Sometime recently as my kids were working on essays and expressing their frustration with the process, I told them I understood perfectly, because I do this writing every week, and sometimes it just doesn't flow like I want it to. In fact, I set it up tied to a day of the week so that I would be forcing a deadline on myself; I don't like to fail, and failing publicly is the worst, so putting it out there keeps me to a regular writing schedule, even though it's difficult at times. Some of them wanted to know what the site was, so I posted it (with no assignments to read it, nor worries about what I'd written) on the board for anyone who was interested in reading it. I don't know who, if anyone, has read it. But it made me consider, not for the first time, how kids perceive their teachers.
This is for you, student.
I am your teacher. Mostly, you see me in the same 25' x 22' room, 50 minutes a day, for an academic year. There's no way for you to imagine my world as I see it, 50 years encompassing the entire central Plains of the country, the places I am familiar with. I gather that what you see is a middle-aged overweight woman wearing orthopedic shoes, capris, and casual shirts. You can't see that in my soul I still feel about 22---as do most adults. I tell you why I wear the orthopedic sneakers. Less often do I tell you that it's hard for me to find pants long enough, because most clothing manufacturers seem to think that all fat women have legs thislong. And as far as dressing casually, I just hate to iron. Life's too short for that. That's really how I feel about most housekeeping and one of the reasons I'd make a lousy housewife.
You learned pretty quickly that there are some things that make me mad, some that make me laugh, and some that I don't really react to. You don't know that I have this gene I inherited that is positively allergic to trashy, disrespectful behavior like drawing on furniture or leaving empty cans and bottles in the floor of my classroom. It's my dad's fault---and I'm proud of it. We were expected to keep our home looking nice (at least for the world outside) and neat, and it carries over to my classroom. That's why trash and drawings make me furious. I can laugh with you because I've been DOING it for most of my life; I have (as I've told you) the sense of humor of a 17-year-old boy, and I have to restrain myself from laughing----a lot. And as far as not reacting,....sometimes it's just better for everyone if I don't. The harder you try to shock me, the less I'll react to it. It's the only way to control some people.
Although I tell you at the beginning of the year that I am not married and don't have kids, you sometimes ask if that's my daughter with me in a picture on a filing cabinet. It's my sister, at her wedding; she was 33 and I was 46. It's a shock to me every time I realize you don't know anything AT ALL about my family. I'm the oldest child; I have a brother and a sister, and my parents are blessedly still alive. I still kiss and hug my mama and daddy every time I see them. I've heard rumors that I supposedly hate all Ag kids, which is the craziest thing I've ever heard: every. single. member. of my family is in agribusiness except for me. But we were taught not to expect (or ask) for special consideration for activities we did---we did them on our own time. We worked hard, knew our boundaries, behaved or suffered the consequences, had everything we needed, but were not spoiled except in one way: we got to travel. Plus, there was NO skipping school; we had to be bleeding from the eyeball or in full cardiac arrest to miss school, so I don't understand at all why you skip. I thank my mom and dad for all those things every time I think of it.
You are stunned when I tell you I live in Broken Arrow, as though it were the end of the earth, not the 40 minutes it takes me to drive in each day. There's no way for you to know that I do that because I love the road, and I love you, and I love to be close to my family. Living here helps me with all three. I can still love my job if I'm not living where people are up in my business all the time; my family lives west of Tulsa, so I'm partway between my job and them, living here. I have a church and friends here that keep me busy. I'm close to entertainment, but I really kind of live in the country. It's the perfect setup for me, for now.
Like all your teachers, I have a life you don't often consider, not because you're mean, just because you are young. We have big hearts, small wallets, broken hearts, happy dreams, loss, hope, pain, and love. We cry---I cried last night, missing my best friend who died in 2003. We laugh at the same TV shows, get scared at the same thoughts, and dance to (some!) of the same music you do. We make huge mistakes: I badly offended someone I work with this week, and I've grieved over it for several days now, because I respect and trust him. We know your tricks and distractions (don't ever think we don't know when you're trying to get us off track so you won't have to work; it's just that sometimes we know there are good things that can come of the off-track discussion). We do what we do because we love knowing that something we teach you will come back to your mind in later years when you need it, though you probably don't believe that now. That's OK. We know. We love you.
