A few days ago, the postman delivered my quarterly College of Saint Elizabeth Alumna magazine. On the cover were members of the class of '13 surrounding the outgoing President, Sister Francis Raftery. The banner read, "Sister Francis Raftery Tribute Edition. As I thumbed through the pages, as I do every time it comes, I looked quickly to see if anyone from the class of 1975 posted any news or in a picture with other alumni. I then went back and slowly read through the magazine. I remember Sister Francis teaching elementary education majors. Walking by her classroom, I'd hear her passion for her teaching and for her students. During basketball season, a daily prayer was chanted for the Seton Hall University basketball team to reach the NIT championship game. Her brother, Bill, was the coach. I often wax sentimentally about my days at St. E's but it was more so this time.
It was troubled times during my tenure at the college. We were still winding our way through the Vietnam War, a recession had hit the economy, Watergate was raging, and the College of St. Elizabeth let the first of the Protestants in the door in 1971. A professor remarked the class of 1975 was the first serious class since World War II. We were more interested in politics and the state of the nation than we were in swallowing goldfish. We were a challenging lot and we were divided.
Two things that made it difficult for the college was the drop in enrollment (which is why Protestants were let in) and the College President. Quite frankly, the Sisters of Charity didn't know what to do with us, nor we with them. It was so easy to pick us out. Unbeknownst to the "others" (the code name given to us Protestant gals) classes started with a prayer. Everyone stood up, Sister began the prayer, people around us recited and we stood dumbfounded. Those of us with a public school pedigree couldn't wrap our heads around prayer and chalk. Sister Helen Marie Morris, in the midst of beseeching God for guidance, looked at us with fire and we looked around for the marshmallows.
Along with the new class of freshman came a new College President, Sister Elizabeth, who did not share her predecessor's view on staff. Sister Hildegard looked past the most obvious thing at a Catholic institution, religion, and hired an immensely talented and turned out popular professor, Dr. Lowenstein. That's right, not Lowenstine which would be German, Lowenstein, which was Jewish. Almost everyone wanted to be in her English literature class. We got up at 3:00 a.m. just to be the first in line to register for it. Groans were heard wafting out of the Administration building when her classes closed. Solemn faces walked across the campus, up to dorm rooms where an array of vodka and gin bottles came out of hiding places to ease the tragedy. On the first day of class, Dr. Lowenstein glided up to the lectern, cast her eyes upon us and declared, "Congratulations, you are the winners. Now let's get to work." We felt blessed, but the blessing didn't last.
Dr. Lowenstein was up for tenure in the spring and we were excited for her. But not so fast as Sister Elizabeth had a surprise. Dr. Lowenstein was not to return in the fall. We could not have "those kind" on the faculty. The campus erupted, we walked out of classes, we demanded a meeting with the President and we got one. But to no avail. What shocked many of us was the silence of many of our classmates. It destroyed our class. Two years later at graduation, when the main speaker asked us to stand up and show what we thought of the job Sister Elizabeth was doing as President, many of us sat on our hands. Gasps came from our parents and families, people on the dais turned white. Those who stood turned to the rest of us and with pleading faces waved their hands for us to get up. Slowly, ever so slowly we did and just stood silent.
It seems a bit amiss these memories come to the fore while I swell with a bit of pride for being a College of St. Elizabeth alumni. That pride comes with having learned so much at the feet of women like Sister Jackie Burns. A fabulous History professor, she demanded and demanded and demanded of us and we thrived on it. And she taught us pride. One day as we were winding up a junior seminar class we were moaning AGAIN about the fact there were no men on campus. Offhandedly, someone asked what's the point of an all woman's college. All at once, Sister Jackie slammed her hand on the table. What she said came out like a torrent. She took a deep look into each of our eyes and said because we were to become leaders. On a coed campus, if there is a class president, it would be a man, editor of the newspaper...man, sports leaders...men....valedictorian...man. At the College of St. Elizabeth, all leadership and all leaders are women. Gaining those skills, building that self reliance, possessing a first rate education, knowing who we are and where we want to go...only that comes at an all woman's college. We were silent as we walked out. All these years later, I appreciate all that I learned and all that I was given and no truer words were ever spoken.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Summer Time
It's hard to believe we are almost one month out of school. A great deal was packed into the first 26 days, babysitting the most precious 10 month grandson, Preston and spending time in the Ozarks with Mr. Schmidt. Although my days were filled with playing, feeding, diaper changing, napping with one adorable little man on my lap; hiking in State Parks, exploring caves and enjoying the company of Mr. Schmidt, one thing remained constant...I can not get school out of my head.
I have to simply say, it was one hell of a year. We started a new program and while I believe it met the needs of students, in that without it, they would have been shipped to more restrictive schools, it took its toll on me...more than I expected.
In the world of students with emotional and behavioral disorders, they can be divided into the
Es and the Bs. Es are those who are drowning in the quicksand of self loathing and worthlessness. The world taught them it has nothing to offer them and they have nothing to offer it. They come to school reciting the daily mantra of "I don't care. It doesn't matter. Who gives a damn." For some, even the effort to shower eludes them, Frebreeze is the cologne of choice. That aroma together with stale cigarette smoke and car grease can clear the classroom in under 10 seconds.
The Bs are the in your face type. The guys tend to be loud, easily pick a fight with the teacher, usually over word choice such as, "It's been five minutes, you should probably get started on the assignment. It is due at the end of the hour." The student's face darkens, paper may or may not fly off the desk and the verbal barrage begins..."What, you expect me to do this? I don't get it...this doesn't make any sense...I don't feel like it...this is baby work...what's the point." As he spews forth, he looks for buy in from others. At the beginning of the year, he gets it. If we do our job right, by October, he doesn't. That, however, does not stop him, he continues on to June. It's just nice to know he sings solo, there is no choir. The gals, who are few, possess fine tuned sarcasm and the ability to hurl entire bags of makeup across the room. The makeup flies when asked either, (a) put the cellphone away or (b) put the makeup away. Cellphones don't go airborne as they are needed to continually communicate and complain to others trapped in classrooms around the school.
The commonality of the Es and the Bs is the deep, deep hurt, loss and shame, knowing that their lives are not what they should be and believing they are powerless to do anything about it. Working with them, hope springs eternal that an idea might catch, a small taste of success may help them thirst for more and learning new skills may build confidence. With the mentally ill or those mired in drugs, it is to use a Jersey expression, "Like shoveling shit against the tide."
Working with mentally ill students is a unique experience. The task is to help them organize their chaotic thoughts just long enough to get them through the assignments to the final grade in each class. "My father is the Bishop of Canterbury and my mother's family, I think is from Jupiter. World War I started with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinande." Quickly, the teacher stops the conversation and says, "That one, that last sentence, write that down."
And then there are drugs, students who earned a 3.5 average one year, line up a columns of Fs the following year and to them it just doesn't matter. No more needs to be said. Heart are broken.
I know I have more weeks to spend this summer than are so far spent. That is a good thing. More time to spend reading, fishing, spending time with my wonderful family, all will be well. I just wonder about the students...
