Inspired by Death

Mary Oliver
almost died
at the mouth of a
beautiful
Floridian
alligator.

I know what she means.
It is the moment after
that really matters.
The moment when
the world heaves
an enormous sigh of relief
the sky opens up
and music plays
and water tastes like god.

It is the moment when you join
the select,
lucky
group of fools
who know the truth
about life
that it is all that really matters
that you and they
are all you have
and this second.

Those in the dark
have it wrong,
it is not the little things
we should stop sweating,
it is the smallest things:
an inky pen that knows how to dance
falling asleep on the pillow of a person
milky coffee in the morning
when you need it most,
these carry the weight.

And the alligators,
and heart attacks,
malignancies
plane crashes
fires in the apartment upstairs,
these are the comrades
who give us life.

Wedding

I haven't blogged in so long! I was inspired by Shauna, whose blog is far more lovely than mine will ever be...but she linked to me, and what's here is pretty pathetic.

I never thought I'd be the kind of girl to get into wedding planning. I mean, I was on an undefeated little league team (right field, so no thanks to me). But finding food and photographers and pretty places and dresses is not so bad. Plus, with my Franklin Covey planner, I'm pretty unstoppable.

What do you think of that fluffy swan caketopper?

America, now is not the time for small plans.

Ringing of Revolution

By Phil Ochs

In a building of gold, with riches untold,

lived the families on which the country was founded.

And the merchants of style, with their red velvet smiles,

were there, for they also were hounded.

And the soft middle class crowded in to the last,

for the building was fully surrounded.

And the noise outside was the ringing of revolution.

Sadly they stared and sank in their chairs
and searched for a comforting notion.
And the rich silver walls looked ready to fall
As they shook in doubtful devotion.
The ice cubes would clink as they freshened their drinks,
wet their minds in bitter emotion.
And they talked about the ringing of revolution.

We were hardly aware of the hardships they beared,
for our time was taken with treasure.
Oh, life was a game, and work was a shame,
And pain was prevented by pleasure.
The world, cold and grey, was so far away
In the distance only money could measure.
But their thoughts were broken by the ringing of revolution.

The clouds filled the room in darkening doom
as the crooked smoke rings were rising.
How long will it take, how can we escape
Someone asks, but no one's advising.
And the quivering floor responds to the roar,
In a shake no longer surprising.
As closer and closer comes the ringing of revolution.

Softly they moan, please leave us alone
As back and forth they are pacing.
And they cover their ears and try not to hear
WIth pillows of silk they're embracing.
And the crackling crowd is laughing out loud,
peeking in at the target they're chasing.
Now trembling inside the ringing of revolution.

With compromise sway we give in half way
When we saw that rebellion was growing.
Now everything's lost as they kneel by the cross
Where the blood of christ is still flowing.
To late for their sorrow they've reached their tomorrow
and reaped the seed they were sowing.
Now harvested by the ringing of revolution.

In tattered tuxedos they faced the new heroes
and crawled about in confusion.
And they sheepishly grinned for their memoroes were dim
of the decades of dark execution.
Hollow hands were raised; they stood there amazed
in the shattering of their illusions.
As the windows were smashed by the ringing of revolution.

Down on our knees we're begging you please,
We're sorry for the way you were driven.
There's no need to taunt just take what you want,
and we'll make amends, if we're living.
But away from the grounds the flames told the town
that only the dead are forgiven.
As they crumbled inside the ringing of revolution.

Weekend

Bodie likes this one grey dog in the park who
is 3-4 times her size. The dog is beautiful,
with long clumsy limbs and a sweet face.








As my mother pointed out at last night's sedar
(a word, by the way, is not recognized by a goyisha Word's spellcheck) that jews have celebrated this holiday in harder times than this. You know, the Israelites fleeing, the Holocaust, etc. She says this every year, and it's always sweet. About as sweet as Bodie when she sleeps on Saturday afternoons. I should call this my bdog...

Glorified science fair?

This is the example on the AERA(American Educational Research Association) website informing me how I should make a poster for this "poster session" I'm doing next week in NYC: There are several problems with this example:

1. I can't read it. Can you?
2. I don't have any snazzy "literacy" graphics
3. I don't have any data collected, so I don't know what to put in the "data collection" section
4. I haven't passed the Institutional Review Board, so it's not okay to put any written student work on the poster. I'm staying on this side of caution, as per usual, so my poster is gonna be hella boring.
5. I haven't done the research yet, so my only conclusion for the "conclusion" section is that perhaps my project does not yet belong in this grad school science fair...

It's sort of ironic that in preparing for an "education" conference, no one has really told me what my homework is, given me an exemplar and a non-exemplar, or scaffolded my learning so I could be successful and feel that I've achieved something in publishing my ideas....ironique.

1987

My father bought me a Nintendo game system in xmas 1987.
I had a black and white TV in my bedroom, but I was convinced I could see colors. I wasn't just being difficult.

I played so much I had to stop reading books for a year; every time I would open to a new page, I would see Mario jumping through the letters as through they were coins, and it became increasingly difficult to enjoy the book.

I would listen to one of two cassettes on my walkman: Dream of the Blue Turtles by Sting, or Imagine by John Lennon. "I Hope the Russians Love Their Children Too" and "Jealous Guy" were my favorite songs, particularly the former, which I was also somehow disposed to dance to ("there is-a no monolpoly of common sense on either side of the political fence!").

I would hold down the A button while I jumped Mario over the gaps in the stone pavement, and the sky was so gray it was blue again...

Education School

It's kind of repetitive, right?

I thought so tonight, for sure, when ed law droned on and on and all I wanted to do was read dlisted.com and drink wine.

Did you know that a teacher's contract is considered property and protected by property law and that kids have more free speech protection than teachers do?  

I learned that in the reading, I could have skipped class.

Back to dlisted and wine....