Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Thanksgiving

Joseph, the two year old, has wrapped himself up in a rug, his eyes are wild. His mother,my daughter-in-law, fraught with his nine month old sister who at this stage will not let anyone but her hold her or connect with her, is exhausted. Both parents, so talented at the job of parenthood, are bleary eyed these days from having their house torn apart in a construction project that will eventually double their living space. Both of them keep on working through all this.

They invited us to come for Thanksgiving so we did. We made the trek out to Vashon, an island in Puget Sound for a family Thanksgiving. We picked up our rental car and drove through 40 degree rain. We stopped at my sister's to pick up the key for my brother-in-law's house he built himself, a stylish, almost completed place in the deep woods.

The driveway is long and dark. Our rental car was brand new and we did not realize that it smugly locks itself up whenever you get out of the car. So, of course, we locked the keys inside with both cell phones! What to do? We did a whole lot of hiking around in the rain with no flashlight to find anyone who could help. Finally we found a neighbor who kindly drove us to our son's house. Meanwhile, I left Andy to wait for the car lock to be resolved and I went to my sister's house where we were all to have dinner.

My sister had made a lovely dinner, comfort food, fire in the fireplace, for all the family, twelve of us. We put our feet up on the hearth, took dogs in our laps, sipped that wonderful Washington state wine, and waited for Andy to appear. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion from the kitchen. Apparently a pie left on a burner by mistake got too hot and shattered, blowing glass shards everywhere. The dinner was ruined and everything had to be thrown out. We quickly regrouped and made another dinner- pasta, canned tomatoes, a can of beans,canned onion rings, anything else we could find. New salad, and we had dinner again. By the time Andy appeared, having resolved the key crisis, we were ready to sit down at the table.

We love being there in Jim's house, though it's a bit primitive. Our bed looks out to tall evergreen trees. We open the windows and cuddle under down quilts. At night I could see the meteor showers through the trees, and there is silence. Not quite. Our son and his family decided to stay there too, to avoid the vapors from the insulation that had just been installed in their house. There is only one bathroom.

This was an occasion for both sets of grandparents to be on hand. Natalie's folks stayed at a local b and b, but we all gathered for meals and to help our children get ready for the dry wall contractors who would appear after the holiday.

These other grandparents are certainly dear to us. They have produced a wonderful daughter, our son's wife, and the mother of two grandkids. These other grandparents might have come from another planet. I struggle to find a common topic of conversation. Some things are taboo, I know: religion, politics. Travel is no good,neither are environmental concerns, art or music, food or gardening, and we are not sports fans as they are. So we fall back on the adoration of grandchildren and this is always good. These are truly decent people. I did not stab anyone with a fork and I was pretty good overall. (I think!)

We are certainly not a dysfunctional family. But when I look at the photos I see those moments when the chins of the elders sag, the old dog is splayed out on the couch, the teenage kids are looking bored and just barely tolerating the scene, and my retarded brother is looking strange but satisfied in the background. I see the turkey, now a mess of eviscerated flesh, the youngest grandchild in a 'mean Queen' mode. Joe, the two year old, makes it all come together when he says, "Grandpa, thank you for the dinner"

But at the end of the Thanksgiving day I am thankful to have this amazing family. I am thankful that none of our family are fighting in Iraq, and I am thankful to the young people who put their lives on the line in Iraq. I am thankful that the American electorate has said "Enough!" about this war. I am thankful to be an American.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Career week

This is career week at my adopted public school. The idea is that people from the community come in to show and tell the kids what is available out there for future jobs. Today, there was a variety of things going on: karate, cake decorating, and a menagerie of moth-eaten animals in the playground. Tomorrow there will be recruiters for the armed forces. I don't know what else. Aargh! To be honest, I didn't hear of anyone coming in to discuss working in agriculture, or driving trucks, or cleaning motels (what these kids' parents mostly do). I certainly did not hear of anyone who was a professional in law or government or city planning or science (what these kids could aspire to) coming in to discuss their work. No poets, no artists, no actors, no dancers were there today. Perhaps they will be there tomorrow, but I sincerely doubt it.

I come in to work with these kids one day each week. This experience affirms me as the kids welcome me and ask what book I have brought to read to them, what art we'll be doing today, what FOOD I have for them. They want to read to me, haltingly, but so proud of their accomplishments.

