bastard story no. 2

Listening to: the not-half-bad piano jazz here at the coffeeshop
Thinking about: how the results of this facial I got today are going to look in the morning.
Excited about: the prospect that Bo may indeed be crowned our new American Idol (!)...and that God is good (random, but true).


I don't know if you've had the privilege of hearing the 'bastard story' yet. I have shared this story with very few people, with fear that any more find out and that I will be fired. I WAS going to begin by asking, "How come the most insane things always happen in my classroom on a daily basis?" Statements like those listed below fly out of kids' mouths every day in room 203:

1. "I'm a puberty fanatic!"
2. "Will got his period today."
3. "When am I going to get man-breasts?"
4. "What, you don't know what a hermaphrodite is?"

No! I don't teach health, sex ed, biology, or anatomy. I teach English. I join you in wondering just where these comments find a home in a class that should focus on communication and expression through the study of literature and writing. Then again, I teach middle school, a prime location for any and all topics related to puberty.

The bastard story, in short, goes a little something like this: we were reading "Number the Stars" by Lois Lowry; Tiffany was reading aloud; instead of ending the sentence the way it appeared on the page...'silly,' she added '..silly....silly bastard." What, do mine own ear deceive me? Stunned, I asked her to repeat herself and she did, displaying fully her naivete while the whole class roars and cheers with, "you don't know what a bastard is/it's a cuss word/hey, i'll look it up in the dictionary, miss frazer/my mom says I'm a bastard" and so it goes. Pandemonium had taken his strike and down we went.

Well....today....the kids are out of control anyway now that tests are finished and we're 'killing time' until June 10. I took a break from showing movies with this same class and we read some stories and had a family meeting instead. I began reading a Poe favorite, "The Cask of Amontillado" to them, when halfway through I was thinking that the vocabulary would be too difficult for them to understand, no matter how much I used my voice and face to connotate the mood and meaning of the text. I rambled on regardless, seeing a few faces that were still enthralled with the tale.

I get to the part where the narrator tells Fortunato to run his hand across the damp wall of the catacombs and decides to leave Fortunato behind..still forging on with voices and character...too involved in the energy of the reading to skip up ahead...and this is what it reads:

"...."The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.....""

WHAT!?!?
Did I really just read that word in front of people? In front of my eleven-year old students? In front of these boys!?!??! And worse, in front of my girls!?!??!?!?!?!

Are you kidding me? Have I really lost my mind??!!!! What a bloody nightmare. The bastard story was innocent and funny to repeat to a select few, but this is just embarassing!

So yes. At the root of this situation lies incredible humor. Events of this nature are becoming commonplace and I won't ever complain about it.

intermission

Listening to: the ac blowing air around, as it's supposed to
Thinking about: going back to sleep
Excited about: learning new songs on my git-tar

I had a terrible dream around 3:30 this morning, so frightening that I actually called my parents and woke up my father to make sure they were ok. I turned on all of the lights in the apartment and played my little guitar for a while (much quieter in the wee hours than Leroy can be). And then I wrote. And then I read. And then I decided that I should have waited to go to bed for longer than I did after that yummy sweet bourbon salmon from Lonestar. And then I decided that all of the laughing with my crazy friend Dee Jay probably didn't help me while I was eating, ab-aching laughter and all: alas, the root of my ill slumber. And then I thought to myself, self, you really should be working on some poetry to send out in the packages right now and might as well clear off the desk while you're up at 4 a.m. That didn't seem as appealing as catching up on the writings of various friends and then looking at E! online for the first time ever and engrossing myself in archives of the Fashion Police, which has brought me back to a level of sleepiness--


In the intermission between sleep and rest, here's something fun for you to try:
(and this amuses me. apparently, I would've had more Yankee if it weren't for one word: y'all...the shame, the shame...this is what living in the South for 10.5 non-consecutive years will do to you...or your accent).

