Lighten Up

  

“What is this thing called love?”

“What is this thing called, Love?”  From Benny Hill

Thanksgiving is full of gratitude.  The day after, I’m just full of pie.  Time to lighten up.  And just for today, I’ll say the same about love.

The match ads are chicken-pocked with the word chemistry.  “We’ll see if we have chemistry.”  “…if the chemistry’s there…”  Scientists talk about pheromones and say it all boils down to smell.  But are everyone’s pheromones like snowflakes: each person’s scent is unique?  Could it really be just a matter of smell?

After eight years of an up and down, in and out relationship, and finally out for more than a year, days of full laughter mingle with only brief moments of longing and tears, and I’m clear of doubt.  But I still miss the smell of his neck in the morning, the feel of his hands supporting my shoulders and sound of his voice close to my ear.

Conventional wisdom suggests that there was some defect of character in me that craved a man who was unhealthy for me.  So I search through my files of defects and look in the folder labeled “Undeserving.”  Yeah, there were some anecdotals in there, but the once overflowing file was definitely thinning out. 

Then I remembered something that made me close the file cabinet.  On our second date at the movies, he held my hand, and zoom!  I was dizzy.  My stomach somersaulted.  I couldn’t concentrate on Clint Eastwood.  Later we went back to his place and made out on the couch.  It felt so easy and comfortable and close, like we already knew each other intimately.  This was our second date and I definitely deserved this.

I’m no scientist; I’m more of a wonderist.  There was no character defect rising on our second date, and nothing defective in the zing that shot through my hand when he held mine on subsequent dates.  Can it really be boiled down to pheromones?  Smell?  Could it be a past life connection?  Whatever this was, I’m sure it was magic of a most mysterious kind.  And I’m sticking to that.

Conventional wisdom doesn’t apply to unconventional people.  Aren’t we all unique and in that way unconventional?  I think it’s true that to end relationships in which I’m unhappy, I have to believe not only that I deserve better, but also believe that better can be.  With each new relationship, my Theory of Deservedness is rewarded.  I was so lucky to find that deep and magical love after a failed marriage.  I haven’t found that kind of magic again, yet.  But then I found a lighter kind of magic because it’s just what I needed.  I was lucky to have dated Frank, a man who, still, as a friend, brings pompoms to our assembly and cheers me on with rants like, “You’re a remarkable woman.” I grab the pompoms and sing, “You’re so good at being Frank.” Our friendship is a fresh fruit salad, light and crisp.  While I miss the depth of the sweet potato pie that was my previous relationship, crunching on apples and pears has been just the ticket!

Fresh Fruit Salad (Go Organic! Raw! Raw! Raw!)

All of the following fruits except bananas are on the dirty dozen list; they are notorious for absorbing high levels of pesticides, hence the organic cheer.

2 ripe organic pears, peeled, cored and chopped

1 cup of organic blueberries

2 bananas, sliced

2 organic peaches or nectarines, chopped

1 c. organic red grapes

3 of your favorite organic apples, cored and chopped

For a sweeter taste, add organic Bing cherries, sliced in half.

For a zing that doesn’t come along often, add 2 t. of juice from a lemon.

Garnish with fresh mint leaves or maybe a few salted peanuts.  Just the ticket!

When you’re done crunching, you may want to lighten up a bit more.  I suggest going outside and shaking out a little cheer:

Who is worthy of love today?

We are!  We are!  We are!

Kind Words

11-17-11

“I hope someday you will join us.  And the world will live as one.”  John Lennon

I have two stories, a year apart, with the same theme, same conflict, and same resolution.  The theme: Ironically, Goodness rises above the muck.  The conflict: misguided, over-zealous public school administrators versus earnest learners.  The resolution: peace.

