final exam

Well, at least for this semester. That's right, folks, one to go, and I'll have [hopefully successfully] completed my first semester of graduate school. Problem is, this one's kind of a doozy.

Our school-age (language disorders) professor expects us to differentiate between the ten different language disorders we've covered in class, indicate the specific deficit areas (there are about five or six per disorder), decide which assessment tools we would like to use, and formulate a lesson plan for intervention, given "a few sentences" about the child. Phew!

There are ten case studies. So basically, we're supposed to do a full day's worth of diagnostics and planning in 2.5 hours or less. I am not what you would call prepared for this. So I'm implementing an intervention plan for myself to help me learn and be more comfortable manipulating the material. I've got my index cards and an assortment of markers at the ready, and I'm going to look through my old lesson plans (that I wrote for this class) for an idea on how to remediate myself.

For those of you that this means virtually nothing to, I am going to pretend that I am a child with a language disorder and teach myself the material for my test using a lesson plan that I wrote for an 8-year-old.

I'll probably go with a hybrid of word finding and information processing disorders.

oh hey boone winter!

Winter came to Boone this week. It's cold and rainy and as I was walking from my car to class this morning I found myself thinking, "Help me, coffee! Help me, wool coat! Help me, mittens from target (which I happen to keep in my glove box)!" in a Ricky Bobby-esque fashion. This, of course, made me laugh - out loud. Fortunately there weren't any people around me to judge me as certifiably insane (or think I was crying and attempt to offer their condolences...?).

The good news is that the laughter actually "helped me" more than the coffee, coat, or mittens. It warmed me as I thought about how dumb the selection ballet flats was for a day such as this. Even as the freezing water seeped through to my toes, I continued to laugh.

Maybe I am crazy.

best christmas song ever

The Horse's hay beneath His head
our Lord was born to a manger bed,
that all whose wells run dry
could drink of His supply.

To keep Him warm the Sheep drew near,
so grateful for His coming here:
You come with news of grace,
come to take my place!

The Donkey whispered in His ear: Child, in thirty-some-odd years, You'll ride someone who looks like me (untriumphantly).

While the Cardinals warbled a joyful song:
He'll make right what man made wrong,
bringing low the hills,
that the valleys might be filled!

Then Child, asked the birds,
well, aren't they lovely words we sing?
The tiny Baby lay there without saying anything.

At a distance stood a mangy Goat
with a crooked teeth and a matted coat,
weary eyes and worn,
chipped & twisted horns.
Thinking: Maybe I'll make friends some day
with the Cows in the pens and the Rambouillet,
but for now I'll keep away -
I got nothin' smart to say.

But there's a sign on the barn in the Cabbagetown:
WHEN THE RAIN PICKS UP AND THE SUN GOES DOWN,
SINNERS, COME INSIDE!
WITH NO MONEY, COME AND BUY.
NO CLEVER TALK NOR GIFT TO BRING
REQUIRES OUR LOWLY, LOVELY KING.
COME YOU EMPTYHANDED,
YOU DON'T NEED ANYTHING.

And the night was cool and clear as glass
with the sneaking Snake in the garden grass,
as Deep cried out to Deep, the Disciples fast asleep.
And the snake perked up when he heard You ask:
if You're willing that this cup might pass
we could find our way back home,
maybe start a family all our own...
but does not the Father guide the Son?
Not my will but Yours be done!
What else here to do?
What else me but You?

And the snake who'd held the world,
a stick, a carrot and a string, was crushed
beneath the Foot of Your not wanting anything.

-A Stick, A Carrot & String, by mewithoutYou

update

Friends, the seasons are changing, and it's high-time for an update.

There is a time for everything
and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

-Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Panera

Today I woke up and went to Panera for a whole grain bagel and cup of coffee. Than I stayed here for four hours, working on a project for my neurogenic communication disorders class until the lunch crowd arrived. Upon the realization that a great deal of my consciousness was being spent suppressing the urge to politely ask the boisterous group of gossiping women at the next table to can it, I decided that it was time for a break. So I went home, stopping at the grocery store to pick up a couple of staples for the week on the way. At home, I cycled my laundry and completed one (of the THREE) preschool language disorders assignments I have due on Monday.

Then I came back to Panera for a cup of tea and some French Onion Soup. I'll stay here for another 45 minutes - until they close. Then I'll move to another coffee shop that stays open a little later.

today

Today has been the most perfect day. It hasn't been exceptional by any means, except perhaps exceptionally ordinary. The past two days have been more like what I expected graduate school to be like than the last two months of class. Yesterday I did preschool language screenings before class, and today three of my classmates [read: friends] and I did hearing screenings at an elementary school in West Jefferson.

We had to meet at 6:30 AM, clinic I.D. lanyards around our necks, travel mugs of coffee in our hands, and smiles on our faces by the time we arrived in Ashe County, 30 minutes early (thanks a lot, Garmin). So we went to West Jefferson's new fancy Wal-Mart and perused the Halloween cards to send to our siblings in Georgia and Florida. By the time we left the store, the sun had decided to make an appearance. We screened first, second, third, and fifth grade students, as well as a couple of RTI (Response to Intervetion [potential special education candidates]). It was kind of fun. We were finished before noon and went to a Thai restaurant in downtown Boone for lunch.

It's a rainy day, so I've been inside reading an Emily Griffin novel and doing laundry. Finally I conceded that it wasn't going to stop raining, so I put on my new balance shoes and went for an eight mile run in the rain, listening to a couple chapters of To Kill A Mockingbird. (Somehow I made it through the public school system without having been made to read it previously... sounds like a child was left behind).

And tonight? Contra Dance.

swing your partner

Recently I've been partaking in a North Carolinian high country cultural experience called contra dancing. I love it. So much so, in fact, that I have decided that at my wedding reception (whenever it may happen) I plan to have a live band and a caller who will give lessons while the guests await the arrival of the wedding party, but that is neither here nor there...

This is the way God put it: "They found grace out in the desert, these people who survived the killing. Israel, out looking for a place to rest, met God out looking for them!" God told them, "I've never quit loving you and never will. Expect love, love, and more love! And so now I'll start over with you and build you up again, dear virgin Israel. You'll resume your singing, grabbing tambourines and joining the dance. You'll go back to your old work of planting vineyards on the Samaritan hillsides, And sit back and enjoy the fruit— oh, how you'll enjoy those harvests! The time's coming when watchmen will call out from the hilltops of Ephraim: 'On your feet! Let's go to Zion, go to meet our God!'" - Jeremiah 31:1-3

How I long to join that dance! To spin around and swing my neighbor - to one day have my own to swing. I don't know exactly what it looks like, but I know what it feels like: contra dancing! It feels like giving a little weight to your partner and spinning and spinning until you almost feel dizzy, but trusting that you'll end up on his right in long lines or hands-four, ready to dance a little more. It feels like smiling through the pinch of your shoes or the breathlessness that accompanies the constant movement, despite the beads of perspiration forming on your brow.

I love to dance. I love to have a good partner to lead me through each step - a partner with whom I can just relax and move gracefully and fluidly, because it's only when I try to maintain control that I misstep or end up where I don't belong. I love leaning back in a swing and feeling the centrifugal force spinning us faster and faster. I love how the pre-swing balance is marked by the sound of hundreds of feet stomping in unison on the old wood floor of the apple barn. Clearly, I really like contra dancing. But that may or may not be what I'm talking about.

Being a skilled dancer has less to do with knowing the steps and more to do with learning to relax, to trust your partner, and to listen for the caller's instructions as He gives them.

"You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers. I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you. God, my God, I can't thank you enough." -Psalm 30:11