I rarely get cold. This winter, though, I have been freezing. My last electric bill was almost $250, and that was before the Polar Vortex hit. I may have to get a part-time job to pay this month's bill. Because, guess what friends who refuse to visit my arctic home in the winter? I have turned up the heat, and it runs constantly.
I am still freezing.
This evening I tried to read a book, but I was too cold to concentrate. I held my heating pad close to my chest. The space heater tried to warm my feet. I huddled under the fleece blanket. Finally, I made a cup of tea and that helped. Kinda.....
I am still freezing.
So I am going to bed where I can turn my electric blanket up to high, wear the soft pajamas that my friend Pat gave me a few years ago, and pull on some thick socks. I'm not getting out of that bed until the sun shines through my windows and warms the house a few degrees.
Yep, I may be freezing, but I'm retired and I can sleep long enough for the sun to heat my house. And that thought just warms my heart.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Former students: Part 2 in a series
So many of my students remain forever etched in my brain. However, when you teach in a small town like ours, often a whole family becomes etched forever in your heart. One of those families is the Brownings.
Shawn was the first Browning child to enter my classroom and my life. He was such a typical seventh grade boy. Bright. Inquisitive. Totally disorganized. His backpack was a handicap for him as he could spend half of the class period frantically trying to locate one homework assignment in an ocean of folded, crumpled, and stuffed papers. Back in those days, I was a bit of a drama queen. I do not remember exactly what led up to it, but one day I threw his backpack out of my room and down the hall. Every sixth grade teacher on the hallway peeked out of their door to see what was loudly bouncing down the hall. Every sixth grade teacher chuckled to themselves when they saw which curly-haired little boy was following the exploding book bag down the hallway. Poor Shawn. Shawn may have been a mess, but he was one smart mess. I loved the questions he asked. They were thoughtful and reflective, and I couldn't always answer them. I learned to be careful answering his questions because if I was wrong, I heard about it the next day. "Ms. S, my father says you're wrong." Yes, Shawn actually discussed what he was learning at home. I was flattered, and sometimes flustered. I met Bev, Shawn's mom, when she visited during American Education Week. It's not easy to be a teacher and have a row of stern-faced adults crowded in the back of the room silently critiquing your every move. My eyes would focus on Bev because she grinned and laughed and seemed to enjoy being a part of class as much as Shawn did. I grew to look forward to her school visits, as there were many of them. Three more Brownings came through the middle school before I left.
Jenny was Shawn's little sister. She was a serious little gal, determined to do her best. Like Shawn, she was inquisitive and bright, but I don't think I ever had to throw her bookbag down the hall. Jenny was one of my oratorical students. This quiet and shy girl wrote a speech and delivered it not only to her classmates but in a showcase display of public speakers from the area's middle schools. I was so proud of her. She was a wonderful student, and even though everybody else thought I was a mean old witch, she knew I was ok. Shawn had told her so. Jenny and Shawn visited me frequently over the years. When they graduated, I received announcements and pictures. I loved those kids. Jenny is gone now, a brain aneurism took her life the August after her high school graduation. Shawn called me to personally deliver the tragic news. Those were dark, dark days. Jenny, in her own way, continued to visit me in my classroom. When I returned to work, there in my mailbox was a thank you note for a graduation present. I would pass out textbooks, and I'd see her signature in the books she'd once used. One day when I was going through a collection of unmarked video tapes, I found a recording of Jenny giving her speech. What a great gift to share with her family!
The third daughter was Liz. I wouldn't have immediately identified her as a Browning. Both Shawn and Jenny had curly dark brown hair. Liz was a natural blond. I'm not sure if I remember seventh grade Liz as well as I remember her class. They were bright kids, but a bunch of them were hoodlums in the making. Liz always seemed so much more mature than the rest. She would shake her head and we'd both roll our eyes over some of their shenanigans. Liz was a beautiful and expressive writer. Some of you may know her as she is married to the former Patch editor, also my former student, Sean Welsh. I was invited to their wedding and the outdoor reception. I never saw so much rain in my life!!! Looking at the pictures I took, there was nothing but smiles in celebration of their big day. That rain could have turned a saint into a bridezilla. But not Liz, and not Sean. They were joyful the whole day. The wedding was a beautiful celebration, even if little sister Meg had to wear a coat over her bridesmaid dress.
