When we came home from school yesterday, it was 50 degrees, sunny, and undeniably "outside weather." My kids couldn't throw their backpacks in the hall closet fast enough; in approximately 8 seconds they had unearthed softballs and gloves, pulled bikes out of the garage and shed their jackets to get a little sunshine on their arms and faces. As I followed them into the house, I stepped over a trail of bags, socks, shoes, and coats that were strung out from front door to back door. The softball bags were unzipped and catcher's gear, eye black, face guards and too-small mitts were spilling out of the hallway closet. Cooper had abandoned his Kindle and his Pokemon deck on the downstairs table and was already wheeling his bike up the back sidewalk and heading for the road.
Thus presented adjustment #227 to town living; we used to have 6 acres of land for the kids to explore with wild abandon. It only took 6 softball throws from pitcher to catcher before a loose ball made its way to the neighbor's fence and we had to suggest to the girls that they would maybe need to wait until we could get over to the diamonds to practice. Cooper made a dozen trips back and forth in the street and then the shine of riding seemed to wear off.
There was no trampoline to bounce on, there were no trees to climb. There was no open field where they could hit balls and no four-wheeler to take on laps around the grove. Soon I had three kids wandering listlessly around the yard looking increasingly disgruntled. Fortunately, Aaron pulled up right then; I was putting on my walking shoes for a trip around the lake and he suggested to the kids that they get their bike tires all pumped up so they could come along.
I warned them; I'd already mapped out a 3-mile walk, and had just recently added some little wrinkles to the route to include some hills and stretch it to 3.5. Everyone insisted they were up for it, so we set off, Aaron included. They probably covered twice the distance I did; they would ride ahead, turn around and ride back, and then ride ahead again. Aaron enjoyed the trip more than anyone, I think, doing wheelies and jumping up and down curbs with his bike and generally being a bad influence.
All was well until the halfway point. We'd only done two hills of any consequence when we rounded a corner and Cooper saw what was coming up next. I let Aaron do all the persuading, but Coop's mood was definitely darkening as he got off the bike and pushed it up the next hill. Luckily, just then we stumbled upon one of Fairmont's charming sidewalk libraries. Two years ago, one Fairmont family put up the "Little Free Library" on the sidewalk in front of their house and filled it up with books to share. Since then, more and more of these are popping up all over the place. My kids hadn't seen one yet, and this was the highlight of the day. All three pored over the choices trying to figure out which one to borrow.
The distraction was charming and necessary, but there was still a good mile and a half to go before we were home and poor Cooper's little legs were just burning. He complained loudly every single pedal rotation for the next 11 blocks before all of us told him to pipe down in varying degrees of volume and frustration. We finally made it to our street and his relief was palpable. But like the kick a runner finds at the end of the race, he mustered the strength to surge ahead and race to the house. He dropped the bike in the yard, went immediately to the kitchen for a drink and then collapsed for the rest of the night on the upstairs couch. I'm not sure how often he'll be joining me in the future; in just a couple more months the lake will be warm enough to wade in and he'll have a new set of distractions. I think that Carys is going to be a regular; the bike ride didn't even faze her.
All told, I guess it's nice to have replacements for the things we miss about the farm. It makes me feel less like I lost something and more like I made a trade. One with a fantastic view, and 80 feet of sandy beach, I keep reminding myself. When summer comes and the Fairmont lakes fill up with boats and we have company pulling up to the beach whenever they want to, and we have the fire pit going 5 nights a week and the only thing we bother to cook on is the outdoor grill...I just may find that this is the best trade we've made so far.
March 22, 2016
March 10, 2016
Restoration
"I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul." ~Twelfth Night
Over the past few years, I've been watering the seeds of discontent in my soul with the repetitious drum of daily life. I thought a move to town would be enough to stir things up and renew my sense of self; I think instead it just added to my stress and strained the already tenuous grasp I have on my sanity. The whole move, while a sound practical decision, may have been a nothing more than an effort to shake me loose from the routine of "Real Life." I think about how often we use that strategy to breathe new life into ourselves; when we get a new outfit, or a new hair color, or a new vehicle or a new house, we feel for a moment like we are actually new people. I've used all of the above to re-energize my psyche to varying degrees over the years, though they never really last very long. It's funny, do we actually think that a change of scenery will awaken what is lying dormant in us and suddenly bring us forward into the glow of enlightenment? Swapping material goods has no lasting effect on what is essentially a part of who we are and what we do, and what ignites the passions for living that simmer below our surface.
