a trip into the past

"you have not been singing lately." commented one of my students this week. "why?" she asked.

good question. my students have a way of asking meaningful and thought provoking questions.

dang it.

for a great while i have been avoiding parts of my past. i have neglected to honor that part of myself that found beauty in things that now i find slightly repugnant. for example, certain genres of music.

i listened to a genre of music that i have found particularly distasteful in recent years. in order to reconcile myself, i took a long drive a week ago late at night down a pine tree laden road. the sky glowed orange from the lights and snow fall and i looked out over a great expanse of nothingness. there are no street lights on this road, and at first it was exciting. later fear like most things took hold.

fear of being alone.
fear of being in a silent space.
fear of being open to a part of me that i haven't let come out and play for a long time.

living in an apartment has its downfalls because there is something about singing at the top of my lungs that is a release for me. i am sure my neighbors disagree, because of this i rarely sing in my home. so in my car, i sang. loud, slow, fast, off key sometimes. the lyrics came back quickly and my mumbling turned into the flow of verses.

as i sang songs and changed cds, i caught myself saying "i don't believe in these lyrics at all. i don't live my life that way anymore." i tried to let this go and just sing the beautiful melodies and listen to the heartfelt sincerity of the artist.

i realized that in that moment, alone in my car, i didn't have to agree. i needed to sing. i needed to sing beautiful melodies. i needed to allow that release to take place. i didn't need to justify my singing those particular songs or even like them. i just needed to sing.

after many minutes of darkness and lyrical being, i pulled off the road to turn around. the pine trees were gone, and in the deepest sense of darkness, i looked out over what i knew to be a lake. i really couldn't see much of it at all. cloud cover blocked the moon and stars but i knew it rested out there.

it is a lot like parts of the path i have walked. i can't see it well, it is rather undefined, and yet i know it is there. i sense its presence like the calm waters of the lake. it is dark and mysterious and a little scary, but a part of who i am, a part of the journey that has led me to the now.

i think the past cannot be completely discarded or forgotten. it can be a lot of things including forgiven, but not forgotten.

these lyrics still have much to tell us of who we are, and who we are becoming. i think we are most at peace when we accept the undefined mystery of our path and be who we are, who we have been created to be.

codex calixtinus

in the move kung fu panda, panda is stuffing his mouth with sacred fruit and the wise and ancient turtle makes a comment to him about letting the past go, letting the future wait, and to remain in the present. he says, that is why it is called the present because it is a gift.

yes, i frequently take insight from cartoons.

i have been rearranging my apartment today to make room for new things and to get rid of old things. in the midst of moving hundreds of books, i found something i had been missing for a long time. i found my paper passport from when i walked the camino de santiago and a map my dad made on the computer to mark my journey across spain.

it seems like long ago that i made that 500 mile journey by foot, and yet it seems like yesterday too. sometimes i forget and then i see my walking stick, or my knees and back will hurt just like they did in spain. or i will see pictures or hear from a camino friend.

i had been missing my passport for some time now, and tonight i finally found it. the passport gets stamped at every place you stop and stay along the pilgrimage. i unfolded the worn pages and it all came flooding back. i sat on the floor in my room and started crying. i saw the stamps from all the places i had stayed and a peace overcame over me. the pilgrimage causes you to laugh, cry, shout, sing, and be silent all in the same breath. pretty incredible and unbelievable.

the camino
the pilgrimage
is neither distinctively past, present, nor future. it is all three. it calls me to be present to the journey of the past, to not fear the future, and to be as attentive to the now as i can be.

when i most need to be reminded that i am whole and loved, or to be tranquilo, i will dream about the camino, find my lost passport, or wear the boots i wore then. inevitably i always cry.

on the last page of the passport there is the following prayer. it is the pilgrim's prayer from the 12th century. i share it with you now, so you too can bask in its "pure awesomeness" according to po the panda.

