Travel Is About Learning

Welcome, June! It’s the beginning of summer and that means time off of school for my students. That also means that there is time for travel. Mark Twain once said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

I like to encourage my students to travel. It opens their eyes and broadens their perspectives. Each year, I travel to New York City with my French Club students. We take the bus into the city bright and early on a Saturday morning. I plan some sort of excursion; a visit to a museum, a trip to Ground Zero. I believe that travel should be a learning experience.

But it’s the free-time events that offer the greatest learning experiences for my students. Typically we arrive in the city around 11:30 and my guided itinerary goes until about 2pm. It’s then that I totally lose my mind and offer them free time. Rules are they must be in groups of three or more and with a cell phone. On the bus ride to New York, I gather a list of who will be with whom and the number of a cell phone that will be with each group.

I instruct them about the numbered and lettered grid that is midtown Manhattan, and in Times Square, I set them free. Rules are no farther north than 52nd Street, no farther south than 40th Street. The eastern border is 5th Avenue and the border to the west is 8th Avenue. Then I sit and wait.

Sometimes there aren’t any calls at all. Sometimes I get a call that the group is lost. I tell them to walk to the next street corner and tell me what the road signs say. A short walk to the next intersection gives me a good idea of the direction in which they are headed, and I can guide them to the designated bus pick up.

During free time, they shop and eat. They watch the people and experience a city much larger than Thurmont! And they grow. My students learn that life outside their home town is different and exciting. Sometimes they will take souvenirs to family members, sometimes they’ll buy post cards. But they always take stories home. Stories about what they did and what they saw. They leave their little corner of the earth and return changed. Just like Mark Twain said.

Be sure to take some time this summer to travel and see how you will grow!


This blog post appeared as my June 3, 2012, column "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post.

My Kooky Mom

This blog post was written by my daughter, Tiffany Jarman Jansen, about me in honor of Mother's Day.

My mom is in no way like your normal, everyday mom.

When my brother and I were little, she used to write notes that she’d slip into our lunchboxes saying “I love you, have a great day.” My brother and I had no doubts about my mother’s love for us. She told us about it every chance she got.

If my mom laughs, you can hear it from miles away. Once, I was waiting for my mom to come pick me up. All of the sudden, there’s this cackling coming from down the hall. The acquaintance next to me turns and says “Your mom’s here.”

She insisted on taking us to and picking us up from school every day all the way up until we had our driver’s licenses. My brother and I quickly learned that this meant getting to school at least five minutes late and having to wait another five minutes after everyone else had left to be picked up.

My mom has always had a hand in everything: the Parent-Teacher Association, taking part in community theaters, volunteering at school, leading our scouting troops, horseback riding, teaching. You name it, my mother did it. She was always going and often had so much on her mind that she ended up forgetting it all.

Our home was always a zoo. We had ferrets, cats, dogs, birds, hermit crabs, gerbils, hamsters, fish, horses, lizards. She even tried to sneak a pot-bellied pig into the house once. Needless to say, it didn’t work. My dad found out pretty quickly. Though he wasn’t happy about it, she was able to convince him to let the pig stick around.

Each holiday has its own distinct wardrobe: socks, jumpers, t-shirts, sweaters, sweatshirts, and even jewelry for everything from Christmas and Halloween to Mardi Gras and Saint Patrick’s Day. And the house was to be decorated to the extreme for each one. There’s a separate box in the attic devoted to every holiday imaginable.

When my brother began dinner conversation by asking what “cum” was, my mother very calmly turned to my father and said, “I’ll hand this one over to you” then continued to serve as my father explained.

She has a group of friends who happen to be drag queens and is almost always off at one of their shows. My mom is actually so dedicated to her gay friends that she started a PFLAG (Parents, Families & Friends of Lesbians and Gays) chapter in my hometown.

Observant is most certainly not one of the words you would use to describe my mother. My brother and I still laugh over the first time she used a digital camera. After taking the photo, she took a look at the screen to admire her work. “Oh, it says something,” she said, squinting at the camera as she put her reading glasses on. She took another look and said, “Picture is blurred? What does that mean?” Um… I don’t know, Mom. Maybe that the picture is blurred?

