An Open Letter to the Class of 2014

Tomorrow I begin my ninth year of teaching. In preparation for my three classes of seniors, I wrote a letter which I will read to them and then ask them to write one to me in return with their challenges and joys, both academic and personal (if they choose). I've included it below as my first blog post in months. I feel blessed I chose a life path which allows me to press the 'restart' button every August.  It's actually a little thing called 'grace' ...............

An Open Letter to the Class of 2014

Dear Class of 2014,

Welcome to IB2 English! Some of you I know from World Lit 9, others from Forensics or Extended Essay or my passport while a large number of you are merely friendly faces from the crowded IA halls. I look forward to getting to know you in a new way and while I hope you enter into senior year with mainly excitement, I know other emotions are in there too! I read once somewhere that a teacher who doesn't feel some amount of trepidation on the first day of school probably needs to find another career .. thankfully, I feel a bit awkward and nervous reading you this letter as I stand before you today! However, this nervous energy transfers into excitement as I look out to see our class and the possibilities in store for us - to laugh, read, explore, and write. It'll be some work, but I will do my best to make it engaging and meaningful for you. 

I always knew I wanted to be a teacher. For awhile I thought maybe doctoring would suit me (mainly because I wanted to meet a good looking pediatric doctor like George Clooney's character on E.R.) and sometimes I dream about working a tiny coffee shop by the beach but then I remind myself that I'd actually have to MAKE the coffee, not just drink it and read books with the sea breeze in my face. However, what brings me back to classroom each year - this'll be number 9 - is you: it's your energy, your excitement, your willingness to try new things, to laugh at my jokes, to produce solid writing, and to ask challenging questions (because now that you're a senior, you just ask good questions! - it's magic!) I studied literature because I really love to read, and I hope to encourage a passion for it in you. If I can't do that, then I hope at least you don't hate at least one text we read this year. In my chosen career path, I have the opportunity to expose you to new ideas and my own experiences and at the same time, learn from yours. This is where the nervousness comes in .. it's a big job to sit in this room among such intelligent and interesting individuals and hope I can share something worthwhile with you. I humbly ask you to bear with me; I beg you to share something in return with me. 

My greatest challenge as an educator is to both be knowledgeable and prepared and yet create a flexible and cooperative space. While it's important to maintain a steady pace, it's also important to take time to remind ourselves that the IB is.only.one.test. and it will not determine the rest of our lives, I promise. It's important to me that you are GOOD PEOPLE - caring, curious, and creative people - when you leave the IA, and that you love the written word as a gateway to explore the world beyond ourselves. I hope we ask one another meaningful questions. I'm asking you to trust me with the hard questions and respect me enough to be honest in return. I don't mind saying "I don't know, let's see what we can figure out" but I hope you are willing to take risks, too, and ask yourselves the hard questions as well even if you don't want to know the answer. (Those are the hardest ones!) 

I want our classroom to be nurturing and demanding, respectful and filled with integrity, and most importantly, positive. Let's lift one another up, and know that when we have a bad day, there will be a classroom full of smart people to remind us that while what we do here at the IA is important, it's not the only thing this life is about. We have books to read, miles to run, pets to cuddle, shows to watch, electronics to (sometimes) unplug, and people with whom it's important to engage in meaningful ways. The list goes on and on ... let's not get too busy to forget about these simple joys. 

Thank you in advance for your engagement, risk-taking, and ability to make me laugh ... I am SO looking forward to sharing this year with you.

All my best,

Ms. Clancy

My black headband broke this morning on my way out the door for PD; I posted it to Instagram with a flip caption about the first day of school & bad omens. My sister-in-law Catelyn used her magical (crafty) powers to transform it from a broken accessory to a symbol of love. Grace, indeed. 

The Circle of Life

From the day we arrive on the planet ... and blinking, step into the sun

Though despair and hope

Through faith and love

Till we find our place

On the path unwinding ...

The end of February and beginning of March kept me humming these powerful words from a little animation feature you might know, The Lion King. As I grieve the loss of my godfather, I celebrate the new life of Master William Porterfield with a quick & cozy trip to St. Louis and my own existence with a girls' trip to Nashville for my 30th birthday. In a much smaller way, I grieve another loss: that of stillborn twins to my beloved giraffe pal Kivuli who resides at the Detroit Zoo. In such weeks, the circle of life manifests itself in beautiful ways, though painful at times.

