Let's Chat: Mid-February Musings

IT'S ALMOST HAPPENED. We've almost reached the halfway point of February. I can't tell if these first weeks of February have dragged or if they've gone quickly, but I just realized that I didn't write here once during the entire month of January, which is surprising because January lasted a decade. So, to make up for my silence, it's time for an official Let's Chat post.

LET'S GO! And by let's go, I mean, sit right there and get comfortable. Grab a nice warm beverage. Let's chat.

A new semester. The "spring" semester (which is inaccurately named) is already in its fifth week. We're past syllabus week, learning names, and first impressions. We're now in the thick of things — assigning assignments, submitting assignments, grading assignments — and we'll remain in the thick of things, rinsing and repeating, for the next ten weeks. 

I've taught so many semesters that this rhythm is second nature. Today I enjoyed a rare moment when I got to talk with not one, not two, but three colleagues at the same time in the hallway between classes, which was a gift of levity and connection.

New opportunities. I'm stepping out this semester in several ways. I'm leading an eight-week women's Bible study at my church, and I'm teaching a new class on campus. Both endeavors are exciting. I love prepping for classes and messages, and it's been good to flex my muscles, so to speak. I'm proud of myself.

The benefit of an outside opinion. Last weekend, I roped my good friend and neighbor into a closet-cleaning endeavor. She sat on the arm chair in my bedroom while I went into my closet, grabbed a pile of shirts, dumped them on my bed, and proceeded to hold them up one at a time so we could judge them. While I already sort through my closet each season, having an outside opinion was a game-changer. She had no connection to anything in my closet and could view each piece objectively, giving me that extra push to let go of pieces that no longer served me well. 

I did this for her at the end of summer, sitting on her bedroom floor as she tried on outfits, giving her a thumbs up or thumbs down like a Roman emperor with my approval or disapproval of fashion choices. It's much more fun to share this task with a friend. More effective, too!

Playtime. I miss working in my garage on projects during the winter. It's been ages since I've spray painted anything. In these cold months, I miss those creative outlets. Still, since I know I feel better mentally and emotionally when I can work with my hands and be crafty, I try to pick up small projects. My most recent was when I used paint and drywall compound (which is uncannily similar to icing a cake) to create textured hearts on an old canvas.

The hearts aren't perfect, but perfection wasn't the point. Playtime was the point. Soon enough, the weather will be warm enough that I can putz in my garage until my heart is content, spray painting anything that doesn't move. For now, these little projects scratch the itch.

Leaning into lingering cold. I'm eager for spring for a multitude of reasons. It'll be warm enough to spray paint. Obviously. And, generally, warmth is good. There will be more color. More daylight. Things will grow. Garage sale season will begin! There's much to look forward to with the approach of spring.

But we're not there yet. Winter still has us in its clutches, and February has some bite. So, for now, I lean into the lingering cold. I make myself a cup of mint tea each night. When I snuggle under a blanket to read, I have the best companion in Peanut, who takes this setup as an invitation to nap in my lap. All in all, when you have a cup of tea in your hand and a cat in your lap, life is pretty good.

February. Is it bad that I still have to carefully sound out this word in order to spell it? FEB-U-ARY? FEB-RU-ARY? What is happening with this word, people? Are we dumping in extra R's into this month merely for kicks, just like we dump in an extra day every four years?  February's tough. I imagine it standing there, taunting us, ready to take the hit. Go on. Give me what you've got. You want to add an extra letter R? Bring it. I can handle it. Just toss it wherever. It's not gonna bother me one bit, but none of you — I mean NONE of you — are gonna actually know how to spell me, so joke's on you.

* * * * * 

Friends, as always, thank you for sitting and chatting. You could spend your time anywhere, but you visited here. I'm grateful you stopped by.

Until next time (sometime later in FEB-RU-ARY), be well and stay warm.

Robin

0

Let's Chat: Hello 2024

Happy New Year, dear readers! The end of 2023 slipped away with a host of activities: wrapping up a semester and submitting final grades, traveling and returning home, preparing for Christmas, actually reaching and celebrating Christmas, more traveling and returning home (again), then ringing in the new year. It's now 2024. Let's go!

And by let's go, I mean, sit right there and don't go anywhere. Make yourself comfortable. Join me on this first installation of a Let's Chat post, 2024-style. We'll meander between topics, letting the conversation take us where it wishes. 

Changes of Scenery. I mentioned that I traveled twice around Christmas: once from Pennsylvania to Florida and back to visit my parents, then from Pennsylvania to Georgia and back to attend the Peach Bowl. When I first arrived in Florida, my immediate response was that it wasn't real. Blue skies, sunshine, and palm trees in December? Is this some wonderful hoax? After a day, however, the tables turned and I began to believe that my real life in Pennsylvania where I'm an employed person who does mundane things like making grocery lists wasn't real, either. 

All of this was very confusing. Reality and alternate reality were working at odds. I chalked it up to the fact that, apparently, I'm like an infant who can't remember that her hand exists when it's covered up by a blanket. When I'm in Pennsylvania in December, places like Florida don't exist. They're covered by a blanket. And when I'm in Florida in December, places like Pennsylvania don't exist. Blanketed, all the way.

I'm back in Pennsylvania for the long haul now. Hello darkness, my old friend.

Another Semester Starts. Another semester always starts. That's just the nature of semesters. They're like tides, either coming in, or going out, or occasionally pulling you under. We start on Monday. I'm not going to endeavor the mental gymnastics to tally how many semesters I've started, and I'm certainly not going to bother with the distinction of how many of those were in the role of student instead of instructor, but suffice to say, it's a lot.

Everything is prepared, as it should be. This is not my first (or tenth, or twentieth) rodeo, given that semesters come in fall, spring, and summer varieties and I've taught all of them for a gazillion years. I've finalized my syllabi. I've published my Canvas sites for each class. I've visited each of my classrooms, walking up and down each row, running my hand along every desk to pray for each student who will be sitting in them next week. I'm ready to go.

Goals and Stuff. I've never been a person to make New Year's Resolutions, but this year, I have a few. For the sake of accountability, let me itemize them:

• Give up Dr Pepper. Granted, I've given up Dr Pepper before, but I fell off the wagon so hard during the pandemic that I would have taken Dr Pepper through an IV if you would have offered it to me. You might be like, "But Robin, wasn't the pandemic four years ago? Haven't you gotten past that yet?" and I would say yes (to the pandemic being four years ago) and no (to not getting past it.) But now it's time. Even though a part of me is crying as I type this, I'm prepared to swear off happiness in the form of delicious liquid sugar running through my veins.
  
