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.

The Importance of What We Do

Today was a big fat reawakening of the importance of what I do. I am a teacher. I spend my day with children who will one day become men and women. These people will wear my touch. What and how I say and do will change who they become. The power that I hold is humbling.

Over my 19 years of teaching I have been affected by the children I teach in countless ways. They say and do such sweet and humorous things. I laugh every single day. There aren't many people in the world that can say that about their jobs. But sometimes along with that laughter come tears. Today was one of those days. We had an IEP for a child that has had a childhood that no one would want. This child went to school everyday not knowing if his mom would be alive when he got home. Domestic violence is a horrible thing. He is now being raised by his grandparents. His grandmother told his story today with such honesty and compassion, no one left that room unchanged. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have the strength to take on the responsibilities of raising your grandchild while leaving your daughter behind. Neither my brain nor heart can go there. This wonderful woman implored each of us as her grandson's teachers to help her raise this precious child.

Since my move to middle school my foucs has been much more on curriculum and content. Today was a reminder that no matter how old our students are, we as teachers are critical partners in the development of the hearts and minds of these children who indeed will very soon become men and women. I know that when I walk through that classroom door tomorrow, it will be with a new awaeness of my role in the lives of my students.

Aging

For the first time in my life I can feel my body aging. This sounds extremely bizarre coming from the middle grandchild of a 101 year old man but it is true. I have been through some interesting events in my life but have always depended on my body to heal itself and have never been disappointed. I never understood people who were always complaining about all their little aches and pains. I'm not whining but I can definitely feel a change in the air. In the past 3 years I have had (self induced) tendonitis in my elbow, a weird thing in my neck, a strange unexplained and extremely painful swelling in my foot and now a frozen shoulder. All of these involved anti-inflammatory drugs, several doctor's visits and follow up physical therapy that required repeated exercises at home. I'm just feeling a little tired of it all. It isn't the way I thought it would go. I expected to slow down as the years went by but I didn't expect for specific parts of my party to completely quit on me. It is humbling and I am slowly but surely learning to accept the hurdles that seem to keep popping up in my path. The good news is that my shoulder is with my obsessive exercise regiment increasing in flexibility and I can't wait to go back to therapy for more pressure and oscillations.

Home

After my visit with my parents and grandfather, I am filled with thoughts of family and home. Just as I have many definitions of family in my head, so too are there numerous mental images that come to mind with the word home. Home is first and foremost my little green house on Fremont Street. Even though I only share it with Jack, I have succeeded in creating a refuge that suits who I have become at this moment in time. It is my safe place to land. Interestingly enough the next picture that comes to mind is the house on College Ave where I raised my children. That house still makes me feel warm and loved inside. Although some sad things happened there I never ever remember it with anything but happiness. After that, home and family seem to morph together. No matter what structure my parents live in, it feels like home. So there are all kinds of pictures that float by - the houses I grew up in as well as the houses they have lived in after I left. There is something so comfortable about being home with Mom and Dad. My parents are two people who at times can be mistaken for one. They move and converse together as they have for 58 years. If Dad says "X" you know that Mom will say "Y." It is the predictability that creates the feeling of safety. You know how each day will go. It follows a rhythm that you can almost reach out and touch. Breakfast is first thing in the morning, lunch is at noon and happy hour is at 5. Mom cooks and cleans. Dad is /thinks he is in charge. They each know and fulfill their given roles without complaint or issue. It is something I often envied as a wife. Everything in the house is familiar. The dishes, pots and pans, linens and knick knacks are the same as they have always been. There is a story that goes with each one - the crystal from Aunt Marie, Grandma Larson's hand crocheted doilies, and the wooden carving purchased on our honeymoon. And then there are the photographs. They are in every room and once placed remain there. As I age I become more aware of the importance of stopping time with pictures so I am much more understanding these days of seeing photos from various stages of my life looking back at me as I move from room to room. It is clear that for me, it is the predictability that creates the familiar feeling of home.

Middle School Valentine's Day

Cute is the word for the day. Believe it or not it was only a year ago that I was on yard duty in elementary school on Valentine's Day. I remember so clearly thinking about how darn cute the little ones were as they wished one another a Happy Valentine's Day. And by little ones, I mean 1st graders. There they were, dressed in all the red, white and pink that they could dig up. They would just walk up to a friend, say "Happy Valentine's Day" and give one another a big hug. Neither gender, age nor size had any impact on who you shared your good wishes with. It didn't cost a thing and it was obviously right from the heart. Well that is exactly what I saw this morning before school. The kids were a little taller and ganglier but the sentiments were identical. I even watched 2 Sutter graduates play it out before my very eyes. There was nothing romantic or odd about it in the least. And somehow the fact that I had watched these kids move from elementary to middle school made the connection that much more concrete. Girls and boys alike bobbed on campus bearing gifts of chocolate and balloons and hugs galore just waiting to be released. Several students skipped up to me, handed me a piece of candy and blurted out, Happy Valentine's Day, Ms. Allen. They were all so darn cute. Everywhere I looked I saw kids sharing from the heart.

It all makes me wonder if we are missing the boat by having those elementary school Valentine's Day parties. The rules have been clearly spelled out. You are not required to bring valentines but if you do you must bring one for everyone. Of course valentines today come with some sort of candy attached. So the fun I recall of reading hand written valentines has been replaced with s non-stop sugar high as each kid competes to see who can give the most candy disguised as a valentine When in reality all our kids want to do is give a hug and wish their friends a happy Valentine's Day.

My Wake Up Call

Uh oh. My bad dream is coming true. One of my greatest concerns about teaching ancient history was born when I first saw the standards many months ago. Early humans, Mesopotamia, Egypt, Hebrews, India, China, Greece and Rome... What? Are you serious? You could take one of those a month and still not get through anything of importance. Early on I knew I wanted to spend most of the time on Egypt, Greece and Rome. I've had a sinking feeling that I was running a little behind but I really thought I was doing OK until I looked at the pacing guide this morning. Yikes! I need to finish India and cover China in the next 4 weeks just to allow 6 weeks each for Greece and Rome. This is not going to be a pretty sight. It might be time to find some very informative DVDs.

