Back in 1999, a few days before I was leaving a leave replacement teaching job to begin a permanent third grade position in a different elementary school in the same district, a colleague and I began to chat about books we were reading and authors we loved. Spontaneously, we connected over our love of literature and decided to initiate a book club outside of school. She invited her cousin, I asked a close friend, which led to my one person bringing her friend, who brought her friend who invited a mutual friend. We were a group of avid readers who cleverly arranged our monthly meeting to be on Friday nights, benefiting from a reprieve from parenting and leaving husbands in charge. Until the pandemic hit, we met at one another living rooms, the host deciding on the book and providing after dinner treats and wine. Now we meet on zoom. Friday nights morphed to Thursday nights as our kids became independent. For years and years I kept a list of the books we’d read and a few comments about each so I’d remember the author, plot and my reactions. I haven’t updated my list in years and now it feels way too overwhelming a task. I calculate we’ve read close to 150 books together! When we started our conversations focused on the challenges and joys of being mommies, marriage, PTA and community issues. Now we chat about the sad state of our world, aging parents, grown children, grandchildren and the grey hairs we resent. We’ve endured the test of time: Three of us have had breast cancer, two of us survived foot surgery, one died of a brain tumor and we’ve lost too many parents and loved one amongst us. We’ve supported each other through divorces, weddings, funerals, shivers, births, new homes, homes for sale, yet we’ve all miraculously still live, for the most part, on Long Island, New York… at least, for now. Being a part of this group of these compassionate, supportive ladies encourages me to devour books I’d never choose to read on my own. They’ve taught me to be flexible and tolerant of differences. They’ve broadened my thinking and opened my mind, not just to what to buy at Trader’s Joes when entertaining, but of living life.
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Time quickly passing by
Photographs are a time-line of my life Yesterday feels like years ago Years ago was yesterday A Pandemic Social distancing, masks, seclusion Time standing still Anxiety, fear, loneliness Forcing the pace to stand still Breathing and reflecting Freedom came In unexpected ways Outdoor walks and hikes Hearing the sounds of the tweets above Breathing in the fresh, crisp air Time spent with loved ones you can’t get back Appreciating the time alone Finding solace in the quiet Loving the simplicity of the peaceful days Knowing that life as was will soon return This pandemic has given me an unwanted gift of too much quiet space for reflection. Recently, I’ve been feeling stuck. Feeling like I’m at a crossroad in my life. I’ve already lived much more than half my years on this earth. I no longer feel like a daughter to anyone as my beloved father has passed and my dear mother sadly doesn’t remember that she has a daughter. The pandemic has given me an unwanted gift of too much quiet space for reflection. I’ve become an observer of my three daughters: watching them each carve meaningful, successful careers for themselves, planning their futures with the loves in their lives, planning and creating families of their own. I am no longer in the center of their lives like I once was as their mommy. The pandemic has given me an unwanted gift of too much quiet space for reflection. It took me several careers to realize that teaching was the right fit for me. I found my passion planning and teaching elementary age students to love learning. If only it was just the teaching and the loving. I don’t like to admit to myself that it’s not as much fun as it used to be. The pandemic has given me an unwanted gift of too much quiet space for reflection. I spend too much time scrolling through Facebook, voyaging into the lives of people I once knew. The pictures and comments tell me that groups of people from my past are still connected. I want to jump in but wonder if I really want to reconnect with someone I barely remember and hadn’t spoken to in over fifty years? Am I becoming antisocial? Has the scare of COVID turned me into a recluse? The pandemic has given me an unwanted gift of too much quiet space for reflection. My husband is a creature who doesn’t like change. He’s still wearing the same brand and color socks and briefs he did when we met 43 years ago. Our life has remained consistent, with little change. I can’t complain, it’s a really good life. I’m lucky. So why am I craving change? The pandemic has given me an unwanted gift of too much quiet space for reflection. I used to keep a list of activities I hadn’t done yet: to be fluent in Spanish, learn to play the piano, travel to Japan, live for a year in a tiny town in Europe like in the movies. I ponder what is really on my honest bucket list now. What do I crave and want to do if I could? What is in my future? The pandemic has given me an unwanted gift of too much quiet space for reflection. The first time I was about to become a grandma I spent hours upon hours deciding what my grandson would call me once he could sound out words. My grandmother, who I never met and was named after, went by Nana. My mother had always been called the Yiddish word for grandmother, Bubbe, by her grandkids and my dad was affectionately called Poppe.
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Eva KaplanSea glass, found on beaches, is naturally worn and smooth by tide and time,. As a wife, mother, Bubbe, teacher, reader & life-long learner, and of course, sea glass collector, I aspire to use writing to help me understand myself and the world around me. Archives
March 2024
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