Dance Like Nobody's Watching

"MOOOOMMM!!!" John screamed from the playroom.  UGH!  One of them cracked his or her head open.  I knew it!!!  They were wrestling again!  I blame my Irish heritage for my worst case scenario go-to thinking.  As I walked in the room, John was ecstatic.  "Mom, listen to this..."  He played a song from his favorite show, Odd Squad.  The song is called, "Dance Like Nobody's Watchin'"  As I listened, I thought this tune is pretty funky for a PBS joint.  Immediately, a dance party ensued...

As John was showing me his dance moves- a series of impressive jump kicks inspired by karate and simple 9 year old grooving- I remember that his love for music goes way back.

In 2006, my husband and I went to see the movie Walk the Line.   It is a biopic about the life and music of Johnny Cash.  I was about 7 months pregnant at the time and as the opening music commenced, my little man started kicking.  He did not stop.  Throughout the whole movie, this fetus was keeping time with Johnny Cash's brand of railroad track percussion.  I nudged my husband, Mark, and he marveled at how my belly was moving in time to the beat.

After John was born, Johnny Cash did us another solid by placating our fussy baby with his songs.  Whenever John was crying his eyes out, all we had to do was turn on "Get Rhythm" or "Folsom Prison Blues".  The red face and ardent squealing would be replaced by calm and comfort.  We were very grateful to Mr. Cash and his music for providing us with instant serenity.

Later on, John introduced us to The Wiggles. We had them in our house for a long time.  They were fun, but I was not disappointed when he progressed to more "adult" music after watching The School of Rock.  After being mesmerized by Jack Black's performance, John decided I needed to make him a "Mr. Schneebly mix" after Black's character.  I was excited because now my boy was listening to real music- Led Zeppelin, Van Halen.  The good stuff.  Whew.  No more "Fruit Salad" on repeat.

Our daughter, Colleen, has very different tastes.

Colleen fell in love with the movie, Mary Poppins,  at birth.  She was just as entranced with Julie Andrews singing "Feed the Birds" as I always was.  Still, to this day, she asks me to sing her that song at night after her bedtime stories.  I love that she is so connected with my musical tastes.  Colleen has also progressed through a number of genres in her 5 years on this earth, but her favorite songs of late seem to be feminist anthems; "Girl on Fire", "Let It Go" and "All About That Bass" are both on ad nauseam in this house.  Secretly, I couldn't be prouder.

As for song lyric recall, Colleen's aptitude is impressive.  She can learn a song after the first or second time after hearing it.  However, she alters the words.  For example, in "All About That Bass", Colleen will sing "all about that bass, 'bout that bass, no trouble" instead of the word "treble".  In fact, after listening to Duran Duran's "View to a Kill" song for the first time, she demanded I sing the lyric, "a fatal kiss is all we need" as "a big ol' kiss is all we need".  I still sing that song her way.  She cracks me up as I used to do the same thing when I was a kid.

I always loved music as a child.  When I was very young, I would hold concerts in the family room of our house.  I would sing along with an 8-track of Elvis Presley tunes.  "All Shook Up" was enthusiastically sung as "Marsha Poke".  Colleen does not take after anyone strange...

When I was a pre-teenager, Madonna was all the rage.  I would dress up in my slips and put on every Jelly bracelet and necklace I owned.  The show would go on only when my hair was higher than the Empire State thanks to Aqua-Net and my make-up of blue and purple eyeliner and shadow was set.  This show was only put on for an exclusive audience.  ME!  Just me. I would lock the door to my bedroom and crank up "Dress You Up" as loud as I could.  My parents would come to the door and say, "What are you doing?  Moving furniture?"  I would reply, "Nope!  Just dancing."

Dancing with myself....as if nobody was watching. Nobody better have been watching!!!!  Oooh, I shudder at the thought...

Parallels of Tenacious Youth

I have a deep, dark secret that very few people know.  This secret has grown stronger this week since the secret came to an end.  I will share my secret with you now, but please know it is difficult to do so.  Are you ready?

I love the show "Glee".

Whew, there is freedom in saying that declaration out loud!  It's funny.  I have always loved this show because it blended my love of musical theatre with hysterical satire.  Jane Lynch, as Coach Sue Sylvester, is a masterful comedian and always delivered her droll lines perfectly.  The first season was the best.