Meg was the baby Browning. Literally. When Bev was expecting, I got daily reports on the baby's progress. I sent Shawn and Jenny home with name suggestions for her. Don't worry Meg. Your parents never even considered Barbara. Meg has it all, brains, beauty, and a free spirit. She is a clothing and jewelry designer. Look for her label one of these days.
My teaching days were blessed with awesome and memorable students. What a bonus for me that I became friends with the Brownings as I was blessed to teach all four of their delightful children. Lucky me to have taught in a school small enough and intimate enough that students could become like family to me. There's no Common Core standard that encourages personal relationships, that encourages the creative teaching that endeared me to the Brownings. What a shame.
Shawn was the first Browning child to enter my classroom and my life. He was such a typical seventh grade boy. Bright. Inquisitive. Totally disorganized. His backpack was a handicap for him as he could spend half of the class period frantically trying to locate one homework assignment in an ocean of folded, crumpled, and stuffed papers. Back in those days, I was a bit of a drama queen. I do not remember exactly what led up to it, but one day I threw his backpack out of my room and down the hall. Every sixth grade teacher on the hallway peeked out of their door to see what was loudly bouncing down the hall. Every sixth grade teacher chuckled to themselves when they saw which curly-haired little boy was following the exploding book bag down the hallway. Poor Shawn. Shawn may have been a mess, but he was one smart mess. I loved the questions he asked. They were thoughtful and reflective, and I couldn't always answer them. I learned to be careful answering his questions because if I was wrong, I heard about it the next day. "Ms. S, my father says you're wrong." Yes, Shawn actually discussed what he was learning at home. I was flattered, and sometimes flustered. I met Bev, Shawn's mom, when she visited during American Education Week. It's not easy to be a teacher and have a row of stern-faced adults crowded in the back of the room silently critiquing your every move. My eyes would focus on Bev because she grinned and laughed and seemed to enjoy being a part of class as much as Shawn did. I grew to look forward to her school visits, as there were many of them. Three more Brownings came through the middle school before I left.
Jenny was Shawn's little sister. She was a serious little gal, determined to do her best. Like Shawn, she was inquisitive and bright, but I don't think I ever had to throw her bookbag down the hall. Jenny was one of my oratorical students. This quiet and shy girl wrote a speech and delivered it not only to her classmates but in a showcase display of public speakers from the area's middle schools. I was so proud of her. She was a wonderful student, and even though everybody else thought I was a mean old witch, she knew I was ok. Shawn had told her so. Jenny and Shawn visited me frequently over the years. When they graduated, I received announcements and pictures. I loved those kids. Jenny is gone now, a brain aneurism took her life the August after her high school graduation. Shawn called me to personally deliver the tragic news. Those were dark, dark days. Jenny, in her own way, continued to visit me in my classroom. When I returned to work, there in my mailbox was a thank you note for a graduation present. I would pass out textbooks, and I'd see her signature in the books she'd once used. One day when I was going through a collection of unmarked video tapes, I found a recording of Jenny giving her speech. What a great gift to share with her family!
The third daughter was Liz. I wouldn't have immediately identified her as a Browning. Both Shawn and Jenny had curly dark brown hair. Liz was a natural blond. I'm not sure if I remember seventh grade Liz as well as I remember her class. They were bright kids, but a bunch of them were hoodlums in the making. Liz always seemed so much more mature than the rest. She would shake her head and we'd both roll our eyes over some of their shenanigans. Liz was a beautiful and expressive writer. Some of you may know her as she is married to the former Patch editor, also my former student, Sean Welsh. I was invited to their wedding and the outdoor reception. I never saw so much rain in my life!!! Looking at the pictures I took, there was nothing but smiles in celebration of their big day. That rain could have turned a saint into a bridezilla. But not Liz, and not Sean. They were joyful the whole day. The wedding was a beautiful celebration, even if little sister Meg had to wear a coat over her bridesmaid dress.
Meg was the baby Browning. Literally. When Bev was expecting, I got daily reports on the baby's progress. I sent Shawn and Jenny home with name suggestions for her. Don't worry Meg. Your parents never even considered Barbara. Meg has it all, brains, beauty, and a free spirit. She is a clothing and jewelry designer. Look for her label one of these days.
