If you think in terms of a year, plant a seed; if in terms of ten years, plant trees; if in terms of 100 years, teach the people. ~Confucius
Tonight at my Master's class, we discussed the topic of leadership. We had a chance to reflect on the things that make a great leader. --Consistency and flexibility. --Present and visible. --Communication and demeanor. --Passion and hope. --Leading by example. --Ability to implement change, disrupt the old way of doing things, in a positive way. It reminded me of the first time a colleague pulled me aside, in my second year of teaching. She was a veteran teacher, now retired. But she made a point to tell me that other teachers looked up to me, and listened to my ideas. She told me I was a leader, even though I was new to education, and very young, she respected my ability to communicate with other teachers who had been around for a while, and in such a positive way. I had made an impact on her. The conversation stuck with me through the years. While I am happy to be a little 'ole art teacher, the fact that she noticed something in me, that I did not realize at the time and might not have ever noticed about myself, made a big impact on my life. Her belief in me, has helped me to make decisions that I otherwise would not have made. After retiring, she stayed around the building for a few more years, part-time, working with students a few days a week. Her retirement party had been the big send off, cake, corsage, cards, breakfast, and then lunch with the superintendents. But on her actual last day, a few years later....she slipped out quietly....one last long look at the building. I waved to her across the lot, but she was lost in her thoughts, and it wasn't until later that I realized it was her actual last day ever. I remember the forlorn but satisfied look she had. Resolute. Content. Wistful. Her teaching days were over. She impacted hundreds if not thousands of young lives. Over the course of her career, she had probably pulled many young teachers aside for a similar chat. She had that special way to make you feel like you were really special and loved. I know that is what made her such a great teacher. She probably did the same with her little first graders. She inspired me to recognize my ability to be a good leader. Its funny how much impact you have on others that you don't even realize. She probably doesn't even remember that conversation....but I sure do. I'm so glad she took the time to see my potential and encourage me.
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This post is brought to you from one of my most favorite places on earth.
My front porch. It is screened, with a large turquoise Native American print rug. Hanging from the ceiling are all sorts of chimes, sconces, lanterns and mobiles. In the summer, is an oasis of plants and succulents. I'm waiting until after the last frost to move them outside. In front of me, the whole world floats by...on bikes...pushing strollers, walking dogs. Cars creeping down the lane with windows down, sun shining on bare arms. Couples hold hands. Kids laugh. The street has sidewalk on both sides---a rare thing in this day and age. For weeks, it has been too cold to sit outside, but today--it is perfect. I've got my computer, the scent of orange ginger lotion. My audible audio book, Gone Girl. A big jug of ice cold water with lime. Last summer, we invested in some amazingly comfortable new rotating rocker chairs and couch. Orange and wicker. In the distance I can hear the knocking of a woodpecker. Ratta-tat-ratta-tat--ratta-tat. Starlings twitter. Twitter-twit-twitter-twit--twitter-twit. Robins cheep. Pip. Pip. Pip. It is warm enough for capri pants. As soon as I walked in the door from work, I tore off my socks and work shoes. Now my feet are bare, a fresh 4-leaf-clover green polish coat of paint on my toenails---the first pedicure of the season. Hard to believe we had a snow day less than 5 days ago at school. The hint of fluid and smoke from a charcoal grill in wafts through neighborhood. Someone is having their first Bar-B-Que of the season tonight. Crunchy brown leaves and piles of spiky gum balls from our sweet gum are raked into patches in the front yard. The gumballs never fall until January--and it hasn't been warm enough to rake them up. I should get out there with a rake....and take care of that today....but I just want to sit and enjoy this perfect spot. And let my nail polish dry, while I enjoy this wonderful moment in my favorite spot. This week is bound to put a little cramp in my writing. I like to get up early and write in the early mornings.
