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.

Losing it in Montréal: Aging Travel

I heard a new term yesterday and I really wanted to write about that, but Adrien spoke to me and in that split-second, the word was wiped from my brain. As I get older, the act of immediately forgetting something I'd like to remember annoys me. It also terrifies me for obvious reasons. Trying to conjure up this word will probably haunt me until I finally come up with it. Or forget what I was trying to recall in the first place.

This aging brain is so full of "stuff". Sometimes that comes in handy if challenged to a game of Trivial Pursuit. Mainly, though, for me my brain is filled with stuff I don't, can't, or won't let go of... a past grievance, an important conversation that I flubbed, a social faux pas, some other awkward moment that I just seem to need to relive. Yes, everyone has these things happen, but my question is why does a brain - my brain - hold onto such things like a treasure? These are not the things I need to recall, especially when traveling!

My memory apparently cannot be counted upon to help out when it is needed for something practical, like navigating a City. While we've visited Montréal close to 20 times - and walked most of that - I'm amazed at every visit how much I've forgotten. Oh the big touristy placed are easily traversed, but the neighborhoods we've walked and wandered in seem totally new.

Sometimes the street names seem vaguely familiar (Prince Arthur, Avenue du Parc, Jean Talon), and sometimes the landmarks are too (St. Viateur Bagels!). The distances between places are totally skewed. What seemed like a 10 minute walk on a past visit, becomes an hour-plus endless walk in the sun this time. I know I'm slower moving, but not that slow.

On foot, in a car, on public transportation, it does not seem to matter. We end up lost and frantic to figure out how to get to our destination. When I was younger, those detours on foot were easier to manage, and even a little bit of adventuresome fun. Being an older visitor to a travel destination makes me long for a good pair of footwear and a transit pass.

And so it was for us this trip. We were lost even in the parts of the City we should have remembered. The stuff that fills my brain was of no help. A map on our phones would have helped if only our eyes were about 20 years younger.

For us, it wouldn't be travel without an opportunity to get hopelessly lost, and to walk blocks - maybe miles (kilometers?) out of our way. Always in the sun of course.

From No-Go to Slow-Go

I once heard a description of the stages of travel in retirement as “go-go”, “slow-go” and “no-go”. When I first retired, I know I had many thoughts of traveling domestically and internationally with the added bonus that, as a retiree, I would no longer be bound by the school calendar. Or high travel season prices. We would take advantage of relative good health and high energy and go-go-go.

As it turned out, the pandemic had another idea. Our travel plans quickly became no-go.

Like most everyone - young, old, working, retired - we locked down and stayed home. When we did venture away from home, our adventures were close-to-home and within driving distance. Our re-entry into travel has been gradual and slow. But this past week, Adrien and I made a final leap in our pandemic recovery. We went on an airplane.

It’s been five years since our last plane travel, a 2018 trip to Seattle. Last week we attended a family celebration in Houston. I can attest to an increase in the usual travel jitters when returning to air travel after such a long hiatus. Because several family and friends returned from recent trips with a newly acquired COVID virus, I was acutely aware that the virus is still with us. Deciding to resume air travel came with a maximum of research on whether to wear a N95 mask on the plane or in the airport - both of which I decided to do.

Air travel has undergone some pretty significant changes over the last five years. Having noted the hassles missed connections caused, I was determined that we would fly non-stop. Worth the extra money to ensure we actually got from point A to point B without sleeping over in a terminal. Picking a ticket price that allowed us to at least carry on luggage without extra charge practically needed a spreadsheet analysis. And a tape measure. The rolling bag that I packed for a 3-week vacation in Europe many years ago would be too large and too heavy to comply with overhead carry-on rules. Luckily Adrien’s bag was within the limits; so we both packed a carefully curated set of clothes and shared his bag. Note to self: need to purchase a new, lightweight rolling bag.

Security protocols were less changed. As long as we followed the explicit rules for what could and could not be packed, the screening process was efficient and quick. The horrendous waits in long lines that we had experienced during earlier flights were shorter and moved quickly. We had allowed an hour extra time to get through security; we were through in 20 to 30 minutes.

The pandemic delayed our travel planning. While I still dislike flying and I will no doubt always fight anxiety before and during air travel, getting back on an airplane felt pretty normal. I may be a “slow-go”, but I am no longer a “no-go”.

Where to next?