you are awesome

On this Friday evening, I am sitting on my living room sofa, tired to the bone from the long school week and four evenings of events. Today is the only day this week I have nothing but slice writing planned for the evening. I finished drinking Marrakesh mint. Three vases filled with tulips and daffodils bring a sense of spring even though through the window I can see the snow swirling, swirling, swirling.

Today is the last day of the month long writing challenge. The writing has been my saviour during a month that included a solo vacation, school's evaluation visit, theatre performances, dance night, coaching sessions, my dad's eighty-ninth birthday, a funeral of my ninety-three year old aunt, my fifty first birthday and accepting a job offer. 

Yes, a big change awaits for me.  After twenty-five years at the International School of Estonia I will leave my role of PYP Principal-Coordinator and PYP 4 teacher. I have a mixture of feelings. An elevated joy for the job offer. Deep sadness for saying good-bye to my school, the only full-time job I have had. Excitement for the opportunity to work with a flexible schedule focusing on coaching and workshops. Fear of how I will manage without the fixed schedules and structures, without an everyday contact with many people whom I know closely, without being in the classroom with the children. I can't fully imagine how my life will look like in the fall. For the next two months, I'll focus on finishing the year. 

For now, I'll focus on finishing  the writing challenge, finishing this slice. 

Like several other people, I have collected pieces from comments and my blog titles to create poems as a good-bye gift to this amazing community. Your words, my dear readers, fellow slicers, my friends, have been an incredible support for me. Your stories have made me laugh and cry, inspired and surprised me, warmed and squeezed my heart. Your comments have lifted and hugged me. Even though we are far apart geographically I have felt so close to you. You are awesome!

So here are my gifts to you:

Poem from my thirty one blog post titles:

Start where you are.

What’s in your mind?

A moment -

impermanent, imperfect, incomplete.

Be real.

Allow the feelings to be.

Start before you are ready.

You can do it.

Notice the promise of morning

making magic

with gratitude.

Enjoy life. Eat cake.

Cry if you need to.

Don’t be afraid to fall.

Standing up tall

there’s hope.

Dance as if nobody is watching,

Go on an artist date,

Take a nap,

Breathe,

Create an island of peace,

Look for the color,

Relish the light,

Celebrate.

Holding memories

All you have is now.

Accept what is.

Have another cup of tea.

Let it go.

Embrace the change.

You are awesome.

A found poem from the comments:

Keeping the senses alert during the day

we can all become more aware of the moments 

that matter in our lives.

One can never have too many journals

bring promise for writing

through forces we don't really understand.

It’s a place for each of us to spread kindness in our stories,

to seek connection and conversation,

basking in that warm feeling of being seen. 

Well, nothing better than that, right?

We truly should be grateful.

embrace the change

I see the Art teacher entering the first grade classroom and I look at the clock. I am surprised that it's eight o'clock already. I close my laptop, put it in the cupboard, take off my glasses, tuck them in their case and put the case in my handbag. With only few steps across the hall I am in first grade classroom.

When I enter, I see that the Art teacher is sitting on a chair in the corner of the room where I usually like to sit. The Librarian is sitting in the Art teacher's usual location in an armchair next to the book shelves. The Librarian's therapy dog is circling around the classroom. I am indecisive of where should I sit for our weekly seven minute morning meditation session.

My confusion is probably glaring on my face.

"Embrace the change," the first grade teacher smiles from her teacher chair and waves her hand showing the choice of seating I have.

I like my corner, but oh well, I embrace the change, find a chair close to the window, sit down, and close my eyes.

The first grade teacher turns off the lights and puts on some soft music. 

Breathing in-breathing out, I stay in the now.

Let it go

The alarm startled me. Peeking with one eye and patting around my bedside table I found my phone and pressed the "stop' button. I took my phone and my case of glasses and eyes half closed I zombie walked to the living room. Without even turning on the lights I opened one eye and searched for the three week yoga course I had signed up, looked at it, saw that the exercise was 25 minutes, turned the phone off again. There was no time to exercise this long. Let it go. Tiny bit of stretching would do for today. And tomorrow and probably for some more days until my body adjusts to the new time. 

