Threads in the American Quilt

July 1, 2026 Michael21 Comments

My Memoir class is winding down. I only have two more classes left! The topic yesterday was America’s 250th birthday. We were given a lot of leeway on how to approach it. Initially I was uncertain as I don’t feel all that patriotic right now, and I was worried the tone of my writing would seem over the top negative. So, I thought and thought about it. Since teaching was a major component of my life, my mind naturally drifted to the units and topics that I taught my students since I was an American history teacher. I settled on the idea of immigration as we are indeed a nation of immigrants and it kills me how in MAGA-America immigrants are vilified.

And so I wrote about my students, something that comes very easily to me as I lived that life for so long. Those classroom memories I will carry with me until the day I pass. When I got to class, the teacher always decides who is going to go first, and we go around the classroom in order. Much to my chagrin, I was going to be last. I was talking to one guy in class before we began and he told me that he didn’t do the assignment because he thought that what he would say would be offensive to people. I have no idea if he’s a MAGA or not.

When the first lady went, I could immediately tell that her memoir was anti-tRump. She never came out and said those words, but it was definitely evident. The next lady, (I taught her grandson!) talked about family traditions on the 4th. One of them is to have t-shirts made with famous American quotes such as: “Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal”, “In order to form a more perfect union,” “Ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country” and so on. She ended her listing of quotes by saying: “Thank you for your attention to this matter” and that no one would be wearing that t-shirt. I laughed…out loud. YES! The next lady started off her memoir by saying something like this: “There are 862 days until are next presidential election.” There was not a question in anyone’s mind that she was most definitely anti-tRump.

And then a lady named Jennifer read her memoir. She is an African-American who grew up in Gary, Indiana. She talked about racial discrimination and what it was like being a black female growing up in the 1960s. Her account of some of the injustices she and her family suffered brought tears to my eyes. There was one time where her voice cracked and she started to cry. It is something that I will never forget. I went up to her after class and told her that her writing moved me to tears and I gave her a hug.

Like I stated, I went last. As I was rereading my memoir before I left for class, I realized that I had actually blogged about this very same classroom event last year. I had totally forgotten that I had done that. As I was reading it, people were really laughing (at the right parts). I really never thought it was all that funny as it was just what happened. I think it went well. Our next topic is “My Favorite Historical Place.” I am not sure how I’ll tackle that one, but I know something will pop into my head.

My Memoir:

America’s 250th Birthday

I remember the bicentennial. I was home from college and my brother was graduating from high school. His whole graduation was in red, white, and blue, despite the fact that the school’s colors were purple and gold. I thought it a bit over the top at the time, but now, looking back, maybe not so much. I remember the parades, the fireworks, and the feeling of pride to be an American. A country with a revolutionary idea that actually came to fruition.

To be quite honest, I am not feeling that same sense of jubilation now. I still have hope for our country, but I am very disillusioned. I find myself feeling angst when I read the news, I find myself getting angry, and I find myself fondly looking back on the days when there were certainly differences of opinion, but not the discourse that we are confronted with on a daily basis.

We are a nation of immigrants. That cannot be argued. Unless you are a Native American, we all have roots somewhere else. I sometimes like to think of our country as a beautiful quilt, the different patches all sewn together, sealed with the common threads of empathy, kindness, along with the appreciation and the accepting other’s differences.

When I taught American history, I did a unit on immigration. The students learned all about Ellis Island and about the origins of the people that passed through what is now a national landmark. Instead of giving them a test at the end of the unit, we actually reenacted immigrants going through customs and emigrating to the USA. A few of the students were processors, taking on the role of administering the paperwork that was necessary for an immigrant. A few were doctors, a few asked background questions, and a few tallied up the totals and helped decide if they were to be admitted to the country or deported. Each processor came with a back story. Some were once immigrants themselves. A few of the immigrants had prejudices against certain groups of people.

The immigrants were actually real people that existed, each with a closed story and an open story. The open story was obvious to the outsider. The immigrants might have had a cough, they might have had a broken arm, some were religious, some were well off, or some were poor. The closed story was something that they were not allowed to share with anyone in the class; the information was something that could not be seen by just looking at them. This could include political leanings, if they were illiterate, or if they had any past misdeed in the “old country.”

When I was giving out the roles to my students, I tried to match the kid’s personality with the role that they were playing. If they were quite theatrical, I would give them a part that would highlight their love of being the center of attention.

We would spend class time researching their parts. Whenever a question would come up, like “Did this happen?”, I would direct them to that wonderful invention, the internet, and they would do research. I had a bevy of websites for them that were kid friendly.

One of the immigrants in the cast of characters was pregnant. The girl who got that part was initially quite apprehensive about playing that role. She came up to me one day in class and asked, “Were there any babies born on Ellis Island?” My usual response was: “Look it up and do some research.”

She went back to her seat, and began researching. She came up to me about 30 minutes later and could rattle off to me the number of births that actually occurred on Ellis Island. She then asked me if she could go into labor the day of the reenactment. I had never had a student ask me that before, but I told her that she could. I told her I wanted it to be historically accurate so she needed to find out the procedure for an event like this.

I spent about two weeks on this unit. Polish immigrants had to learn some Polish, Italian immigrants Italian, and so on. They also had to have a costume that depicted their culture and heritage. It was fun to see the different groups in my class try and learn a few phrases in their language. I told them that they could also try and speak some broken English too.

I always invited other classes to view the reenactment as an audience is the optimal way to get kids to really put forth their best. On the day of the reenactment, I actually forgot all about the prospective birth in the classroom. There was so much going on at once with kids at different stations and it was a class of 35, so as I said, lots of things to witness. This girl was at the tail end of the immigration line, another reason for me to forget about the impending birth.

About halfway through her processing, she let out a blood curdling scream, and in broken English she said, “My water has just broken!” She had told no one about what she intended to do, so it was a total shock to the entire audience and to my class as well. She even somehow managed to have a puddle of water magically appear on the floor.

Within seconds, the two kids that were playing the doctors took charge and told everyone to stand back. And miraculously everyone listened. By this time, you could hear a pin drop as the “doctors” did some triage and helped deliver a beautiful plastic baby that somehow managed to be hidden in that girl’s costume.

