He said it 50 Years ago, Never Too Late to Listen...A Gen-X-er on MLK

50 years ago, those of us in the 40ish and under crowd did not live to hear of the vision Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr shared first hand; through black and white television broadcasts, radio coverage and newspaper accounts. We were deep in the subconsciousness and dreams of our parents. But, our 40-something generation did have the benefit of living in a post Dr. King era and were taught the contributions of he and a few other African-Americans in school in at least most of the country. For some of us, that also meant hearing of first hand accounts of racism from both sides of the coin and freed us to have more options, opinions and dreams than our forefathers and mothers while allowing us to see someone like Barack Obama sworn in as our 44th President. We, however, also live in a time when hatred has the ability to spread anonymously through cyberspace and where young men like Trayvon Martin can be gunned down for being in the “wrong” place, for wearing the “wrong” thing and for not cowering to the “wrong” man who felt he was protecting society from yet another menace in black skin.

HOWEVER, it is never too late to listen and learn from Dr. King. After all, “Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.” Have faith that the world can be a better place by allowing the faith within to guide others to be right and do right.

50 years ago, August 28, Dr. King addressed the masses by stating that he had, “A dream that [his] four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” It’s better for my two little children, but I know their brown faces bring expectations and still have to warn my son about the burden and misjudgments his skin will bring to some, while teaching my daughter she is beautiful in spite of the media.

If we truly believed, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter,” what would you say differently? Do differently? How would you be different right now? How could you stand for others not to follow suit? Don’t we know that, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Stand up and shout, teach, pray that everyone lives to act, because, “The time is always right to do what is right.”

And finally, our society should value the notion that, “The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically. Intelligence plus character - that is the goal of true education.” We all need to ask ourselves, “Life's most persistent and urgent question... 'What are you doing for others?'”

A timeless series of sentiments, for all men and women, of any age, stage or phase of life. His dream stays alive in those of us who live his words. Thank you, Dr. King. Many of us are still listening and still trying to make you proud.

My Four Agreements (with a little help from Miguel Ruiz)

As an avid reader, inner peace seeker and budding global spiritualist, I am often drawn to literature that helps me work to live better and leave a better spiritual footprint wherever I go. I began this journey back in Brownies where I learned to, “Leave places better than I found them.” I expanded this to, “Leave people and places better than I found them,” sometime in middle school and by high school, I was was bent on making sure people, “Knew my name and remembered me after I’d moved on.” I am impressed by my gumption as I remember saying this even as 1 of 18,000 in college. And you know what, I think I did it. As a teacher, this is a daily quest and I am often looking for sources to fuel the immense amount of energy this type of mission statement requires. Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements is now the center of much of this thought.

A friend handed the book to me during one of my infamous seasons of down moods and after recently discovering I’d never returned the book (though I swore I had) and seeing a television interview with the author, I was inspired all over again. The Four Agreements are promises you make to yourself, that in turn, help you be a better you for those who cross paths with you whether intentionally or accidentally. You don't need to read the book, but of course, I wanted to give credit to the soul who so eloquently and simply scribed these rules for living. They are:

1) Be impeccable with your word.

2) Don’t take anything personally.

3) Don’t make assumptions.

4) Always do your best.

Anyone else joining in my, “Well, duh,” chorus? So simple, yet so profound. And remember, you need to apply these to yourself. It’s easy to be kind to others, but many of us are our own archenemy. Be honest with yourself, keep promises to yourself, and for us moms, that means, eat, sleep, exercise, say “no”, and be truthful so you can be who you need to be for those who need you. Don’t take anything personally: usually someone else’s __________ is about them. How dare you think you are the center of their universe? Don’t assume anything. Unless the thought generates from your own center, you don’t know it’s intention and how dare you do so. And finally, Boy/Girl Scout motto, ALWAYS do whatever your best is at any given moment on any given day. How dare you think you can do more and how dare you do any less?

Be true, be you and do your best. What a way to be and be and be and thrive...

http://www.miguelruiz.com/

Hit the Reset Button

It’s been one of those days. Too humid to get a good night’s sleep, fans loud and blowing uncomforting waves of gusty unnatural breezes. Allergies (made worse by said fans) making itchy eyes and skin worse. Wake up to change outfits so many times you think you’re back in high school. Hair won’t cooperate, trip over the dogs, more itchy skin on the face you’re not feeling so good about wearing . Can’t decide what to pack for lunch. Kids and spouse getting on your nerves just because they exist in your space at that very moment and staying out of your way, sensing something is up. Then, just as you sit in the car, you feel your underwire snap and feel a sharp poke in your upper rib cage. Really? Seriously? And we haven’t left the driveway?

