What to Talk About??

Those of you who follow my blog (and I thank you from the bottom of my heart) may have noticed that there has not been a post in quite a while. Here is what has happened since my last post:

School has started (this in itself is responsible for my lack of time)

We have contracted to buy a house 50+ miles away

We are packing to move

We have put our current home on the market

We are in the middle of a probably ill-conceived boat purchase

I have begun another graduate class

Gift-giving season is rapidly looming.

Don’t get me wrong, I am very excited to say that I love my new class of fourth graders (so MANY of them), I am excited about relocating to the Eastern Shore and downsizing, I’m looking forward to owning a boat, and I love Christmas. I have become rather unaccustomed, though, to so many things happening at one time since my nest has become less full. And some days I am not sure I’m up to the self-created challenge. Why is this? I used to be able to keep so many more balls in the air than this. My fear is, it’s age. I am 55 (38 if any of my students ask). I am in decent shape. I had been very active physically until the start of this school year. I can no longer get all the way down on one knee and back up again when genuflecting in church. I have been too busy to find new tennis friends since most of mine have retired and no longer need to play during the small after-school window of daylight.

So what to do about all of these blessings happening concurrently? Just keep swimming, I suspect. I must find a way to fit exercise back into my days to improve my physical and mental health. I must keep my current house in pristine condition while we pack so potential buyers won’t be offended by a mess. I must finish the last paper and quiz for my night class before the month is over. I must finish packing our belongings for the move. I must make sure any Christmas decorating we do is tasteful for strangers touring the home. I must finish (ok, start) gift-shopping. I must forgive my husband for buying a boat (it’s the DEAL of a LIFETIME, I tell you) even though I didn’t want one that big or while we are paying the mortgage on two homes. These are first world problems. I am fortunate to get in bed exhausted every night. We are lucky to have kids and grandkids who sometimes still need us.

I am not going to switch into panic mode (really, I’m not…this isn’t stress…we’re just busy). I am going to just keep swimming. While I am swimming, I will be thankful for what we have today without worrying too much about tomorrow. I will be grateful that I can still do all of the tasks I am doing during the days. I will try to be a blessing to my family, my colleagues, and my students. Happy Thanksgiving, all, and may we all be blessed throughout.

Of Hurricanes and Other Weather Events

This past week has been all about Florence. School cancelled as of Monday night for the rest of the week, friends evacuating, finding a place to go when we need one (thanks, Bob), and stocking up on essentials should we lose power (water, wine, and non-perishable snacks). At the time our friends were evacuating and the area was closing down, Florence was a Category Four storm and heading for us. By the time she arrived, she was a Category One and came ashore a full state south of us. Did we over-react? I don’t think so. Like the forecasters, we did the best we could with the most current available information. I am, however, glad that our property is in a zone B so evacuation was not mandatory. We planned to leave early Thursday morning if the storm was still tracking our way but we woke that morning to the news that she was starting to move south. Good news for us, not good for the Carolinas, most of which had felt relatively safe until now. More on that later.

Florence continues to trouble North Carolina and its impact will be felt far and wide. There were some lessons from this storm that will stay with me and my family for a long time. First, the four of us living in our home made the decision to remain together whether we stay or leave. That may sound like a given, but my husband travels for work often (and was gone for two of the “closed” days) and my son and his girlfriend are in their twenties and both have other places they could have gone. This was a big deal to me. Also, I was humbled and touched by how many of our friends offered their homes to us and our pets as a refuge. These weren’t blanket social media “come on up, we have room” posts, although I have no doubt that those were sincere and we appreciated it. These were people who reached out personally to let us know that they are concerned about our safety and wanted to help.

The prospect of danger also brought our out of town family members closer together. I spoke with my mom several times per day via phone or text. When Florence turned, it turned towards her and my brother’s family so then we worried together about what they might do (she stayed, and she’s fine…my brother and his grown children evacuated, and they are fine). My older son and his family checked in on us daily to see what we were thinking with each new weather report. I also had frequent contact with my daughter in Washington, although that is a daily blessing with or without Flo. My dad texted to find out what our plan was. My sister checked in frequently. In our lives, where we don’t live in the same towns or even in the same state in most cases, this was almost like getting the whole family together.

