Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Driving to Minnetonka Cave: A Sunday Excursion #SOL17

"Did I ever tell you about the first time I've ever been outside the state of Georgia?" Hoke asks Miss Daisy early in Driving Miss Daisy.

"No, when was that?" Miss Daisy says.

"Oh, a few minutes ago." 

So it is that within our own worlds many never venture beyond a small geographic bubble, and for all the traveling I've done, I still haven't visited many iconic sites close to my own backyard. 

Thus, my husband and I took a little road trip Sunday to Minnetonka Cave. Nestled in the Cache National Forest, Minnetonka Cave is a little over two hours from our home and a short drive from Bear Lake and its turquoise waters reminiscent of the Mediterranean Sea. 
A view of Bear Lake from the Utah side heading into Logan Canyon.
We headed south on I-15 and took the U.S. 30 exit east toward Lave Hot Springs and its comforting mineral water pools, another gem of the gem state. 

Once past Montpelier, we turned south for the eleven mile drive through national forests. 

Once we arrived at the cave, we awaited our guided tour. My stomach churned with familiar queasiness as I thought about the 444 stairs into and back out of the cave. I chatted with a lovely woman who shared her anxiety both about the stairs and confined spaces. 

Our guide Holly greeted us and shared the cave's history during the tour. As Holly talked about the cave's discovery and its history as part of the WPA during the New Deal program of FDR, I wondered about all the "what ifs" that could have changed had Roosevelt not had a vision of preserving and making accessible this and other natural wonders. 
"Kevin" Bacon, in the middle, is a common
formation in Minnetonka Cave
I held the rails other visitors to the cave have stroked since the 1930s. I thought about the work of scientists and naturalists working to protect the bats in Minnetonka Cave from White Nose Syndrome, a fungus that has invaded caves and sickened bats in nearly every state east of the rockies but has spared Idaho. To protect the bat population, visitors must sign an affidavit attesting that they are not wearing clothing they've worn into any other cave. 

The "organ" in the Wedding Chapel.
The Wedding Chapel, the final room in the cave, is home to a "bride" and "groom" awaiting one another. Eventually, their patience will be rewarded as they meet to form a column, united for eternity after their long courtship.
On the ceiling the bride reachers for her groom,
the stalagmite looking up at her.
Sadly, the Minnetonka Cave faces threats--man-made threats. The gray and black on the image below shows how human touch can kill natural wonders. This stalagmite is dead because people touched it. 
Dead stalagmite in Minnetonka Cave
As a living organism in constant evolution, cave formations must be protected from invasive species, including people. 

Leaving the cave, we emerged into the hot summer sun. We decided to take the long road home through Logan Canyon, stopping in Logan, Utah on our drive home. 

During her drive with Hoke, at one point Miss Daisy says, "I taught some of the stupidist children God ever put on the face of the earth and all of them could read well enough to find a name on a tombstone."

We don't have to be like Miss Daisy's students when it comes to our relationship with nature and the natural wonders entrusted to our care. We can read, and as readers, we can protect the earth's beauty from the forces that threaten it if we choose to take the journey. 
Tuesday means time to slice with the TWT team. 

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Brown Bag Book Grab: A Gift of Book Love #SOL17 #APLit

AP Lit and Comp students pose with their books
One week ago AP Literature and Compositions learned their student scores and began the process of reflecting on the past year's successes and challenges. 

This mid-summer interruption to our beach reading and napping causes stress when we desire rest. The announcement from the College Board that the 2017 AP Lit and Comp scores are the lowest this decade calls for reflection on why we teach imaginative literature. In her slim volume How Reading Saved My Life, Anna Quindlen writes: 

Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination and the journey. They are home....In books I have traveled, not only to other worlds, but into my own. I learned who I was and who I wanted to be, what I might aspire to, and what I might dare to dream about my world and myself.

In AP Literature and Composition, my students and I build a home, a sanctuary for exploring our lives and world as well as worlds beyond our geographic and cultural frame of reference. We imagine the lives of others and in doing so learn about our own lives. 

The most important gift I want to impart to my students is a love of literature. I want them to see books as safe places. Most students arrive in my classroom fearful of poetry and often proclaiming they don't like poetry, I strive to cultivate a love of verse in their lives. 

It is in this spirit of loving reading that for our end-of-year celebration we partied with what I call a "Brown Bag Book Grab." If you've ever attended a White Elephant gift exchange, you have a sense of how the book grab works. 

I gathered up books of all genres and grade levels that I thought would appeal to my students. Some of these I owned, but others I ordered for the event. I kept the cost down by gifting books I'd already read, such as Textbook: Amy Kraus Rosenthal and by setting a budget for other books. 

Next, I put the books in brown paper bags I had stored in the pantry. I used a few other bags I had laying around the house, too, as I did not want to waste money on wrapping paper. Then I lined the bags up in the front of my classroom the day of the event. 

As the kids entered  the classroom, I numbered them. That way the first to arrive chose first. Just as "stealing" happens in a White Elephant exchange, so too did students "steal" from one another. However, we limited the number of times a book could be stolen. 

Since we began the year by analyzing theme in picture books, and since Mr. Tiger Goes Wild was the most popular picture book in September, I included some picture books in the selection. 

Debunk It proved he most popular book, based on the number of "steals." All the debaters in the class wanted that book. It's a book I've owned for a year but had not read yet; I became reacquainted with its thesis after listening to three episodes on the You Are Not So Smart podcast. 

