Alice Cary

I'm at the tail end of my sixth class, which has been a struggle. Even Mo tells me that I never seemed to connect to the course. I wish I could figure out why since I like the professor and enjoyed many of the works. The only thing I can think of is that I'm the type of student who likes to hear what the teacher has to say, what other scholars have said, and then react. I don't like sitting around and simply talking about the text for three hours, especially in a small group.

One fun thing is that I've begun to read Alice Cary's work and I like it - especially after Hawthorne. I find this entire 19th century group of transcendental writers tiring. They are too self absorbed and this hurts their work. I still love Melville, Twain, and now Alice Cary. Her work is lyrical and there is an oddity in the tales, a depth of human understanding that I have loved so far.

Reading her makes me wonder why women authors seem to fall off the end of the earth. To what extent is the male scholarly world too self-important to take the straight forward writing of women seriously.

Salmon River

Mo and I hikes the loop around Day Pond - what a day. It was as nice a day for a hike as I can remember. The hike was pleasant enough, slight narrow trails with many rocks. There were a number of rock walls and maybe a foundation or two - it felt good to be out in the woods. There was one bad thing and that was three motocross bikers tearing up the trail. Mo got mad because I told them it was a hiking trail, but it really was dumb to be where they were. It has been nice to be out on a weekend without worrying about correcting papers and re-working lesson plans. I was at school the other day working with seniors who are working on a website for me. It is always great to go back as a visitor, and there are days when I realize that despite the decreased tension, I will miss the kids.

A long time...

Hard to believe how long it's been since I've blogged, a function of being too busy and too lazy. We just got back from Topsail and returned via Gettysburg. Sadly, G-burg will never be the same since Ajou died. We visited her and Larry's graves. There is now this quiet void and my sense of the battlefield is more connected to the sad aspects of the battle. I feel more of the loss than ever before. I'm still fascinated by the place and its distinct aura, but it will never quite be the same - no welcoming home to return to after roaming the field. Now we return to a hotel. The kids also feel the loss and, ironically, their feeling of loss reaches me and spirals me in that direction.

A long time

Graduation

We're back from a wonderful graduation at CUA. What a weekend!

Antonio

How can I explain Antonio? He's not my student. I really don't know him, but he has, will always have the most profound impact on me. He is as close to a saint as I will come. A middle school student with MS, so severe it has quickly eaten his ability to move and will eventually eat his ability to live. Yet, he comes to school every day he can. In a wheelchair, shaking and mute, a living sponge who does not simple soak in live around him, but exudes an energy and will that is hard to describe. His mute will is a model for me and should be for all in school. But life goes on around him and those with all their life ahead of them willing chose to destroy it piece by piece. I do believe God has some rationale for Antonio, but I do wish for a miracle, for a quiet man to walk into our school someday and simple say, "get up and walk." Oh, how nice that would be. Instead, I think that quiet man will come in the cool of the morning and say "get up and walk with me" and Antonio will follow to somewhere without the labors of this world.

My feelings remind me of a poem by Theodore Rotheke I'd read long ago but never quite understood until now. I am neither father or teacher, but will always treasure his presence.

Elegy for Jane
(My student, thrown by a horse)

I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;
And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;
And how, once startled into talk, the light syllables leaped for her,
And she balanced in the delight of her thought,

A wren, happy, tail into the wind,
Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.
The shade sang with her;
The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,
And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.

Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,
Even a father could not find her:
Scraping her cheek against straw,
Stirring the clearest water.

My sparrow, you are not here,
Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.
The sides of wet stones cannot console me,
Nor the moss, wound with the last light.

If only I could nudge you from this sleep,
My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon
.Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:
I, with no rights in this matter,
Neither father nor lover.

No blockage

Well the call said there was no blockage; however, I still don't know why there are symptoms. What struck me was that once the specific crisis was over, i.e. no specific, treatable issue, communication fell off. It seems that one issue in our medical system that fails in the communication piece. I called and got an appointment to discuss the test, but i really think that should be an automatic appointment. Treat the issue with preventive strategies before it becomes a problem, not what we now do which is wait for a crisis and then act.

