RADICAL INDIVIDUALISM

The ups and downs of the first full week of a new school year have come to pass and with it, a sigh of relief.  At least now we can begin to establish a routine and settle into some semblance of normalcy.  But that old word--normal--dogs me once again.  Many of the students in the learning disabled population where I teach want nothing more than to blend in, to become like the rest of "them."  Yet sadly, many arrive with fresh wounds having been inflicted by "them."

So ironically, I marched through the week finishing a book featuring one of the most radical nonconformists in young adult fiction, Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli.  Her real name was Susan Caroway, but one of the many names she created for herself was Stargirl, because "I didn't feel like Susan anymore."  She arrived at unspectacular Mica High with an array of long hippie-like skirts, accompanied by her pet rat and a ukulele for singing happy birthday without an invitation to anyone and everyone.  Put off at first, the students began to warm up to her random acts of kindness and her infectious enthusiasm.  Largely due to her cheer-leading charisma, bottom-ranked Mica High was headed for the basketball championship for the first time in years when things fell apart.  Stargirl not only cheered for both teams at games ("I root for everybody"), but when a star opponent became injured, she rushed onto the court to help him.  Overnight the entire student body turned against her.  They shunned her. There was no turning back, even when Stargirl made a brief and painful attempt to look, act, and sound just like "them."

While Spinelli doesn't sell himself as a Christian writer, returning an angry slap in the face from a jealous cheerleader with a kiss on the cheek is right out of the New Testament.  If you don't go with the Christian theme, you might be tempted to swing to the other extreme, wondering why Stargirl didn't have a total and complete mental collapse, so unpredictably, out-of-this world crazy she seems.

So at the end of this long first week of school, I look at my sweet students and want to say "go for it!"  Be who you are.  Don't let "them" ever stop you or try to remake you into someone you are not.  And I look at myself as a teacher and writer and wonder, how willing am I to step out there and be so different, so innovative, so creative beyond imagination, so other-directed that my own sense of normalcy becomes significantly redefined.

Radical individualism.  If you've had a brush with it, I'd love to hear from you.

RENEWED PERSPECTIVE ON LIFE

Summer as we teachers know it is drawing to a close.  In order to make the journey back to the classroom more palatable every year, I go through a systems check to assure myself that I did, indeed, accomplish all the items on my hearts-desire list for one more summer.  

Inside painting: check; closet purging: check; deep cleaning: check; renewing a bicycling sport: check; seeing my first book published: negative.  As Jan Karon would say, "there's the rub."  After ten months of being shopped around by my agent, my book, CRAZY, has yet to find a taker.  I've had close calls, and wonderful affirmations by reputable, big-name publishing houses, but in an increasingly tight publishing market, my book is risky.  Written in verse, set in the sixties, dealing with mental illness, it lacks all the earmarks of blockbusters these days such as dystopian themes, werewolves and sexual innuendos.  Those, of course, are all the reasons why my agent loves it. 

My woe-is-me outlook took a wonderful upward turn when I attended my 45th high school reunion at pristine Lake O' the Woods in Oregon last week.  To begin with, you can't walk in a grove of ponderosa pine and douglas fir, paddle on a lake at the base of a snow-capped dormant volcano, and watch bald eagles cruise overhead without experiencing the blessings of this life, and the insignificance of our own petty concerns.  

And then there is the human element.  My best girlfriends and I picked right up where we left off years ago, sharing laughter and tears, heartaches and triumphs, now peppered with inevitable health issues.  Twenty percent of our class of just over 400 is now deceased, and many, we learned, were facing serious or life-threatening health concerns.  But hope and a zest for life prevailed, and we fed off of each other's thankfulness and determination to live life to the fullest as long as we can.  One friend said she works on "gratitudes" each day, and in our short weekend together, it became a theme.  

No, I didn't accomplish all my goals this summer.  But I think I came away with a greater appreciation of who I am and where I am in life's journey.   As I lay in wait for this sunset picture, dragonflies danced around my head, fish jumped just off the dock, and bullfrogs rehearsed for the nightly concert.  There's a whole lot of living going on each day before that sunset, and as a teacher, writer, wife, mother and grandmother, I promise not to waste a moment going forward.

Renewed perspective on life:  check.

SWEET DREAMS

It's half over.  Exactly one month from today.   I avoid looking at the calendar because that's just way too in your face.  I try to ignore the way the clock seems to be racing on its own time-warp schedule, getting louder and more menacing as it tickety-tocks my carefree days away.  But there is one reminder,  regular as clock-work about this time every summer, that is totally out of my control.

