And sadly, that's the most creative title I can think of at this point. After three days of student teaching-- wow, was it really only three days??-- I am plumb tuckered out.
I'm loving it, so that's a plus-- I'm choosing to equate the feeling with the same fatigue you'd feel after doing some fabulous sporting event, or, I don't know, throwing some incredibly large pot on a pottery wheel. Don't ask me to explain my analogies. The justifications would be paltry at best right now.
Really though-- after the first day, I felt so pumped and excited, I had to go power-walk around Greenlake just to release the excess energy. It was a fairly mundane first day-- name games, a lecture on class expectations, some get-to-know-you busy work... And the kids came in with big attitudes and chips on their shoulders, but still, I LOVED it all. All day long, I was thinking of ideas of what I could do on my first day NEXT year, and I looked at the kids and thought, "You're such punks, and you're figuring out who you are, and you're trying to be big and tough when you're really just young and confused, and I love you!"
Yesterday, I got to teach a mini-lesson on public speaking, using theater techniques I'd learned on projection and articulation. The kids were engaged, and enjoying themselves, and genuinely seemed to be getting into it. 4th period even started clapping for me when I turned the lesson back over to Viola! That made me feel great, and feel good about my progress with the students-- I felt like I was really starting to establish a rapport with them, and that they were already seeing me as a co-teacher, someone to respect and look up to. FABULOUS.
I told that to my University Coordinator when he came to meet with Viola and me today (read: the man who grades me), and he said with a knowing grin, "Well. You're still in the honeymoon period. The kids are generally on their best behavior the first few weeks-- and then they start testing you. They WILL test you."
Sure enough, 5th period today took me through the ringer.
It had been an eventful morning already-- we hadn't done the "Mini-lit" activity this week yet, and Viola decided that it would be a good Friday activity. She asked me if I wanted to teach it, and I eagerly agreed. Teaching almost a whole lesson already? Sure, yes, awesome! Why not? I was ready to bust my chops-- and if I failed, she was there to catch me, right?
I went in guns a blazin'-- but... 2nd period fell a little flat. They didn't seem to "get" the activity, and had trouble getting started when I had them work independently. Viola and I discussed the lesson briefly in between classes, and I changed some things up for 3rd period. Thanks to the modifications, 3rd went way better and I felt proud of myself for recognizing ways to alter a lesson based on indicated needs. "So ready to be a teacher," I thought. "Gold star intern," I thought.
I spent 4th period-- the FUN period (4th period kids rock)-- talking with my University Coordinator who will henceforth be known as MATT. I caught the end of 4th though, and was warmly greeted by some of the students. "Fabulous future teacher," I thought. "Gold star intern," I thought.
And then came 5th.
5th has the cards stacked against it already: it's the last academic class of the day, and the kids come in tired and unfocused. Today is also Friday which doubled the odds, and on top of that, it's just a more challenging group of kids. There's a fair amount in that class who have attention issues, behavior issues, or some combination of both. Early on, one of the kids acted up and Viola took him out in the hall to work by himself, and to give him a "talk." That left me alone with them.
Alone.
No problem. Right? No problem? I walked around as the kids brainstormed evocative words to use in their six-word-phrases, and checked K's paper. When "K" had introduced herself on the first day, she'd followed it up with, "I like to piss teachers off." Earlier in class, when Viola had gone over some of my six-word examples, she'd read the more abstract one: "Barefoot walking and pink cloud climbing." K had snorted and commented, "It sounds like she's high on E." Now, as I approached her and looked over what she'd come up with, I tried to be positive.
"Neon blue... and unicorns. Nice K, sounds like a... happy place. Those are very positive images." She gave me a long hard stare and said, "You were a good kid in high-school, weren't you?"
"Yup," I said. "Why do you ask?"
"You have NO idea what this is talking about."
I looked at her. "I'm choosing to believe you have good intentions K. I can guess what that might be about."
She laughed again and made a comment about me to the other students, then went over to show them her words. "K, I think you'll work better if you're sitting at your desk," I said with a note of desperation, but she ignored me and went back only when Viola came back into the classroom.
Viola noticed. "You look tired!" she said.
I told her in a whisper what had happened, and that it had stressed me out. She marched over to K. "Let me see what you wrote, K." She looked. "Alright, you're coming with me to the office."
"What'd I do?! What'd I DO?!"
... And once more, I was left alone with 5th. The class didn't fall apart, but it also didn't hold itself together very well. At one point, the whole class was talking when a group was getting ready to present, and I called out, "So we've talked about what it means to be a good presenter right? So what are we going to be right now...?" One kid called out, "Good LISTENERS," but that was the only response. Everyone else kept right on talking.
