After An Educator's Journey

Out of the classroom & into the universe

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Once upon a time, I taught 2nd, 3rd, and 4th graders. Now I’m retired and working on new ventures.
I taught second, third and fourth graders. Teaching was my passion and joy for 30 years. And it didn’t hurt that they called me “mom” sometimes.

  • March 13, 2020: A Reflection

    Do you remember Friday, March 13, 2020? That was the date when the COVID-19 virus started to close it all. I have a clear memory of attending a concert, Le Vent du Nord, at the MFA about a week before. There was someone on the train to Boston coughing and who appeared quite ill. It made me recoil a bit because I’d already been hearing about a “new” virus that was running rampant. I was hoping that passenger hadn’t infected either of us.

    The COVID lockdown was a strange and isolating time; I’m not sure that we all aren’t scared a bit by it even now. I had several health issues pop up; not surprisingly, these things happen when you reach a certain age. If you could get an appointment with a doctor, it took months. I couldn’t get a doctor to look at me, so that diagnosing those issues took months.

    We ordered groceries online and picked them up. We washed out groceries, even the cereal box, when we returned home. We stopped going out to eat, but once in a while could order a food delivery. Even ice cream once.

    We sanitized our door handles and kept to ourselves in 1632 square feet of living space. We tried to stay busy; Adrien did a photography class on Zoom. Even though he was close to retirement, COVID curtailed the rest of his commercial business, so he packed that up and moved on. We had to isolate from our son, daughter-in-law and then 2-year-old-granddaughter. She would call us using FaceTime occasionally and we all tried to make do with air hugs and video feeds. Adrien’s photography documents what that was like for us in his photo essay, Alone Together.

    When the COVID vaccine was finally available, it was very emotional for me. As we lined up with our community at a giant manufacturing building to receive vaccinations. I thought I had truly hit the lottery. My mother and her elderly peeps piled into a car for a drive-through vaccine. I’m not sure who had an appointment, but they were in it together, appointment or not.

    After our second shot, we both got COVID, but it was way less debilitating than many early patients experienced. Getting sick in sequence, taking paxlovid, getting rebounded and testing, testing, testing. That little pink line was my nemesis. I don’t know how medical personnel survived the risks and threats they lived with. That debt can never be repaid.

    Nor can the debt to my education friends. They invented ways to keep moving forward and supporting children and their families. They lived with the cognitive dissonance of delivering instruction online despite networks and internet connections that were often shaky. Educators, bus drivers, cafeteria workers drove meals or school supplies to families living with food insecurity, and important part of living in a city where poverty often rears its head. Educators tried to create a normal learning environment out of one of the most abnormal times. Kids sometimes disappeared from classes with no explanations. Eventually when it became clear that some students had gone missing, educators didn’t give up or give in. 

    Five years. While we personally lost pieces of our everyday life, we recognize our loss was minor compared to those who lost family members and friends. Our loss was time. We cannot get that back, but still, we feel lucky to have made it through.

    Because five years ago, even as the US President was advising citizens to inject bleach or to take a horse medicine, those in public health were the voice of reason and guidance. Five years later, I can no longer say that is true. Our public health guidance is flawed at best and deliberately skewed to reflect a political view of someone with neither science nor medical facts.

    Tomorrow, Friday, March 13, I will take a moment to remember how things were when we were all under the cloud of COVID. And hope that, should there be a repeat of a health threat this massive, I hope the public health system has been rebuilt to protect us all.

  • 28 January 2026: Wondering

    E. C. Puglisi, Jr. front row, 7th from left with the 1252nd Combat Engineers Battalion. New Jersey, 1944.

    My father, as a young man in his 20s, enlisted in the Army in 1941. He was 23 when he enlisted in 1941 and served until the World War II conflict ended in 1946.

    Like many from that generation, my Dad didn’t speak much about his time in the European Theater. What I know of his experience comes from researching the 1252nd Engineers Combat Battalion. Their duties were to construct bridges, clear mines, repair roads, perform demolitions, and when needed provide battle support as well as fight as infantry.

    As I’ve come to know my family’s history, my Dad’s service in the US Army Corps of Engineers, tells much about how he would view the rise of fascism and authoritarianism in the United States. Dad’s battalion was in France, Luxembourg, Germany and Austria as part of Allied efforts to quash Nazis and fascists.

