Makenna Pope's insights expose injustice and initiate change

How much of our lives do we live unexamined?

What do we take for granted?

What are we unwilling to question?

These were the questions that lingered with me after I watched Makenna Pope’s TED talk titled Want to be an activist? Start with your toys. This young woman is certainly remarkable! She saw in her brother a talent and passion for cooking. She saw a boy who enjoyed something and hoped he had an outlet to explore and develop that interest. But she also saw something in the world that would potentially hold him back. Something that would send a message out into the world clouding his and others’ perceptions about young boys who like to cook. A message that could squash them. Something that could extinguish his desire.

Watch the video below:


What I like most about this TED talk is how Makenna pushes her audience to change the world, to go out into it and actively work for change that needs to be made. Maybe it is as simple as wanting to change the packaging of a toy. Yet even something as simple as that can be monstrous to obtain. Like Makenna states, once you realize you can become an activist and argue for change, you are immediately faced with obstacles: people. She shares how discouraging people in the world can be. Disrespectful. Close-minded. Unsupportive. Downright cruel and vindictive.

Makenna advises us to breeze past the negative people out there with the simple phrase, "haters gonna hate." In doing this, she not only accomplishes the change she wishes to see happen, she, as a young person, has convinced the adult world to make a difference in the lives of young boys who enjoy to cook.

I think there is much we can take from this short talk. One, what do we teach our kids both explicitly and implicitly? Two, what gendered messages do we communicate to children? Three, how can we better listen to youth, and encourage them to explore and challenge the injustices they see in the world, no matter how big or small?

Finally, how can we take what we believe and turn it into a cause?

Moments of (random) connection

Today has been full of haphazard connections with random strangers.

It began with a late morning trip with Charlie to the vet. Charlie loved visiting his vet in Lincoln. I think the most difficult thing about moving to a new city is trying to discover all those places you frequented in your old city because of habit and comfort: your doctor's offices, dentist (mine is my father-in-law, so that one really hasn't changed), barber, or repair services. The list is endless. We establish relationships with those we frequent for the services and necessities of life.

Deb, my barber in Lincoln, is someone I have known since high school and college. When she answered the phone, all I had to say was, "Hi, Deb, it's Todd." She knew it was me and we scheduled my three week hair cut appointment, during which we caught up on what was happening in life. I shared buying my first house, graduating from college, teaching, surviving a car accident, getting married, getting a new job. Deb shared updates about the state of her garden, all the details of her sons' weddings and job changes, her husband's heart-attack. Both Deb and I were sad about my move to Omaha. She reminded me that I can still have my hair cut in Lincoln when I make trips to visit family and friends.

Maybe there is something wrong with me, but replacing Deb was hard. It was a necessity, and I didn't want to do it. Recently I have found a new barber in Omaha at a place called The Beard and Mane. Not only did I receive a great haircut, but I was greeted with a smile, a handshake, and was offered a beer or coffee while I waited. The Beard and Mane is my kind of place! But this blog post isn't about haircuts and finding a new barber or veterinarian. What I'm interested in are those connections we make as people. Oftentimes we have to work hard at establishing those connections, while other times they are the coincidences of life.

Back to this morning. Michelle took Charlie to his first vet appointment in Omaha and today was my first time taking him there. I wasn't so sure that I was going to enjoy this experience as much as I liked Wachel Pet Health Center in Lincoln. Charlie was just happy to be in the car with me. We were greeted with a smile by Karen at VCA Animal Medical Center of Omaha. Karen was verifying our information and then said that she lives in our neighborhood. I found out that Karen lives a block away from us. She asked where our house was and after I explained the location to her, she named our neighbors who we really like. We had a great conversation about where we like to walk our dogs. She can't wait for warmer weather to see everyone out with their kids and dogs. She shared that another young family recently moved into the neighborhood.

After the appointment, we told her that we looked forward to seeing her again, either outside in the spring or next time at the vet. It was a random connection, but one that seems to happen frequently with those who live in our neighborhood.

When Charlie and I got home, we stayed outside to clear the sidewalks of the light dusting of snow from earlier in the morning. As I was out front, a Nebraska Furniture Mart truck slowly turned the corner and drove by, stopping at our house next door. I kept my head down, taking care of the task ahead of me. I had an inkling that I should shout out a neighborly hello to the two delivery men who got out of the truck but I resisted. It have no idea why I decided not to say hi to these random strangers. It would have been a perfectly nice thing to do, especially since I felt something urging me to do so. And shame on me for not doing it.

One of the men at the back of the truck said, "Did you recently buy that house?"

"Yes we did," I replied, wondering about the nature of the question and where this conversation was headed, "Around the end of August."

"I knew the guy, Peter, who used to live there," said the Nebraska Furniture Mart man.

I smiled about the second random connection of the day. "It's a great house," I said. "We love it."

"It's a terrific house," said the Nebraska Furniture Mart man. "I helped Peter do a lot of work on it. The first time I met him, we installed that bathroom on the first floor. And then we became friends and did a lot of updates on it. I knew when I saw it go up for sale that it would sell fast."

"Well, I feel like the lucky one," I said as I returned to shoveling the snow.

I am feeling lucky and thankful about life. Maybe it is because of the two random encounters happening in such a short period of time from each another. Maybe I'm a little more sentimental and reflective this time of year, as the anniversary of my severe car accident is only days away. Maybe I'm turning into an old man (as another birthday is quickly approaching) who discovers too much meaning in the ordinary and just enjoys talking to anyone about anything. Or maybe I'm just experiencing an endless euphoric state of surprise that we stumbled upon such an amazing place to call home.