As I unlocked the door and startled my dogs that have already said goodbye in their doggy way, I marched upstairs to change the violating underwire before leaving for work and remembered one word...RESET. It was a decision I Could make and the only thing I Could change about the way my morning was going. I could choose to reset my mindset. Go from, “This day is jacked up and is only going to get worse,” to “Well, it’s been an ‘eventful’ morning and I now have the opportunity to come down these stairs again and start over, to reset.”

After all, I have a bed to sleep in and I am lucid  enough to feel the humidity. I have paid my electricity bill to keep the artificial breeze going and have eyes to feel itchy and skin to look blotchy. Could someone with a degenerative eye disease or a burn victim say the same? How dare I be upset about having a choice of outfits and hair that a chemo patient wished they had? Sweet doggy escorts making sure I don’t get lost on the way to the kitchen and a refrigerator and pantry FULL of food are on many wish lists. Spouse and children that know and love you well enough to just move out of the warpath, priceless. So, I chose to hit “reset.”

After getting rid of the pokey bra, starting the car a second time and taking a good and true deep breath, I reset my day. Watching the nightly news with reports of Syrian civil atrocities, I realize my morning is another’s heaven. A teacher friend of mine has coined the term “first-world-problems,” perfectly describing what this morning’s challenges held. How dare I do anything but push “reset.” Learning to be grateful in the midst of things that don’t always feel like it is the gift of the “reset.” It could truly, surely, most positively be much, much worse. We owe it to those that do.

Unexpected blessings...oxymoron?

After three first week of school days that felt like a week in themselves, or even a month, I thought it a good idea to retire my teacher hat and place the "momma of my own children" hat back on, at least for the weekend. My all-boy, boy-child was in need of more shoes to shred while skateboarding and biking, so, though I was beyond tired and in need of an adult beverage, I decided to rally and hit some stores in search of shoes.

First store, strike one. Second store, we score a double with shoes for both function and fashion with an extra base for no arguing. We soldier on to yet another retailer and move to third base with both function and price being in our favor. On a whim and while in good moods, we approach a store, just because, and find sporting equipment that fits, is of good quality and is on CLEARANCE for 60% off. Homerun!  But wait. The salesclerk reaches over the counter to high five us after seeing our purchase is really half what we thought. Final price about 80% off!

Boy child looked at me with a smile of disbelief as I looked to the ceiling in a not so silent prayer of thanks. This was the third and most grand blessing to occur on this admittedly dreaded excursion.

That got me thinking about blessings. You never know when or where they will occur. Unexpected? a gift? Well, duh. You never know when the stars will align in your favor. You never know when heaven will part the seas, stop the sorrow and stress, and allow serendipity to disperse among those doing the best they can with what they have for those they love.

No matter what anyone else says, or believes, I believe today was a reward for doing my best for those I love while serving my purpose on earth. Did I deserve it, NO! Was I greatful, beyond words. Unexpected blessings? Don't wait for one...be one.

Teachers, I'm calling you out. Ask yourself Why?

Teachers, I’m calling you out. I’m throwing down the gauntlet. I’m stomping my feet, raising my hands in the air and shouting with all of my soul, just one question. Why do you do what you do? Why do you get up too early, spend too much time with other people’s kids and spend your meager check to buy supplies for your room and all the while ask friends to save toilet paper tubes, aggressively recycle all sturdy plastic containers and glue yourself to Pinterest to complete that theme/project/activity for your classroom? Why are you spending summers in training that rarely increases your pay and why do you show up at school days or weeks before the mere two days you get to “set up?” WHY?

You say it’s for the kids. Let me enlighten you. If you teach them to be mini versions of you, expect them to learn your way, to match your teaching style and fit into your grooves, then it’s all about you, not them. What is a teacher if not a mentor, guide, source of inspiration and visionary? It is your job to reach each kid where they are and help them become a better student, and more importantly, a better person. Kids should walk away from your class inspired and tired, as should you. The word teacher needs to be synonymous with flexibility, creativity and mastermind.