Yesterday we sprang forward....so instead of driving to work in the glow of the early sunrise, now it is pitch black as I trudge to school--making it harder to come in a little earlier...... Also, I have bus duty every day, so I will lose some of that morning stillness that helps ground me. Instead of sitting at my desk drinking coffee, enjoying a breakfast bar, I will gobble it down at 7:15 and stand in the gym slurping my coffee while I supervise hundreds of sleepy-eyed tweens until 7:45. Last year, my husband and I invested in the old Aaron Sorkin series, The West Wing. From the very first episode, we were hooked. Each of the 6 seasons is made up of 22-hour long episodes, so you can bet we had many nightly marathons over the course of the year. On the show, the press secretary, chief of staff and other White House assistants always seem so busy. Its like they never leave the White House. Sometimes they are in the office by 6:00 am and still there at midnight, prepping for a big speech or getting ready for a big event. Their schedules are so jam packed that they don't go home or eat or do anything but work. This week, I will have a 'White House' day on Wednesday. My schedule is so jam-packed that it is already giving me anxiety. 6:30-drive to school 7-20-7:45 bus duty 7:55-8:25 WIN enrichment class 8:27-9:15 W1 Class 9:17-10:05 W2 Class 10:07-10:55 W3 Class 10:57-11:45 W4 Class 11:45-12:05 Recess Duty Quick lunch/restroom break 12:22-1:10 W5 Class 10:12-2:00 W6 Class 2:00-3:10 Prep time--grade/hang art display 3:10-4:10 Staff meeting after school Quick dinner/drive to Joplin 5:30-8:00(or later) Master's class Now, I know that I am not meeting with heads of state or dealing with a national crisis, but sometimes I think that my job holds just as much weight as someone at the Capitol. At least it does for me. "But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid? The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down.... The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously the image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”
― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being Lightness versus weight is a key theme throughout The Unbearable Lightness of Being, a paradox that cannot be resolved. None of the four characters ultimately seem to find a solution. It is noteworthy that of the four, one woman (Sabina) is the only one living at the end of the book; however, not even she is necessarily happy or fulfilled or sure of her life choices. Lightness and weight both get linked to a philosopher, a philosophy of life, and several characters. The ancient Greek Paremenides, mentioned in the opening pages of the novel, is a philosopher of lightness to whom weight is negative. Practically, accepting the lightness of being means accepting a certain lack of ultimate meaning in life, and living for momentary beauty. At the time that my book club selected this book, I was on the brink of making a decision about my career which would ultimately change my life forever. Naturally, I made parallels between my own existence and the lightness vs. weight theme of the story. I tend to just go on abut my life without much of a passing glance towards philosophies or what I truly believe. I make decisions based on whatever is fun or simple or the least stressful--in many ways I am essentially drawn toward that idea of living for momentary beauty, living with an essence of lightness to my existence. But in my career, at that time, I knew I was long over due for a change. I actually wanted the burden of weight, I want my life to have meaning. I some ways, my daily life had gotten repetitive. It was easy to go on about my routine and have the same experiences over and over. By changing jobs and starting graduate school over the course of the last year, I hope that I haven given my life more weight. Often when I make a decision (after reading this book), I consider whether or not something will give my life more weight. Sometimes it is easier to choose lightness over weight. Kundera wonders if any meaning or weight can be attributed to life, since there is no eternal return: if man only has the opportunity to try one path, to make one decision, there is no point of comparison and hence no meaning but instead an unbearable weightlessness. No decision can be considered informed or moral if we cannot compare paths. This idea bothers Tomas throughout his relationship with Tereza; each time he chooses to stay with her, he realizes he will never know what would have happened had he left, and he will never know whether staying was the right decision. The opposition of lightness and heaviness, the key dichotomy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, offers two different methods of dealing with this unbearable lightness. Some, like Sabina or the ancient Greek Parmenides, embrace lightness and find it liberating. Others, like Tereza, seek heaviness to give them a sense of meaning. Kundera does not attempt to decide between lightness and darkness, or cast one or the other as the "right" way to live. Each character struggles with the unbearable lightness of being in some imperfect, human way, and no single method proves superior to the others.
