Another P[l]othole Along a Rutted Road

My querying journey just got a lot harder. Here’s how I plan on to Stay Strong and Carry On

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Within my “Impressions from Australia” (11/21) blog, I indicated that after I’d had some time to reflect, I would write a follow-up to that trip.  Here is what’s bubbled up as my most salient “take-away.”  Warning: it’s probably not what either of us expected it to be. It’s more about our country, and I feel out on the proverbial limb as I try to articulate my thoughts, both political and personal.  It’s also my final blog.  It was fun to travel through the blogosphere during my sabbatical, but I’ve discovered that blogging is not my preferred mode, so here’s Beyond Bell’s swan song:

When traveling through Australia in November, people I met just briefly, as well as the five people who were (already or became) my friends told me in various ways that I was not the typical American tourist.  The typical U.S. tourist, they unanimously agreed, is first and foremost loud, and secondly very demanding.  They softened this unflattering portrayal by conceding that in terms of being demanding, the United States’s standards for service are superior to theirs, so we traveling Americans are accustomed to prompt, efficient service and then frustrated when we don’t get it.  I couldn’t help thinking to myself that their explanation revealed a third unsavory trait: a sense of entitlement that we should get whatever it is we’re used to getting regardless of where we are or who we’re with.  Unfortunately, the “Ugly American” is alive and well within this modern era of global travel and interactions.

This is the lens I’ve brought to the inevitable 2017 retrospective re-caps currently crowding the media, so I find myself preoccupied with this simple equation: DT’s presidency + his prevailing attitude and practice of rude self-indulgence = the Ugliest American.  And since he is our elected leader, we U.S. citizens are both “in and of it,” to paraphrase the amazing Stevie Wonder and John 17:16.

I’m not politically well-informed enough to confidently publish more of my ideas on our president.  I leave that to the reporting and opinion pieces of our hard-working, presumably exhausted journalists at the NYT, the Post, et al. For example, suspecting that I was not the first to think of DT as the ugliest American, I came across this opinion column from August in the Boston Globe, which offers a rundown of presidential maneuvers with no-holds-barred disapproval if you’re interested.

I’m more interested in what our de facto embrace of the ugly American ethos is doing to our social contract.  You know, that fuzzy, widely-held idea that we have to give up some individual freedoms for the sake of functioning as a community?  Like paying taxes to pay for infrastructure or driving at the approximate speed limit to avoid dying in a fiery crash?  

It’s an imperfect contract, coarse like canvas, but it’s also been more or less sturdy.  One of its pillars is The Golden Rule, and while many of us prefer to follow the Platinum Rule (and this is one way to describe our red-blue ideological divide), there were still rules that most of us well-intentioned people strove to follow.  And we mostly still do, but when our president so consistently violates them because something along the lines of “noblesse oblige” (or “to whom much is given, much is required” Luke 12:48) has no place in his “sad, bad” world, they are under serious threat.

For those of us privileged enough to travel, and for all of us who interact with each other daily, I hope for 2018 that we strive to rise above the example of our ugliest American and the ugly American stamp.  I, for one, resolve to contradict it, to aim for humility and a humanist love for others. And when I inevitably fail, I resolve to get back on track and try again the next day.  Thanks for reading and happy new year! Fingers crossed!

There was probably no busier time in my life than 1992-93.  Not only was I a new mother and our little family had just moved to Denver during another corporate relocation from Phoenix, but also I was in graduate school.  Two days a week I’d board the bus at the intersection of Evans and Colorado Blvd to take the 50 min. ride to Boulder during which I’d read like a fiend.  I spent every waking hour (when I wasn’t taking care of baby Patrick) reading.  I had two primary texts and scads of secondary materials to absorb each week; I’ve never read so much in my life. The past few months I haven’t matched that level of graduate school reading, but I’ve come close (and without the burden of elaborate annotations).  

I count 35 or so books since the school year ended, in addition to a healthy helping of weekly New Yorkers and daily dips into the Star Tribune and other papers.  I’m sheepishly proud of my sabbatical reading habit, “sheepish” because I can think of several friends and colleagues who plow through any book in a day.  There are 2-3 books on my list where I can make that claim, but in general my brain doesn’t process information that quickly, plus I’m a “muller,” meaning I often gaze into the distance to think about what I’ve just read (or what I’m having for dinner, truth be told).

No one will want to read every word of the annotated bibliography that follows, but maybe you’ll see a book you also read or have been considering reading, and then you’ll be interested in my quick overview and personal reaction.  If you scroll to the end, you’ll also see a running list of titles I still want to read.

In no particular order and divided into fiction & non-fiction categories, here goes:

Fiction:

