Mini Memoirs

I had never intended on going back to school. We worked hard as a family to put my husband through school and it felt like we had just climbed Mt. Everest. Sacrifices were constantly made, money was pinched, and we all became efficient at paper crafts for Christmas and birthdays. The day my husband graduated from college was one of the happiest days of my life. No more small windows of family time, no more hauling the family to events by myself, no more lonely holidays. I felt like I had put in seven years of raising our children on my own. Our college years were behind us and we were not looking back. Looking into the future I didn’t realize there would be more to my story. 

To emphasize visualizing your success here is a glimpse into my life when I had to hold onto an impression that helped me realize my success.

Elder Quinton L. Cook, a member of the twelve apostles from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, stands at the pulpit and I am sitting three quarters of the way back in the congregation. I strain to see his face clearly because my 20/20 vision is not what it used to be. I can make out a blurry podium with a partially balding man in a suit and tie standing in front of 500 people. I surrender to hearing Elder Cook’s words through my ears and in my heart.  

I bring my last yellow legal pad that has several pages used up in the front. There are pages periodically throughout the pad that have peculiarly shaped unicorns and half written poems scribbled out on the pages. I find a couple of empty pages that are consecutively unused. My natural handwriting is sloppy so I clearly write the name and date at the top left hand corner of the pad. Below the date I write out the numbers one, two, and three. I leave lines in between just in case I need to expound on what I am feeling. I have been praying for guidance for me specifically. So I listen with intent to Elder Cook’s words to hear clear-cut instructions for my life.

I had prayed before the meeting to feel the Holy Spirit. I came tonight needing direction as a woman, child of God, mother, and a daughter. As Elder Cook speaks my heart and mind are opened to things I never had visualized for my life. I write three things down on my lined yellow paper that is divine inspiration for me. My three numbers are filled up and I am feeling like this meeting has been spiritually rewarding. I look down at the words I wrote on my pad and I am a little unsure of how I am going to accomplish these three objectives. 

The meeting is over and I wave goodbye to friends that are scattered throughout the chapel. As my husband and I are driving home I take the quiet opportunity to tell him what I wrote down. “Hey, I need to talk to you. I really feel strongly that I need to go back to school.”  He looks at me with full support and says, “We will take it day by day and I will do everything I can do to help you. Is there something specific you’re thinking about?” I reply, “I am not sure yet. I have a few ideas that I am pondering. I am going to explore my options: Food Science, Baking and Pastry, or maybe Culinary Arts.” We talk for another fifteen minutes in the driveway as my husband gives me ideas of how we can accomplish this together. 

Subsequently, school has just been let out for my children and I am feeling a strong urge to apply to our community college. I talk to friends and professors and I gather all of my resources. I am prayerful as I make my final decision to apply to the Culinary Arts program. My application is submitted just in time before the deadline. I am accepted to the program and I start in two weeks. This is crazy! I have never done something so daring before. I am going through emotions of fear and success, opportunity and failure, overwhelment and freedom, guilt and being true to myself. I am constantly praying that I can handle 16 credits a semester and still be a successful mother and wife. I visualize what my life could look like if I take this opportunity to better myself. 

I gather my children in the living room. I turn a few pages of my legal pad and we sit together and make a plan that works for everyone for the next two years. We work out details of cooking, cleaning, pick-ups and drop-offs. My husband is the first person to offer his support and states that he will take charge of breakfast and dishes in the morning. Each child accepts the responsibility of making a weeknight meal and cleaning the kitchen each night. Our chore chart is revamped so everyone can take a little bit more of the load. My husband agrees to help on the weekends with laundry and anything else that needs to be accomplished. I feel supported and capable as each of my children agree to help at this level for the next two years. I start to envision my goal of getting my two year degree in Culinary Arts. 

Finally, the day has come and I walk down the hall and walk towards the classroom. My mind is whirling with thoughts as I think about leaving the sanctuary of my home. I am coming from my own world that I have carefully created. My home has been a place of solace and comfort for my family. I ultimately decide on what and who enters my home. I set the mood and generate the feelings in my atmosphere. As I enter the classroom I look around me and there are 18, and 19 year old kids of all shapes and sizes with differing backgrounds. I scan the room looking for commonality among any of them. I sit down at the round table closest to the exit doors. I feel my carefully created world getting tipped upside down. I have entered someone else’s world now and I have to continually keep in mind why I am here. I walk into the classroom as a 43 year old woman, a mom, and I have to frequently reassure myself that this is what I want. 

