When social isolation first started in mid-March, I thought it would be kind of like two weeks of snow days. I've almost always lived alone and thought I would be o.k. There are solitary things I like to do: read, practice music, write poetry. I figured school would reopen soon and I'd get back to subbing, and my music endeavors would pick up where we left off.
But by the fifth week, social isolation was starting to really get to me. School had closed for the year and I was essentially cut off from the place that has been the center of my life for 19 years. I reached out and offered support in different ways; most of those reach-outs went unacknowledged. My music groups had suspended operations. I went some whole days without hearing another person's voice. (I now believe that a lack of in-person contact is not healthy and not how we are meant to live.) And I'm lucky enough to be in a community where people like to hug. I was missing that. When I would see people at the local grocery or when out for a walk, we would joke about not hugging. But it was starting to become less and less funny. I wasn't sure whether it was better than not at all to see people and not be able to touch or hug them, or whether that just made it worse. I spent time on Facebook, Instagram, and e-mail until I was just sick of it. Zoom gatherings helped, but when the session was over, I felt bereft. Every night when it got dark and really quiet outside, I started feeling a little freaked out, like everything had taken on an eerie tone.
Then two things happened that knocked my foundation out from under me. First was a 48-hour period of really bad news about the devastating short and long-term effects of COVID-19 combined with the news that this isn't going to go away for a long time. That made virus avoidance a more pressing and scary prospect, and made the extended future of social isolation even more grim. It wasn't even about the loss of subbing income anymore. It was about the lack of human contact.
The final blow was the cancellation of my fourth annual summer program in Québec which had been one of the highlights of my life in recent years and a reunion with people who are really special to me. With some of them in Québec on the other side of a closed border and the others scattered all over the United States, there was no hope of any gathering time or place. That did it. Over about a two-day period, I slowly came to terms with the losses of Québec, my school community, my music community. I spent most of my time sobbing and my blood pressure skyrocketed. I got sufficiently scared by my blood pressure numbers that I called my doctor's office and asked whether there was any way I could talk to my doctor. I needed help. They made a phone appointment for me and explained how that would work. I assumed that I would be going on blood pressure medication.
Right at the appointed time, the doctor's nurse called and did the intake interview. I shared with her the results of the blood pressure readings I'd done. Then the conversation turned to lifestyle questions: was I eating and exercising and sleeping, what I was doing with my time. The sobbing started up again. I can't remember when I've cried so hard. I don't think I've cried that hard since my father died nine years ago. As that part of the intake ended, the nurse paused, then said, with the utmost of compassion, "You are not alone." It was very reassuring to hear her say that, to hear acknowledgement that other people were going through the same thing I was.
The nurse wrapped up the intake, told me she would end the call and share all this with the doctor, and that the doctor would call back. And the doctor did so right at the time I was told to expect her to.
One of the things I've always appreciated about my doctor is that she never seems to be in a hurry. She is compassionate, caring, and thorough. And even in the context of a phone visit, that didn't change. To summarize briefly what was actually a lengthy conversation, she thought it made sense first to treat the hypertension by treating me for anxiety. She prescribed me a tiny dose of an anti-anxiety drug and said we would check in after two weeks. And by the end of the day, her scheduler had called me to make the appointment. Of course I researched the drug online. It's prescribed to people who have panic attacks and post-traumatic stress disorder. Seems to fit.
Any med like this takes a couple of days to start doing its thing. I am writing this paragraph one week after my first dose. My blood pressure numbers still occasionally have a little room for improvement, but there have been no more super-high readings and many right in the normal range. And I haven't sobbed since my appointment. Hearing "you are not alone" was huge. Being heard compassionately was huge.
I have one more big take-away from all this. I didn't tell anyone how much I was struggling emotionally as the weeks progressed. I tried to put up a positive front. I good-naturedly complained with a smile on my face about social distancing. But I didn't let anyone know that I was really suffering. I'm not even sure that I was honest with myself about it. When one of my best friends who has known me since age 7 heard my story and implored me to call her if it happens again, I told her that I had been like the frog in the boiling water who doesn't know he's in boiling water until it's too late. -- except that for me it wasn't too late because I had a great doctor whom I trust 100%. She diagnosed anxiety instead of hypertension, and as always, her instincts were spot on.
So that's why I'm writing this. I want people to know that COVID-19 and social isolation take a toll on mental health. And I want people to hear that it happened to me, someone who is known around town as kind of a goofy easy-going free spirit who had a long career as a (can I say successful?) teacher and who even in retirement showed up loud and proud and having a blast at student games and performances. I want to say and have people hear me say that it REALLY pisses me off when people don't take COVID-19 seriously, from the local level all the way to Washington, DC. Every doofus who thinks this is a hoax, who refuses to wear a mask out of vanity, who goes to protests, who insists on having big gatherings, who thinks science is something you choose to believe in or not, is contributing to this lasting longer. Absolutely no one wants this to last longer!! This is unprecedented and this is serious business!! Although I continue to be grateful that none of my family members are ill from this (sadly, I can no longer state that none of my friends are ill from this), I have lost a lot because of this: time with family and friends, my connections to the school, my connections to Québec, my performing. And an unexpected $4000 car engine repair this week was the icing on the cake. That would have been recoverable when I was subbing but won't be so easily now. And a lot of people have lost much more. For myself and for others, we need EVERYONE to take it seriously.
And now I'm writing this paragraph 2.5 weeks after talking to my doctor. I'm doing much better now, 8 weeks into the pandemic. I've accepted that pretty much every endeavor that was important in my life is gone for the foreseeable future or forever, and am grateful that family members and friends are all healthy, even if time with them is limited to phone / text / e-mail / Facebook / Zoom. I've accepted that retirement is over and that I have to go back to work, hopefully teaching somewhere. And I've gotten used to being alone a lot and learned what I need to do to not be unhappy (healthy diet and exercise, more creativity, less Facebook, more activity even it's in within my four walls, less following the news which never changes nowadays anyway). That doesn't mean I'm happy about what has come to pass, it just means I've accepted it. I still have trouble, though, coming to terms with the fact that we're living in a dystopian novel with a raving lunatic for a leader. But I've learned that the most productive way to deal with that is to do what I can to see that he and his minions are voted out.
And the other reason I'm writing this: if you who are reading this are starting to struggle mentally or emotionally, please reach out to me. Don't follow my bad example and try to tough it out. I will listen and I will help you get help. We all need to be helping each other right now.
P.S. 24 hours later: Several people have tried to comment on here and not had their comments post. I don't know why that's happening but will try to find out! If you check back and your comment didn't appear, please know that I didn't delete it! I'll try to solve the mystery.
