It's springtime in Texas, and tomorrow is my grandmother's birthday. Ruth Ella Coward Schumacher passed in August, 1996. She grew up in Illinois, roaming the outdoors, as did my mother, as did I. She had a baby brother, Willis, a mom, and a dad. But her dad, although quite tall and full of health, caught that awaful flu in 1919 and died when Grandmother was just five years old. Her mother had loved him deeply, not in a girlish way, but in a quiet swallow of meaning that spans one's life. She was twenty-five, a widow, with a five- and three-year old to take care of. She went to work for the telephone company as an operator.
Grandmother was green and gold floral, a double stitch, clothes on the line, wisteria, hummingbirds, and dimes in a dish. She taught me how to make things using my mind and my hands--to read a pattern, measure, press and sew; to carve ceramics using sandpaper, tiny tools, and brushes for dusting; to make intricate wreaths; and to roll hair in curlers, with some Rave solution for waves that would roll down your back. Her house smelled like eucalyptus leaves and antique wood. The floors creaked underneath the carpeted hallway where our ancestry hung. I would go there every summer to spend three weeks. We filled our time with projects and the mall, and she would send me home with new outfits and new skills. I felt completely capable in her presence. Her spirit wanted to take on any seeable notion. She house painted, hunched over her garden till sweat dripped; she wanted to do things herself, and I did too. I let her show me how. I listened carefully to her. She was happy. She loved me. She didn't worry. She was proud of me. Grandmother always knew what to do. She wasn't daunted by life.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Thursday, February 10, 2005
some love quotes for Valentine's Day
1. "There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." Friedrich Nietzsche
2. "Love is not about losing freedom; it's about sharing freedom with a partner who's as talented a liberationist as you." some chick named Sarah
3. "I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty." Pablo Neruda
4. "Between whom there is hearty truth there is love." Thoreau
5. "Love is being stupid together." French poet Paul Valery
6. "Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." Zora Neale Hurston
7. "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." James Baldwin
8. "Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real." novelist Iris Murdoch
9. "I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out." Elizabeth Barrett Browning
10. "Love is the most difficult and dangerous form of courage. Courage is the most desperate, admirable, and noble kind of love." poet Delmore Schwartz
11. "You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, but that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anyone, deserve your love and affection." Buddha
12. "Our love is like a well in the wilderness where time watches over the wandering lightning. Our sleep is a secret tunnel that leads to the scent of apples carried on the wind. When I hold you, I hold everything that is--swans, volcanoes, river rocks, maple trees drinking the fragrance of the moon, bread that the fire adores. In your life I see everything that lives." Pablo Neruda
2. "Love is not about losing freedom; it's about sharing freedom with a partner who's as talented a liberationist as you." some chick named Sarah
3. "I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty." Pablo Neruda
4. "Between whom there is hearty truth there is love." Thoreau
5. "Love is being stupid together." French poet Paul Valery
6. "Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." Zora Neale Hurston
7. "Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." James Baldwin
8. "Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real." novelist Iris Murdoch
9. "I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out." Elizabeth Barrett Browning
10. "Love is the most difficult and dangerous form of courage. Courage is the most desperate, admirable, and noble kind of love." poet Delmore Schwartz
11. "You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, but that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anyone, deserve your love and affection." Buddha
12. "Our love is like a well in the wilderness where time watches over the wandering lightning. Our sleep is a secret tunnel that leads to the scent of apples carried on the wind. When I hold you, I hold everything that is--swans, volcanoes, river rocks, maple trees drinking the fragrance of the moon, bread that the fire adores. In your life I see everything that lives." Pablo Neruda
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
The lovliest blessings, cuddles, and kisses to my dear friends Lisa and Konrad. They're having their first bebe!!
Hip hip hooray to Katie and Davey who have been accepted (I'm pushing it along just a little) to medical and dental school at Creighton U in Omaha, Nebrasky. They have cute brick tudor homes there in the downtown where they would love to live. It's only a 12-hour drive from Houston she tells me. Road-tripper extraordinaire, I will be there.
That's the good news. I'll be back sooner than the time I've been away. Promise.
Hip hip hooray to Katie and Davey who have been accepted (I'm pushing it along just a little) to medical and dental school at Creighton U in Omaha, Nebrasky. They have cute brick tudor homes there in the downtown where they would love to live. It's only a 12-hour drive from Houston she tells me. Road-tripper extraordinaire, I will be there.
That's the good news. I'll be back sooner than the time I've been away. Promise.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
I'm reading the students' papers. It's finals week. Finals! Their critical anaylsis essays require the use of Smoke Signals, a fantastic little film about Indians, fathers, guilt, secrets, journey, and transformation. Then they had to find a second source on their own.
My little doe-eyed, home-schooled senior chose The Scarlet Letter. Here's some wisdom from Nathaniel Hawthorne:
"Be true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst my be inferred!"
My little doe-eyed, home-schooled senior chose The Scarlet Letter. Here's some wisdom from Nathaniel Hawthorne:
"Be true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst my be inferred!"
Sunday, November 07, 2004
reframing the debate
Jeff forwarded me an article from The Texas Observer (November 5, 2004) called, "Frame Wars." Here are some excerpts from that article (also linked above), and my thoughts that follow.
...................................
The basic building blocks of political communication are "frames" (as Lakoff calls them) or "context" (to use Luntz's word) . . .
The most important resource that politicians have. . . is the ways in which people understand the world. Their values. Their worldviews. (Lakoff adds to this: their brains.) If you tap into those values, inform them, tweak them, focus and reflect those values back at an electorate—that’s the way to win power . . .
As long as liberals and progressives insist that having the facts on their side is all that matters, they are doomed to impotence. The next move for the left in the frame war is to accept that it’s okay to cherry-pick reality as long as it conforms to a frame that’s morally acceptable. According to Lakoff, we already do it every day . . .
How can progressives respond? They have to figure out what they believe and then put words to it. “When you think you just lack words, what you really lack are ideas,” Lakoff writes in Don’t Think of an Elephant. “Ideas come in the form of frames. When the frames are there, the words come readily.” The frames for progressives to use to counter the “ownership society” will probably reflect how they value fairness, accountability, and opportunity. What words and images they use won’t mention those values explicitly; they’ll evoke them, and make them seem like the only values worth having . . .
..................................
People want to recognize themselves in their leaders, and through frames, leaders can reflect the public's values back at them. What's interesting is that Conservatives have been communicating in frames for decades. The article refers to "The Cold War" and "The War on Terror"--"war" being a word that evokes moral triumph, sacrifice, and honor. It's important to note that people don't want conflicting views reflected. Confusion isn't a good selling point. Apparently that's why "The War on Terror" was so much more effective in garnering support than "terrorism being a nuisance" (Kerry's stated goal for the direction of the war). What does that mean anyway--a nuisance? The article suggests it opens up the debate to all the complexities, but leaves them unexplained. The key lies in keeping frames simple so that fewer people can reject them.
That's probably why "and God bless America" is such a popular closing. Evokes those values, and who can criticize a blessing, really. You can try, but you won't win. That's the point.
I buy Lakoff and Luntz's claim one-hundred percent. I'm one of those people for whom it's perfectly okay to walk into all multiplicities of meaning. It's invigorating because that's where the mental work takes place. But like the rest of the world, I want to find the heart of what matters. If I come out empty-handed, I too feel impotent.