Stress

Well, vacation week is almost over. What a weird week. First, it rained most of the week, only at the very end did it evolve into sunshine and warmth. It was a busy week and stressful. I spent most of the week working on my research paper on the Cathedral of t. Joseph for my architecture class at Trinity. I really enjoy the research part of the process - I realize I simply love to learn. However, I also enjoy the telling everyone what I know part of the process as well. I find I'm more competitive than I've ever been about grades and as a result create stress in the process. I want the highest grade!

The week had more stress as I went for a nuclear stress test on Thursday. They shoot nuclear isotopes into you and watch them course through your heart to see if there are any blockages. I won't know about the results until tomorrow. I suspect the doctor isn't concerned or else he wouldn't have waited til Monday. It takes two hours and is a slow process. While on the treadmill, my blood pressure shot up higher than they wanted, so he put me on beta blockers. I really hate taking medicine - I can't stand the blood pressure pills I'm on. When I think about it, I realize the pills represent aging and they force me to acknowledge my age, the act of turning 50 this year, and I resent it. On the other hand, I try to acknowledge the fact that they might help me reach age 80 - come back in 30 years and read my response at that time - it might be more grateful. I laugh because I don't feel 49 going on 50. In many ways, I feel younger than at other parts of my life, but the pills are the bell that tolls the years. I need to figure out if I can change my lifestyle in some way to get off the pills. The start, I hate to say it, is losing 35 -40 pounds - no wonder I'm on pills.

We also finished most of the Annie set this week. Ryan, Andriana and Sam all did great work. We could not have done it without Andriana's artistic skills. Ryan is a very fortunate husband.

Sam was with me since he got a 'D' in math, simply because he did not do his work. Every other grade was in the 80's. His consequences are: not driving permit, no TV (except the Red Sox), computer games, video games, and we took his cell phone away (except when at school so he can call to be picked up). At this stage, he'll be living the life of his brother in a Dominican priory.

Easter

A new dawn opens and new hope arises. Hope is what Easter is all about. Of course, since the first Easter, every day brings hope. Everyday also brings the unimaginable love of God and his unrelenting well of forgiveness, and Lord knows we all need it. There is a great relief in understanding this forgiveness. There is no way we can be eternally strong, but we don't have to grieve, simply live, listen, strive to do our best, and have hope.

Peter

How grateful I am for Peter. I see him as a true gift to all of us, so passionate, and weak, and sinful, and, finally, triumphed in his commitment at the end. I find him a great comfort since he walked with Christ, heard His words, saw His work, experienced His miracles, and yet still denied Christ three times. It seems he is not better than Judas as that point. The huge difference is that Peter believed in God's message of forgiveness and wept bitter tears of regret, while Judas chose death. I truly hope that somehow Judas recognizes his mistake and accepts God's grace. It seems that His love and forgiveness is so vast we can never imagine it, so vast even His betrayer is welcome to it. The gift of Peter is that he is so much like all of us and yet overcame his obstacles in the end. Caravaggio's image is him is so wonderful. You can he is strength and that wonderful attitude where he asked to be crucified upside down because he is not worthy to die like Christ. I hope I some day can have his faith and strength and also hope I am never tested as he was..

Stones

I have been thinking about a recent reading from church this Sunday, one of my favorites. It's about the elders who bring the adulteress to Christ and ask what they should do. He is so calm. He does not respond immediately, but writes in the dust. Finally, He suggests that the one among them without sin, throw the first stone. The crowd fades away leaving Christ with the woman. "Where are they: he asks and then He says he will not condemn her.

I begin to realize that this resonates with me because it is not about the adulteress but me. Christ does this for me, for us, everyday. We are with Him in His silence, a palpable presence, who looks at us and says that He will not condemn us and the we should go and sin no more. Of course, we do, and, again, He is with us and repeats His forgiveness. He will not condemn us - we are the ones who condemn.

