There’s most of thirty years of teaching.
The rest is in three filing cabinets, my storage building, in about ten other friends’ rooms, and on a huge rolling cart in the hallway, not pictured here.
It took more than a few trash cans to carry off a lot of it…and the process itself: blessedly hurried.
I don’t have time to worry about work right now. Another copy can be made; another book found.
I do not have the luxury of time to decide and file and make things look pretty.
Nothing is pretty. Not right now.
And nobody should be spending part of a Saturday or any other day, boxing up a classroom when she has a husband fighting cancer, who needs her at home.
But such is life.
And, I didn’t want this hanging over me any more. I have things to do and my mind and attention need to be home, not at work.
So, Sara and I finished up this room today. There’s still a lot to do once school starts, but I am blessed with friends who have already messaged me with promises to set up my room, write plans, make copies. That, dear readers, is called help. Friendship. Love.
Of all years, this one, to decide that every teacher should move. But, in that, its own remarkable gift: clarity.
Some things have to be done. Do them and move on.
It’s a load off of my mind to know I do not have to think about work until mid August. The contents of those boxes will be just fine until then, and beyond, if need be.