First thing today, we had the cake decorating lady. The teacher has told the kids they must sit on their bottoms in front of the demonstration table. I scooch down with them to see what they can see. Not much. The table is much too high. I tell the kids they must move back in order to see. But what is happening is so compelling the kids keep moving closer. (Why can't they just stand around and get a good view?) I take a couple of the shortest kids on my lap so they can see. After almost half an hour, the cake is done and they are promised they can eat it after lunch. They are incredibly wiggly and itchy.

We quickly segue into my activity of vegetable sculpture. I have brought ten different vegetables and the kids are invited to use anything they want, put it together with toothpicks and playdough, apply googly eyes, whatever. Make a dragonfly out of a carrot and apply wings of kale. At first, I wondered how they would respond to such a freeform art activity. But then, I heard the low hum of productivity as they constructed animals, robots, cars from the vegetable pieces. They shared ideas and vegetables and they delighted in each other's creations. Many of them were eating their creations or wanted baggies to take them home. Lorenzo, (so proud to be asked!) and I took the leavings to the science teacher who has a guinea pig. He stuck a carrot into the cage and it was snatched up! Lorenzo was most pleased to report this to the class when we returned.

Today was mulch for the mind: cake decorating, vegetable sculpture, karate, a wonderful out loud story, and the excellent math presentation by their regular teacher.

Public school, even the most modest of them all, is alive and well in America. I am proud to be a volunteer for these vibrant children and hard-working teachers.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Weekend Grandparents

Until just a few minutes ago I was sitting in the dark in a rocking chair, (the one we bought forty years ago for our first son) rocking Quincy to sleep. He was visiting us overnight without his parents. He has just turned two, our youngest grandson, the one we see several times a week since he lives close by. He snuggled up to my chest and clasped his lovey, stroking the satin made so soft from hours of delicate fondling with a small starfish hand. His other hand, the thumb, is in his mouth. He has had a cold so there is a tiny amount of snuffling.

It has been such a long time since I have had to slow down for a small child. I can barely remember rocking my own three to sleep, though I must have done. I think as I rock silently, except for the snuffling, what an immense amount of time a parent puts in that is purely devoted to their child. While I am rocking in the dark, holding this beloved small person, I am not doing anything else. I am just there, secure and loving Grandma, totally devoted and mindful of the moment we are in. I am not thinking about 'to do' lists, I am not thinking about the mess in the kitchen, or what tomorrow will bring. I am not even thinking that this rocking could be the new meditation exercise.

In the very dim light I can see his eyelashes flutter. Sleep will come soon. I think of this wonderful gift of a day with Quincy. He seemed to sing little songs all the time in a sweet high chirp. Now, words and sentences are coming in by the minute, some of it even understandable by us. He got up from his nap in a great mood, full of smiles and that wry way he puts his mouth to express delight.

Grandpa was waiting to take Quincy to the grocery store. I could use the time to do the watering of flowers and vegetables, check e-mail, talk to the ranch manager. When they returned, we unloaded the groceries, and then it was time for me to give Andy a much needed haircut. I thought it would be good if we did it outside next to the fish pond which Quincy loves. I got through the sideburns and then had to run and check on where Quincy had got to. He was on the other side of the house, on the porch by the outside shower annointing himself with shampoo and very pleased. I brought him back to keep an eye out while I trimmed the rest of Andy's hair. Now, at least Quincy was in view, climbing the fence. It was a very quick haircut!

Quincy loves to be a part of the household doings, especially cooking. He climbs up on a step stool to watch the proceedings. Today I made green playdough for him and he mashed this with forks and cooking doodads as he watched Andy preparing dinner. This boy is amazingly easy on stuff. He never breaks anything so we give him free reign of our belongings. He also generally puts things back.

It is so interesting to get a second shot at the observation of children you love. We have six grandchildren. Our oldest one, Diego, and his brother Pablo, are really close to us. They spent so much time living here and then visiting often.

Diego, Pablo, and Quincy are the ones I know and they are certainly under my heart. Silvio, Diego and Pablo's brother, was my favorite baby, but he left the area before he was a year old, and since then, he has been a remote grandchild. I am looking forward to getting to know him. I do know that he is such a stellarly bright boy already, we should get ready. Joseph and Caroline live as far away geographically from us as one can live but we make the effort to visit several times a year, and sometimes they come to Florida.

