Highlights from My Week in Utah

For the past eight days, I spent some time with the Utah branch of the family.  Since four of my seven grandchildren live in Utah, it seems I never get to spend as much time with them as I would like.  They are all growing up way too fast.  It is a treat to spend a few summer days and nights with them.

A Trip to Salt Lake on the Train 

A week ago Friday, my daughter-in-law, three of the grandchildren, and I took FrontRunner, the Utah Transit Authority train, from Ogden to Salt Lake City to meet my son for dinner before my granddaughter's gymnastics meet.  As a railroader's daughter, I jump at the chance to take a train ride.  The kids weren't as enthusiastic about the ride.  It takes too long in their estimation.  My daughter-in-law and I sat back and enjoyed the stress free commute that meant that we didn't have to have two vehicles in SLC.

We had dinner at a fun new restaurant in SLC's new City Creek development called The Blue Lemon.  (Click to read an interesting review from the Salt Lake Tribune.)  It was the perfect place to go for quick dinner for the family.  Not only was the food good, but the setting is fun.  

My son wanted to show me the big development of this area that has been underway for the past few years, so after dinner, we crossed the street for a quick walk through the gardens surrounding the Joseph Smith Building and then back across the street again to the Zion Bank building so we could see the development from my son's office window.  

It is after hours, so my son is not in his banker's garb, but he did indulge his mother by posing at his desk for a photo.

Below is the view from his office.  Those of you who may remember Salt Lake City from the past will recognize this building as the old Hotel Utah.  It is now the Joseph Smith Building.  I once climbed out on the balcony near the top of this building through a window of a ballroom or banquet room with an adventurous boy friend.  That was long ago, but it makes for a good story to tell the grandchildren.  I doubt they believe me as I tell them the story.

Our whirlwind tour of the Temple Square area is over quickly because we need to get to Miss Regan's State gymnastics tournament.

Regan with Hand on Hips Conferring with Coach

Regan Practicing

I didn't have a good camera with me to capture my granddaughter's events very well, but I was able to get a few shots to mark the occasion.  

Since #1 grandson is 15 and has his learner's permit, he wanted to drive home.  For me, that was a stern reminder that my grandchildren are growing up way too fast.  Son Ryan decided that since it was dark, the car was full, and grandma, known for her reputation as a backseat driver, was in the car, he would be the driver for the trip home rather that Parker.  

This evening was such a treat for me.  I have too few of such times with my family.  Even though Utah and Colorado are right next door to each other, it is at least a 14 hour drive from my house to my son or daughter's house.  A flight takes a little over an hour and a half in the air, but air travel also means a trip to Denver or Colorado Springs from my house and a trip to Salt Lake from their homes.  I try to suffice with at least a yearly visit, but always wish for more.

Thinking of My Dad

I'm in Utah staying with my daughter.  My granddaughter is downstairs making a Father's Day card for her father.  Since my father is no longer living, I no longer have the opportunity to tell him how important he was to me, or how important he remains in my life.

A Tribute To My Father

A Photo of My Father A Peace Rose from My Garden

The day I was born, my father had to drive my mother to the hospital and then leave for Denver so he could be processed into the army.  At age thirty, he was drafted.  Uncle Sam still needed men, so despite his age and the fact that he had a wife, a child, and another child on the way, he was called up and shipped out.  He liked to say Hitler gave up when he heard my father had joined the army.  In truth, he never went overseas to fight.  He spent his time stateside working as a clerk.  He missed the first year of my life.  I'm sure I missed a lot not having him there also.  I've always loved this photo taken when my father came home from the service in 1946.

It seems difficult to write a narrative about this man who was my father.  I cannot be objective on the subject because I am his daughter and I adored him.  I thought he was terribly funny.  He was funny.  He had a dry wit and could think of the greatest puns.  He had the greatest sense of humor and told the best stories.  He always made me laugh.