Last night I had the opportunity to talk to some art education majors. I was invited to their meeting to discuss anticipatory set. Not the most spicy Friday night activity, but I was eager to meet some students who are just as enthusiastic about art education as myself. I always jump at the chance to network and socialize with other art teachers.
While I was talking about the basics of anticipatory set: find a way to grab their attention, engage them in a meaningful hook, or set the stage for a unit, it reminded me how much I love teaching art. I felt myself get animated as I remembered some of the super engaging anticipatory sets I had done over the years. The art history year was my favorite. I built a time machine and we 'traveled' back in time to before there were humans and to create clay dinosaurs and ambered insects. Then I constructed a cave in my art room so students could experience what life was like for early humans. For Ancient Egypt, I built a pyramid out of cardboard and allowed students to use tiny flash lights for an expedition inside to study hieroglyphics. It was easy to engage my younger students because they were eager learners. Every single things was fun and engaging. Now, I feel like I am just bracing myself for that first punch. Every time I introduce something new I keep my guard up, just waiting to deflect and defend why/what we are learning. I feel like I have to justify each project or try to make it look easy, or else my students' first response will be: I can't do that. Or worse: I don't want to do that. Or worst of all: I HATE that. The hard part about my schedule this year, is that I feel myself planning activities that I can sustain over 12 class periods. It takes an extreme amount of energy and focus to be enthusiastic and read a book or introduce a lesson in a really engaging, meaningful way 12 times consecutively. At my previous job, I only had to do it 6 or 8 times (with my older classes), spread over an entire week. Now I have to do it 12 times, every hour on the hour, in two days. So I just don't. I do really boring anticipatory sets. I have a prompt on the board and students write a response. I use a videos more frequently. My enthusiasm is much more restrained, and I didn't realize it until now, writing this reflection. As much as I loved sharing with those pre-service teachers, it made me a little sad. They still have each other. They have the hope of how fun teaching will be. And it is fun. But it is also very lonely. So lonely, that I spent 3 hours of my Friday night talking about it to people who care, just a little bit. Sometimes I go days without speaking to another adult. I am the only person in my entire district in my art department. So every decision about grading, ordering, projects, curriculum, art shows, art displays, material prep, lesson design, comes from me, myself, and I, a big job in a school with 600+ students. It is rewarding and motivating, but I do my best work when I am collaborating with someone else who thinks along the same trajectory as me. Aw geeze. This post just got all sad, like a tiny violin playing in the background. I did not intend that when I started, but I guess that is the beauty of writing, you reach inside and you just don't know what you are going to pull out. The best part about saying all this is that I can always strive to get better. I didn't realize that I was actually missing one of my favorite parts of teaching until I wrote about it. I have somehow unconsciously taken the easy path, instead of the much more challenging path that gives me so much joy. Check back tomorrow, I'm going to talk about how I made the decision to move to the middle school, and how a philosophical book helped to give my life greater meaning and purpose. While researching apps for my students, I started looking for something that would enrich a unit on Optical Illusions. I found Monument Valley and instantly fell in love with it. I beat the game, downloaded the extra levels, beat those and immediately started the whole game over again.
The graphics are mesmerizing and beautiful. It is a game, but it is also a puzzle. It is living art. I want to print the scenes from the game and hang them in my home. Usually I mute my phone, but for this game, I had to turn on the sounds. Playing the game transcends the human experience in the most amazing way. After playing the game, I thought it would make a very fun art project for my students, after they study the penrose triangle and other impossible shapes, they could use them to make tiny, beautiful, colorful castles. After completing the unit on Optical Illusions, I realized that the challenge would be too difficult for my students....but maybe someday..... I was a pretty classic 90s girl. Crimped hair (either from sleeping in braids or from my waver because I never officially had a crimper), a tweety bird shirt and some long chunky earrings. If you could see my shoes, I bet they are brown sandals with really thick soles. Long jean shorts.
