We wait, we hope, we trust, we know?

Today's impossible dream: helping my students apply characterization to a story in an age-appropriate, culture-appropriate, down-to-earth, [insert own catch-phrase hyphenated description here] manner.

"Describe John Wilson's characterization at the beginning of the story."

"He was in Vietnam."

"Yes, he was a Vietnam veteran, but what was he like as a person?"

[pause]

"Armless."

"Okay, armless. Add that to the list."

"Yeah! He was ugly too!"

"Maybe, but we're focusing on what he was like on the inside."

"But he WAS ugly. He had that nasty hair and dressed like a homeless man!"

"Personality, folks. Inside."

"Ooh! OOOH! He was unemployed!"

"Okay, good descriptions, BUT still failing to answer the original question. Remember back to the first days of school. Your parents maybe asked you what your teachers were like, and you said, "Mr. Correll is AWESOME, Ms. Deaver is weird [lots of heartfelt 'uh-huhs' in the background], Mr. Bailey is loud, Mrs. McKinney is strict but cool, and Mr. Long is incredible. Now pretend like you have to describe John Wilson like that. I'm asking you, what is John Wilson like?"

"Nice."

"Okay, that's a start."

And so it goes.

October Storm

Bells on bough,
Once stretching every vein and chlorophyll-green cell to its bursting point--
Now huddled and clustered
Like old bankers in black wool trench coats
Waiting for a bus to work
In a wet, grey London morning.
You hold your head down and companions close,
As if together you will be stronger--
Bearing folded wings against the whipping wind.

Shiver, tremble, quiver.
Vibrate.
Resonate!

Stir the air with frantic circles.
Cling!
Cling by a thread--
Fibers so thin and dry they may
Snap
At any moment.

You hush my hurry,
Shushing louder than any schoolteacher
During an exam.

On inhospitable heights you--
Lonely in community--
Wave, whip, tinkle,
Tolling the untold,
The silent.
Calling, "Courage!"
With mute lips
And loud limbs.

Ring for me,
You hopeless lot.

Ring your melody of bravery
Until your grip is lost,
Strands tearing our mutual tension
To shreds.
And you fall,
Tumbling, in dizzying concentric circles,
Terrified at the void
And lost forever.

Charles Dickens and a Screeching Sholandric

There are exactly six days of school left. Six. And then it's over, my first year . . . no fanfare, no meaningful pinpoint in time, no big to-do. I usually finish these things, the milestones, with something in my hand or on a piece of paper giving me a pat on the back. I guess I have some of those this year, but in the end, my eyes might be too tired to read them and my hands too tired to hold them. The eyes and voices of my fellow teachers whisper that they too feel it--pure exhaustion. This is an empty time of year . . . the purpose in it all seems to have flown away. Discontent reigns inexplicably in the middle of unaccountability.

Two days ago, a girl in my class made me a little notebook paper poster of my name, along with the comments that I was "the coolest" and her "favorite teacher." Then yesterday I picked another girl over her to replace me in our Teacher for the Day stunt. The compensation hug and "It was a really difficult decision" were hollow.

Running a marathon: accomplishing something, then at the end, realizing that what you've just focused all your energies on is about to end itself, be over, and that you have somewhat destroyed yourself in pursuing it.

spring

I hear the train a'coming . . .
March comes in like a lion . . .
Spring fever . . .

It was warm today. Actually warm. And through a haze of bronchial weezes, it suddenly hit me. Spring is coming. I've been superbly happy this winter, but there's just something about crossing that 70 degree mark that pushes my joy meter into the danger zone. Summer, come quickly.

RMS

My roommate Abby is now knee-deep in student teaching in the other school I taught at last year. Watching her wade through overachievers (that's for you, Tim), coaches, Paidea curriculum expectations, and the general "too much to do in too little time" takes me back. Last year at this time, I was two weeks into experiencing the great Rossville Middle, having launched the temporary assignment with mind made firmly up that I was NOT going to be a teacher. Then I was thrust into this artic, asbestos-laced building . . . America's Choice, 2nd grade reading levels, complete lack of social graces, odd odors, and mice. How do I know if a sentence is complete or not? What in the world is a narrative? How do you fit a 120 minute lesson plan into 75? How do you teach someone to read at the 3rd grade level when you are trained starting at a 6th grade level? I started like Abs . . . frustrated, overwhelmed, unsure . . . And, then, 4 months later, my mind was firmly made up. I'd be back.

