This week, I’m taking a step back into time. A big step – about 12 years back.

The prompt for this week was submitted by me, and yes, the quote that follows is one of my favorites.

One of my favorite quotes by Wayne Dyer is – “If you change the way you look at things, the thing you look at change.” What are your thoughts on this?

Fortunately, I’d journaled about this at the time, so I had some notes to remind me about this moment.

In this period back in 2014, May was a particularly rough month. I looked at my bank balance. I looked at the list of bills. The gap between the two numbers was so large I didn’t know how I’d possibly pay all the bills that month. Have you ever had one (or more) of those months?

Now, considering that the month before we’d received a dollar an hour raise, you’d think that this wouldn’t be the case. But, in response to our raise, the manager cut our hours so that he could meet his payroll numbers. There we were…full time employees…scheduled for 28 to 30 hours a week. The next few checks we received were about fifty dollars a check less than the ones we’d got before we’d gotten before our raise.

We all grumbled that if this was what happened – we would have been better off to keep our hours and not get a raise.

The end of May found me in the local sell-your-gold store, handing over my old wedding rings for a paltry hundred and eighty dollars. That measly amount was far less than the set had been purchased for fifteen years earlier. I hated to do it. But the alternative was letting the car insurance lapse and having the phone disconnected.

Sometimes, in desperate times, we do things we don’t want to. There are times in our lives, unfortunately, when survival trumps desires.

So, I sold the rings and paid the bills that month. I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do about June. I didn’t have another set of old wedding rings to sell.

One afternoon while eating lunch and reading in my car, I read a snippet about how we should count our blessings and express our gratitude.

Ha! I thought to myself. What blessings? I don’t have the money to pay my bills. I’m making less than I ever did before. My car isn’t dependable enough to drive out of town. Financially, I feel like I’m just about at rock bottom.

What blessings?

Heading back into work, I mulled this over on my stroll across the parking lot.

And then, one of my favorite Wayne Dwyer quotes came to mind –

“If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

And with that, I gave myself a great big attitude adjustment.

Instead of bemoaning all the problems in life, and feeling that I didn’t have any blessings, I took a deeper look at how I was looking at things.

Hmmm…I may be flat broke…but at least I had a job. Thousands – or more – would count themselves lucky to have this job.

My car may be limping along on its last legs…but I had a car that was paid off, and there’s many people that would be ecstatic to own one.

I may not like my job…but I was physically able to do it.

I walked into work on two legs. They may have ached too much…but they worked. They functioned and they got me where I needed to go.

Both arms worked.

My vision was poor…but I had sight in both eyes.

All afternoon these previously unacknowledged blessings became apparent. I could see. I could hear. I could think. I could reason. I was thankful that I had the intelligence to do the job I had.

I went home that night and was thankful for our little place. Some may laugh if they saw where we lived. But we had a roof over our heads. It was dry. It was warm. In the summer the air conditioning kept it pleasant inside. I had a yard to garden in. We had cats and dogs that slathered us with love – well, at least the dogs did.

Every five minutes – every thirty minutes – I’d think of something else to appreciate. Whenever the thought crossed my mind, I would look around me and consciously look for something that I was grateful for.

I opened up the refrigerator. It wasn’t filled with steaks and caviar. But you know, there were millions of people in the world that would think our cupboards bore delicacies beyond their greatest imagination.

Going to bed, I was grateful for the stacks of sheets, towels and bedspreads that filled a cupboard. I was thankful for the multitude of shirts and pants that spilled out of my drawers and filled my closet with their bounty. While not much I had was fancy, I possessed more clothes than many people would ever have in their lifetime.

A handy cell phone woke me in the morning.

Every morning, I had orange juice for a healthy breakfast drink, followed by a fresh banana and a tasty bagel.

We were healthy. My boys, daughter-in-law’s, and grandchildren were all alive, thriving and well.

Pretty soon, all I could see was the multitude of blessings that filled my life.

A few days later, we were surprised to receive a notification at work. It turned out that because the company had expanded into California and New York, the insurance companies were claiming that if the employees didn’t work at least thirty-five hours a week, we couldn’t be considered full time. As if magic, it was proclaimed that we all had to work thirty-five hours! Paychecks went up and now that dollar an hour raise made a visible difference.

It took a few months, but I was gradually able to catch up on bills and begin living life on an even keel again. I traveled to Arizona to see my grandchildren and California to visit my mother. I was even able to save up enough for some long overdue dental work.

The car that was on its last leg? It was still limping along. But I was thankful for it every day. I was grateful I don’t have a huge car payment. I was pleased when it gets me where I need to go.

