You Know What? I Feel Old (182)

I worked hard today. I finished preparing for our Inventor's Zoom Summer Camp. It was a lot of packaging and sorting. I am sore, very sore. I guess I feel my age. Then I went to the store, twice. I really wanted Oatly. If you haven't tried Oatly Milk, you should. Its amazing, especially for a lactose intolerant person, such as myself.

I shopped in a store, crowded, but everyone had a mask on. I was pleasantly surprised- never have I been grocery shopping and had everyone wearing a mask. It is mandatory here, we are in a 1 threat level for Covid-19. But until today there were always many people who refused to wear a mask. So it was nice to see. Then I went to another store and everyone was wearing masks too.

It is good to see people looking out for one another. Plus, I got my Oatly Milk, sometimes hard to find as they had the ice cream too. So excited. Long day, my body is achey and I feel exhausted. Not a blog post coming forth tonight. I will finish part 3 tomorrow. Now time to rest. East some Strawberry Oatly Ice Cream and watch some Match Game.

Trying to Catch the Wind: Music is the Thread of Humanity (179)

Chords and Chorus

Music to me is the tone, lyrics, notes, melody, harmony of life. As for most people, music evokes memories both good and bad. The gut wrenching strums of The Edge, echoing in the 1980's U2 ballads, to the beautiful vibration of Bob Dylan's guitar, jamming in the Folk of 1970's strife, resonating truth. The pluck, thrum, strike of the guitar is haunting and indelible.

I was an adolescent in the 1980's, so that music is a teetering crown, upon which my emotions balance, the chords and choruses of my upbringing. But 1990's and the aughts ring deep in my soul as well. They have captured a spirit of the age. They pass through the decades with as much fervor as they did in their time. I think that is why some movies connect with us as watchers.

Not just the plot, setting or actors- even the script. It is the bridge they choose to construct, to turn back the hands of time. To vibrate our memories into liveliness. Because music is indeed the thread that connects action, purpose, meaning. It is the funk to our dance groove and the release of our sadness and doubt. No matter the genre, it carries a weight, a groove that reaches us on an individual level.

Lyrics and Notes

Like art, some brings joy, others make us cringe. I always think of the time and experience that went into the writing and orchestration of music. Did the glory of the beat come in a dream, did the riff present itself in a jam session? Were the words spilling out like marbles, running this way and that on a shiny, tile floor? Or, did they slowly escape like carbon-dioxide from a can of soda.

Even when the notes don't lure me in, when the premise is not lost on me, I appreciate it. The experience lived that came forth in the song or piece. I have been listening to a lot of different music lately- some I have never heard before, some I have avoided. I have been closing my eyes and really listening. Hearing the release, the heart wrenching emotion bearing fruit. It is quite beautiful.

Now, that hasn't changed my like or dislike of certain styles of music. It has though, changed my outlook and acceptance of music I might not connect with. I have found a commonality between them. Something that goes deeper than the sound. Something that is beneath the lyrics, the melody, the harmony. Something the writer, musician, singer's voice does not let loose. The personal thread that ties all music together.

A basic human need, desire: to be heard. Not to necessarily be famous, but to be understood. To feel connected. Any nightclub is a visual testament to this- music swirls, ethereal, waves of meaning and memory- surging and surrounding, like a tightening of the threads. The beat almost forcing a move, a jolt, a sway. Everyone feels it. A great song, removes barriers and unites spirits in a way nothing else does.

The Meaning Underneath

Like a mask, music is an escape from judgement. It is someone like you, living what you are living, remembering your past, reaching out a hand for you to grasp during times of turmoil, strife, uncertainty. But, also like a stage, they illuminate our fears, lull us into a clarity. They speak the truth, no matter how much we want to avoid the mirror- songs force us to look into them.

We all feel like we are trying to catch the wind. But the wind is ethereal, sultry and sneaky. We see it as it brushes against, we hear it as it wraps around, we even believe we see it as it stays mobile- but it is always just out of reach. It is constant, guttural, and destructive. But, it has its lulling, soft, mystical side too.

We breathe its charm. We shelter from its anger. Yet, we seek it out. Music its companion, is as close as we come. All we can do is catch its sound, embrace its resonance and let the wind merely make suggestions. Tune in to the swirl of song and meaning instead. They are the threads that bridge, link, and sew humanity together.

Pop in your earbuds and jump into a genre you don't listen to. Close your eyes and just listen. It might be discombobulating for a bit- but it will bring an awareness I think we all need. Let it linger on, let yourself sit in discomfort. You will appreciate music so much more, I promise. We all need to listen, for the songs out there - are the landscape of our country, our population and our humanity.

