On Teaching: FLEXIBILITY

Because I managed to cover very little of my planned lesson in one of the 9th grade sections today, I grew discouraged for a while. “Yo, Salsich!” I shouted to myself. “How about sticking to your lesson plan! Even a beginning teacher can do that!” I beat myself up for an hour or so after school, thinking that my curriculum was irreparably damaged and that I was a perfectly awful teacher. Fortunately, however, I soon came around to thinking about the wonderful value, and power, of flexibility. The word “flexible” means, according to one dictionary, “capable of being bent repeatedly without injury or damage.” Think of a slim, supple tree limb. Countless storms blow past it in its long life, yet it stays as strong as ever, and always produces its lovely blossoms in the spring. In the wildest storms, the tall pine trees on the sides of mountains simply sway back and forth and patiently await the return of calmness and sunshine. In fact, don’t our arms and legs actually grow stronger when they are “flexed” – when they are “bent repeatedly” in various kinds of exercise? Not only do they not suffer “injury or damage”, but because of their limberness, they actually prosper when faced (as in a gym) with stress and resistance. When I ride my bike, pedaling faster and climbing steeper hills only makes my flexible legs become stronger. The more I thought about this, the clearer it became that my 9th grade class today, the one in which I “failed” to complete my lesson, might have actually been a gift to me. My thorough and detailed lesson plan ran into resistance, similar to the strong winds a tree limb faces, but I didn’t allow myself to suffer “injury or damage”. I remained flexible. I simply swayed with the distractions and interruptions, and soon enough we got back to our usual calm working mode and accomplished a few important things. Later, looking back on it, I realized that I was just as strong a teacher as I was that morning, and the students were just as brilliant, and my curriculum was as focused and well-planned as ever. The “winds” of today’s distractions and interruptions had had no ill effects, and, in fact, may have made me a wiser and better teacher. Like the flexible tree limb, I’m still here, still strong, still ready to blossom in my classroom tomorrow.

On Teaching: LEARNING BY DANCING

In need of a spark for my teaching, I visited Jeannie's 7th grade Dance class yesterday and saw cooperation, caring, enthusiasm, intelligence, support, confidence, determination, courage, idealism, and gentleness. I think I went to the right place.
It would take pages to describe all that I learned about good teaching and learning in my visit, but let me give a few highlights:
* The kids were smiling or laughing during the entire class. It reminded me of a quote I have above my desk: "The shortest distance between two people is laughter." It also reminded me of something one of my earliest mentors encouraged me to remember -- that learning is a whole lot easier when the students are happy.
* Of course, this being Dance class, the students were almost constantly moving, which recalled to mind something John Dewey said -- that kids under 13 find it almost impossible to learn anything without moving their bodies.
* Jeannie seemed utterly relaxed and patient. From my perspective, chaos seemed to be reigning around her as two groups prepared their dances in separate rooms (she skipping from one to the other), but I guess to Jeannie it seemed as natural and beautiful as the swirling of breezes in the forest. I'm not yet sure what I mean by this, but she seems to teach her classes the way nature runs the universe.
* One girl came racing to the door and shouted, breathlessly, "Mrs. Williams, come and see our dance!" I've had some successes as a teacher, but no student has ever breathlessly shouted, "Mr. Salsich, come and read my essay!"
* Her Dance students spent much of the time improvising -- suggesting ideas, making changes, asking others' opinions, reformulating plans. This was intelligence and democracy at work. It occurred to me that Congress could learn some lessons from these children
* I keep a quote in my plan book that says "No two children are alike".
Jeannie seems to have memorized that great truth. In her class, some kids were active, some quieter; some were always agreeable, others were resistant. There was obviously a part to play for each emotion and for each of her unique students.

Instead of getting a spark for my teaching, perhaps I should say I felt many fresh breezes as I watched Jeannie conduct her class in the most natural of manners. Watching her and her students was rather like being in a forest and watching nature be its free and beautiful self.
My thanks to a magnificent teacher.

