It's that time when most folks are writing their year in review. Syndicated columnists, local journalists provide us with reflections on the doin's...Obama got lost, Obamacare is headed to the dumper, Nancy Pelosi, that evil woman drove the liberal agenda...the new Speaker of the House cries a great deal and what does that mean for the average citizen? The gas bag guests on PBS News Hour politely disagree with each other...we do know where Bin Laden is, no we don't, Pakistan is our friend, no its not...no matter, let's keep heaping billions of dollars upon it anyway.
Oh, and let's not forget Education! Secretary Duncan sees a place of great despair, but having states bid for money will make it better!! Just you wait and see. According to Arnie, schools do a shabby job of educating students, but under his plan, they will become a bastion of higher order thinking, a community where everyone will come together for everything...it will replace the community at large...bye, bye City of Farmington or Northfield, hello School Central. And it is with that I write my year end thoughts.
My perspective can only be based on what I know. I could recite the frustration felt by teachers when continually criticized by the public, government agencies and media. What's up Superman? I could explain the exhaustion felt when students come to school under the influence and the best thing the school can do is send them home. It cannot demand and certainly not request parents to get involved and help their students with their drug and drinking problems. I could outline the heavy weight of a hurt heart when a teacher works so hard to raise the standards, provide meaningful lessons, holds students accountable for their work, only to be torn to shreds in a nasty email. Parents want high standards, meaningful lessons and accountability for every student...but their own. I've walked with teachers down the hallway who were in tears because all their work, all their effort, all their commitment was challenged and then dismissed.
Many of my colleagues anticipated the Christmas break, yes, that is right, CHRISTMAS break, as much as the students did...and those of us who were honest enough admitted it to our students. We talk about the break in terms of renewing our strength, rejuvenating our minds. One thing you learn in education is that it is a human institution like no other. A class does not make it or break it on the curriculum...it does with the relationship, the atmosphere in the classroom. That is the hardest part of education...how do you connect with 35 students in the classroom? How do you talk to them, how do you get them to follow you and how do you provide an atmosphere where students feel safe. And mind you, not safe from the teacher, but each other.
But come next Monday, January 3, while we may enter the school groggy and with a sense of just what happened? We are back already? When the masses start coming in and we hear the chatter, our blood will start pumping. We'll begin to rev up our engines, look over the lesson plans and get ready to go. Oh, we know that first day we'll be faced with the huge wall of apathy...that's OK...we'll help our students take it down. We will be excited to get going again..no matter what Arnie, or the experts at the state department of education, or the critics may do...we may get bruised but we'll still love what we do. That is the wonder of being a teacher and being part of the great institution of American education.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Buying that Mother of the Bride Dress
Yesterday, that is Saturday, August 14, I bought my dress for Megan and Jason's wedding three weeks from now. For several months, friends have asked what kind of dress I bought, to which I answered, haven't done that yet. Even on a trip back East where I had the great opportunity to visit with a friend I hadn' seen in 18 years, one question she posed, "So what does your dress look like?" "Haven't bought it yet." She tried not to show a reaction but the crinkle of her brow said it all, "What!?"
Yes, many mothers of the brides would have purchased that bedazzling dress many moons ago, but not me. First and foremost, I hate shopping....a virtually life long distain for walking through perfume clogged air, florescent lights, racks and racks of clothes and tile floors. It goes back to the days of Mother calling me from a friendly game of stickball on the street, to "go shopping." Ugh, I'd trudge up the street into the 1959 Ford and off we'd go to Lord and Taylors or Best and Company. There I'd stand for hours as Mother stood at the glass counter case purchasing perfectly formed nylon stockings. The retail clerk, turning to an array of drawers, opening one and taking out a box filled with tissue papered nylon stockings. (Mother always paid more for the ones without the seam down the back.) The clerk would hold a pair up for Mother's inspection and as she pondered the right color and quality, I slid down the glass case front exhausted from standing for eternity and utter boredom. Purchase made but never carried home, that was for the UPS driver to do, we'd move onto MAKEUP...I can't relay what happened at that counter, forever blocking it out of my memory.
But yesterday, I knew it had to be done and so with my wonderful husband, off we went. After pulling into the Burnsville Mall parking lot, I handed the keys to Ted.