• LaRose by Louise Erdrich. I’ve never met an Erdrich novel I didn’t love & this one’s no exception. Set in modern day North Dakota, the story offers a view into two families’ lives, their reservation community, and the fictional blue collar town of Pluto.  It begins with a tragedy and works through the legacy of several generations, Ojibwe customs & history, family/community relationships, and the intergenerational trauma inflicted by the boarding school era. I was fully absorbed into the places and times of the novel, and even though I occasionally questioned why/how a certain scene or event was relevant, I still really enjoyed reading it.
• The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas.  High school junior Starr narrates the duality of her lived experience as an African American girl between black Garden Heights (NJ) and the nearly all-white private school Williamson.  She deals with seeing her best guy friend Kahlil gunned down by a white officer, but the book complicates easy polarities by having Starr’s uncle/proxy father also be a cop.  Very real & very important read for these times.
• The Sun is Also a Star by Nicola Yoon.  A YA novel that I think many of my 8th graders would like.  There’s a fair amount of romantic overtones (not necessarily why I think they’d like it, but it would hook a few) and–what’s of greater value and significance– insights into immigration from one of the narrator’s experience from Jamaica and the other narrator’s parents’ experience from So Korea.  These offer a relatable and expansive insight into this world. I also appreciated the inter-generational viewpoints and cultural views/practices offered.  It’s very well-written and one of those YA novels that’s complex enough for adult readers.  
• Lions by Bonnie Nadzam.  This novel’s hook for me was its Colorado setting and the publisher’s tag that fans of Ken Haruf would like it (I love Ken Haruf and would recommend Our Souls at Night).  Nadzam’s writing was absolutely elegant & the voices and colloquialisms she gave the characters were captivating.  I also liked the inter-generational take on life in a small, dying town on the eastern plains of CO.  The metal-working frame is oddly interesting and there’s plenty that’s mystical.  What I didn’t like was Nadzam’s ignoring the real Colorado town of Lyons that’s north of Boulder in the foothills (not out on the desolate plains).  This is misleading and confusing for those who actually know CO.  Why give it that name when there’s a real Lions/Lyons?!
• Young Joan Young by Gabrielle Zevin – I started this novel, a fictional riff on the Monica Lewinsky/Bill Clinton affair, after hearing Zevin present at Excelsior Bay’s Book event in Sept. It offered a good start with the character Rachel’s voice in first chapter.  I enjoyed it until the “Choices” chapter written in 2nd person.  Suddenly, the marvelous, quirky, real 1st person voices were gone (previous chapter with Embeth, the congressman’s wife, was outstanding), and Zevin pulled back.  It became impersonal throughout the narration of what had happened with Aviva/Monica, but we readers already knew (or we didn’t need to know) what’s told in dull fashion.  I slogged to finish the last 50 pgs in same amount of time I spent on 1st 250 pgs.
• A Gentleman from Moscow a novel by Amor Towles.  A wonderfully narrated story amid the Russian Revolution, beginning 1924 through WWII & ending 1952 with Count Alexandre Romanov’s escape from the Hotel Metropol.  Such a rich cast of characters, dialogue, and writing.  One of my favorite recent fiction reads.  Towles creates a vast, richly-complex world and existence within the confines of a grand hotel. The Count’s voice and diction whisked me away to the time and place of the novel.  Really excellent!
• Code Talkers a YA novel by Joseph Bruchac.  Bruchac’s tribal heritage is western Abenaki and in this book he weaves Navajo (Dine’) culture and history and WWII Pacific theatre war events from the perspective of the main character, re-named Ned Begay in the opening chapters when he’s at boarding school.  Begay is a grandfather telling the story of himself as a code-talker to the reader/his grandchildren.  Great for students who love learning about WWII & great for all re. Native heritage and culture, as well as Native American contributions to WWII often unrecognized (and then recently blundered through by the racist rantings of our…um…President).
• Ninth Ward by Jewell Parker Rhodes.  12 year-old protagonist Lanesha lives in New Orleans with her (unofficially) adoptive mother Mama YaYa, who is 82. Mama Yaya was a midwife who helped Lanesha’s 17 yr old mother give birth and that young woman died in childbirth. When the story opens they are celebrating Lanesha’s birthday & Lanesha narrates about her life as a 6th grader.  Soon the story turns around Hurricane Katrina and the flooding of their home during which Mama Yaya dies.  Lanesha has help from her neighbor and classmate boy and the stray dog they took in (Spot).  Short and easy reading level for the kids in your life, but good depth and powerful emotions around the situation.  
• American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang.  It’s embarrassing that I’d not yet read this classic graphic novel.  I spent an enjoyable 70-ish minutes reading it, and it was nice to be able to complete in one setting.  It’s a very thought-provoking “take” on cultural identity that weaves together myth of the monkey king with the protagonist Jin Wang.  There’s also the nice surprise when the side story — that seems like a bad, racist sitcom — turns out to be the link between Jin Wang and the Monkey King parable.
• Thalassa by my Australian friend Brenda Hall.  This novel’s epic scope spans 3 continents, 2 families, and 5 generations (Brenda spent 10 years, off and on, researching and writing it).  Her historical details and setting descriptions are extensive.  The dialogue is strong.  I need a chunk of time without distractions to really delve into it. It was really fun to be able to hear from Brenda about her writing process and choices when I visited her on Dangar Island in NSW Australia in November.
• The Crossover by Kwame Alexander. This novel written in verse gives an authentic depiction of the family life of twin boys and their parents.  They are an African American family living an upper-middle class, stable life without explicit obstacles from societal, systemic racism.  The boys’ identities are evolving under the typical adolescent strain of academics, romantic attraction, competition on the b-ball court, and worry over their dad’s health.  An excellent read for kids of all ages; I can’t recommend it strongly enough.
• All-American Boys co-authored by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely. This novel tackles the same issue as Angela Thomas’s The Hate U Give: police brutality upon young African American men.  The chapters alternate between Rashad, an academic star and ROTC 10th grader, who is beaten by a classmate’s older brother who is a cop, and Quinn, who is good friends with the cop’s younger brother and was mentored by the cop, so internal conflict ensues, and he makes the choice to become an activist.  There’s a lot to appreciate about this book and the voices who tell the story, but it drones on at too many points.  I don’t think it’s appropriate for middle-schoolers due to normalizing of drinking at parties, and I don’t think it would hold most adults’ attention.
• The Book That Matters Most by Ann Hood.  I probably wouldn’t have picked this one out unprompted, but after hearing Ann Hood at a book event, I was intrigued and bought it from her as she sat behind a folding table “hawking her wares,” so to speak.  The writing was well-crafted and the characters intriguing even if some of the plot’s episodes were implausible & melodramatic.  The premise = a newly-divorced woman joins a book group whose theme for the year is to choose the book that’s mattered most in their lives. Her life falls apart & the book group experience saves her.  It was fun in the same way that watching a romantic comedy on a Sat afternoon is fun…not gonna’ lie.
• Swamplandia! by Karen Russell.  I picked this novel up at a used book store on Manly Beach in NSW, Australia.  It’s a literary rollercoaster ride into Floridian tourist culture as its setting is a kind of “Gatorland” amusement park owned by the Bigtree family.  The story centers around a rudderless family with three teenage kids, and offers a surreal exploration of the boundaries between life and death, reality, and the occult-like imaginings of an alternate reality “underworld.”  Thirteen year-old narrator Ava is the youngest and most grounded member of her family, and her brave storytelling voice is worth the read alone.
• Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward.  I really wanted to like this book that I listened to on Audible within a couple hours of its completion when I abandoned it. Its historical setting is the not-so-historical New Orleans before & through Hurricane Katrina.  The narrator, teenager Esch, is the only girl amid three brothers, is pregnant, and coping with that secretly on her own. One brother Skeeter is fully absorbed in raising pitbull puppies & for me the story focused so much on the dogs that I just couldn’t sustain interest.  I did appreciate it’s poetic lyricism and raw imagery–absolutely stunning writing–but when the most of mundane scenes was drawn out across a broad swath of description, my mind wandered (a lot!).  No doubt this says more about me than the book, but there you have it.
• The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry.  This book captured why I love novels: I was completely and delightfully transported to another time and place, specifically sea- and inlet-villages around Colchester within Essex, England.  The book’s protagonist Cora regains her independence and love for the natural world once she’s free from an abusive husband.  Her autistic-seeming son’s character starts slowly and evasively but builds and concludes spectacularly. All other characters are drawn so well, and Perry’s writing conveys a Victorian diction and mindset. Their habit of writing daily letters to each other is not so different than our modern-day texting. I highly recommend this one!
• Ghost by Jason Alexander. This is an excellent YA novel that’s perfect for 10-13 year olds, especially those interested in running.  It also offers a way to connect to or develop empathy and understanding for the experiences of bullying, poverty, and domestic violence.  The main character Castle (a.k.a. Ghost) heals throughout the novel & prevails over negative forces in large part from the positive support of his coach, a grocery store owner, teammates, and a loving mother.

