Sunday, December 30, 2018

Book Review - Sal and Gabi Break the Universe

Sal is 13 year old who moves to a new state and a new school. His first day lands him in the principals office with the school bully about to be expelled. In walks Gabi, to save the bully, and make an impression on Sal. Sal and Gabi become friends through a series of events and together they begin a quest to save the world; the world they accidentally broke.

This is a difficult book to review. Reading it from an adult perspective, I tried to ascertain what age level would be appropriate. It’s written, according to publishing information, for children in grades 3-7. Some of the content is a little difficult to understand, thinking on it from the viewpoint of possible lower level readers. The vocabulary, the pranks, the level of maturity in some of the content would cause me to steer it toward older readers.


I found the writing to be phenomenal, and the story itself is very creative. The author has a great voice. It is, however, in my opinion, geared toward a more specific audience. Those who love realistic fantasy, those who may be Type 1 Diabetics, those of Cuban descent. The characters are quirky, yet mostly likable, and the storyline, while full of humor and pranks is about several serious subjects, which might be a bit too much going on for younger readers to grasp. There are also a lot of Spanish terms scattered on each page; as a non-Spanish speaking reader, the meanings were not always clear to me. 



Thursday, December 27, 2018

Airport thoughts...

Edel told me to write today and while I am gone, so I am just now finding time. Sitting gate side at TIA waiting on a flight to Charlotte, then on to Portland for the next 11 days.
Today getting ready – packing, rushing around with doing last minute things I thought I needed to do I had little time to catch my thoughts. Actually the last few days have been that way. I’ve been good over the last months with finding quiet time; time to not really think, but to just sort of breathe and take stock of the moments in my life. It’s been a necessary part of my life, this quiet time. There’s been some chaos that I was not able to make sense of or control too much, and that can be so unsettling.

A very tired me, 12/26/18
All of that aside, quiet time now is good. Time to breathe and just get on with the day. Saturday night and Sunday were a little humbling for me. I took myself, Sunday morning, to the emergency room with chest pains. It scared me. We think we are infallible until we are not. It turned out well; my heart is fine, but I was diagnosed with GERD, and that was the culprit of my chest pains. It’s going to change my life, and it has already, in fact. I am not a terrible eater, but I have been neglectful over the past few weeks eating more processed food than normal and quick food – although NOT fast food. Too much coffee, too much tea, a small amount of chocolate (little actual food, interestingly enough) took a toll on my system and it rebelled. So now I will need to watch what I eat and drink, the timing of it and so on. It can’t help but be a good thing, but I am still a little nervous and watching every mouthful.

It’s made me aware of getting older; the necessity of it, and how I don’t want the alternative. But I also can’t help but think of those moments we squander in life; the things we do that fill up our days. Each moment leads up to the next and I do believe we are always where we are supposed to be, but the last few days have been a little off kilter; tilted. I will find my way back right again and it will be my new normal.


It’s Christmas Day. It’s actually a quiet time to fly right now. A flight just came in, and mine will be leaving soon. There are families, people travelling along, people of all shapes and sizes, all walks of life. It’s super interesting really.

On the plane, later, with still over 2 hours to go. Long flights are pretty fascinating. People watching in general is, truthfully. I have always had an interest in how we all behave when we are out of the zoo – out of our normal confined environments. When I flew to Italy I was so intrigued by a young mother and her daughter. Their interactions thoroughly captivated me. I am not sure I have always been a people watcher; I think there was a time when I was completely oblivious. There was a section of my life when it all passed me by; the Steve years for sure. His leaving broke my heart, but it also restarted my life. It started a passion and a zest I am not sure I would have found if he had not left. It’s not entirely true; I did have a love of life when I was part of a couple, but being just one when you are used to being part of two changes your outlook. I am finding myself more and more grateful for this renewed life I was given. God and the angels do know what they are doing, and really, my most dire days resulted in a new me; who can ask for more?

My thoughts are all over and I have been so bad at not recording them so tonight, again, a renewed opportunity to share them with myself, to explore my own brain and thoughts and help to clarify what I mean to say. Tonight my thoughts are definitely colored by flying and exposure to a different day; shaking up my own normal routine. Overall the experience today has been a positive one. I am glad I chose to fly today rather than yesterday or even tomorrow. Overall it seems that people really are filled with more goodwill and cheer toward everyone in general. I have heard so many Merry Christmas wishes and so much laughter. Even the children on this flight and the one before have been really well behaved and not loud. As an adult without children of my own, and as an educator who cares for the children of others all day long I do admit that when I see children boarding the plane and seated around me I tend to feel a bit….apprehensive; not quite the right word, but it is something like that. It’s been nice. I did not have to run for the plane as it seems I have had to do the last few times I have flown; again, that has been nice. It’s late by eastern standards; nearly 11 on a Tuesday evening, so many folks seems to be sleeping, yet there is a lot of back and forth activity, too. Up and down for the restroom, pacing the aisle, doing stretches and so on. This particular flight is 5 hours and 45 minutes; a pretty long stretch. The pilot said after we took off we were at a cruising altitude of 32,000 feet and we were travelling at around 450 miles per hour. Portland is a good distance from Charlotte. He estimated smooth sailing and we should reach our destination at around 10:11 pm, PST, or 1:11 am EST.

A very somber little guy got on the plane when we were first boarding. His name is Sebastian and he was wishing each and every person he passed a Merry Christmas. He said so very seriously, without a smile, and he was so earnest in his wishes. I heard his mom – grandmom? call him Sebastian, so when he got to me I wished him a Merry Christmas too, with his name in there. His eyes got wide a moment and so did his travel adult companion, and then she winked at me. There is another young guy in the seat ahead of me. His name is …Michael. Rufus Michael..something like that. He was very serious when he settled in, too, wanting to know where the screen was (mom must have told him some planes come equipped – this one does not). He was very much in the space of the man in the window seat, and he told his mom he wanted to eat his burger now. Mom explained he had to wait, and he did without a peep, and fell asleep for a good long time. The plane tonight is not jam-packed, as they often are. Flying is harder than it used to be with delays, tight connections, super full seats, everyone bringing luggage on to stowaway because of luggage fees. One reason I always use American is because my credit card allows for my first checked bag to be free. It gives me frequent flyer miles, gives me a pretty good boarding place, and best of all, I am precheck; I can skip the lines, leave on my shoes, not have to bag my liquids or take out my laptop. All pretty good.
My thoughts are clearing now, which is good. Time to stop typing though. The angle of the keyboard is a bit too low and is causing my fingers to fall asleep. More thoughts as my vacation continues.