I thought to myself with a panic, "They're not listening to me. They're not respecting me. I'm the stupid intern. I'm the baby-sitter that they don't have to listen to. Crap. CRAP!"
I'm being hard on myself here: most interns don't even touch teaching the first couple weeks, and I would say that my teaching efforts went off ahead of the curve, overall. I wanted to take a big bite, and Viola let me. It was an ice cold splash of reality this afternoon, and I'm guessing that will only intensify as the year progresses.
But, I learned a new acronym today from some of the other new teachers: Q-TIP. Quit Taking It Personally.
In K's case, it turns out she has a miserable home-life-- which is the situation for a lot of these kids, unfortunately. K doesn't do drugs herself, we don't think-- but is around users constantly. She told the nurse that she wants to get a job as soon as she turns 16, just because she wants to be away from home. Her parental support is little to none, and she's doing whatever she can to gain some control of her chaotic life-- including taking it from her teachers. The nurse suggested I approach her with empathy, and understanding-- resisting her bait, and instead aiming for a heart-to-heart.
That's for K, then.
But how about M? How I should handle my intelligent, amicable goth kid with the Nazi obsession and anti-semitic sympathies? How about KV, the sweet Asian kid who suggested in one of his first essays that his mom has recently passed away? What about spazzy A, the hyperactive tiny blond boy, who's clearly intelligent, and clearly undiagnosed? And all the kids who wrote in the "What I hope to achieve" essays that they wanted to get a job to help their mom pay the bills, or that they wanted to get grades higher than D's this year, or that they wanted to help their moms after work so that she wasn't so tired-- with no mention of a dad? How do I approach them?
The kids at my school are not an easy bunch-- they're colorful, and interesting, and troubled, and often very poor. They're full of potential, but surrounded by people telling them that they CAN'T. Their poetry is incredible, yet their focus and study habits are a head-shaking sigh.
And they will be an amazing group to learn from.
A friend told me yesterday that, "There are no bad kids. There are NO bad kids. True, there are some GLF's (goofy little fu**ers), but there are no BAD kids," and I believe her. This year is going to wipe me out, and leave me reeling, but hopefully it will leave me a lot, lot wiser.
And even though I'm suspending any more self-awarded gold stars, I'm cheered by Viola's enthusiastic encouragement of me, and of the fun that I've had already, and the kids themselves-- because they really are cool and quirky, they're such great punks. I'm also cheered by prayer. It felt really good to remember prayer on the drive home, and to just lift up this girl K. Help her with her home stuff God. Help us have a really great conversation at some point. Help her be brave.
So? Anyway. That's the story so far. Based on how I've crashed into bed the last two nights, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up daily blogging, but I'll continue to keep you posted. :)
Sep 5, 2008
Sep 2, 2008
Brevity Soul Wit
Wednesday is the first day of school with students (EEE!), and Viola asked me to come up with some fun ice breakers/opening activities/tell-us-about-yourself-and-all-your-wildest-dreams activities. I'd just read an article in Time about this new literary fad called "Mini lit," which sounded like a good Language-Arts themed opener.
The basic mini lit gist is this: you write a memoir, book review, short story, novel, essay, etc.-- but you do it in six words or less. Apparently the idea began when Ernest Hemingway was dared to create a short story with only six words. He came up with, "For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn." With the exponential growth of blogging, twittering, and increasingly short attention spans, mini lit has taken off.
So the activity tomorrow (today, if you're reading this on Wednesday) is for the students to write their usual, "What I did this summer," essays-- but in only six words.
This is me trying to do my own assignment:
Europe? Take me now. Home, agh!
Je suis francaise!... Until I wasn't.
Bohemian traveler? ...Diligent student? Yes, duh.
Grad school, tigers, and bears ohmy!
Patisseries? ALSO cheese and wine? Yessss...
Hearts are tricky and elusive, methinks.
This is the problem: hostel boys.
This is the best: Cordier brothers.
Good things bad things crazy things.
Barefoot walking and pink cloud climbing.
Anyway. It's sort of fun. How about you try. How was your summer?? Also, do you love my shameless solicitation for comments lately? I just want to know about you all. :) I tell lots about me, and it's fun to know you all a little more too. Plus, six-word summer vacation essays are fun.
I'll hopefully post a blog about the first day tomorrow evening-- including some of the six-word-phrases the students came up with, if they're funny. :) I'M A REAL LIVE STUDENT TEACHER NOW! Wish me luck!!!
The basic mini lit gist is this: you write a memoir, book review, short story, novel, essay, etc.-- but you do it in six words or less. Apparently the idea began when Ernest Hemingway was dared to create a short story with only six words. He came up with, "For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn." With the exponential growth of blogging, twittering, and increasingly short attention spans, mini lit has taken off.
