I just finished Mark Edmondson's book Why Read? and am reading David Denby's Great Books, about his returning to Columbia in later adulthood to experience reading and discussing the works he studied as an undergrad. All the while, I ask myself how I can translate what I'm learning from this reading to the high school classes I teach (English 9 and Creative Writing). These are the things I have the luxury to ponder during the summer, when not confronted with the daily realities of teaching. Are you buying this justification for my long summer vacations? I can hear the masses (masses? at this blog? okay then, the few) saying, "Wouldn't if be nice if we all had such time to reflect on the function and practice of our jobs?"
To that I say, " Yes! It would!"
Edmundson's book proposes that reading and a study of the humanities is especially important for those who find themselves living in a culture where they can't find a good fit for their sensibilities and have a vague idea that there's something more out there than the value systems their education, religious training, families, and early experiences have transmitted to them.
In many ways, I'm so Midwestern I reek of hard work, endless stretches of corn rows rustling in the August wind, and Lake Woebegone stoicism. And I'm proud of it. In many ways, I feel fortunate to have been raised in my family, in a little Midwestern town, with my particular set of experiences. But....I'm recalling the reader's history I wrote for my Teaching Lit professor, in which I described reading as a lifeline for a curious girl from a small Iowa town, a dedicated, short-on-cash young mother with a desire to know the world better, and then a forty-something college student with a love of learning and a dream to teach.
Edmunson's book takes a scholarly approach to the topic, but in this unscholarly blog I'd like to say that my experience proves he's right. Reading shaped me every bit as much as corn fields, Sunday school and motherhood, and continues to do so.
As for Denby's book about revisiting the discussions of texts he read as a student, if you've been reading this blog you know that should I ever hit the jackpot and free myself from having to earn a living, I will selfishly set out to do exactly that. Yes, he writes mostly (but not entirely) about reading the dead, white, male writers of the Western world who have shaped thought for centuries, and I mostly agree it's high time all the other thinkers had a crack at our minds. But I'd settle for Denby's experience any day, and for now, I'll do my usual thing: read about it.
A friend of mine knew someone who thought life mostly sucked, and the salvation in this miserable existence was knowing there are so many great books yet to be read. Between the two of us, when life went sour we'd laugh and say, "Thank god there's books!"
I'm pretty sure we were only half joking.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Curriculum Writing
I've been working on writing curriculum the past few days and think I may be onto something. Being a lazy public school teacher who spends summers surfing the internet on your tax dollars, I give you this:
http://www.comedycentral.com/motherload/index.jhtml?ml_video=62629
http://www.comedycentral.com/motherload/index.jhtml?ml_video=62629
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Fiction and Nonfiction
I finished teaching the summer class that prepares 8th graders for the high school, so the school year is now over for me. I thought I'd do more blogging when I wasn't spending my evenings reading student writing, but it doesn't look that way, does it? I can't explain why I've been reading more and blogging less, except to say I am getting closer to the bottom of my stack of must-reads. What luxury!
At the risk of sounding like all I do is spend my free time sitting on my butt reading or watching t.v. (this is only partly true), I'm driven to mention a forum I watched yesterday (hey- I was cleaning out the kitchen junk drawer!). Cspan covered the annual conference on the progressive movement and the internet sponsored by the DailyKos blog. Generally, the forum addressed the idea that the blogosphere is now doing the job that the press is supposed to be doing.
One of the participants was Joe Wilson. To summarize, Joe Wilson is the man who outed our president for lying to us when he used the nuclear threat as a rationalization for making war on Iraq. Bush told us Iraq had attempted to buy yellow cake uranium from Niger in order to create nuclear weapons. Joe Wilson published an op-ed essay in the New York Times which said this was not so. And Joe would know, as he was the Foreign Service official who had been sent to investigate those very claims. King George did not take kindly to this and in turn, someone in his court retaliated by outing Joe's wife, who was working as a U.S. CIA operative. Today, the evil Karl Rove received word that he will not be indicted as a blabbermouth, but Scooter Libby, the former chief of staff to the Vice President, has been. To understate it grossly, this act compromised national security and decimated the lives of a couple who had spent years in service to the United States. Need anyone ask why stories of political intrigue aren't in my stack of must-reads? Why bother with fiction when the truth is stranger?
For me, the most riveting presenter at YearlyKos was Larry Johnson, a proclaimed conservative and former state department CIA analyst and counter-terrorism expert who said simply this:
When George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld asked the CIA if there was any proof of a relationship between Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden, the CIA told them "No." And when they asked the CIA if Iraq had attempted to acquire uranium from Niger, they were told "No." These men lied when they used these scare tactics to convince congress and the American people that their desire to wage war on Iraq was justified. And they knew it. When they were caught and rationalized their lies by saying they had been given faulty intelligence, they were lying. And they knew it.
Our president turned up in Iraq today, looking quite smug about the recent "success" there. Karl Rove spoke at a dinner last night and advised Republicans to make no excuses for the invasion of Iraq. While the war rages on, the US/Coalition forces body count is at 2,722, untold thousands of Iraqis have been killed along with countless numbers of those maimed and wounded on all of the many "sides" of this war.
I'm not feeling the success, and I wouldn't know where to begin to make excuses for the behavior of my government. This is no lie. And I know it.
At the risk of sounding like all I do is spend my free time sitting on my butt reading or watching t.v. (this is only partly true), I'm driven to mention a forum I watched yesterday (hey- I was cleaning out the kitchen junk drawer!). Cspan covered the annual conference on the progressive movement and the internet sponsored by the DailyKos blog. Generally, the forum addressed the idea that the blogosphere is now doing the job that the press is supposed to be doing.
