Serenity

Serenity
The Breachway

Saturday, September 29, 2018

A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

This is a fabulous article. I have been at a loss to succinctly put into words, my very strong disapproval of appointing this candidate to the highest court in America. Brett Kavanaugh is NOT on trial, there is no presumption of innocence. This is a job interview, and the way he presents himself, is unnerving. We no longer seat judges according to their impartiality, but by their ability to use their influence to advance a political agenda. He has voiced his opinion, the opinion which will brought to the Supreme Court if appointed, that accusations being brought forth, are in part, a witch hunt brought on by democrats and the Clintons. That is NOT impartiality! That is a political bias, which should never be allowed to enter the room where the laws of this great country are being interpreted. When cases of sexual assault are brought before the court, we deserve a Justice who will be fair and impartial, and not be influenced by powerful political PACs and legislators, looking to use the Supreme Court to advance political agendas. This candidate has shown that he is not the best candidate to hear cases involving sexual assaults, Roe v Wade, economic disparity in the workplace or anything else that will directly affect the empowerment of not only women and girls, but any faction that does not fit with the ideology of the conservative right. His obvious alliance with a political leaning, will cloud his judgement and influence. This in not someone who should be shepherding our country. He is not a shepherd, he is a wolf in sheep's clothing.

 https://www.americamagazine.org/politics-society/2018/09/27/editors-it-time-kavanaugh-nomination-be-withdrawn

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Just When You Think...

Just when you think...

Just when you think the world has gone completely to the dung heap, young people enter, and the world tilts and wobbles a bit.  Just when you think all is dim and gray, enter the kids; the agents of change creeping in to open your eyes. Look around, listen to what is being said, feel the winds of change... Fake news!

OK, so that being said, I experienced something, a dimension out of sync, this past week that completely blew my mind. I was with an incredible group of students this past week, that totally shook my world. The world as it were, did not wobble and tilt. It spun out of control and sent me into another dimension, a warped and ugly place where I had thought we had begun to leave behind; door closed, buried, returning to only to learn from our mistakes.
I've been a teacher for a long, long time, and thought I'd seen and heard it all.  Not so. Within the span of six hours I heard and witnessed such crassness and cruelty, the likes of which I have not experienced in a very long time. Lightning fast, the village I thought was raising more thoughtful children, more empathetic souls; a ghost town. The hope I felt for generations coming to assuage and mend the rips, rends and chasms; disintegrated. If what I witnessed is what "Making America Great Again" is tipping us toward...Be wary.

This week, I worked in a Middle School. I worked in a school in a middle-class town, filled with people of average incomes, average intellect, struggling to survive. This town has had its share, more than its share, of Opioid misuse, abuse and deaths. It has had its share of spousal abuse, resulting hospitalizations, and deaths. It is a town that has struggled to educate it's children and send them off to change the world. It is a town whose growth has created anger and confusion, with services not keeping up with it's needs. One would think this town, with it's common struggles, might be the place where children are taught and nurtured to look around and see that everyone has challenges, and to support those challenges. For, "by the Grace of God, go I," may cause them to pause and understand; understand that those who are cast out, might someday be them.

In the span of six, very brief hours I heard one boy call another, "retarded." When I asked that the boys settle down, another shouted, "who you callin' boys, we ain't no niggers." This from a very white boy, in a 100% white room. And yet another hurled, "don't be insulting (XX) cuz everyone knows he wants to be a girl. And from the girls, giggles and a comment, "don't be insultin' the girls."  Yes, I did write them up...class dismissed.

Exhausted, I manned the door to await the next class, and welcome them into  the room. A very exuberant teacher, playfully skipped past the door, exclaiming..."Friday, Friday!" a gaggle of girls giggled and rolled their eyes, and I thought, "how sweet." WRONG! The teacher was not a slender, lithe, sprite of a woman, but a more substantially built, woman of joy. The giggles were snide little expressions of disgust, as I overheard the low condemnations of this bundle of joyful mirth, be called an elephant. "Seriously" one announced with the classic head tilt, "I thought we were having an earthquake." Enter the next class of students whom we stupidly believer will, "Make America Great Again."

