Lent [Day 9]: Of Bracelets and Space

Statue of St Peter, The Vatican

Several years ago, I discovered that my wrist had amassed a collection of hand-knotted friendship bracelets from some of my most cherished students.  It was a peculiar claiming of territory, of sorts - as if they'd written "Andy" on the bottom of my shoes.  I wore them constantly - they were tied onto me, after all - quite literally all across the planet, for about two years, by which time they had all fallen apart and even the tan lines they left had begun to fade.  I loved those damn bracelets, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little heartbroken when each of them finally broke.  A tangible reminder that extended their creators' physical presence long after they'd moved on.  The weight of which was perhaps too great for the tensile strength of embroidery floss and hemp cord to bear.

[Young people] seek out professors with whom to have relationships, and we seek them out in turn. Teaching, finally, is about relationships. It is mentorship, not instruction.  Socrates also says that the bond between teacher and student lasts a lifetime, even when the two are no longer together. And so it is. Student succeeds student, and I know that even the ones I'm closest to now will soon become names in my address book and then just distant memories. But the feelings we have for the teachers or students who have meant the most to us, like those we have for long-lost friends, never go away. They are part of us, and the briefest thought revives them, and we know that in some heaven we will all met again. (William Deresiewicz, "Love on Campus", The American Scholar, Summer 2007.)

All this presence and absence (physical or symbolic) naturally calls to mind Henri Nouwen and his writings on presence and absence of God, as well as and the presence and absence of each other in ministry.  All very timely in this Lenten season, as we are preparing, liturgically, for the absence of Jesus.

The great temptation of the ministry is to celebrate only the presence of Jesus while forgetting his absence.  Often the minister is most concerned to make people glad and to create an atmosphere of "I'm okay, you're okay." But in this way, everything gets filled up and there is no empty space left for the affirmation of our basic lack of fulfillment.  In this way the presence of Jesus is enforced without connection with his absence.  Almost inevitably this leads to artificial joy and superficial happiness.  It also leads to disillusionment because we forget that it is in memory that Jesus Christ is present. If we deny the pain of his absence we will not be able to taste his sustaining presence either.  (The Living Reminder)

And...

Discipline is the mark of a disciple of Jesus. This doesn't mean, however, that you must make things difficult for yourself, but only that you make available the inner space where God can touch you with an all-transforming love.  We human beings are so faint-hearted that we have a lot of trouble leaving an empty space empty.  We like to fill it all up with ideas, plans, duties, tasks, and activities. (Letters to Marc About Jesus)

Having recently marked one year in a new job and a new home, I've been reflecting on what that year has taught me (other than how screamingly FAST a year can go), and, well, the meaning-junkie in me has been hard at work trying to ferret out the larger purposes in all the change.  A friend asked me this week about my job, and I commented to her about the amount of free space and time I have now.  Evenings and weekends that were over-capacity with grading and lesson-planning and - let's face it - a good amount of internet ministry, are now wide open.  And I fret about not filling the space suitably, now that I have it - that I might squander it.  I realize I needn't be so swift to fill the space, but that requires a practiced restraint.  The absence here is a gift, so I feel the responsibility to be a good steward of it.  I miss the classroom, the daily collision with students' lives.  I've made known my ability and willingness to pick up an adjunct-professorship in the evenings to satisfy that desire, and I haven't exactly canceled my daily teaching-job-search-agent emails.  But I'm not knocking down doors to rush back into it, either.  It will happen in the fullness of its own time.  Meanwhile, I live in a paradise that is lovely beyond belief, AND I've been given the gift of time and space to enjoy it.  What overwhelming divine generosity!  

Surely I was touched by Jesus's all-transforming love when my physical world was overflowing with people I had such great occasion to love and be loved by.  But presence necessitates absence.  And His all-transforming love can touch my heart in the absence of His holy messengers and recipients and tasks.  Ministry will still take place in and through me.  All I must do is be present with the absence.

Lent [Day 8]: For Jess

Originally written July 2010

I sent one of my favorite people in the universe to San Francisco this week. We were quite a team, at school and elsewhere. Students called us Jesus and Peter. Truth and Love.  Swords and sheep.

People ask me what I'm going to do without my sidekick this year, and I joke that I'm not ready to be present with that. But the truth is, I've been present with it for a while. I knew when she started talking about California this spring that her departure would be sooner rather than later. And while I would love for her to stay, it's not part of the larger call on our lives and the lives of those who will enter our lives very soon. Sure, I get a twinge of sadness when I think ahead to upcoming events at school in which we would ordinarily be involved together. But one thing I've learned is that my imagination is incredibly limited, in comparison to the way my life has unfolded thus far. To say nothing of the ministry of absence, a necessary companion to presence.

