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Chicken Power

9/28/2015

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“This is my second time in here,” the dad told me.  “We had to come back again to see the chickens.”

Chicken power.   It is very real—real enough to compel 192 people to pay $3 each to “get in the coop”, so to speak.

Friday Ogden Preparatory Academy  (OPA) held its annual fund raising carnival, complete with a bouncy slide, human bowling balls, an “OPA  Has Talent” competition, a flag football tournament, fishing pond, face painting, and a petting zoo.    In two hours, my “I-want-to-go-to-Havasupai-but-am-having-a-difficult-time-raising-the-money-to-pay-for-the-trip” participants earned $575 at the petting zoo, helping children of all ages interact with my neighbor’s rabbits and goat and our chickens, pig, snake, and dog.      Though the snake had its own special charm, once again, the chickens were the people’s choice; something about catching and holding hens kept them coming.

Though I enjoyed watching other people’s students enjoy the animals, watching my students was the highlight of my night.   They were amazing—those darling 8th graders of mine.    Most of them are city kids themselves but they learned quickly and taught effectively.   “Catch a chicken and offer it to the children to hold,” I instructed Marian.   ALARM flashed across her face.  “I can’t do that,” she said.   I showed her how and showered her with encouragement.   For the next 30 minutes she followed a chicken around the enclosure, willing herself to pick it up.   She’d reach for it, almost touch it, and pull her hands back at the last minute.  Determined to make it happen, she refused to give up and before the night was over she was catching and carrying chickens and teaching others how to do the same. 


Tresse said to me, “I want to be in charge.”   Fabulous.  I put her in charge and it was the smartest thing I’ve done in ages.  She took over and managed everything, making sure all the zoo visitors got a chance to pet and/or hold the chickens and rabbits, assigning her fellow OPA 8th graders to protect the animals, sending co-workers on breaks at regularly scheduled intervals.   She was incredible and I was amazed…and very grateful.

It turns out that Damian, the kid who is charmed (and calmed) by snakes is a charmer-with-snakes as well.   Repeatedly I watched him gently approach snake-phobic youngsters, calmly introduce them to the reptile, and kindly encourage them to touch it.   Quite often they were holding the snake before the interaction was over.

“Seth,” I said, handing him a 5 gallon bucket, “the pig needs water.   Fill this please.”  Five minutes later he was back, empty-bucketed.   “There is no place to get water,” he explained.   “Sam,” said I, “the pig needs water.   Do what needs to be done to make it happen.   Fill this with water.”    Five minutes later he was back with a full bucket.   I don’t know where he got it and it doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that he took the task and accomplished it.  LOVE IT!

Bringing the pig seemed like a good idea at one time.   Though not as popular as the chickens (who’d have thought?) she was certainly an attraction.  She was also hungry and irritable by evening’s end.  Though I did not interview her, I can say with certainty that she was not feeling very cooperative and walking up a ramp to get into an enclosed trailer was not top of her list of things she wanted to do.

People were absolutely awesome about helping us load her.  They lined up, forming a human wall from the petting zoo enclosure, across the lawn, and onto the pavement where the trailer was parked.  What they did not know and what, luckily the pig did not teach them, is that if the pig had wanted to escape, she would have gone right through them.  Pigs, unlike cattle and sheep, are no respecters of persons; they have no qualms about plowing through people.  And, because they are short, dense, and very heavy, there is very little a person can do when a pig decides to go through.  (Ask Lance!  :))

Fortunately pigs are respecters of panels.  If they see a solid board or panel, they (usually) do not go through it.  With a single panel, a bucket of goat grain, and, I suspect, with a lot of help from guardian angels we managed to get the pig into the trailer.

So rewarding!  Long.  Hot. Tiring.   But so rewarding!  Seeing so many 13-14 year olds step up to the mark, assume responsibility, work hard, take leadership, and develop the confidence that accompanies authentic achievement…priceless!

At evening’s end, just before driving away, I gave Damian a hug.   “I want one too,” Andrea said, arms outstretched.   

Have I mentioned that I love my job?

Love,
Teresa

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Bonus Daughter

9/20/2015

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C.S. Lewis (LOVE his writings!) wrote a book titled Surprised by Joy.  If I were to write a title for recent events it would have as similar title, something like Surprise by Sara Brings Joy.    WHAAA-WHOOO!

Here is the story….

Monday evening a friend called, reminding me that I had once expressed interest in housing an exchange student.   “That is true,” I told her, “but when I mentioned it to Lance he said ‘No’ so it is not an option for us.  Why do you ask?”