I was still thankful for all four limbs that work – for my eyes that see – and for my ears that hear.

Every day the list continued to grow. Every day I looked around and reflected on what I was appreciative for.

This doesn’t mean my life was – or is now – perfect. There are times at the end of the day where the only thing I can say is, “I’m glad this day is over and I’m still alive.” Life is still life…and with that comes adversity and trials.

But what has changed is my shift in attitude. I am amazed at the many blessings in my life that I’d overlooked before. I just hadn’t trained myself to see them. Life is good and I’ve learned that being appreciative of all these small blessings is as important as breathing.

And it turned out to be true – I changed the way I looked at things – and things changed!

This week’s topic comes from our Tuesday Fox, who asked for our thoughts about a quote from Wayne Dyer:  “If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

I’d never heard this quote before, but I have to say I love it. As an eternal optimist, I’m often puzzled when people view situations negatively. There are some family members with whom I get frustrated because they’re always worried about things that might happen, or paralyzed because of things that could go wrong. When something bad does happen, they’re so steeped in regret or grief or helplessness that they’re indisposed for days or weeks. I’m ashamed to admit that I tend to get impatient with people like this. I just shake my head and wonder why they can’t look at an unfortunate incident as a challenge or opportunity.

This past fall, I was disappointed to learn that I would not be teaching any classes at the nearby university. I’d been an adjunct instructor for twenty years, and I enjoyed it. But enrollment is down, and the department is being restructured. Change happens. I got over my disappointment by filling my time in other ways. For one thing, my mother’s health and cognitive health is declining, so I’m thankful I can be there to take care of her needs. Also, I now have more time for things like writing, sewing, and getting my home more organized. 

Like any person who’s lived a long time, I’ve had disappointments and tragedies happen. But I guess I’ve always been a “glass is half full” kind of person and I don’t stay down for long. When my husband passed away, I was urged to join a grief support group. I went once and never went back because I couldn’t handle the tears, the hopelessness, and the firm belief that the person left behind would never again be happy. Yes, I missed my husband. But I did not believe my life was over. At 65, I still had several items on my bucket list that I intended to complete, and I went to work trying to make some of those things happen.

I suppose I ought to have more empathy for “glass is half empty” people. But I guess I’m just too busy being happy.

 We’ve had a huge Winter Storm, (“Fern”; when did they start naming these?). We didn’t get the ‘Snowmageddon’ they feared, but we did get snow, then ice, then even more snow.  With sub-teen (Fahrenheit) windchills at night and high temps not getting above freezing for over a week, there is no thawing, and traveling has been dicey, if attempted at all. 

(When you read this, I may have ventured out, but I am not convinced that I will yet, especially if we get the extra inch or so of snow that is anticipated.) 

With this, I have been keeping an eye on the weather, as another Arctic blast is coming, and another potentially heavy storm system is set to hit the East Coast of the country. 

 I’ve checked in with relatives in its path, and I just called one of my cousins in North Carolina, where it may well hit. 

This cousin is a retired college professor. She is a very nice person, but something bothered her; not for the first time, her young dentist asked her if she had knocked anything off her ‘Bucket List’.   

[I might mention that this cousin, despite being in her late sixties, is in great shape. She’s energetic, she’s healthy, she eats well, she power-walks, 

and she is even annoyingly thin.] 

She is taken aback by this question. I said I’d ask if he was trying to usher me out. She said that she tries to find humor in it because she is healthy, but might not find it so if she weren’t.  
I said, “I’m not, and I don’t. I used to be very quiet and polite, but I think that by the time I finished with him, he’d never dare ask anyone this again. Just how young is he?”  
She said, “Very.”  
She thought that maybe it was cultural. Even though he seems to have been born here, his name suggests that he is Vietnamese.   
I said, “Then he should have more respect for his elders’, which made her laugh. She said he is a very good dentist, and she doesn’t want to go searching for another good one, but “he needs to get a better ‘chair-side’ manner”. 

I said that I doubted that she would do it, but I would come up with something outrageous to tell him.  My first thought was, “Thanks, Doctor; I was planning on killing the next person who asked me that.” 

It made her laugh again. She said that she had about four months until she sees him again, (which means this has been bothering her for two months; I had spoken with her about that time, and she had been struggling with it). During the upcoming months, she said that she was going to make a list and see which quip was the best; in fact, she was going to ask her husband, grown children, and friends which was the best retort, or to give her suggestions. 

I created a monster. 

At least, I made her laugh.