Joseph, almost three, is the undisputed King of grandchildren!(Quincy will give him a run for the money!) Joseph, and Caroline, who will be a year old in March, have both parents in constant attendance. When I phone my son, Chris, and both kids are with him in his work studio, I hear background chortles from happy children. I heard from my son Ben, who was visiting his brother, that Natalie, Joseph and Caroline's mom, takes the kids down the driveway to a big puddle, calls it "the beach", sets up a folding chair, and lets the kids doodle around in the water, dig with buckets and spades. Hey, this is Seattle!

In a week we are going out to see the Washington State grandchildren, Joseph and Caroline. I know they will not recognize us. In the week we are there they will get to know us slightly. Joseph (the King) will be charming, and his princess sister will be charming as well. I wish that I could have the quantity time with them I have with Quincy. I would love to rock Caroline to sleep or read incredible stories to Joseph. I would not expect them to be always charming.

However one's grandchildren happen and wherever they live, they are ferociously loved by their grandparents.

For all of us who are grandparents, we love being with our grandkids, and it is a gift we couldn't have imagined.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Now, the Real Stuff

Lola is on the mend! After the trip to the vet, and a couple of days of strong pills, she's active, though not yet jumping through the usual hoops. We had a couple of bad nights when she stayed in her kennel resting her leg. If she wasn't a lot better by Thursday (tomorrow) we were facing the x-rays and the possibility of a disc problem. But it seems now, that she is back on track of being her usual feisty self. So many of you e-mailed or called. Thank you, all you dog people. You know. I was especially touched that so many of my former students were concerned.

I have been thinking about this blog and what direction it needs to take. This has been an experiment for me, a foray into the tech world. I am aware that many of you read it. I am still so new to this and I basically believe that there is some hutzpah in putting one's ideas out there for anyone in the entire world to see. I believe myself to be a humble and modest (even shy) person. I know by now that people are not really looking at each other (certainly, not at me!). So this foray into the public domain can be just what I want it to be..

So, tighten up your seat belts. From now on I am going full-throttle on educational issues that interest me. (O.K., sometimes I will digress and wax euphoric about vegetable gardens and cows and birds, kids I love, and grandchildren)

This evening I am ecstatic about the outcome of the elections. I always regard the glass as half full. I am thinking that Charlie Crist could maybe be a good education governor (though I did not vote for him!).

Yesterday I went to the elementary school here in central Florida where I volunteer in a classroom one day a week. I had not been there for two weeks while I was away on vacation. But the kids were confident I'd be back. I came into the class, lugging two bags of stuff to do. Many small hands hugged me, many shining black eyes met mine. They asked if I had BOOKS? They asked if I had FOOD? Yes, and yes. Do you have clay? No, not this time, but soon. How long will you stay?

Their wonderful teacher, CareyAnne, is glad to see me. I have a present of chocolates from France for her. She loves chocolate and France, having been there when she was in the Army. First thing, after the t.v. announcements, the kids pledge allegiance to the flag, and then they sing along with "This Land is Your Land" and do a little dance to it that CareyAnne has taught them. I am charmed. Then the kids gather in front of CareyAnne for the daily scripted lesson (Breakthrough to Reading, courtesy of a major education publisher). This day I see that CareyAnne has something else on her agenda- NOT SCRIPTED. She's a good and compliant member of the school team, but in some ways she has other ideas.

Today, she has he kids making caterpillar projects of how something written could be. She has made round cut-outs of various sizes and the kids can take these, paste them together, write on them the parts of a story they might write: start, the characters, what happens, next thing, next thing, the end. They can make them personal with feelers and other additions. As every one of the sixteen kids finishes his/her caterpillar, she takes them to the laminating machine so the kids can have these for the whole year. The slower to finish kids are helped by the others. The kids are excited to have their very own artwork/writing come out of the laminating machine. CareyAnne acknowledges each child as they place their caterpillar on the laminator.

