Month: January 2015

It seems rather fitting with the, “snowmageddon,” on the east coast of the USA right now to discuss a winter weather memory.

What might that involve you ask? Well of course I’ll reply with one single word: snow.

Growing up in Anchorage, Alaska all those years ago, we were no strangers to winter weather, freezing rain, miles and miles of snow, and shoving said snow in order to get from point A to point B. Things really haven’t changed that much in the last forty years, in terms of human being’s traversing pathways with snow. We used shovels, snow blowers/plows, giant snow machines, and ginormous snow plows that created a miniature version of the Chugach Mountain Range in the center of our street or cul-de-sac to get out of the house every winter.

I think it was around the late 1980’s or early 1990’s when we had an, “unusually,” large snow fall in Anchorage. The type of snow fall when Dad would get up onto the roof and push the snow off the roof so that it wouldn’t cave into the house.

Am I painting a delightful picture or what? Go grab your blankets folks!

Well, with said snow fall came all sorts of fun! Some of these fun times would involve helping shovel a pathway from the front door to the end of the driveway, and then continuing all across the driveway so that the car could back out of the garage. How many of you can relate to this description as follows:  Opening the door from the house to the outside world, and a foot of snow falls onto you so that you have to kick, shovel, and scrape it out of the house before even going outside?

Debbie and I were shoveling snow off of the back porch, over the railing of the deck, and onto the yard. Shovel after shovel, after shovel full. I was probably, in all honesty, playing around and not helping at all. Romping around in my snow pants, boots, and jacket all the while gleefully making snow balls to throw at Debbie was my absolute ideal of fun time in January. The joys of being five years old know no bounds. I distinctly remember Debbie stating, “There’s so much snow in the yard now, I could probably jump off and have a fluffy landing.” Ok, well maybe those weren’t your exact words, but let’s just go with it. I looked over the edge of the high upper level deck and thought to myself, “Hmmmm, you’re probably right, but that sounds like a bad idea.” I quipped back with, “What if you jump into the vegetable box below huh? You’ll poke your tush on the wire!”

The next thing I knew, she climbed over the 1 story high railing, and jumped into the snow below!

I screamed, with all my lung power because that’s what you do when you’re five years old.

Our mom came rushing outside and calling, “What’s going on, why are you screaming, where’s your sister?” Debbie was laying in the snow below laughing away, and I was eagerly tried to climb over the railing to join her. Needless to say, I didn’t make it in time.

Oh the joys of so much snow! I have so many funny memories that involve winter time in Anchorage. But that is one of my favorites by far. Your face was all pink and flushed from the cold air, the fluffy purple coat from head to toe was outlined in the snow and your laughter filled the air.

There is something to be said about the child in all of us that comes out when snow fills the air. I also quite like the stillness that seems to descend upon a neighborhood as the cold flakes hit the ground. It seems surreal to be hearing about all this snow fall and not yet experiencing it in 2015. I’m thankful for the memories, and I’ll take the liquid sunshine any day in Oregon.

Happy Sparkles to you sister! I love you! xoxo

First off, some people may know I teach young children, if you didn’t, now you do. Secondly, I teach 4th grade which is a big year for writing and hence forth the introduction my friends…

Every year I am faced with teaching the same modes of writing: narrative, expository, opinion…etc… I sprinkle in poetry, creative writing, and NANOWRIMO. I’m such a rebel, I know, hold the gasps for later, you have no idea how I roll…:)

It should come as no surprise that when teaching narrative writing, I use my own personal experiences to share stories and model with my students. For the last five years I have shared this particular story with many, many children. So today, I share it with you. Now, please remember this is told with a specific emphasis on introducing students to utilizing elements of writing such as onomatopoeia, and other elements of figurative language. It is told in simple language with clear details that support the topic. Do enjoy…

———————————————————————————————————

“The Time I Broke The Rules”

     “Creeeeeeeeeeak!” Aw man, I stepped on the creaky floor board again. “Rachel what are you doing up there?” I froze in my tracks. I didn’t move and I quickly responded with a shrill, “NOTHING MOOOOOOM!” Ever so slowly I slid my socked feet across the carpeted hallway towards her door. I grasped the door handle in my hand and slowly opened it without a sound.  Next thing I knew, I was in her room. The blue walls bearing down on me. I could hear the burbling of the fish tank in the immaculate shelving unit. This is it, I thought to myself.

