I’m Going Back to Ball State!

Accepted!
Master’s Degree Program in Educational Administration and Supervision!

The year was 1987. I was young, I was dumb, and I just barely graduated from high school. There were no awards or scholarships to be taken away on that graduation day. I hadn’t worked hard enough to earn or deserve any. Please believe me when I say, it wasn’t because I wasn’t smart enough- I just had too many other things going on to excel in the world of academia at such a young age. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVED school. It was everything home was not. It was structured. It had rules. It was clean. It was safe. The adults working at the school acted like decent human beings.

Home was just the opposite. Our house was a hodgepodge. It was like a semi-bad episode of” Hoarders” before there were episodes of” Hoarders”. The rules were ambiguous and changed daily. Sometimes there would be consequences and sometimes not. The adults living at my house were NOT always decent human beings. They could be nice one minute and turn on a dime into  raging lunatics the next minute. So school was an 8 hour escape from the hell in which I endured in the confines of my own home.

At times, I felt like I was a POW living in a battle zone inside this household. I created my own little piece of normal in my 8 by 10 bedroom. I painted the ceiling a brilliant sun yellow. The walls were painted white with a rainbow border at the top and bottom of each wall. I had an accent wall which consisted of corrugated textured, navy blue wallpaper. It represented rain. On this same side the ceiling was a couple inches lower than the other, and I had cloud wallpaper above. My room had a theme, happy  on one side and sad on the other. I also had a deep plush navy carpet on the floor. It was the ocean on which I stayed afloat. I had a tv and my own phone. My personal space. I was all set. I could hold up in my room for days if I had too. (The bathroom was right next door). The lock on my door even worked for awhile, until my oldest brother broke my door in chasing after me. (Remember he’s 22 years older than me, so in all fairness this should not have happened because he was well into adulthood and should have had enough adult wisdom not to tease a teenager and he should have respected a closed, locked door.) The privacy I had only lasted for a brief period.

So finally it is time for me to fly to coop, leave the nest, with a get out of jail free card! I was going to college at Ball State!  I was ready! I wanted to go and start my life. What I didn’t know was that while growing up, my wings had been clipped unbeknownst to me. When it was time to fly and be independent, I was ill-equipped and my wings failed me. I spiraled to the earth and splattered onto the ground with a resounding thud. I broke into a million tiny pieces. I spent a whole year at Ball State. I took 12 classes and only passed 4 of them. I made an enemy of my best friend.(We found each other again a few years later and rebuilt our friendship over time, for which I am very grateful!) I became involved with a guy I shouldn’t have. AND I had to move back home. What should have been a jumping off point for the rest of my life, became a disaster I created because I was lacking the tools I needed.

I didn’t know how to rally or self-correct. I didn’t know how to seek out the things I needed or find the people who could show me the way. I was an utter failure.

It took me years to rebuild myself. It was a painful process. I moved out of my parents house and roomed  with another college drop out. I worked at a local nursing home in the kitchen. I made my own fun. I had a lot of it, but I was spinning my wheels. Then some major events happened that changed everything. My parents house burned down, like to the ground. There was nothing left but a burned out hole in the earth. It was a total loss. During the rebuild, my dad talked to me about moving home and returning back to school. By this time, my parents had stopped drinking. My mother had become ill. I took him up on his offer. I returned back home and began commuting to Purdue. I only took a couple of classes that first semester. It was THE best thing I ever did! I was successful.The taste of that success was delicious! I wanted more and more and more!  I was making decent grades, albeit going part-time. I  eventually worked my way up to 18 credit hours per semester. Pulled off making the Dean’s List a few times! I even won an award, STUDENT TEACHER OF THE YEAR! I received my diploma in May of 1996. In August of ’96 I was hired by a wonderful local school corporation and I have been there ever since. I was the phoenix rising from the ashes after being burned. I was flying and soaring to heights that I had never dreamed imaginable.

Over the years, I have collected about 36 college credit hours for the purpose of reapplying for my teacher’s license. That’s more than enough for a Master’s degree, however I didn’t do it that way. I just took random workshops and classes that gave credit hours for attending. I took the easy way out. I should have been putting all that time, effort, and money to a better use. In 2004, I enrolled at Ball State, for a second time. I wanted to take a shot at getting my Master’s degree. I also wanted a degree that would allow me to make a vertical move in my career. I took two classes and quit. I vowed to never try again. I was done. I just wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t have the grit and determination. I  decided I was just going to collect my credit hours, move up  the pay scale, and settle for being a classroom teacher until retirement.