I could listen to his stories forever as he drove through the beautiful mountain passes of Colorado.  He knew so much Colorado history.  He loved his native state of Colorado and taught us to protect her beauty.  We spent many happy hours camped along beautiful clear Colorado streams in the summer.  We were taught to always leave our campsite better than we found it.  We were taught not to leave a trace that we had been there.

My father was a reader.  He loved to read.  I learned to love to read because I wanted to be a member of his club.  Reading was such an important part of his life.  He could never understand people who didn't like to read.  He always had a book at his side.  As he got older and suffered from diabetes, he was so grateful for the lending library in Denver who sent him large print books on a very regular basis.

He also liked to write.  He wrote long letters to his children and his mother.  He wrote family histories.  He compiled family genealogy.   He wrote narratives about his childhood memories in Colorado Springs.  He had a large correspondence that he maintained with family members throughout the country who also worked on family genealogies.  I wonder if he would have written a blog.  I wonder what he would think of mine.  He submitted some of his writing about various topics to be kept in the archives of his alma mater, Colorado College.

Actually, Daddy never graduated from Colorado College.  He quit after marriage during the depression when he only had a few hours left to complete.  I don't know if he ever regretted quitting college with so few hours left to complete.  He went to work for the railroad and worked there his entire life.  He started as a clerk and retired as regional manager.  He was always grateful for the good life the railroad gave him, and the good retirement.  He followed his father's footsteps in working for the railroad.  His father was a telegrapher.  I am a railroader's daughter and have always loved the way my life was intertwined with railroad history and lore.  I love my memories of growing up riding on trains.

My father was a generous man.  He was one to always want to help those who might have a legitimate need.  The day before he died, we were gathered in his room talking to a nurse who was sharing her story of fighting cancer and how hospice was such a Godsend to many.  She told of her struggle to get well and to keep working.  We thought Daddy was not aware of what was being said that night.  When the nurse left the room, he said, "Mother, make sure you write a check as a gift to that nurse.  She needs some help."

Daddy was a strong Christian.  He had been a drinker, had a temper, and swore like a trooper when we were younger.  In his early 60's, he gave his life back to the Lord.  The transformation was obvious to all who knew him.  One of my favorite memories is remembering how mother would read the Bible to him every night before he went to bed in the last years of his life.  When he died, he was ready.  He kept saying he wanted to go and be with the Lord.

He was not a perfect man.  He scared off every boyfriend I ever had, or tried to scare them off.  He had a short fuse.  He was demanding.  I always said his bark was worse than his bite.

He worked hard.  He earned a good living and provided well for us.  He was not overly demonstrative.  He did not express his emotions of tenderness.  He was a product of his generation.  Men went to work and earned the money.  Women stayed home and raised the kids.  He expected good behavior out of us, and I lived in fear of disappointing him and bringing on his wrath.

Some of my most precious memories are of his final days on this earth.  I spent the last days at his bedside.  My sisters and my oldest son were there much of the time.  It was a blessing to be there and try to ease those last days that he spent in a body that had been broken down by diabetes and congestive heart failure.

I held those hands that I had always loved a lot of time.  I tried to memorize how they looked so I would remember all they had done for me throughout my life.  They had dug out a basement below our house.  They had remodeled more than one house that we lived in.  They had painted many walls and pounded many nails.  They had caught many fish.  They had held many books.  They had written many letters, memos, and narratives.  They had typed papers in the army on old fashioned upright typewriters and learned to write on a computer.  They had spanked my bottom on a few occasions.  They had been manicured by me when I was younger.  I loved to give manicures, and he was a willing subject.  I miss holding my daddy's hand.

I long ago forgave him of his shortcomings.  I've tried to live my life in such a way as to make him proud.  When I was working, I always used him as my role model on how to conduct myself in the workplace.

He was my daddy.  I was his Sally Lou.  I remember when he died that I was filled with absolute certainty that he loved me, that he was proud of me, and that seemed to be enough for both of us.

