Life in small town America

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When the world stood silent…

It is not often that things move me deeply in everyday life, probably because I am a skeptic.  However, today was one of those days that the emotions rose to the top and my heart jumped into my throat.

From December 18 – March 11, I was literally housebound due to a knee injury that kept me on crutches. Then, on March 13, the world was on lockdown due to the pandemic COVID-19. Schools closed indefinitely, restaurants were only doing curbside delivers, non-essential businesses closed. So many people started making masks to give to people and to help healthcare workers.

I slogged through the whole time from March 13 through today hoping it would all be a bump in the road we all would endure for a few weeks.

I made face masks, read books, practiced on my new Bodhran drum, made homemade bread and pumpkin bars, played music way too loudly on the radio, walked the dogs many times, purged many boxes, filled the trash container, made hand sanitizer, attended several virtual meetings, listened to my pastor deliver sermons virtually on the church Facebook Live feed, and tried not to live on social media.

Today, however, I ventured to the city for a doctor’s appointment. When I entered the office, only two of the six chairs in the waiting area were present. There was a plastic shield over the formerly person-friendly check-in counter.  When a third person entered the doctor’s office, I was ushered into another waiting area with only three chairs, spaced six feet apart. My doctor and all of her employees were wearing face-masks. The office assistant had a tissue between her ear and the elastic band on her face mask to prevent more irritation from the band. Never before had I been in any doctor’s office where I saw people wearing medical grade face masks. I had only seen this in hospital stays for surgeries.

After this little diversion, I headed to Starbucks to get my FREE birthday coffee and some lunch. As I was driving into the mall complex where the Starbucks coffee shop was only serving at the drive-through window, I was stunned to realize the parking lot, which holds thousands of cars on any given day, was totally empty. There were NO CARS as far as the eye could see. My heart started pounding and I was becoming breathless as I pondered this sight.

My trek to the drive-through lane was not normal either. There were nearly two dozen cars lined up to purchase that wonderful elixir.  Most of the time when I go to that coffee shop, there are six cars. Drivers patiently moved forward at a faster than normal pace, which seemed surreal. Foodservice personnel literally PUSHED food bags out the window faster than I had ever seen at this drive-through window. After I inhaled said coffee in the parking lot, I went to get dinner and gas for my car.

I ventured then to Chik-fil-a to get salads for dinner using gift cards from Christmas. There were two lines inching along and 13 Curbside pick-up stations that were filled with anxious customers. Clerks hurridly raced food to these customers in crates, defying all moving vehicles in their paths.  Fortunately, I was able to place a mobile order that was immediately credited to my account. Once again, the foodservice clerk pushed my bag out gingerly through the pick-up window, and said “Have a great day.” I wondered if Chik-fil-a was the center of the universe for a moment.

On to the gas pump, I headed. Not only were there few cars at the gas station, but gas was $1.87 per gallon. In the 80s that price would have meant a race to get gas. I can still hear my Econ professor saying “less demand equals lower prices.” I usually pay $45 to fill up my 12-year-old Honda, but today I paid $25 to fill that same tank. For that I was grateful, for the short line I was grateful, for the few cars I was grateful, not so much for the cold lake wind blowing up across the lake plateau.

The next stop took me to another “essential” business, Aldi’s, to get a week’s worth of fresh fruits and vegetables and meat. I donned my homemade mask, got my cart from a store employee who had dutifully sanitized the cart for me. In the store, everyone I saw was wearing a mask. People were socially distancing. People stood six feet behind other customers to check out on blue tape floor markers. The cashier ensconced behind a plexiglass shield, scanned my groceries wearing surgical style gloves. As I pushed my cart to the car, I saw the sanitizer employee again and he also took my cart as I returned it, ready to sanitize it again. I am sure he was smiling because his eyes sparkled.