Journal: 9/28/05

This morning, as I was rather unsuccessfully stumbling into the new day, I received a valuable gift at the drive-through window of a coffee shop. Wearing a sleepy and sullen face, I pulled up to the speaker and gave my order. Surprisingly, the voice that spoke to me was cheerful and vibrant. As though she was doing exactly what she loved best, she pleasantly repeated my order back to me and asked me to "drive on up". At the window, this cheery woman smiled and handed me a roll and a cup of coffee that was steaming like a small bubbling pot of energy. She looked like a thoroughly benevolent and happy person, and just seeing her smile lightened my load of gloominess somewhat. She returned my change with eagerness and precision, and I started on my way again, wondering why this woman who toiled at a humble, low-paying job in a tiny coffee shop seemed to find life so wonderful. As I drove to school, I thought a lot about what had just happened. I had given this woman several dollars, but she had given me something much more precious. Just by seeming to thoroughly love her work and her life, she had reminded me that life, which can sometimes seem somber and ill fated, is basically an ongoing marvel. In effect, she had held up a sign that said, "Be grateful for this amazing life." I may drop off a thank-you note to the coffee shop tomorrow.

Journal: 9/27/05

Yesterday a fresh fall breeze was blowing almost constantly. There was only intermittent sun, but it didn’t matter, because even the clouds that swirled across the sky looked new and windswept. Unfortunately, my teaching wasn’t all that stimulating, but at least the students and I could glance outside occasionally and be cheered by the lively look of the weather.

DISCOVERIES: All Night Streetlights

I'm not sure I ever knew that streetlights in my town (and all towns, I guess) are kept on all night long. This morning I did my daily exercise hiking up and down the hilly street near my house, and, at 5:00 am in the total darkness, the streetlights were shining brightly down. Nice to know -- that while we sleep, the streets are lit up all through the night hours to keep things bright and safe.

Journal: 9/26/05

This weekend was, as usual, fairly relaxing for me. (I’m so lucky in that way. Millions of people struggle all during the week, and then continue to struggle, in different ways, on Saturday and Sunday. For them, life must seem to be a thing of constant and unfulfilling toil. For me, at this point, life is pretty much a dance, or the floating of a laid-back river, or the soaring aloft of a peaceful balloon.) I worked over at school for several hours on both Saturday and Sunday, but, as usual, it was an inspired, refreshing kind of work – the kind that rejuvenates rather than exhausts. I put together what looks like a good set of lessons for next week, and also graded many essays in a careful manner. All the while, the music of Mozart or Haydn was playing in the background, just loud enough to lend an atmosphere of harmony to my work. I also spent some time with good friends at several parties. I didn’t stay long (home by 9:30 both nights), but long enough to appreciate the happiness that comes from knowing good people. The homes where the parties were held were lovely places, which only increased the sense of ease and leisureliness I felt throughout this last weekend of September.

Journal: September 24, 2005

I’ve been exercising in the morning (instead of after school) the last few days -- and enjoying it. On Thursday, I went to the gym at 5:00 am and rode hard on the stationary bike. I felt fairly strong as I was pedaling and was also able to do some helpful meditating during the workout. What was really nice was the drive home along the silent, still-dark streets, then the refreshing shower, and breakfast at school – with outstanding coffee –as I put the last bit of polish on my lessons for the day. On Friday, again at 5:00 am, I trekked up and down the big hill on Granite Street four times carrying a 30-pound backpack. The morning was lovely – a cool breeze blowing, a few stars sprinkled overhead, and silence and peacefulness all around. It was actually a pleasure to lug that big pack up that hill over and over, knowing that I was starting a good day well and that I was rounding my climbing legs into shape for the upcoming adventure in the White Mountains with my 8th grade students. This morning I’m going to ride over to school on my bike, pushing hard up the hill on Broad Street. Coming home, I’ll take the long way around Greenhaven Road, thus getting my necessary exercise while also seeing the beautiful scenery of this part of New England, especially the silver Pawcatuck River as it pushes at its own leisure toward the sea.

Journal: September 23, 2005

Yesterday after school I drove up to visit with Jaimie, Jess, and Noah. It was a lovely day for a drive through the Connecticut countryside. The temperature was warm (I had the car window down to catch the pleasant late-summer feel of the wind), the sky was blue, and all the fields and trees had that silent and satisfied look that I’ve always loved about this time of year. I drove in a relaxed manner, almost as though I wasn’t driving but just cruising along on a sight-seeing tour bus. Up in Brooklyn, I enjoyed a wonderful visit with one of my favorite families. Noah was a bit bashful at the start (perhaps due, Jessie thought, to a less-than-beneficial nap earlier), but he soon loosened up and became his usual merry self. Before long we were happily playing with his wee train set or romping around outside in the summery weather. I especially enjoyed sitting on the couch with him and singing songs from a book he had received for his birthday. He sat beside me in his proud, perfect-posture way and followed the songs as I sang. Occasionally he threw up his arms and let loose with one of his sparkling laughs, which started me laughing, too. They were glorious moments in a glorious afternoon in lovely northeastern Connecticut.