So, today I send someone I love to a place I love to serve a God I love.

Time to make room for new favorites. Now accepting applications.

A Good Day

I had a great day!  Not for any big reason - it was just full of little delights.

My morning bus driver remembers that I grabbed a newspaper once last week and now always saves me one and hands it to me when I board.  I take for granted that I might be rememberable, but I suppose I can't help but stick out in the ethnic and age mix of Hawaii bus riders.  I always like to think I can blend into a crowd, but I think I'm just kidding myself sometimes.

I got downtown with enough time to pop in to a cafe/roaster downtown and get a latte.  And mine had a heart in it today.

After those two shots of espresso, I was totally wired.  I described myself to a friend as "barely containable"... and was only half joking.

I had a handful of appointments today, including an easy graduation audit, a double-major advising, and a degree plan and general advice.  Most appointments are solo - not much shadowing any more.  I routinely think that I'm not ready for the training wheels to come off just yet, but my mentor advisors think I am, and they let me take the lead.  I find myself pleasantly surprised with what I am capable of, more often than I am confronted by the things I don't know.  I don't know when, exactly, that ratio turned around, but I'm glad it did.

I'm so glad to be into advising now - it was so much of what I did on any given day that it's nice to make it my primary job description.  But recently I've been ... concerned about what I've been brought here to do.    I know it's still early - it hasn't even been two months at my job yet! - but most of my appointments have been very quick graduation audits.  I just make sure students, who are in their last semester, have completed their degree requirements - and it's not surprising that it's difficult (if not impossible) to forge relationships with them.  It's not the point, really.  I haven't yet had many degree-planning meetings with students, in which I will actually start to get to know them.  I understand that relationships need time to be cultivated.  But I've been concerned with the change in rhythm from teaching and the comparative ease with which I could speak into students' lives.  You can't help but forge those relationships when students barrel into your classroom on a daily basis. And how would that ever happen when I don't teach now?  But I also know that all I have to do is be available; ministry can't help but happen (1).  So I've been struggling with thoughts I know better than to dwell on - I just need to trust and be patient.

My last appointment of the day was counseling a student about finishing her undergrad degree, getting into education and teaching high school.  PERFECT.  She had a bundle of questions and was really personable.  She'll be back for several more appointments concerning graduation and her grad program.  It was exactly the glimpse of my career to come that was the exact antidote to all the prior concern.

Midway through the morning, an email arrived in my inbox, inviting me to this year's AP Reading!  And it's in the midwest, where I have family and friends.  I LOVED the reading I attended a couple years ago.  Completely unlike any conference I've ever attended (plus the stipend isn't shabby).  So, a nice professional-development opportunity, a good excuse to return to the mainland - even if briefly - this summer, and it might overlap with some of my former colleagues!

I had a lovely online conversation with a friend in which I quoted one of my favorite passages from one of my favorite books.  Last night, the very excerpt popped into my head while I was sorting laundry.  The Holy Spirit knew we'd need it the next day.

A midday appointment cancelled, so I decided to push lunch back so I could attend a weekly campus chapel service in the building next door.  We're still looking for a church home, still trying to figure out what the search should even look like (that deserves its own post later), so I thought a mid-week service on a college campus might be worthwhile.  Particularly since it's the beginning of the reflective Lenten season.  But lunch today, instead, brought a phone call from a dear friend, and I decided to stay at my desk and converse with him . I like to think I chose the better part.  I'll aim for chapel next week.

All these joys kept me in a great mood right up through closing time.  At the end of the day, I walked out to catch the bus, only to catch this rainbow first.  The rainy season weather has returned, with fresh trade winds and mauka showers that bring gentle rain and subsequent afternoon rainbows.  I can't believe I get to live here.

(1) Thank you, Frederick Buechner

Teachers and Teaching

I've been involved, or privy to, at least four separate conversations today about learning and teaching and just what it is we've each learned from one another. And another conversation about how shamefully neglectful I've been of my blog. So, here you go, dear reader. Some (largely unedited) thoughts.

As a teacher, I like to think I teach my students plenty. Well, some days more than others, of course... But I also know I don't teach my subject matter in a vacuum - and I've been aware of that for a while. No, I mostly teach what it looks like to be a grown-up. What it looks like to know God and follow Him. How it's okay to be a nerd. That one's worth is not determined by a figure on a paycheck. Et cetera.