This is slightly humorous knowing my education history. I received my credential at that crossing point between Back to Basics and Whole Language. This means we had to do all our lesson plans according to the 6 points of Madeline Hunter but you couldn't dare mention the word phonics. I quickly learned that the best way to "cover" a textbook was to sit on it. The text was only a resource. Back in those days, I created my own curriculum based almost completely on observational records. At the end of the day I evaluated the reading and writing that was accomplished and the next steps for tomorrow. It seemed so easy back then before the age of standards. I was also extremely lucky to work with someone who shared my great love of the workshop model. Well if Nancy could see me today she would not believe I am the same teacher who was the curriculum coordinator of a small Catholic school and would go head to head with the principal on a regular basis and even won a few battles from time to time. Now, the social studies textbook is one of my best friends. I wouldn't have had the first clue about how to teach Judaism without getting into trouble. So here I am stuck between India and China refusing to let any of it go. My kids deserve the best I have to offer. So somehow we will muddle through and hopefully all the pieces will fall into place in their brains. I will definitely need to make some changes the second time around.

Happy Birthday Grandpa

It's time for Grandpa's annual birthday letter. After 95 or so there really isn't anything you can buy for a person. All we can give is our time and thanks. So here is the 101 installment.
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Happy Birthday Grandpa,
You are my own personal super hero. Superman may be faster than a speeding bullet and able to leap tall buildings. But you have done so much more than that. You have lived a long healthy life. You have been the patriarch of a still growing family that has taken on your values for their own. You have shown us all the importance of the connection to earth, air, and water.
I no longer have an explanation for your long life. You have now lived for more than 101 years with very few physical problems. You are up and att’em every day. You cook, clean and take care of your house with no assistance whatsoever. Your latest experience with a colonoscopy has caused me to question exactly what you are. I have never known another human being to endure that without some sort of uncomfortable side effects. Perhaps you are a remnant of the little pink Energizer Bunny commercial that just keeps going and going and going.
You have led your family and its descendents through the challenges of living a moral life into a time where ethics are truly a rarity. You taught us all the value of honesty, integrity and the importance of hard work. There isn’t one of us that doesn’t wear our moral code like a badge of honor. In many circles, the name Allen alone has come to mean trustworthy and that all came from you. It must be in the DNA.
You have modeled many things for me but the gift that is most in fashion today is your knowledge of the balance between earth, air and water. You are closer to the earth than anyone I’ve ever met. One of the most important lessons you have taught me is that Mother Nature always wins. Along with this you have also shown me the value of patience. You have always known that Iowa heat and humidity will eventually cool, the snow and ice will melt and the rain will come. It may not be on our timeframe but it will happen. We just have to learn to wait for it.
Yes, Grandpa you are my super hero. Given a choice between you and Superman, I will pick you every time. The gifts you continue to shower upon me are truly priceless. Much like the Allen family tree, my gratitude for you continues to grow in depth as well as breadth as the years go by. What I give in return is my undying love and respect.
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I found some sort of perverse humor in the fact that after I read this over I discovered that it somehow ended up being a 5 paragraph essay this year. My students will be so proud!

I love my bed

I am no longer a good sleeper. I used to be the 8 hours or else kind of girl but I guess menopause took care of that. I still need to be in bed for 8 hours but they are no longer all spent sleeping. It has been more than 2 years now since I got my new bed. I finally came to terms with the fact that I am single and there was no need for a double bed and furthermore my tiny 10 x 10 bedroom could use the extra space. So out went the futon in the extra room and in went the double. The extra room finally had a true identity as a guest room and I became the proud owner of a single bed.

Developing a relationship with a bed is very similar to one with new people. I often like then when I first meet them but then I begin to see the flaws. This bed I absolutely loved in the store. It was perfect, the bed I had been waiting for all my life. A few weeks later I wondered how I could have bought such a firm mattress. Was I out of my mind? Time passed and I just accepted my bed for what it was, a functional piece of furniture to provide me with my necessary sleep. It was fine. The past few months has been an especially challenging sleep period in my life. My mind races back in time to ancient Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Israelites, India Indians, you name it. I ponder ways to teach grammar to enhance writing. I think about our limited water supplies, the crappy financial condition of our country and the ridiculous people who are in government. How could anyone possibly sleep? So in these troubling times my bed and I have become much closer. I have learned the beauty of accepting support and in return my bed has begun to soften around the edges. I feel myself give into just being there, me and my bed. I love the feeling of being awake in the morning but not allowing myself to be a part of the world just quite yet. To think and ponder or plan out my day is such a gift. I am filled with the awareness that I am in the world but apart from it. I can take the time to observe from a distance the person I am in the world and plan the next step on the journey. I am thankful for my bed and the sleepless time that allows me to think my deep slow thoughts.

Ebbing and Flowing

I am once again beginning to surface for air. I just can't quite get my rhythm on a daily basis. Some days feel just perfect and then I'll have a day or two where I am working from the the time I get up until I go to bed. That is exactly what I did yesterday and that is not healthy. Most of it is because of all our afternoon meetings and most of those are for my new teachers. So I will leave school at 3:15, come back at 4:30, work for an hour or so and still have papers to correct after dinner. Block schedule is usually a catch up time because social studies is often something out of the ordinary. Today was one of my good days. I knew exactly what I was doing from the minute I stepped into my classroom. Perhaps it helps to teach first period rather than be swamped in lessons plans and piles of papers during my prep period. I love my first period prep but I think I would like it no matter when it was. It was block schedule for writing today. My writing classes go much better when I have 100 minutes. Then I can actually get in my spelling lesson without cramming everything in. So today I finally passed back their essays and during our early release time analyzed the winter assessments. The piles on my desk are gone so I think that means that I'm back in balance once again. It will be a pleasure to walk in the door tomorrow, look at my desk and actually see my desk.

Overwhelmed Again

For some reason this week is putting me over the edge. I feel like it's the middle of September again and I have only a glimmer of an idea of what I am doing. I have a sketchy outline of my lesson plans and am planning the details day by day. It is all I can do to keep up with the paperwork. I have had meetings everyday this week and they have all seemed like the first time I've ever done it. I guess the most memorable one was what our counselor calls a "Come to Jesus Meeting" for one of our students. It had its highs and lows but the crux of the issue has become that this kid is in everyone's belief, ADHD. It has been another awakening for me of that shift from elementary to middle school. ADHD in elementary is a piece of cake to ID. They fall out of their chairs, run around the room, talk out of turn, and seem to do anything they can to avoid what's going on in the classroom. After 18 years I could pick them out of a crowd with my eyes shut. Year 19 has opened another door. An ADHD kid in middle school is in and out of a classroom activity, a class clown, charismatic, and totally inappropriate. They wear the wrong things to school just to be a distraction and"forget" their stuff when they come to class. Assignments are never completed but yet they know the stuff. They are smart and totally capable. Yes, that's the piece I struggle with. It is so hard for me to let go of kids that CAN do the work. I bend over backwards to help every kid in my class succeed. Sometimes that means being a mom. Sometimes that means being "mean." But when they have the ability to do the work and something else gets in the way, I am really challenged to make it all come together. For this one, (and I don't say this often) drugs are the answer. For now, I'll just do what I can.

