by jphilo | Aug 6, 2009 | Book Updates
This morning, when I poured skuggly, slimy green water from my rainbucket into my flowerpots, the overwhelming sense of playing at life assaulted me. This sensation is nothing new. Those who knew me way back when can vouch for my perpetual citizenship in the land of make-believe. For much of my childhood, with an imagination fueled by repeated readings of the Little House books, I pretended to be a log cabin, prairie girl. Of course, that was fine and dandy for a little kid, but I pranced into adulthood with one foot still firmly planted in la-la land. To this day, my foot’s still there.
My first teaching job at Sky Ranch for Boys, a treatment facility for juvenile delinquents, should have yanked me free, but it didn’t. With several seasons of Welcome Back, Kotter under my belt and the repeated viewing of To Sir With Love during my formative years, I knew my recent college training and high ideals were just what a bunch of wayward adolescent boys riding on erratic waves of testosterone and illicit drugs needed to turn them around.
Boy, was I wrong. After two years in the classroom, my efforts hadn’t accomplish half as much as Sidney Poitier did in and hour and a half on the big screen. Before long, playing the part of a saintly, compassionate miracle working teacher became, well, hard work.
So I left that job and got a new one teaching country school in the little South Dakota town where we lived. My constant childhood rereadings of the Little House books and hours of playing school marm with my cousins as students had me convinced I knew everything there was to know about country schools, though my educational training never addressed the subject.
Boy, was I wrong. Teaching the kids the traditional subjects wasn’t the problem. The problem was teaching music, art, and PE – not a pretty sight. The job duties also included cleaning the school, making sure the bulls weren’t in the school yard before dismissing kids for the day, and pooper-scooping with a snow shovel after the bulls and the kids were gone.
So, how did I reconcile the lovely land of make-believe with the cruel, workaday world? I became a fiction writer. Three years ago when my mystery writing partner and I started writing a novel based on our experiences on the prairie. Working on the project is like total immersion in la-la land. We are allowed, even encouraged, to keep pretending as long as we keep writing, which could be a long time if the book gets published and turns into a series.
Of course, immersion in la-la land sometimes seeps into everyday life, which brings me back to watering my flowers with skuggly, slimy rainwater this morning. See, I know I’m just playing at being an eco-friendly, farm woman. And I know that someday, when the play becomes work, I’ll bail and cook up a new way to play.
The great thing about this immature propensity is that I don’t have to grow out of it. Because I’m a fiction writer, I get to call it research and do it some more. But enough talk about the land of make-believe. It’s time to get to work. Or play. Or work. To me, they’re one and the same.
by jphilo | Nov 4, 2008 | Current Events
I took this picture yesterday, to accurately record one week of fall’s relentless march toward winter. The change from a week ago Monday to yesterday is striking. But if I had fudged and taken the picture this morning, just one little day later, you wouldn’t have noticed much of a change. Usually, one day doesn’t make a huge difference.
Unless, of course, it’s a day like today. Election Day. No matter who wins this election,it will result in big changes. Either a person of color or a woman will play an important role in the Executive Branch of our government. For you it may not seem like a big deal. For kids, it’s huge.
Flash back about ten years to my fourth grade classroom. I’d read a book about the White House or the Constitution or some such matter to my students. The fly leaf had a picture gallery of past presidents, and the kids wanted to know their names. When I finished reading them, one girl raised her hand and asked, “Aren’t women allowed to be president?”
I closed the book and prayed for wise words. “Yes they are,” I answered. “It just hasn’t happened yet. But it will. Maybe you’ll be the first woman president.” She giggled. “When you get to the White House,” I told her, “invite your old fourth grade teacher to dinner, okay?” She giggled some more.
Though none of my minority students ever said it out loud, how many of them wondered whether an African-American or a Latino or disabled person was allowed to be president? Probably all of them. But by tomorrow morning, this election will answer one of their questions and usher in a new paradigm for future generations.
Every now and then, one day makes a irreversible difference. Today is one of those days.
by jphilo | Aug 13, 2008 | Reflections on the Past
Every August, when I see the back-to-school ads, my stomach twists into knots. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many years since I’ve been a student, and I’ve been out of teaching now for five years.
But when the school supply ads start running, my body does this Back to the Future time travel thing, and I start worrying about class lists and buildings without air conditioning and how much time is needed to get a room ready. Since I don’t have to worry about those things for myself, I worry about them for all my teacher friends which I’m sure they appreciate a whole bunch.
This August, I’ve got deadlines that are keeping me as busy as any teacher I know. My fingers are actually getting sore from typing. Even though there’s a clock ticking in the back of my mind as time goes by faster than I can type, a bushel full of gratitude sits alongside that ticking clock.
I’m grateful for a husband who supports me. I’m grateful for a daughter who loves college and a son who raises goats at a monastery. I’m grateful for a comfortable home and all the fresh vegetables our CSA share is providing this month. I’m grateful for a warm day and laundry to hang on the line. I’m grateful, delighted and astounded by the opportunity to write each day and have a book contract deadline.
Someday, maybe even next year, I hope to change my back-to-school ad reaction. A little happy dance and a song of praise would be nice change of pace from a knot in the stomach. So keep your eyes and ears open next August. I might put on quite a show. You won’t want to miss it.
