50 Shades of Gray and Other Hair Colors: a 2020 Reflection

 

Along about June every older woman across America, except for Nancy Pelosi, was concerned about one question on social media: to gray or not to gray?

 

Several years ago, at my Aunt Ruth’s funeral, I overheard a man say to one of my cousins, “The women in your family are beautiful. None of them are gray.” To which Kent replied, “Oh, I think they figured out how to take care of that long ago,” which I thought an interesting observation for a single man concerning his relatives.

 

As a teacher, over the years, the topic of “when to go gray” was dealt with over lunch in the teachers’ lounge (not that teachers ever actually lounge). But, the subject was never resolved. Just when should baby booming grandmas embrace their stereotypical role and let nature have her way? “Not yet,” seemed to always be the conclusion.

 

Then, after 3 months of quarantine, this most irrelevant question came to the fore, as one cannot avoid her mirror indefinitely.

 

With hair salons closed (except for private violations), the question of gray rose to a pertinent level of concern. So, what could an isolation-crazed middle aged (or older) woman do, other than turn to a reliable source of information and advice? Facebook, of course.

 

Then, as now, Facebook provided the answers we desperately sought.

 

First, should she just go gray? The reasoning behind this question was not only that a woman could not visit her favorite salon (or any salon, for that matter), but also that the whole graying process would undoubtedly be complete by the time the interminable quarantine was over.

 

Second, if the concept of “going gray” was out of the question, should she attempt the process “at home,” to which there was a plethora of advice. Whether the outcome was successful or not really didn’t matter. For teachers, thank God, it was summer; and for those who worked at home on Zoom, well, the hair scarf possibly came back into style. What actually took place in individual homes we may never know.

 

So, now that 2020 is nearly over and the first responders are being vaccinated as I write, it will be interesting to see what we all look like when we emerge from our cocoons to once again venture out into the wide post-Covid world. I have to wonder how many grandmas will look the part. Only time will tell. But, as for me and my family—well, apparently, we learned how to deal with that long ago.

Clothes: Day 2

Colorado has failed me: It's supposed to snow tomorrow.

Clothes: Day 1

I really don't think clothes will be a problem for me. It might be for the poor souls who work with me by the time I wear the same pair of pants to school all week. The kids will be glad that Friday's a half day.

I'm not a clothes person, but I think I gave more thought to the 7 items I'll wear this week than I did on my 7 foods. And, speaking of food: EVERYTHING TASTED SO GOOD TODAY. There was a cheese log in the teachers' lounge that I had to force myself to not eat the whole thing. We did NOT have eggs for breakfast. I never thought oatmeal could taste so good, and Kari said she did not have oatmeal (she'd had it the last 7 days). The godly girls agreed, it was a wonderful day to eat. At 10:00 I emailed Jay and said, "There's a cheese log in the lounge" ...Why do they call that room a lounge?... oh, well... "There's a cheese log in the lounge, and it's going to be a good day." It's the little things. I need to remember it's the little things that I should find pleasure in.

But, back to clothes. Last week I lost 2 pounds (thanks to the peaches I didn't eat) and can fit into a dull green, nondescript pair of pants. I'd thought I'd rotate a skirt and pants every other day, but if I wear the pants all week, that will give me the option of 3 shirts instead of 2, which might make me look like I'm not throwing on the same old clothes everyday.

One has to think these things through. Saturday is the Valentines Dance, and I'm definitely not wearing the green pants there. My dress (1/7 of my wardrobe) is taken, but it's worth it. Shoes: tennis shoes. That makes 2.

3. dull green pants
4. red blouse
5. gray sweater with a hood (I'm banking on this unseasonably warm Colorado weather to hold out for the week.)
6. brown shirt
7. another shirt (I decided today to forgo the skirt for a different shirt.)

By the way, I am not dancing in tennis shoes. We were allowed 2 pair to count as one item.

It was interesting to see Nia without earrings on today. (I've never seen that before.) And actually, I can spend more time thinking about what jewelry to wear than the clothes I put on, so I should get ready faster this week, for which Jay will be grateful.

