Chalk Talks...

So, I decided to change the title and url address of my blog.  Yes, I owe this one to my husband.  He said within minutes of uploading my first post that the title was too wordy.  Not unlike me, most of the time.  (Yes, that is the sound of your chuckles I hear through the distance of cyberspace!)  And after a few weeks, I came to believe him.  And besides being wordy, long, the title was uninteresting, too.  I mean I am for simple and ‘to the point’ which “reflections/confessions of this teaching life” sought to be…it was general enough hopefully to encompass whatever I wrote about (which I really didn’t have a clue would be – still don’t most of the time), and it was accurate in the sense that I figured it would be my thoughts as a teacher, one who feels called to such a vocation.  And so it was.  But again, there was the problem – wordy.

LOONNNNGGGG.

So, I was thinking about it.  And somehow, found myself writing,

“Donna’s Chalk Talks.”

Now, first, let me say, “Chalk Talks” is not an original idea.  In fact, Father Martin, of “Chalk Talk on Alcohol” fame – I believe has the corner on that one.  And he’s a legend in 12-step circles and Alcoholism recovery.  Those videos of his are ones thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, for all I know, kids in middle schools and high schools, in this country have seen.  He has dedicated his life and ministry to helping people seek and find recovery from alcoholism.  The phrase is catchy – that’s why I thought of it, I’m sure.  So, thank you Father Martin.  But its catchiness isn’t why I picked it.  

It’s appropriate, really, because see, I am a teacher (most of you, if not all, know that already), but I’m also, kind of, “old school”…see I use a real chalkboard.  A lot.  Yes, I do use a computer.  I do PowerPoint, and website resourcing.  I like bullet-points, and slick videos, as much as the next person.  And yes, I (try to) use our institution’s “education management system” – Joule.  The system is on-line, accessible always, and has the capacity and capability to do more things than I’ll do in my lifetime. Those of you outside education, such systems are supposed to substantially aid and enhance the teaching and learning experience for teachers and students alike. In theory. In my reality, on a particularly bad day it can make me question my vocation, and probably most often, it offers the best that a love-hate relationship one could ever hope to have. But I digress.  The point is that I do use all that fancy stuff. But what I really, really like and use is chalk and a chalkboard.  I find a plain ol’ piece of white chalk and a chalkboard, usually green in my classrooms, but any color will do, rather refreshing and functional. 

Simple and ‘to the point’ remember.  That’s chalk and a chalkboard.  And I make use of them pretty much all the time.  Sometimes I think I drive my students crazy because I can get carried away, writing all over, scratching out, writing over, circling some important word or phrase so much, they can’t read it anymore, or writing a sentence and abbreviating every other word to the point, they can’t remember what I said.  Chalk and a chalkboard.  Simple and ‘to the point’…it works.  And so it seems appropriate for this blog, my little posting site of thoughts, reflections, sometimes confessions, musings, maybe wonderings, ideas, and questions about this teacher’s life – Donna’s teaching life.  To call it “Donna’s Chalk Talks” made sense, for in a sense, that’s what it is…my chalk talking – sharing with friends and beyond, words that hopefully might have meaning or make meaning or make one think.  Maybe even upset one’s balance (though not too much, I hope), but whatever they do, know that I appreciate ever and always that you bothered to read for a minute or minutes and might have found in so reading, a chance to laugh, to grin, to nod, or perhaps to pause.  Whatever your response, thanks. And until I take up the chalk again, blessings to you and yours…today, tomorrow, and for always.

A Week In This Life...

"Gravy on my Mashed Potatoes Life"

So, finally a post that pertains to the title I gave this blog.  What I really do, in the routine, regular everyday life of serving as a teacher in higher-education.  You know, who coined that phrase?  (No, I don’t think I’ll take the time to google it.)  “Higher-education”…as if it’s loftier or more important…really, maybe the proverbial they decided on “higher” because saying thirteenth grade and fourteenth grade, etc. began to sound a bit silly.  And it covers it, too.  “Higher” can mean one year of college, four years, graduate school, post-graduate, etc.  “Higher” – covered.  The funny, not “ha ha” funny, but paradoxical funny, reality of it is that many of the things we absolutely need (ought!) to know we really learn all the way back in the very earliest years of our education.  Robert Fulghum indeed got that right, I think…I was just saying that to one of my classes the other day:  those rules, like
·        Put things back after you use them.  And only take as much as you need.
·        Share.
·        Rest some. Play some. Think some. Work some.  Repeat.

