Tag: ski racing

Consider Life

Posted on October 9, 2014 by

A really nice woman died last weekend. 

That’s how I remember her. She was nice. She smiled generously, and always seemed happy. She was a mom, a wife, and a genuinely nice person. Nice is such a vague word, but that’s what she was.

I guess would call her a seasonal acquaintance. Like many moms, we became acquainted by default –  through our kids’ sports. I met her years ago at Alpine Meadows when our kids were both on the same ski racing team. We chatted in the lodge, alongside the race course, and sometimes I’d see her in the locker room. We didn’t know each other the way you know someone in your hometown – we were brought together as ski moms. I remember thinking how her daughter was her ‘mini-me’ – long blond braid poking out from under a ski helmet, both tall, lean and athletic. Equally full of smiles and life.

I wish I’d taken the time to know her better.

Ski racing moms tend to form friendships because we ‘get’ each other – we understand the commitment our kids feel, the effort it takes to get them on the mountain day after day, the determination it takes to keep going through storms, injuries and disappointment. We make easy friends. We feed each other’s kids when they’re hungry, carry their gear and wet jackets into the lodge, and scream for them as they fly down the racecourse. We mother together. We are the support system for our kids and for each other.

When another ski mom texted me to break the news, I was stunned. She was so nice. So happy. So alive. How could someone like her get sick and die within a month? How could her life be abbreviated when she had so much work to do – so much niceness to share with the world? What did she do when she heard her life would be so tragically interrupted?

I wish I understood.

Alongside this loss  is the story of Brittany Maynard, recently diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme. Her story is making the news right now because in response to her diagnosis she chose to move to Oregon, a state in which death with dignity is legal. If you haven’t heard of her yet, click here for more about Brittany.

She is 29 years old, a newlywed, never had children. She is young and beautiful and happy. Full of life. And she wants to die with dignity on November 1.

I wish I could comprehend her bravery.

Two women, two lives not yet completed, two people given the news that they have months to live. One a mother, one longing to cradle a baby. Both with lives reduced to months, both with lives full of promise just a day before.

I can only imagine what would run through my mind. It’s not supposed to happen like this.

I drift back to my day spent in the classroom, struggling to convince twelve and thirteen year olds that they need to learn how to annotate text, search for the main idea, and consider the theme of a novel. I imagine my daughter, far away at college, and wonder what happened in her day –  is she packed for her first college adventure trip with her boyfriend? I hear my son’s music through the wall as he studies in his room, occasionally crutching down the hall to ask for food or help with studying for his geography test. I think of my husband, teaching in his studio as sounds of a Beatles tune being plucked on a ukulele drift through the open door. My dog snuggles at my feet, happy to have company after a day alone. I glance at the floor and see tote bags full of papers to grade, notebooks to read. As I gaze to my left, book cases brim with unread stories and words I just know will fill my mind and heart.

What would I do? What would you do?

Didn’t they believe they could create their own destiny, that they were writing the tale of their life?

Embed from Getty Images

Searching for answers, for some sort of way to make sense of this all, I escape into solitude, the only place I know to explore those deep, dark places of the human experience. I find Brittany’s video; I’m fascinated with her composure. I weep watching as her mother wipes away tears, sharing her plan to face her own fears and travel to Machu Pichu, comforted that Brittany will ‘meet’ her there. The only greater pain I can imagine would be to watch my children suffer. As the video concludes, I grab my pen and scribble Brittany’s last words to the camera. They are the answer. They tell me what to do.

“The reason to consider life, and what’s of value, is to make sure you’re not missing out,” she reminds me. “Seize the day, what’s important to you, what do you care about, what matters. Pursue that. Forget the rest.”

Thank you, ladies, thank you. I think I kind of understand.

primark

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Broken

Posted on September 10, 2014 by

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” ~Ernest Hemingway

“Hi, Jennifer. This is Coach Karen. How are you?”

I knew when I heard her voice that this was not the call I wanted to receive. It was 9:00 on a beautiful Sunday morning, and I had just pedaled my bike into my driveway. We were celebrating that warm, sunny morning – an early breakfast out followed by a ride around the duck ponds, just chatting and excited about the day. Our girl was returning home after a summer away working in Oregon, and we were counting down the minutes until we would drive to the airport. I had a morning’s worth of preparation before our ‘empty nest’ would start to fill again.

It was that kind of morning when it was hard to feel anything but happy.

