Happy New Year!

Tomorrow is the first day of school. I do what I do because my dad saw a teacher in me long before I did. Back when life was simpler, he hired me to work as an aide at Murray Ave School where he was principal. When I wasn’t busy he made sure I was in classrooms of gifted teachers who loved what they did. Eventually I got it; eventually I understood teaching was my vocation. That was more than thirty years ago and while it hasn’t always been an easy ride, I never doubted it was the right path for me.

When I landed at my current job as a school librarian in 2001 he was thrilled. His condo was across the street from my new school and he had spent some time there volunteering when he and my mom first moved to Cos Cob. I could count on him to pop in once or twice a week. He’d ask questions about the current state of education, what I was working on with the kids, what the kids were like and remind me how lucky I was.

When he heard my colleague Sue and I were organizing what we hoped would be an annual reading celebration, he was the first to volunteer. Wally loved the idea of being with kids again and my very kind colleagues would let him go way beyond his fifteen minute time slot. Of all the notes I received when he passed away, one written by a third grade teacher perfectly described who my dad was:

“I know I only met him a few times, but knew he was an exceptional man.  I loved when he came to my class to read for Read Across America. He would bring in his thick book about Albert Einstein and his picture book every year. I never got tired of listening to him read to the class and sharing his stories. He inspired the kids to think like scientists. “

This year will be different. While my dad has not dropped by in quite some time, it was still easy to imagine him coming around the corner, a spring in his step. He was forever a teacher, at home in the classroom. Passing that legacy on to me was his greatest gift and I am forever grateful.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

From "Toughen up" to "You can do it"

Today my sister Debbie would have been 60. Would have been. Those are tough words to write, tough words to say aloud. And just as I have done with my mom who died nineteen years ago at 67, sometimes I get caught thinking about what Deb has missed the last three years. That’s a great exercise for the tear ducts, no so much for the heart.

Deb was tough and practical. Our birthdays are within a few days of each other and when I didn’t arrive in time for her 7th birthday she went to spend time with cousins out on Long Island. Before she left she had one request, the story goes, “I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl but I hope they’re quiet.”

At her memorial service I shared some of my favorite Deb lessons - from the importance of kneading Irish Soda Bread to explaining not everyone was a morning person. After she died and I found myself caught up in grief I could hear her in my head, “Get over it. Toughen up.”

As the grief lessened the message changed, now the voice says, “You can do it.” And I think ultimately, that’s the most important lesson Deb taught me - I can do it. What “it” is depends on the day. And yes, some “its” are easier than others but when you add love (thanks Pops) to the mix, anything is possible.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

Dear Kate.....

When we were kids our mother would often respond to a situation she disagreed with with, "I'm going to write a letter." It became the stuff of legend as we never knew her to ever write a letter of complaint and it's something that even 19 years after her death we continue to laugh about, often suggesting to one another, "Why don't you write a letter?"

I'm not much of a letter writer either but on June 15th, the day we buried our dad I was moved to start my first ever fan letter. Kate DiCamillo, a children's book author, posted an update to her Facebook page about love. It took me a while to finish, in fact I finally mailed the letter on what would have been Wally's 91st birthday. Here's what I wrote:

July 19, 2017

Dear Kate,

I started this note on June 15th. Today, I finish it.

This morning you posted about an interview you did where the writer substituted love for luck, "When the interview appeared in print, the word "luck" was replaced with the word "love." Now, many years later, I still think that luck matters. But love matters more. Love matters most of all."

I cannot thank you enough for this post as the timing was impeccable - we, my siblings and I, buried our 90 year old father today. A retired elementary teacher/principal, he was an incredible man who believed in the power of love. He challenged us to be better people, to put kindness out into the world and to keep our hearts open.

Here's just one example: four years ago he moved into an assisted living facility. He was in the beginning stages of dementia and we knew that he would eventually move to the memory unit. For three years he walked the halls, smiling and greeting everyone, "Hey, how you doing?" and introduced whatever family member was with him, "This is my daughter Amy, she's a teacher, too." Or, "This is my granddaughter Megan and my great granddaughter Quinn. I wasn't crazy about that name but it's growing on me." Last August the memory unit became his home. The adjustment wasn't without pain but he battled. And because there were some safety issues, we arranged for him to have an aide by his side. One day when I was there he was cranky. It was a side we very rarely saw and was not who he was. I said to Lorna, the lovely and kind aide, "I want you to know, this isn't him. His heart overflows with love." She looked at me, smiled and said, "I know. I know your dad from upstairs. He always said hello. Always smiled. I know exactly who your dad is."

Wally, as we called him, had a stroke in November leaving him unable to speak or care for himself. He passed away on June 9th. We have spent a lot of time talking about the role of love in his life and the importance of trying to live like him. Your post that morning was a beautiful reminder. Thanks for that.

Fondly,

Yesterday I received a response:

This note has given me pause - there are lots of ways to be "heard." Perhaps one of the the best ways is to say thank you; to let people know you see them and you appreciate them and that while life is random love is not.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

The joy of riding a bike.....

Me, Tim and Deirdre who, when she saw this photo said, "I loved that bike."

One of the podcasts I listen to, Happier with Gretchen Rubin, had an interesting conversation more than two years ago about adding fun to your life. The premise was fairly simple - think about what you did for fun when you were ten and chances are that will bring you fun as an adult.

I have thought about that question a lot since I first heard the episode (interestingly, in my mind I substituted joy for fun) and I kept going back to the same activity. When I was a kid, I loved riding my bike. I rode it everywhere. In fact, I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 20 because I was perfectly happy riding my bike to get to where I needed to go. With this in mind, a couple of weeks ago I went and bought a bike. I’ve been riding it back and forth to the beach. I pedal and coast. Pedal and coast, smiling the whole time. John F. Kennedy was correct, "Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of riding a bike."

(Next up, roller coasters. I used to love those, too.)

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM