It’s not you, it’s me

My anxiety about returning to my school building today – and for the next three days – has very little to do with fear of catching COVID. I am fully vaccinated after all. It has everything to do with people.

I am one of those introverts who has actually thrived ( thriven?) in isolation. I love being at home. My students are being successful. I have a happy routine that has worked for the last year. For the next three days, I have to be around people and that has me very anxious. Since I know I probably won’t be teaching in my own room, I’ve been making jokes about planning in my car. I am really only half joking.

We are a large staff…62 certified teacher, plus administration and classified staff.For the last year I have lived alone, eaten alone, walked alone – except for having Lucy, then Richard by my side. Any forays into the grocery store are strategic strikes, in and out in minimal time. And now, for the next three days, I have to sit in a room with most of those 62+ people as we learn how hybrid will look.

This is what is stressing me out today. Having spent the last year avoiding people, I feel like I am about to enter the lion’s den.

Making a list and checking it twice

In the weeks before a vacation, I start a list of things I want to remember to pack. I have a special list for things I particularly want in my carry-on. Well, I am not going on vacation anytime soon, but I do have to go into school for three days next week, as we prepare for hybrid learning.That means I have to pack my schoolbag for three full days away from home. I haven’t had to do that in over a year.

Over the last few days, I have been writing a list so I know what to pack in my bag tonight, so I am ready to get going in the morning. Here’s what I have so far:

1. lunch
2. 2020-21 meeting notebook
3. wallet
4. inhaler
5. phone
6. ID & lanyard
7. computer
8. power cord
9. extra masks
10. pencil pouch
11. a book to read

I tell my students to pack their back the night before so they are ready in the morning. I’ll take some time today to get mine ready. I’ll add the lunch tomorrow morning. A new routine begins.

RIP Beverly Cleary

Did you know there really is a Klickitat Street in Portland? It’s not far from my local public library, and it is the neighbor hood in which Beverly Cleary set her Ramona books.

Beverly Clearly passed away on Wednesday, at the ripe old age of 104. In honor of her passing, I will share my favorite Ramona quotes, in no particular order

1. “Why don’t you turn on the dawnzer?” – Ramona, thinking she was quite smart, thigh that dawnzer was a synonym for lamp. She learned it in the national anthem: “Oh say, can you see, by the dawnzer lee light.” Brilliant!
2. “Sit here for the present.” Ramona’s teacher says this to her on the first day of school. Ramona follows her directions perfectly, expecting a present for doing so. I like to say this to kids and I snicker when I do. I think they think I am crazy.
3. “Pieface!” Mrs Swink, an elderly neighbor, and Ramona call each other this in a good-natured way.
4. “I am too  a Merry Sunshine.” Ramon says this when she is accused of not being one. You can imagine the tone f voice she used when saying this.

To celebrate her life, I hope you turn on a dawnzer, do something for the present, and shout “Pieface!” at someone you love.

Time Flies

“Good morning,” my neighbor said to me as I took Richard for our afternoon walk. She realized her error and laughed.

I joined in and said, ” I get it. I’m on Spring Break and keep thinking today is Saturday.” I paused for a moment and had to think what day it really was.

By the time we got to the park, the conversation had drifted far from my brain. we meandered on and off the path. It was a nice day – in Oregon that means it’s not raining. I kept looking around wondering why there were so few people here on a Saturday. And then I remembered.

It’s bittersweet when you get to this point in Spring Break- you are deep enough to lose track of time, and deep enough that the Break is almost over.

Conquering the mountain

Last week, the week before Spring Break, when I felt tired, it seemed like a terrific idea to put off grading the two pieces of work I had asked my students to turn in. This week, it seemed less terrific.

I didn’t have a bag of work propped by the door. In these days if remote earning, it was a virtual pile in my Canvas account. Despite the fact that I couldn’t see the work, it still loomed large in my mind. I needed to do something about it. Tempted as I was to procrastinate until Sunday, yesterday presented an opportunity.

After playing phone tag with the vets office, we had decided to start Richard on a low dose of prednisone fr five days. The tech I spoke to on Tuesday afternoon told me she’d call in the scrip to my local grocery store since their offices were closed on Wednesdays. I assumed she meant she’d call it in right away so I waited half an hour then drove over. They had no record of the scrip. I knew I’d have to try again the next morning.

I don’t sleep in much on weekends or holidays, maybe only 30 minutes beyond a normal work day, so I was up early on Wednesday. I knew the pharmacy opened at 9 and I planned to call before I drove over this time. As an early riser, I had time to kill. What better way to kill to birds with one stone than to take a look at that mountain of work while I waited to call?

My teaching partner is disciplined and likes to score a set number a day. I like to sit down and binge grade. I have a routine around it, setting up my work are a certain way, following a particular order of operations. It works for me.

And my master plan worked for me this day.

I managed to get most of the work done by 9:30, when I called the pharmacy. Yes, they did have a scrip for Richard. I dressed and drove over. I was in and out in 15 minutes. After greeting Richard, who missed me as if I’d been gone all day, I got back to work and finished the school work before lunch.

The Right Tool for the Job

I’d already skeined up the yarn for my new sweater when I sat down to pull the needles out of the case in which I store them. Several years ago, after keeping them jumbled in a drawer for most of my life, I had organized them by size in an accordion folder.

I popped the clasp and went to the pocket for the first sized needle I needed US3/3.25 mm. I had the long circular needle I needed, but not the double points or the short circular I needed for the neckline. How could I not have the double points?

I had the other needles I needed, but the US3s were vital to the start. I could make do with an alternative, but I do like to have the right tool for a job.