A few books had not arrived in the mail in time for the event, so I put copies of their covers and descriptions as place holders in the bags. I also didn't want students to be disappointed in their books, so I allowed them to exchange among themselves at the end of class, and I had a few extra titles set aside for those who wanted to exchange their books. 

While I included picture books and some poetry collections, I omitted novels for the most part. Instead, I included books that promote creativity and writing, such as Big Magic, which went to an artist in the class.

I plan to repeat the activity next year and will begin collecting books early in the year so that I can tailor the selections even more to my students. 

I'd love to hear titles I should include for the next Brown Bag Book Grab. 
Each Tuesday the phenomenal team
at Two Writing Teachers hosts the
Slice of Life blogging challenge. Head over to
TWT for more story slices.

Sunday, July 9, 2017

Communication Breakdown: Process, Role Play, Reality

In my position as a speech teacher, I often include a roleplaying activity early in the course. "Communication Breakdown" presents students with a real-world scenario in which they must create a communication situation that shows interference with the rhetors' ability to communicate effectively. As each group presents their scenario, those at their desks must analyze the communication and offer an explanation about what went wrong. That is, what precluded effective communication? What in the communication broke down? 

Our national communication habits dominate my thoughts. In thinking about current communication acts, I return to the transactional model of communication I first studied in ninth grade. 
This simple diagram of the communication process falls short as a model for the complicated ways we communicate in the 21st Century, which includes online platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, Snap Chat, and Twitter. 

Understanding that transactional communication defies simple models from the 1970s, an early task I give students--before the aforementioned role play--involves working w/ a group to diagram the communication process. Before completing this task, we often have a breakdown (interference) in communication because students need an understanding of process before they can diagram or illustrate communication as a process

I've tasked students with this activity for many years because I learn a lot about their communication from it. I observe their groups and listen to their presentations. I get a sense of their work ethics, their critical thinking skills, their leadership ability, their creativity, their confidence and self-doubt, the way they interact w/ peers, their ability to  present ideas, etc. 
Student Group example of the Communication Process
In short, I'm getting feedback from students, and this feedback informs my interactions with students. I evaluate students' communication and the level of support they'll need from me as the course progresses. 

Students often think Fundamentals of Communication (the official course name) means they'll give speeches. End of story. As important as learning to construct and present speeches, citizens need effective communication in all its incarnations: 

  • one to one communication (interpersonal communication)
  • one to group communication (interpersonal communication)
  • group to group communication (interpersonal communication)
  • self communication (intrapersonal communication)
For the transactional communication model to work, it must account for 
  • sender
  • receiver
  • message
  • channel/medium (the how of sending a message)
  • feedback
  • interference (breakdowns in communication)
  • encoding 
  • decoding
Of course, up to this point I've offered a simple review of communication, but it's a tweet POTUS sent out July 1 that is at the center of my thoughts these days. 
My use of social media is not Presidential--it's MODERN DAY PRESIDENTIAL. Make America Great Again! Trump tweeted.

  • Is President Trump's use of social media "Modern Day Presidential"? 
  • Do we make communication great by privileging a one-to-group, 140 character mode over traditional ways past presidents have communicated? 
  • And is this form of communication a return to tradition?
To accept Trump's claim, one must set aside the norms for effective communication that have existed since Aristotle. That is, we must accept the idea that talking "at" rather than "with" rhetors, those who agree and disagree with us, is presidential. Trump's @realdonaldtrump Twitter page shows him following only 45 others on Twitter. Those the president follows fall into three categories: family members; Trump organizations; and right-wing media, with Fox and its talking-heads dominating that list. 

President Trump prefers Twitter to all other modes of communication. His tweets represent a form of one-to-group communication. Yes, many respond to Trump's tweets--myself included--but Trump rarely responds back. Instead, those reacting to Trump's tweets often do so in a string of micro-speeches, what those on Twitter call an "essay" or a "thread." But you'll be hard-pressed to find Trump joining the conversation. 

Rather than using Twitter as a way to communicate "with," Trump uses Twitter as a platform for talking "at." Trump delivers speeches on Twitter, not conversations. His use of Twitter allows him to eschew press conferences and complex ideas presidents traditionally lay out in speeches.

It's no coincidence that Trump did not conclude his time at the G20 summit with a press conference, a form of transactional communication that requires a president to deliver messages and respond to feedback from the press corps, including questions and clarifying comments. It's no coincidence Trump's meeting with Putin included only six people and no recording method. It represents an intentional effort to interfere with communication, to shut down communication. 

Those who understand Twitter as a way to conduct effective communication, also know how to use it both to send and receive ideas; they know how to respond to breakdowns in their communication with one another and to draw others into the discussion to further understanding of ideas. We see this in popular Twitter chats hosted regularly on Twitter. We never see our so-called "Modern Day Presidential" twitterer-in-chief concerning himself with this. 

Those who understand that effective communication is a transactional process unlimited in its modes of sending and receiving messages also know that limiting feedback and promoting interference is neither presidential or great or again. The greatness of America is built on talk that embodies feedback and working through conflicting ideas and reaching compromises. 

These days we witness the modern-day presidential communication breakdown as an intentional act of destruction. That's something worth talking about. 