Non-fiction — General:

• Tribes: We Need You to Lead Us by Seth Godin.  This is a business-oriented look at what organizations “crave” when it comes to bringing out growth, change, and productivity. Not what I thought I was going to “get” for a read, but quick & I “read” it on Audible in the car, so overall it was time well-spent.
• Blindspots: The Hidden Biases of Good People by Mahzarin R. Banaji & Anthony G. Greenwald.  How “mindbugs” have been uncovered by the IAT (Intuitive Associations Test) to show the majority of people have been hard-wired by biology (in-group preferences from infancy) and socially-conditioned to stereotype.  It maintains we have both reflective and automatic mindsets and preferences, and it describes the dangers & discrimination that occur when we act out of automatic mindsets.  I especially appreciated pages 161-162 that showed how offering advantages to members of our own group–like networking through social connections–disadvantages those outside the group.
• A Good Time for the Truth: Race in Minnesota edited by Sun Yung Shin.  A collection of 16 personal essays by MN authors who share their experiences as people of color or members of disenfranchised groups.  It was (and remains) important for me as a white person whose skin allows me to readily access resources and opportunities to read about the discrimination and racism that has affected the daily lives and identities of people of color.  Implicit bias and overt racism continue to limit opportunities and potential, yet nearly all of the essays end on a note of hope, optimism, and commitment to work to improve equity in MN.
• The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F**k by Mark Manson.  I listened to this on Audible during a portion of a drive from California to Minnesota, and it was entertaining enough.  The basic, oft-repeated premise is the old adage of my younger years: “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.” It’s all about keeping life’s setbacks in perspective, staying open to possibilities, remembering that other people are caught up in their own issues (it’s often as much about them than it is “you”).  Always a good reminder, but it got a bit repetitive.  Better for 20-somethings.
• In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson. This one has sat in a bookcase at home for years and what a shame I hadn’t read it sooner.  Bryson delightfully narrates his travels throughout the whole of Australia, mixing personal accounts with its history, geography, and culture.  He’s particularly humorous about (and completely obsessed by) its dangerous animals, an obsession I shared until I actually visited and only saw snakes, spiders, and jellyfish in the zoos and sanctuaries I visited.
• Girls & Sex: Navigating the Complicated New Landscape by Peggy Ornstein.  I read this one over a weekend, feeling horrified, dismayed, and validated in what I’d thought and suspected.  Essentially, Ornstein offers data and anecdotes that college Greek life (particularly centered on a white, upper/middle class, higher education experience) is rife with expectations that the girls pleasure the boys with oral sex, and she argues we should do a better job of teaching girls about their own anatomy and pleasure in order to level the playing field.  I’ll keep it on-hand as a reference/resource.  Although she has data from a wide range of published studies, I think her self-selected group of 70 to interview whose anecdotes she shares may skew the presentation of the situation.
• Urban Tribes: Native Americans in the City edited by Lisa Charleyboy and Mary Beth Leatherdale.  A collection of Aboriginal (Canadian version of NA) & U.S. Indigenous “snippets” of experiences, ideas, values, and hopes for moving forward.  Enticing graphics and visuals & a quick read.  Offers an overview & a starting point to go deeper for further investigation.  Great to use for a classroom gallery walk.
• Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by JD Vance. This memoir continues to stay on my mind weeks after finishing it.  It helps explain the anger and alienation of the working white class many of whom live in Ohio, Indiana, Michigan and other rustbelt states that were like an Appalachian diaspora, something I hadn’t known before reading.  Vance tells his story with love for the people/his people and without judgement, so he’s credible and has a very engaging story.
• Hitmakers: The Science of Popularity in an Age of Distraction by Derek Thompson.  I was interested to read this book to understand the psychology behind consumerist culture and marketing. What I learned confirmed ideas I’d had about the roles that repeated exposure, identity/ego-formation, and “peer pressure” play, and it also offered a thought-provoking concept that has stuck with me in the weeks since I finished it: our human brains are attracted to new and fresh things that carry the ring of familiarity to them.
• What Unites Us by Dan Rather. I’m just part way through starting this one and finding it to be immensely readable (added bonus: hearing Rather’s august voice in my head).  I heard him speak Nov 30 at Pen Pals Lecture Series and was not disappointed that he maintained the larger-than-life presence and insight that he’s conveyed through his CBS years into the present.  And he’s 86 years old!
• The Story Factor: Inspiration, Influence, and Persuasion through the Art of Storytelling by Annette Simmon.  Worth reading intro through Chap 2 but after that’s it’s super repetitive and corporate-oriented.  The gist: we should all use stories to indirectly convey the morals, values, choices we wish others to make rather than say “you’re wrong, do it this way.”  Good to an extent but not always applicable; otherwise, you’ll always sound like someone’s grandpa.

