Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Letters to a Baby

Our grandson turned one-year-old today. This past year, I kept a journal as though I was writing to him. Here are a few excerpts from it. Most are from before he was born.

8.15.14. Today I heard about you for the first time. A little baby. A baby. Brittany is barely not one herself at 20-years-old. I think her dad, your grandpa who is my husband, got teary-eyed after she told us. He was pretty quiet. Worrying. I wonder how you will change our lives. Will we get to see you often? Will we spoil you? Will we get alone time with you? I have mixed emotions, it seems. I look forward to being in your life, yet I’m afraid that I won’t be in it much. Oh, how I already love you, and I just heard about you. I was only in your momma’s life for six years before she left for college, and so much has changed since then. Oh little baby, I pray for your soul.

8.27.14. A week ago today we found out you were for real. Doctor said so and Bee called her dad. I am excited. I really am. I think it will be neat seeing your firsts. I wonder if you are a boy or a girl. We'll probably know because if Bee wants to know—she won’t be able to not tell. I pray for your soul, little one, that some day you’ll understand your purpose in Christ. I haven’t even met you, and I love you.

9.17.14. Your momma told the world about you today on Facebook. She must be excited. She sure gobbled down the food when we took her out to eat on Sunday. Your daddy was watching football with his family. I got to meet your daddy's mom and his sisters and some others. It's a full house. I think you will be well-loved there. You were at the doctor today with your momma, and I guess you’re okay in there since she announced it.

9.27.14. Oh, little baby, your parents got married today at the Keeper of Plains in Wichita, Kansas at 3 pm. I hope you know you are loved. I hope you bring your mom around here more often.

11.13.14. I know your name. Jack Von. You are a boy. A grandson. Saw pictures of you today. Your momma posted sonogram photos on Facebook. She called your grandpa too. Jack Von Schmidt. Such a neat name. I bet you’ll be an interesting person. A deep thinker. Your mommy really loves your daddy. I think that’s important. I hope you see that. But more importantly, I hope you love Christ. 

11.17.14. Oh Little Jack Von, your momma came out for a visit today. She told us something might be wrong. Weird stuff showed up on your sonogram that could lead to extra chromosomes. You may be a special needs little fella. We love you all the same. God is making you the way He wants you to be for His reasons.

2.21.15. Baby shower tonight for you, Jack Von. Your mommy got lots of nice things. Glad your Great Aunt Brenda took the time to meet me and come as we’d planned—even though the time had changed. Wonder if I’ll get to be a part of your life. So ready to meet you, learn to know you, learn to have fun with you, watch you grow and become.

4.13.15. Today you were born. I met you, Jack Von Schmidt. I’ve never been around a baby only a few hours old. It was really something. Seeing you get all that love from both sides of the family. You, little one, just might be the tie that binds. I hope I really get to be a grandma to you. I love you, little guy. Just love you. 

8.2.15. You, little baby, have brought Brittany home. Home to Cheney. She and your daddy Nathaniel have moved here for the time being. Today your mommy became a full-fledged adult. She turned 21. Had someone told me two years ago that she would want to be here with us calmly celebrating her birthday, I wouldn’t have believed it. God seems to be using you to bring the family back together. Tonight your bio grandma, Grandma Danita, and your Great Grandparents were all here. It was just like it was when your mommy was growing up. I spent all Sunday afternoon preparing your mommy’s favorites: pineapple ham and twice-baked potatoes. It was a labor of love, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Tonight I held you in front of our bedroom mirror and talked to you about the things on the little shelf nearby: the doggie figurines, pictures, a crystal heart, the cross symbol, the courageous Cameron bracelet. That's for your second cousin who fought lymphoma cancer and won.

8.13.15. It is the day before I report to work, teaching school for the twenty-seventh year. Your momma called. She asked me to watch you this afternoon while she goes to work. This is the first time we’ll be all alone together. Just you, me, and the doggies in my house. My first reaction was yikes, for I haven’t baby sat much. But your mommy said, “I know you won’t neglect him.” It means the world to me that she has allowed us into her life with you and your daddy. For that, I am blessed and thankful. May you and me love each other—always and forever.

4.13.16. It's your birthday, little fella. You're a year old. Already.
Words escape me now.

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Tic Tac Toe, Show What You Know

I am guest blogging at A View of the Web this week.

It’s an educational blog by Jill Weber, my colleague and friend for nearly a decade.

I'm honored that my first guest post is on her site, a place where Jill shares great ideas and student work. She inspires me.

And if you read some of her other posts, you'll see how education has changed since you went to school.