I have to simply say, it was one hell of a year. We started a new program and while I believe it met the needs of students, in that without it, they would have been shipped to more restrictive schools, it took its toll on me...more than I expected.
In the world of students with emotional and behavioral disorders, they can be divided into the
Es and the Bs. Es are those who are drowning in the quicksand of self loathing and worthlessness. The world taught them it has nothing to offer them and they have nothing to offer it. They come to school reciting the daily mantra of "I don't care. It doesn't matter. Who gives a damn." For some, even the effort to shower eludes them, Frebreeze is the cologne of choice. That aroma together with stale cigarette smoke and car grease can clear the classroom in under 10 seconds.
The Bs are the in your face type. The guys tend to be loud, easily pick a fight with the teacher, usually over word choice such as, "It's been five minutes, you should probably get started on the assignment. It is due at the end of the hour." The student's face darkens, paper may or may not fly off the desk and the verbal barrage begins..."What, you expect me to do this? I don't get it...this doesn't make any sense...I don't feel like it...this is baby work...what's the point." As he spews forth, he looks for buy in from others. At the beginning of the year, he gets it. If we do our job right, by October, he doesn't. That, however, does not stop him, he continues on to June. It's just nice to know he sings solo, there is no choir. The gals, who are few, possess fine tuned sarcasm and the ability to hurl entire bags of makeup across the room. The makeup flies when asked either, (a) put the cellphone away or (b) put the makeup away. Cellphones don't go airborne as they are needed to continually communicate and complain to others trapped in classrooms around the school.
The commonality of the Es and the Bs is the deep, deep hurt, loss and shame, knowing that their lives are not what they should be and believing they are powerless to do anything about it. Working with them, hope springs eternal that an idea might catch, a small taste of success may help them thirst for more and learning new skills may build confidence. With the mentally ill or those mired in drugs, it is to use a Jersey expression, "Like shoveling shit against the tide."
Working with mentally ill students is a unique experience. The task is to help them organize their chaotic thoughts just long enough to get them through the assignments to the final grade in each class. "My father is the Bishop of Canterbury and my mother's family, I think is from Jupiter. World War I started with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinande." Quickly, the teacher stops the conversation and says, "That one, that last sentence, write that down."
And then there are drugs, students who earned a 3.5 average one year, line up a columns of Fs the following year and to them it just doesn't matter. No more needs to be said. Heart are broken.
I know I have more weeks to spend this summer than are so far spent. That is a good thing. More time to spend reading, fishing, spending time with my wonderful family, all will be well. I just wonder about the students...
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
10 Things I've Learned in 20 Years
This year marks my 20th year in Minnesota. Having grown up on the East Coast I thought I knew everything, I found I did not. Here are a few things I've learned in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.
1. We are in charge of nothing, nature is a powerful force, tornadoes take buildings apart with ease and relocate the pieces across the countryside. Hail the size of baseballs do damage, especially to cars left outside because someone took all the room in the garage with his "stuff." Dents galore create a more aerodynamic car according to my one and only. 40 degrees below zero does make your eyes sting, your breath freeze and really wakes you up in a hurry when you step outside.
2. People with real blonde hair and blue eyes do exist and not only that, there are a lot of them!
3. Chicken does not originate in traypack at the supermarket. People actually discuss the best ways to kill chickens, some whip them over their heads to snap the neck, others use the knife and I'm sure there are more ways, these are the most frequently sited in my company.
4. Huge farm implements drive down the road, like everyone else! I can't name any of them, but they are impressive.
5. People love their Minnesota Twins, not because they are bizzion dollar athletes but because they are scrappy. People love their Minnesota Vikings because they like to have their hearts broken.
6. People love the water and they go up North to get to it. (As opposed to migrating south to the shore and ocean.) People just don't sit and bake in the sun, they camp, fish, kayak, walk the trails or bike them...they do stuff at the lake!
7. There is nothing as exciting in spring as looking at the perfect rows in the fields and seeing the corn break through. It grows to knee high by the 4th of July, rises to the sun and then golden against the autumn sky. Late at night, the farmers are out, lights on their combines in the fields taking in the harvest. Honest, hard work, honest hardworking people.
8. Cows are big and their calves are adorable, racing to catch up with Mom, leaning against her for comfort and security.
9. When it's light, it's light and when it's dark, it's dark. Summer the sun is up around 5 am and twilight lasts until 10 pm; Winter, sun up at 7:45 am and down at 4:30. It's amazed me for 20 years.
10. Minnesota is a great place to raise kids, get a great education, make wonderful kind and caring friends (although I do miss some dear friends back East) and meet the greatest guy around...my Mr. Schmidt.
1. We are in charge of nothing, nature is a powerful force, tornadoes take buildings apart with ease and relocate the pieces across the countryside. Hail the size of baseballs do damage, especially to cars left outside because someone took all the room in the garage with his "stuff." Dents galore create a more aerodynamic car according to my one and only. 40 degrees below zero does make your eyes sting, your breath freeze and really wakes you up in a hurry when you step outside.
2. People with real blonde hair and blue eyes do exist and not only that, there are a lot of them!
3. Chicken does not originate in traypack at the supermarket. People actually discuss the best ways to kill chickens, some whip them over their heads to snap the neck, others use the knife and I'm sure there are more ways, these are the most frequently sited in my company.
4. Huge farm implements drive down the road, like everyone else! I can't name any of them, but they are impressive.
5. People love their Minnesota Twins, not because they are bizzion dollar athletes but because they are scrappy. People love their Minnesota Vikings because they like to have their hearts broken.
6. People love the water and they go up North to get to it. (As opposed to migrating south to the shore and ocean.) People just don't sit and bake in the sun, they camp, fish, kayak, walk the trails or bike them...they do stuff at the lake!
7. There is nothing as exciting in spring as looking at the perfect rows in the fields and seeing the corn break through. It grows to knee high by the 4th of July, rises to the sun and then golden against the autumn sky. Late at night, the farmers are out, lights on their combines in the fields taking in the harvest. Honest, hard work, honest hardworking people.
8. Cows are big and their calves are adorable, racing to catch up with Mom, leaning against her for comfort and security.
9. When it's light, it's light and when it's dark, it's dark. Summer the sun is up around 5 am and twilight lasts until 10 pm; Winter, sun up at 7:45 am and down at 4:30. It's amazed me for 20 years.
10. Minnesota is a great place to raise kids, get a great education, make wonderful kind and caring friends (although I do miss some dear friends back East) and meet the greatest guy around...my Mr. Schmidt.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
One of Those Weeks, Take Two
Looking at my last post, it reflected what goes wrong. This week was another one of those weeks, but instead of what goes wrong, it was filled with what is so very right. I was privileged to be part of and witness the power of passion.
Farmington is a QComp district and at FHS, we work to make the most of the program. One part of the program are Professional Development Plans and Portfolios. The Plans are ideas, concepts and action plans teacher want to use to improve student achievement, the portfolios are the data and artifacts. A small group of us review both and what we saw amazed us. Teachers at their innovative best, doing great things in their classroom and students responding. It was breathtaking.