Long Beach in Winter

The next generation of Clancys:
Liam, Maya, and Charlotte

Gramma and her BFF, Mary, of 70+ years

We honored my grandfather with one last trip to the North Shore of Massachusetts for his burial. He and my gramma grew up in Beverly and each summer, after they moved to Michigan, still vacationed in nearby Rockport. Long Beach holds happy, happy memories for the Clancy clan and a trip to celebrate his life necessitated a beach visit. My parents and I walked on a cold day along the boardwalk, reminiscing about the vacations which started when my dad was small and continued through my college years. We laughed about our family rule "no day without ducking" (this is not a favorite rule of mine), Papa Da in the late years tooling down the boardwalk in his scooter, and the piles of books all over the cottage we devoured. Life on Long Beach was good. Time with the extended family after the beach visit felt appropriate to honor him as well. He would've loved the loud laughter, crowded family room so everyone could be in on the action, and the toddlers soaking up our attention. Taps played to send us from the family plot after the deacon used water and ship imagery to share his thoughts on life -- appropriate for a Navy man and beach lover. Family and friends gathered in Michigan and Beverly to express condolences, share memories, and simply be present, a gift in sad times.

Sweet Christy dubbed this little giraffe
"Sarah". I'm touched.

Ole William and his fan club clock
a lot of time on the exercise ball.
Happy to do my part!

I'd already waited almost two months to cuddle with Master William and despite the unexpected travels East, I hopped a plane to St. Louis to spend my few days a year with the Porterfields. My mom and I laughed about the difference in packing for a visit with a friend and her new baby versus a visit with other girlfriends. In other words, I packed lounging clothes, my slippers, and some socks. Since I never stepped foot into the outdoors, these served my purposes which included eating homemade soup, drinking copious amounts of coffee (when it was 5pm somewhere, we switched to our beloved Cab), and bouncing William on the exercise ball. My abs got a workout but that was about it. (Oh, yoga, I promise I'll return to you someday!) I delighted in his chubby cheeks, bath time, and seeing my dear friends joyfully embrace parenthood like naturals. When I put my boots on for the first time in three days, I felt a twinge of sadness to say goodbye but also this surge of great excitement to know this tiny little person would be a part of my life, and I'd get to see him grow and change and discover this world.
PS. It should be noted that Crist & I took NO pictures together .. a first in our years of friendship. We had a different subject as our focal point.

Kivuli in early January

Halfway through my travels, I read online Kivuli lost her twins. I was sad. Like, really sad. Once they announced her pregnancy in January, I visited her about once a week to check on her progress. If you know the Detroit Zoo, you understand that on cold, winter days, the giraffes seem really.far.away. and still I trudged to their house to watch as she paced and nested in the soft wood chips while her baby daddy Jabari checked on her anxiously over the separation. I too waited anxiously for the news of this baby's birth, and to learn of not one but both of their deaths broke my heart a little. And while I knew we were mourning my incredible grandfather, I also allowed myself to mourn a little for this mother who waited with great anticipation to meet her baby (the twins were a surprise to everyone -- though maybe not to her) and the sadness which goes along with a loss. The circle of life sometimes sucks.

Why WOULDN'T George FaceTime me?
It's my 30th! 

And sometimes the gift of a birthday really puts life into perspective. My birthday is the best day of my year and I try to make it the best in others too. This time for the 30th one, my friends really went all out. with a weekend girls' trip to Nashville. Kate & Steph planned a weekend which allowed us to eat, drink, and be merry in very Sarah-appropriate ways. I loved every second of the girl time, visits to Arrington Vineyard, Gigi's Cupcakes, The Bluebird Cafe, Sips and Strokes, Big Bang Dueling Pianos and Second Fiddle, and lounging in our beautiful rented house. Bringing friends from all the times & places of my life is one of my favorite things to do, mainly because I think they're all super cool and want them to know one another .. this weekend was no exception: memories were made with friends and I can't think of a better way to begin the next decade of my life.