God, You called your servant Abraham from Ur in Chaldea, watching over him in all his wanderings, and guided the Hebrew people as they crossed the desert. Guard these your children who, for love of your name, make a pilgrimage to Compostela.
Be their companion on the way,
their guide at the crossroads,
their strength in weariness,
their defense in dangers,
their shelter on the path,
their shade in the heat,
their light in darkness,
their comfort in discouragement,
and the firmness of their intentions;
that through your guidance,
they may arrive safely at the end of their journey and,
enriched with graces and virtues,
may return to their homes filled with salutary and lasting joy.

Amen.

America's Song

last tuesday i made everyone with hispanic, latino, native american, and african american blood wait outside the classroom. i told them that they wouldn't be able to attend classes that day.

i had two students left.

this was the only way i could think of to really show students what segregation must have felt like and still feels like today. they were shocked. we read and then watched dr. martin luther king jr,'s i have a dream speech, followed by the inauguration of our 44th president.

i wanted the students to understand that the people who have gone before paved the way for them and that they are paving the way for the people who come after them.

almost all of them had never seen an inauguration, seen pictures of washington d.c., or understood the civil rights movement. we sat in the back of the room with linked arms and listened to two different versions of we shall overcome, closed our eyes, and imagined being in the streets of selma, alabama.

i live and breathe diversity every day in my classroom because of my students and it makes an inexplicable energy course through my veins when i have the honor of teaching these children of the ways of people who have believed in something greater than the individual and made a difference in this world- people who stayed in a system of corruption, greed, and hatred and fought with peace and grace.

it's why i stay in public education.

i love the song above because it is one of the first songs about the u.s. that i have heard for a long time that didn't say we are better than everybody else. it is simple and reflects the hope that so many of us feel and need in this time.

scary full potential

the other night in yoga, i attempted to do something i refer to as damn hard. i attempted L pose which is this insane pose where you make your body into a ninety degree angle (mine is more like a 105 degree angle with a saggy middle) with your feet on the wall and your hands supporting you.

no this picture is not me, and i mainly chose it for the awesome 80s leg warmers. i could only wish to be so cool.

so when i do the L pose my arms shake like a mini earthquake is occurring right under my arms. after a somewhat more successful L pose experience (my yoga teacher held my hips up) we attempted to do a handstand. a lot easier but i encountered a funny thing.

fear.

it makes me want to laugh out loud now. fear. in the moments after attempting an assisted handstand, we had to try one on our own. i got in the right position, tried to kick up my feet, got all excited about doing it, and then that damn funny fear got in my way. it invaded my brain and momentarily paralyzed my body. i couldn't move.

in those short moments i thought, why am i so afraid? there is a wall near me, it is not like i am going to completely fall over. the instructor began talking about rooting into our full potential and it hit me. i bet this is what my students feel like when they come face to face (but not upside down) with their truest potential.

it is scary to imagine ourselves more powerful, more focused, more aligned, more in tune with who our truest selves are. when we come face to face with our fullest potential, what do we do? run the other way. at least that is what i tend to do.

our fullest potential means that we have taken the risk to be okay with failure. it means we do not give any excuses for not being our best and already whole selves. as a younger self, i used to make up excuses for not doing well at something. the weather, hurt wrists, not enough sleep, you name it. somehow i couldn't come face to face with failure or the fact that i was not perfect (in the sense that i did everything right.)

i have not been practicing yoga very long. and to tell you the truth i am not that great at it, but i realize every time i walk into the studio that being great at it is not the point, not even close to the point. embracing my whole self, fear, and the instinct to run from my fullest potential is exactly what it is about right now. i have to let go of my need for perfection which is really just another way to run from me.

there is a lot of fear in the world due to money. both far and close to home. i think about what it will take to live with less- what it will take to redefine priorities, and to perhaps lose the job i love so much. then i think about the handstand. i have a choice, do the pose or not, run or not, embrace it all and not allow the fear to dominate my life or the way i interact with people i love and the strangers around me

or not.

all this in a five minute pose.
damn yoga.

damn potential.


photo is compliments of elsie's yoga found from a random google search.

