ten confessions.

True confession #1: This blog post will have very little do with writing.

True confession #2: I'm not really happy being a teacher anymore.

True confession #3: I'm not sure I ever really was happy being a teacher.

True confession #4: It's terrifying to type that out loud.

True confession #5: It's terrifying because I have a mortgage to pay, a small child to raise, and a lot of Fear (note the capital F) in my current Day Job. Ask any public school teacher, and they'll tell you: morale is low these days, fear is high. Keep your mouth shut and do what you're told. No boat rocking allowed in the 21st century, because there are X number of cheaper, cuter, younger potential hires willing to have your job.

Here's the thing: I love kids. I got into teaching because I wanted to make a difference. I remember in many a conversation with my dad (a complicated but ridiculously loyal and dependable man with a penchant for doing research about anything and everything just for the sheer hell of it) I was told over and over: No matter where you go in the world or what you do, make sure you leave the place in the world just a little bit better than you found it. 

Over and over I was told this, until it became an ingrained part of my psyche. It's a part of who I am to be kind and compassionate, with a healthy sense of loyal responsibility, to be fully aware it's important to leave the tiny parcel of planet Earth I'm standing on a little better than how I found it.

True confession #6: Today, given the stuff going on in Public Education World, I'm really struggling with whether or not I'm leaving my planetary parcel better than how I found it. REALLY struggling. I love kids, a lot. I love their brains, and helping them with all their stupid kid problems (and believe me: kids have a lot of stupid problems. Every day on the playground, I have to deal with things like: "He told me I was playing tag wrong!" "No I didn't!" "Yes you did, you said I tagged you wrong!" "Nu uh." "Yes! Yes he did!" Which always ends in me saying something like, "Are you two serious, for real?? THIS is your biggest problem? You have no idea what a big problem is. You don't even pay taxes yet; go play hide-n-go seek and stop tagging each other.")

I love their stories, I love their hugs, I love their notes, I love sitting and talking to them and hearing the kid version of celebrity gossip ("X told me she thinks Mr. B is really cute! I bet she wants to marry him when she grows up!"). They just wrote me a bunch of End of the Year thank you letters with their Literacy teacher, and I shall cherish these forever and ever, amen. They were thankful for me because I read them Peter Pan, Fantastic Mr. Fox, Charlotte's Web, and Edward Tulane (2nd grade spelling version of that name: Ed Word To Lane). They loved that I always showed them the movie versions so they could contrast and compare. They REALLY loved the winter party I threw them (I must admit: I do throw a great party.)

They said thank you for always helping solve their problems (here's how I do it: I tell them about my tax bills and mortgage payments and credit card debt until they start weeping--I feel it's important to compare your problems to other people's problems so you understand what a real problem actually is). Several of the girls think I'm the prettiest teacher and many of the boys told me they like how kind I am. They like that I'm silly and funny and do the voices when I read stories. Six of them apologized for acting up all year and ten expressed deep regret for not getting me anything in return for all the fun stuff I bought them.

These are sweet children, and I am desperately worried about the 6 who acted up all year. These 6 were the bane of my existence, and I'm not afraid to say they probably know that. But I could see their hearts, and I told them this all the time as I was taking them downtown for whatever major/minor infraction that hour--I can see their sweet hearts, and I know this misbehavior stuff is not what they really want, or who they truly are.

I'm not sure what these 6 will do in their lives when they're grown ups. I had a lot of real talks with those 6, and all of my class. I wanted them to know the world is big and magical and beautiful, but it does get harder and harder as you grow up, and so you should do something with your life that lets you enjoy the beauty and the magic, but also you need a roof over your head and the government will be asking for a portion of whatever is left over after you pay for the roof so make sure you can afford that. And make sure you get along with others and follow directions, so you don't keep getting fired because they WILL fire you. And stay away from credit cards! Those are nothing but dark, dangerous coal mines with fire breathing dragons waiting at the bottom.

True confession #7:  Should I be having these talks with people who are 7 and 8? Holy crap, why am I having these talks with little kids??

Because Common Core says they need to already be thinking about their futures and which college they'll attend, that's why. At seven. SEV-en. What were you thinking about when you were 7? Do you remember? I do, and I can tell you it wasn't which University I'd go to; I was thinking about how dreamy Barry Manilow's eyes were, and which imaginary, dead historical figures would be in the audience during my Saturday matinee of The Wizard of Oz this weekend at The Bedroom Theatre.

Some times I feel I'm my dad talking to my 19 year old self who had been at Illinois State University for going on 2 years, was struggling with what major to pick, and had just expressed an interest in majoring in English with a minor in Theater. And I'm saying things like, "What are you going to do with that? Write television scripts for a living?" (Well, actually, uh, kind of, yes?) And: "Let me tell you about Hollywood, Amy." (Because my dad, with his degree in Political Science who parlayed that into managing a manufacturing plant for Corning, was an expert on Hollywood. Remember? Researcher: Paragraph 5 above.) "Let me tell you about Hollywood, Amy: Hollywood is where girls go to become waitresses or end up dead on the side of a road."

FYI: He never explained exactly how girls who go to Hollywood to be waitresses end up dead on the side of a road or, god knows, why he knew that. But I certainly had no desire to end up dead on the sides of any Los Angeles freeways, so I quietly put aside my writing/acting/theater dreams and thought about what else I could do that would keep me from ending up dead on a California road.

And here I am today, trying desperately not to crush anyone else's little dreams, but still feeling the need to warn them: Be careful what you do! Choose wisely. Don't be Me.

Because (True Confession #8): I feel like I'm in the wrong profession. But then, I don't know. Some days I feel like it's okay, and maybe I'm just in the wrong version of it. I don't know! I don't know! (I'm letting you in on some of my inner angst, things that give me occasional insomnia.) I do get to write every day. I get to do a lot of acting every day (not just with kids, either). I get to read all the time. I get to tell stories. I get to be highly bemused at the inner ramblings and workings of the Child Mind (a veritable amusement park, I assure you).