Or things similar, anyway, are pretty good rules. Kind of like the Ten Commandments.  Regardless of your belief system, worldview, or the like, you’re hard-pressed to argue with the wisdom of those.  And if you attend any Kindergarten worth its salt, or something like it, you learn those.  They’re needed for the classroom not to spin out of control into utter mayhem and chaos.  No teacher likes utter chaos.  Maybe a little chaos (I’ve done small groups with college students in a class of 50 people, in fact!), but not utter.

Anyhow, recognizing that much of what we need to learn should happen when we’re quite young, choosing to further that education in our “higher” years is important these days, and I’m blessed to participate in that process from the teaching side of the equation.  And so, this is much of what that life looks like for me on a regular basis.  Here is a sample of what happens in a given week (these things, in fact, happened within a 7-day period recently):

·        I gave 3 exams to 110+ students.
·        That resulted in 110+ exams to grade.  Still need to grade.
·        Due to a newly scheduled softball game on the day of my exam, I had to prepare the exam early to accommodate my students, who were seeking to be responsible and take the exam before they left campus for said game.  And they were.  They all took the exam in my office – one even sitting on the floor, diligently and respectfully fulfilling their academic responsibilities before meeting their athletic ones, which for some provide the means (scholarship!) to the academic ends.  Impressive!
·        I received exactly 4 emails from students with exactly 4 different reasons for why they could not take the exams as scheduled, after the fact.  Meaning no discussion with me prior that they had some problem preventing them from taking the exams.  Have to deal with them later!
·        Attended 2 committee meetings.
·        Held 10 classes – prepared for, led/facilitated, including hand-outs, lecture, powerpoint, and web-video material said classes.
·        Had the audio/video technology fail on two occasions in two different classrooms for said classes.

Those aren’t all the things that happened that week.  Just a sample of the kinds of things that go on. 

If you’re still reading (and I can see how some may not be), you can see it’s not particularly scintillating when you read a summary of such activity on paper (or in this case, virtual paper).  It’s not particularly eye-opening.  It’s not glamorous or sexy.  Certainly not revolutionary.  But here’s the thing…it’s what I feel called to do.

And that my friends, makes it priceless.  I get to spend my days doing something I absolutely feel I am meant to do, placed here in this moment of space and time to do with and for and in relation to others, here in the heart of Appalachia, no less.  I spent years and lots of money and energy and some sacrifice sure, to arrive here, but it was and has been all worth it, for I am a teacher.  Yes, it requires the tedium of paperwork and assessment and evaluation of others and putting up with politics and excuses (! Good golly, excuses, the likes of which…well, I must just be old!), and a complex, at times confounding, “new” generation, and digital everything and all that that means, but at the end of the day, it also means I get to share with my students about subjects that matter.  The institution sees value in them, society sees value in them, and if, by chance, at least a few students do, well, then, I have done my job.  And not just done it; I have done it well.  And that is joyful.  It is no small thing to feel blessed. And as a teacher, I am.

 
Here’s another way to put it:  You know my husband jokes that I’m a mashed potato girl.  And it’s true…given the choice I’d pick seconds and thirds of mashed potatoes over ice cream or any other dessert, pretty much. And see I have a family beyond words – one of love and light and laughter and beauty and wonder.  My family is the mashed potatoes of my life. How lucky am I! (And how ‘bout that sentence?!)  Well, here’s the thing, to find such things in work, too, well, that’s just gravy.  Can’t get any better than that!  I wish for those of you reading that your life might too know such blessings.

