Play pen…
I hold that there is nothing worse for us as educators than to fall into a routine,
because as events unfold,
more often than not,
routines lead us to repeat ourselves over and over,
and finally we have nothing left to offer…
Falling into a routine,
we risk losing the stimulation that our work can give us,
and we cease caring about what we are actually offering children…
We should pause more often to reflect on what we are doing in school,
and especially to think about daily life as a series of unexpected opportunities…
— Carlina Rinaldi in Bringing Learning to Life by Louise Cadwell
Four years ago I gave a book to a parent of one of my students…
Her daughter had been in my class for Kindergarten,
and as we continued on together when she went into grade one,
this mother and I had many an opportunity for conversations at the classroom door,
and in the parking lot,
so we took them,
and went to all of the places I like to go with parents,
in a true community of teaching and learning…
This mom came back to me after reading the book and said,
If school was anything like how it is in here,
I wouldn’t feel the need to take time off,
and stay at home,
for my kids…
When I was a little girl I loved going to school…
I wanted to be there more than anything else…
Even if I was at home vomiting with the flu,
or all puffed up from the mumps,
I did not want to miss a single second of what was going on in the open area classrooms,
of my elementary school…
Don’t ask me why,
because looking back,
it was a flat,
routine experience…
What saved it was the chance to be with all of those other people,
for better or for worse…
Yesterday,
after a walk down to the river,
I stopped by an equestrian centre…
Starshine attended horse camp there in the summer of 2009…
I wanted to see the horses,
and how my field sense had grown,
since last year…
I walked down the first aisle of the barn,
stopping outside each stall,
to greet each horse…
Paying attention to the picture feelings,
in my body,
and letting them move,
as they needed to…
Seeing the horses release,
as the sensations came up for recognition,
and floated away…
Halfway through the barn,
I met a young woman tacking up a breathtaking,
young Fresian gelding…
She had only started riding four years ago,
when she was in grade nine,
but had developed quickly because she’d had the opportunity to ride everyday,
and the good fortune of connecting with a trainer who has taught her,
you must always start by asking what does your horse need…
She’d just graduated from grade twelve,
and is now working toward certification as a riding coach…
She told me,
Imagine getting paid for work you love to do…
Yes,
just imagine…
Two years ago I took a clown class…
I was the only student who had not had any formal acting experience,
or training…
All I had to go on was material from my own string of lives…
The woman teaching the class gave me a hypothetical situation,
to flesh out…
She said,
I want you to go backstage,
and when you come out you need to imagine that there is something upstage that you want so badly,
you are willing to die for it…
And the thing is,
there is a super-high-voltage cable laying in between you and what you want…
So you have to find a way to get across this danger without getting zapped…
Now go…
When you put yourself out there,
and are given a challenge,
with no time for thinking,
you have to pull out all the stops,
and everything you remember about the yoga of time travel,
from your little bag of tricks…
Flying by the seat of your pants,
both forward,
and sideways,
without going back…
And if you can convey the real sense of desperation,
and commitment,
you feel,
to get yourself upstage,
to what you want,
plus get a laugh,
out of your audience,
well then maybe that’s the sign that you’ve done,
the best of what there is to know…
It doesn't go around, it goes right through...
Pink solution…
At one point,
gently,
oh so gently,
the Pea picked up the mouse in her hand…
She cupped him in her palm and scratched his oversize ears…
“You have lovely ears,”
said the Pea to him,
“They are like small pieces of velvet…”
Despereaux thought that he might faint with the pleasure of someone referring to his ears as small,
and lovely…
He laid his tail against the Pea’s wrist to steady himself,
feeling the princess’s pulse,
and his own heart immediately took up the pounding rhythm of hers…
— in The Tale of Despereaux by Kate Di Camillo
There’s conventional spelling,
and then there’s invented spelling…
Invented spelling is where the writer sounds out the words,
and doesn’t worry about being right or wrong,
for the sake of fluency…
S/he is simply compelled to get the story on the page,
in the best way s/he knows how…
This evening Little Gem told me she wrote something,
and she gave me permission to share it in this public space,
for a higher good…
But the pictures are being saved for a private,
megawatt smile…
The littel princesse
Wants ther was a princesse.
Her nam was Laila.
She was a sad princesse.
She was sad bicos she codint go out side.
Bet most of all it was bicos she had no frends.
Evri moning Laila wood wak up.
And then she’d get dressd.
And she’d eat brekfest.