Saint Joseph Cathedral

I'm in the beginning stages of writing a paper on the cathedral. I have always been intrigued by the building. At first, I thought it was out of place, even ugly. But then I walked inside and was enthralled - it really is a building of contradictions. I found a quote by Wilson Faude to the effect that the architects spent more time on the interior than on the exterior - ouch! My comment in the paper is that this is reflective of the Churches teaching - what is inside matters more than what is outside.

I have been to the Archdiocese's archives several times and I've come to realize I could easily become a recluse, hanging in archives, libraries and living in the past. I also realize I love being a student more than a teacher. If I win the lottery or when I retire, I'd like to be a student, researching, learning and writing.

Guys and Dolls

Sam was Skye Masterson for the last 48 hours. He did a wonderful job, as did the entire cast at Stage East. He said to me afterward that when he came out and everyone was slapping him on his back and saying what a great job he did, he almost cried. That's one of the many things I love about Sam - he is so not full of himself, but surprised by his own success. I pray he stays that way. He is so unassuming that you can't help but love him.

REI

Went to the REI Cranston store opening - what a great store and great people. It made me realize I would enjoy that aspect of development work. I like meeting new people and learning new things. I also enjoy the hunt aspect of selling and developing. REI was impressive, not just the store, but the corporate culture. The CFPA Board meeting the evening before was also interesting. I think the Pinchot/Muir play is a real opportunity to promote out mission of saving open space and trails.

After REI, I went to Gallery Night at Cathy's. It was fun. I forget how impressive she is and how wonderful her gallery has become. Why do we take our siblings for granted? Auntie Ev and Baka were there and it was so pleasant sitting and visiting. It is so wonderful to have people like Auntie Ev in my life. I see her once or twice a year but it's as if we had just visited the day before. The sense of belonging is great - I realize I'll never stop being a Rhode Islander. Baka and Pop looked great - I'm blessed to have them.

Henriette DeLille

When I read about people like Henriette DeLille, I realize how selfish I am. I also think that her type of generosity and love must be inspired by God. He does reach and touch a special few. I am more inspired by this type of love than I am the pomp of the Church. She is what Catholicism is all about.

I think it is also interesting that controversy and racism are still a part of her life as there are differences of opinions as to how she should be classified. Is the Church painting her darker than she was to speed the canonization process? It is ironic but looking at her portrait I would not know she was black. How strong she must have been to embrace that part of her bloodline rather than hiding from it.

Phi Beta Kappa

Cal called to say he was nominated, to his surprise. It is ironic that now as he is entering the Dominicans this honor will have a different meaning. I used to see it as a stepping stone to some material benefit. Now it is what is originally meant, recognition of academic achievement.

Viet Nam redux

I'm starting The Things They Carried this week with C Block. I plan on starting by reviewing the facts of the war, which are so vivid to me, but unknown to them. As I start this unit, my frustration with Iraq grows. As I look at the pictures of young men in battle, I grow sad. We will forever repeat history and the grief it brings. The false patriotism kills me just as it kills thousands of innocents. So it goes.

New Britain Museum

We went on a private tour, bought by a friend at a charity auction, of the New Britain Museum of American Art. The new building opened just last April and it is a real gem. What I love about the museum is the quality of the collection and the museum's intimacy. Doug Hyland gave us a wonderful tour. He is very knowledgeable and, once you get past the museum demeanor, a pleasant person.

The Benton murals are still moving after the many times I've seen them. The collection is diverse and well mounted - you flow easily and feel contented even after only an hour.

It was great to see Susan, Jim, Debbie and Jim, again. We are really an odd set of couples, but somehow it works.

Esto Vir

Cal called to tell us that he was accepted into the Dominicans. He will start his novitiate this summer. I feel a sense of completeness - a long road that has reached its end. A new road lies ahead. You know they must walk it alone. You are also on the road, but it is their road, not yours.

Here's the start.

It's the end of a long night of poker, cigarettes, and beer. 23 or 24 years ago. I'm alone with Uncle C, known to the world as Fr. Damian Fandal, teacher, interim President of U. Dallas, Provincial of the Central Province, TV personality. As usual, he'd separated all of us from the stray nickels and dimes we'd laid in wager. He'd also humored me with his argument about why women shouldn't be priest. "Of course" he says "you are a heretic, but that's okay." In response I say to him something inane and then told him, "Uncle C, since you can't acknowledge your own children," we both laugh at the absurdity of the statement, "I think we'll name our first son after you." When I told her, Mo laughed and said, yes, it was a great idea. And so Callery got his name, and, I guess, his calling.