Set Up, Emcee and Callback- How Teaching is like Stand Up Comedy (176)

A Venue of Laughs

An empty stage, spotlight blaring. Red curtain or brick wall adorning the back. Smaller venues come with clanking glasses, a low din of familiarity and conversation. Larger showcases bring in an ambiance of fervor and an energy of expectation that is palpable. No matter the size, a comedian comes to the stage with one intention: to make people feel something. To get their audience to laugh. 

Some stand-up's are extraordinarily successful because they are relevant and poignant. Others fall flat, generally because they are not genuine, in other words they try too hard and when comedy is forced upon an audience- it often does not gain the response the comedian desires. Being honest, and authentic means everything.

Some stand up comediennes tell a story or anecdote- one of camaraderie and relatability. They have a 1^st story, an act out or elaboration, then a 2^nd story to bring it all together. These bridge the gap between concepts, make the bigger picture more meaningful. Sometimes though they ad-lib, as the jokes unfold, new ideas pop in and flesh out the set.

They pause and take a beat for effect. They use a callback to bring back a set-up from earlier in the routine. They reinterpret target assumptions. They end with a capper or rapid fire of jokes to bring the set to an end. They need to make it memorable. Just like a hook in the classroom, comediennes use cappers to close or open a routine.

Some comedians use hecklers and crowd work to engage the audience. Make connections with individual guests, create a collaboration in the storytelling. Really good comedians have a timing, a cadence and that is how they lure their audience in and keep them engaged. Eye contact, use of props and stage presence all impact the success of a stand-up comedienne.

The stage is their canvas and how they choose to add the paint and landscape is unique to the personality and point of view, of the performer. Some comedians use profanity, others choose to keep it clean. Some talk about current events, others keep it more light weight and approachable. This is why some, skyrocket to the mainstream, while others stay near the fringes.

The Classroom Stage

I was listening to a podcast with Jerry Seinfeld yesterday. As he was describing stand-up comedy, I was seeing its relationship with education clearly. 

The set-up, the routine, the story-telling and humor. The relatability and presence. The use of the space, the cadence and choice of flow. The working the room and banter. This is all part of creating relationships in our classrooms. We might not have choice of certain topics, controversial language, or crude vocabulary- but we have complete control over how we present content and build relationships.

Jerry mentioned the ultimate goal of comedy is to make people laugh. Then connecting with them is secondary. Of course, in education it is all about relationships and trust. If our students trust us, feel our respect and admiration towards them- they will fully buy in to our ‘routine, or set.’ They will respond with engagement and hopefully some laughs too.

Teaching is not easy. Those who have not stepped in front of a classroom of children on a daily basis, have no idea how challenging it is. Every day, every class period is different. Some days you are so excited about your content and you have written the lesson plan, even rehearsed it many times- but it falls flat.

Other days you are winging it because of technology issues or class disruptions and somehow- everything comes together, and it ends up being a memorable day. Memorable because of the spontaneity and organic semblance of problem-solving and discussion. It really is a beautiful experience to partake in.

Every day, teachers enter the stage, not with a red curtain and microphone as the focal point, but with a chalkboard and classroom posters. With desks and tables, bad lighting, tile floors and rows of backpacks. It might be a totally different vibe, a unique layout, but the purpose is the same.

Make connections, build relationships, engage with authentic, genuine storytelling, an uncovering of oneself. To create a venue of dialogue, with some monologue. To be present and focused on being meaningful and relatable. Relevant and purposeful. If a teacher is focused more on themselves- they will bomb. If a teacher is not ‘real’ not ‘accessible’ and honest- they will lose their audience.

The Comeback

Some comedians fall out of favor. Their jokes become stale and outdated. They need to revamp in order to be relevant. Some teachers do the same. The comeback is only possible if there is a lot of listening and observing. If it becomes less about success or popularity and more about relationships and connection- a comeback or reimagination is possible.

No amount of fun activities, exciting labs, banter, and funny conversations will make up for a lack of genuine connection. If we feel like we know where the comedienne is coming from- if we laugh because we ‘get it’- we will remember them.

If teachers are not just mindful and kind, but also humble, honest and above all else willing to share their struggles, display their flaws and talk honestly about their failures and successes- they will be remembered. 

It is not just with an intention of being liked that teachers should enter a classroom, it should be with the goal of bringing a classroom together as a community of storytellers, learners, and self-advocates.

A classroom is very much a stage. A platform where every aspect of your personality, attitude, behavior, body language, speech and demeanor are brightly lit. Where your words mean so much, but your physicality and mannerisms do to. 

