Thoughts of a dancing, loving, searching child of God

What will you do when you're 111 years old?

2012-01-13T07:16:00.000-08:00

"I'm too old to...."

Never mind, because in light of Warina Zaya Bahou, that excuse just crawled in the corner, released one last pathetic whimper, and died of asphyxiation.

Today at 2:00 p.m., Bahou, born in 1900, will become the second oldest person to become a naturalized citizen of the United States (who was the oldest? Fifteen minutes of intense googling did not reveal an answer).

The first time I tried the excuse I was just 14 years old. After playing violin for 4 years, I lamented that I wished I had chosen cello as my instrument, but it was too late to switch instruments- I was too far along in my musical career. I was too old. (insert eye roll here)

It's an easy excuse, one that is always standing by, waiting for the opportunity to jump to the aid. Pass by an opportunity 10 years ago? It's too late now. You're too old to begin something new now. Like Waterboy, though, the "mama always says" battles the creepy "I'm too old" excuse. My mama always said to me, "Well, two years are going to pass, one way or the other. At then end of those two years you will have either accomplished this or not. Either way, you'll be 2 years older. Saying it's too late isn't going to stop the two years from happening."

I wonder whether a similar voice whispered to Bahou. I don't know how long she worked toward naturalization, but even if it took 10 years, that would mean she didn't begin it until she was over 100. Did her mama's ghost tell her, "Well, in 10 years, you will be 111, there's no stopping that, and either you will be a U.S. citizen or you won't. Which do you choose?"

Suddenly, I'm feeling young, spry, and full of potential.

Why my daughter wants to be president

2011-09-16T08:07:00.000-07:00

This morning, during our commute, while I’m still waiting for the caffeine jolt from the 6 a.m. coffee, my daughter’s brain is in full gear. An excerpt from our conversation:

Aliyah: I want to be the president when I grow up.

Me: Why do you want to be president?

Aliyah: So that I can make rules.

Me: What kind of rules do you want to make?

Aliyah: To make countries stop fighting each other.

Me: That’s a good rule.

Aliyah: And I heard that there are still slaves. I don’t want there to be slaves.

Me: No, neither do I.

Aliayh: Also, some people think that basketball is just a boys’ sport, and that’s wrong.

Not a bad platform, really. Her top priorities are peace, human rights, and equality. Listening to the news, reading politicians’ speeches, and looking at how I spend my own time, these don’t seem to be the top priorities for many.

Buzz phrases like, “bring to justice,” are mere euphemisms for vengeance, and I rarely see peace, wholeness, and healing as even desired outcomes. There is a sense of satisfaction in watching thieves led away in handcuffs, and our nation celebrates when we kill our enemies. I admire organizations and individuals dedicated to reconciliation, but also wonder why this isn’t the standard operating procedure for all of us.

Slave traders, though, do need to be brought to justice, or at least shut down. There are many fighting this good fight, but not nearly enough. Today there are more slaves in the United States than there were before the Civil War. Why do we tolerate this? If we deployed as many resources in addressing this as we do fighting illegal immigration and undocumented workers, would the problem still be so looming?

Ah, and the forever present sexism alive and well today, both subtle and overt. It was tears of shame, anger, and confusion that welled in my eyes when trying to explain to my daughter the lack of women in politics. Another piece of this morning’s conversation:

Aliyah: We haven’t had very many women presidents, have we?

Me: We haven’t had any.

Aliyah: What? But why not?

Me: Well, for about the first 150 years of this country’s history, women weren’t even allowed to vote.

Aliyah: That doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t they let women vote?

That’s a tough one. Although the nonsensical can sound sensible in adult discourse, it is difficult to explain intolerance, narrow-mindedness, and bigotry to a child. It just doesn’t make sense to her.

My hope is that it never does, because if fighting, slavery, sexism, and racism never make sense to Aliyah, she will indeed make a very fine president.

Governor Brownback's answer to poverty: get those women married

2011-08-19T08:42:00.000-07:00

Shortly after returning a $31.5 million grant to enable Kansas to develop its own online health insurance exchange, months after cutting the state’s education budget by $100 million, and after spending millions of dollars this summer in an attempt to shut down all of the state’s women’s health clinics, Kansas Governor Brownback is applying for a $6.6 million federal grant to create his marriage initiative program. He claims that this will address childhood poverty in the state.

What is the reasoning? According to Census reports, 50% of families in Kansas living below the poverty level are single mother households. The Census doesn’t bother to report the number of single father households living below poverty. And so Brownback has concluded that the answer to these single mothers’ woes is to find themselves husbands, and he is going to pay them to do so.

The project will use the millions of dollars to hire counselors who will encourage single parents, mostly women, to get married, offering the incentive of a free marriage license. And this is how he intends to address the problem of the thousands of children in poverty, a number that will most likely increase in the coming years thanks to the vast cuts in the educational budget, cuts that disproportionately affect the lower classes.

There are so many things wrong with this plan that it’s difficult to know where to begin. I’ll try.

First, counseling with a predetermined agenda is not good, ethical, or healthy counseling. If a counselor meeting with a single mom is instructed, before even meeting her, to encourage her to marry, there is no room for helping the woman assess her life and herself and determine what would be best for her and her family. She is not counseled, she is coerced. Marriage is complicated enough, but a marriage entered into under coercion is even more likely to end in disaster. Since women who divorce experience a drop in their standard of living, these women are likely to end up even worse off than they were before.

There might be a good reason single mothers aren’t married to the father of their children. He might be abusive, irresponsible, unsupportive of his children, or the mother and father may have no love for one another. Pushing them into marriage will only exacerbate the problems. If he is abusive, now he is around even more to verbally, emotionally, physically, or sexually abuse his spouse, and now it will be even more difficult for her to escape. If he is a man who can’t hold a steady job, she now has one more person to support. And she’s stuck, because though the $50 marriage license was free, who’s going to pay for her $5,000 divorce?

This project also disempowers women. The studies that show that divorced women suffer a lowered standard of women speaks to the need to address the persistent gender inequality in our society. The $9 million would be better spent on helping women, especially heads of households, obtain education and job skills that would better their families. Global organizations that combat poverty have discovered that educated women tend to reinvest their education into their families and community. Instead of investing in education and training, though, Brownback is reducing opportunities for education, especially for the lower class, a majority of whom are women and children. It would appear that his motive is to force women’s dependence on men.

You want to help children in poverty, Brownback? Stop reducing their educational opportunities. You want to help struggling single mothers? Address the gender gap in income, education, and training. You want to increase the divorce rate and domestic violence? Continue your planned course of action.

I Didn't Want to be a Mom

2011-05-10T06:11:00.000-07:00

Motherhood was not part of the plan. Any of my friends from high school can vouch for that. I just didn’t have that motherly instinct, and nurturing is one of the last words anyone would use to describe me. Plus, I didn’t like children.

This is why one of the biggest surprises in my life was when I fell in love with my daughter.

By my mid-20s, thanks to outside influences, I at least opened up to the possibility of having a child. I never focused on it as a goal, but simply decided that if it happened I’d be ok with it. I was 28 when I conceived, and I must admit that my first thought was, “Huh. Well, I guess I’d better buy a book about this.”

This reaction may sound absurd or even offensive to some women. I have friends and family members who worked very hard to become pregnant, and some even who were devastated when nothing worked. My heart goes out to them. I know what it is like to have a great desire for life or a dream of what you would like to be and do only to be frustrated in every attempt. And it can not be easy to know that it comes easily or unplanned to those for whom it is not a great desire.

But there it is. I was pregnant, and although I wasn’t worried about making ends meet or how I would raise her, I still wasn’t sure what it all meant. I wasn’t at all sure I would have the ability to love a child, and that uncertainty was my greatest fear.

The first relief to that uncertainty was the first time I heard her heartbeat. To the doctor, it was a routine checkup, but when I heard that little fluttering for the fist time, rogue tears leapt out of my eyes and softened my heart. She continued to capture my love, this little life, as I watched her on the sonogram and then felt her increasing strength within. By the time she was born, I already knew her, and we snuggled up together as if we’d always known each other.

Eight years later, people still wouldn’t describe me as nurturing. I’m still not too fond of babies, unless of course they are related. My baby girl, though, has a fierce hold on my heart, and I watch her in amazement every day. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her, teach her, and support her in discovering and pursuing her greatest dreams.

And I will do all that I can to help other moms, moms with life obstacles a thousand times greater than mine, do the same for their children.

Is "luxury" a bad word?

2011-04-08T06:52:00.000-07:00

The early morning drive to school is tough for my daughter and me, but we have fortunately discovered that the morning news sparks her inquisitiveness and leads to some of our best conversations.

Yesterday morning we heard this story. In Beigjing, officials are cracking down on the advertising of luxury, banning certain words and images from billboards and other ads. My daughter, who dreams of visiting China, piped up,
"What's going on in China? What are they doing there?"
"Well, it sounds like they're banning the advertising of luxury," I respond.
"What's that word, 'luxury?'"
So, the remainder of the ride we talked about the difference between necessity and luxury. Our morning commute is long enough that she had a fairly firm grasp of the concepts by the time we reached her school.

That afternoon, we stopped by my parents' house, and while Aliyah snacked on peanut butter crackers I told my mom that Aliyah learned a new vocabulary word that morning. I briefly summarized the conversations, and my mom said,
"Well, let's see how well you remember, Aliyah. I'll quiz you. Is visiting grandma's house a necessity or a luxury?"
"It's a necessity."
"Very good!" Big hug and a kiss, "And what about homework? Necessity or luxury?"
"Luxury."
"Yes! You understand the words perfectly."

At this point, being the good mother that I am, I rolled my eyes and and questioned the wisdom of ever bringing my daughter back there again.

But maybe they had a point. In my mind, I played out a couple of scenarios. What if her attitude were reversed? Homework is a necessity and visiting grandma is a luxury. Necessity must always come before luxury, so she works hard at achieving the best grades and, eventually, the best-paying job, the most successful business, achieve, achieve, achieve. work, work, work, and when you have leftover time, you can indulge in a few (but only a few, everything in moderation) luxuries like visiting grandma, playing with friends, traveling to China. My mind and spirit are exhausted just thinking about it.

Then I play out the scenario with her answers. Yes, there's the homework, but first, take care of the necessity of visiting grandma, laughing with Papa, digging in the fresh dirt in the garden, riding bikes. Yes, studying this field would have more career potential, but studying the subject where her passion lies is necessary first. Investing time there could lead to a great business opportunity, but China must be visited first.

What if our hearts' desires and longings were the necessities, and we questioned all those things that the culture and authorities try to convince us are a must? What if we didn't blindly accept every time we heard, "You need to..." "You have to...." "You must..."

What if we simply said, "no," and instead chose for ourselves what is necessary and what is luxury? What if we didn't feel the need to justify, explain, or defend our choices to those whose necessity and luxury lists are different from ours? What if we didn't question their lists?

My latest necessity? Summit Mount Elbert.

What Christians misunderstand about Freethinkers and what Freethinkers misunderstand about Christians

2011-03-12T07:57:00.000-08:00

Over 50 people packed into the back room of Perkins for the evening's discussion. Armed only with pie an coffee, Christians, atheists, agnostics, secular humanists, and even one or two Wiccans, settled in for an evening of understanding one another. Probably the biggest surprise of the evening was that we actually did.

Fred, the ever brave moderator, kicked off the evening by inviting a couple of testimonies. The first woman shared the story of how she became an atheist. Raised in a Catholic home, she converted to Methodism in college and eventually teamed with her husband to lead a campus ministry. Great personal tragedy led to a struggle with God, which eventually led to questioning the existence of God. She said this was just the starting point, and it was through a long process of searching, questioning, and rationalizing that she finally concluded that she no longer believed in God.

The second testimony sounded like the carbon copy of the first. This young woman was not raised in a religious home, and she made many very unhealthy life choices that led her to a life situation that almost destroyed her. Through the influence of her grandmother and some powerful sermons, she came to understand God's love and said that her faith has kept her from going back down the road of a destructive lifestyle.

To then warm up the crowd for discussion, Fred showed the following 3 clips, allowing a few minutes reaction from the crowd after each:

What we all share in common was already suggesting itself as most people in both groups laughed at the first clip and were drawn to Campolo's passion for feeding the hungry and helping the poor. We were able to begin the discussion of the stereotypes we tend to assume about one another and how, though some may fit the description, the vocal minority often distorts the reality of most.

We were able to peacefully assemble three lists that evening. First:

What do Christians misunderstand about atheists and other non-believers?

1. They do not know that many atheists have a Christian background.

2. They equate atheism with Paganism or Satanism.

3. They say that atheists are amoral or have nothing on which to base morality.

4. They believe that atheists are deficient and need to be saved.

5. They view atheists as unhappy and/or angry.

6. They pity them.

7. Many Christians make these assumptions while admitting they don't even know any atheists.

What do atheists and other non-believers misunderstand about Christians?

1. They think all Christians are Bible thumpers.

2. They think Christians are ignorant and incapable of thinking critically.

3. They think that everyone who claims to be a Christian follows the teachings of Christ.

The longest list of the evening, though was:

What do we have in common?

1. Love

2. Dignity of the individual

3. Humor

4. Integrity

5. Morality

6. Desire for companionship

7. Compassion

8. Freedom

9. Curiosity

10. Diversity

11. Creativity

12. Misunderstood

13. Sex

14. Fear

15. Blood

We ended the evening with a brief presentation of 10 Things Christians and Atheists Can and Must Agree On, as delivered by thoughtful blogger David Wong.

So, all an all, an enlightening and civil evening. But then, it's only the first. Rumor has it that Fred and Cole, the leaders of this newly fused group, have at least 5 more discussion nights planned. It's not too late to join the fun. Go to the meetup site for the latest information and to sign up.

Brian Greene tells us everything may not be all there is

2011-03-04T13:28:00.000-08:00

What's it like to stand on the edge, looking beyond known reality to where we might be going next?

It is a life full of uncertainty, anxiety, and discomfort, says Brian Greene, theoretical physicist and author of best-selling book, "The Elegant Universe," "The Fabric of the Cosmos," and newly released "The Hidden Reality."

Yes, that's right. I used "theorectical physicist," and "best-selling" in the same sentence, which is a little like a movie about social networking winning an Oscar for best musical score. It's an unexpected and yet intriguing combination.

Unity on the Plaza was filled to capacity and then some Thursday night for the first speaker of the year in the Linda Hall Library series based on the theme "innovation," and it wasn't just all the geeks of Kansas City congregating. Children, science teachers, musicians, college students, techies, and the intellectually curious sat in rapt attention as Greene managed to weave stories of his children, pictures of ants on a telephone cable, and theories of muliple universes with such mastery that the theories of complex physics were within the grasp of even those who had never passed Calculus.

Before launching into string theory (read the book because I'm not even going to attempt a summary of his summary here) and the seemingly contradictory concept of repulsive gravity, Greene tossed out the provocative idea that, "what we thought was everything may only be a small part of everything."

In fact, Greene opened our minds to so many far-reaching theories that by the time, toward the latter end of his presentation, that he informed us that there may be as many as 10 physical dimensions, we were all actually willing to accept it. "Well, of course there are, Brian," I could hear our collective brains conceding, "how else could you explain this wild, wacky universe, um, multiverse." (The very literary among you might recall that a really smart mathmetician/monk posed a similar idea over 100 years ago in "Flatland").

Really, at times it felt like I had jumped onto a roller coaster that took off before I had time to engage the protective shoulder harness. We raced up and down the concepts of space, energy, time and origins. Our imaginations spun furiously under us, and at times I was barely holding on with my fingertips. It was such fun that I didn't want the ride to end, but the pace was so frantic and the turns so sharp that I was constantly afraid of falling off.

And then it ended, just like that. After an hour and a half of cramming my mind with the infintely large and the inconceivably small, I walked out into the cool night, and my only thought was, "well, here I am. I guess it's time to go home now."

At home, I kissed my little girl good-night, snuggled into the warm embrace of my love, and dreamed of the everything beyond the everything, in which my spirit found great comfort. Why? This I can explain no more than I could explain why there are 10^500 possible shapes to the other 7 dimensions. It just is.

Oklahoma Mayor thinks guns belong in school

2011-02-26T08:12:00.000-08:00

When buying school supplies next fall, be sure to add a Colt revolver to the list.

Nathan Bates, the mayor of Stillwater, Oklahoma, the town that hosts Oklahoma State University, wants to lift the ban on concealed weapons on college campuses across the state. After all, he reasons, students are probably already carrying concealed weapons anyway. Lifting the ban would remove the consequences from those who are caught.

He also boasts that if a malicious shooter arrives on campus, students with guns could respond more quickly than the police.

Oh, did I mention that Bates himself is a student at OSU? Yep.

As an educator, the thought of concealed weapons allowed on a campus is a little frightening. More than once I’ve had to dismiss a student from class, and quite often they’re not too happy with me. There have been times when I was a little nervous about the student’s emotional reaction. My dean is adement about ensuring our personal safety and encourages us all to take precautions. I’ve been cautious, but feel confident and safe in the classroom. This would completely change if concealed weapons were allowed.

Is it possible that one of my student’s has a concealed weapon? Possible, yes, but not likely. Although many may have weapons at home, they know that if they are caught with a weapon on campus the consequences are serious enough that it’s not worth it. If they were allowed to bring weapons to school, many would, and I wouldn’t feel safe teaching and managing my class. I’m not alone in saying I would never teach on a campus that allowed concealed weapons.

I also shudder to think about how the few incidents of students fighting in the hall (not common, but still a reality) would have escalated quickly had weapons been involved.

But what about the idea of protecting the self and others if a shooter arrives on campus? It’s not that simple. Look at the recent shooting in Tucson, Arizona that injured 19 people including Rep. Gabrielle Giffords. The shooting happened in a crowded area, and Arizona allows the carrying of concealed weapons, so where were all the weapons of protection? Where were the heroes? Those not present boast that had they been there they would have taken out the gunman, but the truth is, none of us knows how we will react in a given situation until we are in it. I don’t believe that the residents of Arizona are any more cowardly than the rest of the country’s population.

Although they garner huge publicity, the incidents of shooters on a campus is relatively low. Do we really want to increase the risk? There’s the falsity of the idea that there are always, or usually, good guys and bad guys. For the most part we are all just humans who sometimes react, overreact, or underreact. Add concealed weapons to a college campus, a place teeming with young people in high stress, competitive situations, often suffering from lack of sleep, and you’re setting the stage for disaster.

There’s a reason OSU school officials oppose the legislation. Maybe Bates should listen to those whose business it is, and has been for many years, to promote a safe, effective learning environment.

The cost of our cheapness

2011-01-28T09:06:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, in a quest for a tortilla press (I was later informed that real Guatemalan women use their hands, not fancy gadgets, but since I’m Puerto Rican, tortillas do not run in my blood the way red beans and rice do, so I need a fancy gadget, so there) I trudged through the snow to the local kitchenware store.

