Just another Christmas Eve

It's Christmas Eve once again.  Christmas seems to be coming around faster each year. Anyone else notice that? Christmas is a time when I slow down a bit and think of all the people who are important in my life. I appreciate those of you who constantly encourage me to keep at this blog irregular as it is. Thanks for reading it and letting me know that what I say is worth saying.

To those of you who get an ear-full every so often. Thanks for listening to me. I live my life with my mouth open and can't imagine how I'd survive without your ears. To those of you with whom I laugh, I hope we will always be able to find amusement in life.

To those of you who teach me music, thank you for your patience with my stubborn fingers and my brain that is slow to memorize.

To those of you with whom I sing, thanks for making music with me and for steering me in the right direction when I get totally off the track, either note-wise or with the order of things. 

Some of the earliest Christmases I remember include singing. My grandfather had a grand piano in his living room.  He didn't play but it was his dream to own a grand piano.  My mother played Christmas carols and I sat beside her on the piano bench and sang.  At later Christmases, after I joined the junior choir, I remember walking through the snowy night to the church carrying my choir gown which was white with a giant maroon bow.  I thought it was the coolest thing ever.  The junior choir led the processional from the basement, where we got organized, up the stairs and into the sanctuary. The processional hymn was always "Once in Royal David's City."  There was no sermon on Christmas Eve.  The minister's wife told a story instead.  Later I learned that the minister's wife used to start looking for stories at the beginning of January.  I don't remember any specific plot-line but there was a sense of magic that came to a climax with the dimming of the lights and the singing of "Silent Night."

When I was in grade 8 I had music vocal from Marilyn Perkins and singing became even more important to me.  By that time there was quite a gap between what Marilyn was teaching us in school and what the choir leader at church was expecting.  As soon as I could persuade my dad to let me,  I stopped going to St. Matthew's United Church and began going to Scarboro United where Marilyn was the choir leader. I began attending the late service on Christmas Eve at Scarboro.  It was a communion service and I have a strong image of my parents walking up the aisle to take communion standing side by side while I watched from the choir. By that time things were pretty chilly between them but for that moment the chill was gone.

When I worked in Banff I missed a year of singing in the church choir but I drove home Christmas Eve before nightfall and was in the pew for the late service.  I was in the pews rather than the choir loft on one other Christmas Eve when I had such a bad cold I could hardly talk.

Since Richard and I have been married, we have always been in the choir loft on Christmas Eve. When we have traveled at Christmas, which hasn't been often, we have chosen to fly on Christmas Day rather than miss the late service. In a few hours we will, once again, sit in the loft and sing and, as I look out at the families who have come together tonight, I will think of  my friends and family: those I see often, those I see seldom, those whom I have rediscovered after many years, those who have known me for decades, those who have become friends more recently and those who are here in body no longer. I will think of Marilyn who gave the gift of music to so many, and of my mother who played the piano all those years ago.  I will think of the Jorgensens' where, for many Christmases, we sang carols around the piano.  And I will think of each of you who give me the gifts of music, laughter and friendship throughout the year.

So on this night,  please know that my life is rich with the gifts you give and for that I am grateful.  May peace be with you. Shalom.  Namaste. As-salamu alaykum.

Another Stereotype Bites the Dust

I've met a lot of people in my life and most of them are interesting. Recently I met a woman slightly younger than I am who studied classical Greek in university. She leads hikes and does gigs singing and playing her guitar. She has cut several CD's. She's a good storyteller and knows the history of the American South West.  She is also the widow of a polygamist.  Her husband was married to six other women at the time of his death.

We never talked about this aspect of her life.  She didn't advertise it nor did she go out of her way to disguise it.  I found out rather by accident when she mentioned a time-lapse video of a flower blooming  she had posted on YouTube.  I looked it up, watched it and discovered that she had made other videos so I started to look at those. One of them dealt with the life  of her family,  husband, sister-wives and children.

I was quite surprised.  I guess what I know about polygamy comes from news reports about Bountiful BC and from reading accounts of members of the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints sect who have left the world once headed by Warren Jeffs. From those reports I got the idea that the women were  oppressed and poorly educated. Clearly this wasn't the case with the woman I met.  In fact, she and three of her sister-wives were all roommates in university.  One became a lawyer and another a real estate agent.  Their husband encouraged his wives to be independent. For a time, he was a member of the FLDS and then left with his wives and children to form his own settlement in Utah. This information gave me a different context in which to situate some of her comments and stories.

