Shtick This! Survival Tips for First-Year Teachers

Teachers across the country are preparing for a new year of school. For the first time in three decades, I am not one of those teachers because I retired from the profession to focus solely on my writing career; however, during the 30 years in which I taught, I saw many many many first-year teachers enter the profession and then promptly leave it behind after that first year. A few tried a second or even a third year to see if they could gain their stride, and some of them succeeded while others did not and left teaching for a different career. 

For a number of years, I've been working on a book-length survival guide for first-year teachers because too often a new teacher is simply dropped into a classroom and expected to know how to make it. Teaching, though, and all the inane bureaucratic nonsense that comes with it, is incredibly hard. It's mentally and physically exhausting to a level that you just can't imagine until you do it. The demands of the job overwhelm even those of us who have 30 years under our belt and who are so jaded we no longer really care about pleasing parents, administration, school boards, communities, and the world at large.

So, even though I don't teach anymore, I'm going to give any newbies reading this a few pieces of advice to help you survive the trenches of your first year of teaching, so that you will, hopefully, return to teach many more years. There is a shortage of good teachers, that's for sure, so you need to make it.

I taught secondary school, so my advice is primarily geared toward junior high and high school teachers, but it's fairly broad in scope, so elementary teachers can use some of it.

All right, here we go.

First off, remember this very essential thing: after all the extra B.S. that will get shoved onto your plate concerning curriculum updates, standards, school and classroom rules, extra-duty assignments, in-services, continuous school improvement, staff meetings, etc., you are there to teach. So, teach. That incredibly simple, yet incredibly important, thing often gets pushed aside by all the other stuff that is thrown at you. Don't let the other stuff become more important to you than the teaching part. At the end of the day, if you actually taught the kids something useful for their current or future lives, then you did your job. 

Set the tone you want from the very start, but don't go overboard trying to be this tough teacher, demanding respect by demanding too much. Have demands, of course, but keep them manageable. I've seen teachers try to establish consequences for everything from cutting in line to cheating to chewing gum to talking during a lecture, etc. The more you spell out for them, the more they will try you, and you won't have time to constantly be focusing on the discipline part of the job. Eventually, you will tire of it, and you will start easing up on or downright ignoring your own rules, and then you will have lost the battle, my friend. The very first time you don't keep a student after school for some minor infraction that you have posted on your "classroom rules poster," another student will call you out for it. So, follow the K.I.S.S. policy of "Keep It Simple, Stupid." In my classroom, it was simply the Golden Rule with the addendum of "Do the right thing." I also had a no food in class rule. If a student cheated, I could ask him, "Is that doing the right thing?" Clearly, it was not, so a punishment could be given. If a student tripped another kid, I could ask, "Is that doing the right thing or treating another the way you want to be treated?" Of course it isn't. Then, depending on the situation and the kids involved, you can get the tripper to apologize or you can make him stay after or do whatever is fitting in that moment. 

When you are setting the tone, you also need to be very careful about the line you draw. With high school students and first-year teachers, sometimes there are only a few years separating their ages. In my first year, I had a student who had been held back a year and was nineteen when I taught him. I was only twenty-two. I was only three years older than he was. That makes it very hard to establish yourself as the authority figure, but you must do it. You are NOT their friend, and at no point should you ever act like you are. You can become their friend later on after they've graduated and become adults if they even want to be your friend then, but when they are your students, they are not your friends. Do NOT have them as any sort of contact on social media sites, do NOT text them about anything that isn't 100% sport or activity related if you happen to be a coach or adviser (I'd even go so far as to say do NOT text them, but unfortunately many schools now use texting apps to remind students and parents of things, so it's likely you will text kids, but always always always keep it on topic.), do NOT let them call you by your first name, do NOT allow them to flirt with you as will often happen with first-year teachers who are seen as "hot" or attractive by teenagers, no NOT look at them as anything other than your students. You can be friendly toward them, of course, but you are not their friend. 

And allow me to put this one in all caps: DO NOT HAVE ANY SEXUAL CONTACT WITH YOUR STUDENTS. That should be a no-brainer, right? Yeah, you'd think so, but every year I read stories of teachers who have been caught in sexual relationships with students and who then end up in prison. PRISON. Never to teach again. Life ruined. For what? And if you happen to think that you are too smart to ever get caught and that you just can't resist that cute blonde, then you are an idiot who has no  business being a teacher. You will get caught. You will lose your teaching certificate for life. And if your school board doesn't want to just sweep it all under the rug or if the irate parents find out, you will be prosecuted, and you will go to jail. For a long time. 

All right, let's get back to this teaching thing.

Know your subject well. You will come to know it exceedingly well over the years you teach it (I taught Spanish, and the degree to which I understand the language after 30 years of teaching it is so far beyond what I knew my first year, that I'm almost embarrassed by it; however, I still knew it well enough to know what I was talking about that first year or so.) Know your subject well now, but be always working to know it better. You will actually learn more while teaching it than you ever learned by simply studying it. Be aware of your limitations, and when you don't know an answer, be sure to tell the kids you don't know it but that you'll find out what it is. Then do that. When the kids see you caring enough to learn more yourself, they will trust you, and when they see that learning is a lifelong thing, they will be better for it. If you make a mistake with something you taught them, admit it and correct it. You are human, and you will make mistakes. Also, know the value of your subject to life in general. Why should the kids want or need to learn what you have to teach them? You better know the answer to that question before you let any students into your classroom. And the answer better not just be "because it's on the standardized test." 

Care. Care about the kids. Care about your subject or subjects. Care about the other staff members. Care about yourself. If you care, it will show, and the kids will reciprocate. Rapport is the thing you most need to build -- with students and staff. Again, let me repeat that the students are NOT your friends. They can respect and like you without being your friend. You can care about them without being their friends. Rapport is kind of a professional level of friendship. The kids know they can trust you to have their best interests at heart, but they also know that there is a line that they can't cross and that you absolutely will not cross, either. 

It's okay to say NO. Often, a lot gets dumped on first-year teachers because they are young and energetic and optimistic. Taking on too much is a sure-fired way to burn out fast. However, you also want to take on a few things because it's a good way to build relationships with students and staff outside of the classroom setting. So, find the happy medium if you can. 