A year ago, our new administration pushed staff to do more more more.  While they were pushing, they were taking away our planning time.  It wasn’t the kind of pushing that motivated.  It was the kind that aggravated.  At the last minute, a day before report card pickup, we got two blows.  The first was learning that we would not be in our classrooms for the seven hours we spend waiting for ten to fifteen parents to show up.  I was fuming and outraged.  Every year I look forward to this night as a catch up time to get my classroom and materials in order.  I took this as just another smash and grab.  It wasn’t until I ranted at the fourth teacher, that I began to wonder if my reaction was fueled by hormones.  I’m not usually a ranter, and even as I moved onto the next rantee, I could feel how unattractive and unpleasant I was. 

The second blow came at the end of the same day, time to punch out and go home.  Special education teachers were called down to the principal’s office.  Uh oh.  “Are your IEP progress reports done?” he demanded.  We had to have some reports done by the end of the day, reports that we haven’t really been trained to do properly since they went electronic.  I thought mine were done enough, but I was appalled at the manner in which we were admonished. Everyone griped and grumbled and made excuses and he said, “It’s your job.  Get them done tonight.”

After crying the entire walk home, unable to see the last of the fall colors, I was sure I was in a menopausal slump. Resentment carried me into work the next day, only to discover I would be in the same room with four other special education teachers for report card pick-up.  Now I knew how the kids felt in their self-contained special ed classes.  The four of us complained, waa, waa, waa.  And then we found out we had even more to do with these reports online and needed them done and printed by the end of the following school day. 

An amazing thing happened in that classroom.  I don’t know when the change came, but at some point, the muttering and poor me shifted.  We helped each other.  We came up with plans for next time.  We threw around streamlining ideas.  I couldn’t have done my job without them.  Had I been alone in my classroom, I would have been mired in resentment, hardening in the same spot.  Instead, I was blessed to be a part of trail blazing.  I got to see the courage and generosity of my co-workers, too, some whom I only knew as ranters.  It’s just like cooking.  At first, each ingredient is just an ingredient.  When the heat is on, they start working together, blending and softening and adjusting.  Mmm. The smell is divine.

So this year for report card pickup I had no expectations about being in my classroom, or anywhere for that matter.  I felt a bit exposed being assigned to sit in a hallway, rather than a classroom.  But that turned out to be an advantage because I could grab all the kids I knew and ask them to introduce me to their parents.  Had I been holed up in a classroom I wouldn’t have seen a tenth of the students and parents I saw.  I had a great time sincerely telling parents how kind hearted their children were and how I know that they will bring up their grades from an F to a C or B.  I got to share in students’ tears and parents concerns.  What a blessing!

But the conflict came when the two administrators in passing told me they had to take down the signs from my Peace Club.  Our Peace Club decided they wanted to push politeness in the school.  We made over thirty signs with words like “Thank you,” and “Please,” and “Yes, of course,” and “You’re kind to say so,” and “Excuse me.”  We added to each one of those signs a quote by Mother Teresa: “Kind words may be short…but their echoes are endless.”  Lovely, right?  We wanted students, and staff, to know why we were splashing these words around the school.  The signs were taken down, I was told, because Mother Teresa is Catholic.  Apparently, we can’t show religious bias by posting signs with a quote by a Catholic. 

I was amazed, dumbfounded, outraged. “What?” 

The administrators nodded sympathetically.  “Yes.  And she’s up for sainthood,” one of them added, as if making matters worse. 

“What if I post more and used quotes from other religions?” 

With a doubtful look, they said I’d have to post a lot, I guessed, for evenness. 

I asked, “What if we had only posted quotes by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who was a Baptist minister?  Would you have taken those down, too?” 

One of the administrators said, “Yes.  Separation of church and state.”

