Book Club

When I was in my twenties I participated in a women's consciousness raising group. We sat around in a candle-lit room in a circle on an avocado colored shag rug and talked about our mothers and griped about the men in our lives. Gradually I lost interest and I left the group. I hadn't had much real connection with my mother for years and I was pretty satisfied with the man in my life (who actually did the laundry). I didn't want to sit on the floor anymore. Those women were so dissatisfied with everything. I loved that regular connection with women,and I supported women's lib in every way, but I craved more substance from an organized happening.

I can't exactly remember how it began, but a number of women who had loose connections to the newspaper, got together to form a book club. I was asked to join in the very early days. Now there are ten of us. There were never more than twelve. The membership has undergone subtle changes. A few people moved away, some just couldn't put in the time to read a book a month, and some left for unclear reasons. Other people joined. We have never explicitly thought of it as a womens' thing. It just happened that way. The core group has been very steady.

We have been doing the book club for twenty-five years, the last Tuesday of each month. The deal was, and still is, the book club host of the month selects the book, sends out notices, prepares a dinner,leads the discussion, and cleans up afterwards. We all gather at 7:30 p.m., chat over a glass of wine, eat dinner, and then begin the discussion. Suzanne is the unofficial secretary who reminds us of who is to be the next host. She also keeps a list of all the books we have read.

We were all working women and we all have kids. In the early days of book club it was so hard to host a meeting. We persuaded our husbands to mind the children, take them out (anywhere!) and get them out of our hair for just an evening. I do not remember at any time that small children screamed or dashed in to our meetings, wanting their mom. A few times we would see well-behaved kids coming through the room,toting violin cases or soccer balls, and all of us knew that it was a pretty hard deal for families to let mom alone to have an adult evening at home without them. I knew I dreaded the punishment I got when it was my turn to be the book club host. Even today, when all our children are grown, I might see the host's husband lurking around looking uncomfortable.

I look at the four pages of single spaced, double columns of books we have read in these twenty-five years. I am amazed! We have read lots of novels, of course, a lot of non-fiction, classics, biography, sociology. There are some books on the list I can barely remember, others are as clear to me as if I read them last month. I hated some of them. We learned to love some authors and we compared their works. Many choices opened up wonderful far ranging discussions. There were evenings when our meeting lasted far into the night.

But what could account for this incredible longevity of a book club? We all love to read, and all of us are thoughtful and smart. Our group has never dissolved into just talking about the purely personal. Our mission is to read and discuss the book. Several members are good friends with others, but as a group we are never mired in the personal tellings of our lives. We don't know each other's birthdays, we never discuss health issues, we don't send each other holiday cards. Book club is the most socially 'free' thing we do. And we treasure it. You can come to book club in the clothes you were wearing at work, or in sweats or shorts. Costume is not important. Each month almost everyone comes.

And yet, each of us knows that we could call on any member if we needed to in time of trouble. Over the life of the group, there have been divorces, the agonizing launching of our children, life threatening health issues, work problems and the whole spectrum of human failures. There have been triumphs as well.

Several of our members are known to be wonderful cooks. We all look forward to going to book club THAT night! Often, the host cooks up something with a theme that refers to our month's book. (but how many Italian themed books have we read?) Others of us just scrape up something and hope for the best. But whatever it is, we relish it. A few years ago we thought it would be better if we only did dessert and coffee. That lasted for one month; we wanted that dinner, whatever it was!

Next month it is my turn. I have selected the book, sent out the notices by e-mail and postcard. Fortunately, the book has an Italian theme. My husband (the family chef) will be out of town, the kids are grown and gone, the dog is small, and hopefully, the contractor will not be replacing the living room windows. Ravioli?

End of the Day

After supper, when the long shadows stretched dark fingers across the green pastures, we drove out in the golf cart with the dog to see if we could pick any blackberries in the patch in the Pine Island Field. The patch has millions of berries, but few were ripe. The trick is to get them before the birds do. Considering that we ate a good number, we picked enough for a cobbler tomorrow night when we will have guests.

It is the end of the academic year; teachers are packing up their classrooms,tears are shed, young people are graduating, and everyone is heaving sighs of relief at having made it so far. I remember those days, not so long ago, when I knew school was over, but I had all those lengthy evaluations to do. Immediately, I'd spread everything out and get started. Summer really never began until I had carefully written each family about their child. It always took at least an hour for each student. And, now, I don't have to do that!

