|Our current senior school.|
You may have noticed that it's been a while since I have had a new post, and the new posts that I did put up were few and far between. I promise to make up for that! My life seems to have (for this particular second in time) slowed down. I had a lot of my plate, but now my plate is relatively empty.
Our local schools are being closed and torn down, and we have a brand new school that is currently in the process of being built. It's on one hand very exciting, but on the other hand a little sad. I went to those schools. I felt some pride when I took my children to the school's that I attended in my own childhood. To celebrate the old schools a group of volunteers met for several months to plan a fitting goodbye. Guess who was on that panel (I'll give you a hint, it rhymes with Bristan)?
|The old Sulphide School|
In one of the original meetings I suggested that it would be nice to have a book made to celebrate our schools and their history, and I offered to spearhead it. No one seemed all that excited. I assumed (never assume, oh never assume) that no one was interested in that idea, and so I left it. Fast forward to one month ago. Our principal asked if I was still writing "that book". "NO. No one seemed interested." I replied aghast. She gave me a look of pity, " Quite a few people have been asking how you were making out with it". "I guess I'm writing a book!" I said shaking my head. "It's not going to be a big book." I added.
|The train once ran through the village|
I began to research the history of our village, and it's schools. I say this, but I had a full plate (what's new) and did not devote a lot of time to "my" book. I put it off and caught up on my other commitments. Two weeks before the school closing event I began to panic just a little. I had virtually nothing done. I began to read, and read, and read some more. I realized at that point that I may have been in over my head, but being too stupid to admit defeat, I soldiered on.
|Tweed's old High School being torn down.|
Stupidly I had thought that our village's history was as small as the village itself... I was wrong. I found myself fascinated. It was amazing to look at the current Tweed, and imagine Tweed of the past with wooden sidewalks. I suddenly felt so insignificant, so small and insignificant looking at my place in Tweed's history. I wished that I had more time, I wish that I had started sooner. I wished that I had started sooner, not because of the time constraint that I had put myself under, but because I didn't feel that I could do our fascinating history justice in such a short time.
Two night's before the school closure (my due date because we were going to sell the books there) I could feel cold sweat all over my body. Frantically I read my research, scribbling notes. How would I put this all together in time? I ran into our local Historical Society and begged Evan Morton our town historian for his help. After speaking to him I felt more overwhelmed than ever. The history of this village was fascinating and I was going to fail. I would do a disservice to the history.
|The young women of the home sciences class|
The Friday before the school closure I sat at my computer, only leaving to go to the bathroom. My legs went numb, but on I worked. At 3:00 a.m. I asked Christopher to proof read my book. I say book but it was only 22 pages, really hardly a book. At 3:30 I turned off the computer and staggered off to my heavenly bed.
Saturday morning I woke at 8:30 and went back to the computer. I didn't feel like I had properly finished last night. I worked until 11:00. At 11:00 am I hit the send button and sent it off to my local printer. The book needed to be at the school by 1:30 p.m. that afternoon. My legs hurt, my eyes felt strained. I felt happy. I had done it. I had written a book about the history of our schools.
|The beautiful stained glass that memorializes|
Tweed's fallen soldiers of WWI
At 1:20 p.m. I went to the Tweed News to pick up my book. I got there and the poor lovely woman who worked there looked as frantic as I had felt just hours earlier. "Come and help me!" Together we folded the pages, and then she would take them back and staple them. At 1:45 I arrived at the school, books in hand. I had done it. I had done what felt like the impossible, and now life can restart. I say this, but now I am thinking that I might like to try my hand at writing a real book about Tweed. The more I think about it, the more appealing it seems... I guess we'll see.