Before ME/CFS, I was a Learning Support Teacher, overseeing a three-room Resource center for students with special needs. It was hectic, always demanding, and I loved it. Four years later, I still dream about teaching, which was the inspiration for today’s poem: “A Call To Teach”. This post, originally penned in November of 2013, captures a day in the life of a teacher.
Sipping my second cup of morning tea, I breathe in the solitude that nature dropped on my doorstep overnight: great mounds of white, silently commanding the world to a halt. The tea is extra sweet and warming when accompanied by the luxury of leisure time.
Shaking off the frayed edges of yesterday’s insanity, I contemplate a more relaxed day – some laundry that has needed tending to all week, a few hours of schoolwork, and maybe even an apple crumble.
The snow continues to fall outside my window, softly, without a sign of letting up and I rise from my last sip and stretch, lingering to revel in the majestic beauty of the landscape before me.
Yesterday, everything was chaos, or so it seemed. The wind was howling and a cold sleet constantly beat against the windows, and indoors, the students were restless, hyper, inattentive, and I was short on…
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