Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

It's Thursday, August 31, and I'm glad to see the end of the week. It's been a good one, but getting back into routine takes time, and I don't mind the four-day-week start. The long weekend (we have both Friday and Monday off) will be busy enough: drain the pool and put it away, might go on a short adventure with Meg and Holly, the usual house chores, reading at church on Sunday, and I'm scheduled to get a Covid vax booster. I'm glad I have not assigned a lot of work to grade-- who has time? =) I'm sure most of my students will be heading to the fair up in Lancaster--it's a huge draw. We went to the smaller one in Lyndonville, and at the price of fried dough, that's enough for me (can you believe 8.00?)-- the midway lost its appeal for me a long, long time ago, and I can't walk the uneven ground as well as I used to. It's too noisy, dusty, or --in the case of this year-- wet.  The weather forecast for the weekend beckons me to the deck, too--

We had a guest inspirational speaker yesterday at school, and to my very-pleasant surprise, he was wonderful. His origin story was similar to others I've heard about essentially "thrown away" children, often Brown children, often children in Texas and other places in the South. He came at our invitation to bring a message of never giving up, to always ask for help, and help will be there, somehow.  What I took away from this presentation was the level of empathy so many of my students have. We are a majority-white school in northern NH, very small numbers, very working-class. There's a deep streak of "conservative" belief in our area, one that runs toxic at times. But this man was so vulnerable, so open, and so honest about his experiences, and about the love he holds for all people, his story and his message crossed the divide.  I talked with my students in an equally honest, heart-open way afterwards, about how this one man's experience is played out o

The first day of Year 37 went well; good students, and I actually gained one in a class (a great kid), and one has withdrawn (a challenging one).  Today, we have an assembly which will take up the entirety of my creative writing class. O well. We'll reconvene tomorrow, and start over, right? Then we have a four day weekend to look forward to: Friday through Monday, for the Labor Day holiday. Another four-day week. I don't mind, really-- but it's hard to get things rolling when it's all start and stop. And there's the scheduled fire drills, too--- ah well, it's all part of the fabric of things, right? The weather has turned positively balmy--80 yesterday, mid-60s overnight, and mostly sunshine. Where was this a month ago? sigh.  My new shoes that I wore yesterday were a little too big, and so I had to fight to keep them from flapping off my ankles. When I got home, those got packaged up for return. It's too bad--they were nice shoes, but NO. They were too muc

I'm up, and it's really quiet. I turned the television off (G likes to hear the news and weather, even though neither one is local to us, but that's another strange story), the air conditioner is not running, and the only sound is the hushed rushing of the early morning traffic slicing the fog and the lone cricket reminding me that time-time-time is passing.  I used to write a lot of autumn-related poems. In fact, at one point it seemed that it was the only time of year I could write anything at all worth reading. I've clearly ventured into other oeuvre, but the crickets and the fog are calling me into myself a lot lately. The fog will lift, and the colors and bustle of my neighborhood will become more distinct. Even now, I see the headlights of G's car--he's off to work, and it'll be even more quiet in the house. Just me and the sleepy dog, the clocks, and the crickets.  All this has put me in a half-awake, contemplative mood. Not quite melancholy, though t

I am up and having my coffee. It's overcast (what a surprise), but the weather dude says sun is coming later. I sure hope so. In the meantime, the roosters are crowing a duet next door, and the crickets have a constant chirring with the occasional chitter-chirp. It's pretty peaceful, and I'm enjoying it immensely. Tomorrow, I go back to the classroom, year 37 as a teacher. I've been in classrooms every fall for the last 53 years.  OMG. Isn't it funny how, when we put an actual number to it, it feels overwhelming? I like schools, for the most part. Books, kids, the chatter and bustle in the halls-- there's a lot that is really welcoming about "back to school"-- I love new school supplies like nice pens and blank notebooks. I don't love the undercurrent of panic and despair that has crept into the experience, though. I'd like to shove that darkness back into a deep vault and forget the combination. Kids --and teachers-- deserve the opportunity to

I tend to overpack my weekend days, and I emerge at the start of each new week tired. I am going to try not to do that from here on out. I need a weekly re-set, and I need to be better at boundaries--even from myself. Having my own classroom will help a lot, I think; I've become accustomed to doing almost all of my grading and schoolwork at home, mainly on weekends, because I literally had no place to do those things. I've spent years sitting at the table in the open hallway at school, waiting to get into my shared classroom-- not very conducive to quiet thinking, and no access to files and so on. Or even a pen/pencil, if one fails. So there's that. I think much better in the morning, when it comes to grading and so on, so going in a little early each day and sitting at my desk in the quiet sounds useful and even a little peaceful. I'm going to give that a try.  The house chores are always there, and there's little I can do about that, except parcel them out daily.

