The Two-Day Friend

Friday: Mama robin in the rhododendrons pushes the runt out of the nest. Rich puts him/her back in.

Saturday morning: The runt is back on the ground. We decide to put him/her in a box with some pieces of wool. Rich spends some time explaining to E. and L. that they bird may not survive, but we can care for him/her for a little while and try to help. We all find worms as we are already spending the weekend gardening and working around outside.

Saturday: The bird gradually perks up and seems to enjoy human interaction. E. begins to cuddle him/her, cupping him/her with her hands in the box. The bird seems to like this.

Sunday morning: The bird chirps in the morning. We feed him/her worms throughout the day, and a few drops of water.

Sunday evening: We are having friends for dinner outside. We show the bird to them and their nearly four year-old son. We are proud of our care, and that the bird seems healthy.

Monday morning: I wake early to write a letter of recommendation for someone, and the kitchen is silent. I don't want to wake him/her. I spend an hour working and then the house awakes. Everyone dresses and Rich goes outside to find some worms.

But the bird is no longer with us.

It is a sad day.

I am surprised by how quickly we all began to love the bird.

This afternoon we'll look at this book, which is in the library of L's preschool: http://www.amazon.com/Dead-Bird-Margaret-Wise-Brown/dp/0064433269

Maybe that will help.

In honor of Birdie, here's a beautiful sad song that has lately risen above "Donnie Darko" for me:

Spring Green Things

Things I'd like to do this spring:

1. Make a terrarium.
2. Clear out my scary bedroom so seedlings can sprout in the sunshine near the radiator.
3. Plant a full-sun medicinal herb garden in a newly planned space near the roses.
4. Plan out summer camping trips.
5. Craft two personal web sites.
6. Make more things out of beeswax.
7. Watch more movies that knock my socks off.
8. Pick up the violin again.
9. Protect, nurture, rest, discover, laugh, meet, thank.

Many Returns

Today, E. wanted to come to the grocery store with me, even though I promised her it would be boring and I would feel irritated, at a grocery store on a Saturday. She didn't mind, and I secretly was happy. "Sometimes I feel like I miss things," she said, referring to errands. I promised her that I save all the fun things for her. And lately, I do. Except for that mid-week bookstore trip I'm still plotting, and hope to take soon. I'll be there for hours, I'm certain: absolutely hours.

We brought home some chocolate to share with Lena. There is always food in our day, and it helps me remember the ways it brings us together.

Adding Mo

Reconnect

Renovate + refurbish (spirit)

Redact (mistakes are good)

Reclaim truth

R's in Verse: Thomas Lux

The daily fare, every day ugly in some way,
every day beautiful and gone.
--Against which: no, not always
against or else the bitter grinding, daughter,
the bitter grinding leaves you nothing, nor no will
to go forth--in one hand the rage
I hope you have, in the other the rapture.

Thomas Lux, from "For My Daughter When She Can Read"

All My Resolutions Have the Letter

1. Rest

2. Reading

3. Riot (when it is called for)

4. Rising (early rising makes peace)

5. Reliability (personal)

6. Resilience (so helpful when nurtured!)

7. Redirect extra time from things to people

Felt Words Redux

Have learned of the quote again:

"If it is to be, it is to be by me."

I Was a Good Mom Before....

...I had an extrovert.

"I want to watch sports," she says to me a few days ago. "I want to watch basketball."

I found basketball on a sports station. It was not quite the kind she was thinking of, and it was hard to determine what she really envisioned.

It was another moment in many moments when I both admired and felt confounded by her, and vaguely, around the edges of my raw introvert nerves, wondered how we could have so recently shared a blood supply.

The Superego and the Id At Play

"I want that game!"

"That's not a game. They're getting kids to buy it."

"I want that Barbie movie!"

"They're getting kids to buy it and I don't want it!"

(Sounds like the Bean's been reading Naomi Klein.)

Proof That The Grandparents Are Out of Practice

"What is that on his forehead? Is that a welt? Is that something new?"