But I'm also under a lot of stress. I checked out on my own family more than once this year. I'm restless. And I'm doing things with and to children I don't agree with. The term "Educational Malpractice" pops into my mind a lot. I disagree with testing small children; I don't see the necessity of it. I don't mind being held accountable, but please find a different way to do this. Childhood is so fleeting; can you please just let them have it? I think this testing obsession and Common Core are very adult-oriented things; adults want to make sure their Return on Investment is high (taxes). Testing little kids to death and making them think about future careers before they really need to doesn't seem to bother adults a bit, and why would it? Grown ups have to fill out endless paperwork and take tests and do hard work and worry about the future all the time...if it's good for us, ergo ipso facto it must be good for kids.

But it isn't! It isn't good for kids. Kids need to play and create art and be wildly imaginative and exist in impossible worlds. They need to socialize and talk and laugh and be really loud and silly and not worry about what career or college they'll choose. Not when they're ages 5-10, at least.

And some of the kids I work with come from extremely sad and hard, hard homes; after 19 years of doing this job and willfully choosing to only work with low income families and kids (because those are the ones who need the most help), I could tell you story after story that'll break your heart. Those are the children who need to play and be silly and find their inner storyteller and let go and let creativity in. Let them go to school and dream and have some magic and fun for 8 hours a day.

True confession #9: I'm worried this country, possibly the world even, is losing its ability to dream. I'm a little angry about that, because I'm a big proponent of daydreaming. I think it's healthy. Where can I find a job where dreams are the focus? Pixar, I hear. But I'm not sure they're hiring. In addition, I'm 19 years into this job I have, I have a bachelor's degree in elementary education and a master's in early childhood, and I'm 42 with a kid and a mortgage. That's not exactly a great time to make a huge life change. If I were single and childless, it'd be a no-brainer. But I am not. And so (I'm letting you in again) I struggle inwardly with doing what I know would make me more fulfilled, and protecting my child and giving her everything she needs to fulfill her own dreams. (Life gets expensive as you age and tack on baggage, I'm learning.)

True confession #10: Hardly anybody reads this blog (hi mom!). But I'm afraid someone will find it, judge me, and try to get me fired. (I got stalked once online several years ago by a fundamentalist Christian who did that, amongst other scary things.) But I am so worried about my choice in vocation and the roads it's going down these days, that I can't not write about it. It's the end of another long school year fraught with stress and worry, and I'm in the middle of reflecting and spewing, is what I'm saying. I'm living out loud. Taking a risk. Putting it out there, for good or bad.

Praying like that crazy stalker Christian fundamentalists won't find this blog because I have a small child to rear and need to keep a roof over our heads.

team movies vs. team books

I think I said not long ago I had an opinion about why so many people see a movie based on a book they loved and leave the theater going, "Meh, the book was better."

Here's why (and I am no expert; just a chick who digs stories, so take this with a grain of salt): When you read a book, you're in it like Gwynneth (before her conscious uncoupling). You're in the minds of your characters (who and how much depends on point of view the author chose), you've got foreshadowing, back story, lots and lots of descriptive narrative, etc and so forth. In addition, you're the movie maker:  you're casting the actors, coming up with the set design, you're the experienced camera guy who knows the perfect angles, and all that. All inside your own big brain. Your amazing, movie projector brain.

Not to mention you have the luxury of re-reading parts you didn't quite get, or just really loved, and the storyteller had a good 200+ pages to tell you the story. And you can make notes! (Not on an electronic reader--do it on paperback; far more scholastic.) And if that storyteller was a master weaver, she or he knew about good character development as they wove their tale, and was able to pull you right smack dab into a character's life, heart, and soul. Because everybody knows most stories have already been told one way or another over hundreds and hundreds of years, so what really causes us to fall in or out of love with a book (or a movie; any story, actually) isn't just good (or bad) writing, but also a writer's ability to create believable, wholly formed, really good protagonist(s) and antagonist(s). Everyone knows this, yes? Yes.

That's what makes you love a really good book. (Or maybe you actually prefer graphic novels. In which case, god love you. I don't understand. But there's a niche market for everyone, and god love you.)

The problem with translating a lot of books to movies is that you only have a finite amount of time to get in, get the story told, and get out of there. Two hours, tops. Maybe three if you somehow managed to con a major movie studio company out of 250 million bucks or something. Which means you probably also have contacts in the Mafia. (I'm not Hollywood, so I don't quite know how that works; I just know I read it Mario Puzo's THE GODFATHER and saw it in the movie version. But if it gets a movie made, I'm open to it.) (Wait! No no! What am I saying??? I watched The Sopranos. I saw THE GODFATHER parts 1-3. I know about family blood pacts and all that. So no, I'm NOT open to The Mafia! I only like The Mafia on TV or the movies. The TV Movie Mafia.) (I'm sorry. I'll get back on topic.)***

So you only have 2 hours to tell your tale. And what do you leave in? What do you cut out? (Assuming you're the writer, director, AND editor.) (Quite frankly, as an overworked teacher who does about 5 people's jobs August-May, I don't know why the heck you'd want to do all 3 jobs, but I suppose somebody's got to. Hopefully, Hollywood will pay you better and you'll get treated nicer by the US Dept of Education.)

I think the deciding what to put in/leave out would be the hardest part for me to do; what I really love about a book is often very different than what moved Friend A who also read it, and Friend B liked (or disliked) other things about it. A lot of times, Friends A & B and I all love the same part(s) of a book...and we are INCENSED beyond all human reason if what we loved all together gets left out. That's when you get on imdb.com and start leaving troll posts that make no sense, have poor grammar, and are spelled so ridiculously nobody even knows what the hell you're talking about but they do know you're mentally ill. (I don't troll imdb.com. My handle on imdb.com is amylynne223, and I promise I just stick to what I know: which is lurking so I can silently judge other people who do post stuff on imdb.com. The End.)

At any rate, that's also part of the beauty of reading a book--the connections you make in them.The things you love (or hate) best about characters and incidents in any given story are due to personal connections you make. In 2nd grade Reading Workshop, we call this text-to-text, text-to-world, or text-to-self connecting; you do that all the time when you read. Personally, I think it's what draws us to certain stories and repels us from others.