FYI: Undergarments do not count (or we would have little else on). The godly decided that pajamas counted as underwear. The real 7 woman slept in her clothes, but I would have just turned up the heat on the electric mattress pad and done without.

I think I have clothes under control--that is unless I gain 5 pounds in the next 2 days and can't zip the dull green pants.

Food: Day 7

Food week is nearly over. Food was probably a good area to start with. Truth be known, I spend a lot of time figuring out what we'll eat because we have a lot of choices. This week I spent a lot of time figuring out what we'd eat because I didn't have a lot of choices. It was no less work, really. We ate nearly 2 dozen eggs, twice as much bread as normal, but there's still a can of peaches sitting on the counter. I think it will be awhile before it gets opened. We tend to eat a lot of the same stuff week in week out during the school year, but maybe for awhile we'll be a little more grateful for it.

This week is clothes. Once I accepted the idea that I'll have to wear the same two outfits every other day this week, I decided who cares. It should make getting dressed in the mornings easier--though again, I tend to wear the same things over and over anyway--just not every other day.

Starting tomorrow we can go to 16 foods. We'll eat oatmeal for breakfast. I think I'll continue to pass on the chips for lunch, and maybe the candy bar I stuck in my desk drawer last week will taste ever so good. I hope so.

Food: Day 4

Jay has had it with 7. As we perused the Walmart isles tonight because I'd run out of salad and bread, he pitched stuff in the cart and stated, "I want 16. I think I'll write a book about 16." As I turned up my nose at the wilted lettuce he said, "Just buy it. If it goes bad, we'll toss it. You only have 3 more days." (That is definitely not a 7 attitude.)

Of course, it was I who had pondered on the way to the store if perhaps zucchini bread was bread.

But, there is more to ponder on the horizon. I need to have decided my 7 clothes for next week. The godly girls have an advantage. They can wear jeans all week; I can't. The Valentine dance is that Saturday, and that new dress is 1/7 of my allotment. Oh well, I have until 8th period tomorrow to sort it all out.

In the mean time, I have 2 vocabulary quizzes to make; there are canned peaches sitting on the counter, and Jay is starting his second bowl of Golden Grahams.

On the way home he did ask what was for dinner tomorrow. To which I responded, "chicken."

Food: Day 3

I've discovered that I've made a serious mistake on my selection of foods. The godly girls consulted their mothers when coming up with their foods. I should have done the same. Not finding the canned apricots at the, not one, but two, big box stores should have been a sign. There should have been a sign that said, "Do not substitute canned peaches for apricots. They are NOT the same thing."

There were good reasons for choosing a fruit in syrup, and, yes, it was the syrup. So, when I had to strike a food item to make way for for the flex item, I cut the rice. What sane person would do that? It does not matter how many peaches one eats in a day, they simply do not hold you over.

Jay says I'm already a 7 failure. I've spent more time obsessing about food in the last 3 days, than if I just ate everything in sight. I'm afraid he's right, but today I did not cheat. Today, when I confessed I'd eaten green beans, Cobi admitted she'd had a handful of gummy worms last night. The rest just stared at me. I think they'll keep me on the straight and narrow for the next four days.

How anyone could do this for a month is beyond me. And it has already been decided we're eating at the Roadhouse on Monday.

Though--when I turn up my nose at the peaches, it does remind me that the world is full of people who would LOVE to have a half cup of peaches twice a day.

Tonight's supper: Enchiladas WITHOUT the enchilada sauce, rice (today's flex), leftover chicken, and an egg. I can go to bed with a clear conscience. (Even the author of the book said tortillas were bread; that's a dictionary definition.)

Day 2

I cheated. I ate green beans for supper.

An Introduction: Day 1 of living unexcessively

Time has a way of bringing things back around, and once again I'm teaching the "Godly Girls." The actual name of the class is "The Making of a Godly Woman," but that's just too long to say. Last year the teachers of "Godly Girls" included the book 7, which is an experiment dealing with excess in our American culture. The author takes a month and pares down an area in her life to 7 (yes, 7) items.

