Oklahoma City Bombing Memory and Moment of Pause

I was working with a colleague of mine administering the “Iowa Tests” to seventh graders at Oklahoma Christian Schools.  We had already completed our short devotion, read the daily announcements, turned in the lunch counts and absences and briefed the students on instructions for their exams.  I hated Iowa Tests; to this day I tend to be a conscientious objector to the whole process.  However, my co-teacher Tammy was one of the “radical” teachers at OCS and if there was anyone to be stuck with all day long, coaxing our students through the never-ending task of coloring in circles, it was her.

I was strolling from the front of the class to the back, observing 24 heads bent down tediously over their papers as I passed when a rolling thunder-like roar filled my ears.  The ceiling tiles were lifting about six-inches from their positions as the shock wave passed, much like you might observe a crowd at any football game do “the wave.”  I immediately turned and caught Tammy’s eyes.  “Students,” I said, “please remain in your seats, close your tests, and pass them forward in order,” I said trying to keep my voice calm.  We had been experiencing a long-term construction process on the campus grounds and I assumed one of the Bobcats had hit a gas line.  The result from any explosion wasn’t going to be good.  I began to feel shaky.  I couldn’t imagine what my students were feeling at that moment.

Tammy and I conferred.  She would go check on the situation while I stayed with the students.  I opened the back door to visually check the construction zone while the students buzzed in speculation behind me.  All clear.  In fact, there weren’t any construction workers on the grounds at all.  The equipment was parked.  Could it have been a low-flying plane? Continue reading Oklahoma City Bombing Memory and Moment of Pause

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My Little Victory Garden, Entry Nine: Gimme a Little Quiche!

One of my favorite Spring sights: Our Japanese Maple unfolding all its beautiful leaves to receive the sun's rays.

When I started these posts, I was a little worried about having enough content.  After my first two or three entries, however, I now struggle with CUTTING enough content to avoid overwhelming our reading friends with too much information!  This week was certainly another struggle.  Included in today’s post will be information about the bargain eggs at St. Francis of the Woods on Highway 33, the opening of the Edmond Farmer’s Market and some treasures I found there, a beautiful olive oil, tea and vinegar shop in Edmond, broccoli and why it bolts, and…101 ways to cook with spinach.  Okay, I’m joking about the spinach – I’m just sharing one way.  If I were going to write a book on 101 ways of anything right now, it would be, “101 ways to pack 12 gallons of cleaned lettuce in your refrigerator.”  We’ll get to that.  But first, my journey to St. Francis of the Woods… Continue reading My Little Victory Garden, Entry Nine: Gimme a Little Quiche!

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All Quiet on the Western Front

A few days ago, I recieved a message from one of our fourteen contributors: “Hey Kelly, I’m helping someone write a book and I have ten special letters to write for a ceremony over the next two weeks.”

Then two days later from another contributor: “This is such a busy time of the year.  I think I’ll need to write ahead so I can take a break over the next few weeks.”

Then, another writer: “Hey Kelly, ___ is filling in for me because we have to leave for Dallas at 4 in the morning.”

All these quotes are paraphrased, but I think you get the picture.  Collectively, our team was experiencing more stress than usual, they have been turning out posts (some of them) for almost nine months.  Two of them have written more than 30.  We won’t talk about my numbers.  I was feeling it too.  The last two weeks in Spring simultaneously represent final homework to submit on my part, final grading, finishing preparations for summer interns, guiding the completion of those who served in the Spring, the final weeks of legislative session, etc.  “Et Cetera, Et Cetera, Et Cetera!” Continue reading All Quiet on the Western Front

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Silent Sunday: The Work of Joy Franklin

About twice each week I check on “Expedition OK,” Joy Franklin’s photography blog.  These past few weeks have provided us with photos of her kitty, four-wheeling’, a Rattlesnake Festival, and much more.  Two of my favorites were the University of Science and Arts “Droverstock” festival and some quiet moments looking over love letters written by her grandparents.  Here is just a taste of that work.  See the bottom of this post for more information about Joy, her blog, and how to follow her on Twitter. Have a great Silent Sunday ~ [kelly]

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. ~Pablo Picasso

 

Continue reading Silent Sunday: The Work of Joy Franklin

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Barbershop Theology, Part Five: Down on Their Luck

I was sitting in a waiting chair as my dad whisked his barber clippers in short motions at the back of his customer’s neck. Another Saturday in the barbershop, a lazy afternoon of casual greetings, conversations about the weather . . .  I was probably reading a Richie Rich comic book.

The scene is quite clear to me because it was the second such experience of the summer. As the barber shop shoe shine boy I was privy to this man’s world of adult conversations and a wide variety of news and opinions.  This day the door opened, banged back and then opened for a gentleman who as pushing it with a crutch. I’m sure I stared.

He pulled himself into the barbershop and with clarity of speech and standing erect to muster some dignity he declared himself a beggar and would be most appreciative it anyone could help a fella who was ‘down on his luck.’  I stared because the man only had one leg and one arm. The lines etched into his face suggested that life had been hard for him. Very hard.

I’ll never forget my dad’s two questions. First, dad asked him how he had lost his arm and leg.  Without hesitating the fellow said that he had been trying to jump a train and he had ‘miscalculated’ the jump. Bad luck seemed to be the theme of his life, or at least that was his perception and he even conveyed a resigned attitude about it.

Then my dad asked, “Do you drink?” (My dad could cut to the chase like that.) Continue reading Barbershop Theology, Part Five: Down on Their Luck

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.