Comes The Dawn

I’ll preface this post by saying – I’m not really sure what inspired me to write about this.  Perhaps that sometime last week, I remembered this is the month of my ex’s birthday, or that my Mom mentioned Aunt Dona to me the other day.  Whatever, here it is…

When I was in high school, my close pal (who remains so to this day) and I often found ourselves engaging in conversations borne out of typical teenage angst and likely boredom.  You know we’d toss around those big questions – are you happy?  What is it to be happy?  How can anyone possibly be so, when the facts are indisputable: whatever this life holds, you live it and then you die.  How heavy is that stuff?!  Isn’t that typical teenage angst?  At least for North American, middle-class teenagers (really more privileged than that, especially compared to so much of the world).  I don’t know for sure, but perhaps the good news is that we survived it.  And the truth is that we both were quite lucky – we had stable homes (as much as any home can be, but I’d say that ours were especially so…both of us have parents married now more than 40 years, give or take!), both of us the youngest of two, generally well-adjusted, except for this malaise that seemed to be a phase that we both shared.  Anyhow…

I open with this as background to what follows… See one day Sara (my pal) found in a Funky Winkerbean comic strip (anyone remember that?) this poem in the first frame of the strip:

Life Goes On…

And you cry, because things get so strange so fast.

And you cry, because nothing good ever lasts.

 We liked it so much in the midst of our angst, we had notepads with “Life goes on…” printed on them and passed notes in school on said notes.  (Perhaps we were a bit geeky, too! Sorry Sara.)  And then, one day I found this poem entitled “Comes the Dawn” by an unknown author.  I made a copy for Sara; it was all about learning when you’ve experienced saying “goodbye” to someone you love. Anyhow, I’d forgotten about that, as we moved from high school through college and into early adulthood.  And eventually I found myself re-introduced to the poem.  Here’s what happened…

In the summer of ’98, I found myself in a less-then-enviable position.  Not even 30, I was divorcing.  And my parents and I were together to gather my belongings, load ‘em on a truck, and get myself permanently moved away from that place, that relationship, that life.  It wasn’t fun, and to this day, I remember it being hot and humid (mid-July in VA!), and I remember it feeling stifling and humiliating and scary and sad, so very sad, all at the same time.  But we did it.  We sort of trudged along until it was done.  But before it was, at a point when we took a break on the front stoop of that little rented house, my Mom went to their car and brought back an envelope for me.  It was from my Aunt Dona.  Now, Aunt Dona was my Mom’s closest pal since they were 12.  I grew up knowing her, calling her “aunt” and being closely connected with events in her life.  In particular what happened when I was about 10 or so.  She’d been married 20+ years, her kids a little bit older than my sister and I, and she got divorced.  It was difficult and messy; my parents were a great sense of support to her (I think I can safely say), and while it was tough, Aunt Dona proved gracious and courageous and strong.  She made it through all of that, and I can happily say she found a new chapter that’s lasted 20+ better years!  Well, this envelope had a card from her to me with a copy of this poem, “Comes the Dawn.”  The card basically said she was thinking of me, but also that she wanted to share this poem with me, as someone had shared it with her long ago.  That poem…well, I remember fighting back tears that afternoon, but from the very first read, it struck a chord.  I put it in my pocket and went on about our business.  But later, in the quiet of my room before going to sleep, I took it out and recited it. And that became my routine.  Every night before trying to sleep (I didn’t sleep much then), I recited it.  After about 2 or 3 weeks, I had it memorized.  And for the next full year, every single night, it was part of my routine.

There were many things that got me through that period in my life (family. friends. Al-anon!)  And that poem.  I did not ever speak to my Aunt Dona about it.  Not once.  But I know that it was a big part of helping me heal.  And you know, I think she knew, too.  Someone had given it to her in her dark days, and so she passed it on to me because she knew what only members of this club can know.  The participants of this club (I call it “the E-club” and that’s not “e” for exclusive or elite, though “exclusive” is true in the sense that you only get to belong if you go through the big D…no, this is “e” for ex) are aware that going through this particular thing called “divorce” is utterly painful and lonely and sad, so very sad.  No one wants to be in the club, no one.  It’s my experience that no one gets married to end-up divorced (except maybe Kim Kardashian…I couldn’t help myself!).  So, when it happens, when folks end-up at this option, having something, anything to serve as a buoy through the sadness and pain, is a really good thing.  And this poem proved so for me.