We don't have months to get through the areas of excess we all live in, so we pared down the pare down and decided to work on each category for a week. Since we're talking "godly girls" and not bonafided 18-year-old adults, the project is voluntary and--well--modified. Since all the girls were participating in the project, how could I not. I looked myself in the mirror and said, "You ARE the teacher. You will do this."

This week is food. Here is the deal: we each picked 7 foods to eat for a week. Just 7. Together we shared the items we'd chosen, determined we'd start on Monday because yesterday was the Superbowl (and Superbowl parties), and that we'd make our 7th item a flex item, meaning we could have one food of our choice each day. (This was necessary because this week students are giving speeches in speech class, and the hope among the godly is that most of those speeches will include food.) We also decided that everyone needs their calcium, so milk is a freebee. As I said, it's modified.

My list of foods for the week is as follows: chicken, cheese, eggs, bread, salad, canned peaches (because both Walmart and Target were out of apricots. Seriously?), and my flex food of the day.

By my 10:00 planning period, I felt like I was on a diet--the losing weight kind. There is generally a dearth of food items in the teachers' lounge, but oh, not today. The cupcakes were easy to pass on. The dip? That was hard. I stared long at it and couldn't in any way rationalize that it was only made of cheese. I took one of those cute little breads that accompanied it and pulled the salad out of my lunch box while everyone else partook of the dip. Apparently, it was good.

By the time the happy godly girls arrived in the late afternoon, I was famished. (I suspect it had to do with the missing chips that Jay usually packs in my lunch.) The girls were happy as larks; no one had brought food for their speeches today, and Kari declared she'd had leftover pizza as her flex food.

"Pizza?" I thought. "Is that allowed? Must be. We have leftover pizza."

Supper was suddenly decided--to which Jay was grateful.

The flexible item just might be my salvation this week. 

Great Hope

Dear Christa—

The sound of the Ft. Carson helicopters overhead has become ominous to me. Once again they head north, their flight path over our house. Day after June day they flew north toward the Black Forest fires. Now, they head north once more, seeking out the trapped, the lost, the desperate from the remote mountain towns and beyond that have been ravaged by the floods.

And this Sunday morning it brings again the thoughts of how easily we become spiritually trapped. One moment life is as beautiful as a Colorado mountain range, dappled in sun and fresh air.

How quickly disaster can be raging toward us, and there is no way to know its presence or its destruction. Humanity is in great need.

But, we are neither trapped nor deserted. God, very God, searches out the hearts of humankind. His Spirit winds through our spiritual deserts. He seeks out the lost. He seeks out the broken. He seeks out you and me.

Oh, give thanks this day. I pray it is a day our military recues many in the mountains. I pray it is a day that the Spirit of the Lord rescues many from the tides of desperate need.

Do you feel hopeless today? There is a realm we do not yet see, and the Spirit of God is seeking—seeking out you. Life is not as ominous as it may seem. There is great hope overhead.

This Memorial Day

When Mr. E—, who works with Christian schools internationally, talked to the AP and British Literature classes this year about differences in cultures, he mentioned that when people from other countries have accompanied him to the U. S., they often cannot understand why Americans honor their military. We clap for men and women in uniform at airports across the nation, and it has not gone unnoticed.

Once while we dined in a Disneyworld restaurant, when the couple next to our table learned that Joel was military, they bought him a bowl of clam chowder that was their favorite there because they wanted to thank him for his service. And, many people have and do spend much time in prayer for him and his family. For that I am grateful.

With several military installations located in our town, it seems like most everyone is connected to the military in some way. And for years, every house on our block has displayed a flag everyday of the year, not just days like today.

I remember the night of 9/11 seeing the young couple next door in the sleet and the snow, together on a ladder, hanging an American flag. A few months later when their world imploded, I wondered if it had been the last meaningful act they’d done together.