What are we searching for, anyway? When I feel restless and uneasy and stale with the humdrum of daily living, I ask myself: what is it that I'm looking for? And often, I don't have an answer. I want health and happiness for my kids and that's pretty much it - anything else seems selfish and self-serving somehow. So we trudge along, day in and day out, and shine bright lights on the ordinary moments that make a regular day seem special - an unexpected favor, a well-placed compliment, or ice cream at midnight on the back step as you look out on the lake and ponder how the heck you got here. (I'm not saying I've ever done that - that's purely for illustration.)
But yesterday. Yesterday, magic happened, and for once I was paying attention. Yesterday, I blew the dust off my copy of Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' and introduced it to my 8th graders. I used to teach this, all the way back in the early Colorado days, circa 2000-2006. I have loved Shakespeare since Bernie Brohaugh at UWRF let me pass his class on the first try. (That was NOT easy to do, people.) I had a revolving curriculum in Colorado that let me teach whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, and I brought the Bard to every class I ever taught. We had the best times, translating the language, performing the scenes, and illustrating his imagery.
When I got hired at Fairmont, however, there was a set curriculum with a clear map and plan, and Shakespeare is a 9-12 content topic. I knew I had been missing him a little, but I had no idea how much. This year, my department put the stamp of approval on adding a little taste of Shakespeare to the 8th grade curriculum and I was able to choose how I wanted to do it. So of course, I brought out the long-forgotten files on Shakespearean insults. I found the cartoon panels on how to follow the play-within-a-play, and I resurrected Puck, in all his irreverent glory, to the extreme delight of my classes. I knew they would love it; I did not know what effect it would have on me.
Approximately 6 lines into the play, I realized I was reading aloud from memory - reciting words that had lain waiting in the darker corners of my memory. I felt a brightness in my eyes, and energy in my words that I hadn't felt in ages. I taught for four hours in a row before a break, and when I collapsed into my chair I began to grasp the complete and utter change that had taken over my body. I felt energized, renewed. A surge of purpose flooded through me, and I found myself Googling activities and videos and planning future lessons with the vigor of my forgotten youth.
24 hours later, the energy has not subsided, the spring in my step is still there. I've been thinking deeply about this all day; I wonder sometimes if we too often look outside ourselves for ways to reinvent the passion of our youth. What if the passions of our youth are in fact the keys to keeping us young? What if we do not need a change, but rather a RETURN to something from our past? What if our quest to "become" something new, different, more, is a hollow promise? What if the answer was in us all along?
I don't mean to minimize the importance of the growing that we all do as we get older; we become wiser, more self-aware. We can view our past with sharp clarity of intent and purpose...and I wouldn't trade that knowledge for anything. But how delightful to discover that I didn't need to chop off my hair, buy a new shirt (or a house?) to find renewal. Mine came from the master storyteller himself, in the pages of a 400 year old story and on the faces of a room full of our future's brightest.
March 2, 2016
Basketball Reflections
My dad coached basketball nearly all my young life; from a very early age I can remember going to the gym with him and bouncing a ball along the sideline. To this day, the smell of popcorn in a gymnasium does wonderful things for my psyche; it gives me a special kind of adrenaline rush to walk into that environment. I sat behind my dad at games, listened to his words, absorbed the environment. His ball players babysat me, I got to twirl batons at halftimes, mom put yarn pom-poms in my hair so I could match the cheerleaders, and basketball became a routine part of winter life in the Bartscher house.
Sadly, I never connected to the game as a player the way that I could have. I played most of my high school career with varying levels of success. No one would ever accuse me of being especially good at it, but I kept going out for the team mainly because basketball had been so prevalent in my life for so long that it had become a part of the skin I was wearing.
