Go Easy on Me- Ms. Riera

As I drove home from an especially difficult family funeral, Adele’s song “Easy On Me” came on the radio.  I had heard the song a million times before, but found that after the song was over the lyrics “go easy on me” were trapped in my brain, repeating on loop and I wasn’t sure why.  

But then like a solar plexus suckerpunch, I realized, “that’s it!” 

That’s what I need! 

That’s what we ALL need;

For life to go a little easier on us.

It is so easy to get caught up in the pressures of everyday life;

The never ending tasks and decisions we make from the moment our eyes open

Until the moment we lay our head down at night.

And even then, our brains deceive us and keep thinking of all the 

Would’ves, could’ves and what-ifs.

We can so easily talk ourselves into believing that we are not doing enough,

Not being enough, not handling things well enough.

And when faced with challenges we are told to “embrace the hard and keep going”

Despite the fact that we may not feel we have enough in the tank to do so.

But if we think about where we came from,

These tiny, perfect, miraculous bundles of precious joy

These souls just waiting to become everything they are meant to be,

Living for right now, not thinking about tomorrow or yesterday,

We see that not much has changed.

We are all still beautiful, fragile creatures in need of someone to hold space,

Emotionally and physically for us.

Just as we would not chastise an infant for crying

Or put down a toddler for taking a tumble,

We too need grace.

Our souls are still full of wonderment and adventure,

Of grandiose possibilities.

Go easy.

On others.

And most importantly, 

On yourself.

My Books- Mrs. Lindquist

 

                *I dedicate this slice to my book-loving friend, Mel Swider Wenz.*

My books have traveled 12,850 miles. All twenty-one large Sterilite bins of them.

Across the United States and back again. Twice.

I started my vast children’s book collection forty-six years ago, and I might add

that I rarely paid for a book. Rather, I used the bonus points I accumulated

when my students ordered books through Scholastic Book Club. Each time

I ordered a book for my classroom, I ordered that same book and put it aside for

the children I hoped to have one day. By the time I was pregnant, I had amassed

two well-stocked libraries – one for school and one for home.

When I began preparing the baby’s room for our first daughter, I purchased a

bookshelf before the crib. I lovingly put every book I had saved on the shelves

and organized them by the author. Sort of nutso. By the time our second

daughter was born, I had quadrupled my collection, and by the time I retired, well,

who knows how many I had stockpiled. I loved reading to my girls and did so until

they went to middle school. I was sad when this special time ended but happy

to have instilled in them the same love of reading that I have. I kept those books

on the bookshelves of our house until the kids had moved out, and my husband and

I decided to downsize our home. That’s when they went into the twenty-one bins.

After we sold the house, we moved into an apartment and waited for the perfect

house to come along. (Mel SW, that one's for you, too.) My husband moved most

of our belongings into a storage unit, including the bins of books. Nine months

later, we found our next house, and he moved those bins (without cursing) out of

the storage unit and into our basement. 

“Why do we (which really meant “I” because he was the one to move them) have to keep lugging these books around?” my husband once asked.

“Why, they are for our grandchildren, of course!” I answered. 

After our eldest daughter got married, I happily gave her all of the books. My husband was thrilled about the newfound space in our basement. I knew the books would always stay in the family and be ready for my younger daughter one day. Fortunately, my son-in-law was in the Air Force, so the military shipped the books on their first journey. . .to Alaska. . .then Maine. . .then Las Vegas. . .and, finally back to Maine. In the middle of these moves, along came Isla, my precious granddaughter.

Now, the books are prominently displayed in their living room. There is no television – only shelves of books. And guess what. My daughter organized them the same way I did! Grammie just loves reading to her granddaughter every weekend and is delighted to see her “read” them to herself! And, of course, there was a grand sense of nostalgia when both of my daughters opened up the books again. 

Except for pictures, I quite literally have saved nothing for as long as I have my cherished books. I’m sure they will travel many more miles and be read many more times❣️ 📚

This pic is unposed. I snuck around the corner and snapped it! 

