Why Go to the Symphony?

Note: This is keyword analysis post #1. It seems that a handful of people wonder why anyone would bother to attend a performance of classical music. For some odd reason, many of these searchers are from Texas. By the way, this entry SHOULD have been written by my friend R who is the maestro of all things symphonic.

So you're thinking of taking a trip to your local concert hall. Maybe someone is dragging you along, kicking a screaming, to see a show. Maybe you just won free tickets in a raffle. Maybe you just think it's time you tried out some of the more "grown up" cultural activities out there. Whatever the reason, going to the symphony is a great idea! Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the music!

Top Ten Reasons to Visit the Symphony

1. Many classic composers had incredibly cool hair. Look through the program to find new cuts and styles for yourself.

2. You can check out all other hot symphony goers who may be sitting around you. Perhaps you can meet someone new! This is especially likely if you prefer ladies or gentlemen of the blue-haired variety. This is doubly true at Sunday afternoon performances.

3. You can score free cough drops from the ushers! Just be sure to unwrap before the music begins.

4. You get the chance to shoot withering glances at people who forget to unwrap their cough drops before the music begins. You also get to do this to ANYONE who talks for ANY reason.

5. Enjoy this chance to dress up. No, no, penguin suits are only for the performers, and you should leave your Marti gras costume at home. Symphony attire can be anything from khakis and a polo to fancy dress clothes. Saturdays tend to be the most formal.

6. Snacks are the best. At least here in Seattle, you can get an entire dinner before the performance. During intermission, they have the best cookies. Just don't try taking anything back to your seat.

7. Oh yeah the music! I knew there was something I was forgetting! The music IS the reason that most symphony goers bother to come.

8. Many claim that classical music is good for the brain improving an array of cognitive skills at least in the short term.

9. Many also claim that listening relieves stress, and thus can have positive physical benefits.

10. Last, but not least, music is good for the soul. I know, I know it sounds like a cliché, but I really think it's true. Not every composer will "speak" to you, but when you find the right piece, it will take you away completely. I recommend starting with Beethoven and working your way forward. Besides, Beethoven had some of the coolest hair of all.

Keyword Analysis

It's time once again for that fun, fun game bloggers like to play with the "keyword analysis" feature that is available on most visitor counters. This little item allows you to see how visitors managed to find your blog, and it also tells you what search terms they used in their query. Frequently people often seem to be looking for one thing when they end up finding another. Why they click on something that is obviously unrelated to their search is beyond me.

Years ago, for example, I got many, many hits on a post I did about gardening. It turns out that people were searching for an Australian band called the "Spiky Cucumbers," but for some reason they were finding me instead. I tried to find a site I could link to for the band, but alas there were none. Perhaps the strangest I've ever run across was the large number of people searching variations on "why your baby is pale." Why the heck they ended up with me is anyone's guess, but I did my best to suggest that they might like to take the baby to the doctor instead of simply googling for answers.

Anyway, the number of reasonable queries for which there must be a shortage of good answers seems quite high. Therefore, in the next few posts, I will attempt to create decent answers for common "mis-hits" on my blog. Regular readers might just want to skip these as they might be boring as all get out.

Blogger???

Why does the blogger editor have a different view than the actual blog?

Why does the "preview page" show one thing, but then the published page is totally different?

Why do pictures suddenly invent their own sizes and margins after being imported?

Why? Why? Why?

You get what you pay for perhaps?

NOLA Rocks! Part 4: Buildings

One of the parts I most enjoyed about our NOLA trip was the archetecture. Our buildings on the west coast are so young, that there isn't so much variation in the styles. In New Orleans, the fingerprints of history can be seen all over the city. A building in a more French style might sit next to one with Spanish touches. A very modern skyscraper might be found only a few blocks from a warehouse built in the 1700s. It's a wondeful mish-mash that gives the city such a unique feel.

Many of the pictures were taken on our coach tour, so they may be a bit blurry around the eges. The first two are houses from the famous (and incredibly beautiful) Garden District. Picture four was taken to show the iron railings and plantain shutters that are so common in this area (plus that little orange tree is just cool). The last pic may seem kind of dull after the others, but it is of a warehouse from the early 1700s. You can still make out some of the original signage over the doors.

Atheists Come Out

There are certain topics in the news that always catch my attention. Any article dealing with vegetarianism, for example, goes in my "must read" category. There are dozens of these issues that are particularly important to me, and they are the ones I flip (or click) to first before skimming through the rest of the paper. Recently this article about atheism could not be missed. It turns out that atheists and agnostics are everywhere, and more and more of them are willing to admit their beliefs even if it means discrimination by others.

Charts for the Masses

Reason #2,568 that I love M: He makes me charts and graphs.

Recently I was "asked" (ordered) to present information at a meeting with very little lead time to plan. It turned out that the information was not prepared properly, so the task of presenting suddenly required a lot more effort. I was faced with having to crunch the data myself, and with my knowledge of Excel (LOTS of highlighting and manually moving things around) it was not going to be a quick job.

Then, like the hero that he is, M. came to the rescue. With a few deft keystrokes, he had Excel quaking in its boots. Suddenly my mess of data was transformed into beautiful charts with clever sounding names. The presentation went off without a hitch. My boss was grateful, and my co-workers were impressed. I did confess that I had a secret assistant, and that got me a whole new kind of street cred, the superior husband boost!

End of Year Already?

We still have five weeks left of school, and yet kids are already beginning to lose it. Just this morning, before class began, I had one of my most capable and pleasant boys walk into my classroom, speak a few words to his friend, punch the friend in the nose, and calmly walk out. I spent a good fifteen minutes cleaning up the blood and reporting the offender to the office.

Yesterday, told one kid that he couldn't leave the classroom to visit another teacher, and he pitched such a fit that I had to ask the principal to come and remove him. I've also confiscated about a dozen toys and perhaps another dozen cel phones in recent days. Gum, running, and dress code violations are everywhere. It's as if all the usual rules have suddenly stopped applying to this class. I begin to have sympathy for those grim authority figure stereotypes who yell at you for the ridiculous infractions. Perhaps they have simply lost their minds after being pushed too far too many times.

Why are they doing this so early? I really don't know. This has been a tough class all along, but now they are really showing their colors. Perhaps this is just the result of extra stress at home since the economy has so many people out of work. That could be the answer, but it sounds like a bit of a cop out to me. There is definitely a PhD project in figuring out why certain classes have the personalities that they do. If I could figure out an antidote for the more hard-bitten groups, I would be one of the world's only teacher millionaires.

NOLA Rocks Part 3: Cemetary

Part of our grand NOLA trip was a bus tour around the city. While bus tours can be painfully touristy, they are a way to see a lot of things in a very short space of time. Ours was no exception. One of the highlights of this trip was a visit to one of New Orleans' famous graveyards. Number Three Cemetary was once situated a good way outside the main part of town, but as they city grew, the area was surrounded. Houses and other buildings now hem the yard in on all sides, and there is even a retirement home with apartments that look out over the graves.

One of the things that makes NOLA cemetaries so unique is the above-ground burials in crypts. This practice came about because the city is built over swamp land, and if one digs a hole, it soon becomes a pond. The early Catholic inhabitants of the city did not seem to think that sinking their loved ones into the swamp constituted proper Christian burial. Go figure.

The actual method by which the cemetaries are used is both shocking and fascinating. A family may own a crypt for hundreds of years, but the actual dimensions of the building (often the size of a garden shed) certainly could not accomodate dozens of bodies. The very first coffin put into the crypt is left there until the next person in the family dies. At that time, the old body is taken out of its coffin and put into a chamber beneath the crypt while the new coffin is put in its place. I'm not sure how I would feel about mixing together with all my dead grandparents, but it seems to work for them.

