I am a high school French teacher, and back in the fall I wrote a letter to my students, which I never sent or posted, but I am posting it now for a little perspective.  

Oct 29, 2020

To My Dear Students, 

I keep telling you that it’s one day at a time this year, that hopefully in the spring things will be better and we will finish the year together, that I hope you will be able to go to your Prom and have more than a drive-by graduation as last year’s Seniors did.

As we teetered from full on-line to crazy hybrid, I kept encouraging you, with a feeling of grief in my heart as I watched your pale masked selves silently drift into the classroom, somber shades of your previous exuberance–three, four, five instead of the normal twenty. 

I kept trying to teach you students as I worried incessantly about my own pregnant daughter and then stole some joy as our first pandemic baby was born safely, but who was swabbed and quarantined a week later amidst Covid fears: welcome to the world, sweet Finley Rosalia! It’s a hellish place right now, but things will surely get better, and maybe if you’re lucky, you will leave the worst times behind with your infancy. You won’t even remember The Pandemic. Also, you are loved, and that is most important. 

And so, my students, I, your teacher, a Google Educator Failure (yes, there is an on-line course to become a certified Google teacher, and yes, I failed the test–I should probably be fired), I fought with wires and lap-tops and desktops, and cursed (under my breath) our Internet as I tried to take attendance in-person and on-line at the same time and tried to project my screen onto the big screen and capture the image via a camera on a desk of my Google Doc agenda for you to sort-of-see what I was trying to teach you through my mask. 

 Thank you for your patience and good humor. 

I’ll let you in on a secret–every single day of this school year I have said to myself: I can’t do this one more day! And myself has replied quietly: Oh, yes you can!

And now we’ve tottered back to on-line during an upswing to significant spread in our county. And as I worry to the max about my Covid-positive soldier son and his Covid-positive pregnant wife in Colorado, I draw strength from your support and your kind words, your willingness to try to remember how to conjugate verbs in the midst of these chaotic times. 

You know that favorite quote that I have posted near the classroom door, the one by cowboy poet Texas Bix Binder: “Don’t holler whoa in a mudhole!”  I must heed those words. 

 Besides, teaching diverts my mind from the dark Covid-cloud of despair. 

You students give me hope. 

So it’s one day at a time, mes amis. We’re in this together. 

Mrs. Castro

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Jan 31, 2021

Here we are on the cusp of Groundhog’s Day, and Spring is coming…sometime after this next 12-18 inch snowstorm predicted to start this afternoon. On this white/grey Sunday, as the first snowflakes start to fall, I’m reflecting on the dark end of October and how we’ve reached a brighter  February. 

One day at a time we have inched along the continuum of 2020 and into 2021. One day at a time we have persevered, cried, prayed, rejoiced, feared, lived. 

One lesson at a time we teachers have taught: on-line, hybrid, on-line, hybrid, on-line, hybrid, on…

What schedule are we on today? How many Covid cases have been announced this week? Are they at the high school or elementary? How many who are supposed to be in-person are actually on-line today? How many free snacks do we need? How many mics are not working right? Who will be brave and unmute their camera? How many people in a household on-line at the same time can their Internet support? Which student keeps getting dropped? Who is barking in the background?

 “Yes, of course you can go to the bathroom. In these times, you don’t even have to ask. Just go. But come back soon.” 

Through what chaos are you trying to learn today? Do you have enough to eat? Did you even get out of bed today? 

“Please get up and move around. Look, I’m dancing to the music of Soprano during this two minute break. Do some Yoga. Run in place. Il faut bouger!”

This has been a really hard time to be a teacher; in fact, it’s been a really hard time to be anybody. 

Hope-it’s everyone and everything that keeps us moving forward.

As Emily said, “Hope is the thing with feathers,” right?

Right! 

My chickens give me hope. Six months after they arrived, they are delivering! 

What else is hope? 

Hope is also the small voice that whispers you can do this; it’s the person who calls and asks you to go hiking; it’s the hair stylist who doesn’t give up on you even though you’ve haven’t darkened that door in months; it’s Thank God for Facetime; it’s holding hands in the dark; it’s an elderly man who climbs out of the car to do a shaky dance on an icy driveway during a drive-by 60^th birthday party; it’s precious babies, precious children; it’s teaching; it’s sharing books; it’s a dog that never tires of chasing sticks;

it’s beautiful places with beautiful people;

It’s a shoulder rub; it’s a meal cooked; it’s waking up in the peaceful early-morning darkness to give thanks that you are still here; it’s the too-infrequent sound of laughter, even when it comes after an anonymous, in-person 8^th grader has farted.

It’s everyone who has said a kind word and given you a fist bump and worn their damn mask correctly. 

That’s just a start. 

Hope.

One step at a time we’re getting there.

Thank you for reading this!

 

It was

a spur of the

moment decision,

in the midst of a busy day.

We drove through

a field of

Tulips.

 

 

They had weathered

beastly winds, frost, snow,

rainy cold days,

and more snow

and misery,

 

 

And there they were–

Beautiful Survivors.

