Imagination and Integration

So, KB, a co-teacher and I have made the move to submitting an abstract for a conference session in Vancouver on Imagination and the Curriculum. I'm proud of myself for being aggressive in this vein. Hopefully, this time, I'll be ballsy enough to actually go through with it. I figure 1. if we do it together 2. if CA decides to come to Canada with me and 3. if I can get in, then there's no reason NOT to do this. The conference proposal read as follows:

We argue that humanities (literature, writing, and history) integration fosters students’ abilities to make creative connections, deepen understandings, and weave stronger thematic webs between their studies. All types of learners are engaged in an integrated curriculum because they can use creative thought processes to connect factual information. By giving students access to a multiplicity of sources, they are given more of a way to think of these disciplines, not in isolation, but rather as connected curricular units. They then create their own access points, with a wider range of available material, and then can expand this to the larger world. Students make more text-to-self and text-to-world connections and think beyond the two dimensions of a textbook or novel. Students are encouraged not only to read and absorb factual information, but also to question, discuss, make art, and engage in both creative and expository writing. An integrated curriculum allows students to lead their own lines of inquiry, fostering not only their imagination but also their independent thought processes.
We would like to address issues in integrating humanities and how to foster imaginative inquiry within this integrated curriculum. This discussion would not only debate whether or not humanities integration fosters said imaginative inquiry but also define the parameters for what imaginative inquiry looks like and discuss whether this integration works only in theory or also in practice. We would also discuss the ways by which educators in the humanities could achieve fresh and independent modes of thinking in themselves and their students.

Here's hoping! I should hear soon...

So Early.

It's another end-of-break-moment. Surely, it's fine in a sense. I remember going back after February break and for some reason. I was completely incapable of being ready to go back. I had not had a very restful break, and in the end, when it was time to go back I wished I had just been working the entire time in the first place.

This time, however, I'm sitting in CA's apartment, waiting for him to come back from work and grading papers and with the windows open here it really does feel a bit like summer. I love sleeping, living with the windows open. The single greatest thing about my old place in HP was having the windows open on a regular basis. I don't feel anxious about going back to work; I just feel like I am ready for this teaching year to be over. I feel like I am settling into my life with this other person very readily. I feel like there's so many things that are going to be possible very, very soon. I feel like I cannot wait.

I also feel like that 630 AM wake-up call is going to be wicked early tomorrow...

Too Quick!

Dear Rest of the Teaching Year,

I'm not really ready for you. I have spent the entire past week doing the following:

Friday: Went to court, no ticket from the city.

Saturday: Went gambling with CA and ANR. Got lost at a shady gas station. Ate onion rings in the car. Was delicious.

Sunday: Did not move from CA's couch for several hours. Played Guitar Hero. Ate pasta. Continued to lie on CA's couch. Watched I Am Legend.

Monday: Went to lunch with ML and Target. Bought great green towels/rug for my new apartment. Ate delicious burger at hard-metal burger joint called Kuma's Corner which filled me up. Then went to Jerry's later that night with S and ate delicious chippies. Took super-long walk and talked about love and life and how getting engaged seems like not such a terrible or scary thing anymore.

Tuesday: Finished second Scottish book. Was amazing. Went to Fixx and graded papers with KB. Picked CA up at work and went to Best Buy to purchase Rock Band, Brawl for wii and look at ginormous tvs. Went to Twin Anchor for dinner and did not eat nearly enough ribs. Went back and was hugged and hugged and hugged. Watched a little bit of High Fidelity with CA (please see here for best scene from the movie--COSBY SWEATER!), which we know I absolutely love.

Wednesday: Went to Indiana to see my aunt and uncle. Won money at Casino for second time in a week. Drank a completely delicious bloody mary with a ginormous shrimp in it.

Thursday: Went to outlet mall with ANR and KF. Purchased the following: one plaid dress from JCrew, matching purse, bermuda shorts with whales on them, polo shirt with anchors on it; deliciously cheap strapless turqouise dress from Gap, blue deliciously cheap dress from Banana Republic, also black shirt from BR, puma running shoes, and a new black briefcase from Coach. All cheap. Delicious outlet malls. Learned how to make burgers from my dad.

Friday: Cleaned out my mom's closet. Found amazing hat. Finished the book "The Long Way Down" which was really enjoyable (second only to High Fidelity in what he's written). Portilos Friday/Numbers (what I do when I'm home with my units.)

Saturday: Did (some) grading. Talked on phone for two hours with SAI. Pondered going back to city but watched Harry Potter with my parents instead.

Tomorrow: brunch with ANR. Picking CA up at the airport. Relaxation and eventual panic.

Seriously. I have been incredibly worthless to everyone who is not my parents or CA this week. But, I think I am entitled to that.

Everything will move so quickly until I move now--from going to nature (that's right, end of the school year, I have to take those 5th graders to nature!! this week--and it's going to be effing cold!) to my wonderful vacation to St. Maarten with CA (did I mention that? I don't think so! but it will be lovely...hence my new, obnoxious whale shorts) and I'm not necessarily ready for it. I'll end up crying at graduation I know it.