Another lasting impression from Florence was how many social media friends sent us good wishes and prayers. I wasn’t aware that most of them know where we live. People all over the world were watching the storm coverage and keeping those in its path in prayer. That is a powerful village. As divided as we all are geographically, politically, and economically, everyone wished for the best for those who had to watch Flo. Everyone mourns and prays for the families of the five people who have been confirmed fatalities of the storm. It is my fervent hope that we will keep this good will through the aftermath of the storm and beyond. There will be people needing help. Let’s help. There will be those needing encouragement. Let’s encourage everyone. And for any who fear they have lost everything, let’s show them they haven’t. Every day.

The Summer of Little Girls

Summer is a magical time for most in my world. We live near the coast, school is out, days become relaxed and evenings are for lingering. This magic is fleeting, though. Leaves are starting to fall and some nights dip into the low seventies. I have been blessed beyond measure this summer to have spent lots of time with each of my two granddaughters. I will soon be returning to a class of twenty-seven or more nine and ten year olds, and I will be ready. In reality, balancing the learning and emotional needs of a room full of children during the school day (while navigating through the national, state, and district mandates) is much easier than caring full-time for an infant or toddler. To my daughter and son-in-love and to my son and daughter-in-love…I don’t know how you do it. Every. Single. Day.

I am in my second week of providing full-time day-care to my almost four-months-old granddaughter in my son and daughter-in-love’s home. Nature being as kind as it is, I had forgotten just how much energy (all of it) goes into meeting a baby’s needs for an entire day. And I don’t even get up for the middle of the night feeding! My day is about twelve hours of heat a bottle of breast milk, feed the baby, burp her, amuse her for approximately 40-45 minutes rotating among the semi-reclining bouncy seat with toys, the musical floor gym with toys, the upright seat with toys, sitting her on my lap and reading her stories, walk the open floor plan, then when she starts to cry I take her to her crib and lay her down with her pacifier and her white-noise machine. Diaper changes take place when necessary throughout the schedule. If she doesn’t sleep right away I rock her until she’s drowsy then try to make the transfer to the crib without her noticing. Then I prepare or clean up a meal, start or fold laundry, and try to write or read for a few minutes. This is when I will see and hear the baby begin to twitch on the baby monitor and start up the next bottle to repeat the cycle. Four to five times per day until one of her parents gets home. These efforts are rewarded with drooly smiles, happy wiggles, and countless snuggles. So worth it.

My daughter and seventeen-month-old granddaughter spent several weeks living with us this summer while her husband was assigned to a temporary duty station so I had lots of opportunities to mind the “big girl” too. “Big girl” as in one nap per day. Maybe. The toddler routine is a bit more flexible but no less demanding. Meal times consist of preparing the food, setting it before the child in her high chair, coaxing her to eat it, then cleaning it out of the high chair, off the floor, out of her hair and diaper, and then going straight to another activity. A day might include three meals, three snacks, a swim (preceded by catching her to spread sunscreen all over her), working on colors with flashcards (they’re all blue), a walk around the cul-de-sac, blowing bubbles, pulling leaves off the mint plant and smelling them, trying to guess which of the hands behind her back has the Joker in it, reminders that dogs don’t like when you pull on their noses or or grab fists-ful of their fur, several stories, a dance party, wrestling her into a clean diaper intermittently, investigating the kitchen cabinets that aren’t locked, climbing up and down the stairs for fun, chasing games, wardrobe changes, a play-date or a gym class, and, if we’re really lucky, an hour-long nap in there somewhere. The rewards for my efforts when I’ve got her? Attempts to say, “Grandma,” outstretched arms and a plea of, “up,” huge toothy smiles when she sees me in the morning, unlimited cuddles, and offers of help “hup” all day long. Again, so worth it.

