sol25 March 29 Something Was Wrong

 

I was feeling pretty proud of myself navigating NJT (New Jersey Transit) without a delay. The ticket machine was working and the cars half empty. I made it through the labyrinth of Penn Station and waved my credit card for the MTA (Metropolitan Transit Authority). Then, I boarded the waiting train uptown. I was actually, at that moment, ahead of schedule and feeling proud.

There were diverse people from all walks of life crowded onto that train. There were many languages, every possible skin tone, and every hair color imaginable. I took notice of the bell bottom jeans and hoped this trend would stay out of the burbs. I watched in awe as determined parents held onto strollers, scooters, toddlers and infants as if they did it every day.

I was finishing my coffee when I realized something was wrong. The train was flying, very, very fast. I could see the blur of stations but could not recognize streets and the conductor made no effort to slow down. For a second, images of the old movie, Speed, flashed in my head.

No one else seemed to be bothered as we flew uptown, slowing finally, at 96th Street. I got off and began to search for option for heading back downtown.  Perhaps, my sigh was audible. "I love the Express," a woman with a heavy accent said slowly, "but I bet you wanted the local?  You have to go outside due to the construction, follow me?"  Moments later, she was gone and I was on the LOCAL. 

Someday, it is possible the underground transit network may be the recipient of massive funds to renovate and improve its aging trains and update their signs. I do hope the cross section of humanity and the kindness of strangers is maintained. 

sol25 March 28 Have You?

 

Have you?

Found yourself,

Teeth brushed, face moistened,

Lying in bed

Wedged between crispy sheets,

Thinking,

Wondering

Worried

Concerned

Fearful

Apprehensive

About someone you care about?

Have you?

Shared a card,

Sent flowers,

Joined a food train,

Made a donation.

Knowing in your heart

There is nothing you can do

There is no physical gift

To make the situation better.

Knowing, in your heart

That nothing will lessen

The hurt, the loss, the pain.

You can only offer a prayer?

Me too. 

sol25 March 27 Are You the Parent?

I am grateful to TWT 

For supporting this writing challenge

My phone said the caller was a nearby children's hospital, and so I swiped right expecting a fund drive of some sort. But, I am also a parent and a grandparent and an aunt and I was a bit scared at the same time. My mind went to warp speed as I had donated to the December drive, even if it was a bit less than the year before, and maybe  I forgot to sign my check, or did I Venmo, but it was March? 

"Are you the parent or guardian of XXXX?" he asked directly without the typical telemarketer wait time?  I held my breath and my heart skipped a beat or two or perhaps even three. The name was not familiar, but I asked him to repeat because I wasn't sure I was able to hear without breathing.   

"Are you the parent or guardian of XXXX?" he repeated, a bit annoyed because he was trying to reach someone probably with important, perhaps even life changing information, and perhaps he was a busy doctor or nurse anesthesiologist or maybe the critical discharge planner or........

"I think you have the wrong number," I replied taking a deep breath while saying a prayer for the parent or guardian as well as the child who were supposed to get the call. Hoping from the bottom of my heart that the news they would eventually receive would be good news, but knowing it might not be.

sol25 March 26 Tessa

 

I have been thinking about getting

an electric car for a while.

"Don't look at me that way, pllleeeasse!" I said to the Marie, the kindly Mazda SUV parked next to me as we settled for the day. "I really did not plan to be the laughing stock of the parking lot!  I've been the queen of saving the planet for all of my existence."

Marie turned hers eyes away as if my puffy sides were the sign of an illness. I added for a bit of sympathy, "On the way in this morning, I had a Toyota Hybrid mocking me and a gas guzzling Escalade giving me the side-eye.  What is this world coming to?"

Marie looked over and nodded in a way only a gas-eating SUV resting up for soccer tournaments and hoping spills will evaporate can do. "Tessa, I really used to be SO jealous of you. You represent the future with your distain for those smelly petrol stations. You are stealth and sometimes I didn't even hear you come into your spot! With your buff, sleek lines and spotless interior, you represent everything I want to be. You have never known the likes of Goldfish or Slushies. You always look as if you were just in the spa for detailing. But now, with all the craziness going on, I am feeling so very sorry for you!"

"We cannot control what the humans do, but if I had a choice, I would ask to be put in a garage until all this craziness blows over," I said sadly, hoping I would not go the way of my Great, Great Uncle Eddie Edsel or my Great Aunt Dora Dodge Dart.

Tessa Tesla (2025)

sol25 March25 Looking a Bit Old

 

Yesterday, I wrote about a long, lost trombone.

Today, I share the trombone's perspective. 

I have hazy memories of the early days, don't we all?  But, things are clearer after my travel case was opened on a really hot August day. I was placed on a shelf with brass and woodwinds. People came with children, deciding. I noticed a propensity towards the cute little boxes, homes to clarinets and flutes. 

Finally, HE arrived and headed straight towards ME! Although shocked by my price, his mom agreed and MY life began.  It was squeaky at first, but we worked together to make beautiful music, For years, the boy and I were part of an marching band where I proudly swayed in the sunshine and looked forward to the notes. He had other interests and there were days he never looked my way; still, it was a good life, while it lasted.

For a long time, I sat in the back of a closet with discarded shoes and lost socks. Eventually, I went into hibernation, time stood still, and I no longer yearned for the boy or our marching days.

One day, I was awakened from my slumber by the boy who rubbed me down and gave me away, but it happened so fast I really didn't have a chance to figure out what was happening! There was no marching band in my new home, but we did make some good music until she shut my case and set me next to a bin of old clothes. 

I thought that was the end of the road for me and headed back into hibernation for what I guess was a long, long while until yesterday, when I was dragged from between these rafters where I had settled.  

It was very bright when HE opened my rusty latch and mused, "You're looking a bit old."  

