Because I often spend far too much time dwelling on the many ideas that seem to be involved in being a good teacher, I tend to lose sight of the vast power of just one idea. Frequently, my teaching becomes too complicated, even for me. In trying to keep track of a multitude of truths about what makes a successful lesson, I often ignore the fact that one good idea thoroughly understood and devotedly followed can transform a mediocre teacher into a champion. I guess you could say I focus too much on the trees and not enough on any one single tree -- too much on all the leaves and not enough on one excellent leaf. For example, if I simply held in mind today that each of my students is a product of a universe that has been creating wonders-to-behold for 15 billion years, and that each of them is as astonishing as the Grand Canyon, I would have a totally successful day of teaching. Amazing things would happen, minute by minute, just by staying focused on the power of that one idea. That idea would be like a bright sun shining at the center of everything that happens in the classroom. I guess I just need to remember the value of simplicity. Teaching does not need to be a convoluted, complicated process, filled with maze-like twists, turns, and barriers. It can be as simple and astonishing as a single good idea.

Yesterday was a very good day in the classroom for me, mostly, I think, because I allowed things to happen as they must. Throughout the day, I felt like I was being carried along by a force infinitely stronger than my own will, and I simply gave my permission and relaxed. I let the minutes unfold on their own, and they unfolded in wonderful ways. Because I gave my consent over and over, the universe created some amazing educational experiences for my students and me.

Today a marvelous thing happened. This morning, for some inexplicable reason, I got to thinking about getting curtains for my kitchen window, and before a few hours had passed, I had purchased some curtains and hung them in the window. I have no idea where this idea came from or why (the same bewilderment I feel about all ideas). For weeks and months, I had never considered putting curtains in that window, and then – poof! – the idea comes today and carries me away. The really wonderful thing about this is how much I love the curtains! They’re the simplest and least expensive curtains anyone could possibly find ($18.00 total), and yet, to me, they seem to have completely transformed my apartment. I spent a good part of this afternoon watching a football game and admiring the unadorned beauty of the curtains. They hang with a quiet grace that brings an added aura of peace to my home. I’m really astonished by the whole experience. How can cheap, off-white, straightforward curtains bring such pure delight? I keep asking that question each time I notice them as the daylight darkens and they shine in the light of my lamps.

Yesterday two happy families from two continents came together to celebrate the marriage of Stacey Castillo and Matt. Mary and Stanley, Stacey’s parents, journeyed from their home in Belize to join our family for a quiet and lovely ceremony at the home of the presiding minister, followed by a commemorative dinner at a local restaurant. Of course there’s always something wonderful about weddings, but this one seemed extra-special in its dignified simplicity. The wedding party was small, the location was a cozy living room, and the words of the ceremony were brief and beautiful. In the soft lamplight of the room, the bride and groom glowed with unadorned radiance. Afterwards, at the restaurant, sixteen of us enjoyed good food and congeniality for over two hours. The two families grew to know each other better, and brothers, sisters, friends, and parents quietly shared their joy. Little Noah, three going on twenty, acted as host for the cheerful gathering, going from person to person, smiling and saying, “I missed you” and “You did a good job.”

In order to give due thanks at this holiday season and also to pay honor to the upcoming marriage of Matt and Stacey, a merry family gathering was held at Jan’s house yesterday. There were good spirits in everyone’s heart – the kind of spirits that bring on hearty hugs and especially lengthy greetings and goodbyes. I’m sure all of us were smiling most of the time, and no doubt very few of us frowned even once from the start of the celebration to the end. It was particularly gratifying to see Stacey’s parents, Mary and Stanley, having such a happy time with our family. Everyone brought a “gift” to the party, whether it was a few good family stories, or some funny, heartfelt sentences (Noah), or sincere friendship (everyone), or just a quiet, gentle presence (Stanley). It was a Christmas celebration many weeks before Christmas. The spirit of giving generously and receiving gratefully was definitely in the air. Just standing in a corner and talking with someone (as I did with Gabe and Bill and others) was a simple and wonderful gift. The best gift for all of us, though, was the bountiful overflowing of cheerfulness. You could shop at the swankiest mall in the state and you wouldn’t find a gift to match it. For zero dollars, we all were able to enjoy the wonderful spirit of merriment that was present yesterday when a jovial family came together in Mystic, CT.

