Rainbow Connections

Like most people, I am fascinated with rainbows. 

If I see one, I will stop and look. 

If I have my camera, I will try to capture a photo of it. On occasion, I have been lucky to be in the right place at the right time.

Kolob Canyon Road, Utah

Kolob Canyon Road, Utah

Zion National Park: Kolob Canyon

But as brilliant as a rainbow can be, I think they hold no candle to what happens when you turn a rainbow upside down and get a smile:

To me, that's the best Rainbow connection there is!

This was written for Blogging For Fun group prompt:

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The more things change...

It seemed like an eternity. 
I kept watching the big, round, black and white wall clock. It hung on a beige painted block wall in my grade school classroom.  I could see the slender needle jump slightly forward for every second that passed. The minute hand only moved when I looked away, and the hour hand definitely had to be broken. It NEVER seemed to move. Surely I would die of old age before recess ever arrived.

Suddenly recess was over and I was back to watching the clock not move as I waited for the bell that announced it was time to go home.
 

Finally!
Eternity passed and I had somehow managed to graduate. Through all those relentless seconds that formed years I had grown tall. I hadn’t noticed when I went from the short fat kid to the tall, not-quite-so fat kid. In my mind, I still saw myself as that fat kid. In the mirror, I was a full head taller than most of my friends. Even though it had been coming for so long, I still had no idea how I intended to spend the rest of my time.

Looking back at high school pictures, I look normal. Not skinny. Not fat. Why couldn’t I see that at the time?

She must have. 
We got married shortly after high school. Again, time slowed down until the big day when we met at the small church. In a blur we were walking out the door, getting into the car. Driving off into our future.

The future arrived...
with two boys and a job that usually kept me away more than I wanted.
Some work weeks were actually 90 hours long. Every hour seemed a lot longer than it was. The time spent at home flew by. The one week vacations I waited for all year long passed in the blink of an eye.

Has it really been almost forty years since we met at that small church?
Time is still playing tricks on me. I know there is a huge kid inside of  me, but I see a fat, older man in my mirror. Does he really look that fat, or is it just that little boy image in my mind reflecting back to haunt me? Years from now, if I last that long, will I look back at pictures taken during this phase of myself and think?  “Oh, I wasn’t THAT fat.”

Time will tell. 
Because the more things change, the more they stay the same, and time keeps ticking on.





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My Favorite Teacher (BFF 201)

When I think of teachers, my first thought goes to grade school through high school teachers.


I did not have very many “favorite” teachers. This may be due to the fact that I probably wasn‘t one of their ‘favorite“ students.   I was not what anyone would call a stellar student in high school. 


My mind was usually on some astral plain and definitely not focused on school. If I couldn’t put an immediate practical use to something they were trying to teach me, it went straight thru the wide open place between my ears and back into the infinity of space. 


I certainly couldn’t see any use for diagramming the structures of sentences, or dissecting the hidden meanings of poetry. I can’t say that  anyone really taught me those things, but there were certainly those that tried. 


One of those that tried, and probably thought she failed, was Mrs. Schidecker,  my high school English teacher. 

Ironically, what she did teach me was the inspiration to find my inner voice through writing.  You can blame her for my penchant for blogging.

In High school I never studied for any tests. Flirting with all the girls just took up way too much time. So when test time came I simply made up answers, or made snide and comedic remarks about how useless this information was.  She never told me what an idiot I was for not making an effort to learn. 


Instead, when the test came back (usually with a D or F) she would have equally funny (and intelligent) comments scribbled in the margins. Something along the lines of:


 “While I certainly enjoy reading your humorous  answers and sharing them with my church going friends, I can not in good conscience give you anything other than the F you know you deserve. However, your answers are very creative and if you would just watch your spelling you could fool people into thinking you are as smart as you really are.” 

or 

“If you would just spend a little time studying, you wouldn’t have to think so hard making up these wonderfully wrong answers”


The funny thing is, I started paying more attention so my answers would have even more satire to them because they were the right answers! Somehow I managed to pass that class with a C. But I give her an A for the inspiration and efforts.