But the influence totally goes both ways. My students affect me - profoundly. Sometimes it's been delightfully unexpected; sometimes I ask God for it. I doubt they could know just how much I learn through them. Not necessarily from them - they usually don't explicitly teach me things. But, rather, I am taught things through them. As much as I believe myself to be a conduit (rather than a source) for understanding, I suppose they are the same, though completely unaware. I learn so much of God's love, patience, and mercy through my interactions with them. The nature of grace, existing only in its extension. The deeper meanings of service. Of selflessness. Of sovereignty. The commonality of the human experience and the singularity of it all.

I'm just really grateful for this venue for an education that surpasses my wildest imaginings. I can only marvel at it, for I cannot wrap any part of me around it.

More tangibly, however, their influence is most easily seen in the music on my ipod. Lately, a peculiar mix of indie-hipster and glowsticky house.

A 2007 Kind of Week

Wow, it's been too long.

As has this week. Normally they fly by, but this one sure took its sweet time. I remember thinking on Wednesday morning that it had to be Friday. Thursday, at the very least. But no. The week's journey was an interesting one. Went swimming into others' spiritual storms and found myself in a pretty dark place by midweek. Where the work seemed far too big. And it is, for me. But not for God. Prayer and meditation, plus a restorative phone call with a friend helped turn the week around, and I was back to being a real person again by Friday. So, all's well that ends well.

Meanwhile, the frippery machine is in full swing - soccer and basketball games, senior speeches and shirts, plans for prom. I adore it all! As a teacher, I get to enjoy all the trappings of high school, but with an older, wiser perspective above all the teenageriness. And with the precious opportunity to speak into the lives of students whom - despite what I thought four years ago - I love dearly and celebrate with a special pride I haven't felt in several years. And if there's one thing I do, it's celebrate! I just wish it wasn't already November. There is still so much to be taught and learned.

I also made the executive decision that it's time to put Christmas music in the playlist.

He sends His word and melts them; He stirs up His breezes, and the waters flow. 1

I don't know how long I'm gonna have you for, but I'll be watching when you change the world. 2

Good on Paper

A friend and I have thrown around the phrase "things that look good on paper" lately. Which has me thinking about the things in my life that have looked good on paper. Things I thought I wanted that didn't turn out so well. Or, truly, those things which I thought I didn't want but have proven to be more than I could have ever wanted, with rewards exceeding my imagination.

Chemistry. I always tell my students (though they never believe me) that they should keep an open mind about their future college major and subsequent career, because one never knows exactly how it will all end up. When I was in high school, I didn't exactly hate chemistry, but I was surely a long way from loving it. But I could easily say that the last thing I thought I would ever do was teach chemistry. Teaching itself wasn't necessarily out of the realm of possibility, but chemistry sure was. Fast forward 15 years... and I love it. I have to believe I'm doing exactly what I was created to do - it's the hardest, most consuming work I've ever done, but I adore it. My former meteorology job was perfect on paper - a balanced blend of aesthetics and science, artful design and technical skill. But something was missing. Looking back, I believe this might have been people. Or else a sense of universal significance and purpose. It slowly grew less challenging. I could spend an entire 8-hour day without a single in-person interaction. I grew restless. The perfect job on paper... wasn't. But the wholly imperfect job on paper? most days I can hardly believe my good fortune and privilege.

Boys. Whenever I envisioned myself raising children, I always said I wanted to have girls. - never sons. [Funny that Belated Promise Ring ("my Rebecca says she never wants a boy" just shuffled onto the ipod - now waiting for Upward Over the Mountain to follow it...]. First, I am one, so I figured it would be easier, since I knew how girls worked. Second, the clothes and accessories and toys of girls are way cuter and more fun. Yet, one look at the students with whom I've developed close relationships, they are almost overwhelmingly boys. Adopted sons, if you will (though maybe I prefer thinking of them more as nephews, or even younger brothers). Not to say that girls don't spend time in my classroom, but they are certainly outnumbered. To mentor them, I've had to learn so much about boys/men and what makes them tick. I don't know whether I'm being prepared to be a mother of sons or whether I'm simply to continue shaping others' sons, or whether it's all just a function of the subject matter I teach, or my approachability... but it's certainly the opposite demographic I ever expected to be "raising."

Central Florida. When I came for a conference in 2002, I distinctly remember saying to myself, "How could anyone live here? It's completely soulless!" Fast-forward three years, and guess who is moving here? Granted, I try to minimize my time in the tourist districts (the location where the aforementioned statement was made), and I'm not entirely unconvinced this place is devoid of soul; I can can at least make peace with it.

That Time of Year

It's that time of year, again (already). Late spring - marked by an acceleration to the finish line, exacerbated by a late spring break.