Your Linguistic Profile:

50% General American English

30% Dixie

20% Yankee

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

the (inspiring) avett brothers

After a grueling week of state testing and rowdy kids, there's nothing like chilling out at your favorite coffeeshop to hear one of your favorite bands perform live.

When you see The Avett Brothers perform, however, there really isn't much 'chilling' involved in the 'chilling out.' They completely suck you in to their Avett Brothers world, and you're perfectly content to abide there until the lights go out.

This was the second Richmond show since January by the three handsome brothers from North Carolina, and these guys totally delivered. If you can imagine the lovechild of The White Stripes, Ben Folds, Nickel Creek, and Patsy Cline, then you might be slightly on your way to a vision of what this group is all about--but they're their own genre-defying brand of ear candy. The harmonies, drastic changes between screaming punk loudness and quiet lullabyed hushes, the insttrumental prowess plus a wicked sense of humor combine to produce a sound that only these boys can make.

I was experiencing this unfamiliar musical/creative dry spell in late autumn/earlyi winter, and never thought I'd get out of it: I wasn't singing, playing piano, or even singing along with En Vogue on "flashback fridays' on the morning commute. What was wrong with me? I'm still not really sure. But I am Definitely Sure of this: it was that January Avett show that pulled me out of the musical darkness and into the light of grooving again. Like tonight, I was superglued to every song, stompin' feet and tappin' toes--

Upon wisdom once granted to me from the beautiful poet Naomi Shihab Nye at a reading last year, I emailed Scott Avett shortly after their first concert to say thanks for the inspiration (in so many words, not half as nerdy as that). He replied promptly, and I was able to meet him tonight and chat with him after the show, pretty much reiterating the sentiments I first shared in that long-ago email.

True art is expression and communication and ideally inspires. The band continues to be a spark for my imagination and a blessing to me; they rescued me from the lack of music in my life! And if you know anything about me, you know that there is always music in my life.

So I love The Avett Brothers.
And their Carolina accents. Ow ow!
Most of all, I love their humorous, loving, geniune genius.

Check them out!


http://www.theavettbrothers.com/

p.s. to musings

On a more positive note, without musings or literary anything...

1. An 11-year-old today proclaimed that "North Dakota is a myth. So are the SATs." I now believe this child is a genius.
2. With the help of some kids, I discovered a new talent of imitating lawn mower and motorcycle sounds very well.
3. Despite some love buried inside of me for tennis and the fact that I live a few hundred feet from some tennis courts, I haven't played since I moved into this apartment.
4. I really miss doing belly dancing on a more regular basis.
5. Bo Bice is going to be the next American Idol and I can't wait until his CD comes out, or in the words of Leigh Ann, hubba hubba.

musings on a may evenin'

Listening to: a car pass by that almost sounds like howling March winds of the Blue Ridge Mts.

I thought a lot today about how for the first time in a few years, I probably won't be unlocking the door to my own classroom this fall.

What a strange idea.

There was a time that I dreamed of teaching. There was a time that I was too afraid to get up in front of people and speak.
There was a time that I believed no school was ever going to hire me. There was a time that on the day before I started my first job, upon seeing all the many teenagers outside of William Fleming, I thought there was no way I could do this and went to Hardee's to kill time until the kids were safe and sound in class.

So now I'm waxing sentimental for a bit and almost allowing that emotion to cause me doubt, such as this: sometimes I wonder if we screw up God's plans for us. You could debate theology all the livelong night about this one, but still, it is something I wonder from time to time.

I'm sitting in the dining room well past bedtime and thinking about how I used to stay up late into the night planning lessons and trying to figure out what I was going to do for tomorrow's class. It used to excite me so much! Teaching used to be much more challenging for me. Somehow, between the parent emails, standardized tests, and school politics, I've lost a bit of that gusto that defined me and my classroom. Maybe it was the poor high school where I used to teach; maybe it was the kind of kid that was most likely to walk into my room--or walk out on any given whim on any given day, or maybe it was just the passion that accompanies your first year of something new...

