March 30, 2010
I should not write incessantly about spring. I do it every year. They say that all writers succumb to springtime and the follies of writing it inspires, and so I, being oppositional, want to prove Them wrong. Perhaps truly gifted writers find and give inspiration on those dullest of February Michigan days when dirty snow piles are all that remain of winter, and grass refuses to consider the color green. I must not be gifted, because I can’t. If I write on those days, it is because something else has inspired me, and usually it is my own fury over the state of society or the idiocy of certain members of my community.
But Spring. I can’t help myself. Out There, I feel things that the poets have already used up. Alive, connected, thrilled. It’s a chorus of earth things calling, croaking, trilling, singing, exclaiming. Something even laughed, and while I’d love to think it was laughing at my leaky polka-dot muck boots, I don’t disillusion myself that I rank as anything other than a mild disturbance out there in the swamps. Peepers peeping away like mad. Cranes warbling somewhere nearby. Red-wings trilling and flirting. Cardinals, robins, chickadees all change to their spring dialect. I found fern clumps starting to swell, and a fallen tree that was collapsing last fall is now only soft red, fibrous dirt snuggling down to become new flooring in the woods. Ducks don’t seem to belong somehow, in their colorful, carved looking perfection. The wood duck sits awkwardly in a tree momentarily, trying to balance on those silly feet. I tell it that ducks don’t sit in trees, so it obligingly flaps down and finds its way to the water with a great deal of commotion.
Tansy drops her stick and bounds into the swamp to chase a surprised muskrat. Muskrat disappears beneath the water and swims her way through the murky stems while Tansy looks after her in surprise. What kind of cat or squirrel can jump into the water and swim away?
I see Deb’s tent is up, blending greyly into the tree trunks. She must be watching the fox den again. I wish I could take a week off from work and do the same, but Tansy would ruin the experience, I am sure. I wonder if the foxes know?
Where once we skated, now bugs skate on black water. The ice is gone and duckweed rims the edges. I spy a delightfully lowered tree trunk, curved to form a swing and just skimming the water’s surface. Knowing my boots will be full of water in seconds, I decide it’s worth the wet to find a perch on that curving trunk. Feet wet, but soul is content. I am sitting on the water and the swamp settles into its un-practiced, unharmonious concert again.
I am torn between wanting to share it and wanting to keep it to myself. I want to tell you not to miss a moment of it, but I want to own it exclusively. It is mine, and it should be everyone’s. Today it sat in my boots and under my palms. Every sense was engaged, including one that only happens in the spring. The sense to come home and write, to strive to capture what no camera, video, or paintbrush can. It is hearing the birds and frogs, plus seeing the green things, plus feeling the bark under my hands, smelling the black muck on Tansy’s fur, and tasting the wild chives as I walk past a tree festooned with white fairy mushrooms… it equals … This.
T.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Kindergarten, Merit Pay, and Parenting
Last week one of my kindergartners informed me I looked as if I had two black eyes. That means no more purple, sparkly eye shadow for me, I guess. Another precious child stated that I looked pregnant. And I can't count the number of times I've heard, "Mrs. Hoogerland, you forgot to..." to which I want to snarl, "I didn't FORGET... I am not READY yet, and I am in charge, NOT you!" But I don't. I smile sweetly. And to be fair, each morning when we sit in our Morning Meeting circle and share Good Things, there are at least 6 children who look adoringly at me and say, "My good thing is I have the bestest teacher in the whole world!" or something to that effect. I am not completely immune to these sorts of comments, especially when they issue from a red-haired child with a lisp who also cannot say their "r"s. It is no matter that this statement is patently false, or that the owner of this opinion has never had another teacher, and therefore cannot objectively make this judgement. No; I'll take it.
I'll take it because it makes the early mornings and late evenings worthwhile. Because it makes the days when I feel NO ONE IS LISTENING TO A WORD I SAY don't really matter after all. I will take those warming Good Things and hold them in my pocket during the trainings, the meetings, the workshops, and the book clubs, where everyone smiles vapidly while high-talking, exclaiming, sharing baby pictures, and pretending they do everything right and that their hair is really that color.