Students notice everything. We are the emcee to their moment of expression. We are the applause to their realizations and growth. They are the guests to our lesson. We are the observer of their growth and curiosity. Together they are the most beautiful arrangements of learning there is.

We are coming back to a different type of show. Venue to be announced. Our cadence, authenticity and relationship building will be the precursor to our ‘set.’ Our strength as educators is our respect of the craft- our craft. We have the skill to execute our ideas, not just possess them. We have the adaptability to pivot and reframe our understanding of the curriculum and the delivery of it.

But it will take rehearsal, rewriting, reframing and a reimagining of our why. Wether in the classroom or on-line we have to merge our strategies. We have to ask a lot of questions. We have to trust our instincts.

We are educators and like comedians/comediennes we are fearless. We are passionate. We are willing to take risks. We understand our audience and stay true to ourselves. 

This fall, these traits will be only part of our playbook. The rest will come from collaboration and experience. We will all be headliners on our classroom stages- I can hear the crowd get quiet, I can see the spotlight focus, are you ready?

The Locket, The Ring and The Compact (175)

The Locket

A keepsake dear to our heart. Sometimes split in two, giving a piece of ourselves to a dear friend or family member. If we open it, often there is a lock of hair, a tattered photo, or a word of kindness. We wear them close to the vest, like a protector of our spirit and hope. Out for others to revere, or against our bare skin- we all have lockets, pendants of faith and memory.

These days though, the chain seems to be weakening. What was once sturdy and fortified now feels fragile and fatigued. Yet, we are still holding tight to the chain. The thread that connects us to a time when things felt balanced somehow. Now there is a necessary unraveling, a vibration of change. Will the locket stay closed and hidden, or will it become an ornament of transformation?

The Ring

"The one ring to rule them all" not one I would want to wear. Tumultuous and malignant. It binds to the fingers of those who do not wish to see the truth. They want to remain blind and eager to follow a leader, who only seeks to conquer and destroy liberties. This ring is powerful, it causes division, derision, and demonization. It is easy for the masses to destroy one another- the ring just needs to whisper words of judgment and hate.

How do we get the ring back to the fires of Mordor? We must find our companions and set out to destroy the ring. Remove the veil of desired supremacy. The only way we can do this is to keep the conversation going. Keep bringing to the forefront- acts of those who wish to do harm. Keep calling out those who spread derision and divisiveness. We need to be the voice of reason.

The ring can be destroyed, but it will take quite a journey to reach the fire in which we can change minds, broaden points of view, and unite in a common cause- transparency, transformation, and equity.

The Compact

A mirror. Once an adorned, jeweled case, proudly displayed. Now falls to the bottom of a purse, in most cases, plastic and powdery. But the purpose is the same. A reflection piece so one can beautify. Lipstick, blush, or mascara- this round or square contraption holds the window to the soul. It is funny how our phones can now be a mirror too- updating the idea of a compact.

The compact is used to remove blemishes, shine up our curved lips and lengthen our eye lashes. Especially in a time like this- it helps embellish, liven, and accentuate our identities. It helps us find our voice because it lets us see our perfect image of ourselves. But, if we do not use them to magnify for ourselves, our biases, and hidden judgments- what good are they?

Mirrors and masquerades are perfect for costumes- but for real life, compacts should be the reflection of ourselves that lead us to change. They are personal items, so we need to us them for personal growth opportunities.

The Locket, The Ring, The Compact

I do not know if you ever watched Warehouse 13 on SCIFY, but I am re-watching it now on IMbD, on Amazon. It is a fun show. Artifacts that cause disruption and dismay. Agents set out to gather them up and keep people safe. The artifacts are real world objects often linked to people in the past. Anyway, the episode I watched yesterday was about H.G. Wells.

She escaped and removed a few of her belongings in the process. Her locket, ring and compact. They are not sure why yet. But this got me to thinking, nowadays, what these objects represent. Why would someone want to hide these away, or use them in some way? Thus, a blog post.

I hope your metaphorical locket, ring and compact are used for good. No need for Mordor in your future. That your ring expresses connection and love, which I am sure it does. Most rings are tokens of joy and love. Our rings are our bond to those who surround us with kindness and respect.

I hope that we all use our lockets to recognize the need for change and transformation and our compacts for reflection and growth. These three innocuous objects, are of course metaphorical- but think about it, we all have them.

I know as educators, we are looking for ways to transform education. These three items can do that. Especially if we use them together to: remember, express, bond and reflect our positive spirits with those around us.

We have a long road in front of us- but we all have our companions and I know we will make the journey together. It was a difficult road for Frodo and his friends, as it will be for us as educators and as humans- but they made it through the dangerous landscape with fortitude, strength, optimism and trust.