Not too far into my jaunt, something struck me as rather odd. Though the snow on the sidewalk was too deep to detect any signs of said sidewalk- in some places I sunk down knee deep- the street was perfectly clear. The only other pedestrians I passed were those forced to brave the drifts to catch their bus.

Cars zoomed past as I clumsily negotiated the icy sludge. If there was ever a doubt that we cater to motorized vehicles over foot power, this illustration pulverized them.

But clearing the public sidewalks would take immense amounts of money, and we don’t even have a sufficient budget for plowing the streets. Yeah, I get that. We have to save money where we can. Other ways we choose to save money include:

1. Roads devoid of bike lanes. Even new roads in this city do not include a lane for bikes. After all, not that many people bicycle (maybe because they fear being sideswiped by rude, careless motorists?)

2. Highly processed food. Michael Pollan outlines in his book “Ominvore’s Dilemma” the attraction of the cheap crop of inedible corn that creeps into most of the processed food we consume. Sure the preponderance of high fructose corn syrup contributes to painful, debilitating diseases such as diabetes, obesity, and heart failure, that are killing Americans by the millions, but it’s cheap.

3. $0.79/lb chicken breast and $0.89/lb beef. Ever wonder how you could possibly raise a chicken or a cow for this measly amount of money? You don’t want to know. Really. But it’s already hard enough for struggling Americans to feed their families, especially in this economy. Most can’t afford to buy meat at the prices necessary for sustainable farming. But here’s a well guarded secret: we don’t actually need meat at every meal. We don’t even need it once a day. In fact, our over-meat consumption also contributes to the diseases listed above.

4. Education. Let’s look at American businesses. Those who want to excel and beat the competition attract the best and the brightest employees and managers through generous compensation and healthy working environments. Those businesses satisfied with substandard production and sinking revenue try to get as many work hours for the dollar as possible. Which business models do most of our public schools follow? (This is not a slam on teachers or administrators. The ones I know do the very best they can with the resources they’re allotted, sometimes with fantastic results, but some of the very best burn out before their time).

Are these over-generalizations? Perhaps. They were just the thoughts running through my head spurred on by frozen calves. But then I read this in this morning’s paper, about the ever escalating percentages of Americans with unhealthy diets, weights, and life-styles, despite the increasing amount spent on gyms, diets, and workout equipment. It’s not an individual by individual problem. It’s a massive social issue that requires massive social change.

Because our cheapness is costing us billions of dollars and millions of lives.

I'm on the library's most wanted list

2011-01-11T10:49:00.000-08:00

This is not normal for me. I'm usually fairly responsible person; I pay my bills on time, I'm prompt, I keep my house fairly clean- well, clean enough. I just have this little problem with library books and that whole bring-them-back concept that libraries are so uptight about. So, for the first time in my life, I had a bill sent to collections and, although I finally did return most of the books (still can't find one) my fines were high enough that I had to set up a 3-month payment plan with the library.

It's embarressing and a little surprising, so I spent some time digging down deep within myself to discover why I struggle so much with responsible library patronage. Here's what I finally came up with:

I don't like returning books.

I mean, I really, really don't like returning books.

I love them. I love to hold them, smell them, listen to that sweet crackling when they are opened, spend hours bonding with them, scribble thoughts in their margins ( another big library no-no, admit turn out), stay awake all night sharing a bottle of wine with them, and drifting off to sleep with them. Returning those who have come to mean so much to me after only a few short weeks seems crude and heartless.

Now, if I were advancing in my spiritual practices, this is where I would talk about the need to release our attachment to the things of this world. I would even rejoice over this discovery of another fetter in need of breaking.
I'm not going to do it. Not just because I'm stubborn (which I am), but also becuase I have discovered freedom in the discovery. Instead of purging myself of this relationship with books which I find so nourishing and pleasurable, I need to adjust my lifestyle so that I no longer damages my credit or taxes the patience of those sweet librarians.
So, no more removing books from the library for me. Research will only be conducted within it's walls; books with whom I would like a deeper relationship I will buy (Half Price Books is my new best friend) and, once the relationship has run its course, will sell back.

If the rules of the game don't work for me, then it's time to change the game. I'm at peace with that, as are all of my new lovely books.

Tweaking Twain: Publisher introduces new and improved "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn"

2011-01-06T12:04:00.000-08:00

Read this on the news a couple of days ago. I had to double check the website to make sure it wasn’t a satirical news website. It wasn’t: it’s true. They’re coming out with new and improved Mark Twain, rest his soul.

To make Twain’s classics “Huckleberry Finn” and “Tom Sawyer” more palatable for readers, publisher NewSouth Books in Alabama is working with Twain scholar Alan Gribben to publish the classics with some revisions, such as replacing each occurrence of the word “nigger” with the word “slave.” Gribben claims this word is less offensive to readers and so people will be more likely to embrace the classic novels.

You know, kind of like deep-fat batter frying okra. It’s a southern thing.

Which issue do we tackle first? Well, for starters, I’m offended by the idea that the word “slave” is somehow less offensive. A human who owns another human like any other property- cattle, clothing, a house- is absurd, inhumane, and evil. That this word is somehow more acceptable might be a clue as to why we have more slaves in the United States now than we did before the civil war. It’s just not offensive enough to us.

But let’s get back to that dirty n-word. Is it an offensive word? Absolutely. Is it demeaning to an entire race of people? No doubt. Does it need to be completely purged from our current vocabulary? Certainly. Should we pretend like it never happened? No.

Twain didn’t write fairy tales. And though the protagonists in these books are children, they are not children’s books. He wrote about and for the times, often using humor as the medium for his cutting criticisms of society, a society deeply entrenched is racism, who used words like “nigger” because a majority of them believed that black people were inferior human beings. To turn our eyes from this reality, to pretend it didn’t happen, that it is not a prominent part of our country’s history, is to doom us to ignorance, stagnation, and repetition.

You may disagree with me. You may think that works like Twain’s have no place in a cultured, educated person’s library. Fine. Keep it off your shelves. But for god’s sake, don’t bastardize the man’s writing. If, 100 years from now, someone were to republish my writing removing or changing all the little parts they found offensive, I would rise up out of my grave and knock them over the head. Assuming that Mark Twain was no less spirited than I, let’s not risk it.

Jesus is returning May 21, 2011

2010-12-15T06:52:00.000-08:00

Jesus is returning May 21, 2011, according to Raleigh, N.C-based group “We Can Know.” According to its leaders, they have read the scriptures and checked them twice and, sure enough the return flight is scheduled for this coming spring (the weekend before Memorial Day weekend, unfortunately). That’s what the group is proclaiming on billboards across the United States, including two in the KC metro.

Ok, so it’s very easy to laugh at and ridicule groups like these. I mean, the only thing erroneously predicted more often than Jesus’ return is tomorrow’s weather (cloudy with a high of 34). It’s also tempting to shake heads at the thousands of dollars wasted on the billboards in major cities across the country proclaiming their insight.

Their folly, though, is just a humorous, well-advertised example of the folly that many of us commit regularly: spending our energy on anxiety, excitement, and hope for an anticipated future rather than living fully in the here and now. Running through our heads and our conversations are phrases such as, “I’ll be happy when…,” “I can’t wait until…,” “If only…” “What if…” and “Are we there yet?”

When our eyes are always looking forward and our hope is always in tomorrow, discontent robs our peace and anxiety clouds the beauty of the moment.

The danger doesn’t end with a life squandered, for there are other dangers lurking in this folly. An anxious, discontent, fearful people are easy to control and manipulate. Every great dictator, autocrat, and cult leader knows this and leverages it to great advantage. Where there are not obvious reasons for discontent and anxiety, such as the economic depression that Hitler used to his advantage, they can be manufactured: “a woman over age 40 has a better chance of being killed by a terrorist than of getting married!” (false, by the way)

So what about vision casting, goal setting, and dream building? These are useful in discovering one’s guiding intention for daily living, and in fact can help in determining what is important in life and what small things can be released. They become dangerous, though, when they remove focus from daily life, present companions, and joyful contentment.

Nourish your dreams and your visions, but live fully in the present without dwelling on the past or manufacturing anxiety over the future. It’s what Jesus would want- ask him yourself in May.

For my mother, on her 60th birthday

2010-11-28T08:30:00.001-08:00

I don’t remember the day when I first realized my mom was a woman and not just my mom. Perhaps it was the day that she went shopping for a new suit to prepare for arguing in front of the Supreme Court. Or maybe it was the day I found, in an old photo album, a black and white head shot from her early 20s and almost cried at the image of such a beautiful, stylish woman. Or it could have been the first time we shared a bottle of wine and laughed long into the night.

Probably it is an ever growing realization. She is a strong woman: of that I have never had any doubt. Defense attorneys would tremble when facing her in the courtroom, and she has never backed down from a life challenge. It was in the midst of battling breast cancer that she set the goal of hiking the Grand Canyon, a goal she accomplished less than a year after her last treatment. No doubt about her mental or physical strength.

And her power of negotiation is a wonder to behold. She possesses an unstoppable combination of complex reasoning, pure eloquence, and endearing charm. People not only give her her way, but come away feeling better for having done so. Though it infuriated me as a teenager, I now find myself attempting to emulate her.

But these qualities weren’t the ones that surprised me when I discovered my mother is a woman. In fact, they may have blinded me to her deeper qualities, those closer to the core of her being: passion and tenderness.

My mother, as it turns out, is not only strong, courageous, and determined, but she also pours her heart into the people and things that she loves. Her children have never doubted

for a second that she is on their side, cheering the loudest and crying even more than we do when we lose. Her friends value her intense loyalty and steadfastness, for they know and feel a love that is full and tenacious where it chooses to love. Professionally, she has consistently chosen the path that follows her heart rather than the money, which is why she has laid aside practicing law in order to teach it. And now she pours herself into her students, whether it is accompanying one to court who has been harassed by the justice system, or bringing one who lived thousands of miles from home to her own home and family for Thanksgiving.

I suppose it is natural that one who is so passionate is also tender, but this is the one I forget the most. It is difficult to remember that this strong, powerful woman can be wounded. And so sometimes I slip and say a harsh word, and immediately see the hurt in her eyes. Or I will hear the pain in her voice when she relays the story of discovering that a few of her best students cheated on an exam. What is truly amazing is that each time her heart hurts, she become not colder or more callous. She does not build impenetrable walls around herself. No, she instead becomes more compassionate, loves even more deeply, and continues to extend herself to those around her.

These qualities combine to make the most incredible woman I know. The day that brought her life to earth is to be celebrated indeed, for my mother has made the world a more beautiful, more joy-filled place, and will continue to do so for many years to come.

Happy Birthday mentor, friend, hero, comfort, mom. I love you.

An upper for the teacher

2010-11-20T09:27:00.000-08:00

As a teacher, opportunities for celebration, both large and small, pop up everyday. A few highlights from the last couple of weeks:

One of my students walked into my room with a shopping bag full of clothes. “These are for D____,” she said, “because I know he’s homeless and doesn’t have anything. I bought these for him. I know what it’s like to be homeless; I was homeless when I was 10. So, would you please give these to him?”
All of the statistics are stacked up against one of my students. His parents are unemployed and have absolutely no money. They live with his grandparents, who also have very little. He spent most of last year in prison. But I have watched this young man fight the odds and rewrite his future. He has been one of our most diligent students this semester, and it looks like he’s going to earn our college’s presidential scholarship: a two-year full ride.
Finally, all those college science classes are paying off. A couple of my more ambitious students are reading science lessons on their own. They came to me last week and again this week with questions about cellular biology and genetics. Fun to pull that dusty knowledge off my brain’s shelves. Even more fun to watch their eyes light up every time they learn and understand a new concept.
On the last day before Thanksgiving break, I substituted at our family literacy program. We’ve teamed up with the local school district for this program. While their children attend a half-day of pre-school, parents (all mothers in this case) attend ESL classes. I taught both the morning and afternoon sessions of ESL on Friday and loved it. These women impress me beyond words. They have undertaken the task of learning a new language and culture in a new country in order to increase their own and their children’s opportunities. They do so not only with great strength and determination, but also with beautiful grace and humor. Spending a day with them lifted my spirits (which were already fairly high) and instilled a fresh sense of hope in me. Oh, plus I got to watch the kids play in shaving cream, and you just can't put a price tag on that kind of fun.

Even as winter approaches new life springs about me everyday. What a very good place to be.

Using the Bible as a rulebook is like using a Monet as a power drill

2010-11-08T06:14:00.000-08:00

You won’t get the job done effectively and you risk ruining both the wall and the Monet.

This article is inspired by the recent decision of an appellate court in Texas concerning an arbitration agreement in a contract between a Christian School and a teacher. According to the contract, employees agree to seek “Biblically based mediation” to address employment conflicts.

I’m not going to address the legal aspects here; that’s my mom’s job. What I am going to rant about is the idea that there can be any such thing as Biblically based mediation.

If you think that the laws of our country can be confusing, open to a wide spectrum of interpretation, and at times even contradictory, the Bible, when used as a rulebook, is a million times more so. Consider these facts:

*The Bible has been used to both defend and oppose slavery.

*The Bible has been used to both promote and destroy women’s rights.

*Faithful Bible followers embrace the use of alcohol, even using it in religious ceremonies, while other Bible followers condemn alcohol as an evil tool of Satan.

*Reformed theologian John Calvin, mister sola Scriptura himself, watched on approvingly as a man was executed for heresy. The man’s crime? Suggesting an alternative theory to the nature of the bread and wine used in communion.

*The Bible commands people to “love your enemies,” while also instructing specific groups to annihilate their enemies.

*Biblical law requires that a man who rapes a woman marry that woman.

*The Bible is used by both rich and poor to prove their favoritism in God’s eyes.

So, if you want to risk inconsistent, unjust, possibly oppressive and most likely sexist mediation, then go ahead and sign an employment contract with such an arbitration clause.

If, however, you would like to work toward a life that is life-giving and freeing, appreciate the Bible for what it is- an ancient document containing the history and tradition of many cultures and several people including beautiful poetry, rich tradition, and even some enduring wisdom- and don’t try to use it as something it’s not- a rulebook, life guide, legal standard, or moral ideal.

How do you translate that?

2010-11-05T09:23:00.001-07:00

Last week I substituted in our ESL program for the first time. These students are awesome, by the way. They were all eager to learn and hard-working, and they had amazingly positive attitudes.

Ok, back to the lesson. They were learning to conjugate verbs in the present perfect tense, and to help them practice this as well as their listening skills, their instructor left a handout with the lyrics to Pink’s “Glitter in the Air,” with blanks in place of many of the verbs. We listened to the song a few times so that they could fill in the blanks.

After listening to the song twice, we went over the lyrics to ensure that everyone had the right verbs in the blanks. I then asked the class if there were any other words or phrases that they didn’t understand.

One young man raised his hand and asked me about the song’s phrase, “Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?” After I explained the word “gently” he asked, “Why would you cry if someone touched you gently?” A very good question indeed.

I looked over to the women’s table (for some reason they tend to segregate themselves by gender, and all of the men looked clueless) and asked, “Can any of the women answer this question?” One looked at me with understanding in her eyes and answered, “It would make you cry if you had never before been touched gently.”

Yes, that would make someone cry. Yes, that would melt a heart. Yes, that would break something open that needed healing.

And so I started to wonder how many people in the world need to experience a gentle touch that would make them cry; how many people need a gentle word to relax their spirit; how many people need an embrace that feels like home.

The next line of the song is, “Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?”

Covered in elephant spittle

2010-10-14T08:41:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine is an elephant trainer at the Kansas City Zoo. From her stories, I’ve deduced that a person must absolutely LOVE elephants to work this job. If you’ve ever changed a dirty diaper, multiply that by 2,000 and you will have an idea of her daily routine. As her fiancé said, “When she comes home and says things like, ‘one of the elephants had the runs today,’ I just can’t even begin to picture the mess.

Tuesday night she shared another lovely story with us. At work that day, one of the elephants spit on her. Yep, that’s right, just like that annoying boy that sat behind you in 7^th grade, only much, much, much more so. She said her back was turned to the elephant, so when she first felt the wetness she thought the beast had just sprayed some drinking water on her. “She likes to do that sometimes. She’s a jokester.” But then she turned and saw that the elephant hadn’t been drinking, and then she touched the thick, sticky fluid covering her body, and she knew that this wasn’t mere water; it was pure elephant saliva.

How would you have reacted? Yeah, me too. But here’s the thing. My friend said that she had to pretend that nothing had happened. “If we react when she does stuff like that, it’s like a reward, and that encourages her to do it again.”

So I’m thinking, how does a person pretend that weren’t just slathered in elephant spit? That level of nonchalance sounds nearly impossible. Her self-control and tolerance for ick are certainly amazing to behold.

Elephant loogies make me think of Fred Phelps. When his son Nate Phelps spoke in Topeka this past summer, someone asked him what would be the most effective means to discourage Fred and his tribe. Nate responded that if it were possible, the most effective means would be to completely ignore them. Media coverage, outraged crowds, taunts thrown back, all only reward and encourage them.

Now, I’m not suggesting that we always tolerate bad or destructive behavior. A woman in an abusive relationship needs to take action. A teacher with a student who disrupts class, thus hindering the other students’ learning, can not simply ignore the behavior.

I’m talking about all those people in your life and mine that do or say really annoying things to get our attention, push our buttons, make us angry, or disgust us. What happens when we give them attention? It’s a reward, and they are encouraged to continue the annoyance. (By the way, it’s important to acknowledge that all of us at times are the elephant).

So give this a try. Do what my friend did. Turn your back on the elephant, walk away, shower off the spit, and go out and have a beer with your friends. The next day, you may choose to give the elephant another chance, or you may choose not to. Me? Well, I’ll order another pint then sleep on it.

Night at the museum

2010-10-11T08:56:00.001-07:00

As luck would have it, I'm a friend of a Friend of the Museum, so Friday night we indulged in cocktails at the Young Friends of the Museum 2nd Fridays event. There we met two lovely people, one of whom writes the relationship column Kiss & Tell for Ink Magazine. (sidenote: as much as I love my job, and I do love my job, I was sooooo tempted to ask him how one lands such a fun, cush assignment. I could get used to hanging out in my PJs all morning and writing. Much like I'm doing now, only I soon have to get dressed and report to work).

After cocktails, the four of us headed to one of the Nelson's new exhibits, "Through African Eyes." The exhibit was amazing, sobering, and too much for the hour we had before closing time. One of our new friends commented, "I could easily spend an entire morning in that exhibit." At least.

Read my review and watch a cool video here.

Critical Massing: obnoxious or just plain silly?

2010-09-28T08:43:00.000-07:00

It happens every last Friday of the month.

No posters, no Facebook invites, no traditional publicity, and yet it happens every month like clockwork.

Well, not exactly like clockwork, because there is no official start time. It begins when enough people feel like it’s time to begin (Kairos time keeps creeping into my life experiences and my blog).

It’s called Critical Mass and it’s the most obnoxious bike ride Kansas City offers. On the last Friday, around 6:00 or so, the cyclists begin gathering at the Westport Sunfresh. About an hour and several beers later, someone starts riding around the parking lot and people gradually join him. They are massing.