Before Memorial Day weekend is over, many of my family in the area of my Midwestern roots will have made their way to small cemeteries that line country church yards far and near to place flags and flowers. I’m sure there are new ones at the front of my own dad’s grave this day.

So, on this Memorial Day, as I walked along the flag-bearing houses of my neighborhood, I thought again of our cultural characteristic of honoring our military. In many countries the military is the oppressive arm of a tyrant, but not here. So, I would answer those who would ask why we clap, support, and pray—

We honor our military because they are the guardians of our freedoms regardless of race, status, or creed. And we thank them because they and their families have given much to perform to that end.

The Battle for the Soul

 “sinful desires war against our soul”  (1 Peter 2:11)

And is that not the battle, after all?

The battle for the soul?

As we concern ourselves with the petty—

the injustices of the work place,

the inconveniences of our conditions,

our disappointments,

our failures

That pull our attention inward,

but not soul-ward.

And while we reach

For a morsel of earthly satisfaction,

a battle—

an all out cry—

Rages within our midst,

A war hard fought for nothing other

Than our very soul.

While, we stand in oblivion,

Entrenched by forces vying for the prize—

thoughtlessly,

inattentively,

We stretch for desires—

Sinful desires—

Unaware that within that outstretched palm,

Rests—naked and exposed—

            The prize,

                                    Our soul.

                                               

                                                                        Deb Borkert ‘12

1 Peter 3

And this would be a day that I would read 1 Pet. 3 and all that stuff about a "gentle and quiet spirit"--living in harmony and sympathy, love and  compassion. It'd have to be about keeping your "tongue from evil" and "seeking peace." 

Well, today I was a failure--a failure just when I can least afford it. 


Maybe tomorrow I'll "do good" and "seek peace."

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous 

and his ears are attentive to their prayer.

This is no time to get sassy, and I need to remember that!

Monet's Lament

I hear the birds in busy work,

Singing 'mid the sunny fields;

Flowers, too, are blossoming;

Spring is bringing forth her yield--

But, not for me.

I hear the children laugh in play,

Games of joy and hide-n-seek.

Squirrels are chasing lovingly;

They beckon forth the shy and meek--

But, not to me.

Today I sit alone in darkness.

Today I weep in pain.

Today the shadows, my companions,

Reach out--to embrace me.

Deb Borkert ‘11

Fear

Sadness is within the shadows

My old foe has returned.

I sense you there

Beyond the wispy branches,

In the forest of my mind.

What calleth thyself this day?

Disappointment, fear, reality?

Ah, fear, my worst fear—

It has been some time.

When I was young, I wailed against you,

In middle age, I ignored you—

I hadn’t time.

But, now you greet an old woman.

What shall my response be?

I desire to sink into you.

But, I know there is no rest in thy soft breast.

And it leaves me bewildered,

As we parley ‘round this tree—

Deb Borkert ‘11

Suddenly

Suddenly—

She stood open,

Visibly rattled,

Beseeching—

Uncloaked, she awakened

Something in me—

Compassion?

And I was drawn to her.

Next day,

She’d pulled

Herself back under her

Wrap of insecurity—

Arms folded,

Hands withdrawn.

And I could not reach her—

For I could not touch her fingers.

D. Borkert 8/15/11

I'm Losing My Red

I’m losing my red.

I first started to lose my red when I dropped my cute, red, point-and-shoot camera in a London airport. Helen was just so cute walking along pulling her little suitcase, that some ridiculous idea came across me that I could (because my right hand was full of stuff) take out my camera with my left hand, push the button to open it and take a video of her —all, while walking and getting farther behind the rest of the group. (Yes, you guessed it. I’m right handed. And yes, it was a stupid idea, which resulted in my cute red camera having the back pop open…right at the beginning of our Great Britain vacation with the kids.) After we arrived at our B & B in Cambridge, Jay and I both futilely tried to push the sides back together.  Eventually, Joel walked over, peered down at the camera, took it, smashed it back together (either because he is stronger than us, or he didn’t care to be careful), and it clicked right in place. Though the screen had a few bubbles in it, it worked great for the rest of the trip. I have pictures to show for it…if I ever get them posted on facebook.