So, if your desks are set up in perfect rows, bulletin boards pristine, labels on anything and everything, and you have lesson plans that could be bound into a textbook, good for you. But, if you don’t look deeply into the spirit of each little soul entrusted to you and ask yourself what you can do to ensure they are successful and filled with a love of learning when they leave you, you have failed. No matter the test scores, no matter the check marks on your checklist, no matter how quiet they are when in your room, be sure not to mistake compliance for success.

So, as you walk into the new school year, ask yourself WHY you do what you do. Did you put that kid first? The one with the squirly behavior or the one struggling who hides it with defiance. So yeah, I called you out. I was that kid who could have slipped compliantly through the cracks. But, I had teachers who wouldn’t let me settle for being anything less than my fabulous best and I challenge myself to be that teacher everyday. Are you with me? If not, get out of my way. Let’s...do...this!

Yearly Mammogram- From "The Girls'" Perspective

Why is our heart racing so much, gee-sh, just another visit to the Dr.’s office. Wait, why aren't we taking the stairs, why are we veering to the left and towards the smiling, badged lady with the sign above prominently displaying. R-a-d-i-o-l-o-g-y? Wow, that was a quick wait and to a secondary, pink-filled, ribbon clad room that seems to have a decor screaming “girly.” What’s that form you’re filling out? A family history of...breast cancer? No, we don’t have any of that, but we are 42, so, that means we’re back to the massive smooshy, hold your breath and don’t move while the life is being squeezed out of us place. It’s time for our MAMMOGRAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OK, we can do this, we got this, girrrrrl. Deep breath. No, no family history here. No, we didn’t feel anything in a monthly exam. No, we haven’t had any problems. Just here because it’s been one year since we visited last. Oh, it’s our turn. OK. Breathe again. Sure, we’ll strip below the waist and put on the pink patterned, yet not so cute snap front cape in the softly lit x-ray room. Yes, we did wear deodorant today and will clean with the wipey thingy sitting on the counter marked “wipes,” next to the after “deodorant” wipe. All right, I’ll step forward, place my right twin on the flat, fabric covered plate, let you situate and handle me, and tighten the plates until I’m in just the right spot and hold my breath. Phew, release. Now repeat. What, I’m not done? You have to switch the plates to get another view. That means another squeeze? Oh! Yes, I’m frozen and we’re not breathing. Now repeat...What, we’re done? Yes, we will have a nice day. And, thank you for caring for us. Thank you for the photo shoot to see if we’re OK or if there are foreign bodies trying to invade and destroy us. We have so much left to do. So, no, we don’t like the way it feels, but we appreciate you. Thank you for loving us enough...

Losing all kinds of weight...

I've finally come through the other side of my "mid-life crisis." Although a few years past 40, this crisis really came to a head last year while traveling Europe for a school trip, without my family. With so much plane, train, bus and hotel time, I was forced to converse with myself and could no longer hide from those awkward conversations on the topics I'd shoved to the side of my mind.

I turned the critical voice, into the kinder, gentler type that I reserve for those around me who are struggling the most. "We" came to the conclusion that eating away the pain just doesn't work. Ignoring it doesn't work. Pretending it's not there, just doesn't work. Until I allowed myself to feel those unpleasant things, mindless consumption would take it's place. Being in Europe was kind of like detox. No access to familiar comfort food combined with "real" food and appropriate portion sizes, while being surrounded by beauty, nature and other people's crazy families helped me see that I could make it, even half way across the world when I didn't even speak the same language.

It changed me. And...the weight began to come off and has kept coming off for the past year. Yes, things fit differently, but since I'm in my same clothes, I didn't think the loss was as drastic as some who haven't seen me in a year or more do.

What I am amazed by is that even with the loss of my 25 pounds, my weight is still far above those height, weight, BMI charts that contributed to the feelings of hopelessness and lack of control that started the gain in the first place. My weight loss has been more than just fat. I've had a loss of burdens. The loss of the need to carry the world on my shoulders...Atlas can have his job back. I think the loss of this type of weight has me walking taller, smiling more and pressing on, even when things aren't so attractive. Staticity allows that weight to climb back on, so I must find it in me to press on.

Yes, the weight is going, but the weight of worry, shame, guilt, grief, disappointment and challenges is no longer welcome to linger. Bon Voyage to emotional baggage and bienvenue to a Wonder Woman mentality.