Another new experience for me this week was the 5th grade parent orientation night. It is slightly stressful to feel even remotely responsible for the registration of students for a middle school within a somewhat competitive district. But now the first one is in the books. I now know what it is and the role I might play in it in the future. That is the story of my year. I now know what it is and the role I might play in it in the future. I constantly have the feeling that I have been called to be here. I mean that both in a spiritual and professional sense. It is so refreshing compared to my feelings in the past of wondering how I ended up wherever I was. I finally know that this is what I am supposed to be doing.

And now here is my all time favorite experience of the week. Picture this in your mind: Faculty meeting, a huge agenda, lots of verbal interchanges between the outspoken ones about everything from emergency drills to WASC stuff. And then, lo and behold, someone has fallen asleep. That's right, asleep. Not only is he asleep but everyone knows he is asleep and draws the principal's attention to the fact that he is sleeping. Never in my wildest dreams have I ever imagined a scene like that. Oh, Yes! I do love Middle School.

My Saturday School Journal

Here I am in Saturday School. My only reference to this experience is "The Breakfast Club" and this is definitely not that. There are 10 kids in my room breathing my air and adding all kinds of negative energy to my life. 9 boys. 1 girl. No one even looks pleasant let alone someone I would like to have in my classroom.

My first greeting was by one who asked if he should bring his stuff with him. Good beginning, don't you think? Yes you should definitely bring your stuff with you. 3 hours can be a very long time with nothing to do.

So here is what our students do to entertain themselves in Saturday School:
Attenpt to toss wadded paper across the table or further if they think they can get away with it
Push the lead of a mechanical pencil through a glove into their hand. Yes, I said glove
Incessant turning around in their chair just to see if the teacher is watching
Slumping down in chairs to somehow disappear
Watching the clock that can't be found because it is covered by a penguin poster that says "Chill Out."

Out of the 10 students
2 are reading
1 is working
1 is holding a book that he might possibly read at some point
4 have backpacks on their desks evidently serving as pillows
1 has her binder on the desk but it remains unopened - this might be her first time. She has that deer in the headlights look.
1 is just sitting with nothing at all on his desk.

And then there were 9...
When asked to change seats he refused and when threatened with calling his parents, responded "I don't care."' Those are fighting words. Bye Bye.

10:00 finally arrives. I'm so excited that the first hour has expired that I announce it to my charges. I hear a voice mutter "I should have brought a pillow. Me too!

10:10 A little diversion when the phone rang and T Mobile was offering some "fabulous solutions."

10:25 A student stands up and asks if he can go to the bathroom. I say no. He asks why and I don't respond. He shouts out, my grandma says it's against the law for a teacher not to let you go to the bathroom. What could I possibly say to that. Nothing. He sits down again amidst a few chuckles around him.

There is a certain rhythm in Saturday School. A human being with nothing to do can only sit silently for so long. Every 7-8 minutes there is a sigh or groan or a pen that flies off a desk to be picked up. A piece of paper is taken out of a binded and folded into an airplane and tossed around a desk sometimes falling on the floor and needing to be picked up. Then suddenly the plane is wadded up. Fingers clicking on the desk. Flopping fingers in the air. Anything to make noise and distract yourself from the silence. Paper footballs are made but unfortunately can not be played with for very long in silence.

The last half hour is definitely the worst. There is a squirming in chairs that simply can't be controlled. The urge to talk is undeniable. Yes, Saturday School is true punishment for everyone involved.

The Journey of Life

A month ago I promised myself that I would go see "Slumdog Millionaire." I finally fulfilled that promise today and I'm glad that I did. It is a good movie and left me with some interesting reflections.

I find it difficult to truly absorb chronic and systemic poverty. Those scenes were hard for me to take it. I realized that I react the same way to that as I do to violence. I see it but I don't allow myself to take in the whole picture. It is just a still shot with no emotion attached. I can't go there. I know it's important to the understanding of the story so I talk myself through it so I can hold onto the importance of it but not feel the depth of it. I was especially interested in the setting of this movie because we have just started our unit on Ancient India (which I knew very little about until reently). The childhood scenes were hard to watch but I was intrigued by the transition to the more recent scenes of the high rise businesses and condos. Where did the poor go?

But for me, this movie was all about my belief that the things we experience are all intended to prepare us for what is yet to be. This boy endured horrible things that no child should ever go through. But each one of them was important for him to be able to answer the questions on the millionaire game show that would come later in his life. We all question the sad things that appear on our life journey that we absolutely can not comprehend at the time they are happening. But they mean something and we will need the knowledge that they bring later in life. It is a reminder for me that the universe is in charge and whatever is on my journey is there for a reason. There is no need in questioning it. I only need to hold onto the lessons that will serve as my guide in what is yet to come.

This movie is also a fabulous look at a boy who is determined to do the right thing at any cost. And then there is the love story. We should all have someone in our lives who cares so deeply about us as Jamal did. What a guy!

A Middle School Smile

I gave a writing prompt today and got a response that truly amused me.

What does it mean to you that Barack Obama is president of the United States?

Having Barack Obama as our new president seems pretty good. He's our first black president and it's awesome that we don't have some old wrinkly man controlling America again. Barack Obama isn't like McCain which is good because McCain just wants to spend money. I'm glad Barack Obama is our new president because McCain is quite old and if he died, Sarah Palin would be president and I'm really not fond of her at all. She seems quite trampy.

Praise Song For the Day

My great love of words made this one of my favorite parts of the inauguration.

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

America's Song

The difference is hope

This sounds crazy but during the past few days I have caught myself tearing up while watching the news. That is extremely rare for someone like me. It has happened while watching the Ron Clark kids singing, Obama making speeches on the Whistle Stop Train, and simple shots of crowds of people on the Washington Mall. But this morning it happened while watching, for about the 10th time, footage of Sully's landing on the Hudson River. That was the big ah ha for me. These images are all about hope. It is the dream of what is possible.

