Journal: 10/31/05

Yesterday, around 8:00 in the evening, I took a short walk down in the park, and what a rewarding time it was. There was no one else there, so I had the looming trees, the shadows, and the spring-like breezes to myself. I walked slowly and peacefully, taking in the beauty of this most astonishing park. I wondered, as I followed the paths, how I got so lucky to live next door to it. I especially noticed the lamps along the walk. Strange, but I had never walked in the park at night, so I was surprised by the quiet beauty of the lamps. Their lights were golden and soft, just throwing enough light onto the grass and trees to illuminate the mysterious beauty of the place. I sat for a few minutes by the lit-up fountain as it quietly splashed and changed colors in the darkness. I felt absolutely at peace. Somehow the universe had softly dropped me into this park early on a Sunday evening in autumn, and I was grateful for that. The breeze passed by as gently as my thoughts did.

On Teaching: A Class as a Body

I realized this morning, perhaps for the very first time, that my students and I are each a part of something larger – something that needs each of us to play our particular role each day. I guess, up to now, I have always thought of a “class” as being a collection of separate individuals, myself included, all trying on their own to reach some academic goal. I assumed that I come to class with my own particular goals, just as each of my students does, and we go our own way trying to reach those goals. Another way of putting it is that education, to me, has always been an individual affair. However, I may have been entirely wrong. Perhaps my classes are similar to the human body, where each part, no matter how small, is vitally important to the overall functioning of the body. My little toe is not especially pretty, and it stays hidden most of the time, but it is still an essential part of my body. Similarly, each of my students, even the quiet ones, even the ones who don’t “perform” as well academically, are crucial to the proper working of the class. It's like an orchestra. If every orchestra member played a loud, lovely violin, there would be no beautiful music. In a similar way, if every student in my class was voluble, energetic, and brilliant, there would be none of the beautiful music of humanity in my classroom. I need the quiet students as well as the talkative ones, the ones who struggle as well as those who skim smoothly along. All of us together, each doing our own small but vital part, make up my English class. If even one of us was missing, the strength of the class would decrease significantly. I need to remember this today.

On Teaching: Making a Book "Ours"

We had a guest in class today, a physician at a local hospital who is also a very serious reader, and he left us with some valuable thoughts. He told us, for instance, that he doesn’t “like” all of his patients, but that he tries to appreciate their worth as unique human beings. He said the same is true of his reading: he doesn’t love every book he reads, but he does try to appreciate their literary value and the wisdom they may hold. I’ve often talked to my students about that very difference between liking and appreciating, so I cheered a little when he said that. He also said that, to him, life is like an infinite hallway with an infinite amount of doors leading off from it. When we read a book, we open one of the doors, and that door in turn leads to countless other doors, which lead to more and more doors. We can’t possibly open all the doors in this hallway, but we must remember that each book we read leads to an infinite number of discoveries. Each book, in that sense, is the beginning of a new life for us. Finally, he told my students and me that, when we read, we must try to make the book “ours”. Until we get completely “in” the book and truly make it ours, it remains just a bunch of words on a bunch of pages. If we make it ours, by annotating it, taking notes in a journal, talking to other people about it, or just reading it with care and enthusiasm, a book can literally transform our lives.

Journal: 10/28/05

It was another chilly day. The winds blustered against my classroom windows all day, making me grateful for my trustworthy space heater. The kids came to class bundled in sweater and jackets, teeth chattering, arms shivering, faces twisting with the chill.

I got angry with a student today. After some wonderful classes, after trying my best to be a gentle, helpful teacher all day, after learning some splendid things about reading from our special guest, I completely lost my temper with this student. I blew it. I became, for a few minutes, just another angry person in a world full of them. I didn’t like myself then -- not at all -- and I don’t intend to let it happen again.

Journal: 10/27/05

The frostiness of autumn is upon us. Yesterday I kept the little space heater humming all day in my classroom as the blustery wind swept around outside. (Alan said there were small craft advisories on the water due to the high winds.) Some of the students came to class shivering and hugging themselves in their jackets and sweatshirts. Of course, it doesn’t help that most of the middle school building does not have heat yet, due to the ongoing work on the system. I saw people coming from other rooms with a chilled look on their faces, which made me grateful for my humble, dependable heater. They say the heating system will be ready soon, and I hope so, for the forecast for today sounds more frigid than ever.

Meditation: Seeing the Big Picture

I was beating myself up this morning because I thought my teaching yesterday was lousy, but that’s a little like saying the Universe did a lousy job with the weather yesterday. The Universe doesn’t make a mistake, and I am part of that Universe. Whatever weather the Universe produces on a given day is precisely the weather it needs to keep itself going. Even if we can’t see or understand the correctness and aptness of the weather, the Universe sees it, and that’s what matters. The same is true in my teaching. I taught the way I did yesterday because that’s what the Universe (sometimes called God) wanted me to do. In the very biggest picture of all, what happened in my room yesterday was perfect. If I see it as less than perfect, I’m simply looking at it from a much smaller perspective. I’m seeing the small picture of my individual, material life, instead of the vast and harmonious picture the Universe (God) sees.