When I told my sister, who is more than a decade older than this cousin, (the youngest on our mother’s side), she said she’d say, 

“Yes, I’m looking for a new dentist”. It was much tamer than I expected, but she would probably say that, since she is up to her eyebrows with the scam calls from overseas, some of which have been downright insulting. (How old are you?_Free Week and I’ve chucked the topics I had considered because something funny(?) just happened. 

 We’ve had a huge Winter Storm, (“Fern”; when did they start naming these?). We didn’t get the ‘Snowmageddon’ they feared, but we did get snow, then ice, then even more snow.  With sub-teen (Fahrenheit) windchills at night and high temps not getting above freezing for over a week, there is no thawing and traveling has been dicey, if attempted at all. 

(When you read this, I may have ventured out, but I am not convinced that I will yet, especially if we get the extra inch or so of snow that is anticipated.) 

With this, I have been keeping an eye on the weather, as another Arctic blast is coming, and another potentially heavy storm system is set to hit the East coast of the country. 

 I’ve checked in with relatives in its path, and I just called one of my cousins in North Carolina, where it may well hit. 

This cousin is a retired college professor. She is a very nice person, but something bothered her; not for the first time, her young dentist asked her if she has knocked anything off her ‘Bucket List’.   

[I might mention that this cousin, despite being in her late sixties, is in great shape. She’s energetic, she’s healthy, she eats well, she power-walks, 

and she is even annoyingly thin.] 

She is taken back by this question. I said I’d ask if he was trying to usher me out. She said that she tries to find humor in it because she is healthy, but might not find it so if she weren’t.  
I said “I’m not, and I don’t. I used to be very quiet and polite, but I think that by the time I finished with him, he’d never dare ask anyone this again. Just how young is he?”  
She said, “Very.”  
She thought that maybe it was cultural. Even though he seems to have been born here, his name suggests that he is Vietnamese.   
I said, “Then he should have more respect for his elders’, which made her laugh. She said he is a very good dentist, and she doesn’t want to go searching for another good one, but “he needs to get a better ‘chair-side’ manner”. 

I said that I doubted that she would do it, but I would come up with something outrageous to tell him.  My first thought was, “Thanks, Doctor; I was planning on killing the next person who asked me that.” 

It made her laugh again. She said that she had about four months  until she sees him again, (which means this has been bothering her for two months; I had spoken with her about that time and she had been struggling with it). During the upcoming months, she said that she was going to make a list and see which quip was the best; in fact, she was going to ask her husband, grown children and friends which was the best retort, or to give her suggestions. 

I created a monster. 

When I told my sister, who is more than a decade older than this cousin, (the youngest on our mother’s side), she said she’d say, 

“Yes, I’m looking for a new dentist”, which was much tamer than I expected, but she  probably would say that, as she is up to her eyebrows with the scam calls from overseas, which can be downright insulting.  (“How old are you?” “We are calling old people…”, “We know you are old.” “Since you are so old…”
They need to train these scammers better, LOL!)

But, since she is who she is, my sister also added, “Yes, I’m planning on losing a lot of weight”, 
 which the cousin simply cannot afford to do. 

When I told my husband, he came immediately up with,  
“I am going to do a random act of violence”, which would be pointed at the dentist. 
(Does anyone have any doubt that we are made for each other?) 

I have discussed the condescending attitude my husband, brother, sister and I have encountered as we got older, (especially from medical personnel), but this is probably just short-sightedness on this young snit of a dentist.  
 
As we Foxes and The Hound,(and I believe most of our readers), are no longer in the blush of youth, how do you feel about this question?  
Would it make a difference if the dentist were reaching retirement age?  
How would you handle this? 

Sometimes things are unnecessarily confusing. Especially when one spouse is a slightly paranoid mystery buff (who’s seen almost every Hollywood classic film from the 1930s and 1940s) and the other spouse is suddenly acting quite suspiciously.
[Note: this is slightly embellished from an actual conversation on 1-27-2016.]

“Supper’s ready,” said my wife, as she pointed to one of two identical-looking small casseroles. “This one is yours.”
That automatically set off alarm bells. “What do you mean?” I asked, stepping closer to the kitchen counter.
“I mean,” she said, pointing a fork directly at the dish on the left, “this casserole is yours.”

Now I’ve seen way too many poisonings in classic movies and I know exactly how the murderers operate. They always keep careful track of the dish with the poison. I leaned over, peering closely to see if the toxin were visible to the naked eye. “Why that one?”
“I made that one for you,” she replied, again nearly stabbing it with her fork.
“So, uh, what’s in it?” I asked, trying to act nonchalant, though I was sure my demise was imminent.