There is another character to which I was drawn while watching this show;  Rachel Berry.  If you are not in the know, Rachel was the head geek of the Glee club.  She was a fantastically driven, yet extremely talented member of the Glee club and later in the series emerged to be the head of the Glee club and a Broadway star.  But, why did I like her so much?  I always wondered until this week.  Then, it came to me.....I was Rachel Berry in high school.

Now, before my high school friends say I wasn't, I will reflect on ways I was completely Berry-esque.  

I was not the singing giant Rachel Berry is in the show.  My Berry qualities revolved around journalism.  I was the Editor-in-Chief of our high school newspaper, the CHS Voice.  I loved to write satirical columns as well as hard-hitting articles focusing on social injustice.  For instance, while other students were skipping school to get high, I skipped school one time to interview New York State Governor, Mario Cuomo.  Did I have an appointment with him?  No.  Did I even have any credentials to do such a thing?  No.  But, like Rachel Berry, I was tenacious as hell at 17 years old.  I was going to get that interview.

Governor Cuomo was in town to propose to put a nuclear waste dump in my home county.  As you can imagine, there were protests.  So, I made my own credentials (a press card I made in the art classroom after school one day and laminated it myself).  I masqueraded as one of the protesters, showed my "credentials" to the officials and got into the press conference.  I got a few quotes and asked a question.  I was a full-fledged journalist (in my own mind).

In college, the tenacity to get an interview followed me and I was happy to get access to a number of famous people who came to my college and surrounding colleges to do concerts or speaking engagements.  I dated a fellow "journalist" for a while because I really liked the way he wrote.  He said our relationship was like the movie Reds.  Even my dating life revolved around my quest to be a journalist.  So funny, now that I think back about it....

My Rachel Berry sensibilities followed me on my term abroad in college.  I was not content enough to just take classes while I was in London, but felt that I had to stretch my journalistic skills.  I muscled the director of our program into getting me an internship with the university's public relations department.  This internship served to be a huge disappointment as all the director wanted me to do was get him coffee and fawn over his accomplishments.  I was bored and deflated until I got the offer of a lifetime one night at a dance production.

My friends and I went to a Twyla Tharp dance recital one night.  I happened to be sitting in front of a nice couple from New York (I could tell by their accents).  I struck up a conversation with them as I was from New York as well.  It was a great conversation because I was a little homesick at the time, but when the gentleman offered that he worked for Bloomberg Business communications, my Rachel Berry tenacity went into overdrive.  I immediately started listing my credentials and gave him my contact information.  While his wife was focusing on inviting me to their house for a nice meal, the husband realized I was serious and told me he would be in touch.  I could not focus on the dance!  All I could think about was working as a professional journalist in London!!!

He did call a couple days later and invited me to an interview.  I really thought, "this is it!  I have arrived!!".  I did well in the interview and was offered an apprenticeship.  I would have to fly back home to get my visa organized before taking the position, but I was hired.  I rushed home to call my parents.  On the ride home, I felt like Tom Cruise in the movie Jerry Maguire when he was singing "Free Fallin" in his car.  I was beyond excited.

My excitement dwindled when I called my parents.  My parents are the most supportive people on earth and as they were trying to figure out what I was breathlessly saying about visa status, they asked me if I would finish college.  I hadn't even thought of that.  Really?  Not finish college?  The thought had not occurred to me.  If I took this job, I would have been leaving college in my junior year.  And, talking with my family made me miss them like a pain.  After our conversation, I made the decision to go home and finish my degree. This decision was a pivotal moment in my life at the time.

For years, I would second guess and regret my decision to come home.  I thought of the Frost poem, "The Road Not Taken" and I thought I chose the wrong road.  After moving to Charlotte and meeting my husband, I began to realize I made the right decision.  However, professionally there was something wanting.  My inner Rachel Berry was screaming to be noticed.  I didn't realize until after I quit my job in university admissions that teaching would be the realization of my dreams; to share my passion for writing.

There's nothing like the feeling of knowing where you belong.  I never quite felt that feeling in high school, college or in my early 20s.  I was always regretting and reaching for something beyond my scope.  But, teaching writing and conveying my deep love for writing to students was all I ever needed to quell my inner doubts and feelings of regret.  Teaching is where I needed to be all along.

Do I still push myself?  Absolutely!  In fact, this blog is the manifestation of pushing myself to write.  This blog is for me; dedicated to my former journalist self. my inner Rachel Berry.

