The Debating

When I was married, my former mother-in-law would ask, "how is it going with the debating?" The truth is, being a debate coach was the greatest thrill and challenge of my life.

Of late I've been thinking of the best of the best of my debate coaching friends. They duke it out every weekend. 

I gave up. 18 years and I was done.

Think about teaching all week, then climbing a bus on Friday morning to govern a host of debaters until likely the middle of the night Saturday night. And if you're me (for a time) coming home to little ones.

I'm not hopping on the cross. The highs in my life as a coach were momentous. I admit there were some lows. But I know my pals are out there now. It's no small feat. I salute them.

This is their first weekend back after break. I am home and I just want them to know that I admire them. What they do is a lot. That's all there is to it.

HoHoHo

December 18, 2017

When Mom died, Swad (my pastor and dear friend) and Dad delivered the news to my brother and me together. I could be remembering it all wrong. I was just within a month of my fifth birthday, but since I've thought about that day about every day since then, I think I might be spot on. 

There are many layers to what happened when Mom died. I think the most interesting nuggets, though, are what happened in the wake of her death. 

Some things I won't say here. Some people don't appreciate my sharing. I get it.

She died on January 20. I have no memory of a Christmas or a birthday with her. 

But I do know that my stepmother, Nyds, took one for the team and did a family Christmas with her husband's dead wife's family every year. She did it. For us. 

The holidays. Wear. Me. Out. But when I think about what Nydia selflessly did for years, I know that I can find somewhere the strength to power through.

Swad navigated my tortured family through it all. And his beautiful wife, Betts, did the same. They have suffered loss as horrific as mine. But guess what? We all still laugh. We all still find a way.

Merry Christmas, folks. Every day I realize we are stronger than we knew. But as difficult and awkward as it may have been, I'd give my left non-existent nut for another Christmas with Nanny and Nydia. 😂😂😂

HoHoHo, sweet friends. All my love.

Sushi!

December 16, 2017

It was my last year coaching debate, and one of my last invitational tournaments. In this picture, my dear friend (and then senior) Chase, is begging me to skip quarterfinals of debate and go eat sushi.

It wasn't the most professional thing I've ever done, but I caved. He and Doug forfeited quarters and a sizable group of us went for sushi. If memory serves, we got back for the awards ceremony and won the tournament.

In that last year of coaching, I felt some of my standards slip. I had been so "balls to the wall" for so long, and, while I always wanted my students to do their best, I no longer could garner the motivation to crack the whip as I had. Instead, I had the absolute best time. I nurtured relationships with students who have become the truest friends. I made some memories. I skipped out on a debate round and had a lovely dinner.

Interestingly enough, that year we qualified more students to nationals than we had in years. Maybe the balls don't need to be to the wall. Maybe, sometimes, it's okay to eat a California roll and laugh and trust that what we've all learned together will be enough. 

Chase, thanks for the plea. It worked like a charm.

Eyes Wide Open

December 14, 2017

I have horrid insomnia. Since Drew was born, I can think of a handful of nights through which I slept. It's usually the 3-5am hours that find me wide-eyed. But there are variations on the theme.

And so it is that I find myself tonight. Or this morning, I suppose.

I've made a pledge of late that I won't allow the puppies (who aren't puppies) upstairs anymore. I had the carpets cleaned a week ago and I stuck to my weak promise for a while. But when I woke up at two, I decided the pledge lacked the allure of two sweet canines who stick to me like glue, given the opportunity. So now I'm flanked with doggies and watching Netflix. There are worse things.

I'm currently embroiled in "The Crown." It's a fictitious (maybe?) glimpse into the monarchy of England. It is engaging and beautifully acted. But as I watch now with the eyes of a crazed insomniac, it only confirms my staunch theory that marriage is something I cannot fathom ever again willingly choosing to choose. I do understand that there are people who are happily married--or so they claim. 

I am happy for those who find someone with whom it's not a noose around one's neck; or a prison sentence. I do believe it's possible. For me--and apparently for Queen Elizabeth in fictional 1959--it seems unkind. I wish to throttle Prince Philip, and I don't even know him.

Life, insomnia, dog ownership, are such mountains to climb. But freedom...my freedom...it just doesn't get any better. Even wide-eyed at 3am.

For my happily married friends, I salute you. For all the rest, this life on the other side is magical. Even if you're tired.

The Race

October 28, 2017

In July I was running a 10K. Hold up. This isn't a Nance/fitness moment. The point is, I made it through the 5K and seriously reevaluated my choice to 10K-it. At one point I thought, hey, I could run straight to my car and go home and no one would ever know.