On a Dime- Mrs. Sullivan

It was early.  I heard the house phone ring, but I chose to ignore it. 

If it was important, they would call again. 

I pulled the covers up, knowing that I would have to get up soon, but I needed to get just

a few more minutes of rest. I wanted to bask in the quiet, before lunches needed to be made,

outfits needed picking out and hair needed brushing. 

Just a little peace before the school and work day began.

But it was difficult to ignore the nagging feeling I was having.  Something felt off. 

The room was getting brighter.  I could tell, even though my eyes were closed.   Soon I would need to get up whether I wanted to or not.  I took a few deep breaths and stretched out my arms, bending my elbows and raising them over my head, like my children had done as babies. I turned to my side toward my nightstand and reluctantly opened my eyes. It was 5:55 am.  It was getting late, usually I was up by now.  But I did not make a move to get up.  I felt safe in bed, and suspected that my day would take a turn once I decided to get up.

I heard a faint sound, and turned my head toward the door.  It started to open, and I expected one of my girls to come charging in.  But it wasn’t my girls.  It was my dad.  He was standing in my doorway.  He and my mom had come to visit, arriving last evening.  My dad was dressed and looked like he had been awake for a while. He did not say anything at first.  He looked at his feet, then back up at me.  His expression looked serious and sorry at the same time. “You need to get up,” my dad said.

“Everything alright?” I asked.  And then I thought back to the early morning telephone call.

“I was taking out your garbage,” my dad said, “and the police pulled into your driveway.”  

I sat up.  

“Is everything ok?” I asked again.  

He shook his head, “You need to get dressed.”

Efficient Decision Making or...?- Mrs. Warchut

  “Professor or lawyer?” a tall woman in a suit asked me, as she indicated that she would be joining me in my row.

I looked up from the binder of paper I was editing, a draft of my next novel, to see a tall, well-dressed woman in a suit.

“Neither. Teacher… and author,” I said, still adjusting to claiming this as part of my identity. 

I stood up to let her slide by me and take a seat. She left an empty seat between the two of us, enough space for a little privacy but close enough so that we could have some pleasant conversation.

“I’m a paralegal, so they probably won’t pick me. Looks like almost everyone else is a phone zombie, but not you,” she said, pointing to my binder.

I looked around the large, rectangular room with auditorium seating facing a screen in the front. Narrow vertical windows provided some natural light and peaceful blue sky. I thought I’d be able to see more buildings, but the sky was nice, peaceful even. I started counting and got up to about seventy other jurors. If they were only picking twelve out of seventy, what are the odds I’ll be picked?

“How many cases do you think they are looking for jurors for?” Since she worked in law, I figured she might have more experience here than me.

“Yes, that’s how it works now. It didn’t used to be that way, but this is more efficient.” 

As jurors, we’d all gone through the same rigamarole that morning, parking in the juror lot, going through strict security, waiting in a lobby to be taken in the elevator, six or seven at a time, to the fourth floor, the jury’s waiting space. There, we checked in. I didn’t need the summons they sent me or even my ID. My name sufficed. Perhaps through Real ID my picture popped up and I looked close enough? Perhaps no one would randomly show up for jury duty and give the right name of their own volition? 

While we were waiting in line to check in, there was some chatter among jurors, if it was someone’s first time, what happened when they called the hotline the night before–it just rang, or it was busy or it took them an hour to get through, if they had deferred or not.

But once we were in the waiting room, she was right. Almost everyone immediately plugged into their phones, bodies hunched, lost in a digital world a few square inches in size. 

How unlike the last time I had jury duty. How long ago was that? I was still in New York City. Could it have been fifteen years ago? I don’t think anyone had a phone out back then. Yes, smart phones had been invented, but they didn’t have wireless or WiFi access everywhere, and definitely not in a courthouse. Now, WiFi was everywhere. Even in subways. For so many years, you had to rely on the maps in the subway cars for directions, and now, you could just look at your phone. The last time I had jury duty, back in New York City, back in my twenties, I’d taken a book and ended up sitting beside a Rockette. We spent most of the day just talking. 