The Art of Being Human

I read a wonderful article in the Chronicle of Higher Education the other day entitled, "To Help Students Succeed Professionally and Personally, Teach the Art of Being Human" by Lisa Dolling.  In her article, Dolling pointed out that you cannot separate the personal vs. professional in higher education.  She remarked, "Either you believe the purpose of going to college is to be able to secure a (preferably high paying job), or you think there is something more intrinsically valuable to be gained from the years spent earning a degree...developing the intellectual capacities needed to succeed as professionals and  human beings" (Dolling).

Teaching the art of being human...

So, I began to think about how I teach students to be more human.  What do I do to model humanity in my classroom?  So, began the quest to be more intentional about teaching this supposed lost art.

I thought about how I write with my students.  We do writing prompts in class and I ask them to reflect on a subject. We write together and I share my product with them.  Sometimes, I am on it.  I did what I intended to do in my writing and I am proud of it.  Other times, I laugh at myself because when I read something I have written out loud to them, sometimes it just doesn't make any sense.  So, I laugh at myself...with them.  I thought this was showing them I was human, but there is more to achieve than just laughing at my foibles.

Human.  Teaching the art of being human.  Hmm....compassion, maybe?

In my class, I ask students to dedicate 2 hours per semester on a service learning project.  This project is where they go out into our community and volunteer their time at a local food bank, animal shelter, homeless shelter...whatever they choose.  Then, they write about their experience as part of our final project for the course.  My intention is to teach students that they are not only part of our writing community in class, but part of a greater community out there in the world.  I want them to know how fortunate they are to be pursuing a higher education.  Through service, I am able to reflect on how grateful I am for my family and how I lucky I am to be teaching.  Service learning is a reminder of how human we are.

Compassion, humility...what else is there?  I think that teaching the art of being human starts in your class when you are given the opportunity to share your feelings and opinions through writing.  I encourage students to draw from their experiences to learn from one another.  Some of my veterans choose to process their thoughts about what they observed in war.  These observations are the most haunting, yet revealing cathartic exercises.  I am honored to have them share these reflections with me.  Other students reflect on difficult decisions they have made in the past; whether it is to move to another area or leave a marriage in which they are being physically or emotionally abused.  It is humbling that students trust me, or their fellow students in our classroom, enough to share these all too human situations.

Writing allows us the opportunity to explore the art of being human because it invites the author to draw from personal experiences and reflect on their choices.  Writing in a college course is more than just regurgitating facts or structures of writing.  It is the invitation to the human experience.  Write about it.  Express how you feel.  Tell us your thoughts...

As a result of Lisa Dolling's fine article, I am going to be more aware of how I teach students, not only how to be good writers, but how to be human.  I will need to do some self-reflection on this topic as I am still a work in progress as well.

Here is a link to her article. I hope you enjoy it!  http://chronicle.com/article/To-Help-Students-Succeed/228281

Transferable Experiences

I was at a writing conference this past weekend and the keynote speaker spoke to us about knowledge transfer.  Knowledge transfer is basically when students utilize skills from a previous learning experience to help them perform a present task in our classrooms.  It was a very interesting discussion that led my mind to drift wondering about transfer...

Transfer in our own lives...

What experiences transfer from childhood into our adult lives?  How do they transfer?  After this speaker's address, I found myself spending a lot of time thinking about my kids.  What days/experiences would transfer as they get older? What will they remember?

My mind thought in horror...oh!  Will they remember those snow days when we all were getting on each other's nerves.  You know...those "Mom of the Year" moments where I was yelling at them to just "calm down".  And Colleen proclaiming, "Mommy is a mean mommy".  Oooh!  I shudder just thinking of it.

Or, will they remember our dance parties in the kitchen; twirling around to the sounds of music while laughing our heads off?  Perhaps they will recall story time before bed where Mommy and Daddy do all of the silly voices while laying with our precious ones snuggled in their beds.

The mind reels.

So, I brought this topic up at a dinner with our friends.  We were talking about going to Disney World and I asked one of them what he remembered about Disney World as a kid?  He said, "Space Mountain, It's a Small World...that's pretty much it.".  Huh!  That's what I remembered too, except with a little "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" and "Snow White" thrown in for good measure.  But, it got me thinking.  How long had our parents planned, scrimped, ruminated, and saved to make this magical vacation for their children---only to have us remember 3 things?  Why doesn't every magical moment transfer?

The memories that transfer most from my childhood are happy, everyday events.  I remember those in detail.  For example, I used to hang out on the front porch of our house and pretend to be sauteing up some greenery from our front lawn.  I was preparing dinner for my husband, Han Solo, while fighting off bad guys from our kitchen.  I remember the pungent scent of the lilac bushes in our side lawn and using the leaves as currency to buy my groceries.  I also converted a stinky, moldy shed into a home for my dolls and Han.  I spray painted it silver and didn't worry that while I was fixing up the shed, the boys from our neighborhood borrowed my spray paint to spray slugs.  Ah, youth!