I've also found that when trying to talk about some personal issue, being able to say it in one line is always better than writing a treatise. Folksy can be the wisest way sometimes, but intellectuals miss that.
The most worthwhile bit of Lakoff's advice is this: "[We] have to figure out what we believe and then put words to it. 'When you think you just lack words, what you really lack are ideas.'" Dems are certainly not as at-ease with this because we don't like to define for everyone. We don't like to generalize and stereotype. I just had a little eighteen year old in one of my classes (who claims there is nothing wrong with pornography--can you say left wing?) drop her jaw when I had the class break down the ethnicity of a magazine's readership the other day--as if there's injustice inherent within grouping individuals. We're certainly flawed. We get carried away. But that's off-track.
What are our values? And it's not "tax and spend." What is it that we believe? I heard it when Barak Obama spoke, "We are The United States of America." I hear it in M.L.K's artistry: "We shall overcome . . . Let freedom ring." J.F.K. set us straight too, "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." Every one of us fits within these phrases. We can get behind them. We've got to be uniters, not dividers. Conservatives are simply better at this.
Collective responsibility, people, it's my new frame. I want to use the church's goals as my own, because they are my own. The church takes care. The church is concerned about the welfare of those less fortunate. The church teaches us to be better. Those Evangelicals and Mormons don't have a brand on it. I want it too. "Democrats for Jesus." C'mon. (Yes, I like Muslims and Buddhists, and Agnostics, and Kabbalists too, but you're missing the point. That frame isn't ever going to win. It's too wordy. It's actually a perfect retort by Conservatives. See, the Democrats want to be all things to all people and don't even know who they are.)
...................................
The basic building blocks of political communication are "frames" (as Lakoff calls them) or "context" (to use Luntz's word) . . .
The most important resource that politicians have. . . is the ways in which people understand the world. Their values. Their worldviews. (Lakoff adds to this: their brains.) If you tap into those values, inform them, tweak them, focus and reflect those values back at an electorate—that’s the way to win power . . .
As long as liberals and progressives insist that having the facts on their side is all that matters, they are doomed to impotence. The next move for the left in the frame war is to accept that it’s okay to cherry-pick reality as long as it conforms to a frame that’s morally acceptable. According to Lakoff, we already do it every day . . .
How can progressives respond? They have to figure out what they believe and then put words to it. “When you think you just lack words, what you really lack are ideas,” Lakoff writes in Don’t Think of an Elephant. “Ideas come in the form of frames. When the frames are there, the words come readily.” The frames for progressives to use to counter the “ownership society” will probably reflect how they value fairness, accountability, and opportunity. What words and images they use won’t mention those values explicitly; they’ll evoke them, and make them seem like the only values worth having . . .
..................................
People want to recognize themselves in their leaders, and through frames, leaders can reflect the public's values back at them. What's interesting is that Conservatives have been communicating in frames for decades. The article refers to "The Cold War" and "The War on Terror"--"war" being a word that evokes moral triumph, sacrifice, and honor. It's important to note that people don't want conflicting views reflected. Confusion isn't a good selling point. Apparently that's why "The War on Terror" was so much more effective in garnering support than "terrorism being a nuisance" (Kerry's stated goal for the direction of the war). What does that mean anyway--a nuisance? The article suggests it opens up the debate to all the complexities, but leaves them unexplained. The key lies in keeping frames simple so that fewer people can reject them.
That's probably why "and God bless America" is such a popular closing. Evokes those values, and who can criticize a blessing, really. You can try, but you won't win. That's the point.
I buy Lakoff and Luntz's claim one-hundred percent. I'm one of those people for whom it's perfectly okay to walk into all multiplicities of meaning. It's invigorating because that's where the mental work takes place. But like the rest of the world, I want to find the heart of what matters. If I come out empty-handed, I too feel impotent.
I've also found that when trying to talk about some personal issue, being able to say it in one line is always better than writing a treatise. Folksy can be the wisest way sometimes, but intellectuals miss that.
The most worthwhile bit of Lakoff's advice is this: "[We] have to figure out what we believe and then put words to it. 'When you think you just lack words, what you really lack are ideas.'" Dems are certainly not as at-ease with this because we don't like to define for everyone. We don't like to generalize and stereotype. I just had a little eighteen year old in one of my classes (who claims there is nothing wrong with pornography--can you say left wing?) drop her jaw when I had the class break down the ethnicity of a magazine's readership the other day--as if there's injustice inherent within grouping individuals. We're certainly flawed. We get carried away. But that's off-track.
What are our values? And it's not "tax and spend." What is it that we believe? I heard it when Barak Obama spoke, "We are The United States of America." I hear it in M.L.K's artistry: "We shall overcome . . . Let freedom ring." J.F.K. set us straight too, "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." Every one of us fits within these phrases. We can get behind them. We've got to be uniters, not dividers. Conservatives are simply better at this.
Collective responsibility, people, it's my new frame. I want to use the church's goals as my own, because they are my own. The church takes care. The church is concerned about the welfare of those less fortunate. The church teaches us to be better. Those Evangelicals and Mormons don't have a brand on it. I want it too. "Democrats for Jesus." C'mon. (Yes, I like Muslims and Buddhists, and Agnostics, and Kabbalists too, but you're missing the point. That frame isn't ever going to win. It's too wordy. It's actually a perfect retort by Conservatives. See, the Democrats want to be all things to all people and don't even know who they are.)
Thursday, November 04, 2004
the election
Hello friends. You know, yesterday didn't go my way after all. It was painful to me on a personal level. I listened to some good music, CDs my brother had made for me, "The John Kerry Mix" and "The John Edwards Mix." He packed about twenty songs on each, some political, "What if We All Stopped Paying Taxes," by Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, some emotional, "The Art Teacher," by Rufus Wainwright, the pure beauty of notes fat with longing. So I listened to these on my way to Willie Lee Gay Hall in the south part of town. When you step outside your car there you get a view across a pasture of Reliant Stadium and old AstroWorld rides. That view gives me peace for some reason. I'm in the country, but the city is near. I can breathe full breaths, but the pace is quick just over there.
At certain moments during the listening I teared up. The government, the people, it's all personal for me, as it is for many. It has hit me hard that the majority of folks only want Republicans--the House of Representatives, the Senate, the presidency, and from them comes forth more Rs in judicial seats. The margins aren't slim anymore. Republican agendas can pass without filibusters I heard someone say on CNN yesterday (referring to some specific bill that was blocked last time around). It makes me think of drilling in the arctic, of slowing scientific research, and of political decisions made to garner the economic well being not only of the first family, but of the president's "base," those in the money.
I care about the underdog. I don't believe in looking out for yourself pretty much most of the time, getting ahead, and protecting your own interests. I know a lot of people do. There's merit in self-sufficiency, certainly. But the interests of others shouldn't be neglected while you strive for success. Does that mean we should give to the poor? A complex ethical question, does giving to an individual in need create a dependency that ultimately causes more damage? On a societal level, though, it is a spirit of collective responsibility that we should be breeding rather than one of individual strength. When we are collectively tied and involved, we are well. When we divide with an "I've got to take care of mine" attitude, we are unwell.
To me, the distinction between being a Democrat or a Republican lies here--I am a Democrat because of my compassion for others. And yet, all of these conservative folks see Democrats as the ones who've lost their values, who want to damage the moral conscience of our society. This dichotomy in perception troubles me, especially after seeing a sea of red across a map of The United States painted on Rockefeller Center's ice yesterday.
