I was so worried that I'd sleep in super late on Tuesday. Everytime I've ever flown to Europe, the first full night's sleep usually lasts until noon the next day. Plus, I was really wired after the show at the Pelton Arms, so I'm sure I didn't fall asleep until 1 or 1:30. Tuesday saw me wake up around 7:00. That gave me plenty of time for a leisurely morning. I took breakfast in the coffee shop attached to the hotel. The continental breakfast is all carbs: croissant or pain au chocolat, corn flakes, juice or coffee/tea, and toast. It fills my belly and I returned to my room to wait for maintenance to come adjust the shower temperature, which was ice cold. Once fixed, I showered and headed out the door.
On Tuesday, I intended to go to the Tate Modern. I got distracted before I started on my quest; I saw the Tower Bridge off in the not too far distance, so I just walked in that general direction. I eventually got there and walked around the Tower grounds. The weather was quite chilly and I wasn't dressed appropriately (the story of my London trip), so I didn't go to the top of the bridge. I told myself I'd wander back on a sunnier day.
The evening was spent with my erstwhile host Simon who took me to Greenwich (via boat) for a quick Squeeze tour. First the plague commemorating Squeeze's first gig and then to the Anchor and Hope where Glenn had been doing Tuesday gigs for almost two years. There, we had a bit to eat and drink. We then zoomed into central London (this time on train) for a peek at Big Ben, Parliament, Piccadilly, Trafalgar, and the National Gallery.
Back to the hotel to rest up for the next day and Rochester!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
London Day 1
The one thing I haven't really been able to do is blog about London. Well, it's Sunday night, it's been raining off and on all day, and my heels are blistered to tears. Tonight is as good as any to write about my first six days in London.
Day 1
I am happy to say that my flight arrived a half-hour early. After a long, but delightful lay-over in Philly (thanks Erica, Marty, and Finn), I was very anxious to get to London. Immigration and customs were a breeze. I figured that my journey to the hotel would be the same because my FB friend, Simon, had given me excellent instructions on how to navigate the Tube from Heathrow to my hotel. The only problem was my luggage. Of course, I had over-packed. Of course, there were no lifts at a couple of the stations. Thankfully, angelic gentlemen helped me carry my bag to the top of the stairs. On the way home, I will be taking a cab to the airport.
Once I checked into my lift-free hotel, I zoomed to the post office to exchange some traveler's cheques. Apparently, the post office here offers every service possible: utility payments, money exchange, bank accounts. Anyway, Simon had said that he would be by my hotel around 4:30 for food and drinks, so I rushed back to shower and change. When he got there, he had a little surprise for me: a Squeeze gig at the Pelton Arms. It is a small, intimate setting. We first grabbed a little food at the Cutty Sark and then back to the pub, where the guys were running through a quick sound check. Glenn caught my eye, gave me a big, surprised, happy face. After the sound check, he stopped to chat for just a minute - big hug and kiss greeting. Then, the crowd started to fill in. I began to meet many of the names I had been seeing on Facebook and the Glenn listserve forever: Mitzi, Mark, David. I was feeling a little jet-lagged and shy, so I just soaked up the atmosphere. The wait wasn't long. The band ripped into a vigorous set and I was lucky enough to be directly up front, about four feet from Chris Difford's nose. I can't even tell you all of what they played. The best for me was Labeled With Love - which I had never heard because they don't play it in the States. I pointed that fact out to Glenn and he agreed immediately. That was probably the best Squeeze gig I had ever experienced.
I'm kind of tired right now, so I'll play a little catch up tomorrow.
Day 1
I am happy to say that my flight arrived a half-hour early. After a long, but delightful lay-over in Philly (thanks Erica, Marty, and Finn), I was very anxious to get to London. Immigration and customs were a breeze. I figured that my journey to the hotel would be the same because my FB friend, Simon, had given me excellent instructions on how to navigate the Tube from Heathrow to my hotel. The only problem was my luggage. Of course, I had over-packed. Of course, there were no lifts at a couple of the stations. Thankfully, angelic gentlemen helped me carry my bag to the top of the stairs. On the way home, I will be taking a cab to the airport.