Fast forward to November 2014. That little voice began to whisper in my ear, ” DO more, BE more.”  I began to listen. I began looking at online programs. I found one at Ball State. I applied. I was accepted. I started my first class toward my Master’s Degree in Educational Leadership and Supervision on January 5th, 2015. I am only taking one class per semester right now. I have 10 classes to take and two semesters of an internship. I’m not going to lie and say I am not nervous or afraid. I am scared to death. I keep telling myself, just one step at a time, one step at a time……

I can’t believe I am back where I started, but this time the ending is going to be different.

I’m Having a Birthday!

My 16th birthday circa 1985 Pictured from left to right: Some boy and myself

Yep, that’s me 30 years ago! It was my sweet 16!  I should have been the happiest girl on the planet! I was dating a jock ( My first and last). I was rocking the girl version of a mullet, known as a bi-level cut (Thank you Amy, for the correct terminology). I was wearing a different flavored earring in each ear, (A very cool statement back in the day). My clothing consisted of an Espirit white winter coat, light pink Forenza sweater, Calvin Klein navy pinstriped jeans, and pink Capezio jazz shoes. Oh- and my big collar turned ALL the way up! Nothing cooler than that!  All brought together by my matching red handbag-vinyl, I am sure! I should have been having the time of my life!

I was having a pretty good Winter break. We had gotten a lot of snow that year. My good friend from Griffith was visiting. I had been to a great New Year’s Eve party.

My birthday was the last big hurrah before it was time to go back to school.

The Story Behind the Picture

First of all it’s a polaroid. Instant photo gratification! Pretty high tech for the 80’s and my family, considering we didn’t have a betamax or microwave like everyone else on the planet did. The photographer was my mother, in all her drunken glory. The look on my face reflects all my feelings I had for her and her antics. I remember her trying to get me to smile. I just wanted to get out of the house and go far, far, away. I was basically imploding.

My date was a such a good sport. He took an uncomfortable situation and made it into something funny! No one could imitate her better than he could! Which would make me laugh and forget just how serious her drinking had become.

So, here it is 30 years later, almost to the day and if I could talk to the girl in the picture, I would have so much to tell her.

I would tell her that the struggles she has and will have are going to help her grow. Painful as they may be, she will learn from them.

I would tell her that her two best friends she has right now, will still be her two best friends 30 years from now. Not only that, but she will have other fabulous friends who enter her life along the way. These friends will make her laugh, support her, and be part of her life adventures. They will be the treasures in her life.

I would tell her to pay attention to all the women around her. They will become her role models for the blueprint of her life. Her classmates, her professors, her mentors, her colleagues; These ladies will help to find the missing pieces to make her whole.

There will be one special lady who will enter her life and her heart. This wonderful woman will pick up where her own mother left off. She will be nurturing, supportive and loving. She will fill her up from the inside. The girl in the picture will call this dear, sweet lady her Mother-in Law. I will tell her to make the most of the time she has with her because it won’t be long enough. So soak her in.

After that, she will be on her own.

I’m a Lover of Liver

 

I love livers!

I will admit it, I am a lover of liver, I swoon over sardines, and I rally for raw oysters.These foods are the trifecta of goodness to me and are the trifecta of grossness to others.

I always feel as if I have to go to the grocery store in disguise when I procure these items. A wig, sunglasses, maybe a fake mustache, and a long beige trench coat would be the outfit of choice when buying a quart or two of chicken livers. I don’t want anyone to recognize me because I don’t want to talk about my purchase. Without fail every time at the grocery store’s check out I get the look from the cashier as she has to pick up the mini vat of raw chicken livers to scan. They look at me, they look at the livers, and usually the expression on their face is one of utterly disgust. The last time I went to the store, the cashier wrinkled her nose and stated she didn’t like livers. I just stared at her and smiled. On the inside I was thinking, ” I am not buying them for you! Just ring up the damn livers.” On another occasion, as I was going through the line, the lady scanned the liver and then asked me if I was going fishing. I guess the thought of chicken livers purchased for human consumption was a little foreign to her. Of course, I had to answer her intrusive question about my purchase. I think there should be some kind of law that cashiers should not comment on food that you purchase. I don’t like playing the inquisition game to defend what I have in my cart.

