Dogs. Teaching. Corona Virus and Me.

People are restless. The signs of restlessness are there all over the place. I get it. I'm a teacher. I've studied kids, watching for that turning away, loss of focus, that inability to hold on to what I was teaching in that moment. There's an art to keeping kids motivated and inspired enough to hold tight. I too have had a hard time holding on in times when I've felt that the control was not mine. In teaching,  I always had to know what the measurement of my students' true capability could be. 

I loved studying their patterns and their complexities, their abilities and inabilities.

I am, like them, very human. I have a hard time holding still. So, to ask me to sit, shelter and stay in place for any length of time, like this, seemed near impossible. What? No shopping, no restaurants? No yoga? In essence, no options? No, in and of itself is a bad word in my mind. Us humans like to control our own destiny. It's the American Way. 

My siblings always called me, "the brat." But I really didn't see myself that way. I was kind and tried to be somewhat giving. But if you asked for the last bite of my ice cream or the last bite of my Milky Way (only siblings, honest), I was not giving that to you. Even that didn't really get to me that much. I could stand my ground and defend myself after all. 

But to be told NO? Well, that was a good reason to declare a Murphy-sized war! We, Irish, do not take no very well. We can be giving as the day is long, but underneath all that, we can be a stubborn and resentful lot. But these days, I see we are not the only ones. So, the lesson I've learned in this time of NO to just about everything I used to do...is the ZEN of just staying put, and enjoying the stillness in the NOW. 

Worries about financial insecurity are rampant. I have my own concerns as well. For those of us who can, even if it means stretching our budget to its very end, making a donation to a local food bank is the way to go. Putting ourselves in the mind of those who have nothing...thinking about what it would be like if my cupboards really were bare and I had no option but to sit in my car on a long line and wait till I was provided for, that gives me pause. I am humbled by all of the people that wait. They are doing what's best for their kids and for themselves.

Gratitude is something to cultivate in this time of ZEN. Waking myself up to the beauty of nature has been the call I've been following. My dog is leading me there. I watch him sniffing around...I know, he's finding his spot! But he also sniffs the flowers just to sniff the flowers. I've never had a dog that did that before! He stops to watch that magnificent blue heron as if it's his own personal tv show!
And because of his alertness when it comes to things of nature, I am also more awake and watching for the little surprises that come my way. Last week, I stood at the pond's edge, just four feet away from a huge blue heron. To my surprise, he didn't flinch a bit. I moved closer and started to see what he was seeing--it was his little tv show. There, in front of me, sailing across the pond, were two geese and their four newborn goslings. And there, sailing toward them, but putting on the brakes and hanging out--were two big popped up eyeballs...seconds later, the full gator appeared. Small miracles, just for me.

I'm sure to many--my musings sound stupid, boring and unuseful in comforting their restlessness right now. But I think the Buddhists and the Spiritualists have it right.  I say, pick up Jon Kabat Zinn's Wherever You Go, There You Are or a little Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart.  Both their words are so human and works like these have fueled me and helped me in dealing with the things that are way out of my reach. Page by page, the wisdom unfolds.

It takes time to cultivate new habits, beliefs and experiences. Our time here is short. So, right now, in this moment, I'm asking myself--What is it that can fill me up, that all the running and shopping and doing used to do for me? A friend once told me that I am a human doing, wouldn't I rather be a human being? To just BE is my job today, like it or not, because being still will save a lot of grief for everybody else!

Seeing Things as Others See Them

My Daily Supplies

I know these are hard times. Super hard times. But they are also great times too. I'm not trying to be all rose-colored glasses here. But. I've been watching the little kids up the street from my upstairs window where I work. They're inside now, but they'll be out for their daily recess time and I'll be eavesdropping on their giggles, the scrape of their bikes and the their hot wheels. Last night, I was out in the dark and they were too. They'd found a toad with their mom and they were taking turns cradling it in the palms of their small hands. 

I heard the voices of neighbors shouting to each other across yards that never previously spoke to one another that I knew of, anyhow. 

But most of all, I see people walking, almost all singles with masks and some with no masks, waving to each other or chatting on the phone, like me, to people I haven't talked to in years. Reconnecting. Checking in. It's a good thing. 

So why is this being called 'draconian'? If it's draconian, maybe we need to strive for more of it. Busy lives, frenetic striving, pushing, always pushing to the top. Necessary? Well, I'm clearly not in my 30's and 40's anymore, the age I was when I was caught in that web of frenzy. But somehow that was where we lost it. We wanted so much more in material things than our parents could ever know or imagine. My parents never handed me anything. True, they couldn't. They died, both, by the time I was eleven. But. I got caught up in thinking I had to go so much further beyond what I'd had. No hand-me-downs for my kids, vacations every year (no regrets there!), free college, and all the gear that was put out there in the advertising world for us to latch onto. 

Advertising was the phenomena that fed us, the first tv generation. We saw it, wanted it, worked like crazy to gain/achieve all that material success. When I moved from CT, I filled dumpsters again and again with stuff. Acquired stuff. Now, without regret, but understanding, I've moved beyond that stuff.

