SOL21 Slice 4: Connecting pieces

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

I figured out how to make a 1000 piece puzzle even more challenging! Spill a cup of tea on it. This lifts the whole picture right up, off of the individual pieces; in fact, it immediately separates each piece into 4-5 layers of super thin cardboard. (If you are game, you are now free to make multiple puzzles.)

Our picture puzzles give us a chance to 'travel' to new places during the pandemic, and we typically have one in process, sprawled out on one end of the dining room table. This one is/was a National Geographic image of Ushguli, Georgia. I received it as a gift at Christmas. When I dropped my tea cup all over it, I was instantaneously moved from serene, calm puzzle-maker into crisis mode: quick, stand up the cup! grab a towel! where are the towels?! quick! wipe the table! save the table! dry the wood! blot the puzzle! oh that doesn't work! it's seeped under! hmm. get out your blow dryer! - oh my goodness! 

are those puzzle 

fragments

flying 

all about? 

yikes.

I am not a good first responder for a puzzle disaster. 

Throw away the puzzle. 

Pause and reflect. 

Dropping my cup of tea mid-process was the most unexpected, surreal, bizarre thing to happen to me - physically - in quite some time. I was holding the cup in my left hand, steady, I believed; using my dominant hand to connect the pieces I had discovered. I have combined tea and puzzles for years, with nary a problem. Both my hands are pretty dang strong. I've never had any issues with wrists giving way, or one hand feeling a little feeble. I wasn't tired, I wasn't rushing about. What the heck?

These things happen.

Hey, I am human - I've caused plenty of spills. Knocked things over. Slipped while holding something. Fallen. However, I've noticed that the older I get, these simple 'accident moments' have layers of extra weight and meaning when they happen. 

I immediately wonder: is this an aging issue? 

Will I one day look back on this moment and say, oh - that was when [.......] began? 

Puzzling!!

Think I'll sit with a cup of tea, and write for a bit . . . .

Tea! Bless ordinary afternoon tea!

- Agatha Christie

SOL20 Slice #10 Waiting

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2020.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

The privacy curtain is pulled in a semi-circle around his bed, giving us a sense of isolation, that we are in our own space. Yet,

- a woman moans in pain, from somewhere nearby,

- two nurses speak urgently, clarifying procedures for another patient,

- there's a loud voice from the intercom, "Dr. Smith, ready for you in OR 5,"

- there's the feet and slow steps of a nurse helping a patient to the bathroom, and, still more, as yet another patient is wheeled down the hall, and

- his nurse steps in and out, around the privacy curtain, regularly, to check his vitals and IV.

Not private.
Interconnected.

Yet, alone.

Waiting.

Funny thing, the sermon on Sunday (by Sarah Anders) was entitled "Waiting in Uncertain Times." She spoke about the wisdom of being slow to respond, to step back and notice, to learn to wait. To know that it is not about you...it is bigger than you. To notice the wonder, in the waiting. She quoted Bayo Akomolafe - "Something is always doing something."

I had never heard of Bayo Akomolafe before this past Sunday. His writings were the perfect tonic for me, as I waited for my husband to have surgery. Certainly, this was a strange time to have surgery - to be in a hospital during this season of coronavirus. The surgery was not major, and I was so pleased when the surgeon found me in the waiting room and told me how well it had gone.

However, more waiting was required. A 67 year old body does not recover quite as easily as one younger. That hospital prerequisite of having to urinate before being discharged was more challenging than he or I had imagined, requiring patience and time and waiting. He didn't seem to stress. He was a very good waiter. The remains of anesthesia probably helped. He took a nap. I journaled. It seemed like nothing was happening for a long while. However, something is always doing something.

We're home now; all will be well.

SOL 19 Slice #10 Stay or go?

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

Every year at this time of year, I have to sign an 'intent to return' form for my school - do I plan to return to teaching? Last week, this little piece of paper was back in my hands, bringing into real conversation the subject that has been stewing in the back of my mind...

Am I ready to retire from teaching preschool?

How does one decide when is the right time to retire?

I am fast approaching the age where this is what one does. Retire, that is. I am surrounded by people who are doing so. 

My husband is nearly eight years older than me, and he has been retired for three years. Because of his retirement, my own work week is so much easier - he takes care of the household now. I come home to dinner already cooked and laundry washed and folded; he often drives me to the metro in the morning and picks me up in the afternoon. We joke that I have a "boy toy." It is, truly, pretty awesome. He is so relaxed in retirement, unlike his many years in government and private industry. I think we have a pretty good balance these days.

(The sweetest part of his being retired while I am a teacher is summer - being able to be with each other around the clock, for weeks on end. This is delightful! We make great use of every long weekend, every school break. We have traveled, hiked, and played.)

He would love me to be retired.

He fears being "old and in frail health" when I do decide to retire...that said, the man is the picture of great health! I don't believe he's going to fall apart.

Yet, I realize I am taking a bit of a risk. Will I look back with regret that I taught so long, rather than spending more time with him?

A couple of my very close friends are retiring this year - both feel as if they have been run into the ground by their work, and their health demands that they stop now. 

This is not my truth. Yet, I feel some sort of vague pressure from it.

I love what I do, I love teaching preschoolers! I love how they make me laugh, how they make me move, and how they make me think. I love my colleagues - planning, collaborating, and bantering together. I love the variety of my day, and the different skill sets I use. It is never dull. I feel alive and purposeful.

I am terrified of retirement. 

It feels like a big empty hole, a step into total unknown.

Will it feel less so when I am ready?

Is this just a sign that I am not ready?

I signed the form - Yes, I will come back. Let's talk about making some modifications to my current job, so that I might have a little more flexibility.

Ugh.

Why can't teaching be a three or four day a week job?
Why does it have to be so all or nothing?

I am not yet ready to retire.