Today I discovered the Science Channel (which I think is – appropriately – part of the Discovery Channel,). I just happened to tune into a wonderful program about space and time, and, in the matter of less than an hour, I believe I learned as much as I would have in a college lecture! The host was well-spoken and obviously erudite, and he took me through some of the headiest theories of physics and astronomy, complete with illustrations. I sat enraptured in front of the TV for a full hour, something I haven’t done in many years. I was thrilled with my new discovery, because I realized how helpful it would be for me. I pictured myself, down through the coming years, attending countless Science Channel “lectures” and making myself into a renaissance man in the process. There is a universe of knowledge awaiting me, and the Science Channel is primed and ready to be one of my teachers.

I feel fairly successful as a teacher these days (which has not always been the case), mostly because I am being a good leader for my students. In a way, my students are as bewildered as they would be if they were lost in a wilderness, and it’s my responsibility to show them where they are and how to move forward. Since the books we read and the essays we write are often as baffling as any backwoods landscape, I have to be at the forefront, bringing them along slowly. I have to be a small light in their darkness. Admittedly, I didn’t always feel this way. Years ago, I thought the teacher’s job was to work beside the students as a colleague, not in front of them as a leader. I’m sure the students then were just as lost as they are now, but instead of guiding them out of their confusion, I joined them in it. I was a pal, not a boss. Now, though, I realize that life is a mysterious and inscrutable phenomenon, and that young people, more than anyone, need an escort to lead them to at least a modicum of clarity and understanding. Reading Charles Dickens or writing a five-paragraph literary analysis essay can be a maze-like experience, and I get paid to steer the students through it. Lately, I think I’ve been a good driver for the bus called “English class”. We’re coming through.

I would like my students of English to be many things, but "agile" might be close to the top of the list. Of course, I'm thinking only of mental agility here -- the ability to think quickly, adroitly, and precisely, whether reading a difficult novel or constructing a complex essay. In a sense, I want my students to perform like mental athletes, able to do any mental trick or exercise or routine with confidence and aplomb. Gymnasts perform in the gym on bars and beams; my students perform in Room 2 with pencils and chapters. To do this, they must, first of all, be able to operate with a fair amount of speed. I don't emphasize this in reading assignments (because I want them to read slowly and thoughtfully), but in writing and other activities, they will be better students if they can complete activities fairly rapidly. To help them with this, I often put them "through their paces" by requiring them to write an essay in class on a surprise topic in a limited period of time. Of course, if they want to be agile in their English work, my students must also be supple -- able to efficiently adapt to new and strange challenges. This is why I often present them with a somewhat baffling topic for a writing assignment -- a topic that will challenge them to adjust, alter, bend, or re-fashion their thinking. Like athletes, they must be ready to cope with anything the opponent (English class) throws at them. They must be agile enough to perform successfully, come what may.

I drove up to hang out with Luke, Kaylee, Josh, Jaimie, Jess, and Noah yesterday, and we had a happy time together. As I usually do, I brought an egg and cheese sandwich for Noah’s breakfast, for which he was extremely thankful. I also brought sandwiches for Jaimie, Jess, and me, and we all savored our meal at the kitchen table as the morning light arrived outside. Noah took his sandwich apart with great care and ate it with delight, one small nibble at a time. Around nine, Luke arrived with Kaylee and Josh, and we all had a joyful few hours together. Josh entertained us with his cheerful spirit – giggling, cooing, and nearly always smiling. We spent a good part of the time outside in the mild autumn air, surrounded by the now bare and solemn-looking trees. We raced around, played games, or just stood and visited as the pleasant breezes passed by. Later, driving back home, I noticed how lovely the various shades of gray were – in the trees, the barns, the houses, even the mostly empty roads. The extravagant colors of October were gone, but there was something special, too, about these unadorned tints of November. It reminded me of the simple pleasures I had experienced in the morning with my family, and the joy they had brought me.

Today I wore suspenders for the first time in many months, and it helped me recall why I used to wear them regularly. All day long, I never once had to hoist up my pants. Wherever I walked, my pants stayed comfortably above my waist, held there securely by the trusty suspenders. I somehow felt more relaxed, a little freer, as though I had one less thing to be concerned about. This seemingly insignificant experience today helped me remember how much difference small things (like suspenders) can make in life. Just by fastening on the suspenders in the morning, I guaranteed myself a happier and more rewarding day. They’re just strips of elastic, bought for under twenty dollars, but they transformed my day in a noteworthy way. I wonder how many other small, trifling things do that for me, without my ever appreciating them. All around me, from morning to night, little aids and supports come to my rescue and render life more agreeable. Hot tap water, a car that starts, clean socks each morning, lights that switch on whenever I need them, road signs to show me the way, a telephone to call anyone in the world anytime – these are blessings to be noticed and valued way more than I usually do.