words and how we use them

our words hold great power.

it amazes me as i scan my eyes across my classroom how much power we all hold in our words and gazes. one look at a kid (okay adults too) can make or break their day. the tone of voice can make all the difference.

i find myself these days really concentrating on how things come out of my mouth. i ask myself what is the desired outcome of what i say. this intention on what i say and how i say it has genuinely made all the difference in the classroom lately.

i am more content and focused on my work.
the students are more content.
we are all just getting along a lot better.

there are many schools of thought on how to run your classroom, how to manage it. i think it all comes down to what works for you and what is good for the kids. my room runs like a community. we recognize the individual but also recognize that the actions of the individual effect the community too. whenever i redirect a student, i try to explain to him/her why i am asking him/her to do something. i figure if the students understand why, it might actually make sense and stick with them.

this takes an incredible amount of patience, understanding, intention, and listening. several of those things are not always my strong points. i have found this week that the intention or rather striving for it, has caused me to have more patience and a better understanding.

often what the kids are saying is not what they really mean. they are not talking about someone stealing their pencil, they are talking about the very core of their person not being accepted because someone stole from them. rarely does a student tattle just to get someone else in trouble, they are saying, look at me, notice me.

it can be challenging to acknowledge and know what every one of my twenty five students needs to feel and be whole. some days i come home and lay down on the couch and just sleep for two hours. i don't sleep because i taught a hard math lesson or writing was strenuous. i sleep because i hold in my hand the mental and emotional (dare i say spiritual) well being of twenty five uniquely individual beings.

every look, every gaze makes a difference.

some days that makes me smile. some days it makes me want to take a fourteen hour nap.

it's wrong and it's right

i generally rant and rave about education. sometimes the job can be so overwhelming and misunderstood. the kids are really the reason most people stay in the profession. it is not like people stay because they think of advancement, pay raises, travel to exotic places, or christmas bonuses.

we stay because we walk into broken down classrooms everyday and turn them into magical places where kids are safe for seven hours, where they can learn and move out of their current space, and truly believe in themselves. there are still many good merits of public education but they are lost in the midst of politics, not enough funding, and disbelief in anything related to testing. people read tests results in the newspaper and look little past failing, under performing, or excelling to understand what makes a good school or what remains to be praised in public education.

there are moments where education can be extremely depressing and time consuming. yet, there are shining moments, where as a teacher i have the opportunity to break through all that is saddening, to what is at the heart of education for me. when my students understand that they are in my classroom not just to learn to read, or do math problems that make their head hurt, but that they are there to continue their journeys as life long learners who can think critically and make their own decisions, it is as if all else fades away.

this happened this week. we are beginning to read a story from a reader we have in class about orangutans in borneo. i found several websites of information, videos, facts, and articles to support what we are reading. several groups read small books about jane goodall as an introduction to conservation, preservation, and the study of primates. one group in my class needs to be challenged beyond the fourth grade level. their reading levels are higher than most and this is the group that can become easily bored. so i decided to challenge them with an eighth grade reading level or higher article on the deforestation of borneo.

we began reading and conquered words such as raucous, primatologists, and humidity. we discussed and looked at pictures of deforestation and talked about how this impacts the orangutans. we talked about the need for jobs in indonesia and malaysia, how people needed to survive, how larger countries pay for the deforestation to have paper, chopsticks, and yes, garden furniture. the students were shocked.

i was peppered with questions. "why do people buy these things?" "how do the orangutans feel about this?" "Are zoos bad?" "Why don't people have jobs?" "don't people think about more than just themselves? you know, like about the orangutans or the trees?" "you mean the animals are just free, and wander around?" "do the trees grow back?" "if people cut down these trees, how do we breathe?"

i replied to all of them at once, these are good questions, ones you should keep asking. i don't have the answers to all of them, nor can i tell you what is right. and in the midst of all the questions, came one question that floored me.

