Grieving Gardener

Preparing a classroom is a ritual I’ve always loved. You’re given a space that is very boring, and you have two weeks to create something warm and homey for littles. Of course, it must include creature comforts for the teacher, as well. My classroom is pretty bare. I have yet to find all the reading and math books. Last year it was used for another purpose, not a classroom.

In years past, I’d have been stressed to the max walking into a room with clean, empty closets and cupboards. I’ve always installed my own curtains, area rugs, and furniture to cozy the place up. But, this year, I’m going to keep that to a minimum. At least that’s what I had in mind until yesterday.

With all the tables and chairs in place and leveled books in order, I moved in the first load of belongings. Consumables for the kids. In my classroom, the parents pay for nothing, (if I can help it). As a young parent in this crazy world, no one will be bringing crayons or colored pencils to school if I can help it. I can’t imagine raising kids in todays world. The least I can do to help is provide the supplies necessary to learn. Teacher’s around the US are doing the same thing. People don’t realize what the classroom would look like if teachers didn’t donate hours of unpaid work and supplies. It would be a different first day of school. Our kiddos deserve much better than that and so teachers step up.

Yesterday was the moving day for my comfy Teacher’s chair to make it to the classroom. A recliner, this chair was a bad purchase from Costco. It’s never really fit in any house since 2007, always ending up in the bedroom. Too nice to give away, it’s been waiting for a purpose. Being beige, it certainly never reflected my personality. VST and I bought it because it was a comfy chair. Now, it’ll go to school.

Taking a recliner apart is simple. There are two levers at the base. Pull those up and the entire top comes off. The top was light as a feather as I carried it to the pickup. It was the base that was challenging.

If you have never moved a swivel rocking recliner, you’re in for a workout. With a round pedestal, rolling this way and that, every time I grabbed one arm of the chair, it would swing around and hit be in the behind. Try and drag it???? Like a stubborn mule, it wouldn’t budge. Stuck in place. Slowly, I worked this monster into the garage, having to turn it this way and that to navigate the doorway. I felt like a new episode of “Lucy”. You know things are not going well when you are talking to the bottom portion of a recliner. Let’s just not discuss exactly what THAT conversation was like. Kind of one-sided. Not pleasant.

Once at the back of the truck, I was licked again by my lack of strength. There was no way I could lift 70 pounds of chair into the back of the truck. Just no way. Heck, I could barely drag the chair out of the house. In my classroom now sat the top of the chair, with the bottom portion still at my house. It was then, I called Ninja Neighbor to the rescue.

At 7 last night, she and and her friend, an adorable new Top Gun agent came to the rescue. This young woman actually works at the Top Gun Training facility to the East of my town. She was in full uniform, not a hair out of place after a long work day. It was her smile and adorable personality that made me glad I’d just made another new friend. Military personnel are some of the most polite people I’ve ever met, and she fit that image perfectly.

So, Ninja Neighbor and Miss Top Gun lifted that chair like right into the back of the pickup like it was Forrest Gump’s feather The maintenance men will unload it for me tomorrow, and I’ll have a comfy chair in which to rest after long mornings with kids. I’ll also have a wonderful chair on which to sit during story time, my favorite time of the day. My chair will be shared with kids during Show and Tell, every morning. Yes. Dahlia told me. They still have Show and Tell in 1st Grade at our school.

My first graders are the class returning to a normal world. They weren’t scarred by two years of distance learning like all the older children in the school. However, they WERE raised in a sea of masks. Who knows how much that affected their emotional growth or speech development. Time will tell.

Just a note. I have a new principal. The darling woman that hired me was promoted. This was just announced. My newest, new principal is wonderful. She sat in on my interview. She’s friendly and seems to be on top of everything, having been the assistant principal last year. She and I have a first year in common.

There is a new math adoption this year which should be fun! It comes with shiny new work books that look colorful and challenging. I’m not sure if some of my students will be able to count to 100. I hope so, but, then, they are only 6. Think of that!!!! Walking for only 5 years. Talking for only 4. We’re expecting them to write on the first day of school? Many of them don’t really know their ABC’s. Or worse, many don’t speak English at home.

I need to get going. Today, I’m planning to be at school by 6. The classrooms are still very hot from the summer. I’ll be planting my indoor garden station with some herbs and flowers. In the olden days, I’d be gentling a gerbil, or placing a parakeet. In this day and age, animals aren’t allowed in the classroom. How very sad because animals add a lot of interest to a normal school day. Somewhere along the line, I’ll sneak in something. Maybe a few fish or a tadpole. There will be animals in my classroom by the end of the year.

Whatever you do today, make it count. Smile at someone new to your area. Wave at someone you don’t know. Tell a checker at the store “Thank you” for just coming to work. But most of all, “Choose Happiness”. It’s the only way to roll.

More tomorrow.

And just like that………..

I have keys. I have new Grade level girlfriends! There will be five of us. A perfect number to accomplish great things.

My room is as big as a cafeteria in the most beautiful shade of pale blue. Freshly painted, I’d have chosen that very color. Crisp white cupboards stand empty and clean. A beautiful new teacher’s desk sits in front of a private cupboard. Clean carpets. A quietness that screams anticipation and a bit of terror before the storm.

On the HUGE back wall from one side to the other, is a gorgeous mural of the high desert, complete with mustangs. Hand painted, the teacher before me was a very talented lady. God put me in this room, Room 56, just off a summer-hot first grade hallway. I’ll need to leave bread crumbs to find my way there again because it it an huge campus.

My heart is singing this song in every step I’m taking. For me, this beats any drug, glass of wine, or piece of chocolate I’ve ever eaten. Teaching is what God assigned me for my mission in life. I’ll be teaching with women decades younger than me. They all have rooms filled with stuff. Too the ceiling. But, as I already know, any great instructor can teach out of a rolling cart. Rather like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, my rolling cart contains a bottomless assortment of adventure.