We have this momentary pause button. It's not draconian, unless I choose to look at it that way. Those who want to use that word, in my opinion, are risky people. Sorry. I'm saying it. They lack perseverance. We Americans have PERSEVERANCE in our DNA. Those, like my dad, who fought on the beach heads were of that incredible generation. But we possess the same DNA. I have that fighting spirit in my DNA. My dad used to say, "You're a Murphy," which was synonymous with tough! We are a tough people, but we're also a kind people. 

It saddens me to think about the least of us on ventilators, the best of us on the front line, the horrors of the families separated by Corona virus. Let's not get derailed by those who want to play this down. 

We all have healthcare professionals in our circles, or family in the hot spots. We are all Murphys. We are all tough!

So today, I'll don my mask and walk my dog. I'm now up to about 7 miles a day. It's gonna be 82 degrees. But. I'm healthy and strong and I have time to pray. I pray for all who are affected by this illness and those who soon will be. There's a zen and a smoothness to my life now. I don't have to pump the adrenaline of materialistic success. I can just be. And that is enough for today.  

All that Glitters

Times sure have changed all around me since I've sat myself down to write once again. It's been a long hiatus. My mentor, Patricia Reilly Giff, told me five years ago--when I started my work traveling and presenting to teachers I might very well leave my writing behind. Those words plagued me as I traveled, prepped, over-prepped and presented to teachers. But, I did love the work. I was on the go constantly and looked back only occasionally with chagrin. Had I left a part of myself behind?

The longing was always there. I promised myself when things settled down, I'd jumpstart my writing again. It would be easy, right?

Habits, at least for me, die hard. Writing requires commitment and continuous effort. The brain needs immersion. It needs to answer that longing, the attachment to the thoughts and ideas, the plot and problems and the feelings of the characters that live within the parameters of story. Good writers do all that and more.

So for now, I'm getting back into the saddle. All that glitters and shines? Well, all that stuff...the sparkly objects, have been removed. No flights, no travel plans, no social engagements. I'm here. In the present moment. Dog walks encompass the skeleton of my day. I'm masked and locked down.
Maybe now, I can take the small crawl back to the chair and into the words I've so loved, and so quickly left behind.

In the absence of the glitter, there are the very small sightings that do delight me each day. I no longer have to think big, be busy or assume a role out there in the world. My job, or so I've been told by everyone that loves me, is to stay healthy and therefore out of the hospital. To honor those whose enormous roles are the most important there is for today.

To all the biggest actors out there, the warriors, acting on our behalf, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'm so ever grateful for the love, the care and all the life breath and energy you are putting into the lives of those who are dangling between this life and the next.

Fleeting Moments

"IMG_5301.JPG" by shawnchin is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 

She stood poised at the edge of the platform, woolen hat, like a cloud of beige, slung back behind her head. Her eyes riveted. Her face lean and serious. A split second statue, really, a profile that could be cast in stone. She was an unknown, anonymous to me, a fleeting stranger waiting for the 6:30 commuter train. A deep blue sky framed her, and the sun cast a spotlight on her private moment...the same one I, a perfect stranger, glimpsed as I sailed by in my rental car. I was the passerby,  pointed in the direction of the airport, heading home after a few days away.

She'd never know I'd spotted her. I'm sure she wouldn't care. Her eyes were set on her screen. Others shuffled around and past her. She gave no notice. A world of cars coming and going moved at  moderate speed, competing for space within the lanes of the crowded highway. But something about her captured me. Generic, I thought. Her pose, her eyes, her stance. We are all generic to one another. The screens hiding us, eliminating the need to interact, to respond, to initiate any kind of interaction. In fairness, it was 6:30 AM. Early commuters not ready yet to engage the brain.

But, my travels near and far across this country illustrate much the same. Screen dominated humans, old and young, this is what we've become.

A seventy-ish couple seated across from me too, huddled together--each with their faces careened toward their screens. Who knows what's captivated them. It's so funny to watch them shift their heads up and down to accommodate their progressive lenses, squinting all the while too. What could it be they're looking at? A Lady Gaga video? Their 401K portfolio? Pictures of their grandchildren? It's a game I play with myself. Silly, I know. I stare.

And then sometimes it's me that's riveted on my screen. Guilty of missing the moments that live right in front of me. My screen, apparently, now accumulates the amount of time I spend staring at my own phone. I am painfully aware of my own screen habits, I don't need Google to remind me.

But now, I sit. I stare a long stare. That sky, the planes, the comings and goings of the airport. The accumulating luggage alongside my plane. What are the lives of these people that support me and my life? I try now to approach these fleeting moments, cross sections of strangers, accumulated fleeting moments that some might think are a dead zone. But for me? The writer, the human, the teacher, the parent. I love to lift my head and engage. I don't apologize for my curiosity. I am not nosy. I'm a seeker. Living in the moment, collecting moments. Practicing presence. There are too many moments I've missed. Work. Busy-ness. On the go. Constantly moving. Now? I'm concentrating. I'm holding on to what is real. Enjoying the human lives that surround me always. Appreciating all that's human, I am anonymous to them, riveted from inside the window of my mind. 

