Sometimes seminary...

I teach a class called "seminary" for my Church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It's a scripture class for high school aged students and it's held, in our area, 4 days a week (though normally 5 days, but our schools start late on Wednesday, and I guess it's the best solution they could come up with). The thing about the class is, and of course there are a lot of things, but I'll talk about them after this one thing which is pretty life-altering: it starts at 6:00. In the morning.

Now, I'm a morning person. At least I always have been. I'm getting older now (don't be impolite, just believe me) and I would like to sleep a bit more than I used to. But not on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays or Fridays. At least not much. Or, rather, not more than I want to do a good job as a seminary teacher.

It's a scary job, and as I said before, there are a lot of "things" about it. For one "thing," you're teaching scriptures, and that requires a lot of reading, research and pondering. It's intimidating in some ways, but they give us great teacher's manuals, so there's really no excuse. Plus, it's fascinating work, and you learn so much. We're "supposed" to do regular scripture study anyway, but I am never so studious as when I am preparing for a class. Teaching is the great magnifier. You learn it, you type it up into a lesson outline and then you teach it and hear students comment on it. That will hammer it in like nothing else. Each year of four, we teach one of our "Standard Works" and the schedule cycles around again. It's Old Testament, New Testament, Book of Mormon and then Doctrine and Covenants. So if you can hang in there for 4 years, you've covered the standard works. If, however, you can hang in there LONGER than 4 years, you've got tons of great material already prepared (as long as you keep good files and don't change computers too often which I've noticed is a major hassle). I'm on year 6, and enjoying the fact that I do keep good files. We're teaching the Doctrine and Covenants this year, along with Church History. It's a good year, and they all are. I teach the freshman class, which brings me to another "thing."

We're talking about teaching teenagers here. That's a challenge. They are nice kids; they are. But they are teenagers and let me say, that is a challenge. It is the nature of the beast that teenagers have to be "cool" - to look like they aren't overly enthusiastic about anything (even if you HAVE put hours and hours into an activity or game) and they can unexpectedly sour on an activity or learning tool that has been fun for them previously. I could say a lot more here, but it makes me sound unappreciative of them and unaware of the stress they can be feeling during this time in their lives. Suffice to say that there are challenges, and you don't get a lot of warm fuzzies from the students. I've quite a flair for the understatement...

Occasionally I'm asked to substitute teach in the women's class at Church (Relief Society) or in Gospel Doctrine class (the regular Sunday School), or some other area, and the first thing that hits me is how willing everyone is to participate. Yay! Answers! And examples! And stories! Teenagers don't want to volunteer much information about themselves naturally, it takes a lot of facilitation to get them to talking. But not so in Primary! Or in Sunday School, for that matter. Every other class in the Church is the same, starting at Nursery all the way up, short attention spans, need a change-up of learning activities about every 5-10 minutes, and some kind of handout or treat is always much appreciated. But not in seminary! I've seen an entire classroom of seminary students refuse to eat even one homemade chocolate chip cookie, and I make a truly wonderful chocolate chip cookie. Of course I've also seen them make pigs of themselves over the same kind of cookies on other occasions, you just don't know what to expect. And that is their genius!

The more I teach, the more I appreciate how things are for them in this twilight time between childhood dependence and autonomous adulthood. It actually isn't easy. I remember people saying that to me when I was a teenager, that they knew being a teenager was difficult, and I remember wondering what the heck they meant. I really did. But now I see it. I thought I was right about everything back then, see, and now I'm pretty conflicted about just about every choice I make. But as a teenager, I felt invincible and always right. It's a pretty scary place to be if you think about it.

Another "thing" about teaching seminary is the teachers. It can be a little tricksy. I don't always play well with others. Some seminary teachers scare me. They seem to be denizens of WE DO WHAT'S RIGHT and that is something I can never be. I do try to always follow my conscience, but there are too many chinks in my armor for me to have a very good record. Anyway, I'm about to say something that's going to make me sound mean or small-spirited and I don't mean that at all. Just that I don't always mesh into the group, especially the women. I try, but there's something in me that makes it hard for me to feel at peace. I guess I can't really describe it much better than that.