Friday, May 15, 2020
Sunday, April 19, 2020
social isolation
2020 started out great. After a disappointing fall 2019 venture into being a resident full-time student at the Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières where I'd spent three great summers, I was back home, subbing at school, enjoying being at
school for sports and performances as well, and enjoying spending time with family and friends again. I was
getting a lot out of my new UQTR all-online major program in translation and pleased to be able to
keep up my education online while living back home. I was back performing music. I was planning to go back
to Québec for the same summer program I'd done the past three
summers. (The memories of the great summers overshadowed the disappointing fall experience.) I was even in great physical shape, eating healthy and getting
lots of exercise. 2020 was shaping up to be an absolutely fantastic
year.
Or so I thought.
So here we are, about a month into living in a dystopian novel with an invisible life-threatening enemy as the principal character. I need to say this before I say anything else: things with me could be a LOT worse, in that none of my family members or friends are ill or working with people who are. So for that I'm very grateful.
Now to the changes. I lost my subbing job when school closed. I've offered several times to help out at school, but they don't need me. It's very sobering after 19 years of making the school the center of my life that it is not part of my life any more. As a retiree and sub, I'm not considered a staff member so am not allowed to even set foot in the building. All my pending music performances were cancelled. I am still taking voice lessons and guitar lessons by video conference, but no ensemble work and no performances. (The voice lessons were already paid for, and my guitar teacher is in Québec and charges very little, plus the exchange rate is favorable.) I have little hope that my summer program in Québec will run, as all events in Québec have been cancelled through September and they are under extremely strict social distancing laws right now -- not guidelines, laws, with $1500 fines for violation -- and it is reported in the news when they assess those fines, so I know it's happening. (Update 4/21: the Québec summer program is now officially cancelled. I had a pretty good idea that that was coming, but I'm profoundly disappointed. )
As I write the first draft of this on a Saturday night, I am struck by the fact that I have not heard a human voice all day. Through the kitchen window I saw the next-door neighbor outside for a minute, and other than that I have not seen another person all day either. I've had a couple of exchanges with friends by text, Messenger, or e-mail. And I have a couple of socially distanced friend dates for tomorrow, a Sunday. But I do not remember one day in my entire life in which I have not heard another human voice or seen a human face all day. It's very jarring; it feels vulnerable and a little scary.
I do see friends once in a while, in pre-arranged socially distanced settings or in video chat. My brothers and I have had FaceTime dates three times -- which never happened before this. I honestly don't know what the state of my mental health would be right now if I didn't have my family and friends, even distantly and remotely. But at the end of most days I definitely feel alone and a little freaked out. It is getting better, simply because I'm getting used to that as my default state and know that I will get through it, and because I know that social isolation is protecting me.
I realize that my position is a minority position that few people can relate to: isolated alone with no useful function in society beyond obeying the guidelines so as not to get sick or make anyone else sick. I know most people have had it with constantly being with their family and are desperate for some quiet or private time. I have not been successful in making most people understand that too much alone time isn't healthy either.
Up until last week, I had hopes that school would reopen and I could get back to subbing. Now it's official that that's not going to happen. So my next logical step is to find other paid work. I had hoped to find it within the school or the school district, but that's not going to happen either. And so I prepare for yet another transition I didn't want or ask for. I have been accepted to teach on outschool.com, a sort of freelance online teaching web site. We'll see how that goes. If that's not successful, then I'll see who's hiring around here.
The authorities ask us to try not to go to the grocery store more than once every two weeks. I can't pull that off. I go once a week. Even that is a reminder of widespread fear and anxiety. I keep my mask and gloves in the car. I don't carry a purse any more and we aren't allowed to bring our own shopping bags into stores. So I keep my driver's license in the car and put my debit card in my zipped pocket. No stores take cash any more. I go to a small local grocery store, not one of the big supermarket chains, because the small one has everything I need or want. In the store, everyone is taking pains to keep six feet apart. Everyone is masked. No one speaks. People just want to get in and out. The same familiar faces as always are at the checkout behind plexiglass. Yesterday, April 17, I went to one of the big supermarkets for the first time since March 15 simply because I had some store coupons to use before they expired. It was an exercise in futility. The shelves were picked clean. That was disturbing and anxiety-producing in its own right. I understand now why hoarding happens -- I don't excuse it, and don't intend to engage in it, but I understand it. I won't go back there again for the duration.
The one good thing about my extreme-isolation day yesterday was not confronting the fear and anxiety that exist in the outside world. No mask. No avoiding other people in the store. Not that I was immune from current reality, as I regularly read six daily newspapers and one news magazine online: the Portland and Bangor papers from Maine, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and three publications in French, the daily newspapers from Montréal and Trois-Rivières and the news magazine that covers the province of Québec. So I'm well informed. This latest round of protests, egged on by the president, infuriates me to the point I have to just choose not to read that coverage. The lack of respect for and understanding of science and data appall me. Do these people seriously think that the restrictions are in place to ruin their lives? They are there to SAVE lives!! Yes, I understand the economic consequences; I lost my job too! But I'm not blaming Governor Mills for that!! In the Canadian media yesterday, the U.S. story that got the most coverage was the protest. The Canadian border has been closed since March 21 and is to remain so until May 20. The majority of Canadians appear to not want it reopened. They think we are all Trump worshippers and that they would be at risk from us.
I would be remiss if I did not more specifically acknowledge the people who are worse off than me right now. Category #1, the essential workers. One of my nephews is a paramedic. One of the nurses in the COVID-19 unit at Maine Med is one of my former students. Another former student is an ER tech at Maine Med. Another one is an intake worker at the Cumberland County Jail. Several work at supermarkets. That must be a constant source of tension. Category #2, the people who lost their jobs or livelihoods: another nephew, the owner of the small gym where I work out, the owners of the small independent bookstore I frequent, my hairstylist. They'll be a long time coming back from this. Category #3, friends with seriously ill family members whom they are not allowed to go see right now in the hospital or rehab facility. Category #4, high school and college seniors who are losing out on all their ceremonies which are an important life passage marker. My niece and yet another nephew (they are cousins, not siblings) are among those whose college year ended abruptly. My niece was a nationally ranked lacrosse player who only got a couple of games in for her senior season before it ended abruptly. Category #5, schoolteachers who are stressed and exhausted from having to immediately transition to online teaching with no warning. I have a fair amount of survivor's guilt toward that last category. A year ago that would have been me. As noted, I have tried to offer help and support. But I'm told there is nothing I can do. Category #6, people who are trying to work from home and simultaneously parent younger children, especially children who are too young to understand what's going on.
So I said all this just to document my current reality. I am o.k. The hard parts: the isolation, staving off fear and anxiety from other people (I had enough of my own at first in the face of a potentially fatal virus), the feeling like I have no more place at school after it being the center of my life for 19 years, the feeling that I'm not doing anything useful, and not knowing how I'm going to replace the lost income. What's helping: reaching out to people, video conference family and friend dates, making music and writing poetry, and staying healthy.
