Ground Control

A few weeks ago, Dylan and were at Rita's getting custard. The people in line before us had a little dog with them which looked like a mix between a French bulldog and David Bowie. See below for my make-shift representation of the dog. We asked the couple if the dog's name was Bowie. It took them a minute to compute, but when they did, they busted out laughing and said, "No. His name is Dean", or something like that.




(+)


(=)



How could you not name it Bowie?

Blue...with encaustic

The art supply store down the road is having a "Moving Sale", so I decided to take a look. I came out of there buying two things, 1 lb. of beeswax and a tube of titanium white, neither of which were part of the sale, but oh well. For a few weeks, I have been wanting to try my hand at encaustic painting, thus the beeswax. From what little understanding I have, there are a few ways to work with the encaustic process, and I chose to melt the wax and combine it with some oil paint. Mostly, I want to use this for texture purposes; it will take me a while to manipulate it for "paint" application purposes.

Anyways, I have never been a huge fan of painting in oils unless portraiture is involved; my heart lies (lays? kitkat, which one?) with acrylics because of their immediacy. Plus, I feel that I was never taught how to use oils properly. A few years ago, my grampa gave me his easel, some canvases, and his paint bin which is packed with various oil paints, solvents, and brushes. He painted for many years (in fact, my first painting lesson was with him), but he decided to stop after Parkinson's limited his dexterity. I felt and still feel privileged to have these things handed down to me as there are several other artistic folk in the family. Whenever we discussed painting, he would always say, "I'm not a creative person. I'm good at copying, but I don't have an artist's creativity." I felt this way about myself during most of my college years. It has only been within the past year that I've started to tap into creativity, or so I hope.

Not really knowing what I was doing, I began melting some of the beeswax to experiment. Out of the hall closet I retrieved grampa's art bin for some of my oil paints, opened it, and had to stop for a minute. It's funny how certain smells open floodgates of memories...smells of this art bin provoked a mixture of memories: from the way my grampa would leave his brushes soaking in turpentine by the kitchen sink in his NC home to the way the painting studio smelled my second semester of freshman year at UNF...Painting Fundamentals with Prof. G (I hated that class). It's also funny how objects gain even more importance once that person is no longer around. It's almost like an artifact that shouldn't be disturbed. I managed to get my oil paints and continue my experiment, which was most definitely an experiment...in the name of art. I have a long way to go with encaustic.

So, I'm feeling rather blue today. Memories are wonderful things, but they can be bittersweet. On top of that, I found out today that Sittee, my mom's mom, has cancer which has spread to her spinal cord and brain.

There is this inevitable truth that people die...their bodies fail. And though we know the end will come, it's still so hard to accept when it comes to fruition. I truly believe that we are spiritual beings in a physical world, which is mind boggling. If we aren't spiritual beings housing souls within these physical forms, then we wouldn't mind hanging out with dead bodies all the time. It is the soul that gives the body life and personality.

Anyhow, what do you think?

blah.

Toppers

My top 3 for the week...

1. Today, one of my fifth graders informed me of the following: "Ms. B, instead of sayin' the 'n' word, we say 'ninja!', and if someone be actin' a snitch, we tells 'em, 'Man, you be actin' so white!'" ::sigh:: Just wanted to keep everyone up to date with the lingo.



2. I found a tiny, baby snapper turtle on the floor in my classroom; I left for about 5 minutes to run an errand, and upon my return, I saw it crawling across the art studio floor. Random. I'm just glad I didn't step on it! One of the ESE teachers decided to keep him as a class pet. They named it Franklin.



3. About 21 students signed up for the after-school art program :)


Side-note to No. 2: When my oldest sister was young, she had a pet turtle. My mom read that turtles need a certain amount of sunlight for their health. So, she plopped Merrill's turtle atop the fence, belly-up. Now, I'm not really sure if mom forgot or read incorrectly about how much sunlight was needed, but basically, Merrill's turtle bit the dust atop that fence post. Too MUCH sun, as it turns out, will cook a turtle. This has been a family joke for as long as I can remember.

