Journal: 12/30/05

I drove over to Steph’s for a short visit this morning before my flight back to Rhode Island. It was fun to hang out for a few minutes with the spirited Wolfie and the quiet, almost contemplative Hammy. As I sat there talking with Steph and watching the boys be boys, I envied her. She and Eliot have untold years of non-stop adventure ahead as they help the boys find their way in this world. It won’t always be easy, but the best adventures never are.

* * * * *

I had a pleasant flight back home, and was met by Matty at the airport. We had our usual genial conversation as we drove down I-95 to Westerly. After the best of Christmas vacations with my extended family, it was great to be home again.

Journal: 12/29/05

Today we had the annual Salsich brothers’ lunch, this time at LoRusso’s, an elegant restaurant on the Italian “Hill”. It may have been our finest lunch ever. We were happy to be joined by young Joe, fresh out of Wake Forest and eager to join the “old guys” for a few hours of spirited, and sometimes raucous, conversation. We spent the time reliving old family memories, but also talking about our own personal highlights of the just-ending year. We were greeted by owner Rich LoRusso and his brother Vince, and a touching part of the lunch occurred when Alberta LoRusso, Joe Sr.’s wife and a very dear friend of my mom and dad’s, came out to greet us. I thought I saw a tear in her eyes (and a few of ours) as we talked of the strong bond between our families.

* * * * *

Tonight was the annual family Christmas party, a thoroughly loving and satisfying musical event. About 60 of us enjoyed a delicious dinner, gracious conversation, and music that bordered on the professional and spectacular. Neil belted out a bluesy James Taylor favorite, Julia crooned “O Holy Night” in a blessed way, Lizzie wowed us all, and Don, Mike, Maysie, Pete III, Erin, Gracie, Heather, Chris, and many others sang the night away. I cried some inward tears throughout the evening, feeling so fortunate to be part of this family.

Journal: 12/28/05

Today I hung out with Mom, and was cheered to see her feeling much better – almost her old spry, buoyant self. We sat in her apartment, as we have so often, telling old stories and laughing with delight. At 89, she has more youthfulness then some people in their 30’s I know.

* * * * *

Mary Anne and Al hosted a chili party tonight. Al and I had a great time preparing the chili this morning – chopping veggies, sautéing mushrooms and onions, and taking pleasure in each other’s company. The party itself was a noisy but happy affair – a chance for 8 of 9 Salsich siblings to come together with spouses and friends for a few hours of relaxed companionship.

Journal: December 27, 2005

I had a wonderful lunch with Susie, Pete, and Barbara today. We went to a trendy sandwich shop and enjoyed simple fare and genial conversation. Our talk wasn’t an exploration of deep or consequential issues -- just the affable small-talk that makes having a loving family so special.

* * * * *

This evening, at the Cheshire Inn (formerly Medarts), I joined some long-lost friends from my high-school class for rounds of drinks and an exchange of memories. It was wonderful to see them again, even though I didn’t recognize some because they were guys I hardly knew when we were together at St. Louis U. High in the late 50’s. The clock rolled back, though. For nearly three hours we recaptured those high-school years in all their craziness, ingenuousness, and delight.

Journal: 12/26/05

On a warm, rainy morning, Matty drove me to T. F. Green airport at 4:00 a.m. The rain was heavy at times, and there was a dense fog, so I drove cautiously. Since we were both sleepy, there wasn’t much conversation as we rolled up the highway in the darkness.

* * * * *
At the Detroit airport, there is a fascinating fountain called “The Waterworks”. It’s a round black pool about 30 feet in diameter, with perhaps 30 tubes of water shooting up from various places and at different angles. What was unusual was that these tubes held their shapes as they sprang into the air, arched over the pool, and plopped smoothly (and almost silently) back into the water. It was utterly mesmerizing – a perfect way to pass the time as I awaited my connecting flight.

* * * * *
I spent a pleasant though surprising afternoon and evening in St. Louis. The pleasant part was just being with Al and Mary Anne and Mom again. The surprising part was that Mom was feeling in low spirits because of a fall she took a few days before. She seemed to have been overtaken by the blues. I tried my best to cheer her up, but with little success. Hopefully she’ll feel more cheerful tomorrow after a sound night’s rest.