December 26, 2018
Day one actually here. I arrived last night; late for me, but not really to here. I stayed awake til around midnight here but then I needed sleep. This morning is rainy and cold and I completely love it! I heard an eagle cry several times this morning as he searched for…something; dinner, I imagine, but I’d like to think he was calling from pure joy! I’ve heard birdsong in between the patters and drips of rain on the rooftop. I feel better settled now; there is always a period where we have to adjust to new surroundings (even if we have been in them before). It happens all the time, even if we are familiar with where we are. There is this unsettled, discombobulated feeling. Everything is just a little stiff, a little formal, a little off-kilter. It happens in the company of people, in our surroundings, places – even clothing can feel off or just not quite right when we have not worn it for a while. It is short lived, but an interesting phenomenon. So I am here in comfortable surroundings and happy to be where I am. It has already occurred to me that this is probably the last time this winter, these next days, that I will be slightly cold and damp, and that I will be sort of care and worry free. No schedule, no job to go to, no bills to pay, no cats to feed. The pieces that make up my everyday life are in the background, and I get to live this little pocket of freedom for a short time. It’s good, and it makes me really know I need to consider what my next steps will be, come June. For now, though, there is today, this here and this now.

December 27, 2018









Yesterday we spent outside, playing in the snow. We wandered toward Mt. St. Helens, but not quite as far. Most roads are closed in the higher elevations. Basically just one route lies open to get to a good viewing area – the Johnston Ridge/Coldwater Lake entrance. I believe we will go there today, just for a mountain fix. Mountains restore me in the most basic sense. There is something in the air which is pleasing to my soul. I don’t have to hike or gaze down from the utmost heights. I can feel the power of the very heart of the mountain just by being close by. Yesterday we were in low hills; mountainous, yes. The road snakes along hillsides, following a manmade lake created by damming a river. The lake was invisible to us as we stopped at various vantage points, but the sense that there was more underneath the white covering of clouds, mist, and snow was still there.

We first stopped by a small creek, obviously in the summer an ideal place to camp or picnic. The beauty in the winter is frigid but no less breathtaking than in the summer. The stream was still flowing, rapidly, and the water, surrounded by snow and green reflected that aqua, glacial blue in spots. A little further up we went on a logging road, just for a small distance and watched the view of the opposite peaks. The ground between was shrouded in white, and the evergreens were heavy with snow. Eating fresh snow is not something you should do when out hiking, but if you have a warm vehicle to climb back into, it is a fabulous treat. It completely lowers the inner body temperature, but mountain snow is so fresh and clean; sweet almost, and it refreshes so well. I felt bad for the trees laden down with their snowy boughs, so I made snowballs and threw them at the branches. Each hit made me feel like I had accomplished something and gave the tree just a little smile of relief.

Farther up we went toward Lava Canyon – this is the side of the mountain that released all of its snow and ice as it immediately melted upon eruption. It scoured the side of the mountain as it raced down, destroying trees and everything in its path. In the process, it scoured out a long forgotten, buried canyon that had been created from earlier an eruption. It’s a beautiful place in the summer, usually cool. Very serene, despite so many tourists. You can wander in and out of paths, of growing new trees. Last time I was here we carried lawn chairs and sat amongst the trees and just watched the mountain. It was November and warm enough, with little snow on top. I walked along the trails and just relished the peace and serenity. It was nice to feel safe and secure and so peaceful. This visit Lava Canyon itself is closed now, due to snow, but I know it waits for summer gracefully. We ended up stopping at a site where lava tubes can be observed. Ape Cave is just up the road, but it, too, is closed for winter. Ape Cave is apparently a huge cavernous place made entirely of lava tubes. It was not discovered until relatively late in modern times; I think a farmer stumbled into it with his tractor in the 1950s. I have never been, but will, one day. Yesterday we explored the tubes themselves. We actually, unknowingly, stumbled along what appeared to be paths through the snowy woods, topping the rim of some of the tubes until we discovered the boarded walkway we should have been on. Hopefully no flora or fauna was disturbed by our walk; it is winter and everything is pretty much asleep. The boardwalk path was so much easier, however, and there were signs showing us how the tubes were created. It is so fascinating! Eruptions ago there were trees standing in the forest where we stood. Sparks and rocks spewing from the mountain set the tree tops of these behemoth trees on fire, and flowing lava followed along the ground. As the trees burned, the lava flowed around the stumps and eventually cooled. Where the trees had once stood huge holes – molds of ancient trees – were formed. Today, eons later, they still stand. The forest has grown back, died down, grown again, and the holes remain. It is such a calm, serene place; it is hard to imagine that where we stood such chaos once reigned.

A friend of mine lost her sister just before Christmas last year. She was speaking of her loss and how her life feels. It reminded me of these lava tubes. That life was destroyed in them, yet they still stand, molded into the ground. They will never be again, but life around them has gone on and continued. Never the same, but perpetual. It’s such a truth about the circle of life.









We wandered up farther after that; as far as we could toward Lava Canyon. We ended up at a snow park – a place where people gather to do winter sports; cross country skiing, snowshoeing, and snowmobiling. That was the end of the road. We went back to the gate blocking the entrance to Hikers Bivouac and we parked there until after dark. I was so cold and wet from all the hiking and playing in the snow, but I was not ready to leave the beauty of it. So we watched the snow fall until after dark. From time to time trees would lose a bit of the snowy load they carried. Some fluttered down in small showers, some dropped with big plops on the truck. A rivulet of melt froze on the windshield; it was a small wonder to watch it slide down, then turn milky as it froze. Small little things in life that can cause smiles; these moments are everywhere if we just take some time to look for them.
4:57 pm
Snowmobile bridge near Lava Canyon

Saturday, December 22, 2018

No Good Tea Goes Unpunished, book review

What a fun book! After moving home to Charm, NC, Everly buys the home of her dreams and turns it into a luncheon cafe serving organic food and a variety of ice tea. As a favor to a high school friend, Everly hosts and caters her wedding at her North Carolina beachside home. The wedding goes off without a hitch, until the groom disappears during the reception and Everly stumbles on his body near the shoreline. It's a whodunnit with several red herrings thrown into the mix of suspects.

Light mystery, romance and beach reading, this is a great book for fun, uncomplicated reading. The characters are fun and quirky - Everly's aunts remind of the aunts in Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic, but the subject is not quite as intense. It's a sweet read without aggressive language or overly illicit or romantic language. I'm looking forward to reading more of the series, and I am grateful to NetGalley for an advance copy in exchange for a review.


Thursday, December 13, 2018

Book Review - See You In the Piazza: New Places to Discover In Italy

I am a huge fan of Frances Mayes. The first time I read Under The Tuscan Sun I knew it was, for me, a life changing book, and I was right. I fell in love with all things Italian because of her words and descriptions; I could taste the food she described and the scents she smelled; could visualize the details of her house and her travels. I’ve read every book she’s written since then, and was so excited to receive an ARC of her newest book on travel in Italy, See You In The Piazza.

I could never begin to describe each place Frances and her husband and grandson experienced. Once again, I was transported by her words and descriptions of places, faces, food, scenery, and experiences as the trio travel all around Italy, and not just Tuscany or Rome or even Naples. Off the beaten path to places I may have heard of in my reading, or not; places I had no idea existed. Her words invoke such imagery for me, and me long to travel along beside her and see the world as she does. Her knowledge and research of so many details of each place truly astound, invigorate and inspire. Thank you, Frances, for another opportunity to live vicariously through your experiences.


