Prince, Rocky Balboa, and Willie Nelson

I had very personal moments inspired by each of these three men today. All for very different reasons. Yes, I know Rocky Balboa isn't a real man, but he still makes the list. As much as I love me some Sylvester Stallone, I would never sit through a Rambo marathon. Never. It is Rocky Balboa who mesmerizes me.

I'm a pretty big fan of all three: Prince (God rest his talented soul), Rocky Balboa (the ultimate comeback kid), and Willie Nelson (come on...how can you not love Willie?). 

Today, I've had reflective moments where the words of each of these men stuck with me. And maybe even changed me. Because I think that's what reflection does. It changes us, one tiny piece at a time. 

On my way to work I was almost brought to tears listening to the first verse of Let's Go Crazy. Well, if I'm going to admit getting all emotional listening to a Prince song, at least it wasn't Pussy Control. 

Go ahead. Click on the link below and listen to the introduction. Alright, listen to the whole song. You know you want to. 

Let's Go Crazy 

Do you get it? Do you see why listening to this artist talk his way into a song I've heard hundreds, if not thousands, of times got me all up in my feels? No? Me either. But it did. I was contemplating life and my purpose and my beliefs about the afterlife. Yes! Seriously! All because Prince said life means forever, "and that's a mighty long time." 

*Side note: If you let the YouTube video continue into the next, you'll get to enjoy Purple Rain as well (man, I love that song...and that movie). 

And then after work, tired from an extra long day, I turned to an old friend, my go-to when I need mindless television I love: Rocky Balboa. I love them all. I can easily make a Rocky marathon out of any Saturday or Sunday, but my favorite (no question) is Rocky Balboa, the sixth in the movie saga. 

I've seen this movie at least dozens of times (at least!). I can quote large portions of it, but tonight two lines hit me (both during a conversation with his son...during which I think the son is a putz). What wisdom did my favorite fighter impart?

"You think you oughtta stop trying things because you've had a few too many birthdays? I do not." 

and

"I stopped thinking like other people think a long time ago. You gotta think like you think." 

And again...life...purpose...big thoughts.

Enter Willie...

Tonight, I begin chapter 19 of Willie's autobiography It's a Long Story, but when I reached over and picked the book up, my thumb slipped just inside the cover, causing the book to open to the introduction (which I read last week). Nothing on the page was highlighted (I'm a chronic highlighter), but for whatever reason my eyes were drawn immediately to this line: 

"My prayer is that the memories, whether joyful or painful, refresh my spirit, and yours, by assuring us that the stream never runs dry." 

Isn't that why we write? 

Life. Purpose. Big thoughts. 

I highlighted the sentence, by the way. And then I wrote the introduction to Let's Go Crazy on a Post-It and stuck it on that page. Some day, I'm going to flip through this book looking for highlights (because that's a thing I randomly do), and I'm going to wonder why that note is there. I bet it will inspire musings of life...purpose...big thoughts. Or not. You never know. 

Good night, Prince. Good night, Rocky. Good night, Willie. 

Tonight I drift off a better person because of you three. And for that, I thank you.  

When Words Won't Come

We all know that writing is hard. In fact, I wrote an entire entry here about that fact once. It was hard. Hehe...see what I did there?

Today is one of those days. The words just don't want to be found. Hell, the topic doesn't even want to be found. But a friend and I promised to blog every week. And well...if she can do it, so can I.

So today...I borrow words. It was always one of my favorite classroom stations. "Found" poetry the smart people who came up with it call it. Over the years, I've had students borrow words in a number of ways from a number of sources for a number of different products. Today, I do the borrowing.

The poem below (and I'm using the term poem loosely here) consists entirely of the titles of books that can be found laying around my house at this very moment.

