We (we Americans) are in the midst of a contentious presidential election. I’ve been blogging since 2010 and, so far, I’ve successfully avoided talking politics. AND, I am not going to break with tradition, I’ll keep my opinion on the presidential election to myself.
But, “all politics is local,” former Congressman and Speaker of the House Tip O’Neil is credited with the phrase, bit it’s a moot point.
I vote, or should vote, for the candidate that most closely aligns with my political, and economic, interests. That is what makes the election for a national leader local.
I teach 8th graders US History (and science) and my students are itching to know who I am voting for or planning to vote for this year. I am not telling them who I am planning to vote for, either.
It’s Sunday morning. Sunday is usually the last day of the weekend, but this weekend brings a holiday on Monday – Columbus Day. So, our ‘Sunday’ is Monday, and we get an extra day to renew and restore.
Last night, B and I waited up as long as we could but we finally fell asleep when W, our oldest, came home after the high school homecoming dance – his last. Our daughter O, and youngest, started off at a friend’s house across the street, then went to see a movie.
Saturdays are busy for our family, W plays football and is on the field Friday night for the varsity game, but plays Saturday morning in the JV game. O plays softball and her games are on Saturday afternoon. And, there are chores, too stuff that doesn’t get done during the week.
Last night, I ordered pizza – pepperoni, onion, and garlic with extra sauce, in case you wondered. B and I shared it watching baseball (the Cubs) and then, college football trying to stay awake. I knew it would be a late night, late enough to post this response to the Word Press Photo Challenge – Happy Place. But, I couldn’t write struggling for focus and I decided to finish Sunday morning.
I’d been to one of my ‘happy places’ Saturday morning. Sunday, we’ll drive west to another ‘happy place,’ and then spend Monday finishing the weekend together – chores and preparing for the coming week.
I am happy, almost always, in almost any place, I am reasonable flexible person, but there are times when there is comfort in small, simple things. Saturday brought one; Sunday will bring another.
W’s JV football game was at 8:30 Saturday morning, he had to be at school at 6:45 and he was a difficult young man to awaken. It took several trips upstairs before his feet hit the floor and he began to move.
W’s JV team won their game and he played, but that’s another story, for another time. This football season has been a lesson in adversity for W and his senior class.
After the game, I asked B if she wanted to go to the French Market. She smiled and replied, ‘”yes.” I drove and picked the route, choosing a longer but more peaceful tranquil over the more heavily travelled shorter path.
Yesterday morning was a picture perfect early fall morning with crisp cool temperatures and a clear blue endless sky; perfect weather for a Tiger win and a visit to the French Market.
I wanted to visit my flower vendor, Ari’s Flowers. I love their flowers and I’ve been posting them often this fall. We had struck up a conversation several weeks ago and I shared that I planned to give all of my students a pink Ticonderoga pencil to honor a former student, Melinda and her late mom and Breast Cancer Awareness month. She mentioned that she was a breast cancer survivor and wanted to for something my students, too. Last week I gave her a package of the pink pencils when I stopped in to buy my anniversary roses and she reminded me to come back this week. Continue reading The Happy Place: A Photo Challenge→
I have been to two funerals as a teacher. I do not want to go to another funeral again. Ever.
Both funerals I attended were in my first two years as a teacher. Actually, the first funeral was in the summer of between my first and second years of teaching. It was awful. The second was less than a year later. It was just as awful. I have not been to another funeral since though one of students lost their dad last spring. The teachers were not invited and I wanted to go, but I couldn’t; I had my own family funeral to attend to last spring.
At the time, there were not words in my vocabulary to express the feeling of awfulness I had when I looked into the eyes of my twelve year-old student and told him and her that I was sorry that their mother had passed away. I think I fumbled with some words like “I am so sorry for your loss.” Or maybe I said, “I have been praying for you and your family, please let me know what I can do to help you.” No matter what I said, it didn’t take away the pain of losing their mother. Or the uncertainty of what the future held for them. Those kids – Melinda and Jeremiah – are now in their twenties and out of college and have jobs like me. Occasionally, I get to visit the high school and I ran into Melinda on my way in one time, we had a nice conversation and then we parted. I had Jeremiah’s sister two years after their mom passed away and she wrote an amazing essay about how her mother’s passing was an important event in her life. I remember the essay well, it was good, thoughtful, well written; it was head and shoulders above her peer’s papers. I followed them along in high school occasionally asking high school teachers or counselors whom I knew how they were doing and then they graduated high school and I lost touch. They’re grown now, or as grown as someone is when they are in the second half of their twenties.