I went to a Methodist church in Montrose a few weeks back. Those of you who know Houston may chuckle at what I found there, but I didn't have a clue before I went. The congregation was about 90% gay male. I've passed church signs lately that read, "All are welcome." And in my classes we've been talking (at my prompting) about whether or not it's okay to discriminate in certain circumstances, directing it at topical issues of gay marriage and adoptions by gay couples. Religion is a tricky thing. One of my students quoted a bible verse about man being inherently evil. And then Jesus is the ultimate example of peace and love and selflessness. So which is it? Are we evil or are we good?
It's not as simple as all that, but I do think we fall more to one side than the other. Is it wrong to be gay? Is it wrong to be Muslim? If you tell someone they are wrong for being who they are, then you eat away some of your own peace, which is what we are supposed to be striving for. I prefer the Jesus model over the vengeful God. Compassion isn't selective. It just is. My Democratic friends and I know this, but the rest of the country doesn't seem to. Goodwill, acceptance, taking care--these are my Democratic values. There's no danger here. Acceptance may be scary because you have to let go of control. Rigidity becomes fluid. Things happen, but it's okay. Change happens, but it's okay.
At certain moments during the listening I teared up. The government, the people, it's all personal for me, as it is for many. It has hit me hard that the majority of folks only want Republicans--the House of Representatives, the Senate, the presidency, and from them comes forth more Rs in judicial seats. The margins aren't slim anymore. Republican agendas can pass without filibusters I heard someone say on CNN yesterday (referring to some specific bill that was blocked last time around). It makes me think of drilling in the arctic, of slowing scientific research, and of political decisions made to garner the economic well being not only of the first family, but of the president's "base," those in the money.
I care about the underdog. I don't believe in looking out for yourself pretty much most of the time, getting ahead, and protecting your own interests. I know a lot of people do. There's merit in self-sufficiency, certainly. But the interests of others shouldn't be neglected while you strive for success. Does that mean we should give to the poor? A complex ethical question, does giving to an individual in need create a dependency that ultimately causes more damage? On a societal level, though, it is a spirit of collective responsibility that we should be breeding rather than one of individual strength. When we are collectively tied and involved, we are well. When we divide with an "I've got to take care of mine" attitude, we are unwell.
To me, the distinction between being a Democrat or a Republican lies here--I am a Democrat because of my compassion for others. And yet, all of these conservative folks see Democrats as the ones who've lost their values, who want to damage the moral conscience of our society. This dichotomy in perception troubles me, especially after seeing a sea of red across a map of The United States painted on Rockefeller Center's ice yesterday.
I went to a Methodist church in Montrose a few weeks back. Those of you who know Houston may chuckle at what I found there, but I didn't have a clue before I went. The congregation was about 90% gay male. I've passed church signs lately that read, "All are welcome." And in my classes we've been talking (at my prompting) about whether or not it's okay to discriminate in certain circumstances, directing it at topical issues of gay marriage and adoptions by gay couples. Religion is a tricky thing. One of my students quoted a bible verse about man being inherently evil. And then Jesus is the ultimate example of peace and love and selflessness. So which is it? Are we evil or are we good?
It's not as simple as all that, but I do think we fall more to one side than the other. Is it wrong to be gay? Is it wrong to be Muslim? If you tell someone they are wrong for being who they are, then you eat away some of your own peace, which is what we are supposed to be striving for. I prefer the Jesus model over the vengeful God. Compassion isn't selective. It just is. My Democratic friends and I know this, but the rest of the country doesn't seem to. Goodwill, acceptance, taking care--these are my Democratic values. There's no danger here. Acceptance may be scary because you have to let go of control. Rigidity becomes fluid. Things happen, but it's okay. Change happens, but it's okay.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Being orange is no longer unexpected . . . It's the time of harvest, you know, rituals, "the transience of life" I read somewhere. The change of seasons makes me feel things continuing on. I miss being in the northeast this time of year, yellow leaves and stocking caps, wind. How come big cities always have more wind?
Ah, the mysteries of life. I do have another human interest story to share. This ones main character is Cliff. He's an eighteen year old kid, skinny with glasses and a grown-out crew cut with an ever-so-slight mullet in the back. Cliff was a varsity basketball manager in high school. He loves the game, but is only five-five. He's prone to negativity--a dozen "I can't do this(es)," a dozen in-class writing sessions where he sits looking around the room as if no one ever said go.
At first I thought I needed to break him. But I don't. He only needs gentle bending. We met the other morning so that I could tutor him on his opinion paper. Cliff's sentences can stretch anywhere from a typical five lines all the way down the page. We worked on this, and also on defining his ideas. He listened to me. I get very little negativty anymore. Quite often I'll ask him and the other students how their other classes are going. When our session was done he and I chatted about this. Cliff is failing remedial math and biology (badly). He told me all he wants is a 2.0, explaining that if he doesn't make it, his academic freedom will be taken away. Advisors will select and limit his classes. In explaining some of his positions on why foreigners should learn English and adapt once they get here, Cliff told me he can't even get hired at a video store. He feels that maybe the reason is that he's not bilingual. Maybe other applicants are, and have one up on him. Cliff feels limited; he feels his freedoms are tenuous.
I wonder. We're working on his sentence mechanics. We're going to get them better for certain by Christmas. It'll give him something to go on. Community College. A good day that one was.
Ah, the mysteries of life. I do have another human interest story to share. This ones main character is Cliff. He's an eighteen year old kid, skinny with glasses and a grown-out crew cut with an ever-so-slight mullet in the back. Cliff was a varsity basketball manager in high school. He loves the game, but is only five-five. He's prone to negativity--a dozen "I can't do this(es)," a dozen in-class writing sessions where he sits looking around the room as if no one ever said go.
At first I thought I needed to break him. But I don't. He only needs gentle bending. We met the other morning so that I could tutor him on his opinion paper. Cliff's sentences can stretch anywhere from a typical five lines all the way down the page. We worked on this, and also on defining his ideas. He listened to me. I get very little negativty anymore. Quite often I'll ask him and the other students how their other classes are going. When our session was done he and I chatted about this. Cliff is failing remedial math and biology (badly). He told me all he wants is a 2.0, explaining that if he doesn't make it, his academic freedom will be taken away. Advisors will select and limit his classes. In explaining some of his positions on why foreigners should learn English and adapt once they get here, Cliff told me he can't even get hired at a video store. He feels that maybe the reason is that he's not bilingual. Maybe other applicants are, and have one up on him. Cliff feels limited; he feels his freedoms are tenuous.
I wonder. We're working on his sentence mechanics. We're going to get them better for certain by Christmas. It'll give him something to go on. Community College. A good day that one was.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
It is the responsibility of writers to listen to gossip and pass it on. It is the way all storytellers learn about life. (Grace Paley)
...................................
If there's anything worth calling theology, it is listening to people's stories, listening to them and cherishing them. (Mary Pellauer)
..................................
I have no stories today. Come again another day. But I do have six invites to gmail. Does anyone want one?
...................................
If there's anything worth calling theology, it is listening to people's stories, listening to them and cherishing them. (Mary Pellauer)
..................................
I have no stories today. Come again another day. But I do have six invites to gmail. Does anyone want one?
