On Thanksgiving day I read a poem called “thankful” by ullie kaye. There were a few lines that stood out to me, so I’ve decided to put them here with chosen images, so I may remember.
i am thankful for skies that change color
I’ve been feeling a bit more off balance than I’d like, and doing everything I can to get a grip. It comes and goes and I’m wishing I felt more solid.
Taking time to be with friends these last few days has been good, but I’m still feeling some anxiety.
After I wrote my blog yesterday, I was reading other things and it all started to get to me.
Then I read Matthew Dicks’ blog which is emailed to me every day. You may recognize the name—he’s the storyteller who created Homework for Life, a practice I continue.
Anyway, his blog was about meeting a friend in despair over the state of our world, and he talked to his friend, sharing the difficulties of the past—concentration camps in Germany, the draft during the Vietnam War, the economic issues of the 1970s — and he assured his friend that we all come out of these things by taking small steps. He ended the blog saying “In every small way, find a way,” and with this image:
Since my car accident, I have completely avoided driving the road where the crash occurred. In the beginning, I was pretty terrified at the prospect. Later, after the long hospital stay, I might not have been as afraid, but I still was unsure about making the commitment to turn onto A&W Bulb Road.
Then yesterday I had a dentist appointment. I knew the fastest and best way to go was to take that road. And so I gathered my courage and I did it.
It turned out being a nothing burger.
I thought I would recognize where the accident took place. Nope.
Facing my fear, though, sure made me euphoric. It’s amazing how things get built up in our minds when they really are a whole lot of nothing.
I hope to remember this more often in the future.
Now here is a little modern art I colored today. 😊
A few months back, I discovered a band out of Oregon called Kristin Grainger and True North. They are contemporary folk, and I enjoy their music. It's wonderful for my coffee and journaling time.
A song that catches my attention each time is one written by one of the guys in the band. "It's the Little Things" is a sweet tune, and always brings me back to what is most important to remember about life every single day.
The end of the school year snuck up on me quickly, and even though I thought about it, I never put a year end survey in front of my kids. I like doing that because it gives me feedback on how they saw the class and felt about their learning. I usually get some good feedback about my teaching as well.
And here is where the "little things" started showing up, unbidden. A girl came to me with a little piece of art.
Another handed me a butterfly sticker that said “Teach Love Inspire." One did a coloring page and wrote Thank You, Ms. Sadler and gave it to me. I received some handwritten cards. I had kids walking by me on the last day calling out goodbyes, stopping for hugs, and saying things like, "I loved the class" and "best teacher ever."
These comments, planned or spontaneous, made me feel good. They are small things, but they matter.
As it says in the song below: Little things stay around / While the big things wear down
Take a few minutes and listen to this live version of "It's the Little Things."
Now that school is ending, I find myself drifting into fearful thoughts. I know it, yet it keeps happening.
I fear the loss of my husband.
I fear the loss of my career.
I fear a future uncertain -- even as early as August.
Just saying this makes my chest tighten up.
Today I read in Parker Palmer's book his essay called "Begin Again." Within his reflection on "beginner's mind," he included a poem written by Wendell Berry for another poet named Hayden Carruth. This part near the end really hit me:
Walking with others from the high school
back to the classroom, in the heat of the
midday sun, and just having watched
an inspiring performance by our wonderful
actors, singers, and dancers,
I looked to the sky,
through the tops of the trees,
surrounded by kids talking & laughing,
and I felt one with nature, like floating.
I was in nature and nature was in me.
Just for a moment, that Friday afternoon.
I read David Kirby’s poem “Pictures at an Exhibition,” which has this great ending line:
Where would museums be if every picture was the same.
With all the possibilities evident in that line, I am sidestepping it for a memory his poem conjured up. In a section of his poem, Kirby was talking about the guards in museums in various way, and it caused me to remember my grandfather did that job as a retiree. He would take the bus downtown and stand around the paintings at the Columbus Museum of Art in his guard uniform. What a splendid way to spend the day, right?
His museum was the first I ever visited when I was 11-years-old. I remember some pieces of the day. It was winter. I was wearing a plaid skirt and a headband. I was wowed by art.
This is another gratitude I have for my family. Art and music and literature were important endeavors in their own right. That is something I learned on that winter day in 1967, and it definitely had an effect. I have visited many museums since.
I returned to the Columbus Museum sometime in the 1980s with my sister-in-law and niece for a special exhibit, although I don’t recall the particulars. And now I’m wondering why all my visits to Columbus since my sister has moved there has not included a trip downtown.
I poked around on the CMA website and searched through women artists. I found this piece of art to add to this blog. I wanted to connect something I might see there today.
Besides the guard, that is. That will always be my grandfather.