“I’m fine…how are you?”

This felt strange – I had never spoken to Karen before. I’d never even met her – we only knew her as the new coach.

“Well, I’m afraid Cameron has had an accident. He’s loading into the toboggan now. We’ll let you know more once we get to ski patrol, but we think his leg is broken.”

I sank to the stability of the black metal porch chair. No. Wait. What?

“Did he hit his head? Is he conscious?” My mind was racing to the worst possible scenario. I’m good at that.

“He’s awake. It’s just his leg. They’re taking him down now, but…they wouldn’t have said that if they didn’t think it was broken. I’m sorry. I’ll keep in touch.”

It was the phone call no mom wants to get – the call that says your baby is hurting, your baby needs you, and you’re 600 miles away.

I’m one of those moms who goes to every game, every race, every meet. I could count on one hand how many times I’ve missed a competition. I’ve dug my nails into my skin when there have been falls and crashes, and whispered quiet thanks whenever they’ve gotten up and back on course.

This time, I wasn’t there. As my stomach began to clench, tears began to flow. Then I sprang into action.

I’ve been struggling to write about this for weeks, which is strange to me – writing is my meditation, my coping mechanism, my way of digging through this life and coming out the other end. Somehow, the words churned in my mind but couldn’t find their way to the paper; instead, they remained trapped inside, almost as if writing them would make them real. As if I just kept them in the safety of my mind, they would transform into a bad dream. I would wake up, rewind back to our bike ride and our conversation about the future…I could pick up my Sunday to-do list, change the sheets, buy the groceries, bake her favorite pumpkin scones and head to the airport full of joy at seeing my girl and spending her last ten days together before she left for college.

Instead, time stopped. His body was broken. Broken badly.

broken tibia at Mt. Hood

The days passed in a whirl of plane flights, painful drives and hovering over my son as I hadn’t since he was born. I had surrendered, placing him in another mother’s care until I could reach his side. My gratitude was endless, my heartache terminal. I had entered a parenting sphere which tilted me on my axis, tossing me in a sea of emotion. Every part of me wanted to suck up his pain, to make it my own. To fix his broken leg and mend his broken dreams.

But all I could do was look at what was right in front of me – a boy, my son, in pain and in need of care. In survival mode, I was unable to look past the next hour, the end of the day. This broken leg had simultaneously broken long-held dreams, had cracked the future just big enough to keep me from wasting one second on it. When tears welled up I called for gratitudes – three, right now. It became our ‘thing’. It became our way of making that moment ok. My fourteen year old, once so gloriously independent, had been reduced to asking me for nearly everything. Humbling, to say the least – for both of us.

Humbling, in that the very struggle I find myself chasing every day had now been taken away – another struggle in its place, but for these moments, I was present. My boy, me, and the gift of time together. A broken leg had shattered dreams and shuttered any thoughts beyond right now.

As the weeks have passed, we’ve returned to a ‘new normal’. My girl got to college, I made it back to school, and Cam passed the first hurdle and replaced his full leg cast with a short one. Our days are filled with lesson plans, laundry, walking the dog, homework and dishes, and our nights are peaceful. We’ve learned how to navigate these new moments, and find joy in the smallest of blessings – a pain free day, ‘walking’ on a cast, and watching movies side by side.

first day of school, on crutches

And in the mysterious way that the Universe has of giving me just what I need, just when I need it, the talented writer/mom Katrina Kenison posted on her blog. Turns out, her summer has been ‘broken’ too. As I read her words, I finally found my own. She writes,

Even so, finding meaning in a situation that seems utterly meaningless, random, and unfair is hard, slow work. The “new normal” keeps changing. It’s human nature to want answers and plans and promises. And instead we have only the present moment, mystery, and hope. (Of course, we’re kidding ourselves if we think any life is predictable, any outcome assured, any promise a guarantee.) But slowly, bit by bit, the incomprehensible becomes more manageable.”

Right now, answers and plans and promises are for another day. Right now, right this moment, as he sits behind his closed bedroom door, homework completed with music shaking the walls, I know all is well. I know he is here, safe, and moving forward. I know, although broken, slowly, bit by bit, he is becoming whole again. And slowly, bit by bit, so am I.

Isn’t that all that matters?