Looking back at the basketball playing memories that have stayed with me, very few of them have anything to do with playing the actual game. I remember that freshman year Coach Cue started me at point guard for our first game of the season. We were in Wells in that dark gym/auditorium and I must have looked shocked because he said, "What's the matter?" I told him that until that moment I had only ever played post. He said, "you probably could have mentioned that before!" But he started me there nonetheless. That year I learned to see the court from the front half of it for the first time. I also remember that I was a real thorn in the poor man's side all season. During a frustrating practice where our team (me) was doing everything wrong and we (I) had to do it over and over again, I leaned against the wall in the gym and inadvertently shut off all the gym lights. I flipped them back on of course, but in Blue Earth's old junior high gym the lights needed time to "warm up." There was tense silence, followed by a deep sigh. It must have taken a supreme amount of control for Coach to dismiss us for the day and only glare at me as I walked by instead of throttling me as I probably deserved.
When senior year rolled around, I'm sorry to say that I decided to stop playing ball. There is a long and complicated reason for that, which I won't elaborate on today. But the short answer is that it had stopped being fun. All the wonderful parts of the sport had become lost for me and I decided I needed to be finished. My dad bore it well; he never pressed me or pushed me to stay. I credit my parents over and over for always being able to see what I needed and set their own feelings aside - there are many examples of that in my life and I feel so lucky for that. I turned in my practice jersey one cold November afternoon and went home after school with an odd sense of detachment.
Coach Cue found me the next morning. He didn't ask me to reconsider - he asked me instead to help him coach the freshman team. I was so surprised - the thought had never occurred to me before. That moment became a pivotal moment in my life. I am certain I would have never looked at a basketball court again after high school were it not for that invitation.
The first time I sat next to him on the bench during a game, he leaned over and discussed coaching decisions with me the entire game. That was the first time I realized how much more there was to the game of basketball than my limited experience as a player had afforded me. I began to see offensive patterns developing, I saw defensive weaknesses, I learned that chemistry on the floor is more important than individual skill. It was like getting a new pair of eyeglasses - I could see the basketball world so much more clearly from the sideline and a whole new passion emerged in me. I found that I could talk basketball with my dad on a completely different level, bringing me even closer to him through coaching than being a player ever could.
I helped Coach Cue for the first time in 1993; I have coached a basketball team every single winter since that year - for 23 years now - and learned something new every single year. When I got to college I looked up the local high school coach and volunteered my services. That opened the door to get a position as a 6th grade traveling coach for a local Wisconsin program. After college I landed back in Blue Earth for a year where Coach Cue hired me back again as his freshman coach. When I moved to Colorado and found my first teaching position, Robert Crowther took me under his wing as the Varsity Assistant Coach. That was especially challenging; Colorado basketball is vastly different from Minnesota basketball. It took me three or four years to get that entirely figured out - especially that trademark match-up zone he so masterfully commanded. Coming back home, I was worried I would have to wait a while to find a place in a program; I shouldn't have been concerned. Between the CER youth programs I do three times a year, the school ball program where I've coached every single level from 7th grade to assistant varsity, and the traveling association programs, I have had my fill of basketball.
I've had some special players over the years, special seasons and important milestones in coaching. For the last three years, I've been especially lucky to coach my own daughter's traveling team for basketball. I was worried about that a little; my dad never coached one of my teams. Each time I reached his level, he swapped positions with another coach in the program. I really really wanted him to coach me - but he always felt that it wouldn't be fair either to me or to the other players. I've been really mindful of that, coaching Emma. I've tried to be as impartial and careful as I can be when it comes to her and the team. I hope I've done well, though there was one embarrassing moment when I jumped up and hollered "Emma Ruth!" at her when she picked up another unnecessary foul. I have to restrain myself from using the middle name anywhere outside of our house.