She was a tall, imposing, and intelligent women. Looking back, it occurs to me that she seemed to have a slight aura of sadness about her. Her funny answers kept me from thinking about that too much. 


But now, I wish I had asked her about that, and I wish I could thank her for showing me the fun in writing and getting feedback.




Did you have a favorite teacher? Who was it, and what did they teach you?




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High School then and now.

Ahhh, High School.

That institution that brings together a multitude of varying personalities under one roof. Eventually, like static laced Styrofoam peanuts, the similar personalities tend to clump together into small groups known as cliques.

I’m sure a lot of things have changed in High school since I attended (that would be shortly after the Jurassic period). I am guessing the cliques still rule. Only the names have changed. 

When I went to high school we had hippies instead of stoners.  There were jocks, cheerleaders, drama and band geeks…oh wait, those still exist!

While the cliques may still be there, other things have changed:

In high school, I learned to type on an electric typewriter, which today, would be called a keyboarding class.

Young adults today (and possibly pre-teens and toddlers) can text faster with two thumbs than I ever could with all ten fingers.

“Sexting” was done in the back seat of a car, or the local park. Face to face, hand to…well, whatever. 

“Chatting” was done face to face, or over the telephone, which was ALWAYS hard wired to a wall. In some cases it actually hung on the wall and the amount of privacy you could get was limited by the length of the cord. Our wall phone at the time was in the kitchen.
I was not a big one for phone talk chatting.

 

If you didn’t have a phone at home, there was a pay phone at almost any gas station or store. Try to find one today.

If you were one of the lucky seniors who had access to a car, you wouldn’t even have to get out to have the gas pumped for you. An attendant would come out, pump the gas, clean your windshield, check the oil if you asked, and when you paid your 25-30 cents a gallon he might even give you a free glass, S&H green stamps, or some other gift. 

Of course, you had to get there before they closed at 8:00 PM, and you had to get there before Sunday. Almost every station and store was closed on Sunday. You paid with cash. I can’t even imagine the look you would get if you said you wanted to pay with a debit card.

Today’s high school teens who own cars have numerous safety features to protect them from their bad driving: Seat belts, air bags, ABS brakes…it’s a long list. We had bumpers.

The cars back then usually rusted out or broke down completely before even the worst teen driver could crash it more than twice.

If we wanted to go somewhere, we had to know where we were going, ask someone for directions, or get a map. We used the library to get information instead of typing in some text and magically having the info available on a Dick Tracy watch…er, I mean cell phone.

 

Calculators were not allowed in school. Mostly because they were called adding machines and were about half the size of the typewriter. Not exactly something you could stuff in your pocket.

 

There was no daylight savings time, so no matter what time of year it was, in my opinion, it was ALWAYS to early to get up for school.

And last but not least, when I was in High School, Facebook meant a photography book of portraits.



That's all I can think of for now. What kinds of things have changed since you were in High School? Did you belong to a clique?

A word doctors guide to mending a broken heart.

A heart can stand  a lot of abuse, but sometimes it just takes to much trampling, accepts to many barbed arrows, or receives to little attention.


The best doctors will do no good here.
Their pills, drugs and other tools of the trade can not fix such deep, sensitive damage.


The mending requires a sharp needle of resentment, laced with bitterness and irritatingly administered with disappointment.


The ruined area must be drained of all sorrow and frustration before the actual mending can commence. Some depression may remain in the wound but will eventually dissipate. Watch closely over time to insure it does not become infected with hate.


The suture thread must be strong with determination, applied delicately with close stitches of acceptance. Some weeping of regret is normal during this process. In some cases, anguish will flow freely.


Compassionately apply an ointment of sympathy to seal in any indifference and protect from future apathy.


In some cases a heavy cast of friendship may be needed to prevent further damage.
The casting mix should include understanding, perseverance, and massive amounts of time until heart cast is secure.


With proper repair, and the knowledge that it happens to everyone, even the most wounded of hearts will eventually mend and be ready to love again.

And if all that fails, the fastest way to forget about lost love is to find a new one.