Potato Soup

This week, I thought I'd just share I a draft I wrote a while back. It's not very polished, but it reminds me of the holidays. Hope everyone is having a wonderful Thanksgiving break!

My childhood tasted like potato soup. Warm, milky, homemade potato soup. On still winter days, my dad would pick Josh, Brigitte, and I up at the playground fence at school and we’d come home to a bag of potatoes sitting on the black stovetop. Potato soup was an event for my father. Instead of spending the day tinkering on equipment at the shop or projects at the house, he spent the day checking (and double-checking) to make sure he had enough milk and flour and eggs. He would buy the biggest bag of potatoes they sold at Rightway Grocery and it would sit on the stove, awaiting our arrival. My dad almost burst with pride at our shrill chants, “Potato Soup! Potato Soup!” He had waited all day for that reaction.

I was quite often the potato peeler of the family. But this wasn’t because I was an expert at it. My dad is very particular about his cooking and doesn’t accept assistance readily. What got me the job was pure persistence. I would stand in the kitchen and watch him. I’d follow him from the fridge to the stove and back again. I’d sit on the laminate floor and tell him stories about what I learned in school or ask him questions about every step of the process. One day, he opened a drawer and made a racket digging through the utensils until he pulled out a potato peeler and then handed it to me along with the bag of potatoes. I became the peeler.

After that, on potato soup days, I’d finish my homework and wash my hands and drag a chair from the dining room to the kitchen and sit next to the trash can and hack away at the potatoes. My first several batches looked more like deformed snowballs with random divots and cuts than potatoes. I still talked my father’s ear off as he made his homemade egg noodles nearby, but at least I was a shadow with a purpose.

Potato soup was always served at the table, never TV trays or laps on the couch, like many other family meals. It was spread out like Thanksgiving with cheese and crackers, salt and pepper spread along the middle of the table. My brother and I would have competitions of who could eat the most bowls. Truthfully, I don’t remember who won more often. I do remember my record was eight whole bowls, although I still don’t know how that was possible, especially when I mashed in so many crackers and cheese into each serving.

Potato soup wasn’t exclusive to our immediate family, although my dad will have you believe he makes the best in the world. Each Christmas, his extended family would also make soup, not the traditional turkey or roast beef. All ten of us grandkids would choose potato and that meal was the quietest part of the entire night, as warm milk dripped down our chins and bowls were scraped for every last morsel.

Sometimes now when it’s a day that feels cold and still, I walk home from class and know it must be potato soup day. I always want to jump in my car and make the three-hour drive just to make it so. But today, Campbell’s soup will have to do.

A Thank You to Teachers

Since it's Thanksgiving season and everyone has been posting things they are thankful for on Facebook, I thought I'd do a thankful post myself. Since I'm going to be a teacher and was influenced by many great teachers, I thought I'd take time to thank a few even though I'm not in contact with most of them anymore. These are not even close to all of my teachers, but these are the few that stick out in my mind.

I am thankful to Mr. Johnson, my 4th grade teacher. He gave me a place in school, where I never felt like I fit before. He opened up the world of writing to me and encouraged imagination. I remember reading The Bridge to Terabithia that year and writing crazy made-up stories. I looked forward to school every day because of Mr. Johnson.

I am thankful for Mrs. Sidlo, my 5th grade teacher. Although I used to call her crazy and her tactics were often a bit odd, I never liked science as much as I did my 5th grade year. I learned to read a barometer and protect an egg from the laws of gravity. I still know that a nebula is "where baby stars are born" and can find Orion on starry nights. She also taught me the value of music during math and I used that for years afterwards.

I am thankful Mrs. Duncan, my high school English teacher. She didn't leave my papers unmarked for errors or call every speech "spectacular", but what she did give me is exactly what I needed. She made me better. I always valued her advice and worked to read, write, and speak to the best of my ability. The skills I learned from her have been so valuable in my life and I will be forever grateful. Actually, her influence, and the value I placed on her class greatly affected my drive to teach Language Arts myself. I remember once I was very sick at District Speech and she was so helpful. Not only did she give encouragement, but she actually found a couch for me to sleep on and gave me some kind of gargle so I could have a voice in front of the judges. I made it to state that year because of Mrs. Duncan and she still provides me with support today whenever I need help or advice.

I am thankful for Mrs. Kahrs, my high school science teacher. I learned more in her class than absolutely any other high school class. She made us work and no one coasted through her class. I spent every class period in her room with my mind tuned in, which wasn't easy for me to do at that age. She was also a sponsor for Future Problem Solving, which was a big part of my school experience and I thank her for that. I have always respected Mrs. Kahrs and know she continues to be a fantastic leader of future generations.