But seriously? I'm not ready to go back. Yet. One more week?

Sincerely,
AXR

Enough.

I am not wealthy enough to live the life
of glowing torches deep in the land
of Manhattan. I am not rich enough to swirl
in delicate shoes with the soles of lamb
and the feeling of bliss. I pretend to be

the woman who walks with power.
I am not wonderous enough to write
the way the light bounces from skin
to skin. Nor am I lithe enough
to be flipped onto a bed and made love to
like I was the only woman on earth.
I am not.

But I am quiet enough to brew coffee
that awakens and arouses while he lays
like an over-heated mummy. My room
has a view of brick and not of towers
but the morning still seeps through
and our heads still pound with the heaviness
of a rising day. I may not tie knots

or steer the sails with firm hands
but my hands are still soft and understanding.
I cannot study all day, even though
I would be fashionable and academic,
with glasses pushed to the tip of my nose.
My leather satchel is not worn enough
or new enough either. But I am something

enough to curl the bedsheets and toes
and to see that there are metaphors beyond
turning legs and open thighs. To see
that I can possess the dawn without
ruling the night. Or the town.

US News and World Report

So, all other things aside (impending court date--Friday--for the CTA bus incident, allergies, not knowing where CA and I are going for vacation, possible week-long institute at UConn about gifted kiddos, impending Pesach [meaning Passover] break...), I think I might have found an apartment for next year!

I was initially vehemently opposed to renting studio apartments because I thought it seemed so silly for the "little" space that you were getting. However, the studio I checked out today was on the a teenage (heh) floor of a high-rise building, included valet parking service, had a brand new kitchen (because we know I'm so invested in that...) and had a VIEW of the lake! I can see Lake Michigan from my apartment! I would be able to divide my space easily, and I think it would make a really homey, nice place. There's a small gym and a dry cleaner in the building. It's really perfect for my needs and for the amount of time that I would actually spend in my apartment.

So, I've filled out the forms and hopefully I'll be living relatively swankily next year! (And all for a price that I can actually afford...with money to spare!)

The other thing to draw my attention today was an article that CA sent me that listed over-rated careers. US News and World report is occasionally the bane of my existence, especially when I was a Senior in high school. However, today, I was surprised at was USNWR had to say. I understood what it said about CA's job--he doesn't see a court room, he spends most of his time pouring over inane documents, and he most of the time completely wants to brain people with the amount of work he's doing. Friday nights in the office and not with his dashing girlfriend are semi-regular occasions (which is something I knew when I started dating him). It is not all the glitz and glamor (although I have to admit he has a completely lovely office, and has some very, very nice perks) that people imagine it to be in law school.

But, keep in mind, when I tell people about CA and then mention that he is a lawyer, people are impressed. Keep that in mind, I repeat, as I continue.

I was shocked and amazed to see teacher as an over-rated career path. I agreed with some of the things the article said--teachers are asked to work during the summer, their hours during the year do not necessarily match the pay that we receive, and we do not group by academic level. According to the article (and I will, once again, admit that it's totally right), I have the better end of the stick because I am a private school teacher. I have 16 kids in my room, they're all pretty bright and excited to be there, none of them are ESL and they have engaged (sometimes over-) supportive parents.

However, to rate this as an OVER-rated career? I didn't know that this was a desired career. Please, can you compare medical researcher, architect, attorney and TEACHER? I highly doubt that if I said to someone, "I'm an attorney" or "I'm a doctor" or "I'm a medical researcher, fighting cancer," they would have the same amount of respect for my position as when I say, "I'm a middle school teacher." This isn't just my residual insecurities over my job talking; I honestly don't believe that people who want a position long-term are teachers.

But, let me make an argument for teaching. It's a relatively secure (at least in the private sector) position. I am 90% in love with my job (which is more than a lot of people can say). I work with amazing people, most of whom also love their jobs 90% of the time. I get great professional development. I DO get a lot of vacation. Even with some late nights, no one is ever going to ask me to be there ALL night. It's consistently exciting. The children are beautiful human beings. I see things differently. I spend time laying on the floor reading books twice a week. I do read-alouds, with voices. They make me laugh. I feel beautiful when I am around those children. I am giving back. I am volunteering my time. I am appreciated. I have learned how to appreciate. I can design things. I take pictures. I document their learning. They watch mine.

It's a wonderful job. When I think about leaving it so I can make more money, I am almost nauseous. This is what I feel comfortable with, what I am good at doing. Today, I explained the differences between simple, compound, complex, and complex-compound sentences. I felt like I was doing something; I felt good at it.

So, over-rated, NO. Rated? I dunno.

Inside.

Some people think that love plateaus, that you reach a point when you can't love another human being any more than you love them currently. If I knew more about science, I'd find some kind of constantly expanding phenomenon (besides the universe which, according to a completely choice scene from Annie Hall, I have learned is constantly expanding) to compare love to. Instead, I'm just going to say that it's constantly expanding. If you're doing things "right" (if, indeed, there is a right at all), it shouldn't plateau, and it certainly shouldn't lessen.

