Why I Teach

I'm starting a unit on composers with my 6th grade "Intro to Music" class. I decided to show them August Rush for many reasons that would make a boring blog post.

As a teacher, you always have a handful of students that just somehow win your heart and you have a special connection with and would give your life to help them succeed and be happy. I have 250 of them. Ok, yes, but I do have a handful (a large one...maybe 2 dozen...I guess I have big hands or something) that I feel a special interest in and love for. One of them is a hispanic boy. He must come from a decent familiy, but obviously not as priviledged as I was growing up. He has a lot of energy but is a really sweet kid. I didn't expect him to really be excited about music based on what I'd seen from him, but he just started coming alive once we started our piano unit.

As we finished the movie yesterday in class and got to the big, dramatic climax (so watch it, it's GOOD), he said outloud to the whole class, "I'm gonna cry!" And he did tear up, along with his sidekick, another kid in my oversized "handful". It was cute.

The movie finished, we discussed some things, and then I dismissed them. I watched them go. He was the last one out of the class, but when he was almost to the door, he suddenly turned around, come running back to me across the room, gave me a huge hug right around my waist, and said very sincerely with all of his heart, "Thank you for showing us that movie!" He then turned and ran out of my room.

That's why I teach.

Nasty Habits I've Picked Up from Running

(NOTE: PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING: Disclaimer: This post is not for the weak of stomach. Or for those who don’t already know me well and REALLY love me. Because if you don’t already know and love me and you read this, you’ll never have any desire to meet me. So do me and yourself a favor and read my other posts first. And then maybe, maybe come back to this one—after you know and love me.)

I’ve said it before, and I stick by it: Runners are odd creatures. There are certain things that are acceptable, necessary, or even “cool” when you’re running. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, when not running out on the trail, these things aren’t exactly “kosher” in society. A few examples from my personal experiences:

1. The “Farmer’s Blow”
Also known as the “Snot Rocket” or “Alabama Hanky”. (I was informed of the latter name by a really cute guy in Alabama when I was out running with him on a semi-date. I may have had a cold and may have instinctively used said Hanky...and I wonder why things didn’t work out with him…) If you’re not familiar with it, it’s a disgustingly practical and effective invention. You simply plug one nostril with your thumb, turn your head over your opposite shoulder, close your mouth, and blow. It works like magic.
(It takes a little bit of practice, but with hard work and determination, it can be a very trusty friend in times of need. Try it! No, really!)

However, I find that I’ve gotten a little too reliant on it and have to watch myself when I’m not out running. I was walking from my car into the grocery store the other day and needed to blow my nose. So what did I do? I plugged one nostril with my thumb, turned my head over the opposite shoulder, closed my mouth, took and deep breath, and…

GROSS! I caught myself just in time. Who DOES that in public?!

Other words of caution: You have to be careful and very aware of your surroundings when doing this. Make sure you’re blowing downwind, or it’s just not worth it. And you have to be strategic about it in races—not strategic as in waiting until your competitor is right behind you and aiming over whatever shoulder they’re drafting off of; I mean strategic by NOT doing it when someone is behind or beside you. Oh, and be careful of treadmills. On the rare occasion I’m forced to resort to them, I usually have to catch myself at least once so I don’t ‘snot rocket’ all over the carpet of my apartment complex’s fitness room. Sick.

2. Gloves are great—they also keep your hands warm!

When I first got started running more seriously, it was wintertime. On a splurge, I invested in a pair of hoity-toity running gloves at a hoity-toity price. But they are oh-so-worth it.

The best part is the soft, fuzzy covering that runs down the back of the thumb and all along the lower part of the back of the hand. What’s that for? Wiping your nose, naturally. No, I’m serious, that’s what it’s for. (People get paid big money to design snot-wiping parts of gloves—and I teach middle school for pocket change. Life is so fair.) I love this fuzzy part, though, because it reduces the need for Farmer’s Blows—or just makes clean-up after them more efficient and less gross.

