The children are speaking to us. Loudly and clearly. Will we listen?

I use to teach at a small inner city (if city is the right word to use for a large town in Maine) school. Many kids there had many issues they had to deal with and they talked to me and other teachers about them everyday. We listened. They told us about their lives and their issues. About five years ago something quite remarkable happened. In our school garden our garden bed of onions were stolen. These onions were planted by the children and taken care of by the children all summer long. The children decided that the onions were going to be divvied up between our school cafeteria and our town’s homeless shelter. I remember it like it was yesterday because the repercussions from it were so immense. Within 24 hours our onion story went viral. We received onions and money from around the country. One letter in particular accompanied with a very generous donation said, “To tomorrow’s leaders.” I couldn’t believe it because it was from now Congresswoman Donna Shalala from Miami, Florida. She sent a lovely letter telling us how the response of the children touched her heart because the children were not upset. They explained over and over again that the person must have needed them. That the person who did this must be less fortunate than they were. This coming from kids with so many needs it would make most of our heads spin. So that tale leads me to today’s events in Homestead, Florida.

Once again children are trying to tell us grownups something. This time it’s children from Miami, Florida who were bused to Homestead on school buses to deliver hundreds, maybe even thousands, of cards and letters they wrote to the children stuck inside Homestead’s migrant child detention center. These children, like the ones years ago up here in Maine, are trying to tell us to slow down and notice, don’t look away, be kind, and take care of children who are less fortunate. The children the letters are for and who the letter delivery kids are telling us about, are the ones who are locked up in a prison in Homestead, Florida. Unfortunately this detention center in Homestead is not the only one in our country today. But it’s the biggest one and it’s the only for profit one. So some very greedy, immoral adults are making a lot of money from keeping these traumatized children locked up and separated from their families. The children who are stuck in Homestead, after traveling thousands of miles fleeing violence and/or poverty, were then separated from the only adults they knew and put into this tent city on the edge of a hot, humid swamp. We are slowly uncovering just how horrible these places like Homestead are. Yes, today, in 2019, the United States has detention centers that hold children taken from their parents and/or families. It’s hard to imagine, but we do. And many people are trying their best to let others know and to put an end to the policies and practices that allow such a thing. But even with all our might this place is getting larger and larger. More and more kids are being bused in. And more places are being built.

When the school children, with their many letters overflowing large boxes, arrived at this facility on a hot Memorial Day morning they were turned away. The security guards would not deliver the letters. To be fair and honest, we knew they wouldn’t. They don’t want us to know what is happening inside to the kids and they don’t want the kids inside the prison to know what is happening outside. They tell the kids inside that the protesters are paid and don’t really care about them. Kids aren’t dumb. I am sure they don’t believe such lies. And we adults aren’t dumb. We don’t believe the lies that we are told, that the children inside are being well taken care of. Because we know they are not. Today was one more piece of evidence to support this.

So let’s take some time and listen to these kids showing us how to be kind. Let’s slow down and think for a moment. Think about what we can do from our place to help the children stuck inside Homestead waiting to be reunited with their families. One simple thing we can do is call our representatives. Ask them what they are doing to stop this disgusting policy of taking kids and putting them in places far from their family members. Ask them which side of history they want to be remembered on. Ask them to go down to Homestead and see for themselves. And then mark our calendars to remind ourselves to make the same phone call again and again, every week, until this place and the others like it are shut down and kids are reunited with their families. It’s simple really. Just listen to the children.

In peace, love, and solidarity with the children who are held in places away from their families, the children who are trying to tell them that they are cared for, and those witnessing in Homestead,

Mary

Mother’s Day in central Maine was a good day for those who came out to raise their voices in support of reuniting mothers and children along the southern border. But it was also a day that left my heart heavy. While I felt proud that the event was so lovely and that so many caring folks came out to support it, I felt sad that we have a reason to have such an event. Friends, pinwheels, red hearts, white carnations, Mother of Exiles, seedlings donated from Cornerstone Farm, art supplies donated by Mindy, friendship bracelet making materials donated by Liz, generous monetary donations by family and friends who without them this event would not have happened, lovely hammered dulcimer music by Harry, speakers some who traveled great distance to share their experiences with us, volunteers who ran the tables, the media whose coverage was fantastic, my one and only hubbie/best friend Ger moving everything behind the scenes to make it all go smoothly, and the people who came to participate in something larger than themselves were all a part in this moving acknowledgement for the mothers who are not with their children due to our separation policies.