I tip toed over to the shelf and snatched the green fish net. I slid open the black fish tank roof as Debbie had showed me when she cleaned out the water a while back. “Hmmmmmmmmm,” I murmured to myself. What should I fish out? I saw the poor fish swimming around frantically. The beautiful dark blue fish glided right by the net. I went for it, slowly it swam in, I dunked in the large plastic cup filling it with water and carefully sliding the net into the cup. “Voila!” Fish in cup. Success.

Now what? I wasn’t even really sure what my purpose was. Perhaps it was the fact that being in her room, touching what I wasn’t supposed to and being rebellious felt really good. (Even to my four or five-year old self.) Poor fish, it was swimming around, and around in circles. “Uh oh….” what do I do? I dumped the cup back into the fish tank, the beautiful fish began to swim again. “Phew!” Everything must be ok. I went in for the grayish guppy with the blue line on it’s body. But what I didn’t realize was, I forgot to refill the water cup. Before I knew it, the fish was jumping around, I lost my grip, water droplets were all over the carpet, the fish went floundering all over, on my arm, onto my hand, then onto her desk. Oh good grief! I’ll spare you the gory details. I was felt like a terrible child at that moment. I finally got a good grip on that poor defenseless fish. I dumped it in the water, slammed the lid shut, shoved the net onto the side of the tank, ran out and closed the door. I stumbled down the stairs and headed for the kitchen table.

Later that day, after my sister had returned from school she headed up to her room. I sat at the kitchen table coloring inconspicuously. However, it wasn’t more than a few moments later when I heard her shriek and come running down the stairs. “MOOOOOOOOOOOM, Rachel killed my fish!” I sunk back into the chair with an impending doom setting in. No getting out of this one. So you see dear reader, next time you feel like breaking the rules, think twice before making that choice!

———————————————————————————————————————

And that folks is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. In all actuality, I feel incredibly horrible about that guppy fish. Years later, many, many years later I experienced the grief of fish loss once again. Andy and I bought a fish tank. Well it started out rather simply at first. I wanted a gold-fish in a bowl, much like the one in Amelie, the movie. Only, Andy suggested, “Why not get a fish tank and more fish?” It sounded delightful to me. Little did I know it would be a pain in my tush and I’d end up dealing with dead fish, on my own. We adopted 2 guppy’s and I named them Hermie and Kermie. Karma is a b*&^%. They both died. I adopted a red fish and named it Ernie. He attacked poor little Hermie. Then Kermie soon followed later. I was traumatized.

I’m sorry I killed your fish Debbie. I’ll buy you a new one when you come home. 🙂

I love you! Have a sparkly day, and watch out for the fish….they are tempting, but they jump. xoxo.

How many of you have a family member who has the same smile as you? I do. I have 3, my mother, my sister, and my aunt.

We all owe our beautiful smiles to my Grandma Lilli.

Here’s a fun fact, I also owe my sparkly inclined nature to her as well, but that should rest until I write about her again.

Whenever Debbie and I are together, we are inevitably asked, “Are you two twins? Are you related? Wait….are you sisters?” Followed by endless giggles and a response that goes something like this, “Yeah we are, or yes…..”

I found it particularly enjoyable to be stared at in Asia with you Debbie. It’s funny how as human beings we are drawn towards things with our eyes. We are visual beings, I understand this. I took many, many psychology classes while an undergraduate, however, why must we stare as we ponder? I’m sure I’ve been guilty of this a handful of times. However, I like to think that I am inconspicuous. Although, that’s probably not the case. With that being said, it must be our smiles. When we ventured around to an appointment in our incognito cotton candy colored wigs we were quite the delightful pair Debbie.

Solidarity sisters. I’ll wear it again whenever you’d like. 🙂

I think one of my favorite memories about being asked if we were twins was in Disney World. We were both wearing these really attractive green Tigger character t-shirts in the park.  Thank god for Florida weather in mid-December because, as an Alaskan, you get pretty tired of the ice and snow. Can I get a, “Heck yeah?!”

