I have made a commitment to three things: finding time for Blue Space (beach, sky), Green Space (earth, woods), and the responses I have to poets & writers. I seek to discover the art of being.
Over the past couple of weeks, I've been reading a book called The End of Summer by John Lowry Lamb. I learned of this book through childhood classmates. John was in my class at St. Mark's from first through fifth grade, and had recently passed from a heart attack. He had published this book in 1995 and it appears to be his only published work.
The book itself is a bit somber, focusing exclusively on a 12-year-old boy whose parents die in an automobile accident. The narrative takes us into the thoughts and experiences of Nick, as he grapples with losses in his life.
What struck me most about the book was personal. That is, I found myself paying attention to his writing and the things he referred to along the way. For example, John Kennedy. We were in class together the day JFK was shot.
Beyond that, I think of the fact that he and I had the same writing instruction, the same teachers. Maybe this is a "writerly" thing, but I couldn't help it. He learned the way I learned, writing papers with a fountain pen, diagramming sentences, outlining textbook chapters.
The End of Summer has a fairly satisfying ending, and immediately afterward I went into my studio to get some things done on my computer. I picked a legal pad that had been sitting on my computer table for quite some time. I don't know why I suddenly noticed or cared to investigate at that moment a folded up page that was folded and clipped to the pad. I had--and still have--no recollection of why it was stored that way.
I opened it up and found a piece of writing, I assume from me since I tried searching lines and came up blank. I'm thinking it was some kind of exercise, and perhaps I thought I'd be revising it.
At any rate, I was rather stunned when I reached the end. This is the entire piece, which I will admit doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, especially because it feels like it picks up in the middle of something, but this is all I have:
Pour yourself into the Global Perspectives class because that is where you are actually allowed to teach.
Understand the other course is not meant to do anything but raise lexile. No one cares about the kids being truly literate or loving reading or knowing how to think.
Abandon hope of any change as it is not coming, and no one cares about anything but covering their own ass.
They are seeking to demoralize you for some unknown reason.
Don’t let them.
Proceed fearlessly in your love of the young people in front of you.
My writing group was so fun! "We're not dead yet!"
Sunday actually moved slowly.
I am vaccinated.
I still remember the day I saw a note Joni Mitchell put on her Clouds album that said she thanked her 7th grade teacher who taught her to love words. I think since that moment this has been my secret ambition, but it has been a long time getting there. Well...I'm closer, anyway.
Wednesday was good, good, good!
I read though what Julia Cameron had to say about Morning Pages in her book The Listening Path, and I couldn't have agreed more. I realized in many ways the Morning Pages have kept me going this very strange school year. It is when I'm fresh in the morning, dumping on the page, the answers come. Julia says, Pages nudge us toward action...we are faced squarely with the question: What are you going to do about it?
Different kind of morning today, listening to jazz. Thanks again, Joni.
Special thanks to Laurie Kemp for this writing prompt. It caused a whole flood of memories, and ideas for blog posts. What could be better?
Laurie's prompt was simple: What clothes do you put on when you want to feel especially good? She asked that we really think of the reasons for these particular items to make us feel uplifted or powerful or whatever we feel when we dress this way.
I immediately thought of my long pocket dresses. And here I want to give props to my friend Annmarie who introduced me to the Auselily brand available on amazon. Casual dresses in a variety of colors, super comfortable and practical, a teacher's dream. And I want to emphasize -- POCKETS.
I immediately purchased some of these dresses and, lo and behold, discovered they had a line of maxi dresses as well.
The Maxi!
For years I have tried to find comfortable maxi dresses. It is a style I have always adored. But many of the dresses on the market were too dressy or the material was weird or they had plunge necklines or spaghetti straps or they just weren't considered in style, so not even available.
I not only purchased many knee-length dresses, I also purchased many of the long ones. Dresses with flowers and 1960s style designs, dresses in deep purple or indigo, which prompted our school counselor to tell me that wearing those dresses made me "look like the queen of CLMS."
So yeah -- I guess the good feeling translated to the outer world.
Then came quarantine, and my dresses languished in the closet. I swear, I cannot see those long dresses hanging there without a longing to wear them.