Together, lets keep the conversation positive and transformational and I know we will make some amazing changes. Conversation, action, unity, growth and change.

The Bubble Factor: To Pop or Not to Pop (173)

The word bubble has a lot of meaning these days. Our distancing bubbles. To stay safe we need to monitor who enters our safety bubble. Family, friends etc. It is our barrier, our wall, our exterior that keeps us isolated these days. That is a vastly different meaning than what we are used to, when it comes to the word bubble.

When we are little, bubbles are excitement, they illicit joy and curiosity. They float and spin in the breeze. They are translucent, iridescent, circular moments of beauty. Soapy, sticky, orbs of happiness.

They gather in groups, form larger bubbles, clump in shiny combinations. We keep them coming, by blowing our wishful air into the solution of fulfillment. They are a symbol of science and play all bundled into one perfect package.

They form in the bath tub, often large and foamy- allowing for us to disappear underneath them. They form in oil, water and so many different types of liquid, we often miss them. In our carbonated beverages and our salad dressing. Bubbles are everywhere.



 They are memories of childhood. They are free spirited devices of hope. Small or large they are temporary glimpses into our imaginations.

We are reliant on our current bubbles. Do we pop them and venture out into the world? Do we keep the liquid of plasticity and malleability on hand and continue to blow and create our barrier? Bubbles can be safe spaces, and still be creative, fun places to thrive in.

Bubbles are miraculous concoctions of soapy, sudsy substances. I think today, I will stay within my barrier bubble, but step outside and create some smaller orbs that will float away into the sky- and with each one- I will release my tension, stress, depression, fear of uncertainty. Then I will create more to send out into the world- positivity and hope. Joy and faith. 

Look up and maybe a positivity bubble will float near you.

Out Breath: Being Merciful to Myself (172)

I am a mindful person. I also suffer from cynical optimism. There is guilt and growth, awareness and mindfulness floating around me, all wrapped up tight in faith and hope. I cry and punch my fists in the air, with outrage and awakening, but at the end of the day, after reflection and acknowledgement, I rest with a blanket of belief and positivity. I seek to understand my short-comings- but before I can, I must accept my ignorance.

Before I can make a positive change, I have to take on the weight of my hidden ideology, my hidden misconceptions, especially those I possess regarding myself. I am white, and I was raised in a world of privilege. I, like many have been programmed with a level of thinking and it is going to take some deprogramming to combat it. It is a privilege programming. Not necessarily a socio-economic privilege, but a privilege none the less. 

A few weeks ago, if you told me I have racist thoughts in me, I would deny it. I would have been offended and hurt. Our programming is in us, and prejudice finds its way to us, unfortunately. But, having to take a long look at my thought process, my inward dialogue, my view of the world- these last few weeks, thankfully, I recognize that there is. That I have been denying a sense of entitlement and privilege, that I have been carrying around with me all these years.

I have to me merciful towards myself. I am not an outward spoken racist. I am not racist. I do not involve myself with any group that is. But I was raised white and with that upbringing, there was instilled in me, certain behaviors and mental blockages, that I know I have to dismantle. I have to out breath and accept my ignorance. Acknowledge my blind spots and misconceptions.

As a teacher, I have taught just about every nationality, culture, and race. I have had beautiful classrooms of students all loved and appreciated by myself. But, with the out breath must come a long look at my teaching practices. I have to ask myself- did I ever react or respond in a racist way? Not verbally, never. But, did I treat any one of my students differently, because of where they are from, their background, their race? I know I have, because again, I have corners of my mindset I tend not to address.

Of course, I want to believe I did not. I want to believe I have never done anything that could be construed as anything but antiracist. But I know in my heart it is inevitable that I did. Being antiracist means being aware not only of my outward actions, but my inward dialogue. Taking stock in my past behaviors and looking for ways to alleviate anything that I may do that causes a disparity in learning or growth.

This is so tied together with mindfulness and those of you who know me, know my passion and teaching is intertwined with mindfulness. But is mindfulness enough? No. Not if I do not live antiracism too. The two must combine and direct my thoughts and mindset every day. It is not enough to be kind and attentive, I must also be deeply aware of bias and judgment that may sneak into my classroom.

I have heard many people say recently, that antiracism means changing policy, changing circumstances that alienate and isolate any group of people. Mindfulness means being aware of your actions and impact on those around you. It is kindness and generosity but also empathy and understanding that leads to change.

Together mindfulness and antiracism then, to me means, showing yourself grace. Loving yourself and believing in yourself enough to say- I have been racist in the past. Not cruel or outwardly destructive but subtly my actions were steered, by an ingrained privilege that was bestowed upon me at birth.

