Too public

I've had trouble writing about today's topic. I started off first hour fine, read through it third, and didn't like it.

I was rambling, not making sense, and kinda doing what I was saying I didn't like about all of this in the first place.

I'll be honest - I haven't watched ANY of the coverage about the shootings at all. I read the basic facts about the shooting on Friday, but I haven't clicked on any links on Facebook or Twitter. And, I haven't watched any news reports either.

It's not that I don't care, but the 24-hour news cycle makes this entire thing into a circus and a zoo - and this is coming from someone whose paycheck kinda depended on the news cycle. I don't think it's right that little kids - who were in shock from the traumatic situation - had a microphone stuck in their face. I don't think it's right that every little move from anyone involved is documented.

They're people dealing with a huge tragedy with huge emotions. It's personal. It's not public. Yes, the event that caused those emotions was public - but the aftermath is not.

We don't need to forget. But don't drag them into it.

Let them be. Let them grieve and start to heal in peace.

An Inspiration

Usually, I write about the same topics you guys do for quick writes. Today, however, I didn't.

I sat and wrote a Christmas letter to my 10th grade English teacher - someone who had an enormous impact on my life (and would probably beat me if she knew I was writing about her).

I had heard about Ms. Sklavos my entire life; she and my grandma worked at the high school, and she also knew my mom. In seventh grade, when she saw my mom sitting outside a door waiting for conferences, she came running down the hall to give her a hug because she knew that meant she was going to get me in a few years. From the things my mom and grandma said about her, I knew I was going to love her instantly - and I did.

Ms. Sklavos would throw books at me constantly. She was the one who gave me my first taste of Catcher in the Rye and Flowers for Algernon. Not to mention she was another female who loved Hemingway (there aren't many of us out there). I had already started to love Hemingway in middle school thanks to my English teacher then, Mr. Fisher. But now I had another person to stoke the fire I have for Papa (seriously - he's my favorite author of all times. Read some of his stuff; it's great. Don't tell me if you don't like it, though, because I couldn't handle hearing that).

She had a passion for reading and writing that made me want to continue to do better and to grow in those areas. Shakespeare made sense to me because of her (and I think about her the entire Romeo and Juliet unit because I don't want to let her down). She could talk to you endlessly about any author, any story and any book and bring up points you never thought were possible. She challenged me constantly, and I grew by bounds as a writer that year; I became more of a risk-taker with my writing all because she gave me the confidence to do so.

She was actually the teacher who urged me to become a writer. My response to her: But, writers don't make any money!  So, she told me to be a reporter. And I listened. (And then obviously I veered off that path, but I wouldn't be a teacher today if it weren't for people like her and Mr. Fisher). Even though I did veer off, I'm glad I listened to her. It gave me great experiences and made me grow. I don't think without those years at a newspaper, I'd be able to teach like I do today.

Obviously, Ms. Sklavos was a big inspiration to me. My original career path started because of her, and I try my hardest every day to teach with the amount of passion she had for English. Every year I write her at Christmas, and this summer, I actually met her for lunch. She's extremely proud of me that I've become a teacher (even though she's sad that I stopped writing because according to her I was a beautiful writer). She said that it was the biggest compliment to her that I am doing exactly what she did for me years ago. Of course, that only puts more pressure on me everyday because I don't want to let her legacy down.

I'm not writing this because I want all of you to one day say that I'm your inspiration. I hope that you will find someone in your lifetime that will mean as much to you as Ms. Sklavos meant to me. She is a fabulous person, and I'm lucky to still be in touch with her today.

Finding my happy

Even a year ago if I had written to this question, I would not have said that running is what makes me happy - but it is now. A year ago, though, it was miserable. Not fun, just a chore.

Now, however, I hate when I can't run. I get jittery. I'm not me. I'm guessing if you pat attention in class, you could easily tell when I haven't run enough that week. My knee will bounce just a little more. I tap my foot. And - oddly enough 0 even though I"m more jittery, I'm more sluggish. I'm tired and don't feel as energetic. I also tend to be a little cranky.