Graduation Day B.S. in Business Administration Mother & Daddy at My Side

Anniversary Thoughts

Nineteen years ago today, in a small Baptist church in North Ogden, Utah, two families came together to see one family's mom marry the other family's dad.  I look back on that event and wonder at our audacity to even begin to think that just because two high school sweethearts had been reunited after thirty years apart they could marry and create a happy and successful life together.  Yes, it truly was an audacious act, full of risk, for the two of us to marry.  Sometimes, in the early years when we were trying to blend two families who are totally different together, I think we asked ourselves what were thinking when we thought we could actually pull this marriage off.

Jim wanted to go to Las Vegas and get married.  I insisted that we have our families with us as we took our vows.  Since two of his children were living in Utah at the time and since my children would all be in Utah visiting their father for the summer, we finally agreed to get married in my former church home in Utah.  Since my oldest daughter was graduating from college on June 12, we decided to also get married the same day.  I joked that we would all only have to get dressed up once.

For some reason, only one photo remains that shows the two families coming together as one.  Unfortunately, it has been somewhat destroyed after sticking to the glass of the frame it was in.  But there we all are.  The groom is holding a baby while the bride holds her flowers.  We are surrounded by the configuration of children and their spouses.  The baby is Caleb, Jim's first grandchild. 

We all look so young.  Much has changed since that day.  The children have married and brought their spouses into our lives.  We've added 16 more grandchildren.  We've lost a child to death.  

The two of us supported each other immensely in our careers. We've retired together.  

Some may ask, what has been the secret to the success of this marriage?  For my part, I would have to say there are many reasons we have been able to create a life together that is happy, satisfying, and,  I hope, a blessing to others.  First, he is the love of my youth.  To me he will always be that young man that I fell in love with when I was only 16 years old.  He was then, and remains my true love.  I can always trust him and his character.  He has always treated me like a treasure.  I know of no other man I have ever respected and admired more on both a personal and professional basis.  

Love and respect, plus a commitment to building a team and having some good laughs along the way is the secret to a good marriage.  To the young who are searching for a marriage partner, I would say: Marry a person with character.  Marry a person who treats others with respect.  Marry a person who is humble and serves others.  Marry a person who is wise.  Marry a person who has a great sense of humor.  Marry a man who honors his parents and his elders.  Marry a person who will be there for you no matter what.  I married such a man, and I have been blessed.

Happy Anniversary, Jim!  We've made some wonderful memories together, and I think we need to make more for many more years to come.  I love you.

Our Wedding Day

At the Statue of Liberty

Before a Canon Game Go South!

A Carriage Ride in Central Park

At the opening to the new science wing to South High School

Eating out Our favorite thing to do

Graduation Day with Principal Wessely and a few of his family members

A photo taken during year one of marriage

Fifty Year Reunion East High High School Sweethearts 50 Years Later

Momma Bird Returns

Last year when my husband and I returned home in June after being gone for most of the spring, we found a bird had built her nest on the porch side of the entryway to our house.  I must confess that I am not a fan of birds.  Who knows why I am this way.   Perhaps, Alfred Hitchcock put a fear of bird into my mind. I nearly panic and start screaming if a bird comes flying too close to me.  I like seeing birds in the wild, or even in yard. I love listening to them sing.  I have bird baths in the yard.  I just don't like them in my face or in my space.

That being said, I wasn't sure what to make the fact that a mother bird built her nest on my porch last year.  In someways, I was comforted to think she found my home a place of peace and safety.  I wrote about the birds who had taken up residency last year in a blog post.  You can read about it here, if you are interested.  Once the birds hatched and flown away, my husband took down the nest for me so I could reclaim our favorite spot to spend summer evenings.  There was a lot of clean-up to be done.  The birds had made quite a mess of our porch by the time they had all moved on.