  
• Write more. Years ago, I wrote amply and effusively. It was a practice, a discipline. Let's blame everything on Covid at this point, because at the same time the pandemic (and my Dr Pepper usage) spiked, my writing tanked. Of course, goals need to be concrete. You can't just "write more" or "get healthy" or "eat better," but rather you need a plan. Given this, my plan is to form a habit of posting twice a week on this humble blog. (Mondays and Thursdays sound nice.) 
  
  
• Use a planner. Why I'm blaming this on Covid, I don't know, but somewhere along the line I went from a person who had a planner (think: organization and structure!) to a person who wrote things down on scraps of paper, to a person who had occasional thoughts that flitted in my head like Post-It notes being rustled by an oscillating fan -- tentatively sticking there, but potentially blown away at any moment. Somehow, in my currently hopeful January frame of mind, I think a planner will definitively change things, that it will revive the best and most disciplined parts of me that have been dormant. I'll keep you posted.
  

How about you, dear reader? How has your new year started? I hope you are well in every way possible, and please let me thank you for joining me here at Robin Kramer Writes. You could be reading anything, but you're here. I'm honored.

And now, 2024. Let's do this!

0

Let's Chat: August: The February of Summer

People. I am not sure where the last month went. This is unnerving because I was with myself the entire time, but I'm finding it hard to give an account for everything that went down during the month of July. It's time for an official Sit and Chat post to get reacclimated.

The Slower Pace of Summer. In July, I take off from teaching and days have a way of blurring into one another. Things happen -- my family visits, I hold my annual yard sale, I work in the yard, I tackle house projects that I had been putting off -- but they happen at a slower pace. I wish that I could tuck a few of these summer days into my back pocket and pull one out when I'm in the thick of the semester in need of some leisure, but alas, life doesn't work that way. I'm trying to savor it all now.

Zucchini All the Time. We've hit the point when my garden is exploding. Right now, my cilantro and basil are thriving, and we're eating zucchini, in one form or another, nearly every day.

A New Stage of Life. I already have a gut feeling that August will move quickly. August is the February of summer -- the month when we're most apt to be tired of the current season, ready for the next season, but still not there yet. In a few weeks I'll start my 19th year of university teaching and our oldest daughter will start her first semester of college. We'll begin to get oriented to life with two kids, not three, at home. I haven't wrapped my mind around this yet.

The Annual Weekend. Each August for the last decade, my dear friend and I plan a weekend to get together at her house in Morgantown, West Virginia. It's total indulgence: we talk for hours, take hikes, watch movies, and order take-out. Sometimes we go shopping. Other years we've done something exciting, like zip-lining or (attempted) water-skiing. I'm actually headed to visit her now, and I'm actively composing a mental list of all the topics we urgently need to discuss, and a list of all the topics we leisurely need to discuss, and I'm already thrilled about all the topics we won't even plan in advance but will still discuss.

There's so much to be said for good friends. Thank God for people who know you the best and love you the best.

As my life falls into more routine, as it's apt to do in the fall, I'll be more present here on the blog. Thank you for sitting and chatting today!

0

Let's Chat: Countdown to Christmas

 

It's nearly Christmas, friends! I hope you're finding moments of peace in the midst of planning and preparations. Do you have a moment to sit and chat? Let's catch up.

Fall Turns into Winter. It's been weeks since I last wrote, and in those weeks, we've witnessed the transition from fall to winter. I'll admit that I'm a purist with this particular seasonal shift. I always wait until Thanksgiving has passed to put up my Christmas decorations, but as soon as we cross that threshold, it's fair game. By Black Friday afternoon, the pumpkins on our front porch had been replaced with pine garland and a Christmas wreath. The indoor fall decor had been stowed away in a bin and replaced with their Christmas counterparts.

Hallmark Christmas movies? Check. Hot cocoa? Check. An outing to the Christmas tree farm to cut our own tree? Check. If there's ever a month that invites you to get comfortable and cozy, it's December.

And the Semester Ends. Of course, the irony about December is that while it invites us to get comfortable and cozy, it's also quite demanding. Over the final weeks of classes, students seemed to be determined to keep submitting assignments (ones that I had assigned, mind you), which then meant that I needed to keep grading them.

After nearly two decades of working in academia, I have an uncanny internal clock that indicates when I'm at the end of a semester. It works the opposite of a sea turtle's navigation system, though, meaning that I become more disoriented when it kicks in. During the final two weeks of classes, I wake up uncertain of which day of the week it is.  My mind becomes like a bulletin board covered with post-it notes with a high-powered oscillating fan blowing on it. Every thought flaps in the breeze, dangerously loose, capable of being whisked away and eternally forgotten.

Even now that my final grades are officially submitted, final recommendation letters have been written, and final emails have been answered, I'm still decompressing. Just this morning, in fact, I woke up from a dream that I still had 96 speeches to grade, immediately. It took a few moments for reality to overtake my hazy dream panic and reassure me that I'm actually done. No more grading for now.

Regardless, despite the hectic sprint to the finish, it was a wonderful semester with wonderful students. It's also wonderful that it's over.

On Gift Giving. Some people are excellent gift givers. I'm not one of these people. I try. I really do. Regardless, my level of gift giving would more likely be categorized as "meant well" rather than "nailed it." I take full responsibility for this deficiency, while also accepting it might be partly attributed to making roughly 700 professional decisions in the three weeks leading up to Christmas shopping. Each December, I think I'll do a little better, or plan ahead, or pick things up along the way throughout the next year.

The reality is that I'll probably mean well again then, too.

On Hallmark Christmas Movies. I'm relatively new to this genre; I only started watching them last winter during the pandemic as cheerful entertainment. There's something to be said for mindless predictability and familiar tropes. Boyfriends of Christmas Past repurposing the premise of A Christmas Carol? I'm all in. A riff on Back to the Future's time-traveling with Christopher Lloyd making a cameo as the conductor in Next Stop, Christmas? My tired mind and heart automatically know that will be an acceptable two hours.

Granted, even my credulity was stretched thin during Royal Queens Christmas when a prince from some country (Estonia?) ended up in New York City on diplomatic duties, but his secret desire was to play the piano even though his royal parents didn't approve of his piano playing. Cue the obligatory scene where he (literally) runs into a regular, entirely non-royal woman from Queens (of course she was carrying and dropped cupcakes during this collision.) After her otherwise unexplained military service, she now was aimless, yet still running a children's choir, but the choir's annual Christmas pageant was at risk because the original piano player had inured his hand, and yada yada yada, two days later, the pageant was saved (thanks Prince of Estonia for covering the keys!), the royal parents accepted their son's musical talents as a welcome diplomatic attribute (Estonians love princes who play pianos at children's Christmas pageants across the pond in NYC, apparently!), and the regular woman from Queens and the Estonian Prince realized that 48 hours of companionship (including one impromptu snowball fight) were enough to smooth over all differences between their diverse life trajectories and citizenship. What else can I say? Another perfect Hallmark match.