But on one (or more) occasion(s) I was walking from my school building across the parking lot to my little Trailer Park (i.e. classroom) on a cold day. I had on my sweet, 100% wool, very nice “Handie” Salzburg gloves. My nose was running, so I lift my hand up to my face to wipe the snot all over my gloves and…

GROSS! I stop myself just in time. Not all gloves were meant to be snot rags!

3. “Bathroom” is not so much defined by what it is as by what is successfully accomplished there

You’ve hopefully read the post about Colorado Runners and all-natural bathrooms. I’ve gotten more comfortable with the organic, all-natural granola side of me, including finding a restroom whenever I need one on the trail.

But sometimes I forget that not everything is like a 20-mile trail run.

I was out on a “hike” with a friend—meaning a 15-minute climb up Ensign Peak in Salt Lake City, Utah. Partway up the hill, I realized I needed to go to the bathroom. My natural reaction when I’m out on the trail running is, “Ok, let’s get this done now, because it’s not gonna get any better over the next 18 miles—and there’s no way you are gonna make it that far unless you do something about it!” So my natural thought process was, “Ok, go find a little grove of trees, Depew.” Not a big deal. I even started telling my friend I was going to go do that until I remembered—Dude, this is only a 15-minute hike! You can hold it!

Sick. I felt like a boy. Gross.

4. Despite the great chagrin you will all feel at reading this, I choose not to elaborate on the gastro-intestinal activities that runners experience. I still have some social inhibitions, thank you. Well, at least I do when I’m not out on the trail, all by my lonesome, with no eyes, ears, or…noses…for at least a 3 mile radius. ;)

And on those lovely notes…

Anyone up for a run?

100% all-natural, organic Colorado Runners

(Ok, this one had my family crying in laughter at dinner one night at Johnny Carino’s, I’m attempting to retell it just the way I did then. It’s kind of an awkward story. But it was kind of an awkward experience. I guess I’m just kind of an awkward girl.)

Training for a marathon is quite an experience. I’ve learned things and experienced things I never knew existed.

I decided I wanted to run a half-marathon race before my actual marathon. I actually did it rather earlier on in my training than most programs suggest, but I was ready and it was a beautiful race I couldn’t pass up. It was called the “Autumn Colors Run”. It was in Buena Vista, Colorado on September 19th, right at the peak of the aspen trees turning colors in the Colorado Rockies—one of my favorite phenomena and times of year. They bus you up to the starting line way up in the mountains—9500 ft. elevation. You end at 8000 ft. elevation. Most of the course was downhill (and I kicked butt on the few uphills—I LOVE training in Colorado Springs, where it’s rare to find a flat area longer than 50 meters). The first 6 miles or so are running on trails through the mountain forests, with splashes of brilliant scarlet, gold, and bright yellow flash right by you in the surrounding forests as you power downhill. Once you emerge from the mountains, you run through the valleys, with a 360 degree view of breathtaking Colorado mountains, painted with patches of the same vibrant hues. It’s beautiful. And a freakin’ fast course. I loved it.

But I’m getting carried away. Let’s back up to the starting line. Where was I? Oh, yeah--You learn a lot about your body while training for a marathon. I’m still figuring out how it works for those 26.2 body-pounding miles. But it’s a good system, and once you figure it out, it’s pretty predictable. I’ve learned that I have to hydrate a LOT for several hours before I run. I’ve also learned, from sore experience, that as a result of said hydration, I MUST find a bathroom right before I start. If not, there will be an “emergency” (cue “Animaniacs”) somewhere between miles 3 and 10. But it has to be right before I start—you go too far beforehand, and you’ll need to go again before mile 6.

I knew there would be port-a-potties at the starting line, so I loaded bus 4 of 5 and headed the 13.1 miles up the canyon. I got to the top and jogged over to the port-a-potty line. It was LONG. I expected the line to go quickly. But I kept watching the time, and the minutes were ticking down faster than the line was. One by one, I saw people peel out of the line. I thought, “I’m jealous! I wish I could just say, ‘Nah, I can wait, I’ll go at the next rest stop—in 13.1 miles.’” Until I realized they were doing nothing of the sort. One by one, they wandered up the hill a short distance until they were hidden in the trees…well, mostly hidden. A minute or two later, they’d come down the hill and take their place at the pack at the starting line.

