I have had a job every summer since I turned 13. I started babysitting for a coworker of my mom's, her three kids, one a newborn. I loved it. I felt powerful and strong and in charge, and I loved having my own money.
From there I worked at a local bakery and gallery in Lindsborg, then at the Lindsborg Pizza Hut, then for my dad working construction, at an Applebees, as a telemarketer, at Barnes and Noble, at the Manhattan Public Library, for Lovewell in FL, for SYT in Lawrence. This year, though, I'm not working. Not officially, anyway. I'm redesigning the curriculum for all three of the classes all teach in the fall--20th Century Lit needs to be more contemporary, more diverse, Adv. American Lit needs to be streamlined, and I'm creating a course pack for American LIt that students can annotate as opposed to having them read from textbooks so packed with extra features that they often miss the text itself--and I'm planning to write. Really write. I want to do something with my writing, have always wanted to, and so it's time to make that a priority.
And, honestly, it's time to make myself a priority. I tend to throw myself into other peoples' projects, into work, into anything that distracts me from the here and now of my own life. Not because my life is so all fired terrible that I can't deal with it, but I tend to put everyone and everything else first. But, this summer, I want to settle and rest and focus and feel for myself. I think it's time.
To that end, this was my first day: woke up at 8, played with Z, read and emailed for a couple of hours, went to the pool for three hours where I read The Last Time I Saw You by Elizabeth Berg, picked up my last LAC paycheck, went to the bank, picked up new contacts, got gas, put away my laundry, played with Z, had dinner H & J, got yogurt from Orange Leaf, wandered CVS for thirty minutes, now watching old Law & Order SVU and blogging.
I was worried I wouldn't know what to do with myself this summer. Not really feeling all that concerned anymore. Up later this week: thrifting Thursday in KC with the girls, Samantha Crain & Langhorne Slim @ the Bottleneck Friday. It's good to be me.
31 May 2011
Good Friends
28 May 2011
Just Like Starting Over
Tomorrow is LHS graduation and, while I am very excited to work at it and to see all the graduates matriculate out into the next step of their lives, it will be bittersweet.
While endings are a cycle of life we all must learn to accept, it can be difficult when the action we have to take is painful, and not necessarily something we want to do so much as know we need to do.
When kids graduate, for many of them the posturing about being out of school masks a deeper fear of what comes next. The loudest celebrants are often the most insecure, singing the praises of the end of this chapter all while quaking at the prospects of what comes next.
As someone who went through a pretty serious ending herself this year, I have this advice: let yourself be afraid. Let yourself feel whatever it is you are feeling because burying it only makes it worse. And, embrace the changes that are coming. They are frightening, terrifying in fact, but they also mean something new and beautiful is on the way.
It's only when we have the courage to leave on situation--for whatever reason--that we learn what we are capable of in the next one. I believe in the power of change, of transformation, of the joy that can be borne from intense sorrow. I believe in it because it happened to me.
So, graduates, fellow travelers on the journey of life, here's to starting over, one step at a time.
While endings are a cycle of life we all must learn to accept, it can be difficult when the action we have to take is painful, and not necessarily something we want to do so much as know we need to do.
When kids graduate, for many of them the posturing about being out of school masks a deeper fear of what comes next. The loudest celebrants are often the most insecure, singing the praises of the end of this chapter all while quaking at the prospects of what comes next.
As someone who went through a pretty serious ending herself this year, I have this advice: let yourself be afraid. Let yourself feel whatever it is you are feeling because burying it only makes it worse. And, embrace the changes that are coming. They are frightening, terrifying in fact, but they also mean something new and beautiful is on the way.
It's only when we have the courage to leave on situation--for whatever reason--that we learn what we are capable of in the next one. I believe in the power of change, of transformation, of the joy that can be borne from intense sorrow. I believe in it because it happened to me.
So, graduates, fellow travelers on the journey of life, here's to starting over, one step at a time.
15 May 2011
Mom
Sometimes, all it takes is an hour face to face with my mom to make me feel like I'm normal again. No matter how scared or alone or out of control I feel, she knows me.
There isn't a day that goes by when I'm not thankful for her.
Today, I'm extra-thankful.
There isn't a day that goes by when I'm not thankful for her.
Today, I'm extra-thankful.
11 May 2011
08 May 2011
Because
Because she listened, I knew I had the right to speak.
Because she asked questions, I learned how to think.
Because she wasn't outgoing, she made sure I was.
Because she know the value of comic timing, I do, too.
Because she always told me I could, I never doubted myself.
Because she said I was beautiful, I grew to believe it.
Because she told me the truth, I learned the value of honesty.
Because she laughed more than she cried, I do, too.
Because she wanted to know me, I wanted to know her.
Because she kept her promises, I keep mine.
Because she believes in God, I understand the power of faith.
Because she wanted to be my friend, I wanted that, too.
Happy Mothers Day, Mama. I love you.
Because she asked questions, I learned how to think.
Because she wasn't outgoing, she made sure I was.
Because she know the value of comic timing, I do, too.
Because she always told me I could, I never doubted myself.
Because she said I was beautiful, I grew to believe it.
Because she told me the truth, I learned the value of honesty.
Because she laughed more than she cried, I do, too.
Because she wanted to know me, I wanted to know her.
Because she kept her promises, I keep mine.
Because she believes in God, I understand the power of faith.
Because she wanted to be my friend, I wanted that, too.
Happy Mothers Day, Mama. I love you.
05 May 2011
The Rules of Nature
For a few minutes this afternoon, the sky cracked open and dark clouds poured out their colors, streaky silver and grays that somehow made my grass greener, the inky indigo sky looked painted on, the world seemed to say, "Look at me, look at all this life, even now in the middle of a storm."
I've been thinking a lot about the last year, about how hard it was at times to get out of bed, to brush my teeth, to smile when all I wanted to do was cry and scream and wonder why things hadn't gone as I'd planned. I think the lesson I was supposed to learn--the lesson I am still learning--is that no matter what you think you want, what you need will, eventually, materialize. You just have to try not to resist it, to open yourself, to give up any and all semblance of control and just keep breathing.
The sky, this afternoon, didn't fight the storm, it opened itself to the rain, the thunder, the strange lightning that seemed to be right beyond my windows. And now, just a short time later, the sun is pushing through and the bright white edges of post-storm clouds are rubbing elbows with gray cousins, making way for light and dark because, as it turns out, the world big enough for both.
I don't always look up from my life long enough to see the miracle of mid-afternoon storm clouds. I did today, and for that I am thankful.