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Girls cry; boys bounce their legs up and down in a nervous twitch
When there's something you don't yet understand, but must face a scantron test on it or well-written paper for a grade, it can indeed cause you to cry.
When I think back on my freshman year, the first in the dorm with my pink and blue floral comforter, raffia door bow and dry erase monogrammed message board, I think of the sage advice my mother once gave me. It was midnight. I had a paper due the next morning, early. It was a mess. I had no idea how to fix it, I remember this. She told me to go down the hall (to the community bathroom) and take a hot shower. She said, "I know you think you don't have time, but it'll relax you. You'll feel refreshed, and your head will clear."
I was distraught. I'm sure it was a final or something. I thought, "No time." And then I thought, "Okay. Shower." I just did what my momma told me, and you know what? She was right.
So today I held conferences with the freshmen. Their papers are these "I did this, and then I did this, and then this happened" kind of things. They are worth little in their current state, but worth plenty in the schema of stages of development. However, the freshmen don't know this. The freshmen think, "She doesn't like my paper. I have to rewrite the whole paper. "
So I called them up one-by-one to conference--a friendly chat. C'mon, don't suck your teeth at me. You know Ms. H is friendly if nothing else. Who's afraid of the big bad Ms. H? Jeremy. He twitched the whole time. He considers himself a reporter, a writer, folks. Therefore, he's nervous to confront the fact that he may not be good at his chosen profession. Becky, she's my girl, bubbly, friendly, thoughtful, but not intellectual, just a regular jo, but there, really getting involved. Her paper was a mess. We talked. She seemed like she understood. But she went back to her seat and stewed, and then had to leave to have a meltdown. Next was my little home-schooled high school senior, looking at me doe-eyed. As I explained in depth new approaches and perspectives, her eyes reddened right up.
I asked her what it was, not missing a beat, and told her to just let it out and not worry a bit about me. "You'll feel better, believe me." She held onto it, wiping her eyes. All she would say was, "It's personal," mixed in with, "But I don't understand how to rewrite the paper."
When I think back on my freshman year, the first in the dorm with my pink and blue floral comforter, raffia door bow and dry erase monogrammed message board, I think of the sage advice my mother once gave me. It was midnight. I had a paper due the next morning, early. It was a mess. I had no idea how to fix it, I remember this. She told me to go down the hall (to the community bathroom) and take a hot shower. She said, "I know you think you don't have time, but it'll relax you. You'll feel refreshed, and your head will clear."
I was distraught. I'm sure it was a final or something. I thought, "No time." And then I thought, "Okay. Shower." I just did what my momma told me, and you know what? She was right.
So today I held conferences with the freshmen. Their papers are these "I did this, and then I did this, and then this happened" kind of things. They are worth little in their current state, but worth plenty in the schema of stages of development. However, the freshmen don't know this. The freshmen think, "She doesn't like my paper. I have to rewrite the whole paper. "
So I called them up one-by-one to conference--a friendly chat. C'mon, don't suck your teeth at me. You know Ms. H is friendly if nothing else. Who's afraid of the big bad Ms. H? Jeremy. He twitched the whole time. He considers himself a reporter, a writer, folks. Therefore, he's nervous to confront the fact that he may not be good at his chosen profession. Becky, she's my girl, bubbly, friendly, thoughtful, but not intellectual, just a regular jo, but there, really getting involved. Her paper was a mess. We talked. She seemed like she understood. But she went back to her seat and stewed, and then had to leave to have a meltdown. Next was my little home-schooled high school senior, looking at me doe-eyed. As I explained in depth new approaches and perspectives, her eyes reddened right up.
I asked her what it was, not missing a beat, and told her to just let it out and not worry a bit about me. "You'll feel better, believe me." She held onto it, wiping her eyes. All she would say was, "It's personal," mixed in with, "But I don't understand how to rewrite the paper."
Monday, September 27, 2004
Have any of you noticed a theme that's been popping up in blogging lately? Starts with an "f," ends with a "g" (if you're in Great Britain). It's that devil that never dies. Got a light?
There's something about academia and coffee shops that serve Pinot Noir and Chimay that make you want to toss out your lungs and take a nice, long drag. I've been trying to stave off the pangs with Oprah autoposies. Bet you didn't know she does those now. Organs dark and polka-dotted with tumors do help. But when your senses time travel, it becomes a teary battle.
I was sitting at my favorite spot tonight, at a table in a garden off Westheimer reading the freshmen's papers about drill team, trailers at the lake house, dances with daddy and the like. I pulled up the hair to stretch for a moment and looked across the street to find a convenience store. I stared at it. Bet they have Parlaiment Lights inside. Boxes of blue and white, their little scooped out filters like Louis Slugger bats in your mouth. The clean and crisp styrofoam filter, and smoke that lets you linger on the still night air.
I'm a gonner. Help a sistra out. I'm dreamy and steamy, a plain ol' low-down tar baby over here. Take me to a basement blues club, a trip-hop lounge, or a scottish pub on trivia night. (NO DON'T) Damn my people.
There's something about academia and coffee shops that serve Pinot Noir and Chimay that make you want to toss out your lungs and take a nice, long drag. I've been trying to stave off the pangs with Oprah autoposies. Bet you didn't know she does those now. Organs dark and polka-dotted with tumors do help. But when your senses time travel, it becomes a teary battle.
I was sitting at my favorite spot tonight, at a table in a garden off Westheimer reading the freshmen's papers about drill team, trailers at the lake house, dances with daddy and the like. I pulled up the hair to stretch for a moment and looked across the street to find a convenience store. I stared at it. Bet they have Parlaiment Lights inside. Boxes of blue and white, their little scooped out filters like Louis Slugger bats in your mouth. The clean and crisp styrofoam filter, and smoke that lets you linger on the still night air.
I'm a gonner. Help a sistra out. I'm dreamy and steamy, a plain ol' low-down tar baby over here. Take me to a basement blues club, a trip-hop lounge, or a scottish pub on trivia night. (NO DON'T) Damn my people.
In 2003, the number of first-class letters declined by 3.3 billion. Sadness. But this week I received two letters and three homemade cd's in my mailbox. Can you believe it!
I have the best friends & family in the world. I must. Three cd's!
Favorites:
1. "The Art Teacher" by Rufus
2. "Truth #2" by Patty (acoustic version from KGSR recordings)
3. "Poor Man's House" by Patty (acoustic version from KGSR recordings)
4. Number 13 on the Garden State soundtrack (and number 12).
What can I say, I love the Patty. I'll have to change this list around after I do some more listening.
Make a cd for someone you love today. (it's like a chain-letter; don't break the chain)
Thank you thank you for small things.
I have the best friends & family in the world. I must. Three cd's!
Favorites:
1. "The Art Teacher" by Rufus
2. "Truth #2" by Patty (acoustic version from KGSR recordings)
3. "Poor Man's House" by Patty (acoustic version from KGSR recordings)
4. Number 13 on the Garden State soundtrack (and number 12).
What can I say, I love the Patty. I'll have to change this list around after I do some more listening.
Make a cd for someone you love today. (it's like a chain-letter; don't break the chain)
Thank you thank you for small things.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
"Because double binds are repressed, there is always an element of terror in them: the terror of bringing to the conscious mind the buried duplicity, self-deception, and pretense involved in serving two masters. This terror is the stuff of vulnerability, and since vulnerability is one of the least tolerable of all human feelings, we usually transform it into an emotion that seems to restore the control of which it has robbed us; most often, that emotion is anger."
