Ben's Bells, Ralph Stanley, and The Littles

They don't like being referred to that way, the elementary school cohort in Amster's life. True individuals, they require different pieces of my attention.  Always have, always will, I imagine. That's what makes it interesting.

Because of a difference of opinion over child care, my presence was required on Thursday afternoon.  Somehow, life knows when to send me the means to soothe my soul. I was in need, and The Littles were there to help.

Off the bus and into The Schnozz, Kindle taken out and promptly put away as I declared my car an electronics free zone. No, not even just on the ride.  I kept to myself the fact that some of the most interesting conversations I've ever had have occurred just on the ride.

Train switches and round-abouts, bicycle riding and banjos and being the elder sibling, a little bit of teasing and tickling and a whole lot of laughing and we were in the parking lot.... because none of us had any quarters for the open meters surrounding our destination. The Littles help me figure out the Pay Here Machine, Miss Texas ran back to put the ticket on the dashboard, and, after a brief discussion about the difference between the visor and the dashboard, we were on our way.

The last time I brought them, I couldn't keep up.  On Thursday, we all tumbled in together.... noting the restroom on the way.

It's a beautiful, open, courtyard in the middle of downtown Tucson, where the temperatures were in the upper 60's and the sun was playing hide-and-seek between the clouds. The kids carted the supplies to the table

and started painting like old hands.

There was no poking or teasing.

There was serious concentration

and an eagerness to share  

the more interesting of the fired pieces we were able to decorate.

There's something about the atmosphere that brings out the best in everyone.

They were amazed that the activity came with no fee.

We're doing a good deed by making these beads.

The notion was a big one for little heads.

There was silence, and random nodding, and then, accompanying Ralph Stanley on his Pandora Radio station playing softly on my phone, were Messers 8 and 10, crooning that they, too, would Fly Away, oh Lordy

It was a moment, denizens.  

All the pieces of my life were coming together.

There was nothing to do but smile.

At ten minutes to closing, we cleaned up

and rinsed off

and admired our work. 

Do you see the smiley face?

We made a donation, 

I hugged Ben's mom, who was working but still had the time to applaud my BE KIND Ben's Bells' logo'd t-shirt,

we bought some Kindness Coins and a BE KIND hand and took a decal or two 

and I dropped them off at Amster's office, full of stories and Mom, listen as she and I smiled and hugged.

Life is good.

Doing good makes it even better.

Doing good with little ones..... for me, that's the very best of all.

Kindness Day

There never was such a thing at Oceanside Junior High School.

It was never considered.

We bullied and were bullied and no one noticed.

We lost family members and friends and there was no public outpouring of love or concern.

We were there to learn the facts and figures the teachers had to offer.

Our emotional lives were secondary.

That's not the case these days.

Schools are rising to the occasion, teasing out feelings and offering opportunities to share in public.

Sometimes the activities are event specific, responding to a current horror.

Sometimes the activities are more general, touching deeper pieces with a lighter touch.

The day before Thanksgiving Break was just such an activity.

Amphi Middle Schoolers spent the day moving from classroom to classroom with their homeroom advisories, writing letters to servicemen, creating Beads of Courage bracelets, sculpting beads from clay, and painting Ben's Bells flowers.

As always, the principal invited me to share the joy.

As always, I left with a full heart.

Look at all the fun we had.

Ms. Taylor, wearing her AMS t-shirt, gave the instructions to a smiling crowd.

Classrooms haven't changed that much since I was 13.

This looks just like the science room I remember from OJHS.

 The unglazed bisqueware flowers were ready .

Ms. Taylor explained the three coat process. 

Choose your color.

Apply a thin coat on all surfaces.

Wait.

Apply a second coat.

 Wait.

Apply a third coat.

Wait.

Once it's all dry, decorations can be added.

The paintbrushes had seen better days (notice the upward tilt on this one)

but the artists didn't seem to care.

 The big boys weren't too proud to paint, either.

 although I had to be surreptitious in my photography.

 Giggling was the order of the day, because painting Kindness Flowers is a happy chore.

 The teachers got into the spirit of the event, 

supervised by a vigilant student to insure that all the surfaces were covered.

This tutu stopped me in my tracks.

I want one.

When they were all done, the sticks were set in styrofoam blocks to dry.

 By the end of the morning, we had a table full of love.

 It was an amazing sight.

 Through it all, I shared the mess and the clean up and the story telling.

Who was I?

I was there?

That day?

With Christina?

 The sixth graders are as old as she would be today.

One of them shares her birthday; she told me that she loved C-T all the more because of that.

Another was a classmate of hers in elementary school, before she moved to be closer to AMS.

Another was on the way to the grocery store when the police directed his father away from the scene.

One lost her Uncle Chuy two weeks ago; the pain was still raw.

Sharing CTG's father's maxim -  Christina does not want you to be sad all the time - put a big smile on her face.  Her Uncle Chuy was always laughing, always cheering her up, she'd take that maxim and make it her own.

One lost his younger brother to gunfire in Chicago. His younger brother.... several years ago.... and he's only in middle school now.  So much rage and fury and thoughts of revenge for the unknown shooter, and he knew I knew just what he meant.  That young man looked at me with eyes that saw into my soul. We had both experienced the loss of one taken too soon, by inexplicable violence, with no rhyme or reason, leaving us behind to bear the burden.  His fists clenched and unclenched as he shared his story.  

I didn't suggest moving forward or forgiveness.  I didn't suggest anything at all. I listened and nodded and we kept on painting, wiping the feelings into the bisqueware, soaking them into the clay, turning our sorrow into a small medallion of hope and smiles and kindness shared.

It's a small gesture, a tiny step, but it helps .... a lot.

We cannot bring them back.

We can share the love they felt.

That's all there is.

Last Wednesday, it was enough.

Amster's House

Amster makes a house a home.

Her door is always open, albeit sometimes blockaded by a fort or a hobbit hole.

If there's a way to bring all the pieces of her life together at one time, she makes it happen.

Sunday, she brought Ben's Bells to the Foothills.

 It was an eclectic crowd.

Miss Texas had her mom and her friends, Mr. 7 had his BFF,  Elizibeth wondered where her Princess might be, and I caught up with Amster's old neighbors.

G'ma and I stopped at Subway, so we didn't need the pizza or dip or chips.
Nothing gets between my mother and a cookie, though, and she was delighted to "wash it down with a Sprite, thank you.".
In the moment, when dealing with conventions, my mom is present. She's snarky and engaged and I remember why I wanted her to come to live here in the first place.
Amster's house has that effect on people.
Look at all those smiles.

.Everyone was involved in every conversation, in every creation, in every request.
When a plaintive "But, MOM, I really want...."

was met by my Mick Jagger imitation,
Miss Texas and Mr. 7 chimed right in.
"You can't always get what you wa-ant.." never sounded sweeter.
There wasn't an ounce of hostility; there were smiles and gentle nods and the work went on.

With mom by her side,

 with sisterly supervision,

 but most of all,

 with concentration.

There were tools to be used,

but mostly, there were fingers.

Every few minutes, G'ma would wonder aloud, while laughing at herself.
"What am I doing?"
After the second time, the kids took over the replies.
"We're making beads." 
"I am?"
"You are."

She was.

Over and over again is a lot easier when there are others to share the pain laughter.

After two hours, we were done.
The trays were full of our creations

waiting to dry.

Surrounded by family and friends on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
I wish you could have joined us, denizens.
As Amster says, the more, the merrier.