Plan Your Work-Work Your Plan

My high school boyfriend used to quote that. He loved to seem successful even  when we were teenagers. I was never much of a planner back then. I was more of a plunge in and see what happens next kind of person. That actually served me well and I have no regrets, but at my age I have finally experienced the joy of having a plan, experiencing the consequences of executing plans and succeeding in the process. As a teacher, one lesson I've learned is the importance of daily lesson plans. So, here's my advice to you, younger teachers.

Write lesson plans. I mean, really write them. For yourself. I know your administration asks you to submit long-range plans and unit plans and collaboration plans and all sorts of whatever plans. But, there is merit to writing daily lesson plans each week. Even if they aren't "required". Especially for yourself. You are your own audience.

Even though I've been teaching for twelve years in the course of twenty-one years (I just love the 12-21 this year), I still write daily plans for each of my classes. Every Monday, I write the plans. I have a binder where I keep those plans on my "lecture" desk. I can consult on pacing from previous years and remind myself of activities that I may forget with a fresh class.

The key is to revise these plans and to make notes as you go. Lesson plans should be a living document. It is not static. If you don't get through your plan in one bell; you won't. Nothing dire will ever happen when plans change. But, do always plan.

Dynamic teaching is the key to any successful long-term teacher. Hopefully, you still love your content enough to still be researching and keeping as current as possible in  your academic discipline. I love the process of shaping plans. Adding components. Scratching out what absolutely was not necessary or completely failed. It is an art form at the very best and a "laundry" to-do list at the bare minimum.

What's great about writing plans is the ability to prepare well in terms of copies to be made or video clips to cue or any other materials you need to succeed. Perhaps it's just me, but I just don't like racing around at the last minute and you know what else?

I pride myself on my professionalism. It's all in the plan.

Hello, Year Two!

It's the start of my second year at this middle school developing a drama program and I could not be more happy. For one, I have established relationships with so many students, discipline and classroom management are just not issues. What's more important? I am delving more deeply into the academic aspect. I'm no longer creating, I have the luxury to tighten and to more sharply focus the lessons.

I am delighted. Wake up every morning so excited to spin magic in the classroom. Lesson plans consume my thoughts and the students inspire more creativity than I ever thought possible.

The spoken word performance poetry group that I organized last year grew from five members to twelve members in just this one year. Eager, beautiful minds delighted by the idea of their words dancing on the page and coming to life on the stage.

I'm grateful to break this blog back open because when I begin rehearsals for the overly ambitious full-length school play I intend to stage... you are going to be privy to all of the delicious drama that comes with daring to reach for the stars.

And why not? What else is there to do in life, really?

Restorative Medicine

In order to brainstorm a topic for this post, I scrolled through my previous posts only to find the common theme: exhaustion. Ha. And of course. I have to smile remembering when I first launched this career and "observed" a teacher years and years ago (before I student taught). I thought to myself at the time, "This is a cool gig. It doesn't seem that taxing and you get to read and write literature and share your love of academia with kids. This is definitely something I can do as I get older."

And part of it is true... I can do this gig until I get older. But, I am older... twenty years older than when I started. What is not true... it's not a relaxing gig. Not one bit. That part, I misunderstood completely. Teaching is physically demanding. Mentally challenging and taxing to one's patience.

Of course, everyone knows the teacher "jokes" about having to train one's bladder to pee between classes and only having fifteen minutes to eat lunch and not really having summer's off. Those realities we all know. Here are some other facts. I spent six hours in ninety degree heat driving around neighborhoods to do "home visits". There was simply not enough water to drink to replenish the dehydration that comes with six hours in that temperature going from home to home.

Moving into a new classroom and decorating it took days and days and days to do. I spend every waking hour researching, creating and designing lesson plans. In between, I created a new classroom website that links to my writer's website and back and forth. I call parents whenever I can. I get to school at seven a.m. every day and when we had Open House last week, I didn't get home until eight p.m. Weekends are spent planning and grading and grading and planning.

My classroom is adjacent to the band room so it so incredibly loud. That means my ears ring and my voice is hoarse from projecting over them every day. Finally, my new support shoes gave me blisters on the top of my feet (from the "cute" strap) so the next day, I wore flats that gave me bleeding blisters on my heels.