Shelby Steele, English Prof, writer, race relations wrangler.
from On Being Black and Middle Class
Shelby is in conflict about his identity as a citizen, abiding by and believing in the virtues of the middle class (work ethic, education, property ownership, "getting ahead," accepting resposibility) and being black, whose racial identification, he says, urges blacks in the opposite direction--taking an adversarial stand toward the mainstream with an emphasis on ethnic consciousness over individualism--an implied separtism.
This is Steele's double bind. Isn't the purity of addressing such enormous inner identity conflicts as such relief in itself? I have a double bind. One negates the other. I am in limbo. I'm double bound. People also call this a Catch 22, but I much prefer Steele's nomenclature. Statements bring us closer to who we are.
Shelby Steele, English Prof, writer, race relations wrangler.
from On Being Black and Middle Class
Shelby is in conflict about his identity as a citizen, abiding by and believing in the virtues of the middle class (work ethic, education, property ownership, "getting ahead," accepting resposibility) and being black, whose racial identification, he says, urges blacks in the opposite direction--taking an adversarial stand toward the mainstream with an emphasis on ethnic consciousness over individualism--an implied separtism.
This is Steele's double bind. Isn't the purity of addressing such enormous inner identity conflicts as such relief in itself? I have a double bind. One negates the other. I am in limbo. I'm double bound. People also call this a Catch 22, but I much prefer Steele's nomenclature. Statements bring us closer to who we are.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
background: This was written for a newsletter published by the Writing Center at Columbia College when I was working there. Sarah Willis was an undergrad student and tutor at the time. Joanne Siwiec--was a student I tutored.
......................................
Writer’s Diary
Art is about breaking free from some old idea or way of doing things, isn’t it? Isn’t it about pushing your thoughts through some invisible boundary line that says “logical” and moving out toward a place we question? Joanne Siwiec does this when she thumbs through felts and mohairs and synthetics for the right touch; Sarah Willis does the same when she uses a hack saw to shape delicate cubes of alabaster, recreating the sweet illusions of sugar. These expressions release an urgency existing within us, prodding us to create or learn more about the complex layering of sound engineering, television production, or computer animation.
Stories are being told everyday, all around us. We tell them in the way we shape our conversations, a beginning, the punch line (or punch in the face), and the end. And we can hear stories as we let our eyes float on a painting, coming to our own understanding through the reactions we experience.
All of this to say, we are here because we care about ideas and we have something to say to each other. The Writing Center, I have found, is a place to start those conversations. I have tutored here for two semesters now, along with teaching three different courses along the way. But I don’t really like the term, “tutor,” or “consultant” for that matter. For me The Writing Center is an extension of the classroom, cranked up a few degrees because it’s your time to talk about your work and your ideas for an hour. I see it as a debate, or an equal exchange, in the way that two people generate more creative thought than one person on his or her own. Exchange is the important word, and it takes us right back to the beginning of this page, because through exchanges, the sharing of ideas, we enable ourselves to push through those invisible boundaries that keep us right where we are, when we know all along that where we really want to go is to a place of new understanding, again and again and again.
.......................................
"The explanation is to be found in a further fact: to be learning something is the greatest of pleasures not only to the philosopher but also to the rest of mankind, however small their capacity for it . . . "
Aristotle from Poetics
.......................................
"He knows how to make the invisible visible."
Wynton Marsalais on Louis Armstrong
(2001)
......................................
Writer’s Diary
Art is about breaking free from some old idea or way of doing things, isn’t it? Isn’t it about pushing your thoughts through some invisible boundary line that says “logical” and moving out toward a place we question? Joanne Siwiec does this when she thumbs through felts and mohairs and synthetics for the right touch; Sarah Willis does the same when she uses a hack saw to shape delicate cubes of alabaster, recreating the sweet illusions of sugar. These expressions release an urgency existing within us, prodding us to create or learn more about the complex layering of sound engineering, television production, or computer animation.
Stories are being told everyday, all around us. We tell them in the way we shape our conversations, a beginning, the punch line (or punch in the face), and the end. And we can hear stories as we let our eyes float on a painting, coming to our own understanding through the reactions we experience.
All of this to say, we are here because we care about ideas and we have something to say to each other. The Writing Center, I have found, is a place to start those conversations. I have tutored here for two semesters now, along with teaching three different courses along the way. But I don’t really like the term, “tutor,” or “consultant” for that matter. For me The Writing Center is an extension of the classroom, cranked up a few degrees because it’s your time to talk about your work and your ideas for an hour. I see it as a debate, or an equal exchange, in the way that two people generate more creative thought than one person on his or her own. Exchange is the important word, and it takes us right back to the beginning of this page, because through exchanges, the sharing of ideas, we enable ourselves to push through those invisible boundaries that keep us right where we are, when we know all along that where we really want to go is to a place of new understanding, again and again and again.
.......................................
"The explanation is to be found in a further fact: to be learning something is the greatest of pleasures not only to the philosopher but also to the rest of mankind, however small their capacity for it . . . "
Aristotle from Poetics
.......................................
"He knows how to make the invisible visible."
Wynton Marsalais on Louis Armstrong
(2001)
Sunday, August 29, 2004
This week's pick:
Who doesn't like black cowboys? Who doesn't like a horse named Fancy? Who doesn't like Superman or the Bloods 'n the Crips? It's all here for your enjoyment.
Who doesn't like black cowboys? Who doesn't like a horse named Fancy? Who doesn't like Superman or the Bloods 'n the Crips? It's all here for your enjoyment.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Hello dear fellows,
I'm just downloading some "Big Poppa" from the iTunes Music Store and enjoying my newly tudor-stained ikea computer desk. You see, I've had this piece of lumber for years, I suppose since Chicago, and have left it bare so that it could soak up just the right combination of dust and smudgey fingerprints. And now it's dark like my favorite chocolate and glistening in its poly-glow.
(I'm clapping my hands together.)
Tonight I'm having my first dinner guests. I've rallied the new Houston folk and even scotch-taped a cuban postcard on my neighbors' door, beckoning them to come 'round for the folly. As a cook, I felt sorrow at Julia Child's passing the past weekend. And I thought of The Julie/Julia Project. A woman my sister-in-law knows fairly well started her own blog awhile back with the intention of cooking her way through Julia Child's "The Art of French Cooking" one recipe a night for the duration of one year. It's quite a fantastic story, for those of you who don't know it. She's just a regular gal like you or me. She started. She cooked, and she wrote in her blog-diary about it each and every day. Turns out the LA Times, The New York Times, and the CBS Evening News liked her style. There's that sort of six-degrees-of-separation kind of talk about book deals and movies. I don't have any of that straight. But the story is real.
So I was wondering what Julie would have to say about Julia's passing. Here it is. Bon appetit.
I'm just downloading some "Big Poppa" from the iTunes Music Store and enjoying my newly tudor-stained ikea computer desk. You see, I've had this piece of lumber for years, I suppose since Chicago, and have left it bare so that it could soak up just the right combination of dust and smudgey fingerprints. And now it's dark like my favorite chocolate and glistening in its poly-glow.
(I'm clapping my hands together.)