I hope you, dear reader find tim to close your eyes, to breathe, to accept that whatever storm is raging in will, if only by the sheer rules of nature, eventually end, and give way (I promise) to sun.
I've been thinking a lot about the last year, about how hard it was at times to get out of bed, to brush my teeth, to smile when all I wanted to do was cry and scream and wonder why things hadn't gone as I'd planned. I think the lesson I was supposed to learn--the lesson I am still learning--is that no matter what you think you want, what you need will, eventually, materialize. You just have to try not to resist it, to open yourself, to give up any and all semblance of control and just keep breathing.
The sky, this afternoon, didn't fight the storm, it opened itself to the rain, the thunder, the strange lightning that seemed to be right beyond my windows. And now, just a short time later, the sun is pushing through and the bright white edges of post-storm clouds are rubbing elbows with gray cousins, making way for light and dark because, as it turns out, the world big enough for both.
I don't always look up from my life long enough to see the miracle of mid-afternoon storm clouds. I did today, and for that I am thankful.
I hope you, dear reader find tim to close your eyes, to breathe, to accept that whatever storm is raging in will, if only by the sheer rules of nature, eventually end, and give way (I promise) to sun.
03 May 2011
Seriously. I'm good. I got this.
I am good at my job. No. Seriously. I am. A lot of people may say that and what they really mean is "I am good enough at my job to be able to get paid without actually expending much effort," but that's not me. I eat, sleep, and breathe teaching. I'm always thinking about ways to make the lessons I teach more engaging, I read all the time in an effort to keep my brain sharp and to try to find new works that might be of interest to my kids, I'm not afraid to try things beyond my comfort zone, and I love love love talking about what I do with like minded folk.
To that end, I work with amazingly passionate people. Two of my colleagues/friends and I serve on a committee that met today, and throughout the afternoon I caught myself several times thinking how awesome it is that I get to be in a job where I can say, "THESE are my colleagues." These guys--smart, funny, engaged, committed--are two of the best, and along with our cross town counterparts, we assembled today to do a job that really needed doing only to be derailed late in the game by a bombshell that sort of threw off all we had accomplished in the preceding three hours.
I am not angry at the woman who ran our meeting, I don't think she realized the late in the day information was as potentially game changing as it turned out to be (and yes, I realize I am being cryptic, but public education is taking a hit right now and I want to be careful). And, I think she means well. She advocates for us, wants us to get what we need to do our jobs effectively and efficiently, but the powers that be make that as hard for her to give to us as it is for us to get it.
So, today my question is this: should it seriously be this hard to do my job? Should I seriously have to spend hours and hours planning and drafting language about what should happen only to be told that all of it is contingent upon a maybe for next year, or that some of our assumptions have been altered due to the change of mind of outside parties? SERIOUSLY. This is teaching. This is education. I don't need committees and administrations and technology departments and textbook companies and the federal government an standardized tests and common core and state boards of education and angry local newspaper commentators to help me do my job.
I'm good.
I got this.
To that end, I work with amazingly passionate people. Two of my colleagues/friends and I serve on a committee that met today, and throughout the afternoon I caught myself several times thinking how awesome it is that I get to be in a job where I can say, "THESE are my colleagues." These guys--smart, funny, engaged, committed--are two of the best, and along with our cross town counterparts, we assembled today to do a job that really needed doing only to be derailed late in the game by a bombshell that sort of threw off all we had accomplished in the preceding three hours.
I am not angry at the woman who ran our meeting, I don't think she realized the late in the day information was as potentially game changing as it turned out to be (and yes, I realize I am being cryptic, but public education is taking a hit right now and I want to be careful). And, I think she means well. She advocates for us, wants us to get what we need to do our jobs effectively and efficiently, but the powers that be make that as hard for her to give to us as it is for us to get it.
So, today my question is this: should it seriously be this hard to do my job? Should I seriously have to spend hours and hours planning and drafting language about what should happen only to be told that all of it is contingent upon a maybe for next year, or that some of our assumptions have been altered due to the change of mind of outside parties? SERIOUSLY. This is teaching. This is education. I don't need committees and administrations and technology departments and textbook companies and the federal government an standardized tests and common core and state boards of education and angry local newspaper commentators to help me do my job.
I'm good.
I got this.
01 May 2011
Reflections of (the way life used to be)
The title of this post comes from a Supremes song that I love. It was used as the theme music for China Beach, a show I used to love. Why the nostalgia? Well, after a month of writing every day (and I have to admit to being proud I only took passes on two occasions), I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be disciplined, not only when it comes to writing, but in life in general.
I loved swimming when I was a kid. LOVED it. Took lessons, was ready for lifeguard status a few years too early and then our family moved to a town with no YWCA, no pool, no high school swim team. I wonder if there is an alternate universe version of me where I am--gasp--an athlete?? Anyway, I was disciplined to keep going because I took lessons, I had a place to go, a reason to learn, and--in the water--a completely silent space that belonged only to me. My body cutting through the chlorine, little legs kicking, arm over arm towards a healthier, happier, stronger me.
I haven't been that focused on something very much in my life. I devour books, music, I ingest the people I love, swallowing their good and bad qualities, trying to carry them around with me at all times so that I feel less alone. Yes, it's true: I have a bit of an abandonment thing. I couldn't tell you why. No horror stories from childhood, just a few lame boyfriends who didn't really take the care they should have with me, but this post isn't actually about that.
The point I'm trying to make, and there really is one, is that the last month of making myself write, even when I really didn't want to, reminded me that there is a payoff from such discipline and focus. I found myself reflecting on things I hadn't thought about in years, I caught myself looking forward to the challenge of finding something to say each day, and--in maybe the cheesiest sentence I've ever written--I, simply, found myself.
I remember, now, what it means to be dedicated, disciplined, focused. I'm ready to live that girl's life again.
I loved swimming when I was a kid. LOVED it. Took lessons, was ready for lifeguard status a few years too early and then our family moved to a town with no YWCA, no pool, no high school swim team. I wonder if there is an alternate universe version of me where I am--gasp--an athlete?? Anyway, I was disciplined to keep going because I took lessons, I had a place to go, a reason to learn, and--in the water--a completely silent space that belonged only to me. My body cutting through the chlorine, little legs kicking, arm over arm towards a healthier, happier, stronger me.
I haven't been that focused on something very much in my life. I devour books, music, I ingest the people I love, swallowing their good and bad qualities, trying to carry them around with me at all times so that I feel less alone. Yes, it's true: I have a bit of an abandonment thing. I couldn't tell you why. No horror stories from childhood, just a few lame boyfriends who didn't really take the care they should have with me, but this post isn't actually about that.