I'm grateful to be young enough still to push through these physical demands. No matter my body was so sore this weekend, I could barely make it through grocery shopping. I've lost eight pounds since the school year started (and that's a good thing, for sure!).

So why physically tax one's self in a "professional" career? Because there's simply nothing else I'd rather do. The rewards of student success heal every blister, restore hoarse vocal chords and laughter is the best medicine. That's the secret weapon of teaching... I don't think lawyers or doctors or business people laugh as much as teachers. Children laugh more often throughout the day than do adults, so when  you spend all of your time with children... you get to laugh.

And that makes all the difference.

Label Me

When I accepted this position at this school, a teacher friend of mine begged me not to. "You will always be perceived as a 'bad' teacher if you go there. You will be labeled".

If that's true... so be it. Label me. As the teacher who makes a difference. The teacher who takes on the "worst" schools with dignity and pride. The teacher who digs in and teaches with lovingkindness to children who so so need GOOD teachers.

And I am... a good teacher. Actually, I won't even be modest. I am gifted and talented at my craft. The reality is... at those "utopia" schools, whomever teaches those students won't really make a difference. Those children will succeed regardless of who their teachers are because they have strong family and community and economic support.

My students do not have that. They deserve the BEST teachers. If we are going to change our country... we must do it from the ground up. I have never been one to voice my political views on social media or talk talk talk. Instead, I walk the walk. Over the course of twenty years, I have served the most needy children in Ohio and Kentucky. Children who have very little privilege. Children in poverty. Children in the foster care system. Children who are struggling.

For the one hour a day they are in my classroom, I give them everything I have to give. I never once lower my academic standards or my expectations for their success. Ask them to RISE and they will. Devote every waking moment to researching, writing, creating lesson plans and then being dynamic to reflect over what worked and what didn't to better serve them is what I do best.

It is my honor and privilege to serve this school. Label me the teacher who cares. The teacher who overcomes obstacles and barriers my students suffer to educate them. I teach them how to shake hands properly and make eye contact. How to say, "Nice to meet you." How to raise their hands in class. Then... I teach them the most beautiful poetry Shakespeare offers. Ask them to stand in front of class and learn how to give public speeches. Direct them to embrace dramatic monologues and act them out. Through the process, empower them to be productive members of society.

Because they deserve nothing but the best.

Keep Your Head Up

Okay... what in the what what? I am struggling! Seriously! And really? Okay, so I have this seventh grade class that just. hasn't. bought. in. I mean... really hasn't "bought in" and I'm perplexed. I haven't met a jar of pickles that hasn't loved me as much as I loved them. What did I do wrong? What haven't I done? Most importantly... what do I need to do?

So... first strategy of attack. I called every single parent in the class yesterday afternoon. One of those, "Just wanted to reach out and introduce myself since I'm new to school. Your child is an absolute joy and I'm so delighted to have them in class this quarter". Phase One.

Phase Two: plan "Fun Friday". Instead of hammering hard... I'm going to play into their strengths. They want to tap a beat? Drive me crazy by tap tap tapping with their pens on the desk while I'm lecturing? Okay... time to unleash Shakespeare Sonnet 18. I already copied the poem in text. I've got the music. We will read it. Listen to it. Sing it. Then, I will group them up. They can turn it into a rap. Translate it into Spanish. Act it out. Go crazy!

But first... my secret weapon? Good old Tupac. And thank God for him. These pickles are already dazzled by the photo of him I have on my collage wall. They exclaimed, "Oooh! Is that Tupac? I love Tupac!" Ooooh, child... you weren't even born before he died.

But I was. I was alive when he was alive. I was introduced to his poetry by my very first pickles and it's time to unleash my secret weapon. "Keep Your Head Up". 'cuz that's what I'm gonna do. That's what I'm going to inspire them to do. We are all gonna keep our heads up.

Phase Three... I'm going to go to the computer, take attendance and pretend that the song "magically" popped up. On those fabulous speakers I have that BLASTS music like nobody's business.

Then, Ms. Beck is gonna show her skills. I'm going to sing sing sing. Dance dance dance. We're gonna Tupacalypse Now. Share the love. Become inspired.

Then... we're gonna show Shakespeare who's boss.

Or perhaps remind them...

I'm the boss.