What surprised me most was that I met her at all.  I thought I had about as much chance of meeting the wife of a polygamist as I had of getting an audience with the Queen of England. Meeting her and hearing her stories gave me a window into a different kind of life, one I never really thought about.  Every person I meet has something to teach me if I take the time to listen.

Shades of Educational Grey

The current controversy in Alberta regarding Edmonton Public's 'no zero' policy came to a head yesterday when physics teacher of 35 years, Lynden Dorval was fired.  I have never met Mr. Dorval but his situation leaves me in turmoil.

I feel I have had a stake in each side of this debate at various times in my career. In one situation my team partner and I had a class made up of students who failed the previous grade. Often the cause was their poor attendance and the number of incomplete assignments. We told them that zero was not an option and that we would bug them until we got the assignments. True to our word, we bugged them and over the course of the year we got a lot more work than if the conversation had been, "I'll take a zero." "Suit yourself." Chasing the kids for assignments was exhausting and frustrating. I remember  being in my classroom after school the Friday before Spring Break started, looking at my watch, helping students finish assignments and wondering if I would make my flight out to the coast for a cycling trip.

My teaching partner and I were in an unusual situation with that particular class.  The other teachers at our grade level had agreed to accept slightly larger classes so that we could work with these kids who were at risk of dropping out.  We had the class for all the core subjects; they were only out of our room for options. It was one of the most rewarding years of my teaching career and I was fortunate enough to catch up with a handful of those students when I moved to a high school across the field four years later. They were hanging in.  Good news.

Let me emphasize that we had only 40 students for whom we were primarily responsible.  Numbers in most of the high school classes I taught ranged from 28 to 36, and I taught 3 classes each semester.  I was fortunate because some of my colleagues taught 4. If, while dealing with a regular high school work load, I had I tried to bug every student who didn't hand in an assignment until it came in,  I would have been frustrated that the kids who regularly completed their work were getting the leftovers of my time and attention.

Later on in my career I came into a setting where the policy of the department was to be firm on deadlines, down to the minute.  I remember one student coming to the workroom door and handing a paper to another teacher because her teacher wasn't in the room.  When the teacher who had given the assignment returned she was angry: she had specified that the student was to hand in the paper after school and this was noon hour.  She declined to grade the paper and the student received a zero. She reasoned she was teaching the student the importance of following instructions, punctuality and responsibility.  She was doing what was best for the students.

I had difficulty in that department.  I couldn't bring myself to be as firm about deadlines as my department head wanted.  I negotiated with kids when the deadline came and they hadn't handed in their assignments.  I closed my door as much as I could and tried to keep my head down.  It didn't work. In one situation a colleague came into my room when I was allowing a student who was terrified of public speaking to make up an assignment for me rather than having her present to the class. If a student didn't present to the class they were to receive a zero. The colleague told my department head and, I was in trouble - again. I was on the receiving end of an angry outburst that ended when I said, "So what would you like me to do?  It's not the student's fault."  I was doing exactly the same thing my department head was doing: what I considered best for the students.

In the light of Lynden Dorval's situation I'm lucky it was my department head and I who disagreed. I was deliberately going against the department's policy.  She was my immediate 'supervisor.' I was doing what I felt was right.

I wish I had an answer to the 'to zero or not to zero' question but in 30 years of teaching I never found one.  Some kids will play you.  Some will get in over their heads and desperately want you to throw them a life preserver and you hope that if you do they will be grateful and learn the lesson.  Some kids will come through if you trust them and show them that their work is important, and some kids will get discouraged and cease to try. Of course, all teachers want students to learn lessons that will help them become productive and thoughtful members of society. In addition, my wish for my students was always that they move in the world with compassion.

So when I read of Lynden Dorval's case I am torn.  I put plenty of zeros in my mark book during my career.  Did those zeros reflect a student's true capability?  No.  Sometimes the student would turn in  very high quality work, once in a while.  Should that student, because she can do high quality work receive a high grade based on 2 assignments out of the 30 the rest of the class has completed?  Do you reflect the lack of a body of evidence by giving an incomplete in the course, that is, by withholding credit? What percentage of assignments is a student allowed to miss and still receive a grade?

And what about timing? Is it reasonable to expect a teacher to grade assignments at the end of June that were given in January? How much does a student learn by doing a whole lot of work as the course comes to a close? Reporting periods end; school years end and how do students and teachers fit themselves into this framework?