Now I am not privileged in many ways. I am a women, I have Dyslexia and other learning disabilities. I am not wealthy or super popular, successful, or influential but that does not matter. It is not comparative. It is not important. I have to accept that being white, made my life what it is. This is a hard pill to swallow, but it is a necessary one, in order for me to me mindfully anti-racist.

I can not let guilt take over. I have to be a cynical optimist. Know in the depths of my spirit, that I can change the way I think. Listen to the uncomfortable dialogue from others as they find their footing in the stream of change. I believe in myself enough to say this, right now in this blog: I am not perfect, and I know I have to change the way I think in order to be a more mindful and make a positive impact.

Mindfulness has been my daily practice for along time. Meditation and reflection a daily routine. I once thought that being kind and mindful was enough. But, after listening intently to many conversations as of late- I know it isn’t. I know that I need to be more active in my pursuit of awareness and positive action.

Kindness and mindfulness are a beautiful way to shape my mental world. They steer me into more positive situations. They introduce me to like-minded, insightful people. But it will be the integration of anti-racism into my daily, rituals- my morning intentions, daily mantra’s and moment to moment check-in’s, that will change me as a person and an educator.

Mindfulness is not a permanence. It is a stream that ebbs, flows, and meanders. There are rapids that need extra attention. Leisurely floating that allows time for peaceful travel. But there is also a constant requirement of attention, or your inner tube or kayak just might capsize. It is awareness, action and acceptance of any shortsightedness, so you can tackle it.

The same is true for anti-racism. It is going to take vigilance and determination to focus on an awareness and understanding, of what it means to be anti-racist. To make sure how I teach is more inclusive, equitable and collaborative- but also mindful, anti-racist and safe. Safe to have the meaningful, important and sometimes uncomfortable conversations, that come from a truly inclusive classroom.

It all begins with mercy. With acceptance of my privilege. With a trust in myself that I know I am a good person. I just have a few blind spots that I have been too keen to ignore, before recent days. If we do not trust ourselves, love ourselves and see that we are capable of changing the way we think, change will never come. We must embrace the out breath and be merciful to ourselves.

Pursuit of Purpose (166)

Fits and starts. Acceleration and braking. 2020 has whittled down my brake pads- I am beginning to hear the squeaking. You know the one, every time you come to a red light or stop sign that loud, high-pitched whine of heat hitting metal. A constant reminder your vehicle needs to go to the mechanic. Then when you finally go, they hand you a list of things that need repair.

That's the year of 2020. I am literally in the middle of nowhere, I feel that sudden sense of fear that I am lost. I pull over and look at the map- it doesn't help because it is aligned to someone else's interstate. How can I keep it in gear and keep traveling in a sensible direction when I have no idea where I am?

I do not live in a world of straight, unblemished lines. Solid, study stripes of clarity and focus. Rather I exist in a place of dashes, dots and squiggles- each still somewhat directional, still hopeful, but also distracting and discombobulating. I am functioning in a state of fits and starts. A lack of momentum. Inertia is good, it forces us to problem-solve, but I feel a lack of it lately.

I have plenty of arrows in my mental quiver. But, I seem to be pulling back my bow too frequently and releasing them in every which direction. I seem to be emptying my quiver before I have a chance to take aim and find the bulls eye. Find my direction. Find my target- that being quieting my mind and finding my coordinates.

I am in a pursuit of purpose. Do I post, do I Tweet? Do I write and share? Do I retreat? Do I chat? Do I read? Do I watch movies and shows that move me? How should I react? How should I respond? Do I do either? I am spinning, trying to connect the dots, the dashes, the squiggles. But they are eluding me. Migraines and melancholy somehow always seem to find me though.

Purpose is personal. Each arrow we possess is weighted for our own need. Most days we find our direction. We see our target and our bow finds its mark. But these days- I am not finding my center. It all feels like disintegrating brake pads. That in the near future, I won't be able to stop and I will smash into a tree. The same tree meant for my arrow to connect me with.

I am in a pursuit of purpose. The important thing, within all of this uncertainty- to keep writing about it, talking about it, letting myself feel it. Get my brakes checked and to take the time to make all the updates to my vehicle. It won't be an easy fix, or a quick one- but it will be worth it. Then maybe the lines will become more uniform and the highway more inviting. And, my mindset more calm and focused.

Tale From A Dyslexic Mind (163)

I have never met a student who didn't want to learn. I have met many who were reluctant, who shied away from a challenge. I have met many for whom learning comes easy and others who struggle, with the simplest of concepts. But never have I met a student who didn't want to learn and feel like they are smart.