Usually a couple of kids got deported, especially if they had a disease. One of the characters had a rash that was on his arms, and would only be visible if the doctor made the student roll up their sleeves. So some years that character got in, some years not. And there was a priest who always got in, but in his closed background he had killed a man.

After the event, we always had a debriefing where the students would share their feelings about what transpired. We had great conversations about the bravery that it took to cross an ocean, and the fear and worry that many of them felt at Ellis Island. The beauty of this reenactment is that it got the students to think critically about coming to America to begin a new life, and what it means to be an American.

To quote some former presidents:

John F. Kennedy: “Everywhere immigrants have enriched and strengthened the fabric of American life” [1]. [1]
Ronald Reagan: “We lead the world because, unique among nations, we draw our people — our strength — from every country and every corner of the world” [1]. [1]
Franklin D. Roosevelt: “Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists” [1]. [1]
George Washington: “The bosom of America is open to receive… the oppressed and persecuted of all Nations And Religions” [1]. [1]
Barack Obama: “We are and always will be a nation of immigrants. We were built by people who took a risk to come here”
George W. Bush: At its core, immigration is a sign of a confident and successful nation. Immigrants’ talent and hard work and love of freedom have helped us become the leader of the world.”

We are a nation of immigrants.

It is very hot here today. The high is “only” 97, but tomorrow and Friday should be 100+ temperatures. I am finding that I need to water some of my plants in pots twice a day. I went for a run early this morning and then came home and took the dogs for a walk before it was too hot. We keep our AC at 80 during the day. As I am typing this I have the ceiling fan on, so life is good. Thank God for electricity and ceiling fans.

Randy Rainbow is out with a new video!

Stay cool!

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

Shirley & the TV

June 29, 2026 Michael36 Comments

The “dog days” of summer are here. It has been very hot and humid and the forecast for next week looks like it will be even hotter. Thank God for AC. My plants on the deck are doing well. Though I am not a fan of the heat, they are thriving. We’ve actually even had some of the tomatoes and I made some marina sauce yesterday using the fresh basil.

Michael’s surgery went well. We had to be at the hospital at 5:30 in the morning. I woke up at 2:30 as I couldn’t sleep, which is typical for me. The hospital is only about a 10 to 15 minute drive from our house, but I still got up way too early. I stayed with Michael until they wheeled him into surgery, then drove home to take care of the dogs. They told me that they’d call me when he was in recovery. I don’t think he anticipated the pain from this procedure as he’s not been a happy camper. He plans to go back to work next Thursday, with me driving him there.

We have a very interesting nightly TV habit. I have two shows in the rotation as does Michael. Therefore, in every 4-day span, we alternate between our shows. Currently his shows are Survivor 50 and Outlander. One of my shows that was in the cycle was Euphoria. Has anyone ever watched that show? I picked it as I had heard a lot of hype about it, and the first season had gotten a lot of good reviews. I found the plot interesting, but also depressing. There weren’t a lot of redeeming characters, and every other word was f*ck. Not that I am a prude, but it was a bit too much for me. After we finished season 1, I decided to try something drastically different. I needed something kindler and gentler. I selected “All Creatures Great and Small” on PBS. We have currently watched the first two episodes. In case you do not know about the show, it is about a vet in 1937 England.

I like the show, and it is such a nice change of pace from Euphoria. The thing that is very interesting is that Shirley LOVES the show too. Since it is a show about animals, it caught Shirley’s attention. Every time an animal would be on the screen, she’d run to the TV and watch intently. I have never had a dog do that. There was a scene with a bunch of cats at the vet’s practice. When she spied the cats, she ran up to the screen and began to cry. She cried so loudly, that we couldn’t hear the dialogue, plus we were laughing so much at Shirley. When I adopted Shirley at the shelter, I remember going to their front desk and Shirley was walking through the lobby. There was a cat also there, and she totally ignored it. I thought to myself, “great.” I didn’t want an aggressive dog that chased cats. I don’t know what happened, but now she likes to chase them. Our neighbor’s cat frequently visits our backyard even though it is fenced. When Shirley sees that cat, she runs like the wind to catch it, and of course she never does. Poor little Murray just watches. Sometimes he doesn’t have a clue. Part of his allure I guess.

Trust me, we are not winos. Michael collects wine from local wineries, but yet we hardly ever drink it! We have the show on captions as sometimes the accents can leave us a bit befuddled!

Have a good week everyone! Tomorrow is my memoir class. Our topic this week is America’s 250th anniversary. Last week I gingerly mentioned to a couple of the classmates about my feelings about the felon. Much to my glee, they shared my opinions. There is hope!

Have a great week.

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

The Wisdom of Years

June 25, 2026 Michael24 Comments

My memoir class is turning into something that I didn’t really expect. I am liking the class, and I am really enjoying the people. Even tabaca lady! For the class this past Tuesday, we read our memoirs about the advantages of growing old. Some of them were really moving, some of them were really written in a way that made the whole class laugh in unison. I am learning to appreciate the differences in each person’s style of writing. Some people are more serious, some more jovial. But everyone does have their own voice.

However (there always is a however) there is one guy in the class that absolutely gets on my nerves. I can tell he also annoys other people because when he “reads” his memoir entry, I look around the classroom and watch the faces of the students and the teacher. He frequently starts off reading, but then he morphs into randomly saying words. Kind of like tRumps “word salad.” It makes no sense at all. Today he began talking about women and menstruation. And going through menopause. What in hell? I watched the women in the group and I could see their discomfort. Sometimes a face can say things that words don’t.

At break, one lady came over to me and said how much she enjoyed my writing. She said she found it humorous. I discovered today that she’s 95 years old. She doesn’t look a day over 80!

I took the dogs for a nice long walk this morning. The temperatures were wonderfully cool….in the high 70s so we went for a walk by the river. We ended up in a park next to the river and I snapped the photo below. Murray seems to be feeling well and enjoyed the outing. Still no word on the blood work yet though.