One of the participants was Joe Wilson. To summarize, Joe Wilson is the man who outed our president for lying to us when he used the nuclear threat as a rationalization for making war on Iraq. Bush told us Iraq had attempted to buy yellow cake uranium from Niger in order to create nuclear weapons. Joe Wilson published an op-ed essay in the New York Times which said this was not so. And Joe would know, as he was the Foreign Service official who had been sent to investigate those very claims. King George did not take kindly to this and in turn, someone in his court retaliated by outing Joe's wife, who was working as a U.S. CIA operative. Today, the evil Karl Rove received word that he will not be indicted as a blabbermouth, but Scooter Libby, the former chief of staff to the Vice President, has been. To understate it grossly, this act compromised national security and decimated the lives of a couple who had spent years in service to the United States. Need anyone ask why stories of political intrigue aren't in my stack of must-reads? Why bother with fiction when the truth is stranger?
For me, the most riveting presenter at YearlyKos was Larry Johnson, a proclaimed conservative and former state department CIA analyst and counter-terrorism expert who said simply this:
When George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld asked the CIA if there was any proof of a relationship between Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden, the CIA told them "No." And when they asked the CIA if Iraq had attempted to acquire uranium from Niger, they were told "No." These men lied when they used these scare tactics to convince congress and the American people that their desire to wage war on Iraq was justified. And they knew it. When they were caught and rationalized their lies by saying they had been given faulty intelligence, they were lying. And they knew it.
Our president turned up in Iraq today, looking quite smug about the recent "success" there. Karl Rove spoke at a dinner last night and advised Republicans to make no excuses for the invasion of Iraq. While the war rages on, the US/Coalition forces body count is at 2,722, untold thousands of Iraqis have been killed along with countless numbers of those maimed and wounded on all of the many "sides" of this war.
I'm not feeling the success, and I wouldn't know where to begin to make excuses for the behavior of my government. This is no lie. And I know it.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Pink gets it
I saw this video on the web today, and though it would probably be considered "inappropriate" for school, I wish I could show it to my classes. There is definitely pressure on girls to act like, or be a "stupid girl."
It's increasingly difficult for young women to accept themselves in a culture in which the standards of beauty focus on being seen in the correct skimpy clothes, complete with over-priced accessories, push-up bras, high heels, tons of makeup, artificially enhanced hair, and a body shape that defies what most of them can begin to accomplish with anything less than extreme dieting and a boob job. Behaviors that accompany this tend toward downplaying their intelligence, acting "sexy," and an it's-all-about-me attitude. I see plenty of girls who resist this pressure, but not without their share of angst. It takes a lot of self-confidence to be okay with being your unenhanced self, smart, and kind and compassionate, when one looks around and sees who's getting most of the attention and seems to be having most of the fun.
Preaching about this will get a teacher nowhere. Even for those who are repected by kids, it's tricky not to come off as one who just doesn't get it when it comes to issues of their culture. As a member of the don't-trust-anyone-over-30 generation, I understand this, therefore, I hope this video gets lots of airplay, and the girls who aren't "stupid girls" get that they are valued for their strength, intelligence, and self-knowledge, knowing that Pink does.
Here's a link to the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ar6bhinHVh4
It's increasingly difficult for young women to accept themselves in a culture in which the standards of beauty focus on being seen in the correct skimpy clothes, complete with over-priced accessories, push-up bras, high heels, tons of makeup, artificially enhanced hair, and a body shape that defies what most of them can begin to accomplish with anything less than extreme dieting and a boob job. Behaviors that accompany this tend toward downplaying their intelligence, acting "sexy," and an it's-all-about-me attitude. I see plenty of girls who resist this pressure, but not without their share of angst. It takes a lot of self-confidence to be okay with being your unenhanced self, smart, and kind and compassionate, when one looks around and sees who's getting most of the attention and seems to be having most of the fun.
Preaching about this will get a teacher nowhere. Even for those who are repected by kids, it's tricky not to come off as one who just doesn't get it when it comes to issues of their culture. As a member of the don't-trust-anyone-over-30 generation, I understand this, therefore, I hope this video gets lots of airplay, and the girls who aren't "stupid girls" get that they are valued for their strength, intelligence, and self-knowledge, knowing that Pink does.
Here's a link to the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ar6bhinHVh4
Monday, May 22, 2006
Leonard, You Devil
Tonight, I listened to Terry Gross interview the great poet and songwriter Leonard Cohen on public radio. At 72, the guy's still got it. Terry would ask him some inane question regarding what he was thinking or feeling when he wrote a poem or lyric 30 years ago. Without sounding bored by her inane question or fudging some ridiculous story, and without a trace of animosity in his voice he'd answer that he didn't have any recollection of what he was thinking at that time. And she'd giggle, a very Terry sort of giggle. He charmed her; but then, what woman has escaped the charms of Leonard Cohen? He laughed a lot too, the pithy chuckle only a man of a certain age with many charmed giggles under his belt can produce.
I didn't know he recently spent time in a Buddhist monastery and is an ordained Zen monk. He read a new lyric related to the experience that contained some killer lines. Hearing him read with his wonderful, gravelly voice inspired me. I added his biographical documentary, "I'm Your Man," to my Netflix list, but it's "saved," as it hasn't been released. It looks like a goodie.
Here's my feeble stab at a Cohenesque lyric:
The Western Side of Blue
The sky is fading slowly on the western side of blue,
In rankled ribbons reaching out to hold a lonesome hue.