Since the change of the clock last weekend, the waking up for the three days this week has been challenging and messing up with my morning routine. I used to have the alarm set for 5:50 just in case but for months I didn't need it. I used to wake up at a regular time at 5:25 a.m without an alarm. Not that I enjoyed it immensely but the body had got used to it and it provided me enough time then to do the morning exercise, mindfulness and brush/wash/comb routine. 

have another cup of tea

How does one choose what to drink when the tea shelf has five new kinds of loose leaf tea? I could close my eyes and pick randomly. I could smell them and sense what speaks to me. I could let my daughter make the decision for me. Today I picked by the name. Honeybush Topkapi just rolls and bounces so sweetly on the tongue. 

I cut the top of the paper bag and even before I lower my nose the aroma swirls up and I know I have made the perfect choice for this evening. The name on the label had been big enough to read without glasses. The rest of the label is tiny, so I get my glasses to discover what's inside: honeybush leaves, mango and strawberry pieces, and orange peel. 

The tea tastes as good as it smells. Such sweetness inside spurred inspiration to play with my books to make a book spine poem. 

Open Secrets

The Art of Living

Wabi Sabi

Accept what is

While taking off my shoes in the hallway I noticed a flowery gift bag on the coffee table in the living room. I knew it was from my daughters. Unzipping my coat but not taking it off yet, I was curious to see what the bag would hold, and walked to the living room. I was rather certain I would get some tea from my favourite tea shop. I did. Honeybush Topkapi, Marrakesh Mint, and Cactus-Fig tea are three new flavours to taste. 

Under the tea packages was a wrapped box. Unwrapping it I found a white box with a small tea pot label. Did they gift me with a new tea pot? A strange little shiver ran through me. I broke my all time favourite little tea pot more than three years ago and have not found a replacement since. The red tea pot had been perfect - small and round like a little ball. I had loved it so much that after it broke, my husband glued the pieces together and now the pot sits on my bookshelf. Any time I saw other tea pots in the stores I commented: too big, not round enough, not the right colour, not to my liking. 

I opened the white box with a fear of disappointment. Inside was a just right size and perfectly spherical white teapot with a drawing of lotus flowers. I smiled. About two weeks ago when we were buying a gift for my dad, I commented about the same tea pot - this is is pretty. Clearly my youngest had heard me. 

I will never get the red tea pot back. It's in the past. I accept it. Now I have a new one and I know it will bring me joy. 

Last year I struggled with turning 50. I had very difficult time accepting the change of the first digit. Turning 51 is so much easier. Starting the new year of my life with a new teapot I feel gratitude and a sense of calm. 

All you have is now

Sitting on my living room sofa on this Sunday morning when the clocks were turned back and a day is one hour shorter I feel squished between the past and the future week.

Looking back at the week behind me, I am puzzled how I was able to come through all of this - the intensity of a school's evaluation visit (and only if you ever have been a leader/teacher in a small school during a synchronised visit by three agencies, can you understand the complexity of it); the coaching course related peer-group supervision, practice coaching sessions, and personal coaching in the evenings; and then the memorial service for my dear aunt yesterday. 

Looking forward, the week ahead is also going to be intense in a different way- some challenging conversations waiting; two groups of school visitors coming; PD and cultural events in the evenings.

What was, is in the past. What is yet to come, I have to wait and see. All I have is now. Staying in the now allows me to expand the space and time I am in and I don't feel so squished anymore. 