On a Sunday in April I decided enough was enough. Yes, like most people I had been dressed in casual clothes, sans bra, for weeks. But on this particular Sunday I was making a nice dinner and decided, heck, time to dress up!
I showered, dressed, poured myself a glass of wine and took this photo and posted it:
The response was immediate. I received over a dozen comments and over 133 likes/loves.
This small act seemed to reach out to people who were probably in the same place I was -- in a holding pattern. Something had to be done to break through.
Now back to the prompt. Laurie says to think deeply about WHY wearing this clothing is important. And then I was transported to another time.
Long flowered skirts were popular when I was in high school. In sewing class my sophomore year I made a maxi skirt and a peasant blouse to go with it. The skirt had a green background covered with a variety of tiny flowers. The peasant blouse was a complimentary shade of spring green. To my knowledge there is no picture of me in this outfit, but it is one I fondly remember.
**
As I grow older, I am learning that aging is about finding pieces of yourself from the past, and applying them to life today.
And that takes me to June 19, 1971.
This was an evening that I went on a double date to dinner and to see Elton John, someone who was just breaking on the scene at the time. The other girl on the date was Ellen, a friend from school. The guys went to one of the all boy Catholic schools. These weren't great romances or anything -- we had gone through a common experience together which I now plan on writing about in another post.
Anyway, Ellen and I both decided to wear long dresses. We were being taken to one of Cleveland's premier restaurants, Pier W. It was a perfect summer evening to sit in this exquisite restaurant that sits right on Lake Erie, with a view of the Cleveland skyline. I know I had rarely, if ever, been in such a fancy place.
Then the concert, which was unbelievably fantastic and made me a hard and fast Elton John fan.
But it is what happened afterward. The concert was at Public Hall in downtown Cleveland. The auditorium is on what is called "the mall" -- a walking place and public area. It features a large fountain.
And that is where we founnd ourselves after the show -- along with many other fans. We saw that a ton of people were hopping into the fountain, dancing in the water, joyful and a bit crazy, singing Elton lyrics at the top of their lungs. Ellen and I didn't hesitate -- long skirts and all, we found ourselves in the fountain, dancing with abandon.
Just writing about this is bringing tears to my eyes. A piece of my past came into full relief today.
Why does this clothing make you feel good? is now easy to answer.
Inspired by Joy Harjo's poem "I Am Not Ready to Die Yet."
I am seeing clear connections between everything happening in the universe: the events, the things I am reading, the things I am listening to, the things I feel compelled to write.
This poem fits into my #64Challenge because the last week of our school year in Lee County was a volatile one across the nation. I have witnessed tense word exchanges between colleague. I have read the comments by my students of the past, many who are actively protesting. I cannot help but be thoughtfully moved by it all, and I know I need to use it as the ground for moving forward.
Everything connecting.
Today I carry the desire to live a life as one who will be open to the stories of others, to listen for the truth, to not be swayed by useless rhetoric and grandstanding. Today I carry the desire to live a classroom life as one who will help others identify and tell their stories, rather than allow someone else define and write them. Today I carry the desire to live as an example of one who gathers the knowledge of the past, bringing it into the present, and examining all angles with an unflinching eye.
Today I carry the desire to live a life of non-judgment. Everything I need to know is in the person in front of me. They are the key to heaven.
Today I carry the desire to live a life where words matter. I can see the frames used to justify fear and inflammation. What I need are words that heal and promote growth.
Today I carry the desire to live a life of these choices and pray, in some small way, a few tiny ripples can reach another shore.
I like reflecting on how things fall into place, how synchronicity plays a role in our actions, and how connections are made.
This is one of those stories. My poem will follow.
Yesterday I woke up and became aware of a "blackout" day. It was a relief to me, since I felt a deep need to retreat. I wrote a poem about it. I avoided social media. And I took care of myself.
As part of my retreat, I decided to take a walk at a local park and look for signs and symbols and messages that might help me through this highly unusual time. The park I chose is down the street from me, the name having historical significance:
Wa-KeHatchee Park takes its name from a combination of Native American names combining "cow" and "water." A creek that cuts through the property was an important watering hole for Florida cowboys as the last source of fresh water for their cattle as they headed to Punta Rassa for shipment to Cuba.