My teaching days were blessed with awesome and memorable students. What a bonus for me that I became friends with the Brownings as I was blessed to teach all four of their delightful children. Lucky me to have taught in a school small enough and intimate enough that students could become like family to me. There's no Common Core standard that encourages personal relationships, that encourages the creative teaching that endeared me to the Brownings. What a shame.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Millinery Madness
There are "hat people" and then there are the "non-hat people." I have always considered myself to be the latter. Until recently that is. When I hit sixty, I decided that I wanted to wear a hat.
It's not that I never tried to wear hats before. Many years ago I visited my sister when she lived in Texas. While there, I bought a genuine black cowboy hat. I love it. Love it! Even though I live in Ceciltucky, cowboy hats don't translate well on people like me. People who wear cowboy hats need to wear cowboy boots, and I much prefer sneakers. So, my beautiful and expensive hat was only worn a few times. Once was when I dressed as a country western singer, and another time was when my niece let me borrow the cowboy boots formerly owned by my mother ( but taken over by my fashionista niece) so that I could be a rhinestone cowgirl for Halloween. Other than those random occasions, my beautiful hat sits in my office.
I own a collection of attractive straw hats. I buy them on sale during the off-season with the intention of wearing them all summer and protecting my aging complexion from too many UV rays. They look so cute in the store. I feel like drinking mint juleps and speaking in a southern accent when I try them on. However, actually wearing summer hats can be a pain. If I happen to be around either of my nieces while wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, they confiscate it. Those girls are adorable, and they know they are particularly cute when they don a hat. So, I'm left bare-headed and sun burned. If there's even a slight breeze, a wide-brimmed straw hat can take off like a Frisbee. I feel like a fool following a hat down the street. Ah, but that dream of summering in gauzy dresses, strappy sandals, and summer straw hats never dies.
Recently I traveled to Cape May with my Darby Township Elementary gals. We tried on hats in a little shop, and I fell in love with a gray chapeau. I also loved the gray and maroon cloche hat that I tried to talk Joyce into buying since there was no way my budget could handle two purchases. Eventually, I chose the jaunty Downton Abby fedora. I love it, and I am determined to wear it. This woman is going to become a hat person because if a woman in her sixties can't wear what she wants, well then, who can? It's been a cold winter; therefore, I do not look out of place in a woolen hat. I just feel out of place and a bit silly. However, I've received many compliments. In fact, my cane fu instructor told me twice how much he liked my "lid."
I am gradually coming into my own as a "hat person." If I ever get back to Cape May, I'm going to buy the hat that my friend felt silly wearing. Or maybe, just maybe, Joyce will get back to the Cape before I do. She'll claim that hat, and we will wear our "lids" together.
It's not that I never tried to wear hats before. Many years ago I visited my sister when she lived in Texas. While there, I bought a genuine black cowboy hat. I love it. Love it! Even though I live in Ceciltucky, cowboy hats don't translate well on people like me. People who wear cowboy hats need to wear cowboy boots, and I much prefer sneakers. So, my beautiful and expensive hat was only worn a few times. Once was when I dressed as a country western singer, and another time was when my niece let me borrow the cowboy boots formerly owned by my mother ( but taken over by my fashionista niece) so that I could be a rhinestone cowgirl for Halloween. Other than those random occasions, my beautiful hat sits in my office.
I own a collection of attractive straw hats. I buy them on sale during the off-season with the intention of wearing them all summer and protecting my aging complexion from too many UV rays. They look so cute in the store. I feel like drinking mint juleps and speaking in a southern accent when I try them on. However, actually wearing summer hats can be a pain. If I happen to be around either of my nieces while wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, they confiscate it. Those girls are adorable, and they know they are particularly cute when they don a hat. So, I'm left bare-headed and sun burned. If there's even a slight breeze, a wide-brimmed straw hat can take off like a Frisbee. I feel like a fool following a hat down the street. Ah, but that dream of summering in gauzy dresses, strappy sandals, and summer straw hats never dies.
