MAINE EDUCATION ASSOCIATION RETIRED
MAINE EDUCATION ASSOCIATION RETIREDMAINE EDUCATION ASSOCIATION RETIREDMAINE EDUCATION ASSOCIATION RETIRED~Promoting the economic, professional and social welfare of retired educators.
MAINE EDUCATION ASSOCIATION RETIRED
~Promoting the economic, professional and social welfare of retired educators.
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Pictures from 2025 Meetings and Events
A Message From Our President & Association Review Initiative Committee (ARI)
Scheduled Events, Convention Notices, Awards/Grants Due Dates, and Volunteer/Exercise Tracking
Legislative News
The Clarion
Dental Plan
AARP Maine
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Maine Legislative session begins in January 2026
The MEA-Retired #1 priority is getting LD111 to the finish line and into law.
In the last session, LD111, a bill to raise the State’s share of Healthcare Insurance from 60% to 65%, had a public hearing, passed the Labor Committee UNANIMOUSLY, passed the House and Senate under the hammer (no opposition), was sent to the Special Appropriations Table, and was carried over to the session that starts January 2026. The cost is $3 million per year.
The MEA-Retired educators need to work on the House, Senate, and Governor Mills from Nov. 2025 to Jan. 1, 2026, before the session start, so this will get of the finish line.
Contact your Representative and Senator and remind them to keep supporting LD111.
2025 MEA-Retired Highlights
MEA-Retired - New Slate of Officers (2025-2027)
Molly Smith, President; Julie Gomez, President-elect; Roger Roy, Treasurer; Marilyn Burton, Secretary; and Barbara Hammond, Information Coordinator
MEA-Retired at MEA-RA May 17-18, 2025
MEA-Retired is very well represented!
From right to left (front row): Grace Leavitt, Molly Smith, Barbara Bricker, Julie Gomez, Gary McGrane
From right to left (second row): Ben Paradis, Doug Larlee, Marilyn Burton, Kay Grindall, Belinda Micucci, Jen Perry, Roger Roy
NEA Representative Assembly from July 3-7, 2025
NEA Representative Assembly from July 3-7, 2025
Twenty-three delegates of MEA and MEA-Retired represented more than 23,000 MEA active and retired members at the NEA Representative Assembly in Portland, Oregon.
A Message From Our MEA-Retired President
A Message From Our MEA-Retired President
Over the course of the past month, I have encountered challenges while working to complete this message for the Clarion. The difficulty has not been a lack of ideas or uncertainty about what to express; rather, it has been the abundance of thoughts and topics I could address.
Recently, I was privileged to travel with my husband on a cruise. Travel holds a special place in my heart for many reasons, which I won’t elaborate on here, but I do credit my parents for instilling in me a thirst for exploration.
As the child of educators,our family trips were seasonal. We would spend a week or two each summer—the time when my father,a school administrator, could load the tent, cooler, and the family into the station wagon so we could escape and explore. Our journeys typically took us through the Midwest, especially to the Great Lakes. For years, those lakes served as my ocean, since I had never seen a real one.
Over the fifty-two years I have lived in Maine, my connection with water has become clearer and more intense. I have called six different places home, each one situated on the banks of a river or beside a lake and I now am able to visit the ocean at will.
Reflecting on my love for water—whether being immersed in it, on it or simply nearby—I have realized several insights. Water is inherently dynamic, much like the weather, always shifting and changing. Its power is unmistakable, ranging from peaceful moments of relaxation to overwhelming displays of force and destruction. The vastness of water is awe-inspiring, with depths that defy imagination and horizons without end.
Beyond its physical qualities, water is a profound teacher. It guides us in navigating life’s uncertainties, encouraging us to “go with the flow.” This lesson means not resisting change, but trusting that,no matter the outcome,we emerge intact and stronger for having made the journey.
As I prepared for the upcoming November Board of Directors meeting, I reviewed information compiled from various sources. These included insights from collaborative group work during our meetings, where we identified shared priorities, as well as valuable feedback gathered through surveys from our MEA-Retired leaders of local affiliates.