Let us hope that important lessons will be learned from all of this so we will never again know the worst of this: the deaths, the exhausted caregivers, the families unable to be with their elderly or ill relatives, the economic collapse, the fear, the panic. Please, let us never have to live through something like this ever again. Please let us learn from this. That's why I wrote and shared this post. I realize that it may sound whiny. But in order to learn from living like this, I don't want to forget what it felt like at its worst.
Or so I thought.
So here we are, about a month into living in a dystopian novel with an invisible life-threatening enemy as the principal character. I need to say this before I say anything else: things with me could be a LOT worse, in that none of my family members or friends are ill or working with people who are. So for that I'm very grateful.
Now to the changes. I lost my subbing job when school closed. I've offered several times to help out at school, but they don't need me. It's very sobering after 19 years of making the school the center of my life that it is not part of my life any more. As a retiree and sub, I'm not considered a staff member so am not allowed to even set foot in the building. All my pending music performances were cancelled. I am still taking voice lessons and guitar lessons by video conference, but no ensemble work and no performances. (The voice lessons were already paid for, and my guitar teacher is in Québec and charges very little, plus the exchange rate is favorable.) I have little hope that my summer program in Québec will run, as all events in Québec have been cancelled through September and they are under extremely strict social distancing laws right now -- not guidelines, laws, with $1500 fines for violation -- and it is reported in the news when they assess those fines, so I know it's happening. (Update 4/21: the Québec summer program is now officially cancelled. I had a pretty good idea that that was coming, but I'm profoundly disappointed. )
As I write the first draft of this on a Saturday night, I am struck by the fact that I have not heard a human voice all day. Through the kitchen window I saw the next-door neighbor outside for a minute, and other than that I have not seen another person all day either. I've had a couple of exchanges with friends by text, Messenger, or e-mail. And I have a couple of socially distanced friend dates for tomorrow, a Sunday. But I do not remember one day in my entire life in which I have not heard another human voice or seen a human face all day. It's very jarring; it feels vulnerable and a little scary.
I do see friends once in a while, in pre-arranged socially distanced settings or in video chat. My brothers and I have had FaceTime dates three times -- which never happened before this. I honestly don't know what the state of my mental health would be right now if I didn't have my family and friends, even distantly and remotely. But at the end of most days I definitely feel alone and a little freaked out. It is getting better, simply because I'm getting used to that as my default state and know that I will get through it, and because I know that social isolation is protecting me.
I realize that my position is a minority position that few people can relate to: isolated alone with no useful function in society beyond obeying the guidelines so as not to get sick or make anyone else sick. I know most people have had it with constantly being with their family and are desperate for some quiet or private time. I have not been successful in making most people understand that too much alone time isn't healthy either.
Up until last week, I had hopes that school would reopen and I could get back to subbing. Now it's official that that's not going to happen. So my next logical step is to find other paid work. I had hoped to find it within the school or the school district, but that's not going to happen either. And so I prepare for yet another transition I didn't want or ask for. I have been accepted to teach on outschool.com, a sort of freelance online teaching web site. We'll see how that goes. If that's not successful, then I'll see who's hiring around here.
The authorities ask us to try not to go to the grocery store more than once every two weeks. I can't pull that off. I go once a week. Even that is a reminder of widespread fear and anxiety. I keep my mask and gloves in the car. I don't carry a purse any more and we aren't allowed to bring our own shopping bags into stores. So I keep my driver's license in the car and put my debit card in my zipped pocket. No stores take cash any more. I go to a small local grocery store, not one of the big supermarket chains, because the small one has everything I need or want. In the store, everyone is taking pains to keep six feet apart. Everyone is masked. No one speaks. People just want to get in and out. The same familiar faces as always are at the checkout behind plexiglass. Yesterday, April 17, I went to one of the big supermarkets for the first time since March 15 simply because I had some store coupons to use before they expired. It was an exercise in futility. The shelves were picked clean. That was disturbing and anxiety-producing in its own right. I understand now why hoarding happens -- I don't excuse it, and don't intend to engage in it, but I understand it. I won't go back there again for the duration.
The one good thing about my extreme-isolation day yesterday was not confronting the fear and anxiety that exist in the outside world. No mask. No avoiding other people in the store. Not that I was immune from current reality, as I regularly read six daily newspapers and one news magazine online: the Portland and Bangor papers from Maine, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and three publications in French, the daily newspapers from Montréal and Trois-Rivières and the news magazine that covers the province of Québec. So I'm well informed. This latest round of protests, egged on by the president, infuriates me to the point I have to just choose not to read that coverage. The lack of respect for and understanding of science and data appall me. Do these people seriously think that the restrictions are in place to ruin their lives? They are there to SAVE lives!! Yes, I understand the economic consequences; I lost my job too! But I'm not blaming Governor Mills for that!! In the Canadian media yesterday, the U.S. story that got the most coverage was the protest. The Canadian border has been closed since March 21 and is to remain so until May 20. The majority of Canadians appear to not want it reopened. They think we are all Trump worshippers and that they would be at risk from us.
I would be remiss if I did not more specifically acknowledge the people who are worse off than me right now. Category #1, the essential workers. One of my nephews is a paramedic. One of the nurses in the COVID-19 unit at Maine Med is one of my former students. Another former student is an ER tech at Maine Med. Another one is an intake worker at the Cumberland County Jail. Several work at supermarkets. That must be a constant source of tension. Category #2, the people who lost their jobs or livelihoods: another nephew, the owner of the small gym where I work out, the owners of the small independent bookstore I frequent, my hairstylist. They'll be a long time coming back from this. Category #3, friends with seriously ill family members whom they are not allowed to go see right now in the hospital or rehab facility. Category #4, high school and college seniors who are losing out on all their ceremonies which are an important life passage marker. My niece and yet another nephew (they are cousins, not siblings) are among those whose college year ended abruptly. My niece was a nationally ranked lacrosse player who only got a couple of games in for her senior season before it ended abruptly. Category #5, schoolteachers who are stressed and exhausted from having to immediately transition to online teaching with no warning. I have a fair amount of survivor's guilt toward that last category. A year ago that would have been me. As noted, I have tried to offer help and support. But I'm told there is nothing I can do. Category #6, people who are trying to work from home and simultaneously parent younger children, especially children who are too young to understand what's going on.
So I said all this just to document my current reality. I am o.k. The hard parts: the isolation, staving off fear and anxiety from other people (I had enough of my own at first in the face of a potentially fatal virus), the feeling like I have no more place at school after it being the center of my life for 19 years, the feeling that I'm not doing anything useful, and not knowing how I'm going to replace the lost income. What's helping: reaching out to people, video conference family and friend dates, making music and writing poetry, and staying healthy.