Sips & Strokes Painting class!

I'm one lucky girl to have friends like these!

Even at 30, party hats are a must.

The ups and downs of the past few weeks allowed me to reflect on the circle of life with its despair, but also the hope in new life, magic grace, and simple things.

Oh, faith and love, too.

"It's nice to be with you."

I started teaching a new text today for IB2, a play by August Wilson entitled The Piano Lesson. It is a story about heritage and legacy, and what must be learned to move forward into the future with wisdom and understanding. With his black American voice, Wilson tackles these huge questions through the use of storytelling and oral tradition, common motifs in his own culture.

As I introduced the text, I found myself telling my class about my beloved Papa Da, the greatest storyteller I know - a man who encouraged my love for the written word far before I could read by gifting me with books, delighted his grandchildren with his tales of talking animals and make-believe lands, and read from illustrated anthologies complete with voices and actions. As we got older, his stories became less fanciful, their subjects ranging from our family's Irish-American history and his upbringing near Boston to his early days as a schoolteacher then as a Navy man in WWII, the post-war "secret" FBI stories, and always, always about his lovely bride. A greater love story has never been told than that of my grandparents, and I can't wait to tell my own children one day about this lifelong love I witnessed in their partnership. Papa Da loved to tell stories, and he was damn good at it.

I shared with my seniors how much I'd learned from him about our family, admitting my impatience at times when I'd heard it before or when I thought I had somewhere better to be. I tried to establish the role of storytelling in my own heritage and the lessons which come from resistance to or acceptance of those stories; they shared with me as well. Shortly after, my mom came to the IA to tell me that Papa Da slipped into eternal rest, quietly, humbly, with his bride of sixty-four years beside him. I told you: the greatest love story ever told.

God, I wish I hadn't been so impatient with those stories. Where else did I possibly have to be? Did he know how much I loved the Skippery Boo enactment, his made-up creatures, and that story about how he bought Gramma's engagement ring in Lakeland, Florida?

Christmas 2012, after the presentation of Papa Da's
much-anticipated Christmas books

It's easy to get lost in those thoughts of regret and disappointment, but I think he did. Sharing stories with those he loved (or sometimes barely knew!) gave him such joy; he raised children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren who celebrate the printed word and re-tell his favorite stories. In my mind, this is his legacy: a simple but rich one, that of fantastical lands and harsh realities, his own fairytale romance, and values of knowledge and wisdom instilled in us from a true teacher. As a teacher himself, I think he'd be quite pleased to know I shared a small piece of my students with him yesterday morning.

In his almost ninety-three years, Richard T. Clancy saw a lot of change. As a man of faith, family, and morals, he probably didn't love the choices the world or we as his family made sometimes. Yet, never did I hear words other than love, support, and respect leave his lips. He rejoiced in our successes, expressed sorrow for our griefs, and loved us unconditionally. For as long as I can remember, when I bent to say goodbye, he kissed me on the cheek, held my hand for a brief moment, wished me God's blessing, and said, "Nice to be with you." The beauty of his message is in its simplicity, I think, just like the stories.

He said two other phrases which will be his legacy as well, at least for me. He often told me, "You're looking good," -- never mind that we were on the phone at the time. As I got older, I said it back to him sometimes on the phone, beating him to it, and he got such a kick out of that. His sense of humor especially with us grandkids was a such a gift. Secondly, he often said, "Glory be to God" with great exuberance. It really had this perfect pitch and tenor which left no mistake about how exactly he felt about something. Papa Da's presence didn't go unnoticed in most situations and for that, he was a stranger to no one he met. His wide circle of friends all over the place and strong connections to distant relatives in Ireland attest to his generous spirit and sense of adventure.

Never was Mr. Clancy happier than when he was surrounded by his family:
Pat & Catelyn's wedding (2011) with nearly the whole fam-damily

Papa Da's legacy lives on in each of us, and in our many anecdotes and beautiful memories of him we can now share. There are so many tales of Rockport adventures, his support at games and performances and weddings, the legendary book gifts at Christmas, and the flowers which he gave my grandmother every.single.week for their entire marriage. (Did I not tell you it really is a fairytale?!) He wove past and present together into this seamless heritage for us. To move into a future without our Clancy patriarch means to embrace his greatest gift to us, our own oral tradition, and celebrate Dick Clancy's legacy through his storytelling.