 

 

 

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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My Best Life, April 2014: Endings and Beginnings

Posted on April 28, 2014 by

April…a flash of a month, a month of endings and beginnings, of rain, snow, moving home and moving forward. April left me full of memories, moments flashing back too fast to catch my breath. Even my sister begged me to stop posting all those tender snatches of childhood that made our eyes fill with tears and our hearts fill with love. April was a month of decisions for the future, a few turning points and some joyous celebrations, all wrapped up into a big, gooey mush pot of emotion. It kind of wore me out, actually.

My Best April:

Best Quotes:

I kept Twitter busy in April! I love Twitter for the educators I connect with, for the access to news and so many points of view, but lately I’ve just loved reading quotes. Trying to sort through the endings and beginnings in my life right now, somehow reading and posting the #quoteoftheday has helped smooth the jagged edges. I’d love to tweet with you-follow me here!

“And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” -Anais Nin

Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

“You are not your bank account, or your ambitiousness. You’re not the cold clay lump with a big belly you leave behind when you die. You’re not your collection of walking personality disorders. You are spirit, you are love.” ~Anne Lamott

“For bringing us together and keeping us laughing and having fun” – Richard O”Brien Memorial Award

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” Theodor Seuss Geisel

Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you cant practice any other virtue consistently.” – Maya Angelou

Best Poem:

April was National Poetry Month, and some of my favorite teaching moments came with my students sharing poetry that was meaningful to  them, and then presenting ‘snippets’ of poems in our very first Poetry Slam. I was so thrilled that several students chose to share Mary Oliver poetry – her gentle words so often reflect exactly what I cannot express myself. This month, I was dazzled by “Live A Life of Amazement” – if you haven’t read it before, it will dazzle you, too.

Best Blog Reads:

My dear friend Michelle has dedicated her career to helping children-not as a teacher anymore, although that is how we met twenty-something years ago. Michelle shares her compassionate and caring spirit with children who are victims of abuse. A gifted writer of prose and poetry, Michelle shares her beautiful words of comfort and hope in her blog, Metamorphosis: Musings on Healing and Transformation. Take a moment to read her post “Going on a Treasure Hunt” where she explores the metaphor of life as a journey.

This month has been all about the college decision in my house, and Frank Bruni’s article “Our Crazy College Crossroads” came at just the right time to help me remind all the high school seniors hanging around my house that their worth is NOT determined by their acceptance letters, and their ‘dashed hopes’ attached to a rejection letter should, in reality, be seen as an opening for the possibilities yet to come.

Best Photos:

C science experiment

He’s home! Never a dull moment when C is in the house!

Spring is here, finally! The end of ski season brings the beginning of a new, brilliant burst of color and life. My garden is exploding!

L pole vault

I just love this photo my sister took…it reminds me of my girl’s courage and fearlessness. Just look at the size of that pole!

My girl has been an athlete for most of her life, winning awards and achieving her goals. But this month, the most memorable moment for us came when she won the Richard O’Brien Memorial Award, for her ability to inspire her ski team, to bring them together and to have fun. This award represents everything we ever hoped she would learn from athletics-and from life.

Best Moments:

Endings and beginnings. My best moments last month were bittersweet; the ending of winter term at Sugar Bowl Academy brought my boy home. The ending of ski season brought great results and excitement for the beginning of next season, and the end of racing for one of mine. Beginnings of the last quarter of the school year, beginnings of spring erupting in my garden, and beginnings of searching for college dreams.

L and C ski race at Alpine Meadows

L and C ski race at Alpine Meadows

April, a month of endings and beginnings. And as Meister Eckhart so eloquently taught us, “…suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.”

Wishing you great possibilities and the magic of beginnings in May – and as always, thank you for supporting mamawolfe. I’d love to connect with you on Instagram and Facebook, too!

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Let It Go

Posted on April 19, 2014 by

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight

Not a footprint to be seen

A kingdom of isolation,

And it looks like I’m the queen.

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside

Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried

I could hear you singing “Let It Go” through the walls last night. It wasn’t hard to notice-you were belting it out like your heart would burst if the words didn’t come forth. Then giggles, a bit of commentary, and you started up again. You two didn’t care that you were slightly off key. And if I had slightly squinted my eyes, I could imagine you, standing tall in sparkly dress up shoes, light brown bedhead hair, silky Little Mermaid nightie, adorned with Mardi Gras beads and maybe  touch of mommy’s lipstick.

When’s it my turn?

Wouldn’t I love, love to explore that world up above?

