"People don't buy from clowns." -- Claude C. Hopkins
I guess Ronald McDonald would be considered the ultimate refutation of this....
Is anyone else afraid of the clownish thing Burger King is using in their ads now? If you haven't seen it, you can see a pic and a short clip here. The King is beyond wacky. He's the kind of thing that shows up in nightmares. He moves far too fast and with a stealth that's not conducive to calm affection. Only nasty things scurry like that...cockroaches, rats, psychopaths in movies...
I particulary hate the one where the guy looks out his window and sees a far away speck. He turns to say something to his wife or look at something, and when he turns back, that big old freaky plastic head is filling up his window offering him a heart attack for breakfast. They both laugh and the sun shines blissfully on a "happy morning."
I can tell you right now that I wouldn't be laughing if that thing showed up outside my window. I'd be grabbing either my kendo shinai or a baseball bat. One of my friends (who will probably read this eventually) was reenacting the commercial as it might go if it happened here in the Deep South. I kind of like this version better.
Scene opens: Freaky guy is a dot on the horizon.
Guy appears. Looks out window. Stretches and turns away momentarily.
Freaky Burger King Thing is suddenly filling up the whole window. Regular guy turns.
Sound of shell being chambered in a shotgun. Boom. End of Freaky Burger King Thing menace.
Another friend of mine observed that part of what makes the thing so scary is that he has normal human hands. I think that may well be part of it. For me, it's the stop motion movement and that big old smiling shiny plastic head. It reminds me of the freaky rabbit in Donnie Darko, which if you haven't seen, you should really check out. I also think that next Halloween's best selling costume could well be the Burger King if they'll put it into production.
Probably, the worst part of it is the same thing I (and probably lots of other people) dislike about clowns. There is no movement in the face. It is impossible to get any readings or any of those subtle body language cues we rely on for communication. I believe this is the reasons clowns rank so high on phobia lists (there's a term for fear of clowns... coulrophobia) and on lists of things people just generally find disturbing. When the face is hidden, so too are the motivations and the clues we need to figure out whether something is amusing or a threat.
For me, creepy Burger dude is a mix. I suppose as long as he stays on his side of the TV, everything is okay. God help him if I ever look out my windows and see that huge plastic head outside offering me any form of BK breakfast though.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
update
Short tonight, and no quote. Things are rocking along pretty well. Good Mockingbird discussion..more about it tomorrow. I'm, as a colleague says, "beat to my knees."
Friday, April 01, 2005
Why tea kettles Whistle
"Patience: A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue." -- Ambrose Bierce
Actually, I value patience very highly. It's a very important part of my job. I pray for more all the time. Patience and wisdom are hard-won, though. Today and yesterday have been trying my patience in the extreme. I've figured out that it's not the heat under the kettle that causes the scream. It's the inability to vent in any other way.
Not the kids, first of all. They've not been worse than is normal. It's been a week of administrative mandates that have completely wrecked my lesson plans. We had to give a practice test for the big state test coming up later in the month. It's the 3rd time around on this, and even the slowest of my kids were saying, "We are doing this AGAIN?!?!" I explained that its purpose is to show how they've grown over the year and to point out any particular skills for practice before the real thing, but none of us could scrape up much enthusiasm for it.
We got word that the change had to be made on Wednesday. No kidding. Less than 24 hrs. notice. My Type-A personality took the change with all the grace of a freight train suddenly derailed. I HATE it when somebody changes set plans at the last minute. If it's a casual thing, it doesn't matter, but when I put as much work into planning and pacing my lesson plans, it's a big slap in the face to have them so carelessly swept aside.
So, teakettle-like, I've sat in my room, mostly at my desk, for the past two days. I have filed piles of papers, graded and recorded others, set up my computerized gradebook and started working on entering grades for it, and even hung some posters that had fallen long ago and been shoved into a corner. Things are spic-and-span (where did that phrase come from, anyway?) and ready for parent-teacher day on Monday. I hated it. Every minute of it. I felt useless. I wasn't helping them learn. All I was doing was babysitting and cleaning. I could feel the steam building, and by 7th period today, I wanted to shriek with it.
This isn't what we're supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be talking about To Kill a Mockingbird. They're supposed to be discovering how wonderful it is on their own. Instead, we killed two days. I can't remember the quote, but it says something like, "As if we could kill time without injuring eternity." Today, I think we gave it a nasty bruise, at the very least.
One of the things I'm going to have to learn is more flexibility, especially with the stupid trivialities that are so much a part of public education. I will just have to find a way to let it roll off my back. One of my friends was having a problem of patience and tolerance with a family member, and she developed the habit of saying, "Quack, quack" to remind herself to do that. I think I'm going to print that off the computer and put it somewhere on my desk. I need to be more duck and less teakettle.
Actually, I value patience very highly. It's a very important part of my job. I pray for more all the time. Patience and wisdom are hard-won, though. Today and yesterday have been trying my patience in the extreme. I've figured out that it's not the heat under the kettle that causes the scream. It's the inability to vent in any other way.
Not the kids, first of all. They've not been worse than is normal. It's been a week of administrative mandates that have completely wrecked my lesson plans. We had to give a practice test for the big state test coming up later in the month. It's the 3rd time around on this, and even the slowest of my kids were saying, "We are doing this AGAIN?!?!" I explained that its purpose is to show how they've grown over the year and to point out any particular skills for practice before the real thing, but none of us could scrape up much enthusiasm for it.
We got word that the change had to be made on Wednesday. No kidding. Less than 24 hrs. notice. My Type-A personality took the change with all the grace of a freight train suddenly derailed. I HATE it when somebody changes set plans at the last minute. If it's a casual thing, it doesn't matter, but when I put as much work into planning and pacing my lesson plans, it's a big slap in the face to have them so carelessly swept aside.
So, teakettle-like, I've sat in my room, mostly at my desk, for the past two days. I have filed piles of papers, graded and recorded others, set up my computerized gradebook and started working on entering grades for it, and even hung some posters that had fallen long ago and been shoved into a corner. Things are spic-and-span (where did that phrase come from, anyway?) and ready for parent-teacher day on Monday. I hated it. Every minute of it. I felt useless. I wasn't helping them learn. All I was doing was babysitting and cleaning. I could feel the steam building, and by 7th period today, I wanted to shriek with it.
This isn't what we're supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be talking about To Kill a Mockingbird. They're supposed to be discovering how wonderful it is on their own. Instead, we killed two days. I can't remember the quote, but it says something like, "As if we could kill time without injuring eternity." Today, I think we gave it a nasty bruise, at the very least.
One of the things I'm going to have to learn is more flexibility, especially with the stupid trivialities that are so much a part of public education. I will just have to find a way to let it roll off my back. One of my friends was having a problem of patience and tolerance with a family member, and she developed the habit of saying, "Quack, quack" to remind herself to do that. I think I'm going to print that off the computer and put it somewhere on my desk. I need to be more duck and less teakettle.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Reverse Psychology -- The Ultimate Educational Tool
"The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind." -- Kahlil Gibran
I want to be this kind of teacher. I want my students to engage that mostly inactive lump of gray matter between their ears and figure out what they think about this world they live in. I'm afraid that if they don't, they will be herded like sheep for the rest of their lives: safe and warm in the pack, comfortably running in the general direction of the others until they are cut out of the flock by predators or until the entire flock plunges over the edge of the ravine.
Today, I started talking to my kids about banned books in preparation for teaching To Kill a Mockingbird (TKaM). TKaM is one of my all-time favorite books. The messages in it are so powerful and so relevant for any person who has ever walked this planet. It's not bound by time, race, gender, nationality, language, or culture. More than almost any other book I've read, it's a universal. We feel the struggles of the characters within ourselves because we have walked those paths ourselves.
I want my kids to engage this novel actively. I was really encouraged by how impassioned some of them became when we were talking about banning books. Most of them had no idea what sorts of books might become banned or why someone might want to ban a book. I forget how young they are. We listed several famous examples, Harry Potter, The Catcher in the Rye, Huckleberry Finn, and talked about what sorts of complaints groups have had about them over the years.
Then I told them TKaM is in that same list of commonly banned and challenged books. I knew they'd perk up for that. Controversy draws a teenager more quickly than roadkill draws buzzards (how's that for a gruesome, but apt, metaphor). We talked about why TKaM is on the list, and we'll finish that discussion up on Thursday. I'm interested to see if we can have a semi-involved conversation on the topic. I so want them to think! If I can get even a few of them to start thinking instead of just passively receiving or floating through life, maybe I'll have done something worthwhile this year.