...my guidance counselor was Wanda Gail, and Trina, our secretary--we were good friends of mine last year at Fleming. Together we would roll our eyes at the uptights, the rule-abiders, and the politicians of our school. Under the leadership of Coach George "Killa" Miller, we resigned ourselves and our hearts to doing the very best we could to relate to the kids, reach them, build rapports, and ultimately infect their education and lives with the knowing trust that someone did indeed give a damn about them. Trina signed a card for me last Christmas with the token yearbook-sounding words, "Don't change," except I knew she was meaning, and geniunely: "Dont' become one of 'them.' "

Have I?

A friend and colleague told me recently that she doesn't want to waste her energy anymore on becoming a disciplinarian. What wise words she spoke---so much of teaching middle school (or teaching in general, perhaps) is really crowd control, or "classroom management" as the ivory towers calls it...and I absolutely hate having to be mean with the kids/ask repeatedly for quiet during instructions/raise my voice/etc...I believe I both prayed more and drank more my very first month than maybe ever before in my life. I remember sitting at the Italian restaurant with the gaudy decor on my third day of teaching and telling my parents I couldn't do it anymore, forget the contract and the license, I wasn't going to go in there and have to be some mean, strict, unpleasant person everyday, that it would rob me of being me.

Has it?

Room 203 in Goochland Middle School is notorious for being the loud, crazy classroom--it always looks like nothing productive is going on, but there usually is a great deal of learning taking place, or at least I think so. I used to pride myself on connecting to the kids and developing creative lesson plans and instructing however I needed to--I even told another teacher that I couldn't share my methods because they weren't anything I was taught and after all, "you can't bottle the essence of me." Pride certainly took a toll on me for a bit.

But not for very long.
My fourth block students did terribly on their poetry terms test. I re-examined them today and saw little improvement. I told them they were going to take the test until they passed it......!??!?!? What??!??! I know in my heart it's that kind of attitude that makes kids hate poetry.....so why was I doing this? Have I become what I despise among educators of English?

Lord help me.


One of my sweetest, chunkiest-cheeked sixth-graders asked me if I had another sheet to study from, and I didn't have any extra at that time. The image of his defeated glance at the floor, waddling steps, and humbly spoken words of well-wishes for a nice afternoon is what has me awake and wondering. This child is in my heart, but I can't help but wonder if I have failed him. I should know better: the fact that he is even in my heart and on my mind tells me that I haven't.

not strangers anymore

listening to: Over the Rhine
thinking about: not a lot......such a nice feeling :)
excited about: art

A mere 10-minute drive north of here and you would never realize that Short Pump existed. Red barns, horses, and antique shops dot the landscape along a winding oak-treed road. I savored each second of the never-before-taken thirty-minute drive to one of my student's softball games this morning. I missed a turn on the way back home but didn't flinch--I knew where I was and another way to get back on track. What a startling thought--I've lived here long enough to know my way around lost directions. Once unfamiliar roads are home to landmarks I now recognize: the Verizon store, the park, the lone white church in the pretty field.

With less than three months of living left to do here in Richmond, it's odd to finally feel a slight sense of familiarity with these surroundings that I've emptily called home since August. I've done my best to make it feel like such: I continue to pursue new furniture arrangements to make the place "just so" and finally, finally, finally switched a few photos and paintings around today to perfect the apartment.

Well...I say I've done my best, but an honest reflection will prove differently. I began this part of my life thinking (in addition to other things) in the temporary---"the contract is over in June, the lease is up in July, and you can always go somewhere else if you don't like it here."

I am not in love with Richmond, and I don't think we'll ever be more than fair acquaintances, but at least we're not strangers anymore. And this is okay. Lesson for today: no matter how much exploration I may have conquerered in my local travels or how many times I lean a photo here or put the bookcase there, no place will ever truly feel like home until you treat it like it is.