I found what I was looking for at the park (explained in the poem), and used my Animal Medicine (Native American) book to discern what the message was. The overarching theme: Don't give in to illusions.
Always good advice.
Then today my dear friend and writing partner Laurie put up a prompt to use a golden line from a song as a starter for a poem of our own. I had just listened to David Bowie's Hunky Dory, and knew I'd go back to his song lyrics. I still recall how taken I was with Bowie's lyrics on this album when I discovered him as a senior in high school. One great songwriter.
Finally, a word on the title. There is singer/songwriter I have had the pleasure of hearing perform, and the good fortune of participating in his songwriting workshops at the Sanibel Island Writer's Conference. His name is Dan Bern, and one of my favorite songs by him is called "Albuquerque Lullaby." Immediately after writing this poem, which uses Bowie lyrics to open and close, I knew I wanted to call it "Wa-Ke Hatchee Lullaby." But I didn't know why. It was a poem about NOT going to sleep.
So I looked up the meaning of lullaby, discovering it can be a song used to pass down cultural knowledge, to expand communication skills, and to regulate behaviors. I had no idea! Sometimes our heart knows things that we haven't consciously processed yet.
The opening of this poem is from Bowie's song "Oh, You Pretty Things." The ending is from "Fill Your Heart."
Wa-Ke Hatchee Lullaby
"Look out my window, what do I see
A crack in the sky and a hand reaching down to me"
to give me a shake from my complacency
The world slowed down this spring
and learned to breathe
And those who let it transform them
didn't need any weapons or superior power
Discovering that this is a time to look beyond
what we normally see -- to stop, look, and listen
to the pain of hundreds of years
designed by those who relish weapons and superior power
Who believe in only one way to get it
Yet it appears we've reached the hour.
I walked where the Wa-Ke Hatchee once quenched the thirst
of those on the road
hoping to quench a thirst of my own
I saw Turtle, Dragonfly, Crow
with their wise messages for me
Ask for assistance and abundance will flow
Break down the illusions that restrict actions and ideas
Let personal integrity be your guide
Marinating in these words for a night and day
illusions began to drop away
a way forward is what I now see
"Gentleness clears the soul
Love cleans the mind and makes it free."
Final note: I went to find a video for "Fill Your Heart" and learned it is not a Bowie composition, but was written by Biff Rose and Paul Williams. Bowie did compose "Oh You Pretty Things."
On April 23rd this year, I received this message via the private messenger on Facebook:
I’m sure you don’t remember me. I was a student of yours 2010/2011.
And I remember your class the most. By far, one of my favorite teachers
with lessons I have carried into adulthood.
Thank you.
This message came to mind today when I was given a writing prompt to reflect on a time I received or gave a compliment.
I was reminded of a quote I ran across this past weekend by James W. Hall from his essay "Back to School." He says:
For there is embedded in the academic process the secret, unexpressed belief that these books, these tests, these lectures and discussions will add up to some changed condition,
an enrichment of the soul, and enlargement of the sense of human possibilities.
The best compliment I can ever receive from former students -- and I've had it a few times in my life, as evidence above -- is to be told that our class meant something to them in the life they are living now. From the girl that said she seemed to be the only one in her College Comp class that knew how to write a thesis statement, to the girl I only vaguely remember from the 2010-11 school year who messaged me recently, when a young person tells me that they can see how my class matters to them, well, that is the highest compliment I can be given. It means that my time spent choosing the right texts and the right activities and the right projects and discussions paid off.
It is why I teach.
Hall explains this in his essay:
We teachers are not simply trying to make a better widget, or sell a better product,
or design a better mousetrap. We are trying to re-create the world.
I believe in the world that can be created. And I relish my one small part in it.
(Inspired by my readings today: Jack Kornfield's book A Lamp in the Darkness, and Nick Flynn's poem "Shipwreck.")
Even in ruins, some new life waits to be born.
Fix the mast, or build a new ship.
(Jack Kornfield)
Jack assures us through shared compassion we can make it through anything.
