Finding My Way Forward

It’s been six since months since T blew up and our life together came to an abrupt end.  I’ve had a lot of time to reflect.  The challenge before me is not being on my own.  It’s finding the space to look after myself; to identify my needs and embrace caring for myself because I know, really know and truly believe, that I matter.  That means supporting myself, slaying my demons, and learning to believe that I am enough on my own, because I am, not because of the things that I do for others.  I tell myself that I am worthy but I need to truly believe it and shut down the inner voice that sometimes tells me I am not..  Daily I look in the mirror and remind myself that I am enough, that I mean something just because I am, not because of what I do or whom I look after.  When I had a partner, who I am felt relational - I am someone’s person; they are mine.  That creates an ‘us’; a ‘we’ and it felt valuable and important.  It gave me strength, even as the relationship was failing and I knew I was not being loved or supported.  My head knows that I matter without an ‘us’ or a ‘we’ and daily I remind my heart to find and know that strength.

Old Man Tree: September 1

I never longed for the start of Summer as much I longed for Summer this year.  The hybrid school year took its toll and when June hovered into sight I was so glad for the prospect of time off.  I took advantage of that time and the unscheduled days of the last few months has been lovely. 

Though the last school year ended on a positive note - I began to believe we might not have to wear masks forever - the rise of the Delta variant over the summer has put those hopes to rest.  New Jersey is a high vax state and we’ll all be wearing a mask at school.  I’m checking the over 12 vaccination rate in my region and my school with a slight obsessiveness (school is over 80%, so that’s hopeful) and reading every study I can find about ventilation.  In short, the pandemic and its attendant anxiety are still very much with me as the start of school is very much on the horizon.

That makes Old Man Tree, this backyard, and time outside more important than ever.  As the busy days ramp up, I am grateful for time here, with a tree that is old enough that it was here for post-WWI influenza pandemic and will surely see us through this uncertainty as well.

March 12: A Pandemic Anniversary

One year ago today, school closed for Spring Break a day early.  I came to work on Friday the 13th to halls empty of students (how is that for a harbinger of what was to come?) and attended an administrative meeting where the decision was made that school would be remote for the first week after Spring Break.   We were taking things one day at a time but I knew then that one week would not be enough.  As I sat in my quiet office, I realized we would not be back in the school hallways for the rest of the school year.

As the fearful quiet took hold, I scanned history documents and made copies of everything I could possibly need to finish out the year teaching from home.  Then I packed it all in my car and took school home.  I remember that it was sunny and warm; the kind of beautiful Spring day that makes you feel unbelievably lucky to be alive.  That day, before the full fear had taken hold, it felt like I could take my luck for granted.

At the time, I thought we’d all pause for a bit to “flatten the curve” (remember that phrase?) but surely would be back in school by September.  In hindsight, that confidence seems naive.  From my perspective today, one year in to the pandemic, am glad of the naïveté.  On March 12, 2020, I was afraid and willing to pause but I was nowhere near ready to embrace the challenge and sadness the next year would bring.

Today feels so much different than March 2020.  For one thing, I am among the lucky few 11% of the people in New Jersey to be fully vaccinated.  I feel incredibly hopeful about the pace of vaccines in my state; we are now putting out 500k a week and in a state with 7 million vaccine-eligible adults, that is moving fast.  The nation has reached the point of a steady 2 million shots a day.  All of that is hopeful.  My state still has a daily case load that causes me concern - most days, we are at 3,000 new positives.  Over the past year, more than 21,000 of us have died.  New Jersey’s cautious re-opening continues and my family’s even more cautious approach continues as we wait for T and JT to receive their vaccine.

Last March, I hoped for a vaccine by the close of 2020 and felt confident that we would be able to successfully flatten the curve to wait that out.  I was wrong about our national ability to successfully flatten the curve and that inability has cost us dearly.  More than 525,000 people are known to have died of Covid-19 in this nation, a number that is an astounding testament to our inability to work toward the common good for one another.  That tragedy may be the greatest lesson of all, though right now we are unable to collectively learn from it.