“Oh no, I don’t want to do that! PLEASE hurry up!” I groaned inwardly. Through my “learning experiences” in training, I’ve discovered that it’s MUCH easier for a man to use nature’s restroom than a woman. Let’s just say that I haven’t quite “mastered the skill” yet. But it was getting closer and closer to starting time, and the line was still far too long. The 2 girls behind me decided to give in and climbed the hill. I was banking on pure faith that enough people would give up, give in, and climb the hill, shortening the line enough for me to make it there just before the starting gun went off.

About 4 minutes to “Go time” (no pun intended), I realized my hope was in vain. I begrudgingly climbed the hill, trying to hurriedly come up with a better “plan of attack” on how to best accomplish this mountain-woman task I have not yet mastered without publicly embarrassing myself afterwards.

But Colorado’s a funny place. And runners are funny people. And when you put the two together…well, just keep reading.

As I walk up the hill, I see people dotting the hillside, “hidden behind trees”. Now, when I say hidden, we’re talking about runners and aspen trees and lodgepole pines here. Think the old Disney movies, when there’s always a tall, skinny villain and a short, fat one, and the short, fat one “hides” behind a lamp post---but his rear end and stomach are both sticking out, completely defeating the purpose of “hiding” behind anything. Not that runners have large rears or bellies to stick out, but it has the same effect, these runners “hiding” behind skinny tree trunks to take care of business.

It would have been really awkward if it didn’t just hit my funny bone and make me want to bust out laughing. But out of respect for the people busy at work, I held it in and just smiled real big.

To my left there was someone about 20 feet away. Keep your eyes straight ahead, Depew. Nope, there was someone straight ahead about 30 feet. Keep your eyes to the ground and veer right.

You know when you really have to go, but you’re still minutes from a bathroom, and then someone turns the faucet on or starts singing, “Don’t go chasing waterfalls…”? I was about there. The forest was filled with the “sounds of nature”. I sped up my hike farther up the hill. I certain didn’t want to be “hanging out” around an aspen trunk like a fat Disney villain for all these experienced all-natural mountain men and women to see my "lack of skills".

I heard the 2 girls I’d been standing in line with a few trees away, chatting as they “hid” behind their respective trees. (I think it’s weird enough that girls talk while they’re going to the bathroom in separate stalls, much less when the stalls are completely missing!)

Seriously, it was a funny sight. I took my eyes off the ground for a few seconds, long enough to look around and see probably 2 or 3 dozen people within easy hearing- and seeing-distance just standing or squatting and doing their business. I smiled and thought, “Now THIS is 100% all-natural, organic Colorado runners.”

Thanks to the 2 or 3 dozen mini-lessons around me, I successfully accomplished my task and raced back down to the finish line before the gun went off. No public embarrassment or anything. Put that down as another one of my life’s lessons I’ve learned through running. I felt pretty darn “Colorado”, and pretty darn “runner”.

Walking half-barefoot in 4 inches of snow--for a pencil

I’m a wise person. I steal as many good ideas as I can from other people. And I’m pretty darn good at it.

What’s the most common-heard phrase by any teacher? “I forgot my pencil.” I wanted to be a “nice” teacher and not stress about little things that really don’t matter, so at the beginning of the year, I’d just tell students to go up to my desk and grab one when they didn’t have theirs.

Enter the “learning from others” idea. I realized within a week or two that that wasn’t going to work, or I’d be out of pencils by mid-term progress reports! I’d heard of several teachers making students leave something at the teacher’s desk so they would remember to trade the pencil for their article at the end of class and not walk out of the room with the teacher’s pencil. It sounded non-threatening and would accomplish the goal without making a big deal out of such a menial thing.
I decided on a shoe. I’ve heard of several teachers doing this. It’s necessary enough that no students are going to walk out of my class with my pencil and one shoe on. They’d surely remember to give the pencil back so they didn’t have to walk out of the room in their sock.