Thank you for reading this!

March 24, 2020

The French have an expression “Bon Courage”, which they say to support others through life’s hardships. Have courage! That seems to be what we all need right now: more courage, less strife; more courage, less angst; more courage, less catastrophizing.

Catastrophizing is a word that I learned recently from my daughter, who is a military spouse.  It’s all about the tricks that your mind can play on you, if you let it. For example, right now I have a cough. And I have been catastrophizing. It’s not a dry cough, I don’t think, but then maybe it is. Maybe I have Coronavirus. Maybe I will be worst case scenario. I’m close to the approaching-old-age cut-off, but I doubt the Virus actually pays attention to birthdays. So maybe I have IT, and what if I have already spread it to my parents and my son and my husband and what if he spread it to his elderly parents, and the haggard-looking cashier at Rite-Aid and the mailman. Now I do feel sick–sick at heart, and I have a head-ache.

But later I feel better, and I make Iowa ham-balls and rice for supper, a recipe of my mom’s that I haven’t made in many years, but though I haven’t had time in my quarantined state to clean the basement, I have spent plenty of pleasant hours going through old photos and cookbooks.

That’s how it goes these days–up and down. It’s always at the back of our mind. Either we are praying for doctors, nurses and custodians and thinking with dread of what they are facing, or we’re figuring our chances. Ok, maybe you aren’t, but I’m a catastrophizing kind of person, and I’ve been tiptoeing out to the cupboard at 2:00 am for a shot of Black Cherry Rum to take the edge off.

I wish I could be more like the animals around me, just living my life, living moment to moment. No worries about tomorrow, just now, just this moment, and this moment is ok.

March 25

Today my father ended up in the hospital, twice. The first time, he was examined and given antibiotics, and sent home. The second time, after falling down and not getting back up, he stayed. He is afraid that he has the Coronavirus because he shook hands with someone last week and then found out that the man had just returned from Spain. I scolded him for shaking anyone’s hand, and now I feel pretty bad about that.  Dad was tested today. No one is allowed to go see him.

After this news, I went downstairs and cleaned the basement.

This evening, my son, my dog, and I took a walk through the woods. I came home with a small black vampire resting on my shoulder, ready to dig in. My son also found one. Even the dog got a thorough bath tonight. Not a stellar day, but a day nonetheless.

March 26

Today my daughter is being tested. She has asthma and has been coughing for days. At the military base where she resides, they are taking no chances. Her family is quarantined to their house. Even if I weren’t coughing myself, I don’t think I’m allowed on base.  I can’t go help my mom either during this time when she is without my dad because of this stupid cough that I still have. I’ve never felt so helpless. Thank God for my brother, who is always a steadfast helper to my parents.

Later: Sometimes I need to stop all the words and just focus on pictures.

 

 

 

 

March 27

In an effort to become more self-sufficient during these uncertain times, and out of a desire for something positive to think about, I have ordered 15 chicks. I meant to order 8 upon the suggestion of my slightly reluctant husband, who tended hundreds of chickens in his youth, but the numbers grew as far-away family members joined in the selection process via Facetime.  After much deliberation, my sons and daughter-in-law helped me to pick out Barred Rocks, Red Stars, Black Australorps, Partridge Cochins, Pearl White Leghorns, and Golden Wyandottes. Oh, and we are getting a bonus, which I really don’t want because it will probably be a rooster, and our last experience with a bonus rooster did not end well. I love looking at the McMurray Hatchery website, reading the names, looking at the pictures, and studying the descriptions of the different breeds: buff, iridescent, speckled, groovy, red, black, white egg-laying knuckle-headed superstars.  I love the idea of getting the old coop fixed up, I love looking forward to something good! Chickens…

March 28

Heard the spring peepers for the first time last night!

 

Sent and received a Snapchat from my mom, via my sister, who is staying with her. It was great to see her face, complete with a sparkly virtual mask, and hear her cheerful greeting as she urged everyone to wash their hands. At 84, and with compromised health, she is managing to stay positive.

March 29

This is the third Sunday that I have not been able to go to church, so I have been having my own church, which has consisted of going for a hike with my dog as I play my Gospel Station on Pandora, and saying some prayers along the way. Today, however, it is raining, so I’ve been listening to NPR before I go outside. Ironically, Lulu Garcia-Navarro just interviewed a hospital chaplain, Mike Yonkers, from Seattle, Washington. He talked about how his job has changed during this Covid-19 crisis. His last piece of advice was that during these difficult times, as Mr. Rogers’s mother told him to look for the helpers, we should look for the peace-bringers, and we should try to bring peace to others.

March 30

I just read about the latest thing that people are panic-buying–baby chicks! Mea culpa.

Also, the Easter stash that I had hidden in the closet is almost gone already. (I have not been the only one eating it.)

Our book club met last night via Zoom! It wasn’t like our regular monthly meeting where we meet in someone’s cozy living room and discuss our last month’s selection while we munch on a smorgasbord of culinary delights, but it was good to see and chat with my dear friends about our latest book, which was called Harry’s Trees. Next month it will be The Girl in the Letter.

