the making of a student

this is my old student desk, the one my parents bought for me as i began junior high school. it's maple, with a smooth top and one board that has distinctly tiger markings. there are two drawers under the top, wide enough for notebooks and paper, narrow enough for pens and pencils. the bottom drawer is lined with cedar, and i was never quite sure why. maybe cedar helps to preserve books?

as a twelve year old, having such an important piece made me feel scholarly and smart, and i worked hard through my teen years to earn those distinctions. in a big and noisy family of nine, i had my own room and my own space to read and research, ponder and dream. i spent a lot of time there as a teenager, being studious, getting good grades, and learning to be comfortable as an introvert. i do believe that this desk made me the student that i still am, some sixty years later, still yearning for new knowledge and understanding, still moved by beautiful music and literature, still in awe of the natural world around me and the advances of science as they come.

this desk also belonged to each of my younger siblings, in the order of their birth. one spilled paint in the top drawer. one broke a drawer pull and it never sat right again. while sitting at the desk, one wrote in pencil under the kneehole as she sat, some scrawled message about loving some long-forgotten boy. one drilled a hole in the maple top for a computer cord. and many years later, when the youngest of us wanted it gone, i claimed it back as mine.

for a short while, it was the girl's and she used it for a computer stand. then it sat in a crowded guest room for decades, a repository for craft materials, old christmas cards, and assorted memorabilia. about a year ago, i cleaned it out and began a futile search for a family who might want it. i debated selling it and was told it wasn't worth the trouble. defeated, i took this photo to remember it by, then reluctantly donated the piece to habitat for humanity with explicit instructions to not allow me to buy it back.

the desk sat on their garage floor for six weeks. i know this because i visited it six sundays, running my hands along the top, opening and closing the drawers, inspecting the dovetailing and looking for a sign that i should just bring it back home with me. and then one day, it was gone - sold, a bookcase in its place. i was elated, relieved, and very sad.

and here is the blessing, the happy ending, the full circle: quite by accident, i found that my desk had been sold to the family of a seven year old i have known for several years. she's of school age now, and is a curious and funny little girl. her parents wanted a serious place for her to work - to read and research, to ponder and dream. and, it turns out, my desk is now the perfect place for her, too.

downsizing

in the midst of the summer gardening and room painting and kitchen redo (no, it's still not done), i am trying to clean out useless things. stuff i've held onto for most of my life that means very little or nothing to other people. things i don't want the girl to have to deal with when it comes time to clean this place out for the last time. here is a perfect example of what i mean. it's the end of a roll of vinyl wallpaper i bought in 1981. 

we were moving out of state, leaving family and friends, and starting new jobs. the girl was turning five, and beginning school in a few months. with all the details of the packing and moving, uppermost in my mind was making the transition as easy and fun as i could for her. we rented a house sight unseen because it was in a small rural neighborhood and had a big yard and four bedrooms. we chose for her the room with the most light and the most nooks and secret spots for playing. and i made it a priority to have it completely redone and beautiful before we moved in.

and this is the bedroom wallpaper that she and i chose, sitting one evening on the porch swing of the house we would soon be leaving, the only home she'd known. we both gasped when we turned this page, and knew we had found the perfect wall covering. in an effort to capture the experience, i saved this piece when we left the rental for our new home in our new state. and i've had it ever since, tucked in the back of the bottom drawer of her bedroom dresser. 

of course, my tastes have changed significantly since then, and i am now admittedly horrified to think that i imposed such graphic chaos on so young a psyche. but at that pivotal, transitional time of our lives, it was just what we both needed. 

one last ride

in this, the month of her birth, the not-so-little girl bemoans the fact that she will soon be too old to ride the mechanical rides at the local outlet mall. for many years, she's been too big to ride them, but every time we're there, she squeezes herself into one and begs for three quarters. being the good grandmother that i am, i, of course, oblige - and off she goes, blissfully a little girl again, laughing and whooping for the two minute ride. but now it's different, because the age limits are clearly posted on each ride, she can read them, and she knows she will very soon be out of the age range.

