#SOL17 Day 5

Pocrastination is like a credit card. It’s a lot of fun until you get the bill. ~ Christopher Parker

Today I have been playing “The Grading Game.”

Game pieces: 48 argument essays in Google Classroom, one set of reading comprehension assessments, and a few miscellaneous assignments that were turned in late due to absences.

Rules: I must meet a certain benchmark before I can turn my attention to something else.

How to Play: 1. Grade at least five essays before I can check my Facebook page.
2. Grade another six essays before I can eat lunch.
3. Grade another seven essays before I can watch an episode of Say Yes to the
Dress
4. Grade the last five from Periods 1 & 2 and I can write my Slice of Life

So here I am. I have successfully graded one section of essays. I only have 25 essays to go along with the reading assessments and floaters. How come it always comes to this? Why can’t I keep on top of my grading so that it doesn’t pile up at the end of the trimester. You would think I would have learned a thing or two in my thirty years of teaching.

Well actually I have. No matter what, or when, or how, the grading will get completed before grades are due. I don’t assign anything that needs to be graded during the last week of the trimester, thus I have until this coming Friday to finish up what doesn’t get completed today.

So, I must get back to grading and coaxing myself into getting it finished! I would still like to check my Twitter account and read for pleasure. How many papers do you think I will have to finish before I am free to do those things?

#SOL17

 

Life goes on…whether you  choose to move on and take a chance on the unknown, or stay behind, locked in the past, and thinking of what could have been. ~ Unknown

Tomorrow my beautiful daughter-in-law turns 30. I remember a conversation we had about a month ago . Krysten couldn’t believe she was turning 30.  How could that be?  Afterall, she can remember her dad’s surprise 30th birthday party like it was yesterday! I reassured her that your 30s were the best, and I believe that I was being sincere at the time.

I loved my thirties. I got married young (21) and had kids right away.  So by the time I hit thirty my kids were in both in school at least part time.  I went back to teaching after a three year hiatus, and we moved to our current home. These things brought new adventures and new friends that I still treasure.  I had a resurgence in my spiritual life and grew as a person by leaps and bounds.

I loved my forties.  I continued to grow both personally and professionally.  This decade saw me become a NWP Fellow which was a life-changing event.  This is the decade that I began to trust myself more.  My kids were in high school, and life became a series of marching band competitions, first boyfriends/girlfriends, laughter and tears, driver’s licenses and prom,  SAT scores and selecting colleges.  How could my children have grown into these fabulous young adults ready to embark on their own journeys?  Where had the time gone?

I love my fifties.  Now, today I say that a bit sarcastically, since this decade has seen my body age – two arthritic knees that need replacing among a laundry list of other annoying ailments.  Yet, looking back, I would not want to go back to another time.  This decade broadened our family with the addition of a daughter-in-law and a son-in-law both of whom I love not just because of who they are, but because who my son and daughter are with them.  Their love has made me a Nona – a grandmom.  I thought I loved my own children, but that pales in comparison to how much I love my three grandchildren!

These are the best days of your life.  All of them.  Whichever ones you are experiencing at the moment. But they can only be the best days if you believe they are.  I have learned many lessons in my lifetime and continue to learn through the ups and downs of life that come my way. If you are not thankful for each and every day and the lessons that it brings, then you will continue to wait for “tomorrow” or “the next best thing” and miss the miracle that is today.

Happy Saturday!

Home is not just the place where you happen to be born. It is the place where you become yourself. ~Pico Iyer.

Is one’s homeland the country where s/he was born or the country where s/he was raised?  Does it matter?  That was the question my colleague posed to her class. To me they are one in the same since I was born and raised in the United States.

If I think back to my grandparents who were immigrants I would have to say in some/many ways they may have longed for their “homeland” the country of their births – Poland and Italy.

My grandmom Ferrante probably was the clearest on what her feelings were on homeland.  She came from Italy and met my grandfather when she was just 15.  They married when she was 17 ½ , had nine children, and built successful businesses – an ice business, then coal, and finally an oil delivery company.  My grandfather often returned to Italy to “show off” his good fortune or fruits of his hard labor to his family and friends “back home”. He wanted to retire and go back and live in Italy permanently. Grandmom, however, had a much different idea.  She told him, “You made your money here. You will spend your money here.” She was not going back and leaving her nine children and ever growing gaggle of grandchildren.  She was home.

What do you think?  What is your homeland?