It’s pretty much impossible to not fit in with this group. The ages range from 5 to, well, up there. There are dirt bikes, mountain bikes, recumbent bikes, road bikes, cruisers, and a few that I don’t even know where to begin with description. Cyclists dress in jeans, athletic gear, dresses, sweats, and just about everything else. The only thing missing is neckties.

When the mass is large enough, someone leads the group of nearly a hundred cyclists out of the parking lot and down the street. For the next couple of hours, the mass rides through Westport, The Plaza, Westport again, The Plaza again, downtown, and the river market. Traffic lights and lanes hold little meaning for this band of merry bikers. At major intersections, a few riders stop directly in front of potentially oncoming vehicles to ensure that they don’t enter the intersection while the mass is riding through.

The reactions from motorists and pedestrians are mixed. Many smile and wave back to the cyclists calling out to them, “Happy Friday!” A few, not used to KC’s urban traditions, get annoyed and blare their horns or scream obscenities. This 5 minute delay in their lives’ plans is more than they can tolerate.

What’s the point? There is no obvious political agenda. If they were seriously trying to promote a “share the road” attitude between cyclists and motorists they would respect traffic laws. No common social or religious thread binds these people together.

So maybe there is no point.

Or, rather, the point is exactly what they say it is, “Happy Friday.” The point is that a large group of people gather once a month to laugh, act silly, and Puckishly defy the guidelines and norms that rule over us the rest of the month. The point is to intentionally not take life so seriously, even if only for a couple of hours. The point is that an impish young woman and her bike holding back a monstrous black Hummer is a beautiful sight.

Flying blindly

2010-09-25T10:48:00.000-07:00

It was an atypical Sunday morning in the Dagney Velazquez household last weekend. Instead of sleeping in as long as possible before finally shuffling into the kitchen for a big pancake brunch (but I’d rather have mac ‘n cheese!), I drug my daughter out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6:00. Yes, I had to literally drag her body out of bed, because she insists that if the sun isn’t up it’s not morning. Being the obedient daughter that she is, though, she dressed herself and climbed into the car.

The whole ride to the Great Midwest Balloon Festival in Overland Park she ranted, “It’s still the middle of the night. Why did you make me wake up? We’re not even stopping for doughnuts?” So far, not our loveliest morning.

Fortunately, the sun appeared before we made it to the fields. The friendly parking attendants guided us to the perfect spot, and we leapt out of the car ready to watch some hot air balloon excitement.

We waited for quite a while because, even though the published start time was 7:00, balloonists, lik

e ultimate Frisbee players, operate on kairos rather than khronos time. Fortunately, the cinnamon roll vendor had a half price sale, so my little princess was c

ontent while we waited.

Sunday morning’s competition was simple. The pilots were to launch from a location of their choosing at least a mile from the field. At a radio signal, they would launch at the same time and race back to the field, where two very large “Xs” had been marked. The pilots would fly low over the “Xs” and toss bean bags out of their baskets, trying to land their beanbags as close to the centers of the “Xs” as possible.

Now, hot air balloo

ns’ racing is nothing like cars’ racing. It’s also nothing like sprinters’ racing. In fact, it’s even a far cry from the county fair turtle race. At the mercy of the whim of the winds, balloon pilots move their crafts up and down, trying to catch currents blowing the desired direction. The first balloon we spotted nearing the field appeared to remain in the same location for 10 minutes, and

then it shrunk as it moved further away. And this, ladies and gentlemen, was the fastest balloon. Eventually the pilot made it to the field amidst loud applause, hovered just a few feet above the “Xs”, tossed his beanbags, then landed a few hundred feet down the field.

He was the only pilot that made it to the “Xs” that morning.

About 10 minutes

after this excitement, we spotted 5 more balloons converging toward the field. Then they all disappeared. The fog that had begun as a gentle morning mist had thickened into white- out conditions. The event director announced to the crowd that the competition was canceled and that the pilots had been instructed to land as quickly and safely as possible. Not easy instructions when the pilots couldn’t even see the ground.

I can not imagine what it was like for the pilots, flying blindly hundreds of feet in the air in an aircraft that steers about as well as a blowup raft in the middle of an ocean, only more so. For those of us on the ground, the experience was exciting, scary, and mysterious.

Since the balloons were already airborne, and since they couldn’t see the ground (or power lines, or treetops, or tall buildings) the safest option for most was to head for the fields. A GPS could get them close, but finding the precise location of the landing field proved nearly impossible. To guide the pilots down, the event director asked the crowd to make as much noise as possible.

Yep, that’s right. The pilots were navigating by the sound of our whistling, shouting, and clapping. Eventually someone found a fog horn, and the

n a few police and fire vehicles parked close to the fields and turned on their sirens.

So there we all were, staring into the thick white cloud surrounding us, seeing nothing but hoping the balloonists were out there somewhere. And then we heard it- the unmistakable sound of a hot air balloon’s furnace. The crowd’s volume ramped up a few notches as we continued to stare into nothingness. We couldn’t see a thing, but we knew the balloon was close, not more than a couple of

hundred feet by the sound of it. He was just a hundred feet above us when we finally saw him. In fact, he was directly above us and descending quickly when we finally saw him.

“Run, mommy! He’s going to land on us!” shouted Aliyah.

After snapping a couple of pictures (I lived in Oklahoma for several years, where a tornado siren is a call to stand out on your

front porch and watch), I heeded my daughter’s warning and ran clear of the balloon’s landing.

It was an excellent landing, and by excellent I mean it was safe and everyone survived without injury.

This episode repeated several times while the fog continued to thicken. We didn’t see the next balloon until a few seconds before it hit the ground. We cheered them all in, and they landed not only safely, but with smiles on their faces.

Two big thumbs up to all the balloon pilots who participated in the first Overland Park Balloon Festival. You displayed courage and an admirable sense of adventure. I’m already looking forward to watching you fly next year.

On the way home, I asked Aliyah what her favorite part of the day was.

“The cinnamon roll,” she replied.

So, a big thanks to the food vendors. We’re looking forward to seeing you next year, too.

Monday morning pie dividing blues

2010-09-17T17:29:00.000-07:00

Monday morning I received an early morning phone call from my boss. **EDITOR’s note: early morning for Dagney on the day that she doesn’t go into work until noon is 8:00 a.m.** One of the math teachers had called in sick and she wondered whether I could come in early to take his morning classes. Not one to turn down the opportunity to teach math, I said, “OF COURSE,” threw on some clothes (not my best put together outfit ever, but hey) and headed off to work.

Now, this math teacher for whom I subbed is one of the most organized, conscientious teachers I know, and I know some pretty fine teachers, so when I arrived and there weren’t lesson plans for the week e-mailed in, I knew he must be truly sick.

No problem. Our program is full of on the ball students. I simply walked into the classroom and asked them what they were studying.

Ok, I didn’t really expect that to work. But it did! “We learned to multiply and divide fractions last week and he said something about adding and subtracting fractions this week.”

Are you kidding me?! I LOVE fractions!! **EDITOR’s note: this is more caps lock than Dagney has ever used in a blog post. We don’t know what’s going on, but, frankly, we’re a little embarrassed and would like to apologize on her behalf.**

What’s so great about fractions, you ask? Well, for starters, almost all illustrations of fractions involve food. You simply cannot teach fractions without involving pies, pizzas, cookies, and M&M’s. My students did mention that the pies I drew looked more like eggs, but I quickly reminded them of my lay/lie lesson from English class and the nightmarish chicken and egg involved in that fiasco, and they were pleased with the pies.

The best part of the lesson was a direct result of my not having time to adequately prepare. I understand the importance of using real life problems when they’re learning a new skill, but on the spot I couldn’t come up with anything beyond the pies. So, after introducing the lesson and working a couple of problems, I asked them, in groups of two, to come up with their own real life word problems.

The initial groans were inevitable. “Really Ms. Dagney? You want to make our lives miserable?” But after a little encouragement (do it or I’m taking back the badly drawn, fake pies), they complied. And then they started smiling. And then, a couple of minutes into the assignment, they started having fun.

Each group presented its word problem to the class to solve. The problems included hungry boys consuming a large quantity of hot dogs, a birthday party with a large cake, a quarter tank of gas, and a drive to the gas station. Really, these students could have written the math book themselves.

So now my students understand fractions a little better, and I have been enlightened to possible word problems that do not necessarily involve food. I don’t like them as well, but I guess they might work for some people.

I would have to say that 5/5 of the morning was fantastic.

Second grade immigrants

2010-09-03T08:08:00.000-07:00

When I picked up my daughter at school yesterday, she ran up to me with irrepressible excitement (we don’t repress in our home, anyway).

“Guess what guess what guess what??? You’ll never guess!!! Guess what’s going to happen tomorrow???”

Really, I hadn’t a clue. Was Hannah Montana coming to their school? No, it must be bigger than that. Maybe a field trip to World’s of Fun? Nah, I would definitely have signed up as a parent sponsor for that one (insisting, of course, that I only be assigned kids tall enough to ride all the coasters). Obviously, I was never going to guess.

“Courtney and Caleb are moving into my class! And not just Courtney and Caleb, but all the kids from their class!! Their teacher is moving to a 4^th grade class and since we had room in our class they’re all going to join us! I’m so excited.”

She then went on to tell me, taking only one breath every 5 minutes, about all the preparations on which her class had been diligently working. They had colored a welcome sign AS BIG AS OUR CAR!!! They had rearranged the desks. And most importantly, their teacher had been training them on hospitality. Here are a few of the basics as well as I could gather:

Welcome them all with a spirit of kindness, using only kind words.
Remember that they don’t know all the customs of their new class. Take time to teach them the games, songs, and rules specific to this classroom. (Aliyah thinks this will be HUGE fun, and because she believes this, it will be).
Remember that they bring with them songs, games, and rules that we don’t know yet. Give them an opportunity to teach us, too, which will increase the fun for all.
Be sensitive to the fact that they will miss their former teacher and classroom.
Make an extra effort to include them at recess and lunch.
And again, do everything with an attitude of kindness. (Aliyah reached her arms forward, palms facing up, every time she said the word “kindness.” Her teacher must have taught her this welcoming gesture).

There was, of course, a letter to the parents in the backpack. It covered all the important, adult facts such as class size remaining within district standards, the increased enrollment in 4^th & 5^th grades necessitating the shifts, the consideration for maintaining gender, ethnic, and reading ability diversity when forming the new classes, the school’s continuing dedication to academic excellence. All very important stuff, yes, but somehow not coming close to communicating the joy that this occasion inspired. There was not a single “woo-hoo!” or “guess what??!!” in the whole letter.

Her teacher is some kind of genius. She has taught her class to find the positive in a necessary reality. The negative could have easily prevailed- the classroom will be more crowded, you’ll have to share your books, this will disrupt our routine, you will have fewer opportunities to be line leader. These are all true, but why dwell on them when there are so many more wonderful things that come with welcoming new people?

The first thing my daughter did when she jumped out of bed this morning was fish a marble out of the pocket of the pants she wore yesterday.

“I’ve been saving this to give to one of the new girls as a welcome present today. I can’t wait!”

What does test taking anxiety look like in the virtual world?

2010-08-27T14:03:00.000-07:00

In order to expand my repertoire as a teacher, I signed up for a class at my college this quarter: "Teaching Online." In just 8 weeks, I will be fully qualified to teach an online course.

It makes sense that, in order to teach us to teach online, we ourselves have to take an online course. Yep. Complete with reading assignments, deadlines, tests, and a final project. We should feel the pain that we will be inflicting on our students.

Actually, I love it so far. As we were warned, an online course requires at least as much, if not more time as an on ground course, but it has the inherent bonus of flexibility. I can read my assignments, engage in class discussions, and take tests any day of the week at any time I want or can.

But, with great flexibility comes great responsibility. Or something like that.

We don't meet regularly as a class where I can be reminded of upcoming due dates and where I will be missed if I don't show up. I have to make my own schedule and stick to it. I have to take the initiative to look for what's coming up.

And I have to pay attention.

It's going to take me a little while to get back into the groove of concentrating on one thing for an extended period of time. I was halfway through my first online lesson with embedded quizzes when I was distracted and left the website to carry on with that other oh so important something else, though what it was I can't remember for the life of me. Imagine my consternation when I returned later to discover that I had to start the lesson all over again! I mean, this lesson was likely going to take the better part of an hour! And the instructor expected me to do it all in one sitting??!!!!

Oh, yeah, just like school. Just like what I expect from my students. Dang. This could get ugly. But it will be so worth it.

Oh for god's sake, let them build their mosque in peace

2010-08-20T05:56:00.000-07:00

Seriously, are we a country of religious freedom or not? The fact that this has become such a huge deal is absurd. What's really pathetic is that we have a Kansas politician out there saying incredibly stupid things. He's an embarrassment to the midwest.

Read my story here.

Billionaires for BP

2010-08-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

A couple of weekends ago, a small band of us headed out to First Fridays in the Crossroads District of Kansas City to have some fun and stir things up a little. The calamitous oil spill in the gulf was our motivation, and the long-standing performance/demonstration organization Billionaires for Bush was our inspiration. We were Billionaires for BP.Thanks to some very creative souls, we were quite a sight. Dressed in silk, satin, and sequence, brandishing oil-tinis (chocolate syrup in a martini glass), we waltzed around Crossroads chanting things like “more blood for oil,” and “drill, baby, drill.” Some of us carried signs proclaiming such niceties such as, “how many species do we really need?” and “today’s disasters are tomorrow’s dividends.”

Two children joined our crew, but as they are innocents, they chose to be our counter-voice. Aliyah dressed as a sad mermaid, face smeared with crude oil (more chocolate syrup- I had the hardest time keeping her from eating it), and carried a sign that said, “homeless mermaid, will work for fish."

According to one of our leaders, it was not really a protest, as we didn’t have an agenda. It was street performance whose purpose was to generate conversation. There we succeeded. We received strange looks, laughter, honked horns, many thumbs up (especially from the group selling “BP sucks” t-shirts), and several questions from passersby. I also learned the valuable lesson that high heels are not the footwear of choice for a demonstration, even if you are in an evening gown.

It was fun, to be sure, and it served as an outlet for us to express our frustration over the continued violence committed against the earth and its creatures resulting from our insatiable appetite. I

suffered slight discomfort, though, expressed best in a sign that one of our members carried. “Is it BP, is it the government, or is it us?”

Yes, I believe that the greed of corporations and the top echelon of society contribute significantly to our nation’s ravenous consumption of energy that rapes the earth, but none of us is free from guilt. Most of us benefit from a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy, whether from fresh fruit in November, cheap shoes produced overseas, or a weekend of boating on the lake. The economy that supports our lifestyles, even the most modest of which is luxurious compared with much of the world, is largely driven by energy consumption. It’s almost impossible to opt out.

What continues to run through my head is a phrase from my first Calculus class, “simplify, simplify, simplify.” It’s not an easy or effortless task, but it’s the new direction we must head if we want to live in peace and harmony with the earth that existed millions of year before us and will continue on for millions of years with or without us. I think I would prefer that we learn to get along before it jettisons humanity for its own sake.

The ultimate summer

2010-08-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday was the end of summer league tournament for KC Ultimate. And what’s a summer league tournament without a heat advisory? Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. By the second game some of us (especially those of us over 30, I’m just saying…) felt like we were running in molasses. And yes, we probably looked like it, too. But! We had a great time. A beautiful day with beautiful friends. Here are some of the highlights.

The Karen Marcus Interiors team defeated some other team (what was their name again? Not worth remembering) in the mixed team championship game. In their final huddle after the game, they dedicated their win to the memory of Karen Marcus, who ended her battle with breast cancer earlier that morning. This team is to be admired not only for their awesome disc skills, but for their big hearts. “This is a family team,” captain Barrett Davis said.Not only did the team sport several married couples and a mother/daughter combo, but week after week their sideline was filled with team members’ children. They even borrowed children from other teams to boost their family-friendly image. You guys rock.
Team Gotham Printwear walked away with the championship in the men’s open division. Pictured here is the second place team, MWM Consulting, because, frankly, they were cuter.
Completely disregarding child labor laws, we hired a fewchildren to walk around the fields pulling a wagon full of ice water, splashing those who looked like they were on the verge of passing out. Experts estimate that up to 10 incidents of heat stroke were avoided thanks to these hard working kids. All they requested for compensation were Cheezits and Gatorade.
My own team, Walsh’s Corner Cocktails, won the spirit award. League directors assured me that this wasn’t just a pity award handed to the team with the worst record. I’m going to believe them on this one. My pride demands it.
Lunch was catered by one of our sponsors, Westport Flea Market. The hamburgers and chicken sandwiches were good, but the pasta salad was to die for. Thanks!

If you weren’t there, I know you wish you were. The good news is, you don’t have to wait until next summer to join the fun. Fall league starts in just two short weeks, and beginners are welcomed and encouraged to join. There’s no better way to get an incredible workout, meet a ton of wonderful new friends, and enjoy this sunshine while we still have it. Your body and soul will thank you.

Let Loose in the Park

2010-07-31T19:04:00.000-07:00

Driving to Loose Park this past week for Ultimate Frisbee pick-up, I noticed, for the first time, the full name of the park: "Jacob L. Loose Memorial Park." Well, I figured there just had to be a story behind this Jacob guy, and sure enough, there is, and of course I have some commentary to go along with it.

What Loose Park, biscuits, and the pyramids share in common

Mountains talk to me. No, I'm not crazy.

2010-07-25T17:11:00.001-07:00

Last week I ventured into the wilderness. Ok, I guess since the trailhead parking lot was full, the path was well trod, and we passed more than a dozen fellow hikers, wilderness is not exactly accurate. It was, though, far from the sights, sounds, and smell of the city. We hiked up to Conundrum Springs, natural hot springs at the peak of a valley (do valleys have peaks?) not far from Aspen, Colorado.

One of my aspirations for this trip was to leave behind me, even if temporarily, the stress and anxieties of the daily grind. Is that really possible? Can we shed our worries as we shed our tailored clothes, makeup, dress shoes, and all the other accessories of life back home? Is it truly that simple?

Yes, yes it is. With each foot of elevation gain my heart felt a little lighter, and it wasn't just the thin air going to my head. As we approached two miles above sea level, my worries may as well have taken up residence on another planet.

Day two of our trip afforded us several hours of silent contemplation while relaxing the the hot springs overlooking the valley on one side and lofty mountain peaks on the other. It was then that the mountain spoke to me.

"I will remain here forever," it said, "or at least forever in

comparison with your brief life. No matter what mistakes you make, what troubles befall you, what riches find you, I don't care. Year after year I will stand here. You may come back to visit, you can even bring your children. Or, you may never return again. Either way, it doesn't matter to me, because here I will stand."

This reminder of my insignificance, instead of sobering me, relieved me. What I had thought so important, so life altering, now seemed puny. This freed me to breathe easier, to take in all that surrounded me. It allowed me to relax in the mountain's gentle cradle. It asked nothing of me but my presence, and I took nothing from it but its peace.