I'm wearing a mickey mouse watch on my right hand, even though I am right handed, I always wore my watch on that hand. I think I am 11 in this photo, but I'm not really sure. This couch is pretty famous in my family. It was around for a long time, and appears in hundreds of photos from family gatherings over the years. I think it first belonged to my grandparents, but by the time this photo was taken, it had become part of my auntie Robyn's home. While I don't remember this trip or this day, I do remember a couple of things about her living room. One time, my cousins and I were at auntie Robyn's for a visit. We were alone in the living room and my eldest cousin Stevie and I hatched a diabolical plan to go around the room and indiscreetly move every single chachki just a bit, so it wasn't exactly in its correct spot anymore. Ceramic dogs, candles, candelabras, picture frames, vases with fake flowers, porcelain figurines and lamps. We pushed them around the shelves and end tables, turning them 90 degrees or angling them just slightly opposite from their starting position. To anyone else, we hadn't disturbed a thing, but to my auntie Robyn, we may as well have gratified the walls. Upon returning to the living room in such a state of disarray, she came unglued, but not on us....she blamed the entire incident on our younger cousin, Bailey, who had been innocently playing in the back bedroom. Stevie and I were definitely old enough to know better, but we were also old enough to know when to keep our mouths shut. We never did fess up to the shenanigans...or if we did, my auntie and Bailey had completely forgotten about the whole thing because it was years later. Middle school. Students have been drawing/painting a still life project for the past two weeks.
Yesterday a 5th grader still had no clue what a still life was. Today, I decided to check and make sure that every class is clear on that particular vocabulary term since we have had everyday objects available for students to draw for the past few weeks. Still life: an arrangement of inanimate objects sitting still. When I explained to my 6th graders that I needed to make sure they understood this concept they were flabbergasted that someone did not get the concept, especially since the vocabulary word had been stressed and emphasized every single day for two weeks. A few minutes later, a 'smarty pants' boy asked an off topic question. Another boy responded: 'YOUR BRAIN IS A STILL LIFE.' I. Lost. It. Took me a full five minutes to stop laughing. And pretty soon everyone was laughing. It was one of those really great moments in the classroom that you just don't forget. A few weeks ago, I went to Chipotle for lunch with a co-worker. I knew exactly what I wanted. Steak. A bowl full of yummy steak, sprinkled with black beans and brown rice. MMMMMM. As the teenager dished up my food, all I could think about what how delicious this bowl of yumminess would be. As he sprinkled it with shredded lettuce and cheese and I selected between the assortment salsas for my chips,I really paid no attention to anyone or anything else.
As soon as we sat down, my coworker (who was also my student teaching supervisor almost 10 years ago) said, "I'll try not to take offense to that." Bewildered, I asked what on earth she was talking about? I had been so excited for my steak bowl, that I hadn't realized if I was being offensive in some way. "The kid. Behind the counter. He call YOU darlin' and he called ME ma'am," she said with a pout. I laughed it off because I hadn't even noticed. "No, really," she said. "Why do you suppose he called you darlin and me ma'am????" Not only had I not noticed, but I didn't have a good explanation for her. After enjoying two cherry cokes and my entire bag of crispy tortilla chips, we wove our way through the crowded lunch area to leave, the kid was carrying some used trays of food, and he said, "Excuse, me darlin," to me, and then a few seconds later, "Excuse me ma'am." to her. Growing up, my mom, a true Texan, insisted that we respond to her with 'Yes ma'am' or 'No ma'am' if we were in trouble. She would force us to say it in response to a command or a firm reminder if we were misbehaving, especially in public. In Missouri, it is uncommon that a student would ever call me ma'am....and I rarely hear anyone say ma'am except in formal situations or in public. The logic behind the offensiveness of "ma'am" is, from what I can tell, that it's code for "old woman." Most official definitions will tell you that it refers to a woman who is married or has kids, and it seems to me that many people who use the label simply apply it to all adult women. (It's also worth noting that "old enough to be married and have kids" means different things in different parts of the country.) I'm told that in some areas, you become a "ma'am" as young as 15 or 16. But if you're not from one of these places, "ma'am" means that you've crossed some invisible line dividing you from "miss." Obviously, my co-worker wasn't raised with a Texas momma, so she took offense to being referred to as ma'am. While I cast no judgment upon the women who think this way—after all, when there are whole industries built upon making you feel bad about every wrinkle, it's an understandable mindset—I reject this, at least where "ma'am" is concerned. After all, what is the alternative? "Miss"? In college, I worked with a woman who dealt with a lot of gruff old men who brought their rebuilt hot rods and formerly wrecked mini vans for inspection. It was her job to crawl under the cars, climb inside, and peak in and around the engine for part numbers and she was very knowledgeable about car parts, she was also very firm with the mechanics and had to make sure they were following the law. Nancy wore a brown uniform and carried a red tool box. She had a long silver telescoping mirror she would use to inspect vehicles and part numbers. Often, she would roll under the vehicles on a brown wooden scooter. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. She watched Andy Griffith every day at noon, and was the first person to show me how to eat a fresh pomegranate. She had a soft, quiet demeanor most of the time. I remember Nancy ranting about those men with their piles of paper work and VIN numbers. I'm sure they were trying to sweet talk her into bending the law, which she never did. On a daily basis, the men would call Nancy 'miss' or 'little lady' or the completely infuriating (to her) 'hon'. I tended not to notice the pronouns that particularly incensed Nancy when they were applied to me, but occasionally if a someone calls me ma'am, it does take me aback. Am I really old enough to be called ma'am? I'm torn between being offended (because it means I am old) and recognizing it as a sign of respect and appreciating it. I suppose as I get older, I will hear ma'am more frequently, but I guess I will just appreciate the 'darlin' for now. Sorry Mrs. Clark, ma'am. Several weeks ago, we went to the butcher and brought home 2 rabbits to bake into a pie. Upon putting them into the fridge to thaw, a mysterious squeaking sound creaked out of the refrigerator. Like a cross between a squealing floor board, a creaking screen door, and a poor trapped animal. I froze in the kitchen at the sound, my blood ran cold, trying to figure out what on earth had made that noise.
You see, not only does the refrigerator have its own sound...It also has a mind of its own. On their own accord, our condiments try to jump out... Years of over stuffing the door with pickles, ketchup, hot mustard, regular mustard, salad dressings, Sriracha, Cholula, relish jars, jelly, jams, pimentos, soy sauce, Worcestershire, Grey poupon, capers, tartar sauce, olives, butter, mayo, mirical whip, lime juice, lemon juice, garlic, barbecue sauce, hot wing sauce, ranch, and everything in between have left the plastic door bar cracked and broken. The condiments seem to be looking for rescue to a newer, cleaner, quieter fridge. White duct tape is in place on the door to hold the overstuffed door bar (which looks much better than gray duct tape, though you can still make out the leftover, yellowed stickem glue from the old tape if you look closely). Trying to keep things 'business as usual' but it is seriously scary when home alone. For no apparent reason, the fridge will start to creak....sometimes it is faint, other times it is loud enough to wake me from a deep sleep. I don't believe in ghosts. But I just don't want all that food to go to waste if the fridge quits working. However, if I need to binge on all the leftovers, I will. Every time the squeaking sound starts, it is a frigid reminder that the fridge might be ready for retirement. I seriously covet all new fridges at all appliance stores. I open and close the doors with a longing of a silent, cold, empty, tomb to hold delicious treats. The frustrating thing is that we can't slide a regular size fridge into that spot in our kitchen (or anywhere else) so we have to special order a small fridge. The rabbits are long gone, but the sound keeps emanating from the appliance like some tale-tale heart, a ghostly death-rattle in the early morning/late night hours. If our fridge is about to die for good.....we will be having a very big feast soon.... which definitely won't involve rabbits. |
Mrs. Mitchell
This is my 'slice of life' blog. Archives
March 2020
My Art Teacher Blog:
This Little Class of Mine CategoriesOther Slice Blogs:
For Good I Like Big Books Life is a Slice The Cardinal Way KochUnaSlice YouWannaPieceofMeBlog Dr. Zornes' Slice of Life Sunshine Rays Two Writing Teachers Favorite Everyday Writer: Reesie Writes |