Then Nick comes along, talking deep about loss of things most important to us.
The shipwrecks of our lives leaving us stranded.
And I think of my classroom, the place that feeds me, the posters and my Dharma flag and the books I've lovingly curated just for my kids, the collective laughter and learning.
My awareness that this is all slipping away is high. I don't think we can just "fix the mast."
Nick likens our loss to birds floating in the sky above. We look to the sky to feel better. We wish we just knew the answers, could get a glimpse of the way.
The beginning of my adolescence, 12-years-old, sometime around Christmas 1967 and I remember being at my cousin Joni's house, she a year older, and wiser, because she went to public school in an integrated city, where I was a Catholic school girl sheltered in the suburbs of Cleveland, and that night in her bedroom she taught me the new dance called "The Skate," said all the kids were doing it, and we played "Daydream Believer" over and over again and danced and danced until I was called to go home.
Now, years later, somehow"Daydream Believer" has become my lucky song. If it comes on the radio, I'm immediately singing and "Skating," even if I'm driving. And with the advent of YouTube, I can go and watch the "Official Music Video" for the song and enjoy my favorite Monkee Davy "Skate" while singing the song, just like I did with Joni back in 1967.
Not with the usual joy and relief. But with jumbled emotions that are hard to sort out.
I expected to walk into my classroom and burst out crying.That didn't happen.
I took pictures of what was left on my board at the end, including a couple messages from my 10th period kids:
We walked out that day not knowing what was to come. Then we found out.
I was unable to erase this, so I left it. I also left the words "Find Joy" on the little white board I was using for my monthly motto. It isn't time to wipe out that idea yet!
I had a list of things to do and I got right to work. I was done by 9:15, even though I had more time allotted. There wasn't much else to do.
I sat at my desk, in my new chair, and just stared at my room. I remembered the Creative Writers presenting their poems. I remember a relaxed final day. I remember laughter.
This was the year I hung my Dharma flag as a way to remember that in the challenges are opportunities. Where there is struggle, there is a hidden gift. A bit of Yin and Yang. I considered taking the flag down so I could ceremonially hang it again next year. But then I decided I wanted it there when I walk in next school year (which I pray begins in August as scheduled.)
In cleaning up files, a poem fell out of a folder. I had come across this poem in one of the poetry books I keep in the shelf. It had been put there many years ago, and is a favorite of mine by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I used to have it memorized. Maybe it is time to commit it to memory once more.
Today I finally did it. I pulled myself out of the house, into the absolutely perfect Florida May weather, and took a walk at Lakes Park. I know I have not been there in a long time, and I went with the purpose to do my usual loop through the woods.
Lone Palm Morning
I expected the usual Sunday crowd, but the people were few and far between. The pavilions and play areas are roped off, the exercise equipment fenced off, and the picnic tables overturned.
When I got there I changed my idea of where I wanted to walk. I decided to walk around the lake, rather than go into the wooded area. Very quickly I realized something -- when I have walked around the lake, I tend to start in the same place and walk in the opposite direction than I was walking this morning. And as I wrote about a few weeks ago, I was seeing a lot of things I haven't noticed before, getting glimpses of photo opportunities I rarely see.
Ibis Island
Walking Toward the Rising Sun
I had made up my mind just to walk and listen and watch. What I witnessed was a wildlife that is getting used to fewer humans. I could feel the lack of human dominance I usually associate with the park. (And that is with good reason: it's a wonderful park!)
One instance of this was a Little Green Heron that looked like it was going to walk across the path I was walking. I never see Herons doing that there, let alone the elusive Little Green. I trained my camera on him, but he stopped and eventually flew off.
Anhinga Rock
I took a few more pictures, then headed home with my sun roof open. The radio played a song that made me cry: Jerry Salley's "I Want to Thank You." It made me think about all the people in my life who encourage my faith and belief in myself and the goodness of the world. It was a perfect way to begin my day.
The first month of virtual teaching has been so darn stressful. I never wanted to go back to being a "first year teacher" but man, that is how it has been feeling.
The intense pressure to get it right, the missteps, the changing requirements, the frustrations, the exhausting Zoom meetings, the changing requirements, and oh yeah, did I mention the changing requirements?
