We left the hotel this morning to take the short drive to my in-laws house, when our boys asked if it was ok to drive around town so we could share memories of when we lived there years ago.  We lived in in my husband’s home town for about five years soon after we were married and during that time our sons Aaron and David were born, in the same hospital where my husband had been born.  The town and the county are full of Bushes, both alive and not so alive, as the family is a strong part of the history of this area and so my boys get a kick out of learning about and seeing landmarks of those places that reflect the history of their family, both from distant past and the not so distant past.

During this early time in our marriage, we had wonderful support from family and made the greatest of friends, but we were young, not always the most mature and there were mistakes, hard times, hurt feelings and relationship struggles that make some memories about this time period hard to deal with.  It’s like listening to a song from your past, all of the feelings dredged up, good and bad, bringing back vivid memories of where and when you heard it and who you heard it with.  So sometimes, when I see these places we lived and worked, those feelings of dread, sadness and sometimes shame hit hard.

But then there are the memories with people we loved, working on musicals, singing Christmas carols together around town, getting together to play games at each others place that we hold near and dear to our hearts.  Those can’t necessarily be tied to a particular place to share with the boys but are stories we can share.

As I was walking around my husband’s childhood home today where my in-laws still live, I realized that that home has been a source of stability in my life as well.  Having been a part of this family for two thirds of my life, that little red brick house has almost become my childhood home.  As an Air Force brat, I really don’t identify any one  particular place as home so this is about as close as it gets.  Aside from us all getting a bit older, and the family expanding, not much has changed.

Four generations met to celebrate Thanksgiving today, with the opportunity to introduce new family members to each other.  The unconditional love that met me when I joined this family nearly 40 years ago has remained constant as my boys have brought home their girls and now we introduce their children.  Despite the long drive, it is a drive down memory lane that I cherish and now love to share.

Time may not completely erase the negative feelings that may arise from the experiences of a newly married couple, but it does bring peace and contentment when you’re creating new memories with people who love each other, and I’m grateful.

 

Tomorrow we celebrate Thanksgiving, the day where we fondly remember a time when people reached out to others in their time of need and at a later date, those same people bit the hand that fed them.  But that’s another story for another time.  As the story goes, after a rough first winter in the new land, the Pilgrims were approached by the native Americans who lived in that area where they taught these new citizens how to plant, fish and other things to keep them alive.  The harvest that fall was a great cause for celebration and the idea of sharing a feast has continued to this day, becoming an official holiday during Abraham Lincoln’s presidency.  One whole day to remind us to be thankful.

Our family is no different.  Seven of us rode in close proximity in a rental van roughly  730 miles one way to celebrate the holiday with extended family, something we’ve been looking forward to for some time.  We will celebrate tomorrow with an overabundance of wonderful food, by playing football outside, watching football inside and playing games I’m sure, but will we actually take time to give thanks?

I have taken the last 24 hours to really soak in the relationships that have grown and developed over the last 40 years.  My friendship with and love for my husband’s family has grown immensely, and as we travel, I watch my sons laughing together hysterically in the van over old memories from their childhood and cat videos on YouTube.  I see the loving relationship between my son and daughter-in-love, and their developing relationship with their adopted son and now another foster son and I am so proud of them all.

As the matriarch of my little multigenerational family I watch, and am so thankful, thankful that God could take me as a complete diamond in the rough and create such a beautiful family.  Our little family is not perfect but we share life and love despite those imperfections and I am grateful.  My kids are much better parents than I ever was or ever will be.  They seem to have found a balance already that I am still not able to achieve, and while they’re learning, like all new parents do, to decide on boundaries and consistency, they are working together as a team.

I listened to my middle son having an intellectual conversation with my new grandson.  My son who never talks down to kids but always treats them with respect as people.  He listens to them like he never listened to us (ha!) and observing their dialog was fascinating, again watching that relationship between uncle and nephew blossom.  And I am grateful.

I hear the laughter over bad dad jokes, bad Thanksgiving jokes, shared meals, playing in the pool, playing games and telling stories.  I am grateful for the relationship between my youngest and middle son.  While very different in some ways, they are like two peas in a pod in others.  They sat in the van today, singing songs from old cartoons they remembered from their childhood and I marveled at how well they sing together and what good friends they are.  They chose not to be a part of music as a career, but it does my heart good to know they can still converse through music.

