Category: Inspiration

  • On gardening and understanding

    When I garden I want to tear my hair out along with the weeds and grass at times because there just seems to be so much to pull to let the plants I love to breathe and shine.

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    My first inclination could be to just pull haphazardly but I’ve noticed that if I patiently allow my hands to travel to the root of what it is I want to suss out, then a gentle tug is enough to remove a whole tangle of unwanted grass and weeds.

    Understanding why and locating where is enough to tend to just about any garden.

  • What do you believe? And does it matter?

    If you don’t know who Mary Hynes is and have never listened to (and nodded with, yelled at, cried to, and questioned) Tapestry, CBC’s weekly radio show and podcast on spirituality, myth, faith, our connections then hop to it. It is inspiring and regularly leads me to question my own beliefs.

    A recent article by the show’s host, however, reminds me that belief ain’t all that.

    How do people know what you believe without action?
    Cliché –> Walking the Talk
    Theory –> Theory in use and espoused theory (Argyris & Schon, 1974)

    I’m going to point fingers at myself for the sake of illustration here. As well to remind me how important it is to act and not merely believe. It’ll be a mix of the good, the bad, and the ugly.

    Belief:
    I say I believe in relationship-based learning.

    It’s on my cv, I recently created and updated some web sites (LinkedIn, about.me, and others) where it was the first thing I wrote down.

    Action:
    A few years ago I used this blog as a venting venue about students and pressed send before thinking about relationship. I did the very opposite of caring for our relationship.

    I have been known to end relationships abruptly. I turn silent, I disappear.

    I can go for long periods without returning phone calls or contacting people.

    I try to listen for/feel the ‘why’ behind a colleague’s or student’s actions and consider my own actions based on that.

    I spend my breaks at work with students: talking, listening, and helping.

    I get to know my students interests, goals, and abilities before designing learning and evaluation situations.

    After uncomfortable, hinky …arguments… with friends or family I don’t talk about it. Time passes, then we drift back to a certain homeostasis.

    I feel hurt and angry when I see teachers do things like yell at students, call them out in front of their peers, apply classroom expectations inconsistently, yet I do not know how to approach the subject with them for fear of creating an adversarial relationship.

    So. Though I advertise that relationship-based learning is fundamental to who I am and what I do, I do not always take care of relationship the way I would like to. But I do think it needs to be taken care of and I work each day to get better at this. It’s hard work. Which lets me know that it is worth working at, thinking about, improving. But as it stands, some of my actions fall in line with that belief while others very pointedly don’t.

    Another So. This morning I wrote a post called ‘I believe..’. Does any of that really matter? They are things that quicken my pulse but unless they are followed through with action, they are merely words. Belief then, is important as much as it provides a context for action but not so much on its own.

  • Teaching as an act of optimism

    I gave this blog a little facelift, using a modified template I’m using over at Camping Out that I like. I think it looks nice and fresh, just like the gorgeous day I’m having today on my day off this week :) (I work 4 days/week). At the same time I changed the quote I use in my byline to

    Teaching is the greatest act of optimism.

    It’s attributed to Colleen Wilcox and rings true for me.

    I’m wondering what it stirs in others? I invite you to reflect on it. Does it ring true to you as well? Why?

  • Looking Back: Stop talking about classrooms that don’t work

    As part of my Looking Back series, the sentiments I articulated in this post from August 21st, 2010 are still very alive for me. There are classrooms that work, that work very well. Click on the title below to go to the original post with its comments.

    Here is an example of a ‘traditional’ classroom in Japan (scroll down to ‘Inspiration in a Japanese elementary school’). Can you imagine if these students did not have this place? What a shame that would be.

    —-

    Stop talking about classrooms that don’t work

    This morning I read a thoughtful post about what ADD may or may not be. Despite the timeliness and depth of thought present in the article, I was stricken by one paragraph about the perils of classrooms on our children. How our young children today, so rife with creative potential, are doomed to a future of diagnosis and boredom because they will be subjected to school.

    I was not only stricken but insulted.

