This Week

This week feels a little bit like a driving in a freak snow storm. You can't figure out where it came from and there is no way that you can see your way out of it. Every school calendar has one of those periods where you think the devil must have planned it. Who in their right mind would put all of these things together in a 5 day period? The quarter ended on Friday which meant final grading of projects in order to close out report cards along with comments for all those below C students. Today is the District Science Fair. Tomorrow is Open House. Wednesday and Thursday are block schedule days and the district scheduled both the science and writing end of year performance based assessments to be given on the same days. In addition to all of this, I also have 3 separate BTSA meetings this week. And in the meantime, I am attempting to sell my car. The e-mails flying back and forth are something to behold. It is a great lesson in taking one day at a time. It truly is all I can handle during times like this.

I Love Flour Babies

The 7th graders at my school do a one week project where they take care of a baby for a week. They are required to take the baby everywhere throughout the school day. These babies are five pounds of flour that are enclosed inside the body of a stuffed doll. It is just the sweetest thing to see our goofy little 7th grade boys hauling around their babies before school. There is a seriousness to it because anyone caught disrespecting their babies is of course reported to the office. I have really enjoyed our TA coming in with her baby this week. On Monday the baby was faceless and nameless. During the course of the week, she has acquired a name, some beautiful blue eyes and really long eyelashes along with a cute little frog outfit. Our little mother was having a bit of trouble filing while holding the baby today so I got the pleasure of carrying her around the room for a bit while my students worked on their Greek god posters. My kids went kind of cuckoo for a moment but it was great fun to just think about babies for a bit.

That Time of Year Again

Spring in Santa Clara means junk in the street, loose papers, dust blowing across the lawn and scavengers cruising the streets in search of treasures out of trash. It is our annual clean up time. For years I have said that no one could possibly have this mush crap stored away in their homes to be brought out year after year. And yet, year after year, that is exactly what happens. I am so happy to find my little space of empty curb as I come home each day. I am proud to be junkless this year. My remodeling days are over and I do my best to move my unused clothing and household goods to the Goodwill on a regular basis. In my mind, junk belongs in the trash and we already have a truck that comes by every week for that purpose. I'm not a saver so there is no way I can understand the amount of just stuff I see in the street. Mattresses, broken down furniture, old appliances, boxes and boxes of c-r-a-p. But the most fascinating part of the whole process is to watch the scavengers. They always know the weekend that each part of town is scheduled to put their stuff out. The go getters are out bright and early on Saturday morning and often are putting things in their trucks as quickly as you can bring them to the curb. I fluctuate between thinking that it's a great way for the poor to get things they can use to build what they need and just being irritated at the parade of vans and trucks that puruse the neighborhood throughout the weekend. It is just part of our Santa Clara culture. This year it is expecially messy because of the mixed up weather. Our nice warm afternoons somehow morphed into cold, rain and wind. Not a good mixture with piles and piles of c-r-a-p that have been stored in some distant corner of a dusty, moldy garage for the past 11 months. I am defintely not a neat freak but I am ready for the big truck to come take it all away.

Who we become

It seems that lately the paper has been filled with deaths of teenage boys. I was most touched by the Los Gatos high school student who didn't come home from the beach and was assumed drowned. This touched me for a myriad of reasons. Death of the young has a profound effect on the loved ones left behind. P, D and I had an interesting discussion over dinner and wine a few nights ago about the way we have each as individuals been changed by losing a brother and son. Losing my brother at a young age changed who I would become. It changed my place in the family. I went from being one of the middle children to the "baby." I liked being third a lot better. Middle kids can get away with a lot. It changed how I felt about the world. It was no longer a safe place. And it changed me spiritually. I was just certain that I would be the next to go. As I have aged, I have been able to sort and classify a lot of the feelings that resulted from his death but nothing can change the fact that one single event can forever change who I became. I viewed life as a sister who had lost her brother. P and D had similar feelings in the death of their son. Everyone in the family felt that loss in many different ways. But the end result is that they are all different people today because of that event.

In the classroom, we as teachers like to look out at our students and think that we are looking at 11 or 12 year olds, boys and girls, high, middle and low achievers. But that is an injustice to who they really are. Each one of those kids is different. They have had different experiences that have changed who they are becoming. They have had loved ones die, they are living in divorced homes, they have parents who are losing jobs and fighting to hold on. There is only one way I can look at those 60 some kids - as children who are trying to make their way in the world, who are being changed day by day by events of which they have no control, and to look deeply and see the reality of who they truly are.

Lost Generation

Hope is the answer.

I Just Can't Decide...

Today felt like the first day in I don't know how long that I didn't have a meeting after school. I was so excited just to have some time to get my head together on my Ancient China unit. Actually, in all honesty, I don't know if you can call it a unit or not. Not knowing much about ancient China or having any other activities to teach with, I just stuck with the book. We are all incredibly bored and I just want to get it over with so we can get to Greece. Well there was no head-getting=together time today because of the piles of papers that needed to be corrected. So I turned on Pandora and just got busy looking forward to the idea of not taking any work home for a change. I am very focused when working in my classroom and I know I actually get through it faster but I also love, love being at home on the couch. It is an on-going dilemma for me with the additional paper work in middle school. Should I put the extra time in at school so that when I actually do go home I can relax without grades on my mind or do I get out of there as soon as I can and fit the work in at home as the evening progresses? As an elementary teacher, I was adamant about never taking school home but it is much more challenging these days. I am determined to not let the paperwork get ahead of me and so far I have stayed on top of it all. BTSA meetings with the new teachers I support just do not make it possible to finish my work at school on a daily/nightly basis. So today I hung in there until it was all done including my note taking on Taoism for tomorrow's lesson. The problem is I was still sitting at my desk at 6:00. That's not good. But I did enjoy my walk home with a completely empty head. I saw flowers I hadn't noticed before, enjoyed the sun falling into the rising fog and exchanged greetings with the guys hanging around the liquor store panhandling for "bus fare." That's certainly worth something. So my dilemma continues but I don't worry too much about it. This like all dilemmas that I try to make into decisions, will be taken care of by the universe one way or the other.

