Count down: Poetry in Spanish

Less than a week until my last classroom day. My office is virtually empty. Yesterday I scraped a set of tiny magnet words from my California State metal office walls. I once had two sets. One set, poetry in English. The other, poetry in Spanish. I don't know Spanish, but more than a third of my students speak it at home.
          Prying the little black and white words from the wall near my door, I was reminded of the time thirteen years ago when two Latino students put together something in Spanish there:
          I am at my desk. They giggle a bit. "What does it say?"
         "Oh, Dr. Riedmann, it's beautiful poetry." A week later I'm advising a Latina who happens to cast eyes on that wall. She blushes. Raises her hand to her mouth. "What is it?" I ask.
          "Oh, Dr. Riedmann, I can't believe you have that on your wall."
           "What does it say?"
            "I can't even say it." She's still blushing. I remove the Spanish word set.
             The Latino poets went on to grad school. One's now a social worker; the other, a high school counselor.
   

Ever cry over retiring? I am.

Think I'm crazy? I know, that's why it's hard to get sympathy.

Wonder what you'll do with the rest of your life? I do.

Wonder how much of your life you have left to:

1. feel sorry that there's not that much left, and
2. wonder what the heck you'll do with it anyway?

I do.

Wish you didn't play so much spider solitaire? Me too.

Wonder how many hours of your life will ultimately go to Face Book? Me too.

Glad you made it this far? Yes.

Well, it's here. Retirement. Who saw it coming? Not me. Must've kept my head down pretty effectively.

Where to now?
Stay tuned.

Off on a new journey

Off on a new journey.... Yikes!