to mark this mournful passage, i gift wrap a roll of quarters, and off we go, the two of us, on the eve of her birthday, to ride one more time the merry-go-rounds and vehicles and animals that have given her such gleeful joy for so many years. and although it takes more time that we have and more money than we should probably spend, she rides every single one. and that's okay with me.

extremes

around noontime, i realized it was not only sunny and above freezing, it was actually a bit warm outside. so i went out into the yard in my indoor birkenstocks. i sat for a bit, i took some photos, i enjoyed the sun. when i had to come back inside, i opened the kitchen window and smelled the clean air while i worked and cooked and puttered.

but within an hour, the sky darkened, the wind began to howl, and a snow squall blew in, lasting about thirty minutes. new england really has some crazy weather, but it's one of the things that makes this an interesting place to be!

renovation

kitchen redo begins today. it's been a long time coming. i have no idea what i'm doing. wish me luck.

ides of march

rain, ice, snow, lilac buds. nothing to beware of here! almost springtime in new hampshire.

out with the old...

and in with the new! 

wishing you a happy and healthy new year, full of wonderful surprises!

♡

unseasonable

this has been a good summer. there have been warm days and comfortable nights, enough rain (i think), good beach days and lots of time to enjoy being outside. a few hot spells but not much humidity. it's been wonderful, but just not right. no monarch caterpillars or butterflies. crickets chirping since early summer when they usually chorus in august. early summer flowers blooming late and late summer ones blooming early. and now, shocking signs of autumn, earlier than i have ever noticed. and it's not even september yet.

feels like summer

driving home this evening on the back roads, it finally feels like summer. the air is warm, clouds are puffy, and trees are all leafed out and throwing shadows. the tourists are back and boats are moored on the lake. i pass a wedding party gathering for pictures on a vast green lawn. families are out walking and folks are riding their bicycles. and, driving by the take-out restaurant, the smell of fried food wafts through the open windows.

skim ice

first of the season that i've seen. 

it was even forming on the river beyond. 

first snow

normally, i'm pretty excited when i wake up to the first measurable snow of a new season. not so this year, though. outside work remains unfinished. here's the sedum i have yet to cut back in the garden that i have yet to put to bed! so i'm only a tad excited to see this snow!

where have all the monarchs gone?

milkweed plants are pretty prolific here in this neck of the woods. every spring, i leave several plants to grow in the yard and in the garden. around here, milkweed is the food of choice for monarch caterpillars as they grow. they feast on the leaves midsummer and then, when it's time, they go into their chrysalis formation right there on the plant, firmly attached to a stem or a leaf, their casings brilliant green with a glittering band of gold. most years there are many, many monarchs here, in various stages of growth. this year, despite my best investigative efforts, i can find not a one. zero. zip. nada.

abrupt changes like this worry me, especially where nature is concerned. i have not researched this to see if there's a reason, but i hope this is just a local phenomenon and pray that it's simply a one-year anomaly. spring was too cold. it snowed at the end of may. the summer was too wet. something like that.  
on a related note, last year i took a monarch caterpillar and the milkweed plant it lived on to the little girl's school so her class could observe the transformation firsthand. the creature died. i felt badly then. i feel worse now.

here and now

i am still here. the rhythm i thought i had seems erratic these last few days. i am busy, certainly, but am not feeling terribly productive and i can't quite figure out why. a wise friend says i am just not used to leisure and perhaps she is right. i am looking forward to a few day trips this week. maybe that will help.

i sure don't want this space to turn into a whine-fest, a pity party, but this change in lifestyle dominates my existence right now, so i am struggling with upbeat, interesting ideas for posts. it's pretty silly, i know - all the time i've been writing to this blog, how many times did i actually blog about work? not many!

so bear with me. please.