The point I'm trying to make, and there really is one, is that the last month of making myself write, even when I really didn't want to, reminded me that there is a payoff from such discipline and focus. I found myself reflecting on things I hadn't thought about in years, I caught myself looking forward to the challenge of finding something to say each day, and--in maybe the cheesiest sentence I've ever written--I, simply, found myself.
I remember, now, what it means to be dedicated, disciplined, focused. I'm ready to live that girl's life again.
28 April 2011
Day 28
Today's poem comes to you from my friend and colleague. It is better than anything else I could even attempt today: 1606 & 231
24 April 2011
Day 24
In the words of my preacher this morning: "May we all embrace the resurrection in our lives by turning away from hopelessness and darkness to, instead, surrender ourselves to the joy and light of love."
Seven Stanzas On Easter, John Updike
Seven Stanzas On Easter, John Updike
Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.
It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.
The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.
Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.
The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.
And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.
Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.
[Written for a religious arts festival sponsored by the Clifton Lutheran Church, of Marblehead, Mass.]
30 March 2011
Plans
I have this glitch when it comes to planning. I like the idea that having a plan will somehow assure me that things will go smoothly, even though I also believe planning too much is the death of spontaneity and creativity. See: glitch.
I believe the line that life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans is true, and I know that no amount of planning can make up for the magical and mysterious things that happen out of the blue. I'm in a place right now, though, where the comfort of planning is very seductive. See, when you're planning everything--how people will react to something you say or where to go for lunch or how to spend a Saturday--you don't have to focus on being afraid of just letting things happen.
Blind faith and trust that all will be well can be pretty elusive, and not knowing what's coming down the pike can be terrifying when you want so much for things to be a certain way. But, if I've learned anything over the last year, it's that life can surprise you by how completely differently things can turn out from your original, well, plans.
So, I'm going to satisfy my urge to plan by making a few little ones in an effort to curb my (at times) OCD-ish need to plan everything. Here's what's on deck:
In honor of National Poetry Month--April--I'm going to participate in National Poetry Writing Month. That's a poem a day in April. Will they be any good? No telling, but I feel better when I'm writing, even if what I'm writing is less than stellar.
I'm going to try to set aside a little money each month for my niece's college fund. If I can manage even $20 a month, between now and her high school graduation I can come up with $5000, and there's no better gift I'll ever be able to give her than the gift of education.
This summer I'm not going to work. I usually take a summer job, but not this year. I want to work on me, making myself as strong and healthy and happy as I can be. To that end, I plan to take Zelda to the Dog Park early in the morning Monday through Friday, and I'm going to start swimming laps in the city pool. I want to spend my afternoons reading and writing. Nights...well, I'll leave those open to the universe.
Wish me luck.
I believe the line that life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans is true, and I know that no amount of planning can make up for the magical and mysterious things that happen out of the blue. I'm in a place right now, though, where the comfort of planning is very seductive. See, when you're planning everything--how people will react to something you say or where to go for lunch or how to spend a Saturday--you don't have to focus on being afraid of just letting things happen.
Blind faith and trust that all will be well can be pretty elusive, and not knowing what's coming down the pike can be terrifying when you want so much for things to be a certain way. But, if I've learned anything over the last year, it's that life can surprise you by how completely differently things can turn out from your original, well, plans.
So, I'm going to satisfy my urge to plan by making a few little ones in an effort to curb my (at times) OCD-ish need to plan everything. Here's what's on deck:
In honor of National Poetry Month--April--I'm going to participate in National Poetry Writing Month. That's a poem a day in April. Will they be any good? No telling, but I feel better when I'm writing, even if what I'm writing is less than stellar.
I'm going to try to set aside a little money each month for my niece's college fund. If I can manage even $20 a month, between now and her high school graduation I can come up with $5000, and there's no better gift I'll ever be able to give her than the gift of education.
This summer I'm not going to work. I usually take a summer job, but not this year. I want to work on me, making myself as strong and healthy and happy as I can be. To that end, I plan to take Zelda to the Dog Park early in the morning Monday through Friday, and I'm going to start swimming laps in the city pool. I want to spend my afternoons reading and writing. Nights...well, I'll leave those open to the universe.
Wish me luck.
23 March 2011
We Don't Need No Education
In the immortal words of Pink Floyd, "We don't need no education." For those in the know, this statements double negative actually suggests that education is exactly what we need.
I've been reading all the anti-teacher, anti-education, anti-knowing anything other than what the right wing wants you to know sentiment currently clogging the atmosphere, and it's taken me awhile to decide how or if I wanted to weigh in on the argument. As a teacher, I'm personally tied to the conversation in a way that makes objectivity nearly impossible, and as a person who has loved to learn since I was a child, I'm definitely part of the touchy-feely liberal problem rather than the detached, bottom-line, money driven solution. But, dear reader, if you know me at all, you know I wasn't going to be able to keep myself out of this cesspool for long, so this morning I'm jumping in.
There are two camps at the moment regarding education in this country: 1) those who believe teachers are a lazy set of union-thug represented 'those who couldn't do' slurping wages from the federal teat like Depression-era babies whose classroom effectiveness should be measured against how well students do on standardized tests (this group also tends to believe privatization, i.e. charters, is an effective solution to the money drain education places on state and federal budgets), and 2) those who believe that we are a country with a solid educational system (save the narrative we are being sold about it from the--predominantly Republican--legislative bodies that are seeking to vilify it in the name of balancing state and federal budgets). Most of the folks in group 2 tend to think the answer to the problems in education--and we know there are problems--aren't going to come from cutting budgets, but by increasing them. Provide technology in all classrooms at all grade levels to support students who are learning in a digitally advanced world, encourage students to participate in activities and projects not only in their community but in their state and nation so that they learn their actions and ideas have the ability to change the world in which they live, and pay teachers a wage that is comparable to what anyone with a professional degree in any other field earns.
First, I'd like to address the group 1 concerns. I was a union member the first three years I taught but, after I divorced, I couldn't afford to pay the dues any longer. I still value the work the union does in terms of bargaining for my right to have planning time built into my schedule, but I recognize that no collective bargaining body is ever going to be completely respected by people who do not need it to exist. Just as the striking mill workers in Lawrence, MA asked for bread and roses in 1912, those of us who have relied on union representation understand we are asking for a quality of life to be protected from legislators who may not recognize that the nature of public service jobs can make those of us who perform said jobs fall patsy to the political agenda of a ruling person or body.
