that classroom vibe

INTRO:

Today is the last day of the Advanced Institute of the Denver Writing Project. Coming as it did on the heels of our transition to remote learning and the Black Lives Matter movement, we all had a lot to process. Our assignment, at the end of the week, after much reading, reflection, Zoom meetings, online discussion boards, and three eye-opening, mind-blowing writing workshops with Nicole Piasecki, Jovan Mays, and Mark Overmeyer, was to answer this prompt: "Using your own style and structure, create a personal essay that describes your identity as a teacher and/or your teaching philosophy." Here's what I managed to write, out of a combobulated brain full of so many thoughts...

VERSE 1:

Sunday afternoon

my 19-year-old White son 

went downtown, 

to City Hall

where he stood

next to his Black girl friend

holding a small piece of cardboard 

cut from a box, 

on which he had written in black sharpie:

VIBE CHECK THE POLICE

CHORUS 1:

Monday morning I was asked: “What is your vibe right now? What is your teaching vibe?” The fact that this word— vibe— had entered my world for two days in a row struck me as somehow important.  Synchronous.  Serendipitous. Vibey.  

My vibe right now is worry.  And doing projects to keep from worrying.  Grief and mourning for classroom and country I pour into scrubbing the tub, chipping the paint, baking the muffins, and above all else: re-arranging the furniture.   I wonder if this is a distraction, or a healthy outlet for emotion. Or maybe it’s an attempt to change the vibe in my home, the way I change it in my classroom.      

VERSE 2:

I’ve heard people say 

to check in on your Black colleagues

I haven’t done this

I don’t know how to

Yet

CHORUS 2:

Student writer Nick Speranza, Arts Section Editor for his high school’s online news site The Radnorite, declared vibe to be the 2019 word-of-the-year. He wrote perhaps the best definition of vibe check that I could find:   “A vibe check is a genuine expression of empathy, a joking threat that encourages your friends to be happy, and a bizarre internet joke all at once.”  

On the surface, a vibe check means “How are you?  What’s going on?”

At a deeper level, however, it seems to be asking, “What are your struggles? Are you ok? How can I help?”

You can always vibe check a mother by asking about her children.  Maybe that’s a place I can start.

BRIDGE:

White socks

Black shoes

I bet her mama shined those shoes

the night before, scrubbed

her white socks and white blouse and white sweater 

so clean

the White children would have nothing to laugh at

Ruby was brave

Her mama was braver

Would I have done it?

Allowed my child to be the bridge?

What words did she say to prepare her daughter

before she watched her be marshaled 

away with four White men?

When you walk into that school, 

you old your head high,

Ruby Girl, but remember

to look down when you come to those steps,

‘cause everyone will be waiting for you to stumble

And remember to breathe, ok? 

As long as you just keep breathin’, you gon be alright.

And she was.

Ruby Bridges vibe checked them all.

VERSE 3:

The classroom vibe is everything

I create the vibe

starting from the outside

Good Vibes

don’t happen by accident

You have to orchestrate
them, which requires a magic wand

strings of fairy lights
three comfy chairs and a sofa

mismatched wooden bookshelves
along every wall

(where you somehow know where every book

is even though they are not in alphabetical order)

You even have to re-arrange the furniture

to metaphorically match your genre:

Poetry, a seated circle around a round rug

Memoir,  small groups for sharing

Fiction, sitting directly across from an IR of their own choosing

Informational, rows facing forward, 

Literary analysis returns us to our circle, older this time

Argument, two sides facing in

My classroom isn’t where I work,

it’s an extension of my Self

This is what I am afraid of losing —
If my students cannot feel that classroom vibe,

how will I be able to teach them?

The outer vibe creates the inner vibe. 

More than one student has told me 

that the 90 minutes they spend in my class

every other day

is the only time they feel calm.

How can I re-create that safe haven in a virtual world?  

Have we been liberated from fluorescent oppression, 

only to find ourselves in a blue light sleepless state?

What have we lost?

What have we gained?

CHORUS 3: 

We have been given an opportunity to re-think, re-question, and re-purpose ourselves as educators.  We didn’t give CMAS, and the world didn’t end!  We changed grading and teacher evaluation policies overnight in ways we never would have considered before!  Inequities were made visible and impossible to ignore!  Police have been voted out of our schools, curriculum is being re-visioned, and teachers are realizing that we have a role to play in dismantling our very own system.

Now is the time to examine the questions that underlie the questions.  The time to ask all the hows and whys.  The time to spout crazy ideas that maybe don’t sound so crazy anymore.  

