What I Don't Do - Part II

Back when I wrote about things I don't do, did I add 'sewing absolutely anything' to that list? Part of me said that if I didn't, I certainly should have. The other side of me said that learning takes patience and verve and the ability to keep going. People become boring if they forget that.

All of this thinking yesterday while experiencing total angst at the kitchen table. I was sewing.

It's in the moments where I'm completely frustrated that I remember that some of my students are naturally more bent toward math, and still spend 5 hours of a week with me, the teacher who tends to obsess about themes in history. Learning is hard work and being a teacher creates such a humbling experience.

This post is not about teaching though....surprise of your life, I am sure. Instead, it's about sewing. Everything I know about it, and why it matters. Here goes.

Jenna and I planned to make infinity scarves, and spent yesterday morning working on this project together. Every so often one of us (usually me) would jam the sewing machine. Then I became like a 4 year old and called for my mom for help. It felt like a nightmare, and I know why. I am not detail oriented, struggle with spatial concepts, and have much more patience for people compared to tasks. Sewing is precise too, which is something I like in other people, or spelling words, or your basic conversation.

From the Head and the Heart

I have been away from writing on this blog, and the hiatus felt wholesome and good.  I don't know why I needed time away, but I did.  In the past few weeks, I only did a few things each day.  Mostly I worked really hard at school.  I would work for 15 hours and then walk to my lone car in the parking lot and wonder what the heck I was doing with my time.  But I did not feel that tired.  I think I was wired and preemptive about Quarter 2 at school.  In four years I have learned that you work your butt off in December so that January has flow.  

I turned off the radio, and listened to Amy Grant sing hymns instead.  Her voice is a strong reminder of my 90s childhood, and hearing the solidarity of hymns and the promises of Jesus was how I found the buoyancy in these weighty days.  I had long conversations with some of my friends that rooted me to the understanding of how I'm really doing.  I chose to believe them when I said I was brave.  And after every conversation, I felt intensely grateful to know such a soul who had become my friend. 

Advent Thoughts

All week long, I've been thinking about a story I heard on Sunday at church.  It immediately caught me because it was about G.K. Chesterton, and this is a man who was very honest and very jovial all at once when he wrote things on paper. Kind of like Mark Twain, who is another refreshing soul to me from an earlier time in history. 

The pastor said that Chesterton was known in England as an apologetic and a cultural analyst, which intrigued me right away.  I love analyzing cultural patterns, and it confirmed the connection I feel to Chesterton's style of writing. 

A Tribute to Excellence

First, a confession.  This is horribly dramatic of me, but last year, when I revisited this episode of 'Boy Meets World', I cried.  And I just cried again.  George Feeny is oddly inspiring, and in 'Killer Bees' (dorky puns were titles for 90s sitcom episodes!!) he's speaking my language. 

Feeny wants to win the Geography Bee with Minkus for the 6th year in a row.  Instead he takes Cory who doesn't win at all.  Start watching this at 3:25 to see what I'm talking about.

In the last few days I've talked with numerous people about teaching.  Not my students, the current grade book, or the specific school where I teach.  The stuff beyond daily life.  It has been refreshing.   

Something Brilliant from 1936

Today I saw this painting, and for some reason, deep down in my soul, I loved it.

Our school hosted a workshop for professional development, and an art teacher came to school and talked with us about using art. Better yet, using art and writing about it.

Winter Morning and Snow

Intensity no more.


Earlier this week, after writing the blog post that was heavily based on 'Christmas Vacation' and my own life, I met with the women in my Bible study and heard about similar stories that typify family and conflict and goodness and what you get when you realize that some people, this family of yours, are in your heart and your bones, and it doesn't leave. 

 For two days, I carried a lot of tension and story and ricocheting thoughts with me as I lived the days, and when it came to Bible study on Tuesday night, it all just melted away.  The stories landed in one big pile on the floor in front of us, and we laughed about a lot of things.  I know really funny people in a lot of different areas of my life. 

Life Lived

Ok, it's kind of crude, but it's also symbolic.  And lends itself to the funny side of life.  If you don't know this reference, it's from 'Christmas Vacation'.  The Griswolds tend to keep it real. 