I was a student who never gave up, who struggled in a huge way, not because I wasn't trying, but because my teachers believed I couldn't do it. They said as much. "She is just not smart enough to be in this class." or "She isn't trying hard enough, she is just a lazy student." A label, that followed me though out grade school. I changed schools seven times, before high school and at every school I attended, I was labelled as lazy and a student who needed to focus more and pay attention more and then I would be able to be a better student. I have Dyslexia not laziness.

What is a better student? What does it mean to try harder? Is there a scale of trying hard? Does it progress exponentially? As a child, these words meant nothing to me. The phrase "If you do your best, you can accomplish anything," didn't mean what it was intended to mean. To me it meant, you aren't good enough. I did my homework. I listened in class and did my best at taking notes. They weren't thorough or perfect, I struggled with listening and transcribing. But what teachers saw was, I was easily distracted and never took complete notes. Again, perspective. I never want anyone of my students to feel the way I did growing up. I felt isolated and dumb. There is no other way to put it. It sounds harsh, but true, I am afraid. 

I have been talking a lot to my Dyslexic students. Asking them questions and making sure they never feel isolated or less than. We just get to know one another and what works for us. What tools we use to make learning more fun. We can talk about strategies, till we are blue in the face- but until we negate generalizations and really get to know students, personally, this will never happen. I know some fantastic teachers, out-going and caring teachers who just miss-connect with Dyslexic students because they are taught certain methods to help these students.

Yet, none of us who have Dyslexia are the same. We learn differently, absorb information uniquely and have certain techniques we use every day to cope with being slightly outside the bubble. The bubble of the normal people, I used to call it. We will never be ‘normal’ because we are extraordinary like everyone else. What is normal anyway? Until relationships are in place and students feel safe to tell teachers their fears, they will never truly feel connected in the classroom.

Dyslexia is personal. It is a way of processing and assembling new information into a schema that makes sense to us. This never really happened for me until high school. Not because at the time, 1980's a lot was understood about Dyslexia or that a bunch of new strategies presented themselves to teachers of the time period. 

It was because of relationships that were made with my teachers. The tools they provided were not mandated or measured, they worked because they came from a place of security and that is why I incorporated them into my learning framework. Now this is not to say that there aren't some amazing strategies out there for teaching Dyslexic students. For me, it means that these methods are just the shape of the solutions, the middle and ultimately the vibrancy will come from a teacher’s time, patience and communication.

When you see a student pull away and retreat- nudge them back in, not with new strategies alone, but with conversation. A current student I have, who is Dyslexic, told me this, on an exit ticket, she wrote this amazing response and I find it the most meaningful feedback, I have ever received. Not because it is positive, but because I wish I had had a teacher whom I could have said this to growing up. It is a reminder that we often forget to just listen.

"I have never been good at science. Too many words and concepts being thrown at me, bombarding me. When I asked questions it was, see me after class, or come to tutorials. I didn't want to spend extra-time learning something everyone else was learning in class. But, since I have been in your class, the vocabulary is presented in so many ways, I get to talk to you one to one every week, and I have lots of time to talk to other students. You really listen to what I need and make sure I get it. I know I am smart, I just need to be reminded sometimes. Not with grades or praise, but with after a hard lesson, I get it. I get to leave the classroom feeling as smart as other students. This is why, I love your class."

Back in the Saddle (161)

Quarantine as long. Teaching from home was arduous and frustrating. It left me hungry for interaction and working with fellow educators and hopefully students over the summer. I am easing back into the flow. It feels good but some long days, has left me achy- sore back and arms.

My district STEAM center offers several science camps during the summer. I generally teach both of them. The first in June is for inbound 4th and 5th graders. Then in July we have a Girls Innovator Camp and a Junior High STEM Camp. But, since we have to isolate due to Covid-19, this year all three camps are virtual.

So we have to organize activities, purchase all the supplies, sort and bag the supplies and set up an assembly, car line for parents to pick up a weeks worth of activities. Bagging them takes as long as organizing them. A full-time week of this for me and the camp host and we should have it done by Saturday.

Parents will be picking up their daily, numbered and paper bagged supplies. We have 72 in the camps. So a lot of work. Then on Zoom we will divide them into groups, 4 teachers will rotate them through breakout sessions where we will walk them through the design and play time with their activities. Plus we have team building time, video clip time, snack time (3 provided per day, per kid).

Its going to be fun. We are currently setting up for the elementary science camp. We have crystal tree making, owl pellets, x-rays and cast design, pop up books, solar ovens, telescope building and bottle rockets- just to name a few. It is going to be a very different way for the science summer camp to be taught. But, I have faith it is going to be amazing.