Journal: 10/26/05

Yesterday an unpleasantly cold rain blew back into town. All day the kids at school were coming in from outside with raindrops glistening on their shirts and a look of winter on their faces. I heard shivers and brrrrs all up and down the hallway. You would have thought it was going to start snowing any second. Fortunately for me and my students, I have a small, reliable space heater in my classroom. I turned it on yesterday morning, and within an hour I could feel an agreeable sense of wellbeing in the room. Throughout the day, my teaching seemed to take place in a warm and comforting atmosphere. The wintry storm was surging around outside, but in the classroom there was the peace and contentment that comes from being warm on a cold and showery day. (It also comes from small space heaters.)

On Teaching: Firm or Mean?

Today I failed to remember the difference between firmness and meanness. There is certainly nothing wrong with a teacher being firm with his students. Firmness, as the word's definitions imply, is an almost entirely positive word. One dictionary says something is firm if it is "resistant to externally applied pressure ... securely fixed in place ... possessed of determination or resolution ... constant and steadfast". These are all qualities that any devoted teacher would want to cultivate. If I want to be the best teacher I can possibly be, surely I would want to be resistant to pressure, unwavering, purposeful, and committed. However, today I crossed the line from firmness over to meanness. I was determined and resolute, but in a somewhat selfish and petty way. I was constant and steadfast, but in a manner that bordered on the malicious. It's a fine line, certainly, between these two attitudes. A teacher can be extremely firm with his students, but still show kindness and graciousness, and just barely avoid slipping over into meanness. Or, a teacher can --and this happened to me today -- turn a blind eye to that thin line and find himself, before he knows what's happened, acting in an almost spiteful manner toward his students. I don't want this to happen again. I want to be a determined and steadfast teacher, but also a considerate and friendly one. I want to push my students, but with a smile and a supportive pat on the back.

Journal: 10/25/05

Yesterday was one of my best days as a teacher in recent memory. I’m not sure why, but all of my classes ran as smoothly and successfully as I ever could have hoped. Nearly all that I had hoped to accomplish when I made my lesson plans was actually accomplished in each of the classes. For some reason, no significant obstacles – no interruptions, no detours, no noticeable confusion -- blocked our way as the students and I followed my plans, step after step. Looking back on the success of the day, I have no idea why it happened. Yes, I made careful plans, but I always make careful plans, and often they only lead to a very limited amount of success. I sometimes feel quite discouraged after a day’s teaching, even though I planned everything down to the smallest detail. Why, then, was yesterday so special? Why was I a good teacher yesterday and only a mediocre one on so many other days? It’s a mystery, and I think it always will be. It’s like the mystery of the wind. Can we say exactly where the wind begins? When a breeze touches our hands, can we tell precisely where it started and how it came to finally brush across us? No, because it’s a mystery, just like the mystery of my successful teaching yesterday. A breeze of good learning -- one that brought both knowledge and satisfaction to my students and me -- blew through my class room, and I am just happy I was there to feel and enjoy it.

On Teaching: Fire in the Classroom

Today I experienced perhaps one of the most exciting classes I've ever been involved in. It was a 9th grade group, in which we were discussing a chapter in Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, and these students lit fires in each other as they spoke. They burned with a passion for this old, underappreciated, seldom-read classic. Their hands were constantly waving, and it was all I could do to call on half of those who wanted to be heard. The word "excitement" derives from the Latin word for "set into action", and that's what happened in this class: many young minds were put into motion as the students talked animatedly about what they had read last night. The Latin root is an interesting way to look at the act of thinking -- as a series of "actions" that have a snowball or domino effect, building in power as the thoughts are created. That's what I saw today in this class. It was as if a snowball of teenage thoughts was rolling down hill, and all I could was stand out of the way and watch it gain momentum. An even better analogy, perhaps, comes when I think of these students today as being ardent. As the etymology of the word suggests, the kids "burned" with enthusiasm for Dickens' novel. They were like so many flames in my classroom, and the wonderful thing is that the flames spread as the minutes passed. Like many fires, the students' excitement was uncontainable and unmanageable. In some ways, it wasn't an orderly class, just as fires are not orderly. Fires burn the way they want to, and my 9th grade students today thought, felt, and spoke the way they wanted to. At one point, I remember thinking, "I'm losing control of this class. The kids are taking over." But then I thought, "Good. Let the fire burn." And it did.

