Ordinary Woman, Extraordinary Life

Three ferrets, cagefuls of gerbils, hamsters and mice, tanks of fish, one turtle, two dogs and incalculable numbers of cats…this is the long, illustrious list of animals that have spent their lives with us, entrusted their lives to us.   I love animals; can’t help it and never have been able to.

It started way back when I was small, bringing cats in off the street.  This was a problem mainly for my father since a) he didn’t like cats;  b)we lived in a very small apartment and c)he really didn’t like cats.  That did not bode well for the parade of cats that I fed on the front stoop or, in the winter, on the top landing of the apartment stairs (all of whom, for some mysterious reason to the adult me, I named Frisky: Frisky 1, Frisky 2, Frisky 3, etc.  Probably due to the very effective commercials Frisky’s cat food was running in the 70’s and the amount of time I spent watching T.V.) It certainly did not end well for one kitten I actually was allowed to bring into the apartment, to whom I gave the regal name Cleopatra Puss-in-Boots. Cleo , it turned out, was not a kitten after all, but a cat, a full-grown cat, a pregnant, full-grown cat.  As soon as the kittens were old enough, my brother and I hit the streets on dad’s orders (A.K. A. threats) with all of them in a cardboard box, begging people to take them.  If there is one thing people cannot resist more than a kitten, it is sad-eyed children holding kittens.

It did bode well, however, for the scrawny, filthy dog the neighbors dragged home from Flushing Meadow Park with its choke collar still embedded in its neck. Dad liked dogs. Blackie lived a good,  long, happy life in that apartment.  None of us kids were still living at home on the day mom told us she had taken him to the vet to put him down.  Even writing that, even after all these years, I can still feel a vague lump in my throat for our Blackie.

My very first gift to my husband was a sickly, scrawny Siamese cat bought with my last money and given with inmeasurable love and pride.  Too bad I misunderstood his story about the Siamese cat he once had as a child- what he said was that he had one, not that he wanted one.  Oh well, Cinammon Girl lived for over 21 years.  We used to joke that it was a good thing she couldn’t write or talk since those years included college and pre-kid years.

The majority of the animals lived with us while the kids were growing up.  The first six on the list above, along with a dog and two cats, lived with us all at the same time.  We used to say we lived in a zoo.  But a lively, buzzing, busy zoo it was; and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Now we live in what is called an empty nest. That means the kids do not live here anymore.  But we still have two geriatric pets- a beagle and cat who are both fifteen and showing it.  And we have two young cats our daughter has left us to watch while she settles down and gets organized… It is hard to watch your pets age, and hard when they die. It’s those damned short lifespans at play.  So we take lots of photos, and play with them as often as we can.  And then we tell stories after they are gone.

Not quite what the Beatles had in mind, sorry…

I love doing personal field trips (spoken like a true teacher, I know) to visit places near home.  Yesterday, mom and I, along with another friend, drove fifteen minutes to a nature preserve called Mianus River Gorge.  The “river” is actually an embarassingly small creek, but maybe if it rains a LOT it could be called an embarassingly small river.  The gorge, though, holds a secret, and I was determined to find it and show mom and friend.

About a mile in of easy walking, there is an off-shoot path to a mineral outcropping. That part of the path is littered with small quartz crystals, black mica and other shiny rocks.  As you walk, the sun hits the path and it lights up in glittery glory. You really feel like you are in another land, in a fairy tale you read about long ago.  Then you come around a turn and there is an entire wall of minerals towering about 40 feet over your head.  We didn’t hit it yesterday, but if you get there as the sun is in just the right position, that wall is so bright with reflected light it is blinding.  We oohed and aahed over seemingly millions of crystals in an incredible variety of colors and shapes.  Mom was more than tempted to pocket a few, but resisted so that the place would be untouched for the next wanderers.

The rest of our walk was also lovely, with bird songs to guide us through the cool leafy forest refuge, and the hope of seeing at least one bambi  (an unrealized hope even though the end of June is perfect bambi time.)   We arrived back at the car, each with our private sense of accomplishment: just having done the two miles was a big deal for our friend who is building up her strength after a tough year for her health; being in the woods is beyond enjoyable for city-girl mom; and I was happy to have been able to explore that special, unique place.

