Wonder

Crash or Soar

2012-01-26T19:52:00.000-05:00

I have not heard good things about our ninth grade class as a whole. The other English teachers I've spoken with have had their hands full trying to make a go of their English 9 classes. Mrs. B said at the beginning of each new semester, you hope for your class to run and take off from the ground. That being off the ground is the learning experience, and it's thrilling. But her last class walked a bit, and—plunk—into the water they dropped and sank. They did not want to learn.

I approached my first ever English 9 class with a good deal of reservation as a result of this and other tragic stories. If we couldn't fly, at least we could stay away from the deep end for the plunk.

Today, my English 9 removed my fear of the plunk. Jay read his personal narrative aloud for our revision circle. It was about his being adopted. It was rife with spelling and grammatical errors. But the heart of it was not the less visible for them: he was glad to be in a safe, caring family that brought him closer to God. He read in a stilted way, not yet a confident reader aloud. But he persevered manfully through the piece. We applauded him, and slowly hands went in the air for commentary. Everyone appreciated his sharing his piece. One girl, Elena, thanked him for writing his story. She, too, had been adopted, but more recently. And she still remembered what it felt like not to be wanted by her father and mother. She told us of the relief and gratitude she felt toward her adoptive parents, the people she trusted so wholly. She ended with a sob. It may have taken all she had to talk about that. But she knew she had to, because Jay had the courage to write about this thing that had so moved her as well.

When she had finished, I, like an idiot, said something to try to draw the attention away from her... I think I was uncomfortable for her. I didn't want her to feel as though she had spoken to an empty room. But I think now that I would have rather just said, "thanks so much for sharing that," and left it.

So, there is a story of how my class lifted off of their own volition, and didn't wobble and crash. They soared.

Recent Reading

2012-01-19T08:28:00.001-05:00

I recently read A Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut. Oh, ladies and gentlemen, that man is something wonderful and nuts. I love what he has to say about humor. He concludes by saying that perhaps he is too old, and not funny anymore.

This book is memoirish: the rantings of a man who more than admits that he's old: he takes certain liberties which he knows he can get away with, since he's 82. Note, he has always taken certain liberties, but he blames it on age now, his own joke. One may picture him a pensive window-looker, eccentric old man who smokes his cigar, knowing the evil of the world. But he'll offer you a cigar, too. You can watch the bomb go off together. All the good and the bad mixed together. What a man.

Conversation

2012-01-19T08:16:00.002-05:00

Readers, this is remarkable only because I believe she was somewhat serious.

Alyssa: Do we have days when the weather makes it... so no school?

Me: You want a snow day?

Alyssa: Yes! When do we have?

Me: It has to snow first.

Alyssa: Oh... Can't we have a day off?

Me: Are you asking me to make it snow? Seriously?

First Day of the Semester

2012-01-17T08:18:00.000-05:00

I dismissed a class almost ten minutes early today. I was looking at the wrong schedule. They came back puzzled and chatty.

First days of anything ... I'm not a fan. I have to constantly talk myself down and say things like, "you've done a lot of first things, and you've gotten used to them! Remember the obstacle course at boot camp at age eleven? Remember opening McDonald's at 4am in July? You'll get used to this."

The moment I realize what I'm doing here, teaching and advising, I am liable to hit some strange Freak Out button (this button is visible only after 7pm). In essence, it's not so hard: plan some reading and writing, give a vocabulary test occasionally, hang out with teenagers from different countries. Really, it's wonderful in a basic way. But as soon as I begin to think about the philosophy and the agenda and the goals and the essential questions that have to back up every single thing I say... Well, I say, higher education has only complicated things.

Just a Friend

2012-01-08T21:03:00.002-05:00

I believed in you from a distance,
when you were at your worst.
I wish I had a part in you now.

The worst of it is your legacy of pain.
If I hold on now, I'm bound to hurt forever,
with the searing pain of red-hot shackles:

Asking what drove you to it,
why you drove yourself,
and alone!

You jumped!

Now I have to let go.

I, who made the mistake of believing
that you knew exactly what you were doing.

What I Would Like to Believe

2012-01-08T21:03:00.001-05:00

I would like to believe that you are in California
with an old laptop some friend let you borrow,
then saw you had a necessity for it,
the words pouring forth from your mind at 2am,
like you do. There you sit, a loud TV on in another room,
but you've learned not to complain since the rent is cheap.

And moment by moment, you narrate the madness of passing world
passing life
beautifully
and with your rueful half-smile.

I promised myself I'd be the first to read it!
Before the piece even touched the shelf,
somehow I'd know.
And all the blurred years of ink and heartbreak,
and your illegible pencil-scratch notes,
would begin their healing in me, as
I read about your cross-country journeys,
your smoking up with strangers,
and how you realized it would get you nowhere.

Surviving on meager cooking of your own,
occasionally working up a kitchen masterpiece to share with...

with whom? There I stop.

No one traveled that road with you.
No one knew.
No one knew.

If You Come Back

2012-01-04T08:20:00.000-05:00

If you come back

I will write you a poem for every picture of a tree
you deign to send me.

I will go to see that stupid Hulk movie and find a replacement for work.

I will chat online for more than a few minutes: reviewing our chats, I always seemed to be pressed for time.

I will sit with you in your Jeep on the way to your friend's wedding,
and let myself think about your profile against the sunset.

I will not run so hard or so far.

I will let you catch me, hold me, keep me.

But

I know I wouldn't

if you could

Come back.

Life Tastes Sweet

2012-01-01T14:36:00.003-05:00

Funny how tempting it is to blog about blogging or to make apologies for long, informative posts. Ha. This blog is about my life, so I feel justified in a few very long posts now and then that solely relay strings of experiences.

The painfully anticipated break is nearing its end, and I have lots of feelings and few moments to share. But I don't enjoy writing or reading about feelings. And I love to write and read about moments. So here are a few that come back to me, with their corresponding food of the moment.

On Christmas eve eve, I visited Krystle. We baked banana bread and talked and talked. She presented me with a gift of a beautiful hand-made afghan that rests snugly over the shoulders. It reminded me of Joella's grandmother's prayer shawl. I am wearing the afghan even now. Turkey Hill Double Dunker ice cream.

On Christmas eve, Stephen (my brother), my sister-in-law Megan, and my niece and nephew Aida and Holden went to Megan's aunt's house for dinner. Everyone eats and drinks and dodges children in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. One moment, I found myself on a big, well-stuffed chair, with Aida sitting next to me. We were discussing something. Then her cousin Maddy found her way to my lap. Then her cousin Luke found his way up the back of the chair, covering me in children. They fell over and on top of me, a sweet, laughing kid puddle. Orange sherbet punch.

Christmas day, we stayed inside like bums and watched A Christmas Story in segments that amounted to three full viewings. Sweet potato souffle.

The day after, we decided to eat at the Waffle Shop in State College. We waited for 15 minutes to be seated because it was so crowded. I sat between Aida and Holden. A teething Holden was biting the side of the table as our waitress came up. I forget our conversation. But she told us that she had been a waitress for 49 years, and she loved to serve people. Blueberry pancakes.

In Waynesboro later that week, Kelly, Sladana, Jack, Chelsea and I stopped at Sheetz for a snack before arriving at the movie theater. We sat in the round table and chatted about nothing, I'm sure. But the moment was sweet, there on the quiet edge of a spinning world. Macaroni bites.

Chels and I sat down together and watched The Prestige. I took Benadryl for some strange and awful allergy. I shouted out my guesses at the plot. She shouted out how annoying that was. Decaf tea.

Thursday lunch Sladana, BJ, Kelly, Josiah, and I ate together in Chambersburg. We sat in the draughty Subway sharing potato chips and stories and ideas. Sladana had work, so we remaining went to Starbucks. On the drive, we recalled our long and glorious history of loving Homestarrunner. Flurries had kicked up, but we were warm. Grande, soy, no vanilla, Mocha Frappuccino.

Thursday night, I joined Kelly's mom's dinner party out at some barn-like bed and breakfast. We sat with Kelly's mom's friends and chatted the evening away. Her friend Kim was telling us about the Alaskan village where her father lived and died, and their communal practices of supporting families through grief. Meanwhile, a bluegrass band with lovely vocal harmony played just behind us. Peppermint ice cream pie.

I leaned on my mom's bed as she woke up from her evening nap (she works nights) and we chatted before I left for Lancaster again. We talked about the things on our minds that mattered. It's funny, sometimes I wonder if I have anything important to say. But talking with Mom makes those trifling thoughts melt away, and what remains feels rock-solid, like it matters. The cat lay on the down blanket, with an occasional wistful sigh. LifeSavers peppermints.

On New Year's Eve with Joella's family, Anita and I talked in the kitchen while the other young people played a game in which players are "shot" and eliminated one by one. Asher came to join us. Our conversation intensified a bit, as we listed single ladies for him to consider. Then Tobias joined us, also "dead" to discuss the pros and cons of casual dating, if there is such a thing. The conversational intensity grew another notch. By this time we were all seated on the kitchen floor, weary from standing. Then Zion. Then Isaac. Then Tirzah. Then Boni and Joella. The conversational intensity had evened out around the entrance of Tirzah, and dropped off around the coming of Isaac. Olive cheese balls.

Some Looking Back

2011-12-30T01:04:00.001-05:00

This conversation took place during our last summer of still having conversations. We were both working on moving to Lancaster. Neither of us was sure where we would work or how we would subsist. We were low on cash, and discussed our situations frequently. Also, he and LBC had differing views on cursing.
A Conversation from July 21, 2008

10:18 PM Ken: [...]

SPONTANEOUS!

I found five dollars today while i was packing my books and throwing away trash

10:19 PM it was in an envelope from the President of LBC that I got when I graduated but never opened for some reason (hint: reason is that I would need it later)

me: did the prez of LBC give all of the grads a $5?

Ken: yes

it comes with a form

and a suggestion that you give it back to lbc

10:20 PM me: no

Ken: and commit to giving five dollars every month

hahaha

no joke

I don't feel even a little bad about this.

It's GOD's money, right? And clearly he was saving it for my time of need. So LBC can shove it. hahahahhahaha

10:21 PM :P

me: cuz God said so

Ken: When I had my exit interview

's'right

they talked to me about donating as an alumnus

and the guy doing the interview was actually (by chance, a bunch of different staff do the exits) the VP of Financial Affairs

10:22 PM and he started it with "Idk what God has in store for you. You know? You could be a millionaire--"

And I started laughing pretty hard

and then I said, "I promise, if God makes me a millionaire, I'll give some money back to LBC."

hahaha

10:23 PM me: lol

Ken: (Image of myself making out a 100 dollar check and writing something smart in the Memo line."

)

me: what would you write? c'mon on now

my choice would be "because I am now a millionaire"

10:24 PM Ken: "As promised; Hope you don't mind this money from a dirty fucker."

tell me not to write cusses!

lol

you know they'd still cash it, too

hahaha

10:25 PM me: well, they might mumble something about the money of the rich being stored up for the poor...

*money of the wicked

Ken: same diff

haha

they might mumble

but they'd mumble in line at the bank

10:26 PM Nick is convinced they are funded by the CIA

(LBC)

[...]

10:30 PM Ken: I know that the VP of Financial Affairs actually told me (when he was asking me to give) that for "some reason" LBC is one of the few colleges that isn't mostly supported financially by their alumni, b/c LBC alumni give a "shockingly" little amount to the college

me: God works in mysterious ways...

Ken: So does the CIA!

me: lol

i gotta go

Ken: k

have fun tomorrow

don't get too lost

me: thanks, sorry you can't come!

Ken: it's okay

me: i'll try hard not ot

*to

Ken: call my house if you get lost and need directions

Cause I don't work until 5, I'll be packing

me: expect a call

10:31 PM Ken: haha, okay

bye!

me: i'm serious

cya!

Ken: okay

haha

I Doubt It

2011-12-18T19:47:00.000-05:00

When I got back from London,
you gently demanded (how could you do that?)
a get-together.
We would decide what to do
when you got here.

You picked me up.
Sunroof open, sun in our hair,
We went to the park.

[My park. My favorite park.
How did you know? Did I ever tell you?
You never forgot a single thing I said.]

"I was thinking we could go fly kites," you said
As you pointed to two kites in your backseat.

[How odd, I had just been thinking about kites, I remember.
Did you know? Did I ever tell you?]

We ran about wildly inexperienced, getting our kites in the air.
Up they flew. Up. Bright. Sun in our hair, on our faces!
I was so relieved
That you had no confessions,
And I no heartbreaks
To share today.

I entangled my kitestring with yours and tried to pull it down.
You smiled and laughed, not to be bothered.
I loved you for it.

[Did you know? Did I ever tell you?]