Journal: 10/24/05

Yesterday, a day that transformed itself from a stormy morning to a sun-filled afternoon, our family gathered at Jan’s house in Mystic for a celebration of Luke and Krissy’s marriage. We were supposed to be on the beach in Naples, FL for this festivity, but Hurricane Wilma made that an impossibility, so Jan organized a replacement party at her lovely home. She and Bill prepared a sumptuous menu for the guests, and we mingled and gave good cheer to one and all for several hours. It was a perfectly peaceful and cheerful get-together. Of course, little Noah was the center of attention, as always. (I wonder if he has some hazy concept of being a “star”.) In his quiet and even courteous way, he entertained us with his smiles and effervescence. Luke and Krissy laughed almost continuously as they watched him, perhaps thinking ahead seven months to the birth of their new little one.

Journal: 10/23/05

Yesterday the cold rains returned. I worked at school for a few hours in the morning, accompanied by the songs of the rain outside in the garden. Oddly, I didn’t often notice the rain as I worked (buried in my tasks, I suppose), but occasionally I glanced up and was surprised by the heaviness of the storm outside. The rain was driving down hard on the gray-looking trees and grass; all outdoors looked thoroughly oppressed by this latest storm. Later, I had one of the finest Saturday afternoons a person can have (or at least this person). I sat in a snug chair in my apartment, reading Dickens, watching football players dash across green fields on the TV, and listening to the rain making its music outside. I felt as peaceful as I’ve felt in my life – perfectly content to be exactly where I was. In many ways, the chilly rain was a gift, and I accepted it with a smile. Later in the day, my son Matt interviewed me for a project he’s doing in graduate school. He asked about my wild years at the University of Kansas in the 60’s, when our antiwar group fairly put the campus into a maelstrom. We sat under the soft lamplight, talking and laughing about those long-gone days. Still later, as I prepared for bed, I again heard the melodies of the rain outside my window, still at it in Westerly and all across the roads for miles and miles, I guessed.

Journal: 10/22/05

Yesterday, our Head of School gave us a day off to visit other classrooms, so I drove up through the colorful autumn countryside to visit some excellent teachers at Pomfret School, in northeastern Connecticut. It was a perfect fall day, with the sunshine just muted enough to allow the leaves to present themselves in all their clear colors. Bright sunlight would have been glaring on the colors, like a bright light in an art museum. Today the light was subdued and soft, so the quilt-like look of the woods was extra lovely. I spent an hour in the morning visiting with my grandson, Noah, in Brooklyn, almost next door to Pomfret. We walked around the leafy yard in the chilly air, sometimes raking leaves, sometimes just sauntering along together, hand in hand. We spent some wonderful minutes down by the woodpile, pretending to saw and chop wood. (See photo, above.) As he sawed with a stick, Noah made a wonderful sound like the motor of a chainsaw. I soon said goodbye and drove over to Pomfret, where I spent an inspirational few hours in the classrooms of some fine teachers. I was amazed by how much I learned from these young men. I learned to be gentle, polite, and firm, and I learned to expect great things from each student each day. (These were not new lessons for me, but it was wonderful to re-learn them today.) As I drove home through the rolling, multicolored hills of fall, I felt thoroughly grateful to be alive on this unique planet.

On Teaching: "Satisfaction"

I found today's classes very satisfying. What happened in the classes fulfilled every expectation I had. I had mentally prepared myself for a positive and uplifting experience beforehand, and thus when the classes began, I was fully expecting them to be harmonious and fruitful -- and they were. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because I was anticipating good things happening, they happened. The classes were also rewarding because they gratified an abiding desire of mine to be involved in excellent teaching and learning. I have many desires in life, but none greater than that. I yearn to teach classes that are thoroughly exciting and profoundly instructive, and my classes today came close to meeting those criteria. They also answered a vital need of mine. I don't just want to be a good teacher; I need to be one. I need food and water to keep me alive, and I need teaching. My heart beats, my blood courses along, I breathe in and out, and I teach. At this point in my life, they all seem equally important to me. Today's wonderful classes were as good for me as breathing in fresh air.

Journal: 10/19/05

I’m keeping an eye on Hurricane Wilma. Our family is due to gather in Naples, Florida this weekend for Luke and Krissy’s wedding, but this hurricane is gaining strength in the Gulf. It’s strange, because the weather up here in New England has been idyllic. Spring-like breezes have been sailing among the houses and across our campus at school, making it nearly impossible to think of hurricanes.

