One thing I love about my husband is his vocabulary. He knows many more words than I do, which is interesting, considering he is not particularly a reader. He grew up in a home where words were important, and his mother was a published poet. She was also his Creative Writing teacher in 11th grade. His vocabulary shines when we watch Jeopardy and when we play Scrabble. I learned early in my marriage to accept defeat in certain things. I may have won Scrabble twice in 45 years.

He also likes to make up words. Sometimes it can be annoying if a certain word is repeated too often, but occasionally his word-creations can be amusing. This morning was a time when his playfulness with words struck me funny. I got a serious case of the giggles.

I was hurrying to get ready for work to attend a meeting to discuss a student I work with. I suspect this might be a student with dyslexia. As I gathered my clothes, I was telling my husband about the meeting ahead. As if often the case, I was running late. I pulled on my pants (elastic waist) and looked down. Something wasn’t right. They looked weird and felt weird. I had put them on backwards! You can imagine my frustration in the moment.

“So, does this mean you have ‘Dyspantsia’?” he asked.

A moment to process. Then the giggles started. I was laughing so hard that I had to struggle to get my bra on without twisting it. My first attempt failed.

“Oh no! ‘Dysbrasia,’ too?”

Note: I googled “dyspantsia.” Apparently, it has been coined before as a condition where one is attacked by a swarm of ants that get in one’s pants. I guess it now has a second meaning: the condition causing one to put pants on backwards.

One of the great joys of spring in Virginia is the brief show of bluebells. Every year I wait eagerly for the few days when the bluebells peak along the river. This year I wondered if the day would ever come. It’s been so cold and gray.

Last Friday, we had an early dismissal. I was like a kid anticipating a birthday. I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so I packed up. I actually left early. It was 80 degrees, sunny, clear blue sky, and the bluebells were calling me. I couldn’t resist.

The reward was immeasurable. My eyes could hardly take it in. If the sight of such beauty were food, I would be stuffed for weeks. All I would ever need would be a little bit of blue.

Today I attended a regional meeting for literacy coaches and reading specialists. As I looked around the room, I saw very few women and no men even close to my age. Most in attendance were probably the ages of my own children. It felt a little like middle school. Who should I sit with? Will they want old me at their table? I began to wonder if I should begin to think about retiring. After all, I am a grandmother to 11 and soon 12. Does that signal a different season for me? If I didn’t work, would my relationships with them change, deepen, or visits happen more frequently? I’m not sure.

I’m SO torn. I love teaching. I love learning. I love figuring out how kids learn. I love working with teachers on how we can be more effective teachers of reading and writing. I still love reading professional literature and have spent a fortune on picture books and professional books. How do you know when it is time to set your passion aside? Can it ever really be set aside? So how do you kindle your literacy passion outside the boundaries of school?

Therein is the problem. Literacy learning and teaching IS what energizes me and keeps my brain active. I’m in a school where I have positive relationships with most staff members. We are progressing in workshop teaching. We are progressing in interventions that reach individual students by need. We have had phenomenal success with our first graders this year and may even be able to significantly close a gap with our 3rd grade Spanish-speaking students. After intensive work on building background knowledge, using strategies for unlocking new vocabulary , enlarging decoding skills, and retelling and comprehension discussions, we feel pretty confident that many of the 12 students in the intervention will be able to pass their state Standards of Learning tests in May. That would be AMAZING.

Maybe this writing is helping me see that perhaps it is not time YET. I feel there is much work I want to do and can do still in teaching. But then there are all those other pursuits such as writing, taking a sewing class, learning to kayak, naturalist courses, community service, family history and genealogy, piano lessons, college work in music. Sometimes I feel cursed by the many interests that pull at my brain and heart.

Time to table this decision for the night. I’d be happy to hear from you and how you may have made the decision to retire.

I.

Today I will inhale the blue Carolina sky and remember walking to the lake with Maggie.

Today I will hoard memories of bluets and newborn babes.

Today I will savor the imperfections that challenge me.

Today I will trust in family.

Because I have experienced loss.

Because I am not yet complete.