Placing the fork carefully on the edge of her casserole dish, my wife squinted as she scrutinized my face. “Chicken and pasta and sauce… basically.”
That final qualifier almost certainly meant she’d neglected to mention the hidden toxic ingredient. Unconsciously, I stepped backwards a few inches. “Uh, what’s in yours?”
Emitting a heavy sigh, she replied, “the same.”

I wasn’t getting anywhere and I was certain the casserole’s suspected poison was becoming more potent by the moment. “Then how come that one’s mine?”
Now with both hands on her hips, she replied, “Because I made that one for you.”
Here we go — the poisoner always confesses.
Yet I still needed to know the exact poison so I could tell the responding medics which antidote I would need. “What else is in mine?”

This time her sigh clearly reflected mounting aggravation. “Nothing else.”
“Then how is it different?” I asked.
Her lips thinning, she replied, “Yours has slightly more.”
Aha! I’d caught her admitting the crime! “More what?” I demanded.

Shaking her head silently, she picked up a hot pad and nudged my dish closer toward me. “More noodles and chicken.”
At moments like this, I mentally scan all the mysteries I’ve ever viewed for a similar scene… but none matched. This was unprecedented. That left only one conclusion: “So mine is just a slightly bigger portion?”
Rolling her eyes, she replied, “yes.”
“Well,” I said, somewhat sheepishly, “why didn’t you say so?”

[JLS # 783]

For our FREE WEEK this week at Four Foxes-One Hound, I’ll share a happy event that was in my life in January. I spent a week away from home, in North Carolina (thankfully before this cold winter weather front came in!), to celebrate with my youngest son and his family.

Where did the last 20-years go? I swear, I was just buying the cake and planning the party for my youngest son’s high school graduation. Then I blinked — okay, maybe twice — and here he is retiring after 20-years in the Air Force.

He didn’t want a retirement celebration. He just wanted to sign his papers and slide on out, learning to be a civilian again.

But his wife insisted.

Thank you, Nickea!

She insisted that he have some celebration … and he wanted to stay married … so, the celebration was on.

The whole week was filled to the brim with activities, lunches, a dry run practice for the ceremony, the ceremony, the party afterwards …. Whew! I had to come home, and I think I slept the first three days without doing anything.

But even with everything going on, ‘real-life’ was still happening for my son’s family. The boys still had to attend school. My daughter-in-law (a substitute teacher) still had some teaching duties to attend to. And Isaiah, my oldest grandson there (11, almost 12 years old) still had basketball practice.

Usually on practice nights, my son just drops him off and goes back to pick him up an hour later. But that night, both Grandmas were in town. And both Grandmas weren’t going to miss a chance to watch the grandson in action — Even if it was just practice.

We were supposed to have a dry-run practice of the ceremony the day before, but my son’s best buddy, an Air Force captain, and his wife were flying in from where they’re stationed in Hawaii, and the flight was delayed. And since Captain Matthew was going to be doing the speech part of the ceremony, he was an instrumental person.

So, the practice was delayed to just a few hours before the ceremony.

The practice was held at 11 am, just on the other side of a huge jet that filled half of the aircraft hanger, which was exciting to see. We were gone by noon, off running errands like picking up the cake and some last-minute items.

When we left at noon, the jet was still in the airplane hangar, a great backdrop for the ceremony coming up in a few hours.

When we returned at 2 pm for the ceremony … the plane had vanished. It was needed the next day for some maneuver, and the fuel systems work it was in there for was already done. So, they’d moved it to another hangar for another issue.

I was disappointed. It would have been a great feature to have behind them. But … it’s the Air Force, and the commander of this unit didn’t ask my opinion about it.

The ceremony was very informal. No dress blues. (Darn!) Just fatigues in the airplane hangar where my son worked for the last year of his duty.

One fun thing that happened — at least for this mama — was that as I’ve been going through old boxes the last few months, I’ve run into A LOT of old school memorabilia from both boys. Old report cards. Mother’s Day cards, they made me. Notes from teachers. Written reports they’d done.

So, of course, it was a Mama’s duty to start collecting a large envelope full of these treasures to take with me.

Which I did!

I think Isaiah, the 11-year-old, really enjoyed seeing these tidbits. He especially loved reading the note where his dad was caught talking in class — again — and the teacher made him write a note about it, and he had to bring it home to his parents to sign and return. Yes. I hung onto that all these years. And Isaiah loved seeing this note about his father being naughty in school at about the same age he was now. It didn’t register quite the same with Jaxon, who is 6. He was too busy playing video games to worry about what kind of student his daddy was.