This is our world: middle school kids, middle school content, in the middle of America.
Click here to read the post, Tic Tac Toe, Show What You Know

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Someone Who Fed My Spirit

The head chef at our school has been around since I started teaching back when the junior high had last lunch in the fall of 1989.

School budgets were different, and so were the requirements put on the lunch tray. There was always plenty of food. I was single and coaching high school basketball, so school lunch was the one hot meal I got a day­ besides Sundays at my sister's.

I knew how to cook, but I didn't deem it necessary for just me. At home, I ate a lot of Cheerios and toasted Cheeze Whiz sandwiches. My favorite after school treat had become my adult evening meal.

One woman though, made sure I didn't go hungry. Charlene Lyons, our cafeteria lady.

Back when the government let them serve cake, Charlene always hid away an extra piece for me. I think she'd do this even when we had leftovers.

"Got somethin' for you, Hofer," she'd whisper before I'd go sit down with my cohorts.

This was back in the day when teachers had to supervise the lunch room. Thanks to the Supreme Court of the United States, we get a whopping 20 minute-duty free lunch now. Just enough time to check your email, go to the bathroom, microwave a meal, and scarf it down.

Here's another memory involving her.

One year, Charlene and her daughter were part of my "It's All Relative" game show that I organized for the middle school talent show.

Any district staff member with a middle school child or grandchild could be in the show. Modeled after "The Newlywed Game" from the 1970s, questions were asked of one relative while the other was out of the room and vice versa. Art teacher Michaeline Kohler helped me come up with the title.

Charlene was up there with daughter Alisha or Amber, who ironically, had just performed a trio or duet that day as her talent. The "It's All Relative" game was close, and it came down to this question: What was your most embarrassing moment?

This mother and daughter's answers matched. Charlene had answered first, so when her daughter was brought out and she heard the question, her face turned red and she took a big breath. She said, "Forgetting the words to the song today." The crowd roared.

What had mortified a young soul on stage redeemed her minutes later because her mom knew her well and had the guts to say so.

That's the way Charlene is. She tells it like it is. I admire that.

Charlene had a milestone birthday this weekend, the big 6-0.

I'd started this post last fall during cafeteria appreciation week, but life interrupted me and I didn't get it done. When I saw it was Charlene's birthday, I knew this was the time to post it.

What a beautiful woman with a great heart. Thanks, Charlene, for the many years your spirit has fed mine when our paths have crossed.

You made a young woman feel welcome into the life of small-town teaching.

Who was the one who helped you transition into a new situation? Share memories of your cafeteria lady. 

Saturday, February 27, 2016

I was a Paint by Numbers Kid

I can only draw stick figures, but my father wanted me to be an artist.

When I was in grade school, he was willing to pay for art lessons at The Orange Crate in Huron. But Mom said I was busy enough with school, church, and piano lessons. She bought me paint-by-number kits instead.

My art friends are cringing. Sorry.

Dad didn't give up though. He moved on to another medium. Photography.

I was a high school sophomore one Sunday afternoon when we drove to Lewis Drug in Huron, and he bought me a Canon 35-millimeter camera. That spring he insisted I attend a photography class on Monday nights at Huron College. I did. The information was way over my head. 

But that's my dad, Mr. You-Need-To-Get-Educated.

I didn’t understand aperture and f-stops (and I still don’t), so I put the camera on program and away I went snapping shots for the yearbook.

As a college freshman, I enrolled in introduction to photography, again at Dad’s insistence. I didn't understand the book work (again the f-stops and aperture confused me), so I bombed the paper/pencil quizzes.

I could take the pictures and earned good marks for my photos, but I didn't want a C or worse to start out with, so I dropped the class—only it was beyond the two-week grace period to do so. I have big fat W for withdrawal on my transcript.

I continued to play around with taking pictures, especially with black and white film when I was at home in the summers on the farm. Two young nieces who lived nearby served as my models.

I coerced Suzanne and Jessica to display downtrodden faces and pose by old buildings around their home and mine. I dug up an old rusty lantern, some tin cans and books as props. We had fun in the early 90s on our little photo shoots in rural South Dakota. I did the same with my Walter niece and nephews who lived two hours away.

These photos were a big hit with my brother-in-law Glen who lives in Kansas near me. He liked the black and white pictures so much that they displayed them in their home for awhile.

It was during this time that Martha Brohammer, my friend and colleague, re-taught me how to use the dark room to develop the film. I had been taught that in the college course I’d dropped. She was the art and Spanish teacher when I came to Cheney.

I wouldn't know how to function in a dark room today and am glad digital photography came along.