Non-fiction — Education:

• Read, Write, Teach: Choice and Challenge in the Reading-Writing Workshop by Linda Rief (Heinemann, 2014). Rief grounds the year in the practice and theme of choice & uses Writers-Readers Notebooks (WRN’s) in much the same way Nancie Atwell does.  She incorporates some whole reads and a persuasive writing unit and author-genre study.  I have lots of annotations in my copy of this book if any of my fellow teachers want to borrow it.
• Pose, Wobble, Flow: A Culturally Proactive Approach to Literacy Education by Antero Garcia. I read just four chapters from this book used as an anchor text by the facilitators at the U of M’s MWP Summer Institute.  Its title reveals the controlling metaphor of teaching practice as a series of attempted approaches (poses), revisions/adjustments/corrections as a result of “wobbles” (basically refining a unit), and the sought-after feeling of “flow” that characterizes successful learning and practice.  Many good first hand accounts and situations shared in this text from School of Education at Colo State Univ, one of my alma maters!
• Writing for a Change: Boosting Literacy & Learning through Social Action by National Writing Project and Kristina Beardan.  Made several annotations within the book.  Repetitive but good in that it drills down on the process and hammers the idea of student agency and teacher as simply a facilitator.  The first part’s series of personal stories from actual classroom projects was really valuable.
• Teaching for Joy and Justice: Re-imagining the Language Arts Classroom by Linda Christensen.  So many good ideas in this resource (just review numerous annotations and post-it note flags).  What stands out in particular are the Warriors Don’t Cry and LIterature Circles Units as well as chapter on why teaching narrative writing matters.  Its approach is very consistent with Teacher’s College’s idea of doing this to lead into essay writing, which allows for the transfer of skills and starts with identifying what matters most to the writer & the passions they’ve developed from their own experiences.  The final chapter on responding to student writing is also excellent.
• Disrupting Thinking: Why How We Read Matters by Kylene Beers & Robert Probst. I attended the MCTE workshop by the same name in October & followed up by reading the text that all attendees received that day.  The most useful aspect of the text: it offers the details around Beers’s & Probst’s BHH Reading Framework (i.e. when you read you should think about what’s in the Book, your Head, andyour Heart.  They drill down on these elements with practical, engaging strategies.

Still Want to Read —

• • Captured by Sheldon Whitehouse about how large corporate America has captured everything—elections, the jury process, regulatory agencies, etc. and how people have “self-segmented.”
  • Glass House by Brian Alexander about the 1% economy and the shattering of the all-American town.
  • A Whole New Mind and Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us by Daniel Pink
  • Acts of Faith by Eboo Patel
  • The Burning Girl by Mark Billingham
  • Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
  • Design for Dying by Renee Patrick
  • August Snow  by Stephen Mack Jones
  • Teaching with Fire: Poetry That Sustains the Courage to Teach ed. ny Sam Intrator
  • Love in the Classroom by Al Zolynas
  • Relocating the Personal: A Critical Writing Pedagogy by Barbara Kamler
  • Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art (graphic novel)
  • Becoming Otherwise: Enhanced Critical Reading Perspectives
  • Independent Writing: One Teacher, Thirty-Two Needs, Topics, and Plans by Colleen Cruz
  • Choice Words by Peter Johnston

Although I’ve been back from Australia for several days, I’m still in a fog of jet lag, prep for Thanksgiving, and re-entry into regular life, which at the moment is sadly punctuated by the increasing needs of my aging dad, who’s hit a rough patch.  Still, before too much time passes, I want to share some off-the-cuff impressions from my Australian adventure. This will be “low-hanging fruit” stuff; any thoughtful reflections I might be able to offer will have to wait until I have the head space to review my notes.  Then I hope to offer my handful of blog readers a little more depth than this entry contains.

I was expecting Australia to be a lot more familiar than it was.  I assumed that because of our shared British heritage (except Australia’s still a commonwealth), we’d be somewhat similar in language, outlook, and habits.  This was not the case. Or maybe I was just more attuned to looking for differences. Either way, they are a lot more British than we are, as well as being physically a part of Southeast Asia, which makes for a dynamic cultural and culinary space.

