Choices

What’s something most people don’t understand?

That everything is a choice.

I chose the relationships that ended badly. I lied to myself for years about how I didn’t see the red flags. But I saw them. I didn’t want to see them is the more correct answer. I made excuses because, at the time, I believed I wanted this.

We make choices all day long. To drive certain roads, a certain speed.  To brush or not brush our teeth each morning. We choose to speak a certain way to others. Sometimes in anger, sometimes with love, sometimes not at all. 

These choices sometimes have consequences. Horrible consequences at times. Other people can trigger us, but in the end, the choice is ours. Sometimes, it may be because of our situations.  Others, well, just because.

So slow down.  Pay attention to the choices you make each day.  And make good ones.

I love it all..

Knowing exactly what time to head to Golden Gate Park so the fog gives me a good chase home. My house is chilly and a bit damp, perfect for a giant throw and some hot chocolate.

No, maybe sitting on my Florida porch watching the rain clouds form for our daily 2pm rain storm. They come on strong, quick, and leave the ground steaming, creating a mystical world.

Definitely, it’s the 120+ degree days of the desert. Lounging in my kiddy pool outside my RV under a makeshift tarp. The 6 inches of semi-cool water lapping over my body and inviting tiny birds to float with me escaping the searing heat.

Maybe it’s the 20-foot walls of snow of the North Western US. The air so dry that you aren’t freezing, making it enjoyable being out. For me, it is terrifying and mesmerizing all at the same time.

But honestly, it’s any autumn day. The early morning air is so crisp, leading into warm sunny afternoons and then shorts and sweatshirts evenings.  The world slows down, beginning her rest. One last burst of life from nature, showing us her brilliance in color before her long nap.

Remembering Miss Cosma

1968 Mercerville Elementary

My 2nd grade teacher was wearing slacks, yes slacks, a big no for all females at our school. But there Miss Cosma was, in bellbottom slacks, holding a sign about fair pay. I’d never seen a protest before. From our classroom windows I could see them all marching in front of our school. I was mesmerized.

She was in her late 20s, single and I idolized her. She was completely opposite of my own mother who was frail and drowning in her depression.

I worked hard in class wanting to excel, so she would see I was like her. And even though she made every child in class feel special. She let me know she saw me. At 63 this still empowers me.

In 6th grade, we petitioned the school to allow us to wear pants under our dresses so we didn’t freeze. (We won.) From the Principal’s office where we stood with our petition, pleading our case, I caught a glimpse of Miss Cosma watching us from the hall, smiling.

Over the years, I’ve returned home, each time inquiring about her. I wish I had tried harder to find her, to let her know the impact she had on me at 7 years old. But honestly, I believe she knew.

I will always be forever grateful for the strong women who helped mold me. From my heart, thank you Miss Susan Cosma, 2nd grade Mercerville Elementary 1968

Daily writing prompt

Who was your most influential teacher? Why?

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