As we ready ourselves for the season, some Kahlil Gibran:

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they do not belong to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Though manifest not of our physical selves, our arrows are just as much a part of us as we them. We are bows, built to bend, but not break. We flex in His hands, entrusted to do that to which He calls us. Designed to launch, yet retaining some resonance from the shot. May we trust the Archer's eye, and trust the Air to carry those arrows toward their targets.

Commencement

Graduation is today.  I adore graduations, as I do most ceremony.  (Okay, partly because there is costuming involved!)  The symbolism of academic regalia.  The families and the accomplishment and the transition.  The pomp.  The circumstance.  

The tears I shed are from an overflow of feelings, not exclusively sadness.  I never fail to find myself swept up in a tempest of emotion.  Sure, there is sadness for the loss of the everyday presence of some very special individuals.  But it's tempered.  By excitement for students concluding this chapter and outlining the next.  Pride in some students' extraordinary stories and the joy of participation in them.  Love.  

In the words of Dr. Seuss, which will inevitably be used in commencement addresses worldwide: do not cry because it's over - smile because it happened.

Congratulations, Class of 2009.  Go, and take flight.  Travel lightly, but keep some souvenirs of these four years tucked in your suitcase hearts.

Playbill

Jennifer (Witch 1).  Jennifer is happy to be appearing on stage again, this time in The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Abridged.  Previously cast in motherly roles, she plays one of Macbeth's witches - a role for which she says teaching has prepared her.  Favorite roles include Debbie in American Beauty, Messenger in The Wiz, and orchestral credits in Lessons and Carols.  Love and kisses to her adoring public!

Bathtub Families

This week, I attended a poetry reading by Poet Laureate Billy Collins.  

He easily would have been one of my favorite professors in college.  I had been introduced to his work by a friend a couple years ago, but I was only familiar with a few of his poems - most notably The History Teacher.  What a delightful evening!  I know this is obvious, but it's one thing to read a poem on a page, and very much another thing to hear the author's inflection as he intended... they are more immediate, more accessible.  And some of his poems are hysterical.  There was one, in particular, that I now have a pretty big crush on. 

Bathtub Families

is not just a phrase I made up

though it would have given me pleasure

to have written those words in a notebook

then looked up at the sky wondering what they meant.

No, I saw Bathtub Families in a pharmacy

on the label of a clear plastic package

containing one cow and four calves,

a little family of animals meant to float in your tub.

I hesitated to buy it because I knew

I would then want the entire series of Bathtub Families,

which would leave no room in the tub

for the turtles, the pigs, the seals, the giraffes, and me.

It's enough just to have the words,

which alone make me even more grateful

that I was born in America

and English is my mother tongue.

I was lucky, too, that I waited

for the pharmacist to fill my prescription,

otherwise I might not have wandered

down the aisle with the Bathtub Families.

I think what I am really saying is that language 

is better than reality, so it doesn't have

to be bath time for you to enjoy

all the Bathtub Families as they float in the air around your head.

from Ballistics (2008)

I have a reputation for recording and collecting clever turns of phrase (or at least instructing someone else to write it down!).  So while a friend thought we were being called out on our behavior, I took the justification path - "no, look, Billy Collins's persona does it too!"  The difference is that I would have bought the Bathtub Family to keep around my house.  Much like I did the Bag of Plagues at Publix one passover season.  Maybe it would have been sufficient to keep the Bag of Plagues in the air around my head.

And I can't walk down the halls of our school anymore without giggling at spurious acclamations of praise.

Oh, My God!

Not only in church

and nightly by their bedsides

do young girls pray these days.

Wherever they go,

prayer is woven into their talk

like a bright thread of awe.

Even at the pedestrian mall

outburst of praise

spring unbidden from their glossy lips.

from Ballistics (2008)

Other highlights (links when I can find 'em):

Serenade

How Poets Read Prose (published as Searching)

Dharma

Tension

Forgetfulness

First Day

Today was my 24th First Day of School. Granted, most of those were as a student! Nevertheless, it's time for a new start, time for another cycle of catch-and-release.

I was reminded of my first day as a teacher of teenagers. It was a significant career change, so I had a lot to prepare. I spent so much time and energy preparing for that first first day: syllabi, lesson plans, my classroom arrangement, seating charts, policies and procedures for everything. I wrote, printed, and copied everything for the day, did some demos, and gave my introductions; that night, I pulled off my suit, and fell - exhausted - into bed when it dawned on me: how was I ever going to do this 179 more times?! What had I gotten myself into? I wonder whether this is what new parents feel - nine months spent preparing for the arrival of a child and panic sets in when you take her home and realize your job has only begun. Anyhow, I made it through that day, that week, that year. And several more first days since.

