I am amazed how long it's been since I've had the opportunity (the time, the internet) to blog. Goodness. The first month is over, and I'm almost half-way through the first quarter. As someone said, I'll never have to have my first day of my first quarter of my first year ever again. What a relief. I have been experiencing first hand all the aspects of survival mode. Julie, you mentioned that you feel like you're losing your motivation to be creative. I lost that after week one. It's discouraging, because as I plan each week, I think to myself, "This is not how I want to teach this--I want to do more, I want to put myself into these plans." But I have had to recognize that I can't. I can not physically do everything that I want to do as a teacher; I simply don't have enough hours in the day, enough energy. My colleague, Pam (who is also my wonderful prayer partner), reminds me that I have to get away from school. I have to take a break, or I'm just going to get burned out. I can't tell you how relieving it is to be told that it's okay in this first semester, or even this first year, to just survive.
I know this sounds discouraging, but in all honesty, I am loving what I'm doing. I really enjoy the opportunity to build relationships with my students, to teach them new things, to coach them as they write, read, play volleyball, sing, act. I like meeting the parents (although I don't enjoy talking to them if their child misbehaves or does poorly in my class). I know I want to do this. On my worst days, I think about an entire year of this job. But I've learned that I have to take it one day, and at the most one week, at a time. It's okay if I'm not perfect. I'm allowed to mess up and start over. The wonderful thing is that every day is a fresh chance to get things right.
In other news, Lindsey De Jong moved in with me this weekend. It's awesome so far. I didn't realize how alone I was until I suddenly had someone around. I also have a "hot" date this week, which should be interesting to say the least. I don't think it will go anywhere (he's about 3 inches shorter and 3 years younger than me--don't ask me how I got myself into this), but it should be fun.
Recommendations:
A Very Long Engagement (movie with Audrey Tautou from Amelie). It's kind of a dark mix of the semi-comedic and the tragic. It wasn't at all what I thought it would be. But I enjoyed it. (Warning: Contains some uncomfortable sexual scenes)
The Outsiders: I'm reading the book to my 7th grade class, and they're really into it. I also just read that Francis Coppola is re-releasing his 1983 film version (Matt Dillon, Tom Cruise, Emilio Estevez, Rob Lowe, Patrick Swayze) with some scenes added back in. I'm excited--I liked the original, but I think the new scenes will help better establish the Greaser gang. I think there's also some changes to the score, which will help a lot too.
Well, that's all for now. I'm sorry that I'm so bad at emailing. But hopefully I'll be getting internet in the apartment soon. Maybe I'll be better at keeping in touch then.
7.11.2005
Recent
Regrets
--taking advantage of free Washington wine. Now I can't remember much of the wedding reception, except the parts I wouldn't mind forgetting.
--dancing so much with just one person. Always leaves the wrong impression.
--not being able to spend more time with my girlfriends. I miss them.
--trying to fly into Florida during a hurricane. I should have stayed in Bismarck another day.
High Points
--seeing college friends
--getting soaked by an out-of-the-blue thundershower
--sleeping after spending all day in an airport
--taking out a student who was trying to slap my butt
--browsing the teacher supply store
Interests
--A&E's Horatio Hornblower miniseries ( based on the CS Forrester books) +
--a certain person who shall remain nameless +
--pigtails +
--evening church ++
--digital photography ++
Reading
--The Iliad (Robert Fagle's edition is the best) +++
--Anne Lamott's new book: Part B--Some More Thoughts on Faith ++
--bills -
--middle school vocabulary curriculum -
--the faculty handbook +
Films
--The Machinist ++
--To Catch a Thief +
--Batman Begins +
--War of the Worlds +/-
Regrets
--taking advantage of free Washington wine. Now I can't remember much of the wedding reception, except the parts I wouldn't mind forgetting.
--dancing so much with just one person. Always leaves the wrong impression.
--not being able to spend more time with my girlfriends. I miss them.
--trying to fly into Florida during a hurricane. I should have stayed in Bismarck another day.
High Points
--seeing college friends
--getting soaked by an out-of-the-blue thundershower
--sleeping after spending all day in an airport
--taking out a student who was trying to slap my butt
--browsing the teacher supply store
Interests
--A&E's Horatio Hornblower miniseries ( based on the CS Forrester books) +
--a certain person who shall remain nameless +
--pigtails +
--evening church ++
--digital photography ++
Reading
--The Iliad (Robert Fagle's edition is the best) +++
--Anne Lamott's new book: Part B--Some More Thoughts on Faith ++
--bills -
--middle school vocabulary curriculum -
--the faculty handbook +
Films
--The Machinist ++
--To Catch a Thief +
--Batman Begins +
--War of the Worlds +/-
6.29.2005
Hot and Steamy in Florida
No, not me, just the weather. It' s been raining like crazy the past week and a half--thunder, lightning and buckets of water being dumped everywhere. Usually I get caught in the biggest downpour of the day when I'm in the process of driving somewhere. I grit my teeth, and try to focus on the tail lights of the car ahead of me. Otherwise I can't see anything. Despite the fact that my windshield wipers are going as fast as they can, my vision is blocked by rain falling in the biggest drops I've ever seen in my life. Welcome to the Sunshine State.
