The Icing

I did it. Yesterday, fate brought some unexpected money into my life (I love fate), so last night, I ordered a Kindle, Amazon's book reader. Today I had things to do, but as soon as I could, I ran home to see if it had arrived. It had. An hour ago, I opened up the Amazon box and saw this.

I fell in love with the box.

Then I opened it and took this out.

You may need something to compare it with, so here is the Kindle next to a regular size book.

It's tiny. It's light. It's cute (can I call a piece of technology "cute"?).

I've already charged it up (fast!) and loaded three books on it (very, very fast).

I haven't really read much on it yet--except the first part of the directions. So far, it seems really easy to use. It's actually lighter than most books I read, and I think it will be easy on my eyes. The device will also allow me to annotate text with its tiny keyboard.

So far, I'm really happy with this decision. I'll keep you posted.

This morning, I've been thinking about which books I want to take to Norway with me. It's weird to think about leaving so much behind--what if I need my Feminist Thought reader or the novels that I haven't looked at in years, but that still dwell on my office shelves? I'll have library privileges at the University of Oslo--and Oslo also has a public library. But what if they don't have the books I need?

Here are some of the books I think I can't live without.

The Heath Anthology of American Literature (parts D & E, the last 2 volumes)
Gloria Anzaldua's Borderlands/La Frontera
Poetry (Elizabeth Bishop, Mary Oliver, Lorna Dee Cervantes)
Margaret Cruikshank's Learning to Be Old (I want to write an article using this book)
Alice Munro books (again, for the article I want to write)
My book on HTML
My travel books on Norway and London (since I'll be going there to visit friends while I'm in Europe)

I also need to buy a book on immigration and another on the American election system. Although I know I can find a lot of information on the internet, the bookworm in me feels a need to have a mini-library to rely on.

I've also been thinking for months about buying Kindle, a book reader that would insure that I always have something to read when I'm on the road in Norway. It's expensive, though, and I keep wondering how practical it is. It only weighs 10 ounces (cool!) and can hold up to 200 books. But in Europe, I'll have to transfer books to the device using a USB port--and I wonder how long that will take. It's also yet one more thing to carry with me when I travel--and I already have so many devices that need to be recharged!

Decisions, decisions.

Found this video on myspace. Garrett was one of my students a long, long time ago in Arizona. I particularly remember the day he volunteered to read Allen Ginsberg's "America" in the larger class. Crouching and pacing at the front of the lecture hall, he emoted the text in his growling, crooning voice. We in the class didn't just understand the poem, we felt it.

"The Sun Is the Source" by Pure Horsehair

"We can't just stop [change]. We're not rocks--progress, migration, motion is . . . modernity. It's animate, it's what living things do. We desire. Even if all we desire is stillness, it's still desire for. Even if we go faster than we should. We can't wait." (Tony Kushner)

1. I used to adore shredded beef tacos. Now I prefer fish tacos.

2. I cut three trees down in my front yard. I've replaced them with plants and sparse but growing lawn.

3. I swore by PCs. Now I don't know how I ever lived without my Mac.

4. Soon I will sell my car. I'll use public transportation for the 10 months that follow.

5. Summer Institute 2008 ends tomorrow. I have 14 new friends.

Change. For years, I looked for tacos similar to the ones I loved in Tempe. The missing three trees left scars still present in my front yard. I just got rid of my PC a few weeks ago, even though I hadn't really used it in months. I'm ambivalent about selling my car. All week, I've felt a little melancholy about the end of SII 2008.

Change can open new opportunities. Sometimes I need to convince myself of this. . . . Or wait until I feel new possibilities.

Life moves me forward, whether I like it or not.

What do I desire? Love. Loyalty. Strength. Spontaneity.

Progress.

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.