The real death of the camera came on our anniversary. Well, really the day before because we generally get to spend our actual anniversary sitting in before-the-start-of school meetings that every teacher in America find inspiring and beneficial. So the day before our anniversary, we made a picnic lunch, consumed it at Cheyenne Mountain State Park, and hiked up a trail. All was well until it began to rain, then pour. Though I tucked the camera in the pocket of my rain blazer, it was thoroughly soaked when we slid into the truck. Alas, the display on the back has been black ever since. Pictures it will take, but looking through the view finder is not my idea of fun. Jay said, “You just need to get a new camera like my new one.” “Do they come in red?” I responded. “No, just silver or black, I think.”

Then tonight we went to look at new phones. Our phones are old…way over the contract period. Jay wants a new iPhone when they come out. We decided to scout around the AT&T store to get an idea of our options for the other 3 phones. Right away, we found great little phones for our moms. They’re flip phones, have large number pads, and pretty much look and function like their old ones. Then it came to me. I wanted something I could text on if I ever decide to learn how to do that. I wanted something that looked a little more “with it.” (I feel like I need to keep up appearances with these teenagers I share life with 5 days a week.) Touch screen, it had to be. I gazed longingly down the row. Not one red phone in the entire store. So, in a couple of weeks, I’ll switch out the sim card from my cute little red phone and slide it into a classy, but black, phone…with a touch screen.

I’ve also noticed that my little red purse is looking a little worn around the edges. It’s handy with little pockets for all my cards. But I do have a bag that I bought this summer that would work well this winter. You guessed it. It’s a nice black fabric.

Yes, I’m losing my red. I see it slipping right away.

I guess in reality I began to lose my red years ago, one hair at a time. I’ll never quite forget the time I updated my driver’s license, and they changed my hair color from red to blonde…without even asking.

Now, I don’t have anything against black. It’s classy, sophisticated, and sexy. I just happen to think red is fun. And I do want to push into the future, but I’m sure going to miss my red. 

A Woman's Handbag

On our trips to Europe the last two years, I’ve carried a compact purse with a shoulder strap, which holds everything I need. There’s a small front pocket with a flap that fits my digital camera perfectly. Inside there’s room to tightly stuff my passport, a package of Kleenex, a small bottle of hand sanitizer, a tube of lipstick, and an adequate supply of Smarties. There’s also a compartment for the most important things when visiting Europe: my debit card, a credit card, money, driver’s license, and my health card (not that the health card could do much for me over there.) All in all, it’s the best $5 clearance purchase I’ve ever made. Jay calls it “Granny’s Magic Purse” because the Smarties have come in handy on many excursions with our grandchildren—so much so that they think the purse holds a never ending supply.

In York, Helen procured a cute little handbag. Each morning in London, she greeted us at our hotel door with her purse slung over her shoulder. Each day as her 4 ½ year old frame became weary, Helen’s purse spent a good deal of time draped over Kim’s shoulder or stuffed down into another bag I often carried that housed things like a rain jacket, snacks, and a scarf.

One London evening as Helen pushed her handbag into Kim’s hands, Kim stated flatly, “Helen, what do you have in here?” and began to take out its contents as the three of us stood there next to the Thames under a setting sun. She lifted out 3 headbands, an assortment of small dolls—with accessories, the pink handle to Helen’s broken suitcase… At this point Kim tilted her head and gave me the look that speaks far more than words to anyone who’s ever been the mother of a little girl, and said, “This is ridiculous,” and tossed the handle in a nearby rubbish bin.

This event caused quite a stir until Helen was assured that she would receive a new, improved, and unbroken luggage piece before returning to Germany. She had been quite concerned over the small suitcase when we’d returned the rental car at the airport, glaring up at her dad and stating emphatically, “I can’t drive this thing because it’s broken, and you didn’t fix it!” (I guess she simply wanted to know where the handle was when he got around to it.)

