December is the time for getting things, not giving things up, right? But ever since one of my friends mentioned “Denied December” in conversation, I’ve been pondering about consciously denying myself this month. Self-denial sounds unpleasant, but in practice it’s actually like giving yourself (and others) little presents! How fitting for this Christmas Season! Deny yourself 5 minutes of squandered scrolling to instead unload the dishwasher, and Poof! You’ve given yourself 15 additional minutes of family time after supper because you were able to load the dirty dishes as you were cooking. If I can convince myself to give up going back to bed because it’s still dark when hubs leaves for work early, I’ve gifted myself 20 minutes to relax with coffee and Jesus under my heated blanket in my chair “nest” before the school routine starts! I’m trying to learn that self denial is in the little things. I don’t have to forgo all the yummy holiday treats in an extreme attempt to change myself, but I can savor 2 peppermint Hershey Kisses instead of 12! I can squeeze in 18 counter pushups here and there throughout my day instead of feeling like I should be getting up at the crack of dawn to run 8 miles. Small good decisions day after day do make a difference! I can purpose do my best to be effective before 2:45 pm, so the bulk of my day’s work won’t still be weighing me down and hindering after-school peppermint bark production with Danielle. Instead of wallowing in overwhelm, I can make myself sit down and brain dump everything I need to do and think I need to do. Then I can attempt to cut out the extras and give the gift of a Less-Hassle Holiday to myself and my family. Or, like Mary, I might need to deny myself the luxury of even being able to have a plan! She didn’t have an online reservation email to easily pull up and recheck the details of the Airbnb “Stable Experience” Joseph had booked months in advance. Instead, she had to submit to ongoing discomfort while getting closer to utter unknown with each plodding step of her little donkey. Even though I’m sure she was a normal woman who was tempted to complain and to feel like her life was so unfair, I think Mary consciously chose to accept her situation as it was. I believe she made the choice to deny the desire for an easy path, a “normal” family; subconsciously giving Joseph the gift of feeling like a good husband who truly was doing his best to make his wife happy, and as comfortable as possible. This Christmas, I want to be like Mary and have a Denied December; giving those in my little world the best gift that I can give - my self, denied.
The mesmerizing whisper of the windshield wipers clearing the endless raindrops away as we inch our way home. Home; the call of Chubby Chick, my own little house and overstacked desk, the work he was happy to walk away from but really is ready to be doing again. My thoughts drift as much as the semis swaying beside us, contemplating life, which somehow seems more real, more vivid when you’ve been pulled out of your normal ruts. More sweet memories and moments committed to the past. Nebraska will forever and always be dear to us. Life feels fragile; a wreck narrowly avoided as a little Fiat fiats about a little too friskily. The best conversations come to pass as the miles go by, side by side but no need for eye contact. The fact that no one can escape makes it ideal. My thick book beckons whenever my navigation skills are not called upon. Or my magazines or drawing supplies. Always, more activities than I can possibly complete lie at my crowded feet. Sonic sandwich wrappers waft about the truck. Piles of stuff erupting here and there like mini Mt. Vesuvius(s). I do a trash dump at the gas stations every now and then, but otherwise I choose to surrender cleanliness in favor of comfortable chaos. Roadtripping always calls for snackitty snacks. Mini unwrapped Reese’s with salty pretzels…mmmmm. We all love them. A trailer is following us since Lepanto, AR, so I don’t even bother to offer to pilot this big rig anymore. Princess Passenger is my sole role. Vital Farm Eggs on my lap, cradled with care. Thanks, Audge! Darkness is falling; we are weary. But the lights of home are pulling us along, mile by open road mile. The pull of my very own pillow; my favorite people so close to me hour after hour. My heart is happy.
(This story was mostly written on the day it took place which was 10.25.23. I’m finally getting it edited and posted while I’m waiting for a deer in the tree stand.)