I am greedy for the hugs and the smiles from these children, and most of all for the moments when their eyes light up and they "get" it! They know how to read a word or they ask a great question or make a connection or prediction to a story. I love knowing that most of the time, they just want someone to let them know they are understood and heard. How much time we adults waste trying to solve their little problems, when all they need is someone to say, "That must have hurt. I'm sorry that happened." while giving them a squeeze and a sympathetic smile. Then off they go, perfectly fine and ready to face the world again.
My biggest challenge has been the Unlikables. There are a few every year. When I go in and make the biggest effort possible to seem to adore these children, to believe in them and pretend I love them, they respond almost instantly. And this? Makes them more likable. It is an important circle to begin, and it is my responsibility. If I fail, then school may always be a trial for these children, and they may fail as well. The Likables will always thrive, because their way is paved by whatever it is that makes the world an easier place for them. It is the Unlikables that need me the most.
The Unlikables are explained in many ways. Not enough love at home. Not enough structure at home. No consistency at home. Poor nutrition, hygiene, and exercise at home. Permissive parenting. Authoritarian parenting. Neglect. Not enough physcial, mental, emotional, and social stimulation at home. Too much TV and video games, not enough books and outdoors. Not enough whole grains, fruits, and veggies. Too many hydrogenated oils, sugars, plastic food, and preservatives. No modeling of appropriate behavior or choices.
And yet, and yet... we expect these children to grow up and be responsible adults? When does THAT happen, if the above is what they experience at home? Are teachers truly meant to "fix" all of this? Will the threat of "merit pay" make teachers fix these children and therefore fix their test scores? Only if we are also paid to enter our students' homes and make the necessary and permanent changes that are so desperately needed there.
Perhaps, just perhaps, it is parents who need merit pay? If parents received merit pay for feeding their children well, making sure they play outside more than they play video games, talking to them, listening to them, reading to them, and understanding them... then I think we just might see test scores rising. Of course, test scores wouldn't show the real benefits, but they might satisfy the complainers. If parents had to be as qualified to have children as we have to be to drive, hunt, fish, teach, and countless other licensed activities, it is likely that our entire society would be much better off.
If the only parents were qualified parents, our health costs would be reduced. Our schools would thrive. Our population would not be over-whelming to our natural resources. Our prisons would be few. Our family values would suit both democrats and republicans. Some may speak of "rights" when it comes to something like this. But since when do rights come without responsibilities? Parents get in over their heads before they know it, all because they think they should have children, but they are unprepared for what is required to do this job well.
I work my very hardest every single day to not only teach the required reading, writing, math, and science, but to teach children to make eye contact, practice empathy, use their imaginations, think for themselves, and most of all, to question and wonder about the world around them. I get them for less than 9 months, and I expect all of this and more of myself. I cannot change their diets of sugar, hormones, dyes, and preservatives. I cannot affect the time they spend on the couch living listlessly in a virtual world while the real and fascinating world is out there, disappearing before our eyes. I cannot convince their parents that children must have limits, boundaries, and choices all at once. I am incapable of proving to these loving parents that parental love is not friendship, that parents have a crucial job to do, and no, they will not receive merit pay for it, but they will give a gift to their child and the world that is immeasurable.
I do not need merit pay. I need to hear from a 5 year old that I am the "bestest teacher in the whole world". but most of all, I need parents to be the "bestest parents in the whole world".
T.
I'll take it because it makes the early mornings and late evenings worthwhile. Because it makes the days when I feel NO ONE IS LISTENING TO A WORD I SAY don't really matter after all. I will take those warming Good Things and hold them in my pocket during the trainings, the meetings, the workshops, and the book clubs, where everyone smiles vapidly while high-talking, exclaiming, sharing baby pictures, and pretending they do everything right and that their hair is really that color.