That rug smells new

Today we made our first substantial purchase, a crib, in preparation for our first child. While we were shopping, we also spent some time looking at area rugs. Choosing the rug was more of an ordeal than selecting the right bed for a baby. The first complication was that I'm not much of a shopper. I don't particularly enjoy being in stores, around crowds, with endless selection. I just can't stand searching through things to find what I want. The second complication was Michelle. Her decision-making skills are deliberate and elaborate, consisting of weighing extensive pros and cons. Promptness is rarely involved. Her one decision for the day was selecting the crib. Rug shopping put her over the edge, and she shut down quickly.

Luckily, as we walked away from the floor covering department giving up for the day, she stated there were rugs she could see in our bedroom. We turned back to the department, promptly picking a rug, which even seemed to surprise the salesman.

Back at home, Charlie was very excited to have new stuff. He was right alongside me the entire time I unpacked all the pieces of the crib from the box.

The real treat was when I unrolled the new rug upstairs in the bedroom.

Poor, unfortunate Charlie has been unable to find a comfortable space to lay on the floor. Having a home with wood floors has been quite rough for him.

Until now.

Immediately he rolled all over the rug to either gather up that new rug smell onto himself, or to make it smell like him. Regardless, he vigorously accomplished what he deemed necessary. Then, after sniffing, scratching, rolling, and pacing the entire area, he plopped down to lay contently.

It seems he approves of our decision.

Free dog

This morning started out ordinarily, in a similar way of my other mornings. I turned in bed, almost awake, Charlie sensing it was time to get up. I heard his paws hit the wood floor as he got out of his dog bed located on the floor next to the human bed. The metal license tag on his collar slightly jingled while he did the dog shake. Then the tap, tap, tap of paws rounded their way around the bed. Like he does every morning, Charlie put his front paws on the mattress and stretched up to greet me.

I looked at his large beady eyes right near my face. His tail was thumping loudly, swinging back and forth persistently, hitting the corner of the bedroom wall.

It was time to get up.

We walked out of the bedroom, me leading the way (as it should be in any owner-dog relationship, with the "master" being in charge). Charlie followed down the stairs and I let him outside into the backyard after glancing at the outdoor temperature of only 10 degrees Fahrenheit. I opened the blinds to the back window, seeing Charlie begin his morning ritual of smelling and inspecting the happenings from overnight. I went around and opened some of the other blinds in the living room and dinning room before refilling Charlie's water dish and then prepared the coffeemaker for my morning brew. I glanced out the back window. Charlie did his business and then went around the patio for more yard inspection. I knew he would take a little more time. Next he would go stand on the deck, hold his head high, smell the wind, then walk off the porch and around the side to the gate that leads to the front yard. Then he would be willing and ready to come in for some breakfast. He's a creature of habit.

I started the coffee and then gathered some breakfast for myself. I opened the back door. Charlie wasn't sitting there waiting, like usual. I looked out the back window. I thought he must still be over where I couldn't see him, sniffing. Instinctively, I had a bad feeling. But I convinced myself that all was fine. There are some mornings where he likes to take his time. I continued with my morning ritual of opening blinds, turning the spindle to the last window, the one in the kitchen.

Immediately, after seeing out the window, I remembered the conversation Michelle and I had the night before about the defective latch on the gate and how it occasionally swings open in the wind.  

You've got to be kidding me, I thought to myself, half annoyed with Charlie but also slightly delighted for him because what dog doesn't deserve to have a little freedom and excitement that a lack of boundaries provides. His little mind was probably bombarded with adrenaline to roam the neighborhood. My next thought was one of anxiety and fear for Charlie's safety (I'm not completely an irresponsible dog-owner). Our home is one house from a street with decent traffic.

Remembering the temperature, I put my coat on over my stylish pajamas, becoming more perturbed with the situation.

I walked out onto the deck, stepped down, and followed the sidewalk around the side of the deck to the defective gate.

"Charlie," I said, standing there. There wasn't any sign of him yet. I stepped a little more brazenly out of the backyard, stopping near the front of the house. I glanced at the neighborhood houses across the street, not able to really see in their windows, but glad that I couldn't easily discern bodies looking out, seeing me in my dapper attire.

Next, I began to scan the neighborhood for Charlie. I wasn't prepared to show myself to the world and hoped I wouldn't have to go inside to change and begin the search party.

Our dog was better than this. He will listen to me. I've trained him well. I'll let him know that I meant business this time.

I took a deep breath, pulling the cold air into my lungs: "CHARLIE!"

I screamed.

If Charlie was anywhere in a two to three block area, I know he heard my call. I waited, hopeful, still scanning for where he might be.

And then . . .

I think my hearing and sight captured the moment at the same time. Around the corner of the neighbor's house, on the sidewalk along the busy street, a flash of a brown and white Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in a dead sprint, head notched forward, tail down, and ears flowing in the wind, brought me a smile of amusement and relief.

That's my dog, I laughed to myself at his particularity to stay on paths like the sidewalk. Ordinary dogs would cut across the grass, through yards, disregarding human infrastructure. Not Charlie.

Without letting up, Charlie rounded the corner of the sidewalk turning onto our block, a twinkle in his eye, his legs pumping in unison. He kept his stride, running on the concrete, past the neighbor's house and continued along the front of our house. In a perfect pivot, he leapt up the steps and followed the sidewalk towards the front porch. I'm describing this all in slow motion, but in real time it happened in seconds. I thought he would slow down, since he was back home. Instead, Charlie's sprint continued, along the little curved concrete path around the side of the house, past me standing in flannel pants and a winter coat. He disappeared through the gate to the backyard.