Uncle C died too young, but I do feel that a small part of his spirt will live on with his namesake who has accepted the same challenge in life.

National Portait Gallery

I had an hour to kill and was still in museum mode. Mo and Sam were well out of museum mode, in fact, they are rarely in museum mode, so I decided to take the hour before we met Meg and Cal for dinner and visit the National Portrait Gallery. Unlike the other Smithsonian's that close at 5:00, the Portrait Gallery closes at 7:00. An hour is not a very long time to visit a new museum, so I went right to the Info. Desk and asked what I should visit. They were very helpful and suggested a portrait exhibit that was closing the next week and the Presidential Portrait Gallery. Both were wonderful - I could have spent much more time. I am generally not drawn to portraits, but the Presidential portraits were compelling. With each painting there was a brief biography with some key fact about the man, not just history. It again reminded me of the importance of story telling in art. Yes, the painting exists as an object of beauty in itself, but a story, or history, can make the piece come alive for the viewer in a completely different way.

One thing did strike me in viewing the Presidential Portraits - the art of portrait painting had declined. The masters are of the past, not the present - at least in painting. I suspect photography is where the art of portrait had now gone. Don't get me wrong, the recent portraits were compelling, but they were not the same as the older portraits. In some ways they were more flat. In the older portraits, you could see the joy or pain in the eyes of the man. I think it was the eyes that I focus on - the windows to the soul - and some did show the wear and tear of power. I saw the decline sometime around Grant. The only recent painting I stayed with one the abstract portrait of Kennedy. Ifs form did reflect the man and the time - a jumble of unclarity and the sense of something unfinished.

Unfortunately, the Museum was closing and as I walked out I passed numerous rooms that teased me and drew me to them. Oh well, next time I'll have to allot more time to the NPG.

Embrace

Smiles in the silence
Beautiful flowers bloom wide
Embrace our father

Smiling

They, mostly, are smiling. Warm smiles. Shy smiles. Look into the camera and smile. The smiles make it all the more poignant. They were 20, and 21, and 22, so young that they could be my child. There was one young woman, 20, caught reading, a smile about to spread on her face. Her name was Jennifer Marie Parcells. 20 and brave. She, no, they, could have been the future of the world, but their smiles will only shine in the brief silence of the roll call of the dead at the end of the NewsHour. We tell our children,"waste not, want not" and yet we waste the lives of so many, not just in Iraq and Afghanistan, but everywhere in our history.

For years, I read about Viet Nam and wondered how it could have happened. Now we see history repeat itself, even when we followed Santayana's advice and desperately tried to examine our history in the hopes of not repeating it - for nought. Perhaps, it is simply fate and Vonnegut was right - "so it goes"...and smile for the camera

Snow Day

They came in anticipating the news - snow. There is a palpable excitement for what students feel is a stolen day. No where to go and a clean coverlet of white to disguise the scars of the urban landscape. Ahhh - Halo till their eyes fall plop,plop out of their heads. Some teachers are equally as excited. I must admit that I like snow days, but not too many since they eat into the clear, sunny days of June. I would also prefer a day mid-way between Winter and Spring Breaks. For now, hours before the winter deluge, (hyperbole, I know, but its been a bad snow year) I'll try to keep a level head and hope for a delay.

The Historian

I went to the library and got a book on tape. I hadn't listened to a book for a long time because Sam and I, while commuting to school and back, have been listening to sports stations or Colin (until Sam can't take it anymore). I thought I'd listen when he's not in the car. I picked the The Historian without knowing anything about it but just remembering that someone said it was great. Sam moans when he gets into the car and it is on - I forgot to turn it off. In order to act like I'm really in charge, I tell him to be quiet, I want to listen for a little while. Eureka - he gets hooked. The book is a page turner about vampires, but is well written with many fine turns of phrase and images. Now I can't listen to it without him in the car.