So, yeah, that particular plot was a bit hard to swallow, but it won't stop me from watching more.

On Christmas, for real. The church I attend has been running a series on hope. This feels perfect, not only for the Christmas season specifically, but this pandemic-and-strife-weary world in general. As I put my nose to the grindstone to finish the semester and submit final grades, and then as I rushed across town and scoured Amazon to find presents, I realized I still was keeping the idea of the "ideal Christmas" in mind -- the Christmas where everything goes smoothly, everything is perpetually festive, and life is easy.

In reality, I don't believe ideal Christmases exist. There  always will be stressors, small disappointments, family complications, logistical issues, interpersonal irritations, a badly-timed head cold, or, say, an ongoing global pandemic. Toss in unmet expectations (whether yours or others) and years where there is legitimate grief.

Christmas is beautiful, but it doesn't stop life from being life. It doesn't make hard times disappear. In fact, for those who already are struggling, the holiday season has a way of multiplying struggles.

And that's why we desperately need hope. Not just hope for a good holiday season, but deep-rooted hope of God's presence in the day-to-day grind. This is why we celebrate Christmas: Emmanuel, God with us, came to earth to make us right with Him.

Soon enough, Christmas day will officially come and go. We'll assimilate new gifts into our homes, take down our trees, unstring the lights, stow away the wrapping paper, say goodbye to family until the next time we gather, return the sweater we didn't like, and detox from our Christmas diets as we head into the new year. We'll do all of it, like we do each year, because another Christmas will be said and done.

But the reason why we celebrate in the first place?

Hark the herald angels sing, "Glory to the newborn King!"
Peace on earth and mercy mild, 
God and sinners reconciled.

I'm grateful for this unshakable hope. Dear readers, my prayer is that your hope will abound this Christmas season and beyond. Thank you for sitting and chatting!

Merry Christmas!

0

Let's Chat: Breaking Out All Things Fall

I'm not sure how it's happening, but we're flying through the month of September. All the markers are pointing to fall: we're five weeks into the semester, I'm watching college football, I've pulled out my pumpkin decorations, and I'm ready to wear cute sweaters and boots. It's high time to celebrate the new season with an official Let's Chat post!

 

Let's sit together for a little while! Pour yourself a drink (iced tea? pumpkin spice latte?) and we'll let conversation meander, just like a leaf lazily falling to the ground in the autumn breeze. 

I cut bangs. It's true. After many months of scrutinizing my masked reflection, I concluded that I could use a little extra something. You know, something that would soften my features, or revive youthfulness, or make me appear effortlessly chic rather than effortfully tired. Enter side-swept bangs. And then -- of course -- also enter four straight weeks of 98% humidity where side-swept bangs expand and coil into Mufasa-like proportions. I know I'm guilty of faulty reasoning by suggesting that my hairstyle choices somehow control the country's weather patterns, but the timing here is suspicious.

 

Classes are still in person. The first week was an adjustment to navigate campus, learn a hundred new names, and remember how to dress professionally, but it's refreshing to teach in real classrooms again. Last week my students completed their first speech assignment (my first round of grading for the semester), and we're all still standing. We're masked, we're resilient, and we're no longer in our bedrooms. Let's go!

I spoke at an event. Late in August, directly after completing the first week of the semester, I shared at a women's event at a local church about overcoming fear and worry. Due to the pandemic it's been over a year since I've spoken at any public event. I had forgotten how much I cherish these opportunities to gather and encourage! As a bonus, I wore cute red heels, so that's a win.

 

I'm mourning the demise of a cell phone. Okay, not the phone itself, as it held no emotional connection, but I'm mourning the loss of pictures. I thought my photos were backed up, but sadly, as my four-year-old phone blinked its last pixelated blink, several months of pictures disappeared into the ether, never to return. I have two main thoughts about this. One, I should have known better. I've lost photos before when my phone has gone on the fritz. Two, the loss made me appreciate the ability to document life with photos in the first place. Sure, I'm feeling a glaring gap of a few months of missing pictures, but there were entire generations that never had any photos to commemorate their lives. Pity.

 

This might not be a good idea, but...  I'm trying to teach myself how to skateboard. A few weekends ago I bought a decent longboard at a garage sale on a whim. My youngest daughter and I now practice in our garage and driveway together. I'm in the just-balance-and-try-to-move-forward-without-breaking-any-bones phase. She's progressed to the cruise-some-distance-and-flip-kick-the-board phase. Ah, youthfulness.

 

It's been a good season for DIY projects. Over the course of the pandemic year, I painted our entire house (read that again, friends: OUR ENTIRE HOUSE), minus one bedroom and the laundry room. Those final two rooms are coming. But even better than painting rooms, I've gotten back into the habit of completing small DIY projects. Given that I vaporized months of pictures, I don't have documentation of summer projects, but my most recent endeavor is a small white table that I picked up at a garage sale for $3. I liked the size and shape, and I knew that I could upgrade the appearance with gray paint and some new hardware.

What do you think? Do you like the finished product? I love that it now resembles an apothecary table or card catalog. There's something about before-and-after pictures that does my soul good. And speaking of soul...

Even in the waiting. As my husband and I took a walk one evening last week, we talked about our kids, our jobs, Covid, and the general state of the world. I felt a sudden heaviness as I swallowed the realization that things still aren't normal, whatever "normal" means anymore. Quite frankly, so many areas are a mess, and I feel like our youth -- the most vulnerable among us -- are under attack with so much confusion, distraction, anxiety, and mistruth. It's discouraging.

But, thankfully, we can encourage our hearts in the Lord. At the women's event, I shared that when we worry about our futures, we often project ourselves into scenarios without remembering that God will be there. God will be in our futures when we get there. Whether good or bad, He'll be with us. His presence that's sustaining us today will be the same presence that sustains us through whatever we encounter in the future. That's good news. Even in the waiting and unknown, we can trust that God is working.

 

Friends, as always in these chats, I wish that I could hear back from you to learn how you're doing. Are you eager to start wearing your fall clothes? Do you have any good stories to share? Of course, I'd tell you that your hair looks terrific, because, hey, even if you're wearing yesterday's sweat pants today, you're gorgeous. Remember that. 

As always, thanks for chatting!

Robin

0

Let's Chat: But Wait, There's More!

Me approaching the blogging mic (tap, tap, tap): Is this thing still on?

My dear people, it's been too long since I've posted here. It's not as if I haven't wanted to write; I've simply experienced a few kinks. For one, my blog temporarily broke, requiring tech expertise that I, as a person who majored in English and Communications, do not possess. (Thank you, you frighteningly smart 22-year-old computer person who invested two hours to fix what would have taken me days, if not months or perhaps years, to still be unable to diagnose. It's a relief that people like you exist.)

