Saturday, August 29, 2015
Some have already launched into the countdown towards the Labor Day holiday. Others, I suspect, have secretly begun the countdown towards next summer.
And then there are those who recently joined the retired teacher brigade who felt a pang or two when school started without them (as evident by their Facebook posts).
I, on the other hand, entering Year 3 in the no school zone remain pang-less. For the most part, I'm still enjoying my (ad)venture in real estate. Even though I supposedly am master of my own schedule, I find that is rarely true. Clients can be as needy as school children, but without the classroom walls, bell-to-bell schedule and big yellow buses.
Whatever first day of school twitches I get are easily remedied by going to help by daughter set up her classroom at the start of the school year. But if that doesn't do the trick, I find myself in the nearest office supply store standing in the back-to-school aisle.
After all, you can never have enough #2 pencils, can you?
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Who knew I'd have so little time to devote to writing, ranting and waxing poetic when I retired and launched my great (ad)venture in real estate?
Alright, alright, alright, I'll admit that I've ranted a lot. It just never transferred into actual writing. In fact, most of my ranting has been peppered all along the North Dallas toll road, Interstate 35 and thoroughfares throughout North Texas in general. And, the truth be told, those rants weren't exactly PG fare either.
Such is my life.
So finally after months in writing remission, I'm taking tiny baby blogging steps again, so I'll keep it short.
This was the first summer I spent without attending/working at a high school journalism workshop. Even after I retired from teaching, I still dutifully participated at a summer high school publications workshop.
But not this summer. No siree, Missy.
This summer I boldly declared my independence from all things counterproductive and resigned from the workshop (for reasons better left in the "if-you-can't-say-anything-nice-don't-say-it-at-all category). Instead, I flew off on my first European trip ever–to Italy.
And, sadly (or happily depending upon your perspective), I did not miss the workshop.
No siree, Missy, not one bit.
Such a revelation actually surprised me. In ways I had never realized before, the distance was quite liberating. There is something rather confining and restricting about not letting go, about not letting others step up, about not moving on. Talk about an epiphany.
And then there's something rather remarkable that occurs when distance brings clarity, especially from half a world away. I was sitting with friends at a little Italian cafe waving to school kids whizzing through the piazza on their bicycles as they journeyed home. That experience brought more joy than a summer full of workshops.
I guess you had to be there--or not there--to understand.