The Sweetness of it All

It's over. For another year. But is it? My daughter found a way to keep Halloween alive all year long. When she was very little, she kept that costume out, sitting on the other twin bed in her room for days afterward. It became a part of the dress-up costume world. But even then, she was thinking--what will I be next year? And, as a mom that didn't have a clue about a needle and thread, let alone a sewing machine--I cringed, and let her formulate her game plan, knowing I was going to have to find a way to pull together another Halloween dressing scheme. She loved to dress up, to reinvent herself, to linger in the thoughts of what could be! My boys, too, had hats and masks and swords...dressing up, and play-acting is how they lived.

And isn't that what childhood is and should be?

Why then, do we go on, as adults to try and fit ourselves into all sorts of square pegs? Can't we linger a little longer, invent and reinvent ourselves? Imagination never, ever goes out of fashion, and yet--we, the adults, tend to fall prey to that scheme. I'm no longer that, let me be this...it'll bring me more money or even a bit of fame?

Following a passion and imagining oneself into a new pair of shoes, exploring possibilities...rather than simply growing up and following one zombie and another into a dull or ordinary job, now that is the way we should be bringing up our kids. Let them chase, play, and savor. What would it be like if we let go of the dull and ordinary path--and chose a path peppered in candy corn? Savor the sweetness, play in the obsession, savor the dream, the ways to tinker with this or that to find a new way? Creativity is just that. Just because I am this...doesn't mean I have to stay that way. Life and humans are fluid.

And even now, after years of living and moving along a number of different paths, I find myself reinventing, rethinking, re-engineering. I only have so many years to do this, so why wouldn't I take in all the sweetness I can?

Halloween is, after all, for the young of heart. And as long as this heart is passionate and the brain can still conjure up a few dreams, I will stay with the chase and seek that sweetness each and every day of my life. 

Taking Time to Smell the Roses

Retirement life...well, not exactly. I spend the time explaining to people on the road and at home what I've chosen to do and how that connects to the concept of retirement. I have come to one conclusion, I am not the classic retiring type, and really don't know anybody who is.

In the past month, I've traveled from South Carolina to lower Manhattan, from Pennsylvania to the Upper Peninsula (boy is it getting cold there!) to the middle of Ohio and then to Santa Fe. By the end of my current trip, which is from northern Chicago to Wisconsin, I'll have covered countless miles on land and in the air. I'm working hard to get as close to 10K steps in as well each day! I'm busy, yes. But gratified as well.

When I face a new group of teachers at each stopping point, I thank my lucky stars that I have as much experience as I've had over the years, connecting with kids around reading and writing. I talk to them about legacy, something that can get lost when we're dealing with data and testing and the countless emails we get as educators each and every day. I love my new job. It connects the dots to what I've done in the past and the future of America's kids with an enthusiastic group of hard-working teachers across this great country of ours.

But along the way, I've had to stop myself to take the time, catch my breath and smell the rose of the moment that looms in front of me.

A week or so ago, it was a rental car attendant, Gabriel, that checked my ID and my papers at Hertz in Ohio. It was 1:00 in the morning. I'd gotten in way later than I'd expected due to airline delays (never a surprise). Gabriel was enamored by the spelling of my name, and proceeded to share his varied heritage with me once he knew how my name tied to my Irish background. He told me about his hopes and dreams, his bucket list...the Great Wall, castles in Eastern Europe, it went on and on. But I could tell from Gabriel's attire--his frayed shirt and pants, his whiskered face, that perhaps it might be hard for him to meet those hopes and dreams. So, I took that moment to share my moment on the Great Wall, in Tiananmen Square and in the crowded streets of Beijing. It made me realize how lucky I am to have had all the experiences I have had in this lifetime.

Later, I entered my hotel and was greeted by another weathered night warrior. This time it was Terrence or Terry, as he liked to be called, craning like a stork over his computer, not really looking up to greet me, but sustaining that gaze on the blue screen. I thought it odd at first. He was a diminutive character, clothed in a khaki vest and pants, cresting 4'10" at best. "You're one of two people," he said.

The words shocked me...they spilled out with such familiarity. "I guess I'm not the rotten egg," I said.

He straightened. His jet black eyes met mine. "I should say not. You are a vision of the night."

What could I do but laugh. This one was a character, one you don't see every day.

"I've been doing this job for 32 years, and I haven't lost a guest yet," he said. "In fact, 32 years and I haven't missed a day until one day last week. I love my job." He handed me my plastic key, and walked me to the elevator.

Thirty-two years. The exact number of years I'd spent in the classroom. But, he had me in the age category. I'd loved every one of my 32 years too.