Besides the technical difficulties, I haven't written for other reasons, some personal, some larger. From the global pandemic to terrible acts of racial discrimination, I've been unnerved by what's happening in our world. The past weeks have felt like a time when I should be still, listen, learn, and pray, not necessarily speak. But today, I'm hoping you'll sit with me a moment so we can talk.

Grab a cool beverage; it's a hot one! It's finally time for us to chat.

And Covid continues. I've never yet met anyone who thrives during periods of extended uncertainty. Personally, I'm not a fan of having a dozen questions for every answer. So, like the rest of the world, I process reports of Covid and mull over its complexities on physical health, mental health, education, childcare, the economy, social gatherings, family dynamics, and how its presence impacts nearly every decision (both large and small) that every single person makes any given day.

It's exhausting. Everyone is sharing this collective burden of concern, perhaps except for the folks who are surprisingly and irresponsibly unconcerned, but I won't fall into that rabbit hole here.

Who isn't asking hard questions right now? What will our jobs look like? What will school look like next year? How will families manage child care? What will happen if (or when) we revert to yellow or red phases? How will people recover from financial devastation? How is this impacting the morale of the younger generations? What about young adults who are attempting to launch their independent adult lives but can't get jobs? How will teachers navigate the nearly-impossible demands of teach in person and online simultaneously? Who's caring for the medical personnel who are on the front lines? What's the status on a viable vaccine? When will there be a semblance of normal again? Will there be normalcy again?

There are more questions than answers right now. It's uncomfortable.

Black Lives Matter. Since the murders of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd, I've read heartbreaking accounts of past and present racism against black men and women. As painful as they are, we need to hear and carefully listen to these stories. We need to grieve over these stories. We need to talk with our children about these stories. (As I type, I realize that as a white woman, I'm privileged even in this. My husband and I can discuss racism with our daughters in age-appropriate ways. Black parents don't have that luxury of being delicate when their babies are going out into the world; they're forced to have extremely hard conversations too early.)

Because of my skin color -- which is something I had no choice over -- I'm not at risk of making a headline for getting shot while going on a run or being videotaped as an officer kneels on my neck while I plead for my life. Because I'm white, I'm not a target for microaggressions or suspicion when I do the most benign activities, like strolling along a sidewalk or browsing merchandise in a store. But black people are. I have dear black friends who I love, who I've worshiped with at church, who I meet at Wegmans to share dessert and chat about writing, whose babies I've held. I think about the dozens of young black men who my husband works with, these bright and strong student athletes who (pre-Covid) hung out at our house each week all summer long, sat on our back porch, played with my kids, and thanked me for my cooking.

So much needs to change to bring justice and healing: revisions of systemically-racist policies and practices, without a doubt, but also adjustments within individual hearts and collective consciousness. Heaven help us. God let our nation repent of this evil, and let there be change.

When I feel like losing hope. Crikey, these are hard times. It's easy to feel overwhelmed. For peace of mind, I avoid social media panic-scrolling (it's way too unsettling) while still continuing my practice of screen-shooting great memes and sending them to my friends. These are a few of my recent favorites:

Memes aside, during these past few months, I've struggled to laugh at the days to come. I've been tired, fearful, worried, and tense about all the unknowns. My mind has spiraled into overdrive as I vividly imagine worst-case scenarios for a multitude of issues, the most painful of which revolve around the well-being of my children. Certain days, my emotional status quo can best be described as low-grade dread. I distract myself periodically, but panic threatens to spill over at any moment.

This is why I run to Jesus. This is why I must keep running to Jesus, day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. When my emotions go haywire and fear threatens to consume me, I remind myself that God is for me, not against me. I turn to the Book of Psalms, which I've heard described as the most tear-stained book of the Bible, and cling to the reassurance that others, like me, have come to God in the lowest of states. They've poured out their hearts and concerns, laying it all out on the table -- deepest worries, darkest despair, ugliest experiences of shame, and the heaviest burdens of discouragement.

It's all in there. When I read the psalms, I'm not alone. In every account of brokenness, where someone is weak in the knees from misery or bound by anxiety, we see God's response. And his response always reveals his protection, provision, and presence.

From the psalms I learn that "in the day of trouble, he will keep me safe in his dwelling" (Psalm 27), and "the Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped" (Psalm 28). I stand on the promise that "the Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace" (Psalm 29). I'm comforted that "the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit," and I'm reassured because "a righteous man may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all" (Psalm 34).

I remember that I have to be active, too. We're told to "cast your cares on the Lord, and he will sustain you" (Psalm 55:22). Each time I read this verse, I envision a fisherman casting out a line, not just once, but time and again, casting and re-casting, until the line doesn't come back empty. Then I picture myself casting each care on the Lord, flinging it away from myself, time and again. Later in the same psalm, I read, "When I am afraid, I will trust in you." (I love the wording. It's not "if I am afraid," but rather "when I am afraid." The diction acknowledges that fear is normal and human.) 

What do I do when I'm afraid? I cast my cares and I trust in Him. I rely on God to be my strength, my shield, my help, my comforter, and my deliverer.

And, ten minutes later, when the pandemic cloud rolls in again and I feel crappy, or I worry about some new way that my kids will be permanently screwed up for life, or I envision a whole new set of undesirable outcomes to a whole new set of problems, I cycle through the process again.

It's not pretty, mind you. There's no serene still-shot of an angler's silhouette as dusk settles across placid water, like A River Runs Through It. No, it looks a lot like regular life, with me moving about the house, detonating landmines of of my daughters' pre-tween, tween, and teenage hormones and attitudes. I'm folding laundry, doing dishes, teaching online classes, noticing crumbs, spending two hours on the phone with the insurance company, and trying to knock out house projects. But, in the midst of it all, I'm casting and re-casting my cares.

Moment by moment, I come to God as I am. From that place of dependency, I repeat truths that are truer than what I see with my natural eyes: God gives me strength. He's close to me. He delivers me from my troubles. He blesses me with peace. When I don't feel any of it and I still worry, because that happens too, I remember that these problems are temporary: Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can't heal.

My dear readers, as we wrap up this chat-from-a-distance-as-I-type-and-you-read, this is my prayer for you. In the midst of your real and messy days, with whatever problems loom over your head and hearts, I pray that you'll find help and hope in the hard times as you run to Jesus, again and again.

And if you happen to find any good memes, please send them my way, will you?

Thanks for visiting with me. In the days to come, I'll try not to be a stranger to the blog.

Robin

0

Let's Chat. From a safe distance, of course.

It's safe to assume that The Virus That Shall Not Be Named has flipped your world upside down these past few weeks. Given this, let's sit and chat (from a socially-appropriate distance, that is) because, people, life is unprecedentedly weird right now.

Go ahead. Grab yourself a nice beverage and settle into something friendly and familiar.

I am now teaching my college classes online. Last week I converted my courses to online modules and synchronous video meetings. I'm brand new to online instruction, but so far, it's gone well enough.

