The bracing spring-like weather has continued for several days now, making me think we may have left winter behind for good. Morning is still frosty, but by noon the day has usually softened into a sunny and warm one, perfect for finding any excuse to be outside. Yesterday I was shopping in Mystic and saw a young woman with what looked like a bathing suit on, casually strolling along in the bright but 50 degree-ish air. People are streaming down to the park these days, just lolling around on the grass to soak up the first rays of the season. I walked down after school the other day and sat on the bench in the sun for a while. I had planned to do some reading, but it was actually too chilly to stay for long. I kept the book folded and just took in the sunlit scenes for a few minutes – families out for some fun, teenagers sashaying around, and the early ducks drifting on the water now free, finally, from the winter’s ice.

Today I made a small but helpful discovery – that in the future I need to buy “loose” rather than “relaxed” jeans. Several weeks ago I purchased a pair of “relaxed” jeans, but as the days passed they just didn’t seemed to fit well. They were too tight, too confining, too uncomfortable. Today I stopped in to the same store and tried on a pair of “loose” jeans, and instantly saw the mistake I had made. The new jeans were spacious and comfortable, so much so that I wondered why I hadn’t been buying them for years. They seemed like an ideal fit. As I drove home with my new pants, I realized that I’m now more of a loose than a relaxed guy.

Teachers often talk about the importance of setting clear goals for each lesson, but lately I've been thinking also about how crucial it is that I have a clear starting point for each lesson. It's fine to know what qualities I'm trying to develop in my students in a lesson, but it's also necessary to understand what I'm starting with -- i.e, what qualities the students already have. I need to have a clear appreciation for what my students are right now if I hope to turn them into something different by the end of the lesson. This means, most importantly, that before I begin a lesson I need to remind myself that my students already have one unbelievably wonderful quality: they are infinitely powerful. I'm not referring here to physical power, but rather to power that's not easily defined and measured -- mental, emotional, and spiritual power. There are literally no limits to what my students can think and feel. They are travelers in their own unlimited and immeasurable universe of thoughts and emotions, and they have the power to create an endless number of ideas and sensations. This is who my students actually are as they walk into my classroom, and as I begin my lesson. This is my starting point: a group of young people with miraculously infinite powers. If I keep this in mind, I have a good chance of reaching the goals for each lesson. If, at the start of every class, I establish firmly in mind how fantastically gifted all of my students already are, I may be able to provide them with another small gift or two by the end of the lesson.

This year I'm trying to learn to be a more accommodating teacher.
I'm trying, for example, to provide for my students in a more suitable
manner. A person might accommodate a friend with a loan of money, and, in a similar way, I hope to be better able to provide my students with everything they need to become proficient students of English. They require many reading and writing tools, and I hope I can oblige them in a thorough manner. I hope also to, in a sense, make better room for my students. When people come to visit our homes, we try to accommodate everyone, and I want to make my students feel that there's "room" for everyone in my class, including every opinion, every interpretation of literature, and every style of writing. Rather than feeling "crowded", hemmed in by picky rules and limits, I want the students to feel that there's enough room in my courses for them to stretch their minds and reach out with their feelings. When they come to my door each day, I want to say, "Welcome. Please come in. I can accommodate everyone."

In some mysterious manner, the spinning of the universe brought me a perfectly wonderful day yesterday. Everything seemed to happen just as it should and must. My classes proceeded smoothly from start to finish, I attended a meeting in which nothing surprising or disquieting happened, and after school I sat in the park in the flawless 70˚ sunshine. It felt as if the entire day had been soundly constructed and carefully wrapped just for me.

Today I had a much better day in the classroom than yesterday, mostly because I was more steadfast. I was firmer and more unwavering in purpose. I had specific and orderly lesson plans and followed them unshakably from start to finish. I always prepare a lesson plan, of course, but for these I had taken a few extra minutes to raise the level of my resolve, and it brought results. I went through the lessons like a sea captain who has charted the course and knows precisely where he’s going. This doesn’t mean I was stubbornly plowing my way through the lessons. In fact, I felt like the lessons were actually teaching themselves, like my firmness of purpose was doing the work and I was merely following along. I felt very little “ego” in my teaching, which is always, for me, a good sign. It was as if I was standing “outside” the teaching and just quietly observing. I was neither anxious nor fastidious, because I somehow knew that everything that was happening was exactly what should be happening. Since it was steadfast teaching, it was also serene and certain teaching.

