Last Saturday George bought me a new bike, actually a new trike. Our chiropractor is a big cyclist and has been telling me for years that I needed a recumbent bike to compensate for the no-knee issue that prevents me from walking.
At a friend's suggestion, we visited Tandem, Touring, and Recumbent Bikes downtown. Pretty soon it was obvious that a trike was actually what I needed and, within a few minutes, I was out on the side street, testing those wings that I'd forgotten I had.
Today I took my first ride around the mall at Furman, under the giant oaks of their fifty year old "new" campus. I set a very limited goal for myself - build enough confidence in the coming month that I could ride five miles on flat terrain at a time. It's limited, but it's ambitious. I made it two miles today easily and could have done much more, but my bladder and I haven't adjusted to the posture of this new trike. Half as much coffee tomorrow morning.
George and I came back to the house to search out a way that I can transport the trike by myself, preferably on the back of my car. The back of the pickup is just too high. Seems like it's going to be easier than we thought. I should have a carrier within a couple of weeks, and then, watch out world! Savannah, I'm coming with a trike next time! Biltmore, close and bar the winery doors!
We also went kayaking on Sunday, something I haven't done in a year. We went almost nine miles and I had no trouble at all. In fact, I realized how much independence I've lost in enjoying physical activiites due to arthritis. Hopefully, I can regain it a little at a time and just enjoy some movement with friends and by myself.
George and I plan to take my maiden trip on the Swamp Rabbit Trail from the far side of Furman up to the Cafe @ Williams Hardware for lunch on Friday - if I can get a trike lock before then. He assures me that it's all downhill on the way back. Good - I can stash one of the Cafe's cocoa cookies with peanut butter and oatmeal in my new basket and have dessert.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
July 11, 2009
I haven’t written for this site in months – haven’t looked at it – haven’t mentioned it to anyone. I could barely remember my password to post this entry.
I’ve been absorbed in writing an application for a charter elementary school and the accompanying federal grant that will provide funds to assist in planning and implementation. The charter committee got their ideas together in early February and asked me to join them later that month. I was completely willing – their ideas meshed so beautifully with mine. I got a late start writing in late February and all the work was due by May 1.
I’ve done parts of applications before and I’ve had a $200,000 federal grant funded. But I’ve never tackled anything of this magnitude largely on my own. As we submitted revisions, I had tremendous help from the committee, the loveliest and most talented group of people I have ever worked with. I hope to count them as friends for the rest of my life.
Unbelievably, we are a one hour hearing away from full approval. We really have gotten through the roughest obstacles and should know the end results by mid-August.
The grant will bring $700,000 to the school over three years in addition to the per pupil funds that will flow from the state. One of my life goals was to put a million dollars to work. I wrote that one in my early thirties when a million dollars would do a great many things it won’t do now, but I never really thought I would see it done. Classroom teachers rarely get to see that done.
Now, I am caught up in such a mania of emotional and physical response to our apparent success. Pride. Exhaustion. Disconnect with daily activities with my husband and friends. Disgust at my dirty house. Wondering what I overlooked. And the bizarre sense that it is over. My part is over.
That’ necessary due to a conflict of interest that now exists with other responsibilities I have accepted since February. I’ll be there on the day the school opens, if they invite me. But, from this day forward, it is their school.
Once again, like the last day of school with so many children in so many years of teaching, I’m handing the baby back to the ones who gave it birth. I haven’t felt these pangs since I left the classroom and even then they were dulled by the number of times I had experienced them over the years. Not easier, just familiar. I’d have my five minute cry on the way home and look forward to the things I would do with my own children over the summer.
The years since my retirement in 2000 have stripped away the diversions I used to cope with that kind of separation. It’s anguishing. And I think I want to experience it this time.
I’ve been absorbed in writing an application for a charter elementary school and the accompanying federal grant that will provide funds to assist in planning and implementation. The charter committee got their ideas together in early February and asked me to join them later that month. I was completely willing – their ideas meshed so beautifully with mine. I got a late start writing in late February and all the work was due by May 1.
I’ve done parts of applications before and I’ve had a $200,000 federal grant funded. But I’ve never tackled anything of this magnitude largely on my own. As we submitted revisions, I had tremendous help from the committee, the loveliest and most talented group of people I have ever worked with. I hope to count them as friends for the rest of my life.
Unbelievably, we are a one hour hearing away from full approval. We really have gotten through the roughest obstacles and should know the end results by mid-August.
The grant will bring $700,000 to the school over three years in addition to the per pupil funds that will flow from the state. One of my life goals was to put a million dollars to work. I wrote that one in my early thirties when a million dollars would do a great many things it won’t do now, but I never really thought I would see it done. Classroom teachers rarely get to see that done.
Now, I am caught up in such a mania of emotional and physical response to our apparent success. Pride. Exhaustion. Disconnect with daily activities with my husband and friends. Disgust at my dirty house. Wondering what I overlooked. And the bizarre sense that it is over. My part is over.
That’ necessary due to a conflict of interest that now exists with other responsibilities I have accepted since February. I’ll be there on the day the school opens, if they invite me. But, from this day forward, it is their school.
Once again, like the last day of school with so many children in so many years of teaching, I’m handing the baby back to the ones who gave it birth. I haven’t felt these pangs since I left the classroom and even then they were dulled by the number of times I had experienced them over the years. Not easier, just familiar. I’d have my five minute cry on the way home and look forward to the things I would do with my own children over the summer.
The years since my retirement in 2000 have stripped away the diversions I used to cope with that kind of separation. It’s anguishing. And I think I want to experience it this time.
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