Or so I thought. Until today. With 4 inches of snow on the ground.

I had 2 students—yes, two, from completely different class periods—come back into my classroom 20 minutes after they had left to get the shoe they had left here.

This would be silly enough if I didn’t work out in a modular (“trailor”) across the parking lot and a small grassy area from the rest of the school. These kids had to walk across the snow-covered grass and ice-covered asphalt—on a shoe-less foot. THEN they remembered.

Go figure.

I asked one girl, as she tied her shoe, “But where’s my pencil?!” She said, “I put it back at the end of class.”

Maybe it’s not as effective as I’d thought.

Life's Lessons: What I've Learned from Writing Thank You Notes

(This and the next 2 posts go hand in hand, so this is "Part 1". For full enjoyment, slowly consume all 3 in prescribed order.)

I have learned (and it’s good Christian doctrine--see "Part 3") that nothing makes you happier than serving. Ok, I’m loving the giddy “life is great!” endorphin high you get after a good run. But I’m talking the deep-down, soul-nourishing, spirit-enriching “feel good” feeling you get after giving of your time, energy, and love to make someone else’s day and/or life better. (Thomas S. Monson might call this a “warm fuzzy” feeling.) It’s an even deeper satisfaction when you have to sacrifice something of your own to lend that service. Maybe that’s why I love my career choice.

But this post isn’t about service. You can read that one below (Life’s Lessons: Jonah vs. Charity). This post is about the next best thing to service: Gratitude.

My mom and dad taught me when I was little to always, always, always write thank you notes for gifts I got from far-away relatives. I did it begrudgingly, figuring they wouldn’t let me play with the toy if I didn’t write the thank you note. Now I’m “older and wiser”, and am fairly faithful about writing thank you notes (although they are usually embarrassingly belated!). I just spent the past 45 minutes writing some long-overdue thank you notes. When I was done, I sat back and felt so good. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I realized how blessed I am. Maybe because I realized how many good people the Lord has placed in my life. Maybe because I know how much a thoughtful note can mean to me, bringing a smile to my face, tears to my eyes, or just warming my heart. (Whoa, I just sounded like Tommy Monson there!) Or perhaps I saw all those people and their goodness in my life as a manifestation of God’s love for me. But I just felt happy. Gratitude feels good.

I can only imagine the difference this would make if I transferred these principles to my prayers, asking less and thanking more.

You know, gratitude and service kind of go hand in hand. In serving, you are filled with humility, joy, and love. The person you serve is blessed by your service, and thanks you. In that expression of gratitude, the served is filled with humility, joy, and love. And in that thanking, you are blessed by the servee’s thoughtfulness. Maybe gratitude is another way to serve—just inside out—and that’s why it feels so good.

I don’t know—what do you think?

Life's Lessons: Delayed Thanks

(Part 2)

A recent experience with gratitude, with a not-so-recent story behind it:

In convincing me to sit down and write my obligatory thank you notes, my parents always told us the story (and I’ve used it in at least 2 sacrament talks) about Grandma Nielson (is that right, Dad?), our great grandmother, who used to sew a blanket for each great-grandchild every single year and give it to them at Christmas or their birthday. (I know I’m butchering the story, sorry!) This happened year after year, and year after year I begrudgingly wrote a quite “thank you” note. I didn’t realize it, but as the years past, Grandma Nielson got older, her hands got less agile, and there were more and more great grandkids. It wasn’t until years later that we discovered that she had stopped making blankets for our cousins long ago—because we were still getting them every year.

Gratitude goes a long way.

Eleven years ago, my grandfather (“Grandpa Kent”) made beautiful wooden jewelry boxes for my 2 sisters and I for Christmas presents. Inside mine was a simple but lovely sterling silver bracelet he had made, and engraved his name and the date on the inside of it—12/98. It was nice, but I wasn’t into jewelry at that time, so it stayed safely in my jewelry box for years.