While gentle and soothing hammered dulcimer  music played in the background of a gorgeous Maine day, children and their families drew on a banner that will go to Homestead. Others drew on peace flags and transplanted seedlings. As time passed, we slowly moved toward the gazebo, beautiful Kennebec River in the background, and listened as several women spoke from personal experiences while the crowd listened with incredible interest. Sometimes nodding heads in agreement, sometimes audible sighs of surprise over what was being shared. Diane shared about her experience protesting with religious leaders at the 30 foot high border wall where it meets the Pacific Ocean and what it was like to be confronted by fully armed military style police while they prayed. Michelle spoke of helping local migrant workers safely navigate their way here in central Maine. And Fowsia spoke of her long and arduous journey from Somalia to a refugee camp in Ethiopia and finally into the United States. She shared what it was like to flee war and violence and be separated from her family. Her story moved every person in attendance. I’m sure I’m not the only one who was close to tears. But what stood out to me was when she shared how she is often met with curses from people who don’t take the time to understand her and her story. Curses at her because of her hijab. The audience was shocked. I was shocked that Mainers could push forth such ignorance and hatred to such a beautiful woman. And yet, she continued on and stood by her belief that America is a great country because we have the best constitution in the entire world. “It guarantees free speech and expression of religion. It allows us to be leaders and be ourselves.” I found myself thinking of those who experience the most viral of our hate and yet still stand up and say how great our country is. Her strength and grace was awe inspiring to say the least.

But it was the end of the day and a personal conversations with a woman that I think will stay with me the most. We were cleaning up and she came over as her little daughter was planting seedlings to take home. This kid knew what she was doing. What an amazing young gardener! Her mother asked what we were doing with the left over seedlings. She said she was going to a farm in the area that afternoon to work with several young children who were from Mexico. The family (11 living in a 2 room trailer) work on a local farm. They wanted to come today but there are some new local police officers who cause them fear. She wanted to know if she could bring the seedlings over to the kids. What better use for what was left over from a rally to raise awareness on children so far from their native homes. She left with seedlings, pots, bubbles, and pinwheels. I can’t think of a better place for them to go and my heart felt a little lighter thinking of the kids having them.

So where do we go from here? I heard that question over and over again yesterday. I wish I had thought of having information available for those who so deeply want to participate in shutting Homestead down and work to end our inhumane practices of separating children from their families. If there is one thing you can do, it is call each of our representatives and tell them to become vocal on this issue. To stop standing by silently while this happens. Tell them to go to Homestead. To see for themselves. And then tell them to sponsor bills to shut Homestead down and keep families together. To find and contact your Senators, call here: 1-202-224-3121. To find and contact your Representatives of the House, look here: https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative

Also, please follow our new FaceBook page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/410924229751842/

Thank you. In peace and solidarity with the children and their families fleeing violence and seeking a safer life here in the states,

Mary

Read this book.

For two years (and longer for those who who are either more enlightened than I am or who have experienced the evils of our society more than I have) many of us have been beside ourselves. Truly beside ourselves. And the more overwhelmed, angry, and scared we become, the more we fall into the tactics we don’t believe in. I include myself in this group.

We must get this right. We must defeat this administration that is hell bent on taking our democracy away from us. But are we going about it the right way? As I read the above book I find myself asking that question. The author, Irshad Manji, guides us to ask this question and guides us further to explore an answer that will work in a way that unifies us rather than divides us even further.

“View labels as starting points, not as finish lines,” she says. So I find myself wondering, “Do I label? And if so, how do I use the notion of labels?” I’m saddened by what I realize. I find that I do label people and groups of people. I thought it was a way to make sense of things. But as I read this book I find that it may in fact do the exact opposite. As someone who has always believed in the gray areas of morality and swore that the world’s problems are not black or white, I find I am breaking our country’s issues into black and white, or what I consider right and wrong. I have come to the depths of my despair by grouping, categorizing, and labeling those whose belief systems are different than mine. I am now beginning to understand the possible depths of this mistake. In labeling fellow human beings, I give myself permission to not get to know and understand them. I give myself permission to dislike them or worse. I am doing exactly what I say I am so steadfastly against. This is not who we are. This is not who I am. Despair and fear can bring out the worse in us. Understandable. But why is my fear more superior than the fear of people who I so vehemently disagree with? Well of course, it’s not.