When I stop to consider the kind of thinking that goes on in my classroom each day, I sometimes find it a bit overwhelming. It’s astonishing to realize, for instance, that each of the 12 students who are in my classroom at any one time is thinking a brand new thought each moment. It may be a similar thought to one he or she had before, but fundamentally it’s an utterly new-born idea in the present moment. All around my big table fresh insights are constantly bubbling up. If I do the numbers, the situation becomes even more amazing. I have 40 students overall, each of whom is in my room experiencing new inspirations for about 3,000 seconds per day, which means that roughly 120,000 mint-condition thoughts are produced in my room each day. Multiply that out by the 180 school days and you get approximately 21,000,000 – the number of fresh insights generated in Room 2 each year. The best analogy I can think of for this is a fountain, one that never ceases and -- even more fascinating -- has no apparent source. For if I attempt to discover the origin of all these thoughts in my classroom, I only come up with more thoughts. There seems to be no “bottom” to this mental fountain, no starting place from whence these flashes of perception ceaselessly arise. Hard as it is to comprehend, each day in my room there is an infinite springing-up of thoughts, an endless gushing and surging of ideas. It’s an astounding phenomenon, one that I am blessed to be a part of.

We’ve had a string of rainy days over the past two weeks – days of dampness that just doesn’t seem to want to go away. I don’t remember the sun shining too often recently, hidden as it almost always is behind a blanket of showery clouds. Lately it seems to be always dusk, from dawn to nightfall. There’s a soggy pall over everything, making the golden days of summer seem long gone. Occasionally the rain has been frightfully heavy, hours at a time of slanting, pounding downpours. Just today I looked out the windows of the gymnasium, where we were holding a school meeting, and I could see lines of gray rain hammering down on the school buildings. Indeed, I’ve gotten soaked more than once recently, just dashing from one building to another. Driving home tonight, I heard the weather forecaster announce more heavy rain in the days to come, including some possible flooding. I guess I’ll have to give in and get used to it. After all, I have a dry, warm apartment, and a trustworthy raincoat hangs in the closet. What's more, a good book is an even better one on a rainy day.

The word "hence", though small and seemingly insignificant, holds a great deal of meaning for me as a teacher. One of its meanings listed in the dictionary is for this reason, as in "This is English class; hence you are going to learn to use the English language properly and effectively." The little word has great power in that sentence, for it helps to state the goals of my work in a direct and unmistakable manner. Because I am an English teacher, I plan to teach English -- period. Another definition is therefore, as in "You are spending nine months in my English class; hence, you will forever after know how to read a book intelligently and write an essay confidently." That may sound like braggadocio, but that is, in fact, what I hope will happen to my students as a result of being with me for a year. I expect nothing short of the best -- that my students will leave my class knowing precisely how to use their language to learn and communicate. Finally, the word "hence" can mean from this source, as in "He was a student of Mr. Salsich's for two years, hence his interest in thoroughly understanding what he reads and carefully crafting what he writes." Again, this may sound somewhat smug, but why shouldn't I aim high? I definitely hope to produce people who are earnest about their reading and writing. Because of being in my class, I hope my students are transformed into learners who treasure and respect words, whether they're found in books or in their own writings.

I spent about ten minutes in the K-1 classroom at my school this morning and picked up the following tips about good teaching:
1) Timers can be useful. Nicky was leading a session that required the children to find words contained inside the word "thanksgiving", and I noticed that she used a timer. As I watched, it seemed clear that using the timer put a little extra pressure on the kids, which apparently was exactly what Nicky wanted. The students seemed especially focused and alert, some of which might have been the result of feeling the pressure of the ticking timer. (I'm heading out to shop for a timer later this afternoon.)
2) Students can be assistant teachers. As Nicky taught the lesson, a boy was standing beside her with a long pointer which he used to call on students. She would ask a question and the lad would thrust out his pointer at one student or another. He was obviously proud of his important duty.
3) Small white boards can be a helpful tool. While the children responded to Nicky, she wrote down their responses on a small white board in her lap -- just quickly, in words and phrases. Every so often she turned the board and showed the kids all their responses and praised them for their good work. It was obviously a wonderful way to take notes on a discussion and then reflect on what was said. (After I get the timer this afternoon, I'll look for a small white board.)
4) In crowd control, formulas work. At one point, when the children grew overly talkative, Nicky calmly said, "Five, four, three, two, one, zip those lips", and all lips were instantly zipped.
5) "Triple checks" also work. Toward the end of the session, the kids grew a bit restive, and the boy who was the assistant teacher called out, "Triple check!" and all the children together said, "Are you facing the speaker? Are you on your bottoms? Are your lips closed?" -- and instantly they were silent and ready to finish the lesson.
6) In the K-1, boys tie girls' shoelaces. As the students were leaving for PE, young Brian kneeled to carefully tie Emily's shoelaces. Everyone else was hurrying out, but he quietly proceeded with his gallant task, while the grateful Emily folded her arms and beamed.