"I'm 77 years old and I love my job," he said. I looked at him, and despite the thinning of hair, stiffness of frame and a few wrinkles on that face...I thought to myself, he could be that young boy who probably started as a bell hop or desk man at one of the Hilton operations somewhere in the states. The work was clearly keeping him young...the connection to people, the opportunity to flirt with a female arriving late in the night, and the chance to hold the keys to a 500 room mansion that houses Americans on the go.

The next morning, I spotted him talking to the security guard as I carried my breakfast plate to a table nearby. "You've been awake all night?" I asked.

"You're darn right," he said. "Been doing it for 32 years."

"Well, you look darn good," I replied.

"And you, my dear, are the paragon of sartorial splendor!" He stood straight in his khaki vest and pants and bent at the waist at me. For the first time in my adult life I had no reply to this. I knew what he meant, I thought...but of course, I'd have to go home and look it up to be sure! :)

Writing through the Mud

Anybody who knows me, knows I'm obsessed with my beautiful four-legged beast. He--Reilly, is named after my mentor, Patricia Reilly Giff. Reilly is, at times, my one and only empty nester's high maintenance kid. 

But Reilly is so much more than that to the writer in me. Yes, I do have to work around his needs. He gets his food in the AM before I get my coffee. He goes out, and then rushes back in for a cookie (his vitamin), settling into my lap for a snuggle after that. But once I push him off my lap? He knows the routine. I write and write, grab a second cup of coffee and write some more. I'm serious about the words I put on the page. 

But lately, I've been looking more closely at him. I, of course, always have a dog in my stories. Life just wouldn't be the same. I study that face of his, so serious at times, with that furrowed brow and those eyes lazored on me. He even has a pout that works to his greatest advantage if he thinks I've stayed with the writing too long. He rests his head in between his paws and stares me down, longing, wishing, pleading, and sometimes whimpering for his walk at the farm. 

I tell myself--a writer has to ignore outside distractions. I take a long sip on my cold coffee, and get back to my work. But then, as always, the mud comes. It does. I run out of steam...or a question comes up that I don't have the answer to yet. This morning, I started wondering...am I on a path, is there a path at all, or is this quick sand I'm sinking deeper and deeper into? 

Writing is like driving a car without your hands on the wheel. The car has a mind of its own, and the mud is all around. It's been a while since I've written anything outside my middle grade fiction work. I've tried hard not to stare at twitter and Facebook and blogging has been set aside for the somewhat not-so serious, serious stuff. But today, I got to thinking...I was reading a Cynthia Rylant short story, Spaghetti with the kids at school. And I could not help noticing all the little paths in this piece...the things one might think at first sight were headed into the mud. But then she lifts you up and reveals them to be the little jewels along the path to great story. 

Oh, I so wish I could be her!

October Baseball! Fingers Crossed--Let's Go METS!

Let's Go Mets!

Okay, I'm a sucker for a good baseball game. I admit it. If I weren't, there'd be no way I could've lasted this long. I watch my team, your team, and anybody else's team to see a good put-out, a great pitch, or a grand slam. I have been watching baseball since I was literally able to climb up on my dad's knee.

My dad...was a Red Sox fan. Having sailed here from Ireland, who else would he choose? Boston, to his thinking, was an all Irish town. I can only imagine what he'd have thought of the green caps those Sox fans wear on their heads now!

For the better part of 25 years, I've hung my gallery of caps and then my Mets banner too, on the wall in my classroom, just behind the American flag. And I'd tell parents right at Open House that of course I was working on a subtle form of brain washing. Why not? Without a series win since 1986, we could use all the fans we could get. So everyday, my kids would pledge allegiance to the flag of the US and to the banner of the NY Mets.

I bribed them with threats to cheer for my team, and there'd be no homework over and over again. And I did pay-off, but seriously? There were some very lean years!

And then came along all the trickster parents, like the one who fed his son a half-gallon of ice-cream spoon by spoon while practicing his April Fool's exclamation, "Mrs. Lynch--guess what?! I'm a Mets fan now!" Yup, I fell for it. And that kid to this day remains a Yankee fan.

Even my own kids have been duped by my husband and swallowed the Yankee pill.

But today, my niece Caroline who is infamous over at Tech Insider tweeted me about a fellow teacher/Mets fan, Mr. Lazarus http://www.techinsider.io/mets-baseball-fan-letters-from-3rd-graders-2015-10. Apparently, Mr. L's third graders, Queens natives, are writing letters to convince the Mets to win! Well, that Mr. Lazarus is no dummy! First of all, he's playing to the right market. Up here in Newtown, we're on the Yankee/Red Sox line.

Second of all, for those of you who care, he's firing them up to write to one of his third grade standards, so this is no idle child's play here! So maybe, just maybe, Mr. Lazarus, I've been the jinx all along! Here's hoping the torch can be passed, and now it's up to you!

https://twitter.com/MainIdeaTweets/status/654674197998735361/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw

C'MON, guys...you gotta get fired up when you read a letter like that!

