Eff.

Hi.

I cut it. I cut it short.

I don't like it at all. I can't remember the last time I actually did NOT like a haircut, because most cuts look alright on me, and I always like trying new styles. But I don't like this one, I don't like it at all, and I am feeling very sorry for myself.

I am so sad about this that, even though I know hair is a totally trivial thing and that my looks are not encompassed in something so slight, I cried about it. I got off the bus from down town, walked home, started making myself lunch, and cried.

Why? Why cut it??! I liked it long!! Even as I walked to the salon, I was wearing my hair down and I felt so pretty and confident, and I was walking with long strides and feeling happy.

And I walked out like a bedraggled pitiful muffin lump.

Why cut it?? WHY?? AND, if anything, it makes me look YOUNGER. Like-- SH*%!!!

I am so sad about this.

I was going to post a before and after picture. This is the before:


My "after" was going to be confidently grinning, looking oh-so-pleased with myself. BUT I AM NOT POSTING AN AFTER, because I just look at the "Before," and I think, "It was so bodacious! It was so tossable! It was so... much... PRETTIER!" If I posted an after, then everyone would just think, "Whoops. Well, yup. Makeover gone awry. Poor girl."

ALSO: my hair grows really, effing slow. Eight months of "the awkward stage" to look forward to.

Good news: it looks alright under my favorite hat. So. You know. I'll just wear that til Easter.

Okay: Greta: get yourself realistic now. Hair is not a big deal. You can get yourself more hats. YOU ARE NOT DEFINED BY YOUR LOOKS AND THEY ARE NOT WHAT GIVES YOU YOUR WORTH. You can get over this. You can grow it out again. You need to stop being vain.

But.

Daaaaammnnn.... :(

My Blog Looks Like Autumn Now.

Maybe I should have waited until after Labor Day, but it FEELS like Autumn in the Pacific Northwest. It's been more rainy and cool than sunny the last several weeks, and everyone has started carrying around their jackets and sweaters. Plus, school's starting!! What other proof do you need?

And also, just hypothetically speaking, sometimes people have really boring evenings, and just end up talking to some other people on the phone for a long time, and then hypothetically after that, don't feel like going out, so hypothetically they watch a couple episodes of the Office, and then spend time on the internet and then hypothetically they might think, "I'm bored with my blog look. It's so gray. It's looked like that for so LONG," and then, hypothetically, the person might look for Autumn pictures on the internet and then use the next hour to pick new Autumny colors for the blog, so that the person can feel hypothetically productive, even if it was only because the person updated a blog in Autumn themes.

While lying in bed like a slug.

Just, hypothetically.

From the Archives

We're supposed to fill out a "Get To Know Your Teaching Staff" thing for my school, and the last thing they ask you to contribute is, "Best advice for young people." I saw that initially and thought, "Oh yikes. What to fit into two LINES?" I remembered that I'd written this a couple years ago-- a letter to my cousin on her 13th birthday, my aunt had asked me to write something that might help her along the tricky business of "growing up." Looked at it this morning for inspiration, and I just sort of like it still, so I thought I'd post it. :) Enjoy.

To Miss Maggie,

Well, dearie, I’m only 22 which feels very young to be giving advice… But I remember thinking 22 sounded pretty old when I was about your age, so maybe you’ll credit me with some “aged wisdom" after all... :) So here they are, the staple bits of advice I have come to rely on, and the lessons that I myself have stumbled over. Picture trumpets and fanfare to go along with them if you please.

1.) Fairies DO exist in some parts of the world. They are not in America, but they are in Scotland and Iceland, and some parts of Scandinavia as well. Magic is real if we let it be.

2.) Don’t ask questions that you don’t want to know the answer to.

3.) The best friendships are formed after midnight. This is especially relevant as a college student. Coffee is widely available on college campuses for a reason; relish the late night talks, and never mind the bleary eyes the next morning.

4.) Life should be an adventure, and it’s your job to make it that way.