Find a mentor teacher. The administration may assign you one, and that's great, but that person may or may not be the best fit for you. Find a teacher who has been there a while and with whom you click, and go to that person often to answer any questions you have. That teacher knows the school well already. Take advantage of that knowledge. Not sure how to find the best mentor teacher on your own? Pay attention to the students those first few days. Listen to who they grumble about the most or make fun of or show very little respect toward; then, avoid those teachers as mentors. If one of them has been assigned to you, that's fine -- just because he was assigned to you doesn't mean you have to take his advice. Instead, find that teacher who the students clearly respect and like, and then latch on as often as you can until you feel really comfortable in your new role.

The first day is very important for any first-year teacher, so set that tone, but if you feel completely overwhelmed that first day, it's okay. Most students are overwhelmed the first day back at school, too, and really only listen to about half of what you say, so set the tone as well as you can the first day, and then hit it firmly on the second day onward. Be consistent. Be in charge. It is your classroom. You set the tone. The kids will follow it. They might grumble and complain, but one thing that I know with total certainty after 30 years of teaching is that kids like being in classrooms where there is a caring, consistent, and competent teacher. Do your best to be all three of those things every day with every class, and you will not only survive the first year, but you'll come back for many more. Maybe you'll end up teaching for 30 years like I did, or maybe you'll stay even longer. Good luck.

Here I am at my desk on one of my final days of teaching.

I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have, so feel free to comment, or you can contact me via email on my website of tammymarshallauthor.wordpress.com on the contact page. 

Shtick This! My Self-Publishing Journey . . . So Far

 I left teaching after thirty years to focus solely on writing. Since school let out in May, I've written a number of feature articles for a newspaper, written and submitted more columns, written blog posts, scribbled down a bunch of ideas for future stories or books, typed more of the rough draft for what will be book number six most likely, and, as of yesterday, I finally got my third book published after spending the bulk of these past two months editing it. The following are screen shots from the email notifying me that the book is now live, so the quality isn't the best.

I've always wanted to be a writer, but I never imagined I'd go down the self-publishing path. Even now, it's not really the path I want to be on, but there are definite advantages to doing it this way. Let me tell you how and why I first did it.

As you may know, I write a column that comes out twice a month for the Norfolk Daily News out of Norfolk, Nebraska. I've been writing it for a number of years now, but about five years ago I asked the editor if he'd be open to serializing a novel I'd written years before that and which was basically languishing on my hard drive. I had tried a few times to get agents interested, but I hadn't had any luck, and the main publishers are closed to you without an agent. Since I was a full-time teacher, coach, and mom, it was always hard to find the time needed to really research and consistently send things out to agents, contests, small publishers, etc. I really believed that the book was darn good for a first novel, and I so wanted to have people read it to see if I was right.

The editor was a little skeptical, but the assistant editor agreed to read a few chapters, and then they'd decide from there. He read them and liked them, so they agreed to run a chapter a week on the online edition and see how things went. It took an entire year for The Clearwater House to be fully published for readers of the newspaper to see it, but over that year, many people read it and liked it and reached out to me asking where they could get a copy.

After the year was up, I went ahead and put it on the Kindle platform because that's a simple process to upload a book there. It doesn't take any special formatting for the most part. I only had to design a cover. A few people did buy the eBook edition of it, but others really wanted an actual physical book. I totally understand that because I seldom do any eBook reading myself; I much prefer to hold a book and turn the pages. So, I sat down at the computer one night and spent a long time figuring things out, but I finally managed to format The Clearwater House to run as a paperback, and I made a different cover that I liked better than the one I'd quickly created for the eBook. 

There are things I'd do differently with it if I could go back, and maybe some day I'll reformat it and resubmit it, but overall I've been very pleased with how it turned out and the reception it has received. Most people who have read it have enjoyed it. That's all I want -- for people to read my books and enjoy them.

Three years ago in September, my best friend since college, Amy Vojtech Beran, passed away from cancer. She was only 50 years old and the sweetest person I've ever known. She was a huge champion of my writing, and she'd personally bought and given as gifts numerous copies of The Clearwater House. During the year and a half that she was battling and losing her fight to cancer, I sent her daily pick-me-up notes to provide whatever cheer I could to her from afar (she was living in Dallas). When I knew the end was near, I made her a promise in one of my final notes to her -- that my next book would be dedicated to her. A couple months after her death, my promise was weighing heavily upon me because I had no idea when I'd ever have another novel done -- I had many in the works and even complete, including Ticker Tape, but since I was also bogged down with teaching responsibilities, I knew it would be a long time before I could get the editing done or finish writing the others I'd begun.

So, I decided instead to take a novella, a lengthy short story, and two short stories that had won writing prizes and compile them into a collection in her honor. Those pieces were done and just sitting around waiting for me to do something with them. They are all feel-good pieces, and I realized that the best way for me to honor my friend who always made me feel good was to dedicated four feel-good stories to her. Thus, State of Georgia . . . and Other Writings was born. I also included four of my poems (yep, I write poetry, too) to sort of introduce the theme of each story. The state of Georgia is not the physical southern state, but rather it is the emotional and mental state in which the protagonist, Georgia, finds herself after her husband's sudden and unexpected death. 

Speaking of unexpected deaths, the cover photo on this story collection was taken by my dear uncle, Paul Filsinger, who graciously gave it to me to use after I asked him if he had any sunset or sky photo with shades of blues and pinks in it because those were Amy's favorite colors (hence the color scheme of the cover). Paul died last October from covid-19. This book cover is very special to me.

I also used one of Paul's photos inside Ticker Tape. It's at the very end of the book, and it's of a United States' flag. I put it there to accompany a poem that I also included. It's a patriotic poem that I have dedicated to the memory of (my boyfriend) Kim's son, Trever Erickson, who died by suicide two years ago. 

I plan to use another of Paul's photos for the cover of my next novel, called Twinges. That one is about a teacher who can sense things about her students. She doubts their veracity, but one day she learns that her power is real. She is very concerned because her most recent "twinge" told her that her student was going to grow up to be a serial killer. I will be editing that book next. Look for it to come out by Christmas, I hope. Maybe sooner. Who knows?

I also have two other novels that are about three-fourths complete, a story collection set in a comedy club that is perhaps half done, a smart-ass yet serious advice book for first-year teachers that is about half done, too, and many, many ideas floating around in various notebooks. I'm determined to be the writer I always wanted to be.

Let's get back to the self-publishing topic a bit, though. While I would still prefer to get a major book deal and get published my a big-name publisher, there are things about the self-publishing route that I really like.