After the nest removal last year, I hoped Mama Bird would move on to some other prime piece of property this year.  That didn't happen.  About five weeks ago, I noticed she had built another nest in the exact same location.  In fact, she had crafted her new nest and laid her eggs before I even realized she was there.  We seldom use the front porch or the front door during the winter and early spring, so I guess not only did she establish residency during a time when things were quiet in her selected spot, but she also was able to take up her new home without us even noticing.

I'm not one to disturb a nest.  I let her stay, but I still went about my business of getting the front porch ready for summer use.  She would fly away when I showed up and would cry from the nearby tree until I quickly left her in peace.  She finally allowed us to keep the front door open so we could see her nesting while we were inside the house.  We could even walk by the door inside of the house without her flying off.

Then, a few days ago, my husband and I went out and bought all of our annuals to be planted for the year.  As is our practice, we deposited on the front porch until we could get them planted.  She was not at all happy with our constant use of the porch on Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday.

I noticed she was no longer hovering quite as close to the house, nor was she sitting in the nest on Sunday.  I thought perhaps she had abandoned it.  Feeling bad about that possibility, I opened the front door this morning so I could watch the nest for any activity as I ate my breakfast.  No Momma Bird appeared.  Then, after a short while, I noticed a tiny little head poke up above the edge of the nest.  "Oh, we have babies," I thought.  "The eggs have hatched."  Soon, Momma Bird flew up to the nest with breakfast and began feeding her brood.  My heart was relieved.  I was so afraid she had abandoned her nest because I had invaded her space too frequently.

Now, we probably have a week or two before we can reclaim our porch completely again.  I will be spending my morning breakfast time watching the new babies grow as they get ready to go out into the world.

A Year Later ~ A Remembrance Service

Today while I was shopping for flowers, someone I didn't know asked me if I had attended any of the commemorative services held at the local cemeteries this past weekend.  At first, I was quite taken back by the question, not because the woman wasn't being friendly, but because I had held a memorial service for my own daughter on Saturday, May 28th.  Instead of telling this kind woman that I had made two trips to the cemetery in the past week, one for a service and then a return trip to actually bury my daughter's ashes, I just said, "No, I didn't attend any of the public services."

A year ago when Julie died, a number of factors prevented us from actually holding a burial service.  We decided that we would hold a service a year later in Colorado Springs where she would be buried.

It has been a very difficult time for me over the past few weeks as I have questioned my wisdom about waiting a year to actually commit my daughter's earthly remains back to the earth.  I have been torn to pieces inside as I sometimes felt I was reopening a wound that had just begun to heal.  Despite these feelings, fears, and questions, deep in my spirit, I knew it was time for me to take her urn out of my study where it had been for a year, gather loved ones around me, and place her remains in the earth.

Thursday of last week, my oldest daughter and her daughter flew into Denver from Utah.  The next day, my oldest son and his daughter flew in from Utah.  My youngest son was unable to come from the Boston area.  We gathered, surrounded by close friends and family members, at the cemetery on Saturday afternoon to remember our dear beloved Julie and to try to bring another measure of healing into our lives.

My son Ryan 

My daughter Keicha

It was a beautiful, touching service that only lasted about 30 minutes.  We had a box near the grave site where those who wished to do so could leave a letter to Julie.  These letters were then buried with her urn.  We listened to a few remembrances of a beautiful, dearly loved woman who left us too soon and in a way that broke our hearts.  We were blessed to have a few words of scripture read to us by a kind and compassionate pastor.  Our hearts were then deeply touched by the words sung by Sarah Woods in the song which she wrote when she was only fourteen years old entitled "Little Red Balloon."  We then held a balloon release.

My granddaughter Hannah

Sarah Wood singing, "My Little Red Balloon"

After the service, we all gathered for lunch at my niece's home in Colorado Springs.

My niece Cristy

Another milestone has been reached by my family.  Each of us has been on an individual journey, but the time we had together this weekend was precious.   We  have been greatly blessed by such supportive friends and family.  I am strengthened and encouraged by those who have stood beside me and my family this past year.

