Several years ago, I delved into a book titled: The Artist’s Way ( a course in discovering and recovering your creative self) by Julia Cameron. One of the exercises was to write a letter from your 80-year-old self to your current self. Interesting. I sat with this idea for a while and here’s what I came up with. Though I wrote this in 2022, and (yikes) I’m closer to eight-zero than I was then, I find it to be still relevant. Here’s a letter from future-me to now-me. Will I take the advice to heart?
Dear Deb,
You retired a few years ago (it’s been six years now) and I know you are trying to figure out what to do with the rest of your life. I get it. You dedicated much of your life to family and your teaching career. You probably feel like now is the time to take life easy, but I urge you to not take this time for granted.
First and foremost, keep yourself in the best physical and mental shape possible- it will pay off as you age. Keep your weight at a healthy level, eat well, get plenty of sleep, exercise, stretch and move daily. Keep up with yearly doctor’s exams and address any health issues that could limit your choices down the road.
Cherish old friends and seek out new ones. Find interesting things to do. Travel as much as you can, visit new places. Make memories with Ed, your children ,grandchildren, and siblings.
Make plans and schedules if you like–I know you will, teacher habits are hard to break–but don’t be a slave to them. Travel light. Be spontaneous. Don’t waste your precious time worrying. Live with joy, Live Your Life.
Love,
Your Future Self
Threads of Thought
This was an interesting exercise. Try it! What would your future self tell you?
(Another exercise was to have your 8-year old self write to your present self. That could be serious or funny, or seriously funny)
“The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot. -Michael Altshuler
I’m a clock watcher. This is a natural consequence of having been a teacher. I can think of few other professions where a minute here or there makes a difference. Take your kids to the music class five minutes late and you’re done. Lesson finished three minutes before recess? Better have a ‘time filler’ or two up your sleeve.
The habit of clock watching followed me into retirement. I have a digital clock in my writing/sewing studio. Many days, I’m not on any particular schedule, and if I’m involved in a project I lose track of time. Yet, for the most part, knowing where I am in time and space seems to ground me.
“Time moves slowly, but passes quickly,” -Alice Walker, The Color Purple
This week, the numbers on the clock in my writing studio began to fade . Once Ed replaced the battery, the clock had to be reset. Ed was able to figure out how to do the minutes, seconds, and date, but neither of us could figure out how to set the day of the week. A small thing perhaps, yet I knew this would drive me crazy. If, for instance it was Friday,August 25 but my clock said August 25 was Tuesday, I would maybe start to obsess about it and then I wouldn’t get any writing done and then my time would be wasted and then I would worry that I’d wasted my time.
After much fiddling around, I discovered that one must set the year (which isn’t displayed) in order for the clock to align the current date with the correct day or the week. To my surprise, the date had been set for 2018, the year I had purchased the clock. It had been marking my minutes, days and years for five years. This was a revealation to me. Five years. That’s 1,825 days or 43,800 hours, or 2,628,000 minutes. Where did they go?
“There’s only one thing more precious than time and that’s who you spend it on.”- Leo Christopher
I’ve been thinking about the passage of time this week as I approach my birthday. Yeah, it’s one of those with a zero attached to it. I’ve never been one to let chronological age define me, yet this one seems monumental. But now, I’m thinking (because my mind works this way) maybe I’ll just put in a new battery, a new outlook, reset myself, and continue on- renewed and refreshed and ready for whatever comes next. One of my favorite lines comes from a scene in The Best Exotic Marygold Hotel where Judi Dench says as she contemplates starting a late-in -life career , “How many lives can one have? As many as one chooses.” To put it another way:
“Is it possible for you to contemplate that in a very real way this may actually be the best season, the best moment of your life?”-Jon Kabat-Zinn
My best season, my best moment. Now. I think this is my favorite way to look at time.
(PS…Lest you think I’m becoming too philosophical in my new decade, I’ll leave you with this last quote because I think it’s really funny and its almost my birthday, so humor me.)
“Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.”
Threads of Thought
Are you a clock-watcher?
If you had more time, what would you do?
When does time move quickly or slowly for you?
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Oh man. I was going through some photos of our trip to Italy and came across this. Have you every tried authentic Neapolitan pizza? Now this Seams Like a Story worth telling. Who knows? Maybe it will make an appearance in the travel memoir I’m working on. Come on, take a few moments and travel with me to Italy.