As we read the documents, the air in the room became charged..."read this!" "Look at that, we need to have that shared with the whole staff.!" We couldn't stop reading and we couldn't stop talking. The dedication of the FHS staff to the achievement of 1,900 students is simply inspiring. It was for us a day of celebration.
This brings me to the larger picture. I spent many a day in meetings during my tenure in Corporate America. Virtually every meeting was concerned with how to get other companies to buy what they probably do not need because that meant higher profits and bigger salaries and bonuses. They were mind-boggling exhausting. I never, ever found a greater purpose in those meetings.
What has thrilled me since I entered the teaching profession 11 years ago is the fire and passion teachers have for their students, for their subject area, for being creative and collaborative...all to bring the best out in each other and in their students. Teachers do not do what they do for money, they do it for the greater good. They do it despite being criticized in person, in public and as fodder for political gain. They do it because they recognize the need for an educated civil society. Our society will not be sustained by ipads and iphones, 24/7 news, reality shows and unadulterated greed. Our society will be sustained by citizens knowing and doing for the greater good, using their amassed knowledge to discern the truth, having compassion and understanding for EVERYONE within our borders.
It is May and some people will begin the chant of teachers have the summer off..how lazy. What I see are teachers stretching to reach students as the final days of the school year race across the calendar. I see teachers looking to next year already. I hear all over FHS teachers looking at the summer as a time to get together to improve, to innovate, to collaborate all in order to educate. That is passion, sweet, sweet passion.
Farmington is a QComp district and at FHS, we work to make the most of the program. One part of the program are Professional Development Plans and Portfolios. The Plans are ideas, concepts and action plans teacher want to use to improve student achievement, the portfolios are the data and artifacts. A small group of us review both and what we saw amazed us. Teachers at their innovative best, doing great things in their classroom and students responding. It was breathtaking.
As we read the documents, the air in the room became charged..."read this!" "Look at that, we need to have that shared with the whole staff.!" We couldn't stop reading and we couldn't stop talking. The dedication of the FHS staff to the achievement of 1,900 students is simply inspiring. It was for us a day of celebration.
This brings me to the larger picture. I spent many a day in meetings during my tenure in Corporate America. Virtually every meeting was concerned with how to get other companies to buy what they probably do not need because that meant higher profits and bigger salaries and bonuses. They were mind-boggling exhausting. I never, ever found a greater purpose in those meetings.
What has thrilled me since I entered the teaching profession 11 years ago is the fire and passion teachers have for their students, for their subject area, for being creative and collaborative...all to bring the best out in each other and in their students. Teachers do not do what they do for money, they do it for the greater good. They do it despite being criticized in person, in public and as fodder for political gain. They do it because they recognize the need for an educated civil society. Our society will not be sustained by ipads and iphones, 24/7 news, reality shows and unadulterated greed. Our society will be sustained by citizens knowing and doing for the greater good, using their amassed knowledge to discern the truth, having compassion and understanding for EVERYONE within our borders.
It is May and some people will begin the chant of teachers have the summer off..how lazy. What I see are teachers stretching to reach students as the final days of the school year race across the calendar. I see teachers looking to next year already. I hear all over FHS teachers looking at the summer as a time to get together to improve, to innovate, to collaborate all in order to educate. That is passion, sweet, sweet passion.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Then there are those weeks....
As we march our way through any given school year, there is a glob of time that moves along. The alarm goes off on Monday morning and the next thing you know it's Friday night. Not a good week, but not necessarily a bad week, it was just a week. Then there are those weeks....
It started off innocently enough but there was a hint of uneasiness. At first I thought it was the upcoming MCA testing extravaganza. Two fabulous days of testing our students on their mastery of reading, writing and math. We reminded them to get sleep Monday night and eat breakfast on Tuesday morning. Standing in front of gittery students our words of comfort went something like this, "Just think every 9th, 10th and 11th grader in Minnesota will be writing and bubbling along with you this morning. In other words, you are not alone in your misery."
Testing over, 9th grade students got back to business the next day. I commend the Civics teacher with whom I am honored to be with twice each day. She has unbridled faith in 9th graders, that is that they can read and comprehend, organize thoughts, use higher order thinking skills, put it all together and communicate effectively. Her faith was sorely stretched. For several days students researched the issues in the Minnesota legislature...racino, Vikings Stadium, Right to Work, and Gay Rights Amendment. Students were to debate the issue. First up was Right to Work. Lined up in desks in the front of the room were three students taking the position for the Right to Work, three others again it. First question out of the box...what is a union? Silence followed.....more silence.....more silence. Finally one student muttered...people pay dues to the company to buy gas....more silence.
Staying with gas, let's move onto gasbags. We all know those folks, people who prattle on and on and your job is to try and figure out what they are talking about and exactly the point of it all. I tend to get a massive headache. At a meeting Thursday morning, our resident gasbag walked in late. Looking up I reminded myself of my prayer on Sunday mornings to not be harsh, not be cruel, not be condesending. 1.5 seconds into his whining I launched in, fist on table and raised voice. A bit later our principal had to call time out. It was not nice...I know what I'll be doing Sunday morning.
What sapped my strength though was drugs and neglect. Drugs derailed a student who I thought was going to make it to graduation in June. I watched a steady decline over the past month. Hoping every day he would turn the corner, he didn't. Next week it is off to treatment, graduation and future on hold. I boil inside knowing we can stop the drugs flooding into our communities, our homes, our schools. But we won't because there is too much money to be made by too many people. A professor I had in college once said, "Big, big business is bad, bad, bad." Drugs are big business.
Neglect and verbal abuse are something you can't see...it leaves no visible marks. You only see the results. One of my students hasn't been home for a while. We held onto a sliver of hope because while not going home, she came to school every day and she tried. This week she didn't until today. Quickly putting emotional support bandaids on as fast as we could, all we can hope is they last until Monday. If they do, she will be back. We've called in Dakota County Social Services. I don't understand the meager response. I do know funds in the county were cut to the bone.
Don't even get me started on the Vikings Stadium and the megabucks the Legislature is about to bestow on the purple and gold. It's been one of those weeks.
It started off innocently enough but there was a hint of uneasiness. At first I thought it was the upcoming MCA testing extravaganza. Two fabulous days of testing our students on their mastery of reading, writing and math. We reminded them to get sleep Monday night and eat breakfast on Tuesday morning. Standing in front of gittery students our words of comfort went something like this, "Just think every 9th, 10th and 11th grader in Minnesota will be writing and bubbling along with you this morning. In other words, you are not alone in your misery."
Testing over, 9th grade students got back to business the next day. I commend the Civics teacher with whom I am honored to be with twice each day. She has unbridled faith in 9th graders, that is that they can read and comprehend, organize thoughts, use higher order thinking skills, put it all together and communicate effectively. Her faith was sorely stretched. For several days students researched the issues in the Minnesota legislature...racino, Vikings Stadium, Right to Work, and Gay Rights Amendment. Students were to debate the issue. First up was Right to Work. Lined up in desks in the front of the room were three students taking the position for the Right to Work, three others again it. First question out of the box...what is a union? Silence followed.....more silence.....more silence. Finally one student muttered...people pay dues to the company to buy gas....more silence.
