Easter Morning (monostitch)

 It’s late on Easter morning and I didn’t take the walk I thought I might take because for the first time in a long time I got deeply involved in planning for my classes and at this point it means until the end of the year and I am glad because I clarified a lot that had been muddy in my brain, and I’m also glad I actually had energy and interest to do this because for over two months now it has been nearly impossible and it helped that a teacher friend called and we were able to blab about such things and I colored the picture above and listened to Kacey Musgraves and this afternoon I will get back to the novel I started and I’m feeling good.

The Comforting Truth

From Rumi’s poem “Hoofbeats” I drew this line for a spine poem:

You are the soul inside the soul that’s always traveling.

You listen with intention and

Are learning how

The road leads you closer to

Soul revelations, the messages

Inside get clearer, understanding grows,

The way not so intimidating, your

Soul knows, distinctly, fully,

That’s the comforting truth 

Always available, always a companion

Traveling these labyrinthine roads with you.

Written in the Cosmos

Today I am listening to Sheryl Crow’s new album Evolution.

It feels just right. It’s nice to have a voice that express so much of what I’m feeling. 

Yesterday in particular I started to feel a shift inside. Nothing I can vocalize yet, but it’s there. 

So today I will just introduce a song from her album that I love a lot. These words in particular: 

There is a story being written in the cosmos
A tale of love that shines so bright
Well, you're just a child until the moment you remember
Only you can write the story of your life

Here is the lyric video for your own discovery

A Little Joy

I didn’t have an idea for writing this morning. Now it’s after 5 pm, and I know I have got to do this now before I grow any more tired.

Here are a few joyful moments from today:

My intensive reader didn’t do well on a small assessment, but when I looked deeper I had an epiphany about what I need to teach them to do.

I saw a Swallowtail Kite sailing over our school when I was on one of the outdoor walkways.

Last week I shared a poem written by one of my students. Today I gave her a journal and some colorful pens so she can keep writing. Then she emailed and thanked me, and ask that I send her some prompts. I found a long list for middle schoolers for her, and emailed it back.

I have my first nearly ready presentation in Global Perspectives. These 2 girls have worked very hard on their project related to asylum seekers, and will be presenting it as an interview. I watched them practice today, and was impressed. They took my feedback and got right back to work. 

We have been having trouble getting a portable oxygen unit for Jim. He has severe COPD, and the doctor put the order in. But unlike other prescriptions, the people providing the oxygen make the final decision on whether you get it or not. (Totally insane.) The pulmonologist’s assistant got involved, and we may be able to secure something more workable than we have now. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do. I am grateful to those who have tried to help us. Carting those metal tanks up and down the stairs and in and out of the car is an ongoing safety issue.

I was able to enjoy my 6th grade Global Perspectives students. I let myself relax with them, and they played Quizlet Live. They had fun, and I witnessed them learning and teaching each other. I vowed to have more classes like this one.

I am grateful for a four day weekend! 🧡🩵💚🩷

Sharing a couple of Swallowtail pics my friend Debbie took in her neighborhood.

Epithalamion for Jim

Today I read a poem by Nick Flynn called “Epithalamion” and was struck by the opening words:

No one —

not the wind in the leaves, not

the  leaves in the sky — can promise

permanence…

I got curious about the title. I am not familiar with the meaning of the word. I learned it was the title of a poem Edmund Spenser wrote for his bride for their wedding day in 1594, and Flynn had written it for the wedding of some friends.

And so I began to write, and it ended up being my epithalamion for Jim.

Easter Sunday, 2015

I like Nick Flynn’s poem today

A poem celebrating a marriage

And these days I think a lot about

marriage

the joy

the necessity

how we build a life together

and want it to stay that way

forever.

How we wish for that, despite all

evidence against it.

We make promises thinking we “know.”

What do we know?

Here is what I know:

Life is better when I can reach out

my hand and know you’ll be there.

6:22 a.m. 3/27/24

“When you write a poem…”

After running Jim to the doctor this morning, I started thinking about what I would write today. I was contemplating whether to write a poem or share someone else’s poem.

Then this came across my Facebook feed from my friend Dana:

And then I knew I had to share a poem written by one of my students.

