the making of a student

this is my old student desk, the one my parents bought for me as i began junior high school. it's maple, with a smooth top and one board that has distinctly tiger markings. there are two drawers under the top, wide enough for notebooks and paper, narrow enough for pens and pencils. the bottom drawer is lined with cedar, and i was never quite sure why. maybe cedar helps to preserve books?

as a twelve year old, having such an important piece made me feel scholarly and smart, and i worked hard through my teen years to earn those distinctions. in a big and noisy family of nine, i had my own room and my own space to read and research, ponder and dream. i spent a lot of time there as a teenager, being studious, getting good grades, and learning to be comfortable as an introvert. i do believe that this desk made me the student that i still am, some sixty years later, still yearning for new knowledge and understanding, still moved by beautiful music and literature, still in awe of the natural world around me and the advances of science as they come.

this desk also belonged to each of my younger siblings, in the order of their birth. one spilled paint in the top drawer. one broke a drawer pull and it never sat right again. while sitting at the desk, one wrote in pencil under the kneehole as she sat, some scrawled message about loving some long-forgotten boy. one drilled a hole in the maple top for a computer cord. and many years later, when the youngest of us wanted it gone, i claimed it back as mine.

for a short while, it was the girl's and she used it for a computer stand. then it sat in a crowded guest room for decades, a repository for craft materials, old christmas cards, and assorted memorabilia. about a year ago, i cleaned it out and began a futile search for a family who might want it. i debated selling it and was told it wasn't worth the trouble. defeated, i took this photo to remember it by, then reluctantly donated the piece to habitat for humanity with explicit instructions to not allow me to buy it back.

the desk sat on their garage floor for six weeks. i know this because i visited it six sundays, running my hands along the top, opening and closing the drawers, inspecting the dovetailing and looking for a sign that i should just bring it back home with me. and then one day, it was gone - sold, a bookcase in its place. i was elated, relieved, and very sad.

and here is the blessing, the happy ending, the full circle: quite by accident, i found that my desk had been sold to the family of a seven year old i have known for several years. she's of school age now, and is a curious and funny little girl. her parents wanted a serious place for her to work - to read and research, to ponder and dream. and, it turns out, my desk is now the perfect place for her, too.

downsizing

in the midst of the summer gardening and room painting and kitchen redo (no, it's still not done), i am trying to clean out useless things. stuff i've held onto for most of my life that means very little or nothing to other people. things i don't want the girl to have to deal with when it comes time to clean this place out for the last time. here is a perfect example of what i mean. it's the end of a roll of vinyl wallpaper i bought in 1981. 

we were moving out of state, leaving family and friends, and starting new jobs. the girl was turning five, and beginning school in a few months. with all the details of the packing and moving, uppermost in my mind was making the transition as easy and fun as i could for her. we rented a house sight unseen because it was in a small rural neighborhood and had a big yard and four bedrooms. we chose for her the room with the most light and the most nooks and secret spots for playing. and i made it a priority to have it completely redone and beautiful before we moved in.

and this is the bedroom wallpaper that she and i chose, sitting one evening on the porch swing of the house we would soon be leaving, the only home she'd known. we both gasped when we turned this page, and knew we had found the perfect wall covering. in an effort to capture the experience, i saved this piece when we left the rental for our new home in our new state. and i've had it ever since, tucked in the back of the bottom drawer of her bedroom dresser. 

of course, my tastes have changed significantly since then, and i am now admittedly horrified to think that i imposed such graphic chaos on so young a psyche. but at that pivotal, transitional time of our lives, it was just what we both needed. 

full circle

when i was a child, my father's mother lived close by and i'd often walk to her house. food was important there and she was always cooking and baking. she'd feed me ginger ale floats with vanilla ice cream and tell me that i'd remember her when she was gone because of them. i do have a lot of food-related memories of her - she taught me how to measure shortening by putting water in a measuring cup and then adding the crisco. she always let me sift the flour and mix with the egg beater. i make her gingersnaps at christmastime.

as i worked in my own kitchen this afternoon, a forgotten memory came spilling back to me. in my grandmother's refrigerator there was always a partially eaten cold chicken, leftovers sitting on a
flowered plate in the middle of a silvery gelatinous pool of congealed juices. i remember thinking it was one of the most disgusting foods i'd ever laid eyes on. i couldn't bear to touch the quivering jellied mass or eat the slimy chicken. it was just too gross. yet here i was today, the grandmother myself, shredding leftover cold chicken and scraping that same goo from one of my own plates to add to the stock to make soup for my granddaughter's dinner. i've come full circle!

the children.

the cnn breaking news feeds started midmorning and kept coming into my iphone and onto my feed reader. shooting in connecticut. elementary school. teachers shot. students killed. i knew knowing the details would only upset me, and i had students yet to teach. on the drive home, i got caught up with the horrific news. and when i walked into my bedroom and spotted this, the neatly folded scarf i had changed my mind about and decided not to wear today, i broke down. all those children.

final show

after hanging on through the blockbuster and netflix years, the small video store in our town is now closing its doors. i worked a second job there once, nights and weekends, when the girl went off to college and the house was too quiet. i studied for graduate classes there, between checking out vhs tapes for customers and returning rented ones to the shelves. i worked with wonderful, funny women. i got to know my neighbors. it was a rich time in my life.

the "going out of business sign" drew me in. they were selling off their stock and it was cheap. i went to the drama section and found it: the movie i loved to play when i was working. i haven't seen it in years, but i bought it, just to have it, just for old times' sake.

distant cousin

quite late last night, i received word that an older cousin had died suddenly, and it's been heavy on my mind since. she grew up in the navy so her family moved around a lot, and i think i probably saw her only three times in my entire life, all when we were both children. she spent her whole adult life overseas, with no brothers, no sisters and, as her parents died, she stayed in the same community. it gives me comfort to know that she was important to the people there and that they loved and cared for her. once again, i find myself thanking facebook for bringing a long lost relation, albiet a virtual one, back into my world. we had over four years of contact - about family, our fathers and grandparents, religion, the Red Sox, flash mobs, culture, music, and the contents of this blog. i will greatly miss that.

here's my cousin, riding on a camel. in truth, it sounds like she lead a much simpler life - friends, church, God, trips, helping others - so i always got a real kick out of this picture. when i think of her, i hope to remember her this way - a sweet, spirited woman, grinning broadly from atop a camel. r.i.p. joanna.

11-11-11

thanks dad. 

and rick and mark and billy & tommy and both larrys and mike and bruce and john and austin's mom. 

and so, so many others. 

a decade later

today was a hard day, much tougher than i ever imagined it would be, full of memories of the 9-11 attack on this country ten years ago. even a decade later, i cannot bear to see the photographs, watch the video, hear the accounts of that day. this week i've tried to watch some of the tributes that have emerged but even they are still too jarring, too surreal. today i found myself silently crying at times and unconsciously praying at others - and i was full of restless energy. so i created a baking frenzy in the kitchen this morning, my default activity when i am upset. later i cleaned and scrubbed and organized, trying to create order. outside, i marveled at the sunshine and the bright blue sky, so reminiscent of that tragic day. at the end of the day, i went out to find the perfect photo to represent my feelings about today. and i just couldn't.