The discussion at my table consists of one upping each other with their latest tattoos, different opinions on what is expected of each of us in the kitchen and a stream of F bombs and language. I want to put my hands up to my ears, crawl under the table, and cry like a baby. What am I doing here? I remember the strong impressions that I had when I felt inspired to do this program last summer. I sit up tall at my table and I try to join into conversations that I do not belong in. I don’t even know what I had expected. Did I think I was going to be sitting at the table with Martha Stewart or something? I quickly decide to drop judgment of my peers and learn to love them. I sincerely want to get to know all of my classmates and work as a team. Lastly I want to work hard and succeed at what I had set out to do for the next two years. 

I had been the master in my life for so long it felt awkward being the underclassman. I quickly humble myself and become the apprentice by day and the mom by night. During the day I am learning how to cut carrots into rondelles, julienne vegetables, and mince shallots. My team displays a wide variety of cuts ranging from a fine dice to a very large dice. My setting in class and at home becomes a world of mise en place- ‘everything in its place’. Food is measured, peeled, and placed perfectly in small containers in my prep area before I cook the meal. I am learning different cuts of meats, how to properly temp food, and a variety of pan sauces. I struggle to correct my bad habits with my chef knife that I have been holding and cutting wrong with for the last 20 years. I didn’t realize that we would be cleaning almost as much as we were cooking. A clean sanitized kitchen is held in high regard. I had been a maid once before when I was sixteen. I never had the desire to clean up somebody’s crap ever again. Here I am endlessly sweeping, mopping and bending over a hot three compartment sink. At the end of my day I go home and duplicate the last six hours.    

My feet ache after long hours standing on the red brick floors in the kitchen. I am physically and mentally exhausted. I come home with a grease smell lingering on my clothes and in my hair. I drop to the couch to ease the pain in my feet and then I get up and help my children with their homework. In turn they all jump in and help me. Sidnee tutors me in math and edits my English papers and Addy quizzes me and helps me memorize. We become a well oil machine. I just hope that one cog doesn’t break on our well functioning family contraption because we could all come tumbling down. 

I think about how far I have come and how much I have left to accomplish. I feel a sense of accomplishment because I am creating my own pathway that is inspired by heaven. I continue to work hard. I am becoming skilled at reading the room, stepping out of an off-color conversation, and working hard to avoid contention. I am determined to finish my degree with all of the effort I can muster. There are days when I want to quit and lay on the couch for hours to give my feet a vacation. Sometimes I long to be free of someone else’s schedule and make my own choices instead of being under the tutelage of a Chef. I long to be the customer that comes into the café, sits on soft seats, and waits on a hot white plate to be delivered my table. There are days I can’t stand the grease that builds up on my face from working on the line. I keep pushing through because I want to finish and accomplish what I set out to do. Other days are full of laughter and there is a sense of teamwork and friendships are built. 

Finally it is time to graduate and all along I visualize my dream of coming to a fruition. I felt deep inside that doors of opportunity would open up for me if I followed this pathway. I practiced focusing on what I could become and listened for more guidance from the comforter. I knew one day because I made this choice that it would lead to other blessings. I learned to concentrate on one day at a time. Looking too far in the future was overwhelming and stressful. I observed God in my life and I knew he would bless me with more knowledge, patience, and extra energy. I was committed to finishing what I set out to do and I knew that God would meet me halfway.  

At this time I am compiling recipes for a cookbook because good food and good company is a powerful combination. I am passionate about writing because I am able to communicate my thoughts clearly. Lastly I am combining food and writing together on my blog. For now I am content with the direction my life is taking me but I am always ready for a challenge. Anything is possible when I yoke myself with the Savior and follow Him. 

Here are some tools that helped me. You can give them a try and see where life takes you: 

1.Pray for direction. I found that when I went towards a talent or skill that I was passionate about it was easier to feel accomplished.    

2. Work hard. Putting in effort helps you attain the goal you set out to accomplish. Others appreciate you and want to work alongside you.  

3. Failures can be made into beautiful moments that can get you moving in the right direction. I failed a lot in the kitchen [and in life]. Embarrassing…YES! Despite disconcerting mistakes I learned to be quicker, more efficient, and a better classmate. Also, this was my third time going to college. This was also my first time getting a degree. My other attempts at my own education helped me to finally succeed the third time around. Keep trying!  

Resources: 

There have been a wide variety of people in my life. Some have stayed a while and others have graced my life only for a moment. Regardless  they have helped shape and mold me into who I am today. I want to share with you about a man who said only a few words to me throughout my life. He was influential through my childhood and into my teen years. This man’s name was Wally.  