Anyway, we were going from area to area and someone charmingly said, “Wait, are you twins?” Now, at first it was cute. After that lovely human encounter, it continued to happen. I started to get annoyed, I think Debbie was completely delighted. Haha, to be 14 or 15 and completely obnoxious again, good times for all the family around me. 🙂 (Thanks mom and dad for putting up with me…) By the end of the day, I was thoroughly annoyed but secretly amused. I’d always wanted a twin. I never really thought of Debbie as my doppelganger, but there she was!

My second favorite memory of being mistaken for you was at a Battle of the Books event. The SWEETEST student came running up to me in the parking lot saying, “Mrs. Alvarez, oh my gosh….” and she literally stopped in her tracks and covered her hands with her mouth and then blurted out, “Oh wait, you’re not Mrs. Alvarez, you’re her sister. WOOOOOOOOPS!” She proceeded to do a prompt about-face and plow across the lot back into the building.

This having been later in my life, I was completely tickled pink. How adorable to be mistaken for my beautiful, caring, and creative sister. I loved it!

So if my ramble thought process was not clear, here is my idea with this here blog: I’m so glad to have you as my un-identical twin. I find it flattering and hilarious. We’ve got good skin and great smiles thanks to our Momma.

I love you! Keep smiling and sparkling today and always. I can’t wait to be asked if we’re twins again this summer. xoxo.

Sometimes we have these wondrous moments of clarity in life. One such event occurred when I was seven, almost eight years old. My sister left for college and my life would never be the same.

I remember the day very well. She’d been packing for about a week. You know those giant Lesportsac bags that were cushion-y, soft, you could pack them to the hilt and not be penalized by the airlines? Oh to live and travel back in the 90’s folks. Those were the days.

Who remembers no fees, fines, weight or scrutinized size restrictions by the airlines? I do!

Dad and Debbie lugged each one down the long flight of stairs, bump, thump, wump.

I went out to the front yard to play…but really I was just feeling the beginning of a lonely heart.

As her bags were loaded up, so was part of my heart.

Now, I was no stranger to saying good bye to people. At a tender age of two I said good bye to my maternal grandmother. Even at that age I understood something serious had occurred. My grandma was no longer around and my mom was filled with a sadness that we could not ease. I wished on my third birthday for my grandma as I blew out the candles on the white and pink flower decorated cake. I wheeled my new indoor pipe tubed bike around the family room and wondered what it all meant in my own little way. Sadness will do that even to the young ones.

Debbie was outlined by the burning colors of autumn and leaves crunching under foot. As I gave her a hug and got a whiff of her curly highlighted blond and brown locks I thought to myself, “I’ll miss you.” Even if we’d been bickering hours earlier. Probably from me invading her space as I usually did. Little sisters just have a way with personal bubbles now don’t they?

Mom had said, “You’re going to miss her, stop arguing and be nice.” Easy to say and listen to although, the meaning was elusive to my young self.

Months later I would clean the etagere with our family photographs, mom’s collection of antique jewelry boxes and chachkas and I would look at her photograph. The one with you wearing the purple turtle neck shirt with the paisley vest. Bushy bob of bangs and hair half up and half down. You know the one right? Well, I’d look at that photo and think about what it must be like to be so far away at college.  I missed bothering you. I missed knocking on your door and you asking me to leave you alone. I missed sharing a bathroom with you. I missed your cool friend’s coming over to visit and getting to pester all of you at once. I missed my big sister and her uniqueness that I cherished and admired.

But the thing I didn’t realize was that we’d draw nearer to each other through the years. You would become my confidant and pen pal. I had only had one pen pal prior, Grandpa in Montana. And might I just interject here that he was probably the best pen pal a kid could ever had. He kept me up to speed on all his ice fishing, hunting, and mountain driving extravaganzas.

Our letters, which I still have, every single one, were so special to me. I loved them. Every time I got a letter in the mail I’d be so excited to open it with that letter opener mom had and read and re-read each and every line.

I have carted those and Grandpa’s letter’s around for years. From one move to the next. Andy would always ask me, “Do we need this desk and what’s in these drawers?” And I would always reply, “YES I NEED THE DESK,” and my stuff!