Let us hope that important lessons will be learned from all of this so we will never again know the worst of this: the deaths, the exhausted caregivers, the families unable to be with their elderly or ill relatives, the economic collapse, the fear, the panic. Please, let us never have to live through something like this ever again. Please let us learn from this. That's why I wrote and shared this post. I realize that it may sound whiny. But in order to learn from living like this, I don't want to forget what it felt like at its worst.
Epilogue to the Québec story
I never realized until just now that I fell off posting Québec
updates on my blog. I know I notified everyone by e-mail that I came
home in October and why. Very ironically since I'm writing this one
month into the pandemic, my biggest motivation for coming home was
social isolation. The people with whom I had hoped I would connect up
there were busy with their own lives. And I didn't have a peer group up
there. There were no adult students, even though I had been told that
there were and that the traditional college-age students were in a
minority. That wasn't my experience at all. By the second week in
October there was only one class I was doing well in. So I moved out of
my apartment in Trois-Rivières on Wednesday morning, October 7, and was
back home in Portland that night.
My one remaining course was cancelled for the week, so I had a week at home to decide what to do. And my decision was to commute up and finish the one course I was still enrolled in. I drove up Wednesdays, stayed in the very reasonably priced Trois-Rivières Comfort Inn on Wednesday nights, had class from 8:30 - 11:30 Thursday mornings, then came home. It was very well worth it. The course was "Difficulties of French Grammar." I'd wanted to take an advanced French grammar course for a long time. And the professor, in his final year of teaching before retirement, had a reputation for being outstanding. And he was. Brilliant, witty, kind, supremely well-organized and clear. I learned so much. And he was especially generous to me and another student. She and I took it seriously. We sat in the front seats, took notes, laughed at his jokes. By the end of the semester, he had given us both several of his books from his private collection as he was cleaning out his office. I worked very hard in that course -- mind you, a course about features of French grammar that French-speaking university-level students find difficult -- and am probably prouder of getting an A in that course than anything else I've ever accomplished for myself.
My routine for October, November, and December was to sub at the school Monday and Tuesday, head up to Trois-Rivières on Wednesday, have class and come home on Thursday, and sub on Friday. Once the session was over on December 12, I settled into subbing nearly every day. I had had such a good experience in the one course I did finish that I wanted to find a way to keep it going. So I switched majors to a bachelor's degree in translation. The appeal was that the entire program is done online, that I could do it part-time, and that all students in the program pay the same tuition that the Québec residents do, or about $350 US per three-credit course. So I enrolled in two courses to start off, a French stylistics course and the required course of ... "Advanced English Grammar." Needless to say, I'm carrying an A+ in that one!
I think I prefer being in a class with the professor to learning online. But I can't deny that I'm still learning and doing it very affordably. Will I make it all the way to a degree? Hard to say. But I'm enjoying it for now and that's all that matters.
And even though my experience of living up in Trois-Rivières kind of crashed and burned because of the isolation, I don't regret one second of it. I learned a lot, I'm still learning, and am grateful that learning will continue.
My one remaining course was cancelled for the week, so I had a week at home to decide what to do. And my decision was to commute up and finish the one course I was still enrolled in. I drove up Wednesdays, stayed in the very reasonably priced Trois-Rivières Comfort Inn on Wednesday nights, had class from 8:30 - 11:30 Thursday mornings, then came home. It was very well worth it. The course was "Difficulties of French Grammar." I'd wanted to take an advanced French grammar course for a long time. And the professor, in his final year of teaching before retirement, had a reputation for being outstanding. And he was. Brilliant, witty, kind, supremely well-organized and clear. I learned so much. And he was especially generous to me and another student. She and I took it seriously. We sat in the front seats, took notes, laughed at his jokes. By the end of the semester, he had given us both several of his books from his private collection as he was cleaning out his office. I worked very hard in that course -- mind you, a course about features of French grammar that French-speaking university-level students find difficult -- and am probably prouder of getting an A in that course than anything else I've ever accomplished for myself.
My routine for October, November, and December was to sub at the school Monday and Tuesday, head up to Trois-Rivières on Wednesday, have class and come home on Thursday, and sub on Friday. Once the session was over on December 12, I settled into subbing nearly every day. I had had such a good experience in the one course I did finish that I wanted to find a way to keep it going. So I switched majors to a bachelor's degree in translation. The appeal was that the entire program is done online, that I could do it part-time, and that all students in the program pay the same tuition that the Québec residents do, or about $350 US per three-credit course. So I enrolled in two courses to start off, a French stylistics course and the required course of ... "Advanced English Grammar." Needless to say, I'm carrying an A+ in that one!
I think I prefer being in a class with the professor to learning online. But I can't deny that I'm still learning and doing it very affordably. Will I make it all the way to a degree? Hard to say. But I'm enjoying it for now and that's all that matters.
And even though my experience of living up in Trois-Rivières kind of crashed and burned because of the isolation, I don't regret one second of it. I learned a lot, I'm still learning, and am grateful that learning will continue.
Thursday, September 12, 2019
slight change of plans
Haven’t posted since classes started for a very good reason: I’ve been swamped academically. The Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières has a well-deserved excellent reputation with high academic standards. So what that meant for me as someone who was newly transitioning from the international school to the regular undergrad program with intelligent articulate native speakers of French … is that I was WAY over my head. WAY over my head. I haven’t studied French formally for years; my summer programs up here the past three years don’t count as they’re very informal and as much about Québec culture as the French language. So I’m down from 12 credits to six. That’s two classes. And that is what I can manage under the circumstances. Homework takes a LOT longer when you’re doing university-level work NOT in your native language.
The entire university has an interesting class schedule; all classes meet just once a week for three hours, with the same start times university-wide: 8:30 a.m., noon, 3:30 p.m., and 7:00 p.m. My Tuesday 3:30 p.m. class is “expression orale,” or public speaking, taught by a warm and gracious woman well-known around here who has been teaching here as an adjunct for 30 years and has been a regular program host on Radio-Canada for 18. She knew me from my summer program as she came to present to us every one of the three summers I’ve been here, and in fact chose me and another woman this past summer to be in a video she was making to promote the summer program. She told me before the first class yesterday that it’s just about to be released and that she would send me the link as soon as it comes out — which of course I will share and I hope you’ll watch even if you don’t understand what I’m saying!! My other class, Thursdays at 8:30 a.m., is “difficultés de la grammaire française.” I think you can figure that one out even if you don’t speak French. The professor is one of the elder statesmen around here; he joked on the first day of class that he has been teaching here since 1925. According to his resume on his web page, it’s really 1969. 50 years. Holy cow. This university actually opened in 1969 (big 50th anniversary celebrations ongoing) so that means he has been teaching here for the university’s entire history. He is known for being a great teacher but assigning a ton of homework. Yep. All true. One of the two classes I dropped was also taught by him. Absolutely no way could I manage both.