Wally Spencer was a close family friend who was a genuine cowboy. He regularly worked alongside our family on the long cattle drives, branding, and moving cows down from the forest. We trailed our cows from our Ranch that borders the continental divide near the Idaho/Montana border to Monida, Montana. We pushed our steers 47 miles to meet the train in Monida. The steers weighing approximately 800 pounds were loaded onto train cars and they will arrive back east to be fattened and processed for consumers. I have a few core memories that I will never forget, one as a baby, one as a small child, and lastly in the depths of my adolescent years. 

At this time, Wally walks into the Summit, the Monida café. He relaxes at a table covered with a vinyl tablecloth imprinted with yellow flowers. After a long cold October ride he embraces a nice cup of hot coffee that warms his cold bones. My mom is busy with making sure everyone gets situated as she hands me off to Wally. I sit on his lap smelling the aroma of the hot beverage recently poured into a white ceramic cup. He holds the coffee away from my curious hands. I sit and take in all the sites and sounds that my six month old mind is experiencing. My blue socks are pulled up to my knees and my shoes are tied with a big blue bow at my ankles. I sit in a pink long sleeve onesie with the extra long sleeves rolled up at my wrists. The smell of the trail and tired cowboys lingers as the hot roast beef and potatoes are plated and served. I sit comfortably in Wally’s lap as a National Geographic Photographer snaps a picture of us. 

To illustrate further, when I am nine years old, my family is on the second day of the cattle drive. The sun is scorching down on me and it has left my cheeks and nose sun-kissed. My arms are burned from playing behind the trail of cows all day long. The sagebrush grows thick and tall as it flourishes under the direct sunlight. The scent of the sagebrush is like an extra flavor to the noon meal floating in the air. I am careful to wear long pants, socks and tennis shoes every year when we trail the cattle. The ticks are thriving in the springtime hiding somewhere in the brush. I recently have had two ticks in the back of my neck that my mom has had to light a match to. I am careful not to aimlessly wander through the sagebrush. 

 I step into the camper and fill my plate with sweet baked beans, roast and a homemade roll. My mom scoops my plate full and motions for me to quickly leave the cramped kitchen. I swing the white and dingy beige door open. The door slams against the outside of the rippled aluminum panel. I run down the unstable aluminum steps wobbling under my weight. I maneuver through the camp chairs as I look for an old log to sit on to eat my food. I teeter my drink in one hand with my plate and utensils in another hand. I look down and cover my face with my arm to keep the smoke from the campfire out of my eyes. I take one step further and I walk right into Wally. He has a hot cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup. My head and his coffee collides. Hot liquid pours down my head. He looks at me with compassion, “Oh honey, are you okay?” He chuckles as he assesses my situation. I stare momentarily into his long face. I always wondered how his teeth got to be all different shades of gold. I think some could be missing. He has a dribble of spit running down his chin and a cheek full of chew. He grabs a napkin and dabs at the top of my head and looks into my eyes, “Sweetheart, are you going to be okay?” I nod in affirmation as my sunburnt face turns into the color of a tomato on a hot July afternoon from embarrassment. He pats my back reassuringly as he knocks on the camper to get another cup of coffee. The broken screen on the door is flapping in the wind as the door creaks open and Grandma is ready to refill his cup with the old silver coffee pot. I hear a few people giggling around me as they just witnessed hot coffee being poured out over my head. I shrug my shoulders and think to myself. Oh well, it’s the second day of the trail and I am dirty and dusty. A little coffee could possibly tame the dust in my hair and keep the flies away. I found a seat to consume my food and I thought about Wally. Even if his teeth are stained gold and there is something hiding behind his lip he is nice. I like to be around him because he makes me feel good inside.

Along with these few experiences with Wally, I am in my senior year of high school. I throw my bag into the back of the silver Chevy Citation. I slam on the gas as I back out of the driveway. I push hard on the brakes and I shove the gear into Drive. My sister is sitting in the passenger seat as we drive to school. We are running a little behind. We have to make it in ten minutes and we have 18 miles to go. We pull off the interstate and I veer to the right to turn onto Highway. I hit the gas pedal hard again and increased my speed while we were rocking out to the latest hits on the radio. We manage this unattractive drive every day. Sagebrush, dirt, and rocks is all there is for what seems to be miles on end. My eyes are bored looking out the window. I touch the brake to slow down as we are coming close to the intersection of the old highway. The car seems to be stuck in super speed mode. I touch the brake again a little more aggressively and the car is increasing in speed. This has happened before. The gas pedal is stuck again. In the past I have slammed my right foot down hard on the pedal and it has released its grip on the accelerator. I laugh inside. At least we will get there with time to spare. I sit back and let the citation carry us faster and faster down the highway. It’s time to try to slow this old car down again. I slam on the gas pedal again knowing that it will release its fury. It won’t let go! I slam harder and harder on the pedal and we are almost hitting 90 mph. I am not sure what to do. Do I slam the gear into N? Or turn the key off going this fast? I hit the brake and it is hard and unforgiving. I jump on the accelerator over and over again silently praying that we don’t die. Finally the pedal releases its rage. I viciously slam on the brake as we enter the 35 MPH speed limit zone. We coast into the High school parking lot careful not to use the gas pedal. I looked at my sister and we both let out a sigh of relief that we made it alive. 