Book Review - The Drum That Beats Within Us

For as long as I can remember I’ve loved poetry. I grew up devouring Rod McKuen, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and in more recent years Mary Oliver and Billy Collins. When I saw The Drum That Beats Within Us and read about the poet, I was intrigued and was fortunate to receive an advance copy to read. 

This is such a beautiful book of poetry. I started reading it slow to savor just a few poems a day until I felt the need to read more and more and finish, unwillingly. I’m looking forward to purchasing a physical copy of this book and will treasure it as I do so many of my other favorite poetry volumes. 
The language is beautiful, heartbreaking, romantic, sad, savvy, and nostalgic all at once. From longer poems to very short, thought provoking poems, the lines of each take the reader to a world the poet has experienced or given much thought to. Truly beautiful, I look forward to exploring more work by Mr. Bond.



Saturday, December 1, 2018

Thanksgiving


It's raining tonight; 46 degrees. It's been raining for about 36 hours, on and off. It's chilly and damp. The air is fresh though, and breathing deeply is so beautiful; my lungs are so happy to be inhaling the beauty of the air here in Washington state. It smells like such a variety of things; in the higher country it smells like pine trees, damp ground, leaves and the clean smell of air being purified by thousands of pine trees. Close to the ocean it smells salty, brisk, heavy. I've caught the scent of pine needles, wet moss, a sweetness I have not been able to identify. There has been good, clean wood smoke coming from chimney's. There has even been that distinct, sharp, sour odor of paper mills processing thousands of waiting trees. And, since it is Washington, I have also caught the distinctive smell of recreational cannabis - perfectly legal here in this state.

Last night we ran out of propane, so at some point in the night it got cold in here. Today was Thanksgiving, so finding propane could have been a chore. Fortunately (for us) WalMart doesn't like to miss a sale (unfortunately, for their employees having to work on a holiday). So, while I was sad that those employees had to work, I was grateful just the same.
Astoria, after moonrise,
from  the (north)
 Washington side of the Columbia River

We spent the day meandering. We drove through country roads, mostly, and we ended up in Astoria, Oregon. Of course I thought of the movie The Goonies - "hey, you Guys! I love you chunk!".
Bridge from Astoria toward the ocean
 We headed a bit farther down to      Ft. Stevens beach. This is the site of the famous-in-this-area shipwreck Peter Iredale, which went down in 1906. It's pretty amazing to see. It is also the point where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean. It's quite something to experience. The Pacific itself is so impressive.

We moved on to Seaside for a bit, but the rain came up on us. We traveled a bit further south, just past Canon Beach (home of Haystack Rock) to a little rest area. It was completely peaceful; we were the only ones there. The tide was out, so we could walk down among the huge rocks. It was so beautiful and peaceful. We ended up staying there until after sunset, and all the light was gone from the sky.



The drive back was full of rain, in sections. We were probably about 100 miles from here. The moon came up and just over Astoria the sky cleared a bit, and the reflection of the moon over the river on the Washington side was so beautiful. Freighter ships were lined up in a row - waiting for tomorrow's load out, I imagine. The drive back was peaceful and quiet.

Because it is Thanksgiving we had limited dinner choices. From previous travels we learned that Denny's stays open on Thanksgiving. Not much was open all day - all the little coffee shops, Starbucks, and every other fast food place you can think of was closed. To me that was pleasing; I was so happy to know that all those folks were home with their families on the holiday.

But Denny's stays open. As we got there a man; pretty obviously homeless; was coming in at the same time we were. He made a beeline back toward the restrooms to the left, and we were seated to the right. After we ordered I went into the restroom. There was a homeless woman taking a sink bath with paper towels. There was grime and water splashed everywhere. She would not make eye contact with me, and kept turning her head away from me, so after I washed my hands I went back to our table. I'm not sure what I would have said or done, regardless. She came out after a long time, a blanket over her head, hiding her face. She rushed out the front door to the waiting man I had seen earlier. He was dressed shabbily, worn army green backpack over his shoulders, long dread-locked hair tucked under a hat and inside his coat. When she came out they started speaking in sign language to each other. It made me sad. Not from embarrassment for them, but to think they were out in the night with no obvious place to sleep that I could see; out in the rain of the night and the past two days. How does that happen to a person? Down on their luck maybe; I get that. But it could just be a desire to live life on their own terms. I will never know. But I started counting my blessings for my family, for my friends; for those who would not let me be in such a position to being with. So today, Thanksgiving day in the beautiful state of Washington I am counting my blessings.


That I am not homeless. That, although for me money is tight, I have enough to pay for the roof over my head. My trip was paid for, and I count my blessings for that. I am grateful for a family and friends I can turn to before I am in dire straights. I am grateful for all I have been through - both good and bad, because the road of those life lessons brought me to this here and this now. As we drove back to the campground on those wet, dreary streets, warm from the heat of the truck, my stomach content from a warm meal, I found myself searching for that couple and sending them blessings from my heart. I wish upon them the blessings of peace, of warmth, a shelter during their travels in Washington in late November, at the start of rainy season. I hope their choices in life fill their hearts with happiness; that the freedom of a life of wandering makes them happy and fills them with peace.



Monday, November 12, 2018

Hope


I find myself today, Monday, Veterans Day, home from work. I am grateful to the Veterans out there who have fought and continue to fight for our freedoms as Americans. So many of my family members went into military service – my father, my uncles, my sisters, my cousins. I am proud and honored to understand their commitment to our country. It is more than just a day “off” from work, I understand. Today, though, I am particularly appreciative of the quiet day. My weekend was full; a Birdsong event here in Plant City. We had a booth at the annual Pioneer Days celebration; fun, but I am “on” all day, speaking with interested people, and selling Birdsong products; it is tiring, but interesting, too. Yesterday was a fun day; I went to the Greek Festival with some friends in Tampa. I am happy as a result of it, but today, I am glad for an extra day of quiet. So, while I appreciate the service of my family and friends which has helped grant me the freedom to live as I choose, I am grateful, too, for this day in which I can spend peacefully.

America was a country founded on many ideals. People came here looking for freedom from persecution. Our country was formed by people who fought for what they believed was right and just. Over the centuries we have changed; society is different, tolerances change and evolve. This is what our country was created for. Celebration of diversity, of thinking. We have been bestowed with what we consider our unalienable rights. This is not a political discourse; freedom and justice mean different things to different people, and that is why we are who we are, where we are. As I was sitting reflecting on Veterans Day and those who fought for what we take for granted, it occurred to me that people really want the same things today as our founding fathers. So much has changed, yet, really, so little. Human nature is still human nature. We want fair, we want freedom, we want justice. I think of the sacrifice’s overs the centuries of people who have continued to allow this for us all, and I am grateful.