It was nice to be with you, Papa Da.

The Year of "Being Sarah"

Several months ago, I drove up north with a good chunk of the senior class and a super fun group of co-workers to chaperone their 'Group 4 project,' which is part of the science requirement for IB. While traveling I mentioned to my good friend Brad I wanted to become more interesting. He scoffed and replied that he thought I was already pretty interesting: I'm well-read, dedicated teacher, music lover good friend and faithful sister/daughter. He commented that I'm extremely social while taking time for myself when I need it, and devoting myself to the kids in the form of coaching and whatnot.

True. And I'm grateful he didn't say, "Yea, you know, you're right. You are kinda boring. I've been meaning to talk with you about that."

But I have no real hobbies. I guess that what's I meant when I said I wanted to be more interesting. Once we brainstormed a bit, and multiple things immediately got checked off the list, most adamantly firing lessons, I realized I do have plenty of interests for which I just don't necessarily have an outlet (shooting guns isn't one of them - it might've been a long trip and we might've gone a little overboard with the suggestions).

So, as 2012 came to a close, and my 30th year began, I reviewed my interests and did some creative thinking to see how best I could expand my horizons. Here's what I've got:

Yoga - I decided to start an aerial yoga class at the local circus school called The Detroit Flyhouse. Classes start in late February, and promise me trapeze, improved balance, the elusive back bend (my nemesis on the mat) and a potential new career. They did not promise feathers or a red sequined costume but I'm hopeful.

Giraffes - Recently as part of a Poe lesson, I asked students what excited me (there was a point, I promise). They responded in this order: George Clooney. Giraffes. Literature. 30 year old men who DON'T like My Little Ponies. (Side note: Are you aware of this sub-culture known as the Bronies? So.Weird. We talk about this oddity more often than is really appropriate in this highly academic environment.) Anyway, the point is that I love giraffes, and as much time as I spent up-close with these gentle creatures in Kenya, I have not had much contact with them than my weekly zoo trips and Discovery's new series, Africa. So, I'm training to be a volunteer at the zoo. While I've been warned "I DON'T GET TO TOUCH OR FEED THE ANIMALS" on multiple occasions, the idea of sharing my quirky animal facts and internal monologues I make up for the animals with zoo visitors excites me immensely.

LIBRES - Inspired by a recent book called The Happiness Project, I joined a group which reads YA and children's literature with the purpose of making curricular connections. The author created a book club to discuss 'just for fun' books based in her love for children's fiction. I already participate in a book club, and while I love it, this new endeavor also allows me to dream about the imaginary classroom I'd create if state standards or the IB didn't exist and we could just read and do fun projects with the rich literature. And if I had the patience for younger students.

Spanish - It is just stupid that I don't speak conversational Spanish. I've traveled to a number of Spanish-speaking places, my best friends speak beautiful Spanish, and I've attempted several times (admittedly, half-assed) to learn the language. This time .. I'm all in. Through LiveMocha, I'm doing it: weekly courses online, complete with feedback from native speakers and recording myself to hear my improving accent.

So .. while I don't think I am boring, I do think there is more to life than grading papers and zoning out in front of the TV when my brain fries from the papers. One of the components of The Happiness Project encourages "being [insert your name here]." What we value about ourselves -- and what we also beat ourselves up over -- is the "being Sarah" component. All of it - the good, the bad, and the ugly - is part of who I am and who I am sometimes means staying home, curled up with a really good book or soaking in a hot tub, on a Saturday night. That part - being a homebody - comes pretty naturally to me; I'm still working on the not judging myself for it part!  In 2013, being Sarah means exploring my interests, not because it'll make me more interesting, but because I want to be ME, and being me isn't the frazzled and exhausted paper-grader I sometimes catch myself impersonating. Oh, and 2013 also means turning 30. The good news is that I plan to do it in an interesting way. Cheers!

He WILL bring goodness & light!

