Skip to main content

Backward Glance


2019 was a year which seemed determined to break me.

Several times.

As I pondered the theme of this post I was having a New Year’s Eve dinner with my family at the Double T Diner. The Kelly Clarkson song, “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger” got my attention. I remarked to my daughter that there really should be a song called, “Whatever Doesn’t Kill You, Doesn't Kill You.”

Sometimes that’s as good as it gets.

2019 was, for me, a year of loss, betrayal, and outright attack. It was the year I discovered, after eight years of writing my blog, the point at which I would back down. That point was when my husband and family were threatened. I had never feared for myself. But it was quite another thing when it came to the well-being of those I love. I made the best choice under the circumstances but there’s no question that I felt shaken.

As I begin a new year, examining and resorting numerous broken pieces, I’m probably more together than not. I’m adjusting to changes in my personal and professional life, and my blog, although temporarily derailed, has not been defeated. I can’t say any of that has made me stronger. It just hasn’t killed me.

On the other hand, I’m way more grateful for the things I’m grateful for. (Perhaps that should be a song, too.) We were talking at work about what we want to do in the new year and I found myself saying that I want to learn more. That feels promising. If I ever don’t want to learn more, that’s when I’ll know I’m really in trouble.

When I started this blog in 2011 my posts were mostly about the Pioneers vs. the Younger Generations, or Columbia vs. Howard County. All of that pales in comparison to where we are today. Far uglier struggles have emerged and seem unlikely to recede. What came before feels quaint: mere squabbles compared to the shouts and threats, angry taunts and tirades of the past year.

Our village feels less green. Our town, exponentially diminished. We don’t feel as sure about the goodwill of our neighbors as we used to.

But we are still here.

We get a new day, and another year. And maybe we will learn something new.

Sometimes that’s as good as it gets.







Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Teacher Gifts

Today is the last day of school before the Winter Break. It’s a good time to remember the far-reaching nature of our public school system. You may not have children. You may have sent your children to independent schools. It matters not. You will be impacted one way or another. Yesterday I read a long thread on Facebook about several waves of illness in the schools right now. There’s influenza A and norovirus, I believe. And of course there’s COVID. Apparently in some individual schools the rate of illness is high enough for school admin to notify parents.  When I was little the acceptable holiday gift for a teacher was one of those lovely floral handkerchief squares. (I don’t know what it was for male teachers. They were rare in my elementary years.) These days the range of teacher gifts is wider and I have fond memories of Target gift cards which I have written about before. I think it’s safe to say that giving one’s teacher Influenza, norovirus, or COVID is not the ideal holiday...

They Can Wait

This is not a typical Saturday post. That’s because, in my community, it’s not a typical Saturday.  Oakland Mills High School, after years of deferred repair, needs massive renovation. It’s pretty simple: when you don’t fix a problem it gets bigger. The school system itself said the the OMHS school building was  "no longer conducive to learning" back in 2018.  2018 .  But Thursday the Boad of Education voted to push it out of the lineup of important projects which will be given the go-ahead to proceed soonest.  In my opinion it’s a terrible decision and sets a dangerous precedent. To explain, here’s the advocacy letter I sent in support of Oakland Mills High School. I was rather proud of it. I am writing to ask you to proceed with needed renovation at Oakland Mills High School in the most timely and comprehensive manner humanly possible. I have read the letter sent to you by the Oakland Mills Community Association and I am in complete agreement. You are extremel...

Columbia Chance Connection

  Last night, as my husband and I were about to sit down to dinner, our front door swung open and a cheery voice announced, “I’m ba—ack!”  We weren’t expecting anyone. Clearly the only people who’d walk right in to our house would be one of our offspring. I had my reading glasses on so I wasn’t seeing too clearly. It seemed too tall for our youngest, but we knew our eldest was at work. I took off my glasses to see a friendly but confused face scanning our living room. When her gaze landed on us we all had a sudden realization. We didn’t know eachother. “Oh I’m so sorry! I’m in the wrong house! My daughter just moved in and she needed hooks for the kitchen so I ran out to get them.” She waved the package. “All these houses look the same and I don’t know the neighborhood yet. I thought this was my daughter’s house.” We were all getting a bit giggly. “That’s okay. For a quick second we thought you were our daughter,” said my husband. I told her our names and said she should defin...