Well, today marked a new turning point in my life. I drove to Cabot to hand over my two cable television boxes and to request to be disconnected from my HGTV, my Weather Channel, and all the other stations that I have come to love and enjoy. Yes, my home no longer has television - other than movies played through the DVD/video player. I know you are probably thinking that she has lost her ever-loving mind...and I just might before it is all over with. I am sure that my withdrawal symptoms will resemble someone coming off of crack cocaine! If you see my shaking and eating lots of chocolate, then please understand where the symptoms are originating from...
A couple of Sundays ago, I heard a relatively simple story of a person watching so much television that that same person was missing out on life. There was little time to go outside, to offer help to the neighbors, to read, and to enjoy time with family members. I was really convicted because my work load (from school and from home) always seemed to be growing, while my time in front of the television was also growing. I was simply becoming an addict, and I knew what I had to do. I had to get rid of it all...to purge my home from all remotes, all cable boxes, everything.
So, I did it today. I drove up to the Suddenlink office in Cabot and walked right through the glass doors, boxes, remotes, and all. I laid them upon the altar of the lady sitting behind it and told her that I was now regaining my life, taking it back from the television companies. She smiled. I am sure she thought, "This person will be back, crawling to me and begging for the reconnection." I also smiled, feeling pretty darn good about the afternoon. I got home, turned on the radio, and got everything done that I had put off all week. Um, if this continues, I might actually get my spring cleaning done during spring! Cool, huh?
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Little Red Schoolhouse
Last week, I had an opportunity to drive by the site where I attended kindergarten. It was actually in a little red schoolhouse, located on Mrs. C's property, right next to her home. It was a one-room building made of wood, painted in red and trimmed in white. There was a white picket fence surrounding the school on three sides, and in the backyard, a sandbox and a swing set. I honestly cannot understand how 15 students and one adult managed to fit inside of that building, with desks and chairs and drawing easels and toys joining us. I guess it was a marvel of physics...maybe it was just that we were so tiny, as was all of the furniture. And I also cannot understand where Mrs. C got the money to fund all the equipment and books and such. I don't think there were government stipends back then - or maybe there was. That's another mystery that will probably never be answered.
Nevertheless, the room was filled with inquisitive minds and mischievious youngsters. I remember on the day of our graduation, everyone was dressed up in their Sunday best. Our parents and grandparents were enjoying punch and cookies in our classroom, while the children were outside in the backyard playing. At some point, the girls turned on the boys and yes, I was involved in the great sandbox escapade! We poured sand on top of the boys, getting sand in their hair and on their clothes. I don't remember what happened next...I must have blocked it out for some reason that would probably require a great psychologist to unlock it from my neurons.
Oh well, such were the playful antics of kindergartners!
Anyway, the other day I drove by the little red schoolhouse only to find that they were tearing it down. I almost had a wreck! How could they remove such a vital landmark from the community? I thought about flinging my body in front of the man welding the crow bar, and I would have had it not been for my daughter telling me to keep driving and to not stop. She was embarrassed over my emotional outburst, since her high school friend was in the car. (Note: both are 17 and female - which brews up all sorts of emotions on any given day!). So I continued to drive, amid tears flowing from my eyes. My schoolhouse was being torn down. My memory was being destroyed.
I made a mental note to return and ask for a piece of the siding, as a nostaligic gesture...but because I am also in menopause, I forgot by the time I had dropped off my daughter and her friend at the high school.
I wonder if I will also forget the time spent within the walls of the little red schoolhouse? I sure hope not!
Nevertheless, the room was filled with inquisitive minds and mischievious youngsters. I remember on the day of our graduation, everyone was dressed up in their Sunday best. Our parents and grandparents were enjoying punch and cookies in our classroom, while the children were outside in the backyard playing. At some point, the girls turned on the boys and yes, I was involved in the great sandbox escapade! We poured sand on top of the boys, getting sand in their hair and on their clothes. I don't remember what happened next...I must have blocked it out for some reason that would probably require a great psychologist to unlock it from my neurons.
Oh well, such were the playful antics of kindergartners!
Anyway, the other day I drove by the little red schoolhouse only to find that they were tearing it down. I almost had a wreck! How could they remove such a vital landmark from the community? I thought about flinging my body in front of the man welding the crow bar, and I would have had it not been for my daughter telling me to keep driving and to not stop. She was embarrassed over my emotional outburst, since her high school friend was in the car. (Note: both are 17 and female - which brews up all sorts of emotions on any given day!). So I continued to drive, amid tears flowing from my eyes. My schoolhouse was being torn down. My memory was being destroyed.
I made a mental note to return and ask for a piece of the siding, as a nostaligic gesture...but because I am also in menopause, I forgot by the time I had dropped off my daughter and her friend at the high school.
I wonder if I will also forget the time spent within the walls of the little red schoolhouse? I sure hope not!
Friday, February 8, 2008
We're Not in Kansas Anymore
Upon leaving her house, Dorothy realized that she and Toto were no longer in Kansas but in a whole new land. All that was comfortable to her was no longer present. Those that she had taken for granted were no longer around, and as she moved through Oz, she came to realize that home was a special place.