I want to be this kind of teacher. I want my students to engage that mostly inactive lump of gray matter between their ears and figure out what they think about this world they live in. I'm afraid that if they don't, they will be herded like sheep for the rest of their lives: safe and warm in the pack, comfortably running in the general direction of the others until they are cut out of the flock by predators or until the entire flock plunges over the edge of the ravine.
Today, I started talking to my kids about banned books in preparation for teaching To Kill a Mockingbird (TKaM). TKaM is one of my all-time favorite books. The messages in it are so powerful and so relevant for any person who has ever walked this planet. It's not bound by time, race, gender, nationality, language, or culture. More than almost any other book I've read, it's a universal. We feel the struggles of the characters within ourselves because we have walked those paths ourselves.
I want my kids to engage this novel actively. I was really encouraged by how impassioned some of them became when we were talking about banning books. Most of them had no idea what sorts of books might become banned or why someone might want to ban a book. I forget how young they are. We listed several famous examples, Harry Potter, The Catcher in the Rye, Huckleberry Finn, and talked about what sorts of complaints groups have had about them over the years.
Then I told them TKaM is in that same list of commonly banned and challenged books. I knew they'd perk up for that. Controversy draws a teenager more quickly than roadkill draws buzzards (how's that for a gruesome, but apt, metaphor). We talked about why TKaM is on the list, and we'll finish that discussion up on Thursday. I'm interested to see if we can have a semi-involved conversation on the topic. I so want them to think! If I can get even a few of them to start thinking instead of just passively receiving or floating through life, maybe I'll have done something worthwhile this year.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Sock monkeys
Try as I might, I just cannot find a quote applicable to tonight's topic. I guess there's not a quote for everything, after all. That's okay. Tonight's post is short.
If you ever owned or liked the classic childhood toy, the sock monkey, check out this website. Make sure you go to the message board. I get a kick out of it. It makes me want to dig out my sewing supplies and make an army of them. Take a trip back to childhood (or sideways if you've never grown out of it) to the Red Heel Sock Monkey Shelter.
If you ever owned or liked the classic childhood toy, the sock monkey, check out this website. Make sure you go to the message board. I get a kick out of it. It makes me want to dig out my sewing supplies and make an army of them. Take a trip back to childhood (or sideways if you've never grown out of it) to the Red Heel Sock Monkey Shelter.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Storms
"The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain." -- H.W. Longfellow
"Weather forecast for tonight: dark." -- George Carlin
Tonight strong storms are sweeping through our area. I'm compulsively listening to a local radio station waiting for...I don't know. Maybe for doom to fall upon me out of the sky. I don't fully understand why I become transfixed by the weather reports when bad weather comes in. It's almost a snake/mongoose thing. I know it's getting late and church tomorrow will be early. I know that my listening to the reports doesn't change what's happening outside. It doesn't even really give that all-important illusion of control we humans cherish so dearly.
I keep telling myself that I will get up, take a shower, and go to bed, but every time I reach for the remote to cut the stereo down, the ever-vigilant djs cut in with another report. I start tracking with them on my mental map of the area. I wonder if This Person who lives in This Area is okay, and suddenly, there's a tornado in That Area where That Person lives. Suddenly, it seems like I know people everywhere, and all of them are beset by Nature.
If it weren't for the tornados, I wouldn't mind the rain. I've always rather enjoyed thunderstorms. I remember watching them every summer at the camp our church went to on the coast. There are few things as impressive as a summer thunderstorm coming in off the Gulf. A shimmering gray wall of water slid across the silt-tinged waves. Silver threads of lightening traced messages that disappeared too fast to for my mortal eyes to read them. The wind, always a presence there, bent the palms like dancers performing a dangerous tango. Standing on the balconies and landings of the camp complex, I always felt as though I could fly into it and be dissolved into the magic of it.
Even though I'm nowhere near the coast now, I still enjoy thunderstorms. Now, instead of palms, pines dance, taller, less frantic. Half of my old house (see a previous post for more about this) has a metal roof, and the sound of rain on the roof is incredibly comforting.
While I was in Japan, I missed the rumble of summer thunderstorms. Their summer storms are typhoons. Typhoons are another kind of magic altogether, and not a terribly enjoyable type. Add this to the fact that they usually took several days to move through us, and all my groceries had to be transported by bike with me in semi-effective raingear, and you can understand my lack of enthusiasm. I was very fortunate that we never had a big one come in directly on top of us while I was there. They always steered enough north that we didn't catch the most damaging portions.
Although I don't mind the thunderstorms, I do mind even a tiny whiff of tornado. Suddenly, weather that had been highly conducive to reading and snuggling down into quilts with cats becomes a bleary-eyed radio vigil. The fact that they are horrifyingly unpredictable, destructive, and sudden aside, the primary cause of my tornado worries can be traced to two sources.
The first is a story my mom told me. When I was little, we lived in a trailer. Not a mobile home. Not a triple-wide with porch and spa tub. A trailer. One night the weather was particularly bad and Mom went out to listen for the freight-train rumble of an impending tornado. We're always told to listen for that in this part of the country. The tornado tiptoed up to the house closest to ours (my parents lived and continue to live out in the woods on about 40 acres of their own), ripped it up, and bounced over us without making a sound. A car horn from their house would have been heard, but not the total destruction of a house by a tornado. So much for an auditory warning.
The second is something I saw with my own eyes. There is a research station within driving distance where I live, and we'd have to pass it to go visit my grandparents when I was a child. As this research station, they had a huge equipment barn made from metal. Unfortunately, this station also sits in what we call a "tornado alley", meaning, for those of you unfamiliar with the joys of these storms, a place to which tornados seem to be drawn for some unfathomable reason. I can remember at least two separate times when a tornado came through the "alley" in which the station sits and blew the barn into pieces. For miles around, the tall pines had streamers of silvery metal woven through their branches, tied around their trunks like misshapen bows, and littering the ground beneath them. (BTW, every time the barn got/gets destroyed, they put it right back up again. Maybe they think the tornados will get tired of it eventually. I personally think I'd at least try to move it elsewhere on the property or SOMETHING.)
Every area has some sort of natural disaster they have to deal with. The area of Japan in which I lived was awaiting a massive earthquake/tidal wave. I'll never forget watching the far-too cheery NHK news girl gesture to a cardboard model of Nagoya and showing how far inland the wave was going to sweep. I can't tell you how comforted I was about *that* when I found out. Some areas have mudslides, volcanoes, or floods. A friend of mine from Brazil always told a joke concerning the lack of these types of natural disasters in Brazil. Apparently, according to the joke, the government more than makes up for it. It was a very clever joke, I thought. I guess we all just make the best of it we can no matter where we are. After all, what other choice is there?
It's time to take the remote by the horns (mixing metaphors along the way), and get some rest. There's nothing I can do about it anyway.
"Weather forecast for tonight: dark." -- George Carlin
Tonight strong storms are sweeping through our area. I'm compulsively listening to a local radio station waiting for...I don't know. Maybe for doom to fall upon me out of the sky. I don't fully understand why I become transfixed by the weather reports when bad weather comes in. It's almost a snake/mongoose thing. I know it's getting late and church tomorrow will be early. I know that my listening to the reports doesn't change what's happening outside. It doesn't even really give that all-important illusion of control we humans cherish so dearly.
I keep telling myself that I will get up, take a shower, and go to bed, but every time I reach for the remote to cut the stereo down, the ever-vigilant djs cut in with another report. I start tracking with them on my mental map of the area. I wonder if This Person who lives in This Area is okay, and suddenly, there's a tornado in That Area where That Person lives. Suddenly, it seems like I know people everywhere, and all of them are beset by Nature.
If it weren't for the tornados, I wouldn't mind the rain. I've always rather enjoyed thunderstorms. I remember watching them every summer at the camp our church went to on the coast. There are few things as impressive as a summer thunderstorm coming in off the Gulf. A shimmering gray wall of water slid across the silt-tinged waves. Silver threads of lightening traced messages that disappeared too fast to for my mortal eyes to read them. The wind, always a presence there, bent the palms like dancers performing a dangerous tango. Standing on the balconies and landings of the camp complex, I always felt as though I could fly into it and be dissolved into the magic of it.
Even though I'm nowhere near the coast now, I still enjoy thunderstorms. Now, instead of palms, pines dance, taller, less frantic. Half of my old house (see a previous post for more about this) has a metal roof, and the sound of rain on the roof is incredibly comforting.