"Why give them to me? It's your car, you drive."
"No I don't want to drive home, I'll be too frustrated." With that he took the keys. Entering the mall, he reminded me that this wasn't shopping, it was a mission. Shopping is when you go out with your girlfriends and spend the whole day either buying everything or nothing. Really? My friends and I sit and buy coffee and laugh. Who knew?
Going from one department store to another it became apparent I would have to go to a specialty store. The taylored, simple dress I envisioned for my mind's eye 30 something body wasn't there. Not even the taylored, simple dress for the really almost 60 year old square body wasn't available. It was back in the car and off to David's Bridal and another world.
Opening the door to David's Bridal, I was almost stampeded by five young women laughing and cahorting as bridesmaid do, they too had probably just purchased dresses they will wear again... sure they will. As my eyes adjusted to the light and all the white wedding dresses, I heard Paul Anka telling me this was the time of my life. Ted and I made our way to the rack of mother of the bride dresses for bigger mommas, we did spot some very nice ones. Whew, it would most likely be the last stop. After discussing a few, I chose two to try on. A very nice young lady escorted me to a dressing room and waited outside with Ted. I liked the feel of the dress, a soft green with beading and a three quarter sleeve jacket. The full length skirt felt a bit snug but I liked the movement of it. Stepping out of the room and up onto the platform I looked at the woman in the mirrors, yes that's right mirrors. From every conceivable angle I saw...me. The young lady continued to chatter with me, I kept looking at Ted for a reaction. He sat motionless for a few minutes and finally said, "I like the dress on you, perhaps the next size would look better, it would flow better."
"Ah, you mean, this is too tight and shows all my rolls?" At that the young lady excused herself to "get something."
My husband, my dearest husband stepped up to me, took both my hands in his, looked at me with his wonderful blue eyes and said," I'm going to order that Chuck Norris exercise equipment, now that we have room for it since we cleaned up the upstairs hallway and you're going to exercise like crazy to get down to that girlish size 14. You know we haven't exercised all summer and all that ice cream and stuff we've been eating...."
"I can't believe you are saying that to me now...I mean, and I trailed off.
"I'll go get the next size", he whispered.
He did and I tried it on and after alterations to take it in which cost more than the dress, plus the slip and the shoes, the shopping, I mean the mission was done. Everything will be picked up Sept. 1, plenty of time for the wedding three days later.
Yes, many mothers of the brides would have purchased that bedazzling dress many moons ago, but not me. First and foremost, I hate shopping....a virtually life long distain for walking through perfume clogged air, florescent lights, racks and racks of clothes and tile floors. It goes back to the days of Mother calling me from a friendly game of stickball on the street, to "go shopping." Ugh, I'd trudge up the street into the 1959 Ford and off we'd go to Lord and Taylors or Best and Company. There I'd stand for hours as Mother stood at the glass counter case purchasing perfectly formed nylon stockings. The retail clerk, turning to an array of drawers, opening one and taking out a box filled with tissue papered nylon stockings. (Mother always paid more for the ones without the seam down the back.) The clerk would hold a pair up for Mother's inspection and as she pondered the right color and quality, I slid down the glass case front exhausted from standing for eternity and utter boredom. Purchase made but never carried home, that was for the UPS driver to do, we'd move onto MAKEUP...I can't relay what happened at that counter, forever blocking it out of my memory.
But yesterday, I knew it had to be done and so with my wonderful husband, off we went. After pulling into the Burnsville Mall parking lot, I handed the keys to Ted.
"Why give them to me? It's your car, you drive."
"No I don't want to drive home, I'll be too frustrated." With that he took the keys. Entering the mall, he reminded me that this wasn't shopping, it was a mission. Shopping is when you go out with your girlfriends and spend the whole day either buying everything or nothing. Really? My friends and I sit and buy coffee and laugh. Who knew?
Going from one department store to another it became apparent I would have to go to a specialty store. The taylored, simple dress I envisioned for my mind's eye 30 something body wasn't there. Not even the taylored, simple dress for the really almost 60 year old square body wasn't available. It was back in the car and off to David's Bridal and another world.