    Eighty-plus years later, we see an administration aided and supported by those in Congress with the mindset of staying in power no matter the cost. It doesn’t matter if one is a citizen, a refugee with legal standing and protection, or a five year old child, the rights we assumed were guaranteed and granted under the US Constitution are being trampled upon. I suspect Dad would think this a stunning downturn. I know I do.

    My Mom, who was a college student during Pearl Harbor and the United States’ participation in the war, agonizes over the world that will be left for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She likens this era to the period depicted in William Shirer’s The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. If you’ve read it, you may agree that the similarities can be stunning. As philosopher George Santayana once wrote, “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” . 

    With each passing year, fewer of the Greatest Generation are here to bear witness to the rise of fascism and what it took to stabilize our world. And so,I wonder. What would my Dad and his generation make of this time in US History?

  • January 24, 2026: ICE Out

    I’ve thought for the past year that this time would be difficult. In honesty, the government of the United States has deteriorated faster than I could have imagined.

    Starting with DOGE Bros, know-it-alls who trample over private data and randomly remove hard-working civil servants, to this past week when the goons of ICE began their rein of terror in earnest, the trajectory of the Republic has been downward. So let me be clear.

    These are the things I believe:

    Killing a person. A US citizen. Shooting point-blank through a car window because who-knows-why is an abomination.

    A two-year old sent to Detention Center, even “temporarily”, is an abomination.

    A Pre-Kindergartener used as bait to lure his father. That’s an abomination.

    Causing medical patients to be so fearful that needed medical care and appointments are missed. That’s an abomination.

    Harassing a teen, a US citizen, while working at Target and subsequently dropping him off miles from where he lives and works. That’s an abomination.

    Forcing a man who is a US citizen outdoors with only his underclothing for protection from freezing weather. Why? Because he looks different. That’s an abomination.

    Removing people who have studied and EARNED their US Citizenship the hard way from their swearing-in ceremony is an abomination.

    Armed, masked, and weaponized thugs breaking down doors to residences without warrants. 

    Over-riding the Fourth Amendment by memo.

    Harassing protestors exercising their rights. Throwing canisters of tear gas. Close range in-the-face pepper spraying.

    And that’s just this month. Does anyone really know the full extent of this rein of terror?

    Brutality toward humanity, especially if one speaks differently, looks different or otherwise is not from 1950s “greatness” is all the thugs know. Spoiler alert: I lived in the 1950s and 1960s, it wasn’t great for all. In fact, it often was pretty terrible.

    I’ve maintained all through Trump1 and Trump2 that these pathetic people are coming for all of us. Well, they are here, they profile, they discriminate, and they are violent. Trying to make sense of the group-think from goons acting on orders from the “top” is not enough. These are atrocities that call for pushback. People of Minneapolis and Maine, you inspire.

    This is what I have to say. It’s what I believe. Silence may be convenient but it is NOT an option.

  • Our Holiday Card

    Since 2020, I’ve been revisiting watercolor painting, something I did long ago as a junior high student.

    Learning to do a creative thing is more than a little scary, and yes I understand the irony of that statement: I studied and played piano starting in fifth grade. So the uncomfortable part of exposing oneself as a creative is well ingrained.

    This year, our holiday card is simple, but for me that simple design represents some newly practiced techniques. I’ve been experimenting with mixing my own colors and green has been my nemesis. One would think mixing yellow and blue would not be that challenging, but for me, it has been. So looking at the range of greens in our holiday card represents growth. Sometimes simple does not mean easy.

    As Adrien often tells me, I may be one of the last hold-outs to sending holiday greetings to friends and family; that is probably true. For me, sending cards, will continue to be part of my holiday season though, it’s old-fashioned, but it is a connection to people who have been an influence in my life. It’s my way of saying I remember.

    And while this post is kind of wandering, our wish for you is this: may the peace of the season sustain you and yours throughout the coming year.

  • The Memory Of Christmas Past

    I’ve been dragging my feet about putting up our Christmas tree. Usually I’m on top of holiday decorating starting with the second Sunday of Advent which has been our traditional tree trimming day. This year? I put it off and then off some more. Finally, today, a week until Christmas, I pulled out the ornaments that we have collected over time and finished trimming the tree that stands in our living room.