God and friends

Listening to: Holly Williams--a few iTunes--sounds like sweet ole Tennessee to me
Thinking about: trying out for American Idol :) and covering this beautifully melancholy song called "Nothing More"
Excited about: that I actually did some SONGWRITING this past weekend--a rare occasion

Since living in Richmond, I've often felt like God has pulled me into a time of solititude and (hopefully) growth. I need to remind myself of this especially on the here and there days when I've been by myself for too long. On other occasions, I welcome this time of reflection and renewal and voluntarily cocoon myself and close friends start to wonder what's going on with me. It's unusual for them NOT to hear from me, since I'm the initial communicator and prime social coordinator in our group of friends (Richmond excluded).

True friendships astound me, especially the relationships that included prayer, worship, and/or true fellowship as their building blocks along the way. Friendships that are somehow spiritually unified are beautiful and one of the blessings in life for which I am most thankful. What amazes me further is the idea that there once was a time in life when these friends and I lived in the same place; now we are scattered around the earth (from Africa, Europe, and all over the U.S).

There are few day-brighteners better than a phone call from a good friend. My phone rang thrice today from such folks. It is with a wistful sort of bittersweetness that these phone calls finish: familiarity, laughter, and understanding naturally infuse the conversations; reminders of the passage of time and distance invade them.

I thank God for rescuing us from feelings of loneliness and sending us reminders of His love.

cold nickel creek

Listening to: my breathing
Thinking about: pending sleep
Excited about: freedom of the spirit

You can tell a lot about a place by the way a crowd acts at one of the concerrs there.

Last night, I went with a friend of mine to see the amazing Nickel Creek in concert. This was the second time I've gotten to see the band perform live--they are just incredibly talented musicians; I've never seen anybody manipulate instruments and have full reign over them quite the way they do.

It's been rather chilly in the evenings here in the great state of Virginia, and I, the girl who wears flip-flops at the mere sign of the word April, didn't pay attention to the cold front that was heading into town last evening. I didn't let the frosty air keep me from enjoying one of my all-time favorite groups!!! And even though Nickel Creek started off playing some slower, instrumental numbers, they were still pretty groovin' up there--this was beyond toe-tapping music; this was foot-stompin'! All the better reason to get up and dance around like yo mama ain't watchin' (plus, all that dancing would keep you from getting even colder).

So it's chilly, the music is hot, and there's no reason not to be on your feet---I glance around the audience several times in between songs, and I see the most dismal looking group of folks ever. You'd never know they were at a show; they looked like they'd been watching a marathan of Masterpiece Theatre in black and white all day long or something.

As a musician, I felt so bad for my newgrass-playing friends onstage. Can you imagine looking into a sea of faceless and faint energy and trying to connect with a a crowd of absences? I wanted to apologize to NC on behalf of the Innsbrook crowd for the dull folks crowding the lawn. I kept trying to get my friend to dance around, but he's really German so I suppose they're more refined---I'll give him the benefit of my doubt, at least--the rest of these fools? Excuses have they none.

When, oh when, will I no longer dwell amidst the Muffys and Buffys of the world and be able to dance in a crowd of fine rugged joy?

www.nickelcreek.com

resign

Listening to: The Be Good Tanyas
Thinking about: eating dinner since I was too into my reading to take a break to eat before
Excited about: seeing my youngest brother graduate from college on Saturday!

It almost doesn't fit. You dont't imagine someone in their mid-twenties leaving a job unless they have something else "lined up. That person is hoping for a job, a foot in the proverbial door, a chance to establish themselves about entry-level salaries. That person was me, even if for a very short while. Instead, I resigned from my job as a middle-school English teacher this week: I will finish out the school year but declined the contract they offered me for 2005-06.

This decision came slowly and painfully, but it came. I'd been contemplating this choice since January. It wasn't one event in particular that made me want to leave--and maybe I should have had more faith and hope that things would get better for me personally and professionally next year.

But what's the point in forcing youself to make something work when it clearly isn't? Is there some sort of social or ethical award bestowed upon you if you manage to keep your head above the waters of misery for an extra year? The "You Stuck It Out, Congratulations" award?