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

All Over This Land: Celebrating My Country and Yours #SOL17 #4thofJuly

The flag we have in front of our house.
I'm not feeling patriotic this July 4th. As do many, I feel a little less American than I did this time last year. I feel more afraid, more insecure. I feel less like celebrating America's independence.

I must set aside these feelings

I owe it to myself and the country I love to celebrate and to protect and fight in my own way for liberty and justice for all. I am patriotic, but my patriotism is borne of my love of history and my informal study of it. I'm not much for wrapping myself in the flag through gestures and cliches. 

However, I must remember that in honoring July 4th and America's heroes, I am not ignoring the threats to our democracy and freedom, although I sense these as very real and from both external and internal sources.

As I often do, I checked Twitter this morning and found our president's greeting to the country, which included a song written by the music minister at the First Baptist Church in Dallas. 

The song is not a celebration of our nation's past. It doesn't mention the amber waves of grain or purple mountains majesty. The song does not proclaim "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy." The song has noting to say about our land or our country to have and to hold. The song never mentions remembering the men who died for me.

The song has no characteristics of patriotic songs from our past and recent present. It is a propaganda song with three lines, the most prevalent, repeated ten times in 1:40 is "make America great again." It's a song appropriate for a campaign rally, not the most important national celebration. It's a devisive song on a day we must work for unity.

As I scrolled through Twitter, looking at the responses to our president's propaganda song, I noticed two tweets: one drew my attention to the similarities between our president's song and North Korean propaganda music; the other called for alternative songs and offered a Loretta Lynn protest song as an option.

Why not? 

Today I need music, I need something to boost my patriotic feelings, so I searched for a song. As though fated, I found Peter, Paul, and Mary's "If I Had a Hammer." 


I've loved "If I Had a Hammer" since I first heard it during the 1960s. Today, I'll celebrate America's birthday by fixing my husband's favorite potato salad by calling my sons and thanking them for their service, and by sharing in the celebration of heroes at "The Biggest Show in Idaho" firework display. 

I'll set aside my feelings and hammer out freedom. I'll hammer out love for my country and for my fellow Americans, all of them, regardless of our political differences. Certainly, we live in dangerous, uncertain times, but on this day of celebration we can sing out for justice, freedom, and love between our brothers and sisters all over this land. 

No matter how you honor our nation's birthday today, as you savor those tasty potato chips and potato salad, you'll likely forge a little connection from your corner of America to mine where most chipper potatoes grow. I'll be thinking of you and the songs we'll share in this county we love. Happy 4th of July.
Join me and other slicers in the weekly Slice of Life blogging
community on the Two Writing Teachers blog. 

Saturday, July 1, 2017

On Dignity and Greatness: Reading Kazuo Ishiguro's "The Remains of the Day" in Undignified Times

As I read Kazuo Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day, a Booker Prize winner, this past week, a passage early in the novel struck me as relevant in ways I'd not heretofore noticed. 

Set in post-World War II England (1956), Ishiguro's protagonist James Stevens has worked as a butler for thirty years. Readers meet Stevens as he embarks on a road trip, during which he reminisces about his past years of service, and in doing so we glimpse his significant relationships and the stasis that governs his life and leaves him with little remaining at the of his metaphorical and literal journey. 

In the context of explaining the characteristics of a "great" butler, Stevens concludes that such a butler possesses "dignity." This begs the question: What is dignity? Through exemplification Stevens defines dignity, relating two stories about his father, also a butler, that illustrate both "dignity" and "greatness." 

One story recounts the father chauffeuring two drunk men, a "Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith," on an afternoon tour of local villages. Their "remarks -grew ever more debased and treacherous" to the point that the elder butler, without speaking, opens the car door, signaling to the men that they need to get out. Only after the men acknowledged the untoward nature of their conversation does the journey continue.

The other incident recalls James Stevens's brother's death at the hands of an incompetent general. "Leonard was killed during the Southern African war." We learn that Leonard "had died quite needlessly" when the general abuses his position. A decade later the general visits Darlington Hall, and the elder butler volunteers to service the general responsible for his son Leonard's death. He provides this service as a professional courtesy in order to protect his employer's business interests. 

At the conclusion of these anecdotes, James Stevens surmises: 

"I hope you will agree that in these two instances...my father not only manifests, but comes close to being the personification itself, of what the Hayes society terms 'dignity in keeping with his position.'"

We can debate the merits of the butlers' silence, and, indeed, Ishiguro takes readers on a journey that offers a way to think about both the merits and problems resulting from such failures to speak; we're expected to critique this self-imposed silence; however, it's Stevens's remarks about professionalism that resonate with me in the cacophony of tweets and apologists echoing from the White House. The downward spiral of discourse from online "haters" of various political stripes also inform my thoughts as I think about dignity and greatness.

Consider the following passage as it speaks to professional decorum regardless of one's profession:  

[D]ignity has to do crucially with a butler's ability not to abandon the professional being he inhabits. Lesser butlers will abandon their professional being for the private one at the least provocation. For such persons, being a butler is like playing some pantomime role; a small push, a slight stumble, and the facade will drop off to reveal the actor underneath. 

Who hasn't ranted about one issue or another in private conversation, either with friends or family? Our professional and private selves often overlap, but the intersection should not be a constant. 