So basically: Time's a-ticking; what to cut? what to include?; you're IN the book when reading; you're in the THEATER when watching a movie...you're in the store while reading a book; you're window shopping at the movie. All of it equals hard to adapt books to movie. Not impossible, just really really hard. I think people who make movies who give you a sense of losing yourself while watching a movie (based on a beloved book) somehow manage to tap into those connections we have--they get you to the shop's threshold, and it is AMAZING. Like a Victoria's Secret sale where everything is 95% off. (No? Not a Victoria's Secret fan? Okay...like everything's 1 cent at the Dollar Tree.) (Heh. Teacher wet dreams.) You're a part of the action, even though you're sitting in a theater with a lot of fallen popcorn in your bra, maybe sitting on a melted Junior Mint, too (here's a cinematic tip: NEVER wear white to the movies, Things Amy Learned circa 1992). But you don't care! This is a  freaking beautifully woven story, on paper AND film. It's a testament to how amazing human beings can be when that happens.(And yet we continue to melt the polar ice caps. *sigh* yin. yang.)

I think the Harry Potter films mostly do an excellent job with this. I'm not a big Harry Potter fan, but I have friends who are obsessed (OBSESSED! In weird, are-you-okay?? kinds of ways), and they assure me movies based on  books don't get more magical than the Harry P. ones. I thought Interview With a Vampire also did a good job (in spite of Anne Rice's tirade against its casting of Tom Cruise in the lead role...and be honest: weren't you all, "Yeah, Anne! What the hell?!" right along with her? But then Tom did okay. And also, there was Brad Pitt. And Antonio Banderas (in a bad wig). It all came together and worked, somehow. High five, Neil Jordan! And Anne Rice, who adapted her own book to script...which may have contributed a lot to that.) (Later, someone adapted Rice's Queen of the Damned, which is a good example of how NOT to translate a book to a movie. I notice Anne didn't take out any full page rants in the NY Times over that...sometimes, you just take the check, get on a plane for Maldives, and pretend it isn't happening. Is what I'd do.)

Was this a boring blog post? I'm worried this was a boring blog post. I tried to make it as entertaining as possible, and apologies if you fell asleep or  you've already clicked over to tmz.com (stay off of that site! you'll rot  your mind!).

In more entertaining news, summer break is a mere 6 days away. Six! Days! Away! I have a lot of plans, because Miss M is headed off to theater camp, bug camp, princess/fairy tale camp, and (gigantic pause for cinematic effect) The Swim Nazi (do do do!). Yes, it is true. We found a Swim Nazi. Don't tell her people call her that. We do it behind her back. What she does is...well, first of all, you can't stay. You have to wait in her driveway in your car. She suggests blasting music and wearing headphones so you don't hear the screams. But apparently, by Day 3 (you go all week: Monday through Friday) they're over their fear of putting their heads underwater. It's worked for countless children, I'm told.

I have a good child psychologist number at hand, though, for in case. Just in case. (Does anybody know if children can get PTSD?) (I'm slightly nervous about this, I don't know if you can tell or not. But desperate times call for desperate measures and so. Let's hope kids can take Xanax or something.)


***Speaking of movie mafia...I'd think another difficulty in adapting a book to a movie would be the people holding the money bags. It seems to a lot about ROI (return on investment) these days in Movieville. Bookville, too. But especially Movieville. I like it when people just want to tell a good story. In PublicEducationville, it's also become a lot about ROI, and I can tell you the results are pretty sad. Some day, I'll write a blog post about what happens when ROI takes over the world and nobody cares about connecting anymore; they just want their damn money back times 10,000. (Hint: zombies are involved.)

the miraculous journey for good heroes.

Sometimes I stumble upon someone who makes me think: huh, here is a fascinating, seemingly admirable human being. So I get out The Hero List. Because before I decide to officially make someone my hero, I have a really picky list of Criteria (capital C, because criteria matters). (You realize I'm about to list some of these Criteria now?) (FYI: none of the Kardashians have ever made my list) (ditto all Fox "News" analysts plus Rush Limbaugh and the creator of Girls Gone Wild) (I know someone who finds all of these people heroic, and if you're reading this That Someone, I'm not scared to let you know you need a better hero list):

*Does this person seem like a kind person? Do they seem approachable and real?

Side story: Once, I met an author--I won't name her, but she was a Somebody in the world of Writing Somebodies--who I gathered enough courage to speak to at a book reading/signing...a BIG thing for me, an incredibly INFP person, to do. I went up to her, her book in my shaking hands, and asked her to sign it. The book was about a diary she'd kept as a young writer, and I thought she'd written a lot of interesting, important things in it. I gulped down all my starstruck and said as she autographed the title page, "I really loved what you wrote about journaling; it's something I've always done, since I was little." Her response? "God. I hate that word 'journaling'. I prefer 'keeping a diary' or 'writing down thoughts.' My mother always called it journaling, and my mother was just so...SO. You shouldn't call it that. That's not really what it is."(Please re-read that in a really judge-y kind of tone of voice.)

I threw her book (and her stupid snotty autograph) in the trash when I got home because I just felt so ucky about her then. In my brain, I knew I'd just met a person with (clearly) deep psychiatric mother issues, but my heart was broken. My heart was just a jumbled up mess of confused and broken disappointment. A simple, humble "Thank you" is nice and (I think) the best route to go when someone tells you they admire you or your work...because we all have our issues, believe me--no one gets out of childhood alive without them. So unless you're paying me the big bucks, I'm not a psychotherapist to help you through your mental woes; just a girl who thought you rocked as a (insert creative outlet job here) and wanted to let you know it. Because if someone did that to me, it would have made my day, so I'm hoping it'll make yours and that you won't be a complete a-hole. Please don't be an a-hole, we have far too many of those already.