The difference in dialect is significant.  ‘Strayans love to shorten everything and put a “y” or “er” on the end (but they only pronounce “r’s” when they’re at the end of the word).  Their vernacular sounded awfully cute to me. Here’s some examples in order of US to AU (or “merica” to “straya”):

sweater: jump-ah (jumper)

yield: give way

exit: way out

napkin: serviette

snob or snobbish: poont-see (spelling?)

jerk: wank-ah (wanker)

to whine: winge

McDonald’s: Maccas

mosquito: mozzie

umbrella: brollie

appetizers: nibbles

awesome: bang On

okay: nah, yeah

no thanks: yeah, nah

If you want to sound Australian, say this sentence aloud: Nixt Sa-tuh-die ma mites n I fig-ah we’ll ‘ed to Bond-eye ‘t whoa-ch the sha-ak biscuits (or next Saturday my friends and I figure we’ll head to Bondai (Beach) to watch the boogie boarders (or could also be the people learning to surf).

On a different note, I didn’t understand how completely defining our American culture of individuality and independence is until being in Australia. They are simply so much more unified in their outlook.  They are on the same page, so to speak, as a country (of course, we’ve never been so divided…as one “bloke” said to me “Your president’s a real wank-ah, isn’t he?”).

All their school kids, public or private, wear school uniforms including hats (no hat, no play at recess).  Can you imagine the uproar in our country if all our school kids had to wear, as the Aussie’s say, “uni’s”? They also share the same grade level curricula and standards throughout all their states , even the private schools.  

When you pay at any store or restaurant, they hand over a brick-sized machine to tap (or swipe) without carrying your credit card away from the table, and these transactions are all processed by the same bank.  There’s little to no tipping; their wait staff earn a livable wage.

We still have to wait until 2020 for a woman’s face to grace U.S. bills, but each of their colorful denominations has the image of a woman on one side and a man on the other…no big deal to the Australians.  

They are quite satisfied with their universal health system and don’t grumble about their steeper taxes (at least not the people I spoke to who also exist on the affluent side of that equation).  

Lastly, many institutions and venues begin their days with either an “Acknowledgement of…” (when a non-indigenous person is presenting) or a “Welcome to…” (when an indigenous person is presenting) “… Country” in order to recognize the original custodians of the land upon which the business or event will occur.  When I visited the Indian Mound Burial sites in Mendota earlier this fall, the plaques don’t correctly or accurately acknowledge the Dakota, the original people of our Twin Cities area.

I’ll close with a few photos of one of my favorite moments from the trip: snorkeling with my son and travel companion between Shelly Beach and the Fairy Bower pool on Manly Beach.  Cheers!

I’m still running around town taking “field trips” to schools and organizations as part of my sabbatical. I thought it’d be fun to focus here on some of the most memorable aspects from those visits.  Plus, it’s Friday, another beautiful fall day, and I’m meeting a friend on the golf course soon, so let’s make this quick!

In no particular order, here are some new places I’ve been:

• The Sacred Sites Tour with Our People, Our Stories, a Twin Cities Travel and Tour Agency.  Every Minnesotan ought to sign up for this 4-hour tour through the metro to learn the non-textbook side of the Indian Burial Mounds in Mendota, the caves along the Minnesota River, Minnehaha Falls and Park, and Fort Snelling.  One of the two most memorable aspects were the fact that out of 37 original burial mounds just 6 remain and only one of these remains unexcavated and intact, as well as the suspect attribution that the mounds were from the “Hopewellian Culture” when it was specifically Dakota people who occupied the area.  The smudging ceremony that the Ojibwe guide Sonja Tanner led us in at the end was profound as we were in the midst of Dakota descendant families’ self-made memorials to their ancestors at Snelling.
• John Burroughs School in St. Louis, Mo.  Those who know me can correctly assume I was in town as a parent to my college daughter, but what a great excuse to spend a day visiting this 6-12 independent school.  I got to visit two classes and meet with three teachers and administrators. What stood out for me? Logistics!  Their school day meets until 4:00 pm, so they have plenty of time for important academic and developmental pursuits (their middle-schoolers do not participate in JV or Varsity sports & the advantages of that was a super interesting conversation with Julie Harris, MS Director).

 

• St. Paul Academy & Summit School.  Our Blake friends and rivals, whom we share much in common with was interesting to me for the English studio classes, organized around a workshop model.  I enjoyed a full-day there, and have quite a few notes, but the simplest thing stands out in my memory: their amazing, student-centered schedule, which has just three academic classes a day, 85-minutes in length, rotating on a 6-day schedule.  And these three classes are never back-to-back; they alternate with shorter specials, advisories, and electives.  It’s a thing of beauty for 12-14 year olds.
• Clara Barton Open School in Minneapolis.  This K-8 magnet school is part of the Mpls Public School District and was notable for its diverse student body and early start time (7:30!), but even more importantly and most memorable was Amber Damm’s 7th & 8th 29 student Language Arts class where rigor and engagement were evident, social justice issues were front and center, and the transitions between activities were seamless.  It was impressive.
• CREW Program at Pillsbury House + Theater.  This after-school program for 6-8th graders is service-based and dynamic.  Its coordinator Mesgana Tesfahun is impressively organized and prepared for any variables, such as inconsistencies in attendance numbers and the whims of middle-schoolers’ interests. Most notable is their Tuesday program called Kwanzaa Kitchen where they plan, prepare, serve and clean-up dinner.  In addition to monthly dinners for families and a November community event called Harvest Festival, they recently had one of the kids win a recent Super Bowl-sponsored contest for writing about their communal cooking.  I’m invited to their celebration of his success next Tues evening, and I’m looking forward to being a part of this group in action.

