On the Bright Side

I always loved the intention of Thanksgiving as a holiday. A day dedicated to gratitude for the many bounties we are blessed to receive in this great country of ours. What a beautiful concept. We have our ups and downs, but relatively speaking it is difficult to argue that Americans have a lot to be grateful for. And while the history teacher in me cannot ignore that native Americans would rightfully put forth an opposing view here, the spirit of the day was inspired during a brief harmonious time when the newcomers and the natives shared similar goals. Fast forwarding to modern times, taking time out to appreciate what we have still seems like an honorable practice. Additionally, Thanksgiving now kicks off one of the most consumer driven seasons known to man. So as we’re ingesting more food than we were ever meant to in one sitting, let us give thanks and perhaps try to look inside to see what it is we really want for ourselves and for others in the upcoming holiday season. From t

I came across this little nugget in one of my early morning, coffee enhanced Facebook crawls. Among all of the First Day of School photos, recipes and off-color, but often hilarious Someecards cartoons (my favorite is, “I’d rather make new friends than help you move”), I saw this on someone’s wall: “You don’t choose your dreams, they choose you!” I liked it. The idea that fate is somehow at the helm is a reminder that we need to listen to our hearts and be open as life presents us with opportunities. It’s not always easy. Especially for young people. My son, who is entering his senior year in college, came home for a visit this summer. When I asked him about school he was dismissive and a little irritable. After several days of Master-Mom super sleuthing, I finally pulled it out of him: He didn’t think he really liked where his major was taking him and he regretted not following his heart early on. Like so many others his age, he neglected his true self to pursue a major that was

When my husband came home with a Corvette on his birthday last December I gently teased him about his midlife crisis. I mean, it was certified pre-owned, not brand new, so I wasn’t that concerned.Then, to his credit, he reminded me that I had just enrolled in a Master’s program that, by the way, has nothing to do with my current career. It is just for ME! Events like these have been occurring with more and more frequency over the past few years and have me wondering about the fabled midlife crisis that we’re so familiar with in our culture. New sports car - ‘check’; new hobby - ‘check’; empty nest - ‘check’; noticeable physical changes -‘check’; Admittedly there have been some fun things, such as acting like college students more than when we were in college; and some not so fun things, like not seeing eye-to-eye on what the “next phase” of life should look like. But, like anything else, it is a stage of life that we will traverse. Ready or not, here it comes.  I am no strang

My husband and I recently went out to dinner with some friends. We were driving in my car and, in typical mid-semester madness, my books were strewn about on the floor of the car (some things never change). Half-way to the restaurant my friend announces from the back seat, “Hey! This stuff is really interesting. I wish I paid more attention in high school!” She, like almost every other adult I encounter, “hated” history in high school, but now finds it very compelling. Whenever I tell people I teach history to high school students the reaction is always the same. First, they can’t imagine my choice to spend my days in a high school classroom, and second, that I teach the “worst” subject. This aversion always astounds me, although I must admit I posses a similar disinclination to chemistry. Nonetheless, I’ve always loved history, even as a kid. Which is, I suppose, a major reason I was drawn to this profession.  My students inevitability begin each year with the same lack of enthusi

Ages and Stages By Jonna Shutowick. M.S. Ed.   School-aged years are far more challenging for some than we give them credit for. Sure, we all know the middle school years are awkward. What parent hasn’t had to tell their child at some point that “none of this will matter soon, you’ll see”? The early bloomers learn this lesson in late elementary school, most learn it by the 9th grade, but there are some still within the “normal range” who do not understand the truth of this until they are nearly 20. That is a huge 10 years! And, of course, this is the reason for social groupings and cliques and anti-bullying campaigns, and the like. The years between ages 10 and 20 see major shifts in emotional growth and, to compound matters, major physical shifts as well. Not everyone matures at the same rate. Nor do our physical, mental, emotional (and, by proxy, moral) abilities mature necessarily in concert with each other. In fact, a challenge in one area often impedes on the others, cre

As I gently guided the hour-hand around the large clock in my living room, literally removing an hour from my life, it struck in a more visceral way than it usually does. Maybe it was because the clock whose hand (more like arm) I was moving was so gigantic that the act of fast-forwarding through an hour of my morning seemed larger than life, but in the act of being a mechanism of time, I was really tuned into what I was doing. I went into the usual rote dialogue in my head that tells me to regret that I am losing an hour of sleep, an hour to run an errand, an hour to do whatever, when my little dog gave me one of those adorable sideways head tilts that wonders, whatchya doin’? So I explained to her (in that syrupy sweet voice that such a head tilt always elicits) that “we” were losing an hour, and our whole day was going to be shorter now. And then it occurred to me, no one should be more exited for Daylight Savings time than my dog. I had forgotten that we have a tradition during

The Book of Isms by Peter St. Andrade defines more than 100 “isms,” from absolutism to Zoroastrianism, many of them long forgotten. By virtue  of their suffix, isms become principles by which people live. Some isms, patriotism or feminism, for example, can evoke a sense of self-worth. Some illustrate personality types: pessimism, optimism, perfectionism. There are isms named after people whose ideas become so widespread that they become doctrines, names like Confucianism, Darwinism and Marxism. Others pit individuals directly against each other: racism, sexism and ageism. Then there are the isms that move from the personal to the political, such as, communism, capitalism, socialism, imperialism, fascism, militarism, nationalism, totalitarianism, fundamentalism... These isms are the most powerful because they cause masses of people to move against masses of “other” people. They are based on fear that another group of people will become more powerful than ‘my’ group. These are the isms

I took a course this year about Britain in the nineteenth century. When it came time to research my thesis, I was astonished at the amount of archived information available. Primary sources such as personal letters, diary entries, notes on calendars, and comments in the margins of books proved themselves vital in my quest to dig a little deeper. Casual banter about the day’s politics, or a comment about what was seen in the store window that day were, for me, artifacts of my archeological probe into daily life in Victorian England. I began to wonder about the details of our modern lives that are recorded electronically. What if my subject’s best ‘stuff’ was in emails or on Facebook? Would some of the nuggets that were instrumental in my research have just fallen into some electronic abyss few years after he passed? Will ours? I have no box of letters in my closet. Some of my best writing is on my blog. What will historians 100 years from now have access to? Public figures will leave