(To be fair: I do think experiences like I had with Arrogant Author are also quite good for us, because those tend to stick with us for awhile in our scarred over and bruised hearts, so they teach us how to treat others and make important decisions on who and how we want to be.)

*Are they genuinely talented and freakishly smart? I mean: Will they make me aspire to be like them? Will they inspire me to be better? Isn't it always awesome to run across people who not only make you want to be you and make you feel good about the You you already are, but also inspire you to want to be a better version of you? I love these kinds of humans; my sweet friend Carol is one of these, and I think this crazy rock we're flying around on is better because she's here.

*Are they people I'd invite to my house for dinner, or even just meet for coffee? Do I have conversations with them, read things they've written, or listen to speeches they give, or enjoy creations they've gifted to the world and do these things make me think: Man, I wish we were next door neighbors all the time! I'd pick up your mail and keep vigil over your house while you're on vacation. AND invite you over for barbecues every summer.Certainly I'd loan you all my lawn tools.

*Do I sense we could talk about sensitive subjects (politics, sex, religion, the bizarreness that is 21st century American public education) and this person will not create in me a deep and driving need to punch them in the neck? These kinds of humans are so hard to find these days. (When did we, as a species, become so divided over things that will matter so little 200 years from now? And why are people so ANGRY about everything? What are you so angry about, fellow Earthlings?) (Here, let's pause to allow Frozen's "Let It Go" play in our brains until it gets stuck there for the next 3 hours.) (You're welcome!)

*Do they have a good sense of humor? Oh, this is so important! Having a good appreciation of irony along with an irreverent, self-deprecating wit is such a delicious quality in a person. I think people with a good sense of humor flavored heavily with irreverence, self-deprecating irony, and maybe even a good dash of gentle, sardonic wit are the kind of people who ought to be running the planet, because they're smart. Smart people like irony; that's why not too many right wingers get irony (HA! I kid! I kid the right wingers...in a very ironically sardonic way).

But, for obvious reasons--reasons like being too smart to wind up in some Corporate Sleazy Guy's pocket--those who are irreverently ironic will not ever run anything global. But they should at least be in charge of a very large Homeowner's Association somewhere, in my opinion.


Have you ever met one of your heroes? Elizabeth Gilbert (a tremendously important hero of mine) has met some of hers, and she wrote once about it. About the relief when your hero turns out to be a true hero, someone worthy of your admiration. And I have a long list of heroes from various different artistic fields I'd sell a lot of my worldly possessions to just to be able to shake hands with, or even just stand in the same room 5 feet away from and breathe the same general oxygen. And every time I envision myself meeting one of these people, I do it with a deeply held breath of hope with some tightly crossed fingers that the person will get to remain a hero in my heart after we shake hands or make brief but meaningful eye contact across a crowded room. Because I don't want to throw any more autographs in the trash.

Here's my point: I wrote to Kate Dicamillo recently, a new hero I've discovered, who wrote The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane (please read this book if you haven't and/or share it with your child/ren if you haven't yet; it won't just change your life...it will change your HEART. Your whole heart will be softened in magnificent, magical ways you don't even know about right now. I mean, seriously: you don't even KNOW).

I'm writing about this because it's terribly big for me: I rarely contact people who are heroes I don't personally know, but I love and admire from afar. Doing this intimidates me, because I worry I'm bothering them and/or they won't respond, or that they will respond but they'll respond in a weird, you-are-in-deep-need-of-a-good-therapist tone of voice, which means I'll get the sads and won't know how to feel about them anymore. I want my heroes to stay my heroes--don't you? This planet is full of Crazy with a capital C; I sense it has a lot of hearts crying out for a good hero or three to safely harbor forever.

I hope you have some of your own heroes. If you've met some of your heroes, I hope you haven't had to throw any of their work in any trash bins. I hope you get a chance to have at least one of your heroes' full attention over coffee and a long chat one day. I hope you come away knowing your heart made a right choice and your hero gets a permanent home in it. (And I hope you have a very detailed list of criteria for who gets to be a hero in your heart, because I don't think sipping coffee with Donald Trump's self-promoting egotistically weird hair would be quite as awesome as sipping coffee with the Dalai Lama beaming across the table at you with his laughing, kind eyes. Just sayin'.)

And go read The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane! Right now! It could save your life.

stories are magic.

It's a weekday, and I am writing a blog post. The Apocalypse has formally begun (gather your zombie fighting gear). (Heh, see what I did there? I rarely write blog posts during the week...quite frankly, I rarely write blog posts, the end.)

Anywho.

Various different things going on in my brain (a list shall follow, as my brain loves these):

1-I have noticed that, by merely reading many chapter books, I have begun to teach 2nd graders about the difference between theme and lesson. And have developed a love of chapter book reading in them. It's really the only time I can get most of them to listen. There are the few knobheads (what would life be, without the knobheads??) who insist on not listening and try to muck it all up for the others, but for most of my small charges, chapter book read aloud time is one of their (and my) most favorite moments of the day.

I think my crying at the ending lines of Charlotte's Web ("It's not often someone comes along who's a good friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.") (Oh my god, I'm tearing up AGAIN!!) was the turning point for many of them: What's this? A teacher crying? Who normally yells at us? My god, stories are magic!

My job on Earth is complete, I feel, when I can impart this knowledge to other human beings: stories are magic.

So far, we've read the following (I've included theme/lesson we decided on as a class, in case you're interested):

Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie (my personal favorite, not theirs though)--theme: Bravery, lesson: never giving up

Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl (their favorite--good lord, they text-to-text connect this frickin' story to Every.Thing. now)--theme: Bravery, lesson: sometimes, you have to make hard decisions

Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum--theme: Dreams (and Travel) are Important, lesson: you don't have to travel far to find your dreams because everything you need to make them real is already inside you

Charlotte's Web by E.B. White--theme: Friendship, lesson: there is nothing more important in life than a good friend

The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams (not a chapter book, but still an awesome read nonetheless)--theme: Magic, lesson: if you really believe in something, anything is possible

Currently, we're reading The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate Dicamillo. We haven't discussed its theme/lesson yet, but I think they're: theme--love, lesson--you are capable of more love than even you know.