And tonight, even though I always keep a bit of cool caution in my hopes pool--I'm feeling pretty optimistic right now. I've come a long way since I got struck by that Grande Orange bug! And honestly, the convincing came from my best friend's dad--Mr. George Ripley! It didn't take much, just a little evening baseball after he got home, a bit of explaining about the game...and then, in '69 the Mets themselves sealed the deal!

Let's hope we're back there once again!

GO METS!

My Little Place in the Woods

I never imagined life could be so good...a little cottage, a pine forest, my laptop and a golden puppy resting under my feet. After so many seasons of early wake-ups, cramming close to the screen with that hot cup of coffee to jump-start my day, I am, at long last, somewhat retired from the day to day schedule at school.

My mornings consist not of an alarm, but the persistent poking of a black puppy nose attached to a mass of golden fur. I no longer have to choose an outfit, shorts and a tank top will do. But the coffee?
Oh...that will never change!

Today, I spent three hours revising seven pages in my book. I angsted over a new chapter I know I have to stitch in somehow between two others I've recently revised too. When I reached the point of frustration, I went out and raked and weeded and clipped. And then I went back to the cottage and got it right this time, I think.

To round out my day, I took my pup out for a long walk in the woods, and then walked along a well-traveled path and had a few long conversations with all the regular dog walkers I knew. But then, as the trail weaved its way around the bend...I passed my old school. Do I miss it? You bet. I miss the people, the kids, and of course all the opportunities to challenge myself and the kids, creating each and every day from scratch.

But...new opportunities to be a part but not immersed in the field of education abound. I'll be back. But now, in my own way, on my own time, because after all these years of waking up, it's my time to have a little choice! What an incredible reward!

Riding on a Cloud

Riding on a Cloud--

I walk and watch a golden tail,
poised upward,
catching the wind.

He walks,
and I am  tethered
to the other end of the leash.

It is me
who follows
and not leads.

And for once
in my life,
I'm grateful for that.

Now, after years and years
of lines
and order
and organizational structure.

After being the follower
and the leader,
marked by a rigorous
daily schedule, a regimen
and routine--

I can relax.

I am not the schedule
maker,
nor am I the schedule
follower.

Sure, I hold
a calendar
with dates
and work
still to be done.

But I am, now
the cloud rider
instead.
I ebb and flow
in the wind.

I lean in and lend a hand,
pull back
and escape...

to my cottage,
my writing,
my dream, left for years...
undone.

Now is my time, my world,
my chance
to sail on a cloud,
to be light
and uplifted
by the wind!

Back to School...well, almost!

 Orientation...One Last Time!
(Note: This blog, written last May, was saved to draft until recently, when I came across it and decided to put it out there for view.)

People wondered
why
I came...

A last chance
to psyche
up a new crowd--
maybe.

Anxiously curious,
they
meandered
in, clustered in twos
and threes,

eyeing us--
while we were
eyeing them.

Incoming spectators--
longing
to hear
the just right words,
to set their
minds at ease.

Setting the stage
for next year's brave
bunch,
it's here that it all begins
to unfold.

But, this year--
my last year,
I will not watch
that story.

It will unfold,
as it always does
and soon a new crop
will fill the halls
come fall.

Anxious parents
will melt away,
and business
will go on,
as usual.

But when that long
yellow ribbon
of roaring buses
stretches as far as the eye
can see--

And I will
travel toward
a new horizon,
longing...all the while
to be that kid,
who became
the teacher
who streamed down
that hall, and
waited with delight
for a whole new
chapter to begin.

When the Teacher Leaves the Classroom

A Teaching Life--well lived, filled with activity and stimulation and chatter, and behaviors...oh, the behaviors! Kids need lots and lots of stimulation, physical movement, interactive time, and time to digest and question what they've learned. I love my profession; I always have. It has never, ever been a job to me.

Teaching and learning are the things I know best, and so I've been gifted with the career of my dreams. I've lavished through 32 seasons of teaching, living my life with the opening and closing of the classroom door. I've sat on the beach and dreamed up units of study in reading and writing in the summertime...envisioned lessons and the activities that kids would love, so that school would not be a burden for them to endure.

And then, in late August and early September, I'd race to the teachers' store, and buy up name tags and bulletin board paper (the school's colors were always too bland) and borders and desktags and books and notebooks (I was finicky about that too.). I bought button collections and dreidels and straws and cotton balls and even a miniature zoo! But most of all...I bought books! Lots and Lots of books--and truth be known (don't tell my husband), I'm still buying them to put the just right book in the hands of my kids.

And throughout the years, I've worked hard to keep the engines moving. Writing has always been my passion. And because of that, I've prided myself in making sure they filled up at least one notebook, and most of the time two...with poetry and stories and expert information that they'd gleaned because they had a passion they chose to write about. I have loved the kids who were reportedly 'blocked'...they're the ones who'd convinced themselves and their parents they couldn't write.
I'd leave them alone, ignore their protests, and let them do the best they could. And as soon as they started to pop...much like the blooms on a tree--I'd move in quickly to lather on the praise, and then shrink back into the shadows again.