Regroup

Okay, time to "take stock". The first two classes rolled without a hitch. I'm on pace with them and will continue. The next two classes went fairly well. I know what direction we're heading. It's the last two classes that flummoxed me. Unexpected events occurred. The last bell, I didn't realize it would take all bell to organize the bus dismissal procedures/paper work, so I didn't have "seat work" for the students to be contained, so of course... chaos ensued. Not the way to start a first day/set a first impression.

Last night, I came home depleted. Exhausted. Demoralized. Mentally, I listed my "options". Of course, it helped that I didn't have a voice. I strained my voice by talk talk talking too much. So, in silence, I stewed. And really, that is better. I think "venting" sometimes makes it worse. Sometimes, silence is best. What I focus on, expands. Best to focus on what worked vs. what didn't work.

This morning, I woke up and wrote in my journal to think. Then, I got to work. Looking at the notes I took at the end of my classes, I regrouped. Created a new document to differentiate instruction. Printed the document and "chunked" the material in more easily digestible parts. We will get through the material. I will not lower my expectations and standards. I just need to do what I did with my son when he was a baby learning to eat... start more slowly. Drench it in Ranch dressing and "trick" him into eating. Of course, this is a metaphor. But, the idea behind it is the same.

Equity/ not equality. That was a lesson we learned in PD. I just didn't realize what it meant until yesterday. I will place support after support after support in place. I will dig even deeper to get there. I will allow my students to grow and develop with my lovingkindness. I will figure this out. I have to.

My students are shining stars that deserve the best from me.

First Day of School!

And I'm ready to roll! To curb my anxiety, I remind myself... this is the day all of my hard work and determination will pay off. I'm going to float with students! Chaos, confusion, fear... all the feelings my students will be experiencing and it's my job to lead. With grace and dignity.

So, when I answered a colleague's question of whether I had taught Drama before with "no".... I have to remind myself: YES I have! What was I thinking? Drama is part of the English classroom. I've also taught Arts and Humanities for years. Drama was a huge component of that curriculum. Finally... I'm the story-teller teacher. Drama is nothing more than produced story-telling. I've got this!

And weird... today marks my twenty year anniversary of the first time I walked into a public school classroom. Twenty years ago? Doesn't seem possible, but it's true. This will mark my ninth year of public school teaching over the course of twenty years. In between, I've been a professor of English, a writing instructor for workshops and a long-term sub. Teaching is like breathing at this point. I just need to remember to launch on my stories and all will be well.

Of course, I overly prepared. If I move through my first unit in the time I've allotted, it will be a miracle. I practice dynamic teaching. Not everything is set in stone (well, it is on the long-range plan document I was asked to submit), but I know what every experienced teacher knows. Learn your kids' interests and levels and work from there. Even last night, I was jotting down notes and ideas for today's lessons. What do I love to do more than anything else? Research, write, create lessons and implement them. So, reminding myself to not get ahead of myself is key.

Focus on the task. Stay in the moment. Enjoy the ride. What a long, strange trip it's been. I'm just so grateful I got here. Today! Today! First Day of School: hooray!

Balance

As I hustle to launch back into my career in teaching, I feel like I'm neglecting my son. Of course, that's to be expected. I'm simply not physically in the house as much as I was. His school begins a week after my school begins. Because he's fourteen, I didn't have to arrange elaborate daycare plans. But, the long days last week and the beginning of this crept up on me. I should have planned better.

So, imagine how grateful I was to receive the email last night that he will be at golf tournaments the next three days. Okay... at least, I did something right. I got him involved in golf. I reached out to a school mommy and arranged for my son and hers to get together on Friday at the pool. I emailed the organization where my son will be volunteering and asked if he could spend a few hours there next week to get started. Check. check. check.

My teaching career has suffered neglect in my life. When I got pregnant, my husband and I moved to another state and I resigned my career in my favorite high school. I stayed home with my son until he was three. Turning my back on my teaching career was not hard for those years. But, oh! was I excited to return to teaching when my baby turned three and was old enough for Montessori school. The thrill I felt the first morning I drove to school. Freedom! Teaching! However, I had a hard time balancing then. I remember when his teacher called after the first few weeks and said, "Aren't you at all concerned about your child's progress/transition in class?" Of course I was, lady! Because my husband took our son to school and I picked him up in the afternoons, I primarily met with the afternoon teacher. I didn't mean to neglect the morning teacher. I had to hustle to achieve balance.