Favorite Things

2011-11-28T18:09:00.001-05:00

I have a notebook that Adriane gave me three years ago. I started to write things in it that make me happy in February of 2009. Here's the first installment of 90:

a sunrise in the desert
a sunrise over snow
a sunrise in the mountains
a sunrise
down comforters
embarrassing moments that become funny stories
watching a movie
changing routes all of a sudden
clean sheets
coming into an attic that is warm
rearranging furniture
sending letters
getting letters
making lists
running faster

feeling better after feeling sick
peanut soup (Lachelle's version)
Schnapps
praying with an old friend
taking the bus
those moments right before falling asleep
freshly-brushed teeth
just-shaven legs
new jewelry
used bookstores
friend requests on Facebook
fields of daffodils
S.I.S. sisterhood
sauteing garlic and onions
ice cream

comments on papers (in red pen)
Jane Austen
Robert Frost
Langston Hughes
Valentine's Day
Ogden Nash
sleeping until 8:30am
coffee
canoli
Campus Deli honey mustard
fresh green mango with hot sauce and salt
popcorn
baking
striking up a conversation
making a joke only you get

making a joke everyone gets
hearing a joke
any joke
bathroom breaks
tea breaks
just calling to say "hi"
spring break
winter break
summer break
school time
weddings
road trips in the summer time
a hare-brained idea that becomes reality
a surprise Valentine
old, comfy jeans

new shoes
old, comfy shoes
new jeans
having a crush
flirting
praying in quiet
praying in loud
when someone remembers your birthday
orange and pink
tassles
sweaters
Chapstick
honeysuckle perfume
women's suffrage
exact change

putting on makeup
Google desktop with the notes and the world clock
finishing a classic
understanding what Plato is talking about

driving to see my brother and dad

stopping at Sheetz

horses and buggies

foreign accents

local accents

saying "ya'll" on purpose

maps

killing a bug with your notebook in the middle of class to everyone's surprise

being read to aloud

reading aloud

memorizing poetry

Humility Born of Struggles: November

2011-11-22T16:47:00.001-05:00

I have been holding my head above water. Although the coming of cold often chills my bones, even my heart, this November has left me no time to think of it. I feel more alive than ever. Sometimes, I have as much sunshine in my heart as mid-summer at Black Rock. It is a secret how the sun shines within me, when outwardly the world seems to have gone grey. I feel as though I have been called to rise to the occasion. I have a deep joy in doing so.

A few instances this month have crashed over my head, leaving me sputtering, speechless, and grateful for air. The biggest instance I don't feel free to write about, but here are a few much smaller ones.

An email from a community member saying my floor's bathroom was not clean. It wasn't. Keeping the students accountable for cleaning has been one of my greatest struggles of the dorm. Many of the students have never been responsible for cleaning in their homes. Moms and maids take care of the cleaning. School is pressing; they don't think about the cleaning until I hound them. No wonder moms become known for nagging. Sure, you can give up the fight and clean it yourself. Total number of people that is helping: 0.

A parent-teacher conference in which I had to acknowledge to the parents that I was not expecting enough of their son. I was making too many accommodations for his particular disabilities.

A conversation with another teacher where I had to begin with an apology for being rude. She said she had just been on her way to see me. We sat down and she started by apologizing, telling me that she had been praying for me; she knew how difficult my job was, and the hardship of the first year of teaching. I set my part right, too. We prayed together.

Many ungraded research papers. It's been three weeks.

New Spellings

2011-10-21T21:00:00.002-04:00

of my last name:

Makalubs

McKlapus

McKalubs

CaryLin

Ms. Kalips

Mrs. Carolyn

Ms. Makalup

I'm serious.

Stories from Real Life

2011-10-13T19:26:00.000-04:00

Last night, Ben and I asked Hunchao if he was planning to go to Hershey Park with everyone else. He responded, "I don't maybe want to go because I am afraid of the holocaust." He made motions with his hand.

"You mean, 'roller coaster.'"

Panyeng is one of the burliest guys in the dorm. He's easygoing, but he's big, and he has an imposing scar on the right side of his face. Judging by looks only, he is one with whom you would hate to cross paths in a dark alley. That is why it was extra funny when he fell asleep tonight in study hall. He was in front of a computer, and unresponsive to his name. I did a quick search for puppy images, and left an especially fluffy one on his screen for when he awoke.

Volunteer Types

2011-10-12T23:01:00.002-04:00

Nine students and I went to Global Aid Network's warehouse to help with the semi-annual, huge, pack-stuff-in-a-million-boxes party. We were herded in amid hundreds of volunteers and our group was assigned to help with the shoe sorting. I sent my nine to separate areas in the crowd to gain instructions from the people who already knew what they were doing. I was--I am--so proud of them. I watched them throughout our two hour bout with lots of dirty shoes. They maintained smiles; they worked hard. When the work got slow elsewhere, a few even went over to the shoe cleaning area and picked up a scrub brush. Nasty work, that.

None of these students had struck me as being any particular volunteer type. But my judgments have been poor company lately.

I wanted to name the post, "I've Got Sole But I'm Not a Soldier" That's right, a pun, folks. But I felt too much shame to retain it... and it didn't make any sense.

Conversations

2011-10-03T00:45:00.001-04:00

I've just had a second conversation in two days with two different students about their feelings of abandonment from parents. I suppose in a high school boarding program, this is to be expected. But my heart is stirred by conversations like these. What do I have to tell them? I remember having feelings similar to these. The world is not so big, after all.

We often have questions as dorm advisers. We wonder what to do: should we allow Momo to go to New York to visit her friend, even though her mother didn't list her friend in her additional contacts, and her friend only turned 18 (literally) yesterday? No, of course. But her sister is listed as an additional contact, and it's so very important that she visit her friend! And her sister will take care that should anything happen... Should anything happen. Should anything happen--! We live in fear of anything happening. We must answer for all of it. Honestly, I feel like an unqualified babysitter much of the time (where is Stephen's manual for Babysitting Teenagers from China, Korea, and Ethiopia?).

But beautiful gifts are all mixed in with the mundane decisions. Yesterday, I was in the office during the morning. Dahin came in and we chatted about life and morals and Christ. She asked so many good questions: how are the Jews different from Christians? Why did Hitler single them out? Why does the U.S. support Israel now? I appreciated her poignant questions. My heart filled up, and I'm afraid I got long-winded.

I must not have driven her away forever, for today she came back; severely bored, she said. We talked about more of life and boys and relationships. And suddenly I did not appreciate her poignant questions as much. Later, Rika came in for grammar help on an essay. Her essay was on her "spiritual pilgrimage." She wasn't very interested in my commenting on her grammar, though. She preferred to converse about the meaning of the essay as a whole. She needed to discuss her spiritual pilgrimage, for she is in the midst of many new outlooks, filled with choices and confusion.

How do I wrap this up? That's not the end of all I have to say about my life right now. If it were the end, I hope I'd be doing something cooler than blogging.

Hand-written Comments

2011-09-28T09:06:00.003-04:00

When I received a paper back from a teacher, the first thing I did was look at the grade. But I barely hesitated before reading the comments all over the piece. Indeed, I barely breathed as I read them. As I read those comments, I learned so much. My favorite teachers of writing were those who wrote a lot on my papers. That was where they proved themselves to me: I can still picture some of those comments. I took that advice and improved.

This is my second post about grading papers. Different ones today, of course. But my own experience leads me to believe there may be other writers just like me, hungry for the ability to communicate clearly and beautifully.

I say go ahead, use red pen!--make the paper bleed! I will try to resurrect it.

What I Am Doing vs. What I Want To Do

2011-09-18T21:18:00.001-04:00

Joella texted me today to notify me that she and Becky had made it safely to the outback of Ontario. I was sincerely happy for them. May they enjoy themselves.

I have been grading papers all this glorious day. It's been so hard to concentrate. If you, reader, are or have recently been in any education courses, you'll be happy to know that I am using a purple pen.

Also, I have self-diagnosed inattentive ADHD. Back to grad--

Evening Study Hall

2011-09-14T20:56:00.002-04:00

I didn't realize so many students were watching shows and movies with their evening study hall time. But I saw one kid, Yang, watching a TV show in Chinese with his headphones. I was interested in the story line. I wasn't there to scold him, although I could have been there to scold him: he and Tong had been especially loud for a library.

About Yang: he's a social fellow, but quiet with authority, willing (at least outwardly) to bend. His sense of humor is somewhat delayed. Dry humor is lost completely.

I sat down next to him and became engrossed in the show, sans sound. He turned to look at me. He looked at Tong. He looked at me. I kept watching the show. He kept watching me. Finally, unexpectedly, he said, "okay, I'll go back to my seat."

Hahaha! I love this job.

Babysitting a McKalips, by Stephen (Part III)

2011-09-09T11:17:00.005-04:00

Contact Lists

--(NOTE: We do not have a land line, or "home phone," so it will be necessary to have a cellular phone and charger)

List A: Emergency
Fire, Flood, Loss of Life

#911

List B: Questions
Who, What, Where, When

...Meg
...Steve
...Staci
...Staci Cell

List C: Yellowbook
Food, Fun, What Have You

(Refer to Cabinet A in Fig. 1 Kitchen)

A: Random things, batteries, pens, screwdrivers, phonebooks, takeout menus, misc. medicines
B: Glasses, baking dishes, aluminum foil, plastic wrap
C: Coffee cups (random), measuring cups, random set of old dishes
D/E: Fiestaware (all dishes one might need)
F: Misc. spices, vinegar, oil, baking supplies, extra condiments
G: Snacks, crackers, cookies, poptarts, misc. junkfood, tea
H: Cereal
I: Pasta
*J*: Baby food, canned vegetables, canned soups, peanut butter
K: Broom & Swiffer
L: Toaster, crock pot, extra tissues, paper towels, pots and pans
*M: Pots and pans, *baby formula, blender, strainer
N: Forks, spoons, knives, utensils, pot holders, misc. cooking things
O: Chips, pretzels, misc. junk food
P: Tupperware, plastic food storage containers
Q/R: Swiffer pads, cleaning supplies, trash bags (white and black)
--Coffee filters can be located in drawer under coffee pot.
--Any questions pertaining to Figure 1 (Kitchen), consult Contact List B.

Babysitting a McKalips (Part II), by Stephen

2011-09-06T19:57:00.000-04:00

I. Rest and Relaxation

--Rest and relaxation, also known as "R&R," is key to a person's morale and wellbeing.
There are many ways to rest and relax.
Many of them are legal in the United States.
--Television is a widely accepted way of relaxing.
703 Fairfield Avenue is equipped with a 42"-high definition TV with well over 250 channels.
There is also a modest library of books in the living room.
--Consuming moderate amounts of alcohol is also a widely used method of relaxing.
Drinking alcohol (wine, beer) to "excess" is generally frowned upon and carries a social stigma.
(NOTE: It is illegal to furnish alcohol to people under the age of 21.)
Keeping this in mind, there is a bottle of wine in the refrigerator not shown in Fig. 1 (Kitchen).

II. Rest and Relaxation

There are many ways of entertaining oneself on the internet.
The internet, or "worldwide web," is a network of computers.
It is regarded as the peak of human collective knowledge.
The pin for our computer is *****.
If you have any questions or comments concerning Rest and Relaxation, please refer to Contact List B.

Babysitting a McKalips, by Stephen

2011-09-06T19:54:00.000-04:00

My mother once babysat my nephew over a weekend while Stephen and Megan went away. My brother, Stephen, handed my mom these instructions, which you also might find helpful when babysitting, as a general guide. They are extensive, so I shall give them in three parts.

I. Bottle/Nap Instructions

--6-7 oz. warm tap water
--2 scoops of formula
--every 3 1/2-5 hours

In the event that Holden cries/fusses after a bottle DO NOT GIVE HIM ANOTHER BOTTLE.
Instead attempt to "burp" him.
After five minutes if he is still hungry give him some baby food.
(Refer to J cabinet in Figure 1.)
Do not feed him baby food more than three times daily.
Do not give him more than one bottle in a 3 1/2 hour period, as it will cause unnecessary discomfort or vomiting.

II. Bottle/Nap Instructions Continued

To avoid prolonged fussiness assure Holden receives a 1 1/2-3 hour nap daily.
Be sure to give a pacifier or "binky" when administering nap.
Be sure to close door to the bedroom after turning off light.
(NOTE: Children often sleep better in dark, quiet rooms.)
In the event that Holden should wake up in less than 1 1/2 hours, (NOTE: You will be able to tell he is not asleep because of the loud screaming noise accompanied by shrieks emanating from his room) replace pacifier and leave room.

III. Bottle/Nap Instructions Continued

Holden enjoys warm, fuzzy blankets while napping.
The seafoam green one is his favorite.
Any questions pertaining to Bottle/Nap Instructions, consult Contact List B.

Outside Bethany

2011-09-03T10:47:00.000-04:00

Dear Martha saw You from afar. She has been looking for You. She sees You and Your disciples. They cannot meet her strained expression and reddened eyes. You meet her eyes, and she falls into step beside You as You finish the last mile to Bethany.

"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." She had been repeating it over and over as she hurried to meet You. But now she cannot leave it at this. She wants to berate You. How could You come late? She cannot find a voice for the pain in her heart. It does not well up. It is a fact, like the dry crust of earth she is walking upon. Her eyes are dry. All has gone terribly dry, and cracks. She cannot leave it at this. She loves You; she respects You; and even now she has not forgotten herself. So she tries to say something more: "But I know that even now God will give You whatever You ask."

Did she just say that? Martha wonders what she meant, exactly. Nothing is impossible for this friend. And now, as she tries to mend what might have looked like reproach, she has asked the Christ to raise the dead. She would have been silent now if You had not responded. She needs... oh, she does not know what she needs. But as she walks beside You, the duststorm of her soul begins to quiet.

You break the silence of her settling heart and the anxious men walking bravely around You, "Your brother will rise again."

Martha looks up with pleading--how could You say something so benignly conciliatory? How can You watch her heart break before You? You know her heart through and through, and this is Your response?

