Dear Friends,

I want you to know that the cotton has been harvested. After it was baled, a huge gin getter packed it all up and hauled it to places that will make it into our t-shirts. Now, the fields are all bare and stubbly, and all that’s left is the most wonderful roadside litter — fluffy cotton balls and tufts for ten miles. It occurred to me as I drove to work this morning with the sun shining bright in my eyes (SO nice to not drive to work in morning-dark) that the world’s largest pillow fight may well have taken place here last night while I was sound asleep. This poem came to mind, and it was a good way to start the day.

Unharvested

A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady’s fan.
For there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.

May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.

(R. Frost)

I heard this woman on Fresh Air one day, and I had to sit in the driveway for about 30 minutes so I could listen to the rest of the interview. This poem is from her 1st collection, Slamming Open the Door, about her only daughter’s murder (an exboyfriend and a telephone cord), the trial, grief, and life going on somehow. It is both chilling & beautiful (even better if you listen to her read it around minute 43: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111218053 )

Poem About Light

Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno

 

You can try to strangle light:
use your hands and think
you’ve found the throat of it,
but you haven’t.
You could use a rope or a garrote
or a telephone cord,
but the light, amorphous, implacable,
will make a fool of you in the end.

You could make it your mission
to shut it out forever,
to crouch in the dark,
the blinds pulled tight—

still, in the morning,
a gleaming little ray will betray you, poking
its optimistic finger
through a corner of the blind,
and then more light,
clever, nervy, impossible,
spilling out from the crevices
warming the shade.

This is the stubborn sun,
choosing to rise,
like it did yesterday,
like it will tomorrow.
You have nothing to do with it.
The sun makes its own history;
light has its way.

This week I kept a list ( a real, handwritten list), of the good and beautiful things going on in my life that they might prove victorious over all the mess in the end.

1. Almost all day last Saturday I did no school-related work. Instead, I cooked an enormous pot of my favorite tomato soup, and for hours the house smelled like simmering garlic, tomato, and onion with a touch of cream. about 10 pints all together. I put 6 in the freezer and felt pleased to know that on some cold, difficult day in the coming weeks I might come home and be warmed by something delicious. and I felt very close to Shaub who mass produces vegetable soup at the first hint of cold. this thought pleased me, too.

2. I sort of accidentally had a 5-day weekend. I spent part of Friday vomiting, so that didn’t feel much like vacation, but on Sunday I packed up and headed to Jackson for a teaching conference. My directions took me down an old road I’ve never driven — lined with cotton fields in full bloom, rusty maples, golden oaks, and all manner of beauteous things. I very quickly got over my disappointment at traveling alone. The Avett brothers kept me company, and the wonders of Autumn restored my soul. I didn’t wear a watch for five days straight.

3. I slept 2 nights alone in a hotel, in a huge-cloud-of-a-bed with six (6!) luxurious pillows all to myself.

4. In one session I went to, the word umbrageous came up. (and no one else knew what it meant.)

5. I am in love.

6. I received two (2!!) letters from dear sisters this week.

7. Several kids were genuinely pleased to see me back at school on Wednesday. For nearly 30 minutes they worked quietly and seemed to appreciate how good they have it in my class.

It’s becoming increasing clearer that I’m failing. Too many kids in my Science classes are failing (I have to start grading more gently, they say). Volunteers keep showing up to help me, which I like, but it also makes me feel inadequate — and I think my kids are starting to get that idea, too. I have a mentor teacher who showed up last week to help (a 44 year! veteran now retired), and she is awesome, but then some kids asked if she was going to be their new teacher or if she was there because I need help. fuck. And this is not going like I wanted. And failure is frustrating the hell out of me.

I had parent/teacher conferences that went well this week — lots of parents gave me phone numbers and told me to call. I hope they meant it. Then the teachers and parents went over last year’s standardized test results together. Only a handful (literally) of students passed the Science exam. No one was proficient. The principal turned around at this point of the presentation and gave me the look that said I have lots of work to do. just in case I didn’t already know. I’m working my butt off, but I don’t know any magic tricks. Any ideas?

Also, I get the feeling that the other teachers are talking about me. Every time my class is too loud in the lunch room . . . every time I send someone to the office . . . it’s kind of painful to think about.

And tomorrow while I am gone all day at a “professional Saturday” some lady is coming to look at “our” house because she wants to buy it. so we might have to move.