This is the first time I've had writer's block on my own blog.  Five times I've sat down to say something to the world, and four times I've held back, wondering what to say.  No longer.  I'm certainly not waiting for perfection to arrive.  I think I'm waiting for my world to sort of shift back to normalcy that makes sense.  Life has taught me that this is not always suited to what we want....in the end, it seems I am just looking for some breathing room. 


I'm doing alright.  Life has just been INTENSE.  That's the only thing I can really think to say about it.  It's been good and bad mixed together (hello, theme of bittersweet in life, especially after recognizing it post-Shauna Niequist books,which are eloquently written) and last week was no exception. 

Gray With Bright Colors

Last week, in the middle of the crazy, I found myself telling someone new in my life about the death of my friend Kari. 

I lumped it into the teaching category of my life because this all happened at school.  This conversation with a new friend, though.....this was not like teaching.  And it got shuffled behind other papers and perspectives about conferences and the quarter's end.  But today it came back.

There were aftershocks that followed that conversation.  I knew right away that there would be because she wanted to give me a hug after we talked, and I hadn't thought I had said anything very definitive.  In retrospect, I DID, but grief has a way of becoming common.  It wasn't until today that I realized that she was the first person to openly ask me what has been lingering for a year.  

After something like that, what is different about how you live? 

Molasses

Finally. 

I am done with Quarter 1 grades.  They always take FOR - EH - VER. 

Say that like they do in 'The Sandlot' and you've got my feelings about technical grading and data entry.  Each quarter I find that I am hoping to glean some better understanding of self and grade book but I never love it.  I always push 'submit' feeling like I had to drag myself through molasses...technical details are just NOT my favorite thing.  However, this is a huge part of my job, and these are peoples' GRADES and their LIVES I'm dealing with.  So I go through it all very carefully.

Frost

It feels decidedly like November.  I am a fan of this month.  It’s a windy silent gray time more often than not, but it’s the calm before the storm, (literally and figuratively) and I like the reserved perspective it brings. 

Thursday

Sometimes Thursday nights are difficult for me.  And on nights like this, I have to be kind to myself.  I know it's odd, but it's akin to what others feel on Sunday night, and it's gross. 

Here's what happens.  My mind is tired, and my self is looking for ways to relax and still maintain momentum until Friday.  I refuse to do shoddy work or coast on Friday at school.  So where does the tired go?  It goes to Thursday.  My mind either shuts down completely and I feel delirious by 5 pm, or it races so that I feel a need to talk about everything in the entire world. I can see it so clearly, and it's annoying.

There's more.  I slow down on Thursdays because I refuse to be a martyr for teaching.  I like it too much, and I don't want to be a total drip about something I try to do well every day.   So I HAVE to stop and take care of myself.  People love to be total drips about things they secretly love.  Why?  Why not just rest a little and THEN continue on?  I suppose it's because you pretty quickly get to the bigger question of 'Why are you doing this work in the first place?'  And sometimes people don't want to answer that.  

Grilled Cheese Friendship

Today I had one of those quintessential fall days where I walked down a street in St. Paul which was perfectly lit with fall colors.  I was walking with Briana.  She is a friend for life...one of those people who has been with me since the first day of college.  And a little before.  When we met for the first time, we had grilled cheese for lunch.  I love this memory.   I, since this time, have become friends with Jamie Koch, who loves to MAKE grilled cheese for her friends.  She does it so well, and this is the best.  Once, we had our Bible study at her house and she made a whole bunch of them for us.  There is nothing like a grilled cheese and good friends at the end of a long day. 

Jamie Koch, if you are reading this, I want to eat grilled cheese with you again soon.  I'll bring the Tomato Bisque soup.

Sleeping and Waking

I woke up in a really nice way today to songs on Cities 97 that spoke to me.  However, before this, let me say before waking up, while sleeping, I've been having crazy dreams this week...really imaginative, strange ones that don't line up with reality.  I think this is because of all of the grading required this week just to keep things going.  I've spent a lot of hours poring over the writing styles of my students, and the dreams I have just feel wordy.  I love words, but not in dreams.  In the dreams, it just feels like chatter, and we all get enough of that in our day, right? 

I'm just glad that the settings in these dreams have stayed in modern times.  When they happen in other periods of history I wake up and have to analyze what would or wouldn't be historically accurate.  I HAVE to.  So that's annoying, even for me.  