The inauguration coverage has been unbelievable. I have never seen anything like this before and I am so thrilled to be alive at this point in time and witness what is about to happen. There is a new found patriotism and fervor for who we are as Americans. There is a belief that with Obama as our president, anything is possible. Suddenly the image in my brain has changed from Kennedy to Lincoln. This man will bring us back together to forget the anger that has separated us, the distrust of banks and auto makers that has divided us and believe once again that we, as a people can be better.

There was not this excitement for me with either of Bush's inaugurations. What is that about? It's more than the race thing, although I am deeply aware of how amazing it is that in less than 60 years time we have moved from Jim Crow to a Black man in the White House. No, it is more than that. It's those little girls' faces. But Bush had girls. We just didn't connect with them. Bush was all about protecting the rich. We never saw the embodiment of hope in his girls' faces. But these girls, Sasha and Malia are truly hope come to life. They are the children of a man who knows that hope is in the eyes of all children. Obama knows that is our future.

Obama has called America to service. It has resonated deeply within me. Bush called us to serve but it was to save the government money. Obama has called us to serve to make us all better people. We are being challenged to touch the lives of people who are in need. We are being challenged get to know who we are as Americans. That is the thing about these news clips that has touched me. The faces of the people are all races, colors and ages. They are not the people of a typical inauguration. It is truly America's inauguration. People are coming from everywhere just to be there as a witness to the event that is destined to be a turning point in history. This moment is where our past, present and future meet and for a instant become one.

As a lover of language, I am absolutely euphoric about a man who knows the importance of words. When Obama speaks, my heart absolutely melts. We have had 8 years of seeing our president on TV and dreading what may come out of his mouth. This new president knows the importance of inclusive language. He has a rhythm and cadence to his speech that is in stark contrast to anyone in public office in our recent past. But it's more than his vocabulary and articulation. There is a grace in his presence that I've never seen before. It is clear that respect for all people is crucial to his very core.

What a difference a day will make and the difference is hope. Tomorrow America will inaugurate her 44th president and this country will never again be the same.

I love middle school

I feel like "I love middle school" has once again become my mantra. Today was my first middle school field trip. I was a bit of a wreck for no particular reason besides everything that goes into the orchestration of any other field trip - the planning, scheduling, funding, permission slips, parent drivers/chaperones, transportation, and lunches. I woke up at 4:00 with all kinds of scenarios going through my mind. I tried to take it easy and hang out around the house but finally decided there was no reason to be home when I could be accomplishing something at school. I finished up all the little details and before you knew it we were off. The jump to middle school simply brings a more independent human being. There is a sense of trust that comes with these kids - the assumption that they won't wonder off during lunch or any sort of down time the way an elementary kid might. So before you knew it, I actually felt my body letting go of all the horrible things that could possibly happen. We had a lovely day. We demonstrated our knowledge of ancient Egypt, learned a few new tidbits and made it back to school safe and sound. At the end of the day the only drawback was that I had spent my entire day with the same group of 32 kids. That explained that funny little feeling of boredom that had reared its ugly hear around 2:00. I was reminded of how much I love the movement of middle school. No matter what is happening, you always know that in 50 minutes it will be over and a new group of kids will be waiting at the door. I just love that. So my first field trip is in the books as is my first semester. It is hard to believe the year is already half over. A year ago today I was observing at middle school and fell in love. I knew that what I saw that day was exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my career. And here I am, doing it. Yes, I love middle school.

Happy Birthday

The day is almost over and through it all, I have been so grateful for P's presence in my life. Today is her birthday but it is I that have received all the gifts. She has been such a blessing in my life. Without her peeling back the layers of my protective wall I'm sure I would never have shared who I really am at Sutter. And that all led to who I am today. We both have the distinct feeling that we were destined to meet. All the twists and turns after the divorce somehow led me to Sutter and I am certain that it was because I had to meet her in order to get my life on track. I am thankful for everything that brought me to today and I am so happy to have the continued blessing and guidance of her friendship. Happy birthday, P. And thank you.

Time has no meaning

Today I had to flip my language arts classes and my social studies classes in order to fit into the computer lab schedule. It was amazing to watch the reaction of the kids. They just could not understand it. My 2nd period class thought they were having 2 periods of language arts followed by 2 periods of social studies. What they thought the other class was going to be doing all day is a mystery. 3rd period always begins with 20 minutes of SSR. So when that class came into language arts, which is normally social studies they could not figure out why we were having SSR. There seemed to be no understanding that 3rd period is actually 20 minutes longer for SSR every single day. It had nothing to do with social studies. It was all quite amazing. I am astounded at how little observation of the world happens in the mind of a 6th grader. I tend to gloss over a lot, thinking they know what's going on. I really do need to tell them about the details of life.

Middle is the right word

Middle school. That's exactly what it is. These kids are in the middle of moving from their parents' loving guidance and protection to making decisions about who they are and who they want to be. This was especially apparent to me today in a very glaring dichotomy. My day started with one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life. It was 2nd period, the first teaching period for me. Something caught my eye and as I followed the flash I realized that one of my most dramatic students was wearing a bright pink bracelet. But as I looked closer, I realized that, yes indeed it was a florescent pink slinky. She had hooked the end over her thumb and there she was with a shocking pink bracelet that went from her wrist to her elbow. I could hardly stand it. The day rolled along but the pink slinky bracelet reminded me of how much I love these kids. After lunch we were missing one of our students and no one seemed to know where she was. She had clearly been at lunch hanging out with her regular group of friends. As time went by, she eventually showed up with a note from the AP; not necessarily a good sign. After school the little group came in, eager to chat. It tuned out that this girl was involved in fingering a kid who had been rumored to be selling drugs. Somehow she managed to trap him in his answers and she took the information right to the office. These two events really brought the term middle school home to me. These kids are definitely in the middle. They are so desperate to fit in but yet stand out from the crowd they will look around their room and light on something as ordinary as a slinky to make it happen. The other extreme are the kids looking for the boundary between being bad and bringing out the police.

