One last time.

What a surprise I gave myself today. It is/was the last day that our old home was ours. I have spent all weekend there cleaning like a freak making sure that when Craig and Louise walk into their new home, they will be met with cleanliness, making the initial feelings about their new home pleasant ones (I hope). Up until this afternoon, I have been grumbly when going over there to clean, anxious "just to put it behind us." I was ready to move on. Or at least I thought I was. Today, all I had to do was go into the front entrance and clean out all the cleaning supplies and paraphernalia that I had cleaned to the entrance with.

As in all proper cleaning jobs, I moved the ever-growing pile of I-have-no-idea-what-to-do-with-this-so-I'll-just-put-it-in-the-pile stuff from room to room. As I cleaned one room, to get pure satisfaction of a clean, empty room, another grew more untidy. Alas, the last room is always a challenge, with bags of mish-mash inevitably arriving back to the new home with the thought of I'll attack those when I have the energy. At any rate, this is what happened here. And I was too tired yesterday to collect the remains that had gathered at the door.

It was supposed to be a quick in and out mission. But I realized that this was the last time that I would get to roam around my house, one last time. Just me and my house. Meandering around, pausing to fondly touch things that were special to me, taking one last look to forever burn these things into my mind, and all with time seemingly standing still. Up to now, leaving this house hasn't phased me. But my memory took over, and I started remembering all the great things that made it a home: Isaac took his first steps right about there; Natty first slept in his big-boy bed in here, Isaac in there; we had the beginnings of trying to reinvent and heal our family after the Cochrane massacre in here; all the meals we've shared; all the work and heart we put into our renovations to make the place completely ours and a reflection of us; our wonderful yard and neighbours... I couldn't help but breaking into a blubbering mess as I wandered from room to room, envisioning and remembering us there, living life. It's not that I don't like where we are now, but I loved that house. Loved it with all my heart. I knew it was fabulous from the start and always liked it more than Dan. But as I walked through, all I felt was sorrow and loss. Be careful little heart, indeed.

I pulled my sniveling self together to go and return Ms. Margaret's things I'd borrowed to clean, as this is the neighbourhood I'm leaving: one where neighbours let you in to their homes and hearts, whatever the reason. I was fine until she asked me how I was doing, and I became unglued yet again. C'mon, Jodi. Have a little dignity here! It wasn't anywhere to be found, I'm afraid. But Margaret gave me a hug and had me in for milk and chocolate-covered biscuits and a visit to help pull me back together. It worked, though my heart still aches for our beautiful little house we made our home. It's a challenge to do the same to this one all over again, but it's the challenge we signed up for. We'll get there. We always do.

The Land of In-between

So today is the last day I teach my students from this year. Usually at this point, I'm a bit choked up as I am going to miss them, and all the memories that we have shared this year together. But I'm not. I counted down to this day from months ago. How long, how long, how long. And now, presto. Fini. What a ride. What an insane ride. Yet we all made it. I don't grieve for missing my students, or the school, but I do grieve wondering if this is the last time (for a while) that I will get to conduct and create beautiful music with the students expectantly waiting in front of me.

Give me summer and my boys for a couple months, and we'll see how the chips fall. I'm up for it.

the glory years.

At book club the other night, I brought up the fact that I believe that I'm getting dumber and dumber as the days tick by. (I have no idea how this fit into the book club discussion at this point, but I do remember there was a certain flow to including it. Or... maybe I just blurted it out. I can't recall, so I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt.) I feel a fraction of what I used to be. I used to be smart, outgoing, witty. I knew what was going on in the world, and I'd have half-intelligent and thought-out opinions to spout out to anyone who queried me. Ask me about a current event now, and my response is most likely a blank, slightly-embarrassed stare, perhaps accompanied by a barely-audible eek. I used to be passionate about how things worked: how society functioned; how my relationships were functioning (Was everything playing out as intended? Was it fair? Was I getting an equal say in the matter and were people hearing me? Was everyone doing their share?) Now I'm just happy if I can scrape through yet another day, have offended no one, have not embarrassed myself, and have had provided food, safety and love for my family.

I used to have visions and dreams and passions about teaching music. And it was my life. My life is focused there no longer. But I still spend time doing it, and I think that knowing what I used to be is what has me aching for that experience again. And yet. I don't have the energy or time to get back to that cherished place. The place where my students adored me (and I them), where I felt like I knew exactly what I needed to do at all times, and could follow through with it. Capably. And receive accolades for my work, insight and talent. What if that was it? My glory years? Dan tells me, Jodi, get over it. That was then. You have to let go of that. It's done. Move on. The wise book-clubbers tell me, Oh no, Jodi, you'll rise again. You're a mom now. You're at home. You're supposed to go brain-dead. But you'll rise again. *deep breath in. and out.* I'll rise again. I like the sound of that. It gives hope and direction. Up. Onwards. Not that having two wonderful (yet taxing and demanding little boys) doesn't. But it's not something I do solely for me. Me, me, me. Mothers aren't supposed to be so selfish. But I'm more than a mother. And I think day after day, it's been easier and easier to forget that.

But I had a fantastically selfish moment this afternoon at school. It was a glimpse of perhaps returning to functioning society and opportunities. All year long, I have felt like a blip on my school's radar. No one has acknowledged myself or the music program, or any of our accomplishments. I took that as fair enough, since I was barely there and wasn't a part of the school's culture. I have almost no relationships built there. But today, after our Spring Concert last night, the principal gave me a talking to that restored a bit of faith in myself. Coming from a principal, I valued the positive, affirming words from her mouth (ok, who am I kidding, I could barely breathe hearing someone talk that way about me again.) But that she's an accomplished musician as well made me value her words even more as she had many specific and pointed things to say about myself, my abilities, my talents with the students, and what knowledge and skills that I have gifted them with this year. I almost floated out of her office. But it made me think, that, yes, given a chance, and a bit of encouragement, perhaps I will rise again. This isn't the end of smart, talented me yet.