I know, I know...we haven't done this before, everyone is figuring it out, blah blah blah.
By last weekend I was TOTALLY FED UP. I was COMPLETELY EXHAUSTED. So much so, I couldn't even enjoy my weekend. I kept falling into dark pools of tears, unable to lift myself out.
By Sunday, when I wrote ANOTHER depressing poem, my friend Laurie suggested I do something creative. I didn't feel like I had a creative bone in my body. But what I did have was a notebook, an array of colorful fountain pens, and my personal lifesaving device: Chapter 7 of Pema Chodron's book When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times.
I could read. I could make notes. I could doodle. Color always feels creative to me, so yeah, I'm was being creative.
But mostly it was the message I needed to hear from this wise work. Abandon Hope. Be Fearless.
It was easy to see what was bringing me down. It was my HOPE THAT THINGS WOULD GET BETTER. The hope that I'D FINALLY FIGURE IT OUT. The hope that OTHERS WOULD UNDERSTAND MY PLIGHT.
Guess what? Everyone else is feeling the same way. How are they going to save ME?
Pema says, We're all addicted to hope -- hope that doubt and mystery will go away. Abandon hope.
This upsets people. They don't want to hear it. In fact, I posted "Ye Tang Che" on Facebook and got "friendly" comments that I can't give up hope, blah blah...as if I was suicidal.
Ye Tang Che is the opposite of suicidal.
It is facing the realities we live with. The reality of who WE are. The reality that WE DON'T KNOW.
We can't escape that. Or ourselves. Hope that we can is what leaves us COMPLETELY EXHAUSTED.
Did I mention the title of this particular chapter in Pema's book is entitled "Hopelessness and Death."
The title alone would scare anyone away. But Pema promises early on:
If we're willing to give up hope that insecurity and pain can be exterminated,
then we can have the courage to relax with the groundlessness of our situation.
This is the first step on the path.
So, I decided to take the step. The step into Ye Tang Che. The step that does not include any ground under my feet.
I made a list for what I'd do Monday. A doable list. A list of things I know how to do. And I told myself -- just this, and nothing more. And I did the same for each day of the week.
I didn't look to anyone else to solve my problems. Or prop me up. Or make me feel like I'm doing it "right."
When something frustrated me -- I just bore witness. I would think, hmmm, I don't agree with that, but there it is.
I became a constant observer of myself. I made sure I got out of my chair. I looked and listened and followed through and ignored the dumb stuff.
Pema says that Hope and Fear are two sides of the same coin. Boy, don't I know THAT!
The steps I took this week has helped me lose the fear I was experiencing.
The fear that I wasn't good enough, that I couldn't do this, that I was
not doing as well as others, that this is never going to end.
Pema suggests we abandon hope to become fearless.
Now
I am just letting the mystery be. I'm letting the doubt be. I'm
observing. I'm listening. I'm not attaching myself to any wish list or
certain outcome.
Years ago I made these for my team at Lehigh when we were going through a tough school year:
These four words are all I need right now. We have 4-5 weeks left, and with Ye Tang Che as my guide, I will not only make it through, I will survive AND know more about myself and getting through a difficult time than I ever thought possible.
Last night I was coming home from movie and dinner with a friend, listening to the Beatles Channel. This being Labor Day weekend, they are doing their annual countdown of the 100 favorite Beatles songs voted by the fans. On Saturday evening, the host Peter Asher was approaching #34 right at the time I was turning into my neighborhood. Peter began talking about the upcoming song, how it was the first song ever to be broadcast around the world via satellite television. Of course, I knew he was talking about "All You Need is Love."
I remember that night in June 1967 when this video was broadcast. The album Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band had just been released on June 1st, but this was not a song from that album. This was something else. If you've never seen it, you can watch it below. (Side note: since we only had a black and white TV at the time, my memory of this is in B & W. It seemed weird to see it in color on YouTube.)
Back to Peter Asher and his introduction:
As I pulled up the driveway he was talking about how the song was recorded, and then a whole myriad of things were added, like a chorus of voices and various instruments. As he was saying this, I turned the car off since I was home.