I love you.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Look Closely
Who among us is immune to anger? It's so easy to get a good, fiery dose of it, almost any time we please. An hour in city construction traffic, a conversation that goes astray and becomes an argument, an unfinished task assigned to a child or a co-worker----almost anything can set some people off. I am myself a little slow to anger, but then I hit a limit, and FLASH! it's suddenly a bonfire almost out of control. Some days get like that when I'm hit with several things successively. Usually, though, it's just garden-variety frustration from being asked to repeat the same directions 1,000 times (or at least to every student individually) or from not planning ahead carefully and therefore creating a crisis for myself. As long as I don't hold a grudge (and that is a topic for another week; I have a little problem with that), I almost always forget the episode within a few hours, a day at the most.
The last couple of weeks have been frustrating for me, mostly due to major dental work that has been more painful than anything else I've ever had---and I have had tens of thousands of dollars of dental work. I'm at 12 days out from the procedure and still popping pain pills like Skittles. Plus, I took on of my cats to a new veterinarian this week and picked her up two days later, with a bill of over $400. But yesterday looked to be a good day. I didn't have school, I had the last of my physical therapy sessions for my shoulder, and I would be seeing a relative that I used to be close to but hadn't seen in over nine years.
Maybe I was careless because I was thinking about all that, or maybe I finally just fell victim to the blind spot in my CRV. Either way, I pulled into a parking space at the physical therapy clinic and realized that the car next to me had parked in two spaces, putting me in two spaces as well. There was a whole space next to me, so I backed up to move over into that spot....until I heard a terrible scrape/crunch. To my horror, I had backed into a big, shiny pickup, the kind that usually comes with a big, shiny ego. I pulled up into the space and dashed inside to ask the people sitting at the front if they knew who it belonged to. They said, "Not yet," and kind of grinned. I knew they had heard it, but I didn't have time to be mad at them for smirking. I went up to one of the therapists and asked her if the gentleman she was working with had a big pickup. She said yes, and she would let him know what was going on and come out with him when he was done in a few minutes.
I went outside and looked over the damage. There were several bad scrapes to the paint on my vehicle, but no major dents. The pickup looked a little scraped up, but I also know that all kinds of damage can be hidden (or "found") in situations like this. I had no idea what to expect---especially when the therapist walked out with a big, burly-looking bearded fellow. But then, to my surprise.....
He walked up laughing. He said something to the effect of, "Shoot, hon, I can buff that right out. Don't you worry about it at all. I'm sure not worried about it." I think after the first sentence my mouth was hanging open, and all I could say was, "Really?" He said, "This is nothing, girl. It's my wife's truck anyway. I can fix it right up." I asked him to wait just a second and stepped over to my car to get a piece of paper. I wrote out my number and name and said, "Here, take this, just in case. You might change your mind. And thank you so much." He laughed and said, "It's fine. God bless you." Still a little dazed, I went in for my appointment, shaking my head and remarking to the therapist, "What a kind, generous man." She smiled at me wisely and said, "God is speaking to him." She explained, without any confidences revealed, that he had been going through terrible trauma due to a fatal accident that he was involved in but not responsible for earlier in the year. This, relatively speaking, was nothing in comparison. But he had been speaking lately about prayer and forgiveness with her. She said she felt that he'd demonstrated something he needed to express with his actions.
I started my paces for my therapy, and about 15 minutes in, my cell phone rang. It was the man's wife. She asked if this was Cathy, and I said it was. I still hadn't learned my lesson; I thought, "Oh, no, here it comes. She's going to be really angry at me AND her husband for letting me off the hook." No. This wonderful woman told me her name, and said, "I just wanted to let you know that everything is just fine, sweetie. I know if this had happened to me, I'd be in a panic. But my husband has done body work for years and he won't have any problem with this. Don't you worry one bit." I thanked her, using her name, and told her to have a wonderful day. "You, too, honey, you too. And God bless you."
I tell you, friends, I never felt so unworthy of a blessing----and so grateful.
It's so easy to get caught up in the ugly of the world, whether it's of our own doing or someone else's. We seem to feel justified in getting up a good head of steam and spewing it around for all to witness. How much happier it is to look for the good and to share THAT with everyone we come across! I want to be that person, the one who finds the gem buried in a dull rock---the kindness, love, and generosity of spirit that everyone is capable of, if only we look closely.
