Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Blog for a week....or a month?

Yeah, I'd like to think I'd start being an every-weeker again, but lets face it....I suck when it comes to consistent blogging these days. But I've been TOLD to blog and I actually have a few things to say, so we'll go with a bit of a random post, eh?

First, I have 2 store related things to tell you guys. The most important is that we are having a charity auction starting on Friday to benefit Kiva and Doctors without Borders. The link will be posted on the store website (islandyarncompany.com) on Friday and I would REALLY appreciate if any of you lovely bloggers would help spread the word (and bid of course...if you see something that strikes your fancy). All of the items being auctioned are donations from customers and past store samples. It should be fun and I hope it will be a huge success! And, btw, since you're all probably well aware that I am not above begging....PRETTY PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP!?!?!? Thanks!

The second store related thing is that we've going to have a scarf club (like the sock clubs, but you know...scarves) starting in August. SCARF SURGE! (Please scream it at all times.) All the details are here and it is open to anyone, not just us greater Boston folks. It's $10 off until July 12th, so the time is ripe.

Ok, so that's is about the store. I think. Maybe.

Next...the cat. Pumpkin is being tormented by a little black stray kitty outside. As am I. She's a very cute kitty that I've tried to befriend many times, but she's a bit skittish. NOW, suddenly, she's decided its a grand idea to sit on the window sill and YOWL into my window at Pumpkin (at any hour of course). He's seeking advice from the other cats out there.

Next up, Little A!
So, two weeks ago Little A's school closed. Not for the summer, but for good. Her school is being merged with a larger school here and I'm still getting a little flustered about it whenever I happen to think of it. (Like when I drive by it everyday.) I knew it was coming. They've been preping us all year, which only resulted in me getting teary at every event when I realized "This is the last X event for the school."
I can't tell you how much I've loved and appreciated this school, and though its possible that the new school will be just as good, or even better, I can't seem to stop mourning her old little school. It was the last neighborhood school left in this big city, only two blocks from our apartment. A school where all the kids walked, and almost every parent in the neighborhood knew, or could at least recognize almost any kid who went there. There was only one class per grade. The principal knew all the kid's names and walked down to chat with the parents everyday at dismissal. And unlike many neighborhood schools, it was extremely diverse. Small, safe, closeknit, and diverse. It just doesn't happen that much.
Next year, she'll be riding a bus to a school about 4 times the size of her old school. Next year she may be split up from her best of friends because they aren't all in the same class anymore. Next year, she'll be far more than two blocks from home most of the day. Next year, she'll be part of a throng of students all clamoring for attention. Yeah, maybe next year she'll have better computers and sparkly new bathrooms, but I can't really let go of the nagging feeling that what we've lost is a lot more than what we are gaining.
When I went to pick her up the last day (after having attended the earlier tear-filled closing ceremony) there were a lot more people than usual. Cameras were everywhere (from the neighboring houses, parents, former students, the newspaper), all there to document the very last day that the kids would walk down that little path. As we drove away, past the front of the school, I asked Little A (who was far more thrilled with the coming of summer than sad about the school closing), "Well, are you done with the Bright school?" She was. But as I thought back to her first day at kindergarten, and how I felt oddly at ease by the tiny, close-knit school, I knew I wasn't done with it, even if I had to be.