The night before last, the dreams I had were just really silly things....saving a talking groundhog (with long, flowing hair) from his home business when people were trying to find him.  (And kill him?  Run him out of town?  Respond as another small business in these tough economic times?  Who knows..it didn't get that far.)  I threw him over the porch railing into bushes, and then I saw my sister there, eating biscuits.  It goes on and on.  I will spare you the details as they would prove to be quite the run-on sentence and I am in no mood for run-on sentences at this time of day.  

Middle

Over and over again, whenever I have tried to land on something to explain my life, I have come up with the very prominent thought that I am in the middle.  At least lately.  In the next breath I say, 'In the middle of what?'  If I try to pinpoint it and come up with something, I am only slightly successful.  I can think of elements of my life that are in progress, but it goes beyond that this week. 


There's a very different vibe going on when God is the Author and you really, for a lot of days and weeks and hours, relinquish the beginning and the end and stay present.  This week I have remembered again that I believe that God is in my heartbeat and my breath and my words.  When you mean it and don't just say you believe it, and the minute to minute continues to feel like middle ground, things change.  It's kind of thrilling...all avenues open when that kind of thinking is paramount.  This is where I see God's sense of humor, the importance of people, that the world is beautiful, etc. etc. 

But it's also very uncomfortable. 

Yes

Today is another day for putting up pictures and letting them say the words instead. 

Context, Brilliance, and Humility

I used to skip the forewords in books but now I don't.  I think I am learning the patience for the process in general in life, and it includes reading the very beginning of a book.   This morning, coffee in hand, and blissful silence all around me before a day in middle school, I was struck by the first sentence in the foreword of Mere Christianity. 

"This is a book that begs to be seen in its historical context, as a bold act of storytelling and healing in a world gone mad."

My Common Business

Throughout life, I have always felt best when I have a desk in my home that sits in front of a window.  There is something holy for me about sitting down in front of a view to sit and think and write.  It is where I feel most like the self that I am, and where I love to meet with God.   

Once in college, an ed professor I had gave our class 'The Practice of the Presence of God' by Brother Lawrence.  It's short and beautiful and inspiring.  Brother Lawrence was a monk in Paris in the 1600s who believed that every common thing can be done to express love for God.  He washed dishes and felt God's presence there while he worked.  He says that meeting with God is simple and men make it difficult.        

A Collection of Mismatched Thoughts

Earlier today I posted some pictures of words that have inspired me.  I chose them because it felt like I was living them, or learning something about them.  There are some seasons in life when all avenues are open to learning and things just come to people very quickly and assuredly, I think.  I've been experiencing life like that, and it's sweet.   I'm going to make a list of thoughts on my mind.  There is no theme here.  I just have a lot of thoughts rattling around in me.  Lists always help. Here, today, the list is about LIFE. 

Quotes in Pictures that Make Sense to Me - Part II

It feels like it's about time for more quote pictures.  Words artistically written are the best!  I believe in these things. And they feel true about life.   

 

 

Astonishingly Beautiful, Frequently Thrilling

Lately I've been thinking about the attitude that Midwesterners have about the quality of life they project.  I'm talking about those moments when people respond to a question about how things are going by saying, 'Can't complain.'  What they really mean is 'I'm doing well' but they can't SAY it.  Or they don't allow such great heights to get to them.  Usually I imagine that older men say this when they are sitting around at a general store playing checkers...except where would that be these days? 

In the past, I've found myself amused and exasperated by it.  This week I found myself guilty of it.

I haven't come to a very brilliant discovery about anything, but I am going to choose to express the affirmative words when someone asks about my life.  I'm going to quit aligning my daily thoughts with the 'so so'.  I think in life that so much of what we express about ourselves anyway really has to come from thoughtful awareness of our own internal pace.  

When people don't live in the 'Can't complain' genre of thinking, they show that they are alive. 

Pete and Repeat Got Into a Boat....

About once a week, a song comes into my mind and won't leave.  I hear it when I'm drying my hair, when I'm driving, when I'm teaching, while grading, and in any conversation in the day. 

Lots of people have songs stuck in their heads.  Sometimes I'll just stop class and hear about other songs trailing around in the room.  It's usually a good mix.  The weirdest week was when it was 'Like a G6' by Far East Movement.  Over and over again.  It was really disconnected to hear the word 'slizzard' in my mind while answering an 8th grader's question about Manifest Destiny.  But it wouldn't leave.  

Last week I was endlessly hearing 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Coldplay. 
THIS week, it is always, always this....