Ed and I found a little pizzaria in a small village not far from Naples. We descend ancient stone steps and duck through the arched doorway of the town’s pizzeria. The centuries-old building has been modernized but maintains its vintage style. Red and white checkered cloths and vases of fresh flowers adorn round tables where a few people are enjoying a late lunch. A young woman at the hostess stand is folding boxes for take-out orders. There is no signage on the door, but it makes no difference. Locals know where to come–the pizzeria has been here for generations. But even if you are new to the city, the aroma of freshly baked bread and rich tomato sauce coming from the wood stove would lead you here.
The hostess greets us and invites us into the kitchen. The space is tiny and is filled with organized clutter, perhaps like any diner kitchen. Yet unlike a typical diner, the centerpiece of this kitchen is a monumental wood-fired stove. The outside edges are charcoal-black from decades of wear. It’s iconic curved opening glows crimson, like a one-eyed dragon, or the gates of hell radiating waves of heat. A fan twirls in the window above the industrial sink and a stainless steel table is in the center of the room. Behind the table stands a small man with graying hair, a trim mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He wears jeans, a white tee shirt and a clean white apron tied around his waist. A young woman is at his side.
“Ciao! Welcome to our pizzaria. My name is Sophia. My uncle Franco and I will be your guides today. This business has been handed down through our family for generations. It is our pizza, but also our passion that we will share with you today.”
Franco nods and smiles, content to let his niece do the talking. Because the space around the table and in the oven is limited, we work in pairs. It’s hard to wait our turn, but soon, it’s time for Ed and and I to make our pizza. Franco takes a ball of dough that has been rising in a covered container. His experienced hands move quickly, flattening and stretching the dough into a dinner-plate sized circle.
“Now for the moment you’ve been waiting for!” Sophia says.
On cue, Franco tosses the circle of dough high in the air, letting it spin and stretch, then catches it at exactly the right moment. We laugh and clap in amazement as he repeats the process with the next ball, then places the perfect circles of dough in front of us. Under his watchful eye, I ladle a generous amount of sauce onto the dough and use the back of the utensil to spread the liquid-tomatoey goodness almost to the edge.
“We make the sauce here. Local tomatoes, garlic, basil. Simple. Now we add some freshly made mozzarella.” She hands each of us a section of the creamy white cheese and instructs us to pinch off small bits to distribute around the sauce.
“And we bake.” Franco ceremoniously takes a large wooden paddle from a hook on the wall. In a series of smooth movements, he shoves the paddle under my tomato and mozzarella topped circle of dough and slides it off onto the glowing stone floor of the pizza oven. Immediately the crust puffs, and the mozzarella bubbles over the tomato sauce releasing a burst of aroma that lights up every appetite-inducing neuron in my brain. While the pizza bakes, Sophia explains that we are making Pizza Margherita, in the traditional Neapolitan style.
“ According to the legend, Pizza Margherita was invented in by a chef in the 1800s to honor Queen Margherita of Savoy and the unification of Italy. See the colors of the Italian flag? Red tomatoes, white mozzarella, and here is the green.”
She reaches for a vase of fresh basil. The pizzas bake quickly and Franco knows exactly the right moment to pull them out–when the crust is golden brown with a few bits of char from the intense heat and heavenly blobs of mozzarella have melted over the sauce. He slides each one onto an oversized dinner-plate that has obviously been made for exactly this purpose. It can barely hold the 12” pizza, more than enough to serve two people, but we each get our own.
I’m not one of those people who take pictures of their food-usually-and it sounds silly, but this pizza is beautiful. I pick up one of the wedges and take my first bite. I’m in love. Pizza love. The crust is perfect–crispy yet light and puffy–unlike anything that could be accomplished in a traditional oven. The combination of tomato, cheese and basil is heavenly. The cheese and sauce slide off and dribble down my hand. Extra napkins all around.
So here’s what you need to know. Forget what you thought was pizza–the double stuffed, extra cheese, sausage, pepperoni stuff that late night college runs are made of. If you are expecting that, you might be disappointed in this simple pie. Many Americans who come to Italy are. But if you approach this pizza with an open mind, you will experience pure Italy–simple, fresh, authentic. Amore
Now, who’s hungry?
Threads of thought?
What is a favorite food memory from your travels?
Are you an adventurous foodie when traveling? What’s the stangest thing you’ve tried?
What toppings would be on your pizza amore?
Debra VanDeventer is an educator, author, blogger, sewist and traveler. To read more check out:
Out of the Crayon Box: Thoughts on Teaching, Retirement, and Life
Blowing Bubbles to celebrate the last day of my teching career.