Let’s read in the middle of a thunderstorm and getting under the desks so we don’t get wet. Yup. In the next week, we’ll be doing that, thanks to the wonder of a thunderstorm CD and a student flickering the lights for the feeling of lightning. Let’s shoot into space with the shuttle laying on chairs flipped backwards on the floor, everyone in position for take off. Done that one when they used to show the Shuttle launches. We were right there taking off with the crew. Why don’t we ride our classroom chairs trotting down the beach with Black Beauty. Or pretend our classroom is the great land of Narnia because we just came through our very perfect kid sized closet door.

When you enter the world of the child, if the teacher is a smart writer, there are endless teachable moments that have nothing to do with books and materials. Teaching children to imagine and create is magical, and starting two weeks from tomorrow, it’s my curtain call. I can assure you, MRS. HURT IS IN THE BUILDING!

We’ll imagine and live through books. Some of them might even make us cry a little bit. We’ll learn numbers, addition, and subtraction. But, the very best thing is this. For 10 months, we’ll become a family of 20. We’ll practice respect, listening skills, and sharing. All while trotting toward the exit marked 2nd Grade.

I hear there’s a child that likes to run out the door. There’s a 20% chance I’ll get to know her by name. Don’t worry. After a bit, she’ll be running INTO class for a quick hug and lots of work. We’ll figure all this out, she and I, because there might be times I want to run out the door, too. I like her spontaneity already.

Today, I’m behind in a most important way. Okay, not REALLY behind, (my very last assignment isn’t due until next Monday). Behind because until it is out of my brain, it’s taking up valuable real estate rattling around in there. My college coed CULMINATING ASSIGNMENT. Rows of boxes in a chart need to be filled with valuable words that will take forever to grade.

After the last day of college, I’ll be waiting for my transcripts to arrive to clear my credential. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The school has grown so much they’re hiring another 1st grade teacher this week. Her room will be even more bare than mine. Here’s the deal. You only need what you need for the first day. The same for the 2nd and 3rd, and so on. Pertty soon, you have a room full of necessary stuff, not cast off things you’ll never need.

It’s almost a relief that there’s nothing in my room. Not even a teacher’s manual. I wouldn’t even know where to locate them in this huge school. Today is the day I will finish this silly culminating assignment and close the college door. I’m pretty sure my grade will be above a D, and that’s all I need to clear my credential. No one will ever look at my transcript with disdain, asking why I couldn’t do better. I know, I did just fine. (Even if I get an A-.) Then, I’ll have time to go hunting for materials at school.

Time to turn on the music and dance a little.

Be happy. It’s the only way to roll. I’ll report back tomorrow with the progress I’ve made.

If you are reading this at a later time than normal, let me assure you of two things.  At this writing, I haven’t died, and I awoke at my normal time of 4:00.  The problem was not on my end, but an irritating technical glitch on the blog site side.  Sometimes these things happen.  It’s fitting it’s happening on my last few days of summer.

Although the Autumn Equinox hasn’t arrived yet, summer is indeed ending of million in two weeks because we’re all heading back to the classroom.  For me, it’s a space I’ve yet to meet or nest.  Its appearance is like a nebula in my brain.  Swirling colors and possibilities more heavenly than you can imagine.  A combination of every teaching experience I’ve had for 22 years. In reality, it will be four walls that I will magically transform into a beautiful classroom in seven days or less. 

Reality will hit when I pick up my keys at 10:00 AM on Monday morning, August 1.  Early that morning, I’ll be at the Nevada County Office of Education finding out the procedure for getting fingerprinted and dropping off my grade for the course required to free my credential.

Ah.  My college course.  Well.  I’m holding on to my A-.  In my book a 92% isn’t an A-, it’s an A, but the screen shows an A-.  I was working on accepting the “-“  part until I got her explanation.  It was then, I came apart at the seams.

She explained……

Didn’t I KNOW that this assignment from the PRINCIPAL was to write a DISTRICT-WIDE Newsletter about parent engagement????  A K-12 Newsletter (there is no such thing, never has been, never will be, doesn’t exist).  AND, my Newsletter, although lovely in every way although not in a A+++ way), was a CLASSROOM Newsletter. 

Lovely in every way.  Every “A-“ way.  Fuming, I let this digest for days.  It ruminated, coming up like left over cud to chew again and again in my angry little head.  I re-read the instructions repeatedly.  Nowhere did I interpret this little bit of information.

“Your principal asked you to create a Newsletter explaining parent engagement”.  Period.

I finally did write a “lovely in every way” e-mail asking for more precise instructions for students to come.  Graciously, (because she is the nicest instructor I EVER), she offered to let me redo my assignment.  Well, we all know.  An A- in the hand is worth much more than what could come out from under a bush.  No, I’m back to working on humility and acceptance.  I’m at peace with my A-.

Yesterday, Winterpast got her yearly cleanup.  The gardens look fabulous.  I had one dead cottonwood tree removed from behind my garden shed.  Dead limbs and low branches were removed.  Bleeding stump scars were sprayed with sealant.  Dead leaves were blown and collected.  Stumps were ground, all during 5 hours of a whirlwind of activity.  She’s ready for the yearly shower of golden leaves.

I found myself at the computer most of the day finishing up two more major assignments.  With only left for Week 4, I see my CLEARED State of Nevada teaching credential flashing before my eyes.  My first paycheck will be deposited on August 20^th and just like that, I’m part of the working world.

Today, I’m putting all things computer-related away.  I’m closing up shop to run away with Miss Firecracker.  After one year, it is time to give her the biggest hug ever, and have fun laughing well into the night.  We are going to enjoy our old favorite places.  Share war stories about our wonderful husbands, now years gone.  In general, we are going to eat too much and sleep too little at a beachy little location known only to the two of us.  Just look for fireworks and a lot of laughing.  You’ll find us with our toes in the sand.