Spring Break starts this afternoon and this year feels different.  I will have some time off - a break that is sorely needed - and the perspective of this past year has taught me a great deal.  In no particular order, it has taught me that resilience must be nurtured; that good leadership matters; to say I love you as often as the opportunity arises; to be grateful for science; to count my blessings and turn my face to the light whenever I can find it.  

Seasonal Change

Though classes won’t begin until next week, back-to-school meetings have started this week.  My regular school schedule has begun, and I wake up at 5:30 in the morning, to give me the quiet morning time I crave in advance of long and busy days.

All summer long. I’ve spent time on the front porch with my book and several cups of coffee to ease me into the day.  This week’s early wake-ups have found me walking downstairs just before 6 am, with the dawn just peaking over the edge of the eastern sky but to yet break the inky darkness of my northern-facing front porch.  It’s been cool on these mornings and I grab a sweater to keep me company as I read.  More than anything else, these dark mornings show me that summer is fading away.

Next week, I’ll check my e-mail in the darkness, still on the porch to embrace the last of the summer season, but aware of the need to make the most of my morning quiet.  The darkness, the work e-mail, and the chill in the air will all combine to remind me that the relaxed pace of summer has faded and been replaced by busy school days.  I like those days, packed with the energy and excitement of middle schoolers eager to learn, but it’s still hard to say goodbye to the ease of the summer.  

Time will pass.  Pumpkins and fall mums will replace the abundant flowers of the summer.  Sweaters will be necessary and my toes will adjust to life inside of shoes.  I’ll look forward to Halloween and then Thanksgiving and with December, the arrival of Winter’s coziness.  Soon enough, Spring and then Summer will be back on the horizon.  I’ll embrace all of it and be glad for the season to come,  as is my way.  

This Will Pass

This afternoon as I was walking into a store, a mother and her middle-school aged daughter were leaving.  Their faces were lined with stress and they were clearly unhappy with one another and as they walked past me, I heard the mother say,”I know you are frustrated but you don’t get to speak to me that way.”

I know exactly how both of them felt in that moment; middle school is often a hard age for kids and parents alike and I could well-imagine the tone the daughter had used toward her mother; you could certainly hear mom’s frustration in her voice.  At the same time, I know well the feeling of being 12 or 13 and wanting to be taken seriously and be heard even as wild and inexplicable emotions spin their way through one’s heartland mind.

I wish I could have stopped them and said, “this will pass.”  To the daughter I would say, “she loves you unconditionally even when you don’t feel it.  Take a deep breath and try to be patient.”  To the mother I would say, “she’ll be out of your house and away at college in less than six years.  I know it seems like a lifetime away but it’s not.  Tread lightly; she needs you now more than it seems.”

I didn’t say any of this because I live in New Jersey and no one at the door of Michael’s Craft Store on a blustery Sunday is looking for unsolicited advice from anyone, let alone a stranger.  But I’ve thought of that mother and daughter all afternoon and I hope they found their way forward together today and for the next few years.  

Dogwood Wednesday: October 18

Though I remind myself that this year is an especially good year to live in the moment, something about cool mornings has me longing for the full-time arrival of sweater weather.  From there, I get to thinking about Winter: heavy down comforters, cozy blankets, coats and scarves and mittens……..before I know it, I’m planning my first snow day.  The dogwood is right here with me.

The color change accelerates as the nights lengthen and the warmth of the day feels thinner.

Halloween is on the horizon, with little ghosts and goblins crunchy through the leaves.  My task between now and then is to live in the happy moments.

Old Man Tree: October

After a wet Summer, September was a dry month.  The leaves had started to turn as the month began. Temperatures warmed for the latter half of the month and it was hard to believe that Fall had arrived.  But the lawn is covered by a carpet of leaves when I set out to mow each week.