Several years later, Merrill's co-workers (knowing this whole story) bought her a pair of baby turtles as a gift. She kept them together in a tank at my parents' house. The tank had some fake palm trees, a few rocks, filter, dirty water, you get the idea. I will never forget Merrill calling me one morning during my freshman year in college, half laughing, half crying. She managed to whimper out that one of her baby turtles had died. Unsure how to react, I suppressed my giggles so as not to seem insensitive until she let out a laugh. Then, I couldn't help myself. "But it's NOT FUNNY!", she squeaked. Merrill went on to explain that it seemed as if this turtle had gotten caught beneath the tower of rocks and stones causing him to be water logged...and as she described, the body was bloated with water from being stuck.

Now, I know it seems cruel to make a joke of this, but honestly, how many people can say they lost two pet turtles in their lifetime: one to overheating and one to drowning? Fire and water? Honestly. Anyhow, a year or so later, she let the remaining turtle go into the wild. I hope it survived, but I'm not sure how turtles make the transition from having tasty shrimp flakes magically appear to finding their own food :)

Cheers.

Perfect Strangers

Don't worry. I'm not talking about that awesome show from the late '80s to early'90s (and by awesome I mean LAME). I remember watching that show quite a bit when I was young. What I cannot remember is if those viewings were voluntary or just out of boredom.

No matter...


I was at the laundry mat today writing lesson plans while waiting for clothes to dry. It was particularly slow, for a Sunday, as there was only one other person around. Without any introduction or greeting, this elderly gentleman approached me and asked the following question: "If a man is starving, and he has a family to feed, and he robs a bank in order to feed his family, do you think it's cruel to put him in jail?" Not exactly your typical conversation-starter, eh? I was a little skeptical about where this conversation was going or WHY this conversation was started, but it ended up intriguing me. I won't go through all the details, but some of the points this man, Ken, hit on were illegal immigration, the North American Union (which I admit, I know little about), the education system, and religion. Sounds pretty heavy for laundry conversation. Normally, I get annoyed with people when they bring up such issues because most of the time, I find their arguments lacking what is most important: critically thought-out logical arguments. Ken didn't seem to be lacking in this regard, so I continued to listen.

He explained that he considers himself a revolutionary/idealist/activist, and that in order for our country to truly change, there has to be a sincere, action-based effort from the American people. Scenes from the film V for Vendetta (one of my favorite movies) flashed through my head (minus all the killing and masks). Ken reminisced about the time of the Vietnam War and the protests that followed...how dedicated people were to their causes. For years, I have felt that when/if it really comes down to it, the American people don't have it in themselves to truly protest, actively. So, I can agree with him on that point. I can't say that I agreed with him whole-heartedly on everything. And I never felt like he was asking me to agree.

As I'm typing, I'm realizing that this could be a very lengthy post, so let me try to wrap this up. Halfway through our conversation, he handed me a "business card" (I'm not sure what to call it...a "propaganda card"?) with a web address and an image of what he calls "Mexican Sam". I'll let you use your imagination. After mentioning I was in the fine arts industry, he went to his car and retrieved some political cartoons he drafted. Our discussion about religion is maybe a save for another post.

Although our initial interaction was abrupt, what I liked about Ken was that he did not ask me a series of personal questions; if I offered information, like my first name or my occupation, great, but there was no prying whatsoever. He would also periodically ask me if I was willing to still converse with him; he kept saying, "It's just good to talk these things through with other people---young people, at that".

One could say that this person had a major agenda in talking with me. But wouldn't that be the case for any and all activists? Is it really too much to ask for people to "do" instead of "think" about what they believe? It seems so foreign nowadays: to literally stand up for what is "right".

I have yet to thoroughly check out his website. I wanted to get all this down before I lost some of the thoughts.

There is some good out there...

There is a series on NPR from StoryCorps called "Recording America". I heard a particularly inspiring segment of this series last Thursday just before going into work. I meant to post this sooner, but kept forgetting to look it up. Anyways, it's called A Victim Treats His Mugger Right

That link will take you to the recording...it's only a little over three minutes guys, so check it out. If you'd rather read it, go here!

We need more stories like this one in the news.




Julio Diaz, NYC social worker

The Bell Jar

Last night, I finished reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. This was her first and last novel and parts of it are considered autobiographical. I have always been fascinated by Plath's poetry and was excited to read her novel...which is probably why I finished it in two days. I don't want to say too much in case you have not read it yet and plan to do so; I will admit that it is depressing. However, I respect that about it.