(Babysitting my nephew, 11/08/09)

Progressive Education Fantasyland: a Rant of Rant-ish Proportions

I'm just going to enjoy this fantasy for a two months, give or take, before the lottery for the 2010-2011 school year at Unity Charter School in Morristown is held.

Yes, it's far. And yet:

There are many reasons I'm a huge fan of charter schools.

*For one, I believe successful charter schools can do a number of goods: attract students whose learning styles, needs and family educational philosophy match well with its mission.

*Urban charter schools like this school in Jersey City appeal to parents who might otherwise feel that the only way their children can avoid mediocre public schools is to decamp for the suburbs. Offering a new educational path creates a diverse school and improves civic health.

*Charter schools thin out overcrowded schools. E's first-grade class--at her school and nearly every other in West Orange--is a boomish blip on the population radar. When three schools in town requested an additional first grade teacher for this school year, the new superintendent granted only two schools their wish. E's school, where parents are less well-off and less visible, was not given another teacher. I can only imagine what slights public schools receive when their parents are even less visible or empowered. Like the East Los Angeles public school where my friend Amy taught: it received a bully of a principal that had been shuffled there from another school, protected from getting the firing he deserved.

*Finally, they remind traditional schools of alternative ways of teaching and learning. There are best practices within both kinds of schools, and they have the opportunity to share ideas, even if only in theoretical comparison.

***
The typical "kid-ness" of an elementary school is exacerbated by overcrowding.I'm sensitive to noise and chaos, and surely there are children in school who are, too. When crowded classroms meet the traditional, hardwired "school" mentality, the school day looks like this: children at recess are sent to the blacktop instead of the play structures for safety reasons--just too many kids. A flower garden on the grounds remains scenery to students, and never a lesson. Older teachers and aides raise their voices with no compunction. Cafeteria aides "punish" the entire cafeteria of children by assigning seats through the rest of the school year. In other words, school exacts a series of small injuries towards a child's peace and sense of option.

This is what I see, but it's not atypical. That is, unless the schools are created from a more deliberate, studied philosophy in a progressive community. There is lots of that in our neighboring towns. That could be, ultimately, our only option. But I still can't help but feel outraged that these options must be bought with a mortgage and taxes. Do other communities mistrust anything but traditional, sit-in-your-seat structure for less well-off children? Some people argue that the "structure model" is a gift for urban children who might experience social disorder in their home life. If so, then lets keep that, too. I'm not denying that it can be useful. Just not for every child.

I hunger for innovation. To see that spark in a teacher or principal's eye. I long for three-dimensional learning, especially for boys. I desperately wish for 90 percent less homework, and the abolishment of the bleak, take-home ditto. It is not my place to tell teachers how to do their job, but all my instincts tell me that my children will suffer under the current era of Educational Numbers. Even under Obama, the larger climate is still firmly entrenched in testville. Sec. of Ed. Arne Duncan wants schools to compete for extra money if they can "quantify" their success: faculty excellence, student scores. The children will be buried beneath the quantification of their "SUCCESS." Mr. Duncan, can you quantify students' love of learning? Or how many mornings they want to go to school? How about incentivizing for that? And how do you prevent schools, panicking about ESL children and overcrowding, from doing everything in their power to buck up those numbers, even if it means students spend time each day working on sample test sheets, bored to death? That's what a teacher-friend's suburban-district principal wanted him to do. He doesn't do it, but if the shit hit the fan, he wouldn't have a choice.

So, to the Lottery we go.

I could do more to make our public school reflect my hopes. Everyone could. I have done more in a few months than I expected I could. That felt great, and of course I want to do more. I continue to propose ideas. I help out. But it astounds me when basic things continue to be overlooked: an absence of outdoor recycling bins, a nearly useless bench for parents near the play structure. Apparently parents continue to sit on the single slat while their children play, saying nothing. As if they don't deserve better.

(This leads to considerations of self-esteem and community empowerment. Immigrant parents speak up less, according to research for my last book. At the simplest level, it leads to mild alienation. At the worst, it allows the school to fail their child's needs. Yes, I'm making a lot of huge generalizations here. I'm just observing and learning as I go, even as I come from my own perspective.)