Manji talks about the long lasting effects and power of humiliation. She shares the notion of how someone who has been humiliated is not going to, now or ever, understand the thinking of those who caused such humiliation. That humiliation is going to instead fuel their beliefs no matter how right or wrong they may be. This is not what we want. This is, what I now finally understand, may be part of what happened at the end of the Civil War. I have asked myself a lot lately what did we do wrong after the Civil War that caused so many to still feel such deep resentment and hate? Could it be humiliation? I don’t know. I think it is way more complicated than that but I wonder what role it could have played. Now I’m not saying that we give up our belief systems, especially if the central tenent is that all humans are created equally and deserve love, respect, and safety. But I am saying that if we are to practice what we say is a core belief system we need to think about this. Deeply think about this.

As I watch what is happening along our southern border, to our planet’s environment… well the list could go on and on, I get so angry. A deep, deep anger. I should know by now that anger is an emotion that covers deeper emotions. My goodness I’ve told my children and students this for years. “Dig deep if you’re angry. Something else is going on. Is it fear, hurt feelings, jealousy?” My anger comes from fear and sadness. Fear and sadness for what we are doing, the people who are getting hurt, and the longevity of the repercussions of these decisions and actions. That is the first step. Understanding where the anger is coming from. Anger that has allowed me and many others to label those we don’t understand or agree with. Those we fear.

So with this post I promise to try to pack those labels away and give myself permission to get to know “others”, those who think so drastically different than I do. Because there must be something we have in common and that seems as good a place to start as any if we are going to build true bridges rather than walls. While this may be a pipe dream, I now understand the necessity in our need to try.

In peace and solidarity that we may solve the problems of today through the ability to listen to understand,

Mary

I read a quote today that comes from a book I own but have not read yet, “Transformation is not accomplished by tentative wading at the edge.” Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

We are in a transformational time. I am not the only one who feels it. We are being challenged by great evil, here in our country and in others as well. But with the evil challenges we face today I see a rising up, an awakening, a unification like I haven’t seen in my life time.

Joining in with activism is a big deal. Yet today, it is necessary. For everyone. In some way. I use to say, “Just do what is comfortable for you.” I am no longer advocating that. I am now saying, “Get out of your comfort zone.” Our times and issues are demanding that from each of us.

The latest numbers released say that 47,000 children have been separated from their families at our southern border. When I heard that number I wept. I wept for those children and the fear they have and continue to experience. I wept for the parents who experienced someone taking their child and for the fear of wondering where and how they are. I wept for us. Because only a country with a broken soul could take a child away from its parents. And only a broken country could look away while it’s being done.

I use to understand and enable those, including myself, who looked away. I must be honest. I must admit my shame. For so long, I looked away. It frightened me. It confused me. I didn’t know what to do. But it is clear that we can no longer look away. We can’t. Poll numbers show that almost 1/2 of our country does not see what the other half sees. They do not see the evil in the man who is our president and in all those of his party who enable him by looking away.

Friends of mine with degrees in history and political science are freaking out and rightfully so. They list times in history that are identical to the time we are in now. Times when people looked away, choose not to see, chose not to believe what was happening in front of them. And it all began with the scapegoating of a vulnerable population. We are here. We are in that same moment. We have an open racist for a president who encourages others to be the same. I won’t go so far as to say all who support him are racist but many/most are. And those who aren’t? Well, I fear they choose not to see.

“Transformation is not accomplished by tentative wading at the edge.” When we put that thinking behind the notion of activism it is clear that we must jump right in. I’ll share how it happened for me. It is certainly not the right way nor the only way; it’s just the way it happened for me. While it’s not my first foray into the world of activism, it is the first time in a very long time. I found myself following articles and links that friends were posting on social media. Around that time the following poem came up on my feed:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

This was written by a Lutheran minister in Germany sometime in the late 1930’s. Initially he accepted Hitler as truth but thankfully he saw the evil for what it was. He then wrote that poem. His name was Martin Niemöller. We could very easily insert groups of people that we are witnessing this happening to in our country today, Muslims, Latinos, Jews, Haitians, Cambodians, Vietnamese are all being denied entry or deported back to dangerous situations or countries they don’t even know.