 

 

 

If you’re interested, contact me for more specific information on any of these; I’d love to talk further!  For now, I’m off to spend time in the fleeting warmth and color of October. And I’ll be off to Australia in just a handful of days!  My next entry/ies will share about my time there…can’t wait!

I don’t know about you, but when I think back to elementary school, I remember the field trips most of all.  Denver kids, like me, visited the Natural History Museum, the Denver Mint, and Red Rocks Amphitheater (where we would return several years later with concert tickets in hand!).

I was also part of a small group of kids that went on overnight field trips to the Wind River Indian Reservation and The Colorado School for the Deaf and Blind.  Those trips were incredibly influential on my 10 year-old psyche.  

Field trips are the stay-cation version of travel, and they similarly increase our awareness and understanding.  I’ve taken myself on six field trips in the past two weeks, and I’ve got nine more on the books, the biggest of which includes schools and sites in Sydney and Melbourne Australia (whoop, whoop).  

In no particular order, I’ll share a bit about the field trips I’ve taken to schools and organizations lately.

I recently spent a morning visiting The Family Partnership and Baby’s Space at Little Earth in Minneapolis.  These child and after-school care programs offer kids in the Native American community Dakota and Ojibwe language immersion, speech, occupational, and play therapists for kids who meet the criteria (20% developmental delay in one area), a 7:1 ratio of children to adults, and surround them with books.  Their work was inspiring.  I then spent the afternoon reading and shopping at Birch Bark Books.  My interest was centered on the history and experience of Native American people, the store’s specialty for all ages, but they have a wide range of books in general.  You have to go if you haven’t been yet; independent bookstores are the best.

Along these indigenous lines, I’ve visited galleries within the Franklin Corridor (a.k.a. The American Indian Cultural Corridor) and the Minneapolis Institute of Art’s Native American art collection, as well as an exhibit of modern Minnesota, Somali-born artists titled “I Am Somali”  And here’s a shout-out to my field trip buddy Jen for that fun day that included an amazing lunch at Midtown Global Market.

Another day I drove over to the Pillsbury House + Theater to meet with Siddeeqah, who is an actor and Teen Program Coordinator for Power of Our Voices after-school program. Her students identify the issues that matter most to them and spend weeks learning more in order to convey what they feel and learned artistically.  Their experience culminates with a mid-January performance.  High on my list of field trips yet-to-schedule is the middle school program connected with Pillsbury United called Crew, which focuses on service learning.

I’ll make this post a true “Part One” about field trip exploration by simply listing a couple of schools I’ve visited to date without elaboration: The Minnesota New Country School in Henderson (a project-based, teacher-led school) and Global Academy in Columbia Heights, an early and middle years International Baccalaureate-based program where most students’ home languages are Arabic or Somali. In short, both schools were places of creativity, purpose, and inclusion, and it was a joy to observe their students in action.  I left with several ideas to carry back to Blake.

To wrap things up, I’m excited that these field trips are on my calendar for the coming days: a Sacred Sites Tour with Our People, Our Stories and visits to The John Burroughs School (St. Louis, MO), Clara Barton Open School (Mpls), St Paul Academy & Summit School, Tish Jones at Tru Arts Speaks, and four schools in Australia, dedicated to supporting Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students.  

One more quick note about a recent serendipitous moment.  As I was in the midst of emailing the Executive Director at Melbourne Indigenous Transition School, I received a text message that he was actually IN MINNEAPOLIS (what are the odds?!).  We met for coffee on the Nicollet Mall, and had a really interesting conversation about our schools and countries’ educational and political situations.  I can’t wait to visit MITS (and Melbourne) in November!

I’ve been thinking a lot about the power of storytelling.  You know how it goes: you buy a yellow shirt and then you see yellow shirts everywhere.  Your lawn develops a series of wheat-colored patches, and you start noticing all your neighbors’ similarly speckled lawns. That’s what’s happened to me with stories to the point where I’m pretty sure that all human communication boils down to telling and hearing stories. This post focuses first on students’ stories and then moves to the everyday stories we tell.

I’ve been invested in stories since I was five and no doubt earlier.  They’ve been my lifelong, go-to entertainment and escape.  I’ve always favored fiction although I’ve spent more time with newspapers and essays since the election: my survival strategy for coping with chronic feelings of dismay and doom.  I also want to support good journalism’s attempts to maintain a transparent and accountable democracy.  

Maybe it’s because I’m missing my thick daily infusion of story that I’ve felt so focused on it.  Also, there’s no doubt that Lucy Caulkins, the guru of innovative teaching of reading and writing, tapped into my deep faith in stories on a Monday morning last month.

As I walked into the nave of the soaring cathedral that is Manhattan’s Riverside Church, sunlight was streaming through the stained-glass windows at least 30 feet overhead, throwing a kaleidoscope of colors on my feet and ankles as I stepped into a pew.  Once seated I looked straight ahead and was held captive by the intricate carvings of the reredos (I looked up that term) behind the altar.  The longer I looked, the more discrete images, previously embedded within stone folds, revealed themselves, like an M.C. Escher print.  

That’s when Lucy stepped into the pulpit and preached to the choir (1,300 of us teachers) about how crucial it is for our students to write stories.  “It’s a very big deal to teach kids to see their lives as stories [and] that they can be authors of their own story. [They] can decide how to make meaning of what happens to [them].”  She went on to cite Sheryl Sandberg, Andrew Solomon’s Ted Talk, and Jack Gantos (see Stacey Shubitz’s excellent blogpost for more on Lucy’s address and the role of stories in student writing).  I’m sold and re-committed to spending plenty of time on narrative writing in my 8th grade classroom when I return in January.