Benaroya Never Smelled Like This

Benaroya Hall, home of the Seattle Symphony, may not be a venerable institution, but it certainly tries. The soaring ceilings and elegant decor are intended to give you the appropriate feelings of gravitas that seems to be required in order to appreciate this type of music. After all, there are traditions to be upheld and rivals to be upstaged! We cannot allow our symphony hall to be less grand, less, imposing, less impressive than, say, the Arlene Schnitzer Hall in Portland or even the Hult Center in Eugene. What would the other symphonies think of us if we allowed our standard to relax? Other conductors might refuse to visit, our players might not get out of town gigs, high-brow culture in Seattle could ultimately collapse!

All joking aside, even for all its stuffiness, I really do enjoy my time at Benaroya Hall. The stringent behavior requirements of symphony attendance actually make sense when you think about the music. How can you truly enjoy a delicate violin solo if somebody next to you is talking about their bunions or slurping on a soda? It just doesn't work. Therefore, I've really trained myself to be extra careful with my behavior while enjoying an evening in the main concert hall. That is why I found it so very unnerving when we went that same venue to hear a totally different kind of music.

A few months ago, we actually attended a rock concert there. David Byrne, one of my perennial favorites, was having a show, and M was kind enough to grab a pair of tickets. We weren't even inside the building when I started to notice the difference. People with dreadlocks and hemp skirts generally do not attend the symphony, but they were in the crowd tonight. The throng milling around the entrance also included the very young and very pierced, and it noticeably did not include the seniors one would usually find. Nothing about this crowd worried me, but the disorientation was severe. It only got worse as the show began.

Instead of the stirring strains of a Beethoven piece, we heard "Take Me to the River" and "Psycho Killer." The guy in front of us was actually wearing a mic to illegally record the concert. People began dancing in the aisles. It could have been any rock concert at any amphitheater or arena. Then came the ultimate in brain-bending moments. The smell. You know the "concert" smell? That aroma of illegal celebration? Anyway, I never actually saw anyone lighting up, but they were certainly there somewhere.

In the long run, I'm actually kind of happy when my expectations are so completely turned on their heads. Perhaps it will prevent my brain from moldering away into a series of impassable ruts. Nevertheless, if I hear Chopin the next time I'm at the Moore, doubtless I will be confused all over again.

NOLA Rocks Part 2: Boat Ride

Due to public transportation hiccups (DO NOT RIDE THE STREET CAR IF YOU ARE ON A TIMELINE!) M and I had to run for it in order to catch our ride on the paddle wheel steamer. However, I'm very glad we did as it was an unforgettable experience. Paddle wheel steamers used to be common in the United States as both cargo and passenger ships. However, the invention of new technologies has made them all but obsolete. The Natchez, a sternwheeler, still plies the waters (as they say) around New Orleans, but it is confined to ferrying tourists. While the boat itself was built in the 1970s, it's steam boiler system was taken from a much older ship, the Clairmont.

The boat ride is an entertaining and relaxing way to get a good look at what happens along the shores of the river, and you also get an impression of just how much boat traffic there is in that area. Lunch, dinner, and drinks are also served, but I would stick with a drink and take it out onto the deck.

Pic #1: Boiler room on the boat (M became suddenly eight years old when we went in)

Pic #2: The wheel!

Pic #3: An abandoned school in the lower 9th ward.

Cooking for Big Kids

Not long ago, I had one of those sudden realization moments about the nieces. They were staying the night with us, and I was making dinner for the four of us. Without giving it much thought, I cooked enough for two normal portions plus about one more portion to be divided between the girls. You probably know what a kid's plate looks like. That night it was maybe half a cup of tofu, half a potato, and a little hill of peas. Often, the dinners of little kids end up looking like something from nouvelle cuisine because they just have such tiny stomachs. I was used to this.

After just a few minutes of eating, I began to realize my mistake. Food was disappearing at a much faster rate than I'd expected. Before M and I had taken our first few bites, Elder Niece was already chasing the last few peas around her plate. Younger Niece began eyeing my potatoes with a dangerous gleam in her eye. I got myself back in the kitchen as quickly as possible for fear that they might eat M in my absence. Lucky I'd cooked extras for the next day's lunches! Seconds were devoured at much the same speed as the first round.

It seems that the nieces have reached a new stage in their lives where the "hollow leg" effect begins to take over. Never again will I make the mistake of serving them tiny children's portions of anything. You'd think Elder Niece being taller than her grandmother would have tipped me off to these changes, but sometimes I have trouble accepting how fast these things happen. Weren't they sweet little babies about five minutes ago?

Excuse Me M'am May I See Your Pass?

One thing you realize really quickly in teaching is the need to wear many different hats in a given day. The hat I like the least is probably the police helmet. Part of our time is spent keeping the peace in the hall, organizing audiences, and generally looking out for any signs of trouble. A few months ago, I had one of these "policing" moments that went above and beyond the norm.

It all started when I was heading down to the office during my prep time. When class is in session, the halls should be pretty much deserted, and those kids who are out should have passes from their classrooms. I noticed a girl moving without much "purpose" (as we like to call it). She did not seem to have a pass, but she did have a large wad of gum that she was chewing with bovine intensity. She seemed a bit too old to be one of our students, but some 8th graders can be deceiving. I checked for a visitor badge, but she didn't have one of those either.

Me: Excuse me; may I see your pass?

Her: What?! I don't HAVE a PASS! I don't EVEN go HERE!!!

Me: Oh I see. So you checked in at the office and you have a visitor sticker?

Her: NO!!! My mom is a TEACHER here, and I came to see her! I don't need a PASS!

Me: Nevertheless, you still need a pass. You also need to spit out your gum.

Her: I said I DON'T EVEN GO HERE!!! MY MOM TEACHES HERE!!!

Me: Nevertheless

Her: OH MY GOD (yes, she really said that) I DON'T BELIEVE THIS! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!

Me: Nevertheless

Her: YOU CAN'T DO THIS! TELL ME YOUR NAME! MY MOM IS A TEACHER! TELL ME YOUR NAME!

Me (telling my name): Nevertheless

At this point she stormed off, and I went down to the office to report the problem. Just as I was finishing explaining the event, here she came around the corner with her mom (an assistant, NOT a teacher) in tow. As the mom frantically tried to explain the daughter's horrible behavior to the principal, I turned to head back to my room. Once I'd turned the corner and was out of sight of the front office, several staff came up to high five me. I was confused. Then one explained that the girl I'd caught was something of a regular in the Front Office. "She's an absolute menace" said one. Ah yes, that's me Officer Teacher, catcher of menaces. Ugh!

Spring is Like a Perhaps Hand

By e. e. cummings (1925)

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and from moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything.

NOLA Rocks! Part 1

Okay, I must confess that I've sort of been avoiding writing about our trip to New Orleans. The reason is the magnitude of the task. New Orleans is not a place where descriptions can be short and sweet. It is steeped in history, overflowing with charm, and bursting with fascinating people and places. We loved our visit, and I will do my best to communicate why.

First things first. We arrived on a Saturday, stayed at the Hotel Monteleone. It turns out that there are some good things about an economic downturn, and getting to stay in fancy hotels at cut-rate prices is one of them! M, in his trip planning brilliance, got us the flight and the hotel for a very good price, and so we were able to stay for five full days instead of just doing the long weekend. We did several activities per day, but we still didn't quite manage to see all the things on my list. Still, I think this is a good problem to have.