Mom came up on Monday to the boonies to take a little “staycation” from the city.   The first thing we did was go shopping, one of her favorite passtimes.  When I shop, I usually have to have something in mind I am looking for, and that day I was on a mission to organize my closet.

I hate clutter in the house.  It makes me feel unsettled- things on the counters, things on the tables, things thrown over the stair rail or the back of chairs.  Don’t get me wrong, I am far from a neat-freak.  I just don’t like a lot of STUFF everywhere.  But then, that’s why the closet was invented in my humble opinion.   So day after day, I put stuff in there: sweaters crammed in the built-in cubbies, jewelry laid out on the shelves usually in tangles, too many shoes jammed on the shoe shelves and often not even with their mates,  missed attempts  to chuck clothes in hampers littering the floor.

So on Monday, I was looking for ways to make it easier to store the STUFF in my closet. Important stuff- stuff I use every day and need access to without much effort (“Can’t find my other shoe; looked everywhere, gonna be late for work…” Who needs that??)  We wound up at Bed, Bath and Beyond, and it was almost fun  (remember I am not a huge fan of shopping).   I found tie racks and cap racks and scarf racks and necklace racks and belt racks. Who knew there were so many types of racks out there?!   I guess I am not the only one out there working on this issue.  Any other suggestions are welcome…

I find ways throughout the day to perform self-therapy, and it saves me on mental dollars as well as real ones. I have tried a variety of relaxation techniques such as yoga and meditation, and I find that I do not currently have the peacefulness and time required to make a go of these.  So for now, I have come up with the following list of therapeutic undertakings. In sharing these with other people, I have come to understand that my list will not work for anyone but me.  Feel free to comment and share yours; I am always open to ideas!

• Cooking- When the children were growing up, I planned the week’s meals ahead of time and did a giant shopping on Saturday. In and of itself, this was anti-therapy.  It was actually torturous, since I am not the most organized person and have little patience for shopping in general.  Once the pre-steps were done though, I could enjoy the results.   As the children sat and did homework and decompressed by sharing about their school day, I prepared a healthy meal.  When I had had a particularly rough day, there was nothing like chopping vegetables violently in the name of caring for my family.  Onions, especially, were wonderful since they gave me a good explanation for the tears running down my face (children do NOT want to see their mothers upset,  let alone cry). Now I stop at the grocery store almost every day after work to see what is on sale or what I might be in the mood for.  Eating what I have created is the best reward!
• Writing- I have tried to keep a journal.  That works in spurts and I am inconsistent with it.  I used to feel paper/pencil bound, but am now more comfortable composing directly on the computer.  However, when I go off to the woods or beach to write, I still take a notebook.  Mostly I write short stories or memories. Sometimes I will compose a letter to someone with no intention of ever sending it.  My writing is my personal private time;  some is designed to share while some is definitely not.
• Photography- I began my interest in taking photos way back when I was in middle school, if not before.  I was a regular in the Hunter dark room, which added to the art of simply taking a photo on a roll and then waiting for it to come back.  Now I have splurged on a good hobby camera, a Canon EOS, and a couple of lenses.  I take my camera with me most places; people-watching has taken on new meaning (it is more like people capturing), and there is not a flower or sunset or bird that is safe from my constant clicking.  The therapy comes from looking at the world with an eye for a perfect photo, and from later going through the photos for the gems (thank goodness for digital!)  Looking at the world through a photographer’s eye helps me see beauty everywhere.
• Hobbies- I don’t knit, I don’t make jewelry, I don’t paint or draw. Yet.  These are all on my list of hobbies for my future, when I envision having less energy to run around photographing the world.  I do dabble in star-gazing with a telescope or binoculars when the night sky is clear and crisp, or the moon is particularly spectacular.
• Listening to music- the stereo is always on wherever I am!  “Music has Charms to soothe a savage Breast;” thank you William Congreve, who was wise to this back in 1697.  On a rough day, I play loud rock on my ride home to chase and keep residual negative thoughts out of my head. There is nothing like 107.1’s Sunday Morning Over Easy program or their “unplugged” acoustic specials to ease into a day.  Whatever mood I am in, there is a tune for that.  Pandora radio is wonderful- I even use it to play Mozart or Beethoven-style music for my kindergarteners’ rest time after lunch.  I also sing along when I am alone.  I am pretty sure I am not completely tone deaf and I have gotten up the guts to do karaoke; but in truth it doesn’t matter what I sound like when I am alone.  What matters is that it feels great.