And then, someone "IN AUTHORITY" comes up and tells CareyAnne that this laminating place is Not For Students! So, the kids have to retreat behind the door. They crowd up to peer into the door crack. They vie for a place to see in the crack what's happening to the process. Lorenzo is clearly the gatekeeper. The other kids shuffle around him, wanting to see their very own caterpillar come out of the chute.

CareyAnne despises the scripted 'Breakthrough to Reading' program this school must use. She truly is invested in kids learning to read. She, herself, learned to read with Dick and Jane (as did I), so she has found some of these readers to be key in her mission to have every child in her care be literate. When I come into the class, many of the kids are eager to tell me about their progress with Dick and Jane. They want me to hunker down and let them read to me. In a way I think this is such a hoot: these Hispanic kids so excited to be reading in a series written probably before 1940, all the illustrations of blonde kids, the mom in an apron, the dad in a tie and carrying a briefcase. None of the kids mentions the 'Breakthrough to Reading' materials.

This week, as every week, I bring food. My vegetable garden is overflowing now with salad greens. We made a salad in class with many kinds of greens,cucumbers, garlic, oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper. We thought of the salad as a story, like the caterpillar. The setting was the salad bowl, the characters were the various kinds of lettuce and vegetables. The events were the things we did to make the salad, and the end was eating it.

There is one little guy, Justin, who has a tremendous hunger for fresh food. He'll try anything! He sparks the entire class to eat these amazing fresh foods I bring on a weekly basis. I have taught the kids to at least try anything new and be polite if they hate it. Amazing how kids take their cue from others who are enjoying the new tastes. If Justin loves avocado, maybe it won't be totally poisonous.

Lorenzo, a child of devasting poverty, eats his salad, and then quietly asks me if he can have the remains of a jar of sunflower seeds with which we have garnished our greens. He has his backpack opened in readiness. I have heard tht Lorenzo only eats what he can at school. There is nothing for him to eat at home. What can I say? Take it, Lorenzo. He squirrels it away with the homework that will never see the light of day.

This school could be really good, but as it is, it's below mediocre. I heard in the teachers' lunchroom this week a comment I wonder about. Someone said she wondered about what was heard on the grapevine about the next year's hires for this school. I wonder why this important news should operate as rumor or grapevine? Hey, guys, be a team.

A great school should not rely on rumor or grapevine. It should attract a cohesive and energetic team of teachers who are valued in the school and stay on, be colleagues, create a learning environment. This is the job of a good principal.

I am beginning to realize that even in the climate of FCAT, there are a lot of different models in our public schools and they all depend on the principals of the schools. Public schools are not all the same!

All our children are incredibly precious. All of them will be successful, we hope. Some of them will be really successful, and some will be stellar. The thing is, you don't know this now. As a teacher, you have to go on the assumption that your student will be capable of anything.

Charlie Crist, you, as a moderate, can have a really profound influence on education in Florida. I, for one, will be bugging you. Our children are fantastic.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Lola in trouble

Our little miniature dachshund, Lola,eight years old, is in trouble tonight. She has retreated to her kennel, her "house" and won't come out. She's in pain, clearly, but she keeps her nose out and her ears perked, still alert to what's going on.

We went on a two week vacation and left her with our daughter, where Lola's been many times before. When there, Lola pals around with a huge and energetic dog. They seem to love each other, despite the size discrepancy.

When we returned there were many dog kisses from Lola, a great reunion doggy-wise. When we got back to our house we realized that Lola seemed reluctant or unable to jump up on the couch or climb stairs and she didn't want to accompany us on walks. When we looked closely, we saw that she was favoring her right rear leg. We thought perhaps that our daughter's huge dog might have stepped on her? Or was Lola just punishing us for having left her for over two weeks? Or what?

All of today I have been on edge about Lola. Is this the end? I keep thinking that she'll be so much better by the afternoon. Will she be a candidate for weiner dog wheels? Tomorrow morning I will take her to the vet of course. She is still very much enjoying meals, a good sign. I keep checking on her, telling her loving words. She looks at me in that trusting open-eyed way our pets do.

Strange, how we connect with our pets. We can cry about them when we cannot cry about our real people.