I lost my license yesterday. Sigh. (It was found but I'll get it that momentarily.)

On a beautiful winter (yes, I said it) day, I went to the zoo to wander; it's my favorite deep breathing and head clearing space away from my mat. I can always count on my furry friends to encourage a smile to break through my furrowed brow. Babies Bulgan (camel) and Sherman (red panda) are really growing and the mama giraffe loved on her baby over the partition which separated them yesterday. The sun was shining through the (world-class .. no big deal) Arctic Ring of Life as I observed with glee the polar bear frolicking in the water with his ball. Have I painted a tranquil enough scene for you? When I put my phone back in my pocket, I realized with a sinking heart that my license wasn't there. The zoo insists on an ID; I find this annoying but apparently necessary so I carry it. Except yesterday it must've fallen out. Somewhere. An image of my lonesome self flashed before my eyes, as I sat at the DMV on the day before Christmas. With determination, I retraced my steps back through the entire zoo keeping my eyes peeled for that tiny white card. The whole time I walked, here were my thoughts:

"I need to renew it by March 1 anyway .. maybe I can just do it early?"
"WHY do they need me to prove I am who I am so I can just look at some animals?"
"It's winter. Who comes to the zoo in the winter? You, Sarah, you do. Stupid Michigan."

I'm pretty sure the sun went in and the second half of my trip wasn't the deep breathing, thought clearing walk I'd anticipated. I caught some chimp fun on my way to the Lost & Found but the whole trip was a little soured by my lost license, I'm sorry to say. As I walked to my car after filling out contact information in case it was found, I found myself thinking over the last few weeks. Despite the fact that I really am a fully-functioning, responsible and mostly sane member of society, there have been a lot of small annoyances which seem to prove otherwise. Closed credit card due to fraudulent activity? Check. Twelve hours of a cold house because "the mother board on my BRAND.NEW.FURNACE. got confused"? Check. Middle section of the Christmas tree's lights out? Check. And that's only in the last few weeks. These are the times we have two choices: we cry or we laugh. Yesterday, after retracing and mumbling to myself about the absurdity of the whole thing, all I really could do was laugh. Thank goodness I have a mom who reminds me to laugh at myself on a regular basis and a God who must have a plan for me.

I got into the car and as I drove away, the radio sang out, "And He will bring us goodness and light!" I try to avoid Christmas radio at all costs. I hate Wham! or "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" or "Jingle Bell Rock" but love the holy songs with a message that has nothing to do with last Christmas or really any kind of jingling bells; this one wasn't the holiest version I've heard but it got me thinking about the goodness and light in my life. Sometimes it's easier to live in the bad and the darkness -- or at least I think it is. Fortunately I have people in my life who are determined to make it about the goodness and the light (even the DJ on whatever station who knew I needed a holy song). When it might be easier to think about the minor annoyances, there is cupcakes, campagne and the revelation of Gossip Girl on a Monday, a fabulous Essie shade from my secret santa at work, an already overcapacity CHWC Detroit for 2013, a little cousin who called my gift "the best present ever" (it was a $1 wild animal calendar from Target - simple joys, people!) family and friends with whom to celebrate the most minor absurdities, and always, always yoga. In my small existence in this big crazy world, these are the moments of light in the darkness. That's the message of the holy songs: Jesus comes when we need Him the most and my faith tells me He comes in the form of thoughtfulness, kind words, laughter and deep breathing. Amen.

Lo and behold, I got a call shortly thereafter from a very jovial zoo employee just thrilled to tell me my license had been found.

Some people have babies this time of year (yay, Baby Porterfield!) and others get married (yay, Mandy & Rich!). Me? I'll take the tiny Christmas miracle in the form of a found driver's license at the lion exhibit by the nice security guard on his bike. He (the big He, not necessarily the security guard) WILL bring us of goodness and light; sometimes we just have to look a little harder for it. Merry Christmas!

PS The joy from a really beautiful day at the zoo :)

If music be the food of love ..

