SLICE 7/31- OPRAH AND ME

Our original seats, Section 324

8 a.m. My friend, Kathy, and I huffed and puffed our way up the stairs to Section 324, Row 13 of the Pepsi Center.

Oprah! No matter that we were half a block from the stage and would probably spend most of the day watching the jumbotron. We were going to see Oprah! We had bought tickets more than a month ago and finally, the big day had arrived.

We hadn't been sitting in our seats in Row 324 for more than five minutes when an usher approached.

"Would you like to move closer to the stage?" she asked. "Oprah has just released some tickets and they are much closer to the stage."

"How much would it cost?" I asked. The seats we currently had, even as high as they were, had already cost more than $200 apiece.

"Nothing," she said. "The seats are empty. You can just take these tickets and move down there."

Kathy and I just looked at each other. We had the opportunity to move from seats that were about ten rows from the top of the theater to seats that were about ten rows from the stage? A day doesn't start out much better than that!

And only got better!

Oprah walking the audience through a vision setting exercise.

Julianne Hough leading an exercise session.

Grammy award winning rapper Common performing spoken word poetry.

Gospel singer Tamela Mann.

Oprah interviewing Gayle King, her best friend for more than 40 years.

The day ended with Oprah sharing her own life story.

My heart is full.

SLICE 6/31- Happy Mouseday to Me!

Happy Mouseday to me!

So today is my birthday. My 61st birthday. I had a birthday celebration with friends last night and will have another one tonight. However, today started out a little inauspiciously.

This morning I got up and took my shower. Then I went upstairs to the kitchen to make coffee. On the kitchen floor, right by the trashcan, was a dead mouse. Now I can handle many things. I am not afraid of spiders or snakes or things that go bump in the night. But I absolutely, positively cannot handle mice! I have a pest service that comes regularly, but I live in an old neighborhood and people are constantly renovating and rebuilding. A couple of months ago, they tore down the old house behind me, and all of the mice that lived under that house have now moved across the alley to my house. So, so, so, so gross! Ewwww!

Well, of course I did the only logical thing.

I grabbed my coffee and ran back downstairs and stayed there for an hour.

But then it occurred to me that the mouse, because it was dead, would probably still be there. My sons don't do mice, so I knew it was up to me.

I bravely put on my boots and marched back up the stairs. My plan was to throw a bag over the mouse so I wouldn't have to look at it, then slide a piece of cardboard underneath it, dump it into the trashcan, and then carry the garbage bag quickly outside.

Except after I threw the bag over it, I couldn't really find a piece of cardboard that was sturdy enough to support the mouse. And I didn't want it to fall on the floor and touch me, or anything like that.

And so I went to Plan B. I got a big disposable cup. I put it over the bag which was over the mouse. I tipped the cup so nothing could fall out. I slid an old Blomberg election ad over the top. I dumped the whole thing into the trash and carried it, as fast as I could, outside.

Happy Mouseday to me!

SLICE 5/31- On presidents and immigrants

The questions begin the minute she sees my "I Voted" sticker.

Who did I vote for?

Will that person be the new president?

Is the election over now?

If the election isn't over, when will it be over?

Why did I vote today if it wasn't the election?

I explain, as best as I can, the process for the presidential primaries, tracing the timeline on a desk with my finger. She watches anxiously.

"So in November?" she says, "In November it will be over?"

And does the one you elected, does he like immigrants? Or will he make us go home?

And again, for about the millionth time in the last year, I have no words.

SLICE #4/31- SOY UNA VIEJA

Hoy es miércoles. Wednesday.

That means one thing.

La clase de español.

I started taking Spanish when I was in fifth grade.

Stopped until college.

Took it for two years, until the professor told me that I had gotten as fluent as I was going to get unless I did a semester abroad.

Played around intermittently for the next thirty years.

Nine years ago, I was hired to work at a dual language school. And was totally blown away by how my colleagues, and my students, some as young as kindergarten, could move seamlessly between Spanish and English, depending on whom they were talking to.

I wanted to be able to do that too.

I dabbled in Spanish for the next few years.

About two years ago, I decided I wanted to get serious.