Now this all caused me to think back to my own 6th grade experience. At the time there was no middle school in my neighborhood. My school went k-12 but I do remember 6th grade being a transition year preparing us for Jr/High school. My teacher was Mrs. Miller. I have no doubt that she has passed on as she was on the older side when I had her. She was one of those loving, nurturing teachers that you rarely find in the upper grades. She had one of those dye jobs that turned her hair blue but we loved her dearly. That was back in the day when girls didn't wear pants unless it was freezing and it was improper for them to whistle. I clearly remember her reciting the proverb: A whistling girl and a crowing hen Both will come to a bad end. I had never heard it before but it obviously stuck with me. Although that was the year my brother died the only other thing I remember about 6th grade is the constant question of when my period would start. So the thought of wearing a slinky to school or confronting some kid who may be selling drugs were the furthest thing from my mind. I didn't even know about drugs and our slinkies were all made of metal. Both of these actions take such an incredible amount of courage. It is a reminder to me of what my students are bringing into the classroom along with their binders and brains.

There's just something about cake.

Do you know how much a young child loves taking cupcakes to school for her birthday? Well, the teachers at my school enjoy cake just as much as little kids for our birthday celebration. It hasn't taken long, but I have quickly garnered a reputation around school as a baker. So when our team science teacher's birthday rolled around, I volunteered to bring the cake. You just can't beat the Perfect Chocolate Cake recipe on the back of the Hershey's cocoa can. If that thing was a drug, I would be an addict. So today we ate our very healthy lunches and after a few minutes of obligatory admiration, J cut the cake and passed it around the table. On the first bite you could hear the communal sigh (or maybe it was a moan) as that first taste of chocolate frosting hit our tongues. There is just nothing like it. It is sweet and soft and soothing. One swallow follows another. You take the last bite and once again you sigh and say, "That was good cake." Our science teacher thought I was just the nicest thing ever to have made him a cake. No. There is just something about cake. And the ability to eat it at school seems somehow just a little bit sinful.

Bell to Bell

Heard in my classroom today: "Oh I won't start that now. We only have three minutes left." My response: "That's right. You have three minutes. Let's get to it."

The whole time thing has become a huge issue since I moved to middle school. If I were in charge, there would be no clock in my classroom. It is unbelievable how much time is wasted by kids watching the clock. When it gets even somewhat close to a period change, they will start packing their things up. And then when it comes to evaluate a project they will almost always say they wish there had been more time to complete it. My mantra sometimes daily and at least weekly is, we work bell to bell. We come in ready to work and we work until the bell rings.

A minute holds so much potential. Since the advent of the microwave, we have come to realize what a minute can provide. It can heat my lunch or leftover dinner. A minute can be spent making the world a better place by spreading love and hope. It can be a prayer, a compliment, or just the time it takes to appreciate the sun and the rain.

The Single Life

Now that house guest season 2008 is officially over I can once again appreciate living alone. Living single in a couples' world is not an easy thing for me. Each year that goes by challenges me to push myself beyond my comfort zone in this department. Eating in restaurants, going to movies, vacationing and even going to parties are all things that are both more memorable and enjoyable when done with a partner. I am currently not interested in finding one of those so the alternative is hanging out with me, myself, and I. The challenge is compounded because I really don't have any single friends nearby that I would feel comfortable calling on a whim and saying "Let's go do something." So the thought often crosses my mind to go out and have some fun when before I know it I have talked myself out of it because it could be uncomfortable. There is always plenty to do around the little green house so it's not something that bothers me for more than a moment. But now that I have been left alone again I can truly appreciate the gifts it brings.

I appreciate the silence. It is much easier to add noise when you need it than it is to take it away.

There is no one who comments on when, what or how much I choose to eat or drink in a given day.

My schedule is self created and can be changed whenever it needs to be. I don't need to fit into anyone else's so there is no negotiation or give and take required.

I don't need to try and figure out any unspoken messages regarding what someone else might want to do or where they want to go or what they want to eat.

While I enjoy walking with friends and chatting about the latest happenings in the world, there is something prayerful about walking alone in the earth's silence with only my footsteps to set the tempo. There is no one in charge of where we walk or how fast we make the trip. It is the closest I can get to meditation in the real world. I breathe. I step. I listen. I pray.

I like myself and like spending time with me. My memories, thoughts and dreams for the future are all the entertainment I need most days.

I have truly come to enjoy the peacefulness that living alone brings. I didn't really realize how comfortable I had become with it until recently. Yes, I would love someone to share the happenings of my day with, someone to eat with and vacation with. But for now, this feels pretty good. And at this moment, it is like heaven.

Renewed

My contract with planet earth has been renewed for another year. Barring any unforeseen illnesses or accidents I have been given the pleasure of continuing my journey of living and learning for another year. Happy New Year. There were many wonderful things that happened in 2008 - M and B's new house, my grandfather's 100th birthday celebration, a new job - but it is time to say good-bye to 2008 and welcome all the new experiences that await me today and all the tomorrows that are to come. I am not the person I was a year ago, a month ago or even yesterday. New experiences I have, people I talk to, food that I eat, thoughts that drift through my mind all contribute to the me I am becoming. There is no end product, only stops along the way that give me the chance to reflect on who I am at the moment and the turns that need to be made for the next phase of the journey. I love the idea that D has about how we change not only mentally, emotionally and spiritually, but even physically. We are in a constant process of shedding all sorts of cells into the world. When I touch my skin today, they are not the same cells I touched yesterday. My skin, my hair, everything about me is constantly being renewed. I will never again be the me I am in this instant.

As a teacher I am given two opportunities to stop and reflect on my life. One in the fall as I begin a new year professionally and another on New Year's to look at who I am in relationship to people and things that I care about. I continue to play the game of new year's resolutions but this year I am changing the noun to intentions. I have every intention of becoming a better person. With every sunrise I can renew that intention without regrets about what was or was not achieved the day before. In the teaching world we are asked to set annual goals and the manner in which they will be accomplished. With that in mind, here are my intentions for 2009.

I intend to eat more vegetables by eliminating meat from my diet 3 days a week.

I intend to leave a smaller carbon footprint on my beloved planet by simply living locally - eating locally grown foods and walking or biking instead of driving.

I intend to be a better friend, sister, daughter, mother by calling loved ones as they cross my mind instead of giving myself a litany of reasons not to - they're busy, I'm busy, they don't have time, I don't have time...

I intend to be kinder and more forgiving of my professional accomplishments by giving myself a virtual pat on the back at the end of every week for a mission accomplished.

I intent to be more present to the moment and allow my internal clock to tick without acknowledging the passing of time by feeling the discomfort of a changed plan and living through it. At the end I will have the pleasure of life that happened in place of my plan.