A beautifully reassuring thought came back to me this morning – that the supposedly separate and individual person called “I” doesn’t have to do anything today, because there is, in truth, only one creator who will be doing every bit of the creating all day long. I’m grateful for this inspiring thought, because I woke up this morning with the not-so-inspiring thought that I had to immediately start working hard to make this a successful day. As I brushed my teeth and got dressed, I worried about how I was going to make myself a good teacher, and how I was going to accomplish all that needed accomplishing. For about fifteen minutes, it was me, me, me, and I, I, I. That’s why I feel so thankful for the thought that came to me before long – that there is only one creator in the universe, and it’s not me. All day today, the one creator (which I sometimes call “The Universe” or “Presence”, but which many people call “God”) will be creating ideas that will be the causes of every effect. It’s like the Universe is a freely flowing fountain, of which “I” and everything else are freely flowing parts. I thought of the fountain in the park near my house: Do the molecules of water in the fountain have to “do” anything to make the fountain beautiful? Don’t they simply flow? In a sense, don’t they just “relax” and allow the fountain to be the creator and do the work? And can’t I, too, just relax and allow the fountain of today, the endless, ever-present power called The Universe, to bubble up in its eternal and fascinating way?

I’m not satisfied with the way my teaching went today. As occasionally happens, I fell into some moments of foolishness during the classes, which never fails to disappoint me. I said some things that I can only categorize as “silly”. The comments were not necessary, were not beneficial in any way, and simply didn’t need to be said. They were the kind of off-the-cuff remarks we make when we’re with friends in an informal situation, but surely not the kind I should be making when I’m trying to do the serious and taxing work of teaching. The comments weren’t hurtful, just ludicrous – a quality I definitely don’t need in my teaching. Young people need teachers who are leaders rather than comedians, thoughtful guides rather than impulsive clowns. I’ve always thought prudence is a vital quality in good teaching, and today I wasn’t prudent. I wasn’t careful about my conduct. I wasn’t circumspect – didn’t “stop, look, and listen” before I spoke. Most kids have a terrible time developing a sense of prudence in their lives, and it is my job, as one of their teachers, to model that virtue in my own life. Today I was reckless rather than prudent. Without thinking, I made some inane remarks that did nothing but get us momentarily off the track of our lesson. Tomorrow’s another day, thank goodness. Tomorrow, the green light will be off for me. I will keep the blinking caution light on throughout my classes.

I saw some beautiful sights yesterday on my excursion to New York. On the train ride down, there were silver coves in the morning light; flat stretches of golden marsh grass growing what seemed like five feet high or more; little homes right on the water, as if the houses themselves loved being as close to the ocean as possible; and, best of all, countless people going about their work and play on a Sunday morning. In Brooklyn, I saw Cat and Paul’s lovely, very lived-in apartment, loaded with well-read books from floor to ceiling; their two handsome, broad-shouldered, affable boys; Annie and her spacious, cozy home; and block after block of busy Brooklyn. On the trip home, I was fairly tired, but I managed to hold my eyes open to see a smoldering sunset over Manhattan; countless colorful lights as the Connecticut countryside passed us in the darkness; and innumerable people heading somewhere special on the train.

I went back and read some Emerson this morning, mostly because of an experience I had yesterday – a perfect example of what he called “the law of compensation.” He wrote that “every sweet has its sour [and] every evil its good”, and I came into direct contact with that truth through a situation with my car. It was a financial blow on the one hand, but a special gift on the other hand. I had to give a ton of money to the mechanic at a local car dealer, but in return I received a sizeable load of inspiration. It started when I took my car in for what I thought was a routine bit of maintenance but learned fairly quickly that the bill would be far higher than I had thought. For a while I fretted and fumed about the predicament, but before long I settled into a quieter state of thoughtfulness, looking, as I usually try to, for something good hidden in this mess – something sweet in the midst of the sourness. I first began to think about the mechanic who was working on my car. I thought about how this perhaps would give him a wonderful opportunity to prove his worthiness as a Kia master artisan. Maybe he’ll have a marvelous day as he carefully inspects and repairs my car. Perhaps he’ll rush home to his wife and take her out to dinner as a way of celebrating his successful day with my malfunctioning car. My situation was somewhat sour (considering the bill I had to pay for the repairs), but this mechanic, perchance, found some sweetness in it. I also thought, later, about some good people I met because of my car’s problems. The man at the repair shop desk was as gracious as a person can be, as were the people at the car rental place. Also, when I walked into a store near the repair shop, a sour and seedy-looking young man suddenly smiled and held the door open for me. If my car hadn’t experienced its expensive problems, I never would have had the opportunity to experience this man’s simple goodness.