Tonight I'm having my first dinner guests. I've rallied the new Houston folk and even scotch-taped a cuban postcard on my neighbors' door, beckoning them to come 'round for the folly. As a cook, I felt sorrow at Julia Child's passing the past weekend. And I thought of The Julie/Julia Project. A woman my sister-in-law knows fairly well started her own blog awhile back with the intention of cooking her way through Julia Child's "The Art of French Cooking" one recipe a night for the duration of one year. It's quite a fantastic story, for those of you who don't know it. She's just a regular gal like you or me. She started. She cooked, and she wrote in her blog-diary about it each and every day. Turns out the LA Times, The New York Times, and the CBS Evening News liked her style. There's that sort of six-degrees-of-separation kind of talk about book deals and movies. I don't have any of that straight. But the story is real.
So I was wondering what Julie would have to say about Julia's passing. Here it is. Bon appetit.
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Why Democrats are Better Than Republicans
for my friend who remains "undecided"
Manifest Destiny is the idea that "it [is] the nation's . . . destiny to overspread and to possess the whole of the continent which Providence has given us for the development of the great experiment of liberty and federated self-government entrusted to us" (John O'Sullivan, journalist and ambassador to Portugal, 1845).
There are many facets to the political motivations and outcomes of manifest destiny, but for the purpose of this assessment, the philosophy of the idea is what we need. In the 1840's it was our American destiny to flourish across the landscape and to spread democracy. But the important distinction is that we were not building a weave of urban centers with apartment buildings and rooms for rent. We were individual families, staking out land, working it, and living independent from government reliance for infrastructure and jobs. (side note--if I were a lady in the 1840's, you bet your bootstraps I'd take my pantaloons and head out West.)
The day after the Democrats' convention ended, Bush was giving an early-morning speech in the middle state of Missouri. Wearing a bomber jacket and cocked grin, he spoke casually, as if it were a church picnic, appealing to Americans' sense of individualism. America empowers: Anyone can come. Rags to riches. If you can make it there, you'll make it anywhere. Those ideas appeal to our personal character--what can I do with what I've got? And they also appeal to this internal measuring stick we've got so that we'll know which level we've reached as compared to the rest of the competitive field. Oh goody, I love a good scrappy match.
Bush told the people: All of these reforms are based on this conviction: The role of government is not to control or dominate the lives of our citizens. The role of government is to help our citizens gain the time and the tools to make their own choices and improve their own lives. That's why I will continue to work to usher in a new era of ownership and opportunity in America. We want more people owning their own home. We want more people owning their own business. We want more people owning and managing their own health care system. We want more people owning and managing a part of their retirement systems. When a person owns something, he or she has a vital stake in the future of the United States of America.
Manifest destiny.
How many times did he say the word, "own"? And what about the threat? Did you catch that? Run for your lives! The GOVERNMENT is coming to get you.
So I'll get down to it. Republicans feel a fine inkling toward rugged individualism, the personal ideals of working with your hands and brushing them off after a hard day's work. I think we can all tip our hats to that. But where the Republicans go wrong is that underlying the want to make it on your own is suspicion.
Suspicion of government is the fuel for the desire to do it on your own. Or maybe the guy next to you got help, so that's not fair. After all, you did it on your own. Or, if you're doing it on your own, someone may take it away from you. There is always a threat, so I need my rifle to protect my property. Stay off my property!
Is it American to be suspicious? Is it ethical to be suspicious? Isn't suspicion actually a vice?
Republicans use suspicion as a tool to measure what sets them apart from the rest. They use it to help them define for themselves which policies are better. Take health care, or welfare, or any old "government program" you wish. If you subscribe to the notion that if you get help, your efforts aren't worth a lick, then you're not going to respect someone on Medicaid now are you? Heck, you're not even going to respect some old sissy who has to go to the doctor in the first place. Sounds fun, right? I think I want to be a Republican. It's like being back on the playground again.
So what about those Democrats? Well, Democrats are traditionally in favor of government subsidies to help those who cannot help themselves. They want to fund institutions that can carry out the functions of housing the mentally retarded, of paying for emergency care in hospitals for indigents. Despite the fact that people and systems are inherently flawed, it is the desire for goodwill--to care for the other--that underlies these notions.
For me it is a simple distinction. Am I going to stand up for me first, or am I going to stand up for the people? Which is more ethical? Which requires the greater responsibility? You can argue the mechanisms of delivery, but that is simply a ruse put forth by Republicans who want a disconnect between the arm and the hand. If you go that route how can you ensure that the well being of the people is being taken care of? And isn't the well being of our fellow man and woman and child much too precious not to ensure its success? It is the greater good of a nation that I am interested in, more aptly, the greater good of my community, of the community to which I belong. I take part. I pitch in by upholding the collective responsibility espoused by the party. Without collective responsibility we make ourselves vulnerable. Are we one nation under God, or are we one individual under a nation? And do we owe the greatest responsibility to ourselves or to each other? My faith teaches me about that, and it is all connected. We are all connected.
Manifest Destiny is the idea that "it [is] the nation's . . . destiny to overspread and to possess the whole of the continent which Providence has given us for the development of the great experiment of liberty and federated self-government entrusted to us" (John O'Sullivan, journalist and ambassador to Portugal, 1845).
There are many facets to the political motivations and outcomes of manifest destiny, but for the purpose of this assessment, the philosophy of the idea is what we need. In the 1840's it was our American destiny to flourish across the landscape and to spread democracy. But the important distinction is that we were not building a weave of urban centers with apartment buildings and rooms for rent. We were individual families, staking out land, working it, and living independent from government reliance for infrastructure and jobs. (side note--if I were a lady in the 1840's, you bet your bootstraps I'd take my pantaloons and head out West.)
The day after the Democrats' convention ended, Bush was giving an early-morning speech in the middle state of Missouri. Wearing a bomber jacket and cocked grin, he spoke casually, as if it were a church picnic, appealing to Americans' sense of individualism. America empowers: Anyone can come. Rags to riches. If you can make it there, you'll make it anywhere. Those ideas appeal to our personal character--what can I do with what I've got? And they also appeal to this internal measuring stick we've got so that we'll know which level we've reached as compared to the rest of the competitive field. Oh goody, I love a good scrappy match.
Bush told the people: All of these reforms are based on this conviction: The role of government is not to control or dominate the lives of our citizens. The role of government is to help our citizens gain the time and the tools to make their own choices and improve their own lives. That's why I will continue to work to usher in a new era of ownership and opportunity in America. We want more people owning their own home. We want more people owning their own business. We want more people owning and managing their own health care system. We want more people owning and managing a part of their retirement systems. When a person owns something, he or she has a vital stake in the future of the United States of America.
Manifest destiny.
How many times did he say the word, "own"? And what about the threat? Did you catch that? Run for your lives! The GOVERNMENT is coming to get you.
So I'll get down to it. Republicans feel a fine inkling toward rugged individualism, the personal ideals of working with your hands and brushing them off after a hard day's work. I think we can all tip our hats to that. But where the Republicans go wrong is that underlying the want to make it on your own is suspicion.
Suspicion of government is the fuel for the desire to do it on your own. Or maybe the guy next to you got help, so that's not fair. After all, you did it on your own. Or, if you're doing it on your own, someone may take it away from you. There is always a threat, so I need my rifle to protect my property. Stay off my property!
