The start of a school year has so much potential; everything is a new beginning, everyone gets a fresh start. Despite the optimism of all of this newness, there is always a blip on the proverbial radar screen. The event is an open, festering blemish that resurfaces at least twice a year. Most people see it as a dreaded necessity, or an awkward waltz (a hippo dancing with an earthworm). Some describe it as being at their best friend's wedding (she's the bride) and trying to engage the groom's family in small-talk, though you've only just met the guy and all you know is that he, like the rest of his kin, smells like cheese.(Thanks for the idea Fougs!) Still others call it a plague on the planet, a heinous tragedy that will certainly lead to the gouging out of one's own pupils (still in Oedipus Rex). Whatever you call it, most of you will have to endure it at some point in your lives as either the attendee or the attendant. So here's to those of us who actually survive Open House (as the teacher, not the parent). As I was performing the official reenactment of my Fall 2006 Open House experience for Rich, he took the pictures you see above. (I can't move them, I have dial up...shut up.) Take this little test to see if you can determine the order of events. Match the following quotes to the corresponding pictures, then put them in chronological order:

A. "Welcome to AHS! My name is Mrs. Haag and I am excited to have your son/daughter in my English IV class!"
B. "Which period is he in? Uh huh...uh huh...right...uh huh..." (Think, Ginger! Which John is he? Stall one more minute...)"Oh, that kid...Has he been absent...like everyday?"
C. "Oh, you're that kid's parent...Yeah, I know who he is, and so does every assistant principal, OCS teacher, and warden in the county."
D. Delirium sets in...I laugh hysterically because I can't respond rationally to the idea that in 5 short hours, I have to be back at school for the faculty meeting at 7:00 AM after having worked a 13 hour day...And I still have homework to grade... hahahahahahaha! And it's only Monday!!!!hahahahahaha!


How'd you do?
In closing,I lift my glass (of milk...it's Tuesday) to all of you parents and teachers out there who will get to attend an Open House this year. May you, too, survive the awkward torment.

Here's the scene: I'm half-way through The Godfather, took a break to sit on the patio with a glass (or two) of merlot, and am now thinking about the world and what makes it turn. This is when I am reminded about the duende.
As a scholar of literature, I am bombarded with unanswerable questions: what makes us choose who we are? How recognizable is Every Man? Why do we make the same decisions over and over again? When we dig up the foundations that are buried beneath civilization or the myths (stories) of how the universe was created, the ideas are generally the same. Name the creator according to almost any belief you can think of, and what we try to connect with is something ethereal; some floating, celestial, heavenly being who makes the world, and then determines that the people or creations (usually made in the creator's likeness)are disappointing: we cannot resist the apple in the garden, or we accept the Promethean fire. Then we are subject to a lifetime of suffering, doomed to flirt with the divine knowledge we are not privy to here. We are left to find a way to help ourselves, to make ourselves, through a lifetime of searching, fit to enter the golden gates through redemption via a savior, or we are left to die in darkness. As I was thinking about the weight of this (and how ironic it is that though we are the wretched creation, we are still awarded the privilege of choice), I remember the duende and am comforted.
The duende is a term from Spain and is associated with the Flamenco dance which involves the stomping of the ground and the recognition of an ancient rhythm. The duende is an earthen mystique born of Gaia and is associated more with Spanish and Latin American cultures. The earth is where wisdom resides; check Garcia-Marquez, Lorca, Allende, or even Tolkien if you don't know what I mean. The duende is the ancient and the mysteriously recognizable in the earth. It comes to us through our feet (stop as hard as you can) and travels through our bodies to the heart and can overtake the common sense. It inspires passion and beauty. It is not from the heavens and operates outside of logic. It is recognizable among all people. It is dirty. It is gritty, like sand in your teeth. It lights our fires and emblazons our souls. It whispers enlightenment, is essential for creating art, and is a guide to knowing that even though we are a different generation in a different culture, we are the same as those who came before, and that's a reunion to be celebrated. Los muertes know the secrets and the answers to our questions, and we will too some day. It is comforting to know that there is a relationship between the profound earth and the hard-to-hold, airy spiritual, and there is a genuine comfort in being the wretched creation, residing in the space between the two.