She explained that there was an exchange student from Sweden, attending Roy High, whose host family moved and who needed a home immediately.   I wished her luck in her quest to find the girl a place to live, we exchanged a few pleasantries, and the conversation ended.

Lance, who overhearing the call, asked me what it was that he had said “no” to.    When I explained the situation he said, “I could do that.”   The kids, all of whom were gathered around the table at the time which is a small miracle in and of itself, leapt immediately onboard the idea.   “Yes, yes, YES” was their overwhelming response.

Ever the pragmatic one, I questioned them, “Are you sure?” pointing out that she would be a member of our family, not a temporary guest to be enjoyed and sent home.  “Yes, yes, YES!” remained their response.   “Grace, you would have to share a room….Are you okay with that?”    Again, they responded “Yes, yes, YES!”

Okay.    I called the friend back and told her that if the as-yet-nameless student did not mind sharing a room with Grace, dealing with six people and only one bathroom, and was okay not having a TV in the home,  we would love to have her the join our family.   This started a series of phone calls that culminated in the filling out of an online application form and consent to background checks for everyone in the household over 18 years of age.   This was Monday evening.

Tuesday afternoon Grace said, “Mom, will she come tonight?  My room is not clean…”   “No,” I assured her, “these things take time.  They have to check out our references, complete the background checks, and process the paperwork.    It will be awhile.”

Later Tuesday afternoon, about 4:30 p.m., I got a phone call from the local exchange program coordinator.  “Is it okay if we bring Sara to you tonight about 8:30?”

“I guess that means we have been approved as her host family,” I  thought.  

“Sure,” I said…..and then flew into semi-panic mode.     Grace’s statement that her room was not clean was a major understatement; if the clothes and junk on the floor were mud, hip waders would have been required to move through it.    Additionally, the bunk bed the girls would share was in Miles’ room and would require un-assembly to move through the doorways AND  there was no (as in NONE) closet space available.    Team:HISLOP flew into action.    Grace tackled her floor and I tackled the closet.   Armed with a power drill and socket wrenches, Grace and Tanah took apart the bunk bed, moved it into Grace’s room, and then reassembled it.   Lance “fixed” dinner.   Miles watched as his room became a dumping ground and did not complain (well….maybe a little bit….).     I was removing the last inches of dust from the shelves when the doorbell rang at 9:15 p.m.

Welcome Sara!

Gracious, tall, and blonde, with an enchanting smile, Sara captured our hearts immediately and still owns them.    Having her in our home has been pure joy.    She played catch with Miles (a football, of course), invited Grace to a party, discussed homecoming dresses with Tanah, volunteered to pick tomatoes for me, and laughed at and with Lance.    She has been incorporated into our chore chart and our Family Home Evening chart.   Perfect.   

Sara does not get educational credit for attending high school in the USA.  When she returns to Sweden she will have to repeat this year of high school.   Apparently Swedish schools do not have a high opinion of the American educational system.   And, it appears, that their opinion may be justified.    In her Calculus class, Sara is reviewing things she learned in 9th grade at home.    She began taking English in 4th grade and chemistry in 7th grade.  She says that her English class in Sweden was more challenging than her English class at Roy High.   The most telling was the warning she received about our knowledge of geography.   “Lots of people,” she was told, “will confuse Sweden with Switzerland.”    Her thought was “They cannot be that stupid” but she says, “they are.”    Even some of her best friends at school still confuse the two countries.  

Sara may not be getting education credit but she is certainly getting an educational experience…and so are we.   Some Swedish to English translations are charming.   The word for pomegranate means grenade apple.   The literal translation of taste buds is taste onions and tonsils are throat almonds.  Our favorite is the term she uses for her mother’s step son.  She calls him her “bonus brother”.

Sara is our bonus daughter/sister and we absolutely love having her in our home.  Our Sara surprise has been a glorious one.

Love,
Teresa 





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Buying Power

9/13/2015

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There is something intoxicating about used book stores; endless possibilities sit on their shelves.  Options for purchase are made possible by the lower-than-cover-price cost and options for delight are made possible by the uncertain and always shifting inventory.    Shopping in used book stores is like treasure hunting; one never knows what one may find….

I was hunting in a used book store recently when I found an experience worth treasuring.

A mother and her young adult son were book shopping (something that is done frequently in used book stores….).  He found three books that he liked but she objected to his selection, citing their high price as the reason.   His choices off the “half the cover prices” shelves, which translated to $3.50 each while the books she traditionally chose were from the “flat rate” shelves and sold at $1.25 apiece.   “I just cannot afford those expensive books,” I overheard her say.

