Sap's Rising;
it has been tapped, captured,
heated to pouring perfection.
WITHIN
ME BURNS A FLAME
Seeds're Sprouting,
warmed by layers of grief
and the sun's return.
WITHIN
ME BURNS A FLAME
Sun's Setting
on so many sacred
landscapes. They need rain.
WITHIN
ME BURNS A FLAME
A magpie is nesting.
Drawing upon his ancestors'
DNA, he builds.
He is not sure why.
WITHIN
ME BURNS A FLAME
Spring's coming —
tomorrow, I think. The Planet
is ready. A few things still
need to die.
WITHIN
ME BURNS A FLAME
Showing posts with label jumping off. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jumping off. Show all posts
Sunday, March 19, 2017
Thursday, February 25, 2010
done
I guess I'm getting a new car! But it won't be a prize. Or a rental.
I'm going to have to buy it. The price is not more than I can afford.
I'd love to take you for a ride in it. As long as you don't mind traveling mapless.
My old, trusted auto no longer drives like it used to, and all the tinkering in the world won't help.
The only thing it is good for now is scrap metal.
I like scrap metal.
Now I just need a blow torch.
I'm going to have to buy it. The price is not more than I can afford.
I'd love to take you for a ride in it. As long as you don't mind traveling mapless.
My old, trusted auto no longer drives like it used to, and all the tinkering in the world won't help.
The only thing it is good for now is scrap metal.
I like scrap metal.
Now I just need a blow torch.
Monday, February 22, 2010
interpretations welcome
I enter the large room and sit. Across a large, dark, antique-feeling desk, he sits: the man who denied my leave of absence application, and who I must convince to change his mind. This is my only chance.
I thought it would be only us, yet I am not surprised to see so many. On my right sit members of the Board. I glance at Keith, who gives me a small, knowing nod, and a barely perceptible grin. I know, if he could, he'd be flashing me the "thumbs up" sign. I smile back. I look further over to the right, for Rick, but do not see him. Not so much disappointment as wonderment. Where is he? On my left sit at least a dozen other people; I'm not sure who they are, but know they are part of the administration. I feel supported by their presence nonetheless.
I begin to state my case, which is full of all kinds of things I did while teaching sixth grade at Carmel. I mention the Student Council created from nothing, and the school store built by students. The Egyptian Museum. Comer facilitating. It's all irrelevant, but I feel the need to convey a sense of history, and to somehow make him know that I have given my heart and soul to this district for fourteen years and deserve to be treated better than this.
I find myself at the part where I want to bring up cancer, the role it plays in my decision, and its transformational power over my life. I realize that, against all recommendations, I'm going to get emotional. I sit up taller, look right and left, and suddenly realize that I can share the story objectively, without tears, and so I do. I'm not sure what I say; I only know that I am confident and self-assured when I say it.
Finally, it is the end of our time together. We both stand, and shake hands across the table. The others gather round and begin to discuss the situation. I await the verdict. It's unclear. Do I get the leave of absence? Or not? Everybody's talking, but no one seems to know the answer. I am confused, but happy. It's like not winning a medal at the Olympics, but knowing you skated your best.
I am ushered outside, and there, before my eyes, parked on the street, sits a white convertible. Just like the '67 Datsun Fairlady I had my eye on at Concourse Auto for awhile. They're giving it to me as a prize! I'm not sure what I've done to win it, but I assume it means that I have been granted my sabbatical. I admire the well-worn leather interior, reach in and touch the steering wheel, marvel at the old dials, and wonder what it will be like to drive it.
I thought it would be only us, yet I am not surprised to see so many. On my right sit members of the Board. I glance at Keith, who gives me a small, knowing nod, and a barely perceptible grin. I know, if he could, he'd be flashing me the "thumbs up" sign. I smile back. I look further over to the right, for Rick, but do not see him. Not so much disappointment as wonderment. Where is he? On my left sit at least a dozen other people; I'm not sure who they are, but know they are part of the administration. I feel supported by their presence nonetheless.