I guess I wasn't meant to know what it means to be you,
And the time has come to go back home again.
I told myself I'd know the place to write the story's end,
Inside the book of longing for a lover and a friend,
When suddenly there seems to be a funeral to attend,
And the time has come to go back home again.
Home is where reality's dark visions come to roost,
Home is where the dread comes rushing in.
I'm fighting not to take my life to that unholy hour
To hear the slow, indentured hum of self-destructive sin.
Perfecting reinvention has become a dying flame,
To feel the burn is ever more absurd.
I hold my marker close and let the others play the game
While listening for consolation's solitary word.
To approach qualifying as a decent Cohen imitation this would need to resolve itself in several more verses, but I quit at four, as I'm no Leonard Cohen. I'm glad he is.
I didn't know he recently spent time in a Buddhist monastery and is an ordained Zen monk. He read a new lyric related to the experience that contained some killer lines. Hearing him read with his wonderful, gravelly voice inspired me. I added his biographical documentary, "I'm Your Man," to my Netflix list, but it's "saved," as it hasn't been released. It looks like a goodie.
Here's my feeble stab at a Cohenesque lyric:
The Western Side of Blue
The sky is fading slowly on the western side of blue,
In rankled ribbons reaching out to hold a lonesome hue.
I guess I wasn't meant to know what it means to be you,
And the time has come to go back home again.
I told myself I'd know the place to write the story's end,
Inside the book of longing for a lover and a friend,
When suddenly there seems to be a funeral to attend,
And the time has come to go back home again.
Home is where reality's dark visions come to roost,
Home is where the dread comes rushing in.
I'm fighting not to take my life to that unholy hour
To hear the slow, indentured hum of self-destructive sin.
Perfecting reinvention has become a dying flame,
To feel the burn is ever more absurd.
I hold my marker close and let the others play the game
While listening for consolation's solitary word.
To approach qualifying as a decent Cohen imitation this would need to resolve itself in several more verses, but I quit at four, as I'm no Leonard Cohen. I'm glad he is.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
I Love School
Yesterday, we high school teachers helped those at other schools in the district get ready for construction work that will take place this summer. I worked for several hours moving boxes and furniture and wrangling garbage. It's the kind of work that erases all bitterness about having to make student loan payments at age 50.
My journey to college is a long, complicated story of missed opportunities and poor decisions, the result of which is a splendid, now 30-year-old daughter, and a lot of experience checking groceries, framing art, and performing office tasks. I spent 10 years as a medical office manager, for which I was paid a ridiculously low wage and, get this, offered no medical insurance. Hence, by the time I got to the university at 41, I really wanted to be there. I agonized over whether to begin my studies at the local community college, where tuition and expenses would be considerably cheaper, or go for the complete university education I longed for. Here's how my decision-making process functioned in this instance:
A slip of junk fluttered from my car insurance bill offering back-to-school scholarships of $5,000, $2,500, and $1,000 to hopefuls who could explain, in a limited number of words, why they wanted college. I wrote my essay and decided that if I got any of the three offerings, it was a "sign" that I was to follow my dream and shoot for the university. I got the $2500. So I loaded up the truck and moved to university. Bigger school, junky car.
The University of Iowa offered me a full-tuition scholarship based a 23-year-old ACT score, no money in the bank, and my promise to maintain a 3.5 gpa. I was given decent PELL grants (remember decent PELL grants?) and a part-time job in the university payroll office, thanks to a dear friend whose uncle ran the place. She liked me and also wanted my low-wage office job (thank you, thank you, sweet Michelle). Despite my good fortune, being a "nontraditional" student (wtf kind of label is that?) has its financial disadvantages, even compared to kids whose families can't afford to help much. No riding the coattails of parents' health insurance, or car insurance, nothing to do but stay and spend summer earnings on high u-town rent. No free laundry or going home for long periods of freeloading in general. As a result, I'm now a 50-year-old teacher with six years of experience and a student loan to outdo most of my 30-year-old colleagues. Not pretty.
But I'm not complaining, I can't begin to express what my time at the university did for me. Not here, not in a thousand words, probably not in a War and Peace-length tome. Besides, I learned that if I die before I finish repayment, the loan is cancelled, freeing my daughter from the burden of an encumbered estate. This discovery is making grad school more and more attractive.
If I win the lottery, I'm going to pay off my student loan and spend the rest of my life weaseling my way into the great universities across the country, starting with UC Berkeley in the West, and finishing up in the East Coast institutions of the Ivy league, crouched under a desk. Because I'm certain I wouldn't meet their admission standards, and I'm not legacy anything, even with a gazillion bucks in my bank account. When I get too old to army-crawl in and find my seat on the floor, I'll play the age card, feeding on the pity and authority complexes of liberal professors who wouldn't dare to damage their reputations by ejecting an elderly, earnest, note-taking grandma-with-Marxist-leanings for her refusal to conform to the restrictive policies of the man. For insurance, I'll use my lottery windfall to slip each of them a gift certificate for a lifetime of meals at the best vegan restaurant in town. But I digress...
Yesterday, when I was doing the exhausting work of the decent people who were my supervisors for the three measly hours I spent doing their jobs, I wondered how my life might have turned out, had I not taken the chance to further my education. Instead, I'm a grateful teacher with student loan angst and a lottery dream. Cuz I love school.
