It's been so long since a post here.
But now it's exam time, and I sit watching my students scribble away their last hours of school, and I have a chance to reflect. Because what else are endings for, but that.
I am stunned at the swiftness of time. But as I look back, there is a fullness to it all (and I love that phrase, "the fullness of time") that I didn't expect to find. So much has happened, I bear witness to change and growth all around me.
I don't know--and don't think I do the best job of it--if my students know how much many of them have meant to me this year. They helped me laugh on days when I didn't know what I was doing, they offered depth and insight that often left me stunned and nodding "very good. that's a good point..." but thinking I have never thought of that before.
Frank McCourt, a high school teacher for years, and a writer for less time, said the first day of class he always said, "I'm Mr. McCourt, and this year in Literature, I guarantee that at least one person in this class will learn something this year. And I guarantee you that person will be me."
I resonate with that statement. Did my students acquire any knowledge? I think I grew so much that it seems impossible for any extra learning to occur. That my newness left little else in its path. But I hope that's not true. I pray many of them learned to see poetry, stories, and writing in a new way--that they begin to learn what I also only faintly grasp. It is this: words are powerful, infinite, frustrating, beautiful, limitless and limiting, soothing and hurtful....contradictions, and mostly--necessary.
I hope they see me not just as Teacher, but as a person. One on the journey with them all. One who is blessed by the side-by-side steps on this Path.

"You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus."
--Mark Twain

When you were little, what did you "pretend?" What do you pretend now?
I was a weird child. Many of my classes would tell you that I'm a weird teacher. All that to say, I didn't play "house" or "teacher" when I was little. I played "The Monkees," which pretty much consisted of me pretending that I toured around with the 60s music group. That's all I remember. Their show used to come on Nick at Nite, and I had a huge crush on Davey Jones. He was British and cute and...I was in the third grade.
I also played "restaurant" with my best friend Jessica Martell. We set up shop underneath her deck and would pretend to serve food to lots of famous people. Andre Agassi and Stephan Edberg were frequent visitors (who are those guys? famous tennis players, of course. my older brother Brandon was a tennis fanatic, and I loved whatever he loved. hence, a tennis restaurant.)
Oh, and embarrassing of all embarrasings, I used to play "pioneer." I loved Little House on the prairie, and would set up camp in the woods behind my house and pretend to cook things over a "fire." One time my "fire" was really fire. My family loves to tell the story of When Beth Burned Down the Backyard. It wasn't that bad. Really.
Writing down all of those "pretends" can be pretty humiliating. But it reminds me of my childhood innocence, of my capacity for play. We don't play enough when we get older, we don't imagine as much. We pretend to be unhurt when we are hurt, we smile when we are sad, we ignore those in pain or humiliation...our pretending is not as fun. And not so simple to get away from.
I think a lot of times, I pretend to know what I am doing. That I have it all together. Instead, each day I am surprised by something, each day I am learning. All moments are new, and I don't know what to expect. Not really.

"A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral."
--Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Think about this quote. When was the last time you felt truly motivated?
Ummm....
I haven't written here for awhile, so it obviously took some motivation to write again. Why is it that the moment something becomes "required," we immediately shut ourselves off to it? I know it happens to me. And I see it happen to my students whenever I say, "read this for..." Their eyes glaze. All excitement and enthusiasm (and think of this: three of my four class occur before 11:oo in the morning!) seems to leak out into the floor--they stare at the puddles, their eyes burn holes into the carpet. I find myself saying shocking things to jar them back to the fluorescent tubes of class...
So maybe I'm motivated to wake my classes up to these verses I love, to this poetry that challenges and wrestles with me. I get up out of bed each morning to do that very thing. To share what someone once shared with me, to invite them in...
I don't know if I've recently felt like the quote above, that feeling of seeing beauty in each thing, to look for possibility. I feel myself lacking there...don't I? I read aloud to my middle school Creative Writing class today. Their words were honest, simple, and gorgeous. They weren't putting on a show, they weren't writing what they couldn't understand, what they thought would sound "deep." They wrote plainly, and it was gorgeous, and they were proud of each other and beaming at their own good work. I am motivated to bring out beauty in all of my classes. To call forth poetry in all things.

