Country Mouse and City Mouse

The third picture could have taken me in many different directions; remembering my past as a child of the Dakotas, or speaking about being drawn back to my Kansas roots, or some combination of the two. But when I sat down to really look at this picture, I couldn't help but feel like the farmer was experiencing a moment of blissful freedom - and that was certainly something I could relate to.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, A. and I made the decision that I should keep my apartment in Lawrence for another year. Many of my friends and co-workers have stared at me, wide-eyed, insisting that this is a huge mistake, and do I really want to keep making this ridiculous drive, and I could be so much closer to work and to A. ... but sitting here in the quiet of a warm and windy spring morning with windows open wide, I know I made the right choice. Although my second home is in midtown KC, Sunday mornings there never smell this amazing or feel this peaceful. Maybe I should just show the naysayers this poem.


Metropolitan Claustrophobia

You have taught me to appreciate
being wrapped, not only in your arms,
but in the busy, noisy rhythm
of your beloved city.

I see, now, how a place so tightly packed
can also be open and loving,
and that sounds of happiness
can drown out the sirens.

But like a northern Dixie Chick,
I need my wide open spaces

where, eating breakfast,
all you can hear is the wind
and the crunch of granola.

I breathe easier
when my left elbow hangs out the window
(far more naturally than yours)
and my bass beats loudly –
not to impress, but because
I assume no one else will hear.

I am from the city, too,
but in my city, I could always see the sky,
smell the earth, and hear the changes of the weather.
Open prairie is an undeniable part of me, even now.
So though it pains me each time I leave you,
nothing beats the freedom of coming home.

April 3rd, 2011

A night at the K

I chose the second picture in an effort to reach some of my sports-obsessed boys, and sure enough - there were happy exclamations and looks of relief on many faces in my 5th hour, which I regularly compare to a frat house. (19 boys and 6 girls, right before lunch. There is a lot of discussion centered on food, action movies, and Call of Duty. Heaven help me.) There was also a lot of eye rolling from those who initially saw no way to relate to the picture, but I encouraged them to think about what else could be going on in the stadium or to write about how they DON'T like sports. I thought that I, too, might struggle with this one since I don't particularly care for baseball, until I remembered...

Last summer, I moved. Goodbye craphole student ghetto apartment, hello palace on the west side. (I'm very happy to report that I signed an extension on my lease last weekend, so the palace and I will have another year together and I'm guaranteed another TWO summers in Lawrence!) Obviously, I was going to need some help moving, so my dad drove down to assist with the heavy lifting. It's a long drive, so he stayed for several days and there was the obvious obligation to spend some of that time with the grandparents as well. So Grandma hooked us all up with cheap Price Chopper tickets to see the Royals because Grandpa wanted to show off the new renovations at the K (as if he had done them himself or something...).

It was mid-July, and I had only been dating A. for a little over a month at this point. But being the patient, open-minded good sport he is, he was completely willing to come along for the crazy ride that is an evening with my relatives. So Grandma Price Choppered an extra ticket, and we all had a great night watching the Royals do their thing (lose). It was buck night AND fireworks night, and the peoplewatching was truly excellent. It's a special memory for me because it was one of the first (of many) times that A. and I discovered our ability to make ANYTHING fun when we're in it together (ask me about our UFC fights experience sometime). So, I'm happy to remember a bit of that evening in a poem.

Anticipation

Players perch on the edge of their collective seat,
expectantly eyeing the pitcher
whose back is turned to the runner
sneaking onto third.
High above, where noses are meant to bleed,
we lean back and laugh at our surroundings
as my hand sneaks into yours,
hidden from less sharp yet equally expectant eyes.

April 2nd, 2011

National Poetry Month

Alright, folks. Now is as good a time as any to jump back on the poetry horse. It's the first day of April, so in addition to being a day where students try to put rubber mice on my desk and electrocute me with "broken" pens, it is the first day of National Poetry Month. It has also been one year (minus a few days) since I first started this blog and one year (plus a few days) since a good friend pushed me back into the poetry pool. This year, another good friend has challenged herself to write a poem every day this month, and I think I'm going to crash that party and attempt to do the same.

Looking through my notebook, there are lots of ideas and half-poems I could finish if I gave them the time and attention, so that's a good place to start. If my crazy life overwhelms me again, I am at least going to fall back on posting a new (to me) poem I like on here each day so that I'm reading more. I may live to regret these words 30 days from now.

Here's a start: Today was scheduled to be a Writer's Workshop day in my classroom, so I made today's topic poetry. I told the kids about National Poetry Month, told them my personal goal of a poem every day, and read a few poems out loud. Then, we (yes, WE this time; I got to write too!) wrote three poems, each based on a picture. I told them to start with something easy like an acrostic poem if they didn't think of themselves as much of a poet, but many of them went above and beyond with free verse, limericks, haiku, etc. That's characteristic of this group (which has been wonderful for me as a first-year teacher), but it's still refreshing whenever it happens. Overall, today was a resounding success, so if nothing else, I can fill this weekend's slots with these three quick poems.

The first picture:

The first poem:

Crabby

Speckled carpet beneath my toes
doesn't stick like wet sand.
A feeble lamp is no replacement
for an absent sun,
and the smell in here
is far from fresh sea salt.
Freely wandering the patch of beach
on my whiteboard...
I envy the crab.