Teachers need to bring up questions, again, about school funding structures and all the vestiges of history that have left our school system, still, in so many places, separate but unequal. We need to ask why our teaching force is still predominantly White, and then we need to ask how can we find and support the young people of color who want to become teachers. Ruby Bridges had to take a test to get into William Frantz Public School — how and why is testing still being used to determine who gets to go where?

And maybe someday soon, Zoom will create a “seating chart” function that, when enabled, will allow me to continue re-arranging the “furniture”.  What if we could make circles, rows, and groups, out of those little windows, in an attempt to create that classroom vibe?   

It’s not a distraction, my need to re-arrange, it’s an acknowledgement that my physical space creates my vibe.  When there is thoughtful order and structure on the outside, only then can I maintain my inner vibe, the one that allows me to show up, speak truth, create community, and be present every day with my kids.

OUTRO:

I became fascinated by Ruby Bridges after writing from a photo of her in Jovan’s workshop (see "Bridge" above).  Afterwards, I learned that her mother actually went to school with her on that first day, and didn't let her go alone, as I had imagined it. They sat in the office for the whole day, watching all the other parents come in to take their children out of the school.  Ruby prayed for the protestors every day on her way to school, asking God to forgive them “for they know not what they do”.  She wasn’t angry at the other kids not playing with her, because she understood that it was their parents who made them do it, and if her parents had told her not to do something, she wouldn’t have either.  

Ruby experienced little trauma from her experiences, according to Robert Coles (a White psychologist who offered to help her pro bono).  Instead, Robert Coles learned from Ruby, about conviction and courage, grounded in faith.  

our daily rumi

The beneficent and marvelous Kat Tudor came over to my house today for a private yoga lesson. How this came about, and what happened during our first session, is another one of those serendipitious occurrences that make me sometimes believe the universe is not chaotic, but rather ordered and purposeful.

First, I participated in a human chanting Yogic Spiral with Kat, and then interviewed her for Colorado Culture Cast. Must see!

A few days later, a friend sent me a magazine article about the benefits of a private yoga instructor to help heal from breast cancer.

Later that night, in a pile of scattered papers, I found a postcard of Kat's that l had picked up at the Spiral event. It said she was now offering private yoga lessons. Hmmmmmm.........

The area under the right armpit where I had 11 lymph nodes removed is still painful. Whenever I reach for something with my right hand, everything stretches and pulls uncomfortably. My first round of chemo made me feel sick beyond belief for several days. My spirit was temporarily crushed. I knew I needed to do something for both my body and my soul.

I found it today.

After I was relaxed and breathing and had done this amazing opening the heart pose that made me feel both vulnerable and powerful, Kat asked me for my birthday. I told her. She picked up this book, opened to a page, paused a moment, and then said, "Oh, this one. I guess I'll just have to read it then."

January 11
Backpain

Muhammad went to visit a sick friend.
Such kindness brings more kindness,
and there is no knowing the proliferation from there.

The man was about to die.
Muhammad put his face close and kissed him.

His friend began to revive.
Muhammad's visit re-created him.
He began to feel grateful for an illness
that brought such light.

And also for the backpain
that wakes him in the night.

No need to snore away like a buffalo
when this wonder is walking the world.

There are values in pain that are difficult
to see without the presence of a guest.

Don't complain about autumn.
Walk with grief like a good friend.
Listen to what he says.

Sometimes the cold and dark of a cave
give the opening we most want.

-Rumi

It was just so wickedly eerie and I shed tears of amazement and I think we were both just blown away by the power and perfection of it. I think I have a new favorite poet. Say goodbye to Our Daily Rilke.

i know i'm not alone......

because serendipity tells me so.

It all started about two weeks ago, when I heard an old Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy song on our local public radio station. I loved them, back in the day. Their one and only album still gets some play on my now old-fashioned CD player. Jamming out to "Television" on KRCC made me wonder what they were up to now.

Then a few days later, I read a post on the Newspeak blog about hip hop, and decided to ask about the Heroes I once loved. A kind blogger told me that Michael Franti (half of the Heroes) had gone on to form a band called Spearhead. Being fairly modern-musically illiterate, I had never heard of this band. The name stuck in my mind however. (No pun intended. Really)

Fast forward to yesterday. While driving home from a conference where I learned nothing new about teaching, but remembered a bunch of stuff I had forgotten, I turned on the radio and there it was..... an indescribable music that caused me to have a near religious experience right there in my car. Turns out it was, you guessed it, Spearhead. They were playing live on E-town. I waited through all the annoying chit-chat of the host with Michael Franti, to get to the next song. It was this one. By the time it was over, I was soaring with the people in the crowd.