It occurs to me that I don't really need to tell this as a story. You, reader, probably don't care that much about the order of events, so I will just tell about things in vague categories. Food, for example, was a major part of our trip (please forgive me if I can't quite make the pics behave):

Coffee and beignets at Cafe Du Monde are a must. They cost only $1.83 for each item, and the cafe is open 24 hours a day. It's far easier to get a seat on the patio at midnight than it is during the mid-morning rush. That was only the beginning.

My favorite meal of the trip was at a place called The Gumbo Shop in the French Quarter. Not only did they have vegetarian gumbo, but several tasty sides as well. M also enjoyed many wonderful seafood dishes. Every place we tried seemed to have some version of oysters, muscles, or different kinds of fish.

Don't forget the desserts! There were many tasty options including these strawberry crepes.

I am the People, the Mob

By Carl Sandburg (1918)

I am the people--the mob--the crowd--the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world's food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history.
The Napoleons come from me and the Lincolns.
They die.
And then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.
I am the seed ground.
I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing.
Terrible storms pass over me. I forget.
The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I forget.
Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have.
And I forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember.
Then--I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the People, use the lessons of
yesterday and no longer forget who robbed me last year, who played me for a fool--
then there will be no speaker in all the world say the name:
"The People," with any fleck of a sneer in hisvoice or any far-off smile of derision.
The mob--the crowd--the mass--will arrive then.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost (1916)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Lovliest of Trees, the Cherry Now

By A.E. Housman (1896)

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

Crossing the Bar

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1889)

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar

News

The RIF fairy has finally come to our town, and she is not pretty. The RIF line has been established, and roughly the bottom 20% of our teaching force is gone. I ended up being safe by hundreds of places. Whew, one thing off my worry plate. Now we are on to the excessing and re-assignment phase of affairs.

986

986
By Emily Dickinson (1886)

A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides --
You may have met Him -- did you not
His notice sudden is --

The Grass divides as with a Comb --
A spotted shaft is seen --
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on --

He likes a Boggy Acre
A Floor too cool for Corn --
Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot --
I more than once at Noon
Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled, and was gone --

Several of Nature's People
I know, and they know me --
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality --
But never met this Fellow
Attended, or alone
Without a tighter breathing
And Zero at the Bone –

Still No News

Today was supposed to be "the big day" for news about our lay-offs. However, at our staff meeting this morning, we were not really told anything except how the process will work once they know all the numbers. At the staff meeting tonight, the board is supposed to release the RIF line. That is where they sort all the teachers by seniority, figure how many have to go to meet budget targets, and then they draw a line somewhere on the list to determine who goes and who stays. I "should" be safe from the RIF line because of my seniority, but I may have a change in what I actually teach if they need to move around those who stay behind. Now the new target is May 1st for the next level of concrete news. We shall see.

The Noiseless Patient Spider

The Noiseless Patient Spider
By Walt Whitman (1881)

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood, isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my Soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my Soul.

How Do I Love Thee

How Do I Love Thee
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1850)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints, ---
I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life! ---
and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

The Raven

The Raven (first four verses)
By Edger Allan Poe (1845)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,

'Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Concord Hymn

Concord Hymn
By Ralph Waldo Emerson (1837)

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled;
Here once the embattled farmers stood;
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps,
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream that seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We place with joy a votive stone,
That memory may their deeds redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

O Thou who made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
--Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raised to them and Thee.

The World's Dumbest Car Scene

Okay, I must confess that sometimes, especially on vacation, I do read schlocky novels. Right now I'm reading The Villa which is a murder mystery set in Napa Valley. This is certainly not literature, but it's done a decent enough job of keeping me guessing without being too embarrassingly bad in the writing department. Then I came to the thrilling climax with the run-away car. What follows has been deeply paraphrased for the sake of space:

Person 1: OMG! The brakes! I don't have any control!

Person 2: OMG! What will we do?!

Person 1: I will steer this speeding car along this curving road that has a cliff to one side!

Person 2: You won't make it! Look at those s bends up ahead!

Person 1: OMG! Try pulling the emergency brake!

Person 2: It doesn't work either!

Person 1: OMG! We're going to die! (car fishtails wildly around bends, tires squeal, other cars honk in protest)

Person 2: What about shifting? I'll try down shifting through the gears. Hold on, this is going to hurt! (crunches car into fourth)

Person 1: (whacking head on steering wheel) OMG! That hurt! We're still going waaay to fast!

Person 2: Here we go again (shifts into third, then second, then rams it into first with a horrible twisting of metal, but the car finally stops)

Person 1: OMG! I think someone is trying to kill me! Thank goodness you knew what to do!

Sure, it's a badly written scene, but there have been many badly written scenes in this book. What makes this scene hilariously bad is the one key omission. Did you spot it? At no point, in all that frantic action, did anyone suggest the driver take her foot off the accelerator. Sure, the author could have claimed the pedal was jammed, or that the car was going down hill, but she didn't and that makes all the difference. I can hardly wait to see what will happen when they finally catch the killer. Maybe it will be as unintentionally funny as this part. I guess this is what happens when you try to write 27 books per year.

She Walks in Beauty

She Walks in Beauty
By George Gordon, Lord Byron (1815)

Note: Did you know that, notorious rake, Byron was the father of Ada Lovelace? I didn't until quite recently. I'll have to do a little more research, and then do a separate post about that connection.

She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Kubla Khan

Kubla Khan (excerpt)
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1816)

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
a stately pleasure-dome decree,
where Alph, the sacred river, ran
through caverns measureless to man
down to a sunless sea,
so twice five miles of fertile ground
with walls and towers were girdled round.
and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree.
And here were forests as ancient as the hills,
enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

Crimes Against Capitalization

Let me start by saying that I frequently comit crimes against punctuation, spelling, and grammar. I know this. It stems from my unwillingness to treat my blog like a professional task. Nevertheless, I do know conventions crimes when I see them. On our vacation in New Orleans, I saw such an interesting example of a conventions crime that I had to take pictures to share. Perhaps there is some sort of capitalization rule for wine descriptions of which I have not previously been aware. I especially love "elegant California Creaminess."

I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud

I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
By William Wordsworth (circa 1800)

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Waiting for Mssr. Guillotine

We are back in school today after one week off for Spring Break. While M and our friends and I had a fabulous time in New Orleans (more on that later) the big topic of the day is lay-offs. With less than ten days to go before Pink Slip Day, the anxiety level is ramping up. Some of my co-workers know for sure, due to their lack of seniority, that they are gone. Other people are pretty sure to be gone, but they may get called back if they get lucky. Still more people are wondering if they will avoid the lay-off entirely. Without knowing exactly how many teachers are being cut, it is impossible to tell for sure if you will be one of them. Nine days left.

The Tyger

The Tyger
By William Blake (circa 1790)

Note: Would someone please explain to me why geeks seem to like this poem so much? It's certainly a good one, but computer people seem to have a particular passion for it. Is there some sort of joke that I'm just not getting?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Gather Ye Rosebuds

To Make Much of Time
By Robert Herrick (circa 1620)

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

Twa Corbies

Some medieval bard must have thought that yesterday's poem "Three Ravens" was overly melodramatic because this parody appeared during the same era. It has the hawk and the hound and the lady fair all running off and leaving the poor dead night to the crows.

Twa Corbies (A parody of “Three Ravens” by an anonymous poet of the same era.)