Ah, Emerson again, like going back to fresh water after a time in the desert. Here's a wonderful quote from "The Over-Soul":

"Man is a stream whose source is hidden. Our being is descending into us from we know not whence. The most exact calculator has no prescience that somewhat incalculable may not balk the very next moment. I am constrained every moment to acknowledge a higher origin for events than the will I call mine.

"As with events, so is it with thoughts. When I watch that flowing river, which, out of regions I see not, pours for a season its streams into me, I see that I am a pensioner; not a cause, but a surprised spectator of this ethereal water; that I desire and look up, and put myself in the attitude of reception, but from some alien energy the visions come.

"The Supreme Critic on the errors of the past and the present, and the only prophet of that which must be, is that great nature in which we rest, as the earth lies in the soft arms of the atmosphere; that Unity, that Over-soul, within which every man's particular being is contained and made one with all other; that common heart, of which all sincere conversation is the worship, to which all right action is submission; that overpowering reality which confutes our tricks and talents, and constrains every one to pass for what he is, and to speak from his character, and not from his tongue, and which evermore tends to pass into our thought and hand, and become wisdom, and virtue, and power, and beauty. We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related; the eternal ONE. And this deep power in which we exist, and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one. We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are the shining parts, is the soul. Only by the vision of that Wisdom can the horoscope of the ages be read, and by falling back on our better thoughts, by yielding to the spirit of prophecy which is innate in every man, we can know what it saith. Every man's words, who speaks from that life, must sound vain to those who do not dwell in the same thought on their own part. I dare not speak for it. My words do not carry its august sense; they fall short and cold. Only itself can inspire whom it will, and behold! their speech shall be lyrical, and sweet, and universal as the rising of the wind. Yet I desire, even by profane words, if I may not use sacred, to indicate the heaven of this deity, and to report what hints I have collected of the transcendent simplicity and energy of the Highest Law."

JUMPING IN ENGLISH CLASS

Probing in the American Heritage dictionary, I found some intriguing definitions for the word “jump”, many of which made me think about my work as a teacher.

One definition is “to move involuntarily, as in surprise: jumped when the phone rang.” It occurs to me that surprise should be (and probably is) a regular part of my English classes, mostly because my students, being teenagers and often being fairly sleepy, need to occasionally be jolted out of their reveries. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to cause them to “jump” now and then by making a shocking statement or taking a sudden sharp turn in the lesson. Of course, reading aloud a startling sentence or line of poetry could also be an effective way to get the students jumping, in this sense of the word.

Another definition is “to move quickly; hustle: Jump when I give you an order.” My classes are not military boot camps, but they are, and should be, orderly, efficient, and rather intense training grounds for future English scholars. There’s no time for dilly-dallying in my classes. As a teacher, I have a responsibility to prepare my students to be accomplished readers and writers, and for this to happen, the students must follow my leadership instantly and precisely. They need to do a lot of this kind of jumping, from the first moment of class to the last.

If they do follow my guidance in this way, they may see wonderful rewards in their paths, and, to use another definition of the word “jump”, they may “take prompt advantage; respond quickly: jump at a bargain.” It’s every teacher’s dream that his students will realize the many benefits to be derived from his class and quickly take advantage of them. He visualizes his students, like shoppers at a fantastic sale, going wild with all the “bargains” in knowledge offered in his class. “You’ll love Mr. Salsich’s class”, he imagines them saying. “He has all kinds of wonderful ideas available, at very reasonable prices!”

By many people’s standards, I have done nothing exciting during my two-week vacation. I’ve taken no trips, visited no museums, seen no movies, gone to no parties. Most people, I suspect, would feel sorry for me for having had such a "dull" spring break. “Poor Ham,” they might say. “What a dreary holiday for him!” What’s odd about this is that, actually, I have had a thoroughly inspiring two weeks. True, I have taken no trips by car or plane or train, but I have traveled through the pages of two enthralling books (George Eliot’s Middlemarch and Milton’s Paradise Lost). And no, I have not visited any museums or movies, but I have spent valuable time visiting my own thoughts and feelings, just wandering around inside myself to see the miracles happening in my mind and heart. It’s true that I have attended no parties during this vacation, but, if parties are defined as celebrations, then I attended countless “parties” during this holiday time as I gratefully celebrated the myriad gifts I’ve been given. I celebrated my good health, my ability to see and hear, the fact that each day is pristinely new, and the fact that my heart keeps beating at a stable, balanced pace. Some people might pity me for my “boring” vacation, but they would do well to save their sympathy for more deserving people. By my standards, I’ve had a perfectly stirring and blissful vacation.