Two Things

The beautiful city where I am often lost

First, I finally bought a GPS.  This was something I did after getting lost for the 3rd time this week in Minneapolis.  Yesterday I once again got to know both sides of the East and West Bank (and people in pre-game festivities by the TCF Stadium) before finding my way through construction to my destination. 


I was an hour late for a meeting at Augsburg College, (don't worry, it was 3 hours long) and had to have lots of winding conversations about construction with people I only sort of know.   Lots of people are very kind about this.  Everyone thinks that if they explain things to me in great detail, these things will stick with me.  Unfortunately, this is not so.  People also talk very passionately about the one ways in Minneapolis, but the truth is that I get how to manage the one ways, and they don't stress me out.  I am always lost long before that. 


When I admit this, some people truly do look uncomfortable, which becomes funny to me.  I tell myself not to laugh outloud.  They look bewildered...what do you with someone THAT directionally challenged?  (We usually stick to the talk about the one ways.)


I can never remember if the streets are east and west and the avenues are north and south, or vice versa.  Two different people I know who live in Minneapolis explained this to me again this week.  That's what it is.

Thoughts about the Last 10 Years

Yesterday, like many other people, I thought about 9/11.  This year I thought about it a lot.  It weighed on me, and wouldn't go away, even when I turned off the television.  Every year since 2001 there has has been some strong awareness of the day, but this year was different. I think that finally I really, really got it.

Because so much emphasis has been put on wherever we were when the towers fell, the entire story of it has a direct and lasting impact in the context of our lives.  I could understand that the connection to Pearl Harbor is because it was a direct attack on our unsuspecting country.  The big difference for me was that the insanity of it felt more real than ever before. 

When I learned about the World Trade Center, I was not an adult.  I was a very impressionable teenager, sitting in a classroom in high school.  I didn't even know what the World Trade Center was until the morning that we were watching everything fall apart in Manhattan.  Though now I would look at this as a launching place for learning, in 2001, I felt embarrassed that I hadn't even had awareness about the Twin Towers.   That whole day made me wonder about the thousands of other things I didn't know about the world.  

Thoughts on the Craft of Teaching

It's nice to look forward to going to your job everyday.  I really like being a teacher, and even when it's the first week of school, I've realized that these people, this way of life, this approach to being in the world...I LIKE it. 

Some days it really doesn't feel like that is the paramount thought, but in review of the classic intensity of the very first week of school, it's a good sign that I can still say that.  The first week of school is WEIRD.   I feel like I'm teaching ever growing 6th graders instead of 7th graders because they're still learning how to even walk into a classroom and be ready. 

Articulate Honesty from People Half My Age

Today was the first day of school. 

No one I know, students and teachers alike, slept very well.  Even though I wasn't nervous for the day, it still felt like I just dozed.  It just comes with the beginning of September, I think.  I spent the day living out a new schedule with new students and wondering the whole time why it felt like I blinked and we were back again.  My students felt it too.  How do I know?  They told me.

I just finished reading a whole pile of papers that start out with 'Dear Miss Christians...'  I made my 8th graders write me a letter.  And I am struck by how honest my students are and how well written these letters were.  I think because we know each other we could interact like we did today.  I asked them to tell me anything about themselves.  I told them I look at them differently than I did last year.  They are more poised and pulled together, and I am going to hold them to higher standards.  And then I gave them time to write. 

Common Things

The soundtrack for this blog post, and my day in general. 

Crack of dawn beauty while driving with Mom

I did a lot of driving today, and driving is good time for thinking.  You stare off into the distance and think about the things that rest in the back of your mind, and every once in a while you pass a car and wonder about them a little bit too.  Where are they going?  What music are they listening to?  Are they happy to be together?  Then you go back to wondering about your own life.  Putting things in their place.  Talking to the people in the car, or just NOT talking and enjoying what it feels like to be together in the quiet.

When we were driving, I thought about...surprise...teaching.  There is a lot of that lately.  I'd say this year has been marked by prepping for school in so many uncommon and stretching ways.  But in the end it's really very simple.  You choose to be a dependable and thoughtful adult in students' lives and show up every day and talk about the world with them and it comes together.  Without fail.  Every year.  And that's it, in the end.  

There is nothing else for me besides that tomorrow.  And the actual plan I have for the day.

