Story #58: Working It

It is really starting to look like I am actually going to have a job for the new school year. I have been waiting all summer to find out, but I think it might really happen.

Here's what's been going on: When I signed my contract last January, it was to work only for the rest of the school year as the opening I was filling was for all intents and purposes a leave position. But then I got to my school and liked it...and even loved some things (and people) there and so that got confusing, because I wanted to stay. But the person who had left was coming back and wanted her job and so there was just not the possibility for me to come back.

Then the option became available for me to work in the middle school division of our school, because the person doing that job became the Assistant Principal. That person, over the course of the spring semester, had also become someone with whom I was--shall we say--spending time socially? And so going to work at the middle school seemed complicated and potentially challenging too. Also, the MS position was only half-time and so to make up the other part of my contract I would have had to teach. middle. school. Like whoa. Some people are great at it but I am not one of them. Actually I've never done it, so I'm not sure how great I might actually be. But I do not want to try it, and so the point was kind of moot anyway.

All this meant that while I am eligible to fill a position in the district, doing the same job as last year, for 2009-2010 I did not have a school at which to work. There was no school with an opening to which I could go. So I could:

a. apply for other positions within the district, which I didn't because I thought it might actually jeopardize the possibility of getting the job I really wanted

b. apply to other schools and districts, which I did

c. be anxious and frustrated and even cry sometimes which I certainly did too.

Finally it seemed like the waiting might be over, and I went last Monday and had a great interview at a well-located school with a convenient schedule that offers a whole range of community-based services. Seemed great. I liked the (new) principal and the new principal liked me. Afterwards I left and went directly to the district office to tell my director's secretary that I wanted to work there for the fall. And then, I didn't...hear...back. Again. For three days.

Until Thursday when the secretary emailed apologetically, saying they've been so busy and she hadn't been able to speak with the director but now she had and the placement looked good and if I still wanted it (still wanted it?!?!?!?) she'd put through the paperwork.

My email back to her read simply: DO! IT!!! :) and I realized with great relief I was about to have my very own job again, one that I get to keep if I want to, for the first time since October 2008. There was some chocolate-eating and a few joyous phone calls and text messages and then we even went out for drinks that night at Orson (sidepoint: It was such the lesbian scene. The Lex or El Rio or Wild Side West or Cockblock or anywhere else of that genre was never part of my club circuit...so I had never been out like this WHOA) to celebrate. Yaaaaay all my patience and suit-wearing and smart responses to questions about school reform and instructional equity had paid off. Done :)

Until...yesterday morning, when my director emailed me herself (a completely rarity) asking if I would consider a placement at another school. For whatever reason there is a total eleventh-hour opening at a high-profile school that participates in a district-wide professional learning community with other schools and an educational non-profit. They too are getting a new principal and need a strong person with my professional profile to fill their opening. So on Monday I am going to meet with their old principal, now an Assistant Superintendent in the district, and my director to see if this site might be a match for me instead.

I was really starting to get into the idea of going to the school I visited last Monday, though. They have never had someone who does my job placed at their school, so it seemed like a cool opportunity to kind of write my own story about the work I'd do there. Plus it is right. downtown. which I love. And downstairs from the school is Naan N Curry, and Peet's is across the street. And it is by transit and starts at 8:40, not 7:55 like the school I'm going to visit on Monday. Sigh.

I just want to know what is going to happen. I have been advised again and again to trust, to rest in uncertainty, to avoid attachment to or anxiety about things I can't control. Easier said than done...I will keep you posted.

Story #57: Time Off

It has been almost six weeks since I've posted anything here on Different Story, Different Day. That's a lot of days without stories. Of course, countless stories have been unfolding during that time--I just have not been sharing them here.

Time off can feel nice but one thing that I realize, time and time again, when I take a break from writing is that ultimately it is harder for me to understand my world when I do not write about what I see and learn. Plus, telling stories is fun to me and from what I've been able to tell people enjoy reading what I have to say. So, hello again everyone :)

Story #56: Diet Coke Cake

Henry and me hard at work on the batter

Kelli shows off her frosting, ready to spread

Last weekend we were all in Chicago for my mom's surgery. It also happened to be my dad's birthday. "Can I be in charge of the cake?!" my sister in law Kelli wanted to know. "I have a GREAT recipe I want to try--it's called Diet Coke cake and it's incredible!" Diet Coke cake? I mean, I remember food in the midwest being different than what I eat now in California but this was more than unusual. Sure, I thought--as much as I love my dad and love cake, the last thing I was in the mood to do was create some special birthday confection. Plus with a name like that, who wouldn't be curious?

We went to the Jewel on our way home from the hospital Saturday night. I was worried about getting home because my brother had sounded pretty frustrated on the phone when I called to tell him we were leaving the hospital. Spending all afternoon with Henry and Samuel, while fun, can do that to a person. Kelli reassured me that the trip to the grocery store would be quick. "The recipe only has four ingredients," she explained, "even including the frosting. So there's not much to buy."