I’ve been doing so much personal soul searching this school year. There is much going on in our entire world, and more importantly, in our country which is truly toxic. As Americans we have freedom of voice and belief, and this freedom to be diverse can become toxic if we are not aware. The environment in which I work has been reflective of this toxicity, too. It happens before we know it and can be all consuming if we allow it to be so. I play a part in the lives of so many people; it is the job and career I chose. I chose it because I needed a job, but I also chose it because of my passion for books, and for education. Public education is a source for much discussion these days. Antiquated, maybe, not reflective of our society, maybe. But I believe in books, learning, and education with my entire being. I was so fortunate to grow up within a community – and a state – which valued public education. It took a village to help raise my schoolmates and myself, and it was not perfect, yet the opportunities were there for us if we choose to take them, and we were guided and supported by the community in which we lived. My life was not perfect or easy; just like everyone else, “stuff” happened in life that made growing up difficult. But my parents had hope, they had friends who helped, and a community that really reinforced their lessons to my siblings and myself. I think that might be what is lacking in the lives of my students and their families; Hope. Poverty can become generational and cyclical if allowed. It does not have to be, but it certainly can be. Without hope it makes it so much harder to survive the curves life can throw.

I got scared this year. I gave in to fear. The fear that I would not be successful at what I do. The fear I would not be liked or respected. It’s odd that a strong person can give in to such fears, and yet it happens. It seems, too, that if someone treats you unkindly or without respect it is an easy trap to fall into; we begin to question our own worth and validity, even if we believe we know the truth deep inside. It is kind of what happens in the lives of my students. They are harangued continually – by their parents, peer and siblings. They are exposed to terrible realities; lack of even the most basic needs; food, shelter, love; hope. They are continually made to feel as if they are worthless – through the actions and words of those who are supposed to love them, through skewed societal norms, peer pressure and even a lack of basic understanding of school; reading and writing and doing math, and the value such things can bring to a life. There is little exposure or reinforcement outside of school for what is deemed valuable within the school environment. They are then expected to come to school and fit within the mold of the school setting; sitting in their seats, listening, learning. It is so hard for them, and I understand. But I also understand that is the job we do in education; we try to show them a different world, a different way of life; hope, even it is just for a few hours during the school day.

I can see the lack of hope in the lives of my students. And I can also see that I fell prey to it in my professional life. When people are brow-beaten and dictated to about how things WILL be it is understandable that it can go a few ways. A person can become resentful, bitter, convinced they are a failure; lose hope and perspective. A person can become meek, timid, afraid to make simple decisions; debilitated with fear to be considered wrong. Or, a person can recognize their own worth and their own abilities and become stronger. I fell into the meek territory for a while, but it is not a place I want to stay. For someone who recognizes her own personal self-worth, it has been a bit eye-opening. The reality is that I started to believe that I was not a strong enough person, a strong enough professional; a strong enough librarian; that I did not have what it takes to succeed any longer. Because I was told – we all were – that what we did in the past was not successful by someone who was supposed to have a better big picture, I let fear and doubt slip into my life. It has taken a lot of quiet thought and a lot of reinforcement from friends, from family, from colleagues to remind me that I am good at what I do. The opinion of one individual can matter, especially if that one person is the one who ultimately gets to affect my professional standing. But she does not get to decide my ultimate worth. I have given too much power to her words and actions, and I am grateful for the reflection time – and for the words, actions, and support of everyone in my life who matters to help me remember my worth. This is the person I want to be for my students. One who matters, one who helps them know that they do count, that they are worthy. I want to be a person who helps show them the hope they so desperately need. I want to shine a light into their souls and their lives. I want them to have hope.

Sunday, November 4, 2018

Professionalism, Integrity and Ethics

The other day I came unglued at work. It is the first time this year – or really, I believe since I have been at my school, that I truly got lost in great, gulping sobs. As a professional I know I am supposed to remain such; try to stay calm, cool, focused; professional, whatever that might mean. Why, I wonder? When did being a professional supersede and discount human nature? I know it’s been drilled into me; be professional, and professional means presenting a cool armor. But that is not who I am. I am emotional. I am a thinker. I react, and not always in expected ways. I get sad and glad; frustrated, angry, happy – or even passive while I am on the job. I am not sure if it is my age turning into some semblance of wisdom, but I am really questioning this idea of professionalism. I do not doubt my own integrity, my own morality, and my own ethical choices, but I do find myself considering just what it means right now.

Let me interject by stating these are my personal views and opinions. I have hesitated writing too much about or sharing much of my professional experiences before now. I work in a public-school setting; prior to this I worked in a private school setting, and I can view this profession of mine from both views. Right now, the district I work in is undergoing some serious issues. A few years ago, there was a power struggle, and the superintendent was removed from her position. Right or wrong, it happened. I do not know details and won’t presume to know or understand or change the past. I do know that since then there have been massive changes in all areas of the district. Cuts, changes, re-deployed resources, jobs eliminated, pay raises denied, then approved at a lower rate. It’s ugly. There are massive dissatisfied grumbles from nearly everyone I come in contact with, and not just at my school. But here is the thing. Those of us who stay, do so for a few reasons. First and foremost, because we believe in what we do. Maybe others are close to retirement and just need to hang in there a year; two, three. Anyone who joins the education profession in this day in age must be prepared to be undermined, ridiculed, undervalued, judged, reproached, and so on. We do not stay for the pay, for the glory – and believe it or not, we do not do it because we are paid for being off three months out of the school year. We pay into a bank which reserves 12% of our pay from every single pay check to compensate when we are not at school. Imagine your own pay with 12% less each pay check? We do not do what we do for the money. We use our own funds to buy basic supplies to do our jobs, and we use our own money to supplement the educational needs of our kids. We rarely, if ever, get to go out to lunch as most of my friends in other professions do. If we get lunch it is a fast bite between classroom chores and responsibilities. We do not get breaks; we need someone to cover us if we need to use the restroom. We take our work home because there are never enough hours in a day. Everyone knows the sacrifice of teachers, and yet it is something that is rarely questioned or taken into consideration when we talk of how education and educators are failing the students.

Back to my original thought of what it takes to be a professional. I have a boss this year who currently represents what I consider the presence of professionalism. My school received an “F” grade from the state this past year. It was not for a lack of trying on the part of any one of the people at our school last year. We all worked hard, heart and soul. Many people left because it was too difficult to do one more year. In June, when the school grade came out, we were assigned a new principal. Everything that was a procedure in our school over the previous 10 years was cast aside as wrong; we failed, why wouldn’t everything we had done or accomplished become irrelevant? Everyone who knew anything about our school or its culture was diminished and relieved of any part of planning for the new year, including the former leadership team, media center program and procedures, the ESE department, the cafeteria, dismissal procedures, behavior incentives – everything. Each of us had to wait for everything we needed to know. We waited to meet with our new leader one on one until a few weeks into the school year. Our ideas and thoughts were never considered or listened to. We were told what we would and would not do based on someone who did not know or understand our students, their families. We were told that She came from a school worse than ours and it would be Her way; the way She single handedly raised the grade of the last school She was at. We heard all about Her glories and achievements. She stood in front of us and told us of how it would be, and how She had assembled a leadership team that would be successful (since that time, two of her leadership members have left). Each person on that team were new to our school. She sang their praises and She drove a wedge between all of us with those first words. She stood before us as a group and she dropped some choice language, saying, what - that is how THEY talk; you've never heard that language before? She continued to extol Her own virtues. She told us there would be no student behaviors. There would be no absent students. She told us she was a firm, but fair leader. She told us she would make us all become better at our craft. She stands before us and she makes proclamations. Then she undermines them, changes her mind, makes us feel inferior and she changes her mind and says she never said what we heard her say.

