The Icing

Read in the New York Times this morning:

"Mr. Lourenço gathered his thoughts one more time. 'He [Fernando Pessoa] is the most tragic of the Portuguese poets,' he said. 'The pleasure of unhappiness is particularly Portuguese.'"

I lived in Portugal for 16 months in the early 80's. This quote made me think of a particular image: an older man, grey haired and grizzled, wearing a worn black suit. He has the look of a fisherman, dressed in the clothes he wears to Mass. On the lapel of his suit is a bright red carnation, providing a striking contrast to the somber colors of everything else about his being. There is a look of anguish on his face, as he aimlessly walks, noises of grief emerging through his clenched lips. If memory serves, this day is a holiday, the Dia de Liberdade (Day of Freedom) in which the Portuguese celebrate the coup that led to the current democratic regime.

When I asked someone to explain why the man seemed so sad, she replied: "This holiday is a day for people to remember how great Portugal once was and how low it has sunk in the world's estimation." This man became emblematic for me of that quintessential Portuguese trait, "the pleasure of unhappiness," the yearning for things lost.

The smallest indivisible human unit is two people, not one; one is a fiction. From such nets of souls societies, the social world, human life springs . . . . (Tony Kushner)

I've expended a lot of effort over the last decade learning to be independent and self-sufficient. At times, I've even resisted feeling responsible for others. For a number of reasons, I think this was a process I really needed to go through. I was able to reach a point where I felt really content with my independent life--and I was ready for this to be a permanent part of my identity.

But life has a funny way of turning everything topsy-turvy, insisting that we change. Over the last two years, I've been coming to an understanding of how my life is imbricated with the lives of others and how important it is for me to embrace connection and interdependence. This hasn't been an easy process; it has been at times uncomfortable, stressful, even painful. But the thing I'm seeing about life right now is that allowing oneself to connect, to feel, to love gives life a depth and richness not present when one tries to be completely self-sufficient.

Last semester, I taught Tony Kushner's Angels in America; our class explored interconnection, what we owe each other and what we owe ourselves. There are never easy answers to these conflicts, and we move between the two poles of thinking only of ourselves and thinking only of others, depending on our experience, maturity, emotional state, etc. The characters in these two plays come to different conclusions, but Kushner ends with the image of the characters who grow enough to become part of an unlikely alliance, a community created by chance, choice, and the willingness to honor what may seem at first like transitory connections.

I've been working this summer to accept love, kindness, and care in my life. I've been attentive to how my friends (both old and new) have willingly listened, sympathized, shared, laughed, understood. Acknowledging that I need others has been scary but liberating. As I've revisited relationships from my past, I've also cherished the connections I have in the present. And as I've made new friends, I've gained confidence that I'll be able to form new connections and communities when I'm in Norway.

I like the word "imbrication." It points towards a combination of independence and interdependence. Our lives can overlap without one individual becoming subsumed by another. I'm a work in progress, but I no longer want to resist connection, responsibility, need, care, and love. It's impossible to live in isolation. Trying to do so has the potential to hurt others, even while it impedes one's own growth. Our understanding of humanity's imbrication can serve as a positive, affirming influence as we engage in the sometimes difficult but always rewarding experience of loving each other.

Yes, it's true. You can now find me on both Facebook and My Space. And if I've ever emailed you from my gmail account OR if you post regularly on Jefferson's blog, I'm trying to add you as a friend. So far, I have 12 friends on Facebook and 6 friends on MySpace (I know, so sad). Really, I know more people than that! If you haven't heard from me, add me to your friends.

In actuality, this is part of my continuing quest to find ways to stay connected to my friends when I'm in Norway. I also have a Skype account . . .

It's been fascinating to look at some of my friends' pages. My friend Karen's friends are almost all musicians--so interesting to see what an important part of the Fresno music scene she is. My friend Therese has friends from all over the world. My friend Madhu's page illustrates his diverse interests (biology, the green movement, and all things internet). My nephew Steven loves the Utah Jazz and has A LOT of friends.

Still haven't done too much work on my pages. I guess I have to think a little about how I want to represent myself.

See you on My Sp/Facebook.

