The Kidlets
I've been substitute teaching lately. The lower grades so far, as I work up the courage to face big kids. Yesterday I got the call to take on Pre-K... the wee ones. "Sure," I said with false confidence, "how hard could that be?" Besides the fact that you are physically and emotionally drained after a day with children?
Well, I rocked the little pre-K house with my sequined skirt and scarf combo. The wee ones love shiny things. Their little eyes just lit up... Note to self: Liberace wardrobe.
I love their little spontaneous bursts of affection. Today, I got four hugs... one from a little guy who had had a huge tantrum and felt bad after the fact. He stood next to me with his head drooping, then suddenly just leaned in and hugged. A scene a bit Charlie Borwn-like in it's pathos.
My last session of the day was "Culinary Creations." You heard that right... the last period of the day was a "cooking class." They did call the right person. However, with the under six crowd, you really cannot use knives or heat... so, we made snack mix. Take your five favorite snacks and mix them in a bowl. Serve in a plastic cup. Viola! We did learn not to touch other people's food. And that the best thing about snack mix is you can pick out your favorite bits and ignore the others. Interested in my raw ingredients, pulled straight from the teacher's larder? Honey grahams, pretzel sticks, mini-marshmallows, gummi fruit things, cheesy goldfish and M&Ms. Please don't tell my cooking group.
My final hug of the day came from a young lad in my "cooking class." As they were lined up to leave for the day, he turned and thre his parked-covered arms around tightly. That snack mix must have been good.
I Cannot Tell A Lie
President’s Day approaches… that bland bank holiday that brings us mattress sales and a long-awaited 3-day weekend.
Once upon a time, our nation celebrated the birthdays of great men. Men who argued, agitated and fulminated this nation into being. Men who changed the world with big thoughts… with their notions of civil society, of how men and nations should live together. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Abraham Lincoln, the architects, midwives and enforcers of our great experiment.
Two hundred thirty some years ago, which is not such a long time as time goes, the world was rocked by a revolution of ideas. That is not hyperbole. The birth of our country rocked the world and upset all notions of government. Our founding fathers were men of deep thought and feeling, with an awe-inspiring sense of duty and commitment to ideals. Men who created something never before seen in this world: a government steeped in the notion that certain ideals are universal and immutable. Our Constitution was intentionally designed to help us remain true to our ideals while riding the waves of changing times. It was constructed as a document to stand the test of time. These men, our founders, were not gods or perfect people… but, heavens, they were breathtaking in their prescience, honor and commitment to something larger than themselves… to a notion of “us”… of “we, the people.”
You don’t see thinking like that much anymore. You do see pettiness, one upsmanship and a scorched earth approach to politics that furthers apathy and antipathy. I accept that there have always been self-interested men and preening politicians who think no farther than the next election cycle. But where did the great men go?
We have lost some thread of understanding with our past. When did we bleed the life out of those men and their stories? When did we relegate them to cardboard heads hawking white sales and winter clearance?
As we inch closer to our round of February bank holidays, please stop and think about the men who made our country possible. Even if we have none to lean on in current days, the least we can do is reflect upon what we are missing.
February 10, 2010
Soon
The snow is falling again… this time wet and heavy. The streets look clean and soft, but you know that it's slushy and treacherous under that coat of white. I’m watching it fall through the window, catching and sticking to the phone lines outside. Though it is warm and cozy inside but I can imagine the cold weight on the shrubs outside, already burdened.
But, in the midst of this winter storm, I just heard a thrush… a strong, clear call nearby outside the window. I could not see him, but that clear voice made me think spring was biding time, waiting for her moment.
One brief cry sent a ray of sunshine into my room.
Procrastination
Writing is a noble pleasure…
Putting words on paper to communicate an idea or transport someone you have never met to a place inside your head is a worthy task. Reading, re-reading and refining ideas. Turning the words over and over in your mouth to make sure they sound right, feel right. Finishing off a page and savoring that moment when, having painted a picture with words and emotions, you have offered yourself to the warm light of day. To imagine that glimmer of recognition on a readers’ face. Knowing that your words have rung true. Writing is a joyous act of creation.
Writing is an interminable agony.
Sitting down to it, then popping up to feed the cat, straighten the books, and flip through the mail. Rearranging your pencils – like deck chairs on the Titanic? Ticking off the minutes and determining you don’t really have the time to be inspired today. There are calls to be made, emails to send and dusty bunnies to chase. But tomorrow…
What is this pathological procrastination? The constant excuse making that keeps the page blank? Writing is a nag that keeps coming back to arch an eyebrow accusingly.
I write to communicate. I write for the joy of wordsmithing… running with the words like mustangs on the prairie, reveling in their beauty and their power. Listening to the cadence and flow of a sentence is not unlike listening to music… or a clear, running stream. If writing is such a rhapsodic pleasure, why don’t I do it all the time?
Sven
Sven has been diagnosed with the beginnings of renal failure. I was quite taken aback... I forget he is upwards of 15 now. To me, he remains the bottle-fed kitten who chirps like a bird and is afraid of the leaves blowing across the sidewalk.
Renal failure is common in older cats... and with some special care to his diet, he could live for years more. So, I've begun making my own cat food. It is not hard and I quite enjoy the experimentation. And my little carnivores deserve it.
The New Year, The New Decade
Resolutions are not my thing. Better to internalize the changes you want to make, than make a list and have it taunt you month by month. I don't have time for distractions. My year is full.
Working on my own now, project by project, will keep me focused and creative. Gotta think, gotta work to make things happen... gotta live. This year will be an adventure.
After years of dodging it, I am enrolled in a Master Gardener program through Rutgers University. It is completely absorbing and I am loving every minute. Seems I've been starved for learning, for new information. I love rubbing shoulders with people steeped in their subjects and passions-people who are experts. I am a sponge, starved for school!
Along those same lines, I'm stepping out in front of class as well. This year I started substitute teaching. So far, I've worked with a small, but challenging 7th grade class; a sweet 2nd grade group; and a first grade class that took me back to my own childhood.
My big project has me working with local entrepreneurs and home-based businesses in my tri-boro area. It is a networking/promotion project that will be fun. Stay tuned.
Longwood Gardens
My mom and I went out to Longwood Gardens to see the Holiday Display this year. I haven't seen it since I was a kid. Without doubt, it is just as impressive as I remember.
Longwood is a huge public garden on the old DuPont Estate. (On an old DuPont estate... there are so many.) This estate was luckily left to the public and remains an inspiration for gardeners and decorators.
The conservatory is huge and always lush. From the main room with its vaulted ceiling to the collection of pipe organs, tropical rooms, and espaliered fruit trees. The gardens outside are full of surprises: strategically placed treehouses, timed fountains, eye-catching juxtapositions of color and leaf textures. Always a feast for the eyes.
For me, well done gardens are interesting in all seasons. Winter is the time to appreciate the structure of a garden... the bones... the stuff the color hangs on. You appreciate the forms and textures of a garden in winter when plants are stripped to their skivvies. If you visit me and I don't suggest a trip to see the gardens - remind me!