Five years later, I had to resign my career in teaching again. For six years, I've been home. I definitely felt the pain of neglecting my teaching career. Of course, I taught writing workshops and launched my writing career... but, that's nothing compared to committing to a public school life. This transition is definitely difficult. I want to be completely present at school. I want to be responsible to my family. The typical working-mom struggle. Both sides of my world require intense organization and preparation. My brain is overwhelmed. I write lists for home when I'm at school. I write lists for school when I'm at home.

And finally... there's one other baby that is being neglected. My writing. I wonder, though. If Facebook existed when Trollope was alive, would he have written his novels? I think not. My mornings are better served writing (at least these little essays if nothing else) than scrolling through the interwebs.

Eventually, though... I believe I will strike a balance. I'm certainly not the only mother in the world to do so.

To Da Roots

The universe has a way of speaking, doesn't it? Right now, I am in the process of accepting that I am intended to serve the same students I've always served in my teaching career. And I'm grateful. But what an ordeal. I know the best teachers need to be at the perceived "worst" schools... but this... this... I did not anticipate. Not. One. Bit. And, what's more weird? I'm excited. Inspired. Determined.

I accepted a position in a school whose students I am honored to serve. Not the "utopia" school. Back to my roots... and even deeper. I have the honor of continuing my life's work to serve in a school I believe in with a staff that is beyond-supportive, doing home visits and caring for children to whom I have always been drawn. (good grammar/bad writing)

See, I have this thing about "environment". I truly believe that the room and its "vibe" sets the tone for expectations and behaviors. So, when presented with the opportunity to teach in a classroom with no windows; no white boards; no bulletin boards; stinky, scratched up walls filled with the previous teacher's stuff in boxes everywhere... I freaked out.

Even the furniture is not what will eventually be there... and there's less than six days until my pickles walk into my room. The large, windowless, rectangular room is filled with outdated "computer lab" furniture that is "ordered" to be replaced with tables and chairs. The previous teacher's boxes stacked wide and hide throughout the space. No teacher desk. No computer. No windows (repetition intentional). And again... did I say there were no windows?

Miraculously, I have been graced. A dear friend posted help for me and my community responded beyond my wildest expectations. A teacher's desk, a massive white board, old windows, a custom-built stage were offered. My head is spinning and my eyes are full of tears. Could I be any luckier? I helped the previous teacher move her stuff out. My team swarmed in and helped. My principal showed up to assess and lend support.

If this is my task: let me serve it well. Because before and beyond all else.. I am serving children. In need.

And that is my task.

Job Search Dreams

Wow! Searching for a permanent teaching position for the fall has given me some really weird dreams, that's for sure. Anxiety, uncertainty, shameless self-promotion and a horrible fear I will end up as a teacher-without-a-classroom fuels these dreams. Last night, I dreamt I was teaching at a school that did away with all arts programs and instead, created an aromatherapy room. Not that I'm opposed to aromatherapy! It was just one of those illogical, scrambled dreams. I'm used to the back-to-school dreams where I walk into a classroom of a hundred kids and have forgotten my lesson plans. Dreams where I forgot my clothes. Those kind of dreams.

I guess this dream about doing away with all arts in schools was inspired by last night's television broadcast. When I was serving as a long-term sub at the utopia school, I created a lesson plan competition. The students were asked to write, create, film, produce and edit a thirty second PSA to promote the idea of the importance of keeping arts alive in all schools. The winner of the competition was interviewed for the local news, which aired last night. The PSA will run throughout the summer on the television station.

http://www.foxlexington.com/newsroom/top-stories/videos/performing-arts-school-students-produce-psas-4127.shtml

I am so proud of "my" pickles. Seventh graders! Incredible!

Today, I will counter my night dreams with continued daydreams of returning to the classroom.

Full Circle

In February, I taught the idea of the importance of public speaking. I used poetry as an example. I said, "Even the worst poems (like my own) sound great when you put yourself behind that poem and belt it out with confidence." I then expanded the idea, "Conversely, even the world's greatest poem sound terrible if you mumble it quietly like this..." and I launched into Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. I know this sonnet "by-heart" from a drama teaching gig about fifteen years ago. Imagine my surprise when I began reciting (mumbling), "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..." when first, one student began singing it, then another, then another until by the end of the sonnet, the entire class had sung it along with me.