This summer, for me, had more magic in it than usual. Less down time, but the magic came in seeing these little ones learn the most basic things just as my own children did (when I was younger and had more energy). It was gratifying and humbling. Bonding with my granddaughters was a gift that will still be appreciated long after most purchases or vacations have been forgotten. Exhaustion will pass. The memories are mine forever.

There is another take-away from my summer of little girls: a reminder that parenting is hard work and the rewards are not always immediate. Just because I once did it doesn’t give me license to have specific expectations of my students’ parents during the school year. Yes, having to ask for paperwork several times or being stood up for a conference after I stayed late to accommodate the parent’s schedule is trying, as is being told by a student that they didn’t have time to study for their quiz because they had a baseball game or getting constant emails asking questions which I have already answered in the weekly progress report newsletter, in class, and on the classroom website. However, we are all doing the best we can. If your child gets to school clean, fed, and happy, then you are doing a wonderful job parenting. Even is your child is rocking only one of the three, you are doing a wonderful job parenting. And I am going to remind myself of that from September through June. I get it. Enjoy the last few days of the magical summer, and let’s make a different kind of magic during this school year.

 

Passion: Will it Ever be as Good as it Was?

By the age of fifty, many of us have experienced passions. A romantic relationship, a cause, an adventure, travel, or maybe a career or a calling. I didn’t discover my dream career until I was in my mid-thirties. It seems fitting that, after majoring in English and supplying an immediate and horrified, “No,” when asked if I planned to teach, that I would end up doing exactly that and loving it.

My calling came when we were stationed in Alabama for a year and enrolled our two younger children in a small Montessori school. Our daughter was in kindergarten and our son was in the three-year-old room two mornings each week. I used those two mornings to volunteer in our older son’s school, tutoring a second grade student in danger of failing.

It was difficult to get to the public school on those two mornings because our three-year-old had separation anxiety and, while he loved his teacher, “Miss Mary,” and in fact planned to marry her one day, (this was prior to meeting the “girl of his dreams” when he was six…she was our server at a Red Lobster one evening) he despised anything to do with school. The principal and her assistant noticed that I spent a lot of time on the campus, albeit mostly trying to loosen my son’s velcro-like grip on my torso enough to hand him over to Miss Mary. They asked me to help out part-time since I was there anyway, and my son could stay in school on the days I substituted. This seemed win-win, because although I didn’t necessarily want to sub, I hoped being in school for more than two days per week might help my son become more comfortable there. I continued the tutoring on the mornings I’d committed to it but on the other days I made myself available to substitute.

To this day I don’t know if it was tutoring the below-level second grader and helping her pass the grade or if it was the hours I spent with the preschoolers and kindergarteners at Montessori, but by the time we got orders to to my husband’s next duty station, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. To make this long story shorter and get to the point, I got my teaching license, a teaching position, and in the next few years earned a Master of Science in Early Childhood and achieved National Board certification in the same area. I loved my position and my students, grading and conferencing, presenting to colleagues, mentoring beginning teachers through their student teaching, and earning additional endorsements. It was everything I wanted…until it was not enough. Not enough for those who make laws about education, not enough for our students, and sometimes no longer enough for me.

After six or so years in the classroom, I began to hear rumblings about budget cuts for education and possible layoffs throughout the district, the state, and the country as public schools became required to continue as they had been but with fewer resources. It is important to realize that none of the mandates in place at the time were reduced; only the human and capital resources needed to meet them were drastically cut. Our district committed to reducing staffing by attrition rather than laying personnel off. As educators or assistants left the system or retired, many would not be replaced, rather, their positions were simply eliminated.

My colleagues and I were grateful; no layoffs! Sure, we would be getting larger class sizes and fewer resources, but we are resourceful people, and no one goes into teaching with the expectation of lucrative compensation. Besides, if we didn’t step up, the students would be the ones to suffer the most. Plus, economies recover. Surely this is temporary! It’s for the children! We’re all in this together. And we were. For many years. Every now and then we were even given a raise of between one and two percent. This almost covered the difference in our rising required retirement contributions and increasing insurance premiums.

