Countdown

"Melancholy": second dictionary definition: "pensive reflection or contemplation." Ironically, this was a word my 7th grade students wanted to use on Friday to describe the tone of the autobiographical narrative we were reading in class. Melancholy--a mood.

One student suggested it, and everyone wanted the definition. First definition is "sadness/depression," but, the second meaning is apropos to my own mood. My "Fulbright Announcement" letter to parents has gone home. I have Sept-Dec lessons and copies of handouts in order. My first 6-week grades are done--in the computer, sent home. My "intervention/tutoring” list has been distributed to all the important people at school--it is now up to them to follow up and make sure these students succeed. I told them I will miss them, and I will. I leave behind mostly 11 year old students, but will come back to young ladies and boys with mustache beginnings! In 7th grade, they change MONTHLY! I leave them in good hands, and I hope they can check in on my blog.

At home, I have "packed my knives to go" in my kitchen chef kit--stored in my soon-to-be checked luggage and soon to tuck into a pork pie from Harrod's food hall, which I will return to once in London and buy for a picnic lunch. Pork pies--so good, yet so bad! I plan on cooking, of course, during my five months away and need my "tools." I will miss all of the major family dinners at home: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, plus birthdays. I know the San Diegans will go on without my cooking, but cooking for two is not the same as for twenty. Wilem and I might just have to find fast-friends for holidays in Sheffield.

I bought "gum boots"/black Wellington boots so I can trudge around Sheffield in the rain--rain a real novelty for someone from sunny San Diego. I have Scotch-guarded my London Fog trench coat, packed the warmest sweaters and scarves, and now the suitcase sentinels wait for the adventure.

My son, Wilem, is less prepared, less preoccupied--I mean, he IS 14 and leaving California is just something his mom is making him do, more or less. No opinions shared, no need to "talk about it," just packed his bags and said, "I'm ready." No worries, or as they say in the UK, "I'm not bothered."

Everything is in order: visa, passports, the university advisor and I have regular e-mail exchanges, the paperwork is waiting for me to arrive, the small apartment--much thanks to my father-in-law Geoff-- is secured. So pensive and reflective I sit saying “bye” to friends and colleagues in phone and quick, over-coffee conversations. Just checking in--while waiting . . .