Shortly after finding that poem I stumbled onto the FaceBook page for shutting Homestead Child Detention Camp in Homestead Florida. I was aware of what was happening on our southern border. But seeing witnesses there helped me see that we can raise our voices together and have an impact against evil. So I decided to stop “wading tentatively at the edge” and jump right in. I asked how I could help. I’m not going to say that this actively helping a group to work to shut down a terrible place is easy. It’s not. And I’m not even on the front lines. But while it’s not easy, I feel like I’m doing some little part to counter the evil narrative coming out of DC, many of our state capitals, and in the comment sections of our local newspapers.

Do we feel like it is all too much to handle? Yes, I think it is safe to say that we do. I know I do. It is designed to do that. The chaos and cruelty and the corporate greedy takeover of our government is all designed to make it feel like it’s all too much to handle. But you know what? There is a secret to overpowering it all. Breathe. Yes, breathe. When we are feeling so overpowered that it is too much to handle we breathe into it and keep going. Taking it one moment at a time. One day at a time. We keep going because our next generations need us to.

In solidarity,

Mary

The times they beg for conversation. I don’t think there has been a long conversation with a friend that hasn’t eventually turned to where we are today. Not one. While we may not agree on everything. Far from it. We all agree (yes all) that things today are not what they should be. That today we are witnessing the decline of American society as we thought we knew it to be. With that said, there are folks who’s skin tones are darker than mine who blatantly, and rightfully, ask, “Where have you been?” This has been their life for years, generations even. So yes, where have I been? Every sentence I’ve typed, deleted, and typed again trying to answer that question comes up short. Very short.

So here we are today. Where…. the list of offenses are not needed. We know them all. We read them, we are appalled by them, and we live them. And they all come from fear which leads to misunderstanding and hate. They also come from greed and privilege and the inability or desire to share. They come from a “me first” belief.

“So what do we do?” many friends ask. We notice. We then speak up. And here’s the part that is so uncomfortable for so many of us, including me. We were raised to be polite. To mind our manners. To not speak back to elders. To believe what we’re told. To do as we’re told. Well, throw all that shit right out the window. These times demand that we literally toss all of it. Then we allow ourselves the right to speak up. And we do that in any way that feels comfortable… and hopefully ways that feel uncomfortable. Yes, we must be bold. We’re all on Social Media, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram… Use it. Amplify the voices of those who’s voices our country chooses not to listen to. That is one positive benefit of white privilege for those of us who have that privilege. We can use our voices to amplify the voices of the voiceless. Call and/or write you representatives. Every day. Or at the very least once a week. Have their phone numbers on your contact lists so you can speed dial them easily. Don’t know who your state senators or representatives are? Google it. It’s easy. I promise.

Why? Why do we need to, yes NEED to, shift our social media away from just fun stuff to this much more serious stuff? As Clinton so famously said, “Because we can.” Yes that’s right, because we can and we must. We are beyond the point of what feels comfortable dictating our daily actions and speech. Those who are watching see the parallels to Nazi Germany and Mussolini Italy. The photos of kids and families behind barbed wire look like Japanese Americans in tents in deserts during WWII. We sadly and with shame see that the mindset of slavery and indigenous genocide has never really left. So do we NEED to do this? Do we NEED to go to where it feels uncomfortable? Yes, my friend we do. And we must.

Now, this call to action is really to my elder friends because we see it, we recognize it, and we have time to acknowledge it. One of the sentences I typed trying to give myself redemption for not speaking up sooner, decades sooner, was the reality of trying to scrap out a living and raise a family. It’s real and today it’s even more difficult and real then when I was in the thick of it. So elders, please join in. Put all your doubts and insecurities in a neat little box, step outside that neat little box and raise your voice. I remember discussing the Holocaust with a young student many years ago. He asked me what I would have done if I lived then and there. I was sure I would speak up. He was sure he would too. But really? Would we? So now the question is, “Are we?”

Pick something. Anything. The choices are wide open! Climate change, indigenous rights, black rights, stop taking kids from families on the southern border and locking them in cages and tents rights. Clean water rights, clean air rights, reproductive rights. Free speech. Freedom of the press. The list of violations is endless. So choose anything! But you must, we must, speak up. Because….when our grandchildren ask us what we would do. Well, we are answering them right now by what we are or are not choosing to do.

Peace and love (yea, that good ‘ole hippy shit still works)

Mary

Something amazingly wonderful happened the other night at a small school that serves a small city in central Maine. Let me back up and give you some background that led up to this evening.