The Kids Taught Me...A Lesson in Tie Dye

Depending on your age, “tie dye” evokes different emotions. For some, it’s a flashback to hazy days in the 60’s and 70’s and represents an anti-compliant aura with a free spirit and fight-the-power vibe. For others, it’s a flashback to the 80’s and the resurgence of the “hippie” art form that was a wardrobe including smiley faces, peace signs and yes, tie dyed everything. And finally, to our younger generation, tie dye represents a free spirited, fun filled activity from day camp, or in this case, for a student group.

My stress level was admittedly high at the thought of dyeing 30 minimally printed, white t-shirts with 20 kids, no kitchen and having never been the go-to adult in a tie dye activity. After a bit of Googling, a triad of rubberband bags, a hot pot, 10 gallon tubs, scavenged food service gloves, and an admission from me to the group that I was not experienced in this and that we were in it together for better or worse, I went for it.

While binding my own shirt, I watched the kids with experience guide those who had no clue why we were twisting fabric and putting rubber bands all over the shirts.

I watched as some, who had no idea how a pattern was going to emerge from the tub of blue (almost black) dye absorbed into the t-shirt/rubber band wads, studied the strange brew with suspicion.

I watched as kids used smartphones to carefully time the dip and how their eyes widened as we used kitchen tongs to pull shirts from the deep colored water, place them in warm water, then into the sink for a cold water bath.

I watched their faces as I unskillfully removed my rubber bands revealing white rings that made my shirt look like jellyfish had made the impression.

I watched as they revealed their own designs, each with varying shades of blue, differing numbers of spirals, circles and what one described as a “vein” pattern.

I watched as some became laundry experts as they helped each other hang their damp shirts on a clothesline dead in the middle of campus; many of whom had never seen a real clothesline and hadn’t used clothespins for anything other than crafts.

I watched as the pride in their work spread a spirit of camaraderie that I’d hoped would flow through them, regardless of the outcome of the t-shirts.

From my watching, my kids taught me to have faith in the process the same way they had faith that a shoulder sit and reach to a nearby tree would help lengthen our clothesline. My watching showed me my new students’ leadership styles and personalities were as different as the t-shirts hanging on that line, but that somehow, they all go together, all compliment one another and are better for that connectedness. The expedited cleanup, taught me just how much I can rely on them to be creative, innovative and complete the job when it’s time.

It’s my kids that taught me. My kids that faced the challenge and came out better for the wear on the other side. My kids made it happen. All I had to do was design, get out of the way and just, watch the magic that is a child given an opportunity to thrive. It’s going to be an incredible year.

A Back to School Message For and About My Fellow Teachers...

It’s the time of year when hearts race in anticipation of the new school year. For some of us, life revolves around a fall-to-summer calendar, August being our January. I’m not talking about the students or parents, but the teachers who deep down, are just as excited and anxious about a new beginning, whether it’s their first or 31st. Unlike other professions, we start a new job each year, even if it’s the same grade at the same school in the same classroom, and for some of us, even the same kids.

This is the time of year where we are all superheroes (pun intended). We have visions of minds ablaze with inquisitiveness, eloquent words forming original thought and analysis, deep thinking that connects new learning to old, and an abundance of “a-ha” moments that make us keep going back in spite of the paperwork, unruly few of the child and adult kind, increasing class sizes and decreased resources.

We sit in bare walled, chaos and dream of what can be, memories of successful experiences fueling us to create, grow, design and inspire those little souls coming into our care for one hundred eighty days.

For some of us, there are rituals like first day of school outfits and books aligned a certain way. For others, it’s anticipation of kid sounds like giggles, zippers and binders. Still for others, a reminder of the fulfillment surrounding your own spirit because you truly know you were put on this earth to be a teacher. A teacher who guides, cares, gives, inspires, leads, encourages, picks up the crumpled pieces and sets upright what has been toppled. You know in your heart that this is where you belong whether your room is showplace worthy or waiting to be filled with student creations and energy.

For some of us, it’s our favorite time of year. To my brother and sister teachers, I bid you grace, patience and energy. You are loved, appreciated and worthy. In our hands we hold, “somebody’s baby.” Go on and change the world in spite of itself, one little baby at a time. 

Have a wonderful school year and remember this feeling on the rough days. Remember why you carry the torch, even in the thunderstorms. Remember, you are a teacher, and the world needs you.

1000+ Pageviews...Thank you...Dream On!

I hit 1000 views last night. No really, me, the perfectionist that has spent half my life talking myself out of trying new things, going to crazy places and having the adventures I’m jealous of when I get wind of them. The one who has faked a fierceness second only to a true Queen at the diplomatic table.

