In The Aftermath, What Comes Next?

I was and I am devastated by the results of yesterday's election. It appears that a person who to me represents all that we, as humans, should avoid is the selection to lead the United States. In case you missed it, I am including this clip from Jon Stewart. I think there is a lot of truth there: pundits and opinion-writers will analyze what happened, and maybe there is some insight there. Mostly there is not.

For to me, this election came down to the unfairness of some of our votes counting more than others. Also, the embedded racism, misogyny, and fear of "otherness" is apparently insurmountable. A mixed race woman was sadly no match for celebrity and outrage.

For the past 12 hours, I've wondered what will *I* do to make the world a better place?

Clearly my voting opinion was not of the majority. I believe this election will ultimately decide whether we keep the United States as a Republic or not but my opinion does not matter. The votes have been counted, the final tally is being posted, and time moves forward whether or not I agree with the direction things seem to be headed. As we used to tell third graders, "you win or lose by how you choose." I am praying that the choice just made does not cause all of us to lose.

So back to the question: What will I do to make the world a better place?

A career educator, teaching has always been my passion. The tricky part for me has always been how to best use my knowledge and skill after leaving the elementary classroom. I am not egotistical enough to think what I did 20-plus years ago works in public education today. But recently I came across some astounding information: there is a waitlist for literacy volunteer tutors to work with ESOL students. How could I continue to sit this out?

And we have to fight and we have to continue to work day in and day out to create a better society.

Jon Stewart, The Daily Show, 05 November 2024

This is where I will start. I, too, will regroup and find opportunities to support those who need help, stick up for those who are denigrated, show empathy and find ways to become a better human. What will you do?

If you are interested in becoming a literacy volunteer, you do not need to be a teacher. Link here to learn more about Literacy Volunteers of Massachusetts.

A Wish for Our Rising First Grader

Pictured from Left to Right: Me, Z with her Pépère, and me again

Our granddaughter turns six in the next week and a half. It often seems as if we were meeting her for the first time just a few months ago, not getting ready to celebrate her 6th birthday. The awareness of the passage of time is a strange thing; it does warp my sense of how much of an interval has passed and often puts me in a state of denial. Z cannot possibly be turning 6, can she?

Even more mind-blowing is that shortly following Z’s birthday, she will begin a new school year. Our granddaughter will be a first grader. That I can recall my own time in First Grade doesn’t really provide much comfort!

We love watching Z grow into her own personality and make sense of her world. Thanks to her own parents’ love of reading and to their encouragement, she is already a reader and a writer. We are frequently amazed by her sense of experimentation; using cardboard and tape, she built and tested her own water filtering system last week. And just as a scientist might do, Z recorded her experiment in a notebook. I know I may have a slight prejudice here, but I always loved having curiosity-driven learners like Z in my own classrooms.

I was thinking about Z’s next step as a rising first grader this week and recalling my own introduction to “real” school learning. Back in the day when I first went to school, Kindergarten, which I did attend, was not academic at all. Kindergarten was where we learned to sit, and work or play with others, maybe write our name and tie shoes - early childhood learning was a very different experience from the expectations placed on Kindergarten and beyond today.

My first grade classroom started in the older of two elementary schools in Huron, Ohio, a small typically mid-western town in northwestern Ohio and on the shore of Lake Erie. I had attended the “new” elementary (now demolished) as a kindergarten student and so my assignment to the Ohio Street School was an unfamiliar experience. I didn’t know many - if any - of my classmates. The two first grade classrooms were in one of the wings of the abutting Junior High, which had been the High School in an earlier time. I suppose due to baby boomer overcrowding, the First Grade had to be housed in the Junior High building.

On the first day of school, we first graders were lined up in the hallway where the two Grade One teachers called the names of each of us for our class assignment. I remember the scuttlebutt being that the other teacher, the one I was not assigned to, was the popular pick of first grade most likely based on an "older" more experienced outlook from say a second grader. That was the person everyone wanted for a teacher. I remember when my name was called for Mrs. Keefe's class, I was very apprehensive and maybe even a bit disappointed. This wasn't going to go well.

That turned out to be untrue of course. Mrs. Keefe, a kind lady who as an astute 6-year-old I guessed was "ancient", was the teacher who turned me on to world of reading. Our literacy world revolved around Dick, Jane, and Sally (and Spot) and I loved it. And as most first grade children do, I loved my teacher. I wish I had a way to go back and tell Mrs. Keefe what a positive influence she was and continues to be long after I’ve left Ohio Street.

So as our granddaughter gets ready to go back to school,  my wish for Z is that she learns to love learning, however that looks for her in this upcoming year. I may have been disappointed in my class assignment on the first day of First Grade, but my teacher, Mrs. Keefe? After that first day of jitters, I loved her and the warmth of her classroom, something I can still pull up from memory today. That’s exactly the kind of connection and experience I hope Z will have, too.