Reflections From a Retired Teacher on the Last Day of School
Another school year is coming to a close. This week marks the five-year anniversary of my retirment from a 37-year teaching career, yet I still get giddy this time of year. I remember well those last few days spent with a class that had been my life for duration of a school year. The challenges, the victories. The kids that made me laugh, the ones that made me cry. The hope that I had given the best part of myself to each one of my students, knowing there were some who needed more. The lessons I taught and the lessons I learned. When my students filed out of my room on that last day of school, I was always happy and sad…but mostly exhausted.
Fortunately, teachers are a resilient lot. We bounce back over the summer and regain our enthusiasm for the next year. The butterflies build, you get your room ready and you greet your new class with excitment. The cycle repeats itself, yet each year is different from the ones before. It keeps you young, challenged, alive.
However, you can’t go on forever. Teaching is an all-consuming profession, leaving little time or energy for anything else. There comes a point in each teacher’s life when it’s time to stop. I stayed with it longer than most. It was difficult to leave my students, my friends, my profession, but I knew it was time.
So what happens next? For me, the transition was rocky. I’d been in a school setting most of my life and the world “outside of the crayon box” was a foreign place. It took several years for me to adjust to my new life. I had to get used to being in charge of my own schedule, and even little things like meeting a friend at Starbucks in the middle of the day was a new experience. I kept a journal, found a writer’s group, and turned the ups and downs of my journey into a memoir. (see link below)
Now that I have time to explore, I’m discovering many interests. Writing has become a passion, along with sewing, traveling, and finding creative ways to spend time with children and grandchildren.
Today, I honor my past as an educator, and embrace adventures yet to come. I’m reminded of a line from a favorite movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. When Judi Dench starts a new career later in life she asks:”How many lives can one person have?”
“As many as you like,” she answers.
Here’s to new adventures! (Me in Piazza San Marco in Venice)
So there you have it my friends: Reflections from a retired teacher. Enjoy life wherever you are in your journey, and (as one of my favorite authors and critique partner signs each of his emails) Go Well!
Threads of Thought
What do you remember about your time as a student or teacher on the last day of school?
What tips might you share with someone who is getting ready to retire?
I was recently introduced to the word “hygge” by my daughter-in-law. “You’ve never heard of it?” she said, then she showed me the hygge Pinterest board she’ d created. I’ll admit, I was intrigued, I bought a book on the subject and did some research.
What is Hygge?
There’s a lot packed into this little word (pronounced HOO-GA), but simply put, it is a Danish word that describes a mood of coziness and togetherness that contribues to feelings of contentment and wellbeing. It is regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture.
It’s a philosophy that, according to the author Meik Wiking, embraces rustic over new, simple over posh, board games over computer games, potluck dinner with friends over dining at a fancy restaurant. Think candlelight, warm beverages, cozy sweaters and socks, and families gathering around a fire.
But I live in Tucson
All of this warm and cozy stuff sounds good for the Danish who must endure cold, dark winters, but I live in Tucson, AZ. How would it work for me? Well, first of all, believe it or not, Tucson has a winter monsoon season. Here is what I woke up to today.
40 degees, raining here, but snowing on the mountains. Perfect motivation for me to channel my inner hoo-ga. I’m going to make a Hygge Corner.
Use What You Have
I’ll admit that I’m tempted to run out to Ikea or Target and fill my cart with fuzzy throws, candles, and sweaters, but that would add clutter which would not be very hygge-ly of me. To get hygge bonus points, the items you surround youself with should have a personal connection. (Plus when the temp gets to 110 this summer what would I do with Ugg boots and sweaters?) So for my hygge expirment, I’m determined to use what I have.
I already had a cozy chair in front of window in my bedroom. I tossed on a soft, handknit throw I’d made several years ago. Next I moved a small wooden table beside the chair. The space is limited so I was selective with my choices. A candle holder I bought in my home state of Indiana, my favorite planter my granddaughter and daugher-in-law helped me make, a small speaker for my favorite music, tea in the china cup my mom brought back from England years ago, my journal and current read.
Whoo hoo….hoo-ga!
I love it! Can’t wait to snuggle in with a good book and finish that cup of tea! As a sidenote, I was motivated to help my husband make a beef stew for dinner tonight. The all-day simmering smell was very hygge… hoo-ga-ly? hygglee? Oh well…you get the idea!
Threads of Thought
Hygge was a new term for me. As a former K teacher who spent most of my days teaching phonics, I struggle to pronounce it. Have you heard of hygge before?
