April 5, 2006
I can’t believe it’s April. I was just sitting here thinking about how much time has passed since November. I don’t know why I chose November, other than it seems like a long time ago. And I can’t begin to explain how thankful I am for the passage of time.
Although things are incredibly successful in my classroom recently, what with studying Titus Andronicus and all, I still can’t wait until the end of the year.
Last night it occurred to me that the last day of school this year will be my last day of school in New Haven. On the one hand, it’s very sad for me to realize that. On the other, I can’t be more excited. I’ve been thinking about packing up my classroom — taking all my books off the shelf and bringing them — ¬¶somewhere. Taking down all of my great pictures and tapestries, cleaning out my desktop on the computer. My file cabinet — an overwhelming task in itself.
I wonder when I’ll get a chance to use all of these things again? They are all just things, but now they have this special place and meaning attached to them. If I keep them all locked up in my attic for five years, what will I think when I unpack them again? Why will I be unpacking them, and where will I be using them again? My awesome tapestry that Drew brought me back from Tanzania that I have hanging up next to the Japanese symbol for “happiness” (a framed picture from my friend Rob), the four gigantic pillows that I bought so my kids would be comfortable reading, even the bulletin board my parents bought for me when I was 12 — ¬¶where will I use all these things again?
And I wonder, too, next year when my kids come into this classroom, what will they see? At happy hour at Playwright last Friday, I looked at my colleagues and said, “Today is March 31st. This time next year, I could be anywhere in the world. March 31st next year, I could be anywhere.” The thought is a daunting one, but liberating all the same.