Gray's Anatomy

The book I'm reading, 33 Place Brugman, by Alice Austen, tells the story of WWII and the occupation of Belgium through the voices of the residents of the apartment building at the eponymous address in Brussels.  The story is full of heroes, villains, philosophers, and artists, and explores how the horrors of war test one's humanity. 

One of the characters I find most engaging is Charlotte Sauvin, a college student living with her architect father. Charlotte is colorblind, but fundamentally artistic; her colorblindness is not a shortcoming but rather shapes her perspective and finely shades her observations. 

Many of the other characters spend time wondering how Charlotte sees what they are seeing; some wish she could see it the way they do, but Charlotte herself never wonders what the world looks like beyond her ability to see it. Why should she? There is beauty in her perception.

I thought of Charlotte on this bleak March day. The leaden sky, bare branches, and congregation of crows could be considered dreary. But they also create a dreamy monochrome; walking the dog is like being inside a black-and-white photograph. The unrelenting gray tones offer no promise of spring, yet they are beautiful on their own, independent of yesterday's holly in the bright snow or tomorrow's daffodils blooming in the first green grass.

Why do one challenge when you can do two? This month, I'm using the Action for Happiness Mindful March calendar as a daily prompt for action and writing. 

My Agenda

When I retired a couple of years ago, finding a new structure for my days was one of the hardest parts of leaving the classroom. When you're a teacher, a bell literally rings to tell you when it's time for your next commitment on a schedule that was set by someone else. After thirty-plus years of that, I found myself at loose ends when it was up to me to fill my days.

But now, halfway through my second year of retirement, I feel like I'm finally settling into it. With time for lunches and more dinners out with friends, as well as my bowling league, subbing at my former school, and a consulting job as a teacher coach, my calendar seems more full than ever. 

As much as I'm enjoying the variety and flexibility of my new life, juggling all those activities and keeping my own schedule has been tougher than I imagined. The calendar on my phone used to be little more than a novelty, but it's my best friend now!

Why do one challenge when you can do two? This month, I'm going to use the Action for Happiness calendar as a daily prompt for action and writing. Today's activity? Set an intention to live with awareness and kindness.

Taxing

I've been filing my own taxes since I started earning money in college, but gone are the days when all I needed for the chore was the 1099 booklet, one W-2, a single INT form, a pencil, and a stamp.

Over the decades, a series of employer-contribution fund changes, home ownership, marriage, and inheritance have made my finances increasingly complex. Retirement and my new part-time gigs haven't helped either, and when I logged on to an online tax prep service this morning, the helpful bot who greeted me cheerfully predicted it would take only four hours and 37 minutes to complete the task.

I suppose I ought to be grateful that I have an income to be taxed. 

And I am!

Counting the Years

"How old are you?" asked a cheeky first grader when he sat down next to me at the literacy center I was observing.

"How old are you?" I asked in return.

"Six," he answered with a slightly insolent chin nod.

"I'm ten and a half times that," I replied.

"So you're a hundred?" he said.

Fortunately, it was not a math center, so I ignored his miscalculation. "Why don't you get started on your word family assignment?" I suggested.

Of Course

"Just so you know," the teacher whispered to me as I slipped into my observation chair, "there's going to be a fire drill at 8:30."

I laughed and shrugged, but when that high-pitched intermittent siren went off? I jumped. Then I got up, joined the line of quiet first graders, and exited the building through the door in their classroom. As we stood in the chilly February morning, I surveyed the school building. Built in 1952, it had the sprawling design of the elementary schools of my childhood: single story, brick on the outside, cinder block on the inside, with rows of hopper windows. 

At least we can go right back in, I thought, eying the blue door as a cold wind cut through my sweater. But that was not to be. Although the school seemed unchanged since it was built over 70 years ago, there was actually an obvious security upgrade. 

The classroom doors could no longer be opened from the outside. So we all walked silently down the sidewalk and in through the front entrance.

High Bar

The teacher had given the directions. 

"It's simple," she assured her students. "You know that one of the five requirements for a sentence is that it starts with a capital letter, so you just need to correct the first letter of these sentences," she pointed to the worksheet, "and then write them on the line below."

After asking if there were any questions or concerns, she moved to the focus group table and called a student over to work. The rest of the class settled into their task, and it wasn't long before a little girl slipped her paper into the green basket next to where I was sitting. "Can I see that?" I asked.

She shrugged and walked away, and I plucked the worksheet out of the bin and flipped it over. It appeared to be blank, except for her name.

As she bustled about her desk, pulling out her device and preparing to do the next task, I caught her eye and waved. "C'mere," I mouthed, pointing at the paper. 

She sighed and reluctantly returned.

"You were supposed to do this!" I said in mock surprise.

She pointed to lightly scrawled pencil marks at the beginning of each sentence. 

"Are these the capital letters?" I asked.

She nodded.

"You were supposed to write the sentence, with the capital letter, on this line,"  I pointed.

She took the worksheet from my hand and put it back in the basket.

"You're probably going to have to do it again!" I whispered.

She shrugged and returned to her seat.

Meanwhile, our quiet conversation had caught the kids at the nearest table's attention.

"What the heck?!" said one to the other with a look of utter disbelief on his face.

"She said it was easy," his friend shook his head, "but it's impossible!"

Ties That Bind

"Did you hear Ellen is retiring?" I asked Mimi about our dear mutual friend at bowling this morning.

Mimi was the assistant principal at our school when Ellen started there back in 1992. She was also a mentor when Ellen moved from the classroom to admin, and a colleague when Ellen was hired as the other assistant principal at our school. As it happens, Sharon, our principal from that time, and Susan, our Director of Counseling, are also in the bowling league; reconnecting with them has been one of the top reasons I've enjoyed bowling so much.

Mimi's face lit up at the news. "No!" she answered. "I'm going to have to give her a call and congratulate her!" 

A little while later, I heard her talking to Sharon and Susan. "We could have our whole admin team here!" she beamed. "Wouldn't that be something?"

Their smiles were as wide as hers.