Wounds Always Speak Too Loud

"Citizen," Broken Bells

Today I had a bad day. I was having just a mediocre day until my fifth period class managed to throw every possible wrench and negative comment into what should have otherwise been an enjoyable and funny creative writing exercise. While I love them, my fifth period class is comprised of five girls and (yes, I promise this is true) 27 boys. Of which, approximately 25 are stereotypical "skater boys." Who are sweet. And kind. But also immature. And apathetic. And inappropriate. And stoned distracted and detached after lunch.

Sample conversations from today's class:

Isabelle [after reading the daily schedule]: We have a test today?!
Me: No, don't worry. It's not for points. I'll explain later. But please don't freak out.
Cody: You didn't tell us we had a test today! That's totally unfair.
Me: I know I didn't tell you. Did you hear me just tell Isa-
Eddie: Wait, we have a test today!?
Me: No...you guys, just listen. I promise I'll explain when we get there. It's nothing to worry about, it's meant to help you study for the final. You have my word, it can't hurt your grade. But right now it's time for the creative writing journal. So you need to take out a piece of-
Ty: What are we doing today? [Looks to daily schedule] Wait! We have a test today? It wasn't on schoolloop.
Me: I don't understand. Am I not being clear? You are going to take a test on-
Zach: THERE'S A TEST TODAY?!?!

*          *          *          *

Me [extremely irritated]: It saddens me that this class seems to be having trouble understanding how having fun with creative writing and being mature can go together. It looks like you can't handle the freedom that comes along with this unit, and I guess we need to end the year with some in-class essays. That is, unless whoever anonymously wrote "A 52-year-old rapist, who is a member of the Taliban" as a potential fictional character for one of the group stories can admit it to me after class.

(five minutes later)

Student: Yeah...I'll take the blame.
Me: Well that's pretty unclear. Are you saying you wrote it, or that you'll just take the blame for it?
Student: Uh, I wrote it.
Me: Why? I mean, what about this seemed appropriate to you?
Student: Uh, I don't know.
Me: Really? Do you really not know?
Student: No, yeah, uh, you're right.
Me: Look, I know you think this is funny, and your buddies got a laugh out of it. I don't care. It's still completely inappropriate, disrespectful, and in poor taste. And also, so immature.
Student: ...

(Sidenote: In retrospect, this is probably where I should have stopped with the reprimanding).

Me: So, basically, I guess I'm just pretty nervous that you're about to be a senior. I mean...I'm shocked that a seventeen-year-old would write something as childish as this. A "52-year-old rapist? In the Taliban?" Really?
Student: Yeah...I know...
Me: You're a smart kid. I mean, this is stupid. But you're a smart kid. I expected more. And you're going to be a senior. Come on.
Student: Yeah...it was stupid...
Me: So what do you have to say?
Student: I'm sorry?
Me: Is that a question?
Student: No. I'm sorry.
Me: And it's not going to happen again?
Student: Right.
Me: Goodbye.

According to the Broken Bells, "the high road is hard to find." That's for damn sure. I like to think I take it most of the time. But today, while giving my fifth period kids a guilt trip about their inability to focus, and then audibly informing my co-teacher they were the only class who couldn't handle the assignment, I'm pretty sure I was slumming my way down the low road. Perhaps with extra grenades of bitterness, contempt, and exhaustion.

The remedy? Fish tacos and Bud Light Lime. Pleasure reading before bed. And, of course, some of Emerson's wisdom to shake me into a better tomorrow:

Finish each day and be done with it.  

You have done what you could; 

some blunders and absurdities have crept in; 

forget them as soon as you can.  

Tomorrow is a new day; 

you shall begin it serenely, and with too high a spirit 

to be encumbered with your old nonsense.  

Empty Drawers of Other Summers

"Hard Candy," Counting Crows

Alice Walker said: "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.... People think pleasing God is all God cares about.  But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back" (The Color Purple, 1982).  

It's so true. Lately, perhaps because it's the end of the school year, I'm SICK of grading papers, and telling kids to stop talking, and I'm yearning more than ever for sun/surf/sand/beach/pleasure reads/summer. Instead, I find myself too easily complaining about a class or whining about lesson plans. I'm avoiding, ignoring, rushing, overlooking. Certainly, there are moments days where I'm completing failing to notice the (metaphorical) purple flowers. In a field. Somewhere.