On Teaching: ASSERTIVENESS

I would like to develop more assertiveness in my classroom. Poking around in my dictionary this morning, I found an intriguing definition and history of the word which may help me formulate my approach to encouraging the growth of this quality, both in me and in my students. One definition says that being assertive is simply “stating or expressing positively”, as in “He asserted his innocence”. Certainly I want to encourage this in my classrom – the ability to express who we are in a positive and strong manner. The definition doesn’t imply brashness or aggressiveness: it simply suggests that people like my students and I should be able to confidently show our true selves each moment in the classroom. What I found especially interesting is the history of the word “assertive”. It apparently derives from the Latin word for “join”, suggesting that a person who is assertive – who expresses in a positive way who he or she is – is doing so in order to “join” more completely with the rest of the human family. When my students and I are assertive, we are stating in a forceful manner that we do, indeed, “belong” – in the classroom and everywhere.

On Teaching: KEEPING RECORDS

Yesterday I did a good job of recording some of the important things that happened in class. I kept track of which students made comments, and even what some of them said. I kept my small clipboard handy at my side, and simply wrote check marks and a few words now and then. Then, after class, I arranged some of the records so I could refer to them later. It felt good to be organized and efficient, almost as though I was placing the high points of each class in an orderly “file cabinet” for future reference. Surprisingly, I discovered this morning, in one of my dictionaries, that the word “record” derives from the Latin word for “heart”. When we record something, we, in a sense, place it “in our heart” – put it somewhere for safe keeping because we consider it special and valuable. We want to keep this event fresh in our memories – in our hearts – so we make a record of it. I’m going to remember this today when I’m trying to record the special things that happen in class. It’s all about the heart. It’s about realizing that many of the things that happen in my classroom are unique, special, and extraordinary, and that I need to hold them close to my heart – to record them so they last forever.

Meditation: GENTLENESS

“Thy gentleness hath made me great.” -- Psalm 18:35 Today I want to practice gentleness – to feel the incredible greatness that comes from giving up all resistance to the present moment. Indeed, that’s what gentleness really is – a complete lack of resistance to what’s happening right now. If we resist, struggle against, or try to change the present moment, then we are obviously not being gentle. Gentleness means allowing – relaxing and letting the universe unfold as it must. The word “must” is important here, because it implies, correctly, that the present moment is exactly as it must be, and it would be foolish – insane, even – to try to resist or change it. Being un-gentle and attempting to alter the present would be as crazy as jumping up and trying hard to stay in the air, fighting against the law of gravity. Or, imagine someone trying feverishly to make tomorrow come faster. We would say he was acting crazily, and we should say the same about someone who struggles to change the present moment. The most wonderful aspect about being gentle – giving up all resistance and becoming an “allower” – is that it enables us to partake of the greatness of each moment. For it’s true that the greatness of the universe – every bit of it – resides only in the present, and if we totally accept the present, than we become part of that greatness. Notice that we don’t become great by being gentle; we simply participate in the greatness of the immeasurable universe. By being gentle today, I can experience, and be part of, the greatest power of all.

Journal: September 20, 2005

Yesterday was another slow-moving, airless day. By early afternoon, my students and I were almost entirely immobilized by the sticky heat. When I tried to introduce Shakespeare to the 8th grade, they nearly dozed off in unison, and the 9th grade spent most of the class time wiping perspiration from their faces. Whenever I looked outside, even the trees seemed to be standing perfectly still in a warm, late-summer stupor.