Teachers understand the role decorum plays in our ability to teach and earn our students' respect. I once supervised a student teacher who lost control almost every day with one class. Simply, the students pushed his buttons, and in his reactions, they lost respect for him. I called the student intern's loss of temper "Dancing on the Desk" and suggested numerous ways for the trainee to keep his cool and earn respect. 

Similarly, the responsibility of elected officials necessitates they don a calm and composed demeanor, that they stand steadfast against petty criticism and not tweet as a reactionary response to external stimuli. Within any profession, dignity demands decency.

The great butlers are great by virtue of their ability to inhabit their professional role and inhabit it to the utmost; they will not be shaken out by external events, however surprising and alarming or vexing. They wear their professionalism as a decent gentleman will wear his suit: he will not let ruffians or circumstance tear it off him in the public gaze... It is, as I say, a matter of 'dignity'."

Politicians lack dignity when they 

are as a rule unable to control themselves in moments of strong emotion, and are thus unable to maintain a professional demeanour other than in the least challenging of situations...they are like a man who will, at the slightest provocation, tear off his suit and his shirt and run about screaming. 

Long before he entered the presidential race, the current POTUS demonstrated his lack of dignity. There is no need for me to recount the numerous examples of this man's undignified behavior. Our Twitter streams and Facebook pages overflow with examples and deja vu moments that make many feel trapped in Groundhog Day.

This past Thursday, however, sent many over the metaphorical edge. As a woman, I am increasingly distraught with the POTUS's obsession with female blood and concur with Ishiguro's protagonist that 

In a word, 'dignity' is beyond such persons. 

That is, so unimaginable is it that the president of the United States would stoop to such undignified behavior that only White House apologists attempted to rationalize the deplorable tweets we awoke to Thursday.

Each professional, whether a politician, plumber, or teacher recognizes professional greatness based on the way one comports oneself on the job, and for the POTUS, the job never ends. Even after leaving office, we expect dignity and refinement from our former presidents.

[O]ne could recognize a great butler as such only after one had seen him perform under some severe test. [A]fter one has been in the profession as long as one has, one is able to judge intuitively the depth of a man's professionalism without having to see it under pressure...Indeed, on the occasion one is fortunate enough to meet a great butler, far from experiencing any sceptical urge to demand a 'test', one is at a loss to imagine any situation which could ever dislodge a professionalism borne with such authority. 

After eight years of dignity exemplified in President Obama's executive branch, I am at a loss; that is, I was at a loss to imagine any situation which could ever dislodge a president from dignity's moorings. These days I expect to read daily about undignified behavior from the POTUS.

There will always be, I realize, those who would claim that any attempt to analyse greatness...is quite futile. 'You know when somebody's got it and you know when somebody hasn't...Beyond that there's nothing much you can say.' But I believe we have a duty not to be so defeatist in this matter. It is surely a professional responsibility for all of us to think deeply about these things that each of us may better strive towards attaining 'dignity' for ourselves. 

We have heard much pontificating about American greatness this past year, but greatness absent dignity doesn't exist. The real test for me these days is to better strive toward attaining dignity in myself and to protect what little dignity remains at the end of each day.

*Follow-up: After tweeting this post, Professor Robin Bates, who writes the "Better Living Through Beowulf" blog, tweeted the following response: "The butler is like a certain kind of Republican, loyal to an insane degree cuz easier that way, closes eyes to incipient fascism." Follow Professor Bates on Twitter at @RobinRBates

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Nostalgia Road #SOL17

My high school senior picture c.1977
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." ---F. Scott Fitzgerald

The concluding sentence in The Great Gatsby ranks among my favorite lines of literature. It speaks of the desire to reclaim our lost youth, our innocence, a more simple, carefree time of life.

Lately, I've been thinking about personal, national, and historic nostalgia and have come to the conclusion that our reach "ceaselessly into the past" often precludes our progress into the future. So intent on capturing a bygone era are we that we often fail to consider the myriad challenges accompanying the present moment of our personal and national past. That is, what is now past was once present, and in the present moment human nature beckons us to look back and long for an idyllic, romantic time that exists only in memory. A passage in On the Road articulates this idea:

I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness.

Through photography and memorabilia and memory we tend to privilege the "good times" and shove the past challenges into the recesses of our minds. We have businesses and traditions devoted to reclaiming and romanticizing the past, high school reunions and yearbooks among these.

My 40th reunion is this weekend. I graduated from Webb City High School in 1977. Then I left town as I headed to college that August, shortly after Elvis died. When I graduated from college in 1981, I left Missouri and moved to Yuma, Arizona, then to Iowa, then back to Arizona, and finally to Idaho, where I've lived since June 1989. I last ventured to Missouri right after the F5 tornado that decimated much of Joplin.
Webb City speech and debate c.1976-77.
I'm standing, third from the left.
My visits to my home state have been sporadic. I attended the five and ten year reunions. Many of my classmates have died; my debate partner was killed in a train accident years ago. One of my best high school friends died a few years ago, but I don't know how as our lives took different paths after New Year's Eve 1978.

With only extended family in the area, and with most of my cousins younger than I and having moved far away, I don't feel the pull to return.

Upon graduating from high school, graduates vow to "keep in touch." I haven't, although social media has made reconnecting easier, but often the profiles I see on FB bear little resemblance to my memory of the classmate with whom I've reconnected.