The idea that teachers teach because they couldn't do something else, well, I'm going to say that's true for some of us. If I want to live a life in which I am fulfilled, enriched, and revived each day by the job I am paid to do, I couldn't sit behind a desk and answer phones, I couldn't punch numbers into a spreadsheet, and I couldn't proofread articles someone else had written. I've had jobs that fit all three of those descriptions, and each morning when I woke to work I was as miserable about how I earned my paycheck as I was when I arrived home each night, brain dead and exhausted from monotonous work that meant nothing to me. I couldn't do those things, but I can teach. I can make seventeen year old boys excited about deciphering metaphor in The Great Gatsby which means I'm helping them sharpen critical thinking skills they can apply to other difficult situations outside of the classroom, and I teach sixteen year old girls that their lives are as valuable as the lives of their male classmates by showing them that Hester Prynne had a choice in The Scarlet Letter and she chose to stay in Boston and in so doing she was able to make a living and raise her child without being beholden to a husband. And we talk about the consequences of the actions that led to that choice so that, when they are confronted with a situation in the future that seems to be instantly gratifying, they'll remember there are repercussions for making those choices and will perhaps think twice.
As for suckling from the government teat, I could break down the amount of hours I work each week (55 on average) and talk about the numbers of books I read and hours I spend each summer preparing for the courses I teach during the academic year, but I'm not going to be able to sway anyone. I know that. I'll just say that with my B.A. and M.A. in English and my teaching credential, I am qualified enough to earn $20-40k more per year than I currently do were I working, say, as a corporate trainer (which is just private sector code for what I already do: teach) but I choose to make less because high school students need impassioned and dedicated educators to prepare them for the world beyond structured academic walls far more than middle aged executives need me to train them on the selling points of some new needless product or sales technique.
Finally, the standardized tests as measurement for teacher effectiveness argument is bunk in about a hundred different ways. Those tests are created by the same companies that create and sell expensive test-prep materials school districts buy to boost test scores which means the tests are designed to be ambiguous so the companies who created them can make more money on the aforementioned test-prep materials. If the tests were accurate measurements of what students learn in a classroom--and I am only speaking about the reading and writing tests here as that is my only realm of knowledge--there would be items that required students to evaluate text, to think critically about why an author used a particular metaphor to describe a character and what that metaphor means in the greater context of the novel, to explain how setting functions to develop a story line, to analyze the use of the word 'belligerent' in place of 'angry', to distinguish between the protagonist and antagonist in a text where none of the characters are particularly likeable, and so on. But, instead, our tests ask students to make value judgments, to regurgitate prefix and suffix meanings, to choose the best answer from among ambiguously worded multiple choice items without ever having to argue why they made said choice. We ask our students, on tests, to spew back facts rather than to think for themselves and this is why measuring teacher effectiveness by test score is asinine: students only truly learn when they are willing to work on learning on their own and they are more inclined to do so when they are working on a problem to solve as opposed to memorizing arbitrary definitions.
Just as doctors who tell patients to eat healthy and exercise shouldn't be evaluated on how many of their patients follow their advice and lose weight, teachers cannot be measured by test scores because no matter how much we prepare students, if they don't do some work (that they feel is valuable) on their own, their scores will reflect their choice not to work far more often than they will reflect a teachers' work in the classroom.
Group 2, of which I am a fierce and vehement member, understands charter schools only work in communities with people willing to pay for them for all students, and we know that students benefit from one on one teacher instruction when possible which only happens in classrooms with a 25:1 or lower student to teacher ratio. Which means money. More teachers, smaller class sizes. More salaries to pay, better student performance.
Group 2 sees the benefit of teaching students in a technologically capable classroom. I'd love to see my students making film trailers of the novel we've studied in class, condensing the text down to the barest elements in 2-3 minutes of visual and audio representation to illustrate the major themes and how that book may best be marketed to the generation that will be reading it in my next class, but lack of money means lack of technology.
Group 2 knows students thrive in environments led by role models who look like them: people from the same ethnic group in leadership positions are proof of their own ability to rise above whatever hypothetical limits their culture or home life may have set for them prior to their ever setting foot in a school. According to the 2009-2010 KSDE Report Card, 10% of the student population at my high school is African-American, but we have no African-American classroom teachers, and my students have noticed. In a recent class discussion about race as it relates to the changing literary landscape in America during the Harlem Renaissance, one black student said, "It is weird that we talk all the time about how anybody can be anything he wants, but there ain't no black teachers in this school." Indeed. And the answer, sadly, comes back to money. Non-white teacher candidates are a hot commodity in Kansas. As the ethnic make-up of our schools becomes more diverse, so should our faculty, but unless districts are able to pay comparable wages, those sought after teachers will be smart and choose the district willing to pay them more. Think I'm making this up? A current open position for a certified teacher advertises starting salary as $34,780 in my district. Up the road about 30 miles, starting salary is $38,583, and at another school within 30 miles it's $39,240. Four or five thousand dollars may not seem like much, but when you're a new teacher paying off student loans, it can make al the difference in the world.
The last thing I'm going to contribute to this conversation is a quotation from an article by education historian Diane Ravitch. Her comment--though far from ending the debate--seems to strike at the heart of what I'm trying to get at. There are two camps in this country, but we all have the same goal: we want an educated populace. How do we go about achieving that without dumbing down curriculum, vilifying an alienating teachers, or becoming a totalitarian police state intent on progressing an agenda driven by test scores rather than real thinking? I don't know, but I'm willing to talk about it because it's the most important conversation any of us can be having right now.
Most Americans graduated from public schools, and most went from school to college or the workplace without thinking that their school had limited their life chances. There was a time—which now seems distant—when most people assumed that students’ performance in school was largely determined by their own efforts and by the circumstances and support of their family, not by their teachers. There were good teachers and mediocre teachers, even bad teachers, but in the end, most public schools offered ample opportunity for education to those willing to pursue it. The annual Gallup poll about education shows that Americans are overwhelmingly dissatisfied with the quality of the nation’s schools, but 77 percent of public school parents award their own child’s public school a grade of A or B, the highest level of approval since the question was first asked in 1985.--Diane Ravitch, excerpt from The Myth of Charter Schools
I've been reading all the anti-teacher, anti-education, anti-knowing anything other than what the right wing wants you to know sentiment currently clogging the atmosphere, and it's taken me awhile to decide how or if I wanted to weigh in on the argument. As a teacher, I'm personally tied to the conversation in a way that makes objectivity nearly impossible, and as a person who has loved to learn since I was a child, I'm definitely part of the touchy-feely liberal problem rather than the detached, bottom-line, money driven solution. But, dear reader, if you know me at all, you know I wasn't going to be able to keep myself out of this cesspool for long, so this morning I'm jumping in.