"I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day." Martha looks hard ahead. The details of the small houses on the outside of the town are quite visible; she squints at the patchy-looking walls where the clay has been built up, a colorful blue rug being used as a door in one house, a sack for a door on the next house. Coals are smoldering in that house where the smoke rises.

You stop walking. Everyone stops. You have been looking at her this whole time. You bring her to stand face to face with a motion of her shoulders. Martha can see something in your eyes she did not detect before: pain.

"I am the resurrection and the life. If someone believes in me, he will live, even though he dies. And whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe me, Martha?"

Martha's heart begins to flood. The dry, cracked earth she feels will never be fit for life again--on that earth, drops of water fall. Many drops. And now, Martha finds voice through tears that well in her eyes and fall onto the rough garments she wears, "Yes Lord," with passion she did not know she could feel (she did not know she could feel) she takes Your hand, "I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world."

She is covered in tears. She releases Your hand and walks away, thinking of water and earth and green shoots and how those green shoots can lull her to sleep after more than a week of standing watch over her dying brother and receiving mourners. She walks ahead, to their home, the second street after the blue-curtained doorway, and the smoke rising.

You stand a moment, your hands at your sides. You lift your head upward, Your eyes full.

Hangers

2011-09-03T00:31:00.003-04:00

Not long ago, this May, I wrote about the distinct discomfort of uncertainty. I had no plans for after camp. Shortly thereafter, I interviewed at LMH and was offered a job there. This came four days before camp began.

Camp is over, of course; school has begun, of course. Moving is done (for now). I have retained all necessary hangers (refer to May post, "The Twins Across the Street" for clarification). But even if I had not brought a single hanger, I would have discovered a closet full of unclaimed hangers in the storage room. Isn't that nice?

William and Dorothy were Brother and Sister, so it's like that

2011-08-31T23:55:00.000-04:00

Dear *******,

You will always be the William to my Dorothy Wordsworth. I guess some people are simply meant to write together. I will be the prose. You can make sense of the metrics. I will look at the mist and give you a detailed description of the fauna; and you can become famous after making nature accessible and beautiful for those who will still bother to pick up books.

As a Teacher...

2011-08-31T23:43:00.000-04:00

Ha! I am not used to the title, and I might as well be honest about it. It is mighty fun to be in the classroom, though, finally learning the details that escaped me as a student teacher. I am struggling now with myriad questions, the theme of which is how I am perceived by my students.

How much of my life is appropriate to cast abroad? (Like this post, for instance... Do I need to de-personalize my writing? Am I even capable of such a thing?)
Do all students notice when a teacher begins to repeat her wardrobe? (This has already begun, of course, since it's been over a week.)
How much should I care about how I am perceived? (Not at all? I've seen that be really, really good, and I've seen that be sad and pathetic.)
How do I "come off as strict" only in the beginning of the school year? Am I strict? (I sincerely hope so. I think that strictness provides structure for people to count on, and makes school a safer place. Even if my students don't like me, I hope they know they can trust me.)
Do I talk too fast? (Usually. Why would the classroom be any different?)
Do I know enough? (No. I don't even know what I don't know.)

As much as I struggle to find something useful to say as I stand up in front of a group of young people, I feel favor as I do so. I feel an energy come over me. So far, so good.

To the Owner of the Blue Oral-B Toothbrush

2011-08-18T17:56:00.005-04:00

In their honor, I shall post a note that was forced to write last semester. It was mid-student teaching time. It was late at night. I stuck this to the mirror the next day.

To the Owner of the Blue Oral-B Toothbrush:

My sincerest apologies.

Last night, your toothbrush bore a great resemblance to my own, and was therefore dreadfully misapplied to my teeth.

No more than a moment elapsed before I discovered my error. But alas, germs are faster-moving than the most elastic mind (which I do not claim to be).

The fact having occurred so long before your arrival, and so close to my bedtime, I acted not at all on your behalf, to save you the contamination of the sullied toothbrush. That is, until this evening, when the events of last night came rushing back. I took the more welcome liberty of boiling your toothbrush first, then mine.

Since both are now clean, you may take your pick. And henceforth I, like you last night, will not be the wiser for your choice of toothbrush.

I beg your pardon, however, and never hope to do it again.

Earnestly,
C

Well, I knew this would happen. I miss my housemates here at the dorm.

End Year 23

2011-08-16T09:55:00.000-04:00

I sometimes think about how strange it is that agriculture dictates our education system and therefore the rhythm that we use to plan our lives. This means that mid-August is naturally a time of chaotic rearrangement. Kids and young adults shuffle off to school, teachers return to their kitchens and coffee pots to start a new school year after summers which they must relegate to dreamworlds untold. I am, for the first time, in the latter category instead of the former.

But before all of that, comes my birthday. And my birthday this year was incredible...

Let's begin at 10:15 am, when I left LMH in Lachelle and Brian's car, listening exclusively to a very beautiful piece: "The Last Waltz," the perfect blend of beauty and sorrow and change, with other significance attached in other ways. I arrived at Jordan's house to meet Krystle, Shelby, Alyssa, and Jordan. We left for Longwood Gardens together and met Garrett just inside, so we made six.

I've been to Longwood before, but my impressions of this day were something different from ever before. The sun's whole face was laughing. My imagination took over! We marveled at a treehouse; I felt like an elf, finally home. We stood above the Italian water garden; I felt like I was attending a ball, dressed in satin and lace. We stood in the triple fountain, south of the DuPont house; I felt like a duckling, delighted! We ran around the meadow; I felt like the Von Trapp children, set free! We stood under the wrought-iron gazebo above the coy fish; I felt like a goddess on Olympus, everywhere I laid my eyes was mine.

For lunch, we left the gardens and made hamburgers at Garrett's house nearby. Fun. So fun. Summer is cutting tomatoes and watermelon and doing dishes at someone else's house with good friends. The sun went right on laughing. Back to the gardens for the other, more exquisite half. We were walking our legs off by this time.

It's worth mentioning that sometimes when you have a few people together who love the Lord, your fellowship grows. At one point, I counted our group of six and thought, "wait, aren't there seven of us?" It has to be the Holy Spirit who comes and makes seven.

We departed for Jordan's house where we met up with David, pizza, and a fire after sunset. Why not finish with ice cream and conversation? Why not, indeed.

Themes of Entertainment

2011-08-15T10:34:00.004-04:00

How much can the entertainment you choose tell about your personality? I'm guessing... a lot.

I have been using Leah's Netflix for a few months now. It automatically makes suggestions based on an original viewing questionnaire. But after a while, it seems to suggest based solely on your viewing choices. Here are the categories that show up for Leah and me:

1. Romantic Dramas Featuring a Strong Female Lead

2. Witty Sci-Fi and Fantasy

3. Goofy TV Shows

4. Feel Good Screwball Comedies

5. Quirky TV Comedies

6. Sentimental Children and Family Movies

7. Classic Musicals

8. Foreign Action and Adventure

9. Cerebral TV Dramas

10. Independent Movies

11. Faith and Spirituality

Reflections on Moving

2011-08-10T13:06:00.006-04:00

What am I reading right now? The Shepherd's Castle by George MacDonald; The LMH staff Handbook; the Gospel of John.

My mom came to pick me up from camp on Sunday morning. I finally knew how all the campers felt when their parents picked them up each Saturday morning. Relief mingled with a feeling of somehow not being finished. They would longingly look back, waving, cherishing a vague feeling that camp was still going on, even with no campers.

We moved things from camp to the dorm, then from 409 (my former residence) to the dorm. It was a long day which culminated in a dinner with Brian and Lachelle, who inhabit the downstairs advisors' apartment. All the same, I went to bed with a dissatisfied, empty feeling in my stomach.

I can tell that as I go through changes in location and responsibilities, I am getting better at accepting them. But you must understand that I used to be really, really bad at accepting change. I mean, bad. If someone turned a figurine to the side in my room, I could sense it. Save your OCD jokes. I'm not diagnosed. The point is, I'm improving. And I like change. I feel alive and awake and scared all at once.

Everywhere I look, there's something I could buy to add to my apartment. One of my goals in life is to live simply. Sometimes that means forgetting that there is an easier way if I only had a ________, and making do with what I already have. Besides, I like to be somewhat dependent upon people around me for things. What kind of relationship can you build with people if neither of you need each other for anything?

I don't know. I'm going outside.

Nearing

2011-08-01T00:06:00.002-04:00

Camp is nearing the end.

Foley Stromboli night has just passed. Camp affirmations have just finished with a Tim Tam Slam Fest. God is good. He's been good this summer. More details later. That should be sufficient for now.

Midsummer Days

2011-07-10T21:28:00.002-04:00

It's been so good. Mini-week was full of adorable little kids. So little. So lovable. The week is so short, since the children are so young. But it was enough for me. It was difficult to always be hung upon and questioned. I found myself occasionally yearning for teen week. We happened to play a game (called Bug-Bug) in which half the camp ends up "dead" on the far side of the ballfield. The rest of the camp must carry or drag the "dead bugs" to the other side of the field. It is a wretched, hot game to play. I found myself yearning for teen week as I lay dead under the bushes. Small children came up to me, lifted one of my legs, then dropped it, quickly deciding that I was too much for them to muster.

Mid-camp break began when mini-week ended. On Wednesday, the little children headed home for much-needed naps, and we went (napless) to Camp Andrews for a relaxing Wednesday night and Thursday. We spent the day loving their climbing equipment, and their beautiful creek, and their hidden caves, and their pool. On Friday, Black Rock treated us to a day at Hershey Park!

It rained in the afternoon. We left for Chocolate World after waiting unsuccessfully (in the rain) for an hour in line for Fahrenheit. Everyone was in Chocolate World. You could have lost a limb in the crowd and not known it til much later. We eventually returned to the main park and rode a few more roller coasters, including Fahrenheit. The best part of the day was the companionship of the people. Camp contains the combination of people where you can never go wrong, no matter how you slice it. There is no boring, or lame, or undesirable group. I know because I'm sitting in a room full of them right now. They're practicing swing dance, throwing tape at each other, practicing a skit about Cupid shooting people (to advertise archery), tripping over large white boxes, and smelling strange because they were canoeing all day... actually, the last is just me.

We're preparing for teen week, folks. Tomorrow the older kids come. And it will be so good.

Walking to Devotions This Morning

2011-06-22T10:05:00.001-04:00

After rain,

His glory:

shafts of light--

because the mist is so thick,

that we swim through the forest

as we walk.

Drip-

Drop.

Camp Staff

2011-06-18T14:15:00.002-04:00

Nothing is like living at camp. I tell my campers at the beginning of the week to watch the way the staff interact with one another. Listen to the way they speak to one another. They don't over-compete. They apologize. They encourage each other. They work together as a matter of course. Every job can be made fun. The Kingdom come.

4th and 5th Grade Week One

2011-06-14T11:05:00.002-04:00

Girls have cooties
Bedtimes are 8pm
Attention spans are 10 minutes at best
Missing Mom, Dad, and dog
"Pharoah, Pharoah"

Special Week

2011-06-09T09:59:00.002-04:00

As we near the end of special week, each cabin writes about one of the events we did together.

What I wrote:

Wilderness time for the ladies of Cardinal B was a hoot! Dee Dee listened next to her friend Nora as the wilderness directors explained the function of rabbit fur. Jessica took pictures of the animals, exclaiming about the many facts she knew about each animal. She snapped a few shots as best friends Willianne and Faye cuddled the rabbit, Amelia. Bobby didn’t seem to mind the fur sticking to her shirt at all! Later, each lady touched the gecko and the bearded dragon! Amanda bravely petted Timmy the turtle, who had risen from the depths of his little pond. Sandy petted Amelia. She whispered to the rabbit as Ameila settled into her gentle grasp.

What actually happened:

Dee Dee stared silently. She sat next to Nora. Jessica took pictures and commented on the furriness of rabbits. Willee and Faye cuddled the rabbitt... til the rabbit "scratched" Willee. (It was actually a scar that had been on her arm for a long, long time). Bobby touched the rabbit. Amanda petted Timmy. Sandy ran out of the class after petting the rabbit, going for the glass door. She missed the door and went for the glass wall, thereby bruising and cutting her left leg slightly. The rest of the afternoon I spent in one-on-one time with Sandy, telling the nurses about her leg, which warranted a single band-aid.

Pre-Camp

2011-06-03T20:32:00.003-04:00

Today was a beautiful, windy day at camp. We are a week into pre-camp training. We began today day with first aid training: Check. Call. Care. Passed!

Then a rare opportunity arose for the majority of the staff to use their free time to go into town to buy essentials. While in this process, I ran into, not one, but two former campers of mine whose names I forgot on the spot! (Tina and Taylor, I am so sorry.)

A few things: The staff are so beautiful! I can already see the Kingdom come in our interactions. Next week is special week. My co-counselor is tops. It's gonna be a fun-fun time.

For purposes of writing to me:

Carolyn McKalips

c/o Black Rock Retreat

1235 Kirkwood Pk.

Quarryville, PA 17566

A Full Day (part III)

2011-05-17T11:36:00.004-04:00

[If you thought this day was over, you are very wrong.]

2:30pm: Angela, Leah, Joella, and I meet up with Becky briefly, then part to eat lunch elsewhere. We find a Coffee Shop Diner (yeah, weird... the theme of the diner was "coffee shop") and ate (!) and drank a lot of water. We then recollect Becky and leave for Pennsylvania. Becky has had a shower and looks bright and feels sore. I envy her cleanness, and wish to take a shower after those eight miles. I had never before run/walked eight miles!