This team of 18 wonderful girls has been the highlight of these last three years. I've loved watching them develop - I remember when they could barely dribble and walk at the same time and now they can run complex plays and transition the floor almost autonomously. I made a promise to myself and a commitment to their parents that I would care more about their development than I do about their wins. We divide evenly into teams every single week, every girl gets exactly the same opportunity to learn every position and to learn every skill. I've never divided them into A and B teams - the day you tell a girl that she is a "B" player is the day she stops believing she can ever be more than that. I know that time is coming, but I just don't believe in doing that when they are still young and growing and learning.
This philosophy has had so many benefits: they get along with each other on an exceptional level. Believe me, I have coached girls for a LONG time and that is a rare thing. When they show up to every practice and know that I'm going to work them exactly the same, treat them exactly the same, and give every girl exactly the same opportunity, the impulse to compete AGAINST each other is replaced with a drive to compete collaboratively WITH each other - and that's a game-changer. And believe it or not, this whole fairness thing has resulted in wins - both teams win, they win a lot, they come home with lots of hardware and the best part is that I don't have a clear top and a clear bottom. I have lots and lots of good athletes - the higher skilled players set the bar and the lower skilled players strive to meet the expectation - and I don't think they even have any idea that's what's happening.
Next year, however, they will be 7th graders. Their school ball team will divide them, and I have no idea how or what will happen when that happens. I don't know if everyone will stay out, I don't know if anyone will be disappointed or upset with the outcome - I have no control over it. I hope that whatever happens they will look back on these three years as fondly as I do. We've laughed and been silly and been sad and weathered bad refs and terrible fouls and concession stand food together. We have a million pictures of a million beautiful moments and I'm going to treasure them.
I'm currently coaching the 8th grade school ball team, so I will probably get them back in a year or so, for one last hurrah before I send them to the high school program. I feel like I'm handing over my cherished possessions and hoping that the high school receives them with the same love I've poured into them. They will be a fun group to watch - up and comers with skill and purpose and the best sense of teamwork I've seen in a long while. May they be successful, may they stay together, may they love each other, may they continue to work hard and love this game. And may I have the strength to let them go.
Sadly, I never connected to the game as a player the way that I could have. I played most of my high school career with varying levels of success. No one would ever accuse me of being especially good at it, but I kept going out for the team mainly because basketball had been so prevalent in my life for so long that it had become a part of the skin I was wearing.
Looking back at the basketball playing memories that have stayed with me, very few of them have anything to do with playing the actual game. I remember that freshman year Coach Cue started me at point guard for our first game of the season. We were in Wells in that dark gym/auditorium and I must have looked shocked because he said, "What's the matter?" I told him that until that moment I had only ever played post. He said, "you probably could have mentioned that before!" But he started me there nonetheless. That year I learned to see the court from the front half of it for the first time. I also remember that I was a real thorn in the poor man's side all season. During a frustrating practice where our team (me) was doing everything wrong and we (I) had to do it over and over again, I leaned against the wall in the gym and inadvertently shut off all the gym lights. I flipped them back on of course, but in Blue Earth's old junior high gym the lights needed time to "warm up." There was tense silence, followed by a deep sigh. It must have taken a supreme amount of control for Coach to dismiss us for the day and only glare at me as I walked by instead of throttling me as I probably deserved.
When senior year rolled around, I'm sorry to say that I decided to stop playing ball. There is a long and complicated reason for that, which I won't elaborate on today. But the short answer is that it had stopped being fun. All the wonderful parts of the sport had become lost for me and I decided I needed to be finished. My dad bore it well; he never pressed me or pushed me to stay. I credit my parents over and over for always being able to see what I needed and set their own feelings aside - there are many examples of that in my life and I feel so lucky for that. I turned in my practice jersey one cold November afternoon and went home after school with an odd sense of detachment.
Coach Cue found me the next morning. He didn't ask me to reconsider - he asked me instead to help him coach the freshman team. I was so surprised - the thought had never occurred to me before. That moment became a pivotal moment in my life. I am certain I would have never looked at a basketball court again after high school were it not for that invitation.