On Teaching: TAKING AIM

I was not a thorough teacher yesterday, not careful to cover my lessons in a slow and deliberate manner, so, when I got home, I did a little dictionary research. After searching through various definitions and synonyms, I came upon the word “punctilious”, a synonym for “thorough”. What’s interesting about the word is that it derives from two Latin words that mean to point and to pierce. As I thought about my classes yesterday, I realized that I wasn’t totally focused. I wasn’t pointing myself directly at each specific task in my lesson, and I surely wasn’t piercing the heart of each task, or the main idea of the lesson, or the minds of my students. It’s disappointing, because this kind of care and attentiveness is not that difficult. It’s no more complicated than an archer pointing an arrow at a target or a surgeon piercing the body of his patient in order to restore the patient’s health. Of course, in a way, these actions are complicated, but not to a trained expert, which is what I’m supposed to be. The archer who has honed his skill over many years finds it fairly easy to focus the arrow directly on the bull’s eye, just as the surgeon has little problem getting right into the heart of the problem and restoring health to the patient. I am a highly trained teacher, and, as such, you would think I could point my attention directly on each part of a lesson until I had completely pierced the minds and hearts of my students with the “point” of the lesson. You would think I could be “painstaking” –-willing to endure a little mental discipline and pain –- in order to complete each step of the lesson in a comprehensive manner. Yesterday I wasn’t, but today is another day. Today I will take more careful and steady aim.

Journal: September 18, 2005

I took a walk up the hill of Granite Street (heading for D’Angelos to pick up dinner) and I realized, shortly after I started, that I had never noticed most of the houses along the way. Strange, that I’ve lived here for two years and have never paid any attention to the houses on the street. In fact, I’ve paid no attention to anything around my house – the trees, the look of the land, the houses. As I climbed the hill, I felt like I was walking in a strange, undiscovered country. I worked over at school this morning, feeling a little guilty about spending a lovely Sunday morning in my classroom. I thought, maybe I should be out doing what other people are doing on this cool, clear morning – walking on the beach, hiking a trail in the woods, having brunch at a seaside restaurant. Most people are probably having great fun this morning, I said to myself. But then it came to me: I, too, am having fun. This is what I love to do, just as other men love to walk a golf course, fish a quiet stream, or take a walk in a forest. I love working in my classroom. It’s the best way I know to spend a beautiful September Sunday morning. After that, I relaxed and thoroughly enjoyed my work.

Journal: 9/18/05

Yesterday, since my car is in the repair shop, I rode my bike over to school to do some work. It was good to be back into that routine, cruising over roads I’m so familiar with, feeling strength in both my legs and my thoughts. I rode hard almost all the way, both to school and back. Once again I enjoyed the silence of the school on a Saturday morning. It was a moist, overcast day outside, but a good-natured breeze blew in through the window and across my desk as I worked. While planning my lessons and reading student essays, I listened to some Haydn quartets, which only strengthened the sense of peacefulness I was feeling.

TS This morning I came across the word “provide” in some reading I was doing, and I began wondering how it might relate to my classroom. SD Searching in a dictionary, I discovered that the word derives from Latin words meaning “to see forward, or ahead”, and that immediately seemed to connect with my work as a teacher. CM My job, after all, is to look ahead into the future of my students and see what skills they will need as readers and writers. CM In one sense, I must always keep an eye on their futures, because my job is to provide them with the good language habits they will need to function comfortably and successfully in the coming years. SD In another sense of the word, both my students and I must be providers in my classroom. CM We must constantly be ready to look ahead and anticipate what other people might need. CM If some lemonade is spilled, we must be ready to provide a towel; if someone seems discouraged, we must be ready to provide support; if someone writes a successful poem, we need to be ready to provide congratulations. SD Of course, it’s true that my students and I should maintain our primary focus on the present moment, on the task at hand, but we also should keep one eye trained on possible upcoming events. CM As the Boy Scouts of America program teaches, we need to "be prepared”. CM In the classroom, we all need each other’s help as various situations arise, and therefore we must be ready to act as providers. CS As our lives as teachers and students move forward, we must be always ready to “see forward”, and provide.

Poem: "Spirit"

It is the spirit of cars that gives them liveliness in the morning. It is the spirit of faucets that sends forth water to bless our hands. It is the spirit of thoughts that makes them land and settle in the branches of our lives. It is the spirit of a book that shakes the branches like a breeze.

