Look at You

 

Look at you

 in Canyon De Chelly, 1986

You liked that tree

And asked me to take this picture

It was a trip of discovery 

We went with an idea in mind

Of the places we would visit

And it became so much more

This canyon and Walnut Creek Canyon

And Oak Creek Canyon

And even Sedona, which wasn’t a “thing” at the time

This was a reverse honeymoon

As we didn’t have plans to marry

But then we did four months later

After Scott barely survived a motorcycle accident

Everything about life takes twists and turns

Accidents and recommendations 

Then encountering a tree

And photographing the moment.

Like a Rainbow in the Desert

 Journal entry

Even when the loss of a loved one comes after a long illness…we must step over into a new country. The colors are different, the air has a different feel, and the sounds have a different echo than they did before…And we learn the colors and sounds of this new world, and after a while it becomes our world.

From Healing After Loss

I am feeling this. For a while, I kept seeing this place as “our home,“ but slowly that has changed. It is now feeling like “my home.” My first step in this was putting away the toaster that only Jim used, and then I changed up the sideboard. There is more to do.

My morning pace is much the same, but my days are quite different.

Kara sent me a card and wrote a gorgeous message in it. She said:

Jim is always with you and your heart, cheering you on from up above. I know he’s proud of you and still loving you with the essence of his being.

To this, I say yes yes yes!

Much of what I feel now is what I felt when I got divorced – – feeling my way through, figuring things out, making the evening mine and in a way that feeds me. And at that time, I had a solid grip on who I was becoming, and had entered the adventure willingly.

Although I didn’t enter this part of my life willingly, I knew it was coming, so all I can do is embrace it. The alternative is just too glum to think about. I can pace things out in a way that works for me.

So I set small goals for the week, and I break those up into the days. Little by little everything that needs to get done gets done. I really have nothing but time at this point.

Today I came across the coloring page that I posted above, and that motivated the title of this blog post. I recognize this place as Monument Valley, a place Jim and I visited in 1986. What we saw there was a dust storm, but also a lot of beauty. I have entered a new country, but there is always a rainbow above me and as I’ve said before, I have mighty helpers surrounding me. I don’t take any of this for granted. And I know that my strength comes from everything that Jim gave me starting over 40 years ago. I couldn’t be more thankful.

Jim in Monument Valley with dust devils in distance 

Many movies made here. Wagon is from a John Wayne film.

I came upon this picture….

 

I came upon this picture

From the East Coast of Florida, 1991

I didn’t make note of which beach this actually is

Maybe Melbourne?

I loved seeing this, you in your bright white and blue

You were fully healthy and strong

We loved getting away from Ohio, seeing your family in Florida

Visiting the different areas, always something new to discover.

We had a good life together, you and me.

Pic Collage 1991-93

 

JOY

Nine times we visited Cancun, Mexico and our vacation was never complete unless we visited Chemuyil, a lovely little beach off the beaten path. We were first directed there as a place to do some great snorkeling, and it was for a while. Eventually we witnessed the reefs dying from the suntan lotion, but the beauty of the beach and its smattering of palm trees never changed. One time when we were there, a boy band from England was shooting a music video. The beach had a bar and little huts where they would serve you fresh caught fish, cooked up with homemade tortillas, beans, rice, a steamed jicama. I know that since the days we were there, that part of the Yucatán Peninsula has built up into a huge tourist attraction called Rivera Maya. But we remember when it was jungle, and we would drive for 90 minutes just to relax on the most beautiful beach in the world,

ACHIEVEMENT

I wrote about this Mexican adventure a few years ago. I am pictured here on the steps of the El Castillo in the ancient city of Chichen Itza. When we first went there as part of a tour in 1987, I was afraid to climb the very steep steps. But in 1992 I changed my tune. I wanted the challenge of overcoming the fear. We rented a car and drove for hours to get there and it was worth it. Mission accomplished!