I love it. It's so important to find that thread of connection with your children, who you love so much that even you can't understand it. The two of us look forward to getting in the car and listening - together. It connects and joins us in a common endeavor. I love that he loves the story and the words and the images. That excitement resonates in his voice when he talks about the book with me.

Each day is a treasure. A small jewel to set aside in my box of memories. He turns 16 this weekend and that means he'll be driving and the eventual loss of our joint commute. Yea, being his chauffeur is a pain, but it's also painful to think of its ending.

The smile

It was a silly pun, a bad joke, but she smiled. I realize that she'd never actually smiled at me or one of my comments. She'd always snarled or ignored me. I guess it didn't help that I kept tossing her from class and exiling her to a quiet room next to my classroom. She struggled in class because she can't read well, or write for that matter. I think that classroom anger is more of a result of fear of failure than anything else. For those of us who love the classroom and easily fit into the standard societal mode, it is hard for us to understand these students. As a result, we butt heads and when authority is challenged, especially the thin shred of teacher authority, the reaction tends to be an overreaction. This is what happened with me and this student. For several reasons, one being she would not come to my class for a few weeks, a middle ground was found and I was able to help her. She is no longer in my class and now, without the oppressive performance expectations hanging over our heads, she is free to be human and kind, as I am. Today she smiled for the first time, and I can smile for the first time in a long time as well.

Me and Humbaba

Time flies. It's hard to believe how long its been since I blogged. Of course, I'm blogging on two class blogs so I'm fulfilling part of my need to write in those venues. However, its fun to have this break and see how frustrated I was when I last blogged. A lot has changed. We started a new semester and the problem girls have been out of the POD. It is truly amazing how quiet and calm the POD has become with the simple absence of two people. I really like my new classes. I start the day off with an honors class and its great to work with receptive minds. We started reading Gilgamesh two days ago. Now, Gilgamesh is my favorite epic, but I'm usually an interested audience of one. Yesterday, we were reading aloud and I was comparing the text to sections of Genesis. When I was done with the comparison, I decided to stop reading aloud and was going to summarize the rest of the tablet. They were outraged - they wanted to read the whole tablet, aloud and in class. I was stunned with happiness. Today I made the error of telling them that Humbaba would be killed and several of them were audibly upset - they were so into the tale that they were outraged I would give away a key fact before we read it. This is going to be fun.

I spoke to Adam yesterday, and they are interested in continuing our talks. I'm interested and it looks better than I had hoped.

Mr. Negative

Two incidents have bothered me this week and it made me realize how often we tend to focus on the negatives in life rather than look for the positive. I have a particularly difficult student who I constantly find breaking the most basic rules of the school. I'm not the only one, but she is convinced that I am the root of all her issues. We have a dress code and she is constantly out of dress code. She is a nexus of trouble, on her cell phone in school, swearing in the hall, getting into fights, destroying school property. She had been suspended five times since school started. I e-mail her mother all the time trying to figure out how to prevent her from failing the class and convincing her that she should behave. I have excused assessments and allowed late assignments for all her work. Nothing works - her mother wrote to say she thinks I am picking on her and yet I'm only a small percentage of her 15 referrals to the Principal.

As students were on their way to lunch, I saw this young woman in the locker bay in front of my class leaning up against the lockers with a young man grabbing her hips and beginning to grind. Of course, I call to them to stop and bring the young man into my classroom to tell him that he could get into trouble for that type of physical contact. He tells me I'm picking on him.

Some days I think it would easier to simply shut the door and ignore, but I just can't. I must have some OCD thing about following rules.

So I'm depressed. Then I remember another student, who fought me all last year. She stopped to tell me she liked my class and learned a lot. I think most of my students like me, but the greatest amount of feedback is the negative. Ironically, I think that is true for students as well. Teachers tend to tell them what they did wrong, not what they did right. I think I'll try to say a positive comment to each of my students this week and thank them for their efforts.

Well, maybe not all of them....