A high school reunion embodies a narrow nostalgia. Those who stayed in the area, or who have family beckoning their return, often stay connected. I see Facebook posts about this as high school friendships evolve into middle-age ones. That has not been the trajectory of my life. Being a teacher necessitates one to reflect on the past, but the emphasis for me is always on the future.

I'm not attending the reunion. Simply, I don't want to. I'm not nostalgic for high school. It was a difficult time personally, with me in constant conflict with my stepmother and with me having to care for my sick father who died my junior year. And I was not a party kid or part of the "in crowd," such as it were.  I was a nerd, a shy nerd, through most of my school days. Some of my best friends were both younger and older than I, so they won't be at the reunion. Others moved away, moved on, and also have little desire to return to the "glory days" of high school. I don't identify with Fitzgerald's Tom, whom Nick says this about:

I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

I'll not lean into the nostalgia of high school. I'm not beating against the current, borne back into my high school past. We can't make our high school days great again. We can't recover the past in that way. Our attempts to "repeat the past" ultimately lead to our sacrificing the future.

However, if I were to drive home to Missouri, a journey I've taken many times, my path would cross a highway preservationists have worked to restore and honor.

Historic Route 66 begins in Chicago, Illinois and ends in Santa Monica, California. I grew up close to Route 66 where it bisects southwest Missouri and cuts across Kansas. Our literature and pop culture embraces the "Mother Road," and seeing the road's end on the Santa Monica pier has been on my bucket list for a long time. 
My granddaughter Kayla and her friend Chandra.
Our recent vacation to Universal Studios and the Grand Canyon afforded me the opportunity to teach my granddaughter a little about Route 66 and its national importance, but I couldn't help think about the road as a relic to the past, a past romanticized even as the literature featuring the road uses it as a symbol of promise, a mode of moving forward. 

Steinbeck's Joad family traveled to California from Oklahoma via Route 66. He calls  Route 66 "the path of a people in flight." The hardship of travel offered the promise of a better life, and Steinbeck's Joad family symbolize Moses's Israelites. Both traveled to the Promised Land. Both took to the road as a way to move toward the future.

This theme of promise also resonates throughout Kerouac's On the Road. 

I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility, says Dean Moriarity.


Nat King Cole sang about Route 66 in lyrics that speak to the pleasure rather than the hardships of travel along this iconic highway:

Well if you ever pan to motor west
Travel my way, take the highway that's the best
Get your kicks on Route 66.

The decommissioning of Route 66 became for many a symbol of a bygone era, and now it's a popular tourist destination for those who "beat on, boats against the current." The Cars movies and the Radiator Springs area at California Adventure pay homage to Route 66. I learned from my cousin John that Radiator Springs in Cars is modeled after Selligman, Arizona. Now the Snow Cap drive-in in Selligman beckons tourists longing to experience a bygone era, longing to relive the past. We stopped there, too, this summer.
My husband Ken behind the Snow Cap Drive-In.
Ironically, the road that led refugees, immigrants, and dust-bowl drifters toward the future lives in our national consciousness as a museum artifact bisecting the country. These days I see the Mother Road more as a symbol of our nations cultural, racial, and political divisions than as a symbol of promise. 

I see Route 66 and the nostalgia it represents as a cautionary reminder that we can't retrace the past, can't relive the past, and certainly can't escape the past, but we certainly should move forward.



Sunday, June 25, 2017

Not Ready to Be Invisible

Full-on gray, December 2016
"That guy looked right past you, and that pissed me off." This observation by my husband Ken dominated our conversation as we drove home from our Sunday shopping excursion. 

A little over two years ago I decided to abandon my monthly hair-coloring and let my hair go gray. I wrote about this decision and the myriad factors that led to it.  Today's shopping experience represents only one in a plethora of incidents that have altered my perspective and led me to change course as I consider abandoning the gray hair.

I first noticed a change in how strangers speak to me as the gray strands outnumbered the blonde locks. More sales associates called me "honey." The tone of utterances changed from one of respect to a saccharine sweetness that suggested accommodating my perceived frailty. I shared these observations with my husband. He never contradicted me but often indicated he hadn't notices. 

Today marked a tipping point. 

I stood at the fish counter in a local store as I awaited my turn. I visited with a young woman who also eyed the sockeye salmon. She explained to her son that "all sockeye salmon is wild, so there's no need to indicate that on the sign."

"A redundancy, " I added. 

"Yes," she agreed, turning her attention to her young son. "Don't put your hands on the case. It gets dirty, and someone has to clean it."

We chatted about the salmon and a sunburned splotch on her neck I hadn't noticed until she mentioned it. "I went on a long motorcycle ride and guess I missed a spot when I put on the sunscreen." Her comment belied her own insecurities about a physical mark I had not noticed until she mentioned it.

The middle-aged, graying man behind the counter finished with another customer and took the young woman's order. "I'd like a pound and a half of the salmon." He weighed the salmon and indicated it's not quite 1.5 lbs, which she accepted. "That's fine." 

"Fish doesn't work well as a leftover," I said. 

"I agree," the young woman responded as the associate wrapped the salmon and emerged from behind the counter with the fish and handed her the package. 

During this entire exchange, I stood to the woman's left, and the associate emerged from behind the counter to my left.  

Then...

he looked right past me and turned to my husband as I stared at his back.  

Ken had been waiting several feet behind me so that he wasn't blocking the corridor. 

"Is there something I can get for you today?" The associate asked Ken. 

