“Beneath it all remember the innate perfection of your life unfolding. That is the secret of unreasonable happiness.” – Dan Millman, Way of the Peaceful Warrior
There are only a handful of events in this life for which I feel regret. Whenever one of these events takes place, obviously without my foreknowledge if its effects on my conscience, it invites some reflection days later, usually in the form of mind demons attacking before bed. But these mind demons are well deserved, usually, to keep me on my feet and remind me of the pitfalls in life.
It is typical that a completely euphoric and perfect day is followed by one that causes headaches and invites grey hair and early onset male pattern baldness. But these fits and starts, these ups and downs, hills and valleys are all there to remind us of the undercurrent of life, the unending journey of love and happiness we are each trying to achieve.
A bad day at work is a necessary evil of life; there to improve future days, and ensure general well-being.
Tomorrow is open school night of my fourth year. I will walk in with my suit, feeling confident that the work that I do this year will, overall, bring success to other people's kids, even if I do occasionally have days that will cause my hair to grey or fall out because of these same kids. Such is teaching!
"You have to make your own way in the classroom. You have to find yourself. You have to develop your own style, your own techniques. You have to tell the truth or you’ll be found out.” - Frank McCourt, Teacher Man
Monday, October 4, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Pumpkin Spice Chess
Pumpkin spice latte runnels are swirling around the inner regions of my body as my mind floats down the lazy river propelling me towards the end of the work week.
It is Wednesday and after 3 days of interrupting, obnoxious students; spontaneous, pointless meetings; and brain-crunching planning and prepping, I could use a respite.
The Borders Books and Music in which i am reading my Herman Hesse novel is teeming with animated men and one woman playing chess. These ragtag folks are shouting in excitement as they move their pieces and ponder said moves. A man in a white turtleneck, white hat, and windbreaker screeches in an Italian-American accent that could hail from Queens. A large black gentleman with a James Earl jones voice and the whitest eyes I have ever seen, clad in a brown cowboy hat, plays a disheveled man with a cement-mixing company's t-shirt tucked into his jeans. An athletic man in mesh shorts, the youngest person here, plays a middle-aged man wearing a black sweatshirt over a dress shirt and shorts, who said he didnt make it to Port Jeff library today because he finally found work.
I am intrigued by this group who is so involved in the game, one which is so intimately personal, yet surprisingly social. They know each other and talk about Borders chess players past like Charlie who's now out at the reservation texting the turtlenecked man from Queens, "I'm surrounded by happy brown men."
I am comforted by this group who makes me forget about Ben, who has been calling out and making wisecracks in class like it's his job. Or Karl and Brendan asking the most asinine questions like "Does 'odyssey' mean peanuts?" and interrupting our discussion with the faithfully annoying, "Can I throw my garbage out?" I know, at least he asked. Then there's Krystal, who seems to forget that I hate the question, "What're we doing today?"
Yet, these nuisances have driven me out of the house, and fate has lead me here to the Bohemia Borders to observe the fine people before me.
There has been a lull in the conversation--just some quiet, nervous chuckling amid the inner pondering--ever since the lone woman said, "Well, life is short!"
Her opponent, apparently losing at the moment, said, "That's true."
It is Wednesday and after 3 days of interrupting, obnoxious students; spontaneous, pointless meetings; and brain-crunching planning and prepping, I could use a respite.
The Borders Books and Music in which i am reading my Herman Hesse novel is teeming with animated men and one woman playing chess. These ragtag folks are shouting in excitement as they move their pieces and ponder said moves. A man in a white turtleneck, white hat, and windbreaker screeches in an Italian-American accent that could hail from Queens. A large black gentleman with a James Earl jones voice and the whitest eyes I have ever seen, clad in a brown cowboy hat, plays a disheveled man with a cement-mixing company's t-shirt tucked into his jeans. An athletic man in mesh shorts, the youngest person here, plays a middle-aged man wearing a black sweatshirt over a dress shirt and shorts, who said he didnt make it to Port Jeff library today because he finally found work.
I am intrigued by this group who is so involved in the game, one which is so intimately personal, yet surprisingly social. They know each other and talk about Borders chess players past like Charlie who's now out at the reservation texting the turtlenecked man from Queens, "I'm surrounded by happy brown men."
I am comforted by this group who makes me forget about Ben, who has been calling out and making wisecracks in class like it's his job. Or Karl and Brendan asking the most asinine questions like "Does 'odyssey' mean peanuts?" and interrupting our discussion with the faithfully annoying, "Can I throw my garbage out?" I know, at least he asked. Then there's Krystal, who seems to forget that I hate the question, "What're we doing today?"
Yet, these nuisances have driven me out of the house, and fate has lead me here to the Bohemia Borders to observe the fine people before me.
There has been a lull in the conversation--just some quiet, nervous chuckling amid the inner pondering--ever since the lone woman said, "Well, life is short!"
Her opponent, apparently losing at the moment, said, "That's true."
Monday, September 20, 2010
No Place Like Soul
Perfectly soothing moment in time: Listening to "No Place Like Soul" album by Soulive; cool autumn breeze enveloping the room; drinking DD's pumpkin spice latte. Doesn't matter that I'm grading when I have this peaceful feeling emanating from my surroundings.
Monday-ne
That's supposed to be my super-clever pun of the words "mundane" and "Monday." Today had that feeling, like I was crawling through an Indy 500 race. Everything around me was spinning. Over the weekend, everyone asked me, "How are your classes? How are your classes?" And when I said "Good!" with a glazed look of satisfaction ("I completed one week with success!") part of me wanted to knee-jerk a superstitious knock on wood, but I didn't. I thought to myself, in the split-second interface before a knee-jerk wood-knocking would occur, that these kids really are good and I will have success this year.