Meditation: Tossing Out Demons

Reading the story in Mark’s gospel this morning about the mute boy who was possessed by a “demon”, I was reminded of my own situation as a teacher. The boy’s evil spirit often tossed him around and made him go “stiff as a board”, and the same sort of thing sometimes happens to me. I get all frustrated, worked up, anxious, worried, and discouraged about my teaching, just as if I’m “possessed” by a devil or a demon – and, in a very true sense, I am. I am controlled, in those instances, by a belief that the world is a material place and I am a separate material creature who has to battle to become a good teacher. This belief, which is the only true "devil" in the world, shakes me up and causes me to act like an insecure, frustrated child. What I must to in those instances is recover what Mark calls a “sense of God” – an understanding of the spiritual nature of the entire universe. If I can regain that sense, then I will instantly become calm (because the devil-belief has disappeared). I will see that it is actually impossible to be frustrated, because there are no “things” or material forces “out there” to frustrate me. I will have the serene understanding that I am always a part of the one infinite and unopposed Mind, or God, that governs the universe. This mind works in constant harmony because there is no other mind to work against it and cause disharmony. Realizing this, I will feel totally free as a teacher, just like the boy who was released from his demon-beliefs by Jesus. I will see that nothing can ever go wrong in my classroom, because the one Power (sometimes called God) governs everything that happens in it.

On Teaching: Discouragement and Selfishness

I grew discouraged about my teaching today, but, after thinking about it for awhile, I realized that my discouragement grew out of nothing other than simple selfishness. I was down on myself because “I” wasn’t performing as well as I thought I should. (Notice all the ‘I’s in that sentence.) My discouragement was all about me, not really about the kids. I was thinking a whole lot more about my own status as a teacher than I was about whether my students were learning anything. What I had to start reminding myself, again, was that there should be absolutely no selfishness involved in teaching. If I see teaching as being about a separate, isolated, physical self called “a teacher” organizing lessons and manipulating other separate, isolated, physical selves called “students”, then I simply don’t understand the nature of teaching. There’s no selfishness involved in real teaching because there are no separate selves involved. Teaching is all about the vast Universe (of which my students and I are a part) going about its timeless business of taking good care of itself. In order to be a good teacher, I don’t have to do anything “by myself”. I don’t have to sit alone and plan lessons and take the responsibility for educating my students “by myself”. That would sort of be like one finger on my hand deciding that it alone is responsible for keeping my body in working order. The Universe (sometimes called God, Allah, the Tao, etc.) does all the planning and teaching. All I have to do, tomorrow and every other day, is relax and let the universe do its wonderful work. There’s no possibility of discouragement setting in, because the universe never makes mistakes. Whatever it plans and whatever it teaches is just perfect.
And because I’m part of the universe, so am I.

Journal: 10/18/05

Yesterday started out on the chilly side, but then gradually warmed up to become a lovely spring-like afternoon and evening. I drove to the gym at 5:00 a.m. wrapped in my fleece jacket and firing up the heater in the car. The air felt almost frosty, giving me the sense that I might be chilly all day. When I came out of the gym soaked in sweat, the strong winds seemed like winter’s more that autumn’s. However, as the hours passed, the day turned softer. At some point in the late morning, I threw open the window in my classroom and enjoyed the temperate feel of the air. Whenever I went outside to get to another building, memories returned of strolling to classes in the springtime. The evening, though, was the best of all. I taught a brief class at the college, and when I walked to my car around 7:00 p.m., a warm, gentle breeze was blowing and a summery-looking full moon was sitting peacefully above the buildings. It felt a whole lot more like April than October. I sort of skipped and waved my arms a little as I sauntered across the campus in the darkness.

On Teaching: "Detachment"

Today I thoroughly enjoyed my classes, and a partial cause for this was the sense of detachment I had as I went through my lessons. As usual, I had planned the lessons very carefully, but oddly enough, I didn't seem to mind when things slowed down a bit during class. Kids had unexpected questions, and a new task arose that I had forgotten to plan for, but it didn't bother me. I just sat back and sort of observed the activities instead of trying to control them. It gave me a strange feeling of tranquility -- as if I was a witness to a fascinating show, and all I had to do was relax and enjoy it. Somehow I knew that all the important things I planned would get done, one way or the other. I felt, in a way, like some force much bigger than me was at work in my classroom, and I just needed to step out of the way and let it work. I don't mean to suggest that there was chaos in my room, or that nothing substantial was accomplished. Quite to the contrary, my detailed lesson plans were covered almost from A to Z, and the students, I think, felt like we had accomplished a great deal by the end of class. Surprisingly, by giving up my tendency to want to compulsively control every aspect of my classes, the classes actually become more controlled and orderly than ever. By detaching myself -- removing myself to a distance where I could watch, accept, and appreciate what was happening -- I found, paradoxically, that I was an integral part of some of the best classes I've ever experienced.

Journal: 10/17/05

The sun and the blue sky came back this weekend – finally. After a full week of rain, the storm drifted away on Saturday and allowed us to occasionally see the sunshine on the grass in the late afternoon. I was at school doing some work, and one of the maintenance guys was pretty excited to see the clearing. “Ham,” he said, “I actually think I saw some sunlight!” That evening I took a walk in the park, and I could tell by the fine look of the sky that we were in for a lovely day on Sunday – and I was right. Yesterday was one of the prettiest October days I can recall. Pine Point had its annual alumni games in the afternoon, and the weather can best be described as brilliant, as in shining, radiant, and glowing. The temperature was only in the 50’s, but the warm sunshine made it seem like a summer day. The grass on the fields seemed brighter than I’d ever seen it, and the faces on all the kids celebrating with games at their old school were sunny in the good, bright weather.