In one week I will return to the classroom. I look forward to another year of teaching, of the laughter, frustration, joy, and weariness it will bring. Yes, I anticipate helping my students move toward discovering and achieving their goals and dreams, but my life will not depend on it.

For I know that no matter what, the mountain stands there still, waiting for my return. Or not waiting. It doesn't really matter.

General McChrystal: major blunder or brilliant strategy?

2010-07-02T05:34:00.000-07:00

Along with the basics of reading and writing, I try to teach my students the rules of the game- those unwritten rules that your employer, banker, parole officer, professor, expect you to know and to follow.

Recently one of my students asked me to proofread a document she had written. I suggested one addition. “But I don’t really feel that way,” she protested. “It doesn’t matter,” I explained, “it’s the rules of the game. They’ll expect this to be in your document, and no matter how good and sincere the rest is, without this, it won’t work. I don’t care whether you really mean it, and frankly, they don’t either. They just want you to say it. It’s the rules.” In the end, she discovered how right I was, and was able to include the suggestion and achieve her desired results.

She faced a critical decision. She could play by rules she didn’t completely buy into for long-term benefit, or she could refuse to compromise her integrity and leave the organization. Either choice presented its own challenges, and I would have supported and respected her whichever she chose. What was important to me was that she was fully aware of the situation, that the choice was truly hers so that she was not a powerless victim to the system.

Which brings me to Gen. McChrystal. What we have on the surface is a highly decorated, highly experienced officer with tremendous responsibilities and under a great deal of stress who, unfortunately, made a few off-hand, stupid remarks that lost him his official position: in charge of the war in Afghanistan.

I have a hard time swallowing that story. Here’s a man who, better than 99.999% of the population understands the rules of the game. And anyone who’s served a minute in the military, or knows someone who has served in the military, or has heard anything about the military, knows that in order to achieve the rank of general, a person must demonstrate time and again an extraordinary measure of discipline, self-control, patience, and strategic thinking.

So what are the chances that one of the most highly respected generals in the U.S. military, with enough experience and success that he led an entire war effort, oops, slipped up and said something stupid during an interview with Rolling Stone magazine.

Is it possible that McChrystal knew exactly what he was doing? Was this a strategic move rather than an amateurish blunder?

If so, it was genius. He was removed from a position of responsibility with which he was completely frustrated, but removed in such as way that he was able to retain his rank and his honor with no disciplinary action while bringing to the nation’s attention the major challenges our military faces in Afghanistan. Heck, he was even commended by the president for all the good work he’s done up to this point.

I can’t help but admire him as a strategist. He didn’t just play by the rules, he owned the rules. He made the rules submit to his authority. Assuming, of course, that my humble theory is correct.

I think I’ll invite him to be a guest presenter to my class.

Is name-calling necessary?

2010-06-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, a friend of mine celebrated his birthday at a local eating establishment. I thought Aliyah and I would just stop by for a short while since none of her friends would be there. Little did I know…

We found our party sitting on the outdoor patio that faces a large, open, fenced area built as a concert venue. It took Aliyah all of 2.5 minutes to find three other kids close to her size, and then only 1.6 minutes to establish a close enough friendship with them that allowed them to run around and play together for the next 3 hours. Anyone watching would have thought them life-long friends.

Eventually, one of the other children’s mother came over to introduce herself and her son to me. Of course, the first information we exchanged was our names. “I’m Elizabeth,” she said, “and this is Xavier.” This boy’s name was obviously new information to Aliyah, and when asked whether he knew her name, Xavier looked confused.

Initially I laughed at this. They had been playing together like old friends for 3 hours and didn’t even know each other’s names? Ah, those silly children.

Later, it occurred to me that this is regular behavior for Aliyah. For weeks now she’s been playing with a few children at Ultimate Frisbee, and she still refers to them as her “Frisbee friends,” because she doesn’t know any of their names. It’s not that my child is strange; another mom told me that her daughter referred to Aliyah as “that girl I was playing with at Frisbee,” and has no idea what her name is.

Being the responsible parent I am, my first thought was that this is a skill I need to teach Aliyah. Introduce yourself in the beginning. Learn names. Remember names. Names are important.

But then I took a step back and considered further. Who really has something to learn here? Aliyah forms fun, satisfying friendships quickly and easily. She and her friends skip over all those initial pleasantries which adults find necessary. Not only do they not exchange names, but they also don’t share which schools they attend, family of origin data, outside hobbies and activities, what kind of car their parents drive, where they live, or what kind of music they listen to. And the assumptions they make! You’re my size, you’re here, you obviously want to play with me, and you’re going to be the tiger first while I’m the princess who is lost in the woods.

Yet we saavy adults, who know the correct stages of friendship and have mastered small talk can spend weeks or months forming a friendship in which we are comfortable enough to act silly or laugh without restraint.

But at least we know each other’s names, right? Seriously, what’s the point? And at what age was the natural ability to form bonds with one another trained out of us?

The Buddha in you

2010-06-16T17:57:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday I attended Buddhist meditation at Unity Temple on the Plaza. I had no idea what to expect, really, though I figured it would be a fairly quiet service, what with meditating and all.

What a wonderful experience it was. You can read my reflections here.

Cinderella was a pathetic loser

2010-06-09T18:20:00.000-07:00

It started as an innocent literary assignment. I read my class the Grimm brothers’ version of “Cinderella,” then, in groups of two, they chose versions from different countries, identified the differences in their version, and researched the country.

It had been a long time since I’d read the Grimm version, and though I wasn’t expecting any kind of feminist ideals, I still found myself rolling my eyes more than a little. I mean, really Cinderella. Anytime you wish for something under the hazel tree the birds bring it to you, and yet you haven’t bothered to wish for the items or resources to allow you to leave your cruel stepmother? Wus. And perhaps rather than crying over her mother’s grave three times a day she should have bucked up even a modicum of courage and done something with her life.

And seriously, her mother’s dying request was that Cinderella (whom the Grimm brothers never bother to give a real name) be pious and good. Come on, mom. I can think of a lot of words I would give my daughter on my deathbed, and “be sure to remain pious and good,” are not among them.

Humility, obedience, piety, small feet- these were the desirable qualities in a woman, passed down from generation to generation, and the fairy tales enumerated the prizes available to women who met these standards: beauty, a rich husband, and the ability to speak to birds.

The sexism of classic fairy tales is not earth-shattering news, but its insidious hold on our social consciousness has struck me this week. Last weekend one of my cousins told her mothers that she wanted to watch a romantic movie with a strong female lead. Not such an easy request to fulfill, as it turned out. Even where piety and obedience have been expunged, helplessness, neediness, and stupidity still reign supreme.

Which reminds me- this Saturday night some local theaters are showing all 3 Twilight movies in a row for one low price!

There was a time when mothers passed down these virtues to their daughters as a matter of survival, but that time has passed. Cinderella, while an interesting study in literature and culture, no longer holds value for women.

Except for the talking with the birds bit. That’s pretty cool.

Q:What happens when a bishop confuses himself with god?

2010-06-02T07:38:00.000-07:00

A: He makes god look like an asshole.

I had to read this story a couple of times for it to really sink in. A Catholic bishop in Phoenix, AZ, excommunicated a nun who, in her role as an administrator at a local hospital, approved an abortion for a woman who, doctors agreed, had 0% chance of survival if her pregnancy wasn't terminated immediately.

One priest, defending the bishop's actions, equated the nun's decision with priests who molest children. Except, of course, the priests aren't excommunicated, because they have penises.

fake sun and artificial community

2010-05-27T12:50:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning the sun raced ahead of my alarm clock, beat down my curtain of darkness, and shook me awake. Instead of responding grumpily (do you have any idea what time it is?), I leapt out of bed. Well, ok. I have a bum knee, so really I hobbled out of bed. With a burst of energy, I quickly dressed for the day, left the apartment an hour earlier than usual, and tackled some business. This is typical summer for me: boundless energy, bright spirits, big plans.

I blame the sun.

Nothing compares

with solar energy. We have tried, for thousands of years, to reproduce the positive effects of sunlight on the human body and psyche. Artificial light dates back almost as far as the human race, and as technology advances so does our efforts at reproducing sunlight. We have electric lights that contain every wavelength as sunlight, lights so intense they are blinding, lights that bake our skin just like the sun. We’ve isolated and replicated vitamin D, one of the vitamins that our bodies produce when exposed to sunlight.

And yet, and yet. None of it can replace good old natural sunlight. Fakies may keep us limping along, but we have yet to create light that can energize and sustain us as well as the sun can. After tens of thousands of years of human evolution, we can’t replicate something as simple as this. (Maybe not so simple- is it a particle, or is it a wave? Yes!)

What is truly remarkable about humans is that, even though we can’t even reproduce the first day of creation, we go on to try to reproduce even more complex phenomena. We discover, though, that just like sunlight, our desperate efforts fall miserably short. Such as…

Desire. I can’t create for my students the desire to learn. I can help them direct it, focus it, channel it. I can even help them amplify it. But it can not be created, though believe me I have tried. It must already exist on its own somewhere within their hearts.

Community. What great irony there is in the idea of creating community. We build towns, erect housing additions, establish organizations, even birth families. But the truest, deepest communities are organic and natural. Artificial community, like artificial sunlight, lacks something essential.

It may contain all the necessary wavelengths and all the identifiable ingredients. It may work in a pinch to see a person through the winter. But at the end of the day, it is fake.

Why do we continue pouring resources into replication?

From the desk in my classroom I can look through glass doors to the outside. Out there is all this beautiful sunshine, but we have built opaque walls around ourselves to shut it out, and then installed artificial lights. Why so counterproductive?

It’s about control. The sunlight comes and goes at its leisure. It is not scheduled, is not reliable. And so, though it offers great joy and happiness, we opt for something thousands of times less effective and less true so that we can gain control over it.

You can not schedule and regulate real community. It has a mind all its own, and may grow, shrink, love, and play at its own leisure. And so we shy away from it, abandon it, even despise it, in favor of a knock-off of our own creation that will follow our bidding.

My students read Plato’s allegory of the cave yesterday and they agreed. No matter what others may say, the fire and its shadows in the cave just can’t compete with the warmth and brightness of the sun.

Poison Ivy vs. Tulips

2010-05-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

I’ve been contemplating poison ivy recently (don’t ask). Actually, a friend and I were discussing the plant and its unique qualities. Our conversation ended with the inevitable questions, “Does poison ivy serve any real purpose? Does it bring any goodness to the world?”

Sure, it produces oxygen and feeds herbivores, but many other, kinder plants do that, too. Really, poison ivy, what’s the point? Is a plant that causes so much suffering really necessary?

I know many plants have developed poisonous fruit, leaves, and roots as a defense mechanism, but here’s the thing about poison ivy. It’s only poisonous to humans! Yeah, that’s right. All other creatures can munch it, frolic in it, build nests in and with it, with no ill effects. Why on earth would a plant develop such a specialized defense against just one species?

Michael Pollan suggests the intellectual exercise of viewing the world, includin

g humans, through the perspective of plants and animals. So, from the poison ivy’s perspective, what possible advantage could it achieve through a defense against humans?

The answer is clear. Humans have caused more damage to life on Earth more than any other single species. If a plant were to defend itself, this would be the animal against which to do so, and this strategy has worked remarkably well for PI. The mantra, “leaves of three, let it be,” has saved millions of PI plants from the destructive forces of hikers, gardeners, and explorers, so that the plant thrives across all of the many climates and temperature zones of North America and beyond. PI has free range over any habitat it desires without asking permission or begging for support. No wildlife preserves or protected areas necessary for this rebel, no sir. It grows wherever it damn well pleases.

Then there’s tulips. Ah, tulips. Who doesn’t love these beautiful flowers? Although they do have a natural habitat, and there is such a thing as wild tulips, the lovely flowers which we all know and love are asexual, requiring careful cultivation and long-range planning. Tulips spring up in flower beds around the world only because humans work hard to make it so.

You have to admire the tulips’ strategy, too. Taking a radically different course of action than PI, it has made itself so beautiful, so desirable to the dominant species that we go to great lengths to ensure its survival and proliferation. Very, very clever.

Which plant has chosen the better path? A disadvantage accompanies every advantage. Poison ivy, though seemingly unconquerable, plays a dangerous game antagonizing the most powerful, or at least the most destructive, species on earth. Humans have driven plenty of other species to the brink of extinction, even species with whom they had no quarrel. It’s a bold move, PI, but watch your step.

Tulips, on the other hand, have relinquished much of their freedom in befriending the human race. Their domesticated varieties, now in greater abundance than their wild ancestors, grow only where humans desire, and their habitat is much more limited than PI’s. That’s the trouble with powerful friends; you easily become totally dependent on them.

So if you were a plant, which would you rather be? The rebel with great freedom but great risk, or the beauty living in security but almost total dependence on another?

Thank you nurse

2010-05-12T22:24:00.000-07:00

This week is national nurses’ week, an opportunity for all of us to honor and thank those women and men who have dedicated their lives, or a portion of it, to caring and serving in a capacity that requires great strength, compassion, intelligence, patience, and fortitude.

Nurses have played pivotal roles in my own life. One of my favorite aunts is nurse extraordinaire. I call upon her for her expertise on a regular basis. The night I gave birth to Aliyah two nurses were my closest friends for a few hours. Because of their steadfastness I was able to endure the worst of labor while maintaining my sense of humor.

But what I will never, ever forget is the day a nurse saved my life. It was The Worst Day of My Life. I awoke early. No, I hadn’t slept the night before, but it was early in the morning when the dangerous thoughts first crept through my mind, “I want to stop the pain. I would do anything to make this pain go away.” I had just enough sanity left to recognize my danger, to know I needed to call someone immediately, but at first I couldn’t think of whom. Who would listen to my shame, embarrassment, fear, and pain without judgment? Who would know just how to stop me from following through with my dangerous thoughts?

The answer was suddenly clear. There was only one person to call, and this person was a nurse. I called her before the sun had even risen, and when she heard my voice on the phone she asked for no explanation, but came to my house immediately. She was not my best friend, not a family member, but she embodied all of the qualities of the greatest nurse. She had, and still has, a passion to bring health and healing to the human body and soul, and she did so that day by sharing from the very depths of her own soul. She stayed by my side and nursed me back to a place of safety.

This amazing woman isn’t a nurse because it was a lucrative career choice. Instead, her profession springs from a heart, mind, and soul of gold.

To help celebrate this week, do you have a story of a nurse who has touched your life?

To care or not to care, that is the question

2010-05-10T18:51:00.001-07:00

Believe it or not, not every day in the classroom is a bastion of inspiration and exhilaration for a teacher. It’s true. There are those days where the students and the teacher look at one another, and the same thought is running through all their heads, “I can think of at least 100 other places I’d rather be.”

The difference between teacher and students is that the teacher still has to fake it. I have to smile and reach into the depths of my being is search of reserves of energy to pour into today’s lesson. The students, on the other hand, can sit there, stare back at me with empty eyes, and ask inane questions like, “Why do we have to read Shakespeare?”

Although this charade can drain my soul of its very last drop of verve, it can also trick my mind into believing the lie. The irony is that if I can trick my mind into believing that today’s classroom experience carries excitement and pith, it is no longer a lie. Yep. I have that much control. It doesn’t matter whether my students ever buy into it. It becomes the truth, and they can choose to benefit from it or not.

I did see a couple of students paying attention and nodding today. Either they were believing it, or they too were faking it. Days like today, I’ll take either. If they pretend long enough that they enjoy Shakespeare, they may actually talk themselves into it.

Don't tell me you don't have an opinion

2010-05-03T14:08:00.001-07:00

We examined editorial cartoons in class today. Most of my students had never spent any time with them, so we covered some of the necessary basics to understanding their message. I fielded some interesting questions:

Q: Why do they always draw Obama with such big ears?

A: Have you ever taken a good look at those things? They're ginormous!

Q: Why does the donkey always represent the Democrats and the elephant the Republicans? Do they represent attributes of the party?

A: Most likely, yes.

Q: This cartoon could offend some people.

A: Yes, most do.

I assigned each group one cartoon, and they were to write down:

1. The issue addressed in the cartoon.

2. What each character represented.

3. The artist's opinion on the issue.

4. Their opinion on the issue.

About halfway through class, while they were working diligently, I received the most disturbing question I've ever heard in the classroom:

"What if we don't have an opinion?"

Now, this is a state of mind with which I simply can not relate. I was raised in a family where an opinion on anything and everything was an absolute imperative, a matter of survival. Those without an opinion were mocked and shunned. By the age of 3 I had learned that if I didn't have an opinion, I had better quickly come up with one. By age 4 I had learned to defend that opinion with diligence and fervor. Of course, one was always allowed to change opinions, and in fact we often did, but only if the new opinion was held with even more passion than the original.

What if we don't have an opinion? I answered the only way I knew how.

"You have 10 minutes to come up with one."

Now, I'm not promoting arbitrary opinions. I want them to research an issue, consider both sides, weigh the facts, project the consequences. They do need to increase their critical thinking skills (who of us doesn't), but what they need even more is a cure to their apathy.

They are not apathetic by nature. They impress me everyday with their deeply held concern for their friends and family. The reason they are in school now is to improve life not only for themselves but also for those they love.

All they need is for someone to help them see the connection between politics and local, national, and world events, and their own inner circles. How does America's response to the energy crisis affect their children? How does the government's involvement in corporate spending affect their own wages? Who can help them draw these lines?

That is my job. I'm not just and English teacher, I'm a line drawer.

The good seed of Fred Phelps

2010-04-29T09:16:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, my aunts Vicki and Janice and I zipped over to Topeka to hear Nate Phelps. The second son of the infamous pastor of Westboro Baptist Church (Rev. god hates fags), Nate escaped from his violent, hate-filled home at midnight of his 18th birthday.

Nate has shared his story in many places, but last Saturday was the first time he spoke out in his hometown.

Read about it here.

Gov. Jan Brewer can kiss my big, strong Puerto Rican ass

2010-04-27T12:48:00.000-07:00

Every Monday morning, I greet my first class with the brightest smile possible, even if I haven't had the day's first cup of coffee (which, fortunately, is rarely the case).

"Good morning! How was your weekend?" I ask enthusiastically. Sometimes they even respond.

"What did you read over the weekend?" is my next question, which often meets curious glances. I'm still trying to instill the idea that not only is reading outside of class acceptable, but it can often lead to further enjoyment and enrichment. It's a work in progress.

Never one to shy from controversial issues in the classroom, I then asked, "what does everyone think of the new immigration law in Arizona?"

Blank stares.

So, I pulled up a news report and filled them in. Their initial response was confusion.

"Why would anyone make a law like that?"

"How are they going to get away with that?"

The confusion quickly gave way to frustration and hurt. They knew, without my suggesting it, that this would lead to racial profiling. Most of my students have at one time or another fallen victim to profiling, and some face it on a daily basis.

What weighed heaviest on my heart, though, was the eyes of my students who are first generation immigrants. Hurt, betrayal, frustration, anger. One wrote in her creative writing assignment that day, "Why do they treat immigrants like criminals?"