My journey to college is a long, complicated story of missed opportunities and poor decisions, the result of which is a splendid, now 30-year-old daughter, and a lot of experience checking groceries, framing art, and performing office tasks. I spent 10 years as a medical office manager, for which I was paid a ridiculously low wage and, get this, offered no medical insurance. Hence, by the time I got to the university at 41, I really wanted to be there. I agonized over whether to begin my studies at the local community college, where tuition and expenses would be considerably cheaper, or go for the complete university education I longed for. Here's how my decision-making process functioned in this instance:
A slip of junk fluttered from my car insurance bill offering back-to-school scholarships of $5,000, $2,500, and $1,000 to hopefuls who could explain, in a limited number of words, why they wanted college. I wrote my essay and decided that if I got any of the three offerings, it was a "sign" that I was to follow my dream and shoot for the university. I got the $2500. So I loaded up the truck and moved to university. Bigger school, junky car.
The University of Iowa offered me a full-tuition scholarship based a 23-year-old ACT score, no money in the bank, and my promise to maintain a 3.5 gpa. I was given decent PELL grants (remember decent PELL grants?) and a part-time job in the university payroll office, thanks to a dear friend whose uncle ran the place. She liked me and also wanted my low-wage office job (thank you, thank you, sweet Michelle). Despite my good fortune, being a "nontraditional" student (wtf kind of label is that?) has its financial disadvantages, even compared to kids whose families can't afford to help much. No riding the coattails of parents' health insurance, or car insurance, nothing to do but stay and spend summer earnings on high u-town rent. No free laundry or going home for long periods of freeloading in general. As a result, I'm now a 50-year-old teacher with six years of experience and a student loan to outdo most of my 30-year-old colleagues. Not pretty.
But I'm not complaining, I can't begin to express what my time at the university did for me. Not here, not in a thousand words, probably not in a War and Peace-length tome. Besides, I learned that if I die before I finish repayment, the loan is cancelled, freeing my daughter from the burden of an encumbered estate. This discovery is making grad school more and more attractive.
If I win the lottery, I'm going to pay off my student loan and spend the rest of my life weaseling my way into the great universities across the country, starting with UC Berkeley in the West, and finishing up in the East Coast institutions of the Ivy league, crouched under a desk. Because I'm certain I wouldn't meet their admission standards, and I'm not legacy anything, even with a gazillion bucks in my bank account. When I get too old to army-crawl in and find my seat on the floor, I'll play the age card, feeding on the pity and authority complexes of liberal professors who wouldn't dare to damage their reputations by ejecting an elderly, earnest, note-taking grandma-with-Marxist-leanings for her refusal to conform to the restrictive policies of the man. For insurance, I'll use my lottery windfall to slip each of them a gift certificate for a lifetime of meals at the best vegan restaurant in town. But I digress...
Yesterday, when I was doing the exhausting work of the decent people who were my supervisors for the three measly hours I spent doing their jobs, I wondered how my life might have turned out, had I not taken the chance to further my education. Instead, I'm a grateful teacher with student loan angst and a lottery dream. Cuz I love school.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Golds 'n Steins
Not long ago, Russ Feingold attempted censure over the wiretapping issue but was largely ignored.
Now, Dianne Feinstein says this about the latest news of countless NSA wiretaps: "We are on our way to a major constitutional confrontation."
Gee, Dianne, ya think? Where have you been?!?!
Wait; where have WE been?!?!? Maybe we can stand having our elections manipulated, maybe we can watch congress authorize the continuation of huge tax cuts for the uber rich, maybe we can even stand being lied to about Iraq, but this is getting creepy....
Now, Dianne Feinstein says this about the latest news of countless NSA wiretaps: "We are on our way to a major constitutional confrontation."
Gee, Dianne, ya think? Where have you been?!?!
Wait; where have WE been?!?!? Maybe we can stand having our elections manipulated, maybe we can watch congress authorize the continuation of huge tax cuts for the uber rich, maybe we can even stand being lied to about Iraq, but this is getting creepy....
Sunday, May 07, 2006
New Boyfriend
For those of you who read the post mentioning my failed relationship with Cesar Chavez, the one that didn't work out because he is dead, I would like to announce that I now have a new boyfriend. His name is Stephen Colbert. You can see video of the moment I fell in love with him at this link:
http://c-span.org/
scroll about half way down the page to the video/audio heading and click on:
Comedian Stephen Colbert at White House Correspondents' Dinner (4/29/2006)
The success of this relationship may also be on shaky ground, solely, I'm sure, because he's married. But he is alive. I think I'm making progress.
http://c-span.org/
scroll about half way down the page to the video/audio heading and click on:
Comedian Stephen Colbert at White House Correspondents' Dinner (4/29/2006)
The success of this relationship may also be on shaky ground, solely, I'm sure, because he's married. But he is alive. I think I'm making progress.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Hermes Hurled
Speaking of literature, check out this, one of my favorite blogs:
http://www.bookslut.com/blog/
Then scroll down to this link:
There is no God.
Lordy.
http://www.bookslut.com/blog/
Then scroll down to this link:
There is no God.
Lordy.
Friday, April 14, 2006
DOO your part
Hey everyone, it's Poop for Peace day! Check out this web site, and be sure you do your part; you'll feel so much better for it!
www.poopreport.com/Peace
www.poopreport.com/Peace
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Kids These Days
Yesterday, I got an email asking me to sign and forward a petition to the president (of all people), which would require kids in schools to say the Pledge of Allegiance every day. I didn't read the email until early evening, as I was busy doing things working people do on Saturday, but by the time I did read it, there was another one in my mailbox, chastising me for not signing, or at least forwarding the original.