COURAGE

Before this year, 1993 was the year of our greatest challenges. In June of that year, some discs blew out in Jim’s lower back, and he had surgery to fuse them. Sadly, the fusion didn’t take, and he spent the rest of his life with a crack in his back which disabled him from working, golfing, and many other things. This was a huge adjustment for me, not to mention the financial strain we were under, given that he made a decent income and we had a brand new house. That summer, his aunt and uncle completed the cabin they were building on the New River in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and in the fall Jim’s doctor said he could make the trip there. It was our first visit, and we fell in love with the place. It became our home away from home for many years to come. I use the word Courage here, but what I really was building was Spiritual Courage. Earlier this year when faced with Jim’s terminal illness, I thought a lot about 1993 and all we went through, and it helped me know we could get through this year, no matter what. Jim took this photo of me standing on a petrified log in the river. It wasn’t until doing this blog that I can see how this photo mirrors the one that he took of me at Coe Lake eleven years earlier, the photo that began this series. In that picture, I was starting a new direction. In the picture above, it was the same.

And now I find myself once again gathering my courage to move forward into a new life. I know even though he is not here physically, Jim is here in spirit helping me find joy, achieve new goals, and continue to build spiritual courage. It has always worked in the past. I see no reason that would change now. 🌻

For the Love of Rock Shrimp (and Doug)

 Today this photo came up in FB memories:

This was taken at Dixie Crossroads in Titusville by Jim’s brother Doug. We had traveled there for a little getaway, to see Doug, and go to the Kennedy Space Center on this date in 2016.

I first fell in love with rock shrimp in 1986. We had traveled to Florida from Ohio for Thanksgiving weekend with Jim’s family. One night, we all drove to Titusville just to go to Dixie Crossroads. Some kind of family tradition.

The last time I ate at the restaurant was when we visited Doug during Thanksgiving week of 2021. He was terminally ill with cirrhosis of the liver. We feasted at Dixie Crossroads, and Doug shared a lot of his shrimp with me. Despite his ill health, he was friendly to the wait staff and kept us all laughing. I remember that dinner better than the others because we knew it was the last time we’d spend time with him. 

He passed in January 13, 2022.

There was never a visit to Dixie Crossroads without Doug. I don’t know if I will ever return to that restaurant, but it will forever be held in my heart as a place where family love and laughter prevailed.

With Doug in Orlando, December 2014

I go back to June 1994…

I’m reading a novel called Factory Girls that begins in June 1994 in Northern Ireland. Since the chapters are the dates of the events in the book, it caused me to think of where I was in June 1994. I realized it was our second visit to the cabin in North Carolina, the one built and owned by Jim’s Aunt Joanne and Uncle Dick. Eventually it would become a home away from home, a real sanctuary. But this was just the second visit.

At this time of year, wild rhododendrons bloom in the Blue Ridge mountains, and Roan Mountain in Tennessee is most famous for these flowering bushes. Every year on this weekend they have a festival, and this is where we went that June weekend in 1994. Roan Mountain was about 90 minutes or so from Ashe Country, so it made a nice day trip.

The walk through the woods and up the mountain was not terribly difficult, although I’m sure Joanne and Dick didn’t climb to the top as Jim and I did. At the time I had a nice Minolta camera, and tried my best to photograph the flowers, but it seemed hard to get results. I think the day had leaned toward rain and haze, so the clarity wasn’t there.

Eventually, Jim and I got to the top and I took this picture. It was the only one that had any clarity of the sky and the valley below. 

All in all, it is a pleasant memory—a day spent with people I deeply love. I became closer to Joanne and Dick as the years went on, closer than I was to any of my aunts and uncles. I bless the day they came into my life because it made it so much richer.

 http://www.roanmountain.com/rhododendron-festival/

Monday Morning Gratitudes

 First…the sunrise today.

I am grateful for all the friends who reached out this weekend. Thank you X a million.

I am grateful we are starting to get a handle on what we will do in case of a hurricane. That has been a relief.