The local mechanic looks at our car and promises that he will  do all he can do to get it fixed. We get a call about two weeks after his promise of creating miracles on the Chevy citation. We can see his head shaking from side to side as he tells my dad over the phone, “Nick, I’ve done all I can do. You are going to have to junk the old thing.” My dad says, “Okay, thank you,” and slowly puts the phone down on the receiver. The old silver car took its last ride and it sits in the junkyard.

This holds a lot of symbolism for my life right now. There are a lot of broken down things in my home and in my heart. My parents are divorced, my dads health is declining and everything is falling apart. Broken faucets, rotting flooring, and the latch on the front door doesn’t work anymore. The equipment outside is old and there is not enough money to go around. Walking away from the Chevy leaves me with feelings of dread and a sense of freedom.

It is my senior year and I need to have some sort of transportation. I am leaving this ash heap behind and I need to have a way to get away from it all. Graduation is coming soon and so I made a plan. I walk up to my dads room, “Dad, let’s go to the car lot in town and see what is available. I will pay for a vehicle if you could please help me with the first payment.” 

Dad slowly writes a check out to the salesman and they shake hands over the desk.  The salesman hands me the keys to my brand new Chevy S10. I can’t stop smiling as I drive the 35 miles home with the windows down. The steering wheel is tight and the gas pedal is soft. The seats are plush and full of cushions. I keep inhaling the new car smell over and over again as I make my way home. 

Consequently, If you have grown up in a small town you will be able to relate to what I am about to say next. Communities with a fairly small population can either put you up on a pedestal and raise you higher or they can bring you down so low that the only way to escape them is to leave. Unfortunately, I was caught on the downward spiral in my town. Rumors were quickly spread that my dad had bought me a pick-up and that I was taking advantage of him. Cruel things were often said to me. I felt alone and ashamed that I had asked my dad to help make the first payment on a vehicle I desperately needed.  

Finally, one hot afternoon I was hauling garbage to the dump that was a mile down the road from my house. I swung the bags of garbage from the big metal dumpsters that the community had access to. As I was in mid-swing Wally’s dodge pulled in front of my pick-up. He got out and looked the pick up over. He pauses as he rests his hand on the bed of my new red pick-up. He looks me in the eye, “Did you get a new pick-up? I hesitated because of the harsh words that had been said to me. I nodded. He stepped closer to me, “Dari, I am so happy for you. You have had a hard couple of years and you deserve this. You have a big bright future ahead of you. I am so proud of you.” He touches my hand and he turns and walks away.  

 Lastly, these were precious moments in my life that consisted of hardly any words. Moments that changed my life. Moments that brought clarity to my own pathway and helped me to want to be a better human being. Wally was kind, tender, gentle and he understood how to lift someone. His words have impacted my life and helped me sculpt out my own personal pathway. 

Here are some ideas that you could try to help you find who you want to become:

• Be kind: It can leave a big impact and it can inspire others to spread goodness and love.     

• Reaching out and touching someone has the power to strengthen and lift someone. 
• Be a mentor or a friend to someone. It can help them live a happier life and it can also lead to their own success. 

Towards the end of Wally’s life I sat on a couch in the foyer of the church next to him. I was unable to tell if he remembered me. Many years had passed by since the day I saw him at the dump. Emotions filled my heart as I sat by him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and thank him for helping me find the person I want to become. I touched his hand and said, “Wally, it is so good to see you. You mean so much to me.” He looked at me and gave me a half smile. We sat in silence for a while and then I walked away. 

Resources:

Have you ever had a worthwhile experience that helped pave the path to where you are today? Follow me back to when I was a young girl. I want to share with you about a teacher who left an impression on me. 