Do you read to children? You should; it teaches you a lot. It teaches them, but it also teaches you. It's simply the best part of my day.

....also, if you can find a movie that coincides well with your book, you can a get buttload of work done on a Friday while they compare and contrast the book and film versions. (If they were older, we'd also have a very frank discussion about why so many film versions of books suck so bad...but that's another opinionated blog rant for another day.)

2-I get Rob Brezny's amazing astrological forecasts in my email inbox every week. They never fail me. He's completely confounded me lately, though. This week, he told me I can shut what's been opened, or open what's been shut; just make sure I do so with high integrity. Last week, he told me I was evolving into a more soulful version of my idiosyncratic self. The week before that, he told me I'd get a second chance at something I'd passed up the last time it had come my way.

I have no idea what any of this means, but it sounds auspicious, ominous even. I think I'd just like to be a more soulful version of myself, when all is said and done. I'd like to live out loud. That's hard to do, but really cool when it works out.

3-This summer, I'd like to take a trip. I'd like to take a trip alone. I wish I could get on a plane and go far, far away. Instead, I think I'd like to take a trip alone to a lake, or the ocean. I would just like to stay for a night or two. Stick my feet in some water and think. Write some (incredibly BAD) poetry, and maybe the beginnings of a story (or two). I don't know if the people in my life understand my need to be alone. I don't mind Alone. It's quiet, and I like it. I feel better afterwards. (I test like 100% positive as an INFP on that Myers-Briggs thing, which I find to be far more accurate than any Pisces personality summary I've ever read.)

4-I have an idea for a novel (?) novella (?) or at least a very long short story:

My family (my father's family) is from the Pocono mountains of Pennsylvania. They have tragedy in their family line (not counting for the fact I may possibly be related to George W. Bush via his mother Barbara, via a Pilgrim ancestral connection named Henry Sampson--holy heavens, I can't imagine anything at all more tragic than being even loosely related to George W. Bush). I would like to call this book(?) story(?) Samson Road. Because in Lake Ariel, PA there is a road called Samson Road. That's my family's road. Except if I use that road name, then I worry I can't really fictionalize it; I'd like to fictionalize most of it...base it on real stories that happened, but in a fictional way (isn't that how we roll in the 21st century these days?). I'm talking: childhood drowning, accidental gun shootings, horse-riding suffragettes, the whole lot. People in Lake Ariel still refer to my grandfather as "Papa Joe," like he's The Godfather.

It's fascinating; my dad's family is fascinating to me and I have a deep suspicion they'd fascinate others as well. We have a lot of really complicated people on that side of the family, and I find complicated people to be the best characters in stories.

5-Speaking of families: My little Miss M, who is 5, is deathly terrified of water and has been all of her short, half-decade here on this ironically water-covered planet. Actually, she's not terrified of water itself, but rather of putting her head beneath it. She's taking swim lessons now, and I'm frustrated to the point of wanting to just throw her in the deep end and let her figure it out and get over this stupid B.S. The thing stopping me is I can just see the therapy bills. The other thing stopping me is my memory of being deathly afraid of water...until the day I figured out there was a whole 'nother world underwater, and I loved being there a lot. I was a mermaid (in a pool, in my head...I'm certain the neighborhood life guards thought I was an insane kid, flailing about in the deep end, pretending my feet were fins). I was a true dolphin wannabe; how does one join a dolphin pod? I wished so deeply to be part of one, at age 10. I wish so hard for similar discoveries in my 5 year old landlubber. I will take her for a dolphin ride if she ever gets there.

Today, we were driving back from (yet another) unsuccessful swim lesson, and she asked for a lollipop. Then she said, "Oh, right. I bet you only give lollipops to girls who put their heads underwater." And I said, "You got it, lady." And she said, "Well, I'll just lie to daddy. I'll tell him a story about today when I put my head underwater. I'm good at stories and he'll give me an ice cream cone I bet."

I didn't know whether to be proud of my budding little storyteller or to be horrified at the monster I've created. 

Stories are magic, but apparently they can also create family havoc. I'll have to watch this.

(Epilogue of The Swim Lesson: she tried to tell her story, and her story was whack. She did not get a lollipop or an ice cream cone. She did get a bath, and some Honey Kix cereal with a small glass of iced tea. A satisfying, and far healthier, ending.)

magic travel writer (with Javier Bardem)

In a perfect world, we could all just quit our jobs and walk right on in to our dream jobs. Or whatever we think, at that moment, are our dream jobs, because maybe once you're in your dream job you find it's not so dreamy after all and then you're off to search for the next dream job. And after you become disillusioned with that dream job, you'll be off to search for your next dream job. And maybe a good therapist, because it sounds like job satisfaction isn't really your problem as much as a healthy sense of self is.

Which is why years (and years!) of therapy have led me to be sure that my dream job would combine my passion (writing) and travel, which I have only done in fits and spurts and never outside the U.S. borders and I find that a complete travesty. I think I'd make a great traveler, and should be hired immediately as United States Official Travel Representative so I can reverse the damage done by all the douche bag American travelers who've given this great nation the global impression we're all a bunch of douche bags. We are not. We are not. (Maybe just the vast majority of Missississississississippi, because nobody can ever figure out how to spell that damn state and I'm certain that's why they're the fattest and 2nd-to-last least educated. Having to write one too many s's can just totally eff up your brain. I say. I mean, look at how hard it was just now for ME, and I have a master's degree.)

At any rate. Here's my travel writer idea:

One of my favorite books is Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Eye roll all you want and say what you will about the self-indulgery of it all, but her worldview is en pointe and her writing is much like her--likable, sweet, and relatable. If you aren't familiar with this book (and movie--please please please promise me you'll just read the book and completely avoid the movie, even though Javier Bardem is in it and is very very magical...oh okay, fine. Please promise me you'll read the book first THEN watch the movie, but only for the Javier Bardem parts).