5.) Everyone is weird. People pretend not to be, but really, everyone has their quirks and the only way to be the best version of yourself is to figure out what makes you tick, and GO with it. You can tell how mature a person is by where they’re at in their state of pretending. True maturity comes when the façade drops, and the delightful human emerges.

6.) Don’t forget to play.

7.) You should always have at least one impossible dream, and you should let yourself believe it might just be possible.

8.) Guys love a girl that can play guitar.

9.) Journal.

10.) The best way to be loved is to love FIRST. Don’t wait for others to love you; take the initiative--then watch the whole world change.

11.) Travel. And this one I heard FROM your mother when I went to London: Do some things that your mother wouldn’t approve of. (But don’t be stupid.)

12.) You will get hurt in life, and your heart will most likely get broken. But that is no reason to live in fear of brokenness, or to push away the wonderful feelings while they’re there. If brokenness comes, cry, and praise God that He is giving you an opportunity to grow closer to Him, and write a few killer break-up songs. But don’t ever try to prevent yourself from falling in love. Falling in love is great.

13.) Remember that it’s okay to ask God questions, but that He has a funny way of answering them sometime. Never forget that He loves you and finds you beautiful.

I hope these few points will make the road ahead a little smoother, but it’s okay if the road has some bumps, because that’s when we learn, and that’s where poems and stories and songs come from. Oh, shoot, one more:

14.) Any bad event or embarrassing moment can usually be turned into a great story.

You’ll learn your own lessons though too sweetheart, and I’m sure you’ll eventually be teaching them to me. Just remember to enjoy life, and notice the little things, and take care of people, and write it all down. You will experience glorious mountaintops and dismal valleys but they’re all part of the colorful tapestry we’re putting together, and I bet that we’ll have a great conversation about them all with our Father one day.

You are LOVED Maggie. Happy 13th birthday. :)

Your big cousin,
Greta

My Two Cents on the Future of the World

If you're averse to politically related blogs, I might suggest you turn away quickly, cause: that is wot dis 'ere blog is about to discuss.

I just got done watching Hillary Clinton give an A-M-A-Z-I-N-G speech at the Democratic National Convention, and it makes me not only really pumped to be a woman in 2008, it also makes me pretty pumped to be voting democratically for Barack Obama in this next election.

And before any of my Republican friends wrinkle their noses in distaste, let me just say: I am only a baby democrat. Before I wore blue, I wore red, and I was wearing red amongst a LOT of blue donkeys. I haven't been apart from the herd for long.

But my transition from a proud red Republican, to a shirking purple violet, to an emerging blue Demity-Dem-Dem-Democrat is not just due to the abysmal events that have unfolded under Bush's administration in the last four years-- although I'd be hip with the trend if it was. The transition is due primarily to a shift in my understanding about how change takes place.

It boils down to this:
Some changes and policies can, and should, be made on a federal scale.
Some can only occur during a heart-to-heart conversation.

Yes?

I'll unpack it.

Getting into some embarrassing confessions now: when I was in high-school, I was very passionate, and very religious, and very self-righteous. I did a group project centered on abortion, and dragged out every horrific image I could find to prove my point. For my Senior project, I originally planned on giving a lecture titled, "A Rebuttal to Atheism." It basically entailed me standing up and shaking my finger at everyone who didn't believe the exact same thing I did, and telling them that they were wrong.

Awesome.

I changed my senior project after a mission trip to Mexico. For the first time in my life, I was confronted with abject poverty. I started the trip furious with God-- He "was refusing to let me" go to my first choice private university after I didn't get any scholarships, and I was convinced that He was being totally unfair.