One run fixes all of that though. AS soon as I put on those bright pink shoes and step out the door, everything changes. I feel more alert (OK - that may be from needing go go super fast because the wind is biting at my face, making me miserable). I have no worries. All I have to do is keep pounding the pavement.

Any stress I had before melts away; I have plenty of time to think about what's bothering me. I run through scenarios. Pan it all out. Figure out solutions or at least figure out that it doesn't matter, and I don't need to worry about it anymore.

What's amazing is that it works. I can start a run all stressed out because i have too much to do. But after about a mile, it doesn't matter any more. My shoulders relax; there's no more knot. It all just goes away.

Part of the joy of it is that I'm left alone to my own thoughts. I don't have to explain anything to anyone, I don't have to deal with anyone, and I don't have to think about anything. I can just be. It's because of this reason that I don't run with music. I'm happy being completely unplugged. It allows me to listen to me and things in nature I don't normall take time to listen to. The "silence" helps bring about a zen-like state.

Now, don't get me wrong - sometimes running does not make me happy. There are some runs that are difficult. Muscles ache. Lungs scream. My face burns from the cold. But, these runs are becoming fewer in number.

And, honestly, as miserable as those runs are, they make the other ones ten times better. They make me appreciate how far I've come in this pavement pounding journey. It also helps to ensure that the joy I get from running doesn't diminish because it isn't a constant. It changes frequently. So, unlike a drug addict, I don't always need more. Sometimes, I just need better - and that better is in constant flux.

Running has made me a better person. Physically and emotionally. I don't get sick as often, and when I do, it doesn't last as long. My mental state is better. I'm happier; I don't get down as much. I push myself more because I know I can.

I didn't realize I would find joy in it when I started more than a year ago, but I did. Now, I know that if I'm tired, mad, upset, sad or stressed, I need to go out - even if it is only a mile - because those few minutes outside will help me return to normal.

Remembering the Day that Will Live in Infamy

In grade school, I was slightly obsessed with Pearl Harmor. I remember writing a report; reading as many books as I could on it; having mock World War II battles with friends at recess (yes, we were dorks). I felt more connected to it because my great uncle was there on the USS Nevada - and even had the limp tor prove it.

But, my memories and obsession with it faded. I watched the movie when it came out in 2001, and it brought back some of those memories. It had just become another day to me, though. I remember 9-11 being compared to it, but I have to admit, I have given little thought to it since then.

Reading this article, though, has allowed those memories to resurface, and now my understanding of it has grown exponentially - in just those few minutes it took me to read the article that first time. It was what I remembered 9-11 to be. The confusion. The rumors. The panic. The disbelief. It was all there.

Even though I knew all about Pearl Harbor as a kid, I didn't understand. Now that I've read this first-hand account, I get it. I get it because I experienced something similar to it for 9-11. The panic and the wondering make sense now because I've felt that. Many of us can now understand what it was like for cour country on Dec. 7, 1941. Before, we really couldn't - no matter what we said. Now we can emphathize, and I now feel horrible for those who have had to experience two attacks.

A Gruesome Tradition

Humans are creatures of habit. We do things in order frequently and at the same time or on the same day. This is most likely why the town continued with the lottery.

When we do something so often, we typically don't question it. All of these people had always participated in the lottery ,so they didn't know life without it. Few - if anyone - probably never thought to question it at all. So, by default, it is unlikely they'll stop and will instead continue with the lottery.

Also, this wasn't the only town to have the lottery. It is harder to change the minds of people when you have larger groups. Look at our government. The make up of our elected officials is very familiar; they talk about change, but it doesn't happen often. Things become custom and that ends up how we do it - over and over and over.

We don't like straying from the normal. We're happy with what we have and don't want to change things - or even question them. The townspeople have accepted this as their normal, and therefore, they see no reason to question it. It's what they do, and unless they start to question it in large numbers - and frequently - it's not going to change.

Mother

When I was little, my mother was a genius and loving.

I remember spending time with her at the library while she worked.

That day, she made sure I stayed busy with books and a dust rag.

It infuriated me when she'd take my books away because I wasn't listening and misbehaving.

When I was a child, life was easy and carefree.

Now, I wish I could see my mom again.