One -- I get a bigger piece of the pie, financially. I don't have to split earnings with an agent, an editor, the publisher, etc. Yes, Amazon is getting richer (although only quite nominally so far) from my book sales, and I don't really like that, but it doesn't cost me a dime to publish through them, and since I'm now technically unemployed, I love that I can publish there for free. Also, since so many people do shop on Amazon, there is a better chance of me making some sales. I need those sales right now.

Two -- I enjoy the editing part of the process and having control of all the content. While I realize that a professional editor would probably polish my work better than I do, I also know that I've caught many typos and grammar mistakes in books that are professionally edited and published. After teaching a variety of English and Spanish classes for 30 years, I think I have a pretty solid grasp on language and how to use it correctly. Also, I like knowing that the story is 100 percent mine, that no agent or editor made a gazillion recommendations for changes that I had to do before it could be printed. I want the story to be completely in my voice. I am the author, after all.

Three -- I get to create the cover and make it both personally meaningful and also relevant to the story. 

Four-- I am totally my own boss. Right now, I am sooooo loving that. I set my deadlines. I decide when and if I'm going to release a book. I'm not bound to a contract. I have complete freedom and make all the decisions.

Naturally, there are downsides to self-publishing. One of the big ones is that I am in this alone (even though that's also a positive). My book won't be found on the shelves of chain bookstores like B&N, but independent bookstores can stock it, so if you happen to be a proponent of indie bookstores (as I am), please go to your favorite one and order my books through them. Give them the business. I will get a very tiny royalty from that sale, but I will be thrilled to know that you are helping an independent bookstore thrive. Another major downside is that I don't have a marketing team behind me, so I will never sell the number of books I could through a traditional publisher, but I can (and will) continue to promote all my books, not just the newest, every time I make an author appearance at a library or every time I post on my author website or social media sites. 

So, for now, I am very content to self-publish. After I publish Twinges, I will probably start reaching out to prospective agents in the hopes of landing a more financially lucrative deal for one of the books after that, but we'll see. 

If you are interested in my books or other writings and want to follow my journey online, I have a Facebook page @TammyMarshallAuthor, and I have an author site on Instagram, too, #tammymarshallauthor. Here is the link for my website: https://tammymarshallauthor.wordpress.com

From there, you can find links to my Amazon page, you can read some of my columns, there are links to my two blogs, and you can even contact me.

 Thank you for reading this. I certainly hope you will consider reading my books, too.

Shtick this! Regretting my regret.

Regretfully, I must admit that regretting is my biggest regret. Sometimes, regret consumes me, and I feel extremely depressed. I get mad at myself for wasting my time, my energy, and my thoughts on useless regret, but Regret just laughs at my anger and takes another spin through my mind.

So, in an attempt to reprogram my brain and to expel Regret from my life, I'm going to put a different spin on my regrets and turn them into warm fuzzies (I'm a child of the 80s when that term came into vogue).

The biggest regret I have and that I can't quite seem to rid my psyche of is that I stayed married as long as I did. I think about all those years that could have been spent without him. I'd have far less debt burdening my life, that's for sure, and I could really use less debt right about now. Long ago I stopped regretting marrying him outright because then I wouldn't have my two kids, but I can't seem to stop regretting staying with him as long as I did. Making this giant regret into a warm fuzzy of some sort continues to elude me, but I'll give it a try. 

Hmmm , , , , , , , , , , , , without those agonizing twelve years, I wouldn't truly appreciate every day of freedom since our split? This is true. Not sure if it makes me feel all warm, though. Let's try another approach. In the nine years since he moved out, I no longer live under a soul-crushing sense of dread, I am free of his extreme narcissism, and my world has expanded in ways I could never have imagined or experienced with him. I've traveled more, I got a motorcycle, I met Kim, I've seen my kids work toward their dreams, I have time for new hobbies like painting, etc. That's much better, and I sense Regret wincing a bit at my new outlook. 

When Regret visits me, I find myself first getting so despondent at the feelings he brings. The main one is total disappointment in myself for wasting those years. I dwell on where I could be now if I hadn't stayed in a horrible marriage so long. That disappointment almost crushes me at times. Even when I look around at all I have and all I've accomplished, I get caught up on the wasted time, and then I get even more mad at myself for wasting more time fixating on the time I wasted. Aargh, it's a vicious cycle. When I'm not disappointed in myself, I'm angry at myself and at him. Naturally, I'm angry at myself for staying so long, but I'm angry at him for becoming someone so different from the person I married, or at least the person I thought I'd married. Then I get mad at myself again for wasting time being mad about it all. Aargh! Vicious cycle strikes again.

The second biggest regret I have is that I didn't leave teaching sooner to focus on writing. I don't regret teaching, but I do regret the last four years of it. Financially, I couldn't leave sooner. Financially, I still shouldn't have left. Psychologically, emotionally, mentally, etc., I should have left four years ago or even longer ago. I look at what I've managed to do in just under two months, and I know that if I'd had those four years under my belt by now, maybe I'd be a firmly established author. I'll never know because I didn't give myself those years to write. It's easier to turn this regret around because I did do some good things at school the past four years, and I needed the money to help my kids and my friend, Silvia; but, I still feel Regret niggling at my brain when I think about the time I wasted. Then, again, I get mad at myself for wasting my time, and Regret sits back and laughs and laughs at me.

So, I'm writing this post to effectively tell Regret to take a hike, to go fly a kite, and to take a long walk off a short pier. 

From this moment on, I regret nothing! Nothing! 

All the extra weight I'm carrying? Ha! It shows I'm not starving. It's extra protection against a lengthy illness. It makes me super buoyant when swimming. Everyone should be so lucky as to be chubby like I am!

The friends and family I love who have passed away these past few years? Hmmmm. Well, I certainly don't regret a minute of time I spent with them or that I knew them. I'm a better person for knowing them. They live on through me because I still talk about them. I miss them, and missing someone simply shows that you have a great love for that person, so I'm lucky to have loved them and to have been loved by them.

The books I should have written by now? "Come on," Regret whispers in my ear, "don't tell me that you don't regret that you're not the established writer you wanted to be by now? After all, you're over 50, for Pete's sake. You should have accomplished more by now." First, allow me to duct tape his mouth shut. There.

Part of the beauty of writing a book is that the book can live on long after you're gone, so I'm hopeful that some of my books will still be read years and years into the future. With luck, I have years of writing ahead of me, so I'll be established enough by the time I'm old. Well, by the time I'm older, at least.