According to the new law, a legal immigrant who is caught without immigration papers could be charged with a state crime. Yep. That's right. It will be illegal to leave home without their papers.

I looked into the beautiful, gentle face of R___, one of my top students, and a scene flashed before my eyes. I saw her hurriedly racing from school to work (the young woman is always in class, at work, or studying), and being pulled over by a police officer because she looked suspicious. What if she had rushed out the door that morning without her papers? I saw them arresting her, processing her, charging her a fine that she most certainly couldn't pay.

Even if she were not arrested, even if she produced her papers when they were demanded, I can not imagine the humiliation of being singled out, pulled over, and questioned to prove that she belonged in the country that she has made her home, that she has worked feverishly night and day to make her home. She does not deserve to be treated this way in her own home, nor does a visitor deserve this treatment. It's demeaning, demoralizing, and downright cruel.

My father is still searched more thoroughly in the airport than his fairer skinned friends and family. This is only one example of the times I've seen him singled out or left out because of his skin color. I cringe when I see this proud, loving man treated as less than. Even a college education and a lifetime of white collar work has not rescued him from insidious racism.

We wonder why we still struggle so much with race relations in this country. Really? It seems that we are going out of our way to bolster the mistrust between people, to damage tenuous relationships.

Shame on you, Jan Brewer, for giving into the fear and overreaction of a few of your constituents. This was an unwise move that reflects poorly on your state and sets us back decades.

Because who hasn't at least wanted to flip someone off?

2010-04-16T10:54:00.001-07:00

I absolutely love stories like this one. There is so much that is funny and silly about it, and yet there is pith, if one is willing to dig deeply.

An Olathe man flipped off the police officer who ticketed, received a second ticket for disorderly conduct, then enlisted the aid of the ACLU to teach the Olathe police that flipping off authorities is an expression of our first amendment rights. Yep. So go for it.

Oh, and the pith? Read here.

Plaza flash mob part 2: students' reactions

2010-04-13T19:02:00.000-07:00

The flash mob in the Plaza this past Saturday was the main topic of conversation in my classes today at Kansas City Kansas Community College. Of my 80 students, approximately 70% are African-American, 20% are Hispanic, and 10% are Caucasian. Their ages range from 16-40s.

Yesterday I told them to stay up-to-date on the latest reports about the incident and come to class today prepared to discuss it. I was pleased that most of my students did just that, and was not at all surprised that they were full of ideas and opinions.

What did surprise me was that one student revealed that he had received a facebook invitation to the mob. He said it’s called a “flood,” and it’s not the first invitation he’s received. He decided to ignore this invitation, since he was afraid it was going to spiral out of control.

Another student said with absolute certainty that he knew what incited the mob; it was a reaction to the massive school closings planned for this upcoming fall in the KC, MO school district. I asked him if he was absolutely positive this was the reason, and he said that he was. When I asked him how he knew this, he looked at me long and hard and simply said, “because I know.”

To launch our discussion, I asked the students to answer three questions:

What assumptions did the news reporters make?
What assumptions do you make?
What assumptions do you think others might make?

Below are some of the most popular answers to these questions.

What assumptions did the news reporters make?

This event was planned through social media channels.
The teens started the incident.
This will likely happen again.
Teens were labeled as “unruly” and “violent.”

What assumptions do you make?

The teens need something to do, somewhere to go, and Kansas City has very little for them.
Next time will involve even more teens.
This was racially motivated.
Those involved were acting out of ignorance, and ignorance breeds more ignorance.
People will stop patronizing the Plaza.
Someone will be killed next time.
The Plaza area will begin to enforce a curfew for teens and a dress code for everyone.
This will lead to greater profiling by the police.
Many of the teens were high on something.

What assumptions might others make?

Parents are to blame.
The teens were all black.
Teens should not be out at night without adult supervision.
The city will be better prepared in the future for this kind of event.
This was racially motivated.
The Plaza is a dangerous place now, and this will hurt tourism.
Drugs were involved.
It was gang related, because when black people fight, it’s always about gangs.

An overwhelming majority of my students believe this will continue to escalate. One student remarked that the inevitable increase of police presence in the Plaza might lead to greater security, but could also lead to an increase in volatility and hostility.

My students were very divided on how this could or should be addressed. While they did not defend the actions of the mob, they were fairly pessimistic about whether authorities and community leaders could successfully address this issue. Many were also concerned that this will lead to greater racial tension in Kansas City.

I hold great respect for my students, and I love them dearly. They, in turn, respect and trust me. Whatever the future of the Plaza and other Kansas City hot spots, I hope that our classroom, at least, will continue to be a thriving community where we build bridges, strive to understand and support one another, and live out the kind of peace and cooperation that we desire for our city, our country, and our world.

Flash mobs, race relations, and ignorant mayoral comments

2010-04-12T23:04:00.001-07:00

I heard about it on a beautiful, peaceful Sunday afternoon while playing frisbee with some friends across the street from the Nelson-Atkins museum. "Did you hear what happened on the Plaza last night? A mob of hundreds of teenagers descended on it. The police came out in force and even had to use pepper spray to break it up."

It was shocking. This didn't sound like the Kansas City Plaza. When I later watched the video footage, my heart sank even more. Even though the reporters' words continue to call the mob "unruly teenagers," the video reveals something more. It was a group of black teenagers. I could almost feel the racial tension instantly rise in this city that already struggles with racial tension.

Hoping my fears were misplaced, I brought up the story in my classes today. At Kansas City Kansas Community College, the majority of the student population is African-American, and I knew my students would have opinions.

I showed them the short news video footage from this morning, and their reactions were immediate.

"Oh, I see. It was a bunch of BLACK teenagers. That's why people were scared."

"Is this why they don't want us in the Power and Light District? Now they're going to start a dress code for the Plaza, too."

And then, after Mayor Funkhouser's unfortunate comment (he does seem to make a lot of those), "We had sort of a Westport night in the Plaza," the reaction was strong.

"See. There they go, blaming the black people."

And it's true. Scroll through the hundreds of comments, and you can see the inevitable. A large number of people are insulting the African-American community, blaming the race at large for the unruly teenagers.

Several of my students were incensed at the teenagers' behavior,

"If they're going to act like idiots then that's the way they'll be treated and they deserve it," one said with many nodding in agreement.

When mob mentality takes over, people do stupid things. I'm concerned for the teenagers that got carried away with this, for the Plaza patrons and residents, and especially for the health of inter-racial cooperation, respect, and relationship in Kansas City. This could pull us apart even further, or it could force us to work together with open minds and the perseverance to seek real solutions beneficial to all.

I gave all my students the assignment to read the latest reports from this story and be ready to discuss their thoughts and reflections tomorrow. I will share their feedback on this blog.

Two wheels are better than four

2010-04-11T19:06:00.000-07:00

Over the last two days, I've seen a different Kansas City than what I've ever seen before.

On most days, I'm a highway driver. I set my course based solely on the fastest route to my destination. I'm in the northland and want to go to the Plaza? No problem. Jump on the interstate and presto, 20 minutes later I'm there. It was as if a stretch of concrete or asphalt and maybe some heavy traffic was all that separated one point of interest from another.

But yesterday, I joined some friends (who all know the city better than I) on a bike tour which started in Westport, meandered down through the east bottoms, then circled back to downtown and then Westport again. Jason Steliga took the picture above during our bike tour. Can you name that bridge?

Moving slowly, open on all sides and above me, pedaling along backroads and trails, I discovered Kansas City. And you know what? It's beautiful, funny, ugly, sad, and amazing. Why have I never noticed before? Why the narrow habit of staring straight ahead and moving from box to box while enclosed in a box? This city is rich with color, variety, oddities, and flavor.

So today, instead of driving from my apartment in Grandview to the Ultimate game across the street from the Nelson-Atkins museum, I hopped on my bike and rode. Since bicycles and highways don't mix, I rode on streets I've never driven before. As I was pedaling, little things popped out at me: a little free-standing New York style bakery on Troost, a hot dog stand on Grandview Rd, a darling old neighborhood on Rockhill Rd. And a guy riding the funniest looking bike I've ever seen. Must have been an art student.

I discovered that, for the most part, the city's landscape changes gradually. I couldn't tell you when I left the suburbs and entered the urb. At which point exactly did the average home value jump from $70,000 to $500,00? When did the narrow, empty roads become wide and crowded?

So, I'm starting a new exploration. Next week, I'm going to bike to that hot dog stand and try it out. I'll let you know if it's any good.

Does our willful ignorance contribute to collateral murder?

2010-04-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

A military video from an American Apache in Iraq in 2007 was posted a few days ago on Wikileaks, and independent online journalism site. The controversial video reveals the gunning down of two Reuters news staff, several unarmed civilians, and a family that drove in to try to help the wounded. The video has generated significant online conversation, and now even the international news conglomerates are picking up the story.

Emotions are running high in this debate. Many are outraged, others are jumping to the defense of American soldiers, claiming that this is not representative of reality and that those who have never lived through combat can not understand and have no place to judge.

With this much contoversy and heated debate, how could I not blog about it?

I watched the video. My stomach started churning in the first minute and I had to force myself to finish watching it. I don't know what sickened me more: watching the civilians gunned down, or listening to the soldiers who sounded like they were playing a video game.

I have never lived through combat. I have never even lived in a violent neighborhood, so I can not imagine the emotional and mental state of soldiers, charged with battling terrorism, living day in and day out in a hostile environment.

But that's just the point. We don't have to see it. That's the American way of life.

We can wake up in the morning and enjoy our cheap eggs and bacon without once asking ourselves what the true cost is of this cheap food, without ever visiting the unnatural, unhealthy, and painful lives animals are forced to live. We don't have to think about the various ways we rape and pillage the land and poison the world's water for our insatiable appetites.

After breakfast, we can choose our day's outfit from our closets stuffed with relatively inexpensive clothing without ever looking in the eyes of the children who labor 12-18 hours a day in sweltering factories producing our latest styles.

We can sip our coffee and savor our chocolate without considering the children sold into slavery so that those who harvest the beans can still turn a profit off the backs of this cheap labor.

We can flash our dazzling diamond earrings without ever sullying our hands with the blood that was shed over them.

And we can breathe peacefully and easily in an empire that sends boys and girls barely old enough to vote into combat on the other side of the world. We don't have to think about what it means to their fragile souls to be given the duty to kill. We don't have to live daily with the reality of the shattered lives on both sides of the weapon.

We are no more civilized, no less brutal than the very first humans. We're just better at shielding ourselves from the ugly truths. We turn our faces from what should sicken us to the core while rail against sports stars for setting a bad example for our children.

I don't know what I can do. I just know that I can't look away any longer.

Yes, Aliyah, there is a monster

2010-04-04T19:33:00.000-07:00

"Are there really monsters, mommy?"

My daughter watched Monsters Inc. for the umpteenth time this afternoon. I told her that I didn't know, that I had never seen a monster, but that they may exist somewhere.

After she fell asleep tonight, the question returned to my mind. Are there monsters?

Tomorrow begins our fourth quarter at school. Last week over 80 new students enrolled in our adult education program designed to prepare adults for the GED and college. The instructors met with the students one-on-one for advising, and, as always, the students I met inspired me. One wants to open his own soul food restaurant, another wants to be a social worker so that she can help others who are struggling through the same system that she struggled through. One young man, under the question "what are your long-range goals?" wrote, "to be known, to be loved, and to be larger than life." Their eyes were bright and their faces revealed their enthusiasm. Several said, "I'm going to get it right this time."

My short history here predicts that not all of them will last through the quarter. A couple will be incarcerated, at least one will lose her home, a few will lose their motivation, family issues will relentlessly pull away several, and a couple will simply not show up one day and when we try to call them we will only reach disconnected lines.

I hate this truth. I rail against this reality. I want to fight like hell for each and every one of them. This is my monster.

But this monster is sly and elusive. Just when I think I've cornered him, I strike out and hit nothing but emptiness, then hear the low, sinister laugh behind me. Sometimes I think I have struck a near fatal blow only to discover that my sword has accomplished no damage whatsoever.

I cannot hurt the monster because he belongs to the students. I can walk with them into battle, I can suggest fighting techniques, I can equip them with weapons, and I can cheer for them. But they must fight him. They must kill him themselves.

Tomorrow, we take up arms and storm the castle. Beware, monster; your days are numbered.

The hidden rules of Kansas City

2010-03-30T18:46:00.000-07:00

I've had a few offers of sponsorship, but I determined that they wouldn't quite cover my costs, so I'm holding out for something larger. $200,000 should do it.

In the mean time, here are a few hidden rules of Kansas City, as I see it:

1. Early to bed, early to rise. This rule doesn't take too long to learn, not when our most famous shopping district closes at 7 p.m. Seriously, what's up with that? Visitors to our city, especially those from other countries, need to be aware that staying up late is just not the norm here. Americans in general go to bed earlier, but midwesterners especially don't last long after the sunset. So, don't schedule late night business dinners or entertainment, and hit the sack early enough to make that sunrise tee time.

2. Kansas City is almost smack dab in the middle of the country, and so is our style of dress. The styles here tend toward the conservative, though not as stuffy or preppy as the east coast. And though some pretend to be trendy, the truth is that it takes a good while for new fashions to reach us, and by the time they do, they're somewhat watered down.

3. Drive friendly. Sure, we have our share of road rage, but more often than not Kansas City dwellers temper this rage, perhaps with the hopes that politeness on the road will cover a multitude of other sins. And we are definitely big believers in sin here.

4. It's ok to be vegetarian here. You'll be tolerated. Just don't flaunt it. The cuisine for which Kansas City is best known is its bar-b-que, so many natives take it as a personal affront when someone refuses to eat meant. They're just usually too polite to say so. If you find yourself at a meeting or event where there are no vegetarian options (and that is true for many restaurants here), you'll need a creative backup plan. Maybe order a side salad and during dinner steal away to the restroom to inhale a protein bar.

5. Don't get involved in the border war. You see, there's this thick red line that runs through the heart of Kansas City called State Line. Visitors don't even see it, but it's glaringly obvious to anyone who's lived here more than a month. There's a lot of good natured bantering between friends, family, and colleagues who live on opposing sides of The Line, but there are also some deeply held hostilities. The danger for you, visitor, is that it's not always clear which is surfacing in a given conversation, and even if you're sure it's more bantering than hostility, it can flip at the blink of an eye. So your safest bet is to just side step it. Don't join in, don't get between them, don't try to change the topic. In fact, now would be a good time to sneak away for that protein bar.

If anyone can think of others to share, we'd love to hear them.

If someone sponsored me for a year...

2010-03-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

Today, I was talking with a friend about a book I'm reading, "Eat, Pray, Love," by Elizabeth Gilbert. It's the memoirs of the author's outer and inner journeys for a year as she spends 4 months in Italy eating, 4 months in India praying, and 4 months in Indonesia learning to love. This amazing venture was made possible by her publisher, who advanced her the money based on the book she would write about the experience (which is now a best seller, so everyone's a winner).

So my friend asked me, "what would you do, what would you write about, if someone offered to sponsor you for a year?" Wow! I didn't have an immediate answer, but couldn't stop thinking about the question. Here's what I've come up with...

A couple of months ago I wrote about Dr. Bethany Tucker's insights about the hidden rules that govern our lives. She was talking about differing rules between economic classes, but I was pondering the hidden rules between countries, specifically major cities in different countries. I once read a pamphlet written by the United States tourism board (or some such body) for our international guests, and one of the biggest sections explained Americans' obsession with and treatment of time. They warned that it was unacceptable in American culture to be more than 10 minutes late for a meeting or engagement without calling ahead. We are ruled be the clock and our calendars. The pamphlet continued with more details about this rule that I had never before considered, since it seemed perfectly natural to me.

So, I'd like to spend a month each in 12 major cities, immersing myself as much as possible into the life of each city, and try to unearth some of their hidden rules. It would be like a very challenging scavenger hunt. I'm thinking New York, Mexico City, London, Paris, Moscow, Hong Kong, Rio de Janeiro, Tokyo, Cape Town, Sydney, Nuuk, and Bombay. Maybe, if my insights were keen enough, the cities could use my research for their own tourism pamphlets.

Guess I'd better begin with Kansas City, though as a resident of this fair town, it may prove the most challenging. Any ideas about KC's hidden rules, or the hidden rules of your town? In my next post, I'll suggest a few that I see.

Keep going! You're wearing him down!

2010-03-26T13:59:00.000-07:00

A student of mine saw this photo yesterday and said, "That's how I feel right now, struggling against all my problems." What a vivid image!

How many of us don't feel like this sometimes? Straining with all of our might, head down, muscles straining, while in the back (or front) of our minds is the realization, "there is absolutely no way in god's green earth I will ever budge any of this massive weight, and it's going to crush me."

Now, I thought about blogging about the smart and effective things to do when you find yourself in a situation like this. Walk away if at all possible, call on your friends, gather a support network, remember that if it doesn't kill you it'll make you stronger, blah, blah, blah. We all know all that, and to a certain extent, there's truth in each of those cliches.

But sometimes, darn it, the big fat guy is going to crush you, and you won't feel at all stronger afterwards. What do you do then?

Well, the only thing you can do then is to drag yourself out of the ring and go have some drinks with some others who have also felt the breath-snatching crush. I'm not talking about drowning your sorrows in booze. I'm talking about recognizing the damage in yourself and others. You may not feel stronger, but it can give you clearer vision to see those around you in a different, more humane light.

And after you've shared a couple of beers, a few tears, and a whole lot of laughter, get back out there and take on the big guy again. After all, he's slow and out of shape. You can take him!

Nowhere to hide

2010-03-24T14:11:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, if a stranger comes into our school, I'm supposed to hide over where we hang up our jackets."

I almost coughed out my oatmeal when my daughter, out of nowhere, announced this. What did she mean?

"We practice it at school. We practice what we're supposed to do if a stranger comes in. Is a stranger going to come to my school, mommy?"

Then I remembered something new when I substituted at the high school last week. Along with the standard welcome note and granola bar, the receptionist handed me a little booklet detailing what we were supposed to do in the event that an armed person entered the school building.

I remember drills in school. We had tornado drills where we lined up against the basement walls, fire drills where we filed outside the building and across the street. I also remember a few times in middle school when someone called in a bomb threat and we had to go stand in the athletic field while they searched the building. But we never had stranger drills.

It makes sense for schools to prepare for an event that has devastated other schools in our country. It was also difficult, though, to explain to my 6-year old why it was so important that she know how to hide from a stranger. We had just spent a lovely spring break week frolicking around town, visiting museums, touring a dairy farm, staying up late watching movies. I didn't want to talk about potential violence that could touch her life. I didn't want to even think about violence touching my little girl.

I commend the schools for their preparedness. My heart aches for the teachers who have to execute these drills with the children. The truth is, just by its threat, violence has already touched my little girl's life.

How do you prepare children for potential violence without increasing their anxiety or damaging their tender hearts?

What's up with Texas?

