Let us give thanks

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Of course as a child I always liked the idea of getting Christmas presents or free candy on Halloween but there was just something extra special about Thanksgiving. It was the only holiday that the entire Allen family as I knew it, came together in one spot. It was, for me the absolute embodiment of family. Growing up I never missed a Thanksgiving in Grandma’s kitchen. One of the saddest days I can remember was the fourth Thursday of November 1972, my first year in college. Not being with my family on Thanksgiving was a killer. I learned a valuable lesson that day about the importance of tradition. It is the only holiday that I claimed for our family after I was married. Somehow Ralph was able to grasp how important it was to me and played along. You can count on one hand the Thanksgivings that have not been cooked in my kitchen. Even the year I found my way back home from Texas, Thanksgiving was spent with my family on the floor of a furnitureless duplex. A few minutes of every Thanksgiving are spent in tears. Sometimes I’m not sure where they come from but I have learned to accept them as Grandma looking over my shoulder and nodding her head in approval that I have remembered the seeds she sowed in my heart.

I love everything about Thanksgiving Day. I love its premise of giving thanks and the history behind it. I love all the preparations that go into it; creating the menu, setting the table, cooking all those little extras the day before. But most of all I love the smell. There is nothing like the mixture of scents of a browning turkey with the cinnamon and allspice of pumpkin pie and the sassiness of cranberry sauce. As much as I recognize this holiday is about tradition, the Allen-Giannini menu usually has a little twist. It hasn’t always been that way. During the early years it seemed important that I keep everything the same from my childhood. Slowly but surely the old recipes began to share the table with the new ones. Sometimes that meant 2 versions of cranberries, potatoes or vegetables until I could reconcile leaving Grandma’s behind. Now the recipe search has become a part of my Thanksgiving anticipation. What shall I cook? How does that meld with what else is on the table in terms of sight, smell and taste? Yes, I love Thanksgiving. There is just nothing else like it; a day that is dedicated to food and family. What could be better than that?

Middle schoolers can even be cute

For months now I have been telling people how FUNNY middle school kids are. Very few of those people have understood that comment because they don't think the words middle school and funny could possibly go together. But it's the kind of funny that when you say something and the minute it's out of your mouth you know you shouldn't have said it because it's just dumb. Today was different. Today's funny was cute like first graders are cute. Here is just a snippet of my day.
After I handed back their first attempt at a 5 paragraph essay, it was a literal field day.
*One student called his revising work today "remodeling." But the greatest part was that I could laugh with him and go off on the metaphor of remodeling a house and say, "Like that?" and he said "Yeah, like that!"
*Another student said Ms. Allen I agree with your comments but how do I make this paragraph better? It was just funny that a kid would have the guts to say to a teacher "I agree with you."
*Then there was the student who had attempted to defend his position on playing video games by saying they improve finger work. He was very disappointed to realize that finger work is not a term that is understood by the over 12 crowd.
*But the clincher for me was when the kid ran into 6th period class yelling, Ms.Allen, we watched Oprah today in reading class. Yes it's true the reading teacher was playing the video of Oprah's school in Africa. He just couldn't wait to spill the beans.

My analogy for the day is kindergarten is to cute as 6th grade is to hysterical. This is one of those days that I would have worked for free.

The Mystery of Death

For the past few months the people around me have been confronting the loss of those they love. Death has always been a mystery to me. My first memory of death was my younger brother's drowning so it has always been extremely difficult for me to come to terms with the finality of it. People who were just here laughing and playing with me can be swept away in the blink of an eye never to be seen again. My response is almost always a feeling that begins with denial and quickly morphs into frustration, finally ending in confusion and leaving me hollow. I do not understand it. Sometimes death is as simple as never waking up from a night's sleep and sometimes it drags on for years in senility. It makes no sense. We come into the world so predictably and live the day to our day of our lives without incident. Most of us grow up, fall in love, get married, have kids and live the happily ever after. But for some it is different. Along the journey something changes. An accident. An illness. Then suddenly that life is on a totally different path and his/her loved ones try desperately to follow behind. But as our arms flail out to held them here on earth there is nothing that can be done to slow time. We don't get the last hug or kiss, the last shared smile or a parting word. They are simply gone. It is over. We hold on to our memories and carry the spirit of our loved ones with us through the rest of our lives. We speak their names to keep the memory of who they once were alive not only for ourselves but so they will never be forgotten. They were here. They changed who we became. They made a difference.