Now, I love my country as much as the next citizen, maybe more, for all the chastiser knows, and I don't have a problem with kids saying the pledge, but I have a problem with being judged because I didn't immediately forward the thing, and I think I'm going to leave a child behind on this one. I'm already the clothing police, cell phone police, gameboy police, ipod police, cigarettes, drugs and alcohol police, and the closest thing to a mother some of the kids I teach have; I'm gonna pass on requiring a bunch of surly ninth graders to stand and "prove" they love their country at 8:20 every morning. I can't remember ever saying the pledge in a high school classroom, and I think I turned out fine.
Believe me, the pledge is the least of our worries in schools. I'd be more interested in petitioning for students' parents to have jobs that pay a living wage while their companies' ceos make millions and the people who can afford to invest heavily in company stocks pocket huge sums of tax-free cash. Let's pledge to give them all health care, instead of bloating the bank accounts of health care corporations; let's give them new text books, instead of sucking up school budgets with the costs of administering redundant tests, leaving the poorest kids in the poorest schools further in the hole; let's give them class sizes under 30, so if they aren't learning, they'll get noticed and helped; let's give them a school that's heated to above 67 degrees in the Minnesota winter, instead of refusing to control skyrocketing energy costs; let's fully fund IDEA so special education isn't viewed as an albatross that sucks resources from kids who really need an education; let's provide counselors- one of my students wrote about standing in line behind a parent to smoke meth before she went to school in the morning- our school has TWO counselors for 1600 kids, cut back from three because our dear governor promised no new state taxes. Of course this only forces higher property taxes, so schools in areas with poor tax bases suffer more, but Pawlenty stands there with his shit-eating grin, boasting that he's kept his promise.
Let's give our kids models in government who aren't playing golf at St. Andrew's on the taxpayers' dime, gerrymandering voting districts so they can win, propping up illegal lobbying, leaking classified secrets to further an ideology, sending kids off to fight a war based on lies, breaking laws because they don't like the checks and balances our constitution provides, stuff like that.
Before signing a petition asking the president to make students and teachers in beleaguered schools pledge their allegiance to our republic, let's start with HIM. And while they're at it, whoever wants to pray in school has my permission to get on their knees and beg for something to happen that puts an end to this nightmare. I won't be requiring either of these things, I'll be busy teaching and policing and mothering, so when the youth of America turn out to be a bunch of fascist heathens, feel free to blame me.
Now, I love my country as much as the next citizen, maybe more, for all the chastiser knows, and I don't have a problem with kids saying the pledge, but I have a problem with being judged because I didn't immediately forward the thing, and I think I'm going to leave a child behind on this one. I'm already the clothing police, cell phone police, gameboy police, ipod police, cigarettes, drugs and alcohol police, and the closest thing to a mother some of the kids I teach have; I'm gonna pass on requiring a bunch of surly ninth graders to stand and "prove" they love their country at 8:20 every morning. I can't remember ever saying the pledge in a high school classroom, and I think I turned out fine.
Believe me, the pledge is the least of our worries in schools. I'd be more interested in petitioning for students' parents to have jobs that pay a living wage while their companies' ceos make millions and the people who can afford to invest heavily in company stocks pocket huge sums of tax-free cash. Let's pledge to give them all health care, instead of bloating the bank accounts of health care corporations; let's give them new text books, instead of sucking up school budgets with the costs of administering redundant tests, leaving the poorest kids in the poorest schools further in the hole; let's give them class sizes under 30, so if they aren't learning, they'll get noticed and helped; let's give them a school that's heated to above 67 degrees in the Minnesota winter, instead of refusing to control skyrocketing energy costs; let's fully fund IDEA so special education isn't viewed as an albatross that sucks resources from kids who really need an education; let's provide counselors- one of my students wrote about standing in line behind a parent to smoke meth before she went to school in the morning- our school has TWO counselors for 1600 kids, cut back from three because our dear governor promised no new state taxes. Of course this only forces higher property taxes, so schools in areas with poor tax bases suffer more, but Pawlenty stands there with his shit-eating grin, boasting that he's kept his promise.
Let's give our kids models in government who aren't playing golf at St. Andrew's on the taxpayers' dime, gerrymandering voting districts so they can win, propping up illegal lobbying, leaking classified secrets to further an ideology, sending kids off to fight a war based on lies, breaking laws because they don't like the checks and balances our constitution provides, stuff like that.
Before signing a petition asking the president to make students and teachers in beleaguered schools pledge their allegiance to our republic, let's start with HIM. And while they're at it, whoever wants to pray in school has my permission to get on their knees and beg for something to happen that puts an end to this nightmare. I won't be requiring either of these things, I'll be busy teaching and policing and mothering, so when the youth of America turn out to be a bunch of fascist heathens, feel free to blame me.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Hammered!
A news alert from the Washington Post just landed in my mail box. It says Tom DeLay won't seek re-election in November. Sometimes might doesn't make right. Ain't it grand?
"To greed, all nature is insufficient. " Seneca.
"To greed, all nature is insufficient. " Seneca.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Sprung
It has been a weird winter, but I suppose things are always weird, in one way or another. Over the past several months I've experienced twists in my relationships with people who have been in my life for years- the kinds of occurrences that challenge my perceptions of myself and others and change the landscape of our lives. I'm not much of a fan of drama, so frankly, I avoid it. I know this about myself and have been accused of being afraid of confrontation. I choose to believe I'm preserving my mental health, but I realize others don't always see it that way.