And before I share it, I’d like to add that I did get through that period.  Into a life fuller and more joyous and precious than I could’ve ever known.  I don’t wish what happened for me on anyone. But I do believe learning lessons from it has made me what I am and helped me find where I find myself today.  I recognize that’s not so comforting when you’re in it…when you’re in the loneliness and sadness and uncertainty, but it seems the way past pain is through it. I definitely learned that in the rooms—you can try to avoid, deny, rationalize, defend, explain, or ignore the truth and all of its painful stuff all you want; ultimately, the way past is through.  I think Winston Churchill said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Perhaps he was onto something there.  Anyhow, I did make it through.  Sometimes one step forward, ten or twelve back, but through nonetheless.  And the riches on this side…well, who woulda thought?! 

So, today, I’m grateful.  And that poem, Comes the Dawn, played no small part. I wish I could give the credit to the person who wrote it.  But it’s debated.  If you did a google search, you’d see.  This one woman was given credit, but then others have said that’s not right.  As a person who cares about plagiarism (I’m a teacher, what can I say!), I wish I could give the nod accurately. But alas, it’ll have to remain unknown for now.  I rest easy in hoping that whoever did pen it might know how helpful it has been, at least in this one life.  I’m guessing lots of others, too.  And now, maybe yours.  Enjoy!  And if it’s not so much for you, well, something else I learned in the rooms, take what you like, and leave the rest.  But I do believe, whatever you’ve been through or may be going through, truly,

Comes the Dawn.

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn...
With every goodbye you learn.

Don't Say Always or Never...

It’s an unwritten rule in our house that we don’t say always or never.  By unwritten, I mean, it’s a rule that I say to the children whenever I hear them say these words, but beyond that, it isn’t actually written down anywhere, we haven’t tried drilling it into them (unlike, the rule, “no biting!” – that one is definitely a REAL rule), and I’m pretty sure my husband isn’t fully on-board with the notion, mostly because we’ve never (!) had a conversation about it directly.  Nonetheless, it’s a rule I proclaim, and I’m sticking to it.  Now, before going further, I should say, as with all rules, there are exceptions (much like English grammar, in fact):

·         I never want to eat liver and onions.  Never.

·         I never want to watch boxing matches, except for in the Rocky movies (NOT past Rocky III) and Raging Bull (see, there’s even exceptions to the exception).

·         I never want to iron.  (And I don’t!)

·         I never want to drive in Los Angeles, California.                             

If I thought really, really hard about it, there might be a few more, but that’s the gist of it for me.  My nevers. 

                        And…
 

·         I always want to stay up later than I should.

·         I always want to remember to be grateful for the amazing family and friends in my life.  I am blessed beyond measure, and I always want to be thankful. (I’m not claiming that I succeed at this, but I’d like to.)

·         I always want to spend at least a week at a beach every year.

·         I always want to accomplish more than I do in a day (but I’m working on just letting that go…wabisabi, right!  See my first blogpost for clarification.)

·         I always want to feel the joy of seeing my children’s wonder…assures me like nothing else that God is.

Okay, so I fudge on the rule myself.  Even so, I feel pretty strongly that teaching my children that they shouldn’t say always or never is going to serve them in life.  At least that’s what I’m telling myself.  Why?  Because the fact is that almost nothing is always or never anything.  It goes to the reality of things being understood in relation to other things, circumstances, people, events, and experiences.  Context matters.  Cultural assumptions and societal norms sometimes (often!) play a part.  While there might be some truth to a statement like “he’s always saying it’s my fault,” the truth lays somewhere between his saying that and the amount of time that approaches always…that is, the truth is more like, “he says it’s my fault a lot of the time,” or even “it feels like he says it’s my fault a lot of the time.”  Thus are the kinds of things I often hear from one of my three children.  They don’t really mean that another one of them always says this or that…which brings us to why I respond to such declarations with “We don’t say always or never.”  Because truth-telling is especially important. 

If my husband and I do nothing right as parents, let us at least get this right – instilling in our kids the idea that the truth trumps everything else.  Regardless of how bad something is, how uncertain you are about something, how awful you think you’ve screwed up, whatever it might be – that thing you just absolutely think must stay secret, perhaps especially that! – telling the truth is ALWAYS better than not telling it.  (There’s the exception again.  Perhaps the very one that proves the rule!).  We have a dear friend who says, Nothing bad comes from telling the truth.  She’s right. Wouldn’t it be nice if the politicians in our country agreed?  That’s a subject for a different post, though.  

