Author: alwaysbridging

Just when I finally feel like a valuable part of a team that is firing on all cylinders,  it’s time for a pause. The school district (my employer) has agreed I’ve earned a leave for next year. I can pursue my dream of learning Spanish and celebrating her many cultures.

I call it “Penny’s Passion Project.” For this term, I credit Tamarashazam, the fellow blogger and fun second grade teacher who operates in my neighborhood cluster at school. Since she’s nearby I get to hear Tamara laugh often and direct her charges all day long. One of the things I like most is hearing her encourage young writers. Oh and her love of pretend and costuming. In response to this photo a youngster who knew her well asked, “Hey, is that a wig?”

I am especially grateful to work near Tamara because this school year has been a bit of a bear for me. Who’d think that a work week consisting of two days could make for such an arduous stretch? After all I have been able to carve out time for two extended trips (to Europe and Nicaragua) and have earned health benefits. Most importantly I have meaningful work on my plate—counseling five to twelve-year-olds in an elementary school. And my colleagues are decent and well-led. I feel alive at Oak Heights Elementary and the time flies by.

So what is it? One factor is I work Thursdays and Fridays and this school has 640 kids. It’s the largest of its type in our district. That means I arrive each week when the train is already going at breakneck speed. I need a hand-up which is a lot to ask when everyone is so bloody busy. I’ve learned to appreciate help from several on the team.

That’s a key word at Oak Heights and every other school I know of—team—and I didn’t have a lot to contribute to this important concept at the beginning of the school year because I was a new staff member. While I have served children and families in lots of places over the years, it had been almost ten years since I had worked in an elementary school. Over time I have introduced myself (with my sidekick puppet, Mo Jo Banana Monkey), developed and taught classroom lessons for grades K – 6 on personal safety and anti-bullying, and created small group counseling opportunities for struggling students. Ordinarily I do like being given a clean slate to color on and this has been intense.

I took over facilitation of the Problem-Solving Team too, an operation where teamwork flourishes or flounders. I inherited a solid group of talented, dedicated educators but why should they have trusted new-to-them me to steer through the inevitable politics and riptides? It’s been rocky. We’re starting to navigate as one finally but it’s already May.

Rob thinks a harder year is helping me consider retiring someday, like he did six years ago. Maybe this is the nudge I need to leave consistent work in schools behind, work I have treasured by the way.

Thus I am thankful for the likes of Tamara…and several others. I’m glad I get to move toward another passion-filled effort that I am excited about instead of running away from a difficult task.

So, I’m finding this transition period at work, with classrooms full of eight-year-olds and their fabulous teachers surrounding me, to be bittersweet. Nevertheless, immersing myself in Latin America for extended periods sounds wonderful. And I’ll have more to give back when I return again to schools, churches, hospitals. After all, more and more bilingual Spanish/English speakers are my neighbors and there will always be bridging work here at home.

I realized again recently, as I often do while reading, how very fond I am of words. Words like keening and demonstrative and integrity. Funny-sounding ones too like obsequious and persnickety, helicopter and perspicacious.

I read my friend’s first novel, Always Gardenia. Author Betsy Hanson had arranged her words exquisitely so that people previously unbeknownst to me sprang to life on the pages—Arn and wee little Milo along with Gardenia. Betsy set them down in Seattle and let them dance at the Swedish Club and at Century Ballroom. I closed the book after the last page and reluctantly let these vivid characters return to the ether. I would never know for certain what was next in their lives.

It was the perfect time to read about pretend people just before my real kin showed up in town. My mother turned 90 and her siblings plus the remaining spouses came from Virginia, Arizona and Florida to honor her. And of course we three daughters were here. Some of her nieces and nephews (my cousins) and their kids came too.

Luckily our daughter Carolina is living nearby, actually in our basement between house-sitting gigs. She had only let me do so much planning for this grand event—reserve spots on the day cruise, order pizzas, buy birthday cake at Costco, the list goes on. I know, I know that sounds like a lot of arrangements, doesn’t it? What can I say? Organizing and convening, I enjoy it.