A prominent theme that emerged from these discussions and surveys is the importance of raising funds to provide scholarships and grants. These financial resources support educational pursuits within our public education community, specifically assisting active educators and their students in furthering their academic and professional growth.
I would like to share a story of resilience and perspective sent to me by a high school friend in Ohio. Although I cannot cite her original source, the story left a lasting impression on me. As educators, many of us have encountered students who remind us of the young man in this account. Ryan’s story is a testament to the transformative power of a supportive perspective, unwavering clarity of purpose, dedication to hard work, and the strength to persevere through challenges.
The mother’s outlook was instrumental in shaping her son’s path. Her guidance instilled in him the importance of staying focused and resilient, lessons essential to his eventual success. These same qualities—perspective, purpose, diligence, and resilience—are the gifts we strive to nurture in our students as an educational community. They are not only tools for academic achievement but invaluable assets for a lifetime.
Here is Ryan’s story.
May we all be able to take the time to ponder, to reflect and gain perspective about the things and people who affect our lives. Lastly, and most importantly, may we all be able to respect and honor the labor that we do and that of others.
Molly Smith
President, MEA-Retired
Maine Education Association - Retired
35 Community Drive, Augusta, ME 04330 (207) 622-5866
Ryan’s Story
When I stood to give my Valedictorian speech, the students in the front row—the ones with new cars and apartments already waiting near their universities—laughed. The “farm boy” was giving the big speech.
Ten seconds later, you could have heard a pin drop in that gym packed with two thousand people.
But to understand why, you need to know about the smell.
My name is Ryan, and I grew up in a corner of Ohio where time was measured by the price of feed.The auto-parts plant in town had closed, laying off hundreds. Our small family farm was sinking under its weight. We weren’t “economically anxious.” We were just broke.
My mother, Brenda, was a widow who wore hard work like a uniform. Her hands told her story— cracked and scarred from winters that split her skin and summers that baked her arms the color of dry dust. If you looked closely, you’d always see a crescent of Ohio soil under her nails. It never came out. I learned early that “clean” didn’t mean polished. Clean meant the bank wasn’t calling and there was enough gas in our rusted truck to reach the feed store.
School was where I learned to be ashamed of that.
On the bus, I’d press myself against the window,hoping no one would sit beside me. The smell of the barn clung to my clothes—a mix of hay, diesel, and manure.It was the scent of survival, but kids can smell weakness.
“Dude, what is that?” Kyle asked once in the cafeteria. His father was a lawyer. “You smell like a petting zoo.”
Laughter in a big room echoes. It bounces around and lands on you again, long after it stops. After that, I scrubbed my hands raw every morning with pink industrial soap, trying to wash the farm off me.
That spring, my English teacher, Mr. Harrison, gave us one final assignment: My America.
Most students wrote about Disney trips or city skylines—places I’d only seen on our old TV. I tried to do the same, but my page stayed empty.
That night, I was outside fixing the fence with my mother. The sun was sinking, and the air was sharp enough to bite. She was wrestling with the post-hole digger when her grip slipped, cutting her hand open. She swore softly, spat on her knuckles, and kept working. She didn’t have time to bleed.
I went inside and started my essay with one sentence: “My America isn’t a flag or a skyline. My America is the dirt under my mother’s nails.”
When I read it in class, my voice trembled. I waited for the laughter. None came. The room was still—the kind of silence that means people are really hearing you. After class, Mr. Harrison stopped me. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Ryan, never be ashamed of the work that feeds you.”
But shame is stubborn.
That winter, the letter from the bank arrived—the kind that comes certified, with a signature line on the envelope. We kept it in an old cookie tin with other bills we couldn’t pay. I used to catch my mother staring at that tin in the morning light, her face hollowed by worry.
Then one day, the power shut off with a quiet click. My mother lit a lantern and said, “The pioneers did it this way.” She smiled, but her hands shook.
Ryan’s Story... continued
Ryan’s Story... continued
A week later, a new envelope appeared in that cookie tin. It held my SAT registration form and a pawn shop receipt. My mother’s wedding ring was gone.
She kept her left hand in her pocket for a week.When I finally asked her about it, she just said, “Rings are metal, Ryan. An education is land.No one can take land from you.”