We attended and spoke of our concerns at School Board and City Council meetings, our superintendent continually lobbied the state to restore pre-recession levels of funding, we marched on our state’s capitol. Still, we return each fall to large class sizes, fewer materials, and outdated technology. I know I am not alone in trying to summon back the passion that once made my days so rewarding. In fact, each year I watch several dedicated and expert educators walk away, their once passionate commitment shattered by the daily realities of the inexplicable expectation that they can do more, for more, and better, with less. Less personal attention per student, fewer resources, less technology than most students have at home, less free time, and perhaps most importantly, less respect from the state and national departments of education.

I have no new answers for this. It is August. I have purchased the supplies I need for this year’s class, I am working on some new guided reading plans for new books I’ve bought over the summer, and I’ve tweaked a few routines to save time and streamline daily procedures. I’ve collected a few things for the classroom to enhance our school wide theme for the year. I am looking forward to meeting my new “kids” and their parents in three weeks. I am trying yoga, eating clean, reading, and spending time with those I love. I am telling myself that I will still do these things when my school year begins in three weeks. My life will be enhanced by the camaraderie of colleagues and my new “family” of 28 or so. If I stay positive and open, honest and encouraging, I am still living the dream. If the passion isn’t exactly as exciting as it was 16 years ago, well, maybe it can mature into a productive contentment. Maybe that is enough.

As we all, students, teachers, staff, parents, and administrators begin our new school year in the next few weeks, let’s try to openly encourage each other to be a blessing to those we serve and those who serve us. Let’s look at things from multiple viewpoints. With encouragement and effort, we might rediscover that passion or at the very least, enjoy what we’re here to do. I would love to hear from educators, students, and parents about how you keep your own fires burning.

 

When “Home” is Not One Place

What was more comforting as a child than to run into your aunts and uncles all over town, to walk to Grandma’s house for Sunday dinners, and to have a playground full of cousins at school? Remember those days? I don’t either. I didn’t grow up near family. Neither did my children…nor are theirs. In the case of my parents, the military first brought them from the area in which they both grew up. They returned many years later but purchased their first home over two hours away. Each subsequent home purchase was at least that far.

My siblings and I went to colleges in different states. Only one of us ever lived with our parents (sporadically) after that. Two remained out of state after graduation. I am lucky now to be living in between the area in the north where my father and my sister’s family live and the south where my mother and my brother’s family live. Any time they travel to see each other, my husband and I provide dinner and a guest room to split up their 13-15 hour drive.

We raised our children in a state with excellent state universities so our children all went to in-state schools, although they lived on campus. Now in their twenties, one lives with us, and the other two have their own families. One is across the country, the other lives in our state but about four hours north of us. Sunday dinner is not a thing. Now that we are thinking about our not-nearly-close-enough approaching retirement, we too are looking to leave the suburban city we’ve lived in for most of the past 29 years and find a place where all of the children and grandchildren will want to visit. Will proximity to family be an option? I hope so, but probably not, although any of the children and grands will always be welcome to live with us should they ever want or need to.

As things are, and will probably remain, we have to make an effort to see each other. I may only see my son-in-love, daughter and granddaughter four times per year but when I am there I am ALL theirs for days at a time. We plan fun things and make great memories. I see my son, daughter-in-love, and granddaughter upstate more frequently but for shorter times. I will spend two weeks before returning to school taking care of her three-month-old self while her parents are at work, and I can’t wait. My mother will make the eight hour drive to my house earlier in the first week and them accompany me the additional four to meet her newest great-granddaughter. My daughter and her husband went to visit my husband’s father in Colorado while they passed through and he got to spend a day with his first great-grandchild.

Family weddings, and even funerals are more poignant and meaningful because so many of us come from far and wide to be there for each other. Those too far or otherwise unable to make the trip are asked after and thought of fondly. Pictures are taken and shared with all. Memories are made and bonds are strengthened. We don’t have family arguments, none of us has ever stopped speaking to another, and even physically removed, we share each others joys and sorrows.