Wednesday, I took a step back. To re-assess, to remember, and to reconvene my thoughts and the various parts of my life. I didn't go to school. Instead, we went up to Laguna, where Tim and Chris dove, and I kayaked and read. We spent the afternoon in the July-esque summer sun, lazing on the beach between bouts in the ocean. Serene and necessary, it was the perfect introduction into what I believe will be yet another California summer-to-remember...

However, if I was granted three wishes, I would never wish for a year-round, work-free summer. I thoroughly and passionately love my work, and I'm proud of the things I do in the classroom. The exhaustion and weariness and frustration and bewilderment are feelings I would wish for in any profession...without them, I believe it's impossible to find and nurture compassion, exhilaration, pride, and fulfillment.

That being said (and as much as I will, as always, inevitably miss my kids and my classroom and the in-depth discussions about quality literature during July and August), I am all too aware of my current eagerness for summer. The warm Carlsbad air and the smooth right breaks at Terramar are beautiful yet taunting reminders of the days that lie mere weeks away. I am painstakingly ready for Operation Summer: 2010. Mid-afternoon ocean swims. A thin layer of sand covering the living room carpet and couch. Sunburned shoulders and sore paddling arms. The front door yawning open at 1:00 PM on a Tuesday; inviting bright sunshine and entertaining the blissful sounds of Van Morrison. Ceviche made with freshly-caught halibut. Law and Order re-runs in the late afternoon. And the list goes on...

But for now, it's still May. State testing might be over, but we're still in the thick of Julius Caesar...(he only just died, after all-- my kids have yet to experience the real wrath of Mark Antony). Research papers have barely begun, and the 11th grade creative writing unit is around the corner. The successes and pitfalls of prom haven't occurred, and the yearbooks are still at the print shop. The summer weather might be emerging, but it's not quite time to spend weekdays at the beach...instead, it's time to dig in my heels and grade the Gatsby essays. To polish thesis statements and re-teach the Works Cited page. To make a kid switch his controverial research topic, since "legalizing marijuana for medical purposes" is no longer appropriate after he was busted for possession of drug paraphernalia last week. It's time to lose my words when a former student comes in at lunch to proclaim he read East of Eden because "you said it was good, so I trusted that." To laugh out loud at the variety of classroom bonding inside jokes that exist within the walls of my room. To award second period with donuts, because Wednesday's sub said he would "make a copy of this class to teach all day long" if he could. To remember these are the last weeks with these kids, ever. And when I remember that, suddenly four weeks seems like not enough time at all...

You must live in the present, 

launch yourself on every wave, 

find your eternity in each moment.

-Thoreau

Remember When the Days Were Long

"...and rolled beneath the deep blue sky..."
"End of the Innocence," Don Henley

My dad's horse ranch is located in Garner Valley, about 30 miles from Indio, and exists as a perfect sanctuary to escape from daily routines, alarm clocks, and to-go coffee. Currently (and a little ironically), it is horse-free, as my dad's three horses are residing temporarily in various ranches throughout Sacramento, being trained to cart, show, and the like. Thus, when we visit, for now it's up to us to put the dressage arena, round ring, and barn to good use.

There's something inherently unique in a ranch house. The broad expanses of land and trees, the smells of pine and dust, and the rich earth colors blend into the perfect refuge from Routine and Ordinary. Time lines don't exist, the fire's always burning, and the entire house is full of cedar and stone and comfort. I can't wait for my dad to retire there semi-full-time.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, 

to front only the essential facts of life, 

and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, 

and not, when I came to die, 

discover that I had not lived..."

-Thoreau, from Walden 

You and Me Sunday Driving

"Two of Us," The Beatles

There are 6,470,818,671 people in the world. 

Some are running scared. 

Some are coming home. 

Some tell lies to make it through the day, 

others are just now facing the truth. 

Some are evil men at war with good, 

and some are good struggling with evil. 

6 billion people in the world, 

6 billion souls, 

and sometimes, all you need

is one.

The Ocean is on Fire

"The War," Angels and Airwaves

Saturday, 2:30 PM

I'm sleeping. What do you want?

Oh, you want to go to the beach! Of course I want to go to the beach! I can practice my ferocious bark at all of the the other dogs-- you know, the ones about 5 times my size!