The inevitable back-to-school nightmare syndrome!

It was that typical first day when the little darlings arrive so fresh faced and eager, unaware that their fully rested and rejuvenated teacher has already been launched into overload by too little time in her room, too  many new programs to learn, and too little sleep the night before.

I arrived late and discovered that I had left something vitally important in my car. Whatever it was, I simply couldn't do first day without it.  I raced back to the parking lot, just on the edge of the campus that resembled a cross between New York City and Disneyland, only to find that I simply could not remember the way back to my room.  Who knows how long in dreamland it took me to find my way out of the maze but thank heavens for quirky coincidences.  I spotted my fellow teachers at the football stadium along the way and suddenly remembered it was the opening day assembly.  My luck continued when my colleagues, gathered in a tight cluster in a dark corner at the foot of the stands, assured me they had covered for me, and my class was in good hands.  No admins in sight.  Whew!

"Where are my students?"  I inquired with relief and a good bit of curiosity.

"Students?  What students?  We're just here to watch the game.  Have a beer!"

Wow, I thought.  School start-up has really improved.  This is going to be a great year.

I somehow found my way to my room and was further delighted to find not one, but two brand new state of the art computers.  I must be dreaming, I thought.  I remember only putting in for a new power cord on the wish list.  Suddenly someone down the hall said they saw a cloud of locusts moving across the campus in our direction.

The students have arrived!

By now my computer elation had morphed into panic when I realized my room had no electrical outlets, indeed no electricity, and I had forgotten to prepare a lesson plan.

Give me a few more dreams like this one, and I'll be powered up for another great year!

SUMMER FUN

It's finally here.  Summer.  I'm free as a bird for a precious cluster of weeks and I don't want to waste a minute.

First, I tackled the to-do list, starting with the windows inside and out, upstairs and down.  My husband and I chuckled over our choice of bonding time as we shouted and pantomimed directions through the brightening panes.  Somehow he thought he could get by without the aids (hearing) that day, sort of like one of my students showing up for a field trip without the meds.  I forgave him when the sunshine practically burned a hole in my spotless windows much like horseradish kickstarts a stuffy nose.

Next it was the floors.  Down on all fours Cinderella style until the original colors began to emerge.  Out out, "darn" spots, I commanded. Lady MacBeth couldn't have washed away the sins of the year any better, and Anne Lamott would have been proud of my tile-by-tile technique which reaped some fertile plot points and colorful character ideas as my mind drifted way beyond the floor.

Don't get me wrong.  My idea of summer doesn't translate into a self-imposed hard-labor camp.  It's just that teachers and writers both tend to let things really pile up during school and writing projects, and it makes us feel extremely efficient, well-organized and productive to stir up a bunch of dust once a year (maybe twice) before settling into the fun stuff.

And what about that fun stuff?  First I took one giant leap for woman-kind (at least for this kind of woman) and invested in a smart phone.  I began to experience the length and breadth of my leap when I ran into one of my sixth-grade students at the phone store who escorted me around the displays with sales tips that put the customer service rep (and me) to shame.  This is supposed to be fun?  I secretly vowed to go home and cram like a freshman before finals lest my smart phone outsmarts me.

But the fun event that tops all so far this summer is the resurrection of two nostalgic 3-speed bikes:  my husband's 1966 Rudge and my 1972 Raleigh.  This culminates several years of debate about whether or not anyone could even work on such antiques, and assuming they could, how cost-effective it would be compared to buying new bikes.  It turns out the process was much easier and less expensive than buying a smart phone, and the learning curve just a matter of practice and review.

                                                                 1973 - Queens, NY

                                                                    2011 - Charlotte, NC

Now if I can just stay upright and use the GPS on my Droid to find my way home, I can truly say I am at least as smart as a sixth grader!

NOSE IN A BOOK

I've not had a spare minute to blog the past month because I've had my nose in a book.  The one I just finished writing, that is.  It's my second novel and I've been on a self-imposed fast track, staying up late and getting up early and all of this during the last frantic six weeks of the school year.  Why?  It has to do with trying to get pregnant.  No, wait.  I'd better back up and explain.

We've all probably heard about women who try and try to get pregnant and eventually give up.  They then try adoption, and within a short period of time, they finally get pregnant.  Suddenly they have more of a blessing than they bargained for, but that's a whole other story.  Well, my first novel has been out there seven months now, trying and trying to get published to no avail.  That's with the help of a beloved agent doing her level best to push it.  So I decided to throw all my energy into cranking out a second book, with the hopes that that will somehow magically increase my chances of getting the first one published, or maybe even both. 