If I could pick one word to describe The Bell Jar, it would be "raw". Plath holds nothing back, and I found myself completely engaged in everything Esther Greenwood, the protagonist, was feeling/experiencing. At some points, I felt like Plath was describing my own feelings, as I have had bouts with anxiety and depression. Aside from the raw-ness, I just like the way this book is written. She manages to describe people, places, situations, events, etc. accurately and succinctly without a lot of fluff. I didn't get exasperated by some 3 page description of a certain room or a sidewalk. Plath also didn't "waste time" on intermediate events; in other words, if Esther was walking home from someone's apartment, she describes leaving, and then picks up the next morning at the hotel, or maybe even weeks later. It is the reader's responsibility to connect some of the dots based on given information. I think this also accounts for my engagement.

You should give it a read.

Cutting Corners

My spring break officially started as of 12pm yesterday. Instead of being at school, I had to attend a workshop for all art educators in our county; the workshop involved a brief meeting about budget cuts, and then the installation of their annual elementary school art show.

About the budget cuts: it's all over the papers that Duval County Public Schools has to make $86.6 million dollars worth of cuts (Thank you, Charlie Crist, Tallahassee, and co.). In the list of proposed cuts is a reduction in support to art, p.e., and music resource in elementary schools. I found out yesterday at our meeting that the proposal is to cut this support by 50%. Yikes. A few thoughts...

1) I LOVE how the arts or what is considered "extra-curricular" is always the first thing to go. It is not considered essential to a quality, well-rounded education. This is creating a system in which the right side of the brain is never exercised or challenged. Using half of your brain sounds like a good idea to me!!!! especially when it seems that in today's job market, employers expect you to use your creativity to solve problems, increase gains, etc.

2) I think I have known this for a long time, but it has become clearer in recent months that I work in an industry whose existence and value has to be defended constantly. This bothers me.

3) My guess is that IF this proposal goes through, they will cut the number of art educators in the elementary sector by 50%, reduce the frequency of resource classes, and make the positions itinerant . I also suppose that they would eliminate 1st-3rd year teachers and hand over their jobs by principle of seniority.

In the meantime, I am looking for other job opportunities, just in case. My principal said he should know more by mid April. Grrr.

As for now, I am visiting my parents for a few days. I plan to do nothing but frequent the beach, get a tan, and organize some things for that after-school arts program. Yes, it has been approved!!!

Young Parking Nazis

Part I.

It is understandable that people who live by the beach are a little anal about parking; they don't want random beach-go-ers parking on their lawns or blocking their driveways. Besides, space is limited, and you are lucky if you have a driveway of sorts. We don't, so we manage to fit 2 cars in the little patch of grass just outside our front door.

The day we moved into our apartment by the beach, our neighbors across the way offered, "You can park on our side of the road because you don't have that much room on yours. That's what the last people did." We thanked him and thought, "How nice! We don't have to dangerously parallel park our cars in front of and behind the speed limit sign in the middle of our patch of grass, butting up to busy A1A."

So, I took him up on his offer...for 3 weeks...until I was hollered at (yes, hollered, while riding by on my bike). "I didn't mean you could park there ALL the time, I just meant while you were moving in! Move your car." Okay, my mistake, please be more specific...and it wouldn't hurt to start a conversation with a greeting like, "Hey" or "Hi" or "How's it going?"

Weeks later, we had some friends over for dinner, one of whom parked on the now forbidden lot. She was parked there for no more than 10 minutes when we went outside to move her car. Again, no greeting, just a "Who's car is this?!" I briefly explained and he made a grunt.

Part II.

A guest of our next-door neighbor parked in one of our two spots, so Dylan parked in a vacant spot in front of their house. The next morning, his car had a nasty-gram: "If you park here again, I will tow your car." Dylan wrote back, "If your guests park in my spot again, I'll tow their car." Naturally, a blond representative from next-door came over the following evening (with her cat, mind you) to bark at us for parking in front of her house the previous night.

