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Full Moments

Last week while I was at work Maggie and Sydney went up and spent the night at my parent’s house. I got to go up the next day after working a half day and tag along with their adventures.  My mom planted some bulbs and it took about half a second before Maggie was right next to her assisting.

My mom is such a garden whiz, I’m envious. She makes planting 75 bulbs seem like a walk in the park, where if I were to be faced with the task, I’d feel overwhelmed. Someday I’ll be a better gardener, right? I love that Maggie doesn’t hesitate to get her hands dirty and try and figure out what she can do for help. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I think my child’s thumb is greener than my own.

 

Green thumbs aside, I listened to my parents and Maggie head out the door the next morning to go get the morning paper. I shuffled about the house before finding my shoes to catch up with them, because walking the length of my parent’s driveway is soothing to me. It is the perfect length of a walk to carry a warm cup of tea and still get to the mailbox with a sip left. It is also the perfect length to remind me of where I came from. It is the perfect length to have conversations that sometimes get interrupted, ignored or forgotten.

It makes me happy to think about Maggie already helping to work in the garden with my mom and pick blackberries along the driveway with my dad. Isn’t that just what life is about? Those moments that flash by and can be gone if you don’t take notice. We’re working hard to slow down and notice those moments, those life-filled moments.

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I’ll Pick One For You

So many of us are spending time remembering where we were ten years ago on the 11th of September, and remembering seems to come easily because forgetting such moments seems impossible. I’d just returned home to Washington from my second summer of living in Delaware and New Jersey working as a nanny.  Before I flew home, Nicole and I went up to New York for a quick visit, acting as tourists and taking in all that the big city had to offer. We were 21 and 22 years old, still practically kids. We did all the typical New York tourist things and a little bit more. I flew back home to Washington on September 08th.

On the morning of September 11th, I had not yet gone back to college and was asleep at my parent’s house when Izak, who was getting ready or school, burst into my room announcing that New York had possibly been hit with a bomb. I stumbled out of bed and huddled around the TV with Izak and my parents. We watched as the newscaster attempted to commentate what was happening. Airplanes…not a bomb. I don’t think I understood the gravity of what was happening, but it became apparent very quickly that a great tragedy was unfolding before our eyes.

Peeling ourselves away from the TV my mom and I went to pick blackberries at a secret patch a few minutes away, Izak went to school and my dad off to work. As my mom and I picked blackberries, I’ll never forget her bursting into tears saying that for each blackberry that she picked she couldn’t help but think of that representing a person affected by the airplane attacks on the Twin Towers. After that we picked in silence and I too sent a little prayer with each berry that plunked in to my bucket.

A short time later we went back home and discovered that my dad had left work to come home and watch the news. So we watched. A few friends called to make sure that I’d made it home from the East Coast, last they’d heard I was headed for New York City. I was fine, but the fact that just days before I’d been strolling through Central Park, riding the subway, watching a broadway show and taking my picture with the Twin Towers behind me just didn’t seem all together possible.

I’ve avoided listening to remembrances on the radio or news stories reminding me about that day. I don’t really need a reminder to remember. The horror of watching the news that day and the following months/years is etched well into my mind. I don’t imagine I’ll ever forget some of those images. Ever.

We bought some blackberries last week at the Farmers Market and I’ve been sprinkling them into my yogurt in the morning. Today I stood staring at the remaining little basket left over from our purchase and thought of those blackberries I picked with my mom 10 years ago. We could still be picking today and still not have said enough prayers for those affected by September 11th and the events that followed.

 

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And The Teacher Stayed Home

For the second September in a row I’m not bustling around getting my own classroom ready for students and rehashing summer escapades with co-workers. Instead, I’m getting to enjoy this last bit of sunshine and head out the door with our picnic lunch to meet up with some friends for the day.  I need to remember this feeling, a relaxing September, because when I do head back to the classroom (when is that happening, again?) I’ll forget these days.

I stopped by my former classroom a couple weeks ago and discovered that it had all but moved on without me. New furniture arrangement, new projector, new teacher, new, new new. It felt a bit bittersweet, but life moves on and things change, so it wasn’t that difficult to see. Plus, I still feel very connected to the rest of the building and the people, so not having my room be mine anymore didn’t sting too bad.

Over Labor Day weekend we went to a family BBQ hosted by Barry’s grandparents. It was a day full of badminton, watermelon, family, new babies, engagements, and sunshine. I had asked Barry’s uncle if we could raid their apple tree, but by the time we rolled out of Greg and Linda’s driveway it was dark and Maggie was ready to fall asleep. Yesterday morning we woke up to a huge bag of apples on our porch that Barry’s dad had dropped of on his way to work and I couldn’t be more happy. I’ve got my work cut out for me: chopping, slicing, grating, boiling, mashing, mixing…..and whatever else I can find to do with these things before they go bad.

I’m not shaking hands at Meet the Teacher or making sure that all my students get on the right bus, but I know plenty of teachers that are doing those things and much, much more. I also know students that are starting their first day of school, making new friends, learning the ins and outs of a school day with a new teacher. It all takes such work and dedication. There is such freshness and newness in these first weeks that is both exhausting and exhilarating.

As I grate, peel, steam, mash and whatever else I’m doing with these apples, I know that I’ll be thinking of my fellow teacher friends and and students. I only hope that every teacher has a class full of students that makes coming to work a highlight, and that every student has a teacher that is happy to see their face every day.  Bustle along, friends, and I hope this school year is as blessed as can be.

I’m off to see about some apples.