Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Yet again, the words that I wanted to say or write were given to me by someone else.  Here’s is today Poem of the Day from poem-a-day@poets.org.

Hope

Ali Liebegott

 

always the hopeless asked to give others hope
the ones pushed up against wall after wall

when you’re done unpinning yourself
from the wall, please give hope

those who work twice as hard to seem half as good
being asked to do one more thing

we need to be seen
because things are not going well
and the crows are up to no good

While Ali was writing about the marginalized, women and people of color, these words spoke to my educator’s heart of the last week.   I couldn’t believe how well Ali’s words captured what I have been feeling.  After being pushed up against walls and peeling myself off to go in for another day at the office, I start again each day with trying to give hope.  While I am sad and frustrated, I still get up each day and give my best to my students.  I am there with a smile on my face and the same commitment to make it a worthwhile day for them.

And I work twice as hard, sometimes far more than twice as hard, but am expected to do more and be more and not be recognized for what I do accomplish.  I am expected to give, but not expect anything in return.  Things are not going well.

And I can relate to those crows.  They are in fact grackels who are usually gone by this time of year but we can hear them yelling, truly yelling, at each other from tree to tree in our back yard.  It was deafening and somewhat irritating last night.  I feel like those grackels are circling around me sometimes; I am doing my work and doing more than my work again and again and again but no one is really listening or acknowledging.  They are just yapping and yelling at each other way up above trying to get all of the attention.

Thank you Ali, for your words.  I am not alone.

Tuesday, June 13th, 2017

downloadWhen they want you but they don’t want you.  What a strange place to be.  It’s worse than a rock and hard place because you can’t move the rock and you can’t maneuver out of the hard place because someone else is caving it in on you.

It has been made clear to me that I do not belong where I am and I am tolerated at best.  But I am very, very good at what I do.  I am told this continually by colleagues and by leaders, by students and by parents, by peers and cohorts.  I know that I know what I am doing and that I do it well.

That creates both the hard place and the rock.  I am too good to be allowed to go because I am good enough to leave.  So I am stuck – here in no man’s land.  This is not the way I intended to start my summer, or spend my summer.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

TANKA TUESDAY

 

Inside my tennis hat brim

“Do what you love”, it challenges me

“Love what you are doing.”

I do love exactly what I do

I just struggle to love doing it

 

Sometimes the strangest things speak to you, like the inside of a Life Is Good hat.  It told me just those words above and I had an aha moment.  I love teaching.  I love the smells of a school, the walls of a classroom, the hugs and eyes and movements and words of the students.  I truly love everything about it.  When I am teaching, the rest of the world disappears and I am in my flow.  It’s my zen place, my happy place.

This past year, however, I have not been loving doing it.  Mostly because it involves so much more than just the students and the classroom and school building.  All of the otherness has beaten me down in a surprising way.  So, I am trying to find a way to bring back the love of doing it.  I have thrown the dice up in the air, hoping they land in a new arrangement that will lead me to again love doing what I love to do.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

I have officially been banned from making any travel arrangements for our family.  Instead of writing a blog post this evening, I have been making changes to the flight that I incorrectly booked.  Last year, I was so proud of myself for booking two super cheap tickets for my husband and son to fly back east to look at colleges.  Thank goodness I checked the day before because I had booked the 11pm arriving at 4am tickets instead of the 11am arriving at 4pm.  That might have been grounds for divorce had they gone ahead and not double checked.

Well, I just did it again.  I am flying solo to meet my son, trying to arrive at the same time he arrives by train.  Again, I thought I got a sweet deal.  Instead I am out $75.  I had to cancel the flight and rebook it because, yet again, I booked for the evening instead of the morning.  For some reason, those pm and am things are tricky for me.

From now on, my husband will do all plane reservations.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Just slow down.  It is that panicky time of year when positions and jobs are shifting and moving about.  Instead of slowing down and thoughtfully thinking through our options, we are rushing to post an opening in fear of losing out on the best candidates.  And in our rush and hurry, we forget to take care of ourselves.  We seem to have forgotten the care and keeping of humans.  When a team member leaves for another school, it should start with a celebration of their steps forward.  It should be filled reminiscing about happy memories and well wishes for the journey ahead.  It should be tended carefully with sincere gratitude for the many years of service.