I finally got my library card, so I'm hanging out there while I wait for the Flea Bombs to disperse in my apartment. It turns out that the 25 mosquito bites on my feet and ankles are really flea bites. No wonder they've been itching like crazy for the past two weeks. Thank you, previous tenent and your dogs. I had to sleep on the floor several days while I waited for my new mattress and box springs to arrive, and that's when I realized that I had company. Fortunately it's not a massive infestation--the bombs should thoroughly eradicate them, but I feel pretty disgusted about the whole situation, like it somehow reflects on my own personal hygiene. In spite of the situation with the bugs, I find myself wanting a dog or something. My apartment complex allows pets, and it seems everyone has a dog, mostly chihuahuas for some absurd reason. If it were me, I'd get a terrier. I've always wanted a big dog, but I couldn't fit one in my apartment. Not once Lindsey gets here, especially. But I'm a little daunted by the cost: vet fees, flea prevention, food, licensing, apartment deposit. Maybe if I save up and Lindsey likes dogs. Who knows. It might just be that I'm lonely and want something else in the apartment that's alive (houseplants don't count).
The whole process of moving has been radically different than I expected. I didn't exactly expect it to be easy, but I was hoping it might be more like moving back to college after the summer. It's not. But I think I'm finally beginning to feel settled. I've made sure that everyone knows my new address and phone number (athough I'm sure there are a few uninformed friends out there), I'm getting mail now, and I don't have to buy anything else for awhile. It seemed that during the first week or so, I was going to the store every day for something else that I had forgotten to get the last time I was there. I think the people at Target are beginning to know me on a first-name basis. Maybe they'll ask me to hang out with them the next time I'm there buying batteries or surge protectors. I might have a social life then.
I have yet to go to the beach. With the weather and everything, sitting outside isn't as appealing as it otherwise might be. I did get to the beach on Longboat Key when I visited my grandparents, but it smelled like dead fish and the sand burned my feet. The wind was blowing the recent Red Tide back to shore, and pufferfish and eels were washing up and being eaten by seagulls. I also promised my grandma back in Nebraska that I would only get knee-deep in the water. She's afraid I'll be eaten by a shark (a legitimate fear, lately). Next week I'm going to the ocean of grass in North Dakota for a friend's wedding. A lot of friends from college will be there, so I'm looking forward to that. I'm not looking forward to driving a '77 Buick back to Bismarck at 4 am, but I guess that's the price a person has to pay for partying in North Dakota.
That's all for now--it will be safe to enter my apartment in approximately forty minutes, so I'm going to go book-browsing. I just picked up the new one by Anne Lamott--Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. I really liked Travelling Mercies so I'm hoping I'll like this one. Any other recommendations? Let me know.
No, not me, just the weather. It' s been raining like crazy the past week and a half--thunder, lightning and buckets of water being dumped everywhere. Usually I get caught in the biggest downpour of the day when I'm in the process of driving somewhere. I grit my teeth, and try to focus on the tail lights of the car ahead of me. Otherwise I can't see anything. Despite the fact that my windshield wipers are going as fast as they can, my vision is blocked by rain falling in the biggest drops I've ever seen in my life. Welcome to the Sunshine State.
I finally got my library card, so I'm hanging out there while I wait for the Flea Bombs to disperse in my apartment. It turns out that the 25 mosquito bites on my feet and ankles are really flea bites. No wonder they've been itching like crazy for the past two weeks. Thank you, previous tenent and your dogs. I had to sleep on the floor several days while I waited for my new mattress and box springs to arrive, and that's when I realized that I had company. Fortunately it's not a massive infestation--the bombs should thoroughly eradicate them, but I feel pretty disgusted about the whole situation, like it somehow reflects on my own personal hygiene. In spite of the situation with the bugs, I find myself wanting a dog or something. My apartment complex allows pets, and it seems everyone has a dog, mostly chihuahuas for some absurd reason. If it were me, I'd get a terrier. I've always wanted a big dog, but I couldn't fit one in my apartment. Not once Lindsey gets here, especially. But I'm a little daunted by the cost: vet fees, flea prevention, food, licensing, apartment deposit. Maybe if I save up and Lindsey likes dogs. Who knows. It might just be that I'm lonely and want something else in the apartment that's alive (houseplants don't count).
The whole process of moving has been radically different than I expected. I didn't exactly expect it to be easy, but I was hoping it might be more like moving back to college after the summer. It's not. But I think I'm finally beginning to feel settled. I've made sure that everyone knows my new address and phone number (athough I'm sure there are a few uninformed friends out there), I'm getting mail now, and I don't have to buy anything else for awhile. It seemed that during the first week or so, I was going to the store every day for something else that I had forgotten to get the last time I was there. I think the people at Target are beginning to know me on a first-name basis. Maybe they'll ask me to hang out with them the next time I'm there buying batteries or surge protectors. I might have a social life then.
I have yet to go to the beach. With the weather and everything, sitting outside isn't as appealing as it otherwise might be. I did get to the beach on Longboat Key when I visited my grandparents, but it smelled like dead fish and the sand burned my feet. The wind was blowing the recent Red Tide back to shore, and pufferfish and eels were washing up and being eaten by seagulls. I also promised my grandma back in Nebraska that I would only get knee-deep in the water. She's afraid I'll be eaten by a shark (a legitimate fear, lately). Next week I'm going to the ocean of grass in North Dakota for a friend's wedding. A lot of friends from college will be there, so I'm looking forward to that. I'm not looking forward to driving a '77 Buick back to Bismarck at 4 am, but I guess that's the price a person has to pay for partying in North Dakota.