Now that this past weekend is behind me, I'm glad we chose to have this simple service.  Grief is a process.  We are all at a different place than we were a year ago.  We are no longer numb with shock and disbelief.  Yes, it was painful to go through this past weekend, but it was also very healing in some ways.

Release is an important step that I had to take in my journey toward healing.  As I placed my darling daughter's earthly remains in the earth, I was reminded that we all subjected to the law of ashes to ashes,  dust to dust.  I am also able to lift my eyes to heaven and continue to believe that she is now, and always has been, in the hands of a loving God.

Never the Same Again

"There is that phrase again," I said to myself this morning as I watched Al Roker interview a survivor of  the devastating, destructive tornado that ripped through Joplin, Missouri this past weekend.  The man had just witnessed his hometown ripped to pieces in moments.  He was searching for his neighbor.   Everything he owned was gone.  All he could say was, "It will never again be the same."

How I have fought against that phrase.  I have refused to believe it.  In fact, one of the first thoughts that came to my mind after my daughter's death was hearing a dear friend tell me that her mother was never the same after her sister's death.  "I will not be that person," I said to myself.  I will not change.  I will continue to be who I am.


Now, a year later, a year after the black line that went down the record of my life clearly dividing my life into two parts, I know that it is not possible to be as one was before a devastating, shocking, unspeaking loss.  I am changed.  I am not the same.  Sometimes, I don't even know who I was before.  Jerry Sittser  in A Grace Disguised:  How the Soul Grows through Loss, writes, "Catastrophic loss is like undergoing an amputation of our identity."

One may hope to remain the same after such loss.  I now believe this is not possible.  One's life has forever been altered.  When that happens, one changes.  In the past year, I have made peace with this truth.  Sittser tells the grieving soul that catastrophic loss is to be compared to a massive flood that is "unrelenting, unforgiving, and uncontrollable, brutally erosive to body, mind and spirit."  One cannot survive such a flood and come through to the other side without being changed.

In the end, I am thankful I will never again be same.  I would not have chosen this path for my life, for my children, or my grandchildren.  I would have done anything to stop the horrific loss that we suffered one year ago.  There will always be a hole in my heart, a gap in our family circle, a missing link, a link that brought so much joy, laughter, and delight.  Why did I think that I would not change?  How could a mother lose a child and not be left bereft?

A day of celebration for me and Julie when she earned her hard earned BA in English.   

"Recovery is a misleading or empty expectation.  We recover from broken limbs, not amputations.  Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same."  Even as I read these words of Sittser's last summer, I was repulsed by the thought as I wrote in my journal, "There it is again.  We are never the same"  Now, I see that I had a choice.  I choose to submit to transformation.  I have chosen that course.  I refuse to be destroyed.

I have been changed.  It has been a transformation.  I am learning why loss can be 'a grace disguised.'  Yes, despite the hole that will never really heal, and despite an amputation to my family, to my life, to our futures, I am learning that the soul grows through loss.  For that, I am grateful.  I would not have wanted to remained the same after such loss and not learned this truth.

Wrapping Up A Successful Semester

I've been back to retirement mode for about two weeks now.  Retirement has a way of luring one into thinking that there is always tomorrow that can be used for all the things that don't get done today.  With that being said, perhaps you will understand why I am just now posting some of the final activities that I had with my students from the international program at our local University.The semester literally seemed to fly by.  Here are some highlights for our time together since Spring Break:

• We said good-bye to my dear friend Dixie who substituted for the regular instructor for Level Two students with a party and a presentation of the life maps we made in class.

Colorful Life Maps

Dixie surrounded by her students

• We never pass up an opportunity for a photo op

Some of the girls

A couple of the guys

• I gave an end of the semester brunch at my house

Our faithful volunteer tutors Walter and Alda

We are so grateful for this couple who graciously have given so much time to the program for years.  We really appreciate them, their help, and their great personalities.