I'm learning a great deal, including, but not limited to, how haggard I appear on live video (do I look this way generally, I wonder?), and how any given class session -- like most of regular life now -- feels like a bizarre dream sequence that's being narrated by a child:

One day last week I was teaching a class, but all of my students appeared on screens. And some of my students were in their bedrooms! One girl's room had bright blue walls, and one student was covered by a blanket, and another student was petting her cat while we talked. A real cat! Then one kid coughed and we all noticed him because his video screen was highlighted. At one point I remembered that I wasn't even wearing shoes. And then I stopped the meeting and everyone instantly disappeared. The end.

At least my new commute is short. From my bed to my new workspace, it's one step. Maybe one and a half if I'm dragging my feet. That's all it takes. Let's do this.

That brilliant idea to sell Girl Scout cookies to my students. Several weeks ago, I asked one of my classes if they'd like to buy Girl Scout cookies, and hoo boy, did they ever! I explained that I'd deliver all the cookies -- and collect the $310 dollars they owed me -- when we returned from Spring Break.

Sigh. Rookie mistake. I honestly hadn't anticipated the escalation of a global pandemic so we would never return from Spring Break. But in good news, I now have 77 unclaimed boxes of cookies and all the time in the world to sit in the confines of my own house, so this can't possibly end badly, right?

I can't sort my email inbox. And I can't handle much social media. Information overload is real. I haven't been able to fully process the dozens of updates and resources on teaching listservs that I receive daily. Couple this with my children's individual teachers and administrators each emailing about their individual plans for remote learning, and then log onto social media to see too many ways that too many people are organizing their new lives at home, which is an interesting continuum of rigid schedules, or looser schedules, or no schedules at all for those feeling free-spirited or rebellious, I can't tell which.

It's all too much. It makes me want to shut down, rocking slightly and thinking about those 77 boxes of Girl Scout cookies. Then I remember that I don't have to do everything that every other college professor is doing, and I don't have to model my household schedule off of another household's schedule, and that we're each going to muddle through this as well as possible, given our own circumstances, constraints, and temperaments. And that's okay.

This is weird. We're all charting new courses. Our email inboxes and social media streams are going to reflect that, so if you  -- like me -- need to back away for the sake of mental health, so be it.

Part of me loves not going anywhere. I mean, I like people -- well, most people. I have a career that hinges on socializing. I don't fear public speaking. All that being said, I'm an introvert. I'm filled up by spending time alone. So if you asked me if I'd like to spend a week with some good books and without having to engage with anyone outside of my house, I'm not troubled.

In some bizarre way, it's like I've been preparing for this opportunity my whole life. Introverts unite! But do so quietly, and from a distance.

Another part of me knows I need a daily walk. Have you been ending your days with bad headaches, too? Every night, I need to take Tylenol to combat the throbbing, which likely is induced by much more screen time than normal. My regular exercise schedule is disrupted, and I haven't been disciplined enough to do any legitimate online workout, but I still can walk.

This has helped me. It doesn't need to be far -- maybe just a mile loop -- or perhaps it will be quite far, like the day I spent over two hours on a path on a local mountain. Either way, nature calms, quiets, restores, and refreshes. Daresay, we can all use that right now.

I read these verses yesterday, and I loved them so much I put them on my refrigerator. Maybe they'll speak to your heart today, too. Psalm 62:5-8:

Trust in him at all times, O people;
pour our your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge.

No chat is really a chat unless the other person talks, too. I'd love if this went beyond a monologue. How are YOU holding up? Is your life like a weird dream sequence? Have you eaten through all your snacks already? Do you have a favorite quarantine meme? Much more importantly, are you healthy? Are you well? I sure hope so.

I'd love to know. Drop me a comment and tell me about it, my dear readers.

Together in isolation,
Robin

0

Let's Chat. It's May.

Envision me tapping a microphone to check if you can still hear me.

HELLO dear readers!  Is this thing still on?  Somehow we've managed to launch ourselves squarely in the month of May. It's been too long since I last wrote, and there's so much for us to catch up on, so let's chat!

When the Yard Comes Alive.  Did you see those beautiful peonies at the top of this post?  Those are in my back yard.  After winter's long stretch of gray, I can't get enough of the vibrancy.  Many evenings my husband and I walk together, observing the daily addition of new blooms, marveling at how green everything is, and commenting on how the grass needs to be cut again. Everything is coming alive.

Funny how a simple walk outside can bring new perspective and peace. Nothing seems urgent when you're admiring tulips, you know?

 
Another Semester is Complete.  After posting final grades and wrapping up loose ends, last weekend I had the privilege to walk as my department's faculty marshal alongside an incredible student marshal at Penn State's graduation ceremonies.  Spring graduation is always a definitive punctuation mark, as if the university is gently nudging you and saying, "Your work is done for now. Go ahead, put on an awkward hat to celebrate that milestone."

And I'm like, "Sure thing. I always enjoy wearing a board attached to a cap on my head. Let's do this."

An observation about the graduation ceremony: The real hero, beyond the graduates themselves who have put in such exhaustive work to cross that stage, shake those hands, and receive that diploma, is definitely the person who reads all the names.  We're talking about multiple hundreds of names, rapid-fire, back-to-back, with no chances to pause or practice. At one point, I looked at the student marshal, nodded toward the name-reader, and admired: "That man is a champion."

The Week Off.  Tucked between the end of the spring semester and the start of summer classes (which begin on Monday), was the most glorious week where I started to catch up on my own life. I finished editing a piece I'm writing for work. I read two books. I cleaned my house, including closets, baseboards, tops of ceiling fans, and my oven, which prompted multiple introspective questions: Does food get actively murdered while it's cooking in my oven? How does that much splattering happen?  I scheduled a hair cut, squeezed in an appointment at the dentist, and went to the Avengers movie on Tuesday's $5 ticket night with my husband. I prepared my summer syllabi and websites, spray painted two outdoor garden stools that had faded from prior summers, and -- as a cherry on top -- I devoted the entirety of my Friday morning to one task: garage sale shopping.

It's been perfect. I'll return to campus Monday morning feeling like I've exhaled, which is a good way to start the next leg of the race. Even more, it's made me wish I could distribute a week off to everyone I know, that I could be like Oprah during the giveaway episode: "You get a week off, and you get a week off! Everyone gets a week off!"

Now THAT would really be something.


And that, my friends, is what's been happening since I last wrote.  Blogging periodically ebbs and flows given the rhythms of life, but I'm always grateful for you taking the time to visit and read.  Thank you for joining me here!  We'll chat again soon!

0

Let's Chat: Spring Break Road Trip Edition

Friends, it's Spring Break!  It's been cold and gray in central Pennsylvania, and last week seemed to drag on for a mini-eternity.  Weeks before a break are known to do this.  They act like an accordion -- stretching out so you feel like they're lasting forever, then compressing quickly so you mildly panic at how much you still need to get done before you reach the end.