The Advantages of Growing Old

Moral #1: Being able to listen to your body

This is a hard one to write about as the aging process sometimes does leave me a bit unsettled. When I look in the mirror, sometimes I see myself as really not all that old. On the other hand, sometimes I see this old guy staring back at me. I notice every wrinkle, every bag, every piece of drooping skin. When I say these things to my mother, she just laughs. She will be 92 in October; of course she should laugh.

I negatively notice my aging when I am doing something physical. Since I was in college, I have been a life-long runner. I began when my roommate would lace up his shoes and go out for a run, rain or shine. I thought that there must be something to it when he’d go even if the weather was inclement. So one day I asked him if I could join him, and that’s where my love of running began.

I began to enter races. I wasn’t anything spectacular, kind of like a middle-of-the pack type of runner. Even though I was never the fastest, what I began to really relish was being outside, feeling the elements on my face, and feeling the burn in my lungs when I tried to push myself to go a little faster.

As my years advanced, the injuries began. Being my stubborn self, I wouldn’t slow down and stupidly, I would run through aches and pains and that pigheadedness led to two different operations on my feet. One of them was my achilles tendon. The achilles tendon doctor told me that I would never run again. But I guess my obstinate self was not to my detriment this time because I was determined to prove the doctor wrong. After my foot had healed, I gingerly started running again, but this time, I listened to my body, and I wouldn’t push myself if I felt something was amiss.

But as we all know, the body gets older, and I have had to slow down my running tremendously. I have learned to listen to my aches and pains, and now, I walk more than I run. But fortunately I have two really great dogs that are my company now, and we frequently will go for a six mile walk. It is not quite the same thing as running, but it is a great compromise. I get to be outside and be one with nature. And when I walk, I notice things more, things that were always right in front of me, but I was too busy trying to run as fast as I could.

Moral #2: Older does mean Wiser

With age comes wisdom. There has never been a truer statement. Drawing on life experiences really does help make important decisions and to accept that not everything is going to go as smoothly as one would hope.

As a teacher, these life experiences really did help me to become better at my profession. And as a senior teacher, I found myself becoming increasingly annoyed with administrators being all knowing and telling us how to do our jobs when in fact that had only taught a couple of years before climbing the ladder into administration. I was old enough to be their father!

With each passing year, it seemed like more of my job was consumed with pointless paperwork. Filling out forms, writing out lesson plans to be turned in, making sure that class objectives were written in the correct jargon of the moment.

I went to a summer soiré at a former colleague’s house a couple of weeks ago. We were talking about the utter nonsense that teachers deal with and the hoops that have to be jumped through. I told them this story, and you know what? Because I am now old, I simply don’t care what people think.

This was a an evaluation conference at the end of the school year.

Administrator: Do you use data to plan your instruction?

Me: What do you mean, data? Like previous test scores?

Administrator: Yes, how do you use data to plan your instruction?

Me: I don’t use data.

Administrator: What!?

Me: I don’t use it.

Administrator: Then how do you plan your instruction?

Me: I use my gut.

Administrator: Your gut?

Me: Yes. I can tell in the first week what they know and what they don’t know. I don’t need to use data to drive this ship. They are humans with all sorts of baggage. I use my gut.

Administrator: Ok..

The Administrator goes on to look at my assessment improvement. We had to give a pretest at the beginning of the year, and a posttest at the end of the year, which was the same exact test. We had to put the scores on a spreadsheet where we are graded on how much better they did. The whole thing makes no sense because it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that they’d do better at the end of the year after having actually been taught it. She complemented me on the scores.

Here’s the bad thing I did: I never gave the post test. I made the scores up and put them on the spreadsheet. I was careful not to inflate them, and since I taught these students for two years in a row, I really did know what they knew!

My justification: No one ever looks at the scores, and I don’t get any more money in my paycheck for having them all reach “the goal”. We are also not allowed to grade the posttest. I thought to myself, “Why am I wasting time giving them a test that I cannot grade when I could actually be teaching them something.”

When I told my friends this, they uniformly uttered in shock: “What, you did what?”

Me: Yup. I made them all up.

Laughter erupted. I think mostly because all of us know that some of the things that make us do in education are pure and utter BS.

The funniest part of this whole story involves my co-worker in the classroom next door. She followed the rules and tested her kids. Some of them didn’t make the goal. So a different administrator calls her in and asks her about the students who weren’t proficient. My co-worker is an excellent teacher, but kids are kids and not all of them did well. So guess what the administrator did? She erased one kid off the list and changed another student’s score so that this teacher would meet her goal. I found this out after I had my evaluation meeting. So I really had no reason to feel guilt about it all…I was on the cutting edge of education. Why give a test when if they don’t do well you just change the scores? Don’t give the test at all!

Instead of giving a bogus test, I had my students write about what part of history they’d remember the most from my class. I got some really good compositions and reflections, and to me, that’s what is important, not a test score.

The greatest thing about growing old is learning just what is important in life, and what things really aren’t worth the worry. To quote Ingred Bergman: “Getting old is like climbing a mountain; you get a little out of breath, but the view is much better!”

Take care everyone,

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

Sick Murray, Dating, and Optimistic Soap

June 23, 2026 Michael29 Comments

After Shirley’s time with being sick, I guess Murray didn’t want to feel left out. Yes, he was sick. His thing was that he stopped eating. After a day and a half of no food, I called the vet and they suggested that he come in for an appointment. Murray is about two years old, so I didn’t think this was anything but some sort of stomach bug. Something that maybe he picked up from Miss Shirley.

The vet examined him, and suggested that we do some bloodwork and do an x-ray. Of course I said, “yes”, but the back of my mind was thinking about how much it would cost, considering I had just spent $743 on Shirley. We waited for a bit of time until the results of the x-rays and bloodwork were finished. The vet came in, and I could tell that something was not 100% right by the tone of her voice. She has a suspicion that Murray might have Addison’s Disease. The minute she said that, my worry meter jumped sky high as that’s what Murphy had before he died of cancer. The vet noticed the distressed look on my face, and I told her about Murphy and what had happened with him.