    Does all of the work that I and many of my colleagues have done over the past years have no bearing on the future of education? Do all of those teachers out there in schools all over the world who care about their children not count?

    I feel we need to get beyond the system is broken kind of thinking and focus on what is working. We see what we look for and if we keep focusing on a broken system we will only succeed in creating more broken system.

    Instead of creating a doomsday effect by telling ominous stories of the proliferation of ‘traditional’ classrooms that stifle creativity and connectivity, I prefer to point towards learning that does the opposite, learning that works and educators who ‘get it’.

    George Couros
    Michael Doyle
    Lori Centerbar
    Kevin Hodgson
    Glenn Moses
    Linda Clinton
    Elona Hartjes
    Darren Kuropatwa
    Kelly Hines
    Karen S.
    Dea Conrad-Curry
    Zac Chase
    Angela Maiers
    Chris Lehmann
    Jose Vilson
    MRW
    Damian Bariexca
    J. M. Holland

    .
    .
    .

    You get the point. There are good educators who foster good learning in good classrooms in good schools. I keep this in mind as I work towards hope for the future within (and without) the walls of my own school.

  • Learning from Apple Juice

    Bordering on the TMI – I’ve been having some difficulties nursing Jack. Mainly in the ouch department but more deeply with the frustration of knowing that if it is hurting me he is more than likely not having an easy time of getting the amount of nourishment he needs. He nurses every 2 to 3 hours around the clock and so it’s really easy to get achingly, wearily frustrated when you translate that schedule into the amount of sleep I must be getting!

    The other day I decided to sit in a different chair, one that happens to be next to a book shelf, when he started to show signs of hunger. Blissfully, Jack latched on to me with out the need to grit my teeth and I just sat there looking at him for a while. I saw a book of Shel Silverstein poetry on the shelf so decided to read to him but then noticed The Sun My Heart by Thich Nhat Hanh and decided to read from that instead. Must say, as I read to Jack, the first story in the book brought tears to my eyes, reminding me to slow down and just be. (You can read the passage, beginning on page 3 in the google book thing below or, for those who may not have access to the book thing – sometimes these things don’t work on certain computers – I’ve typed it out below.)

    Today three children, two girls and a little boy, came from the village to play with Thanh Thuy (pronounced ‘Tahn Tui’). The four of them ran off to play on the hillside behind our house and were gone for about an hour when they returned to ask for something to drink. I took the last bottle of homemade apple juice and gave them each a full glass, serving Thuy last. Since her juice was from the bottom of the bottle, it had some pulp in it. When she noticed the particles, she pouted and refused to drink it. So the four children went back to their games on the hillside, and Thuy had not drunk anything.

    Half an hour later, while I was meditating in my room, I heard her calling. Thuy wanted to get herself a glass of cold water, but even on tiptoes she couldn’t reach the faucet. I reminded her of the glass of juice on the table and asked her to drink that first. Turning to look at it, she saw that the pulp had settled and the juice looked clear and delicious. She went to the table and took the glass with both hands. After drinking half of it, she put it down and asked, “Is this a different glass, Uncle Monk?” (a common term for Vietnamese children to use when addressing an older monk.)

    “No,” I answered. “It’s the same one as before. It sat quietly for a bit, and now it’s clear and delicious.” Thuy looked at the glass again. “It really is good. Was it meditating like you, Uncle Monk?” I laughed and patted her head. “Let us say that I imitate the apple juice when I sit; that is closer to the truth.” (pp.3-4 The Sun My Heart by Thich Nhat Hanh, Berkley, California, Parallax Press, 1988.)

    The pulp had settled and the juice looked clear and delicious.

    There’s the aspect of clarity related to just ‘being’ and there is also the aspect that, even when things are cloudy, clarity exists and I just need to wait, it’ll show up.

    It’s easier to remind myself of the need to just be, to sit and settle, when Jack isn’t crying and I’m not hurting and we’re both quietly doing what we need to do but I figure the more I remind myself the more of those moments we will have together.

    And if I can do that with Jack, a 1 month old (today!), I can probably do it with any child, including those in my classroom.