I read a commencement address Parker Palmer gave at Naropa University in 2015. It has the same title as this blog.
There were two quotes I pulled out:
To grow in love and service, you must value ignorance as much as knowledge and failure as much as success.
…walk straight into your not knowing, and take the risk of failing and falling, again and again.
After reflecting on these a bit, I went on to write in my journal, and some really great ideas took form in an unexpected way. I’ve been thinking about how to approach things next year, and I had yet to tie it all together. I remembered things I had forgotten all about, and found they were a perfect fit for what I am trying to accomplish.
This all has to do with teaching, of course. I have annoyed myself sometimes when I look back on the blog and see how I rise and fall, commit and lose track, again and again. I secretly wonder if others are reading these words and saying to themselves “Hasn’t she figured it out yet?”
Parker’s words about living from the inside hit home because that is what I am doing in most instances…until I forget and try to control from the outside. When I think I’ve figured it out, I do my best to move forward. Yet, things throw me off track. Seems so repetitive.
But then, I wouldn’t take any action if I didn’t think I knew the way…right?
Still, not knowing can be valuable. Beginner’s mind. And taking a huge dose of that with my ideas is definitely something I need to remember to do. I need to allow for some innovation and adjustment.
*
I’m documenting some things here so I won’t forget. One of the things I remembered was the interactive journal, which I haven’t used in years. Once the Chromebook took over, the journal seemed outdated and lunky. But after this year I realize how deeply necessary it is. Not every day, but definitely on a regular basis.
The other thing I remembered was my acronym BRIDGE that is now taking on new dimensions as well. This is a mnemonic I created a few years ago:
Today I visited a place I simply don’t go to enough: the meditation garden at FloridaSouthwestern College.
The weather was absolutely ideal for this adventure, and I was immediately moved to take a ton of pictures. I was particularly happy when the bench where I decided to sit had beautiful orchids nearby.
I had brought a small journal and had a plan for some nature writing, but something else totally overcame me. Here is what I wrote while I was there:
God I love this place.
When I’m here, I feel like I accomplished so much here on these grounds. Creative writing. Humanities. American Literature. Even science and math. The professors are unforgettable. The support I received: unparalleled.
I was here the morning of 9/11/2001. I worked for Sony and they paid my tuition and books. I paved my way to further my education at Florida Gulf Coast University.
On these grounds is a performing arts center where I’ve seen numerous acts (Bob Dylan, Smokey Robinson, Gladys Knight, Vince Gill, Jason Mraz, Tanya Tucker, and many more), as well as some great musicals — and not to mention the stage is where I received my first college diploma.
I met a good friend here when we were taking a professional certification test here. In fact, I took all my tests here when they were done with pencil and paper, only cost $25, and you had to wait several weeks for results.
The art gallery has had shows that blew me away, especially Jack Kerouc’s original typed version of On the Road.
I used to attend afternoon events with poets, journalists, and professors here with my friend Amy, who teaches for this college. It was the best use of my PTO from work!
This garden was not here when I attended, and it was called Edison Community College at that time. A statue of Thomas Edison is here, and most of the plants came from his estate.
Today I took a mad amount of pictures and when I sat on the bench I felt an unbelievable calm come over me — like I don’t get anywhere else. I think it is because nature, history, music, art, poetry, and education come together here for me like nowhere else on earth.
I couldn’t have landed in a better place during midlife in the year 2000. All my decisions and growth from that time on are rooted here. Some grew elsewhere, but this was the catalyst. For nearly 24 years. That is a whole hunk of my life!
Today it became clear: When I need to find myself, I must remember to look here.
 |
| The Long Leg (1930) Edward Hopper |
Today I read a poem by David Whyte called “Horse in Landscape: Franz Marc.” I looked up the painting so I could understand the poem better.
He describes much of what you see here, and then he writes:
What will you do
and what will you say
in the times
when you are left alone
to meet, like this,
the quiet fury of the world.
I thought he was referring to the landscape. Then I realized, no, he meant the horse — the horse represented the “quiet fury.”
I am not sure about the quiet fury of the world, but I know my quiet fury. I faced it again yesterday when discussing Jim’s health. The frustration and loss sometimes overwhelms me and yes, I am angry. I feel that tightening in my chest and what I say is…
There is a plan — I just don’t know it yet.
And what do I do?
TRUST.
I have lived long enough to know these are the only worthy responses. I know acceptance is everything. Surrendering to what IS and not what I think it should be is essential.
And make no mistake—-this very much feels like I’m alone. It is my choices in life brought me here. And God did not bring me this far to see me fall.
So, I face the fury of my own future as I stand in a colorful landscape of love and awareness and nature. I allow myself…
To be lifted
To have the sun in my heart
To find joy
Over and over and over again, this is my response.