    Many of the ornaments on our tree this year are souvenirs of past travel. The ornament we collected this year was from our travel to Sicily, and to honor both our travel and the connection to my ancestry, I chose an ornament depicting Mt. Etna. Unwrapping others – the Eiffel tower, Montreal, Quebec, New England – each ornament stirs a memory of good times exploring and experiencing new places.

    When we weren’t traveling, which has been the case more often lately, we’ve collected ornaments from the places in which we made our home. Our 20 years in Westford, and more recently a spindle from the Boott Mill; all conjure memories of the different eras of our life together.

    Today, as I placed ornaments on our tree, I also hung the memories of some special people who have been part of my life. My dear friend and mentor teacher, Ellen who passed away this Fall gave me several ornaments over the time we taught together. The blue ornament from my friend Gayle, who brought me a beautiful handblown glass ball as I recovered from a serious illness. A pinecone shaped ornament painstakingly constructed by origami, given to me by Maria, a wonderful admin who taught me much about English language learners. There are handmade ornaments from former students that are treasured reminders of my life as a teacher. Touching each one brings back a rush of memory.

    The glass ornament I bought in 1976, the year before we were married. A blue teddy bear commemorating Matt’s arrival in the world. A cross stitch from my Mother. A paper cutout our Matt made in preschool. A handprint in clay from our granddaughter.

    Despite my reluctance to put up our tree, I am glad that I finally did. For just a little while, in place of the troubling world I find myself perseverating about, my mind hovered fondly on better times and cherished friends. And with that, the hope that the magic of Christmas will provide respite for us all.

  • A Young Reader Discovers Ramona

    One of the most important things that I felt I should do as an elementary teacher was to encourage children to learn to love reading. Along with the myriad of skills needed to learn the process of reading and comprehending, finding what clicked a child’s interest to learn to read was the catalyst. Interest built the basis for skill which I think is true for adults too.

    Our granddaughter, age 7 now, has been immersed in reading and literature since she was born. And now, more independently, she turns to books willingly. Her parents have always encouraged and supported this, which is why she treasures books and reading so deeply. Right now, she devours graphic novels, like Dav Pilkey’s books along with nonfiction books about animals, but she also willingly tries other genres.

    Whenever she is visiting, she heads right for the ottoman where we keep picture books that may have started as read-aloud favorites when she was young. Over time, as she’s learned to read, she often reads them for herself. Our granddaughter always knows there will be a new book to read in the ottoman; it’s become a family tradition to share those with each other.

    This time I tucked a copy of Beverly Cleary’s Ramona Quimby, Age 8 in the stack.

    As a second grade teacher, my partner teacher and the two third grade teachers who were across the hallway from me, used to gather our students in one of the classrooms – the one room with the TV – to watch Ramona every Friday. We’d spend the last 30 minutes of the school week enjoying the antics of Ramona, one of the most relatable and realistic characters in children’s literature. Oftentimes, after being introduced to Ramona and her family through video, students would seek out Beverly Cleary’s books in our classrooms and libraries.

    While sometimes adults may forget what it can be like to be a school-aged and learning to negotiate school, life, and newly-discovered independence, Beverly Cleary does not. Most kids find the appeal of Ramona irresistible, even 40 plus years after it was first published. Negotiating life as a school-aged child seems pretty universal and timeless.

    With some fond memories of Ramona (and Beezus and Henry Huggins) from my active teaching days, I hoped that my 7-year old granddaughter might find a character that was relatable and enjoyable. Given that she finished reading the book before our weekend stay ended, I think she did.

  • If you plan to get old, read this

    Photo by Krivec Ales on Pexels.com

    NYT’s columnist Michelle Cottle’s Op-Ed from today (24 November) should be required reading for the adults in the room. I’ve gifted it at the end of this post.

    As the Trump Administration targets those workers who are willing to work in elder care, options and the care itself become limited. It will not matter whether an elder enters into assisted living, a nursing home, or attempts to age in place with at-home providers, we will all feel the impact of not enough workers for an ever-growing elderly population.

    I worry about this for myself and my husband. We’ve made plans as best we can. But I also worry about this for my mother who currently lives in assisted living.

    The concerns we have are about making sure my parents’ hard-earned savings and the proceeds from the sale of their condo cover the costs of living in a safe environment. This keeps me up at night. Two years ago, when my mother, now 102, began falling and needing more assistance with daily tasks, we convinced her to move to assisted living in a nearby town. Calling this suggestion a hard sell would be generous, and there was much resistance. But after multiple falls, Mom’s PCP, a doctor for whom she had a lot of respect, had a serious sit-down and convinced Mom to agree to move from living on her own and independently in a town 60-plus minutes away from me, the closest sibling, to assisted living with 24/7 care options. 