From the minute I opened the door and greeted her, it was obvious that she had no intention of settling things cordially. Despite my efforts she didn't seem to understand why Dylan parked in that spot; and she convinced herself that she had every right to park on our lot, but we didn't have the right to park on hers...even though both are considered public, off-street parking areas. She made up some crap about calling the police and asking them about it, blah blah blah. I felt like I was listening to one of my 3rd graders arguing about nothing so I tuned out. Her finale involved her turning on her heel, swinging the blond mass over her shoulder and feeling vindicated (for pure stupidity??), while addressing her cat, "C'mon Cocoa!!! Let's go."

Thoughts:
What troubles me most about this ridiculousness (other than the fact that a cat was being used as a bodyguard) is the fact both of these people are young adults, probably in their mid-to-late 20s. The stress and anger derived from something as lame as a parking spot baffles me...especially when it was all based on miscommunication or faulty assumptions. Good Lord. I've always thought it was a bad idea to make enemies with your neighbors as you are supposed to look out for one another. Now it has become anything but pleasant in passing. Thanks, neighbor 1 and neighbor 2.

In the words of Ferris Bueller: "Cameron is so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you'd have a diamond."

Peeved

I read that it is better to fill up your tank in the morning or in the evening because the ground is cooler, the gas is denser, thus you get more bang for your buck. And apparently, if you pump the gas slowly, you save money because when you pump on the fastest setting, you're essentially paying for vapors. Deciding to test these suggestions, I pumped my gas this evening on the slow setting. My tank was almost at its limit and before I knew it, there was gas spilling all over my car, my feet, and the pavement....which resulted in my bill being over $35.00. Pissed that I had wasted money and gas, and even more pissed that from my knees down, I was soaked in gasoline, I went in to tell the cashier that the stopper (my highly technical term) was malfunctioning. Trying to curb my frustration, I briefly explained what happened and suggested that he bag the pump or put a note or something so that the next person didn't douse him/herself in gasoline. He looked confused, paused, and said, "Oh, so you put your gas cap on too tight?"

Now, if anyone out there has seen the film High Fidelity, you will recall the scene when Tim Robbin's character (Ian) comes into the record store, and John Cusack imagines at least 5 different situations of the interaction he would like to have with Ian. All of these situations involve John beating the crap out of Ian for dating his ex-girlfriend. Anyways, scenes like that flashed through my head in the brief 2 minute interaction I had with Mr. Kangaroo cashier-man.


I should have let my sarcasm (which my family has ingrained in me so well) explode, but I was able to contain myself, and curtly re-explain what seemed to be a simple incident...emphasizing that the pump was broken. He still didn't seem to understand and offered a weak apology. Sure, it's not his fault, but be a little more sympathetic, or convince me that you will actually do something about it to save someone else the trouble. OR, even better, give me back the money I sprayed on myself and the pavement, and offer to spray yourself from the knees down with gasoline at Pump 3. Then we can talk about gas caps being too tight and it will all make perfect sense.

Aside from that incident, my day was pretty great. A co-worker and I have proposed an after-school arts program that will include visual and performing arts. If our proposal goes through, and we are permitted to use some of the grant money, we will be able to start the program after spring break. We should find out the results tomorrow.

Nothing important

I forgot it was St. Patrick's Day until I arrived at school and was threatened to be pinched because I wasn't wearing green. But, Happy St. Pat's Day to everyone.

The resource schedule has been nutty since FCAT began last week. Fortunately, it returns to normal tomorrow. I have not seen my 4th graders for a couple weeks, and I am sure I'll have to exert some effort to get them back on track. Hopefully, they can begin working on re-designing the sets for our televised morning announcements. The backgrounds for our sets are, in a word, fugly and have not been updated for about ten years (so I'm told). I barely finished asking the principal and vice principal if we could change it when they begged "Yes, please! You don't even have to ask. Just do something with it!" Let me just give a brief description of one of the sets to put this into perspective...

Made out of foam core (several layers hot-glued together) were these panels with grooves cut to look like a cement block wall. It was painted the same light blue of the actual walls....and the walls, not to mention, are indeed real cement block. Why, for the love of God, would you re-create what is already there and then paint it the same color?????