But we made it through, and this past weekend we packed the minivan, piled in the kids, and drove south for 20 hours.  Now we're visiting family in Florida where it feels like summer, although my mother informs me that it's still winter.  I'm seasonally confused, but it's perfect.

Let's chat, friends!

Road Trips.  I'm happy to tell you that my children have become seasoned road-trippers.  A few years ago, I remember making this exact same drive and having to stop seven times in the expanse of two hours because my youngest daughter had found -- and chugged -- one of the 32-ounce bottles of Gatorade that my husband packed in the back of the van.  (We grew acquainted with many rest stop bathrooms that particular trip.)  In contrast, this trip our family worked like a well-oiled machine.  Nobody argued, nobody died of horrific boredom, and nobody had any emergencies involving bodily fluids.  All in all, it was a win.

Sunscreen.  Last summer, my husband and I noticed that we have this one bottle of sunscreen that never runs empty.  We're not sure how this is happening, but even after using it for an entire summer it's still semi-full.  We think we're experiencing some sort of widow's oil miracle.  Maybe it will run out this week.  Maybe it will last forever.  I'll keep you posted.

An Average Sandcastle.  We noticed that some fellow beach-goers had built a small, rather average sandcastle near us.  I mean, it's okay if you're into boring stuff like intricate staircases, turrets, and realistic details carved to scale.

We'll Take Your Mediocre Sandcastle and We'll Raise You a Moat.  To compliment the neighboring sand castle -- and to showcase our own vast architectural prowess on the beach -- my youngest daughter and I created a moat.  You might not believe this based on the precision of our craftsmanship, but the only tools we used were our bare hands.

Go on, admit it.  It's impressive.

Clapping for a Sunset.  Somehow, watching the sunset over the ocean never gets old.  Each time I'm touched when people, both young and old, stand along the shoreline and clap right as the sun dips below the horizon.  It feels like a very pure moment -- a true celebration of life and beauty.

Meeting a Blog Reader.  My parents hosted a cookout so we could meet three of their dear Florida friends, and I met a lovely woman who regular reads this blog.  She gave me a warm hug and then pronounced, "Somehow I thought you'd be tall and blonde!"  I think I'm flattered; apparently, I must write like a tall blonde woman.  (Miss Vicki, you're a gem!  Please keep reading even though I'm a relatively short brunette!)

Pictures of Feet.  (Is this a thing?  Do other people take pictures of their feet to mark places that they've been?)  At any rate, these are my feet, and in this picture my feet are firmly planted on a Naples pier where we watched a sunset and strolled up and down the docks to admire the boats.  I'm pretty pleased that my toenails are cute and coral, and hey -- there's a coiled rope, which nails that nautical aesthetic I was aiming for.

The Return Trip.  I don't want to think about this yet.  Twenty hours with the van facing south is tolerable because you're filled with hope.  Twenty hours with the van facing north makes you feel like you're driving into Narnia, but the bad Narnia ruled by the White Witch where it's kind of scary and depressing.

But, alas, we'll reach that point when we reach that point.  Until then, I'm going to marvel in the fact that it feels like summer, even though it's technically still winter, and enjoy this amazing spring break.

What a gift.

Thanks for chatting with me, dear reader.  I'll be back to regular blogging soon!

3

Let's Chat: It's a New Year.

I've gone off the grid recently.  My family traveled to Florida right after Christmas (which I'll explain more in a moment), and during the trip I ignored my laptop and rarely checked my phone.  This was a wonderful break.  Now that I've been reinserted into my real life (by which, I mean my non-80-degree-poolside-lounging-life), I forget how to function.  But it's time to dust off the blog after my hiatus, and since it's been a while, we'll keep things casual.  Let's chat.  Let's catch up.  It's a new year! 

First Plane Rides. Until last week's travels, I hadn't been on a plane since my honeymoon, which was the summer of 2001. My two younger daughters, both of whom never have flown before, argued that they had waited longer to fly than me.  "We've never flown our WHOLE LIVES!" they argued.  Of course, I tried to explain that their math was suspect.  They've only been alive 10 and 8 years, respectively, but I haven't been on a plane for nearly 18 years, a time span significantly longer than their individual existences, but they, being 10 and 8 years old and bored by explanation of a world before they were in it, refused to be persuaded that, technically, I've held out longer to fly than they have.

Kids these days.

What pleased me, though, was when my youngest firmly held my hand during take-off.

(And check out my new gray Nike sneakers and warm-ups in that picture. When you travel to the Citrus Bowl with the PSU football team travel party, you dress the part.)

Changes of Scenery.  When we first arrived in Orlando, my immediate response was that it wasn't real.  Blue skies, sunshine, and palm trees in December?  Is this some elaborate (wonderful) hoax?  After a day, however, the tables turned and I began to believe that my real life in Pennsylvania where I'm an employed person who does mundane things like making grocery lists, rather than eating out every meal, wasn't real, either.  All of this was very confusing -- reality and alternate reality working at odds -- and I chalked it up to the fact that, apparently, I'm like an infant who can't remember that her hand exists when it's covered up by a blanket.

When I'm in Pennsylvania in December, places like Florida cannot exist. They are covered by a blanket.  And when I'm in Florida in December, places like Pennsylvania cannot exist.  Blanketed, all the way.  Then I stopped thinking about this, and I briefly dozed on a lounge chair under these palm trees while my children swam in the pool.

But, in seriousness, the change of scenery reminded me that other realities can, and do, exist, even if you're not inhabiting them yet.  It made me hopeful for 2019.  If 2018 didn't look the way we wanted it to look -- if it was more gray skies than blue, or valleys than mountaintops, or struggles than successes -- it doesn't mean that 2019 must look the same way.  There's something new.  It just might be under the blanket, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

The Secret to Successful Miniature Golf.  Our family played miniature golf two times at an awesome pirate-themed mini golf course.  I loved the attention to detail: awesome stonework, iron lanterns, and an elaborate pirate ship. 

I mean, can you even look at this without saying Aaaargh?

Even better, I might have had the most successful rounds of mini golf EVER, with 6 total holes-in-one, 3 each game.  The irony of my success wasn't lost on my husband.  "Go figure," he said. "The key for you must be frozen shoulder.  You're finally locked in."

And I didn't even suggest that he walk the plank after that comment because, well, the man's got a point.

Why the Contents of My Suitcase Seem All Wrong When I Reach a Destination.  There's really not much to say about this, except that when I arrived in Florida, the contents of my suitcase seemed all wrong.  Note to self: Self, no matter how you style them, your Old Navy shorts, tee shirt, and brand new gray Nike running shoes will not ever make you feel swanky while passing through the Hyatt Regency hotel lobby.

