Line 'em Up

Ever heard James Taylor's song Line 'Em Up? It's on his Hourglass album. I'm not sure when or where, probably at his concert, he talked about his inspiration for the song. He told the story of watching Nixon's departure from office and all the people lined up to shake his hand and say goodbye. He was struck by the awkwardness of the circumstances. The first verse of the song depicts this scene:

I remember Richard Nixon back in '74 and the final scene at the White House door

and the staff lined up to say good-bye, tiny tear in his shifty little eye,

he said, "Nobody knows me, nobody understands.

These little people were good to me, oh I'm gonna shake some hands."

The rest of the song is all about places and situations that line things and people up. It's a great little song. If you read me at all you know I think pretty much every JT song is a great song. But the simple imagery in this song strikes a chord that surfaces in my mind pretty regularly as I see similar examples of lined up items in the everyday. Such is the case this afternoon.

I'm in the local nail salon enjoying a pedicure as I write this. I've been using this salon for years. The people who work here are consistent- very kind, personable. Like so many other successful salons, it's lined with massage chairs filled with Floridians trying to keep their ever exposed flip-flopped tootsies groomed and painted to beach worthy perfection. Along the walls, lines of colorful paints and glitters to fit anyone's taste. At the foot of each chair, a line of hard-working hunched-over men and women of varying ages diligently clip nails, rub feet, polish and perfect the toes of strangers. I gotta admit, I don't think I could do it. The regulars, ok. Like me, they're pretty much guaranteed to be well-enough groomed from the last appointment. But you should see some of the nasty feet that walk into these places, yuck! 

Anyway, a nod to these kind people, providing a service many would turn their noses up at for work, all lined up like another verse in James Taylor's song.

Angel of Mercy (A found song lyrics poem)

I'm not sure if this poem works. My friend Helen challenged me to write a found poem from a favorite song and post it with the video of the original song. I have always loved James Taylor, his melodies and acoustic guitar, his warm smooth caramel voice, and his story telling.

Several years ago, I either heard an interview or read an article about his song "Frozen Man" from the New Moon Shine album. It's one of my favorite albums and this song is uniquely haunting. JT had read an article in National Geographic about a body that had been found buried in ice and therefore was relatively well preserved considering how long it had been there. I think it was this story. He wrote the song in first person from the perspective of the exhumed body. I liked the song first time I heard it, but once I knew the story behind it, I liked it even more.

Here is my found poem, all words and phrases from the lyrics of Frozen Man. I added nothing of my own, as tempting as it was. Below the poem you will find a video of a live performance of Frozen Man with a brief explanation from JT about the origin of the song.


Angel of Mercy

Lose
a little
life
with
every
breath

Say goodbye
to life on earth,
swallow me whole!

Shock to my body
Mercy from God
Next words spoken to me
Walk the world again

Angel of Mercy
at
the
foot
of
my
bed

Come around again

And the children
when they see me
cry.

Watch Tower

Gradations of greens and blues, darks and lights

This is where we get colors like Aqua and Aquamarine 

Foamy white streams of "been there" water trail behind weekender boats 

Ripply dresses and shirt sleeves delightfully dancing in the seaside breeze

Sunbathers, tourists and locals, poolside squinting at light reading

Just below the bar where they indulge in umbrella drinks and snack on seafood delicacies

Children gleefully screaming and splashing in the pool 

Acting surprised and scared as the cool pouring of the waterfall rushes down over their heads

Vacationers looking on, some with delight at their youthful exuberance

Others with disgust at their breaking of the quiet serenity

The heat of the sun presses down from the blue sky and seeps into our skin

All while the palm trees stand tall

Watch towers along the perimeter of this paradise

As if to warn all who approach

Only relaxation and leaisure here 

No baggage allowed!