Last week the teachers at the small elementary school spent their days teaching, their “off time” preparing report cards, and their evenings staying late for parent teacher conferences. This week national testing began. These few weeks are the most emotionally and physically draining for the staff. They are the most challenging and the most stressful for staff and students. Yet, in the middle of all this, the teachers and staff managed to put together an evening designed for the children and their families to come learn simple ways to include healthy activities and eating into their family lives. Families are very busy too. Juggling work and school and family time is no easy feat. Yet it is carried out every single day by our families and families across the country. That’s what made this event so unique and special. So many adults who love these children altered their days and squeezed in yet one more thing to spend quality time together at their small school learning how to be a little more healthy.

This is what love looks like. The children looked happy, the parents and siblings looked happy, the teachers, secretaries, cafeteria staff, administrators…they all looked so happy. Because it was for the children.

Research overwhelming shows that children who garden, play outside, and cook with healthy foods are happier, healthier, and learn better. This school, with full school board support, has worked for ten years to provide these opportunities for the children. They have all worked together to get this amazing program where it is today. And this evening’s event shows how powerful of a program it is.

Thank you teachers, staff, and parents for providing such a wonderful opportunity for your children. The children are truly blessed. During a time when our country is coming apart at the seams, you shine a light on all that is good and you remind us of the love that is so generously shared.

May your gardens and children grow strong and healthy and my your children bloom with your love and dedication. Much love and appreciation.

Mary

PS – I cannot post this without a call for all who live in this town to call your school board members and school administrators and beg them to keep this program going. There are grants that are ending and it will take a dedicated and committed community effort to keep this amazing garden and program going for all the 4th and 5th grade students of this community. Their FB page is here. Thank you.

Our Earth is 3/4 water, mostly ocean. Our body is also 3/4 water. Water is life. Water is sacred. Water is where I return when I need to replenish my wounded soul and heart. Is your heart feeling a bit too heavy today? I’m thinking I am not alone. Mine is too.

Friends have said to stop following the news, to get off social media. That it’s all just too much. “It will make you sad,” they say. In all honesty, it does make me sad, incredibly sad. They mean well. They care about me and I care about them. So today I went to the ocean. To get away. While my body went away and felt relief from the salty ocean air, my mind stayed put. It stayed put on trying to make sense of the hate we are witnessing. The amount of hate so many proudly, and publicly share. In my home state I witness the hate for Native peoples who were here long before us. I witness a local mayor who consistently spreads fear among our town and just today shared his belief that immigrants are the cause of infectious diseases. Ring a bell? Reminiscent of Nazi propaganda? There are also people who publicly chant “Jews will not replace us.” It is no wonder that I got an unexpected and rather irate phone call from an old friend the other day. I wondered what led to such a call. I quickly realized, that under my Jewish friend’s anger, was intense fear. Every day I read about more and more violent and hate filled atrocities occurring in our country because so many, including Senators and Congressmen, openly and aggressively demand that we separate and cage families who fled violence to come to our country. We have a president who openly shares his hate for anyone who is not white, male, and powerful. Recent events make it painfully clear that not only do Americans hear him but he is heard world wide.

So, no, tuning out the hate filled news does not take the hate away and the deep pain our souls feel. While time away, especially in nature, will help replenish our energies and determination to continue, it doesn’t take it away. Nor should it. What we are witnessing right now is historic. The hate being so loudly shared and acted upon will go down as one of our darkest moments.

Do I feel despair? If I am being honest, at times yes. But it causes me to feel the need to act. To raise my voice. To do what I can so that I can look my grandchildren in they eye and tell them that I spoke up; that I tried to do what was right. But I can also honestly say that at times I feel overwhelming hope. History shows us over and over again that darkness can give way to light if people rise up against it. Every day I not only see all that makes me sad, I also see the overwhelming kindness that strangers share to those who are being subjected to prejudice and hate. They fill me with hope. Maybe that’s why I keep turning to the news I find on social media. Hope. I desperately need to feel and be a part of the hope.

So the question we must all ask ourselves is, “Which side of history do we want to be on?”

Like the little boy at the end of the book, The Lorax, says, “Unless someone like you cares an awful lot, nothing is going to get better, it’s not. So…..”