I am not one to get panic attacks, so this feeling of doom was new to me. As I drove home from this little adventure, I got the feeling I was in a time warp or a Ray Bradbury short story. I wondered when the terrific seniors I know would graduate, when I would hear band concerts and see high school plays or hear high school and middle school choirs sing again, when little kids would be permitted to have festive birthday parties with their friends, or when I could hug my dad once again. He turned 92 on Sunday.

I know all of this will mold our new normal, and if we will ever go back the life as we once knew it, our old normal.

COVID-19 is real and the far-reaching impact of it has changed the world. As we wait for the curve to flatten, we pray for our first responders, health care workers, our family members and friends who are on the front lines of this war against an invisible enemy.

Perhaps, in this time when the world has been silenced, may we hear something greater than ourselves, may we reach to Heaven for guidance, peace and hope, because that is where our normal begins. It reminds me of the verses in Philippians (2:10-11) which say “That at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, of things in heaven, and in earth, and things under the earth: and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

And there rests my peace.

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What we learn from our grandparents

   I was thinking about my grandmother this morning. She was a very strong woman. I talked to her about many of life’s trials and about world history. She even wrote some of our family’s history. I love that I still have her voice on audio recording.
   Most of those times we were talking, she was teaching me how to plant a garden, put up wallpaper, paint woodwork, sew on her treadle machine, crochet, bake pies and load wood into her wood stove and how to drive her tractor. I am so grateful for all of those lessons today because she taught me that we can be self-sufficient, but that we still need people.
   We talked about how her sister, my great Aunt Fay, took her to the train station in 1914 (she was 9) to see the soldiers heading off to war. She told me that she could still hear the sound of their boots on the wooden platform at the train station. What a startling memory.
   One thing she never told me was how her family survived the Spanish flu pandemic. She was 13 during that time. I wonder how they survived. I wonder what she would say now I know my great grandfather had a huge garden and was an excellent carpenter. He worked for the US Post Office as a mail carrier, so I know they were okay. My great grandmother was a germophobe and passed that tradition down to me. Funny how things like that keep appearing in families.
   My grandmother lived through WWI, WWII, Korean War, Viet Nam War, and 9/11. She was never afraid to talk about these things or what she saw during those times.
   How blessed we are to have known her for so many decades. She was just short of 99 years old when she died in 2005. Oh, what I would give to talk to her today. I have learned so much from you, Gram.

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Stay at Home Orders

I have not posted a blog in quite some time but decided that I need to follow my own journalism educator’s advice and report what I see. When we look back at this time, we will need these narratives to remember this pandemic.

At the moment we are under a Stay at Home order except for essential needs in our county to lessen the chance of spreading COVID19. Schools are closed, churches share services virtually, and streets are barren.

There are five positive cases of COVID 19 in our county today. Statewide there are1687 positive cases with 16 deaths due to the virus. There were zero two weeks ago.

Today was not an ordinary day to go help my 91-year-old father do is grocery shopping and have lunch together. We often reminisce and I have learned so much about his early life, his time in the Air Force, his love for my mother and so many other things.

Rather, it was a day to race around to stores to find him milk, orange juice, cottage cheese, some soups, dog food and of course, his Pepsi. I really wanted to just go in and sit a spell and drink some coffee with him and chat, but I just went to the door, passed his groceries through to him and said “Bye, Daddy, love you. See you next week.” It was so hard because I just wanted to hug him and be with him, but I know that keeping him safe from the impact of COVID 19 is essential.

His face told me that he loved me, too. He let me know I was doing the right thing because I had to go to several stores to get him things and could potentially bring all of the various germs with me.

As I walked to my car, he said, “Call me when you get home,” just like he has every other time I have left his house. I did and we chatted for a few minutes, as we always do.

As I was driving home, I remembered a scene from my teenage years when he came into the kitchen and said, “Jane, get off the phone. You are always talking.” I laughed aloud because I knew that today my daddy wanted me to talk to him on the phone as long as I wanted.