Weekend Procrastination

Ah. It is Friday night. It should feel like a weight lifted off my chest but what rolls through my brain is the 3 sets of papers I have to correct sometime over the next 48 hours. This is a funny little game I have been playing for the past 3 months. I am constantly searching for the balance between weekend work and play since I started teaching middle school. There are papers that must be graded in order to meet the deadline for progress reports that tell student's families their kids need to shape up before report cards go out in another 4-5 weeks. The picture in my mind is a series of hurdles on a circular track, one leading to another so it is never ending. Every weekend the work gets done and I somehow get my moments of play intertwined between the papers, the yard and the house. I tell myself I'll do them on Friday night and have the rest of weekend to call my own but I have yet to follow through on that internal promise. I usually end up doing a little work followed by a little play. One thing I have learned is that it is absolutely forbidden to correct and post grades on Sunday night. I did that once and will never repeat it. This is the time when I repeat over and over again the mantra of how much I love middle school. The reality is that there is a lot more paper work and it has to be handled in a timely manner. But I will definitely take that over crying children who would like you to tie your shoes while you're considering how best to correlate a unit on tide pools with research reports, putting away leveled books and wondering how to differentiate instruction in two digit multiplication. Five paragraph essays, here I come.

The Tao of Walking

Pooh and Piglet both have their Tao and on my way home today it occurred to me that it is time for walking to get its just due. I have always known that walking is a spiritual activity for me. When I do it alone it is the closest to God that I ever get. My brain dumps and becomes clear and the important things in life float to the surface. When I walk with friends we talk about the deepest things in our lives - our hopes and dreams, joys and sorrows. It has been more than a month since I really walked and during that time I have been in an unexplainable funk. The battle between being alone and lonely seemed to have been won by lonely. I blamed my new job for my inability to move off the couch, my sleeplessness, and my lack of concern for even the basics of housekeeping. I need to walk. This morning I went back and forth as to whether to bite the bullet and take a chance on walking. My morning routine went off without a hitch and there was no pain in my foot so I took a chance. I stepped out of the door, embraced the cool fog and couldn't help but smile. As I made my way up the sidewalk I could feel the weight of my world slipping off my shoulders with every step I took. I was able to focus on the day ahead, pray for my friends and family and take in the beauty of the changing season. What a difference between plopping in my car to drive to work, stopping every block for stop signs and watching for adolescents as I park my car. The walk home is even better. For some reason my pace in the afternoon is much slower and I see and feel everything. By the time I reach my door I am totally in balance. Yes, walking is my tao.

Addendum to Things I Love About Middle School

Sixth graders are not only obsessed with their looks but evidently everyone else's looks on the planet as well. I died my hair back to its somewhat original color over the weekend and I could not believe the comments from my students Monday morning. My favorite one was,"What did you do to your hair?" I guess that beats trying to figure out for yourself what is different. This was followed by:
Your hair looks darker.
Your hair looks fuller.
Your hair looks longer.
Did you dye your hair?
Now what I find extremely entertaining about this is that they didn't seem to realized that the blonde and red highlights that I covered up was also dyed hair.

