September 11th

This post has been in my head for a while but time, energy, etc.

It has been (over) ten years since that day.

I did not lose someone specifically.

I did not even live in NYC at the time.

But of course I will never forget.

Who can.

When I moved to New York City in June 2002, it was one of the first places I visited.

After work one day, I walked thirty blocks to see it.

And I cried.

It was turning into a place people could and would make money.

T-shirts. Books. Photos. Food carts.

It was disgusting.

But over the last ten days or so, that is not what made me cry.

I am not super patriotic.

I do not believe this is the best country in the world.

Far from it.

Lots of places I have been are pretty awesome.

I almost moved to Sweden at one point.

But everywhere I went people talked about the men and women who sacrificed their life that day.

At the UCF football game, (almost) everyone wore a red banana in honor of one such man.  

At school, the firefighters and police were mentioned.  

On TV.

Radio.

Everywhere.

How people died so others could live.

And I know Roger did not decidedly die for me.

And I know he did not "save me" in the car accident. 

But he did.

In ways.

He gave me family that I had not experienced since I was a little girl.

He gave me the opportunity to meet my goal to finishing my degree.

A job that I am adoring.

A community, finally after searching for years.

And a believe that marriage could be a good thing.

Sigh... And I thought September would be easier.

How to be Happy

At my old job, I worked with this lady that would have me in stitches.
She has a good ol' Southern Tennessee twang.
She would tell it as it is.
And she would be funny about it.

Way before I met her though.
Probably 10-15 years before I met her.
She lost her son.
A small child.
To cancer.

And I remember watching her.
Feeling so sorry for her.
How can she be happy?
How can she crack jokes?
How can she smile at other children?
Just how?

But now I get it.
You never forget.
And I am sure there are days.
And moments.
And maybe even months.
But the loss scars over eventually.

For some reason, September has been harder than I imagined.
But there are days were the loss is just a scar.
And I can smile, crack jokes, and be happy.

Where is the switch?

I just wish there was a switch.
An on/off switch.
It has been stuck on for so long.
I wish I could stop missing you.
Just to take a break.
Just for a moment.
It is taxing.
It is emotionally expensive.

At least it is September.

Happy

Teaching is hard.
So very hard to deal with so many personalities and needs.
And exhausting.
And killing my feet and hamstrings.
And teaching, as many know, does not pay well.
Yes, we have summers off but we do not get paid for summer.
Nor do we get paid more than 7.5 hours per day.
I do not know any teacher who only works 7.5 hours per day.
I do not understand how you could only work 7.5 hours per day.
I am working ten to twelve hours a day and at least five or six over the weekend.
I spent two weeks before school even started with help cleaning and organizing my room without pay.
Some nights I do not sleep as I find myself trying to run through the day.

But here is the amazing thing.
Truly amazing.
I am enjoying myself.
I am happy.
I love the other teachers I work with.
My principal is so kind as well as the other administration.
The students are mostly good kids.

I feel part of something bigger.
Like I am making a difference.

I look around my classroom and think:
"This is my classroom. These are my students."

And I got a wonderful compliment.
Someone asked/commented "You are a new teacher?"
"You really know what you are doing."
And for the most part, I do feel like I am doing well.

Recycle. Repurpose. Reuse.

Some of my friends have given me the nickname "recycling enthusiast".
I fully try to embrace the three R's.
Recycle. Repurpose. Reuse.
School has only been in session for one full week and two of my paper recycling bins are almost full.

One of the many things I reuse is manilla folders.
Just flip them inside out and they are as good as new.
And like other teachers, I have used some of my own things from home to stock my classroom.
One such manilla folder is on my desk.
At the back of my standing file holder.

Thursday evening as I was working after the children had left.
I walked from the back of the classroom toward my desk.
Probably after dropping paper in the recycling bin.
There I saw it.
My heart skipped a beat.
I paused.

The back of the manilla folder stared at me.
Two simple words.
Capital One.
It was not the words that stopped me.
It was the handwriting.
Not my handwriting.
Not Mr. X's.
But Roger's.

Handwriting is a funny thing.
It is evidence you did exist.
You are not part of my imagination.
You are not part of some dream that never happened.
Such a simple reminder.

And the cool thing.
You are there.
In my classroom.
With me.

Community

Most people think that New Yorkers are cold, rude, and there is no sense of community there.
I would disagree completely.
While I lived there, I had community.
A very nice one.
The Greek diner for Sunday morning breakfast.
The dinner across the street from my office who knew my order by my face.
Butter roll with sweet-n-light coffee.
My neighbors who always said hello.
Even letting me hang out in their home when I locked myself out.

When I moved in with Roger in the other house, his neighbors barely waved at us.
I craved community.
I wanted people to say hi to me.
Borrow sugar.
And then I discovered the neighborhood I live in now.
I was excited when I first found it.
The grocery store is in walking distance.
There is a bakery locally owned.
Loads of small businesses.
My neighborhood has outdoor movie nights once a month.
Festivals for every sort of event.
Yet, my neighbors ignored me.
Most people on the street or in the grocery store will not even make eye contact.
Even the few people I have met who do live near me, do not really try to be friends.
Especially since I do not have kids.
I was disappointed once more.

Today I realized something.
The school I will be working in is in my neighborhood.
Some of my fellow teachers live in my neighborhood.
They are friendly.
And as much as I hesitated to take a job within my neighborhood.
I will get my craving.
I will have my sense of community.
I will be part of something big.
Part of a "village".

All because three years ago.
Three years ago and I am here.
Living in a community.
Working in a community.
I love it.

Never Nervous

Last night Kevin and I were watching Next Food Network Star finale.  

It is one of my guilty pleasures and one of the only reality TV shows I watch.

Mr. X and I watch it together as I got him into it as well.  

One of the finalist talked about her father.

Tears came to her eyes.

She talked about how he was always so calm.

He never got nervous but just with through life with a positive attitude.

He has passed away in the last few years.

Tears immediately starting flowing.

Mr. X was like "Why are you crying?"

For my dad, no.

For missing Roger.  

He was always calm no matter what the situation.

And I loved that about him.

When buying our house, calm as a cucumber.

The day before the wedding, cool and collected.

Nothing seemed to rock him.

I asked once if he ever got nervous or anxious.

"Nope, not really.  I have already ran through all the possibilities and the worse case scenario."

Last night as I prepared for my first day of pre-planning, my nerves were become more and more apparent.

My attention span became shorter.

I could not sit still.

My anxiety was elevating.

My heart was starting to race.

Would my coworkers like me?

Would they be helpful?

Can I really do this job?

Why could I not be like Roger?

Even though I have looked at all the possibilities.

That does not reassure me.

That actually makes my brain go into overdrive trying to solve all of the scenarios.

But thankfully today went well.

I am happy with the decision to work at this school.  

And I am loving my coworkers.