Short post today, since I wrote my daily missive last night. We are going to go see cows, goats, chickens, bunnies, and so on today! Huzzah! And fried dough. Take care, C

Sorry for the post delay, but our entire town was experiencing an internet outage and then I had to go to work.  We had a staff meeting, then a little time to get some stuff done in our classrooms, then another meeting, lunch, and finally, a stretch of time to finish prepping our rooms. I'm sure that some folks will be back in the building again tomorrow, but not me. I'm ready-ish. This is the first time in over 30 years that I don't have to share my classroom. It's so freakin' weird! I have fewer pieces of furniture! I have the bulletin board! I can put stuff where I want to!  It was nice to cover the bulletin board with colored paper, and start putting up a few little posters on it. It may not seem like a big deal, but the last two people I shared a room with preferred bare bulletin board (read: dingy, smudgy, old burlap-surface), and put pretty much just the grading policy and a few other notices on the board. EWWW.  I covered mine with shades of blue and purple,

Not a lot to chat about this morning, I guess. I worked on a book review for about 5-6 hours yesterday, cleaned the bathroom, and sat in the sunshine with a book I'm reading. Not a bad way to spend the last day of "off the clock" time.  Today, I had to get up extra early, as we need to be at school for 7:30, and stay until 3ish. Same tomorrow. While that doesn't sound all that uncommon, it is for me-- with my part-time status, I generally wander work-ward a bit later and leave a little earlier. So, coffee will have to be my best friend for the short term.  I got up in the dark, watched the sky turn to slate, then took a shower. Now, it's foggy, dove-gray, with pale yellow on the horizon. I'm not sure if it's going to be a blue-sky day yet; it could be the wildfire haze will mute everything again. It's been like that since June, really--any day it isn't raining, it tends to be muted by smoke-haze. Except yesterday-- that was a glorious weather day.

I woke up a few times during the night, but most notably, the 4am wake-up: I was wondering where I stored (digitally) the new standards for English classes.  Gee, whiz, how 'bout sleep? I know that they are on my work computer, but then I got wondering about whether I have them stuffed somewhere in my work email that I can access from home. And then I got thinking, gee, the new English teacher (whom I have not yet spoken to or met) is supposed to use those same standards, per the NHLI curriculum people from the state...I wonder if anyone has briefed her. Hm. I still have today, school-duty-free. Likely, I'll go digging in my email, and maybe I'll find something but maybe not. I will have plenty of time to jet those over to our IT guy to get them uploaded to the Power School platform tomorrow, but now it's in my head. Or, it was in my head all summer and I didn't feel it bubbling up 'til 4:00 this morning.  Teachers don't stop working in the summer, not reall

  It's Monday of the last "sort of free" week. This summer, as I've often written, has not felt very summery-- just yesterday, Holly asked me, "Ready pool?" and I had to say, yet again, that the water was too cold. She responded, "I'm sad." Trust me, sweetie, so am I. That said, it's not been a bad summer, just not the warm, swimming every day, reading on the deck, having a beer outside at twilight idyll I had hoped for. I've hardly even worn shorts and tank tops.  I do like autumn, usually. I love the hush and chirrchirrchirr of crickets in the overgrown flower beds. I love the glorious changing of leaves to a riot of color. But I'm not in love with the damp and cold. We've had enough damp for quite some time, and to be honest, I would love to trade a few days with just about anywhere else in the country. I feel bad complaining; they have had murderous heat and dry weather. Just yesterday, I was spraying the sill on the deck w

I started this summer break by binge-watching Daisy Jones and the Six , which was emotionally fraught and incredibly well done. It loosely follows the rise and fall of a band, with the main character modeled a lot on the experiences of Christine McVie. I felt a real loss when I was done with the series. The music, the time period (1970s), all bring me back to my own childhood and the confusing time it was-- anti-war, open drug and sex use and abuse, women claiming their right to be heard-- all of it, set in a format that was interesting to watch. The premise of the program is that the members of the band, many years later, are being interviewed as part of a documentary about the band, which is then told through the events, the characters, and the social contexts. It is really well-acted, especially the portrayal of Daisy by Riley Keough. There's even an album that can be purchased on Amazon, titled Aurora --the music from the series, and it's on vinyl as well as more current pl