Anyways, I have taken on several little projects to help improve the appearance of the school. Fourth grade now has a large tree mural in their hallway, as per the teachers' request. They are going to use it as a "Compliment Tree" to acknowledge students of the month, etc. I have a few other requests which I hope to complete before May. Our school tends to look very sterile because of its previous function as a 6th grade center.

At this point, I feel like I'm rambling.

Happy Monday.

Life is Subjective

If you're a white person looking for a good laugh, or someone who is not white that gets a kick out of satire, check out this blog that I heard about on NPR. Stuff White People Like is a blog dedicated to defining the qualities of a certain subculture of white folks, and I think I am in this category. I find myself laughing at 99% of the posts which reminds me that 1) it's great to be able to laugh at oneself and 2) I'm not so different from others.

Speaking of Nos. 1 and 2, I can add SAIC and UNCG to my rejection list. Now I'm just waiting on UGA...my gut feeling tells me theirs is a "no" as well. While I can laugh a little about these rejections, I can't help but feel somewhat sad and disappointed (in myself or in the schools, I'm not sure). I'd have to say I feel pretty similar to my former co-worker, kitkat who has also blogged about her grad school endeavors. This has been my second go-around applying to graduate schools and being rejected, and it's starting to get old. Last year, I did not feel very confident about my portfolio; my work was not coherent and my statement was muddled. But this year, I felt great about everything. I had a rock solid body of work, a good statement, great letters of rec, a great exhibition record...this is when I want to blah all over the subjectivity of the art world. I resort to questions like, "What am I doing wrong? Is it my work? My statement? My age? Ethnicity? Are my goals out of wack? Should I have not written in my statement that I want to help the community with my masters?"

So, now I am starting to wonder if an MFA is ever going to be in the cards for me. And if it is not, what are my long-term goals? I can't teach college level art with a BFA. What other well-paying jobs can I find in the art field that do not entail a snooty gallery or working part-time at artsy-craftsy summer camps, or working part time at a museum @ minimum wage?

In the meantime, keep my students in your thoughts over the next couple of weeks. They start FCAT tomorrow, and if I'm tired of hearing about how well they MUST DO, I'm sure they've had it.

Happy Monday, folks.

New Developments...

I received my first rejection e-mail (sad I cannot even say "rejection letter") for graduate school: it was from UF.

I had a phone interview with UNCG a week ago, and I am not sure if it went well or not. It was difficult for me to gauge what they were looking for in my answers. I was asked a type of question which I have hated ever since reading comprehension dittos in 2nd grade. After they asked me to describe my work, and after mentioning Philip Guston as an influence, the professor questioned, "What would Guston think about you referencing his work?" This type of question peeves me because I don't flippin' know (how could anyone unless you ask that person). I felt like she was implying that I had copied Guston's work, which prompted me to answer the question by telling her that I had been inspired by his paint application, brushwork, composition, etc. I just think that often times, we presuppose an artist's (musician's, actor's, author's) intention based on what we know of the person and his/her life. This is all well and good, but I know that for myself, more than half the time, I do not have a specific feeling or intention or thought behind a work of art. It just happens.

Enough about that.

I just finished reading Atonement by Ian McEwan. This is the first time in a long time that I have a) read a novel and b) seen the movie before reading the book, and then been compelled by the movie to read the novel. I enjoyed the details of the characters provided by the book. For the most part, the movie adheres to the storyline in the book, which is rare. Because I experienced the story in "movie before book" order, it is difficult for me to decide if I truly liked the author's writing style, since I already knew what was to happen.

Send me some positive vibes. There are about 2 months left of school.

red hearts and green shells

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.

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 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

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.

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.

missing

Getting back into my routine has been difficult. I space out several times during the day, thinking about my grampa's funeral and worrying about my gramma. I am having a harder time than I thought I would with the death of my grampa, not because his death was sudden but because there is this void. I am so thankful for my family---for our closeness, sincerity, humor, love, to name a few. I realize that part of the reason that we have such a fabulous family is because of my grampa; he created it. And it is a strange thing to know he is not physically present anymore, especially at a family gathering. Our bodies really are shells without our spirit and soul. I miss him.