    This was as rough a transition as one can imagine it might be for someone who has not only lived independently for 100 years, but who also managed my Dad’s care (COPD) until his death 20 years prior. 

    When Ms. Cottle calls out the Trump Administration’s penchant for going after resident green card holders, she does not hold back and neither should any of us. Many of the caregivers in Mom’s assisted living facility have legal status, but I wonder how many of them are in fear of random arrests and deportations. Who will be willing to do this work?

    Caring for elderly is hard work; it’s physically challenging and mentally exhausting. There is the cantankerousness that comes from life not going the way it has always gone before; changes are hard. There’s the loss of independence. There are social changes; suddenly you are eating in a dining room with 50 similarly aged people. Things don’t taste the same and the cooking is almost universally not your style no matter how good (or bad) it might be.

    So yes, I have concerns that the people who are willing to fill positions in care-giving facilities are dwindling, even as the need for more facilities, more personnel are exponentially increasing.

    And then there is the question of Medicaid. Should my Mom outlive her money, what will happen? At nearly $11,000 per month which is the cost for the least amount of support at this facility, what happens when private funds run out? That worry keeps me up at night. As the Administration makes Medicaid more difficult, as placements in Medicaid eligible facilities become more competitive, what will happen to our vulnerable elders if there is no safety net?

    To Michelle Cottle I say, please keep shining a light on these dilemmas. To the rest of us similarly placed, keep speaking up. And to those who have not yet encountered elder care concerns, please read and picture your self similarly situated.

    Read this. Read it slowly and thoughtfully. Imagine YOU are the caregiver in this situation. Whether your elderly relative has dementia, serious illness, or other needs. Who will be there to care for our parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings? Who will care for us?

    A little louder for the folks in the back: we are all headed in the same direction.

    Link to gift article: We Had No Idea What Was Coming: Caring for My Aging Father

  • A Tiny Thought After No Kings

    After attending rallies like yesterday’s No Kings (October 2025 version), the take-away is that there are a lot of like-minded people who are unhappy with the way things have been going. Here in Lowell, Massachusetts, a respectful crowd listened to speakers, music, and cheered and chanted. Afterwards the group wended their way from Boarding House Park, up Bridge Street, down Merrimack around Arcand and back to the Boarding House via French. Everyone stayed on the sidewalks, which can be a feat by itself, no pun intended.

    I don’t have a clue about the size of the crowd, but by observation, I do know the demographics were wide-ranging. And no one was paid in case you were wondering.

    One of the speakers spoke about one power of a group like this which has, to date, seemed untapped. That is the power to VOTE. A voter needs to have reliable information in order to make informed decisions. And from what I’ve been reading, the act of voting is going to be a challenge in and of itself, not so much here in Massachusetts, but perhaps in other states where the right to vote, the act of voting, is slowly being eroded.

    But, as one of our Lowell speakers stated, what if every person of voting age in group assembled in Lowell along with people assembled for No Kings across the United States, were to vote what would the US government look like today – same or different?

    There’s a very detailed analysis of who voted and how published in this Pew Research Center article. What I have difficulty wrapping my thoughts around is the juxtaposition of election analyses like the Pew Research Center’s report and the number of people who, just yesterday, seemed to be unhappy with the direction of the government. Did all of these people vote? Were they eligible voters, but passed on voting because of frustration, alienation, or another reason? Have minds been changed in the short time the Trump administration and MAGA Republicans have been in power (at this writing that’s 10 months).

    There is a lot to think about in the days and weeks that follow yesterday’s No Kings protests.

    Often many people rightly assume that news sources are skewed one way or the other, and as an avid reader, I feel that much of the time, this is a truth. While I find myself gravitating to viewpoints I support, reading opposing thoughts can be informative. However, often unchallenged information stated as indisputable fact is reported without substantiation. This firehose of information makes fact checking difficult, yet still it is absolutely necessary.

    I do believe that an informed, educated voter might have made a different decision, and if yesterday is any indication, there is a sense that change is imminent. There are many factors of course that influenced this past presidential election, so what would have been most impactful? Would a change in the way our citizens vote have made a difference? Or would it be the need for better sources of news that appeal to younger voters? I don’t know the answer, but I do know that, if the turnout yesterday is any indication, our government does not really reflect the minds of many of the citizens it represents.