So here’s what I’m going to do now that my schedule has changed. It’s easy to get home; a six-hour drive, but an easy one. I enjoy driving, I’m used to driving between here and home, and my car is still relatively new and I take excellent care of it. So I’m coming home for long weekends, starting today. I am going to take advantage of that fact to sub at FHS on Fridays when they need me, and to go to FHS games and performances in person instead of following along on ScoreStream or social media. It won’t be exhausting; it will be refreshing. I will head for home when my Thursday class gets out and will be home by mid-evening allowing for a dinner break in there somewhere. I will be very grateful to sleep in my own bed Thursday through Sunday nights. I’ll bring my homework with me. I am pleased about the possibility of being able to continue my learning experience here in Trois-Rivières but being able to get back to my FHS community as well. This will work as long as the weather is decent. When the snow flies, I’ll have to revisit this plan. But it will work for now and I’m looking forward to implementing it.
The entire university has an interesting class schedule; all classes meet just once a week for three hours, with the same start times university-wide: 8:30 a.m., noon, 3:30 p.m., and 7:00 p.m. My Tuesday 3:30 p.m. class is “expression orale,” or public speaking, taught by a warm and gracious woman well-known around here who has been teaching here as an adjunct for 30 years and has been a regular program host on Radio-Canada for 18. She knew me from my summer program as she came to present to us every one of the three summers I’ve been here, and in fact chose me and another woman this past summer to be in a video she was making to promote the summer program. She told me before the first class yesterday that it’s just about to be released and that she would send me the link as soon as it comes out — which of course I will share and I hope you’ll watch even if you don’t understand what I’m saying!! My other class, Thursdays at 8:30 a.m., is “difficultés de la grammaire française.” I think you can figure that one out even if you don’t speak French. The professor is one of the elder statesmen around here; he joked on the first day of class that he has been teaching here since 1925. According to his resume on his web page, it’s really 1969. 50 years. Holy cow. This university actually opened in 1969 (big 50th anniversary celebrations ongoing) so that means he has been teaching here for the university’s entire history. He is known for being a great teacher but assigning a ton of homework. Yep. All true. One of the two classes I dropped was also taught by him. Absolutely no way could I manage both.
So here’s what I’m going to do now that my schedule has changed. It’s easy to get home; a six-hour drive, but an easy one. I enjoy driving, I’m used to driving between here and home, and my car is still relatively new and I take excellent care of it. So I’m coming home for long weekends, starting today. I am going to take advantage of that fact to sub at FHS on Fridays when they need me, and to go to FHS games and performances in person instead of following along on ScoreStream or social media. It won’t be exhausting; it will be refreshing. I will head for home when my Thursday class gets out and will be home by mid-evening allowing for a dinner break in there somewhere. I will be very grateful to sleep in my own bed Thursday through Sunday nights. I’ll bring my homework with me. I am pleased about the possibility of being able to continue my learning experience here in Trois-Rivières but being able to get back to my FHS community as well. This will work as long as the weather is decent. When the snow flies, I’ll have to revisit this plan. But it will work for now and I’m looking forward to implementing it.
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
the oldest student at new student orientation
All the new student activities have now been completed, and of course I was the oldest one in the room every time. I was expecting that, of course, and I've only gotten a few strange looks and been mistaken for a professor once. I do get a huge kick out of the fact that I'm going through new student orientation at the same time as many members of the FHS Class of 2019!
The way they do it here is to have one orientation for exchange students, which was last week; one orientation for international students, which I attended last Friday; and orientations today by academic department.
Snapshots:
• I've been the only American in either of my orientations. When people find out I'm American, they assume that I'm not going to be able to understand them if they speak French to me. Yet so far, I've understood just about everything and have been able to answer questions clearly when asked.
• I was also the only one taking notes at the French department orientation and one of very few doing so at the international student orientation. That fascinated me. Generation gap?
• There were about 150 students at the international students' orientation, slightly more women than men, nearly all of them from Africa, and nearly all of them very nicely dressed. About a third were undergrads, a third master's degree students, and a third doctoral students. Nearly all were in their 20's and 30's, of course, so I was secretly very pleased to see two women come in who were definitely close to my age! I hope to cross their paths at some point. I thought it was interesting when they offered a cultural explanation that in this culture, if something starts at 1:30 p.m., you need to be there by 1:25 to be ready to start at 1:30. They talked about the transition to life in Canada (with more than a passing reference to winter), getting settled into living accommodations, and lots of info about student services: health services including mental health, financial aid, help finding work, academic support, and student activities.
• There were 15 students at the French department orientation; we were told that there were 25 new students total. 11 from the region, one exchange student from France, one each from Martinique and Guadeloupe, and me. 13 young women, one young man, and me. The department head sort of explained to the others what the French exchange student was doing there and what I was doing there; she stood out because of her accent, and I stood out because of my age. All the same info about student services came up again, and instead of talking about adjustment to Canada the rest of the presentation was about what to expect from university academics.
• Both the international students' orientation and the French department orientation were three-hour presentations. There was no interactive stuff, no ice-breakers or get-to-know-you stuff, which was fine with me. Just sitting and listening. Both presentations did include lots of info about student services and student activities, and definitely gave me the impression that things are really well run around here. They do seem to truly care about student well-being; both orientations mentioned that there are really positive relationships between faculty and students and that the faculty members are approachable. Kind of like being back at FHS only on the other side of the desk!
• There are no dorm activities as we think of them in the USA. There is on-campus housing, all apartment suites, but it only accommodates a few hundred of the 15,000 students here, and is mostly occupied by international students, so I'm told. The vast majority of undergrads commute from home. I live in an apartment building with six apartments in a nice residential neighborhood which is all either apartment buildings or private homes with basement apartments rented to students.
So I'm all new-student-oriented. It helps of course that I've been here the past three summers and know where things are located on campus and know the neighborhood, the city, and the region. I'm all settled into my apartment.
One thing they do here that's really helpful (and maybe American universities do this too and I'm just not aware of it since it's been awhile! ...) is put the course syllabus online. It is expected that students will read it before going to the first class. So over lunch I read the syllabi for my four courses ... and promptly dropped one of the four. The total workload would have just been too much. So I'm at nine credits now. I'll write more about the courses next time when things are finalized in case I do any more dropping/adding.
All the classes meet once a week for three hours. So the two three-hour orientations were also an orientation to staying focused and following presentations in French for three hours (with no break in one case) in which information was flowing in a constant unbroken stream. The syllabus for two of the three courses said that cell phones are to be turned off and put in our bags, not on the table, and that we are not allowed to have laptops out. Good thing I have good note-taking skills.
I have one class each on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. That's going to be great for coming home weekends. Sometimes I think I'd like to come home most weekends. But I wonder if that defeats the purpose of being here. Time will tell.