They have sent off the bloodwork to Texas, and they told me that when the bloodwork comes back they will give me a call. Fingers crossed he’s okay. They put him on some medication to help with the stomach issues, and he is vastly improved. I snapped the photo on the left of Murray yesterday. The happy look on his face is such a relief. That dog is my shadow as he follows me all over the house. He stares at me when I am fixing dinner and I have set up a little bed for him in the kitchen so he can watch me comfortably. On the right is my beloved dog Murphy, who died in 2021. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him.

On Other Fronts….

Michael is having surgery on Friday for a hernia. It is five hour start to finish same day procedure type of thing. I will be playing nurse maid this weekend. He plans to return to work next Wednesday. We are planning a trip home to upstate NY for August. We are flying up as it is just a bit too far to drive. We have a friend coming in to watch the dogs, but she told us to have a backup just in case she can’t do it. I am planning on calling the kennel that we’ve used before, but if we do have to put them in a kennel, I dread the moment as Murray will be out of whack. He needs his routine. Hopefully that won’t happen.

My daughter just turned 30. She called me on Father’s Day and we talked for a long time. I asked her if she was dating anyone, and she told me about a few dates that she’d been on. She was recounting one date where the guy picked an Irish pub in Queens to have dinner. They met at the restaurant. When it was time to order, the date told my daughter to pick what to eat for the two of them. My daughter thought this odd, and basically told him just that. But he insisted. So decided to order tacos. The guy jumped all over her and said, “Why would anyone order Mexican food in an Irish pub?” To condense this story, they ended up ordering separately anyway, and he ordered something Asian. My daughter, being the outspoken person she is, said to him, “You were all over me for ordering tacos, and then you order something Asian?”

The date went downhill from there. My daughter, who is not afraid of stirring the pot, asked him who he voted for in the 2024 election. Wow…a political tinder box. He told her he didn’t vote. Well, that pissed my daughter off because she feels like it is one’s duty to vote. She then asked him what issues mattered to him that were facing our country, and he couldn’t think of anything. Needless to say, that was the first and last date. This weekend she’s meeting a guy in Central Park for a walk. Hopefully a better match!

If you need a little pick me up from the chaos manufactured by the felon, watch this video from optimistic soap. This woman cracks me up. She doesn’t have a youtube channel. She just posts reels on Facebook. I plan on ordering some things for my sister. If you have time check her out!

https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1cV9reECYm/

And speaking of the felon, I think the whole Reflecting Pool fiasco is a metaphor for his presidency.

Saying you are going to do something better than your predecessors.
Going ahead and doing it without proper research.
Hiring the worst people to do it.
Cost overruns
Total failure
Blaming either Biden or Obama

I watched Michele Obama’s speech at the dedication of his library, and I saw Joe Biden and Obama wipe a tear from their eyes. God how I miss them. Civility, dignity, class and honor. Something that is totally lacking now.

Have a good week,

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

Finding My Voice

June 17, 2026 Michael37 Comments

It was good to get back to my memoir class after missing it last week. I never thought in a million years that I would write that first sentence. But I am finding that I am growing to really like the class, despite being a bit nervous every time reading my assignment for the week. As I have stated earlier, the class certainly has some colorful characters in it, but that makes it all the more enjoyable. I am getting used to the “tabaca” lady too. She is opinionated and domineering, but I think deep down she has a good heart.

Yesterday, the assignment that was due was “You Can’t Take a U-Haul to Heaven.” Since I missed the class prior, I decided to write about that assignment which was “I Love Church Music,” as I had something in mind that I thought I could write about. Many of the students talked about decluttering their lives as one would expect. The “tabaca” lady went through EVERY room of her house and told us how she has decluttered each space. She even talked about her different coffee mugs in the kitchen. In a million years, I could never talk that much.

Terry, the lady that usually sits next to me talked about something different, her lifetime friend, Kate. She doesn’t always write on topic, but that’s one of the reasons I like her. She writes well, and it is very easy to listen to her words. She wrote about their river boat cruise in Europe some years ago, and how her friend would always tell people on the boat that she was deaf. Terry described her anger at Kate for not allowing her to share about her disability and the fight that ensued. She brought the story back to herself, realizing that she did need to speak up about her disability and not have her friend do it. The story was touching and it felt like you were watching a movie script unfold.

I shared my story about Father Perkins. I blogged about him a bit last week. My memoir is below:

“I Love Church Music”

I come from a family of tone deaf people. I am the only one who can sing. When my mother and sister sing, it is painful to be in earshot. It really is just plain awful. My brother cannot sing either, and oddly enough I never heard my father sing at all. For all I know, maybe he could sing and just chose not to. He died at a young age and maybe if he had grown old, he might have been less self-conscious about singing. I will never know.

I grew up in a small town where there were three churches. There was a Catholic church, a Methodist church and an Episcopalian church. About 75% of the town was Catholic, descendants from either Québec or Ireland. The other quarter of the population were Protestant. I was raised as an Episcopalian.

I don’t know how this was possible, since religion and public school education are supposed to be separate, but every Monday the school would let out early and off we’d go to religious education. There were a bunch of Catholic buses, a Methodist bus and my Episcopalian bus that would transport us to the three churches, and then bring us back to the school an hour later to be transported home.

I HATED religious education. We would enter the church and there would be chairs arranged in a circle in the front of the church. That’s where we’d sit. The first thing the priest did every week was to go around and ask us why we weren’t in church on Sunday. He was cruel and sarcastic, and I dreaded when it was my turn to speak. I guess I was the spokesperson for my brother and sister, as he never called on them, and since I was the oldest, maybe he thought it was my job to answer his inquiry. I was always happy when my mother did bring us to church because I didn’t have to dread the interrogation by Father Perkins. I was a 10 year old child, how was I to control if I was to go to church or not?

Even though it has been over a half-century, I can still remember what Father Perkins looked like. He was bald and had huge jowls. He also had a colossal belly. It protruded so much that if one looked close enough you could see the outline of his belly button. Every week when I was sitting in the circle and waiting for my turn to give an excuse as to why we weren’t in church, I would stare at his gut and do an inward smile. Somehow that helped calm my 10 year old nerves.