As I was walking all alone,
I heard two crows (or ravens) making a moan;
One said to the other,
“Where shall we go and dine today?”

“In behind that old turf wall,
I sense there lies a newly slain knight;
And nobody knows that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair.”

“His hound is to the hunting gone,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl home,
His lady’s has taken another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.”

“You will sit on his white neck-bone,
And I’ll peck out his pretty blue eyes;
With one lock of his golden hair
We’ll thatch our nest when it grows bare.”

“Many a one for him is moaning,
But nobody will know where he is gone;
Over his white bones, when they are bare,
The wind will blow for evermore.”

Three Ravens

This poem was written to show how loyal and devoted the hawk and the hound and the "doe" were to the knight. Why burying the knight had to kill the "doe" I'm not exactly sure. Maybe she's supposed to have died of grief.

Three Ravens
Anonymous
Written down in 1611, but probably sung for many centuries before.

There were three ravens sat on a tree,
downe a downe, hay downe, hay downe,
There were three rauens sat on a tree,
with a downe,
There were three rauens sat on a tree,
They were as blacke as they might be.
With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe.
The one of them said to his mate,
Where shall we our breakfast take?
Downe in yonder greene field,
There lies a Knight slain under his shield,
His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they can their Master keepe,
His Hawkes they flie so eagerly,
There's no fowle dare him come nie
Downe there comes a fallow Doe (note, this really means a woman!),
As great with yong as she might goe,
She lift up his bloudy head,
And kist his wounds that were so red,
She got him up upon her backe,
And carried him to earthen lake,
She buried him before the prime,
She was dead her self ere euen-song time.
God send euery gentleman,
Such haukes, such hounds, and such a Leman.

Another Ancient Poem

No, I did not mention to the kids the name of Sappho's home island. All I told them is that this poem was found written on a crumbling piece of parchment, and that the first and last verses are probably missing. Some words are the translator's best guess because pieces of the original material were actually torn away.

Ancient Greek Poem
Sappho (circa 600 b.c.e.)

Now she shines forth among the Lydian
Ladies, when as the sun sinks low,
The rosy-fingered Moon
Surpasses all the stars.

The light spreads over the salty sea
As over the many flowered fields
The delicate dew falls, they bloom ----
The roses and tender anthrusca and
The flowering honey-lotus.

And she, often wandering back and forth
Remembers gentle Atthis with longing
And eats away at her tender heart for your fate.

Ancient Poem

This poem reads a bit like a better quality pop song from the modern era. However, it is actually at least 3000 years old. It turns out that men haven't changed all that much since ancient times. Racier translations also exist.

Egyptian Love Poem
Author Unknown (circa 1000 b.c.e)

She is one girl,
there is no one like her.
She is more beautiful
than any other.
Look, she is like a star goddess arising
at the beginning of a happy new year;
brilliantly white, bright skinned;
with beautiful eyes for looking,
with sweet lips for speaking;
she has not one phrase too many.
With a long neck and white complexion,
her hair of genuine lapis lazuli;
her arm more brilliant than gold;
her fingers like lotus flowers,
with long legs and girt waist.
Her eyes offer her beauty,
with a brisk step she treads on ground.
She has captured my heart
in her embrace.
She makes all men turn their necks
to look at her.
One looks at her passing by,
this one, the unique one.

Gay Rights Victory

Wow! A little good news from the gay rights battlefield today. Out of Iowa of all places.

National Poetry Month

Welcome to National Poetry Month! Okay, I guess it did start on April 1st, but if I'd mentioned it then, you would have thought I was kidding. Some may think I'm kidding now. National Poetry Month!? Who wants to spend a whole month on something as boring/painful as that? I can almost hear them clamoring about it now. However, lots of us (no, not just English teachers) enjoy poetry, and a whole month of celebration sounds just about right.

As part of the celebration here at school, we are having our version of a poetry slam at the end of the month. Our rules for "Slamming" are a little more relaxed than the official ones; the main difference being that the kids can use poems written by others if they so choose. Therefore, this is really a poetry delivery contest rather than a true slam. However, the kids really get into it, and they read and hear a lot of poems, and that is all that I really care about.

In preparation for the competition (we have a bracket and everything!) we read lots of poems out loud to explore different styles, eras, and themes. I try quite hard to get the kids to focus on the more literary end of the poem spectrum since I figure the more everyday stuff (music lyrics, jingles, silly verse) is around them already. This year, to facilitate our lessons, I've created a master list of poems that are suitable for the sensitive ears (okay, maybe the parents are the ones with sensitive ears) of brand new teens. Allow me to abuse your patience with poems for the next few days.

Panic!

I was just in my boss' office to discuss an upcoming activity with him. While there, he quickly took a phone call, and I was left looking around and waiting for him to finish. I happened to look up at the scheduling board where he plans the schedule from one year to the next. What I expected to see was this year's schedule still posted because he can't start scheduling for next year until the lay-offs are announced. Ha!

Everything's been re-arranged, so I know he's at least playing around with numbers from somewhere (maybe he's just guessing, but more likely he knows things that we don't). Then it hit me. There was my very unique schedule with someone else's name next to it! Is he "demoting" me from special programs to a regular schedule?! That doesn't make sense, but then again maybe I don't know all the facts that might be in play.

I know, I know, I can hear you now telling me to calm down. I don't really know what's going on, and I shouldn't freak out until I hear it for real. I really am trying, but I'm finding the calm to be sort of elusive. I just want all these stupid unknowns to be resolved, so we can get down to the business of picking up the pieces. I'm resisting the urge to sneak another peak while the boss is at lunch.

Happy Birthday C!

Today my friend, C, is having a very important birthday. I hope she has the wonderful day that she deserves. C is, to quote Cushman, a very roomy-hearted person, and I am very much looking forward to knowing her for many decades to come.

Sneezing Our Way Into Spring

The sun may not be fully out yet, and the flowers may be delayed, but spring is definitely here. How do I know? My nose never fails. Spring "sent a green letter for all the trees to read" and they responded by producing a pale yellow snowfall of pollen. This is not a slight case of the sniffles, but a full-blown allergic response. The nose, eyes, ears, and skin are all in on the show. For some unknown reason I seem to be immune to all commercially available anti-allergy medicines. Thus I'm honking and blowing my way through my second day of work as her royal highness, Queen Sneeze of Itchland.

Watts Rocks Grieg

Last Saturday, M and I had the pleasure of hearing Andre Watts play Grieg's piano concerto in A at Benaroya Hall. It was an enormously good time, and I am deeply appreciative of the performance. However, I really don't know if it was more the performer or the piece. Should this be an ode to Grieg, Watts, or both? I think I will have to assign myself some difficult homework, and listen to both Watts and Grieg without the other. Either way, our Saturday night concert thrilled us down to our toes. Then we fled at intermission before Bruckner had the chance to ruin the wonderful mood.

Prompt Writing

Every year, it falls to me (why is another story) to come up with two writing prompts for use by all our students. I try very hard to think of prompts that will not be too complex, will allow the kids to show what they know, and will not fall prey to any major bias. Needless to say, this can be quite a challenge.

Fortunately, as they years go by; I've gotten better at it. Some years are easy. I write a prompt, the group of teachers in my department approve the prompt, the writing genius down at admin vets the prompt, and we are all set. Other years are a little more exciting. This year was definitely on the more interesting side.