Those twelve years I wasted? All right, let's tackle that big regr . . . uh, dilemma. I understand and have a level of empathy for others that I might not have had if I hadn't suffered. I now know everything I don't want in a significant other. I have fodder and material for, like, a million stand-up comedy bits and stories should I choose to milk my experience. Many of his own friends and family like me better. If I can survive marriage to him and come out of it stronger, wiser, and happier, then I can survive other bad things.

So, I hereby renounce Regret. I permanently kick it out of my life, my mind, and my heart. I'm this guy with better spelling and a better choice of tattoo placement. 

 

Shtick This! Help Silvia!

Twenty-four years ago during the 1997-98 school year, I hosted my first exchange student, a wonderful girl from Mexico named Silvia Realpozo Sanchez. Afterwards, I went on to host students from Spain, Italy, Germany, and the Czech Republic, and I loved all of them, but without that first phenomenal experience with Silvia, I probably wouldn't have hosted again or as often as I did.

Since then, Silvia has simply become part of my family and my dearest friend. Her own parents died in a car accident a short time after her stay with me, and I started going down to Mexico to attend family events with her as a sort of second mom, but we're only eleven years apart in age, so I'm more like an older sister, really. She's also come back here for many short visits (the photo is from her first return visit after Sam was born in 1999), an extended stay, and then for two years as an non-traditional student at Norfolk Community College. 

She planned to stay longer and get a second degree, but her health dictated otherwise. Last November, after a lengthy stay in the hospital, Silvia had to return to Mexico to receive affordable dialysis because her kidneys shut down and, essentially, died. Since then, she has had a roller coaster ride dealing with many issues, but her need for a kidney transplant remains. Without one, her life is very limited because she has to receive dialysis three times a week. Naturally, that makes having any sort of normal job difficult for her as well.

She's managed to get by, barely, and there is hope that her cousin will be able to donate a kidney to her, but Mexico recently suspended all transplants with a surge in covid cases. So, for now, she must remain on dialysis.

As I mentioned before, dialysis in Mexico is affordable at least. Here, in the U.S., it can run up to thousands of dollars per treatment. In Mexico, it costs her $100 per treatment, which is still a lot to handle for her since she can't find steady work. Then, there is the upcoming cost of the transplant, if and when it finally happens, to contend with.

I am doing what I can to help her, naturally. I always will. She is my family and my friend and one of the best persons I've ever known. I miss having her around, and I hope to travel to see her soon, but since I've left teaching to focus on my writing and I'm not old enough yet for my monthly retirement pension to kick in, my finances don't allow for as much as I'd like to do for her.

I'm writing this to ask anyone who knows Silvia and how wonderful she is, to please help me to help her. She still has her bank account here from when she was a student. I've been holding off on closing it because it's a way for me to easily transfer money to her. I asked her to see if she could use her debit card from it for a dialysis treatment, so she gave it a try, and it worked.

I can transfer money straight to her account from mine. If you are someone who would like to help, you have some options. 

First, you can personally give me money that I can deposit in her account either by coming to my house and handing me the money or by sending me a check. I will provide my address to anyone who messages me to ask for it. 

Secondly, if you live in or near Neligh, you can go to Heritage Bank and directly deposit money into her account in person. Naturally, you can totally trust me to do that for you, but I understand if you would prefer to do it yourself and have a receipt to acknowledge it.

Third, Silvia is setting up a GoFundMe page, but as of this writing, she hasn't yet. A part of her is resisting doing it because she doesn't like to ask for help. That's another reason I'm writing this -- I'm asking on her behalf. I don't much like the GoFundMe possibility myself, either, but that's mostly because that company keeps a small part of each donation, and I'd rather Silvia benefited from every dime that people want to give her. 

Fourth, and I only offer this as an option for people who like to get something for their money, I will give her my earnings from any book or Mary Kay product that you come to my house to buy in person from me for this purpose. It won't amount to a lot, unless you want a lot of my books or a lot of products, but every dollar helps.

In the past three years, I've lost my best friend from college to cancer at the age of 50 (Silvia went to Dallas with me four summers ago so I could spend some time with that friend --see above photo -- and she attended that friend's funeral with me and helped me grieve), one of my best friends at work who was also one of the best men I've ever known to cancer and a surgery gone wrong at the age of 40, my boyfriend's son to suicide at the age of 32 (Silvia was there for us through all of that), my beloved uncle to covid at the age of 60 (you can read about him in an earlier post on this site if you want, and Silvia was there for me during that time, too, even though she was already getting sick but didn't know it yet), and my dear aunt only a few days after my uncle. There have been others, too, and we have all experienced loss these past few years, so I'm, by no means, alone in dealing with grief.

Silvia is only 41, and she has a daughter who needs her (the following photo is of Silvia and Constanza, her daughter and her world). She and I had hopes of one day opening a retreat for writers, artists, yoga, etc., in Mexico, so that was part of her reason for getting a business degree. She also has so many other aspirations that, for now, aren't possible until she gets a kidney, so she can travel with ease again.

She and I have seen and done a lot together. We've been to Jaltipan, Xalapa, Veracruz, Cancun, Playa del Carmen, Cozumel, Chichen Itza, Progreso, Holbox Island, Merida, and many other places in Mexico as well as here in the U.S., but there are so many others we still want to see. We've climbed ruins, swum with whale sharks, jumped into cenotes, and laughed until we cried over a giant takeout bag in a Chili's in Merida. 

At the end of this, I'm going to put some of photos of Silvia and me over the years, so you can see how much she's been in my life. This was the last photo we were able to take together the night before she flew back to Mexico. I've missed her every day since. 

If you know her, consider yourself lucky because she's one of the sweetest people you could ever know. If you don't know her, help me to help her stay healthy until she can get a kidney, and then we'll be sure to visit, so you can get to know her. 

Any amount, seriously any amount, would be appreciated. It's $100 U.S.dollars -- well, specifically $102.46 -- (2,000 pesos) per dialysis, three times per week. If you can help, just let me know. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Love, 

Tammy

 

  

Shtick this! Chandlerizing My Life.

 

  Once I'd made the firm decision to leave teaching, so I could dedicate myself full time to writing, I knew I also needed to make a plan both to ease myself into a life-changing routine and to make that routine a permanent fixture in my life. During the thirty years in which I was teaching, I was also trying to write because it's always been my passion and my one true calling, but teaching consumed my life. Add being a mom and all that entails into the mix, and there often truly wasn't time -- the needed time -- to write.