Finals

A crazy week ended and a new one will begin. Finals begin on Wednesday and then a new semester begins the next week. It's a time of new beginnings and new opportunities. It is somewhat odd because amidst the newness is the fatigue of mid-year. I am looking forward to the new semester. I have an honors group, which I think will challenge me and visa verse. I also have my contemporary literature class, which I really hope to experiment with a new writing focus and individual project work. They will each pick a book, short story and poet and teach them to the class. I will work with them to develop ideas and presentations. I hope it is fun for all of us.

Cal's countdown continues. Graduation and, with the blessing, acceptance into the Dominicans. Sam got one of the leads, Skye Masterson in Guys and Dolls so the excitement continues.

Recovering

Back to school and all its craziness. Cal and Meg left on Sunday and I haven't decided if the house is back to normal or not. Is it possible that normal is when Cal and Meg are not here? It's odd - they are happy, as we are, when they come home. There is no greater excitement or anticipation than when they come home. Yet, I sense there is some relief on their part when they go back to school. Oddly, while I can't say its relief, there is a sense or normalcy when its just Mo, Sam and me. I fight the idea that it is sad. Life does go on and I force myself to look forward and see the positive of life changes. The problem with high school and college is that life is boxed into 4 year segments and that makes time speed up. And, really, it's not quite 4 years since the junior and senior year are, in our time, as much about looking ahead and enjoying the present. We do so hurt ourselves by always looking forward instead of seeing today.

I was involved in an odd incident in school today. We had a big meeting about behavior and then a separate meeting was held with 20-30 students who are chronically in trouble, suspended, and disrespectful and a specialist in these behavioral issues. I was talking to a senior about strategies to get her into Middlebury when I heard a noise that I thought was a fight. As it turned out, it was 6-8 of these troubled students in the hallway - I guess returning to class. As soon as they saw me they laughed derisively. I decided to ignore them and went back towards my room and continued my discussion. Then one of the girls said loud enough for me and the student to hear "Hey, there is more of us, we can jump him." I can't say I felt threatened, but it was definitely meant as a threat. I thought about it a little after and contempated how it is a short jump from verbal threat to action. I'm frustrated that my colleagues and too many teachers in too many schools have to put up with this type of verbal abuse. The bright light in all this chaos was my discussion with my former student, who wasn't a big fan of my class. It was a delight to see her growing up and realizing her talents and beginning to apply them. That is why teachers teach.

Holidays on the road

My holiday week. Up on Saturday, 12/23 and on the road to Baltimore by 5:30 AM. Visit my brother, great time; drive to Jeanne and Jake's in Westminster. Dinner. Up early and go to Gettysburg, PA to visit Ajou and Pa Pa's grave. My heart aches every time I'm in Gettysburg. I miss them and I miss the wonderful times we had as a family while we were visiting. I wonder how hard it must be for Mo. I'm rarely nostalgic, but I'm always so when I now go to Gettysburg. Even now I have that hollow feeling writing about it. Oh, well. Drive back to Westminster. Dinner and open gifts. Jake makes up a game for every Christmas. This year it was Family Feud. It was a lot of fun. Jake truly is the salt of the earth, as Ajou always said. Wake up early and drive to Kathy's for dinner with 40, count them, 40 relatives. She did a great job and it was great to see so many people. Drive back to Westminster. Up early and on the road by 6:30 AM and return to CT. Can't sleep. Next day we drive to Providence to see Baka and Pop. Drive home.

Crash and write bills, do some year end tax work, correct unit tests, start on essays. Sunday, drive to Providence for Baka's birthday party at Cathy's - it was great. Cathy and Baka gave us a wonderful picture album. My sense is that my parents are beginning to empty their house and give items to all of us. It's healthy and good. They are 79 and 80. Drive to Boston. Hang and celebrate New Years with Rick and Lisa. Meg and Sam were with us. Cal stayed home and had a small party. 2007 will be a big year for him and us as he graduates and decides on the priesthood. I'm sure it will happen for him, but it is still up in the air and in God's hands. Drive home and write lesson plans.

What a holiday! I'm almost grateful to go back to school.