I intent to remember throughout everything that may or may not happen in the next 364 1/4 days that the universe is in charge and that I am along for the ride.

Christmas Joy

Joy is the only word I can use to describe our family Christmas this year Yes, it had its ups and downs like all holidays do but when I look back, that is the word that comes to mind. The image that comes to mind is M. In my weird little head, she saved Christmas for me this year. I know I would have eventually gotten my act together and come up with a plan but it felt so good to let her take over. It allowed me to be the mother I have always wanted; the one that passes on the tradition to the next generation. On one hand I know that I am way too young to be passing things on but it was such a pleasure to be the guest/observer and admire the literal fruits of my labor.

I worked hard this year to be more authentic in my gift giving and I ended up feeling pretty good about it all. I was able to stop competing with my ex-husband in that department as I know that I can never give in the amount that he can. I have other gifts to give besides the ability to save money and pass it along. So the reduction in the amount given somehow made me feel better about things. Sometimes less really is more.

My favorite gift this year ended up being from my sister. They are just a pair of earrings but lately I have been looking for a pair of dangly earrings. Everything i had found had just looked too heavy. These are not only just the right length and weight but they also have just a touch of purple to them. How great is that? I think that means that she has been paying attention to the me that I am, not the one that she remembers.

Seeing "It's a Wonderful Life" on Christmas Eve was once again a fabulous experience. Last year I had somehow missed it on its various TV airings so it was my annual rite embellished. But this year I had watched it one Saturday night before Christmas so I wasn't sure how I would feel about another viewing. But there is just something about that movie. I wonder how many times I have actually seen it in my life. I continue to get something new out of it almost every time I see it. Part of my pleasure in seeing it with M is that R and the kids would kind of tease me about it years ago. "There's Mom watching "It's a Wonderful Life" again. So it is nice to see that another generation can find such meaning in something that I love.

The final piece to Christmas is always the B family celebration. I'm not sure how many years I have been going to their Christmas dinner but it has definitely become a part of my annual tradition. This year it felt easy. I guess people are finally remembering who I am and that I will be there with B and M. I like the bigness of it in contrast to our little family of 6. It is just so wild and raucous with so many different personalities in the mix. The multi generations help remind us all of where we are in time. People have gone on, some are close to leaving us, and the young ones are the reminder that we live on whether we are physically present or not.

So, the word for this Christmas is joy. I am thankful to my friends and family for leading me to the point where I could truly appreciate the season. I am especially indebted to M. Merry Christmas.

Vacation

The first day of a break from school never fails to surprise me. I wake up and immediately think of getting to work. I tell myself there is no school today but at various times during the day I feel like I am skipping school. It takes my brain so long to let go of the regular routine. And then it is like my spirit breathes a huge sigh of relief and I can finally change gears. The days that follow are the reason I believe that I can someday retire and not wonder what to do with myself. I continue to wake up at 6 but force myself to lie in bed until 7. During that time I ponder all the mysteries that surround my life. As 7:00 nears, I begin to create a tentative agenda for my day - what I will eat, what I will do or not do that day. It is one of the most empowering things a person can do. Many of those things may or may not happen but it feels good to be the one making decisions in a bell-less existence. It is at this point when I am able to put my school life in perspective. I am able to step back and look from the outside to really see what is important and what isn't. It gives me the opportunity to pat myself on the back instead of pushing myself from behind. It's OK if an A student is asking for extra credit because he has a B. I can just say no and let it be. I can admire the work I have done thus far in the year. I can reset goals with the gift of hindsight. My first, and possibly only year of teaching social studies doesn't have meet the teacher of the year model. Just let it be what it is - my first year of teaching social studies.

Asking for Help

A new page to my story was written last night. This is the page that begins a lesson on helplessness vs asking for help. This has been a challenge for me my entire life. It all started in a white anglo saxon community that lives out the theory of self made men who pull themselves up by their boot straps (which are something I still have yet to see). I grew up in a household where everyone pulled their own weight. There was no whining or crying. You just did it. Then I married a man who defined himself by what he could do to take care of other people. Not a good match I guess. During the bad years I would constantly balance my decision to stay or go based on whether I was willing to do whatever it was on my own. Was I willing to spend Saturday nights alone? Was I willing to travel alone? Could I make it financially alone? I never thought about who I might ask for help. I was either going to be married or alone. Asking for help was in my mind a sign that I wasn't able to do it on my own. Enter D and P into my life. There has never been a better couple to teach me the lessons of life. They continually show me how to negotiate a partnership where both parties win. They have taught me the importance of opening up my life and letting someone else in, really in. So at the end of a very long day I found myself a few miles away from my car. I could easily have walked the distance and would have if I had been alone and it hadn't been dark. But I gave them a call and boldly asked for help. This I did despite the fact that they were in the middle of a family Christmas celebration. The lesson went from just having the ability to ask for help to realizing what wonderful things can happen when you do. Not only did they take me to my car but they invited us to come have dinner and join in the family celebration. And once again, for some reason I was able to say yes. These are the moments when I know the universe is in charge because the me that I am would never accept that invitation. That would be an imposition, an interference. It ended up being a wonderful end to my day and such a blessing to witness family love at its finest. The lesson learned is not just about the importance of asking for help and that people really do want to be a part of my life. It is also that invitations are just that. It is not for me to judge or evaluate them. I am being invited to join with other people; to be in relationship with others. I become better, fuller, more complete by sharing my life with others.

Why the courts like teachers on juries

The question has finally been answered. For decades I have been baffled by the number of teachers that are put on juries. There have been times where it seemed like the judicial system was going through teaching staffs school by school. I've always thought that it was because society sees us as being objective or perhaps we are nurturers and will always see the good in people. I talked to a teacher who was put on a jury of a child abuse case. This seemed very strange to me. We are obligated reporters to Child Protective Services so one would think that we would tend to favor the child in such cases. But evidently, the determining question for this particular jury was, "Do you think a child can lie?" This is somewhat humorous to teachers because we all know that kids can lie and what they look like when they do. But in the context of a step father sexually abusing 2 daughters over a span of 11 year. No. There is nothing funny there. So the reasons the courts love teachers on juries is that they know people lie. Interesting!

This says it all

Cute!