They called us to attention, and most of the others put their phones away. The woman in charge spent a good amount of time thanking us, telling us how important what we were doing was, and how they appreciated our making the sacrifice–getting babysitters, asking off work, making arrangements to be there. 

“Our system of justice exists for everyone, and in order to preserve this system, we rely on people like you.Your presence and participation is vital to our system of justice. We try more cases in front of a jury in the United States than any other country in the world.” She told us to, “Listen carefully, keep an open mind, avoid biases, and use common sense.” 

Some of the things she said echoed episodes of Dragnet and other cop shows or movies that I had seen. How the defendant was presumed innocent unless proven otherwise beyond a reasonable doubt, how the state must prove guilt and how the defendant didn’t have to prove anything at all. And how the defendant had the right to remain silent and that was not an indication of guilt or innocence, just a right that the defendant had.

Then we watched a movie about implicit bias. I’d always thought that it was something negative, subconsciously prejudging people based on a few traits or observations. The movie had a different take. It called them ‘mental shortcuts’ that were sometimes helpful in navigating the world and making efficient decisions, but that could have dangerous consequences in a courtroom. It said, “Awareness is fairness. Would you make the same decision if the person was of another gender, race, or age?”

When the woman asked me if I was a professor or lawyer, she was just using a mental shortcut to classify me, to find someone to sit near. Not inherently negative, just efficient decision making on her part in a new situation. 

Sh** happens- by Ms. Schreiber

 Sh** happens.

My mom reminded me to hear my dad’s words as I sat at her kitchen table, blinking back tears, holding an ice-pack to my face, and lamenting my stupidity.  My mom and I tend to be rather emotional, and get quite upset with ourselves when we feel we’ve done something really dumb.  My dad is much more relaxed about these things, and in those moments when we are beating ourselves, he’ll pull out that phrase, saying it only as he can with his Israeli accent.  But he’s absolutely right.  It does.

Perhaps you have noticed my wonderful shiner--some of you have inquired, some of you may have felt you shouldn’t.  When it first happened, I could not run away fast enough from those who witnessed it, but now that some time has passed, I’ll admit what happened.  Unfortunately I did not get it from wrestling a bobcat or emerging triumphant from a bar fight (you should see the other guy!).  Nope.  It happened right here at Latimer Lane, ending the Friday of that first mini-week back from vacation with quite a bang.

I was on my way out of the building at the end of the day.  As I headed towards the front door, for some unknown reason I looked back over my left shoulder into the office.  I put my hands slightly in front of my waist, expecting to feel the push bar of the door as I walked.  Except I didn’t.  I must have shifted slightly to the left of the door, and smacked into the pane of glass with my face so hard I fell over backwards, ending up on the floor on my back, looking up at the ceiling.  

Kendra, Stacie and Katelyn immediately came to help and see if I was ok.  I mumbled “I’m fine” as I walked quickly to the car, feeling the welt on my head growing by the second.  Vicki called me moments later.  By the time I drove to my mom’s house, 5 minutes away, the right side of my face was completely swollen.  The swelling has come down, but the bruising has come out, hence my now colorful face.  I know it’s a sign of healing, and my initial ego wound of sheer mortification that I would DO such a thing has healed too.  And I’ve had time to realize and remember a few things.

Perhaps one of the best things about the human race is that we are certainly not my beloved Mary Poppins, “practically perfect in every way.”  We are beautifully IMPERFECT.  And the goofs we make through life, whether small or spectacular, all come with messages and morals.  So here’s my list:

1. Always watch where you are going!  Enjoy the opportunities to look around when you can.  But when you need to focus straight ahead, make that decision.

2. Appreciate the wonderful people who surround you.  Value those who care about your well-being, offer you help, make you laugh, and comfort you.  Families, friends, colleagues, students, and sometimes even strangers want you to feel your best.