But, for anyone to assume that Helen’s purse served no purpose, that was surely not the case. On the day that we wove ourselves into the bowels of Westminster Abbey’s elaborate and vast series of tombs, Helen and Breck sat patiently on the floor in several locations, playing with all sorts of items from Helen’s purse.

Most certainly, when J. K. Rawling developed her character Hermione in The Harry Potter series, she realized that second only to a magic wand is a woman’s handbag.

Walking through Summer

I have a deal going on with my doctor. Last May, I felt terrible—actually I’d felt terrible all winter. So, I looked him square in the face and stated: “I think it’s stress. I think I need to quit my job.” To my surprise he concurred and said we’d all feel better if we quit our jobs. Then, he proceeded to order a set of blood work, which came back less than stellar. There were certain markers for type 2 diabetes, and my family history didn’t assure him one bit. But, when he started talking meds, that’s when I put in my two cents once more. “If I were to lose weight, those numbers would come down, wouldn’t they?” Since he was in a compliant kind of mood that day, he gave me six months.

But, as summer began, there were tons of things to get done—house stuff. Then, there was the trip to Texas to see a new baby and play with little girls. We made cupcakes, a pie, and we went to Babes. (I could go to Babes every night.) Next, we spent a few days with Mom and since there were just the three of us, and we had lots to do, we ate out nearly every meal. From Mom’s, our plans took us to Kansas City where we did movie night (with lots of popcorn with Flora and Scout) and late night snacks. On our return we’d both managed to gain 5 pounds.

So, with a trip to the UK a mere 2 ½ weeks away, it was time to get serious about weight loss (between spending time with our grandbaby here, of course). A 9-inch plate suddenly became my best friend and we walked. And we walked, and when I’d complain, Jay’d remind me that this had been my idea. He’d made no deals with the doctor, but he was incredibly supportive of mine.

As soon as the American Airlines jet touched the ground in London, so did our feet. We walked to our B&B; we walked through a library, galleries, and museums. We took a fast train to Canterbury and walked all day. My goal was simply to not lose ground, so my diet plan was to eat half my meal and give the other half to Jay. (I’m not sure what that did for him, but at least he wasn’t ever hungry.)

After meeting up with Joel’s family, we walked in the Lake District and down Hadrian’s Wall. We walked up more castle stairs than I want to recall, and we walked some more, even down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. We walked up more castle stairs, looking out over the North Sea, and I was grateful we’d started walking weeks before in Colorado Springs, or I would never have survived.

Arriving back in London late, we discovered our hotel room for the next 5 days was perched on the fourth floor—76 stairs up. And after we ate breakfast each day in the basement, we hiked a whopping 92 stairs back up to our room. We walked down streets; we walked across bridges, and we walked along the shores of the Thames.

Once home it took a couple of days to lose the two pounds of water weight from being on a plane or sitting in an airport for nearly 24 hours, and I was grateful to be back to where I’d left off before leaving.

So, jetlagged and all, we once again began to walk. We walked early in the mornings. Once school started, we began walking late at night. I guess we’ll just keep walking until we walk into the fall and winter, where I plan to walk right into the doctor’s office a slimmer and healthier me.

Now that I have them, I don’t want to lose my walking legs—because next summer I just might decide to walk up one of those mountains that I look at each day as I trek across the east side of town.

Remembering Paris

Remembering Paris

I think it’s our destiny to visit large, famous cities in the rain. So, it was with Paris. We’d taken an overnight bus trip from Heidelberg to Paris. Some people can sleep anywhere. I’m not one of them. By the time morning broke and we were weaving into the streets of Paris, the rain poured in torrents. Our French guide, jumping on the bus and shaking off the water, assured us that we were fortunate. It’d been blistering hot the day before.

In a fog from lack of sleep, we drove around the points of interest. I gave little attention to the expensive shopping district. But the history of the tall buildings that lined the older parts of the city roused me from sleepiness. “In past centuries, businesses were on the ground floor, the wealthier tenants next and the very poor in the upper reaches 4 or maybe 5 levels up.” (There was certainly no way to ignore the less fortunate or the more fortunate in those days, at least for city dwellers.)

