I’m Meghan Lee, a certified educator with a Master of Education (M.Ed.) degree. I’ve taught English as a Second Language (ESOL) across the globe—from South Korea to the United Arab Emirates. My passion for art, writing, and film infuses my lessons with creativity, making learning fun in all of my classes.
In my classroom, presentations come alive, turning technology into a magical tool for engaging, inclusive learning. I’m all about teaching with heart—embracing diversity, promoting sustainability, and a lifelong love of learning.
Explore my portfolio and join me on a learning journey where every lesson is a vibrant experience, and every student’s potential is celebrated. Let’s make education imaginative, effective, and fun!
About Me
We found it, Dr. Lupo!
Warmest Regards,
Astaldear Antiquities
Creative
Writing
EARTH
The Mirror Realm
by Malaz Mansoor
annotated edition
An Old Friend
The greasy spoon diner assaulted the senses with the strong aroma of grilled onions and burgers. Dr. Lane Lupo sat alone in a booth in the corner, engrossed in her meal and the papers surrounding her plate. The hum of conversations acted as a backdrop to her thoughts. She came here often for lunch because it was far enough from campus to avoid her chatty colleagues. The loud chime of the entrance bell drew her attention, and an elderly woman hobbled in. Lane's eyes narrowed slightly; she had never seen the woman before, but a familiar pang in her heart made her wonder why she felt a connection.
The old woman’s presence was magnetic. A crochet shawl draped her frail shoulders, the pattern intricate and seemingly woven with stories of its own. Her mismatched outfit was an odd blend of decades gone by, and her thick, cola-bottle glasses magnified her eyes, making them seem larger and more searching. But what caught Lane's attention the most was a gold signet ring on the woman's left pinky finger. It was just like the heavy ring her late father had worn.
Absently reaching for a bottle of hot sauce, Lane’s hand bumped into an open bottle. It clattered against the hard tabletop, knocking a dollop of ketchup onto her heavy reference book. Swearing under her breath, she dabbed up the sauce with a paper napkin. When she finally turned back towards the door, she was startled to find the old woman standing beside her booth. Her magnified eyes were fixed intently on Lane's open field journals. The pages, filled with notes and sketches on the mythical Quentarya, a group of shapeshifters able to mimic any animal—even a human. The opposite journal showed her sketches and notes on the Naurodain—principled werewolves, apparently, who managed to survive werewolf hunters hundreds of years ago. The pages fluttered slightly as the diner's ceiling fan whirred overhead. The old woman suddenly looked up, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked. There was a silent exchange, a recognition perhaps, that left Lane both confused and intrigued. Lane settled into her booth, eager to delve deeper into her research. As she reached for her notes, a small, tattered piece of paper caught her eye. The paper seemed to have been torn from an old address book. The writing on it, though elegant, was shaky, hinting at the hands of an elderly woman.
Bewildered, Lane scanned the diner, searching for its author, but the elderly woman was nowhere to be seen. Unfolding the paper, Lane read:
Warehouse at 10. Come alone. —Sal.
Lane furrowed her brow in contemplation. The name Sal didn’t ring any bells. However, memories of a kindly "Mr. Sal,” a cherished confidant of her late father, flooded her thoughts. The cryptic note left her uneasy. The townsfolk had no inkling about her origins or the enigmatic circumstances of her father's passing. Could Sal hold answers? Yet, why the secrecy? With caution bubbling inside her, she resolved to meet this mysterious Sal at the warehouse that night.
Positioned from a discreet vantage point, Lane gazed intently at the aging warehouse. She had no intention of going in blind. A rugged old man, adorned in a slightly shabby suit, emerged into the light of a nearby streetlamp. She didn't recognize him immediately, but her memories of Mr. Sal were from many years ago, back at her father's somber, closed-casket funeral. Since then, she hadn't visited her old neighborhood or reconnected with her family, who seemed to have grown indifferent to her absence.
Silently closing the distance, Lane keenly observed Sal's demeanor. His constant, nervous glances towards the shadowy corners of the dilapidated warehouse betrayed his unease. Prominent signs on the warehouse declared it "Condemned" and warned against trespassing. As Sal ruffled his graying, slicked-back hair, Lane's sharp eyes caught the gleam of a gold ring on his pinky—a signet ring.
Choosing her moment, Lane whispered loudly, "Mr. Sal!" He placed a finger to his lips and motioned for her to approach. When she stepped into the lamplight, Sal's face broke into a familiar, warm smile that Lane immediately recognized. His hardscrabble life had aged him fast, but his eyes still had a youthful twinkle. Greeting her as he had when she was just a child, he bestowed a gentle peck on each of her cheeks and playfully tweaked her nose. In that moment, he bore a striking resemblance to her late father. He’d been murdered twenty-five years ago in a random drive-by shooting—at least, that was what the homicide detectives had concluded.
"Mr. Sal," Lane whispered, her concern palpable, "Is everything alright? Is it Mom? Tony?"
He shook his head, his voice heavy, "It's me, Lane."
Sensing his discomfort, Lane softly inquired, "What's wrong?"
Drawing her closer, he murmured, "I saw everything, Lane. The night they shot your father."
Lane's heart raced. "It's true, then?”
Sal's somber nod sent chills down her spine.
"What do you plan to do now?" she questioned, opting to focus on what they could control.
Sal hesitated, "Your mother said you’d know where I could lay low." His gold signet ring flashed as he ran his fingers through his oily gray hair. Lane turned to pace back and forth.
“So the old woman?’ Lane asked, trailing off as she gestured to Sal’s shiny signet ring.