Once I checked into my lift-free hotel, I zoomed to the post office to exchange some traveler's cheques. Apparently, the post office here offers every service possible: utility payments, money exchange, bank accounts. Anyway, Simon had said that he would be by my hotel around 4:30 for food and drinks, so I rushed back to shower and change. When he got there, he had a little surprise for me: a Squeeze gig at the Pelton Arms. It is a small, intimate setting. We first grabbed a little food at the Cutty Sark and then back to the pub, where the guys were running through a quick sound check. Glenn caught my eye, gave me a big, surprised, happy face. After the sound check, he stopped to chat for just a minute - big hug and kiss greeting. Then, the crowd started to fill in. I began to meet many of the names I had been seeing on Facebook and the Glenn listserve forever: Mitzi, Mark, David. I was feeling a little jet-lagged and shy, so I just soaked up the atmosphere. The wait wasn't long. The band ripped into a vigorous set and I was lucky enough to be directly up front, about four feet from Chris Difford's nose. I can't even tell you all of what they played. The best for me was Labeled With Love - which I had never heard because they don't play it in the States. I pointed that fact out to Glenn and he agreed immediately. That was probably the best Squeeze gig I had ever experienced.
I'm kind of tired right now, so I'll play a little catch up tomorrow.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Light bulb moment
Twenty-four years ago, I set out to study for a year in Paris; it had been a long-time dream of mine. Just before I left, I entered into my first relationship and fell in love with my first boyfriend. The only thing I had wanted more than to go to Paris was to have a boyfriend. My fear of being alone and without a boyfriend completely sabotaged my study abroad experience. I suffered from panic attacks, cried constantly, and finally arranged to go home after 6 weeks. I was embarrassed and sad. And, to be honest, I'm not really sure that, internally, I have ever fully recovered at the shame I felt.
Twenty-four years later, I stand on the edge of divorce, the polar opposite of being in one's first relationship, though there is a boy at home I love. I find myself in another large European city, this time London. Unlike my Paris experience, I am not living with a family, nor do I have a roommate. I have come here without a traveling companion. I worried for quite some time that 20-year old Toni would emerge from the recesses of my psyche. I thought seriously about canceling the trip. Needless to say, I didn't because I am writing this from a hotel room in London (Camden), listening to the morning songs of delivery trucks and shopkeepers preparing for the day.
Instead of anxiety and fear, I am filled with awe, and contentment. The thought of being here for 10 days on my own is no longer scary. How can that be? During breakfast, I read an article from the October edition of The Sun (yes, I'm a little behind in my reading, but what's new). The article was titled "Simply Being Aware" by Abhishktananda and it struck me as perfect. In this article, he says
I started this journey thinking that I would find myself. As if I were lost. Reading this article over Corn Flakes this morning, I realized that things can be much easier than I make them. I'm not lost, no matter how poetic it sounds. I just have to open my arms and welcome myself to my own existence. For this moment, my life is in this little hotel room and a week from today it will be in Windsor. I must remember that I am in the driver's seat and set the pace. If I don't like the direction, it's my job to turn the wheel.
Twenty-four years later, I stand on the edge of divorce, the polar opposite of being in one's first relationship, though there is a boy at home I love. I find myself in another large European city, this time London. Unlike my Paris experience, I am not living with a family, nor do I have a roommate. I have come here without a traveling companion. I worried for quite some time that 20-year old Toni would emerge from the recesses of my psyche. I thought seriously about canceling the trip. Needless to say, I didn't because I am writing this from a hotel room in London (Camden), listening to the morning songs of delivery trucks and shopkeepers preparing for the day.
Instead of anxiety and fear, I am filled with awe, and contentment. The thought of being here for 10 days on my own is no longer scary. How can that be? During breakfast, I read an article from the October edition of The Sun (yes, I'm a little behind in my reading, but what's new). The article was titled "Simply Being Aware" by Abhishktananda and it struck me as perfect. In this article, he says
The mind...realizes more and more its inability to say "I am this or that; I am this person or that person." For in the very moment at which the thought appears that I am this or that, this person or that person, then the manifistation with which I have automatically tried to identify myself in the flow of consciousness has fled away from me - but I continue...."I am," and there is no need for me to strive in order to find this "I am." I am not an "I" searching for itself.
I started this journey thinking that I would find myself. As if I were lost. Reading this article over Corn Flakes this morning, I realized that things can be much easier than I make them. I'm not lost, no matter how poetic it sounds. I just have to open my arms and welcome myself to my own existence. For this moment, my life is in this little hotel room and a week from today it will be in Windsor. I must remember that I am in the driver's seat and set the pace. If I don't like the direction, it's my job to turn the wheel.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Interesting new NPR series
Okay, so the series hasn't officially started, but NPR has started requesting submissions. NPR would like listeners to contribute to a series its calling Your Brain on Kids. Perhaps this is a sign of the fundamental shift that has occurred in my brain since becoming a mom. Additionally, I've been struggling for writing ideas and would love to have something published somewhere. I thought if a topic cropped up that fit my life, I would, of course, try to contribute my voice.
