The Beginning of the End (In a Good Way)

 Yesterday, I entered the grades for the last summer class I'll ever teach. Then, I met my husband at a local restaurant to watch soccer, forgot to put the towels in the dryer, and spent the evening half-watching another soccer game with my laptop on my lap.

In other words, just another day.

Except that it wasn't. This final curtain on an online summer class was the first curve in the path toward retiring -- for real this time. I learned a long time ago to never say never, but I also know there are rare exceptions. At this point in my life, as I forge a path toward retirement, summer classes were the first domino to fall in the "never again" tower.

It's not that I mind teaching summer classes -- they're asynchronous online, so the deal doesn't get much better than that. It's just that I -- like everyone else -- would prefer to have the summer off.

Endings are often bittersweet, but this one isn't, mostly because it doesn't really feel like an ending. In fact, it's neither bitter nor sweet since I still have at least two semesters of face-to-face instruction ahead of me -- a form of teaching I much prefer to the online variety. In addition, all my upcoming classes requiring some updating or revising (in my mind, anyway), so I'm really just switching from one to-do list to the next.

In addition, the end of any semester often takes a while to sink in. Even thought I've crossed the last item off my to-do list, it takes a few days for the "I should be doing schoolwork" cloud to fully dissipate and move out of my headspace into wherever it goes from there. Only then do I realize that the finish line is behind me.

It's been twenty-four hours, and I'm not there yet.

I know that as the time to retire (for real this time) draws closer, all the feelings will start to emerge, but I also know it will be different this time. When I retired for the first time 14 years ago (and it clearly didn't stick), I knew I wasn't really retiring. I had a daughter going into high school, with college tuition on the not-so-distant horizon. In addition, I wasn't yet ready to leave a professional identity behind me.

But now, it's different. A week from now, the cloud will have dissipated and (mostly) on-vacation mode will have set in. But the reality of not teaching in the summer is unlikely to hit me for another nine to twelve months, at which point it really will be something to celebrate.

Meanwhile, I move forward, head and heart ready to do this for real.

I think.

Maternal Reflections

 My stack of reading material always contains at least one spiritual book, and one of my favorite authors these days is Father James Martin. In his marvelous, slim gem, In All Seasons, For All Reasons, he includes the following suggestion:

"Contemplate your favorite growing thing and let it 'speak' to you about how God works."

I'm not much of a nature person, but an answer came to me right away.

My daughter.

Told you I wasn't much of a nature person. But, even if I were, I can't imagine a better growing thing. And, while I'm not sure that my daughter speaks to me about how God works, per se, I know that raising her has brought me plenty of messages about how to be a better person.

I know I'm not alone when I say that, through my child, God spoke (and continues to speak) to me about patience. The patience to let her make her own choices. The patience to not say what immediately springs to mind (though I was much better at that when she -- we -- were younger). The patience to believe that this, too shall pass, whether it's toilet training, the "nag and ignore cycle" of junior year in high school, or the growing pains of young adulthood and the empty nest.

In addition, there's the most obvious message which, of course, is love. We love our children like we love no one else. Even when they make it clear they don't want us around (although feeling the love in that moment can be a struggle).  Even when we don't much care for their behavior, or the choices we patiently "allow" them to make, the love is a throughline the reminds us that, even when things are difficult, love is always possible.

My favorite growing thing has also made certain that I have a sense of humor and that I laugh – with her, at myself, and at the ridiculousness that often surrounds us. I feel particularly fortunate that we share the same somewhat snarky sense of humor, and that, most of the time she gets me. I think I get her, too, even though she's now pretty much all grown up.

But the biggest of all the parenting side effects is gratitude. My darling girl was my rainbow baby, the gift after a pregnancy loss that left me angry with God. I still don't understand what God was trying to say with that turn of events but I do know that if things had proceeded as planned, my favorite growing thing would not exist. The math just doesn't work out. 

I am moved beyond words by the enormity of the gift that is my child -- the person who is somehow exactly the same as and completely different from the baby I once rocked to sleep. Perhaps the most life-changing gift of all is that I will forever see the world and all the growing things in it not just through my own eyes, but through hers as well. 