"He's with me," I said simultaneously to Ken's, "she's the buyer." Ken pointed at me, prompting the associate to redirect his gaze and acknowledge my presence at the counter where I awaited my turn. 

Uncharacteristically, I said nothing about the slight. I saw the shocked, dumbfounded look on my husband's face. In that moment we shared the knowledge that the man behind the meat counter had failed to notice me. To him I was invisible. To him I am invisible. He looked past me, a 58-year-old woman with gray hair. He looked past me to my 69-year-old husband, whose hair is also gray. 

I don't need a Harry Potter invisibility cloak to be invisible.

In a 2013 issue of Salon, Tira Harpez wrote: "If you want to make a person invisible, just put them in the shoes of an over-fifty woman and abracadabra, watch them disappear."

We still live in an age when society entwines a woman's value with her ability to birth babies, a society that celebrates youthful exuberance and frowns on a woman's frailty in late middle-age and our senior years. Gray hair may be popular among teens and twenty-somethings, but it's also a marker of menopause and shriveled ovaries for the over 50 crowd. 

This past week we've witnessed the political castigation of Nancy Pelosi as a member of the "old guard." She's blamed for Jon Osoff's loss in the GA-06 special election. In contrast, her fellow independent turned democrat Bernie Sanders and democrat Joe Biden enjoy a loyal following of young and old alike. 

For years I've read the research about Hollywood starlettes' shrinking careers as they age. This age discrimination extends beyond the silver screen into the workforce. Writing in the Harvard Business Review, Lauren Stiller Rilkeen says, "Hundreds of women in their 50s and 60s have shared their stories of demotions, job losses, and the inability to find another job—outcomes they attribute primarily to their age and gender." And in 2009 the Supreme Court made suing on grounds of age discrimination more difficult, Rilkeen explains.

A 2015 study in the National Bureau of Economic Research offers empirical evidence of the difficulties older women face in the job market when seeking employment. My own anecdotal experiences of seeking a part-time online teaching gig reinforces these findings, although I must admit my inherent bias. Even as older female teachers become more valuable during this time of teacher shortages nationwide, we also witness those younger looked upon as experts whose opinions deserve voice while ours get marginalized. In effect, older women in the workplace and public sphere live the Nancy Pelosi effect day in and day out. 

Sadly, women unwittingly contribute to the invisibility of other women. During our recent vacation to the Grand Canyon, we boarded a bus as the driver, a woman older than I, announced: "The first eight seats are for handicapped and seniors." 

"How old do you need to be to be considered a senior," I asked.

"You qualify," the driver answered. She saw gray and responded accordingly. 

But I'm not ready to don an invisibility cloak.

With my granddaughter at the Grand Canyon, June 2017








Tuesday, April 11, 2017

13 Ways of Watching "Thirteen Reasons Why" on Netflix #SOL17

I binge-watched Netflix's adaption of Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why this past weekend. Monday, I asked students who had viewed the series their opinions. Their perspectives differed considerably from my own. What they saw as an accurate portrayal of teen life, I perceived as a flat, one-dimensional depiction of educators and teens, whom I know don't get stoned en masse every weekend. 

I've taught students who committed suicide and have written in this space about their tragic deaths. I've heard the grief of their parents and the sorrow of their peers. Suicide baffles me, and I know schools, despite all our best efforts, can and should do more to address the mental health needs of students. Yet I refuse to believe educators bear the lion's share of responsibility for the values of students; nor do I accept the portrayal of educators as seemingly omniscient beings who gaze into the private lives of teens during the summer and on weekends. 

We simply aren't privy to every communication via text, note, phone call, or personal encounter our students have with one another. Nor are we prone to ignore drinking during school hours or graffiti on the bathroom stalls. 

The above is the subtext of Netflix's adaptation of Asher's 2007 YA novel, and it's why I wrote what follows, with apologies to Wallace Stevens. Poetry is not my strong suit. 

"13 Ways of Watching 'Thirteen Reasons Why' on Netflix"

I
On a windy weekend,
The most anticipated show
Was a YA adapted television program.

II.
I was on the couch
Like a mother
With three frames of mind.

III.
The drama unfurled in fragmented strips.
It was a segmented flashback of past and present events.

IV.
A teen girl and boy
Are one.
A boy and a girl and a suicide
Are one storyline.

V.
I do not know whom to believe,
The hubris of self-interest
Or the fragments of gossip and teen angst,
The victim whispering
Or moments before.

VI.
Blood seeped through glassy water
Which shredded innocence.
The memory of the girl
Pierced it, above and below.
The tone
Scribbled on the witnesses
An unspeakable blame.

VII.
Of incompetent educators,
Why do you ignore the sirens?
Do you not hear how the teen
Paces through the halls
Among the students around you?

VIII.
I hear the righteous echoes
And the lurid, incomprehensible beats;
And I comprehend, too,
That the teen is culpable
In what we know.

IX.
When the teen sank into oblivion
She tainted the rim
Of youth's innocence.

X.
At the sight of teens
Soaring in substance-induced stupors,
Even the shrills of cacophony
Could hum calmly on the screen.

XI.
She spoke from Sony
Over a magnetic strip.
Once, loneliness taunted her,
In this we viewers comprehended
The trace of her desire
For revenge.