It should not be met with immediately posting for that vacancy – a space, a blank instead of a person, a teacher, a professional.  Slow down and take care of each other.

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

I haven’t checked into my WordPress account for the past week.  That is good.  It means I have been busy enough to keep me off my computer.  When I logged in to my feed today, I scrolled past the last few days of One Word Prompts.  Today’s word is bitter.  My mind immediately went to several situations at school that are filled with bitterness.  A lack of awareness, an apparent inability to connect, and excuses for inattentiveness have caused intense, intense bitterness.  There are bad feeling amongst employees, between parents, between staff and parents, pretty much between everyone right now.  I keep thinking we have nipped it and moved on and then it rears its head again.  Bitterness is really hard to get rid of.  It lingers, it feeds on itself, and it grows out of control when it isn’t directly addressed.

Was it totally ironic that today’s word is bitter and two days ago the word was better?  Just one letter changed but what a significant difference in how those words make me feel.  So, how do you go from bitter to better.

I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks about taking care of others that might makes things better.

Listening is imperative.  Not just sitting through the conversation but thinking about what the words mean when the come from a certain person.  Finding the source and not relying on the ones who are just fueling the fire.  And knowing that sometimes all you need to say it, “I hear you”.

Being aware is necessary.  Sometimes we learn more by just watching the way others behave.  Observing actions and interactions can sometimes tell you more than a face to face conversation with words.

Spending time together is critical.  Relationships are built on common experiences.  If you don’t make the time to be together, there is no bedrock.  It doesn’t have to be fancy time – just ordinary common experiences; eating lunch together, sorting library books, going through the lost and found pile, going on a field trip.

And finally, emails do not take the place of a conversation, phone calls do not take the place of a hug, and good intentions do not take the place of being wholly present.  Perhaps these are ways we can get better.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

It’s Tuesday and I’d like to share what I have been reading.  I received an email from the parent of a student my now 20 year old son went to school with K-5.  She was letting friends know that a book had just been published about her son titled Just Elliot.  I immediately hit the link and ordered the book from Amazon.  (It’s just a little to easy to do that but I was grateful in this instance!)  While I waited for my copy to arrive, I did some searching about how the book came to be.  I found this beautiful blog written by Elliot’s mom.  As I read her story, I was taken back to when we first met their family, when our boys were in 1st grade together.  At the time, the students surrounding Elliot did what many young children do – they accepted Elliot for who he was.  Probably not all of them, but from my memory, Elliot truly was Just Elliot to most of the students in his class.

Just Elliot print cover 9780986374197.indd

I was warned the I might cry when I read the book.  I knew I would but when I did read the book I understood why I had been forewarned.  The character who is Elliot’s best friend is named after my son, my now college freshman.  I cried for Elliot and how many will not have the opportunity to know  him because of the predeterminations they will make of him.  I cried for students in my class who will be prejudged by their behavior and not for who they are.  I cried for all those years of motherhood, hoping that I was raising kind children and finding out that maybe I did do something right.  Or maybe that’s just the way my son is.  He would have accepted Elliot because that is Just Sam.

SOL, Tuesday, April 18, 2017

I opened up the NYT on line today and randomly chose an editorial to peruse.  I landed on one that brought up a conundrum that is present in several ways in my life.  David Brooks writes about what makes thick and thin institutions.  Thin are those that after you leave, you may or may not stay connected with.  Thick are the ones that no matter the distance and time, you are connected to others from that institution in ways hard to explain.  When I think about the perfect example, good summer camps, NOLS courses, and spring break roads trips come to mind.

Both of my children are about to make a big transition.  One is graduating from college.  The other is likely going to transfer to a new college or university.  I think this thick and thin is central to both of them right now.  Their college experience did not provide them with anything thick.  They love their professors, they are challenged by what they are learning, they like the students around them, and neither of them is unhappy with their experience.  I keep wondering what the driving force is behind the transfer and behind my daughter’s enthusiasm for getting out of here.  I think it is because there is nothing thick; they have wanted something strong, solid, and thick to hold on to and instead have found something too thin to feel safe.