Also, I had a lot of pictures from Justin’s Air Force graduation in 2006, which I took along too. That worked out perfectly. We set up a small table underneath a banner my DIL had ordered. So, all the guests at the party afterwards got to enjoy his ’20-years ago, recently graduated’ pictures too.

One fun moment occurred as my son and I were standing in the kitchen near the wall where they hang up the boy’s school reports and various pictures. Justin looked up at a picture of Isaiah (the 11 yo) who was about the same age as his 6-year-old younger brother, Jaxon, is now.

Justin said, “I want my baby back.”

To which I could only laugh.

“What??? YOU want YOUR baby back?” And with that, I looked him directly in his eyes and said very slowly, “How do you think I feel? I want my baby back, too!”

And before we knew it, the week was over, and it was time to take the Grandma’s back to the airport.

I spent a week there in North Carolina. I took my laptop with me, intending on getting onto online to check email every day, and possibly log into a few pages I’m following.

I never took my laptop out of my backpack.

I spent every single moment of that week just totally being there, with my family, enjoying the celebrations going on, and participating in the moment.

I’d say that I’m sorry I missed the virtual world which fills so much of my life.

But I’d be lying.

I’m happy that I spent my time being totally immersed in my son’s life for one week. There’s always time to catch up once I’m home.

Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-up by Emily Brightwell
Mrs. Jeffries Mystery, Book 29

A collector of Asian artifacts is killed in his study with a sword from his own collection. Inspector Witherspoon notices a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the victim, but no one in the household remembers when it got there. The suspects include disgruntled members of his own family, other collectors, an incompetent appraiser who the man had threatened to take to court, and the man’s own wife. And of course the Inspector is under pressure from the Chief Inspector to have the case wrapped up before Christmas. I’m glad the new maid Phyllis is starting to participate more in the cases.

Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own by Emily Brightwell
Mrs. Jeffries Mystery, Book 30

In an interesting twist, Mrs. Jeffries and the rest of the household takes on a case before the Inspector is assigned to it! When the supervisor of a manufacturing plant is shot at the end of the workday, one of the suspects is a woman who’d been seen and heard threatening him a few days earlier, and she happens to be Mrs. Jeffries’ estranged sister-in-law. But Inspector Nivens is given the case because Inspector Witherspoon has been assigned an important fraud case. This causes the household to get their clues in convoluted ways, but fortunately for them, Nivens suffers a broken leg and the case goes to Witherspoon. Smythe and Betsy and the baby are in Canada visiting Betsy’s sister, but the others manage to carry on and get the work done. 

Murder at the English Manor by Helena Dixon
Miss Underhay Mystery, Book 20

Kitty and Matt are invited to a ball celebrating the engagement of Lord Faversham’s son to an American socialite. They’ve been hired to investigate the disappearance of a maid who worked in that manor. When they arrive, it’s evident that the marriage has been arranged because the American girl’s money is needed to keep the estate in the family. Did the maid leave because she found a more lucrative life somewhere? But then they find the girl’s body in the family mausoleum, and the police are called in. Unfortunately, the inspector on duty is a man they’ve locked horns with in past cases – he hates private investigators, especially when they’re female. As usual, Ms. Dixon delivers a fast-paced, well-thought out mystery with a harrowing climax. 

Murder in Paris by Helena Dixon
Miss Underhay Mystery, Book 21

Kitty and Matt are invited to join Kitty’s grandmother to join her for a week in Paris. They’ve made arrangements to see a fashion show. But just after the show, the top model is found stabbed to death in the dressing room. Since they are some of the first on the scene, they soon become involved in the case. Even though the model was well-liked, there were several who had motives to kill her. Matt and Kitty are hired by one of the suspects, an English lord, who wants them to help clear his name. As usual, the ending was a bit of a surprise. I’m a definite fan of this series.

The Curse of Mabb’s Farm by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Cherringham Mystery Shorts, Book 6

When a series of bad luck threatens to ruin a local farmer, Sarah and Jack are asked to look into it. Most of the village attribute the fires, the missing livestock, and mysterious footprints to a curse dating back several hundred years. Both Jack and Sarah believe the culprit is a live human being. Neither the farmer nor his wife want the police called in, and they both resist anyone who tries to help. But the villagers are worried and want the curse stopped. Jack enlists the help of a local merchant who has ties to mystic arts, hoping to flush out the truth. I really enjoy these shorter mysteries, and I love the main characters in this series.