Right now I am:

::realising that I have been so busy that I haven't even noticed that the flowers in the vases have dried

::looking at the dried petals of yellow tulips and pink roses; the concept of wabi sabi circling in my head

::savouring the sacred alone time before my hubby and daughter wake up

::saddening slightly at the thought that the writing challenge is coming to an end

::cheering for myself for in the midst of all the overwhelming busy times I have found the time to write

::appreciating how powerful self-care practice the daily writing has been

::sensing the stomach requiring breakfast

::hoping for hubby to wake up soon and fry some bacon and eggs (a lovely tradition on weekends)

::finishing the slice and

::going to make a cup of green tea

*the right now posts form the past

holding memories

I stared out of a small triangular window above a chapel door. The wind ruffled the top of a pine tree. The clouds closed and opened revealing a small patch of blue sky. The tunes the organist played waved through my body and the grief looked for a way out. I heard last Sunday that my ninety-three year old aunt had died, less than a month after we had buried her only son, and all week, because of the evaluation visiting team's meetings at school and my course related activities in the afternoons, I hadn't had a chance to allow myself to feel the loss. Now I wished to bawl but everyone else contained their sorrow, so I blew my nose, wiped the tears and kept staring out of the window, and to distract myself from the tunes and the beautiful words the minister shared I started listing wild animals that came to my mind - fox, wolf, deer, boar, bear, mink, beaver, followed by elephant, rhino, giraffe, crocodile, koala, panda, and peacock, dove, woodpecker, sparrow, hen, goose, swan, starting all over fox, wolf, deer, boar, bear, mink, beaver. The ridiculous list couldn't erase the sadness and stop the tears. 

This was the aunt who crocheted a hat for me and decorated it with ribbons and flowers. This was the aunt who drove me from my home to her home two hours away in her work truck. This was an aunt who allowed me to read in her kitchen until four in the morning. This was an aunt whose cactus collection impressed  me every time I visited her. This was an aunt who carried a chest of drawers to my apartment when I had got married. This was an aunt who made me a quilt that covers my bed. This was the aunt whose travelling passion during retirement and her flower fairy skills taught me that being active keeps the soul young. Now this soul rests in peace forever. 

Tähista/celebrate

In Estonian:

Maasikas märtsis? Pistan suure ja punase marja põske ja üllatun, kui magus ja mahlane suvemari kolmandal kevadpäeval maitseb. Kui silmad sulgeda, võin tunda palgeil päikesepaistet ja kuulda kõrvus merekohinat. Reealsuses olen reeedel peale tunde õpetajate toas tähistamas pika ja pingelise sise- ja välishindamise protsessi lõppu. Täna lahkusid viimased kaks külalist kolmeteistkümnesest grupist, kes mitu päeva külastasid klasse, küsitlesid õpetajaid koosolekutel, vestlesid laste ja vanematega, uurides kas see, mille kool oli kümnetel lehekülgedel kirja pannud, ka päriselt tõele vastab. Vastab küll. Me oleme imeline pisike kool. Ja nüüd on meil plaanid, kuidas veel suurepärasemaks saada. See väärib tähistamist. 

Google translate with minor corrections:

A strawberry in March? I plop the big red berry into my cheek and am surprised how sweet and juicy the summer berry tastes on the third day of spring. If I close my eyes, I can feel the sunshine on my face and hear the sound of the sea in my ears. In reality, on Friday, after school in a teacher lounge, I am celebrating the end of a long and stressful internal and external evaluation process. Today, the last two guests of a group of thirteen left. They spent several days visiting classes, interviewing teachers at meetings, talking to children and parents, finding out if what the school had written on tens of pages was really true. It is. We are a wonderful little school. And now we have plans to make us even more awesome. This deserves to be celebrated. Strawberry? Yes, please.

The strawberries on the photo are from the summer house. Even thought the strawberries from Spain that I ate at school today were sweet and juicy, the ones picked straight form the garden taste sweeter and juicier. 

relishing the light

Driving to school in the morning I wished I had been on a passenger seat and could have watched out of the side window as long as possible. The sun rising between the trees on the far end of a field cast beautiful streams of light across the road. The still hibernating bare trees and dried grass seemed less sad.

Light is precious in Estonia. Most of the months driving to school and back happens in the dark. Even when the sun is up, the clouds often darken the days. So any sunny day in winter or early spring is greeted with joy. It doesn't even have to be fully blue sky, even a glimpse of sunshine can lift the spirits. 