So, the fact is, I can see these relationships any day of the week, if I just chose to look.  I need to put down my devices and just enjoy watching the love and laughter and allow myself to revel in the joy that fills my heart, just aware of how thankful I am for these little blessings.  It’s not earth shattering, it’s just life, but how often do we allow life to get away from us instead of jumping into the middle of it?  What can we do to get ourselves in a Thanksgiving state of mind every day?

I’m thinking that tomorrow I’m going to eat some great food, give thanks for the people who prepared it and go out to play some football with the grandkids, perhaps taking a few pictures but remembering to participate in the day and not let it get away from me.  Don’t let Thanksgiving just become a family routine, allow it to become a lifestyle.  We have so much to be thankful for.

Tomorrow begins a two day school week and the beginning of crazy.  Thanksgiving break is this week and of course, Christmas is soon to follow.  I survived the Halloween, full moon, first snow, pajama day week, but there’s something about this time between Thanksgiving and Christmas that can test even the most veteran teacher.

I get it.  I was a child once.  A long, long, long, long time ago.  I remember looking at the clock as it so very slowly approached 3:00 p.m. to signal the end of the day and I couldn’t wait for Christmas break, breathlessly waiting for Christmas Day where I could open presents with my little brother.  However, some of our students are acting out, not because they’re excited about the break from school but because they’re afraid or unsure of what the break will mean for them at home.

Yes, the crazy at school, especially that last week of crazy is hard for teachers, but nothing like it is for a student who is dealing with a less than perfect home life.  Perhaps it means they won’t get to eat as often, or maybe it means parents who are struggling financially or with addictions or worse yet, abusive.  It may mean leaving adults they can trust, who are consistent and who care for them and going to uncertainty.  Not exactly the happy holidays we imagine for all of our students.

To add insult to injury, it’s that last three weeks of school before the end of 2nd quarter which also means assessments and grades, the last thing kids are wanting to think about.  I wonder if teachers really get a true picture of how kids are doing at this time?  Especially those kids who are not receiving the most basic of needs.  If kids are not fed, don’t sleep and don’t feel safe, it doesn’t matter what we do as teachers.

This is why I strongly believe we, as teachers and caring adults, need to find out the WHY kids are acting out.  So many times we’re treating the symptoms of the behavior and never seem to have the time to find out why they’re behaving the way they are.  The quick fix is to recommend that the child receive medication because it’s easy.  But those same children who act out all the time or who vacillate between appropriate and inappropriate behavior in a way that seems to make no sense, need adults who are willing to stop and find out why.

It’s a tricky business, with privacy being an issue and you certainly don’t want to influence a child to say something.  However, in my years of teaching, there have been times when I have taken the time to sit down with a child and have found out they were being hit and were frustrated because they couldn’t hit back or a parent had left the family that morning or they had left home without breakfast again.  Taking time to figure out the why is what leads to real assistance for the child, not the quick fixes.

I know some of my teacher friends are reading this and thinking, where do we find the time?  My question is, what’s more important, your content or their contentment.  Yes, I believe with all of my being that my music content is an essential part of every child’s well rounded education, but it’s more important that the child grows up to be a happy person, a good citizen, someone who has empathy and cares about others.  Someone who can work through struggles and become the best person they can be.

So I’m thinking, as I check out the sign by my desk that says “relax and accept the crazy”, I’ll remember to cut the kids a bit of a break this last month, make sure I let them know I care and to take time to listen and when the crazy kicks in, to relax.

 

November 17, 1978.  I honestly don’t remember much about the actual day, but I do remember that I was invited to a party thrown by my good friend Craig that evening.  There were a lot of us band types invited to this party so I knew it would be fun, but this night was going to be different because I knew HE was going to be there.

I arrived at the party with another friend because HE couldn’t be there until later.  I remember standing in the middle of the party room with a small group of friends talking when HE walked in.  He walked straight over to our group and took my hand in his. We walked away and began talking.  He was a little nervous apparently because he managed to squeeze the plastic cup holding his drink so hard that it broke and spilled all over his leisure suit.  Yes I said leisure suit. It WAS the 70’s after all.

There was a balcony overlooking a small lake from the party room and even though it was November, the air was still fairly warm.  I remember leaning my back against the railing when he leaned in for the kiss – the first kiss.  It seemed to last forever and despite the fact that there were a lot of people there, I didn’t care what it looked like or what they might think.  All I know is that I was lost in that kiss and I knew this guy was the one.  The one with the drink all over the leisure suit.