Staying with gas, let's move onto gasbags. We all know those folks, people who prattle on and on and your job is to try and figure out what they are talking about and exactly the point of it all. I tend to get a massive headache. At a meeting Thursday morning, our resident gasbag walked in late. Looking up I reminded myself of my prayer on Sunday mornings to not be harsh, not be cruel, not be condesending. 1.5 seconds into his whining I launched in, fist on table and raised voice. A bit later our principal had to call time out. It was not nice...I know what I'll be doing Sunday morning.
What sapped my strength though was drugs and neglect. Drugs derailed a student who I thought was going to make it to graduation in June. I watched a steady decline over the past month. Hoping every day he would turn the corner, he didn't. Next week it is off to treatment, graduation and future on hold. I boil inside knowing we can stop the drugs flooding into our communities, our homes, our schools. But we won't because there is too much money to be made by too many people. A professor I had in college once said, "Big, big business is bad, bad, bad." Drugs are big business.
Neglect and verbal abuse are something you can't see...it leaves no visible marks. You only see the results. One of my students hasn't been home for a while. We held onto a sliver of hope because while not going home, she came to school every day and she tried. This week she didn't until today. Quickly putting emotional support bandaids on as fast as we could, all we can hope is they last until Monday. If they do, she will be back. We've called in Dakota County Social Services. I don't understand the meager response. I do know funds in the county were cut to the bone.
Don't even get me started on the Vikings Stadium and the megabucks the Legislature is about to bestow on the purple and gold. It's been one of those weeks.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Sending Them Away
Almost every day I like what I do, working with special education students. I find that most of the time they have a better perspective on life than most adults. They are keenly aware of the human failings because they are the victims of those failings. Some retreat within themselves, others rage, all are wounded. They are doing their best to navigate the expectations, rules, regulations and demands of growing up. Once in a while a student comes along who despite our best efforts to support him, cannot navigate, cannot reach out and hold on, cannot "fake it till he makes it." Today I had to send that student away.
I don't like sending students away, not because of a sense of failure but because I don't like to see a student in such mental anquish, tortured life at this time in his life. As I sat at the meeting and Mom tried to lash out at our failings, tried to put digs into the school for not being up to the task of helping her child. I knew what I had to say and I knew it was going to hurt. Yes, I replied, we are not up to the task. Your child needs more mental health services than we can provide, he is that deeply hurt, in that much pain, is so very lost. With that, Mom put her head down, silent, staring off as we concluded the meeting. She shook my hand at the end, each of us nodding quietly acknowleding the depth of her son's needs.
I walked downstairs into my 1st hour class, looked over at a small, impish 9th grader who has just arrived from another state. He has told me he is not right in his mind. I think he right. I looked at him and thought, we will work hard for him, but how long will it be until I have to gather everyone around the table and send him away.
I like what I do, but not today.
I don't like sending students away, not because of a sense of failure but because I don't like to see a student in such mental anquish, tortured life at this time in his life. As I sat at the meeting and Mom tried to lash out at our failings, tried to put digs into the school for not being up to the task of helping her child. I knew what I had to say and I knew it was going to hurt. Yes, I replied, we are not up to the task. Your child needs more mental health services than we can provide, he is that deeply hurt, in that much pain, is so very lost. With that, Mom put her head down, silent, staring off as we concluded the meeting. She shook my hand at the end, each of us nodding quietly acknowleding the depth of her son's needs.
I walked downstairs into my 1st hour class, looked over at a small, impish 9th grader who has just arrived from another state. He has told me he is not right in his mind. I think he right. I looked at him and thought, we will work hard for him, but how long will it be until I have to gather everyone around the table and send him away.
I like what I do, but not today.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
The 4th of July and an American Tradition--Class Warfare
Summer has finally arrived in Minnesota. Today is warm and sunny, the sky is an amazing blue, there is a hint of breeze and the birds sitting in the trees are quietly conversing. It is the 4th of July weekend and most folks are relaxing with friends, puttering in the yard, fishing, or camping. Camping is popular in Minnesota and people flock to the state parks to enjoy the outdoors. Say what? The state government is shut down? No camping in state parks? That's right, no camping, no full functioning government. The doors are locked, the boys and girls of the legislature are in their home districts for the weekend explaining why the other side is bad, bad, bad.
We are in the midst of class and regional warfare. People say that we aren't and if we are it's a new thing. Really? Anyone care to wander down the American history trail with a little twist? For starters, how about the division in the colonies. While a great many leaders came from the privileged landowners, the division between Tories and Colonialist centered on economic lines. Most Tories were loyal to the Crown because it suited their economic needs, for the Colonists, the Crown was strangling their economic prowess. Oh, yes of course there was that thing about freedom and self rule, but when the contest was won, who ruled? The landowners. The Constitution provides for direct election but with the caveat of the Electoral College, to save the country from the stupidity of the common man.
Let's skip along to the election of Andrew Jackson, the first of the common men to hold office. He reveled in breaking the back of the Bank of the United States because he was determined to slow down the power grab of the wealthy in the US. He was hated and despised by the wealthy but he was one tough son of a bitch and he prevailed. Move along to the Civil War.
The Civil War was the in ultimate regional and class warfare and it was steeped in a moral issue, slavery. The North made its money in manufacturing, the South in agriculture. The North used all the immigrants living in poverty and squalor to man its factories, the South used slaves. Men in the North could pay for someone to take their place in the ranks. (We will see that come again about 100 years later.) The war cost hundreds of thousands of casualties in the wounded and the dead.
Entering the Industrial Revolution, men like Andrew Carnegie worked the men in his steel plants six and a half days a week for 264 days a year. The only day they got off was the 4th of July. Men worked for pennies and he made millions. When men tried to unionize for decent pay and working conditions, he brought out the police thugs who beat the strikers. It was the unions working to organize men to fight for basic working rights and it did take enlightened leaders such as Theodore Roosevelt to force change. (there are always those who are contrary to their social class...Eleanor Roosevelt was another such wonderful person.) It was only in his later years, with the meeting with his Maker coming up did Carnegie start to give away his money, but even then his name had to be plastered on everything...just so the common man knew who his benefactor was. OK, kids still with me? Jump to the 1960'
The 1960's are a subject all its own with civil rights, assassinations and Vietnam, but I'm going to take just Vietnam for this. Vietnam was regional and class warfare. How? On both coasts the determination to protest was huge. There were marches and campus sit in and daily discussions in the high school hallways and every kitchen table about stopping the war. In the midwest, a more conservative region of the country, and the south which is even more conservative, the support for the Vietnam War stayed the longest. While the men fighting the war came from across the country because of the draft, it was predominately fought by the poor and minorities. A deferment was given to men going to college and they went by the thousands. I met one guy who was a student at Farleigh Dickinson University for seven years waiting out the war. When the war ended in 1974, he graduated the following spring.
Jump 15 years to the 1980's and Ronald Reagan and trickle down economy where the wealthy trickle their wealth down to the rest of us and you have it, class warfare out in the open for all to see. The rich became tremendously wealthy and the rest of us tried to tread water.
