Category: thinking deeply

What If Books Were A Magic Potion?

Posted on October 6, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

What if books were a magic potion? What if you could walk into a room, and just sense the book that you needed to pull off the shelf? What if, when you were standing there, gazing at the spines and judging the covers, you could just feel the book calling to you?

Just imagine the power – if suddenly we turned to books to solve our problems. No more scanning Facebook for reassurance that we were parenting our children correctly. No more tuning into reality TV or talk shows to hear the experts tell us we’re right – or wrong. Imagine the smugness that would wipe off of our faces if we realized that all those faces, all those voices streaming through the internet, were just empty.

And what if, when we were feeling particularly down, the perfect book would fly into our outstretched hands and land with a soft thud? What if we, upon gently perusing the cover, decided to open to the first page, inhale, and hold our breath until the page was ready to turn?

I can think of the magic that could happen if I could suddenly find the answers I’ve been looking for inside the pages of a musty, gold-edged leather bound book. I can feel the giddiness rising up inside me when the words pelt off the page and into my heart, filling it with everything it has been searching for. And I can imagine the tears, the sobs of sorrow when, upon turning the last page, I realize that sadly, the solution I had been searching for was missing.

Can’t you just imagine the glory to be found when your toddler, unknowingly, teethes her favorite board book to shreds and simultaneously ingests the knowledge for her future? The bits and pieces of cardboard and color and text, surging forward and transforming into the life lessons we so hopefully wish she will learn, digested and consumed.

And teenagers – imagine the power. Downing words from vampires and dystopias and the Civil War? The power of the written word, the image on paper, would supercede any texting or Snapchatting or technology. What if parents were able to secretly select books just to share the messages they treasure, creating an underground cult of language and stories and thought?

What if books were a magic potion? Do you think we’d take a second look at what we’re reading? Do you think that books, real paper and print and gloss-covered books, would ever die? Would you take a sip?

Disclosure: This post was inspired by the novel The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George, where Monsieur Perdu–a literary apothecary–finally searches for the woman who left him many years ago.. Join From Left to Write on October 8th as we discuss The Little Paris Bookshop. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.
photo credit: Le Jour ni l’Heure 5709 : Paul Cézanne, 1839-1906, portrait de Gustave Geffroy, 1885-1886, dét., musée d’Orsay, Paris, jeudi 14 mai 2015, 20:43:36 via photopin (license)

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.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Where Do You Find Your Inspiration?

Posted on October 5, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

Inspiration.

I’m always looking for it.

When my kids were little, sometimes it was simply inspiration to get me through the day with a smile on my face.

Or inspiration to trust that I knew what to do, and that everything would turn out all right.

I still look for inspiration on that one.

I remember thinking that there must be some secret handbook that I missed out on – you know, the one that had all the parenting answers?

I never have found it, so I decided to write my own. That’s when my blog, mamawolfe, was born. It’s kind of when I was born, too.

I realized that just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, everything I really needed was inside of me-I just needed to get quiet and trust that the answers would come when I needed them.

Some people call that prayer. I call it writing. Walking. Meditating. Slowing down. Getting outside. Centering.

My inspiration.

It’s been twenty years since I started to become mamawolfe – twenty years of loving fiercely and thinking deeply. It’s funny how having kids can turn us into the people we were always meant to be, isn’t it?

This month Bonbon Break launched their “Inspire” series, and my essay about small and mighty moments is one of the to be first published. I wrote it at the end of the summer, when I was struggling with change (one of my triggers, I’m learning). I’d just finished an end of the summer family trip to Yosemite, full of love and laughs and fresh air and mind-blowing views. And lots of time to think as I walked along the trails, feeling small yet mighty in the midst of all that majestic beauty.

I realized that when I need inspiration, looking for the extraordinary in the ordinary, being present right here, right now, and looking for the big messages in smallest of moments will usually give me the answers I’m looking for.

I’d love to have you check out my post, “Small and Mighty Moments”, and let me know where you find inspiration. I can use all the advice I can get!

And be sure to check in all month with Bonbon Break as they continue to share inspirational wisdom from their group of talented writers.

Jennifer Wolfe

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

I Got Published! In A Book! It’s The Ride of a Lifetime!

