom would always say, "Everyone loves Maryellen, maybe they just had a bad day." 

  Maryellen said this idea was fed into her pysche for the formative years of her youth. She learned to think outside her own little world, and to reason out the poor behavior of other kids as problems they had in their own lives. Their lack of joy, was not taken as a personal problem she caused. She said it helped her grow up confident and not afraid to step in where angels sometimes fear to tread. "Remember, everyone loves Maryellen."

    This was a refreshing concept to me. It really was something I had never really thought about. I never tried to guess about someone else's life. I would take people at their word, and face value. But Maryellen told me that growing up knowing 'everyone loves Maryellen" was such a positive way to see life, that she taught her own three children to think that same positive way. This enabled them to not doubt the intentions of others in most routine situations. Her children, are natural champions for the understated, and are well received because of it. 

    This thinking doesn't come natural for me. I find myself questioning what I did, or said, in random situations. I look for approval in someone's eyes or facial expression. The tiniest tweak of a wrinkled brow could cause me to mentally retrace my steps. You may not see my interior reservation, or hear my mental debate, but trust me, it can become quite noisy in there. 

So, I try to remember Maryellen. Just thinking of her makes me smile. But I try to think about how she dives into new situations with a confidence driven by love. And that I should do the same. Maryellen's effect is one of kind love to others. What a legacy! 

Recently, one of my daughters wrote a class article with this heading:

   'What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?'

  Her answer? Anything, and everything! I say, try all things with love, and see what happens. 

  Oh, and Maryellen, thank your mother for me, for being so wise. You turned out perfect! 

   

Love is blind- thank goodness!

In 1979, as I was preparing to get married, I read an article in a Psychology Today Magazine. The article stated that research had shown that when people fall in love, they form a mental image of the person, at that moment in time. When couples were questioned after 50 years of marriage, they still held in their mind's eye, the image of the person they fell in love with. Although the person may have aged, gained weight or lost their hair, the ravages of time did not effect the mental image of the loved one.

As a teacher, sometimes a student that has grown up, will approach me to say hello, and I don't recognize them. The youngster who sat in front of me for 180 days in a given year is not the person in front of me now. I know I haven't taught any students that had babies on their hip, or had a six foot frame that towered over me. But they remember me, even though I have aged, changed the size of my clothes, gone grey, and don't even look like I am smiling when my face is relaxed. But I hold onto the image of them, as a grade school child. 

I recently stumbled upon a gold mine. Due to a recent reconnection with a dear, dear friend from elementary school, and high school, I dug out the photo album that even my husband of 30 years, has never seen. My daughters and I poured over the pictures of me in 7th grade, 8th grade, and even high school. Although I remembered High School as a place I would never want to return to, I witnessed a face that laughed often, and surrounded herself with other laughing familiar faces. How could I have forgotten? 

My girlfriend and I were comparing notes about our adult lives. Amazingly parallel is the way I would describe it. And when I saw the picture of her, as she looks today, I realized, how much I had loved her all along. I have missed that smile, and sparkly eyes. There was always a "devil dancing in her" kind of mischief behind the look in the photo. I had so many firsts with her, learning to dance, learning to 'date', learning to be a friend, get through school, drive a car, fraternity parties, learn to spread our wings. We reminisced about how we even did Irish Step dancing together for a school assembly. We volunteered our time in tutoring, forming the seeds of the future teachers we would become. But most of all we laughed.  Many experiences need no explanation and were rights of passage into adulthood during a turbulent time in our nation's history. They were also turburlant times in our families' personal lives. But we made it through the passage, and came out the other side, whole - and smiling. We live in different parts of the country, now. But I think if I was to run into her today, unexpectedly, I would hug her, and cry in memory of our childhood. Not a lost childhood, but one that is filled with memories of her, and I, and others that graced our days with laughter and wonder. I would thank her for just being herself, as she impressed upon me the value of kindness to others, of a smile in the face of heart wrenching sadness, and the beauty and dignity of human spirit. 

 This photo captures such a moment. Here we were in one of those photo booths, down the shore where we would make funny faces and then run away into the future. Who would believe that this photo is more than 30 years old? I still feel like the person in the picture. When did I replace spontaneous laughter with a serious "teacher look" ? How can I get back to that simple spontaneous joy? I know! I need to return to my roots, and remember what it felt like, since it is what formed me, and my friendships with women today. Today, I may not run into photo booths to capture the moment, but I'll bet there is a picture around somewhere with my mouth gaping open, and my heart light as can be - for just a moment. And maybe if I photoshop out the signs of age, you would recognize me as the same frivolous girl in the photo. I wish you were here with me. But just seeing you again, even in a photo, has warmed my heart once again. My heart sees the youthful spirit in this photo, especially in your eyes and smile.  Thank you, friend,  and I love you. 

Friendship Rings

"Make new friends

and keep the old

one is Silver

   and the other Gold."

      I remember my first friendship ring. It was a silver band with "forget me not" flowers embossed all the around my finger. I must have been 11, or maybe 12.  It was my first permanent friendship. Oh, I had friends before. One was Beth Gordon, who was in my 3rd grade class and attended my 9th birthday party. 

 She and I laughed like hyena's until our sides split. I remember she had a wonderful sense of adventure, red/blonde hair, and freckles like me. But she moved away, before school started again, and no one replaced her for a long time.