And maybe, just maybe, that's a little glimpse of the divine.

Image by Jim Cramer from Pixabay

New Directions

Pixabay

 As a not-so-famous author, I'm 100% responsible for my book promotion and publicity. And, although I enjoy some of it some of the time, it's not something in which I have much expertise. Sure, I enjoy dabbling in it, but I can't escape the nagging feeling that I don't have enough background to create anything resembling a viable plan that gets the word about my books to anyone beyond my friends, family, and the wonderful readers who've already found my books.

And that feels a little like shouting into the void. 

Fortunately, I am an educator and, like most educators, I love to learn. So, I decided to take action and find a way to fill the gap between what I know and what I need to know. With this in mind, I signed up for a combination class/program to ratchet up my knowledge and help me approach the whole thing a little more systematically.

So far, I'm swinging wildly between extremes -- I'll open one video or slide show and think, "I know this." (I have done some homework after all). Then, I'll open another video or slide show and get the overwhelming and distressing feeling that it's been created in another language, one in which I have no fluency.

I think it's going to be an interesting journey.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking about where I want to carve out my niche in cyberspace for the long haul. At some point, I've had a presence on quite a few platforms, but I definitely feel more comfortable in some neighborhoods than others. For now, in addition to this blog and Organizing by STYLE, you can find information about all my work on my website and my Facebook group page, Jersey Girl Books & Giggles. I'm also on Instagram and I'm playing around on Threads and Bluesky, but I'm not sure how sustainable multiple platforms will be in the long run. Quite honestly, that will be driven by a combination of traffic and my comfort level on the site. 

I wish I could say I had a master plan but, at the moment, it's under construction. For now, I'd love it if you'd follow me in any or all of the places above, and drop a comment below to let me know if there's a different place you like to go online to read about books and/or find your next good read. In the end, I, like everyone else, want to be where my friends and family are and if you're a loyal reader, I don't want to create a road map that leaves you behind. 

Thanks for reading. I'm happy you're here.

 One night last week, I successfully crafted a blog post for STYLE Savvy, and wrote the better part of a second one but, when it came to creating a post for this blog, I came up empty. Part of it was simply being out of mental energy, but part of it was also coming up with something new. 

Earlier this month, I promised myself to spend a few minutes each day reviewing the various notes and ideas I have scattered about or, if the muse dropped by, coming up with a few new ones. Tonight, I came across a page of questions I'd jotted down when I read Kate Schelter's Classic Style over a year ago. She had various questions she'd posed to the stylish people who filled the pages of her book, and I jotted down a few of my queries. As I sat down to press a few of them into service for this post, I realized it's been a long time since I had my characters on the porch swing.

So, on this muggy summer evening, I welcome Marita and Bets back to the porch swing (Charli is playing miniature golf with her father and Angel). Together, my characters and I will answer a few of Kate Schelter's questions.

#1: Always in your fridge:

Lisa: Iced tea.

Bets: Wine.

Marita: Milk. For Charli's cereal. It's a mom thing.

#2: Skill you dream of mastering.

Lisa: French. Or knitting.

Bets: I'm pretty skillful, actually. 

Marita: Parenting.

Bets shakes her head. "You're a good mom."

Marita: Thanks. But the rules are always changing.

#3: Less is more or more is more?

Lisa: Less is more, especially as I get older. 

Marita: Depends. Clutter? Less. Shoes? More.

Bets: What is wrong with you people? More! More is always more. Although with some people, less is more than enough.

#4: Wrist watch

Lisa: Apple Watch

Bets: Ooh, fancy! No watch. 

Marita: Fitbit.

#5: Writing implement

Lisa: Depends on the task.

Marita: Pencil.

Bets: Red Sharpie. Or purple. Depending on my prose.

#6: Piece of furniture you really love and use every day

Bets: My bed!

Marita: Can't argue with that. I think my kitchen table, though. Charli and I have had a lot of good talks there.

