HERstory (It's not always HIStory)

The silence of the frosted air offered me time to reflect and refresh my mind. It's a rare day in the middle of Kansas in the dead of winter when I can sit outside and hear every chirp and tweet that nature produces. There was no whirling nor stirring in the air, the prairie grasses stood golden in the sun's early rays. I smiled, giving thanks to the silence that has become so golden for me after years of teaching and raising children.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a series of jets booming across our skies. I scanned the skies in search of the vibrating noises, seeing only contrails and clouds. It as then that my mind wondered to a flat basin of land in Florida that gives rise to man's quest for space. I've never been to Cape Canaveral to the witness the beauty of nature confronted with man's curiosity and yearning to move beyond. Someday, I'd like to witness first hand man's endeavor to explore and fly.

Even now, twenty-five years later, I still speak with pride at our mission to send a teacher into space. They first advertised it as a storyteller going into space. Deep down in my soul I knew this opportunity to fly, to see our giant earth and tell it's stories from a newer perspective would only come once in my life. I was eager to apply.

Then one evening as I sat down to dinner, our three teens were being very argumentative. Glaring at one child and with the growl of a mother bear I explained we'd talk later. Turning back to the kids I uttered these words in a garbled tone, "I know because of divorce Jack and I are only one mother and one dad, but now we are family. We share this home together under one roof. We all have to work together to create a family we can all be a part of, no matter what." Later that night I knew I'd never apply for the "Teacher in Space" program. My children and husband needed me and I had a purpose.

When at last Christa McAuliffe and the crew of the Challenger took flight that morning over twenty-five years ago, I was there in spirit. As a librarian at Jefferson Elementary in Norman, OK, I had proudly arranged for every child, teacher, and staff to be in front of a TV when the Challenger rocketed into space that morning.

Eager eyes and wiggly bodies of fifty kindergarten children sat in the library that day watching and counting backwards from ten. At liftoff their voices began to rise in awe as the space shuttle slowing climbed toward space. Then it was our eyes that showed confusion. Instead of the continual upwards motion the Challenger made a sudden descending twist toward earth. Fifty-little bodies froze in silence and confusion, eyes shifting from screen to teachers. I'll never forget the look on my beloved friend's face, Lois Cowles, as she stood that day and gently coached her little ones to stand and walk back to class.

It was a day without answers as our building, community, and nation went forth with our tasks stunned and confused. Teaching and learning took place in silent words and broken dreams. Some will say that mission is now part of history, but I prefer to think it was the creation of herstory, not his.

So a morning toast to you Christa McAuliffe and all of those strong women who have lived and loved and gone before.

Polar Bear Dreams

Iced in, snowed in, are such lovely excuses for staying home. I bundled up just after sunrise to play outside with our Lucy dog and feed the birds. In her race to the yard Lucy took a side slide off the patio into the frozen flower bed. Rather than laugh out loud and humiliate her, I carefully shuffled on the ice to the grass.

Immediately, I did a double step on the frozen tundra which crackled and snapped sharply. The world beneath my feet continued to snap, crackle, and crunch all the way to the bird feeders. Tiny little juncos, UBBs, finches, and cardinals fluttered in the trees waiting on fresh seeds. Lucy patrolled the yard sniffing for a good chase while I scattered food for the critters around the bushes. The sun sparkling on the frozen fountain grass created a glimpse of regal beauty. I could just imagine each frozen flowered top marching as a guard at Buckingham Palace.

With our first task of the morning completed we returned to the warmth of the house and my pink playroom. Being relaxed and refreshed gave my mind time to wonder and imagine. There I saw my polar bears always keeping a watchful eye on my play. (On the wall by my desk is a calendar picture of three polar bears entitled "Bad Boys of the Arctic.") But it was one of those bears that altered the course of my professional career through a dream.

I had come to a juncture in my teaching career where I sought an administrative job, thinking I could be the leader of a school. We'd moved to Kansas, and I'd lost the solid footing and direction of my library years. In time I began applying for principal positions but found all too often that without a network of friends and professionals I did not go far. The time came to get serious, go back to school, earn more administrative hours, make contacts, and be ready to take a job within a 40-50 mile radius.

My stomach churned with these decisions. My shoulders road high, nearly to my ears, and my sleep was forever fitful until the night my polar bear arrived. In my dream I was clawing with fingertips up the side of a snow packed mountain covered with a layer of thin ice. Every jab of my cold fingers took me forward and upward ever so slightly followed occasionally by a backward slide. The granite faced mountain seem to stay just out of reach. I knew I could climb the wall if I could just get there.

Suddenly, I heard the sounds of crunching ice coming up from behind. In moments a looming polar bear appeared at my side. There was not a moment of fear, only awe, as I gazed up at him. He spoke to me kindly, "Here let me help you. Take hold of my fur with one hand and we'll climb together." So we climbed until he stopped and asked, "Where are you going?"

"To the top of the wall," I replied politely for fear of a growl.

In a deep musical voice he spoke, "To the top? Don't you realize that wall and it's base is granite. One slip, one fall could crush you. Even if you reached the top, what do you gain?"

Rather meekly I replied, "Well, I would have completed the challenge, the climb. I'd be on top." After a long pause I continued, "but it just looks so harsh, so cold."

"Then let me show you what I like to do on this mountain." He rolled in the snow, howling and growling, until at last he laid on his back and spoke, "Here climb on my belly and hold on." With full trust and faith, I climbed on. In a swish we were sailing down the mountain slope till we skipped right through a mountain stream and stopped.

"How was that?" he asked nearly grinning.

"Exhilarating!" was the only word that came to my mind.

"Let's go again. Here climb on my back and I'll take you up." Without question I clambered up. The view from his back was spectacular. I saw trees, boulders, clouds, and vistas that I hadn't noticed when my head focused only on cracking the ice and climbing. Higher than before we climbed taking time to gaze and breath in the freshness of the mountain air. Once again we slid down the mountain splashing into the stream. I couldn't pass up an opportunity to play with my friend. Trip after trip we made that day; my polar bear was tireless.

At last he said, "Now what will you do? Climb the cold granite face of the mountain or play with life and share the beauty of what you've seen with others?"

The answer glistened in my eyes as I glanced around the mountain slopes. With a deep breath of mountain air, bear and I ambled down the mountain together. In the years that passed I looked back at the granite mountain more than once, only to feel my bear's warm breath on my shoulder.