The Aftermath of Immediately-Post-Christmas Travel.  We left for Orlando the morning after Christmas, which means that when we arrived home late on New Years day I was visibly confronted by the relics of Christmas past that I already had forgotten about. (See my "hidden-under-a-blanket-therefore-no-longer-in-existence" theory above.)  Why are there little piles of presents sitting on my family room floor?  And what's with this decorated tree?  What about these now-inedible Christmas dinner leftovers in our refrigerator, or these still-entirely-edible Christmas candies on the counter?  These things still exist?

But since I had more pressing issues to tackle, like unpacking and doing 12 loads of laundry from the trip, taking down the Christmas decorations has been a work in progress.  Which leads me to...

Goals for the New Year.  I had lofty goals for eating cleaner come January 1, but I'm suspending this resolution until I eat the remaining Christmas treats.  THEN I will refresh my lofty goals for cleaner eating.  Priorities, people. 

Blogging Recap from 2018.  Ever since I began blogging in 2010, I've ended the year by archiving a few of my favorite posts from the year.  Not one to break tradition, here are several selections from 2018 that are meaningful to me, whether they captured a significant event, or were especially fun or funny to write, or received great feedback from readers.  I welcome you to revisit some (or all) of them!

Overwhelming, Never-Ending, Reckless Love

When Your Best Friend Moves Away

Three Lessons I'm Learning from Limited Mobility
 
Be Happy That I Didn't Pursue a Career in Medicine

I Wish There Was a Way to Know You're in the Good Old Days...

When You're Invited to a Classy Wedding

When Mama Snaps: The Story of Broken Microwave...

Robin Kramer Speaks, Too


As always, thank you for joining me here at Robin Kramer Writes!  You could be reading anything, but you're here, and I'm honored!  

And now.... 2019: let's do this!

0

Let's Chat: It's Officially Fall

My dear readers, it's high time that we sat down and had one of our seasonal chats.  Let's pick a bench outside, admire the early stages of the changing leaves, and catch up.  Do you have a drink to sip?  Maybe a pumpkin spice latte?  Or a Diet Coke with ice?  Sweet tea?  Just some water?  If we were doing this in person, now would be the time for me to tell you that you're having a good hair day.

And since chats happily meander from topic to topic, we'll do the same.

The Weather.  The weather!  We recently endured a stretch of rain, and when I say "stretch of rain" I mean that it rained approximately seven times per day, nine days per week, for a small eternity.  The daily question was not if it would rain, but rather when it would rain.  Soccer practices were upended, grass grew yet was unable to be mowed, and the world appeared drab and gloomy.

But then the sun came out!  We emerged from the tunnel and experienced a few glorious fall days!  I'm grateful.

Turning a Calendar Page.  I'm not sure if this is normal, but I take inordinate pleasure when turning a calendar page.  The new page looks so fresh, so full of potential.  I also enjoy turning a page of my syllabus course schedule, and on a smaller scale, crossing off individual days on a calendar.  I don't know if this signifies productivity and healthy closure, or if it's become some strange and visible ritual where I scratch out my life.

Meal Planning.  You know those people who have a knack for introducing new meals into their dinner repertoire and always know what they'll eat when?  I'm not one of them.  My family eats, of course, but certain days in the kitchen are characterized by a frenetic, scavenging vibe, rather than advanced foresight.  But for the past two weeks I've been on a kick.  I've written a weekly menu on a post-it note, stuck to the plan, and then packed leftovers each day for lunch.

I am such an adult.

Cleaning My Inbox.  Earlier this week I devoted an hour to cleaning my work inbox, primarily digging through older folders of archived correspondences and resources.  With each click of the delete button, I felt lighter.  Clearly, this is the digital equivalent of cleaning out a closet.

When You Get a New Bag.  Late this summer, I bought two new bags: a professional backpack to carry on campus since the strap on my old work bag had ripped, and a navy Vera Bradley purse that I picked up at a garage sale for three dollars.  I hope I'm not alone in this, but whenever I transfer my belongings to a new bag (especially when I've used the prior one for years), I always experience a confusing period where I have no idea where items truly belong since I haven't yet found their best, most permanent place.  During this phase, I regularly can't find my keys, or my phone, or that chapstick that used to be so readily available, and I am a hot mess of disorganization.

But then it happens: the new bag finally starts to make sense and become second-nature.  I'm happy to tell you that I've reached that point.

The Garage Sale Season is Closing.  I love fall deeply -- the leaves, the cute layers and boots, the crisp air, the mums and pumpkins -- but the arrival of fall means that garage sales, one of my favorite spring and summer activities, is drawing to a close.  I had such a wonderful run of garage saling (yes, it's a verb) this summer.  (In fact, I'll be posting my favorite garage sale finds and corresponding DIY projects in the coming weeks.  Get ready!)

Hands down, the end of garage sale season is the saddest thing about summer ending for me.

The Five Stages of Post-College-Football-Loss Grief.  Oh man.  This past Saturday evening, my team (Penn State) experienced a heartbreaking final-minute loss against a Team Who Shall Not Be Named.  Since my husband serves as Penn State's team chaplain, I get to know many of the players well.

My reaction to the loss was textbook.  First, there was denial.  ("That did not just happen.  It's impossible that the game just ended like that.  There's been some mistake.")  Then came anger.  ("NO!  This is stupid!  Our guys played their hearts out!  Buckeyes, schmuckeyes.  Who names a kid Urban, anyway?")  Close on its heels was bartering.  ("If we could rewind time and call a different play, all of this would just go away.")  Then came the forth stage (depression) where I wallowed in post-game commentary on all forms of social media.  I finally reached the final stage (acceptance), directed my eyes to the next game, and consoled myself that there are still plenty of good bowl game prospects.

I love college football.  There's drama and movement each and every week.

There's Much More to Life than Football.  Praise God.  This is so very true.

And on that note, I'll end our fall chat with this parting quote by Robert Jones Burdette:

"There are two days in the week upon which and about which I never worry.  Two carefree days, kept sacredly free from fear and apprehension.  One of these days is Yesterday... And the other day I do not worry about is Tomorrow."

Yes, my dear readers, may your weather not be overly rainy, your meals be planned, your bags be organized to your exact specifications, your favorite team win (unless they're playing against my favorite team, in which case I hope they're crushed yet you find solace in your own five stages of grief), and of course, may your yesterdays and tomorrows be free from worry.

0

Let's Chat: Start of Summer Edition

People!  Are you still here?  I hadn't intended on becoming a negligent blogger, but, whew, life has happened these past few weeks!  Given my recent absence, I believe it's the perfect time for us to have a little chat.  Poolside, this time. (We can work on our tans. And drink sweet tea.)  Let's live it up!  Let's catch up!