That's all for now--it will be safe to enter my apartment in approximately forty minutes, so I'm going to go book-browsing. I just picked up the new one by Anne Lamott--Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. I really liked Travelling Mercies so I'm hoping I'll like this one. Any other recommendations? Let me know.
6.15.2005
Tomorrow
In less than 24 hours I will begin my long and hopefully enjoyable ride to Fort Myers, Florida. I've been thinking about this move for almost four months now, and it's hard to believe that the time to leave is actually here. I think the moment I realized that this is really happening was when my mom told me she wasn't signing my name on any cards or gifts or anything anymore. She told me, "You're an independent household now." That made me want to lock myself in my sister's room and never leave. But only for about three seconds. For the most part, I'm just ready to go. Hanging out at home has been a lot of fun--I got to see my sisters a lot (in a good way)--but I haven't had anything to do. Reading and watching TV can keep a person occupied for only so long. At least in Florida there will be things I have to get done. I have to set up the classroom, establish my management plan, read the books, study the curriculum, get acquainted with the school and its procedures, get settled into my apartment. So yeah, I'm ready to get there. I'm excited. But there's a part of me that's beginning to feel sad for all that I'm leaving behind and all that I'm taking on. But I think that's healthy.
In less than 24 hours I will begin my long and hopefully enjoyable ride to Fort Myers, Florida. I've been thinking about this move for almost four months now, and it's hard to believe that the time to leave is actually here. I think the moment I realized that this is really happening was when my mom told me she wasn't signing my name on any cards or gifts or anything anymore. She told me, "You're an independent household now." That made me want to lock myself in my sister's room and never leave. But only for about three seconds. For the most part, I'm just ready to go. Hanging out at home has been a lot of fun--I got to see my sisters a lot (in a good way)--but I haven't had anything to do. Reading and watching TV can keep a person occupied for only so long. At least in Florida there will be things I have to get done. I have to set up the classroom, establish my management plan, read the books, study the curriculum, get acquainted with the school and its procedures, get settled into my apartment. So yeah, I'm ready to get there. I'm excited. But there's a part of me that's beginning to feel sad for all that I'm leaving behind and all that I'm taking on. But I think that's healthy.
6.10.2005
Foiled!
I had been building up the nerve to actually commit myself to the GRE, and when I tried to sign up today, there were no open times left for the next three weeks. I guess that means I'll have to keep studying and try to take the stupid test in Florida. I hadn't wanted to do that. I had hoped to take it before I left, but I procrastinated too long. Rats.
A part of me continually asks if I really want to take the GRE after all; do I really want a Masters Degree in something? I don't even know if I want to focus on English or Education, therefore, my subversive self says, I should just put it off a couple more years. To be honest, the only reason I am so hesitant is the math section. I took a couple practice tests the last few days, and although I did reasonably well (I could have done better) on other sections, I pretty much bombed the math part. I hate math. It is my arch nemesis.
Now all I can do is bake. My starter is ready to be turned into that lovely Rosemary Olive Oil Sourdough Bread, and today is a perfect day for baking--cool, cloudy, stormy. Drat, I say. I feel perfectly dejected about this turn of events. Maybe it's the Lord--maybe I'm not supposed to take the GRE right now. I don't believe in coincidences... Maybe I'm supposed to just bake and pack and clean my room today. Not fret over some stupid test that really has no say over how intelligent I am.
I had been building up the nerve to actually commit myself to the GRE, and when I tried to sign up today, there were no open times left for the next three weeks. I guess that means I'll have to keep studying and try to take the stupid test in Florida. I hadn't wanted to do that. I had hoped to take it before I left, but I procrastinated too long. Rats.
A part of me continually asks if I really want to take the GRE after all; do I really want a Masters Degree in something? I don't even know if I want to focus on English or Education, therefore, my subversive self says, I should just put it off a couple more years. To be honest, the only reason I am so hesitant is the math section. I took a couple practice tests the last few days, and although I did reasonably well (I could have done better) on other sections, I pretty much bombed the math part. I hate math. It is my arch nemesis.
Now all I can do is bake. My starter is ready to be turned into that lovely Rosemary Olive Oil Sourdough Bread, and today is a perfect day for baking--cool, cloudy, stormy. Drat, I say. I feel perfectly dejected about this turn of events. Maybe it's the Lord--maybe I'm not supposed to take the GRE right now. I don't believe in coincidences... Maybe I'm supposed to just bake and pack and clean my room today. Not fret over some stupid test that really has no say over how intelligent I am.
6.04.2005
James Dean, a man who could really brood.
I just finished watching East of Eden, a fairly decent rendition of the classic work by Steinbeck. James Dean is Cal, the dark, tormented son of Adam Trask. I thought as a film it was definitely entertaining--of course, any time I see James Dean I'm entertained--but I was disappointed at how much of the story the movie left out. I think the entire movie was based on the last 3 chapters of the book, and it's a pretty thick book. Afterwards, my mom and sister Deborah and I had a long discussion about it. I once again confirmed my English-nerdiness by getting all excited about our discussion of Biblical allusions within the book. Oh well--I suppose it's good that an English-nerd becomes an English teacher. You gotta love what you do in order to do it well.
