Yes to Whitman!

 

Whitman was always one of my favorite poets to teach.  Why?  Several reasons.

He was a Quaker.   My maternal grandparents and great-grandparents plus everyone on the Cattell side of the family were Quakers.  I remember going to the Society of Friends church services and to the Yearly Meeting at the Friends Meeting House.  I attended church camp at Quaker Canyon.  My cousins did not volunteer for military service; specifically none of them were drafted for the Vietnam War because they were conscientious objectors.  Walt did not fight on either side, the North or the South, during the Civil War for that very reason.  Instead he became a nurse and helped care for the wounded.

"O Captain!  My Captain" is one of my favorite poems. My mother claims that I burst into a recitation of those lines during a family party once.  I don't remember it, but she claims it happened.  Funny thing is...no one else remembers it either. I think she dreamed it.

I wrote in a previous post about Dead Poets Society and the connection to Whitman, but that is not the only reason I like this particular poem.  The extended metaphor between the captain and President Lincoln is striking.  It is one that is extremely easy to read, to understand, and to teach.  Lincoln is one of my favorite Presidents, and I have always enjoyed our trips to Gettysburg, first as a child with my parents and sister, then with both daughters on their 8th grade school field trips, then most recently with my husband, our oldest daughter and her husband during the summer of 2011.

How ironic that in today's news was a commemoration of the anniversary of Lincoln's speech at Gettysburg. 

Walt Whitman --- one of a kind.

Hester Prynne - one of the 10 Best Moms Ever

10 Best Moms Ever

Hester Prynne from The Scarlet Letter

By Caryn BrooksThursday, May 08, 2008

Hester Prynne, a young woman living in 17th-century Boston, commits adultery and gives birth to a little girl she calls Pearl. Hester refuses to reveal who fathered her child, and, this being Puritan country, pays a hefty cost: she must wear a scarlet letter "A on her chest. Like so many other single mothers before and since, Hester supports herself, resists community officials' attempts to take Pearl away and, most importantly, teaches her daughter that no amount of public shame can diminish what is inside you. "This badge hath taught me — it daily teaches me —it is teaching me at this moment — whereof my child may be the wiser and the better," Hester says. Little do they know that Hester is really teaching her daughter about pride rather than their imposed lesson on shame, and for that, she wins stealthy great mom honors.

Read more: Hester Prynne from The Scarlet Letter - Best & Worst Moms Ever - TIME http://content.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1738178_1737704_1737696,00.html #ixzz2k9Pq1JzX

Work isn't work when you are doing something you love

It's true, isn't it?

When I was in junior high, my home ex teacher was my idol. She was young, single, and loved to teach us to sew and cook.  Because of her, I wanted to be a home ec teacher and took every home ec class I could while I was in high school.  When I started at Indiana State, I fully intended to teach home ec or be an extension agent.

Somewhere along that journey, I changed my mind and decided to pursue a degree in liberal arts, majoring in English. I remember sitting at the ISU Evansville campus (now USI) during my AmLit survey class, using the same anthology we use in ENG 222 and 223.  The guy sitting next to me asked me why I wasn't majoring in English since I was so good at writing and loved reading the lit and discussing it.  The change was made.  I was scared to death to do it, but the same guy was very encouraging....everyone has to read and write so I would never be out of a job teaching it.   True.

Ups and downs come with everything in life, including majoring I the Liberal Arts.  However, through my 40 years on this journey the positives have outweighed the negatives.

First...I love to read.  I spent all of my free time when I was growing up with a nose in a book.  I would bury myself in a book on the long 12 -hour trips to visit my grandparents in Ohio, coming up for air only for restroom breaks or closing the book when it was too dark to see the print.   Brit lit was my favorite in college! but when I started teaching juniors, AmLit took over as my preference.  Selecting new novels to read and finding ways to entice my lower level kids, along with the rough and tough football players who didn't like to read,into at least reading past the first page of anything was a fun challenge.  Seeing the eyes light up, the light bulbs click on with understanding, and listening to in-depth discussion begin before the bell rang were just perks to doing what I love.

Second....coaxing timid writers who were afraid to express their ideas into composing narratives, short stories, and poems was downright rewarding.  Reading their words pop off the pages as the students created individual masterpieces was just the beginning.  Several competed in our conference writing contests with great results; others pursued majors relating to writing and lit when they graduated.

