November 2016 is certainly going to be etched in my memory for a long time to come…our presidential election rocked the country and has left me feeling unsettled, unstable and unsure about how my life – and the lives of most Americans-will be altered.

Before the election, I shared my thoughts about Donald Trump in my post “It’s Time To Let Donald Trump Be The Poster Boy For Rape Culture”. I’m still waiting to hear more about the pending assault cases against him.

After the election, I wrote “For All The Little Girls Who Are Watching This Election” to share my thoughts/fears/sadness about not seeing our first female president elected. With two young adult children, I definitely worry about how our new administration could impact their futures.

I find myself quieting this month; shutting down the news, limiting my screen time and focusing more than ever on my locus of control. I spent the election week confined to bed, watching and listening and reading in disbelief to the stunning results. I’ve baked a lot of bread, cleaned out clutter and reveled in special family time over Thanksgiving. I’ve kept my thoughts scribbled in my journal, waiting to come to a place where I can make sense of how I will move forward to stand up for my children, my students, and what I believe to be a dangerous shift in administration. I’m concentrating on places I can make change, and trying to engage my students and push them to think critically. I wrote a post sharing 4 Reasons Why I Love Teaching With Chromebooks that you might enjoy.

I thought I’d show you what life has been like around here, and how I’ve slowed down to find my center and soften into what I know is safe and real.  I’ve been active on Instagram, sharing my ordinary, extraordinary moments – I’d love to connect with you there, too! Find me @mamawolfeto2.

I find myself doing this a lot lately.

I love living in California – I love fall planting, preparing for beautiful spring and summer blooms. It gives me hope.

We met when I was 19 and he was 18. We married 9 years later…and just celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary!

I spent my first day of vacation watching my alma mater, Cal,  lose to Stanford…in the rain. My feet were the only dry spot on my body.

One of my favorite days of Thanksgiving vacation was spent in one of my favorite places, Carmel. I had to drag my boy home.

If you’ve ever been to Point Lobos with your daughter who you haven’t seen for three months and ten days, you’ll know why my smile is so huge.

I love looking back on these last thirty days; I take such comfort in the small joys of life. What were the extraordinary, ordinary moments of your November? I’d love to hear what’s filling your days and feeding your spirit! Let me know in the comments below, and I wish you joy and peace today and every day.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Point Lobos, CA

The first time you took me there I couldn’t have been more than 12. My brown hair was cut shoulder length, signifying my emerging teenage angst. It was the 1970s, and stripes were all the rage. I remember that sweater, the pale yellow, rose and powder blue horizontals didn’t do anything for my pudgy frame, but it was comforting and soft against my skin as we walked along the shoreline.

Mom really looks like you, you know. I never realized it when I was little, or course, as children so often forget to notice the details. I remember your tiny, tiny feet, almost doll-like – I guess I thought everyone’s grandma shopped for shoes in the kid’s section. Visiting with you almost always involved a quick trip to Macy’s, and almost always resulted in a special addition to my wardrobe. Today I sometimes wear that heavy rose colored cardigan you made – the one flecked with gray and big enough to wrap around me like a warm hug from you when I’m freezing cold. My family teases me when I have it on, but I’ll never give it up.

Double Delight rose

We always had to detour to say hi to Father Serra when we rolled into town, even though it was you I couldn’t wait to see. The last time we visited – a few months before you died – you held my boy on your lap in that rose armchair in your kitchen and smiled right into the camera. I’m sure he knows you loved him, even if he can’t remember. Lily was old enough to delight in the hidden treasures of your garden, skipping along the path, exclaiming with glee with each cement bunny or seashell treasure she uncovered. It was fairyland for her. Remember how she stood on tip-toe to smell your roses?

My son loves shortbread, you know. I wish you were here; you’d love feeding his lanky teenage body. You always had something delicious ready when his dad and I were dating; I’ve heard stories about Mom’s boyfriends always wanting to eat at your house, and now I realize why.   I know the shortbread recipe was really grandpa’s secret claim to fame – it was nice of you to let him have that little part of your world. You stacked the flaky, buttery shortbread squares right next to your dainty strawberry jam thumbprints. Oh, the cookies that came out of your kitchen. When we’d sit down for tea there was never a lack of sweets, always hiding in some sort of British tin you pulled out of the pantry. It made me feel like you baked them just for me, but I suspect that, like most everything in your life, you baked them just because you loved to.

Even today, when I walk into Mom’s house, I know you’re there. I can just feel you inside the adobe walls, I can hear your dainty feet pattering around the garden and your twig broom brushing the sand from the bricks, just like she still does today. You’re in the little kitchen when we eat – you know, the gas stove continues to  make it the warmest place in the house. Mom doesn’t make cookies like you did – but don’t worry, I use the shortbread recipe when I want to let my boy know how much he’s loved.

And just last week, right after I turned off the highway and whispered hi to Father Serra, I curled up in that rose colored armchair and thought of you.

This post was inspired by Under Magnolia by Frances Mayes, a memoir of her return to her roots in the South. Join From Left to Write on April 30th as we discuss Under Magnolia. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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