I am greedy for the hugs and the smiles from these children, and most of all for the moments when their eyes light up and they "get" it! They know how to read a word or they ask a great question or make a connection or prediction to a story. I love knowing that most of the time, they just want someone to let them know they are understood and heard. How much time we adults waste trying to solve their little problems, when all they need is someone to say, "That must have hurt. I'm sorry that happened." while giving them a squeeze and a sympathetic smile. Then off they go, perfectly fine and ready to face the world again.
My biggest challenge has been the Unlikables. There are a few every year. When I go in and make the biggest effort possible to seem to adore these children, to believe in them and pretend I love them, they respond almost instantly. And this? Makes them more likable. It is an important circle to begin, and it is my responsibility. If I fail, then school may always be a trial for these children, and they may fail as well. The Likables will always thrive, because their way is paved by whatever it is that makes the world an easier place for them. It is the Unlikables that need me the most.
The Unlikables are explained in many ways. Not enough love at home. Not enough structure at home. No consistency at home. Poor nutrition, hygiene, and exercise at home. Permissive parenting. Authoritarian parenting. Neglect. Not enough physcial, mental, emotional, and social stimulation at home. Too much TV and video games, not enough books and outdoors. Not enough whole grains, fruits, and veggies. Too many hydrogenated oils, sugars, plastic food, and preservatives. No modeling of appropriate behavior or choices.
And yet, and yet... we expect these children to grow up and be responsible adults? When does THAT happen, if the above is what they experience at home? Are teachers truly meant to "fix" all of this? Will the threat of "merit pay" make teachers fix these children and therefore fix their test scores? Only if we are also paid to enter our students' homes and make the necessary and permanent changes that are so desperately needed there.
Perhaps, just perhaps, it is parents who need merit pay? If parents received merit pay for feeding their children well, making sure they play outside more than they play video games, talking to them, listening to them, reading to them, and understanding them... then I think we just might see test scores rising. Of course, test scores wouldn't show the real benefits, but they might satisfy the complainers. If parents had to be as qualified to have children as we have to be to drive, hunt, fish, teach, and countless other licensed activities, it is likely that our entire society would be much better off.
If the only parents were qualified parents, our health costs would be reduced. Our schools would thrive. Our population would not be over-whelming to our natural resources. Our prisons would be few. Our family values would suit both democrats and republicans. Some may speak of "rights" when it comes to something like this. But since when do rights come without responsibilities? Parents get in over their heads before they know it, all because they think they should have children, but they are unprepared for what is required to do this job well.
I work my very hardest every single day to not only teach the required reading, writing, math, and science, but to teach children to make eye contact, practice empathy, use their imaginations, think for themselves, and most of all, to question and wonder about the world around them. I get them for less than 9 months, and I expect all of this and more of myself. I cannot change their diets of sugar, hormones, dyes, and preservatives. I cannot affect the time they spend on the couch living listlessly in a virtual world while the real and fascinating world is out there, disappearing before our eyes. I cannot convince their parents that children must have limits, boundaries, and choices all at once. I am incapable of proving to these loving parents that parental love is not friendship, that parents have a crucial job to do, and no, they will not receive merit pay for it, but they will give a gift to their child and the world that is immeasurable.
I do not need merit pay. I need to hear from a 5 year old that I am the "bestest teacher in the whole world". but most of all, I need parents to be the "bestest parents in the whole world".
T.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Four Walls vs. The Elements
Today my husband and dog and I went for a ski in the woods. We chose the "red" trail, which was new to us and a bit challenging in terms of curves and hills. At one point as I stopped to rest on a little, wooden bridge over a dark and cold stream, I just stood and breathed. I could hear the softness of a light snow on the trail, the sounds of Tansy splashing into the creek, and the flutter of wings in the lower branches of nearby bushes and trees. My cheeks were cold and the rest of me beat in time with my heart and was toasty warm. I felt like lying down on that snow-covered bridge and just becoming part of everything around me.