Is it American to be suspicious? Is it ethical to be suspicious? Isn't suspicion actually a vice?
Republicans use suspicion as a tool to measure what sets them apart from the rest. They use it to help them define for themselves which policies are better. Take health care, or welfare, or any old "government program" you wish. If you subscribe to the notion that if you get help, your efforts aren't worth a lick, then you're not going to respect someone on Medicaid now are you? Heck, you're not even going to respect some old sissy who has to go to the doctor in the first place. Sounds fun, right? I think I want to be a Republican. It's like being back on the playground again.
So what about those Democrats? Well, Democrats are traditionally in favor of government subsidies to help those who cannot help themselves. They want to fund institutions that can carry out the functions of housing the mentally retarded, of paying for emergency care in hospitals for indigents. Despite the fact that people and systems are inherently flawed, it is the desire for goodwill--to care for the other--that underlies these notions.
For me it is a simple distinction. Am I going to stand up for me first, or am I going to stand up for the people? Which is more ethical? Which requires the greater responsibility? You can argue the mechanisms of delivery, but that is simply a ruse put forth by Republicans who want a disconnect between the arm and the hand. If you go that route how can you ensure that the well being of the people is being taken care of? And isn't the well being of our fellow man and woman and child much too precious not to ensure its success? It is the greater good of a nation that I am interested in, more aptly, the greater good of my community, of the community to which I belong. I take part. I pitch in by upholding the collective responsibility espoused by the party. Without collective responsibility we make ourselves vulnerable. Are we one nation under God, or are we one individual under a nation? And do we owe the greatest responsibility to ourselves or to each other? My faith teaches me about that, and it is all connected. We are all connected.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
One Barack Obama
From the Christian Science Monitor today--
"When a speaker speaks at a podium at the Democratic convention, and there are no cameras around to capture him, has he made any sound?"
(referring to both the networks' non-coverage on Tuesday night, and aired-over pundit commentary during speeches, more specifically, the speech of one Barack Obama.)
Okay my people, I'm going to stump. Not for the Dems or for Kerry, or even for a particular candidate to win. I'm stumping to let something move us, and for that to be the kingdom and the power and the glory come through us in our daily lives.
I crave good oratory like a baby craves milk. I need someone to name it for me. It's not "tak[ing] the same sentiments [in traditional political speeches], and . . . mak[ing] it new . . . [so that] you feel like you're hearing it and watching it for the first time, " as Jeremy Dauber reports in The Monitor. Good oratory does not make it new; it makes it true.
Last night I watched Barack Obama address the Democratic National Convention. My dearie, Katie, had told me to look out for him and said that he was really good. Other than that, though, I had no familiarity with the man. Turns out he's a state senator in Illinois right now, a law professor at The University of Chicago, and a former editor of the Harvard Law Review. He is a young man, 42, is married, has two daughters, and is of mixed ethnicity (Kenyan-born pop and whitebread American mom). Oh ya, he was raised in Hawaii. So that's a little about the man.
As I listened to his speech, something was happening to me. I was moved to hold the positive perceptions of the flaws in our country, the flaws that have touched my life, like my Harlem kids struggling to get some learning. I am aware of the growing gulf in their chances. I am aware of this very real problem. I feel despair because the problem is so mulit-faceted with layers of sources. And here Obama says to me in one swift line: "Go into any inner city neighborhood, and folks will tell you that government alone can't teach kids to learn. They know that parents have to parent, that children can't achieve unless we raise their expectations and turn off the television sets and eradicate the slander that says a black youth with a book is acting white." He speaks with force. He is empassioned with a sense of reckoning, reckoning without anger and filled with hope--pouring over with hope.
People are referring to his address as the "One America" speech. He spoke to me about what I knew. But he also told me some things I did not know. He spoke about the forces embedded in our daily lives (he called them the pundits, others call it the media) "who slice and dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats." He drew enough comparisons to prove to us that we are all the same in our basic concerns.
You know, I quite enjoy defining myself. Tells me more about who I am. But I think Obama even surpassed my cognizance in some particular areas of who I may be as a citizen. I'm not usually big on patriot-speak, as most of us liberals are not. But I think part of the reason I'm a teacher is because I hold dear what it is to be a citizen. I like what Obama told me about the slicing and dicing I do. I draw lines. We all do. To defend. To define. Perhaps to reckon. But some more "E pluribus unum--out of many, one" can do us all some good, at heart, in mind.
Dauber finished his article with this--
There were some good speeches tonight. But only his transcended 'good' to 'great.' Only one that broke out of both the silence created by the absence of television coverage and the bonds of the stories created by television pundits.
Barack Obama, I think, may not just be the latest example of "A Star is Born", the next Evan Bayh or Jennifer Granholm or Chris Heinz or whoever the parties are going to anoint as fresh faces and new stars. Barack Obama isn't anything but Barack Obama, sui generis, and that is far, far more than enough.
The broadcast networks chose to take tonight off. Which is too bad. They missed the national debut of what could be one of the most exciting and important voices in American politics in the next half century.
--and that I agree with.
"When a speaker speaks at a podium at the Democratic convention, and there are no cameras around to capture him, has he made any sound?"
(referring to both the networks' non-coverage on Tuesday night, and aired-over pundit commentary during speeches, more specifically, the speech of one Barack Obama.)
Okay my people, I'm going to stump. Not for the Dems or for Kerry, or even for a particular candidate to win. I'm stumping to let something move us, and for that to be the kingdom and the power and the glory come through us in our daily lives.
I crave good oratory like a baby craves milk. I need someone to name it for me. It's not "tak[ing] the same sentiments [in traditional political speeches], and . . . mak[ing] it new . . . [so that] you feel like you're hearing it and watching it for the first time, " as Jeremy Dauber reports in The Monitor. Good oratory does not make it new; it makes it true.
Last night I watched Barack Obama address the Democratic National Convention. My dearie, Katie, had told me to look out for him and said that he was really good. Other than that, though, I had no familiarity with the man. Turns out he's a state senator in Illinois right now, a law professor at The University of Chicago, and a former editor of the Harvard Law Review. He is a young man, 42, is married, has two daughters, and is of mixed ethnicity (Kenyan-born pop and whitebread American mom). Oh ya, he was raised in Hawaii. So that's a little about the man.
As I listened to his speech, something was happening to me. I was moved to hold the positive perceptions of the flaws in our country, the flaws that have touched my life, like my Harlem kids struggling to get some learning. I am aware of the growing gulf in their chances. I am aware of this very real problem. I feel despair because the problem is so mulit-faceted with layers of sources. And here Obama says to me in one swift line: "Go into any inner city neighborhood, and folks will tell you that government alone can't teach kids to learn. They know that parents have to parent, that children can't achieve unless we raise their expectations and turn off the television sets and eradicate the slander that says a black youth with a book is acting white." He speaks with force. He is empassioned with a sense of reckoning, reckoning without anger and filled with hope--pouring over with hope.
People are referring to his address as the "One America" speech. He spoke to me about what I knew. But he also told me some things I did not know. He spoke about the forces embedded in our daily lives (he called them the pundits, others call it the media) "who slice and dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats." He drew enough comparisons to prove to us that we are all the same in our basic concerns.