As with any other time, I started out by writing a few prompts to present to the department. I always draw on what I know WASL prompts are like, and I try to come up with something that won't be overly biased. For example, years ago there was a to-do over a prompt that contained the word "lawn." Many kids did badly because it turns out that poor kids who live in apartments don't know much about lawns. The perfect prompt is one that is equally accessible to all kids. Of course, perfection IS impossible, but still we have to try.

This year I came up with one prompt about travel, one about friends, and one about technology. I was fairly pleased with all three, and I was quite confident that each would pass the vetting process down at admin. I trotted innocently off to the department meeting. Then all hell broke loose.

Okay, in a group of English teachers "all hell" may be too strong a word. However, there was much too-ing and fro-ing over those three little prompts. At one point we'd almost approved one of my original prompts only to have the agreement smashed by one particularly strident voice. Factions formed, edits were proposed and discarded, and people became quite stern (that's the English teacher version of getting mad).

Finally, the principle (who doesn't always attend these meetings, but happened to be there that day) decided to take action. He proposed a whole new prompt of his own invention. I can't write it here for obvious reasons, but I can say that it was, um, interesting. I knew that is wasn't good, the other teachers all knew it wasn't good, and nobody was willing to challenge him. I felt like I'd already shot down as many bad ideas as I could for the day. With time running out, I promised to send the prompt for vetting.

Can you guess the result? Yeah, it failed the vetting process. I sent down my three original prompts as alternatives, and the genius approved ALL of them. After a protracted email vote (more than sixty emails), the third prompt, the one we'd almost approved at our meeting, made the cut without any editing. We were finally ready. Right before I sent the prompt off to press I get one more email from a brand new teacher "do you think we could re-work the prompt to make it easier for my lower performing students? I don't want them to bomb!" In times like these, counting to ten just isn't enough.

Guess what? The original prompt was a huge success. Even the kids liked it. Of course I have strenuously avoiding saying "I told you so" to any of my colleagues because that would be immature. That doesn’t mean I don't think "neener, neener" at them from time to time.

Two Totally Unrelated Links

Over the weekend I was introduced to something call the failblog. I know, I know everyone but me has probably been viewing it for years, but it was my first look. Some of the pictures made me laugh out loud, and I figure that has to be a good thing. Thus Failblog has become a regular part of my off-time browsing. Be warned that some content may not be appropriate for younger viewers/work settings. Those Virgin Mary soaps, for example, are certainly not suitable for sale in the church shop.

On a totally different note, here is a link to something that is not at all funny. In fact, most people will think it's really boring. However, if you want to know what types of learning are being required of kids in Washington State, you can find released items from the actual WASL in this teacher toolkit. For the strangely geeky among you, it may be interesting. Be sure to select the grade level otherwise you default to cute little third grade examples.

Making a Point With Charts and Graphs

In my classroom I try to teach students about the power of facts when trying to prove a point. After all, if you make some sort of pronouncement, you should be able to back it up with proof. If you don't have any information to back up your opinion, your audience will probably not take you very seriously. This is a lesson many of them struggle to learn, and I often get "persuasive" essays that could not convince a dog to roll in stinky things. Fortunately, Elder Niece is not like these ineffectual weaklings. She is a girl of intellectual muscle, (but I'm not biased!) and she knows that every good point must be proved.

Recently, while the nieces were visiting for the weekend, I noticed Elder Niece making a bar graph. She seemed quite serious about the task, so I did not want to disturb her. However, M heard her describe the purpose of the graph to her sister. It seems that Elder Niece is required by her father (The Strictest Parent Ever) to go to bed at a certain time on school nights. She views this bedtime as unreasonably harsh and would like to negotiate a new deal. She surveyed all the students in her class, and then translated the data to her graph. Bedtimes went on the X-axis, while numbers of kids appeared on the Y-axis. Her graph proves that her bedtime is earlier than the majority of kids in her class.

Now I have read many, many story problems in my career as a student and a teacher. They always seem to me to be terribly contrived situations involving numbers of pizzas and numbers of seats at picnic tables. However, I can honestly say that this was a real-life example of a story problem in action. Who knows if Elder Niece was successful in her bedtime campaign or not, but there can be no doubt that she makes a damn fine graph to prove her point.

Battlestar Galactica is Dead

Sad but true that our favorite TV show, Battlestar Galactica, breathed its last on Friday night. I realized that M and I have been enjoying this show and its predecessor for five of our nearly seven years together. It's really been a part of our little culture. We've discussed the plot and the ideas ad nausem, and we've had a lot of fun socializing around it too. I know, I know, we are huge and embarrassing geeks, and that's okay.

Adding to our pain was the undeniable fact that the ending was not good. I won't spoil it here since I know some readers are still fans who haven't finished. However, I feel that I can say that the whole series is still entirely worthwhile story-telling. It's just that the way they chose to wind up the threads of the plot left a lot to be desired. You only get satisfying answers to some things, and even those answers feel pretty pat. I really did not expect pat from BSG. It seemed like rather than go through the complicated effort of actually resolving certain themes and relationships; they took an easy way out. Unfortunately, that really shows.

Goodbye BSG. We truly loved you.

Top Pot in Bellevue

M is a man with many different talents, and one of them is spotting fun new places to try. On a recent weekend, we were in downtown Bellevue with The Nieces, and M had a brainwave. What about a visit to the new Top Pot doughnuts? Of course we all thought that sounded like a most superior suggestion, so off to Top Pot we went. What a nice way to spend some time on a Sunday morning! The pleasant cafe is exactly like the one in downtown Seattle, and it makes a great place to meet up with friends or family. The doughnuts are, of course, divine, and everyone was quite happy with their picks. My only complaint was the strangely herbal tasting chai, but you can't expect to win them all. We will certainly be back on another Sunday morning. Hopefully this will be a morning right before a day of hiking.

Stimulus Anger

Given the current economic situation, it stands to reason that people would be looking for someone to blame. Just look at the sheer rage directed at Bernie Madoff. Personally, I think blaming the Bush presidency is always good. Of course blame is never that simple. These days, the popular things seems to be blaming the large companies that whose ridiculously risky behavior seems to have caused so much of the trouble. Every time you turn around, there's another story about how the head of some company spent this much bail-out money on this stupid thing.

My question is, knowing how much scrutiny is on them right now, why do these businesses keep making the same stupid choices? Are they really that out of touch? Do they really think no one will notice if they pay for a new corporate jet/waste basket/bonus using government money? There are two sides to every story, so I'm hoping there is some good reason for these choices to which we are not privy. Otherwise, the level of stupidity and entitlement is shocking to say the least.

Eleven Children at the Zoo

My elder brother has been a manager, on and off, for many years now. I assume he's good at his job since he's smart and capable and always in demand by employers. However, I've never really had the chance to see him in the midst of his actual job (have you ever had the chance to watch your brother at work?). Recently had the opportunity to see his managerial skills in action. Only this time, it wasn't a bunch of engineers he was organizing, but a group of small children.

The occasion was Younger Niece's eighth birthday party. She picked Red Robin for her celebratory lunch, and then the whole crowd of us (nine little kids and two big ones) were off to the zoo. The car logistics alone were quite something, but we eventually arrived at the gates with tickets in hand. When you have a group of kids that size, and you don't really know all of them that well, the danger is that a kid could get left behind somewhere, and you wouldn't event notice. Thus some early cave teacher must have invented the first buddy system.

Standing in the mock African village (which looks disappointingly unlike M's childhood home), each kid chose a buddy, and then each pair of buddies chose a grown-up "keeper." This way, every grown-up only had to keep track of two kids. Luckily, Elder Niece and her buddy were willing to partner with M because it turned out that a strange man is too scary for most of the younger girls. I congratulated/kidded Elder Niece on being very brave, and she told me that Uncle M. is "NOT scary AT ALL!" And so we set off.