Where was I? Oh, right: If you aren't familiar with this book, the premise is that Elizabeth Gilbert, a writer, has made a humongous life change in an effort to be more authentic and true to herself. She sucks at living her life, and yet somehow convinces her publisher to just...give...her enough money to live on so she can travel to 3 different countries for 4 months a piece for 1 entire year. She lives in Italy for 4 months and eats her way out of a deep, spirally depression. She lives in India for 4 months and rediscovers her spiritual core. She lives in Bali for 4 months and sleeps with Javier Bardem. No, ha! Just kidding--she meets her (now) husband, a lovely, sensuous Brazilian man (all Brazilians are sensuous, by the way: Americans are fat, stupid, terrible travelers and Brazilians are lovely and seductive--I plan to register a formal complaint with the Nationality Stereotyping Commission about this). And then she wrote a really funny, relatable, irreverent travel memoir about her experiences abroad, finding herself.

That's basically my premise/idea for my dream job--if I could walk off my job tomorrow, this is the job I'd walk right into:

*Travel to anywhere in the world, but just one country at a time.

*Live and travel in that one country for 1-2 months.

*Write an irreverent, relatable travel book/memoir about it. There would be none of this: go to this restaurant, stay in this hotel, do this activity, a la Fodor's and whatnot. Each book would simply be a compilation of my experiences and stories about people I get to meet and know (as a really super NICE and POLITE American traveler) in that particular country.

*And because I sense somebody, somewhere, out there may read this at one point and get all snarky and roll their eyes and go "Yeah, uh, guess what? Lonely Planet already did that, Amy. BORE-ing!", let me just pitch that as an added incentive to my plan, I'm also thinking of trying to convince Javier Bardem to accompany me on all my travels. Has Lonely Planet done THAT? No! They have NOT.

So the first country I have picked out for this endeavor is England. Just England. Not Scotland, Ireland, or Wales; those will have to be different travel books. And the reason I've picked England as my first destination is simply because I already have a title (and also because: Clive Owen. Thank you, England!). Before I tell you my first travel book's title, I have to give you background scaffolding to it:

Background Scaffolding Exhibit A:

THIS VIDEO 

People who can do that are magic. And really, really fun to have at parties, I bet.

Background Scaffolding Exhibit B:

Way back many moons ago, I met several UK ex-pats via a friend transplanted here via London, and I was introduced to the concept of what I like to call "accent magic (TM)." British people can tell not only which region someone is from in their country, but also socioeconomic level. It's a thing that's unique, apparently, to the English, and years after I met these UK ex-pats, I read an interview with one of my favorite British actors, Jason Isaacs, and he confirmed it. 

Here's what they do: I was wowed and amazed one afternoon several years ago at a meetup.com get together for UK ex-pats. All the English people were standing around, talking to one another (with one eavesdropping American listening in, drinking in their exotic accents) and they just seemed to know instantly where someone was from without them ever having to say it. They all spoke some sort of weird, Tolkien-like shorthand with one another and I felt completely left out. So I thought the English people just all knew each other from previous meetups, but no! Turns out, almost everyone was new to everyone else at that little shindig, and they just all magically "know" each others backgrounds, like some kind of psychic, instinctive thing, totally based on speech patterns. Which in and of itself is mind blowing, but we probably do that here in America to some extent--I can tell if someone's from the South vs. the North vs. the Midwest and so forth. But what rocked my whole world and confirmed, yet again, that we are simply not using enough of our entire brains as a species, is that they could tell you sort of the exact area they were from in that geographic region and the socioeconomic level. Friends, that is one cool party trick! I walked out of that party going, "OMG. The British are MAGIC!"

And that is what I plan to title my first travel book of irreverent personal essays: The British are Magic. 

Which is why I can only do England first. I don't know what I'll call Scotland's book (The Scottish Can Be Slightly Incoherent?). Or Ireland's (The Irish Are Often Irate I Hope They Don't Bomb Me For Saying That?) Or Wales (The Welsh Have a Weird Language?) (and nobody from Wales can get mad at me for that, because I can totally say that on account of being half Welsh).

 And! The beauty of this whole job idea? IT NEVER ENDS. It just goes on and on, my friends. Once I've traveled the globe, I can come back to America and start in on each of the 50 states plus Puerto Rico and Guam and the U.S. Virgin Islands. In case you're wondering: I'll start with the U.S. Virgin Islands first. Idaho will be last. I'm not sure what's in Idaho, but I think that's where all the Ted Nugent loving, KKK, American terrorist militia are from. (I may go into hiding after titling that book.) (If I make it out of Idaho alive.)

The thing about British people is that we judge people within two syllables. When someone opens their mouth in England certainly, everybody can tell not just where they’re from geographically, but where they’re from socioeconomically and what kind of education they had and how they aspire to be perceived. You can hear all that and everybody is very precisely attuned to it. - See more at: http://www.hobotrashcan.com/2012/03/29/one-on-one-with-jason-isaacs/#sthash.EnnSomVy.dpuf

The thing about British people is that we judge people within two syllables. When someone opens their mouth in England certainly, everybody can tell not just where they’re from geographically, but where they’re from socioeconomically and what kind of education they had and how they aspire to be perceived. You can hear all that and everybody is very precisely attuned to it. - See more at: http://www.hobotrashcan.com/2012/03/29/one-on-one-with-jason-isaacs/#sthash.EnnSomVy.dpuf

The thing about British people is that we judge people within two syllables. When someone opens their mouth in England certainly, everybody can tell not just where they’re from geographically, but where they’re from socioeconomically and what kind of education they had and how they aspire to be perceived. You can hear all that and everybody is very precisely attuned to it. - See more at: http://www.hobotrashcan.com/2012/03/29/one-on-one-with-jason-isaacs/#sthash.EnnSomVy.dpuf

The thing about British people is that we judge people within two syllables. When someone opens their mouth in England certainly, everybody can tell not just where they’re from geographically, but where they’re from socioeconomically and what kind of education they had and how they aspire to be perceived. You can hear all that and everybody is very precisely attuned to it. - See more at: http://www.hobotrashcan.com/2012/03/29/one-on-one-with-jason-isaacs/#sthash.EnnSomVy.dpuf

The thing about British people is that we judge people within two syllables. When someone opens their mouth in England certainly, everybody can tell not just where they’re from geographically, but where they’re from socioeconomically and what kind of education they had and how they aspire to be perceived. You can hear all that and everybody is very precisely attuned to it. - See more at: http://www.hobotrashcan.com/2012/03/29/one-on-one-with-jason-isaacs/#sthash.EnnSomVy.dpu The thing about British people is we can judge people within two syllables

march comes in like a lion...