She asked me to provide my media procedures, and when I did, she tossed them out and implemented the procedures from her old school. Lets just stop there. This is basically what has been done to the entire school. I am no different from any other teacher struggling to remain calm and professional this school year. I manage a media center of around 13,000 books; which have to be inventoried and accounted for every other year; this being the year. I am a support resource for all teachers. I have no assistant, no aide, no volunteers. My professional evaluation is based on the reading score of each and every student at my school, although I do not teach reading. I am the school technology resource – I am responsible for the care and maintenance of around 30 classrooms; around 350 computers, 30ish printers and copiers. I am responsible to inventory each and every technology item located within the school; a 32-page report done at the beginning of each and every school year. Yes. I do actually have the responsibility of close to two full time positions – the technology resource position was eliminated the year I came to my school. Technology, especially at the beginning and end of the school year accounts for over 75% of my time. I juggle a lot and I manage, and I have learned a lot along the way. Each year I have been evaluated as Effective – my first year. Highly Effective two years, and this year I missed Highly Effective by .36 of a point (yes…I was short of a highly effective rating by 3/10ths of a point). I am very proud of the job I do. I love my students and want a future for them. I am at a school with an F grade. My score is based on the reading scores of a student body in a failing school. This year I am valued as Effective, but that proves to me that I was valued and appreciated, and that I did a really good job supporting the teachers, staff and students. My former principal’s evaluation included five exemplary ratings and the rest accomplished on every task. There were no progressing ratings and there were no needs-improvement ratings.

This year a new implementation for me is that I, along with another member of the support staff, provide relief for teachers planning times done on a rotating scheduled. She and I see each class every two weeks for 30 minutes at a time. I have never been with an entire class at my school without the teacher being present. I am not now, or have I ever been a classroom teacher, and I am not equipped to handle classroom behaviors as a whole. Best practices in the district media handbook state that the teacher should remain with the media specialist in order to handle class disciplines. This is the way it has always been since I have been at the school, until this year. I have tried to be acquiescent, however. I don’t think the time the students come during their teacher planning time is an effective use of students use of the library. I feel I am not successful during these times. I do not give student grades, so there is lack of incentive for the students. They do not earn incentives in their classrooms, and quite honestly, the times that I am with these students are among the most unproductive moments I have ever spent with children in my entire career. I will share more of that later.

There is more wrong at my school than right this school year. Each of us feels belittled, confused, angry, scared, upset daily. The students run rampant. Because incentives were taken away, the rewards of good behavior are unclear and undefined. Students of high poverty schools can learn, but they need so much more support and time; they need structure, rules, constant redirection; but above all that they need love and security. Many classroom teachers are not being successful; a few are. We currently have 13 instructional positions open. Since the beginning of the school year we have had 7 teachers leave for other districts or for other careers. We did not fill all positions at the beginning of the year, so resource teachers have been subbing in classrooms without teachers. Subs refuse jobs at our school or come and leave halfway through the day. Resource teacher jobs are to provide teacher support; extra lessons, break-out sessions, advice, guidance, and so on, but because each and every one of them sub in one class or another, there is no extra push in support being provided. Student behaviors are a huge issue. No students, however have been suspended this school year, so the district has recorded that our behavior issues are 100% handled. No referrals have been written. Students, daily, are sent home without a consequence, except they are sent home. They leave class un-escorted. They run around school. We have elopers – students who jump the fence and run or walk out the gate. Walkie-talkies have been turned off, and teachers who call the office are told to handle it on their own. The fire alarm has been pulled twice this year by students. The students hit, kick, bite, punch - they physically attack their teachers, turn over desks, rip things from the walls, break pencils, throw computers, projectors, document cameras – they rip cords from the back of computers, break pencils, destroy library books and other school property. I, myself, this year have been scratched, punched, head butted, kicked, and slapped. Being told “NO” or being cursed at vilely is an everyday occurrence. We are a Kindergarten – 5th grade school. Morale is terrible. Each day one or more of us cries with frustration, hurt, anxiety.

This is all a matter of fact. This week, though, my struggle became more personal, more real. I was required to sign up to be observed by the principal. I was working on a lesson with a particular 5th grade class. I was told no; that someone else had signed up in that slot of time, so I had to choose another class, but it needed to be during the time I cover for teacher planning. I arranged for the original class to come a different time; I knew they would be successful at what I wanted to accomplish. Again, I was told no. I arranged a third time for this class. I was told no. It had to be done by Friday. Because of this, I had to arrange a less-than-desired class. Still. I thought I might be able to make it work. The original lesson was for 5th grade; this was a third-grade class, but I adapted the lesson. The teacher decided she would work one-on-one with the few problem kids, so I prepared the rest of the class for the lesson. I was careful with the lesson plan, sharing it with the principal so she could see what I was attempting. From the moment she appeared it was a failure. She came before the kids were there, she asked me why they were not there, and she reminded me she was there to observe (thank you, Captain Obvious). I explained that their teacher picks them up from lunch and brings them to me. The teacher had a hard time lining them up; the principal stepped in, which irritated the teacher and escalated the behaviors. From the moment they came into the library I realized it was not the same group of students I had seen the week before. The day before this teacher and her suite-mate had decided to regroup their kids. From a teacher stand-point that is a great idea. I get it - one teacher works in an area where they are stronger; the other teacher works with the group she is stronger with. It's a good idea for the kids. However, from a “special” stand-point, this is a terrible idea. It is liking packing for Alaska and getting rerouted to Jamaica. You can make it work, but you need to re-evaluate and re-plan; maybe buy some different supplies. It was not an option at that point. The behaviors were huge. I was flummoxed, and I was unable to control the talking, the negatives, the atmosphere. Half of the kids were un-engaged because they did not receive the first part of the lesson, and un-engaged kids act out. The lesson was planned above their ability. It was a disaster, from her first words to me, to her walking out 20 minutes later. The teacher came to get the kids and I barely was able to not cry in front of them. I made it to the back and I sobbed my heart out. At the switch. The frustration, the anger, the principal not saying, hey, you know what, lets do this again, as she has told every other teacher she would do. I was advised to send her an email explaining what happened. Like the majority of the emails we send, she did not respond. Feed back is Monday. I will not be given another chance to do it again.