Sadly, the first request for submissions goes out to parents of 1-4 year-olds. I, do however, like the question: Has parenthood changed you? Was there a moment or incident that sparked the realization?
First of all, I don't think anyone can become a parent without undergoing some significant changes. I know that I am more patient and understanding. I am more empathetic and I now know more about rocks than I had ever imagined. I now swear a lot less and I have fully purged television from my life. I've fully come to the realization that a parent's life must have variety and I will soon leave the shell of a marriage that solely revolved around my son.
The second part of the question made me chuckle, because I can clearly remember the very moment I noticed that I had started to see the world through a parent's eyes. I was in the car and the John Mayer song, "No Such Thing" came on. I don't terribly object to the song, so I didn't change the radio. But the line "They love to tell you to stay inside the lines, but somethings are better on the other side." This signals my parental metamorphisis. Andrew has always struggled with his fine-motor skills. Occupational therapists would visit the house and offer advice, especially about how to help Andrew with handling a pencil, crayon, etc. In my world, the ability to color inside the lines represented a growing mastery of particular fine-motor skills. I found myself, in the car alone, tersely offering commentary to the song. I'm sure I said something along the lines, "You know...not everything is about suppressing the spirit and conforming to stifling societal norms. Sometimes, I just need to know that my kid is capable of a complex task."
It was at that moment that I knew I was a mom.
Sadly, the first request for submissions goes out to parents of 1-4 year-olds. I, do however, like the question: Has parenthood changed you? Was there a moment or incident that sparked the realization?
First of all, I don't think anyone can become a parent without undergoing some significant changes. I know that I am more patient and understanding. I am more empathetic and I now know more about rocks than I had ever imagined. I now swear a lot less and I have fully purged television from my life. I've fully come to the realization that a parent's life must have variety and I will soon leave the shell of a marriage that solely revolved around my son.
The second part of the question made me chuckle, because I can clearly remember the very moment I noticed that I had started to see the world through a parent's eyes. I was in the car and the John Mayer song, "No Such Thing" came on. I don't terribly object to the song, so I didn't change the radio. But the line "They love to tell you to stay inside the lines, but somethings are better on the other side." This signals my parental metamorphisis. Andrew has always struggled with his fine-motor skills. Occupational therapists would visit the house and offer advice, especially about how to help Andrew with handling a pencil, crayon, etc. In my world, the ability to color inside the lines represented a growing mastery of particular fine-motor skills. I found myself, in the car alone, tersely offering commentary to the song. I'm sure I said something along the lines, "You know...not everything is about suppressing the spirit and conforming to stifling societal norms. Sometimes, I just need to know that my kid is capable of a complex task."
It was at that moment that I knew I was a mom.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Thing 3
Blogs in school? Sadly, anything closely resembling a host for blogs is blocked in my school. I can see a definite use in my class, in particular my AP Literature class. I can see a blog taking the place of a reader's notebook, with students keeping notes on-line as they progress through a novel or play. Or, I could ask them to reflect on a poem. Sadly, I could read none of that at school and I'd hate to sentence myself to yet more work at home. My only option is to see how I could employ a wiki in my class, a goal I had already set for August. If that framework is viable, I will put that to work in my AP class for the fall. I think my students would respond very enthusiastically to a blog assignment, especially if I don't run that play option too often.
Some of the blogs that I read were not class blogs, but instead blogs about the school day. I am a reflective practitioner of my profession. I regularly read recent, research-based books about teaching. The last thing I want to do is to turn my blog (or start another one) into the day in the life of teaching. I already find that I find myself easily consumed with how needy my students are, both academically and personally. If I wrote about my day, everyday, would it stop the current assault on the teaching profession, creating empathy? I don't think so. I'm interested in so much more in the world and I'm interested in exploring those sides of me. It carries no more interest than maintaining a strict mommy or a strict autism blog. Those issues are not the sole qualities that define who I am.
Would I use a blog for my classes? Yes. Would I maintain a "teacher blog"? No.
Some of the blogs that I read were not class blogs, but instead blogs about the school day. I am a reflective practitioner of my profession. I regularly read recent, research-based books about teaching. The last thing I want to do is to turn my blog (or start another one) into the day in the life of teaching. I already find that I find myself easily consumed with how needy my students are, both academically and personally. If I wrote about my day, everyday, would it stop the current assault on the teaching profession, creating empathy? I don't think so. I'm interested in so much more in the world and I'm interested in exploring those sides of me. It carries no more interest than maintaining a strict mommy or a strict autism blog. Those issues are not the sole qualities that define who I am.