Anyway, all in all, I do have a major passion for teaching seminary. I love making handouts (especially glue-ins and bookmarks!) for the kids so they'll have a way to remember the lessons later when they're in institute class or on a mission. I like the games and the activities and anything we can do to help them connect the principles we are teaching to experiences and feelings so they can call upon them from their memories when they need them. I like feeling purposeful and being responsible for that part of the education of these young people. That's a pretty big deal, if you think about it. I see them more than any other Church leader, including their Youth Leaders or the Bishop. I try to help them feel the spirit before they go to school each day and remind them of what it is to uphold their standards. I usually give them their first in-depth look at the scriptures, especially in the freshman class, though some of them have been studying at home with their families and have been attending Sunday School classes all their lives. I help prepare them to be college students, to be adults, to be missionaries; to be husbands or wives. It's a good thing to be able to do.

It takes a toll though. I get up at 4:30, for example. I live like a zombie most of the time, and lack energy or enthusiasm for most other activities. I can barely stand to be awake past 9:30. And it's past that hour now. And my family takes a hit too, because of lesson preparation, purchases I make for the classroom and time it takes away from my other roles so that I can be a seminary teacher.

Still, it's a really good thing to be. I appreciate so much the opportunity to teach seminary. What a thing! In many ways, it defines who I am as a person.

Like I said, it's getting late now and I'd better get to bed. Sometimes seminary really takes a great deal of discipline. Not always my best thing, but worth working on. If you ask me...

Our dog Rosie...

We got Rosie from a shelter. She'd only been there a week or so, but was shaky and nervous. I picked her out myself, from the crowd of needy, doggies because she has really pretty eyes, even for a dog (don't they all just have amazing eyes?) and because she wasn't enormous and wasn't teensy either. About 30 pounds, which works great for us.

When we met, she was prone to putting her tail between her legs and her head down. Her name was "Okie Dokey" (which had to go!) because the family who had owned her before had "Dokey" as a surname. No comment; not their fault. But to name a dog "Okie Dokey..." not good. Rosie was a close enough sound match, and she has a reddish-brown and white coat that I fantastically thought of as pinkish. But I digress...

At the time, we lived in a townhouse that didn't allow dogs. Oops. We weren't planning on moving, but the townhouses didn't allow cats either and one of our neighbors had 2 of them, so we were prepared to push the envelope with it. Our landlord wasn't too pleased, but there you go. He didn't throw us out for it, but he did tag on a hefty pet deposit the next time we renewed our lease. A small price to pay for a member of our family. The reason we were willing to run the gambit with our landlord in this admittedly anarchistic way was because we needed a dog. Needed. A lot. My husband was going through a bout of depression and he just needed - really needed - something else to focus on besides his worries. He needed a reason to get out and walk and he needed to laugh and smile at something (someone) who wasn't asking anything from him. It's what dogs do, isn't it? We needed her.

She needed us too, which was a real bonus. Her previous family had apparently been one of those with multiple dogs, outside most of the time. Rosie didn't have that kind of temperament, and she didn't do well. They noted on the referral card that she wasn't good around small children. At the time, we had a 7-year old, so that wasn't especially great news. They said she "couldn't" be house trained. Never good. They also said that she didn't do well with other pets. We had a cat then, and have added another one since, so... not exactly a resounding report card. Her previous owners also said she was unruly and bad-mannered, but looking at her little alert self when we took her out on the leash and she took her tail out from between her legs, these things were hard to believe. We took a chance...

We were lucky to be able to help her past these issues. I come from a family of dog trainers where no meant no and dogs were never fed table scraps. My husband is from a family of dog breeders (dalmatians) but not the most disciplined of trainers (the table scrap rule was instantly abolished in our house, to my chagrin and the detriment of Rosie's diet). We aren't the most consistent of owners but eventually Rosie cared enough about being in our good graces (and therefore, in our laps, which isn't the most convenient thing when you have a 30-pound dog) to be motivated to stay out of trouble. It's how dogs are. They're not bad, they just have trouble knowing what bad is. And whether or not it's worth it to steer clear of it.

Now our "little boy" is 16 and Rosie, who was 2 1/2 when we invited her to come and live with us is almost 12. That's not that old for a dog her size - she doesn't act creaky at all and I wouldn't be surprised if we didn't have another 6 years or more with her, but I can't help wishing dogs could live a little longer. We all do.