While I was in Japan, I missed the rumble of summer thunderstorms. Their summer storms are typhoons. Typhoons are another kind of magic altogether, and not a terribly enjoyable type. Add this to the fact that they usually took several days to move through us, and all my groceries had to be transported by bike with me in semi-effective raingear, and you can understand my lack of enthusiasm. I was very fortunate that we never had a big one come in directly on top of us while I was there. They always steered enough north that we didn't catch the most damaging portions.
Although I don't mind the thunderstorms, I do mind even a tiny whiff of tornado. Suddenly, weather that had been highly conducive to reading and snuggling down into quilts with cats becomes a bleary-eyed radio vigil. The fact that they are horrifyingly unpredictable, destructive, and sudden aside, the primary cause of my tornado worries can be traced to two sources.
The first is a story my mom told me. When I was little, we lived in a trailer. Not a mobile home. Not a triple-wide with porch and spa tub. A trailer. One night the weather was particularly bad and Mom went out to listen for the freight-train rumble of an impending tornado. We're always told to listen for that in this part of the country. The tornado tiptoed up to the house closest to ours (my parents lived and continue to live out in the woods on about 40 acres of their own), ripped it up, and bounced over us without making a sound. A car horn from their house would have been heard, but not the total destruction of a house by a tornado. So much for an auditory warning.
The second is something I saw with my own eyes. There is a research station within driving distance where I live, and we'd have to pass it to go visit my grandparents when I was a child. As this research station, they had a huge equipment barn made from metal. Unfortunately, this station also sits in what we call a "tornado alley", meaning, for those of you unfamiliar with the joys of these storms, a place to which tornados seem to be drawn for some unfathomable reason. I can remember at least two separate times when a tornado came through the "alley" in which the station sits and blew the barn into pieces. For miles around, the tall pines had streamers of silvery metal woven through their branches, tied around their trunks like misshapen bows, and littering the ground beneath them. (BTW, every time the barn got/gets destroyed, they put it right back up again. Maybe they think the tornados will get tired of it eventually. I personally think I'd at least try to move it elsewhere on the property or SOMETHING.)
Every area has some sort of natural disaster they have to deal with. The area of Japan in which I lived was awaiting a massive earthquake/tidal wave. I'll never forget watching the far-too cheery NHK news girl gesture to a cardboard model of Nagoya and showing how far inland the wave was going to sweep. I can't tell you how comforted I was about *that* when I found out. Some areas have mudslides, volcanoes, or floods. A friend of mine from Brazil always told a joke concerning the lack of these types of natural disasters in Brazil. Apparently, according to the joke, the government more than makes up for it. It was a very clever joke, I thought. I guess we all just make the best of it we can no matter where we are. After all, what other choice is there?
It's time to take the remote by the horns (mixing metaphors along the way), and get some rest. There's nothing I can do about it anyway.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Things I Want to Learn
"I am learning all the time. My tombstone will be my diploma." -- Eartha Kitt
There are so many things I want to learn to do. I thought I'd record a few of them for the amusement of the thronging thousands (or tens) who read me.
1. Throw pottery on a wheel -- I have some practice with molded pieces from working for a decorative ceramics studio. What I want now is to throw pots, especially bowls and pitchers. I tried to learn some in Japan, but the language barrier was too great.
2. Weld better -- I finally got to take a welding class, but I need more practice. A MIG welder and a plasma cutter couldn't hurt, either.
3. Play Mah Jong -- The pieces fascinate me. I have ordered a book and found a few people around here who know how to play, so this one may get checked off my list soon.
4. Play the banjo -- There's something about the sound that I love. Ever since a friend of mine introduced me to Bela Fleck, I've wanted to learn how to play the banjo.
5. Make Green Tea bread -- This one sounds odd, but there was a coffee shop in Toyohashi that made green tea bread and it was some of the best stuff I've ever tasted. I wish I had the recipe.
6. Crochet correctly -- I need more practice and somebody to watch for this.
7. Control my foil better -- Fencing. How I miss it. How much more terrible I probably am now since there is no fencing in this area.
Short entry tonight. Nothing deep or meaningful. The full moon prohibits solemnity.
There are so many things I want to learn to do. I thought I'd record a few of them for the amusement of the thronging thousands (or tens) who read me.
1. Throw pottery on a wheel -- I have some practice with molded pieces from working for a decorative ceramics studio. What I want now is to throw pots, especially bowls and pitchers. I tried to learn some in Japan, but the language barrier was too great.
2. Weld better -- I finally got to take a welding class, but I need more practice. A MIG welder and a plasma cutter couldn't hurt, either.
3. Play Mah Jong -- The pieces fascinate me. I have ordered a book and found a few people around here who know how to play, so this one may get checked off my list soon.
4. Play the banjo -- There's something about the sound that I love. Ever since a friend of mine introduced me to Bela Fleck, I've wanted to learn how to play the banjo.
5. Make Green Tea bread -- This one sounds odd, but there was a coffee shop in Toyohashi that made green tea bread and it was some of the best stuff I've ever tasted. I wish I had the recipe.
6. Crochet correctly -- I need more practice and somebody to watch for this.
7. Control my foil better -- Fencing. How I miss it. How much more terrible I probably am now since there is no fencing in this area.
Short entry tonight. Nothing deep or meaningful. The full moon prohibits solemnity.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Spring Break
"In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt." -- Margaret Atwood
This week is Spring Break for my school system. I have been taking care of all sorts of little jobs that have been piling up around the house. Many of those have been outdoor jobs.
I have never been much of a yard person. I am much more likely to be found sitting under a tree reading a book than digging and planting. That being said, since I finally came back home, I have been much more interested in gardening.
I'm still not into formal landscapes and heavy-duty earth moving, but for the last two days, I've been cleaning out overgrown flowerbeds and pruning shrubs. I have been designing flower beds in my mind and hauling topsoil. I have enjoyed it. One of the beds I reclaimed contains heirloom daylilies my grandmother planted. It still needs some work, but I planted some new ones to mix in, and the grass that had choked everything is no longer there.
I want to add some colorful trees later on. I want to add cherries and gingko to remind me of Japan. If I can find them, I also want to add a couple of dogwoods. They are some of my favorite spring trees.
Other old-fashioned plants I'd like to have are camellias and a gardenia. I think they are beautiful, and the gardenias are so fragrant.
I guess I am turning into a yard person after all. I never thought I would. I guess now that I have a place that is my own, I can see the point of the hard work. I'll still be found with a book under a tree, but now it will be a tree I put in the ground myself. :) Happy thought, indeed.
This week is Spring Break for my school system. I have been taking care of all sorts of little jobs that have been piling up around the house. Many of those have been outdoor jobs.
I have never been much of a yard person. I am much more likely to be found sitting under a tree reading a book than digging and planting. That being said, since I finally came back home, I have been much more interested in gardening.
I'm still not into formal landscapes and heavy-duty earth moving, but for the last two days, I've been cleaning out overgrown flowerbeds and pruning shrubs. I have been designing flower beds in my mind and hauling topsoil. I have enjoyed it. One of the beds I reclaimed contains heirloom daylilies my grandmother planted. It still needs some work, but I planted some new ones to mix in, and the grass that had choked everything is no longer there.
I want to add some colorful trees later on. I want to add cherries and gingko to remind me of Japan. If I can find them, I also want to add a couple of dogwoods. They are some of my favorite spring trees.
Other old-fashioned plants I'd like to have are camellias and a gardenia. I think they are beautiful, and the gardenias are so fragrant.
I guess I am turning into a yard person after all. I never thought I would. I guess now that I have a place that is my own, I can see the point of the hard work. I'll still be found with a book under a tree, but now it will be a tree I put in the ground myself. :) Happy thought, indeed.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Friends -- Not the show
I'm starting without a quote tonight. I know that's unusual for this blog, and I also know as a quote fiend that one can't throw the proverbial rock on a quotes site or in Bartlett's without hitting a score of friendship quotes. Maybe I'll go back and add one later.
My friends are the greatest group of people on earth. For one thing, they consistently put up with my crap. I am not now, nor have I ever been, an easy person to get along with. I am often moody and am quite frequently not fit company for man or beast. I worry. I am classic Type-A personality, and God help you if you ever have to work on any kind of project with me. Despite these things, they are always around to help pick me up when I run out of strength from trying to do everything on my own. They are always there to bandage the wounds and mend the tears when I fall flat on my face.