I begin to state my case, which is full of all kinds of things I did while teaching sixth grade at Carmel. I mention the Student Council created from nothing, and the school store built by students. The Egyptian Museum. Comer facilitating. It's all irrelevant, but I feel the need to convey a sense of history, and to somehow make him know that I have given my heart and soul to this district for fourteen years and deserve to be treated better than this.
I find myself at the part where I want to bring up cancer, the role it plays in my decision, and its transformational power over my life. I realize that, against all recommendations, I'm going to get emotional. I sit up taller, look right and left, and suddenly realize that I can share the story objectively, without tears, and so I do. I'm not sure what I say; I only know that I am confident and self-assured when I say it.
Finally, it is the end of our time together. We both stand, and shake hands across the table. The others gather round and begin to discuss the situation. I await the verdict. It's unclear. Do I get the leave of absence? Or not? Everybody's talking, but no one seems to know the answer. I am confused, but happy. It's like not winning a medal at the Olympics, but knowing you skated your best.
I am ushered outside, and there, before my eyes, parked on the street, sits a white convertible. Just like the '67 Datsun Fairlady I had my eye on at Concourse Auto for awhile. They're giving it to me as a prize! I'm not sure what I've done to win it, but I assume it means that I have been granted my sabbatical. I admire the well-worn leather interior, reach in and touch the steering wheel, marvel at the old dials, and wonder what it will be like to drive it.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
here we go
Sorry, blogspot, I've been away for awhile. Don't take it personally, it's just that I've learned pretty much everything you have to teach me for now, and it seemed time to move on and explore strange new worlds. There are so many. Edublogs is where I've been working and playing lately; please don't be jealous.
Feeling challenged and excited, I click on words and icons, follow drop down menus
to wherever they might lead, and just, you know, try stuff. I am obsessed with learning, with unlocking the mystery. When failure comes, I try something else.
It is this kind of curiosity and courage, more than anything else, that needs to be developed in young students.
On the corner of Lancaster Drive and Hayesville Avenue, there was a little store. It must have had a name, but I don’t remember it. All I remember is that we called it “The Little Store”. It was where my friends and I bought Charleston Chews and candy cigarettes with the cash we would get in exchange for the cans and bottles we had collected from our neighbors. It was the place where, a day or two before payday when the cupboards were bare, my single mother would purchase hot dogs and buns on credit. Mr. Frey always knew she’d be back in a day or two, when she would pay off her bill and buy a few more items. And he knew where we lived. And I still remember his name.
And so, in memory of The Little Store, I have named my project The Little School. Because community matters. Because smaller is better. Because "Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted." (Albert Einstein) Because I can.
Because I have to.
The Little School Project: Tava Mountain Middle School
coming soon to a neighborhood near you
Feeling challenged and excited, I click on words and icons, follow drop down menus
to wherever they might lead, and just, you know, try stuff. I am obsessed with learning, with unlocking the mystery. When failure comes, I try something else.
It is this kind of curiosity and courage, more than anything else, that needs to be developed in young students.
On the corner of Lancaster Drive and Hayesville Avenue, there was a little store. It must have had a name, but I don’t remember it. All I remember is that we called it “The Little Store”. It was where my friends and I bought Charleston Chews and candy cigarettes with the cash we would get in exchange for the cans and bottles we had collected from our neighbors. It was the place where, a day or two before payday when the cupboards were bare, my single mother would purchase hot dogs and buns on credit. Mr. Frey always knew she’d be back in a day or two, when she would pay off her bill and buy a few more items. And he knew where we lived. And I still remember his name.
And so, in memory of The Little Store, I have named my project The Little School. Because community matters. Because smaller is better. Because "Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted." (Albert Einstein) Because I can.
Because I have to.
The Little School Project: Tava Mountain Middle School
coming soon to a neighborhood near you
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)