Would I trade this to have my mom and dad living nearby, my siblings and their children in the same town with us, and my kids raising their kids within walking distance of my house? Would I trade it for Sunday dinner? Of course I would. I longed for that kind of belonging as a child and would have loved to have provided it for my children. Life, however, has other plans and blessings for my family and many others. Wherever we are, wherever they are, our door will always be open, our hearts will always be welcoming, and our passports will always be up to date.

Eulogy ~ Part 2

Laurie and I have long forgiven Joan for the Victorian-era mauve-pink bridesmaids dresses she made us wear, and I can only hope that Joan has forgiven me for the peach colored satin one I made her wear. She was six months pregnant and it had a large peach bow right above the backside. Enough said. For the next couple of years we saw each other a few times per year. Then life’s changes began; I moved to the west coast, Joan had a beautiful son, and our correspondence over the years dwindled to a phone call every now and then and an annual Christmas card.

Around 20 years later, while wasting time on Facebook, I found Joan. Within a short amount of time I’d also found Laurie and our dear friend and occasional roommate, Nancy. I hadn’t seen or heard from either in years. A beach weekend reunion (ladies only) was planned and turned into an annual event for the next ten years, often with visits in between the summers as well. Nancy hosted the beach retreats in her beautiful beach place and each summer we’d descend upon the house with chocolate, spirits, sunscreen, and stories. The four of us could spend entire days together and still stay up talking long into the night (in my world, 11:00 is late). We met each other’s children and significant others and compared stories of career paths and families. It is one of my greatest blessings that two decades after college the four of us had ten years together to make new memories and navigate our approaching middle-age together.

Joan and Nancy visited me in February of 2016. Neither had been in my area before so we went to the beach and some of the great restaurants and coffee shops my family likes. They saw my daughter play a lead role in a neighboring community theatre on opening night. Joan talked about having an appointment scheduled for not long after she would return home because she was having some back issues. None of us, including Joan I believe, thought much of this. Joan was in excellent physical shape and had no unhealthy habits other than jumping out of airplanes. After this appointment an MRI was done and a mass was found. Surgery to remove it was scheduled. I called Joan the day following the surgery and asked her how everything went and she told me to check my email. Bob had written to all of us with the distressing news that Joan had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, stage 3.

Being Joan, she and Bob immediately went about researching conventional treatments, alternatives, and available studies. She went through grueling chemotherapy treatments and endured the sickness that followed. She changed her already-healthy diet to include things that would help with immunity, strength, nausea, and energy. She was often unable to go to the gym, but when she could, she went. For the first year she continued to work when she could, not wanting to let her PT patients down. She was in remission after her chemotherapy. Remission did not last long, though, and Joan entered a study at a prestigious hospital. More treatments and medications followed, as did more emergency room visits; she and Bob heard good news and bad news in equal measure. They were both shocked when told Joan could no longer participate in the study because her disease had progressed too far. With input from a variety of doctors, Joan and Bob made the heartbreaking decision together; there would be no more cancer treatments. All further medical interventions would be to treat the symptoms and keep Joan comfortable. Bob broke this news in a heartfelt email to all of Joan’s “War Angels,” and encouraged us all to call and visit for as long as Joan was strong enough to enjoy it.

Before Christmas Joan was in a lovely hospice center and Laurie, Nancy, and I planned a visit to her. I arrived a day before and went to the center, fighting back tears and trying to still my shaking long enough to sign the guest registry. I headed down the hall in the direction I’d been pointed, and found…a party! Many of Joan’s eight siblings were there, her husband and sons, her mother, her coworkers, several friends from high school and college, and Joan was happily visiting with everyone. The next day Laurie and Nancy arrived and the atmosphere was the same. More relatives and friends had also arrived and Joan’s room and the corridor outside could not accommodate the number of people who loved her. We were moved to the center’s lounge, where Bob had food catered in and Joan would join us when she felt up to visiting or was not having a procedure done. She happily posed for pictures with everyone despite the fact that she hadn’t worn make-up since October and wore sleep pants and a t-shirt. The four of us had about an hour together that day in Joan’s room, laughing and remembering a lifetime of friendship. I hugged Joan good-bye when it was my turn to leave and she told me not to cry. Nancy followed me down the hall to tell me that she had been through this with her father and that this was not the last time I’d see Joan. We had a quick cry together, then a laugh (because my earring became snagged on her sweater). And she was right.