I stood there in awe, tears welling up a bit. Overcome with emotion. "How do you know that? Who taught you that?" They responded that their drama teacher had put the sonnet to a melody to teach them to memorize it. I was dazzled. What a brilliant teacher. How incredible, too. I mean, I didn't know that before I used that particular sonnet as example. Seriously, I couldn't have planned that lesson if I tried. It was magic.

I relayed this experience on facebook in my delight teaching at this utopia school. Many people "commented" to give credit to that particular teacher. So, I made it my task to meet this incredibly brilliant woman. She is amazing. One of the most kind, caring and dynamic teachers at school. I made a point of stopping by to sit in her rocking chair on my planning bell from time to time to chat with her and just breathe in her drama room space.

My last day at that utopia school, I stopped by her room. She invited me to stay, asking me to paint a canvas that would be used as a prop for a play she was managing for a local theater company. Of course, I agreed, even though I haven't painted in a long time. And how stupid. Why haven't I made time in my life for painting? So, I picked up a brush and delved into my task. Her class filed in and guess what? It was the day for the kids to recite Sonnet 18. There I stood, blissfully painting away singing along with the sonnet.

It was a full-circle moment that left me centered and grateful to have joined the best school I had ever served. I left the paint on my hands all day to remind me of how peaceful painting is for me. What an incredible meditation that centers my being. I won't let that much time pass again depriving me of one of my favorite activities of life. Time to brush the dust off my studio and delve back into my art.

Mother's Day Post

I would have been very upset with this idea when I first became a teacher... but I know it to be true. Being a mother makes me a better teacher. I am more patient, understanding and have a better sense of humor. Especially in dealing with redirects on behavior issues. I just don't get as frustrated as I did before I became a mom. After raising a son for fourteen years, I have experienced a LOT of crazy behaviors! I'm sure I am in for a wild ride getting him through high school... which will make me an even better teacher, too.

The idea that being a mother makes me a better teacher does not mean that young people who are not parents are not good teachers. Of course they are. I was a good teacher in my pre-mom days. It's just... parenting gives me a deeper understanding and empathy for students. And because I've almost always taught high school, I would never have been equipped for this latest gig which included teaching elementary aged students. So, I'm grateful that age, maturity and maternity were on my side in this latest teaching situation.

Although, I am grateful one thing hasn't changed from my pre-mom teacher days to now... one of my students wrote in her farewell letter, "thank you for treating us like we're humans and not just some dumb kids who you are forced to teach". You're welcome, pickle. I have always treated my students like the little PEOPLE they are. Dignity and respect. Care and concern.

Human Nature

It occurs to me that teaching has shaped my personality in a way.  I remember (twenty years ago) when I was a student teacher and I "acted" out a scene from a book. My university professor was observing and he commented specifically on my dramatic nature and encouraged it. He said that one of my strengths was my authentic exuberance and lack of inhibition and that I should rely upon that to engage my students.

Today, my middle school students worked hard on revising proficiency testing styled essays. When each student approached the desk, I made a big fuss over exclaiming, "Yes! Score Four!" Big high five. "So proud of you!"

Same with my littlest students writing haiku. Their task? To write three haiku during the bell. As each student brought their first attempts, I naturally exclaimed about the beauty of their words. I do what I call "Ms. Beck's Poetry Dance". I can't help but to stop, sigh and breathe in a particularly beautiful line. That enthusiasm encourages them to write more, more, more.

(I do have to laugh that I taught my elementary kids to "Haiku Haiku All Day" to the Grateful Dead tune. Just a giggle as an aside)

But, I have to wonder... would I be as exuberant and dramatic in my nature if I didn't "practice" it in the classroom for so many years? Certainly people who work in "grown up" office settings don't belly-laugh as often as teachers. They don't "act out" scenes or exclaim over their clients' successes with dances and songs. How different would I be if I wasn't a teacher?

Teacher Prayer

Okay, Universe, I give it up to you. I am grateful for my blessings. Love my family, dogs and friends. I do not take for granted the opportunities I have been provided. I devote my life to serving others as a teacher and in the community. I pray under the elm tree. Appreciate my life. Allow joy to flood my being. Thank you.