It wasn’t until recently, perhaps a year ago, in moving and cleaning things out that I rediscovered it. I found it rather lovely, and began wearing it. It perfectly fits my wrist, personality, and fashion style (what little I have). I didn’t realize until I was working at EFY this summer, wearing “Sunday clothes” 3+ days a week, that I realized how much I was wearing that bracelet, and how much I loved it!

It struck me. My grandfather had made that for me in 1998—11 years ago! How could he or I have ever known how much I would love it and wear it, it being the one bracelet I took with me Alabama for student teaching, Utah for EFY, etc. I was transitioning between poor student and poor teacher, and never would have spent money to buy myself something like this. But his generosity 11 years earlier was blessing my life now, and he had no idea.

So I let him know. I wrote him a thank you note. Not begrudgingly this time. I’m sure I wrote him one 11 years ago, but this time I meant it with all my heart, full of sincerity and love.

I was extremely surprised to receive an unanticipated box in the mail several weeks later from him. I opened it up, and was so touched to find a small, wooden jewelry box he had just made (it still smelled of the stain he used on it). Inside was a note that said, “I’m glad you liked the bracelet. Here is a jewelry box to keep it in.”

Charity never faileth. I guess gratitude’s pretty reliable, too. ;)

Life's Lessons: Jonah vs. Charity

(Part 3)

My “Things I Learned from a 4-year-old Princess” posts are rather slim. (She’s 5 now, by the way.) But I am regrettably now hundreds of miles away from her; so, unfortunately, the additions to that series will be slow to fewer and farther between (even more so than before, if you dedicated bloggers can believe that).

But here’s a new series: “Life’s Lessons”. Maybe I’ll come up with a more creative title soon. Maybe, “Why Didn’t I Think of That?” or “If Wise People Learn from Other’s Mistakes, then I’m a Master Teacher!” or “You’d Think I Would Have Figured That Out By Now” or “Lori Dawn, Don’t You Ever Learn?”. Any ideas?

As I look at who I have become, I often look back to see how I came to be who I am. There are several defining moments in my life, several experiences or lessons or realizations that have truly shaped me into who I am more than any others. Hopefully I’ll get more on here eventually. But today’s is from my freshman year at college and my good friend, Anneli.

Anneli was a year ahead of me at school, but we instantly bonded with our love for music, musicals, and our dramatic personalities. We would often see each other at the institute and tell each other all about our dramatic days. Someone we always seemed to understand one another when no one else fully did.

One afternoon, after a particularly brutal “Jonah Day” (watch Anne of Green Gables for the full effect of that phrase—or better yet, read the Book of Jonah), I was relieved as I walked into the LDS Institute building on campus to find Anneli. As I dramatically expressed the downward spiral of my day, she echoed the exact sentiments back—she’d had one as well! I know I could count on her to commiserate with me! I was so grateful for a friend like her, with whom I could go drown my sorrows in an old movie or a big bowl of ice cream or something equally self-indulgent and self-centered. I opened my mouth to suggest just such a thing, and said, “I know! Let’s go—“ but before I could suggest some fattening, sugary way to cauterize the effects of our days , she replied: “SERVE!”

It was one of those moments when you have no idea what expression is on your face. All you know is that when you finally process what was said, several seconds have passed, and you realize that your mouth is still open and you have no idea what to say next. “Service” was certainly not the message I had intended on conveying to her!

But what did we do? We went to her house, made cookies, and secretly delivered them to several people in our church congregation. And I went home that night feeling so good—I had completely forgotten that I’d ever had a Jonah Day.



President Gordon B. Hinckley learned this principle first-hand and put it so simply when he said, “Do you want to be happy? Forget yourself and get lost in this great cause.” (Preach My Gospel, Ch. 9, pg, 168). That’s a life’s lesson to live by.