Category: A Writer’s Life
-
What if it weren’t true?
Remember Emily Dickinson from your high school English classes? The one who heard a Fly buzz- when she died? The one who could not stop for Death, so he kindly stopped for her? What if she hadn’t been so eccentric, as teachers have painted her in countless classrooms? What if, instead, she’d been a gifted…
-
I’ll admit it; I’m a snob
It’s back to school time! Surely, you’ve noticed. Parents and caregivers navigate the seasonal aisles of their favorite department store, list in hand, squinting at packages as they try to find the proper-sized ruled paper and colored binders. Teachers elbow out other customers as they overload their shopping carts with composition books, multi-packs of scissors,…
-
What comes after the to-do list?
A journey to redefine retirement How would you define “to do?” There’s nothing particularly hard about the question. Especially if you’re a “doer“ like me. It means to get things accomplished. To stay busy. To work. Since my early days in college when I worked thirty hours a week teaching kids and adults how to…
-
Why I dread the happiest time in my students’ lives
After spending a year as a retired high school English teacher, I just returned to my former high school to participate in the commencement ceremony at the invitation of a graduating senior. It’s an honor to be asked and part of a lovely tradition that allows seniors to choose a staff member to hand them…
-
Let’s ditch the tech
In today’s classrooms My heart was warmed today. And it had nothing to do with the near-record heat and humidity in the Midwest. No, it was a group of teachers who warmed it: eleven elementary, secondary, and post graduate teachers gathered for this year’s Invitational Summer Institute (ISI), conducted by the Indiana Writing Project Teacher…
-
Chasing our Quaker ancestors from a log cabin in the woods
It was beginning to seem like a game of tag… to find out as much as possible about my three times great aunt, Mary Jane Edwards who went South with her sister Lizzie– my three times great grandmother– to teach freedmen right after the Civil War. And it was filled with stops and starts, dashes, and…
-
A celebration of the muumuu
The closest I could come to the muumuu of my aging hippie friend was a Chambray dress hidden on the clearance rack at Walmart. Prefaded, loose and long. As I wriggled my arms inside its buttery fabric and let it fall over my head, it granted me instant permission to be free. Free from importance.…
-
The Coelacanth Still Scares Me
Suddenly, now that I have time to think, things aren’t the same anymore. Suddenly, things that were factual, aren’t. Or things that were fringe are mainstream. Case in point: Pangea. “No, of course the continents were never all hooked together,” my fifth grade teacher snorted. Even though we looked at a map and could see the…
-
Making your writing real
What’s your strategy? Call me old school. I have gray hair. I can accept that tag without too much fuss. I never fell into the rabbit hole of video games or TikToking that sucks and slurps the gray matter right out of some folks’ heads and dissolves hours from their lives. So visual learning or…
-
We were on a quest
The single-lane gravel drive through the line of trees gave a shady respite to the heat of the June day. We snaked the car up the hill. According to the ochre-colored map, we had turned off old US 40 in the right place, but there wasn’t a tombstone in sight. In fact, as our tires…