The young man put the books back.   Later, when the mother questioned him about them, he told her that he did not want them anymore.    “I don’t want to do that to you Mom,” were his exact words.

When the mother checked out, her purchases totaled $18.   She only had $11 in her purse and so had to borrow $7 from a friend.    In the meantime, her son found a book in a box marked $1.    He brought it to her, but at that point she had no money.     Without protest, the young man put the book back.

I know what it is to hunger for a book and I am very familiar with the disappointment one feels when walking out of a book store empty handed.   Quickly I found the young man and, handing him a dollar, said quietly “From one book lover to another.”

It is perhaps the best dollar I have ever spent.  Seriously.   If one were to perform a dollar-to-joy ratio analysis for all the money I have every spent (something similar to a the weight-to-strength ratio calculated for ants; “New research published last month showed that the neck joint of a common field ant can withstand 5,000 times the ant’s weight” https://www.insidescience.org/content/ants-are-even-stronger-you-imagine/1567) then this experience would rank near the top, if not at the very top, of my dollar-to-dollar-monetary-investment to amount-of-joy ratio list. 

The joy return on that single dollar investment was incredible.  The young man was sincerely gracious as   he thanked me when I handed him the dollar.   He thanked me again at the checkout counter.  He and his mother and her friend were still in the parking lot when I exited the store.   They all thanked me again.    The experience clearly had a positive impact on their day.

As for me, I nearly floated to my car, lifted by joy, pure, untainted, unblemished, unquestionable joy.  And that joy continued to lift me throughout the rest of the day.     I pictured the smile on his face and I smiled.   I heard the warmth in his mother’s voice and my heart warmed.   I imagined their conversations around the table that night and the good feeling I got was very real.   Remembering times (many!) when others’ generosity made my life brighter added an additional layer of depth to my experience.   What an incredibly fabulous experience…..and it only cost me $1.   Oh the power of a dollar!


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Mean Mom

9/6/2015

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“That was mean, Mom.”

The day had been rough emotionally.  I’d already spent hours suppressing tears (with marginal levels of success) and my emotional state was precarious at best.   Lance, Miles, Grace and I were walking through the Exhibit Hall at the Weber County Fair when I paused to examine a plant displayed on a table.   “Look,” I showed Lance, “there is a pineapple growing on it.”

Mid-sentence a zealous woman wearing a green volunteer vest darted up and, interrupting us, said, “Please don’t touch the exhibits.   People have worked really hard to grow these.”

I was blindsided.   I had not touched the plant.  I hadn’t really even come close to touching it.   I stammered a lame “But I wasn’t touching it” and backed away from the plant while she, the vigilant volunteer, returned to her seat.

Flabbergasted, dumbfounded, and a bit embarrassed, I also allowed myself to feel a bit angry.  Who was she—the self-righteous  little whippersnapper—to judge me so unjustly?

Complaining about her to Lance fed my anger and, as I walked around the tables looking at sweets, the anger grew bitter.   Her audacity chaffed and my attitude became raw.

We rounded a corner, approaching the plant display from another angle.  Miles saw a plant that amazed him and beckoned me, “Come look!”    In a voice loud enough for the volunteer (as well as anyone else who was anywhere close) to hear, I said caustically “Don’t touch the plant!   Someone worked hard to grow that!!   In fact, don’t even get near it.  BACK AWAY!”

Oh dear.

“That was mean, Mom,”   Miles said.    He was right.  I had been mean.  Very petty.  Very shallow.   And very mean.

As we walked the perimeter of the building, looking at the displayed quilts, I tried to justify my actions—she was out of line, I had been unjustly judged, anyone who knew the situation would understand—and failed.   I had crossed the line.

My conscience started to beat up on me and I knew the plummeting would continue until I apologized.  Figuring that my life would be much easier in the long run if I just “bit the bullet”, so to speak, and apologized there than if I had to try to track the volunteer down after the fair (I could just see myself making phone call after phone call trying to find contact information for a person whose name I did not know and whose features I was trying to forget…), I walked up to her and said “I am sorry for the way I acted.  I should not have reacted that way.”

My voice was monotone—at that point I could not conjure warmth—but I had said it.  Apology given.  Conscience appeased.  Done….almost.

Hoping to mitigate the damage caused by my bad example, I said to Grace and Miles “I want you to know that I apologized to that woman.”

“I knew you would,” responded Grace.

Oh my lands.   OH MY LANDS!

Gratitude swept away all the lingering ugliness of the experience.  I am SO grateful for a prickling conscience that forced me to do what I did not want to.

“I knew you would.”  

wow. 

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    Author

    Teresa Hislop
    thislop@msn.com

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