A space to write

Almost every Sunday I catch up with my mom.  I am so grateful she is still around, even though she is over 600 miles away.  Many of my friends are beginning to lose their parents.  I lost my dad five years ago, but my mom, at 80 is still sharp and active.  As a teenageer, I am ashamed to say, I was not very fond of my mother.  As an adult, I now I have a deep admiration - I only hope my own daughter's follow the same arc:) We spend the first bit talking about the schism in the Methodist church - this occupies a lot of her Sunday's lately then it's on to an update of each child, my husband, my school work, my in-laws.  My mother-in-law has recently moved to a "memory care" facility.  My mother chimes in, "Linda (a family friend who also suffers from dementia) has just started taking CBD oil, and it really seems to be helping her bouts of anger."  Linda, like many dementia patients, as well as my mother-in-law, suffers from angry outbursts when sh...

The winds have died down, the sun is out.  I just bought flowers for the first time in a while - I shouldn't have waited so long. Sun streams through the front storm glass door and my old frail cat basks in it, trying to clean himself.  His hair is long and easily matted, and it's hard for him to keep it untangled.  He getting old- 98 in cat years. He has a thyroid problem, and is on medication.  My mom laughs at this, she says, "I have a thyroid problem too, it's what happens when you get old."  He's feisty though, and constantly begs for attention, and meows for food - his thyroid issue means he's hungry all the time - all day long, so much so that I begin to lose sympathy. The meowing can drive me crazy.  He rubs up against my dog, the edge of the door, the banister- he's so insistent, and bold - I admire his tenacity and pluck - he still has such personality for an old dude. Now he is in my lap, jealous of the keyboard, trying to push my fingers...

"A personal note" is how the email reads - she's confiding in me - what she lets go of is heartbreaking.  The story is told, and I hear that she has decided not to report the incident, out of fear perhaps, or of not wanting to cause any more hurt. I'm not sure. But, now that she has told me, and it has happened at my school, I carry the burden.  I have to say something, but how?  She trusts me; I don't want to violate that trust. I lose sleep, ask advice from my husband, roll my responding email over and over in my head.  "Don't rush into a response," I tell myself.  "Think on this, and act in the morning when your head is clearer."  I listen to myself, thank goodness. This morning I walk in and I know I have to say something, but this could go very wrong.  People could get worked up, I could get stuck in the middle. I have to make a partner in this.  I walk down do the head counselor's office, luckily she's free,"Can I ask f...

Have you ever tried typing with a fine dusting of salt on your hands?   I bet you have. The afternoon munchies have set in and I have a craving to crunch. Chewing and typing, preparing for tomorrow, reflecting on today, trying to feed the beast within.  I can hold it together until about 4 o'clock and then my better natures leave the building. I am cranky, I am hungry, I am tired.  I should go home but there is too much to do.   Popcorn it is - maybe I can masticate the demons away - I pull open another bag and munch on.  

"So...I know you can't talk to me about the test, but just give me a thumbs up, sideways or down.  How do you feel about it?  (I hope I'm not getting myself in trouble here...) Most give me a thumbs up. " Whew!" This is the grammar portion of the writing SOL, the one that asks the bedeviling comma, and pesky pronoun agreement questions. We review intensely for this for a week, but I try to work in these lessons in all year long. However, grammar is a tough nut, and as much as I try to incorporate it into my reading and writing lessons - it always feels like a different beast.  And, it's a beast I'm glad to put in my rearview - though - I know - I know - I will still teach grammar even though students are no longer tested on it:) For the next few weeks though we have a reprieve - we are back to reading, and talking about books and I feel like I can breath again, and so do the kids.

The email ping chimes into my thoughts.  I try to resist my Pavlovian response - "focus" "grade" "ignore the distractions"  "I should really figure out how to put that thing on silent." After a few minutes I cave and flip over to the email window. And, instead of one of a million things it could be, it is, to my delight, a comment on one of my slices.  So kind, so thoughtful.  Such a simple gesture that means so much.  I am taken aback my how much these little comments mean to me.  I didn't think I needed that.  I still don't.  But it turns out it can really make my day.  Thank you!  to my tiny band of commenters.  You have taught me the value of this for not only myself, but for my students in their writing. 

Morning Duty Ah the smell of the cafeteria on a Monday morning. The sickly smell of sour milk, wet cardboard, and some sort of cleaning product, overwhelm me as I walk down the stairs. I'm on morning duty. Twice a year we rotate keeping an eye on students in the morning before they are released at the first bell.  You'd be surprised how just the extra 20 minutes in the morning really messes my morning routine - I seriously have to plan ahead for these weeks.  We are supposed to help keep the kids under control - the cell phones and the ear buds seem to be doing a pretty good job of that.  I wish I could get them to read.... They all cluster together in friend groups, earbuds in - the latest status symbol are the Apple wireless ones - they are really expensive.  It stuns me that so many of them have them. As I watch them chatting and relaxing before the beginning of the day, it occurs to me that the six adults down here watching like prison guards is a bi...