I've always told my students that we make time for what matters to us. I would tell them this when they would give me their myriad excuses as to why they didn't get something done or why they weren't at one-act practice or why they couldn't be counted on to help run the concessions stand, etc. So, if they couldn't make the time to do the things they were supposed to be doing, that showed, by and large, that those things didn't really matter to them because we all have a finite amount of hours in the day; yet some people manage to do a lot with those hours while others do fairly little.

Even though I would tell my students that and even though I was highly productive in my job and extremely reliable for completing projects and being where I was supposed to be, when it came to the one real thing that I wanted to make the time for, I really wasn't doing that. I would try, believe me, I would definitely try, but the demands of my teaching career simply kept interfering with the time I wanted to use for writing. By the time I'd get home after a full day of teaching followed by coaching one-act or directing a play late into the evening, there were days it was already ten o'clock or later, and I still needed to go to bed to get enough sleep to wake up and repeat the cycle.

Needless to say, my writing life languished. I did manage to write some, of course, but there was no regularity to it, and that's what I needed. That's what my writing needed. That's what it needs now, and that's what I'm finally giving it.

So, when I knew for certainty that I was going to retire from teaching, I wrote the quote pictured above onto one of three light blue journals. In those journals, I record what I accomplish for my writing career every day. The quote is to remind me that sometimes it's okay to not accomplish a lot; as long as I'm actually accomplishing something every day. That way, I do not stop.

Since I'm a goal setter, I decided to adapt what I call the "Chandler approach" from a character on my second favorite TV series, "Friends." Oddly enough, today, the day I'd planned to write this blog post, the very episode in which Ross uses this approach on Chandler was airing during the time I sit down to lunch. In it, Chandler is freaking out, as he often does, and as I often do, because he's overwhelmed by the massive change in his life that he is facing on his wedding day. All he can see is the vast scariness of the future, so his friend, Ross, manages to get him to focus on the little, easy to manage, steps leading up to the wedding.   

Chandler wants to get married. He wants it very badly, but he's overwhelmed. By doing one small thing at a time, he manages to get himself to the altar and get married. First, he takes a shower. Nothing scary there. It's a routine he's familiar with. Next, he gets himself to the wedding locale. Then, he puts on his tuxedo. These are the steps shown in the episode, but one could break them down even more minutely. Eventually, his goal is met, and he's married. He can now use this approach to help him deal with future scary events because there will be many, many more. After all, he's now a married man.

Anyway, what does this have to do with writing? Well, I have so many goals and hopes for what I want to write that it's extremely overwhelming. Where do I start? How can I possibly accomplish everything I want to do? As with any large task, sometimes we completely avoid doing it because it is just too massive to imagine ever finishing it. 

I want to write and be published and read. I've already accomplished that to a small degree with The Clearwater House and State of Georgia . . . and Other Writings as well as with my regular column, feature articles, two blogs, and other things, but now I want to make it my career, and I'm going it alone. I don't have a boss telling me what I have to do, I don't have state standards to adhere to, I don't have classrooms of kids expecting me to show up over and over with new material, I don't have parents looking over my shoulder to see if I'm doing a good job, and I don't have a place I absolutely have to be by a certain time each day.

I'm on my own. 

That's both the most thrilling thing for me and the most terrifying. The thrilled part of me is ready and raring to go every day. The terrified part needs some structure. That's why I decided to Chandlerize my life.

In the journal, I must record one thing I do every day to move my writing career forward. One thing, at the very least. Every single day. It can be writing an email to a library director, writing another chapter (or even just 100 words) of my novel-in-progress, writing my column, writing another blog post, writing down the many story ideas I always seem to get while showering, editing one of my two finished books, replying to emails regarding my writing, promoting my writing in some form, etc. 

Once I've managed to do that one thing, I usually do more -- some days, I do so much that I only stop when total exhaustion sets in. Whatever I accomplish concerning my writing life, though, goes in the journal. The journal then becomes a physical proof of how far I've come since I began, so when the demon called Doubt shows up, I can open the journal and read through what I've done so far. Within a few pages, Doubt has moved on to bother someone else, and I'm back to moving my writing career forward.

Chandlerizing is the same as saying "take baby steps" to complete something or using the "one drop at a time to fill the bucket" approach, but I like to think of it this way because I've always related to Chandler. He loves to make people laugh, and it bothers him when they don't. He and I use a lot of sarcasm.   

He worries about things he can't control. He hates his job and really wants to be doing something else (I related when I was teaching; now, I'm good). He hates having photos taken of him, and so do I. He's incredibly handsome, and, well, I'm incredibly humble. Ha! Thanks to my Chandlerizing technique, could I BE any more productive? Well, yes, I'm sure I could, but it has helped me be productive every single day, and that's what counts right now.

Maybe I'll dedicate a future book to him, but first I'll have to write that book. One day at a time. One piece at a time. One word at a time. Chandlerize!!!

Shtick This! Retired? Yes and No.

Ever since I retired from teaching a month ago to focus on full-time writing, countless people have asked me things like -- "How ya like retirement?" or "Getting bored yet?" or even "Ready to go back to teaching?" The answers to those basically go like this -- "I love it, but I left teaching to write full time, so I'm still working." and "Hell, no. I've never been bored a day in my life (except during teaching in-services -- talk about a slow, torturous death)." and "Absolutely not. No way. Never. Hell no. Ask me again in ten years, and we'll see if I feel any differently."

So, yes, I did, in fact, retire from teaching after 30 years of teaching and coaching junior high and high school students. A few people in my town don't actually know that because absolutely no mention of it was made anywhere by anyone but me. (Yes, I'm a tad pissy about that, but who cares?) I guess they were as happy to get rid of me as I was to leave teaching. Now, don't get me wrong -- I enjoyed teaching (in fact, if teaching were only about teaching, I'd probably still be doing it), but I hated all the other aspects of the job that don't involve teaching, and I was ready to leave that all behind. I don't want to parent my students, I don't want to police them, I don't want to be their therapists, and I don't want to know anything about their sex lives. I just wanted to teach them how to speak Spanish and how to appreciate language and literature. That's not enough anymore. And don't even get me started on the mind-boggling constantly changing technology that I can't even begin to keep up with. So, I left teaching to do the one thing I've always wanted to do -- write.

In the month I've been doing this, I've had people ask me what I'm doing with myself. I answer, "I'm writing." Sometimes I get a blank stare. Other times I get a "You write?" I sigh at that reaction because I've been a columnist for almost twelve years, and I have two published books, so far. Others politely ask me what I write, so I tell them. Some listen and seem interested, and some listen and then seem truly puzzled as to how I just sit down and make up stuff. Anyway, let's just say it's a transition for people in my town to stop thinking of me as a teacher and start thinking of me as a writer, and I'm sure many of them never will make that transition. That's okay, but what's not okay is this sentiment that I'm not going to have anything to do with my time now that I'm not teaching.