The late warm summer sun had started to let go of its heat as the elongated day changed to a beautiful evening. Dinner is finished and the kitchen is cleaned and ready for the next family gathering. Mom and Dad sit on their lawn chairs perched up on their red stained deck overlooking the yard and the pasture. The lawn chairs are weathered and worn with a few straps missing in the seat. Sitting down you pray that the four other vinyl straps in tact will not bust out from under you and leave you in a folded up mess on the hardwood deck. The other lawn chair seems to keep timing with the birds chirping in the distance as it wobbles from side to side.  

My sister and I get the attention of our parents and insist they watch us. We perform cartwheels, somersaults and random jumps up and down on the green grass. We are tonight’s entertainment. My sister runs inside and finds an old gray and black boxy stereo with the latest 80’s hits snuggled inside the cassette player. She plugs it inside our parents bedroom outlet. She pushes the big glass sliding doors open and quickly thrusts down the square ‘play’ button. She places the stereo on the deck and she runs down the stairs to move to the rhythm. The 80’s beat blares across our front yard. We pretend to be in love and then our hearts are broken as we run through the cool grass with our bare feet. We shimmy our shoulders and dance our hearts out to the sound of the music. We finally collapse on the cool earth and roll around until the stars start to peak out from behind the willow trees. We soak in the coolness on our backs as we stare up into the sky knowing that summer is coming to an end. 

  Subsequently piano lessons also accompany the start of school. We  make the long 45 minute drive to piano lessons. Once we arrive I wait patiently for my turn to play the piano. My two sisters and I occupy my piano teacher’s time for three hours. I love piano lessons. This is my first year taking lessons. I don’t mind waiting on the couch listening to my sisters clunk out their notes. It is quiet and I sit and think about serious things: what color of crayon to use in my theory book, what we are having for dinner tonight, and why my sister paired that button up shirt with those ugly shorts. My tummy growls loudly and my piano teacher stops her instructions. She turns around and looks at me with her glasses on the tip of her nose and laughs her big breathy laugh. 

Returning home from piano lessons we head North. My mom projects from the driver’s seat of the van, “Girls, next week you are all going to be starting a musical singing group.” Our eyes grow big as we look at each other with anticipation. In my mind I am suddenly on stage in front of a large audience. I walk to the front of the stage with a pink feather boa wrapped around my neck. The lights are warm and bright on my face. The rouge on my cheeks along with my bright red lipstick can be seen from the cheap seats. The mic sits in the center of the platform waiting for me to perform my solo number. I slowly walk to the front and I freeze as I stare out at the vastness. I choke. I break from my daydream when my sister suddenly bumps my arm and asks, “Did you hear what mom said?” “Ahhh-no,” I replied.  She said, “You need to put your laundry away when we get home.”  

The following week we entered the house that our singing lessons were going to be held in. I had never been in this house before. We only had a few houses sprinkled throughout our community and it was rare that you didn’t know what the inside of a house looked like. The front door is brown which matches the exterior of the house. There is a tall narrow window on the left of her front door. It looks like a giant dull yellow sucker that has been melted down and stretched out. When the sun hits the front door the sidelight lets in a dingy yellow color that sits on the choir director’s living room floor. The ray of sun coming through her front windows catches the dust particles as they float around the room. The shaggy carpet is a combination between avocado green and beige. I look around the room and it feels lived in, comfortable and homey. The light brown piano is placed up against the opposite wall of the front door. The piano blends into the warm hues of the brown paneling. 

The choir director walks out from another room as she is settling her three little blonde headed children down. She greets each of us with a warm welcoming smile, “Please take off your shoes and line up in front of the window.” I bend over to remove my shoes and I am knocked over on my side as bigger kids come hurling through the door behind me. I look around me with my face red from embarrassment and I realize I am one of the younger kids in the choir. I look for my older sister for a sense of place and I insecurely walk to my spot. A ghastly smell drifts through the air. I look around to see what the smell would be coming from. I quickly glance over my shoulder and I spot the pile of empty smelly shoes scattered behind me. I don’t know how to feel about this experience yet.

The teacher has a mushroom haircut with golden blonde hair. Her haircut is strangely similar to mine. She looks at us kindly with a twinkle in her eye. She gives clear instructions and helps each of us find our place. She kicks off the first lesson with simple and familiar scales. We sing from middle C ascending to high C. We belt out all of the notes in between. The older boys sing out as she directs them down a descending scale. She plays beautiful musical notes on the piano as she checks for individual pitches. She moves her left arm up and down to direct us to the target note. She helps us with timing as she gracefully dances her available fingers around the keys of the piano. She is thrilled as she turns around on the bench to look at each of us. She encourages us and warms our hearts with praise. We are grinning from ear to ear after lessons are over. We cannot not wait until next week’s lesson.