Journal: 12/25/2005

Wow, how lucky I am to be able to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in ways as wonderful as these last two days. Yesterday my daughter Annie and I took a leisurely stroll through the park around 1:00, and ended up at a quaint tea shop in downtown Westerly. The place was tastefully furnished with the finest tablecloths and china, and we enjoyed a delicious lunch and tasty tea in old-world china. We ate slowly, enabling us to have a long, thoughtful conversation, as father and daughter should. Then, last night I was lucky to be invited to two Christmas Eve celebrations. I first went to an old Victorian farmhouse owned by parents of one of my students, where I enjoyed an hour’s worth of great conversation with old and new friends. From there I went to a small dinner party hosted by two of my best friends, where we all took part in the good friendship of the season. The conversation was vigorous and happy, and the food was simply the best. And finally, to top it all, I just returned from an amazing Christmas dinner at my former wife Jan’s house, with all of our children present, plus a few great friends and our grandson, young Noah. It was a celebration worthy of Charles Dickens. There were gifts by the ton, luscious holiday food, and – best of all – the kind of love and peace that family’s pray to have. Driving home on the rainy streets, I felt like I was floating away on the wings of simple, unbounded gratitude.

Journal: 12/24/05

I took one of my favorite drives yesterday, up through the lovely countryside of eastern Connecticut to see Jaimie, Jess, and Noah. It was wonderful to watch for all the seasonal decorations as I drove along. Everything seemed unusually peaceful for this time of year; no rushing and worrying was apparent, just the houses, villages, fields, and forests seemingly resting comfortably and awaiting something special. At Plainfield Central School, I was fortunate enough to get to see Jaimie’s 8th grade classroom, where he proudly displayed his new “smartboard”. The kids had all dashed out at the last bell (heading home for the holidays), and Jaimie and I spent fifteen quiet minutes together, he teaching and me learning about this new piece of classroom technology. There was a happy shine on his face as he spoke. Later, after a cheerful visit with Noah, Jess, Annie, and Tracey (down from Providence), I drove back home along the rolling roads as the winter sun disappeared in the west. It was a sunset you couldn’t have painted any prettier. Above the darkening trees was a line of brilliant color – mostly shades of deep red – made all the more beautiful by the twinkling Christmas lights that were everywhere. The car seemed to drive itself as I relaxed and took in the restful scenes, mile after mile.

Journal: 12/22/05

Today some friends and I treated ourselves to an elegant holiday lunch. Gary, Jeannie, Carol, and I went to a stylish old-world hotel on the shore for a few hours of sophisticated dining and genial conversation. The tables were covered with white tablecloths, bright winter sunshine was streaming in through the large windows, and the food was strictly high-class. We shared our companionship for almost two hours, a wonderful way to add to the high spirits of the holiday season.

Later, as dusk came on, my daughter Annie and I took a walk through downtown Mystic, which was ablaze with its seasonal finery. It was fun to chat and laugh while surrounded by trees, houses, and stores all lit for Christmas. Everywhere we looked there seemed to be a glow. The evening was more than chilly, but the warm spirit of the holidays kept us comfortable as we walked.

Journal: 12/21/05

On this special day of the year -- the darkest day, the day of the longest night-- it was fitting that I often enjoyed the presence of light. At 5:30 am, I began my day by doing my usual morning reading and writing, but this time by the light of two candles. I always have candles burning in the apartment at this season of the year, but this morning they were my only light. (See picture, above left.) All was dark and still as I turned the pages of my book and tapped on the computer keyboard; the fluttering candle flames brought all the light I needed. Then, around 1:00 pm, I settled down for a lovely lunch, lit by my favorite floor lamp. (See picture, above right.) I set up a card table in the living room, draped a white table cloth over it, placed some holiday flowers in the center, and sat down to read some Dickens (“The Cricket on the Hearth”) and enjoy a grilled sandwich, steamed broccoli, and a glass of excellent ale. The lamplight looked golden as it spread itself across the chic-looking table. Then, around 4:15, I bundled up and walked across the park to the bookstore. The late sunlight was beautiful in the sky as it spread out in shades of rose and lavender behind a puffy bank of dark clouds in the west. On the way back from the store, the park lamps were lit, giving a glow to the walk that warmed me up considerably. It was an agreeable way to head into the darkest night of the year.

Journal: 12/20/05

It’s been a restful day for this tired teacher. I’ve been fighting a cold for several days, so it was wonderful to simply soak up the warmth of the apartment and the wisdom of a few fine books. I started the day with my usual slow-cooked Irish oatmeal and steamy coffee, enjoyed in the lamplight while candles glowed around the rooms. I scanned the Internet as I ate, but found little enticing information. The delicious breakfast was far more stimulating than the morning news. Later I sat in the red-padded rocking chair reading an excellent book on spiritual issues (The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle). I carefully underlined sentences and wrote notes in the margin, which I find helps impress the ideas into my mind. Using my pencil as I read also gives me that pleasant feeling of being an attentive and earnest reader. In the afternoon, I read several excellent articles in the latest issue of National Geographic. I have neglected that magazine for the last few years, but I would like to change that. It’s a brilliant publication, takes little time to read, and would broaden my understanding of world-wide issues.

