A Matter of Balance

Dear Maria,

Thank you for your kind words about “Bear, My Heart”, which I think reached a few folks who understood the sensibility behind it. In rather clumsy fashion I told a friend of mine that our greatest vulnerability is the vulnerability of those we love. Our inability to step in and either shield them from harm or lead them to safety. He’s a parent of two daughters, so he has a finely tuned sense of concern.

And thanks for letting me off the hook on my lax writing schedule. My personal news is not so very compelling, which might not be a terrible shortcoming when I think of friends and family who are wrestling with serious issues—so many health-related that it is unnerving.

I play, then, a little game with myself. Some sad news, or some alarming news, and I bring to mind something that pushes the meter toward the positive. Like how for three consecutive mornings, an Indigo bunting appeared at my feeder. Stunning. That such a color could appear in nature—naturally—well, astounding.

A bit of a more localized flare up over minimum wage last week, but I kept quiet. Of course, just like you, I did some time in minimum wage jobs. In every case, I believed I would be moving on, but I also worked with adults who would not be moving on. They showed up, got along with people, and did their jobs the way they needed to be done.

Was the work honorable? At least, my fellow employees were honorable in their performance. Maybe the question is if the job needs to exist, isn’t it worthy of pay that at least keeps up with inflation? I know the ripple effect—if they get X dollars for doing that job, then we should be paid more.

As for the earthquake in Nepal—what to say. We cling to the skin of a dynamic sphere hurtling through space. At least survivors are being found. A little 4-month-old boy covered in dust, but breathing. What his future holds, in terms of family or friends of the family, I don’t know, but he lives.

And, yes, Baltimore.

I have four and five blooms bunched together on some of the roses. Enough flowers to cover the spread of my hand.

A string of spring days is forecast that can divert us all for whatever time we might have to spare. Of course, I am lucky enough to have plenty of such moments. Don’t quite know how to lend them out, yet.

Thank you for your encouraging words. May you and your family be safe and be well.

Yours, srk

Upon Further Review

Dear Maria,

Temperature in the 50s and suddenly I am chasing down a sweater for the morning walk. And rain. The good news is that yesterday I saw the first hatch of bluebirds take wing—and not so gracefully—and make it from the bird condo to the white oak and then off through the trees that grow along the property lines behind my neighbors. Also, the pyracantha is blooming for the first time, the knockouts are coming along, and even one of the pittosporum out front is showing a little flower.

I guess you have seen the news of the shooting in North Charleston. Maybe watched the video. About an hour ago, on my way home from the grocery store, I saw a car pulled over by a local officer, and, honestly, I couldn’t help but think not only of his safety, but the safety of the woman behind the wheel. Ferguson didn’t prompt such deep consideration on my part, but when geographical proximity narrows, maybe events hit home more forcefully.

Or maybe it was the circumstances.  I don’t know, but I have read enough commentary to think that policing as a public, state-sponsored effort is complex and beyond punditry. I do know that when lethal force is a possibility I want, like everyone else, no mistake to be made. But then, of course, there is that human element. That in-the-moment moment. All I see, I see with an outsider’s eye.

The only parallel I can offer is thinly drawn—mistakes in the classroom in the moment, and, yep, sometimes in the heat of the moment. Not too often in a heated fashion, or so I recall. And as for folks who are not teaching, plenty offer up views on what is right, what would be better, or what is wrong with education.

An outsider’s view has merit, of course. But unless you hear the voicings, unless you know the history, unless you are there—well, second-guessing comes easily. To strike a balance between being there and post-event appraisal—can’t do it in 30 seconds or a post on Facebook.

Not that anyone wants to read anything much longer than a paragraph or so.

Overcast skies, cooler temperatures, and more rain coming. Bah humbug!  Can I say that in April? Want me to end on a more positive note? Max did not snap and bark at the vacuum cleaner Monday. Three-year-olds.

As always, my very best to you and the family.

Yours, srk

Time Banditry

Dear Maria,

Glad to hear all is well, and as for me, I am easing along with spring’s progress. Of course, as I have said, should I complain, I should at the very least be smacked upside the head. Repeatedly.

Thanks for sending along the article that suggested the potential for a child today to live to 140 perhaps. A staggering thought—and a red flag raised that as with inequality in wealth, we might witness an inequality in lifespans and resource usage that worsens divides that plague us now.

I had the good fortune to have lunch with friends in town for a whirlwind visit as part of their spring break from the schools where they work. They were very gracious and good company, and I truly was appreciative of them spending some of their limited time with me.

More and more I have come to feel very grateful for folks spending off-duty time with me. Now that I am so unencumbered, I see how generous it is for others who are working, raising, families, and trying to meet their own needs to allow some time for a visit with me.

Recently, I confessed that when I worked I was fiercely selfish with my off-duty hours, even with those who were working. Sort of “my time trumps your time” thinking. Very misguided, and disastrous to a number of relationships. Like I said, selfish.

I’ve heard from a few friends that my yapping about time of late has mirrored their heightened awareness of time’s speedy pace forward. Sort of like when students would tell me that they were suddenly seeing a vocabulary word everywhere—or, were no longer skipping over it when reading. That always made me laugh.

My perception of time is changed only in the sense of pace, mine being slower of course even as the arrow forward is still fast, fast, fast. I, too, think it shouldn’t be coming on two years retired, or a child I know can’t be three, or even with Max. Yesterday he turned three. I reminded him that he had until five to become a perfect dog, and that clock is ticking. His response was, well, muzzled.

So, I no longer have a count of days—time measured—to the AP Exam, the last day for seniors, the last day of school. Sunrises come, sunsets follow, and time here and there with family and friends. With gratitude.

Finally, by the way, some leaf appearing on the Chinese elm. In its own time, I suppose. Got a message that I can start a little earlier on a yard chore for some friends. Time waits? No, ma’am.

Be well, and enjoy.

Yours, srk