The following week we ran for the brown door of our teacher’s home. She is busy in the kitchen making snacks for her children so she can give us her full attention. She quickly sits at the piano as we are arranging ourselves in her living room. She introduces us to recognizable songs. She plays a little introduction on the piano and the majority of us nod our heads at the familiarity of the song. She tickles the ivories for another ten minutes as we tap our toes to her rhythm. Week after week we mastered our new parts, we became united through song, and we learned melodic rhythms. For a small moment in a little sandy town in Idaho the world was filled with pure songful joy.    

The next week the teacher unpacks boxes with shirts for each of us. The hem around the neckline and sleeves are blue. The words imprinted on the center of the shirt are also blue. The word ‘HARMONY’ boldly stands out against the white material. Harmony is our choir’s name. I am overjoyed about my new T-shirt even though I don’t understand what the word ‘harmony’ means. We all have matching shirts and we are ready to show the world our love for music.

We sing at community events, school events, and anywhere there is a stage and people ready to listen we are singing our hearts out. I am young but I am starting to feel a passion for singing and hearing different parts. I always look forward to every lesson because my teacher makes me feel like I can reach any note, sing any part, and possibly even harmonize with the cows in the pasture. The time she is devoting to our group is rewarding. 

At last, the Harmony group only lasted a few years. Our teacher moved away and we missed the special magic she brought into our small town. She was passionate about singing and she was heartfelt about us. She took a group of farm and ranch kids and gave us the gift of music. She instilled in us the love for music, commitment, effort, success, and the ability to work well with others. The Harmony singing group was a positive experience in my life. It was a place that I felt inspired, a place that I could thrive musically, and a place that I excelled at a young age. These positive moments in my life gave me the confidence to excel in other musical areas.  

Oftentimes when we have past positive experiences that lead us to future successes. These positive moments in my life led me to further my education in music in a non-traditional way. My passion for music soothed my aching heart and helped me control my fears. I played and sang to my unborn babies. Down my pathway in my life music has dotted the way because of loving teachers who were optimistic and hopeful in helping a young girl determine her own future. 

Fast forwarding to my future: Because of these little bright spots in my past I have had the opportunity to expand my musical knowledge. Adding more experiences like learning the organ and the ukulele has brought me a sense of fulfillment in my life. My heart beats a few extra beats when I am able to sing in a capable choir. I believe that we all have unlimited potential. 

Tools to help develop our own personal pathway 

1. Write down positive past experiences and explore where they can take you. 
2. Look for teachers/people who can lead you and inspire you. 
3. Take classes and learn from others to help you determine what you are passionate about.   

I’m standing on the right next to my sister.

Finding the direction that God has intended takes a lot of effort and a lot of believing in ourselves. Through diligence, faith and perseverance anything is possible. Here is a flashback to my Third grade spelling bee that taught me a few important life lessons.    

I dash in from playing kickball at our last recess. Our Third grade class had just conquered the fourth graders and a smile sits on my face of our newly acquired win. I am going to be the first one in my seat today. I sit at my desk in the back of the class room and as I am bending over to tie my loose shoelace when our teacher slams her hand on the desk and says, “Listen up kids!  I have an important announcement for you.” As the last classmate slowly slinks into his chair she continues on. “You each have the opportunity and privilege to be in the Third Grade Spelling Bee. You are all bright students. If you study these word lists and work hard you all have an opportunity to win the spelling bee.” The ‘class paper runner of the week’ excitedly distributes the word list booklets as she drones on, “Finally, there is a little catch to the competition.” We all sit up a little straighter in our chairs as our eyes fix on her substantial presence in  the center of the classroom. We are anticipating her next sentence. What could possibly be the problem that could ruin our third grade stardom? She carries on, “You will also be joining the fourth graders in the competition!” Moans, sighs, whispers of defeat and a few random paper airplanes fly through the air as she makes her final declaration. I mentally hung onto her instructions, “you all have the opportunity to win the spelling bee.” I carefully place the word list in my backpack and wander towards the bus.  

The word list remains tucked away in my backpack for the next couple of weeks. I completely forgot about practicing for the spelling bee. I walk through the front door after school and fresh bread aroma fills the air. I quickly run my stuff up to my room and run back down to sit at the table. I sit in my chair and enjoy moms ‘love’ baked into a loaf of bread. I devour the warm bread dripping with butter. Mom says to me, “I hear there’s a spelling bee coming up. Do you need any help with the words?” I gulp down the last piece of bread as embarrassment and dread surround me. I have completely ignored the spelling list. I shake my head in protest as she continues to slice another piece of bread. I silently make a plan to pull out the word list and study fifteen minutes before bed every night. If I go down a loser I can’t take my mom with me. I don’t know if I have left myself enough time to make it to the top three in the spelling bee. 