When I run the mower, I mark my rows by the mulching of these leaves.  

When I look overhead, I see that Old Man Tree is nowhere near shedding his leaves.  His embrace of the next season is more stately than mine.  There is a lot more raking and mulching to come.

Cool, crisp mornings have once again taken hold; evenings arrive sooner.  There are pumpkins and mums on the front porch.  In the coming weeks, the pace of leaves changing colors and dropping into the yard will pick up.  I keep watch for a glimpse of the harvest moon as I step out back under the limbs of this tree that has passed many more years than I have.  I offer a thanks to Mother Nature for all those years and a wish that Old Man Tree weather many more of them.

Morning Light

I love the mornings, especially a leisurely morning with time to read and relax.  During the school year, I’m up at at 5:30 in the morning so that I don’t have to rush to be ready for school.  I listen to NPR, take time to read e-mail, and generally gird myself for a busy day to come.  I work seven-day weeks in the school year, rarely completely setting aside work on the weekend.  I’ve always been that way, knowing that I’d have a whole Summer to renew and refresh.   

I work a 12 month calendar since I took the job in the Middle School.  To combat my tendency to work at full tilt in the Summer months as well, a few years back  I instituted my own set of Summer rules.  I wake up a little later, at 6 instead f 5:30 am.  For the most part, I don’t read work e-mail in the morning, on the weekends, or in the evenings.  I take every spare moment to be outside in the light and warmth.  I read book after book.  I spend my Summer mornings on the front porch or the back deck, reading, drinking coffee, and enjoying my garden.  

When Summer first begins, it’s light when I rise and by the time I’m downstairs to pour my coffee, the sun has risen.  With the arrival of August, the morning light begins to fade and when I come downstairs for coffee, the sun is still short of the horizon. The light is golden but not bright and it’s lovely outside.

I’m always sorry to see the Summer come to an end.  This year, I’m a little sorrier than usual.  That’s the case both because it’s been a mild and lovely Summer and because when school starts, JT begins his Senior year.  This will be our 15th year at school together, it's also our last year  together.  Next year, he’ll be packed off for college and I’ll be driving off to school on my own.  More than usual, I’m aware of the bittersweet passage of time.

Part of me would like to hold on to this light forever.  I know this isn't possible.  So I plan to embrace it while it lasts.

Jersey Peach

In 2013, I planted this peach tree in memory of our Miss Amy.  It’s called a Redhead Peach Tree and as Amy was a red head, it seemed fitting.  She wasn’t a fan of peaches, but she loved all things New Jersey and so she was our Jersey peach.

It’s been 4 years since I planted the tree and as it does each spring, the splendid blooms have begun.  It’s hard for me to believe that it’s been 4 years since Amy left this earth.  When I watch JT play a sport, I always think of her.  She never missed a little league game and I’d dearly love to have her company at a wrestling match or cross country race.  She’d cheer our boy on (and surely offer some pointed thoughts about how a bunch of lesbians now have to watch wrestling) and we’d laugh and ponder how fast JT has grown up.

Amy was the sort of friend who said yes to even the most hare-brained scheme, who loved with abandon, and always laughed.  I miss her mightily.  Today, I’ll look at my lovely peach tree and will remember the power of her life and love.  I’ll be grateful for the blessing of having her in my world, even if it was for far-too-short a time.

On Time: Winter Break

The last few weeks have been busy and full.  Today’s school day in the Middle School will feature  a host of community-building activities —— from community service to just plain fun.  It will be filled with energy and excitement and it will be exhausting. When the day closes at 3 pm, our Winter Break will begin.  That means that two weeks of time off stretch before me.  It’s a most welcoming prospect.  I’m looking forward to some leisurely mornings, afternoon naps, long hours with good books, time to work out without being rushed, suppers served before 7 pm……the list of things made better thanks to time off stretches before me.

That’s happy!