Because bluets may be my favorite flower and nothing compares with newbornness.

Because tomorrow I leave these loved ones to return home.

II.
Dear SOLC Friends,

Thank you for your kindness in supporting me as a writer, teacher, and grandmother. I could not ever ask for more. So many of you have lifted me by your example of quality in both writing and living as aware, thoughtful human beings. Your stories, poems, and reflections are nourishment and creative calories for this hungry soul. I wish each of you the best in your lives.

MGMiner

I don’t understand the ache in my heart.
I don’t understand the grief in the joy.

It was a day for welcoming baby Johnny home.
Maggie dressed up in her best lilac dress.

Together we held him on the brown leather couch.
My arms surrounded the new brother and big sister.

“I love him, Grandma,” Maggie said.

Now, hours later, I weep.

My day with Maggie was mostly delightful. We took a walk, played with bubbles, made cookies, and read stories. While I was folding laundry, she put on her “Ariel” dress and happily ran through the house. On each lap around the living room, dining room, and kitchen, she detoured to the bedroom to crash into the bed; thus knocking over the piles of folded clothes. She thought this was hilarious. I was patient longer than I might have been with my own children 35 years ago. However, on the 6th or 10th time around, she dove on the bed and all the piles toppled.

“Maggie, it’s not nice to mess up someone’s work. Please don’t jump up here again. I’m almost finished.”

Lengthy pause. No eye contact.

In her most patient voice, “Grandma, I know it’s hard to understand.”

I had to struggle to keep a straight face on that one!

11 Things to be Grateful For Today

• All family members are safe, healthy, and accounted for.
• Baby Johnny arrived today. Eight pounds of wonderfulness.
• I got to spend an hour with my daughter and her newborn son.
• Maggie (3) and I played outside. She gathered “fruit” (aka leaves) for the “villagers.” She added rocks and sticks so that everyone would have enough to eat. I love this girl.
• Smartphone technology allowed Maggie to see her new brother in real time, hear his little newborn noises, and see the funny faces he makes.
• The spring peepers sang to the full moon. That sound means spring is really here.
• A bright green lizard surprised us on the deck. That’s not something that happens at home!
• Rapid-fire text messages between the 12 adults in the family celebrated the 11th little cousin. Such a blessing when we are spread across the country.
• A new Instant Pot recipe for Pulled Pork turned out great. Yum!
• Charlie, the 57-pound labradoodle (still puppy?), didn’t go too crazy missing Mark and Jill.
• AND, a time and place to think, write, and count my blessings.

Currently, I am:

distracted. A grandbaby is coming!

tired. Spring Break is a job-shift to Grandma to a 3-year old.

peaceful. The dishes are done. Everyone is fed and asleep.

nostalgic. New babies remind me of my babies now grown.

amazed. It’s a really hard, but really wonderful life.

It’s sunny.
I’m home alone.

What did I do?
I put on tunes.
I danced.

Today I’m encouraged about writing after reading these words in Originals: How Non-Conformists Move the World by Adam Grant:

Ultimately, the people who choose to champion originality are the ones who propel us forward. After spending years studying them and interacting with them, I am struck that their inner experiences are not any different from our own. They feel the same fear, the same doubt, as the rest of us. What sets them apart is that they take action anyway. They know in their hearts that failing would yield less regret than failing to try. (p. 28)

And these:

Simonton finds that on average, creative geniuses weren’t qualitatively better than their peers. They simply produced a greater volume of work, which gave them more variation and a higher chance of originality. (p. 35)

I’m no genius. I may never have a truly original idea. But if I keep showing up, keep trying, keep adding to the volume of my work, I might find the variation of words that will be the thing that I have to say. Adam Grant says that quantity is the most predictable path to quality. Lucy Calkins often reminds us that volume matters.

Volume of words?
Volume of ideas?
Volume of forms?
Volume of wordplay?

Just as volume is determined by the size and shape of the container, I’m wondering if I put limits on the size of the container of my words.

Maybe I need to turn up the volume.

And remember that so many little things can speak volumes. Even silence.