(Pictured left to right, Jamie Gibeau – Marketing Director with Coldwell Banker, Meg VanSchoorl with The Community Foundation of South Puget Sound, contest judge John Dodge, Maisie Maclay, Carolyn Gilman, Ken Anderson – President/Owner of Coldwell Banker, Matt Grant, Olympia High School Principal)
We are thrilled to announce our second Inspirational Educator Award winner, Carolyn Gilman. Carolyn is an English teacher at Olympia High School and was nominated for the award by our first place winner Maisie Maclay. We surprised Ms. Gilman during her first period class so Maisie could share the inspiration for her nomination. Maisie spoke as eloquently as she writes as she told her fellow classmates about how Ms. Gilman has encouraged her in her writing. Also to note, there were 5 students from this class that were part of our top 17 this year. Great job Ms. Gilman. Here’s Maisie’s note for why she nominated Ms. Gilman for this award:
We are so fortunate to have such amazing educators in our community. Congratulations again to both Maisie Maclay and Carolyn Gilman!
(Margaret is pictured here with her mother Annie Maclay and siblings Ellen and Tavish)
Congratulations to the first place scholarship winner of our 6th annual What Makes a House a Home scholarship contest, Margaret Maclay. Margaret – now known to us as Maisie – wrote a fantastic essay about the history of her home. Her essay was rich with the memories from her first home to the warmth of her new address. A read we are sure you too will enjoy!
Wonderful work Maisie!
Here’s her winning essay:
The History Of My Home
By Margaret Maclay
My current house is not my first home. It is the second address to live at the tip of my tongue, and the second set of directions written on the back of my hand. It came later, replacing the house that all three kids were born in, the first house my parents had together, the house that remembered my first words, my first steps, my first tantrum. As a particularly sentimental person, I was more than reluctant to let go of this history and call a new place home. Eventually, I realized that we are a family of individuals living in an eternal work in progress, and it is these two things that make our house a home.
I watched this house being built from the ground up by my dad’s own hands. I saw every ounce of work he poured into building something better for our growing family, and watched as he woke up for work at six and then drove across town at five in the evening to work on our new house, sometimes not coming back until nine. My own handprint lies in the cement foundation, a nine year old’s mark on the world. However, for all the sawdust summers, the way the nailgun rewrote the rhythm of my heart beat, it was never quite finished. There are always half started ideas and unfinished plans.
Now, six years later, I walk into my house everyday by turning the stiff doorknob a little extra hard, ignoring the light fixture in the entryway that has never had a bulb. I walk past my dad’s building plans laid out across the coffee table, my brother’s trains chugging their way across the living room floor, my mom’s shoes covered in dirt from gardening, my sister’s unassuming masterpieces gracing the dining table, my own books and dance shoes piled high on the couch. I’m alone in the living room, but I can hear my mom’s fingers flying at sixty words a minute as she works in the office, my four year old brother having a teaparty with his stuffed animals, and my sister singing in her room as she works on her latest artwork. In a few hours I’ll pass my dad in the driveway as he comes home and I go to dance.
Everyone in my family has their own story and they leave little paragraphs inside the unpainted walls, the piles of belongings littering the stairs. I don’t need a history to make my house a home. I just need my family to keep writing their own history, and I need my home to store that history until we need to move it.