Now the desk rests in our niece’s bedroom and the letters in my library. Safe keeping and such.

Through our letter writing and years into adulthood now I know that those years apart served a great purpose. It allowed me to learn about who you were as an individual. It also helped me to not hide in your shadow, but instead grow up to be that brave out going kid I had inside of me. You have taught me so much through the years. I cannot imagine who or what I would be without the help of your guiding wisdom and words.

You might be far, far away in Hong Kong, but you are always close to my heart. Sometimes I pull a card out and put one in my vanity to make me smile. For you see when I look in the mirror I see you and I see me.

I love you! Have a spark-tac-lar-ific day sister. xoxo

Wire-Haired Terrier’s…

                                                              

(This goes out to all of my animal loving friends out there!)

In our family, animals always played an important role. They were members of our family, guardians of our nights, and confidants during our dark days. There were three that Debbie and I shared together throughout childhood and on into adulthood.

Emily.

Rex.

Ari.

Now these three were quite different from one another. Emily was truly Debbie’s dog. She was a beautiful husky with the sweetest personality of all time.  Debbie begged Dad to let her get a dog from the box of a lady sitting and giving away dogs if I remember the story correctly…. in, of all places, but in the mall parking lot. Thus every dog owners story begins. I wonder how many new companion stories begin with what would be the first of many…”begs” so to speak. Haha, ok, did I only crack myself up there? Hmmm.

Who knows the story Peter Pan? And who remembers the character Nanna? She was one of my favorite characters in that film. She was a gallant, kind, and clever dog who watched over the Darling children.

I had a Nanna in my life too you see. And it was Emily.  We have photographs of her sitting on the edge of my pink baby blanket. Me a blob of sweetness and black hair sitting and looking up at the camera, with Emily guarding my every move.

Our mom says that when I was super tiny she would lay in the door way of my bedroom. If I would move, moan, or dare I say cry, she’d go sauntering into mom and dad’s room, nuzzle mom awake in order to come take care of me. Perhaps that’s why I had trouble sleeping years later. Subliminally, I missed my Emily dog.

Alas, poor sweet dog had epilepsy at the end of her dog days on Earth.  Her seizures were intensely scary and harmful. She was the best dog in our family and we still carry her with us today.

Now Rex came lumbering into our lives on a dreary mid-autumn evening. I think I was probably five years old. He scared, well how can I put this gently…he scared the crap out of me. He was a 100 pound airedale who had been rescued by my mom’s friend and the rescue society in Anchorage.  We became his new family instantly. He had the giant cone of shame people, a tube in his eye, and he weighed double my weight. After his healthy recovery, he became my steed and I his squire. I’d ride him. Yes, ride him around the house. When he was tired of carrying around a five year old he’d sit down and I’d slide right off. Wooooooop onto the wood floor.

(Sound effects just for you Debbie.)

Rex was an important part of my life. He saw me through kindergarten, chicken pox, and countless childhood illnesses and frigid Alaskan winters. We buried our sweet dog in our backyard and marked his grave with a special post that Dad whittled for him. He’s near the beloved club house and in my mind’s eye, he will always be out in the back yard racing around, having a glorious time, snatching carrots from our garden hauls and running around like a mad, wild, free dog.

Ari on the other hand, was my best friend. He was my dog, my fur faced baby.  We were chums until the last day of his life.  Debbie felt worried about me being alone in the house with only…our parents. 😉 She wanted me to have a buddy. And THE BEST buddy was brought into my life. Ari means lion in Hebrew, and I’m not sure how we happened upon the name during discussion, but it stuck.

He was probably the most air-headed of all airedales, but he was also the most loveable. Poor dog ate anything and everything, as many airedales do. He ate part of his bedding one morning. He almost ended his life there but thank God for loving and supportive parents. He had surgery and the vet had to remove part of his intestines. Oy vey indeed.

I remember crawling into the kennel at the vet’s with him to try and get him to eat some baby food. He refused to eat for everyone but me.

He had, “Such a life,” to quote Mrs. Katz and Tush by Patricia Polacco.