Every time I make the statement, "I've never loved you more than I do right in this moment," it's a true statement. But each time I've never loved him more, it's more than I've ever never loved him (try that for a strange statement).

Last night, I literally thought that I could not feel any more for him than I did. I know it's not true and at some point soon, whether it's looking at each other over the top of a book, or touching each others' hands in the elevator, I will get that same feeling again. It's something to do with skin and holding, perhaps. Or that understanding that comes from the different ways to hold hands.

I remember the first time I dated someone, in high school, he was older than I was and at certain points, we'd be laying on his couch watching a movie and he'd hug me. Tightly. I never really understood the hugging that tightly and I'd push back a little and go directly back to watching the movie. He was asking for something that I, based on immaturity, misunderstanding or downright fear, couldn't give to him.

On the other hand, last night, he wrangled across the bed, tucking in the side of the sheet next to me, the side where he wasn't and folded me up into him. "Let me just hug you," he sang into my ear. I agreed and we squeezed each other like we were trying to climb inside, to inhabit.

My feelings keep growing, every time I think they cannot. Something is happening here.

On Writing. And Teaching Writing.

Last Friday, I went to a speech by Nancie Atwell, a woman who uses poetry as a window to all other forms of writing. I listened to he talk, and felt for several reasons that I was in the right profession. I agreed with her thoughts on teaching how to end a piece, teaching specificity, teaching writing outward from the self (without making every student an Ann Sexton), that poetry can teach students, in a compact form, everything they need to know about memoir, non-fiction and every other genre.

The speech made me simultaneously want to be a better writer (and stare at the five pages of a start of a novel on googledocs and shudder) and also quit my job and just write. I realized that the latter is completely ridiculous and a decided to channel the former into becoming a better teacher of writing. This is completely do-able, and, as I thought more about it over the weekend, made definitive plans about how I could do that in my classes.

Then this week, I went to get a drink after work with AB, one of my eighth grade co-teachers. Two Woodchuck Ciders later, she and I were completely ready to re-shape the world. The last time I'd had that kind of writerly inspiration was closing out the Cambridge Common with EC. It felt great to talk writing, talk teaching and talk about our thinking in a really productive way, down to the grabbing a cigarette outside of the bar stealthily so no small children caught on to our badass (or cancer-causing) ness.

By the end of it, she got me to agree to live band karokee, taking a class in creative non-fiction or memoir writing at Columbia College this fall and doing some writing together. We also talked about ways to teach writing, conferences to go present at and...and, I keep realizing that despite the lack of money, despite my constant worries, I feel like I am in the right profession. I finally feel like I know what I'm doing. Or what I should be doing, rather.

Then today, my school went to a Muslim school with this group called Poetry Pals who brings teaching artists (in this case, poets) into schools. However, watching one teaching artist, he didn't know how to relate to the kids and I pretty much (gruffly, and probably too rudely) took over the session and got them thinking about their senses--how to share common experiences.

I felt energized.

It's in these moments that I know I've found the synthesis of what I'm doing. This work is fulfilling work in ways I couldn't even imagine it being in the beginning.

A Spot of Bother

I'm reading a book right now called A Spot of Bother which for the first month I possessed the book, assumed it say A Spot of a Brother which made no sense to me. Either way, it's a good book, engaging although slightly confusing. I felt the same about Haddon's previous work, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. But, I must applaud the man for writing a second book after the first was so well received.

[Digression: I love the following books: The Time-Traveler's Wife, Middlesex, Encyclopeida of an Ordinary Life, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Special Topics in Calamity Physics, and anything by David Sedaris. However, these authors haven't been writing much lately. I commend anyone who can eek out the second book. To be fair, though, STCP only just came out. However, these authors have either not produced or stopped producing. Cough, I'm looking at you Salinger. I like Christopher Moore because he's always making something new. Michael Chabon too. even if they're all not perfect, stick something out there. But don't stick anything out there. Cough, I'm looking at you, Stephen King. AND Michael Chriton. Seriously, Congo, Jurassic Park, Andromeda Strain...Prey? Vom.]

So, anyway, there was just a quote that I loved so much that I couldn't even take it. "How the hell could you ask someone to love you when you didn't even like yourself?" It makes perfect sense.

Any residual...confusion...has been cleared up in that one sentence. I am loved because I, for the first time in perhaps nine years, want to go somewhere warm and wear a swimsuit. I am getting comfortable with the profession I have chosen. I have accepted me for who I am and have come to think this person is alright. As soon as I started smiling at strangers and not apologizing for liking to a. drink things out of a carton b. write poems c. buy records d. buy inappropriate things (cashmere earmuffs) e. wear big sunglasses f. own red lipstick g. enjoy both Woody Allen and frat boy humor simultaneously, someone found my shifty eye contact and semi-self deprication (but not as serious as before), charming.

I was asking someone to fix it. And I was being asked to fix it. Now, it's a lot of exclamation points and a lot less question marks. And a lot more laughter.