The last couple of weeks have been frustrating for me, mostly due to major dental work that has been more painful than anything else I've ever had---and I have had tens of thousands of dollars of dental work. I'm at 12 days out from the procedure and still popping pain pills like Skittles. Plus, I took on of my cats to a new veterinarian this week and picked her up two days later, with a bill of over $400. But yesterday looked to be a good day. I didn't have school, I had the last of my physical therapy sessions for my shoulder, and I would be seeing a relative that I used to be close to but hadn't seen in over nine years.
Maybe I was careless because I was thinking about all that, or maybe I finally just fell victim to the blind spot in my CRV. Either way, I pulled into a parking space at the physical therapy clinic and realized that the car next to me had parked in two spaces, putting me in two spaces as well. There was a whole space next to me, so I backed up to move over into that spot....until I heard a terrible scrape/crunch. To my horror, I had backed into a big, shiny pickup, the kind that usually comes with a big, shiny ego. I pulled up into the space and dashed inside to ask the people sitting at the front if they knew who it belonged to. They said, "Not yet," and kind of grinned. I knew they had heard it, but I didn't have time to be mad at them for smirking. I went up to one of the therapists and asked her if the gentleman she was working with had a big pickup. She said yes, and she would let him know what was going on and come out with him when he was done in a few minutes.
I went outside and looked over the damage. There were several bad scrapes to the paint on my vehicle, but no major dents. The pickup looked a little scraped up, but I also know that all kinds of damage can be hidden (or "found") in situations like this. I had no idea what to expect---especially when the therapist walked out with a big, burly-looking bearded fellow. But then, to my surprise.....
He walked up laughing. He said something to the effect of, "Shoot, hon, I can buff that right out. Don't you worry about it at all. I'm sure not worried about it." I think after the first sentence my mouth was hanging open, and all I could say was, "Really?" He said, "This is nothing, girl. It's my wife's truck anyway. I can fix it right up." I asked him to wait just a second and stepped over to my car to get a piece of paper. I wrote out my number and name and said, "Here, take this, just in case. You might change your mind. And thank you so much." He laughed and said, "It's fine. God bless you." Still a little dazed, I went in for my appointment, shaking my head and remarking to the therapist, "What a kind, generous man." She smiled at me wisely and said, "God is speaking to him." She explained, without any confidences revealed, that he had been going through terrible trauma due to a fatal accident that he was involved in but not responsible for earlier in the year. This, relatively speaking, was nothing in comparison. But he had been speaking lately about prayer and forgiveness with her. She said she felt that he'd demonstrated something he needed to express with his actions.
I started my paces for my therapy, and about 15 minutes in, my cell phone rang. It was the man's wife. She asked if this was Cathy, and I said it was. I still hadn't learned my lesson; I thought, "Oh, no, here it comes. She's going to be really angry at me AND her husband for letting me off the hook." No. This wonderful woman told me her name, and said, "I just wanted to let you know that everything is just fine, sweetie. I know if this had happened to me, I'd be in a panic. But my husband has done body work for years and he won't have any problem with this. Don't you worry one bit." I thanked her, using her name, and told her to have a wonderful day. "You, too, honey, you too. And God bless you."
I tell you, friends, I never felt so unworthy of a blessing----and so grateful.
It's so easy to get caught up in the ugly of the world, whether it's of our own doing or someone else's. We seem to feel justified in getting up a good head of steam and spewing it around for all to witness. How much happier it is to look for the good and to share THAT with everyone we come across! I want to be that person, the one who finds the gem buried in a dull rock---the kindness, love, and generosity of spirit that everyone is capable of, if only we look closely.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Make Me Laugh
It's a funny thing, how we learn to find humor in the world. My family uses jokes and sarcasm to get through life, especially some of the tougher times. I think most of the world (or at least most Americans) are like that. Not everyone appreciates it, and there's a time and place where humor doesn't belong....something I've had to learn the hard way a time or two. Now I tend to fault on the other side; I can be way too serious. I think that happened after my best friend Laura's death. We used to laugh a lot, so it felt like laughter died for me for a good long while.