The last moments we all shared with him were surrounding him with love in the van bringing him to the vet, all of us together. He was snuggled into his bed, poor old puppy dog. 13 years was a long life for such a large dog. Maybe it was all the Jewish penicillin, chicken soup and chicken in his meals for years. Our mom fed him well.

Needless to say, we’ve shared some really special furry friends Debbie.

You know I love your Dulcie dog too. She was your first baby, and still is. She and I have a special bond, she even licked my nose after rediscovering our friendship while I visited you in Hong Kong.

There is something about our furry beasts that connect us. We love them endlessly and oh the stories that were involved with each of them. I’ll save those for another time.

I’ll leave you with this: Bella just gave me some long blinks, she must know I’m writing to you Debbie. From my fur cat baby to you, long blinks= I love you’s.

Sparkle-it all day. xoxo.

Dear Debbie and Readers,

Please read these lyrics and see if you can recognize the song….I know you will Debbie.

“Look into my eyes – you will see
What you mean to me.
Search your heart, search your soul
And when you find me there you’ll search no more.” -Adams, 1991

Did you recognize it? Did you? Well if not, read on and you will receive your answer soon enough.

When I look back upon childhood, some of the earliest memories I can remember involved music and my sister. This comes as no surprise to many people I’m sure. We’re a musical pair. I followed in her foot steps and took piano from the same teacher.

Debbie is a much better pianist than I ever was.  She had more concentration and pure skill at the instrument. I think my dyslexia has more to do with reading two staff lines at once, playing, and anticipating the next measure than I would care to admit.

What lead us to this instrument was our amazing mother.  She was the best music advocate and still is to this day. She knew that having her girls learn an instrument early on in life was one of the most important and helpful things she could do for us.

“Don’t tell me it’s not worth tryin’ for.
You can’t tell me it’s not worth dyin’ for.
You know it’s true:
Everything I do, I do it for you.” -Adams, 1991

Debbie played Bryan Adams song, “Everything I do, I do it for you,” so many times that I know it by heart…. to this day. It’s probably the only song from the early 1990’s pop music that I listened to consistently and could recognize without missing a beat.  In fact, I think she practiced it more than any other song that year, oh 1991.

But play it she did and with such feeling and emotion. I used to play on our home’s second floor balcony between the living room and the spare bedroom/library in our house. She’d be practicing and I’d be listening intently. I wasn’t supposed to be on the balcony without supervision because it wasn’t super safe number one and number two, I liked to get myself into trouble.

Try as I might, I could never emulate Debbie’s ability and ease with this instrument. Perhaps I was just destined and more inclined towards voice from an early age, whatever the case may be, piano lead the way towards a musical future.

Thank you for paving the way Debbie. And thank you for indulging me in the early stages of recordings as well.  I am certain that those mix tapes of me singing, “Puff the magic dragon,” amongst other amazing, “We Sing Silly Songs,” spliced in with me jabbering away, were highly amusing for you to listen to at college right?!

I love you! Keep sparkling on!

  

So thank you Debbie, for paving that pathway towards my musical future. And thank you to your Bryan Adams and Sting obsessions for following me in my pop music endeavors.

I love you. Sparkle on and play some music soon. 🙂

How many of you have bleached your own clothing before?

Remember acid washed jeans? Do you see flashbacks from the late ’80’s to early 1990’s? Well, I do. And I remember your white Reebok high tops, with the amazing three velcro straps embellishing those shoes, now those were something weren’t they?!

Growing up in our house we had all the bedrooms upstairs and the laundry room downstairs. The cool thing about our bathroom was that we had a laundry chute. Sometimes we used it as a means for communication. How many of you had laundry chutes?! Is this just a thing of the past or what? I mean seriously, I did not see one laundry chute in all of our house hunting in Portland. Hmmmm, I have digressed.

Back to the bleach.

So, I have established the setting, laundry room downstairs, bedrooms upstairs. Nosy little sister upstairs in her room. Sister told her to stay upstairs and play, she was walking up and down the stairs and had directed me to stay AWAY from the stairs. Apparently, she was bringing up mini-cups of bleach to the bathroom…. One at a time.

Ha ha ha.

Do you see where this is going?

I stood in my door way and watched her falter at the top step. Bah. Drip, drop, plop.