Earth

The cosmos was once thought to be made up of only 4 elements; earth, air, water, and fire. In my early adult years I had a strong affinity toward fire. Perhaps it was just the leftovers of my teenage angst and college rebellion. The baby years were definitely a time of water for me. But the last few years I have felt my spirit mellow into earth. I am one of those people who has an internal clock that is in total sync with the rising and setting of the sun. I have no need of an alarm clock and only use one if I have an appointment that is completely out of the ordinary. I feel sorry for people who have to be jarred out of their sleep by obnoxious noises.

So here we are in the first day of Daylight Savings Time. Winter is bidding adieu and Spring is taking her stand. This is the time of year when I feel the pull to earth the strongest. The increase in light and drying of the land practically drags me into nurseries and out to the back yard. I try to keep up with my weeds throughout the year but it is in March that it actually brings me joy to pull as many as I possibly can. I clear the path reaching out and bringing back handfuls of green stems and yellow blossoms. I am like a farmer who cultivates in great swaths of his field. I move across the yard section by section sometimes vertically and sometimes horizontally, leaving emptiness in my wake. I love the sight of the brown black earth that lies beneath. It is the blank canvas that will bring forth the unknown summer blooms and vegetables. I'm not one of those people who insists on garden gloves. They're nice when I think about putting them on but I actually love the feel of dirt inside my fingernails. I have often thought it is because I work in a job where it is difficult to see what you accomplished in the day to day scheme of things. But dirt in your nails and clear garden paths make it very clear. You can stand back and admire that and say, "Look what I did today." When I am in the dirt I lose all concerns or worries for the future. I feel completely grounded and know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am simply there accepting what is and knowing what can never be. Tulips and daffodils only bloom in the spring, tomatoes and zucchini have to wait for their time in summer. I remember once again the importance of allowing the universe to be in charge. As the sun travels across the sky I am being pulled again. I am hesitant to stop my gardening. I want to hold on to the feelings of harmony that have once again returned as I move toward spring. But I know I have a school bag full of papers waiting for me. I promise myself to find time during the week to return to the garden. This is what that mortgage is all about and why I live in a little green house with a big back yard.

First Grade is Such a Distant Memory

Long long ago I was a first grade teacher and I did it for a long long time. As a support provider I once again find myself in first grade classrooms to observe my teachers. The same feeling washes over me each time I cross the threshhold. I did this? I stood in front of these little bodies for 180 days at a crack and taught them to read and write and add and subtract? You have got to be kidding me! As I look at these little ones with confusion over who I was or who I have become I distinctly remember my family saying the same sorts of things to me. How do you do it? Where does the patience come from to work with 6 year olds? I have absolutely no explanation of the journey I have been on. But when I looked at those kids today it was like being on another planet. They have such round little faces and bodies and speak with such squeaky high pitched voices. Looking into their eyes, the word diligence came into my head. They all looked so darned serious about what they were doing. They sit up straight in their chairs and speak with the upmost respect to any and all adults. Seriousness pervades their very being. It is such an opposite world from my sixth grade students who just flop into their chairs and meet your gaze with that "I dare you to teach me look." Glancing around the room you're amazed at the cleanliness, for lack of a better term. The girls are so cute from the top of their perfectly parted hair below a crown of headbands and frilly little scrunchies all the way down to their shiny sparkly shoes. The boys are almost squeaky clean in their tucked in polo shirts and perfect pants. They're even cute when they are getting in trouble. The lower lip gets sucked inside the mouth and you wait for the tears but they are held tight inside. They sulk down in their chairs until you think they will completely melt away. Minutes later someone is walk/skip/dancing across the room. You hear something that resembles a song and realize that one of them is read/chant/singing the directions on the paper. It is close to comical but the seriousness that is everywhere in the room keeps the smile on your face from being vocalized into a giggle. Something catches my eye and I see an upside down index finger being inserted into a mouth like iron to a magnet. Is the seriousness turning into something more? As I rise to leave, I see one of those perfect princesses running towards me. I bend down to meet the outstretched arms and she says, "Thank you for coming to watch us today." How cute is that? But really... I did this? Everyday? For 8 years? It is umcomprehensible but at the same time a wonderful reminder of this amazing journey I am on.

The Comfort of Old Friendships

The comfort of old friendships is a feeling that can not be duplicated. I had dinner with an old friend tonight for the first time in quite a while. Our lives took a few turns that caused us to lose track of one another for a couple years so this was our chance to reconnect. We go back more years than I care to admit but we first met during the days of the vegetable coop and soon after that our kids went to school together. Those "kids" are now 31 years old. Hard to believe. We taught together many many years ago. She was as close to a mentor as I have ever had. I cannot imagine the number of hours we have passed talking literacy in the last 20 years. She has moved on to administration and I to middle school. We have often compared our friendship to a pair of old shoes. One day you rediscover them in the back of your closet and immediately remember how comfortable those shoes are and put them back on just for the pure pleasure of it all. Oh yes. I love my old shoes. The wonder of those tried and true friendships come from being so well known. There's no need to try and explain who you are, where you have come from or how you ended up where you are today. It is all understood. The conversation is easy and it just seems to flow from one topic to another. There is no issue with sharing food or splitting bills. It is all just so comfortable. I am grateful for the journey I am on and all those I have been given to accompany me. But I really like it when I circle back around and have the joy once again of hanging out with an old friend.