The interruption of Doug's cell phone was a text message from his youngest daughter who was "getting to go bowling". Instantly my mind was transported to one of those places and I felt like shuddering the image away. No wonder bowling is an activity I have always abhorred. For me, the dim, smoky, airless room filled with the smell of fried food, cheap beer, and people's socks is one of my worst nightmares. To be trapped without a window or light, beneath ceilings that feel as if they are closing in on me... I pushed the mental image away and let the white light of the woods enter me again, and I knew then that I will not spend a minute of my life in places that make me unhappy unless I am forced to do so. My soul feeds on the movement and stillness of my body through places that have plants, earth, water and air.
The older I become and the more often I find myself contrasting places that I love with places I avoid, the more I realize what is essentially me. Even in my own home, during the hours I spend between walls, I choose to have living plants draping over my arm-chair, ivy crawling up my curtain, photographs of Lake Michigan and tree tops, and when there is light to be had, my curtains are flung wide to capture as much as possible. There are no artificial scents to be found, and so my nose can smell the earth of my plants, the coming of snow, and the scent of my own skin, so that I know myself to be non-artificial and whether clean or unclean, I am real.
These things which grow and die, and are silent in their purposes, though their purposes are obvious, are where I find myself and my spirit. I am ever more convinced that this is the critical connection for all people, but I can only make this choice for myself, and watch as my loved ones struggle with all that is between four walls.
T.
The interruption of Doug's cell phone was a text message from his youngest daughter who was "getting to go bowling". Instantly my mind was transported to one of those places and I felt like shuddering the image away. No wonder bowling is an activity I have always abhorred. For me, the dim, smoky, airless room filled with the smell of fried food, cheap beer, and people's socks is one of my worst nightmares. To be trapped without a window or light, beneath ceilings that feel as if they are closing in on me... I pushed the mental image away and let the white light of the woods enter me again, and I knew then that I will not spend a minute of my life in places that make me unhappy unless I am forced to do so. My soul feeds on the movement and stillness of my body through places that have plants, earth, water and air.
The older I become and the more often I find myself contrasting places that I love with places I avoid, the more I realize what is essentially me. Even in my own home, during the hours I spend between walls, I choose to have living plants draping over my arm-chair, ivy crawling up my curtain, photographs of Lake Michigan and tree tops, and when there is light to be had, my curtains are flung wide to capture as much as possible. There are no artificial scents to be found, and so my nose can smell the earth of my plants, the coming of snow, and the scent of my own skin, so that I know myself to be non-artificial and whether clean or unclean, I am real.
These things which grow and die, and are silent in their purposes, though their purposes are obvious, are where I find myself and my spirit. I am ever more convinced that this is the critical connection for all people, but I can only make this choice for myself, and watch as my loved ones struggle with all that is between four walls.
T.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Hummingbird and Labor Day
I sit on my porch avoiding real work, doing only virtual work, and the hummingbird is back again. Her hum is not the content sweetness of summer, but is somewhat puzzled and bordering on angry. She chirps at me, demanding to know why the feeder is not filled. I tell her that soon it will be Labor Day and therefore, time for her to go. She won't hear of it, and she gestures at the blue sky and sunny yard full of blooms. "Why should I go on your schedule?" she wants to know.
Are the rules about wearing white, putting in and taking out docks, and providing hummingbird food hard and fast ones? Do we get any leeway? I think the wearing-white rule is now defunct. The hummingbird would like me to put in a word for her as well.
T.
Are the rules about wearing white, putting in and taking out docks, and providing hummingbird food hard and fast ones? Do we get any leeway? I think the wearing-white rule is now defunct. The hummingbird would like me to put in a word for her as well.
T.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
A Sunshiny Morning with Mushrooms
Normally I take pride in being able to find beauty on a gloomy, rainy day. I enjoy going out in my color-splashed rain boots and rhino coat to do things around the yard or take a walk in the dripping woods. Yesterday I went for a run in those woods, with rain loaded leaves drooping into my path. I was able to delight in the mushroom celebration that is going on at this moment in the dark of the woods, but I wasn't able to translate that delight into written words. Some days are just dark, and yesterday was one of them.
Today I woke, finally, to the sun and blue sky. I confess, despite my disdain for people's inability to enjoy anything but "sunny and 70", there are times when it is all I long for. This moment, with sun shining through my filthy windows and polishing up my dark hair, warming my arms, I am miles happier than I was yesterday or the many rainy days prior.
