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In The Mailbox!

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 I'm sure you have heard the phrase that teachers teach for the outcome, not the income. I believe that to be so true for the teachers that I know now and the teachers that I had over the years.  I'm not a teacher, although if I had to do it all over again, I think I would choose education as a career. The impact may not be immediately known, but an impact is made nonetheless and what an opportunity they have to influence so many lives in mostly a positive way. (I know many may have negative experiences with teachers but this blog is about the POSITIVE impact!)  Why the silly title? " In The Mailbox "? Well, you see, "...in the mailbox" is a prepositional phrase and prepositional phrases by themselves do not make sense.  While my writing skills and grammar have certainly diminished over the years, this one phrase stands out. Why? Well let me tell you why: My junior high English teacher, Miss Kestner would randomly shout out during class, "In the mailbox
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In Loving Memory…...

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 Today I attended a funeral for my friends mom. (Dorothy Miller) In junior high and early high school, I spent a lot of time there. My 2nd mother, I affectionately called “Ma”.  While life happens, families grow and the time spent visiting got less often and then of course in the past 2 years, Covid really affected that.  She was never far from my thoughts and I kept up with her from her daughters, I didn’t visit nearly as often as I should have. I did get to see her one last time before she passed and she seemed to acknowledge me and I was grateful for that.   Of course a funeral brings with it a lot of emotion and I am swirling with them today, so bear with me as I babble.  I changed the title to Conversations with Kellie…. a twist on the blog I had for Matt (A Chat with Matt). Trinity Lutheran Church in Sandusky, OH, just outside of Castalia is where the funeral was held. I went there with Debbie a lot to Sunday School and worship.  My home church was Grace Lutheran Church (where th
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A tribute to Paul Orshoski, Sr. My dad.

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I don’t really know where to begin but I knew it was more than a Facebook status, so I’m writing a blog. Thirty-Seven years ago, I lost my dad, Paul Orshoski, Sr. - I was 16. I remember that day as if it were a scene from a movie that I have watched a hundred times. I visited him in the morning. He wasn’t talking, we communicated by looking into his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes.   I could tell he knew I was there.     He had lost most of his hair and he was so thin. Cancer. Being a sixteen-year-old, I didn’t fully understand how sick my dad really was. I thought he was going to get better, I really did.   I babysat my twin nieces that evening and had been talking to my mom and sister at the hospital on the phone. (We didn’t have cell phones to keep in touch back then) When my sister got home, we rushed to the hospital. The image of him lying in that hospital bed, lifeless, is an image I will never forget.   Sometimes, the memories coming flooding back as if it was yesterday, a
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