Part of the joy and the terror of teaching is to constantly answer the question, 'What is best for this student.'  I admire those in classrooms who daily face this question and live with the ambiguity it engenders and I am sad when power struggles endanger the delicate balance that allows teachers to answer that question in good conscience and with compassion.

How could it be fall again?

It is fall again - ripe nectarines, plums, blueberries and blackberries - and this is kind of embarrassing.  When I look at the last time I posted on this blog it was almost a year ago.  So much for the resolutions about getting this done regularly. ;-(  I seriously thought of letting the blog slip into oblivion but I have a couple of friends who are good enough to nag me about it, so here I am again.  No promises about how often this will happen but, at least, a commitment not to let it die just yet.

There is definitely life after teaching and this is the beginning of my fifth year of it. Having been a teacher for so long,  September is still the start of my year.  All my weekly activities start up again and I'm more likely to look back over the last 12 months and ahead to the next 12 than at any other time.  The last four years have been quite an education.  For the first couple I was busy delighting in all the things that I no longer had to do, no marking, no planning, no extra-curricular activities, no cafeteria supervision, no report cards.  But, you can only live your life delighting in difference for so long. Once I really understood that I never had to write another report card or mark another paper I was puzzled.  Who was I now that I wasn't a teacher anymore?  Year three was a bit confusing.  I drifted around, not really feeling like I could settle anywhere.

I was still learning. My left hand refused to do what it needed to do on the piano and my singing voice was unpredictable as I tried to establish a new and better default setting.  I spent a lot of time "researching" i.e. surfing the net and most of the structure of my days was determined by outside commitments.  I didn't practice either singing or piano as often as I could have.  Lots of times I drifted not knowing what to do.  Oh, I had lots of stuff I could do, I just wasn't crazy about any of it.

I explored various woodworking sites and electronic magazines, dumped some subscriptions and took on others and always enjoyed puttering around in the shop. That taught me something important about myself.  I'm happiest when I can solve a problem and I'm not all that keen on making a whole bunch of one thing. 

My favourite digital subscription is to Rob Cosman's Rob's Workshop. I look forward to it the way some folks look forward to the next episode of their favourite TV drama or comedy.  Rob shoots 5 shows a week and doesn't do a lot of editing.  This is invaluable because I get to watch a true master-craftsman make mistakes and solve problems.  I've taken classes from Rob and, in some ways, the videos are better. The camera can get closer and see things I can't see during a class. Also these videos have taught me patience when I work wood.  Rob doesn't do everything right all the time and that is very comforting even though I take longer than most to get the hang of something. (Still haven't mastered hand-cut dovetails and it's been almost 9 years.)  Rob's home page

I have gone back to half marathons in the last couple of years and, although I no longer run them, they give me something to train for and I like to chat with other walkers on the way, some of whom are new to the sport.  If they ask I pass on what I have learned from my 22 half marathons to date.  I've also been diligent about exercising.  I have exercised for 591 of the last 593 days.  I give myself little, or sometimes big, rewards when I reach milestones.  I'm currently working my way towards an iPad which I certainly don't need but I have techno-lust and, at least, I'm making myself work for it.

We have had our basement renovated,  quite the adventure.  When you live in an older house you find interesting things once inside the walls.  Among the treasures and surprises we found were an old crib board, a stubby beer bottle and an empty latex-condom box. What were those guys doing when they 'finished' the basement? There was no insulation in the walls.  There were a few cracks in the  concrete and there was a window that had been completely covered up by a previous renovation. The plumbing and electrical were unique and we decided, since we had things torn apart, we might as well get both fixed. From an initial estimate of 6 weeks the reno took closer to 6 months.

The basement is now finished but we are not.  We love the result and are determined not to put a lot of junk back so we are culling.  My 19-year-old van has been living outside since February, its place usurped by stuff that came out of the basement.  A lot of stuff has gone but there is still a lot to get rid of.  One item at a time, I tell myself.

