Category: essay

Posted on in anxiety, essay, family

It Was My Choice

Recently, I reconnected with a family member, while not estranged, we were never in the same zip code, and life moves quickly. A question asked with innocence crushed my soul. “Who are your people in the family?” I could not answer. I was baffled. All I could think about was my dad, my bridge into a world that was not mine. No one made me feel different or out of a loop, but 3,000 miles will do that to any relationship, no matter the level. He is gone. It is still heartbreaking as he was my person. I understood him like no other in my family. The link is broken, and again, I am alone.

I blamed the strength and oddness of genes for giving me a family at a distance, but yet my moving was never my choice. My far away western local was done for my grandmothers health and my own mothers attempt to hide from the mess that was created, not due to anything but love, but still much to clean with no guidance as the early 60’s were rather a socially neat era.  I listed off who I would love to see. But that’s all I have, that and a feeling of being detached from a clan, that innately I feel so attached to, but yet so far away. I have no bitter feelings, just an occasional sigh or feeling of sadness, all of which were stirred with one question. “Who are your people.”

The conversation led to my dads passing, and my trying to explain my missing his day.  While there was an actual reason for my no-show due to logistics, timing, and a huge chunk of change. Let’s face it, I made a choice. I did not go to my father’s funeral. I mourned at home and still do. So, why not go? Yes, money was a small part of the equation, but it became a scapegoat that I used to become my mother, running away from facing the truth.  Her running away from a life without him by her side, and my sprint away from his passing. I still struggle daily, not due to the missing of the service but the detachment I feel. The love I lost. The man I truly never knew, at his core, was the father I wanted, needed, and had in our own distant relationship. As odd as it sounds, perhaps the miles might have been for the best. Distance can never leave. It is already gone. Too many “dads” had come and gone in my life to have the real one, faults and all, leave me in this life. As such, I still can’t bear to say goodbye. It was my choice.

Posted on in book, essay, family

Joe

I was Joe for years. I have no understanding as to why technology placed my number under this moniker. But so be it. My dad was happy, it made him laugh, and that is what I lived for, his laugh. It was big and Joe made him laugh. Sometimes. I still have his last message and kick myself that I waited a day to give him a call but I did not expect death. No one does. I cry at odd times and need to see a shrink. I am a mess. We were an odd couple with a deep father- daughter bond with distance, understanding, and a likeness that was odd since I never grew up in the same zip code, state, or on the same coast. No ill will. Just a reality that made our times, good and bad, more poignant. The last time I saw him, I let him read part of my book, aka the heap of papers that I am rewriting and asked his permission to use his addiction story but no name. No big details just enough to tell my own co-dependency story. He loved it and agreed. But it sits. Every year, it is the books year, with more of an effort on the type of cover picture than the words. This is a problem and a pure sense of delay in my own healing and perhaps the two others that purchase the book. It is not the sales, it is the completion.

So, this is the year and while I should dedicate it to “Joe” whoever that technology snafu friend was, it will be dedicated to my Clem.

Posted on in essay, family, granparent life, humor, life, sixty

The Claw Can Lose!

The first haul from the claw!

Going to an arcade with a five-year-old is a blast. As a grandparent you cherish the smiles, the firsts, the games you choose and do not choose to play. You do, however, just because you are a grandparent and let’s face it this is more fun than parenthood. Truth. Even better is the fact that my nugget outsmarted the claw four times over. Yes, the impossible claw, that my husband and I swore to our own son, “the claw always wins.” We were cheap. Well, with the nugget, who cares. This is our third or fourth trip. I stayed with the mantra, but dad gave in… well, toys came out galore. “Grandma, I won. I beat the claw.” Of course, this is really the first time I have seen anyone win at the claw, so I was overjoyed and yes, we continued to play. Why not? Yes, there is more loot (one stuffed item for all) as he shares nicely. The Kermit like figure, is my gift from my grandson, which I will cherish. All $50.00 of him! A grandparent’s time is pricey but well worth it, as parents, usually cannot do what we can due to just life being expensive. It is our time. I never did arcades with our son. Never, but the nugget, after reading me a book gets the moon and I get the love of Kermitish.