Literacy Learning

As an elementary-age teacher, I prioritized corresponding with my students through their journals. Sometimes a student would check in with something that had happened in their life - a new baby, a new friend, a fun family activity, but sometimes there would be something more personal or a reaction to a book they had discovered. It was important to me to write in return, sometimes with a question to consider. Nothing complicated; just a connection to the power of writing and words and expression.

Now that I no longer actively teach, I have been missing those kid connections, at least I did until my granddaughter, Zoe, mentioned that she wished she got “letters” in the mail like her Mama and Daddy. Now at the time of this exchange, she was about 3, so I’m not sure what - or how much snail mail she had been exposed to, but she noticed mail was important. And she wanted some too.

And so, since that day, I’ve been writing and snail-mailing a weekly note. This has turned into one of my favorite weekly activities as it has also inspired me to create the card as well as the text. Neither the art nor the message are complicated; my watercolors are pretty basic as one might expect.

Until recent times, the writing has been one-way. But as Zoe, an early childhood learner, discovers letters and sounds and how those things work together to form words, her literate life has expanded. She is beginning to use expressive language herself.

While visiting us on a mid-winter break stay-cation, without prompting, Zoe sat down at my desk with some paper and a pen to write me the note at the top of this post. As she was quiet and focused for quite a bit of time, I wasn't sure what she was concocting, but I stayed out of her space, and I'm so grateful that I did. Zoe's note to me is something I will truly treasure as a grandmother, and as an observer of the power of children learning.

While to this point in time I’ve always been “Nana” with one “n”; I’m adopting the new spelling of my name, “Nanna”. When I asked her about it, Zoe told me she spelled it as it sounds, nan-na. I can’t argue with that.

And I can hardly wait until she writes to me again.

Lessons in Nature

There is a particular beauty in writing when it resonates.

I connected with this piece in today’s New York Times by Margaret Renkl, and through Ms. Renkl’s writing, I’m reminded of the power of observation of the natural world, of quietly reflecting on the order of the universe.

I’m reminded that the natural world has an uncanny ability to connect with humanity and our reactions to the surrounding chaos that oftentimes is part of the human condition.

Margaret Renkl suggests that within this moment of uncertainty, there might be an opportunity to observe and connect with our natural world, and I cannot disagree. The next months leading up to the presidential election will no doubt present many, many moments filled with anxiety. I am anxious about that and about the end result; much of my anxiety stems from the nonstop barrage from pollsters, opiners and interpreters of current events, and the press in general; those who seem to have the bully (and I mean that literally) pulpit.

I live on the banks of the Merrimack River here in northern Massachusetts. The river can, at times, churn powerfully, overspilling the banks and flooding, as it did a few short weeks ago. It is during those times that I am reminded to respect the river’s power to overwhelm. In those days, the Merrimack’s power to take and to destroy whatever is in its path dominates.

But when the danger passes and the waters subside, there is calmness, a near peaceful co-existence. There may be damages or cleaning up to do, and certainly repairs need to be made.

It feels to me as we are in the midst of churn now; it is an anxious period when, speaking for myself, I am unsure how much damage will be done and what we will need to recover. But as in nature, we will endure this storm and do what we must.

This is the way of the natural world.

Through my subscription to the New York Times, I've gifted this article in its original form. Taking a cue from the Squirrels in my Birdhouse (Margaret Renkl, New York Times)

Our 2022 Holiday Greeting

It is not easy to allow oneself to be vulnerable, but this year for our holiday card, that is what I did.

Oftentimes, I find a photograph that was taken during the year, and we use that as the image on our holiday card. That isn’t that unusual. We enjoy seeing friends and family share some of the images of highlights from the year that is nearly past.

This year, however, I’ve been secretly revisiting watercolor painting. The technique fascinates me - and often alludes me - but I enjoy using the creative part of my brain. It’s been a very long time.

So it is with humbling vulnerability, I share our holiday greeting for 2022 - a handpainted watercolor that I think expresses the one hope both of us have for all - peace. Not just peace which is in short supply especially during the flurry of holiday preparation, but also peace in our lives and in the world in the coming year.

Everything Is As It Should Be

Tomorrow marks the end of another decade for me. That realization has triggered a bit of reflection, maybe more so than in other years. My patience is wearing thin and I am utterly exasperated with delaying plans we made in the “before times”. Sometimes that emotion feels very disconcerting.

It is with knowledge and gratitude that I mark the beginning of an eighth decade. There is recognition and acknowledgement of the gifts and privileges afforded to me throughout my life. I’ve experienced a purposeful existence. There have been so many exceptional times throughout this life for which I am grateful.

But just to keep things real, there have been some painful experiences too. And still, everything is as it should be.

Having failed at careers - bookkeeper, business manager, retail sales - was difficult to accept for this over compensating over achiever. However, I am accepting of my contribution to the world of business: I gave up on that MBA dream to get a teaching degree.