Addendum: Oh, my. I can play Scrabulous on Facebook. The real world may never see me again. Ciao!

We've just finished the first week of the San Joaquin Valley Writing Project's Summer Invitational Institute (SII) 2008. It's been such a great week. Imagine a group of accomplished, intelligent, generous, kind, collaborative teachers--that's what we have this year. Each of our 14 fellows has already contributed so much. From day one of our Pre-Institute, I was sure that this would be a special group.

Over the first few meeting days, the leadership team (Joanne, Karen, Kathy and I) and guest teacher consultants laid a strong foundation for the summer. Jeana, Leah, and Eric gave teaching demonstration lessons as models for our participants who will teach demonstration lessons once during the summer. Jeana's energy, Leah's creativity, and Eric's engaging and well planned lesson made for compelling models of writing instruction. It's so rewarding each year to see the light bulbs go off in our K-16 teacher participants as they excitedly talk about how they could use the modeled strategies in their classes.

Molly and Linsey gave our first Fellow teaching demonstration lessons. Both seemed at ease and enthusiastic about their lessons. Molly had gone to a friend's class so she could try out the lesson she had developed on adding descriptive detail to writing. And Linsey presented curriculum which she had used effectively with her third grade classes. In addition to learning new strategies, I also learned that planets must be round, have their own orbit around a star, and that the orbit must have a circular shape. Poor Pluto. I think I need to repeat third grade!

Our participants also wrote their first of four essays this week and participated in writing groups. Sandra was so proud of her work that she asked to read the final draft to us on the day it was due. She's a science teacher who felt she'd benefited greatly from her writing group. Her essay was a moving exploration of her evolving sense of identity using shoes as its organizing metaphor.

We also work to help participants see the underlying theoretical positions of writing curriculum. This week, I did a workshop on approaches to writing instruction, and Karen presented on backwards design (planning curriculum with the end assessment in mind). Personally, I want our teachers to become more strategic about their writing instruction. I want them to understand how to scaffold curriculum, how new activities fit into what they are trying to accomplish with their writing instruction, and how they can best help their students learn to enjoy and feel proud of their writing.

Reading groups, socials, discussions about teaching, collaboration--these are all important components of the Summer Institute. Participants sacrifice a month of their treasured summer to do this--evidence of their commitment to teaching. It's a busy, sometimes overwhelming experience. But when I finished the SII in 2006, I felt rejuvenated . . . I think I've been a better teacher ever since. I think that will be true for our participants this year, too, if the first week is any indication of their passion and intellectual energy.

My brother Jim, sister-in-law Diane, and nieces and nephews Addie, Kenny, Rachel, and Josh left this morning. They arrived on Friday, just in time to witness my cooking frenzy. I made guacamole and taco salads for the whole crew. It was both a challenge and fun to cook for such a large group--but the food was done surprisingly quickly and it was good to eat and talk at the same time. They had just spent a couple of days at Disneyland, so they had lots of stories to tell about their trip. We played games and took a walk that evening. It was a nice, relaxing day.

Yesterday, we drove up to King's Canyon National Park to see the giant sequoias. Diane had visited Fresno during my first year here, and we'd made the same trip. She wanted her kids to see these enormous trees. I loved when we saw the first sequoia as we drove into the park. The kids oohed, aahed, and wowed, obviously surprised by how amazing these trees are.

We walked around the Grant Grove, admiring the trees and clambering on the rocks.

The kids crawled through tree crevices.

And gathered enormous pine cones.

We were all impressed by the General Grant tree, the third largest tree in the world, and the widest tree at 40 feet across.

We stopped at a fruit stand on the way home, trying different varieties of plums and nectarines. I wish I'd taken a picture of Kenny eating his first plum ever. This picture will have to do.

And Addie ate fruit all night, labeling her crisp white paper bag of fruit unmistakably as hers.

Last night, we made pizza, looked at pictures of Norway and San Francisco, and danced to disco music. You read that right. Jim and Diane did the swing in my living room. The kids did the worm and other impressive dance moves. I played the DJ and danced a little myself. It was a surprising turn of events--and so much fun. I wish we all lived closer to each other so this could happen all the time. I need more practice with my dance moves. Oh, and I really love my family!