Look for the colour

Where would I find the colours to bring to Leigh Anne's Slicer Party? Walking down the small streets on a foggy school day morning, there were no best colours to be found. I like looking for colours. I am good at finding them. This morning though the colours were nowhere to be found. The grey gravel grinding my shoe soles had long done it's work of protecting people from falling on icy streets and waited to be cleaned away. On the patches where grass should have grown, the grime covered last mounds of snow moaned between the brown left over leaves from last fall. The trees were still bare, not even one tiny bud visible. The sparrows chirping and hopping around matched the grey and brown hues around me. The only colours I spotted were orange striped electrical rental scooters scattered here and there on the sidewalk. 

Fortunately she didn't ask to bring the colours I found during a day. She invited to bring the best colours in things that we love. I looked for the colours in my mind and heart.

To this party I would bring:

The best red is the bold red of tulips in my mom's garden.

The best green is the light green of first leaves on a birch tree in spring.

The best blue is the gorgeous blue of the field of blue anemones on the forest floor.

The best pink is the gentle pink of cherry blossom canopy under which to walk with my hubby.   

The best yellow is the hopeful yellow of daffodils. 

I hope that when I bring these colours, the spring will get the hint and join the party also. 

Looking for the colour. This is from my classroom

create an island of peace

Twenty minutes into the fourth grade Art lesson I was subbing, I found myself almost invisible. The two groups were fully engaged in talking through and practicing their plays, trying out how to move the backdrops and little characters from the top of the decorated scene box, experimenting with lighting the scenes with flashlights and colored filters, and producing myriad of special voices to match the roles.

I looked at the Literature Circle book on the standing desk and then at the sofa next to the supply shelf. An idea sprouted in my brain. Not completely sure it was doable. The probability of this learning hum continuing without bursts of disagreement was small. Executing my plan was still worth a try.

 

I took the book and quietly walked to the sofa. Nobody noticed. I sat down and opened the book. Nobody noticed. I started reading. Nobody noticed.  And I read. A page, two, three. A whole chapter! Only three more to go until Thursday. 

I had created an island of peace and followed a boy who grew dragons.

And then as if on a cue, when the dragon sent out a puff of smoky breath, the first flame of disagreement scorched the peace. 

breathe

After three lessons and three meetings, outside duty and lunch supervision, I stood in the empty classroom and thought, "I need to have a cup of tea, sit down and breathe."

Kevin introduced a slice in one sentence to me two year's ago.

 

take a nap

The stomach filled with carrots, cabbage and potatoes that mom had cooked and wild boar meat that dad had roasted, the conversation around the table on multitude of random topics creating a lulling background sound, and the school week's tiredness deep in my bones, I couldn't keep my eyes open. At first I just leaned against my husband's shoulder, resting my eyes, still listening and responding to what others said. Then I took two cushions and curled up on a sofa. My hubby brought a fleece and covered me up. Nobody minded that during a family gathering I needed to take a nap. My dad napped in another room. 

My sis woke me up when the cakes arrived on the table. 

Go on an artist date

"Wait a minute, the exhibition is still open, I thought it closed last month," I think to myself as I look at the light coming from a photo gallery window. I remember distinctly how sad I had felt when I came to a theatre in the neighbourhood one evening a month ago and had looked at the exhibition poster with dates finding that the last day had passed already. Looking at the poster again I realise that I had mixed up the months. 

With plenty of time to my train, I seize the opportunity to go on an artist date. It's been too long since I have done it. I love the idea of artist dates that I learned from Julian Cameron's book The Artist's Way. I used to go on artist dates rather regularly in the past. 

I also love this small private photo gallery. The themes they choose always speak to me. The playful way they add little details and use the floor makes the experience bigger than looking at the photos only. I appreciate how the owners are willing to open the gallery early when I take my students there. 

This time the exhibition is about Japan through the lens of Estonian photographers. I have never been to Japan and I can't see it happening in near future even though the wish to visit this country was born many years ago. 

I step out form the tired to the bone Friday evening mode and begin an inspiring and peaceful solo artist date. 