________________________________________

Bird by Bird
by Kristi Piper (and many other authors to whom I am grateful)

I is an other
Same kind of different as me
When women were birds
Uniquely human
Aging with grace

Passing it on
Reflections
My own words
For one more day
Journey to the heart

Made to crave
A song flung up to Heaven
Pieces 2 peace
Facing your giants
Brain on fire

Gather together in my name
Crossing the threshold of hope
Deeply loved
A hundred and one days
Grace for the moment

It's a long story
A long way gone

Bittersweet
__________________________________________

Well, there you have it. A complete blog entry (five hours ahead of my deadline), and a beautifully crafted poem (packed with meaning and nuance) that any poetry professor worth his or her salt would give at least a solid D-.

Obsessed With Being Obsessed

I am obsessed with being obsessed. It's true. I was diagnosed by an 11 year old on the television show Hoarders. He was describing his mother's addictive personality (not a phrase he knew), and I heard him say, "She would never be able to just take up jogging. She would have to train for a marathon."

Boom.

Wow.

Drop the mic., kid.

You nailed it.

I went to grad school...and didn't stop until I had a doctorate. I decided to lose weight...and had lap band surgery. I took up jogging...and trained for a marathon.

I get bored if I don't have an obsession.

I recently found a new obsession, one I am particularly excited about. There is no degree or finish line attached, but if I make it to wherever it might lead me, I think it might end up being the journey of which I will be the most proud.

I want to transform my body. Like really transform it. Like as in bodybuilding. But not in a real bodybuilding way (because I am a giant pansy). But body transformation.

I have dabbled with trends in the world of fitness since shortly after my lap band surgery in November of 2010. I've gone to bootcamps. I've taken a few kickboxing classes here and there. I've eaten Paleo (even went to a Paleo conference once) and completed a Whole30 (and attempted four more). I've jogged. And quit jogging. And jogged again. My point is...I've dabbled. Other than training for the Houston Marathon, I've never really stuck with anything consistently.

I met with a trainer recently to pitch the idea to her, the idea of transforming my body. I knew the exact trainer I needed (there was no doubt in my mind), and she was totally on board. And she asked me, "But how do I get you to show up?" I had attempted to work with her before and had flaked after an embarrassingly few sessions.

My answer? You don't. I do. I think I'm ready. Because I need something to be obsessed with.

It's that simple. I am currently obsessed with exploring how far I can push my body and watching what it does in response.

How's it going? Well, I'm still a giant pansy. But I'm showing up. And I'm loving it. And just the other day I thought I saw a muscle. And then I realized it was probably a streak on the mirror.

Some obsessions come to fruition slower than others.

A Little UFC Wisdom

I have a confession to make. I am a highlighter. A hopeless lover of highlighting. I have a highlighter on the table by my bed. A highlighter in my purse (OK, there are two). Multiple highlighters in my work bag. And an overly stuffed pencil pouch full of them in my office supply box. 

I love to highlight sentences and phrases that stand out to me when I read. If a line makes me think or makes me appreciate its wording or its wisdom, I highlight it. I very rarely (if ever) make notes. I don't jot down why I highlighted the statement. I simply highlight it and continue reading. 

Occasionally, I pick up an old book and thumb through it, reading only the highlighted passages. I like to see what stood out to me when I read the book and reflect on what I might have been thinking. I used to have a hard time letting go of books, so I was surrounded by a large supply of highlighted food-for-thought. Now that I no longer have a home office/library, I am limited on book space, but I make room and keep what I can. And yes...I still highlight. 

I often wonder (now that I have had to come to terms with letting books go...to what I hope are good homes) what the new reader thinks when they come across my highlighting. Does he or she wonder about the significance of the line? Does he or she get annoyed that I defaced a beloved book (much as I do when I see the mark of a past dogear)?

I am currently reading and rereading Maya Angelou's memoirs. I love her use of words (can't highlight her enough), and I wanted to experience her work in the order in which she wrote them. Aerosol highlight ink might be more efficient for marking her work. I understand that at some point highlighting becomes meaningless if it is overdone, but when I flip back through her work, some pages look more like coloring books than text. She was an artist in her use of words. 