2010-03-21T07:53:00.000-07:00

As an educator, I just couldn't let this one pass by. The Texas Board of Education is attempting to send its schools back into the Dark Ages, or at least the 1950s, with its recent vote on a drastically overhauled social studies curriculum. One enlightened change? Removing Thomas Jefferson from the list of figures who influenced revolution. Ummm....ok. Guess he had nothing to do with that whole American Revolution thing. Conservatives on the board said they don't like his whole "separation of church and state" philosophy, so decided to just get rid of the man.

Just how messed up is this, and what impact does this have on the rest of the country? Glad you asked. Read here.

Can I eat humanely for $50/week?

2010-03-13T17:58:00.000-08:00

In his book, The Omnivore's Dilemma, Michael Pollan challenges the reader to eat thoughtfully. The implications are deep and complex, and I was compelled. The problem is I, like millions of other Americans, am on a very limited income and have come to rely on cheap food. So the question is, is it possible for the average American to eat more thoughtfully without going bankrupt. I've decided to give it a go. Here's my plan:

Grocery list:

Small roast, Pisciotta Farms: $9
One dozen eggs, Pisciotta Farms: $3
Blackberry Jalapeno Jam, San-Man Gardens: $5
Spinach, locally grown: $4
Quinoa, organic: $1
Freshly ground peanut butter: $2.50
Whole wheat bakery bread: $3.50
Garlic, organic: $0.50
Onion, organic: $1
Half-gallon Shatto milk: $2.50
¼ lb free trade coffee beans: $2
dried blueberries, organic: $2
oatmeal, organic: $1
dark chocolate bar, fair-trade: $2.50

That leaves me about $10 for the rest of the week in case I need something else.

Meal Plans

Breakfast: oatmeal with splash of milk, dried blueberries, cinnamon and sugar
Lunch: peanut butter & jam sandwich
Dinner: scrambled eggs or slow-cooked roast, spinach salad, quinoa
chocolate, coffee, and milk to my heart's delight

Rules:

Only eat from my grocery list. I am allowing myself to cheat the tiniest bit on this one when I go out with friends for coffee or beer, but I am not going to eat any food out.
Fresh produce must be locally grown, and no frozen produce. If I could have found local, frozen produce, I may have allowed that, but the energy cost of shipping frozen or fresh produce discouraged me from it. I did allow myself the luxury of dried berries since, because of their reduced weight and no need for refrigeration, the energy cost of transportation is significantly lower.
No sodas. Between the high fructose corn syrup of regular and the artificial sweeteners of diet, there’s really nothing good about them. Besides, with only $50 to spend, I couldn’t afford to waste any of it.
I did allow myself to utilize my stock of herbs and spices.
Because I cannot survive without chocolate, I allowed myself to buy one bar of fair-trade dark chocolate. There’s nothing local about chocolate, but it has become a staple for me.

For those who don't know me well, I'm not a small woman. I'm 5'10" and weigh 150 lbs, so if this works for me, it should work for the average American. We'll see.

I-70 closed in Colorado? Is there any other interstate in CO?

2010-03-09T16:28:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I think there's one that runs north/south, isn't there? Anyway, a tremendous rock slide outside of Glenwood Springs closed down the interstate for a long, long time, and will cost much, much money to repair.

What does this mean for our spiritual lives?

Don't elect to have your miscarriage in Utah

2010-03-08T17:24:00.000-08:00

In Utah, a 17-year-old girl, desperate to end her pregnancy, paid a man $150 to beat the crap out of her in hopes that it would end in miscarriage. The man obliged. He ended up in jail, but no charges were filed against the girl.

This seriously upset Utah legislators. A 17-year-old girl in that much distress and obvious emotional trauma and they can’t send her to prison? That must be remedied.

Thus, the creation and passing of HB 12, which states that, “a person commits criminal homicide if the person intentionally, knowingly, or recklessly causes the death of another human being, including an unborn child at any stage of its development.”

What does this mean? According to the New York Times, what concerns civil rights activists, women’s rights activists, and many Utah residents, is what could be defined as “reckless.” The way the law is worded, a woman who knows she is pregnant and engages in risky activity such as skiing, drinking alcohol, continuing to live with an abusive mate, driving without a seatbelt, drinking too much caffeine, or running down the stairs, could be tossed into prison for life.

The bill's authors say no, no, surely it wouldn’t be used in cases like those. No, they only mean to persecute girls who were so desperate, so hopeless, that they would actually pay someone to beat them. That’s who they’re really after, they claim.

So, at best, we increase the number of criminals in our society. We add to the guilt and shame of desperate women. And for women who suffer natural miscarriages but wonder, in the middle of dark, cold, lonely nights what they did wrong, we reinforce their tendency to blame themselves.

Maybe, instead of asking themselves, “how can we imprison more people,” the Utah legislature could ask themselves, “how can we help more people?” Here are a few ideas:

Offer free and confidential counseling to any woman suffering a miscarriage.
Offer free and confidential drug counseling and immunity from criminal charges to any pregnant woman struggling with an addiction.
Initiate a program to educate the public about the causes, and mysteries, of miscarriages. Doctors do not know the root cause of most miscarriages, and many women don’t know that a high a percentage of pregnancies end in miscarriage.

Do you need more ideas, Utah?

Why is a RAVEN like a WRITING DESK?

2010-03-07T08:17:00.001-08:00

Why is a RAVEN like a WRITING DESK?
Originally uploaded by giraffe_756

Yes, he truly is mad. With great faith in the MPAA rating system that tagged the film as PG, Aliyah and I met up with friends Friday for opening night of Alice in Wonderland. The fact that Aliyah didn't move a muscle during the entire movie speaks to her thorough enjoyment. I, too, was entranced.

Read my full review here.

2pac and the bard

2010-03-02T17:53:00.000-08:00

Today, by popular demand, my first class studied Hamlet's soliloquy. They had all heard the first line, "to be or not to be," of course, but didn't know what came after, so we had fun reading it together and deciphering its meaning.

As we were mulling Hamlet's wavering between existence or non-existence, one of my students said,

"It's like that 2pac song."

"Um, ok," I stammered. If nothing else, my students learn anew everyday just how clueless I am.

"You know the one, 'I see no changes wake up in the morning and I ask myself, is life worth living should I blast myself? I'm tired of bein' poor and even worse I'm black."

The lyrics are from his song "Changes." Take a listen:

This intrigued me. Was 2pac Shakur inspired by Shakespeare? He was definitely inspired by Bruce Hornsby, from whose song "The Way It Is" he borrowed the chorus.

But maybe the bard inspired him, too. His song carries some of the same theme's as Hamlet's rant. Both give voice to a sense of utter frustration and hopelessness with the way the world is, offering an end to life as the only alternative to escape it. Both struggle between a deep seeded desire for a better life and a realistic pessimism that nothing will improve. Unlike Hamlet, though, who finally chooses life simply out of a fear that death may be even worse, 2pac, in his bridge, offers us an alternative to a miserable life or a violent death:

"We gotta make a change...

It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.

Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live

and let's change the way we treat each other.

You see the old way wasn't working so it's on us to do

what we gotta do to survive."

A living paradox, 2pac boasted a history full of violence and run-ins with the law, but maintained a philosophic idealism for his race and for our world. At age 25, he was killed in a drive-by shooting. The killers were never caught.

In thy prayers be all my sins remembered.

Locally brewed beer, Olympic hockey, and insights into life

2010-03-01T16:03:00.000-08:00

Because just about any experience or event can offer a life lesson, today's deep, meaningful, pithy, amazing insight launches from yesterday's USA/Canada hockey game.

The beer? Ah, well, locally brewed at Westport's McCoy's Public house. My brother, sister-in-law and I split a pitcher of Hog Pound Brown Ale and another of Raspberry Wheat. Ok, it was mainly Clint and me since Melissa only had half a glass, but it was a long game!

Read my insightful article here.

Lament for an underprivileged violin

2010-02-26T12:41:00.000-08:00

On Valentine's Day, two other young women and I braved the cold and the, um, whatever you call that particular form of precipitation, to enjoy the Kansas City Symphony. As a special treat, violinist virtuoso Karen Gomyo graced us with a heart-stopping rendition of the Sibelius violin concerto.

The Canadian, though only 27, commanded the hall from her first note. I admit, I harbored unfair doubts when I first beheld this young, sweet-looking woman, but she played with passion and technical precision beyond her years.

As I sat there, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, a curious thought danced in my head. "My poor, poor violin," the irrational portion of my brain lamented, "it will never know what it is like to be played like that. Its body will never participate in those sweet notes, those impeccable runs, those soaring melodies. The closest it has ever come to keeping company with a real violinist is sitting within bow's reach of Chris Takeda in high school orchestra and youth symphony. I think he may even have picked it up to play a lick once, but that may just be one of those fantasized memories.

Anyway, the point is, my violin is underprivileged. What more can it expect? Gomyo plays a stradivarius on loan to her permanently. Its name is ex-Foulis. My violin doesn't have a name. It's worth millions of dollars. Mine is worth, well, significantly less. Gomyo never lets her instrument leave her sight. I abandoned mine in my car's trunk overnight once (ok, maybe twice). The strad is a Porsche. My violin (its maker's name escapes me) is more of a Honda: reliable, long-lasting, higher-quality than a Ford (don't argue with me), but it's not going to woo any hot chicks.

At this point the rational part of my brain pipes in and asks, "how much of a difference does the instrument make to the quality of the music?" Now, I know that it does make a difference. When I was 14, after I had proven to my parents that I really was going to stick with the violin, they invested the money to upgrade me from my cheap student violin from Sears and Ro. to a real instrument. Robertson and Sons Violin Shop sent me home with countless violins and bows to audition, and the sound quality between them varied wildly. I discovered that even a different bow can altar the sound- it wasn't only for the shiny pearl and glittering oyster shells that I selected a bow as valuable as my violin. My only question is: how much? If Gomyo had taken the stage with my Honda, would she still have received a standing ovation?

I'm not suggesting for a moment that she and other masters should not be playing their priceless treasures. Violins, though sometimes works of art, are meant to be played. It's just a question to ponder, as well as an analogy that alert readers have clued into by now. What do you think?

pssssttt! This is Dagney's violin. As much as she claims to love me, I think it's a disgrace that she has never given me a name. Loyal readers of Dagney's blog, please suggest a name for me. If I choose your suggestion, I promise, with my owner's cooperation, to serenade you.

Sitting at the feet of Dr. Terrence Roberts of the Little Rock 9

2010-02-19T05:53:00.000-08:00

Just one more reason I love teaching on a college campus- amazing opportunities drop in my lap, like attending a lecture given by Civil Rights legend Dr. Terrence Roberts, who was one of the 9 brave students who desegregated the high schools in Little Rock, Arkansas. With an eloquent, engaging story-telling style, Roberts shared about his decision to volunteer as one of the 9, what he endured that year, and what lessons he learned from that experience and the life experiences that followed.

When the Little Rock school board asked for volunteers to desegregate the schools in 1957, initially 150 Black high school students indicated interest. As a result of parents' fears for their safety, threat of violence, and promises of job loss for family members, most of them withdrew, leaving only 9 brave students willing to attend the previously all white Central High School in Little Rock Arkansas.

I have seen pictures of those 9 entering the school the first day, seen the angry crowds held back by the National Guard. What I didn't know, though, is that Roberts, along with the other 8, was beat up at school every single day that year. He admitted that he learned to run very fast.

Many of my students were baffled about why he would continue to face that persecution day after day without retaliation. According to Roberts, he didn't know how historic his actions were, but he knew that he wanted an education and that they current system just wasn't right. "Race as we know it is an historical construct," he said, "but America is dedicated to segregation."

The experience increased his passion and drive to pursue an education, but what is especially amazing is that he did not come out of that year of high school with any desire for vengeance or a defeatist attitude. Although he also faced daily verbal abuse, he said that, "what others say or think about us is none of our business. I don't want to fitter away my life force on anger. If others know they can make you angry, they have control over you." Roberts instead has chosen to continue steadily, almost stubbornly, on the path that he desires, never allowing others to determine where or how far he will go.

His clear focus on his purpose in life is amazing. He said, more than once, "You have to decide at times in life the hill you're willing to die on and focus on that." If we allow ourselves to be distracted by skirmishes along the way, we will never make it to the top of the hill that really matters most to us.

His lessons were both for individuals and for our community at large. While he repeatedly admonished us all to take our education and lives into our own hands, he also recognized the role that our society plays in perpetuating hatred, anger, and violence.

"This country is in trouble because we are wasting energy maintaining the walls that surround us. The rhetoric is that we are dedicated to integration, but most people live mono-racial, mono-cultural lives."

Surely there are better places to spend our energy. Surely there are ways we could live our lives so that we leave this world a more beautiful place than we found it.

Prostate cancer: a daughter's perspective

2010-02-12T09:21:00.000-08:00

I received the text message on Christmas Eve:

"Your dad's biopsy came back positive for prostate cancer. lu- mom"

I was standing in line at a Wal-Mart in Florida with my six year old daughter, Aliyah, buying a sun hat and sun screen for a day at the beach.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed (I may have said something else, but I'm not admitting it). Aliyah looked up at me and said, "What's wrong, mommy?" I gave her my best fake smile and said, "Nothing, sweetheart. I just thought I lost something, but I found it. Everything is ok." I turned my head and fought back the tears. I was hundreds of miles away from home in order to enjoy a relaxing Christmas break. Now what?

The next text message came a few hours later:

"More 'good' news. Vicki [my mom's sister] has breast cancer."

At this point I seriously considered blocking my mother's number. Seriously, what the hell?

Turns out I had it easy. My brother later told me that when dad called him with the news that the cancer was aggressive, my dad's voice broke and he had to hand the phone to mom. I've only seen my dad cry once, when his father died. He's just too machismo for tears. And I've never, ever seen him scared before. At least, not until the weekend before surgery.

In the weeks leading up to the surgery, I visited my parents several times. Dad would smile, we would find things to laugh about. I even took him out to dinner once and listened to him share more candidly about himself than he ever had before. When he mentioned that he had lost focus a few times while teaching, I asked whether he had considered counseling.

"After all, dad, this is a major life event."

"Yeah, your mom said the same thing. Really, I'm fine."

Damn machismo.

Grandma Velazquez flew into town a few days before the surgery. My sister flew in from Houston. We all spent most of the weekend at their house, eating more Puerto Rican food than anyone ever should, laughing, hugging, making plans for the future. Dad continued to try to hide his apprehension, but all of us could see it.

"Do you think dad's scared?" I asked my sister.

"Oh, yeah. And so is mom. But dad's trying to hide it and mom's trying to be the strong one."

Mom is a strong woman, no doubt about it, but dad had always been the rock. Nothing ever frightened him, and all three of us kids had always depended on that. Dad would, and probably could, take on all the forces of darkness for his children and grandchildren. He is the reason we have so much confidence. With dad at our backs, we could face anything. And now he was scared?

It was time for us to finally step us and have his back. My brother met my parents at the hospital the morning of the surgery and waited with mom for hours. We've all taken time out to spend with them. Most of all, we've carried the family courage for a little while, until dad can take it on again.

No fear in our eyes, dad. We always believe in our hero.

Read my parents' ongoing story of battling cancer here.

But I don't think there really were dragons...

2010-02-12T09:11:00.000-08:00

Before we get started, I have a quick message just for my students: you’re not as sneaky as you think you are. I can see when you’re texting, even though you hide your phone behind your notebook, beside your book, in your lap, or in your coat pocket. Stop it. This is your last warning.

Ok, back to our regularly scheduled program. Yesterday I asked two of my classes to write an in-class essay on the question, “if you could choose to live in a different historical time period, in America or another country, which one would you pick and why?” Here are a few of their answers with a quick summary of their reasons.

Medieval Europe

To be a king and have all the power, comfort, and women that come with that position
To maybe see a fire-breathing dragon

Central America during Aztec Empire

Witness their advanced technologies
See great things being built such as pyramids
Beautiful and interesting culture

Germany in the 1930s

For the opportunity to build up an army to stand against Hitler
Help the Jewish people become stronger
War time is an excellent time to seek fame

America in the 1920s

Beautiful clothing
Men were romantic
Life was more relaxed

Miami in the 1940s

Booming economic time in Miami, so great time to become rich
This is when their football team won the Superbowl

Time of the dinosaurs

Opportunity to watch life-cycle of dinosaurs
Research their interaction with one another

America in the 1970s

Time of love, peace and drugs
Jimi Hendrix was a big influence during this time

America in the 1960s

Great fashion period for women (though not men)
Cars were beautiful
Fun dancing styles

Victorian England

Beautiful fashions
Women held themselves to high standards
Great literature written

And me? I would choose the here and now. There's nothing like it.

A case of the Mondays

2010-02-08T17:30:00.000-08:00

I haven't had a case of the Mondays in a long time. Maybe it was the snow. Maybe it was anxiety over my father's surgery (he's doing fine). Today, though, was a Monday kind of Monday.

First it was the whiteboard markers. I'm used to one or two drying out on the same day, but today all five of mine were dried out. I stole a few from the teacher next door. All of his were bad. I stole a few from the teacher down the hall. His red one worked great, too great. It wouldn't erase. So then I had to wash my board before setting off to look for more markers.

Then one of my classes was one book short, so I ran down the hall to copy a couple of pages. The copier malfunctioned after just one copy, and I couldn't fix it. So I went back to the class, told them they'd have to share, then turned around and started cleaning the board. After a few minutes of cleaning one of my students finally cleared her throat and asked, "Um, are we supposed to be doing something?" I had forgotten to tell them their assignment. So they all had been sitting there waiting for instructions while I was cleaning my board, blissfully unaware that they were not hard at work.

And then, and then, I forgot the word, "continent." I actually stared off into space for a moment, my mind blank, and finally said, "you know, those bodies of land made up of many countries." (yeah, I know, except for Australia, Antarctica, and Greenland) One of my students looked at me strangely and said, "continents?"

And what did we learn today, class? Yes, that's right, I have off days, too. Sometimes I even misspell words, dangle my prepositions, and split my infinitives. But rarely on Tuesdays.

Is that a bald eagle in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

2010-02-03T18:42:00.000-08:00

Today we talked about figurative language, which my regular blog fans will immediately recognize as one of my favorite lessons. I always learn so much.

This time, along with similes, metaphors, and personification, we talked about symbol, something that represents something larger than itself. Students brainstormed several familiar symbols: bald eagle, heart, arrow, Nike swoosh (they ridiculed my drawing again here), cross, and flags. We briefly discussed what each symbol represented.

Then we returned to some of the symbols and I challenged them. "This symbol means something specific to you, but is it possible that it represents something very different, perhaps even the opposite, to someone else?" We identified various symbols that may represent love to one person but fear and hate to another, national pride for one but oppression to another, freedom for one but slavery for another.

I told my students that symbols, because the ideas and ideologies they represent, can be incredibly powerful. They can be tools of freedom, justice and empowerment, or tools of destruction. We can not use symbols lightly, but thoughtfully, keeping in mind their unique histories and connotations.

And by the way, my drawing of a butterfly DOES NOT look like a shoe. It doesn't look like a butterfly either, but still...