Life's a-changing 'round these parts. That's all I can share for now.

A friend and I are working on a television series idea we think is simply brilliant. Others may not agree, but I guarantee none of these others would be teachers or people who love and understand teachers. Teachers world-wide will high five us until their hands bleed. It's not a series we could market to NBC, ABC, CBS, etc. But we could maybe start a YouTube channel. Or see if Netflix or Hulu might be interested.

And that's all I can say about it, or I'd have to kill you.

My writing course was extended to April due to the Polar Vortex. I submitted one personal essay that was eviscerated (eviscerated!). After I'd licked my wounds and re-read it harshly and with no sympathy, I saw what they were saying. Great God, it sucks to realize you aren't, after all, as brilliant as you thought when you were typing at 2 o'clock in the morning. But it's helpful and good to have someone tell you that.

I'm starting to realize/recognize I suck at titles. Currently, I'm working on a short story about a boy named Nathan who wants to commit suicide and then meets someone and changes his mind...I have no idea what to call it. Right now, it's titled "Leaving Neverland," simply because at one point, Nathan remembers a 4th grade teacher reading PETER PAN to the class and loving the part when Peter says "To die would be an awfully big adventure..." But that's not really the essence of the piece. Where is the essence of the piece? This is hard for me. Essence is elusive.

 I have one week left until Spring Break. After that, six weeks until Summer Break. I am starting back on my running regimen again (to balance my increasing wine intake), and I plan to be a veritable writing fool between June 2014 and July 2014. I say this going into every summer (about being a writing fool), but it's different when you have someone else depending on you), and so I'm determined.

I shall not be climbing any fences between now and August. FYI.

storytelling matters.

Would it be okay if I write about something somewhat off the topic of writing/being a writer?

Teaching and Learning. They're on my brain. Because it's what I do to pay my bills, and also it's a Snow/Ice Day here and I have some time to catch my breath to think about it. Here is what I'd like to write about today:

I'm concerned. And because I'm concerned, I think you should be, too. Not about teaching or teachers, not about what's going on with public schools, not about teacher unions, not about teacher pay or merit pay, not about No Child Left Behind or Race To The Top, not about testing and if we're utilizing it too much or appropriately, not about the crumbling infrastructure of many of our schools or the social injustice of the entire set up of the system in general, or even about the disastrous effect poverty is having on our children and our schools and our society and our culture and the fact that nobody--NOBODY--is doing an effing fucking thing to address that, yet somehow more tests and putting all the responsibility/accountability on teachers will magically get rid of all our societal ills.

No. I'm actually just concerned about storytelling. Specifically, are we doing enough of it in our schools, and how can we use it to teach and learn better? Can I give you an example of it?

My students love stories. They particularly love stories that I just tell them--books are cool and all, but they love love love when I just tell them an oral, listen-to-what-happened-to-me-when-I-was-in-2nd-grade-five-hundred-years-ago story. In addition, my students love to TELL stories. I cannot tell you how many times I've begun, oh I don't know, a lesson on plural nouns, and suddenly some little hand shoots into the air (or, in my current class' case, someone just blurts whatever's in their brain) because hearing the word "foot" changed to the word "feet" suddenly reminded him of this one time he ran down the street barefoot right into a sea of broken windshield glass strewn across the road and his mom drove him all crazy to the emergency room, both feet bleeding profusely all over the backseat of the car. (True story.)

Stories matter. OUR stories matter. Stories make us who we are, define the world for us, help us decide who we want to be in that world and how we want to react (or not react) to the people we meet in it. From the time people were walking upright, we have been storytellers: Cave paintings, the Bible, folk songs, medieval poems, Shakespeare's plays, autobiographies. Human beings tell stories.It's what makes us human (aside from the well-developed frontal cortex and the ability to choose good or evil, of course). Dare I say stories are the ONLY things that really matter?

When I am done with this world, I will have accumulated many, many stories. I will have stories about myself, stories about people I love, stories about people I hate, and stories about people I've briefly encountered along the way who, for whatever reason, have made me stop and ponder. I see this in my students, I see this in my daughter. I see they each have their own stories, and they are all kind of desperate to tell them.

You know what makes me the saddest? There's simply no time. In 21st century American public education, there's just no time for storytelling. They have to pass tests. They have to reach a certain reading level by May. They have to reach full automaticity with fact families. They have to close read paragraphs so they can pass a test. They have to talk about how their brains are working and defend those brain workings. They have to be able to construct a viable paragraph to earn enough points to pass future writing tests, and these paragraphs and the way we have to teach them--because students are coming to us from families who don't read or talk or tell stories or let their children have their own voice--are always so perfunctory, so without soul. But they get you a passing grade, and that makes the schools look good. And in 21st century America, appearances appear to be the new, big Thing. It's really all we talk about, if you think about it.

The other night I was reading something about three great Greek teachers/writers/philosophers. Aristotle was a student of Plato, who was in turn a student of Socrates. Aristotle walked around as he taught. His students followed him, walking around and listening to him. He talked to his students about math and science, but also about music and art and the nature of the world. Aristotle's teacher, Plato, traveled a lot, talking about a lot of the same things, meeting students wherever he went. Plato's teacher, Socrates, never really answered questions--he just volleyed them right back. Questions were always more important than the answers. But no matter how they taught, they did it via Story. Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates were all storytellers.

