Another Full Circle Moment

In 1974 I did a work experience placement in my final year of high school. I don't remember all the details but I was placed in Molly Fry's ground breaking kindergarten one afternoon a week for several weeks.This was before kindergarten became part of our school system. John Hooper was the principal and amazing things were happening in that new building.I remember a teacher named Meg who impressed me so much I named my daughter after her. ( kind of). I remember other teachers with contagious passion and kid centered ideas who brought that school to life every day. A vision for students and Hampton were taking shape. For a seventeen year old girl visions of a different sort were forming. I was an underachiever, not much of a student and in a stream that was not preparing me for university. But deep within I already had a passion for teaching and my time spent with Mrs. Fry impacted me greatly. Zip ahead five years and I was walking through the doors of Hampton Elementary again, this time as a student teacher. I had my first degree and was in the last months of my education degree. I was married , had a young child and I had not given up on the dream. I was privileged to be in a grade three classroom with Barb Foss and those weeks set in motion many of my values and philosophies about teaching. My 29 year career saw so many changes ,professional growth and brought me so much fulfillment. In the last few years I have visited the students of HES as a visiting author. Those visits have always been rewarding and memorable. But today's visit was something else again and a true full circle moment for me. Today ten years into retirement I presented to a group of teachers at a professional development session on the Writing Process. I spoke to them as a fellow teacher and as a published author and I hope that what I delivered was beneficial. For me it was an honor , a privilege and a validation of all that seventeen year old dreamed of being. I believe that what today's teachers , EA's and support staff do within the walls of that building still holds the same magic it did in 1974, as they do their best to inspire and make a difference.

A Method to my Madness

I do not think my visits to Gladys madness at all. I would suggest everyone take some time during their week to visit an elderly person. Granted not every elderly person might entertain as richly as Gladys does but they all have stories to tell if we are willing to listen. The title for today's entry came from something Gladys said yesterday. She had just asked me how my writing was going. I had talked briefly about my work in progress which is only fifteen pages along. I told her about the stage of the editing for my spring release and then told her about the manuscript I finished before Christmas that has a character with her name and story telling qualities in it."That is your method" she said. I quickly understood her to mean my reason for visiting her. I chuckled at her astute observation and explained I wasn't simply using her for fodder for my writing. I assured her the character had been written before I started my weekly visits . We went on to talk about how much we both enjoy the stories of the past. She told me of sitting on her grandmother's knee soaking in all the stories her sea faring grandmother had to tell. Her own mother also filled her children with stories of the past. Gladys lost that beloved grandmother when she was thirteen and her beloved mother when she was fourteen. What a wonderful thing it was that a young Gladys already knew the value of those story telling moments as she lost those two women so early on. And Gladys and her sisters took up that torch and gave stories generously to their own children and grandchildren. And me; I am just a friend , an acquaintance ,a want to be Fullerton sister , an interloper who gratefully shows up to absorb all they have to tell.My motivation might be selfish but only as a story teller who loves being in the presence of a master story teller, a wealth of memory and knowledge, a teller of the real stories of all our lives. Stories of family, of loss, of struggle, of humor and bravery.So the jigs up. I visit Gladys to benefit my writing. Turns out the benefits are so much more. Thank you again Gladys!

Back at Bayside

Yesterday I returned to Bayside Middle School for another successful Book Club day. It was wonderful from start to finish despite the cold, biting wind I braved walking from the parking lot.The day was warm though on so many levels. Twenty one students gathered in the library for the entire day. Whatever mayhem and chaos( typical middle school)was taking place in the halls or classrooms the library remained a place of quiet reflection, serious discussion and meaningful interaction . The kids had read one of five of my books.The insight and depth of understanding for each story was very heartwarming for this author.My favorite part of the day's program was when the students read chosen passages from the book they'd read.Their reading brought new life to the familiar words I wrote, rewrote and labored over before securing them to the page. It occurs to me that that is the true value of writing. The words blossom and grow from where they are planted gaining something more with each reading.What a gift it is for me to hear and see that take place before my eyes. That memory will keep me writing.Mr Laskey treated us all to pizza and then we took our lunch break.We filled the afternoon with talk of writing and putting some words to paper.We accomplished a lot with much discussion and reflection. There was not a lot of writing time but in those students I saw bright sparks of creativity and compassion and have no doubt that the potential for great writing was smoldering in that room.Thank you so much to Mr Laskey, Mrs Roy and Gabrielle, Myles, Ava,Sierra, Sarah,Danica,Oluwatomilayo,Kaitlyn, Pacey,Mike,Tyra,Chloe, Willien, Tori,Kaison,Zach,Jessica,Natalie, Ben, Ella and Ally. I hope the day meant as much to you as it did to me.