I really do want to learn Spanish.

I want to be able to interact with my colleagues in both languages.

I want to talk with my students and their families.

And so at least once a week, and more if I can squeeze out the time, I attend Spanish class.

Tonight was that night.

This semester, the teacher is Bex, who also owns the school. Except she wasn't there tonight

Subbing in was Austin. I think he's probably about my son's age. Austin graduated from college, spent several years traveling the southern hemisphere perfecting his Spanish, and is now back in the United States, going to grad school and teaching Spanish on the side.

There were four other students in class tonight. All about my son's age. I definitely felt like una vieja (an old lady). 

But if there is one thing I have learned in taking Spanish, it's that you just have to put yourself out there. Try. Make mistakes. Laugh at yourself. Try again.

And so that's what I did.

And even though I was the oldest, and definitely not the most fluent, I had fun. Practiced past and imperfect verbs. Learned the superlative.

I really do want to learn Spanish.

Even if I am una vieja.

SLICE #3/31- A BIT OF A CAD

Rooney cuddling with his best girl, Miss A

Yesterday, when I wrote about how much Rooney loves kids, I made him sound really wholesome and respectable. And that's true, but Rooney also has another side. Rooney is a bit of a ladies' man, or as my middle schoolers would say, a total player! Rooney has lots of girlfriends!

He begins every day with Miss A. A is in seventh grade. Her older sister has to be at a nearby high school at 7:30, so she drops A off on the way, usually between 7 and 7:15. Rooney loves A. He lays in my door, which is at least a half a city block away from the front of the school, listening intently for the front doorbell, and letting out a low pleading whine every time he hears it ring. When A finally comes around the corner, Rooney leaps to his feet, tail wagging frantically. We're still working on what it means to be a respectable and politely behaved service dog, and almost every morning, we have to practice with A. Rooney would much prefer to greet her front paws on her chest, licking her face frantically. And then it's time for toy after toy after toy, "A, do you want to hold my stuffy? It's my favorite. No, too slobbery? Ok, well do you want to play tug of war? I like tug of war. Not that either? How about ball, you want to play ball with me?" Roo's devotion to A is almost embarrassing. As long as she is there, no one else, including A's best friend, who also comes by pretty much every morning, is even given the time of day. When classes start, and A has to leave, Rooney goes to bed, and sulks for an hour or two.

Or perhaps he's not really sulking. Perhaps he's getting geared up for Round #2. He does a quick chaser with the sixth grade girls at lunch time, his adoring hordes crowd into my classroom every noon. They take turns walking him up and down the hall, practicing his training moves, and taking erasers and chewed gum and other random objects out of his mouth. He smiles and pants and prances around the room, reminding me a little of "The Bachelor" on a group date.

The sixth graders don't know, though, that they are just a filler. Rooney is actually waiting for his afternoon girlfriend, Miss Nina. Miss Nina is the night manager at the school. She is a dog lover (with six or seven of her own) and Rooney pegged her immediately. She usually comes by to say hello to him after school, and we have another opportunity for polite greeting practice. For some reason, Rooney has decided that Miss Nina might like puppy bitey face games, so he greets her with an open mouth, and snapping-ish teeth. He's not really biting her, but I do have to admonish him with "No teeth" repeatedly. It doesn't help that she always laughs when he does the teeth thing with her. Miss Nina is in charge of the second floor, and every time Rooney and I go out into the hall, he cocks his head, listening for the vacuum cleaner. When he hears her, if I'm not holding onto the leash, he ignores all polite service dog rules and races off to say hello. He's recently decided that he likes her keys, which she wears on a lanyard, stuck in her back pocket, and every chance he gets, he grabs them and races up and down the hall until we can corner them and take them away.

One might think that all of his weekday shenanigans might be enough, but unfortunately they are not. Rooney has a weekend girlfriend too. Mary is his weekend buddy. Mary is 91, one of my mom's friends at the senior center. We stop by to see her, not every Sunday, but pretty regularly. Rooney is more than happy to sit adoringly at Mary's feet, enjoying a good cuddle, and snacking on the dog biscuits she keeps on her kitchen counter (she also has another stash in the seat of her walker, in case we run into her while she is out and about). Rooney loves him some Mary.