Flash forward forty years and we’ve now been married a little over 38 years.  A lot has happened since that first kiss – three kids, two weddings, and now two grandchildren.  We moved numerous times, have both gone back to school, held many jobs, supported each other through hard times and change.  We share a mutual love for music and music education and I find myself falling in love with him all over again every time I watch him teach, conduct or talk passionately about music.  And it all goes back to holding my hand and that kiss.  The same things that are important in our relationship today as they were 40 years ago.

I have no words to explain the mystery of how great relationships are formed or how soulmates have a chance to meet, if soulmates are even a real thing.  I tend to believe this was a God thing, not something I was looking for, but something He knew I needed.  And so, 40 years later, he is still the one I want to take my hand and give me a kiss goodnight.

As I look at him tonight, sitting in his recliner with his throw and checking out social media on his cell phone, I smile at how simple our life can be sometimes and how that simplicity can bring such joy.  As simple as a first kiss.

Anna May Robertson Moses, or “Grandma Moses” as she was nicknamed, decided to begin her painting for real at the age of 78.  Laura Ingalls Wilder was 65 when “Little House in the Big Woods” was published. There are many stories of people who, for one reason or another, found themselves either changing careers or pursuing a passion much later than is usual.  Were they just late bloomers or was there a reason why waiting was the right thing for them?

I have often belabored the fact that I always seem to be behind.  Although I began school at 4 and graduated at 17, after that, things went south.  I saw all of my friends following through on their plans and pursuing college educations and careers, seemingly much more successful than I was and at the age they were “supposed to” do these things.  My own mother made it clear as we were attending my husband’s college graduation that if I hadn’t messed up, I too could be graduating.  And I did eventually graduate, with a husband and three children ten years later.  I always feel like I have to explain why for some reason when I tell people this, but as I’m getting older, I’m realizing that it just wasn’t time yet.

It took two years to get my first job after graduation, I’ve started three different master’s degrees and not finished any of them because other things got in the way or I lost interest.  Most of my colleagues/friends pursued theirs in a much more organized manner and finished in a reasonable amount of time.  I still feel like I have to explain why I don’t have mine, even though I have enough credits that I could be working towards a PhD at this point.

I think I’ve spent a lot of time looking at the past instead of the future, feeling sorry for myself and blaming all kinds of things for where I am.  It has taken years for me to consciously look ahead rather than behind, to focus on where I want to be and not where  I’ve been.  The problem was, I didn’t really know where I belonged.  It wasn’t time yet.

Today I finished doing a presentation at a conference and was told by a participant that I “knocked it out of the park”.  I’ve been getting a lot of great feedback lately, affirming feedback that tells me that maybe this is what I was waiting for.  Please don’t think that this is a bragging session here, I have analyzed this to death, trying not to rely on my feelings but to analyze the work I’m doing objectively.  Is it relevant, does it help people, can I keep an audience awake?  While “gut” feelings need to be taken seriously, sometimes feelings can get in the way of thinking analytically.  But today I found myself in a stall in the ladies room, doing a happy dance and a silent cheer because the joy I felt was more than I could handle and I’m beginning to think it’s finally time.  The past, while never fully gone, is far enough away that it’s not getting in the way and boy does it feel good.

Yes, a lot of my friends and colleagues have been focused and successful for a long time, but I cannot judge myself based on their timelines or their success.  Just like my students, I can only measure progress and continue to set goals.  It has taken a while, but with encouragement from family and friends, changes are taking place – all in good time.

 

It’s November in Iowa and the harvest is over, leaving the landscape bare and in shades of gray and brown, clouds of white dust kicked up by pick-up trucks speeding down gravel roads in the distance.  The sky was bright blue today as I drove through western Iowa, the soundtrack to Mama Mia blasting loudly in the car while hundreds of wind turbines rotated against the that clear blue sky.  The shadows cast on the ground during mid-day made it look like the arms of giant clocks spinning out of control.  It’s a fascinating sight, seeing hundreds of these turbines, spinning at different speeds at different angles, the science way above what this little brain can handle.  All I know is that it looks cool.

Three and a half hours on the road by myself, to spend a couple of nights in a hotel by myself, to present to Iowa music teachers, by myself.  It’s a “pinch myself” kind of scenario, a ton of work and a satisfaction I could not have anticipated, my hope being that what I have to say touches or teaches someone.