Happy Birthday to my little Putz!!

I love you Dutch Mackenzie!
-sis

I love sidewalk chalk! Perhaps my enthusiasm stems from the need to be a little girl again playing oustide with all the neighborhood pals (cue music: Memories...(teary smile gives way to soggy snot rag)), or maybe it's because I like to express myself artistically through a more unconventional medium, OR maybe it's just freaking fun! Much to my father-in-law's dismay, I chalked up the front sidewalk to his house, welcoming all to the party they were having that afternoon. (I don't think he believed me when I said the chalk would wash completely off.) Sidewalk chalk was used as a fundraiser at our school's magazine release party/concert, Temporary Utopia (not a plug...ok it is a plug: Buy your copy of the finest, award winning literary magazine in the nation! In the Margins is $8.00 without the CD, $10.00 with the CD. Get your copy TODAY!). People paid a dollar for a share of the cement canvas in the school's courtyard. We made it a competition, and the winner got a free magazine. The runner-up got a candy bar. There was a certain satisfation in temporarily defacing school property (sorry, Mr. A, but we did hose it off, and we even remembered to unplug all of the electronic equipment! Gold star for us!). Yes, sidewalk chalk rules! Speaking of which, one of the People in Common sent a cool link for a world-wide Chalk for Peace event. Check it out! Here's to another creative protest! To all you closet chalkers out there: you're not alone. Keep on chalkin', friends!

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference." - Elie Wiesel US News & World Report, October 27, 1986

So, the worst part about teaching, hands down, is the indifference. The first week of school I thought that I was literally going to have to quit or make some sort of peace with the blank stares and eye-rolling from my regular English classes. Still, I jumped around, smiled, complimented them, and was enthusiastic, trying to entertain and teach at the same time (which is necessary these days). This week started off much the same as the first. Finally, today my kids were actually enthusiastic about what we were doing. Enter Oedipus, from door (stage directions). We finally got to the part in the play where everyone (except for Oedipus) has figured out that Oedipus murdered his father and has children with his mother. Jocasta, the wife/mother says to Oedipus that many men have dreamed of sharing their beds with their mothers. All of the kids, in perfect unison, make the same exact disgusted face in every class. Then they all gag a little and look to me for direction. I, being the mature professional at the front of the room (I even have a master key), respond by laughing at them all and dancing what I like to call the "Oedipus is shocking (he shags his mother!!!) and just wait, there's more" dance. They finally responded! It only took murder and incest to get their attention! They didn't even want to leave class today because they wanted to find out what happens in the story. They no longer are able to read without grinning and pounding their fists on the desks. Yes! I got'em (for now at least). The lucky part is that most of the senior English curriculum involves sex and death, so maybe it will all be OK. Yay sex! Yay death(?).

"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety is a miserable creature and, will never be free unless made and kept so by the exertions of a better man than himself." John Stewart Mill, "The Contest in America" Dissertations and Discussions 1859

and

"War is a bad thing: but to submit to the dictation of other states is worse...Freedom, if we hold fast to it, will ultimately restore all our losses, but submission will mean permanent loss of all we value...To you who call yourselves men of peace, I say: You are not safe unless you have men of action at your side." Thucydides, 460/465(?)-400 B.C. Fifth century B.C. Athenian historian