You know, I quite enjoy defining myself. Tells me more about who I am. But I think Obama even surpassed my cognizance in some particular areas of who I may be as a citizen. I'm not usually big on patriot-speak, as most of us liberals are not. But I think part of the reason I'm a teacher is because I hold dear what it is to be a citizen. I like what Obama told me about the slicing and dicing I do. I draw lines. We all do. To defend. To define. Perhaps to reckon. But some more "E pluribus unum--out of many, one" can do us all some good, at heart, in mind.
Dauber finished his article with this--
There were some good speeches tonight. But only his transcended 'good' to 'great.' Only one that broke out of both the silence created by the absence of television coverage and the bonds of the stories created by television pundits.
Barack Obama, I think, may not just be the latest example of "A Star is Born", the next Evan Bayh or Jennifer Granholm or Chris Heinz or whoever the parties are going to anoint as fresh faces and new stars. Barack Obama isn't anything but Barack Obama, sui generis, and that is far, far more than enough.
The broadcast networks chose to take tonight off. Which is too bad. They missed the national debut of what could be one of the most exciting and important voices in American politics in the next half century.
--and that I agree with.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Six years as a northerner makes me ready to see new things (And I'll tell you that I may be just as happy in Birmingham, Alabama or Merridian, Mississippi right now because it is The South I crave.)
I don't believe The South is about progress. I believe it is about keeping things whole.
Warm air makes you want to take your clothes off. Palm trees make you want to kick up your feet. And apartment complexes, some of them, especially the ones designed in courtyard fashion, make people want to congregate in the middle of it all. The other evening I had the good fortune of being led down a path, past a couple of iron gates, to the back building of "The BV."
We dropped our Lone Star longnecks in the fridge (Lone Star is big here. They have pretty, new, red, white & blue labels just the way Texans like it), and walked over to the two-story deck in the middle of the courtyard. We were elevated, sitting in wood-slatted beach chairs, being cooled by breeze and a spinning fan at the top of a high blue canvass cover.
The green of trees should be taken in at eye-level. It's as if someone has brought them to you. You sit amongst them, like Jane or Tarzan. Even though Houston's topography is flat and a little swampy, they are proud of their trees. My complex is plump with them. Magnolias, people, tall, graceful, with leaves so stately that they've been carved.
But there's something about a palm tree. I can't believe my luck everytime I'm able to lounge with one in sight. It's not the same with the ones towed in and planted for atmosphere. Those look like landscaping in Las Vegas. But living in a city where they actually belong because the balmy, sweaty sea air tells you so, you can't help but feel a little like you're on vacation in the evenings that belong to your regular work week.
One glorious glimpse so far. I could have kissed the tree trunk. I could have kissed the wooden beach chair. But instead, I just laid my head as far back as it could go, looked up into the blue, and appreciated that little moment in time.
I don't believe The South is about progress. I believe it is about keeping things whole.
Warm air makes you want to take your clothes off. Palm trees make you want to kick up your feet. And apartment complexes, some of them, especially the ones designed in courtyard fashion, make people want to congregate in the middle of it all. The other evening I had the good fortune of being led down a path, past a couple of iron gates, to the back building of "The BV."
We dropped our Lone Star longnecks in the fridge (Lone Star is big here. They have pretty, new, red, white & blue labels just the way Texans like it), and walked over to the two-story deck in the middle of the courtyard. We were elevated, sitting in wood-slatted beach chairs, being cooled by breeze and a spinning fan at the top of a high blue canvass cover.
The green of trees should be taken in at eye-level. It's as if someone has brought them to you. You sit amongst them, like Jane or Tarzan. Even though Houston's topography is flat and a little swampy, they are proud of their trees. My complex is plump with them. Magnolias, people, tall, graceful, with leaves so stately that they've been carved.
But there's something about a palm tree. I can't believe my luck everytime I'm able to lounge with one in sight. It's not the same with the ones towed in and planted for atmosphere. Those look like landscaping in Las Vegas. But living in a city where they actually belong because the balmy, sweaty sea air tells you so, you can't help but feel a little like you're on vacation in the evenings that belong to your regular work week.
One glorious glimpse so far. I could have kissed the tree trunk. I could have kissed the wooden beach chair. But instead, I just laid my head as far back as it could go, looked up into the blue, and appreciated that little moment in time.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
Kate & Dave
It's the last week in NYC for me. I'm feeling extra good this morning. I've slumber partied it over at Kate&Dave's Inhood apartment because we've been doused by the moisture Gods. Humidity and upper-80-degree weather for days now, the taxing nature of which was best exemplified I think by the little girl I passed on the way home from school yesterday. Her big brother was threatening her with fists to get her to take steps forward toward home. All her 1st-grade mental capabilities could do to process the burden of the heat was to face the fence and cry. I stopped to help (offering pink heart and rainbow stickers, which did bring a smile), but it was her brother's decision to pick her up and carry her that made the most sense in the end.
Cool breezes from the fan, mixed in with slight air conditioning and a cup of coconut coffee have made waking up this morning most welcoming. It's one week before school ends. The anticipation of summer break is also one of the most welcoming feelings you can have. For me, it usually goes hand-in-hand with leaving town. Last year we left the day after for trips to Texas; the Midwest by way of St. Louis, the Arch, and the Museum of the West; and then me going further to Chicago, South Dakota, Wyoming, and Montana. Two months of continuous travel is freedom from the everyday burdens that make you want to face the fence and cry.
Time to pack up. But before I do I'm going to hang out with my friends. Nothing fancy. We'll just sit around and talk, mess with the computer, take a walk, or go to the store--completely relaxing times, the kind you can't recapture through distance.
Cool breezes from the fan, mixed in with slight air conditioning and a cup of coconut coffee have made waking up this morning most welcoming. It's one week before school ends. The anticipation of summer break is also one of the most welcoming feelings you can have. For me, it usually goes hand-in-hand with leaving town. Last year we left the day after for trips to Texas; the Midwest by way of St. Louis, the Arch, and the Museum of the West; and then me going further to Chicago, South Dakota, Wyoming, and Montana. Two months of continuous travel is freedom from the everyday burdens that make you want to face the fence and cry.
Time to pack up. But before I do I'm going to hang out with my friends. Nothing fancy. We'll just sit around and talk, mess with the computer, take a walk, or go to the store--completely relaxing times, the kind you can't recapture through distance.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Hay Mamita! Scores are in for the school children of the U.S.A. Do any of you recall the results for my sixth graders last year? After teacher year one, half of my children scored level 1 on both the reading and math tests. (Not like, "We're #1!") The rest scored 2's (about a quarter . . . right? hee).
This year, after teacher year two, not one single child of mine scored 1's on both the reading and math (that's 0%). Hot damn! As a team of fourth grade teachers, only one of our kids will not be promoted--in the entire fourth grade!! At "the worst" school in the city of New York, mind you.
Yee haw, teaching rocks! (not really) But it sure feels good when all your efforts help the little ones out. They did it; we did it. Now we can all go off with heads held high. Next adventure, please. Keep 'em coming.
sistra teach
This year, after teacher year two, not one single child of mine scored 1's on both the reading and math (that's 0%). Hot damn! As a team of fourth grade teachers, only one of our kids will not be promoted--in the entire fourth grade!! At "the worst" school in the city of New York, mind you.
Yee haw, teaching rocks! (not really) But it sure feels good when all your efforts help the little ones out. They did it; we did it. Now we can all go off with heads held high. Next adventure, please. Keep 'em coming.
sistra teach
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