Lately I’ve been doing something in class that I’ve rarely done in the past – allowing time for students to work silently on a task under my guidance. Yesterday I gave them time in class to begin writing a long, difficult essay while I walked around examining their work and offering comments, and it was a fruitful period. It gave the students an opportunity to get immediate feedback on their efforts, and it gave me an occasion to observe their work habits. It seemed like a perfectly natural way for me to teach and the students to learn. As I made my way from student to student, I wondered why I hadn’t been doing this kind of teaching for years.

* * * * * * * * * *
I had a wonderful college class last night, partly because I felt more like a student than a teacher. I had carefully read the assigned book (Fahrenheit 451) over the weekend and, like an industrious student, couldn’t wait to get to class to show off my notes and my understanding of the novel. I loved the book and was eager to share my enthusiasm. It’s one of the finest feelings a student can have – the feeling of being thoroughly prepared for class and being fervently ready to get on with it – and I was lucky enough to have it last night. I probably drove 65 rather than my usual, plodding 60 in order to get to class quickly and display the results of my hard work.

I spent a wonderful weekend grading student essays. Even as I write that, I realize that combining the word “wonderful” with “grading essays” seems a little implausible – but it’s nonetheless true. I had as much fun sitting at my desk in my apartment reading essay after essay as another person might have had walking a beautiful golf course, touring a museum, or spending a weekend at a resort. If you had stopped in to see me, you would probably have caught me smiling or laughing. I guess it just demonstrates the axiom that one person’s tedium is another person’s thrill. I would hate to spend a weekend taking apart a car engine, and yet some men get a rush just thinking about it. I’m sure relatively few people would start tingling with enthusiasm if you told them they had to spend Saturday and Sunday grading essays, but that’s the way I felt on Friday as I looked ahead to the weekend. I loved those two days. After all, I had the pleasure – the honor – of reading the sentences of 40 adolescents who think deeply and feel strongly. I felt like I was inside the life of the students while I read their essays – as though their intense and baffling worlds opened up to me in their carefully constructed paragraphs. The life of a human being is a mystifying wonder, and I was privileged to enter into several dozen of those lives this weekend. How could playing a round of golf compare to that?

More and more, I realize that a sense of proportion is an important ingredient in good teaching. In all of my work, whether planning before class or teaching during class, I must try to establish an agreeable or harmonious relation of parts within a whole. My plans must flow together nicely, and my students, when they are in my classroom, must get a feeling of balance or symmetry– a sense of a pleasing interaction of elements. During class, and even when they are doing my assignments at home, they should have the feeling that they are part of something harmonious and agreeable. What’s interesting about all this is that my students and I are actually surrounded and permeated by harmony. Every cell in our bodies works in harmony with every other one, and, at the other end of the scale, the farthest stars in space circle through the universe in an utterly well-balanced manner. Every breath my students and I take is a part of the musical workings of the infinite universe. I guess what this means is that I simply have to be aware of the grand synchronization of the universe whenever I’m planning or teaching a lesson. I don’t have to create harmony in my classroom; rather, I just have to be fully conscious of, and responsive to, the concord that’s already present. If I can consistently do that, each of my classes will be as harmonious as the cadenced pumping of hearts or the graceful intertwining of stars and planets.

The weather turned balmy again this week. Yesterday, in fact, you would have thought spring had somehow managed to return, what with temperatures in the 60’s and pleasant sunshine everywhere. After school, I came home and read for awhile with the window wide open so the mild air could wander in.

* * * * * * * * * * *
This morning it occurred to me how silly it is to think of the world as a material place filled with harmful “things” – silly because the thought actually contradicts itself. The very fact that I’m thinking that the world is made up of material things proves that the world is much moire mental (spiritual) than material. Every attempt to prove that matter exists and has power always ends up back at a thought. Thought seems to be everywhere and all-powerful, which is why some people (myself included) consider it another name for God.