I often teach my students, especially when beginning Oedipus Rex, that there are 4 essential traits that one must posses in order to achieve greatness of soul: Courage, Justice, Temperance, and Wisdom. I ask them, "which of these do you posses?" Which do I posses? On any given day I may have a mix of some of the traits, but the mix is always changing depending on my mood, my job, if I had enough coffee that morning, and even on the world climate according to Reuters that day.
Yesterday, I had a normal Friday. My seniors were less than enthusiastic about the writing I asked them to do (in my defense, it was a great prompt: suffering is a catalyst for wisdom), and in their defense, they're supposed to whine and then write something beautiful. All was well until 7th period IB. My class is so freaking brilliant. Their summer assignment was to research an international issue, connect to it in some way, and be prepared to stand up in front of the class on the first day of school and give a 3-5 minute presentation on their topics. I then allow the rest of the class to ask the presenter questions... (I'm mean, yes, but these kids are the type who did their assignments in June and practiced their presentations through July and August...most of them, anyway). So the presentations were great; the topics ranged from Japanese architecture v. earthquakes to the National Happiness Index (which I'll address later, except to say that the US and the UK ranked as two of the most unhappy countries), from human trafficking to, of course, the Middle East. We sort of got on this Israel V. Hezbollah thread, and a couple of times Christine (my awesome friend who co-teaches IB with me) and I had to remind the kids about diplomacy and respect and to use words that were sensitive. (We don't want to get fired.) You can imagine the stuff that was being spewed on the topic...probably direct quotes from adults in their houses... During one of the question times, one of our sweetest kids, in her calm, insightful voice addressed the class. She said, "All of you who seem so concerned about the wars in the Middle East: I was just curious, why did you pick these topics? How are you connected to them? What are you going to do about them?" There was a sanctuary of silence that followed. We all (me included) thought about it for a minute. What are we going to do? Why do we continue to debate? Where is the action? She was right.
This is difficult. I consider myself to be somewhat of a humanitarian. I have my rainbow "pace" (peace in Italian) flag hanging in my room over my Einstein poster that reads, "Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved through understanding." I don't want there to be war. I don't want people to die. I want greatness of soul and have been praying for wisdom since I was a kid. Part of the journey means that the leading quotes for this post are starting to make sense all of a sudden (though they're startling to me because I don't want them to be true), and we can interpret them in several different ways. What is action? or What is the right action for a schoolteacher who is living the good life in Metroplex America? What does submitting mean? Do the rules change in a world of terrorism? My smarter than the smartest kids realized that they don't know everything, which was quite shocking for some of them. There was/is no answer. How can I attempt to teach about greatness of soul, when my world is dominated by 105 degrees and whether or not my stapler is working. I do know that I need to get my hands dirty more often. Being complacent is poison.

Indian Summer

"In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.

But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you."
still on a Dorothy Parker kick

This poem's what I tell myself,
On days when I feel blue;
And though it may be weakly felt,
I dare it to to be true.

We the people have the right to have our rights taken away in response to terror, or so says the government. There have been blatant infringements on our rights from our leaders, such as warrant-less wire-tapping and invasive security cameras. Other rights seem to be taken away in the dark by less ostentatious methods. Sometimes we do not even realize that our supposedly inalienable rights have been stolen. We already are a nation of the “politically correct,” so freedom of speech is subsequently under attack. Though we still have the right to speak our minds (in correct terms) in just about any medium we choose (newspapers, television, blogs, megaphones etc.), our allies in Britain do not. This is why I chose to research the unusual, quirky, peaceful People in Common.
Captivating for many reasons, the People in Common interests me mostly because my British friend and tour-guide, Mark B., is one of the non-demonstrating demonstrators and founding fathers of this group. I met Mark four years ago on one of my many traipses across the Atlantic in search of new adventure and community. He works for the tour company, NETC, and is phenomenal, not only because of the force of his personality, which is brilliant, but because he genuinely wants to make the world a better place. That makes him a kindred spirit to me. When he is not on tour, Mark is a political activist, a writer, a philosopher, and a bit of a dreamer. This particular combination of traits led him and eventually me, vicariously, to the People in Common.
The People in Common hold impromptu, peaceful demonstrations in the grassy park in Parliament Square, an action that has become illegal under the Serious Organized Crime and Police Act or SOCPA. SOCPA is London’s response to fear of terrorism and stipulates that no one may demonstrate within 1 kilometer of Parliament Square without permission from the government. This law silences the collective voice of the people and restricts freedom of speech, a right that Americans take for granted. My friend Mark, along with the other People in Common, creatively and peacefully test the limits of this law every Sunday at 1:00pm by holding what they call “the Sunday picnic.” At the picnic, the People in Common, or picnickers, gather together to drink tea, eat teacakes, and play croquet. Sometimes their picnic is themed. For example, one was deemed the “Mad Hatter Tea Party” where picnickers went dressed as characters from Alice in Wonderland. One time, the theme of the picnic was “King George in Drag” where picnickers went dressed…well, you get the picture. The People in Common have even spent the night in Parliament Square in coordination with the theme “Shhhh. Democracy is sleeping,” at which they wore pajamas and brought sleeping bags and tents. The picnickers carry blank banners and posters, since displaying slogans on them is illegal. They demonstrate anything, such as how to stand up and sit down, in order to test the rhetoric of the law. All of this seemingly silly behavior ironically shows how silly and ridiculous the government is being in its law making. No matter what the theme, according to Scotland Yard, the actions of this rabblerousing group are illegal. How does one arrest someone who offers them a spot of tea and a go at croquet? The police, however, have done some arresting.
Since the People in Common were organized a year ago, several of them, including Mark, have been arrested and fined for offences like having a tea party. It is appalling to me that a fully operating, democratic government would be allowed by its own people to create such sanctions against what we would call our freedoms, especially when the real criminals conspire elsewhere. It is appalling to me that there are only a few who would challenge their government in an effort to create change, especially when the cause is necessary to prevent our political leaders from inadvertently installing a 1984 society. It absolutely is terrifying to me that we are so changed by a fear that will do nothing except allow our leaders to take away freedoms in a dubious effort to “keep us safe”. If this type of governmental control is exercised in the country that is most like ours, then it can and will happen here. It is just a matter of time.