I previously wrote about how I put a couple of ideas in front of my intensive readers, one being “If I Were in Charge of the World.” I was giving them a chance yesterday to finish up the poem if they had not done it before break. Getting back into the swing of things can be difficult, so a little writing activity was welcome. In fact, I overheard some kids talking about how much they liked to write. 

In the class is a wonderful young man named Josue. Yes, I’m going to use his actual name. He is kind, quiet, works hard, and is friends with everyone. He doesn’t carry the middle school baggage some kids have, but he also remains a bit of a mystery. So, while other boys were writing about soccer or who they were going to harass if given the chance, Josue submitted this:

If I was the ruler of earth

I would get rid of world hunger because I don’t want my mom to keep

telling me that there are kids that have nothing to eat.

If I were to be ruler of earth,

I would try to make peace in between nuclear wars.

If I were to be ruler of earth,

I would wanna bring back extinct animals and put them on a big island and

see what they do.

If I were to be ruler of earth,

I would just want to give the world peace and that’s it.

*

I felt the gift given in this poem, told him so immediately, and thanked him for it. 

I love knowing the things that are important to this gentle soul who sits in my classroom now, but could easily fall off my radar in the future. I don’t want that to happen, and I feel the need to honor him here.

So thank you, Josue, for your vision of a world community that works. You have a part in this! Know that I see a beautiful future for you, no matter where you go or what you do. You are a peacemaker and a poet. You have much to give. 

Keep the hunger. 

Keep the focus. 

Keep on writing.

“Look, fish, you’re already in the ocean”

This morning in my journal I was reflecting on watching a documentary called The Last Repair Shop, a lovely film about a shop that repairs instruments for the Los Angeles Unified School District. It’s one of the last of its kind.

One of the repair people was a woman from Mexico. She talked about coming here for the American Dream, and how hard it was to find. She went through some really tough stuff, and was crying. 

I almost turned it off.

But then I heard the voice inside me say: Stay with her. Don’t run from her suffering. Be one with it.

And I’m so grateful I did. The film was uplifting and I couldn’t stop smiling when it was over.

I was glad I took the step to practice once again how to be in the moment even when it’s uncomfortable. It was interesting to see how I processed through it. And it was worth it.

*

I read a poem called “The Self We Share” by Rumi, and it fit right in. He speaks of little quarrels people have, but that they forget they are part of something larger. He caught my attention with this line:

But look, fish, you are already in the ocean:

just swimming there makes you friends with glory.

What are these grudges about?

As I return to work today after a wonderful break, I take this idea with me, as well as this prayer Rumi ended with:

You are the source of my life.

You separate essence from mud.

You honor my soul.

You bring rivers from mountain streams.

You brighten my eyes.

The wine you offer takes me out of myself

into the self we share.

Doing this is religion.

Our Pilgrim Journey

The chemo caught up with Jim on Friday afternoon and into Saturday. Gratefully, he seems better today.

*

My brother John and his wife Gail had planned to visit in February, but when things happened with Jim’s health, they decided (rightfully) now was not the best time. They went to St. Augustine instead. I told my brother to send pictures, which he finally did yesterday.

Once I saw his photos, I went to look for ours from our first visit there in 1985. I found a picture of me I didn’t even remember existed.

I thought of that picture today when I read a poem called “Hawthorn” by David Whyte. In it, he’s comparing a relationship to a knot in a hawthorn tree.

I particularly loved the last verse. It reminded me of the photo I had discovered, as well as speaking to this time in our life, our marriage, our reason for being. I will end with those words:

Our pilgrim journey,

apart or together,

like

the thirst

of everything

to find its true form,

the grain of the wood

round the hatched knot

still

straightening

toward the light.

Full Ocean You

 A caboose poem, using the last line of Mary Oliver’s essay “Ropes” as the first line of my poem.

Break the ropes that are holding you

The ones that tell you to resist

The ones that tell you not to trust your intuition

Break the ropes of the way you fall into routine habits that don’t serve

The fight inside against the world you see

Understand it’s all perception

Change your view!

Break the ropes tying you to the false safety of the shore

And become full ocean you

Brilliant Blue (a haibun)

 This morning I clearly remembered seeing a Blue Jay in my dream.  It looked like this:

I was so delighted to see it! I did register, however, that it didn’t look like most Jays I know…the typical Blue Jay or even the Florida Scrub Jay. They both have a bit more black and/or white. I knew in my dream the bird looked different. It also was fairly large. The feeling I had seeing this bird was pure joy.

