Up until a year ago, I was not particularly fond of Valentine's Day; it just felt like a manufactured, greeting-card company holiday (which it kind of is, but bear with me)---a day when people suddenly remember "Oh, I should tell this person how much I care about him/her!" instead of doing it on a regular basis.
I would like to share and excerpt from my journal entry from this time last year. It reads as follows:
(A little background info: Isaiah was the patient I worked with closely during my internship at Wolfson in order to help him write and illustrate a book he created about his life. Keep in mind he was eleven years old when he decided to do this; he also had leukemia. Isaiah has since passed away, and I miss him terribly. His birthday was Feb. 7th. He would have been 12 yrs. old this year. Eight year old Janea was another patient I worked with; she's the one who asked me, "You know what the worst thing is about having cancer? Everyone thinks I'm a boy because I don't have any hair." Shortly after sharing that with me, she had a seizure while painting with Amie and I.)
02.14.2007
This was the best V-day I have ever had. I went to Wolfson today, and David came to make mobiles with the kids. He had everything prepared from the rods to the hearts, shells, string, superglue. He thought of everything. We, thankfully, had a large group of kids, all of whom made their own mobiles with a little bit of help.
Janea was there today. I haven't seen here in a few months. She looks tinier than before, almost malnourished. She was wearing a light pink fuzzy hat atop her little head. She didn't stay too long in the playroom. I wonder if all her hair is gone again---I almost didn't recognize her when Lori wheeled her down the hallway. So tiny.
Isaiah was too sick to get out of bed today---he looked pretty tired; tired doesn't really descirbe it, more like drained and fucking exhausted. He perked up a little when I went in to give him his Valentine. His Gramma gave me a quote from the JSO SWAT team coin Isiah has. 'Whom shall I send. And who will go for us. Send me. I will go.' Isaiah 6:8
I decided to do it on a large canvas so that it stays together better than the paper. She wants it large enough for him to read while in bed. I also made him a mobile today. That green shell, the only green shell in the bunch, had to go on Isaiah's mobile. I think I'm getting emotionally attached. ..
So, why was it the best Valentine's Day ever? Because it celebrated life and LOVE. I was surrounded by the best people, kids who wanted to do art, women and men who are improving the quality of life. So today was about life of the body and soul. Some expressed it with heart & seashell mobiles, others with pink, painted hearts and "I love you"s. I think this is becoming my favorite holiday; the one I used to LOATHE because of it's greeting card manufactured-ness. But I'm past that now. It's comforting to see reds and pinks, hearts, flowers, cards, delivery trucks packed with corresponding balloons. It's about love---something lacking in the world. How wonderful to be around people I love; to have people to love.
So there you have it...that recollection of this day a year ago occupied my thoughts all day; it was great. Such a great day for such a great memory.
Love to all.
2.14.2008
2.12.2008
Untitled
Ok.
I did it.
I actually painted tonight instead of sitting in front of the tube or distracting myself with other nonsense.
It felt great, cleansing, refreshing...and what would art-making be without a little frustration too? I chose to major in art because it is one of the only things that truly scares me, excites me, makes me want to better myself, makes me want to scream and walk away, yet keeps me coming back for more.
Cheesy, but true.
Here's to painting on a regular basis.
I did it.
I actually painted tonight instead of sitting in front of the tube or distracting myself with other nonsense.
It felt great, cleansing, refreshing...and what would art-making be without a little frustration too? I chose to major in art because it is one of the only things that truly scares me, excites me, makes me want to better myself, makes me want to scream and walk away, yet keeps me coming back for more.
Cheesy, but true.
Here's to painting on a regular basis.
2.10.2008
I heart public broadcasting
Okay, you must check out this site.
I barely watch TV, but this show caught my attention yesterday, and after seeing that you didn't need 589405209840249 ingredients to make tasty meals, I became interested. Tonight, Dylan and I cooked this super-fab Shrimp, Tomato, and Basil Pasta dish. It cost about $10 for the main ingredients, and there is definitely enough for another meal or two.
In addition, I have been listening to National Public Radio for a couple of years now. I prefer NPR to other news networks (such as CNN, Fox News, or local news stations) because of their approach to journalism. I never feel like they are pushing an agenda, and always feel like I am receiving the raw information from which I can develop my own opinion. Isn't that what news is supposed to be? I also don't feel like I am consistently being bombarded by negativity and propaganda, or useless information; eh-hem, can we say Britney Spears?
I highly recommend NPR on your drive to/from work, or whenever. It makes the time fly and you actually feel informed about things that matter. They also have podcasts available on their website. For more info, check out their site. If you click on "Stations" near the top and type in your zip code, it will tell you what station they broadcast from in your area. For my family members in the Tampa/St. Pete/SRQ area, tune to WUSF-FM 89.7
I barely watch TV, but this show caught my attention yesterday, and after seeing that you didn't need 589405209840249 ingredients to make tasty meals, I became interested. Tonight, Dylan and I cooked this super-fab Shrimp, Tomato, and Basil Pasta dish. It cost about $10 for the main ingredients, and there is definitely enough for another meal or two.