I continue to believe we truly live in paradise. Despite the armadillo wars, I love to garden and spend hours each day tweaking the many flower beds,watching the butterflies and birds and picking beans and tomatoes and whatever else is ready. I have a plan for growing my vegetables despite the armadillos. Having time to paint, write, sew and make pottery in my studio pleases me immensely. It is interesting to begin having a new social life here in the hinterlands.

We continue to feel socially responsible so we are activists in several things. Andy works hard as chair of the Florida Nature Conservancy, and I am on the board of Pathfinder. And there are all the kids who are in our lives one way and another. No golf, no spa life, no bingo for us. We are slowly learning to identify much of the flora and fauna around us, much more fun than a cruise. We love the hard and constant work it takes to run a ranch.

Thousands of fireflies are twinkling at the edge of the woods, mirroring the stars above. Something is rustling in the palmettos and the barred owls have begun their nocturnal hooting and cackling. Soon I will hear the coyotes singing their evening song. We go to bed in a screened room open to the outdoors. The frogs and chuck-wills-widows sing us to sleep.

Armadillo Wars, part 2

I don't understand armadillo culture. They do what they do. Every single night they come into my garden, though the security is high. They breach the perimeter through the fence, stones, logs, old tractor parts, and chicken wire. They dig deep, those insurgents, and they are bent on destruction. I certainly do not understand their religion. I cannot reason with them and they have no clue about fairness and democracy. I do not really think they are out to get me. I JUST THINK THEY HAVE THEIR OWN AGENDA. Perhaps they want their women in veils, and certainly they want the tasty worms and grubs they find in the soil. But now I will do it differently.

So, I have declared victory for the armadillos. I still want to grow vegetables (democratically). I will have raised beds, well out of reach of those armadillos. I will take an old cow watering trough with the rusted out bottom and install it in the garden. I will also have Andy make a few raised garden boxes. I am not defeated. I think that the armadillos and I can maybe live in harmony. Shooting them or axing them, like Lizzie Borden, is not an option.

It is always interesting, living in the country. Not only are you aware of all the critters, you see the wildflowers that bloom in their season, the changeable sky, and you feel the strange winds. You hear the dawn chorus of birds and you follow their songs throughout the day. I am so blessed, even with armadillos.

Last Day at Lacoochee

Tomorrow is the last day of school for the kids in Pasco County. I arrived this morning at Lacoochee School with my dog, Lola, and a cooler full of home made ice cream and blueberries to top it off. I could tell right off that this was the end game, no one was teaching the pitiful scripted lessons and the rubber band had gone slack. The kids were thrilled to see my little dog and get a chance to pet her. Some of them asked if she had mange or fleas (no, and no). These kids have dogs in their families but they don't know about a well cared for and well behaved dog. (This dog is probably better cared for than they are!) Lola went about her business of caring for kids (she was raised in a classroom.) When I read a story to the children, Lola was cuddled up between the kids, everyone happy.

Then it was time to go to the awards assembly in the cafeteria. We told Lola to go into her kennel and guard the classroom. Ms. Yager's kids hunkered down on the bleacher seats to await the awards. I sat among them, and these good and patient children really thought they would get an award. They duly applauded each child who got an award, but really, they were awaiting their turn. The principal and the vice principal looked spiffy and beautiful in their pointy shoes and amazingly voluminous hairdos. They smiled a lot, and clearly, they were enjoying this time when kids were being affirmed. There were a lot of grand awards for just being there. And we all know that 90 percent of success is being there. And there were other awards in art and music and reading (NOT math, or history, or, or..) The kids next to me were getting more and more itchy as the ceremony went on. Most of the kids getting awards were Anglos, and a few black kids. For the most part, the Hispanic kids were left in the dust.

The kids near me started to lean all over me.They whispered things to me. One child started to cry. I snaked my arm around behind him and stroked his neck. At this moment I could envision some kind of magical realism in which, strangely enough, an angel would appear to each child bearing a huge trophy of affirmation.
Except for one child, who got a two foot trophy for perfect attendance, none of CareyAnne's kids got an award. I would have loved to see this whole class get an award for 'heart'. This was a very hard class, and it would be difficult for anyone to deal with these kids every day. But CareyAnne did, so magnificently, with such love and creativity. In my mind she gets a ten foot trophy.