I am grateful Jim woke up feeling better. The last few days were rough from the chemo, but he seems to have recovered. 😊

I am grateful my energy has returned and I’m getting things done around here. I’m taking it easy on myself, and am committed to doing things at a pace that works for me.

Along with that thought, I have decided to abandon reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. There are just too many other books I think I will enjoy more. Going to get on with that! Grateful for so many books! 

Seven years ago today is when I had one of my favorite concert experiences in a Tennessee cave called The Bluegrass Underground. I am grateful for the times Jim and I had traveling to places that matter to us. Nothing will ever take away those memories.

The Comfort Food Cure

This image popped up on my coloring app, and I knew I had to color it, and report the memory it inspired.

Jim and I took a trip out west in April 1986. We flew to Albuquerque, spent a couple of days there and in other parts of New Mexico and Utah, drove to Gallup and stayed overnight, and then hit the road to Flagstaff. We were taking I-40 across, which is the old U.S. Route 66.

Growing up in Ohio, my world was always green, unless it was winter, and then it was white. After a few days out west, the amount of brown totally displaced me. There was so little green, and the large, vast landscapes were beautiful, but foreign. I felt out of sorts and sad. I realized I was homesick.

At that time I recalled that when our family traveled, my dad never wanted to go into random restaurants. We had to go to trusted chains where we knew what we were getting. I realized that while in New Mexico we had tried a lot of different cuisine, and I was ready for something familiar. I knew that could set me right.

In some unknown Arizona town we found a Denny’s. I have no idea what I ate there, but I do know it set me right. We continued our trip to the Petrified Forest and beyond, and the rest of the trip was full of amazing discoveries and delicious local food.

Feeling fine in the Petrified Forest, April 1986

The Comforting Truth

From Rumi’s poem “Hoofbeats” I drew this line for a spine poem:

You are the soul inside the soul that’s always traveling.

You listen with intention and

Are learning how

The road leads you closer to

Soul revelations, the messages

Inside get clearer, understanding grows,

The way not so intimidating, your

Soul knows, distinctly, fully,

That’s the comforting truth 

Always available, always a companion

Traveling these labyrinthine roads with you.

Our Pilgrim Journey

The chemo caught up with Jim on Friday afternoon and into Saturday. Gratefully, he seems better today.

*

My brother John and his wife Gail had planned to visit in February, but when things happened with Jim’s health, they decided (rightfully) now was not the best time. They went to St. Augustine instead. I told my brother to send pictures, which he finally did yesterday.

Once I saw his photos, I went to look for ours from our first visit there in 1985. I found a picture of me I didn’t even remember existed.

I thought of that picture today when I read a poem called “Hawthorn” by David Whyte. In it, he’s comparing a relationship to a knot in a hawthorn tree.

I particularly loved the last verse. It reminded me of the photo I had discovered, as well as speaking to this time in our life, our marriage, our reason for being. I will end with those words:

Our pilgrim journey,

apart or together,

like

the thirst

of everything

to find its true form,

the grain of the wood

round the hatched knot

still

straightening

toward the light.

Cancun, Mexico

Inspired by "Pisac, Peru" by David Whyte

October 1987. I was 32, Jim was 45

 I remember the mornings I'd walk the surf,

while you drank coffee on the deck and watched

the sun rise over the Caribbean, then we'd saunter

over to the breakfast buffet that would hold us

until dinnertime.

I remember our resort, the restaurants and large

gray lizards on the lawn, the coolness of our room,

no news affecting our being, so much so the U.S. economy

crashed while we were gone and we had no idea.

I remember the now-called "Riviera Maya" as miles

of jungle, where the residents would flag the road to 

their homes with plastic grocery bags.

I remember discovering a local beach, Chemuyil, a place 

with a tiki bar where a woman had a  coatimundi on a leash,

and huts where food was served, meals

of fresh caught fish, rice, beans, steamed jicama, 

homemade tortillas and salsa. Our many afternoons at 

Chemuyil included watching a boy band from England

recording their music video among the palm trees,

snorkeling the reefs, drinking Mexican beer, and baptizing 

myself in the water the year I had a cancer diagnosis.