I have been thinking about how friendships change as one gets older. I have been blessed in my life with a group of true, long-time friends. My best friend and I have known each other since kindergarten. She toddled up to me as I was screaming my head off after my mother's departure on my first day away from her and my grandmother and asked, "Why are you crying?" We managed to overcome that inauspicious beginning, and she and I passed through the trials of high school and the giddy happinesses of college before she married a great guy and went off to better things.
Another of my friends and I have gone to church together for years. She's the piano player; I play the organ. She's as vivacious as I am shy. She just had her first baby, and seeing her with that precious gift is one of the catalysts that started this reflection.
I don't see any of my friends as much as I used to. I don't guess anybody our age does. Life intrudes. It's hard to get up at 5:30 to go to work and then come home to an active social life later on, especially since, oddly enough, most of my friends are either teachers or are married to teachers, so we all have lesson plans and grading in the evenings. I have never felt disconnected from my friends, though. Even though I only get to see some of them a couple of times during the year, and there are a couple whom I only get to catch up with via email or a phone call, I still feel that bond that connects.
Some people would argue that it's not possible to maintain a friendship this way. I wonder how else it's done? With a few exceptions, we live at least 90 min. away from each other. Actually, several of my friends are scattered across the US, and at least one of my friends is on a different continent. I love them not one tiny bit less, but the active keeping up with things is hard.
The other thing that triggered this meandering is the fact that two of my friends announced I won't get to see them as often because they are going to leave our church. I can understand their reasons...I've pondered doing it myself often enough, but I can't help but be sad. I wanted to say something when the announcement was made, but what was there to say? Now, I just wonder when I will I ever see them. The only time I ever get to see them is on Sunday or when we have a get-together. I feel like I'm losing them.
That sadness brought in memories of other friendships that did just end. Everybody has relationships they are glad to see fade. Mine involve a girl from high school who turned out to be crazy and a guy from grad school who turned out to be an ass. (Oops...violated the PG-13 rating...) There have been other friendships that I really mourn, though. One in particular comes to me when it's quiet and gnaws at me. This friend and I met in graduate school and got along famously. She came to teach at the same school I was working at in Japan, and we had a fabulous time. I thought our friendship was a true thing, but soon after I left, she totally cut ties with me.
It's been two years now, but I still can't figure out what happened. I guess I must have done something that she considered an insult or a betrayal. Maybe she had been waiting for me to leave. I just can't understand how something that seemed so true could have turned out to be so empty. I have tried to find out how she's doing through other friends we share, but, probably out of politeness, nobody knows anything.
I just wish I knew what it was that I had done. I never meant any insult, and I had thought she knew me well enough to at least ask if she thought I'd done something offensive or wrong. I turn the problem over again and again, but I never find any closure on it. If I had an email from her saying, "I hate you. Die, b****, die!" then I could probably move on. I will never know if she's having a good life, if something happened and she is having a hard time, if I offended or was just oblivious when I thought our friendship was true, or anything else. And, I have to live with that. There is no other choice.
The last two days have been a real rollercoaster as I watch life change around me. I am so happy on one hand for the joy of a long-awaited new life. On the other, I'm sad because two more of my friends seem to be slipping away. Bitter and sweet together. I guess that's the nature of life.
My friends are the greatest group of people on earth. For one thing, they consistently put up with my crap. I am not now, nor have I ever been, an easy person to get along with. I am often moody and am quite frequently not fit company for man or beast. I worry. I am classic Type-A personality, and God help you if you ever have to work on any kind of project with me. Despite these things, they are always around to help pick me up when I run out of strength from trying to do everything on my own. They are always there to bandage the wounds and mend the tears when I fall flat on my face.
I have been thinking about how friendships change as one gets older. I have been blessed in my life with a group of true, long-time friends. My best friend and I have known each other since kindergarten. She toddled up to me as I was screaming my head off after my mother's departure on my first day away from her and my grandmother and asked, "Why are you crying?" We managed to overcome that inauspicious beginning, and she and I passed through the trials of high school and the giddy happinesses of college before she married a great guy and went off to better things.
Another of my friends and I have gone to church together for years. She's the piano player; I play the organ. She's as vivacious as I am shy. She just had her first baby, and seeing her with that precious gift is one of the catalysts that started this reflection.
I don't see any of my friends as much as I used to. I don't guess anybody our age does. Life intrudes. It's hard to get up at 5:30 to go to work and then come home to an active social life later on, especially since, oddly enough, most of my friends are either teachers or are married to teachers, so we all have lesson plans and grading in the evenings. I have never felt disconnected from my friends, though. Even though I only get to see some of them a couple of times during the year, and there are a couple whom I only get to catch up with via email or a phone call, I still feel that bond that connects.
Some people would argue that it's not possible to maintain a friendship this way. I wonder how else it's done? With a few exceptions, we live at least 90 min. away from each other. Actually, several of my friends are scattered across the US, and at least one of my friends is on a different continent. I love them not one tiny bit less, but the active keeping up with things is hard.
The other thing that triggered this meandering is the fact that two of my friends announced I won't get to see them as often because they are going to leave our church. I can understand their reasons...I've pondered doing it myself often enough, but I can't help but be sad. I wanted to say something when the announcement was made, but what was there to say? Now, I just wonder when I will I ever see them. The only time I ever get to see them is on Sunday or when we have a get-together. I feel like I'm losing them.
That sadness brought in memories of other friendships that did just end. Everybody has relationships they are glad to see fade. Mine involve a girl from high school who turned out to be crazy and a guy from grad school who turned out to be an ass. (Oops...violated the PG-13 rating...) There have been other friendships that I really mourn, though. One in particular comes to me when it's quiet and gnaws at me. This friend and I met in graduate school and got along famously. She came to teach at the same school I was working at in Japan, and we had a fabulous time. I thought our friendship was a true thing, but soon after I left, she totally cut ties with me.
It's been two years now, but I still can't figure out what happened. I guess I must have done something that she considered an insult or a betrayal. Maybe she had been waiting for me to leave. I just can't understand how something that seemed so true could have turned out to be so empty. I have tried to find out how she's doing through other friends we share, but, probably out of politeness, nobody knows anything.
I just wish I knew what it was that I had done. I never meant any insult, and I had thought she knew me well enough to at least ask if she thought I'd done something offensive or wrong. I turn the problem over again and again, but I never find any closure on it. If I had an email from her saying, "I hate you. Die, b****, die!" then I could probably move on. I will never know if she's having a good life, if something happened and she is having a hard time, if I offended or was just oblivious when I thought our friendship was true, or anything else. And, I have to live with that. There is no other choice.
The last two days have been a real rollercoaster as I watch life change around me. I am so happy on one hand for the joy of a long-awaited new life. On the other, I'm sad because two more of my friends seem to be slipping away. Bitter and sweet together. I guess that's the nature of life.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Jane Austen
"Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery." -- Jane Austen
I am the perfect cliche of a high school English teacher. One of my favorite books of all time is Pride and Prejudice. I love, love, love it. I have read it more times than I can count. Everytime I come back to it, it's fresh and new. It's totally charming. I always want to be Elizabeth and find my Darcy, my foil.
I have two pieces of jewelry with JA quotes on them. I wear them almost every day. They say words you wear next to your skin have "special powers." Funny...I don't feel like a super hero... :)
I have read several of the other Austen novels, although by no means all of them, but P and P is my favorite. Lately, I've been on an absolute binge of reading sequels, some of them well-done, some of them not, to the original story. The best ones I've found so far are Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife and the Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman series.
What is it about this story that draws hopeless romantics? I realized how many sisters I probably have in my Darcy worship when I saw You've Got Mail for the first time. If it's widespread enough to have made it into a semi-smarmy movie like that, there must be a lot of us.
I think the draw is watching those two perfectly matched characters square off. How rare is it to find a person who balances you? Although the two of them have some marked differences, the core elements are complementary.
I love the verbal fencing matches they have, but I would have to feel a very strong connection with somebody before I could be that forthright with my opinions. Once, a long, long time ago, I was told that I was judgmental. Even though the person who told me that was mad at the time, it's stuck with me. This has made me very hesitant to give strong opinions to any person I don't know well. Elizabeth Bennet I'm not.
Maybe some day I'll find my balance. It's a nice thought. I don't know if there will be a "merry chase" like the novel, but I look forward to finding someone who will walk beside me, not be dominated by my own strength or try to crush it with his own.