Ultimate Frisbee and Synthetic loyalty

2010-02-01T12:39:00.001-08:00

Saturday night/Sunday morning, I partied at an indoor soccer arena for six hours with 71 other crazy people. We were all there for the "Everything's up too late in Kansas City," Ultimate Frisbee tournament. The action, laughter, food and music was nonstop, and even though it was painful to walk the next day (I had also moved Saturday morning), it was well worth it.

To kick off (pull off?) the evening, we checked in and they handed us each a headband, the color of which indicated the team. My headband was yellow, so I looked around the room for fellow yellow headbanders. It didn't really matter to me who they were, since I only knew one other person there. My team was inevitably going to be all new friends.

We yellows found one another. Our first game was against the blue people. So, along with the rest of my teammates, I cheered for every good play and point our team made, gave them high fives when appropriate, and felt a little disappointment at dropped discs.

Why was I so emotionally invested in this small group of strangers? Because someone had arbitrarily handed me a yellow headband? (alright, not completely arbitrary. There was method behind the team selection) It struck me that night that often our loyalties and emotional investments in real life are just that arbitrary.

Why are you proud of your country? Because you were born there.

Why do you love your family? Because you were born into it.

Why do you cheer for your school? Because it's your school, and it's your school because you live in its district.

Why do you hate that race? Why do you dislike that music? Why do you lock your gates? Why do you go to that church? Why do you avoid that part of town? Why do you kill that stranger?

Fortunately Ultimate, much like curling, is a game that is all about sportsmanship, so no one was upset at a loss, no fights or arguments broke out. People were just there to play and have fun.

But what about our other arbitrary loyalties? How safe and healthy are they?

Abortion doctor murderer nothing like Jesus

2010-01-28T21:10:00.000-08:00

Scott Roeder tried to defend his killing of Dr. George Tiller. He claims to have done it as a result of his faith. Is he following Jesus? Or is he whacked out?

Read here for more of the story and my opinion of whether the man knows Jesus

The sun also rises (or does it raise?)

2010-01-28T12:04:00.000-08:00

Today my class and I tackled four of the most confusing verbs in the English language: lie, lay, rise, and raise. Ok, I will admit that I have to use notes every time I teach these verbs. "Lay" is the past tense of "lie," not to be confused with the present tense verb "lay," which is a completely different verb. I drew lovely pictures on the board to help them remember, pictures of suns, chickens, and stick people. These pictures will most likely give them nightmares tonight, after they lie down and watch the moon rise.

To help solidify this lesson in the minds, I asked them each to write a cohesive paragraph that included all four verbs at least once in any tense they chose. Some were very creative (and yes, one student wrote about chickens).

One student wrote a poem. With his permission, I share it with you:

I lay down wishing my love, for you will rise

as beautiful as an emanating sunrise

I've lain dreaming of how our love has risen.

Feels like just yesterday, your lips I was kissing.

By the way, English is this student's second language. True, he didn't get all four verbs in there (I'm not telling you which two he missed. You'll have to figure that one out yourself), but I was still impressed. Most students would groan if I asked them to write a poem. This one asked for special permission to write a poem rather than a paragraph.

If you're looking for an original poem for your sweetheart this Valentine's Day, you may consider commissioning one from him.

Basketball coach sinks half-court shot blindfolded and with class

2010-01-26T18:40:00.000-08:00

Yep. It's pretty amazing to watch. What's even cooler is the stellar attitude the coach exhibited even while assuming he was being set up.

Read about it and watch the video here.

Is that appropriate in the classroom?

2010-01-25T11:45:00.000-08:00

Inspired by Dr. Bethany Tucker's presentation at our teacher inservice day, I taught my students today about the five different registers, or levels of communication. We spent most of our time on the "formal/academic" register, which is what's appropriate in the classroom, and the "casual" register, which is what's appropriate around friends and family.

To give the students some practice in working in the formal register in the classroom rather than the casual register, I gave them an in-class assignment. In groups of 2-3 they wrote a list of 10 casual phrases, then exchanged lists with another group. They then translated the casual phrases into formal phrases. I was impressed with how well they did with this assignment. Here are a few of my favorite translations:

Casual

Formal

1. I’m post’d on the block

1. I’m over at my mom’s house

2. Bouta see what’s crackn

2. I am going to call to see what everybody is doing

3. Whassup wit it

3. Is there a situation?

4. I’m out the way-way

4. I am very far away at this time.

5. I’m in traffic

5. I’m busy at the moment

6. RU mobile

6. Do you have current transportation?

7. What’s the deal with yo BM

7. What is the matter with your child’s mother?

8. I’m doin a bill

8. I am going over the speed limit.

9. My cell phone pinging

9. I have a lot of incoming calls.

10. My pocket’s hurtin

10. Every day I am struggling.

Have I mentioned lately that I love my students? They continue to bring me joy and laughter.

Curling: it's not just for fancy hairdos

2010-01-23T17:08:00.000-08:00

Forget the ice skating, snowboarding, downhill skiing, and cross country skiing (really, who watches the cross country skiing?) Curling is the winter sport to watch. For one thing, unlike the other sports, competitive athletes can be well into their 40's. Yep, no age limit on curling. For another, the sportsmanship rules are just as important as the game play rules, and they could teach us a great deal.

Read my full article (with a snazzy picture) here.

Better than a full ride scholarship

2010-01-23T09:50:00.001-08:00

The best friends are the ones your recognize the first time you see them.

This past week was enrollment week, which is always an exhilarating and exhausting week. We welcomed over 100 students into our program, spending time with each individual to talk about education and career goals and how we can help them attain those.

I always love meeting the new students and spending one-on-one time with many. Often they share some of their personal story with me, including why they are now pursuing an education. Their eyes are filled with hope, determination, and sometimes trepidation.

Two students I met were especially bubbling with life and energy. When counseling with one of them, I told her about the scholarship we could offer her to obtain her pharmacy tech certificate. In just a few months she will have a new highly marketable skill that will help her pay her way through college. She returned a few minutes later with her friend. "I told her about the pharmacy tech program and she wants to sign up, too," she told me.

They were both excited and laughing, already talking about how much fun they were going to have in school together and making plans for the future. Assuming they were old friends, I asked how long they had known each other. "Oh, we just met yesterday at enrollment and have been talking non-stop ever since."

They have both recently moved to Kansas City from other states, and neither has made any local friends yet. They were instant friends, though, discovering quickly how much they shared in common.

Watching them, I knew that they will both be highly successful in the program, in large part because of their friendship. They will encourage one another, add joy and laughter to learning, celebrate their triumphs together, and challenge each other to aim higher and reach further. That's what healthy, life-giving friendships are all about.

We give our students every tool and resource available to us to help them succeed, but we can not give them one of the most valuable tools, the one I would most like to give each and every one. All we can do is provide the right environment. They bring the shared passion and vision that are the both spark and kindling for kindred spirits.

Will Shani Davis capture gold as he captures America's heart again?

2010-01-20T19:24:00.000-08:00

Ok, so antagonism with Stephen Colbert aside (and really, I think that's been blown out of proportion, don't you), Shani Davis may have his best year ever this Olympics. He's crushed world record after world record and is in top form. Watching he and best friend, Apolo Ohno, compete together on the ice will be my highlight for these games.

What's so amazing about Davis?

When I'm with you, I hear music

2010-01-19T09:32:00.000-08:00

My quartet is working on a Dvorak piece, his Quartet No. 12 (American). We're a fairly new quartet, so this is challenging us to come together as a group more than other music has. As we were working on the Finale this past Sunday, our violist, a Russian native, explained to us, "Slavic music, it's either crying or dancing. There is nothing in between." We were playing too much in the in between and needed feel the fire.

When we were working on the Mozart Divertimenti we had enlisted the aid of a metronome, but Dvorak resists any such effort to bind or mechanize. He, like Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff, is a composer who captures the greatest and most intense of human passion in his music. You can not force him to behave, and a musician devoid of passion herself will bastardize the music.

He stirs fire into the heart and soul. That's probably why I prefer him to Mozart. Don't get me wrong; I adore Mozart, he was a genius and his music does dance (and is easier to whistle). Sousa, now he I could do without. I think he's the reason I chose a string rather than wind instrument. I'm sure the mindless march has its place, such as encouraging people to march mindlessly, but is more than one even necessary?

Crying or dancing, nothing in between. In real life, or course, we are often in the in between, but maybe we spend too much time there, and the music in our hearts slowly dies (or worse, reverts to Sousa. March on, little soldier). You choose where you want to spend your time. As for me, I will cry, dance, even laugh and whistle a little with Mozart when I'm tired.

Now, if I could only get those sixteenth note runs under my fingers.

Jane Roe would be rolling over in her grave if she weren't still alive

2010-01-16T14:06:00.000-08:00

Apparently, I've been sleeping under a rock. Yes, I was paying cursory attention to the health care reform debate, but somehow one of the compromises made by the democrats completely escaped me. The House of Representatives voted to include in the health care reform bill the Stupak Amendment , which restricts coverage of abortions for millions of women, even those covered under private health insurance.

Reporters for the Huffington Post summed it up, "As drafted, the measure denied the use of federal subsidies to purchase abortion coverage in policies sold by private insurers in the new insurance exchange, except in cases of incest, rape or when the life of the mother was in danger.

But abortion foes won far stronger restrictions that would rule out abortion coverage except in those three categories in any government-sold plan. It would also ban abortion coverage in any private plan purchased by consumers receiving federal subsidies."

The Senate voted down a similar amendment in their version of the health bill, but now the bills will be combined and the House and Senate will vote on a combined bill that includes the Stupak Amendment.

Strangely, there are no proposed amendments that placed any limitations on men's health care coverage.

Personally, I'm all for funding medical research that will enable doctors to 1. Remove a fetus from a womb while keeping it alive and 2. Enable men to then carry an implanted fetus to term. Then, conservative legislators who somehow believe all women's bodies belong to them can elect to take on the pregnancies themselves.

Until this happens, though, if we want all women, even those in poverty, to have the right to comprehensive health insurance, we will have to encourage our legislators to vote for justice and equality.

e-cigarettes light up the night

2010-01-16T09:45:00.000-08:00

Yeah, it was bound to happen. Those trying to quit smoking or at least smoke something that may be less harmful to their health and will definitely be more acceptable in the presence of non-smokers can now turn to e-cigarettes: electric, non-smoking alternatives (no word yet on whether they're safe in the bathtub).

A bigger piece of the pi

2010-01-15T08:13:00.000-08:00

A computer scientist in France just broke the world record for calculating pi. Previously, the world record for calculating the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter was 2.6 trillion decimal places. The new record, set by Fabrice Bellard and his PC, is 2.7 trillion decimal places. For you non-math geeks out there, that's 100,000,000,000 more decimal places than before, for a total of 270,000,000,000 decimal places. I usually can't remember pi any further than 3.14.

And what did he discover? That so far, yep, it's still an irrational number.

Now, seriously, why on earth do we need to know the value of pi with that much precision? Of course, as computer nerds usually do, he did state some vague applications for it. But honestly, I think the thrust of his motivation was simply in the challenge. It's the old,

"Why did you climb the mountain?"

"Because it was there."

And really, that's reason enough. The simple, pure joy of discovery, taking on a challenge, accomplishing new heights, is what enflames and sustains the passion of the soul. It separates humans from other animals. Any beast will explore new places for prosaic purposes: new sources of food, water, and shelter, safety from predators, or to remove oneself from competitors. Only humans explore for exploration's sake. (At this point I expect Iggy to contradict me with an obscure example from the animal kingdom).

So go ahead, feel free to explore, learn, challenge yourself, or set life goals that make others look at you quizzically. It's there. Climb it.

do you just fall off the end of the sidewalk?

2010-01-13T10:41:00.000-08:00

For class today I pulled out a Shel Silverstein poem, "Where the Sidewalk Ends." This poem is the best invitation into the world of imagination that I have ever read.

After reading it through once, I asked my students, "What is this place?" They struggled, so I said, "Read the first two lines. What is between the sidewalk and the street?" Again, blank stares and a few attempts to answer, "the curb? a yellow line?"

Finally, one astute student said, "There is nothing between the sidewalk and the street!" This place that he's talking about sounds like a dream because it is a dream. He is talking about the world of imagination, of make-believe. It's the place where children play and the place that we all dream of, where we would all like to be."

My heart lifted and joy spread over my face. This particular student has been with me since August. He is a very hard worker and very dedicated, but has struggled with the abstract. An auto mechanic, he's a very hands-learner, and it's been a long time since he's been in school. For him to catch hold of the poem's meaning so well was one of the biggest leaps I've seen him make.

After class he told me, "I don't know where that came from. Everything just suddenly became clear. I have real motivation now, because I have so many things that I want to accomplish and I'm ready to go."

Sometimes growth happens slowly over time, and sometimes we take quantum leaps.

The hidden rules that govern our lives

2010-01-11T15:42:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, teachers have the honor of being the students. Today was one of those days. The staff and faculty at KCKCC had the opportunity to attend a seminar given by Dr. Bethany Tucker, author of "Understanding and Engaging Under-Resourced College Students." Since the population we serve includes a large number of students who come from poverty, many of whom are the first in their families to attend college, the information was especially relevant and valuable.

Dr. Tucker spoke of the resources that people have in various quantities and forms that aid or detract from their ability to accomplish what they want in life. We often think of the resource of finances, and this is important, but there are several other resources such as emotional health, a support system, and mental/cognitive ability.

One resource which I found especially interesting is knowledge of hidden rules. Different classes (as well as cultures, genders, races, etc.) follow different rules that work well for those who know them, but can be a barrier to those who do not. Using a broad paintbrush, recognizing that these are patterns and not necessarily accurate for every individual, Dr. Tucker covered some of the hidden rules of the three major economic classes: poverty, middle class, and wealth. As educators, we need to recognize these hidden rules so that we can teach them to our students, not because middle class rules are better than those of the lower class, but because they are the rules followed in college and most professional workplaces. If this is where our students want to be, then they need to learn the language.

One hidden rule, for example, governs time. In general (again, a pattern only) the present is most important for those in poverty. She called this the tyranny of the present. Decisions are based on the current feelings, perceived needs, or crises, so that it is difficult to consider and work for far distant future goals. For the middle class, the future is most important, so decisions today are based on future ramifications.

Each of these mindsets has advantages. A life lived entirely in the present will never be able to enjoy future security or achievement, but a life lived totally in the future will never enjoy all the beauty and joy of the moment. To help our students become bilingual, to help them achieve greater education and exercise more control over their own lives, we need to teach them strategies for planning ahead, setting goals and working toward them.

The hidden rules are almost endless and difficult to uncover and teach. I'm interested to hear about other hidden rules of which you are aware.

This morning's coffee brought to you by one man's dreams

2010-01-09T07:16:00.001-08:00

As I sit here this morning sipping my freshly ground, french pressed Roasterie coffee (Kansas City blend: "an invitingly buttery aroma breaks into an acidity that is bright and electrifying.") I recalled a summer morning when my friend/cousin/barista Hannah and I toured The Roasterie's hub of operations.

We began in the cupping room where staff and owners taste coffee samples to determine whether a bean is up to Roasterie standards. Our tour guide, one of the founders of the company, gave us a brief history of coffee and explained the complex ritual of cupping (it's not as simple as it sounds). Before moving on to the warehouse (or as I call it, heaven on earth) and roasting room, he told us the story behind The Roasterie.

Danny O'Neill founded The Roasterie in his basement in 1993. He was driven by two great passions: traveling and coffee. An entrepreneur at heart, he decided the best way to combine these passions was to begin a company that not only roasted its own coffee, but that also traveled around the world to buy coffee directly from the farmers.

You will want to take the tour to hear the whole story, especially about how he uses the success of his business to invest back into the communities where he buys the coffee, but what has always remained with me is the idea of choosing a career, business opportunity, life direction, by living out one's greatest passions. It may be hard work, but the work is enjoyable and life-giving rather than wearying. Success is not based solely on monetary return, but instead on an increasing zest for life.

I think I need another cup of coffee.

Yes, but who wants to bring back the corset?

2010-01-08T09:42:00.000-08:00

Last night during a wandering conversation with a good friend (who will be a guest poster here if he gets his act together), we innocently bumped into the topic of social freedom. Taking a bird’s eye view of history, we examined the many ways in which people have more freedom now than a hundred years ago, especially women and minorities. We also uncovered, though, that in several ways our freedom is more limited. For many reasons, our culture has an increased need for black and white definitions for undefinables such as family, relationships, political stance, success, roles, and art. With the need for stricter definitions has come heated debate as to what is acceptable and what is not as well as the need to legislate these definitions. Combine that with our insidious paparazzism (his new word, not mine) and our natural voyeuristic tendencies, and many people feel trapped in a very small glass box afraid of every move they make and every word they utter.

So where do we go from here? How do we recapture the linguistic and stylistic subtlety of the 19^th century that gave people more license without reverting to the oppression that held so many back? Is there a third way that brings together the best of all worlds?

You call this a hamburger?

2010-01-06T14:38:00.000-08:00

Who doesn't love a good story of rage gone wild in McDonald's? A local McD restaurant was trashed by a woman who was upset that they wouldn't refund her for her incorrect order (they offered to replace it instead). Luckily for us, and the police, the whole thing was caught on surveillance camera.

What do you think about this story?

War, what is it good for? (you know the answer)

2010-01-05T19:06:00.001-08:00

I've never comprehended what instigated World War I. Yes, I've read the history several times, but it still confuses me. After she spent several hours at the WWI museum today with her grandmother, my six-year-old daughter tried to explain the cause of the war to me. I'm sure her description was fairly accurate, and yes, it still confused me as much as ever.

After the explanation, my daughter was quiet for a few minutes, and then she shared her thoughts. "Mommy, we learned in school that Native Americans see all people as one family (I cannot attest to the accuracy of this), and that makes sense to me, because people have babies, and they grow up and have babies, and then those babies grow up and have babies, and this happens over and over so we're all part of the same family. And if we're all one family, we shouldn't have wars. Families shouldn't fight each other." She was near tears by this point.

I was speechless. She was right, of course, and the inner workings of her mind will never cease to amaze me. Then she ended with,

"I think the only wars we should have are wars of hugs, where everyone hugs each other."

As she grows, I know her mind will expand, but I hope her heart always remains this way: pure, loving, and grieved by violence.

Missouri Senator leads forum about progress in LGBT legislation

2010-01-03T14:50:00.000-08:00

Missouri Senator Jolie Justus was joined by two local advocates to report on the progress of legislation that affects the LGBT community. At this forum, held at All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church, they shared updates from the federal, state, and local levels.

Click here to read a summary of their report as well as their answers to questions from the audience.

a picture is worth 1000 words, 100,000 emotions, and a million tears

2010-01-02T08:56:00.000-08:00

On New Year's Eve, I visited the Truman Library with a few family members. It had been years since I had visited, and it was as interesting and informative as I had remembered. We were preparing to leave when my uncle noticed that we had missed the downstairs exhibits, which take you through Truman's personal life from boyhood on. So, we walked down there and wandered around. While down there, we stumbled into the entrance of their special temporary exhibit, one that should have been much more prominently featured (or did I miss a big banner on the outside of the building): Capture the Moment: The Pulitzer Prize photographs.