The Body in the Lake by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Cherringham Mystery Shorts, Book 7

Sarah has been asked to create and present a slide show depicting the advantages of Cherringham entering a “Twinning” arrangement (what Americans call Sister Cities) with a French village. The officials of the prospective French city are guests at the newly opened Convention Center, owned by a Cherringham noble family whose matriarch isn’t quite happy with the development. She’s even less impressed when the French mayor is found dead, floating in the lake by the manor. The police are on the case, but when the convention center’s manager (the matriarch’s grandson) is arrested, Sarah and Jack are persuaded to find the real killer.  

Snowblind by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Cherringham Mystery Shorts, Book 8

Two residents of a local nursing home go missing during a blizzard. One is discovered on the doorstep of the local pub. When Jack and Sarah offer to take the man back to the nursing home, they find the place with no power and only three attendants to care for the residents. The body of the other man is found the next day. Sarah’s friend, whose grandmother is a resident in the home, asks them to find out what happened. They uncover not only mismanagement and a lack of funding, but people who aren’t who they claim to be. 

Playing Dead by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Cherringham Mystery Shorts, Book 9

Sarah’s mother is the lead actress in Cherringham Player’s theater production. When disturbing things start happening, such as injuries on the set, brand-new equipment breaking, and people getting sick with mysterious maladies, she suspects someone is out to sabotage the show and asks Sarah and Jack to investigate. Jack becomes an assistant stage manager, and Sarah fills in as a maid in the show. I keep wondering when Jack and Sarah are going to go into business together. The narrator for this series is excellent!

A Deadly Confession by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Cherringham Mystery Shorts, Book 10

A priest dies while out on his morning run, and since he was known to be undergoing treatment for a heart condition, it is assumed he suffered a heart attack. But his friend and regular running buddy is suspicious and asks Jack to investigate. Jack and Sarah meet with some resistance from the residents of the convent for which he lived, but they manage to figure out what really happened to him, thanks to his smart watch and Sarah’s computer savvy. Sarah’s son plays an important role in this one as well, and it’s nice to see him interacting well with Jack.

Topic: What was your FAVORITE school year in the span of K-12? Any particular reason? What was your LEAST favorite year in that span?

Intro:
As has happened nearly every time one of my suggested topics appears on the schedule… I have no recollection of why I proposed it (or if I had anything in mind to write about it). We’ve covered school days and/or topics about school classes/activities here on previous quarterly schedules, but I don’t think we’ve had this specific question.
And, as I often do (when I have trouble narrowing down my responses to a single reply)… I’ll list a few examples.

My LEAST favorite school year
I recall years when I felt more geeky than usual (e.g., ninth grade).
My third grade year featured a stolen bicycle (got it back later)… and a bout of hepatitis (spring 1959) that put me in the hospital for two weeks and caused me to miss 32 of that year’s final 70 days.
But I suppose the top contender for LEAST favorite year was my high school sophomore year [new kid in new school in new city]… the experiences of which I detailed in my blog this past September 11.

But as I wrestled with my response to this question, I also realized that sophomore year served as excellent training for so many of the NEW/DIFFERENT situations I’d be thrust into throughout my life. So, even though 1965-66 in that faraway Iowa city was a miserable year in many respects, I not only made the best of it, but I effectively utilized what I’d learned there… in later years.

My MOST favorite school year
I had a blast in my senior year… despite being grounded three or four times (for weeks at a time). When I wasn’t grounded, I had access to the family vehicle and I dated a lot [dances, proms, a costumed Carnival Ball,movies, plays, picnics, hayrides, miniature golf, and other venues.]
With a fellow classmate (L.L.) I co-founded, co-wrote, edited, typed, co-printed, and co-distributed six issues of an underground newspaper. [I came REALLY close to being suspended for that gambit.] Toward the end of that year, I even skipped school several times — no particular reason other than my general sense of rebellion taking hold.
I knew I’d go to college and took the full slate of “college board” exams… but I never sweated them. Didn’t get the study guides… figured I’d score what I’d score. At least one test was at a different high school in town, one was held only at a college campus some 20 miles distant. I’ve forgotten which test this was, but one was on a Saturday morning after I’d been up way LATE for a school prom… so I was exhausted. But I managed to get very impressive scores on all those tests. Likewise with my regular school classes that year — other than all the papers I had to write for English IV, I never broke my back studying. The only other course that challenged me was Calculus.
Also that year, I was in three productions: a one-act play we performed at a community venue for competition, the dual roles of beast and prince in “Beauty and the Beast”, and a leading role in the MUSICAL … “The Boyfriend”. Yeah … imagine shy ole Jeff SINGING in public! Plus, I was talked into presenting an ‘oral interpretation’ at a regional speech convention. And I voluntarily (though unofficially) ‘audited’ a speech class for an entire semester.
All in all — even though I got into a lot of trouble for all my exuberances (and excesses), I had a good time… got a lot of wing-flapping out of my system before departing for a university 500 miles away.