Involved parents are sometimes seen at PTA meetings, where agenda items include: fundraiser catalogs, Cheesecake Sale, soda pop tabs for the Ronald McDonald House, even a program in which Perdue gives a small school donation for each purchase of certain chicken products. (I'll bet the list includes nuggets.) For the food services staff, Perdue steps it up with the Perdue's Loyalty Program. Food services staff can purchase points toward electronics, sporting goods, office and foodservice equipment. Hope the school gets those goodies. One can only wonder, really, or doubt.

The takeaway message? It's the same as at many PTA meetings across the country. If you want to support our school, don't really worry about the details. Just be a good parent and shop. (Then please sign up for the gift fair, where you can help the children shop.)

I've told the Bean's principal that I'm not invigorated to help with these fundraisers. Families don't need catalog cheesecake, I told her. I say it with kindness and tact but also with conviction. She's allowed to think I'm a giant pain: I also have helped in a big, tangible way. So, as Obama likes to say, Let's Be Clear: my desire to shift the entire dialogue will not win me any popularity contests. But if school wants to teach values, lets move past lessons on bullying and self-esteem into an "others-oriented" approach to education. There's more self-esteem to be taught in that.

(The irony of DRIVING to a charter school focused on sustainability has not escaped me. We'll see how this all plays out: I haven't the slightest. Certainly, we can join one of the school's carpools.)

There are thousands more words to write on this, but I need to process and research them for another forum. There are issues of school segregation and innovation, race and the problem of the "good schools." Even the most progressive parents have conspired to make testing king, even as they give lip service to social learning. And no one wants to talk about it, beyond their line that they "found the best school for their child." To crib Bill Clinton, it's our own anxiety, stupid. And mine, too.

Kornukopia

Today I reminded the Bean of how, last year, she became preoccupied with candy corn. In fact, she put it on her Christmas List.

In one short year, even she sees the humor in that.

Making Room for Magnetism

After a September of adjustment, we've gotten our feet wet with some new things recently. Ballet for the Bean, Skool for L., who is blossoming within those three mornings. The younger sister--who so desperately wants to be bigger that she points out each time her shadow stretches tall on the sidewalk--glows from having her own space to play, create, sing, leap, make a mess, be curious. I am so proud of her, because her joie de vivre will bring her great things in her life, I hope.

We're also bringing some familiar communities along into fall, because they fit me, and inspire me, and the girls fit there, too. L's Waldorf-inspired class, and our twice-monthly volunteer morning at the food co-op (which has become dear time for me to enjoy work and food and issues and the sensory joys of a farm's haul).

I am enjoying the ongoing ways in which I find my tribe. It has taken me some time, but I have begun to feel that when I walk my walk--the walk that is right for me, that walk leads to the tribe. When I leap instead to "meeting," it's a little blind, a little sloppy and wobbly. I find myself wondering, is this where I should be? Do I like it here? When my own paces has led me there, there is the tribe, and I simply need to introduce myself. It's a much slower but easier way for me, and truer. Less exhausting.

"For my children, I wanted to be the sermon, not give the sermon," said Cornell West in an interview with Tavis Smiley that I heard today on my drive home.

Age 6 and Race

Questions about upcoming calendar days - Night Owl Bean lately likes to know what is "coming up" and lately her mind seems to contain a giant calendar that she is trying to fill in - led to talk of Columbus Day, which led to talk of:

*Who the heck Columbus is and why did he come to America?
*Native Americans
*Where Native Americans live now and what do they do?

"Do they take care of white babies?" she asked.

It was the first time I'd heard her use the term "white"--typically we would refer to physical descriptions of "lighter skin" and "darker skin," which I'd also heard an African-American girl in her Daisy Girl Scout troop use as well. But more significantly, it was the first time I'd heard her recognize a color construct and relate it to power.

Part of me wanted to ask her why she'd think they were taking care of white babies. But then I realized that asking that was sort of hopeless.

Because we can live in a liberal, relatively integrated community and talk equality all we want. But the jobs that people DO speak their own stories.