So the activity tomorrow (today, if you're reading this on Wednesday) is for the students to write their usual, "What I did this summer," essays-- but in only six words.
This is me trying to do my own assignment:
Europe? Take me now. Home, agh!
Je suis francaise!... Until I wasn't.
Bohemian traveler? ...Diligent student? Yes, duh.
Grad school, tigers, and bears ohmy!
Patisseries? ALSO cheese and wine? Yessss...
Hearts are tricky and elusive, methinks.
This is the problem: hostel boys.
This is the best: Cordier brothers.
Good things bad things crazy things.
Barefoot walking and pink cloud climbing.
Anyway. It's sort of fun. How about you try. How was your summer?? Also, do you love my shameless solicitation for comments lately? I just want to know about you all. :) I tell lots about me, and it's fun to know you all a little more too. Plus, six-word summer vacation essays are fun.
I'll hopefully post a blog about the first day tomorrow evening-- including some of the six-word-phrases the students came up with, if they're funny. :) I'M A REAL LIVE STUDENT TEACHER NOW! Wish me luck!!!
Sep 1, 2008
Inventing
This weekend, I invented a combination of ingredients that resulted in one of the most fabulous taste explosions that my mouth has ever experienced: herbal goat cheese (yum yum yum), Essential Baking crackers, and la pièce de résistance: rhubarb sauce. The sweet of the rhubarb with the cheese-- oh, wow. Fainting.
I also began a project that I am telling myself will be an incredibly fun, creatively stimulating activity for the next 8 months: inventing ways to do my now-grievously short hair.
Observe:
The MULLET-HAWK:
This was invented while getting ready for church: I tried to see if my hair would Marilyn-Monroe it by doing it curly, but alas, there was no such babe looking back at me in the mirror. So I turned to my ever reliable bobby-pin arsenal, and began pinning pinning pinning. Voila:
Business in the Front:
And PARTY in the Back:
Party-in-the-back, mohawk style. See? Kind of a like a skunk. Anyway, it's FUNKY if nothing else, right? I felt proud of myself.
We'll see what other modifications I'm able to come up with. Maybe I can stick with the 50's Housewife thing and just keep trying to work out retro styles. They sure take a long time though.
Anyway, just to satisfy your curiosity, this is the boon that I'm now stuck with:
Alright, granted it's not this, but it's just not a great CUT-- like, it's pretty poorly shaped, and triangles at the bottom instead of rounding out... It's just sort of bleah. And let's be honest: THIS compared to the "before..." It's pretty clear, huh?
Oh well. As some of you have sweetly encouraged me, it will grow. And until then, there's always my go-to fix:
Or, maybe I'll just reinvent myself as a master stylist, and try to fix it myself...
Oh-- and p.s., my mentor teacher asked me to come up with some good ice-breakers/name-games for the first few days of class. (More inventing.) Any suggestions??
I also began a project that I am telling myself will be an incredibly fun, creatively stimulating activity for the next 8 months: inventing ways to do my now-grievously short hair.
Observe:
The MULLET-HAWK:
This was invented while getting ready for church: I tried to see if my hair would Marilyn-Monroe it by doing it curly, but alas, there was no such babe looking back at me in the mirror. So I turned to my ever reliable bobby-pin arsenal, and began pinning pinning pinning. Voila:
Business in the Front:
And PARTY in the Back:
Party-in-the-back, mohawk style. See? Kind of a like a skunk. Anyway, it's FUNKY if nothing else, right? I felt proud of myself.
We'll see what other modifications I'm able to come up with. Maybe I can stick with the 50's Housewife thing and just keep trying to work out retro styles. They sure take a long time though.
Anyway, just to satisfy your curiosity, this is the boon that I'm now stuck with:
Alright, granted it's not this, but it's just not a great CUT-- like, it's pretty poorly shaped, and triangles at the bottom instead of rounding out... It's just sort of bleah. And let's be honest: THIS compared to the "before..." It's pretty clear, huh?
Oh well. As some of you have sweetly encouraged me, it will grow. And until then, there's always my go-to fix:
Or, maybe I'll just reinvent myself as a master stylist, and try to fix it myself...
Oh-- and p.s., my mentor teacher asked me to come up with some good ice-breakers/name-games for the first few days of class. (More inventing.) Any suggestions??
Aug 30, 2008
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.... :(
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.... :(
Aug 29, 2008
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.
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.
Aug 28, 2008
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
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
Aug 26, 2008
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.
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.
Aug 25, 2008
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? :)
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!
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!
Aug 24, 2008
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. :)
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. :)
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