Lately I've been on a baking spree. I seem to go in these spurts, and I think that applies to pretty much everything in my life. I'll read like crazy for a few weeks and then have to take a break for awhile. I'll watch movies every night for a few weeks and then decide I never want to watch TV again. I'll date a guy and feel like I'm falling in love and then after a few weeks, I'll realize the whole relationship is pointless. Right now, I'm baking. I got a wonderful cookbook, The King Arthur Flour Baking Companion, for my birthday, and I've been making all different kinds of bread. The other day, I made some plain ol' white bread, and today I advanced to Brioche, a sweet yeast bread from France. I've also got sourdough starter fermenting up here by the computer where the temperature is nice and ripe (the kitchen is really too chilly for breadmaking--the bread won't rise very quickly unless I've got the oven on). I'm hoping to turn that into Rosemary Olive Oil Sourdough bread sometime next week. I also made chicken enchiladas and peach cobbler the other night. The only problem with baking and cooking is that a person has an end result to deal with. I really don't want to eat all the bread I'm baking. I enjoy the process more than the product, I think. So, feel free to stop by if you're in the neighborhood and pick up some bread. I'm giving it away for free.
I just finished watching East of Eden, a fairly decent rendition of the classic work by Steinbeck. James Dean is Cal, the dark, tormented son of Adam Trask. I thought as a film it was definitely entertaining--of course, any time I see James Dean I'm entertained--but I was disappointed at how much of the story the movie left out. I think the entire movie was based on the last 3 chapters of the book, and it's a pretty thick book. Afterwards, my mom and sister Deborah and I had a long discussion about it. I once again confirmed my English-nerdiness by getting all excited about our discussion of Biblical allusions within the book. Oh well--I suppose it's good that an English-nerd becomes an English teacher. You gotta love what you do in order to do it well.
Lately I've been on a baking spree. I seem to go in these spurts, and I think that applies to pretty much everything in my life. I'll read like crazy for a few weeks and then have to take a break for awhile. I'll watch movies every night for a few weeks and then decide I never want to watch TV again. I'll date a guy and feel like I'm falling in love and then after a few weeks, I'll realize the whole relationship is pointless. Right now, I'm baking. I got a wonderful cookbook, The King Arthur Flour Baking Companion, for my birthday, and I've been making all different kinds of bread. The other day, I made some plain ol' white bread, and today I advanced to Brioche, a sweet yeast bread from France. I've also got sourdough starter fermenting up here by the computer where the temperature is nice and ripe (the kitchen is really too chilly for breadmaking--the bread won't rise very quickly unless I've got the oven on). I'm hoping to turn that into Rosemary Olive Oil Sourdough bread sometime next week. I also made chicken enchiladas and peach cobbler the other night. The only problem with baking and cooking is that a person has an end result to deal with. I really don't want to eat all the bread I'm baking. I enjoy the process more than the product, I think. So, feel free to stop by if you're in the neighborhood and pick up some bread. I'm giving it away for free.
5.25.2005
I'm sure a lot of people have heard of this before, but I just stumbled on it. Wow. Talk about raw emotion. Check it out.
5.23.2005
The Long Awaited Book List
This list is a compilation of all the books I read for personal pleasure over the past year. I left off the ones I didn't like, or found to be poorly written or just average (for example, a Nicholas Sparks spree that I went on right after school got out last year.) The books in bold are the ones I especially loved.
This list is a compilation of all the books I read for personal pleasure over the past year. I left off the ones I didn't like, or found to be poorly written or just average (for example, a Nicholas Sparks spree that I went on right after school got out last year.) The books in bold are the ones I especially loved.
Bel Canto (Ann Patchett)
Cold Mountain (Charles Frazier)
The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Kidd Monk)
Mariette in Ecstasy (Ron Hansen)
Girl Meets God (Lauren F. Winner)
Atticus (Ron Hansen)
The House Where the Hardest Things Happen (Kate Young Caley)
Beyond the Bedroom Wall (Larry Woiwode)
Silent Passengers (Larry Woiwode)
The Pact (Jodi Picoult)
The Undiscovered Country (Samantha Gillison)
Beloved (Toni Morrison)
East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
Brokenness (Nancy Leigh DeMoss)
Black, Red, White—a trilogy (Ted Dekker)
The Read-Aloud Handbook (Jim Trelease)
Drowning Ruth (Christina Schwarz)
Breathing Lessons (Anne Tyler)
The Bean Trees (Barbara Kingsolver)
Peace Like a River (Leif Enger)
Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy)
Saint Maybe (Anne Tyler)
Back When We Were Grownups (Anne Tyler)
The Amateur Marriage (Anne Tyler)
Object Lessons (Anna Quindlen)
Blessings (Anna Quindlen)
Ella Enchanted (Gail Carson Levine)
The Other Side of the River: The Story of Two Towns, A Death, and America’s Dilemma (Alex Kotlowitz)
The Chosen (Chaim Potok)
Gilead (Marilyn Robinson)
Blessed Child (Ted Dekker)
A Man Called Blessed (Ted Dekker)
I am the Cheese (Robert Cormier)
Heaven’s Wager (Ted Dekker)
When Heaven Weeps (Ted Dekker)
Prodigal Summer (Barbara Kingsolver)
Sex, Art, and American Culture (Camille Paglia)
The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
The Magician’s Assistant (Ann Patchett)
Ladder of Years (Anne Tyler)
Sorry about the weird spacing. I don't know what's up with that. Looking back on all those books, it's hard to believe I've read that many in one year. And that's not counting all the books I had to read for class. So there you go, Julie and Lindsey, and anyone else who's interested. I'll keep posting recommendations as I keep reading.