* * * * * * * * * *
Despite all my worrying about my effectiveness as a teacher, the fact is that every moment in my classroom is utterly perfect – not necessarily the way I want it to be, but perfect nonetheless. Of course, this is not surprising, because every moment everywhere is perfect – just as it should be, precisely as it must be. If I could stop fretting and trying to control each moment, my eyes would perhaps be opened to “the big picture”, and I might be able to see the total flawlessness of each moment I spend with my students. The planets spin perfectly, all waves reach the shore perfectly, and things in Room 2 happen perfectly. My task is simply to enjoy it all.

In my classroom`, there is a great show of strength each day. We usually think of that phrase in terms of physical power, as in “the police put on a show of strength”, but it really applies to any circumstance, including my room at school. Several times each day a group of students comes into my classroom, bringing with them an infinite set of powers, and these powers are constantly at work during the class. It’s as if hurricane winds are sweeping through the room, or as if volcanoes are continually erupting while I’m teaching the lesson. I don’t mean to suggest that my students are unruly during class. No, they’re usually fairly quiet and composed as they sit at the round table. A visitor, in fact, might think there was very little strength being shown among the students, and that’s because the strength my students bring with them to class is the invisible strength of the entire Universe of which they are a part. The Universe has been developing its powers for 15 billion years, and my students share in, and exhibit, those forces. When they think, it’s the Universe that does the thinking. When they speak, it’s the voice of the vast Cosmos that we hear. Even the smallest girl sitting quietly beside me on the circle puts on an immense show of strength each day in my classroom. Each of her thoughts is part of a wind that’s endlessly blowing, and each word is the fire that is everywhere and never goes out.

Yesterday I felt a little more like a trainer than a teacher, but I didn’t mind the feeling at all. I gave the students a model paragraph that employed several special writing techniques, and I asked them to write their own paragraph in exact imitation of the model. I went over the model carefully, pointing out and explaining the various techniques I wanted them to focus on. Then I set them to work in the silent classroom while I went from student to student, observing and commenting. As the minutes passed and the students carefully labored on their assignments, I began to feel more like an instructor in a vocational-technical school than an English teacher – and it was actually a good feeling. I had shown the students how to do something, then I had asked them to do the exact same thing, and now they were doing it, and doing it fairly successfully. Something specific was being accomplished in my classroom. The students were performing an explicit, measurable task, and they seemed to be enjoying the process. I think they had the definite feeling of learning something. What’s interesting for me to realize is that my students often do not have that feeling. If someone asked my students, as they left my room on a given day, what exactly they had learned, I’m afraid they would often not be too clear about that. They could talk in generalities, but I’m not sure they could say specifically what particular skill they had learned. (In that sense, I guess I have to admit that there’s a considerable amount of vagueness in my teaching – a serious failing, in my view.) Yesterday the students did know precisely what they were learning, and that makes me feel successful as a teacher (though perhaps I was more of a trainer).

Yesterday, I realized, once again and with great clarity, that the reason life is so astonishing to me is that it’s utterly without limitations. I didn’t always believe this. For most of my life, I was held captive by the belief that limitations were everywhere – that life, in fact, was completely controlled by limitations. For me (as for most people, I guess), life was a material phenomenon, and matter implied things and separations and borders and limits. Like most of us, I felt hemmed in, trapped, surrounded, and threatened. Later, however, I was able to gain a totally different view of reality, and what makes it so astounding is its boundlessness. I now see reality as made of thoughts instead of things, of mind instead of matter. I understand that all reality, all power, starts with ideas – and the beautiful truth about ideas is that they have no boundaries. You can’t say exactly where one idea ends and another begins, nor can you ever come to the “end” of an idea. Ideas, the engines that power life, are infinite, immeasurable, and endless. The implications of this are thrilling. If there are no limitations, then there are no separations, which means all people, animals, mountains, flowers, stars, and suns are a single, harmonious reality. We may seem to be separate and different and independent and unattached, but in truth we are one sweet and musical performance. Life is not a fight to be won or lost, but a dance to be performed and enjoyed – and this is always an amazing truth to realize.