I followed him and made sure that the gate latched behind me. There, a happy Charlie stood on the back deck next to the door of the house. I quietly, halfheartedly, let out a "bad dog" which didn't phase him at all, nor was it meant to. At that point it just seemed obligatory and it really didn't matter. I was glad he was back. He heard my yell and quickly came home.

Most importantly, he stayed on the sidewalk the entire time. And that is as far as I'm allowing my imagination to go, leaving me with the amusing memory of him safely running on the sidewalk back home, free from danger the entire time.

Postcards From No Man's Land

Postcards from No Man's Land by Aidan Chambers
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

When I grabbed this book to read I was frantically packing for a trip to Boston. I needed some reading material for the flight and, since I had recently moved, I couldn't find the charger to my Kindle. There were several titles already loaded on it that I was excited to read. Disappointed and frustrated, I snatched Postcards From No Man's Land by Aidan Chambers from my bookshelf, slightly glancing at the description on the back cover. It seemed like it would suffice.

Not paying attention while packing, I realized on the plane that the book was Young Adult Literature and the winner of the Carnegie Medal and the Michael Prinz Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature. Somehow this book made its way from the books I had purchased for my classroom that are now boxed up and in the basement to my "to read" shelf (yes I have one of those) in my halfway organized new office.

I admit, I don't mind Young Adult Literature from time to time, and in my former English teacher life I quite enjoyed using Young Adult titles in class. So I opened the book, and plunged into the story with hope that this would be a worthwhile backup to my non-charged and useless Kindle.

Immediately, I was blown away and captivated by the storyline. Jacob, the main character, travels to Amsterdam to track down family roots in a quest to honor the grandfather he never knew who died fighting World War II. Not only does Jacob learn about a surprising family secret, but he also falls in love with Amsterdam through a series of unplanned experiences, starting with an encounter with a pick-pocket which leaves him desperate and vulnerable in an unknown place. This vulnerability propels Jacob forward on an unexpected discovery of self.

Without spoiling the surprises of the novel, it is rich with complex characters and some mature situations. At moments the book kept me turning the pages, yet there were a few areas that were predictable. There are certainly some parallels to the novel The Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford where the main character discovers a rich family history from a war-time past. In both titles, through the family discovery, the character learns much about love, loss, and living.

View all my reviews

Home is where the dog is

While Charlie is obsessed with us, his humans, I am equally obsessed with him and his crazy personality. It would be great to find him a dog friend since he is incredibly attached to us. Whenever we take Charlie with us to visit other people who have dogs, he is incredibly happy. Obviously, part of that is due to the fact that dogs are pack animals. When we got Charlie, we plucked him from a cage with another dog from his litter. The first few days we dealt with him whining at night as we acclimated him to his new surroundings.

Since I haven't been regularly writing the blog, there is a backlog of many Charlie pictures in his new home; there are countless stories to go with these pictures. I need to share these stories and pictures, documenting our mutual obsessions.

Honestly, I think Charlie could live anywhere as long as we were there. We spent weeks painting almost every room in our new house before we moved in. This was a great idea because the place was vacant and prepping and painting were a breeze. I hate painting but recommend doing it this way rather than after moving. Charlie investigated every step of the painting process, presenting extra challenges at every moment. His constantly wagging tail is a long-haired hazard to wet drying paint. If I would have let him be with me, there would have been lovely streaks along the bottom portion of every wall. To protect the drying walls from the destruction of Charlie, I improvised by stacking up moving boxes in entryways and doorways to blockade him in. I found that a crockpot box was perfect for keeping him out of the bedroom, while allowing him to check-in on the progress.

One of my favorite traits about our new home are the original wood floors everywhere. Charlie is not much of a fan. He struggled adjusting to the fact that he had no traction when he wanted to run, or when he needed to stop quickly, leading him to dangerously slide into furniture or even walls. Eventually he was able to alter his technique and adjust accordingly. The other obstacle for him is our lack of rugs. Charlie definitely doesn't like sitting or laying on the hardwood floors. He is an ingenious dog, and made great use of painting drop clothes for naps in the sun.

While we are leisurely looking for floor rugs for certain rooms throughout the house, Charlie makes due with the one rug we have so far--the bathroom mat next to the shower. He will lay on it first thing in the morning. He utilizes it while we brush our teeth and get ready for bed in the evening. And, occasionally, when we spend extended periods of time upstairs folding clothes or doing some other chore, Charlie can be found there on the bathroom rug. The spot provides him multiple amenities: a soft spot to lay, the warmth of heated air coming out of the vent, and a place containing a view to watch his humans. 




In our first home, The Castle, we had a fenced in backyard. The problem was the backdoor didn't lead directly to the back yard. Charlie would have to walk out a few feet on the driveway and then enter the back yard gate, which we left open for him. He was decently good about walking on his own into the fenced yard. Although he was also good at sneaking out of the open gate when he was curious about what was happening in the rest of the neighborhood. This setup was occasionally problematic when he would chase squirrels or rabbits: it would create a great getaway for these poor small creatures, but Charlie would pursue them even sometimes crossing the street. I shamefully admit this made us poor dog parents and irresponsible pet owners. Our new home, Castle 2.0, has automatically made it less likely that the Dog Protective Services would take Charlie from us since the back door leads directly to the fenced in back yard. Charlie loves the staggered planks of the privacy fence as they allow him to watch people come and go. This same fence does an awesome job of keeping rabbits cordoned off, restricting escape. I've seen many rabbits sprinting for minutes around the yard as they stress-fully try (because Charlie is close behind) to locate how they found their way into the yard in the first place.