Here is a lovely passage from Paradise Lost, Book 9, lines 421-465, in which Satan's innate evil temporarily disappears in the presence of Eve's beauty and goodness. (From this passage, it's easy to see the great influence Milton had on Keats.)

He sought them both, but wish'd his hap might find
EVE separate, he wish'd, but not with hope
Of what so seldom chanc'd, when to his wish,
Beyond his hope, EVE separate he spies,
Veild in a Cloud of Fragrance, where she stood,
Half spi'd, so thick the Roses bushing round
About her glowd, oft stooping to support
Each Flour of slender stalk, whose head though gay
Carnation, Purple, Azure, or spect with Gold,
Hung drooping unsustaind, them she upstaies
Gently with Mirtle band, mindless the while,
Her self, though fairest unsupported Flour,
From her best prop so farr, and storn so nigh.
Neererhe drew, and many a walk travers'd
Of stateliest Covert, Cedar, Pine, or Palme,
Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen
Among thick-wov'n Arborets and Flours
Imborderd on each Bank, the hand of EVE:
Spot more delicious then those Gardens feign'd
Or of reviv'd ADONIS, or renownd
ALCINOUS, host of old LAERTES Son,
Or that, not Mystic, where the Sapient King
Held dalliance with his faire EGYPTIAN Spouse.
Much hee the Place admir'd, the Person more.
As one who long in populous City pent,
Where Houses thick and Sewers annoy the Aire,
Forth issuing on a Summers Morn, to breathe
Among the pleasant Villages and Farmes
Adjoynd, from each thing met conceaves delight,
The smell of Grain, or tedded Grass, or Kine,
Or Dairie, each rural sight, each rural sound;
If chance with Nymphlike step fair Virgin pass,
What pleasing seemd, for her now pleases more,
She most, and in her look summs all Delight.
Such Pleasure took the Serpent to behold
This Flourie Plat, the sweet recess of EVE
Thus earlie, thus alone; her Heav'nly forme
Angelic, but more soft, and Feminine,
Her graceful Innocence, her every Aire
Of gesture or lest action overawd
His Malice, and with rapine sweet bereav'd
His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought:
That space the Evil one abstracted stood
From his own evil, and for the time remaind
Stupidly good, of enmitie disarm'd,
Of guile, of hate, of envie, of revenge;

During these last few days I’ve been doing a considerable amount of careful listening, and enjoying it immensely. For instance, I’ve spent some time each day listening to a fine actress reading George Eliot’s Middlemarch. I settle myself in a comfortable chair, turn on my iPod, and follow along in the book as she tells me the story. What I especially love is the way she delicately alters her voice to fit each of the many characters, making the experience more like attending a play than reading a book. I also find that her voice somehow draws me in to the story more than I might if I were just silently reading the words to myself. Another pleasant listening experience I’ve been having is listening to a superb actor read Milton’s Paradise Lost. This is a poem I have loved for many years, but I’ve never experienced the drama of the story the way I am this week. As I listen to his voice and imagine that it is Milton himself who is speaking the words, I am pulled into the excitement of the great epic. However, the most unusual listening experience I’ve been enjoying lately is old-time radio programs. I found an internet site that has thousands of old shows, and it has been a thrill to put my feet up and go back down the years with these classic programs. Strangely, I find these spoken shows to be far more enchanting than television programs. I can’t literally “see” what’s happening in the story, but with my ears and my imagination I can see in a different and more compellingl way.

HIS BASEBALL CARDS

He collected baseball cards

like they were shining silver dollars.

He carried them carefully

in his front pockets.

He felt wealthy with his cards --

his Musial, his mint-condition Mays,

and especially his Slaughter,

a card that kids would kill for.

He liked to sit

beneath the flourishing sweetgum tree

and talk to his cards:

Say hey, Willie.

Pound one over the pavilion, Stan.

Enos, show me how

to hustle from first to home

on just a single.

Those days he strode down Lockwood

like a prosperous person.

A MOMENT AT HIS DESK

The pens are resting

precisely where they should be.

The green lamp’s light

is as good as it can be,

and the stain of coffee on the paper

is picture perfect.

His hands, so flawlessly folded

in his lap, are wrinkled

in a wonderful way.

Alone in his small

impeccable apartment,

he is just right

as a sixty-five year old man

with textbook baldness

and the great gift

of growing old.