I know that as my parents read this blog, they will be thinking....what about this vacation or that special treat/event we shared?  I would be asking those questions as well, if I were them.  But, what I have realized is that it is the everyday, run of the mill days that transfer into my memory.  The good stuff is in the small stuff.

So, for my children, I really hope that the memories they transfer into adulthood and reminisce about in their older years will reflect the warm and happy feelings in the song "These are Days" by 10,000 Maniacs and not the dreary, filled-with-regret tune "Holding Back the Years" by Simply Red.

Plagued with an Overactive Brain

I was going to call this blog post, "Sleepless in Waxhaw", but I thought it sounded a little trite.  So, I am having a little trouble sleeping as of late.  I just keeping thinking... Do you know what that feels like?  I can't stop my brain at night.  I keep a notepad on my nightstand because I hope that if I can just purge these lists, thoughts, ideas, etc., then I will fall asleep. 

I call it the "Plague of the Overactive Brain".  

Now, I am all about choosing to look at the positive side of life.  So, perhaps these sleepless times during the night could be opportunities.  Let's see...

Obviously, with everyone sleeping contently and quietly, I find myself alone for the only time in quite a while.  Alone can be good.  I am alone with my thoughts and can actually think about what I need to do the next day, for class, for kids and on and on...  

Not only alone, but alone and quiet is good as well.  I never get to experience quiet in my life.  We have two of the greatest, but loudest kids known to man.  The cacophonous bustle of our everyday lives sometimes leaves me a little breathless.  All too often we are inundated with technology, noise, sensory inputs.  I found myself last night actually relishing the quiet solitude of my bedroom during these hours of slumber stolen from me.  

I always loved the title of the song Silent Lucidity by Queensyrche and I think that term best encapsulates my thinking at night.  I am clear headed and focused in the silence.  I noticed a steady humming of our home that I hadn't heard before.  I let this steady humming envelope me and provide solace in an otherwise busy life.  I realized when you allow yourself to be silent, you are aware of the white noises you have never heard before in your home.

I am big fan of white noise.  My kids and I are white noise junkies.  I slept with a vaporizer in my room every night when I was a kid; chest cold or not, that thing was always humming me to sleep.  The white noise enveloped me with comfort. My son and daughter are the same way.  In fact, my husband made our son a CD of white noise when he was a baby.  He would not go to sleep without the din of fans, dryer noises, blowdryers, etc..  Now, both of my kids and I have sleep machines and we take them whenever we go out of town.  Junkies.

I am also a reading junkie.  I love uninterrupted reading where I can really get into the story.  I am reading the greatest book right now.  It is called BonAppetempt by Amelia Morris.  It is an insightful and incendiary memoir with recipes.  Just my kind of book.  So last night, I settled in and let Amelia tell me a story. 

Don't get me wrong. I call it a plague, but I love my overactive brain.  I think it makes me highly productive and gives me the ability to think very deeply through situations in my life. So, during this sleepless time at night I have figured out the world's ills and made the it a better place.  Well, let's be honest.  I did the grocery list, came up with a few teaching ideas and decided on this subject for my blog.  I didn't save the world, but I did accomplish a few things.

Sure, I like my overactive mind - not at 2:00am. I talk a good game, but in the midst of my deep thoughts at night, all I am thinking is, could I please get some *^*^*^%$# sleep, already!?!?   At least I can say I am not "old and gray and full of sleep" like my favorite poet, William Butler Yeats, once wrote.  

See?  Silver lining.

Practicality- a Half Life

Being practical.  What does that mean?  I know several individuals are in favor of practicality as it leads to conducting a sensible life full of logical decisions.  However, how does creativity survive in a world that pressures us to "just be practical"?

My mother is an artist.  She would never describe herself as one, but she is.  She spent 40 years of her life being a Dental Hygienist.  She had a very distinguished career in Dental Hygiene and was well respected by all of her peers and employers.  However, I will always contend that something was missing in those 40 years of caring for her dental patients as her passion has always been art.  She paints beautifully.  I have some of her signature work in my house and I always wonder where to hang it because I want to put it in a place of honor.  She is by far a more creative mother than I will ever be.  She made clothes for my dolls and me, she made fabric books to teach me how to read and the list goes on and on.  She is just like Martha Stewart- adept at everything creative.

