Kathy-jo Wargin's Blog

I keep a ceramic fish in my office.

A few years ago, I was visiting an elementary school in Michigan. 

By all appearances, the school was typical. Clean, bright hallways trimmed with small lockers, student artwork taped on walls and paper mobiles hanging from the ceiling. It rang with the expected sounds of start-time bells, a morning announcement, classroom doors opening and closing, chairs being shuffled. Laughter. 

The art teacher took me to her room. She wanted to show me the many projects students had created using my books as themes. They were charming, innocent, moving. I loved them all.

Then she gently handed me a ceramic fish. It was colorful. It was delicate. She told me a 3rd grade student was especially excited for my visit, and had made the fish for me so that I would have a present from her. I took the fish in my hands and admired it. "I need to thank her in person," I said.

The art teacher told me I wouldn't be able to do that. She explained the student's family had disappeared overnight, just days prior. She said she didn't know for certain the circumstance - what challenges or situation had overcome this particular family -  but most often it was homelessness. She told me there were many homeless students in this particular elementary school, and it wasn't uncommon to have them disappear without notice or forwarding information.

It's something we don't think about, because we don't want to think about it. As adults, consider how distracted we can become when even small nuisances pop into our day. Now, imagine being a young student with no place to call home at the end of the day. No kitchen cupboards to peek into when hungry, no dresser drawers to pull clothes from every morning. Imagine being a young student and having no desk or table for doing homework or puzzles or art projects. No bed that's yours - and only yours. Imagine how difficult it would be to arrive at school each day, ready to learn, undistracted by the enormous effort it took simply to get there. Many young students live this way, and yet they do get there.  And when they walk through the school doors, they face each day with reserves of fortitude and purpose and dignity that most adults can only aspire to have.

According to new federal data, homelessness in public schools has doubled since the recession. Most of the affected are hard-working, honest families who have been dealt a string of blows simply too tough to overcome. Not every family has a support system of extended family members to rely upon during hard times. Not every family has access to basic things others may take for granted. So when life's current grows strong and turbulent, these vulnerable families are the first ones to get bumped around like tiny fish. 

The eye on the ceramic fish is overly large with beautiful eyelashes, and the body is etched with steady horizontal lines across its form.

She wanted me to have a gift from her, made by her. 

There is no face to homelessness in the public school population. There is no icon to remind us that there are students who persevere through daily, heart-wrenching circumstances just to learn and grow like they have the right to do. Maybe we need a symbol to remind us that we need to collectively find solutions for these young students.

Maybe her fish is a start. 

I keep a ceramic fish in my office.

A few years ago, I was visiting an elementary school in Michigan. 

By all appearances, the school was typical. Clean, bright hallways trimmed with small lockers, student artwork taped on walls and paper mobiles hanging from the ceiling. It rang with the expected sounds of start-time bells, a morning announcement, classroom doors opening and closing, chairs being shuffled. Laughter. 

The art teacher took me to her room. She wanted to show me the many projects students had created using my books as themes. They were charming, innocent, moving. I loved them all.

Then she gently handed me a ceramic fish. It was colorful. It was delicate. She told me a 3rd grade student was especially excited for my visit, and had made the fish for me so that I would have a present from her. I took the fish in my hands and admired it. "I need to thank her in person," I said.

The art teacher told me I wouldn't be able to do that. She explained the student's family had disappeared overnight, just days prior. She said she didn't know for certain the circumstance - what challenges or situation had overcome this particular family -  but most often it was homelessness. She told me there were many homeless students in this particular elementary school, and it wasn't uncommon to have them disappear without notice or forwarding information.

It's something we don't think about, because we don't want to think about it. As adults, consider how distracted we can become when even small nuisances pop into our day. Now, imagine being a young student with no home, no comfort zone. No kitchen cupboards to peek into when hungry, no dresser drawers to pull clothes from in the morning. No desk or table for doing homework or puzzles or art projects. No bed that's just yours - and only yours. Imagine how difficult it would be to arrive at school, ready to learn, undistracted by the effort it took to simply get there. But many do - and they face each day with reserves of fortitude and purpose that most adults can only aspire to have.

According to new federal data, homelessness in public schools has doubled since the recession. Most of the affected are hard-working, honest families who have been dealt a string of blows simply too tough to overcome. Not every family has a support system of extended family members to rely upon during hard times. Not every family has access to basic things others may take for granted. So when life's current grows strong and turbulent, these vulnerable families are the first ones to get bumped around like tiny fish. 

The eye on the ceramic fish is overly large with beautiful eyelashes, and the body is etched with steady horizontal lines across its form.

She wanted me to have a gift from her, made by her. 

There is no face to homelessness in the public school population. There is no icon to remind us that there are students who persevere through daily, heart-wrenching circumstances just to learn and grow like they have the right to do. Maybe we need a symbol to help remind us so that we can collectively find solutions.

Maybe her fish is a start. 

 

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CoastLiving in the Great Lakes.

Ed Wargin and I love living in the Great Lakes, and we travel quite a bit when working on projects throughout this magnificent area. While working on the content for this new website, I found myself with a trove of gems that have been either helpful, fun, calming, informative, inspiring, or all of the above. From unique Great Lakes finds, helpful travel hints, terrific local foods and restaurants, to parks we've enjoyed, items that make travel easier, and and much, much more.

Much like the rest of my website focuses on new projects, we will soon be adding the new area so we can share these finds. We hope you'll share your thoughts in return,  too. 

So welcome aboard as we celebrate the Great Lakes Lifestyle. We hope you'll connect with us along the coast.

The Essence of Becoming.

In Sweden, there is a word to reflect transformation and it is bliva.  

It means "to become."

I chose the name Bliva for this blog because the spirit of "becoming" musters my feelings about life at middle age. I recently turned 50, and like many others who reach this milestone, I am staring down a wide and open avenue that runs straight through the next chapter in life. 

And it's exciting.

Bliva means "to become."

I've had a satisfying career writing primarily children's literature. I am grateful. I have no plans to stop writing for children, I love writing for children, but I've always enjoyed writing for adult readers, too. In a sense, I wanted my career path to travel in that direction earlier on, but once a person becomes known for one thing, it's not always easy to change lanes or other people's perceptions and harder yet, our own self-perception.  

But now, this is my chance to go for it. It's time to leap bravely into new things, new beginnings.

I have many peers and friends who are in this same stage of midlife, evaluating what brings them joy, casting aside what doesn't.  

Quite frankly, most of us do not feel like we over the hill, but rather, like we are standing right on top of it.

As I move forward with new projects - ones I've waited years to do - I'm going to go about things more freely than in years before, I'm going to have more fun, and I'm going to challenge myself with new goals personally and professionally. 

When I turned 50, I had no idea the entrance into middle age would be so liberating, motivating, and exciting. Truly, if not in younger years, then now is the time "to become."

What new avenue are you encountering? What new chances, new beginnings are you contemplating? What do you want to become? Let me know. I'd love to hear from you. 

And welcome to the blog, it's called Bliva.