This morning I decided to head out to the beach around 7:30 a.m. I had been in deep contemplation about some concerns I have, writing several pages in my journal, and I knew the beach would help clear my mind. I turned on the car, and as I backed out of the driveway, I heard Peter Asher saying the exact same things I had heard him say as I had pulled into the driveway last night. I looked at the screen and saw that, sure enough, they were on #34 again. It almost felt like the radio had waited there for me, just so I could hear the song.
SYNCHRONICITY.
I know not to ignore signs like this. Truly -- what are the odds that at any given time a person would have this experience of picking up at the exact same place a radio program was turned off? I mean, it has to be one in a billion, right?
I knew right away what the message was I needed. In the past, I have used a chosen song to help me get through difficult times. And although I wouldn't say I'm in a "difficult" time -- many things are going beautifully. But I do feel some direct challenges that I know are requiring me to be a bit more vulnerable, a bit more open, a bit more (dare I say) loving. I think this song is the one I need to carry me for a while. It is a sentiment I agree with wholeheartedly. In practice -- well, we all know that's another thing.
In 1987, PBS had a two hour documentary called It Was Twenty Years Ago Today about the anniversary of the Sergeant Pepper album. Near the end of the program they interviewed George Harrison, and one of the questions they asked was: "So, is it true -- all you need is love?" George committed himself fully to it, saying it is true, it is his belief, and he's sticking to it. I loved that moment and his unwavering commitment. I think of that interview any time I hear the song.
On the way back from the beach, I heard "The Long and Winding Road" as the final song of my trip. I had to smile -- doesn't that describe the school year -- long and winding? I don't know what is around the next bend, but after this morning I know what I need for the journey. It all filters down to LOVE. I believe it. And I'm sticking to it.
And I have a cool song to play every day to remind me.
In my vow to do some purging of stuff that has simply been sitting here TOO long (such as student surveys from 2010 that, honestly, I still may have trouble parting with), I found a couple of things that formed together this blog post. They reinforced that not only am I not jaded by my teaching career, I continue to thrive -- for I have a grounding in the key to success.
The first thing I found was this quote from Amy Pohler:
...ambivalence is the key to success.
I will say it again. Ambivalence is the key to success.
You have to care about your work but not about the result.
You have to care about how good you are and how good you feel...
This made sense to me when I first read it, and it still makes sense to me now. For I know the more I stick with not being attached to outcomes, the better outcomes I receive.
But that's not all. I then found this:
Back in an earlier life, I made some money with a part-time job promoting a Read-A-Thon to elementary and middle schools in the Northeast Ohio area to benefit the Multiple Sclerosis Society. It was lucrative and fun, and put me in front of lots of audiences to use my speaking and teaching skills.
The ink on the page above represents my thoughts about working with young people, written on January 27, 1998. The thing that struck me is that I could write every word of this today and still believe with the same fervor.
At the time, I was a volunteer youth sponsor for Unity Church's teen group called Youth of Unity. More importantly, I was just starting to toy with the idea of becoming a teacher, and what that meant: years of college, resting on an uncertainty of even beginning to make that happen. So much happened afterward, and less than a year later I was taking my first two college courses.
Here is what I wrote that fate-filled day:
to be filled...to connect with a child...to listen to a teen...to listen to laughter...to see the answers appear through their eyes...to help them see new ways...to listen when they have new ways...and AFFIRM...to encourage them to be their best...to know they have a best...to honor their journey...to know they have sacred contracts with those in their life, so judgment is never needed or necessary...to be a natural adult...to not be part of the wound but part of the light...to nurture their dreams...to be available...to witness their passion...to guide their souls...to care always, not just when it's convenient...to not play a comparison game...to guide gently...to use tough love sparingly and thoughtfully...to comfort...to cherish...to smile genuinely...to plan and prepare, yet be flexible...to open to the voice of spirit in times of trouble...to let go gracefully when the time has come...to keep a safe boundary...to teach them safe boundaries...to pray with...play with...work with...team up with...and in every moment knowing that there is no place better.
I had no intention of writing today. But then something happened and I am here to tell the story. No plans. No outline. Here it is.