"you mean that some things are right and wrong at the same time?"

the whole group was silent. they turned to look at this student and then back at me for an answer. i think they were quietly hoping i would say no. i replied, "yes. that is exactly what i mean."

suddenly their clearly defined and delineated world turned upside down and they realized that life was slightly more complicated than they ever imagined.

one student ended the conversation by saying, "i know another example of something that is right and wrong.

war."

i nodded unable to say much of anything.

out of the mouths of babes.

this is why i am an educator.
if these students can grow up understanding that things are both right and wrong and neither right or wrong, we've got some hope or at least a start.

rosca de los reyes

rosca de reyes

mexican hot chocolate

ay, ay, ay, i got the little plastic baby in my piece

on tuesday night some friends and i celebrated what we call epiphany and what latinos and hispanics call dia de los reyes (the day of the three kings or wise men). in mexico and other countries, children wait excitedly to see what the three kings have left under the christmas tree for them. they eat a traditional sweet bread called rosca de reyes, and drink the equivalent of hot chocolate.

the celebration is really the acknowledgement of the baby jesus. i am not sure exactly how this tradition got started, but there are little plastic babies in the rosca. when you cut the bread, if you get one of the plastic babies in your piece, something magical happens.

okay, not so magical. justino and i both got the babies in our piece and that meant that we are in charge of making a large carne asada dinner for our friends. usually the people with the baby have to make tamales, but everyone settled on the much easier carne asada. whew that is a relief for me.

we had to wait until 10:30 at night to celebrate since everyone was working. hence the tired face. it was fun to celebrate though and get another perspective on epiphany. i really love being able to be a part of the way other people celebrate. it brings a new understanding to some long held traditions.

my artists

today was the students and my first day back to school. it felt good to be back and see all of my students again. my students feel safe at school and had looks of relief to return to something expected and normal.

once a month a retired teacher comes into my classroom for masterpiece art. she teaches the students about certain art techniques and about the lives of famous artists. then the students have the opportunity to create their own masterpiece. she always incorporates music as well. it is one of my favorite activities all month. i sit with the students at their desks and create my own masterpiece. when i create something i feel the most whole. it is one of the few times in the day when i can truly sit down and just be. i am not walking around the room to make sure someone gets help, nor concerned about behavior. i sit and create as one with my students.

today the students listened to vivaldi's four seasons and classified famous pieces of art under headings of winter, spring, summer, fall. there are no right answers in masterpiece art. you feel. you listen. you respond. my students and i relax into a space where we are not forced to fill in bubbles or be right.

it takes the students a little while to feel okay in this space. they are so used to having to be right that they tentatively answer any question with the thought, "what if what i say is wrong." it is pure delight when thirty minutes into the activity they begin opening up. their true brilliance shines at the moment when nothing hinders their free thinking. suddenly descriptive language and feeling pours out of them and they surprise themselves. i love watching the transformation. it is what draws me to the classroom-this transformation.

we sat in small groups and drew with oil pastels and colored pencils our own landscapes. i drew an abstract windy, fall day. as i smudged the colors together with my index finger, i thought about how definitive school can be. no smudging lines here. yet, the very life force of these young people can not be simplified into straight, perfect lines. i felt proud of my students because they constantly struggle against the need to be closed. it is about survival. their own landscapes are sometimes bitterly scarred and much older than their nine and ten year old selves. yet they stretch and push themselves to live into the bitterness and come out on the other side.

i have rarely been more blessed than in the presence of these artists.

new year photos

a five year old friend calls this park the monster park at christmas because "the trees all look like hands coming out of the ground to get you." i've never quite looked at this park the same since.



justino y yo



the famous pine cone that drops at midnight.



this year we had fireworks!



another grand new year's count down with the pine cone.

new year lists

i have never been one for making new year's resolutions. i feel like they might work for some people but i just never put much effort into it.

today i read a magazine article that instead made a different list. the first of three lists is writing down some things you are proud of from 2008. the second is an "i won't criticize..." list. the third is an "i can't wait to..." list. i thought that was a brilliant idea and a good way to start out the year. i think i will have my kids make lists like this too. i always enjoy what they have to say because they are so honest.

so in the spirit of the third day of the new year. here is a start to my lists.