1000 times someone made the conscious choice to see what a flawed, often manic, middle-aged, outcast, overly critical, high expectations having, give you the shirt off your back type of American suburban imperfection has to say.

How touched am I when I’m told I spoke to someone’s spirit? How honored am I that they believed in me enough to take a break from their own reality to chance a peek at the inner workings of my chaotic mind?

Tears fall as I realize it’s not over, my dreams, my hopes and perhaps my purpose, may still unfold and that inspite of things not being what I thought they would be when I arrived at this station in life’s journey, I am on the way. That it’s never too late to be on the way.

What would happen if we all were on OUR way. Will you join me? Will you dream inspite of yourself? Will you step out onto that clear walk above the Grand Canyon of life? I have your back. Listen to those who have you, to La Voz, your children, strangers with a light only you can see. It’s never too late to dream. Thank you for indulging in mine.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.” I did that, you followed and I am recharged, renewed, re-energized and filled with gratitude. A bit, speechless...

My Favorite Part of High School Reunions...

20+ years after what was tagged as, “the best years of your life,” though while you’re in it and even after, you wonder, “what crack-head said that?” you have the opportunity to legally drink with people you shared tumultuous times with. High school had roller coaster ups and downs: highs like when that boy whose mere scent made your heart skip a beat stops and talks to you to lows like finding out the person you thought was your best friend was talking behind your back...all in the same day. High school was definitely, not the “best.” Depending on the eyes you looked through, any given day/friend/event/teacher could make or break what you thought to be your whole life at the time. But, you survived.

And 20+ years later, when you have the chance to lay eyes on others who traveled that road with you again, you wonder...What will they think of me? How do I look compared to them? Will anyone remember me? Will I remember anyone? With sweaty palms and in your party best, you walk forward into the unknown, almost the same as when you walked onto that campus for the first time.

Then, it happens: the best part. The bear hug of someone who truly, genuinely is glad to lay eyes on you. Someone who has lived to see this day and is happy to see you have as well. Someone who’s lived through moves, marriages, children or the inability to have them, divorces, lay-offs,  losing parents, bankruptcy, accepting their sexuality (sometimes even when everyone else knew). Those who have conquered living and have found the strength to exist in a way they could only pretend to in the past.

It’s that moment of embrace, release to study the face and the soul of a fellow survivor, and return to embrace, that makes attending what some feel is a charade, a true necessity. That one bear hug is a lifeline. A source of strength and energy reminding you of who you were, who you dreamed of being and that you survived it all to return that same soul filled embrace to someone you treasure and want to show that you honor their survival as well.

You survived, you learned, you thrived and are definitely NOT who you were. You made it. It may not be where you thought it was going to be, but those who did not make it show you what a winner you truly are.

Even if there’s only one bear hug of the evening, it’s worth it. You owe it to you. I will carry my hugs, until next time. I will continue to survive...and thrive.

Loneliness

Lonely is that bone aching feeling of inner darkness

Where you question what is wrong with you

so much so that no one wants to be with you.

Not your family,

Not your non-existent friends

Not those who smile and hug,

yet never make your cell phone buzz.

Only those who can't speak;

The pets, the ghosts

Stay by your side.

So lonely, that spending Friday night watching the

Emotionally ill, wounded souls on TV

Actually is the plan

so you see people hurting more than you.

Feeling unloved, unliked, unwelcomed.

Heart aching

Tears welling, pooling and

Threatening to go beyond the dam and

Onto cheeks and throat and back down to the aching heart.

How do you fix?

Who do you call?

Who will say yes,

They want to be with you

That they like being with you

You make them smile

And feel better

And glow

And grow.

Do I show up downtown alone and take that big a chance

In more ways than one?

Or, sit at home and wish I had gone.

So I dress to my best

Hold my head up

Fake the confidence I wish I had

Smile and find my outgoing inner twin

Wander

And go home feeling just as alone,

but having gotten out of the house while the

Nervous nelly in me yells with worry

while I drive

All the way home.

Wondering if the lonely will have lifted

Just a bit

Will I make a lasting impression on someone

Enough that they will want me

Even a little?

Lonely sucks,

Is it what I'm meant to be?