Believe me, I don't have enough hours in the day for all the stuff I both want to do and need to do. Aside from writing the column, I'm finishing three novels, writing feature stories for a newspaper, writing this and a second blog, attempting to learn how to market myself on social media, reaching out to libraries and bookstores in the hopes of gaining some speaking/reading opportunities along with places to sell my books, and I'm constantly churning out new story ideas that may or may not ever be written.

Additionally, I have a LOT of hobbies that I like to make time to do as often as possible. Here are a few of them:

I read. Every. Single. Day. Even if I only get in ten minutes before falling asleep at night, no day is complete for me if it didn't include reading; however, now that I'm structuring my daily life around literature, I try to read and study past great writers every morning. Currently, I'm making my way through Ralph Waldo Emerson, and then I'll move on to Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. I learned that I'm a Transcendentalist at heart a couple years ago, and I'm trying to make up for all the years I spent unaware of the likes of Emerson and Thoreau. I also buy and own many, many books. My collection is quite large and will surely grow much larger in the coming years.

I now paint. I started doing watercolor painting a year ago, and I really enjoy it. I also make bookmarks which showcase my painting as well as my writing website (tammymarshallauthor.wordpress.com) which is written on the back of each bookmark. Currently, I have a small obsession with painting cacti as you can tell by the photos of my most recent bookmarks.

I cross stitch. I've done it for years and have many finished pieces displayed around the house. The one I'm attempting to complete now is of the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona. Sadly, I began it years ago and still haven't finished it -- the church itself, long left unfinished after the death of its architect, Antonio Gaudi, will probably be completed before I ever get mine done, but that's okay.

I do yoga every morning. During the school years, I only managed to get a quick set of stretches in each morning before heading off to work, but now I'm slowly working my way up to longer sessions and hope to consistently be doing 20-30 minutes each morning by the end of the summer.

I like to walk, preferably outside with the dog, so I'm trying to factor in a walk, even a short one, in the evenings. So far, making this a solid habit has eluded me, but I'll keep trying. I also like to take photos while I walk. I think my uncle, Paul Filsinger, is with me when I walk because I notice things now that I think only he would have seen. (He passed away last October, and you can read about him in this same blog if you didn't see it then.) 

While I may no longer be teaching Spanish, I do plan to keep myself up on it, so I do a mini-lesson each day. I'm also learning and perfecting my Italian, so I also do a mini-lesson of that language. I try to read something in one of the languages each week, too. 

Since I'm bilingual, and trying to become multilingual, I love to travel. Naturally, I can't do that on a daily basis, but factoring in the time to travel is an important part of my future plans. Right after the school year finished, I did go on a short vacation to Missouri. You can read about it in my other blog, readrideandroam.blogspot.com, if you are interested. Future trips will include return visits to Spain, Italy, and Mexico, as well as to new places abroad and here in the States.

Additionally, I love to swim, and I would really like to find a way to implement some lap swimming on a regular basis. I love riding my motorcycle, and I look forward to being able to do that on days when I'd normally be stuck in school. I also love doing puzzles, both the word kind and the kind that have 2,000-3,000 pieces. I want to get back into writing and performing stand-up comedy, I have a pile of stuff I want to add to some scrapbooks, and I sell Mary Kay to a few customers. 

I have other hobbies as well, but by now, it should be clear that there really aren't enough hours in the day for me to do even half the things I enjoy doing. It should also be clear that I was serious when I said that I'm never bored, especially if I have a book, a writing journal, a word puzzle, or just my imagination to keep me occupied during things that might otherwise bore me.

Let's not forget that I have family and friends with whom I want to spend some time. Kim and I will have been together for seven years by this time next week. He's my rock and the reason I was able to retire early from teaching. I've never experienced the kind of support he gives me, and I'm so thankful for him every day.

My kids are both grown up, but I still love spending time with them. My son will be coaching all three sports this coming school year, and I plan to attend as many of those events as possible. My daughter will be moving to Tennessee to get her Master's in paleontology to fulfill the dream she first had as a seventh grader after I took her to Ashfall Fossil Beds that summer. Of course, I will be visiting her there often. 

My parents are nearby, I have family and friends both near and far who I want to see more often, and I hope to make many new friends in the literary world as my experience and my circles grow there. 

So, yes, I've retired from teaching, and I'm loving it. No, I'm absolutely not bored. I do not plan to return to teaching or even to sub, for now. I am writing every day. Sometimes I'm writing part of a book, sometimes I'm editing, sometimes I'm writing a column, sometimes I'm writing a newspaper article, sometimes I'm writing a blog post, sometimes I'm writing stuff that's only meant for me to see, and sometimes I'm writing ideas for future things to write. I am now a writer. Retired teacher. Full-time writer and author. 100% happy.

Shtick This! 2020

 To say that this year has been horrible is an understatement. We've all be negatively impacted by the storm of crap that 2020 has brought upon us. The very beginning of October hit me hard -- I lost my beloved uncle, Paul Filsinger, and my dear aunt, Karen Hahlbeck, within a matter of days. Paul and Karen were brother and sister, and my mom's only remaining siblings. Paul died from the ravages of COVID-19, and Karen was essentially a victim of it, too, since she wasted away in a nursing home waiting for the day when things would ease up, so she could see her family again. 

I wrote both of their obituaries, and we held a double funeral ceremony for them. Surreal, to say the least. Paul, though, was incredibly special to me and to so many other people. He was only 8 years older than I am at the time of his death, and he was 12 years younger than my mom, the sister that he was closest in age to. He was really more like a brother to me than an uncle, and I adored him greatly. I miss him daily, and I will for the rest of my life. I'm angry about his death because of the way he died but also because his death deprived so many people of a truly wonderful person as well as the photographic talent he possessed that had enriched so many people's lives. I'm going to share his obituary here along with the eulogy I wrote and read at his funeral.

Paul Leroy Filsinger, you are dearly missed.

Obituary first:

        Paul Leroy Filsinger was born November 19, 1959 in Norfolk, Nebraska, to Raymond and Eunice (Meyer) Filsinger. He was baptized and confirmed at Grace Lutheran Church in Norfolk, and he graduated from Norfolk Senior High School in 1978. He spent his formative years learning and doing the things that would become his lifelong passions of camping, hunting, fishing, taking photos, driving classic cars, and befriending everyone he ever encountered.

