I’ve been teaching a long time. So long that I can’t remember all of those moments that I swore

I’d never forget! Last night my friend Moe posted a picture on Facebook of her and I in our early years of teaching together. Back then I taught a first grade and Moe taught a pre-first. Oh man, did we have fun! Just the sight of that one picture flooded me with memories…

I used to read and reread books to my class and then we’d make our own version as a big book. We had quite a collection of Brown Bear Brown Bear, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, Where the Wild Things Are, and anything by Tomie DePaolo. I’d spend hours at home recreating the covers and we’d bind the student pages together. Then we’d read and reread our own versions and keep them in the classroom library.

Each year we’d do at least one class play based on a favorite children’s book-long before readers’ theater became a thing. We’d invite our neighboring classes and even parents if they could come. Of course we’d have to have a cast party and our beloved lunch lady, Joan, always made us the yummiest cookies. Our room was literally where the wild things were.

And one of my favorite activities was creating kidlit character shirts for my students who met their reading goals.  They’d pledge to read a certain number of books and when they succeeded, they could bring me in any shirt and choose any children’s book character and I would draw it on for them. I went through hundreds of fabric markers in those days.

It was fun reading the comments on that Facebook post and reminiscing with those colleagues. But the best comment came from a former student, ” Just as I remember you both 😊 I still have my shirt we made with the Little Critters characters!” That blew me away. This former student is all grown up with kids of her own, but she still has a shirt I made her from first grade. Just goes to show, we never know what kind of impact we’ll make on our students that will linger.

There’s a shirt out there somewhere with Max and a Wild Thing, with Little Critter and his mom, with Strega Nona and her pasta pot, with a coconut tree filled with letters, or a Magic School Bus racing to adventures. Maybe it’s tucked in a drawer, or on a shelf at Goodwill, or even on the child of the owner.

There’s a shirt out there made with love and once worn with pride and I almost forgot it existed.

I try not to let the little things get to me, but it has been raining and sleeting for two dreary days and I was feeling more like hibernating than giving blood last night. I made my appointment  for 5:45 because I almost always have some meeting after school. Well, today I didn’t so I thought I’d go early to see if I could get in. “Can’t take you right now.  Come back in 45 minutes.” the Red Cross volunteer tells me.

“Do I need to get on a list or sign in?” I ask.

“No, just come back in about 45 minutes.” I go home and read through some work on my national boards and then head back. There are more people waiting. So I approach the volunteer  and let her know I’ve returned.

“Oh, all these people are ahead of you. It’ll be about 45 minutes.” (UGH.)  I remind her that’s what she told me 45 minutes ago. I realize she hadn’t changed my appointment time.

“So if I come back in 45 minutes you’re not saying I’ll get in then are you?”  I ask.

“Well, if no one is ahead of you…”  (UGH. )

“I’ll be back for my 5:45 appointment.” I head back home and do a bit more work, and try it again.

I walk in and only one person is sitting and waiting. I approach volunteer again.”Third time’s a charm I hope.” I smile.

“Do you have an appointment?”….. (UGH. )

A short time later I’m lying on the table, squeezing a small ball, and pumping some O+ into a plastic bag. I was perseverating a bit on the annoyance of the process when I realized how “annoying” it must be to be on the other side of this supply/demand equation.

I’m sharing a pint with someone who was probably having a truly bad day, someone who would trade places with my annoyance in a heartbeat, someone who might not make it through the day without the fruit of my frustration. Perspective, Paula, perspective.

So I’m toasting the pint to the stranger I’ll share it with…

Always remember to forget
The troubles that passed away.
But never forget to remember
The blessings that come each day.

                                                                                                 -Irish Blessing

Cheers!

I love to find myself in hot water. It’s my moment of zen.  And it’s my hot tub.

Actually it’s a hot tub in name only…literally, a tub that holds hot water.  Don’t imagine a spa with jets and bubbles that massage tired muscles.  It is a 30 year old hand-me-down sans bells-and-whistles, but it is my space to connect with nature and the “wild Maine nightlife”.

Each season I feel more in touch with the natural world because of my time here. And each year these moments become more cherished.

In winter the atmosphere is so dry and crisp that millions more stars become visible. The night sky is alight with twinkles.  I watch satellites float across the expanse. I catch shooting stars streaking through the black. I pick out constellations as they journey across the winter sky. The blanket of snow reflects the moonlight so brilliantly that at times it feels more like day than night. And the quiet-it is oh, so quiet. Only interrupted by an occasional snowmobile, coyote, or fox in the distance.

In spring the sounds begin breaking through the sleep of winter. My ears ache to catch the first peeper of the season. An owl hoots from the woods across the field. A woodcock’s nasally peet calls at dusk and the drips of melting snow can be heard long into April.

In summer the days are longer and twilight tends to be my hot tub time.  I watch the sunlight cling to the tops of trees. Orange and pink compete for the landscape of the evening sky. I wait to see which robin will be the last to sing out as I watch the fireflies begin their dance over the field. I hear the giggles and shrieks of neighborhood kids allowed to stay out late. Sometimes a rumble or a flash will cut short my time, or my kids and their friends want me to share, but I don’t mind.

In autumn I note the changing silhouettes of the trees as they become near-naked week after week. The air grows cooler and the water feels warmer. Twilight comes earlier so my dips become darker and I stare at the horizon waiting for the arrival of the harvest moon. Life becomes busier and this time more precious.

The seasons pass and I soak it all up. Here’s to the weekend and some much-needed hot tub time.