What Turning 30 Can Do To/For A Person

Ever since July when I joined a health club, I have been trying to get in shape. I have known for over a year that I have to do something about my athletic and health state, but I have been putting it off. Oh, I joined Weight Watchers twice, I tried South Beach for a week, I did the Reader's Digest "Change One" diet for a month, and Atkins for a few days, walked around the elementary gym for about a month during lunch, but I have not really been committed to making actual changes in how I eat and how much I move. And all the diets have seemed to have done is confirm that I can lie and cheat (I don't have to write the M&M's down in my food diary; I only had 10. How many calories could that be?). And the walking just made me smell kind of bad for the rest of the day.
At the beginning of the summer, I had promised myself that I would use this summer to turn my life around. I decided that I would walk UGA's campus between my two classes. I did this exactly twice. The first time wasn't bad; it was a pleasant morning. I thought, "I am woman hear me roar. I will be in J. Lo shape by the end of summer!" The second time, I became so hot and sweaty I nearly passed out, and I smelled so bad that I had to make sure I sat down wind of the members of my second class. That was the end of my rebirth as a fitness freak.
That, of course, was until July hit. At the end of June, I felt my age. No, scratch that, I felt older than my age. One day while driving home from graduate school, I pulled into the parking lot of the Fitness 19 health club, signed a contract, and I have not looked back since. I am now a confirmed person who exercises. I started out slow and grumpy. I did not want to go, I would rather be napping or watching Oprah. I would grasp the hand rails of the treadmill and snarl, cursing the fact that I had gotten fat enough to need to work out.

Somewhere around my third week, however, something happened. I decided I had to change my attitude. I told myself that lots of people enjoy working out and I could too. I just had to try. So I tried. That day instead of snarling, griping, and cursing, I decided to use my time on the treadmill to pray to God. I thought, "Yoga is supposed to be some kind of spiritual experience, can't treadmill walking also?" So I tried to make my walking spiritual. And you know what? It worked. God and I chatted, I ended feeling closer to him, and the time flew by.

So now I work out. If you glanced at me, you would not be able to tell. My abs are not buff and nothing on me is chiselled (yet). But I think I am closer now to whom God wants me to be. I have learned the spiritual/physical connection. Next, I need to learn the connection between that piece of chocolate cake I had with dinner and the size of my pants. Maybe that will be what I learn at 31.

Having the Wind Knocked Out of Me

I remember a time in the not so distant past, a time when 30 loomed far more distantly than it does now, when problems like cancer, divorce, death of loved ones and people in general, marital problems, financial problems, etc. happened to my parents friends and people far older than me.

As I get closer to thirty (it is now days away) these problems become closer to me. A friend of mine from high school lost a baby a month after it was born. A friend at GAC who is only two years older than me was diagnosed (and conquered) cancer this year. My nana died of alzheimer's this summer. An eighth grader that Brad taught last year was killed in a car accident this summer. And last night, I learned that a friend of mine, a best friend, found out that her husband has been unfaithful and has kicked him out of the house.

Part of being an adult of nearly 30 is responding when these problems arise, yet another part of being almost 30 is not having enough experience to know what my response should be. Luckily, this is where the positives of growing up a part of a church community come in. I have watched the adults around me serve each other in various ways all of my life. Now, it has become painfully obvious that it has become my time to serve.

Man, this adult business is serious stuff. I guess growing up is about more than wrinkle cream, Weight Watchers, and sensible shoes. I guess it is about getting up after the wind has been knocked out of you and helping those around you get up.

Gnats--I hate gnats!

I think I am usually a pretty even-keeled person. I think everyone but Brad and a few select students (you know who you are) would agree to this statement. I tend to go with the flow, and I am rarely annoyed (not even in traffic). However, my laid back sensibilities have been put to the test of late. Here are a few of the things that are under my proverbial craw:

1. Gnats (or maybe they are fruit flies) and earwigs. In a fit of absolute and utter rage, I just killed, or should I say annihilated, a gnat/fruit fly by swatting at it repeatedly with half a ream of typing paper (it was the only thing with body nearby). Our building is infested with them, and they are driving me batty. I am thinking of taking a day off so as to have a gnat-free day.