My point is (and I do have one): you know what none of those guys ever did, at least not according the writer? Hand out a test. And if they did hand out tests, I am certain they never used them to measure what their students learned, or how to analyze how they were doing as a teacher. They didn't construct and de-construct paragraphs. Nothing was timed, because seriously--who cares? They weren't worried about the What; they were more interested in the How, the Why. And they taught through stories. Everybody loves a good story. Everybody.

Why do we not focus on this with our children? Why do we not allow our children to just play? To learn about the world and themselves via play and stories? Why do we not just sit with our children and talk to them about what they're thinking, how they're perceiving the world? Why can't we just sit and listen to them? I wonder how many children never, ever feel heard. Or validated. How many of those children grow up into adults who don't have time to listen to their own children? Who don't have a clue how to validate the human beings they've been gifted with, and are sending out into the world?

The worst feeling in the world for me as a teacher, a mom, a human being is when a kid has this really big story to tell me and I'm on a tight schedule: "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. But Ms. Samson has to do this lesson on reflexive pronouns right now--we have to take a quiz on Friday. Can you tell me your story at bus call? Just remind me." And then bus call arrives and I have to deal with Timmy and Jimmy, because Jimmy has anger issues and doesn't know to properly borrow an eraser. And there are 24 other kids who all need my attention about homework, about somebody who stuck their tongue out at them, about needing a band-aid or a drink of water or if they can be the line leader next week. (What were Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates' class size numbers capped at?) And the kids all get put on the bus and realize: oh, crap. I forgot to hear X's story. Poop. I hope X can remember the story tomorrow, and I hope I can remember to ask X to tell me the story tomorrow.

Because stories matter.

....I'm sorry, I'm just having snow day existentialism, and if you're still with me, I'm taking you along for a windy, existential ride. I hope that's okay. I'm disillusioned right now with numbers--I get it, I get it: Math matters, too. And Science and Technology and Engineering (though, personally, I think they just stuck the "Engineering" in the acronym to make it read better...STM just doesn't have the same ring as STEM). But for me, storytelling will be the thing that will save the world. Because I think you can control technology and engineering, and science and math, too, to a certain extent--how much do you want to bet somebody, somewhere, has engineered a way to totally eliminate the need for our outrageous fossil fuel consumption? And that somebody, somewhere, is suppressing that knowledge and information because somebody, somewhere, doesn't want it out there just yet. Knowledge = power.

But storytelling. Anybody can do it. And if somebody, somewhere, is telling you not to, then you can just do it secretly in your brain, when you're by yourself. It doesn't matter how many degrees you've got, what socioeconomic level you were born into, or how fast you can solve f (x) dx = F(b) - (a) (in addition, outside of NASA and MIT, does anybody really care what f(x)dx equals?). Anybody can tell a story, no textbooks required.

It matters more. And I think it matters that our current policy makers, the ones setting the agenda and national curriculum don't seem to think it matters. And I think it matters that our media, our watchdogs who are supposed to be driving the talk about what matters, don't appear to think it matters. And I think it matters that our families--particularly our poor families--don't have enough resources to have time to tell (and listen to) stories with their children. And that should concern all of us.

Stories define whole, entire generations. Stories teach us about who we once were, and they remind us who we never want to be again. Stories take us on adventures we could never possibly have, but can still dream about having anyway. Stories open up our potential. Stories give us the courage to be more than we ever thought we could be. Stories help us figure out who we are.

If your focus is solely on teaching your children to read technical manuals so they can be better workers later, will it matter to you when they aren't interested in reading stories to the children they will bring into the world, stories like Peter Pan or Wizard of Oz, which are about being brave and kind and true--to yourself and to others; which are about believing in who you are, and finding beauty in a very scary world? Will it concern you when the vast majority of our populace lose their sense of wonder and belief in the possibility of magic?

Are you worried about--or even aware of--the fact that teachers--who teach, every day, in microcosms of society, are standing on roofs of schools right now screaming about seeing the loss of this into the wind and are largely being ignored? Will you worry when reading becomes this skill, this task of reading, becomes just something you have to do because, well, it's a job. Will you be sad when Art and Music and Poetry and Books start to look more like functional cogs and gadgets to move forward technology and science instead of sharing confusing or uplifting or amazing pieces of somebody's soul? So you can be okay with or understand your own? Are you comfortable with and okay with living in a country, on a planet, where we've developed the technology to bomb a town without taking out any civilians...but have lost the curiosity and ability to question WHY we want to bomb anyone in the first place? Are you going to be cool when you're 99 years old, on your deathbed, and your adult children are sitting vigil next to you, saying good-bye, while multi-tasking/texting about a work project as you take your last breaths? Because you taught them that technology was more important than storytelling? And you modeled that for them?

I worry. I'm concerned. I love technology and the advancements it's brought us, I heart Science almost as much as real Scientists do--I like to understand how the world really works. But I also think there's a lot to be said for walking around as your students follow you, asking questions more than giving answers, and focusing on Art as much as Science. It's important to write on paper, as much as type. It's okay to use your fingers to count sometimes. It's not bad to sit and read a book made of paper and glue--they're easier to make notes on in the margins and highlight quotes that you'd like to memorize forever, til they're embedded parts of your soul.

And I like to teach through Story, but I increasingly find I don't have time to do this. I would like to walk around talking and asking--not answering--questions all day, but I don't have time. I would like to take my students to art galleries and science museums and the theater, but I don't have time...or money (budget cuts). I would like to talk to children about what they saw on our excursions, and tell each other stories about our experiences. It's what I do with my own child, and I see she is leagues above where some of my students currently are. And she's younger than them. And I worry about that. And I am sad.

This is a hard planet to live on. There are some pretty nasty characters running around it. There are people in it who seem very normal and nice but are actually quite the opposite. But there are also stories. And they help us find the good parts of the world and the people in it, and find ways to appreciate the beauty of our collective Yin Yang. They keep us in touch with what really matters and who we are.

I have no idea how to end this blog post. Maybe because there is no real end to it. Stories go on and on, because Life does. I think that matters, too. And I think we should have a really gentle and thoughtful national--international--discussion about it. In storytelling format, of course.