For My Niece

It’s the beginning

Of the rest of your days

Time to search for who

Or what

You are to be on this planet

I love you

Time to zealously laugh

And walk purposefully forward

Anyway

Time to cry like it's the end

And walk forward meaningfully

Anyway

Time to race to meet your destiny

And walk forward strongly

Anyway

Time to soar on the trade winds

And walk forward like a boss

Anyway

You will conquer the world

With your radiant smile

With your sunshine eyes

With your contagious laugh

With your soulful spirit and heart of gold

I love you

So read on

Cheer on

Run on

Fight on

Question on

Just go

On

I love you

You are free to conquer the world

And slap obstacles out of your way

I love you

Now

Go

On

Still Looking for My "Fit"

I have never “fit in.” From the time I practiced “Bunny hops” for my upcoming ice skating lesson and was stopped and informed I was, “black and ugly, like my (black and white hounds-tooth) skirt,” to the cotillion I wasn't invited to participate in because it was assumed I didn't want to learn to waltz, or more so, that I would be partnered with someone’s precious lily white son, it was clear, I don’t “fit.”

All the times I went swimming and had my hair go from relaxer, blow dried straight, to tightly coiled and was, therefore, pet like a puppy without the thought that I might not like that, I knew I didn't “fit.” As the one caramel colored face in the GATE group in elementary school to being the one on the sidelines cheering my team to victory with high kicks and a booming voice, I didn't “fit.” As I wandered the infamous groups during the middle and high school lunch table striations and was greeted, possibly even asked to sit, I heard about all the sleepovers I wasn't invited to and the parties I didn't know about until that moment. So, I floated to another group wondering what I did wrong not to “fit.”

It became crystal clear when I learned my blue-eyed surfer type boyfriend (who adored me as did his parents) told me his southern grandmother was coming into town and that his parents thought it best to keep me from her as she might not be as receptive. This on the heels of bused-in girls destroying any thought of a place to “fit” as they hit me with a barrage of,  “Oreo,” “Wanna be,” “Sell-out,” and “Are you mixed?”

My not “fitting” goes far beyond race, however. It’s my love of reading and writing, lack of patience for ignorance, deep loyalty, outspokenness, dance-floor-loving, scream-at-the-game on TV, sarcastic, intellectual,  square-peg-in-a-round-hole-ness. An odd combination, even I admit.

As I look at social media and see all of the grown-up girl fun I am still not invited too, am still not a part of, I come to the same crossroads: do I make myself fit, or keep wandering the lunch tables on the chance that there is somewhere out there where I can “fit.”

Each year, as I look at my students, I see the same thing and tell kids not to change, but that if they keep looking, there will be someone like them out there and that they shouldn't have to morph into something they are not to force a “fit.” It’s hard, but better than being literally stripped of the threads that make you who you are.

As for me, I continue to wander, make polite conversation, spend my free time alone, quietly smile, volunteer and show as much enthusiasm as I can while I search for a place where I can find a “fit.” A place where teenage dreams have transformed into the woes of career and family, where coffee dates, phone calls "whine and cheese" sessions and weekend girls' getaways happen just every so often. Not so desperately seeking a place to "fit" as hoping it's still possible. I'm complicated. ;-)

My "Family," My Love, My Treasure

Whether it’s the of the same DNA kind or by chance kind, or chosen kind, “family” is life, it’s glue, it’s essential for human survival for more purposes than biology.

Yesterday marked over a decade of family picnics where more of the attendees are non-blood related than those that are. Over a decade of first dates, births, deaths, divorces, moves, illness, financial trouble, graduations, weddings and hairstyles; all the intricacies of what we call life shared, hugged-out, cried over and smiled at over some of the best bar-b-q, peach cobbler and some smuggled adult beverages.

Our picnics have become an exercise in watching the kids grow taller than us as my generation slowly moves into the middle; those that have both parents and children to take care of, while managing careers and households. No matter what’s gone on throughout the year, our picnic is one day, to just be, to breathe, to hug, to smile and gorge on home-cooked delights.

The children climb trees, run races, build sand castles, throw, bump and toss whatever they can and ride anything with wheels. It’s their time to be with “real” and “play” cousins and set aside status, school rivalries, competing sports, and worries about the upcoming school year.

It’s our time to be raw and recharge, to remember who we are at the core and to move forward one more year on this journey we are assigned to.

With promises to call, text, and post, hugs that for many will be the only one from/for that person for another year, a last burnt marshmallow and one final sweep of the picnic area, we return to our cars, our homes, our cities. The primal energy, love and strength absorbed in one day with “family,” does wonders for the soul. It’s a gift. My treasure. My family.