Click here to read my review of the exhibit and watch a short video of some of the photographs.

the woods are lovely, dark and deep

2009-12-30T12:35:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's the weather. Yes, it's snowing again. Maybe it's the strange pace of the holiday season. For whatever reason, today my mind drifted to a song and poem I introduced to my class last semester.

The poem is Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." It's a short, simple poem about a person who stops for a moment of reflection. Simple, but with potential for layers of meaning.

Many of these layers are captured in a song, "Dark and Deep," written by David LaMotte and inspired by Frost's poem.

I love the refrain in this song, "A promise is not like a moment; a moment's not something you keep; I've made too many promises lately; and the woods are lovely, dark and deep."

I asked my class to write a reflection about the themes of the poem and the song, looking for how they were similar. A couple of students actually took the assignment very seriously, and I could tell they spent time exploring the depths of meaning.

Instead of telling you what they or I discovered in these works, I'd like to hear from you. I have enough blog fans out there that we should be able to hear from quite a few people. So take a few moments, let all the other stuff take care of itself, and tell me what you hear.

the seventh veil

2009-12-29T08:26:00.000-08:00

This is part seven of a seven part series. Read parts one, two, three, four, five, and six first.

The seventh veil uncovers a truth upon which all the other truths hinge. “The illusion of the seventh veil was the illusion that you could get somebody else to do it for you. To think for you…Even though the great emotions, the great truths, were universal; even though the mind of humanity was ultimately one mind, still, each and every single individual had to establish his or her own special, personal, particular, unique, direct, one-on-one, hands-on relationship with reality, with the universe, with the Divine.”

This is neither easy to accept nor to accomplish. We can learn from others, the great minds can help us navigate the waters, but ultimately, to be fully human, we have to do the tough work ourselves. It would be easier, of course, if there were an instructional manual for life, but there is no such thing. Even the great works of scripture don’t claim this title. And if there were an instruction manual with all the answers to all the questions, what would happen to the adventure of discovery? Life would be bland, mundane, shallow, and fake.

This is how many choose to live, though. To allow others to tell them what to do, what to say, how to think, for whom and what to vote, seems like the safer, more comfortable route. It brings many peace, but the peace is false. It is more an agreement to live as a mindless robot; it is handing over one’s heart and soul in exchange for a pre-packaged, artificially sweetened way of life. Do they know what they’re really consuming, though? Do they know what they’re feeding their children?

When the seventh veil falls, the world is shaken, the sense of security may be shattered for a while, but ultimately, life is richer, colors brighter, the heart and mind more alive and real.

Houston voters rock the political world

2009-12-28T10:22:00.000-08:00

While most people were caught up in the frantic pace of the holidays, an historic mayoral election in Houston added one more signal to the changing political climate in America, a climate where the issues matter more than the particular ethnicity, culture, or sexual orientation of the candidate.

On December 11, Houston became the first American big-city to elect a lesbian mayor. What's most remarkable, however, is what a non-issue her sexual orientation was. In a country whose politics over the last several decades have been over-run by a narrow, bigoted "family values" platform that often shadowed issues actually relevant to Americans, it is exciting to see signs that a new generation of voters care more about things like jobs, education, health care, and constitutional rights than a candidate's personal relationships.

A black presidential candidate carrying southern states, Bush's hometown electing a lesbian democrat as mayor, what's next? A woman as US president? Let's dare to dream.

moments

2009-12-23T19:36:00.000-08:00

My daughter teaches me anew everyday to seize moments of joy as they come. This is one of those moments that I wouldn't give up for anything. It was like time was standing still. Running in the sand with her, giggling as the waves splash us, watching the sun set without worrying about the time: it was a day full of perfect Christmas presents. When I'm back home at the end of a long day of working, I will remember these moments and look forward to more to come.

an unexpected moment of beauty

2009-12-17T19:39:00.000-08:00

Today, for the last day of classes, we celebrated the progress students have made over the last quarter. We announced those who had passed the GED recently and asked them to share their future plans. We cheered for everyone who had advanced academically over the last quarter, and we praised all the students for their perseverance and hard work. The dean even joined us and commended the students for all they had accomplished.

After the celebration, I returned to one of the classrooms with a student to show him some study resources for over the break. While we were working, another student stepped in. I thought most had already left, so was a little surprised. She said, "No one mentioned the instructors today. Before I left, though, I wanted to tell you thank you. You have all worked hard and helped us very much. I appreciate everything you have done. It means a lot to me. So thank you."

I was speechless for a moment. It was completely unexpected, but also obviously heartfelt. I smiled, maybe even teared up a tiny bit, and said, "You're very welcome. Thank you for telling me that. I'm glad to have helped." She smiled back and me, then walked away.

That was my first Christmas present this season, and it will be hard to top.

Raymore city council may be packin'

2009-12-15T17:45:00.000-08:00

The Raymore city council just voted to allow its members to carry concealed weapons to council meetings. Yep, that's right, so be careful what you say if you go to a council meeting. Don't piss them off. The vote was 5-3, so you'll be safe with a few of them. Problem is, the news article didn't mention who voted which way. So, I would tread carefully, if I were you.

Read my article with all sorts of deep reflection here.

and so this is Christmas

2009-12-15T02:46:00.000-08:00

Aliyah and I are heading to the beaches of Florida in a few days. I was thinking a warm, sunny beachy Christmas would be fantastic this year. She, on the other hand, once she thought it through, was a little concerned. “Mommy, there’s no snow in Florida. How can it be Christmas without snow?”

Now, mind you, in all her years on this planet she has lived through more Christmases of color than white, but in her head is the idea that Christmas always means snow, and the possibility of that in Florida is remote to none. It’s interesting how expectations work their ways into our heads. Generalities and stereotypes invade our thinking without our even noticing, so that we expect something to be or behave in a certain prescribed way, even if it doesn’t fit our general experience.

It could be all the classic Christmas movies we watch: Miracle on 34^th Street, White Christmas, Christmas in Connecticut. For some reason, northeastern United States has become our standard for appropriate Christmas weather. I wonder about the cultural dominance of that area of the country.

So, we will not have a white Christmas, dear, unless you count the whitecaps on the waves.

let the provoking begin

2009-12-12T17:55:00.000-08:00

Last Wednesday I attended my first meeting of the Provocateurs, a sister group of the Freethinkers, led by Fred, the science journalist who was kicked out of his church for talking about evolution (yes, Toto, we’re still in Kansas).

The purpose of their meeting is for dechurched or disillusioned people to discuss weighty matters of ethics, morality, belief, and life in an open, respectful, casual environment. Our makeup that night was four Christians, an ex-Mormon, and several atheists. I was especially impressed that so many turned out that evening since the outside temperature was 7 (how very glad I am the window in the ghetto Beamer is fixed).

Fred kicked off conversation with the question, “What is one action that you would consider moral?” The amount of agreement in our answers was impressive considering the diversity of belief systems. Answers included: caring for someone in need, honesty, standing up against injustice, and refraining from murder (ok, that’s more of a negative of an immoral act, and we didn’t all agree on the definition of murder). The next question spurred more disagreement, “What is the source of morality?” Offshoots of this question included, “Does morality change with time, culture, and situations? Must morality be given to us by some objective being outside the material world? If morality is doing more good than harm, how do you measure and balance harm and good? Would superior alien life forms view us in the same light that we view goldfish?”

Unfortunately, I had to leave before we delved into the second topic of the night, “if there were (is) no god, would we have to invent one?” inspired by a quote from Voltaire. My answer? Yes, yes we would.

What I especially appreciated about the evening, besides the scrumptious fruit dip (how did you make that, Jennifer?), was that as much as we disagreed, we did not attack one another. Instead, everyone listened to and respected each other, and we all came away with at least a little more knowledge, a little broader minds, and a little deeper friendships.

Unless, of course, something went terribly awry after I left.

Catching Fire: More fun than it sounds

2009-12-11T07:42:00.000-08:00

Suzanne Collins does not disappoint her readers with her sequel to "The Hunger Games." We again follow Katniss and her friends as they suffer under, yet defy and begin to rebel against, the all too familiar Capitol. It's not just an entertaining read, though. It's also a critical look at our own wealthy, powerful culture.

Read my review and reflection here.

the sixth veil

2009-12-09T07:50:00.000-08:00

This is part of a seven part series. Read parts one, two, three, four, and five first.

The sixth veil reveals something insidious. “Nazi Germany, the Inquisition, Stalinism, the Crusades, these were what happened when reality was allowed to give way to cliché. Behind the sixth veil, like a pearl behind cheesecloth, was the realization that ‘the end of the world’ was the most dangerous cliché of all.”

Ah, clichés. Don’t you just love them? They remove all necessity of thought, introspection, openness to change, and creativity. Instead, they allow us to simply fall in with a simple party line that satisfies and pleases thousands, even while robbing the soul of its depth.

Has there ever been a politician elected to a prominent office without a handy cliché? (Here’s a fun quiz: how many US presidential slogans can you recall?) Parents, of course, rely heavily on clichés. They are a great way to answer the child’s “why” without ever actually answering it. Rest assured, though, that children will remember the clichés to pass down to their children and grandchildren.

Robbins claims that the most dangerous cliché is “the end of the world.” Most of us laugh at the image of a man walking the streets holding a sign that says, “The End of the World is Near.” We don’t really buy into this cliché, do we?

I remember watching a film in youth group at our family’s (denominational affiliation removed) church about the end of the world, “The Rapture.” Its intent was to scare the hell out of us, and it worked on me. For years after, chills would run down my spine whenever I walked into an empty room and couldn’t find anyone. “Oh no! The rapture came and I was left behind! I’m going to burn for eternity!” It was a powerful tool of control. None of us wanted to step out of line, lest Jesus decide to reject us at the end of times.

Then there are those that believe in and desire the end of times so firmly that they dedicate their lives to helping bring it about. The end is accompanied by great wars and tribulation, so the story goes, so if they can add to these, the end is sure to come more quickly. Just as dangerous are those who insist that all the violence and suffering are necessary, or at least inevitable, so make no effort to combat it.

Is there an end of times? Well, I guess everything that has a beginning has an end (oops, was that a cliché?) so quite likely there will be an end of times. But it is not ours to anticipate, bring about, or fear. Today is just today. Enjoy it and try not to mess it up too badly.

What happens to a dream deferred?

2009-12-05T18:27:00.001-08:00

My classes are studying the play, "A Raisin in the Sun" by Lorraine Hansberry, a play first produced on Broadway in 1959. Among other themes, the play explores cultural and individual pride. One of the characters, Joseph Asagai, asks Beneatha why she insists on mutilating her hair. He suggests to her that her hair would be beautiful if she let it go natural. I asked my class what they made of this, and at first they weren't sure. So then I asked them what was the most popular hairstyle for black women in the 60s. All of them, even those in their 20s, knew it was the afro. "Why?" I asked them, which led into a discussion about taking pride in natural beauty instead of trying to mold oneself into the narrow definition of beauty promoted by our dominant culture.

To further this idea, I brought up the 90s song, "Baby Got Back." (How do you know about that song, Ms.Pullin? they asked. They think all I listen to is Leann Rimes) True, the song is full of innuendo, but at its heart it is encouraging women with curves, especially women of color, to see themselves as beautiful and desirable the way they are. This is why I found it so offensive when Cameron Diaz danced to the song in "Charlie's Angels."

So I'm wondering, besides incredibly thin bodies, what other standards of beauty does our dominate culture promote that damage the confidence of men and women who can not fit these standards?

as requested, a post inspired by freethinking at the Blackdog Coffeehouse

2009-11-30T11:06:00.000-08:00

We had some lively discussion Saturday night at the Freethinkers meetup. We kicked off the evening with everyone’s sharing his/her story. It was like old-fashioned testimony time at church, only most stories ended with some variation of, “and that’s why I left the church.” This time there were two of us who still believe in God plus one ex-pastor (now atheist), so there were a variety of viewpoints.

One of the discussions that grew out of the conversation was about the Bible and the Jesus in the Bible. I was not surprised by the strong and diverse opinions, though with that many people in the room, it’s not always easy for everyone to express thoughts. I contributed to the discussion, but ideas continued to race through my head all night, so I’m going to share now some of what’s been on my mind.

Some people shared that not only do they disagree with the Bible, but also that the book makes no sense and that the Jesus in it is not a likeable guy. Ok, everyone’s entitled to opinions, and I do appreciate that many there had at least taken the time to read the book, but if you are going to argue with it, you have to go a few steps further.

Please do not make the same mistakes that millions of Christians do- approaching the ancient text with a modern mindset and modern expectations. Many think, “It’s the Word of God. Everything it says is true, so all I have to do is sit down and read it and I’ll know the truth. It’s just that simple.” Many atheists think, “I don’t believe in God, this is all nonsense, so I’m going to read it to find all the flaws.” Both end up in the same place: not allowing the text to speak for itself first before forming an opinion.

It is an ancient piece of literature and must be understood and respected as that before you can place judgment on it. You would never read Plato the same way you would read today’s newspaper, a best selling novel, or a modern biography. You would expect to have to study it, to understand something of the history and purpose behind it, the setting, the audience, and the genre. Those who do the same with the Biblical text will be miles ahead of most others.

For example, in the narrative of Jesus in the book of John, the author writes that Jesus’ first miracle was turning water into wine at a wedding. Keep in mind that the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, John) are not, and were never intended to be understood as, eyewitness accounts, nor were they written haphazardly. The author has a very specific message and so tells the story in a way to convey that message effectively. Everything from the shape of the plot to the language used aims to drive home this message to a specific audience at a specific time. So, a scholar would read this story and ask herself, “Knowing what I do about the intentions of the author, the intended audience, and the historical situation, why did the author not only include this Jesus miracle story but place it as his first miracle? What purpose does it serve?” After understanding all of that, you may commence to debate the truth in the text.

The Bible also must be understood at least as literature that is 2000+ years old representing several authors, many cultures, and even different belief systems. Of course it contains contradictions and inconsistencies. Does that mean it should be automatically discounted? Not necessarily. If it were a Biology or Physics textbook, maybe (unless the Physics textbook included both Newtonian and Quantum Physics, which do appear to contradict). However, a compilation of 66 separate writings across thousands of years recording various people’s experiences and ideas about God must contain inconsistencies if it’s to be taken seriously.

I am not taking sides on the debate here, just trying to raise the intellectual level of the conversation on both sides.

the fifth veil

2009-11-29T19:30:00.001-08:00

This is part five of a seven part series. Read parts one, two, three and four first.

With the dropping of the fifth veil, Robbins exposes another god: money. He says, “Preoccupied with it, dominated- and ultimately bewildered- by it, introspective men and women finally had to confess that it clouded their vision of the world… when the fifth veil falls, and with it the illusion of financial worth, individuals might recognize themselves again, might find themselves standing, as if naked, among ancient values in a long- lost landscape.”

How much are we motivated by money? How many of our decisions are based more on the financial impact than anything else?

Some would argue that without financial incentive we would not be as productive. But then, what is the definition of productive? Is making more and more stuff productive? Is convincing others to consume more and more productive? What is the inherent value in love, happiness, enjoyment of the simple things of life?

And what is the ultimate cost of pursuing primarily money? What is given up for the accumulation of stuff? Where I work, I see young people making lifetime career decision based on which field within their ability will yield the highest income. They are not solely to blame. We sell education to them based largely on the incentive of more money. Now, I’m not against higher education. I’m very much for it. I just think that making more money is a weak goal, one that either cannot sustain enthusiasm or will prove to lead to a shallow existence.

Shallow existence seems to work just fine for many, though. How many really care about self-actualization? That would cost a great deal. It may cost giving up not only financial incentive, but also popularity, comfort, and security. But those are all fleeting and unreliable anyway, merely an illusion.

as I eat another piece of pie...

2009-11-27T08:10:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine sent me this article from the Ayn Rand Center for Individual Rights. He thought I would find it interesting not only because it's about Thanksgiving, but because my name comes from a character, Dagny Taggert, of one of her novels, Atlas Shrugged. The article superimposes Rand's philosophy onto Thanksgiving, asking the question, "who should we be thanking?"

It was written in 2007, just before or maybe in the beginning of the economic collapse. I agree with the philosophy to a point, but I think it can be very shallow and short-sided. Many people around the world work just as hard or harder than I, but they will never enjoy the luxuries that I do. There's also too much of the "might makes right" mentality there. The native cultures of this land and others that we have colonized and otherwise conquered were just fine before Europeans, then later Americans, came in, obliterated them, and introduced our fine life.

There is a sadness and defeat that comes with the American culture of gluttony. We need more and more to make us happy, and we never really are truly happy. Just a thought to open this Christmas season. Happy Black Friday.

when a plan comes together

2009-11-24T17:50:00.000-08:00

I teach language arts in the Adult Continuing Education department at Kansas City Kansas Community College. Most of the students in our On Track program are working toward passing the GED. A few, though, already have their high school diplomas but need some classes to prepare them for the college placement exam.

Last week, two of my students proudly announced to me that they scored high enough on the placement exams to be accepted into college, and now both are enrolled. One even brought me his schedule to show off. I am bursting with pride for both of them. They have worked incredibly hard these past few months, and I can see the difference not only in their reading and writing skills, but also in their confidence.

Congratulations to both of you, and best of luck to all my students taking the GED in a few weeks. I know you will all knock the socks off that test.

know your rights

2009-11-23T11:01:00.000-08:00

We talked about the Bill of Rights today in class. Some of the rights were vaguely familiar to my students, some of them brand new. None of my students had ever read them in their original language. I had a whole lesson prepared, but just reading through them one by one led to so much discussion that I never made it to the planned lesson. Their questions were unending, "What about this situation..." "What would happen if..." "Would I have the right to..." "I know of this one person who..."

It was some of the best discussion we've had this year. It brought to light for me how few people really know and understand their individual rights, but also excited me that they were so interested in learning about them. Maybe I'll bring in a recent Supreme Court case and ask how they would decide were they justices. Any suggestions of a good case I could bring to class?

friday

2009-10-30T02:46:00.001-07:00

The Olathe Community Orchestra plays its next concert on Sunday, Nov. 22 at 3:00 at the Olathe Performing Arts Center. Admission is free, and the program includes Bizet, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Schubert.

Casual	Formal
1. I’m post’d on the block	1. I’m over at my mom’s house
2. Bouta see what’s crackn	2. I am going to call to see what everybody is doing
3. Whassup wit it	3. Is there a situation?
4. I’m out the way-way	4. I am very far away at this time.
5. I’m in traffic	5. I’m busy at the moment
6. RU mobile	6. Do you have current transportation?
7. What’s the deal with yo BM	7. What is the matter with your child’s mother?
8. I’m doin a bill	8. I am going over the speed limit.
9. My cell phone pinging	9. I have a lot of incoming calls.
10. My pocket’s hurtin	10. Every day I am struggling.