Lisa: My blue chair in our sunroom, which is one of a pair. They originally belonged to my parents and we inherited them, so to speak, when my parents opted for recliners.

Marita and Bets (and Lisa) have lots of opinions. You can read Lisa's here any time, and you can find out more about Marita and Bets (and Charli and Angel) as well as the people who spark their strong opinions in any of the books below. (And yes, Casting the First Stone has a different cover now. Same contents, though :-)

Friday Feature: Putting Your Phone in its Place

 Some of my current reading -- perhaps a disproportionate amount of it -- has been focused on digital diets. This material has ushered me into a lovely guilt trip about the amount of time I spend on my phone doing things that aren't necessarily productive. And, when I vehemently resisted Catherine Price's suggestion that I remove those apps from my phone, I began to wonder if I had a problem. Was I deluding myself, or do I really have it under control?

In truth, the answer lies somewhere in between. Do I spend too much time on games? Probably. Do I sometimes mindlessly scroll through social media? Affirmative. Am I doing this at times when I could (reasonably) be doing something more productive? Sometimes. 

Am I out of control?

No. Not even close.

While reading these books has nudged me to take a closer look at how much time I spend in digital pursuits (as well as what those pursuits are), it has also reminded me that being productive 24/7 is really not a goal worth pursuing. Could I theoretically put my phone down at 9PM and write the next great American novel? Sure. Am I likely to really be able to do that?

No. Not even close.

We need a break. And in the 21st century, that break might very well be losing ourselves in an online game that allows us to not have to be doing anything in that moment. What we really need to consider is how that time and those pursuits make us feel, how much time we're (really) wasting, whether or not we have the cognitive capacity to engage in more productive pursuits at that time and, finally, whether or not that engagement would actually be a win.

To be fair, the books I'm reading do address this, particularly Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism, which I'm finding to be more nuanced than other books on the topic, nearly all of which suggest a period of going cold turkey followed by a slow, thoughtful reintroduction of key apps. What I like about Newport's approach (so far -- I'm still reading) is that he explicitly raises the question of whether or not the way we're using our devices is the best way to accomplish what(ever) it is we want to accomplish.

And that strikes me as a question worth asking. As a result, that's the question that's guiding my analysis of my time on my devices. If it's 10:30 PM and I'm in my recliner watching The Golden Girls and playing a game on my phone, it's a safe bet that I'm not trying to accomplish anything except downtime.  

And that's okay. 

So, as I analyze my time on devices, I have to separate work (teaching-related, writing-related, e-mail, social media posts for author purposes) from play and, as has been the case since long before we held computers in our hands, whether or not the balance between the two is right for me.

If you feel the need for a change in your social media habits, you might enjoy Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism. If you're looking for an overhaul of your habits, Catherine Price's How to Break Up with Your Phone might be a good fit.

But, if you're happy (and you know it), put down your phone and clap your hands. Finding digital balance is definitely a feat worthy of applause.

The Best-Laid Plans

 Yesterday, I promised myself that today I'd spend an hour on my current class (the one that just started today), an hour on the new class I'm planning for fall, and an hour on writing.

It's now 6:30 PM and the day, though well-spent, has not adhered to anything resembling those guidelines. 

Fortunately, my husband is planning to mow the lawn, which means it's not yet time for dinner, so I can squeeze in a little writing -- oh, wait, there's my phone.

Yeah. One of the many reasons my days don't go according to plan but, to be honest, I can't blame family phone calls (the only ones I pick up when I'm working) today.

This afternoon, I spent an inordinate amount of time revamping one single assignment, something I'm trying not to do this summer as this is the last time I'll be teaching this particular class. But, with the advent of AI, the assignment yielded far too many robotically voiced articles the last time I used it, and I don't want to read those papers again this summer.

So, revamping it is. I got a great idea for a different way to approach the assignment, which led me down a rabbit hole of videos, all of which I had to watch before I could assign them. 

None of this is terrible. In fact, it's one of my favorite parts of my job. I love learning new things, and I learned something new from everything I watched or read today. It was fascinating, informative but, unfortunately, time-consuming.