Throughout the years, since 2004 to be exact, there have been the audio books.  Two a month without fail and, when there are sales on Audible, I buy extra ones in case I run out before my credits renew. Reading and writing are two sides of the same coin and now, in year five of life after teaching, I feel I'm finding a different direction.  I have always enjoyed writing and have attended a workshop every year since I retired.  Even there I floated around since most people were interested in writing fiction and isn't what really excites me. Barbara Turner- Vesselago kindly lets me return each year. The workshops have a wonderful flow to their days: write in the morning, free time in the afternoon, conversation about the writing in the late afternoon and then do it all again. Barbara's home page

My intention for this year is to write in the morning.  I have an article coming out in the October issue of Canadian Woodworking and Home Improvement  and I have sent a couple of tips away to woodworking magazines.  I don't expect to get rich doing this but it is beginning to feel as if I have found another anchor to replace teaching. In year five I think I'm beginning to move toward something rather than moving away from something, and it feels good. With any luck, I'll keep you posted.

Thoughts on insanity and gratitude

I've heard insanity described as, " doing the same thing and expecting different results." If that's true I guess I'm insane, at least when it comes to Odie.

Richard and I are attending a bird training workshop this weekend and while I was cleaning Odie's cage and getting his food ready I started to wonder if he was still a biter when it came to me. He has calmed down a lot and seems quite friendly and content most of the time. He is more gentle with Richard than he was and I hoped that he might have given up the desire for human-finger protein.

I talked to him as I usually do when his is out on his gym. He lets me get quite close to him and often blinks his eyes and puffs up and preens. Today he came over to the corner of his gym and dipped his head, his typical motion when he wants a head scratch. Richard has a hand signal he uses with Odie to show his willingness to scratch. I did the hand signal and Odie again dipped his head.

I figured I had to put this relationship to the test at some point so I took a deep breath to make sure I was steady and then reached out to gently scratch the top of his head. I got one scratch in and then he nailed me - hard - so hard that when I took my hand away, or tried to, I lifted him up by his beak.

When a bird bites you're supposed to push towards him which surprises him and makes him let go. Good theory if you can remember to do it. Since Odie was firmly attached I put my other hand underneath him and put him rather unceremoniously into his cage and closed the door.

I guess there's no doubt about who the nut case is in this scenario. I hope there will be something new this weekend or, at least, a new slant on the information we already have so that I can begin to work with Odie. We're great friends as long as the cage bars separate us but I would like to be able to handle Odie safely and give him the attention that he so loves. It would be much better for all of us. How do I convey that to the little green dragon with the lightning-fast beak?

I had Odie out of his cage before Richard came home because we had theatre tickets tonight and we wanted to be there early to pick them up at the box office. The play True Love Lies was very engaging and quite witty.

As we were walking out at the end a young man caught my eye and said, "Hi, I'm so glad to see you here." I looked over my shoulder thinking he must be talking to someone else. When I turned back, he was still looking at me. "You taught me drama," he said. "I remember all your classes and now I'm a drama teacher too." I asked him his name. I did remember his name but couldn't bring to mind where I had taught him. I think we exchanged a few more words and I hope I thanked him for stopping to speak to me. I wish him well in his teaching and hope that someday a student will approach him to let him know that he made a difference. Interesting how, in one day, small things can balance each other out.

Eighteen half-marathons later

When I was a kid I ran around the neighbourhood and played outside until dark as did all the kids of my generation. I don't think there were a lot of organized activities for kids and even if there had been, most parents couldn't have afforded them. When we got to junior high we had to take Phys Ed. We had to change into shorts and blouses, this was prior to t-shirts, do jumping jacks and run around the gym and try to jump up and touch the basketball nets. We played badminton, volleyball, basketball and did some rudimentary gymnastics. In the spring we went outside for track and field.

I didn't much like PE. I wasn't good at any of the sports and was kind of a loner to boot. I always tried really hard even though I couldn't see the point of sports. I felt clumsy and awkward. I remember taking a fitness test at one point and getting a certificate for participating. I think I tossed it out and determined that I would quit Phys Ed just as soon as I had the grade ten requirement and I would never have anything to do with sports again.

As with so many things in life, that's not the way it turned out. In university I was too involved with theatre to think of much else and I kept my promise to stay away from sports. When I got a job in Banff I did some hiking and snowshoeing and liked that but that had nothing to do with my idea of what sports were about. I even tried downhill skiing because all my friends were doing it.

While living in Banff I needed to get from the theatre to the high school where the musical theatre division rehearsed. Walking was slow so I bought a ten-speed bike for transportation. I liked riding my bike as a kid and when I got to junior high I became much too sophisticated to continue to ride a bike. In Banff I found I still enjoyed riding my bike and would often open up the theatre, get a rehearsal started and then take off and ride around the golf course. It wasn't unusual to see elk or moose and once or twice I saw bears.