For a long time now, I’ve wanted to work at Waffle House. Not “work” as in wait tables and pour coffee, but “work” as in “take my office work” to Waffle House. I figured that the change of scenery would inspire a boost in productivity, plus I had a $25 Waffle House gift card! So today was the day to do this I decided! Armed with my laptop, charging cord, unopened mail, letter opener, and appetite, I arrived at last at our Atmore Waffle House, which is a bit of drive as it’s located near Interstate 65. A corner booth was open, so I snagged that and proceeded to order my standing favorite breakfast at this establishment. Pecan Waffle with a side of Bacon and Endless Black Coffee. A very grumbly older woman took my order whilst complaining about her co-workers. “No worries,” I thought. “I can cheer her up and I’ll leave her a generous tip!” She plunked my food down and muttered away. It was just as good if not better than I remembered. You do need to salt the waffle after adding the syrup though. Trust me. You won’t regret it. I asked who I assumed was the manager if they had WiFi. “No? Oh OK, thanks.” Hmmmm… do they even like people to work at their Waffle House? I started to watch how long other patrons were staying and whether or not there were open tables. Meanwhile, my plan to cheer up my whiny waitress was miserably failing because she never came back to my table. A couple other happier humans refilled my cup with coffee as they passed by. I finished my food and continued to peck away at the document that I was making decent headway on. A table over, sat a beautiful elderly black woman, who looked so familiar to me! I couldn’t help myself and stepped over to ask her if she used to work at Atmore Hospital! Sure enough, it was Ms. Rosa and she remembered me too from the days of volunteering there with Kristi years ago! Seeing her was a huge perk of working at Waffle House! Back at my “desk,” I worked a little more before deciding it was time to depart. I went to pay with my gift card, but alas, it declined. And then declined again even though I knew it should still have the full $25 balance! Flustered, I said to forget it, and paid with a different card. Next was a quick stop to use the loo before heading on my way. I noticed that it didn’t look as if the commode had flushed properly, but thought it was no biggie. I did a flush that confirmed things were not flushing according to manufacturer’s expectations. Now what?! Surely one more good solid holding down of the handle will solve the issue! But it DID NOT!! Rather, it caused an instant and extreme overflowing situation!!! Everyone woman’s worst bathroom nightmare! Even though I had not caused the initial plugging, I knew the right thing to do was to TELL SOMEONE. But every Waffle House worker was busy, and I felt so kerflummoxed that I just walked out the door, feeling like I would never again be able to set foot inside this particular Waffle House. Why had I wanted to work at Waffle House?! My own little home office is so cozy and inviting with a private restroom that boasts a wonderfully fast-flushing toilet just down the hall. Oh well, what is life if not an adventure?? And since I called the number on the back of the gift card and was told that I do indeed have $25 yet to spend, I know that one day soon or not so soon, I will once again attempt to work at Waffle House. I just might pop into Popeyes once I’m done though, instead of risking the Waffle House water closet.
Cotton fields… Unharvested.
White as a bride admired by all, waiting like a Queen for her cotton-picker King.
Cotton fields… Harvested.
Barren and brown except for the giant cotton bale marshmallows dipped in vibrant yellow and blue candy-colored wraps.
(Back in 2021 for the 50th Anniversary Celebration of WHCS, I wrote these memories. With school starting again this past Tuesday, they were fresh on my mind; hence my decision to post them on my blog!)
Bring some school memories,” they said. “Sure!” I said. “I’ll just wing it! How long do you want me to talk?!”
Because when I think about school, memories flood my mind! But so many memories begin to generate, that my mind feels muddled and I’m not sure I’ll be able to wing it in a way that will make any sense to anyone! Memories of being a student! Of being a teacher! And now of being a school mom! So I begin to write in order to order my mind.