After months of this religious interrogation, I decided that I had to do something to avoid being grilled in front of everybody. So I asked my mother if I could join the church choir. They rehearsed during the week, and also the choir had to go to church early on Sunday to practice the hymns. I told my mother that I was old enough to walk to church as it was only a couple of blocks away.

Therefore I joined the choir. The church had a very old pipe organ that somehow used pumps. When the sound emanated from the organ, it was simply beautiful. The organist frequently would hit the wrong key, but it didn’t matter to me, I loved to sing and I loved how the organ music meshed with all of our voices.

Every Sunday, I would walk to church early, find my robe, and I would begin practicing with the choir. As I became more confident in my singing, I would sing louder. When the service began, we walked in a procession down to the front of the church, where the choir sat. I can remember walking behind the cross, filled with wonderment. The stained glass windows on a sunny day were stunning, and the music that came from our choir inspired me.

One day, close to Christmas, the choir director pulled me aside. She told me that I had a beautiful voice, and that she had noticed that I had become much more confident in my singing. She told me she wanted me to sing a solo on Christmas Eve, “O Holy Night”. Before she could take a breath after her last words, I said, “no”. I told her that I would be too nervous, and that I was afraid I’d mess up. Instead of coaxing me and giving me further compliments, she told me that she’d talk to my mother. And that’s exactly what she did. With my mother’s gentle persuasion, I agreed to do it.

When I awoke on Christmas Eve, I was a jumble of nerves. Everything just seemed off. We didn’t even have snow, and for upstate NY, that was unusual. My five year old sister was filled with anxiety as she was worried that Santa’s sleigh wouldn’t be able to travel over snowless ground.

I can remember my 11 year old self walking with my mother and siblings down to the church. I can recollect looking at the program, seeing my name on it, and getting more and more nervous. When it was my turn to sing, I got up out of my pew and faced the congregation. The pit in my stomach was indescribable. I looked over at the choir director placing her hands on the keys playing that first note. And then I began to sing. Within seconds my nerves dissipated, and I became one with the music. When I finished, so relieved, I walked over to the choir pew. I looked at my mother and she was smiling at me.

During the final hymn of the evening, “Joy to the World,” something very unusual happened. We could all hear a storm brewing outside, and then much to everyone’s surprise, a bolt of lightning made its appearance, followed by a huge clap of thunder. I can remember looking up at the stained glass window near my pew, seeing how the light radiating through the colored glass created something uniquely magical.

When we left the church a few minutes later, it was snowing quite hard. My sister was thrilled beyond the moon that Santa would actually make it after all. To this day, when I hear the song, “O Holy Night”, I cannot help but think back to that night and to my 11 year old self, petrified of singing to a group. And I guess I owe a thanks to Father Perkins for inadvertently getting me to join the choir.

The next memoir prompt is “The Advantages of Growing Old”. This should prove to be an interesting topic as sometimes I find it hard to find anything good about getting older, but I will look for the silver linings of seeing more and more wrinkles on my face. And speaking of growing old, I went to a party at a former colleague’s house. Someone brought a year book to the party from back in 2009. And the someone was a science teacher who was in the 7th grade that year and is now on the faculty. Egads! Looking at that photo gives me two things to ponder. Wow, 2009 seems like yesterday, and Wow squared….I have aged quite a bit!

I took a photo of the photo in the yearbook. The three of us on the left have now all retired, and the one on the right is no longer teaching. Things change, life goes on.

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

Schadenfreude & A Sick Miss Shirley

June 11, 2026 Michael20 Comments

I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather for the last couple of days. Nothing major, really, just a respiratory thing that I think is a cold. I have had a bit of a low grade fever with coughs and aches and a runny nose. I took Michael to the airport yesterday for his business trip to California, so it is just me and the dogs. I took them on a long walk yesterday after dropping Michael off at the airport. We went on the Virginia Capital Trail, a multi-use path that connects the city of Richmond with Williamsburg and Jamestown. We walked for about six miles as it wasn’t too hot. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have pushed it so much as I wasn’t feeling so well. But I am not one to sit still.

I didn’t go to my memoir class yesterday because of my airport duties. The topic for yesterday was “I Love Church Music”. The topic for next week is “You Can’t Take a U-Haul to Heaven.” I am not sure which one I’ll do, but I plan to work on it this afternoon.

With each day I find myself avoiding reading the news because I just get so depressed. I just want this chaos to stop!!! In my moments of doom and gloom, I try and find things to watch that will put me in a better mood. Here are a few below:

This kid, Carter, puts me in the best of moods. He is so cute and adorable and I find when I watch him, it puts a smile on my face. And I need to smile more! Plus I love his British accent.

This next one showed up on my YouTube feed. I have no idea why. I watched it and immediately I found myself moving to the beat of the song. I thought to myself, “If only people would dance instead of fight.” And when I looked at the comments below the video, someone had written basically the same thing. The video also reminded me of a flashmob that my colleague and I organized during gone of our Relay for Life overnight fundraisers. We danced to Kelly Clarkson’s song “Stronger.” We had this great idea to have this flashmob dance, but neither one of us had any idea on how to choreograph a dance. A parent watched our rehearsal and offered to help. She overhauled the entire dance (thankfully) and we performed it on the football field of the high school. It was so much fun! Alas, I have no video proof of this, but that is probably for the best!

The next video I came across was on Facebook. I tried to see if this woman had a youtube channel, but she doesn’t. She started a company called “Optimistic Soap.” The reel she posted on Facebook talks about schadenfreude in reference to the felon getting booed at the Knicks game in NYC. If you have time, give it a watch!

UPDATE: I was typing this post yesterday but interruptions began when Shirley started vomiting. In the span of a couple of hours, she threw up three times. And lots of it. After I would clean it up (of course in the bedroom on the carpet), I would start to work on this post, and then she’d get sick again. I drove up to the grocery store and bought a rotisserie chicken so that I could fix her chicken and rice for dinner. I did that. She ate it then threw up again. By this time, it was too late to take her to the vet. I called the first thing this morning and they had nothing available, but they told me that I could bring her and drop her off and a vet would examine her between appointments.