Each day we share with others what we’re doing.  We’re asked “How was your day?” and we tell a story. “How’d the meeting go?” We describe the characters and dialogue around the room, or we narrate the conflict, climax, and resolution of the event.  But sometimes when people ask us those questions, we sense that, for whatever reason, a full story isn’t warranted, and we respond with Fine, Well, and Yes (or Sort of).  If we’re lucky or we’re willing, our audience asks us for more of the story.  When we share it, we probably feel more connected and understood.

Telling the story of my sabbatical has been playing out in different ways for me.  I was sitting outside the Rustica cafe near my house recently, highlighting notes I’d taken in a workshop.  A friendly staff person and I began to talk, and she eventually asked, “Are you a teacher?  Do you go back to school soon?” as she pointed at the notebook and pens on my table.  After I’d explained what was up, she asked, “What do you do on a sabbatical?”  

Here we go, I thought.  How much does she really want to know?  How much do I feel like explaining to her?  “Well, mostly I’m going to be a learner instead of a teacher for a few months.”

“That sounds fun,” she said, and soon she was back to her work.

I was delighted.  I’d found my handle!  I had a five-second sound byte to the now-frequent question “What are you doing on your sabbatical?” that allows people to either say, “Cool!” and move on or continue to ask more questions if they want.

My daughter asked me the same question during a recent road trip although her tone was a bit more skeptical, “What are you going to do all day?” Feeling slightly defensive, I quipped back, “You know all that stuff I do after school each day? Like yoga class, or visiting Poppy (a.k.a. my dad), walking the dogs, cooking, shopping, writing lesson plans, grading? Now I get to spread it across the day, minus the plans and grading”

“Oh,” she said falling silent.

“And,” I added, “I get to spend a lot of time reading, writing, visiting schools and organizations, and I get to travel, like now.”  I think she got it: life is busy and multi-faceted for just about everybody.

Over Labor Day weekend when we were boating with friends, one of them asked, “Is it a working sabbatical?”  For him I offered the full-blown overview of the five phases of my project-based sabbatical and its theme: to learn how literacy can be used for community engagement.  After all, he was held captive in the middle of Lake Minnetonka, so it was a good opportunity to rehearse my own understanding of this exploratory time.

I just started reading Annette Simmons’s The Story Factor: Inspiration, Influence, and Persuasion Through the Art of Storytelling, and she uses this quote from writer A.S. Byatt to convey the fundamental nature of stories, “Narration is as much a part of human nature as breath and the circulation of the blood.”  I agree.

I will continue to test this idea that we’re all engaged in storytelling all the time as I interact with others and watch stuff on t.v. and the Internet.  Maybe you’ll test it too, and let me know your take.

This late summer entry nods to the waning days of summer.  It’s a safe bet: teachers everywhere are scrambling to wedge in appointments, dinner parties, and the stuff other people do on the weekends or their lunch hours.  The school year is a fast-moving train, and some are better at balancing non-school life than others.  I’ve always been one of the “others,” so I’ve had a tendency to view summer as largely comp time for the extra 15-20 hours each stack of collected essays represents.  I love Lee more every time I hear him tell someone that teachers work a full year in 9 months (but really it’s closer to 10 months, another misconception).

You will either already know or be happy to know that summer for most teachers also represents a time for professional development, to return to student status and sharpen (or refurbish) the tools in one’s teacher toolkit.  I just spent three weeks at one of the best PD experiences of my career: the Minnesota Writing Project’s Summer Institute at the University of Minnesota.  Quickly (because my title promises to keep this post short & sweet) its mission is to recognize teachers as writers and give them time to write and to recognize teachers’ expertise and knowledge, and give them time to share it with each other.  I wrote A TON, and benefited A TON from the feedback I got from the talented, smart members of my writing group.  I also read and discussed books by educators Linda Rief and Kelly Gallagher, and a profound collection of essays edited by Sun Yung Shin A Good Time for the Truth: Race in Minnesota (but applicable beyond MN for sure).

I’m off in a few hours for Columbia Teacher’s College August Writing Institute in NYC.  We’re talking immersion, folks!  As fortunate as I am to be having two incredible PD opportunities that would make any English teacher drool, l’ll be the first to admit that spending one month of free-wheeling summer days in classrooms has been made a lot easier knowing I’m on sabbatical this fall.

Back to books for a minute.  I’ve been listening to Angie Thomas’s The Hate U Give on Audible.  I began just listening on walks and driving to the U, but lately I listen while sitting on my porch steps because I can’t stop.  It’s a compelling, important story for our times.  I first heard about it from my friend Jen who heard about it from our other friend KC.  Check out KC’s excellent review of it on Literary Quicksand.

There are still at least three weeks before teachers begin reporting for workshop week, an abundance of time when measured against the school calendar, right?!

I understand why people like my husband opt out of social media.  When he imagines Facebook, he sees posts recounting the Panama Canal Zone’s glory days.  He balks at nostalgia, but in fact, I think he’s worried that if he lets his nostalgia-flag fly, he’ll be overwhelmed with affection for his tropical childhood.  He’s also simply cynical about my social media motives, so I use him as a litmus test for potential postings. If he rolls his eyes and says “Oh my God,” three things happen in quick succession: 1) I know I’ve crossed the line from tolerable to unbridled bragging, 2) I decide his tolerance threshold is too low, and 3) I post anyway.

As you can tell, I’m at the other end of the social media spectrum.  Probably because I’m naturally nosey, I like seeing what people are doing or thinking.  And when my “likes” show names of Colorado friends next to Minnesota friends, grad school next to high school classmates, past colleagues adjacent to present, I delight in the collapse of space and time and revel in a sense of community…at least for a while.

