In memoriam

Death knocked on our door twice last week.

The first knock claimed my mother who passed away August 22. In the early hours of the morning, before daylight stirred the mourning doves roosting in our woods, she breathed her last breath. Mum was 87. She had been ill all summer. My mother liked the Red Sox, chocolate ice cream, and Judge Judy. She studied the Bible every day until dementia gripped her in its tight fist and wouldn't let go. Her death was not a surprise, but it doesn't hurt any less.

Three days later, Death took away one of our pet hens. EstherBelle was a New Hampshire Red, and she nibbled clover out of my hand. My mother hated chickens. "Nasty things," she'd say, telling me again about collecting eggs as a young bride on my family's farm. Her hens pecked at her fingers until they bled. EstherBelle never displayed such aggression. Each egg from her feathered body blessed my featherless one. Her death was unexpected, but it doesn't hurt any less.

I feel my mother's absence in the world. EstherBelle's, too. As the days shorten and cool, I remember Mum saying, "Death always wins in the end." Yes, it does, but their stories remain with me.

Education

I am completing last minute tasks in preparation for my first week back in the classroom. I look forward to meeting the new students I will be working with and reconnecting with previous ones. In the spirit of teaching, I find it interesting that on August 26, 1873, the first public school kindergarten class was authorized in St. Louis, Missouri. This fall we mark the launch of charter schools here in Maine. I wonder, what's next?

Blankets

We take blankets for granted. They're always on our beds or folded across a chair when we need one. Like Linus and his famous security blanket, we use them to comfort ourselves and they can't ask for anything in return. Many newborns feel the soft touch of a blanket's fabric before they feel their mother's skin. We collect blankets after tragedies, donate them to the homeless, and we even display them on walls. Others are washed, folded, and stored away where they may never see daylight again.    

And then there are the blankets of August. Last night while insects chirped their love songs in the grass, I woke up too warm and pushed a quilt away from my body. An hour later I woke up too cool, groped around in the dark, and pulled the quilt back around my shoulders. August blankets are like that - always on the move. 

Peaches

You know how it goes. It's the end of the work week and the night before you grocery shop. You stand in front of your refrigerator with the door open, tapping your foot, and hoping for culinary inspiration. If you're lucky you might see a carton of milk with a few remaining sips, a lettuce leaf or two, a couple eggs, a wedge of cheese, and assorted condiments. You scrounge around in the cupboards and discover an english muffin. You won't starve after all.

A similar scene unfolded in our kitchen last.night. Earlier in the day, a farmer friend had given us three ripe peaches he'd plucked from the peach tree in his backyard. They deserved special treatment, so off to the kitchen I trudged. Generally, I dislike cooking. I'd rather someone else do the peeling and dicing and stirring and turning. I'd rather wash dishes. I compensate for not carrying the foodie gene by preferring simple foods and preparing simple meals. I cook to nourish my body and spirit, seldom to brag or impress.

Nevertheless, my husband and I needed dinner. Rummaging in the cupboards and refrigerator, I found two sweet potatoes, some salad greens, and about a cup of leftover corn. I washed and placed the sweet potatoes in a 350 degree oven to bake for an hour. When they were done I set them aside to cool for a bit. I divided and arranged the salad greens on two plates before peeling the peaches with a paring knife. Peach juice trickled down my wrist, and yes, I licked it off. Surprisingly tart. I sliced and arranged them beside the greens. Next, I mashed the sweet potatoes and warmed the corn in the microwave. I divvied it up and sprinkled it over the greens.

Lastly, I dribbled a honey mustard dressing over the whole kit and caboodle and dinner was served. The sweet potato and corn's sweetness contrasted nicely with the tart dressing and peaches. The salad greens, well, my doctor tells me to eat greens so I eat greens. Warm whole grain bread and a wedge of cheese completed our meal. A trip to the supermarket could wait another day.

meditation

I enjoy a daily meditation practice, and this morning's silence was pierced by our resident pileated woodpecker's drumming. He/she must have been excavating carpenter ants from a dead tree for breakfast. The woods are quiet since the summer birds migrated to their winter camps, and the woodpecker's bold presence startled, then pleased me. "I am here," anounces the woodpecker. "I am hungry." Let us eat. Amen.

A chorus of chirping crickets outside my window kept me company this afternoon while I prepared a public speaking exam for tomorrow's class. My exams are tough:  definitions, true/false statements, multiple choice, fill-in-the-blanks, and brief essay questions. I do not want students to simply memorize a batch of material, spit it out onto an exam, and promptly forget what they memorized within the hour. I craft the exam so that students must apply what they read in their textbook to their lives and future career. In class we can discuss, chart, and debate communication theory until we turn blue, but discussion is pointless unless students have opportunities to practice communication tools in their private and professional lives.

   

My fall semester has gotten off to a positive start. I teach public speaking as well as writing courses, but in all courses I uncover voices - student voices. Through assigned readings, classroom discussions and activities, students' essay drafts and revisions, speeches, and presentations most students will learn the value of their own unique perspective and voice. They discover that they do have something important to say amid our culture's chorus of conformity. One of my goals as a facilitator of learning is for students to discern what THEY think about an issue outside their comfort zone of family, friends, and place of worship. Heady stuff.