But if I took the day off, I would have to deal with the earwigs and earwig carcasses in my year-old much beloved house. At first we thought these squiggily black bugs with forked tales were some kind of odd breed of silverfish. We had the exterminator come out and spray--twice. But apparently silverfish spray does not work on earwigs. Plus, as the Internet sites about earwigs state, earwigs do not live in your house; they live in your gardens. They only come in your house, sometimes in droves, to seek light and to seek water. Thus the reason you find them near your drains. These Internet sites seem to think that I should take solace in the fact that they live in my garden and only visit my house. This does not give me solace. They are unwanted guests, and they simply will not get the message that they are not welcome. Each time I see one, anger just wells up inside me. I haven't been able to take a much beloved bubble bath in months because apparently they really like my tub, and I am totally grossed out.

2. Allergies. I forgot to take my Lortadine(sp) this morning. That means I am an itchy, sniffing fool today with a mild headache. Maybe that's the reason I am so annoyed?

3. The hole-puncher in the Junior High office. It will only take 10 sheets of paper. If you try to hole-punch 11 sheets, it grabs them with its claw-like hole-punching apparatuses and won't let go. Then you have to shake it at just the right velocity to dislodge your papers. Very annoying.

4. Talking on the telephone. Heather Byars already mentioned how she hates to talk on the telephone on her blog (if I knew how to link, I would), and I whole-heartedly agree. I don't know if it is because I am a teacher, and I talk to probably 100+ people everyday, but when I get home, I hate to talk on the phone. I really love my caller ID, and I love the fact that we don't have an answering machine. That annoys my mother.

--I just killed another gnat this time with my hand. Gross!--

5. Mildew. I think am more than annoyed with mildew. I believe I hate it, despise it. This hatred, though, has led me to one of my greatest loves: Soft Scrub with Bleach. This is fabulous stuff. It kills that mildew dead and leaves your shower sparkling clean. And I do love a sparkling clean shower.

6. The fact that. . .

• making hamburgers makes your house smell like meat for about 3 days.
• I have lost five pounds, but my clothes fit the same, and the fact that I have been working out really hard for two months and all I have lost is 5 pounds.
• and, this might be the most annoying,
  the fact that I am teaching students who were born the year I graduated from high school.
  
  Disclaimer: The students are not annoying (most of them aren't anyway); the fact that they were born the year I graduated high school is annoying.

And the way blogger does bullet-points is really annoying.

The End.

What I LOVE About Junior High Students

1. They are fabulously creative. I am always overjoyed with the creativity and energy of my creative writing students. The year has just begun, but already they are using similes, participles, and noun absolutes in their writing. They take simple writing prompts and turn them into adventures, tall tales, and just overwhelmingly great stuff.

2. They are loud, really loud, the first day of school. The energy level on the first day of school this year was palpable. The air was filled with electricity as the students eagerly opened up new notebooks, sharpened new pencils, and talked to new and old friends. They truly do enjoy each other and (even though they will deny it) they love school.

3. They really want to please and do the right thing. When they realize that they have not done their homework or that they have done it wrong, their faces fall, they apologize, and they try better the next time. All I usually have to say to get a kid to correct behavior is "I don't like that" or "I don't allow that in my classroom."

4. They love running errands, being asked to clean the hallway, and helping the teacher out. When I asked for students to do certain jobs in my classroom, their hands shot into the air. When Coach Jacquet asks for hall cleaners, every child wants to do it. They want to be viewed as helpful.

5. They are too funny (intentionally and unintentionally). They can truly forget to bring all of their books to class. Some bring every book in their lockers to class. Papers fly off their desks for no apparent reason, pens fly out of their hands, they trip over their own two feet; sometimes they are an interesting, humorous symphony of motion. Every day I laugh heartily at something that happens in my classroom.