I’m filled with gratitude when I look back at yesterday – and who wouldn’t be, when recalling a day filled with the beauties of nature and the joys of family life. In the early morning, I drove up to Brooklyn, CT, to see Jaimie, Jess, and Noah, and it was as pretty a drive as ever. I was full of appreciation as I passed frosty, solemn-looking fields and looked ahead to hazy hills in the distance. At that time of day, I felt like I was privileged to be almost entirely alone with the stately scenery. I felt even more fortunate, though, when I was surrounded by my family up at Luke and Krissy’s house in Millbury, MA. Jaimie, Noah, and I drove up there after breakfast with Jessie, and we enjoyed a wonderful morning of family fun. I felt like Thanksgiving Day had arrived several weeks early as I watched the happiness unfold. The best part, I think, was when we played outside in the sunny, leaf-strewn yard. We raked the red leaves of the Japanese maple into a big pile, and then Jaimie, Kaylee, and Noah had great fun leaping into the pile and tossing leaves here and there. I think I laughed continually for a full fifteen minutes. I felt brimful of thankfulness as I watched the simple, joyful scene.

It was a day of great friendship. As soon as I walked out to the athletic fields around 9:30 yesterday, I could sense the spirit of camaraderie everywhere. Kids and adults were smiling, laughing, hugging, shaking hands, or just good-naturedly talking. The players, too, seemed to be reveling in the general feeling of comradeship as they raced up and down the fields. The thought occurred to me that even severely depressed people might not be able to resist the general mood of goodwill I sensed yesterday. I pictured sad people gradually starting to smile as their somberness disappeared in the midst of all this amity. They might even hug someone, which could be better for them then their best medical therapy. On an occasion of genuine solidarity, like yesterday’s sports tournament at my school, even gloominess might be vanquished, at least for a few hours.

Yesterday I made a good decision – a decision based on a desire to be a more resolute and unswerving teacher. After reading a complicated novel out loud to the students for the first few Fridays of the year, I had grown discouraged with the book and was close to abandoning the practice, but yesterday I decided to persist – and I’m glad I did. I read the book (Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw) out loud to the 9th grade for a full 25 minutes (while they followed the text with their own copies), and it turned out to be a wonderful experience. Whenever I glanced up from my reading, I could see that the kids were fairly riveted on the words on the page. The story. while written in an unusually elaborate and sometimes tortuous manner, can actually be spellbinding, and the students were obviously feeling some of that magic yesterday. I’m glad I was able to get past my pessimism about the book and be a more unwavering teacher than I have sometimes been in the past.
*************************
Even if we didn’t have a calendar, it would be easy to see, in the last few days, that the season has shifted from colorful October to straightforward November. Yes, there are a few last golden leaves clinging to tree limbs, but for the most part the landscape has been swept clean of the vivid fall colors. The extravagant beauty of October has been transformed into the refined and urbane elegance of late autumn. October was a gaudy dancer, and now we have the prudent and plain business executive called November.

I’ve noticed myself slipping into an old habit of saying things impulsively and unwisely during class – just blurting out the first thought that pops into my mind. Some people might reassure me by saying it’s natural and creative to teach that way, but I disagree. Above everything else, a teacher must exercise good judgment, common sense, and even caution in conducting the practical affairs of his classroom. There’s no room for rashness and impulsivity. The outside world is often an impetuous and reckless place, and for that very reason I need to establish the opposite atmosphere in my room. I must set an example of wise self-restraint for my students. If I expect my students to always use the utmost circumspection, then I must do the same. It’s a simple matter of thinking before speaking.

***************************
The weather seemed capricious yesterday, rather like a whimsical young lady who was doing exactly as she pleased. In the morning the air was almost balmy, and soon enough a tropical rainstorm descended on us. For an hour or so, the rain pounded down upon our little school. By noon, however, the sun was shining, the temperature was dropping, and we were bundling ourselves up as we rushed from building to building. Lady Weather had decided to become aloof and frosty, and all we could do was adjust to her latest mood.

Yesterday’s weather turned unbelievably mild. You would have thought April had arrived instead of November, what with the balmy temperature and the gentle air currents that carried a touch of spring as they passed in through the windows of my classroom. It would have been easy to believe that the leafless trees were getting set to bud and blossom instead of hunkering down for the assault of winter. It was day to walk on the beach instead of rake leaves.
************************************
I feel like I’m falling behind in my curriculum, but I’m determined to not panic. I’m going to stay calm, stay focused, and stay the course. If I do each class activity with care and consideration, I will take my students as far as we can possibly go this year. If noteworthy learning happens during each class period, what more can I ask?
******************************
I realized this morning, once again, the great truth that the present moment contains all the power in the universe – all the power there ever has been and ever will be. Power is always right here, right now, and it’s always mental. Anything – anything – that is good or bad is good or bad because a thought right now makes it so. Hurricanes and tsunamis are definitely powerful, but if I want to see truly infinite and unlimited power, all I have to do is focus on the omnipotent present moment.