Opening the door to David's Bridal, I was almost stampeded by five young women laughing and cahorting as bridesmaid do, they too had probably just purchased dresses they will wear again... sure they will. As my eyes adjusted to the light and all the white wedding dresses, I heard Paul Anka telling me this was the time of my life. Ted and I made our way to the rack of mother of the bride dresses for bigger mommas, we did spot some very nice ones. Whew, it would most likely be the last stop. After discussing a few, I chose two to try on. A very nice young lady escorted me to a dressing room and waited outside with Ted. I liked the feel of the dress, a soft green with beading and a three quarter sleeve jacket. The full length skirt felt a bit snug but I liked the movement of it. Stepping out of the room and up onto the platform I looked at the woman in the mirrors, yes that's right mirrors. From every conceivable angle I saw...me. The young lady continued to chatter with me, I kept looking at Ted for a reaction. He sat motionless for a few minutes and finally said, "I like the dress on you, perhaps the next size would look better, it would flow better."
"Ah, you mean, this is too tight and shows all my rolls?" At that the young lady excused herself to "get something."
My husband, my dearest husband stepped up to me, took both my hands in his, looked at me with his wonderful blue eyes and said," I'm going to order that Chuck Norris exercise equipment, now that we have room for it since we cleaned up the upstairs hallway and you're going to exercise like crazy to get down to that girlish size 14. You know we haven't exercised all summer and all that ice cream and stuff we've been eating...."
"I can't believe you are saying that to me now...I mean, and I trailed off.
"I'll go get the next size", he whispered.
He did and I tried it on and after alterations to take it in which cost more than the dress, plus the slip and the shoes, the shopping, I mean the mission was done. Everything will be picked up Sept. 1, plenty of time for the wedding three days later.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
My last "What's on your mind?" posting on Facebook said three day weekend, 9 more days to which a friend commented about my ability to count. She stated there were only 8 more days left. Her comment posed an interesting question. How to count down until the last day of school. Unfortunately, we don't have Dear Abby to clear this up as she did, oh so many times about the right way to unroll toliet paper. The debate that raged through the 1950's and 1960's centered on does one place the toliet paper on the spool to roll over or under. Dear Abby several times reversed herself. I however, always had it on good authority...thank you Mother...one is to always place the toliet paper to roll over.
Which brings me to the ways to count down. There are those who determine once out of bed, showered, teeth brushed, breakfast and sufficient amounts of coffee consumed to face the day, for counting purposed the day is over. It does not matter what wonderful adventures happen in the classroom, hallway, cafeteria or near the buses. Once up and out, day counted onto the next.
Then there are those who determine that all the great school events of the day must take place, drive home done, evening activities fulfilled along with a long tall glass of beer, gin and tonic, or fine glass of wine...tough days, Boone's Farm will do the trick..and lights out, the day is then counted.
It is as contenious a debate as toliet paper. One school faculty I was privledged to be on, kept the count with daisies stuck to the ladies room wall. Each morning, the first person in re-arranged the daisies beginning at day 20 for the countdown. As one entered to conduct business, there on the wall in all their yellow glory the daisies marched us to victory and freedom. At times there was a count confusion because either a. the person couldn't count or b. the number changed depending upon which camp the daisy organizer came from.
So this Tuesday, June 1, there will either be 8 or 7 days left of school. Tis no matter for on June 10th school is out for the summer and on June 11, the seniors of Farmington High School graduate...and that is whole other story.
Which brings me to the ways to count down. There are those who determine once out of bed, showered, teeth brushed, breakfast and sufficient amounts of coffee consumed to face the day, for counting purposed the day is over. It does not matter what wonderful adventures happen in the classroom, hallway, cafeteria or near the buses. Once up and out, day counted onto the next.
Then there are those who determine that all the great school events of the day must take place, drive home done, evening activities fulfilled along with a long tall glass of beer, gin and tonic, or fine glass of wine...tough days, Boone's Farm will do the trick..and lights out, the day is then counted.
It is as contenious a debate as toliet paper. One school faculty I was privledged to be on, kept the count with daisies stuck to the ladies room wall. Each morning, the first person in re-arranged the daisies beginning at day 20 for the countdown. As one entered to conduct business, there on the wall in all their yellow glory the daisies marched us to victory and freedom. At times there was a count confusion because either a. the person couldn't count or b. the number changed depending upon which camp the daisy organizer came from.