I strained through sheets of rain to see the backside of The Thinker in a courtyard somewhere. The Arch of Triumphe pretty much escaped me. We were simply too close in the bus to see as we drove under it in the torrential rain. A quick stop at a great place for pictures with the Eifel Tower in the background and then we were headed for the famous tower itself and our drop off point. We were instructed where to meet that evening and admonished, “We will not wait for you if you are late!” She made believers of us, and everyone else—as we were all assembled long before the bus arrived back to pick us up.

Standing in the steady rain, Jay and I decided we’d pass on the long trek up the Eifel Tower about as quickly as we’d decided to pass on the 400 plus stairs up a dry cathedral tower in Florence. With merely a day in such a city, we’d had to choose between the Louvre and the Musee d’Orsay. d’Orsay won as Kim had said the Mona Lisa was in reality quite small, cordoned off, and hidden by masses of onlookers. Our bus guide, a French lady, had agreed.

Being less than art novices, I don’t know what we expected. At the moment, its lure was simply that Musee d’Orsay was dry, and as the rain continued to weep over the city, we were in little hurry to move through its galleries. We saw Van Goghs that I’d previously pondered why anyone would care about them—from the poor textbook pictures I’d seen. Now I knew. Even my untrained eyes widened at the bold strokes and the something that I don’t even know what it is. I just knew. We sat in the room of Monets, not lily pads but large panels of a beautiful woman stepping through the countryside. There were other great Romantics and scenes made from tiny dots I’d read about, but could not remember what the technique is called. It made me wish I’d been required to take an art appreciation class in college like our children had.

With d’Orsay thoroughly experienced and the low clouds cried out, we picked up a sandwich at a stand, and I took off my soaked through and worn out Sketchers and tossed them in a rubbish bin, replacing them with flip flops. We located the Metro and headed for Notre Dame. Our only regret was that we didn’t go inside, but the fear of missing the bus kept us from the long line. We did, though, saunter around each side, snapping copious pictures of flying buttresses. We wandered down famous streets and crossed the ancient bridges that span the Seine.

We stopped by a vender and split a French something that I don’t remember what it’s called, because Madame Voss had said, “It like nothing you’ve ever tasted.” We agreed, but we didn’t much care for it.

I cherish our two trips to France. I could go back to the bustle of Paris or the quaint streets of Strasberg and be glad for it. It was fun to read French, even when I didn’t know what the words meant. When I left, I wanted more than ever to learn French, but the school year that followed would not allow it. Madame Voss had moved on to new adventures, and my teaching load was one of the most challenging ever.

But as I reminisce sharing Paris with Jay, a new school year is on the horizon. I’m returning to my comfortable and established routine, and Madame Voss just might be back (for at least a few weeks) to broaden French students in my room during my planning period. And when I hear her voice, I’ll remember sitting next to the palace pond with the Farris wheel in the distance and no doubt long for a pain au chocolate which will always remind me of France.

Introduction to Great Britian

With barely an hour's sleep, having not slept one wink on the plane (though having read a goodly portion of Hunchback and observing my companions' all in a fitful slumber), our first stop after checking in was to the British Library, an English teacher's dream come true. With little sleep and even less food, I was totally engrossed seeing an early edition of Shakespeare. There were also works in progress of Wordsworth and Oscar Wilde. Of note to me was how much their first efforts looked like mine, words and phrases marked out and scribbles all smudged across the pages. Though the skill not on the same par, it was satisfying to see the greats having to struggle too.

Being the 400th anniversary of the King James Version of the Bible, there were extra displays of early manuscripts, along with scraps dating back to the 3rd Century.

The small room that holds two copies of the Magna Carta was so hushed and reverent feeling that you'd think the document was sacred--which to many Westerners, I suppose it is.

Visiting the library on a Sunday afternoon was probably the best place Jay could have guided me to. So now, with Scripture, liberty, and creativity firmly set in my visual memory, it's off to a pub for food before I faint.