April 1st, 2011

Windfall

I'm really disappointed that the Borders in Lawrence is closing soon - I love going to bookstores whether they're corporate establishments or holes in the wall with dusty bookshelves, so I mourn the demise of any book seller. I'm also sad to lose the location of some great college memories - the free wi-fi lent itself to many hours in the cafe slaving over midterms, final portfolios, and a few poems when the required work wouldn't come. I even met up with A. there for our first date out on the town - I found him drooling over cookbooks when I arrived. Typical. If nothing else, downtown nightlife will be in big trouble if anything happens to restrict access to that parking lot! (For the record, I always made it a point to at least walk through Borders and consider future purchases before heading to the bars. But I also always buy a soda or candy bar if I use a gas station for their bathroom.)

The one good thing about a bookstore closing, though, is liquidation pricing. A big thank you to the federal government for the safety bubble created by my tax refund, and a thank you to Borders for giving me the opportunity to work on that "read more, dammit" goal I made for this year. (Still working on the "write more, dammit" goal... one thing at a time.) So, here's the list of new acquisitions - I've only read two of them before, so feel free to pester me about any one of these to make sure I'm progressing. :)

Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
Alice's Adventure in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass - Lewis Carroll
The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Sound and the Fury (audiobook) - William Faulkner
100 Selected Poems - e.e. cummings
Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne
Poet's Choice - Edward Hirsch
Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
The Reader - Bernhard Schlink
Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

All for well under $100!!! But before I can start any of these, I have to finish the books I've already started or borrowed from students and friends. Currently reading: We, Yvgeny Zamyatin; The Amber Spyglass, Philip Pullman. On deck: Cat's Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut; Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins.

Time to clean off my glasses and settle into some spring break reading... but first, there's a new Lego set that needs building with my sister. :)

Following Dr.'s Orders

I don't like the way this turned out at all, but this is the first list of things I thought of, and I'm not one to ignore directions. 50 miles is starting to feel a lot longer than it used to, especially with these reminders all around.


Traces

Driver’s seat still pushed back too far in the morning
Headlights expose flat tires on a men's bicycle
A borrowed pen travels atop half-graded papers
(1) waits patiently in Gmail inbox
Grows to (11) throughout the day
Smiling eyes and stifled giggles
Curious looks on little faces

Radio man complains for 33 miles
A different smart-ass voice echoes silently
Neglected houseplants beg for water
2 bottlecaps rest where arms belong
Dinner for one, amateurly made
A single ceramic plate hides amongst the plastic
TV squawks to fill the silence

Forgotten overnight bag lies full of Sunday
Poorly-aimed Kleenex loiters near its destination
Glasses rest on shared books under a darkened lamp
Old Spice drifts faintly across suddenly spacious blankets
Another day spent alone ends, but
A promise still lingers in my ear for tomorrow –
See you soon.

January 18th, 2011

Test day leaves time for thinking

I am frustrated.

I want to write. I want the feeling of creativity and inspiration that comes when I write. I feel like a hypocrite every day when I ask my students to write while I do not.

But I’ve got nothing.

It’s a goal of mine (call it a Resolution if you must) to both read and write more this year. I’ve been reading (We, The Golden Compass – both are excellent so far), which is a start, but I can’t write.

I feel like my brain is constantly on overdrive, and every time I think of something vaguely creative or meaningful, it immediately gets shoved out of the way by the never-ending deluge of more pressing, practical problems and tasks. Have I filled out that form yet? Did I ever make it to the printer this morning? I’m running out of clean clothes. And gas. What am I going to do about my student who is tardy every single day? When’s the last time I went to the grocery store? Oh crap, my phone is dying again. What am I going to do in class tomorrow? Should I take K-10 or I-70 to KC today? Hey, that would be a cool idea for a poem… wait, where did I leave my to-do list?

And so on.

Everything comes in fits and starts, like an engine that won’t turn over. I feel like my days are choppy, and my thoughts reflect that. When inspiration does hit, it stops short of completion, and I suddenly lack the time and patience to work and follow through. My notebook is full of half-ideas and clipped phrases, and that’s when I bother to grab it at all.

Try as I might, I can’t push down the nagging fear that I might not be challenging myself intellectually right now; that the unavoidable boredom of constructing basic sentences and simple paragraphs 5 times a day every day could be a contributing factor to the increasingly basic nature of my thoughts. It's not the only distraction or the only possible cause, but it’s always been in my nature – get bored, get comfortable being bored, settle in. Don’t rock the boat. Change is scary. Change takes work. Sigh.

Like everything else I’ve tried to write lately, I don’t know where I’m going with this, how it ends, or what I want out of it. I think I just needed to… write.

I've made it!

Last year, at the end of my first student teaching, one of my precious kiddos made me a goodbye card that read: "You will be a great techer." I immediately took it home and hung it on my fridge, where it still hangs today as a daily reminder that I will one day make a difference for a child, if only to teach them the proper spelling of "teacher."

Today, I received a Christmas card from one of my current students. On the inside, it simply says: "You are a great teacher."

Such a simple change of tense, but it means the world to me. Especially since it's all spelled right.