Back at university and in my first few years teaching I didn't ride the bike. Life seemed too full of planning and marking and I sold the bike. Then came mountain bikes. I liked the idea of a mountain bike, different riding posture, fatter tires and lower gears so I bought one and joined the Elbow Valley Cycle Club. From then on we cycled quite a lot and I started to subscribe to Bicycling Magazine. I think it was in those pages that I read an article which said that cyclists had the bone density of couch potatoes. I found that irritating because by then I had become interested in the health benefits of exercise. I decided that I could start running. After all, I didn't need a lot of gear to do that and I hoped it would improve the bone-density outlook.

I took a learn-to-run course and with some friends entered a couple of 5K races. They were fun. I wasn't fast which didn't really matter as there were lots of interesting people to watch and talk to. I began to wonder if I could run longer races and did some 10K's. By this time I was hooked; I had a gym membership and was running at least three times a week. Somebody suggested that we enter the Police Half Marathon. That was scary. It was a long distance and I knew it was going to be hard but I wanted to see if I could do it. I could so I did more.

Then the idea of a marathon started to tickle at the back of my brain. The university had a training program that prepared the participants to run the Honolulu Marathon. My running partner and I signed up. We were both apprehensive. What if we spent all this time and money training and got injured or couldn't finish? We trained hard. It seemed that we only had time for work training, eating and sleeping. Flying over to Hawaii in December with the rest of the people in the course I felt like a real athlete.

The day of the marathon was hot and humid and we ended up walking the last 5 K. It didn't matter. There were people in the streets cheering us on. Some folks had hoses to spray us so we could cool off. At the end of the race one of the coaches reminded us that our medals were exactly the same as someone who did the course twice as fast as we did. He also said he thought it was harder to go slowly because you were out in the sun and the heat longer.

After that marathon I wanted to try for a faster time so I entered the Royal Victoria Marathon the next year and came in right on my target time. I was happy with that and decided not to do any more marathons. It took too much time to train and I was worried about injuries.

Other things came up and I didn't do any races for almost four years. Earlier this year I decided to sign up for another half marathon. If I paid the money to register that meant I had to go and that meant I had to train. And so I began again. That race was in the pouring rain and as I was driving to the start I thought, "You know you don't have to do this. You could just turn around and go home." I decided that having put in the training I'd just be grumpy if I didn't finish the race. My time was slower than the last time I did a half and my hands were so cold driving home that they were tingling. The car has heat and Richard greeted me with hot chocolate when I got home. Wanting to keep the momentum going, I signed up for another half marathon.

Last Sunday I completed my eighteenth half marathon. There were only five people in my age group, men and women combined. I walked the course and my time was among the slowest, although I did manage a faster time than a few women in their forties. Again I'm pleased with myself. We walkers started an hour early. When the first runners began to pass me many of them said, "Good job," or "You're looking good." These are the really fast guys who could just blow by me without saying a word but they take the time to offer encouragement. Most runners I meet are a very accepting lot and I feel at home among them.

It's a long way and a lot of years since I decided I wasn't going to have anything to do with sports. I'm glad I changed my mind.

Back again, but not home

Today this box came back to me. I made it 5 years ago for Helen, my aunt. As usual, I did it at the last minute and I remember taking the lid and my carving knives with me on a short camping trip. I sat at the picnic table and carved. The chips went straight into the fire pit. When we got home I attached the lid to the box, oiled and waxed it and took it with me to the family gathering.

Helen was thrilled. I could count on her to take an interest in what I did and to be enthusiastic about my latest endeavors whatever they were. I know she used the box because when we visited her later that year I saw it sitting on the table stuffed with mail. I was pleased the box had become part of her everyday life.

Today Richard and I attended her memorial service in the small city where she spent much of her adult life. As we prepared to come home my cousin returned the box to me. As I turn it over in my hands I see the flaws and appreciate that Helen saw past the flaws in the box even as she saw past the flaws in people. I will miss her.

The box needs another coat of oil. Tomorrow I will take it into the shop, put oil on it and rub it in, first with a rag and then with my hands. When the oil is dry I will give it a coat of wax. Then I will find a place for it in my everyday life. When I look at it I will think of its real home, on a table in the afternoon sunlight with envelopes protruding from under the lid and I will remember Helen.