I am the perfect cliche of a high school English teacher. One of my favorite books of all time is Pride and Prejudice. I love, love, love it. I have read it more times than I can count. Everytime I come back to it, it's fresh and new. It's totally charming. I always want to be Elizabeth and find my Darcy, my foil.
I have two pieces of jewelry with JA quotes on them. I wear them almost every day. They say words you wear next to your skin have "special powers." Funny...I don't feel like a super hero... :)
I have read several of the other Austen novels, although by no means all of them, but P and P is my favorite. Lately, I've been on an absolute binge of reading sequels, some of them well-done, some of them not, to the original story. The best ones I've found so far are Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife and the Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman series.
What is it about this story that draws hopeless romantics? I realized how many sisters I probably have in my Darcy worship when I saw You've Got Mail for the first time. If it's widespread enough to have made it into a semi-smarmy movie like that, there must be a lot of us.
I think the draw is watching those two perfectly matched characters square off. How rare is it to find a person who balances you? Although the two of them have some marked differences, the core elements are complementary.
I love the verbal fencing matches they have, but I would have to feel a very strong connection with somebody before I could be that forthright with my opinions. Once, a long, long time ago, I was told that I was judgmental. Even though the person who told me that was mad at the time, it's stuck with me. This has made me very hesitant to give strong opinions to any person I don't know well. Elizabeth Bennet I'm not.
Maybe some day I'll find my balance. It's a nice thought. I don't know if there will be a "merry chase" like the novel, but I look forward to finding someone who will walk beside me, not be dominated by my own strength or try to crush it with his own.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Salsa...not the dance
"Only real friends will tell you when your face is dirty." -- Sicilian Proverb
Last night after church I went out with some of my friends. We went to our favorite Mexican restaurant and were laughing, talking, and carrying on.
Then something that has never happened to me before in any restaurant happened. The waiter was bringing us a fresh bowl of salsa, and suddenly, I was liberally anointed with it from the shoulder to the waist. Never in any place I've ever been have I had food spilled on me by a person other than myself, especially by a person who puts food on tables for a living.
I just started laughing. I had no idea what else to do. I couldn't get angry. The poor little guy didn't do it on purpose. The guy I was sitting with also caught part of the salsa flood, and all four of us were about to fall over we were laughing so hard. I think the waitstaff thought we were going to make a huge scene, but why do that? If it wasn't deliberate and it wasn't on-fire-hot, why fuss at somebody who was already upset over it?
It was the perfect ending to a long day of being rained on and hailed on while hunting for my insane cat outside. After we swabbed ourselves off with towels, we moved to a new table. Every thing the guy brought a dish to the table, we all flinched and looked at each other, then burst out laughing. It was a good memory, I think.
Last night after church I went out with some of my friends. We went to our favorite Mexican restaurant and were laughing, talking, and carrying on.
Then something that has never happened to me before in any restaurant happened. The waiter was bringing us a fresh bowl of salsa, and suddenly, I was liberally anointed with it from the shoulder to the waist. Never in any place I've ever been have I had food spilled on me by a person other than myself, especially by a person who puts food on tables for a living.
I just started laughing. I had no idea what else to do. I couldn't get angry. The poor little guy didn't do it on purpose. The guy I was sitting with also caught part of the salsa flood, and all four of us were about to fall over we were laughing so hard. I think the waitstaff thought we were going to make a huge scene, but why do that? If it wasn't deliberate and it wasn't on-fire-hot, why fuss at somebody who was already upset over it?
It was the perfect ending to a long day of being rained on and hailed on while hunting for my insane cat outside. After we swabbed ourselves off with towels, we moved to a new table. Every thing the guy brought a dish to the table, we all flinched and looked at each other, then burst out laughing. It was a good memory, I think.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
T Day Cometh
"Good teaching is one-fourth preparation and three-fourths theater." -- Gail Godwin
Tomorrow my kids will take the English II writing test. I have mixed emotions about it. Part of me, a very big part of me, is just so glad that the stupid thing is finally here. It has been ruling all our lives for the last two weeks. Another part of me is nervous for the kids. I have done the best I can for them, and all I can do now is sit back and wait for the results.
For the most part, I think they're ready. I just hope they don't get in to the testing room and freak out.
I can't believe how important these stupid tests are. Every facet of high school has been tarnished and sullied by the almighty testing agenda. I suppose there are arguments to be made in their favor. They have increased "accountability", whatever that is. I just hate seeing my kids shaking in their desks when they're told that they can't graduate without them.
There's a whole focus in education that "more is always better," and only the PTB's opinion of what "more" should be is valid. For the most part, I think education "experts" (my, there are so many quotation marks tonight) have been in their ivory towers too long. I wonder how many of them could last a full week in a real classroom. In theory, in the perfect environment, their ideas might be workable. When you've got kids who, for the most part, have never been taught the value of education and who are struggling with monumental survival issues as a matter of daily routine, some of the gilding gets knocked off those shiny golden dreams.
Tomorrow is another day of "theater" and education. I guess I need some sleep to prepare. I hope my kids are resting, too. Too much has to ride on tomorrow's essays.
Tomorrow my kids will take the English II writing test. I have mixed emotions about it. Part of me, a very big part of me, is just so glad that the stupid thing is finally here. It has been ruling all our lives for the last two weeks. Another part of me is nervous for the kids. I have done the best I can for them, and all I can do now is sit back and wait for the results.
For the most part, I think they're ready. I just hope they don't get in to the testing room and freak out.
I can't believe how important these stupid tests are. Every facet of high school has been tarnished and sullied by the almighty testing agenda. I suppose there are arguments to be made in their favor. They have increased "accountability", whatever that is. I just hate seeing my kids shaking in their desks when they're told that they can't graduate without them.
There's a whole focus in education that "more is always better," and only the PTB's opinion of what "more" should be is valid. For the most part, I think education "experts" (my, there are so many quotation marks tonight) have been in their ivory towers too long. I wonder how many of them could last a full week in a real classroom. In theory, in the perfect environment, their ideas might be workable. When you've got kids who, for the most part, have never been taught the value of education and who are struggling with monumental survival issues as a matter of daily routine, some of the gilding gets knocked off those shiny golden dreams.
Tomorrow is another day of "theater" and education. I guess I need some sleep to prepare. I hope my kids are resting, too. Too much has to ride on tomorrow's essays.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Ebay
"What if nothing was ever lost?" -- Ebay
I love Ebay. I am such a junkie, and that can be taken as either "addict" or "junk lover." There's more to my love of it than just the stuff though. The recent ad campaigns have been surprisingly touching to me, especially the one with the guy and his long-lost toy boat. The first time I saw it, I actually teared up. Granted, I was tired, it was late, and I was running a fever at the time, but....
There is such a sense of community on Ebay. It's like a huge garage sale that just goes on and on. With one exception, everyone I've dealt with has been so cordial and polite. They've answered questions, been as careful with their shipping as they might have been with a gift being sent to a far away relative, and sent personable, even chatty emails. Everyone has seemed to care tremendously about maintaining that Saturday garage sale feel, and most go to great extremes to make sure their items are described in painstaking detail to avoid any kind of disappointment on the part of the buyer.
It's funny that you can become connected in this way, even briefly, to people from all over the world in the name of commerce. I'm not sure if this kind of contact is a point for those who argue that technology connects us or serves to distance us from each other. I guess you could argue for both.
I also find it comforting that no matter what a person might like, be it salt shakers, Elvis memorabilia, porcelain dogs, or PEZ, there are about a jillion other people on Ebay who will be into the same thing and have cool stuff you've never seen to add to your collection. I, personally, love PEZ, vintage tablecloths, and old brooches.
Ebay brings up another interesting facet of humanity for me: collecting. It seems that almost every person I've ever met collects something. I wonder what makes us choose one item and then compulsively keep buying variations on the same theme. I wonder what the things we choose to surround ourselves with say about us as people? I guess there is probably some deep psychological reason why this person collects holsteins for the kitchen, Barbies, or clocks. Some psychologist should write a book about that, perhaps. There's probably already an annoying email forward about it. :)
Well, I guess I've probably exhaused this topic, but I just wanted to throw it out there.
I love Ebay. I am such a junkie, and that can be taken as either "addict" or "junk lover." There's more to my love of it than just the stuff though. The recent ad campaigns have been surprisingly touching to me, especially the one with the guy and his long-lost toy boat. The first time I saw it, I actually teared up. Granted, I was tired, it was late, and I was running a fever at the time, but....