Teaching is something I’ve always wanted to do, my earliest recollection being third grade, pretending to be a teacher in the basement of my house with my chalkboard.  Learning and gathering information has always been exciting for me, but just THINKING in general feeds my soul.  When I come up with something new, at least new to me, I find myself wanting to research it and I get excited making connections to other things.  Ok, nerdy I guess, but that’s the way it is.  I think it’s the connections to other subjects, thoughts and people that speak to me the most and it’s the that excitement for learning that I want to get across to others when I teach.

I’m grateful to so many of my teachers, especially at the elementary level who instilled a love of learning.  We learned in so many ways, simple ways, like drawing or coloring, making lists of spelling words, learning little sayings to remember grammar rules, drilling multiplication facts in a “spelling bee” kind of way, and having stories read to us a chapter at a time so we could anticipate the next chapter the next day.  I think that’s one of the things we’re missing in today’s educational system, the fact that we’re trying to make kids learn rather than teach them to love learning on the own.  I watch as enthusiastic kindergartners enter school, excited to be there, turn to fifth graders who can’t wait to get away from school.  Of course, there are always those overachievers, the nerdy ones like me who will always find a way to love school, but even I get overwhelmed by the things requested of me to MAKE me learn rather than LET me learn.  If I allow it, it begins to take the joy out of learning and teaching, something that has been a part of my life for over 50 years.

There’s a kind of desperation in that kind of teaching, a fear that we must be accountable to everyone and therefore students MUST learn.  We’re accountable to parents, administrators, legislators and the public at large.  Unfortunately, the ones who suffer are the ones we should be serving, the ones we should be teaching to love learning and those are our students.  If we were only allowed to be accountable to THEM and not everyone except them, maybe we could get this whole situation turned around.

It’s a lot to think about as I drive by those barren fields watching wind turbine shadows on the ground singing Dancing Queen at the top of my lungs.  Scary but true, in so many ways.  When was the last time you were excited to learn something on your own?  Is your child or are your students excited to learn on their own or have they learned to hate learning?  It’s something to think about.

 

White fences, beautiful barns and horses were the first thing I saw from the window of our plane as it prepared for landing.  My husband often jokes that one of the reasons he married me was that I told him my family owned a horse farm.  I lived NEAR a horse farm but that was as far as it went.  In the airport, a store selling bourbon caught our eyes. Exiting the airport terminal we were met with beautiful green grass, some flowers still in bloom, trees in every color you can imagine and horses everywhere, on murals, wall borders and in the form of statues.

Our first stop was lunch at a place we knew served comfort food like fried green tomatoes, mac and cheese, fried chicken, catfish and cornbread.  A place where we ordered sweet tea and nobody blinked an eye.  At a round table near us, a group of older ladies sat having lunch, who with their teased white hair and beautiful etiquette exemplified the south.  And what’s a southern meal without homemade chocolate meringue pie?  It was as if we had died and gone to heaven.

After a much needed nap, we changed and headed out to an alumni band celebration for our college marching band director.  This is the place where my husband and I met, a place where memories were made with great friends, where I learned about work ethic and having high expectations not only from my college director, but first from my high school director.  I was very pleasantly surprised but not so surprised that that same high school director was there, as he and my college director have been friends for decades.

The room was full of people who were family.  Band family.  There’s nothing like it.  It doesn’t matter how old you are, what instrument you played, whether you stayed in music or not, once a member of the band family, always a member.  Despite the fact that I hadn’t seen some of these people in almost four decades, we greeted each other like the old days, meeting spouses like they were old friends.  We talked about different careers, children and grandchildren, but the one constant was our relationship to our band “dad”, the one who scared some of us, but who also demonstrated a kind of tough love because he cared for us and wanted us to experience excellence through this particular art form.

My husband and I sat with another trumpet player and his wife and it’s amazing how these two just fell into easy conversations, still laughing at the same things, exchanging affectionate but hysterical one-liners about memories with this director we were honoring for 50 years since he began directing the band.  There was mention of my husband among other directors who had taken what they had learned from these experiences into their own careers as college band directors, so that literally thousands of students were experiencing the same high expectations because of this one man.  We never realize how many people can be touched and positively changed by one person of integrity do we?

This morning my husband left for rehearsal to again experience what it felt like to march in front of an enthusiastic football crowd.  Even after having taught marching band for nearly 40 years, he was a little bit nervous – it’s a completely different thing to DO marching band, even when you teach it every day.  So on this stunningly beautiful fall afternoon, I’m going to Uber my way down to the stadium to sit with him in the same stadium where we played as teenagers and watch him play that same On, On U of K in front of that great football crowd for a great football game in the SEC.  A wonderful place where at any time you can hang out with your band family, see sweet ladies with teased white hair and order sweet tea.