Yet, she would not consider herself an artist.  Why?

I believe that she was told as a young person that she needed to find a job that would be practical.  Art was never going to be a practical profession in the eyes of her parents, so she had to pursue a job that would earn her money.  It was a practical path for sure, but not authentic.

Her daughter took a similar path in life...

My sister is in insurance.  She holds a very practical position and she is extremely successful at what she does.  However, my sister was not forced into practicality by her mom and dad.  My parents never imposed their opinions concerning our choice of professions.  Paradoxically, I believe that my siblings and I forced ourselves to be practical.  

Like my mother, my sister is an artist.  Her artistry is in the form of photographs. We always knew photography flowed through her creative veins as she has always been our official family photographer; snapping numerous pics at every family gathering.  And, she receives a new camera EVERY Christmas.  Seriously.  She does.

For Christmas this year, she gave everyone in our family some of her work.  The photos were brilliant and she has a keen eye.  She even sold a picture she took of the Christmas cookies I make for our family every December.  I am particularly proud of that shot she took and it hangs with pride in my home.

What happens to people when the practical side of life overrides their creative needs?  I believe that when practical goals take over and you allow them to squelch your creative self, you are living half of a life.  It takes doing things that you love to provide enthusiasm and zest for living.  I know.  I have been there.  That's why I'm writing this blog :)

So, be like my friend at work.  She is a math instructor by day, and a roller derby queen by night.  She is fierce at both pursuits because both of them allow her to enjoy living with her whole self represented.  Athletes, writers, artists, poets... the time is now.  Enjoy and share those hidden talents with the world.  Practicality is only half of your life.  The other half that is waiting for you is pure joy.  

The Other Woman

My husband invited another woman to come live with us.  He cleared it with me, so I was cool with it.  She arrived last weekend and immediately took over our household.  Our lives will never be the same.

Alexa is her name.  Otherwise known as the Amazon Echo.

Have you heard of Echo (Alexa)?  She is Amazon's answer to Apple's handmaiden, Siri.  Alexa is a small, cylindrical speaker that lives in our kitchen and is our "personal assistant".  Here is a clip of what Alexa is all about:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KkOCeAtKHIc

We immediately started trying her out.  Alexa was inundated from requests from our kids.  "Alexa, what is the weather?", "Alexa, how much is 2+2?", "Alexa, do you speak Japanese?" were the first questions she received.  We found other ways for Alexa to help us by adding to our shopping list, "Alexa, add ice cream to the shopping list" and adding timers for dinner.  What a helper!

Then, Alexa became our DJ, which totally changed my relationship with Alexa.  I finally welcomed Alexa into our home with open arms when she became musical.  We had dance parties in the kitchen.  I preferred Duran Duran and other 80's hits, while my son and daughter requested "YMCA" and Pitbull's "Pause". I was able to play classical music during dinner time and school our children on the intellectual benefits of listing to Bach.  Yep, it was all pretty perfect. Until I started thinking, Is Alexa good for us?

The dark side of Alexa....

I may be reading too much into it, but Alexa may be bad for society and feminism in particular.  I have noticed our household becoming a cacophony of directives as we barrage Alexa with orders.  It got me thinking, "Why does Alexa have to be female?"  Like Siri, Alexa has a smooth, yet competent voice.  It is pleasing and well-controlled.  However, it can be irritating because you almost feel that Alexa is saying "your wish is my command", "anything you need, I can do for you".  That's fine, but what kind of precedent is this setting for the wife/mother in this house?  Is a woman subservient to her family?  Worse yet, am I being replaced?  

Mothers and wives are used to taking care of details for families.  I am lucky that my husband does a great job and is a true partner in managing our household.  Now, I don't mind one bit that Alexa is shouldering the burden, but the barking of orders to a female voice has me a bit concerned. I think we have lost some decorum in this household when I hear "Alexa, do this", "Alexa, play this".  This week, I even mentioned the fact that we're losing our manners concerning our request because of Alexa.  Now, my husband and kids actually thank Alexa for her assistance.  Our son even said "I love you, Alexa" the other day.  Awww.  Appreciation for Alexa and women in general!

I am planning on writing Amazon as I feel that Alexa could very easily have a male voice and be just as effective.  My vote would be for the Echo to sound like Colin Firth.  I could totally be down with that.  "Colin, what time is it?"...answer "12:00 noon, Elizabeth, and you look smashing today".  Yeah, that would be MY kind of Echo.