Journal: 9/17/05

Yesterday was sultry and steamy, with periods of soaking rain from morning through afternoon. The students and I perspired through my classes. It was a good day of teaching and learning, though, mostly because these kids are kind, sincere, and anxious to show that they are excellent learners. A wonderful thing happened yesterday afternoon. I picked up Matt at his school and we drove to the car repair shop to get his car. While waiting there, my car decided it didn’t want to start anymore. When I turned the key, all I heard was a snapping and whispering sound under the hood. What was wonderful about this was that I just happened to be in the parking lot of a fine and friendly mechanic. He came out with a smile, took a look, made a diagnosis, and said he could fix it tomorrow. I left it with him and drove home with Matt, thankful that the car broke down precisely where it did, rather than sixty miles away. It proved once again something I’ve known for many years – that this world is very good to me.

Today a drenching rainstorm sprang out of the clouds around 2:00 and proceeded to beat down on the school for the next hour or so. It came on very suddenly. One minute the air was silent and motionless, and the next moment it was loudly humming with one of the heaviest rainfalls I’ve ever seen. I don’t think any of us were ready for it; there was a look of shock and surprise on most of the faces I saw. It got me to thinking, as I drove home through a blanket of rain, that no human prepared this rain, or organized it, or set it in motion, or controlled it. We love to believe that we have everything under control, that our days can be planned and orderly affairs if only we stay alert, but here was this storm that unexpectedly pounced upon us, as if to remind us that, in this vast universe, things happen pretty much whenever they must. We little humans don’t, in the end, have much to say about it. I need to remember this truth as I go about my teaching day by day. Yes, it’s important for me to carefully plan my lessons each day, but actually, truth be told, it’s a little like planning a transatlantic route for a small sailboat. It’s good to have the plans in place, but any mariner knows that a thousand variables, sudden storms among them, will be affecting the little boat as it makes its passage. He sets his course, but he also says a prayer to the god of the winds that it will take him eventually to a good place. As a serious teacher, I plan my lessons diligently, but I always keep an eye out for those swift and startling explosions of life that are constantly happening in my students, in me, and in the surprising world around us. I realize that I am, in the end, at the mercy (and mercy is a wonderful virtue) of an infinitely graceful and governing power. I plan my lessons, and then I pray.

Meditation: ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW

“It’s important to look at things from God’s point of view.” -- 1 Corinthians 4:6 There’s a ton of wisdom in this short sentence, and if I paid attention to it, I could have totally serene days, one after another. After all, the only thing that causes turmoil in my life is simply my point of view – how I’m looking at things. If I’m viewing everything from a “personal” point of view, as though I’m a single, separate person locked in an endless struggle with a trillion other separate entities, then my days will indeed be an endless struggle. I will go from obstacle to obstacle, battle to battle -- hour after hour after hour. However, if I pull way back – say all the way out to a distant star – and try to see things as the Universe (or God) sees them, then something very different happens. Then I suddenly relax, because I see that life in all its grandeur and complexity is proceeding ahead without the help of my little, personal, separate self. I see that I don’t ever need to struggle, because the vast universe is unfolding and dancing along precisely the way it must. What I guess this means is that I need to be more of a silent, accepting observer than an involved, controlling participant. I need to do more sitting back and watching and appreciating. The universe I’m part of is an astonishing, miraculous, mind-boggling place, and I should take a front row seat. If a “problem” comes up, it could be one of the best acts in the show.

Journal: 9/15/05

It’s been hot again the last few days. Summer has drifted back to us with its lethargy and lassitude. We're all floating through class as though napping at the beach in July. Everything seems motionless most of the time, as though the seasons have decided to stop progressing ahead because summer wants to stay a while longer. Nonetheless, the kids are trying their best. In my afternoon classes yesterday, they sat up straight and looked as focused as they possibly could, even though some seemed on the verge of passing out from the heat. No one complained, no heads rested on the table, everyone sat up straight and listened as I hummed on about the day’s lesson. I’m a lucky and grateful teacher. They are good kids.