I am thankful for Mr. Sidlo, my high school computer teacher. One of my college professors constantly calls me the "techie" of the class and I always know this is solely because of the guidance I received from Mr. Sidlo. I make videos, edit photos, and am unafraid to try new technology because of his class. He gave me some much freedom to explore and experiment but also was there to help and teach me new things when I asked. Some of the things I was most proud of in school were the projects I made in his class. And most of all, I had fun. Mr. Sidlo was so much fun. Thanks.

So thank you to all of my teachers and Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

The Pictures in My Head

In my reading theory class we recently discussed how everyone has an inner monologue when they read. Engaged readers tell a character they are stupid or think "this is boring" or wonder what will happen or just see pictures of settings and characters. For my young adult literature course, I recently read a book called First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung and I was aware of the pictures my mind was drawing. Since I can't draw worth a darn, I tried to express that picture in my own words and used it for my composition class (yes I just combined three different classes in one project; this is how much they blend together haha). This is the short poem I wrote about the main character Loung and I thought I'd share it with you this week.

Luong tightens her right hand, tiny and blistering,

around her father’s index finger.

The world is too big and she is

too small.

Being “big for your age” doesn’t help

in this foreign land of rice fields and sky.

Bulky and awkward,

the rice bowl weighs down her left side.

She walks like a crippled person, but she has rubber soles

beneath her feet.

Not everyone is so lucky.

Beads of sweat, warm and salty, trickle

down her pale forehead

She squints at the never-ending road

with her tired brown eyes.

How long can they possibly keep walking?

If I Had $1 Million...

"If I had 1 million dollars" is such a common writing prompt. I'm sure most of you have written or at least thought about this "what if." You may have heard the songs "If I Had A Million Dollars" or "I Want to Be a Billionaire." What I've noticed is that there are some very common answers for this prompt including buying a house or a car. Since these are big ticket items, this makes a lot of sense. But, at this point in my life, I would not buy either thing. In fact, none of things I would want are material things.

So here goes. If I had a million dollars right now, I would:

1. Pay for college
2. Take family and friends on vacations as much as I could
3. Give to as many people in need as I could (not charities though, I would want to make it personal)
4. Travel by myself (study abroad, explore a new place)
5. Go to concerts, sporting events, or plays.

So many of you are thinking I'm crazy probably. Here are my justifications.
1. I'm not saying I would blow it all. I would be as smart as I could about money use.
2. I don't want to buy a house and settle in any one place.
3. I don't need a fancy car. I'm not even a good driver and would probably wreck it haha. I would travel by train and plane and bus. That way I could focus more on the scenery than the steering wheel.
4. I would give back to my parents but I know they wouldn't want me to. My dad, especially, gets more fulfillment from providing for me than receiving anything from me. They do deserve it for all they've given me though.
5. Most of my list is experiences. Life is so short. I'd rather have my feet in new places than pretty shoes. I'd rather have pictures of vacations with people I love than my new swimming pool.

So there you go, that's what I'd do with the money. Of course I don't need money to have a fulfilling life. But I can't ignore that fact that with money comes access to the world. Thanks for reading!

Optimism

In my last post, I talked a little about how we are a society of wishers. Last month, a presenter at a conference I went to said we are a county of "happily ever afters." After the speaker's trip to Great Britain, he said he realized how utterly optimistic Americans are. We end letters with "Have a fantastic day!" and say things like "You'll do better next time" after a blunder. What these thoughts have me wondering about is this: "Is optimism something to strive for?"

Maybe it's like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we believe things will be better tomorrow, they will be. Maybe optimism makes us happier people. I've often been told I'm pessimistic. And, like any pessimist, I always respond with "I'm just a realist." But honestly, I'm constantly trying to be more optimistic. I probably tell myself once a week to "look on the bright side." I even had a Winston Churchill quote in my bedroom at one point that said, "A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty."

But the world isn't full of happily ever afters, is it? And it won't get better next time unless you do something to fix it. All through my elementary, middle school, and high school years, I was in Future Problem Solving and I always took on the task of "problem generator." Before ever solving problems, we had to identify what could go wrong with any future scenario. And I was very good at assessing a situation for problems. What I learned from that was that sometimes seeing all the difficulties in an opportunity allows you to better handle a new situation.

All of this is just food for thought. I'm not saying that optimism is bad. I'm definitely not saying pessimism is good. Sometimes the silver linings get us through the day. But maybe sometimes being the "realist" isn't so bad either.