 

I remember yesterday after you got your chest X-ray

and you were home and back in bed, I said

This isn't getting on a plane and flying to Mexico,

but this is our life now, and as long as we're together,

I'm fine.

 

And I meant it like I've never meant anything else,

deep in my heart and soul.

 

This ain't no beach vacation.

 

But it is my one life

and I will live it.

 

 

We are just waves in the ocean. Nothing is permanent.

This is Not My Final Destination

 (Inspired by Nick Flynn’s poem “ If This is Your Final Destination.)

This is not my final destination.

I’m called to a time of miracles and introspection, 

my ordinary “no news is good news” life 

turned upside down.

Words cause fear & hugs & pitying looks.

A student hands me a gift bag full of smelly lotions and 

body wash, Girl Scout cookies.

Some of my students even seem to 

appreciate me more —

 asking my favorites in music, 

looking happy to see me.

But this is not my final destination.

It will change again.

Human beings can get used to anything.

Today, I’ll have lunch with a friend, 

pick up chapter 2 on a novel, 

visit a new Publix store.

I will contemplate how life 

changes and moves on into

 new routines. 

Honestly, I’m better for it.

Always so much to learn.

Still so far to go.

2022 Year in Review in Photos

This is year 3 for the awesome Year in Review activity introduced to me by my friend Laurie Kemp. I now look forward to unpacking the best parts of my year strictly through the camera lens. It's challenging and fun.

The year 2022 was a difficult one in several ways. Keeping that in mind while selecting photos made the associated memories all the more meaningful.

Here goes!

Feeling Connected at Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary

Annmarie and Laurie, my nature loving friends

On a Sunday morning in January, I met my friends Annmarie and Laurie at Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary. The weather was cool, and the wildlife few and far between, but just being in nature with friends was all the connection I needed. It is something we like to do on occasion, and this memory makes me realize the more often the better!

Make Me Smile at the Sidney and Berne Davis Art Center, Downtown Fort Myers

Sierra Hull, mandolin player extraordinaire

One of my favorite musical artists finally arrived in Fort Myers last March, and it was another concert to remember. Honestly, the only concert I attended this year, which is sad. But Sierra Hull makes up for that in so many ways. I have seen her twice before, both times having to drive to Stuart for the show, and each time I witnessed her skill and talent as an artist, a songwriter, and an entertainer. And that just continues to grow! My friend Kara accompanied me, and enjoyed the show as well. This particular event had been canceled in 2020, so finally getting to see Sierra here in town was a long-awaited treat. And yes, I smiled the whole way through, just like Sierra does as she sings.

Meaningful Moment in Chokoloskee, Florida

After a long ride, a relaxing lunch

 

The first few years we lived in Florida, we would get in the car and head south, often ending up on the little shell island known as Chokoloskee, way down in the Western Everglades. We would drive down Route 29, through Immokolee and Fakahatchee Strand and the Panther Preserve, admiring the wide and vast Florida environment. Once on the island we would visit the famous Smallwood Store and eat at J.T.'s.  Since it had been over a decade since we've done this excursion, we set out on Memorial Day weekend to recreate the experience. So much was the same, until we got to the island. There we discovered that J.T.'s was no longer, but a wonderful Latin restaurant had taken its place. We had a wonderful time there--the atmosphere was inviting and the food delicious. It is doubtful that we will ever make this trip again, so it makes it a meaningful memory.

Feeling Amazed at Fatheads Brewery, Middleburg Heights, Ohio

Braydon--one of a kind

It has taken over 11 years to meet this wonder child of our grandson Jeff. Braydon is knowledgeable, creative, smart, active, responsible, and purely original (just check out the hair!) We had an amazing conversation while at the brewery, mostly about creative writing and how books are better than the movie versions. This is a young person anyone would love being around. He got the best the families had to offer!

