Another Day in America

Another school shooting today. Another reminder that we aren’t safe anywhere. Another reason for kids to tense up at every noise, for every social media post to be triple and quadruple analyzed, for teachers and parents to feel paralyzed with fear. Another in a long line of never ending messages that this earth is not a place of peace. 

My kids are all snug in their beds upstairs and three families are mourning theirs tonight.

Columbine happened 20 years ago. The entire world STOPPED. I’ve been on and off my phone and with other people all day long and the first I heard of this was ten minutes ago.

This is where we are. It’s just a blip on our radar now. Another senseless act of violence. Another massacre of children in school. Another day in America.

home.

***Update from last night’s post: Saige is home! We aren’t positive what happened (it’s really weird and pretty unnerving and creepy), but she is here and she is physically ok, though likely traumatized. And I am ELATED to have her home!

If I’m being honest, I have nothing to say tonight. It was an emotionally draining day, it’s been an exhausting night, and this week is one of those “if I can just make it to a Sunday, I’ll be ok” sort of weeks that I preached against in an earlier post.

However, a commitment is a commitment, even when there isn’t much to say, so I’ll just leave a little reflection on Saige’s homecoming.

Tonight I sat in the mudroom and I hugged and loved on her for longer than she preferred. One of my kids said, “I’m glad you came home” to her and in it, I heard the echo of the same sentiment from a couple of weeks ago when we had a rough night and situation.

It got me thinking about what home is, what it means, and how our Father feels when we stray or get confused or forgetful or scared or mad or ignorantly independent... how He is waiting, not with words of anger or hurt or confusion or remorse, but with arms open and heart full, just thankful to have us back HOME.

I Can't Put into Words

My dog is missing. This is the first dog of my adult life, the first since I was a teenager and my childhood dog finally passed away. It's a dog I never thought I wanted, never thought I would have. It's not the dog we even went to the shelter to get, but the dog we were meant to have. The dog we went to get was climbing all over its new owner when we finally hopped out of our car, so excited to pick up the friendly guy that we had seen pics and videos of. The dog we got, for whatever insane reason, was the one that huddled at the back of the cage and wouldn't meet our eyes. I have no idea what made us take her home that day, but I can't even put into words how glad I am that we did.

The first week home, it was obvious it wasn't going to work out. We got her for an inside dog and she was, to put it mildly, terrified of us. Literally, the day we got her home, she somehow wormed her way out of the harness and took off, escaping before we even got her in the house. We looked for her for hours in the January cold, ready to give up when Emma swooped in on her when she wasn't looking and carried her down the driveway, slip-sliding on the ice.

I couldn't imagine what had possessed us to think we were dog people, and especially what made us get HER. She hated being inside, wouldn't come near any of us. We finally let her out, knowing that she likely wouldn't come back. But the next day, she was there. Not willing to let us pet her, or even get close, but able to be lured in with some good. She loved running and playing with the kids even then, but wouldn't let me or Kraig within ten feet of her and didn't like to be too close to the kids, either.

I actually tried to give her away those first weeks. We needed an inside dog due to where our house is located and this girl was anything but an inside dog. No one expressed an interest, and I can't even put into words how glad I am that they didn't.

We just accepted that she was likely going to get killed on the highway or in the field, but figured we would love her and feed her until that day. We kind of felt like at least a short life outside the shelter beat life inside the shelter.

Every day, she was there. Maybe not all day, but in the mornings and in the evenings and at various times in the middle, she was around. She knew this was home. Sometimes we could hear her barking at all hours of the night, so we started to put her in the garage during the night.

Over time, things started to change. She grew less and less afraid of us, become incredibly fond of Kraig, and even stopped barking ferociously at other people who stopped by. She roamed the fields as one who lives a wild and free life, and she loved her reign on this little farm.

Summer before last, we are certain that she got bitten by a snake and equally certain that she was defending Francisco when it happened. He was cleaning out brush along the fencerow and she started barking like crazy, then came out and just laid down. He didn't think much of it, but explained the backstory when we got home and questioned why she was just laying there. Kraig carried her to the garage and, once Francisco mentioned her favoring a foot, Kraig saw the fang marks. We called the emergency vet and they said anti-venom depended on the type of snake and also that it was probably more expensive than we wanted to pay. They recommended just making her comfortable and seeing what happened. We left her in the garage and had to go somewhere that night, and I was sick inside at what we would find when we got home. However, when the garage door went up, there she was, breathing and living. She stayed down a few days, but slowly got back to her normal roaming and cow playing self. I can't even put into words how glad I am that she did.

I have joked over and over that this dog was so much cheaper than any sort of therapy, and I think God knew exactly when I was most going to need the love of this beautiful brown girl with the chocolate puddles for eyes who knew exactly how to love me, and he sent her along right then. In my head, I was getting a dog for the kids, to play a role in their adjustment and attachment. In my heart, it turned out that she was apparently for me.