On Teaching: TEACHING AND ROCKET SCIENCE

Whenever I stop to think about it carefully, I realize that the work I do as a teacher is more complicated than the work engineers, mathematicians, and scientists do. Way more complicated. This goes contrary to the typically accepted attitude toward teaching – that it’s a fairly easy profession to get into, that almost anyone can do it, that it’s not “rocket science”, after all. Most people would never put teaching and astrophysics, for example, on the same level of difficulty. The astrophysicist, people would say, must be much smarter than a teacher because he is dealing with a far more intricate and convoluted subject. People, I think, generally picture engineers and mathematicians and engineers with unusually large brains, and teachers with normal-sized, average brains. I find this more and more astonishing as the years pass, because teaching seems more and more multifaceted and enigmatic. What I do each day in the classroom seems like a vast mystery that grows deeper and darker with each year. When I look at students sitting around the table in my room, I often feel like an astronomer staring into the infinite reaches of space. After all, these are human beings I am dealing with, and I am attempting to do nothing less than alter their lives from the inside out. In the entire universe, there is nothing more complex than a human being, and I am entrusted with shaping the minds of forty-three of them. I find that astonishing, frightening, and almost overwhelming to consider. I feel like an astrophysicist trying to understand the most complicated kind of “rocket science”, and finally realizing that it’s way beyond anything I can comprehend. I'm not an engineer, a mathematician, or a scientist. No, I'm smart enough to be a teacher, one of the chosen few, one of the elite, and I couldn't be prouder.

On Teaching: FREE IDEAS

Recently, a student asked me, concerning a classroom activity I had planned, if it was my “own” idea, or had I “found” it somewhere else. I’ve been thinking about her question, and my conclusion is that no, I did not own that idea, and that in fact I don’t own any ideas. I “find” them all. I don’t individually “make” any of the ideas that activate my life, but simply make use of them. It’s almost as if ideas are floating freely in the universe and I gently pull them into my life as they are passing by. Indeed, good thoughts are floating around everywhere, ready for me to utilize. I often find them in things I read, but they also exist in other people’s words, in movies, in television shows, in music, in signs along the road -- in fact, everywhere. The universe is filled with ideas; all I do is come along and borrow them for a while. It’s wonderful to contemplate a world like this – where no one owns ideas because they are all freely shared by everyone. Today in class, I will send out literally hundreds (thousands?) of ideas to my students, and they will do the same to me. We will spend 45 minutes in each class exchanging ideas. At the end of class, we will be entirely different people because we will be temporarily making use of brand new thoughts. Even more wonderful is that fact that we can then share these new thoughts with others, and still make use of them ourselves. It’s as if the world were filled with trillions of dollars and all of it was shared by everyone. Quite a marvelous world to live in – and we do.

Journal: 9/13/05

Yesterday I had a wonderful day of teaching. I worked through my lessons slowly and thoroughly, stopping every so often to give the students the benefit of some silent thinking time, to be sure they were not overly confused. I wasn’t rushed at all. I felt the lessons unfolding in a natural manner, sort of the way the weather of a day unfolds – inexorably and at its own perfect pace. Speaking of the weather, it stayed just as lovely yesterday as it’s been for the past many days. I even took my class outside for a period in the afternoon. We sat on the grass as the refreshing winds swirled around us, and I read part of a story to the students. There we were in paradise – at a one-in-a-million school on a fine September day of sunshine and peaceable breezes.

On Teaching: BREEZES IN THE CLASSROOM

Every so often, one of my students suddenly “gets it”: an understanding comes to them so that they “see” what I’ve been trying to teach. The analogy most often used to explain this phenomenon is the light bulb. I might say a light bulb switched on in the student’s mind, as though someone inside her head turned a switch and understanding was suddenly there. One moment the student is in mental darkness, groping among my words to try to find the way, and the next moment the lamp of his brain is glowing with a clear light that says, “I got it!” Another analogy, and one Jesus used, is with the wind. When a breeze passed by, he asked his friends if they knew “where it came from”. They were naturally puzzled because, of course, it’s impossible to tell exactly where any breeze began. Jesus went on to explain that thoughts are exactly the same: they suddenly spring up in our lives, but there’s no telling where they originated. Like the breeze, they are just suddenly and mysteriously “there”. Today, I want to be aware of this wonderful phenomenon in my classroom. All day there will be breezes of thoughts passing through the lives of my students and me, and all we have to do is relax and enjoy them. They don’t “start” in our brains, just as a wind that ruffles the leaves of a tree doesn’t start in that tree. The wind is part of the immeasurable forces of the weather that surround the earth, and our thoughts are part of the equally immeasurable Mind (sometimes referred to as God) that’s been gently blowing through the universe for all eternity, and that will be refreshing Room 2 at Pine Point School today from 8:30 am to 3:00 pm.