I have learned so much this year, volunteering in a title one school. I am humbled and awed to think I know so little about the hardships of these good and patient parents and their children. I am dismayed to see the mediocrity of leadership and the teachers (who can't often speak grammatically, nor read!) And yet, these people are out there, working hard, trying their best in a joyless situation.

I think that I may have burned my bridges at Lacoochee, (Surely, someone from there may have read this blog?) Certainly, for the whole year, no one in the administration at Lacoochee has ever spoken to me, ever thanked me for volunteering, or ever thanked me for providing funds for field trips. Just seems odd. And, there is a big part of me that thinks that I should not expect any thanks for anything.

So, Happy Times, Lacoochee Elementary School. I am interested in you, I love the kids, I want to be there, but it is really hard to be a volunteer without any affirmation whatsoever.

Picnic at Lacoochee

The kids knew we were going to have a picnic today. The cafeteria was to be closed because the fifth graders were having their graduation lunch, so all the other kids would have boxed lunches (crud) sent to the classrooms. But Ms. Yager's class was having a picnic!

I was excited today because I love to give presents. And I love those kids. First, I sent Ms. Yager out of the class for five minutes and the kids gathered on the green rug so they could see what was in the BIG BAG. It was the quilt I had put together from the squares the children had made last week on the theme of 'If I could Fly', from the story, "Tar Beach" by Faith Ringold, the incredible quilt maker. The kids were enthralled and excited to be able to give their teacher this gift they had made. They lifted up the edge and haltingly read: 'For CareyAnne, a gifted teacher, from Miss Molly and the students.' They marveled to see their very own squares displayed on a royal blue background.bCareyAnne came in and the kids were so excited to give her this gift they had made. They told her that she could wrap up in this quilt on cool days in Arizona - where she is going to be next year.

Next, I distributed book gifts to each student. I told them ahead of time that each book was different because each student was different and unique. Each book was wrapped and labeled and we opened them one by one. These needy kids were just great. They appreciated each other's books and waited patiently for theirs. And for the next half hour everyone was reading their books, sharing with others. It was magical humming as kids read, leaned on each other, sat on laps, and exclaimed about their delight. They could not believe that these books were theirs forever and they could take them home. I had chosen several books in Spanish or in both Spanish and English so that families could read the books together. And, indeed, several of the kids came to me to say that their moms would read this with them.

The picnic was wonderful! We spread out on a king size sheet under an old oak tree. The kids sat around the edge. Many helpers put out the plates, cutlery and food items. All the kids waited until everyone was served, and then they dug in to a picnic of fried chicken, pasta salad, raw vegetables with yogurt dip, pickles, French bread, watermelon and brownies. No one complained and everyone ate. Many wanted seconds. Lots of these needy kids wanted seconds before the firsts were finished! The bottled water in an iced cooler was a hit, as my husband had predicted. There was nothing left! The whole thing was fun, sweaty, and dirty from the black sand of the Florida dry season and the energy of children.

When we went inside, grubby, satisfied, and full of love for each other, being cool in that air conditioned no-windows classroom, it seemed it was O.K for the moment. We spent the next hour playing a version of 'school store'. At the beginning of the day (after the mice sang the National Anthem), CareyAnne had given each child five dollars in play money. For each time a student tattled or argued he/she would deduct 50 cents. We were relentless about recording these transgressions! At the end of the day each child would have whatever money left to spend at the class sticker store (a math activity in which the kids had to make change). Every child had a chance to step a time or two to purchase stickers of his/he upr choice

After the kids 'got it' about the tattling and arguing, it was incredibly pleasant and communal. They began to pay attention to each other and they tried to understand that some things that happen, just happen by mistake. No big deal. You don't have to tattle or report on it. Each child bought many stickers at the 'store'. Only one child, a problem one, tried to steal money. I am saddened to think I can see into his future- a young man out of control, manipulating the truth, probably violent.