Would I use a blog for my classes? Yes. Would I maintain a "teacher blog"? No.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Thing 1 and Thing 2
For my regular readers out there (all four or five of you), this post is an assignment for a cousre that I am taking this summer - 23 Things Teachers Need to Know about Web 2.0. My primary reason for taking this course is to fulfill the last CEU requirements I need to maintain my teaching license. I need three credits and this course, when completed, will give me two. My second reason for taking this course is I like to try and stay ahead of the curve. I know that many of my students know more about technology than me. I'm not afraid to ask them questions. I thought that taking this course, I could know something before they do.
I have been keeping (more or less) this blog since 2008. I don't write as much as I would like. Being an English teacher/student council adviser/soon-to-be divorced mom to a mildly autistic son leaves me little time for extras. I have, however, grown quite comfortable writing about nearly any topic. There are, obviously, topics that are verboten - mostly related to my son. The particular details of my divorce are off-limits. Beyond that, why not. We live in a world of 24-hour news and endless streams of reality television. My house is not packed to the ceiling with garbage hoarded over the years, I'm not addicted to anything (okay, maybe Lindt's dark chocolate with sea salt), and I don't pretend to have any musical talents. I do think, however, that I am a pretty decent writer and a good person. Through my writing, if one other person is experiencing something similar to me, than suddenly, we are both less alone and isolated.
I work in a district that is extremely poor. The threat of an EMF looms large on the horizon. Many of my students come from completely chaotic homes. They all have cell phones and MP3 players and yet, when I've tried to design assignments that implement those items (download an audio book), they don't budge. What my students need are mentors. People in their lives who see the value of an education. They need life skills that lead them to do more than shrug their shoulders and quit.
Many of them still don't have computers at home. It's pie-in-the-sky to talk dreamily of technology when each district is facing a $300/student cut next year. I have a lovely Smart board that has been decorating my wall since March. It is unusable because it isn't connected. My data projector remains sadly unmounted from the ceiling and cords are no where to be found. I'd love to engage my students with activities using that bit of technology, but I draw the line at climbing up ladders and using power tools over my head.
Of the two articles, I enjoyed the one by Steve Hargadon the most. The middle school article is clearly a Utopian concoction, as I have never met a class full of 13-year olds mature enough to handle The Grapes of Wrath. The Hargadon article lays out emerging trends that should give people food for thought and also tips for those who are cautiously dipping their toes into the new world's pool.
I'd like to say that technology is not going to be a panacea for kids who don't achieve and schools that have no money. I am also concerned that the uber-enthusiasm for all things technology based will take us down the whole language versus phonics path. The reality has show that the answer to teaching reading falls somewhere in the middle, and, as always, starts at home.
I have been keeping (more or less) this blog since 2008. I don't write as much as I would like. Being an English teacher/student council adviser/soon-to-be divorced mom to a mildly autistic son leaves me little time for extras. I have, however, grown quite comfortable writing about nearly any topic. There are, obviously, topics that are verboten - mostly related to my son. The particular details of my divorce are off-limits. Beyond that, why not. We live in a world of 24-hour news and endless streams of reality television. My house is not packed to the ceiling with garbage hoarded over the years, I'm not addicted to anything (okay, maybe Lindt's dark chocolate with sea salt), and I don't pretend to have any musical talents. I do think, however, that I am a pretty decent writer and a good person. Through my writing, if one other person is experiencing something similar to me, than suddenly, we are both less alone and isolated.
I work in a district that is extremely poor. The threat of an EMF looms large on the horizon. Many of my students come from completely chaotic homes. They all have cell phones and MP3 players and yet, when I've tried to design assignments that implement those items (download an audio book), they don't budge. What my students need are mentors. People in their lives who see the value of an education. They need life skills that lead them to do more than shrug their shoulders and quit.
Many of them still don't have computers at home. It's pie-in-the-sky to talk dreamily of technology when each district is facing a $300/student cut next year. I have a lovely Smart board that has been decorating my wall since March. It is unusable because it isn't connected. My data projector remains sadly unmounted from the ceiling and cords are no where to be found. I'd love to engage my students with activities using that bit of technology, but I draw the line at climbing up ladders and using power tools over my head.