A Day at Harbour View

On this beautiful Friday morning( finishing it on a Saturday morning) in the quietness of my office I reflect on my busy, bustling, demanding day yesterday. In 2012 I began doing author visits through New Brunswick's WISP. (writers in schools program)I have done many visits and gone to a lot of the Saint John and area schools.I have visited Nova Scotia schools through the Hackmatack program and toured Ontario as an author in the TD Children's Book Week event.I have presented to more students than I taught in my teaching career and feel privileged to do so. Some schools have had me back for repeat visits and I have my favorites from the ones I've done. I also have a few not so wonderful moments but overall have been very rewarded in the experience. As a teacher of 29 years I bring experience and classroom management techniques to each visit . I for the most part can handle a small medium or large group of pretty much any age student.(kindergarten scares me the most , followed closely by grade nines)I am always pleased when a booking comes along, happy when a teacher reaches out to invite me and pleased I get such an opportunity. I think it is a valuable program for the students. I am happy if I have several visits a year and this month I happen to have two. Next week I will return to Bayside Middle School for the fourth or fifth time. I am thankful for that. But each visit fills me with fear, nervousness and doubt. A day or so before I struggle with the wisdom of my choice to participate.I second guess myself and my ability. I pray for a storm day or a power outage, a fever or a broken bone. Not really but I do get myself in a bit of a state. My wonderfully supportive husband talks me off the ledge so to speak. The morning of I get up and put my best professional foot forward. I dress appropriately and give myself lots of time to find the school. I rally so to speak and enter the building ready to do the best job I know how to do. I am seldom disappointed with the outcome. Each presentation takes on a tone and a substance of its own . I usually start the same way but veer off in many directions. By the end of the day I am exhausted but filled with a calm and thankful relief that I accomplished what I set out to do. My presentations are honest, emotional, personal and challenging. Some groups are more difficult to reach but always even if only for brief moments I feel a deep connection with the students. I try in small groups to learn the kid's names, see the individual , build a temporary bridge . I expose my sorrow, my vulnerability and I try to speak honestly. I am so often rewarded with morsels of honesty in return. There are always the bright lights shining back at me validating my effort. My husband always says I told you so when I return at the end of the day happy with the memory and glad I made the effort.Teaching held the same fear , the same challenges , the same self doubt, as does writing and putting ourselves out there in any way. Harbour View High School is a grand old building, an architectural gem and a vibrant institution still serving young people of the region. I sensed a pride and a community within its walls and feel honored to have been a small part of it for one day.For school visits I must take myself away from my warm home , my office and my writing and for that I am always rewarded.

Another Passing

As I drove up the Reach yesterday on my way to another funeral I spoke the names of the women who have gone on and left us. Charlotte,Audrey,Irene,Isabel,Audrey,Blanche,Edith,Shirley, Irene, Muriel , Alice ,Dora, Faith, Helen,Alice, Edie, Ida , Iva, Clara, Hazel, Betty, Ethel,Lynda, Zetta, Newcomb, Vida,Grace,Ruth, Pauline, Marjorie, Vera, Jean, Bessie,Mabel,Willa, Helen, Mary, Winnie. I am sure I may have missed somebody but in saying the names I remembered the women of my childhood, my young womanhood , my past. After the service a friend said " We are loosing our mothers" Another person remarked that "we are the old people". I feel an awakening to the fact that roles are reversing. It is funny that the list of names holds so many of the character names I have chosen for my writing. They are the women who have shaped me, the women I aspire to be . In listening to a daughter's beautiful eulogy I reflect on the words that could be said of me when it is my day to be remembered. So much of the fabric of these women's lives is similar to my own. Times change and stay the same. In this amazing place we live out the lives we are given and make the mark we are meant to make. We build our marriages,raise our children , make our homes,welcome our grandchildren,do our work and effect others around us. We are given the length of days afforded us and it is entirely up to us to live them as best we can.I know this is the way of things and has been as long as time but somehow it is just dawning on me. I am but a small kog in the wheel, one light on the vast string , one woman in a long line. My light will fade and be extinguished and a flicker of it will remain. I will have made a difference, left a legacy and my time here will have mattered just as every woman who went before me and every one who follows.So on this beautiful January morning, a fresh snow covering the landscape, I embrace the day. I will step up to this stage I'm in and live it.

The Gift of Gladys

For the last five weeks I have made a weekly visit to see Gladys. I knew she would be entertaining. I knew she would have stories to tell.I knew I could ask her things. I knew I would enjoy my visits but I didn't know what a gift they would be to me.Last night after returning from our visit I realized the wonderful reminder spending time with Gladys is for me. It reminds me to pay attention to the details, remember the important stuff about this life we live and treasure each day.These are precepts I try to live by anyway but what really shouts at me as I leave the nursing home where I see so many who have lost so much of their former selves is to value the stage of life I am presently in. Gladys is making the best of her current location. She has paintings and photographs of several of her previous homes on the walls and shelves surrounding her. She recalls with precise detail the rooms of each of them . In the small room she now inhabits she has dreams where she is upstairs in one of those homes. She watches her days unfold in a much different rhythm than the days of being a busy mother, farm wife, grandmother and a vital part of her community.I leave and come home to the life she had thirty some years ago. I watch this amazing woman still so sharp sitting now in the decline of her final days, months or whatever time she has left and it causes me to truly appreciate my day to day. If I am to be as lucky as Gladys and see my 95th year I hope the remainder of my time will be even richer from the lessons she is teaching me.Thank you Gladys!

The Tree is Down

Despite keeping water in the tree stand every day without fail my tree was very dry. As I pulled off each ornament vast amounts of needles fell. By the time Burton pulled it through the front door the floor was covered in green. But I loved every day it stood in my living room and every night I loved its twinkling lights. Another Christmas has passed , different in many ways and the same in other ways. Regardless of its disappointments, its sadness , its failure to meet some expectations it was a blessed beautiful season and I am very thankful. Now during this first week of January we regroup, we replenish, we rest and rally looking to the year ahead.The days already seem longer and despite the cold I feel the sun's warmth and promise. I look ahead to my work knowing the second round of edits will soon come and feeling confident about getting back to a work I have barely started. A reader's kind message encourages me to return to Rachel's story and the Walton Lake Road. Jasper who was a baby in 'Waiting For Still Water' has a story to tell and I plan on sitting at my desk and telling it. I will return the same day my grandchildren get on the bus and head back to school. What a blessing those grandchildren have been this wonderful Christmas. Oh so much to be thankful for.