Sal smiled and leaned in close, looking proud. “Me, of course! Did you like my shawl?”
Lane scoffed. “So what are you some kind of Quentarya then?” Sal nodded thoughtfully.
“And you, my dear, are Naurodain,” Sal whispered gently as Lane shook her head obstinately.
“Sal, you have such a wild imagination,” Lane scoffed. “You’re just as inventive as Dad was.”
After a few minutes to process the situation, Lane decided she would help Sal. She would pick him up at the same local cafe very early the next morning to take him to a safe place—an abandoned hunter’s cabin not far from her own secluded retreat. He’d have to lay low until then.
"Your father was so proud. He’d say to me, ‘Lane is the smartest one in our family.”
"Thank you,” she smiled, gazing into the darkness, “I wish he was here right now.”
"So do I, Dr. Lupo," Sal murmured, “So do I.”
His vision blurred with unshed tears as he watched Lane fade into the night, both their minds a whirlwind of thoughts and memories.
"Like father, like daughter," he said, stepping into the shadows.
Dr. Lane Lupo’s Office
Dr. Lane Lupo's office is a sanctuary of intellect and intrigue in the heart of the vast anthropology building at the University of Lómëlín. The moment you step onto the handwoven rug that softens the worn hardwood floor, you're enveloped in an atmosphere of academic achievement and carefully curated mystique. Bookcases line the walls, filled with antique anthropology tomes, aging field research journals, and dusty boxes with cryptic labels, stacked precariously from the floor to the ceiling.
Illegible scrawls and doodles on colorful scraps of paper and cafe napkins litter every conceivable surface, reminders of ongoing research projects, and random sparks of inspiration. Lane’s large mahogany desk is a landscape of dog-eared books, manila folders, and highlighted journal articles. Coffee and tea rings stain the various papers strewn across the desk. In the middle, a weather-beaten laptop lay tethered to a fancy widescreen monitor ready to channel Lane's remarkable findings into peer-reviewed research articles. Her creaking swivel chair sits behind the desk, its worn leather bearing the patina of frequent use along with a wingback chair, looking just as shabby, tucked into a corner beside an adjustable floor lamp.
There are no overt signs of Lane’s personal life in her office—no smiling photos of loved ones, no children’s scribbles proudly displayed, nor any signs of pet ownership. However, a hint of the beloved professor’s personality shines through in the form of a kitschy mug molded into the shape of a wolf's head. Though ill-suited for coffee, the heavy cup is the perfect vessel to corral her chaotic collection of pens and pencils, highlighters, one intimidating letter opener, six reusable straws, and a diminutive set of screwdrivers. An observant visitor would see the office belongs to a pragmatic, frugal, ambitious, and deeply private instructor.
Despite the entire contents of her desk remaining a mystery, it is rumored to contain a concerning amount of antique staplers, an annotated book on wolves, vintage office supplies, a smorgasbord of expired snacks and candy that are all perfectly fine, a wide selection of pilfered condiments, a first-aid kit a combat medic would envy, a hodge-podge of unopened samples, a selection of tea for every occasion and ailment, a carefully folded map of the mythical world called Earth, an impressive collection of whatchamacallits, a small box of thingamajigs, thingies, and thingos, and an thoughtfully organized tray of gizmos, whatsits, and widgets.
A window with wavy glass panes offers a view of the campus quad bathed in the soft light of autumn. Students cluster on benches and picnic tables, laughing, and chatting, and some sit alone under the trees studying. Autumn leaves, in all shades of auburn, orange, and gold, lay scattered across the grass.
Just outside Lane’s office, a group of her students sit on benches on either side of the open office door, textbooks open but largely ignored. The eager scholars glance back and forth from the open doorway, waiting for their turn to go inside. Lane's distinctive voice erupts into laughter as she wraps up another outlandish tale. The waiting students turn to smile and nod at each other. Lane’s stories are regarded as mostly hyperbole by the skeptical students, but there are always a few learners who share Lane’s fondness for folklore. Suddenly, a beaming girl emerges from the open office, face flushed from laughter, clutching a book titled, “Earth: The Mirror Realm.”
From the adjacent offices, Lane's stodgy colleagues make sporadic appearances, sticking their heads out their office doors. Each one sports a different reaction to the long line of Lane’s students seated in the corridor. Some scoff, some smile, and some simply shake their heads—each a character in their own right. One professor with a hairstyle akin to a mobster even stifles a laugh. Another with an ironic handlebar mustache wordlessly counts the long line of scholars. He whispers the sum to a colleague who jots it down in a reporter’s notebook and shoves it in his shirt pocket.
And so, her office stands as a slice of Dr. Lane Lupo's life—complex, chaotic, endlessly fascinating. Like stars in the legendary Golden Age of Hollywood, Lane presents an image to the world that is relatable while also being quite mysterious. Her office acts as a microcosm of a life that is lived between worlds, each with its own set of challenges and societal expectations while still being indomitably herself.
Digital Art - photorealistic people
Digital Art - nature, animals, life
Mechanical Pencil and Pen & Ink
Advanced
Coloring Art
- Vibrant and Creative
- My work bursts with vivid colors and imaginative designs.
- Intricate Line Art
- Utilizing detailed illustrations from advanced coloring books.
- Bold Designs
- Featuring strong, expressive themes across various subjects.
- Rich Palette
- Mastery of color blending and shading techniques.
- Dynamic Landscapes
- Creating emotionally evocative scenes.
- Varied Subjects
- Includes serene gardens, mythical cities, and vibrant portraits.