Each grown-up kept a general eye on his or her pair of kids, but it was my brother who was in the lead. He was also the one who gave general reminders such as "Please don't climb into the pig enclosure!" or "No running in front of strollers!" or perhaps "No petting that part of the bunny!" We stayed until it was almost closing time, and we saw some "really cool stuff." The highlights, as far as the kids were concerned, were a tiny snake eating an even tinier fish, the hippos moving ponderously around, and the lions calling out their sunset "song."

At last, my brother counted up the children one final time before piling them back into cars. He asked Younger Niece what she thought of the trip, and she said that "It would have been the best birthday ever except the one problem. You're the strictest dad EVER! But it was still fun." Nothing like the old mixed message from the budding tween. Grandma gave Younger Niece a lecture about gratitude, but I told me brother he should wear "Strictest Dad Ever" as a serious mark of pride. If that birthday event was the work of the strictest parent ever, then I hope to be one of those myself one day.

John Stewart on NPR

The world has turned upside-down if National Public Radio is featuring stories about John Stewart. Quite a shift for the former late night talk show host who also used to do guest spots on the hideous program Talk Soup. Granted, John Stewart has become quite a liberal hero in the last several years, but I still found it really strange to hear his name coming out of the mouths of Kai Ryssdal and his ilk.

Congrats C & C!

In the midst of a crazy work week, I was very pleased to take a little time out for some good stuff. Our friends, C and C, had asked a few of us to serve as witnesses at their courthouse wedding, and I was thrilled to accept. Thus we found ourselves in a tiny, sunlit courtroom where a very friendly judge had just finished hearing cases for the day. The entire wedding, including the judge, couple, and guests, consisted of seven people. The couple and the service were so sweet that I actually got a little teary-eyed before it was over. There is something about stripping a wedding back to the bare basics that is really quite touching. Here's hoping that C and C have a very happy life together.

Too Busy

A combination of forces is conspiring to use up every spare moment of my time this week (and last week and next week). I could explain all the exciting projects we're doing at work, such as trimester grades, but that would probably just come out sounding whiney. Suffice it to say, this is the usual work load for this time of year. By the time we go on Spring Break in a few weeks, most of the extra work will be over. We're 2/3 of the way done with the school year, and I can already start to taste the summer.

Rave #217: Snow

I know, I'm kind of a broken record when it comes to snow. Therefore, I should simply say "snow rave here" and you could play it over in your head. Sorry to be predictable. Nevertheless, I just can't seem to help myself.

We've been flirting with snow for several days now. On Saturday night it even went so far as give us a heavy dusting while we were having dinner with the family. All the school-going members of the group were quite excited, but not enough fell to make much of a difference. However, by this morning, enough had fallen to warrant a two-hour delay (for those of us up on the foothills anyway. So neener, neener nieces and grandma!).

Driving to school was not much of a problem because most of the roads were still only bare and wet. However, as the morning wore on, the snow got more and more enthusiastic. By about 1pm today, it was coming down thick and fast. The school district cancelled all after school activities, and sent the teachers home right after the bell (we usually stay for a bit after the kids). The drive home was a little slick, and I'm glad I cam home when I did because it hasn't let up yet.

None of the weather reports I saw predicted anything like this, so I don't know if I should believe them when they say "clear and cold" for tonight. If they are right about the cold part, anything that falls today will stick around for a while. Who knows, maybe we could end up having a snow day in March. Stranger things, like snow on the cherry blossoms, have happened.

Censorship Continues

Recently, I wrote a post about censorship. In it, I mentioned the story of my elementary school banning the book The Lorax due to its unflattering depiction of loggers. It is, to my mind, a pretty clear example of how close-minded my little community was 25 years ago. No worries though because that was quite a while ago, and we are all much more reasonable today right? Ha and ha again. It seems that another small Oregon town has just pulled the exact same trick under the exact same logic. Sad, sad, sad.

Car Music

My little car and I recently celebrated our second anniversary together. Unlike my last car, this one is not exciting, it does not elicit any passion, it is not thrilling around curves. However, this new car also does not leave me stranded, require a close relationship with a mechanic, or guzzle gas. On the whole, the quiet, reliable life is entirely worthwhile. The only complaint I had was about the music.

My current car came with a cassette deck. Yes, a cassette deck. I don't own any cassettes, and I haven't owned any in at least ten years. What was the car maker thinking when, in 2003, they built a car with a cassette deck? The only thing I can do with the deck is play old audio books from the library. While I enjoy Georgette Heyer novels just as much as the next girl, it just wasn't the same as listening to actual music. Clearly the cassette deck had to go.

I tried several times to get a CD player, but something always seemed to get in the way. Most frequently that something was my own cheap nature. Why should it cost $150 to install a $99 CD player? Why, if they offer same day installation could I never get an appointment on the same day? Why are the guys who work in car audio departments always so snippy? Why does Circuit City suck so much? Who knows, but the end result of all that was that I never did get a CD player installed. Ah well, there's always NPR.

For two years, I listened to the radio or an audio book. I'd pretty much just given up on the whole CD player plan. Sure, I could've done more to pursue it, but I just didn't. Then along came my clever and heroic husband. With perfect nonchalance, he bought a CD player online (I would have dithered forever about the type) and installed it in my car. No fuss, no muss, and no scuff marks on the dash. It works perfectly.

I once again get to have a soundtrack when I drive. I love that. On my drive home last night, I got to listen to Barenaked Ladies, Green Day, and Fallout Boy. This morning, as the sun was coming up, it was Madeline Peyroux and Yo-Yo Ma. What a nice way to pass the time. Of course, my knowledge of current affairs and Heyer books might suffer, but I think I can live with that.

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss

If he were alive today, Dr. Seuss would be turning 105 years old. What he would have to say about such a momentous occasion, we can only guess. His fabulous array of books, over sixty in all, are a library unto themselves, and millions of people, young and old, owe their literacy to his excellent work. Oh the Places You'll Go, Red Fish, Blue Fish, Green Eggs and Ham, The Bitter Butter Battle, and Fox in Socks are some of my personal favorites.

Raising Vegetarian Kids

Vegetarianism is a subject that seems to come up quite frequently on my favorite online magazine, Slate. The topic is treated very differently depending on the author, but I think most of the articles raise interesting questions. This article, about a meat-eating dad raising vegetarian daughters, is both thought-provoking and quite sweet. The dad discusses some of his initial concerns about the idea, and then describes how he's come to terms, or not, with each issue.

One of my favorite points from the article is that kids learn what is "normal" at a very early age. This means that whatever messages the parents send about food in the first few years of life tend to stick with the kid for a long time. This is why most of us have such nostalgic feelings about the meals we ate as small children. Even if there is a period of adolescent rebellion, many adults ultimately return to the nutritional patterns of their parents. Whether or not you are a vegetarian, it is an important reminder not to feed kids junk.

The Desk Garden

Yesterday, before it began to snow, I was wandering around our yard admiring the progress of the spring bulbs. I love seeing the little white bells of the snow drops that are just finishing their three week run. Now the daffodils are pushing their green heads out of the ground, and the crocus and tulips are coming along as well. Some are bulbs that came with the house, others I planted in a fit of autumn gardening few years ago, but the greatest number come from my desk.