My other favorite feature of our new home are the large windows in every room, allowing in natural light and views of the outdoors. Charlie also takes advantage of this, and I've written about this before in another blog post. Charlie quickly learned which windows are the ones he must use to get views of his humans in the backyard or the garage as we leave to run errands or go to work. I've discovered that it is imperative to raise the blinds just enough so that Charlie can see out the window. If not, he will persist, finding a way to get his little head through to see what is happening. I realized this the hard way one day when I went out to shovel the snow while Michelle was not home. I came back inside the house to discover Charlie had destroyed (beyond repair) the upstairs blinds on the windows that overlooked the backyard. 

The joys of owning a home also come with those unwelcome surprise moments. We've already had several of those, but I knew that when we wanted Castle 2.0 to be an older house with character. I've put my do-it-yourself skills to use, unclogging a toilet on the first floor and replacing a broken garbage disposal in the kitchen. I'm secretly excited for other projects in the future, just as long as they happen on my timeline and when we can financially afford them. I know that is impossible to control, but I can sure try. As long as Charlie is right there with me, I'm confident we will survive it together.

Already obsessed

My dad enjoys writing. I try to add my own ideas and, generally, I'm pretty supportive when he has the laptop out. I've been wanting to do more than just sit next to him when he writes so I took matters into my own paws.

Recently, I've been very carefully watching his fingers to memorize key strokes and my determination paid off: I discerned his blog password.

I have exciting news to share with the blogging community and I hope that actual canines read this, not just humans. But humans are great. I love them. So humans should read too.

My parents are very good to me and I'm seriously obsessed with them. Several months ago they told me I'm going to have a human baby sister. Now I'm even more obsessed! I can't stop thinking about her. I'm thrilled about living with a little person. Small people are the coolest. But as a dog who does an impeccable job of protecting two fully-grown people I'm concerned what changes a little one might bring.

I hope I can sleep in her crib, curling up next to her to keep her warm.

I want to chase her around the house, just like how dad plays chase with me.

I hear that pregnant women are absent-minded. The other night glass cookware exploded all over the kitchen because my mom inadvertently had the incorrect burner turned up on high heat. It was scary. Accidents happen, but I hate how dad carried me to my kennel and wouldn't let me run on shattered glass to check and see if my mom was OK.

The little kids from the neighborhood came to our house and rang the doorbell on New Year's Day. I can't wait for little neighborhood kids to play with my sister. Kids everywhere! I will chase them. Chasing is fun.

My parents think they can teach me not to jump before little sister is born. I will jump all over her anyway. I will also lick her face, lay on her neck, and show her how much I can love her.

Gazing out the window

The end of 2013 I've focused almost the entirety of my energy and time at work. There has been little time for writing or reflection. I have had a few moments to relax and enjoy our new house and neighborhood. Castle 2.0 (what we call our new home) has presented us with many surprises and adjustments. I have come to realize that everything happening outside our doors and windows of our new home make life more meaningful than anything that takes place on the inside.

Charlie definitely agrees with this statement. He always loved the windows at our other house, but now our window ledges are at his level, and the all-glass storm doors allow him to monitor everything that happens without having to put forth much effort.

He appreciates, just as much as I do, the fact that everyone in our new neighborhood comes over to talk to us. They want us to have their phone numbers. Making our street a welcoming, connected place is important to them.

Our neighbors make our community feel like a truly special place.

I've always talked to the people who live around me, doing my best to get to know them. But I've recently been reminded how intentionally working to build relationships and community with one another is what fosters a great space for people to inhabit a better life.

When we were looking at purchasing Castle 2.0, one of the neighbors came over to tell us about this special street. He glowed about his love for his neighborhood, how he raised his kids here, and the fact that everyone in the neighborhood knows one another and does things together. He briefly explained to us that the street is closed down on the Fourth of July, and there is a neighborhood parade and fireworks. He told us we would grow to love our house if we decided to buy it.

We haven't experienced the July festivities yet, however other little events have begun to foster that love of which he spoke.

About a month after moving and becoming acclimated to our new surroundings, we were driving through the neighborhood on the way home. Some people like to decorate for Halloween, but I noticed that an awful lot of homes had outdoor decorations in their yards.

I said to Michelle, "I guess people around here really love Halloween."

We didn't think much of it, aside from that casual observation. Then I was stopped by our neighbor (the same one who told us about the Fourth of July) when I was mowing the front yard one weekend in October.

"Has anyone told you about Halloween yet?" he asked.

"No. Why?" I asked.

"Our neighborhood is a bit of a destination for trick or treating," he began to explain. There are a lot of kids in the neighborhood and we are a safe place for families, so people drive in from other neighborhoods. You should be prepared for 800 kids." He went on to explain that our street goes out of the way to decorate and that we should be prepared for all the activity at his house every year with extensive ghosts and goblins floating through the yard on a massive pulley system.

A week later, another neighbor made his way across the street asking me if anyone had warned me about Halloween yet. When I responded that I was told about the number of trick or treaters he said, "When we first moved here we didn't believe what we were told. I'm telling you, believe it. Be ready." Then we received the same warning from the woman who lives on the other side of us.

I didn't want to disappoint these 800 kids. So I went and purchased a few lights and did some modest decorating. I wasn't as modest in the way I hoarded candy at the store.

Charlie approved. So did the 735 trick-or-treaters.