And now...it’s nearly 7:00 pm, and a glass of red wine beckons, and then perhaps a fried egg sandwich with green peppers for dinner, and then, for sure, a soothing sleep.

Journal: 12/20/05

I was sitting in the big chair this morning, around seven, doing some reading and writing, when I noticed Matt’s large mug of coffee steaming on the computer table. I stopped reading for a moment and looked at it carefully. The steam was rising in swirls under the lamplight. It was a scene of perfect peacefulness – the early morning apartment, some soft classical music playing in another room, and this cup of coffee sending up its warmth in peaceful eddies.

* * * * * * *

Lately many professional athletes have been quoted as saying “It is what it is”. When asked about his team, a baseball player might say, “It is what it is.” A football player, speaking about his physical condition, might say, “It is what it is.” I find this especially interesting because what they are saying is an ancient spiritual truth. Sages from time immemorial have suggested that the way to contentment is to accept the present just as it is. The present moment, many wise people have said, is the only true reality, so it should be accepted, embraced, even worshipped. In fact, in the Hebrew scriptures, God identified himself to Moses as “I am what am”. What is, is what is – which is precisely what some of our famous athletes seem to understand.

Journal: 12/19/05

During this festive season, I have been enjoying the look of candlelight in my apartment. (See pictures, above.) I have ten candles set in various places, and I make a ceremony of lighting them first thing in the morning and then in the evening when darkness comes on. It’s actually an important ceremony to me. It’s rather like welcoming the blessedness of light into my life, and being grateful for it. I love walking through the dark apartment at 5:00 am (or earlier), carefully placing new tea lights in the candleholders and then lighting each one. I do it slowly and attentively, sort of as a way of welcoming the coming of the daylight. As I sit at my desk for my morning reading and writing, the candles glow quietly around the apartment, perhaps as a symbol of the essential and eternal quietness of life. In the evening (and it comes early these days), I again make a ritual of the candle-lighting. As the daylight in the windows fades, the soft, persistent light of the candles takes it place. On a frosty winter’s night, there’s something cheerful and buoyant about candle flames. I often look up from my reading just to see them again in their silent steadiness.

Journal: 12/18/05

Yesterday was the first day of my Christmas break, and I enjoyed it immensely. I was a little “under the weather” because of a nagging cold, but that didn’t prevent me from making good use of my time. In fact, perhaps my cold actually made the day even more enjoyable than it might have been, simply because it kept me indoors, where I did some inspiring reading. The day was bright and wintry outside, but inside my comfortable apartment I was cheerfully snug with my good book, hot tea, flickering holiday candles, and – who could ask for more? – a fine football game on TV.

* * * * * * * * * *

One of my simple pleasures is cooking old-fashioned Irish oatmeal each morning. I think what I like best about it is that it takes a full 20 minutes to cook, which allows me time to sip hot coffee and do some peaceful reading. Every few minutes I go to the stove and stir the oatmeal, and then return to my reading. It’s a tranquil way to prepare breakfast. The slow bubbling of the oatmeal is like the slow and perfect passing of minutes at the start of another newborn day.

Journal: 12/17/05

I had an emotional day at school yesterday. Since it was the last day before Christmas break, there were happy feelings everywhere, and I was fortunate to share in them. Everyone was feeling unusually carefree. In my classes, the kids were attentive and polite, as usual, but there was also a noticeable joy bubbling at the surface. What really stirred up my feelings was a gift I received from my “secret santa” (a fellow teacher). He gave me a lovely paragraph he had written about my classroom, and about me as a teacher, and it brought tears to my eyes as I read it. It was a glowing tribute, unlike anything I have ever received before. I read it and then walked around my empty room in astonishment. I was astounded again, and even more so, when one of my 9th grade students shyly asked me if I would introduce her for her 9th grade speech. This is a great honor at our school. The speech is one of the highlights of the year for 9th graders, and any teacher would feel privileged to be asked to introduce a speech. I actually couldn’t believe it when she asked me. I was holding a piece of paper, and I remember it falling from my hand as I looked at her in bewilderment. She smiled and asked me again, and of course I said yes. When she left the room, I sat by myself, close to tears.