6. They are just so cute-- they laugh at my stupid jokes, they ask for me to tell "Mr. Denton stories," they orchestrate beautifully simple devotionals, they ask for me to pray for their cats, dogs, their siblings going off to college, and their great-aunt's friend who has the flu, they thank me at the end of the day, they timidly say hello to me in the hallway and run away when they see me in the mall--

In short, I love these silly, awkward, cutie pies. Why would anyone want to teach any other age?

Death, Acne, Schapps, and Cards

Things I was thinking about in the car to and from my grandmother's (nana to me) funeral in Florida on Friday:

1. Why does stress have to cause acne? I mean, really, when I am stressed out, the last thing I need is a congregation of zits announcing my distress to the rest of the world. When my grandfather died I got a huge, I mean huge, zit right above my eye lid. It was so big it impeded my vision and throbbed constantly. After the zit left a few weeks after his funeral, my upper eye lid drooped for about a year. I still have a scar to remember that momentous event in my life. This time, my cheeks have exploded with painful, ichy uber zits. The kind that make my husband, the kind and compassionate man that he is, say, "Oh my goodness, I have never seen a zit like that. It is like a huge zit colony. That is the biggest zit I have ever seen." Of course, that was when I only had one uber zit. It was lonely, though, and invited multiple friends. I guess they also wanted to tag along to my nana's funeral. I guess I can't fault them for wanting to go to such a fine lady's funeral, but I am vain, doggone it! The thought of seeing a bunch of people I haven't seen in a while while my face is covered with oozing sores is not appealing. Plus, to me more zits equals more make-up (I know that this increases the problem, but again, I am vain), and when you are crying and people (strange people) are hugging you and telling you that your grandmother is in a better place, you don't need to have extra make-up on. I have left my mark on many a funeral suit lapel and funeral appropriate dress.

2. Why does stress have to cause stomach upset? Again, the last thing needed at a funeral is stomach cramps. Especially when your face is oozing, you are trying really hard to harmonize with your father while tears are choking the literal snot out of you, and all eyes are sympathetically on you and your family. Thank goodness I did yoga three times last year. That deep breathing stuff really works. At least, it kept me from spending time at a funeral home's bathroom when I was supposed to be mourning and comforting my family.

3. Death is a really weird thing. One moment you are here; the next moment gone. Or in my nana's case you have a long, Alzheimer's ridden goodbye. But it still seems like she was taken quickly. Yet logically I know that she was truly gone a long time ago. That nana clinging to a doll named Suzie and staring glassy eyed at the wall and sometimes me was not my nana--but then again, wasn't it her? How horrible of me to only accept one incarnation of my nana. How horrible of me to say that one part of her life was more valuable than another. People keep telling me to "Remember the happy memories," but weren't the sad ones part of her and my life together too? Sometimes you serve others and sometimes you need to be served. In the last part of my nana's life, she needed to be taken care of, to be served. And you know what? I think that was just as valuable. I am glad I had the opportunity to clean her house, clean the blood up off the floor when she cut her arm, listen to my mom "vent" on the phone about her stress. Before Alzheimer's, Nana never would let me lift a finger in her house. She took perfect care of me, my father, my papaw, and my mother. It was time for us to give back. It was time for us to see the needy nana, and you know what, I love that nana too, and I want to remember that nana too.

4. Hospice is wonderful. Let me say it again, "Hospice is wonderful." My nana had a home care provider named Valerie who was sent directly from God. So I guess I should also say, "God is wonderful." "God is wonderful." When you step back and think about how he has worked through other people to provide for your needs, it is incredibly awe inspiring and humbling. Valerie was assigned to take care of my nana's basic needs, but she took care of my entire family. She convinced my papaw that it was time for nana to rest in bed and no longer get up, she did his laundry and apparently, according to him, expertly folded his underwear, she taught us how to talk to and touch nana so that her last days would be as comfortable as possible, and she came to the viewing, the funeral, and lunch after the funeral. And most importantly to me, she told me how my nana died and how my papaw reacted. I have never seen someone so expertly lead a family through grief. God has truly blessed her.