The photo above is Unicolor Jay. It lives in Mexico and other parts of Central America. I have never heard of it, nor did I know it existed. Yet, there it was making its presence known in my dream.

I looked up what having a Blue Jay in a dream means, and was glad to see it was positive. I will end this with a haiku I wrote in honor of this small experience that looms large inside me today.

Feathers brilliant blue

Bringing me perseverance 

Peace and harmony

The Question

I have read everything Nick Flynn has written: his poetry, his memoirs, even a guide to teaching poetry. 

Throughout all of this reading, this poem is the one that still strikes me the most:

When I began teaching it was Language Arts and Reading to 6th graders. The first time I approached teaching poetry, I had a boy ask me: Why should I care about poetry?

Despite my love for reading and writing poetry, I did not have an immediate answer for the boy. I think I fumbled through with some lame reasons. Whatever I said, I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

Thinking about it, I decided to honor his question by keeping it in front of us. I wrote it on a small poster board and hung it in the front of the room, right where we would see it all the time. I left it there for each student to decide for themselves: Why should I care? What does it matter?

I’d like to think that over the course of the rest of the year, we identified ways it mattered…but I have no clear recollection. What I do know is I took the question of an 11-year-old seriously.

Flynn says it is an unanswerable question, and I concur. I don’t have an answer for anyone else but myself. And even then, it is impossible to articulate. As I write this, I only know the feeling I have inside about it. When it comes to this question, no amount of words can do it justice. 

Like breathing, poetry just is. 

And there would be no life without it. 

On Saying Yes, Part 3 (Finding Refuge)

On Monday I read Mary Oliver's essay called "Some Thoughts on Whitman." This is the one that brought everything together for me.

Mary focuses heavily on Leaves of Grass, spotlighting "Song of Myself," which is his most notable poem. Most people recognize these words:

I celebrate myself

And what I assume you shall assume

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

 

For years, I've looked at this poem as a celebration of the individual. And isn't that the way it is always promoted?

 

But I saw it reflective of Thich Nhat Hanh:

 

I take refuge in the Buddha.

The Buddha takes refuge in me.

 

These words Mary offered on Whitman's writing resonated for me:

 

Out-circling, interest, sympathy, empathy, transference of focus from self to all else; the merging of the lonely single self with the wondrous, never-lonely entirety.

 

Noting all these things in my journal, I came to a much needed revelation:

The practice of staying connected to everything has been calming.

I do not feel alone. That is huge.

Just a few days earlier I expressed how alone I felt. But I'm not feeling that now.

*

Yesterday I spent a few hours with Jim at the cancer center while he got his chemo. Last time I was there, I felt stressed and alien. I looked at other people there, listened to them, and felt I was in a strange lonely world. 

But yesterday was totally different. I felt the healing environment. I felt connected to the people there, not separated. The people we communicated with were positive and alive and present. 

 

And it didn't feel lonely.

I've let this experience in, which is what I needed to do.

*

Mary concludes her comments about Whitman with this:

Brawn and spirit, we are built of light and God is within us.

If I have to say anything about the moment I am living in, it is that. 

 

Unifying the light and dark is the best way I can describe it. 

 

Scared and lonely has no place in the refuge of God.

Without judgment or avoidance, I say a clear and resounding YES to this calling, this emergence, this never-lonely entirety.

Don’t Waste Your Life (On Saying Yes, Part 2)

On Saturday morning I went for my biweekly massage. While I was there, I realized a couple of things, one being that I need to reread Thich Nhat Hanh's book Being Peace. I first read this in 1992, bit by bit, and have returned to parts of it many times. This time I knew I had to read all the way through.

 

After I returned home, I got right on it. It wasn't long before I wrote this in my journal:

 

I have already started reading and my eyes are opening. 

I'm realizing just how much I've let the current circumstances give me "permission" to be a bitch.

I knew it felt wrong. But it was easier.

Thay (his nickname) suggests doing "gathas" -- four lines that help you focus. Here is an example:

Breathing in, I calm my body.

Breathing out, I smile.

Dwelling in the present moment

I know this is a wonderful moment.

Thay is very big on smiling, focusing on breath, and being aware of suffering. 

It is the last one that has had the most impact on me. 