I studied in the truck cab with the engine running for heat.I studied at the diner where she waitressed, sipping the coffee she slipped me when the manager wasn’t looking. “Don’t stop,” she whispered each time she refilled my cup.
When my acceptance letter came that spring, we celebrated with a grocery store pie. I told her I should wait a year to work and save money. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s time the field we planted paid us back.”
Four years later, I stood on that stage in a borrowed gown that pinched at the shoulders. I spotted her in the crowd wearing her old funeral dress,hands folded in her lap, still marked by the faint line of soil she could never quite wash away.
They called my name. Valedictorian.
I walked to the podium. The same kids who once laughed at me were whispering again. I looked at the speech I’d written—polished, forgettable—and then at my mother. I set it aside.
“When I came here,I was ashamed,” I said. “Ashamed of the smell of work. Ashamed of the hands that raised me.” I paused,my throat tight. “But I understand now—I’m not smart despite that work. I’m smart because of it.”
I lifted my diploma. “This isn’t mine. It belongs to my mother, Brenda. This is her ring, her dawn alarms, her calloused hands, her sleepless nights. She tilled the ground of her own life so I could stand here.”
The room stayed still. Then Mr. Harrison rose from his seat and started to clap. One by one, everyone joined him until the whole gym stood—not for me, but for her.
My mother didn’t clap. She just pressed her hand to her chest and let the tears fall.
I came back to that Ohio town years later. I teach biology at the same high school now. We built a small greenhouse out of scrap wood and donated plastic—a place where kids can put their hands in the dirt without shame. Above the door, I painted a sign: Dignity Comes with Dirty Hands.
If you’re reading this wondering if your life is too small because it doesn’t shine online, listen to me.If you’re clocking in when everyone else clocks out, cleaning up after the “important” people,or packing lunches before sunrise—your work matters.
The things that save us rarely sparkle. They come in early mornings, heavy loads, and calloused hands.
People may laugh. Let them. Their laughter fades.
Love doesn’t. Love leaves a mark. It’s written in sweat, soil, and sacrifice.
The diploma is paper. The story is soil. Carry it. And help someone else grow.
Legislative News
Legislative News Is Time Sensitive
The Legislature will return in January 2026 for the “short session.”
• This session is specifically for “emergency” legislation and bills not finally acted upon last year.
• The session is expected to last from January until mid-April, but can be extended.
There is a stark partisan divide.
• The Maine Senate has 20 Democrats and 15 Republicans.
• The Maine House has 75 Democrats, 73 Republicans, 3 unenrolleds.
• Governor Janet Mills has frustrated our efforts to make progress for our members.
Go HERE to get links to the latest information. Go HERE to go to the State Legislature's Home Page.
Delta Dental Plan
Open enrollment for Northeast Delta Dental Insurance has begun.
Enrollment Period
Now through December 14, 2025
Coverage Begins
February 1, 2026
Deadline to Submit Forms
December 14, 2025
New Monthly Premiums - Effective Feb 1, 2026
Coverage Type Monthly Premium
Retiree only $63.65
Retiree + 1 $108.42
Retiree + 2 or more $170.74
Submit the enrollment/change form (under Tools and Forms link) by December 14, 2025 to Lisa Collins at lcollins@maineea.org or by mail to MEA, PO Box 310, Caribou, ME 04736
If you're already enrolled and do not want any changes you will automatically be re-enrolled.
Helpful Links and Important Messages
LINKS TO:
NEA-Retired: https://www.nea.org/nea-councils/nea-retired
Link to the Social Security Administration at https://www.ssa.gov/.
To learn more about getting started with Medicare, link to Medicare at https://www.medicare.gov/basics/get-started-with-medicare
More information about the Social Security Fairness Act can be found at https://www.ssa.gov/benefits/retirement/social-security-fairness-act.html
The Maine Public Employees Retirement System can be accessed at https://www.mainepers.org/
STATE-WIDE FOOD PANTRIES
The Good Shepherd Food Bank has a list and link to a map of state-wide food pantries here. You can also find the location of nearby food pantries in your community by calling your town office.
CDC Covid-19 page HERE
Maine CDC page HERE.