On philosophy, according to a seminar in Texas:
As your circle of light grows, so does the circumference of the darkness... (?, !)
AAAAHH!
What if Edie Brickell did get it right? (:/)

"Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box.
Religion is a smile on a dog...
Choke me in the shallow water,
Before I get too deep.
What I am is what I am, are you what you are or what?...
Philosophy is a walk on the slippery rocks.
Religion is a light in the fog...
What I am is what I am, are you what you are or what?"

Ok, yes, silly. I am a philosopher and the circumference grows with each question. What I do know is that I love my family and friends more than any circumference, and my wonder of the world remains and is constantly enhanced, Mr. Wood. The great thing, in my humble opinion, is that in philosophy, there is humanity. The people in the world began to wonder at the first glimpse of the stars... and we still do.

Inventory

"Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.

Four be the things I'd be better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.

Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye."
D.P.

One more poem for the summer, for tomorrow it's back to school and back to literary and scholastic tragedy. Seriously, I live in the tragedies almost the entire year(Oedipus, Macbeth, The Stranger etc.), and then we hit biting satire(Candide), followed by paranoia (1984). No wonder teachers tend to come unglued...I mean "go on sabbatical". I love these texts, but these coupled with the business of school can create disaster.
Last summer I took a class at the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture, a place that I absolutely cherish for providing a common ground for debate, education, and meditation. During a session, a local politician (who shall remain nameless) addressed our class for the 20 minutes he could spare for the educators in the metroplex. As reporters snapped pictures and feverishly wrote down his flippant remarks about teaching with heart... you are the future...make sure and teach with a good attitude and do all you're told without question...., we (the future) became angrier and angrier. It was clear that this man had no idea that our schools were no longer service providers; we have instead become big business , catering to the customer/parent no matter what, as long as no one sues and the test scores are passing... whatever it takes (providing that we ask for nothing). A brief question/answer time followed the politician's speech. After exhausting the "teacher's do not get paid enough" issue with answers containing the words "more and taxes and no," I surprisingly raised my hand. How do I always do this? My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking as all attention- photographers, classmates, Dr. Boy and Dr. Girl- turned to look at me. I managed to squeak out, "Ok, so we aren't getting the money. I get that (and seriously have sort of come to terms with it). But how do we get respect? We have none." There seemed to follow a gaping valley of silence followed by the politician drooling out something about if you do your job well, you'll earn... (we all stopped listening). How dare he come into our space (our garden), a place where we teachers gladly give our time and money in an effort to further our knowledge, in order to become better educators and tell us that we need to do our jobs better in order to gain respect!
After the politician left and the class remained in deer-in-headlights mode, the brilliant Dr. Boy began to talk about the purpose of teachers and how the role has evolved from a figure of stature into a tired, drained, slumped shouldered figure. How will we get over that? From the community, we all still hear the familiar phrases: "Wow, you have a really hard job. I could never do what you do," and, "I have so much respect for what you do," but the truth is, tomorrow we are headed back to our customer service cubicles. Who (parent or student and sometimes administrator) will yell at me this year? Of what will I be accused? Where will I fall short or overreach?
All of this is in my head as I go back to school. There is no foreseeable answer to be found for any of these questions. But there is, coincidentally (?), a seminar being taught at the Dallas Institute this year called "The Authority of the the Teacher: What it is and How We Exercise it." What a wonderful attempt to sort out some of the issues! Maybe I'll get to go. I wonder if they'll invite the politician... I do know that no matter what happens this year, Dorothy Parker is right. There is always laughter. There is always hope. There probably will be a sock in the eye...