Now I am able to bring the mushrooms into the sun. They don't like it, which is why they are all out there joyously (for mushrooms) mucking about in the black wetness of the undisturbed woods. I have never in my life seen so many nor such a variety. For all that I know about my local nature, I know next to nothing about mushrooms. It is good for my brain to wonder about new things.
Along and sometimes in the path are fungi literally springing to life before my eyes. Wet, black dirt one moment, and at the next glance, tiny, electric yellow caps, elongated and surely poisonous. Further on my way I am halted by the appearance of a literal forest of what seem to be sea coral sponges! Pale, yellow-ish orange, with all the intricacies of coral, and they carpet the forest floor in multitudes. Most common are the flat mushrooms, capping the ends of longish stems, and with varying degrees of white and cream, they often have what appear to be bites out of them. I imagine some small elf trotting along munching one bite out of each mushroom, as we might out of a box of chocolates. To my hungry imagination, the next batch looks temptingly like large, whole wheat pancakes. I run by with syrup in mind. Sprinkled throughout the woods are startlingly beautiful red fungi, with curled lips and thick bases. They are the red of fall; the deepest red of maples and dusky apples. The most obviously poisonous, (though they may not be, for all I know), are what I think of as toadstools. They conjure what Disney mimics in its rendition of movies like Alice in Wonderland. Egg-yolk yellow with bumps and spots all over, perfectly shaped little umbrellas. I am without a doubt that fairy-folk dance 'round these each night while I sleep.
Later I will take my camera into the woods and try for a mushroom photo gallery. I suspect they will hide from me then, not wishing to be exposed to the world in the midst of their fungus revelry. I shall have to be very sneaky.
T.
Today I woke, finally, to the sun and blue sky. I confess, despite my disdain for people's inability to enjoy anything but "sunny and 70", there are times when it is all I long for. This moment, with sun shining through my filthy windows and polishing up my dark hair, warming my arms, I am miles happier than I was yesterday or the many rainy days prior.
Now I am able to bring the mushrooms into the sun. They don't like it, which is why they are all out there joyously (for mushrooms) mucking about in the black wetness of the undisturbed woods. I have never in my life seen so many nor such a variety. For all that I know about my local nature, I know next to nothing about mushrooms. It is good for my brain to wonder about new things.
Along and sometimes in the path are fungi literally springing to life before my eyes. Wet, black dirt one moment, and at the next glance, tiny, electric yellow caps, elongated and surely poisonous. Further on my way I am halted by the appearance of a literal forest of what seem to be sea coral sponges! Pale, yellow-ish orange, with all the intricacies of coral, and they carpet the forest floor in multitudes. Most common are the flat mushrooms, capping the ends of longish stems, and with varying degrees of white and cream, they often have what appear to be bites out of them. I imagine some small elf trotting along munching one bite out of each mushroom, as we might out of a box of chocolates. To my hungry imagination, the next batch looks temptingly like large, whole wheat pancakes. I run by with syrup in mind. Sprinkled throughout the woods are startlingly beautiful red fungi, with curled lips and thick bases. They are the red of fall; the deepest red of maples and dusky apples. The most obviously poisonous, (though they may not be, for all I know), are what I think of as toadstools. They conjure what Disney mimics in its rendition of movies like Alice in Wonderland. Egg-yolk yellow with bumps and spots all over, perfectly shaped little umbrellas. I am without a doubt that fairy-folk dance 'round these each night while I sleep.
Later I will take my camera into the woods and try for a mushroom photo gallery. I suspect they will hide from me then, not wishing to be exposed to the world in the midst of their fungus revelry. I shall have to be very sneaky.
T.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Not Ready to Make Nice
"When fifty million people say a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing."
-Anatole France
I guess I'm not going to be very good at blogging beautiful, positive thoughts. When I am stirred up and hurt or furious, that is when I want to write, unless it is springtime and then I can wax poetic about nature. Right now I'm still smarting from only one small sting on top of many others built up over 8 years.