The two orientations were very informative, but I'm glad they're done and I'm eager to go to my first class tomorrow!
The way they do it here is to have one orientation for exchange students, which was last week; one orientation for international students, which I attended last Friday; and orientations today by academic department.
Snapshots:
• I've been the only American in either of my orientations. When people find out I'm American, they assume that I'm not going to be able to understand them if they speak French to me. Yet so far, I've understood just about everything and have been able to answer questions clearly when asked.
• I was also the only one taking notes at the French department orientation and one of very few doing so at the international student orientation. That fascinated me. Generation gap?
• There were about 150 students at the international students' orientation, slightly more women than men, nearly all of them from Africa, and nearly all of them very nicely dressed. About a third were undergrads, a third master's degree students, and a third doctoral students. Nearly all were in their 20's and 30's, of course, so I was secretly very pleased to see two women come in who were definitely close to my age! I hope to cross their paths at some point. I thought it was interesting when they offered a cultural explanation that in this culture, if something starts at 1:30 p.m., you need to be there by 1:25 to be ready to start at 1:30. They talked about the transition to life in Canada (with more than a passing reference to winter), getting settled into living accommodations, and lots of info about student services: health services including mental health, financial aid, help finding work, academic support, and student activities.
• There were 15 students at the French department orientation; we were told that there were 25 new students total. 11 from the region, one exchange student from France, one each from Martinique and Guadeloupe, and me. 13 young women, one young man, and me. The department head sort of explained to the others what the French exchange student was doing there and what I was doing there; she stood out because of her accent, and I stood out because of my age. All the same info about student services came up again, and instead of talking about adjustment to Canada the rest of the presentation was about what to expect from university academics.
• Both the international students' orientation and the French department orientation were three-hour presentations. There was no interactive stuff, no ice-breakers or get-to-know-you stuff, which was fine with me. Just sitting and listening. Both presentations did include lots of info about student services and student activities, and definitely gave me the impression that things are really well run around here. They do seem to truly care about student well-being; both orientations mentioned that there are really positive relationships between faculty and students and that the faculty members are approachable. Kind of like being back at FHS only on the other side of the desk!
• There are no dorm activities as we think of them in the USA. There is on-campus housing, all apartment suites, but it only accommodates a few hundred of the 15,000 students here, and is mostly occupied by international students, so I'm told. The vast majority of undergrads commute from home. I live in an apartment building with six apartments in a nice residential neighborhood which is all either apartment buildings or private homes with basement apartments rented to students.
So I'm all new-student-oriented. It helps of course that I've been here the past three summers and know where things are located on campus and know the neighborhood, the city, and the region. I'm all settled into my apartment.
One thing they do here that's really helpful (and maybe American universities do this too and I'm just not aware of it since it's been awhile! ...) is put the course syllabus online. It is expected that students will read it before going to the first class. So over lunch I read the syllabi for my four courses ... and promptly dropped one of the four. The total workload would have just been too much. So I'm at nine credits now. I'll write more about the courses next time when things are finalized in case I do any more dropping/adding.
All the classes meet once a week for three hours. So the two three-hour orientations were also an orientation to staying focused and following presentations in French for three hours (with no break in one case) in which information was flowing in a constant unbroken stream. The syllabus for two of the three courses said that cell phones are to be turned off and put in our bags, not on the table, and that we are not allowed to have laptops out. Good thing I have good note-taking skills.
I have one class each on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. That's going to be great for coming home weekends. Sometimes I think I'd like to come home most weekends. But I wonder if that defeats the purpose of being here. Time will tell.
The two orientations were very informative, but I'm glad they're done and I'm eager to go to my first class tomorrow!
Sunday, August 25, 2019
it starts one week from tonight
I was updating my calendar today and realized that I will be settling into my apartment in Trois-Rivières, Québec one week from tonight. Woah.
I'm feeling a combination of excited and wistful. I've had a great summer. By this time next week, I will have accomplished everything I wanted to this summer: great times with family and friends, lots of music-making, and home decluttering (o.k., the decluttering isn't 100% accomplished, but is it ever?). My class schedule isn't set yet, more about that in a moment, but I'm really looking forward to being on campus and in classes.
The wistful part: for the first time since fall 2001, I won't be starting the school year at FHS. Last week I went to drop something off there, and for the first time I really felt that I'm not part of the staff any more. I'm still getting staff e-mails and thus got the e-mail with all the first-week-of-school instructions. I read it and realized that I won't be part of that. Of course, the first week of meetings was never the good part; that was seeing the kids. Still, seeing that e-mail really made it hit home that the FHS chapter in my book of life has reached its last page and it's time to start writing the next chapter. I still plan on going to games and performances, and if I'm around to sub I'll certainly be interested in doing so. But there will be kids and staff I don't know, and things will have changed as they inevitably do from year to year. Plus I'll miss my friends. I'm counting on e-mail, texting, and social media to fill that void.
FHS p.s.: it took them a year, but they have filled my position!
Last Thursday I went up to Trois-Rivières to report Friday morning to take the French test required of all non-Canadian students. It's essentially a French SAT without the math. I find it highly amusing that the test is published by the Educational Testing Service, the American company that brings you the SAT. And that was precisely the format; 180 multiple choice questions to answer by filling in the bubble sheet. 90 were listening questions where you only get to hear the text, not read it, and 90 were reading and grammar questions. Grammar is my strength (thanks to three decades of Latin teaching) and I know I got all the grammar questions right. Pretty sure the same is true for the reading. And there were a few listening questions where I had no idea what was said. Just a few, though, so I can live with that! Why this test is a big deal: none of the test-takers can register for classes until we get our scores. We were told that we would get them Wednesday in our e-mail. So I'll be spending Wednesday on my phone until that e-mail comes. 👀 Those who get a low score are required to register for remedial classes. I know I'm not going to get a low score. So I just need to get that e-mail, at which point the registration portal will be opened for me and the others. Shopping for fall classes, yeah!!
Calendar: Wednesday I get the e-mail and register. Friday morning I'll be back on campus for a mandatory meeting for all new international students. As I tell everyone, I hardly feel like an international student, but technically I am. Then I have to come right back as the final concert for my adult band camp (yes, that's a thing, and it's super-fun, this is my second year doing it) is Saturday. Sunday 9/1 I'll be heading up to Trois-Rivières with all my stuff, with a stopover in New Hampshire to watch a college soccer game, specifically to watch the member of the FHS Class of 2019 to whom I was the closest play in his first college game. Sunday night in Trois-Rivières I'll have to grocery shop and stock my fridge because I checked and the supermarkets will be closed there on Labor Day (or, as they spell it where I'm going, Labour Day, or I guess I should say Fête du Travail). So Monday 9/2 will be my day to settle in. Tuesday morning 9/3 I have yet another mandatory meeting for all new students in the French language and literature department. And Wednesday 9/4 it's go time!!