In addition, I have been listening to National Public Radio for a couple of years now. I prefer NPR to other news networks (such as CNN, Fox News, or local news stations) because of their approach to journalism. I never feel like they are pushing an agenda, and always feel like I am receiving the raw information from which I can develop my own opinion. Isn't that what news is supposed to be? I also don't feel like I am consistently being bombarded by negativity and propaganda, or useless information; eh-hem, can we say Britney Spears?
I highly recommend NPR on your drive to/from work, or whenever. It makes the time fly and you actually feel informed about things that matter. They also have podcasts available on their website. For more info, check out their site. If you click on "Stations" near the top and type in your zip code, it will tell you what station they broadcast from in your area. For my family members in the Tampa/St. Pete/SRQ area, tune to WUSF-FM 89.7
A healthy kick in the...
Whenever I call my mom with frustrations about work, she gently reminds me that everyday, I am there for a specific reason, and that reason will reveal itself at some point during the school day. And she's right---sometimes it's something obvious, sometimes subtle, and sometimes I don't realize it until I get home. Last Tuesday, my reason for being there pretty much kicked me in the ass. Before I explain, let me give you a little bit of background about our school's food program.
Basically, if parents opt to, students are provided with breakfast at 8am (which is usually something like a fruit bar, or cheese stick or muffin or egg sandwich or hot pocket) and lunch (too many options to list). If students remain at school for our after-school program called Team-Up, they are provided with dinner around 5pm. It is safe to say that the majority of students at our school participate in this program. The few that don't---well, it's hard to know if they are fed at home at all.
Anyways, Mrs. H walked her 3rd grade class into my room that morning and as they settled she approached me with a student who had his arm draped over his stomach . She quietly asked, "Ms. B, do you have anything to eat?" I told her yes, somewhat perplexed. She explained, "J didn't eat dinner last night and didn't eat breakfast this morning." I looked at J, now understanding his posture, and told him I had an apple, PB&J sandwich, and granola bar. The lack of excitement over an apple was made up for when I mentioned the sandwich. He didn't say anything but just nodded excitedly. I quickly retrieved my lunch from the back room and handed it over. He gave me a quiet "thank you" and went back with Mrs. H to her classroom to eat.
Not that I haven't thought about this before, but I can't imagine not eating ANYTHING since lunch the previous day as a third grader. Needless to say, I thank God I was there last Tuesday, for his sake. And I thank my mom for her perpetual selflessness.
In other news....(these are not in order of importance)
1. I've been having very vivid, lengthy dreams lately. Last night's was set at Sittee's (my mom's mom) house in PA. Nothing notable happened, but I remember feeling like I was actually there with her, helping with chores and listening to her crab about her daughter-in-law.
2. Last night, for the first time, I ate at this place called Mongo's. It is Mongolian-inspired cuisine where they cook everything in front of you on a flat-hot grill. I wouldn't recommend it because a) you have to stand in a buffet line to pick the items you want them to gril, b) stand and wait for it to be grilled, c) pay quite a bit of money and d) miss out on table talk because you're busy standing in line. The food was tasty, but the experience as a whole was somewhat annoying.
3. Laura returned from Spain last night. When I called my mom earlier, Laura was still resting (and rightly so). I am so glad she is back in the U.S. and I think she is too.
4. It was foggy at the beginning of last week during the mornings. I set up tables and paints outside so that students could depict the atmosphere with watercolors. I also had them write poems to assist their paintings. We read Carl Sandburg's "Fog" poem for inspiration. I was pleasantly surprised with their responses. If you are unfamiliar with "Fog", it is as follows:
The fog comes
on little cat feet
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Basically, if parents opt to, students are provided with breakfast at 8am (which is usually something like a fruit bar, or cheese stick or muffin or egg sandwich or hot pocket) and lunch (too many options to list). If students remain at school for our after-school program called Team-Up, they are provided with dinner around 5pm. It is safe to say that the majority of students at our school participate in this program. The few that don't---well, it's hard to know if they are fed at home at all.
Anyways, Mrs. H walked her 3rd grade class into my room that morning and as they settled she approached me with a student who had his arm draped over his stomach . She quietly asked, "Ms. B, do you have anything to eat?" I told her yes, somewhat perplexed. She explained, "J didn't eat dinner last night and didn't eat breakfast this morning." I looked at J, now understanding his posture, and told him I had an apple, PB&J sandwich, and granola bar. The lack of excitement over an apple was made up for when I mentioned the sandwich. He didn't say anything but just nodded excitedly. I quickly retrieved my lunch from the back room and handed it over. He gave me a quiet "thank you" and went back with Mrs. H to her classroom to eat.
Not that I haven't thought about this before, but I can't imagine not eating ANYTHING since lunch the previous day as a third grader. Needless to say, I thank God I was there last Tuesday, for his sake. And I thank my mom for her perpetual selflessness.