And because work has consumed me since October, I've been unable to write about Halloween and all of the other exciting surprises Charlie has encountered with us in our new home. What reminded me to reflect my excitement and appreciation was the scene outside tonight. Apparently, every weekend before Christmas luminaries are lit.

This amazing sight captured my gaze as I finished shoveling snow. It's moments like these in life that make me thankful for everything that is right in the world amidst all the pessimism, negativity, tragedy, and daily carelessness and drudgery of humanity often surrounding us.

I guess my point is this: I'm reminded I need to be a little more like Charlie. I need to remember the importance of stopping, relaxing, and gazing out the window more often. Hopefully our new home and neighborhood will help me do just that.

For the love of popcorn (and accessible windows)

The greatest mistake a blogger can make is to not post regularly. Or, not post anything for months. Maybe I shouldn't call myself a blogger anymore? But I'm not willing to shed that identity yet.

Here's my excuse: moving to a new city, preparing a new house to make it a new home, and working diligently to open up a new store has completely encompassed every waking moment of my time.

A lot has happened (for Charlie) during this transition time.

A couple of nights ago, I made it home from work before Michelle. There have been patches of dead spots in our back yard, so I'm attempting to reseed the lawn. Charlie has not been allowed to come out in the back yard while I keep the ground damp  because he would love to get in the mud and roll around. I let Charlie out of his kennel and then went to water the yard. I was enjoying the peaceful moment, being alone. Then I heard a loud clanking noise. It was more like banging. I began to look around, trying to figure out the origination of the sound. It became louder, more intense. I couldn't figure it out. It sounded like wood panels, knocking against something in the wind...

But it wasn't windy.

And then it clicked in my mind.

We have wooden blinds in the living room.

And Charlie must keep track of his humans at all times.

I turned around and looked back at the window of the house. Sure enough, Charlie was working feverishly, desperately prying his nose in between the wooden blinds to watch me in the back yard. He just couldn't get his face in quite right, so he was shaking his head vigorously back and forth, rocking the blinds in every direction. He would pause for a moment, finding the perfect spot, and then crazily try to readjust again. He has always loved his perch in the front window at the old house because he could jump up on the couch and look out at everyone.

Some things never change.

The only difference in the new house is that the windows are accessible for him without having to jump up on furniture. If only the nice blinds didn't obscure his view.

Another thing that has remained the same is the mutual love Charlie and I have for popcorn. Charlie has become quite aggressive in his begging tactics. He will lay down patiently, next to me, often getting right up on my lap, putting his nose near the bowl.

Stay tuned for more stories (and pictures) showing how we are acclimating to our new home in Omaha, Nebraska.

The rawhide project

It all started on a Friday a couple of weeks ago. Early. Five o-clock in the morning to be exact. My alarm on my iPhone jolted me awake from a strange dream I vaguely remember. About as quick as the dream disappeared from my memory, so did the eery feeling that my alarm might have been going off longer than it should have. But when I glanced at the time, it certainly was exactly 5:00a.m. Strange.

Charlie was already up, pacing the room. Mornings get him excited. Well, pretty much anything can excite this dog.

After briefly walking off the odd dream that involved me withdrawing huge sums of money (which I didn't have) from my bank account, I passed through the living room and into the kitchen to make coffee. Charlie at my heels, he passed up the rawhide bone he had pretended to bury in the couch cushion the night before. It wasn't buried, really. Rather, it was delicately placed in the crevice where the cushion meets the backrest, waiting plainly for anyone to see. Charlie didn't seem to pay it any attention as we strolled past. Strange dog.

Michelle had given Charlie the rawhide days earlier. Most dogs presented with such goodness will immediately devour the thing or at least attempt to chew it apart. Not Charlie. He walked around with it. He pretended to bury it. He was not going to eat it.

Michelle, Charlie, and I were up earlier than usual that morning because I was taking Michelle to the airport. It always amazes me how Charlie can sense a different routine, a break in the normalcy of our lives. That morning I asked him to go into his kennel, knowing I would soon return from the trip north on Interstate 80 and back again. And while I told Charlie I would be back, he didn't believe a word I was saying.

When I did return home, we completed our morning routine together. But Charlie missed his mom. Charlie ate breakfast. He was looking for Michelle. I let him outside and he went to the bathroom while I took the garbage out to the curb and the neighbor dogs went insane barking at me the entire time. He still seemed to look at me, wondering what I did with Michelle.

Back inside the house, well, watch:



And then, he proceeded to eat the entire thing in under 15 minutes.

Maybe Charlie grew tired of "fake" hiding the rawhide and then "rediscovering" it exactly where he had left it. Or maybe he was so upset Michelle was gone that eating it was calming and safe. Or maybe he was embarrassed that I caught his weirdness on video. But maybe, the real truth is Charlie is just downright, plain crazy.

TEDxYouth@Lincoln

Tomorrow, at Lincoln High School, TEDxYouth@Lincoln: Unleash Brilliance is taking place from 10am to 3pm.

I can guarantee that this event will be memorable for both youth and adults. I was able to get a glimpse of a few of the opening acts and I have been working with some amazingly talented youth who will be giving wonderful talks.

If you can attend, you should.

If you can't attend in person, you can watch the event streaming live!

I'll be there and will try to tweet from the event. You can follow me @CharliesHuman.

Living the mindful way

Charlie and I woke up early this morning to the bright sun beaming into the house. Michelle's sister stayed over last night and the two of them are still sleeping. The house is peacefully silent. I briefly interrupted the quiet by grinding some coffee beans and then relaxed on the couch with my most loyal companion laying next to me. In this moment, I became fully aware of how quickly time seeps away when life gets hectic. And when life gets busy, I almost always deprive myself of what I love.