from "On Being a Woman"

"Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?"
Dorothy Parker (again)

My answer to that is I'd rather be in Florence... Actually, England is more my cup o' tea. I'm feeling a bit nostalgic today because it is the end of the last week of summer and I have to officially go back to work on Monday. I don't particularly like summer (it is freaking hot...106...going to burst into flame...), I'm more of an autumn girl, but summer does mean travel for me. This summer I spent almost a month abroad in Italy, Austria, and Germany. The Italy portion of the journey was a tour. I took 4 students who were 18 years + (I sometimes take select students abroad on tours), my lovely, vibrant Aunt Gagi, my talented cousin, Matt, and 2 other fantastic chaperones, Jeanne and hubby Rich. This was by far the easiest trip I've done as a group leader since all the students were older and they were mostly independent. Usually I have at least one student meltdown (homesick in Paris, and sleeping in my room even though the Eiffel Tower is glowing outside the window just for Rich and me...; puking up lunch on the hallowed steps of Notre Dame; illegally ordering beers in that one bold second of rebellion and then running away when Europe actually serves them; pissing in the bushes when there isn't even a paytoilet toilet to be found (wait, that was Rich in Germany. oh, and me at Hadrian's Wall...never mind)), but then again, I usually take junior high kids. No More! Anyway, Italy was brilliant, especially Florence. Words failed me there. I can't begin to describe to you all of the emotion and beauty... I'll leave it to the poets.
After the tour, Jeanne took the kids home and Gagi, Matt, Rich and I headed to the Isle of Capri where we spent some much need time resting and sun bathing. It was on to Salzburg, after that ,where the hills were still alive, and then over to Munich where we met our dear friends Jamie and Christine who were there for the World Cup festivities. Yes, we did partake... you only live once, right? So, it's back to the routine; Senior Lit, Literary Magazine, and International Baccalaureate English are the classes I'll teach this year. I'll keep you posted...

Last one for today...promise! I'm overexcited as this is the first blog I've ever done and I figured out how to link! (dirty). I wanted to brag about my Putz. That would be Dutch Mackenzie, my little brother. He is AMAZING. Seriously, I think he is one of the coolest people on the planet. He is a real estate agent for a living, but he is a laid back, easy going, fun to be with person. He's easy to travel with, he likes green tea and beer (but not together... that would be gross!), and he takes good care of his big sis. I love you, Putz! Deuces! Homp!

All of humanity is connected in some form or another, and there are those whose spirits mingle more easliy with yours. So count yourself blessed when you meet those who are sculpted from a similar rock. I was lucky enough to befriend and marry one from a similar quarry. Meet Rich (called WRATCH!!! at my house), my more than husband.

"There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living,
Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
The gain of the one at the top,
For art is a form of catharsis,
And love is a permanent flop,
And work is a province of cattle,
And the rest's for a clam in the shell.
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle -
Would you kindly direct me to hell?"
-Dorothy Parker

Witty, Sarcastic, Realistic, Poetic, Hilarious! Who wouldn't love Dorothy Parker? Here begins a series of nudges and moans, also known as my blog spot, Viaggio! (Italian for journey). My viaggio is a continuing amble (stumble, really) through this life and I will gladly share it with those who would like to know me better.