Then I saw people living in shacks made of corrugated metal and mattress box-springs. I was struck by the realization that the kids I was playing with were coming to see me in the same clothes every single day-- the same ragged t-shirts, the same dusty shorts. On one of my last days there, I gave a new friend-- a beautiful, tall 12-year-old girl named Diana-- a cheap plastic bracelet that I'd bought from Fred Meyer before leaving. I felt magnanimous and noble for giving her one of the many little trinkets I'd brought down to give away, but was deeply humbled by her reaction. She gasped, and hugged me, and then without hesitating, whipped off one of her own precious silver bangles she wore every day, and gave it to me in exchange. It changed me.

I flew back thinking about the blessing that was college, regardless of which one- the blessing that was a full closet. I flew back embarrassed that I would stand up and tell so many people that they were wrong, when I was so clearly flawed myself. I changed my project all around. It turned into a big clothing drive and fund raiser for the kids in Bahia del Kino, and my presentation consisted of simply telling my story: reading my journal from the week I was there. Talking about the people that I had hugged, and had talked with, and had been changed by.

John Mayer has a great song called, "Belief,"-- I'd encourage you to click on the link and read the whole thing, because it gets the gist of what I'm saying much more succinctly. It begins:

Is there anyone who ever remembers
changing their mind from the paint on a sign?
Is there anyone who really recalls
ever breaking rank at all
for something someone yelled real loud one time?

I don't think some decisions can be made by a far off government; some decisions can only be made from personal relationships and interactions. My decision to phase into a more liberal mindset came from thinking about what COULD be decided on a federal scale, and what issues were simply too personal for that. Issues like gay marriage for example, have become a non-issue for me, because what governmental decree is actually going to keep two people from falling in love with one another, when that's what they whole-heartedly want to do? If you're truly of the opinion that homosexuality is wrong, then maybe you should become friends with some people living that lifestyle, and show them sincere love, and prove yourself worthy of their trust and confidence, and eventually have a conversation with them about that choice as ONE aspect of their lives. Well, but that takes too long. Who needs to build trust when you can just wave signs or put aggressive bumper stickers on your car?

The issues that, to me, make sense to decide on a national scale are things like heath care, education, the environment, global relationships, the decision to go to war, and the economy. Those are all issues that I side with the Democrats on.

"Moral issues," though-- the issues that supposedly determined the 2004 election-- are no longer the issues determining my votes, because I don't think those issues can be resolved from Washington.

Abortion is still a tough one for me to get over, and I would guess that's the case for many politically confused Christians, like myself. After all, if you believe that it's murder, then that's a capital offense, isn't it? That's a FEDERAL issue. I still think abortion is one of the worst things I can think of-- I remember those images. But... and understand, this is still the hardest issue for me to waver on-- part of me feels that the only way to stop the termination of unwanted pregnancies is to have kind, empathetic women holding the hands of reluctant mothers in those clinics. People don't change their minds from being yelled at-- or if they do, it's usually out of fear which doesn't have much sticking power. People change their minds out of love. We even talk about this in grad school: you never wanted to work hard for the power-tripping teachers that you hated; you wanted to work hard for the teachers that you adored. You see this in relationships too, people make compromises when they love the person they're compromising for.

I'm tired of the Big guy stepping on the Little guy. I'm tired of the irresponsible entitlement coming out of Washington, and of the environment slipping down the toilet because the "right" people are benefiting from it, and of education not being funded, and I'm tired of hearing about soldiers dying in a grievously misrepresented war. But the soldier thing hit home more tonight than it has before, because one of the girls in my grad school program was crying about missing her husband who's fighting in it right now. People change people.

But.

That's just the slogan on my picket sign.

GUESS. WHAT.

Okay. Well, since I've spilled my emotional guts on this blog about sad things, I suppose it's only fair that I spill them about happy things too.

Something so great happened yesterday. I'm wiggling a little while I'm typing this, and I'm definitely grinning like a stupid person.

SOMEONE SENT ME FLOWERS.

And, well, not just A someone, but a really GREAT someone. Like, a male someone.