Joan was home for Christmas, although largely in bed, and began planning her funeral and celebration of life party. All three of us saw Joan and Bob at different times in December and January, trying to give Bob a break from being a tireless caretaker and to spend some more time with Joan. Even as she became weaker and and less communicative, she planned every detail of her wake, funeral, and celebration, and gave instructions for another funeral mass and “perfect party” to take place over the summer on Long Island. She also wrote letters to her family to be opened after she died, and was in the process of writing to many of her friends before she was no longer able. She wrote birthday cards and “firsts” cards to her sons through their 70th birthdays, and still found the time and energy to console those around her,  remaining positive and uncomplaining.

Joan passed away at the hospice center on February 5, 2018, with Bob and their sons beside her. The wake, funeral mass, and after-gathering in the subsequent days were well-attended although Joan’s huge family alone could have filled the space. The events were punctuated with moving speeches, tears, and laughter. The speeches and tears were because such a special person was no longer physically among us but the laughter was plentiful because she once WAS. There were hundreds of people participating in and attending the events in two states and every one of them had been deeply touched by Joan in their lives, many more than once.

Joan’s strength and outlook made us all stronger and more positive. The love she shared with her husband and sons made us all draw our families closer in our hearts. The love for her friends warms us still. My last communication with Joan was in a letter I received a couple of weeks after she died (Bob sent it to me). In it, she said, “I will be watching over you and your precious family and grandkids. I promise. So enjoy life…”

I will, Joan. Thank you for everything.

Eulogy for Joan…a Short Life, Well-lived ~ Part 1

“I’m thin and I have long brown hair,” she told me on the phone. Thus ended the first conversation I had with my two-year college roommate and forever close friend. In fairness, I asked her what she looked like so I’d know her on move-in day into our off-campus apartment for my freshman year and her junior year at the University of Maryland. Really, I wanted to know what she looked like because I wanted to know how much I had to worry about my new-ish boyfriend meeting her (I was 17 at the time…your needs change). The physical description she gave could have been me, but I knew after a few minutes of conversation that this girl from Long Island was in a class by herself. I had the basic information…finished her Associate’s in a community college while living at home and coming to UM to get her Bachelor’s in communications. Boyfriend from high school who was at University of West Virginia. One of nine children. Likes wine. I also knew that she was magical and positive and would be an important person in my life.

I did not meet Joan’s parents when we moved in, although I don’t remember why. We shared a small bedroom in a two bedroom apartment containing four of us in total. We agreed when the boyfriends visited we would be accommodating about privacy. She quickly secured a spot on the campus radio station as a disc jockey and the Long Island accent rarely made an appearance on the radio. She had been of age to get into bars two years before the rest of us and to go out with Joan was to meet new friends and spend the evening dancing and laughing. We shared clothes (in fact we did resemble each other quite a bit during our college years) and confidences, made our own way hours from our homes, shared a car and a love of chocolate, and made memories during and beyond our time at Maryland.

Joan and I met each other’s families along with the families of our other two roommates, and three of the four of us became very close. We relocated without our fourth roommate the following year and Laurie and I decided that Joan should have her own room since she never had before. We were all good students so I am sure we did a lot of studying and working academically as well as in town for tuition money, but the things I remember most are the gloriously fun times. Driving to UWV for a football game and a few parties. Watching Joan dance with her feet skipping and her hands rolling around each other (it was the eighties). The parties we threw and attended with friends. The weekends at Joan’s brother’s condo in the Hamptons. The adventures at Laurie’s parents’ farm in Lancaster. Laurie’s sister, Lynda, visiting and giving us perms and cuts and color. The spring break trip with a large group of fraternity brothers to Ft. Lauderdale, only to move on to Clearwater, where the two of us stayed with Joan’s Aunt Helen. On almost all of these occasions Joan’s boyfriend, Bobby, was there. The two of them unknowingly provided a role model for the rest of us for what a loving relationship looked like. Also, Bobby was (and is) hilariously funny and that never hurt a venture!