 

Fairly recently, my husband has gotten into the stock market.  He thinks of it as a big game I think, a challenge to see if he can figure out and beat the system.  It’s just one of many things he does to add meaning to his day.  As with most things, he’ll jump in with both feet, studying with people he’s found on YouTube and actually reading a book.  Yes, I too was shocked.  But I digress.  While the majority of his time is spent doing the band thing, he has learned to diversify his portfolio in terms of meaningfulness.

I watched an author speak today on how one of the reasons people are unhappy is because they depend on only one thing in their lives to give them meaning.  It may be a man who does nothing but work or a mom who puts all her energy in her child.  All it takes is something to happen and that thing that brings you happiness is gone.  What do you have to hold you up?  The research says that if you have faith in a higher being, you have a tendency to be happier and even when things are pulled out from underneath you, you have hope.

For the longest time, after I was married, I put all my energy in my husband.  Now, he’s a great guy and all, but he’s always been independent and done his own thing.  So, anytime he did that, I felt I had nothing.  I had not diversified my portfolio at all.  Even when I was working, the work was just to keep me busy until I could work with my husband again.  It took me years to figure out that I had to find things that I was passionate about and could pursue to fill me.  While my husband is very important and my best friend obviously, I can’t depend on him for my happiness.  Only I can do that.

Diversifying also means that things can and need to change.  The things that bring me happiness now are quite different than they were even five years ago.  Writing, speaking, traveling and meeting all kinds a people smarter than me gives me a shot in the arm, makes me feel like I’m contributing something.  And while I am happy with my husband, he is no longer my sole source of meaning.  It’s so much healthier.

The thing about diversifying is that it is customizable.   Your portfolio of meaningfulness shows your strengths and personality and makes who you are and what you do unique.  I can experiment, make different investments at different levels and change whenever I want. But like any investment, you have to overcome the fear that can arise when you have to make decisions about those investments.  But what’s the worst that can happen?  You lose a few bucks, you adjust and try again.  But to sometimes reap great rewards in terms of happiness, you’ve got to fully invest in meaningfulness, despite the fear.

I hope this encourages others to invest in areas of meaningfulness they’ve been thinking of for awhile.  I really hope those who are considerably younger than I will invest earlier than I did – life can be brief.  But whenever you decide to step out of your comfort zone and invest in yourself to make a difference not only in your life but in the lives of others, know that you can be happier.  While there are still struggles, I AM happier and am less afraid to invest in diversifying my portfolio.

 

Sitting on the plane after the conference, I had this amazing epiphany.  I had nothing to think about.  Now, I don’t mean to say that my mind was blank, but for the first time in many weeks, I could take a break from my list.  You know – THE LIST.  That list of things to do and events to prepare for that never seems to reduce or go away.  Yep, I just finished a big week after a busy couple of months and I found myself having nothing I had to think about.

Of course, having nothing to think about can be a problem if you’re wanting to write a blog.  After all, thoughts develop into words and words must be typed onto the page.  So as I sit here on a long layover, I find myself a little less stressed and my brain is relaxed and excited to write about something different.

The last two days have been wonderful.  I just finished presenting two sessions at the Wisconsin Music Educators Association conference.  What wonderful people they are!  I also had the opportunity to meet and talk with Connie McCoy at length.  What a fascinating woman, and so fun!  Anyway, while I have done some presentations at my own state conference, this was the first time I was out of state, on my own, presenting my own material and, as with all conferences, you keep your fingers crossed that someone will actually show up.  Especially at 8:00 a.m.

I have thought about, written, tweaked and tweaked and tweaked the presentation I gave today for weeks.  First, I couldn’t really decide what perspective to take.  Do I make it all research based, anecdotal or a combination of both?  If it’s all anecdotal and I have my own spin on it, is it credible? Everything is just so data driven these days, but I’m convinced that while data has its place, I think we apply it to children way too much.  So I went with mostly anecdotal with a little research to back me up here and there.  On 4 hours sleep I stayed up until midnight the next night, tweaking based on some comments that stirred some thoughts that day in my first session and then woke up at 6:15 a.m., headed to the computer and added some other thoughts that popped in first thing this morning.  Nothing like improvisation, right?