    What is one take-away, one action item, I can latch on to? I’m not sure where oldsters like me can be an effective change agent. But being open to opportunities that will transfer the enthusiasm and energy of yesterday’s No Kings rallies and marches is at the top of my list.

    Here’s a place to start: What’s Next? No Kings

  • Finding Joy in the Past

    Fun fact: In my youth and for much of my early adulthood, I was a musician. That was my identity: accompanist, pianist, music teacher. I don’t often speak of it because while I have an undergraduate degree in music, I wasn’t much driven to practicing or the discipline required to be a successful performer.

    However, until recently, I still owned two of the instruments I learned to play, not master: – a Yamaha piano and my open-hole Gemeinhardt flute. I still own the piano; the flute was donated to the local high school where I hope someone is still playing it. My piano, one of the first items Adrien and I bought as newlyweds, was purchased “on time” at what I remember being $25 a week. For two people with zero dollars and not a clue about long-term saving for retirement, that purchase was an extravagance. We did it though and, while currently in sad need of an overhaul, “my” piano gives me some comfort simply by being in our living space. It is a reminder of a time when the often overwhelming frustration at physical limits of talent, brought joy.

    That I have abandoned years of learning to play (not master) the instrument that brought me to a degree in music is something I want to rectify. I have no delusions that the physical limits of playing can be overcome, and I’m certain that some of the abilities I had in my earlier life may never return. Also I have a lifelong allergy to practice. But now, in the last part of my life, I feel driven to return to music.

    To return to this thing that provided a sense of purpose feels increasingly important. And so, I reach back into my love of music as I experienced it. a part of my identity as a human, lost over decades.

    Listening to music, allowing the beauty of sound to wash over me, and digging deep to find my way back to playing music for myself is my way of finding inner peace.

  • Lessons From My Mentor

    Some times, the serendipitous nature of the universe awards you with an invaluable gift of a lifetime. For me, that gift was being partnered with a Ellen Lisi, a mentor long before mentors were “invented”, and a treasured friend. 

    In 1987, my first year as an elementary teacher, Ellen became my partner teacher in second grade. She had been my own child’s second grade teacher, so I already knew something about her. Kind, empathetic, a patient teacher, Ellen was loved by her students. She understood and nurtured those fortunate to be part of her classroom in ways that were fun and welcoming.  And so, when I was assigned as a second grade teaching partner to Ellen, I knew I had won the teaching lottery; little did I realize how Ellen’s influence would stay with me throughout my own teaching career and beyond.

    Mentoring wasn’t an actual thing when I began teaching; a new teacher might truly end up with no one to talk with when things didn’t go according to plan. But sometimes one lucks out, as I did, with a teaching partner or nearby classroom colleague willing to listen to frustrations, dry tears, set an example, even when the newbie has strong, mostly theoretical, ideas. I’m sure some of mine were eye-roll worthy. In that first year, I had the privilege of developing as a teacher from a trusted and respected friend, emphasis on friend.

    Ellen became ill over the last few years and the cruel progression of dementia stole her personality from her family and friends. The loss is deeply felt, but there is consolation in remembrance of things I learned from Ellen. Here are a few that stay with me:

    I learned that back-to-school teacher shopping is best done in a group. Oh how we had fun on our jaunts to teaching supply stores, loading up bags of bulletin board sets and decor!

    I learned that teaching friendships can and should also include excursions outside of the work day. Going to a movie with friends after a long week makes everything all right.

    I learned teachers can laugh at themselves in front of the kids, especially true when the ridiculousness of a moment strikes in mid-lesson. Nothing should be so serious that there isn’t room for humor and laughter, especially at something you, the teacher, have done.

    I learned the importance of accepting help and offering to help when needed. Sometimes a few moments to pull yourself together makes the difference. But even when you need a bit more time, the ability to lean on colleagues is key. We all need to lean on each other from time-to-time just to get through the hard days.

    I learned that freshly picked strawberries are best with sour cream and brown sugar sitting on the back porch on a summery June day. 

    I will miss my friend, more than ever. As they say, may her memory be a blessing. Well Ellen, my mentor and most importantly my friend, your friendship will continue to be a blessing to me now and forever.