Early April I plan to take a trip to Florida to bear witness at Homestead Detention Camp. This is the largest, for profit camp for children who have fled violence only to be greeted by more, in our country. It is not the only one. Because I’m retired I can do this. Care to join me?

May we have the strength to work for kindness to all especially the most vulnerable,

Mary

Homestead Florida. Remember this name. It is one of many child detention centers for children fleeing Central America. This one happens to be the largest one in our country. You read that right. We have child detention camps in our country. It is also run for profit. Yes, people get money for locking kids up. Caliburn International LLC expects to make up to $200,000,000 a year on this “investment” from lots and lots of our taxpayer money. This is not WWII Japanese Internment Camps or Nazi Concentration Camps. This is 2019 Detention Camps for children in our country. History is repeating itself.

This photo and the story that goes with it grabbed hold of me this morning and wouldn’t let go. The story goes like this: A woman was bearing witness at Homestead. They, the protesters, are allowed to stand across the street from Gate 1, one of many gates of entry. This boy saw them and waved. She waved back. He did a fist bump. She did a fist bump. She did a heart hand. He did a heart hand. He beat his heart. She beat her heart. She told him, “No Estan Solos (You are not alone)”. He replied, “Estoy solo (I am alone)”. One more heart hand and he was gone.

We promised over 60 years ago that we would never allow such atrocities again. Yet here we are. Taking children away from their parents. Putting children in cages and tents in the middle of deserts or in this case on the edge of a mosquito infested swamp. It’s hot. It’s humid. The sun is strong. We don’t give them hats yet the guards all have hats. When asked why, the guard said, “They sweat them up.”

Several congressmen and women as well as media groups have “been allowed” inside. Isn’t that weird, that they need special permission? And it is hard to get that permission to go inside. No cameras or recording devices allowed. They are shown only some areas. No speaking with kids except with a few hand chosen ones. When Senator Merkley was there one of the three boys he was allowed to speak with responded to his inquiry of why they behave so well. “Because they tell us we will never see our families again if we don’t behave.” What the F*&%? Who on Earth says that to a scared child who is alone and in such a place? That is evil speaking and we can never normalize that. We have heard that finger printing or FBI background checks are not part of the hiring process. So we know who is working inside. We know why the kids walk in straight lines and never touch each other and listen so well.

I have taken on the task of helping arrange accommodations for those who travel far distances so once they arrive to bear witness and protest they will have a bed at night. To be honest I’m not quite sure how on Earth I will do this. But there is one thing guiding me, “Estoy solo.” He is not alone and we will show him that he is not alone and that we will close this godforsaken place down and reunite every child with a family member or friend.

To follow the work of these amazing folks you can Join here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/339957239906299/

No Estos Solos,

Mary

Today’s writing is not mine. It is from a man who’s writing inspires me, John Pavlovitz. May his words inspire you as they do me. But more importantly, may they cause you act, to do something new and probably uncomfortable. Maybe pick up the phone and call your representatives, or write a letter to the editor, or find a rally near you to join in. Anything.

To get you started, from his writing:

“I think the futures of dreamers and the welfare of sick people and the safety of LGBTQ teenagers and the stability of families of immigrants are worth the raising of my voice, and the forcefulness of my delivery, and the discomfort it causes anyone.
You may want to ask yourself why you’re more willing to protest those who protest, than you are to speak into the injustice itself; why the only thing you feel burdened to openly resist is our resistance. You may be fighting the wrong battle here.” John Pavlovitz

The complete writing in which that quote above comes can be found here . May it inspire you to begin or to keep going.

Peace and persistence,

Mary

Funny things happens when change is inevitable. Accidentally getting locked out of one’s Google acct can launch changes not anticipated. This new blog is the result of that launch. So welcome my friend.

It’s snowing. The new puppy is by the wood stove. As am I. For years I wrote in a blog that followed my thoughts, feelings, and wonderings about my teaching life. I am locked out of that life, and now that blog. I see it as a gentle nudge to continue to move forward. It has not been easy to do. Inertia. It’s a bugger to overcome.

So here I sit, in a trans-like state watching quiet, peaceful, beautiful snow. My heart slows. As does my mind. It’s one of my happy places.

The world around us is hard to understand, make sense of, keep track of lately. It’s not simple. Never black or white. We make mistakes. I make mistakes. Yet we trudge forward trying to make sense while holding onto those we deeply love and those we deeply respect. Please, walk with me. Join me on this journey.

Peace,

Mary