Meeting in Punta Gorda: a nonet

 

Seeing each other after three years

Three not so easy years, but this

meeting again, time collapsed

There was joy and laughter

and plenty of tears

We have Common

Boundary

Deep ties

Love

Lightening Up

 

The quote above is about the workplace. And it goes for the classroom as well.

This week I made a commitment to lighten up, to lead with love and joy. Then after reading The Anxious Generation on Tuesday, I knew even more how important this is for all of our well-being. I erased my list of rules off the board (which baffled a couple of students who needed to know why), and proceeded in focusing on my temperament in the classroom.

I don’t miss the rule list. My compass is now within me.

Last November, in a time of high stress, I started a Find Joy Journal in my classroom. I was recording things that brought joy, so that I wasn't just focusing on the negative.

When my world blew up in late January, the Joy Journal disappeared off of my desk and, although it kept calling out to me from its new home in the closet, I ignored it.

Until this week.

I finally got it back out, to begin recording joy again. But things have shifted. I find now I am writing about how I am changing. How I am purposely reacting differently to things that used to drive me nuts. I'm going to list a few of them here and anyone reading may think What was the big deal to start with? Believe me, I'm wondering now myself.

1. Boys constantly having to have their hands on each other. I'm letting it be, and it seems to subside a bit. It always intensified when I complained.

2. Silly things. I have a boy named Leo in 7th period who is hilarious. Instead of shutting him down, I joined in to the laughter. And then everyone got back to work.

3. Fancy hand claps and handshakes. Okay, sometimes they were doing them at inappropriate times...but now I welcome their doing things in unison. It is part of necessary play, as I learned in Haidt's book.  

4. Broken pencils on the floor (usually ones I provided.) If it keeps a kid from shutting down or giving someone else a fat lip, it's done its job. I say this in the wake of a girl who had a pencil in her hand when presenting her project which she was slowing breaking into little pieces. What a way to handle the nerves of public speaking! I've never seen that before.

Needless to say, I found that I didn't get quite as tired when I came home, so that alone makes this experiment worth it.

Learning Together

 This is a story about teaching something I know little about to kids I don't know at all.

On Thursday I received an email from my assistant principal that a 6th grade Science teacher wasn't feeling well and would be leaving. I had to cover her 10th period class.

When I received the instructions it was noted that this would be a difficult class, and she provided a couple of suggestions.

I have covered a lot of classes this year, and most of the time it is 7th graders. I know almost all the 7th graders so that helps a lot. And even when I'm in 8th, I know quite a few of them.

However, when it comes to 6th, I'm flying blind. What transpired was a throwback to when I was a substitute teacher and had to wing it.

The lesson was on stars, in particular, how they are formed. The "essential question" was a lot of blah blah blah I didn't even understand, let alone expect struggling readers to get. 

So I had them stand up a form a star with their arms and legs. We sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Then we started through the slideshow lessons.

We managed to figure out a few things (stars are made up of hydrogen and helium). I kept reminding the kids that I didn't know this stuff, and was learning with them.

And then there was a video.

The first time through on the video was blah blah blah. Something about a H-R Diagram. (Never heard of this in my life. I still don't exactly know what it is.)

The second time through I heard something I could relate to. It had to do with protostars (never heard of them.) But what the voice on the video told us was that protostars are what stars are before they actually form. If a protostar is too cool, it won't form. If it is too hot, it is too unstable to form. It has to be the perfect temperature.

Walla! We know how to connect this to something we know...GOLDILOCKS.

We discussed this and everyone chose what color star they were. With about 8 minutes left, I turned them over to coloring pages. Two sweet girls--Waverly and Leena -- gave me their pages demanding I hang them in my classroom.

You can bet I did.

I saw the science teacher yesterday, and I could see the look of "what happened?" on her face. I told her a brief version of this story and she was laughing her ass off. 

Honestly, it was a good time. And it was a beautiful reminder of a number of things:

1. I still have what it takes.

2. Being silly can help in times of unknowing.

3. Learning together is what we are always doing.

4. Spontaneity is a weird and wonderful thing.

“You’re Kenning Again”

It's a beautiful Sunday morning, and my mind is on prepping the Titanic Project and thinking about errands I have to run. There will be 2 hour crystal bowl meditation to attend his afternoon (yay!). So as I looked for inspiration, I stumbled on something I loved and decided it needed to be commemorated here. 

I don’t think any of us can look at Ryan Gosling without thinking of Ken, and this SNL monologue addresses that, and is hilarious. I don’t think I have ever posted an SNL video on any of my blogs, so this is a first. 

Have a great week. I know I will.

Prompt #7--Saying Goodbye

 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.

Dear Danny…

 Dear Danny,

The day you passed away I pulled out my vinyl record of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Damn the Torpedoes. In 1983, when I was first getting to know you, this music was a connecting piece. I still recall our conversation, mostly because it was the first time I really had an opportunity to get to know you.

Over the years there have been many happy and sad times. Although we haven't seen you in many years, our conversations over the past decade or so have been focused on health and housing issues you've faced. But there were light moments and connecting moments that mattered.

I heard many conversations your dad had with you, so I know that he was doing his best to point you in the right directions, as good dads do. I know your brothers talked straight to you as well. It has always been distressing to us that you couldn't help yourself, or let others help you.

Water under the bridge now.

***

You visited us a couple times in Florida, and I recall fondly how you and your dad spent most days hanging out by the lake fishing. We always laughed a lot during your visits because, face it, you were always doing something crazy to make us laugh. Dan the Man could be Dan the Clown.

The last time I spoke with you was after you recovered from another serious situation. We had received a call with the expectation you would not live. Yet, a few weeks later we were on the phone with you, laughing about your nine lives. It was good to be joyful with you that day, and I'm glad we had that conversation, even if it was a harbinger that the number nine was on the horizon.

The day after you passed, I pulled out my vinyl On the Border by the Eagles. I see a note I put on the record that I received in on my birthday, August 6, 1975. That was the year my brother had died in April, and I was still in the midst of grief.

There is a song on this album that always meant a lot to me: "My Man" by Bernie Leadon. The song was written for Gram Parsons, a forward-thinking musician who died of an overdose at 27-years-old. The words to the song often made me cry, thinking of my brother Richie, and the impact death has on the living. On this day it was not lost to me that my tears were for you this time: you, coincidentally born the same year as my brother (1965); you who struggled with addiction like Gram Parsons; you who liked to be "Dan the Man." The words that get me, and I will leave you with, are from the chorus.

Now my man's got it made

He's gone far beyond the pain

And we who must remain

Go on living just the same

We who must remain

Go on laughing just the same