So I'm a crappy blogger. What can I say--the absence of internet will do that to a person. Sorry Sam. Hope you're still watching--look! I'm finally posting!
New Scary things:
New Scary things:
- -moving to Florida
- -Being a teacher. For real.
- -paying bills.
- -trusting the Lord for everything.
- -renting an apartment.
- -people telling me, "So, you're a real adult now."
- -living a life of comparative luxury. would I give it up if He asked?
Currently:
- -just finished reading Ladder of Years by Anne Tyler.
- -listening to Sevina Yannatou's Sumiglia. If you like ethnic music, this is an awesome album. Greek music with fantastic improv. Rather different, but cool.
- -trying to get up the gumption (as my grandma would say) to go for a walk.
- -making a list of all the things I still have to do before I move next month.
- -thinking about how awesome Barabara Kingsolver is. I just finished reading The Poisonwood Bible again. Prodigal Summer is a wow as well.
- -before Ladder of Years I read The Magician's Assistant by Anne Patchett (Bel Canto). Very good.
Wishlist:
- -a new digital camera
- -20 pounds shed like snakeskin
- -the urge to write poetry. i feel like my inner monologue is currently silent, which sucks.
- -a free ticket to Bismarck, North Dakota.
- -more discipline.
Julie, I'll try to get my booklist online soon. Maybe even later today.
2.23.2005
I'm almost done. Two more days and then I'm finished. Finished with the cooperating teacher who won't cooperate. Finished with the cooperating teacher who cuts me off in the middle of a sentence to correct my French pronounciation. Finished with a cooperating teacher who doesn't let me enter grades in the gradebook because I messed up once. Finished with the cooperating teacher who won't let me use the classroom computer.
Don't get me wrong. She's a nice lady. She's not mean-spirited or out to get me. She just has a certain way of doing things, and when I don't do something exactly right, she figures it's just easier to do it herself. She cares about her students, and her students like her. I'm not sure if they like English, if they think reading and writing is worthwhile and enjoyable, but they like her. She prays for them and sends them little notes of encouragements when grandparents die or they have a rough day. She loves those kids. But she loves with a sharp wit and a keen, sarcastic sense of humor.
Maybe I want to be too effusive with my love. Perhaps my passion for jotting down poems and writing daydreamy paragraphs, silly grammar sentences, and crazy vocab demonstrations is too effervescent. Maybe I shouldn't be so friendly, quoting Napoleon Dynamite and demonstrating my cultural awareness. But this I know. I'm not like my cooperating teacher, and she definitely doesn't want to be like me. So I think it's a good thing that we both move on--I write my thank-you note, bake my goodbye chocolate chip cookies, and walk out the door, while she continues with her harsh love, her nit-picky banter, her moralistic short stories, and her grammar exercises. I'll see the kids I've grown to love in the halls, I'll bump into her now and then, but we won't be so close that we scrape up against each other like battered boats in a hurricane. We'll have that safe distance that allows us to speak kindly to each other, that enables us to say to others, "Oh, she's such a sweet woman--a good teacher in her own way." Maybe we'll even be able to mention the things we taught each other.
Don't get me wrong. She's a nice lady. She's not mean-spirited or out to get me. She just has a certain way of doing things, and when I don't do something exactly right, she figures it's just easier to do it herself. She cares about her students, and her students like her. I'm not sure if they like English, if they think reading and writing is worthwhile and enjoyable, but they like her. She prays for them and sends them little notes of encouragements when grandparents die or they have a rough day. She loves those kids. But she loves with a sharp wit and a keen, sarcastic sense of humor.
Maybe I want to be too effusive with my love. Perhaps my passion for jotting down poems and writing daydreamy paragraphs, silly grammar sentences, and crazy vocab demonstrations is too effervescent. Maybe I shouldn't be so friendly, quoting Napoleon Dynamite and demonstrating my cultural awareness. But this I know. I'm not like my cooperating teacher, and she definitely doesn't want to be like me. So I think it's a good thing that we both move on--I write my thank-you note, bake my goodbye chocolate chip cookies, and walk out the door, while she continues with her harsh love, her nit-picky banter, her moralistic short stories, and her grammar exercises. I'll see the kids I've grown to love in the halls, I'll bump into her now and then, but we won't be so close that we scrape up against each other like battered boats in a hurricane. We'll have that safe distance that allows us to speak kindly to each other, that enables us to say to others, "Oh, she's such a sweet woman--a good teacher in her own way." Maybe we'll even be able to mention the things we taught each other.
2.02.2005
Begin the countdown...