Without these moments, I might feel resentment; cheated -no matter how rotten the day, no matter how busy, mini-therapy moments balance me out.  There needs to be some joy, some fun, some ME as often as possible.

 …one is silver and the other gold.  I remember that song from my Brownie days, forty-five years ago!

I re-connected with several people on Facebook that went to Hunter College High School and Stuyvesant  in the ‘70s with me, and I have to say that it has been beyond a pleasure to get to re-know them.   When we are together, it just feels so comfortable and nice.  There’s something special about hanging out with people who lived through those adolescent years with me  and went through similar experiences and life events.  There is a feeling that they know me in a way my newer friends never can- they were THERE when (fill in the blank).  

College friends also hold a special place in my heart.  Recently, my husband and I spent time with two other couples we met in freshman year out in Arizona. It was the first time we had been together in over 12 years.  All married over 25 years and with ten children between us, we enjoyed our time together so easily.  There really is something about  bonds like these.

And then there are my newer friends, many of whom I have met through work or from our adopted hometown, where we have lived now for fifteen years.  It took quite a while for me to grow into my skin; I had to go through my twenties and thirties to put all of the pieces of me together.   My newest friends, who range from the age of my own children to ten years my senior, know me as a mom, teacher and all around experience junky.  They see the “now” me, and we have bonded over recent experiences.  As life moves forward I expect that this bond will stick as well, as we are going through current life events together; watching, helping, and caring about each other as we age.

I found this saying: friends come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. This has helped me deal with friends who have disappeared from my life with seemingly no compunction on their part (but hurt feelings and a sense of loss on mine).   Paths cross, align and sometimes continue off on tangents, never to cross again (but sometimes to reconnect in a lovely way).  Tough but true.  

The team won gold! 

There was a trophy for best of the gold teams that went to a different school, and our kids were beyond disappointed that they didn’t take it home.  I wish I could say there is a lesson in this for the green team, but I ‘m struggling to come up with one.  Our kids really laid down the gauntlet, every one of them in every dance. They were crisp, sharp and dead-on to the beat. Their posture was professional, and their moves smooth and elegant and fun to watch. Even the other schools and judges came up to us and said so, and yet the trophy was given to a different team.

 And so we, as adults, tried to help the kids come to realize that since they did their best, it did not matter.  But doesn’t it?  The kid inside me was screaming, “NO FAIR.”   The adult inside me says, “oh well, we’ll get it next year.”  And so ends another season of Dancing Classrooms.  I’m exhausted from the time and effort we put in, and so very proud of the kids.  I need the year to regroup before we start up next Spring with the new dance team; but I know I will be looking forward to it when the times comes.

I woke up at 8:40 this morning: unbelievable!  I almost feel like a slacker…but it’s the first day of my summer and I am giving myself a little by before I gear up and tackle my summer to-do list.

It’s a gorgeous 70 degrees and sunny, and I’m thinking of going for a run. I’ll let you know how that goes; it’s been a few weeks since I have gone for a run. Okay, a couple of months. Okay, it was last Autumn.  But kindergarteners and the stairs of a five-story school building keep me in pretty good shape, so I should be okay.