Friday a new little girl with psoriasis was in the media center with her class. She is new to us and I have been watching her behavior. She is very timid and seems ready to cry at every moment. I know the kids are being kids and are being less than nice. She asked me if she could have lunch with me. I said yes, and when I got her, I asked two other girls to come to break the ice with her. The girls were eating and were working on speaking, finding common ground when their teacher came in. She spoke to them about classroom behavior, which was fine. But on her heels came the principal. I thought, oh maybe she is here to tell me hey, let’s re-plan that session. No. She, too, berated the girls on their classroom color chart. One is a little girl who shuts down when confronted. I know this. Every teacher there knows that; her teacher knew – she spoke quickly, quietly, without berating the girls. The principal did not. She proceeded to speak harshly. She told the new little girl she expected more, and she threatened the girl who shuts down with failing 5th grade. She told the her she was being disrespectful for not answering her. She assured her failing was not a threat – it was a fact. The new little girl started crying. And then the principal turned on me. She berated me, in front of all three girls, for sending three boys back to class earlier when I was working, alone, with a class of 26 5th graders. I had asked them to come back in 15 minutes to check out books. I told her, yes, I did send them back to class, but then they came back as instructed. They proceeded to wrestle in the media center, so again they were sent back to class without books. She told me this went against her wishes, that the media center was never to be closed and she had told me earlier in the year students WOULD check out their own books. I told her what had happened and my reasons for not allowing student self-check-out. She told me she was not happy, and we WOULD be discussing it further Monday. She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the four of us stunned. I apologized to the girls and tried to make it a learning moment for them. I told them that even teachers get into trouble sometimes, and we all needed to work together to make things better. The girls left, my mission of bringing them together as an ice breaker uncertain. Another teacher who was sitting at another table said she was stunned, too. She was expecting the principal to tell me to re-plan the failed lesson and to be observed again. She was stunned at the lack of professionalism, of the lack of professional courtesy toward me, of her berating me in front of students. For her, she was more appalled and stunned at how she berated the girls; she knows the girl who shuts down, and obviously the principal did not know her well at all. She told me that I needed to start documenting each thing that is happening. Once again, I became unglued. It made me cry again. Another friend sat with me as we had lunch together. I put my head down and said I feel like I am having a break-down. She rubbed my back, reminding me of my worth and how this does not define me as a person. She is 100% right, but in those deep moments it is so hard to stay positive and hopeful.

What is interesting is I called and spoke with the media specialist from Her old school. I asked her how she did self-check-out for the kids. Her kids are high poverty, as are mine. She told me the teachers did stay with her when she taught lessons, and she was surprised I was not allowed to choose the class I wanted to be observed on. She told me her kids did self-check-out, but only when she was able to watch them and manage their exceptions; kids from high poverty schools move a lot, and in the process their library books are often lost, damaged, destroyed. We have to over-ride those exceptions on every single student, because even if books are lost or damaged we, as librarians, want our kids to have books. She said if the students came in when she was teaching, if they acted up, yes, they were sent back to class with loss of library privilege that day. She said they would choose their books, leave them with their card and she would check them out and deliver them later. Her school, like mine is highly transient, which means students move around a lot; often they need a new library card and there was no way that the students could be relied on to checkout their own books accurately.

It seems that I am being ordered to do things they were done at the principal’s old school; except they really were never done the way she remembered they were done. After tomorrow’s post-observation conversation and addressing my failures, including unexpected classroom management, a failed lesson plan, and of not allowing students to check out their own books it will be over; for a while. The attention will move somewhere else, to someone else. I debated sharing this publicly on my blog, but I decided that yes, I needed to. I am a public servant. Everything I do is subject to scrutiny. But. If my wrongs are the things that will get me fired, such as sharing things I would like to see fixed, then, so be it. Things need to improve somehow, someway. I work hard. I am in my 11th year of being an Effective/Highly Effective Librarian/Media Specialist/Technology Resource. I am a professional. Everything I do, every decision I make is because I feel it is in the best interest of the students and teachers I serve. I worked very hard to acquire a master’s degree in a profession I have been passionate about. I love sharing books with children. I love being a resource for teachers, so they can better teach their students. These are the things not happening, and it hurts my heart that we have to fight our system, that we are undermined at every turn while we try to help provide hope and a future for our children. That is what every educator I know wants to accomplish. I hope that all these internal struggles somehow pay off. I know that we lose excellent staff in the meantime. People who became educators in order to make a difference for students, but we cannot always deal with the personal toll it takes. I am there myself. I am seriously considering where I will be next year, and what career choice might be better for me personally. The personal challenge to my own physical and mental health is too high. I cannot say what I want to happen, exactly. Equity of voice, maybe? A small shred of dignity and appreciation; to know I am valued? Above all I want the children I serve to have an opportunity to succeed. Their lives are hard enough, and they need stability, respect, and a better chance to learn. The school I was at prior to this has a motto which I still love and value. How do we treat others? With dignity and respect. It's not too much to ask. Life is hard enough.

Saturday, October 27, 2018

I am enough

I woke early, as is my custom. It is just 8 now, but I have already showered, changed kitty litter, fed the hungry beasts, made the bed, washed off my car, watered a few plants; counted my blessings and gratitude’s, along with a prayer of thanks. Coffee is brewing. I am able to have the sliding glass door open because so far, the air is milder and nice as it wafts in from the outside.

My prayers and gratitude’s this morning are for God and the Angels and the blessings they continue to give to me. My life right now is not perfect. Far from it. I make less money now, despite a $2.30 raise. I am strapped; I have to count pennies, basically. My work situation is terrible, but I won’t color my morning or day with details just now. Life is far from perfect. Yet I am grateful for this day, this morning, and I am so grateful to be who I am. Life has been kind to me. I have had ups and downs. I have been down on the ground – literally – wishing the ground would open and swallow me because I did not know how to get up. But each time I did. I took a breath, which turned into another. As my mom told me so long ago – the body knows what to do. Just let it. Time passes, and things change and before long breathing is easier and the next step is in front of me. I am grateful to know this; to live it. I am grateful that God gave me skills and curiosity of how to help myself, and I am grateful that God and the Angels are with me always, and I know this and lean on them when I need to.

I had drinks last night with some co-workers, and I am grateful for that this morning, too. It was enlightening and eye opening. I learned some things about people that I did not know, and that particular camaraderie is really what is needed in our situation, because it is extremely toxic. We have been pitted against each other, not even realizing it at first, but last night shed some light for me, and it makes me feel different this morning. It does not change the exact situation, but it makes it feel just a slight bit more tolerable. All of us are in it together; not one of us is exempt from the terrible situation. We all have different degrees of toxicity being spewed at us, so the best part is knowing we are not alone, and it is not personal toward us. What a fabulous enlightenment. How, going forward, can that not help us grow?

I jokingly told everyone when the situation in August became quickly apparent, this would be my growth year. But it is turning out to be true, in ways I did not consider. The biggest thing is a re-discovered sense of worth. There have been times in my life when I have thought I am just not enough – the moment when we discovered I could not have children. When my husband left me without warning after that, or even telling me. The moment I was told I was losing my job at Corbett. This school year, meeting my new boss and being made to feel as if I was not enough; as if every effort over the last few years was completely wrong. But here is the thing about growth. You can learn from life and become better, or you can become bitter. And I am not going to allow any of this to make me bitter. I get infinitely sad to have no children to pass myself onto. I get so sad that my long marriage ended; despite of my pride in who I am, my heart misses him terribly at moments. I miss my Corbett family, and I miss being a real librarian to the kids. I currently question each step I take, each moment of my work day – what wrath will fall on me because of this choice? But I refuse to sink to the bottom and I refuse to believe I am not enough. I am. I can hold my head up high and I can learn what not to do, how not to lead people, how to stay kind and boost up others when they, too, are being beat down in a sea of negativity and lunacy. So it is a growth year, and I will be a better person at the end of it. For that, yes, I am grateful.