Journal: 12/16/05

Yesterday was another chiller, but all the warm hearts at school made it feel like midsummer. The holiday spirit was in full flower. Kids and teachers alike were laughing, hugging, waving, exchanging gifts, and dashing to and fro. Some teaching and learning took place, I’m sure, but I’m afraid it took a back seat to the general celebratory spirit. Actually, come to think of it, I had some of my best classes of the year. A special guest came to the 8th grade classes to talk about her love of Macbeth, and the 9th graders engaged in an energetic discussion about A Tale of Two Cities. I felt relaxed, inspired, and thankful as I led the classes, knowing that I was one the most fortunate people in the world. Of course, I didn’t feel all that fortunate when I had to rush from building to building in the frigid weather, but in only a few seconds I always found myself enveloped in the cozy warmth of a room again. Oh, how I praised the heat that was blowing up from the floor vents here and there. Whenever I noticed the essays on the hall bulletin board fluttering in the rising waves of heat, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I was a teacher in this particular school at this special season.

Journal: 12/15/05

Oh, how bitter cold it was yesterday! I think the temperature was down in the low teens when I left for school around 6:00 am, and I’m not sure it got much higher all day. I felt frozen most of the day, except when I was sitting in my classroom directly in front of the little space heater. Occasionally, I had to walk outside to get to another building, and I felt instantly chilled when the outside air hit me. Of course, the blessing that winter cold brings with it is the lovely contrast you feel when you are indoors and warm. I am fortunate to have a cozy, bright classroom where the temperature hovers around the 68 degree mark, and my cheerful students always bring some extra warmth along with them. In addition, I always have a pot of hot water simmering so that my students and I can warm ourselves up with hot chocolate or tea. In fact, one of the real joys in my life is to see the students sitting quietly and reading while they enjoy their hot chocolate. I start each class with about six minutes of silent reading, during which time a designated student serves hot chocolate. Yes, it takes time away from other possible lessons, but every time I see the students absorbed in a good book and sipping their steaming mugs, I realize that the time is very well spent – especially on frosty days like yesterday.

On Teaching: Not Minding What Happens

A famous spiritual teacher once said that the secret to his happiness was that he “doesn’t mind what happens” – meaning, I think, that he was always willing to accept the present moment exactly as it was. He knew that the present moment was all he ever had, and that therefore it was useless to resist it. He had seen the truth that resistance to the present moment is what causes all the problems in life, and he had made up his mind to avoid problems by simply relaxing and “not minding what happens”. He would willingly accept, and even embrace, whatever came his way, and look for the hidden good in it. I could certainly make use of this truth in my teaching, because, as it stands now, I do a lot more rejecting of the present moment than accepting. In fact, I seem to be almost constantly rejecting what’s happening in my classroom, from the behavior of my students to the way my lesson is going. I spend my days in the classroom picking and choosing – accepting this moment, rejecting this one, accepting these two moments, rejecting those four. This is insane behavior, because if the present moment is all I ever have, to reject it is as foolish as trying to make Monday instantly become Friday. If this moment in my classroom, when the lesson seems to be lagging and a student has just talked out of turn, is the only moment I have, then it must somehow be right, correct, fitting, good. My job as a teacher is not to reject that moment, but to humbly accept it and feel the power inside it. There’s something utterly perfect in every moment in my classroom, and I can discover it if, like the spiritual teacher, I simply relax and “don’t mind what happens”.

Poem: "How to Beat the Cold"

HOW TO BEAT THE COLD

Actually, it can’t be beaten.
It can only be accepted.
You should leave small openings
in your house
so the cold can creep in
like a cat
and share the comfort
of your warm carpet.
You should allow it
to come in
through the lining of your coat
where it can live at ease
beside your cozy skin.
And your heart is warm,
so let it, too,
comfort the bitter cold
that perhaps has no friend
except you.