He has always promoted the idea that we need to be of great courage and resilient in times of trouble. For that, I thank him and know that it is the reason we have weathered many storms together. His last comment to me today was, “See you next week, Sunshine. Love you.” Yes, we will weather this together.

Love you, too, Daddy.

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The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

This is the most wonderful time of the year. At least that is what people say. However, for some, it is the worst time of the year for many reasons. People all around us have lost children, parents, spouses, friends. They are grieving deeply as they know this will be a season of missing someone they have celebrated with for years.

Others barely make ends meet daily and are not even sure how they will eat tomorrow. They do not even consider where they will get their children any holiday gifts. Some have lost jobs are friends for no apparent reason.

Some of our local children are anxious because they know that their 12-day break means they have to figure out how to get meals because most of their meals come during school.

This time of year, if you are blessed, reach out and bless another. I was blessed today because I saw a young man in the store actually lean forward and hand the cashier money to pay for an elderly man’s cart of meager supplies. Giving like this does not require much, just a simple understanding that there are people around us who struggle daily to live, even in this small town.

Just making the effort to check on someone else to make sure they are okay during this celebratory time of year is so important. It costs nothing. We may even save a life, just by stopping by to share a few moments of our life with another.

Take some time to give the gift of you to someone this holiday season.

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First Days of School

When I started kindergarten, there were no first-day photos like we see today. I did love that my mom walked me to school; met my teacher, Miss Dunbar; and came to get me at noon. Miss Dunbar had a cool bell-like my favorite tv show Ding Dong School, I watched on a black and white television. I loved her brass school bell and told myself that I wanted one someday. No, I did not know I wanted to be a teacher then, but the seed was planted.

Then, there was the first day of school in a new town. It was hard. I was in sixth grade and so mad at my parents because they moved on my twelfth birthday in April and I would have to start in a new school away from all the friends I had ever known. I discovered a box of very old books in the attic of our new house. They were by author Horatio Alger. I read all eleven of them that spring and summer.

Reading became my solace, and I met a friend for life in that spring. Every day we got to go home for lunch. My brother raced ahead and I moped along trying to figure out this new place. Up ahead a girl waited for me and asked if I wanted someone to walk home with. I said yes. I headed home, still moping. On the way back, I met her again. She was actually waiting for me. That was the beginning of a friendship that lasted for 54 years until she died in March of last year. For 29 years, we were able to teach in the same district and I always loved it when I had students from her sixth-grade class come to my high school English class. They were so well prepared.

There was another first day when my parents decided that I would leave private school and go to public school – in November of seventh grade. Once again, no friends! I was very angry and became a recluse by hiding in the library during study hall to read books. I carried home books and read them at night, under the blankets with a flashlight.  My mother helped me by signing me up for Girl Scouts and joining as a leader. In Girl Scouting, I met another lifelong friend, Lorraine. We did so many fun things together and graduated together and later ended up in the same college, both studying to become teachers. Our mothers were also friends, and we are still friends to this day.

After college, those first days of school each of my 44 years were full of anticipation as I was so eager to meet my new students and hone my skills as a teacher helping kids learn to love literature like I did and also teaching them to write well. I never slept through the night and always had the first weeks planned to the hilt every year, even when I taught graduate school. My control-freak personality was always in high gear on those 44 ‘first days,’ definitely an adrenaline rush. Why? Because someone planted a seed on that first day in kindergarten when she rang that brass bell from us to come in from recess.

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The value of a teacher

Over these 45 years as an educator, I have met some amazing teachers. On occasion, some of those teachers have held after school or additional responsibilities such as advising or coaching for small or no stipends, never an hourly rate, because schools could not afford to pay them for their time. If we paid teachers minimum wage for these extra assignments, schools across the US would be bankrupt.

Some of these very teachers are experts in their fields and are held in high regard among their peers on a national level. However, in their local school systems, some have been taken to task for giving their time and expertise to students by allowing students space to create and think and grow as individuals.