A fine young man

Part of the joy of working in the program is getting to know youth from many countries.  I keenly feel a great responsibility toward these students whose parents give them the opportunity to study in another country when they are so young.  This student proved himself to be worthy of that trust by working very hard and making incredible progress.

Another fine student

I can't imagine what it must have been like for our Japanese student when he learned of the earthquake in his country this semester.  He was the picture of great perseverance as he continued to work hard while knowing that his country was in a time of great distress.  It was rewarding to see how the class came together with concern and support during the time of crisis in Japan.

Eating together

The light is not great in these photos, but you get to see the great time of friendship that we all enjoyed.

My guests brought flowers and other gifts to grace the table

 I love the faces on these beautiful cats that were graciously given as a gift to the hostess.  Thank you so much for the gifts that you brought!

Two darling cats

• We gathered one last time as a class the day before the final.  Everyone was nervous about taking the TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) the next day.  We all were also very sad as some of us tearfully said good-bye to each other.  Those of us there, gathered for one last photo together.  Sadly, one important class member was not there that day.

My students and I Spring Semester 2011

I don't know that I will ever be able to properly express how much I have appreciated the students I worked with this past semester.  They, all five of them, were some of the finest people I have ever met.  Working with them helped me to heal from the greatest loss of my life.  Two of the students were born the same year as my daughter.  For some reason, I found this especially healing to see them progress in the life goals they have set for themselves.  

Someone gave me this card a number of years ago.  I have kept it on my desk all these years.  Someone else gave me memento that says, "A teacher takes a hand, opens a mind, and touches a heart."  At the center of teaching is heart.  As a teacher, I have learned it is the teacher's heart that is most moved, most touched, and most enlarged.  I have always loved being a teacher.  It is a profession that have given more than I have ever given it.  This year teaching truly helped to heal my broken heart.  

Some of our wonderful international students

Students gather in the International Office to celebrate graduation

I've taught ESL (English as a Second Language) to high school students, middle school students, and elementary students.  Each group brings its own special joys and challenges.  Now, I am hooked on teaching college age international students.  It is special to go to the office and see so many nationalities speaking so many languages everyday.  The experience has broadened my heart, my world, and my circle of friends.  

A Last Prom with My High School Sweetheart

Jim & Sally Prom 1961

My husband was my high school sweetheart.  Some of you may recall the post I wrote in March about our first date.  From the first time I ever met this guy, I knew he was a very special person.  His kindness, steadiness, sense of humor, leadership, and character were very apparent even when he was a young man.  I fell madly in love with him, my very first boyfriend,  when I was only sixteen years old.  I was only a sophomore in high school and he was senior back when this photo was taken.  Age didn't stop him from asking me to marry him on the day he graduated from high school.  Because he had the goal of going to college to be a teacher, he didn't plan on marriage until after college, but he wanted me to know that I was the one with whom he wanted to spend his life.

Not long after this first marriage proposal of sorts,  we were separated by family pressures, moves, and college attendance in different states.  Despite these distances and distractions, my dear high school sweetheart maintained that we were destined for each other and should get married someday.  After he finished college, when I was still in college, he came to visit me and once again proposed marriage.  I was really not interested in marrying anyone at the time.  I remember him telling me that he would get a teaching job that would pay him about $4000 a year.  That was tempting, but no, I really wasn't ready for marriage.

A few years later, I became engaged to my former husband.  I wrote Jim, my high school sweetheart, to tell him I was getting married.  At the time, we were living in the same state.  He called me and asked if he could come to see me and take me to dinner.  My fiance' didn't have a problem with that, so Jim drove from Provo, Utah to Ogden, Utah to take me to dinner three days before I married my first husband.  Jim listened to me tell him about my new guy and all about our plans.  Then, he said, "Sally, you are making a big mistake.  You are supposed to marry me.  I'm asking you again, Will you marry me?"  I told him I would always care deeply about him, but that I was not changing my plans.  I planned on marrying someone else.