I enjoy writing (or blathering) on this blog. I surprised myself when I pulled up the page to see my last entry was seven weeks ago.

I love running and, sadly, it has probably been at least that many weeks since my last run.

I take pride in finding time for Charlie, playing fetch in the backyard, walking or running with him, and grooming him. Lately, I have forgotten about the importance of those moments, for both of us.

I am thankful for the relationships I have with family and friends. While I have thought about people lately, I have failed to reach out to some of them, call them, or spend time with them.

What I have been doing is practicing mindfulness. And since I have neglected some parts of life, I thought it might be appropriate to write how mindfulness can enrich life.

While I knew of mindfulness long before, I really began to think about it and apply it (to my life and my teaching) during a graduate class I was taking for my master's degree. Mindfulness is the art of paying attention, or really being attuned to the people and things around you. It requires a full seeing or observation to what we often miss or take for granted.

I think of it this way: when we are busy, constantly multi-tasking, and thinking about several different things while doing something else, we don't fully attend to what we are doing in the current moment. Instead, we should focus on the moment at hand, and only that moment. Living the mindful way opens up opportunities to see, think, react, and interact in a more fulfilling and engaged way.

Read what Eden Kozlowski says in Mindfulness and How it Helps Kids Excel.

I have been practicing mindfulness at home and work and it has opened up moments in establishing relationships with new people. It has helped me to see challenges more clearly and has given me better insight for how to interact with them. I have grown to embrace the process of progress, rather than stress and fret over the details along the way. I feel fresh and energetic when encountering the daily, often monotonous tasks of life and work.

Now I must refocus on those things I love. Have you considered being more mindful? What in life have you neglected lately?

Photos from a storm chaser

This is a short, six-minute, TED talk from Camille Seaman and it contains some awe-inspiring pictures of storms. That's all I have to say. You should watch this!

Three easy steps for grilling corn on the cob

I love to cook on the grill. Some of my expertise is just intuitive. The rest came from trial and error (what we call at our house "Todd experiments") and a great deal of online research.

I thought it might be useful to share some best practices, great ideas, and successful recipes about grilling.

Here are three easy steps for grilling corn on the cob:

1. Soak the corn on the cob, in its entirety with the husks, in cold water, for at least an hour.
   

• You can soak the corn longer. No harm done.
• I prefer to also place the corn in the refrigerator while soaking, although that isn't necessary.
  
  
2. Grill the corn.
   





• Because the husks have soaked up water it will help prevent them from catching on fire (a little flame can be expected).
• The outsides will darken and even blacken. That is OK.
• Slowly rotate the corn. You will know when, as each side turns from green to brown to black.
  
  
3. Remove the burnt outer husks, after the cob is mainly black and taken off the grill.
   


•  BE CAREFUL because the corn and husks will be extremely HOT to touch.
• I like to wear oven mitts or gloves to protect my hands.
• The first couple of black outer layers will easily peel away and the inner layers can be left on the cob to keep the corn warm until it is ready to eat.

This way to grill corn on the cob couldn't be easier and it yields great results every time. These three easy steps are essentially fool-proof and guaranteed by Charlie. Enjoy!

Out Stealing Horses

Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Out Stealing Horses is a novel with rich, beautiful descriptions that carry the reader through the memories of Trond Sander, an elderly man who leaves the city to live in a remote area. For some odd reason, I immediately connected with Trond, the narrator. His need for loneliness, reflection, nature, and the loyalty of his dog struck a chord with me. Maybe it was the fabulous flowing language and the precise time that was spent dwelling on just the right moments that carried me through his story. Or maybe it was the fact that growing old is both exciting and frightening. What kind of an old man will I be?

Trond tries to bury his lived life out in the wilderness, but he finds that his memories are a part of him, something he can never escape.

Moments of Trond's life are slowly revealed throughout the book. Out Stealing Horses sat on my bookshelf for years after I picked it up for the first time. I should have read it sooner.

View all my reviews

Beginning of summer shenanigans

The beginning of the summer season has brought with it some terrific storms. Luckily, we have not had to take shelter yet; the tornadoes, while close, haven't made their approach to Lincoln.

I'm anticipating this summer is going to be packed with a variety of exciting events and I keep talking with Charlie about what might be in store for him and us. Recently, he and I had been counting down the days for his grooming appointment that was scheduled for this morning. I think I was more excited than him. Matted, tangled hair under his ears and on his legs were growing into massive lumps. Last time this happened, we had to make an emergency vet visit, because Charlie was accidentally cut while trying to trim out the knots. As a result of that tragic event, we now leave the grooming to the professionals. Here is Charlie's "before" picture:

 
And this is his "after" picture:

Charlie takes one heck of a glamor shot. He could be a show dog if he wanted to be, however he wasted little time when we got home to roll around on the rug and mess up his perfectly new manicured coat.

It must have been a rough appointment because he slept on the kitchen floor all afternoon.

Recently, I have taken advantage of some quality time with my niece Katelyn. She and I discussed a variety of worldly events, from the deliciousness of hot dogs, to the varieties of colors on the spectrum, and planning our day together this coming Thursday.

I quickly found out that she is quite adept at using an iPhone and we began to take pictures to document our fun. First, I told her that we were going to take a serious picture:

Then, we took a happy, smiling picture:

When we were flipping through the pictures we took, Katelyn was very adamant about her dislike for the serious picture. She shook her head back and forth furiously every time it showed up on the screen. I'm determined to keep working with her, teaching her my ways of how to make faces right before the photo is snapped. I'm confident her distaste will turn to pleasure as she develops a more nuanced palate for all things Uncle Todd.