Moments Shared with Loved Ones at Cristof's On MacGregor, Fort Myers

Belated 80th birthday photo

Ralph and Pam

 

This year Jim turned 80-years-old, and we were planning on celebrating with his son and wife, Scott and Brenda. But the impending hurricane forced them to change their plans, and we ended up at Cantina Laredo with our friends Pam and Ralph to celebrate. Unfortunately, on that day I forgot to have Pam take a picture of us on Jim's birthday, and for weeks I was mad at myself about that. The situation was rectified when we went for lunch at Cristof's On MacGregor to celebrate Ralph's birthday. There I finally got my long awaited picture: and I was wearing the shirt Pam had given me with the dandelion of books flying away! Pam and Ralph are dear friends, and we are grateful they are in our lives.

Highlight of the Year at Bowman's Beach, Sanibel Island

Kaylee and Emily

Sunset at the beach June 2022

Okay, I will admit...as I try to write this I have tears pouring down my face. This evening stays with me for so many reasons. Emily had brought Kaylee (another incredible 11-year-old) to Sanibel for a special mother-daughter trip. They made us a lovely pasta dinner in their resort condo, and then we headed over to our favorite beach, Bowman's, for sunset. It was special to have Jim with me since we haven't been to the beach together in a very long time (I seriously cannot remember when). The evening was buggy (June in Florida) but still a lot of fun, seeking out shells, and tracking the sun as it set. 

The reason for my tears, of course, is that an excursion like this is not even possible given the state Hurricane Ian left the island just over three months later. This night probably would have been the highlight of my year no matter what else happened, but the fact that so much has changed makes it all the more poignant. And I am glad I got to spend it with some of my most favorite humans. 

Someday we will be back.

Found. (7 Lines/7 Days #108)

 #108Weeks

June 5-11, 2022

[This 2 year projects draws to a close]

I gave and gave, and now I’m recovering 

Traveling to my old stomping grounds: same and different

Met a young man full of possibilities in his life, excited about the connections he’s making and the things he’s learning

Met a boy who could turn a brownie into a pancake, a ball, a mud pit

Met a 65-year-old woman who said ENOUGH and walked off her job, risks be damned

Saw the bats flying out of the chimney, Lake Erie in the distance, on a perfect June evening

Found the most important question for now: What do I want to let go of, and what do I want to give myself to? (Thank you, Parker Palmer)

To end this project, a shout out to my friend Kate who told me about Folk Alley music streaming, and I heard this song while putting together this piece— Molly Tuttle with “Good Enough”

29. Window, Mirror, Sliding Glass Door

 #66Challenge

As a reading teacher, I'm often put directly in touch with something I teach to my students. Anytime I  choose a book or come across a piece of writing that rings true for me, I think of my young readers and wonder how I can make those kinds of experiences real for them. Of course, it is a bit of an impossible task as it is totally experiential and up to the individual. Still, I look to at least introduce the idea of reading as a way to change and grow.

In recent years, the idea of books being a window, a mirror, or a sliding glass door has come into vogue. The simple explanation is that books can provide a window into another life unlike your own. A mirror is when the text reflects you back to yourself. And the sliding glass door is when you are able to practically walk inside the book and be there. This is a concept I haven't spent much time talking about with my readers, mostly because I haven't put enough thought into how to explain it and provide examples.

Saturday provided with all I need.

Window

Jim and I attended our jam session at Guitar Studio, 30 minutes we spend each week with a teacher playing a song together. This past weekend it was "Friend of the Devil," a slowed-down version in which I was learning how to do some improvisation on my mandolin.

While getting my scales and tremolo picking right, I was reminded of a memoir I recently read by Emma Johns called Wayfaring Stranger: A Musical Journey in the American South. Emma finds herself in Boone, North Carolina, far from her London home, with the intent to learn how to play bluegrass music. She is a trained classical violinist, and the improvisation and speed and lack of solid structure in the genre befuddles her throughout most of the book. 