I've gotten better with time, and this year I made a conscious choice to try to be a little more light-hearted with my students. I'm seeing good results, even though what is funny to me isn't always funny to them. When I ask them what makes them laugh, almost to a person they will say, "People falling down." Then they can recount endless tales of people slipping on ice, a friend crashing on the basketball court, a video they watched of a woman free-falling into a huge floor safe opening in a convenience store. OK, I admit, I saw that video, too, and it is kind of funny. Annnnddd.....if I really tell the truth, I've laughed at others, but mostly myself, for the same thing.
There was the time that a couple of junior high students loosened the bolts in my not-very-sturdy desk chair, sometime back in the mid-90's. I sat down, the legs on the left side shot out from under me, the rest of the chair slid to the right, and there I was on the floor, barely able to look over the desk and see the horrified expressions of my kids----and I burst into hysterical laughter. Really, what else was there to do? I had no dignity left; laughter was the only way to regain a bit of it.
There was the episode almost six years ago when I went out for an afternoon coffee on a first date with a nice guy named Jon. Later that night, he had a heart attack---boy, did we take some kidding over that. But it didn't end there. A couple of days later, when I was visiting him in the hospital, I got tripped up by the lead wires on his monitor when I tried to walk away from the bedside. Whomp! Those things yanked my feet right out from under me, and I landed with such a resounding thump on the top of my forehead that it left a dent at my hairline. Both of my eyes turned black, and many laughs were had at my expense, including my own amusement after I got over the accompanying embarrassment and the desire to have the floor open up and swallow me right there.
Of course, some of the best fun of my entire life was had with Laura. She had a completely infectious laugh; no one could hear it and not laugh along. I remember playing some kind of trivia card game once, and she was moderating the game and reading the answers. This was over a Christmas holiday, and we were all feeling a little giddy and silly from having time off. She came across an answer that she misread: "Who is St. Francis of a Sissy?" After a split second, we all started rolling with laughter, including her. "Oh, that's St Francis of Assisi!" I was guilty of the same kind of mistake one time, playing Trivial Pursuit with my dear friend Diana, my freshman roommate from college. She asked the question, "Who wore the coat of many colors?" My country-girl background leapt in front of my good sense with the answer I shouted out: "Dolly Parton!" Diana---I am not making this up---laughed so hard that she turned over the chair she was sitting in, leaving us both howling on the floor. Even then, I was saying, "What?" She shouted, "It's JOSEPH, you backwater hillbilly!" I'm laughing as I write this, and I laugh every time I hear Dolly Parton's name since then, and that was 25 years ago.
Laura and I never really fought, but we would harangue each other sometimes until the other said something about leaving it alone. More than once, she would tell me to just let whatever it was go because I was "giving her a tic." She was the sweetest, most even-tempered person ever, but we were close enough that we'd sometimes react to things the way I've seen some married couples act: to look at the other like he or she was crazy or somehow responsible for all the crazy in the world. Once, we went to the Hardee's drive-through in the middle of the night for breakfast. There was a line of drunks who had left the bar and were picking up breakfast to sober up, so we were stuck in line for a while. We rolled down the windows to smoke and were hit with a very foul smell. She turned and looked at me with a demanding glare and asked, "What IS that smell?" I said I didn't know. She said, "Well, it smells like a huge wad of Parmesan cheese and dirty feet!" Again with the looking at me. Finally I said, "Well, it's not my feet! They're very clean." She started laughing then. I started laughing. She laughed so hard that her face turned purple---she did that sometimes when her laughter got the better of her. Laughing myself, I shouted, "Stop that! You're going to make yourself puke!" (That sometimes happened too, if she laughed too hard and didn't breathe.) The more she tried to quit, the more she laughed. Just about the time we reached the window, she started gagging. I coolly reached into the back floorboard, handed her the little car trashcan, and turned to give the money to the cashier in one motion. We had many laughs for years after that, how the only puker that cashier had in line that night was in the car with the stone-cold sober girls.
We had, in fact, more laughter in the 20 years we knew each other than a lot of people get in a whole lifetime. It's no wonder that some part of my sense of humor died with her when I think of all the ways she made me smile, giggle, guffaw, and roll with side-splitting fun. Some was crude, much was witty, and it was all based on complete trust and enduring friendship. My friend Mary Beth is one who can make me laugh now with her dry, sarcastic observations about society, politics, life, and even cancer. You know you've got a remarkable person on your hands when you learn that she had parties with her family before her mastectomies, celebrating "Breast Friends" and "Thanks for the Mammaries."