On May 29, 1981, he married Cheryl Cox in Norfolk at St. Mary’s Catholic Church. To this union was born one son, John Paul Filsinger. He and Cheryl later divorced. His second marriage was to Shannon Mcphillamy on June 1, 1996, in Neligh, Nebraska, in a backyard ceremony at the home of his sister and brother-in-law, Lois and Ron Marshall. Paul adopted Shannon’s children, Brandon and Kylie. Eventually, this marriage dissolved, too. On October 20, 2011, Paul married Susan Jendrzejewski in a sunset ceremony on a beach in Florida. Their marriage was short-lived, but their friendship remained strong, and at the time of his death, Paul held a special place in his heart for each of his wives.

The most special place, though, was reserved for his fiancée Brenda Moeller, to whom he became engaged on December 24, 2014. In the fall of 2016, Paul moved to Shelton to live with Brenda. There, he gained a special friend in Brenda’s little dog, Baxter, who he took with him on many car rides in Paul’s beloved black Ford Mustang.

Prior to that, Paul lived his entire life in Norfolk. He had a variety of jobs, but for many years he worked in the print shop of Affiliated Foods. He also started a part-time side photography  business which he called First Impressions. He specialized in engagements, weddings, and senior photos. When Affiliated closed, he expanded his photography business to Shelton and pursued his passion full time. He also enrolled in Central Community College at Hastings to further study photography.

Living in Shelton afforded Paul ample opportunities to hone his photography skills on the Platte River during the annual Sandhills Crane migration, and his photographs of the birds in flight and at rest during sunrise and sunset are truly majestic. Paul’s first and abiding love, though, was the Black Hills of South Dakota. He spent many summers camping there alone and with family, and his knowledge of their history and Native American culture was staggering. He loved to photograph the wildlife as well as the historical places in the Black Hills, and he even published a collection of those photos.

Paul never met a person that didn’t become his friend. He loved to talk, and his knowledge on all sorts of subjects was so immense that he could converse for hours with anyone about anything. His family was near and dear to him, and he took every opportunity to spend time with them camping, hunting, playing cards, telling stories, sharing jokes, riding motorcycles, and many other things. Paul will forever be remembered for his wit, his wisdom, his kindness, his photographic skill, and his love.

He is survived by his fiancée, Brenda Moeller, of Shelton, Nebraska; his children, John (Alyssia) Filsinger and Brandon Filsinger of Lincoln, Nebraska, and Kylie (Andrew) Cleveland, of Rapid City, South Dakota; his grandchildren, Alexis and Aubrie Filsinger, Bentley, Kylar, Emersyn, Heaven, and Nevaeh Cleveland; his sister and brother-in-law, Lois and Ron Marshall; his other brother-in-law, Jerry Hahlbeck; his niece, Tammy Marshall (s.o. Kim Erickson); his nephews, Troy (Theresa) Hahlbeck, Gary (Sherrie) Hahlbeck, and Kevin (Anissa) Marshall; various great-nieces and great-nephews; numerous Filsinger and Meyer cousins; and everyone else who ever considered him as family.

Paul passed away on October 1, 2020, at Kearney Good Samaritan Hospital after an extended illness. He was sixty years old. Paul was preceded in death years ago by his parents, Raymond and Eunice Filsinger, and his sister, Judy Filsinger. Three days after Paul died, his other sister, Karen Hahlbeck, passed away, too.  

 His memorial service will be at 10:00 a.m. on October 17, 2020, at Snider Memorial Funeral Home in Clearwater.

Paul's much-loved Ford Mustang.

The photo I reference in the following eulogy. Paul's burial site is directly on the other side of Mom's car.

Paul's eulogy:

Get comfortable. Paul loved to talk, so I’m going to talk about him for a bit.

Talented.

If I had to sum up in one word my wonderful Uncle Paul, it would be that. He was talented.

Paul had an artist’s eye and a poet’s soul. I think it was because he damaged one of his eyes when he was a teenager that he grew to appreciate the clarity with which he saw the world out of his good eye. A camera simply became a natural extension of that eye and brought the world and all its beauty into sharp focus for him. His photographs, especially those of the past few years, were utter masterpieces as his focus sharpened even more upon the early morning and early evening skies, capturing amazing sunrises and sunsets over the Platte River and other places. I will always remember the many drives we took in the Black Hills while camping with Paul and his kids when Paul, while driving, would spot a lone mountain goat perched high above us or a herd of bison or elk far off in a valley. It never failed that when I’d ride with Dad instead of Paul, we didn’t spot anything. Then, when we’d stop, Paul would ask us if we saw the eagle or the ram or the deer, and we’d say “No!” Of course we didn’t because we didn’t have Paul’s talent for spotting animals.

Not only did he use his animal-spotting talent on mountain drives but he also used it to capture wonderful photographs of bald eagles up close, of the sandhills cranes in flight and roosting on the river, of butterflies perched on flowers, of a black bear, of a spotted fawn frozen and returning his gaze, of a little chipmunk in a tree, and of countless bison and elk. He also put his animal-spotting talent to good use on his many hunts with his favorite hunting buddy, his son John. Paul gained a love of fishing from his father and turned that love into a love of hunting that he passed on to John who has himself turned that love into an intense passion. Paul often talked enthusiastically about the great trips he took with John, including one in Colorado where John bagged an elk whose head now hangs in John and Alyssia’s basement and, I’m told, has been dubbed Grandpa Paul. 

Paul used his talent to capture many happy moments for people from senior photos to engagement pictures to weddings and so much more. I, personally, have walls in my house covered with family photos that Paul took. His wonderful clarity of focus and knack at arranging his subjects for the perfect shot have added joy to many walls and photo albums across the state and beyond. He’d even started to gain the attention of Nebraskaland magazine as well as others, and he was really proud of that. I, in turn, was proud of him. He deserved to be recognized for his talent. 

Fun-loving

That would be another word to describe Paul. Paul was the big brother I never had as he was closer in age to me, and to my cousins, Troy and Gary, than he was to his own sisters, so he and I hung out a lot when we were kids. Mom loves to tell the story of Paul playing hide and seek with me one time at our house, and he was seriously winning the game because I couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, Grandma, his mom, suggested we look in the clothes hamper. Mom said there was no way he could fit in there, but, yep, he was in there -- under all the clothes. I recall many times his fun-loving ways got him into trouble with his mom, but she couldn’t stay mad at him. Nobody could stay mad at Paul. He had the magical sweet charm about him and an impish grin to accompany the twinkle in his eyes. Grandma would yell “Paul,” and he would yell back “Mom,” and they’d repeat that a few times until she’d give up in exasperation. I will forever hear his voice saying “Mom” in that mockingly good-natured way he had. 