And so here we are today, the Minnesota Legislature couldn't pass a budget bill. The Republicans who mostly represent the rich and business class won't raise taxes, they only want to cut spending. Most of Minnesota's spending is on education and health and human services. In other words money is spent on those are not old enough to have money and power and those who are too old and/or are disenfranchised to have any power. The Governor wants to raise taxes on only those making a million dollars or more, so that tax would come out of discretionary money; unlike me, a new tax would come out of my milk money. So I say, thank you Governor Dayton for holding the line, sometimes there must be a clash in class warfare and something has to give...it's not just time to take a realistic view on spending, it's time again in our American way for class warfare. I'm not saying it's right or good, I'm just saying it's not new.
And for those living in another state, hold on, you too will have the chance to watch this play out as we march towards August 2, and the need to resolve the issue of the debt ceiling. Listen carefully to the debate, the Sunday morning gasbags, the politicians....there it will be...class warfare.
We are in the midst of class and regional warfare. People say that we aren't and if we are it's a new thing. Really? Anyone care to wander down the American history trail with a little twist? For starters, how about the division in the colonies. While a great many leaders came from the privileged landowners, the division between Tories and Colonialist centered on economic lines. Most Tories were loyal to the Crown because it suited their economic needs, for the Colonists, the Crown was strangling their economic prowess. Oh, yes of course there was that thing about freedom and self rule, but when the contest was won, who ruled? The landowners. The Constitution provides for direct election but with the caveat of the Electoral College, to save the country from the stupidity of the common man.
Let's skip along to the election of Andrew Jackson, the first of the common men to hold office. He reveled in breaking the back of the Bank of the United States because he was determined to slow down the power grab of the wealthy in the US. He was hated and despised by the wealthy but he was one tough son of a bitch and he prevailed. Move along to the Civil War.
The Civil War was the in ultimate regional and class warfare and it was steeped in a moral issue, slavery. The North made its money in manufacturing, the South in agriculture. The North used all the immigrants living in poverty and squalor to man its factories, the South used slaves. Men in the North could pay for someone to take their place in the ranks. (We will see that come again about 100 years later.) The war cost hundreds of thousands of casualties in the wounded and the dead.
Entering the Industrial Revolution, men like Andrew Carnegie worked the men in his steel plants six and a half days a week for 264 days a year. The only day they got off was the 4th of July. Men worked for pennies and he made millions. When men tried to unionize for decent pay and working conditions, he brought out the police thugs who beat the strikers. It was the unions working to organize men to fight for basic working rights and it did take enlightened leaders such as Theodore Roosevelt to force change. (there are always those who are contrary to their social class...Eleanor Roosevelt was another such wonderful person.) It was only in his later years, with the meeting with his Maker coming up did Carnegie start to give away his money, but even then his name had to be plastered on everything...just so the common man knew who his benefactor was. OK, kids still with me? Jump to the 1960'
The 1960's are a subject all its own with civil rights, assassinations and Vietnam, but I'm going to take just Vietnam for this. Vietnam was regional and class warfare. How? On both coasts the determination to protest was huge. There were marches and campus sit in and daily discussions in the high school hallways and every kitchen table about stopping the war. In the midwest, a more conservative region of the country, and the south which is even more conservative, the support for the Vietnam War stayed the longest. While the men fighting the war came from across the country because of the draft, it was predominately fought by the poor and minorities. A deferment was given to men going to college and they went by the thousands. I met one guy who was a student at Farleigh Dickinson University for seven years waiting out the war. When the war ended in 1974, he graduated the following spring.
Jump 15 years to the 1980's and Ronald Reagan and trickle down economy where the wealthy trickle their wealth down to the rest of us and you have it, class warfare out in the open for all to see. The rich became tremendously wealthy and the rest of us tried to tread water.
And so here we are today, the Minnesota Legislature couldn't pass a budget bill. The Republicans who mostly represent the rich and business class won't raise taxes, they only want to cut spending. Most of Minnesota's spending is on education and health and human services. In other words money is spent on those are not old enough to have money and power and those who are too old and/or are disenfranchised to have any power. The Governor wants to raise taxes on only those making a million dollars or more, so that tax would come out of discretionary money; unlike me, a new tax would come out of my milk money. So I say, thank you Governor Dayton for holding the line, sometimes there must be a clash in class warfare and something has to give...it's not just time to take a realistic view on spending, it's time again in our American way for class warfare. I'm not saying it's right or good, I'm just saying it's not new.
And for those living in another state, hold on, you too will have the chance to watch this play out as we march towards August 2, and the need to resolve the issue of the debt ceiling. Listen carefully to the debate, the Sunday morning gasbags, the politicians....there it will be...class warfare.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Unhinged
Sitting on my front porch, I'm looking at the trees desperately trying to bud out so their leaves will grow and prosper, or is it me...am I desperate for them to show up? I'm beginning to think I'm coming unhinged. Desperate is probably not the right word, frustrated is. I'm frustrated that spring is so late this year, I mean, really, almost mid-May and awaiting the leaves on the trees? Living in Minnesota Twins Territory isn't so hot either, Mauer is no where to be seen, Morneau shows up and that is about it. . . .what's going on?
Years ago, a therapist told me that I was arrogant, I knew what was right for my parents and brother...well sister, turns out I was right, tragically right. But ever since, I've worked on burying my thoughts as to not be arrogant. Sometime it works, sometimes it doesn't. Today, it didn't. I'm on a committee at the high school, which struggles with making decisions. Now I know that Minnesotans work hard to discuss things completely and not to hurt anyone's feelings, but oh my Lord, we think we have a plan, and then we don't. Things are not brought out on the table, people sit quietly and nod heads in agreement. But what is actually happening is the fine art of passive aggressive behavior.
So today the Jersey Girl came out. I called it as I saw it, I said what I meant and meant what I said...and perhaps became unhinged. . .perhaps became arrogant...but I gotta tell ya...it felt good.
Years ago, a therapist told me that I was arrogant, I knew what was right for my parents and brother...well sister, turns out I was right, tragically right. But ever since, I've worked on burying my thoughts as to not be arrogant. Sometime it works, sometimes it doesn't. Today, it didn't. I'm on a committee at the high school, which struggles with making decisions. Now I know that Minnesotans work hard to discuss things completely and not to hurt anyone's feelings, but oh my Lord, we think we have a plan, and then we don't. Things are not brought out on the table, people sit quietly and nod heads in agreement. But what is actually happening is the fine art of passive aggressive behavior.
So today the Jersey Girl came out. I called it as I saw it, I said what I meant and meant what I said...and perhaps became unhinged. . .perhaps became arrogant...but I gotta tell ya...it felt good.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Mind and Body
An article in last Sunday's Star Tribune was quite candid. According to the article, health care costs are simply out of sight because we want to live too long. Instead of meeting our maker in our late 60's and early 70's, we want to hit the longevity jackpot and stay around, well, forever, but at least 90 will do. I do agree somewhat with the article's author, but I don't want to be the first on my block to give up the life prolonging drugs or surgeries or other medical miracles that will come my way in the not too distant future.