My 5th years teaching these camps and our first time virtual. The virus has forced us to a virtual reality for now. But, with a lot of planning and organizing and packages of activities and supplies- this one should be just as fun as previous camps. I am looking forward to next week. Just a few more days to get ready.

Back in the saddle again. 

Six Months, Future Years (159)

2020 will not be remembered fondly. The first six months have been anything but easy, pleasant or positive. Covid-19 shut down schools, businesses, lives. The economy unraveled. Unemployment rose. Inefficiency and ignorance reigned. It left us raw, exposed and vulnerable. It created a reverberation of frustration, desperation and fear. It also widened the gap of disparity and inequality.

Then came the unbelievable brutality. The lens sharpened on the civic injustice always present, yet slightly muted by the virus. It became amplified and organized. People left quarantine to join forces against police violence and social discrimination, violation and abuse. Silenced, isolated voices, exited their six feet parameters and began to march side by side.

The positive influence was grand, powerful, empowering and the streets became not only a memorial, but a tribute and congregation of supporters. But, with any cause, with any rebellion- comes those who want to use it for something else. To divide and conquer, to disrupt and cause mayhem within a gentle amplification.

Voices continued to rise and as such violence followed- erupted, singed and destroyed. Then the positive, inspiring expression gave voice to the crowd, let the declaration unite. Become a more distinct and unified communication. The tide shifted into a more focused energy. One of remembrance, thoughtful and purposeful change and awareness.

People are listening. Those in power have heard the battle cry and are listening. We need to shatter the protective barrier, in order to let in the glorious noise of grace. To allow the utterances and inflections, of those who need to be heard, become the the leaders of the movement. To unite. To open the windows of conversations- not started out of anger, but out of a common goal.

Six months has reformatted our reality. We no longer sit isolated, we gather in crowds to peacefully and radically call attention to ourselves. To our actions, responses and lack of both. We are listening. We are no longer behind the false barricade, we are tearing down the facade, we are outraged. We are also formulating change. This is the first step to transformation.

Nacirema Eciov (157)

There is a vastness in which our emotions swirl, they push at the edges, leaving an impression. There is a thread that weaves together our guilt, sorrow, fear. 

The thread becomes threadbare sometimes. The interlace loosens and we begin to unravel. As American's we are unraveling, in such a way that the openings, in the tapestry will take time to restitch. Hopefully with a new perspective.

The strength of insight, community, and peaceful monumental movements, are bringing a much-needed change to the old guard. 

The dusty, castle hung, ornamental, mosaics are tumbling - forcefully being removed- from cave-like sensibilities. This may to some, feel threatening- but all progression comes with uncomfortable loss and destruction. All change is accompanied with a little hesitancy.  

Some voices are leading the masses. Beautiful and eye opening. We are all listening to the strength of common sense. Yet, rage often makes a dent in the peaceful- violence rears itself in ways uncontrollable. There is both in this movement- calm and poignant and destructive and violent.

We are all feeling the outrage. The inner screams and outer shouts of transformation. Yet, we are not all members of the chorus- amazingly hopeful and transcendent. 

Many are merely observers, because they are members of the new congregation. They are finding their way. They are aware and will practice in their own way. They will worship their truth and within their souls. They will add to the beauty of the music of change.

They have their hymn books open and are awaiting for their moment to join in.

There has always been an American Voice- not necessarily a unified one- but one that unites us in some way. 

This is the thunderous, boom of honesty, frustration and pain that is reverberating, in the streets and parks. The sound of coming together, through a virus, through despair and revulsion and ultimately through understanding.

Fear is an ugly monster and it has always brought out the worst in people. Racism, prejudice, misogyny, hatred, and injustice all stem from fear. 

Lately the threads of our American tapestry have unraveled- they have been pulled even more apart. But, in order for a revision, an upheaval, a frightening conversation to occur- we need it to be torn apart.

Now when things are torn apart, they are often done so, in a violent way. It is the initial wave of destruction in many catastrophes. But the Earth must crumble, the ground must sink at our feet, and our sensibilities and values, must be shaken. 

It has to occur in a tremendous quake of sadness, remorse and pause. This is the only way we will stop, remove blame, and try to see our place in the situation.

We must discover our error in judgement, our misunderstandings and misconceptions, our biases. We all have them.

Most people are inherently good people. But sometimes, people are ignorant. Not because they are cruel- but because they are self-absorbed and focused on life itself. So, we also, need to forgive those who just need a little guidance, or a lot.

This country wide conversation, I hope will remain sore to the touch. Uncomfortable. Scary. 

Then, eventually it will be able to lead us, to more meaningful discussions, with real solutions. I am one soul in a country of many- I have no right to say what any solution is. 

