In elementary school I always made it to our school spelling bees. While for some kids they seemed like they could care less, I anticipated that time of the year when we would compete first in our classrooms and then in front of the entire school.

Competitors were given a list of words probably five pages long, double-sided, and at night my parents would quiz me. I would stand in the kitchen and speak into an invisible microphone, pronounce the word, spell it and say it a final time. 

The words weren’t nearly as difficult as those given to us in the spelling bee last week – our demise was with the word babelization, which means an act or state of confusion, especially through mingling of markedly different languages and cultures – my spell check apparently never heard of babelization either, because it has a red squiggly line underneath it as I write this.  

My parents and I would practice probably enough to get half way through the list before it was time to compete. I don’t remember being nervous – I should have been, because now, the thought of doing anything before a large crowd gets my stomach in knots.

My family always came to support me and I would look for them before taking my seat on the stage at the Parish Hall in Biddeford.

I remember one kid went out on the word roommate, he said “rom,” before catching himself on his mistake – ding, he was out. The moderator would ring a bell if you had made a mistake, which was your signal to exit the stage and take your seat among those who couldn’t spell.

I don’t remember how far I made it in that particular spelling bee, but I do remember the word that was my demise was honorary. Not a difficult word, I don’t even remember how I spelled it, but I do remember how I felt when I heard that bell. 

I left the stage, holding back tears. I don’t like to lose, but even more, I don’t like to fail – I see the two as very different. 

When forced to sink or swim, I always swim – at least as far as everything but spelling bees are concerned. On that note, this will be my last column. I’m leaving for a position at a company in Scarborough where I’ll combine my love of writing with my love of animals. 

When I started this job two years ago, it was sink or swim – it’s like that in any job. My editor at the time used phrases like “hit the ground running,” which was encouraging, but was something I had to prove to myself.

My first assignment was to go down to the Kennebunk area to take some stand-alone photos – in February. I couldn’t find a soul in town and when I did,  stalked  them with  my camera and notepad in hand, hoping they would do something interesting so I could take a photo.

There were bumps, but I’ve come to really enjoy this work and hope my new job will bring the same enjoyment and satisfaction.  

– Molly Lovell