Bleach on the carpet, Debbie on the run.

Slam went the bathroom door.

Mom came home later, I probably spilled the beans immediately, as I did with most things in those days. My nick name was, “The informer.” So people, it really wasn’t my fault.

And the jeans, well, they were Über cool, or perhaps we thought they were.

This was Debbie’s attempt at a d.i.y. before it became, “a thing,” to share via Pinterest, Tweet, Instagram or Facebook. Bleaching your own jeans in 1990 was pretty fantastic. Especially when the parents are out of the house. Good thing the carpet was beige. The spot was barely noticeable, but I still found it every time I sunk my toes into the carpet on that top step.

I don’t know, you’ll have to weigh in on them Debbie, but I am pretty sure they were fabulous pants.

Bleach on, I mean sparkle on, whoops. I love you. 🙂

Raise your hand if you love stickers! “I DO, I DO!” Pick me!!! Oh wait, what’s the prize? Hi, my name’s Rachel ANNNNNNNNNNNND I have a sticker problem. No seriously, it all started with, my sister.

See, she had this thing about stickers. She collected them. In an album. OHHHHHH secret is out, “Oh no you didn’t…” I know, I just did.

“Snap, snap, snap,” in a Z formation!

🙂

I have the album for safe keeping in my library, aka, the room with only book shelves in our house. Now, the explanation for this room is left for another post.

Flood in the memory: I remember her sitting on her bed, the beautiful blue floral Laura Ashley wall paper a familiar back drop to the coolest room in the world, my big sister’s. We were sitting there and she was showing me her album.

“Here are the colorful ones, these ones are iridescent, here are some holograms….rainbows and unicorns…. Oh let’s see, stars, scratch and sniff, (followed by scratching and sniffing the stickers of course),” and then oh wait, “You won’t like this section.” Me snappily replying, “Wait, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? I wanna see!” (Circa me age 5 or so give or take a year.)

Debbie: “Really, you wanna see the Garbage Pail Kid stickers? I thought you said they were gross.”

Me contemplating that she was right, but not wanting to admit that entirely ended the conversation of show and tell which was followed by complete and utter silence.

She was right.

She’s always been right.

Moral of the story is kids: listen to your sister, and collect stickers.

Needless to say, I share stickers with my students every day, I put stickers on every card I mail out, and I have a special bag of them and an album, or two. Don’t judge us. We like stickers and who doesn’t?!

So, next time you pass some stickers whilst shopping for what have you, think to yourself, “Hmmmm, could you brighten up your life with that sparkly set of stars?” Answer being, of course you can!  Enjoy!

I love you Debbie, sparkle on!

When I was a very little girl, I remember obsessing over little things. I was very driven by visual images, imagination, and creativity. A product of the Renaissance ear in the early 1980’s. In my mind’s eye, I see it, the bouncy curls. Their texture thick and soft. Their color chestnut brown and highlighted with bits of auburn. Next to my hair, straight, dark brown, and long…

The grass is always greener in another pasture is how the saying goes.

And oh was it greener in Debbie’s hair pasture. I loved her curls, I was envious of them. I used to sleep with curlers in my hair over night and the next day I’d be ecstatic over what our mom called, “Shirley Temple,” curls.

I’ll never forget the day Dad picked me up from a neighbor’s house with Debbie in the car. The black and tan van pulled into the driveway and Debbie slid the back door open. I took a step towards the car and began to step in without noticing my sister. And then I stopped and started to grin, her hair was sticking straight out all over and poofed so to speak. Being the bratty-mc.-brattersville of a sister I snickered and made some comment as sister’s do.

Poor thing. She’d blown her hair dry. Naturally curly hair + blow dryers on high= disaster.  For the next few days I continually giggled about it.

But you see, now I can look back and recognize, how special it is that I can recall these silly moments in time. Seemingly inconsequential and yet, all the more relevant right now.

Perhaps you’ll have red hair when it grows back? Maybe it’ll flow and curl ever so softly with a gentle wave. None the less. It’ll be yours and Grandma’s genes for curls will always be with you. I love you. Not your hair. But the memory of it and all the crazy styles, I cherish ever so much.

xoxo.

Sparkle on big sis. I love you always.