Today I saw, perhaps for the first time all winter, the beautiful look of the country landscape when its covered with snow. I drove up to see Jaimie, Jess, and Noah this morning, and it was a pleasure to pass through the white, snow-filled valleys and pastures. The snow wasn’t that deep, but it was enough to make a lovely winter picture. I especially enjoyed the look of the spare shadows of trees across the roads, a look that shadows have only in winter.

We had a very nice visit. Jess was not feeling well, so she did not accompany us to the Vanilla Bean for breakfast. It was just the three guys sitting at the wooden table in the restaurant, talking quietly and marveling at the tasty food. Noah was served an enormous plate of pancakes topped with sliced apples, which Jaimie and I graciously offered to help him with.

AT MELODY RANCH

“Newspaper Songs”

He lived at Melody Ranch,

so songs were a special part

of his life. He whistled them

as he rode his horse

through cedars and aspens,

and his horse listened

and stepped in a musical way.

Anything could make melodies

at Melody Ranch – even the sound

of stones under his feet

as he followed the path

to the pleasant-sounding stream,

where he sometimes sat

with a weeks-old newspaper

and listened for the songs

the old words sang.

Last night I entertained Matt and his wife, Stacey. It was a simple affair, just a home-cooked meal, a few candles glowing in the apartment, and some honest conversation. We first sat in my comfortable chairs and enjoyed some crackers and cheese, and then moved to the table for an unpretentious casserole of orzo and mushrooms accompanied by a light salad. It was a modest evening that brought more than a little joy to my heart.

* * * * *
I awoke this morning to the soft tapping of raindrops on the windowpane. The forecast calls for floods. I believe I’ll be indoors most of today, settled beneath a glowing lamp with some good books.

WISDOM

Every so often
Wisdom speaks his name.
Sometimes he hears it outside.
He walks to the window and listens,
and often follows
the flowing sound of the voice.
He sets out with Wisdom,
striding with confidence and poise
past problems of all kinds.
People sometimes stare.
He’s just a small, bald man,
but with Wisdom
he steps across mountains
and swims in vast seas.

EASY

One day he noticed
how many actions were easy.
For instance, he could effortlessly
take a single tissue
from the box in his bathroom.
It was also simple
to slip on his shoes,
raise a piece of toast to his lips,
and wash warm water
over his breakfast dishes.
Later, as he stacked cans
on the shelves at the store,
he noticed that the cans
sat with ease
wherever he placed them,
that customers were pushing
the silver carts in a painless way,
and that sunshine
was smoothly spreading the street
with its light.

ADVICE

She sometimes sought the counsel
of the early stars
as evening was finding its place
above the houses. She stood
in the silence of the park
and listened for the guidance
of the silver lights that stepped out
one by one above her.
Sometimes her sorrow streamed
through her body like a lightless river,
but still she listened.
Occasionally someone would pass
on the walkway, or a wind
would wander near
on its way somewhere,
but still she focused
on her shining friends in the sky
and listened for advice.
Sometimes she sat for hours
as the stars spoke
of their immeasurable years
of peace and stillness
just over her head.

During my spring break, I’ve been listening to old time radio shows over the internet, and they’ve happily taken me back down the years to my boyhood in the less worrying times of the 40’s and 50’s. As I listen to “The Challenge of the Yukon”, starring Sergeant Preston and his loyal huskie, King, I’m carried back to Holly Drive and the pleasant house where we stretched out on the floor each night to listen to our favorite shows. Hearing again the kindly voice of Mr. Keen, tracer of lost persons, brings back genial memories of times when things seemed less taxing – days when an unsophisticated fifteen minute radio show left you ready for a another eight hours of easy sleep.

* * * * *

The days have been balmy lately – a taste of May at the end of the winter season. Yesterday in the park, people were lolling about in shirtsleeves -- pushing babies, tossing balls, and generally enjoying the gentle weather. There was something exceptionally pleasant about sitting in the sunshine on a bench and reading Paradise Lost while people lingered along on the walkways with their friends and families. I felt like I was in a small, pre-spring paradise as I read.

For the last two days, the weather has been as soft as you would hope for the last few days before the start of spring. There’s been a flowing feeling in the air, as if the breezes of springtime are starting to move around us. Everything outside seems delicate and gentle, the way things should be at the start of a tender season like spring.