In other news....(these are not in order of importance)
1. I've been having very vivid, lengthy dreams lately. Last night's was set at Sittee's (my mom's mom) house in PA. Nothing notable happened, but I remember feeling like I was actually there with her, helping with chores and listening to her crab about her daughter-in-law.
2. Last night, for the first time, I ate at this place called Mongo's. It is Mongolian-inspired cuisine where they cook everything in front of you on a flat-hot grill. I wouldn't recommend it because a) you have to stand in a buffet line to pick the items you want them to gril, b) stand and wait for it to be grilled, c) pay quite a bit of money and d) miss out on table talk because you're busy standing in line. The food was tasty, but the experience as a whole was somewhat annoying.
3. Laura returned from Spain last night. When I called my mom earlier, Laura was still resting (and rightly so). I am so glad she is back in the U.S. and I think she is too.
4. It was foggy at the beginning of last week during the mornings. I set up tables and paints outside so that students could depict the atmosphere with watercolors. I also had them write poems to assist their paintings. We read Carl Sandburg's "Fog" poem for inspiration. I was pleasantly surprised with their responses. If you are unfamiliar with "Fog", it is as follows:
The fog comes
on little cat feet
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
2.03.2008
Bitter II
As of last Tuesday, all of my grad school applications are in. Now it's the waiting game; though, I think I have plenty to keep me distracted while waiting. I started a countdown to the end of school and more than half the time, I forget to cross off the days. Yes, I am counting down...I have to make it through the next 4 months.
I've been meaning to write in my blog, but every time I sit down to begin an entry, I draw a blank. Or, my brain is swimming with all the things I should be doing instead. Last week was a train wreck at school. I'm sure part of that had to do with the fact that I was sick.
Ever since I began teaching in August, I've had this internal struggle with how to make myself a better teacher regarding instruction and classroom management (the latter taking precedent for obvious reasons). I cannot count how many times I have second-guessed and/or changed my methods to make things better for my students, and after a certain point, it all seems a little hopeless...well, more than a little. It is a struggle to stay positive teaching in neighborhoods that breed violence and destructive behavior; an environment without goals or positive reinforcement, where drug lords can offer the people more protection than the police. Where parents could give two shits about their child's behavior at school (especially in a white woman's class), let alone their academic achievements, period. After all, most of these parents are my age, if not younger.
Often, I hear people say, "Oh, but if you only save one, then it's worth it....", or "Your job must be so rewarding despite the challenges", or "Well they must LOVE art class". This is all very idealistic. Perhaps I am too young or too naive to truly understand those statements, but from what I understand at this point in time, it feels and seems like bullshit. In fact, I am angered a little when people generalize like that. I'm not sure people understand how bad the system is or how rapidly this part of our culture is declining.
To go to work is becoming more like a ministry or a community service experience. And I know it sounds like I absolutely hate my job, but this is not so. I think I'm angry because I know that I cannot fix things or people (let alone a dilapidated neighborhood/community). If I had it my way, I would give all the attention, care, and love that I could to my students...adopt them. But I can't. And I have 40 minutes, once a week, to teach them about art; that is my contact; that is my opportunity to connect, on some level. I suppose all I can do is hope that something sticks, and let go.
I've been meaning to write in my blog, but every time I sit down to begin an entry, I draw a blank. Or, my brain is swimming with all the things I should be doing instead. Last week was a train wreck at school. I'm sure part of that had to do with the fact that I was sick.
Ever since I began teaching in August, I've had this internal struggle with how to make myself a better teacher regarding instruction and classroom management (the latter taking precedent for obvious reasons). I cannot count how many times I have second-guessed and/or changed my methods to make things better for my students, and after a certain point, it all seems a little hopeless...well, more than a little. It is a struggle to stay positive teaching in neighborhoods that breed violence and destructive behavior; an environment without goals or positive reinforcement, where drug lords can offer the people more protection than the police. Where parents could give two shits about their child's behavior at school (especially in a white woman's class), let alone their academic achievements, period. After all, most of these parents are my age, if not younger.
Often, I hear people say, "Oh, but if you only save one, then it's worth it....", or "Your job must be so rewarding despite the challenges", or "Well they must LOVE art class". This is all very idealistic. Perhaps I am too young or too naive to truly understand those statements, but from what I understand at this point in time, it feels and seems like bullshit. In fact, I am angered a little when people generalize like that. I'm not sure people understand how bad the system is or how rapidly this part of our culture is declining.
To go to work is becoming more like a ministry or a community service experience. And I know it sounds like I absolutely hate my job, but this is not so. I think I'm angry because I know that I cannot fix things or people (let alone a dilapidated neighborhood/community). If I had it my way, I would give all the attention, care, and love that I could to my students...adopt them. But I can't. And I have 40 minutes, once a week, to teach them about art; that is my contact; that is my opportunity to connect, on some level. I suppose all I can do is hope that something sticks, and let go.
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