March 31

I had two Google Chat conferences, or maybe it was Google Hang-out…Google-Something,  to figure out how to start teaching without grading during this time-out-of-time. Hm. I need to catch up to the 21^stcentury. Quickly! First, I have to catch up with the lexicon: Zoom, EdPuzzle, Flipgrid, GooseChase. Some of these terms are probably already passé!

April 1

Year after year I usually send the same old joke to my 20-something off-spring that they are going to get a new baby brother or sister, but this year I sent out a purple-haired selfie Snapchat  announcing I had successfully dyed my own hair. Haha.

BingewatchedTheTigerKing. Oh, my!

April 2

Cried my way through It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. Honestly, I don’t usually cry during movies; I usually fall asleep. But tears continually streamed down my face as I watched Mr. Rogers give the reporter, Lloyd, some precious life lessons. Even though I grew up without a TV and never watched his show, I find myself wishing he were still here to lend his calm reassurance during this crisis.  As I am writing this, I just googled Mr. Rogers and watched some clips of his speeches, and here I am crying again!

April 3

The Pandemic has now caught up with over 1,000,000 people world-wide. We are living in very shaky times. I’m doing an awful lot of praying these days, short little begging prayers as I’m washing the dishes or folding the laundry: God, please help the healthcare workers; be with the farmers who are having to dump their milk; help the custodians and grocery store workers; be with the fragile couples who are struggling to stay civil to each other in their cramped existence; especially, God, please be with their children; God, please be with my family, friends, students; Dear Lord, please be with the people who are dying alone. That’s the hardest one to think about.

In my own life, at the moment things are looking up. My daughter’s test came back negative, and she is free to take her little daughters out the front door and for a walk, something she will never take for granted again. She said people in the neighborhood have put stuffed animals in their windows to give the children something to look for as they walk. This makes my heart glad. My dad is home and getting around pretty well, even taking Amy the beagle for walks.  My cough is better, and I could not ask for better quarantine partners! I’m figuring out my lessons that my students only have to do if they want to. No assignments will be mandatory; there will be no grades, at least for this week. That might change next week.  In a way this no-grades teaching makes things easier. My question for myself: how to make my lessons so interesting that my students can’t wait to do the next one.  In these times, as questions go, that’s not such a bad dilemma to have to figure out.

So I’m going to end this public journal now, while things are on the upswing here.

Thank you for reading. Bon Courage!

by Jennie Lee Castrogiovanni

November 28, 2019

The quilt in the pictures was given to me by my mother when Great Aunt Libby died. It is a spectacular family heirloom for which I am grateful, but which is also full of mystery.  Who made it? How/When/Why did they put all the pieces together? What is the significance of the dog carrying a basket? Who was MAR? What was the Garfield Club? It’s sad to me that this quilt holds stories within its squares, triangles and odd pieces, stories that I will surely never know. Still I treasure it as a piece of art, a connection to my ancestors, and I wish that I had asked more questions when I was younger.

Hence this Blog…

I’m a want-to-be crafter, the one looking on enviously at the craft shows, thinking that I could make that beautiful knitted scarlet poncho, the finely detailed baby sweater, the gorgeous table inlaid with bluestone from a local quarry, if I only had the ambition, time, talent, and true desire. For as soon as the thought goes through my mind that I should try to crochet mittens for my granddaughters, I remember the pillows that I embroidered for my daughter when she got married. Er, actually I mean the one crookedly stitched pillow that I finally finished and presented to her on her first anniversary. The second pillow to the pair still resides palely in its lonely box. Occasionally I think about finishing it…maybe someday. Or the baby blanket I started to knit or crochet, can’t remember which, for my cousin’s baby some 20 years ago. Alas, it turned into a bookmark, and I never gave it to her. Or the pressed flower greeting cards I was going to make, or the old horse cart that our neighbors pulled out of a falling-down shed for me to repair and repaint.  They used to hitch their horse to it in the old days and take it to town.  My husband can remember seeing it when it was beautiful.  I had visions of fixing it up and painting it the original cheerful red with yellow wheels and hitching up my Amish-bred horse to it and giving people rides and maybe even showing it off during the town’s annual 4th of July parade. Never happened and I hang my head in shame.

The only hobby I am really good at is reading, which maybe explains why I fail at all the others I endeavor. I’m too busy reading in my spare time.

The other thing I like to do sometimes is write. When my kids were little and I was a stay-at-home mom I used to write a bi-weekly column called “Meandering” for a local farm newspaper.  I gave it up when I went back to work full-time, but still sometimes in my mind there is a breezy whisper that I need to keep on writing.

So this Blog is my quilt. I thought about calling it “Still Meandering”, but as I head toward my green-pasture years, “Gallivanting” in the sense of “travelling about for pleasure” seems more fitting. This Blog will be my craft for my children and grandchildren and for anyone else who cares to read and hopefully enjoy some of the stories of my life and some of my thoughts as well.

Thank you for reading!