Many of you will remember a much-loved 70’s sit-com called “Happy Days” and the incredibly cool and likeable character named Fonzie. To me, Paul was Fonzie. He exuded coolness without even trying, he looked good in a leather coat and jeans, he wore his dark hair a little longer than most (when he still had the hair to do it), he had a heart of gold, he was cool and collected in every situation (or at least appeared to be so), and he could always be counted on to come through for you in any crisis. He also had a vulnerable side and wasn’t afraid to show it to people he trusted (his Cunninghams), and, as we well know, Paul was an incurable romantic just like Fonzie. Even the name of the sit-com fit Paul because when he was around, everyone around him was happy. The days I spent with Paul were truly Happy Days.

I can easily split the fun-loving word into its two parts, which also describe Paul. 

It was never boring when Paul was there; he could make any experience fun just by injecting his attitude and outlook into it. When I fell while ice skating and got the wind knocked out of me, his smiling face appeared above me, assuring me I’d be fine. When he whipped an accidental cookie on a frozen Main Street in Norfolk with Gary and me in his Chevy Nova after a day of roller skating and we ended up facing the wrong way on Main Street as well as facing the waiting police cruiser, his charm and winning ways smooth-talked the cop out of a ticket -- as far as I remember. When he became a full-fledged adult, he never lost his fun-loving ways. I’ll never forget one very windy day, Paul and my boyfriend, Kim, and I took a long motorcycle ride up to Fort Randall and back. While I had a moment of fear that one of us might be blown off the dam, motorcycle and all, Paul took it all in stride and just smiled. I’ll also always remember the day years ago when he climbed into the go-cart in the Black Hills with my daughter, Sam, because she was too young to drive it alone. They zipped around that track at warp speed, and every time they passed me, Paul had the biggest grin on his face, and Sam had a blast even though Uncle Paul was squishing her. 

He was the most loving person imaginable, and everyone he met became basically “family” to him even though he already had a very expansive family in the Filsinger clan. He lovingly adopted Brandon and Kylie, and he thrilled at being Grandpa to Kylie and Andrew’s five children in Rapid City as well as to Lexie and Aubrie in Lincoln. He never had a bad word to say about anyone, and if you were ever his friend, you were his friend forever.

Wise

This would be the final word that I would attribute to Paul. He knew so much about so many things, and how he gained that wisdom was always a bit of mystery to me. Sometimes, we were pretty sure he was just making stuff up, but he did it with such conviction that you believed everything he said. Mostly, he was a self-taught guy. He could converse long and knowledgeably about almost anything, but he especially loved talking about the old West, Native Americans, politics and political figures, and classic cars. I wish his grandchildren had had more time with him to gain from his stories and his wisdom. I wish we all had. I often thought he would have made a wonderful history teacher, especially an American history teacher, where he could have wowed his students each day with story after story about anything historical or otherwise. Speaking as a teacher, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have got anything else done, but his students would have adored him, as we all did.  

When Paul did need some advice, though, he’d always turn to his sister, my mom, Lois. She was closest in age to him, and she kind of became his second mom after Grandma Eunice died when he was 27. Not only did Lois defend him from bullies when he was a little boy, but she also took him in whenever he needed it in his adult years. She likes to say that he often came to her for advice, but he rarely followed it. Who could have imagined that she’d lose both her baby brother and her big sister within days of each other. I know she will miss his long phone calls, his many visits, and, simply, his company. My dad loved when Paul would visit and they could talk because Paul could carry a conversation about anything, and Dad likes to talk about anything, too. Even my son, Trevor, says he will always remember how knowledgeable Paul was about everything and how Paul was so great to talk to because he really focused on the person he was talking to. 

Ironically, one of the very last talks I had with Paul was in June when I accompanied him and Mom to the cemetery to visit their parents’ gravesite. We talked about one of the first camping trips from my childhood that I can remember because he was on that trip, too. Our conversation was mostly about the beef jerky he and I kept buying at the lakeside store. I did see him one more time after that, but the beef jerky conversation we had after visiting the cemetery is forever etched into my memory, and I’m glad I had it with him.

I will always hold many memories of Paul dear to my heart, as I’m sure each of you here will, too. Clearly, he meant a lot to a lot of people. Kevin, my brother, and I were some of his first photography subjects one afternoon in Johnson Park in Norfolk. While I will always admire Paul’s photographic prowess, I will forever shake my head in dismay at this one stupid pose he had me do. (right hand resting over left side of chest with pointer finger pointing toward my shoulder and thumb out) Gary owes his marriage to Sherrie to Paul because he met her after moving in with Paul when Karen and Jerry moved to Ewing. Troy was closest in age to Paul and was, naturally, Paul’s cohort on many escapades that we won’t speak of right now, and he and Gary, as well as others here, have lots of hunting, fishing and camping memories that contain Paul. 

Believe me, it was hard to sum up the greatness that was Paul and write this eulogy. I could go on and on and on. He was loved by each of us, and he loved every one of us. He is looking down on us and smiling that wonderful smile of his. We are better people for having known him.

I shared the following quote on my Facebook page and a few of you reshared it. I said then that it summed up Paul to a tee. If you aren’t on Facebook or didn’t have a chance to see the post, I’m going to read it to you now. The quote is incorrectly attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson when it really came from a short essay by Bessie Stanley, a woman from Kansas, but its relevance to Paul and his life is quite clear. I leave you with these words: 

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of the intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the beauty in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that one life has breathed easier because you lived here. This is to have succeeded.”

Paul Leroy Filsinger succeeded.

Eulogy for Paul Leroy Filsinger (11/19/1959 -- 10/01/2020)

Written and delivered by Tammy Marshall, his niece

October 17, 2020 -- Clearwater, Nebraska

 

I've recently taken up watercolor painting. I enjoy doing it a lot, and I've been painting some of Paul's photos as well as other things. I've also started to pay a lot more attention to the sunrises and sunsets, as those were Paul's favorite times to take photos on the river and elsewhere. Here are a few of my paintings and a sunrise that I captured the day after Paul died. Uncle Paul, I'll love you forever.