It's early Saturday morning, and it's the beginning of a two-day weekend for G. He usually works every Saturday, most often at both jobs, so it's kind of strange to have him under foot and drinking coffee when he's usually already on the road to work. How will we "celebrate" his having two days off, back to back? Well, shared tasks, to be sure. And we are heading out of town at some point in order to go out to lunch somewhere different and to do one more "big shop" before I go back to work. Woo hoo--Saturday date at BJ's!  I don't mind--just being able to hang out for a few hours will be nice. Tomorrow will likely be filled with some sort of yard chores, since the weather forecast is for a decent day (for once). We did have two hours--glorious!--of sunshine yesterday. And a nice rainbow when it started to rain yet again.  I woke up wondering what shoes I am going to wear with my first day of school outfit. I guess my brain is telling me it

It's not raining (yet), and it's warm. The chirring of crickets outside the open window is soothing, even though I know in my heart that they are singing a song of endings, or changes, really. Cars and trucks hum by, but they do not stay, so their hush and rush is a part of this melodic line, too.  This is quiet-- not silence, but calm. I crave moments, even hours, of this daily, but it seems that this summer, I've had to wait for stretches of quiet. There are good reasons -- family and conferences and a whole lot of must-do distractions-- but this type of peaceful start to the day is balm to my too-often unquiet inner self.  During my frantic couple of years --the last few of my father's life and all the chaos of that-- I tried both antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds--not for me. Nope. They made me really feel ill, and the feeling of muffled and disoriented disconnectedness was scary. I chose, instead, to do the hard work without meds. This is not a route everyone s

I fell asleep in my chair for about an hour--the last few innings of the Sox game (they lost), and then hoisted myself up the stairs and to sleep deeply. I must have been felled by an ax.  We went to Iron Furnace for an impromptu dinner out-- it was nice, just us two--and the beer was crisp and cold, and my buffalo chicken wrap was amazing, and yeah-- I was sort of celebrating a small victory of sorts, as well. I found out yesterday that one of my poems has been nominated for "Best of the 'Net," which is pretty exciting, for me, at least. It's no Pulitzer or Pushcart, but it's an acknowledgement of my work, and it feels pretty good. It is highly unlikely that the poem will even be selected to be part of the anthology, but still-- it's a pat on the back I didn't expect, and I'm happy to receive. I don't have a huge must-do list for today, which makes me happy. Starting next Wednesday, there will be plenty enough to do, getting geared up to go back t

Okay, weird but kind of fun dream: I dreamt that my principal and I cooked up a plan to present the parts of a research paper to the entire middle school. They gathered in my classroom, and then the show began. And when I say show, I mean, slide show, light show, and clever back-and-forth patter between my principal and me. I woke up just after I finished describing an annotated bibliography as the flotsam of a paper: it includes all the bits and pieces of research, like the scummy detritus left by the waves on a polluted beach. You may not need it, but you know what you put into the process. O wow.  The funniest part is, given a few minutes notice, my principal (who is a former student and a larger-than-life personality) would go for this. Especially the crazy techno bits and the high energy delivery. Out of all of that, I kind of like what my brain came up with to describe the annotated bibliography. I will not be teaching middle schoolers, but I think the high school kids might like

Today is the anniversary of not just 36 years of marriage, but also 9 years of home ownership. I remember sitting at the real estate office at the little table there and receiving the house keys. Geoff and I looked at each other and both of us said something about what a gift we were giving ourselves, half jokingly. Thirty years of mortgage payments-- woohoo! We came late to home ownership, mostly due to job insecurities and my own reticence to take on something I was not sure we'd be able to manage, if things went poorly for us financially. In hindsight, nothing is ever guaranteed, so we likely could have taken the plunge a little earlier in the game. Twenty-eight years of renting-- we had a decent apartment, but it was in terrible need of repairs, and the landlord was not hopping onto that wagon all that quickly. The final straw was when my foot went through the bedroom floor--too many years of damp and water and, apparently, a leaking pipe had rotted the floor boards beneath.  C

Whether it is serendipity or the workings of the Holy Spirit, the homily given by our church deacon yesterday was exactly what I needed to hear. Yesterday, I was writing to you about how my brain is not done processing the experiences of the last few years, especially those surrounding my dad's decline. About how tired --exhausted, depleted-- I've been. So, in the homily, Deacon Steve talked about his perceptions that he'd gained from the readings: that yes, they are about God's power, but more, they are about God's healing grace.  The story of Elijah is the one that struck me most; the passage (Kings 19:4) just before the one we read in church is the one where Elijah is past exhausted, and he wants to give up and die. He's tried for so long, and he feels defeated. The text says, "he himself [Elijah] went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. 'I have had enough, LORD,' he said.