Journal: 9/12/05

Yesterday I quietly enjoyed one of the loveliest days I can recall. Once again, the temperature was in the pleasant 70s, the sky was soft and blue all day, and there was a gentleness in the air that made me feel like both resting on hillsides and shouting in happiness. I didn’t do much – just a little puttering around my classroom, riding my bike up and down silent streets, watching some football, talking with Matt about teaching – but it was nonetheless one of the nicest days I’ve had all summer. I fell asleep knowing that peacefulness is stronger in this world than chaos.

Poem: "The World Will Show You"

You can’t stop it. The sun will stand on hills tomorrow, despite your efforts. Morning will wear its finest shirt, noon will wish you well, and evening will bring its beautiful book. Even storms may speak their unsullied words, and stars will shimmer in their wilderness above you. There’s nothing you can do. The world will show you what rejoicing is, no matter what you decide to do.

On Teaching: THE FOUNTAIN IN ROOM 2

Today I should feel a wonderful kind of joy as I go about the business of teaching, for a peaceful but astonishing power will be governing all that happens. Unfortunately, I rarely remember this marvelous truth. As I concentrate on getting through my lessons and controlling the flow of my classes, I tend to forget that thought actually controls everything that happens in my room. From the tiniest event to the most significant, everything happens because thought, or consciousness, is ceaselessly at work. (Some people call this power "God".) My classroom is like an infinite fountain of ideas, and it is that fountain which rules the room every minute of every day. It’s an astonishing fact to meditate on, and to try to picture. I can see in my mind, not 43 individual material bodies, but 43 brand spanking-new thoughts each moment. I once calculated that, in each day, roughly 450,000 ideas come into being in my classroom – an overwhelming stream of powerful thoughts that are constantly changing the lives of my students and me. Perhaps it would help, today, if I picture in my mind something like Niagara Falls, with its astonishingly forceful flow of water, and remind myself that I teach in a “Niagara Falls” classroom. There is as much – and much more – power in my classroom each day then there is at those famous falls. The infinite universe is ceaselessly spinning along, creating almost half a million ideas in little Room 2 in Pine Point School. I probably should just sit and marvel at it all, just as I would stare at Niagara Falls surging over its cliffs. My classroom is a spectacular event, every moment of every day, and I am lucky to be present for it.

Journal: 9/11/05

Yesterday morning I worked at school for a few hours, as I usually do on Saturdays – just settling things in place for the coming week and tidying up from last week. It was a perfectly beautiful morning outside – clear sky and soft sunlight over all things – and there was the same kind of beauty in my classroom. I love my room for that reason: it’s a comfortable, lovely, and peaceful place to be. In the afternoon, I rode my bike on the hills near my house again, and this time, for some reason, I paid special attention to the shadows. Of course, they were everywhere – great hulking shadows of trees across the road, shadows of passing cars, and thin lines of shadows of telephone poles and wires. I can’t remember ever paying attention to shadows, but I’m glad I did. I enjoyed riding in and out of them as I climbed the hills and sailed down them again. There was a softness to the shadows, and they seemed to make the afternoon softer as I rode. I watched my beloved Notre Dame and the Red Sox win crucial victories today. What more could I ask of a Saturday in September than lovely weather, a morning in my pleasant classroom, an hour on the shadowy hills on my bicycle, and decisive victories by my two heroic teams?

Journal: 9/10/05

Lately I’ve been enjoying some lovely, relaxing bike rides in the neighborhoods near my house. I don’t push myself quite as long or as hard as I do when I’m riding on busy roads in traffic, but there’s a serenity on these quiet streets that is very appealing. I feel like I’m getting fairly good exercise, plus I’m enjoying the peacefulness of beautiful September afternoons. I pant and perspire, but I also look and listen and smile. Yesterday, I started out around 5:15 and rode for about thirty minutes, across Granite Street and up and down the almost deserted streets between my house and the hospital. I pushed my self fairly hard as I pedaled up the long, gradual hills, but not so hard that I wasn’t able to observe things around me. I noticed much more than I do when I’m riding furiously along busy roads – the look of the different homes, the shapes of trees, the blueness of the sky above. In a way, it reminded me of the way I often spent September afternoons when I was a boy. I would often come home, throw my books down, grab a snack, and head out on my bike to do some exploring. Back then I just cruised around for the fun of it, which is what I’ve been doing this week. There was lots to be seen in Webster Groves back in the 50’s, and there’s just as much to enjoy in beautiful Westerly in September, 2005.