Each needle serves a purpose: edge ribbing, neckline, sleeve cuffs, body, color work. It used to be that you got one or two page patterns with two needle sizes. Over the last decade or so, patterns have become longer, with more explicitly written directions that don’t assume the reader knows the difference between an ssk and k2tog. Pattern designers editorialize and offer alternatives to a single way of doing something. There are links to video tutorials. Sometimes I read or watch them, sometimes I don’t.

The one thing I don’t compromise on is my needles. I have had some for decades and, though they bring fond memories, I have been replacing some of the older ones. So, I placed an order for the needles I needed and started a pair of socks while I awaited their arrival.

Today, I will finish the socks and, with new needles in hand, begin the sweater.

Sarcasm becomes you

I took a year of Latin in high school. I would have taken more, but there wasn’t enough demand. I was left only able to articulate simple ideas such as Canis est in via and Caecilius est mendax.

I was gifted, however, with a world of Latin phrases. Every Friday, Mr. Glaesner would teach us useful Latin phrases for all occasions.

Per ardua ad astra

Nemo me impune lacessit 

Semper ubi, sub ubi

Those of you who studied Latin will see the humor in that last one.

Since coming back from Winter Break, one of my students has started a class tradition. He received a sarcasm-a-day calendar and shares each day’s quote in the chat box. Even though some of the quotes are terrible, we all enjoy reading them and they lead us into some interesting discussion.

Well, imagine my surprise yesterday morning when I opened my school email to see a message from that student sharing yesterday’s quote of the day:

“ I don’t have the time nor the crayons to explain this to you.” 

I smiled and sent a non-sarcastic message back.

Eyes are the windows to the soul

If eyes are the window to the soul, then I am in trouble. Richard, too.

Even though theologians will say that dogs have no soul, dog lovers know better. Both our souls are in peril because we are both suffering from allergies that are affecting our eyes. I noticed my own eyes first – the itchiness, the redness, the runniness. Constantly rubbing, I irritated the skin around my eyes.

Then Richard started a new behavior: rubbing his face on the edge of his bed. At first I thought it was a cute behavior because he is a funny boy with a great sense of humor. (How can you say he has no soul if he has a great sense of humor?) I noticed goop in his eyes. I noticed redness and irritation in the skin around his eyes.

He came to me because of bad allergies and ears. I was surprised at how well he looked back in October. He had a fat medical file but was in pretty good shape. We weaned him off the meds he’d been on and he was doing really well. Now, I can see how bad his allergies can get despite the twice weekly bath and ear cleaning he’s been getting.

He has a recheck with his allergy and ear vet next Friday, April 2nd, but I am going to call today to see if they’ve had a cancellation this week. I know how bad my eyes feel right now. I hate to think how bad he feels – and how much worse he might feel if he has to wait another two weeks.

Grumbling

I grumbled through the day yesterday, indulging my inner curmudgeon. Early in the morning we’d received a text announcing a stand-up Zoom staff meeting regarding staffing for next year.

The thing is, our district has had a habit of announcing bad news late on Friday afternoons. And here we were, the Friday before Spring Break. What else could it be but bad news? So, I grumbled through the day.

The last ten minutes of the last class were excruciating. My mind whirled. Will they tell us how our staff will be decimated by the opening on the new middle school in Fall? I wondered. Will they name names? Ask for volunteers?

Time ticked slowly. I said good bye to my students, logged out or one Zoom meeting and into another. (I am so looking forward to a lot less screen time over Spring Break!) I kept both my mic and camera off – all the better to grumble through the meeting. Which, it turned out, wasn’t the meeting I’d expected.

Instead of bad news about cuts to our staffing because of the new school, we got bittersweet news. One of our two Vice Principals will be an elementary school principal next year. It’s exciting news for her, but sad for us.

I’d like to think I learned a lesson from yesterday’s meeting, but I know I didn’t. I will be grumbly when the next stand-up Zoom staff meeting is announced. I will hope that the news isn’t too bad. If I expect the worst, I am never disappointed.

Leak

Crack!

I remember the sound, but not what I was pouring into one of my preferred mugs. Tea, probably. Was the kitchen too cold? The tea too hot? Tea can never be too hot, in my estimation, but I digress.

I heard the crack, but saw no sign of damage. I carried the mug from sofa to chair, back and forth all day, filling and refilling it. It seemed to have suffered no damage.

I pulled the same mug out today. There was no crack as I put in first the milk, and then the coffee. I savored the first sip of my morning joe in that mug that feels so good in my hand. Maybe you have a mug like that. The weight and the design are perfect.

Richard got up as he does, while I enjoy my firs cup. I took him out. I fed him. I gave him his treat. But when I returned to my mug, now full of tepid coffee, something was wrong – a pool of coffee encircled the bottom.

Had I spilled? I wondered.

I wiped up the mess and returned to my computer, looking at today’s COVID stats, checking email. Then, there it was again. Not a pool, but a bead of coffee at the mug’s base. I grabbed a paper towel, folded it and set it under the cup. A small stain appeared on the white towel. I moved the mug. A new bead appeared. I wiped the bottom then lifted the mug high but saw no discernible mark. And yet, a new bead appeared. I downed more coffee so I could look inside.My heart sank as I saw the hairline crack that ran the length of the mug, brim to bottom. On closer inspection, I could see the crack on the front.

My heart sank. I picked this mug up at my first District School Librarian meeting. I loved being a school librarian and thought that would be the job I retired from. Alas, it was not to be. Certified school librarian positions were eliminated in 2012. For a couple of years, I hoped the jobs would return, but as the years passed, I realized they would not. This mug was a reminder of a job that I loved. Now, it too had run it’s course.

And so, after finishing my coffee, I said a fond farewell to one of my favorite mugs. It was a double mourning, in a way, the loss of the mug and the loss of a job I loved.