Recently I traveled to Cape May with my Darby Township Elementary gals. We tried on hats in a little shop, and I fell in love with a gray chapeau. I also loved the gray and maroon cloche hat that I tried to talk Joyce into buying since there was no way my budget could handle two purchases. Eventually, I chose the jaunty Downton Abby fedora. I love it, and I am determined to wear it. This woman is going to become a hat person because if a woman in her sixties can't wear what she wants, well then, who can? It's been a cold winter; therefore, I do not look out of place in a woolen hat. I just feel out of place and a bit silly. However, I've received many compliments. In fact, my cane fu instructor told me twice how much he liked my "lid."
I am gradually coming into my own as a "hat person." If I ever get back to Cape May, I'm going to buy the hat that my friend felt silly wearing. Or maybe, just maybe, Joyce will get back to the Cape before I do. She'll claim that hat, and we will wear our "lids" together.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Forgiveness
I remember being a young person who could hold a mighty grudge. I took pride in how long I could give someone the silent treatment. I relished in the uncomfortable moments when our paths crossed. I could sneer and cold shoulder with the best of them. My anger and indignation made me feel powerful.
I'm glad those days are long over.
Truly, anger and umbrage to the degree I would experience it, might have made the other person squirm, but it really made me suffer. There was a time when forgiveness equated weakness in my world. I wasn't about to forgive and reveal a weakness.
I'm glad those days are long over.
I am so much more peaceful since I reached Club 60. I realize that people make mistakes. I admit that I can really screw up. But, the idea of holding onto a hurt, of letting it fester and burn, is harmful only to me. I forgive people and move on. I hope they forgive me.
Those who know me are probably thinking, oh no you don't girl. You practically spit every time the names B.B. or J.Y. come up in a conversation. True. You are right. Did I mention that I'm not perfect? Both of those people are manipulative and mean. They enjoy hurting and cheating others. I have no respect for them. No use for them. But do I sit around plotting revenge? Do I concoct plans to see them fall? No, I have let them go. That is the best I can do and I am ok with it. Maybe I am fooling myself or playing with semantics when I say I no longer hold a grudge against them. I consider them toxic people whom I have gladly remove from my life. Grudge or sanity saver? You can decide. I'm over it.
Right now someone is angry with me. She has figuratively given me the cold shoulder, the silent treatment. She not only unfriended me on Facebook, she blocked me. That blocking business is serious stuff. Obviously, I cannot contact her. I can't even see anything she writes to our mutual friends. I cannot repair what has happened between us. If I am honest, I am not exactly sure what really happened. Sigh. I can only wait.
I hope I don't have to wait too long. We're sixty. Life is way too short to live it without friends, without forgiveness.
"To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism
I'm glad those days are long over.
Truly, anger and umbrage to the degree I would experience it, might have made the other person squirm, but it really made me suffer. There was a time when forgiveness equated weakness in my world. I wasn't about to forgive and reveal a weakness.
I'm glad those days are long over.
I am so much more peaceful since I reached Club 60. I realize that people make mistakes. I admit that I can really screw up. But, the idea of holding onto a hurt, of letting it fester and burn, is harmful only to me. I forgive people and move on. I hope they forgive me.
Those who know me are probably thinking, oh no you don't girl. You practically spit every time the names B.B. or J.Y. come up in a conversation. True. You are right. Did I mention that I'm not perfect? Both of those people are manipulative and mean. They enjoy hurting and cheating others. I have no respect for them. No use for them. But do I sit around plotting revenge? Do I concoct plans to see them fall? No, I have let them go. That is the best I can do and I am ok with it. Maybe I am fooling myself or playing with semantics when I say I no longer hold a grudge against them. I consider them toxic people whom I have gladly remove from my life. Grudge or sanity saver? You can decide. I'm over it.
Right now someone is angry with me. She has figuratively given me the cold shoulder, the silent treatment. She not only unfriended me on Facebook, she blocked me. That blocking business is serious stuff. Obviously, I cannot contact her. I can't even see anything she writes to our mutual friends. I cannot repair what has happened between us. If I am honest, I am not exactly sure what really happened. Sigh. I can only wait.
I hope I don't have to wait too long. We're sixty. Life is way too short to live it without friends, without forgiveness.