On Monday, I’ll be picking up my keys and officially morph into Mrs. Hurt, 1^st Grade Teacher, Room ?.  Amazon is loving my new career, sending me a little of this and a little of that.  As my classroom arrives at my door, one box at a time, I’m remembering all the stuff from my past.  A good teacher can teach out of a rolling cart.  I know.  I taught K-12 at a hospital in just that manner.  But a HAPPY teacher is something all together different.  She has a mountain of lovely teacher stuff.  That’s pretty great, too.

Ollie is off on Puppy Safari until Monday, searching for lizards, birds, toads and an occasional cat.  Everything just came together in the perfect jigsaw puzzle, as Ollie would have lost his mind with the party and yard clean up.  He’s far happier with his friend, Angus, on Safari.  Oliver is a very lucky little dog, indeed.

It is for the those very reasons, I will be absent for a few days, returning on Tuesday morning to fill you in on the fun created with my bestie.  There is nothing better than girlfriends.  True dat.

Please check out my early writing.  My very first post was in on September 24, 2020.  On the blog site, there’s a menu where you can find my posts from the beginning. Click on “Select Month” and then choose September 2020. I just fixed this link to include all my posts. September 30th will come up. If you scroll to the bottom, you will find a picture of VST and me as well as my very first post on September 24, 2020.

Please accept that my spelling and punctuation were rough on some days. Life is imperfect just like my blog. I smile through the eyes of an A+++ teacher and know my life was a D- at that time.  Continually leaking eyes do that to a person.  Some articles were too long.  Some too short, but all from the deepest sorrow and loss a woman can experience.  Widowhood.  Please remember, that woman has left the building, leaving bread crumbs of words so we can find her again, when needed.  Returning to those first days of widowhood is a wonderful reminder of how far I’ve come and how much I’ve grown as a woman.  I hope you like her as much as you like me.

More on Tuesday.

Precious hours last night were another gift from God. As I’ve said so often, this summer has been full of a million quiet miracles showering down on me like sequins and glitter. No. I’m not into lacey pink dresses or very high heels. But, I realized an important fact of life last night. Every girl NEEDS a tiara.

This week, our church is teaching littles about God at Vacation Bible School (VBS). There’s no more important mission than introducing children to God. Such magical times. I remember my own Vacation Bible School. During the hot San Joaquin Valley summer, it was a time to meet other children stuck in different rows of vineyards that went on forever in the land of Dancing Raisins. Kids and teachers I would only meet during that one week every summer because we all went to different schools.

If he feet would’ve been chewed off my wolves, my mom would’ve carried us there on bloodied stumps. She was always looking for enrichment because I was a very bright and busy girl, always thinking, exploring, and doing. My sister shadowed along for the ride. I was the true mastermind of exploration. It was my mom’s job to keep me directed in positive ways.

This week, I had intended to help at VBS, but, the tasks awaiting completion before summer ends became too much. Four more big college assignments need to finished by next week. Then, it’s time to see if my whistle still has its power.

Because of VBS, there is no Women’s Bible Study this week, so I decided to throw a little party celebrating my life’s surprises. New girlfriends that make me think and laugh a lot. A new chance at my career, at least for one more year. A new opportunity to be the best version of myself, without regrets.

The menu was simple. The guest list complete when everyone arrived. The food abundant. The minutes evaporating in an instant. From the first “Hello” to the last “See You Soon”, the girls and I had a blast. We never stopped talking for over two hours.

The Gal with the Golden Spatula whipped up the best spinach dip I have ever tasted. The Mother of Humble Beginnings made an extraordinary potato salad. Shy Shel brought my absolute favorite, RICE KRISPIE TREATS. First Grade Fran brought a touch of the islands with fresh pineapple and cantelope. Blossom brought fresh watermelon. And sweet and wonderful Miss Dyn-o-myte came with a green salad. Ladies if I forgot anyone, I’ll remember you in a second. My mind is swirling through everything that happened last night, remembering every single hug and smile. Added to the mix were two of the sweetest kiddos who tolerated a bunch of women who needed a party.

With hot dogs and hamburgers cooking on the Ninja grill, and homemade ice cream for desert, we did this up right. Winterpast was the perfect hostess. Even though the temperature was 104 degrees in the shade at 5PM, we were cool as cucumbers sitting around the kitchen table. There was no 6′ rule. So glad those days are over, at least for now.

I know these women are my new family for the most obvious reason. We all sat around the kitchen table. The best conversations and friendships form around a table. If it’s in the kitchen, all the better. If the table is filled with party food, BEST OF ALL!!!

When the food was gone and the party was wrapping up, my sweet and wonderful friends surprised me with TWO gifts. Most of them knew of my recent accomplishment of winning The Golden Pencil Award for 250,000 reads. If one is awarded The Golden Pencil, it should be accompanied by a diamond encrusted tiara. So, they gave me my very own!!!!! The first thing I put on this morning, I may well wear it when I do errands today. People will just be in awe of this Desert Jewel as she ponders the parsnips and pineapples while picking her produce. Just let them wonder. If they look too long, I’ll smile and wave!

Mine is the most beautiful tiara. Did I mention it is made of diamonds?? How they got the perfect fit I don’t know, but they did. It catches the light in just the right way and sparkles like crazy.

As if that wasn’t enough, there was a second gift to celebrate my new job! A travel cup that says, “It Takes a Big Heart to Shape Little Minds”. How sweet!! And exactly what I need for the classroom to avoid spillage on important papers. Every teacher needs a signature coffee cup. I’ve got mine.

As the sun dropped below the mountains, the party was over and they were gone. In an instant, standing in a cleaned kitchen, it was as if the party was just a sweet dream. I was left to praise God for the blessing of friendship in my life. These wonderful women sparkle more brilliantly than the diamonds sitting on my head. (I did mention that I now have my very own tiara, RIGHT????)

The time is short and I have extremely big shoes to fill. For a time, I can hide behind the new clothes I’ll be wearing. I can look the part with my 1900’s whistle and lanyard. I’ll put in long hours before and after school and on weekend to make this school year the best for 20 littles. I’ll assess record, talk, and listen. I’ll sing and make funny faces. The eyes in the back of my head will get tired from alerting me to tell student A to stop tormenting Student B.

