Author: alwaysbridging

Cuando era en mis cincuenta, viajaba a Nicaragua muchas veces y escribí un libro sobre mis experiencias, especialmente sobre aprender español en la edad media, paso a paso. Lo publiqué independientemente. En general, el proceso fue un accidente. Después de esta expericiencia, empecé un blog. Usualmente, los autores construyen una presencia web primero porque es buena publicidad para libros y es màs barato que los servicios de un agente.

Por eso, quiero inventar una aplicación se llama Agente Automático (o sus siglas AA). Por un precio fijo, como cien dólares, se puede comprarlo. !Que económica! Es una aplicación con la que puede acceder a Internet. También, AA funciona con computadoras portàtiles e inalàmbricas. Para usarla, primero, tu pongas tu libro en un estante del plàstico afuera de tu ordenador. AA lo lee. Después de eso, enchufe algunos más datos de tu creación y la voz en inglés o español o cualquier lengua que se necesite conta la historia corta sobre tu libro. AA llamarà tiendas, escuelas, iglesias y empresas alrededor del mundo sobre tu libro. Les dará información especifica de todos. Tu puedes compartir tu libro fácilmente con AA y posible los venderá muchos e incluso ganará premio.

Composición 1, SPAN 201

25/6/2018

When I am between novels, I am at a bit of a loss. I fish around for the next well-crafted tale that captivates me and is worth sinking into. TV is the same way, even more challenging because I prefer to settle in with Rob. We enjoyed Downton Abbey together and then Stranger Things. From there El GranHotel and Broadchurch. In between most shows that we agree on, we fiddle around. One or the other of us has the wand and we bicker. Yes or no? Too creepy or a chick flick? Can’t we just agree on those nights before we bring our supper plates to our laps in front of the widescreen instead of wasting time searching and arguing?

Imagine my delight when we fell easily into the good old-fashioned phenomenon of reading aloud. We were driving between Aberdeen and Ocean Shores, about 90 minutes give or take. We were engrossed, surprisingly, in the Revelation to John. Yes, bingeing on the Bible. Rob was driving. It was sunny out. I started reading thinking I’d tackle some of my theology homework starting with one or two or maybe five of the last 22 chapters of the Bible.

The significance wasn’t lost on me. I had started this project of reading the entire Bible, cover-to-cover two years ago. I’ve studied with a dozen others in our Episcopal Diocese, meeting once a week for discussion and prayers, snack and camaraderie. The read-aloud seemed a worthy activity while traveling except that, frankly, Revelation has always seemed a little spooky to me and brashly judgmental too with the rapture and stuff – who’s in and who’s out. This is after all decidedly not my understanding of “heaven.” It makes more sense to me that we are all evolving into spirit. I’d rather invite a physicist to my funeral before this John character.

And Rob is basically a scientist first. Somehow over the years, we have found and enjoyed church together – prayers and sacred music and being part of a welcoming, intergenerational community. But Rob’s practical approach to life as well as his loving, open heart, have kept me tethered here on earth amongst the living instead of spinning out periodically on the visions/hallucinations God offers me.

So when I found myself reading one chapter of Revelation after another out loud the other day, I was amazed. We were drawn together into a magnificent story complete with superheroes and special effects. Albeit Rob was driving, thus captured, what could he say? But I did pause occasionally to underline or to ask him, “What in God’s name does that mean?” and then “Should I read a few more pages?” The creatures! The battles! Such imagination! And colors too! Thunder and earthquakes! Multitudes of people and angels! Um, um.

I realized we were bingeing together in the best way. After all, the book of Revelation starts with blessing “the one who reads aloud the words…and those who hear.” (1:3) This was certainly my experience, maybe Rob’s too with his repeated acknowledgements, “Trippy.” “Sure, read on.” “What happens next?” It helps that we have good friends on the island of Patmos where the book was written.

The final chapters sprang from the page and through my own voice into the air surrounding us in Rob’s white MPV van amidst a shower of fire. Talk about a special effect! Could Rob be a superhero too? In reality the sun filtered through the forest alongside the road casting dappled shadows on the pages. Given our movement, the light jumped and danced on the page similar to the effect cast by a giant mirror ball. Along with locusts equipped for battle with human hair, lion’s teeth and tails like scorpions, a pale green horse galloped across the page.  Next came a white horse with a rider whose cape dripped with blood. I squinted my eyes at one point, enough to let only the fantastic light of stardust through. This is what we are made of after all.

The words of story are captured briefly but not finally. Instead when, like children, we are spellbound offering up our time and attention to the miracle of great story and ancient wisdom, we find each other whirling through, surrounded by “a river of the water of life, bright as crystal.” (22:1) And “nothing accursed will be found here any more.” (22:3)

As we barreled along at 60 miles per hour, I shivered, reading the last of the Bible’s 1,400 pages aloud to my prince as well as to my King.

Just when I finally feel like a valuable part of a team that is firing on all cylinders,  it’s time for a pause. The school district (my employer) has agreed I’ve earned a leave for next year. I can pursue my dream of learning Spanish and celebrating her many cultures.

I call it “Penny’s Passion Project.” For this term, I credit Tamarashazam, the fellow blogger and fun second grade teacher who operates in my neighborhood cluster at school. Since she’s nearby I get to hear Tamara laugh often and direct her charges all day long. One of the things I like most is hearing her encourage young writers. Oh and her love of pretend and costuming. In response to this photo a youngster who knew her well asked, “Hey, is that a wig?”

I am especially grateful to work near Tamara because this school year has been a bit of a bear for me. Who’d think that a work week consisting of two days could make for such an arduous stretch? After all I have been able to carve out time for two extended trips (to Europe and Nicaragua) and have earned health benefits. Most importantly I have meaningful work on my plate—counseling five to twelve-year-olds in an elementary school. And my colleagues are decent and well-led. I feel alive at Oak Heights Elementary and the time flies by.