So this Tuesday, June 1, there will either be 8 or 7 days left of school. Tis no matter for on June 10th school is out for the summer and on June 11, the seniors of Farmington High School graduate...and that is whole other story.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
That Man, This Man, My Man
Before I begin, I need to make it clear, I love my man.
I've noticed lately I'm married to this man and not that man. That man was the guy who worked 14 hour days, six days a week from March through October, then worked a steady 12 hours a day the rest of the year. During the spring, summer and early fall, that man came home every night aggravated, tired and occassionally filthy. Filthy because no one was doing his job right and that man dove right in and did the work. I heard from that man on an almost daily basis how the population of customers he dealt with were idiots. After that man's explanation of the idioscy at large, that man promptly fell asleep. Several times during any given evening, that man slept walked out to the back porch for a cigarette, came back in, murmurred something about stupid people and then laid back down.
Weekends were rough as well, as that man was exhausted on Sundays, so not much was accomplished. There were times when our children and I would tip toe past him while he watched his favorite B rated movie for the 1oth time. Later he complained about our stealth movements past him. "It's like you are afraid of me."that man announced. No, but we didn't want to disturb that man. Once as I ran downstairs from the office where I was completing a paper for a graduate course, to start dinner and change the laundry, I heard that man from his perch comment that nothing got done in the house if I didn't do it. As I passed by, I thought, yes in deed.
Now, that man is retired and is replaced by this man. This man who has time on his hands does all the cooking which is wonderful and does chores around the house from March through October. Trees are pruned so branches don't smack him in the face as he mowes the lawn. (I had no such luck in my lawnmowing days...that man never got around to pruning and trimming the trees, bushes or anything else.) The rest of the year, this man sits in the house, hat and coat on because he won't push the theromstate past 60 degrees, no matter how cold outside. This man is looking for work but not too hard and that is OK.
While I absolutely enjoy this man, this man forgets how that man was when he came home. So on the occassion when I come home aggravated, tired, but not filthy, this man will comment about my demeanor. To which I cast eyes upon him and almost comment about how this man has forgotten that man. But being too aggravated and tired, I just sigh. This man enjoys making jokes and while that man was too exhausted to talk while the news was on, this man is a chatterbox. I don't like chatterboxes during the news. This man for some reason needs to know where I am at all times. If I leave the room to do my business, upon my return I will hear from this man, "So what's you doing?" Hmmm, do I really need to answer that? In fact, as I sit writing this blog, this man came into the office, "So, what's you doing?" Hmmm, I won't answer that. As he walked out, this man lamented "You always ignore me." No, this man, I just enjoy writing sometimes and it's a solitary activity.. . especially writing about this man.
But be he that man or this man, he is my man and I love him. He is a man of honor and integrity. He loves his family, cares for them deeply, wants them to pursue their dreams and he is their number one fan...he is my man.
I've noticed lately I'm married to this man and not that man. That man was the guy who worked 14 hour days, six days a week from March through October, then worked a steady 12 hours a day the rest of the year. During the spring, summer and early fall, that man came home every night aggravated, tired and occassionally filthy. Filthy because no one was doing his job right and that man dove right in and did the work. I heard from that man on an almost daily basis how the population of customers he dealt with were idiots. After that man's explanation of the idioscy at large, that man promptly fell asleep. Several times during any given evening, that man slept walked out to the back porch for a cigarette, came back in, murmurred something about stupid people and then laid back down.
Weekends were rough as well, as that man was exhausted on Sundays, so not much was accomplished. There were times when our children and I would tip toe past him while he watched his favorite B rated movie for the 1oth time. Later he complained about our stealth movements past him. "It's like you are afraid of me."that man announced. No, but we didn't want to disturb that man. Once as I ran downstairs from the office where I was completing a paper for a graduate course, to start dinner and change the laundry, I heard that man from his perch comment that nothing got done in the house if I didn't do it. As I passed by, I thought, yes in deed.