It seems that the characters we love best in books and movies are characters who are unique individuals with a dream to realize and a fight to win. "Dreams" and "fighting" translate into reality somtimes in ways that aren't appreciated. Here in the false safety of my adopted hometown, these sorts of characters are not beloved. They are, at best, ignored, and at worst, persecuted. A dream, or a fight, after all, has to be realized through effort. One would think effort against the odds might sometimes triumph, but in the face of odds, people would rather swim with the tide and stay in their little school of identical fish. Phrases like, "pick your battles" and "its not worth the hassle or the fight" seem to mean something else to me. They feel defeatist. I want to say, "When IS it worth the fight? Which battles am I allowed to pick? If it means enough to me, but not to the majority, does that mean I should give in gracefully and bleat along with the other sheep? Why don't I get to decide what I want to fight for? Teamwork and cohesiveness has its place, but not when my core passions and beliefs are the payment." People don't want to fight for anything these days, at least around here. Because it might upset someone. It might make someone uncomfortable. Worst of all, something might change! (Gasp!)
Wondering if I'll ever get around to the point? What's got Tahlia all fired up this time? Let's start at basic needs. Yep; Maslow's Hierarchy. Food. Safety. Build on these, and you get to do the things that look good on paper, the testing and the pretty crafts that show what we've learned. Wait though! We don't quite have those basic needs met here. Not just any food will do! If those little bodies aren't getting what they need, how can we be sure that the bricks of learning that we pile on throughout the day, the month, the year are not going to slide right off with no foundation beneath? Yes, I'm talking about food... eating... nutrition. Let's pay attention to it for a moment. It underlies everything in our day and our lives. but we ignore it and abuse it, ourselves, and our children. We wouldn't think of injecting our children with cancer cells, but we feed them, in great quantities, the very substances that could well be contributing to cancer, as well as attention and learning problems, among others. Even if the proof that is out there isn't enough for you, what about common sense? Does it make sense to put genetically altered and man-made chemicals into our children's bodies on a daily basis through foods, drinks, and body products? There ARE options. Nature is here, and no matter what you believe about how it got here or what its purpose is in our lives, it just makes SENSE to only use what we know we can trust.
I'm really getting off topic here. It is easier for them to do what has always been done, to feed children high fructose corn syrup, sugar, and hydrogenated oils that come in a nice little package called "Graham Crackers" with no preparation necessary. Don't dare question this, and don't look for alternatives. I am expected to convince parents of something I not only don't believe in, but I vehemently oppose? How can I do that? Would you of faith be comfortable denying your most deeply held beliefs in the name of what is easy and consistent? I think not.
Maslow's Hierarchy. I mentioned safety too. Safety comes in learning about ourselves, our history, our human weaknesses and mistakes. It comes with learning about bullying- how to manage as targets and bystanders. I think it's all linked to acceptance and tolerance. It's linked to protecting our planet from ourselves, the biggest bullies of all. But we spend weeks educating our children about Valentines, apples, and pumpkins, and only one day on Martin Luther King, and none on Earth Day or Arbor Day. I tried a year ago to implement an anti-bullying lunch club, but it was not supported. I spent 3 years working with our district diversity committee to create a cross cultural curriculum that fit beautifully into our present curriculum. Now the district can claim it has this in place... except it's sitting somewhere unused and unwanted.
By all means, let us keep things easy and comfortable. Let's ignore what we know is right because it's too difficult. Let's all look the same, dress the same, worship the same, and act the same. Be sweet, nice, and non-confrontational and you will have many friends. They won't know you and you won't really know them, but you can collect them on Facebook and invite them to parties.
Be careful, Tahlia, don't alienate anyone. Don't ruffle any feathers. Don't let them see how much you care. Be diplomatic; agree with everyone; smile and look pretty. It matters more that we are all in line doing the wrong thing, than to have a few people out of line, doing the right thing.
T.
-Anatole France
I guess I'm not going to be very good at blogging beautiful, positive thoughts. When I am stirred up and hurt or furious, that is when I want to write, unless it is springtime and then I can wax poetic about nature. Right now I'm still smarting from only one small sting on top of many others built up over 8 years.