So what is it? One factor is I work Thursdays and Fridays and this school has 640 kids. It’s the largest of its type in our district. That means I arrive each week when the train is already going at breakneck speed. I need a hand-up which is a lot to ask when everyone is so bloody busy. I’ve learned to appreciate help from several on the team.

That’s a key word at Oak Heights and every other school I know of—team—and I didn’t have a lot to contribute to this important concept at the beginning of the school year because I was a new staff member. While I have served children and families in lots of places over the years, it had been almost ten years since I had worked in an elementary school. Over time I have introduced myself (with my sidekick puppet, Mo Jo Banana Monkey), developed and taught classroom lessons for grades K – 6 on personal safety and anti-bullying, and created small group counseling opportunities for struggling students. Ordinarily I do like being given a clean slate to color on and this has been intense.

I took over facilitation of the Problem-Solving Team too, an operation where teamwork flourishes or flounders. I inherited a solid group of talented, dedicated educators but why should they have trusted new-to-them me to steer through the inevitable politics and riptides? It’s been rocky. We’re starting to navigate as one finally but it’s already May.

Rob thinks a harder year is helping me consider retiring someday, like he did six years ago. Maybe this is the nudge I need to leave consistent work in schools behind, work I have treasured by the way.

Thus I am thankful for the likes of Tamara…and several others. I’m glad I get to move toward another passion-filled effort that I am excited about instead of running away from a difficult task.

So, I’m finding this transition period at work, with classrooms full of eight-year-olds and their fabulous teachers surrounding me, to be bittersweet. Nevertheless, immersing myself in Latin America for extended periods sounds wonderful. And I’ll have more to give back when I return again to schools, churches, hospitals. After all, more and more bilingual Spanish/English speakers are my neighbors and there will always be bridging work here at home.

I realized again recently, as I often do while reading, how very fond I am of words. Words like keening and demonstrative and integrity. Funny-sounding ones too like obsequious and persnickety, helicopter and perspicacious.

I read my friend’s first novel, Always Gardenia. Author Betsy Hanson had arranged her words exquisitely so that people previously unbeknownst to me sprang to life on the pages—Arn and wee little Milo along with Gardenia. Betsy set them down in Seattle and let them dance at the Swedish Club and at Century Ballroom. I closed the book after the last page and reluctantly let these vivid characters return to the ether. I would never know for certain what was next in their lives.

It was the perfect time to read about pretend people just before my real kin showed up in town. My mother turned 90 and her siblings plus the remaining spouses came from Virginia, Arizona and Florida to honor her. And of course we three daughters were here. Some of her nieces and nephews (my cousins) and their kids came too.

Luckily our daughter Carolina is living nearby, actually in our basement between house-sitting gigs. She had only let me do so much planning for this grand event—reserve spots on the day cruise, order pizzas, buy birthday cake at Costco, the list goes on. I know, I know that sounds like a lot of arrangements, doesn’t it? What can I say? Organizing and convening, I enjoy it.

Finally Carolina in her euphemistic wisdom had advised, “No more details, Mom. Let the River take us beyond this wherever it wants to go.” She was right. I had to leave space for others to add themselves to the mix anyway, negotiating eddies and rapids together.

We did have a great memorable time. And after the long weekend I received word soon enough that everyone had returned home-sweet-home safely.

Now it’s Mother’s Day weekend and I’m reflecting. I witnessed likely the last good-byes between old venerable sisters who live across the continent from each other—Mom and Aunt Dot. For most of this story, I have used words so far, trying to describe a meaningful few days in a relatively precise realistic way. But now as I begin to consider the end-times of these cherished elders, I can’t help but shift to metaphor—using phrases in a way that is not literally applicable.

As I speak of these dear ones’ glide slopes, I find comfort imagining that this love we kindled on the living plane will be enough to cradle them until they cross over. We will figure out how to hold them well until they slip into the arms of their beloved husbands who passed away first. It seems silly to speak in these terms but then again I am borrowing the explanations and poetry of philosophers and theologians of yore.

No wonder religions have sprung up over the centuries from our rich and varied cultures. How else could we bear to face this great mystery of death?

Any other year I would not have been able to pull off being General Leia Organa for the day, but this year R2-D2—aka The Fun Carolina Jane (see photo at end of essay)—lives downstairs and I work at an elementary school. Game On!

I was unexpectedly delighted to wake up on Friday and see Carolina’s message. In response to my note, “Ideas for a Star Wars costume?” she’d written, “Wear white, preferably robe-like. Wake me up and I’ll do your hair.”

To think I had learned only the day before that May 4^th is Star Wars Day, everywhere not just at my work place. And I had almost resorted to sporting my school’s 50^th anniversary t-shirt and jeans, the fall-back attire worn by many staff members on Fridays. Instead I resurrected the all-white slithery rayon pantsuit I’d bought for our first wedding anniversary 35 years ago.

I have to give it to my fun-loving colleagues and those adorable kids. There were no masks or weapons as directed but there were Chewbaccas, robots and stormtroopers, Lukes and Rays. And several others besides me were bi-bunned.

I knew it was going to be a fabulous day when a second grader stopped me in the crowded courtyard before the first bell with “Hey, Ms. Reid, you look young!” Talk about an added bonus. I was being considered a princess for the day even though by the time Leia reached my age she was definitely a middle-aged battle-ax.

Let it be known:

Every weekday in our galaxy not so far, far away, we gather, nearly 700 of us, and the force awakens. I’m glad I’ve witnessed this phenomena called Oak Heights Elementary celebrating,

“May the fourth be with you!”

I was happy to reply, “And also with you!”