Finally Carolina in her euphemistic wisdom had advised, “No more details, Mom. Let the River take us beyond this wherever it wants to go.” She was right. I had to leave space for others to add themselves to the mix anyway, negotiating eddies and rapids together.

We did have a great memorable time. And after the long weekend I received word soon enough that everyone had returned home-sweet-home safely.

Now it’s Mother’s Day weekend and I’m reflecting. I witnessed likely the last good-byes between old venerable sisters who live across the continent from each other—Mom and Aunt Dot. For most of this story, I have used words so far, trying to describe a meaningful few days in a relatively precise realistic way. But now as I begin to consider the end-times of these cherished elders, I can’t help but shift to metaphor—using phrases in a way that is not literally applicable.

As I speak of these dear ones’ glide slopes, I find comfort imagining that this love we kindled on the living plane will be enough to cradle them until they cross over. We will figure out how to hold them well until they slip into the arms of their beloved husbands who passed away first. It seems silly to speak in these terms but then again I am borrowing the explanations and poetry of philosophers and theologians of yore.

No wonder religions have sprung up over the centuries from our rich and varied cultures. How else could we bear to face this great mystery of death?

Any other year I would not have been able to pull off being General Leia Organa for the day, but this year R2-D2—aka The Fun Carolina Jane (see photo at end of essay)—lives downstairs and I work at an elementary school. Game On!

I was unexpectedly delighted to wake up on Friday and see Carolina’s message. In response to my note, “Ideas for a Star Wars costume?” she’d written, “Wear white, preferably robe-like. Wake me up and I’ll do your hair.”

To think I had learned only the day before that May 4^th is Star Wars Day, everywhere not just at my work place. And I had almost resorted to sporting my school’s 50^th anniversary t-shirt and jeans, the fall-back attire worn by many staff members on Fridays. Instead I resurrected the all-white slithery rayon pantsuit I’d bought for our first wedding anniversary 35 years ago.

I have to give it to my fun-loving colleagues and those adorable kids. There were no masks or weapons as directed but there were Chewbaccas, robots and stormtroopers, Lukes and Rays. And several others besides me were bi-bunned.

I knew it was going to be a fabulous day when a second grader stopped me in the crowded courtyard before the first bell with “Hey, Ms. Reid, you look young!” Talk about an added bonus. I was being considered a princess for the day even though by the time Leia reached my age she was definitely a middle-aged battle-ax.

Let it be known:

Every weekday in our galaxy not so far, far away, we gather, nearly 700 of us, and the force awakens. I’m glad I’ve witnessed this phenomena called Oak Heights Elementary celebrating,

“May the fourth be with you!”

I was happy to reply, “And also with you!”

OK, some may consider this cartoon sacrilegious but when Easter Sunday and April Fools’ Day fall on the same date, here’s the illustration you get.

Lent was infinitely long for me. It began the day I returned from Nicaragua and waded through the news of another disastrous school shooting on the very first day—Valentine’s Day, how’s that for irony? Next I wrestled obsessively for 40 days here on the almost-retired glide slope:  “Should I work next year or not? How can I return to my beloved Nicaragua to study Spanish for an extended time? Can I possibly bear the bathroom reconstruction that is happening alongside our bedroom, not to mention Mom’s taxes and ours? How can I continue to neglect dear friends who are ailing?” To top it all off the dreaded bronchitis returned. This was certainly not the promised land, believe me.

One bright moment was when I found El Examen de San Ignacio in Spanish. I’m part of a bilingual mutual discernment group at Our Lady of Guadalupe Episcopal Church. When this group began, we had Parker Palmer’s Let Your Life Speak in both languages. But I also wanted good discernment literature originally written in Spanish. Months ago my theology classmates recommended St. Ignatius. But alas my queries to both English and Spanish speakers and even to King Google came up dry. Finally smack in the middle of those lengthening days, I searched again, this time using a Spanish query (who knew?) and—Poof!—links by the leader of the Jesuits in his native tongue spewed forth. Momentary bliss; success was mine.

I began regularly trying the five steps of El Examen each night before slumbering soundly by the middle of Step 2 – Review the events of the day and how God might be acting. I have not scolded myself for the lack of alert five-step discipline. Instead I’ve enjoyed returning to the practice wherever I left off when I wake at night. If you could see my waistline, you’d know I’m not too big on discipline.

