“I don’t ask for the sights in front of me to change, only the depth of my seeing.”
I never imagined that our hoop house would be my new classroom. However, we’re living through some interesting times. I thought our food plot would be a unique place to record a video for my students to show them what my life is like outside of the classroom.
I guess that yesterday’s distance learning translated to Bog boots since it is mud season in Michigan (plus, we have chickens – enough said). 🤣 Yet, it was a photo worthy moment because I even applied makeup and ran a brush through my hair.
The world is our classroom after all!
We have been out of school since March 13 due to the Covid-19 virus. It has been surreal to say the least. This week I started an on-line Pandemic Journal with my students. I wanted to model to them what their journals may look like so I am stepping outside my comfort zone and am creating videos in hopes I can make a connection with them.
This was my video today (I will type the journal entry below):
April 21, 2020
A reflection from my Facebook social media post on Thursday, April 16th at 3:51 pm
“The painful things seemed like knots on a beautiful necklace, necessary for keeping the beads in place.” ~ Anita Diamant
The above was the last prompt I gave my students before the world seemed to slowly turn upside down.
I’ve kept this quote in my collective memory and I have thought of my students often, but I had to remove myself emotionally from the reality of what was happening so it didn’t hit so hard. I was trying to hold things together like those knots on that beautiful necklace. I kept distant from my feelings and denied myself the opportunity to mourn. Guarded. We all mourn differently.
Today I took the drive and the awkward steps into my classroom. It was quiet but it still felt like home. It comforted the rawness around my heart.
My mailbox offerings left a lump in my throat and were the catalyst for warm tears. Finally the tears. Packages for my students – Outrageous Request Letters granted. We must wait until the “Shelter in Place” order is lifted.
I gathered my remaining plants. The geraniums I winter each year in my classroom. I grabbed several on our last day – not sure what the coming days would hold. When I returned today I didn’t expect any signs of life, but green still resided in a few of the pots. With some TLC a couple of them will recover.
I will take these packages and the green leaves as a sign of hope. A promise that better days are coming.
The anxious knots in my stomach are not in vain. They too are signs of life. Signs of compassion and a softness that makes a teacher a force to be reckoned with.
My colleagues and I are entering a new phase of our career – a part not fully developed or chartered. We are making maps. We are defining our new roles.
My empty journal is a ready for words. My students and I will guide each other.
We will write our stories –
Here is yesterday’s video:
2 thoughts on “Pandemic Journal #1: We Write to Remember”
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