Lo and behold, I had to raise my voice today for the first time in class. I actually said the words, "I don't like this class," which is probably not true and just an immediate reaction to my having to raise my voice for the first time in a long time. I found myself working through lunch and late after school to get done the work that this busy Monday called for.
After coming home and crashing on the couch, however, I awoke to a feeling of refreshment, knowing that Tuesday is a new day, and we teachers can accomplish real meaningful things. An illuminating factor was being invited to read my colleague's blog, on which a bunch of my former students discuss matters related to their English class: http://cangelosi12honors.blogspot.com/ It's nice to know the fruits of my former labors are in tact and prospering. That is reassuring.
Such is the teacher's struggle to invigorate Mondays and everydays, to hope our pupils gain knowledge and can progress. I always refer to Plato/Pythagoras by telling my students that I hope each day with me helps them "become better" somehow. And I guess in order for me to become better too, I need to be insufficient in something. So, I guess now I can effectively become better right along with my students. Neat-o gang!
Lo and behold, I had to raise my voice today for the first time in class. I actually said the words, "I don't like this class," which is probably not true and just an immediate reaction to my having to raise my voice for the first time in a long time. I found myself working through lunch and late after school to get done the work that this busy Monday called for.
After coming home and crashing on the couch, however, I awoke to a feeling of refreshment, knowing that Tuesday is a new day, and we teachers can accomplish real meaningful things. An illuminating factor was being invited to read my colleague's blog, on which a bunch of my former students discuss matters related to their English class: http://cangelosi12honors.blogspot.com/ It's nice to know the fruits of my former labors are in tact and prospering. That is reassuring.
Such is the teacher's struggle to invigorate Mondays and everydays, to hope our pupils gain knowledge and can progress. I always refer to Plato/Pythagoras by telling my students that I hope each day with me helps them "become better" somehow. And I guess in order for me to become better too, I need to be insufficient in something. So, I guess now I can effectively become better right along with my students. Neat-o gang!
Monday, August 16, 2010
Wide Awake
It's a quarter to 4 in the morning and I haven't fallen asleep yet. Time has passed rather quickly since I got into bed at 10, so maybe I have nodded off at times, but I have been tossing and turning basically the whole night. I tried to take cold medicine to make me drowsy, but that didn't work. I blame the mind demons at work. Sometimes my life is too fast, and all I want is for it to slow down, but that seems impossible given my surroundings. Sometimes I wish I could just live by myself in the woods for a day, a week, a month, a year--just to get away. But I guess all I would be doing is avoiding reality. This is a fast-paced world, and I have to run to keep up, however sluggish I feel.
Right now I feel like I'm crawling.
Right now I feel like I'm crawling.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
...
I can't sleep though i haven't tried the song i am listening to is 'life is long' and that it is. it is 1 in the morning i keep thinking about my tooth and why it feels depressed upon my gum and i don't like that. 'so stay don't go cuz i'm fading away.' i just want to move into my new condo. i think i can call it a house. house implies one's own home almost, and this is almost my home and so i will call it a house. writing this has made me become tired so i closed my eyes for the time being and am typing this with my eyes shut. 'finders keepers' is on right now. i need to find a life i'm fully happy with. i'm not at content mode 100% of the time. i wonder if anyone is. i'd like to find that person. i want to go west; it's been too long. it's not going to happen this summer and for that i am upset. i miss the mountains, the cool summer night air, the relaxed way of life. i miss hiking in the great outdoors without having to worry about the bugs not leaivng me alone. i wish i could go back............................................................................................................................fin...............ders...............kee..........pers.
'looks just like the sun'
'looks just like the sun'
Monday, August 2, 2010
Moonlight Illumination
In an easterly direction, my car hits the road, tires spinning in an endless rotation, like the earth upon which they roll. I am on Sunrise Highway, which bisects the southern part of Long Island and runs east to west or west to east, depending on which way you look at it. Ahead of me, as I exit the highway at midnight is not the sun, but the moon, enshrouded in streaks of grey clouds, but vibrant as a lightbulb in a vacant room at nighttime.
My mind catapults back seven summers, to a time much simpler than this, when, underneath this same moon, in this same spot on Sunrise Highway, I was enshrouded by my friends, novice drivers on our way to a midnight rendezvous at the California Diner. Youths ready to indulge in waffles a la mode (my favorite), pancakes, egg sandwiches, french fries with gravy--standard nighttime snacks for the 17-year old hollering under our resplendent orb of night.
I continued driving, however, around the bend, and northward bound towards home, leaving behind this moon and this distant memory for another time, when I will need the light above me to guide me into the future by using knowledge that I have gained over the years living under the sun...and the moon.
My mind catapults back seven summers, to a time much simpler than this, when, underneath this same moon, in this same spot on Sunrise Highway, I was enshrouded by my friends, novice drivers on our way to a midnight rendezvous at the California Diner. Youths ready to indulge in waffles a la mode (my favorite), pancakes, egg sandwiches, french fries with gravy--standard nighttime snacks for the 17-year old hollering under our resplendent orb of night.
I continued driving, however, around the bend, and northward bound towards home, leaving behind this moon and this distant memory for another time, when I will need the light above me to guide me into the future by using knowledge that I have gained over the years living under the sun...and the moon.
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