I will be back at my wonderful alma mater in less than four weeks. I'm getting excited! It will be nice to see friends again, to be around people my own age, to get away from some of the requirements my cooperating teacher imposes... But, at the end of this session, I know I will miss the students. I was thinking about that last night and again this morning, about how I look forward to seeing them every day. I don't exactly jump at the opportunity to teach in the traditional, behavioristic manner of my cooperating teacher, but I love talking with the students, getting to know them. I think I've grown closer to them because I am reading their papers, taking their prayer requests, talking to them outside of class. I mentioned to my co-op. teacher yesterday that I can't imagine how close a teacher must get to her students after knowing them all through high school. No wonder people like my yearbook teacher and my spanish teacher cried at graduation each year. They loved us like we were their own kids. There's nothing like a class full of squirming, rascally, but endearing students to arouse the motherly instinct in a single (or married, perhaps) woman.
This semester is flying by. I can't believe I'm already almost done with this first session. I'll be teaching full time for another week and a half, and then I'll start backing out. I can't say I'll miss the material, but I'll miss teaching. I really do enjoy it.
I will be back at my wonderful alma mater in less than four weeks. I'm getting excited! It will be nice to see friends again, to be around people my own age, to get away from some of the requirements my cooperating teacher imposes... But, at the end of this session, I know I will miss the students. I was thinking about that last night and again this morning, about how I look forward to seeing them every day. I don't exactly jump at the opportunity to teach in the traditional, behavioristic manner of my cooperating teacher, but I love talking with the students, getting to know them. I think I've grown closer to them because I am reading their papers, taking their prayer requests, talking to them outside of class. I mentioned to my co-op. teacher yesterday that I can't imagine how close a teacher must get to her students after knowing them all through high school. No wonder people like my yearbook teacher and my spanish teacher cried at graduation each year. They loved us like we were their own kids. There's nothing like a class full of squirming, rascally, but endearing students to arouse the motherly instinct in a single (or married, perhaps) woman.
This semester is flying by. I can't believe I'm already almost done with this first session. I'll be teaching full time for another week and a half, and then I'll start backing out. I can't say I'll miss the material, but I'll miss teaching. I really do enjoy it.
1.24.2005
The freshmen are mine! MWAAHAHAHAHA! Okay, so I'm not overly possessive about the three freshmen English classes I'm teaching, but it's nice to finally be (sort of) calling the shots when it comes to what I teach, how I teach it, and when I teach it. I have a lot of fun working with those kids, and if things continue to progress this way, I'm going to love working with the sophomores next week. I think that the relationships I'm building with these students is the best aspect of teaching that there is--they come in and they say hello to me, we talk about football, we talk about movies--and they don't hate me. They don't think I'm some sort of loser from another planet (although Iowa and Nebraska seem about as far away as Mars to some of them). Anyway, things are going well, even though I'm not particularly enjoying the foot of snow that 's growing slushy in the already-dirty streets. But it's better than ice or blizzards. I'm tempted to move to a southern and coastal state for my job next year. Well, my time's up. I gotta run. The joys of using the library's computers.
1.18.2005
So I'm getting used to student teaching. I'm gradually working my way up to full time teaching. This week, my cooperating teacher is teaching one section of freshmen, then I'm teaching the next two. Next week, I'll teach all the freshmen and be responsible for lesson plans; meanwhile, Mrs. Stahly will teach one period of sophomore English, and I'll teach the second. The next week, I'll be responsible for all freshman English, all sophomore English, and some of composition. The week after that, I'll be teaching full time. It kind of makes me nervous, but I really just want to do it and get it over with. Time definitely goes by so much quicker when I'm not just observing. That gets so boring. I feel capable and prepared, just a little nervous. I taught two full periods today, and the students were very respectful and fairly obedient. I was nervous the first time, and I completely blanked on their names--not good when you're calling on them for twenty minutes. I also had to take prayer requests and pray for them. Don't ask me why, but that was stressful.
Other than that, life's all right. It's kind of dull. I'm not doing much because I don't have any work to bring home. So, I watched all 6 hours of Pride and Prejudice--one of my all-time favorite movies--spent every evening of the last week and a half watching all the Lord of the Rings Movies (yea for extended versions!), and who knows what thrilling things I'll do tonight. I think the hardest part of being up here is being alone. Sure I have my aunt and uncle, and I love their whole family. But I miss people my own age. I feel like I'm always desperate every time I to church, because I'm looking for someone I could be friends with. Saying it that way makes me feel pathetic. Oh well. This too shall pass.
In the meantime, I'm going to watch movies, read books, have awesome quiet times, and listen to a lot of music. One thing I'm really looking forward to, though, is getting a door on my room. Privacy would be a welcome thing. My closest room-neighbor is a twelve-year-old boy.
Other than that, life's all right. It's kind of dull. I'm not doing much because I don't have any work to bring home. So, I watched all 6 hours of Pride and Prejudice--one of my all-time favorite movies--spent every evening of the last week and a half watching all the Lord of the Rings Movies (yea for extended versions!), and who knows what thrilling things I'll do tonight. I think the hardest part of being up here is being alone. Sure I have my aunt and uncle, and I love their whole family. But I miss people my own age. I feel like I'm always desperate every time I to church, because I'm looking for someone I could be friends with. Saying it that way makes me feel pathetic. Oh well. This too shall pass.
In the meantime, I'm going to watch movies, read books, have awesome quiet times, and listen to a lot of music. One thing I'm really looking forward to, though, is getting a door on my room. Privacy would be a welcome thing. My closest room-neighbor is a twelve-year-old boy.