This reminded me of when I brought Murphy the very last time, back in 2021, and I left him at the office to be examined because he had to do a four hour blood test type of thing. And then he never left the vet’s office as he had to be put down. I become so attached to the pets that I have had. Maybe in a way too attached. I was reminded of that pain I felt back then when I dropped her off this morning.

The vet called me a few minutes ago, and the x-rays turned up nothing, and her blood work looked fine. They are giving her fluids for her dehydration and also a nausea medicine. I am going to go get her in a few minutes. The house is simply not the same with her not here.

Here’s a photo of her from this Christmas at my sister’s house. I am so thankful that all of her tests came out well, and that I can go get her soon.

We will have a quiet afternoon inside as it is so hot today. Maybe I will get a chance to finally do some blog reading. Life has gotten in the way.

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

What Started as a DNA Post Ended up Somewhere Else Altogether!

June 5, 2026 Michael30 Comments

I finally got my ancestry results back from the DNA kit. The results did and didn’t surprise me. I wasn’t surprised as I knew most of my ancestry is from the British Isles. What I found curious is that I have ancestors from France and Belgium too. I have yet to really examine the findings, but I am looking forward to delving into my genetic makeup.

As I have been tracing my roots via ancestry.com, I have discovered that I have two great-great grandfathers that were born in Canada. One of them has a last name that sounds and looks French. Maybe that’s where the French ancestry comes from. Who knows? More research to do!

Below are some screenshots of the report that was sent to me. I find the whole thing quite fascinating.

This image shows the regions where my DNA connects to, and the bottom screenshot shows the percentages.

In my hometown, there are a lot of people with French looking last names that became anglicized in pronunciation. There were also a lot of Irish last names too. No wonder about 80% or so of my hometown is Catholic. The other 20% were either Episcopalian (like me) or Methodist. I can remember that every Monday, our public school would let out an hour early. We would all climb on buses and go to religious education at the churches in town. There were a bunch of Catholic buses, an Episcopalian bus, and a Methodist bus. I don’t know how the school system got away with that as it seems to me that religion was intertwined with public school. I never thought about it as it was just what we did.

I HATED going to religious education. The priest would have us all sit in a circle and would go around and ask each one of us why were weren’t in church on Sunday. He was intimidating and cruel. How can an 11-year old boy really answer that question when it ultimately does indeed involve the parents? I can still remember him dressed up in his religious garb and can also vividly recall his huge belly. Father Perkins was his name. I can also remember being very nervous when it was my turn to respond to his inquiry as to why I was not in church. I had to answer for my brother and sister. I guess because I was the oldest. I found a photo of the church that I took a few summers ago.

I don’t know how this post devolved from my ancestry to religion, but it did! Enjoy the weekend.

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

A Book of Letters & a British Boy

June 3, 2026 Michael28 Comments

My memoir class went well yesterday. I am getting to know the students in the class, and they all seem very welcoming and friendly. The topic was “My Legacy”. I had a hard time with this one as I didn’t want my writing to seem boastful. I wrote about my retirement and about some of the cards and letters that I received. I used one letter to illustrate my legacy as a teacher. No one came up to me and said good job (with the exception of the lady sitting next to me), so I am not sure how I did with it. The next topic is “I Love Church Music.” Initially when I saw that topic, I felt that it would be extremely difficult to write something since church going isn’t exactly in my weekly routine. But then I thought of the year when I was in sixth grade when I sang a solo “O Holy Night” during the Christmas Eve service. But alas, I won’t be in class next week as I have to bring Michael to the airport as he is leaving for a conference in California. I may still write it anyway. I will include the memoir entry below, but as I said last time, please don’t feel the need to read it!

It seems as if the USA lurches from one chaotic thing to another. It appears to me from what I have been reading that the MAGA-verse is slowly beginning to implode. I cannot wait for the day when I get up in the morning and look at my phone with no pit in my stomach, wondering what in hell he has done now.

I started watching cooking reels on Facebook, and now I guess the algorithm has directed tons and tons of cooking videos to my account. One of them I watch is this southern cook where everything she makes comes from a can with tons and tons of processed food. The other day she was making pork chops in a slow cooker. She put the chops in the cooker, then proceeded to add cream of chicken soup, beef broth and onion soup mix. Can you imagine the amount of sodium in that? I got to laughing when she put the soup in. It came out in a gelatinous mass and it made a huge glug. The fake yellow color of the soup turned my stomach. She cooked it on low for four or so hours then served along side some mashed potatoes. But potatoes were pronounced puh-tate-uhs. She is a sweet lady and is fun to watch, but I don’t think I will be making any of her creations. Another cook I have been viewing is this little British boy. He is so adorable and I find when I watch him, I get a huge smile on my face and he puts me in a much better mood. Little kids are like puppies, and I love puppies!

My memoir is below.

What is my Legacy?

I am really not sure what my legacy will be. I would like to think it would be the sum of all of the decisions and choices I have made with my life that have had a positive impact on my loved ones. I would like to think that when people remember me, that they’d remember a kind and gentle soul. Someone imperfect, but always striving to be the best version of himself.

Sometimes when I am in my backyard at night with my dogs, and the sky is clear, I take time just to gaze at the beauty that circles above me. Mountains of stars light years away, twinkling, and beckoning me for my attention . It is in these times that I realize that I am just a little speck on this planet, and in the grand scheme of things, quite insignificant.

So what is my legacy, this mere human on a planet with billions of people? It is very difficult to write about myself, thinking of my legacy and trying not to sound boastful. I am a person who has never strived to be the center of attention, and to be quite honest, I have never enjoyed being in the company of people who seem to turn the conversations back to themselves.

I taught gifted students for the last 22 years of my career. People often think that teaching gifted students is easy because they are well behaved, do their work, raise their hands, and are the proverbial perfect student. That stereotype is far from the truth. They are kids, they get into trouble, and get bored very easily. They can be devious and diabolical because their brains are constantly racing.

On my very last day of teaching, something incredible happened. Before 1st period was to begin, all 200 of the students on my team were called down to the auditorium. I had no idea why as no assembly had been scheduled. I walked into the auditorium and noticed that my former colleague, who had retired a few years earlier, was there on the stage. I turned to one of my students and said, “Do you know anything about this?” The response was simply a smile.