I'm so glad I did.

bend it like, well, you know

So David Beckham is moving to L.A. And I'm willing to bet significant sums of money that, when he was 22, the thought of a California breeze daily ruffling his perfectly mussed hair was farther from his mind than the thought of a California lifestyle is to a humpback whale. Why star in a Coming to America sequel when you are the god of an entire country? In L.A., the novelty of his accent and his wife's strange fashion will soon wear off, and he will fade into normality, just one of thousands like him.
Why jump for so drastic a change? Why leave so much good behind? Why pursue uncertainty?
Deep beneath all the soccer politics and the draws of LA, I believe that Beckham is moving because of something much more important. I can't pinpoint it yet, but I heard it whispering in my ear this morning as my homeroom furiously scribbled their 3 quarter prompts. I'm halfway through this first year of teaching, supposedly changing lives, and I'm wondering if this is it. "Little c" calling, destiny, life goal . . . approaching is more than a trade or new contract with a 1874909837 million pound signing bonus. It's LA that I see up ahead. And the new contract might be a better move. What helped Beckham figure it out? That's what I want to know.

by request

So, I'm not really sure who wanted me to update, but I guess I will. Life is good, though I am in sort of a funk today. Teaching high schoolers is hard, and trying to find a good job is even harder. Oh, and for the record, I don't think I will ever ever have a completely satisfactory relationship with a male other than my father (and as some of you know, even that is pretty crappy sometimes). Either life throws in things that get in the way, or the boys/men are just weird (which I suspect would be a problem with any of the other obstacles anyway). And it seems like everytime something happens with a guy that I get happy about (and I don't mean just romantically at all) something else comes along to smash it.
I am supposed to hear about the Library of Congress internship this week . . . I had so much fun with Suzanne over Easter that I think I may want to go to Montana more. Whatever I do, I am just ready to head out for awhile.
In other thoughts, I am working on the last draft of my SIP, and I am grading a ton of essays that my students wrote. Ah, my students . . . I think I'll write more about them sometime when I don't have so much to do. To whoever wrote that comment about me needing to update, thanks for caring. : )

To what extent is this true?

Well this day's been crazy
But everything's happened on schedule,
From the rain and the cold
To the drink that I spilled on my shirt.
'Cause You knew how You'd save me
Before I fell dead in the garden,
And You knew this day
Long before You made me out of dirt.

And You know the plans that You have for me
And You can't plan the end and not plan the means
And so I suppose I just need some peace,
Just to get me to sleep.

--Table for Two, Caedmon's Call

nothing profound. just confused.

I am so sleepy tonight that my eyelids are barely staying up. I have the education Career Summit tomorrow, and going to it is definitely not on my Important Things to Do list. Not that I have one. Written, anyway.
Just a question, though, that's been floating around in my head. Is it inevitable for us as humans to think we can have our cake and eat it too? Sometimes I just wish people would make decisions and accept them, avoiding the heartbreak that so often comes with flip-flopping around. I really just want to get on my soap box and proclaim in no uncertain terms that once you make your bed, you have to lie in it. Cliche because it's true.
But then I start thinking about myself, what I want, and how the world actually works. Are things really that clear cut? Maybe it's natural to want to have your cake and eat it too. Of course, "natural" doesn't mean it's right . . .
I guess maybe God designed us to long for closure but never to find it except in Him? I hope not, though . . . Those "Check Yes or No" boxes on elementary school notes would come in handy right now. Yes or no. Pick one, and stop playing around.

Starting Fresh

I get annoyed when the WB television channel calls episodes "fresh" instead of "new." I guess they are just trying to be cutting edge cool for their oh-so-hip teenage audience. Annoyance aside, I think I like the word fresh for certain non-food related situations. Like this one.
Writing a blog for me is not new, but today marks the point at which I move to a new home for my thoughts . . . right here. Not new, but not the same-old same-old. Time for a change. Time to leave some things behind. Time to start fresh.