Going back to my beginning at Walnut Hill Christian School as a sorta scared little first grader with spindly braids in Miss Joyce Johnson’s classroom, I fondly remember the structured orderliness. And my own little bunny trash can made of a Quaker Oat can wrapped in calico with a cotton ball tail. After first and second grade, I moved into Miss Susan Smith’s room, never dreaming at that point in time that I would one day be privileged to teach alongside her with her as my mentor. We learned how to speak some Spanish and how to sing La Cucarracha while we built more life blocks on the firm foundation that Miss Johnson and Miss Eraina Koehn had given us. The circle continued, and I moved northward a classroom into Miss Karen Reimer’s room for 4th grade. She enthusiastically read us stories by old fashioned lamplight and let us take turns having Libby the Lobster at our desks. Then I was blessed to have Mrs. Emily Peaster as my teacher for grades 5 & 6. “Character, Character, and more Character!” was a lesson we learned daily! But we also got to spend time in the “booth” in the back of the room, expanding our imaginations with a myriad of puppets and LEGO. We loved when she would pull out her tall black hat and read us, Miss Nelson is Missing. Looking back, Mrs. Peaster was the teacher who lit the flame of my desire to be a teacher! And who was behind the inspiration to always have some sort of Reading Nook in the back of all my classrooms, reminiscent of the old “booth” days! For 7th grade, I went back across the hall into the windowless classroom to be taught by Miss Laurie Toews. She was more than patient with my preteen troubles and even took all of us girls camping on the teachers’ yard! Mr. Cameron Boeckner was my upper grade teacher. My 8th, 9th, and 10th grade years were good years filled with learning more life lessons, having small scale members meetings during revivals, peanut gallery discussions, playing intense volleyball tournaments, honing our budding writing skills with essay after essay, water coloring while listening to classic stories like “The Monkey’s Paw,” skipping classes to chalk the program backdrop for “Mrs. Seymour’s Christmas” that Rhonda had sketched, and painstakingly cutting out all the letters (this was the pre-cricut era) to wrap our classroom in a Christmas carol. A couple years after graduating, I went back to WHCS as an aide. I loved decorating the library and interacting with the students; flashing endless stacks of flash cards, and helping them check out my favorite library books like The Golden Name Day and King of the Wind. Life continued, and I said yes to getting married instead of going to teach in a mission school. Then I was asked to finish a school term at Walnut Hill Christian School which proved to be challenging and inspiring! After signing a contract for the next year, I boarded a plane with my former classmate Vanessa Holdeman, for teachers prep class in Kidron, Ohio! That proved to be an enlightenment! Even though I was so excited and felt ready to teach, there was so much I still needed to learn! And learn I did! Along with my children, I watched our pet garter snake eat trees frogs until it died, sang “Amazing Grace” at the funeral of our beta fish Flo-Flo, and heard things parents probably wished I hadn’t. I struggled watching my kids struggle and wished for better ways to make learning an even playing field. The circle of life went on and I hung up my teaching hat for approximately four years, coming back to finish a term that love had ended. It felt so good to be back, that I ended up teaching two more years! Stargazing parties, Andrew Pudawah writing sessions, PowerPoint presentations with popcorn, the beginning of Barton classes, learning to love and light the windowless classroom, and after school teacher hashes once again made my soul sing! Along with writing, planning, and practicing programs; performing the Joseph’s coat musical, and attempting to give the auditorium a coffee shop feel complete with little tables and chess games for our epic Krispy Kreme donut fundraising evening, I learned that my kids will always feel like my kids. I don’t know how it happened, but somehow I was blessed to be able to teach all the best students of the best parents, have the best co-teachers, and work with the best school board members! I’m sorry for all the rest of you! And I’m sorry for all of you who have never had the privilege of teaching! I’ve always said that teaching is the only job that never felt like a job! Anyway, life goes on and now I’m on the other side! I’m the schoolmom who isn’t sending her child to school loaded with toast and eggs! (Just chocolate milk IS sometimes the best you can do!) Today, I give my thanks to God because it feels like life has come full circle. I was at Walnut Hill Christian School for all of my student days, for all of my teaching days, and now I am more than happy to send my daughter to this school for all of her school days.
The space between the lines
Is as important as the words
To ignore our need for rest
Would be utterly absurd!
We need space to be alive
To watch the clouds before a storm.
Always being on the go
Was never meant to be our norm.
Knowing how to give a “no”
Is a skill that must be learned.
“No” means “yes” to something else
It saves us from feeling burned.
Let’s take time to breathe and read
To ourselves be true and kind
Not forgetting the importance
Of the space between the lines.
Sharon Faircloth
7-12-23