My nieces and nephews have been wonderful sources of hilarity, ever since birth. The whole family loves kids and will flock to them and tell stories about funny things they do. My brother's dry humor just kills me. I remember talking to him once in the fall and asking him if he'd had any snow yet. "'Bout a foot," he replied. I said, "Really?" and he responded, "Yep....snowflakes about a foot apart." OK, that's not the greatest example, but it's one I remember. My mom and I can sometimes get to laughing at the silliness of life and get the giggles together, and dad is happiest when he's making someone laugh. In fact, you just can't call yourself a Welker if you don't have a sense of humor. If you don't believe me, check out my cousin Dennis Welker's facebook page; he's made sly wit an art form.
Laughter is more than the best medicine; it's the glue that holds life together and the cells that bind hearts. Hope you've got a good healthy dose of it in your world, dear reader.
I've gotten better with time, and this year I made a conscious choice to try to be a little more light-hearted with my students. I'm seeing good results, even though what is funny to me isn't always funny to them. When I ask them what makes them laugh, almost to a person they will say, "People falling down." Then they can recount endless tales of people slipping on ice, a friend crashing on the basketball court, a video they watched of a woman free-falling into a huge floor safe opening in a convenience store. OK, I admit, I saw that video, too, and it is kind of funny. Annnnddd.....if I really tell the truth, I've laughed at others, but mostly myself, for the same thing.
There was the time that a couple of junior high students loosened the bolts in my not-very-sturdy desk chair, sometime back in the mid-90's. I sat down, the legs on the left side shot out from under me, the rest of the chair slid to the right, and there I was on the floor, barely able to look over the desk and see the horrified expressions of my kids----and I burst into hysterical laughter. Really, what else was there to do? I had no dignity left; laughter was the only way to regain a bit of it.
There was the episode almost six years ago when I went out for an afternoon coffee on a first date with a nice guy named Jon. Later that night, he had a heart attack---boy, did we take some kidding over that. But it didn't end there. A couple of days later, when I was visiting him in the hospital, I got tripped up by the lead wires on his monitor when I tried to walk away from the bedside. Whomp! Those things yanked my feet right out from under me, and I landed with such a resounding thump on the top of my forehead that it left a dent at my hairline. Both of my eyes turned black, and many laughs were had at my expense, including my own amusement after I got over the accompanying embarrassment and the desire to have the floor open up and swallow me right there.
Of course, some of the best fun of my entire life was had with Laura. She had a completely infectious laugh; no one could hear it and not laugh along. I remember playing some kind of trivia card game once, and she was moderating the game and reading the answers. This was over a Christmas holiday, and we were all feeling a little giddy and silly from having time off. She came across an answer that she misread: "Who is St. Francis of a Sissy?" After a split second, we all started rolling with laughter, including her. "Oh, that's St Francis of Assisi!" I was guilty of the same kind of mistake one time, playing Trivial Pursuit with my dear friend Diana, my freshman roommate from college. She asked the question, "Who wore the coat of many colors?" My country-girl background leapt in front of my good sense with the answer I shouted out: "Dolly Parton!" Diana---I am not making this up---laughed so hard that she turned over the chair she was sitting in, leaving us both howling on the floor. Even then, I was saying, "What?" She shouted, "It's JOSEPH, you backwater hillbilly!" I'm laughing as I write this, and I laugh every time I hear Dolly Parton's name since then, and that was 25 years ago.