I Did This

It's been a while since my last post. I simply haven't had the time or the energy to write. I don't need to get into the particulars of running a school on short staff and trudging through testing season, so let's just say I haven't had the time or the energy. What I did find time to do in the past month, is coordinate a writing retreat for several of my writing buddies and me. It's something I have thought about often over long periods of time. A sort of mini vacation in a relaxing locale that would give me environmental respite and communal inspiration. I just wasn't sure anyone would be on board to join me. I wasn't interested in becoming a major event planner or a collector of funds. I would set the course, make the plan, and it would be up to others to come or not to come.

After a few discussions with my writing group, it seemed there would be some interest. We sorted through some recommendations and I started by booking myself a room at Lover's Key Resort. A quiet resort by the beach with enough room to write, a pool, a restaurant, and a room with a fantastic view. Sounds like a perfect recipe doesn't it?

I have to admit, as plans solidified and the virtual invites went out I was disappointed at the lack of response. So many of my teaching and writing friends have talked over the years about how much they would love the opportunity to come together and have devoted time for writing like this. But little by little, I started to let go. This was supposed to be about people who wanted to come together and write, not people who were dragged or guilted into coming. It wasn't about projecting my wants or needs onto other people. It was simply a time to write. A writing retreat.

This morning we started out as a group of 5. Two of my regular writing groupmates and me, along with my sister-in-law a (closet) budding writer and her NWP-ISI classmate who both came out for the day. We were later joined by two others who have come in and out of the group for some participation. I did more writing this morning than I have done all month and I am enjoying it and not feeling burdened by it, which was the whole purpose of the retreat.

We did some slightly structured writing exercises out by the pool this morning, setting our intentions and getting the writing juices flowing. We wrote journal entries and short pieces of poetry and fiction. Then we ate lunch at the poolside restaurant. After we were stuffed, we wrote some more, playing around with inspiration from some of our favorite authors. Then we checked into our rooms and met in one for some exploration of what it means to be a "wild woman," with the help of Judy Reeves' book Wild Women, Wild Voices. It's been a great day so far!

As we broke apart for a little solitary down time, some for writing, others for naps or maybe the pool, I came out to my 10th floor balcony to gaze out at the beautiful view and reflect.


And I thought, I did this. It wasn't huge, it wasn't this big event, but we're here and we're writing. And I couldn't help but think, I was the catalyst. We wrote today about what our wild woman qualities are, what the word wild even means to us. There was conversation around the connotation of the word to mean crazy. In our own words, wild was everything from natural and nature appreciating to risk-taking and brave, sensitive and unrelenting, smart and achieving.
For me, this communal writing retreat embodies everything I want to be when I think of being wild. I want it to be okay for me to want to take time for myself. I want to be gutsy enough to encourage my friends around me to do the same. I want to write. I want to write. I want to write. My friend Helen mentioned this awesome notion she read in Amy Pohler's new book. She said, in so many words, we have to treat our creativity better. We have to nurture it and feed it, because it's always here, always a part of us. Contrary to our jobs which can come and go, and our careers that "shit all over us."

This retreat has been affirmation for me. I'm on a journey. Not in the concrete sense that I'm trying to get somewhere, but in the abstract sense of exploring my wild voice. To each of you on this journey with me, I thank you for holding my hand. This one's for you:

Allergy Blues

Sun shining
Pool sparkling
Nature calling

I'm itchy
And sniffly
And throaty
And stuffy

Warm blustery breeze
Fresh blooming flowers
Newly cut grass

Trees swaying
Birds chirping
Children playing

They all look and sound so inviting

from
behind the glass
inside my house
on the couch
with air conditioning blowing
at temperature of mid-fall
with no humidity

I sit
with my Kleenex
longing for the desire
and the tolerance
to step outside
and enjoy
my Florida.

I Cook, I Eat, I Write...

Sometimes, just once in awhile, the force of coincidence makes a welcomed appearance. Usually it's nothing big, nothing mind blowing. Just a little stroke of luck, by coincidence, bringing a bit of otherwise absent joy to the everyday. Such was my luck this week.