I have five days, 4 hours until I get the keys to the kingdom. My Room. Not sure what the number will be, but Dahlia assured me my name will be one the door!!! How cool is that?

Ladies, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for enriching my world with your love and friendship. I know you’ll be right there with me when I open for business on August 17th. My coffee cup will sit proudly on my new desk and the tiara will go with me for the first few days of school. Don’t you worry! Mrs. Hurt is finally BACK!!!! Be ready!!!

More tomorrow.

OH the days of REAL college. I remember all the assignments I completed. Some were A papers, and others went in the trash when I saw the grades. My GPA certainly didn’t reflect a 4.0 student. I was taking 21 units a semester of pre-med classes because those sciences had my attention and heart. Chemistry. Anatomy and Physiology. Statistics. Taxonomy. The list went on and on.

All of them were typed on a very unforgiven electric typewriter. Electric typewriters were new back then. I would start with a beautiful sheet of paper, get 1/2 way through the assignment and mess up. ZZZZIIIIIIIPPPPP was the noise of me pulling the paper out and starting over again. Typing a flawless paper would consume a very frustrating night.

As I sit here today, I’m sad to tell you that true-blonde-to-the-roots little 21 year old graduated in 1977 to get her MRS. degree. An heiress never really plans to work, right? Well the heiress thing didn’t quite work out any better than my first marriage which crashed and burned six years after the “I Do’s”.

My very wealthy mother was horrified that I didn’t use my degree until much later in life. After my divorce, I found that having my very own little cleaning business was the way to support two little boys, aged 2 and 4 at the time. “Silent Partners” was born. The trick with a cleaning business is to limit clientele to wealthy women over the age of 75. Cleaning on top of already clean is a wonderful way to spend the day. The wisdom I gained from watching my clients was amazing. They were a group of women that stepped up to mother me when I needed it, even though I was in my late 20’s.

The word’s of Adele’s new-ish song apply in my life and to this blog, so I will share them with you.

“Easy On Me” — Adele

There ain’t no gold in this river
That I’ve been washing my hands in forever
I know there is hope in these waters
But I can’t bring myself to swim
When I am drowning in this silence
Baby, let me in

Go easy on me, baby
I was still a child
Didn’t get the chance to
Feel the world around me
I had no time to choose what I chose to do
So go easy on me

There ain’t no room for things to change
When we are both so deeply stuck in our ways
You can’t deny how hard I have tried
I changed who I was to put you first
But now I give up

Go easy on me, baby
I was still a child
Didn’t get the chance to
Feel the world around me
Had no time to choose what I chose to do
So go easy on me

I had good intentions
And the highest hopes
But I know right now
It probably doesn’t even show

Go easy on me, baby
I was still a child
I didn’t get the chance to
Feel the world around me
I had no time to choose what I chose to do
So go easy on me

Yes.

Go easy on me, baby.

For the first time in my life, I’m able to chose ever single one of life’s details without consideration for anyone but myself. It’s the scariest thing in the world, but also the thing that has made me grow up and blossom into an independent woman for the first time in my life. It’s quite an accomplishment for me.

So, as this woman sits here, there’s still the internal child screaming for some fun. At least I didn’t choose to go the route of Barbie and her collection of possessions. Alright, I already drive Barbie’s Jeep and own her house and dog. But, there it must end with Barbie and me.

Legos.

Growing up on a farm, there were not bushels of toys. I had live farm animals to play with. I had school work and house chores. I had church on Sunday. A bicycle. One girlfriend that lived one mile away. An older sister who was the antagoniz-er and a little sister was the tormentor. The two oldest sisters got their MRS. degrees right after they finished college and hit the road, never really looking back.

Living 45 minutes from any stores, shopping trips were few and far between. My mother was excellent with at budgeting. She managed meal preparations for seven people 21 times a week. That’s 148 different meals a week, all delicious and perfectly balanced to grow healthy girls. Always on time at 7, 12, and 6. Like clockwork. She canned everything from the garden she grew. Dad did the butchering of meats in between farming and irrigating. We were 100% organic without trying.

So, no fast food. No neighborhood kids with which to run. No shopping malls. Hundreds of square miles of vineyards and one funny looking blonde girl with long straight hair. That was me.

One Christmas, (on which we each got one present and a stocking full of trinkets), my present was Legos. I was hooked. I loved them so much. Never would I have thought of leaving MY Legos on the floor. Never did I lose even one. At that time in life, they came in primary colors and in just a couple of different sizes. There was no instruction booklet to guide a person through. I absolutely was hooked for a few years.

Then I grew up and forgot all about Legos.

Today, I’m not interested in Lego Land. Not interested in most of the dumb projects Lego sells. That was, until I saw IT.

The Lighted Typewriter.

Now, I saw this item about 1 year ago. I started dreaming of the significant event that would need to occur in which I would reward myself with such a gift. Every writer of my age started on a manual typewriter and knows the QWERTY keyboard. I’m no exception.

This Lego product was insanely expensive. Another reason I would wait for the proper time. Just turning another year older wasn’t enough. Christmas wasn’t either. It had to be something really, really significant. So, I waited, checking in throughout the year to see if it was still available.

Last week, when the total reads on my blog passed 250,000, it was time. I ordered the Lego Typewriter AND the LED lighting kit.

When it arrived in the brown paper box, I shook it to hear the familiar rattle of the blocks inside. And then, I began to click the pieces together.

Due to the engineering of the design, it makes very realistic noises as you hit the keys making the carriage move along the track. When you manually move the carriage back, the resulting noise is realistic, as well. It even has a set of pre-typed letters you can choose to put in the typewriter when you are done. I’ll be creating my own letter to myself as a finishing touch.

So. Here’s the truth of it.

I have a meaningful relationship with God.

I have beautiful children and wonderful family memories.

I have the cutest dog in the world named Oliver

I have the best girlfriends a woman could have.

I have Barbie’s Jeep, Hot Tub, and House.