rhythm of days

it seems i'm beginning to find my retirement "groove", to establish some structure to my days, a bit of a routine in my life. i am working a lot, lazing a bit, and certainly taking time for myself that can't remember ever taking before. today as i was walking, as i watched a bank of clouds give way to bright blue sky, i was momentarily flooded with a sense of sweet contentment, and felt like i belonged right where i was at this point in my life. i sure hope the feeling lasts.

early morning

by 8:30 a.m., i have been out and back again: had take-out coffee, shopped a bit, spied on the little girl's bus routine, stopped to pick some tansy. it feels strange to be doing so little when i am used to doing so much.

better get busy.

not so little

over the weekend, the little girl visited. she was here on two occasions, yet i was still amazed when she walked up to the door this morning. who is this tall person, all legs and arms and laughter? how did she get so big overnight? milk teeth are loose and jiggle on command, her tongue poking into the hole left vacant by her latest loss. she carries on logical conversations and often prefaces her thoughts with "actually...". she reads, she calculates, she plans. and, in a few weeks, she is headed to school.

i remember her mother growing up quickly - but not this fast. i may need to find a new way to refer to the "little girl" since, incredibly, sadly, she's just not so little any more.

getting closer

bittersweet days of late as i finish up a life-long career. a friend tells me i am milking it, taking too much time to finish up and get out. perhaps he's right - but i like the slow, deliberate pace, the empty spaces, the quiet reflecting, the reminiscing and remembering that goes along with all the sorting and packing. so many years. so many kids. so many memories. oh - and sooo much stuff! but more about that in another post...

almost the end

a week from tomorrow will be my last day of school. my last last day of school. i've had forty last days now, and there will be no more.

some of my students tell me retiring is the same as quitting, and i wonder if, in some respects, they are right. in an odd way, i feel a bit like i'm giving up on my profession - not on kids, just on the the way they're guided through the education process. i have always tried so hard to make learning fascinating, fun and joyous for kids, as it is for me, and i'm just not convinced that's happening any more. sometimes i feel responsible, like i should stick around and try more, try harder. and sometimes i feel like i should just move on and attempt to find a better way. clearly, i have chosen the latter and, at this point, there's no turning back. but i can't help but wonder if i'm doing the right thing.

i have taken a part time position that involves children and books, two elements that are a huge part of my present job. although this position will be very different than what i'm doing now, i am hoping having those two constants will help make my transition easier. 

as i blogged last fall, i am not a fan of change. i've been trying hard to be excited about this next stage of my life, and i hope and trust i eventually will be. but for this next week, i think things might just be a little scary and uncertain. and, most likely, a little bit sad. 

a bright shiny new year

i believe this is the earliest i have ever taken down a christmas tree. ever. it still smelled piney fresh as i took off ornaments, which made me feel worse about taking it all down so soon. usually, it's christmas around here for a lot longer than only two weeks. don't get me wrong - the holidays were wondrous in their own right, with the little girl's boundless excitement, with cozy christmas festivities at the girl's family's long-awaited and lovely new home, with lazy days and a respite from the responsibilities of work. but i think i'm ready to be done with the holidays now. i am so curious and so excited about this new year and all that i anticipate it will hold. but right now, i'm looking forward to some routine and stability, to predictability, to quiet and calm. just for a little while.

this also seems a fitting time to thank you, so much, for your readership this year. it's been an odd year for me blog-wise, and i do so appreciate your patience and understanding with that. it still makes my day to find a comment from one of you. truly.

blessings to each of you, and to those you love, in this bright and shiny new year.

change

for a control freak like me, change can be unsettling, unnerving, and sometimes, downright terrifying. this has been such a time of change, both real and potential, and i can feel in my bones that i am handling it badly. always, i have found comfort in the steady rhythm of the seasons and the promise of renewal after a period of darkness and rest. i try to harken back to this now, and it's difficult. i know i need to close my eyes and breathe. trust. let go. even to remember the lilies of the field. but knowing that doesn't make things any easier...at least not yet.