"Always be a poet, even in prose." --Charles Baudelaire
Examine your week: when did you feel close to God, when did you feel far away?
It's the last day before Spring Break.
This makes my students very happy. This makes it a sort of day to just---get---through.
But I felt close to my Creator many times this week, because I am helping some of the young people around me to find their gifts, to search out the Beauty within. That is a treasured thing. Humbling.
I am thinking a lot lately of how another's dreams spark my own guidings, my own path. We should dream aloud with each other more often. Or is it that we dream too much, and act too little. I'm not sure, but other's dreams are urging me forward.
I felt far from God when I think of where I wanted to be by this time during the 40 days of Lent. So I pray that this week is one of quiet, rest, and prayer. That I may spend time meditating on the Gift of grace, of the One whose death brings life.
And joy that turns into joy that turns into joy.

"Either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing." --Benjamin Franklin
List five things you could do to improve your day today. Write about one of them.
1. smile
2. really listen to people when they are talking to me instead of trying to do other things at the same time
3. go outside
4. laugh
5. drink some water

Some of those don't make a lot of sense. But I'm thirsty right now, so that's what came to mind. I'm ready for some April showers. Spring rain smells best. Green and loamy and petals are in the puddles.
It's easy as a teacher to become a stickler. There are lots of rules (ahem, "procedures") that you must enforce to gain freedom in a classroom. The whole "we know what happens next" sort of thing. And I see the importance of it. That order in a classroom is necessary. That everyone must know what to do, what to expect in order to feel comfortable discussing and learning. It's part of the culture of a classroom.
I don't like it.
There are days when I feel like I am The Enforcer, and I want to back away and explain, "hello? Just because you call me 'Miss Brown' instead of 'Beth' doesn't mean I don't feel the things you feel or go out to eat or listen to my music too loud or laugh at inappropriate things or procrastinate or...." I could go on. It's just difficult to keep things in line (which then creates room for the good stuff) while trying to remain a human.
But what always helps, what connects me to my students, what clears the air is something I've already written about. Laughing. Or a simple smile. So much is communicated in such simplicity. I find refuge and relief in that.
Today in second and third hour, Calvin from the South Carolina School for the Deaf and Blind came to speak to us about his life as a deaf person. He was engaging, full of energy, and most of all, he was really funny! I learned so much about deaf culture, and it really opened up The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (the novel we finished a couple weeks ago--the main character is deaf). It truly was one of those classroom moments I want more of: we were all in it together, experiencing and growing.
Now, on to the rest of my list. It's lovely and sunny and finally Spring today.
I'm going outside.

"I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it." --Ernest Hemingway
When is the last time you had a moment to re-charge? Write about it.
...as if I'm a robot. Anyway, it was my journal topic. I don't know if I'm supposed to make fun of it.
On Sunday, I finally put curtains up in my bedroom. And as I stepped back to admire my handiwork (used power tools and everything), I thought, this is the first time I have been quiet in a long time.
I enjoy most of all being silent--comfortably so--with someone else. When you've reached the point where you can just sit back and enjoy. And I think in a way, there comes a time where you have to do the same thing with your inside self. To enjoy the silence. To enjoy being with yourself, who you are, the Beauty and Oneness within. It's hard to do and feels so strange and awkward...but once you are used to being alone and quiet it is wonderful.
Then you begin to feel a loss when there is so much that is loud around you and seek out spaces for Sabbath. To shut out the noise and static.
That's what I was doing Sunday afternoon. I didn't try for it, it just Happened. And I'm thankful.
The curtains are lovely crewel-work transluscent white. I see them each morning and they make me happy. They help me remember.

"There are three rules for writing. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are." --W. Somerset Maugham
Think back over your weekend. Write about a conversation you had using only quotations.
"I'm so sorry."
"What?"
"Do you have your insurance card?"
"Uh, yes."
"Do you want me to call the police?"
"What?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Though I am upset, miss."
"But you are not hurt?"
"No."
"Can I have your name and address? Could you write it down?"
"Here, miss."
"What is your vehicle ID number?"
"Why you need this? Where are police?"
"I called them. Here they are."

So I got in a tiny tiny wreck this weekend. In the parking lot of my apartment. I backed into a neighbor's Altima...bad thing is, he can't speak English.
What a mess. But my car is fine. And his will be...soon.