But then she has an epiphany. She suddenly realizes that she was trying to make something up on the fly, thinking that was the meaning of improvisation. It finally gets through to her that musicians teach themselves all kinds of riffs and runs they practice over and over again so when it comes time to improvise, they have something to work with. Then they can scat off of that, as well as play of other musicians. This was a huge revelation to her, and changed everything about her experience. She went on to win a fiddle competition.

While at our session, I felt like Emma must have felt, as my teacher guided me in how to create these types of runs, to make them work for me, to help me find my voice with the instrument. I am not sure I would have gotten the joy I got out of the session if I hadn't been thinking of what I read in Emma's book. It seemed like it was a piece I needed to help me connect to what Tom was asking me to do.

A window into an English fiddler's life gave me something new to get excited about. It has changed how I see my relationship to my instrument. Most importantly, I actually see myself picking up my mandolin between sessions, something I haven't bothered to do much. I've been inspired!

Mirror

Before the music session, I read the first (and title poem) of Richard Blanco's poetry collection "Looking for the Gulf Motel." At first I was confused, as the opening line is:

There should be nothing here I don't remember.

I kept reading and learned that Richard was talking about family vacations taken at Marco Island, the poem full of details of the motel and the items they brought along and the activities they participated in. He was describing a Marco Island of the late 70s, early 80s.

Then the poem shifts as he explains that on a return to Marco Island years later, there is nothing there he remembers -- most significantly, the Gulf Motel. And suddenly the repeating line There should be nothing here I don't remember was about the consequence of change. His sadness about not being able to revisit his childhood was palatable.

And I knew what he was feeling, since this mirrored my own experience with Marco Island. Jim and I spent one night there in December 1989 when we attended conference for the direct mail marketing franchise I owned. We were already making a trip to Florida to see family and spend some time in the Everglades, and made a quick trip to Marco for the opening night of the conference. We stayed at the Radisson, and that evening a group of us went to the Olde Marco Island Inn, a historic Victorian-style inn which was the place to visit on Marco, according to people I knew at the conference. We had a wonderful dinner, lots of laughs, and made great memories.

The next day we left, and I remember a storm was brewing as we drove from the beach back to Tamiami Trail to make our way to the Everglades. I remember the wild lands of Marco, the views of the beach, and so much more. Sadly, I didn't take any pictures, but it was clear in my head.

In 2000, after I moved to Fort Myers, I decided it was time to revisit Marco Island. I was excited to return, and was not prepared for what I encountered.

Concrete. Lots of and lots of concrete. Homes. Shopping centers. High rises. No view of the beaches at all. No wild lands.

I stopped at the visitor's center and asked if there was a nature park or some kind of preserve to visit. The answer was no--just a fitness trail. I asked for a restaurant on the beach I could visit for lunch. I was directed to the only one they could advise: at a marina. They also told me I could go to the end of the island and perhaps spot some dolphins.

I drove around, sad and a bit disgusted at what I was seeing. The Radisson was still there, looking a bit shabby next to all the new places. It took a while, but I finally figured out I couldn't find the Olde Marco Inn because it was now totally surrounded by high rises, the lovely building sitting squat in the middle of concrete towers. 

It was sickening.

Richard's poem provided a mirror to my own experience, my own disappointment. The best I could do after lunch and an unsuccessful dolphin watch, was to stop at a bookstore. I don't even think I bought anything. 

The experience and poetry of a gay Cuban man gave my experience validity. And it made me sad for both of us -- that the island didn't hold its charm in some way, didn't know what it had, didn't know what we know: There should always be something left we can remember.

Sliding Glass Door

Saturday evening I opened up a newly published Jason Reynold's book called Ain't Burned Out All the Bright. This is a book written in a unique fashion. Jason Reynolds wrote the text in what he calls "3 Breaths," and Jason Griffin did the mostly abstract art. 