Yesterday, as I was walking across a store parking lot with several bags of food in my arms, a car stopped for me and the driver smiled and waved for me to proceed. As I drove away in my car, the man’s considerate gesture led me to think about how many similar gestures were being performed at that very moment ­all across the town, across the state, across the country, and around the world. I realized that on every street on earth, at that moment some people were treating each other with respect. In each of the millions of buildings, someone was doing a kind deed for someone else. In meadows, pastures, barns, and valleys, small gestures of human kindness were happening, right at that moment.

Then I asked myself a question: Why does this amazing phenomenon never make the headlines?

I now have the happy and rare prospect of fourteen days of paid vacation – fourteen days during which I have no obligations, no pressures, no imperative burdens to carry around. I can let life unfold in its own sweet way and time. The hours will arrive like ships loaded with prized goods just for me, and I don’t even have to do the unloading. For the next two weeks, I can serenely sit on the dock of life and see what shows up. In the first sentence, I used the word “rare” because, in the big picture of the human race, such a vacation is extremely rare. The great majority of my fellow humans don’t ever get a vacation, not even for one one day or one hour. I don’t imagine the people in Darfur ever get a chance to put their feet up and peacefully follow the flight of a bird. Nor do I think the billions of hungry people across the globe ever find themselves with a free day in which to sit back and see what joys the world brings them. Most people on earth, by far, spend all their waking hours in nonstop labor, looking to simply survive the next few hours. A vacation like I’m enjoying would be an astonishing miracle to them. They would believe the gates of paradise had suddenly opened. I write this not so I will feel guilty about having fourteen days of freedom, but simply so I can keep in mind the simple truth of the way things are. While I’m lolling about in the park, the people in Darfur will be bending under disheartening burdens. When I’m reading George Eliot by soft lamplight, poor people the world over will be wondering why their lives are so dark day after day after day.

Journal from a School Trip to the UK: Feb. 28 - March 9

2007 International Studies Program Trip
Pine Point School

Day 1 and 2,
Wednesday-Thursday, Feb. 28-March 1
We fourteen students and four teachers enjoyed (or endured) a seemingly interminable first day and night of Pine Point's annual trip abroad. We left school around 1:00 pm, departed JFK at 6:45, landed in London at 1:00 am (Connecticut time), and kept the kids on the go for another sixteen hours, until nearly 11:00 pm (6:00 Connecticut time). This means we were awake (except for maybe two hours of sleep) for 36 consecutive hours. It was, in some ways, a dreadful time for me. I felt completely fatigued around 10:00 am London time, and then I had to keep pushing ahead for another thirteen hours. There were times when I thought I was living inside a nightmare. However, these 36 hours were also filled with excitement. We took a wild and entertaining trip on the Thames in a duck boat, a rattling old craft that seemed ready to capsize at any moment. We enjoyed two fine meals, did a considerable amount of sightseeing, and ended up at the Tower of London, at 9:30 on a damp evening, to watch the famous "ceremony of the keys". As tired as we were, it was still spellbinding to stand in the misty courtyard of the old Tower and watch the warders perform the same ceremony that has been performed each night for over 700 years. We shivered in the cold, but we also eagerly took in the grand atmosphere of this long-standing tradition.


Day 3
Friday, March 2
Today we moved from our somewhat cheerless hotel (the St. Athans) to a good Youth Hostel near Stratford-upon-Avon. On the way, we stopped for a visit at Warwick Castle, a grim structure representing over one thousand years of English history. We all enjoyed rambling through the enormous rooms, laughing and talking with friends, and learning many facts about medieval and renaissance life. I was still fairly tired from our first days on the road, so I sat for a while on a bench in the sunshine and took in the atmosphere of the place.
I suppose the student who most enjoyed this day was Rebekah, for this, I think, was the first real castle she had ever visited, and she was simply enchanted by the place. She had a smile on her face from the first moment she entered the gates, and I'm sure she was sad when we said we had to leave. She bought some precious souvenirs, which I noticed her clutching affectionately as she walked to our mini-bus. From the castle, we drove to our hostel, which was a well-kept, airy place in the midst of fields and meadows. We settled into our rooms, enjoyed a bit of a rest, held a productive English class, and ended the night with a not-especially-tasty fast food meal in the nearby village. By 11:00 pm, all Pine Pointers were fast asleep in their rooms out in the English countryside.