There are two camps at the moment regarding education in this country: 1) those who believe teachers are a lazy set of union-thug represented 'those who couldn't do' slurping wages from the federal teat like Depression-era babies whose classroom effectiveness should be measured against how well students do on standardized tests (this group also tends to believe privatization, i.e. charters, is an effective solution to the money drain education places on state and federal budgets), and 2) those who believe that we are a country with a solid educational system (save the narrative we are being sold about it from the--predominantly Republican--legislative bodies that are seeking to vilify it in the name of balancing state and federal budgets). Most of the folks in group 2 tend to think the answer to the problems in education--and we know there are problems--aren't going to come from cutting budgets, but by increasing them. Provide technology in all classrooms at all grade levels to support students who are learning in a digitally advanced world, encourage students to participate in activities and projects not only in their community but in their state and nation so that they learn their actions and ideas have the ability to change the world in which they live, and pay teachers a wage that is comparable to what anyone with a professional degree in any other field earns.
First, I'd like to address the group 1 concerns. I was a union member the first three years I taught but, after I divorced, I couldn't afford to pay the dues any longer. I still value the work the union does in terms of bargaining for my right to have planning time built into my schedule, but I recognize that no collective bargaining body is ever going to be completely respected by people who do not need it to exist. Just as the striking mill workers in Lawrence, MA asked for bread and roses in 1912, those of us who have relied on union representation understand we are asking for a quality of life to be protected from legislators who may not recognize that the nature of public service jobs can make those of us who perform said jobs fall patsy to the political agenda of a ruling person or body.
The idea that teachers teach because they couldn't do something else, well, I'm going to say that's true for some of us. If I want to live a life in which I am fulfilled, enriched, and revived each day by the job I am paid to do, I couldn't sit behind a desk and answer phones, I couldn't punch numbers into a spreadsheet, and I couldn't proofread articles someone else had written. I've had jobs that fit all three of those descriptions, and each morning when I woke to work I was as miserable about how I earned my paycheck as I was when I arrived home each night, brain dead and exhausted from monotonous work that meant nothing to me. I couldn't do those things, but I can teach. I can make seventeen year old boys excited about deciphering metaphor in The Great Gatsby which means I'm helping them sharpen critical thinking skills they can apply to other difficult situations outside of the classroom, and I teach sixteen year old girls that their lives are as valuable as the lives of their male classmates by showing them that Hester Prynne had a choice in The Scarlet Letter and she chose to stay in Boston and in so doing she was able to make a living and raise her child without being beholden to a husband. And we talk about the consequences of the actions that led to that choice so that, when they are confronted with a situation in the future that seems to be instantly gratifying, they'll remember there are repercussions for making those choices and will perhaps think twice.
As for suckling from the government teat, I could break down the amount of hours I work each week (55 on average) and talk about the numbers of books I read and hours I spend each summer preparing for the courses I teach during the academic year, but I'm not going to be able to sway anyone. I know that. I'll just say that with my B.A. and M.A. in English and my teaching credential, I am qualified enough to earn $20-40k more per year than I currently do were I working, say, as a corporate trainer (which is just private sector code for what I already do: teach) but I choose to make less because high school students need impassioned and dedicated educators to prepare them for the world beyond structured academic walls far more than middle aged executives need me to train them on the selling points of some new needless product or sales technique.
Finally, the standardized tests as measurement for teacher effectiveness argument is bunk in about a hundred different ways. Those tests are created by the same companies that create and sell expensive test-prep materials school districts buy to boost test scores which means the tests are designed to be ambiguous so the companies who created them can make more money on the aforementioned test-prep materials. If the tests were accurate measurements of what students learn in a classroom--and I am only speaking about the reading and writing tests here as that is my only realm of knowledge--there would be items that required students to evaluate text, to think critically about why an author used a particular metaphor to describe a character and what that metaphor means in the greater context of the novel, to explain how setting functions to develop a story line, to analyze the use of the word 'belligerent' in place of 'angry', to distinguish between the protagonist and antagonist in a text where none of the characters are particularly likeable, and so on. But, instead, our tests ask students to make value judgments, to regurgitate prefix and suffix meanings, to choose the best answer from among ambiguously worded multiple choice items without ever having to argue why they made said choice. We ask our students, on tests, to spew back facts rather than to think for themselves and this is why measuring teacher effectiveness by test score is asinine: students only truly learn when they are willing to work on learning on their own and they are more inclined to do so when they are working on a problem to solve as opposed to memorizing arbitrary definitions.
Just as doctors who tell patients to eat healthy and exercise shouldn't be evaluated on how many of their patients follow their advice and lose weight, teachers cannot be measured by test scores because no matter how much we prepare students, if they don't do some work (that they feel is valuable) on their own, their scores will reflect their choice not to work far more often than they will reflect a teachers' work in the classroom.
Group 2, of which I am a fierce and vehement member, understands charter schools only work in communities with people willing to pay for them for all students, and we know that students benefit from one on one teacher instruction when possible which only happens in classrooms with a 25:1 or lower student to teacher ratio. Which means money. More teachers, smaller class sizes. More salaries to pay, better student performance.
Group 2 sees the benefit of teaching students in a technologically capable classroom. I'd love to see my students making film trailers of the novel we've studied in class, condensing the text down to the barest elements in 2-3 minutes of visual and audio representation to illustrate the major themes and how that book may best be marketed to the generation that will be reading it in my next class, but lack of money means lack of technology.
Group 2 knows students thrive in environments led by role models who look like them: people from the same ethnic group in leadership positions are proof of their own ability to rise above whatever hypothetical limits their culture or home life may have set for them prior to their ever setting foot in a school. According to the 2009-2010 KSDE Report Card, 10% of the student population at my high school is African-American, but we have no African-American classroom teachers, and my students have noticed. In a recent class discussion about race as it relates to the changing literary landscape in America during the Harlem Renaissance, one black student said, "It is weird that we talk all the time about how anybody can be anything he wants, but there ain't no black teachers in this school." Indeed. And the answer, sadly, comes back to money. Non-white teacher candidates are a hot commodity in Kansas. As the ethnic make-up of our schools becomes more diverse, so should our faculty, but unless districts are able to pay comparable wages, those sought after teachers will be smart and choose the district willing to pay them more. Think I'm making this up? A current open position for a certified teacher advertises starting salary as $34,780 in my district. Up the road about 30 miles, starting salary is $38,583, and at another school within 30 miles it's $39,240. Four or five thousand dollars may not seem like much, but when you're a new teacher paying off student loans, it can make al the difference in the world.
