Home > Author > Jennifer Rieger
1 " I sat with my encyclopedia in the back corner of my grandma’s bedroom, feeling small and insignificant, the fake wooden paneling of the walls not feeling like those giant trees in California. How I wanted to be there—lost among the natural world of the northwest coast, waiting for the slivers of light to peek through the leaves. "
― Jennifer Rieger , Burning Sage
2 " Maybe the meantime has always been my time. Maybe this was the trajectory predestined in the stars, if you believe in that sort of thing. "
3 " Those baby-ghosts love to whisper; they love to hypnotize me every time I smell a newborn’s head or even look at Facebook posts of toddlers splashing in bathtubs and playing in pumpkin patches. But the truth is, those whispers are small echoes of a life that wasn’t supposed tobe—a life I unknowingly abandoned when I stepped foot in that classroom and used my time to care for other people’s children. Those whispers taunt from some innate, ancestral, maybe even mystical place of wonder that, surely, I’ll never understand. What I do understand is the transformative value—how to use those voices to repair others and bring meaning to my life. For every student rocking in that blue chair, I have purpose. "
4 " I knew what was about to happen. I knew I was going to cry. It’s not even about sadness—it’s about vulnerability. Seeing into a person’s soul, even for a moment, is just too much. It’s like the convex meniscus Sylvia Plath describes in The Bell Jar—the water that clings to the sides of the glass before one tiny pulse causes it to overflow. "
5 " I hunched under that table wondering how I got to this point. Wasn’t I supposed to be a writer, rubbing elbows at poetry conferences with Mary Ruefle and Kim Addonizio? Wasn’t I supposed to be spending these late spring months at retreats wearing woven island commune hippie clothes designed by women named Star? Having Evan changed all that. This was a direction I never expected. This is supposed to be the meantime—teaching in a public school so that I could make money, get my graduate degrees, and move on to my real calling. The one where I learn, create, and pub- lish. The one where I’m not huddled under standard issue cafeteria tables contemplating the best place to run when gunfire broke out. The one where somebody else is responsible for the welfare of these children surrounding me. The one where I don’t give a shit. "
6 " I hunched under that table wondering how I got to this point. Wasn’t I supposed to be a writer, rubbing elbows at poetry conferences with Mary Ruefle and Kim Addonizio? Wasn’t I supposed to be spending these late spring months at retreats wearing woven island commune hippie clothes designed by women named Star? Having Evan changed all that. This was a direction I never expected. This is supposed to be the meantime—teaching in a public school so that I could make money, get my graduate degrees, and move on to my real calling. The one where I learn, create, and publish. The one where I’m not huddled under standard issue cafeteria tables contemplating the best place to run when gunfire broke out. The one where somebody else is responsible for the welfare of these children surrounding me. The one where I don’t give a shit. "
7 " Teachers are charged with much more today than academic instruction. We become their caretakers and battle their monsters. We bear witness to their strengths and flaws that inevitably meld into this wondrous grey of reality. "
8 " I hold their hands, wipe tears from their eyes and snot from their faces, and love them as my own. This is the side of teaching they don’t tell you about—the side that makes the headaches, heartaches, and the dual caffeine-wine addiction worth it. "
