It's about reading and angels

This piece by Garrison Keillor, a voice who sounds like an old friend, shatters my cynicism, if only for a little while. Thanks to Swift and Change Able for this one.

Bless their hearts

In case you didn't know, the title is southern code for "these folks are clueless." So I direct the phrase both at the well-meaning guidance counselor who sent us all the article containing the following, and at the kids who really do need us to teach them this stuff; it's appalling how many do. Here's what I should be teaching along with reading, writing, vocabulary and literature:

• having stable relationships with peers
• possessing well-developed problem solving skills
• considering realistic future plans
• having a positive sense of being able to achieve and deal effectively with tasks
• experiencing success in one or more areas of their life
• being able to effectively communicate
• possessing a strong attachment with at least one adult
• acceptance of responsibility for themselves and their behavior

I do like to think I make a small dent in the two I've put in red, but the others they'll have to pick up along the way. If some of it happens in my class, (maybe that fourth bullet point), that's great. Just please don't make me the object of a strong attachment. And I remember a long, ridiculous, conversation with a tearful parent when she believed I'd dashed her child's confidence forever when I suggested he might need to study more if he expected to get into an Ivy League school, so I'm not big on helping kids make realistic plans.

I had a little laugh when I read the list during school today. It was nothing like the laugh I had reading the standards for a sixth grade history class I once was preparing to teach that began "The student will understand history from the beginning of time to the Renaissance." Who wrote that? The state education brainiacs, of course. Nevertheless, I did save this list to look at and share as I knew the teachers in our blog circle might enjoy it. Which ones would you say your teaching style hits?

Several other bloggable moments happened today, but there are so many papers to grade, I must do a few before my energy is totally gone.

Early OCD or the numbers are killing me

Those who know me would say I am not obsessive about anything. Some might even say I could use a bit of compulsion to fuel more action, but in any case, here's a chain of thoughts that has begun to feel like mild mental illness. It started innocently enough with a fascination with statistics and a willingness to analyze them. This is relatively new for this language lover; if I had known how much I would come to love numbers, I would have worked harder in math class. Perhaps around the time of the big fuss over America being over 300 million, the idea of repetitions, or more specifically, simultaneous activities, began to occupy my thoughts. When turning the key in the ignition of my car, I would think "How many other people are turning the key in the ignition at this very second?" The instances of this can be infinite. As I turn off my alarm, the thought of tens of thousands of beeps (more?) being silenced by sleepy people wakes me. As warm water courses over my hands before lunch I can't help thinking, "How many others are washing their hands?" I sometimes intentionally imagine several others in the act, but my brain is limited, a point this exercise reminds me over and over, and I move on to other things. But the count, or the concept of this number of simultaneous activities that cannot be counted arrives repeatedly. It comes at me at more intimate moments as well, but I'll let you imagine those.

And it's more than my activities that are multiple, common acts. In the mall food court a young mother plays peek-a-boo with her baby and I contemplate the scope of peek-a-boo. How many games played at this minute? How many throughout time? Something trivial takes on odd importance. Yesterday, in a thrift store, (where a brochure told me a woman is raped every 46 seconds--how do they know that?) the game took a turn as I looked around for my friend and found not one, but three other women in the store of about the same age, hair, build, dress, etc. How many women are there that fit my friend's description? As much as I have contemplated simultaneous activities, I hadn't thought much about duplication in appearance although, of course, it's everywhere.

The worst part about it is the anxiety it provokes. Okay, there are many, many people in the world and our experiences bear strong similarities. So what? How does this change my life? I don't think I'm over-invested in my own uniqueness, although our society seems to force us to focus on being distinctive, being different, even while fitting in. Do people in Japan have this problem? What exactly is the problem? Am I simply freaked out by the number of people in the world? Is this an identity issue? I truly don't mind my own insignificance, like a sky full of stars I find it comforting in some ways. Is it that the numbers are too big for me to conceptualize while I have a need to do so? I am pretty good at accepting what I can't understand, Lord knows I've come across plenty that fits into that category.

Once I tried to explain this to a friend and she basically told me I was stupid to give any mental energy to it. Of course, she said it a little nicer, after all, she is a friend. The reason it feels like OCD is because I can't turn it off, but it does feel better to at least see it in words. Is there a use for this concept? If I have to live with it, I'd like to find some value in it.

2008 will be...

So there's talk of resolutions in the air. This annual chatter I sometimes ignore and sometimes engage in. I agree with Cora that it is endearing and refuse to be a total cynic. This year I've been silent if others advertise their resolutions, but this looks like a safe place to low-ball mine, so here goes--I plan to read and write more for my own growth and pleasure. That's it, no numbers, goals, pages--no quantifiable data by which I can be sure I've failed, just a general push in the right direction. I plan to exercise more-this will be easy since I've basically been a potato lately, a sweet potato, but a potato nonetheless. I plan to eat less sweets, another easy one as I've been on a sugar buzz or displaying sugar-seeking behaviors since around Thanksgiving.

I've been on an organizing and cleaning binge here at home and that feels like a good way to begin 2008 to me.

Happy New Year!