This is the prayer I almost posted on Facebook, but then decided it would be misinterpreted or perhaps just too "unsacred" of a place for such a sincere sentiment. I am ending my long long-term sub position Friday and out into the land of interviewing for that elusive permanent position for next year. I've gone to some very promising interviews already, but it's the beginning of the interviewing season for teaching, so I'm strapping on my seatbelt and getting on the rollercoaster.

I must trust that the universe has a plan for me that is beyond my control. That is the advice my teacher-guru-friend gave me the other day. The right school will offer me a position in the right place at the right time. In the meanwhile, all I can do is hustle and put my best self out there. Beyond that, it's not in my control. Especially since the BIG district in town is on a "hiring freeze" until May 15. So, that means no school can even post a position, let alone offer a position until after that date.

And with my son's prep school commitment looming... that's not a lot of time.

I did choke back tears yesterday as my little elementary students walked out of my classroom for the last time, clutching their three haikus they wrote during the bell. Oh, I'm so funny. When I was first confronted with such little people, I was baffled. After almost three months, I'm endeared. I've never met a pickle I didn't adore. Even little pickles. Especially those dimple-knuckled hands clutching poems. They're that little.

I will walk out of the school doors on Friday with a smile of gratitude for the wonderful experience I've had serving these students. I will focus on the open doors that will welcome me in the fall. I pray.

Too Close for Comfort

Yesterday afternoon, our new neighbors made their appearance. We have been really excited to meet our new neighbors who just bought the house next-door, so we walked over to introduce ourselves. We met the husband who was there to cut the lawn. He explained that he worked in an ER and his wife was a teacher. Imagine the look of dismay when I exclaimed, "Our son attends that middle school" and then, the look of relief when I clarified, "but, he's an eighth grader. He won't be at the same school next year."

I had to giggle. Of course, he looked relieved. I would be horrified if one of my students lived right next door. Not that I don't love my students and delight in seeing them out in the community. But, to live right next door to one of my own students? That's a bit too close for comfort. We teachers need to have a bit of privacy. Especially in our own homes. It's one thing to invite students over once they've graduated and grown up, it's entirely another thing to have to come home from working hard in the classroom to seeing one of your own students in your backyard.

What's even better for this teacher is that she teaches sixth grade. Our son never had her as a teacher, as she just started at his school this year. Our son plans to attend private school next year, so they won't even be in the same school system. This teacher is safe. Not that I would expect her behavior at home to be much different than at home... that's not what I'm saying. It's just nice to have boundaries.

I will forewarn them about the "epic" birthday party my son has planned in two weeks. It's going to be a movie-on-the-pond party and also a farewell to his school party. He plans to invite forty kids. I will make sure our new teacher neighbor is aware of this event so she can make herself scarce, if she's so inclined. Otherwise, imagine her dismay to look out the window to see forty students from her school running wild in our backyards. I'll give her a chance to hide.

Figuratively Literal

Ha! This age group of kids cracks me up. Mostly because they don't understand figurative language. When I launched this gig, I started calling my students "pickles". For the first time ever, one student took offense. "I can't be called a 'pickle', Ms. Beck. I'm allergic to pickles." What? Allergic? Seriously? Apparently so, according to her health plan at school. So I replied, "Okay, then. I'll just call you what you are. You are my BEST student". Now, every time I say, "Pickles" she always responds, "And your BEST student".

Today, I told the writing majors that I was reconsidering their topic ideas for flash fiction. First, I agreed to allow them to write murder mysteries. Then, I started thinking about their one-act plays. I said, "I don't know if we should write murder mysteries. No offense, but you kids do much better when you write what you know. When some of you wrote about anything to do with the law, courts or hospitals, your plays went awry. And listen, John Grisham was a lawyer for years before he turned his attention to writing legal thrillers. I can't write legal thrillers. I don't even know the jargon. I've never been to law school. So, I'm thinking we should stick with gritty realism."

I received a groan. After three months, I "get" them now. So, I clarified. "When I say 'gritty realism', I don't necessarily mean you have to go for the emotional juglar. You don't have to write about personal painful stuff. You can write funny stuff. Most embarassing moments. Light-hearted topics. It doesn't have to be heavy. It just needs to be authentic."