Yet another semester is in the books.  Yesterday, I submitted final grades for the two summer classes I've been teaching. Summer semesters are funny things.  They contain all of the content and evaluation that a typical 15-week semester contains, yet compress it into 6 weeks.  The pace is startling.  The good thing is that it all moves so rapidly you don't have time to process how the term "summer classes" connotes a sort of punishment, as if the two entities of "summer" and "classes" should never mix.  By the time you grasp this, you're already done.

And now that the grades are in the books, I legitimately take a break from teaching until August.  Oh, friends, I'm not going to waste these coming weeks. It's summer!

The kids are on vacation, too.  I'm happy to report that when my daughters dashed home from school on the final day, leaving a trail of a hundred worksheets and pencil nubs in their wake from emptied backpacks, it took longer than 24 hours until someone uttered the words, "I'm bored."  Not much longer, mind you, but still.

Getting lost in a parking deck. Since I'm being honest, I should also tell you about the time last week when I parked in a different part of my campus parking deck and dashed out before getting my bearings, not even noting the floor level.  Five hours later I returned to the deck and walked to the area where I typically park. Not surprisingly, no car.

More surprisingly, for the next fifteen minutes -- fifteen minutes! -- I wandered the double-helix of the deck's six levels like a forlorn nomad, periodically clicking my key fob and hoping that I'd hear a nearby beep.

It's funny how your mind works during these moments.  I considered the possibility that I'd never find my car again, that I'd spend the rest of my life wandering the parking deck, just like that one time when I was 18 and joined my dad while he worked on an exterior painting project and I panicked while climbing off the third-story roof onto the ladder, certain that I would never, ever, be able to climb off the roof onto that ladder, that I'd need to be rescued by helicopter, or that I'd spend the rest of my natural life on that roof.

And then, of course, I found my car.  True story.

People of action!  My husband recently read a book about being a person of action, or, essentially, doing those things you need to do, right in the moment.  It's such an obvious premise, but the reminder is always useful.  He fixed our broken lamp post (it hadn't worked for a year), and entered the house, looked at me, and declared, "I am a man of action, you know."  I followed suit.  I printed a few photos and mailed them, with handwritten notes and real envelopes and actual stamps, to dear relatives.

Look at me, all proud, as I put four envelopes in the mailbox while thinking, "I am a woman of action!"  (This is actually quite fun.  In fact, I think we'll walk around spontaneously announcing, "WE ARE PEOPLE OF ACTION!")

Speaking of handwriting.  Back in the day, I had lovely handwriting.  One college friend even quipped it was its own font: Robin Sans Serif, 12 point.  Over the years, though, it's deteriorated into scratchy hieroglyphic letters, as if someone reading it would wonder if I'm suffering from a degenerative hand condition that impairs my manual dexterity.  Or maybe I'm just too used to typing.

The power of a check-in.  The other day I received an email from a reader who was checking in since I hadn't posted for a while.  Such kindness came through her words, and it made me feel valued, that my absence had been noted, that my words had been missed.  (Thanks, Ann!  Your note made my day!)

This, too, was another good reminder: our simplest actions, even a brief word or a check-in, can brighten someone's day measurably.  So, dear friends, let's keep being generous with our words and actions.

Is your glass of sweet tea empty?  Should we turn over and tan the other side now?  Thank you, my dear readers, for permitting me this little catch-up post.  Wishing you and yours the happiest start to summer!

0

Let's Chat: End of Fall Semester Edition

Friends, it's legitimate.  I recently submitted final grades for the semester and now it's officially break from classes.  You know what this means, right?  It's time for a fireside chat!

Except I don't have a fireplace, so this picture will have to suffice.  And we're not in the same physical location, so our "chat" will be rather unilateral.  But if we were sitting together by a fireplace, I'd hand you a mug of steaming hut cocoa or coffee (your choice), and we'd let the conversation naturally meander, like good conversations should.

Passing Time.  Let me be the millionth person who recently has said this: Time is passing quickly.  About two weeks ago I wrote a post about cutting the grass for the final time, then the semester pulled me into an alternative universe so I haven't written here for a while, and then -- just yesterday, in fact -- my children had a two-hour delay due to the first snowfall.  Somehow, in the time it took me to blink, December not only has arrived, but has reached its halfway point.  We're on warp speed.

Keeping Perspective When You're Worn Down.  I always feel a little crunched, a little off-kilter, and a little on-edge during the final weeks of the semester.  So many decisions must be made.  I check email more cautiously than normal, wondering if there's going to be a message with a vague, yet telling, subject line like "Question," from a student who's on the cusp between grades and arguing for the higher.

My nerves tend to be unfounded, as these issues always work themselves out.  Moreover, I did some quick calculation based on the number of students I teach and the number of students who contacted me with an end-of-semester crisis, which only turned out to be 3%.  In other words, the semester ended smoothly, daresay easily, with 97% of the students I taught.  (It's important for me to remember this when the 3% seems noisy and threatens to occupy 100% of my thoughts.  We never need to give something so small that much mental space, even it it clamors for it.)

I taught delightful classes this semester, too.  When I'm in a classroom, I'm alive, and this makes me realize that I'm doing what I ought to be doing.

Christmas Cards.  Oh man.  Every year I realize that people send Christmas cards, and every year I think, "Robin, you should be one of those people," and every year I also realize, "But, I don't want to be one of those people, because those people clearly are adults and I'm not functioning on that same level."  Why this simple task of goodwill and cheer challenges all my resources each year, I'm not sure, but it's the hardest hurdle for me to scale.

Am I alone with this?  Do any of you struggle with sending Christmas cards?  It's my holiday Achilles heel.

You'll Love Me for This.  Do you have a Trader Joe's where you live?  If so, have you tried their English Toffee?  It's only sold during the Christmas season, which is good, because if it were available year round I'd have a problem.  It's glorious!  It's addictive!  It's unsurprisingly chock-full of calories and fat, but if you ignore that part and feign illiteracy when you see the nutrition label, you'll find that you can be an overachiever and eat much more than the recommended serving size.  Try some.  It's worth it.

On Counting Down.  With ten more days to Christmas, there's still much to do.  Over break I need to prepare next semester's courses and complete writing for work, and of course, there's still Christmas shopping ahead.  But mostly, I want to catch my breath.  I want to have evenings when I sit in our family room by the glow of the Christmas tree and soak in these moments -- the handmade Popsicle-stick ornaments on our tree, the feel of my younger girls' heads leaning on my shoulder as we snuggle under a blanket on the couch and read books together with Nat King Cole singing in the background.

I want to slow down my pace so the next ten days aren't on warp speed, so I feel them passing, so I can consciously reflect on the miracles of this season.

And, friends, that's what I wish for you during these days, too.  Thank you for the gift of being a reader here!  (And seriously, get some English Toffee.  You'll thank me later.)

0