At the grocery store, I often pick up inexpensive pots of bulbs to brighten up my classroom. They live on my desk for a few weeks while they bloom, and then, when they are passed, I take them home and plant them. I know that early spring is completely the wrong season to be planting bulbs, but somehow it usually seems to work. We have several patches of desk tulips that keep coming back year after year. Two tiny varieties of desk iris live under the Japanese maple, and offer up beautiful dark purple blooms in early March. We also have at least one bunch of late desk crocus right outside our back door. This year, I think it will be a new patch of desk paper whites that joins the garden. I like to think of it as my own weird version of flower recycling.

School Math

For the last few months, everyone here at school has been quietly freaking out. We are not normally an excitable group, but when under the threat of change we can become agitated. When under the threat of enormous change, even the most reserved among us begins to sweat. The cause of our concern? Change like nobody has seen in at least a generation.

We've known for some time that the opening of a new program would mean re-assignment for about one quarter of our workforce. However, we were all greatly relieved when we got the news that the new program would not be opening in 09/10 due to construction delays. "Yay!" we all said "one more year of normalcy!" Ha! Ha! such innocents we were then.

Starting in November, as the economy began to go so obviously south, we began to hear rumblings of bad times ahead. When the news came out that the governor expected a 3.6 billion budget shortfall in the next year, some people began to mutter about possible cuts. Special programs could be limited or eliminated, class sizes might go up, and we might not get another cost of living adjustment (COLA) for some time. It sounded unpleasant, but we thought we could weather that kind of storm.

Sometime in late January it came out that estimates on the budge deficit had changed. Instead of 3.6 we were looking at something more like 5-6 billion. This is when the real lay-off talk began. By one estimate, we could lose5-8% of our teaching force. This would mean job losses for a few and big changes for some those left behind as principals would have to scramble to cover the missing teachers. Times are hard, we told ourselves, but most of us will get through this largely unscathed.

Still with me? Good. You can guess what happened next. The new budget estimate is somewhere around 9-10 billion. The superintendent of the district came to tell us that lay-offs were a certainty and that we could expect to lose at least 10% of the teaching force. He also warned us that it could be much worse if things continue to decline. It turns out that there is no legal limit on the number of students in one regular education classroom in Washington. They can keep cramming kids into our rooms until they reach the fire code limit. Classrooms of 40 or 50 kids are a very real possibility.

Seniority, something we never had much interest in before all this, is suddenly very important. The system of lay-off and re-call does not allow for the removal of the poorest quality teachers, instead it is based entirely on years of experience. If you have enough seniority, you might survive the chop. However, it is a terrible thing to look at all your co-workers and hope that they will get laid off instead of you.

Those who stay behind are not safe from major upheaval either. Along with massively larger work loads and lower pay, teachers who stay behind will have to fill the gap for those who go. This means that many people will have to be transferred to fill essential roles. For example, all the newest teachers in our building happen to be in the same department and grade. We can't simply not have that class in that grade, so the principal will have to draw off one or two people from the other areas to fill the need. A person could even find themselves working in a building at the extreme opposite end of our district which would mean a commuting two towns over. Does any of that make any sense? I'm not so sure anymore.

I could go on for days. The uncertainty is hard on all of us. Teaching attracts the type of person who likes to be prepared for things. We attempt to analyze future needs and begin to meet them in good time. We are not last minute kinds of people. However, if you don't have a clue where you'll be or what you'll be expected to do, it is very difficult to get a jump on the work. I know teachers are not alone in all this. I imagine the Tums people are doing a roaring trade right about now.

Milk

M and I got to see the movie Milk a few days ago, and we were very impressed. The sensitive potrayal of a real person AS a real person (warts and all if you know what I mean) made it very effective. The story of Harvey Milk's life, his struggles for civil rights, and his senseless death are certainly the stuff of legend, but Gus Van Sant managed to shy away from the temptation to turn him into a saint. Both Sean Penn and Dustin Lance Black (screenwriter) absolutely deserved their Oscar wins. Black's acceptance speech, directly quoting the real Harvey Milk, was the best moment of Oscars in my opinion. Be sure to see this movie.

Poster Kurfuffle

It all started when I had to host one of our monthly meetings. I hate hosting meetings because I don't think I'm very good at it. Teachers, especially after a long day of work, are also the worst kind of audience. They chat amongst themselves, fail to pay attention, and wander off topic at the first opportunity. In short, it's a bit like teaching kids only you can't yell at them to behave.

Anyway, I was running this meeting, and we were discussing a major project we are developing for all students. This project has several components, and it involves many people working on separate pieces to create the whole. In the midst of serious discussion (yes they finally got on topic) about one of the most complex parts of the project, the principal suddenly interrupted to say "where's the poster!?" We all looked around in confusion trying to figure out what the heck he was talking about. "The poster!" he demands again. By this time, people are looking seriously confused.

"The poster about this project!" he finally clarifies. Vague memories are coming to me of his having caused posters to be made advertising the major features of the project. "Urm, sorry" I say "I don't think I have one of those yet." He's still looking wildly around the room as if a poster might magically appear. "You must have a poster! Everyone's supposed to have a poster! Who has one that we can use?!" Nobody responds at first. We're all looking at each other to see what will happen.

Someone tries to sort of ignore the whole poster thing and get us back to the topic at hand, but he's not having any of it. He demands that someone go down and find a poster "pull it off your wall if you have to" and bring it back to our meeting. No further discussion can happen until the all important poster arrives. A few people make vague noises about having posters in THEIR room because they're so important to the project. The poster finally arrives. It has been ripped from the wall for this purpose.

This poster is all of four lines long. It gives four steps for success on the project. The principle admires it, asks someone to read it out loud, and explains to everyone that these are the four steps that count. Without them, our students will fail. We all make more vague noises of approval before going back to our real topic. We've wasted at least twenty minutes.

The next day, in the staff bulletin, there is only one item:

If you do not have a Project Poster, be sure to pick one up in the staff room. It is essential that all students are able to read the four steps for success in each and every classroom.

You just can't make this stuff up.

Never a Dull Moment

I'm just back from a frosty morning fire drill. It went in the usual way with all three grade levels and all staff lined up on the sports field. When we are all together, it makes a crowd of more than 1000 people. We do these every month, so it is no problem knowing what you're supposed to do. What made this one unique is that we'd already had a practice drill for the month. This wasn't practice at all. The fire alarms were tripped by, I'm not making this up, a smoking diaper.

It seems that one of the science teachers was doing an experiment that involved warming clean wet diapers in the microwave. Needless to say, the diaper warming got a little out of hand and smoke appeared. Thus we all ended up shivering on the track while the firefighters made sure it was safe to re-enter the building. The guilty teacher is making cookies for us all tomorrow.

Of Good Subs and Bad

Last week I had the dreaded lurgy which is never fun, so I stayed home from school for one whole day. This is only the second day of this school year that I've missed due to illness, so you know I really wasn't feeling good. You might think missing so little school has to do with some strict sense of honor, but really it's not quite as noble as all that.

The worst part about being sick, aside from the obvious, is having a substitute teacher in charge of your classroom. Now I know that some people can quite cheerfully hand over their little darlings without a backward glance, but I am not one of those people. Are you surprised? I thought not. It is certainly part of my nature to dislike giving up control, but there is more to it than that.

My classes, as I've mentioned many times before, are not normal classes. My afternoon kids are exceptional young people who pretty much always do the right thing. However, having a sub stresses them out because it creates uncertainty. They REALLY want to know where they stand at all times. My morning block, on the other hand, has less emotional maturity than my seven year old niece. They just plain misbehave whenever they get the chance.