I have my own She-Shed. (It just happens to be my entire house, as a neighbor pointed out.)

I have a career that I dearly love.

I have my very own Winterpast.

I make my schedules, getting up when I want and closing my eyes to complete silence and peace when I go to bed to sound and restful sleep.

And now, I’m reliving a moment from my childhood while I choose to play with Legos.

“Go easy on me, baby
I was still a child
I didn’t get the chance to
Feel the world around me
I had no time to choose what I chose to do
So go easy on me”

Blessed, I’m off to start the day! Do something you’ve enjoyed in the past. Go ahead. Choose what you choose to do!

More tomorrow.

 

It’s all fun and games until the weakly assignment includes the words “create” “Newsletter” and “Microsoft Office 365” in the same sentence. Add the words “photos”, “videos”, and “citations” in the same paragraph, and this is the thing my nightmares are made of. You see, as a 1900’s model here, I’m still learning about this wonderful little box on my desk. It was my practice 5 years ago to send paper Newsletters home in homework folders. This newsletter is for a college assignment, to be sent and accepted by a college and graded.

Oy Vey.

The content part is second nature. No problem-o. Having created “Mrs. Hurt’s Sneaky Peek at Next Week” every Friday since the fall of 1996, I have this down. A need for the newsletter arose that year because I had a student with very special needs. He was an adorable boy with the best attitude. He was two years older than the rest of the students in my class due to his challenges. If we would’ve been at a larger school, he would have spent a few hours a day in my class. We were tiny. He attended class all day, every day.

Early in the year, Mom, THE PRINCIPAL, and I decided that it would be of help if Mom had all lesson plans for the following week to preteach the lessons over the weekend. An extremely educated woman, she was an older mother. This boy was her first of three children. She’d turn this little situation around and her son would be absolutely normal by the end of his 1st Grade year. In her denial, she’d will this to be true. Bless her heart. She was a mama bear at her finest.

And so, Mrs. Hurt’s Sneaky Peek at Next Week was born. I found other parents were frontloading their children with enrichment about subjects we’d be studying. The newsletter helped everyone. It also held me accountable for all the subjects I’d finish teaching by Friday. Hence, my absolute fixation on time management. Teaching school does that to you.

For those of you not familiar with the classroom of the 2022, let me clear something up.

On any school work day, we start with 450 minutes. That’s 7.5 hours. Now, right away, take 85 minutes off the top for lunch and two recesses. That leaves 365 minutes of working time during the day. 200 of those minutes are dedicated to word decoding and comprehension, grammar, punctuation, handwriting, and vocabulary. And in learning about proper classroom behavior. That can take down the entire 200 minutes on some days. On a great day, we have 165 minutes left. Monday through Thursday, the kids leave the room for 45 minutes. Each day it’s for a different reason. Computers, PE, Art, Music, and Library. 120 minutes left, if I did the math right.

Well, we can’t forget math. Every day, math consumes 80 minutes. So now, we have 40 minutes. Settling in with the flag salute, announcements, and “Show and Tell” all take 20 of that. 20 minutes left.

Have you ever watched kittens? They play and play and play, and then fall over and sleep? Littles are a lot like that. A good rule of thumb used to be that a child’s keen attention to something is one minute per year of life. So, my six year olds really key in for the first six minutes of a lesson. After that, kittens. And just like kittens, they are the cutest little people in the world. Master teachers wrap there day in 15 minute segments of fun activities, and breeze through from morning until night. After 23 years of improvement, at this point in life, I am a master teacher.

With 20 minutes in which to fit everything else, you can see, there is no time to waste. Not one minute. I didn’t subtract time for the occasional fire drill, assembly, or other little time munchers. Just wanted you to understand a little about the classroom.

Now, back to the Newsletter. When I read the assignment, of which I had one full week to complete, I was gloating with happiness. I could do this one in my sleep, or so I thought. I started right away with a template with elementary school style. Off I went, not paying attention to the pre-designed format. I had four pages of beauty as I pushed Save. Great. But the Newsletter was formatted differently. It was 9 pages of things I hadn’t put in places to which the computer moved them. It was a disaster. And so the week began.

Finally, after six trying days, the Newsletter was complete. A thing of beauty. I could move it anywhere and everything stayed put. I was feeling absolutely giddy with delight. It was an “A+++” assignment for sure. I went into my college site and hit import.

Nothing happened. The submission box would not populate. A

ARE YOU KIDDING ME????? I HAVE “A+++” INPUT. IT MUST POPULATE THE BOX.

Time and time again, I massaged the entire situation. It would try to populate, no assignment would appear in the box. No pretty pink “Welcome Back to School” badge. No cute picture of Mrs. Hurt with her long flowing hair. No information about important dates. No research about the benefits of parent engagement in the classroom. No pleas for classroom helpers. None of it. Just an empty Submission box, with the clock ticking towards Monday.

Finally, after saving the file as a .PDF and employing the help of the sweetest tech lady from the college, my box populated. Totally. I submitted. Entirely. I was mentally fried, but my little assignment which would normally have consumed an hour, took almost 15.

Oy Vey.

Thinking all was well with my world, I bravely looked into the assignment for this next week. My heart dropped to my toes.

No. No. No, No, No.

“Next week, you will create a 20 side Microsoft PowerPoint presentation complete with…………………..”

I blacked out for a bit. Might have said a few un-teacher-ly things.

Such is the life of the coed. Even at 66, there are uncharted waters as I paddle down a river called college. I hear tell of some rapids ahead.

I was always an A student in school. From kindergarten. Shining star in the classroom.

Please, God. Hear my plea. I only need a C to renew my credential. I need this for my new job. Please hear my request. Even a C- will work in this situation.

With that off my chest, and just so you know, I currently have an A-. It’s the minus that just rubs me the wrong way.

Stay tuned as the saga of Mrs. Hurt and the Computer unfolds.

This summer has been the most magical one of my life. From start to finish, miracles just keep unfolding. It’s one such an event I must share. God works in mysterious ways sometimes, but then once in awhile, he just hits us with a pintsized whirlwind named Dahlia.