Part of being a teacher in a high school is living with the knowledge that dramas are unfolding every moment, many times right before my clueless face. This is usually fine with me. I care deeply about my students, but getting sucked in is detrimental to learning, in many ways; the sheer numbers of people I come into contact with could have me spending the better part of my school life in the vortex, if I become overly enmeshed. After all, somebody has to stand in the front and get on with the business of pronoun agreement. Could be this has a numbing effect and has transferred to other parts of my existence.
The kids have coined a term they use to describe people and situations that are heavy on the drama: Emo. What used to be called drama, and people formerly called drama queens are now simply labeled "emo."
Lately, life has been way emo. Complications, misunderstandings, slights, difficulties and issues (my own included, I'm not claiming immunity here) have come knocking at my door with brute force. My "let it be" mantra seems to be failing me, and I'm struggling to keep my head clear and my heart in the right place.
In the midst of this, I'm looking for a way to experience spring with all its real and metaphorical pleasures. Bring on the green mist that envelopes leafing trees, the robins, crocus, sunshine, smell of clean dirt, clothes flapping on the clothesline, the freshness and purity of spring rain, and the rush of the trout stream. The new starts, rebirth, growth and bright visions of the future. Gimme some spring!
Part of being a teacher in a high school is living with the knowledge that dramas are unfolding every moment, many times right before my clueless face. This is usually fine with me. I care deeply about my students, but getting sucked in is detrimental to learning, in many ways; the sheer numbers of people I come into contact with could have me spending the better part of my school life in the vortex, if I become overly enmeshed. After all, somebody has to stand in the front and get on with the business of pronoun agreement. Could be this has a numbing effect and has transferred to other parts of my existence.
The kids have coined a term they use to describe people and situations that are heavy on the drama: Emo. What used to be called drama, and people formerly called drama queens are now simply labeled "emo."
Lately, life has been way emo. Complications, misunderstandings, slights, difficulties and issues (my own included, I'm not claiming immunity here) have come knocking at my door with brute force. My "let it be" mantra seems to be failing me, and I'm struggling to keep my head clear and my heart in the right place.
In the midst of this, I'm looking for a way to experience spring with all its real and metaphorical pleasures. Bring on the green mist that envelopes leafing trees, the robins, crocus, sunshine, smell of clean dirt, clothes flapping on the clothesline, the freshness and purity of spring rain, and the rush of the trout stream. The new starts, rebirth, growth and bright visions of the future. Gimme some spring!
Monday, March 27, 2006
Ready or Not, mostly Not
My mother died on Sunday, March 12, at 3:40 a.m. I haven't really felt like writing about it until now. It has taken some time to digest my thoughts and feelings. Mother had entered the nursing home on Wednesday, March 8, and I arrived Thursday, having only planned for a long weekend visit. As it turned out, I drove into my home town that Thursday afternoon, went straight to the nursing home and didn't leave for more than a short time until she died. What occurred there was an intensely personal experience I will never forget.
When I arrived, Mom knew me, knew I was there, and from the moment I kissed her hello, I felt she was in the very last stages of her life. My sister from Michigan arrived the next day, as she had also planned a visit, and of course my sister Ronda, my mother's rock and best friend, was there all the while. I can never repay Ronda for the loving care she provided for my mother in the last months of her life. She also provided a model that enabled me to be with my mom in a way that I can be sure she knew, in those last hours of her life, that I loved her.
Driving home after the days that followed, I distinctly remember having the thought that with my mom gone, I now represent the oldest generation in the family, the group that's "in charge." I married very young, had my daughter at 20, and spent the years following her birth working my butt off to keep body and soul together and trying my best to be a good mother. I didn't attend college until I was 41, and have only recently started a real career. Having all that other stuff to do earlier, sometimes I feel I've just barely begun to figure out who I am and how I'm supposed to "turn out."
Good grief. I don't feel half wise or experienced enough to be in charge of much of anything, but time doesn't wait for us to be ready, it just moves forward and the chips fall.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
When I arrived, Mom knew me, knew I was there, and from the moment I kissed her hello, I felt she was in the very last stages of her life. My sister from Michigan arrived the next day, as she had also planned a visit, and of course my sister Ronda, my mother's rock and best friend, was there all the while. I can never repay Ronda for the loving care she provided for my mother in the last months of her life. She also provided a model that enabled me to be with my mom in a way that I can be sure she knew, in those last hours of her life, that I loved her.
Driving home after the days that followed, I distinctly remember having the thought that with my mom gone, I now represent the oldest generation in the family, the group that's "in charge." I married very young, had my daughter at 20, and spent the years following her birth working my butt off to keep body and soul together and trying my best to be a good mother. I didn't attend college until I was 41, and have only recently started a real career. Having all that other stuff to do earlier, sometimes I feel I've just barely begun to figure out who I am and how I'm supposed to "turn out."