The last thing I'm going to contribute to this conversation is a quotation from an article by education historian Diane Ravitch. Her comment--though far from ending the debate--seems to strike at the heart of what I'm trying to get at. There are two camps in this country, but we all have the same goal: we want an educated populace. How do we go about achieving that without dumbing down curriculum, vilifying an alienating teachers, or becoming a totalitarian police state intent on progressing an agenda driven by test scores rather than real thinking? I don't know, but I'm willing to talk about it because it's the most important conversation any of us can be having right now.
Most Americans graduated from public schools, and most went from school to college or the workplace without thinking that their school had limited their life chances. There was a time—which now seems distant—when most people assumed that students’ performance in school was largely determined by their own efforts and by the circumstances and support of their family, not by their teachers. There were good teachers and mediocre teachers, even bad teachers, but in the end, most public schools offered ample opportunity for education to those willing to pursue it. The annual Gallup poll about education shows that Americans are overwhelmingly dissatisfied with the quality of the nation’s schools, but 77 percent of public school parents award their own child’s public school a grade of A or B, the highest level of approval since the question was first asked in 1985.--Diane Ravitch, excerpt from The Myth of Charter Schools
04 March 2011
Until I Have My Own Words
Too much noise and self-doubt and future fear have silenced the words for me lately. A few things here and there, but nothing like the onslaught that hit a year or so ago. I remember feeling flooded with images, the pressing need to create what did not yet exist in the world. The recent poems come, mainly, from a word I hear or read that I want to try to toy with, but the urgency is missing. The attentive eye I used to turn towards beauty has been distracted by the dreary day to day that simply does not inspire. So, until I have my own words, I'll share these with you. They, tonight, make me want to write more than I've wanted to in a very long time.
Dogfish, Mary Oliver
Dogfish, Mary Oliver
Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.
If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.
And you know
what a smile means,
don't you?
*
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
*
It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.
*
Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?
Slowly
*
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
*
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story - - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
*
And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.
*
And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,
they can do it.
03 March 2011
Sometimes I Feel Like I Can't Even Sing
This cover blows me away. I've listened to it 5 times already. If you enjoy it even half as much as I do, you will be obsessed.
You Are the Everything (R.E.M.) as covered by Redbird.
Special thanks to Paste Magazine for this find via Heartache With Hard Work.
You Are the Everything
(Berry/Buck/Mills/Stipe)
Sometimes I feel like I can't even sing (say, say, the light)
I'm very scared for this world
I'm very scared for me (say, say, the light)
Eviscerate your memory
Here's a scene
You're in the back seat laying down (say, say, the light)
The windows wrap around
To sound of the travel and the engine (say, say, the light)
All you hear is time stand still in travel
And feel such peace and absolute
The stillness still that doesn't end
But slowly drifts into sleep
The stars are the greatest thing you've ever seen
And they're there for you
For you alone you are the everything
I think about this world a lot and I cry (say, say, the light)
And I've seen the films and the eyes
But I'm in this kitchen (say, say, the light)
Everything is beautiful
And she is so beautiful (say, say, the light)
She is so young and old
I look at her and I see the beauty (say, say, the light)
Of the light of music
The voices talking somewhere in the house
Late spring and you're drifting off to sleep
With your teeth in your mouth
You are here with me
You are here with me
You have been here and you are everything
Sometimes I feel like I can't even sing (say, say, the light)
I'm very scared for this world
I'm very scared for me (say, say, the light)
Eviscerate your memory
Here's a scene
You're in the back seat laying down (say, say, the light)
The windows wrap around
To sound of the travel and the engine (say, say, the light)
All you hear is time stand still in travel
And feel such peace and absolute
The stillness still that doesn't end
But slowly drifts into sleep
The greatest thing you've ever seen
And they're there for you
For you alone you are the everything
For you alone you are the everything
You Are the Everything (R.E.M.) as covered by Redbird.
Special thanks to Paste Magazine for this find via Heartache With Hard Work.
You Are the Everything
(Berry/Buck/Mills/Stipe)
Sometimes I feel like I can't even sing (say, say, the light)
I'm very scared for this world
I'm very scared for me (say, say, the light)
Eviscerate your memory
Here's a scene
You're in the back seat laying down (say, say, the light)
The windows wrap around
To sound of the travel and the engine (say, say, the light)
All you hear is time stand still in travel
And feel such peace and absolute
The stillness still that doesn't end
But slowly drifts into sleep
The stars are the greatest thing you've ever seen
And they're there for you
For you alone you are the everything
I think about this world a lot and I cry (say, say, the light)
And I've seen the films and the eyes
But I'm in this kitchen (say, say, the light)
Everything is beautiful
And she is so beautiful (say, say, the light)
She is so young and old
I look at her and I see the beauty (say, say, the light)
Of the light of music
The voices talking somewhere in the house
Late spring and you're drifting off to sleep
With your teeth in your mouth
You are here with me
You are here with me
You have been here and you are everything
Sometimes I feel like I can't even sing (say, say, the light)
I'm very scared for this world
I'm very scared for me (say, say, the light)
Eviscerate your memory
Here's a scene
You're in the back seat laying down (say, say, the light)
The windows wrap around
To sound of the travel and the engine (say, say, the light)
All you hear is time stand still in travel
And feel such peace and absolute
The stillness still that doesn't end
But slowly drifts into sleep
The greatest thing you've ever seen
And they're there for you
For you alone you are the everything
For you alone you are the everything
02 March 2011
Paying Attention
Winifred Gallagher, author of Rapt: Attention and the Focused Life, argues that the quality of human life is not dictated by the things that happen to us, by our reactions to those things, by our heredity or environment, by our gender or race, but rather the quality of human life is dictated by what each of us chooses to pay attention to.
If I choose to focus on the negative things I encounter each day, then my life will be fraught with fretting, full of fear, and completely chaotic. However, if I focus on the small things that I find beautiful, if I allow myself to slip past the negativity and instead drift into the trancelike state of rapt attention, I may find myself not only calmer, more energetic, and less stressed, but fundamentally happier, too.