So… because I believe this to be so, when I hear declarations with always or never, I’m going to keep on proclaiming to the children – We don’t say always or never.  Recognizing, of course, there are always (!) a few exceptions.  By the way, what’s on your lists of always and nevers?

Wilderness "Wonderings"...

The new chaplain at school chose a theme for the weekly chapel services this semester.  Chapel is a voluntary activity, and each week a different person usually gives a short homily.  As the theme is "wilderness," the texts for reflection follow the experiences of the Hebrews when they entered the wilderness, after being delivered from slavery in Egypt.  The texts start in Exodus.  And since I was asked to speak this week, the text was the following - Exodus 15: 22 - 27.  For those of you who don't have it memorized (who does?!), here it is...
²² Then Moses led Israel from the Red Sea and they went into the Desert of Shur. For three days they traveled in the desert without finding water. ²³ When they came to Marah, they could not drink its water because it was bitter. (That is why the place is called Marah.^[a]) ²⁴ So the people grumbled against Moses, saying, “What are we to drink?”
²⁵ Then Moses cried out to the LORD, and the LORD showed him a piece of wood. He threw it into the water, and the water became fit to drink.
There the LORD issued a ruling and instruction for them and put them to the test. ²⁶ He said, “If you listen carefully to the LORD your God and do what is right in his eyes, if you pay attention to his commands and keep all his decrees, I will not bring on you any of the diseases I brought on the Egyptians, for I am the LORD, who heals you.”
²⁷ Then they came to Elim, where there were twelve springs and seventy palm trees, and they camped there near the water.   (NIV)

While preparing, I couldn't help but think I was doing some "wilderness wondering," perhaps akin to the "wilderness wanderings" of the ancient Hebrews.  Meaning, meandering, going about without much sense of what would be next, uncertain, and trying not to be too stressed out about that.  That brought me to the text...the people have left Egypt now.  Their bondage broken by the power of God…following the one tapped by God to lead them out.  You’d think they’d be euphoric.  No longer slaves, oppressed by the trappings of Pharaoh’s ego, pride, and wealth.  They’re free…we might expect singing and dancing in that wilderness…and in the verses before this text, that is, in fact, what we find.  Likely the oldest witness in all of Scripture, the Songs of Moses and Miriam show us the thankfulness and praise pouring-out from the people.  But then, enter the wilderness.  That place of uncertainty.  And what happens.  For 3 days, they’ve been walking and wandering...

• Without water!
• What they (and we all) know as basic necessity to sustain life is lacking
• This wilderness they’re in – it’s at a level of the worst kind, as they struggle for mere survival
• So, what do they do?
• Lash out…groaning and griping…complaining

Now, we understand that, right?  Perhaps we’re not altogether unfamiliar with their feelings when we consider our own “wilderness” experiences.  Granted, perhaps ours have not been as dire as life and death, but it sure can feel like it when we’re in it...When a personal relationship is a mess, or we feel alone in a new place (like college, or a new job, or a new team, or a new apt., or differences in our family configuration), or we simply have too much work to do, or things to accomplish and not enough resources to meet those needs…when these things happen, we might just feel like those Hebrews in the wilderness.  Wanting to groan and gripe and complain.  And if we're honest, really, honest, we don't just want to whine and complain, we do it!  Truer for me, than I like to admit!!

But here’s the good news…the story does not end there.  God – through Moses – provides.  God sees them through this real suffering, real struggle.  And here’s the really cool thing – it’s not some “lightning bolt,” “grand fireworks,” “supernatural/beyond our world and reality” – kind of event.  No.  God uses a piece of wood.  Nothing extra-ordinary, nothing otherworldly about it.  A piece of wood.  It’s nothing special in and of itself.  Instead, it’s made special, made sacred, through God. 

So, why do I find that good for me?  For us all, I think? Because in our very own wilderness experiences, just maybe God acts and will act in the same plain ol’ way.  That’s the unbelievable, amazing, gracious thing about it…God acts in the everyday, routine, common, ordinary with everyday, routine, common, ordinary things and people.  I think that just might be a good word from this story.  Yes, God indeed provides/heals/makes whole/restores in the wilderness AND God does so through all that is around us, before us, and with us.  That’s pretty comforting, I hope.  And empowering…empowering us to hang in there in those times and trust the goodness and mercy of God that surely will see us through, in whatever ordinary means and ways God sees fit.  May we all open our eyes to see where and when that happens. 