I'm so glad I have my dedicated writing group today. We meet every other week on Zoom, and we start with a dictation one of us has brought. Then we move on to fast prompts, with an open invitation to share the blurts aloud. Two hours go by pretty quickly! And I get some ideas, which is the whole point, at least from the writing standpoint. If left to myself, I tend to keep writing the same thing, over and over again, with little variation. It's exhausting and exhausted.  My stress/busy dreams lately have been filled with my father; how to get him to eat, how to keep him safe, etc. He passed away in 2021, so one would think that these worries would have dissipated by now. But no, my brain needs to keep re-processing these issues-- why? I have no idea. Clearly, I'm working out those residual feelings of not having done enough, or done things well enough. I've written about it for a long time, both in poetry and prose, but I guess there's more to air out. I hope it'

I've kicked the proverbial can down the road long enough. Today --this morning, before I change my mind again-- I will engage in two hours of online modules that remind me to be professional, how to handle blood-borne pathogens, and what to do about potential bullying, among other "housekeeping" details. I have no doubt I'll manage to pass the quizzes at the ends of each module; we do the same ones every single summer. There's no way to test out of them, so I'll be a compliant student and sit through the slide shows, marveling at the really awful drawings and the ever-present grammar errors. I would not mind it at all if there were new modules, because I believe in being a well-trained professional. These, however, are stale. I wish they could assign a set of modules to new teachers, and a different set to those of us who have spent over 30 years in the classroom.  Professional development, at least in my experience, has been a hit-or-miss situation. Mostly mi

I have a rising feeling of unease about climate issues. The never-ending wet we are experiencing, with the flooding, damage, mold, poor crops--the locally dampened spirits due to canceled everything is really almost impossible to feel anything positive about. Then I see the news feed from Maui and my heart breaks, not just for the contemporary losses, although they are huge, but also for the cultural losses that the people of the island are sustaining as well. Identity, for indigenous peoples and those who have inhabited the area for generations, is hard to sustain in our modern world. Yes, cities can be rebuilt, homes can be restored, but the history of the area has gone up --literally-- in smoke.  The new protected area near Yellowstone that encompasses indigenous lands is a good move on the part of the Biden administration; couple that with the marine sanctuary  that is in the works, and we might be making some real progress. It's not reparations; instead, it is a two-fold benef

About 5-6 months ago, I sent a poetry submission to the Poetry Society of New Hampshire for consideration in Touchstone, which is a nicely curated journal that they produce. I've sent things in before, but they have been declined (nicer word than "rejected," I think), but I try every time there is an open call for submissions. The thing that is different about PSNH's approach to submissions is that they require that the work sent in be exclusively theirs to consider--no simultaneous submissions. I can understand that from their point of view; if a piece is picked up elsewhere, then they have to start all over again. However, from the poet's side of things, it's a bit difficult. If you send some of your best stuff to a place that is going to sit on it for 5-6 months, then you can't be trying other journals.  I got two poems accepted, which is exciting news for me. They are not my "usual" stuff (I'm not sure I have a "usual" anymore--

So, now Shakespeare is in the cross-hairs. AP Psych, AP African-American Studies, and myriad books are all unacceptable. But videos that deny climate science are already approved. Don't show sculpture, other art, etc. And for heaven's sake (!!) don't "say gay." EVER. The College Board/SAT, AP tests-- yeah, those are being replaced by a "Classic Learning Test." In other words, a white, European-centered, narrow "education" that falls just short of making the Earth the center of the Universe.  I don't know how all of this will end, but I suspect that either a/ people graduating high school/ college in Florida will become the laughing stock of the actual educated community, or b/ we'll all be dumbing down if DeSantis wins. Or any of the other extremist-conservatives. I wonder what grudge they really have against educated people? I can't and won't teach that way. It's hard enough; the laws in NH already have enough restrictions