An old friend wrote a blog entry today about special needs kids and her dear sister, Sara, with whom I attended high school. As I read Katie's blog, it occurred to me that by nature of her differentness, Sara focuses on the positive in her world far more often than the negative. In fact, I've seen her irritated, but in the 20+ years I have known their family, I can't say that I've ever seen Sara unhappy. Is that because sad things have never happened to her? No. But it may be because her diagnosis allows her to see the negative things in her life as less valuable than the positive things. And that's not a detriment, that's a gift.
I work with students all the time who have trouble taking social cues, who don't know how to navigate a sarcasm laden conversation, who couldn't be insincere if they were payed to be, and rather than feeling sorry for them or wishing their situation would somehow 'improve,' I often find myself wishing the rest of my students had the same issues. The same blinders that seem to negate the trend toward teen angst and cynicism. Wouldn't it be lovely if all students--all people for that matter--woke up tomorrow and decided to pay attention to positivity?
All of this stems from a young man in one of my classes today who said, "Everyone is fake and everyone lies." I was heartbroken to hear this from a bright, capable young man whom I so enjoy having in class because this kind of negative view tends to belie an inherent distrust of the world at large and, in my experience, that distrust most often leads to unhappy relationships and sadness. I tried to tell him I do not lie, I don't believe in it, but he said if I have ever lied then I am, in fact, a liar. This need to see the world in extremes, labels, one incident dictating a person's fate forever is--to be sure--an adolescent notion, but it strikes me that the country is becoming more and more narrow, more and more black and white, as opposed to becoming more accepting, more open.
Today an anti-abortion bill was passed in South Dakota and anti-labor legislation passed the senate in Ohio, and the Supreme Court sided with the right to hate speech of the Westboro Baptist Church. Think about that: three momentous decisions all on the side of negativity. We are focused on the terrible things happening overseas, the monstrosities being perpetrated here at home, the tragic downfall of an educational system hell bent on reaching kids who just don't care. Is it any wonder depression diagnoses are up and public happiness is down?
My wish today is that, as the sun begins to spend a little more time in the sky on this side of the world each day, and as we move into--finally--warmer weather, that perhaps we will all take a few minutes to pay attention to the things that fill us with joy. Total wonder. Our rapt faces brilliant in the bright light of what we used to call hope for a better tomorrow.
If I choose to focus on the negative things I encounter each day, then my life will be fraught with fretting, full of fear, and completely chaotic. However, if I focus on the small things that I find beautiful, if I allow myself to slip past the negativity and instead drift into the trancelike state of rapt attention, I may find myself not only calmer, more energetic, and less stressed, but fundamentally happier, too.
An old friend wrote a blog entry today about special needs kids and her dear sister, Sara, with whom I attended high school. As I read Katie's blog, it occurred to me that by nature of her differentness, Sara focuses on the positive in her world far more often than the negative. In fact, I've seen her irritated, but in the 20+ years I have known their family, I can't say that I've ever seen Sara unhappy. Is that because sad things have never happened to her? No. But it may be because her diagnosis allows her to see the negative things in her life as less valuable than the positive things. And that's not a detriment, that's a gift.
I work with students all the time who have trouble taking social cues, who don't know how to navigate a sarcasm laden conversation, who couldn't be insincere if they were payed to be, and rather than feeling sorry for them or wishing their situation would somehow 'improve,' I often find myself wishing the rest of my students had the same issues. The same blinders that seem to negate the trend toward teen angst and cynicism. Wouldn't it be lovely if all students--all people for that matter--woke up tomorrow and decided to pay attention to positivity?
All of this stems from a young man in one of my classes today who said, "Everyone is fake and everyone lies." I was heartbroken to hear this from a bright, capable young man whom I so enjoy having in class because this kind of negative view tends to belie an inherent distrust of the world at large and, in my experience, that distrust most often leads to unhappy relationships and sadness. I tried to tell him I do not lie, I don't believe in it, but he said if I have ever lied then I am, in fact, a liar. This need to see the world in extremes, labels, one incident dictating a person's fate forever is--to be sure--an adolescent notion, but it strikes me that the country is becoming more and more narrow, more and more black and white, as opposed to becoming more accepting, more open.
Today an anti-abortion bill was passed in South Dakota and anti-labor legislation passed the senate in Ohio, and the Supreme Court sided with the right to hate speech of the Westboro Baptist Church. Think about that: three momentous decisions all on the side of negativity. We are focused on the terrible things happening overseas, the monstrosities being perpetrated here at home, the tragic downfall of an educational system hell bent on reaching kids who just don't care. Is it any wonder depression diagnoses are up and public happiness is down?
My wish today is that, as the sun begins to spend a little more time in the sky on this side of the world each day, and as we move into--finally--warmer weather, that perhaps we will all take a few minutes to pay attention to the things that fill us with joy. Total wonder. Our rapt faces brilliant in the bright light of what we used to call hope for a better tomorrow.
19 February 2011
someday...
These are ten that stand out. I don't know if they are the top ten, there are a lot of great shows that aren't on here--including tonight's--but these are the ten that stand out right now.
10. REM & Sonic Youth @ Sandstone, 1995
Sure, it was the Monster Tour which meant it wasn't their best stuff, and Sonic Youth's insistence that feedback and music are the same thing makes me want to puke, but it's REM. Come on.
9. Duran Duran somewhere in Tampa, FL, 1997
I sold cd's to have the money to go to this show. I was dying to see them, I was 21, my boyfriend at the time was 28, and I bought the tickets as a birthday gift. He flipped out. The show was in support of that weird record they released in 97 or 98. They looked and sounded great, but the 30+ crowd sitting through View to a Kill while I stood and rocked out left a little to be desired.
8. Regina Spektor @ The Uptown Theatre in KC, 2008
I hadn't heard a lot of her music when a friend took me to see her. She blew me away. I thought she might be some sort of kitschy pop tart, but her talent was evident the minute she stepped on stage--mesmerizing, quiet, funny, stunning.
7. The Avett Brothers & The Low Anthem @ The Missouri Theatre in Columbia, 2010
Both bands gave incredible performances. I'd only heard 'Oh My God Charlie Darwin,' TLA's second (?) record, but it did not prepare me for the beauty of seeing them live. And, if you've ever seen TAB, you know they can't be missed.
6. Juliana Hatfield @ The Bottleneck, 1995
I was 19, a sophomore in college only in the sense that I was enrolled at KU for the second year, and I love love loved her. I went with some friends from high school--one of whom's older boyfriend snuck us Rolling Rocks all through the show--and at one point Juliana started to sing "Make It Home," a song that still haunts me. Her male bandmates walked up to the other mic and one by one said, "I love my vagina." She got so pissed she stormed off stage and had to be coaxed into returning thirty odd minutes later.