4:45pm: We arrive in Lancaster in time for showers and brief naps before our dinner plans.

6pm: Carmen comes and we walk to Sukhothai to celebrate Leah's birthday! We are so relaxed at our long table in the middle of that blue and green restaurant, with lily pad-shaped lights above us. We realize that we have much to celebrate: Leah is one year older, Becky finished her marathon, Carmen graduated from her clinical pastoral education and received a position as an associate pastor nearby, I graduated from college, Carmen will be joining the house as I move out, and we are six friends sitting around one table. The last is reason enough to celebrate.

We walk home in a cold rain, the sky still light, the air fresher and scented with invisible honeysuckle.

A Full Day (part II)

2011-05-17T11:11:00.005-04:00

7am: The marathon begins! Angela and I see Becky and scream a little.

7:45am: After an ordeal, we find a McDonald's that is open and not corded off for the race. Leah befriends the cashier.

8:30am: We find a good spot for cheering between the 17th and 18th mile markers. We figure we will wait over an hour for Becky to pass by. So we get comfortable, ready to read, making friends with other cheerers: a woman in a wheelchair, and her husband.

It's not long before we put our books away. The runners are passing by, looking sweaty, tired, in need of encouraging words. We begin to clap, loudly pointing out shirt colors and hat colors in an effort to single out the runners, so they know we are encouraging them specifically. This is great fun, by the way! They perk up as we clap and tell them how far they have come. Their posture improves. Their breathing looks less labored. They know they can do it, too.

10:08am: I find Becky. She is looking incredibly tired. She says she has just thrown up all her liquids and she needs water. But she's worried she'll drink too much and throw it all up again. We run past 18 miles. She throws up.

We run past 19 miles and meet up with Joella. Then we begin to ascend a ridiculous hill/mountain. A 70-year-old Polish man comes up behind us. He sees Becky struggling. "I will pull you up this mountain," he breathes, and holds onto her arm, bringing her forward, ahead of Jo and me. We crest the hill/mountain.

10:46am: We pass the 20-mile mark. Becky's new personal record for 20 miles. The last time, it took her four hours and six minutes to get that far. This time, three hours, 46 minutes.

She throws up once more after this. People are concerned, asking a few times if they should call for help or a ride. Jo and I reassure them as Becky shakes her head: she has determined to finish.

11something am: Cathy's sisters (Cath is Becky's running partner) join us wearing bright orange regalia and inflated ducky inner tubes. Their encouragement is so jubilant that everyone around us perks up! One man says to me, "I'm being passed by inflatable animals. Should I be worried?"

At this point, we are headed back down the mountain. Joella and I wonder how we will exit the race and still make it to the finish line ahead of Becky...without getting lost. Is there any chance for us? With less than four miles left of the race, we begin to think we will have to finish with her. Super.

Becky is looking better. She has color. She starts to run with some speed that tires me.

12:01pm: We meet again with the Polish man. He has been ahead this whole time. Becky, Jo, Debby, and Patty pass him. I decide to stay with him (for his sake and for mine). He asks me questions; he can still maintain conversation despite the fact that we're at mile 25! He has run over 230 (yeah, read that again) marathons. Next week he'll run a marathon in Fargo, his 49th state.

12:11pm: Becky finishes her first marathon!

A Full Day (part I)

2011-05-17T10:56:00.003-04:00

4:30am: Leah, Joella, Angela, and I leave our house for Wilmington, Delaware. Why? We want to see Becky run her marathon. Ang and I made posters to cheer her on. We brought our lawn chairs and books. If I knitted, I would have brought that, too.

6:15am: We decide we should begin to think about a breakfast stop before getting to the race location. As we are turning onto route 100, Angela spots something out of the ordinary: a girl is lying on her face on the sidewalk next to this high-traffic road, just in front of a pizza shop. "Should we stop? Do you think she needs help?" Angela asks. Of course, as she says this, she is turning off the road, near the sidewalk. Leah is the first out of the car. In our heads, we each think, "I'm so glad Leah is a doctor."

The girl is conscious, trembling, soaking wet from mid-torso down. She has no shoes on, her eyes are open. Her arm hangs out into the street. We can't move her, of course, so we grab two blankets from the car to cover her. She looks so cold. And though it has been raining, it doesn't seem to make sense that she is so unevenly wet. Joella exits the car already on her phone, calling 911. A couple pulls up. The man sits in the road, holding her hand, saying, "you're gonna be fine, sweetie. You're gonna be fine."

Another woman comes up. She thinks she knows the girl. She keeps saying, "are you all right? Is your name Jade? I know this girl!" She is worried; she is overly excited, and therefore not helpful. I am annoyed. Of course the girl is not all right.

When the ambulance arrives, the EMTs check her vitals, brace her neck, move her onto a stretcher, then onto the gurney, into the ambulance, out of sight and away from the loud woman. We stand about waiting for a few moments, in case we could be of any use. Our work is done here, so we leave, praying for her.

6:45am: Breakfast will have to wait until after the race begins at 7am.

The Twins Across the Street

2011-05-11T10:26:00.005-04:00

Transition.

(oops! Did I just drop that word? How clumsy of me! And nowhere to put it. Maybe I'll just throw it up there, high on that shelf that I can't see or reach with a ten-foot pole, right next to "fasting" and "jihad"--out of sight out of mind.)

Across the street live two elderly couples. Already, communal living in the U.S. is odd enough. But even stranger, they always dress as twins. The men dress exactly alike, and the ladies dress exactly alike. Every day. I just saw the ladies leaving their house in dark blue elastic pants and light yellow sweaters. They had their basket on wheels, going to a store downtown. They brought so much order to my disheveled spirit. I thought, "their lives have continued past the age of 22. Now there is a feat. I can do this."

It is strange, the comfort I have taken in just seeing elderly people recently. In the high school where I was student teaching, most of the teachers were rather young, and of course the students were 18 or under. The university is comprised of many young people. Even my church is primarily under 35. I simply have not had a diverse range of ages in my life over the last four years. How sweet to see these two couples living in unity as though never perturbed. I wish I knew them. I wish I could see up close what thoughts come with being over 70.

My grandparents are now looking toward 80, and with it has come a marked change in their lives. My grandmother is looking after my grandfather, caring for the home, the expenses, the driving, the doctor's appointments. He is not allowed out of her sight for extended periods of time. They are downsizing: packing, selling, trashing, and preparing to move into a retirement community. My thought: major suckfest. But for what it's worth, it puts my own transitions into perspective.

I need less stuff. I need more Christ. I know the response post for this one, in three or four months' time, will be something to do with not knowing where I have put my hangers. They always seem to be lost in the shuffle. I know that uncertainty regarding a job will not be the determining factor of the age I live to see.

Maybe, one day, I will even marry a man with a twin brother; and I will walk to the store with this twin brother's wife, dressed exactly the same: a show of solidarity: we have lived long, and no amount of living can drive from us our sense of humor!

Letter to Student Teachers of English

2011-05-03T08:30:00.003-04:00

Dear Student Teacher of English,

I'll start where we usually start: if you're nervous about student teaching, and tired of listening to the naysayers regarding “the economy and everything,” I feel for you. Whatever. Try hard not to listen to them. The thing about teaching is that we always need teachers. There is no lack of students in the world. Maybe there is a lack of funding. For now. But you are learning how to transmit a worthwhile area of knowledge. English is valuable and English teachers are valuable. Keep your head up.

I can't ever tell you how much I have to learn in teaching. Even if your cooperating teacher is a slacker or a jerk, you still have a lot to learn from him/her. My cooperating teacher was a model of professionalism. And, of course, all the areas of professionalism you've heard about are important. My co-op came in at 7:25 every morning, the last possible minute per her contract (but she was never, ever late). A few times this semester, I arrived a minute or two later than her. She noticed. I felt like a real idiot.

If you want to take professionalism to a whole new level, refuse to complain. A few times I was openly annoyed about having to cooperate with (what I thought was) an unjust IEP. I shouldn't have said anything about it. I noticed my cooperating teacher's silence when she had the opportunity of agreeing with me and complaining about the system. She didn't blame or mud-sling. She came to work. And she worked hard. You always have the opportunity to complain. But complaining is the lowest form of interaction. Why not analyze something? Or invent something new? Or laugh? Or friggin' grade something? You have a lot of that to do all the time. That is the kind of person you want to be in the classroom.

Do not let yourself be made afraid of anything or anyone. You're ready for this. Be fearless. Every afternoon when you get in the car, forgive yourself for what you did stupidly. If you're like me, you're going to do a whole lot of stupid crap. You will look in your rearview mirror, and catch your own eye, and scowl, and say to yourself, “seriously? Where did you escape from?” Forgive yourself. Before you go into the building the next morning, release yourself again from yesterday's mistakes. It's a new day, and it's going to be okay.

Write your cooperating teacher a letter of gratitude afterward, no matter what kind of person he/she was. You shared a classroom. You're bonded. Deal with it.

Alright, stop reading this and go do a great job!

Sincerely,

Carolyn

A Skateboarder Being Interviewed

2011-04-26T14:40:00.004-04:00

"Simple," I replied,"I don't think about falling."

"But, surely, you will fall," he said.

"Sure, I have fallen and fallen often:

I remember a time

as I jumped up to grind--

my speed was perfect as I hit the rail--

my truck snagged a lip,

unintentional flip.

I landed facedown on the pavement.

Bloody nose.

Bruised face.

Pavement-burnt hands.

The wind all gone out of my body.

I have befriended the

ground, pavement, floor.

And I'll risk it again, every time.

I must soar."

Wait Time

2011-04-21T10:01:00.006-04:00

Teacher jargon is the overuse of common words. Time that you wait for an answer is called "wait time." Changing your original class plans to meet one student's needs is called "differentiation." Telling people background information before introducing a new subject is called "scaffolding." Let me be clear: any of these words or phrases is probably the subject of several books (which I hope to never read).

"Wait time" is one of my biggest weaknesses in the classroom. I am constantly asking my students a question, then plowing on into the answer before they have had time to think. As a student, one of my greatest complaints was not being given time to think about the question. So I'm surprised that it's one of my greatest struggles in the area of presentation of a lesson (planning a lesson has a whole other set of struggles for me).

"Wait time" is one of my biggest weaknesses in life, too. I must wait to see what will happen in a few key facets of my life. I take into consideration my hopes of having a career as a teacher, while never disconnecting from the state of the world, which is in uproar regarding education. Has it always been this political? So I must give in to the silence I feel surrounding me. I must let it grow warm, touch my skin as it closes in. Silence. Yet I am moving at a hundred miles per hour. Silently.

Book Report

2011-04-14T10:04:00.002-04:00

I looked in the mirror.

I looked at my paper.

And back in the mirror,

and down at my shoes.

I remembered my mommy

and all that she'd told me.

And my teacher, Miss Holly,

the way that she scolds me:

Eye contact. Posture. My

FINAL GRADE!

I wish I had read about

the British Light Brigade...

Here goes, Miss Holly, I plod to the front:

"I chose a book about Billy the Kid,

How he robbed the stage coaches,

And if I were him--

I'd overtake the whole West, those lawless red roaches! I'd overtake saloons and gun-sling til I got all the gold and the frills from the drinkers and girls. Then I'd sit at the piano and sing about the sea til the sun began setting, my cue to leave. And I'd hop on six horses and ride away easy, on into the sunset, my kingdom at peace."

-Miss McKalips

Giving In

2011-04-08T11:58:00.006-04:00

Beets are beets:

like meat, but unabashedly vegetable;

loud color, but unexpectedly edible.

They are unwilling to be changed

into something other than beets.

But sweet,

if you are willing to like beets

for beets.

When You Don't Have a Coin to Flip

2011-04-08T09:14:00.002-04:00

In class today, we were deciding on speech topics. Mrs. A called on Jim to choose his topic. The pressure was on. He had been deciding between two topic possibilities when it came to be his turn. He cast about for something like a coin to toss. He looked first at his literature book, and decided against it. We were all waiting. His gaze fell upon his binder. That would do. He made note aloud that the backside up would be topic number four and hurriedly tossed it in the air. It fell to the ground with a clatter, papers everywhere, inside out. Neither front nor back was facing up, and we all stared at the binder's scattered insides.

"Uh... Number 6," Jim replied, ending our suspense, "I should have flipped your laptop, Miss McKalips."

Consequences

2011-03-28T12:52:00.007-04:00

What do you expect to happen because you didn't read the assignment?

Do you think that because you didn't read we will:

forgo the discussion and instead look out the window?

have a naptime?

create fingerprint art?

have impromptu comic book character comparison time? (Well, I'll consider it.)

I'll tell you what is going to happen. We will have something I will call discussion, but really:

I'll ask a question,

you'll avoid my gaze,

I'll call on you anyway,

you'll look sheepish, stunned, frightened, ashamed, angry, disappointed (or all of these in succession)

with either me or yourself,

then I will wait for you to mumble something,

and the discussion will drag on

until we all want to gouge our eyes out,

for a change of scenery.

I will then institute daily quizzes.

(Which will daily involve inventing, typing, copying, cutting, passing out, collecting, scoring, entering scores, re-passing out, discussing why you can't have half a point)

And when I ask Jim's daughter's name from chapter 23 in Huckleberry Finn, I will still get all the following:

Tory

Sally
Mary
Jima
Jameka
Grace
Ophelia
Emily

...except 'Lizabeth.

