White Water Rafting

It was a big priority on the boys' list of things to do on vacation: white water rafting. I had no problem agreeing to this, as we went rafting one other time several years ago. Last time, the boys were content with less excitement; we enjoyed a few small rapids with lots of calm water in between. This time around, they wanted more white in their water.

When we checked in at Raftmasters, and signed the necessary waivers, we were ushered to a little shack and handed wet suits and booties. We girls got them on much the same way we tackle a pair of pantihose. The guys did a bit more complaining as they don't regularly experience such tight clothing. The fact that Perry put his on backwards and had to repeat the struggle twice only made it better.

One life jacket and helmet later, we boarded the bus and were given a safety lesson on what to do if we fell in the river, if our raft flipped over, and other equally unappealing situations. Since the water was low, we would be encountering lots of rocks. Even though the river would be shallow enough to stand, the guide stressed that trying to walk in the rapids could prove fatal in the event that one's foot got stuck in the rocks. I didn't back out at that point, but I did pledge to myself not to leave the safety of the raft, no matter what rock or wave came my way.

Our family was divided into two boats, and our guides set us off in the river. Following his instructions closely, we would go "forward 2" or "back 1" according to the rocks and rapids he saw ahead of us.

My heart nearly stopped when we approached the first set of rapids and our guide called it a waterfall. I knew there was nothing I could do but ride along, so I shoved my feet even further into the crevices of the raft bottom and braced for the bumps.

The scenery was breathtaking along the river canyon with steep rocky cliffs and pine forests. I knew I could never get tired of looking at that, but I had important things to attend to, like worrying our raft's passengers around the clusters of jagged rocks and unseen drop-offs.

I survived that patch of rapids, and all the others of course. We maneuvered through several Class 4 rapids and didn't flip the raft, get stuck on a rock, or lose a single rider over the side. After we arrived back at our starting point, we were allowed to pour the river water out of our booties and strip off our wet suits. My body smelled like a combination of stinky feet and the dirty football uniforms I used to wash. I assumed that indicated I'd really accomplished something that day.

My son Sam pointed out a women in the lobby who had just confessed to going shopping while the rest of her family went rafting. She didn't have helmet-head and I'm sure she didn't smell bad, but according to my son, I one-upped that other mom today.

:)

Graduation

I can't believe I almost considered skipping the graduation ceremony. The cost of purchasing regalia seemed unnecessary and this practical gal figured it was unnecessary. Then I thought about the non-traditional nature of my graduate program: attending classes on weekends in a strip mall in Des Moines and having virtually no contact with the bricks-and-mortar institution where I was enrolled. At last, I decided to fill out the paperwork and go through the traditional ceremony.

When graduation day arrived at the end of a busy proseminar week, I felt a tremendous sense of anticipation and excitement. My classmates and I helped each other into our gowns, solved the mystery of how to put on our master's hoods, and adjusted our caps properly. I checked my cell phone several times in anticipation of my family's arrival. They were making the four-hour drive that morning in time for the commencement.

As the graduating class lined up to process, I spotted my parents, husband and sons approaching me. After years of attending and celebrating my children's events, it felt so special to have a day marking something I had accomplished.

The Viterbo faculty seemed to celebrate along with us. They were so intentional about displaying hospitality as part of the Fransiscan values of the university. I felt a new sense of appreciation for this small university I had chosen. The emotions bubbled up inside me and flowed down my cheeks throughout the commencement. It was so unlike me to cry; usually at sentimental occasions I have the only dry eyes in the place. When tears come like this, they totally catch me off guard. I was armed with only half a kleenex for clean-up.

When I climbed the stairs to the stage and received my diploma, there were several people with which to shake hands. One of them was a tiny little nun from the Viterbo convent. I choked up again when she called me by name as she took my hand. I marveled at the way she must have been listening closely to each name and tracking the graduates as they walked across the stage. She is just one of several sisters who keep a 24 hour prayer vigil in the university's chapel. One of our instructors told us that the sisters pray for us throughout our academic program, and that act of service and faith touched me.

While the speakers addressed the graduates, I mentally reviewed the past year: summer days spent at class, driving back and forth to Des Moines, nights and weekends spent writing papers, crunching numbers for my research, and neglecting my house and my family. I remembered all the Monday mornings I arrived at school, unprepared for the week of teaching because my weekend was spent studying. I could tell the faculty members truly understood what we had gone through as mothers, wives and teachers, trying to work full time, manage our family's needs and complete our graduate work. The auditorium was filled with hundreds of family members who were there to cheer for their daughters, wives and mothers.

The faculty exited first and formed an aisle for the graduates to walk through. They clapped and cheered for us during the recessional. Pride swelled through me again and I considered the meaning of "commencement": the end of one thing, but the beginning of a whole new chapter of life as a master teacher.

The Zip Line

Being a mother of three boys, I know that our vacations are made up of different kinds of activities than other families. My kids' idea of a great vacation involves lots of activity and chasing thrills whenever possible. While we planned our Colorado vacation, I heard them discussing all the adventurous outdoor possibilities and wondered what I'd be in for.

Their first selection? Going on a zip line.