As we got settled in our seats, my colleague began speaking to the students. I don’t really remember exactly what she said as by this time my mind was a jumble of nerves. I was called to sit on the stage, something I really did not want to do. I didn’t want to look out at the sea of students. This whole scenario was an introvert nightmare. I was presented with a bound book and on each page was an individual letter from each of my students. The book was also student illustrated. After I was presented with the gift, students got up and spoke about me. Astonishingly, some of the speakers were boys that really were a handful. They all thanked me for keeping the peace, believing in them, and teaching them something meaningful.

I managed to get through that assembly with no tears falling. I don’t know how I did that as I was so touched by it all. That evening I went to a retirement party where students from my past that were now adults attended. I was given cards and letters. It was all so wonderfully overwhelming.

When I got home that evening, I finally had a chance to go through the book that I was given at school as well as the letters and cards from the party. The note I am going to share perhaps best illustrates my legacy as a teacher.

Congratulations on a well-deserved retirement. While I am pleased to know that seven years after my time in your class students are still learning under your guidance, the news that those coming up will not have the privilege is bittersweet. You always had a way of bringing out the human interest in every period of history, and helping us to relate to people of the past. I am certain that many of your former students would remember fondly the time they founded their own countries, crafted Native American artifacts, and disembarked on Ellis Island. But you did so much more than entertain. You taught us to seek truth, to empathize, to cooperate, and to always take pride in our work. I have always had an interest in history, but because of your class, and the depth of thinking you encouraged, it has become a lifelong passion. I just finished my sophomore year at Virginia Tech as a History Education major, and I can’t wait to get into the classroom and get kids thinking about the past. If I can bring even a fraction of your enthusiasm and skill to my own teaching, I am confident I can guide my future students to success.

I had a banner in my classroom with a famous quote from JFK. “One person can make a difference and everyone should try.” I would refer to it often and remind them that in life, no matter how big or small, people can truly make the world a better place. Hopefully as a teacher and as a person I did just that.

Thanks for reading,

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

Remembering the Washington DC I Loved

May 30, 2026 Michael27 Comments

I ran across the video posted below about DC, a city that I love. I think of all of the cities in the USA, Washington is my favorite. I am not sure why. Maybe it is because I only live two hours south of the city and I have become quite familiar with all of what the city has to offer. It is an easy train ride up to Union Station. Frequently, I would take the train up for the day, just to take in the sights, visit a museum, or go walk through a park.

My colleague and I would take my students up to DC every December on the train and we’d stay overnight near Ford’s Theatre. We’d go to the play, A Christmas Carol, in the evening on that first day in the city. We stayed in an old hotel near the theatre, so it was an easy walk. The students had some requirements to visit specific museums, like the American History Museum, but they also would formulate their own itineraries too. We took tons of parents with us so there never was really an issue of students being unsupervised.

After the play, we’d walk to the White House and look at the displays of Christmas trees. Despite the usual cold, it was always fun to walk around and look at the 50 trees from each state, as well as trees from the territories. The White House Christmas Tree itself was always a marvel to see. One year, we even managed to get an invitation to decorate the office of our senator with handmade Christmas ornaments honoring the children killed at Sandy Hook, CT. This was an idea of one of our students. He wrote a letter to our senator, and we were invited up to decorate the tree. When he spoke to the children, he didn’t talk down to them. That is something I will remember, as well as how proud I was of my students.

Now, today, I just don’t want to go there. It saddens me too much. I came across the video posted below on Facebook. I immediately thought of all of those trips to Washington. I remembered the excitement of the students, sometimes this being their very first ride on a train and on a subway. I can remember them telling us about everything that they had seen when they followed their own itineraries that they created.

And now the city is marred by images of the felon. I cannot wait to see the day when they come tumbling down. UPDATE! I wrote this post yesterday morning then forgot to publish it. Yesterday afternoon a judge ruled that his name has to come off of the Kennedy Center! I also read that a lot of performers have dropped out of the 250 celebration. There is hope.

The video I saw is linked below. If you have time, watch it.

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1Ekyy7rLtm

Love to all,

Michael

Personal Thoughts

When Kindness Comes Full Circle

May 27, 2026May 27, 2026 Michael30 Comments

Yesterday was my memoir class. This week’s topic was “A Lesson Learned”. When we got the assignment last week, I instantly thought about what I was going to write about, but as the time drew closer to actually having to sit down at the computer and do some actual composing, I had second thoughts. I stared at the computer screen for what seemed like forever and my original thought about what I was going to write about kept coming back to me. I guess it is good to go with your first gut instinct.

And so I wrote. Four pages of typing quickly came together. I really didn’t have to think, I simply wrote from my heart. When I finished, I thought to myself, “I don’t think I can read this to the group. It is much too personal.” I knew that more than likely my voice would get a little emotional, and I really don’t know these people. After I finished, I shut my computer and decided to take the dogs for a walk. I thought that maybe a new lesson would come to me and I could do another entry instead of the one that I wrote. Well, on my walk, nothing came to me. Nothing at all.

I got back home again and returned to my computer. I reread my composition and decided to stick with what I had already done. As I said above, I really don’t know these people. And that was the catalyst to decide to go ahead and do it. I have spent most of my life worrying about what others think of me. I don’t know them, why should I care what they think?

As usual, the tabaca lady went first. That meant I was destined to go towards the end of class. I was sitting next to a woman that I’ve really come to like a lot. She is heard of hearing, and I often times feel like I am yelling at her when I talk to her. She told me she was nervous about reading hers because it was personal. I told her I was nervous too, for the same reason. Her memoir was a beautiful story about feeling different, and trying to fit in. Something I sure could identify with.

I read after her, and I felt the nerves in my stomach. I was doing well until I got to the part that gets me every time, and wouldn’t you know it, my voice cracked a bit, and I had to compose myself before continuing. The class didn’t seem to mind and so I went on. I felt relieved after finishing. After class, a few people came up to me and told me what a wonderful and moving story I had written. It felt good to hear some compliments. One guy told me that the writing was braided. I didn’t know what that meant, so I asked him. He explained it to me and then when I got home I looked it up:

“Often seen in personal essays and memoirs, braiding involves taking two, three, or more different “strands” and alternating them using section breaks or white space.” So I learned something new today! I am not sure if my writing was “braided” or not, but I sincerely did appreciate that compliment.