I just needed to say those things. Now I am done & must get back to lesson planning.

I realized last Saturday (when I showed up at basketball practice and received smiles and waves from some of my most bad ass, behavior problem little boys) that I haven’t been meeting my students on their terms. I have been staunchly demanding that we meet as scholars, and I try to hold myself to high standards of professionalism so that my students will understand the seriousness of the work we have and my high expectations for them. There is certainly a place for this. But I have forgotten to connect that to humanity. How can my students look at me and try to emulate my work ethic or high standards if they don’t first see that I’m a real person and that there are real reasons to try hard and real rewards for self discipline and jobs done well? I think I’ve been trying to reach them from an abstract, academia sort of land that they have no knowledge of or interest in — which is fair because that’s not where real life happens for them or anyone else. And it doesn’t fit with everything I’ve been telling them about all of life being a learning experience or education being concretely useful.

So I must find ways to be a hardcore, but still human, teacher. I have decided that I need to be wherever they are outside of the classroom. Surely if they see that I really do care about them, and I like to watch them having fun, they will realize that I don’t give them work to do just to make them miserable. I’m hoping all of this will draw us back to a sense of purpose about all that we do. You may not believe this, but I’m helping out with the basketball team AND the cheerleaders. Yes, the cheerleaders, too. These are the only 2 extracurricular activities our school really has, so they are a huge deal to the kids and a huge honor to be part of.

Of course, I’m normally pretty skeptical of the role sports (especially cheerleading) play alongside academics, but I’m realizing that they really need this. Most of them have never been part of anything before. They don’t have little league teams or girl scouts. I’m beginning to understand why they can’t work with each other in class or get along with anyone else — they’ve never had to. I lecture them about teamwork and responsibility thinking they understand, but I see now that all of this is brand new. It’s comical to watch them trying to play basketball because everyone is on his/her own planet, but it’s a little sad, too.  I see now why sports change people’s lives, and if that’s where light bulbs are turning on and progress is being made, that’s where I’m going to be. And it doesn’t hurt that now  I can threaten kids with running suicides after school. (laughs, wildly.) My favorite cheer so far is entitled “Shake Them Skirts”.

Also, this week was the end of the 1st nine weeks. And I’m still alive — still hopeful even!

Now about non-school things. The Stone Pony is now officially open for business. Matty is kicking ass and taking names with his pizza skills, and everyone is thrilled. They opened on Wednesday — it was a hot mess of people everywhere and the wait for a pizza was about an hour (!), so I headed to the kitchen and pitched in. By Friday night, it was a well-oiled machine, and I think good things are coming of this already.  Everywhere I go, people have read about my husband in the newspaper (or read his articles), and they predict that he will do very well here. I agree, and it pleases me beyond words that good things have been prepared in advance for BOTH of us in this place. But I am not surprised.

Today I had all most a whole hour of near perfection. It started out looking very bad in the hallway, just like every other day. This is my last Science class of the day — right before lunch, and lately they’ve been giving me more attitude than you’d think a bunch of 11-13 year olds could give. . . .

But a few minutes into class something miraculous happened — they stopped talking and fighting, and then they started listening and actually doing the work I was assigning. All of them. It was like a very fragile layer of calm had settled over the room, perhaps like the winter’s first dusting of snow, and I had to step very gently to keep it from melting as I walked around the classroom talking about vascular and nonvascular plants. And I had to keep my voice very low and smooth (like coaxing one down from a high window ledge) so as to not add too much noise or disturb whatever balance was holding things together. But it lasted. The whole rest of the hour. I quietly announced that I was going to write a positive note home (attached to 20 scholar dollars) to each student’s parent because they had shown me perfection. Then they lined up quietly, and we went into the hallway, just like I’d always dreamed we might.

This will be enough to get me through the tumult next week (report cards!) will bring. Good things are happening — even if at a snail’s pace, they are still happening.

All of this and tomorrow is Friday.

For the most part, the past two weeks have been hellacious, so I’ve put off blogging. I’ve been failing, trying new things, and failing more. Two fist fights in my room, three kids suspended, one conversation with the deputy sheriff, (etc., etc.) and today my parent volunteer told me that they weren’t going to mind or respect me until I paddle one of them, so I might as well get it over with. She can see that I need it, so she’s going to start coming regularly to “help”. Sigh.