Another Blessing: Joan Didion's "In Bed," an excerpt

"And once it comes, now that I am wise in its ways, I no longer fight it. I lie down and let it happen. At first every small apprehension is magnified, every anxiety a pounding terror. Then the pain comes, and I concentrate only on that. Right there is the usefulness of migraine, there in that imposed yoga, the concentration on the pain. For when the pain recedes, ten or twelve hours later, everything goes with it, all the hidden resentments, all the vain anxieties. The migraine has acted as a circuit breaker, and the fuses have emerged intact. There is a pleasant convalescent euphoria. I open the windows and feel the air, eat gratefully, sleep well. I notice the particular nature of a flower in a glass on the stair landing. I count my blessings."

I Hate Time

...and it hates me. I'm 36 in a senseless stream, and that's fine with me. I like feeling lost in time, so that the now surprises me, and the past, too. Like an old person, the streams of present and past woosh and recede, woosh and recede. I was only 11 the other day, racing with the boys through the woods to spy on the older girls and boys beginning the awkward mating rituals of 12. And just the other day I walked down Park Avenue, having taken the train back from Bronxville for class; I was in my twenties.

"There is no loneliness like theirs, wrote James Wright in "A Blessing," as if it was a good thing. Walks in Ocean Grove towards the water, was that yesterday? This morning? It was usually cold, the wind funneling the breezes up the wide street off-season. My roommate, Andrew, said, "When I was deciding where to live, I knew I needed to be able to walk to someplace beautiful." In my whole life, I have never come across any other idea that made more sense than that.

In this time and in this town, I write and find flow like Wright's blessing. And loneliness. It's my truth, and it can be crazy-making, but in this world, really, what is better than crazy?

So thank you James Wright. For that poem with the two shy horses and the feeling at the end that you are about to break into blossom. Because it's just that: breaking and blossoming together. A kind of painful truth: that time continues unabated and loneliness is hard to defend and the memory of walks are always more delicious than walks today.

***

In our family, people need to get places on time, though, and that is a different way to be. Things need to be delivered places on time. I do my best. I take the fall. I get angry. I withdraw. I take time. I try to emerge with a different sense of how to be in this life without feeling completely trapped by time. In the past, there was joy in movement, but the rushing, rushing. It's nothing. It's squall.

Two Poems by Rilke

I love the dark hours of my being
in which my senses drop into the deep.
I have found in them, as in old letters,
my private life, that is already lived through,
and become wide and powerful now, like legends.
Then I know that there is room in me
for a second huge and timeless life.

But sometimes I am like the tree that stands
over a grave, a leafy tree, fully grown,
who has lived out that particular dream, that the dead boy
(around whom its warm roots are pressing)
lost through his sad moods and his poems.

***

The Way In

Whoever you are: some evening take a step
out of your house, which you know so well.
Enormous space is near, your house lies where it begins,
whoever you are.
Your eyes find it hard to tear themselves
from the sloping threshold, but with your eyes
slowly, slowly, lift one black tree
up, so it stands against the sky: skinny alone.
With that you have made the world. The world is immense
and like a word that is still growing in the silence.
In the same moment that your will grasps it,
your eyes, feeling its subtlety, will leave it. . . .

Rainer Maria Rilke (The Way In as translated by Robert Bly)

Overheard in the Cafe

(Glen Ridge High School students eating lunch next to me.)

"I have to have a family dinner every night! Do you have dinner with your mom?"

"No, I eat in my room. Do work."

"Does she try to be a mom?

"If I need something sewn, she'll do it. She's really nice. I have no problem with her. (after a while) She's kind of like a little child sometime...She's gonna get married. Eventually."

"Does she want to have kids?"

"(Unintelligible, then) My dad CANNOT have another kid."

Sisters Don't See Eye to Eye

"Look, treasure!"

"It's not treasure. It's a piece of fuzz."

Four Down...

...Including her two top front teeth, both of which fell out within two weeks of each other. This year we have noticed that she seems to feeling more secure with her sense of herself, which is such a joy. That is indicative here: she has relished the fuss that these teeth have brought!