Now, I haven't exactly been miserable with my job--I adore (most of) the people I work with, and the kids are hyper but fun to be around; but I don't really feel like this is the love of my life, either. I put my heart into everything I do, and if my heart isn't there, then forget it. I have felt half-hearted about my experiences here, and half-hearted is not an emotion I'm familiar with.

Frost's two roads diverge in front of our very eyes when we're in our twenties and thinking about things like identity, love, and profession. The paths are namely these: choose a profession early. Stick with it, and climb your ladder into a nice resume, promotion, retirement..... or choose to follow each whim so that you won't feel that 'what if' regret wounding you in the side later on. This week, I have chosen the latter lane.

life story in 100 lines, completed thus far

I'm a copy-cat. My friend Melissa did this, I thought it was great, so I copy her. Feel free to do one on your own blog site!!!

1. I was born in Oceanside, NY, which is on Long Island.
2. I have lived in: New York (twice), Tennessee, and Virginia (Bedford once, Richmond twice).
3. I love being by the water: The Chesapeake Bay, Long Island Sound, Charleston, SC...
4. I'm looking for a laid-back city with good landscape, small-town feel, and metro restaurants/music clubs.
5. Thai is my new favorite ethnic food. Vietnamese is not.
6. I joined the Brownies because I wanted to sell the cookies and make the big bucks and quit when I found out the truth.
7. My parents planned for years a big move to the South long before we were actually able to make one.
8. I have problems making committments because of that move (pending for years).
9. I am fiercely loyal after I do committ.
10. I'm a Scorpio on the cusp of Libra!
11. I have always loved school and deep down, I always wanted to be a teacher.
12. I’ve kept journals of poetry since I was 9 and banned myself several times from Barnes and Noble.
13. I have terrible vision.
14. I’ve been playing piano for 18 years, by ear since I was 7 and started lessons from 10-13.
15. I was a total frizzy glasses clarinet nerd at West Hempstead Middle School in NY.
16. I honed my speaking, reading, and writing skills in Italian when I was there.
17. We moved to Midlothian, VA right before I started high school where I twirled flags, rifles, and sabres.
18. My Aunt Kristie died in May, 1994. She was only 32. She died unexpectedly and it still bothers me.
19. We moved back to Long Island in February, 1996. My parents didn’t tell me until 6 days before.
20. I didn’t date anyone in high school. I was incredibly shy back then.
21. I love to play tennis, but just to volley.
22. I'm always the friend who calls everyone up to invite them to do something
23. I wanted to go twirl at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA--the only school I didn't get in.
24. I didn’t want to go to Carson-Newman College in Jefferson City, TN; it was my “safety school.”
25. Everyone on Dad's side of the family went to an Ivy until the last generation.
26. I'm the first to graduate on Mom's side.
27. I applied to 9 schools and was accepted at 8. None were in New York.
28. One of the best trips ever: spending a week with Dad touring all 8 colleges over Spring Break.
29. I changed my major 3 times before I became a sophomore and had a different roommate each year.
29. My roommates and their roommates comprise my closest circle of friends.
30. Most of my closest gal pals from college are still single; the boys have almost all married. Ironic!
31. I've struggled with my body type; only recently have I realized that I’m pretty damn sexy.
32. My students last year told me I was built like a black girl. Yay for boobs, hips, and booty!
33. I was captain and choreographer of the Color Guard for 2 years at Carson-Newman.
34 I was on-call pianist for almost every musician at our college and for the gospel choir.
35. I have more gay male friends than any single straight woman I know.
36. I tried playing the bass in a band called Worthless Tuesday.
37. I had another band called Little Japanese Girl.
38. I had two different Japanese roommates in college, neither of whom were really traditional “Japanese.”
39. For a while, I thought about going to Japan to teach ESL.
40. I eventually decided not to live abroad as a single American white woman.
41. Maybe when I am married I’ll go.
42. I LOVED CARSON-NEWMAN. I loved the people, my English professors, and campus life.