And I have never been sent flowers by a boy before!! I've been GIVEN flowers by a guy before, like for an anniversary or to ask me to a dance, but can I just say? It is so much more fun to be playing guitar in your room, and see a van stop in front of your house, and see a little Asian man get out, and see him pull REALLY PRETTY FLOWERS out of the car, and then hear a knock on the door, and then hear him say, "These are for Greta...?" and be able to say, "What?? Really??!!" and then sign your name, and then read the card and realize that it's NOT from your parents, and it's NOT from your Grandma, but it is in FACT from this seriously awesome someone, and it says, "Good luck tomorrow!" And then you realize that this totally cool person was considerate enough to remember that you started your student teaching on Tuesday, and was thoughtful enough to send you the best good luck present EVER.


So this is my Tuesday blessing to all the lady readers: MAY THIS HAPPEN TO YOU. May some fantastic guy think of you, and send you flowers unexpectedly, and may you then tip-toe and twirl around your room for at least an hour, and feel wonderful. Every girl should get to experience that, at least once.

And you? The someone? Thank you for the Once. And I hope this blog doesn't embarrass you, but I can't very well blog about my experiences on celebrity scan, and NOT write about something great like this. You made me feel great. You made me feel super great.

AND I get to start my student teaching internship today!! Good things, huh? :)

Would you like a Brownie with your Gimlet, dear?

This weekend I went to a "1950's Hot Housewives Party." When I first got the invitation, I thought, "What? Random." But as I got closer to Saturday, I became increasingly tickled with the idea. I've always thought I would have made more sense in a different era, and the 50's were just so girly... And polite... And, you know, twirly-skirted. When I was in high-school I played "Madge" from the play Picnic, which meant I got to wear the prettiest dresses imaginable that were made just for me, and wear fake eyelashes, and curled hair and all the rest. I haven't acted in forever, and slipping into those different characters is something I miss every once in a while... So getting to dress up like Doris Day began sounding like just the best idea ever...

To manage it then: what to start with? Last year, I bought myself a full length apron from Anthropologie, just because I liked the idea of wearing a cute apron once in a while. Not necessarily to cook in. Just to wear around town. But what! 50's Housewife party?? "Oh fabulous dear, I have an apron I've just been DYING to break out..."

What next? An A-length skirt? Khaki/linen, pleated, check.

Vintage shoes? Ooo YES vintage shoes. Brown with a button. Check.

What on the legs? Nice 50's ladies did not go bare legged, methinks. What stockings do I have? Red? I have red stockings! Red stockings, check.

Do I have a blouse? I have a blouse.

And vintage jade earrings, and a rose in my hair, and of course, red lips were absolutely necessary. I watched a video on youtube to figure out how to do my hair and indulged in pin curls. By the time I was ready to go I felt so deliciously from the olden-times.


I realized that, in putting myself in a freshly ironed apron however, my feminist leanings were making a massive effort to compensate. During dinner with Grandpa before I left, I started getting all kinds of defensive. "Grandpa...! Grandma was a 50's housewife wasn't she??"
"Well... yes, we were married by then."
"Did she, like, have dinner on the table every night?!"
"Yes, I think she made the dinners. She volunteered a lot too of course, with the Junior League."
"Well. So she, like, had to VACUUM and things."
The truth is, my Grandma came from high-society, and Farm Boy Grandpa had to teach her how to set the table after they were first married. If anyone did the chores around the house, it would have been him, but I couldn't help picking a fight. I felt too compromised. On the phone with a friend: "Yes, so what if I ironed my apron?? So what if I made brownies?? The apron was wrinkled! I'm supposed to bring a dessert! Just because I know how to do domestic things doesn't mean I can't fly a spaceship!!"

Maybe I was over-reacting, but seriously? Those 50's ladies did have quite the domestic expectations. Click on the link. It's ridiculous.