Teaching in the White Mountains

In New Hampshire with My 8th Grade Students
Thursday, October 6

Around 8:00 am, we sat in the sunshine looking out on the still darkened valley of Carter Notch. We had just finished our breakfast (instant oatmeal made mushy with boiling water) and were preparing to hike up the Carter Dome trail, a very steep, almost cliff-like trail of about a mile. There’s a quiet, meditative spirit among the kids as they gaze across at the imposing hill we have to climb.

After a long, painstaking climb, we reached the top of Carter Dome around 12:20, and lunched in the bright sunshine on bagels, cheese, sausage, and Hershey bars. The weather was absolutely perfect – clear air and mild winds across the mountains. The kids rested in small groups as the winds whispered among the small fir trees.

After lunch, we took what was a comparatively easy hike over to Mt. Hight, a boulder-strewn summit with an astonishing 360 degree of seemingly endless mountains and valleys. We all felt a special peace and freedom up there, a feeling that made the climb up the precipitous Carter Dome trail that morning more than worth it.

After our evening meal at the Hut, we gathered for some cheery entertainment. The kids prepared skits in their groups, and we in the audience loved each of them. There was unrestrained laughter inside, and I suppose outside there was the ceaseless sighing of the mountain winds and the small nighttime noises of the forest.

On Teaching: "Efficiency"

This year at school, my friend Paul wants to emphasize “efficiency”, and so I have taken to discussing it with my students. I’ve often shared with them a definition I like: efficiency is doing things as quickly as possible while still being as careful as possible. They sometimes ask whether working quickly can lead to faulty products, but I tell them – and I love this – that the word “quick” originally meant “alive”. In the Middle Ages, if you were “quick”, it just meant your heart was beating, your blood was running, and your lungs were working. A quick person was literally “lively” – full of life – and so working quickly, in my definition, simply means working in an energetic manner. Soon, though, I want to talk to the students about another definition, from the American Heritage Dictionary, which says that efficiency means “acting or producing effectively with a minimum of waste, expense, or unnecessary effort”. Surely it could be helpful to them, for instance, to think of doing their writing assignments with a minimum of waste – making sure that every word is absolutely necessary and is put to its best use. Also, they have a ton of homework to do besides mine, and they need to learn to “spend” their mental resources thriftily when writing their essays, so they’ll have some stored up for their other work. And surprisingly, a few of my students actually need to learn to occasionally make less effort, because some of their effort is completely unnecessary. This week, several students, in their desire to do well in my class, wrote outlines for their essays that were almost longer than the essays! This is an example of unnecessary effort – effort that will surely fatigue them and may even, oddly enough, produce a less successful essay than if they had made a brief, economical outline. Their outlines reminded me of the importance of teaching them the value of Paul’s favorite quality this year -- efficiency.

Journal: 10/16/05

Yesterday evening, I took a walk in Wilcox Park and saw several beautiful sights. First of all, the park lights came on as the evening darkened, and I saw how lovely they looked. They glowed with a sort of deep golden color, spreading their radiance softly around to a circumference of about forty feet. I felt like I was walking through pools of pretty light as I made my way around the park. When I came to the pond, I noticed something else. I don’t think I had ever stood at the western end of the pond and took in the view from that angle, but I’m glad I did last night. The water was gently rippling in a breeze, sending streaks of silver light across the pond, and in the east a giant yellow moon was sitting just above the trees. I stood for a few minutes and admired the view – the ripples, the trees swinging in the wind, the moon, and one couple pushing their baby stroller and serenely disappearing into the shadows. It was as lovely a scene as I have ever witnessed. I walked back to my apartment slowly and pensively. I kept seeing the park lights and the great moon glowing in my mind.

MEDITATION: Waking Up

It’s astonishing to realize the simple truth that all my problems are entirely mental. What got me thinking about this was a series of scary dreams last night. All night, it seems, I tossed around in the midst of perfectly frightening nightmares. Life seemed, in these dreams, to be a place of impending disaster, with one ghastly adversary after another threatening me. However, when I awoke, it didn’t take me long to realize that it was all just a dream – that nothing bad had happened and my life was still safe and secure. This realization is what led me to think about all my problems (not that I have that many – just the average bundle that most of us have). The fact is that, when I search hard for the source of any problem, I always end up at my own thoughts. Any problem I’ve ever had is a problem because I’m thinking of it as a problem. Every anxiety, fear, or worry doesn’t exist “out there” in some object or person or situation, but always and only in my thinking. There’s no doubt that my dreams last night seemed absolutely real. In the midst of them, I thought surely I was going to get sick, be hurt, get lost, be late for an important appointment, or even die. But I awoke, and lo, the problems vanished as swiftly as a thought does. This is precisely what can happen with every problem that appears to threaten me. All I need to do is “wake up” to the real world. I need to “face reality” and see that problems, no matter how severe, last only as long as the thought of them does.