Things I Love About Middle School

Beginning with the first day of school I started a list of things that struck me as being different from elementary school. With each one of them, there was always the observation followed with a sight smile and an "I like that." I initially began the list to give me something to say when asked. Why do you like middle school? Here it is as of this date.
Kids are only there for 50 minutes at a time.
There is a larger pool of teachers from which to gain knowledge and ideas.
I am a part of the outside world. I can actually see Jackson Street from my window.
I am a better teacher because I can focus on 2 subjects instead of 6.
The students are MUCH more independent.
There are fewer parent issues. Some days I don't even see, talk to or e-mail a single one.
The passing time gives me time to think and get focused on the next class.
The teaching of curriculum starts on the second day of school.
Entering grades is simple.
E-mail is my primary source of communication. I love that.
Preparing for class is mostly paperwork. There are no little books, or math manipulatives or things to put together.
There is no class picture on picture day where you have to identify the kids for the yearbook.
I don't have slow down to fit their pace when walking with them across the quad.
Sub plans are a breeze.
Doing report cards consists of clicking a number for comments and a button that says "Finalize Grades."
I can walk to work.
6th graders just say funny things. Every single day I laugh at something that is said in my classroom.
You can have a class discussion about important things.
They notice things that have changed - arrangement of furniture, things on the wall, the scent of an air freashner.
There is a greater distribution of the workload among the staff.
The sound of an orchestra, jazz band and choir
The joy of communicating with an adolescent and making a difference

You Just Have to Laugh

Twenty-four hours have passed since my most recent 2 hour stint at Kaiser. This time I was scheduled to see a rheumatologist. Imagine my surprise when a nurse practitioner walked into the room. She reassured me that I would be examined by her as well as the real doctor. So she asked me a bunch of questions, bashed my shoe selection and suggested getting arch supports for my shoes. She examined my foot and agreed that it was indeed swollen and bumpy and looked very goutish. She shared the x-rays with me and said that it did not appear to be bone related and thought that perhaps it was a tendon issue. That means we have now addressed ligaments, joints, bones and tendons. I think that covers everything. She left and returned a few minutes later with the rheumatologist in tow. He started off with an exam of my left foot. The thinking part of me quickly deduced that he wanted to see what the healthy foot felt like before examining the swollen one. He then examined the right one side by side with the left. He looked up and said, "Which one is it?" Something inside kept me from putting my shoes back on and walking out of the room. He talked for a while, pressed and prodded every inch of my foot, asked me a few questions, reviewed previous diagnoses and then admitted that he was just stalling because he had no idea what was wrong with my foot. He proceeded to give me some excellent information about rheumatoid diseases and then happened upon the idea of requesting my calcium and iron levels in yet another blood test. Don't ask me why but he seemed extremely pleased that he had thought of another test that I could take. We looked at my x-rays again and he pointed out some arthritis in my big toe, showed me my bunion and my very healthy joints. Then he suggested that perhaps there was a stress fracture and requested a second set of x-rays. He sent me off to get a new prescription for the drugs that were time released in order to reduce the side effects, a blood test and a weight bearing x-ray. I got the blood test and drugs with no problem. Then I headed down the hall to Radiology. I signed in and found a seat to wait my turn. Several minutes when by and I heard my name being called. But it wasn't a radiologist, it was the lady at the sign in desk. She apologized that I could not get a weight bearing x-ray there; those were only done in orthopedics. So I headed down to orthopedics and lo and behold it was now after 5 so they were closed. Fast forward to this morning. I called orthopedics to make an appointment for the x-ray and was told that I was mistaken and it was surely possible to get what I needed in radiology. She put me on hold and then admitted that, yes indeed I was correct. But unfortunately I was unable to get the x-ray without a request from the doctor. Next step was to call the rheumatologist to request the weight bearing x-ray. He called me back and apologized and said it wasn't necessary to get the weight bearing x-ray to check for the stress fracture so I could just go to radiology. OK. Now we're getting somewhere. Then a few hours later I get a call from the rheumatologist's nurse who has scheduled a weight bearing x-ray for me on Monday morning at 9:00. Huh? Does any of this make sense. You just have to laugh. So now I have seen three doctors all of which freely admitted they had no idea what was wrong with my foot, had 2 blood tests and will hopefully have 2 sets of x-rays. I have to admit that the anti inflammatory drugs are working to reduce the pain but the end result is that I still have a swollen bumpy foot.