This is the thing I turn away from consistently. I ignore it and focus on other things. But it is always there and by the time I finished the book, I knew it was the thing I've been missing for a very long time.

I am now practicing my oneness with suffering--my own and others. I now can see more clearly how much impact this has on me, and how healing it can be. It brings peace.

Thay mentions that in every Buddhist monastery they have an 8 line poem posted. It ends with the words "Don't waste your life." I cannot waste this opportunity for growth.

 

*

Sunday morning I read Mary Oliver's essay on Poe, entitled "The Bright Eyes of Eleanora: 

Poe's Dream of Recapturing the Impossible."

My first thought with the word "impossible" is that it is possible to ignore the suffering, but not possible to escape it. On page 91, Mary expresses this perfectly in relation to Poe:

We do not think of it every day, but we will never forget it: the beloved shall grow old, or ill, and be taken away finally. No matter how ferociously we fight, how tenderly we love, how bitterly we argue, how persuasively we berate the universe, how cunningly we hide, this is what shall happen. In the wide circles of timelessness, everything material and temporal will fail, including the manifestation of the beloved. In this universe we are given two gifts: the ability to love, and the ability to ask questions. Which are, at the same time, the fires that warm us and scorch us. This is Poe's real story. As it is ours. And this is why we honor him, why we are fascinated far past the simple narratives. 

He writes about our own inescapable destiny.

Wow.

If that doesn't make you cry, nothing will!

 

*

This connected back to reading Being Peace. The suffering is around us. Impermanence is the law. 

We share an inescapable destiny. We can be in the moment. Smile. Breathe. Love.

We can be One.

And this was the takeaway -- one with everything. 

One with the minor irritations.

One with nature.

One with fear.

One with joy.

One with worry.

One with the Sacred.

 

I am nature and nature is me.

I am joy and joy is me.

I am the universe and the universe is me.

 

No matter what comes up, I apply this non-duality.

 

I am cleaning the pan. The pan is cleaning me.

I am listening to music. The music is listening to me.

I am my orchid. The orchid is me.

 

 I have to record this today so I may refer right back to it at any time. 

*

Mary ends her essay on Poe saying his words and valor are all he had. She ends by referring to a character in one of his stories, rushing forward and battering hopelessly against incomprehensibly, 

with frail fists, with "the wild courage of despair."

I feel for Poe and his characters.

But I don't want that to be me.

I've had enough of that already.

So I will live these words from Thay instead:

 

On Saying Yes (Journal entry 3.15.24)

 

A lot has been going on in my heart and mind, and things have calmed down for me considerably. Every day a new layer is added, and I want to write about it, but the amount of information and inspiration tends to get jumbled. Yet, I feel it is important for me to document.

It all started when something I wrote in 2015 showed up in my Facebook memories. It's called "For All My Midlife Friends" and if you intend on reading the rest of this blog post, you should read this first.

For All My Midlife Friends

Coming across this blog post, one I have long forgotten, made me see it will require an update. But thinking about the huge challenges I now face, I don't even know where to start

Here is what I wrote in my journal on Friday morning. I plan on continuing this thread over the next few days, so I hope you will hang in with me. I can always use that support!

From my journal:

Saying yes to going to college and becoming a teacher was scary and exciting.

But saying yes to not being fully in school and all that goes with Jim's health issues is not easy.

I want to say NO NO NO.

Let me work. Let him breathe.

But I cannot. And it hurts when I do because then I have to surrender to reality again.

IT SUCKS.

But saying yes right now feels like a failure.

Why? How long have I known surrendering to what is works better than fighting against it?

Revisiting the poem this blog post was written about "Calling" by Nancy Shaffer.

It's about saying yes to your calling.

And haven't I've known since January that I do, indeed, have a new calling?

Here's the rub--when I heard a calling to be a teacher, there were steps to take. And I had help.

Right now, I can only take one step at a time. There is no planning ahead. The uncertainty kills me.

I told my school my intent is to return next year. Then I wrote:

Reality: I don't know what will happen.

Living the in-between is tough. Having zero control is tough. Not being able to look ahead and say, "Next year, I'll do such and such."

And I don't have a helper.

I am alone in this.

I have to be the one here, watching things.

I hear that the nurse visits might stop. We need them!

Okay...phew. Shed some tears. Feel better....stronger.

Like I can do this.