The absurdity of this hit me so hard I felt it in my gut.  I wanted to protest.  I Googled religious expression in Chicago Public schools and found a list that supported, rather than banned our posters.  I talked to a few teachers who were also astounded.  One of my fellow peace lovers said something so right.  She said that even though the reaction to the posters is ridiculous, most likely I won’t be able to convince them of that.  My energy instead should be focused on what I can do and what the Peace Club can do.  The more I thought about this, the more sense that made.  If I’m all about peace, then I need to focus on ways to adjust, rather than fighting the wrongs done to me and the Peace Club members.  I spent about an hour looking online at these, along with other moving quotes about polite and kind words by other great peace leaders:

·          “A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses.” Chinese Proverb

·         “A good word is like a good tree whose root is firmly fixed and whose top is in the sky.”  Qur’an

·         “Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.” Mahatma Gandhi

·         “Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” Psalms 19:10

The words inspired me, moving me to feel more loving toward each student and parent I saw. 

The Peace Club is going to really blast the school with more lovely quotes and words, hopefully inspiring others to be more kind and loving.  Members are going to see firsthand that worthwhile efforts are often met with resistance, and we have to find ways to adjust, making our message and us stronger. 

With the help of friends, I remember: when life happens, not according to my plan, I like myself better if I let go of my way and my outrage, stop trying to carpet the world, and put on some shoes instead.  I’m reminded of an Ojibwa Indian saying: “Sometimes I go about pitying myself and all the while I am being carried across the sky by beautiful clouds.”  I like being a buck-up little camper kind of gal.  It just takes me a while to pitch my tent in the rain, particularly in a menopausal downpour. But with the help of others facing similar weather, we did it.  Tonight I appreciate my co-workers and their wisdom.  I’m grateful for my administrators’ decisions.  And John Lennon keeps singing in my heart. “And the world will live as one.”

Let’s watch this soup shift from individual ingredients to something divine.

Chicken Chili Soup

1 large can or 4 c. chicken stock

½ large onion chopped

3 cloves of garlic minced or sliced thinly

1 chayote squash peeled and cut in half inch cubes

1 green pepper chopped large

1 zucchini quartered lengthwise and sliced ¼ inch

1 can cannellini beans or garbanzo beans, rinsed

1 can black beans (Add the liquid to the soup, too.)

2 t. cumin or more

2 t. chili powder (I use about twice that much.)

Juice of one large lime
8 or so chicken tenders cubed

Salt and pepper to taste

Boil onion, garlic and chayote squash in chicken stock for 15 minutes.  Add green pepper, spices and lime juice and boil on low heat for another eight to ten minutes.  Add zucchini and beans and cook until all are tender.  Add chicken and cook for another minute or two. 

Like soup, life is richer when combined with the essence of others.  Thank you, wise, flavorful friends and co-workers. Thank you, administrators for the push that finally inspired. And thank you, parents for the privilege of knowing your very spicy children.

Watching the Ripples

"Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love."   — Mother Teresa

Like many, I have always wished I could make important changes in the world.  Mostly I want to end war, abuse of the vulnerable, and meanness.  When someone is in need, I’m a sucker to jump in and help.  Sometimes I feel pulled to sign up for the Red Cross in Africa, or Doctors Without Borders.  “But you’re not a doctor.”  “I’ll go to med school and become one.  I want to help!”  But then I remind myself that I do small, important service five days a week.  Every day I throw pebbles into the pond.  I don’t get to see the ripples reach the shore, and sometimes I even forget I’ve tossed them into the water, but if I’m watching carefully, I see them wave off in a positive direction.

This day my son came downstairs and asked, “How hard is it to make your sweet potato pie?”

It’s really complicated. 

“Why don’t you make something easier?” I suggested.

“It’s so good!” he said.

He said he’d give up break dance practice so he could make it for a pot luck party he was going to that night. 

“How much money could I give you to—” 

“You’re not going to get me to make it!” I jumped in with my dukes. 

“No.  How much money can I give you so I could use some of your ingredients?” 

I breathed. 

He wanted to use my flour, vinegar (“Vinegar?” he cringed), spices, baking powder and soda because he didn’t want to buy all that stuff he’d never use again. And he wanted to make it all in my kitchen.  My first thought was of the inconvenience, and then the suspicion that he’d try and rope me into it.  But again I breathed, and thought of his good company I’d have for a couple of hours. 

