Ringing Like a Bell

So, I've gone crazy over The World Needs More Love Letters . I know I already told you about it, but I just can't help myself. I have to give you an update. Today was the last day before my students' spring break. I wanted to send them off on a good note, so I introduced them to the concept and gave them the "homework" to hide love letters of their own over the vacation. I really do love my students; I want them to come away from my class with real skills that will help them out in real life, but also want them to come away from my class with the understanding that I genuinely do care about them, that they matter, and that I'm here for them, cheering them on. Let's face it, all of us need to know we have somebody in our corner, even if that somebody is a geeky language arts teacher or a total stranger. I guess that's why I love the idea of anonymous love letters so much. Recently, I've lost some of my former students to suicide. I don't r...

This weekend I was standing in line at Wal-Mart, which turned into about a twenty minute wait. Something about the lack of a tag on a bag the lady two people in front of me wanted to buy took forever. I know -- you're trying to figure out what level of Dante's Inferno that belongs in. I'm not sure either. Anyway, while I was standing there, I picked up one of the little, impulse-buy publications near the register and cracked it open. The page fell right to this article about the woman who started a movement (and website) called The World Needs More Love Letters . You need to check it out; it's not what you think. One day the woman was riding the subway when she noticed another woman who looked like she was having a really bad day. On impulse, she got some paper and a pen out of her purse and started to write the woman an anonymous letter. In the letter she encouraged the woman and told her how special she was to the world. After she'd written it, she felt so much...

I have a good memory for faces but not always for names. My husband teases me unmercifully about it. He wobbles his head around in imitation of me and says, "He looks familiar!" It all started one night when a new episode of Cops was coming on. During the brief intro clip montage, I saw the face of a guy from my hometown. I perked right up and said, "Hey! I know that guy!" Sure enough, near the end of the episode, there he was being arrested during Mardi Gras. It happens all the time. Sometimes we'll be out somewhere in public, at a restaurant or a store. I'll turn to my husband and say, "I think I know that guy -- He looks so familiar to me." Then the waiter or clerk will say, "Hey! Remember me? You taught me five years ago!" My husband just shakes his head and says, "I swear. We can't go anywhere." It is a small world after all. Sometimes I'm sure he thinks I'm making it up, but I do really recognize peop...

A few hours ago, I found myself outdoors enjoying this amazingly beautiful day. There's something special about the first few days of spring after the cold quiet of winter days. Suddenly birds can be heard, and the sun is warm. Walking with Bailey in the backyard, I started thinking about all the wonderful things I've known and experienced in this life. The pungent scent of pine needles warmed by the sun struck my nose, reminding me of the stillness I used to feel in the forest as a little girl. How many sunny days have I enjoyed? How many times have I smelled the first sweet perfume of flowers on the wind? More than I can count. I know sometimes I overlook the small things, which are the very things that make living so meaningful. I've been attempting to focus more on these small joys: the taste of food, the sounds of music, the stunning beauty of the sky. In the same way, I've been focusing more on relationship. I enjoy people so much. I love being with others, es...

Part I A week ago we had a "Bell" style family disaster. Bailey puked. First, let me say that it was really late on a Friday night, which is the lowest point of my week, and we also just finished doing our taxes. I was exhausted, to put it mildly. I'm the sort of person who progresses through a few stages of tiredness. First, I get quiet. Then, I get grumpy. If I make it out of the bad tempered stage, I finally make it to the everything no matter how serious or stupid is riotously hilarious stage. That's how tired I was last Friday night. "I'm going to bed," I announced. It wasn't a question or even a comment; it was a public service announcement thrown out by me to my husband and our dog. About that time, my husband was letting our dog inside to sleep on her decade-old subzero sleeping bag. She refuses to sleep on anything else. He gave it to her when she was a puppy, and despite the purchase of doggy beds in every imaginable color, si...