One description of the dichotomy really stuck with me.

“In other words, thin institutions tend to see themselves horizontally. People are members for mutual benefit. Thick organizations often see themselves on a vertical axis. People are members so they can collectively serve the same higher good.

In the former, there’s an ever-present utilitarian calculus — Is this working for me? Am I getting more out than I’m putting in? — that creates a distance between people and the organization. In the latter, there’s an intimacy and identity borne out of common love. Think of a bunch of teachers watching a student shine onstage or a bunch of engineers adoring the same elegant solution.”

When I translate this to my school and my classroom, I can see through the thinness.  And I have no idea how to go about making it thick.  I know part of it is leadership at a level that I cannot affect.  But how can I make my classroom thick?  I am going to sit on that today.

Tuesday April 11, 2017

My teammates and I have a habit of writing our own William Carlos William poems for pretty much any situation – a messy room, a celebration of good work, a vacation weekend or a boring staff meeting.  It has been our go-to for expressing things when we don’t know what else to say.  14 years ago on April 8th, we adopted our dear sweet Chaco.  And last week on April 7th, we said goodbye.

SONY DSC
SONY DSC

 

So much depends

Upon

That fluffy black

Pup

Peering right at

Me

Asking for

Home.

SOLSC, March 31, 2017

Slice of Life Story Challenge 2017.

It has really been a challenge for me to write every day.  Finding the time is challenge enough but then add on what to write about, how much to write, how much of my soul to bear, how much of my life others might find interesting and it it truly a story challenge.

My husband has been reading a book that a friend recommended.  It is one man’s struggle to find meaning and purpose in life.  His philosophy in the beginning of the book is to write his own story.  Instead of letting life happen to him, he made it a goal to write his own story.  He traveled far and wide and sought out experiences that make my stories look mundane and provincial.  We have been talking about how we write our story each day.  We are trying to be more purposeful in our choices and are seeking out new things instead of continuing in the same old easy patterns.  But even being more thoughtful about writing a story instead of just letting it happen around you hasn’t made my own stories any more exciting or engaging.

We spent a night with some friends in Aspen this week.  They are both about 15 years older than us.  They had other house guests at the same time; a couple they had known when they had their first jobs out of college many years ago.  We sat through a long laughter filled dinner listening to their stories.  They drove old junker cars across the country, set up new homes in tiny towns where they fought off mosquito killing chemicals, worked with underprivileged folks to find them jobs, read to the blind, sat on community boards that supported health care for those who can’t afford it all the while earning Master’s degrees and PHDs in everything from psychology to public policy.  They told stories of meeting senators, presidents, movie stars, and famous Westerners.  My husband and I did a lot of listening.  We both felt as though we had few if any stories of such caliber to share.

Last night we invited my teacher partner, her husband, and kids over for dinner.  We played a rousing game of Dogopoly with the 7 and 9 year old.  We laughed and joked while we moved the Flea and the Mailman and the Fire Hydrant around the board.  We traded dog breeds to move the game along and roared when S went to the Kennel for the 4th time in the game.  We called it quits at 9pm as it was way past bedtime for the little ones.  Before sending them home, we sat in the hot tub collecting snow on our heads as the kids tried to figure out how to design a light bulb that shed light in all directions but was still attached to a post of some sort.  They were thinking and creating and designing and sharing.  I could not have been in a happier place.  While we didn’t share stories, we shared an evening together and maybe created a few stories of our own.

We all have different stories.  Our Aspen friends’ stories are loud and public.  I have read from fellow bloggers stories that are heart breaking and painful, hilarious and laugh outloudly, thought provoking and deep, educated and world changing.  I think mine are just smaller and quieter and more private.  They may not entertain the dinner party or impress the listener with fancy names and titles and degrees, they may never be worth publishing.  But my stories fill my heart and my days.  And they are mine.  I am so very grateful of the challenge to get them written down, if only for me.