Here is my laugh of the day. I introduced the writing genre of editorials today. The first one was about the importance of the need for Obama to quit smoking, followed by a piece on East Side Union High School District's potential elimination of athletics. I definitely had their attention. Now they were ready for what real people have to say. I started off with the letter I wrote to the governor regarding proposition 98, then M's letter on vegetarianism, and ended with the letter I wrote to the superintendent last year. I absolutely couldn't look at them while I was reading these letters because I could hear their response in their breathing. They were very complimentary of my writing and I was eventually able to direct their thinking to "what the writer did." But the funniest thing was when a couple boys looked at each other and said simultaneously. Man! Don't make Ms. Allen mad, she'll write a letter. Ah yes. The power of the spoken word.

Christmas Songs/Movies

During P and J’s Thanksgiving visit we got into a little discussion about favorite Christmas songs. It was beyond me to name a song that was truly my favorite. This question has haunted me the past couple weeks. Now that I am hearing Christmas songs anywhere and everywhere, it has occurred to me how my “favorite” has changed throughout my life. Each one seems to symbolize who I was at the time – child, daughter, sister, student, mother. These are my recollections.

Up on the Housetop – definitely my first favorite. I loved that song, knew all the motions and could recite every verse.

Rudolf – this must be Kindergarten/1st grade era. I just loved the idea of this poor little animal proving to all the others that it is OK to be different

It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas – just a fun one for a kid to sing

Silver Bells - I have a distinct memory of helping my mom preparing Christmas cards and this song echoing in my ears and heart. I was probably around 10 years old.

White Christmas – My classic movie stage in my adolescence. That was still when I thought snow was beautiful and that Christmas Eve was not complete without the beauty of silently falling snowflakes blanketing the earth.

Some Children See Him – I can’t quite decide if this was one of my favorites or if we just heard it so much because it was P's favorite and M would play it on the piano during the Christmas Eve sing-along. But it makes the list because it was the only memory I have that symbolizes any sort of global view of my Iowa upbringing.

Rocking Around the Christmas Tree – this is the high school era song – such a nice match to the Beatles and Elvis that we listened to when we were could

Jingle Bell Rock – My college days- this is a D memory. To this day it is still his favorite Christmas song. Its one of those we could shout together to irritate mom just as well as sing together for our own enjoyment.

Handel’s Messiah – this one kept me connected to family memories when I had married and was 3,000 miles away. It was always the first one I played the day after Thanksgiving and had to be played back in the day when I baked Christmas cookies

Oh Holy Night – this one is connected to Maria’s birth. She was born early on a Monday morning in the first week of advent. From that night I understood the true meaning of a holy night. She was it!

Chipmunks –Actually I detested this song but I couldn’t help but laugh when it was played because Dave loved it and had the innate ability to sing like a squeaky chipmunk.

Do They Know It’s Christmas – This one was a favorite for years and years. It symbolized everything I believed about the world

A Very Special Christmas series. – I just loved the old classics with a new twist.

And that brings us up to today. I am still at a loss to name that one song that can symbolize where I am in my life. I will keep listening and thinking.


The topic of music lead quickly into Christmas Movies.

Babes in Toyland was hands down my childhood followed although those trees gave me horrible nightmares.

This was followed by Miracle on 34th Street..

Then I hit my movie classis era of White Christmas, Holiday Inn, and The Bishop’s Wife.

During my high school and college years it was A Christmas Carol – the darker the version the better

Of course the animated ones have to be on my list. I have great memories of watching them with the kids back in the day when they were only televised once a year – Charlie Brown, Rudolf, Frosty the Snowman and The Grinch

It’s a Wonderful Life – I didn’t really discover this movie until I had kids and then insisted that we watch it every year. They both teased me about it mercilessly until one day in their late teens they came to appreciate the message. One of my greatest memories will always be from last Christmas Eve watching it in the big theater in downtown San Jose.

Then my sister-in-law introduced me to A Christmas Movie. I think you have to have been raised in a certain era in a specific part of the country to appreciate the humor in this one but the tongue on the frozen pole still makes me want to cry out in pain.

After that it was the making of Polar Express. Although I usually hate kids’ book made into movies, I thought it was well done.

This was followed by The Grinch movie, which I thought was also well done.

So I guess if I were to choose one it would still be It’s a Wonderful Life. I just love that whole idea of imagining how the world would be different without out an individual person in it. We all are important and have an impact on everyone and everything.

The Lights of Christmas

I have finally found my Christmas spirit. I am happy with the gifts I have purchased and how they have gotten to their recipients without the exhausting work of wrapping and shipping. Last night as I was driving to P's I became extremely aware of the outdoor Christmas lights and the impact they had on my spirit. It was visual but felt like a shot of heat that was warming my heart. It became abundantly clear that I NEED Christmas lights in my life. There is just nothing like coming home in the dark of winter and flipping the switch that lights up my heart. I promised myself that I would remedy the situation and vowed to buy and decorate a tree the next day. The tree is up, lit and decorated. What a difference!

The Language of Silence

Oddly enough, communication sometimes seems to include long periods of silence. It often speaks volumes. The unsaid is something I grew up with in my family. As a result, it is hard for me to initiate difficult conversations. The most recent event has been with D about Christmas dinner. I walk around with my own view of our family traditions that I assume everyone else holds but then learn that is not true. So when asked about scheduling Christmas dinner, it automatically becomes an emotional charged conversation. Suggestions are made and they are followed by days of silence. The silence is deafening. During that time my imagination runs away with itself. I convince myself that I have alienated him and that he has walked out of my life. I become obsessed with what he is thinking, doing or feeling every spare minute of my day. I am certain that he hates me. The silence eats away at me day after day until I can eventually find a way to let it go. So I put pen to paper and try to say everything in my heart. And then, out of the blue, a message comes from him saying that it's no big deal, he'll find a way to be there. I am left exhausted by everything that wasn't said. I am certain that the silence and my overactive imagination is so much worse than anything he could possibly be thinking or feeling but I have no idea of how to stop it. I am hopeful that because I have shared my feelings, he will begin to understand who we can be as a family. And more than that, he will begin to know who I am both as a person and his mother.

Middle School Eye Contact

I am deeply amused by the way middle schoolers function in the world. They have a highly developed peripheral vision. I know this because they have the ability to walk and even run from place to place without ever looking at who or what might be coming at them or crossing their path. It is an amazing thing to witness. It occurred to me today how funny it would be to be the nurse responsible for vision screening in middle school. How in the world could you figure out what they can see when their eyes rarely go above your shoulders. What I really love are the kids who somehow know it's you coming toward them, they'll make some comment indicating that recognition yet continue to walk right past you. Amazing!