I'm reasonably pleased with my schedule and very happy with some changes to the department and my courseload. I hope this auspicious First Day gives way to a Good Year.

Playbill

Jennifer (Mama/Mama 2) Jennifer is thrilled to be back on stage in two roles for the 2008 Spring Musical Revue. She made her stage debut on her eighth birthday, as Narrator/Newscaster in a third-grade production, 16 Minutes. She dabbled in direction, staging a one-act play (title unknown) about the telephone company in fifth grade. Previous Academy credits include Debbie and Mother of Shonda in American Beauty; Messenger, Emerald City Tourist, and various technical credits in The Wiz; and orchestra (flute) in Lessons and Carols. Jennifer has been a longtime patron of the arts, but finds exceptional delight in making a fool of herself onstage. Love to Mom, Dad, and Brian!





Curtain up at 700p Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

April/May

Industry tripped by a collection of artifacts,
letters, papers, bytes, forms,
poetry by colleagues -
one former, one current -
awash in some kind of nostalgia
and marvel at this,

this occupation,
this vocation,
this craft,

I seem to have found myself
in with little training
and even less warning.

This long parade of lasts
to borrow a line
comes and I'm still
sweeping up the scraps
of confetti and ribbons,
still picking fragments
of ticker tape from the carpets,
after the last one.


The marching cadence, it grows louder.

Physics and Philosophy, for the Kindergarten Set

So I've spent some quality time with my six-year-old niece the past two days. Since she's in first grade, she's into learning - which makes it much easier for me to relate to her; I'm self-consciously awkward around young children, and besides, learning is what I do best! Well, at least I like to think so. Anyhow, I'm glad she's moved out of the Let's Pretend! phase that really taxes whatever is left of my creativity. Making up a story about fairies? Not exactly my mileu. Now she's content to be drilled on subtraction questions or telling time or rhyming words. This I can do.

That said, a lot of my material would kill with other audiences, but I'm afraid it's lost on the youth. Maybe it's best we don't have children yet... So on the car ride home from Epcot this evening, she wanted to know whether we would beat the other car (containing my husband, parents-in-law, sister-in-law, and nephew). I told her we could go faster in my little Civic, faster than their lumbering minivan. Here's how the rest of the conversation went:

Why?

Because it's harder to get heavier things to move.

Why?

It's inertia.

What's inertia?

[slipping right into Physics Teacher Mode]
It's Isaac Newton's First Law -
things that are standing still will stay still
unless something pushes on them. So if...

But we're moving, what's pushing on us?

The car's engine.

What's pushing the engine?

Gasoline.

What's driving the gasoline?

Our money!

What drives the money?

Capitalism.

What drives capitalism?

Power.

What drives power?

Well, that's a good question.
There are a lot of people asking that very thing.

They should just look it up on the internet.

Indeed. Google gets 'em young, it seems.

Aside from Fun With Primary Schoolers, it was a beautiful evening. Perfect weather. Early spring in Florida is actually quite lovely. Not too humid. Clear. Pleasant for strolling around out-of-doors. I've been hungry for Japanese food for a few days. I met the group at Epcot, and I thought it would be nice to eat at the Japan pavilion; I figured I had no chance in convincing this group to go eat Japanese. As we tried to decide where to eat, my sister in law suggested either China or Japan. Sensing a vulnerability in the defenses, I took the opportunity to strike. Japan it was! Hooray for spicy tuna rolls, sukiyaki beef, vegetable tempura, and green tea! While we were waiting for fireworks at Epcot, I got creative with my camera's long exposures.

Musings Over Old Binders

Cleaning out the garage this evening, my husband and I came across some old academic work - thesis defense slides, class notes, labs, exams. Having been out of the meteorology business for a few years now, I was astounded to see just how many things I once knew and have since forgotten. And what we remembered remembering (as the grades on the papers could attest), but don't really remember until we're reminded. [apologies if you pulled a muscle that last sentence...]

This comes hot on the heels of a conversation with a friend about how much calculus I've forgotten since college. It does come back quickly, like when a student asks me about a question on their math homework, or I read it in a quiz-bowl question. There's that unnerving familiarity, without the immediate recall, that can be pretty frustrating until you read part of a textbook and it (mostly) makes sense again. The paths are there, I just have to hack my way through a dense jungle of overgrowth to find them again.