On the flip side: As evidence of my “maturity,” let me share that I worked Saturdays at a local Feed and Seed store (thanks to my friend, N.M., who got me the job) and the entire summer after I graduated, I worked full time at that store.
Also, during the late spring and summer of that year, I bought a 1947 Plymouth Special Deluxe Coupe from a junk yard (for $15) and – with help from parents, friends (plus advice from a friendly mechanic) – got the old machine running again.

Here’s another look at some of my senior year exploits:

[JLS # 782]

Our Thursday Hound asked us this:

What is your FAVORITE school year in the span of K-12? Any particular reason? What was your LEAST favorite year in that span?

Oh, the school memories he dredged up with this question. And it’s funny that this school question would come up right now. About two weeks ago I was going through an old box and discovered this old picture of my kindergarten class.

That’s me in the back row, on the far-right side, the little blonde girl that looks like she’s almost trying to hide behind the girl in front of her. That was just about my whole school life – me trying to slide in under the radar and not call attention to myself.

While I loved school and the learning aspects involved in school, I did not like the social aspects of school. I remember in kindergarten, I did not want to go to school. My mom drove me and my younger brother and sister there, the whole four or five blocks away, in our big old Plymouth. We walked in the front door of the classroom, and I ran out the back door and around the side of the building and beat my mom back to the car.

But she won. I had to stay in school.

But as to the question about my favorite school year – that one was tough for me to pick. And I think I’d pick Third Grade. Not because of any special memories. I couldn’t tell you who my teacher was, who my friends were, or what we learned.

But I discovered Charlotte’s Web that year. And right after Charlotte’s Web, it was James and the Giant Peach. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. A Wrinkle in Time. And then, to my delight, Dr. Doolittle entered my life. The next few years were spent reading every Dr. Doolittle book I could get my hands on.

So even though Third Grade was possibly my favorite school year, it wasn’t because of school. It was because my reading had expanded enough by then that I was entering other delightful, magical worlds.

My sophomore year was my least favorite school year. But again, the reasons had nothing to do with the school. It was the life circumstances that put that school year at the bottom of my list.

It was the early 1970’s. We were living in southern California. I was about to turn 15 and had just finished my freshman year. But my mom was growing up a little too much for my dad’s tastes. She was starting to like to wear loud colors, and bright earrings, and was getting a little too ‘wild’. So, Dad decided that we were all moving to Arkansas. He was going to get my mom straightened out. (Spoiler alert – it didn’t work.)

But all of a sudden, this 15-year-old born and raised California girl was living in a house two miles up a dirt road from a small town that was just a crossroads – in a 2 bedroom house with an iron stove for heat – and no restroom or running water. I had to learn how to trudge up a hill to use the outhouse.

When mom took us to the high school to get me registered, the counselor was looking and my records and made the comment, “I see she took tapping last year.”

I looked at my mom in confusion.

Tapping?

I didn’t even dance, let alone tap dance.

He repeated it again, and we realized he was asking about my typing class.

To get to school, mom would drive us down the dirt road, about 2 miles further down the dirt road. We’d wait there where the school bus would pick us up. The bus had every age on it from kindergarten to high school. And the hour-long drive was all on dirt roads, except for the last few paved miles into town.

I only remember one family on the bus. I thought we were poor, but they were even poorer. I remember them talking about their house, which only had tar paper hung inside for ‘walls’. The oldest boy, a year or two older than me, was the ‘bus monitor’, and he always had a wad of ‘terbaccy’ under his lip, and a round white ring worn in his blue jeans. Ugh! It was disgusting then and just as disgusting today. But the worst day was the day that the girl, Teresa (I think) got on, and her long brown hair had been chopped off chin length, and her younger brothers all had their heads shaved. She explained to me that it was what her parents did to treat the lice that they’d found in their hair.

I was finding out about ‘real life’. Real Life wasn’t always very pretty. And I wasn’t ready to learn all these things. I think this sudden growing up and discovering that life wasn’t always pleasant for everyone is what made this sophomore year my least favorite school year.