Posted on April 16, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

Have you ever done something that seemed like a good idea at the time?

Have you ever jumped into a project, or an adventure just because you felt so strongly in your soul that it was the right thing to do?

When my kids and I started volunteering for a Nicaraguan non-profit called Seeds of Learning in 2010, I had no idea the impact it would have on each of us – it changed our lives.

We went from a small, college town in northern California to the mountains of Nicaragua to build schools. We went loaded with books, teaching supplies, fabric and yarn and crafts and puzzles and backpacks. We went with anticipation, trepidation, and a complete and utter inability to know what life was like in a developing country.

We went with a sense of adventure.

We came home with love, laughter, uplifted hearts and stories – lots and lots of stories.

I’ve written here about our escapades; stories of the people we loved, the simplicity of the lifestyle, and the anxiety I felt before we left. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think of the lovely Nicaraguan boys and girls who eagerly embraced us strangers, and my heart aches for the mothers who try desperately to provide for their children, to give them an education, feed them, and raise them to find joy in the most impoverished of conditions.

Their stories are embedded in my heart.

A few months ago I heard of a website, Story Shelter, looking for true stories of adventure – stories from regular people who have taken risks, stepped out of their comfort zone, and faced challenges. They want to create a Chicken-Soup-style book – but with an edge.

I instantly thought of Nicaragua.

With a leap of faith, I submitted “Ride of A Lifetime”, and they loved it. Yesterday, it was published in their anthology titled “I Am Here: The Untold Stories of Everyday People”.

It’s such a thrill to see my story in print – real print, on paper. Old school style. And in an e-book for Kindle, too!

For the next few days it’s free for Kindle – click here to find it on Amazon.

The publishers put together a cool promotion page – you can see it here.

They also made a book trailer promotional video, and I’m in it:

I’m really thrilled to see my first print publication – I hope you’ll order it and enjoy my “Ride of A Lifetime”. It’s getting exciting!

Amazon Paperback Version: http://bit.ly/i-am-here-book

Amazon Kindle Version: http://bit.ly/imhereboo

Jennifer Wolfe

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

My Car Is My Quiet Place

Posted on February 15, 2012 by Jennifer Wolfe

Call me weird, but I really like to sit in my car – it’s my quiet place. Alone.

It has nothing to do with driving-I like that, too, especially when it’s on the open highway. What I’m talking about are those rare moments when I’m completely locked in my glass bubble. The engine isn’t running, the radio is silent, and if I’m lucky, the rain is gently falling on the roof.

When I was a kid, I used to love going in our garage when it was raining just to listen to the soft, rhythmic sound of rain hitting the shake shingles. It felt safe, quiet, and I guess meditative, although I had no idea what that was at the time.

Today, I spend my days in an endless gurgle of people wanting, needing, and questioning. My continuous ‘response with a smile’ feels exhausting by 4p.m. and I find myself craving quiet. That is where the car comes in.

I don’t slip out to the garage and leave my family inside the house wondering what’s up with Mom. I don’t drive around the block searching for a place to park. Sometimes I do linger after I’ve arrived home, savoring the last of the NPR story, or taking a few deep breaths to center myself.

My car sitting time is often while I’m waiting for my son or daughter to finish a class, an activity, or some sport that doesn’t require spectating. It’s best when I park in a quiet neighborhood without many pedestrians peering in the windows. I prefer daylight quiet in my car, although I do keep a Halloween style skull lantern in my glove box to shed a little light as needed.

What do I do in the car? I sit. I write. I think. I grade the endless papers that my students provide me every day. I don’t like to talk on the phone, but I do occasionally check my email, play Words with Friends, or send a text or two. I write lots of blog posts, I do lesson plans, and once in awhile I’ll read a book or catch up on the newspaper. I even keep a blanket handy.

Once I did fall asleep – it was dark and after dinner – that felt a bit embarrassing and disorienting. As my teenage daughter would say, it was ‘sup-awk’ to wake up to the chatter of kids leaving their class knowing I had been snoring with the windows open!

Mostly I find that I breathe, sink into the seat, and just slow it down. I let my heartbeat match the rain, and concentrate on me. Most of the time people don’t notice me there, and I like that.