Good grief. I don't feel half wise or experienced enough to be in charge of much of anything, but time doesn't wait for us to be ready, it just moves forward and the chips fall.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
artiste ersatz
If I could paint, I would make this picture:
the figure of a woman, slightly bent over,
having recovered (found? discovered?) something,
an unrecognizable piece.. of what? a lump, (clump?).
the sky is gray, only a hint of light.
she's holding this whatever carefully, in both hands, close to her
and looks as if she's breathing shallow, tentative breaths,
(or holding her breath).
her face is still, her eyes slightly focused, or blank, Sphinx-like;
and out of this thing she is holding, there is a barely recognizable....
shoot? sprout? tendril? root?
of the palest
green
possible.
the figure of a woman, slightly bent over,
having recovered (found? discovered?) something,
an unrecognizable piece.. of what? a lump, (clump?).
the sky is gray, only a hint of light.
she's holding this whatever carefully, in both hands, close to her
and looks as if she's breathing shallow, tentative breaths,
(or holding her breath).
her face is still, her eyes slightly focused, or blank, Sphinx-like;
and out of this thing she is holding, there is a barely recognizable....
shoot? sprout? tendril? root?
of the palest
green
possible.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Reading Reading Lolita
Recently, I finished the book Reading Lolita in Tehran. In this book Azar Nafisi, a literature professor, tells the story of her life in Iran during the Islamic revolution of the late 70's. She uses her experience teaching the works of Nabokov, Fitzgerald, James, Austen, Bellow and others to help explain her reactions to the changes occurring in the country. The book makes clear that in the modern era a religious ideology supported by reactionary people can gain mass and insidiously erode the civil rights of a troubled, though relatively progressive monarchy, to the point where it becomes an unrecognizable shadow of itself. In fits and starts, sometimes in bold leaps, at other times in barely recognizable increments, the disgruntled people of Iran allowed a revolution to occur which failed them, as it stripped the country of its former secular identity.
No matter what one thinks of the Western literary canon as a standard for great literature, or one's feelings about the U.S. meddling in the affairs of a vulnerable state in order to further its own end, this book is an important record of the way freedoms can be diminished and then obliterated when religious ideology is allowed to insert itself into government.
Scary, and a little too much foreshadowing for my comfort.
No matter what one thinks of the Western literary canon as a standard for great literature, or one's feelings about the U.S. meddling in the affairs of a vulnerable state in order to further its own end, this book is an important record of the way freedoms can be diminished and then obliterated when religious ideology is allowed to insert itself into government.
Scary, and a little too much foreshadowing for my comfort.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Being There- virtually
I have been reading blogs on another site, and they are very different from mine in that the bloggers' topics tend to be more personal; problems are presented, advice traded, this sort of thing. Though the postings are read by hundreds (number of views are tracked and presented on the blog), there is a core group who actually initiated friendships by reading and responding to each others blogs, and this group seems to have created a nice little community of people who care about and support one another and have a good time in each other's company on a mostly virtual level. These people live all over the country, all over the world, actually. From what I have read there, they are a thoughtful, interesting, diverse and broad-minded group of people. This is probably the point at which I should say that I only read the posts and responses; I don't post there or respond to their postings. I'm a lurker, not an active participant, not because they have excluded me, but because I haven't taken the initiative to join the conversation.
It's interesting that though many of us think of maintaining friendships through face-to-face contact, these bloggers seem quite content to befriend each in the "virtual" realm. Although I've seen a few of them make reference to talking on the phone, and some have even met in person, it seems they mostly communicate by writing and responding to each other through their blogs. At first glance, it might seem a bit unnatural, especially to those of us who haven't lived our entire lives with the internet as an ever-present medium. But I can assure you, being a high school teacher, young people don't find the idea of doing a great deal of their communicating through new technologies strange or unnatural at all. What may seem less authentic, and perhaps inferior, to some of us because it is "virtual," is in fact complete reality to hoards of teenagers. And I think it's important to remember that for a very long time, before the telephone and convenient travel that's a given to nearly everyone now, people maintained longstanding friendships through snail mail and very infrequent face-to-face contact.
Remember pen pals? Round robin letters?
Another thing I've noticed among this blogging bunch is that there is a certain ambivalence about it all. From time to time they discuss whether blogging is or is not beneficial, whether the amount of time they spend blogging is inordinate, whether it's healthy, addictive, has improved their quality of life, that sort of thing. Responses to these posts vary from those who enthusiastically state that their blogging is an important and valuable part of their lives, to those who seem less convinced, to those who say they have simply got to "cut down" because the time they spend blogging keeps them from participating in the real world, pursuing other interests and hobbies, and has an isolating effect, although they all seem to have interesting jobs, rich intellectual lives, and friends outside of their blog buddies.
So, what do you think? Are friendships formed and maintained through blogging simply a new way of meeting people and being together? Then there's me, who only participates by reading their posts and responses- the virtual version of a wallflower :)
It's interesting that though many of us think of maintaining friendships through face-to-face contact, these bloggers seem quite content to befriend each in the "virtual" realm. Although I've seen a few of them make reference to talking on the phone, and some have even met in person, it seems they mostly communicate by writing and responding to each other through their blogs. At first glance, it might seem a bit unnatural, especially to those of us who haven't lived our entire lives with the internet as an ever-present medium. But I can assure you, being a high school teacher, young people don't find the idea of doing a great deal of their communicating through new technologies strange or unnatural at all. What may seem less authentic, and perhaps inferior, to some of us because it is "virtual," is in fact complete reality to hoards of teenagers. And I think it's important to remember that for a very long time, before the telephone and convenient travel that's a given to nearly everyone now, people maintained longstanding friendships through snail mail and very infrequent face-to-face contact.
Remember pen pals? Round robin letters?
Another thing I've noticed among this blogging bunch is that there is a certain ambivalence about it all. From time to time they discuss whether blogging is or is not beneficial, whether the amount of time they spend blogging is inordinate, whether it's healthy, addictive, has improved their quality of life, that sort of thing. Responses to these posts vary from those who enthusiastically state that their blogging is an important and valuable part of their lives, to those who seem less convinced, to those who say they have simply got to "cut down" because the time they spend blogging keeps them from participating in the real world, pursuing other interests and hobbies, and has an isolating effect, although they all seem to have interesting jobs, rich intellectual lives, and friends outside of their blog buddies.