Students need space to think and speak and grow and learn. Student publications give them that place to develop their passions for life. Sometimes, students write about things that make adults uncomfortable. Was it not Thomas Jefferson who said, ‘Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers, or newspapers without a governmentI should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter’? Why, yes, it was. With that thought in mind, I often wonder what motivates administrators and school boards to take teachers to task for giving students voice in their student publications. (Full disclosure, I am a certified principal and elected school board member at the time of this writing.)

If we are to raise a nation of thinking, creative, positive adults, we need to give them space to challenge what they see that is going on in the world around them. We cannot challenge it for them.

In recent weeks I have seen numerous posts that bash students for speaking out about school safety.  Some of those posts have been acerbic and accusing students of being used and manipulated by adults. Funny, though, the very people who do not want students to speak or write about their concerns are the very people who are chomping at the bit to censor students who do speak their own minds. Yet, these very folks scream foul when people try to censor their speech. When we do not listen to students, we run the risk creating of students who do not listen to adults.

In the past five years, I have seen the exponential rise of teachers being threatened with dismissal and non-renewal of contracts as well as being suspended without pay because these very teachers, who teach the Constitution and First Amendment rights, refuse to censor students. How do we teach students that words matter if we do not let them use their words to grapple with the volatile issues that surround us in this country?

Kids are angry, as they should be, about the things going on in this country. I remember being angry in the 60s about war and unrest and riots. I was a teen then. One thing I was able to do in high school was to find my voice on the school’s newspaper staff. It helped me negotiate my passion. Yes, I taught journalism for more than three decades as a result of that experience. It also taught me that those who speak up can create change in the world.

When a teacher takes the time to give students the opportunity to develop voice, we need to honor that teacher and we need to make sure we do not ask that teacher to throw away a whole career because we are miffed that a student published something that might make the school look bad. Student publications are not public relations tools for the school.

What makes the school look bad is the denigration of highly respected teachers who help students learn more than content in the textbooks (which is often erroneous.) When that controversy plays out in the local media, social media and school board meetings, the students lose, the community loses and those who try to thwart the free voice of students by dismissing the teacher, lose.

To all of the publications advisers I know, this is for you. You are valued, you are respected, you are worthy of praise for educating a future thinking electorate. We support you. Press on.


#3 Learn and follow the chain of command

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Year three was a real eye opener for me. I never realized the value of the chain of command until my third year of teaching. I was teaching English to students in grades 6-8 in a small private school.  I also taught home economics (now called family and consumer science) and physical education.

In my naivety, I did not know that people did not always come to the teacher first if there was an issue with a student or some conversation that needed to happen to make the school a better place.

I got called to the principal’s office because a mother called complaining about my class. She did not see why her son had to do reading homework because she felt that he should do all his work at school. I shared with the principal that I was following the policy of the school that was published to parents. The school had a policy that teachers should assign homework on Monday – Thursday only, with Thursday’s assignment due on the following Monday.  I did follow that policy.

To make a long story short, the boy wanted to read a self-selected book over the weekend and was not really interested in doing family chores, so he used the reading of the book as an escape from chores. Inside, I was secretly jumping for joy because he had actually picked the book himself and wanted to read it. This was something I was trying to nurture in my middle-level students so that when they got to high school reading would be comfortable instead of drudgery.

Unfortunately, the issue went to from the principal to head of school to the board of directors. I was never part of the conversation with the parent. The end result was that the child was removed from our school because the parent wanted the school to follow her edict.

I felt so sad the next week when the student came to me with tears in his eyes asking me to sign his withdrawal papers. He handed me the book that he had half-read and walked away with his head down. I asked him if he wanted to keep the book since it was a book I had personally purchased for our classroom library, and his face light up so brightly. He left the school with the book and I never saw him again. I hope he still loves to read.

Parents, if there is ever a dilemma with your child or the school, take that up with the child’s teacher before you even go to the next level. Chain of command is there for a reason. It means solutions for problems come at the lowest level. The winner will be your child.