We are not the rational animal but the rationalizing one

My title comes from a comment by Hugo Pottisch on Megan McArdle's blog at The Atlantic. Love the comments here, Megan is somewhat provocative, but her readers are erudite and interesting. They always give me something to think about. Lately I've been puzzling over the environmentalist thing in my head and although I'm against creating false dichotomies, the whole collectivism vs. individualism lens is useful here. I'm glad to see the societal swing toward doing what's right for the planet. I've begun buying my reusable grocery bags that are now available everywhere, but I feel like a disinterested observer in the process. I feel like an old woman sitting back with a stale lament, "Why didn't we do it in the 1970s when we were lined up to buy gas? We knew then we tying the economic knot with middle east oil." Is it about the environment or about the economy? Of course it's about both, with tons of political interest thrown in to keep everyone watching their backs. That's the end of one nonsensical rant.

Tomorrow I go to see my folks for my sister's birthday celebration. Poor thing, born so near Christmas. I always felt her birthday was tagged on to Christmas somehow--the final gift I would buy. My sister and I, while not enemies, are not friends. She and I rarely talk when not with my folks. Buying her a gift is a minor mine field which I may avoid with an Amazon gift certificate. Visiting with my parents and my siblings at the holidays provokes all the old insecurities and few of the joys of when we were children. Don't worry, I don't think I'm unique in this. Holiday family duty looms on the list of must-dos at Christmas. This shrink says 68% of us look forward to such gatherings with dread. I'd say it's a mix of pleasure and dread--or at least apprehension-- for 90+% of people I know.

So, what am I rationalizing this season? I am manufacturing lame excuses for still having piles of grading to deal with (Jan 8, 2008 deadline seems a year away), much housework that must be done (my daughters will pitch in and we'll knock it out just in time), shopping not yet complete (they have those tacky generic gift sets at the 24 hour Wal-Mart close by), and not having sent a single Christmas card (New Year's personal letters are better).

Ready for a stress-free holiday in your house? I wish you peace and joy in the big picture, no matter how muddled the circumstances seem close up.

Little known things

I'm working on a book report of sorts, but so far it bores me. Here are a few little known things about me:

1. When I was three I told adults I wanted to grow up to be the Dancing Bear from Captain Kangaroo. The video here came out about 12 years after I coveted the job and I don't remember that hideous soundtrack. I can almost recapture the magic if I leave the sound off. Don't laugh.
2. I can't whistle. It broke my heart when I was twelve, but I finally gave up trying. It gives my kids something to tease me about.
3. I decided that writing was important to me in the 2nd grade when I did an "extra credit" book report that the teacher allowed me to read to the class.
4. For most of my childhood I thought I would study law. After 12 years in the classroom, I love teaching more than I would ever have imagined.
5. I am a pacifist, but married a hawkish Navy man. Over the years (28) I've become a shifting moderate, a category I find includes most folks I know.
6. My daughters are the first girls in my husband's family in three generations. Before they were born, I was told to expect only sons. I was happy with that, not loving the idea of raising girls to discover the realities of being female. Now my daughters are among my best friends.
7. I have started the same novel six times. It's still brewing.

Now that I read them again, I don't know how little known some of this stuff is, but I did manage to get to seven.

Tiny "leather" jacket

Many of my students will be participating in the Dupont Challenge. They needed some help to get started as the science teacher told them about it yesterday and their deadline is 1.9.2008, the day after we return to school--interesting, since the website says the deadline is 1.28.2008, but that rant is another post. I came across Bioartists' Flesh Sculptures when using another story from NPR. It seems they're growing art in the labs now. I pulled up a few more images while we listened.

I think Stuart Little really wants that little jacket. He wouldn't call it leather, though. It would be his flesh jacket. He would require a flesh fedora to go with it.

More serious science that caught my eye: Fever-autism link. Can't think of a snappy comment to go with this, but it's amazing.

My truth this time

What? my sensible self says, You've created yet another place to think into your fingers without any real plan or purpose? And you have an insider to recruit an audience? Yes, and I'm starting with the postmodern taboo of truth. You really gonna start with that topic? Hell no, I'm just using it to get in, and affirm that whatever ends up here is just a window into my truth--more likely many small truths.

Surreal moment of my week thus far: Last night my family and I went out to see the Christmas lights. Family here equals my girls, Mariel and Sarah (19 and 21), Mariel's boyfriend, James, and my husband, DG. Not a big deal, really we just went to see James's parents' house. Seems they're prizewinners in their little 'burb. James was telling us about improvements until we just had to see it even though it was after ten and pushing hard on my bedtime. It was impressive; the new addition is a series of arches over the driveway built of PVC and wrapped with lights. We smiled and sighed and headed home. The surreal moment coming up. After listening to my girls repeatedly trade the same four measures of "Carol of the Bells" that they play on one of the jewelry ads, I got us singing "Angels We have Heard on High," the only carol we can reliably sing in harmony. We're making a kind of music as we pass the street where we generally turn. It's blocked with a police car, and a flatbed trailer with two cars on it; several other cars and another police car are just behind it. We all turn and look with well-stretched necks in a slo-mo unison motion as we sing "Gl-o-o--o-o--o-o-o--o-ria..." The officer stands close to two young people. They look dazed and strangely amused in the second I manage to focus on faces. I wonder if it was more than one second.

We finished the song. Sarah gave her sister a rough time and then singing tips when she heard Mariel singing "Gl-o-o--o-o--o-o-o-glo-ria." All day today I've thought about blue lights flashing, our commonplace voyeuristic gazes and the familiar glory to God in the highest sounding strangely alien in my ears.