This is a story about living the question, and finding answers at the most unexpected times.
In December I started a walking program which has been going okay. One of the biggest issues I faced, however, was sheer boredom. When I walk at Lakes Park or Six Mile Slough or the beach, I'm occupied. But most of the time I'm just walking around my neighborhood. There is only so much to see and think about in a gated community, especially without a dog to walk with me. Somehow it was getting harder and harder to get out the door and walk. In the back of my mind was the question: How can I make walking my neighborhood more interesting?
When having dinner a couple months ago with Rebecca Totaro, we somehow got onto this subject. I don't remember how. I just know that when I left that dinner I come to realize that listening to podcasts could be an answer. This wasn't obvious to me all this time because, well, I just thought I didn't have time to listen to podcasts.
With a new set of bluetooth earbuds, I now walk and listen, and time flies. Most days I can get a couple miles in easily. And I'm learning tons of stuff from the podcasts.
Today I was listening to an interview done by The Country Music Hall of Fame on their podcast Voices from the Hall. The interviewee was country singer Dierks Bentley. He related a story of hearing a song by Hank William, Jr. that caused an epiphany: he realized at that moment he wanted to be a country singer. He didn't call it an epiphany, though. He said it was like he had dropped the coins into a slot machine and all the right symbols and numbers aligned.
Little did I know that a few hours later I would have my own jackpot moment.
The Question
This semester with my speech and debate class has been extremely challenging. It has caused me to think a lot about trying to find new approaches. I don't feel they got as much out of the class as I hoped, and I also feel that I need better ways to approach research and argumentation. I have searched around on the internet and couldn't find much, but I knew that one of my jobs this summer was to try to figure something out. I have the question: How do I make the class more engaging AND teach the skills better.
Friday after school
I'm a follower of Pernille Ripp, a 7th grade reading teacher in Wisconsin who wrote Passionate Readers and Passionate Learners. On Friday she posted her blog about her students' favorite books from this past school year. On the list were Ghost Boys, Dear Martin, and The 57 Bus. I had heard of all these books, but it is the first time I read what they were about. Having just taught a unit on the Civil Rights Movement, along with the graphic novel March, I was particularly interested in these books. I immediately ordered them from the library.
Saturday
It was about 4:40 in the afternoon and suddenly I knew I had to see if the library had any of the books ready for me. They close at 5:00. I looked and sure enough, I had an email from them that Dear Martin was in. I hightailed it over to the library, and was checking out as they flashed the lights to signal they were closing.
I began the book immediately, and found it hard to put down. I have never read a book that delved into race matters as deeply as this one does. It's brilliant.
Sunday
After my what I now call "podcast walk," I went back to reading Dear Martin. In the story, the main character Justyce is the top debater at his school. He and his partner go to a competition where they participate in something called "pair argumentation." I did not know this term, so I looked it up.
I couldn't find anything with that title, but what came up was something called the "Argumentation Toolkit." It is a series of activities for science teachers to teach claim, evidence, and argumentation. It is made for middle school. It had activities I knew about and have used, but there were some new approaches to things I had never actually practiced, and I knew could work. Best of all it is very step-by-step and totally free.
I heard the coins clicking as I realized the answer to my question had finally presented itself. It was like I knew suddenly why I had to get the book at the last possible second, and why I even ordered the book to begin with. I may have eventually found the Argumentation Toolkit, but I still love the synchronicity of this -- everything lined up perfectly on a weekend where I was open to hearing the promptings that answered the question I've been carrying.
We are traveling the American
Southwest, discovering a land of reds
and browns and rocks and utter dryness. The
rental car radio is on, and for
some reason the song "West End Girls" plays
over and over again. The beat of
the song drifts through my mind, connecting it
with the landscape, as we drive the road
to Shiprock and Four Corners and Valley
of the Gods. The sheer vastness of the land
astounds me over and over, makes me
feel lonely, much like the mood of the song.
I'm feeling like an alien in this
environment, lack of green and water.
It's not Ohio. Shiprock stands under
storm clouds, we take a picture and move on. II. Looking into the heart of light, the silence
What I read about Shiprock was that it
looks like a clipper ship, and was a sign
to migrating pioneers they were on track.