3. Give yourself grace.  Forgive yourself.  Laugh at yourself.  Make changes when necessary.  You never stop evolving, you never stop learning life’s lessons.

I can tell you am keenly aware of doorways and those pesky poles in the lobby right now.  I hope I don’t experience another painful accident for a while, but I’m sure eventually I’ll do something silly, and I will learn from that too.  

Because hey…sh** happens.

Sub Plans- Mrs. Smith

 “Sub Plans sent to the sub account.” 

I read it again. I still didn’t understand what it meant. I was at the teacher's desk, with the typed up printed pages of Important Information to know for her class, 5th grade math. It’s September 2023, and this is my first upper level assignment and I really wanted it to go smoothly. 

What is the “sub account”...? I looked for more information on the desk. Nothing. I read it out loud this time, maybe that would help my brain recall if I had been informed of something like “sub account” before today. No. I needed help. 

Though I hadn’t yet met many of the teachers at Latimer, after bouncing around the other elementary schools for the last few weeks, I felt fine interrupting somebody to ask for help. My background in the corporate world, I developed a hesitation in asking unknown peers for assistance, it usually didn’t pan out quite right. But, I needed to ask for help. But maybe not the teacher setting up across the hall, that would be disruptive? So, rather than asking across the hall first, I went to the front office and asked Beth. Beth wasn’t sure what it meant either… back up the stairs I went, right by Mrs. Haven’s class, and apologetically, I asked the teacher across the hall from the 5th grade class for help. 

“Do you have a minute to spare!? I need some help with finding the plans for  the day. She references ‘sub account’ and I have less than zero idea what that means, and I did ask Beth first.” It all came out as one word, essentially. She understood, and I was grateful. 

She was so kind - she smiled, and immediately stopped what she had been doing and came right into the class for whom I was subbing, and went to work, waving off my apologies. Since I already had the Yellow Sub Folder from Beth, she explained to me, as she showed me where to find the logins, then proceeded to log into the substitute gmail, that “the ‘Sub Account’ she’s talking about is a gmail account to which the teachers can email their daily sub plans for the substitute assigned to access and use for that day, or few days for longer assignments.” 

The account loaded; I saw hundreds of emails, some read and some unread, but sure enough, there were the plans from the teacher for whom I was covering. “Edney September 2023 Sub Plans.” 

They were slides -so I wouldn’t need to prepare the slides for the smartboard, or the morning message and morning meeting agenda. It was all there. “Now you should be able to go to Presentation mode… and it should show right on these ol’ smartboards. We’re going to be getting new ones in each class when the renovation is complete, and that gets started next month.” 

By this time, I had learned how to work the smart board, so as she pulled up the Presentation, I got the screen set. My 10 minute panic was resolved so satisfyingly. The plans direct from the teacher were pulled up and ready with 3 minutes to breathe before the kids started arriving. 

After she, again, waved off my gratitude she headed for the door with, “I’m happy to help. We’re a team here, and we’re happy to help however we can. Good luck today.” And she was gone. Instead of panicked, I felt good. That went well. Maybe this experiment of getting back into education, my entire plan of study in college, would pan out after all…

A Teacher's Summer Cast- Mr. DeVita, Mrs. Aldinger, and Mrs. Foster

 A Teacher’s Summer Cast

Before the school bells called us back,

We ventured forth, our gear to pack.

With storms a-brewing, skies of gray,

The Flying Connie led the way.

Captain Nick, our fearless guide,

Tamed the ocean, turned the tide.

With rods in hand, we cast with glee,

And caught our laughter on the sea.

A Barbie pole, oh what a sight,

Reeled in a catch—it felt just right!

Stripers, blues, and jokes to share,

The salty breeze erased all care.

Our last hurrah before the fall,

With friends and fish, we had it all.

So here’s to summer’s fleeting glow,

And casting joy before we go!