Later that night my backpack sits at the foot of my bed as a reminder to pull out the word list. In the dark I jump into my bed anticipating my study time and the future success I could possibly hold. I think to myself, I think it’ll only take one or two times through the spelling list to be really successful at the spelling bee. I dig into the side of my bed for my flashlight and I reach into my backpack for the list. I open the crisp word booklet and there are unending columns of words that I have never heard of. Fear, doubt and failure creep into my mind. I quickly brush these feelings aside and I come up with a strategic plan. Read the word and spell the word and then repeat. I get to word 15 on the list and I push the rubber button on my flashlight and quickly fall asleep.    

The next night is repeated and I feel like spelling words is similar to counting sheep. Each word is starting to jump over an imaginary fence. The words are gathering in a flock in the distance and I am starting to drift. I am losing interest and the words are big and confusing.  What the heck does con-science mean anyway and it’s pronounced the same as conscious. This is perplexing. My energy is wasted from the long school day and I drift off to sleep after only five practice words.   

The following night my flashlight was dimming as I slammed it against the mattress in hopes the light would stay bright. I am starting to give up hope of ever winning the spelling bee. Mom walks in and sits on my bed and asks, “Can I help you with your words?” A glimmer of hope fills my mind and I respond, “Yes!” We work together on spellings, definitions and pronunciations for the next thirty minutes.  My fragmented courage is slowly pieced back together as we labor together as a team.

The next week I am learning how to remove fear and failure and replace it with belief and faith in myself.  

The day of the spelling bee is finally here. Stress and worry of spelling out words like: cautious, mortified, and catastrophe have got me all jumbled up inside. What if I forget there are two Z’s in puzzlement? This is the most epic moment of my third grade life. I put on my nicest shirt and I make sure my pants and shoes are clean.  My permed hair is pulled up tight into a ponytail with little ringlets framing my face and neck. My flower bow is placed perfectly on the side of my head so everyone can see that it matches my shirt. If I don’t succeed at spelling maybe I could get an award for my hair. I walk in the school doors ready for success and ready to knock out the fourth graders with my spelling skills.

Our teacher lines us up at the door in alphabetical order. I am always and forever will be stuck in the middle. “M” is the first letter of my last name and I find this a bit boring. I will never be first and I will never be last. I will be just ‘meh’ for eternity! I can see my teacher’s bright orange dress flowing towards the kids whose last names start with an “A”. Her hair is cropped short and she is walking with confidence in front of her prized third grade class. She stops abruptly at the top of the stairs leading down to the gym floor. She says blatantly, “Go on now! Go line up.” We skirt around her and nervously run down the stairs to our position marked out on the gym floor. 

Cheap off-white masking tape is marked on the shiny gym floor. We all shuffle in silence and stare at the three judges in front of us. No one dares make an awkward move or do anything stupid. All 200 inhabitants of our remote town are seated in the audience. The judges are our neighbors and family friends. We stand motionless waiting for our directions. All of the residents are seated on cold metal chairs directly in front of us and the rest are subjected to the hard cement benches attached to the sizable partition. The high gloss white walls seem especially shiny today as the sun is smiling through the lofty windows on the south side of the gym. If anyone hits the gym floor wrong with their shoes or accidentally coughs the sound could reverberate for hours. 

The judges appear to be stiff and unfriendly as they give us the strict instructions of the spelling bee. The judge stands and loudly announces our clear specifications, “You will say the word, then you will spell the word and finally you will repeat the word. We will only give you the definition of the word one time. We can repeat the word three times. You will have an allotted time to spell the word. If you fail at any of these attempts you will be disqualified!” I stand a little taller and swallow hard out of fear of failing and not meeting the requirements.  

The spelling bee is starting and my long legs are beginning to shake with nervousness. My knees are about to buckle but I will them to lock in place. The words are slowly pronounced  and spelled out in slow motion. My friends are dropping like flies around me. I get my first word and I step up to the mic with confidence. The judge in front of me says clearly, “Spell LABOR. Do you need me to repeat the word? Would you like a definition?” “No thank you,” I say with all the confidence I can muster. I continue on, “LABOR, L-A-B-O-R, labor.” I give myself an imaginary high five and do a little dance inside my head. I am in the game for round two.