A Day In The Life

6:00 Up and at 'em
7:30 Correcting papers and posting grades that didn't get done over the weekend
9:15 - 11:30 Taught Social Studies
11:30-12:00 Worked through lunch to finish posting grades
12:00 - 2:00 Taught Writing
2:00 - 2:50 Taught PE
3:00 -3:15 Yard duty on Jackson Street
3:15 - 4:00 Finished lesson plans for a substitute tomorrow so I can go to Support Provider Training
4:00 - 5:30 Assisted with BTSA mid year evaluation
5:30 Home for dinner
6:30 A quick trip to Lakeshore to pick up more sticks for PE and some jewels for mummy making on Wednesday
7:00 Safeway to by salt, flour, baking soda and apples for mummy activities
8:00 Back home to correct today's commercials
10:00 Goodnight

Christmas is coming

Whether I want to admit it or not, Christmas is coming. I am really struggling with the whole notion of Christmas this year. D's little e-mail about Christmas dinner had a much bigger impact on me than I expected it to. I am constantly questioning myself about the meaning of family holiday dinners. Why does it matter so much to me? Why do i keep holding on to this last remnant of what used to be a family? It's not like it's the first time we've been down this road with him. I guess I just keep expecting things to change. I would like so desperately to be a part of the change. But I guess that is just not to be. So it's time to move on and figure out this whole Christmas thing. I am deeply grateful to M for taking on Christmas Eve dinner and stepping up to keep our little tradition alive no matter who happens to be sitting at the table. I see and hear Christmas all around me but I feel like an outside observer. I have no desire to put out the decorations. The thought of buying and dragging a tree into the house is totally beyond me. Why? I just feel tired. Maybe it's my job. Maybe it's my age Maybe it's being single and not caring to celebrate by myself anymore. All I know is that I better get my act together. J is coming on the 21st which means everything, whatever that ends up being, will need to be done by the time she walks in the door. I made myself shop today and I should feel good about that. But all I can think about is what a tiny little miniscule thing that is and how much more is to do be done. OK. I am going to turn on the Christmas music and fix myself a cup of hot chocolate. Then I will head down to the cellar to get the decorations and I will splash some red and green around and make this house a home again.

Addendum
Several hours have passed. The hot chocolate and Christmas music were just what I needed to get in the mood. I scattered a few decorations around the living room and did some shopping on line. I was extremely productive and have only one gift left to buy and that is D and C's . Not an easy thing to do because that little voice in the back of my head is always popping off about this and that. Ah well. I'm in much better spirits and am now ready to welcome the season sans the tree.

A Family of Four

Once upon a time there was a man who met a woman and they got married. A year later a beautiful baby girl was born and they became a family. They loved and supported each other and then a little more than a year later a baby boy was born. This family of four did all the things that families did. The dad worked hard and saved lots of money so the kids could go to college. The mom loved her children and did everything she could to bring them the beauty of the world and lay it at their feet. Years went by and silence built a wedge between the man and woman. The children grew up and went to college fulfilling the family's dream but the man's happily ever after was destroyed. The woman couldn't live in the world of silence and she broke the family apart. She spent the next 10 years trying her hardest to put it back together. Every holiday she tried to pretend that they could just for a meal be a family of four once again. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes the fleeting moments of happiness were hard to justify. Sandwiched in the 10 years was, a Thanksgiving on the floor of a duplex after the woman returned from Texas. a few holidays where they all attempted to be part of the boy's in-laws and a few meals where they all pretended to be happy in each other's company. The years have passed and the mother continues her quest to keep the family of four together.

Families

Families are so tricky. I know that my last e-mail included a comment about how excited I was to finally get some sleep but that was not to be. Thanksgiving was barely over before I received an e-mail about Christmas. I just assumed that our family dinner would be Christmas Eve like it has always been but that might not be happening this year. I didn't know that it was bothering me but I was wide awake at 3 this morning surrounded in a blanket of sadness.

The Weekend

The weekend is over and I am totally exhausted. It is extremely sad to be a California orphan. I happen to think that California is paradise on Earth but have never been able to convince anyone from my birth family of that fact. So when any of them are in town it is like California in turbo drive. This visit was my sister with her friend J who has now been technically adopted as a younger sister by this solitary California Allen. Thursday was all about the food. The whole day was dedicated to eating. I was disappointed in the turkey which was too dry for my taste and the gravy which I single handedly destroyed. But everything else was just fine. Friday we walked the neighborhood - we hit Santa Clara University, my work place and Safeway to pick up some microbiotics for P and then back home again. Then we were off to downtown Palo Alto and Los Altos and then home to make some turkey pot pie. Saturday we journeyed to Half Moon Bay to walk another downtown and have a late lunch at Moss Beach Distillery. We had dinner with D and P and shared some great memories of Italy. It was the first time that I thought about the reality of going back to that fabulous country. Sunday was the final day and it was a full one. We started off with coffee at Barefoot with M and B and then to Campbell to their farmer's market. Then I was in for one of the most humorous experiences of my life. J had never been wine tasting before and so we were off. We did Los Gatos, Saratoga, and a couple in the Santa Cruz mountains. It was such an interesting thing for a teacher of language to be a witness to the attempt to describe something as complex as wine. What an afternoon we had! It was after 5 before we were done so there wasn't much time for the Santa Cruz experience. We had dinner on the wharf and then headed for our final stop of the weekend - to show M and B's house to J. I didn't sleep well last night and woke up totally wasted. Too many late nights. Too much food. Life is such a series of highs and lows. I spend days in what seems like total isolation and then a weekend like this comes out of nowhere. It was quite an event in my simple life. My favorite moment of the weekend was at Moss Beach Distillery in the middle of a "family" discussion with my sister. J stopped it completely with a comment about her confusion with the difference between what she has always heard from P about my personality and what she had up to this point witnessed for herself. That's why I love this woman. She says what is on her mind. She asked P to stop talking so I could explain my view. I don't think anyone has ever done that before or maybe that's just the perspective of the baby of the family. The result was that my sister listened to my side of the story. So as I reflect, I have to say that it was a good weekend. I can't wait for my head to hit my pillow tonight and for that awareness just before I drift off, that I am sleeping.

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.