Every step of the way he griped about how complicated it was but remained determined. 

“You can make the crust while you wait for the sweet potatoes to cool,” I said.

“Oh, the crust!  This is so complicated.”

He sifted the flour and salt and measured the oil and water.  I volunteered to mix and roll out the dough because, well, I want to end war.

He got the pie in the oven right about the time the party was starting.  In that hour or so, he showered, I napped in preparation for my dancing date, and he practiced his cello for the first time in maybe a year.  It was a lovely night.  He even told me I looked nice when I changed into my date clothes.

Riley headed for the door with a hot pie and unwhipped cream in his hands. I wished him luck riding the bus and said, “I hope everybody likes it.”

Out on the cold porch he said, “Thanks.  I hope everybody likes you.”

We laughed.

If I never do another act of service, I realize, it’s okay.  I’ve made a huge contribution to this world.  I gave it my son who carries on my complicated, effortful recipes for friends and some of my ingredients for a kind and loving life.  I see the ripples.  Off they go. 

Louisiana Yam Pie (The best!)                        

First make the Pie Crust

1 c. flour

¾ t. salt

¼ c. vegetable oil

2 ½ t. cold water

Sift flour and salt.  Make a valley in the middle.  Combine oil and water and pour into your little valley.  Gently, making each stoke count, fold in the flour around the oil.  The more you work it, the tougher your crust gets.  We don’t like tough crusts.  Lightly wet your working surface with a cloth and lay down a square of wax paper.  Place your ball of crust in the center and flatten it evenly.  Cover with another square of wax paper.  Roll out dough with a rolling pin, moving from the center out in every direction.  You will need to put some muscle into it, but not too much too soon.  Gingerly (This word is so strange to me.  Gingerly sounds perky and cute but it means carefully.  This is really the first time I’m using this word in writing which is why I feel a need to comment.  It’s my gingerly debut!) so, gingerly peel back the wax paper from the crust.  Pick up the crust from the bottom piece and turn it over the pie plate.  Work around the crust peeling the wax paper away. Fit the crust to the plate and even out the edges, crimping or forking for aesthetics.

Now for the good stuff:

½ c. whipping cream

1 t. soda

1t. vinegar—Vinegar!

2 c. sweet potatoes cooked

3 T. butter melted

1 c. sugar

1 t. baking powder

½ t. cinnamon

½ t. nutmeg

3 eggs, beaten

1 unbaked pastry shell

Additional whipping cream

Combine first 3 ingredients in small bowl.  Stir well and set aside.  Combine next 7 ingredients, in order, mixing well.  Fold in cream mixture.  Pour into blender and process till smooth.  Pour into pie crust and bake at 400 degrees for ten minutes. Reduce heat to 300 degrees and bake for 45 to 50 minutes.

Serve with whipped cream, the real stuff.  Use a little vanilla and powdered sugar at the end of whipping.  This pie is so amazing, so be prudent or the only ripples you’ll see will be hanging around your middle!

From Detritus to Dazzling Dishes

“The floor is the biggest shelf in the house.”  — Carol K. (playful artist)

My water color teacher complains about my pallet, how messy it is.  She makes me an example to the new students.  “This is the worst pallet you’ll ever see.  This is what you don’t want.”  But then she goes on to say, “But you should see her paintings.  They’re clean and dazzling.”

My pallet is like my refrigerator, like my home, like my life.  From my dark and mysterious refrigerator I create seductive, one-of-a-kind dishes.  From my messy, disorganized home requiring a rake and wheel barrel, I emerge all sparkly, ready to dance and laugh and sing.  And from my life of unleashed hostile teenagers, demeaning administrators and burnt out, damaged adults, I crawl out of the gauntlet limping, yes, but on my two feet, my hands raised in the air to cheers from the crowd.