Fast forward thirty years:  I had been divorced for ten years and living in Colorado Springs.  Jim, just recently divorced and living in Pueblo, called me asked me to lunch.  The years seemed to literally fall away when we first re-connected.  Within just a few months, he again asked me to marry him.  This time, I was smart enough to say, "Yes." Six months later, on June 12, 1992, we were married.

This year, exactly fifty years after our first prom date, we attended what will no doubt be our last prom together.  Serving as an administrator, after coming out of retirement for six months, at a school district near Colorado Springs, meant that my husband again had prom duty.

Since the prom was being held at the beautiful Cheyenne Mountain Resort in Colorado Springs, he booked us a room there.  He was even able to get a good deal on our wonderful room because he was chaperoning the prom!  The room was in Dove Lodge, which I thought was just ironic since my friend Dove introduced us so many year ago before our first prom.

The main lodge was located across the courtyard from our lodge.  Another prom was held right outside our room.  That was really quite cool.

Before the prom, we had dinner together in the main lodge.  We made sure we had our picture snapped to record the momentous occasion.

Jim & Sally Prom 2011 Fifty Years After Our First Prom

Still Sweethearts Jim & Sally 2011

After the prom, sitting on the deck outside our room, I took some time to write about the event in my journal.

While writing, I turned to my husband and said, "I am one lucky lady.  Not, only am I married to the kindest, sweetest, most supportive, compassionate, and thoughtful man I know, but I am also married to someone who makes me feel sixteen again."  Last year at this time, we were on a cruise.  I told him that I would rather spend my time surrounded by youth, full of life and hope, than surrounded by old retired folks at a cruise best dress affair.  Being with teenagers has a way of keeping one engaged in life, hopeful for the future, and happy.  My heart and soul were truly uplifted that night.  Mother's Day Eve was a happy and healing time for me.  For that, I am grateful.  

I am also grateful for my dear, wonderful sweetheart.  His enthusiasm for life, and for his profession, has meant that he has stayed young in spirit and positive in his outlook on life.  He believes in giving back.  He believes in mentoring others to become good educators. He believes in the youth of our nation, and he loves being involved with them.  He has made good on his life goals that he expressed to me on the night of his high school graduation:  he became a teacher, and he married me.

He has been the best husband in the world for me.  I don't know what I would do without him.   I adore him.  My children and grandchildren adore him.  I am thankful I got things right when I married him. 

 Jim, this song is for you.  XO

Historic Ruling?

I am thrilled to have learned yesterday that a juvenile court judge in the State of Utah made a positive ruling in the case of a teenage boy who has lived in this country without proper papers since he was five years.  The ruling clears the way for the young man to gain legal resident status in the U.S.  You can read about this young man's situation by  clicking on this link.   The article was published in Standard-Examiner in Ogden, Utah this past weekend.   

This historic ruling is great news to all of us who work or have worked with this special population of students.  It is, in my opinion, the right decision that brings hope and justice to one kid.  One can only hope that the ruling is setting a positive precedent for the future.

My Personal Connections and Views on Working with Immigrant Children

As many of you know, I have worked for many years as teacher to those students for whom English is not the home language.  This area of the educational world has long been my passion.  I have worked with students who have come to this country with papers,  and with those who have come without papers.  I never knew for sure the legal status of my students, not did I care about their legal status.  In fact, as teacher in the public school system I was barred from inquiring about my students' legal status because of the Supreme Court Ruling Plyer vs. Doe 1982.  I am often shocked to find out how much misinformation there is out there in regard to the rights of immigrant students when it comes to public education.  Plyer vs. Doe clearly stated the rights of these students when it ruled:  "public schools were prohibited from denying immigrant students access to a public education. The Court stated that undocumented children have the same right to a free public education as U.S. citizens and permanent residents. Undocumented immigrant students are obligated, as are all other students, to attend school until they reach the age mandated by state law."