Later, a pickle approached me. "Do you have an idea for me to write about?" I replied, "I don't have your ideas. Where are your ideas?" When she frowned, I told her to take a "zen moment and contemplate the universe". Now, I've got a kid wandering around the classroom, looking thoroughly confused.

A group of kids came into class late, which happens often at a performance arts school. However, they were very loud and talkative while the rest of my students were quietly tap tap tapping at the computers. A pickle said, "You are being very rude and disruptive. We are working."

I looked up from writing this essay, raised an eyebrow and said, "Good thing you are my 'best' student then, huh?"

The Drum

"What do you do to relieve stress from school situations?" This was the question I was asked in an interview. Of course, my first response was, "I write. I keep a journal and I write." This, because I am a writer and a writing teacher. I then talked about practicing silence... my spiritual quest to learn to listen more and talk less. I concluded that I like to walk my dogs and that my husband and I are boaters, so we like to take our family and friends boating.

What I forgot to mention was my drum. Perhaps it's because I haven't gone to my drumming class lately. Too much stress. What a mistake. Learning West African drumming and buying a djembe are honestly the best stress-relievers there are for me. The reason? Because it's the only two hours of the week where I can't think about anything other than the rhythm we are practicing. It's that complicated when drumming to polyphonic rhythms. Like being on a roller-coaster. You have your rhythm and then the next group layers their rhythm and the next layers a third rhythm while at the same time, our teacher keeps time with a tambourine attached to his foot and adds solos with his djembe on top of it all. Add a djun-djun and some claves or a cow-bell and chaos ensues. Either that or the most exhilarating music I have ever heard (or made).

When I was in middle-school, I wanted to choose drums for band. However, I got stuck with the clarinet. So, learning to drum at this stage of life is a gift to my little girl self. Playing in the school band was great, though. Participating in a group to make music together is just so satisfying. But, there is nothing like the joy of banging on a drum. Especially hand-drumming. It's physical. Visceral. Real. No room in my brain to worry or work a poem through or dream up lesson plans. I am completely present in the moment of the rhythm.

So, with this reminder, I am inspired to return to my weekly drum class. Another reason is because I have been blessed with the world's greatest drum teacher, Tripp Bratton. Not only is he incredibly talented, he is brilliant. He knows the history of rhythms and teaches us. He also happens to have one of the kindest faces I have ever met. It's because of his soul. He is a kind and generous soul and it radiates from every pore of his being.

It's time for me to return to the drum. I'm so grateful for the interview I had. It reminded me that all professionals experience stress and we need to work our tools to relieve it. If I'm super-stressed out now teaching full-time while working full-time to find a job... I must find time to drum. My soul will thank me.

Guyute in the Classroom

Today, I taught one of my favorite lesson plans about the philosophy of aesthetics... using my beloved Phish to demonstrate. That's right. Phish found its way into academia and I could not be more proud of how well it works.

First, I discuss ekphrastic art and the triangular relationship between the artist's intention, the art itself and the audience's response. I explain how sometimes, there is a huge distance between what the artist intends and how the audience perceives the work itself. "For example, if we were all at the Cincinnati Art Museum, staring at a Van Gogh painting, why can't we ask Vincent what he intended?" Yes, because he's dead. Dead, I tell ya. We can't ask him. Well, even if the artist is alive, we might all perceive art very differently from each other because we all come with a different set of life experiences.

Then, I read the children's story, "Once Upon an Ordinary School Day" written by Colin McNaughton and illustrated by Satoshi Kitamura. It's a lovely chilren's book that demonstrates the lesson when an extraordinary teacher walks into an ordinary classroom and starts booming music, asking the students to draw what they "see" in the music. Then, after each child has several big pieces of white paper, pencils, crayons and markers, we begin.

I use the orchestral piece "Guyute" performed by the Vermont Youth Orchestra because the kids are always blown away that kids their age were the musicians. Although it's eleven minutes long, I've yet to have a class that hasn't written and drawn images. Mice, mountains, blue skies, thunder, kings, queens, dancers, volcanoes. Completely contained within their own response to the song. When it's over and I have asked the students to share what they "saw", I then pretend astonishment.

