March 2020 SOLC–Day 5
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

The final echoes of kids’ footsteps and voices were replaced by the hustle and bustle of teachers tidying up and racing around to get to our weekly staff meeting on time. I swung by my colleague’s room to touch base about a student.

Mid-way through our discussion, our math strategist came flying in the room, our contact hour certificates in hand. She handed me mine directly, “I told you I’d have them!” she said triumphantly.

Then she turned to my colleague to ask about reprinting hers, since there were a few errors. Once they got that straightened up, she said, “I’m so bad at this! I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long. And it’s not like I haven’t already printed them. There’s been a stack of them on my desk at my other school since December!” She laughed, “I don’t know why I’m outing myself, but this really is an area of growth for me.”

“Oh, I love that line,” I said, “An area of growth!” My mind swirled, alive with possibilities.

“Sorry my desk is such a mess” sounds so much better with “It’s an area of growth for me.” tacked onto it. I mean, clearly, you are supposed to start doing something about it, not just keep saying it, but it’s amazingly transformative. Actually it’s like magic–transforming a weakness or problem into a goal or aspiration. But how long can you allow yourself to keep using this line before you simply become a bald-faced liar? There must be some sort of expiration date….

Then another thought struck me, “Oh, I can use this on my husband!” (You know, the one who gets a kick out of musing aloud, “It’s so weird! The dish fairy never comes when you’re away!”) Instead of me saying (for the thirteen millionth time), “Can you please wipe the counter when your coffee and sugar spills?” or wiping the spills and sugar grit up semi-aggressively and sometimes resentfully (for the thirteen millionth time) or coming up with a creative solution like placing a spoon rest or folded napkin in the offending area (for the thirteen millionth time), I could simply say, “Oh, clearly cleaning up after your coffee mess is an area of growth for you. Would you like some help with that?”

Hmmm…..actually that sounds a bit aggressive. I might need to reconsider how I phrase it. But still, the possibility is there if I can just figure out how to tap into it. Also, he reads my blog every day, so there’s a chance this new approach might work with minimal effort! (“Hi,  Honey!” –envision that with a little wave and a smile.) Or it might totally backfire. Maybe I should just ask him when the counter-wiping fairy is going to visit…

March 2020 SOLC–Day 3
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

Today was a no good, very bad, yucky day. The worst one in a long while. I won’t go into details, but the morning was pretty stressful–a typical bumpy Monday laced with extra doses of argument, opposition and negativity. I looked forward to recess, thinking it might be a respite for all of us.

Who was I kidding?

At recess I was on duty, and I was torn in multiple directions. I needed to get back inside to check in with a student whom I’d sent to the office, deal with the report that another one of my students had been enthusiastically dropping the f-bomb around the playground, and shoo a bunch of  repeat offenders off the forbidden ice field. The latter was complicated by the fact that I’d worn dress boots that literally cannot walk on ice. Then to make things even more interesting, the cursing student stomped off across the field. Far across the field, the very icy field, and well out of the recess boundaries. For a moment, I wished I could clone myself but then I worried that doing so would merely double my suffering.

In the midst of this not-so-much-fun day I got an e-mail from a friend. “This woman reminds me so much of you, her eyes, the tilt of her head… Could you be related?”

I was intrigued. Would I see the resemblance? What does she think I look like? Then, I clicked on the link and saw the photograph.

I think she meant to send me this:

But she sent me this instead:

I’m still depressed.

I often have a glass of wine in the evening. Tonight when I got home, I made coffee. Then I poured Bailey’s in it. Liberally. That about sums it up.

March 2020 SOLC–Day 2
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

The first winter the big grey and white cat visited, when the temperatures dropped below zero and stayed there, we put a notice on the town Facebook page. We found his owners, and they came to get him…somewhat reluctantly. They told us his name was Haskell.

Every so often Haskell cycles back through. He hangs around for a couple of days. Comes to the door and meows, then runs away when we open it. Perpetually skittish. I usually let his owners know when he’s here again, in case they’re concerned. They usually aren’t.

This past Saturday night, I heard a meow. I looked outside and there was Haskell. He limped heavily up to the door. Oh, no. I immediately Facebook messaged his owners about his injury and then lured him into the mudroom with some food. I sequestered him in there to keep him away from our two cats. I figured his owners would probably want to come get him. Their response came quickly.

When I asked if she wanted to come get him, she told me to just let him go outside. “We’re hoping he just comes home,” she wrote.

After grumbling a few things under my breath, I opened the door that separates the mudroom from the house to go let Haskell out. In a flash, he leapt past me and dashed into the house. What!? I spun around in dismay.

One of my cats, Juniper, had followed me, and after a quick face-off, she and Haskell launched into a whirling dervish of flying cat fur. I raced at them, yelling, and they split up. Haskell went careening out of the room, through the kitchen, into the family room, then through the hallway and up the stairs. Oh, no!

Following him, I slammed the door shut to the hallway. This kept Juniper away from the stairs and Haskell, but I had no idea where our other cat, Squirrel, was. I have to admit for a moment I just stood there, slightly stunned. What am I going to do?

Kurt had just left for the store, so there was no help coming from that quarter. My mind was skittering from one idea to another. Then, suddenly, I started laughing. The whole situation just struck me as so ridiculous, so absurd. Who else has a strange cat running through their house?

I took a deep breath and started thinking. I had to do something. Okay. The first thing is to make sure the cats can’t get to each other.

At this point, Juniper was thoroughly riled and I knew not to try to pick her up. I grabbed some wet food and lured her out to the mudroom and shut her in there. I slipped into the hall and found Squirrel, then shut her up in the downstairs bedroom. I looked up to see Haskell watching me from the landing upstairs.

“Hey, Haskell, come on, boy,” I called.

He ignored me. I walked slowly up the stairs, and he sauntered into our bedroom. He clearly wasn’t scared anymore, but he also clearly wasn’t cooperating. As I followed him, he glanced over his shoulder at me, then strolled into the bathroom. I followed, and emerged from the bathroom to watch him run down the stairs. Well, at least that was a step in the right direction. Moments later, he disappeared through the slightly cracked open basement door. Ugh.

Our basement is pretty awful. Horror movie awful. Dirt floor. French drain. Low ceilings and dark corners. My children point-blank refused to go down there–when they were in high school! Haskell had no such reservations.

No longer as amused by this series of events, I climbed down the ancient wooden ladder stairs, cajoling and pleading. When is Kurt getting home anyway?

I flicked on the dim single bulb dangling from the ceiling. I caught sight of Haskell. Intent on guiding him away from the far end of the basement, which disappears into a nightmare-inducing crawl space, I walked right through a thick drapery of cobwebs. Grimacing, I peeled sticky strands of web away from my face and out of my hair. Meanwhile, Haskell leisurely leapt up and squeezed through an opening to vanish under the floor of our kitchen.

Eventually, after a bit more ineffective cajoling, I gave up. I climbed back upstairs and shut the basement door. I let our cats out, and hoped I’d figure out how to herd our uninvited visitor out in the morning. Tonight, Haskell would just have to sleep in the basement. At least he’d be relatively warm.

In retrospect, it’s all my fault really. Saturday afternoon, with the challenge looming in my mind, I said to my husband, only half kidding, “We should go out looking for a story.” Famous last words. Once again, the story came and found us!