Conversely, some subjects, like one I now teach, gave me a certain amount of frustration when I was younger. I'm continually surprised to find I now love it; it comes so much more naturally and makes so much more sense. Admittedly, I have a couple degrees behind me now, plus the burden of the teacher: I have to understand the material or I have no hope of communicating it. I'm impressed with the ease by which my students pick up some concepts I teach. I often wonder how my high-school self would compare to them. It's interesting to consider that subjects can be more readily mastered under different circumstances. And how some subjects are merely vehicles for learning how to learn, in contrast to learning the pure material. I suppose this plays out in my own classroom - I know I teach more problem-solving skills than pure science.

I'm no neuroscientist, but perhaps that's the very distillate of education. Learning is not instant access to all one's files on the desktop of one's head, but is instead the cultivation of the ability to maintain and navigate the filing system. To rediscover what's been learned before with a bit of prompting or refreshing. The difference between trivia-recall and understanding. I suppose it's a corollary to the Curse of Knowledge: that which has been learned, some part of it, is always present - it just may take some work to find it and shake the dust from it. Or maybe it's just a lyric to a Paul Simon song: "It's easier to learn than unlearn."

Fish, Clothing, and Emily Post

I think my fish is dying. I'm trying to stave off the death. The fish was part of a centerpiece at prom last year (not my idea); and a bunch of students (and I!) took home fishies that night. I kept him in a beaker in my classroom last spring. Named him Fred. But the beaker would get funky awfully quickly, so I bought a wee tank and filter for him. Starting a couple weeks ago, Fred's been pretty listless. It had been cold in the evenings, and the cool water was probably stressing him out. Lately, however, he's been hanging around behind the filter outlet, and not moving very much at all. I didn't see any telltale white splotches of ick, but upon further examination, he appears to have some sort of something on his back. I'm guessing it's some kind of fungus infection. I gave his tank a thorough cleaning, did some quick research on fish treatments, and found that methylene blue can be used to treat such afflictions. Hey, this chemistry teacher has plenty of that! I turned off the aquarium pump, too, hoping that still water will ease his irritation. We shall see...


Went to a Super Tuesday party last night. ABC was proclaiming winners of primaries with a mere 6% of precincts reporting. Never before have I witnessed such a steamrolling of data and statistics. But that's not my point. I didn't want to bother driving all the way home and all the way back to school and stayed out that way. Which meant I had to plan far in advance for dress-up Wednesday. And a warm Wednesday, too. I have a hard time selecting outfits one night ahead - invariably, I don't feel like wearing whatever I picked. Plus, I had to cart my morning necessities with me. I'm not that high-maintenance, but I do require some product. Anyhow, I had a feeling yesterday that I wasn't going to be satisfied with the clothing choice I'd packed for today. The suit I brought, I like it, but there was a loose button (which manifested itself as a wardrobe malfunction this morning, requiring a swift dash to the theatre costume shop for repair!). I didn't bring the belt, either, and I still don't know where that might be. Despite my poor clothing pick, I received several compliments today. I suppose just means I can disguise poor wardrobe choices well. Or at least make the best of them. It was a weird start to the day, too, outside of my typical routine. I was able to set my alarm for the time I'd ordinarily be leaving for school! Anyhow, driving into campus this morning, I had a strange sensation - almost as if I'd not left campus since the morning before. I suppose I use my drive as mental distancing from the school day more than I realize.


Finally, how is etiquette taught these days? I used to check out Emily Post volumes from the library as a middle-schooler. We had workshops in college designed to teach us luncheon etiquette and business communication. How else would you learn the proper ways to address a letter, what fork to use, or the right time to applaud during a concerto? I've heard some criticisms of social graces as effete elitist rules, however, I believe etiquette serves as a way to make people feel comfortable, not uncomfortable. It provides a structure in which to operate, where people know what's expected and can respond appropriately. (I have found no greater illustration of the value of clear expectations than in a classroom.) I could have used a crash course in military protocol at a former job, where I interacted with both active-duty and retired officers. I always felt unequipped and ignorant. Anyhow, soapbox aside, one thing I considered last year was Jennifer's Charm School, before prom, to give students an idea of what to do at a formal dinner dance. As much as we prepare students for college classrooms, I wonder whether we prepare them for life outside the classroom. Balancing a checkbook, addressing others when making introductions, interview and business etiquette. How do you learn this stuff if you're not an etiquette guidebook nerd?


It's that blah time in late winter, when the only food in season is citrus and root vegetables and casseroles. A time of transition in weather, too - our taste of the 80s the past couple of days reminds me I'm not quite ready for summer. It's no wonder I am not satisfied by my clothing choices!

Legacy Teaching

One more post this week about teaching, and then it's Thanksgiving Break! A moratorium on educational topics is in place until next week.