I drove to my home town yesterday evening, to visit with my parents as they celebrate their 51st wedding anniversary - and to also talk with a variety of doctors about the possible amputation of my mother's leg. I found myself in a foreign land as I realized that what was comfortable and often taken for granted would soon change.
Before I drifted off to sleep, I thought about this house and all that has happened inside of its walls. I could almost hear my mom in the kitchen, cooking another fabulous meal and talking with my dad. I could almost see her walking through the den as she folded clothes or made up the beds. There are so many things in this house that have her fingerprints all over them...and I came to realize that this is a special place, too.
I wish I could've realized before now her presence and how it affected the entire family. Her laughter, her comical nature, and her ability to welcome all into this home - they were all very special. And we were unconditionally loved by her - which served as our foundation, our support to weather all that lay outside of these doors.
And as I talked with my own daughter, about her plans of school and work and her own future, I briefly saw the circle of life - but from a different perspective. From a mom's perspective. And life continues on in an amazing way...except this time, I want to appreciate all that make it up: people, places, and things.
I drove to my home town yesterday evening, to visit with my parents as they celebrate their 51st wedding anniversary - and to also talk with a variety of doctors about the possible amputation of my mother's leg. I found myself in a foreign land as I realized that what was comfortable and often taken for granted would soon change.
Before I drifted off to sleep, I thought about this house and all that has happened inside of its walls. I could almost hear my mom in the kitchen, cooking another fabulous meal and talking with my dad. I could almost see her walking through the den as she folded clothes or made up the beds. There are so many things in this house that have her fingerprints all over them...and I came to realize that this is a special place, too.
I wish I could've realized before now her presence and how it affected the entire family. Her laughter, her comical nature, and her ability to welcome all into this home - they were all very special. And we were unconditionally loved by her - which served as our foundation, our support to weather all that lay outside of these doors.
And as I talked with my own daughter, about her plans of school and work and her own future, I briefly saw the circle of life - but from a different perspective. From a mom's perspective. And life continues on in an amazing way...except this time, I want to appreciate all that make it up: people, places, and things.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Welcome to My World
I guess I should formally introduce myself to you. I am an educator, and have been for 22 years. Gosh, that seems like such a long time - but it really has gone by quickly. During that time, I have had so many opportunities to meet great people - students and fellow teachers - and have made wonderful - and sometimes funny - memories.
One such memory occurred just today. I was observing a pre-service teacher in a rural school setting near the university where I work. The middle school is rather new and the community is still breaking in the equipment. During the science lab, I was observing the students as they discovered more about acids and bases. Being a science teacher, I knew all of the standard procedures while in a laboratory setting. However, sometimes even teachers make mistakes.
The mentor teacher asked if I wanted to see the bag of sheep eyes that they would be working on later in the week, and I responded with a hearty "yes." I love dissecting, especially the comments and looks from the kids themselves. She placed the rather large bag onto the demonstration table at the front of the room. I couldn't resist touching the bag, lightly squishing the contents. After we talked briefly about the upcoming activity, she removed the bag and placed them back in the cooler.
I continued walking around the room, and forgot a simple rule of thumb: to wash the hands after handling objects. I rubbed my right eye, and immediately began to have a reaction. The lid started to swell and my eye became bloodshot. It was producing large quantities of tears. The mentor teacher and the preservice teacher asked if I should go to the school nurse. I reassured them that I would be fine, and excused myself to the ladies restroom where I washed my eye out with cold water.
Upon returning to the lab, the 6th grade students excitedly asked if I could demonstrate the eye wash station. They had never had a chance to use the equipment and saw this as a golden opportunity. I did not want to be the guinea pig for their pleasure, so I politely declined.
We all chuckled by the episode. I mentioned to the preservice teacher to remind the students what happens when one doesn't follow through with the safety precautions. I think the kids will remember this for several days to come. I know I will...
One such memory occurred just today. I was observing a pre-service teacher in a rural school setting near the university where I work. The middle school is rather new and the community is still breaking in the equipment. During the science lab, I was observing the students as they discovered more about acids and bases. Being a science teacher, I knew all of the standard procedures while in a laboratory setting. However, sometimes even teachers make mistakes.
The mentor teacher asked if I wanted to see the bag of sheep eyes that they would be working on later in the week, and I responded with a hearty "yes." I love dissecting, especially the comments and looks from the kids themselves. She placed the rather large bag onto the demonstration table at the front of the room. I couldn't resist touching the bag, lightly squishing the contents. After we talked briefly about the upcoming activity, she removed the bag and placed them back in the cooler.
I continued walking around the room, and forgot a simple rule of thumb: to wash the hands after handling objects. I rubbed my right eye, and immediately began to have a reaction. The lid started to swell and my eye became bloodshot. It was producing large quantities of tears. The mentor teacher and the preservice teacher asked if I should go to the school nurse. I reassured them that I would be fine, and excused myself to the ladies restroom where I washed my eye out with cold water.
Upon returning to the lab, the 6th grade students excitedly asked if I could demonstrate the eye wash station. They had never had a chance to use the equipment and saw this as a golden opportunity. I did not want to be the guinea pig for their pleasure, so I politely declined.
We all chuckled by the episode. I mentioned to the preservice teacher to remind the students what happens when one doesn't follow through with the safety precautions. I think the kids will remember this for several days to come. I know I will...
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