I hope that when I write (currently working on a "book" about my Mema) someone will find my words highlight worthy. I know that it is possible to highlight e-books, but I don't find myself using that tool. And I've certainly never gone back through an electronic text to reread what I highlighted. I guess it's just not the same. But despite the leap to a new world where maybe you leave your highlighter behind (notice I said you...I'm still clinging to mine), there is still a feel of being highlighter worthy. 

Isn't that what a writer wants? To say something that is highlighter worthy.

Now...This highlighter rant was meant to be only my first paragraph to lead into my true topic. I intended to write about a line I heard from a UFC commentator. A line that made me stop and think, "If that were written down, I would highlight it." 

I considered going back and revising my title once my writing took on a direction of its own choosing, but instead, I will make this simple connection and leave the title...maybe as a teaser for next week's post and maybe as a reminder to myself to write about that line. 

Drinking from the Fountain

I just returned from four glorious days spent in Taos, New Mexico. It was a spring break getaway. I never take spring break getaways. It's just not my style. I'm not a goer. I'm not a doer.

But this...this hit the spot. It was a vacation to be remembered.

I traveled with two colleagues I've known since only July and one complete stranger, and we stayed in the home of a colleague's sister (also a complete stranger). All four, I now consider dear friends. 

We laughed until we cried (and in my case peed). 

We enjoyed a spa day that was second to none.

We ate more amazing food than five women should consume in a month. 

We skied. Well, they skied. I fell, got up, snow plowed a little, fell, got up, and snow plowed a little more (all mixed with more laughter and a few brief moments when I thought the lack of oxygen just might do me in). 

We looked around in amazement at the beauty and grandeur that is New Mexico. They had all been there before (some many times), but they were still just as mesmerized as I was. Our maker outdid himself when he painted New Mexico. He blessed those mountains and taught them to hum. 

We celebrated life and laughter and did the week justice. It was a spring break worthy of the name. 

When I travel, I enjoy seeking out books by local authors, so this week I picked up an anthology titled Drinking from the Fountain. I bought it as a gift for our wonderful hostess, but I also read some of the pieces during my stay. They were beautiful. And the concept of drinking from a fountain seemed a fitting analogy for the week. We drank from a fountain. A fountain of friendship. A fountain of beauty. A fountain of light and laughter.

Here is what I know as a result of my getaway:

1. Zagging is a very important part of skiing. If you can only zig, it will be a long trip down the mountain.
2. Friendships can form fast. Faster than one might think.
3. The Rosary is where I turn in a crisis in need of hope. The Rosary is always about hope.

I could go on and on and on, but I won't. I'll just leave it at I learned a lot. A lot. 

Oh and...

    4. The altitoots are real. Very real.

When Choice Isn't Choice At All

Let's talk about school vouchers, taxpayer savings grants, education savings accounts, school choice. A rose by any other name would still stink just as bad. Surely that's what Shakespeare really meant.

Play with the verbiage all you want. Here on earth, we call it segregation. And it's wrong.

You can wrap it up in enough clever wording to make George Orwell proud, but it's still wrong.

Why would anything touted as "school choice" be wrong, you ask? How can choice be a bad thing?

Well, allow me to break it down for you...

It's wrong because the only choice being offered is to the chosen. A voucher system isn't about offering better educational choices to ALL children. It's about offering choices to chosen children.

So you don't have a parent or grandparent home during the day to provide transportation? Sorry, you don't get in. Private schools don't have to provide bus transportation.

You're emotionally disturbed? You don't get in.

You have a learning disability? Sorry, we'd be happy to put you on a waiting list. Oh wait...your parents can make a hefty donation to the new-building fund? On second thought, you get in.

Hmmmm...I see you were sent to the office several times last year. You're not getting in. No educational choice for you.