XII.
The grave is sinking.
The teen must find rest.

XIII.
It was oblivion each daybreak.
It was haunting
And it was 
The teen who spoke
Through the limits of time.

Stories about multitudes of people never offer one story arc, one plot thread, one point of view. They deserve and demand a multi-dimensional treatment absent from Netflix's adaptation. Perhaps this is why Asher tells readers, "You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own." Even then, I question each of our ability to be fully self-aware.
It's Tuesday. Time to Slice with TWT.
Join the slicing community at
www.twowritingteachers.org






Thursday, March 16, 2017

Hitting Pause and Hitting the Road #SOL17 Day 16 #EF



Coastal view of Cinque Terre on the eastern Mediterranean.
Image via Google search, labeled for noncommercial reuse.
When I began this hike through the Slice of Life Story Challenge, I knew I'd face the added challenge of posting daily during spring break since I'll be tripping around Europe for eleven days. 

The SOLSC corresponds to spring break, and I travel during spring break. 

Last year my husband and I went to Hawaii for nine days. Still, I managed to post every day, often getting up early and staying up late to compose lines about the beauty of Hawaii. 

Two years ago I traveled to London, Paris, Rome, and Barcelona, with side trips to Bath, Stonehenge, Versailles, and Vatican City. I continued blogging during the 13 day trip but did miss a couple of days because of time changes and no internet availability. 

Some of my personal favorite posts have been inspired by summer road trips. I like sharing my awe-inspiring travel experiences. 

This year, however, I've decided to hit pause and eschew blogging during my travels. I don't want to miss a moment of the beauty of Europe I'll be sharing with my husband, friends, colleagues, and students, as well as the new friends I'll make during this year's travels to 

  • Milan
  • Cinque Terra
  • Monte Carlo
  • Barcelona and 
  • Madrid
We'll have side trips to some other places, too, including a day trip to Toledo, which is an hour from Madrid. 

Simply, I can't be present in two places at one time, so I'm choosing to be in the moment with my beloved man, my best friend, my soulmate, and the others sharing our journey for the next eleven days. 

To be there, I can't be here, so I'm hitting pause and hitting the road. 
March marks the month-long Slice of Life Story Challenge.Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers team for sponsoring this month's challenge and for promoting the writing life.
*I'll be back March 27. 

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Exclamation Points in My Teaching Day #SOL17 Day 15

I shared the NYT obituary for Amy Krause Rosenthal with students in my general speech classes Wednesday. These students are currently preparing eulogies of teaches, a project I wrote about last spring, and AKR's death offered a sad but timely teaching moment.

After, I read Exclamation Mark! to the classes. I purchased the book because it's about a punctuation mark, and I thought it would offer a fun way to teach students about their unique ways of standing out from others as well as provide a fun lesson on the importance of punctuation. 

Certainly, Amy lived life with the full vitality of many exclamation marks. 

My day was punctuated by lots of exclamation points, mainly from the rush to get things done before leaving on spring break. 

For teachers, however, the real excitement, the professional exclamation points, arrive as students. Today offered many stand out moments. Here are a few:

  • My Communication 1101 students delivered the best first day of speeches ever. I heard informative speeches about 
    • the history of makeup
    • eyebrow abrasion
    • cockroaches
    • Toni Morrison
    • CTE: Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy
    • Buddy Holly
    • Celiac disease and 
    • Trombones (technically delivered Monday)
  • My AP Literature and Composition students peer evaluated their As I Lay Dying and Song of Solomon essays using the "Way to Go/Way to Grow" strategy I taught earlier this year. I eavesdropped on their conversations and am amazed at their perception and honesty in critiquing one another, as well as their reflections on their own writing as they read their papers to their groups. 
  • I ate dinner at school with some colleagues and administrators who all stayed late to assist incoming freshman with registration for the 2017-2018 school year. During our time with next year's ninth graders, I met some lovely young people and their parents and enjoyed the company of some of my colleagues. 
In teaching, we find lots of little ways each moment and each student stands out from the rest. 

Breanna and Abby arrived prepared to deliver
their speeches wearing matching skirts.













Tuesday, March 14, 2017

And I Saw Guernica #SOL17 Day 14

Pablo Picasso. Guernica, 1937. Oil on canvas. Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina SofĂ­a collection, Madrid

During my recent trip to Madrid, Spain, I visited the Reina Sophia Museum where Pablo Picasso's anti-war painting Guernica" is on permanent display. Getting to see "Guernica" fulfilled a longtime dream of mine and without question was the most moving art-viewing experience of my lifetime. 

Picasso painted "Guernica" after the Basque town Guernica was bombed by German Nazis and Italian fascists at the request of Franco during the Spanish Civil War on April 26, 1937. The morning after the bombing, Picasso saw a newspaper report of the atrocities and sought a way to paint a memory that would become engrained in the collective consciousness and remain there long after we see the painting. 

When I showed an image of "Guernica" to my students, they first noticed that animals and humans all "scream" from the painting. Next, they mentioned the twisted and impaled bodies. One student mentioned decapitated bodies and heads without bodies. We talked about the "hash" marks and various meanings. Perhaps they are graves. Perhaps they are news reports. Perhaps they represent a tally of the dead. 

I included "Guernica" as part of a "Poetry and Art in Conversation" unit and introduced the unit with the painting, to which I'll add T. S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men." Both works resonate as powerful modernist works that articulate the fragmentation of war and critique its value. 

