2001-04-30

The Commencement Ceremony, posted at 9:01 a.m.

Epiphany in Baltimore has moved to epiphanyinbaltimore.blogspot.com

The commencement ceremony was nice. My parents and grandparents came up, and my Aunt Tonja even made an appearance. She is my aunt who has lupus, so her health sometimes doesn't allow her to attend things. She is also not really my aunt, just my mom's best friend, which created some confusion when I called her aunt Tonja in my little speech I gave. The speech went okay. I am long winded. I got a laugh with my opening line, "Wow, this is a lot different from getting up in front of a bunch of 15-year olds" and then went on to drone on and on for probably too long about how much I love teaching. This has been a miraculous year, one that confirmed that my professional journey has been the right choice for me (what a relief that was...) as well as inflamed a passion for urban education in me.

Unfortunately, only about five of us showed up from our school, out of eleven. People were feeling like the commencement wasn't that important, which is too bad. I had a great time.

It was nice to see my grandparents again. My grandma (not the one with Alzheimer's, but the one on my mother's side) is reminding me more and more of the scant memories I have of my Great Grandma Casler. Still, they act so young. I am feeling more and more like I want to live near them when I start teaching. In my head, it remains between the Washington DC area (Virginia, Maryland), the North Carolina area (Raleigh-Durham, Charlotte), and the Florida area (St. Petersburg, Tampa, Ft. Myers). There are also outside shots of me thinking about California, or remaining in Michigan. I don't have the money to do the travelling I need to be doing at this juncture, but hopefully I'll be substitute teaching most days from now until June. So maybe that'll change.

I am still considering resigning from my summer job, but I still don't have anywhere to live. I have not been actively looking. I just sort of hope something falls in my lap.