Ranking really high on my list of things I love to do includes seeing live music. I jump at any opportunity to be amidst kindred spirits and yet lost in my own world of lyrics, which speak to me in ways art does for some people or poetry does for others. Last night was one of those nights; I went downtown to see Joshua Radin, one of my favorite artists. Introduced to me by someone who is no longer in my life, he holds a special place in my heart for a number of reasons. 1. The aforementioned introduction. 2. His album, played on repeat, pulled me through a pretty dark time in my life; the hopefulness in its lyrics and promises of a Brand New Day kept me going. 3. The second time I saw him live represents a new chapter of my life, the one filled with the IA, new girl friends, and a lighter, happier version of myself. (And with a new album, he seemed more joyful, too.) Klaudia went with me to his concert in 2009, not long after I moved back to Michigan, and in her agreement to attend this concert with a virtual stranger (I found myself with an extra ticket), I made my first real friend in this new chapter. Three years later, we've attended a number of concerts together, sometimes with others, sometimes just us, and still that Joshua Radin concert holds a special place in my heart. We went together last night and I jokingly referred to it as our anniversary date; all jokes aside, I am so grateful for the people in my life who feel as passionately about music as I do and are willing to stand by my side as I lose myself in the world of those swirling lyrics and the foot tapping becomes full-on dancing. Every friend somehow becomes a concert buddy, most willingly (Amanda might never forgive me for the Circus tour; it was a tough time in my life, what can I say? I have good friends.)

I grew up in a house filled with music, and I owe that to my hippie parents, who raised us on the beloved gravel of Dylan, the brillance of King, Mitchell, and Collins, and the unappreciated-by-us Cohen. We were sang to before bed, sometimes to wake us up, always on car rides, and everywhere in between. Unapologetically, I'll admit my first concert was probably Sharon, Lois, and Braham. To say I was obsessed is a bit of an understatement; however, The Elephant Show live was quickly followed by the Beach Boys, Amy Grant (as close as I got really to being a child of the 80s), Bob Dylan, and Paul Simon. To this day, there is nothing better than sitting out on the hill at Pine Knob (it will always be PK to me) and though my tastes have become slightly more mainstream and pop-y than my dad really would like to admit (I could barely tell him about that Katy Perry concert), those early ones are my roots. The first CD I remember having at our house was August and Everything After .. someday, Dad, I will give it back to you but for now, it's one that still get plenty of play. He heard Adam Duritz, Sarah McLachlan, Tracy Chapman, and Barenaked Ladies before me; thank god I have a cool dad who shared with his relatively uncool daughter. These are the CDs, among others, which are like that old, comfortable sweatshirt, the songs I play again and again, no matter the time, place, or mood. Afterglow got me through homesick nights in Kenya, Blood on the Tracks is the perfect cleaning the house soundtrack, Tapestry uplifts me every time, lying on a bunk in Nicaragua Simpler Times eased my racing mind, and a girl can't have enough Alanis or Mumford & Sons for the occasional "F- it" drive home from work with the windows down.

For those of us who love music, we know there are albums which speak to us about whatever it is happening in our lives at the moment. Songs transport me to a different time, sometimes with happy memories attached, other times more bittersweet remembrances. I'm transported to high school memories, college dance parties and late night study sessions, road trips, at least a hundred concerts, and ordinary days in the more recent history with the opening chords of a song or snatch of lyrics. My dear friend Dan, on a really long bus trip with teenagers, asked me amidst the madness what ten songs I'd put on an album to encompass my favorites. It's a question I mull over from time to time, and each time I reflect on it, some remain the same, but there are always songs which embody my heart at that moment. When Dan asked me that question a lifetime ago, I was in love with life. I'm sure the songs I picked at that moment, which he eventually bullied out of me in his endearing Dan way, represented the excitement of post-college, independent, and in-love Sarah. Some of those songs are still on The CD. There are songs which will never change as my favorites, songs which I will never tire of hearing, those which no matter what is happening in my life, they are my musical sweatshirt. Some songs land on the list briefly, and are re-played again and again for a short time, but then rarely heard again; others are more enduring and ......