My foster son who carries with him three diagnoses, binders of CPS paperwork, and 16 office referrals this school year alone? He's damn sure not getting in. They'll stamp his application HELL NO and giggle when they tell people we dared to apply.

So what is his choice? He doesn't get one. He stays in public school. Which is fine with me because I believe in public school. And I happen to love his public school. And his wonderful public school teachers. They are making magic happen with the limited resources made available to them, and we're about to rip the carpet right out from under them with "choice".

That same public school will potentially lose thousands (possibly hundreds of thousands) of dollars in public tax money that will now be sent to private schools to fund the educations of the chosen. You know what else will go? The chosen parent population, a large percentage of whom are those who are able to make donations for special programs and volunteer their time to help orchestrate those programs. Remember...there's a reason they were among the chosen.

Who remains with him in that public school? That public school with even fewer resources now?
All of those kiddos who weren't chosen. They stay. Let's just refer to them as "those" kids. That's what they called them back in the good old days, right?

Remember that word I mentioned before? Segregation
*Secretary DeVos, I know it's a big word, but I'm sure someone in your office can explain it to you.

Don't get me wrong. I firmly believe in the right of parents to send their children to private school. I firmly believe in the right of private schools to govern their own admissions rules. What I do not believe in is using public tax money to pay the bill and pretending it's good for ALL children.

No public tax money should be given to a school that can pick and choose and turn children away.

Call it whatever you want. It's wrong.

Ashes to Ashes

Today is Ash Wednesday. I love Ash Wednesday. I love the cleansing principle of Lent and the feeling of a fresh start that follows it.

According to Google (not who I usually turn to for religious guidance, but I was curious), the "purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer through prayer, doing penance, repentance of sins, almsgiving, atonement, and self-denial." Not bad, Google. That's better than I would have done if asked the purpose of Lent.

I'm still undecided on what I'm giving up this year. But I know what I'm adding. I intend to pray the Rosary daily. I love the Rosary. I love the beads. I love the prayers. But I don't do it as often as I should. So a Lenten Rosary marathon it is.

And I will be reading the book Rediscover Catholicism by Matthew Kelly. A friend recommended it years ago. I didn't read it. I saw it on a cousin's coffee table about a year later, and I ordered it. I even read the prologue and first chapter. I don't remember why I didn't finish it. But I didn't. I remember liking it, but I didn't stick with it. I do that a lot.

Today I restarted it, and once again, the prologue blew me away. I remember reading it out loud to my mother and father the first time around. We were in the car. I do not remember where we were headed, but I remember reading this prologue multiple times. And then just sitting. Reflecting. Today, I did that again.

It is the story of a young boy who saves the world from a deadly flu that has killed thousands and is spreading across the globe. He saves the world with his blood, which contains the antibody. His parents had to make the decision to give his blood to save the world. His blood. Their only son's blood. All of it. And they did it.

Kelly's version is much more eloquent. I promise. But it's too long to post his words here. The last paragraph, however, you get:

*It's told in 2nd person (which I usually do not enjoy but which makes all of the difference here).

"The following week, they hold a ceremony to honor your son for his phenomenal contribution to humanity...but some people sleep through it, others don't even bother to come because they have better things to do. and some people come with a pretentious smile and pretend to care, while others sit around and say, 'This is boring!' Wouldn't you want to stand up and say, 'Excuse me! I'm not sure if you are aware of it or not, but the amazing life you have, my son died so that you could have that life. My son died so that you could live. He died for you. Does it mean nothing to you?'

Perhaps that is what God wants to say."

Kelly could have dropped the mic there. But he didn't. He followed that with a whole book. A book that I just know is going to make this Lent more purposeful for me.

That's all I have for now. I still don't know what I'm giving up, but I'm looking forward to a Lenten season of reading and Rosaries. Maybe that's how the rest of my year will be spent. Wouldn't that be something?