So, what do you think? Are friendships formed and maintained through blogging simply a new way of meeting people and being together? Then there's me, who only participates by reading their posts and responses- the virtual version of a wallflower :)
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Kristina Borjesson
In between correcting student essays, I watched tv today. There were two programs that particularly impressed me, both of them on Cspan. Right now I can't remember if they were on "regular" Cspan, or Cspan 2, Book tv. I'm not good at keeping track of that sort of stuff.
The first was a program on the media with Kristina Borjesson. She's a journalist who's fed up with the bs mainstream media is feeding us and the lack of responsibility to journalism present in the "news" today. She was once a producer at CBS, but either left under pressure or was shown the door (give me a break, those essays can be distracting) for being, um, honest. Now she works independently.
She said so much that I agreed with and was so engaging; you really had to be there. For all her knowledge and experience, she seemed so approachable. She laughed, right out loud, about Robin, the dolled-up beauty that does the boring, tow-the-line morning show on CNN. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about how the package for a newsperson in mainstream media, the women in particular, seems to be a lot more about presenting a sexy chick with slick sound bites than real news. I loved her for laughing at CNN's Robin and her frivolous presentation of the news. But then I'm evil.
There was something Borjesson mentioned, a minor thing really, but it was so important to me. She was talking about activism and the small things everyone can do to voice their opposition to this mess. I was astonished to hear that the first time she had ever called her congressperson was just two years ago! She talked about feeling nervous and a little silly making the call. Her. A big shot journalist with tons of knowledge and lots of experience expressing her ideas and challenging the man. Then it hit me. She is me, and you, and all of us. Because (and I hate to admit this) the first time I ever called my congressperson was only a few years ago. And I was nervous, really nervous. I'm not big on the self-confidence thing, and I was sure I would sound inarticulate, ignorant, or be challenged in some way that I wouldn't be able to handle. But it didn't happen. The call went rather well, and the experience made it easier for me to call the next time, and more and more often in the ensuing years. It did the same for her. She said so. I loved her more for admitting all of that.
Point is, we are not so different from one another. Even big shot journalists have their moments of fear and trepidation when speaking truth to power. But the point really is we can all do this. We all have a telephone, the numbers are easy to locate, just check the website of whoever you wish to contact, and make that call. It's the least we can do. It's OUR government, these people are working for US and it's our responsiblity to voice our support or dissent. And there's nothing to it; it's easy. It really is.
Kristina Borjesson is a courageous journalist doing important work. Her book of collected essays is called Into the Buzzsaw. Check it out at www.paraview.com/borjesson/
The second program was an inspiring discussion between Walter Mosely and Harry Belefonte. But long blog entries are boring, so they say. I'll stop now and blog about that later.
The first was a program on the media with Kristina Borjesson. She's a journalist who's fed up with the bs mainstream media is feeding us and the lack of responsibility to journalism present in the "news" today. She was once a producer at CBS, but either left under pressure or was shown the door (give me a break, those essays can be distracting) for being, um, honest. Now she works independently.
She said so much that I agreed with and was so engaging; you really had to be there. For all her knowledge and experience, she seemed so approachable. She laughed, right out loud, about Robin, the dolled-up beauty that does the boring, tow-the-line morning show on CNN. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about how the package for a newsperson in mainstream media, the women in particular, seems to be a lot more about presenting a sexy chick with slick sound bites than real news. I loved her for laughing at CNN's Robin and her frivolous presentation of the news. But then I'm evil.
There was something Borjesson mentioned, a minor thing really, but it was so important to me. She was talking about activism and the small things everyone can do to voice their opposition to this mess. I was astonished to hear that the first time she had ever called her congressperson was just two years ago! She talked about feeling nervous and a little silly making the call. Her. A big shot journalist with tons of knowledge and lots of experience expressing her ideas and challenging the man. Then it hit me. She is me, and you, and all of us. Because (and I hate to admit this) the first time I ever called my congressperson was only a few years ago. And I was nervous, really nervous. I'm not big on the self-confidence thing, and I was sure I would sound inarticulate, ignorant, or be challenged in some way that I wouldn't be able to handle. But it didn't happen. The call went rather well, and the experience made it easier for me to call the next time, and more and more often in the ensuing years. It did the same for her. She said so. I loved her more for admitting all of that.
Point is, we are not so different from one another. Even big shot journalists have their moments of fear and trepidation when speaking truth to power. But the point really is we can all do this. We all have a telephone, the numbers are easy to locate, just check the website of whoever you wish to contact, and make that call. It's the least we can do. It's OUR government, these people are working for US and it's our responsiblity to voice our support or dissent. And there's nothing to it; it's easy. It really is.
Kristina Borjesson is a courageous journalist doing important work. Her book of collected essays is called Into the Buzzsaw. Check it out at www.paraview.com/borjesson/
The second program was an inspiring discussion between Walter Mosely and Harry Belefonte. But long blog entries are boring, so they say. I'll stop now and blog about that later.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
The Arabs are Coming, The Arabs are Coming!
The ports will be managed by a company in the UAE, and everyone's got their pants in a knot. First, W said he would veto any legislation attempting to block this transaction. Now, he says he didn't know. These days, they don't even bother to spin a rationale, they just spew and let the chips fall. It's all in a day's hard work for Dubyah and his pals. After five years of fearmongering, no one can tell me they're at all surprised by the reaction, but it no longer matters.
How's that for arrogance and absolute power?
How's that for arrogance and absolute power?
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