I know I whine way too much about the second sprinkler system. Golly gosh darn, it’s an amazing blessing that I have a second system, working or not. As you know, mine hasn’t been working. Mr. B, who does all the heavy gardening around here, called to tell me he would come Saturday with an assistant to install new solenoids and get things wet again! For his help, I’m always grateful.

Saturday’s weather was the nicest in quite a few weeks. Even though we’re still in the middle of summer, that morning felt like a kiss of autumn. A light breeze had cooled things off and I was excited that Mr. B would have decent working conditions. However, he soon texted to tell me would come to work in the late afternoon. By then, the summer heat was blazing.

When he arrived, at first glance, I thought he had brought his mom. A little person sat on the passenger side, quietly looking straight ahead. When I looked closer, I realized the person was a Little.

“This is my daughter. Dahlia.”

Again, my eyesight isn’t the best when changing from bright sunshine to the shadowy interior of a pickup. But, yes, there she was. A big girl with a mane of long, auburn hair. She turned and smiled a school girl smile revealing her age by missing teeth and their replacements at different stages of growth.

“Where are you teaching,” Mr. B asked.

When I answered, father and daughter both gasped.

It seemed that Dahlia had just finished 1st grade in Mrs. Smith’s class in Room 13 on the 1st Grade hallway at MY new school. She was the first person I’ve meant who could answer all the questions I would never ask an adult co-worker. I’d get the goods on my new school from one of their very own students!

Sprinklers AND a SPY!!!!! All for the price of one! It was my lucky day. Little did I know that another heart-friend just walked into my life. A pint sized tornado of energy. The one and only Miss Dahlia herself had arrived.

Bouncing out of the truck, she was in the back yard, quick as a cricket. She bubbled. She giggled. Energetic and spunky, she was ready to Spill the Tea and answer any questions burning holes in my brain. She’d paint a detailed and vibrant verbal mural of my new school. For the next two hours, I listened with my ears, brain, and heart to some precise details.

Dahlia is a writer. Of course, GOD would send me a writer. Dahlia is tops in her class. She wants to teach “high school something” when she grows up. She loves her guinea pigs. Most importantly. SHE LOVES SCHOOL MOST OF ALL!!! She told me so.

Dahlia should be on every single news show there is, because Dahlia is the very reason I could pop with excitement. She is a normal, every day little girl who loves to learn and loves the teacher that will help her. She is positive and truthful. Watching every detail, she wants to do things just right. She is one of the nicest humans God ever created, because she is 7 years old.

The littles in my town need me, because they are at the age in a love our hate for school will start to develop. It’s my job to give them the very best I have to offer without any politicized nonsense. It’s my great privilege to teach them to read, add, subtract and multiply. Yes. First graders know their multiplication facts. Dahlia told me. Then, she showed me.

For two hours, I was enchanted. I have a new friend at my school. She will find me on days when no one knows I’m scared, tired, and just plain freaked out. She’ll sniff me out like a hound dog finds a bone, and come give me a hug. Yes, kids still hug their teachers when needed. It’s one of the benefits of the job. She’ll spread the word to the kids at summer school. “This Mrs. Hurt. She’s a good one.”

Dahlia told me about the breakfast routine (eaten in the classroom), the lunch lines (orderly), the cafeteria food (delicious), and the playground rules(to be respected). She told me of some tough hombres that will be in my class (kids do grow out of stages, don’t they?). She cringed when she divulged that some students call the teacher bad words in class (They’ll learn not to do that, no problem at all). Every once in awhile, she’d just let out the most adorable little fact. “I JUST LOVE SCHOOL!”

I don’t really know the details of the sprinkler system repair. I guess it is working. I have new solenoids and it looks lovely out there. I paid Mr. B for his fabulous work. I set up a big work day sometime in the next two weeks in which he will give Winterpast her much needed late-summer spruce up. He’s going to handle my leaves this fall. Quite frankly, I just won’t have enough time. With over 30 deciduous trees, the leaves of Winterpast are intense. This year, my yard will look beautiful every day when I come home from work.

Dahlia. What a gal! God could have sent me a shy “Kyle”, glued to Dad’s side while he worked. But HE didn’t. He sent me just the person with which I needed to converse. Mrs. Dahlia B.

After two hours, my brain was FRIED.

Dahlia x 20 in my class = Mrs. Hurt had better be ready.

What on earth was I thinking???? I’m starting my vitamin regimen this very day. I’m going to start freezing dinners, because my first weeks are going to be overwhelming. I think I’ll be crying a lot at night. But, rest assured I’ll save those tears for my pillow.

Find a Dahlia to fill you in on the details of real school. Quit watching the TV nonsense. Dahlia would tell you that a 1st Grader pounds out syllables to music. They read stories with their teacher. They sit on the rug Criss Cross Applesauce during carpet time. They have real cubbies for their things. They listen and they learn. If they listen very carefully, they’ll be reading chapter books and multiplying just like Dahlia.

A+, Mr. B. Well done, Dad. Bring Dahlia along anytime. She and I have a lot more to talk about.

More tomorrow.

Yesterday I got the sweetest request from K. It had been a day. Oy Vey. We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Anyway, K asked if she could be my guest blogger for the day! And the way yesterday was going, I needed a guest blogger in the worst way!!! So, please enjoy these beautiful words from my own sweet K, who “Stepped” up to teach me the beauty of having a daughter when I need one so very much.

Enjoy

Guest Blogger Alert!

Every morning I arise and open up Grieving Gardener blog in hopes of reading something about my dad or how my dad’s widow is doing for the day.  If you are a daily reader, you know me as K, the other half of T&K (the twins, kids but really adults).  This blog has allowed me to grieve and heal all at the same time.  And I feel it’s important and time for you to know a little about your daily writer.