All of that thinking was EXHAUSTING!  You’ve got to think about flow, there can’t be too much text, and there needs to be opportunity to participate for the audience, especially when you’re presenting for an hour and 15 minutes.  I’m used to working in 50 minute chunks. Can I talk that long?  Well, apparently I can and it worked and I’m amazed.  Amazed that this introverted person, who has difficulty approaching anyone was able to stand in front of two packed out rooms and keep their attention.  It was fun – satisfying.  A big relief.  And I don’t have to think about it anymore.  At least for the time being.

I’m going to allow myself a brain break before the next couple of conferences, but now I’m excited.  I can do this.  Do something every day that scares you, right?  You might be amazed at what you can do.  The problem is, now I’m getting excited about my next presentation and the ideas are beginning to pop in my brain.  Oh well, so much for nothing to think about!

 

Five hours before kick was the magic hour.  I walked down the street in what is usually a fairly busy downtown and besides very few cars, I only saw a couple of runners and someone waiting on the bus.  The wind from the north blew the yellow leaves across the road and sidewalk where they make a lovely crunch under my feet.  The wind was just enough to give the air a bite, but the sunny bright blue skies hinted at the joy to come, at least here on game day.

My destination was a local breakfast restaurant where a few early birds had also gathered.  I love this little ritual of mine for early game days because I get to be by myself for a quiet breakfast, read a little and enjoy my favorite waffle and bacon.  At a large table ahead of me is a group of older men, all wearing bright yellow jackets with the word EVENT emblazoned on them.  These guys meet here every game day I assume because they’re always here when I get here.  The server knew them well and engaged in some fun banter with the old gentlemen.  And as old gentlemen can, they talked not only about football but something about not being very PC.  I’m not surprised.

After breakfast I walked to the stadium to watch band rehearsal and watch my better half do what he was meant to do – get excited about marching band.  He and his partner are like two peas in a pod, anticipating what the other is going to say or finishing funny phrases for each other.  They work together like a well oiled machine and have become great friends.  It’s fun to watch.  I had an opportunity to talk with one of their colleagues while they worked, sharing what’s being going on in our lives, comparing notes about similar activities.  I love this person because she always makes me think.

After rehearsal, it was off to the usual burger place with the guys where more lively banter ensued, some shop talk and then off we went, them to get ready for their concert, me to wait for a friend going to the game with me.  Oh yes, today was all about the game, wasn’t it?  Going to a game for a team who at mid season had yet to win a game.

It’s been a miserable season, both weather wise and scoring.  A new coach, a new philosophy and a new hope, with fans wanting to believe that this guy can help them recreate the past.  A past, now nearly 20 years ago that fans still reminisce about with great fondness and passion.  You see, in this state, this is the one thing that just about everyone has a connection to in some way or another.

And so my friend and I walked with nearly 90,000 other fans to sit in a really large bowl overlooking a beautiful green field on a bright sunny fall day, all wanting to believe that THIS would finally be the day.  This would be our first win with this new coach, the golden boy, the preserver of the legacy that is Husker football.

The people who sit in my section are great, it’s a family atmosphere, just nice people excited to see the only thing really going on in the state at that time.  Every store is playing the game rather than music, the sports bars are full, groups are tailgating around TV’s and others have gathered in their homes with friends and family.  You can’t go anywhere without someone asking “what’s the score?”.  But there’s nothing like being there in person listening to someone say “I hope my kid will want to try out for the marching band some day” and listen to a woman about my age yelling instructions to the team during the game.  The entire section high fives each other after every touchdown, dances and claps off the beat with every tune.  A man at least my age was rocking out to some rap and he wasn’t even inebriated!  It’s a glorious time.

How do you get hundreds of thousands of people to believe in something that for almost a year has been one big disappointment?  Hope.  People want to believe that good will happen.  They want to believe that their guy always wins, that good triumphs over evil, which is difficult in this case because both people from Nebraska and Minnesota are, well, just nice.  It’s Americana at its best, in a place in this country where people believe they can make a difference, that being kind matters and not only is cheering on your team important, but applauding for the opposing team at the end is also important.

Yes, we want to believe in the good in everything, that good will overcome evil and everything will turn all right in the end.  And while it may all sound very naive, I’ll take it over the hateful rhetoric, cynicism and hopelessness I hear from the coasts.  Maybe if they could just enjoy a college football game on a beautiful fall day, they might begin to believe as well.