Evri mide day Laila wood eat lunch,
Play with her dolls.
And then she’d read 3 books.
Evri evning Laila wood eat diner.
She’d read won book.
And then she’d go to bed.
Won day wall Laila was playing with her dolls
somwon nokt at the dore.
It was a prince.
The End.
P.S. He wore an invisible red cape.
But Mama, I didn’t write that…
I know…
I just put that to show that you can always write your own ending,
to a new story…
The rumours of heaven only speak the truth on earth... (staging: Little Gem)
Hot spots…
One day,
when he was in a merry mood,
he created a mirror that had the power of making everything good or beautiful that was reflected in it,
shrink to almost nothing,
while everything that was worthless and bad was magnified and looked worse than ever…
The most lovely landscapes appeared like boiled spinach,
and people became hideous and looked as if they were standing on their heads with no bodies…
Their faces were so distorted that no one could recognize them,
and even one freckle appeared to spread all over the nose and mouth…
The demon thought this was very amusing…
When a good or pious thought passed through the mind of anyone,
it was misrepresented in the glass…
Then how the demon laughed at his cunning invention…
— in The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen…
When I was in my teens,
and early twenties,
things happened…
And it was assumed that if it happened,
you must have wanted it,
especially if you weren’t laying on your back,
or struggling…
This was before the advent of blaming a thong,
and expanding societal awareness that when it happens,
whether you wanted it or not,
your memory may be sketchy…
Particularly if you’ve been under the influence,
of whom,
or what,
you didn’t even know…
On the main floor,
of the large building,
where I attend flamenco class,
there is a dance hall…
It is currently filled with rows upon rows of shelving,
and boxes of lab glass…
But I’ve been in that big open space before,
for a party called Grass Skirt,
when I was still a teenager…
This was before raves,
ecstasy,
and worse…
But that time,
like any other,
had its own horror show…
Getting to go to Grass Skirt was considered a special privilege…
Not everyone got invited…
The week before the event,
you got to make your own skirt with the person who asked you,
to be his date…
It felt like being part of a tradition,
and craft…
On the evening of the big night,
you met at the fraternity house,
got on a school bus with blacked out windows,
drove to an unknown destination,
crawled through a tunnel made of cardboard,
and upon emergence,
onto a stage,
were greeted with half a coconut shell full of punch,
smoking with dry ice…
Once the picture fades to nothing,
the things you can’t remember,
including losing track of the date who wouldn’t hurt a flea,
get locked away,
until they’re ready to rise to the surface for letting go,
like a chocolate cyst…
A few summers ago I had a dream that I was climbing a wooden ladder,
up to a roof,
wearing lobster slippers…
It was a cumbersome,
awkward business,
but I refused to give up…
After great effort I found myself hanging off the peak,
of that cedar shingled roof,
triumphant…
The lobster slippers which covered my bubbly toes,
dangled from that great height,
until I kicked them off,
and they fell to the ground,
leaving my feet free for jumping…
Yesterday I got a call from my roofer,
Mr. Foreverman,
who runs a successful business,
without a cell phone…
He had some warnings which I share with you now…
Just in case you find yourself in a situation,
and haven’t got a clue how you got there…
High-efficiency furnaces,
often sold in combination with a humidifier,
require proper ventilation…
If moist air is being pumped into attic space,
or a vaulted ceiling packed with insulation,
and no soffit venting,
there’s a pretty good chance that the plywood deck,
sandwiched in between the roof structure,
and the roofing materials,
will rot…
Keeping a water buffalo,
or growing mushrooms,
in any house,
is only asking for trouble…
Troubles that may tick away on the inside,
but can’t be dealt with unless you start pulling off the shingles on the outside…
The plywood that was ripped out of my neighbour’s roof last week,
revealed a damp thick white bloom of the sort found on expensive soft cheese,
and most people’s tongues…
Not what you want in your house…
Air needs to circulate,
and we need to offer up our own experiences,
in order to move it…
Mr. Foreverman told me,
Things aren’t the way they were even twenty years ago…
Ultra violet rays can burn out a roof deck right through the shingles…
And it can happen fast…
You need to make sure that you’re removing what shouldn’t be there in the first place…
I have to say,
some of the rare characters I see in the trades,
are a million times clearer with their methods,
and their messages,
than any pedigreed professor,
or sales and marketing executive,
diddling hand-held devices…
Hallelujah for that…
When everything's a little clearer in the light of day...
Canuck'd 