Of the two articles, I enjoyed the one by Steve Hargadon the most. The middle school article is clearly a Utopian concoction, as I have never met a class full of 13-year olds mature enough to handle The Grapes of Wrath. The Hargadon article lays out emerging trends that should give people food for thought and also tips for those who are cautiously dipping their toes into the new world's pool.
I'd like to say that technology is not going to be a panacea for kids who don't achieve and schools that have no money. I am also concerned that the uber-enthusiasm for all things technology based will take us down the whole language versus phonics path. The reality has show that the answer to teaching reading falls somewhere in the middle, and, as always, starts at home.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Weighing the options
To be honest, my son has not had a full-force hurricane melt-down in a long time. Probably a couple of months. Each time, the trigger is the same and I, frankly, thought we had dodged a bullet this time.
This past Saturday, I took Andrew to Greenfield Village and the Henry Ford Museum to hang out with my friend Kriss, who drove up from Cleveland for the day. We left the house around 9:00 in the morning and got home around 4:30. We were both whipped. He was, however great. He was friendly and bubbly. He asked good questions at the artisan exhibitions (i.e the pottery house) and was extremely well-behaved. I knew that Sunday would be a lost day because that's just how he is. He needs one full day to recover from a big activity, like a trip to Greenfield Village.
That meant Sunday would be a chill day. His father (will I never move out of this place) had other plans and tried to enforce some errands on the boy. Luckily, I intervened and we stayed at home, read books, looked for four-leaf clovers, and hit the ball off the tee. We got through the day with no temper tantrums.
This morning, I knew immediately that something was not right. He spent the morning rocking on the couch, in a turtle position. He told me he was too tired to go to school. I said he could stay home if he didn't mind running errands and he resoundingly rejected that notion. I promised that I would pick him up a little early, when I finished running my international errands. A promise I kept.
He was fine until he had to brush his teeth. He has a habit of squirting toothpaste all over the sink. I now make him clean it up and that has slowed down the mess. Well, his dad caught the mess tonight and kind of escalated. This led Andrew to threaten to kick his dad and to call both of us "stupid futs" (his version of fuck). He finally calmed down and now I can kind of collect my thoughts.
I had hoped to take him to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky this summer, but after today's display, I just don't know. Perhaps he's ready for the end of the school year on Wednesday and that played a contributing factor. I thought the trip would take three days: one to get there, one to go to the cave, and one to come home. Now, I don't know. I don't want us to be held hostage to the autism, but I need to be realistic. I was hoping to go in August, so he might be fully relaxed by that point. He is bright, friendly, and sweet. He needs to experience the world, to broaden that expressive vocabulary of his. I guess we'll play it by ear and see how he's doing.
This past Saturday, I took Andrew to Greenfield Village and the Henry Ford Museum to hang out with my friend Kriss, who drove up from Cleveland for the day. We left the house around 9:00 in the morning and got home around 4:30. We were both whipped. He was, however great. He was friendly and bubbly. He asked good questions at the artisan exhibitions (i.e the pottery house) and was extremely well-behaved. I knew that Sunday would be a lost day because that's just how he is. He needs one full day to recover from a big activity, like a trip to Greenfield Village.
That meant Sunday would be a chill day. His father (will I never move out of this place) had other plans and tried to enforce some errands on the boy. Luckily, I intervened and we stayed at home, read books, looked for four-leaf clovers, and hit the ball off the tee. We got through the day with no temper tantrums.
This morning, I knew immediately that something was not right. He spent the morning rocking on the couch, in a turtle position. He told me he was too tired to go to school. I said he could stay home if he didn't mind running errands and he resoundingly rejected that notion. I promised that I would pick him up a little early, when I finished running my international errands. A promise I kept.
He was fine until he had to brush his teeth. He has a habit of squirting toothpaste all over the sink. I now make him clean it up and that has slowed down the mess. Well, his dad caught the mess tonight and kind of escalated. This led Andrew to threaten to kick his dad and to call both of us "stupid futs" (his version of fuck). He finally calmed down and now I can kind of collect my thoughts.
I had hoped to take him to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky this summer, but after today's display, I just don't know. Perhaps he's ready for the end of the school year on Wednesday and that played a contributing factor. I thought the trip would take three days: one to get there, one to go to the cave, and one to come home. Now, I don't know. I don't want us to be held hostage to the autism, but I need to be realistic. I was hoping to go in August, so he might be fully relaxed by that point. He is bright, friendly, and sweet. He needs to experience the world, to broaden that expressive vocabulary of his. I guess we'll play it by ear and see how he's doing.
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