Aside from that, things have been troublesome with the house. Megan and I have not stayed there for the past couple weeks and managed to break our lease. The cherry on top of the rat problem is that I found a dead squirrel wedged in between two cushions in my couch. All I could see were its hind legs and tail; its head seems to be stuck underneath the cushions. I have to laugh (even though it's disgusting) because I can't imagine a squirrel getting itself stuck in a couch. Aren't they agile? Can they not jump from trees, dodge traffic (sometimes)? Surely it could back itself out of a space in a couch. ?!?!?!?! Oh well. I also laugh because my grampa used to use his slingshot and rocks to get squirrels off of his bird feeder. I guess he didn't need to waste time and energy with a slingshot all those years. He could have lured those squirrels to their doom with couch cushions.

Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes

Too much has happened in the past 11 days to record in full, so I'll summarize.

1. My grampa passed away on Christmas Eve. This is something my family has been expecting since his health began to really decline a couple months ago. Still, I'm not sure one can ever be prepared for it. My dad got the call from my Uncle Charles, and I knew by my dad's demeanor what the call was about. It was the second time in my life that I have seen my dad cry; the first time was on 9/11. These brief tears were followed by hugs and memories.

It's difficult to sum up my memories/thoughts/views about Grampa, but predominantly, I remember him as someone who viewed (and lived) life as an aesthetic experience: the love for his wife, family, golf, other people, music, painting, ice cream/sweets, humor...even shooting squirrels with a slingshot :) Below are only a few examples...

-I remember sitting across from him at the kitchen table in NC eating cereal one morning. I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. We sat in silence for a while as I ate, and then he told me I had such beautiful, big brown eyes and that he was happy I had brown eyes.

-I remember numerous times that he would have Gramma put on one of his favorite CDs, turn it up loud, and just marvel aloud at how gorgeous the sounds were; how it just touched his soul. He let everyone know it too; I loved that about him.

-I remember him always being more excited about dessert than dinner, and that ice cream always had to be in a cone. I remember the way he would shuffle his slipper-ed feet to his bedroom and tell us, "Well, I'm off the radar screen".

-I remember the way he looked and Gramma, told her he loved her and all of her idiosyncrasies.
-I remember the last time I saw him---it was at Katie and Brian's for Luke's birthday. He ate none of the meal other than the cake and ice cream (of course). He asked me to get him a second helping. Gramma and I teased him as he gobbled down every last bit of it.

I love him and will miss him terribly.

2) I got back to Jacksonville on Saturday to be greeted by some odd, foul smell in the house. I awoke Sunday morning to find fresh rat droppings throughout each room along with muddy prints all over the blinds, bookcases, window sills, and a couple inches of wood chewed off the ledges (plus an even more potent, unpleasant smell). Awesome. Our landlord is refusing to set traps because he "doesn't have time" and assures us that it is probably only one rat and that poison will do the trick (eh-hem, so that more of them can die beneath the house and emit righteous smells). He also refused to plug the hole from where they came. In the meantime, Megan and I are trying to decide what to do about the mess and what to do with our urine-ified/poop-ified furniture. We called the Dept. of Health.

3) The new year will begin shortly. Does anyone really keep their New Year's resolutions? I'm still trying to think of my own.

Happy 2008, everyone. Love to all.

A "Me, me me" entry

Well, I received this email today from the Museum of Contemporary Art Jacksonville. I mentioned in this previous post that I had entered some work. The results are in:

Dear First Coast Portfolio Applicant,
We are happy to inform you that one or more of your pieces were selected for inclusion in First Coast Portfolio: A Juried Art Educators Exhibition. You will be receiving a letter shortly detailing the next step in the process. Congratulations, and we look forward to seeing the selected works in person in January.

Happy Holidays,

Ben Thompson

BEN THOMPSON

Registrar

MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART | JACKSONVILLE
333 North Laura Street : : Jacksonville, FL 32202
(904) 366-6911 ext 206 : : (904) 366-6901 fax
www.mocajacksonville.org

This is very exciting! It is a gorgeous space and it will be great exposure. Maybe I can actually sell a flippin' painting or two.

In the meantime, my grad-school applications are plugging along. Did I mention I still have some pieces to finish before my portfolio is complete? Apparently, I'm really good at counting to 20. Needless to say, I am feeling a little stressed. I do have some new paintings though that I feel pretty good about.