One part of this endeavor has evolved a little bit. I don't have a definite return date anymore. I will stay at least through the fall semester. Then if I decide I've accomplished what I went there to do, I'll come home. If there is something more for me, I'll stay for the academic year. If I want to stay beyond that point and can afford to, I will. All the back-and-forth travel I've done, or had to do, this summer has made me realize that I'm really not going to be all that far away. So I will keep my return date open and play it by ear.
A bit of housekeeping: some people have told me they have tried to comment on past blog posts and weren't able to. Try posting as "Anonymous" if you're having trouble commenting; I'd love to hear what you have to say! Thanks / merci!
I'm feeling a combination of excited and wistful. I've had a great summer. By this time next week, I will have accomplished everything I wanted to this summer: great times with family and friends, lots of music-making, and home decluttering (o.k., the decluttering isn't 100% accomplished, but is it ever?). My class schedule isn't set yet, more about that in a moment, but I'm really looking forward to being on campus and in classes.
The wistful part: for the first time since fall 2001, I won't be starting the school year at FHS. Last week I went to drop something off there, and for the first time I really felt that I'm not part of the staff any more. I'm still getting staff e-mails and thus got the e-mail with all the first-week-of-school instructions. I read it and realized that I won't be part of that. Of course, the first week of meetings was never the good part; that was seeing the kids. Still, seeing that e-mail really made it hit home that the FHS chapter in my book of life has reached its last page and it's time to start writing the next chapter. I still plan on going to games and performances, and if I'm around to sub I'll certainly be interested in doing so. But there will be kids and staff I don't know, and things will have changed as they inevitably do from year to year. Plus I'll miss my friends. I'm counting on e-mail, texting, and social media to fill that void.
FHS p.s.: it took them a year, but they have filled my position!
Last Thursday I went up to Trois-Rivières to report Friday morning to take the French test required of all non-Canadian students. It's essentially a French SAT without the math. I find it highly amusing that the test is published by the Educational Testing Service, the American company that brings you the SAT. And that was precisely the format; 180 multiple choice questions to answer by filling in the bubble sheet. 90 were listening questions where you only get to hear the text, not read it, and 90 were reading and grammar questions. Grammar is my strength (thanks to three decades of Latin teaching) and I know I got all the grammar questions right. Pretty sure the same is true for the reading. And there were a few listening questions where I had no idea what was said. Just a few, though, so I can live with that! Why this test is a big deal: none of the test-takers can register for classes until we get our scores. We were told that we would get them Wednesday in our e-mail. So I'll be spending Wednesday on my phone until that e-mail comes. 👀 Those who get a low score are required to register for remedial classes. I know I'm not going to get a low score. So I just need to get that e-mail, at which point the registration portal will be opened for me and the others. Shopping for fall classes, yeah!!
Calendar: Wednesday I get the e-mail and register. Friday morning I'll be back on campus for a mandatory meeting for all new international students. As I tell everyone, I hardly feel like an international student, but technically I am. Then I have to come right back as the final concert for my adult band camp (yes, that's a thing, and it's super-fun, this is my second year doing it) is Saturday. Sunday 9/1 I'll be heading up to Trois-Rivières with all my stuff, with a stopover in New Hampshire to watch a college soccer game, specifically to watch the member of the FHS Class of 2019 to whom I was the closest play in his first college game. Sunday night in Trois-Rivières I'll have to grocery shop and stock my fridge because I checked and the supermarkets will be closed there on Labor Day (or, as they spell it where I'm going, Labour Day, or I guess I should say Fête du Travail). So Monday 9/2 will be my day to settle in. Tuesday morning 9/3 I have yet another mandatory meeting for all new students in the French language and literature department. And Wednesday 9/4 it's go time!!
One part of this endeavor has evolved a little bit. I don't have a definite return date anymore. I will stay at least through the fall semester. Then if I decide I've accomplished what I went there to do, I'll come home. If there is something more for me, I'll stay for the academic year. If I want to stay beyond that point and can afford to, I will. All the back-and-forth travel I've done, or had to do, this summer has made me realize that I'm really not going to be all that far away. So I will keep my return date open and play it by ear.
A bit of housekeeping: some people have told me they have tried to comment on past blog posts and weren't able to. Try posting as "Anonymous" if you're having trouble commenting; I'd love to hear what you have to say! Thanks / merci!
Sunday, August 11, 2019
one step closer, and what I'll be giving up
Earlier this week, I finally received my admission to the Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières. Well ... conditional admission. The condition I have to meet: I have to go up and take a French test. I laughed. After the enthusiastic encouragement of the department head who had amazingly complimentary things to say about my written and spoken French ... I have to go take a French test. Fine. In my line of work, I understand that they want a test score on a piece of paper in my file. So I will go provide them with one. It will be a good excuse to go check on my apartment.
In making the trip up for the French test, I will be missing what would have been the last get-together of my women's circle before I return to Québec. This is a tough one. This group of women is so dear to me. We have shared our secrets, celebrated the wonderful events and milestones in our lives, and been there for each other during the difficult times. For four of the other six women, I had their kids in school. Our bond will always be there. But I will deeply miss being in their presence regularly.
I've also just found out that I'm required to go to the international students' orientation. I had to laugh again because I hardly think of myself as an international student there even though technically I am. And in attending that orientation, I will have to miss part of a music workshop I've already signed up and paid for and was really looking forward to.
As September gets closer, I'm feeling these and other impending losses more deeply. And there are more losses to come. I realized a few decades ago that once we are well into adulthood, no major move comes without some losses, without leaving some things behind.
My music has been taking off since I started studying guitar last December at the local folk music school and got involved with the school's groups and events. I found my performing niche with their new Cajun group for whom I'm the vocalist (in French) and one of two rhythm guitarists. The group is led by my guitar teacher who performed for a decade with BeauSoleil, probably the most famous Cajun band in the U.S. Mainers might have heard them at the American Folk Festival in Bangor where they have performed a couple of times. Earlier this week I saw my guitar teacher and we had a great conversation. He wants us to perform. And I want to perform, especially with him. We really hit it off and he is just an amazing performer. He knows I'm heading back to Québec shortly. So how will performing work? Will it work? I want it to. But I can't be in two places at once.
And then there's my ties to the school where I taught for the last 18 years of my 33-year career. There are a lot of incoming seniors and their families I'm close to. They won't be part of my day-to-day life any more. I know I'll be back some weekends and during school vacations. But the role the school has played in my life for the past 18 years is over. A few parents of seniors were nice enough to ask me if I would still stay involved with graduation planning. I said I would be happy to but that it has to be the school's decision. The responsible parties at school have said yes, that of course they would like me to stay involved. But will it be realistic? The academic year at UQTR ends April 24, 2020, well before graduation season. So it could work. But a lot of work has to be done before that point that I won't be there to help with. So is it realistic? Is it fair to the people who will be doing that work to just waltz in next April and say hey, I'm back, even though I've been clear that I will not be available until April?