Third...there is so much satisfaction when I see others pursue similar degrees.  Number one is my own daughter.  My heart fills with love and pride when I see the wonderful English teacher and librarian she has become.   Don Vogt is my first student who became an Emglish teacher. Mike McCarty was probably my last high school student to finish his English degree at Purdue, and there have been several student teachers from my West Central days who are making a name for themselves in schools across the country, including Beth Dean at Pioneer in Royal Center and Sarah Bombagetti Nehrbass at a private school in Seattle, Washington. Now my heart swells even more when my Ivy Tech students make the decision to move into the world of Liberal Arts, specifically English.  Plus there are others who I coerce happily into electing an AmLit course to fulfill a Humanities requirement for graduation.  Once caught....never released! Well, thrice released.....one student didn't realize there would actually be reading required for this course--Horrors! Another couldn't actually see the point of submission through Blackboard and sent her assignments randomly through her Yahoo email to various addresses of mine.  The third one didn't have internet access on a regular basis, which makes it hard to complete an online course.  Otherwise, mostly success.

My son-in-law once said to me 'Not everyone loves reading and literature like you do!'  I agreed, but I also replied that "Not everyone realizes that they CAN grow to love literature and reading like I do."  Reading is fun.  Reading is a great way to spend time waiting for an appointment.  Reading can take one to places and times that could never be experienced otherwise.  Reading is a release, a mood brightener, an energizer.  Reading is informative, educational, entertaining, enlightening. 

If I can spend my 'work' time discussing literature, helping others improve their writing skills, leading students and others to enjoy two of the greatest communication skills, reading and writing, then is my work really work?

I can't imagine myself teaching FACS classes now.  My days in the classroom should not have been erased to spend time in an extension office in a county where budget cuts are numerous and agents are stretched beyond their limits.  Thank you to the guy who sat next to me in that summer class at ISU-Evansville who first suggested that I change my major.  It lead me to a journey that included more than I could have ever imagined possible.  No regrets.

It's true.  Work isn't work when you are doing something you love.

Reading Blogs - Sparking Memories

Most of my Monday time in my office was spent reading blogs.  Grading blogs is a tremendous undertaking, with 16 scoresheets open, then reading original posts and responses and trying to keep straight where the points go on which scoresheet.  I try hard not to miss anyone or anything, but I do know that posts are sometimes missed---or points are given to people who haven't actually written a response on a certain person's blog. Definitely a job for my office rather than my living room or dining room where interruptions abound and attention often strays.

This set of blog posts sparked several memories.  One is of the time my Short Stories class and I traveled to South Bend to watch five short stories on stage.  These were presented by a traveling troupe out of New York City which tried to present some culture to those of us whose schools were in the middle of cornfields.  Ove the years I had witnessed interpretations of several Poe stories, including "The Tell Tale Heart" and "The Cask of Amontillado," but my favorite was "The Black Cat."  Anyone knowing the story will recall the final scenes of the story when the main character's guilt for murdering his wife is revealed when the police officers discover her body in the indentation in the wall, behind the plaster, with the one-eyed cat sitting on her head, shrieking to reveal her location.  We all knew the ending of the story; however, everyone in the audience seemed to jump when the screech of the cat was heard.  A few screams permeated the otherwise silent auditorium as well.  Of course the glowing eye of the cat was rather haunting, and I was very glad that the focus for the next act was "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County."  Quite a difference between Twain and Poe!

Another reference which brought to mind one of my gifted classes was to the movie Dead Poets' Society.  Since we studied nearly all of the poets mentioned in that now-classic film, it was natural for us to view it during one of our class sessions.  Well, really more than one, since the film was too long to be viewed at one sitting. I was delighted to watch the recognition of names and titles as my students listened to Mr. Keating advise,   "Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Don't be resigned to that. Break out!"  and  "But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary."

But my favorite was the passage from Whitman to which he alluded:  "O Captain, my Captain. Who knows where that comes from? Anybody? Not a clue? It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now in this class you can either call me Mr. Keating, or if you're slightly more daring, O Captain my Captain." 

My gifted juniors and seniors had no idea that "O Captain, My Captain" was one of my favorite poems, one that I had memorized years before as a junior in high school.  However, our reading and discussion of it, plus the mention of those lines in DPS and the subsequent events at the end of the film, led them to the most amazing tribute I have ever experienced.

One day I left the classroom to retrieve something from my office next door.  When I returned, one by one each student stood, stepped on the seat of the desk, and moved to the top until all were standing, just like the students honored Mr. Keating as he left the classroom for the last time.  All of my students were smiling;  one of them said," This is for you, our Captain."  I cried.

Dare I say that the class was one of my favorites?  Of course. What a memory to treasure!  But even moreso is the knowledge that the tribute came from their being challenged to learn more, to read difficult literature, to discuss and analyze, to synthesize and apply.  From that class were born pharmacists, engineers, a lawyer, and a doctor, plus a minister and a bartender (Sam Malone from "Cheers" was his hero!).

Literature does make an impact. Literature creates lasting memories.  Impact someone's life.  Make some memories of your own.  Explore new authors and titles.  You never know what you might find!

Emerson knew what he was talking about!

"Infancy conforms to nobody; all conform to it."