Dubious Origins

2011-03-18T12:51:00.004-04:00

As we were going over vocabulary words last week, I was calling on students at random to give the answer for the exercise. Note here that I often employ phrases in Spanish while speaking normally. This day was no different, "James, would you read, por favor?"

The class snickered, and it didn't take me long to realize my mistake: James is the only Spanish speaker in this whole class. He speaks English perfectly well, without an accent, even. And I do not often think about the fact that he used to be an ESL student. I hadn't thought about it at all, actually. But I realized it now.

I thought quickly.

The best way to proceed? Act like nothing happened. Do damage control later? Maybe. After class, I decided that I might as well just let it drop. When I have been on the other side, I didn't always like people to acknowledge that I was not a native speaker.

But the next day when he came in for a library pass, I thought, "shoot. I'll just get that awkward moment out of the way and explain coolly how I hadn't meant any disrespect."

"James," I said, "I wanted to apologize for what may have looked like insensitivity yesterday. I wasn't thinking about your Spanish-speaking background when I switched into Spanish for that second. I wasn't thinking about anything at all, really."

His face was inscrutable, "uh... it's okay. I don't speak Spanish." I was a tad stunned.

"Really? Well, you should, it's a great language. Mmmkay, well. Good... But weren't you an ESL student until this year?"

"Yeah. I'm from Egypt."

As they say in the song, gentle audience, "Everyone's a little bit racist sometimes."

Not Honey

2011-03-13T21:19:00.005-04:00

I stayed at home for Joella's home church this morning. Three of us lingered in the kitchen getting hot drinks.

One dear soul asked if we had any honey for her sore throat. I noticed the special jar with the amber liquid, sitting on the shelf looking as though it were very dear to one of the housemates, though I knew not to whom. Per our policy, however, it bore no one's name, officially making it free game. I was sure, therefore, that none of us would begrudge a guest using some of the precious honey.

I brought it down, and two of our guests added it to their tea. One had never tasted honey in tea before, and the other, as I said, had a sore throat, so may not have had the full enjoyment of the honey at any rate. They retired to the living room when Joella came into the kitchen and noticed the jar on the table.

"Isn't that Leah's hair-removal stuff!?" she exclaimed with wide eyes.

Startled I whispered, "What?! No. No, what!? It looks like honey! It's on the shelf where the honey goes! There's no label!"

"It's not honey," Joella responded with equanimity and mortification.

"What is in it?!"

"Just sugar, lemon, and water, I think. Maybe they won't notice. Just please don't give any more to my guests," and she placed it high up on the shelf while I stifled the loud laughter rolling upward in me.

Forgive me, Melissa and Shirley.

For the Next Seven Weeks

2011-03-13T21:15:00.002-04:00

I won't be available. Your Facebook notes and mailed cards have meant the world to me, been part of the strength of my heart. And I hope to even write lots of you back when I'm through with student teaching. But for now, I'm going to focus on making the most of this latter half and finishing well.

Student Teaching, Week Seven

2011-03-11T22:06:00.003-05:00

When I look back over the week, I don't see any increase in my responsibilities. I taught less, planned less, did less in the classroom, actually. But why am I feeling so tired right now?

Next week, I'll be teaching Huckleberry Finn in the two college prep classes, and also implementing my own unit plan for nonfiction in my tech prep class.

Some things that I find intimidating about this:

My computer isn't adapting well to the smartboard. (But we have a smartboard! So awesome.)
I haven't yet finished lesson plans for the first two days of the nonfiction unit
I constantly feel as though I am gypping the students out of what's best for them when I'm teaching.
I wonder how they will react to my personal ideas
I wonder how my cooperating teacher will react to my personal ideas
Do I have enough of my own ideas in the unit?
I wonder if I will be able to forgive myself for all the mistakes I make during the day when I get into the car and drive away
What if we have extra time in class?
What if I miss important information for their lives? (Or worse, the PSSA test...hah.)
Staying organized enough to pull off a couple weeks teaching a full load
Job applications--yeah, 'bout those.

There we have it folks, the things that go through my mind before I sleep, as I'm driving, while I'm planning, while I'm not planning, while I walk to work, while I get another round for table 55, while I clean out the pickle fridge... And this is the abridged list, I'm afraid.

But the good news is (there should be one line of good news, at least), this afternoon, when I came home, flowers were on our porch. They were for someone else, but we got to keep them, since they had the wrong address!

The actual bad news is that this is the week that Japan was all but destroyed by a tsunami. God, forgive my skewed perspective. Today, I feel for my brothers and sisters in Japan.

Student Teaching, Week Six

2011-03-03T23:25:00.006-05:00

The free writes I gave this week were not really freeing. I gave a prompt that read, "what was the TV show you couldn't get enough of as a kid? Why was it so intriguing?" By the second period's papers, I had read a lot about the Rugrats. I realized that I should never assign a writing prompt for which I cannot anticipate a wide variation in response--unless I want to stab myself in the fork with my eye.

I took Airborne almost every day this week, from having a sore throat. Talk more, sleep less, go to a high school, and this is bound to happen to you, too.

I have very patient roommates: Washing dishes? Wait, what? I thought we had a little robot maid that just did that while we were away? No, I haven't actually seen her, but... Well, then, who's been...? Ooooh. Thanks, guys.

I really love to listen to TobyMac on my way to school, and Beggar Folk on my way home. Immediately after school, I feel my brain throbbing against my skull. All the thoughts of the day rush in together: Huckleberry Finn, the five-paragraph essay, literary devices, passive voice, job applications, research papers, the CIRQL project¡ai!¡benditoSenor!¿cuándoseterminaestesemestre!? El Cinco de Mayo. Gloria a Dios.

Ruined: Thoughts on Table Service

2011-02-26T23:34:00.005-05:00

Eating out means less to me now than ever. The enjoyment has gone out of it for me indefinitely. I can't stop thinking about how the server feels. Leah and I decided that a woman should judge a good man not only by how he treats his mother, but by how he treats his serving staff. Incredible how some people will behave toward another person who is temporarily in their employ (i.e. a server). Is it a power trip which encourages a customer to behave so poorly to a server?

While talking to other servers today, an interesting observation came up: tips are higher when you mess something up. You can provide quality, timely service--running your feet off to get their drinks and food on the table, dishes off the table, next course on the table, dishes, check please, credit card receipt, "have a great evening!"--and receive a standard 18% tip.

But if you mess up an order--have to have it re-made, run it back for them, hand their food later than the rest of the table, forget to fill up their sodas for a long time, serve them potato salad instead of the requested linguini salad--then, the tip is more likely to exceed 20%. My serving colleagues inform me that this phenomenon is unique to our Isaac's.

Ask Me Why

2011-02-17T23:39:00.003-05:00

Me: Becky, you're so good at asking insightful questions. You should ask me why I made two eggs just now.

Becky: Carolyn, why did you have to make two eggs just now?

Me: Why, I'm so glad you asked this! You see, I was only planning on making one egg. But then... A COCKROACH FELL INTO IT!

Becky: [stunned face] ...That's gross. Ew. That's gross.

Me: Sorry, but you asked.

The Un-cooling Process

2011-02-16T16:11:00.004-05:00

It's hard to say what student teaching has been like.

It's been so many things. Really fun, mostly.

One of the reasons I wanted to become a teacher was because I had such a wretched time in high school. I felt like my teachers were just overly... safe! It's like they really didn't know how much of an adult I was, or how much challenge I could handle. Sometimes I heard a short speech on how we need fire drills, just in case; or a teacher would explain that no, we couldn't __________ (fill in blank) because someone might feel uncomfortable, a parent might not appreciate that, we hadn't cleared it with the principal, etc.

Now I'm on their end. Here and there, I can tell that it's growing me up. I plan and think with so much more in mind than what would be fun. Fire drills, for example: as a student, I had every confidence that I could safely exit the building that I knew better than my house before being engulfed in flames. But as a teacher, I wonder about the one or two new kids who don't know where the nearest exit is in some of their classes. And if that kid is in the bathroom when the alarm sounds, and he finds himself separated from the crowd, what then? We need fire drills.

A thousand-and-some thoughts like this pass through my head every day. And the result? I'm not so cool anymore. This is the un-cooling process.

Still, some people manage to keep just the right balance between making sense and making fun. Mr. Brett always comes to mind. How did he do it? He wasn't careless. But somehow we still managed to have doughnuts on Fridays and sit in a circle having meaningful discussion on very advanced readings... I'm talking learning: the real, good, fun, lasting-into-college, changed-the-way-I-write, changed-the-way-I-think!-type of learning.

Many of you have asked about my mentor/cooperating teacher. She's a great model for this type of learning. But even if I use the same lesson plan, the same words sometimes, it's not the same experience for the students.

So, we keep going.

A Schoolday in Winter

2011-01-31T23:22:00.003-05:00

It is hard to think of the sunrise

over the snow, pink and red, and then

everywhere! Unleashed!

The heat in the car finally kicking in

and warming my toes--

all as the sun rose!

It is hard to even think of reasons to live

when you're sitting in a 10th grade

health class, and they're copying from

their books,

and you're "observing,"

and you've forgotten your "essential paperwork,"

read "Mark Twain."

Post-Camp Letter to Myself

2011-01-29T14:40:00.004-05:00

Some explanation: The letter below just arrived in the mail today. I now recall my feelings at the end of camp. My exhaustion was bordering on that hopeless feeling one gets when one imagines that all her efforts were for naught. Elijah's reaction after God's victory at Mt. Carmel comes to mind. He was so tired, fleeing, homeless, ready for rest; and he came to God in the attitude of despair which was all he could muster, "I have had enough, Lord." 1 Kings 19. And how does God react to fugitives that ask to be killed off before their pursuers succeed? Oh--That is the God I love!

I often feel hopeless during transitional times of life. This letter is continuing the conversation.

_____________________

Dear Me,

Some things shouldn't be forgotten. Your God has been faithful here at Black Rock. Without any preparation, few decorations, and no idea what faith would look like, I came here. I had had a year of academic difficulty and had become frazzled, disconnected, busy. But during pre-camp training, the Lord spoke to me. Oh Lord, it wasn't a prepared heart, a full resume that You wanted. You wanted me.

I gave You my all this summer. The whole cup is drained. 71 young girls plus 6 women have camped at my cabin. I was hostess, sister, mommy, planner, pastor, massage therapist, teacher. Each week, I know their lives were changed. They may or may not have communicated their appreciation. I know it was done in Your Name, Jesus. If exhaustion is any indication, this summer was beautiful. And it was.

Risk it.

Love,

Me then.

1 John 2:14

Imagine a Tone of Surprise and Stunned Reverence

2011-01-25T19:45:00.006-05:00

If I didn't know any better, I'd say I'd inherited someone else's life in the past week.

My student teaching placement is in tenth grade in a large suburban high school. The students enter the room. They do not sit on the desks, or wander in circles in the room, or commence shouting, or toss things about, or begin altercations, nor do they stampede the teacher's desk and remove items (the intention of giving said items back being an absolutely separate matter). Some of them appear to be cheerful, others merely going through the motions of school--and they know the motions very well. They take their seats--seats they have been assigned. And they may chat with their classmates nearby, or finish their homework in the brief interlude before class starts.

My cooperating teacher was saddened to find that three students total out of the first two classes had failed to complete their homework. I was awed. Only three? At my last placement, homework was not assigned, because the students refused to do it. They were beyond refusing. There was simply no hope that they would ever do it. And a seating chart. Pahahalease. No, you poor, sad baby. We'll sit down where we like when we take the notion to sit down.

There is carpet on the classroom floors.

She puts the period's agenda on the smart board, and follows it. The students bring their books and their own pencils, with a few exceptions, and they work together in pairs or groups to complete the assigned work. I know! Maybe this doesn't sound radical to you.

But last November allowed me to step back from my expectations for classrooms. Apparently, I stepped pretty far back. Because this all seems foreign to me. Everything from the organization of the bell schedules to the presence of technology. The only thing to remain is that teachers care here, too.

Events and Observations

2011-01-18T15:40:00.004-05:00

from the last 30 days.

For Christmas, I traveled to Stephen and Megan's house. I saw Aida and Holden and my Dad, and got everyone sick with a distinctly violent cold. We watched Master and Commander practically in slow motion. Stephen commented on everything navy... and it was still a good movie.

I read The Curate's Awakening by George MacDonald.

I traveled to see Erin Heisey with Christine Rankin. Oh, yes! Cleveland really does rock. We loved the zoo, and the Hyatt where Erin works. I loved the Cleveland Museum of Art. It's good for the imagination to see the Egyptian wing in a museum having just seen The Mummy. We stayed up late talking and talking. And even though it's been a long time, and might be a longer time, we picked up where we left off. You know when that happens that as we have been growing up, God has been growing up in us, too.

Michelle came for a too-short weekend. We attended The Beggar Folk's album release.

I learned to play Dominion with Joella's family.

Tim Nickels visited all the way from Maine! It had been seven years since we had actually talked. Again, with how God grows up in us.

I got a job at Isaac's Restaurant. I begin this week. This has been a tough couple of months regarding jobs.

Mom and Dan dropped off the truck for me to use while student teaching. It's great to have wheels!

Just today, I attended Millersville's student teacher orientation meeting: Rough. Times. In short, I don't yet have a placement for student teaching. Please don't ask about it. I'll let you know.