At the beginning of this year, I had no plans of retiring. And if you'd asked me, I'd probably give you a look. You see, I always wanted to go out on my own terms, never appearing old or impassioned, I simply wanted to sneak out the side door on the last day with the kids. I knew that day would come. We all know. My decision to leave...comes with kids at the heart of it. I will never be that teacher that everyone groans about. I will never shortchange a class because my energy or enthusiasm can not match theirs. A teacher needs to know...in his/her heart, when that gifted period of teaching begins to show a bit of wear and tear.

So...before I become-

I have decided to take this time in my life to drop my keys on the table, turn my kids over to next year's super star...and take the opportunity to leave. I haven't really thought about this day...about what it will be like not to be surrounded constantly by a circle of kids. But honestly, I've been opening that classroom door since I was five years old, and now, it's time to enjoy a little sun on my face, the flexibility to enjoy family, friends, and to finally devote some time to my own writing...and the plethora of other things that I most enjoy in life!

From mouths of babes...

Ode to Sunshine

by Alex W., one of the many talented students I've been so blessed to know!

An ode to the sunshine

brightening my day

banishing the darkness,

to a place far, far away.

Ode to the sunshine 

yellow among blue,

warming the treetops,

evaporating the dwindling dew.

Ode to sunshine

making colors brighter, 

tanning my arms,

making t-shirts whiter.

Ode to sunshine

brightening my day,

banishing the darkness,

tucking the shadows away.

The shadows--the years, well they have caught up with me, but...I am not feeling my age at all. I have my health and a lifetime of memories. I am so ever grateful for all that I've been given in my Newtown teaching career...most of all for the friendships I've forged. Truth is, when you teach with champions, it's hard not to want to rise to the level of that cream! 

Mud Shake: More Lessons from a Golden Mud-making Machine

So today, as I battle this bleak and dreary, ugly pre-Easter day, I have to remember--a small dose of gratitude, and not this awful crankiness, is what I really need.

Looking in the rearview mirror is usually the best strategy I've got. After all, any of us who live
in a country like ours, ought to get down and kiss the ground beneath our feet. (I'm hearing my dad's voice in my head as I write this!) 

Luxury problems...my life is filled with them! And really, whose isn't? What I do with them, and how I live with acceptance of them is really the name of the game.

But in past years, I have had a cup that has overflowed! I've had jelly beans and Easter egg hunts, little cuddly babies of my own. And as my kids grew into little kids, I chased them around in the backyard, and took them on hikes in their boots, in those cold first days of Spring.

I want all my kids to be home. I want that huge Easter celebration, much like the ones I've had in the past. I want that excitement of the nest filling up again.

But, what I think I need is downtime, a book, a dog, time with my long-time boyfriend,
and a chance to sit at the dinner table and chat with at least one of my kids.

And that, I will have.

It's been a long hard winter, and now, the first real signs of Spring that I've found,
is the giant mud puddle my dog loves to lay in and the tiny tick I found on his forehead
today. But, as I look closer, dig deeper...and spend a little time outdoors--

I hear a very loud vociferous chorus, the birds, playing off the stand of trees--my own pine forest in my backyard. A gaggle of geese honk above me, searching and finding the pond just below my yard. And that smell...the earthiness of mud and worms. Well, as dumb as that sounds, it's then I finally, I succumb.

Like that big old muddy golden of mine...I will shake off what isn't to be for right now, and be grateful for all I've been given today. And then--I will enjoy our much smaller group tomorrow--that little Easter party of nine!

Sliding onto a Mat: March 31, 2015 Slice of Life Challenge 31/31 (I'm there!) #solc15

After a long day, long month, long winter...racing home on a Tuesday night to catch the SLOW, energetic flow class was just what the doctor ordered today. I honestly wish I'd discovered yoga years ago. But a good friend of mine always tells me we're never late--as long as we eventually arrive where we belong.

I belong in yoga; a non-sport, non-judgmental energetic adventure that brings me to a place of candles and warmth and wanderings I'd never even imagined before. 

A long line of energy flows from the top of my scalp  to the very tip of my toes. I reach high into the heavens and arc back just a bit. Then the length of me reaches and stretches, upward dog and downward dog, pigeon pose, and poses that sometimes leave me dangling in mid-air perpendicular to the wood floor. 

One moment, I am a goddess, the next I am a warrior ready to face the world.

In the end, my worn-out body stretches long over my blue mat, I curve my spine upward then bring it back down, hoist myself up and plow my toes toward the sky...then all at once toss them again toward the back of the room. And last, I return, one vertebrae at a time to the floor for a long, meditative shavasana...

reclining pose. 

Yoga. Is. Life...

a hard-working teacher's best friend.

Happiness lives inside the practice, and my family, my friends,

my students and the rest of the world deserve a happier me.