The next day at school, I shared with my fellow teachers in the EBD Suite 1202, what I read. We quickly moved the conversation what would worse, the body or the mind going first. As we talked, I got up to get a cup of coffee, mindful of the PAIN my legs, back and feet as I moved slowly to the coffee pot. At that moment, my vote was the body. As the day progressed and my body stopped screaming at me, I forgot about our conversation. After the students went home, the second part of the day began...paperwork, lots and lots of paperwork. There are lesson plans, grading papers, IEPs, Evaluation Reports, progress reports.
I finished an IEP and sent it off to the printer in the teacher's workroom. In the workroom are the bathrooms and a kitchen, along with mailboxes, and lunchtables. I gave the printer a few minutes and walked down to the workroom. I walked in and oooooo, the woman's bathroom was open. Better do my business while its free. All done, I walk back to Suite 1202, get to my desk..ugh, forgot the IEP. I walk down the hallway, hang a left and walk in the door directly facing the kitchen and printer off to the side. Ooooooooo, there on the kitchen counter was fresh bread and butter for the taking. I zip over and slather up a piece of bread and walk back to Suite 1202...I get to my desk and realize, no IEP. Standing with my fists on the desk and my head down, my fellow teacher asks what's wrong. I said, "I change my vote, I'll take the aches and pains..give me my mind."
The next day at school, I shared with my fellow teachers in the EBD Suite 1202, what I read. We quickly moved the conversation what would worse, the body or the mind going first. As we talked, I got up to get a cup of coffee, mindful of the PAIN my legs, back and feet as I moved slowly to the coffee pot. At that moment, my vote was the body. As the day progressed and my body stopped screaming at me, I forgot about our conversation. After the students went home, the second part of the day began...paperwork, lots and lots of paperwork. There are lesson plans, grading papers, IEPs, Evaluation Reports, progress reports.
I finished an IEP and sent it off to the printer in the teacher's workroom. In the workroom are the bathrooms and a kitchen, along with mailboxes, and lunchtables. I gave the printer a few minutes and walked down to the workroom. I walked in and oooooo, the woman's bathroom was open. Better do my business while its free. All done, I walk back to Suite 1202, get to my desk..ugh, forgot the IEP. I walk down the hallway, hang a left and walk in the door directly facing the kitchen and printer off to the side. Ooooooooo, there on the kitchen counter was fresh bread and butter for the taking. I zip over and slather up a piece of bread and walk back to Suite 1202...I get to my desk and realize, no IEP. Standing with my fists on the desk and my head down, my fellow teacher asks what's wrong. I said, "I change my vote, I'll take the aches and pains..give me my mind."
Monday, April 4, 2011
Bert and Dick, not Bert and Ernie--although I miss them
I waited with bated breath throughout the week of March 27, not because my 58th birthday was four days away, no, it was because on April 1st, Bert and Dick were going to be nightly guests in my family room. Bert Blyleven, the newly minted Hall of Fame pitcher and Dick Bremer, a career calling the plays guy are the announcers for the Minnesota Twins.
While I have always enjoyed watching baseball, having spent many of my days watching Yankee baseball and listening to Phil Rizzuto exclaim "holy cow" for every great play made by the Bronx Bombers, Bert and Dick make the world seem right. While Phil always praised the Yankees and jeered the competitor, Bert and Dick call a game purely on the merits.
Twins catcher, Joe Mauer hits a home run, Bert and Dick sing his praise, Jose Posada of the Yankees hits a home run, they cheer for him as well. ( I use the Yankees not only because I was weaned on them, but as I write this, our Twins are sinking in Yankee stadium.) In other words, they call what they see in good baseball, no matter what uniform the player wears. They love the game and the skills and talents needed to play the game...they are silent though on the big bucks involved.
And they are characters. At the beginning of the season, Bert will let us know how many days there are until his birthday on April 23, and for the rest of the season he will continue the countdown until the next April. He uses the teleprompter to "circle me Bert"where people bring signs to Target Field and when they prop them up, Bert will put a big old circle around them. It's pure joy to hear Bert say, "You are hereby circled!" They always get the trivia questions right, somehow. They use their California math to figure out how many hits a player may have during the game. They give each other a hard time...all in good fun. They are just fun to listen to. They have an honesty and simplicity of friendship that comes across during the telecast...just like Bert and Ernie. You know Bert and Ernie, a friendship ended tragically through the efforts of the uber-right.
It's spring, sort of in Minnesota, it's Twins Baseball, and it's a full spring, summer and fall filled with Bert and Dick...the sun and moon are aliened and the stars are shining bright. Thanks Bert, thanks, Dick, you are always welcome in our family room.
While I have always enjoyed watching baseball, having spent many of my days watching Yankee baseball and listening to Phil Rizzuto exclaim "holy cow" for every great play made by the Bronx Bombers, Bert and Dick make the world seem right. While Phil always praised the Yankees and jeered the competitor, Bert and Dick call a game purely on the merits.
Twins catcher, Joe Mauer hits a home run, Bert and Dick sing his praise, Jose Posada of the Yankees hits a home run, they cheer for him as well. ( I use the Yankees not only because I was weaned on them, but as I write this, our Twins are sinking in Yankee stadium.) In other words, they call what they see in good baseball, no matter what uniform the player wears. They love the game and the skills and talents needed to play the game...they are silent though on the big bucks involved.
And they are characters. At the beginning of the season, Bert will let us know how many days there are until his birthday on April 23, and for the rest of the season he will continue the countdown until the next April. He uses the teleprompter to "circle me Bert"where people bring signs to Target Field and when they prop them up, Bert will put a big old circle around them. It's pure joy to hear Bert say, "You are hereby circled!" They always get the trivia questions right, somehow. They use their California math to figure out how many hits a player may have during the game. They give each other a hard time...all in good fun. They are just fun to listen to. They have an honesty and simplicity of friendship that comes across during the telecast...just like Bert and Ernie. You know Bert and Ernie, a friendship ended tragically through the efforts of the uber-right.
It's spring, sort of in Minnesota, it's Twins Baseball, and it's a full spring, summer and fall filled with Bert and Dick...the sun and moon are aliened and the stars are shining bright. Thanks Bert, thanks, Dick, you are always welcome in our family room.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
It's nice to get birthday wishes
I think I'm really coming to terms with this beyond middle aged life. It became apparent yesterday as Ted and I walked into the Pioneer Art Museum in Fargo. I sighed as I did the older lady waddle walk because my hips were hurting as I ascended the large marble steps to the reception desk. The young lady at the desk welcomed us and told us about the exhibits on the upper three floors, smiling sweetly she pointed out the elevator. Somehow I knew she didn't do that for the younger crowd. She continued that the admission was $5.00 for adults but if we happened to be over 55, it was $4.00. Without hesitation, I slapped Ted's arm and said yippee. It was the first time I didn't scowl when someone mentioned the double nickel number to me in relation to age.