Así Son las Cosas

2011-01-13T23:18:00.003-05:00

Señor del universo,

Yo confío todo al cuidado tuyo. Si yo no te pueda confiar, ¿en quién puedo esperar? Ya me ha fallado mí misma. Fine. Take it all.

Voy a tomar el consejo que dí a una hermana esta semana: voy a contarte como me siento a tí. Si me siento que me has equivocado, y me debes a algo, voy a decirlo a tí. Pero, por ahora, sé que lo que me falta es la descansa. Aun todavía, mientras que yo no este bien, puedo descansarme en tus brazos.

The New Year

2011-01-09T22:43:00.002-05:00

New Year's Eve was the last night that the little restaurant was open. A good night:

Becky, Leah, Kirsten, and Ty came near the end to have appetizers and to see the happening band which they had been promised, but which didn't exist.

But, hark! What was that exciting party going on upstairs? A party for a bunch of Greek people, I said, friends of the owners. Sure, we can go up for a look.

I felt so privileged entering that fun without having to pay.

Possibly the only light-haired people in the room, Leah and I moved toward the front where a group of maybe 40 people were dancing holding hands in a circle--ah, you know, Greek-style, right? Who can resist that? Not us. We joined right in.

We came back to the house to clang pots and pans to ring in the new year.

Resolutions? I want to be fearless.

Doubt

2011-01-08T12:52:00.002-05:00

Inevitably, when I believe I am speaking out of righteous necessity and I feel I must dispense important advice, I come to a place of doubt in a matter of minutes. I become so mixed up that I can't tell what is right. I can't recall if I was speaking in love. Was it my own indignation slashing and burning a moment of fragile openness?

You told me how you felt. You thought you were safe.

But I thought, "she thinks she has a right to talk. She thinks someone has done her wrong."

So instead of listening (merely), instead of allowing you free vent, I passed judgment, laid the gavel down.

I prayed as soon as my rain of terror had fallen, as we sat in impossible silence, that I might not have pushed you away from love.

If only I could tell you how much I care for your heart!

Look quickly before it is buried beneath the gathering scales of narcissism.

How imperfect is my care!

Oh, Let us rest in His hand.

A Plea

2010-12-18T22:54:00.004-05:00

Oh come, come, Emmanuel.

I think I need you more and more the older I get.

I need you, Jesus, more than hot cocoa, fake snow, real snow, a good show, caroling, stockings on the mantel, and tea lights in the window.

What perverse part of me ever supposed that those things matter, that without them, I am somehow missing out on Christmas?

No, what I need and what I got was dirty hay, a draughty cave, and the Savior of the world.

Come, Emmanuel.

Hijacked from my Journal: November 9, 2010

2010-12-15T11:34:00.003-05:00

Bless Mick, driving the bus.

He and his wife are splitting up: irreconcilable differences.

Over the past month, he's grown his hair out

drunk too much

worked too much,

because he's free.

A new man,

without a wife;

torn up and convincing me that he's not

bleeding,

while he tells some college student on the bus about the heart's greatest failure:

a failure to strive.

Hijacked from my Journal: September 10, 2010

2010-12-15T11:13:00.003-05:00

On my way to the bus, I saw a man carrying a giant green duffel bag on his back.

(Maybe it mattered solely because I've been reading Kerouac, and maybe it was the disheveled hair and three of four days' growth of beard on his chin that made him look travel-worn.)

He turned the corner of Lemon and College,

several yards in front of me.

A few houses down, he climbed the steps slowly, to the front door of a nicely-kept house.

It was a place where a family, maybe older, certainly rich, would live. But his door was the smaller front door, where he was probably renting from the nice family.

No stir was perceptible as he entered, late morning.

I thought, "he is coming home after a long journey. And I am the only one who knows."

Wine Terminology

2010-12-12T01:03:00.003-05:00

I'm learning about wines. I never know how to describe them. Joella's advice? "Just think of a person you know, and describe them."

Me: So, this wine is lanky, freckled, curly...

Joella: Not so much physical characteristics, like, say, "this wine is creative..."

Me: it likes to be around people...

Becky: You're not getting it! Give her another example, Joella.

Joella: This wine is delicate and thin...

Me: ...it gets sick easily, can't stand the sun.

Other descriptors we decided might be useful:

sincere, vibrant, fat, sunsetty

Oh! the Places You'll Miss!

2010-12-10T10:47:00.005-05:00

Is it a curse of getting older that you begin to miss people and places no matter where you are and how good a life you have? Does it keep piling up, the people and places you love and therefore miss?

Facebook has not been helpful here, really. I see my friend list, and think about Fairview Avenue Brethren in Christ, the first place where I felt as though God were my Father. I miss my mentors from there: I had six that I can count off, no problem.

And it was at FABIC that I learned the book of Hebrews as few have had the privilege of learning the book of Hebrews: forward and backward and forever.

And it was at FABIC where I made so many friends: irreplaceable, good people, who were too young to pretend to be something they weren't.

Let's face it, geography means an awful lot. You have to make local friends, though you keep less local ones forever.

My conclusion before I started was that missing people and places is not a curse at all, really. But an aching blessing.

Dear Space-Time Continuum

2010-12-01T16:09:00.004-05:00

Not that the space-time continuum has paid much attention to this plea in the past, but here goes another rendition:

Dear Space-Time Continuum,

Please, won't you slow down? When I looked at my Facebook profile, I saw my last status update, a book I had just finished. I thought, "man, that was just late last night." NO. It was Monday. Today is Wednesday. I'm dropping days! And suddenly I'm putting on chapstick and wondering, as I walk in cold rain, when it became so gray and wintry and where I put my warm socks. Waking and sleeping are blurs. I slept at my school placement during our planning period. I opened my book and slept like a baby.

I'm not blaming you, Space-Time Continuum. I'm begging you, would you find it somewhere in your stagnant, existential "heart" to either slow down time, or clone me (like in that movie, Multiplicity) so that I have a chance at writing and reading and thinking and maybe, just maybe... sleeping?

Forever Yours (if not by choice, by divine decree),

Carolyn

Fire!

2010-11-30T17:21:00.003-05:00

Me: There was a fire in the library today! [Insert more detailed story.]

Joella: There was a vole in the office today. [Insert less detailed story.] It was about the size of a mouse.

Me: That was about the size of the fire.

Joella: Maybe. But a fire grows much faster than a vole.

Evening

2010-11-29T22:45:00.003-05:00

A phone call for solidarity.

Do you still love me?

I thought I could make it in this big, big pond.

But my voice is quavering as I ask you

a question about something trivial.

Whatever you say, I will only hear:

you will make it, dear one; you're fighting against the tide.

You don't need one single thing.

You're mine, mine, mine.

Your time is not now, your welcome worn thin.

You certainly lack what it takes.

How dare you bring home your wealth of mistakes!

Answer me as if I were bleeding.

But do not let me know that it is your compassion that speaks to me, heartsore.

I would rather believe it is the truth.

Literary Accountability

2010-11-26T12:52:00.002-05:00

Instructions: Have you read more than six of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here.
Instructions: Copy this into your NOTES. Bold those books you've read in their entirety. Italicize the ones you started but didn't finish or read only an excerpt. Tag other book nerds.

Who can resist the occasional literacy accountability from the BBC? Not me. (I snagged this from Kendra Gehman.)

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

6 The Bible

7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis

34 Emma -Jane Austen

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen

36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 Atonement - Ian McEwan

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel

52 Dune - Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck

62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie

70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce

76 The Inferno - Dante

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Morning

2010-11-20T14:08:00.004-05:00

Lord,

I am so profoundly grateful for the bus that is on time, Author of Order out of Chaos.

I am so grateful for the coffee in my hand, the book on my lap, Author of Comfort in time of Distress.

I am so grateful for the hair that blows in the wind, feet that move in rhythm, Persistent Giver of Life in the face of Death.

I am so grateful for the clothes that more than cover my body--even fitting, hugging my waist, draping my ankles, You who give all that I can't believe I had the nerve to ask.

In Pakistan, are the floods receding?

In New York, will the homeless find warmth?

On this bus, will the travelers go home to a garden?

The sun is shining golden, making the sky blue, in Pennsylvania in November.

If gold can make blue

in Pennsylvania,

in November,

then perhaps we have reason to hope.

Beginning

2010-11-15T17:06:00.004-05:00

Oh boy. I just spent my first day at the alternative school where I'm placed for this month. Oh boy. More to come. So far, I think I would like to teach there. The kids are quick. I saw a small altercation. I played two truths and a lie with twelfth-graders. They thought I had two kids and wouldn't believe that I had five stepsisters...? Most everyone guessed my age correctly. But they'll never know it. Everyone wanted to know if I was married. I tried to think of a witty response, but nothing came. They are so curious about your personal life!

Something Old and Something New

2010-11-13T11:46:00.006-05:00

The New comes first:

I just finished the Praxis II test. It was so dang easy that I shouldn't even devote time to it in even this most casual of published media. However, it marks a movement forward in time for which I am very, very grateful.

I may not always be in search of part-time jobs. One day I may have a classroom where challenges will take place on a different level than those which I have faced this week. I just got a new job. Did you know that? I started this week. And it's over this week, too. They are closing. I'm back on the hunt. But the real tragedy has little to do with my job search. I may now be in competition for the same part-time job as the people who paid me just two days ago. Disappointing. But not a strange tale for our times.

Now, for the old. These are some poems I had written and first published on my xanga. (I haven't linked my xanga to this blog. I don't think I will.) I occasionally revisit it to see where I've come from.

Modern English

Fragmented.

Or poignant?

To Our Father in Heaven:

From what depths You cry!

Have cried to reach me!

Suddenly I am awake.

I have been crying too!

Awareness crashes in.

A child crying after a great fall.

And You. Emerge out of the darkness,

Calling my name.

It is my name because You have called.

I have heard it.

You have taken me in Your arms

And You have spoken it. Are You crying

With

Me?

Such tidings You bear!

Comfort and joy!

Bagel Shop

2010-11-03T13:37:00.003-04:00

I work at a bagel shop. You hear strange phrases in any workplace which become commonplace.

"We have lots of everything. But we're running low on everything else."

A Student in Fall

2010-11-01T15:59:00.002-04:00

Here is a writing exercise for creating smaller, more provocative prose. Think of a place, a time. Take all the words you need to create the picture in your own mind.

Here's mine:

Widget the cat

hot chocolate

sofa chair, striped

purring

peace

wishing for a snow storm

Now, add as few words as you can to create a picture of the moment for another reader.

Here's mine:

Short days have come with fall. I stay inside when the sun is out. I sit with a book, the cat, hot chocolate, and wish for a snow storm to give me peace.

While in Chicago

2010-10-17T00:46:00.005-04:00

I had two mid-terms to send in to my professors on the Thursday that we arrived in North Chicago. One was based on a book mentioned here already, On Being a Teacher. The other was comparing Jack Kerouac and Saul Bellow. I sat in the lobby of the Comfort Inn with my headphones in my ears, listening to Shawn McDonald as I fought to regain my consciousness. I was exhausted from the drive.

I had some reflections of value from the books. But in the end, I emailed my professor for an extension. So, do I recommend On the Road or Herzog? Meh. Not really. On the Road is good to know historically. Plus, it has the ring of some deep truths: the infinite search for purpose, and the imminent failure of it all; the likeliness of disappointment; the feel of connection to one's surroundings; what it takes to be human. But it surprised me with its sadness. Maybe it is worthwhile.

Herzog was not very reachable for me. The book is comprised of the hilarious and wordy ramblings of a highly-trained academic. I could identify with him at the strangest moments. His perspective is rather childish for a man with so much learning. I'm making it sound like I had fun reading the book. I didn't. I laid on the couch for two and a half hours and got bloodshot eyes, a strained neck, and a soppy brain out of the deal. I did, however, find this to be beautiful:

"There is a distant garden where curious objects grow, and there, in the lovely dusk of green, the heart of Moses E. Herzog hangs like a peach."

What is the difference between an event and an experience?

My Niece

2010-10-16T18:45:00.004-04:00

Me: Aida, wanna hear some of my really-boring paper?

Aida: Sure.

Me: K. Just say "stop" when it gets too boring for you, alright?

Aida: I will.

Me: "Both Saul Bellow and Jack Kerouac are writing in the post World War II era--"

Aida: STOP. That was really boring.

____________________________________

Me: Aida, I have a question.

Aida: What?

Me: Is there a story about why your dad calls you "Pickle"?

Aida: Sure.

Me: Is it a secret story?

Aida: No. It's 'cause he loves me.

Boot Camp Graduation

2010-10-15T17:46:00.006-04:00

On Friday, Stephen graduated from naval recruit training. My sister-in-law, niece, baby nephew, and I sat through lots of drills which seemed very meaningful to the audience around me. I wasn't overly impressed. I was impressed, however, by the number of flags which his division had earned. Out of a possible ten, they had earned nine while setting multiple records. Yay!

When the commanding officer said "liberty call!" the whole room moved forward. The recruits were inundated with family. We forsook the room in a rush, all contained energy. We spent our afternoon in the hotel talking and napping and hearing about how everyone at boot camp gets sick at some point, and only "the wusses" go to medical. During these stories, Aida crawled up on her father's lap. She looked up at him and said any time she felt like it, "Daddy, I missed you." She kept his face in her field of vision at all times, soaking him in. As he told stories, moving his hands, she moved hers in the same way, imitating him exactly.