Earlier in the week, I noticed a plastic bag from mozzarella string cheese sticks on the kitchen counter. In my house, this usually means someone has finished something and the packaging never made it into the trash or the recycling bin. But I second guessed the scenario because it was a rather large bag, and the last time I was in the fridge there were quite a few left. I opened the deli drawer and there they were, a sheet of more than a dozen individually wrapped cheese sticks remaining. My husband, ever trying to reduce packaging, must have dumped the sticks out in the drawer and planned to put the bag in the recycling bin. It just never made it. The kitchen is my domain and I admit I am a bit controlling. But I have my way of doing things. I wondered, if the bag with the expiration date stamp is gone, how will we know when the cheese has spoiled or is no longer edible? I checked the individual packaging and there was no date, so I put them all back in the bag and put the bag back in the drawer.

Why this mundane story about my family life? Because the expiration date on the cheese I just happened to notice at the start of this week is the first detail in my happy coincidence. The cheese stick package story took place on Sunday or Monday, April 19th or 20th. During this time I unknowingly registered in my mind that the cheese expired on April 26th.  Then, Thursday night while unwinding after work and flipping through emails and Facebook, I encountered a recipe. Now let me explain that my FB friends, many of whom are very close personal friends and family, "like" and "share" a lot of recipes. Some appealing to me, some not. But to each his or her own. The ones I save are usually the ones for which I don't have an existing recipe or whose photo is just so visually appealing, I just know I must try it. That night, Thursday, in my newsfeed was a recipe with photo for homemade fried mozzarella sticks. Photo? Looked good, like any cheese stick you would see in a restaurant. Yummy, if you like this popular appetizer. But what made me save it? I had never made these before. All the cooking I have done in my life, I never tried to make these. And it is quite possible my family descended from mice, because do we love cheese. Also, it happened to find its way into my newsfeed when? When I had a bag full of mozzarella cheese sticks in my fridge with less than a week to expire. The culinary gods aligned with the grocery gods and I just had to make these. By the way, the recipe was super simple too and didn't require me to fill an entire soup pot with oil to deep fry them. Sold.

Fast forward to today, Saturday afternoon. I've stayed home all day because after walking my dog this morning, my allergies spoke loud and clear to me, "Stay in the a/c today!" There's not much to eat in the house. I usually go to Publix on Sunday. But wait! I opened the fridge and there they were, the mozzarella sticks calling out to me, and I remembered the recipe.

They came out fantastic. It was nowhere near as much trouble as I might have thought, and I had fun making them. Maybe it is because I work long days and cooking when I get home feels like such a drag. I have always liked cooking on Saturdays when I am not on a strict timeline and I can enjoy the creativity and leisure of being in the kitchen. Some people paint, others write or play music, some draw or sculpt. I cook. Then for some reason, I like to write. I guess that is why foodie blogs and recipe blogs are so popular. Food has stories. Cooking is a way of illustrating. Anyway, for me the cheese recipe was a joyful coincidence. It appeared at the perfect time, and I didn't have to buy a single ingredient because I had everything I needed. I even had some marinara sauce to warm up and serve for dipping. Just perfect.





And when I announced to my son that the cheese was ready, the 11th plague (teenage boy appetite) descended like locusts down the stairs and into the kitchen, and just like that they were gone. I made 14. I think I ate four. Okay maybe five. I didn't count. But no more than 10 minutes after they hit the plate, they were made gone. Hey, the way I see it, they're best when hot and the cheese is melted and molten. No good as leftovers.

My son did take the time to snap
 this photo before he ate them.

Recipe credit must go to Nikki, Chef in Training. You can find her on Facebook, or get the recipe for Homemade Mozzarella Sticks at her website.

I wasn't a follower of her page before I saw this recipe. Now, I'm going to check her out. I'm thinking of trying her Avocado Egg Rolls next.