This afternoon is the Grand Finale competition for our fifth grade ballroom dance team in New York City.  These kids have poured themselves into this effort with warrior-like dedication unheard of in 10 year olds. They want the trophy bad.  It is the first time any of them has ever been chosen, judged, criticized; and it has been HARD for them.  They are from the generation of certificates and ribbons for everyone no matter how they perform; self-esteem is doled out by the adults around them in the name of loving and caring and supporting them as individuals.  In order to even make the team, they had to compete back in March against 50 other kids for a spot. We had to choose 7 boys and 7 girls who demonstrated potential, and who were basically willing to give up all other commitments (and whose parents would support this).  We put the original group through try-out after try-out, trying to exhaust them and scare off the ones who couldn’t handle the pressure.  When it was time to announce the team, there were tears of rejection  from boys and girls who could not believe that they had not been chosen.

The 14 kids who made the team (actually 12 with one extra boy and girl in case something happened) were not allowed to gloat or brag. We expected them immediately to begin to embrace a level of maturity above their earthly years.  We went through the competitions…Quarter finals: gold! Semi finals: gold!  Finals: GOLD! But no time to celebrate because now we had our sights on the trophy.  We practiced after school almost every day; we met on weekends with a professional dancer to give us tips; we performed at senior centers to get used to audiences. And now the day has finally come.  It’s up to the kids, and all of the other factors that go into winning the trophy: the judges, the other teams, even the temperature inside the venue.  As our team mounts the stairs in escort position, we coaches and parents now watch as the kids leave it all on the stage.  I will keep you posted.

The last day of the school year is here.  The feelings chase themselves through my head like my kindergarteners at recess: excitement, anxiety,  delight, weariness, joy,  loss.  I am exhausted in the way a marathon runner might feel, although I would have to ask my daughter since I have never run one myself. But I imagine there is pain and amazement, utter fatigue and exhilaration, all fighting for space in your head at the finish line.

So I guess one can look at a school year in the same way.  Each school day is one mile, sometimes you have to go through a wall when you think you  just can’t do anymore, and then it’s over.  But the big picture is that I have the best job in the world. I get to help kids grow and develop into the best they can be. I get to watch them put things together and find unhidden joy in achieving something new.  I get to share in the blossoming of another person.   Knowing this will carry me through a hopefully delightful summer, energized for another round with a new group.  And icing on that cake, it will be a milestone year for me: my 30^th year in the classroom.

Good morning! The alarm woke me up, which usually doesn’t happen- I normally wake up early on my own.  I am not sure why, but I find June to be a bit of a stressful month.  I always think it should be smooth sailing, the school year is nearly over; summer, oh summer, lies ahead; and I am on top of the end-of-year checklist that will allow the secretary to place that last check in my hand.

 I think part of it is that I am already in summer mode,-staying up later, going out on school nights with friends.   June is also the month of the grand finale competition for our fifth grade ballroom dance team, and our practices are amped up to intense daily sessions and performances at senior centers to prepare the kids for the big day. 

Probably, though, the stress comes from the fact that another school year is ending.  It’s bittersweet as I say goodbye to the little ones who came through my classroom door each day.  I have spent my mornings planning for them,  my days watching them grow, and my evenings worried about the ones who don’t.   Even after 29 years of teaching, the emotions have not changed one bit. If anything, having raised three children to adulthood has made me realize how precious each minute of each day is for each of these little ones- you cannot get a minute of it back.  So off I go this morning, a bit tired,  more than a bit anxious and completely excited to spend our last half day together.

So here I am, at the age of 50, starting something new: a blog! There’s something exciting about new ventures, they energize me, and keep me green and growing (as opposed to ripe and rotting).   A little introduction: I am a mother of three adult children, a wife, a teacher. I live in a comfortable house in the suburbs, with our dog and three cats.  I speak to my mother several times a day, and cook a healthy, yummy meal almost every night, and exercise moderately.  Pretty ordinary from the outside…

But I also dabble in writing and photography; assist the coach of a ballroom dance team of fifth graders; teach a graduate course as an adjunct professor; roller-blade long distances; and I’m pretty damned good at Wii bowling.  Maybe not so ordinary after all.

So I thought I’d blog and share my life, and hope that you readers out there might do the same.  Maybe we’d learn something from each other; because above all else, I’m a lifelong learner.