Kermitish

The Kermitish, will be my forever. It was the combination of the sharing, the excitement, and just the enjoyment of the day. Nugget laughed at the name. I would as well, it is goofy. But so is an arcade and an after delight of a kid’s movie in a fancy theater. These days are precious, and they are coupled with the delight of reading, watching him tie shoes. Almost. Helping me pick out a Halloween costume (Blues Clue) down to the tights and ears. Since it was cost effective, and it made him happy, why not? No reason, sans my dignity but it for a school function. I lost any sanity and sense of costume style long ago. So, while the claw can lose, news to me, grandparents who put in the time, a few bucks, and plans for the years ahead to share in their lives, will never. That to me is the adventure, I will gladly continue to take, as long as Kermitish can come along for the ride, and he will. In the arcade I had an epiphany. Odd, yes. But it was the consistent flashing lights that brought on an idea he will never forget. Wherever we travel so will the Kerm, sort of like Flat Stanely, with postcards, journals, and of course pictures of grandma and grandpa (unwillingly) and the Kerm, wherever we go. So today, while was just a small adventure in an arcade and the viewing of a movie became so much more. It was compassion, sharing, beating the claw, and having a grandma make it into a lifetime of memories for all of us, especially the Kermitish because he thought his life would be inside a bubble, but now he will see the world. Eventually.

Posted on in #teacher, education, essay

Columbus Day = A Week

Sorry Columbus, but our week off (Fall Break) has nothing to do with you finding the New World. In fact some no longer celebrate your deeds. That is another story. Today, my writing celebrates my confusion of a week off in the middle of a school year. We just started! I have never understood this week off for teachers. Never. I gladly participate in this new age holiday of sorts. But why do we have four weeks off before the beginning of our third quarter? There are no answers as we have only been in school nine weeks. But we gladly take it. Does this impede family vacations and day care? Probably. Does this hurt the educational dynamic of our students? Eh. No data to tell. So we carry on.

So, what do teachers do with their time. Well, those with little ones, they enjoy, and I am constantly jealous, as I loved any time off with my kid, now adult. For those in the latter part of our careers we probably don’t do big travels if we are prepping for retirement. We organize, sleep, workout, etc. We stay busy and enjoy the solitude and ability to go to the bathroom on command. We recharge. If you are over fifty teaching becomes increasingly demanding and we need to reset the batteries, that are so badly drained, from their constant powering level of being ON, ON, ON for everyone at all times. While, I am still on empty, I am at least to the stage that only one nap is needed a day. My first day home, I woke up at 4:00pm and went to bed by 9:00pm.

Today, I am wearing make-up, a chic all black lululemon dupe, and checking off my lists and creating Christmas lists. This teacher budgets and shops from October onward. I am just getting things done for a happy organized home ready for fall, without having to leave the house. I am not ready for the real world, perhaps tomorrow. Maybe. I have time.

Posted on in book, essay, goals, humor, life, Real Housewives

Nothing

I got nothing but a picture of my hubs on a Willy Jeep. I have sat in front of my computer and/or phone to write, something. Anything. I got nothing but lists of ideas that go nowhere. None are informative or entertaining. Just nothing.

It’s called a drought. I blame this on the book that is completed, in a rough first draft, that I am not ready to go back into it to finish the final draft. Why? Well, after the final draft it goes to a million of my close friends to rip apart. Lovely. But necessary. Not ready. It is a hurdle in which you need to wear your big girls panties and muddle through everyones thoughts. It sucks. However, it is growth and gives innate confidence that makes you feel like you were just cast for a RHONY. Ok. probably just me, but if you watch this Bravo series these ladies are confidence central. I don’t live in NYC, hate the cold, and my mortgage would get me a 500 sq ft studio. So, there’s that. But I love RHONY.