I don’t totally ignore those eye rolls.  Eventually I’m reminded that my lovely, diverse “community” is also an “audience.” Posting, blogging, and engaging in social media is publishing, as well as performance.  In these digital times community and audience are synonymous.

In an article published in New Media & Society, researchers danah boyd and Alice Marwick say, “the idea of the ‘audience’ as a stable entity that congregates around a media object has been displaced with the ‘interpretive community’, ‘fandom’, and ‘participatory culture.” Yes, and in the 16th century, Shakespeare’s audiences, his Globe Theater “community,” were also quite participatory when they offered him feedback in the form of thrown tomatoes.

Beyond applause or rotten tomatoes, today’s “networked public” (boyd & Marwick) has the added, and somewhat terrifying, ability to record, archive, share, search, and find your published information at any future point. The ability of digital audiences to exceed time and space might be daunting, even paralyzing, to some who might otherwise participate in social media communities.

An awareness of the fluid context of audience is what Mary McCall refers to as being a “high monitor” (you can Google her presentation “What Would Aristotle Tweet?: Twitter, The Imagined Audience, and Message Reception” if you’re interested). She argues that we need to update how we are teaching our students about audience. She wants them to be “more reflective of potential audiences” and how their published ideas might be received.  She’s absolutely right.

If we haven’t already, it’s time to let go of the static questions aimed at a finite audience (see this handout from Read, Write, Think as an example).  We know most students are well-versed in publishing daily bursts from their lives and, though they may be loathe to admit it, performing for their friend community via carefully selected, often-edited images, ideas, and shares.  Teaching them to be high monitors and consider the vastness of their audience has obvious benefits, not least of which is making them good digital citizens.

But what effect might all this monitoring have on students, and frankly all of us, as writers and thinkers?  As we spend more and more time online participating in a networked public, are we unwittingly skipping over the non-published, drafting phase of the writing and thinking process? Does the draft matter?

Despite all the advantages that digital life affords, I worry it supplants thoughtful, private, off-the-page-and-stage thinking and writing critical for students’ intellectual and emotional growth. Best practice in English education involves plenty of authentic audience opportunities for students to publish their work, but let’s also be mindful for ourselves and our students to preserve a space where ideas can be explored and rehearsed, especially given our modern-day devotion to social media.

In our pursuit to share, to publish, to see our “likes” or grades, our challenge is to recognize the value of non-public, creative exploration.  Let’s not throw out the (draft) baby with the bath water.

It’s Memorial Day.  The school year’s drawing down, and so is my middle school faculty deadline to post grades and comments. I’ve spent the holiday weekend, hunched over my laptop, gazing into the middle distance every 20 or so minutes,  battling the same distraction and procrastination that leads deadline-dealing folks everywhere to daydream or surf the Internet.

My mind’s been wandering toward deciding on a title for this sabbatical-themed blog.  I finally landed on the bell idea because bells make good symbols, and what English teacher doesn’t love a good symbol?  Its alliteration may lean a little too close to cute, but still this blog’s title is grounded in a truth about my 8th grade students’ and my daily experience.  Just outside the door of my classroom, about 7’ overhead, a beige dome is mounted and set to jangle the nervous system of anyone within hearing distance every 50 and 55 minutes.  The thing would do any fire station proud with its 5-alarm bellow.

Recently a thunderstorm-induced power outage knocked this ancient bell system out of commission, a happy accident in my opinion, so you see I’m already “beyond bells,” and I may as well procrastinate, er…begin writing about the sabbatical experience that I haven’t yet had but am actively anticipating.

Of course I tried to incorporate “sabbatical” into this blog’s title.  Radical Sabbatical, my first fleeting idea, has been used ad nauseam, according to a quick Google search.  And not much else rhymes with sabbatical (fanatical seemed a bit much).  All of this wordsmithing tapped into my English teacher love of OED-style sleuthing, and I began to ponder the origins and expressions of “sabbath.”  I grew up attending Sunday school at First Plymouth Congregational and later St Thomas Episcopal in Denver, but what I most remember is my mom’s industrious habit of dragging us to the grocery store for the weekly trip on the way home from church. This Sunday routine not only failed to meet the restful aspects of the Sabbath, but I’m also convinced they’re the source of my lifelong habit of over-scheduling the weekend (and the week, for that matter).

I’ve recently read some interesting ideas on secular sabbaths (for example, check out this thought-provoking article on taking a break from tech and device use: https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2012/02/we-dont-need-a-digital-sabbath-we-need-more-time/252317/ ).  I learned that our shared cultural values are at odds with the way many of us live our lives.  Basically, we value the concept of rejuvenation, but we don’t practice it much.  That might mean missing out, and I for one hate to miss out (a primary reason for my inability to nap).

So I plan to rest and rejuvenate in a different way during my sabbatical.  I’ve decided that my concept of a sabbath centers on restoring balance, which will mean pursuing interests that get overshadowed by the demands of daily classroom life.  Away from the regiment of 50 and 55 minute bells, my newfound, non-Pavlovian self will explore the threads of varied interests. (Imagine: I’ll read my weekly New Yorker over coffee one morning rather than casting longing glances in the direction of its enticing cover art for days on end!).  

For sure my sabbatical will fulfill the traditional notions of an academic sabbatical (more reason not to employ the “radical” or “fanatical” appendages to the title):  I’ll visit many classrooms in a variety of settings, travel, muse, create, learn, re-boot, and write.  Write!  I hope I still have something to say when I’m not motivated by procrastination.  No doubt, the concepts of self-directed learning and discipline will feature largely in some of my upcoming posts.

Thanks for reading my first post!  For now, it’s back to comment writing and daydreaming for T-42 hours.