Teaching Journal

9.9.09

I grace the balancing act of teaching. Many things prove lovely and challenging.

Lovely: when I can care for and encourage my students with the wholeness of my heart.

Challenging: when students are tired or having bad days, especially my “special” ones, or when their parents are evidently struggling to have their needs met, making it very difficult for them to meet the needs of their children.

My fears: that I’m not challenging my students enough, that my lessons are not structured enough for my "special" ones, that I am a bit too mean sometimes, that they are making fun of me when I turn to write on the whiteboard, that I am driving my principal nuts, that something I do will turn them off to my class or my subjects forever, that their lives are so broken and scant that they will struggle forever to recover from the hardships of American poverty.

And then, there are the bright lights and wide spread wings gleaming and swooping through our school at every turn. The students who spring their hands up to act out a part, or ask questions that provoke mystery and critical thought. The teachers who do good deeds and smile; who debate and believe in what we are trying to accomplish. The volunteers who devote hours of labor and love.

It’s as if we are pioneers, molding uncharted territory with passion and tried strength. Some moments I feel my legs physically collapsing, or my brain depleted of all creative and intellectual power; when all I hope for is that the effort put forth is sufficient to teaching these students something. With standards rigorously imposed (meaning well, but forever daunting and ominous) I create lessons that are aligned with what the state of California deems to be key. I fear that the intention of the standards to prepare students for college may, in some way, be fluked. I do my best, but in this country, or perhaps throughout the world, can your best ever feel good enough when so much is at stake?

Transfer

When I feel your mood on me, indigo,
I sip the wound
Slowly
Through my yellow eyes.
I cannot begin to imagine
Your strange faults
And grooves.

Raw bats swoop through
The dusty hollow of your
Mind and mine.
Slapping words making
Faint music.

“Sick and tired, ma’am?”
[“WRONG,” screaming
Screeching
Agentless.]
Sour notes, rarely tasteful.
Shores of sharp
Sand weaving into
Our fearing parts.

I do not care.
I do not care.
I do not care.

Away

Having a wine glass on the way to the doctors office
I notice the pain of
Focus.
It is a tarnished glass
Messy with specs
Trickling down my mediocre
Throat.
Melancholic music is covered up till
Many men are singing.
Liven my mood, crank it down to the
Synpases.
Service trucks line my street because dollars
Mean
Convience.
Sorry distrust, with no ability to exist independently from
Them. All
Those gates, rolling inward, outward
Smartless.
Can we frolick a park, smutty with poop
and dogs?
Will you take me, authentically, away to way.

Lessons learned...

In reverse order,

1. 2& a half weeks of refrigeration make raspberries shrink to pea-size


2. the thousands of sheep off highway 5 make it beautiful


3. skiing without poles for a day is awkward


4. advertising was the most glamorous job in the '50s


5. even a CHP officer looking at my license believes I'm from Walnut Creek


6. never drive down a steep icy hill into a highway unless you want to crash


7. the cops in Incline Village allow 4 smooshed in a backseat, as long as we've got no warrants out for our arrest


8. if you're going to use the term "shit show" more than 100 times a day, beware of the mess you'll get into tomorrow


9. coiffeur is not pronounced coiff-wa, but this doesn't matter to some Americans


10. a junta is a coup, and I suck at Boulderdash


11. the Bay is peaceful
12. New Years Eve isn't the same without a partner in crime


13. it's crucial to organize your things when you're going to 5 different destinations unless you want to be called a "shit show" by your brother over & over again


14. spending time with ailing grandparents is the definition of precious


15. love of bicycle riding runs in my genes
16. preserving memories for those without memory is important to me
17. Canadian men's use of the term "buddy" and "oh yeah" makes me warm
18. fire and snow get right to my heart
19. friends make wreckless travel worthwhile
    

fl-yen

Bel Air

to

Rossland, Canada

to

Rancho Mirage

to

Phoenix

to

San Francisco

to

Incline Village

to

Oakland

to

Bel Air

Winter break::: I cannot wait to cuddle my loved ones

poopi poetry

record player, fresh squeeze
fabric flowers laced with age

couch feathers smushing my
cushionless butt

just me; hours upon hours of
me

popcorn devoured, vanilla roibos tea
fingers buttery

Rocky in white, on the floor
Desirous of a camera

Or a bosom like
yours

this american life
pandora thumbs up
& charlie rose urgency

One last night

in my bungalow

Jealous, like every other
sunday of peapods
Families with fresh babies
but all I contain
Is me.

Harsh

If you are perceived as harsh and want not to be perceived this way, how can one change?

Limiting words?

Filtering thoughts?

I believe the answer may be a revolutionary change in one's perceptions of all people and their idiosyncrasies.

Could I achieve this revolution?

How?