But I would know.

I've thought about that gut-check moment a lot lately. Do you keep running or do you sneak off to the car? The question of toughness has arisen in the wake of my sweet aunt's recent stroke. This lady is the classiest of classy and the toughest of tough. She is the rock of our family. Seeing her vulnerable and weakened and suffering has shaken us all.

It has shaken her. And that's a first.

Among other maladies, the stroke made her cry involuntarily. In my 43 years, I'd seen her cry maybe five times. Those first days in the hospital she couldn't stop for a bit. She was as disarmed as we were. I slugged off to teach after I first saw her and, in the midst of all this, burst into tears in front of an unsuspecting composition class that was subsequently silent and seemingly terrified. In all those years of teaching public school, I'd not cried like this in front of a class. This, however, was more than I could apparently contain. I gathered my wits, though. I thought of what healthy Aunt Di would do, and I taught. Without tears.

Aunt Di would never sneak off to the car. As I've watched her work to rehabilitate and stay positive and retrain herself to do things that were once easy, I've watched her keep running. I know she will keep on. That's who she is. 

I struggle with the struggles of my family as age and bodies betray us all. It's hard. I'm not ready for the finish line for any of these folks. But their strength as they race on gives me strength. 

This, I know.

Weighing In

October 22, 2017

My Nanny, my mother's mother and my favorite person on planet earth until she left us now 22 years ago, told me my mama was teased and bullied for being heavy. Kids in Fort Scott threw rocks at her, she told me. Mom and I never had a chance to talk about that, but I know she struggled with her weight. I know--by virtue of a friend of hers--that when she died, she had a too-small pattern for a pantsuit laid out. She was a gifted seamstress. But she couldn't fit into the size she wanted. 

I have struggled all my life with my stupid weight. As a child, I ate everything I could get my hands on, anytime I could get my hands (or mouth) on it. I loved food. I lived to eat. Eating was comfort and I needed me some comfort. 

So I was a bigger girl with a bad haircut. People who knew me then might object, but I know what I know and how I felt in my big ol' corduroy walking shorts and brass barrette. I was tall enough I could kind of pull it off, but I wasn't the dainty blondes that surrounded me at my somewhat uppity elementary, junior, and high schools. For some reason, though, it didn't bother me much. Everything tasted too damned good.

But I went to college and suddenly I got the bug to be thin. For a long while I ate one meal a day. The pounds just dripped off. For the first time in my life I wasn't a big girl. I was hooked.

It's been 25 years since I caught the skinny bug. My weight has fluctuated a bit since then, but it nevertheless governs much of my life. I'm not as skinny as I want to be, but middle age also has its challenges. I don't eat like a normal person. I exercise habitually. Sometimes maniacally. Guilt over what I eat is a nasty weapon against which I have little ammo.

Why am I writing this? Eh, I don't know. Maybe I'm hungry. Maybe I recognize how ridiculous and trite are these concerns in the face of real trauma, heartache, poverty, disease, struggle.

Maybe I'm tired of fighting it. Maybe I'm angry Mama died feeling fat. Maybe I wish I had my dad's epic metabolism and I could eat and be teeny. (That would be amazing!)

I have two kiddos with completely different body types. Probably to a fault, I won't say a word about their weight. I desperately want them to be happy with what they see in the mirror. And healthy. That I want more than anything. 

But I know this: if I make it to heaven (and my fingers are crossed), it will be all you can eat. 24/7.

Praise the Lord.

Truth and Fiction

October 7, 2017

I am obsessed of late with a show on Amazon Prime called "One Mississippi." It is the creation of comedian Tig Notaro, who might be one of the smartest, funniest people on the planet. The show is a snapshot of her life after a double mastectomy, C-Diff, and the loss of her mother. Sounds like a riot, huh?

The thing is, it is.

What gets me even more than the dry wit that is characteristic of Tig is the deliberateness of her persona. The show is a blend of truth and fiction. But her persona is truth. Her life is unrushed. She speaks thoughtfully at every turn.

My point is this: I don't always speak deliberately. I don't always speak thoughtfully. My life is often rushed. Necessity at times breeds rushed, thoughtless dialogue. But it's my choice to make that my default setting. I think it's time for a reset.

Today I had a delightful lunch with my one of my college roommates. As we talked, I was struck by how thoughtful she was then and how so she has remained. She is deliberate and so kind. It was a gift to live with her for a couple years. Today's reunion was a gift as well. 

I always love it when my Amazon Prime life and real life come together ;). I'm deeply grateful for truth and fiction.