I joke over there --------------> that I'm not a teacher, I just play one. And I really do think that. I never went to school with the express intent of becoming a teacher, so I picked up much of my training in teaching high school while I was in high school - I just wasn't cognizant of it at the time. I notice that I parrot a lot of my former teachers. I assign similar projects as I was assigned in high school chemistry. I've even said the same phrases as my senior-year-physics and multiple-year-social-studies teachers. I sense my favorite history teachers and professors, in my own classroom energy and management. I see my French and English teachers in me, too, particularly when it comes to compassion and individual attention. I heard a clip on NPR a couple weeks ago (I think - I can't find evidence of this anywhere online), in which the commentator said that he learned to be a waiter by pretending to be a waiter. That resonates - I think I learned to teach by pretending to be a teacher. Having had no formal teacher training, I model my teacherly behavior after my own teachers.

Of course, I'm already extrapolating this forward. Who are the future teachers sitting in my classroom? What are they picking up from me now that they will pass onto their students ten or twenty years from now? I already feel the burden of representing science to my students; they will form opinions of science in my classroom that will affect how they view science for the rest of their lives. But this newfound responsibility towards the future students of my own students - I'm constantly amazed at what is entrusted to me.


It's that time of year - Thanksgiving break is upon us and Christmas will follow closely. While I was an undergrad, I would occasionally stop in to see my teachers when I was home for university holidays. Even as recently as last Christmas, I visited the few remaining teachers at my old high school. Now I am the teacher being visited by former students. I gained incredible respect for my own teachers throughout my first year of teaching, but to have their perspective on these pleasantries, too... this novelty has not worn off! Of course, in this facebook age, it's remarkably easy to keep in touch with former students, and I think our school fosters a very different kind of relationship and involvement in students' lives than I experienced in school. Very much for the better. Anyhow, a friend and I were discussing yesterday our lack of friends who just drop by. Granted, my friend base is a 45-minute drive away, so a dropping-by requires a trip. Anyhow, my point is that I love it. So, if you're in town for the holidays, drop by! Your teachers would love to see you again.

Untitled

All right, what is going on here?

I spent an evening this week on and around a large university campus. And again, as my weekend at Purdue last month inspired, I felt this relentless and inexorable pull towards college.

What do I do with this? Do I write it off as reminiscent of past times and move on with my life? Is it a product of my interactions with college-bound seniors? Do I indulge it and seriously consider going back to school full-time? And even if I did, what would I study? Beyond that, what is my end-game? This has provided a lot of material for my favorite game of "What If..."

I can't be a professional student - I have to have a reason. I know I do not want an education degree. Not that I wouldn't want to continue working in education, I just have zero - nay, negative - desire to take any more education courses. Would I eventually want to teach in college? Some of my students and colleagues would say yes. But I'm not so sure. Like a quotation previously posted, I really think my job as a teacher of teenagers is to get inside their lives and help shape them. Would I have these opportunities as a professor? Maybe. They'd definitely be different. I have a lot of liberties in terms of creativity and a wide variety of disciplines; I think I would lose these at a university, where I would be hyper-specialized. Do I take an evening class here or there? As if I even have time for that. But maybe it would get it out of my system!

Food science? Art history? Pharmacy? Chemistry? A PhD? Another Masters?

I am officially too old to be having a quarter-life crisis.

Hm. You know, that was just a flippant comment, but after reading one selection from that link, I now have to wonder. The frustration with a lack of feedback and progress indicators does hit a little closely...

Furthermore, a factor contributing to quarter-life crisis may be the difficulty in adapting to a workplace environment. In college, professors' expectations are clearly given and students receive frequent feedback on their performance in their courses. One progresses from year to year in the education system. In contrast, within a workplace environment, one may be, for some time, completely unaware of a boss's displeasure with one's performance, or of one's colleagues' dislike of one's personality. One does not automatically make progress. Office politics require interpersonal skills that are largely unnecessary for success in an educational setting. Emerging adults eventually learn these social skills, but this process – sometimes compared to learning another language – is often highly stressful.

No. I refuse to be the stuff of John Mayer songs or Broadway musicals. I just won't have it! I'm eight years out of college. I'm gainfully employed. I'm not questioning what I want to do with my life (well, okay, it does kind of sound that way...). It's not a restlessness, I don't think. I do have a significant sense of purpose - more so than I have ever had. Nor do I lack opportunity for self-directed learning - that is precisely what teaching provides, I'm just not the one writing the lab reports. Well, my term papers and lab reports are now just the prompts and the lab directions I write. I could psycho-diagnose this all night if I wanted to. And I don't. I just want to know what to do about this ceaseless flirtation by large research universities. Anyone?