Day 4
Saturday, March 3
Today we hopped in the minibuses (cheerfully operated by Simon and his good friend Tarquin Wiggins) and drove up to a town called Ironbridge on the Severn River. Here we toured a restored industrial village of the early 19th century. We listened to old-time music in a Victorian pub, bought pastry goods at the old-fashioned bakery, and watched pigs and piglets rooting around in their muddy pens. We then strolled along the main street of Ironbridge, taking pictures of the bridge (the world's first cast-iron bridge, 1789) and listening to me read a few poems by the English poet A. E. Housman, who grew up in this famous Shropshire country. Back at the hostel, we enjoyed a hearty dinner in the dining room, held another English class, and retired fairly early and quietly.


Day 5
Sunday, March 5
Today we had a leisurely breakfast, broke camp at the hostel (we were all sorry to go), and headed for the Cadbury Chocolate factory a few miles away. Since it was not a school day, I didn't feel guilty about spending a good part of the day touring a place that specializes in making candy. I'm not sure we could call it an "academic" trip, but it certainly was a cheerful trip. We saw people stirring huge vats of chocolate, artists making chocolate shapes before our eyes, and life-size plastic figures moving around in a make-believe world of chocolate -- and most of us bought lots of chocolate. What impressed me most about the factory was the emphasis the company placed on worker happiness. Right from the start, way back in the 1820's, the Cadbury family has considered the welfare of their employees to be of prime importance. As I listened to the lecturer describe the company's commitment to the care of their workers, I thought about my late father, who felt exactly the same way about the people he employed in his small playground equipment business. After Cadbury World, we drove into Stratford-upon-Avon to pay our respects to the greatest of all English writers. We took a tour of Anne Hathaway's small cottage, and stopped for just a few moments at the birthplace of the Bard himself. I walked down the street in the rain and stood in quiet meditation for a few minutes in front of Shakespeare's first home. My students, understanding my need to do this, politely and patiently waited in the minibuses.



Day 6
Monday, March 5
We awoke around 7:30 at our new hotel in London, the Belgrove, and, after a quick breakfast, headed off under Holly's direction to the Tate Modern Gallery. For many, the center of attraction there were the enormous slides spiraling down through the five-story main hall. Screaming and laughing while lying on their backs, the kids corkscrewed down from both the third and fifth floors and landed with a thud on the ground floor where I was waiting. There was a spirit of excitement while they were sliding, but I got the feeling, afterwards, that many of them were a bit disappointed. The slides were, after all, little more than amusement park entertainments.
The students were not disappointed, however, by the art works they saw in the galleries upstairs. I toured with a small group and listened to their informative presentations about the artists they had studied, after which we spent a good amount of time on our own, studying any works that caught our attention. For many of us, I think, the art was strangely freeing. These artists created their imaginative and innovative works right from the heart, and looking at them perhaps helped us all to free up our own hearts. For myself, I sensed a looser, more serene feeling inside me when I walked out of the museum with the kids.
In the evening, my brother Joe met our group at Westminister Abbey, where we were given a private tour by an old friend of Simon's. Once again, I enjoyed the quietness and serenity of that thousand-year-old cathedral. As Joe and I and my colleagues and students walked around, the soft voice of our tour guide was almost drowned out by the intensity of the silence. There was a sense of absolute consecration all around us.



Day 7
Tuesday, March 6
Today, a sojourn in Dickens country, was a special one for me.
Simon and Tarquin drove us first to Greenwich, where we heard a scholarly and fervent lecture by a chronometer enthusiast named Leslie Howard, and then we motored over to the old village of Rochester. This was a town that Dickens knew well. He often walked here from his home at Gad's Hill, and the consensus of scholarly opinion is that some of the key scenes in Great Expectations were set here. We first had lunch at the quaint Dickens Café, then walked through a small museum dedicated to Dickens and his writing. We ended our tour of the village in front of a large red brick mansion called Restoration House, but which the author calls Satis House in Great Expectations. We stood in front of it for a few moments, perhaps recalling scenes from the book, perhaps comparing the house in front of us to the one we imagined as we were reading. After a few minutes, we moved up some steps to a small park where we had a better view of the house, and I read aloud some appropriate passages from the book.
We then drove out a narrow country lane to the small church in the village of Cooling, where a cemetery sits quietly under some shade trees. This is the place Dickens was thinking of when he wrote the first few pages of the novel, and it was a joy to me (and, I think, some of the students) to stand there and read those pages aloud as a quiet wind blew in from the marshes and the river and the distant sea.
We ended the day with a drive to the coastal town of Dover, where we saw a stormy sunset over the famous white cliffs and enjoyed a filling meal at a seaside restaurant.


