The silence between the notes

In other days, it was a softer fall. Rustling, slipping, drifting From branch to earth. It was a peaceful fall, A gentle death. Comforted by the soil Which had nourished them Through roots and branches. But now? Do they know? Do they see what some will meet? The hard-formed ground that was not made for them. The grey. The black. The white. The dirt which cannot nourish Or cradle them as they fade. Do they feel what this day brings? Do they long for other days?

The day after my last blog, I came home to the tail end of a burglary. I've thought about blogging once or twice since then but the only topic I could really focus on was the irony of being robbed 24 hours after writing about being so sensitive. As I sit here on New Years day, I'm realizing that I have learned a lot from these burglars. A housefull of policemen might feel like CSI, but it's not as much fun when it's real. After a burglary, you become supremely aware of everyone who drives too slowly past your house. Guilt is a surprising emotion.  Somehow I still feel guilty for "losing" some of my special jewelry. Thieves take more than your possessions; they can also take your security and ability to sleep at night. Even if you think a room wasn't entered, search it anyway. They probably entered it just long enough to find your video camera and social security card. My sketching skills are not good at all! And I cannot remember how to draw all the jewel...

Well, maybe I don't really want to stay that way, but when Jewel sings those words, I think maybe it's OK to be so sensitive. Sometimes it can wear me down, and sometimes I wonder why I can't just brush things off like others do, but sometimes I think that I should be grateful for being wired this way. I should be grateful because being sensitive allows me to see so much! I see hidden talents, and sometimes hidden hurts, that others can't see in themselves. I see potential in progress, and moments of perfection in otherwise imperfect performances. I see beauty in places that others find mundane. I see blessings in challenges. I see happiness in tears. I see strength in scars. I see art in all things. Then why do I sometimes dream of changing? People with these sensitivities tend to hide their true feelings, and that means we tend to feel alone in our vulnerability. But I know there are others out there, and I hope that maybe one or more of them...

When I took on National Board Certification in 2007, I convinced myself that I was DONE with higher education. But true to the surprises of my recent years, I now find myself enrolled in the Masters in Secondary Education program at Whitworth University. And my first assignment: an autobiography. It seemed simple enough but after 4 hours of trying just one more "new angle," I finally decided that sleep was more important than proving my writing abilities through my own autobiography. Still, I figure that if I was willing to share my bio with people who barely knew me, I should at least be willing to post it on my own blog. So here's what you might (or might not) want to know about me! ***************************************************************************************************************************************************** “Whatever happened to predictability? The milk man, the paper boy, evening TV?” I loved the opening credits of Full House as a k...