This is what I do. This is what I say.
Yesterday my friend Kara and I visited the Peace River Botanical and Sculpture Gardens. Although I didn’t take a ton of photos, I collected some representative remembrances.
Meandering walkways and boardwalks carry visitors through the park. We loved this view with the contrasting greens and browns.
Next up, the Butterfly House.
The sculptures around the park were in a wide variety, and from artists all over the world. There were some in stone, some in glass, others cut out of appliances and cars. I did not photograph many of them, but a couple favorites.
On the way back from the river we walked a mangrove boardwalk. We created a new saying for our friendship: “You and me and the trees!” The peace and beauty and expansive art and nature had been a balm to our souls.
After a pleasant visit to the gift shop, we returned to the main park and came upon Andy Warhol. Apparently, 20 of these were made when the famous Pop Art artist passed away.
All in all, an absolutely perfect January day in Punta Gorda with art, nature, and a good friend.
 |
| Kara by the koi pond |
Response to prompt #7 of Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones Deck.
What will you have to say goodbye to when you die?
The first answer that came was READING. I no longer will be able to know someone else's thinking on a subject or read a story that will help me know how to be a better person. I think it's weird it was the first thing I thought of, but this morning I've been planning my reading going forward.
Of course, if it happened now I'd have to say goodbye to Jim and all my friends and family and neighbors. But that goes without saying, right?
Or do I stay with them in some way, shape, or form? It's a possibility!
I'll miss wine and sushi and MUSIC--although, again...will I know music on the other side? It's possible, I suppose, being as heavenly as it is.
I'll miss going to the library. Yoga class. Driving in my car listening to Classic Vinyl, going somewhere I really want to go.
I'll miss the Grand Ol' Opry. The woods. Spotting an eagle or a swallow-tailed kite in the sky.
I'll miss ART. This past Friday I saw some spectacular art that really wowed me. How unfair it will be gone from my vision.
Some things I'll miss I have already pretty much said goodbye to -- The Blue Ridge Mountains. Nashville.
Oh, but the classroom interactions -- the really good ones, memorable ones. My own classroom and college. Everyday jokes with co-workers.
And laughter.
Today I pulled out an album I haven’t heard in decades: Joni Mitchell’s Miles of Aisles. I was prompted to do so in a couple ways. I knew I wanted to do “art and vinyl” this afternoon; earlier I had seen an interview with Brandi Carlisle about a concert planned for next June with Joni live—first concert in over 20 years. It got me curious about this album sitting in my collection, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. “Circle Game” opened side three, and was one of my favorites today.
Somehow the Halloween season is on my mind, and not in the usual can’t-we-just-get-this-over-with way. This is super weird since I don’t care one lick for Halloween. But somehow, maybe it’s the hurricane or other things swirling around me, this year I feel slightly different. I find myself letting it in little by little. I ran Halloween-themed coloring sheets for my students, and some had time to color. I began to decorate my room with them.
This is so not me!
Here is the coloring page I did while enjoying every single minute of Joni live from nearly fifty years ago.
The seasons do indeed go round and round. We are captive in the carousel of time. My wish is to make it colorful and joyful and uplifting in every way I can. This is what art and vinyl is about—getting in touch with those little pieces inside ourself that we might be overlooking. That and a craft beer equals a perfect afternoon in my mind.
Tomorrow I will tape my Zentangle pumpkin to my classroom wall. I will think of seasons changing, cooler weather, the coming of other holidays, and how my only “job” in life is to make the most of each day and be the best version of me I can be. And mostly, that I’m not too old to change my mind about things I already thought were settled!
Slowly but surely we are recovering from a couple of years of being waylaid by circumstances. Namely the pandemic, and all that came with it.
I have been reading aloud a book called Rhyme Schemer to my learners as a way to help them recognize better techniques for reading fiction. We are using Notice and Note signposts mostly, but the other day I pulled out something I used the year we taught The Bridge Home for the Global Read Aloud (seems like eons ago now!)
Doodle notes are a way for learners to focus on their listening by pulling words and phrases from the text and writing them down or drawing quick sketches. Many respond to this type of approach, and it provided me with some good information. In this case, I included a question for them to answer at the end.
There are so many ways to assess our learners. Doodle notes makes it colorful and practical and fun.
A spontaneous assignment from the first week of school.
I played the Sly and the Family Stone song “Everybody is a Star,” which is a theme for this year. Then I had the learner create their own star, identifying some thing they love, are good at, or are passionate about. Then they found a place in the room to hang it.
It is colorful and makes the room feel alive.
For a while I have been finding it difficult to get myself to this blog. I will write entire things out in my journal that I think I want ...
