Gail's Blog

I am keeping my promise to myself to walk/run almost every day. So far so good. On the left is a picture of myself doing my run. And if you believe that I have a missile defense system to sell you (no one wants a bridge anymore). I set out walking one minute, jogging another, alternately. Now I am jogging five minutes and walking one or two. I need to warm up, walking five minutes first. I never needed to do that in my fifties (Ah, the good old days!). My knees complain but not a lot. I sweat and that feels like I'm accomplishing something. Maybe I'm an accomplished sweater now? Or sweat-er. I can be proud of that! I am happy with this decision. It spurs me to use time more wisely. I'm awake at six anyway, thinking about how much I don't want to get out of bed. Why not get up and get moving? So I do. I notice progress. Yesterday I didn't feel like my muscles were on strike, at least a third of the time. During the school week I could go up the two flights of s

We recently lost Ginger to liver cancer, aka Old Age. Before that her brother, Bear, was also lost to us. He was old, too. It is a difficult transition going from dog to no-dog. Some of the ways I list below: I drop food on the floor and look to make sure someone eats it. Oops! I have to clean it up myself. I come in from work and no one greets me, tongue lolling, eyes sparkling, tail wagging, saying, "Oh my God, you're home!! I thought you'd NEVER get here!" Leaving the bedroom, I don't have to check to make sure there are no dirty laundry baskets around, tempting someone to eat the crotch out of my Victoria's Secret undies. I no longer put the trash up on the sink, or on my husband's dresser. No raider is going to take dirty tissues and God knows what else. In the kitchen we don't put the trash up on the counter anymore. In New Jersey, when Ginger was already old (last summer) she dragged the dog-proof trash can with the locking lid into th

I am in Sea Girt, about to go to Spring Lake beach where the wind is blowing and it might get up to seventy. Here at the shore I get to allow my half-baked ideas and thoughts to come to the surface and percolate. I have wondered how on earth I've fallen so behind on taking care of my precious body/mind. I work a lot, but during work and between work I seem to take on the mindset of a beleaguered old person. "Oh, my back! I'm getting too old for this!" Maybe I am. In the meantime I struggle with the desire to keep up all commitments and still have a exercise discipline that includes yoga, weight training, and jogging. I just completed a walk/jog route from this house to Sea Girt beach and back. At first my old lady within was complaining bitterly that she was not up to it but I kept my focus, thanks to Pandora's dance aerobics channel. I felt like a hero. Heroine? But when I go home will I find the time to do this, to do yoga? Gym? How do other people do

When I was younger, my children in school, done with half-day preschool teaching, I would come here and sit. Sometimes I would take out my Pentax K-1000 and take pictures. Once I saw two women in a canoe and shot a series of them that I still have in an envelope somewhere. Other times I would think of my Greek grandfather, how he would sit and just look at water or woods, smoking. I always thought of him in nature because he was so at home in wilder places. Today I left work after two afternoon conferences. While driving home, planning to work on arrival, I had a sudden, jarring memory of how I used to allow myself the time to river-sit between work and other things. Resolutely, I drove past my exit and parked by the water instead. Miraculous! A break between work and work! The river still flows even though I haven't been watching it do so! I think I should take more breaks like this. I don't want to miss the river all together before I die. An Iranian father said to m

I've been an Episcopalian for forty years. I love the liturgy, the loopy hymns (Welcome Happy Morning, I Sing a Song of the Saints of God). I love the beautiful ones ( King of Glory, King of Peace; Wondrous Love). The words of the liturgy are second nature. But on Easter I am in two places at once: In Alexandria, VA at Christ Church, and at the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church on W. 14th Street in Cleveland. I say the creed in English, and hear it in Greek. I sing the Trisagion in English and listen to the Greek words. I see white pews and clear windows, and in my mind there are icons everywhere. I live a rich Easter experience! I long to say Xristos Anesti and have others say Alithos Anesti, but have to be satisfied with Christ Is Risen, Indeed He is Risen. So it goes! At home we have lamb (many Episcopalians do, too) and Tzoureki (Easter Bread). Dessert is a honey cake from my ancient Greek cookbook, stains and torn pages abounding. My son-in-law, from a very Protestant whi

This is the first time I've done this. I haven't done it, yet. I've thought about it for years. What could it possibly be? Going to Vegas? Nope. Snow-boarding? Nope. Okay, give up? I'm bringing several different sized paint buckets to school so we can have drumming on the playground. Yes! I remember passing young boys doing this on street corners in DC and New York and being filled with joy at the sound. You can make music with anything, and rhythm is the backbone of music (not melody, to my way of thinking). Children love to pound on things and drumming is an expression of that pure energy of life they have so much of. I'm starting this week. Wish me luck.

I just took my car apart. Not the engine, heaven forbid! Like an archaeologist on a dig, I excavated my trunk and back seat. The top layers related to the teaching I'm doing now. This included the children's books, teaching texts, dress-ups and favorite markers I've used lately.  The second layer (sub-stratum?) consisted of the stories and materials I used last Spring at a completely different school. On the bottom laid (still) an old boombox, six "big books", and workout clothes I neglected to bring in after the gym (euw). There was a hand mixer somewhere in there, and greeting cards from last Christmas' students. Did I mention a cold-cup I forgot I had? The list goes on. When I quit my my part-time teaching job two years ago to take full-time work I brought everything I'd stored in my large classroom home. When I started teaching full-time I found out that most teachers use their cars as storage lockers. "Don't bring it in! There's no room