Taking the Bull by the Horns

I am totally done with feeling wounded and a victim of pain. My foot hurts. It's a simple fact. Sometimes it hurts a little, sometimes a lot. There doesn't seem to be any sort of rhythm to it. It is almost always stiff in the morning but there is nothing else regular or predictable about the timing or degree of discomfort. I came to the conclusion tonight that I can no longer let it control my life. It will continue controlling my diet because of the crazy drugs but I can no longer sit and wait for my body to heal. Obviously it's not going to happen. I took great joy in going to the gym and walking on the treadmill. That is a safe place because no matter how far I walk I can easily get home. Walking clears my head. I discovered that on the treadmill I can focus more attention to my foot. I don't have to look at where I'm going and I can judge ever step I make. I can keep my body in better alignment and hopefully keep from messing something else up. I just feel too young for any of this to be happening. I have lots to do and most of them involve my feet. So I just have to get over it.

Getting My Sea Legs

Every now and then the bell rings ending first period and I feel ready to teach. This is usually after a 6:45 A.M. arrival and working non-stop through my first period prep. I'll finish up correcting papers, entering grades, browsing through my unit and figuring out the next few days of lessons in ancient history or writing and I'll actually feel like I'm at a good stopping place and can welcome the students. It always takes me by surprise because it is so rare. But today it happened twice - before AND after school. But as I walked out the door this afternoon I realized it's all a hoax. The feeling is real but in actuality it is my brain saying that I'm done for now. As I shut down the computer and made my piles on the desk, I realized that indeed I had much more to do. I could have started with lesson plans for Tuesday when we meet with the ELL consultant or made copies for tomorrow or read the introductory paragraphs my kids wrote today. There was any number of things I could have done. The brain is indeed a wonderful thing. It just seems to know when enough is enough. When you'll just be spinning your wheels. When you don't have the focus to complete any more tasks. The weeks are going by quickly and I know that with each one I become a bit more comfortable in this new world into which I have flung myself. There is so much to learn, so much to do.

Learning Patience

Following a bike ride on October 5th I noticed a little bump inside the top of my foot. Two days later, the area had swollen and was causing pain in my daily walks. I gave it a few more days and went to the doctor. Now a month later, an x-ray, a blood test and two mistaken diagnosis I am no closer to knowing what it it is than I was when it all began. It is the first time in my life that my body has not had the ability to heal itself. This has come as an immense shock and has become harder and harder for me to understand. I miss my walks terribly. They were a spiritual need as well as a physical one for me. It was the time I took to look back or forward on my life - literally and figuratively where I had been and where I was going. This pain is slowly but surely teaching me patience. It forces me to sit instead or walk or ride my bike. I now know by feet intimately and can compare them by touch rather than sight. I am beginning to understand how pain can effect your relationships. But this pain is also the bearer of many gifts as it has forced me to change almost everything I do. I focus on my diet, have given up alcohol and caffeine, eat 3 meals a day so I can take my anti inflammatory drugs with as few side effects as possible. I am aware of every step I take with an emphasis on distributing my weight evenly on my feet. That in itself has become a spiritual awakening. I am forced to stay in the moment and develop a consciousness of each and every footprint I leave behind. I step and feel and evaluate what the next step will be and how I will take it. Then I repeat the process all day long every day. Yes. I am learning patience with myself. I have no idea if there will ever be a solution for whatever this is but for now I am more aware of this moment than I have ever been before.

Coming Back

I have had a recurring thought the past few months about the need to come back to my blog. It has been a long long time and much has changed in my life since I last wrote to the world. I have a new job and have completely remodeled my house so all aspects of my daily life have been turned upside down. I try to remind myself that I like change but it could be that I have crossed some imaginary line. I am having great difficulty finding my bearings but perhaps that is just what I needed. I am learning the value of silence and just sitting. Sometimes I just sit and feel absolutely no pressure to DO anything. I can just feel who I am and where I am in the moment. Then suddenly it's another moment and I can feel that one too. And pretty soon a lot of moments have gone by and I have had the pleasure of feeling each and every one of them. That is a place I have never been before. I fight the guilt that often follow these moments and reassure myself that it much be what my spirit is in need of. I miss my old existence but don't seem to have the energy to reclaim it. So for now this is where I am. Sitting. Feeling. Breathing. Knowing that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.