I don’t remember not liking liver. My mother would make liver and onions at home and I would eat it. When I discovered it on menus at restaurants I put that entree in my wheel house, along with my super favorite: spaghetti. Waitresses were always taken aback when this little girl would order the liver and onion meal. So I had a worldly palate, sue me. I was being raised by two people old enough to be my grandparents. I could have had young hippie parents and been raised on a hippie commune,( my dream ) but I didn’t get that type of parents. These two were from another era- the depression. I think they stayed depressed for their entire lives. Their pantry reflected that depression. I don’t think the items found in my mother’s cupboard had changed much from the 1930’s to the 1970’s. She kept an array of canned and jarred items that would make Harry Potter think he could concoct some kind of polyjuice potion. Potted meats, canned fish, dried meats in jars lined the shelves. It was like have our own version of c-rations in our pantry.

But we always had something to eat whether it was canned, fresh, or frozen. When my mother would serve something I didn’t like, her response would be, “Then I guess your just not that hungry because if you were hungry enough you’d eat it.” So I ate it. I knew I would not be allowed to obtain a substitute. Take for instance sour kraut and sausage day at our house. First of all, one is forced to smell fermented cabbage waft throughout the house for hours on end, as it simmers in the crockpot. To a small child it stinks. It didn’t matter what the temperature was outside, on sour kraut and sausage day- I played outside all day. I’ve never met a little kid tell me his/her favorite food was sour kraut. When we all sat down to our meal, I would pick out the sausages only and boiled potatoes. I learned to eat the small thin strands of kraut that stuck to the sausage. It took too much time to pull those off and I wanted out of the smelly kitchen as quickly as humanly possible. It took years for me to finally eat the kraut.

Something that was even better than being forced to breath in kraut air were the little stories they told that revolved around the food. So if we had sour kraut and sausage 5 times during the year, I would hear this same story retold each time. It was my parents version of saying grace, except more useful. The story connected to the food and you learned something. So for the sour kraut the story was that if you had a tape worm back in the 1800’s, they would make a big bowl of this for you to hold your head over and the tape worm would crawl it’s way out of your gut!

Now eat up!

Oh the food trivia my parents would present at each meal would make Alex Trebek blush and his stomach turn.

I’m Too Old to be Treated Like a Little Girl

Little Lisa
Age 3
Circa 1972

Words can drip from our tongues like honey or words can come at us like a swarm of bees…..

My dad spends his days alone since my mother died. I try to visit once or twice a week with a salt and peppering of phone calls to check-in with him. He’s 86. A crusty kind of guy with a big hidden heart. A big heart that only comes out when it feels safe to do so. I don’t know what he is so afraid of by showing love and affection,but both my parents lived by the same credo.

Love in our family was more on the crusty side. A lone crumb of love would find its way to you on occasion. I remember asking my mother why she never told me she loved me. She said, “Well, you should just know. It goes without being said.” Like, I am you’re parent and you are my child and that’s just part of the package deal. To go over and beyond that would simply be an act of over-indulgence. Who knew you could hug your children and tell them you love them TOO much?

So what they lacked in kind and loving words, they more than made up for with harsh criticisms and unwanted personal opinions about almost everything. Superficial things really, that held no weight in what really mattered.I believe each person is built from the inside out. We experience our world through our five senses. Our parents are the first to give us any input. Kind and loving words spoken to a child, create kind and loving human beings. What do you think the opposite does? Hugging your children, holding their hands, patting them on the head creates a human that loves themselves and doesn’t seek what they do not have during formative teenage years and beyond.

I feel that all of my life has been spent trying to make my parents happy and proud of me. See, without their confirmations of the big and small accomplishments in my life, I have a hole. This hole cannot be filled- no matter how hard I have tried over the years. I have tried filling it with food and other things. Food being my number one choice. From the time I figured out my mother hated fat, that’s what my problem was. It was almost a dare to her, ” If you can’t fully love me, then let’s see if you can hate me.” I had a slippery slope with food. I couldn’t control it, most of the time. It was a source of enjoyment for my mother to taunt me about my weight. My father would chime in too.

The hole grows bigger too with each shovelful of reminders of all my short-comings and mistakes. Here’s the top two from the long list that I have accumulated over the years:

1. I flunked out of Ball State and cost them a lot of money.
2. I wrecked one car and cost them money to get it fixed.

These things happened almost 30 years ago and I can’t shake them. These mistakes have been brought up over and over again. Now they are being retold to my son and at family gatherings like it’s late breaking news.

If we look at these two events, sure they are nothing to be proud of. If I could go back and have them expunged from my record I would gladly do so. They do not need to be rehashed every 6 months or so. Everyone makes mistakes in their lives. I have a feeling that’s why we are here. Make mistakes, learn from them, move on…..