Melodie's KSN Shot of the Day in May 2010
In 2004, I bought my first digital camera, a point and shoot thing. In 2006 for Christmas, my husband Chris bought me a better one since my old camera failed to capture the beautiful fall foliage of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where we were married.

Then in 2009, he bought our first camera with the swing-out viewfinder, so we could have decent videos of his daughter Brittany's singing and acting events. 

Thus began Chris’ photography hobby. He's had many cameras since and continues to dabble and learn. It's been fun watching him develop into an artist and actually sell his work on Fine Art America. He passed me up months ago. His Facebook photography page, Framing Kansas, is three-years-old this month with over 12,000 followers.
It’s still fun to remind him though that I was the first one with a KSN photo of the day. A shot of a bird, of all things, whose mouth was full of worms. Leon Smitherman of Kansas Today, dubbed it "Breakfast of Champions" in May 2010.

Has anyone ever tried to turn you into something you're not? Did you develop any little bit of the desired skill?

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Honoring a Friend on Her Birthday

Ever have one of those friends who is the opposite of you? I do.

She's spontaneous. I'm a planner. She's a let's-just-throw-this-together person. And it works. She is the always-have-to-be-doing-something type gal. I'm a wait-a-minute-gotta-do-nothin'-for-awhile woman.

Here's another contrast: I think Dumb and Dumber is the best comedy movie out there. She fell asleep during it.

Would those differences make for a good friendship?

It does for us. For Valerie Shellhammer and me.

We have a lot in common. We're women. So we talk, analyze, and rehash the same old stories. We also cry. In front of each other.

We're golfers. We enjoy exercise. We like to eat. Actually, I love cooking and serving her food when she pops in between jobs. She's self-employed. She's crafty and good with her hands in creating things. I'm not.

I correct her spelling and help her word things the correct way when she writes. She grounds me in reality with children. I ground her in reality with husbands.

I think we're good for each other. She's the closest thing to a sister my age that I've got. My real sisters grew up in a different generation. This Valerie-sister, I'll call her that so as not to confuse, grew up in the same time period as I did, but she's almost two years older.

We understand the 70s, our elementary years. We get the 80s too when girls could be tomboys. When girls had all the rights that the generation before us fought for. And we are thankful for that.

Because of those trailblazers, we could play basketball for our schools. She played half-court though in Oklahoma. I played full-court in South Dakota.

And a couple decades later, God put us in the same town, on the same basketball bus. I was coaching basketball, and she sponsored the cheerleaders. 

We played ladies' golf, walked and talked, and talked some more on the phone.

She housed my husband the first day I met him when he came for a visit, and designed my step-daughter Brittany's room, so it was ready before she even moved in.

Valerie helps me stay grounded in my faith in Christ. She's not a goody-goody, but she's a Biblically-sound person striving to live as our Savior intends.

And tomorrow, I wish her a happy birthday. She's moved out of Cheney now, but not too far, and I appreciate the time she always makes for me. I know she feels the same. We verbalize it. We've always been that way. Talkative.

Thank you, Lord, for my Proverbs 18:24 friend. A friend who sticks closer than a brother.

Is your best friend the opposite of you in any way? What pulls you together more, the similarities or the differences? What do you do together to keep your friendship in tact?

Sunday, February 7, 2016

My Own Mr. Fixer Upper

For a couple weeks one February, I lived with a table saw in the living room.

We had no garage at the time, and my husband was remodeling the bathroom. He'd already put in a new kitchen floor, so I was used to a stove and refrigerator setting in there, but that was only for a couple days.

This bathroom thing took awhile. And for a couple days, we took sponge baths. My good dishes set on the dining room table since the china closet had to be moved out of the way—and so did the table.

My husband hadn't even looked for a job yet because he'd moved at the start of December and had a nice sum of money from his house sale. His days were spent as Mr. Fixer Upper.

We hadn't really planned on changing things right away, but when the frig leak ruined the flooring in the kitchen, he went to work on other parts of the house.

All of the supplies and new furnishings were kept inside the house. Yes, inside. Where we were living. Toilet in its box. In the living room. Bath tub. In the living room. Table saw, bead board, caulking supplies. In the living room. And there was still room for us to maneuver onto the couch. I know. Crazy. Crowded.


I stored extra toilet paper on top of the small couch in our bedroom. The bedroom got another closet. One just for him.

I came home from a basketball game to him sanding the top of his dresser closet. The thing was so smooth. But he stunk. I don't think he'd bathed for a few days—even though the bathroom was done at that point.

"What's the use?" he said. "I'm just going to stink more tomorrow."