There is such a sense of community on Ebay. It's like a huge garage sale that just goes on and on. With one exception, everyone I've dealt with has been so cordial and polite. They've answered questions, been as careful with their shipping as they might have been with a gift being sent to a far away relative, and sent personable, even chatty emails. Everyone has seemed to care tremendously about maintaining that Saturday garage sale feel, and most go to great extremes to make sure their items are described in painstaking detail to avoid any kind of disappointment on the part of the buyer.
It's funny that you can become connected in this way, even briefly, to people from all over the world in the name of commerce. I'm not sure if this kind of contact is a point for those who argue that technology connects us or serves to distance us from each other. I guess you could argue for both.
I also find it comforting that no matter what a person might like, be it salt shakers, Elvis memorabilia, porcelain dogs, or PEZ, there are about a jillion other people on Ebay who will be into the same thing and have cool stuff you've never seen to add to your collection. I, personally, love PEZ, vintage tablecloths, and old brooches.
Ebay brings up another interesting facet of humanity for me: collecting. It seems that almost every person I've ever met collects something. I wonder what makes us choose one item and then compulsively keep buying variations on the same theme. I wonder what the things we choose to surround ourselves with say about us as people? I guess there is probably some deep psychological reason why this person collects holsteins for the kitchen, Barbies, or clocks. Some psychologist should write a book about that, perhaps. There's probably already an annoying email forward about it. :)
Well, I guess I've probably exhaused this topic, but I just wanted to throw it out there.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Wide Open Spaces
"The poetry of the earth is never dead." -- John Keats
Today, I had a dark epiphany about myself. I won't go into the details, but I learned something unpleasant about my personality. I am still processing the information, but I suddenly want to run away. I want to find a place where there is nothing but me and some trees until I get this dealt with.
I use Webshots for my screensaver and wallpaper on my computer. I have put it on every computer I've ever had. I love the scenic nature shots. They remind me there are so many beautiful places in the world to see.
I wish I could just dive into the screen like a figure in a surrealist painting or a cartoon character. Wouldn't it be amazing to escape like that? There are two pictures in particular that call to me. One is this avenue of oaks and the light streaming through them is golden. I want so much to be walking beneath those oaks and hear the sound of wind rustling their leaves.
Another is a beach somewhere in Costa Rica. As a general rule, I am not a beach person, but this shot is at sunset and the purples and reds make it look like a scene from another world. I want to go sit there in that twilight and let the waves gradually eat away this problem like a sandcastle at high tide.
I think I'm going to go take a long, hot shower and walk on my beach and down my tree-lined path in my mind. Perhaps the solace of nature can be gained vicariously.
Today, I had a dark epiphany about myself. I won't go into the details, but I learned something unpleasant about my personality. I am still processing the information, but I suddenly want to run away. I want to find a place where there is nothing but me and some trees until I get this dealt with.
I use Webshots for my screensaver and wallpaper on my computer. I have put it on every computer I've ever had. I love the scenic nature shots. They remind me there are so many beautiful places in the world to see.
I wish I could just dive into the screen like a figure in a surrealist painting or a cartoon character. Wouldn't it be amazing to escape like that? There are two pictures in particular that call to me. One is this avenue of oaks and the light streaming through them is golden. I want so much to be walking beneath those oaks and hear the sound of wind rustling their leaves.
Another is a beach somewhere in Costa Rica. As a general rule, I am not a beach person, but this shot is at sunset and the purples and reds make it look like a scene from another world. I want to go sit there in that twilight and let the waves gradually eat away this problem like a sandcastle at high tide.
I think I'm going to go take a long, hot shower and walk on my beach and down my tree-lined path in my mind. Perhaps the solace of nature can be gained vicariously.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Poetry
"Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes." -- Carl Sandburg
I submitted three poems to a local literary contest. It's been a long, long time since I've submitted anything for competition. I'm not sure how polished they are. I wish more than I can say that I still had a mentor to help me revise. My college creative writing teacher was amazing. Everyone probably thinks theirs was wonderful, but this professor didn't pull any punches, and he helped me burn away the dross.
It's a local contest, and most of the things I've written are NOT local material, so they might go over like the proverbial lead balloon. I don't know. I'll throw them out and see if they survive.
I haven't written anything new since I left Japan. I have often thought that poetry has to live on pain, and I decided a long time ago that I'd rather be happier than a great poet. I'm not going to chase the knife's blade to fill my bottle with heart's blood ink.
Still, I have ideas in my head, and I need to channel them. Maybe this will revive the juices. My best poems are about my travels. For some reason, I draw a lot of inspiration from the places I go. I guess the travel poems become the souvenirs I'll never break, sell, or give away.
I have to keep it short tonight because I'm so tired. Maybe there will be more tomorrow.
I submitted three poems to a local literary contest. It's been a long, long time since I've submitted anything for competition. I'm not sure how polished they are. I wish more than I can say that I still had a mentor to help me revise. My college creative writing teacher was amazing. Everyone probably thinks theirs was wonderful, but this professor didn't pull any punches, and he helped me burn away the dross.
It's a local contest, and most of the things I've written are NOT local material, so they might go over like the proverbial lead balloon. I don't know. I'll throw them out and see if they survive.
I haven't written anything new since I left Japan. I have often thought that poetry has to live on pain, and I decided a long time ago that I'd rather be happier than a great poet. I'm not going to chase the knife's blade to fill my bottle with heart's blood ink.
Still, I have ideas in my head, and I need to channel them. Maybe this will revive the juices. My best poems are about my travels. For some reason, I draw a lot of inspiration from the places I go. I guess the travel poems become the souvenirs I'll never break, sell, or give away.
I have to keep it short tonight because I'm so tired. Maybe there will be more tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Shakespeare
"Education is a better safeguard of liberty than a standing army." -- Edward Everett
I am trying to make some 80-odd tenth graders see the beauty and power of Shakespeare. It's hard to convince kids who have trouble with the slippery subtleties of Standard English that it's worth hacking through the archaic vocabulary to get to the character and plot gems beneath. I honestly can't blame them for their reluctance. For them, it's like studying a foreign language. We're approaching it in that way. I think in another two generations, a total re-evaluation of our high school teaching canon is going to be necessary, or a new way of approaching this material is going to have to be developed. We don't expect regular students to approach Chaucer or the Pearl Poet in their original idiom. I don't know how much longer Shakespeare is going to work that way, either.
I will probably get about a million responses to this attacking me for not taking the "intellectual high road" that maintains the almost holy virtue with which some people try to endow Shakespeare. To stave some of that off, I want to say how much I enjoy his works. I find his puns funny. I love the fact that so much of his humor is earthy and aimed at the common man. I love his flawed heroes and heroines. I love the freshness of his plots, even after 400 years of badly-done performance, adaptation, and reinvention. I love the originality of his images, his comparisons, and his poetry. I think my students should be exposed to him to open their minds and make them consider some of those immortal issues he uses as themes. All that being said, Shakespeare, while inspired, is not divine, and many of my kids really, really hate him.
When there's a language barrier of the magnitude I'm talking about, no comprehension happens. Granted, there needs to be more effort on the part of many of my students. That would help. However, many are trying very hard and are running up against language so complex and incomprehensible that it might as well be Latin or Provencal. It's not just Shakespeare. Other, later works have defeated my kids. Poe was problematic. His syllable heavy prose needed translation for them. I can't imagine trying to get through Hawthorne, yet I know they'll have to meet him next year in eleventh grade. It's not a fault of the work. I refuse to call it a "fault" in my kids. They simply aren't ready for this stuff.
This brings me to the core of my dilemma, and the dilemma all the English teachers I've spoken with lately have also expressed. Do we try to find readings that are on their level, or do we press on, knowing that much of what we do will have to be simplified and stripped down to be comprehensible? When my kids came to me, many of them were reading 3 or more grade levels behind. (Shocked gasp--for shame--bad teachers--poor educational system) Regardless of the whys, which I ABSOLUTELY am not getting into tonight, I have to try to figure out what to do with them where they are. I'm taking the strip it down and do the best we can approach because I believe they can do it with help, but I can't say it's not a hard path.
Is it right to try to give them this stuff when it's so far above some of them? Am I trying to feed a bottle baby solid foods? They're not babies, and they are so conscious of being behind. I want them to keep reaching up and to see that although it might be hard, it's by no means out of their reach. I just have to keep reminding myself that their struggles are going to build proficiency. It's very hard.
