Sunday, June 29, 2014

Every Day Is New

I was totally absorbed for twelve days.  I lost track of time and let everything go except spending time with my grandson.  It was heaven.  I had to soak it all in because it will be months before I see him again.  He turned six months old while he was here and there was something to learn every day.  He got very good at rolling over~

We practiced sitting up~

Grandad introduced him to the tractor~

He decided eating cereal wasn't so bad as long as he could hold a spoon~

Life was so busy that sometimes he needed a power nap~

I remember why I love having a baby in the house and why I don't regret a moment I spent with my own children.  Everything is new.  Every moment matters.  It all changes so quickly....

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

He's Here!

My grandson brought his parents for a visit.  It's his first visit to Maine, and he arrived just in time for Father's Day.  Here's Kenneth with his dad and grandad~

There has been a lot of laughing~

And talking~

Playing with toys~

And general merry making~

There is no downside.  It's all good.  We have another ten days of this gaiety.  I will be back with more pictures soon.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Where It All Began

Ken and I moved to Maine in May of 1978.  I had visited the state three times before we moved here, and while I was delighted with my new home state I wanted a home to call my own.  I casually started looking at houses in July, and then we got serious and started checking out neighborhoods.  It wasn't long before we found the perfect house, as in we walked into the kitchen and knew it was the one.  We moved in the first weekend in October, less than five months after we moved to Maine.

Over the years we painted and papered, remodeled and repurposed.  I knew every inch of the house because in one way or another I had had my hands on every wall, ceiling, and floor.  The house changed as our family grew.  We would briefly consider moving and then decide there really was no reason to - we liked our home and the neighborhood.  The house was a big part of where our life began as a family.

We lived there for 29 years.  Our move to our current home wasn't as much a decision as it was a series of circumstances that lined up and worked out just right.  We started looking at real estate on a lark and by chance found the next perfect house for us, as in we walked in and fell in love with the place.  It was February 2007, the same month our daughter found out she would be moving back to do her residency just a mile from where she grew up.  She wanted to buy our house, and a local bank worked with her to do just that.  The house has taken care of her just like it took care of our family all those years.

Our daughter has lived there for 7 years.  She would rather not leave the house or the neighborhood, but her current job is located 80 miles away, that's 800 miles on the road every week.  She looked at houses in communities a more reasonable distance from work but didn't find anything that fit the bill.

Or didn't until Tuesday May 27.  Out of curiosity she and I took a look at a couple houses in a planned community less than an hour from her job.  Bingo.  Thursday that week she talked to a realtor about putting her house on the market, and he thought it had a good chance of selling if she could get it ready as soon as possible, like in two weeks.

Remember when I wrote here that life was good but busy busy?  That's because the Wednesday between the Tuesday of-the-looking and the Thursday of-the-decision-to-sell was the day I got the call for a job interview for the following Tuesday.  Why not have an interview in the midst of helping my daughter get her house ready to sell?

Tuesday evening after the interview was when I took myself to the movies.  It was the calmest two hours I have had in the last two weeks.

Yes, it's only been two weeks.  We worked hard and we got it done.  As of yesterday, exactly two weeks after the realtor's visit, my daughter's house was listed for sale.  In the words of a friend who looked at the listing online, the house looks clean, refreshing, bright, light, and organized.  High praise indeed.

This hasn't been an easy decision for my daughter.  The neighbors are friends who have known her her entire life.  It's hard to think about not having a connection to a place we've loved for 36 years.  It's also exciting to think about her having a place that's all her own where she makes new memories.

My daughter said it was okay for me to share what's been going on.  We hope the next announcement will be that someone walked into her kitchen and knew it is the perfect house for them.... 

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Seeking Peace

Let me start this post with a few words about my favorite find among the used books I bought in California.  The book is Seeking Peace by Mary Pipher.  The subtitle is Chronicles of the Worst Buddhist in the World.  I hadn't heard of the book before that day in March.  In my mind Mary Pipher was an insightful, talented, successful psychologist, researcher, teacher, and writer.  She had it all.  I thought this book must be about how she achieved that success, and the subtitle was probably written in jest.

Then I read the inside flap.  "In 2002, Pipher experienced a meltdown."  Well, that was a surprise.  Flipping through the chapters it became obvious that this woman, whose work I have revered since my first reading of Reviving Ophelia in 1995, faced the same challenges that so many of us do.  By all appearances she had it all, but inside she was hurting to the point where she could barely function.  It wasn't until she stopped being what everyone else expected and asked herself who she was and what she wanted that she began to heal.  Pipher shares honestly and openly the challenges she faced and the lessons she learned.  I don't think she knows any other way, which is one of the things I like so much about her writing.

More than once this book had me in tears.  So many feelings and experiences felt familiar to me.  I was reading her words while I was letting go of things I have too tightly held onto for too long.  Like so many women our age we had to learn how to take care of ourselves as grown-ups.  I, too, have mentally gone back to the little girl I was and said, "You are not alone.  You will be okay."  I am continually amazed and grateful when I hear someone else's story and realize I am not the only one who has had this experience.  It is a gift when the story is as sincerely written as Seeking Peace.

It is against the backdrop of reading this book that life began to shift in a big way for me.  I stopped trying to make things right.  It finally sank in that I am not responsible for anyone else's happiness.  I don't cause others to be angry, unhappy, or depressed, and it's not up to me to figure out what I need to do or be to make them feel better.  I can be myself, and if someone doesn't like that, oh well.

I didn't understand how important this realization was until I noticed I had periods of time when my chest didn't hurt.  When was that and what was happening?  It was when I felt comfortable with myself.  The more I say how I really feel and do what works for me, the less I feel stymied and stuck.  Not everyone appreciates my new found state of being.  Oh well.  It is too late to go back now.  I am feeling better, and I like who I am becoming.