I don't know where Saige is tonight, or where she has been since yesterday morning, but I am going to bed tonight praying and hoping against hope that she comes back and is ok. I need that girl in my world. I can't even put into words just how much.

The Wonder of Service

Today is Veteran’s Day, a day that always makes my heart burst with pride in our country and the people who defend it. Since I was tiny, I’ve been a sucker for all things America... the flag, the soldiers, July 4, Inauguration Day, voting, the national anthem, the pledge. I have never served in the military and never even really considered it other than a brief few weeks after I apparently aced the ASVAAB(?) and the Air Force recruiter talked to me a LOT about being a physical therapist (my career goal at that time) in the Air Force. I guess it’s a good thing that didn’t work out since I don’t know of many English teacher positions in our armed forces.

Anyway, I will openly admit that I have always harbored a secret dream that one of my kids would go into the military. It was pretty obvious from early on that it wasn’t going to be Emma or Kelsey, so I figured my dream was over before it started. However, along came Angela and JROTC and, while there is still a lot of time for things to change (like my PT career), it’s looking like she may be my Airman one day! Seeing her in the JROTC program (and the impact of that program on so many of our kids) has been the most incredible thing. I feel so blessed that we have it at CHS and that she gets to take part in it.

I posted the photo and post below on fb, so I thought I would share here as well.

I’m hopeful that we live our lives in a way that honors our veterans daily, by appreciating the freedom we enjoy and by living gratefully for the sacrifices they make when they choose to serve. However, a day set aside to honor them specifically is an excellent reminder that this life we live didn’t come without a cost. This quote is from a book we read in Holocaust Lit, and it is from an interaction between this young Holocaust survivor and her liberator, an American soldier. “I couldn’t absorb enough of the wonder that he fought for my freedom.” May we all cherish the wonder today that men and women all around the world are fighting for freedom to be preserved, both for Americans as well as for those in countries far away, like this Jewish girl in Poland in 1945. To the three veterans in our direct family lineage, my dad (Air Force), my father-in-law (Army), and my husband’s grandfather whom I never got to meet (Army— Purple Heart in WWII), the Davis 7 is so grateful for your service and your courage.

The Road Not Taken... Because It Was Too Curvy

Our kids left Friday afternoon for a fall retreat at church and didn’t returtil today. All five kids, because God is a good, good God and so He provided for the college retreat to be the same weekend as the high school one (and we praise Him, from Whom all blessings flow, especially the kind that arrange for all five kids to vacate the house at the same time). Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids, but if anybody is going to be gone, it’s best if all are so that we are... you know... FREE. No thought of dinner plans, come and go as we please, lay in bed if we want or stay up late in the tv room if we want, no one banging around early on a Saturday, no one to drop off or pick up anywhere... just freedoms and us.

Anyway, we had talked about possibly going somewhere this weekend and ended up deciding we would likely enjoy even more just having a quiet house. {I realize it makes us sound like high school kids whose parents are gone, and I can’t explain the phenomenon, but Friday night we are out (and only paid for two meals!) and got our dessert to go and I literally said giddily to Kraig, “We can eat it in bed while we watch a movie!!!” Hahaha!} Anyway, we puttered around Friday night on our own time frame and it was awesome.

For Saturday, I asked him earlier in the week if he wanted to drive around and look at leaves, see waterfalls, walk around outside, etc.. I had considered a couple of routes and when I mentioned Murphy, Kraig said he could go to the casino. I hate casinos because of the cigarette smoke, but I told him I would love time to sit in the car and read.

We have never driven around to look at leaves before. We aren’t the people who drive up to the Smokies just to do it, who go looking for snow, etc.. If we are in the car, it’s to go somewhere. I’m always envious of the people who DO, though.  And the thought of spending a day driving and looking with Kraig, talking with no interruptions, sounded awesome to me. We even decided to take the dog, and it was seriously shaping up to be the kind of day I dream of.

I had planned for ya to drive to Tellico and see a waterfall I have been wanting to see, take the Cherohala Skyway over to Robbinsville, then come down through Andrews to get to Murphy, stopping when we wanted. At the last minute, Kraig mentioned the orchards in Blue Ridge, so we decided to come back that way. When we pulled out from this house, I was feeling like the kind of person I always dreamed of.

As we left Etowah and neared Tellico, I was realizing why I am not and never will be that kind of person. As we came within 7 miles of the waterfall and I was sick as a dog, praying for God to blast the trumpet and take us home, I told Kraig this was a horrible mistake. In fact, I had a few moments of bordering on panic, knowing that the only way BACK was the way we were coming IN.