Mostly, I want them to have a good experience with the work. One bad experience with literature is enough to turn these fragile new readers away from it for good. I want them to come away with a sense of control and (God help me for using edu-lingo) empowerment. They should never have to be afraid of the printed page. It should always be a source of pleasure and growth. So, we are carefully walking through the streets of ancient Rome hand-in-hand. I am doing the very best I can. I only hope it's going to be enough.
I am trying to make some 80-odd tenth graders see the beauty and power of Shakespeare. It's hard to convince kids who have trouble with the slippery subtleties of Standard English that it's worth hacking through the archaic vocabulary to get to the character and plot gems beneath. I honestly can't blame them for their reluctance. For them, it's like studying a foreign language. We're approaching it in that way. I think in another two generations, a total re-evaluation of our high school teaching canon is going to be necessary, or a new way of approaching this material is going to have to be developed. We don't expect regular students to approach Chaucer or the Pearl Poet in their original idiom. I don't know how much longer Shakespeare is going to work that way, either.
I will probably get about a million responses to this attacking me for not taking the "intellectual high road" that maintains the almost holy virtue with which some people try to endow Shakespeare. To stave some of that off, I want to say how much I enjoy his works. I find his puns funny. I love the fact that so much of his humor is earthy and aimed at the common man. I love his flawed heroes and heroines. I love the freshness of his plots, even after 400 years of badly-done performance, adaptation, and reinvention. I love the originality of his images, his comparisons, and his poetry. I think my students should be exposed to him to open their minds and make them consider some of those immortal issues he uses as themes. All that being said, Shakespeare, while inspired, is not divine, and many of my kids really, really hate him.
When there's a language barrier of the magnitude I'm talking about, no comprehension happens. Granted, there needs to be more effort on the part of many of my students. That would help. However, many are trying very hard and are running up against language so complex and incomprehensible that it might as well be Latin or Provencal. It's not just Shakespeare. Other, later works have defeated my kids. Poe was problematic. His syllable heavy prose needed translation for them. I can't imagine trying to get through Hawthorne, yet I know they'll have to meet him next year in eleventh grade. It's not a fault of the work. I refuse to call it a "fault" in my kids. They simply aren't ready for this stuff.
This brings me to the core of my dilemma, and the dilemma all the English teachers I've spoken with lately have also expressed. Do we try to find readings that are on their level, or do we press on, knowing that much of what we do will have to be simplified and stripped down to be comprehensible? When my kids came to me, many of them were reading 3 or more grade levels behind. (Shocked gasp--for shame--bad teachers--poor educational system) Regardless of the whys, which I ABSOLUTELY am not getting into tonight, I have to try to figure out what to do with them where they are. I'm taking the strip it down and do the best we can approach because I believe they can do it with help, but I can't say it's not a hard path.
Is it right to try to give them this stuff when it's so far above some of them? Am I trying to feed a bottle baby solid foods? They're not babies, and they are so conscious of being behind. I want them to keep reaching up and to see that although it might be hard, it's by no means out of their reach. I just have to keep reminding myself that their struggles are going to build proficiency. It's very hard.
Mostly, I want them to have a good experience with the work. One bad experience with literature is enough to turn these fragile new readers away from it for good. I want them to come away with a sense of control and (God help me for using edu-lingo) empowerment. They should never have to be afraid of the printed page. It should always be a source of pleasure and growth. So, we are carefully walking through the streets of ancient Rome hand-in-hand. I am doing the very best I can. I only hope it's going to be enough.
Monday, February 14, 2005
The Flu and The Birthday
"Eat right, exercise regularly, die anyway." -- Unknown
Two different kinds of flu have been going around school, and have managed to wipe out about half our students. I caught one strand of it myself last Wednesday, and it knocked me down for four days. I'm only just now beginning to get back on my feet again.
I haven't been sick like this since I had some kind of whacked out Asian flu in Japan. I came home from school when classes let out on Wednesday, and I'm kind of amazed and frightened to say that I have no recollection of the drive home except that I remember yelling along the way because the fever was making my legs ache so badly. Hmmm....hand of God, anyone? The next two days passed in the same sort of hazy, medicated and unconscious manner. I got a lot of good sleep, and my cats were thrilled beyond belief to have an overheated and totally supine presence in the bed twenty-four-seven.
I managed to come around for my birthday on Sunday. It wasn't bad. This is the first one in quite a long time that hasn't been total crap. I'm hoping this is the start of a new trend...sickness ends...birthday doesn't suck.... good things ahead.
Some of my friends in a class I teach brought me a huge birthday cake on Sunday. It was so sweet and unexpected. I was able to share it with several other people at the church, and it was really nice.
The weather today was so great and springy. I was able to open the windows of my room to let some of the contagion out. As I was driving home, I realized how comfortable I was with the world in general. Even though I am still rundown from the flu, for the first time in a long time, I felt good about being who I am and doing what I'm doing where I'm doing it. I don't know if my birthday gift from God was the wisdom to be at peace in my own skin AT LAST, or if this is just a sickness-induced lull, but I'm looking forward to the year ahead.
Two different kinds of flu have been going around school, and have managed to wipe out about half our students. I caught one strand of it myself last Wednesday, and it knocked me down for four days. I'm only just now beginning to get back on my feet again.
I haven't been sick like this since I had some kind of whacked out Asian flu in Japan. I came home from school when classes let out on Wednesday, and I'm kind of amazed and frightened to say that I have no recollection of the drive home except that I remember yelling along the way because the fever was making my legs ache so badly. Hmmm....hand of God, anyone? The next two days passed in the same sort of hazy, medicated and unconscious manner. I got a lot of good sleep, and my cats were thrilled beyond belief to have an overheated and totally supine presence in the bed twenty-four-seven.
I managed to come around for my birthday on Sunday. It wasn't bad. This is the first one in quite a long time that hasn't been total crap. I'm hoping this is the start of a new trend...sickness ends...birthday doesn't suck.... good things ahead.
Some of my friends in a class I teach brought me a huge birthday cake on Sunday. It was so sweet and unexpected. I was able to share it with several other people at the church, and it was really nice.
The weather today was so great and springy. I was able to open the windows of my room to let some of the contagion out. As I was driving home, I realized how comfortable I was with the world in general. Even though I am still rundown from the flu, for the first time in a long time, I felt good about being who I am and doing what I'm doing where I'm doing it. I don't know if my birthday gift from God was the wisdom to be at peace in my own skin AT LAST, or if this is just a sickness-induced lull, but I'm looking forward to the year ahead.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Dreams
"I am accustomed to sleep and in my dreams to imagine the same things that lunatics imagine when awake." -- Descartes
I have always had vivid dreams, and most of the time, they stay with me long past waking. I don't know why this is. I have one friend who almost never remembers any of her dreams. Maybe it has something to do with how deeply one sleeps. She always slept like a rock, and nothing, not even people pounding on the outside walls of our apartment (another story, dear reader, another story) would wake her. I, on the other hand, sleep fairly lightly, especially if I'm in a place I don't know well. Maybe that's why the dreams stay with me.
My dreams have always been odd. That's no doubt due to my reading tastes and my overactive imagination. I've never minded it, and frequently wished that I could just get the images on paper and into publication. I remember a friend of mine telling me he could make a fortune if he could just hook me up to a machine that would turn that stuff into print.
Lately, my dreams have been dark and wild in a way they haven't been in years. The last two nights have been especially strange. Maybe it's because I'm flirting with a sinus infection and my routine's been off. I wonder if it's not something to do with the phase of the moon or some other ambient factor, though, because one of my students told me about a weird dream he'd had, and there just seems to be "something" in the air.
Last night's dream took place, as dreams will, in several places, jumping around. The dominant image I remember was a platform-type tree house with fabric walls that was where I was staying for the summer. There was a storm coming in, but several people who I knew in the dream, but have no idea whom they might be in the real world, were in the tent, too. It was like some kind of summer camp/retreat. I remember the lushness of the color. Everything was too rich, like fruit just before it becomes overripe. The light flickered through the trees and traced patterns on the white fabric of the tree tent's walls. I remember everything. The beds were metal cots with squeaky springs. The linens were old, soft, and white. I had an old quilt on the bed like the one my great-grandmother made. There was a windchime we'd hung from a treebranch. That was one of the primary sounds in the dream. It played three notes over and over.
There were other platforms up in the trees. There were several together, and one of them had a Japanese-style tub. That part I can trace to the source. Hardly a shower goes past that I don't miss my deep tub from Japan. The other parts are a mystery.