Later that night, I'm googling and youtubing and itunesing Michael Franti and Spearhead, and John says, "Oh yeah, JJ was telling me all about them when I picked the boys up on Friday. He said something about them playing here pretty soon."

I looked it up immediately. Mancos. Fucking Mancos, Colorado! Small town middle of shale Mancos! A six-hour drive from here! And on a Wednesday night!

But it's outdoors. All ages. Free for kids under 12. I wanna pack up the kids and road trip it out to nowhere to see a band I've only just learned about. I just might do it. Anyone wanna go with? Believe it or not, I actually KNOW people in Mancos who I'm sure would put us up for the night.

I've been listening to a lot of music over the past few years that isn't exactly what you would call pick me up and dance me around music. It's more like punch me in the heart and make me melancholy music . I love that stuff, I really do. But sometimes........ it's nice to remember that it's ok to want to be happy.

It seems I have a new Hero. Or at least a resurrected one.

mar adentro

The Sea Inside. Where was I in 2005?  How the hell did I miss this?



Just put it at the top of your queue.  Trust me. And don't forget the tissues.

Ramon Sampedro: "Only time and the evolution of conscience will decide one day if my request was reasonable or not."

Let us hope, someday soon, that the courts of law and the hearts of men decide that it was.

My mother also had some words to say about death with dignity.

a nickel and dime

Expose Yourshelf now has 15 posts! What is most interesting to me, and what I never anticipated, is that it has become as much about the process as the product. Meeting new friends, friends of friends, and strangers.... all this has been incredibly rewarding in a personal, relational kind of way that I hadn't expected. I also know that the simple act of taking the photos has been meaningful to many of you in some way, and that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Thanks to everyone who has participated in my project so far. And if you haven't sent me your bookshelf pic, please do. Here are the rules.

the story of stuff

This story came to me from three different directions within as many days, so I figured it was a sign. It has a message without being preachy. It's funny and serious simultaneously. What it is, really, is brilliant. Accessible to all.

Anyway.... here is The Story of Stuff.

You may think you have nothing left to learn about how we extract, produce, distribute, consume, and dispose in this country, but watch it anyway. It's 20 minutes well-spent. I promise.

rip mrs l'engle

without a period
as you wanted it
no end for you
only endless tesseracts now
thank you
grade 6
here I sit
this same cover in my hands
my father's black leather ethan allen recliner
and the living room
dissolving into another world
other worlds

"If I have something that is too difficult for adults to swallow, then I will write it in a book for children."
-Madeleine L'Engle, Nov. 29, 1918-Sept. 6, 2007

this mortal coil

It's still rather magical to me how the internet can take me from here to here to here and then instantly, transcendently, bam! To 1987, age 20 (half my lifetime ago), wandering through campus in the drizzle and the dark at 2 am with It'll End in Tears by This Mortal Coil in my Walkman, mourning (to put it mildly) my lost love up on the 9th floor of Tingelstad Hall. Ironically, this music helped me keep my sanity during one of the lowest, most self-absorbed times of my life. The raw power of music in youth. The exponential power of the world wide web. Here's to the future: Gary (my lost love and now my found friend) and his wife Allison are expecting twins!


lyrics to "Song to the Siren" by This Mortal Coil

On the floating, shapeless oceans
I did all my best to smile
til your singing eyes and fingers
drew me loving into your eyes.

And you sang "Sail to me, sail to me;
Let me enfold you."

Here I am, here I am waiting to hold you.
Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you here when I was full sail?

Now my foolish boat is leaning, broken love lost on your rocks.
For you sang, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow."
Oh my heart, oh my heart shies from the sorrow.
I'm as puzzled as a newborn child.
I'm as riddled as the tide.
Should I stand amid the breakers?
Or shall I lie with death my bride?

Hear me sing: "Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you."
"Here I am. Here I am, waiting to hold you."

fear of phobias

There are so many things to be afraid of!

It's a good thing I don't suffer from triskaidekaphobia or else today, Friday the 13th, would have been a really, really, really bad day....
a. I flew on a plane from Cleveland (cool city, by the way) to Denver.
b. The hostess seated us at this table for lunch

c. Guess what number was blinking red on our answering machine when we got home?
d. It's my mother-in-law's 81st birthday.

And then I got to wondering if there was a fear of phobias (which there is-phobophobia, not to be confused with hobophobia, which is, of course, a fear of hobos!), and that led me to THIS!!

I think I may have truly suffered from scelerophobia as a young girl....