Monday, March 27, 2006
Liver and Spleen
First year, I was a liver and a spleen. I was enlarged, enraged, retaliatory. I was sensitive and unpredictable—don’t do anything to anger Spleen, she could rupture. I attacked the rest of me, now my smaller self, and I scared my smaller self by pissing orange-yellow, shedding twenty pound in three weeks, stoking a raving fever for two of those weeks. I took over the body, it became mine, a sausage skin of silver fish and bone for me. I, the liver, the spleen, commanded as the largest organ. I spilled out my ears and mouth corners. I filled up my eyes till they bulged with me, hot expanding liver flesh. The doctors threw Tylenol, cranberry juice, apple sauce at me; I laughed in their faces. The new roommate dutifully visited me; she left before her organs could get any funny ideas. The boyfriend read to me. Herman Hesse. It calmed me some. It smoothed my deep, raging wrinkles, it eased the sausage skin, the throbbing spleen-berry inside. It quieted the sound of my own body blood rushing in my magnificent organ ears. I let him come, from time to time. And soon I did not notice how each passing day I grew smaller, less rageful, more thoughtful. Spleen has nearly disappeared she is so small now. I hear my body blood these days but it is like gentle rain drumming, like falling water, far, far away.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Snippets
I like cheese. I like it a lot. We’re talking many different varieties: gouda, swiss, gruyere, good old cheddar. And goat cheese! I love goat cheese. When you’ve got some, you find some pepper jelly as well, and wheat thins, and you layer the goat cheese on top of the wheat thin and then the pepper jelly on top of the goat cheese. Each bite is a little bit of sweet, sweet Death. And monterray jack with jalepenos in it? Ahhhh, you’ve got a perfect snack right there. Ritz crackers work best for this—just melt some slices of your “pepper jack” onto the Ritz crackers in the microwave and the cheese runs and then re-solidifies as soon as it hits the fresh air. I can pop eight, ten of those without a blink. Oh, and the snooty grandmother of all cheeses: brie. I usually just hack away at big old block of that armed with any old crackers I have around, but sometimes, sometimes, when it calls for a special occasion, a true masterpiece is required. A small wheel of brie works best for this but a big slice will work as well: put the brie in a small dish and cover the top with a jam or marmalade of your choice—raspberry seems to work particularly well. Then bake the brie until the cheese is gooey on the inside, and voila! This treat is decadent, messy, and best shared! And now I realize I’ve almost forgotten one particular stinky cheese, close to my heart: gorgonzola. Go ahead, say it again, nice and slow—gorgonzola. The letters lie thick and heavy, tasty on your tongue. And it’s the ‘z’ in ‘zola’ that makes it unique. It’s a versatile, hearty cheese. Put it in soups, sauces, salad dressings, on breads, crackers, melba toast! Cheese. I would enjoy it any time of day, on any occasion. It breaks the ice amongst your enemies and gathers round your closest friends. Cheese! Cheese!
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Friday, March 10, 2006
I find myself becoming more and more structured in my classroom - everything has a place and there is a procedure for every action. My goal as a teacher is that I can leave the room, I can not even show up, and the students know exactly what they're expected to do and they do it on schedule. I want the class to run itself smoothly and productively.
I was just in the office doing some paperwork - my kids were at lunch - when 4 of them come bounding in, in various forms of distress, and two were bleeding, one from the nose, the other from the lip. Now, I know that they're 1st graders, it's my second year of teaching, and they are emotionally disturbed, but is it too much to ask to follow the rules when I'm not around as well?
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I was just in the office doing some paperwork - my kids were at lunch - when 4 of them come bounding in, in various forms of distress, and two were bleeding, one from the nose, the other from the lip. Now, I know that they're 1st graders, it's my second year of teaching, and they are emotionally disturbed, but is it too much to ask to follow the rules when I'm not around as well?
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
I'm back!
Finally, after three weeks of being almost entirely out of touch with the world, I again have a cell phone. Same exact phone, same number. What was most surprising to me was how much I felt I really needed it. There were business calls I needed to make, but couldn't; calling family, school colleagues, and Caitie had to be put off. Thankfully, nothing overly dramatic happened that I wouldn't have been able to be reached - and of course, using online services like this blog and email helped. It just made me reflect though on what a recent phenomenon it is to have access to almost unlimited and instant communication around the world. How were wars fought, materials transported, correspondence sent when everything was truly snail mail? Fify times slower than the snail mail we have today. Being acclamated to this high-speed mode of information flow is both wonderful and terrible - when it is taken away.
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Friday, March 03, 2006
This Weekend
Anyone have anything interesting going on this weekend? I have a load of school work to get done, but there's plenty of time for hanging out in the city somewhere if someone's got something in mind...
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Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Community Disturbance
During a transition from lunch to the classroom, the two girls in my class got into a fight in the hallway while walking with another teacher. I interviewed both and found that there was another student involved, egging them on from the sidelines. In any case, I had to call all the parents and inform them of the circumstances before the kids did. This was the second time I had to contact the parent of the new girl in the class for behavior issues. When I told her that I called home about the fight she had gotten into, she broke down into crying and a fear came over her that was instinctual; through all the mumbling of the next 5 minutes all I really got was "I want my daddy". I immediately went to the counselor about the behavior, both of us acknowledging the possibility of abuse.
We, as a society, look at these kids and label them 'emotionally disturbed', place them into a special education environment significantly separate from general education, and spend our work lives trying to modify their behavior. They might be six years old, but somehow we place the burden of change on their shoulders. I've no idea how to go about doing, but somehow parental education needs to be taking place in these communities. If that burden lies on the shoulders of public educators, I'm afraid that a cycle of disturbance will continue indefinitely. But if I were six years old and had lived in six different foster households or was afraid to go home to mom because she's gonna beat the shit out of me cause teacher called, I sure as hell would be "emotionally disturbed" too.
We, as a society, look at these kids and label them 'emotionally disturbed', place them into a special education environment significantly separate from general education, and spend our work lives trying to modify their behavior. They might be six years old, but somehow we place the burden of change on their shoulders. I've no idea how to go about doing, but somehow parental education needs to be taking place in these communities. If that burden lies on the shoulders of public educators, I'm afraid that a cycle of disturbance will continue indefinitely. But if I were six years old and had lived in six different foster households or was afraid to go home to mom because she's gonna beat the shit out of me cause teacher called, I sure as hell would be "emotionally disturbed" too.