We just need a little more time together...

Spring moments

After a very long, cold, snowy, and rainy string of months, the weather finally feels like it belongs in the right season: spring.

Last year the drought of summer killed part of the yard, and Charlie trampled around on the straw-like grass tearing it up into dirt patches that later turned into mud over the winter.

I like to see everything slowly begin to green in the yard as life returns from dormancy, but the big barren spots from the extreme trauma have remained. I reseeded the back yard and have been diligently watering the mud patches, hoping for some germination.

And, then, one day, I got a whiff of lilacs.

Then the next day, the columbine bloomed.

And, soon, the bushes began to sprout color on the stems.

Charlie likes to "help" water the grass. His favorite part is chasing the end of the hose as I roll it back onto the reel. Being outside is his favorite even though it inflames his allergies, requiring us to give him two doses of Benadryl a day. He couldn't be happier in the sun.

Spring also brings the end of the school year, with books, assignments, checklists, and late-work strewn haphazardly on my desk.

  

The greatest spring moments are the brief pauses on the patio, in a chair, not thinking anything specific, not doing anything productive. Just breathing, watching nothing in particular. Existing in a moment of relaxation.

  

Michelle, who doesn't particularly like to be outdoors, even lingered for a moment. Of course, Charlie needed to be there too.

The real "data" behind teaching is often the stories which go untold

I left work this Friday, my mind obsessing over the day. Teaching tends to do that to me. It's something I just can't escape: the good and bad moments with adolescents certainly weigh on my emotions and thoughts long after the students leave after the last bell of the day. Eventually, after many years and countless students, those thoughts and feelings tend to dissipate, floating away into some mis-mashed meld of things recalled inaccurately or forgotten completely. However, there are the pristine, crystal moments, those that are so intensely memorable they become permanently ironed in my memory.

I must write this teaching moment from today. I have to share it on this blog, regardless if ten people read it, or 50, or hundreds, or even thousands (I doubt that will happen because my readership base is just not that high yet). But if just one non-teacher reads this, I think that will be progress. I feel more and more compelled to share my teaching stories.

Here's why: We teachers are not good at sharing our stories.

Of course we tell about our work to those whom are closest to us--our spouses, family members, close friends, and other teachers. They all get to hear glimpses of our daily positive and negative moments. But we clearly don't do a good enough job telling people outside of that immediate circle, the people whose notions of teaching and learning are strictly limited to only their own experience and perceptions of being a student in school. This is a problem because the immensity of our work as teachers goes misunderstood. Or it is misrepresented. Or it is diluted. Or simplified. Or judged. The narrative most politicians, the media, and some of the public at large espouse is highly negative towards teachers, public schools, and an entire system they simply don't understand. That statement is not meant to be a slam on anyone. You just can't understand the complexity of teaching unless you live it.

For all you readers out there who are teachers or have been teachers, you get what I'm saying. And I know this story will resonate with you because we all have stories similar to this one--the one I will remember from today, forever.

First, the background.

Amelia (I have given her a pseudonym) is in my reading intervention class so that she can build reading skills to meet certain standardized test requirements. She is very bright. But she has not yet passed this particular standardized exam. Amelia wears an ankle bracelet, has a tracker, and a probation officer. She is fiercely social, her face screams intensity almost always, and she is loud. Very loud. I like all of that about her. She is a force to be reckoned with and, most days, I look forward to seeing her.

Amelia is failing my class. She was failing three weeks ago. Her out-of-school life often interferes with her in-school life. So, three weeks ago, a situation with Amelia escalated in my classroom. I was trying to get her to do the work I was asking her and other students in class to do. She was being defiant. The situation unraveled quickly to the point where Amelia was screaming obscenities at me, storming out into the hallway. I stepped out of the classroom with her, where things got worse. I asked her to go to the main office, at which point she threw a book--the one she was supposed to be reading--at me as her final insolent act and she continued to scream profanity walking down the hallway.

Amelia, her principal, and myself met the following day to discuss the situation that transpired. For the sake of brevity, I will only share this one moment of that conversation.

"I feel like you're always picking on me," Amelia told me with piercing eyes.

"I understand why you feel that way," I responded. "I am kind of picking on you."

Amelia looked at me, kind of stunned at what I had just said.

I continued, "Amelia, you are probably the smartest and most capable person in my reading class, but you are not passing. It is my job to help you pass my class. That is what I get paid to do. I am going to continue to ask you not to do things when they interfere with your learning in class. So yes, I'm going to 'pick' on you because you have potential. And I care about you passing."

Flash-forward to yesterday. Amelia and her friend asked about my ethnicity. This topic of conversation seems very important to Amelia, as she is curious to know about her fellow classmates. I was surprised when she inquired about me because I'm clearly very white. During our conversation, I began to tell her that my ancestors are Czech, explaining that my heritage on both my mom and dad's side of the family can be traced back to Czechoslovakia. She was confused. She had questions about where I was "from". She wondered if my wife was white too, or Czech, or Mexican. It was an innocent, yet intriguing, interaction.

Then, today, I was in my classroom during my off period, grading papers. This time, it was my turn to be stunned. Someone was standing outside my classroom door.

"Mr. P?" It was Amelia.

"Hey, what's up?" I said.

"Um," she hesitated, "Do you know what it means to vent?"

I kind of laughed. I think she totally underestimates my vocabulary as an English and Reading teacher. Whatever.