August is typically a relatively slow month, until it's not. There's usually warm days, cooler evenings, crickets, a few last dips in the pool, harvesting veggies and prepping for more ordered days at the end of the month.  Not so this year. It's raining yet again. My pool cover is fully swamped, and it'll take a near-miracle for the water to ever warm up again. I've had a few cucumbers and small tomatoes, but no other veggies from my sodden garden. The days are in the 60s. The long-range forecast promises a little reprieve, and maybe a few pool days in a week or so. The only consistent thing is the school prep; I got two Google Classrooms fully uploaded yesterday, the book we had to read for professional development is done, and next up-- the plan book. I'm digging in my heels--that can wait. And the required online modules about blood-borne pathogens and bullying can wait; they are the same ones we do every single year.  I'm going to try to wedge in a few

What is happening to the Red Sox? I mean, yeah, they break your heart, year in and year out, it seems, with few exceptions. But wow. Implosion? Unhappy people all around. And who can blame them? The trade deadline came and went, and Bloom didn't even try to get the team any help.  I wouldn't want to play, either. I mean, I think they are trying-- they are ballplayers. But I also believe that they feel cheated, let down, and dismissed by the front office. Resentment is a very human emotion, and I'd be resentful, too. If Bloom thinks that the wounded and weary players who may or may not be coming to play in the latter half of this month are going to spark a run for the Wild Card, he's sorely mistaken. It's too late, if that's all he has for a plan. They are not part of the dynamic; it'll be like spring training all over again, at a time in the season when things have to be clicking along like a well-oiled machine  Or a well-loved, broken in glove.  As a fan, I

I'm up, and it is foggy out. And foggy in my head. I did a whole lotta reading yesterday; I read/annotated a book we are required to get through for professional development, one that involved a lot of neuroscience-y stuff. It is about switching schools to a trauma-informed model, which I'm in favor of, for the most part. Kids who live with trauma, who live in precarious situations, can't learn without both supports and some guidelines. We need to figure out what the underlying causality is, and work from there. Punishment models of "education" only breed resentment.  The other reading I did was far more "in my lane," as it is the preview copy of a long poem by Christopher Merrill for which I have been asked to write a review. The book comes out this fall, so I have a little flex time to get that done. It's interesting, so far, and requires me to dig a little into some Ukrainian history and politics that predate the current situation, but that also i

I think I'd rather talk a bit about traveling with Holly rather than the shameful behavior of former presidents. One is an actual toddler, the other would put a toddler's tantrums to the test.  On Thursday, we attempted to go to Storyland with Holly, but she got sick in the car, and it was a quick half-hour nightmare scenario on the side of 302 that ended that idea. We spent the remainder of the day back at home, and she was really none the worse for wear, if a little tired. We (the adults) were a bit traumatized, and the event necessitated cleaning the car and buying a whole new car seat. Turns out, toddlers are prone to motion sickness, especially if they can't see out the window and if they haven't eaten much yet. Who knew? Well, we didn't, and now we know. Lessons learned the hard way, I guess. Yesterday, with the new and improved, more upright car seat firmly strapped into the middle seat for more visibility, Meg and I took Holly on an adventure to Tilton. We&#

Repeat.   As in, over and over and over again. It makes you wonder, though, doesn't it--was "peat" ever a word on its own? To peat again? Now, we have three-peat (sports gave us that one), and so on. Meg and I got into a fun little conversation about this word while driving around a sleeping toddler. I like chasing down word origins, and this is what the dictionary tells me: from late Middle English: from Old French repeter, from Latin repetere, from re- ‘back’ + petere ‘seek’ Ok, so-- to seek again. The way we use repeat now has little to do with seeking; it is more often associated with doing something over again. No seeking involved. In fact, it's likely because one did not seek something that the whole shebang needs to be done again. Except, of course, in sports, I guess.  So, that all said, a repeat, as in a television program, is a re-run. And to put a song on repeat is to play it over and over, nothing new achieved or even sought. When dinner repeats on you, as

In case you are one of my "loyal" early in the day readers, today's post was deleted, because we didn't get to Storyland. Poor baby girl got carsick halfway there-- thus, we turned around and came home.  So, today's reset: taking the day easier. Sometimes, plans must pivot. Maybe we'll go see goats. C