So onward, with these rambling thoughts, and the baby steps I take to create the final copy and a blog with something.

Posted on in education, essay, humor

Dripping With Kids

The advantages to starting school on the first week of August in Arizona are non-existent. Zero. Zilch. Nada. I have done this for twenty-eight years. While my first year picture (cover shot) looks cool and comfy, that is due to a bundle of makeup, and washing my face fifteen minutes before the photo shoot, of sorts. Or the stand, turn to the left. No too much, to the right. Perfect. Smile. Next, nightmare. It is hot, humid, and we drip in sweat as most of air conditioning in our building is a tad on the older side. In every building. If you want me I am in the hot room.

So I melt. I am assigned to little to no makeup with a cute dress, preferably with pockets, and practical shoes. It’s a messy look. But I can spot an August teacher out in the wild in seconds. We all look the same as we toss real fashion out the window to survive the mileage we walk combined with our consistent state of heat. August stinks. Literally.

So, the pre-fall attire is best found in the cheapest stores. I consider it more disposable fashion. Now, a few of my pieces I love and are keepers, due to style, price, and quality. But bring on the big box stores and dupe fashion. If a piece is cool enough to get me through this period of time and has enough copy of fashion sense. I have bought it, in triplicate. This year very into the flowy dress, dignified menswear, and linen galore. Also, stepped up my shoe game with retro sneakers. All the rage and at sixty cool shoes are a must.

As we head into the starting gates. I am already wishing for October, for overall comfort and the ability to wear pieces that won’t target me as a teacher the moment I step outside of the classroom and allow me to wear makeup that won’t drip down my face, and to the release of the holiday trio of delights. The cardigan, the light turtleneck, and sometimes a coat. Well, more of a jacket. This is Arizona.

Posted on in essay, grey hair, menopause, sixty

Sixty…The Art of Aging

It’s a big number that I am struggling with and dearly holding onto my 50’s like some prized possession. My writing has come to a standstill while pondering life in a new decade. Oh, I am grateful and bring on the years, but this number has stopped me in my tracks. It just sounds old. And it is, truth be told. There is no sugar coating this number, it is not the new anything. Nope. Not. I have tried to spin it and it just sounds like pure denial, and it is. So, I will not sell you on sixty. Can’t. But I have a few thoughts and high priced wisdom to share. Life has taught us to be crazy. If we just step back we realize life is meant to be simple and aging is the high art of simplicity. Being on this planet for ALMOST six decades, at the time of this blog still living my best fifty-nine year old life. Here we go, 1. Don’t give a single thought about anyone’s else’s comments about anything. For example, if you love Bravo, watch it. Just saying, and yes, it feels great to step out of my Bravo guilty pleasure. 2. Everyone should eat well, not diet. Golden wisdom right here. For free. Amazing. 3. Puppies are cute but so was thirty. Beware, drink extra coffee, and buy robotic cleaning everything so you bend far less and enjoy the puppies more. If you do make this leap, and we did, it will change you for the better. 4. Accept yourself or head to a shrink. Or both. 5. Stop trying to cook if you hate it, buy the meal kit, eat out, or throw salads together. Stop pretending that one day you will magically make food that is editable. 6. Keep fitness simple and do what you like. You are not thirty. You are not moving that way again. Just move. 7. Plan retirement but never retire just plan to continue what you love. 8. While the Chanel bag might never be yours, if you do you need one, get it! If not spoil your grandchild. The latter will be beyond any superficial item, so give up the logos. Unless it is a watch. Than go big. Really big. 9. Go to bed early. 10. Get rid of shit. Those CD’s ain’t coming back and remember a life streamlined brings peace and as we age we all need as muc as we can get!