After I wrote the first draft of this post, a tragic event happened in my school community that really brought home the topic of no longer being a day-to-day part of it. An incoming senior boy who was a student in my class as a freshman drowned two days ago in the Saco River. He jumped into the river off a rope swing and never resurfaced. His body was found about 7 p.m. by search divers. At 8 p.m. a parent texted me to tell me that kids were congregating at the school. My reply text: "I'm on my way." And off I headed for the 18-minute drive which I probably accomplished in less than 18 minutes this time. And when I arrived, there they were, all in a big mass in the middle of the parking lot. I estimated about 150 kids. I was a few steps from my car when a boy who had been in my class this year saw me, came running, and collapsed into my arms sobbing. I have no idea how long we stood there, him sobbing, me holding him. It was a while. Then another student came up. And another. And another. For an hour. A parent who was there on the periphery told me later that she wondered who it was that kids were waiting to hug. Then she saw. Oh. It's D-Whit. It was an honor to be there for them, and I'm humbled in the trust they had in me at that moment. And I'm very grateful that I was there in their moment of need and not in Trois-Rivières. At moments when a young person dies, it's important for their peers to see us adults role-modeling that we are grieving but not helpless with grief, that we are putting one foot in front of the other and carrying on, and that we are there for each other. (It's also important for us to take care of ourselves and process the loss away from the kids. Which I am doing. In private.)
Obviously this was an extreme event. But there will be others when I will be longing to be there and can't because of the distance or my class schedule. And it will hurt, whether it's a happy or sad event.
So these days I'm coming to terms with the fact that this choice to go to Trois-Rivières will not come without some losses. I'm dealing with it by reminding myself why I made the decision to go: because I was called to go up there and spend a school year in an area where I've spent three great summers. A calling. A Sirens' Song. And yet two nights ago when I was grateful to have been in town at the moment when we all needed to be together, I started second-guessing myself. This is my community. What am I thinking? Why leave? I have everything I need and want right here. Not everyone handles separations and good-byes well and I've felt some people pulling away already. Am I making a mistake? Am I reading more into "the calling" than is there?
For the moment, I just have to trust the call. I've said all along that the call is so loud and persistent that there must be something up there for me. I need to finish what I started and find out what that is.
In making the trip up for the French test, I will be missing what would have been the last get-together of my women's circle before I return to Québec. This is a tough one. This group of women is so dear to me. We have shared our secrets, celebrated the wonderful events and milestones in our lives, and been there for each other during the difficult times. For four of the other six women, I had their kids in school. Our bond will always be there. But I will deeply miss being in their presence regularly.
I've also just found out that I'm required to go to the international students' orientation. I had to laugh again because I hardly think of myself as an international student there even though technically I am. And in attending that orientation, I will have to miss part of a music workshop I've already signed up and paid for and was really looking forward to.
As September gets closer, I'm feeling these and other impending losses more deeply. And there are more losses to come. I realized a few decades ago that once we are well into adulthood, no major move comes without some losses, without leaving some things behind.
My music has been taking off since I started studying guitar last December at the local folk music school and got involved with the school's groups and events. I found my performing niche with their new Cajun group for whom I'm the vocalist (in French) and one of two rhythm guitarists. The group is led by my guitar teacher who performed for a decade with BeauSoleil, probably the most famous Cajun band in the U.S. Mainers might have heard them at the American Folk Festival in Bangor where they have performed a couple of times. Earlier this week I saw my guitar teacher and we had a great conversation. He wants us to perform. And I want to perform, especially with him. We really hit it off and he is just an amazing performer. He knows I'm heading back to Québec shortly. So how will performing work? Will it work? I want it to. But I can't be in two places at once.
And then there's my ties to the school where I taught for the last 18 years of my 33-year career. There are a lot of incoming seniors and their families I'm close to. They won't be part of my day-to-day life any more. I know I'll be back some weekends and during school vacations. But the role the school has played in my life for the past 18 years is over. A few parents of seniors were nice enough to ask me if I would still stay involved with graduation planning. I said I would be happy to but that it has to be the school's decision. The responsible parties at school have said yes, that of course they would like me to stay involved. But will it be realistic? The academic year at UQTR ends April 24, 2020, well before graduation season. So it could work. But a lot of work has to be done before that point that I won't be there to help with. So is it realistic? Is it fair to the people who will be doing that work to just waltz in next April and say hey, I'm back, even though I've been clear that I will not be available until April?
After I wrote the first draft of this post, a tragic event happened in my school community that really brought home the topic of no longer being a day-to-day part of it. An incoming senior boy who was a student in my class as a freshman drowned two days ago in the Saco River. He jumped into the river off a rope swing and never resurfaced. His body was found about 7 p.m. by search divers. At 8 p.m. a parent texted me to tell me that kids were congregating at the school. My reply text: "I'm on my way." And off I headed for the 18-minute drive which I probably accomplished in less than 18 minutes this time. And when I arrived, there they were, all in a big mass in the middle of the parking lot. I estimated about 150 kids. I was a few steps from my car when a boy who had been in my class this year saw me, came running, and collapsed into my arms sobbing. I have no idea how long we stood there, him sobbing, me holding him. It was a while. Then another student came up. And another. And another. For an hour. A parent who was there on the periphery told me later that she wondered who it was that kids were waiting to hug. Then she saw. Oh. It's D-Whit. It was an honor to be there for them, and I'm humbled in the trust they had in me at that moment. And I'm very grateful that I was there in their moment of need and not in Trois-Rivières. At moments when a young person dies, it's important for their peers to see us adults role-modeling that we are grieving but not helpless with grief, that we are putting one foot in front of the other and carrying on, and that we are there for each other. (It's also important for us to take care of ourselves and process the loss away from the kids. Which I am doing. In private.)
Obviously this was an extreme event. But there will be others when I will be longing to be there and can't because of the distance or my class schedule. And it will hurt, whether it's a happy or sad event.
So these days I'm coming to terms with the fact that this choice to go to Trois-Rivières will not come without some losses. I'm dealing with it by reminding myself why I made the decision to go: because I was called to go up there and spend a school year in an area where I've spent three great summers. A calling. A Sirens' Song. And yet two nights ago when I was grateful to have been in town at the moment when we all needed to be together, I started second-guessing myself. This is my community. What am I thinking? Why leave? I have everything I need and want right here. Not everyone handles separations and good-byes well and I've felt some people pulling away already. Am I making a mistake? Am I reading more into "the calling" than is there?
For the moment, I just have to trust the call. I've said all along that the call is so loud and persistent that there must be something up there for me. I need to finish what I started and find out what that is.
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