From the Hip

On a cold winter morning in 1994, I drove the 1.5 miles from 11048 Brooks Lane to Plymouth-Salem High School to discover an empty parking lot. Snow whipped across the vacant spots like tumbleweeds across the desert. My little Escort station wagon sat there and sighed. "What is going on?" asked the wipers as they pushed snow off the windshield.  I was only in Great Lakes country for 18 months at that point, my body and blood having been rudely awakened from an earlier lifetime in sunny Southern California. Warm coastal breezes and 75 degree days filled my heart. Short version: My parents, still married at the time, moved my then 11 year old brother and myself (16 years old) from Costa Mesa, California to Plymouth, Michigan. I barely survived my first year there commuting 50+ miles round trip to a tiny private Lutheran school. I jumped that ship and attended my one and only year at a public school. To top it off: it was my senior year.  That cold winter day, I discover...

My whole life I have suffered with what I like to call the Halverson Plague. It's the surge of energy I get when I'm pressed against a deadline. I thrive in the chaos of pressure. It's the normal.  Lately, I have wondered if chaos has to be my baseline. As an enneagram 8, it is a valuable strength of mine: to be laser focused under pressure and preform. But...does it have to be the baseline for my standard? Can I invite a peaceful feeling into my experiences? Cue: Being a mom. I thrive in the pressure but do my kids? NO...they do not. At least that's what I think as of today. My oldest daughter has a report due for school. We had three weeks to complete this project at home 100%. We hit the ground running and in the first three days we has the notes taken on the Basking Shark. Then time moved forward but the project didn't. It's due Monday. On Thursday night I say "How exciting! We get to work on the project over the weekend." There is a meltdow...

"You can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page." Jodi Picoult It's time to put fingers to key and resurrect  my love of writing. As a teacher, mother, wife, friend, reader, and learner there is an endless stream of ideas worth reflecting on.  I can craft the art of writing by writing. But I can't perfect the craft with a blank page. So...here it goes. Stay tuned for more ramblings.