Archeological dig

All this time at home has freed us to see what needs fixing, what needs changing, and what we can cull. Being retired is an added bonus - because we have the time to follow through. 

The past day or so, we've been tinkering with a small, narrow closet - adding and painting new shelving, adjusting some coat hooks. One set of coat hooks was set up for when our children were about three feet tall - and they have never been changed since that time, rendering them basically useless (unless you are partial to the look of floor debris clinging to the bottom of your adult coat). The shelves in the closet are (were!) - sadly - simply a series of stackable plastic bins, hastily set in place as a temporary solution right after we remodeled 30 years ago. These bins were immediately filled and overflowing with the stuff of daily living, and the original idea of adding 'real' shelves long forgotten - until now, that is. 

This closet is located right next to our side entrance, our main door to the house from the driveway; thus, these bins were the depository of all those things one takes off and gets rid off as soon as they enter the house. Coupled with a door that closes, hiding the ugly truth from regular eyes, this location became a treasure trove of forgotten artifacts. 

I set about emptying the bins themselves - what's in there? what can I toss? what belongs elsewhere? - while Tony began sawing boards for the shelving. There was so much forgotten junk in these shelves! Ugh! Suffice to say, I threw more things away than I saved; I had a small pile of donations. Lots of paper trash. (There is always so much stray paper in this house.) I was surprised by the "singles" - three separate gloves, each from a different pair, no match anywhere around; one single flip flop from a teenager (in other words, at least ten years old); one slipper...where are their matches? where did they go? why is it here and not the bedroom? I also found a pair of children's gloves. Itty bitty hands. No, they are not my grandchildren's. 

Here's a fun new chapter to this storytelling: I decided to wash this small find for future use by said grandchildren, when - I kid you not - only one small glove made it OUT of the dryer. What? Two gloves are washed and dried but only one comes out? Where did the match go? Do gloves have feelings? It's as if they cried out - 'what, you ignore me for 20 years and expect me to hang around now!?'

Sifting through the debris of this one little closet has sent me on a rampage through the house, culling, tossing, weeding, and organizing. I even spent some time in that truly forgotten space - our attic, opening up bins and clearing out clutter. It is amazing what time can do for these stored memories - yes, there are many things that I still love and want to keep, but there is a whole subset of extraneous, much less meaningful stuff with which I am easily able to part. I am excited for our trash pickup this week! 

Isn't it wild, though, how you can hold a piece of paper - say, a handwritten note, or an old ticket to a concert, or a child's drawing, and instantaneously be transported back in time - seeing where you were, hearing certain songs, remembering how you felt? 

We often joke that it's been thirty-plus years of deferred maintenance on our home...truth is, these years have flown by. Now, in this quiet 'stuck at home' interlude of the pandemic, we can finally focus. It's almost like being on an archeological dig, right? (Yay! I am traveling!) 

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I wrote this post for Slice of Life.  All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, on Tuesdays. Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Bends just so

It's day three of the five day June #OpenWrite at  Ethical ELA . Today's prompt is a 'memory poem,' and encouraged us to think of how certain sensory experiences trigger memories. There is a certain part of my neighborhood walking path that never ceases to take me back many, many years in time, to my college days.

Bends just so

The wooded path bends just so,

softly descending, curving,

meandering through the trees, and

I am back in Durham, New Hampshire,

the wilderness shortcut in the heart of campus,

leading me onward,

daring me to hope and explore.

The natural medley of seed,

blossom, growth, and wither,

branches stretching and interlacing above,

diffused light and precious breeze,

I am both set and set in motion.

The wooded path bends just so,

beckoning,

reminding,

inviting me towards,

whispering,

there’s more ahead,

there’s more to seek,

there’s more.

Here are the comments I received on the Ethical ELA website:

Glenda Funk

There is a special calling in a “wooden path [that] bends just so.” I have an image of that path through your words. My favorite line is “I am both set and set in motion” and the paradox of this line. Lovely poem. Thank you.
—Glenda

Tammi Belko

I love the way you lead the reader down your path with “the wooded path bends just so”. I could identify with your moment because it reminds me of the wooded college campus I attended years ago. I also love that this poem is more than just a walk in the woods it is a journey towards knowledge.

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD

Maureen,
I noticed the slant, italics in the title that work so nicely with the “bends.” These lines, I found so magical: “The natural medley of seed/blossom, growth, and wither,/branches stretching and interlacing above” — wow, the movement and even more so the acceptance of movement to be alive and to wither, to stretch and to interlace. Gosh, I wish we could do more mental interlacing in our world (of course the physical interlacing, too, but not yet).

Peace,
Sarah

Margaret G Simon

I like the repeated word at the end, and how it leads us forward on the path with you.

Katrina Morrison

Your title draws us in, and then the path takes over leading us through the poem. I never heard of college woods before. You made me want to be there.

Kevin H

That imagery of the world “bending just so” is wonderfully evocative
Kevin

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.