1.10.2005
Good:
- student teaching
- high schoolers
- trees
- my cooperating teacher
- my aunt and uncle's house
- getting to know my cousins better
- karate in the kitchen
- no homework
Bad:
- no internet at home
- restricted internet at school
- naivete
- lack of people my age
- my grandma always wondering if I've met any eligible bachelors
- not meeting any eligible bachelors
- holy cow is a bad word
- rules again
12.17.2004
It's officially been a month since my last post, which is awful of me, I know. But the last two weeks of school--heck, the whole semester--has been so busy I haven't even been keeping up with my journal writing, let alone my homework and blogging. Enough excuses. I don't think anyone but me reads this anyway, but that's all right. I'm home now, relaxing and sleeping in. I'm currently in the process of packing my things for that not-so-distant move to who-knows-where.
Over the past year or so, I've been gradually moving things home and storing them in my parents' basement. Now that I've moved everything home--I had Big Bertha packed from the rear-view mirror to the sliding door to the floor underneath the seats--I occupy the whole southeast corner of the basement, and my dad is ready for me to get rid of some of it. So I've been sifting and repacking and tossing and keeping loads of stuff. The whole process makes me realize just how much junk I've collected in the past five years since going off to college. It makes me feel rich and snobbish, at least compared to people in Mexico or the Sudan who probably don't even have enough things to fill just one of my book boxes. I feel guilty for complaining or wishing for more stuff, more things to pack and take with me, for wishing that I had more money. When I think about how I have been blessed--a college education, a loving family, more possessions than I could possibly need to survive, a car, a checking account--I feel the pinch of my worldliness even more.
So what do I do? The question has been running around my mind for the past few weeks. I could give everything away and live in a hut in Kathmandu (I don't even know where that is). I could live like I never thought about it, and keep on amassing wealth. Or I could remember that it isn't what I store up here that matters. I may be blessed, but it could all be gone in a second. I think the more important question is this: what do I do with the gifts I've been given? Do I hoard them in earthen vessels, or do I place my gifts in the hands of something/someone bigger and say, "Do with them as you wish--they're yours anyway." Something to think about this Christmas season (and year round).
Over the past year or so, I've been gradually moving things home and storing them in my parents' basement. Now that I've moved everything home--I had Big Bertha packed from the rear-view mirror to the sliding door to the floor underneath the seats--I occupy the whole southeast corner of the basement, and my dad is ready for me to get rid of some of it. So I've been sifting and repacking and tossing and keeping loads of stuff. The whole process makes me realize just how much junk I've collected in the past five years since going off to college. It makes me feel rich and snobbish, at least compared to people in Mexico or the Sudan who probably don't even have enough things to fill just one of my book boxes. I feel guilty for complaining or wishing for more stuff, more things to pack and take with me, for wishing that I had more money. When I think about how I have been blessed--a college education, a loving family, more possessions than I could possibly need to survive, a car, a checking account--I feel the pinch of my worldliness even more.
So what do I do? The question has been running around my mind for the past few weeks. I could give everything away and live in a hut in Kathmandu (I don't even know where that is). I could live like I never thought about it, and keep on amassing wealth. Or I could remember that it isn't what I store up here that matters. I may be blessed, but it could all be gone in a second. I think the more important question is this: what do I do with the gifts I've been given? Do I hoard them in earthen vessels, or do I place my gifts in the hands of something/someone bigger and say, "Do with them as you wish--they're yours anyway." Something to think about this Christmas season (and year round).
11.17.2004
I knew it was bad when it hurt to keep my eyes open in class. I've had late nights before, but very rarely in my college career has such a late night produced the burning feeling that persisted in my eyes all the way through my 8 and 9 o'clock classes. I'm feeling better now--I can look at things for more than two seconds without my vision blurring. But I'm slightly concerned that all these 4:30 am bedtimes, preceded by hours and hours of staring at a computer screen, may one day make me blind. On the news last night, I heard a report about computer usage being linked to glaucoma, a condition which can eventually cause blindness if not treated properly. That's where that thought came from.
The worst part of the whole thing is that I spent the last three weeks preparing for this day--preparing my full-scale unit plan, preparing my huge presentation on teen pregnancy--and now it's over. I feel like there should at least be some sort of celebration. Or that people should look at my fabulous tri-fold poster about teen pregnancy for another twenty-five minutes. One class period simply isn't enough time to appreciate all the work my partner and I put into that wonderfully creative and artistically designed monstrosity. And my unit plan--I work twelve hours (four and a half of those late last night or early this morning) creating calendars and appendices and daily objectives and then it's just tucked in some folder somewhere. It's probably sitting on my professor's desk right now. Alone. Neglected. It's so anticlimactic. I feel like I should take my giant poster home over Thanksgiving and ask my mom to put it on the refrigerator.
I suppose this desire for recognition is slightly selfish. Yes, I did do all that work, but that's my job right now. I'm a student. I'm supposed to devote my whole life to the pursuit of producing top-notch education-major projects. It's like the policman pointing out, "Um, hello there. I just gave someone a speeding ticket. When do I get my commendation? Oh, and does it come with a raise?" No--I should just tip my hat and say, "No trouble, ma'am. It's all in a day's work," and walk away as if I didn't do anything worth taking note of at all.