Now, that man is retired and is replaced by this man. This man who has time on his hands does all the cooking which is wonderful and does chores around the house from March through October. Trees are pruned so branches don't smack him in the face as he mowes the lawn. (I had no such luck in my lawnmowing days...that man never got around to pruning and trimming the trees, bushes or anything else.) The rest of the year, this man sits in the house, hat and coat on because he won't push the theromstate past 60 degrees, no matter how cold outside. This man is looking for work but not too hard and that is OK.
While I absolutely enjoy this man, this man forgets how that man was when he came home. So on the occassion when I come home aggravated, tired, but not filthy, this man will comment about my demeanor. To which I cast eyes upon him and almost comment about how this man has forgotten that man. But being too aggravated and tired, I just sigh. This man enjoys making jokes and while that man was too exhausted to talk while the news was on, this man is a chatterbox. I don't like chatterboxes during the news. This man for some reason needs to know where I am at all times. If I leave the room to do my business, upon my return I will hear from this man, "So what's you doing?" Hmmm, do I really need to answer that? In fact, as I sit writing this blog, this man came into the office, "So, what's you doing?" Hmmm, I won't answer that. As he walked out, this man lamented "You always ignore me." No, this man, I just enjoy writing sometimes and it's a solitary activity.. . especially writing about this man.
But be he that man or this man, he is my man and I love him. He is a man of honor and integrity. He loves his family, cares for them deeply, wants them to pursue their dreams and he is their number one fan...he is my man.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I'm having a problem
I'm having a problem as of late. Actually, I've had this problem for quite a while, you might call it an identity crisis. In the world of Minnesota education I'm an EBD teacher. For those not in education, EBD stands for Emotional/Behavioral Disorder. So there lies my crisis, I'm an EBD teacher. I have an issue with being an EBD teacher. Does that mean I teach rational, ordinary students to have emotional and behavioral issues, or do I teach those who have emotional and behavioral issues to do it better. "Jonny, don't just put your head on the desk, no, no, pull your hood up OVER your head, make sure your fists hit the desktop as your head goes down. Now I want you to practice that until you have mastered it....a passing grade is riding on this so do it RIGHT!" Or, "Julia, you first have to throw your books across the room and then start crying, if you do it the other way around, your eyes will be blury and you won't hit your target. And remember how I taught you to withdraw within yourself? Make sure you don't let anyone in to help you and you'll do just fine."
As much as I don't like the title of EBD teacher, I absolutely abhor the more commonly used, although not by me, Case Manager. I manage cases, 14 of them to be exact at this moment. You can never tell when that number will go up or down...Izzy is outta here because he sold the wild majunna from his back yard, but wait, here comes a case, Addie, with incoherent paperwork. Just how am I going to help her be a better EBD student?
Well, first thing I'll do for Addie is have an INTAKE meeting. Intake, is straight out of the world of psychiatric hospitals. Yes, let's intake Addie, so we know all her emotional and behavioral issues, we can create a program to make her better. For me these are the most uncomfortable meetings. As with most new students, Addie will sit with the almost perfect don't get near me body posture (Note to self, put that on the list to make perfect.) She'll have her eyes glued to the table top and answer any questions in monosyllables. Then her parent or parents will ask her to leave for a few minutes. Someone at the table will suggest they take her for a tour, whew! Now she'll have no clue we'll be talking about her. Once out the door, the parent or parents will open the door to all the issues really facing Addie. Sometimes it breaks my heart, sometimes it makes me wish I had a Rocky Balboa left hook. We wrap up the meeting with discussion of goals, objectives, IEPs, pull out classes, general education classes, educational support, etc, etc. All shake hands, except Addie, who may look up with a short smile. Addie comes in the next day and we all think this won't be so bad, but as with all good things the honeymoon is short. Soon Addie is wearing her worries, her anger, her fear and frustration like a shawl. And this is where my identity crisis comes in.
I'm not an EBD teacher, I'm not a case manager, I'm a woman who is trying my hardest to figure out the worries, anger, fear and frustration of Addie and all the students whom I talk with, laugh with, get angry at, listen to, help to understand English and why things are the way they are. Is that being an EBD teacher? Not really. Is that being a Case Manager? No. How about a new title? I'd go for HR teacher. Human Relationship teacher...why we do, what we do to get our needs met and how to get those needs met without destroying ourselves. I like that better because it allows me to be human. I know the days I do well by my students and I know the days I don't. But every day I go to school and try again because human relationships are messy and complicated and if I can help my students understand that before they leave high school, that is a very, very good thing.