On Teaching: "Stars and Planets in the Classroom"

I was thinking today about a strange but helpful analogy concerning teaching. I was thinking that any given class of mine could be compared to the universe itself. Like the planets and stars, my students and I are constantly moving in perfect harmony, even though it may not always appear that way. Just as the stars may seem to be scattered in chaos across the sky, so my classroom may seem to a visitor to be abuzz with confusion. However, a trained observer would see nothing but harmonious patterns in the distant night sky, just as someone who understands how teaching and learning works might (I hope) sense the underlying harmony in my class. Another interesting part of the analogy is this: Each star and planet shines and moves in a different way, and each of us in my classroom contributes something different to the class. Some students are bright shining suns, giving light to others, while some are small planets that glow in others' light, do a good job of following their orbits, and contribute their own special beauty to the class. And the roles can change: One day I might be the sun in the galaxy of my classes, whereas another day I might be in the distant background, a tiny twinkling star on the outskirts of the discussion. What I like best about the analogy, though, is that the individual stars and planets don't control what happens in the universe, and neither do my students and I actually control what happens in the classroom. Yes, of course we control the learning in a way, but in the larger sense, in the bigger picture, the learning controls us. The vast, mysterious force of intelligence is always smoothly working out its patterns in my classroom, and my students and I are simply moving to its wonderful music. We may seem to be in control of our education, but actually a power much, much larger and smarter than us is guiding everything. This is a comforting thought. It means that, while I still have to plan my lessons carefully and my students still have to work hard to be good learners, the truth is that we are like the stars and planets. No matter what happens in class, it will be for the best. We'll still go spinning and traveling along just the way the universe wants us to.

Journal: 12/14/05

I’m afraid I lived a rather unexamined life yesterday. It was a good day – lots of rewarding things happened and I recall being very happy most of the day – but it was also a day of rather mindless, aimless living. I wasn’t really alert to the beautiful things unfolding each moment. I wasn’t aware, and therefore most of the thousands of miracles that happened slipped right past me unnoticed. In my teaching, for instance, I’m afraid I was a bit of a robot. I’m sure, if a supervisor had been in my classes, I might have received a decent grade for my teaching, but I would grade myself at the ‘C’ level because of my lack of awareness. I taught from instinct and memory, not from awareness. My ideas came to me quickly and I don’t think I examined more than a few of them. My actions in the classroom were similar to popcorn popping helter-skelter in a pan. I don’t mean to suggest that I hadn’t carefully planned my classes, because I had. It’s just that, once the classes started, I was off and running like a jackrabbit, bouncing here, there, and everywhere. In a sense, I didn’t guide my thoughts; they guided me. Today I hope to have a different experience. Today I want to step back a bit from my teaching and quietly examine what’s happening as I teach. I want to be an involved, active teacher, as usual, but I also want to be an observer. I want to teach with vigor, but at the same time I want to calmly and carefully watch as the miracles unfold in my classes.

Poem: "New Earth"

NEW EARTH

It was a new earth.
He knew it.
The night was walking away
and all things had become new.
The air outside
wore a new shirt
as it passed by his window,
and the street,
he was sure,
was proud of its pavement
this morning.
All the cars
were set to start
as if they were the latest inventions,
and a mighty heart
was beating in each chest
in each house.
Even the moon,
he knew,
was folding up
a silver blanket
it had just made
and taking it along
as it disappeared
in a morning sky
no one had ever seen before.

Journal: 12/13/05

Christmas was in the air yesterday. I noticed it as I drove to school in the early morning darkness. All sorts of cheery holiday lights were shining along the streets – lights on trees in yards, lights in windows of houses and stores, even lights along fences and along the roofs of houses. The day was still dark, but these strings of lights certainly put a glow on the morning as I drove along. When I arrived at school, the light in the eastern sky was increasing, but it was still dark enough to enjoy the Christmas lights in my classroom, so I quickly turned them on and went back outside to appreciate their merry glow. (See picture, above.) Perhaps, I thought, kids coming to school with sleepy faces would be roused somewhat by the look of my lights. After school, I graded some papers and then drove to some friends’ house for dinner. Again, I noticed the holiday lights along the way, and as my friends and I shared a wonderful meal, I often watched the spirited flames of the candles on the table swaying this way and that.

On Teaching: "Playing Roles in the Classroom"

I’ve never realized it before, but when I’m teaching, I’m almost constantly engaged in “defining” myself. What I mean is, I’m picturing myself as a certain type of person in a certain type of role – a person with a specific outline or form. I see myself as a “teacher” or “adult” or “disciplinarian” or “friend”. These roles, these definitions of me, shift constantly as I’m teaching, but they always seem to be there. This is all well and good, as long as I am aware that they are only definitions, only roles I’m playing, and not the real me. The problem arises when I unconsciously become identified with these roles and begin to believe I am the roles – and it happens often, almost constantly. If I’m honest, I have to admit that my days in the classroom are spent, for the most part, in the unconscious acting-out of my various roles, with very little thought given to who is the real power behind the roles. What I would like to do today, and every day, is be always aware of what’s really happening in any situation – and what’s really happening is the infinite universe going about its wonderful business. In a very real sense, the power behind all the roles I play in the classroom is the entire universe (some people call this “God”), of which I am a part. What I should be doing in my classroom, instead of getting all caught up with my limiting definitions as teacher, adult, disciplinarian, or friend, is quietly observing the infinite, indefinable wonders that occur moment by moment in the interactions between my students and me. Yes, I have to play roles in my work as a teacher, but I want to always remember that they are like the waves on the surface of the ocean. The roles I play as a teacher are interesting, but the real power – a vast, illimitable power, a power that makes everything work, a power that I am part of – is underneath.