Dance as if nobody is watching

In Estonian:

Muusika vibreerib igas mu keharakus ja keha vastab liikumisega. Mu puusad ja jalad, mu õlad ja käed, mu kael ja pea lasevad rütmil kiirust ja suunda juhtida. Vaba raami-, rühi- ja sammujadaootusest, hirm eksimise eest langeb ära. Ma tantsin nagu keegi ei vaataks. Ja viiekümne inimese hulgas keegi ei vaatagi. Ei mingeid hinnanguid. Ei mingit vajadust eputada. Ei mingit õiget ja valet. Kõik kuulavad oma keha ja tantsivad nagu sooviviad. Ja kuigi varasemalt mu aju arvas, et minna sünnipäeva peole neljapäeva õhtul, teades et järgmine päev on koolipäev, on vastutustundetu, siis praegu teavad muusikasse mähitud keha ja süda, et see oli õige otsus. 

In English:

Music vibrates through every cell of my body and the body responds with movement. My hips and legs, my shoulders and arms, my neck and head let the rhythm lead the speed and direction. Free from the expectations of a frame, posture, and step sequences the fear of being correct falls away. I dance as if nobody is watching. And in the crowd of fifty people nobody is watching. No judgement. No need to show off. No right or wrong. Everybody listens to their body and dances as they wish. Even though going to a birthday party on Thursday evening knowing that the next day is a full teaching day might have seemed irresponsible earlier according to my brain, my body and heart wrapped in music know that it was the right decision. 

There's hope

"These presentations will never be ready," I felt hopeless, looking at the mess of papers and unfinished illustrations, and listening to half of the class asking for more time to finish their texts. 

Should I just quit and use what the texts they had written so far for an assessment? Should I extend the deadline? Again? 

The unit of inquiry about matter had been an interesting one, and the kids had loved the experiments in class and the visit to the science lab. They had enthusiastically embarked their personal research process. I know that their knowledge and understanding had grown. They had pretty creative ideas on how to show their learning. It was just taking f-o-r-e-v-e-r.  Why did I even suggest that instead of a slide show or a poster they should try something interesting with paper formats? How do they learn what a due date is if it keeps moving? But I have heard that middle school teachers also extend their deadlines. Would it be fair to not let them finish?

The debate in my head was starting to give me a headache. 

I asked the kids. They were not ready to give up. 

So today they diligently typed, drew, cut, folded, coloured, glued, wrote and now I feel there's hope. 

standing up tall

I clambered out of the car, trying to get my handbag, laptop bag and a lunch bag from the passenger seat and over the wheel out with me. With a winter coat half zipped and all the bags tangling in disorder I appreciated that no one else was around. Why didn't I get out of the car first and then get the things from the passenger seat like I usually do, who knows. Like who knows what season it is right now. There's still plenty of snow around even though the melting has been intensive during the past twenty four hours. 

The handbag over my shoulder, other bags hanging in my hand, I twisted towards the handbag and started looking for my home keys. With the bags, the keys, the half zipped coat I walked towards the front door. I stopped. I twisted to my handbag again, to get my phone. I took off my gloves. Now I had the bags, the keys, the half zipped coat, the gloves, the phone and a gorgeous clump of snowdrops under a rosebush under my living room window. I put my bags and my keys and the gloves down on the ground, not worrying a bit about them getting wet, bent down and took a photo.

I was so happy to to see the snowdrops. I had first spotted a small one on the second of March, getting my hopes up for the arrival of spring, and then two days later a thick layer of snow arrived to stay for ten days. I wasn't sure the snowdrops would survive, but they did, and not only, there were more of them and they were standing up tall and had fuller blossoms. No wonder the name of the flower is snowdrop. In Estonian it is lumikelluke - snowbell.

 

don't be afraid to fall

Outside duty on a beautiful sunny day is a pleasure. Stepping outside yesterday, I was greeted with a gorgeous blue sky and sunshine. And even though I am ready for the spring I had to admit that yesterday I preferred the white glistening snow over the spring mud that would arrive when the snow melts. 

I walked around the corner of the school building to my supervising spot next to the swings. From far I could see how third grade boys started running from the building and in about ten steps threw themselves onto their stomachs to slide down a little slope near a fence. They held their heads up, spread their arms, arched their backs, lifted their legs a bit, and down they went like jolly penguins, squealing with delight. 