It seems that the characters we love best in books and movies are characters who are unique individuals with a dream to realize and a fight to win. "Dreams" and "fighting" translate into reality somtimes in ways that aren't appreciated. Here in the false safety of my adopted hometown, these sorts of characters are not beloved. They are, at best, ignored, and at worst, persecuted. A dream, or a fight, after all, has to be realized through effort. One would think effort against the odds might sometimes triumph, but in the face of odds, people would rather swim with the tide and stay in their little school of identical fish. Phrases like, "pick your battles" and "its not worth the hassle or the fight" seem to mean something else to me. They feel defeatist. I want to say, "When IS it worth the fight? Which battles am I allowed to pick? If it means enough to me, but not to the majority, does that mean I should give in gracefully and bleat along with the other sheep? Why don't I get to decide what I want to fight for? Teamwork and cohesiveness has its place, but not when my core passions and beliefs are the payment." People don't want to fight for anything these days, at least around here. Because it might upset someone. It might make someone uncomfortable. Worst of all, something might change! (Gasp!)
Wondering if I'll ever get around to the point? What's got Tahlia all fired up this time? Let's start at basic needs. Yep; Maslow's Hierarchy. Food. Safety. Build on these, and you get to do the things that look good on paper, the testing and the pretty crafts that show what we've learned. Wait though! We don't quite have those basic needs met here. Not just any food will do! If those little bodies aren't getting what they need, how can we be sure that the bricks of learning that we pile on throughout the day, the month, the year are not going to slide right off with no foundation beneath? Yes, I'm talking about food... eating... nutrition. Let's pay attention to it for a moment. It underlies everything in our day and our lives. but we ignore it and abuse it, ourselves, and our children. We wouldn't think of injecting our children with cancer cells, but we feed them, in great quantities, the very substances that could well be contributing to cancer, as well as attention and learning problems, among others. Even if the proof that is out there isn't enough for you, what about common sense? Does it make sense to put genetically altered and man-made chemicals into our children's bodies on a daily basis through foods, drinks, and body products? There ARE options. Nature is here, and no matter what you believe about how it got here or what its purpose is in our lives, it just makes SENSE to only use what we know we can trust.
I'm really getting off topic here. It is easier for them to do what has always been done, to feed children high fructose corn syrup, sugar, and hydrogenated oils that come in a nice little package called "Graham Crackers" with no preparation necessary. Don't dare question this, and don't look for alternatives. I am expected to convince parents of something I not only don't believe in, but I vehemently oppose? How can I do that? Would you of faith be comfortable denying your most deeply held beliefs in the name of what is easy and consistent? I think not.
Maslow's Hierarchy. I mentioned safety too. Safety comes in learning about ourselves, our history, our human weaknesses and mistakes. It comes with learning about bullying- how to manage as targets and bystanders. I think it's all linked to acceptance and tolerance. It's linked to protecting our planet from ourselves, the biggest bullies of all. But we spend weeks educating our children about Valentines, apples, and pumpkins, and only one day on Martin Luther King, and none on Earth Day or Arbor Day. I tried a year ago to implement an anti-bullying lunch club, but it was not supported. I spent 3 years working with our district diversity committee to create a cross cultural curriculum that fit beautifully into our present curriculum. Now the district can claim it has this in place... except it's sitting somewhere unused and unwanted.
By all means, let us keep things easy and comfortable. Let's ignore what we know is right because it's too difficult. Let's all look the same, dress the same, worship the same, and act the same. Be sweet, nice, and non-confrontational and you will have many friends. They won't know you and you won't really know them, but you can collect them on Facebook and invite them to parties.
Be careful, Tahlia, don't alienate anyone. Don't ruffle any feathers. Don't let them see how much you care. Be diplomatic; agree with everyone; smile and look pretty. It matters more that we are all in line doing the wrong thing, than to have a few people out of line, doing the right thing.