But even though my year was filled with all these unwanted findings, I can share that I aced the tapping class I was in that year in Arkansas!

Our resident hound asked, “What was your FAVORITE school year in the span of K-12? Any particular reason? What was your LEAST favorite year in that span?”

I’ve always enjoyed school. I still do! These days, my only time spent in them is on the evenings I play in community bands and orchestras, because it happens that they all meet in schools (one in a middle school and two on different college campuses). I imagine I wouldn’t have spent so much time in schools if I didn’t enjoy it so much. Of course there have been times of unpleasantness, but being a perpetual optimist, I’ve suppressed them so deep it took me a while to uncover them for the purpose of this blog post.

My favorite school year was probably the seventh grade. Up until that time, my school experience had been in an elementary school where I’d spent six years with the same 45 to 50 students. When I got to junior high in 7th grade, we were now in classes with 150 more students. Instead of playing in a band with 20 instrumentalists, our 7th grade band had 75. I was in a different classroom every fifty minutes, with a different teacher, and a different set of students. I loved every minute. The only overwhelming part was lunch time, when the cafeteria was crowded and noisy. But as I got to know more and more of my classmates, I looked forward to that time. I didn’t like standing in line for the hot lunch, so I made sure I packed a sandwich every day so that I could meet my friends at “our” table. 

As for my least favorite, this was much more difficult. There were unpleasant situations, but I remember them being spread out, and not concentrated in one year. As I mentioned, I had to really think hard to remember what things I didn’t like about school. The only things I could come up with was disappointment over not having a date for homecoming, sadness over not making the JV cheerleading squad my sophomore year, and maybe a disagreement with a teacher over a grade. But seriously, things weren’t all that bad.

If I really must choose a least favorite year, it would probably be my senior year in high school. There was really nothing about it that I disliked. I went through the usual rites of passage: getting my senior picture taken, ordering invitations, and having a graduation open house. And since my parents took it for granted that I would go to college, there was the excitement of visiting college campuses, auditioning for the music departments, and filling out applications. I think it was the excitement of what lay ahead that made me not appreciate the present. I honestly could not tell you anything I learned my last year in high school. I’d already completed almost all the required classes (things were much easier back then), so my schedule consisted of band, orchestra, choir, guitar, government (required class), and study hall. I was there only because I had to be, and my thoughts were focused on the future – going to another state, to an even bigger school and new experiences. 

What are your favorite and least favorite memories of school days?

I am a late-comer to his stories, which have been put online for the past few years. I have skipped around a bit, not realizing that there are several storylines that carry over to several series, and a number of stand-alone stories. 

What I really love about the writers’ works are their clear writing, their ability to get points across and to engage their readers with ‘clean’ stories, 

and P.E. Rowe is the best. 

There is seldom as much as a swear word, and any sexual encounters are written to be understood, much like in the days of most early movies, or possibly even more restrained. 

The horrors of war are pressed, although battles and injuries, even those from accidents or other situations, are not described gruesomely.  There are many serious elements, but for Rowe, the future, even the far future, has promise and hope. There is humor in most stories, and some are very amusing indeed. 

With some time travel involved, not all situations, nor people, are always what they seem, or end up becoming. There are some immortals and some tech-beings and cyborgs, but they are very much ‘human’, good, bad, or in flux.  
 

 Compassion, individuality, and the Greater Good are all themes presented through P.E. Rowe’s stories, and when I need a break from anything long or heavy, or when I need a real lift, he is where I have been turning. I may have mentioned his works before, but I have been listening to his audiobooks more and more, as the stories are serial, but also can stand alone, and what is helpful to me at this time is that they are short. 
 I hope to loosen up my finances a bit and pick up his physical books, but in the meantime, I hope to catch up on his series and get to the point where I can await his weekly uploads, read by Rowe himself, (sometimes with others), which is a wonderful boon. He not only has a fine voice, but he reads well and consistently; it helps when the reader knows exactly what the writer intended, where the writer wants stress, or for parts to be downplayed, 

however, not every writer has the talent to pull it off. 

I may adopt him. 

Rowe shares his works freely on YouTube, although I hope those who can will help support him as possible. He has stand-alone and series, ready to be heard, he also has a channel running continually.  Today’s support is that  I’m sharing here, and I’m doing more of a favor for his potential listeners or readers than for the man himself. 

If you can’t bring yourself to try a story because it is a SciFi, I hope you will reconsider, because these works are not about tech, they are about people.  If not, then I hope you recommend Rowe’s works to someone you know who does enjoy SciFi, or has the inclination to try something different.