Laura and I never really fought, but we would harangue each other sometimes until the other said something about leaving it alone. More than once, she would tell me to just let whatever it was go because I was "giving her a tic." She was the sweetest, most even-tempered person ever, but we were close enough that we'd sometimes react to things the way I've seen some married couples act: to look at the other like he or she was crazy or somehow responsible for all the crazy in the world. Once, we went to the Hardee's drive-through in the middle of the night for breakfast. There was a line of drunks who had left the bar and were picking up breakfast to sober up, so we were stuck in line for a while. We rolled down the windows to smoke and were hit with a very foul smell. She turned and looked at me with a demanding glare and asked, "What IS that smell?" I said I didn't know. She said, "Well, it smells like a huge wad of Parmesan cheese and dirty feet!" Again with the looking at me. Finally I said, "Well, it's not my feet! They're very clean." She started laughing then. I started laughing. She laughed so hard that her face turned purple---she did that sometimes when her laughter got the better of her. Laughing myself, I shouted, "Stop that! You're going to make yourself puke!" (That sometimes happened too, if she laughed too hard and didn't breathe.) The more she tried to quit, the more she laughed. Just about the time we reached the window, she started gagging. I coolly reached into the back floorboard, handed her the little car trashcan, and turned to give the money to the cashier in one motion. We had many laughs for years after that, how the only puker that cashier had in line that night was in the car with the stone-cold sober girls.
We had, in fact, more laughter in the 20 years we knew each other than a lot of people get in a whole lifetime. It's no wonder that some part of my sense of humor died with her when I think of all the ways she made me smile, giggle, guffaw, and roll with side-splitting fun. Some was crude, much was witty, and it was all based on complete trust and enduring friendship. My friend Mary Beth is one who can make me laugh now with her dry, sarcastic observations about society, politics, life, and even cancer. You know you've got a remarkable person on your hands when you learn that she had parties with her family before her mastectomies, celebrating "Breast Friends" and "Thanks for the Mammaries."
My nieces and nephews have been wonderful sources of hilarity, ever since birth. The whole family loves kids and will flock to them and tell stories about funny things they do. My brother's dry humor just kills me. I remember talking to him once in the fall and asking him if he'd had any snow yet. "'Bout a foot," he replied. I said, "Really?" and he responded, "Yep....snowflakes about a foot apart." OK, that's not the greatest example, but it's one I remember. My mom and I can sometimes get to laughing at the silliness of life and get the giggles together, and dad is happiest when he's making someone laugh. In fact, you just can't call yourself a Welker if you don't have a sense of humor. If you don't believe me, check out my cousin Dennis Welker's facebook page; he's made sly wit an art form.
Laughter is more than the best medicine; it's the glue that holds life together and the cells that bind hearts. Hope you've got a good healthy dose of it in your world, dear reader.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Anatomy of a Discussion
I 've just hurried home to write after a dinner/discussion group at a friend's home. I've had several topics in mind today, but dinner changed that. Do you ever have the chance to hear how much nine educated, well-informed women can cover in three hours' time? Here's how it went, to the best of my recollection:
New York. The extensive Picasso exhibit there at the MOMA in 1980. A Matisse exhibit a couple of years later. How wonderful it would be to live in NYC for about six months after I retire, renting a crummy studio apartment, working a little job in the evenings so I could spend the days seeing the museums, sights, every cool cranny of the city. The feeling of safety most of us felt there, contrary to everything one hears. A witnessed confrontation on a train. Bernhard Goetz. Son of Sam, when Robin lived there. A reasonably priced European-style temporary residence for my next trip to the Big Apple.
Tomatoes and cheeses. Homegrown tomato varieties, Big Boy and Mountain something---the Mountain variety much preferred by Brenda. Wal-Mart vs. Sooners in Sulphur.
A torn meniscus and a torn kneecap. Recovery. Limping and not limping. Reminiscing about the group's trip to Roman Nose State Park two years ago, where one of the patients first got hurt, despite the general acknowledgement that it was a wonderful trip. The whole rooming-house hotel we rented then, the lake, the horseback riding, the kayaking. The wine---much wine---on the balcony of that hotel on a side street in Watonga. General hilarity.
Dinner. Tomato bisque soup, pork tenderloin, roasted chicken, crab casserole, quinoa salad, zucchini fritters, potato salad, Dakota bread. Raspberry cobbler. Mary Beth's attempt to remove the bread crumbs she mixed in with the crab that were supposed to top it off.
Dogs. The mental acuity of one dog who was "very cerebral." That said dog could understand if you said, "52 minutes," and would come back in 52 minutes to remind you. Dogs who knew when it was time to eat, and how they told you. Cats. My sister's cats who have had it in for me.