Round two comes around and there are only ten of us left standing. The words are intensifying in difficulty. My second word is announced and I score again.  It’s unbelievable! So many kids are miss-spelling the words and walking to their seats with their heads bent down in defeat. My turn is creeping up faster and faster. I look to my left and to my right. All that is left standing is my friend and my neighbor who lives a half of a mile down the road. We look at each other and then we stare out at the large audience anticipating the final winner. I let pride take over just for a moment as I look at my two friends and I silently say, “you are going down suckers!” 

The microphone makes a loud squealing noise as the judge announces, “We are down to our final three competitors. Let’s give them our full attention.” Dari please step to the mic. I walk confidently to the front of the judges. I got this! The judge loudly declares to the room full of people, “The word is KNAPSACK.” I quickly override the questions and hastily jump right into spelling the word that is going to win me the medal. “KNAPSACK, N…..A-P, KNAPSACK.” I didn’t even finish spelling the word. My mistake of leaving off the silent ‘K’ is resounding in my mind. I feel like someone got on a loudspeaker and announced to the world, “what an idiot Dari is for omitting the ‘K’ in the word ‘knapsack’- Everyone here knows knapsack has a ‘k’.” I had just let my pride get the best of me and I blurted the word out before assessing the spelling in my mind. 

Overall I was inaudibly elated. I placed third in the spelling bee. Even though I didn’t take the grand prize I was able to stay in the spelling bee with two of the smartest girls in the Third and Fourth grade classes. I was happy to be one of the few students standing at the end of the competition. I knew I could succeed at other things because I had felt a small accomplishment in winning the third place medal.

Lastly, I learned a few lessons through this bout with words. Difficult things can be accomplished when we have confidence in ourselves and we put forth effort. Fear and failure occasionally get in our way. We need to brush those negative feelings aside and completely believe in ourselves. I have learned to navigate my life a little bit better because of my Third grade spelling bee experiences.

Furthermore, goal setting is a great way to achieve greatness. We can set a goal for the specific destination we want to end up at. Along the way we can break down steps to help us achieve our destination. As we march along our personal path we can achieve greatness within. 

Lessons I learned:

1. Keep trying! Failure can motivate you to try harder and it can also inspire us to take another direction.
2. Work Hard- When we put effort into our lives there is usually a sweet reward. 
3. Pray for help-God is helping us down our specific pathways. Maybe we want our lives to go directly from point A to B. Oftentimes we randomly hit all the letters of the alphabet before we hit our destination. 
4. Break down your main goal into small steps.
5. Find a family member of a friend to help support you along your journey.

In addition to living a full and meaningful life, here is a recipe that can lift our mood and rejuvenate our souls. Here is a healthy recipe that you can indulge in and feel good about. It is sweetened with pure maple syrup that gives our bodies a plethora of vitamins and minerals. According to the National Institutes of Health, here are a few benefits on this sweet syrups list: Manganese, Riboflavin, Copper, and Calcium.  

• Manganese and calcium helps build strong bones
• Copper is good for brain development and helps maintain the nervous system
• Riboflavin helps turn food into energy 

Berry Cream Cheese Fool -Serves 8-10

¾ (180ml) Cup Pure Maple Syrup

8 oz (225 g) Cream Cheese, at room temperature

½ (120 g) Cup Fage Total 2 % Greek yogurt 

2 Cups (480 g) Heavy cream 

2 tsp vanilla extract 

⅛ tsp Salt 

4 cups (520g) Mixed Berries 

Directions: 

1. In a large bowl whip cream cheese until air is incorporated. 
2. Add pure maple syrup until the mixture is light and fluffy. 
3. Add greek yogurt and combine 
4. Slowly drizzle in the heavy cream until the cream thickens and your ingredients are combined.  
5. Whisk in the salt and vanilla 
6. Fold in mixed berries and save a few to sprinkle on top. 

Optional: Sprinkle the top of your sweet dessert with chia seeds they are packed with fiber, protein, and they add heart healthy fats.

Resources: 

https://www.mayoclinichealthsystem.org/hometown-health/speaking-of-health/chia-seeds-pack-nutritional-punch#:~:text=One%20serving%20of%20dried%20chia,grams%20are%20heart%2Dhealthy%20fats.

https://ods.od.nih.gov/factsheets/Riboflavin-Consumer/#:~:text=sheet%20on%20Riboflavin.-,What%20is%20riboflavin%20and%20what%20does%20it%20do%3F,into%20the%20energy%20you%20need.

https://www.indeed.com/career-advice/career-development/goal-setting-process

Medical disclaimer: The information on this site are my own thoughts and experiences. This is not a substitute for professional and medical advice. If you need help please consult a medical professional or healthcare provider.