 In all the years I have shared my favorite aphorisms, I have never picked this one.  However, today this one seemed perfect.

My Daughter the Librarian is very organized. She is a planner. (I know, I know what those of you who know me are thinking).  She gets upset if someone is late, or if the plans change slightly.  She can't handle glitches or wrenches thrown into plans. 

Before Cooper was born, she would tell us of her plans for her maternity leave.  She would have a schedule for both of them.  He would eat at certain times, and he would sleep at certain times, and she would be able to keep up on all of her librarian duties at home, such as reading and reviewing new books for the students.  Her dad and I just looked at her, then at each other, and laughed. 

At one point she asked what I thought about her plan for something or other, and I said "Why don't you just wait until you see what happens and go with it?  Most of the  original planning will go out the window when Cooper is born and you bring him home."  She then burst into tears and was upset with me for upsetting her.  Oh my.
Fast forward to the first six weeks of Cooper's life.  He ate when he was hungry. He slept when he was sleepy.  He was awake when he wasn't tired.  He didn't care about any schedule that Mommy had made. He was in charge.

One day I called her and she had both changing table covers in the washer plus the crib sheet and had cleaned up the chair where she fed him twice that morning...for spit up milk and poopy diapers that had leaked.  She had been pooped on and spit up on as well, and she needed a shower and would love to wash her hair,  plus she would KILL for a nap. (not really kill anything or anyone..just a figure of speech).  And why could I not come and help her!!?!?!?!

Circle back to the aphorism.... Infancy (specifically Cooper) does not conform to anyone. He has developed his own schedule.  When he is hungry, he wants to be fed. Simple as that.  If his diaper is wet, he wants to be changed.  It doesn't matter what type of schedule anyone would wish he were on, he just doesn't care.

However, we all conform to him.  His parents time their trips to the grocery on his feeding and sleeping schedules.  I had to chuckle at My Daughter the Librarian say she had to get up at 5:30 to shower and get ready for a conference and be ready by 6:15 so she could feed Cooper before her friend picked her up at 7.  Then she had planned the bottles for her time away from home and planned to be back at certain time so she could feed him again.  The last time they visited us and I asked her what time they would arrive, she said it depended on Cooper and how long he took a nap.

We conform to infants.

Of course, this aphorism could be figurative in meaning as well, instead of just literal, but that may the subject of another post.  Got you thinking, right?

My Daughter the Librarian and my grandson Cooper

Morning......

The time is 5:32 a.m. and I am sitting in my recliner, sipping a glass of OJ mixed with Diet Dew (I know...weird combo but it tastes great and gives me the pep I need for morning!).  Why am I awake?  Because the alarm buzzed at 4:45 a.m.  An Advisory Council breakfast at 7:30 a.m. on the Kokomo campus is mandatory for all full time faculty who are not teaching, and it will be followed by the annual Student Engagement Conference which will end at 5 p.m.  My drive from home to Kokomo is just at an hour from driveway to parking lot, so allowing for any type of traffic impairment, such as school buses, slowing to avoid possible encounters with deer, and who knows what else, my departure time is 6:15 a.m.
Ugh.

Normally I am a morning person, and the beauty of a stunning sunrise is not wasted when I am around.  But this morning is not a good time to be awake.  Nope.  Not at all. 

I am tired.  I went to bed at 8:30 p.m. last night, awoke from a bad dream at 1:00 a.m. and was tossing and turning until around 2:30 at least, maybe later than that,. 

Ugh.

Ok...lit related post.  

A section of Walden addresses mornings, I think.  There is just something about the quiet and solitude of early hours, especially in the country.  Watching the sun break the horizon and the daylight creep into the nighttime darkness.  Listening to the birds converse as the day begins.  Smelling the freshly cut grass blanketed with dew.  But most of all....looking at the day as an empty canvas, ready to be painted with the activities and journeys taken by the artist (which is each one of us). 

When I taught high school, I liked to arrive at the building around 7 a.m.  Everything was so quiet, and the halls were still lit with the auxiliary lights.  When Glenn flipped the switch at 7:15, nothing seemed the same in the brightness.  Slowly noises began to filter through the halls as athletes ran to their lockers after early morning practices or children of teachers lapped the halls for something to do before the morning bell rang.  After school hours just weren't the same as that hour between 7 and 8 a.m.

Time for me to move out of the recliner and finish the preparations for departure and the start of my day.  Still dark outside. In fact I have checked the clock a few times to be sure I am actually supposed to be awake right now.  In 30 minutes or so I will be on the road, driving southeast to Kokomo, anticipating the long day ahead.  Hoping for a beautiful sunrise to make the drive spectacular!

Have a good one!!

Musing on the Month

 

October

By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

 

 

We haven't read anything by Frost yet, but this poem seemed to fit my mood today. My weekend was full of family and fall fun.....harvest is a great time of year!