*

While I was writing this in my journal, I was listening to the new Kacey Musgraves album Deeper Well. The lyrics of "The Architect" seem to fit well for what is happening now. Seriously, I'd love to speak to the architect! 

Check it out.

Purple Nature

My mind is full of a lot of things today, based on several readings and thinking time. It’s a bit much and I’m not ready to mold it, so decided to take an easier approach.

I came home thoroughly exhausted from work on Thursday, and was confronted with a box that was like a Chinese puzzle to open. I knew there was a live plant inside, because the box told me so, but I had no idea who would have sent it. Once I broke the code and pulled this luscious orchid out, I discovered it was from my teacher union (TALC), presumably because of our loss of Wayne on March 2.

I have the orchid on a table on our lanai, where I can easily see it from inside. It has quickly become a companion, a messenger of peace that can be found if I choose to look. To honor this, I have written an acrostic poem for my new orchid.

One with the purple nature

Rising sun makes it shimmer

Calling me to meditate and relate

Helping me find my way

In the time I find myself now

Deepening the peace within.

Emerson & the Stars

I finished reading Mary Oliver’s essay about Ralph Waldo Emerson today. Like her, I have specific connections to him.

In my classroom I have this poster, the one the kids call “the eye chart.”

Every year I wait until someone notices it and tries to read what it says. Sometimes it takes weeks. Sometimes months. But it is always a fun moment when they do. 

In case you’re having trouble, it says When it’s dark enough you can see the stars.

But that is not my only connection. 

In the fall of 2010, I was teaching the Transcendentalists to my Junior English Honors class. I typically got up at 4:15 a.m. so I could leave for work around 6 a.m.  One October morning, I woke and knew right away I had to take a walk around the block, which was not my usual routine. I clearly recall looking up at the starry night sky and recalling these words by Emerson we had just discussed:

Since that day, I cannot look at a starry sky without thinking of Emerson and his revelation that this celestial glory should be acknowledged and celebrated. If we don’t, who will?

Writing Power

Yesterday being the day before spring break, I decided to have my intensive readers do some creative writing. I put two Judith Viorst poems in front of them:  “What are You Mad About? What are You Glad About?” and “If I Were in Charge of the World.” All 18 of them dove right in and got to writing their own versions. The boys would speak out loud as they wrote:

“If I was in charge I’d drop 80 polar bears into China…” and other typical 12-year-old boy stuff. They were laughing and giggling like evil geniuses. It was a sight to behold.

The girls were different. They focused in quietly, each taking a slightly different approach. The first one to walk up to me with a finished product was a girl that has a lot of behavior issues. She isn’t even allowed to leave the classroom without an escort. I have no idea what all her infractions are, and I have seen the good and the bad sides of her.

On this day, she had been rather quiet and self-contained: none of the snark I sometimes get with her. She walked up to me and quietly handed me her poem. (I have typed out below for easier reading.)

If I Could Change The World

I’d paint the world gray.

my message to you “It isn’t

easy to pretend to be happy & 

it’s okay to not be okay.”

I just want to be away

from everything. I’m glad

I’m doing better in school &

my attitude is getting better.

That I’m losing myself & somebody

again. I feel hurt. I wake up

so heavy-hearted it feels as if

I’m stuck in a deep hole. I’ll say

yes to everybody. I love seeing

people happy. Putting others before me 🩷.

I get the bare minimum, but life

isn’t fair or easy. I feel as if I’m in a

hole I feel alone but as I’m probably

not alone. I’m a mess but I’m just

stressed.

Maybe it was the space I was in, but I could not contain my tears. I was extremely moved by her insights and honesty. Her ability to balance the positive and the negative, and recognize what is driving her. I also am impressed by her ability to put it on the page in a way that adds meaning and purpose. I told her again she is a writer, and that she needs to be writing more. She agreed.

I don’t have but a handful of weeks left with her, but I’m hoping to find ways to keep some creative writing as a regular part of the class. This day showed me once again—young people need expression. And we need to provide a container for that to happen. 

Entitlement

 Yes, it’s that time —grades are closing, and the weird emails show up.

Last week I had one I get like clockwork at the end of each quarter—a girl who literally does nothing asks what she can do to raise her grade. Uh…how about the assigned work? This is every quarter, and I’m not the only teacher getting that email.