Lola came to us as a six week old puppy with skin much too big for her body. She's a dappled girl, resembled a small pumpernickel loaf of bread, with one blue eye. From the first, Lola was a people person. On the second night of having her we abandoned the crate for the night. Whining, all she wanted was to be asleep under Andy's chin. She settled down, no comlaints, "now I'm where I meant to be for the night."

This dog is a comedian. She easily got the manners of being housebroken, coming when called, walking on a leash, etc. She isn't a barker, except to let us know when someone is coming. She is such a great companion and takes long walks with us. She loves the ranch and many times I see her out in the pastures stalking armadilloes.

When some family member or friend comes in, Lola wags her pencil tail to say she loves that person. She is our best greeter of guests: when a car drives up, Lola lets us know and then we let her out to say hello and lead our friends in.

Many times when we have been away for awhile, I truly miss our dog! Where is that little warm body in the bed? Where is that small dog wagging her tail when we go by? Where is that funny dog who rolls belly-side up and casts her one blue eye and one brown eye at us? Where is that funny dog who greets us at the door with everything wriggling and gives unconditional love?

We love this dog! She has given us so much pleasure and fun. I cannot imagine life without her.

Stay tuned.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

The Comforts of Home

Walking down the driveway from the house to my studio tonight the full moon casts shadows and reflects off the metal roofs and the glossy oranges. I hear the music playing above the summer sounds of crickets and I look back towards the big screened porch with the twinkling lights where Andy is working on a jigsaw puzzle. I am headed for a Saturday evening of painting in this room of my own.

It has been a long time since we have had a regular weekend with our own small routines we love so much: the morning walk with the dog, BLT's for breakfast ( a run out to the garden for the lettuce),reading the paper on the porch, discussing the politics of the day, checking e-mail and working outdoors on our various projects. We listen for the daily bugling of the sandhill cranes as they come in to land near the pond.

These dry days I must be constantly watering the flower beds. I need to weed the vegetable garden and tie up the tomatoes and check for worms on the cucumbers. Andy will begin to make sure we have enough wood ready for those few days we can have a fire in the fireplace.

We love our family and friends but we need to have these occasional weekends of not being the good hosts, just being us with a comfort food supper and the quiet of the night listening to the owls and coyotes somewhere out there.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

I'm jet lagged, glad to be home, and my head is full of Europe. Every time I leave the USA I think almost constantly about my own country, comparing and contrasting it to this new place I am in.

On this trip to Paris I was overwhelmed by the user- friendliness of being a pedestrian in a big city. We rented an apartment in the heart of the Latin Quarter. Stepping out of our place we were immediately on the street among thousands of people, all going about their business. They are mostly young, all of them thin.

For the two weeks we were there, we walked almost everywhere we wanted to go. At every intersection of even the tiniest alleys and streets, there are zebra stripes in the street. All vehicular traffic stops at these for pedestrians. As well, there are little green 'running man' lights at every intersection. The pedestrians stop when the 'red man' sign shows, letting the cars go by. A pedestrian never has to wait long for the 'green man' sign. It is very clear to all that the pedestrian is king here, no matter what. Parisians respect each other, whether they are in cars or on foot.
People are on the street at all hours of the day and night. Parisians love their streets! They love to shop and look in the store windows and eat at the sidewalk cafes. They buy chocolates and bread, walk their dogs and push children in strollers. They demonstrate for causes and they listen to the public music of swing bands in the squares and in the public transportation. And they respect the rights and spaces of each other in a crowded city.

The sidewalks are mostly spacious, the intersections well thought out. Early every morning street cleaners go out and open the water hydrants. They get out their stiff brooms and clean the sidewalks and gutters. Then the mechanical street sweepers come through to suck up left over debris. By the time the early morning people come out to buy their papers and fresh pastries for breakfast, the ancient streets are pristinely clean of last night's left-overs, dog do, and remnants of revelry.

Gas has always been expensive, so there are no gas guzzler cars to be seen. There is even a tiny car, the 'smart car', no bigger than an easy chair, one sees everywhere.

The public transportation system is truly wonderful to American eyes. It was easy to get anywhere on the trains; everything was clearly signed and if there was any confusion one could ask the people behind the ticket desks.

All this accessible pedestrian life seemed somewhat closed to the physically challenged. It was assumed that anyone could walk up or down long staircases, a large lack in an otherwise almost perfect system. American cities could learn from the French.