Journal: 10/15/05

I felt a great amount of harmony in my life yesterday. Everything seemed to happen exactly as it should, with all things working together for good. There were “problems” along the way, of course, but these problems, like ripples in a river, soon disappeared in the peaceful flow of the minutes and hours. Indeed, I felt exactly as if I was drifting on an old and deep river, and all I had to do was be patient and trust the river to go where it needed to go. My classes were a good example of this. Looking back on the day, I can clearly see that it wasn’t any special power of mine that made the classes harmonious. Just like the students, I seemed to be caught up in some other, outside force that kept the classes smoothly flowing along. It was as if my students and I were all helplessly controlled by an incredibly strong force that was only capable of producing agreement and unity. The weather, too, had a feel of concord throughout the day. Rain fell ceaselessly, but it fell, I don’t know, in a perfectly proper manner – just the way rain should and must fall. There was no way I could have looked out the window and said, “Look how confused and chaotic that rain is!” No, the rain, like my students and I, did what it had to do in the most agreeable way possible, during a perfectly well-balanced day.

On Teaching: CARING

Today was a special day of teaching for me, and it was all about caring. I cared for my students, first of all, in the sense that I tried to use caution in my teaching to avoid harming or endangering them. We say we would handle a crystal bowl with care, and that is exactly the way I approached my teaching today. I had 42 crystal bowls entrusted to my care, and I tried my best to treat them with delicacy and affection. I also tried my best to treat them with painstaking attention, the way a master painter might paint window frames and sashes. He would paint with great care because he wanted to bring out the beauty of the windows and sashes, and today I taught with the same kind of care and for the same kind of reason. My students are people of great inner beauty, and my job is to make that beauty shine. Finally, I used care in dealing with unforeseen situations, just as physicians and nurses give emergency care when it is needed. I don't have dire physical emergencies in my room, but often there are small, hidden, emotional emergencies -- a student's fear of being called on, for instance -- and I must be ready to give good care to the kids when these emergencies arise. Often, like today, it just takes a kind word from me to diffuse the anxiety a student might be feeling. The emergency room doctor dispenses medicine, whereas I just dispense kindness -- but in the end, it's all about care.

Teaching in the White Mountains

In New Hampshire with My 8th Grade Students
October 5, 2005

This morning was clear and chilly. We ate a hearty breakfast in the lodge and then sat outside and watched the hills turn orange in the rising sunshine.

As a red squirrel screeched nearby, the kids formed a circle under yellow leaves and played a few games. These games, I guess, are meant to help the kids cooperate as a working unit, and I can see the value. When we’re hiking the steep trail today, we’ll be a playing a real game of cooperation.

On the trail. Sitting on gray rocks and logs beside a mountain stream, eating snacks, solving riddles, smiling in the sunlight.

Amber refuses to complain, refuses to surrender. Showing the valor and dignity of her Native American ancestors, she silently ascends the steep trail with her 37 pound pack.

Jay and I talked about two paradises as we hiked beside the rushing silver stream. We agreed that this was a paradise, and Jay spoke of a similar wonderland in the Caribbean.

Lunch on the trail. Bagels, cheese, gorp, apples, cookies. We sat on old fallen leaves and listened to the humming of the water in the stream as we ate. Then we did ten minutes of silent writing while solitary leaves drifted down around us.

Around 4:00, we arrived at the Carter Notch Hut. The climb down into the beautiful valley was a relaxing reprieve after six hours of steady climbing under cumbersome packs. I could almost feel the tension escaping from the kids’ bodies and relaxation moving in to take its place.

Around midnight, I got up to walk the 50 yards to the bathroom over a rocky path in total darkness – and was that an adventure! I stumbled along in the mild mountain air, trying my best to avoid jagged rocks and angled roots. My small flashlight led the way through the black mountain night.

Journal: 10/14/05

We have had a full week of soggy, incessant rain. I fall asleep to the sound of raindrops tapping on the windowpane, and I awake to the same sound. The whole world seems to be dripping. Life seems to be a slow-moving, steady river of rainwater upon which all of us are listlessly drifting from one day to the next. What a change this is from last week, when I hiked with my students in the White Mountains under bright blue skies. In New Hampshire we experienced a paradise of spring breezes and mildness, day after day. We never had to worry about keeping our raingear handy, nor did we have to fret about the slickness of damp trails. Dryness was everywhere, even in the small mountain lakes that seemed to be thirsty for more water. How glad I am that we didn’t face the kind of sogginess that we are experiencing this week! Right now as I type, I can hear the steady music of morning rain. It’s not hard to imagine the entire morning floating away on a river of rain. I picture myself, not driving to school in my car but paddling along in my inflatable kayak. When will it stop?