Tonight I can honestly say that the first day of school is no longer scary.  I don't have to remind myself to breathe anymore.  But the weight has shifted from heart palpitations to other matters.  I spent a lot of time this summer thinking about education.  I didn't plan to, but the why of it all came together in my conversations and in the times of silence.  I asked myself how I was different now that I've done this for a few (quick!!) years, and what kind of teacher I want to be in the future.     

I think one of the nicest thoughts of all is that, no matter what new things come along, there are some things that are tried and true about education because people are people and they are still learning.  I know I still like being a teacher.  I still like middle school.  I still like to talk about history.  Conveniently, I do teach middle school history.  And people continue to be interesting and humbling and very real.

Since it's no longer my first or second (or third or fourth) year,  I could remind myself very easily today that probably the most real moment I will have tomorrow will not be in the big ideas.  Instead, in this surprising world, it will probably be when someone knows for sure how to open their locker for the next few hours in between class because they asked about it and we figured it out together.  Or when some new student smiles back at me even though I can tell that they are scared that they will be tardy.  The world slowing down to meet people where they are.  That's real. 

Humanity shows up for the first day of school too.  I have learned now to welcome that before anything else.   

So that's tomorrow.

But today.  Today was good too.  Driving, hanging out with my parents, and some space to think.  We went to Iowa.    

Another classic Abby, Paul, and Jessica pictures

Going to Iowa for the Labor Day parade is one of those timeless things in my life that of course really has changed with time.  It's not always the same, but the structure is still there.  There's a parade and then lunch and then lots of time with family.  Everyone knows each other in small towns, and in this place I quickly become 'Bruce's daughter' or 'Evelyn's granddaughter' before anything else. 

What was unusual today was a visit to a one room schoolhouse.  I did not expect this, but it happens to be a formal historical marker for the state of Iowa literally a few hundred feet away from the house where my grandma now lives.  I went to this schoolhouse with a few aunts and uncles, and my cousin Michelle's little boy, Gavin.

He just started kindergarten, and school is brand new and thrilling and also old hat for him all at once.  Any shred of apprehension I had about my own teaching life melted completely when I sat with him for the afternoon and talked about school.  (We also played with stuffed animals and ran around a little.)   

Five year olds have an awesome view of the world.  Here's what I picked up from him in our conversation. 

What always happens when we try to get
pictures with all 3 of them.

• He loves his teacher and thinks she can do no wrong.  (That's kindergarten for you...I won't be banking on that with 7th and 8th grade).
• Tomorrow will be his 10th day in school.
• He wants to be a paleontologist who studies dinosaurs when he grows up.  He learned this from a game on Caillou, but sometimes he learns things from himself too.
• The teeter totter is still a little scary and he can't go all the way up yet. 
• Hot lunch is better than cold lunch, and spaghetti is the best one so far.  Chocolate milk comes once a week if you're willing to pay an extra dime.
• He hopes he never has to go to the principal's office, not even in 15th grade.
• I asked him what happens when kids shout out an answer and don't raise their hand.  He stared at me blankly.  I truly don't think he has seen much of that in his 10 days in school.  You RAISE YOUR HAND in kindergarten.  I even tried explaining it to him in a different way.  Still, no.  You just raise your hand.  Right?  (Right.)
• He can name every kid in his class.  And they're all friends. 

 A conversation with Gavin about something that he is so passionate about was a huge lift for me.  He talked and talked and talked, and we sat in this one room schoolhouse, and I remembered that school is a lot about giving people the time of day too.  

Gavin!

By far, the most bewildering moment for Gavin today was when my aunt asked me about school and Gavin heard my response.  He said, 'Why are you going to school tomorrow?'  I told him I was a teacher, and he said, 'A TEACHER??'  With some shock and alarm.  

Something clicked in his mind in a very obvious way because he gets what school is now.  It was so weird to see that recognition in his eyes when he shouted 'A TEACHER??'  I told him I don't teach kids who are 5, I teach kids who are 12, and he seemed to get that, and from then on out, it was the whole gamut of things.  (See above.)  Also, how did I do Show and Tell when I was in kindergarten (I told him), and when could we get chocolate milk?  We talked about why kids used ink in old schoolhouses, and where his grandpa went to school, and whether or not he's left-handed or right-handed.  