J came into our lives when we were just nine years old.  She has always been kind and loving to everyone she comes across.  As she has had to grieve the past two and half years, she has also been our rock, the person we could turn to when we needed to relive a memory or just reflect on what an incredible smart man our father was.  She never hesitates to answer a call or a text, no matter how small or big the matter is.  She opens her doors to my brother and I every three to six months so we can visit with her, sit at our father’s desk, use our father’s tools and just sit in her oasis of a yard to let us grieve in our each and individual ways. Today I will share with her reader’s one of the most special things she has done for me.

When my father passed away, I had to depart the residence when they came to pick up his body.  As I walked down the hill, in their most unique town they lived in, I sat on a huge rock.  Trying to process what had just happened, the fact that I had just lost one of the smartest men in my life, I looked up at the sky and asked my father for a sign, how will I know you are around? 

As I sat there, a bee started to buzz around my head. I thought, oh no, not a bee. Dad, is this really going to be your sign?  Then when back home, I looked at the sky again and asked my father, how do I know you are around, and once  again, a bee landed right on the mirror of my car and just sat there.

And so it was, the bee was my sign.  Anytime J feels me struggling, I magically find something in my mailbox shortly after with a beautiful bee on it.  Whether it be the flour towel that hangs in my kitchen or the sign that sticks in my garden, these beautiful gestures from our Grieving Gardener (otherwise known as my step-mom) have become some of those most treasured things in my home. 

I just wanted to share with her readers, what a kind, healing soul J has been to my brother and I, and as she puts those words on her computer screen day after day, she not only provides you, her readers advice and suggestions, but she allows this grieving daughter a glimpse into her life and the beautiful memories she had with my father. 

So, as she ends each of her blogs, I ask each of you to never hesitate to share your story, even in the smallest way, you may not realize what an impact you can have on your listener or reader because we all heal in individual ways.  Thank you to J, for allowing me to jump on her blog and let her readers know what a kind, compassionate person she is.

***

I love you, K.

J

*Just a note about K. She is the most amazing teacher. An even more wonderful woman. Almost at the brink of being an empty nester, she watches over her grown family as they find their way in the world.

K is the best mother and wife I know. She shines so brightly in this world. God knew I needed a daughter. He knew K needed an extra mom. HE get’s things right every time. We are so blessed to have each other as we share memories of the man who meant everything to both of us, Dr. Terry Lee Hurt.

In my dusty little town, there lives an Earth Angel who morphs from one type of helper to another. It is about her today’s blog is dedicated. To listen to her tell it, she isn’t doing anything special at all. She just ACTS. She sees community needs every day while greeting them with a smile and action. I will call her Bella, (Italian for beautiful, at least according to Google), because she’s that through and through. Let me tell you a few things about her.

Bella was the very first voice I heard say, “Come join us. Our Bible study is just starting.” Walking in 2 minutes before the study was beginning, I’d been praying to God for even one new friend that very morning. It seemed my heart couldn’t beat another day without female connections. My town is no longer my new home. It’s MY home. When you live in a place for two years, it’s time for girlfriends and I was missing the one’s I hadn’t yet met.

That morning, Jesus took my wheel and drove me to a Women’s Fellowship that was just ready to begin. 14 women sat around a big table, ready to study the written word of God. Sometimes, scholars do that. Sometimes, Bible buffs do that. But, in this room, 14 Christian women sat ready to improve their relationship with the trinity. There was power radiating from that room on that very day.

From the first “Hello”, Bella has been a bundle of energy and love. She’s a quiet woman, showering praise onto others. She is the first to find kind things to share with everyone in the room. It’s obvious she is directing her own life by doing it her way. She’s careful in choosing how she will spend her time, a part of life we can’t renew.

In her former time life, she worked in the movie industry while traveling the world. As she tells the story, one day that lifestyle wasn’t enough. In fact, one day, she couldn’t do her job the next. She needed something more in her life. Can you imagine the strength it took to give up glamor, travel, and the A-List? Well, come to think of it, it at least took courage to change a life that wasn’t filling her heart.

Over a few decades, she decided on a different kind of life. Today she runs a food ministry on very little of her own money. Every week, she feeds about 600 people in our community. No, not 6 or 60. 600. Could YOU do that? WOULD YOU if you could? Out of the back of the church, she boxes donated food, from perishables to cans. From soup to nuts. She feeds the hungry. They walk from the river. They come from under the bridge. Some come from their own kitchen, where the weekly paycheck was sucked dry by the rising cost of gas to get to work. They call and she meets them at the church sharing her trademark smile. That beautiful Bella smile.

Bella does work as a trainer of nurses and doctors. She finds time to keep a gorgeous yard, immaculate home, and thriving garden. She always looks as if she could be the center model for a fashion layout. Even when she wears jeans and a hoodie, she makes sure her hair is swirled just so and her lipstick applied.

She just shared that, recently, she saw another need. It seems a family of Littles had moved into the neighborhood and they were causing grief to the quiet elders. These little children hadn’t had too many examples of NICE and RESPECTABLE in their life. There was a ring leader. I can’t share his real name, as unusually adorable as it is. I’ll just call him Remington, because when she met him, he was ready to go off just like the gun.

Remington loved expressing himself with his middle finger, or worse, shouting greetings not blog approved. He and his little followers were well on the way to forming a pack when Bella stepped in and became the neighborhood “Grandma Bella”. Calling the wayward little munchkins to her front step, she held their first meeting and schooling, Bella-Style.

“I am Grandma Bella. I run the show around these parts. If you need food, water, a cookie, some ice cream, a hug, or a listening ear, you WILL knock POLITELY on my door to POLITELY ask me if I have time, and I’ll get you whatever you need. We will have NO hand gestures or bad words. We WILL be respectful and kind. This is how we WILL behave at Grandma Bella’s house and in OUR neighborhood. UNDERSTOOD????”

I can only imagine the look on their faces. She was offering safety, love, friendship, and a cookie on top of that. All for just acting civilized. What a deal!

Since that day, Grandma Bella is growing her Child Development ministry, as well. This is one busy woman. On any given day you’ll find her feeding the hungry, schooling the community children, being the best sister in Christ, all while running an AirBnB AND working two jobs.