MEDITATION: Utter Astonishment

I realized this morning that the only appropriate attitude for me these days is utter and constant astonishment. I should go through my days in a stupor of amazement. I should feel like I’m floating instead of walking. People should be concerned about me, saying things like, “I’m worried about Ham. He has this beatific smile on his face, as though he’s in heaven every moment.” There’s a simple reason for this: I am living (I can’t escape it) in a totally astonishing universe, one in which there can be no struggle or conflict, ever, because there is never any two-ness, only one-ness. This statement contains more wonder than I can ever really comprehend. A universe without conflict. A universe that is totally and constantly harmonious. A universe that’s always as peaceful as the mildest spring breeze. This is what I am a part of. This is where I live, day in and day out, moment after moment. It’s just as if I am the heir of a kingdom of incalculable riches – a man who has absolutely no worries in life, no fears, no insecurities, because he always has everything he needs. Life is totally present, totally mental, and totally one – and therefore totally harmonious. This is why I should be utterly astonished from morning to midnight.

Teaching in the White Mountains

In New Hampshire with My 8th Grade Students
October 4, 2005

As we were packing our backpacks for the long climb tomorrow, Lauren, one of our Appalachian Mountain Club instructors, explained that we should pack with a view to accessibility, balance, and compactness. As I listened, I got to thinking about school – about the “packs” of academic skills and habits my students are getting together for their futures. I wondered if Lauren’s A-B-C formula would work there, too. Surely the students want to have their skills and habits readily accessible when they need them. They want to be able to easily use what they’ve learned in all types of situations. Unfortunately, for many students this is impossible, because their academic knowledge is buried deep in many complicated layers, like raingear at the bottom of a backpack. Equally important for my students to remember as they as they prepare for their future journeys through life is balance. In English class, I want to give them a sensible mixture of writing and reading lessons. When they’re hiking the arduous trails of life, they don’t want to be leaning to one side or the other because they’ve been taught mostly one kind of lesson by their English teacher. Finally, my students must develop a sense of the importance of compactness. They must avoid cramming their mental packs with unnecessary and unwieldy trivia. They must do what I teach them to do in their writing – cut out all unnecessary items. A zillion bits of knowledge are offered in schools these days, but all my students need is a few truly useful ones.
My thanks to Lauren for helping me understand how to “pack”.

MEDITATION: On Watching Games You Don't Care About

Now that the Red Sox are out of the baseball playoffs, I’m rather relieved. Because I have no stake in the outcome, I can finally relax and truly enjoy watching a game. I don’t care what happens in the upcoming games – who wins or loses, who makes an error or doesn’t, who strikes out or hits a home run. All I want to do is simply observe the way the games progress and enjoy the process. It promises to be a stress-free few weeks for me. As I thought about this last night on my way home from the college, I began to realize that this is exactly the way I should approach the “game” of life. I should think of each day as just another game – one which is especially fascinating because my favorite team is not involved. I should look forward to “watching” the way each hour and moment unfolds, just the way I will be watching the many interesting plays in the upcoming playoff games. If something “awful” happens to me today, well, that’s no more terrible than if the Angels commit an error in their first game. I don’t care if the Angels win or lose, and I literally shouldn’t care if I “win or lose”. All I’m interested in is watching the intriguing ways in which the baseball games, and my life, unfold. As far as my life goes, it should mean many relaxing days ahead for me as I sit in the “bleachers” and enjoy the many interesting twists and turns as the “game” called Hamilton Salsich progresses.

Teaching in the White Mountains

October 4, 2005
In the White Mountains with My 8th Grade Students

On our first afternoon, at the base of the mountain we were going to climb the next day, one of the Appalachian Mountain Club instructors played an interesting game. He had the kids pair off and tie themselves together, and their task was to figure out a way to release themselves without untying the knots. What I found intriguing was that Patrick, the instructor, told them, "It's a lot easier than you think." I said to myself, "Isn't that true of most problems?" At least in my experience, many seemingly complex problems have suddenly melted away, almost as if they never existed. After struggling mightily to "figure them out", in an instant -- poof! -- the problems were gone. I wonder if this means the problems were never actually real in the first place. Or -- a better way to put it -- maybe the problems existed only in my mind, and so they were able to disappear as fast as a passing thought does. This is a great lesson for the kids to learn -- that our problems are usually a lot more mental than physical. As they struggled to separate themselves in the chilly mountain air, I hope they finally realized, when the simple solution became clear, that most of their problems in life can slip away just as easily as this "unsolvable" rope problem did.

