Turn this into a life that we can live

I'm becoming human again. Slowly. It starts with ten minutes each day devoted to writing. Add a little space for stillness in saying compline before bed each night with my husband. Mix in a neighborhood walk every other day or so. Even, dare I say, plan a weeknight dinner with friends. 


It's happening. Humanness returns. Little bits of self shine through even while I am teaching. It's becoming easier to see this time as plain ol' life rather than some sort of strange, glimmering torture I have committed myself to for two years. Each day is still a testament to the servitude of teaching, but it does not require forsaking all else. It does not leech energy from every corner of my selfhood. 


I've passed the threshold. I will survive. Scratch that. I will thrive. Let it not be said that I came here to wither. Let it not be said that I came here to surrender. Let it not be said that I came here with dreams and left with fears. 


This time is a heavy gift. I am a different person in many ways than I was in May. It was inevitable. My directness of communication at school has flowed into the way I communicate with family and friends. I'm not afraid to deliver words that I know people will not want to hear. I am more appreciative than I ever was before for the unconditional love of family and friends and the comforts of home. We were without heat and warm water at different times over the winter, and Lloyd and I became so grateful for those things afterward, keeping some of my students in mind who have neither heat nor warm water. 


Teaching could be an exercise in temporal acceptance. Oh, my husband has chipped nearly every one of our dishes in the sink? Not a big deal. I'm at home with someone who loves me, and no one is asking for a pencil sharpener or lead. Oh, we got locked out of our house at 11:00 p.m. on a Saturday night and have to break a window to get in? Not a problem. Nothing can mar the sweetness of Saturday, a day when no one will be saying, "Can you tell him to stop tapping his foot on my desk?" 


At times I have said that I never want to work again after these two years, that I have put in my working time. I have thought that I would make an excellent professional crafter. I could crochet and knit, quilt and make cards with sewn-on fabric and buttons and ribbons. They would involve a lot of bird and cotton boll images and things in the shape of Mississippi. I could make candles and mixed media clay sculptures. This would be a peaceful life. 


I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that home may never be such a place of sweet refuge and glorious play as it is now. I may never care less about broken dishes or smashed windows because I can't really afford to worry about these things right now. There's too much else to worry about. Ah, what am I saying? I'll always play. This time is just refining my play. 

Sometimes it is a wonderful life

Written 12-11-10: 

It was like all of Holly Springs decided to turn Christmas on at the same time. One school night Lloyd and I drove down Chulahoma Street and saw more wreaths and lights in succession than I can remember seeing in a long time. In past neighborhoods where I've lived, decorating was staggered from house to house, but here it seemed continuous and coordinated. 

Maybe it's because it's my first married (merry-ed) Christmas or maybe it's the stark contrast between stress and spirit, but Holly Springs is really the perfect place for the holidays. I became so overjoyed by the lights and the spirit of the town that we drove through the square and decided to go sit in the light-strewn, decorated gazebo on the square. 

Of course it couldn't be a Holly Springs Christmas without noticing that the city had strung the lights the wrong way in half of the gazebo such that there was no outlet within five feet of the plug. I guess they just called it a day and went home. I also plugged in one unlit strand. And the lights that they had taken so much care to string like a canopy from the top most point of the courthouse were also left dark! But Holly Springs cheered me more than it Grinched me. 

I went to a Christmas tree farm for the first time to pick and cut down a tree. It was a small farm with some true Charlie Brown varieties, but the air was crisp and the cider was steaming. Perfect. It also would not be a small-town Mississippi teacher's Christmas without seeing one of my students wandering around in front of a trailer on a country road on my way back from the farm. 

Having a tree in my living room sparkling with my late grandmother's lights and handmade family ornaments casts a much brighter light on my weeknights. It doesn't even matter how many ornaments our cat, Fenian, attempts (and usually succeeds) to swat down or how many chocolate truffles our dog, Eppie, tries to sneak. 

I think it's comforting to see that life goes on as usual for the rest of the world around me. It's convinced me that my life goes on untouched by school in ways, too. Seasons come and go, and "this too shall pass." For now, Of course, the imminence of a true break certainly helps bring the cheer.