"To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism
Monday, January 6, 2014
Baby it's cold outside
Brrrrrrr Despite the fact that my heat is running non-stop, despite the fact that the thermometer is reading a decent temperature, I can't warm up.
What a January this has been. And it's only been six days. Snow. Freezing rain. Black ice. Fierce winds. Frostbite temperatures. Frore! (I am sending you to your dictionary for that one.) Brrrrrrr
The past few winters have been so mild that it was easy to forget where I lived. While not a tropical paradise, I felt like I lived much farther south than I do - like the Carolinas or Georgia. Mother Nature was fooled, too. The pear tree prematurely developed buds, the lilies unexpectedly poked through the mulch, and I don't remember the birds bothering to fly south for the winter.
It is so dangerously cold that the public schools will be closed tomorrow. I understand why as it has been reported that frostbite can occur within fifteen minutes of exposure. Many, many students have long walks to school thanks to budget cuts to the transportation department. Many, many more students have long waits at the bus stop thanks to those same cuts. Too few of them have the outdoor clothing needed to survive such cold. And those who have it will probably leave the house without scarves, heavy boots, thick gloves, and wool hats because they are not fashionable. As my friend Mary stated, Hoodies just won't do it! I can understand the concern for the students because if they survive the walk/ride to school, who knows how warm the school will be? My room was always cold. Poor Mr. Mann would bring his thermometer to the room, apologize for the temps in the 50s, then apologize for being unable to do anything about it. Brrrrrr
When the schools are closed on a Tuesday, so too is Grace Place. Grace Place provides meals, groceries, hats, gloves, scarves, blankets, and a warm place to spend an afternoon. There will be no such respite for people tomorrow, and I wonder what they'll do. A few years ago a homeless person camping in Aberdeen froze to death in her tent. There are very few shelters, none that I know of near Grace Place. What will these people do? I pray for them.
My electric bill this month was shockingly high. My house is drafty, and I weather-stripped around my cheap windows as best I could. I'm thankful to have an electric blanket and a warm dog to cuddle with tonight. I have a pension and I will be able to pay my exorbitant electric bill. I'm counting my blessings and adding another slip of paper to my 2014 Joy Jar.
Oh, and by the way, I leave for the Bahamas the end of this month! I may not come home.
What a January this has been. And it's only been six days. Snow. Freezing rain. Black ice. Fierce winds. Frostbite temperatures. Frore! (I am sending you to your dictionary for that one.) Brrrrrrr
The past few winters have been so mild that it was easy to forget where I lived. While not a tropical paradise, I felt like I lived much farther south than I do - like the Carolinas or Georgia. Mother Nature was fooled, too. The pear tree prematurely developed buds, the lilies unexpectedly poked through the mulch, and I don't remember the birds bothering to fly south for the winter.
It is so dangerously cold that the public schools will be closed tomorrow. I understand why as it has been reported that frostbite can occur within fifteen minutes of exposure. Many, many students have long walks to school thanks to budget cuts to the transportation department. Many, many more students have long waits at the bus stop thanks to those same cuts. Too few of them have the outdoor clothing needed to survive such cold. And those who have it will probably leave the house without scarves, heavy boots, thick gloves, and wool hats because they are not fashionable. As my friend Mary stated, Hoodies just won't do it! I can understand the concern for the students because if they survive the walk/ride to school, who knows how warm the school will be? My room was always cold. Poor Mr. Mann would bring his thermometer to the room, apologize for the temps in the 50s, then apologize for being unable to do anything about it. Brrrrrr
When the schools are closed on a Tuesday, so too is Grace Place. Grace Place provides meals, groceries, hats, gloves, scarves, blankets, and a warm place to spend an afternoon. There will be no such respite for people tomorrow, and I wonder what they'll do. A few years ago a homeless person camping in Aberdeen froze to death in her tent. There are very few shelters, none that I know of near Grace Place. What will these people do? I pray for them.
My electric bill this month was shockingly high. My house is drafty, and I weather-stripped around my cheap windows as best I could. I'm thankful to have an electric blanket and a warm dog to cuddle with tonight. I have a pension and I will be able to pay my exorbitant electric bill. I'm counting my blessings and adding another slip of paper to my 2014 Joy Jar.
Oh, and by the way, I leave for the Bahamas the end of this month! I may not come home.
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