This is not to say that it's impossible to have a good experience with a sub. There are many good subs out there who do an excellent job of managing tough classes. In my experience, there are three kinds of subs to be had:

---Permissive subs just let the kids run wild. This makes the kids happy, but the work rarely gets done, and the other teachers in the school may become very grumpy. Also, your kids are NOT happy to see you when you get back. I hate this sub and try to avoid her (why is it usually a her?) at all costs.

---Authoritarian subs have their place, but they can be very harsh. The worst one I ever had threatened the kids with bodily harm, and they believed her. This sub gets the work done, but the kids end up shell-shocked. At least they are happy to see you when you get back. I try to avoid this kind of sub too.

---Authoritative subs are wonderful. They tend to be very grave and unflappable. They do not let kids get away with bad behavior, but they do not resort to yelling or threats. The kids do not like them, but they are not scared of them either. The kids are glad to see you after a day with this sub, but they don't need to spend half an hour telling you a tale of woe. I love this kind of sub, and will cheerfully make them cookies if it will encourage them to come.

I suppose, when it boils down to it, this is not really a tally of the different kinds of subs, but of the different approaches to discipline. You could also divide most parents into the same three categories. Can you guess which kind of parents my AM kids have? PM? Any guesses? Sign me up to be an authoritative parent some day. But I digress.

The sub I happened to get last week was of the authoritarian variety. According to my adult aide, she totally failed to teach the lesson, yelled at the kids for no reason, called them names, and then left the classroom five whole minutes before the end of the period. It took much soothing and cajoling to get them to calm down and get back to work this morning. No way am I EVER having that sub again. Could you pass me that bottle of hand sanitizer and an orange please?

Three Love Poems and No Songs of Despair

How Do I Love Thee?

by Elizabeth Barret Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.



It's all I have to bring today

by Emily Dickenson

It's all I have to bring today –
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count –
should I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.


I Love You

by Sara Teasdale

When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep,
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.
When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the winds that blow.
Above his roof the swallows,
In notes like far-blown rain,
Will tell the little sparrow
Beside his window-pane.
O sparrow, little sparrow,
When I am fast asleep,
Then tell my love the secret
That I have died to keep.

Happy 200 Darwin

Happy birthday to Charles Darwin, arch nemesis of creationists everywhere! It is amazing to me that, 200 years later, his theories still create such incredible drama. I believe Mr. Darwin! I believe!

Silence

Not dead, just overwhelmed at work. More on that later.

Boron Moron

Reading the NY Times today, I ran across this story about a correction they made to a story that ran last week in the science columns. It seem that this correction caught the attention of the staff writers at the Conan O'Brien Show. Be sure to scroll down and watch the video clip.

500th Post

My goodness! I just noticed that the last post represented number 500 for this blog. That represents either a startling waste of time or something of an accomplishment. I like to blog because I think that writing is good for the human brain. It represents a very specific kind of mental work-out that can't help but keep us cognitively flexible.

Also, as an English teacher, I think it's a good thing to stay connected to the writing process. Otherwise, you run the risk of forgetting what it's like for the kids who are in the trenches slogging through the basics. I also model a lot of simple five paragraph essays specifically for the kids, but they are profoundly not blog-worthy. They say in education that the best writing is done for "real audiences and purposes" so thank you, readers, for providing as much for me.

Beethoven's 9th

I've been meaning to post this for a month now and just haven't had the chance. As part of our New Year celebration, we were lucky enough to hear Beethoven's 9th symphony. Musically educated friends tell me that some of the people playing instruments did only a fair to middling job of performing. However, the choral part more than made up for any other deficits. I've always enjoyed this piece on cd, but somehow the power of actually being there was something altogether new. The music really does swell up and wash over you just as music fans have always claimed. If you ever get the chance to here the 9th in person with a live chorus, be sure to take it. Also, big thanks to R who makes our little symphony club possible, and to M who is my musical sugar daddy. Hooray for men who like the symphony!

PETA Ad

If you haven't yet seen the banned PETA superbowl ad, you are seriously missing out. Okay, to be fair, you're not actually missing out on that much. I feel certain that PETA made this ad with the express purpose of having it banned thereby guaranteeing increased traffic on their website. I guess that's not a terrible strategy. I have such mixed feelings about PETA though. In many ways, they have a message I really respect and support. However, some of their tactics give vegetarians/animal rights supporters a bad name. Oh yes, and if you're going to watch the video, be sure to check out Whoopi Goldberg's impression of it as well.

There Are Kids And Then There Are Kids

Many critics of American (and probably every other kind as well) education seem to suffer from the illusion that all students are created equal, and that their success or failure depends only on what teachers pour into them. Experienced teachers (and parents?) know that kids come with very different sets of skills and abilities, and it is part of the educational challenge to play on the strengths and shore up the weaknesses. One of the single greatest problems for the average teacher is how to meet this variety of needs in a single class.

For example, a teacher friend of mine sent identical email to her three absent students. In this email she inquired after their health and reminded them of the work she would expect when they returned. She got these three replies (some details have been changed to protect the guilty, but the style and gist are original):

"Oh, okay thank you so much! I will get right to the homework. For the yellow history triangle, I remember you saying to fill that out as we go, even if we were in history or not, but it only goes through Dec. 16th. I was assuming we would receive another sheet or just finish that current one but I was not sure?"

"hi i will back on monday i do not have the spelling test or the vocab test. do i have to turn in the the writing prep 2 i did it but its not on computer grades?"

"it's already better so it' fine and i've just been hanging out but i might go up to the pass this weekend so ya thanks bye"

You begin to see the problem?

Octuplets: Twelve Babies Too Many

Yes, yes, I know that the California woman who just gave birth to octuplets only delivered eight babies (I do know that oct=eight). However, it turns out that this woman already had six children! Not only that, but she is a single mother who does not have any obvious means of support. Her oldest child is seven while her youngest is just two. Throw in the fact that at least one of her older children is autistic, AND that she lost her house just before becoming pregnant. It would be tough to dream up a worse situation for the introduction of a brand new baby. However, in this case it's not just one new baby, but eight.

Now the ethics, medical and otherwise, come into the situation. There are so many ugly questions here that it's difficult to know where to begin:

- Either insurance or public aid will have to pay for the healthcare costs of these children. Given the fact that each is likely to cost more than one million dollars for their delivery and NICU care alone, that is a huge amount of money. This woman made a choice to have these children and now private individuals are paying the enormous cost. Suddenly this does not seem like a purely personal issue any more.

-Next come the medical ethics. Was it reasonable for a doctor to implant so many embryos? Was it even reasonable for a doctor to be offering this type of service to a woman with so many children already? Should there be any kinds of checks on the mental health or stability of the family? What kind of life can a child expect as one of eight babies in a family of fourteen?

-Last there is the question of adding so many extra people to the planet. I have long believed that we will one day have to face the realities of unlimited population growth. Very few countries actually tackle this issue for fear that they will run afoul of religious conservatives who see every conception as a new soul sent from God. Other countries have tried to cope, but with brutal results. Eventually we will need to find a kinder gentler way to limit the growth of our population. Perhaps we might start with a limit on the number of children one can have and still seek infertility treatment?

In the end, I (and the millions of other horrified people) could certainly be wrong. Maybe this woman is a wonderful mother who will work hard to provide everything her children need. Maybe this home will be a warm and loving place where all the children feel safe, comfortable, and loved. I fervently hope this is the case. However, I also hope that child protective services will keep this woman on their short list just on the off chance that hers does not turn out to be the perfect environment for eight tiny babies.