Everyone loves my mom. All my friends envied me my cool and eccentric mother. And me? Well, I was just plain embarrassed most of the time. Of course I loved her – she was my mom, after all. But her presence sometimes made me want to crawl into a hole.
As I got older, my mother became my best friend. We did so much together and told each other practically everything. She was there for me in good times and in bad. She supported everything I involved myself in and was proud of everything I touched. While my friends and their mothers argued and generally did not get along, my mom and I were doing things together and loving every moment.

Of course there were things about her that drive me bonkers. Like her as-long-as-your-father-finds-me-attractive-I-don’t-care-what-I-look-like attitude or the fact that you can still hear everything my mother says from all the way on the other side of the street. Or how she yells into the telephone like the person on the other end won’t hear her otherwise.
But those are just some of the little things that make her who she is: the kooky mom that every girl wants to have as her best friend. I’m glad that I’m the one who gets that mom. And I hope that someday I’ll get to be that mom to someone else.

Mama knows best

Frederick News-Post 05/06/2012 Mama knows best IN HONOR OF MOTHER’S DAY, I want to share something my daughter wrote: When I was younger, I would fall and skin my knee or get in trouble at school or be teased. No matter what happened, my mom always knew how to make it better.It could be a kiss or a hug or a pep talk or a hot chocolate. Whatever it was, it always worked and, before you knew it, I was back up and on the go. I remember back before I left for college. All of my things had been packed and arrangements had been made with my future roommate as to who was responsible for bringing what to “furnish” our dormitory. That evening, I found myself curled up in bed, sobbing with grief. This was the beginning of a new period in my life. Which meant I was leaving another period of my life behind. Gone were the days of the security of having my brother right next door and my parents across the hall. Gone were the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches my mother packed in my lunch every day since I was in elementary school. Gone were the days of set schedules and Dad taking on the role of human alarm clock. I felt an overwhelming sadness and an odd sense of guilt. And I was afraid. I was afraid of growing up; moving on, leaving. So I did the one thing I knew would make everything all right again. I went to my mommy. And she knew how to make it better. During my college years, I suffered from an eating disorder. For more than a year, I kept my suffering a secret.My mom knew that something was wrong, but she didn'’t know what. So she couldn'’t fix it. And I could see that it was killing her. One night, after a particularly bad day, I started to get really warm. I was driving home in the middle of November and, even with the windows down and the air conditioning on, I was sweating. About halfway home, my left arm started to go numb and I could feel myself getting dizzy. It was then that I realized how deep I’d sunk and vowed that I wouldn’'t let myself continue down this path. With all the will I could muster, I made it home, pulled into the driveway and dragged myself to the door. Too weak and scared to open the door myself, I rang the doorbell. Moments later, there she was, taking me in her arms and leading me inside. And she knew how to make it better. The years went by and I soon found myself stepping into my wedding gown. I’d found the love of my life and could not wait to start a life with him. I had been so caught up in the preparations for both the wedding and my upcoming move to his home in the Netherlands that it wasn'’t until I was being laced into my dress that I realized the severity of the path I'’d chosen. Not only was I leaving what had been my home for so many years, I was also leaving behind my language, my country, my culture, my friends and, most of all, my family. I didn'’t want to leave, but I knew that I needed to be with the man I’d given my heart to. But this time, when I reached out to my mother, she didn'’t know what to do. Her baby girl, her best friend, was leaving her. Though she knew this time would come, no amount of visualizing or fabricated scenarios could have prepared her for this moment. So we stood there and held each other and cried. Whether it’s advice, a chat, a shopping trip, a cookie baking session or to wipe my tears and tell me that everything will be OK, there are still times when I need my mommy. And I hope there always will be. My daughter, Tiffany Jarman Jansen, is a mom now, too. Her daughter, Chloe, will be 5 months old on Wednesday. Tiffany and her family reside in Amersfoort, The Netherlands. Lois Jarman writes from Knoxville. She teaches in the Frederick County Public Schools and at Frederick Community College, and has a blog, Mom’s Ponderings, at http://momsponderings.blogs pot.com.