I know the metaphor is a stretch, but I can't help it.  Writing books makes you weird like that.

So I decided to give myself a day off, get completely away from it, do something normal for a change.  Here's how it went.

An authentic voice told me to go shopping because the mood in our fridge was empty.  That set  up an inner conflict due to the absence of a theme for dinner.  After a dialogue with my husband I was able to weave several strands together, nicely layered, that set the tone for the entire week.  The plot thickened when the setting on our street became snarled with traffic, and two shallow characters held us all up with an outer conflict, commonly called a fender bender.  My journey ended with a climax when the grocery clerk overcharged me and I had to query her about the validity of her facts.  When I said her numbers weren't right for my list, she lost it, and I fled the scene.  My synopsis of the afternoon didn't hold my husband's interest.

Maybe I should just get started on that third book........

POETRY IN MOTION

Our first grandson is due any day now, and I can't help but reminisce about his father, our son, and speculate about who this precious little boy will become in life. 

The memories.  I still chuckle when I think of some of the antics of Thomas and his twin brother, Jonathan.  Sometimes, quite honestly, I'm embarrassed to admit how they got the best of me, or how inept I was at parenting.  The day one of the parishioners (they are PK's) shook her head in distress and asked if they were "normal."  Another day, waiting my turn in line at the bank, the teller shuffled the requested cash and muttered tersely, "do they ever shut up?"

In spite of my parenting foibles, I am proud to announce how wonderfully they have turned out.  And ironically, they both put those talkative tendencies to great use.  Tom is an inspiring and eloquent Bible teacher, and Jon is a prolific and creative composer and songwriter.

Now bring on my first grandson!  As my husband always said during the most boisterous times, "be glad they are not dull." 

In honor of poetry month, and the inventive possibilities that lead to an adventurous and inquisitive life, I offer this poem I wrote some years back for my science students.

BLAST OFF

Mrs. Quiggly, how fast will my rocket soar---?

Not now, Robert, we're on our way out the door.

            Line up, class, with rockets in hand

            Launch day is here, it will surely be grand.

Mrs. Quiggly, if I choose an elliptical path---?

Robert, when you interrupt, you inspire my wrath.

            Now class, listen carefully and follow directions

            Take just a minute for final inspections.

Mrs. Quiggly, do you think Newton made a mistake---?

Robert, Robert, what on earth will it take?

            Gantry over here and fuel over there

            In a matter of minutes, we'll conquer the air.

Mrs. Quiggly, I've got it, I figured it out---

Robert, that’s enough, without a doubt.

HAVE A SEAT BY THAT TREE

AND WAIT QUIETLY FOR ME.

            Now then, class, to the launch pad

            If you've not paid attention, you'll wish you had.

VAROOOOOOOOOOOOM   CABOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

YEAOOOOOOOOOOOOOW   CAPOOOOOOOOOOOOOW

            Mrs. Quiggly, Mrs. Quiggly, come qui, qui, quickly

            Robert's upside down in the tree,

            and he's looking awfully funny to me.

MAKING GOOD CHOICES

One of the favorite catch phrases of any good teacher or parent is "make the right choice." It's always a triumphant moment when our children or students make a wise decision independently, but more often than not, a teachable moment or a gentle review of the options enhances the learning experience. 

Co-authors Leah Butler and Trudy Peters have joined forces to launch a series of picture books with the decision-making acumen of six through ten-year-olds in mind.  Leah and Trudy, former magazine publishers, didn't let moving to separate cities stop them from their shared goal of writing for children.  They have co-founded Spencers Mill Press with the ambitious goal of creating a 26-book series much like a set of encyclopedias, with one book for each letter of the alphabet.  Each story deals with a different moral, ethical, or personal dilemma that children in this age group face on a daily basis. 

 

To date, two books have been completed; Andre's Choice: In a Land of Opportunity, and Owen's Choice: The Night of the Halloween Vandals.  With the help of beautiful illustrations and a firefly named T. Winkie O'Toole, the protagonists are thrown into ethical dilemmas such as vandalism, bullying, cheating, changing schools and telling the truth.  Through an interactive format the reader has the opportunity to choose how the book will end and consider the consequences of that choice through a set of follow-up questions.

In an era when too many books blur the borders between right and wrong, who can argue against teaching the right choice at an early age? 

Leah spends time reading in various schools around Charlotte, and can be contacted through their website http://spencersmillpress.com/aboutus.htm.