Sunday, October 14, 2018

Past Tense, Book Review



Past Tense was an enjoyable read. Jack Reacher, former MP, wanders the country taking odd jobs here and there and trouble always seems to find him. He is calm under pressure, likeable, and he is always a step ahead of the bad guys. This book was no exception. The setting is rural New Hampshire, and the cast of characters range from helpful to downright creepy. Jack decides to stop in Laconia, NH on his way across country. His father, long since deceased, grew up in the city. The mystery deepens as discovering his father's origins are not as easy as it should have been. Along the way, Jack, of course, stumbles on the bad guys and becomes friendly with the good guys, and two separate drama's play out around the rural setting.

It was a welcome sidetrack to me to read this book in exchange for a review. I don't have a particular genre that I read 100% of the time, although action/mysteries are not often on my list. Several people do lose their lives, and yet it was touched on without a lot of blood, guts and gore. I found myself really ok with how it all played out. It is one I will recommend for my book group when it is published.

Saturday, September 15, 2018

Ancestors

As I flipped the date on my block calendar this morning, the date struck me. Today is not a particularly striking date that I know of for me, personally. It is because of the day itself. Thoughts triggered in my mind and began ricocheting around, tripping the wires of memories and deep thought.
Today’s date is of no special significance to me, but it is to others in the world. Dates of birth, death, anniversaries, engagements, promotions, of being fired. So many possibilities. With 7 billion people in the world, this date is noteworthy to many. I have my own dates. My Mom-Carole’s birthday is Monday; the 17th. My best friend from high school days has her birthday the 13th. My mom married her 2nd husband sometime in September; I have no idea of the date now, but I used to know when I was a pre-teen. Of course, Americans have the memory dates of Labor Day, and no small, easy memory, September 11.

It made me think of Mom-Carole’s birthdate in 1936. Of my mom’s in 1942. Of My great-grandmother’s in 1898, and my thoughts continued farther back. The other day in meditation class, Beth, my wonderful instructor-friend, mentioned our ancestors – not just the recent ones we know of and can remember, but farther back – 50 generations, maybe. I am proud to have Native American blood from both sides; my paternal great-grandmother was full blooded Mohawk. My maternal aunt, while doing our family tree was able to trace ancestors back from one branch back to the 1500s coming from Holland. Along the way she discovered those settlers new to America obtained Mohawk offspring, so I have it on both sides, and it makes me proud. It was easy, with Beth’s instruction, to imagine those fierce, wild, wonderful women dancing around a bonfire – hair swinging, mocassined feet touching the earth, stomping, shuffling, living their lives and passing on their own past to future generations. I could feel that connection deep within me, and it makes me feel bolder, more connected, more in tune with myself. I cannot help but feel those distant ancestors would approve of who I am today.

We are survivors, all of us. We all have histories that have brought us to where we are right now, to who we are right now. Each of us have past generations that began farther back than any of us can grasp in the realm of our imagination. Somewhere back into the far reaches of time life began then bloomed and spread. We evolved, and even if we are believers in the Creation or Evolution it doesn’t matter. Each of us has evolved from which ever creation myth our religion says, or from what science believes; we have evolved from those first persons, on and on and on, forward, 
to who we are today.





Each of us have ancestors who lived, breathed, died and passed those genes forward – good, bad, or indifferent. We are who we are because of them. Each one of them endured, thrived, suffered; they lived for us. To have a small glimmer of those who can before me so long ago was such a gift, and such a special, eye opening moment for me. I felt connected to the past, and I felt empowered for my future. I am not able to pass on pieces of my DNA to future generations, but I can pass on other parts of myself. One day my words and thoughts will make a difference to someone who will either read them or feel them in their soul. My nieces, my nephews, my cousins – they all pass on blood that has been part of our shared past, and I am so very proud to be part of all that will come.

Sunday, September 9, 2018


The Late Bloomers Club, book review

This was the perfect book for my mood the past few weeks. It is simple, yet complex, and full of niceness. It is set in a small town in the Northeast Kingdom, otherwise known as northeastern Vermont. A development company has set its sites on acquiring property in fictional Guthrie, and is determined to install a big box store. At the same time, Nora, owner of the local diner, inherits a piece of property that the developer is interested in when it's owner, Peggy the cake lady dies. Nora's sister is part owner, and her vote is to sell the property, take the money, and run. Nora has spent her life caring for people; her mother when she became, ill, her father when he could not fathom how to live without his wife, her younger sister, Kit. She has to learn how to juggle all the demands on her time and resources, but at the same time, she wants to keep her small town intact and not let the developer interfere with "keeping Guthrie small."

It is a satisfying book, with characters I came to truly like and appreciate. I found myself sad when the book came to an end. A true feel-good book, I am so pleased to have been able to read it in advance from Net Galley in exchange for a review.

Wednesday, September 5, 2018

A Day in the Life

Let me tell you about my evening. About my evenings the last month or so, actually. At some point I leave my desk, lock my office door and walk to the parking lot to my car that has baking in the sun all day. I start the car, roll down the windows and let more fresh, hot air in, yet some of the steam escapes at the same time. I start whatever audio book I am listening to at the moment – today it is fiction, but over the past month it has been a mixture of non-fiction books; Brene Brown’s, Daring Greatly or Rising Strong, Thich Nhat Hahn’s Silence, Pema Chodron’s When Things Fall Apart. It calms me as I drive. I drive back roads 99.5% of the time, and once I cross a certain main highway, the traffic lightens and the scene becomes more bucolic. This is by choice. It is less miles and a whole lot more stress to take the interstate. Along the route I travel I meander around a lake, and each day I look forward to how the lake will look; rainy today, smooth, calm (this time of year not very often). I cross a tributary river and enjoy the sight of people fishing off the bridge. I pass farm land with cows grazing, I pass swampy areas with water standing because of the plethora of summer rain storms. I pass a few abandoned houses, and these always make my heart skip a beat; the story of the people who must have once lived there fuel my imagination. Eventually I wind my way down the north end of my road, pull into my driveway. As I open the car door, nine times out of ten I sit and smell the heat, smell the sunshine or the rain blowing in. I listen to the sound of wind in the trees, dogs barking in the distance, a chicken clucking and squawking down the road. I listen to the quiet and the calm and I feel my shoulders begin to loosen as I set my feet on the ground, grab my bag and walk into my quiet, cool, waiting house. I speak to my cats, to my bird, make sure all have food and water, and I head back to my bedroom to change my clothes, take off my jewelry. I thank God, my angels, the Buddha who all wait patiently on my personal alter. I thank them for allowing my safe return home. I light a candle, a stick of incense, I set a timer on my iPad and I settle in to meditate for 20-45 minutes. This is my time, my sacred time, and it has become a ritual and a routine in my daily life. Without it, I know I would bring home the stress of the day and the tensions of this year. I am determined to not live my job 24 hours a day.