After we returned from dinner in the evening, Aida, Holden and I said goodbye to Stephen for the evening. He had to be back on base by nine pm, and he and Megan wanted an hour out together.

Oh, my. If you could only have seen her tears when she hugged her daddy goodbye. She wanted to be left alone then, with just her thoughts of her dad and the promise of seeing him in the morning. I cried, too. They've been best friends for so long.

When Cat Fell Out of the World

2010-10-12T15:04:00.002-04:00

Cat sat at the window inside the world. She looked at the picture that changed.

But today the screen was up. Cat was suddenly out of the world! The ground smelled like living bugs. The air was achingly close, in her fur, through her whiskers.

The neighbor's calls and sirens and carhorns could touch her pricked ears! Her tail dipped and touched the grasses moved by the wind. She crunched leaves under her paws.

Cat gave a cry. She missed sitting under the table and dodging moving legs in the world.

You, Jesus

2010-10-07T21:24:00.002-04:00

It was You

when the floods rose

It was You

when the sun rose,

You who taught the winds to sigh,

Who taught the rose to bloom

and die.

Balance in Autumn

2010-10-06T15:14:00.005-04:00

Study has intensified. It's no longer a matter of my own education. The education of others seems to be hanging in the balance of this semester. I grasp wildly at information, hoping to commit it to memory. Giving up hope. Straining. Rededicating my hope to Christ. But then grasping again.

I am reading On Being a Teacher: The Human Dimension. It says the most important characteristics of a teacher are charisma, compassion, egalitarianism, and a sense of humor. I think I really agree. My favorite teachers have displayed these traits.

It talks about how teachers must live a balanced life. Our lives are on parade at all times. We have the duty to be the most well-adjusted people possible. That means, occasionally, setting down the book in hand, and going to greet fall. Unfortunately, all caveats from my professors regarding balance seem to be aimed at a time in the future, not the present. They set up a useful conundrum: maintain balance, but most of your life should be comprised of schoolwork. One might as well pay to learn the lessons of balance.

It's not their fault that I swim in books. There is probably no shortcut to understanding the lesson plan, or to creating an effective, safe classroom environment. It begs to be studied. And I feel that I am studying for dear life!

________________________

I watch from the center of an indifferent crowd, each one a mandate to give or take.

How important we all are in our glorious busyness!

Rusty fall comes in, beautiful, a friend from ages past,

magnanimously bowing boughs, dipping her head at each guest.

But I cannot move to greet her, disturbing all these guests.

I must not go to greet her, although she is my friend!

She smiles from a distance, a look of understanding.

Dear friend, mentor, forgive me!

We cannot talk for now.

I'm confined to entertain a host of urgencies.

George MacDonald Narrates Life

2010-09-11T21:03:00.002-04:00

A poem out of Diary of an Old Soul, a meditation for September.

13.

'Things do go wrong. I know grief, pain, and fear.
I see them lord it sore and wide around.'
From her fair twilight answers Truth, star-crowned,
'Things wrong are needful where wrong things abound.
Things go not wrong; but Pain, with dog and spear,
False faith from human hearts will hunt and hound.
The earth shall quake 'neath them that trust the solid ground.'

Machetes, Mission Bamboo, Family

2010-09-11T18:12:00.008-04:00

Why was my forearm hurting on Tuesday? Why was my hand cramped? Because I was wielding a machete all Monday. At Joella's family's home, affectionately called The Hideaway, some of her family, Becky and I worked at landscaping. We hacked at weeds and poison ivy, growing in large, jungly ropes up the sides of trees thick and tall. Some of the vines were so hefty that they were suitable for Tarzan-style swinging.

After the larger part of the work for the day was finished, it was decided that some of us should go find bamboo to be assembled into an archway at the end of the lane. The only problem was that no bamboo grew on their property. Normally, this is a blessing, for bamboo is invasive, as Asher pointed out, and Joella, and Zachary... "but the old place has bamboo!" "But we can't just go creeping around there. It's too visible. Plus that'd be weird." "There's some bamboo down the road at the neighbors'!" "Yeah!" "I'll go along if we can sing the 'Mission Impossible' theme!"

And so, Becky, Joella, and I took Snickers bars and the family pick-up down route 441 to a stand of bamboo on the shoulder of the road. We clambered out and hacked away, no doubt to the bewilderment of all passersby. But, I ask you, what would you do if you needed bamboo RIGHT NOW? That's what I thought.

We worked quickly, and I sat in the back of the pick-up with the 12 green stalks, my legs and arms around the bases of the stalks, foliage flying. Joella did not go slowly the half mile down 441, and several times the stalks wrenched almost free of my grasp, and out into the wide world. At the end of the lane, we deposited the bamboo and went flying up to the house to "get into our party clothes" for a picnic with Jo's family.

The Garbers are so sweet. The celebration began in a circle of lawn chairs, with Jared and Sarah, in unintentionally matching shirts, introducing the strangers to the family. Then we ate, and I drank up the atmosphere of family. Joshua, the one-year-old, was all the centerpiece anyone could wish for. He played alone in the middle of this circle, with the occasional family member stopping by to help him play his colored xylophone.

In little time, the circle had divided into three groups: the men, the women, and the youth, with Joshua, of course, on the outer edge of all three of these. I remained a member of the youth group for the purposes of this gathering, for even some of the young married folks found themselves still in the youth group. We told jokes and chatted about the silliest things. Haha, running barefoot...

It made me wonder what my family would do on such an occasion (if, say, we were ever to have one). Would there be outsiders? Would there be awkwardness if we were to so align ourselves in time and space as to be together? Would the men find a common interest? Would the women? Would there be pettiness? Probably not much, pettiness takes a certain level of comfort... I don't know. But I want to find out someday. I miss what I know of my extended family.

Geese and Work

2010-09-04T21:55:00.003-04:00

I sat on the steps near the duck pond, reading J.D. Salinger's Nine Stories. Friday was hot, you'll recall, but dry. It reminded me of Arizona, where the wind and the heat hug your body. Class was in session, so the campus was quiet. The benches around the pond were filled with students not earnestly doing work. Peace reigned in this liminal space that marked the start of class, but not the end of summer.

Then goose honking filled the air. Fast-approaching, an air raid of geese swarmed overhead, flying in three close, lopsided V's. They normally inhabit the surface of the pond and surround it with wispy white feathers, causing some commotion which fades into the background. They are the hosts of the pond, really. And yet, I did not even know they were missing until they touched down in the middle of the pond, fully exploiting their rights as both denizens and hosts of the pond.

At first, they clustered in their flying groups and faced each other, West Side Story style. Then they became one large flock once more and faced the fountain on the eastern side of the pond. Little by little, their honking ceased. They were paying obeisance to the great fountain, which kept their water from stagnating and smelling. I half expected the fountain to talk, for it seemed as though they were all waiting for something. The geese held their positions in the turning waters, for a breeze had kicked up, and their own flapping had caused the water to stir.

As slowly as their honking had stopped, they turned to their different poses of life, as if suddenly remembering this was their home and they had housekeeping, after all. They preened and squawked a little, and dived down, and pecked one another, and forgot the fountain and their warlike entrance.

I turned to work. I have two jobs right now: The Cove at Millersville, and College Corner Cafe (fondly known as The Bagel Shop) at Franklin and Marshall College. It will probably get a little complicated to work out my schedule if I keep both jobs all semester... and goodness knows what next semester will hold in the way of work, for I'll be student teaching. I'm praying now. Pray, too, for provision that I might not have to work so much.

Pakistan, Canadian Donations

2010-08-29T16:29:00.005-04:00

Oh God, do something for these people.

Flood in Pakistan.

People like me, with nowhere to go.

They need everything.

I groan with them.

Oh God, do something for these people.

__________________________

Here's some of what BBC has to say about it:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-11105165

Here's what Mennonite Central Committee has going on:

http://mcc.org/stories/news/race-against-time-pakistan

In Canada, the federal government is matching private donations on behalf of Pakistan. Whoa. You can donate at the bottom of the page.

Trees, by [Alfred] Joyce Kilmer, 1914

2010-08-27T20:50:00.005-04:00

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me;

But only God can make a tree.

Grand Ohio: A Narrative Tapering Into (surprise!) a List

2010-08-19T12:21:00.007-04:00

I arrived in Ohio on August 12th, around 3am. I was so dazed, that as soon as the train was stopped, I proceeded to attempt to exit the train. I did not notice that we had not yet pulled into the station. The conductor man held my arm, keeping me from walking a good eighth of a mile on stones with two pieces of luggage, amusing as that might have been for him.

It was so good to see Ivana! We talked until six in the morning, naturally. Thursday was over before it began, and we never fully recovered from the all-nighter. (We discovered that we particularly have a need to sleep in the nighttime; day simply won't do.)

In the late afternoon, we met up with Kara and Rick, a 3/5 STEP team reunion! At Kara and Rick's wedding last summer, Rick called us his STEP team-in-law: precious. We had such lovely conversation Thursday evening. Every time I see these girls, I feel as though our bond has grown deeper, as we see each other in new environs. We talked about changes, God, education. I played with their miniature dachshund.

On Friday morning, Ivana took Philip and I through a workout at a nearby gym. I was sore until yesterday. Also, I had the chance twice in five days to sport my summer-camp-special knowledge of the Hoedown Throwdown, to undeserved applause.

Afterward, Ivana, her mom, Dawn, and I toured Harry London's chocolate factory. Chocolate. Chocolate...

We then met Ivana's childhood friend/brother at the airport where he works. It was tearful and difficult, as he had removed himself from them two years before and Ivana had missed any chance of seeing him in recent history by being out of the country. We left with a promise from him that he would visit soon: breakfast, if he was able to wake up for it.

Quickly recovering equanimity, we went to see the last three quarters of the movie Ramona and Beezus at a $1.50 theater. The best part was the man who had come alone, sitting behind us, laughing hysterically at the funny parts, and repeating his favorite lines throughout. As a movie-talker myself, I sympathized deeply, enjoying the experience all the more for the joy in stereo quality.

And so Friday ended with games and fun at the DuBose house, and a late night of talking, I am pretty sure.

Saturday contained a DuBose family reunion. How lovely to see them with family! And a lovely family, at that. We stayed in the kitchen for hours, talking and feasting. In the evening, Ivana pulled out canvases and paints and we set to work on being creative!

On Sunday we attended church. The pastor spoke on I Corinthians xiii, substituting “Love” for “Jesus.” “Jesus is patient, Jesus is kind. Jesus does not envy, he does not boast...”

We made enchiladas for lunch and ate together. The DuBose manner of table conversation goes like this:

Person 1: Did you guys see Linda at church today?

Person 2: Who's Linda?

Person 3: She's the lady with the loud dog!

P2: Oh! You mean the lady who carries the huge red purse?

P3: No, that's Mrs. Simmons. Linda's the lady with the curly hair who lives on Grant.

P4: Amy Grant was on TV last night with P. Diddy. They were singing together!

P2: You lie!

P3: [Insert Amy Grant impression].

[Laughter, all.]

P1: [quietly, unheard] I have Linda's bowl from the church picnic still.

Monday. Ivana and I agreed that my stay had not been long enough. We still had not completed all the requisite activities that Canton had to offer, including passing by the football hall of fame (not even going inside, really; and merely because it exists, not because I have any care for football), going shopping,...other stuff. We visited the Warther's museum. What can't a person do who doesn't watch television!?!

In the evening, we attended the O'Jays' (they sing “Love Train”) scholarship banquet. A reception took place in the Football Hall of Fame, then we moved outside into a tent for the meal and the speakers. The food was lame. But we looked good! And we had a good time talking with the people at the table. The speaker was some guy from CNN. When we got back home, we were exhausted. I was pensive and ready for sleep. But we stayed up til 3 am to wait for the train.

Booklist

2010-08-18T18:35:00.003-04:00

Hey everyone, if you have any of these books, and you'd like to give them to me, I'll reimburse you for postage! Also, this is what is in store for me for the next semester, holla!

21st Century Skills (Trilling)

Doing School (Pope)

On Being a Teacher: Human Dimension (Kottler)

What Every Teacher Should Know About Classroom Management (Levin)

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (Diaz)

Herzog (Bellow)

Hours (Cunningham)

Let the Great World Spin (McCann)

Mrs. Dalloway (Woolf)

Nine Stories (Salinger)

On the Road (Kerouac)

Returning to the Earth (Harrison)

Song of Solomon (Morrison)

Surfacing (Atwood)

Differentiation (Wormeli)

Bridging English (Milner)

Freedom

2010-08-11T08:16:00.003-04:00

Back in the city.
22 years old.
On the move.
I missed the transformative sunrise.
I did not create anything new.
I did not, in fact, even try to find a way to celebrate.

Do you know why?

At 22 years, one should feel free from expectations like that.

If I want to create a ritual, well, I may.

But if I want to sleep on a mattress in the middle of someone else's floor,

and wake up at eight am to do laundry

to pack a bag full of clothes ruined by camp

so I can catch a day-long train to Ohio to visit some friends, well, I'll do it.

Suppose that were my birthday ritual?

That'd be weird.