Those early days of married life taught me what it meant to live with other people, not just a dog. Oh, forgot to mention, we had two of those running around.

Have you gone through a mess in your living space? How did you cope with it?

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Where Were You When the Big Things Happened?

Thirty years ago this week, the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded killing the seven astronauts on board. 

Where were you when the Challenger blew up?

I was a sophomore in the library at Tabor College in Hillsboro, Kansas, when students came in talking about it. Soon we surrounded the big screen TV in the student center watching the replays of the tragedy.

This is the event I use to teach the research paper process to my seventh graders, so I’m always aware of its anniversary. Thinking about it this year; however, caused me to chronicle where I'd been during major events.

Here are a few. 

Where were you when Elvis died?

I was playing outside with my best friend Gail and my second cousin Jodi Glanzer.  We were near the tree we played on as a couch since its trunk lay parallel to the ground. Mom came out and told us that he’d passed. Gail and I liked his "Hound Dog" song, so we were a little sad.

But my dad likes to tell a story about what happened that night at supper. He asked Jodi, a preacher's kid, what she thought of Elvis. She replied, “He’s not my type.” We all laughed at her respectful disapproval of Elvis.

Where were you when President Ronald Reagan was shot?

I was on the east stairway of Hitchcock High School when Larry Gilbert, a student a few years older, came in from shop class yelling, “The President’s been shot.” 

Our shop teacher, Coach Mike Satter, must have had the radio on out there, for  teachers didn’t have cable TV in their classrooms back the 80s. Later that night on the news, I remember thinking how bizarre it was for John Hinkley to shoot the President to impress Jodi Foster, the actress.

Where were you when Michael Jackson died?

I was at Conklin Cars in Hutchinson, Kansas, waiting for my Alero to get tured up. On television was a documentary of the life of Farrah Fawcett who had just died that week from a battle with cancer. News reports of emergency vehicles showing up at Jackson’s mansion interrupted the program.

When I got home, my step-daughter Brittany called on the phone and said, “I’m sure sorry about Michael Jackson dying, Melodie.” She knew I was a fan of his music. I was shocked, for I hadn’t heard that he was gone.

Days later I bawled during most of his funeral when it was televised on cable. I scrubbed away cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. Mad—not necessarily because he wouldn't be producing music anymore, but because of the choices he’d made that lead to the demise of his reputation.

Where were you when the OJ verdict was read?

I stood stunned beside my social studies colleague Peter Holton when we’d gathered a bunch of jr. highers into our largest room to hear it. Shock. The entire room. Quiet. No cheers. No sighs of relief. Just mystified by the decision.

Where were you when the World Trade Center was attacked by terrorists?

I was in my classroom teaching. My middle school communication students were critiquing videotapes of their monologue projects. The Today Show would come on between me switching out the tapes, so we heard the reporting of Tower One being on fire. The kids wanted to watch it, and I’d told them no and that we had stuff to do, so we kept on with our critiques. That was the class of 2007. Tiane DeVore, Kurt Lehner, Bill Rhodes. Some of the faces in that morning group.

Not until class break did I hear from other teachers what was going on. I tried to go on with my day as normal; however, some teachers watched the coverage all day long with the students. I’m glad I hadn't stopped to watch that morning, for I wouldn’t have wanted to be responsible for young eyes seeing that second tower hit.

By mid-afternoon, teachers stood looking out the south windows of the school. Cars lined up out onto Main Street of our tiny town to get gas. I waited in line over 20 minutes that evening.

We shut off our motors and stood outside talking while waiting to pull up to the tank. I knew the man I stood by but can't remember who he was. We stood, Amercians, together. Talking, wondering, concerned. A crisis made us pause. 

The manager of the station came out twice to change the price on the sign. A few murmured at her. She was following orders from corporate. We all knew that, but it was disconcerting.

I was supposed to meet with my neighbors' brother-in-law that evening to discuss the addition of a garage to my home. We never met. Everyone hunkered down and stayed home. Then the reports of the heroics of the Pennsylvania plane came in. I sat in my house. Alone. And cried. Cried for America. Part fear. Part pride.

Did you wait in line during the 2000 presidential election between Gore and Bush?

I did. In small-town middle-America. I voted in the evening after basketball practice. I’d never seen our poling area filled with chairs and people let alone a line outside the police station, our poling place. I sat next to Jessa Albers, wife of a former student and now our school nurse. It's where we met. The turnout was incredible. Again, Americans. Together for a common purpose.

Something tells me election day will be like that again.

What details do you recall from the events I mentioned?