Journal: 12/12/05

Yesterday was a quiet, restful Sunday for me. (I love Sundays!) I started the day at school in my cozy classroom, getting things in order for the coming week. As usual, it was a time of great serenity for me. Classical guitar music was playing softly, good ideas for teaching were arising fairly effortlessly, and outside, the layer of snow seemed to reflect in through my big windows in a bright way. (See photo, left.) Later, I watched two wonderful football games. The Patriots humbled the Bills, 35-7, in a frigid, snowy game, and then the Cowboys and Chiefs battled each other until the Cowboys finally triumphed in the final second. Ah, the pleasures of Sunday afternoon with football, a good book, and a window for watching the wintry weather outside! Later, I took what has become my almost daily walk in the park. The silvery pond was especially shiny in the late afternoon light, and there was a wonderful crispness in the air. I walked briskly along, feeling fortunate to be exactly where I was at precisely that time. Life is definitely good.

On Teaching: "Ego-less Teaching"

One of my most important goals as a teacher is to remove the ego from my teaching. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the presence of the ego – the voice inside me that tells me I’m a separate, isolated, powerful entity – causes serious damage to my work in the classroom. It sets me over here and the students over there. It turns teaching into a subtle war when it should be a graceful dance. I don’t mean to suggest that my students and I are constantly engaged in conflict. No, if you visited my room you would see a fairly peaceful atmosphere, one where the learning appears to be happening in a harmonious manner. Compared to other classrooms, mine probably holds its own as a productive and serene place. However, if you could look into my thoughts, you wouldn’t see quite as much serenity. You would see a mindset of “me” against “them”— the teacher leading and the students following, me pushing and the kids being pushed. You would see my ego, a relatively large one, proudly calling out directions as my students perform in various ways. Most obvious of all, you would see that I am proud of my work, as though it is me, the ego, that is causing the learning to happen. You would see that I’m happy the kids are learning, true, but I am even happier that I can enjoy the credit. This is a sorry state of affairs, one that I am determined to change. Teaching and learning is an infinitely mysterious enterprise, one that no isolated ego can hope to understand or have any effect on. No truly great teaching can happen until the teacher removes his pompous but puny ego from the work, and allows the learning to proceed in its grandest and most influential manner. My ego has grown large over my 64 years, but I’m determined to beat it down so that genuine teaching can do its vast and harmonious work.

Journal: 12/11/05

Yesterday I drove up to have an early breakfast with Jessy, Jaimie, and Noah. The roads were silvery and icy at 6:00 am, so the drive was somewhat stressful. I decided to take the interstate, figuring it would be freer of snow and ice, but even there I passed across slick patches now and then, causing the car to shiver and slide a little. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to enjoy the scenery like I usually do on the drive, because I was so focused on keeping my little Kia on the road instead of off in a snowy ditch. Nonetheless, I arrived safely at the little stone house in the forest and we all had a cheery morning by the fire. Jaimie fixed me a stack of delicious blueberry pancakes, and he and I had a brief time to chat as I ate. Then I played with my favorite playmate, young Noah Converse Salsich. In front of the glowing fire and in the wintry light from the big windows, we went from trains to books and back to trains, laughing and talking the way grandfathers and two-year-olds are supposed to. The drive back home was much easier, the roads being thawed and splashy and my heart filled with the warmth I got from my friends in the stone house.