It also led me to think about what my reading and viewing habits will look like when I'm no longer teaching. Will I want to learn new things about child development? Will that $1 virtual subscription to Scientific American still tempt me? Will I actually read The New York Times virtual issues I pay for, or just keep playing the games?

There's much to be said for structure but also a lot to be said for flexibility. I've learned that, for me, flexibility is often where creativity dwells. The harder I try to stick to a routine that's not as well-conceived in reality as it is on paper, the less likely I am to come up with something new or to hit that lovely flow state where one idea begets another.

Today was a day well-spent, even if it was a little off-kilter. Now,  my brain is tired and ready for some leisure. I wonder what form that will take.

And I wonder what tomorrow will look like. 

Graphic credit: Image by Moondance from Pixabay

Yum-Yum

 Last weekend, I had the opportunity to visit the town that I consider my hometown, though in point of fact, I lived there only as an adolescent. My daughter was going to an event in Philadelphia and her idea was for her father and I to be her chauffeurs. We'd all drive to Haddonfield, and she would take the train Philly (and back after the event) so we could chauffeur her home again. Her selling point was that we'd get to spend time in my favorite South Jersey town. Kind of an impractical plan unless, of course, you’re the parent of a young adult who chooses to seize every opportunity to spend time with them, even if it’s just while they’re in the backseat of the car. 

Translation: I'm a sucker for both her and the town, so I took her up on her "generous offer."

Her main reason for the visit to Jersey, to be honest, was not her love for the town – although she does like it quite a bit, which makes me happy – it was to patronize a gluten-free shop. We'd first been there when she I took the trip (minus the Philadelphia detour) a year or so ago, and I shared all my stories of all the places. This time, she wasn’t around for the storytelling, but my husband was. 

It’s amazing how much a place can spark memories and emotion. Chief among them was pride, not just in the person I was then, but also in the town itself which still feels like a charming little hamlet -- one that was much more abuzz on a random Sunday afternoon than I expected it to be. This pride (and a bit of amazement) also extended to my mother, who did not drive, and walked back and forth to work every day dressed in full professional garb, as only she could. She was not that much younger than I am now, and the fact that I could definitely feel the difference in that journey now compared to traveling the same sidewalks as a teenager was what put me (once again) in awe of my mom.

I’m grateful that my husband chose to make the trip. Of the three of us, he had the least amount of interest in the destination, but opted to join us anyway. He also had the greatest amount of patience in the journey, not only in being the principal driver, but also in listening to my endless stories and letting me lead the way, which is not something that always comes easily for him.

It was a nice day, albeit a warm one. There were many wonderful memories, but perhaps the best one caught me by surprise. We were hot and tired and thirsty, and we stopped to sit, and my husband went to a little ice cream spot, ostensibly to get a beverage. He returned instead with an Italian water ice. 

I’ve had many versions of water ice over my life, but the one that’s stuck with me as the best was called Yum-Yum. It was a concoction I don’t ever recall having in Haddonfield, but rather in nearby Pennsauken where I spent my childhood. A man would go up and down our suburban street pulling a wagon with a tub of Italian ice in it, singsonging, "Yum-Yum, Yum-Yum." Parents would hand their children a few coins, and we would dash out and take this treat from a stranger dishing it out of a tub in a wagon. No one thought anything of it. In fact, it was just life in our neighborhood, another version of the ice cream truck that drew the same reaction.

Sitting in the gazebo in Haddonfield nearly sixty years later, my husband offered me a taste of his Italian ice and I was shocked to discover that it tasted exactly like the treat from the Yum-Yum man. Suddenly, I was eight years old again, and if I could have gotten my own tub of Yum-Yum/Italian ice safely home without it melting all over the car, I would’ve done exactly that. Even funnier, when I told my dad the story, I discovered that he was himself something of a Yum-Yum man, purchasing his own tub of the sweet treat and selling it at a profit.

It’s funny the memories that places stir up. And it’s lovely sharing those with the people we love now, sharing a history that precedes our current lives. 

I’m grateful that they listen to my stories.