"Ok, ladies and gentlemen. You may listen to music, one earbud in, phone face up on your desk, while you work independently on your assignment." One might think I had asked them to cut off a toe. Phones were secreted under the desks, thumbs texting at rapid fire. "Change of plan. In that you can't follow directions, all phones are to be powered down and put away in pockets or backpacks." WRONG!  The sneers came out, the classic head tilt came on strong. Believe it or not..."Who the Hell does she think she is, she's a fucking sub. She's too old to know what a cellphone is..oh yeah, she's looks pretty stupid...yeah she's a 'tard...She's a fuckin' 'tard!" Yes, I wrote them all up. As I was doing so, charming girl #1 and delightful girl #2, quietly gathered their things and slithered out of the room. Teachers have great peripheral vision. Front office notified, the "all call" went out throughout the school, and just like that....poof, my faith in a world of caring, a time of understanding, a better place for all...gone in one whimpered, poof....

Who the Hell is raising this festering boil of a pod of people? Who do these children look up to, aspire to? Whose hands are guiding? Those hands might just possibly be hands dipped in swill. I used to roll up my sleeves; loved getting my hands dirty, being, “the change” I hoped to be. I reveled in knowing that my hands had penned praises on papers, held the tissues to wipe the tears and applauded success.

After this week, I wash my hands.

Monday, April 2, 2018

Snow

Snow

Snow...
the smell of snow, approaching, falling, settling...
the feel of snow, kissing the cheek...
the taste of snow, a flake on the tongue, a fist full from woolly, mitten-ed fists....
touch the snow, cold, drippy as it melts, fresh from the heavens...
snow...
nary a sound...
snow.

Coming Home



It has been said  you can never go home once you leave; the rhythm is disrupted, out of sync, on a different road.  However, you can return, not physically, but emotionally, through the nether-land of memories and milestones that shaped who you are. Letting go of the physical is the hard part.

Remembering a hand, holding, or hitting, is physical, the feelings evoked is emotional. A walk in the woods or down a busy street brings back smells and sounds; physical senses. Feel what you felt then; wonder, fear, delight, excitement; emotions. A cry in the night heightens awareness. Is it a cry for help? Is it a cry in pain, or is it a soft cry of grief; a deep and guttural cry of despair? The sound is physical, what is felt, deep in the center of your being, is what you need to feel. It's what you need to go home.

Home... What is home?  Home is where you felt, just felt. Home is where you belonged, were a part of a whole. Home was the foundation that shapes who you are now, how you are, and where you are. Home might have been safe or home might have been a place from which you were desperate to escape; to leave and never return. Yet you do return. In the way you face adversity, the way you love, the way you hate. Home is from where your decisions are made. Home is the way you express emotions. Home is the direction, the weather vane that points you toward where you need to be. Where this is, may not be where you want to be. Be patient, wait for the shift in direction. Feel the shift, slight as it may be, but there nudging you quietly. Try a different path. Step out of the shadow. Duck under cover from the glare. Follow. Carve and create a direction of your own. Trust the emotions you feel, for now. Follow until the wind shifts again.

Finding home will take you back along the paths you chose or were chosen for you. This is where it gets tricky.  You'll come to crossroads and need to feel what you felt. Did you miss a turn, did you lose your way? Did you stride forward with purpose and conviction, only to come to a tangle of choices and turn back, missing the thread that might have brought you through?

Home...the first memories of who you are, where you are, how you belong is home. Home is a nurturing place where you fall asleep in loving arms. Home is where you know you will be great. Home is where you don't give up. Home is where you are heard. Home is where you can just... be. Home is your first direction.

Home...is not always the home of our dreams. Home cans also be a hurtful place, a place where there is little warmth. Home can be a place where there is confusion, fear, and despair. Home... a place you need to leave, and return to when you find the right path. Some find the way to change the direction their home placed them on, some do not. It is for those souls, wandering the short and narrow paths, that compassion and understanding need to take hold. The wounded soul that needs a resting place, too covered in armor to notice the gentle shift. Finding that road home is so very hard, often leading to dead ends, through thickets, thorny and tangled. But following your gut, will lead you to paths that were hidden to you as you forged blindly away from home. Listen to what you feel, follow your true North Star, it will lead the way. Believe.