This morning I had another one. A boy—quite a smart boy—wrote saying he has an 89% in the class, and can I bump it up so he can be on A Honor Roll. I took a quick look at his grade and saw the problem right away. I’ve been out a lot this quarter, and apparently that meant he didn’t have to do his assignments. Since he is quite a smart boy, I carefully crafted my response below. 

Thank you for writing.  Since the class average is 92%, it immediately let me know that your 89% means you skipped assignments. 

I took a quick look and found you have not turned in the following:

Subtopic Migration

Research Snap Practice 1

Research Snap Practice 2

Your grade would be a whole lot lower if I hadn't given you half points for these, which is something I was doing because I had to be out so much. But it didn't mean you didn't have to do them! 

Just doing one of these would probably change your grade, which you could do (no later than today, btw.) 

However, what disturbs me most is that you sat in class not doing assigned work, and then expected me just to bump up your grade. I hope you will think about the ethics of that in your life...why your lack of action meant I was supposed to fix it in your favor. It appears you did not even consider why you had a grade below the class average. If you want A Honor Roll, you need to be working every day toward that goal, not expecting a last minute save by  the teacher. 

Please email me if you complete any of these by 4 pm March 14 (Thursday), and I will be happy to update your grade. After that time, there are no guarantees. 

Sincerely, 

Ms. Sadler

The boy has some work to do!

Impermanence Everywhere

 

Words standing out to me today keep pointing to the impermanence of everything.

From Mary Oliver:

All things are meltable and replaceable. Not at this moment, but soon enough.

From David Whyte:

the vanishing point of the sun 

extinguishing time forever

I feel I’m floating in a sea of clouds, ever-changing sky, one second here, next one gone.

If this is supposed to be stabilizing, it sure doesn’t feel that way.

Or have I once again been turned away from faith, trust, and joy?

There’s a question for today. 

ADDENDUM

I got home from work and found this in my Facebook memories:

I don’t think it needs a comment from me.  

“When I was 16 and sick of school…”

 

Today I woke to the news that Eric Carmen had passed away over the weekend.

So many memories flood my head at the name. So much so, I just have to write about this Cleveland native, this "Paul McCartney without the British accent," this songwriter and performer.

When I was 16, I frequently went to a teen dance club called Cyrus Erie -- which was the name of Eric's first band. This club featured some really great local groups, The Raspberries among them.

I found these artifacts online. Freeport was a favorites local band of mine, as well as REIGN (not spelled RAIN). Alice Cooper made more than one appearance at Cyrus Erie; rumor was he was friends with the owner. Since I wasn't much of a fan, I never went to see him.

The photo above was a screenshot from a weird video I discovered from back in the day. A band called Island was playing (not familiar with them), but it helped me visualize even better the layout of the club. There was a seating area in front of the band, and off to the left was the dance floor. 

In the spring of 1972, my Junior year in high school, The Raspberries put out their first album, complete with scratch'n'sniff raspberry sticker, which kept my vinyl collection smelling pretty for years to come. I used to wear raspberry Bonne Bell lipstick as well. It was a theme.

During that summer I dated a guy named Eddie, and we never missed seeing The Raspberries at Cyrus Erie. We would split a 6-pack of Schlitz malt liquor on the way there (I'd have 2, he'd have 4), and then we'd dance and sing loudly to every song until the lights came on. I think they played practically every other week, even when "Go All the Way" was a hit song on the radio. They also played for my school's winter semi-formal in December.

Somewhere along the way, I dropped my interest in them for other singers and bands. Even with that being the case, when I hear the song "Let's Pretend" from the Fresh album, I have to sing along -- loudly. That is one great song, and also the most Beatlesque! Watch a performance from 1973 here:

 

Fast forward to fall 1976. I was now 21-years-old, and had started my first "professional" career, and was pretty lonely. What I remember most about Eric's solo hit song "All By Myself" is hearing it while driving in the dark and relating so fully to the lyrics. I was that kind of emo young adult. 😖

Fast forward again to the late 1980s. Eric was making a name for himself writing for soundtracks. It was always good to hear him on the radio. There is one specific memory that stands out, and it is about the how music was changing.