So it begins, and we're taken into the narrator's home, a worry wart of a child (never gender defined or named) during the 2020 COVID shutdown and protests. We do know from the artwork this is a black family, each struggling in their own way with the way things are happening (and not happening) around them. My immediate feeling was that this probably gives me a window into what some of my own learners experienced during the lockdown: remote or sick parents and perhaps siblings who weren't handling the situation in healthy ways. Fair enough.

But sometime during the 2nd Breath, the text spoke to me so loudly, I couldn't turn the page. The words spoke so deeply to my own personal experience as a 19-year-old in a family who had just lost its youngest member, that it was like a bomb dropped inside me. I suddenly walked through that sliding glass door and was the narrator. I knew exactly what they were feeling. The events and the time frame was totally different, but the experience was identical. We were all, in a word, suffocating.

I cannot remember when something hit me this hard. I don't know how long I stared at that page while my solar plexus did a dance of remembrance, and little pieces of emotion exploded, tears dripped down my face. Even at this writing, I'm still reeling from the intensity.

It was another reminder of how layers of grief remain hidden, and unresolved issues are always seeking resolution. It took a black writer and a white male artist to collaborate in a way that spoke to this 66-year-old woman, and to the young person she used to be. And not only that, they gave healing advice, something I will find useful in my everyday life. Jason and Jason did not leave me without something to hold on to.

 *

In one day alone, I found new perspective, new growth, and a healing force from people I have never met, but somehow seem to know me. This is the power of reading to change us. Because in some small but significant ways, this has added to my life by increasing my empathy, making me feel connected to others, and perhaps, in the final analysis, will help my reading students, too.

And for that, well, there isn't enough gratitude in the world.

When the Dam Breaks (7 Lines, 7 Days #73)

 #108Weeks

October 3-9, 2021

I’ve been in survival mode more than I realized

I keep reminding myself about self-care, but it never feels like enough  

The week started stressful with fire and lockdown drills in my most challenging class

By Tuesday lunch I had a complete meltdown—worst day in over 5 years

Had to work hard to overcome the trauma and forgive forgive forgive

Soon I was back to laughing, having fun, recognizing the good, and coming home with energy 

The support I had at work and home was phenomenal  I am blessed 

3. Real Teaching

 #66Challenge

This was the third day of the school year, and the first one that made me feel like a real teacher again. Not a pandemic teacher. Not a Zoom teacher. A real teacher whose kids are engaged, involved, talking, laughing, and being creative. With my advanced students we were able to visit the library so everyone could get a book in their hand, and I taught the goal-setting bookmark for the first time in 2 years to help them set their reading targets.

Despite the masks again and some other protocols, I am so grateful for a return to the classroom I love.

Real reading. Real involvement.  Real community.

Back in Balance (7 Lines/ 7 Days #63)

 #108Weeks

 July 25-31, 2021

 

 The trip put me in Zen mode.

This is my final week of the summer and the focus is self-care.

It's nice to be lazy!

I'm feeling a desire to get back to writing, but just can't grab on to anything. Who am I as a writer?

In a poem I read, the word "balance" stood out to me. I contemplated all the ways this applies right now.

It's really about watching my mind and responding to where it leads me.

Living the question brought me an answer. I have a new, solid, meaningful writing project on the horizon, and its making me feel connected and whole again.

Only a Dream in Nashville (7 Lines/7 Days #62)

 #108Weeks

July 18-24, 2021

Jim & I at the Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum

 

 

I'm traveling light.

It's a difficult trip, but enjoying what I can.

Movement and hydration are key.

The Opry was AWESOME. Our seats really made it.

Stay in the moment!

Last night's show was great, but the Ryman Auditorium is damn uncomfortable!

Left Nashville and it already feels like it was just a dream.

The Purge (7 Lines/ 7 Days #61)

 #108Weeks

 

July 11-17, 2021

 

 

Discovered an awesome talent: Amethyst Kiah

Feeling rested and grounded

It's purging time: books and clothes

Knocked out all the safety trainings :-)

Discovered a funny TV show on Prime: Loudermilk

I'm always most productive before leaving town

My shelves and dresser drawers are organized finally!