Journal: 12/10/05

It turns out we did have a “snow day” yesterday. Shortly after I finished writing yesterday’s journal entry (at about 6:00 am), the snow started falling in earnest, and in a few minutes I received a call that school was canceled. I sighed in appreciation, poured another cup of coffee, and began making plans for a wonderful holiday. By the soft light of my desk lamp, I sipped my coffee and looked out the window at the snow swirling and descending fairly heavily. It did turn out to be a marvelous day. All day my son Matt and I (his school was closed too) enjoyed that ancient feeling of doing nothing important, nothing that desperately had to be done. He worked on his iPod, downloading songs and then listening with a smile, and I read, wrote holiday letters to my students, and ran some errands. In the late afternoon, I took a brisk walk in the park. The shoveled paths were still too icy, but I discovered that I could get fine exercise trudging up and down one of the snow-covered hills. It was an afternoon of brilliant winter beauty. I did most of my walking near an enormous bare oak tree, from where I could see, in the west, the smooth layers of light from the setting sun, and, in the east, a rising half moon. I could have stayed for hours, except that I was frozen after about 30 minutes, so I walked back home along the snowy dark streets.

Journal: 12/09/05

This week has been one of on again - off again snowstorms. There have been several warnings of imminent storms, and my students and I have waited impatiently for the snow to start (and for school to be canceled). I’m certain we’ve glanced outside more often during class, looking aside from our Tale of Two Cities or Macbeth to see how gray the sky was and whether the first flakes were starting to flutter down. I think we all felt that a sizeable, school-canceling storm was preparing itself just beyond the horizon, and that soon we would all be lounging at home as the snow descended in blankets. However, it really never happened. On Tuesday morning, we had an inch or two, but nothing was canceled, and we all slouched into school for a full day of classes. I brought some extra treats to cheer up my students, and I’m sure the hot chocolate I regularly serve helped to soothe the disappointed kids, but the day was a fairly somber one. That’s what sometimes happens when expectations are raised. We thought sure we would be capering in the snow all day, and instead our heads were poised over books for hour after hour. Now this morning, it’s happening again. A storm has been forecast, and I awoke this morning expecting to see a sheet of snow in the parking lot outside. Instead, I saw pavement, cars with bare tops, and a sky that obviously had no snow in it. Another disappointment. What extra treats can I bring today? How delicious and consoling can I make the hot chocolate?

On Teaching: "Largeness of Mind"

One of my goals as a teacher is to help my students realize how large their minds are. It’s a big job, because I’m sure they all feel, as probably most of us do, that their minds are the opposite of large – not just small, but tiny. They probably picture their minds as wee blobs inside their skulls – miniature factories that struggle all day to push out answers to questions and solutions to problems. They probably feel utterly insecure as they attempt to keep their little brain-workshops manufacturing ideas during class. It’s a shame, because I believe they are missing a wonderful truth about their minds, and all minds. They think their minds are small, but the truth is their minds are actually part of a mind that has no end. They think their thoughts come from a miniscule lump of flesh inside their skulls, when in reality they come from the vast universe itself. One way I can help them to understand this mysterious fact is by repeatedly asking them, “Where did that thought come from?” When they give a brilliant answer, which they often do, I can subtly cajole them into inquiring whether such a marvelous idea could have come from a tiny chunk of flesh inside their heads. Perhaps in this way, I can slowly help them to glimpse the grandness of the thinking process and the vastness of the phenomenon called intelligence. Perhaps I can lead them to the beginning realization that their thoughts (about 50,000 each day!) come from a larger place than they have ever imagined, and that they dwell in, and are a part of, that place.

MEDITATION: The Paradise of the Present Moment

I woke up this morning with a wonderful thought: Today I will be living in a paradise – the paradise of the present moment. As I continued to think about it, I became more and more amazed to realize that today I will dwell always in the present – will be, in effect, a prisoner of the present. For the entire day, I will not be able to escape from the moment that is happening right now. The great and spectacular present will always be bursting up and shining all around me. And of course, why would I want to escape from the present? After all, since it’s the only moment that could possibly be occurring right now, that means it’s the perfect moment for right now – and perfection is something we find only in paradise. So, if I am going to be living in paradise all day today, why would I want to escape from it?? I guess I should congratulate myself this morning, or pat myself on the back, or throw a quiet party for myself. Why? Because I am one of the really lucky people on earth. Today, on this frigid December 6th, I will be living in a paradise as beautiful as any place on earth. I’ll just be in my modest classroom, Room 2 at Pine Point School, but I’ll be relaxing in the present moment like I’m on a spectacular beach.