As much as I don't like the title of EBD teacher, I absolutely abhor the more commonly used, although not by me, Case Manager. I manage cases, 14 of them to be exact at this moment. You can never tell when that number will go up or down...Izzy is outta here because he sold the wild majunna from his back yard, but wait, here comes a case, Addie, with incoherent paperwork. Just how am I going to help her be a better EBD student?
Well, first thing I'll do for Addie is have an INTAKE meeting. Intake, is straight out of the world of psychiatric hospitals. Yes, let's intake Addie, so we know all her emotional and behavioral issues, we can create a program to make her better. For me these are the most uncomfortable meetings. As with most new students, Addie will sit with the almost perfect don't get near me body posture (Note to self, put that on the list to make perfect.) She'll have her eyes glued to the table top and answer any questions in monosyllables. Then her parent or parents will ask her to leave for a few minutes. Someone at the table will suggest they take her for a tour, whew! Now she'll have no clue we'll be talking about her. Once out the door, the parent or parents will open the door to all the issues really facing Addie. Sometimes it breaks my heart, sometimes it makes me wish I had a Rocky Balboa left hook. We wrap up the meeting with discussion of goals, objectives, IEPs, pull out classes, general education classes, educational support, etc, etc. All shake hands, except Addie, who may look up with a short smile. Addie comes in the next day and we all think this won't be so bad, but as with all good things the honeymoon is short. Soon Addie is wearing her worries, her anger, her fear and frustration like a shawl. And this is where my identity crisis comes in.
I'm not an EBD teacher, I'm not a case manager, I'm a woman who is trying my hardest to figure out the worries, anger, fear and frustration of Addie and all the students whom I talk with, laugh with, get angry at, listen to, help to understand English and why things are the way they are. Is that being an EBD teacher? Not really. Is that being a Case Manager? No. How about a new title? I'd go for HR teacher. Human Relationship teacher...why we do, what we do to get our needs met and how to get those needs met without destroying ourselves. I like that better because it allows me to be human. I know the days I do well by my students and I know the days I don't. But every day I go to school and try again because human relationships are messy and complicated and if I can help my students understand that before they leave high school, that is a very, very good thing.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Irish Lutheran and Lent
With Lent upon us, I began thinking about the burden of being an Irish Lutheran. Several of my friends and I get together for coffee after school on Wednesdays. The email went out on Tuesday, "Coffee"? I replied with a certainly but have to leave early to go to Ash Wednesday services for ashes and repentance. That I am just miserable sinner and thank God for grace, a guarantee that I won't be roasting marshmellows in the hereafter. A reply came back that Catholics beat Lutherans in the guilty category for they repent for sins they didn't even know they committed.
We gathered for coffee, enjoyed some time together. I stood up and said I had to leave for services and everyone else left as well. On the way home, I began to think about the special burden I have as an Irish Lutheran. As an Irishman, I am prone to melancholy. Norwegians may say it can always be worse, the Irish are certain it is.
We Irishmen have the inherent weakness of keeping our demons around our necks. Being Lutheran keeps the noose of demons tightly around my neck. But there is a bright spot in being Irish Lutheran...the Irish have great voices and it's not a Lutheran service unless you sing and sing alot...a great combination. Welcome to Lent.
We gathered for coffee, enjoyed some time together. I stood up and said I had to leave for services and everyone else left as well. On the way home, I began to think about the special burden I have as an Irish Lutheran. As an Irishman, I am prone to melancholy. Norwegians may say it can always be worse, the Irish are certain it is.
We Irishmen have the inherent weakness of keeping our demons around our necks. Being Lutheran keeps the noose of demons tightly around my neck. But there is a bright spot in being Irish Lutheran...the Irish have great voices and it's not a Lutheran service unless you sing and sing alot...a great combination. Welcome to Lent.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Lincoln, Copland and Today
President's Day is the first day off since the Christmas break, that was all I was thinking last week. Every day, almost every minute of every day...President's Day...a long weekend of relaxing. Today, I needed some calmness and I turned to who I always turn to, Aaron Copland, the great American composer. His music, so distinctive, so flowing, so American. At school, I put MPR on for background, but once the first notes of a Copland composition come on, my ears pick up, my head turns and I give a huge sigh...my blood pressure goes down and I feel a wonderful warmth.