She has two special abilities which we love in her: she is adorably playful and frisky, loves to run (FAST!!!) and chase balls, and the other, better thing is that she is a world-class comforter. When someone is sick, she stays at their side continually, cuddling up to warm them while never presuming to be any kind of burden. When no one is sick, she still wants to cuddle up, and it's amazingly wonderful to have a dog curled up between your legs on a footstool or in the crook of your knees when you're on the couch. She excels at this in an unspeakable way.

When we first brought her home someone bounced a tennis ball across the kitchen for her and she immediately turned into a puppy, pouncing and leaping at the ball, batting it for herself and catching it over and over again. She sucks at fetch of any kind (total mutt, don't you know, but clearly NO retriever in her. My husband - who has some pretensions on the subject of our dog's "breed" - says she's part basenji and therefore a "sight hound." Whatever. ) but it's enormously amusing to watch her chase down and bat her own ball. You can throw it out for her if you want to, but you're never getting it back. She's also pretty good at catching a ball (or a baby carrot, or any kind of food for that matter) in the air. I taught her that. Not frisbies though. Why would you even want to catch a frisby, she seems to be asking. Frisbies, you see, don't bounce or provide any chasing opportunities after they've been captured. So what's the point? That's how she thinks of it anyway. If you ask me...

She's hugely motivated by food and there are very few types of people food that she won't eat. Lettuce is about the only thing I can think of right now, and if it has salad dressing, she'll make an exception for that. When we first got her it was Christmas time and we had a bowl of Hershey's Kisses on our dining room table. You'll remember that I had a 7-year-old boy at the time, so he was the one who got blamed for the foil wrappers that began to show up, one at a time, under the table. He said he didn't do it, but it was pretty hard to believe until the day I had to come back into the house for a sweater when we were on the way to the store. There was Rosie, standing - STANDING! - on my dining room table, and rooting delicately through the kisses. Apparently, unwrapping chocolate was no trouble for her. One at a time though. I like that kind of restraint. (Yes, I know chocolate is extremely toxic for dogs. We don't give it to her, and of course I moved the bowl of kisses. There have been other episodes though, and one time she ate one of those giant candy bars that my husband bought me as a surprise. She lives on; the dog must have an iron digestive system.)

I am convinced that she would eat until she burst. I really am. My husband says no, but I have never - ever! - seen that dog voluntarily stop eating. It's incredible. A marvel.

Rosie can leap like nobody's business. When we first brought her home I mistakenly thought our beds would be too high for a mid-sized dog like her. Not so! She didn't hesitate a moment before leaping gracefully on top of my son's bed; a captain's-style twin bed that has two rows of drawers beneath it. There have been very few things she could leap up on or over since then. It's amazing to see her do it. She is a ballerina.

But her face... I just love her face. I've put a few pictures in this post so you can see what I mean, but believe me, unless she is looking at you with that face, you'll never understand what I mean.

Still and all, she is primarily my husband's dog; she always has been, and it's not because we trained her that way. Most dogs prefer a child, especially if they aren't very rowdy, but Rosie loves her man. My husband had a traveling job when we first brought her home and Rosie was despondent when he left for his first 3-day business trip. When he amazingly reappeared at the end of it, she was so excited she climbed all the way up the front of him and ended up on his shoulders. Very funny! He's bought a silly contraption that connects her to his bike and the two of them have had some very fun adventures on the trail behind our house. She follows him around the house and pouts when he's away, brightening like a MIRACLE HAS HAPENED! when he returns. I have to be careful not to say "Daddy" while he's gone, because she'll go wait at the front door for him as soon as she hears it. She loves us all, but she breathes for daddy.

I don't know how we lived without Rosie, I really don't. She's the heart of our family and I can't imagine doing without her. Every family should have a dog. If you ask me...

Getting started...

Everybody blogs these days, why not start one myself? I don't journal, and yet I have tons of opinions and maybe it would be better to post them here than to foist them upon unsuspecting friends and family. Just a thought...