In 1988 I had purchased a direct mail advertising business. In the fall of 1989 I signed up for an advertising class through the Cleveland Advertising Club. One of our sessions involved creation of music for advertising. The guy leading the session had nothing but an Apple computer and a piano keyboard. He started playing "Hungry Eyes," one of Eric's big hits from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. He told us that the entire thing had been created electronically, using Garage Band. No real players were needed: just the vocalist and the engineer.

The future of music was right there before my eyes in 1989, and it had Eric's voice attached.

*

When I heard this morning that Eric Carmen had passed, all these memories flashed through my head. For me he represents a very specific time in my life, one that is vivid in its fun, music, and dancing memories, and from which I cannot separate myself from even if I tried. Those days were the transition from youth to adult, and music went hand-in-hand with that. Eric's music informed and formed me in some ways that I can now discern.

This meme came through my feed today:

Today I thank you, Eric -- for decades of music, that took me from teen years to adulthood, to this very day when I'm listening to your essentials and wondering why I have failed to honor you more often. I didn't talk about it much in this memoir, but you were also there for some tough times, things that happened that were hard for me to process. You took the edge off that anxiety, and for that I am most grateful.

As the years have passed, there are songs that have floated to the surface as my all-time favorites written by Eric Carmen.  I already mentioned one of them. The other is "That's Rock and Roll." I feel it is one  that is overlooked, perhaps because it was a teen idol hit by Shaun Cassidy. But that doesn't negate the fun and power pop of the song.  Listen below. The lyrics are there, so feel free to sing with me--loudly!

Now don't you worry
'Bout bein' a star
It doesn't matter
Who or what you are
Just get the rhythm
And let it fill ya
That's rock and roll

 

Paraphrase

 Found poem from Nick Flynn’”The Book of Ash.”

abandoned

brittle

pulled free

fallen

burned

the flames running upward

pages of questions 

hold this wing up to the light

this is how flames will paraphrase us all

Poking Things With Sticks

 Notes on a Sunday

Yesterday I fell in the Target parking lot, cutting and bruising my knees and my foot.

Sadly, I know when I hurt myself, it is usually with a reason. In this case, I was mulling over the fact that Jim was at home trying to fix the garbage disposal, and I needed to get home to finish cleaning up for company that was coming from out of town.

In essence, of course, it was much more than that.

All week, I had prided myself on speaking my truth and staying balanced and getting done what needed to be done. It wasn’t all perfect, but I honestly thought I was doing pretty well. In reality, my mind was poking around, creating scary scenarios, and keeping real joy at bay. I didn’t realize it, of course.

This morning I cried…a lot. I admitted I’m scared. I read a lot of inspirational things and listened to songs with messages I need. Here is the list:

“Poking Things With Stick” and “You Found that Thing You Lost” by David Kirby

Medicine Cards: The Discovery of Power Through the Ways of the Animals — in this case, Contrary Possum (that really hit home!)

“Bubbles Up” — Jimmy Buffett

“His Strength is Perfect” — CeCe Winans

“What Good Am I” —Bob Dylan

“Mull of Kintyre” — Paul McCartney and Wings

“Miracle” — Whitney Houston

Still, I stewed a bit. What do I write this day? Do I really want to detail all my grief and agony? Is it necessary?

Then across my Facebook feed came this from my friend Melody Wright:

I laughed out loud. If this didn’t say it all!

I had concluded that I had allowed myself to lose some faith and trust. I had failed to look for joy — and part of me knew it. I had allowed the stress of company coming to unhinge me in some ways, because frankly, I am a terrible housekeeper and I was pushing myself to do what I should have done ages ago.

And to what end? Scott’s flight was canceled and now the trip has been canceled, so it was all for nought.

When will I realize I just need to stay in the moment? When will I notice I’m not before I lose it? Fall in a parking lot? Have a meltdown?

When will I stop being a dumbass? 😂😂😂

Casting

 Carried by a strong current,

you and the others with you 

seem to be making decisions, 

but you’re not.

(Rumi “Thorn Witness”)

The Long Leg (1930) Edward Hopper

Why did this line reach out to me and not let go?

Maybe I am just moving to the currents of the Universe.

And it only seems like I have a modicum of power.

*

I read Mary Oliver’s essay “Blue Pastures” 

which essentially is about the ocean.

And she details all types of fish caught, 

describes them and her experiences.

The casting, the cleaning, the ultimate meal.

The bulbous body of a floating ocean sunfish.

She seemed to be carried by the 

strong current of sharing this information.