Now, the Dream Act is being addressed in the news.  The sad thing about working with students who may be undocumented is that they find themselves in a situation that they did not create.  They are brought to this country with or without proper papers through no fault of their own.  Many work hard in school, learn a new language, integrate into a new culture, and then are denied access to state institutions of higher learning as residents of the state in which they may have resided for years.  They are caught in some sort of legal and cultural limbo as they progress into adulthood.  

Those of us who work with this population come to deeply love and respect these students.  We see them vilified in the public sector through no fault of their own.  We see them subjected to racial profiling, and other forms of subtle and not so subtle forms of discrimination and prejudice.  Frankly, it is heartbreaking and discouraging to hear and read some of the prejudicial emails that circulate about this population of families that now live in our country.

I am all for legal means of coming to this country.  I am not in support of punishing the innocent victims who are undocumented because of the decisions of their parents.  To be honest with you, I have worked with gang members whose families have been in this country for generations.  I have also worked with immigrant families.  There is a wide divide between these two populations.  

I am personally thrilled to hear that one young undocumented student may have a more positive future because of the ruling of this juvenile court judge in Utah.  Congratulations to all concerned.

Partying With My Students

Those of us in the English Language Institute in International Programs at Colorado State University-Pueblo have been partying the past few weeks.  I am just now getting the photos downloaded and posted.  I realize that Easter happened a week ago, but I really did want to share a bit about our fun Easter Egg Dyeing Party we had on the Friday before Easter.

On Fridays, we always have an activity for our students.  We have had some fun times throughout the semester by doing such things as riding the bus downtown to a coffee shop, touring the main library in town and a smaller branch library, walking along the Arkansas River and eating at the restaurant at the Nature Center.  Each of these activities were planned to allow the students to become better acquainted with the community in which the University is located.  

In order to familiarize the students with the campus itself, we held a scavenger hunt on campus.  The students were not familiar with the term "scavenger hunt" and had never been on one.  That didn't mean they didn't get into the activity with great enthusiasm.  They had to quickly familiarize themselves with various sites, departments, and people around campus if they wanted to win.  Once the hunt was on, the competitive nature of the teams became very apparent.  Fun times!

A Cultural Activity - Dyeing Easter Eggs

Easter Egg Cake and Easter Bunny Cookies

The Birthday Boy

On the Friday before Easter, we had a cultural event activity.  We dyed Easter eggs.  None of the students had ever dyed Easter eggs before.  They were excited to begin the new activity.  

Since Easter Sunday was going to be Mauricio's birthday, we celebrated with an Easter egg cake before getting down to work.

The students had to protect the tables used for the activity and read the directions about how to dye the eggs before we could begin.

Reading the directions

I think we need some vinegar

Shin had done her research.  Before class, she had googled Easter Eggs on her iPad.  She shows what the eggs should look like to the others.

We had 7 1/2 dozen eggs to dye.  It took us three hours to color the ones that didn't get eaten.  It was great fun!

A toast is made

Woo Huck toasts us with something that is pink.
It is not champaign.

How many eggs have you eaten?  Do you want some salt?  

What could be better than coloring eggs and eating Easter bunny cookies?

Glitter was added for a special look.

A bunny face was drawn on the egg by using the practice drawing as a pattern.

The creativity of each participant was fun to see.

Shin was very proud of her eggs.

Mauricio was determined to dye an egg black.  It didn't work, but he kept trying.

We decided to have a contest.  This Happy Family entry was entered in the "Most Creative" category.

Jung Hee entered eggs that she called, "Woo Huck and Shin."

Our judges were our faithful volunteers, Walter and Alda.

This rainbow was entered in the "Most Beautiful" category.

Walter selected this egg as "Most Beautiful."

We made Easter baskets to distribute to others and to take home.

Every student must taste a Peep.  They didn't like them at all!

I was given this beautiful basket to take home.

I will always treasure the memories we made this day.  Working with international students is an enriching and rewarding adventure.  Can you believe I get paid for having this much fun?

Stay tuned for this past week's party...