This school has taught me so much. This is a Title One school, one of the poorest. It is out in Nowhere, East Overshoe, actually Lacoochee, FL. (close to where I live.) I have a vision for such schools as this. It is here that we need the VERY BEST in the way of principals and teachers. But that is not the case here, and I imagine this is true everywhere. There is no joy at Lacoochee Elementary School as far as I can see from being there for two years. I have never gotten the slightest indication that anyone teaching here goes home energized. It is difficult even on the most wonderful mornings to get anyone to respond to my cheery "Good Morning!" Their heads are down, they are determined to get through the day. There is no excited talk of pedagogical issues,no interest in kids (other than to complain about them),they don't read and they have no close feeling of being a team with a mission.

Except in the classroom, no one has ever either met my eyes in friendliness, or sent me a thank you. Many of the teachers I have met there do not speak grammatical English, and I am not talking about Hispanics. But I do not think that these teachers are dim. They don't have leadership!

What if you got an energetic and intelligent principal for such poor schools as Lacoochee? Someone with energy and creativity and the desire to create a crackerjack team of teachers? Someone who could recruit teachers with idealism. Someone who could lead and energize? Someone who could inspire teachers and students? Someone who could get down and dirty with students on their level, leave the pointy toed high heels in the dust, and be just human? What if such a principal could attract the best and brightest teachers? What if the principal could let the current teachers know IF THEY HAD A JOB FOR THE UPCOMING YEAR? What are we thinking? And actually, how can we expect our children to be good readers if the PARENTS AND TEACHERS DON'T READ?

We are failing our children if we don't get it together better. Our teachers and especially our principals need to be the best! What are we thinking to let the mediocre and worse teach our kids? Our kids spend the majority of their daily lives in school. It is of the highest priority that their time there is quality time. I believe that teachers should be paid as the highest ranks of workers and that we should, in turn, expect the highest quality from them.

Our children are our future, as all of you know.

Kids on the Ranch

Today we had nine kids, seven of them boys, from my old school, come up to our ranch for a long day. In previous years we have had as many as fifteen kids for three or four days, but this time it was not to be. They arrived in the late morning, vans full of excited kids. Three of the kids would stay overnight with their parents in the guest house, and all the rest would leave at eight in the evening.

Going to Molly's ranch has been an annual tradition, some say maybe the best field trip of all. Here they have the freedom to be outdoors, choose what they want to do from the cornucopia of physical, social, and artistic offerings. Today, many kids wanted to make sculptures from found materials. We had many glue guns available and an entire set of drawers of very old 'stuff', sort of hardware and nuts and bolts and odd metal things. We had small pieces of wood for bases. The kids pulled out the drawers and discovered many things and shapes and textures. Their creations are worthy of a museum exhibition.

We went on a truck ride around the property, the kids bouncing around in the truck bed and dodging overhanging branches and screaming with delight at every pothole. We stopped to pump a pitcher pump that barely worked. (we needed to come back for that since the cows had knocked over the priming water can.) We stopped at the mulberry trees so the kids could pick the ripe ones . Their faces were stained red with delight.

We had lunch of 'build your own sandwiches', and then it was on to volleyball and archeology-digging in a distant very hot and sweaty mound of lime rock to find Indian artifacts. The kids found amazing spear points, chert shards, and hand axes. They persevered and were focused way past what I would have thought. We had to make them stop! I was worried that they would get sunstroke.

Some kids were enthralled with being in the fabric studio and both boys and girls made pillows and other things. From time to time, I checked in on them and helped them sew up seams on the sewing machine. Other kids were still making their sculptures. Life was humming. Up at the main house Andy was preparing pizzas for supper with a few kids who wanted to participate. He is great at helping kids learn the ropes of cooking. I can't look; he lets kids use incredibly sharp knives and cut onions. He speaks to them as if they were just reasonable people and perfectly competent. They love this and respond.

We spend an hour or so with everyone in the swimming pool leaping from the jacuzzi into the pool, howling with delight. Many of the kids come and whisper to tell me often how much they love being here, and of course, it is music to my ears.

These kids are my heart's delight! I have known them since they were toddlers, and they know I am still interested in them. They are the last group I have known, so it is indeed bittersweet. But I also know that I am no longer interested in or able to deal with ten year olds on a daily basis; I need my own space and time after teaching for so many years. My energy is now going to other things.

These kids who were here today know that they will always be welcome here. They thanked Andy and me over and over for their day here. ( aw shucks..) Many others, older, come back here and keep in touch by email. They know they are always welcome here. They know we will always be supportive and helpful as they begin their adult lives.

