Ashes to Ashes

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.  In the calendar of the Church it marks the beginning of a forty day period of penitence leading up to Holy Week and the celebration of Easter.  Having been raised in the Roman Catholic Church and now as an affirmed Episcopalian, I have always marked the day by being marked.  Making that trip to church to receive ashes on my forehead.  Hearing the familiar words, ”Remember that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return.”

With each passing year, I find myself struggling with the meaning of Ash Wednesday.  I realize it signifies the end of the festive season of Epiphany with its Carnivals and Faschings and Mardi Gras excesses.  I understand the symbolic importance of forty days to pray, to repent, to abstain from temptations.  We are meant to reflect on the period of forty days that Jesus spent in the desert being tempted and turning from sin.  Yet, we are also told that Ash Wednesday should remind us of our mortality.  Really?

The older I get, the more I am confronted with the fragility of life and my own mortality.  In the past decade, I have experienced profound losses.  Death is always sad for those who are left behind, but some deaths come as the culmination of lives that have been fully lived.  My grandmother lived to be 97, and my husband’s grandfather lived to be 100.  May they rest in peace.  Other deaths come abruptly, extinguishing earthly lives that have been too brief.  These deaths feel unfair.  They leave me feeling helpless and confused. 

This past week, my first best friend lost her battle with cancer.  Dru and I met in the first grade and we were inseparable throughout elementary school and middle school.  We shared everything:  countless sleepovers at each others houses, our love of horses, open-faced toasted cheese sandwiches, backrubs, first crushes, first (and last) cigarettes, and so many adolescent rites of passage.   Our families both moved while we were in high school and our lives followed very separate paths for so many years.  We had reconnected only recently and I had hoped to be able to visit her this winter.  She turned 53 on January 18^th.   She died on February 3^rd.  I am so sorry I was not able to make the trip to Greenwich to see her.  My own life has become so busy and complicated, and Dru had become so fragile in her last couple of months prohibiting her from having visitors other than immediate family.  Dru’s death is just one more reminder that life is precious and can end all too soon.

Six and a half years ago, my brother David took his own life.  He was 44.  He was my Irish Twin, having been born two days before my first birthday.  Up until the day he died, I had no memories of life without him.  He was vibrant, funny, smart, enthusiastic, and full of charm.  Tragically, he lost his struggle with mental illness that he kept hidden from most of the people who knew him.  I make an effort each day to remember the love he shared with so many.  I smile thinking about the good times we had.

I do not need Ash Wednesday to be reminded of my own mortality.  Losing David and Dru and so many others my age and younger brings me face to face with mortality all too frequently.  Death sometimes smacks me right in the face, it seems.  Perhaps the point of Ash Wednesday is not to dwell on death.  We all die eventually.  That’s a given.  When I receive my ashes tonight, I will be thinking instead of the promise of Easter, the promise through Resurrection of everlasting life.

“Almighty God, you have created us out of the dust of the earth:  Grant that these ashes may be to us a sign of our mortality and penitence, that we may remember that it is only by your gracious gift that we are given everlasting life.” (The Book of Common Prayer, 1979.)

Per Diem

Something has woken me from a deep sleep.  Can that be the telephone ringing?  My husband is nudging me, mumbling, "Get the phone."  It is still dark, 5:45 a.m.  "Hello," I whisper.  "Good morning.  This is Melissa from Innovation Academy.  Are you available to substitute today?"  Thus, begins my day, another adventure into the realm of substitute teaching.

You remember substitutes?  Those men and women who appeared in your classroom on days when your regular teacher was absent?  You wondered where they came from and what they could possibly gain from a day spent overseeing a classroom full of rowdy children.  If they were lucky, you and your classmates complied while they administered worksheets, proctored quizzes, or showed a movie.  More often than not, the ringleaders in the class did their best to create havoc:  shooting spitballs, switching their assigned seats, and blurting out, "That's not how our teacher does it," testing the limits of acceptable behavior in any way possible.