1. I am proud of...

• how much i have grown as a teacher
  
• finding time to balance between work, keeping myself healthy, and being in a relationship
  
• taking risks
  
• biking more
  
• doing what i say i will do
  
• being proactive about my health

2. I will not criticize...

• myself for not being perfect
  
• myself when i take much needed rest and relaxation
  
• my students for honest mistakes

3. I can't wait to...

• practice yoga
  
• sing in a group
  
• offer spanish classes for adults wanting to learn spanish
  
• visit friends in other states
  

that is just a start but what about you?

stuff

stuff.
we all have it.
i have this strange disease where when i go shopping i will walk around with something in my hands for thirty minutes and right before i check out, i will put it back. this makes for a happy bank account but a not always happy living. i get plagued with the desire to live without a lot of stuff, while still wanting a lot of stuff. this gets tiresome.

yesterday i received a surprise christmas package from a wonderful friend. it is a beautiful hand etched vase made by a woman from nicaragua. this gift is special because within the gift is a deeper understanding of who i am. my friend understands that i love handmade gifts, and my love of things latino. this gift proudly sits under a portrait of frida, another gift i received from some more good friends several years ago.

this got me thinking.

as i looked around my apartment, i realized that most of the things are gifts from people who love me and know me. i have a plate from spain from my sister, pictures of windows and doors from cindy, art from friends, candles, lamps, prayer rugs, icons, and even my microwave was gifted to me.

with this vision, the items around my house ceased to become stuff. they were reminders of all the people who walk with me daily and who love me. although i know i don't need things to know i am loved, it is an outward and visible sign of their love. it reminds me of this when i feel down or frustrated.

many visitors have said they feel calm and peaceful when they enter my house. i too feel a certain peace after a long day at work. i think this is because it is filled with these gifts- the presence of people who love, people who know and are known.

grandpas

okay, okay. i finally joined the blogging world. i am not sure why it took me so long, seeing as i am pretty technologically with it. i think it has something to do with the very personal and vulnerable nature of writing. its a new year, a new day, and something made me jump off my couch and start one today.

now that i have begun writing again it is hard to pin down exactly what to write on my first post. but i have been thinking of the past a lot today. the happy past. a few months ago i took justino to a man's house a few blocks away to get his car fixed. when i pulled up, a small red haired girl bound down the steps from the porch and skipped around the drive way. "careful little red." spoke a gruff but obviously loving voice. she perched on the edge of a concrete slab while her grandfather slid underneath justino's car. i sat in the warm sun with her for awhile. we talked about shoe laces and cartoons.

for a moment, i left that drive way and traveled back to another drive way in kansas some twenty years ago. instead of a red haired child, a blond haired one roamed with one tool or another in her hand. perhaps it was a monkey wrench. my grandpa's gruff, yet loving voice shouted over the clamor to be careful. i brought myself back to the curious eyes of my new friend and smiled. "your grandpa loves you very much doesn't he?" "yep" she said as she hopped down from her seat.

i miss my grandpa. amazingly though, i still feel him with me during rough times or times when i have triumphed. i can feel him being proud which was not always something you could readily feel from my gramps. the run-in with this memory made me think about how much we learn in relationships. how much we open ourselves to what is true.

he used to stand at the window in his undershirt while my grandma and i waited for my school bus to pick me up. we made popcorn together, watched every john wayne movie, made trips to the local ice cream store, and i am pretty sure he taught me my first cuss words. i learned about nature, about taking care of what you've got, and to keep your elbows off the table. he could be a grouchy fellow and yet through it all, i always knew he loved me.

i think about my own dad now being a grandpa and of the infinite possibilities he has to have a wonderful relationship with his three grandkids. it makes me smile when i hear he especially took hailey to the store with him, or played legos with dalton. it is one of those cyclical resurrections.

there is something very special about grandpas.