Now you see my problem with The CD. I could never just pick ten. So instead I listen to live music every chance I get and in between settle for familiar voices and lyrics which capture my thoughts and feelings more beautifully than I can. Last night, Joshua Radin prefaced his song "The Ones with the Light" by telling the crowd he wrote it for us, his fans; the chorus goes, "We will never change / the way we are here / I like that we are kind of strange." As we all sang together, I realized I was in really good company at that moment. And I am anytime I hit play on that old comfortable sweatshirt of The CD, whatever it plays at that moment.

Oct. 2012, Majestic Theatre

And a few other concert pics from days past ...

Sir Elton John (with Billy Joel, not pictured), courtesy of the McGowans

Amanda & me at Britney's Circus tour

Christy's visit to FL in '08 included Adam Levine singing to us. No, really!

Girls' night out for Katy Perry's California Dreams Tour

Clancy Clan (minus Cate) at last summer's Bob Dylan show

"I believe in pink" - Audrey Hepburn

This photo holds a prominent place on my kitchen window sill and almost always newcomers ask, "Who are those people in the black and white photo?" When I tell them it's 4 generations of Ortman-Parker-Clancy women, they are impressed we have such a picture (I was alive when film was still in black & white?) and then I share that I keep it where I am most reminded of my grandma,: the kitchen, a place which symbolizes warmth, family, joy, and good, good memories. 

I recently re-acquainted with a childhood friend (this is a small, small world, my friends) and she shared how fondly she remembers traveling to 'the farm' on John R, where we played for hours in the garden and backyard, always supplies with peanut butter cookies and fresh raspberries. It pleased me so much to know someone would remember a place I love so dearly with such affection. Around that kitchen table, we crammed way more people than really should have fit, drank way more Cokes than our parents would ever allow (ask Pat about this), played way too many games of Yahtzee than anyone should play in her entire life, and shared laughter, tears, and really, really, REALLY good food, often fresh, canned or frozen from the garden or caught in a Michigan lake (she was quite organic before it was cool). The summer was for Vernors and ice cream; the winter for chicken goulash and macaroni & cheese. Gram was always up for our version of an adventure (walks to 'the little store,' the creek, or 7-11 for Slurpees) and she came along for many of the awards ceremonies, games, and shopping trips, too. Much later in life, she discovered pizza and her frequent trips to Pizza Hut's lunch buffet amused us to no end. She used to get so 'mad' at Pat for asking how many pieces she'd actually eaten. (After writing this paragraph, I'm going to start blaming her for my obsession with food .. clearly, she influenced me in that regard.) She loved in the form of food, among many other ways. 

Gram truly delighted in the simple pleasures and determinedly encouraged the same in all of us. She relished time with each individually but was happiest when we were all together. She celebrated victories and lamented sorrows. We knew her home was a place of refuge, her heart one of unconditional love. I remember truly fighting with my dad only once in my life and as the yelling really escalated, I remember running out of the house on Harrison, screen door slamming, screaming, "Please just let me call Grandma, she'll come for me. Please just LET ME CALL GRANDMA." You would've thought he was beating me .. Relaying the story not long ago to my cousin Teresa, she laughingly admitted that she recalled similar scenarios at her house while she and her siblings grew up. She'll also tell you that she was Grandma's favorite; this is not true .. it was me, obviously. 

In this month of October pink surrounds us. The cheerful hue splashed everywhere reminds us of those who are fighting, fought, survived, or succumbed to their battle with breast cancer. I consider Gram a survivor of this particular disease and like to think it's because her name is Rose. She embodied all that the color has come to represent: hope, faith, life. She was pink before Susan G. made it iconic. She fought with every ounce of her being through those months of treatment and surgery and then celebrated with great joy and love of life during her recovery. A year or so later, in her final days, we gathered in her home which represented so much love and surrounded her as the family with whom she shared so much joy. It's only years later that I'm able to acknowledge that her death taught a lesson of faith in God's timing - it was her time. Right up until the end, she taught a lesson of trust and - always - love, not as much with words as with action. 

The photograph in my kitchen is strategically placed where I can't avoid it. On the rough days, it reminds me of the strong, faith-filled, and loving women who have come before me and guide me on my path. On the better days, it reminds me of the strength I hold and the love I have to give the world. "I believe in pink."


And just in case you need a reminder about what life just might be about, here's the quote in its entirety: 

“I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.” ― Audrey Hepburn