Now if we fast forward to the present….. I do the best I can. I am a middle-aged gal, with a family and career of my own. I am in the midst of raising my own child and will soon be sending him out into the world. I can only hope I have filled him with enough kindness and love to sustain him throughout his life to spread and share with those that he loves.

I called my dad today to wish him a Merry Christmas and invite him over to dinner. We had just returned from a long travel day from Austin, Texas to Indiana, from start to finish a good 12 hours. As weary travelers, our main objective was to get home, sleep in our own beds, and wake up to presents under the tree.

The words were rolling off my tongue like honey…
“Merry Christmas, Dad!”

Small talk about our trip ensued. My heart was light. I was feeling pretty good about our conversation.
AND THEN…..

“What time did you pick the dogs up?” he asked. We kenneled our two dogs with his neighbor. I knew where this was going and like a house of cards the conversation began to fall apart.

“6:30ish, I guess.” I replied.

” And you didn’t even come over to say hi to me? ” The red alert siren turned on in my head. I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

” It took us almost 12 hours to get home. We were pooped. ”

” Well, that’s what you get for traveling on a holiday. ” I could see the swarm of bees leaving his mouth. The buzzing grew louder and louder in my ear. The red lights began flashing before my eyes. Oh my God, did he really just say that? I had obligations. I had a sick husband who couldn’t wait to get home to rest, my dogs needed returned to their environment, my son was anxiously awaiting Christmas morning- I still had to prepare for, and I was just plain tired, with LOTS to do.

” It would have taken that long on a normal day. Well Merry Christmas! Bye.” I hung up ,feeling deflated.

I keep putting my heart out there and it keeps getting stomped on. I didn’t even have to call him. Most parents call their children on Christmas, not the other way around.

So here I sit. The hole just widened some.

I’m Making Plans for 2015

Get ready 2015
I’ve got plans!!!!!

December was a great month to look back at what I did with my life. I figured it was also a good month to take stock, inventory, and organize for the upcoming year. Ideas began to float around in my head. Ideas of unfulfilled dreams, swept-under-the-rug goals, and unaccomplished activities kept resurfacing. Instead of ignoring these aspirations, I decided to write them down and look at them. As my pen hit the paper and the ink began to smoothly flow over the yellow page, I felt I was already making things happen. I was capturing these wild untamable dreams with a net and I needed to corral them in a nice and neat list. I compiled the list- in no particular order. I just grabbed these elusive dreams out of the thin air, one idea after another. As I wrote each one down on the pad, I felt my confidence and self-worth sore as I thought about starting and finishing each item on the list. I began to think about how easy each one of these possibilities could become realities. I just had to take that first step. So I continued to write…………… and I continued to dream.

I’m with the Girls

 

Mini and Ruby are best friends ( sort of ).
We have quite the routine each and every morning. They both are let out to do their business. Then they rush in for a quick bite of breakfast. It’s never enough for Ruby and Mini will only eat if she knows you are watching. When both are finished, they trade bowls and check to see if the other left anything in the bottom of the bowl. Let’s just say, its very rare a kernel of kibble is EVER left behind. I jump in the shower and they jump into their beds. It’s like a pug parade every morning trekking back to the bedroom. I make the bed. Mini hops up and finds her spot. Ruby walks to my side of the bed and waits for me to lift her up. Once placed on the bed, Ruby crawls onto the pillows and snuggles in. I turn on the tv and dial in the Today Show. Ruby has been watching for years! They nap in between segments and watch me get ready for work. I usually have time to sit and drink a cup of coffee with them before it’s time for me to put them away. We parade back to the bathroom. Ruby makes a beeline for her spot and Mini hops into her crate. I tell them to be good pug girls and that we won’t be gone long!

I’m Runnin’

Left it all on the treadmill

I did it again tonight, I ran non-stop for 40 minutes to complete a 5 k on the treadmill. I went on to walk for 4.25 miles in an hour!

I’m the Writin’ Teacher

Mrs. Hinkle getting her teaching on!

Yeah that’s me. I teach writing.

I’m Keeping in Touch with Old Friends

Visiting with old friends is the BEST thing a person can do! Sometimes we let the years and the miles between us become excuses for not connecting. I am a pretty lucky girl, I have friends that go way back- 35 years! Even though, throughout the history of these friendships, there have been times when we didn’t see or speak to each other for years, we always seem to just pick up where we left off and continue to carry on from there. These people are my touchstones in life. They are the ones I am walking through life with.