old enough
to know better
than
to pay attention
to anyone
who says
i should have known
better
old enough
to dance with the ghosts
who might have slain me
in another life
before
i was
old enough to know
better
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Keynotes & little gems
Just back from a teaching and learning conference in beautiful Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Tis the time of year known as conference season in my line of work.... I've been to four in the past six weeks... love going and love learning and love getting home.
... teaching and learning are two obsessions close to my heart, and this particular conference had some wonderful key note speakers, one of whom was Buffy St. Marie, still feisty and smart and gorgeous and going strong at 60 plus... here are two little gems from her:
Bitterness ... treat it like shit; let it dry out and use it for fuel... don't use it when it's wet, and don't use it as make-up, ever.
Lots of people in power want you to believe that what you want isn't on the menu... don't believe it. Cook it up yourself and serve it ...
and a couple of other gems from the other keynote speaker on too much content ( ie, what happens to learners when teachers at any level try to cram too much material into the time available)-- students drinking water from a fire hose and trying not to drown ( great metaphor, I thought...)
AND the way to prevent this tragedy?? TEACH LESS BETTER.
and now that conference-ing is done, I will happily devote more time to being on my ( and others' ) blogs.
Happy Solstice ( albeit, belated) to everyone.
... teaching and learning are two obsessions close to my heart, and this particular conference had some wonderful key note speakers, one of whom was Buffy St. Marie, still feisty and smart and gorgeous and going strong at 60 plus... here are two little gems from her:
Bitterness ... treat it like shit; let it dry out and use it for fuel... don't use it when it's wet, and don't use it as make-up, ever.
Lots of people in power want you to believe that what you want isn't on the menu... don't believe it. Cook it up yourself and serve it ...
and a couple of other gems from the other keynote speaker on too much content ( ie, what happens to learners when teachers at any level try to cram too much material into the time available)-- students drinking water from a fire hose and trying not to drown ( great metaphor, I thought...)
AND the way to prevent this tragedy?? TEACH LESS BETTER.
and now that conference-ing is done, I will happily devote more time to being on my ( and others' ) blogs.
Happy Solstice ( albeit, belated) to everyone.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
How to get a raccoon out of your fireplace....
no, you don't start a fire in the hearth. sheesh!
typically, this wouldn't be something i'd be thinking about, but raccoons have been a bit of a theme in the past few months and years... when my son was living nearby, he had a little fella (ok, a big fella) inhabiting his upper eaves. i'd drop by and if it was twilight or later, i'd see his (the raccoon's ) little eyes peering down at me from a hole in the eave, just over the door frame. in the summer of '08, i was at a lovely retreat at a converted church camp in paris, ontario, and happened to see a family of raccoons, a mother and four babies... such cute little fuzzy bums following the mother as they all ambled off up the hill. i'd go out to the same spot for the four days i was there so i could see them walking away from me.
recently one of my colleagues had a raccoon in her house and she was totally grossed out by it.... she had to leave and stay with friends until her landlord got it out of the house.... she could not even be in the same house! clearly, she does not think they are cute and fuzzy.
and then there was my ASL instructor ( i believe i mentioned in an earlier post that i was learning ASL... still at it.... loving it.... but i digress) who had one living in his fireplace. my instructor is profoundly deaf, so the solution he discovered is not without irony (and really, why else would i be writing this post if not for the irony?), and he found it through google (no less!) so it has at least the qualification of others trying it and being successful. he did not want to start a fire either, so here's what he did: he put a boom box/cd -dvd player next to the fireplace and put on music and turned it up as high as it could go .... apparently he had to leave the screeching loud noise going for a time, until the uninvited guests got tired of all that racket and left, but what the heck, he couldn't hear a thing.
supposedly, the tolerance for noise is the downside of this solution. but only if you can hear it.
there ya go!!
you're welcome.
typically, this wouldn't be something i'd be thinking about, but raccoons have been a bit of a theme in the past few months and years... when my son was living nearby, he had a little fella (ok, a big fella) inhabiting his upper eaves. i'd drop by and if it was twilight or later, i'd see his (the raccoon's ) little eyes peering down at me from a hole in the eave, just over the door frame. in the summer of '08, i was at a lovely retreat at a converted church camp in paris, ontario, and happened to see a family of raccoons, a mother and four babies... such cute little fuzzy bums following the mother as they all ambled off up the hill. i'd go out to the same spot for the four days i was there so i could see them walking away from me.