Cheaters! : I'm Sounding Off

I read this article in the New York Times this morning, about the standardized testing cheating scandal in Atlanta. This case opened about about 5 years ago when almost 200 employees of the school district were accused of wrongdoing. Yesterday, 11 educators were convicted on racketeering and various other charges connecting them to the scandal. The superintendent implicated died before the trial concluded, as did one of the other suspects. One teacher was exonerated and several people took pleas to avoid going to trial. That's the brief summary. You can click the link to read the full article.

Photo Credit: New York Times

I'm just blown away by this whole thing. I'm pissed off. I hate when there is negative press about teachers. I hate that some of the bad seeds make the rest of us all look like a-holes. There. I said it. One of the educator FB pages I follow posed this question in response to the article:

What do you think about this case and the consequences?

I thought, there's no way I could wrap all my comments into a FB comment, so here I am. What do I think? I think I am outraged. For two reasons. If not, more. There are so many problems with standardized assessments right now, this case could easily have us all distracted by the bigger problems, which I will get to later. But first, the immediate problem: dishonesty and cheating.

Have you read my blogs? Do you know me personally? If the answer to either or both of those questions is yes, then you know how I feel about the standardized testing movement. I'm not going to back story this post anymore than I need to, because I want to get to the point, which is this. It is NEVER OK TO CHEAT. Period. I am disgusted by these educators who are bound by a code of ethics (In our state we are, so I am assuming they are too.) and are charged with setting an example for our young people. How dare they? How could they? The pressure? The mandates? I call B.S!

I have administered more of these tests than I care to count (Though I can tell you this year alone, I have already administered 11 test sessions in less than a month.) I have walked the classroom linoleum. I have scanned the room and the students' tests to be sure they were on the right section, taking great care not to look too closely because we're not allowed to read what they're reading or writing. I have watched 9-year-olds stress about making it to 4th grade and 10th graders agonizing over meeting cut scores for graduation. I have test prepped. I have learned new tests and taken trainings. I have lectured students about the importance of doing their best, and staff about keeping the test room secure to avoid invalidations, and maintaining quiet hallways. I have locked up, boxed up, and stressed over secure materials. I have lost sleep, fallen down on other job duties, and disrupted entire agency schedules to administer standardized tests. I have watched more minutes tick away on the clock, counted more ceiling tiles, and conjured up more ways to occupy my mind to make testing minutes pass as quickly as possible. And I. Hated. Every. Minute.

But you know what? I never cheated. I never even thought about cheating. I operated every minute of each of those test sessions explicitly to prevent and avoid cheating, and to keep the room and tests secure for all those in the room and beyond the walls. And you know what else? Had a principal, testing coordinator, or even the superintendent directly asked me, hinted to me, or suggested to me that I should cheat, I would refuse. Don't tell me I don't know what I would do unless I was in the position, because I do. I would say no, even if my job was threatened. And another thing? I'm pretty sure every one of the teachers I know and have worked with over the past 15 years, would do the exact. same. thing.

So what do I think about the case and the sentence? I think it's disgusting and shameful. I think they violated their code of ethics and their responsibilities and teachers. I think if the prosecutors established there were laws broken, they should all be sentenced accordingly. Shame on them.

Now, the bigger picture. The test craze in this country is shameful as well. Mind you, I reiterate this is no excuse for the wrongdoers. Ultimately, every individual has free will, choice. They chose to put their own needs and wants in front of what's right. But, we can't ignore why they were driven to make such decisions. The pressure for students, schools, districts to perform on these tests, and the implications for the results are asinine. From the mounting evidence many of the tests are neither valid nor reliable, and they are designed for a significant rate of failure among testers, to the money making operation that drives the whole never ending cycle, to the almost impossible to avoid teach to the test curriculum that has ensued, and finally to the absurdity that one test can give a big enough picture of what a student knows. Something has to change.

In the meantime, educators have to stand strong. We have to continue to live honestly. We must not feel desperate enough to compromise our sense of right and wrong. We must comfort our students through the testing nightmare, but speak out where and when we can. It seems there is really a movement building. People are really fed up. It's not just teachers anymore.