They say you can't return home. You can return home. Home is within you. Home is where you are. Home is how you live, love and hate. You created home. Home is who you are. Welcome home.

Monday, March 5, 2018

Looking for Miracles

With so much fear, distress, anxiety, unfathomable sadness and grief, we hear," Pray for the victims; pray for a miracle."
As one who has always questioned the existence of, but accepting of an Overseer of all things, I question praying, or looking for the ultimate fix ....the Big Miracle.
Within the past few months my circle of friends has dwindled, losing many to cancer, old age or other illnesses. Our world has lost 17 dear souls to gun violence. We pray for a cure, we pray to end violence, we pray for rain, we pray to end the rain. It seems this is asking quite a bit from the Grand Overseer
If we looked at prayers as balls, simple round balls balls to be placed in a basket, our basket, why then would our first choice be the biggest ball, such as a basketball, to fill our basket? That big ball might be impressive, but it leaves so much space in our basket. A Pilates ball? Imagine how difficult that would be! It would only pop out and roll away leaving an empty basket. Marbles might be a better choice, but there would still be voids. Perhaps ball bearings... simple, insignificant in size and oft overlooked. Yet in large quantities small ball bearings can move great objects.
Rather than look for the Big Fix, the miracle of all miracles, look for the beginning....the ball bearing. Look for the seed not the forest. Listen for one note, not the full symphony. Find the thread the begins your tapestry. Hear the first gasp of life not the awakening cry. Live for the small; work toward the great. Accept that sometimes the miracle we seek is too big. Understand that this pilates ball will, most likely roll away. It is then, when we truly understand the significance of the insignificant, we seek the smallest of miracles; the ones that will move mountains, and fill our basket.

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Not Just One Corner

I am a holistic teacher and strongly believe that we need to get rid of data driven teaching. That why I am passionate about kids with exceptionalities. We need to bring back all the arts. They reach so many different corners. We need to bring back recess at all levels, not rely on gym class to get kids moving. We need to bring back  solid foundations in all four core subjects, not competencies that align with the latest common core, frameworks, every child learns, and no child left behind.  
When we speak of a "well rounded education," this does not mean the square pegs of ever changing data driven curriculum. It means "rounded," reaching every learner, at every level; learner's who might need music to learn fractions, art to learn geometry, recess to learn socialization, videos and documentaries to enlighten history. How about reading or being read to....now that's a novel approach. Ask your high school kids to see their common core English textbooks. They are being required to dissect lovely works of poetry and prose into cold, clinical, data driven, tests with assigned accountability.
Let's start the day with a song, throw in some movement, paint the sky with every color in the rainbow. Let's measure the shadows in the room, let's chart the sun across the sky. Let's teach the whole child, not just one corner.

Not Just One Corner

I am a holistic teacher and strongly believe that we need to get rid of data driven teaching. That why I am passionate about kids with exceptionalities. We need to bring back all the arts. They reach so many different corners. We need to bring back recess at all levels, not rely on gym class to get kids moving. We need to bring back  solid foundations in all four core subjects, not competencies that align with the latest common core, frameworks, every child learns, and no child left behind.  
When we speak of a "well rounded education," this does not mean the square pegs of ever changing data driven curriculum. It means "rounded," reaching every learner, at every level; learner's who might need music to learn fractions, art to learn geometry, recess to learn socialization, videos and documentaries to enlighten history. How about reading or being read to....now that's a novel approach. Ask your high school kids to see their common core English textbooks. They are being required to dissect lovely works of poetry and prose into cold, clinical, data driven, tests with assigned accountability.
Let's start the day with a song, throw in some movement, paint the sky with every color in the rainbow. Let's measure the shadows in the room, let's chart the sun across the sky. Let's teach the whole child, not just one corner.