"Guernica" is a large painting, and its size contributes to the emotional experience of seeing it. I also find it fascinating that the Reina Sophia Museum was once a hospital. It's corridors are arched, giving it a cathedral-like quality that invites reverence from visitors.
The "Guernica" gallery at the Reina Sophia. Google image
labeled for noncommercial reuse. 
As with many museums, Reina Sophia does not allow photography, so I found an image online for this post. It does not begin to do justice to Picasso's masterpiece. First, the color is off. "Guernica" has a grayish-blue hue to it, and a photo does not reveal the many hidden images Picasso sketched into the painting. 

As I began sharing my experience of seeing "Guernica" with my students, I felt myself overcome with emotion. "Guernica" is now a part of me, and is as embedded in my memory as strongly as Eliot's words at the end of "The Hollow Men":

This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but a whimper. 
March marks the month-long Slice of Life Story Challenge.Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers team for sponsoring this month's challenge and for promoting the writing life.

Monday, March 13, 2017

"I Contain Multitudes" #SOL17 Day 13

I contain multitudes.
I am a teacher.
         ----Glenda Funk

Recently, I copied and pasted one of those Facebook posts penned by an anonymous author. This one resonated with me because it spoke to the ways people live complicated lives. 

The post began 

For all of you who aren't sure, it is possible to be...

From there, the writer lists the binaries inherent in each person and concludes

We are all walking contradictions of what 'normal' looks like. Let humanity love and win.

Walt Whitman has something to say about this idea that we are walking, talking contradictions in "Song of Myself," from Leaves of Grass

Do I contradict myself? 
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

As much as it is a celebration of the spirit of individualism, "Song of Myself" also offers tribute to the multitudes that live and dwell and work and play in the United States of America. 

It is possible to be an individual, and it is possible to be part of e pluribus unum. We are literally "from many one." That idea embodies the American paradox, that seemingly self-contradictory ideal that expresses an essential truth about our nation. 

I find it fitting that Whitman chooses to add the lines about being a contradiction toward the end of "Song of Myself." They are in section 51 of 52!

To find ourselves, our national identity, we need only look to Whitman:

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. 

We should not lose sight of Whitman's words. We are all, regardless of party affiliation, religion, racial identity, gender, occupation, or other, part of the grass, the fiber of America if we call this place home. 

And Whitman admonishes us to lift our voices as the embodiment of contradictions, the containers of multiples:

I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. 

That's because 

I contain multitudes.
I am a teacher.

And each time I lift my voice, I speak as myself and the totality of my experiences with each student I've known. 
March marks the month-long Slice of Life Story Challenge.Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers team for sponsoring this month's challenge and for promoting the writing life.








Sunday, March 12, 2017

Color Your World with Writing Slices #SOL17 Day 12

“Did you ever want to be a writer?” “No,” she said, and she would have told him. “I only wanted to be a reader.” Ann Patchett, Commonwealth.
After seeing the Libra Bray meme featuring slices of oranges posted on today's TWT blog call for Day 12, my mouth tingled and I thought about slices, a variety of delectable slices of writing that feed my soul when I'm tired, exhaustion born from Saturday's marathon of writing and editing. 

Having a slice of time stolen by a return to Daylight Saving Time, I decided I'd simply slice slices and feature them this Sunday. 

When I write, I see lemons. 
Sometimes when others read my writing, they taste lemonade.

I have a list of "50 Blog Post Ideas" for when the cacophony of thoughts 
clanging in my head, begging for a slice, go silent and abandon me for neglecting them.

A blog post, by its very nature, embodies green. It's an idea quickly penned, 
often the first thought that enters my mind as I open this platform, 
as when I hurry to dress after hitting snooze three times too often.

How often do I eat a pomegranate? Rarely. Yet when I do, I wonder why 
I don't more often. For me, writing is like that. I
 don't write often enough and wonder why when 
I write something that works.

When I dig into an idea, inspired by markings notched in my mind, 
occasionally a splatter of genius gobsmacks me and the words work magic.

I'll never understand how one idea can take on many hues. 
Words do it, too.

Kiwi writing is my specialty. 
Thoughts full of fuzz await peeling. 

I'm hunched over ideas, picking them from the black keys touching my fingers. 
These ideas remind me of the migrant workers I knew in Arizona.
Their hands bent toward the fruit in a permanent arc, the pain of which
refuses to ease its hold. I feel that way when pecking at these keys I ask to yield the fruit of words.

If you plan words, they might yield Honey Crisp apples. 
Ask Johnny Appleseed.

Some ideas can't be sweetened with fluff. 

I prefer tomatoes to ketchup the way 
I prefer the classics to popular romance. 

Sometimes all the right words gather in a line, 
and I can't resist sampling every one.
The way words connect to form a whole 
reminds me of the ways slices form a community of writers. 

*This month I've struggled with what often feels like the "duty" of writing. I have not felt contentment or satisfaction from my participation in the #SOL Story Challenge. I've thought daily about quitting and have had to push myself to remember that writing is in no small way a solitary, self-indulgent enterprise. I don't know if anyone will read this post, but I do know writing it was for me cathartic after a day of obligatory writing born from professional responsibility. That alone makes this a fruitful slicing moment. 
March marks the month-long Slice of Life Story Challenge.Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers team 
for sponsoring this month's challenge and for promoting the writing life.