43. All of my college relationships were with guys that I was already really good friends with.
44. Carson-Newman is Baptist; I'm not, I don't like labelling myself and I don't like the SBC either.
45. I like blending into Christianity the reading the Taoists and the Quakers, going to Taize services, and going to non-cookie-cutter worship services.
46. I have learned from the Frazers not to care what other people think. Most of the time I remember this lesson.
47. I love dogs, but I used to be petrified of them.
48. I enjoy algebra and chemistry but hate arithmetic.
49. I became addicted to American Idol this season.
50. I have a degree in English and Creative Writing with a minor in Communication Arts.
51. I hate and am allergic to cats and most other non-canine pets, particularly small ones.
52. I have six graduate hours in Education from Lynchburg College.
53. I've never even tried smoking anything.
54. I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 22.
55. Following the family law tradition, I worked for a lawyer for almost 2 years.
56. At the time, I also completed an internship in Events Planning with Bedford Main Street.
57. Also at that time, I had a band called Aunt Hoo Fung that played regular gigs.
58. My first year of teaching was in an inner-city type of high school.
59. I worked in Roanoke, but hated Roanoke.
60. I thought I would like Richmond, Virginia, more.
61. I wasn’t the first choice for the job I have currently.
62. I would choose elsewhere to live instead of living in Richmond again.
63. I've always wanted to run in a field of yellow flowers like Laura does in the opening sequence of Little House On The Prairie.
64. I make art based on the faces of famous rockers, such as John Lennon and Beck.
65. I initially designed my house according to a book called “The Feng Shui of Love.”
66. My favorite cereal of all-time is a fresh box of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes.
67. In the words of my friend Lindsey, I don't want to waste my energy being a disciplinarian anymore.
68. I miss St. Croix.
69. I can carry on conversations in French, Japanese, and Turkish, and am near fluent in Italian and proficient in Spanish.
70. I will rarely order Italian food out, especially out of the Tri-State (NY NJ CT) area.
71. I will never dye my hair or drink tequila again.
72. Mom made us memorize our heritage like this: Italian, German, English, Irish, Scottish, Dutch, and Norwegian.
73. We are mainly Italian and Norwegian.
74. I love that both New York and random Southern small towns feel like home to me.
75. I want to live in a house with wooden floors and lots of land on a river or a lake one day.
76. I've been to at least 6 Bela Fleck concerts.
77. As the daughter of a realtor/mortgage broker, I adore looking at properties and house hunting.
78. I've met Harry Connick Jr. (independently) and many other famous folk.
79. I look forward to seeing what my future kids are going to be like.
80. 95% of the artwork in my home was given to me and made by artist friends.
81. I find spending time with friends in nature and in art galleries/musuems almost worshipful.
82. I hope that my dad will read this and buy me that canoe I want.
83. I actually enjoy hiking and climbing mountains, despite popular contradictions.
84. I used to be an over-achiever in every area of my life but I've mellowed out in some areas.
85. I have never climbed a tree.
86. I am obsessed with my eyebrows and eyelashes.
87. My two younger brothers are pretty much my two best friends.
88. I hate sharing bathrooms with them.
89. My father has only called me by my first name only 4 times in 25 years.
90. I had a traumatic experience involving a goat, hay, and milk (not in that order) when I was 7
91. Although thoughtful, nobody in my immediate family has a quiet personality.
92. The furthest west I have ever been is Nashville, TN.
93. I'm not a good barfly but more of a coffee-shop person.
94. I’ve always had this weird fascination with the mid-west. I believe Manhattan, KS an oxymoron.
95. I love swing, salsa, and belly dancing.
96. I don’t really collect anything but feel like I should.
97. I love solid colors and black and white.
98. I love newgrass, pizza, jeans, flip-flops, and dark brews from Barley’s.
99. I also love bebop jazz and dressing up and drinking gingerbread martinis.
100. I love any movie with Tom Hanks or Meg Ryan in it.

ps
101 I have a keyboard named Leroy and a doggie named Homer.

I think I could keep going. If there's anything else you want to know, just ask!!!!

buona notte amici