"None of you wrote about an ugly pig? Really? No one?"

I pass out the lyrics of the song and explain. Not only is this a song about an ugly pig named Guyute, it is also a rock and roll song originally performed by a band called Phish and then, composed to orchestral music by Trey Anastasio.

With the lyrics in hand, I launch on showing them the song again (this time, on the big screen).... Phish in its finest. Every single class always delights in singing along. They love the light show. They exclaim about the balloons and beach balls. Because today I taught it in a performing arts school, for the first time ever... kids got up and danced with me. Full-throttle, hands in the air, dancing with delight to Phish!

Finally, I explain. "Now sometimes, there is a much closer relationship between art and the audience response. For example, certain tones should create specific images in your mind. Get a clean piece of paper. This time, there is a 'right' answer. Listen to the music and draw what you see." I play "Andre the Giant" a calypso style song replete with steel drums. When the first student draws and island and a palm tree, I make a big fuss. "That's it! You've got it. That's the right answer". Of course, I let all of the kids lean over to "see" the "right" answer.

Then, I conclude by revealing, "And ladies and gentlemen, would you be suprised to learn that song was performed by the very same guy? That's right. Trey Anastasio. See why I love him so much? He's brilliant."

Because we had about fifteen minutes left in our "bell" today and because we have a keyboard in the classroom, the piano major students took turns playing for us. Mozart, Bach, ragtime.

I hope this happens once again....

 Thank you, Trey

Shameless Self-Promotion

One thing I have learned from my career as writer that I have (obviously) implemented in my quest to return to career as teacher is shameless self-promotion. Of course, I have. And it's weird. I started this "teacher blog" because one of my classes here is "required" to keep their own blogs. Because I'm one of those teachers who actually does every assignment the students do, I decided to launch this blog. When I say, "do every assignment", I mean it. When I assign an essay, I write one as a model. When I assign study guides for novels, they are written by me. But, I am having a cynical moment. My Facebook and this blog have become one, big walking advertisement: Teacher Extraordinaire. Hire me. Look at my displays. Look at my white board. Look. Look. Look.

And sigh. I mean, listen... "back in the day" we teachers didn't have these venues. We simply showed up to schools, hand-delivered our resumes, made old-fashioned phone calls and prayed. When we got interviews, we showed up and talked. No on-line applications, emails, fancy websites, blogspots. A handshake and a prayer got you a gig. Not anymore.

And thank gravy I launched a professional writing career and learned these "tools of the trade". I do like keeping a blog. It forces me to write at least these little essays every day. That and my private journal are the only writing I'm doing these days. I'm under so much stress and pressure serving as long-term sub here and there and interviewing and praying for a permanent gig for next year... I'm not writing. Ye gads. The world's gone mad. Not writing? Deep breath. It will cycle once again.

Finally, I love the irony of it all. I'm serving as creative writing teacher while not writing. Hopefully, the full-time job of looking for a full-time job will end and my mental space will empty and creativity will flourish again.

In the meanwhile... at least, I've been doing some high-quality teaching. These pickles are rockstars.

Wall of Fame

In each and every school I teach, you can always find me easily. Look for walls plastered with kids' work. The "Wall of Fame". Because I am a visual artist as well as a writer/teacher, I love decorated work. Poems decorated. Collage. Found word poems. I am known as the "display" teacher. Past students always say, "Oh, I knew where your room was, Ms. Beck. I could tell from the hallway". My husband treated us with pizzas for Shakespeare's birthday last week. I said, "Just look for the hallway. You'll find my room".

Not only does it please my aesthetic sensibilities, it creates a sense of pride in my students and the parents love it. Schools should be plastered with beautiful, carefully crafted student work. It's cheerful. It's productive. It's also motivating. And so much better than boring concrete walls.

I love when students slow their pace to look for their own work on the walls. Not only that, but they are learning. Stopping to read poems and not even conscious of it. What better way to learn than to read their peers' work?

As I prepare for rounds of interviews to secure that coveted permanent teaching position for next year, I pulled out my good old-fashioned portfolio. Not so much to see my resume, awards and letters of recommendations (that's all "on-line" now anyway), but to see the pages of displays of students' work. And it's a good device for interviews. Who doesn't love browsing through "scrapbooks"? Especially English teachers. Show-and-Tell.