We made it to the waterfall and spent some time looking and climbing around to the bottom of it from the road. My land legs came back fast, thankfully. However, I knew from looking at the map that the route to Robbinsville via the Cherohala was not going to be possible for me. I rerouted is straight to Murphy, then I reclined my seat and drooled through a restless sleep most of the way, praying every time I woke that I wouldn’t get sick.

We are a wonderful lunch in Murphy, I read almost a whole book in the car while Kraig supported the Cherokees, and then we drove back home. We didn’t have time to go to Blue Ridge, but it was still a great day. Last night we watched some tv and I did some decorating before bed.

We decided that we are going to enjoy our kids for the next four years or so, but that we are going to be SO GOOD at empty nesting. As long as it doesn’t include driving curvy roads in the mountains.

For Me

My pretty audacious goal of writing every day in November was inspired by a colleague who involves her students in the National Novel Writing Project every November. This woman gets 8th graders to commit to an insane word count over the course of the month and guess what, THEY DO IT. My own two girls both wrote impressive stories their eighth grade years (although Emma got too involved in the beginning and middle of hers and had to rush the end so she just had all of her characters die in order to end it, which is really frowned upon in the writing world) and they still talk about it. For someone (me) who deems EVERY YEAR “The Year of Writing” and then has hardly written anything over the past two, committing to a blog post a day for a month is as crazy as having 8th graders produce massive novels in a month. But.... here I am, and over at CMS, there they are.

Writing is weird because in today’s world it’s deeply personal and also very public if you so choose. In the pre-Internet world, writing was never seen until it was published as a book or magazine. Today it can be “published” the second after you compose it as an Instagram caption or Facebook post, a tweet, or a blog post.

I knew when I set out to write every day in November that I would publish all of the blogs, no matter how pitiful and uninspired, but I would only share the posts on fb that really mattered a lot to me. I wasn’t sure at that time how much I was tied to the feedback of others on my writing, and I’ve realized I very much am. On a blog, you can see how many “hits” your post has gotten. I don’t have an established readership outside of people I know (because let me tell you, they would be very tired of waiting for posts if I did 😂), so the ones I don’t link to fb get zero to little hits right away. It’s been an exercise in remembering my purpose these past nine days as I have seen the low numbers on “seen” blog posts, and a good exercise for me, I believe. I have been reminded that this month is for ME to prove to ME that I can discipline myself in my writing, that I don’t have to only write when the Muse hits, and that sometimes inspired writing happens only when I put fingers to keyboard and not always in my mind before. I need this month. I’m doing November for me and for the hopeful future I have.

The ability to see interactions made me think some about my recent discovery of Instagram stories and how you can see who all watched them. I never think or care to check but every time a kid gets my phone to show me how to archive them 🤷🏻‍♀️, she looks at my numbers. Kids today can tell you when they lose a follower on social media and I can’t even tell you how many followers I have nor how many people I follow. I have noticed that I pay attention to the “likes” and comments on my posts, but I can also tell you I never notice it on anyone else’s.

This morning, this Wired article  showed up in my twitter feed and I wondered to myself how it’s going to rock the world of some teenagers. It’s an interesting premise, the idea that hiding engagement (and it looks like users will still be able to see it, maybe, just not the public, like blog posts? or maybe not) will increase the authenticity of posts and make Instagram, as I read one place on twitter, “a nicer place”.

I guess the future will tell how that goes, but I’ll just be over here the rest of the month (I hope), faithfully putting fingers to keyboard. For me.

(And waiting to post this blog till a high traffic time. 😜)

I Remember

Today is the anniversary of the storm that took my three children’s first parents and their little sister. It’s also the anniversary of the storm that took their home and everyone they knew from their lives, as they moved across the world three years later.

On this day, although I’m never sure about how they are going to respond to it (most years they mention the date, although this year no one has and I take my cues from them so I didn’t bring it up), I remember.

I remember a man and a woman whom I never met, but who brought into this world three of the greatest kids I have ever known, a man and a woman who raised those three the very best they could in the circumstances they were given... A man and a woman who made mistakes, no doubt, just as we all do, but who must have loved these three very much because these three very much know how to love and be loved... A man and a woman who would probably love to see the teenagers and young adult their three babies became... A man and a woman whom we will always try to honor with the ways we cherish and raise their kids.

I remember a little girl who didn’t live on earth very long (just four or five years), but who left a lasting impact and forever memories with her big sister and big brothers. I remember a little girl whom I’ve never seen but who I imagine to have had Angela’s beautiful face and Roman’s mischievous eyes and Francisco’s bright smile. I remember a little girl whose likeness may one day show up in the face of one of my grandchildren, her nieces or nephews. I remember Francis May, and I know that one day I will see her running down the streets of heaven, yelling “Kuya!” and “Ate!” when she sees her Francisco and Roman and Angela again.

On this day, I remember.