Yet even though each of those failures was a lesson in humility, I did learn and adapt and eventually found my passion again. To me, that is the human condition: to make mistakes, oftentimes colossal ones, and to learn from those missteps, and to find new paths.

I discovered through those early failures, that my original instinct - becoming an elementary teacher had been what I wanted to pursue since second grade - was what I really wanted. After the software start up I worked for failed, I happened onto a position as a preschool assistant. The preschool director then encouraged me to go back to get an education license, which of course, I did.

But, as I reflect on all of this and wonder what the next decade might be like, I feel comfortable in the knowledge that every stop on my life’s pathway, every stumble and misstep, has led me to this place in life. There are so many possibilities and so little time. What gives me comfort is the knowledge:

Everything is as it should be.

Decking the Halls with Memories

This year, dubbed COVID Christmas II, we put up a Christmas tree as an act of hope that in the coming year we will be better able to pick up the pieces of our pre-pandemic life and begin again to find a renewed, but perhaps more cautious, sense of “normal”.

I enjoy the beauty of Christmas lights on greens, and as it does for many, decorating the tree brings on memories of past Christmases. I am among the fortunate for whom those memories are pleasant and plentiful.

I thought this year about my Dad, who seemed to be at the center of tree-decorating when I was a child. My family’s tree, always a real one, was a short-needled beauty, sometimes oddly shaped, but that was of no concern. We could always face the mis-shaped side to the wall where no one would notice.

Dad’s first task was always stringing lights on the tree. As with most state-of-the-art tree lights in the 50s and 60s, this could be a very long process. First, the lights had to be removed from their storage box which was usually the original box the lights came in when purchased. Next the string was unwound which was not a problem in our house as my Dad made an art form of winding and unwinding cords. Finally the string was laid out on the floor and plugged into an outlet. If the string lit successfully, my Dad could start winding it carefully over the tree branches using the metal clips that were part of each light’s socket. However, sometimes the whole string wouldn’t light. Oh series circuitry, I miss your challenge. Thus would begin the hunt for the bulb culprit as it only took one burned out or loose bulb to render the whole string dark.

In our house, the bulbs were always multi-colored. Providing that all the strings would light, after the lights had been installed on the tree, came the artistic portion of holiday tree trimming: moving the bulbs around the string so that no two adjacent bulbs were the same color. This of course required consultation between the two adults in the family, leaving the under-aged and highly excited children to impatiently await permission to finally start hanging ornaments (smaller sizes at the top progressing to larger ornaments at the bottom). Sometimes those same children/I would become bored with this artistic process and give up to seek out another activity.

Eventually the collection of ornaments, mostly glass and a few imperfect, but treasured child-created (did anyone else make a glittery metal (sharp/dangerous) “ornament” from the top of a frozen OJ can?), ornaments made it onto the tree. The finishing touch was to hang tinsel, those silvery non-environmentally friendly strips of metal-coated material. (Read the history of tinsel here).

There were rules for that. Each strand had to be hung just so. No throwing of clumps, mostly hanging down (a 1:3 ratio was best), placed on the edge of the branches. Much to Dad’s dismay, mostly what we did was throw a clump here and there which caused him to have to rehang each strand according to the rules for accepted application. With four of us, there was always at least one non-compliant tinsel applicator.

This year as I trimmed our tree with white, LED mini lights and no tinsel, those childhood memories were close to the surface. For me, this holiday season has always been about the precious memories formed by my past. With gratitude for all gifts of memories - and for parallel circuitry - I’ve been given throughout the years, I am humbled. Though we may celebrate different special days and in different ways, I wish you a most joyous holiday season.

The Abyss We Live With

This pandemic year has been mentally exhausting. Given the number of reports and news articles about our mental wellness, I know I am not alone with my personal exhaustion. We are seeking finite and concrete assurances that we have escaped from this virus. There are no guarantees; just a reliance on our own collective good behavior.

We are exhausted.

As vaccines help us avoid death, hospitalizations and the more critical parts of COVID, we are being told it is possible to live with fewer health protocols . Those habits that had become a norm for living with a highly contagious, deadly virus are changing as scientists fine-tune transmission data and as those miraculous vaccines get into more arms. We are being trusted to monitor our own risks by becoming fully vaccinated and avoiding obvious situations that might allow the virus to rebound and surge again.

And once again, I - and most likely you, too - are hesitant to trust this situation.

The great scientist and author, Oliver Sacks, when faced with his own mortality, wrote about the very choice we have before us now. We must choose how we will live so that we can begin to resume those activities that give us enjoyment, that feed our souls, and keep us from harming our fellow travelers on this Earth.

“It is up to me now to choose how to live out the months that remain to me.”

— Oliver Sacks

Will we choose to carefully, slowly, and purposefully begin to re-enter our pre-COVID lives? Will we take advantage of offered vaccines? Will we be patient about those things that may not yet be safe?

We have been looking into the abyss, and now it is time to step away from the edge. How we do that, is under our control.