That was the gist of the "wondering" I thought about in considering this text and participating in chapel.  If it offers a word for you, too, terrific!  And if not, or it's less akin to your worldview and thinking, well, thanks for reading nonetheless.

To whatever "wondering" is next in these posts...

Wabi * Sabi Way of Life

Wabi Sabi is not actually a mantra.  It is a Japanese aesthetic that means
Nothing lasts, nothing's finished, nothing's perfect.  Sure sounds like a good mantra, or motto, to me.  Before getting too far, I need to acknowledge some folks here...

My good friend, Denise, provided my initial introduction to wabi sabi, through her new and wonderful blog.  Turns out there's a movement in design called "wabi sabi" at the moment.  And to my friend and colleague, James, I owe thanks because he knows so much about so many things, especially those related to things Eastern and philosophical (somewhat in this case).

So, once turned onto the term and its meaning, I realized that this is my mantra, or motto, or it sure ought to be because it epitomizes my life.  Nothing lasts, nothing's finished, nothing's perfect.  Since hearing it, I can't stop applying it to my life.  And my knowledge of it happened to coincide with my recent thinking that writing a blog might be fun.  I'm not sure I'm convinced of that, as I sit here writing my first blog post, having deleted my first two attempts at creating a blog (so far), but hey, even if it's only the one post I ever write, that fits, too, right...nothing lasts...wabi sabi.  But here's to hoping I might get the hang of it and like it.

Anyhow, more seriously, this view of life really has come front and center for me lately.  We recently learned that two of our good, good friends, who have been married longer than we (I am married and happily celebrated 10 years last week!), are divorcing.  Indeed, even when we hope beyond hope and dream beyond dream that marriage and all that it might be will last, sometimes it just doesn't.  And don't get me wrong, I get it.  Unhealthy and difficult relationships, in my opinion, should not be made to last just because that's what tradition or custom or culture says.  I know this one personally, in fact.  So, I'm simply and seriously saying, sometimes nothing lasts.  Wabi sabi.  And I'd go further, too, to say that even those things that do last, that we celebrate and champion because of their deep and abiding endurance, they don't really, in the sense of staying the same all the time that they do, in fact, "last."  Here's a beautiful and quintessential example:  A couple I know recently celebrated 70 years of marriage.  70.  Now, that is lasting.  Unbelievable really.  But here's the thing...while that couple has managed to last together all those years, the way it started when they said they're "I do," is certainly NOT what it was then.  It can't be.  It has to change and grow and develop because that is the nature of life.  Everything does not remain static and unchanging forever.  It won't last if it does.  So, in a sense, that lasting relationship in fact has only lasted because it's gone through change. 

And as to the other elements of wabi sabi...well, the notion that nothing's finished...that is my day-to-day, practical life in a nutshell:  the laundry's never finished, the moving-into-the-house that we actually took possession of more than 6 weeks ago isn't finished, the preparing for classes is never finished, organizing the bizillion Legos in our house cannot possible ever be finished-that would indicate the end of the world, etc. etc.  You get the picture.  Such is the nature of a household of 5, 2 full-time working parents, and 3 beautiful, precocious, funny, intelligent, busy, children and the family dog (a new addition, in fact). 

And finally, nothing's perfect...well, everything written above ought to say it all.  I'm wrong about 800 times a day, though as I told my students, I tell my husband all the time, "I know everything, and I am always right."  What a joke indeed!  So, there it is, wabi sabi.  The mantra that I think if I just embrace and accept happily will have me enjoying life all the more. 

I'm not exactly sure what will be recorded in this blog...reflections/confessions ?! of living as a teacher, mother, and wife, who seeks to be an engaged citizen in her world, as well, without too much cynicism and plenty of joy and laughter.  Here's to hoping.  And I hope that you might just sit in to hear those thoughts, every now and again anyhow.  After all, nothing lasts, nothing's finished, nothing's perfect.  Wabi Sabi.