*

Yesterday I had to take Jim to Lee Memorial for a procedure.

I consciously saw each person we encountered as a golden light.

I blessed them as they walked the halls

Worked the desks. Pushed the wheelchairs.

No, I didn’t decide to cast my vote for this current situation.

Someone else cast me in this role.

The best I can do is cast a little love and light along the way.

Smooth the path a bit for myself and others.

Of Power and Time

 In truth, the work itself is the adventure.

—Mary Oliver from her essay

“Of Power and Time”

Reading Mary Oliver’s essay today was perfect. In “Of Power and Time” she spoke of the three selves: the child, the ordinary person keeping time, and the creative who does better to ignore everything but their art. She made a good point about the ordinary part of life: you want a surgeon or an airline pilot to not do anything out of the ordinary. With an artist, that is a must.

I related so fully. My writing is my art, of course. But so is my career.

Take example yesterday — I’m doing my best to inspire my Global Prospective students to do something creative with their research presentations. Google Slides has become synonymous with presenting, but I’ve provided a choice board of ideas, including interviews, commercials, news shows, and art approaches. For years, these kinds of things were part and parcel of my classes, but since COVID and educational directions, much has changed.

The idea of the choice board is to combine the ordinary (specifics of their research) with a creative approach. It can be challenging, engage them in a creative endeavor, and ultimately delight us with the out-of-the-ordinary.

Will many take me up on it? I pretty much doubt it. For many of them, they don’t have that kind of transference because they haven’t had a chance to practice. For others, it will just be easier to plop stuff on a slide and call it done.

But…we’ll see. I have given them the power and the time to do something different. Perhaps a few will take me up on it. And the best thing that could happen is a few students watching will decide next time they will attempt the extraordinary.

And wouldn’t that be something?

Doing My Job

 

First, the positives. Yesterday I received this card and flowers from the my school in condolence for Wayne’s passing. Beautiful, and many personal messages on the card for Jim and me.

Second, the Behavior Specialist came in my chaotic 5th period so I could meet with each student about their project. If she wasn’t there, I would have never gotten through them all. As it was, it took up to the very last minute, and some students were absent. I am tremendously grateful for her support. I won’t be seeing these students their next two class periods, and I needed to be sure they had a clear direction. It’s the way I do my job.

But the day was a whirlwind, and started out a bit frustrating. Here is what I wrote in my journal:

I cried in frustration AGAIN during PLC and I hate that. Everyone tells me I shouldn’t be the teacher I am. I know it is supposed to make me feel like I can take the pressure off of myself. Yet, I’m tired of that message. And I’m also tired of “solutions” that do not work.

I knew from the start the intensity of this project wouldn’t be fruitful for all kids. WHY IS THAT SUCH A BAD THING TO ACKNOWLEDGE? I don’t think they should have to be left behind because my life blew up.

I believe if I have flexibility and do what I can to reach all learners, I am doing my job. Giving them alternate ways to learn the same skills seems a natural part of the education process to me. I push against other teachers telling me it isn’t necessary. 

I think it is. If I’m doing my job. And despite my constant absences, I am thoroughly dedicated to get the job done. Call me crazy…but I don’t think that will change. 

Poetry Has Not Failed Me

 Big thanks to Annmarie for passing along Mary Oliver’s essay collection Upstream. I’m loving it.

I read a poem everyday, and lately it has felt like poetry has failed me. I read things and nothing stands out. Sometimes I read several poems and keep coming up dry.

Then today I read Mary Oliver’s essay “My Friend Walt Whitman” and when I got to the final paragraph, something opened up. I picked up my David Whyte collection and read “Cuzco.” The light shined down on the pages and I knew that I had been seeking something when in essence, I needed to let the words find me.

I have combined the final paragraph of the essay and parts of David’s poem into a double found poem. The bold parts are David’s words, the italicized Mary’s.

The gold hands of the high mountains in a blaze from the hidden sun, 

the streaming light and the shadows in the west

hiding the nested houses.

I learned from Whitman the poem is a temple — or a green field—

a place to enter and in which to feel.

You would stay and I would go on.

One story already becoming old, how I left you.

A poem is made not just to be exact,

But to speak—to be company.

And I laughed with you, a wild faithlessness

to life gripping me for a moment.

It was everything that was needed

when everything was needed.