This will not be true for my Lacoochee kids! However much I love them and care what happens in their lives, however bright some child might be, their parents will not be able to respond. Of course I would love to have them be a part of the line of many kids who have been my students and then become young adults we have mentored and funded and cared for. But I fear that the gulf is too wide and deep. Few of their parents will touch in to ask anything of their teacher, let alone to thank me, a volunteer, for the interesting activities I have given their kids, or just to say, "Hi". They have no clue. Public school teaching, generally, is a hard scrabble life.

Garden Invasion

The vegetable garden looks like triplets have been jumping on the bed. Everything is rumpled and dug up: there are holes under my tomatoes, excavations under the leeks, the beans are teetering and the onions have fallen over. Lettuces are covered in dirt, and the cheddar cauliflower I carefully grew from seed are limp from the abrupt airing. Three of the romanesco broccoli lie dead.

This is ALL OUT WAR! The armadillos have attacked! The perimeter has been breached. For all of this gardening season, there were no deer, no squirrels, no pigs, and no armadillos. We have had produce constantly all winter and spring from a garden protected by a seven foot fence and dug six inches into the soil. We have had lovely lettuces, broccoli, kale, collards and onions all winter. Now we have beans and peas, and peppers, tomatoes, squash and cucumbers coming. Before the night forays of the armadillos we had ten rare fingerling potato plants, just up and starting to produce those wonderful long blue potatoes you can't get unless you grow them yourself. All gone.

I spend several hours replacing the plants I could save, filling in the holes, plumping up the mulch. I hear the dull thump of the gopher tortoise who lives just outside the fence. He's benign, my friend. But since he's a protected species, I can't extend the garden. As I replace mulch the dapper head of a black racer rises up out of the mulch. He swirls around for a few minutes before exiting.

I look carefully at the garden perimeter, trying to figure out where the critters come in. I think I have found out several places of entry. I am ready with old tent stakes, rocks, (try to find rocks in Florida!) logs, strange pieces of junk, and the HAVE-A-HEART traps! By now the outside edges of the garden are kin to Watts Towers with their strange mix of wood, logs, rocks, and things I found in the barn that were meant for other purposes. I can't believe that I, a normal elderly person would be doing all this. If all this fails, I will get my friend, Warren, to stake out the garden and shoot them. I'm serious.

This is the first full year I have had vegetable and flower gardens that I could really observe and take care of. I am thrilled to see the flowers I planted bloom. I look at them several times a day and I have carefully monitored the progress of things I thought were weeds, but turned out to have lovely blooms. I check out the vegetable garden, more serious than flowers because we need to eat them. I am always looking up plants and flowers in my books and on-line. I am learning stuff. I am captivated. In the dry season I need to water every garden every day, but keep in mind to conserve water.

Last night we had a good rain. It was gift. The pastures look so green, the resurrection ferns on the trees are plumping out, and for this one day I did not have to water the gardens. It was so moist that I went out with the rake and hoe to plant some wild flowers in memory of an old friend who died today. She'd be glad to think of wild phlox, calendula, and poppies growing somewhere in rural Florida in her name.

FCAT, again!

The news in the paper and on my computer was that the FCAT scores were down. My little school, Lacoochee, was significantly down, worse, in some ways than the others.

I read the sample reading question and I wonder how we can judge kids (and whole schools) on such questions as these. Remember that the kids I see each week have no idea what a green bean is, nor a pea, nor a bat. They have no experiences in either English or Spanish. How can we expect that they will do well on a reading comprehension test that assumes they are all familiar with the usual Anglo body of information?

Last night we had our two year old grandson visiting us. After his bath and supper we went upstairs, brushed teeth, and settled down on the bed to read a story. I chose one from our shelf of kids' books, "Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo". This was way far from his experience. But he loved the cadence of the repetition, and he loved the pictures of China. So. He'll grow up with this little piece of knowledge about China, myths, and how they name children.

Kids in poverty do not have regular routines of sweet smelling baths and supper and bookshelves full of bedtime stories, and kisses from grandpa. But then, they are expected to perform on FCAT tests! What are we thinking?