   There was another girl, Susan DiNardo. She lived a few houses away from me. Susan and I would walk to public school together in first grade. We would stop at Jane and Jerry Lerner's house to pick them up, so we could all watch out for each other, on our treacherous, one mile journey without adults. Small town life, how lucky we were! In second grade, Susan and I transferred to Sacred Heart School. There was a school bus that came to our street corner. So there was no need to walk home, for at least a few more years. Friendship then was based on mutual need. 

    The girl with the ring, was vivacious. She was all the things I wasn't. She was cool, daring, brave, warm and friendly. She was accepting, and tolerant. She knew her way around the neighborhood. She wasn't afraid to talk to boys. She had Beatles' records and knew all the words. She knew how to dance. Together we learned about independence by taking the '20 bus' to Menlo Park Mall and buying nail polish at the Woolworth's 5 and dime store. I remember she always had confidence. To me she was the leader, and I was glad to follow her. I always thought she was pretty, with long flowing hair that would swing when she ran. She had a gracefulness that was like a doe, soft footed and quick. And her laughter ----who could forget that laughter? When you heard it, you couldn't help but join in. Later, after growing up together, and then growing apart, it was the laughter that brought us back together again. But what originally cemented the friendship was the ring. And at 12, a ring was pretty important.

    After watching my own daughters forge their way in the world of girls, I reminisced the  importance of that friendship and the ring. I can't pin point the first time she and I decided we were friends, or remember what the issue was that had us go separate ways. But the path was winding, and shaded with many life experiences. And like all rings, the circle had no real beginning or end. But the ring was a statement of  belonging. It closed us into our own little world of safety and security. Within that circle I have so many memories. I remember laughter, and adventures, tears and frustrations, and the feelings one would expect to have for a sister. 

   Today, I celebrate my circle of friends. And I am grateful for the chance to delve back into that particular circle once again. I am older now, hopefully wiser, and certainly a lot richer for having had these friendships. I am counting on more laughter, more adventures, and a sacred sharing of tears and frustrations in the days to come. I no longer have that friendship ring, as it has gotten lost with time. But what I do have, is a ring of friends that grows as I grow. And besides, now that I am not so small anymore, I need more room to fit in anyway. 

Do You Bunco?

BUNCO is a completely mindless
dice game that just happens to be 
loads of fun.  That's because it 
requires 12 women to play -- add 
some great appetizers and frozen 
cocktails, and you have yourself a 
party.

 Each month we gather. We take turns hosting the event. We gather in our homes, be they large or small, new or old, fancy or delicately simple, neat and not so neat . But it really doesn't matter.We do it for the fun of it. It is an addiction that feeds our fancy for feminine companionship and constant laughter. It recharges our hormone banks back to the days where laughter came easy, and everyone was your friend.  

   Tonight was a Valentine's Day theme. There were red paper hearts on each table, pink and red napkins, and even heart shaped chocolates at each table. The tables were colorful shades of red, pink or white and had the necessary items: pens, sheets of paper for keeping score, and three little dice on each table. The hostess provided an antipasto salad "snack" that was really dinner for most of us, having come from a long work day. There were sweet treats, candies, and munchies at each turn, and at each table. And the beverages flowed freely: soda, juice, wine, and the ultimate concoction of a frozen something or other. 

   I was the hostess in October and had a Fall Theme. The tablecloths, napkins, dishes, even the front door, were all decorated in rich browns, oranges and burgundy's. Even the prize gifts were decorative dishes, or rich tablecloths one could use for Thanksgiving holiday. 

    Each month these perfectly normal women, all who have normal children, normal families, normal homes, and normal jobs, get together and act crazy. And I love it! These are women who wouldn't dream of visiting a gambling casino, a black jack table, or even a slot machine. Yet they hoop and holler as if no one was watching when the roll of the dice becomes a challenge to someone else at a table. And the duck.....get the right combination on your roll, and grown women will play tug of war over who gets to hold the rubber duckie for the next 10 minutes. "DUCK"  "DUCK"  "It's my turn to have the duck!"

    I teach Special Education. 'Normal' in my routine is anything but normal. But Bunco is my outlet, my recreational salvation. It is the chance to develop female friendships, in brief snippet conversations that rotate when the bell rings, and players rotate tables. Like a thrilling cliff hanger, I learn the details of someone's life, in segments. "They got engaged?" (bell rings- tables change). (Next month) "What did he say when he proposed?" Or "Hi! I haven't sat at the same table as you in two months, how is your mother doing? We need to catch up!"

    And of course, every month there are "prizes". There are prizes for the biggest loser, biggest winner, and of course, whoever is holding that darn Duck! It is all in fun, and when I sometimes feel I am too tired to go, because of a hard day at work, my children remind me that I ALWAYS come home smiling. My estrogen batteries are somehow recharged. Sometimes I come home with half a story, a prize for being the biggest loser, and the acute awareness that I belong. And sometimes, every once in awhile, I even bring home the duck. 

    

Every picture tells a story

http://injustaminute.shutterfly.com

Welcome to my world. I love storytelling. Not lies, mind you. But colorful, detailed stories. Someone once told me that I must dream in color, since my stories have so much color and vivid detail in them. Ask me a question, you'll see what I mean.  I use story telling in my craft of teaching. And since I have discovered digital scrap booking, I now tell stories with pictures and words. 

I hope you enjoy catching up with me. And in just a minute I will tell you the next story...