"You too," I smiled as he rubbed by rusty belly and another chapter began. 

sol25 March 25 A Lost Trombone

 

About three score years ago,

My cousin proudly played

Trombone in a high school band.

It was a big instrument

You could always find him,

Perhaps that's why?

About two score and 10 years ago,

My sister borrowed 

Said trombone in spite of playing

The violin, piano, and clarinet.

It was a big instrument

You would certainly notice her,

Perhaps that's why?

About one score and 10 years ago,

Time had passed, families grew,

Attics filled, life ensued.

One day, he asked

If she still had said trombone.

"Not a chance," she replied.

It was a big instrument

You would certainly notice it.

Said trombone was missing

Until today

When said trombone,

Tarnished, twisted, warped, worn,

Was rescued from

Between the rafters

Amidst boxes of ornaments

Decades of family memories,

Resting.

It took time,

Yet, it was a big instrument

Eventually, you would notice it

To make new

Family memories.

sol25 March 23 Multigenerational Encampment

 

Yesterday, Trish, who blogs at Jump Off and Find Wings wrote about the Jersey shore devastation from Superstorm Sandy twelve years ago. Her story spurred my memory. 

As the hurricane slowed on its journey up the East Coast, it was downgraded and we sighed in relief.  I lived on top of a mountain, at the time, and frequent, days long, power outages were normal! 

The rains and winds, for us, were minimal, but for others, the stalled storm pulled up trees, took down power, washed away homes, and disrupted lives in ways that no one could have imagined.

Here's where the story gets interesting. My power was fine and damage was nil. However, my school, closer to new York City, was out of power for over a week. My elderly Mother and my Aunt, who lived closer to New York City were also out for over a week!

Somehow, I moved them into my house filling the living room with mattresses and finding ways to make my home a bit more accessible. We watched CSI and endless movies.  We tracked power outage maps and called phone numbers hoping the answering machines would indicate power. There was lots of complaining about the "accommodations" and some tears.

Yet, the day I remember was when my niece, also out of power, came to "work" at the multigeneration encampment bringing their own (at the time) little ones, also out of school for the week. That was a once in a lifetime chance for crafting.  We made a "book fairy" costume (for me) for a holiday that would be cancelled because the power was still not back!  That day, there was some pizza (thank goodness for freezers), some smiles, and even a few laughs from each of us thrust into circumstances that would never happen again. No one could have ever predicted a non-hurricane storm that upended so many lives, nor could they have envisioned my mother and these two amazing girls spending the day gluing pictures and baubles for many hours! 

sol25 March22 Coincidence?

 

This month, I have been writing every day and sharing

 through the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge

Today, my slice is about my Grandmother, my Mother and My Granddaughter

"Can you tell me the story of how these were made?" she asked donning the old wooden beads as if they were Cartier accessories? 

I am sure she noticed the questioning look on my face and then began, "You know the story of how your grandmother carved each bead out of wood and then sanded and painted them as part of her Campfire Girls program. She did not have power tools like Mommy does. She did it all by hand and it took a whole year. After she put them on a real leather string made out of a real skin of a real animal long ago. She wore them for ceremonies and saved them as a treasure.  I just love that story." 

I smiled.  In reality, all I know is that these beads were treasured by my mother and while I saw them once or twice, I never touched them. I made up that story based on a bits and pieces of family lore and a picture.  The beads, well worn from time if not from use, came from a box of treasures with my mother's wedding dress, never touched until that Pandemic day when MY granddaughter descended on my house so her parents could work. I was pretty desperate for dressing up clothes as the pandemic was not in my plan. 

Clearly, I did not need to retell the story, but it did get me thinking and I dug until I found pictures of MY mother and MY grandmother in those Campfire Girl beads.

Here comes the really crazy coincidence.  In the first picture, wearing the beads, my Mother was 9 years old.  In the second picture, my Grandmother was nine years old. I am pretty sure you can guess how old my Granddaughter is?  

I am pretty sure nine seems to be a sweet spot for those beads.  I am pretty sure this is not just coincidence. 

sol25 March 21 So Many Questions

 

Normally, as March Madness kicks off, my students ask about my picks.  But, this year was different.

"What do you think about eliminating the Department of Education?" he asked in the moments before class began. 

"Do you think this will changes the Title I funding?"  she asked as we discussed Achievement Tests.

"My uncle says teachers won't need Master's Degrees anymore?" someone said and we discussed possibilities long after class. 

My students, the future of teaching, show up because my class is mandated for Special Education certification. Sometimes, in the moments before class or during breaks, there is discussion about local sports teams or the weather, but current events is really outside the scope of our syllabus. 

Lately, that has changed. They are worried about their careers and their students. They understand the profound changes in the education of our most at risk citizens in the past 50 years based, primarily, on federal legislation.  While our special education and 504 services are still far from universal, nor are they perfect, students with learning struggles no longer find themselves relegated to basement classrooms or told they do not fit into the local model.  Some  of my current teachers were not so long ago students who benefitted from English as as Second Language support. Some of their students benefit from Medicaid supported therapies,

So, last night, I veered away from my "lesson plans" into current events in education, an area where I not only have no answers, I actually have many more questions than my students. We are in unchartered waters. 

sol25 March 20 Water Babes

 

Somedays, there are 30, 

Other days more,

Clad in faded swimsuits,

No intention to swim,

Whitney begins to scream,

"I want to dance with somebody,"

The Weather Girls claim

"It's Raining Men,"

Bodies sway, kick, jump.

Aches, pains dissolve.

Aqua-cize, intervals, kickboxing,

Aqua-aerobics, bootcamp, zumba.

Semi-retired, yet working hard,

Replacement parts, learning the moves.

Stemming the tide of aging,

Water Babes AND

Water Dudes, too