recently one of my colleagues had a raccoon in her house and she was totally grossed out by it.... she had to leave and stay with friends until her landlord got it out of the house.... she could not even be in the same house! clearly, she does not think they are cute and fuzzy.
and then there was my ASL instructor ( i believe i mentioned in an earlier post that i was learning ASL... still at it.... loving it.... but i digress) who had one living in his fireplace. my instructor is profoundly deaf, so the solution he discovered is not without irony (and really, why else would i be writing this post if not for the irony?), and he found it through google (no less!) so it has at least the qualification of others trying it and being successful. he did not want to start a fire either, so here's what he did: he put a boom box/cd -dvd player next to the fireplace and put on music and turned it up as high as it could go .... apparently he had to leave the screeching loud noise going for a time, until the uninvited guests got tired of all that racket and left, but what the heck, he couldn't hear a thing.
supposedly, the tolerance for noise is the downside of this solution. but only if you can hear it.
there ya go!!
you're welcome.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Either way...
being
thought about
moments of tenderness
luminous
in
sweet
unbidden
everydayness
being
thought about
moments of everydayness
luminous
in
sweet
unbidden
tenderness
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Transition...
Spring is here, the grass is riz, I wonder where the thoughtfulness is
It used to show its open arms and nurture difference, free from harm
And now I hear a warning hiss
Foretelling creeping Animal Farm
Not strange the changes stalemate makes
I’m stumbling over ladders and snakes
Especially with so much at stake
But what the hell, folks, them’s the breaks
I wonder if I need the night
To train discernment without light
Or if I need a light at all
To feel my way along this wall
Perhaps it’s light that plays me false
I need to lean into the fall
And when I reach and seek a pulse
I hope to recognize its call
Before its decency has faded
Before I get too mean and jaded
Spring is here and summer’s soon
Civility is free, a boon
And thoughtfulness, a twilight sigh,
Awaits, just nigh
Where also lurks a snarling, feral
And I ignore these at my peril
Sunday, May 15, 2011
... one week ago...
you leaned across the table
in that way that beckons
my own leaning in
unhurried
i meet your soft gaze
in a moment
so vast
it goes unnoticed by those around us
so fast
as to be completely still
you say to me
happy mother's day
knowing
moments like these
mean everything to me
Friday, May 6, 2011
the tunnel and the light... I think ( for now...)
These past couple of weeks following my father's death have been reflective and exhausting. Reflective because I feel compelled to dwell with thoughts and feelings and not rush anything. It feels like it is important to be present for what is.
Exhausting because the day after I arrived back in my home province, I had to get my body ready for two abso(f*#@ing)lutely deeeeelightful medical procedures that would happen the next day. I know I am not alone in this prep for medical procedures, but shitting for an entire day is NOT a fun way to spend a day. Not to mention that there was no way to get any of the backlog of work done .... perhaps I could have moved a lap-desk into the bathroom. Um, no. Then two reasonably uncomfortable days following the procedures where the fermenting pile of backlogged material keeps getting higher and higher ( that's a pile of paper... the work backlog... not another kind of backlog). Finally got the pile down to manageable proportions and then got through the next phase of a new fermenting pile of material.... don't get me wrong, I love my job; working in the education field is a privilege... however, there are certain times of the year when the work feels endless and thankless.
OK, got through that endless thankless phase.... now, today, partner and I fly to Washington, DC for a conference ( oh, yeah.... that was the other thing, getting the writing ready for this conference... but it's all good). As a Canadian, living quite near the U.S. border I have been somewhat baffled by the various stages of alertness that my neighbour to south has been experiencing lo these past few years. As a Newfoundlander, I wonder who is benefiting from such a thoughtfully crafted scam. Today, as a traveller in a U.S. airport, I am realizing I would rather be going to any city .... except Washington, DC.
And, I hate, hate, hate flying. I was still a practicing alcoholic when I first began air travel, and was blissfully unaware of, well, pretty much everything, really, but especially the sounds, turbulence, shifts in speed, take offs and landings... ok, all of it. My first flight sober was horrific. I was nervous as a cat, ready to jump out of my skin at every nuance .... as they say about living sober: son of a bitch, everything's real.