Posted on in education, essay, goals, retirement

Outschool

Picture getting to choose what you want to learn and when you want to learn it. That is the premise of Outschool. I joined a year ago, the same time I joined Varsity Tutors and created Mrs. Livingston’s World, my educational tutoring mini-company. A year later I am finally creating, writing, and hopefully driving students to my eventual successful educational business. Finally. Yesterday, I created my first Outschool class and actively took Varsity Tutors seriously. So, why now? The fear of boredom within my eventual retirement from the classroom. So, in essence building for my future. I have five or six years. 😅

My classes will revolve around writing. For the next three weeks, join me as I take the basic Jane Schaffer model of writing and make it friendly. I want students, that usually have tears when facing the task of paragraph creation, walk away with skills and no more tears. Below is my link to join a class and $20.00 off your first class!

https://outschool.com/classes/no-more-tears-lets-create-the-perfect-paragraph-dAi7MZrZ?sectionUid=c351eee5-ebcb-42a9-9593-03b08fe6d29d&usid=mfwHk9Kz&signup=true&utm_campaign=share_activity_link

Posted on in anxiety, education, essay, goals, granparent life, grey hair, sixty

I Fear Retirement

Spring Break brings me a sense of peace, quiet, and the organization and rotation of clothes (love a good closet), and silence. This brings me joy, a needed recharge, and since I am nearing the end of my career, it causes me great concern as to what’s in my future retirement plans. Long ago, in my fantasy phase, We would hop on a cruise and do the world. Yes, with the hubs. “We” would go from port to port in utter class and see the world. I priced that. Not happening. But a yearly big trip can be organized and afforded. Yes, it can. One trip a year. Just one. A cruise maybe two, Denmark, Ireland, Fiji, Australia, Philippines, Japan, Germany. Italy, and a revisit to France and England. I love to go see, go explore, and go experience other cultures. So does the hubs, he just does not like the planning or spending. But we deserve a yearly exploration. Well, that is two weeks out of the year including packing. Now what. Truly, I draw a blank. Golf? Bad back. But I do like the fact that it takes all day. Again, bad back. Not an option. Besides, had a tantrum on a course with the hubs and picked up the ball, clubs, and chucked them. They did not go far. But it felt good. We went home, clubs in tow. My hubs won’t golf with me anymore.

Volunteering. Possible but when I cross the finish line of teaching, my giving myself for free, is over. But it’s not out of my possible options. Not sure who wants a retired teacher but someone might, or in reality, I might need them more. The fear of boredom is quite real and with golf out, traveling limited, grocery shopping with my husband out, way out. Have you seen those cute couples who banter about what cut of beef they want and actually enjoy the grocery experience? We are not them.

We are building a dream home up north and have another down south. Very south. Will we spend time there? Yes. But both places are in gorgeous areas with an abundance of quiet. I like a balance. Less and less as the years go on, but purpose and a little noise in life is needed. Teach online? Get my restorative yoga certification, open a Montessori school or a yoga studio in Neebish Island? Just continue my essays and complete the book? Or just waking up everyday to a new adventure and let the day unfold…Nah. structure is needed. Heck, I even ask to go to the bathroom and always will, so while retirement scares me the options are amazing.

Posted on in education, essay, family, goals

Education is Forever

It’s been a minute since my son was in school. His back injury, and rightly so, took away that MOJO. I was crushed for many reasons but not finishing school was one of them. After much needed introspection, I realized it was not for me but for him. Education is the one thing that cannot be taken away from you in this life. I tell my students this daily. Have a two or four year degree that will give you a position in the workforce, if needed. Have something. While our adult kid is an EMT, the back took that away. He is a stay at home dad, and the best. But one day, as all moms know, there are no cups to fill or snacks to create. I have warned him.

While not good at waiting. I waited and mentioned. Shut up and waited more, along with a few more mentions. I am annoying. A couple days ago after a few awkward texts back and forth we were led to the nugget of truth. He is taking a class. Just one, but we are thrilled. It is a step down the path of his choice, but a step in the direction of more options in life. While school is not everything for everyone the options it holds are endless. As a mom and a teacher my pride is huge, even though it might be one and done, but maybe not. The best part about school is that there is no rush or time limit. Just go, learn, meet others, and grow as a person. It’s a beautiful place and yours forever!