That said, Easter Sunday was one for the record books. My friend and usher at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle greeted us, “Merry Christmas!” and I fell for it hook, line and sinker, April fool that I am.

There were many highlights during the service including, Dean Steve Thomason’s sermon “Arise and Tell the Story.”

My favorite moment though, hands down, was one of those silent-because-we’re-in-church belly laughs. We shook the pew. First, my mother suffered a brief memory lapse and whispered an absurd question to me. At which I set her straight and we both got the giggles. Laughing about memory loss is unusual for us. Aging can be wicked and as the brain wears, like every other part of the body, it’s discouraging. I enjoyed guffawing so solidly together about this plight. Talk about Resurrection!

And then as Eucharistic Visitors we two took blessed communion bread and wine from the mass to one of those dear elderly friends I’ve been missing. And then we brunched at The Plaza on 5^th Ave with the fam and Mom’s friends. And then our son Clarke improvised jazz tunes on the lobby piano for a good long stretch. Yes, heaven on earth had returned.

When I was getting ready to head home for the traditional Easter Sunday bike ride with my husband Rob, Mom exclaimed, “Oh Penny, is there any way we can go shopping? I am in desperate need of a few things.”

Usually this kind of doorknob request (as in touching-the-doorknob-to-go-home when the real work begins) sends me reeling. But I had been buoyed with grace all day long plus spring break was a staycation this round. I had time. Rob could wait. What could be more fun than shopping for Dove dark chocolates, even if nearby Target was closed and we had to search for her favorites?

Nearing the end of our quest Mom decided to wait in the car while I did the last (successful!) run into Bartell’s for the goods. When I returned she was scribbling events of the day in a little spiral notebook.

“I want to remember everything about this wonderful day, Penny. Help me.”

Here we were at Ignatian Step 2 – Review the events of the day and how God might be acting, right in the car in the store’s parking lot in the rain. I explained the 5 Steps and we backtracked to Step 1 – Acknowledge God’s presence, then proceeded. Remarkable. Here I was, during the wide awake daytime practicing El Examen. Gratitude and feelings (Step 3) tumbled out and after a short drive, next back in Mom’s parking lot, we paused together for a few minutes to silently contemplate one of the recent events (Step 4) and finally Step 5 – Consider the future and what God might have in store for each of us:

Mom went in and I came home to a glorious all-weather twilight ride with Rob complete with practically simultaneous thunder and lightning under the blossoming cherry trees on the UW campus.

Could this day possibly get better?

Close to midnight I crashed and while I was in the middle of my second practice of El Examen for the day, our daughter Carolina stopped by to see our newly remodeled bathroom. She agreed to scratch my shoulders as I fell asleep. Who says the Easter Bunny, not to mention the Risen Christ, isn’t real? Tell me, who says? I’m here to say otherwise.

Recently I returned to Matagalpa, Nicaragua to study Spanish at Escuela Colibrí, newly located on the side of Cerro Apante beside the mountain town of Matagalpa. In almost ten years the school has grown enough to move to the permaculture site of a refurbished farm villa and new open-air classrooms. Namesake hummingbirds flit here and there.  Fresh luncheon is served to all midday. In my previous studies at Colibrí I have been impressed with the all-Spanish delivery and homestay option that comfortably extends learning about the language and culture beyond the classroom. This time I was even more enamored with the kinesthetic brain exercises, music, yoga, conversation, drawing, listening, reading and games woven throughout the lessons. These make this the best in individualized adult education. Plus it’s fun. And, believe me, the price is right.

Best of all I celebrated the school’s new digs as the student representative at a lovely dinner. About 30 of us toured the site and toasted this special circle of (primarily) women who’ve made this dream come true. Led by Noelia Corrales—though this fact would be more important to those of us in individualistic cultures—these people recognize this is an ongoing team effort. The fiesta included a piñata, party games, mojitos and carne asada (grilled meat), all topped off with a gorgeous sunset. The event ended with a wild ride back down the hill to town under a dark star-studded sky.

I’ll be back as soon as possible.