So... if you ask me... which you didn't, but really, if you're reading this then you kind of did, because what is easier than clicking out of a blog and opening some other site filled with wonders. My wonders are here. Because. Enjoy them or click away! If you find something interesting, I hope you'll let me know because I'm interested!

I like/love the movie "Groundhog Day." I know, it's random, but I just thought of it and felt like sharing. We do watch it on Groundhog Day every year, or very soon before or after it, and every time I watch it I enjoy it just a little more because I know what's coming and it delights me!

I've been feeling sad lately, and isn't it usually sad feelings that make a person look inward? I'm sad about some friends with real challenges in their lives, illness mostly, and serious ones. It's pressing in on me, even though I belong to a religion that believes that adversity is a necessary refiner of our spirit and character. It's one thing to understand that adversity is a good thing, and another thing to feel that way when it comes, am I right?

So. Some adversity. Three people, to be exact, and they each represent different stages of life and different types of problems. One, an 80-year-old great grandmother who has battled cancer for years to have recently been sent home from what appears to be her last trip there, to die. She's not expected to last the week. Her life was full, though not without challenges and I wonder if she has too much time now at the end to ponder her choices and what kind of hell that might be. She's a good woman, and she's lived a good life, but we would all do some things different, if you ask me...

The second, a young father, 29 years old. He's established himself at Church and in business as a hard working leader who will do what it takes to accomplish his goals. I mostly know him at Church of course, and he is a tireless servant of the Lord. Tireless. Or he has been, at least. He is suffering from a debilitating muscular degeneration that doctors haven't been able to diagnose, but his decline has been rapid. A few months ago he was a healthy, normal guy with allergies and a tendency toward weakness and some other mostly mild symptoms that were thought to be rheumatoid arthritis. (Who knew I could spell that?) Suddenly, he wasn't at church one week (unusual for him) and the following week he was bent over, tilted sideways and walking slowly, crookedly, with a cane. Two weeks passed, he began to use a walker. Fast forward another two weeks, he had a wheelchair. Another two weeks and now he's been hospitalized for over a week because of respiratory failure probably related to his muscular degeneration. He understands adversity more than most people do and spoke about it eloquently one day at church. The next day he came and talked with my 14-15 year-old students about it. I'll say more about this because it was huge to me, and to them. I don't know if he will come home from the hospital. Just a few short weeks and before the geneticists at the University Medical Center will ever have a chance to analyze his DNA to find out what has happened to him, he may be gone. He will be leaving a young, sweet wife that he's known since they were both 8 years old and two little boys, both younger than that. It's hard to watch. And sad.

Last night I learned that a friend of my son's - 15 years old - had a tumor removed last week. They don't even know what kind of cancer it is yet. I literally know nothing else about the situation, but that seems to be enough. Hopefully they will be able to treat him successfully; I know there is more success with treating cancer these days. But it's so very young to know of your own physical frailty and the tenuous hold you really have on your own existence. I fear for him. I identify with him, because of my son, of course. What if, right? And my goodness, every day that could happen - does happen - to people all around us, and sometimes to us. Life-changing things. Big things that won't go away.

There are other sad things - when aren't there? - but there are happy things too. My youngest son who is indifferent about school and, though smart, unmotivated and unconcerned, sang in a solo ensemble choir concert last week; his first. He was good - really good. I was proud of him and know without a shadow of a doubt that I could never (EVER!) have done it myself. He sang good, he sang loud, you could understand him and he was on key all the way through it. He had the very first spot - first! - and he looked quite comfortable, though he's only been in the choir class just 2 weeks. I was proud of him and I hope it helps him care a little, and distinguish himself from other kids. That seems to be important to just about everyone, especially at that age, if you ask me...

I use ellipses a lot. Too much, probably. Sorry. They seem so helpful. They add the questioning glance, the raised eyebrow, the cocked head, the poignant pause.

One thing I love about "Groundhog Day" is that when Bill Murray's character finally "gets it" that he's just wasting his time on his consuming self-interest and begins to focus outward, he gets very calm and seems to trust that things will work out fine as long as he is fine, and if they don't, then he'll work them out because he's a smart and capable guy with good motivations. Okay, I do see that I'm reading way too much into that, but hey, you asked me... Didn't you?

I crack myself up. How about you?