5. Counting Crows, Live, Galactica, & Blonde Redhead @ Sandstone, 2000
This was a weird tour. Galactica always opened--and they were awesome--Live and CC traded off who did the first hour or so and who did the second. I am not really a Live fan, but they were pretty good. The reason this song makes the list however--besides the Ed Kowalczyk/Adam Duritz cover of TLC's "No Scrubs"--is the nearly ten minute breakdown in the middle of "Round Here" during which Adam came down to the front of the stage and launched into part of "Private Archipelago." Un. Real.
4. Ani DiFranco @ the Lied Center, 1998
4th row tickets, it rained so much that night that my car almost flooded out in the parking lot. I lived up the street from the Lied at the time, so we didn't really have far to go, but it took us forever, and we were soaked when we got inside. The show was a benefit for the Free Leonard Peltier Foundation, and at one point Ani walked over and yelled at these four girls who were being totally obnoxious--talking through her set. I loved her in that moment, not afraid to stop playing and call people out for being rude. And when she played "Pulse" I was transfixed. Which, incidentally, contains one of my favorite lyrics ever,
"i realized that night that the hall light
which seemed so bright when you turned it on is nothing
compared to the dawn
which is nothing, compared to the light
which seeps from me while you're sleeping")
3. Tori Amos @ the Lied Center, 1994
This was the first concert I ever went to by myself, and it was totally worth it. I remember what I was wearing, I remember walking across the bridge from Hashinger Hall to the Lied, ticket in hand, looking up at the September sky and thinking I was really doing something grown up--seeing a show alone, unafraid to do that. It made me feel powerful. And when she played "Me & a Gun" the whole room went silent. I haven't been to a show since when the crowd has been so totally mesmerized. It was like a spell had fallen over the room.
2. Lyle Lovett @ The Steifel Theatre, 2009
I went to this show with my mom and we had a ball. She bought the tickets for my birthday, we got dressed up, had dinner before. It's not something mom and I do often. We talk all the time and laugh and shop and love each other like crazy, but we don't have mother daughter dates like this much. Time and opportunity get in our way, but this night was amazing. The show was fabulous--you simply cannot ever go wrong with Lyle Lovett. Ever. But it was so hot in the theatre that at one point mom and I looked at each other and started laughing about which articles of clothing we could legally remove. Afterwards we went to Dairy Queen and got blizzards--a favorite family past time--and circled back to watch the band load in. We saw Francine, a backup singer who has been with Lyle for years, standing out by the buses in her nice stage shirt, a button up denim shirt over it, shorts and flip flops. And she was smoking. As my mother would say, "we like to died!"
1. Mumford & Sons, the Mynabirds, & Albatross @ the Record Bar, KC 2010
The two opening acts really surprised me, I knew nothing about them and found them both to be engaging and energetic. The Mynabirds, a sort of throwback folk/soul act out of Omaha had this really strange dynamic happening with the lead singer--a thin knockout blonde--and the only other girl in the band, a dark haired, heavier backup singer. It was stated several times that she'd written the songs, but her voice wasn't particularly compelling and she and the blonde kept shooting 'you know you're only here because you have to be' looks at each other all through their set.
And then there was Mumford. Ah, Mumford. I owe my love of them to the guys I work with. True music hounds, that lot, and they introduced to a band that I have recommended often enough to be making residuals. They were sweet and silly and surprised at how small the venue was, it was the last night of their first North American tour and it was the smallest place they played in, which means we got the most intimate and best show of the whole tour. No one who was there will argue that it was anything less than spectacular. The friend I went with--who actually attended 6 of these 10 concerts with me--has said several times that he could see that show every single night for the rest of his life and never be disappointed. I couldn't agree more.
08 February 2011
01 February 2011
Returns
Spun sugar wind whirls beyond my windows, the air out there peppered by a whiteness that begs describing. Constant sheets of white blow in this blizzard they've said is upon us, above my fence the sky and the falling flakes are interchangeable, a mutable flurry of furious wind and weather. But, here on this side of the cedar slats, spinning slow motion down onto my patio table, I can see them one by one, snowflakes that separate from the pack, a dancing dervish of downward motion.
I suffer the curse of the forest for the trees often, but my problem is the reverse: so caught up in the dense vegetation of all that confronts me, I miss the single sweet moments which comprise that density. I wander in the forest seeing only green, only a canopied sky made invisible by overlapping branches, obscuring any view of the world beyond their reach.
Today, this whiteness wants to teach me something, and I am trying to be quiet enough to hear the lesson in the lighting. I know what it is to be lost in the thick, to feel a forever pressure to be more, to be better, to be, simply, enough. I know how to plaster on a smile and sing through the sadness, I know which face to carry so that everyone else sees the me they think they know. But all that plaster and song, carrying and falsehood, only leads to an exhaustion that breeds a destructive disconnection from self. So, on this hazy gray day that blurs the branches of the tree line, I am trying to step back. Trying to let myself see what one reaching tree can be on its own, apart from the copse, singular and lovely as the one small flake I watch whisper its way to ground, seeking soft landing, knowing its cold journey lasts only until the sun--inevitably--returns.
I suffer the curse of the forest for the trees often, but my problem is the reverse: so caught up in the dense vegetation of all that confronts me, I miss the single sweet moments which comprise that density. I wander in the forest seeing only green, only a canopied sky made invisible by overlapping branches, obscuring any view of the world beyond their reach.
Today, this whiteness wants to teach me something, and I am trying to be quiet enough to hear the lesson in the lighting. I know what it is to be lost in the thick, to feel a forever pressure to be more, to be better, to be, simply, enough. I know how to plaster on a smile and sing through the sadness, I know which face to carry so that everyone else sees the me they think they know. But all that plaster and song, carrying and falsehood, only leads to an exhaustion that breeds a destructive disconnection from self. So, on this hazy gray day that blurs the branches of the tree line, I am trying to step back. Trying to let myself see what one reaching tree can be on its own, apart from the copse, singular and lovely as the one small flake I watch whisper its way to ground, seeking soft landing, knowing its cold journey lasts only until the sun--inevitably--returns.
23 January 2011
Into the Woods
Auditions late October, rehearsals began in November, illness and snow days robbed us of much of our needed time in December and January, but we opened, ran, and closed this past weekend and had an incredible run. Over 1000 tickets sold, 70+ thrilled kids, and a proud director. Today, I'm resting and reflecting on an amazing journey.
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