Thank you to TWO WRITING TEACHERS AND TO ALL THE OTHER TEACHERS...THE SLICERS, WHO ENCOURAGED ME AND ALLOWED ME TO SHARE THEIR LIVES THIS MONTH! WHAT A GREAT MONTH IT'S BEEN!

Slice of Life Challenge: 

For the month of March, I've participated in a daily writing challenge, blogging, and posting, and reading other teachers' blogs. This challenge was started by two writing teachers, and can be found at their blog each day: www.twowritingteachers.wordpress.com. What a great way to keep story threading through my brain each day.

        

Today, I got to thinking about Spring Break. It's a four-day week filled with lots to do, but heck...a girl can dream, right? And then as soon as the thought entered my brain, I started to think about an old friend I haven't visited in a long time...Welcome Back Sun, by Michael Emberley. This beautifully illustrated story highlights a small Norwegian village, waiting for murketiden, or murky time, the time of darkness to end. The young girl in the story wants badly to follow the path of another young girl of legend who trekked through the mountains to lead the sun back to the valley.

When I open this book, I am that girl. Waiting, not as much for light, but for the arrival of that feeling of warmth on my cheeks and my shoulders...the tossing of a coat for a sweater, and best of all to put on a pair of shorts and sandals again.

This year, that sun's warmth has a taken a long, long time to show its face. Winter has pelted us over and over again. This morning we woke up to another pelting. But in the background, I could hear the distant sound of the birds, and the geese landing on the pond below my house. I know it's coming.

But...winter, with it's grainy snow,  still clings to this landscape.

And so, I've made a radical decision. I'm tossing in the towel. I'm tired of this long, long wait. I am, just like this little girl, heading over the mountains and flying and then driving to Sedona--hot, hot Sedona. I know, it may not be that hot there in April. But hopefully, I'll be able to find a warm seat somewhere, curl up with a great book, and soak up a bundle of sun!

And when I come back, I'll be sure to bring back a mega-dose of sun's warmth for all my friends who've lived through this torrid winter with me too!

Slice of Life Challenge: 

For the month of March, I'm participating in a daily writing challenge, blogging, and posting, and reading other teachers' blogs. This challenge was started by two writing teachers, and can be found at their blog each day: www.twowritingteachers.wordpress.com. Feel free to join me! It's a great way to keep story threading throughout your brain each day.

        

The Many Faces of Early Spring! March 29, 2015: Slice of Life Challenge #solc15

Nature, Mother Nature...oh what a terribly wonderful thing. What I love most about early Spring is the unrelenting dog-fight it seems to wage with Winter to just let it pass, and give us all some relief!

Today, I spent a couple hours with my buddy. I was bundled and wrapped with  a hat and a hood and a scarf and mittens! I was taking no chances after the crazy snowy day we had yesterday. I figured we'd have a quick jaunt up the hill and then a long walk back on the paved path.

Reilly had other ideas:

Ah, c'mon...we haven't been back in the woods in months.

So I followed. NO WATER, I yelled...

                            
                            But, I'm pretty sure he was laughing at me!



                           And then, of course, next up, was the mud--I yelled, NO MUD!
                                                                             

                               
                 But, he squished his toes in the ooze and smiled right back at me.

                  

And then, finally he landed in a huge, grainy mound, and waited. 

                                                              Got snowballs? 

                                                           And of course, I did.

    For this big pup,  this in-between time...Winter's chilly entry into Spring? 

     Could last forever--but not for me! Bring on the warmth. I'm ready for REAL Spring!

***A little shout-out to our TEAM 26, riding in this chilly spring weather two Washington, cycling to make a statement, to work for change...to take us out of this in-between world of horror, and help bring an end to school violence forever in the United States! (Go Monte!)

          

Slice of Life Challenge: 

For the month of March, I'm participating in a daily writing challenge, blogging, and posting, and reading other teachers' blogs. This challenge was started by two writing teachers, and can be found at their blog each day: www.twowritingteachers.wordpress.com. Feel free to join me! It's a great way to keep story threading throughout your brain each day.

        

Books by the Millions! March 28, 2015 Slice of Life Challenge-#solc2015

Almost all my life, I've believed you can never have too many shoes, boots or books. In fact, if you looked at my closet, you could easily say I feel that way about sweaters and blouses and skirts. But now, my thinking is definitely undergoing a change.

Today was another in a series of Saturdays, emptying Grandma's house and filling up my car. Last night I went to the library and closed the place, lugging in bag after bag of books. And today...after spending the morning there, my car was filled up all over again! It took me about forty minutes to lug those books and place them in neat rows on the overflowing library sale cart.

Grandma loved her stuff. She loved little chotchkies from Christmas Tree Shoppes, and she loved linen and lace, but the thing she loved most in the world, apart from her grandkids and a good recipe, was definitely a good book and an hour or two to read. 