5. My uncle Jerry is a drinker. I thought he just liked "the ladies." I also just thought he was old and that is why at the viewing he kept saying, "I was ten when your papaw and nana got married. You know what I thought, how is my ugly older brother getting to marry such a pretty lady" to me over and over. I had no idea he had "had a few." Amazing! My papaw wistfully said, "I guess he will always like his Schnapps." I wanted to ask at the time, "What is Schnapps?" but I thought the better of it.

6. My papaw is a fabulous card player. He asked if Brad knew how to play euchre, and Brad said, "A little bit." I piped up and said, "I love playing cards. It is so much fun." Papaw, in one of his moments of hilarity, said, "I don't play for fun. Card playin' is serious business. This is the way I play (with a gleam in his eyes he pantomimed holding his cards close to his vest while he had a cross look on his face) I can't handled those people who say, 'Hmmm, which card should I play, ' (again, with a gleam in his eyes he pantomimed a slow moving player)." I then asked him to teach me euchre. He said, "No way. That would make the game to slow. I don't have to patience for that." And he doesn't. He did let me, however, sit behind him how he played, and he took great joy in showing me how he could control the table, and in essence, teaching me how to play. It will be a memory I will cherish forever. My crochity(sp) papaw smack talking the other players at the table and relishing each time he could take cards from my uncle Steve (Schnapps free as far as I know).

So my nana's dead. She passed away. Her suffering is over. She has gone home. All I have left are memories, two really great rings, a really cool fly ashtray, and some charms from her travels around the world. But you know, that really is a whole lot. Thank you, God, for allowing me to have a fabulous nana who loved me to the moon and back. I guess you can have her, but man I am going to miss her. I am so glad you two knew each other so well. And I am glad she introduced you to the rest of my family. I guess she left me with that too, an inheritance of faith.

Poem about my nana forthcoming (when I can, like David, wash my face and face the brightness of the day after the mourning).

Summertime and the Living is Easy

There are many great things about summertime: daylilies, swimming, grilling out hamburgers, fireworks, frogs, sleeping-in, capri-pants, popsicles, the ice-cream truck, etc. But to me, the best thing about summer is that it affords me time to do two things that sometimes I don't have time for: reading and thinking. So this summer before I start graduate school, I have tried to cram in as much reading and thinking as I can.

Updates:

1. Reading
A. Don't read The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler unless you really like Jane Austen, you have read all of her books recently, and you like books that wear a liberal agenda like a blanket. I like Jane, but I don't love her, I haven't read her in a bit, and I don't mind liberality, but . . . In short, I didn't like this book.

B. If you enjoy tear-jerkers and you like love stories, read The Time-Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I stayed-up literally all night reading this novel (another thing I love about summer, as so eloquently put by Slaughter, "up all night, sleep all day!" Of course, I think Slaughter was speaking of participating in activities other than reading.). At 5 a.m. right after I finished the book, Brad came in to our bedroom after he had finished making incredibly important trades in his baseball Xbox game (he also agrees with Slaughter). He saw me crying, and assuming that something horribly traumatic had happened, ran towards me, enveloped me in his arms and said, "What is wrong? It's O.K. Did I do something? What happened?" I was sobbing so hard that I could not talk; I could only mumble, "(intake of breath) Hhhhhhh (intake of breath) diiiiiiiiiiiiii (another long intake of breath)." Then I was so amused by the ridiculousness of the situation and the incredibly concerned and scared look on Brad's face that I began to laugh; however, when you laugh after you have been crying hard for an hour, it does not look like laughter. To Brad, it looked like his coming into the room only escalated my sadness. It took awhile before I could finally pull myself together enough to tell him that I was crying because of the book, not because of some horrible, awful event that he had missed while he was callously fictitiously making trades.