Yes, yes, this is what I remember. I love the sand. Love it.

Hmmm....nope. Don't like this stuff. Looks like a bath. Feels like a bath, too, only colder. Plus there's plants and little animals that dart around in here. Let's stick to the sand.

I'm sorry. Perhaps you didn't hear me. I said, let's go back to the sand. Right now. Excuse me. Look down here, please.
 

This is AWFUL. I HATE it. I was SLEEPING, remember?
 

You bastard.

 

Please help me. That awful man is making me swim. In the ocean. And it's cold. Why do you people not realize I'm a freakin' Bichon?! Most people who own this breed make us wear goddamn bows in our hair!

You've got to be kidding me. You are just as bad as said awful man.

Yeah, this thing is dead. You know why it's dead? Because somebody stuck it in this goddamn water!

Jump? As is, move from this dry rock back into that liquid hell? How stupid do you think I am? Stop pulling the leash. Seriously, I said STOP PULL-

 

Oh hell no.

 Take me home immediately. I hate the beach. I hate the ocean. I hate the sand. You people are going to hell.

Rise Above All Recession

"Stylo," Gorillaz

 Kill all my demons, and my angels might die too.

-Tennessee Williams

Generally speaking, I'm a glass-half-full person. The world is full of good things and I am lucky to have many of these good things in my life. I look under all the rocks in the tide pools and I greet my neighbors and I believe in the power of recycling.

Sometimes, however, life doesn't always deal the easiest, the fastest, or the best cards. Some days aren't always full of laughter or a mid-morning cup of extra coffee. Sometimes that kid is upset or we ran out of dog food or the gas light is on again or the power is out. Sometimes we'll bicker about why no one noticed the overdue AT&T bill. Sometimes my favorite show is unknowingly a re-run. Some days just won't stand out as the Best Ones. And, most likely, these days and moments will be filed away into a rather ambiguous and unmarked area of my memory, one I probably won't recall fondly, or even at all, in later years.

A few years ago, my bright-eyed and indomitable naive and over-dramatic self wouldn't have been okay with any of that. "Live life in the present! Find beauty in every moment! Make today better and more powerful than yesterday!" the shadow of my 23-year-old shell would shout, the irony-laden statements falling like broken glass.  Ironic, because I was hardly doing that myself at the time. I was too busy getting lost in APA format and credential classes while at the same time trying to be a first-year teacher myself. I was living in my classroom, drowning in gluesticks and Number the Stars posters. I was turning down Tim's La Jolla Cove kayaking offers and wondering if teaching would always be this time-consuming.

Today, I think I do a good job of appreciating what I have and cherishing the little things and genuinely enjoying the ride. With the exception of a time-machine to travel back a week and attend Coachella 2010 (while simultaneously still celebrating my best friend's birthday in San Francisco), I don't want for anything, and I really do know how lucky I am. However, I also think it's important to recognize and understand the value of the moments and days that just end up being Good Enough. They'll certainly be there. And not only are those days acceptable, they're necessary. Our days and months and years are full of peaks and valleys, and in order to appreciate and cherish the successes and excitements and "bests," we have to also endure and defeat the sad, unremarkable, and forgettable. Without them, it's impossible to truly know and treasure those days and moments that are nothing short of Perfect.

It's inevitable that, on some days, someone is bound to make you feel foolish and uncomfortable.

On some days, you might be just frustrated enough to lash out and misbehave even though you know it's wrong and you regret it afterwards.

On some days, the best part might simply be to find and curl up in the laundry, drawing comfort from warm and freshly-dried t-shirts.

 But perhaps the most important thing to remember is that, while life is full of risks, fears, and uncertainties, you just never know what big surprise might be waiting around the corner.

There is no need to say another word
It will be golden and eternal just like that
Something good will come of all things yet...

All the dark torturous memories
I do see my star still shining
All those years looking out of jail and ship windows
The irrational mortal loneliness is always crowned

These roads don't move;
you're the one that moves

-"These Roads Don't Move," Jay Farrar & Ben Gibbard

Leave a Mark that Can't Erase Neither Space Nor Time

"Young Forever," Jay-Z

A Psalm of Life

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the sould.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end of way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead past bury its dead!

Act,--act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints that, perhaps anaother,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still acheiving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

 *     *     *

(this life is more than just a read-through)

-can't stop, red hot chili peppers