How Shelby and I Met: A True Story

2010-07-30T17:09:00.010-04:00

Shelby's grandmother is beset with Schloppinger's disease, a debilitating, strange disease, which has caused her to lose the use of both arms. Her greatest joy amidst her biplegic life is calling in to win radio contests. Of course, she can't dial, so she has a caretaker make the calls for her. Her whole family scoffed at her silly hobby until she won two tickets to visit Northern Ireland. She was delighted to invite Shelby, who had dialed many a call-in radio program for her. What's more, one of her good friends lived there, whom she had not seen in ages: a Mr. Rochester.

Meanwhile, I was studying in Northern Ireland for my doctoral thesis on bedflies, also known as noctororum scoliorum. I was hiking with my handicapped friend, also a sufferer of Schloppinger's. We were headed to Mussenden Temple to explore the ruins of the burnt castle which an older, insecure bishop had built for his young, beautiful wife. The ruins of the castle are surrounded by a large ditch which had possibly served as a moat in the past.

While exploring, I began to need a bathroom urgently. The only thing to use was the moat. I looked about for a person on patrol who might deter the necessary act. The only thing my eyes lit upon was a battered sign that read: BEWARE, SHEEP GRAZING. I knew, just as I'm sure you do, that certain breed of sheep can spell peril to those who are so unfortunate as to be caught staring upward into their eyes. Looking down upon a sheep means little, however, for they assume you to be their superior. Due to my weighted bladder, I meant to risk it, whatever the cost.

Just as I emerged from the wide ditch, there was a girl of about my age, staring in disbelief at my impertinence. She assumed, quite correctly, that I had used the moat as a bathroom. "Didn't you see the sign?!" She pointed, eyes wide. I tensed immediately, on guard for the sheep attack. She saw my look of panic and assumed a fighting stance as well, believing me to have seen some raucous sheep activity headed in our direction.

Seeing nothing, she saw the root of our misunderstanding, and pointed to the sign of which she had meant to accuse me. Directly beside me was a sign which read: ABSOLUTELY NO PEEING IN THE MOAT. We both laughed, eased by our mistake, and made introductions. We were mutually impressed by our immediate fighting reactions, but our conversation was cut short by the needs of our handicapped companions.

Some days later, we were destined to meet again! While studying, I was staying at the home of a friend named Jane. She told me of her admiration of her employer, a man named Mr. Rochester; indeed, the very same Rochester with whom Shelby's grandmother was so closely acquainted. So it fell that at a dinner party hosted by Rochester, Jane and I were to be in attendance. Who else should grace the table but Shelby and her biplegic grandmother!

While taking a tour of the large Rochester mansion, a castle, to be sure, Shelby and I finished the conversation from the moat days earlier. So deep in our thoughts were we that we became dreadfully lost in the place. We headed eastward in the mansion, toward voices which we supposed to belong to our friends. How wrong we were!

We trod up a staircase, much worn and quite small, believing it to be the servants' entrance to the hallway near the dining room. We heard laughter: at times faint, then quite loud, then a good deal of talking. But as we approached, all seemed to be coming from one voice, and that not of our friends at all. We assumed our sheep-fighting stances, and tried the door, only to find it locked.

At this, disappointed and relieved, we decided upon an alternate route which finally brought us to our friends who had hardly noticed our disappearance. Rochester was the exception, for he seemed to note our pale faces and breathless entrance. He kept a close eye on us for the rest of the evening, fidgeting more than before, and ushered us out long before the appropriate time of departure for family friends.

With these two singular experiences behind us, Shelby and I were forced to part once more. She and her grandmother were headed back to Pennsylvania, while I stayed in the area for some months more. When I returned to Pennsylvania, Shelby and I met up again at Millersville University: I with my doctorate, naturally, and with a slightly redder haircolor, a common effect of working with bedflies, the notable result of my research.

Wouldn't you know it! We read in the paper just days after meeting again that our friends, Jane and Mr. Rochester had been in love. But those strange voices we had heard in the night had belonged to MRS. Rochester! Mr. Rochester had married a crazed woman many years ago, and had kept her in the far east tower all that time!

Now, just as we told our group of nine middle-schoolers on camp-out night, if you google "Jane and Rochester," you're sure to find the newspaper articles which we found to be so disturbing. For our part, Shelby and I are still divided as to the appropriateness of the relationship which Mr. Rochester had allowed to ensue despite his lawful marital status.

Two Lists

2010-07-27T10:16:00.005-04:00

Things that are the same:

God is good.

My head is full.

Things that are different:

My heart is not worried, just broken.

My cabin is so diverse! I know that we will be working through lots of difficulties this week. I'm exhilarated by the possibilities.

Camp is quickly coming to an end.

I'm headed to Ohio on my birthday!

Squirrels make me downright uncomfortable.

I am super emotional. This is rare. Normally my emotions are a few levels down. Just look at me wrong and I might cry.

Outpost

2010-07-18T11:21:00.004-04:00

We play a game here called Outpost. Red flag belts versus blue flag belts. Each team is searching for the other teams large flags, and pulling opposing colored flag belts. There are four ranks: one general for each team, five lieutenants, colonels, privates. All are worth a different number of points if captured. The lieutenants, for example are 25 points, the privates are 5 points. The best strategy for lieutenants is to simply hide and try not to be captured. Then there are flag-bearers; assassins who don't wear belts and pull only the flag-bearers; then mercenaries who the generals buy to pull flag belts.

The privates and colonels stay together to pull flags and to scout for the flag-bearer.

Easy? Sure. EXCEPT that it takes place at night! I was a lieutenant whose ankle hurt. I ended up running stealthily through the woods, falling into a ditch, and remaining hidden there for the last 25 minutes of the game. While in hiding, I let my imagination take over and I tried to remember all the war stories I had ever read. I thought of Born on the Fourth of July, and All Quiet on the Western Front. And you know what? I can see how little boys love to pretend fight.

From the First Teen Week

2010-07-18T10:46:00.004-04:00

From Monday morning, I was pretty certain that each of the nine girls in my cabin were leaders, "Gamma Girls" as one article calls them: young women who do not need the approval of their peers to know and do what is right; they are happy, interesting, busy, involved. They are less susceptible to peer pressure due to their own self-control and inner contentment.

All nine girls led the way in everything. We danced, we laughed, we had generally the best week of my life. They loved worship time and decided to be the last ones dismissed each night if we could do it.

During my last one-on-one time late Friday night, we walked around the main camp area. Aubrey had not spoken much of her own accord throughout the week. She mostly relied on her best friend Kari who was also in the cabin. But when we were alone, she finally had a million questions. She wondered about Satan and his fall from heaven (a strange, sticky story, if you ask me); she wondered how she could be right with God. She had kept all her precious thoughts to herself all week. Many of her questions had been addressed during our evening services or during our cabin discussions. But the answers had gone over her head.

I tried to bring the gospel down from its lofty heights to the very ground we were now sitting on. Every time I explain God's love for us in Jesus, I get butterflies. The concepts of grace and justice and forgiveness had been fluttering over my head, too. And when I finally took them down to hold them, they became dear and real again.

Aubrey recommitted her life to Jesus on Friday night. She wants her Sin to be Forgiven. She had asked Jesus into her life before, but she has not been discipled in the interim, and she didn't understand anymore. I wish I could say that my head wasn't drooping before the end of our conversation. She had so much more to tell me. She is a writer. She's in the midst of authoring a mystery novel. She is an adventurer. She is not afraid of anything the ropes course can throw at her, she is not afraid of new places, of new people. She loves to tell stories. She loves to be in theater.

I say "Weekend" you say "WooHOO!"

2010-07-03T20:38:00.004-04:00

Middle schoolers came this past week. I had a cabin who didn't enjoy discussing deeper subjects. It was so difficult to draw them out, that I almost cried after our evening cabin time on Tuesday night! By campout night on Wednesday, I made a few discoveries: they just weren't the kind of people to talk about their hearts in a big group. They just weren't. And I couldn't make them fit a mold of my expectations.

So we went star-spinning in the ballfield Wednesday night. We laughed til we were tired, then walked through the darkness back to our campsite. Some of the girls were so scared! I loved it.

During our one-on-one times, away from the group and their stilted dynamics, I felt that I really began to know them; and they are such precious girls. I wish even now that they could return next week. This is notable, because for all other weeks, I felt no such inclination of actual friendship developing. Our relationships til last week were something like maternal leadership.

On Thursday, during my first game of Drop Zone, I rolled my ankle. It's still swollen and angry, but I think it'll be ready for running by mid-next week. That is, after the mini-week campers (second- and third-graders) leave, of course. Oh, how I love the weekend!

Forging a Life of Less Sleep: Fourth and Fifth Grade Weeks

2010-06-26T20:04:00.002-04:00

Camp moves quickly. Builders for God were here this week. They did so much, almost imperceptibly. The camp looks so beautiful. Time for a visit? Think about it.

A full quarter of the staff are feeling ill in some way or another. I have a persistent cough. Some of us are fatigued. I can tell that I've given it my all, and I am proud of it. This afternoon I slept for three full hours and awoke to Becky standing in my doorway! A lovely surprise.

My two groups of girls over the last two weeks could not have differed more. The first week, they were mostly all 11-year-olds. They were boy crazy, self-conscious, self-aware, hesitant to get too deep in a group for fear of being called weak for vulnerability. Individually, they were able to get a little deeper. The girls with whom I had one-on-one time all come from difficult home lives. Kay's father left them on her birthday this year. She has night terrors if she doesn't journal before going to sleep.

Four years ago, Kira found her newborn sister dead in her crib. She has been in counseling ever since. She and her mom go to visit the baby's grave every month. Every month! I was crying by the end of her story. But she seems to be unaware of her stinted healing. She is not moving on.

Reilly is one of ten children. She is right in the middle and proclaimed by all to be the most mature of all the kids. She cleans constantly for fear that she will lose her standing as the most behaved child.

It's difficult to get serious with people who are eleven years old in a group. But they sober right up when it's just the two of you.

This week, my cabin was all ten-year-olds. They did not sober right up when we were one-on-one. Some of their stories were challenging. But they as a group were the challenge. They had constant energy. When Christyn and I would wake up for our personal devotion time at 6:30am, we saw six or seven heads pop up and look about. They ran on less than seven hours of sleep every night. (Note "ran"). And we both went to bed later and woke up earlier than they. Not. Fair.

Middle schoolers come next week. Pray that the coughing will end and that we'll be ready to give a new set of everything.

Special Week

2010-06-15T10:49:00.002-04:00

I get blogging opportunities far less here at camp than at home. Last week was special week, people with special needs, all with mental disabilities. Here is an excerpt from my journal:

"How do I record so many new experiences? Lana is an adult with Down's Syndrome. She is so quiet and full of sweetness. It's as if she knows all the secrets of the Kingdom, all the secrets of happiness.

"She speaks softly. She lets the leaves on the bough above her dance. And dance. And in her heart, I think she is dancing, too; because her smile is wonder to me. Her hugs draw me close and she plants a kiss on my cheek. She is trusting me with all she has.

"Linda mutters during naptime. She has multiple personalities and maybe Down's Syndrome. She knows how to o everything regarding her own hygiene and she keeps track of others' whereabouts. She can understand various, more complex subjects. Her conversation tells me this. Yet--where is her peace? Oh Lord, she does not have the same apparent simplicity as Lana. So where does she rest?"

This Summer

2010-06-04T16:55:00.003-04:00

Maybe you've heard, though I decided only about a month ago. I'm at Black Rock Retreat for the summer. I am happily a senior camp counselor until August seventh.

For mailing purposes:

Carolyn McKalips

c/o Black Rock Retreat

1345 Kirkwood Pike

Quarryville, PA 17566

Wonder

Crash or Soar

Recent Reading

Conversation

First Day of the Semester

Just a Friend

What I Would Like to Believe

If You Come Back

Life Tastes Sweet

Some Looking Back

I Doubt It

Favorite Things

Humility Born of Struggles: November

More Stories From Real Life

New Spellings

Stories from Real Life

Volunteer Types

Conversations

Hand-written Comments

What I Am Doing vs. What I Want To Do

Evening Study Hall

Babysitting a McKalips, by Stephen (Part III)

Babysitting a McKalips (Part II), by Stephen

Babysitting a McKalips, by Stephen

Outside Bethany

Hangers

William and Dorothy were Brother and Sister, so it's like that

As a Teacher...

To the Owner of the Blue Oral-B Toothbrush

End Year 23

Themes of Entertainment

Reflections on Moving

Nearing

Midsummer Days

Walking to Devotions This Morning

Camp Staff

4th and 5th Grade Week One

Special Week

Pre-Camp

A Full Day (part III)

A Full Day (part II)

A Full Day (part I)

The Twins Across the Street

Letter to Student Teachers of English

A Skateboarder Being Interviewed

Wait Time

Book Report

Giving In

When You Don't Have a Coin to Flip

Consequences

Dubious Origins

Not Honey

For the Next Seven Weeks

Student Teaching, Week Seven

Student Teaching, Week Six

Ruined: Thoughts on Table Service

Ask Me Why

The Un-cooling Process

A Schoolday in Winter

Post-Camp Letter to Myself

Imagine a Tone of Surprise and Stunned Reverence

Events and Observations

Así Son las Cosas

The New Year

Doubt

A Plea

Hijacked from my Journal: November 9, 2010

Hijacked from my Journal: September 10, 2010

Wine Terminology

Oh! the Places You'll Miss!

Dear Space-Time Continuum

Fire!

Evening

Literary Accountability

Morning

Beginning

Something Old and Something New

Bagel Shop

A Student in Fall

While in Chicago