Anyway, back to today's flying adventure. It was a " hop" (hah, I love the casual treatment of that word; a hop, you say) from Buffalo to Washington DC, so the plane was small. Small. I am no great height (barely 5'4") and I banged my head into the ceiling numerous times as I fidgeted and organized myself into a semblance of obedient seatedness. And again on my way to the bathroom. And on this, the bathroom... here 's a body cue to help you turn around: raise your arms over your head and shimmy around in a small circle before you sit; also, do a good shoulder warm- up before you head back there so that you don't have to be contortionist in order to finish up the paper work when you're done with the.... other business. I return to my seat and Partner consoles me; be grateful that you don't have to stand up and aim, he says.
I am grateful; I now have a visual to take my mind off the wind gusts that rocked the plane on the approach to Reagan International. Obviously, we landed and I once again evaded the jaws of death. Fear is what it is; there's nothing rational about it. And for that, I am also grateful.
One more thing, while I am practicing my gratitude.... I am grateful for the opportunities blogging gives me to write, to read others' writing, to enjoy funny, thoughtful, irreverent, poignant and tender writing and comments from people who feel moved to express and encourage. I find this community of writers to be patient and supportive, and am impressed in ongoing ways with the acts of bravery, kindness, creativity and humanity that I have the privilege to encounter. I know that writing and reading have inevitable ebb and flow and that life's unfolding does not happen on a schedule. That said, when the ocean finds its way back to calm, it's nice to have a harbour waiting for the boat.
Namaste.
Exhausting because the day after I arrived back in my home province, I had to get my body ready for two abso(f*#@ing)lutely deeeeelightful medical procedures that would happen the next day. I know I am not alone in this prep for medical procedures, but shitting for an entire day is NOT a fun way to spend a day. Not to mention that there was no way to get any of the backlog of work done .... perhaps I could have moved a lap-desk into the bathroom. Um, no. Then two reasonably uncomfortable days following the procedures where the fermenting pile of backlogged material keeps getting higher and higher ( that's a pile of paper... the work backlog... not another kind of backlog). Finally got the pile down to manageable proportions and then got through the next phase of a new fermenting pile of material.... don't get me wrong, I love my job; working in the education field is a privilege... however, there are certain times of the year when the work feels endless and thankless.
OK, got through that endless thankless phase.... now, today, partner and I fly to Washington, DC for a conference ( oh, yeah.... that was the other thing, getting the writing ready for this conference... but it's all good). As a Canadian, living quite near the U.S. border I have been somewhat baffled by the various stages of alertness that my neighbour to south has been experiencing lo these past few years. As a Newfoundlander, I wonder who is benefiting from such a thoughtfully crafted scam. Today, as a traveller in a U.S. airport, I am realizing I would rather be going to any city .... except Washington, DC.
And, I hate, hate, hate flying. I was still a practicing alcoholic when I first began air travel, and was blissfully unaware of, well, pretty much everything, really, but especially the sounds, turbulence, shifts in speed, take offs and landings... ok, all of it. My first flight sober was horrific. I was nervous as a cat, ready to jump out of my skin at every nuance .... as they say about living sober: son of a bitch, everything's real.
Anyway, back to today's flying adventure. It was a " hop" (hah, I love the casual treatment of that word; a hop, you say) from Buffalo to Washington DC, so the plane was small. Small. I am no great height (barely 5'4") and I banged my head into the ceiling numerous times as I fidgeted and organized myself into a semblance of obedient seatedness. And again on my way to the bathroom. And on this, the bathroom... here 's a body cue to help you turn around: raise your arms over your head and shimmy around in a small circle before you sit; also, do a good shoulder warm- up before you head back there so that you don't have to be contortionist in order to finish up the paper work when you're done with the.... other business. I return to my seat and Partner consoles me; be grateful that you don't have to stand up and aim, he says.
I am grateful; I now have a visual to take my mind off the wind gusts that rocked the plane on the approach to Reagan International. Obviously, we landed and I once again evaded the jaws of death. Fear is what it is; there's nothing rational about it. And for that, I am also grateful.
One more thing, while I am practicing my gratitude.... I am grateful for the opportunities blogging gives me to write, to read others' writing, to enjoy funny, thoughtful, irreverent, poignant and tender writing and comments from people who feel moved to express and encourage. I find this community of writers to be patient and supportive, and am impressed in ongoing ways with the acts of bravery, kindness, creativity and humanity that I have the privilege to encounter. I know that writing and reading have inevitable ebb and flow and that life's unfolding does not happen on a schedule. That said, when the ocean finds its way back to calm, it's nice to have a harbour waiting for the boat.
Namaste.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)