But the actual party was hilarious. We all showed up with either a cocktail or a dessert, and proceeded to make all kinds of jokes about the husbands working late, or the impropriety of sitting with your legs crossed at the knee (ANKLES ladies, it's ANKLES you cross), and we ate mini-gherkins, and drank gimlets, and the non-aproned ladies sneered at us aproned and made comments about our lack of hired help. The only all-girl parties I've been to lately have been bridal showers or bachelorette parties, and it was just such a refreshing change to be hanging out with girls without needing to comment a.) What a cute gift that is!!, or b.) Oh my gosh, that penis necklace is such an original idea!!


After the party wound down, four of us decided it could be silly to go out in our aprons, and silliness is just always something worth embracing in my opinion. I had gotten a call from my friend, inviting me to a free concert at a swanky jazz venue, so the four of us drove down-town and traipsed into this upscale club, oven mitts brandished. "What kind of reception do you think we're going to get?"
"Oh they'll probably think we're just funny."
"No but the boys... What kind of man is going to be attracted to this get-up?"
"Oh dear. Good point. Um, guys with domestic vacuum fantasies? Ew."
"That's what I'm saying!"

Whether for chauvinist reasons or not, we were warmly received with a mix of amusement, attraction, and confusion. An "anonymous" benefactor promptly bought us all a round, and we received several hilarious inquiries.
"Wow. Are you like, good at domestic chores then?"
"WHY? I just have to ask WHY? Is this some sort of bachelorette party...? Are you... Jackie Gleason's grand-daughter and feel compelled to pay homage?"
"You're so cute. Did you make that apron?"

When I danced to the afro-cuban music-- cause it makes so much sense to dance to afro-cuban hip-hop in red stockings and an apron-- I mimed sweeping, and vacuuming, and stirring cake batter, and jouncing babies. I do enjoy being ridiculous.

It was such a great evening. And the three girls I went out with are brand new friends-- I'd never really known them before the party, but we had such a good time together, I mean what better way to bond than going out in down-town Seattle as 50's housewives?

My pin-curls and lipstick hung on until the bitter end (thank you hairspray and Revlon Colorstay Lipcolor), and when I finally tumbled into bed, I kept up the glamour by sleeping in my prettiest Anthro nightie. "Goodnight darling, I'm ever so tired. It was such a nifty time with the other girls..."

However: I WILL SAY: it was relief to wake up in 2008 where wearing natural hair and makeup is standard, and where it's just as acceptable for a woman to fly a spaceship as it is for her to make a casserole!

Dipping Your Feet

Today at church the pastor talked about the parable of the mustard seed, and I was thinking about how sometimes little things can do such great big things, and that made me happy, and I thought of little kiddos, and how we're supposed to "accept the kingdom of God with the heart of a child" (paraphrasing), and that made me happy too.

Sometimes it's helpful for me to think of approaching God in the same way that we might approach the ocean. Some people are at the beach, but they don't acknowledge the ocean, they just face the parking lot. (That's my massive generalization summing up the myriad thoughts that go into choosing atheism or agnosticism; apologies to those saying, "Hey!" right now.) Other people are on the beach and they see the ocean, and they're like, "Yeah, it's there, but I don't really feel like getting sandy or wet, so." So, they keep a fair distance. Other people get their feet wet, maybe some people go so far as heading in and splashing around a little bit. The REALLY invested ones maybe swim out a ways-- maybe a mile even. But no matter how close we get to the ocean, or how much we immerse ourselves, we're never going to be able to see the WHOLE ocean or understand JUST how big it is. We're never going to see the whole thing. We're never going to know about all the weird undiscovered critters down in the deepest parts. It's just too big.

I think little kids maybe get that-- they KNOW they're little, right? There's no question that they need help tying their shoes, or, if we're sticking with the ocean theme, that they need their little aqua socks and floaties. But when we get big, we THINK we're big. We take care of things ourselves, we tie our own shoes, we know how to swim. Sheesh, some of us even know how to surf, hey wooah. But in reality, in comparison to the ocean? The difference in scale between us and our little floatie-clad toddler is pretty miniscule.