2. Thinking

Our preacher Jody Vickery's sermon a couple of Sunday's ago on worship has really channeled my thoughts about what I think being a Christian means. Most of my life, being a Christian has meant not doing the following things: drinking, dancing, using crude language, swimming with boys, revealing my navel, my upper thighs, or too much of my clavicle or upper back, wearing my clothing tight, having more than acquaintance with those outside "the brotherhood," missing Sunday night or Wednesday night church, allowing Christian lyrics to mingle with unholy instruments, associating with Democrats, wearing white shoes after labor day, speaking in church, speaking too loudly or brashly in any circumstance, smoking, watching PG-13 or R rated movies, watching _Golden Girls_, wearing "loud" jewelry or clothing, saying the word "pregnant" or discussing menstruation in "mixed" company, clapping or being too joyful or expressive during worship, watching Soap Operas, listening to rap or heavy metal music-- You get the picture.

As I have gotten older, I have begun to realize that some of these things might not have anything to do with Christianity. And I know that there are absolutes and that some of my "do nots" are probably absolutes,

But. . . When I realized that Jesus really did drink wine and his first miracle was to turn water to wine . . .When I went dancing for the first time and realized that it was fun and not "lude or lascivious". . . When I learned that most "cuss" words are considered "cuss" words so that we can as a society can easily judge class based on word choice. . . When I experienced a worship service with musical instruments and realized that maybe there are more ways to worship God than just using voices and maybe the verses I had been taught aren't as air-tight as they had been made to seem. . .When I began to read the passages about how women are to behave in the church and associate them with context. . .

Thus the post-modern dilemma. How do you find absolutes when your list of absolutes has been riddled with holes? Having a list of "do nots" makes everything so easy. It is easy to be right; it is easy to judge who is right and who is wrong; it is easy to feel safe. But. . . isn't Christianity more than just being right? Isn't it more than just being safe? And isn't Christ really anti-judgment? Should we ascribe to lists that allow us to easily categorize others? I don't think so. So I am analyzing my "do nots" this summer. I am also focusing on my "do's." What makes me a Christian? What makes me a church of Christ member? Is being a member of the c of C just about not worshipping with musical instruments, not allowing women prominent roles, not drinking, smoking, or voting Democrat, or is it something more? I sure hope it is something deeper. Deeper even than baptism and taking the Lord Supper every Sunday. What makes members of the c of C as a collective different, unique, special? If you take away the "do nots," what do we have? So, fans out in blogland, what is being a member of the c of C to you? How is it different/similar to being a Christian?


Well, there was going to be more, but this is where my writing landed.

Hi, I'm Jami Denton, and I am a work-aholic (can you be a work-aholic if you don't really do any work; you are just at work?)

School ended at 12:00 today. It is now 6:41 and I am still at school. I think I must be the weirdest human being in the world. I have spent precisely 4 hours in my classroom piddling. I did run my exams through the scan tron machine (the best invention ever!), record the exams in Faculty Access (the bane of my existence), and make labels for two of my fresh, newly organized notebooks, but other than those things (all of which combined probably took me an hour), I have done nothing. In fact, I think my room looks more messy and disorganized than when I began to organize and clean it 4 hours ago. How did I do this?

I know it is learned behavior. When I was little I would hang out in my mother's classroom while she piddled. My mother has probably spent over 80 hours a week at school or in a school related activity every school week of her adult life (and a lot of those I was with her, books and baby dolls in hand). I thought I would break the cycle; I would leave school at a decent hour, not take work home, etc. But here I am. Still at school and I have a bag full of work to take home. And do you know what the really sick, demented part is? I feel invigorated. I am not stressed. I would probably stay here hours more if I did not have responsibilities at home and if rapists and murderers would stop frequenting the apartment complex next door. Should I get some sort of help?