I know I could have made an excuse and stayed back at the cabin with a good book, but with my two oldest sons in college, I know family vacations like this could be getting rare. Opportunities for bonding could be few and far between, so I put on my most confident smile and assured the boys that I was up for the challenge.

We arrived at the rocky canyon and checked in, which involved signing insurance waivers and leaving all objects of value in the car. The guides walked us to the tower area and as I looked skyward to where I was about to stand, my breakfast rose in my throat. Did I really say I would do this?

Our first step was getting outfitted in diaper-like harnesses that cinched awkwardly around the hips. When the guide tightened mine, it revealed bumps and bulges that I normally work very hard to disguise. I realized with a sigh that this apparatus was designed not to minimize saddlebags, but to save my life as I flew through the air over a rocky river, so I grew a bit more fond of the get-up.

We got a safety lesson and received our helmets and gloves. At that point I looked like a trainee for the power company or a logger's apprentice. But as we began our climb to the top, I forgot all about my appearance and concentrated on making my wobbly knees propel me up the steps while not wetting my pants.

At the top of the platform, the guides began strapping people to the overhead cables. Well, it was more involved than that. I know there were pulleys and clips involved. What I do remember clearly is they seemed to begin with the most reluctant participant...me.

They pulled me up onto a wooden box (don't executioners use those?) and I heard echoes of familiar voices behind me saying, "Go mom!" All I could see was open air below me when the guide said, "Ok, go ahead." (Are you kidding me?) There is something in a person's instinct that prevents one from jumping off high platforms into the open air, regardless of cables strapped to their body, but somehow I got myself to jump off and go.

I must admit, the ride was amazing; I made it to the opposite side, and the guides unhooked me so I could climb to the other tower and ride back across. The second zip-trip was less scary. The guides probably only had to push me a little to get me off the platform.

I must say I'm glad I did this. I'm also glad someone was taking pictures of us as we flew across the river. Many friends and family members won't believe it unless they see for themselves. The pictures may also be valuable when I start school with a fifth grade class next month. I'm hoping this will move me up slightly on the coolness scale with my students.

Flashbacks to Freshman Year

28 years ago, I was a freshman at the University of Iowa. I figured with years of adulthood, working as a teacher, managing a household, and raising children, living on the Viterbo campus and finding my way around wouldn't be too big of a challenge. Surprisingly, many things gave me flashbacks to the frustrations of freshman year.

Not having a car on campus brought a few challenges. The first night, my roommate Holly and I wandered several blocks off campus, hoping to catch a glimpse of a restaurant where we could stop to eat. Feeling disoriented in a new town is much simpler when you're in a car. At least at Iowa, we had the cambus to ride.

Packing a book bag to haul around campus for the day and anticipating what papers & books will be needed was a frustrating guessing game. The result? Lots of hurried trips back to the dorm to retrieve something I forgot.

Trying to locate buildings and classrooms by a 3 letter code caused frustrated wandering at times, even on a small campus. Finding the bathroom or the elevator without back-tracking or having to ask for directions felt like an accomplishment. It took most of the week to orient myself to the cafeteria, the campus layout, as well as other essential things like pop machines and campus printers.

This experience will give me empathy for my students attending school in a new bigger building this fall. I will be able to quickly recognize the looks of bewildered disorientation so I can help them open a locker or find the bathroom.

After all, I've recently been in their shoes.

Lucy and Ethel Go Back to Campus

It's Proseminar week for my graduate program at Viterbo, which is the last week leading up to graduation. My friend Holly and I are in La Crosse, staying in the dorms and re-experiencing the angst of freshman year on a new campus.

Just getting moved into our dorm room was an adventure. We tried to pack light, but that didn't work out too well. I brought a suitcase that was bigger than me, along with a shopping bag full of necessary appliances that would get me through the week (coffee pot, reading light, fan, etc.) Holly had a smaller suitcase, but drug an enormous box with her desktop computer in it as we struggled in and out of doorways and elevators.

This is a nice dorm, but it has more doors and locks than I've ever experienced. At check in, we received a blank credit card-looking thing along with a room key on a lanyard to wear around our neck. It seemed handy enough until we approached the first door and I looked for a place to swipe my card. Holly and I studied the front and back of the card, then examined the box on the door, not sure how to proceed. It was purely by accident that I held the card in front of the box and the little red light turned to green. Coincidentally, the door unlocked at that very second :) and we had cleared our first hurdle.

Struggling in and out of the elevator with our bags, boxes and bundles, we encountered more sets of doors to unlock. I had cleverly hung my key lanyard around my neck so I felt very collegiate and most prepared to step ahead to unlock the door. It unlocked and opened without a hitch, but getting the key out of the lock while I struggled against the noose around my neck left us helpless with laughter.

Weak from the giggling struggle, we finally collapsed in our dorm room and set up for a week at college.

Long Time, No See!

Yes, it's been a long time since I have posted anything. I have been up to my eyeballs in reflecting and writing for my graduate classes, so the idea of more reflecting for blog posts felt like a chore. Now that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I am graduating with my masters degree, it's time to return to occasional blogging to give you a glimpse of the ups and downs in my crazy life.