I do not envy the life of a country schoolteacher, but sitting in that old schoolhouse today was a breath of fresh air to me.  So was hanging out with my family.  A lovely older woman named Nadine came by and heard us talking and said, 'All of this in a little person who is so small and has so many thoughts!  Can you imagine teaching 30 of them?'  And I thought, 'Nadine, I've done that, literally, and it was tough.  NO thanks.  I'll stick with middle school.'   I was totally proud of Gavin, like he was my own child.  I found myself saying, 'I know, he's really articulate.  Ask him what he wants to be when he grows up.'  She did.   He doesn't think it's anything out of the ordinary, so he explained it again.  Her eyebrows rose again.
   

Old inspiration (Thanks, Nadine!)

Nadine...she actually went to school in a country schoolhouse.   She showed me a picture of herself in an old picture, and we talked about her life experiences.  She let me look through some books that gave instructions to teachers about how to teach.  The books were printed in 1901, and they were part of a correspondence course through a Normal School in Chicago.  CRAZY! 

What if you had to learn to teach in this way?   These books were inspiring.  And I took some pictures of them because I wanted to remember what the pages said.   How to teach in 1901, so said the chapter called 'Pedagogy and Methods'. 

I felt so much comfort in reading something from 110 years ago that could bring light to my own thoughts in teaching in this very modern world today.  How many men and women have bent over their own desks with this book throughout the decades, wondering about themselves as teachers too and finding the small thoughts in the daily grind to be homing devices for what is true at a core level?  These experiences have found their way to my teaching life again. 

Class of 2024!

I also felt very bolstered to see that people in 1901 told teachers to play and look at children as people to be treasured.  It encouraged teachers to always be learners and to think critically to understand and know.  So many things are so often cyclical!  Teaching does not escape this.  I find myself endeared to those timeless things, and grateful for this calling.   

My very favorite thing from this book is the smallest statement set in the footnotes.  It is supposedly something that comes from an English text on advice to schoolmasters, and it simply says,

"Light the magic lantern of common things."

Fatigue and Dual Thinking

I am in need of some kind of inspiration again about teaching because this has been a tiring and overwhelming week.  There is always a lot to do before students come, and I am no longer the perfectionist I once was about certain things in my classroom or in myself.  Even without crazy internal expectations, my mind is still humming. 


It's a little concerning to me that I feel this way before the kids even come, but the magic secret that I think we teachers sometimes forget is that the students are the very inspiring people we tend to subconsciously think of when we do our best work.  It's important and necessary to think big picture and come together as a staff and organize and prepare and build, but it's also important to be someone who exudes something good when teaching.  And you don't build that.  You just are someone, each and every day. 


Teaching is so layered, or at least there is a duality to everything we try to do.  Gentle yet strict, facts but also wonder for the world, human error alongside of standards.  Movements in history that cover centuries AND one person's life story.  Trying to be tactful in a classroom when sometimes the students just aren't. 

A Good End

Tonight I sat on the patio deck at Sweeney's in St. Paul with Briana.  Splitting appetizers and drinking pear hard cider with her was the best way to end the summer.  Talk about relaxation.   We always have great conversations, and she gives good advice.  I am now ready to write a syllabus or two and discuss curriculum plans for many hours in this work week.  But tomorrow I will be walking into school armed with a fair amount of coffee. 

Charge.   

Ode to Leona

In the spirit of minimalism, I've been looking for ways to downsize. I want clean lines and the basics. It is therefore convenient that my little sister is moving into her first apartment next week. I have been systematically trying to give her things that she secretly likes in my apartment.

Here is Jenna before work one morning.

The future of nursing! I am proud.

Jenna lived with me this summer so when she'd comment on something I use, I would easily be able to say, 'You can have it'. Then we'd go back and forth about it, and I'd convince her that she needed it. Today some of her things (and some of my things) left my apartment, down three flights of stairs and out the door. Unfortunately, that meant the end of summer and Jenna leaving too.  I feel truly forlorn.

Jenna is a fun sister. She's hilarious and silly, reflective and intentional, and we are very good friends. I call her Leona.  This summer we spent lots of time together. We drank coffee on my porch each morning, hung out with lots of my friends, went on long walks around Stillwater, babysat twins, went to Nelson's, looked at stars, went to Duluth, floated for countless hours on a lake, ate kettle corn for dinner, talked about nursing, talked about education, played Wahoo.  The list goes on.