That is a process we all must endeavor independently, within ourselves, and as a country as a whole. This the impetus for big changes.

I believe most people are purposefully thinking. Some about how to change themselves. Others on how to improve their outlook and help others find common ground. 

Most people whether they are outwardly verbal or internally altered- feel a grief. Feel an utter sense of rage and anger. How they deal is personal. How they decide to make a difference, transform themselves and respond to the cause, is personal.

I pray, that eventually once the vibration of chaos and dissonance, quiets. The deeper, harder, conversations will have a safe platform to begin. 

That positive interactions will ensue, and people will be left more open-minded. More forgiving and more willing to listen and understand without bitterness or negativity.

Untitled (155)

Once upon a time, there was a small group of villagers who lived beneath the shadow. Now this shadow moved around a lot. Sometimes the village was free of the shadow, but mostly, just around the edges of town. This cloud, always seemed to center itself, right in the middle, and it liked to sing all day long.

Some days it sung choral masterpieces from Mozart and Bach. Other days, melodic, slow tempo ballads of blues and jazz. While the shadow preferred orchestral pieces- somber tones, it found moments each day to brighten the mood with a little rock or pop. It depended on its frame of mind.

The villagers learned to cope with the music. They adapted their work schedules, to the type of chords ringing from above. The crashing of the percussion got them exercising and energized. The gentle rapture of the strings settled them down for the evening. Their mobility echoed the notes of the shadow.

One morning a villager, not wanting to exercise or follow the tempo- decided to play music of their own. They hummed glorious magic, just loud enough for nearby villagers to hear. The shadow was too preoccupied with keeping the earth shattering tunes on key. It felt a bit tired this day and had to work extra hard to stay on pitch.

The villager began to hum louder, and their measure took on a life of its own. Other villagers began to join in. Harmony, melody blending and creating the most beautiful sound. The shadow stopped, suddenly, the boom from the sky quieted. The only fusion of vibrations left, was that of silence and clarity.

Each instrument, each of the villager’s voices, were loud and carried with them such a frustration it was more of a bellow. A yawp, it was unsettling. Then they too became silenced, by the sheer awakening of personal noise. The shadow remained still and as motionless- as the first atom, before it became a symphony of energy.

Then there was an eruption of activity. The village filled with onlookers and spectators. Each wanting to listen to their practice, the sectionals of awakening. They wanted to find their thread, within the piece. The ensemble came alive. Voices blending into the most amazing concert. It was a philharmonic, symphonious, organic roar. And the outcry made the villagers weep.

The shadow was mute. The clamor below, was so thunderous, it bellowed- like a crash of spirit, soul and mind colliding with anatomy. Sound found its way into physical form. Music the protoplasm, growing and growing, into the embodiment of choice, voice, and action. Each villager with an instrument, carved from their experiences.

The shadow still remained quiet. Watching as the beautiful notes, combined into a unified celebration. Some villagers chose to be listeners, other musicians. Villagers found their place in the movement. They participated in their own way. Their voices, however subtle- added to the score. The soundtrack of this moment.

The shadow retreated. The loud boom of song, the shadow's song, dissipated- leaving the shadow humbled. Then joyful of the sharpness of each chord, the minor changes in scale, the boisterous percussion, and soft, intricate details of the wind instruments-as they combined with the wood. It was a transition, welcomed.

The shadow listened to the melody ring out- and as its volume lessened, all the noises were amplified. Many voices- crescendo or diminuendo was a cacophony, jarring and discombobulating- yet relentless. As some voices quieted, they could hear the rarest of harmonies, melancholy yet hopeful.

After a time, they used their voices to amplify the sound, and as they did, more villagers heard the sound and were moved. The villagers understood that, sometimes to truly listen, one must find the quiet in one’s soul. Then when you understand, you amplify the story of others.

If we are going to resolve anything, we have to listen first. We have to sit in the uncomfortable dissonance- the discordance. Unpleasant truths are truths that are necessary. Sometimes the most beautiful things are those that cause us to be the most uncomfortable.

What comes next, is not an ending for me to write. Or for one individual to write, but for everyone to write together. Even this story is not one of my perspective alone. It is a result of my conversations with my children. It is a discussion, ongoing.

This (154)

Today I wanted to write so many different things. I wrote one. Wrote another one. Then just got exhausted of second guessing myself.

So I am going to leave it with one simple thought..

Saying nothing does not mean lack of understanding, empathy, sympathy, guilt, regret. It doesn't mean a silent person is cruel or ignorant.

It simply means words are not forming. I am quiet for now. Because my autistic, dyslexic brain is jumbled and voiceless.