Below is my entry for this week. As I said last week, please don’t feel like you have to read it. I am just publishing here on my blog because this class has really helped me to think about things, and how I write them. My class goes to mid-July. I am not sure how many more entries I will publish on this blog as I don’t want this blog to turn into a memoir fest. The next topic is “Our Legacy.” I am not sure how I’ll approach that one.

A Lesson Learned

The lesson I learned was actually quite simple, but yet amazingly complex. In these troubling times, where watching the news sends me into a stress overload that is sometimes hard to shake, I fall back on this lesson learned. It is all about the inherent goodness of people. That empathy and kindness are important, that it is important to “pay it forward.”

Years ago, I had a student whose name was Michael, just like mine. I can remember his beautiful brown eyes with incredibly long eyelashes. He was an excellent student and a pleasure to have in class. His family I knew quite well, as I taught his older brother and younger sister. I taught in the gifted program at Robious where I would teach the same students for two years in a row, so I got to know my students and their families very well.

It was Back to School Night the second year that I had Michael. Both his mom and dad came. As I was talking to the parents, I noticed that Michael’s parents’ usual positive vibes and smiles were subdued and I immediately thought I had done something to upset them. Unbeknownst to me, Michael’s dad had just been diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia. Of course they were subdued.

The diagnosis wasn’t good. The dad ended up at the VCU medical center undergoing treatments. Michael still came to school every day, participated in class, did his homework, but I knew, just by looking at his eyes, the hell that he was going through.

One day in class, he came up to me and asked if I would sponsor the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life. I told him that I would be happy to do it, having absolutely no idea what it was or what it entailed. I knew he was grasping at anything to help his father and to channel his energy into something positive.

Relay for Life was held at James River High School and would begin on Saturday afternoon and last until Sunday morning. Participants form teams and take turns walking or running around a designated path or track to symbolize that “cancer never sleeps.” People who have died from cancer, people who are fighting cancer, and caregivers are honored. The students all willingly joined the team to help Michael, and we did some individual as well as group fundraising projects. In that first year we raised over $13,000.

I couldn’t believe it. Not only the money we raised, but how wonderfully the students rallied for this cause. Because of this success, we decided to continue our participation. Over the years, we had students create public service videos about cancer, we held talent shows, pasta dinners, and numerous other activities to raise money. The work was exhausting, but very rewarding.

As time moved on, our fund raising became more sophisticated, and we were making up to 25K a year. As with anything, interest began to lag a bit, so I offered my students an incentive. I told them that I would shave my head if we were to break the 30K mark. Of course that excited them. I asked each one of my classes if anyone would like to do it. Every volunteer was a boy who had short hair and a head shave was nothing out of the ordinary for them. It was like a summer cut. I will never forget asking my first period class if anyone wanted to join me in the head shearing. The usual boys raised their hands, but in addition, a girl raised her hand. She had beautiful dark hair with one of those happy faces that just make people smile. I looked at her and said, “Eleanor, are you sure about this?” Her lips turned up into a small smile and she simply said very quietly, “yes.” I told her that we’d need to check with her parents.

After talking with her parents, I discovered that Eleanor’s best friend’s mom had breast cancer and had lost her hair due to her chemotherapy treatments. Eleanor wanted to shave her head in support. As we prepared for the event at James River HS, my colleague and I had an idea that we’d get someone to donate a gigantic tent and that we’d charge admission. The closer to the hair salon, the more one would pay. We got a hairdresser to do the official clipping, and we began selling tickets. The boys all went first, and as their locks dropped to the ground, there were lots of cheers and clapping. And then it was my turn. The cheers were loud as my appearance transformed with every buzz of the razor.

And now it was Eleanor’s turn. She began to laugh as the first buzz went across her scalp. She laughed at the second buzz. And then tears began falling gently from her eyes down her cheek. I was sitting next to her, so I could see first hand that these weren’t tears of regret, but tears for her friend. It was one of the most touching moments from my career. I was told later that there wasn’t a “dry eye in the house.” We had a parent make an anonymous donation of 2,000 dollars that night too, and we ended up making 33K dollars for the American Cancer Society.

A couple of years later, Covid hit. Teaching was very difficult to say the least. We were doing the hybrid model, where half of the class was at home, and the other half was at school. Trying to manage teaching to students at home via the computer along with bodies in the classroom proved to be a very challenging feat. That’s when I, myself, was diagnosed with cancer. I will never forget those words, “You have cancer.”

I decided not to tell anyone except my closest of friends. I didn’t tell my students either. But when the treatments began, I felt I needed to let my parents know what was going on, as I knew I wouldn’t be so quick to respond to emails or getting papers graded. So I wrote a simple letter to them, explaining what was going on. I made sure the letter was succinct and positive. I remember writing that letter, and editing it over and over again so it would sound like I was on top of things, even though inside I wasn’t.

One day, during lunch, I was in my room, alone, prepping for my next class. Two of my colleagues walked in and one of them was holding a box. I said, “Why are y’all here? Shouldn’t you be on lunch duty?” One of them stated, “We got permission to leave. We have something for you from your students.” They handed me the box. I tentatively opened it, having no idea what to expect. Inside the box were gift cards that totalled $1600. There was a note written that said, “We are thinking of you, and wanted you to have this to help pay for your treatments.” It was signed anonymously. It just said, “Your Students.” I have always told my students that the truest form of giving is to simply do so without expecting recognition or anything in return. I guess those words resonated with them.

As I stated at the beginning, the lesson I learned is really quite simple. It just took me a long time to realize that there is kindness and empathy all around. Sometimes you have to look for examples, sometimes the examples present themselves in something quite unexpected.

I came across a video today by John Legend and Dionne Warwick that I thought I’d end with today. I love John Legend’s voice and I have always admired Dionne Warwick. “Walk on By” is one of my all time favorites. I am so glad that she is still performing.