My platform tent was on the outskirts of the camp. The others kept trying to get me to move in closer, but I liked the tent I had. They were worried that something was coming with the storm. The thing I remember most was knowing they were right, knowing I should have been scared, too, and knowing that I wanted to meet what was coming more than anything else I could think of.
When the storm came, the white fabric of the tent was magically waterproof. (How convenient.) I sat on the old quilt and waited for the something to arrive. The sound of the windchimes multiplied and another sound like 100s of bamboo windchimes joined them. The sounds were soft at first, and I remember hearing some of the others calling me to run because "he" was coming.
Suddenly, I saw him walking through the rain and trees. He was walking slowly and touching the leaves. The wet didn't seem to touch him. When I saw him, I knew him. I knew he was coming to see me, even though he was wondering around seemingly without purpose. I knew his face. He was beautiful. I knew his walk, graceful, silent, ground-eating without effort. More than anything, I wanted to talk to him. I had to hear his voice.
That, of course, was not to be. The strident pulse of my alarm clock went off before I he got further than the base of the tree in which my platform stood. I guess I'll never know what he sounds like. Maybe one day I'll write a voice for him and finish his story.
I have always had vivid dreams, and most of the time, they stay with me long past waking. I don't know why this is. I have one friend who almost never remembers any of her dreams. Maybe it has something to do with how deeply one sleeps. She always slept like a rock, and nothing, not even people pounding on the outside walls of our apartment (another story, dear reader, another story) would wake her. I, on the other hand, sleep fairly lightly, especially if I'm in a place I don't know well. Maybe that's why the dreams stay with me.
My dreams have always been odd. That's no doubt due to my reading tastes and my overactive imagination. I've never minded it, and frequently wished that I could just get the images on paper and into publication. I remember a friend of mine telling me he could make a fortune if he could just hook me up to a machine that would turn that stuff into print.
Lately, my dreams have been dark and wild in a way they haven't been in years. The last two nights have been especially strange. Maybe it's because I'm flirting with a sinus infection and my routine's been off. I wonder if it's not something to do with the phase of the moon or some other ambient factor, though, because one of my students told me about a weird dream he'd had, and there just seems to be "something" in the air.
Last night's dream took place, as dreams will, in several places, jumping around. The dominant image I remember was a platform-type tree house with fabric walls that was where I was staying for the summer. There was a storm coming in, but several people who I knew in the dream, but have no idea whom they might be in the real world, were in the tent, too. It was like some kind of summer camp/retreat. I remember the lushness of the color. Everything was too rich, like fruit just before it becomes overripe. The light flickered through the trees and traced patterns on the white fabric of the tree tent's walls. I remember everything. The beds were metal cots with squeaky springs. The linens were old, soft, and white. I had an old quilt on the bed like the one my great-grandmother made. There was a windchime we'd hung from a treebranch. That was one of the primary sounds in the dream. It played three notes over and over.
There were other platforms up in the trees. There were several together, and one of them had a Japanese-style tub. That part I can trace to the source. Hardly a shower goes past that I don't miss my deep tub from Japan. The other parts are a mystery.
My platform tent was on the outskirts of the camp. The others kept trying to get me to move in closer, but I liked the tent I had. They were worried that something was coming with the storm. The thing I remember most was knowing they were right, knowing I should have been scared, too, and knowing that I wanted to meet what was coming more than anything else I could think of.
When the storm came, the white fabric of the tent was magically waterproof. (How convenient.) I sat on the old quilt and waited for the something to arrive. The sound of the windchimes multiplied and another sound like 100s of bamboo windchimes joined them. The sounds were soft at first, and I remember hearing some of the others calling me to run because "he" was coming.
Suddenly, I saw him walking through the rain and trees. He was walking slowly and touching the leaves. The wet didn't seem to touch him. When I saw him, I knew him. I knew he was coming to see me, even though he was wondering around seemingly without purpose. I knew his face. He was beautiful. I knew his walk, graceful, silent, ground-eating without effort. More than anything, I wanted to talk to him. I had to hear his voice.
That, of course, was not to be. The strident pulse of my alarm clock went off before I he got further than the base of the tree in which my platform stood. I guess I'll never know what he sounds like. Maybe one day I'll write a voice for him and finish his story.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Random musings from a day out of school
"Day, n. A period of twenty-four hours, mostly misspent." -- Ambrose Bierce
I went to get my CPR certification renewed today. I had to take a full day off work to go do it, and I spent the better part of the day cooped up in a too-cold room around gray-speckled plastic folding tables watching students from the local community college nursing program rudely sleep through the presentation. If I'm ever really sick, I hope that none of them is ever in charge of keeping me alive. Everything I did could have been done in about 30 minutes, but par for the course, it went on for 4 hours instead.
I bought myself a new microwave today. On the global scale of indulgences, I'm sure it doesn't rate very high, but I love it. It's brushed stainless steel, and it looks so nice. My old microwave had gotten very scary. Paint was coming off the inside, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get it clean anymore. I microwaved a potato in it tonight for its inaugural run. It cooked the whole potato. That combined with the lack of the bright orange glow coming out of the back.... just kidding. It's great. Now, though, I want the refridgerator that matches.
I have gotten very deeply into my kitchen. For the first time in a long time, I feel like cooking and taking care of the house. I have been looking around on eBay for brightly colored 50's tablecloths, and I recently bought the cutest dropleaf table that I'm trying to refinish. I wish I knew more about tools and such so I could make some big changes, but that's not an option right now.
The house we were in for the CPR training was fabulous. It's a turn-of-the-century two story in an area with a lot of historic, but slightly run-down, houses that are being reclaimed by dentists and other businesses. The Red Cross just got this one and is still in the process of finishing things. The ceilings were about 20 ft, and coffered. The window hardware, the light switches, and even the fireplace lamps were all original. I know I was drooling. What would it be like to live in one of those wonderful old palaces? Even the downstairs, off the kitchen bathroom was amazing. It had a pedestal sink with some of the neatest hardware I've ever seen, modern or vintage. I wish I could have stuck it the whole thing in my purse and walked out. Since the sink stood about 3 1/2 feet tall, I don't think that would have worked. Someday, I hope I can find fixtures like that for my own house.
Now, even though I have huge, vast amounts of school work waiting, I'm going to take a shower and read for awhile. Of course, tomorrow I'll have to play catch-up, but I think it's worth it on a rainy night like tonight.
I went to get my CPR certification renewed today. I had to take a full day off work to go do it, and I spent the better part of the day cooped up in a too-cold room around gray-speckled plastic folding tables watching students from the local community college nursing program rudely sleep through the presentation. If I'm ever really sick, I hope that none of them is ever in charge of keeping me alive. Everything I did could have been done in about 30 minutes, but par for the course, it went on for 4 hours instead.
I bought myself a new microwave today. On the global scale of indulgences, I'm sure it doesn't rate very high, but I love it. It's brushed stainless steel, and it looks so nice. My old microwave had gotten very scary. Paint was coming off the inside, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get it clean anymore. I microwaved a potato in it tonight for its inaugural run. It cooked the whole potato. That combined with the lack of the bright orange glow coming out of the back.... just kidding. It's great. Now, though, I want the refridgerator that matches.
I have gotten very deeply into my kitchen. For the first time in a long time, I feel like cooking and taking care of the house. I have been looking around on eBay for brightly colored 50's tablecloths, and I recently bought the cutest dropleaf table that I'm trying to refinish. I wish I knew more about tools and such so I could make some big changes, but that's not an option right now.
The house we were in for the CPR training was fabulous. It's a turn-of-the-century two story in an area with a lot of historic, but slightly run-down, houses that are being reclaimed by dentists and other businesses. The Red Cross just got this one and is still in the process of finishing things. The ceilings were about 20 ft, and coffered. The window hardware, the light switches, and even the fireplace lamps were all original. I know I was drooling. What would it be like to live in one of those wonderful old palaces? Even the downstairs, off the kitchen bathroom was amazing. It had a pedestal sink with some of the neatest hardware I've ever seen, modern or vintage. I wish I could have stuck it the whole thing in my purse and walked out. Since the sink stood about 3 1/2 feet tall, I don't think that would have worked. Someday, I hope I can find fixtures like that for my own house.
Now, even though I have huge, vast amounts of school work waiting, I'm going to take a shower and read for awhile. Of course, tomorrow I'll have to play catch-up, but I think it's worth it on a rainy night like tonight.
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