My conclusion... is....

That I still need aqua socks and floaties, I suppose?

Haha! Maybe I should leave the parables to Hey-zeus. Happy Sunday, anyway. :)

My favorite joke:

What's green and grows in the ground and has wheels?





....?





Grass.





I lied about the wheels.

To Cut, or Not to Cut??

Okay, this is a very serious question, and I need all blog readers' opinions. Friends, acquaintances, lurkers alike. We have a big decision on our hands.

For the last six years, I have alternated between some version of a spunky short haircut, and varying stages of awkward grow-out. I'm a big fan of styling said-grow-out, so it hasn't been an entirely wretched existence, but still: it's been a little awkward. This last year however, the hair kept growing and growing, and the trip to Europe resulted in it continuing to grow and grow, and it's now at a longer point than it's been in years.

This is good maybe, yes? Girls with long hair equals cute, yes? That's not my whole story though. I'd been planning in my head to get my hair cut before school starts, because I WOULD LIKE TO LOOK OLDER THAN THE 17-YEAR-OLDS I'LL BE TEACHING. But now that it's through the awkward stage for the first time in years, I'm finding myself a little reluctant to chop. This is where I'm enlisting second opinions. I'll break it down:

TO CUT?

Pros:
1.) MAKES ME LOOK OLDER. This is a significant pro. Think about it people. Would YOU want other teachers ordering you to move your little toush to class? Or pimply-16-year-olds asking you to Homecoming?
2.) Sassy, and spunky. Great for tossing at dance parties.
3.) Works with my hair. Generally, it looks healthier when it's shorter.
Cons:
1.) No more curls.
2.) Must shower and style it-- mmm, pretty much every day.
3.) Impending awkward grow-out.

OR NOT TO CUT?

Pros:
1.) I can style it in bizillions of different ways. Read: curly; straight; curly half-back; straight half-back; pig tails; twisted up; braids; pony-tails of various heights; etc. etc.
2.) It hasn't been long in years. I'm kind of enjoying the novelty. It's like Kramer and the car salesman: how long can we go??
3.) It's pretty...
Cons:
1.) About 80% of the afore-mentioned styles still end up making me look more like a high-schooler than a grown woman getting her Masters with fabulous literary information to impart.
2.) It starts looking scraggly when it gets long. I'll admit it.
3.) I don't FEEL as spunky or sassy with long hair. I feel feminine and bohemian. But not that sassy. Being sassy as a teacher could be helpful, I feel.

Okay. Your turn. What do you think? I am SOLICITING your comments and suggestions. Normally my comment max is around five, but I know there are more of you than that because I CAN TRACK YOU. Muah haha hahaaa. No really though: I need help. Thoughts?

Apple on the Tree; Ivy on the Ground

Yesterday I met the woman who is going to mentor me as her student teacher for this entire school year. I'd been praying about this, because my school/mentor placement will not only hugely affect my grad school education, it will also likely play a major part in where I get hired in the future. Two possible placements had already fallen through, and I was starting to feel seriously concerned. Most teachers, after all, are going back to school this week or next-- who was I going to be tagging along with??

The first teacher I'd been possibly placed with was an impressive teacher-- I watched one of her classes, and she had a great rapport with her students, and they were demonstrating great writing. But the school's theatre program had recently been cut altogether-- a big concern for a grad student hoping to get endorsed in both English and Drama. Although the teacher told me that I could assist one of their guest directors on a production, she said, "Do it at your own risk-- because we'll have our hands full with our English classes." The school would have also entailed a huge commute, and its student population was largely upper-middle class. Not totally the demographic I was hoping for... I want to teach lower-income students in the future, so I wanted to be in a situation that would teach me how to DO that.

I went back to the lady who coordinates placements. "Is there any way we could try to find me a school that has English AND Theatre classes I could observe...?" Ideally, I was hoping to be paired with a teacher that balanced both subjects, so that I could learn how to time-manage between those two very time-consuming subjects. But really, I'd be happy to just be IN a school with a theatre program.