Today is the magic day, the day I turned 58. It's kind of no man land in the aging cycle. Beyond that easily made fun of 55 and not quite 60, another heroic age marker. So what is it that 58 years of living brings to mind? First, any projection beyond 30 years, say, all the oceans will sweep over the earth because of global warming, gain a response of "don't care won't be here and if I am, I think I'll be more concerned with being able to climb stairs."
Second, my generation that was determined to change the world, did indeed but not in the way many of us imagined. I see missed opportunities, not just how the world would have been different without the problems provided by my parent's generation...Vietnam, assassination of the Kennedy Brothers and Martin Luther King. But those missed by mine, the election of Regan who in my mind is one of the worst Presidents ever. I saw Walter Mondale one day this summer as I was in the middle of getting my eye exam. With my eyes dilated open, trying to see what I looked like in several pairs of frames, I saw a man walk up to the clerk behind the counter and ask to have his glasses adjusted. He looked like Walter Mondale and sounded like him but I wasn't sure. When the clerk returned with the glasses, and the recipient said thank you, I knew it was him. I turned and stared at him and he looked at me. I wanted to run to him and tell him that I had voted for him all those years ago. That I had believed in his message that we were headed in the wrong direction, that we needed to work for the common good and not only for our own wallets. I wanted to tell Walter Mondale how sorry I was that he hadn't won and in how we all lost in 1984. Instead I nodded to him and he to me and he walked away.
Third, I've started to let go of what could have been. I still get frustrated and angry, especially now at the selfishness of our legislators, the right wing nut jobs out on the stump drumming up hatred and thanking those in New Hampshire for their fight at Concord and Lexington. Need I write any more? I get infuriated at the MN legislature where being a teacher is equal to incompetent, yet none of these folks are teachers themselves. But they all went to school and therefore are experts....hmmm...I've read a lot of legal mysteries...can I join the MN Bar? And while I can still get revved up and will still state the case for the common good and decency, I am also looking at a smaller stage.
I look at the journey I've been on so far and am so very grateful. I have wonderful children who are working hard to be a positive influence in this world. The gals are married to wonderful guys and the lone guy is finding his way through those tough early 20's years. ( Just like high school, I'd never want to go back there, not even for the pain free body.) I have a wonderful husband who took me on a trip this week for rest and relaxation. My idea of time away is reading, sleeping and reading some more. Despite how bored he is, and he is, he is hanging in there with me. I have an extended family I truly adore and friends who are thoughtful and kind. I've been blessed, not sure why but I'll take it. Thank you to all for the birthday wishes and let's all keep on keeping on.
Today is the magic day, the day I turned 58. It's kind of no man land in the aging cycle. Beyond that easily made fun of 55 and not quite 60, another heroic age marker. So what is it that 58 years of living brings to mind? First, any projection beyond 30 years, say, all the oceans will sweep over the earth because of global warming, gain a response of "don't care won't be here and if I am, I think I'll be more concerned with being able to climb stairs."
Second, my generation that was determined to change the world, did indeed but not in the way many of us imagined. I see missed opportunities, not just how the world would have been different without the problems provided by my parent's generation...Vietnam, assassination of the Kennedy Brothers and Martin Luther King. But those missed by mine, the election of Regan who in my mind is one of the worst Presidents ever. I saw Walter Mondale one day this summer as I was in the middle of getting my eye exam. With my eyes dilated open, trying to see what I looked like in several pairs of frames, I saw a man walk up to the clerk behind the counter and ask to have his glasses adjusted. He looked like Walter Mondale and sounded like him but I wasn't sure. When the clerk returned with the glasses, and the recipient said thank you, I knew it was him. I turned and stared at him and he looked at me. I wanted to run to him and tell him that I had voted for him all those years ago. That I had believed in his message that we were headed in the wrong direction, that we needed to work for the common good and not only for our own wallets. I wanted to tell Walter Mondale how sorry I was that he hadn't won and in how we all lost in 1984. Instead I nodded to him and he to me and he walked away.
Third, I've started to let go of what could have been. I still get frustrated and angry, especially now at the selfishness of our legislators, the right wing nut jobs out on the stump drumming up hatred and thanking those in New Hampshire for their fight at Concord and Lexington. Need I write any more? I get infuriated at the MN legislature where being a teacher is equal to incompetent, yet none of these folks are teachers themselves. But they all went to school and therefore are experts....hmmm...I've read a lot of legal mysteries...can I join the MN Bar? And while I can still get revved up and will still state the case for the common good and decency, I am also looking at a smaller stage.
I look at the journey I've been on so far and am so very grateful. I have wonderful children who are working hard to be a positive influence in this world. The gals are married to wonderful guys and the lone guy is finding his way through those tough early 20's years. ( Just like high school, I'd never want to go back there, not even for the pain free body.) I have a wonderful husband who took me on a trip this week for rest and relaxation. My idea of time away is reading, sleeping and reading some more. Despite how bored he is, and he is, he is hanging in there with me. I have an extended family I truly adore and friends who are thoughtful and kind. I've been blessed, not sure why but I'll take it. Thank you to all for the birthday wishes and let's all keep on keeping on.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
A New Year's Resolution
Over the past few days, I've spent time reading and listening to news accounts about the issues and needs in the US over the past decade, 2010 and the coming year and years. Several things I found humorous, several disheartening, some uplifting and overall they gave me an idea about a resolution for the new year. I'm not a New Year's resolution person but I think this one is worthwhile.
One that I found humorous was an article in the January 1, New York Times. On the front page one of the first baby boomers to reach 65 was highlighted. The writer took well deserved jabs at Baby Boomers. As I read the article, I chuckled because it was exactly what Lance Morrow an editorial writer for Time magazine, wrote 25 years ago about the self absorbed, entitled feeling, whining Baby Boomers. According to the New York Times writer it still holds true. Morrow, a greatest generation member and the New York Times writer, a millennium, book end us, the Baby Boomers and both wrote with disdain. We baby boomers started off well, we wanted to change the world for the good, but we got hoodwinked in the 1980's...greed became good, we tasted and never looked back.
The uplifting was the heart that average Americans showed through our wallets to help those suffering in Haiti. So much was done wrong because of bickering between agencies and ineptitude of the Haitian government, but American's always knowing that we must help those in need, poured forth monetary help and many who could, went to the front lines and assisted.
The list of disheartening was unfortunately very long. The BP oil spill and all the cost cutting measures that led to the disaster and the haughtiness of the BP CEO were unbearable. The news crews have left and at the end of the year, I'm wondering how our fellow Americans are faring. The mid term elections were foretold but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. OK, this is where my political bias comes in. I find it difficult to understand that with only two years under the influence of Democratic rule, Americans were ready for a change. Perhaps it's difficult for me to grasp because I felt I was in the wilderness for eight years. American wages have stagnated and actually declined in the past decade. I know what I'm talking about.
In 1976, I was able to buy a small Cape Cod house, had two new cars, a house full of new furniture and had a combined income of $18,000. Even taking into account inflation, you can't say things are equitable today. The first day of my first job in August of 1975, the payroll person told me I was working one day for the government and four for me. Now it's 2.5 for the government and 2.5 for me. And let me remind folks that in all my working career it's been Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush I, Clinton, Bush II and Obama. That is four Republicans to two Democrats. I remember the last words of the 1980 Presidential Campaign. Reagan stood before the American public and asked one question. "Are you better off today than you were four years ago?" With that he won by a landslide the next day.