ON TEACHING: Waiting for the Flowers to Bloom

“Waiting” is an activity (or non-activity) that a good teacher must willingly take part in on a daily, sometimes hourly basis – and it can actually be a very rewarding activity. We usually think of waiting as a burden and a pain, something we do because we can’t yet do what we really want to do. We say things like, “Can you believe that I had to wait that long?”, or, with a frown, “I guess I’ll just have to be patient and wait.” Indeed, for some people, waiting is one of the worst possible punishments, an activity appropriate for a place like hell. However, this morning I’m thinking of waiting in a different way, as an activity that, for a good teacher, could be beneficial and rewarding. The teacher and his students are like a gardener and his flowers. Surely the gardener understands the rewards and joys of patient waiting. The days and weeks pass, and the gardener often does little more than quietly pass the time. He knows that great forces are at work underground as the seed and its surroundings silently work their miracles. His most important act, in some ways, is to wait. And so it is for the good teacher. Like the gardener, he knows that incredible forces way beyond his control are at work in this miracle called “education”, and that he must humbly accept these forces and allow them to work. In this sense, waiting has a lot to do with humility. The teacher understands that what happens in his classroom is not about him. It’s about the students and knowledge and wisdom and epiphanies, and often the best thing the good teacher can do is stand out of the way and wait. Flowers bloom in their own good time, and so do students.

Journal: 12/05/05

Yesterday I had a beautiful but sometimes scary drive up through the countryside to see Jess, Jaimie, and Noah. I left my apartment around 6:00 am in a light snowfall. I found the scenes lovely as I drove along the dark streets – Christmas lights twinkling on trees as snowflakes fluttered down around them, streetlights glowing and revealing the whitened landscape, car lights coming along in the wintry darkness. I found myself thinking that this could be one of the most beautiful drives I’ve ever taken. Soon, however, I began to realize that the drive was also going to be just a bit scary. The snow was heavier than I had realized, and before long I found myself tightening my grip on the wheel as I drove along the freezing streets. Often I could see a string of cars ahead of me, slowly making their way through the storm. It was all worth it, however, when I arrived at my destination, the little house in the woods of Brooklyn, CT. Noah greeted me with his shy smile and a hug, and soon we were comfortably playing with his fire truck and wooden train. We even went outside and frolicked around for a bit. Noah’s cheeks turned a soft red as we enjoyed ourselves in the softly falling snow. This, I thought, was much more fun than driving on perilous snowy roads.

Journal: 12/02/05

I am fortunate enough to have two lovely homes – my comfortable apartment and my perfectly lovely classroom. I actually do feel like I’m “coming home” every time I enter my classroom in the morning. With its bouquet of flowers on the cabinet, its pot of bubbling water for hot chocolate or tea, and its six light-filled windows, it’s a cheery, hospitable place. Within a few minutes of entering the classroom in the morning, I feel like I’m home again. I hope my students feel the same.

ON TEACHING: Forty-three Miracles

I must remember today – and help my students remember – that there will be forty-three simultaneous miracles occurring each moment in my classroom. Even as I typed that sentence, I marveled at the fact that the kids and I are generally oblivious to these miracles. Each of is a ceaseless wonder, and yet we generally pass the minutes of my class in ignorance of this, as though what’s happening in those minutes is tiresome instead of astonishing. We’re in the presence of many Grand Canyons, and yet we act (at least sometimes) like we’re not especially interested. Somehow, I have to let my students know, and remind myself, that life is an endless spectacle. As we sit in my classroom today, each of us will be an ever-renewing fountain of ideas – ideas that seem to come from nowhere and are as wide and ever-lasting as the sky. Each of us will be transformed every moment – totally and beautifully re-made with a brand new idea. I mentioned the Grand Canyon, and it is an apt analogy. If my students and I were visiting the actual Grand Canyon today, we would be excited from start to finish, and yet...there will be splendor enough in my classroom on Barnes Road to surpass a dozen Grand Canyons. There will be the endless birth of ideas. There will be wisdom as astonishing as the Rocky Mountains. There will be forty-three oceans of thoughts as vast as the Pacific. Hopefully my students and I will keep our eyes wide open in amazement.

Journal: December 1, 2005

Yesterday, two wonderful realizations came to me. I realized, first of all, that my 9th grade students can think and write extremely well. I discovered this (actually I’ve known it for months, so I guess I re-discovered it) because I had them write an in-class essay on a very difficult topic, and they did a marvelous job on it. They wrote busily and thoughtfully for 30 minutes, and, as I read their fluid, orderly essays later, I realized that these kids write way better than I could when I was their age – way better than most high school students I’ve ever heard of. I also realized (or re-realized) that a heavy rainstorm during a busy school day can be a soothing experience. For most of the day the rain drummed down on the grass and bushes outside my classroom, and it was a quiet music for my students and I to listen to. As we went through the paces of our English work, we were accompanied by the pleasant harmonies of the late-autumn storm outside.