And so I stumble out of bed and into the shower, mentally rearranging my day to postpone household chores and errands, remind myself of my son's after-school activities, and rethink my plans for dinner.  This will not be a morning to read the paper and linger over coffee.  Instead, I dress, eat a quick breakfast, pack lunches for my son, my husband, and myself, and then we all head out the door.

After I sign in at the school's main office, Melissa, the middle school principal at Innovation Academy greets me in the lobby.  "Today," she tells me, "you will be assisting the Spanish teacher."  Spanish?  Well, okay, I am ready for anything.  This will be a day of chaperoning rather than instructing.  It is something I have come to expect in my role as a per diem substitute.

A substitute teacher is a chameleon, adapting to each classroom environment.  You must be authoritative yet understanding, knowledgeable yet versatile.  Having experience as an actor definitely helps, so I am thankful for my involvement in community theater.  Subbing is like being onstage for a day-long workshop in improvisation.

My background is in science.  My experience includes teaching life science, physical science, and biology at an independent college preparatory school in Connecticut.  I have instructed undergraduates in lab sections of introductory biology, human biology, and developmental biology at Smith College.  At Boston University, I lectured in cell biology while conducting independent research.  I also taught environmental science, forensic science, and human health at a charter school in Minnesota.  I hold a bachelor's degree in biochemistry, a master's in teaching and another master's in biological sciences, and a PhD in cell and molecular biology.  You would think finding a full-time job teaching science would be straight forward and simple.  Unfortunately, finding the right opening in my area of expertise within a certain geographic radius, and in a school that is willing to hire me prior to completing my state licensing is more complicated than it seems.  In the meantime, I have hired myself out as a per diem substitute teacher.

I have been called to cover social studies, teaching about forms of government in ancient Greece.  I have taught math classes, reviewing systems of linear equations. I have been in a fifth grade language arts class, listening to students read aloud, working on their fluency and vocabulary development.  I have helped middle school science students review the Periodic Table of the Elements.  I have even covered art classes where students created models of columns and bridges from paper and cardboard.  Substituting requires versatility and a willingness to go with the flow.  You get your assignment, read the lesson plan, write your name on the board, and delve into the day's work with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.

So today, I step into the Spanish classroom.  "Hola, amigos, me llamo Señora Clark."  Just another day in the trenches.  Time to show these kids who is la jefa.

First Things First

Refraction (n.)  Deflection from a straight path undergone by a light ray or energy wave in passing from one medium into another in which its velocity is different.

Reflection (n.) 1. The return of light or sound waves from a surface.
2. A thought, idea, or opinion formed or a remark made as a result of meditation.


In trying to come up with a title for a blog, I needed to decide what its purpose might be.  This was not immediately evident.  I wanted a place to express myself in writing, and to connect with other bloggers.  I feel as if there are many stories within me, waiting to be told, but I feel pulled in many different directions.  There are stories from my childhood, youth, and the various stages of my adult life, and there are daily episodes that may or may not be interesting to anyone but me.  Still, I feel compelled to get words onto the page (or screen) to help my stories coalesce into something more than fleeting memories.  I do not think I am writing a memoir, although I may experiment with some memoir-writing techniques.  This will not be a parenting blog or a career-oriented blog or a lifestyle blog, although my writing will naturally lean toward those topics.  What is certain at this point is that there is no over-riding theme.  Along my life's journey my path has deflected many times.  Thus, "refraction."  And since I will transcribe my thoughts, ideas, and opinions, my blog will be a "reflection."

I do not know if what I write will make a difference.  I do not know if anyone will want to read.  However, a dear friend once told me that I have stories worth telling and a voice worth sharing.  So, I am putting myself out there.  Into the Blogosphere.  

Go easy on me, Readers.  I am new at this, but I value your feedback.  So, comment if you feel so moved.