Dumb and Dumber

In honor of April Fool’s Day, I’ve been reflecting on situations in which I or members of my family have recently found ourselves. April first isn’t the only day of the year to be foolish as is evidenced with us!

A while back, my daughter was teaching an adult tap class at a local dance studio. I decided to enroll because I thought it would be fun for us to spend the extra time together. She was a great dance teacher, and class was always fun.

On one particular night, I was following her home after class. We had both stopped at a red traffic light. I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking, but as soon as I saw my daughter start through the light, I followed. As I was passing the light, I glanced up and saw that it was still red! Shocked that we had both run a red light, I grabbed my cell phone and called my daughter.

“Did you realize that we both just ran a red light?” I asked her. “Are you serious?” was her shocked response. We talked about it and came to the conclusion that she had seen the green arrow light in the next lane change and just figured our light had changed. We giggled about it, and I confessed to her that I had done the same thing a few years back.

I hung up and we continued on our drive home. We were on Route 340 heading west when I noticed out of my rearview mirror three police cars flying down the highway. They were obviously in hot pursuit of something.

The next thing I knew one of those cars had gone past me and in front of my daughter’s car. The second was in the lane next to us, and the third was right behind me. They were in hot pursuit of US! My daughter and I quickly pulled over to the side of the road.

The officer from the rear car approached my vehicle and said that we had been seen running a red light in Frederick. “It’s true!” I said. “My daughter’s dumb and I’m dumber!” I then explained what had happened. The officer went to confer with the other two police officers. I sat in my car trying to figure out what on earth was going on!

The officer returned to my car and told me that they were pursuing a drug ring operation and the two vehicles running the red light was seen as suspicious. But since my daughter had the same story about the traffic incident, they decided to let us go…with the warning that we not run any red lights in the future.

Now whenever I am following anyone I always check the traffic light first before following in pursuit. Being caught in this foolish situation taught me a lesson!

This blog ran as my column, "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post on Sunday April 1, 2012.

Open mouth, insert foot

In honor of April Fool’s Day, I’ve been reflecting on situations that I or members of my family have recently found ourselves in. April first isn’t the only day of the year to be foolish as is evidenced with the Jarman family!

While my son was serving on a Coast Guard Cutter stationed in New England, the ship was sent on a mission to the Caribbean. He shared a sea story from this cruise with us at dinner recently. As the crew members were sailing off of the coast of Cape Hatteras, my son was on the ship’s bridge. He was joined there by the ship’s Operations Officer, Executive Officer, and Commanding Officer. Tim said that the sailing was a bit rough as weather conditions off the cape were somewhat ominous but the steady hands of the crew guided the ship safely through the storm

Once they had navigated through the rough waters and made it south to the Caribbean the cutter crew completed a successful mission at sea. About four weeks later, they set sail to return to their home port.

As they were just off the coast of Cape Hatteras on the return trip, the situation was identical to that of the original journey. Ominous weather conditions and the same gentlemen were standing watch on the bridge-my son, operations, executive officer, and commander. Noticing these similar conditions, my son decided to break the silence in the room and comment on the situation.

“I guess you could say that this is a real ménage à trois,” he said smiling. His commanding officers apparently looked at him questioningly, so he decided to clarify his statement. It was obvious to him that they did not know their French. “You know, when something happens and it feels like you’ve been there before.”

After a few minutes-I suppose they were too stunned to speak-the operations officer said to my son, “We think you mean a déjà vu.” Tim said that the ship has a log book to keep record of events that occur on board during missions. He’s certain that this event was recorded in the ship’s log book.

I suppose I’m proud of my son for sharing the story. I’m not sure many other young people would! And I am also eternally grateful that he did not tell those men that his mother teaches French!

Sometimes if we speak before we think, we wind up in rather foolish situations. Lesson learned for my son was to check for accuracy before speaking!

Boys will be Boys

It has not been a difficult winter, but all the same, I’m anxious for spring. Spring makes everything come alive again. What is old seems new. It’s such a beautiful time of year.

I’ve recently had the opportunity to watch my husband rejuvenate, but then again, I often catch him acting like a child. On this particular occasion, we had just finished our shopping at Sam’s Club and were on our way to the parking lot.