Tonight as I chopped chicken and kale for my dinner my mind wandered. In spite of my quiet meditation and my refusal to dwell on my job, snippets of conversations from this afternoon drifted through my thoughts. It occurred to me that writing is a catharsis, and it occurred to me that someone needs to write about this. It feels necessary to let others to know what the day is like in my line of work. What it is we face each and every day. From the conversations this afternoon, throughout the day, for the past few months, and even the last few years I know that many co-workers are stretched beyond a breaking point. Today the discussion was centered on why they have not walked out the door already. There are many reasons that range from needing the work, from fear of what they would do without the job that has become their livelihood. If someone were to take the pulse of all the people who work where I do, I believe it would be safe to say that over 95% of them are unhappy, over-worked, scared, stressed, worried, fearful of many things; evaluations, failure, their sanity, and worse of all, fearful for their physical safety and that of others around them. I did not today hear any of them talk about the more noble reasons they stay where they are, but they are firmly rooted inside of them, I have no doubt. Today was not a day to be noble, though. Today they were tired and filled with angst.

Now let’s talk for a moment about what I do for a living. I am a school librarian. I work at a high needs, high poverty, inner city elementary school. The state evaluation has rated us as an F school, and we are in our last year of bringing the school grade up to a C or higher. It seems, at the surface, to be a task that is achievable. I would like to think it is. We put in long hours, work hard on lesson plans, work hard to make each day special for the kids, for our co-workers, for ourselves. To get where I am I did not go to school to learn to teach. I attained a BA in Humanities and earned my MA in Library and Information Science. I took 13 graduate level classes and paid a lot of money to become a librarian. More about that another time.
Now let me give you a glimpse of my day today. Just today. I arrived at work at 6:20, leaving my house by 5:50 this morning. I expected children at 7:45, so in the hour before they arrived to do the morning show, I did everyday routine tasks – filled the copier with paper, filled a bucket with ice for myself to use throughout the day, ran the laminator, checked the weather and date for the kids to report on the morning show. I searched for literacy standards for kindergarten through fifth grade reading. I considered the classes I would have later – both 2nd grade. I am the technology resource at the school, which means I have to keep around 400 computers in working order, in addition to managing the library for students and teachers. I have been struggling with three new carts of laptops gifted to us last year; they were all prepared for the school year and then 90 of them dropped off the wireless network. That is long and complicated, but I am down to 61 not connecting; a headache to be dealt with, slowly each day. Throughout my day I hear a lot of “I know you are super busy, but…”. Many people hear that. I do what I can to help; make copies, laminate, gather books, fix a laptop; whatever needs doing.  Essentially, like many people on the job, I hit the ground running each and every day. New to my job requirements this year is being a part of the school master schedule. More about what that means at a later time. Essentially, I fill in for teacher planning time in order to help them concentrate on planning for the needs of their individual students.
This is hard for me. It sounds minimal – about 10 classes a week, for a total of around 5 hours of my week. I only see each class every second or third week, so walking an entire class to and from locations without their teacher is quite a challenge; like herding cats, quite honestly. The first class made it finally, basically intact, and then we ran over in time for me to pick up the next class. In this hour of time I tried to adhere to boundaries set by the school, by their teachers, by myself for media center etiquette. In this I failed miserably. There is no reason to sugar coat it; it was a circus and the chaos circled around me. I was told no, there was shouting, pouting, resistance, tears (not mine), running, jumping….and today was actually a more quiet day than yesterday. Did I mention books? I was able to check out books to one of the classes today – imagine that? I was a librarian for about 40 minutes of my day 9 ½ hour day today.

Today I took a lunch. Most days I can’t, or I eat on the fly. I actually had 15 minutes that I could sit with a friend and we could chit chat about our day, our lives (it is her granddaughter’s birthday today!). She was called away, as she often is when we try to share a few moments for lunch. I finished working on one laptop, switched to another. I checked and answered emails, I created a form to help track equipment repairs, did some maintenance requests, helped a teacher find a few books, logged into the computers for a kindergarten class. This class is without a classroom teacher. Their teacher left last week; she just quit. There are rumors as to why, but I cannot speculate, and really, to me it does not matter; there is nothing I can do except support where I can. The class was doing really well. Until all at once, they were not. These are kindergarteners. This is the same class that last week; the same day their teacher left them, who thought it was fun to run around the library, hitting computers, pounding on keyboards, laughing, shouting NO, shoving books off shelves. It still makes me sweat. I admit I had a bit of a sigh when the exact same behaviors happened today. It was a relief to know that I was not alone in my inability to handle them. And it was interesting that it was the same four students this week causing the same chaos. Very destructive, however, and very scary that in kindergarten they can think of these terrible ways to behave. Together we wrangled them and I helped get them back to their classroom, safely, but it took a toll on her, a seasoned teacher, just filling in to allow the students time to learn how to use a computer. It broke my heart when she came back in a few moments later to gather her belongings, after they were safely out of her care. She fought very hard to hold back tears, and she had to walk away when the tears tried to take over.
From there it was dismissal time. It is in the high 90s each day, with humidity well into the 80s or higher. The noise of the buses, the noise of the children, the heat outside, all make a very uncomfortable wait as we try to make sure that 500 children leave us safely. It is something to be experienced. Indescribable. After dismissal I went back to my office to finish the last minute things I needed to do. 3:10 rolled around, and I made a mental note that I could leave, but it was 4:10 before I finally was able to walk away. My desk is cleared, a pile of laptops waiting to be picked up for repairs, another left to reimage overnight. Emails finished, everything on my desk wrapped up for the day. Tomorrow is another day.
Tonight I still hear the voices of sadness in the teachers I work with. I hear their despair; their tone of frustration and defeat that they are not able to teach, that students behaviors are too unruly and too disruptive. The voice of one or two per class can, and do disrupt the learning of the entire class. It is heartbreaking.

As children we adults of the world today attended school. Some of us liked school (I did) and some did not, but we could depend on our teachers and our school, for the most part, to be a safe environment. Learning was there for us; we just had to grasp it. I understand that not everyone had a great school experience. There is bullying and always has been, there are tensions and rules and regulations. There were tests and failures and successes. There were friendships that I personally have had since kindergarten. I am lucky enough to be from a small town and to have attended the same school as my parents, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother. My aunts and uncles, cousins, both younger and older attended those same schools, and the youngest of our generations still do. Times have changed. The world has changed. People have changed. Schools have changed. Today’s education at high poverty, high needs schools is beyond anything any of us have signed up for. There has to be a change in education. We are so quickly losing teachers, losing the attention of students. I do not know the answers. I do know that many people point fingers at teachers and schools, and many people, including the state, set mandates and guidelines about what will occur, or else. If someone could step in our shoes for a day, for a week, they would see that we, as educators, are stretched to the limits of what we can do as human beings. If those who were so busy pointing fingers as if that can make a difference – if they had to deal with being bit, hit, punched, spit on, kicked – shouted at, disrespected, lied to, stolen from, threatened, cursed at, and so on; they might put their fingers down and possibly find a much better way to do things. Because at this point, I am not alone in believing that I have done what I do because I love it. I don’t love it anymore, and in all honestly, I have not loved it for a very long time. And judging from today’s overheard conversation? I am not alone in this either.