But, BUT, today Travious (beaming with pride) handed me a poem he assigned himself for homework. I’ll share with you, as is:

My teacher is pretty and nice. Her eyes are blue just like the night sky. Her hair is silver and gold like a goldden rose. Her teeth are white like rice. Her skin is bright like the bright snow on a snowwy night. She likes the color black, like a black cat. She brings her on food so she want go hungry. She loves to teach or say a speach. Especially on Monday. She is smart and intelligent. She’s the best teach I’ve ever had.

For today this was enough to get me through all of the shouting, all of the kids who call me a bitch behind my back (or to my face), all of the things they aren’t doing right, and all of the things I’m not doing right.

Today I am blogging so that some time next week, when I have a terrible day, I can come back here and remember beauty and all of the goodness in my life.

I slept in this morning until 8 (!), and awoke to the smell of nearly 40 loaves (surely a sign from God) of fresh bread. I walked out to the patio (home of our new, 2nd oven) and met Van, who I instantly liked — I think he will be a new friend. Van is 23, very big & tall, with tattoos, piercings, long hair, an affinity for chewing tobacco, and a very gentle spirit. (He is to be the cook at the new pizza place Matty will be managing, and he wanted to learn a little about bread — so he came over before the sun came up to sweat in the kitchen alongside my dear husband.) Together we packed up the car with delicious, steaming things, went to the farmer’s market, sold out in a matter of minutes, looked at each other, and smiled because we know that good things are happening with this passion. It feels very good to make things by hand and them put them into other hands that are hungry and eager to receive them.

We were downtown, at the edge of the market. I was wearing my favorite parrot flats, my hair in messy curls, and my funkiest sunglasses. I volunteered to walk to the corner market a few blocks away for some cold drinks. On my way, I passed by an old man in a bowtie, up high on a ladder & painting a sign. He smiled and said, ” ‘Mornin’, Ma’am.” The sun was shining perfectly, and my life is so full of joy that I just had to laugh out loud, all by myself , and skip for a few steps. I came back with icy Dr Peppers in hand, met more new friends, and we sat outside for awhile talking about everything and nothing. Now I am back at home, basking in the leftover aroma of fresh rosemary and roasted garlic, and I wanted you to know (and me to know) that there is enough grace today, and there will be enough tomorrow, too.

I desperately want to be writing today, but I am trying to plan a fun way to teach 5th graders about turning simple sentences into compound sentences. and an effective (please, God) way to end tattle telling. Or I would like to be reading a book about grown up things. I know what you mean, Anna Laura, about the hot air balloon. Today I miss that season of life and the bosom friends therein.

Grace and peace to you.

Kids are tricky, as it turns out.  At this point in their young lives, several of my students (or maybe even half) have decided that I am the ultimate enemy and should be disobeyed and avoided at all costs. Of course this is ironic because, again, I want good things for their lives, have stopped sleeping in an effort to make their lives better, etc. But nevermind that. So, they have renamed me, I think, in true signifyin’ fashion (shout out to Henry Louis Gates Jr. who was not, in fact, breaking & entering). They know that my name is Mrs. Joseph, and they often call me this, but whenever I try to make them do things they don’t want to do (i.e. anytime I give them ANY work to do), they call me/refer to me as “Mrs. Josup.”

At first, I thought, “Who the hell cares as long as they are doing their work?” But I am beginning to see that the whole thing is a subversive code language for “Everybody, it’s now the time of the day when we refuse to do all of things she asks us to do, play dumb, and act like fools  until she goes crazy.” mostly because they always giggle and look at each other proudly after they “mispronounce” my name. It makes me think that they must think of me as the cruel overseer or something. Again — the irony is too much.

It also makes me think of the significance of naming or, rather, renaming, that comes up so much in African American Literature. I’ve been thinking on I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings these past few days and comiserating with Maya (Marguerite) — renamed “Margaret” by Mrs. Cullinan and re-renamed “Mary” by Mrs. Cullinan’s stupid friend. It’s uncomfortable enough to be called Mrs. Joseph (my mother-in-law), and now even that has been transformed into another name that is not me, by children who imagine me as someone I am not. very tricky. Perhaps I should find some heirloom china to shatter on the classroom floor?

Or maybe today I will spend more time writing them letters and finding ways to entice them to work and learn.

All of this, and I just wanted to teach them about the parts of a cell.