To Whom It May Concern

The Teacher Recommendation Letter.

It's an... odd thing. One of the curious artifacts of my career. Over the past few years, I've had the pleasure of writing letters of recommendation for several students, including some students to whom I am quite close. Those letters are both the easiest and the hardest to write. What can you convey to a college admissions officer to convince them that the person on whose behalf you are writing should be accepted? How much does my opinion really matter? I mean, how many letters do college admissions offices receive that aren't full of gloriously high praise for the applicants?

I wonder whether I take my letter-writing more seriously than the students take their application. Probably not, but when a student gets waitlisted or rejected, I can't help but feel like I've been rejected, too. Last year, I wrote some (well, I thought) particularly well-crafted letters; I poured a lot of myself into them. I'd write, set them aside, revisit, revise, edit, rewrite, even sending follow-up letters once I got to know a student better. The average letter took me over a week to complete.

How can the essence of a student be distilled into a letter? (no more easy a task than their own application essays, certainly) I'm currently writing this year's crop of letters, mindful of the decisions that will be made as a result of them that will set the course of these students' lives. And the hardest part is getting started. Well, no, that's not true. Because I follow a basic format for all my letters and fill in the details; it's deciding what, exactly, to present about a student that is the tough work. Sometimes it's easy - there is one singular trait that stands out. They have fantastic artistic ability. Their analytical capability stands out among their peers. They're exceptionally teachable. Their elegance belies their age. Then, there are those who are more difficult to describe. The ones who evoke something more ephemeral to a teacher. These are harder to write than the shopping list of talents: work ethic, check; intellectual ability, check; leadership roles; check. The students who, deep down, you know are destined for great things, even though they make Bs in my classes. It's hard to write that and come off as sincere, though. I used to panic over how well I really know my audience. I would think, how do I know what the reader of my letter on any given day at any given university is looking for? That's the wrong approach. The goal of the letter, after all, is to paint a fuller portrait of the candidate, so any details are good details.

Because they are so much of myself, I keep my letters private. I require students to sign the waiver so my letters won't become part of a their record. I send them straight to the university myself or hand them over to our college counselor in sealed envelopes with my signature across the seal. Part of me doesn't want a student to be critical of my letter and think, "well, this piece of trash is the reason I didn't get in!" - however unlikely that may be. Part of me doesn't want students to know that I think so highly of them. That's an interesting conundrum - we all crave praise, but I'd hate for a student to grow arrogant as a result. Call it maintenance of the balance of classroom power, if you like.

So, Class of 2008. Good luck, and know that you'll end up where you're meant to be. But I'll still agonize over your letters.

Weight

Several of my blogging friends have mentioned the weight of life lately, so I'll throw my thoughts into the mix.

This year has been... heavy, overwhelmingly so, for a number of reasons. I've lost my study hall, which means I've lost my second prep period, something I was promised when I interviewed three years ago. So I'm teaching six classes, five preps. (teaching colleagues everywhere gasp) Actually, when you factor in my once-a-week club preparation and my student lab assistants, I suppose you could say I have seven. At least I'm not working weekends any more... Anyhow, I'm nearly a month behind on grading - what with our new house, plus a bunch of responsibilities heaped on me the past couple of weeks. This year's theme is "suck it up," and I'm trying very hard to shoulder everything, but the cracks are beginning to show.

I'm annoyed that I'm being robbed of the joy of a new house: figuring out where everything belongs, rearranging furniture, hanging pictures, painting, meeting the neighbors. Instead, I get all the annoyances: the long search for something I need that could be in any given box in any given room, the inability to find something my husband has unpacked. I feel like a visitor in my house, rather than that sense of ownership that comes with organizing one's things in a new space.

I'm annoyed that this is my fourth year teaching high school, and it feels like my first again.

I'm annoyed that the very thing that keeps me teaching (and not chucking it all and going back to industry) is slipping through the cracks right now: the personal connections with students and my investment in their lives. This greatly troubles me.

I'm annoyed that the weight is beginning to manifest itself physically. I feel just-on-the-edge of a potential sore throat, and I'm supremely lucky that I haven't been taken down by some virus; I'm totally ripe for it, what with my lack of sleep. My shoulders are so tight, it's going to take weeks to unclench. I've been noticing my heart doing that little skip-a-beat thing it does when I'm under pressure.


This is not good.


This weekend will be filled with grading, but the mountain is steep. Of course, I'm not making any progress at this moment... Oh, who am I kidding? I'll be up past midnight regardless. May as well write on the internet for a bit.


All right, then. Back to work.