I have several Copland CDs, so I just grabbed one, put it in the CD player and hit play. I listened to Appalacian Spring and then Lincoln's Portrait came on. I hadn't heard that in a long time. After seven minutes of wonderful, graceful music, Gregory Peck began the narration. Taken from a book by a British Lord, it was a combination facts about Lincoln and snipits from several speeches. Lincoln wrote of the 1860's as a time of extreme difficulty and how the Congress and Administration would be judged by the future. It was time to rise to the occassion. He described the eternal struggle of right and wrong...master and slave and saving the country. It was time to act. I began to think about now. How this Congress, this Administration will be judged in the future, by our children now coming of age in their 20's and early 30's, not yet in a position to take power.
Lincoln by all accounts was despised while in office, and the Congress didn't have to deal with gridlock because the opposition walked out and created it's own Congress in Richmond. Yet each side felt duty bound to what they thought was right and to action. It cost this country a generation of unfullfilled talent and gifts to the greater good. But it saved the Union, it saved the country.
Today, there is no Lincoln, there is a nice guy who can't seem to get his feet under himself. If there are Congressmen and Congresswoman fighting for our greater good, they are being swept under by those who are more concerned with destroying the other side, of getting elected in November than doing the country's work. The Constitution gives our government the responsibility to provide for the common welfare among other things. Defining how to provide for the common welfare and just exactly what that is gives us the great divide between Democrats and Republicans philosophies. What is so troubling now is that Democrats and Republicans are not fighting for their believes, their philosophies, their ideologies, they are fighting to destroy each other. And while they posture in Washington, lives are being damaged and destroyed in this country. A whole group of young people are coming out of college facing debt and job despair. Talking heads on the Sunday morning gabfests continually discuss how we have to protect ourselves from forces outside who are determined to destroy us. Right now, I say to those wanting to destroy the United States, take a breather, our elected government officials are doing a better job than you could ever do.
I think I better get back to Copland...
I have several Copland CDs, so I just grabbed one, put it in the CD player and hit play. I listened to Appalacian Spring and then Lincoln's Portrait came on. I hadn't heard that in a long time. After seven minutes of wonderful, graceful music, Gregory Peck began the narration. Taken from a book by a British Lord, it was a combination facts about Lincoln and snipits from several speeches. Lincoln wrote of the 1860's as a time of extreme difficulty and how the Congress and Administration would be judged by the future. It was time to rise to the occassion. He described the eternal struggle of right and wrong...master and slave and saving the country. It was time to act. I began to think about now. How this Congress, this Administration will be judged in the future, by our children now coming of age in their 20's and early 30's, not yet in a position to take power.
Lincoln by all accounts was despised while in office, and the Congress didn't have to deal with gridlock because the opposition walked out and created it's own Congress in Richmond. Yet each side felt duty bound to what they thought was right and to action. It cost this country a generation of unfullfilled talent and gifts to the greater good. But it saved the Union, it saved the country.
Today, there is no Lincoln, there is a nice guy who can't seem to get his feet under himself. If there are Congressmen and Congresswoman fighting for our greater good, they are being swept under by those who are more concerned with destroying the other side, of getting elected in November than doing the country's work. The Constitution gives our government the responsibility to provide for the common welfare among other things. Defining how to provide for the common welfare and just exactly what that is gives us the great divide between Democrats and Republicans philosophies. What is so troubling now is that Democrats and Republicans are not fighting for their believes, their philosophies, their ideologies, they are fighting to destroy each other. And while they posture in Washington, lives are being damaged and destroyed in this country. A whole group of young people are coming out of college facing debt and job despair. Talking heads on the Sunday morning gabfests continually discuss how we have to protect ourselves from forces outside who are determined to destroy us. Right now, I say to those wanting to destroy the United States, take a breather, our elected government officials are doing a better job than you could ever do.
I think I better get back to Copland...
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