Bella is on my list of Earth Angels I’ve met this summer. There are 14 of them that swirl around my town helping others in their own quiet ways. I know them, because I worship with them on Sunday and study with them on Thursday. It’s them that will help me get through my 185 days of teaching this year. It’s them that will help me find laughter on rough days and God at times when I think he might have stopped listening. Bella is just the first one about which I’m writing.

When Bella shared the details about her latest endeavor, she looked around the room and said, “All of you can be a Grandma, too. Look around. Is there trash in your neighborhood? Are the kids acting out? Somedays we need to step up and help. The world needs the love of more Grandmothers. BE ONE.”

Bella. What an inspiration she is in my life. Because of her, I now shop before Bible study, because the food pantry always needs bread, eggs, and meat. I feel so blessed to be a part of her ministry. Her love for others has washed right over me, inspiring me to do something to help. She is an example true Christian love all wrapped up in a beautiful human being.

That should plant some seeds for today. Think about your own strengths and calling and then get to work. There are 24 hours in a day. We can all sleep when we’re dead.

Have a great Saturday!

More tomorrow.

Never in my wildest dreams did I envision myself as a blog writer. But, this week, my total reads since September 24, 2020 reached 250,000. In internet terms, I’m not fooling myself. This is peanuts. But without advertising, while showing lots of patience, it’s huge to me. These reads have come from all over the world. From the beaches of the Philippine’s to the shadows of Mt. Kilimanjaro, for whatever reason, people have been reading. Around 600 times a day, someone is reading another one of my posts, and slowly the numbers rise.

There are platinum awards for records. I think there ought to be a Golden Pencil award for the first 250,000 reads on a blog. I think I’ll create that very award to hang in my new classroom. I’ll be the first recipient.

The Golden Pencil Award — Joy Hurt — July 22, 2022.

God has always been by my side in life. Yesterday, I was labeled a new Christian. I have my own thoughts about that. Indeed, I was baptized December 12, 2021. That is very true. I am reading the Bible from cover to cover for the first time in my life. But looking back over the years, I’ve had a relationship with God, deep and truly tested, throughout my life. One doesn’t survival the perils I have without God’s assistant. He has carried me through many fires throughout the nearly seven decades of my life.

Surviving a terrible car crash at 17. Escaping from Russia at 21. Healing from an abusive marriage. Finding VST. Farming. Teaching. Cancer. God has always guided me. I know, because I’ve asked for his guidance, mercy, and grace thousands of times through the years.

I especially remember being the hospital teacher to my sick kiddos. An aide and I were the face of school from 2010-2015. Every morning, as I drove the 45 minute commute from my mountaintop, I spoke to God about the kids. The ones that were mending and the ones that were irreparably broken. I cried out to him for miracles. I sang his praises when miracles even the doctors couldn’t explain occurred. Then there were the darkest of days on which I cursed him when heaven got a new angel.

35 times, God and I had some pretty rough discussions. 35 times, one of my students went to heaven. On the worst week, I lost seven kids. They all know I’ll ring the school bell when it’s my turn so our lessons can begin again.

The human definition of being a Christian can be rather limiting . God searches and tests my heart every day. He knows the light and the darkness found there. He sees my intentions and the fruits of my labor. He and I talk about it. He knows me by name, as does his son. This I know as well as I know my own name.

His messages often come through loud and clear. It is by his direction that I’ll be teaching at my new school. I know there won’t be one problem that I can’t get through with his help. There will be days when I wonder “Why me, Lord?” But there will be more days when I say, “Thank you, God”.

In the case of my blog, the idea came to me in the summer of 2020. I was in a new town. I had one girlfriend, but couldn’t see her because of Covid. I knew my Ninja Neighbor and a girlfriend from Walmart. I was planning VST’s memorial to be held in the Gardens of Winterpast. That was the extent of my daily human contact.

One morning, I awoke with the words “Grieving Gardener” flashing like a road sign in my brain. Over and over, my first thoughts that day were these two words. Being rather literal while still in a heavy widow’s fog, I decided I’d start a gardening group of widows, using the spacious and very empty RV barn. In a flash, I planned the year’s curriculum and was all set to go. But, something held me back.

I planned for tables, chairs, books on gardening, and the coffee pot. I designed a flyer for bulletin boards around town. Still, I didn’t go forward. The name kept flashing. So much so that I even bought a green and white road sign to hang above the door of the RV Barn. Grieving Gardener.

It was September 23rd, 2020, when inspiration hit. I’d been inspired by a gentleman that did a daily podcast. Like clockwork, his dedication led him through hours of work each morning to produce a Conservative podcast from his home. On that very day, I knew in my heart that I would blog. I would own the domain name of Grievinggardener.com. In 24 hours, my first piece was published. My healing journey began.

Each day I would look at the number of reads. Two here, five there. When I hit a consistent 10 people a day, I was amazed that ten people were interested. From there, it slowly expanded. When I hit my first 1,000 reads I cried. I stopped counting at 80 countries and 30 states.

As you all know, for me, writing IS life. There isn’t a more powerful elixir or drug in the world to calm my heart while my brain comes up with a plan. There is no better way to leave a string of my life’s story for one of my Great-Great-Great grandchildren to pick up and read someday. There is no better way for me to cultivate happiness and contentment than sending out one little blog a day.

Stories are meant to be told. If you don’t write, then record them. They tether us to the way things used to be. Because those of us 1900’s models know that the way things used to be were flat out wonderful. Maybe with enough stories, generations to come will find their way back to that way of life.

With so much to collect for my classroom, the next two weeks are hectic ones. On Monday, 1/2 of my college course will be complete. Next week, I’m hoping to meet my room. Summer school is still in session, so hopefully, I’ll get my keys to the kingdom on the 1st of August. Then, the real fun will begin.

Whatever you do today, add a dream for good measure. You, too, just might earn the Golden Pencil Award just a few short months later.

More tomorrow.