Now that I’m an adult, I don’t get to hear the rain on the roof of our house. The sound of rain hitting skylights just isn’t the same-it’s more of a ping than a satisfying thud. But when I’m alone inside my car I hear it all-rain, the wind, birds, dogs, and passers-by all create a meditative backdrop to my thoughts.

As a turtle needs to retreat into its shell to protect its soft body, as a chipmunk scurries into its hole, and as a rabbit retreats to its den, I need a place to go and shut out the world. The demands of a job and a family can, just for a moment, stay outside the bubble. Safe, dry, and protected, I can breathe in and out, and find my center again.

Call me weird, but I really like to sit in my car. Alone. Quietly. What about you? Where’s your quite place?

Jennifer Wolfe

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

9/11: It Started Like Any Ordinary Day

Posted on September 11, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

9/11: It started like any ordinary day.

After maternity leave, I’m still getting the hang of getting out of the house on time each morning. I’m up early enough to have some ‘me’ time – 5:30 a.m. – before the pitter patter of my 23-month-old boy’s feet signal the start of mommy-time. Must plan Cameron’s birthday party for next weekend, I think. Coffee made, candles lit, I start up the desktop as part of my morning ritual, eager to check email and read the news. Having children broke us of our TV news habit when we realized they were transfixed with images of stark reality we were trying so desperately to shelter them from.

A breaking news alert flashes into my inbox – “Plane crashes into building in New York.” Hmm. I’ve never been to New York. Worlds away from my cozy study. I hope it’s nothing serious.

Pitter patter pitter patter…here comes my boy, blankie, and book in hand. My heart thrills at the sight of his big round head. “Make sister juice,” he chimes with a smile as big as any Cheshire cat. I switch off the computer, eager to start the morning snuggle and reading time. It is just another ordinary day.

The 11-mile commute to school is nothing unusual. I drive past the harvested tomato fields, crop dusters skim the highway. Lesson plans fill my mind. Exit right, then left, then straight down the walnut tree-shrouded road towards Douglass Junior High, where my 7th grade English students stand lined up, waiting for me.

“Hey, did you hear about the plane crash?” they shout as I open the door.

“Yes, I did,” I answer, and switch on the lights. “Let’s get started.”

“But, can’t we watch the TV? I have an aunt that lives in New York, and I’m worried,” a child pleads.

“TV? When do we ever watch TV in class?” I respond with a smile. ‘Let’s get started – it’s grammar day everyone’s favorite!”

Moments later, an announcement is delivered by a TA telling us the grim news. Not one plane crash, now it’s two. What??? The Pentagon? Three planes? Buildings collapsed? People dying? But it’s just an ordinary day!

Why don’t I have my cell phone? This ancient classroom has no Internet; the only technology is the old TV mounted in the corner of the classroom. Where are my babies? Did Lily make it to kindergarten? What the hell is going on? I want to go home…

Thoughts flash through my head as I try to process what to do. Thirty sets of eyes stare at me, searching for comfort. I’m the teacher. I’m in charge. I know what to do? Frantic thoughts of my own children race through my mind. Are they OK? What will happen to us? Are the terrorists on their way?

Then I realize-someone is taking care of my children, just as I’m taking care of someone else’s. I know what to do. They need me to make sense of it. That’s what I would want my child’s teacher to do. Reluctantly, yet desperately, I turn on the TV. I have to know. I can’t wait all day.

After two hours, no word from my family, I switch it off. Business as usual – that’s what educators do. Keep them calm, keep them busy. I know it’s only going to get worse, and it’s only 10 a.m.

Two more hours and I’m done. As I jump in my little gold Escort wagon, I’ve never been so relieved to only work part-time; 11 miles fly by-not enough time to decide how to explain the unexplainable to my 5-year-old. The radio news drones on and on. Thousands dead. The children. The mommies and daddies who will never commute home again. The parents who will never see their babies again. The young people who will never have the joy of holding their child in their arms. It’s more than I can bear. The tears stream down my face as I safely reach home. It’s clearly not just an ordinary day.

‘Mommy, why are you sad? What happened at school today?” Lily whispers, her big blue eyes boring into mine. How do I answer? She’s only five. Far too young to have to learn about such horrors. I tell her a story about a plane crashing and good guys trying to stop the bad guys. “Did the bad guy go to jail?” she questions.