So today, I honored Grandma. I returned all her books to the place she probably loved best too--the library. And as I lugged those boxes and bags up the stairs and through the sliding doors, I just couldn't help but think there's got to be a chair in heaven and a special place filled with books--a gigantic reading room where Grandma can take all the time she needs to settle into a great book!

The Little Things-March 27, 2015: Slice of Life Challenge #sol15

Some days, especially Fridays in a week filled with conferences, report cards, meetings, Donuts with Dad and Smarter Balanced Assessments (SBACs), it's all I can do to grab my bag at the end of the day, close my door and find my way to the parking lot. Today was no exception.

On days like these, it really is the little things that we do for each other that give me that burst of energy, that human connection I crave.

I have a teaching buddy who, despite all that's thrown at him, never seems to be able to do anything but smile. And we have a tradition...we grab a cup of coffee, rarely have the time to drink it together, but at least stand there for the few minutes it takes for our Keurig to brew, to spoon in the sugar and pour a bit of cream in and stir. There's no time to hang around the coffee urn! But those simple five minutes help me put a smile on my face, and go back into my room and plan, or clean, or answer emails, or spend time reading my students' work.

Little things, to a teacher, mean a lot.

A few years ago, we had the best faculty meeting...ever. Don't get me wrong,  if I'm immersed in great professional development, you'll never hear me groan. But faculty meetings?
No sale. I keep an open mind while we move through all the news we need to know. But at this particularly cool faculty meeting--the best ever, I learned a new skill for life.

It was a very little thing.

On the table was a tiny brown, felt bag with a drawstring. Never being one to wait, I gave the little string a tug, and voila! Inside...a thin felt point pen, a pencil and a rolled paper made of cardstock for
shading. Zentangle! I'd never heard of it, or seen it anywhere in my world on the internet. Zentangle is the art of drawing small--immersing myself in the moment, the particular stroke I'm attempting to create.

Now? Two years later, I'm still using zentangling, escaping into a self-created small world as a means to relax. On Friday nights now, I grab my felt tipped pen, my zentangle journal, sink into my cushy gold couch. And when I put my pen to the page, I enter a completely new world. There are commitments, no plans...just me, the page, and whatever happens to pop into my head on its way to the pen!

Slice of Life Challenge: 

For the month of March, I'm participating in a daily writing challenge, blogging, and posting, and reading other teachers' blogs. This challenge was started by two writing teachers, and can be found at their blog each day: www.twowritingteachers.wordpress.com. Feel free to join me! It's a great way to keep story threading throughout your brain each day.

        

Teaching Teddy Bears-March 26 Slice of Life Challenge: 26/31 #SOLC15

Teaching Teddy Bears


First, I asked for an easel,

and then I set it up,

right next to the tv set--

with the bunny-eared 

antenna.

Santa brought 

me other things--

a small ironing board,

and an iron.

A small doll with clothes.

Things that cost--

but were not dear to me.

I ran upstairs,

and snagged my teddy bears,

my bunny,

my kittens,

an old doll or two.

I propped them up

on the couch.

I grabbed the chalk,

white and pink

and green and orange,

with that horrible chalky 

smell.

I didn't care.

I was the teacher

and I had an audience,

God knows what I taught

my imagined pupils.

The cat, by then,

was long gone.

But I blathered on

anyhow--

that was what I imagined

from my own life in school--

that teachers should do!

And now,

each day,

as I swing wide my own

very real

classroom door--

they are my teachers!

We laugh,

we learn--we forge ahead,

a lifetime

of learning--

every day a new journey,

inspired by my

classroom

kids!

Slice of Life Challenge: 

For the month of March, I'm participating in a daily writing challenge, blogging, and posting, and reading other teachers' blogs. This challenge was started by two writing teachers, and can be found at their blog each day: www.twowritingteachers.wordpress.com. Feel free to join me! It's a great way to keep story threading throughout your brain each day.

        

The Little Engine that Can-March 25: Slice of Life Challenge 25/31 #solc15

It's been a long, long haul.

Over a very rugged terrain.

And for the very first time, publicly, I'm admitting to myself that even though I am and have been writing, finished up my YA novel...sent it out a bit, started scripting a MG novel, but I have really been running out of steam. Artistically stalled.

The events of 12/14, that horrible December day, despite my intent of moving forward, kept pulling me back and leaving me stuck. My work in the classroom has been focused on remaining upbeat and loving and supporting all the kids. I do love my kids! And that has taken priority over everything.

And then, this challenge rolled along. 

I decided to take the leap. I'd been spreading my writing all over the place, a little blog here, journal entry there...the red leather one with the heart, the gold leaf paisley one with the magnetic front next. Spreading it all out. The heartbreak, the feelings the thoughts about those feelings. 

But this month, I'm re-learning a little something about this little engine called writing. It is the Little Engine that Can. I can write daily, and in one place again. I can reveal and then revel in the feelings I see on the page. I will not ever be afraid to put it out there again. 

The groundswell...the heart, that once was broken, is a mighty heart. I live in a strong community. And we save each other through our words. Writing is a healing thing. Writing is what I know best.