"Sure," I said, "Venting means that you need to tell someone something. You need to complain. Something is bothering you and you want someone to just listen. You need to get something off of your chest."

"I need to vent," Amelia told me.

"OK. Come on in," I said.

I probably should have asked where she was supposed to be, inquiring what class she was skipping to come and talk to me. But I decided that wasn't important information in this moment, nor was it an appropriate question to ask Amelia immediately, since she needed to vent. She seemed serious, acting in a way she had never revealed to me before. Her same intensity was there, but it was different now. I saved my question for later.

Amelia began talking. "I just want to give up," she started.

After that phrase, I was compelled to close the cover of my laptop as a way to signal to her that she had my attention. I listened, asking leading questions to get her to tell me more. Amelia shared that she has "been in the system" since she was 11 years old because there was some physical abuse in the home. As she grew older, crime and other scenarios have kept her in the system. She sees a therapist every Monday. Her mom recently told her that she doesn't care about her anymore, doesn't want to have anything to do with her, and wants her to live somewhere else. Then, recently, some conflict unfolded between Amelia's boyfriend of a year-and-a-half. The boyfriend is Amelia's one supporter, the person she really trusts. Well, he dumped Amelia, and then some other complications transpired on Facebook. Amelia said she was working hard to get her grades up and pass her classes because there are only three weeks left of school before summer. However, today, during her first period, she was taking a test and she just couldn't concentrate. She said she kept reading the same question over and over again but couldn't understand it. Her problems just kept taking over her thoughts. She told me she didn't even want to come to school today.

Throughout our conversation, I reassured her. I told her that her experience on her test this morning was completely natural and that most people going through what she was going through would also have a hard time concentrating on school. I processed with her how she could talk to her first period teacher to see if she could have a second attempt on that test. I asked about her therapist. I told her I would get in touch with her school counselor. I asked if there were other adults she could trust. I reminded her that, while she feels alone and abandoned right now, she is not alone. I thanked her for coming to talk to me.

And, most importantly, I pleaded with Amelia to not give up, telling her life is rough.

I said, "We can't let the bad stuff get in the way of what is good. We have to keep fighting. Don't let this bad stuff right now take over and cause you to fail classes when there are only three weeks left of school. Because if that happens, you have to deal with more bad stuff."

Amelia nodded through teary eyes.

"Thanks, Mister," she said. She calls me "mister" more than she calls me Mr. P.

And then I asked what class she was supposed to be in and if that teacher knew she was coming to talk to me instead of going to class.

Students like Amelia may not pass a test in their first period class because life prevents them from being their best. Equally so, if they are required to take a high-stakes standardized test on a particular day when life gets in the way of learning, they will fail. And then the results of that failing standardized test is used as "data" to label Amelia as a "failure". Additionally, that same data on Amelia is used to label her school as a failure, or "needing improvement". And her teacher is labeled a failure too. And, then, public schools are failing.

The real "data" behind every score on a particular test on a particular day are the minutes, days, weeks, and months of interaction between Amelia and her teachers. Because one day Amelia is launching profanities and throwing a book at me, and then, many days later, she needs me to be her advocate. Amelia is absolutely, unequivocally NOT a failure.

Teachers, we must tell more of our stories that inform the data on public schools.

Spring cleaning

This weekend brought on some serious spring cleaning motivation for Michelle. The sun, decent temperatures, and nice breeze suggested a need for clear windows. She did all the work by wiping down both sides of the windows, soaking the screens in the shower, and getting all the dirt and grime out of the sills. I sort of assisted by taking apart and reassembling everything in each room.

Charlie also had an extra spring in his step with a break from the wet, cold weather. He and I spent some time in the backyard, as I brushed away layers and layers of winter coat hair, letting it all float away in the windy afternoon air.

Then, like all household tasks, Charlie needed to "help" with the window cleaning. He loved the fact that the window and screen was missing, allowing him to hang his head out and watch the neighborhood from his favorite perch, getting the best of both worlds, being both inside and out.

Michelle was a little worried that Charlie would see something he might want to chase, and jump out the window. I was more confident, thinking he knew the jump was too much for his little body.

But then I went on a quick run to do a few errands. As I backed the car down the driveway, Charlie was in his normal spot, watching me. At that moment, I was slightly worried that he might want to leap from inside the house and run after the car as I drove away. Normally the panes of glass are the only thing containing his excitement as we come and go. Now, he had an opportunity to do something even more loyal, chasing a car, like in a movie.

I looked back a couple of times and then kept the reflections of his head hanging out of the house in the review mirror in my peripheral vision, just in case he would do something dramatic. Thankfully he didn't. However, if he did this blog post would have been much more exciting and entertaining.

Our windows look fabulous now and everything is in order. For now. It won't be long before Charlie reinstates his marks on the window as he watches us from his precious spot, sending us off to work and longingly anticipating our return every day this week.

Loss

Today, I asked my students to consider the theme of loss. We have been reading the book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and have been viewing the movie Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close as a parallel text. In preparation for their writing assignment over the movie, I wanted students to write about how characters in the movie deal with loss.

Some sad events transpired today, causing me to personally reflect on loss in our lives. One of Charlie's canine friends, Ollie, is no longer with us. He was struck by a car this morning. His human parents are obviously devastated, doing the best they can to overcome incredible, shocking loss. And we are also very sad. Ollie was a terrific dog. We will all miss spending time with Ollie, but Charlie will especially miss the mischief he and Ollie enjoyed together. 

Loss leads to remembrance. Through remembering, we grow as people. Our memories become part of our existence. Ollie is, and always will be, a part of our existence.