Inevitably, during Joan’s senior year, Bob proposed at the first rest area going north on the New Jersey Turnpike (the location wasn’t the inevitable part, the proposal was). As I sat writing this it occurred to me that I was not really sure if they married at the end of Joan’s senior year or the May after that. And I reached for my phone to text Joan to ask. Damn. She has been gone from our world for over five months and I still have to remind myself of this fact every time. Every. Time.

**Please watch my page over the next few days for the continuation of this piece and to learn more about Joan’s influence on everyone in her life, from the perspective of one who learned much (me).

The First Foray

I’ve just had a decadent sip of icy Chardonnay, even though my elementary school class will not leave the classroom to board the buses for another ten to fifteen minutes. No, I am not imbibing at school.

Fortunately, my class has an able substitute teacher for dismissal this afternoon, as I have just returned home from an afternoon doctor’s appointment to address a significant spike in my blood pressure. It is no surprise to me that my doctor’s opinion was that we should retake it a few weeks after school lets out for the summer. I wonder how many of our physical issues are a direct result of trying to meet the expectations of others? I am not speaking about trying to keep 28 summer-ready children quiet through the week because standardized testing is going on in ten percent of the rooms. I am not speaking of the increasing hostility toward those who do my job from those who have likely never done it, and certainly not under the current conditions. I am not discussing the factors over which we have zero control yet are still evaluated against. I am speaking about everyone, but I know more about teaching than I do about most things other than parenting.

The project engineer who relies on a well-paid contractor to meet a deadline so the engineer can meet his or hers. The community social worker who has a caseload of seventy five or more families. The roofer who is not able to finish a job on time because of unseasonable weather. The senator who knows that the bill she is sponsoring to help the desperate constituents that she met this morning will likely not pass. The hard-working performer whose show is closing because the ticket sales aren’t enough to pay for the theater. The service-member who has the expertise and desire to go into combat but is instead assigned to the stateside staff of someone much higher in rank. All of these people want to succeed at what they do but at times, and often most of the time, are put into situations where the likelihood of succeeding has many obstacles. Like me, I know many of these people nonetheless take on these additional burdens and attempt to get the same result as they’d get without them. I wonder how many of us are compromising our health to achieve this, whether or not we are aware of it.

For my own health, I will be making changes and I hope they will not only be beneficial to me but also to those around me and those that depend on me, both at work and outside it. These are not earth-shattering revelations but rather personal and professional resolutions (and it will be somewhat earth-shattering to me if I am able to keep them). I hope someone else can be helped by reading them as well.

First, I am going to let go of those things over which I have no control. This might be a computer failure at work during mandatory testing or a surprise hailstorm doing over $3000 in damage to my vehicle. Both have happened and none of my worrying and micro-managing helped in the least. In both cases everything turned out well in the end. Not in the prescribed time, but well enough in the end.

Next, I am going to stop bringing so much work home. I know I won’t stop entirely, but my family and my interests deserve my unpaid time more than work does. Work will always be there. The people I love will not.

I am also going to make more time for my passions. I have been “writing” a book for the better part of five years. I have zero finished pages but a full folder of discarded ideas. If I never publish a thing, one day one of my descendants will be grateful for a written history of several of his or her ancestors. Additionally, I will get in the car or on a plane more often to go see the people I miss.

Finally, I am going to invest the same amount (or more) of maintenance in my family and friends as I do in my work. And this will close my very first blog post, since I have an out-of-town daughter and granddaughter here tonight and the baby is in a huggy-kissy frame of mind. Here’s to the best of intentions and the highest of hopes!