Mikey Weinstein and his fight to keep church and state separate in the military. Hate mail sent to the Tulsa Interfaith Alliance for hosting him here at our church, All Souls Unitarian. The number of family members of the group that worked in the military. Experiments the military performed on soldiers before the Helsinki Accord: the same as Nazi experiments on Jewish victims, or not? How to fight the encroaching pressure on society from a few who can't seem to understand how many ways a merger of church and state would go horribly wrong. The fact that my students see it immediately when we study The Crucible. Tony Kushner speaking at TU in November.
Education and poverty. School uniforms and how well they work. School administrators (none of mine) who were the wackiest. Which state decided that free lunches for the whole school are cheaper than processing all the applications. How that might work with other government programs. Movies used in the classroom. Condoms as a student research topic. Lipstick parties. Why boys want their underwear to show.
Tea Partiers. Government shutdown. Furloughs and park closings. Veterans. Lies and disinformation spread through "sophistry of the highest order," a statement for which I wanted to hug Charlene, pat her on the back, and quote her on the world's biggest billboard. A vote on the debt ceiling and the end of our economy. No one had to ask who to blame.
Many thanks, a little play time with the host's granddaughter, hugs all around. A good and enlightened evening.
You give nine women---teachers, business owners, artists, nurses, public servants, technology experts---three hours, and we can solve most of the problems of the world....or at least find a way to laugh them off.
New York. The extensive Picasso exhibit there at the MOMA in 1980. A Matisse exhibit a couple of years later. How wonderful it would be to live in NYC for about six months after I retire, renting a crummy studio apartment, working a little job in the evenings so I could spend the days seeing the museums, sights, every cool cranny of the city. The feeling of safety most of us felt there, contrary to everything one hears. A witnessed confrontation on a train. Bernhard Goetz. Son of Sam, when Robin lived there. A reasonably priced European-style temporary residence for my next trip to the Big Apple.
Tomatoes and cheeses. Homegrown tomato varieties, Big Boy and Mountain something---the Mountain variety much preferred by Brenda. Wal-Mart vs. Sooners in Sulphur.
A torn meniscus and a torn kneecap. Recovery. Limping and not limping. Reminiscing about the group's trip to Roman Nose State Park two years ago, where one of the patients first got hurt, despite the general acknowledgement that it was a wonderful trip. The whole rooming-house hotel we rented then, the lake, the horseback riding, the kayaking. The wine---much wine---on the balcony of that hotel on a side street in Watonga. General hilarity.
Dinner. Tomato bisque soup, pork tenderloin, roasted chicken, crab casserole, quinoa salad, zucchini fritters, potato salad, Dakota bread. Raspberry cobbler. Mary Beth's attempt to remove the bread crumbs she mixed in with the crab that were supposed to top it off.
Dogs. The mental acuity of one dog who was "very cerebral." That said dog could understand if you said, "52 minutes," and would come back in 52 minutes to remind you. Dogs who knew when it was time to eat, and how they told you. Cats. My sister's cats who have had it in for me.
Mikey Weinstein and his fight to keep church and state separate in the military. Hate mail sent to the Tulsa Interfaith Alliance for hosting him here at our church, All Souls Unitarian. The number of family members of the group that worked in the military. Experiments the military performed on soldiers before the Helsinki Accord: the same as Nazi experiments on Jewish victims, or not? How to fight the encroaching pressure on society from a few who can't seem to understand how many ways a merger of church and state would go horribly wrong. The fact that my students see it immediately when we study The Crucible. Tony Kushner speaking at TU in November.
Education and poverty. School uniforms and how well they work. School administrators (none of mine) who were the wackiest. Which state decided that free lunches for the whole school are cheaper than processing all the applications. How that might work with other government programs. Movies used in the classroom. Condoms as a student research topic. Lipstick parties. Why boys want their underwear to show.
Tea Partiers. Government shutdown. Furloughs and park closings. Veterans. Lies and disinformation spread through "sophistry of the highest order," a statement for which I wanted to hug Charlene, pat her on the back, and quote her on the world's biggest billboard. A vote on the debt ceiling and the end of our economy. No one had to ask who to blame.
Many thanks, a little play time with the host's granddaughter, hugs all around. A good and enlightened evening.
You give nine women---teachers, business owners, artists, nurses, public servants, technology experts---three hours, and we can solve most of the problems of the world....or at least find a way to laugh them off.
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