Rooney is a sweet, sweet guy, but he's also a bit of a cad. I'm wondering if that's going to be a problem when he turns into a full-fledged service dog...

SLICE #2/31- Raising Rooney

Probably the biggest change in my life since I sliced last year is Rooney. Rooney is an 11-month-old yellow lab. Technically, he belongs to Canine Partners of the Rockies (CaPR). CaPR raises mobility dogs and dogs for people with autism. About two years ago, I decided that at some point, they were going to make me retire from teaching And I had better find a hobby to fill my time. A friend of mine, Debbie, was raising a dog for CaPR and asked if I wanted to go along some time. Of course I fell in love and jumped in with both feet. Well, actually I kind of waded in, because I was a puppy sitter first, when people went out of town, and then became a puppy mom last summer.

Rooney arrived from the Bergin Institute in California last May. He attended the last week of school, including a day at the bowling alley and a picnic in a park. We had the summer to get to know each other better, and then he came back to school with me this fall. He spends part of his day hanging out in my office, and then part of the day in my classroom. He has a crate in the classroom, but often just hunts down a sunny patch of floor.

Rooney loves the kids, and the kids love him. We visit one of the ECE classrooms every morning, to help a little guy who has a hard time transitioning from home to school. He loves the little ones, and is only too willing to lay in the middle of the floor, as they stroke his ears and rub his belly. Once or twice a week, he acts as a first grade reading center. I sit with him, and kids come up one or two at a time to read. With the middle school kids, he's much more exuberant, bringing balls, stuffies, and tug toys. Once or twice a week, I will see a kid who looks a little down at the mouth, and I'll ask if they need Rooney time. The answer is almost always yes. He's good at listening to family problems and relationship breakups.

Rooney goes everywhere with me. Work every day. Restaurants once or twice a week. Rockies games. Book club. Movies. Weight watchers. Bible Study. As long as he has his blankie, he's more than willing to turn around three times, settle himself, usually with a big sigh and nap for an hour or two. Sometimes he snores, which always makes people laugh.

I will have Rooney probably until he's almost two. It's hard to think about saying goodbye, even though I know he is going on to bigger and better things. I've already told CaPR that the day I turn him in, they better have a new puppy to put into my arms. I can't imagine a day with out my sweet Roo beside me.

SLICE OF LIFE- 1/31- Inseparable

Ten years ago, when I started slicing,
one son was in middle school,
and one son was in high school.
They were best, best, best friends.
Had been since they were little tiny boys.
In fact, one of the reasons,
 I chose to foster parent and then adopt
was because the system was about to split them up
and I couldn't imagine them being apart.

They were inseparable.

The kind of inseparable where,
that first year
when we went to the grocery store,
son#1 was grabbing something off of the shelf,
son #2 was ten feet ahead of us and turned the corner
Son #1 panicked, when he turned around
because he couldn't see his brother.

They were inseparable.

On the football team,
I could always find my boys on the sidelines
they would be standing right next to each other
shoulders almost touching.
And if someone sacked Son #2,
who was the quarterback
they better be prepared
to have Son #1 flatten them
on the next play.

They were inseparable.

When Son #1 went to junior college
Son #2 wouldn't come to the car
to say goodbye.
I think he couldn't.
A week later
A single tear rolled down his cheek
when he talked about his brother.

They were inseparable.

But recently,
something,
I don't know exactly what,
happened.
They had an argument
And now, for several weeks,
they haven't talked to each other.
They both live with me,
in bedrooms directly across from each other.
But they keep their doors closed.
Don't talk.
Don't acknowledge each other.

Son #1 has a much softer spirit.
He has loved his younger brother
stood by his side
protected him fiercely
forever.
And he is
absolutely
heartbroken.

Son #2 is a warrior
tall and proud
hardhearted
unyielding
When someone wrongs him
he does not forgive.
His brother has wronged him
and he is finished.

Inseparable
has become
separated.

I am their mother
and I don't know how to help.