As soon as they were down, they quickly got up to do the same thing again and again.

A fourth grade girl came and stood watching.

"How do you do it?" she asked the boys.

The boys explained, one voice over another, what their most successful technique was.

The girl ran but before the slope slowed down and chose to go down on her knees instead.

"Don't be afraid to fall," one of the boys encouraged her to try again.

She did. The fun lasted for the whole twenty minutes of the break.

I looked at the kids and thought that I could use their attitude of not being afraid to fall to plunge into some adventures of life. 

 

cry if you need to

I sat in the darkness of a theatre. The performance was almost over. It was a modern version of a play* that was first performed in 1911. The text was word to word original. The set of the new production was minimal with a few benches and three movable video screens. Even though the original story was about an adopted daughter growing up and then being blamed as a werewolf, thus becoming an outcast and being abandoned by her love, the words spoken were more than accurate for the current world. Since the play was one familiar to me, all Estonians had to read it at school and almost everyone had seen the movie based on it, I knew that the play would end soon. And then it happened. Seeing how on a screen the family gathers for a photo and the outcast joins them there but on the stage she sits all alone, I felt how my heart squeezed tight and the tears started running down my cheeks. I wiped them off before the lights were turned on but the tightness in the heart lingered longer. 

 

I sat in the passenger seat in a car. I opened a book on page fifty. I had started the book a week ago but hadn’t had time to read it daily, so I had to flip back to refresh my memory. It was a book by a French author** translated into Estonian. The main character was a female guardian of a cemetery. I wasn’t completely sure what I thought of the book. A friend had recommended it to me. She had loved it. Between the everyday life scenes of the main character, she talks about the people who have found their final resting place under her care. I reached a chapter that featured an adult granddaughter’s letter she had asked the cemetery guardian to read out during her grandmother’s funeral that she wasn’t able to attend. It was a beautiful portrait composed of little moments, relationships and habits. And then it happened. I read how the young woman described her last encounter with her grandmother, I felt how my heart squeezed tight and the tears started running down my cheeks. I wiped them off before I turned the new page but the tightness in the heart lingered longer.

 

The waves of sadness when most of the time my life is a happy one, were a sign of something. I am not fully sure of what – empathy for the characters, the feeling that time is passing, the death of an older cousin some weeks ago, the amounting stress before the school’s week-long evaluation visit of thirteen visitors from three different agencies, the added responsibilities due to the head’s absence, some professional relationships gone askew because of someone else’s meddling and manipulations, the war in Ukraine nowhere close to ending, not enough sleep. I wish I had let myself explore my sadness. I wish I had let myself cry. You should cry if you need to. 

 

*August Kitzberg “Libahunt.”

**Valerie Perring “Fresh water for the flowers.”

Enjoy life. Eat cake.

"Perhaps we should go to IKEA today to see if we could find a new sofa," I suggested to my husband and daughter yesterday. If going to the store sounded like a chore for me and my husband, then my daughter was the opposite and she was excited about the opportunity.

The large IKEA store in Estonia opened in August and we were probably one of the few families in the neighbourhood who had not yet visited it. We were probably also part of a small minority Estonians who had not visited the IKEA store in Helsinki. 

As soon as we arrived in the parking lot I had an urge to turn around. Too many cars meant too many people. My husband and I were brave and entered the maze of display rooms. We showed stamina in walking through the building according to the arrows on the floor. We slowed down to consider some possible sofas for the home and took photos for further consideration. My daughter skipped thgouth the whole place like a spring calf on a meadow. We didn't buy a thing.

"We should go to the garden store down the road,"suggested my husband.

"Why?" I was puzzled, "We don't need anything." Besides we don't even have a garden.

"Their cafe has some very good cakes," he replied.

This was a valid reason. We deserved some cake. 

It reminded me of a shirt my daughter wore recently. It said "Enjoy life. Eat cake."

We bought three different slices of cake and ate them. I am happy I had the idea to go to IKEA.