Looking long term over the past 10 years, are we better off? Now I know my Republican sisters could enlighten me about why the change in Washington and St. Paul are beneficial and may save us from dropping into the drink. The one thing I think we can agree upon is having our representatives not glare across the aisle, but look across the aisle and see a partner in governing and problem solving for the betterment of all.
This leads me to my New Year's Resolution. With the changing of the guard at both the Minnesota state capitol and House of Representatives in Washington, I will email my State and US Congressmen and Congresswoman once a month. My question will be targeted at the issue with one constant question. "What are you doing to cross the aisle and work to solve our problems?". I won't accept an answer about what the "other side" is doing wrong, or how if it weren't for the Tea Party or the liberal left. I will demand to know how my representative in government is finding common ground. Now I have no control over their response, if I receive anything coherent, but it will be my duty to ask...my resolution to question and prod. But I do have to keep in mind the great line from Gone with the Wind. Scarlett and Pork are engaged in a conversation about the taxed on Tara. Scarlett exclaims she is going to ask Ashley for the money. Pork states he doesn't have that kind of money. Scarlett replies she can ask if she wants to and storms out. To which Pork says with a heavy sigh, "Askin' ain't gettin." No it is not, but I'm going to ask anyway.
One that I found humorous was an article in the January 1, New York Times. On the front page one of the first baby boomers to reach 65 was highlighted. The writer took well deserved jabs at Baby Boomers. As I read the article, I chuckled because it was exactly what Lance Morrow an editorial writer for Time magazine, wrote 25 years ago about the self absorbed, entitled feeling, whining Baby Boomers. According to the New York Times writer it still holds true. Morrow, a greatest generation member and the New York Times writer, a millennium, book end us, the Baby Boomers and both wrote with disdain. We baby boomers started off well, we wanted to change the world for the good, but we got hoodwinked in the 1980's...greed became good, we tasted and never looked back.
The uplifting was the heart that average Americans showed through our wallets to help those suffering in Haiti. So much was done wrong because of bickering between agencies and ineptitude of the Haitian government, but American's always knowing that we must help those in need, poured forth monetary help and many who could, went to the front lines and assisted.
The list of disheartening was unfortunately very long. The BP oil spill and all the cost cutting measures that led to the disaster and the haughtiness of the BP CEO were unbearable. The news crews have left and at the end of the year, I'm wondering how our fellow Americans are faring. The mid term elections were foretold but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. OK, this is where my political bias comes in. I find it difficult to understand that with only two years under the influence of Democratic rule, Americans were ready for a change. Perhaps it's difficult for me to grasp because I felt I was in the wilderness for eight years. American wages have stagnated and actually declined in the past decade. I know what I'm talking about.
In 1976, I was able to buy a small Cape Cod house, had two new cars, a house full of new furniture and had a combined income of $18,000. Even taking into account inflation, you can't say things are equitable today. The first day of my first job in August of 1975, the payroll person told me I was working one day for the government and four for me. Now it's 2.5 for the government and 2.5 for me. And let me remind folks that in all my working career it's been Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush I, Clinton, Bush II and Obama. That is four Republicans to two Democrats. I remember the last words of the 1980 Presidential Campaign. Reagan stood before the American public and asked one question. "Are you better off today than you were four years ago?" With that he won by a landslide the next day.
Looking long term over the past 10 years, are we better off? Now I know my Republican sisters could enlighten me about why the change in Washington and St. Paul are beneficial and may save us from dropping into the drink. The one thing I think we can agree upon is having our representatives not glare across the aisle, but look across the aisle and see a partner in governing and problem solving for the betterment of all.
This leads me to my New Year's Resolution. With the changing of the guard at both the Minnesota state capitol and House of Representatives in Washington, I will email my State and US Congressmen and Congresswoman once a month. My question will be targeted at the issue with one constant question. "What are you doing to cross the aisle and work to solve our problems?". I won't accept an answer about what the "other side" is doing wrong, or how if it weren't for the Tea Party or the liberal left. I will demand to know how my representative in government is finding common ground. Now I have no control over their response, if I receive anything coherent, but it will be my duty to ask...my resolution to question and prod. But I do have to keep in mind the great line from Gone with the Wind. Scarlett and Pork are engaged in a conversation about the taxed on Tara. Scarlett exclaims she is going to ask Ashley for the money. Pork states he doesn't have that kind of money. Scarlett replies she can ask if she wants to and storms out. To which Pork says with a heavy sigh, "Askin' ain't gettin." No it is not, but I'm going to ask anyway.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
I'd be Thinkin'
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.
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.
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...
Sunday, December 13, 2009
An Accounting
Over the years Christmastime has run the gauntlet of emotion...full of wonder watching my children with unabashed love, tragedy watching my dieing mother talking of being with my brother in heaven Christmas the next year, heartwrenching the year of my divorce, the children caught in the crossfire of betrayal and hatred, exhilerating full of laughter and love with my husband, children and grandchildren. No matter what the emotion, one thing has stayed constant, an accounting.
It's not the bean counter type of accounting, it's an accounting of the soul. Each week at the beginning of the Lutheran service in our communial confession we pray for forgiveness for what we have done and what we have left undone. The done is obvious and if we aren't aware of what we have done, there is always someone willing and eager to tell us. For that we ask forgiveness. For me what goes deeper into the soul is what is left undone. For the undone resides most often in the depths of our soul. It is between us and God. We know what we could have done, should have done but didn't. I know the times I saw need and turned away. No one else saw but I did. I know the times I dealt out anger, cruelty, judgement, disinterest.
With the turning of the calendar, there is a turning of the soul. I look back at the year gone by and measure what I've done or not done. With anticipation I look to the new year, not so much to make resolutions, for we all know just how well those turn out, but to renew. A new year, like fresh snow is spotless, smooth and glistening. I have the chance to make amends, and begin again. And I will. Happy New Year to everyone, may your New Year bring happiness, good health, love and peace.
It's not the bean counter type of accounting, it's an accounting of the soul. Each week at the beginning of the Lutheran service in our communial confession we pray for forgiveness for what we have done and what we have left undone. The done is obvious and if we aren't aware of what we have done, there is always someone willing and eager to tell us. For that we ask forgiveness. For me what goes deeper into the soul is what is left undone. For the undone resides most often in the depths of our soul. It is between us and God. We know what we could have done, should have done but didn't. I know the times I saw need and turned away. No one else saw but I did. I know the times I dealt out anger, cruelty, judgement, disinterest.
With the turning of the calendar, there is a turning of the soul. I look back at the year gone by and measure what I've done or not done. With anticipation I look to the new year, not so much to make resolutions, for we all know just how well those turn out, but to renew. A new year, like fresh snow is spotless, smooth and glistening. I have the chance to make amends, and begin again. And I will. Happy New Year to everyone, may your New Year bring happiness, good health, love and peace.
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