Then one evening I got a call from a friend.  She'd heard from a mutual friend about a job opening.  They both encouraged me to apply.  The position was an Ed Tech, an assistant teacher of sorts in this part of the country.  It would be a good way to get back into teaching.

After all that has gone wrong in my job search over the last seven years [peruse the "Job Search" category if you are curious...or don't...it's depressing] I take nothing for granted and do not assume I have a chance of being hired until I hear the words "You have the job" which has only happened once for a short-term period.  I stopped writing here about the jobs I have applied and interviewed for because the repeated rejection was humiliating.

My first reaction to hearing about this job was "Why would they hire me?"  Then I thought about what I have to offer and how I had nothing to lose.  I would apply and see what happened.  I could only put myself out there and wait.

I was called for an interview.  Okay.  I got my hair cut and wore a favorite purple blouse.  Afterward I felt good about the meeting, and for the first time in seven years I did not second-guess anything I said.

Yesterday morning I was offered the position.  I said yes!  I will be teaching reading to third, fourth, and fifth graders in a school a half hour from where I live.  I will learn all I need to know about current reading curriculum and standards, which is necessary to teach in elementary grades.  The Title 1 teacher I will be working with has invited me to visit on Friday to get the lay of the land, and she has secured time for me to be trained this summer.  This fall my day will have a start time and an end time, with no work to carry home.  There's a stipend for one three-credit course, which will also help me with recertification hours.  Since I will be working in a school system I will have access to people who know what I need to do to meet current qualifications to return to classroom teaching.

I am so excited!

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Teaser

I have one last book to share.  It is my favorite of the bunch, and that's saying a lot because I like all the used books I bought during my trip to California in March.  It's non-fiction by an author whose work was central to the work I did for my first Master's Degree, and I am embarrassed to say that I didn't know she'd written a book on this particular topic.

That said... I cannot do justice to this book tonight.  You know the saying "When it rains, it pours?"  Well, it has been pouring raindrops of goodness the past two weeks.  The days are full and productive, and the results have been gratifying.  Things are shifting and lining up, and it all feels good.

The book review will have to wait a day or two.

I will be back tomorrow to share good news.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

A Thousand Mornings

I took myself to the movies tonight.  It was a day among days when life keeps happening, in a good way but busy.  I wanted a quiet couple of hours to be someplace away without the hassle of packing and traveling.  The movie provided an elegant escape.  I recommend Belle, a perfectly paced story of true events in England more than two hundred years ago.  The lead actress Gugu Mbatha-Raw is a pleasure to watch.

* * * * * * * * * *
There are two books from California still to write about.  For today I picked the one that slows my heartbeat and gives me a moment to pause with each reading.  I've never met a book of poems by Mary Oliver that I didn't like, and this book is no exception.  A Thousand Mornings (2012) was a delightful find; every time I pick it up I see something new, sometimes in a poem I've already read. 

I thought this evening about why Oliver's poems strike such a chord with me.  She doesn't gloss over the hard stuff.  She writes about all of it, the real parts of life that bring us joy and sadness and all the feelings in between.

Because the beating of my heart is ever present these days, I selected this poem to share~

A Thousand Mornings
 by Mary Oliver

All night my heart makes its way
however it can over the rough ground
of uncertainties, but only until night
meets and then is overwhelmed by
morning, the light deepening, the
wind easing and just waiting, as I
too wait (and when have I ever been
disappointed?) for redbird to sing.  

Monday, June 2, 2014

Last Times

For some life events, it's hard to know before it happens when the last time will be.  I didn't understand this when my children were little.  I had three so it seemed that there would always be diapers to wash, sippy cups to hand off, one last time to nurse. Then one by one things happened for the last time...  except I didn't know it was the last time until it was.  One day the diaper pail stood empty and those lint-free cloths turn into window-washing rags.  The third baby stopped asking to nurse, so I honored his decision and stopped offering.  The sippy-cup lids sat in the dish drainer for days because the toddle now wanted his cup to look just like the big kids' drinking glasses.

We then moved to a time of predictable last times in our family.  Moving through the school system, learning to drive, and graduating from college fell nicely on life's timeline.  We could predict ahead of the event that it would be the last.  I enjoyed those "lasts" because I had time to prepare for them.  I liked the chance to anticipate what would happen, how, and when.  Plans were made in advance, and though we stayed flexible and details might change, the central event was a celebration from anticipation to completion.  I was a happy mom.

Yesterday Ken and I traveled to Boston to help our youngest son move.  We anticipated that it could be the last time we helped one of our children physically move from one place to another.  Each of our three offspring is grown up and gainfully employed, and they have all the possessions that come with a professional life.  Ken and I are in good shape, but we are realistic about how many more times we can heft futons and solid wood bureaus down three flights of stairs, into a truck, and up three more flights of stairs.  We moved our commitments around and our son changed his schedule so Ken and I could both be there yesterday to be a part of this "last time."

We arrived in Boston and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with our son.  Then he delivered his surprise:  for the most part he was already moved.  There were a few boxes we could easily walk from the old apartment to his new abode, and after that he had tickets for us to attend a Red Sox game at Fenway Park.  It was a wonderful surprise.

It caught me off guard because I was prepared for another "last."  I continued to find reasons for us to walk between the two apartments because I wasn't ready for the experience to be over.  Then it was time for us to get on the subway to get to the game, and since we had so much free time we made plans to meet our son for dinner before we got on the bus to head home.

It was a delightful day.  Ken and I talked on the way home about how proud we are of our children and how lucky we are.

It will have to be okay that we can't always predict the "last time."