In other news, I'm leaving for Indianapolis tomorrow morning. National NCTE Convention, here I come! (NCTE=National Council of Teachers of English). And it's only 29 days until Christmas. Thanksgiving break is one week from today. I appreciate the here and now, but I'd rather the here and now was tomorrow.
The worst part of the whole thing is that I spent the last three weeks preparing for this day--preparing my full-scale unit plan, preparing my huge presentation on teen pregnancy--and now it's over. I feel like there should at least be some sort of celebration. Or that people should look at my fabulous tri-fold poster about teen pregnancy for another twenty-five minutes. One class period simply isn't enough time to appreciate all the work my partner and I put into that wonderfully creative and artistically designed monstrosity. And my unit plan--I work twelve hours (four and a half of those late last night or early this morning) creating calendars and appendices and daily objectives and then it's just tucked in some folder somewhere. It's probably sitting on my professor's desk right now. Alone. Neglected. It's so anticlimactic. I feel like I should take my giant poster home over Thanksgiving and ask my mom to put it on the refrigerator.
I suppose this desire for recognition is slightly selfish. Yes, I did do all that work, but that's my job right now. I'm a student. I'm supposed to devote my whole life to the pursuit of producing top-notch education-major projects. It's like the policman pointing out, "Um, hello there. I just gave someone a speeding ticket. When do I get my commendation? Oh, and does it come with a raise?" No--I should just tip my hat and say, "No trouble, ma'am. It's all in a day's work," and walk away as if I didn't do anything worth taking note of at all.
In other news, I'm leaving for Indianapolis tomorrow morning. National NCTE Convention, here I come! (NCTE=National Council of Teachers of English). And it's only 29 days until Christmas. Thanksgiving break is one week from today. I appreciate the here and now, but I'd rather the here and now was tomorrow.
10.31.2004
My Grandmother’s Hands
Covering a laughing mouth,
Shaped nails painted pale pink,
Encircling shoulders in a
tight squeeze,
The feel of love in every gentle touch
of paper-thin skin,
Frailty that speaks of strength
not her own,
Fingers once long and even
now bent and rigid,
aged with life’s long labor,
Eager to hold the hands of
another, gone before
and waiting,
Folded in prayer,
a testimony to life’s faith.
For my grandmother’s hands,
Father God,
Receive praise.
Covering a laughing mouth,
Shaped nails painted pale pink,
Encircling shoulders in a
tight squeeze,
The feel of love in every gentle touch
of paper-thin skin,
Frailty that speaks of strength
not her own,
Fingers once long and even
now bent and rigid,
aged with life’s long labor,
Eager to hold the hands of
another, gone before
and waiting,
Folded in prayer,
a testimony to life’s faith.
For my grandmother’s hands,
Father God,
Receive praise.
After a little reworking, here is a "less raw" version of the poem I posted last week. I wanted to make it say exactly what I wanted it to, because the whole topic of abortion is one that evokes a strong emotional response in me. For a little background information, I wrote this initially as a response to the Beattitudes in Matthew 5. A class I'm taking on the medieval practice of lectio divina encourages us to journal prayer responses to the verses that we're studying/memorizing/contemplating. This isn't exactly a prayer, but it's what came out after thinking on that particular passage for awhile. I think it had been brewing in my mind for several weeks before I even wrote it, so I can't express how satisfying it was to have it finally on paper.
Three Prayers
Too quickly have I forgotten the
crush of little bones in my hand.
Tiny fingers reaching towards my light,
Grip my scissors,
Grip my knife.
It’s not that I like what I do.
But I am a mercy dispenser.
Mercy for one at the expense of the other.
Harden my eyes.
Harden my heart.
Oh my god.
Have mercy on me.
They are light fluttering wings that I want to
hold in my hand.
Too little, too much.
I’m sorry.
It’s better this way. For both of us.
Cold steel bed,
Cold robotic fingers,
Cold like ice around my heart.
It’s not that I like what I’ve done, both sides of it.
But I’ve been given a choice.
I choose mercy.
For both of us.
I watch with unopened eyes.
My translucent hidden skin,
My blue-veined body will
Grip the scissors.
Grip the knife.
I accept your apology.
Small bones uplifted, washed clean.
Pass over a black bag of skulls.
Father, forgive them.
I open my eyes.
Have mercy,
For they know not what they do.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Matthew 5:7
Three Prayers
Too quickly have I forgotten the
crush of little bones in my hand.
Tiny fingers reaching towards my light,
Grip my scissors,
Grip my knife.
It’s not that I like what I do.
But I am a mercy dispenser.
Mercy for one at the expense of the other.
Harden my eyes.
Harden my heart.
Oh my god.
Have mercy on me.
They are light fluttering wings that I want to
hold in my hand.
Too little, too much.
I’m sorry.
It’s better this way. For both of us.
Cold steel bed,
Cold robotic fingers,
Cold like ice around my heart.
It’s not that I like what I’ve done, both sides of it.
But I’ve been given a choice.
I choose mercy.
For both of us.
I watch with unopened eyes.
My translucent hidden skin,
My blue-veined body will
Grip the scissors.
Grip the knife.
I accept your apology.
Small bones uplifted, washed clean.
Pass over a black bag of skulls.
Father, forgive them.
I open my eyes.
Have mercy,
For they know not what they do.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Matthew 5:7
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