I did not read about the Navajo
mythology, and probably did not
even realize we were on their land.
Just now learned the legends and stories, the
spiritual and historical meaning
this place has for the people. Creation
rests on its peaks, closed now to climbers
"absolute, final, unconditional"
according to Navajo law. The owl
and the eagle are part of the myth, and
the story of women and children left
to die when lightning struck and sheered the cliff.
This is a place where evil is lurking.
III. What are the roots that clutch, the branches grow
"Too many shadows whispering voices"
Back in the day I did not hear them at
all. My world was much smaller, sheltered, bound.
I go back to the road to Shiprock when
I hear the Pet Shop Boys sing, there again
feeling lost and disconnected to the
land and the music as well. The hip hop
soundtrack was "The Message" things were changing.
I was so unaware. My roots elsewhere,
my branches clipped. Did I have a "heart
of glass or a heart of stone"? I don't know.
Now I can see at age thirty I was
ignorant of the questions being asked
"If when why what how much have you got?"
I was close to the edge and never knew
how it was or what it could mean to fall.
IV. The faint moonlight, the grass is singing
What is the use of dynamiting the
past, looking at all the things I did not
know? Why do I find myself here on the
road to Shiprock, opening awareness?
It was one line in a poem, and led to one
song from that year that led to creation
stories and epic poetry and the
changing music scene. I follow these threads
because I have to, it's what I do, it's
how I live life now. I missed so much back
then, but over time I could read the signs,
know if I was on track even with the
rock and no water and sandy road.
Grounded more firmly, wisdom comes with age. These fragments I have shored against my ruin.
Lost and then found,
on the Road to Shiprock.
How this poem came about...
On Thursday I read a poem by Layli Long Soldier that contained the fragment "road to Shiprock." It made me think about our trip out west, and I wrote what would be a part of what ended up in section I.
I became a bit obsessed with the idea, so I pulled out my five packs of pictures from our Southwest trip of April 1986. I retraced our steps, figured out exactly what the trip itinerary was. I was not journaling then, so don't have any actual records beyond my photos and memory. I do know that the only thing I knew about Shiprock was how it was named for a white man's creation (the clipper ship), and that it was a beacon to white settlers. Nothing about indigenous people.
Researching Shiprock, and learned the many versions of the Navajo creation story, the legends that surround the rock, the people who tried to scale the cliffs, some to die. This monument is found in the Navajo Nation and they control it. The quote about the law against climbing is directly from them.
I also researched the lyrics of "West End Girls," learning it isn't about prostitution as so many thought, but rather the struggles of inner city life and issues related. The beat is directly from Grandmaster Flash's "The Message," which is fitting since his song is about the same things. (I give a nod to Grandmaster with the words "close to the edge".) It was also inspired by T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland," and even refers to a historical event from World War I at the end.
Once all the notes were made, I knew I needed a form. I felt I could just end up rambling into eternity if I didn't find the right form. Leave it to Rafael Campo to provide it. On Saturday I came upon his poem "Quatrains for a Shrinking World," which contains several sections of 10 syllable lines in a 4 X 4 format. Perfect.
I also checked out the Eliot poem, and pulled specific lines from it for the section titles. When reading the poem, the quotes in italics are from Eliot. The "quoted" text is from "West End Girls."
I had three Eliot lines pulled for a three section poem. As I got to writing, I realized I needed a fourth section, as I hadn't quite come to a conclusion -- in fact, I still don't think I fully knew what I was even writing about. I went back to "The Wasteland" and found a couple of lines I liked, and ended up deleting one of the original lines I had, the opener, "April is the cruellest month."
It is true the fragments came together as I weaved my way to finding some kind of personal meaning here. I think coming upon photos of myself at 30 really had an impact. More than half my lifetime ago. How different I was.
I think of travels through my life, and I know they are connected to specific times of my life. What enriched my experience here was learning all the poetic and literary and musical connections that were lurking beneath the surface of that day in April 1986 when we drove the road to Shiprock. I'm glad I know and see those connections now. It has been a gift I gave myself.