Out of the sea

Wish I could be

Part of that world

Barely reaching my shoulder, your blue eyes sparkled as you twirled, a song tucked inside your for a private audience. For just that instant, you were seven years old in my mind’s eye, just about to realize the power of your voice.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see

Be the good girl you always have to be

Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know

Well, now they know

Let it go, let it go

Can’t hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go

Turn away and slam the door

Now you’re seventeen. You’re so much taller and stronger, and have replaced silkie nighties with Nike spandex. I gaze up, not down, when we talk. Bed head is hidden behind a messy bun, a delicate silver monogram pendant encircles your slender neck, no lipstick in sight. You are strong and beautiful and everything I ever imagined my daughter could be. And you have found the power of your voice.

It’s time to see what I can do

To test the limits and break through

No right, no wrong, no rules for me

I’m free

Let it go, let it go

I am one with the wind and sky

Let it go, let it go

You’ll never see me cry

In the start gate

In the start gate

Let it go, little girl. You’ve done the work you needed to do. You’ve listened and loved and learned what we’ve been here to teach you. You’ve kept your eyes on your goal, even when you weren’t sure exactly what shape it was going to take. You’ve learned that life isn’t all about taking the same path as everyone else. You feel the power of living life with a balance of fun and dedication. You’re in the start gate of life – a life on your terms. You’re at the top of a challenging course with no chance for inspection. You’ve trained on difficult terrain. You’re well equipped, and now, it’s finally your turn. Let it go, baby girl.  As always, I”ll be on the side of the course, cheering you as you fly by. Kick start and let it go. You’ve got this.

My power flurries through the air into the ground

My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around

And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast

I’m never going back,

The past is in the past

Let it go, let it go

And I’ll rise like the break of dawn

Let it go, let it go

That perfect girl is gone

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? – book review and giveaway

Posted on March 21, 2014 by

What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not FailWhat Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? 

It’s quite a question, isn’t it? More like being ‘called out’, forcing us to walk our talk, show what we’re really all about.

I love the images that come to mind, and when I read the book by the same title by Nina Lesowitz and Mary Beth Sammons, I fell into an instant pool of understanding. It just clicked with me.

Inspired by memories of childhood literary heroes such as Nancy Drew, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Jo from Little Women, Nina and Mary Beth set out to create a collection of modern day heroes-men and women who courageous embodied real-life examples of grit and tenacity in the face of tough times.

Part daily motivational, part narrative, the collection of stories in What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail?: How to Transform Fear Into Courage offers short yet powerful glimpses into lives of men and women who don’t necessarily make the front pages of news websites, nor do they trend on social media. Rather, these heroes and heroines humbly share their stories ranging from community organizers, care givers, athletes,  immigrants, military service people, Holocaust survivors and teenagers chasing their dreams. Their common thread? They are ordinary people, who, in the face of adversity, dig deep and achieve more than they ever knew they could.

Sounds like a great read, doesn’t it?

I particularly enjoyed the organization of What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail?. Divided into ten chapters, each provides a thematic approach to differing aspects of courage. Each chapter then provides a ‘sidebar’ with inspirational quotes and tips on how to act courageously in our lives, ideas like “10 Courage Rituals”, “Getting Help With Identifying the Source of Your Fears”, “A Checklist to Jump-Start Your Reinvention”, and “Five Tips for Putting Your Passions Out There” offer easy to read, easy to apply strategies that make the reader feel like they, too, can become a more courageous person.

One story that particularly moved me was “Downhill all the way: the courage to become an Olympian” about Foreste Peterson, a local alpine ski racer with aspirations for the Olympics. I’ve written before about my life as a ski racing mother, and how committed my children are to the sport of ski racing, so when I realized that Foreste’s story so mirrors my own children’s aspirations, I wiped away the tears and handed the book to my 17-year-old daughter. Foreste’s words of wisdom? “Show up prepared to brave all aspects of life.”

This decade of my forties has pushed me in ways I never imagined. Mothering, teaching, writing, and developing my voice has simultaneously created both a precarious sense of fear alongside an ever strengthening sense of courage. As my children grow up and away from home, I feel an impending urgency to not only name my fears, but also to conquer them. What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time.

If you’d like to win your own copy of What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? , please enter my Rafflecopter giveaway. Entries will close March 28, so don’t wait another minute-this book could change your life.

Rafflecopter giveaway.

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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