Many times I’ve fallen apart at school and have cried in the hallway.  I usually assume my tears are invisible because I’m usually invisible in the hall.  I say hi to kids, even say their names and many of them look past me to the people they really care to be greeted by.  I don’t take it personally, mostly.  Sometimes my fellow teachers don’t even return my greetings.  I realize we teachers are a distracted bunch, so again, I don’t take it personally.  But being invisible allows me to navigate through crowds with tears and a red nose.

I fell apart this time after a meeting with our principal.  He told the special education department we were doing it all wrong.  He told us we could be shut down because of our mismanagement of student placement.  “I’m not blaming anyone.  We just need to fix it.”  He said he understands the hardships of special education because he himself is very close to being certified in that area.  He reminded us that the law says we need to provide the least restrictive environment for disabled students and that means we have too many in self-contained classes. He said that incoming freshman should be placed in inclusion classes automatically.  And if they fail, then we move them into self-contained classes.  “I would never want to limit a student by placing him in a self-contained class.  Let them show us they belong there,” he said.   And so he is hiring a consultant to look over students’ IEPs (Individual Education Plan) to decide who should be moved into inclusion classes.  An expert.  Our principal said we are failing them because we are not exposing them to the same curriculum and materials in the self-contained classes. 

I was stunned.  Yes, I agree that some of my students in my small, special ed only classes should be placed in regular reading classes.  I was already making those recommendations.  But I can’t imagine my kids reading the titles of Antigone or To Kill a Mockingbird, let alone the first page.  Many of my kids are reading at a Dick and Jane level.  The assistant principal suggested books on tape.  My kids wouldn’t understand the first three words: “blah blah blah.  Time for a nap.”  I was scared for the students and me.  Letting them fail is much more harmful than not challenging them enough.  I work hard to provide them with interesting materials and lessons at their level in order to move them forward as readers, thinkers, and learners.  I was bedraggled rather than bedazzled.  I didn’t understand how this different approach could work. 

“Out of confusion comes a new clarity.”  I knew I was unhappy about this, but it wasn’t until I turned to a like minded friend, one of the counselors, that I got to my real issue.  In the crowd of slothy students slithering to their first classes, my friend reminded me that I’m the expert.  My chin quivered and the tears poured out.  He held my hand, saw my tears.  I realized that yes, altruistically I was concerned for my students who didn’t need to fail once again.  And yes, I didn’t want to have to modify Antigone instead of reading great works by Sherman Alexie or Paul Fleishman.  But the thing that had me down the most was that I was minimizing my expertise and deep understanding of flesh and blood students, and letting others tell me about paper and print students.  I was once again giving power to someone else because of authority of position.

My friend the counselor helped me clarify and in that way was the color of my pallet, a rich ingredient in my dark refrigerator, the landscaper of my messy home.  When I reach out to like minded people, I can emerge from the muck, shake off each foot and glow.  Nothing has changed, but I have more confidence in what I know.  I can be dazzling in a bedraggling, dark CPS hallway.

Here’s a simple, dazzling dish that comes from a mess of leftovers.

Butternut Cups

Bottom of butternut squash (Ask a friend to bring their leftover squash butt and make two.)

Cover in oil or add ½ c. water in the dish and bake uncovered for 30 to 40 minutes at 375

Black rice, cooked (takes about 35-40 minutes)

½ large sweet onion chopped

2 medium Portobello mushrooms sliced

7 or 8 chicken tenders cut in bite sized pieces

6 or so sage leaves chopped

Salt and pepper (Don’t be salt shy)

Hot Hungarian paprika

These are so cute.  While baking the squash, sautee onion, mushroom, chicken and spices in olive oil until done.  Last add the cooked rice, just as much as you want.  I used about a cup for two.  Stuff in squash cups and set around on outside too.  Top with asiago cheese and close up in foil.  Bake 20 minutes at 375 degrees. 

If there’s no room on your table, ask your friend to help rake away the mess on the floor and sit on the rug to eat these yummy treats.  They might spur you to make the most of what you possess.