The first time I sat next to him on the bench during a game, he leaned over and discussed coaching decisions with me the entire game. That was the first time I realized how much more there was to the game of basketball than my limited experience as a player had afforded me. I began to see offensive patterns developing, I saw defensive weaknesses, I learned that chemistry on the floor is more important than individual skill. It was like getting a new pair of eyeglasses - I could see the basketball world so much more clearly from the sideline and a whole new passion emerged in me. I found that I could talk basketball with my dad on a completely different level, bringing me even closer to him through coaching than being a player ever could.
I helped Coach Cue for the first time in 1993; I have coached a basketball team every single winter since that year - for 23 years now - and learned something new every single year. When I got to college I looked up the local high school coach and volunteered my services. That opened the door to get a position as a 6th grade traveling coach for a local Wisconsin program. After college I landed back in Blue Earth for a year where Coach Cue hired me back again as his freshman coach. When I moved to Colorado and found my first teaching position, Robert Crowther took me under his wing as the Varsity Assistant Coach. That was especially challenging; Colorado basketball is vastly different from Minnesota basketball. It took me three or four years to get that entirely figured out - especially that trademark match-up zone he so masterfully commanded. Coming back home, I was worried I would have to wait a while to find a place in a program; I shouldn't have been concerned. Between the CER youth programs I do three times a year, the school ball program where I've coached every single level from 7th grade to assistant varsity, and the traveling association programs, I have had my fill of basketball.
I've had some special players over the years, special seasons and important milestones in coaching. For the last three years, I've been especially lucky to coach my own daughter's traveling team for basketball. I was worried about that a little; my dad never coached one of my teams. Each time I reached his level, he swapped positions with another coach in the program. I really really wanted him to coach me - but he always felt that it wouldn't be fair either to me or to the other players. I've been really mindful of that, coaching Emma. I've tried to be as impartial and careful as I can be when it comes to her and the team. I hope I've done well, though there was one embarrassing moment when I jumped up and hollered "Emma Ruth!" at her when she picked up another unnecessary foul. I have to restrain myself from using the middle name anywhere outside of our house.
This team of 18 wonderful girls has been the highlight of these last three years. I've loved watching them develop - I remember when they could barely dribble and walk at the same time and now they can run complex plays and transition the floor almost autonomously. I made a promise to myself and a commitment to their parents that I would care more about their development than I do about their wins. We divide evenly into teams every single week, every girl gets exactly the same opportunity to learn every position and to learn every skill. I've never divided them into A and B teams - the day you tell a girl that she is a "B" player is the day she stops believing she can ever be more than that. I know that time is coming, but I just don't believe in doing that when they are still young and growing and learning.
This philosophy has had so many benefits: they get along with each other on an exceptional level. Believe me, I have coached girls for a LONG time and that is a rare thing. When they show up to every practice and know that I'm going to work them exactly the same, treat them exactly the same, and give every girl exactly the same opportunity, the impulse to compete AGAINST each other is replaced with a drive to compete collaboratively WITH each other - and that's a game-changer. And believe it or not, this whole fairness thing has resulted in wins - both teams win, they win a lot, they come home with lots of hardware and the best part is that I don't have a clear top and a clear bottom. I have lots and lots of good athletes - the higher skilled players set the bar and the lower skilled players strive to meet the expectation - and I don't think they even have any idea that's what's happening.
Next year, however, they will be 7th graders. Their school ball team will divide them, and I have no idea how or what will happen when that happens. I don't know if everyone will stay out, I don't know if anyone will be disappointed or upset with the outcome - I have no control over it. I hope that whatever happens they will look back on these three years as fondly as I do. We've laughed and been silly and been sad and weathered bad refs and terrible fouls and concession stand food together. We have a million pictures of a million beautiful moments and I'm going to treasure them.
I'm currently coaching the 8th grade school ball team, so I will probably get them back in a year or so, for one last hurrah before I send them to the high school program. I feel like I'm handing over my cherished possessions and hoping that the high school receives them with the same love I've poured into them. They will be a fun group to watch - up and comers with skill and purpose and the best sense of teamwork I've seen in a long while. May they be successful, may they stay together, may they love each other, may they continue to work hard and love this game. And may I have the strength to let them go.
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