Day 8
Wednesday, March 7
For me, this was "Shakespeare Day", and a thrilling one, too.
However, before we did Shakespeare, we did art, and that, too, was thrilling for many of us. As Holly led us on a scholarly tour of several rooms in the National Gallery, I was astonished (as I often am in museums) by the beauty of the paintings. To me, the Impressionist paintings (in an exhibit called "From Monet to Picasso") seemed effervescent and totally enriching. I went from one to the other in amazement at the straightforward energy and beauty of the works. I had the opportunity to chat with several students as we walked around, and they, too, were feeling a similar sense of wonder. Upstairs in the Renaissance area, I was again astounded, but in a more muted and subtle way. These old paintings didn't make me want to shout in admiration, but they did impress me with their simple loveliness. I especially admired the soft use of colors like purple and pink, particularly in the flowing clothes of the people.
After lunch, we traveled over to Southark where we enjoyed a private guided tour of Shakespeare's Globe Theater, and then were led through an intense 60-minute acting workshop by one of the Royal Shakespeare Company actors. It was an exhilarating experience for one and all. We teachers took part right beside our students. 14-year-old Marissa and I were partners for one exercise. I had to play the role of a slave (like Caliban) who keeps saying "Yes", and Marissa was the master (Prospero) who had to keep saying "No" -- and she said it in an increasingly commanding manner. I felt quite intimidated by the natural clout of my young student.
In the evening, we saw a wonderful production of The Tempest, in which Patrick Stewart played Prospero. The Pine Point group had excellent seats in the Novello Theater, and I think we all enjoyed the performance. Since we have spent many weeks studying the play (reading and discussing every line and footnote), the students were entirely ready to see how this famous play looks onstage. Many of us were surprised, even shocked, by the directorial touches (Ariel was a wispy, wraithlike man, and the setting was an icepack somewhere in the Arctic), but we all were swept away by the force of Mr. Stewart's performance. In fact, we rushed outside to wait at the stage door to try to secure his autograph. We failed, but we did get to ask the actor who brilliantly played Caliban to pose with some of our kids, and he genially consented. Tomorrow at our morning class we'll surely have a rousing discussion about the production.


Day 9
Thursday, March 8
Today, the final one in the United Kingdom, was a day of gratifying leisure. We accomplished a lot, but always in a carefree and indolent manner. Because the trip was nearing its end, I think we all felt a little wistful on this last day in England, so we teachers made sure that this was a day for pleasure and pure exuberance.
We first walked across the street from our hotel to visit the British Library. We didn’t have any bookish goals in mind, just a short, informal visit to a very significant institution. We simply wanted to give the kids a feeling for this august building that houses so many extraordinary manuscripts. In a “scavenger hunt” activity, Gary had them look for a few important items, which they did with both eagerness and orderliness. Now and then they rushed outside to show their list of objects to Gary, and then went back to continue their quiet search. It seemed like the perfect way to introduce them to the library without also boring them.
We then rode the tube down to Trafalgar Square, where we luxuriated in the warmest sunshine we’d felt all week. There were hundreds of people milling around in the mild air, and our kids mingled among them in their happiness to be outside in weather that was, for a change, not damp and chilly. After enjoying lunch outside among the stone lions and fountains on the square, we went in small groups up to Covent Garden and spent some time being lighthearted shoppers. Gary and I wandered among the stalls and shops until we found a small table just perfect for an afternoon cappuccino.
That evening we capped off our adventure in the UK with a visit to the home office of Reuters, the largest news service in the world, where our tour guide was David Schlesinger, a Pine Point alum. Just by luck, Gary had arranged this last-minute tour, and it turned out to be, for some of us, one of the highlights of the entire trip. David spoke to the students in a knowledgeable yet modest manner, and also politely answered questions and showed us around the offices and newsroom. Afterwards, several of the students told me that this brief visit had renewed their interest in journalism, and one boy even remarked that he was now thinking seriously of becoming a journalist rather than a career Navy man!


Day 10
Friday, March 9
Today our weary band of travelers squeezed our luggage onto a rush-hour train at 9:00 am and traveled to Heathrow for the long flight home. I stuffed myself into a car with three of the girls and we rode silently along until we reached the countryside and the crowd thinned out. After many days in the teeming city, it was comforting to reach the open spaces again. Before long, we were aloft in our British Airways flight across the Atlantic, headed for families and our own familiar beds. The flight was smooth. Most of the kids passed the time watching movies, writing in their journals, or quietly talking. A few of us slept, perhaps dreaming of Shakespeare or chocolate or keys to castles or small church yards beside misty marshes.