Journal: 10/10/05

We’ve had a waterlogged weekend. The rain has been constant and cold. Starting early Saturday morning, it has drenched us for nearly forty-eight hours with the kind of chilly wetness that makes you think of winter waiting down the road. There’s been no letup – no sun pushing through now and then, no few hours of balminess, no dryness anywhere to be found. All weekend, I couldn’t help but think about our trip to the White Mountains last week, when we had such clear, dry, splendid weather. What, I wonder, would we have done with 22 restive 8th graders in the mountains if it had rained steadily for the four days? The trip might well have been a soggy and utter disaster. My weekend, though soggy, was nothing like a disaster, however. I loved all of it. I used the rainy weather as an excuse to sit inside my comfortable apartment and do some reading. The lamp was softly shining, the story was absorbing, and the hours passed smoothly, like the clearest and most beautiful days do.

Journal: 10/09/05

I finally finished Dickens’ Little Dorrit this morning, and now I can’t wait to start re-reading my favorite parts. Like a traveler who has just made his first tour of a beautiful and exotic island, I don’t even want to take a short breather before I start retracing my steps through some of the most interesting parts of the book. Reading this book has been a marvelous adventure, and I don’t want the adventure to end. Like a traveler who has all the time in the world and no deadlines to meet, I’m looking forward to casually revisiting this story. What I’m especially eager to do is take a closer look at some of the many characters in the novel. I met at least a dozen important and intriguing people in my journey through these 800+ pages, plus another dozen less important ones, and I feel like I want to get to know them better. I probably totally missed some vital information about these characters – information that might help me understand them better. I also missed, I’m sure, some central themes in the book. One example is Miss Wade’s notion of predestination. Perhaps, on my second visit to the book, I can pick up that thread and carefully follow it to the end. Why would I want to pack my bags and quickly rush away from a beautiful island like this wonderful novel by Dickens? Surely the next great book I want to explore will wait a week or so.

Journal: 10/09/05

I spent most of yesterday in a state of total and pleasant idleness. After returning from the fatiguing four-day trek in the White Mountains with my 8th grade students, I wanted to do nothing more than allow my body and mind to relax. I felt like I needed to float instead of climb, to play instead of work. I had experienced more hard labor in those few days than I had experienced in the last few months, and I desperately needed a rest. So … I did a lot of “nothing” all day long. I went to school and puttered around in a lazy, happy way, grading papers and setting a few things in order. A tranquil rain was falling, and the music of it added to the feeling of relaxation in the room. Later, I met Jaimie, Noah, and Matt, and we had a wonderful time wandering through the Mystic Aquarium. We had no schedule, no agenda, no time frame. All we wanted to do was enjoy each other’s company without stress or hard labor, and we did that beautifully for several hours. We ended the afternoon at Starbucks, languidly sipping drinks (Noah absolutely loved his orange juice) and laughing.

Journal: 10/02/05

The weather these last few days has been heavenly. I took a walk in the park this evening around six, and I realized just how perfect the days have been. As I strolled along the path, the early autumn air was pleasant to the touch, the temperature seemed almost balmy, and the huge orange sun was settling down among the trees in the west. I walked in an indolent manner because that seemed appropriate on this unruffled evening. It reminded me of how marvelous the last few days have been, with their cool mornings, resort-like noons, and graceful afternoons and evenings. When I hear of the 80’s in St. Louis and the 100’s in Arizona, I am utterly grateful that I live precisely where I do. I have awakened each morning in the past week with a mild breeze blowing in through the window and have fallen asleep with a similar breeze passing across the bed. The mornings have brought lovely days and the evenings lovely nights. Even luckier for me, I will be hiking in the White Mountains this week with my 8th grade students, and the weather, according to the Internet, promises to be impressive. The temperatures will be warm enough for shorts, skies will be clear (with a zillions stars at night), and the fall colors will be at their best. We’ll be in a mountain paradise for four days. Winter’s coming, I know, but these few days have made it seem that summer wants to stay awhile.

Journal: 10/1/05

Today I spent a wonderful day with my sons, and, in the process, found two pleasant surprises in my life. First, I spent an hour with Jaimie and Jess and Noah up in Brooklyn, CT. I stopped there on my way to see Luke, Krissy, and Kaylee in Millbury, and we had a wonderful time together. Noah and I looked at books, played "ring around the rosie" (he and I tumbling to the ground and laughing again and again), and enjoyed a small dish of “snacks” together. I also talked with Jaimie about his teaching, and he and Jess and I laughed over some silly stories. Then I drove up to watch Kaylee play soccer under a pure blue sky, after which Luke and I drove over to BJ’s to shop for TV’s for me. Surprisingly, I bought, in no time at all, a somewhat extravagant 27 inch model -- surprising, because I don't think I've bought a TV in probably 25 yearsn and now I snap one up in about five minutes! I took it home and Matt helped me set it up in the living room, along with my other surprise, a new Dell computer. We cleaned the apartment, set the new equipment up, and settled in to watch a football game, play with the new computer, and enjoy each other’s companionship.