T.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Rainy Day Tides and Ramblings
It's raining this morning. A steady, heavy, stay-inside sort of rain. As if I wasn't unmotivated enough. In the ebb and flow, up and down of my time, this is a low and an ebb. I dislike these times, though perhaps I should learn to embrace them along with the ups and the flows.
I try to analyze the sources of my discontent. So many things from which to choose, yet a week or two ago, there were as many joys and delights as there are now frets and anxieties. What were they? The sun was out. My husband still had summer left to spend with me. No family tensions had made an appearance, and I was able to put my issues with our neighbor in their proper place, which is to say, not giving him or his ego the time of day, spending no power, time, or gifts on him.
This week I am both overwhelmed and undermotivated. Bad combination. I need to run and no one will make me. My classroom needs work and I have a new curriculum to learn, but I would rather read my book and drink tea. Friends are coming to camp tomorrow and I have made no preparations whatsoever for this event.
Tansy has been throwing up every other day or so, repeatedly. Our new fridge is making sounds like a dying cow. We have to hire a lawyer to deal with our unreasonable and freakishly property-obsessed neighbor. Our house is filthy and full of pet hair in all of the corners. Laundry needs doing, though I would just as soon wear the same thing every day, my recently tie-dyed pants and my Brian Vander Ark t-shirt. Certain friends lives seem to be changing, or they are changing, or maybe I am changing... these shifts always frighten me. We owe an outrageous sum of money due to a 2 year accident on our tax forms. There is a pair of $300 boots that want me to take them home this fall...
So make an effort! Look on the bright side! Think positively! Count your blessings! ... right. So, the bright side is... these conditions are not permanent. And thinking positively and counting my blessings? At least I have a new fridge when my other broke. I have friends who want to come hang out and camp with me. I have a wonderful, albeit filthy, home. The pet hair is a price I pay for the priceless love of my furry friends. My clothes that need washing are cute and plentiful. We may owe money, but we have jobs. My neighbor provides me with constant testing of my patience and my ability to find serenity despite conflict. I CAN run, though I don't feel like it. My legs operate well. My new classroom and curriculum means that I was able to remove myself from an untenable situation. And at least I have a husband worth missing when he's gone.
There.
It's still raining.
T.
I try to analyze the sources of my discontent. So many things from which to choose, yet a week or two ago, there were as many joys and delights as there are now frets and anxieties. What were they? The sun was out. My husband still had summer left to spend with me. No family tensions had made an appearance, and I was able to put my issues with our neighbor in their proper place, which is to say, not giving him or his ego the time of day, spending no power, time, or gifts on him.
This week I am both overwhelmed and undermotivated. Bad combination. I need to run and no one will make me. My classroom needs work and I have a new curriculum to learn, but I would rather read my book and drink tea. Friends are coming to camp tomorrow and I have made no preparations whatsoever for this event.
Tansy has been throwing up every other day or so, repeatedly. Our new fridge is making sounds like a dying cow. We have to hire a lawyer to deal with our unreasonable and freakishly property-obsessed neighbor. Our house is filthy and full of pet hair in all of the corners. Laundry needs doing, though I would just as soon wear the same thing every day, my recently tie-dyed pants and my Brian Vander Ark t-shirt. Certain friends lives seem to be changing, or they are changing, or maybe I am changing... these shifts always frighten me. We owe an outrageous sum of money due to a 2 year accident on our tax forms. There is a pair of $300 boots that want me to take them home this fall...
So make an effort! Look on the bright side! Think positively! Count your blessings! ... right. So, the bright side is... these conditions are not permanent. And thinking positively and counting my blessings? At least I have a new fridge when my other broke. I have friends who want to come hang out and camp with me. I have a wonderful, albeit filthy, home. The pet hair is a price I pay for the priceless love of my furry friends. My clothes that need washing are cute and plentiful. We may owe money, but we have jobs. My neighbor provides me with constant testing of my patience and my ability to find serenity despite conflict. I CAN run, though I don't feel like it. My legs operate well. My new classroom and curriculum means that I was able to remove myself from an untenable situation. And at least I have a husband worth missing when he's gone.
There.
It's still raining.
T.
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