There are some children who despite all odds are flourishing. Marisol comes to mind. (She is clearly the most able child in the class, though one of the youngest). I think that Marisol's parents, whom I have never met, and who have many children, try really hard. I think they must know that their children are bright and somehow they must give them sustenance for the mind. We must try and find out what such parents as Marisol's do to foster achieving and creative children. There is a language barrier here, but we must figure out why they are so successful.

This week at Lacoochee, the teachers were having a workshop on writing. The kids from Kindergarten on up had to write a sample for, what else, the FCAT. I looked at some of the writing, from my group, from a "prompt" about 'what made my teacher proud.' What the kids wrote was absolute crap. Of course the spelling, grammar, and exposition was seat of the pants basic. I wonder what they would have written from a more emotionally true prompt from a single word such as "violence" or "kisses" or "roaches"? And they could write from their hearts and experiences, not from a formula? I wonder if these teachers and administrators and legislators have ever had the chance to write from their interests and hearts. I wonder if they have ever heard of Sylvia Ashton Warner?

I wish these good and patient children and their teachers could have a leader with energy, creativity and vision who could show them that achievement of students is not measured in FCAT scores, but in the content of their characters, their creativity, and their interest in everything about this planet.

The News from Lacoochee

I find that I want to write about this little elementary school miles from nowhere way out amidst the fields of purple phlox and far away from my usual world of soccer moms and multitasking. I have learned so much this year about what America is right now. I have come to know these sixteen good and patient children. I know which of them whines, which one sulks, which one is a "handful", which one never takes a bath, which ones have parents who care about them. I see how the school works. I love Annette in the office who is so kind and helpful to all parents, and the cafeteria ladies who run lunch with an iron hand in a velvet glove. I love the ladies who run the impoverished media center to the best of their abilities.

Today I brought my tote bag full of just-picked beans and pea pods from our garden and a dip made of non-fat organic yogurt with just a dab of mayonnaise and ketchup. I saved this for later because we had a 'science' project to do in which the kids put cut out photos of various animals and placed them on large pieces of construction paper according to whether they were reptiles, mammals, fish, and so on. They had never heard of arachnids. But it was fun for all. In some of the National Geographic magazines we perused there were pictures of naked people, and that made quite a stir. Nasty! Some of the little girls sashayed slowly around, carefully placing their photos. Other kids went right to business. Finally, we had all the pictures placed in their correct categories. Then each child had a chance to glue down photos of a phylum of their choice. A lot of kids wanted to put photos of the great white shark, tarantulas, and panthers in one category (scary things?). But we persevered in the scientific mode, though the emotional classification might be more important.

When all the glued and cut out animals were done and hung on the board, we made a circle on the rug. I showed them the green beans. Not one of them had ever seen such a thing before. We looked at the pea pods and split a few open. I popped them into the mouths of the nearest kids. Then the kids went to their seats and I distributed handfuls of beans and pea pods and tomatoes along with the dip. The kids were entranced, loved the vegetables, but not the tomato skins. Nothing was left! "Miss Molly, can I have the recipe?" So I wrote it out and copied it for any child who wanted it.

When we go to lunch, both my hands are held by kids who want to tell me about their grandmother or their brother, or want me to help them check for spiders who may be lurking in the corridor. They know they should be totally quiet but this is impossible for these good and patient children.

In the teachers' lunch room where I had taken the pitiful lunch provided to volunteers, I am always surprised that the staff there never engages in any serious pedagogical conversation. This day was no different. One woman, a kindergarten aide, as usual, launches her monologue about her health and the problems with the Veterans Administration of her husband, a Viet Nam Vet. There are maybe six of us there. The woman goes on about what are terrible problems not being addressed. I try to steer the conversation to the more global concerns of our American failure to deal with wounded veterans of wars and how this issue is becoming so much more intense now with Iraq. I remark that we have lately come to know that the facilities at Walter Reed and others are barely adequate. Everyone continues trying to eat the dried carrots and they do not comment. I say that I believe it is particularly hard now since we have an all volunteer fighting force. I ask the woman if her husband had been drafted into the Viet Nam war. He was a volunteer, as it turns out.

One teacher there looks up and asks, "Aren't our troops drafted?" My jaw drops. Where have you been, woman? This woman teaches our kids. What is she thinking or reading? I try to explain. Again, I have bitten off more than I can chew. Aargh!