                      #SOL17

Embrace each challenge as an opportunity for self-transformation. ~Bernie S. Siegel

Week one on a walker – I really have turned into my mother!

When the voice on the other end of the phone told me I would have to use a walker for at least a month, I cried.  I cried for the uncertainty that would not be resolved until I got to see the doctor two days from then.  Then I began to feel ridiculous because I knew this would only be a temporary situation that I was blowing out of proportion.  Yet I know I have a right to feel how I feel.

I have learned that I need to depend on others and ask for help.  That is not my strong suit.  I realize that needing help does not make you weak, but it does force you to open up and show your vulnerability. I am grateful that I have an understanding principal and colleagues who would do anything for me.

Being on a walker makes everyday tasks a chore.  Things I have taken for granted are now difficult.  My bathroom doors are now not wide enough.  I must shimmy the walker in sideways.

Getting my fluffy terry cloth bathrobe back on the hook in the bathroom requires me hang it “just right” over the front of the walker, so that I don’t trip over and cause more damage to my pelvic fracture.  Sleeping is now a challenge because I like to sleep on my right side which at the moment is impossible, so I spend most of my night trying to get comfortable on my back or on my left side.  Certain movements cause pains that wake me from the little time I do sleep. Chronic pain and chronic fatigue could be a recipe for disaster.  But I am trying to take a page from my mother, and grin and bear it. She has had arthritis since she was in her 50s, and now she is 89.  Mom never complains; she is happy everyday.  I’ll keep you posted!

 

 

 

In the middle of difficulties lies opportunity. ~Albert Einstein

I have been walking with a cane for the past week, and it has really given me a new perspective on life. My ailment has yet to be diagnosed after four chiropractor appointments, a trip to Urgent Care, one hip x-ray, a visit to the orthopedic doc, and an MRI.  In full disclosure, the MRI was just last night, so I should give it a little more time.

But that is only one frustration.  Using a cane is tricky if you want to do it properly – making sure that the correct leg moves with the cane.  Everything is so much more complicated with the cane.  I usually carry my purse on my left shoulder, but that is almost impossible with a cane in my left hand.  I am use to carry bags like a pack mule or an octopus. Now I need to make more trips with less in my hands.

I am sure I have a lot more to write on this topic, but I am too tired to collect the rest of my thoughts.  Then I think to myself – how tired those who have real disabilities are at the end of every day?  I take so much for granted.  What opportunity is this situation  handing me?

“Music replays the past memories, awaken our forgotten worlds and make our minds travel.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson

 

‘Tis the season to be jolly…easier said than done. It is so easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of preparing for the holiday season that you don’t even stop to enjoy it. This was me last week. It was the end of the grading period, and I had a ton of grading to get finished. That coupled with me over-extending myself as usual was a recipe for high anxiety!

Music came to the rescue! My sister, sister-in-law, and I spent a lovely evening at the assisted living facility where my mom now lives. It was their tree-lighting event, and they had invited families to join residents for a sing-a-long and refreshments.

I had stopped and bought a Santa hat and an elf hat, so that my mom had a choice of accessories. She wore Santa; I wore the elf. Although my mom was already dressed for bed when we arrived at 6:00 PM, we got her out of her pjs and into a Christmas sweatshirt complete with a jingle bell necklace. We told her we were going out, and she just came along for the ride….literally. We took her down in her wheelchair so she didn’t have to make the long trek down with her walker.

Once we were all gathered in the Garden Room, the song leaders began the sing-a-long, and that’s when the magic happened. Looking around the room you could see one elderly resident after another joining in the singing. These are women and men who couldn’t tell you what they ate for lunch that day, or how to get back to their rooms, yet they were singing those Christmas songs word for word. Mom was having a great time singing and clapping along to the music. She even rang her jingle bell necklace at appropriate times! I don’t think she missed one word.

The brain is a funny thing. It can fail us on many levels as we age, yet it holds so many memories that are ingrained and cannot be forgotten – song being one of them. It was so good to see Mom enjoying herself along with the other residents. It was a glimpse of the mom I knew from so many previous holiday seasons.

So this Christmas may not be perfect. My house may not be magazine worthy. My cards may not get out right on time. I may even forget something on my “to do” list. That’s OK. I will be remembering the simplicity of that sing-a-long, and I will remind myself to enjoy the little things along the way – a child’s face when seeing Santa, time to curl up with a Christmas book, listening to the beautiful songs of Christmas, or maybe that cup of cocoa. And it all started with a visit to Mom!