A possible break seemed to present itself: one of my fellow teaching interns is currently the Performing Arts Director at his large, highly-esteemed Seattle district high-school. He was going back to school for his Masters, but had worked professionally for years, and had taught at the college and high-school level. He wouldn't have been able to "officially" mentor me, since we were both in the program, but I could OBSERVE his awesome classes... And in the meantime, I could be mentored by an English teacher down the hall. Additionally, this school has an incredibly diverse student body-- literally, any type of student I would ever expect to teach would be here. Talk about a learning opportunity! My intern friend and I got really excited about this prospect, and he talked to his principal, and I emailed the placement lady at my University. She came back to me with a pessimistic outlook: my cousins go to this high-school, and teaching in a school with 'relatives' is against University policy. This high-school is also apparently really hard to get into, and she guessed that they had already reached their "intern" quota for the year. "Don't get your hopes up," she said. Crap.

Monday arrived, August 18th, and I still had no idea where I'd be teaching for this year.

Then the placement lady emailed me. "I think I have what could be an excellent placement for you," she began...

And did.

She.

EVER.

This lady, Viola, is a high-school English teacher who also teaches the winter Musical Theatre class: a teacher that teaches both subjects! The school is a small alternative public school that focuses on incorporating a great deal of the arts and social justice themes into its curriculum. Did I MENTION that I went to a small alternative public school that focused on combining arts with academics and world-related themes?? This school is basically the Seattle version of MY high-school, which I LOVED. Viola also mentioned that she had just finished taking a workshop at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and would love to work with an intern that was interested in Shakespeare.

Fact: I am a Shakespeare GEEK. Like... major, MAAAAJOR geek. AND, when I was in high-school, our theatre classes went on yearly field trips to that same Shakespeare festival. What. I get to nerd-out with with my mentor teacher about Iambic Pentameter!!

AND, this woman has an extensive dance back-ground (she teaches a Fall elective on the Lindy-Hop, which I get to take too. Seriously??). Fact: I took ballet for ten years, jazz for five, modern for three, and tap for one. I LOVE DANCING.

ANNND, as we were going over the curriculum, she said that we would be working with the Social Studies classes on covering similar time periods and historical movements. This is exactly the type of thing I want to do as a teacher: open up literature to broader relevance and show kids how it connects to other elements of their world. She spoke about how important it was to her to teach in a way that helped students relate to it personally.

THATISTOTALLYWHATIWANTTODO!!!

She mentioned at one point during our coffee date: "Something you should probably know is that we'll have a lot of low income kids. We're about 60% free-and-reduced lunch." She looked at me like, "How will you do with that?" I looked back at her like, "Are you seriously saying this right now?"

I'll be teaching the kids I want to teach.

She said, "I give the students a tough curriculum, because I want them to believe that they can do it. I tell them, 'My daughter went to a private school, but I don't believe you should have to pay all that money to get a good education. You're going to be able to get that right here.' That makes them sit up straighter." That's what she tells them. That's what she teaches them. That's what...I...want...to...GAH! (Spazzing with excitement.)

We'll be covering the Middle-East, Asia, and then Africa in our curriculum. By the time we get to Africa, I'll be doing the majority of the teaching, and guess what we're reading? Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe. Viola was thrilled to hear that I'd been to Africa. "You can use that in your teaching!" I'll get to revisit that transforming time in my life: I get to teach about Africa. She said, "Ooo, let's see if we can get someone to come in and teach them African dance!" Cool!!

Oh, and did I mention the school is like, three miles away?

I feel like this spot was created JUST for me. It is exactly, and everything that I want to do, and I loved meeting with Viola: she's going to be so much fun to work with. She's creative, and spunky, and energetic, and open. Praise the Lord-- what a gift, you know??

I "go back to school" on Tuesday!!!