Now I must start out by telling you that every year on his birthday, my husband promises me that he’s going to grow up. The problem is that he’s never delivered on that promise. The trip to Sam’s Club was a case in point. As he does on every trip to Sam’s, my husband began to play scooter-shopping cart as soon as we cleared the exit from the store.

He typically pushes off and rides the cart to our parked vehicle, and this time was no different. Off he scooted like a ten-year old. What was different this time was the agonizing yelp that he let out after a few attempts to push start. To my horror, my husband was hunched over grasping his calf.

I ran to him to see if I could help. Sure enough, he had torn some muscle or ligament and was struggling to walk. He hobbled to the car and we managed to get him in the front seat. At home, we iced him up and instead of letting me call the doctor, he was online trying to self-diagnose his injury. Not exactly the mature thing to do.

He convinced himself that it was a muscle tear or a bad sprain. I was able to get him to take some anti-inflammatory medication, and fortunately he fell asleep. My “little boy” was resting peacefully, but I wanted to hit him over the head.

The night before he was to fly a trip to London, he woke up in the middle of the night to “practice” his walking. He didn’t want passengers to see their captain walking with a limp. So he bit his lip and walked, telling me with each step that “it really doesn’t hurt that bad. I think I can do this. Do I look normal?” Well, that was a loaded question!

He flew the trip to London and hobbled back home a few days later.

My husband limped around on that sore muscle for weeks. He refused to go to the doctor. He’d be fine. His calf just needed some time to heal. Last week, we had to stop at Sam’s Club to pick up a few things. On our way to the parking lot, I looked my husband in the eye as he pushed the cart out the door and said, “Don’t you dare.”

“I promise you that I will grow up,” he said. “One day.” He’s still in the spring of his life! So as my bulbs push their way up through the ground, as the temperature gets warmer and warmer each day, I eagerly await the adventures that we have ahead of us this spring, me and “my boy!”

My "little boy!"

It has not been a difficult winter, but all the same, I’m anxious for spring. Spring makes everything come alive again. The old becomes new. It’s such a beautiful time of year.

I often have the opportunity to watch my husband behave like a young boy, still living in the spring of his life. He is young again whenever he walks in the front door after being away for several days and is greeted by our “baby,” our four-year old Beagle, Belle. Sometimes she will start her yelping and crying as soon as she sees his car turn the corner and head down the driveway. But the act is definitely in full swing when my husband walks in the front door.

That’s when I see the little boy with his best friend, his dog. Belle will roll over on her back and my husband will kneel down to rub her belly. “That’s my girl,” he’ll say to her. “Did you miss me?”

I watch him play like a little boy each morning after he’s read the newspaper. He’ll crouch down on the floor with one of Belle’s favorite toys. They’ll roll around and I listen to him laugh like a child. My wonderful husband, and the boy in his heart.

Yes, he’s the “boy” who snuggles in bed each night with his best friend. Not me, mind you, but that little tri-colored dog who has stolen his heart. She wiggles between us nuzzles her head near my husband. When we first got married, I was told that a bed wasn’t a place for a dog. If you talk to my husband now, he’ll tell you that Belle really isn’t a dog. She’s our child, our baby!

Sometimes when he’s talking to our “other” children, he’ll refer to Belle as their little sister! My son takes particular offense to this.

When my wonderful husband takes me out to dinner, he is quick to ask the waiter or waitress for a carry-out box. “We have a special dog at home,” he’ll tell the server. As soon as his plate arrives, he slices off pieces of meat to take home to “the baby.” Once we even went through the drive-thru window at a fast food restaurant to order a hamburger for her, a peace offering because we had been gone for a long while. “No condiments or bun,” he told the cashier, “just the meat, it’s for my dog!” I still wonder to this day what that young person must have thought!

A boy’s best friend is his dog, and my “boy” is living proof. He promises me that “one day” he’ll grow up, but I think we’re forever stuck in spring. Not a bad place to be…which reminds me, I need to order my mulch!

This blog ran as my column, "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post on Sunday March 4, 2012.