Diet Coke Cake

ingredients:
one box chocolate cake mix
one 12-ounce can Diet Coke
one tub frozen Cool Whip
one package Jell-o gelatin mix (we chose raspberry)

directions:
1. Empty the cake mix into a large bowl.
2. Add the Diet Coke.
3. Mix until batter is uniform and free of lumps.
4. Bake according to directions.
5. Cool.
6. Thaw Cool Whip until stir-able.
7. Empty the packet of Jell-o mix into the Cool Whip.
8. Fold until blended.
9. Frost.
10. Eat.

Henry and I were in charge of the batter while Kelli and Samuel made the frosting. The cake itself was light, fluffy, moist, and (on a California note) vegan. The frosting--shocking pink in color--was a little overwhelming to me, mostly because the crystals do not dissolve completely and the texture is crunchy as a result. Overall, though, innovative and enjoyable. Most importantly the birthday man seemed to enjoy being celebrated, which is the most important thing of all.

Dad eating Diet Coke cake!

Story #55: Jessica!

Over Memorial Day weekend I went to Tawonga to work as an educator for family camp. The long drive into the mountains gave me plenty of time to think, worry, plan (ha!) and daydream about the future. The scenery outside the car was gorgeous, as ever, but inside my mind it was a mix of beautiful and exciting possibilities about what could be next in my life and disappointing, terrifying fears about loss.

And then, of course, there is the charge to just live in the present, to show up and unpack your stuff and live amongst the tall, tall trees if only for a long weekend. Breathing clear Yosemite air and watching the millions of stars come out helped remind me of the peacefulness that can come from appreciating every moment. Plus camp, for all its dirt and bugs and lack of Internet access is simply very fun. Just when I get tangled up in my own life and upset about what might or might not be, I find myself on stage with my friend Avner and a bunch of other camp staff, not to mention a dozen kids under the age of six, dancing to the Israeli club favorite Jessica. Like the Macarena or All the Single Ladies by Beyonce, the song Jessica has a signature dance and it is super fun...even better when being coached through and cheered along by Avner: "Okay, now be the train, choo choo! Excellent!" So fun. The next time I need to remind myself about the freedom of being in the present, the next time I need a break from the busy-ness of my mind I think I will dance Jessica just on my own, wherever I am. As a matter of fact, now is as good a time as any. Dance it with me, everyone...

Ech besof hashavu'a
hi be'ofen kavu'a, lo levad
im ein gever bashetach
(az) hi potachat bedietat shokolad
k'mo kol echad.

Vehachiyuch shelah ratuv
ani chozer k'shehi tashuv
nas'ah lah lemakom acher.

Tamid chashvah sheha'elohim
ahav lir'ot otanu menagnim
ki zeh harosh shel Jessica
Jessie, Jessie, Jessie Jessica ooh oh ooh oh
ah ooh oh ooh oh
achshav hi rechokah.

(read the lyrics in Hebrew and English here)

Story #54: At The Beach

me up to my ankles in the cold swirling surf of Ocean Beach, staying right where I am even when the shifting sands and chilly toes make it very tempting to want to go

On Wednesday I went to Ocean Beach with Sarah. She is leaving in just a few days to move back to Seattle for the summer. In the fall, she will move to Los Angeles to begin rabbinical school.

Two years ago we had met on the same beach except then it was me leaving for my sabbatical and her staying here in San Francisco. Now it is the other way around. I was going to camp and then Jerusalem, she is going to Zeigler and then to...well, of course...Israel eventually. Unsurprising.

We talked about the ideas of staying and going, about which is easier, about which is more brave. We talked about how going is usually a choice while staying is sometimes not, is sometimes just status quo. I had always thought that going requires greater courage but recently I am beginning to learn that staying is much harder than it seems.

Story #53: Hiatus

I have not written for awhile. On Wednesday I left for Chicago and have spent the past five days with my family. My mother, recently diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, is in the ICU at Loyola University Medical Center. It is hard to think of other things much less write about them right now. I have so appreciated hearing news from friends in the outside world while I've been away. It is a powerful and important reminder that there is more to life than what is happening in our family right now. Thank you to everyone.

My trip home was not only distressing, it was at times very entertaining too thanks to my nephews Henry and Samuel. Many, many pictures to follow--most of them taken by Henry. Below is a preview to whet your appetite. I will post the rest of them soon but for now, I am back in San Francisco and ready for dinner and a good night's sleep. I am sure it will not be long before I post another, more upbeat story...so, stay tuned.

Nathan & I hanging out on the futon, photo by Henry Kotleba age 2

Story #52: Going to Camp

What a surprise, it is 3 a.m. and I am packing to go to camp. I am having flashbacks to last year. Tonight's production is much less extreme than that, though, because when that post was written I was moving out of my whole entire house and going away for almost twelve weeks...unlike now when I am just trying to write a four-day-weekend worth of curriculum and pack up for a school day, a work night, a city sleepover, and a family camp's worth of time away from home.

Somehow it's still hard and it's still the middle of the night and I'm still awake.

I had gotten really good at packing and unpacking, those sixteen months that I was away. Thinking back on that time I cannot help but remember packing for camp, since that was where I went first when I left behind my fancy and well-appointed but underwhelming life in San Francisco. The day that the movers came to take my things out of 1000 Judah and put them into storage, the morning I dropped off my soon-to-be un-partner at the airport and drove someone else's Subaru up into the mountains for the very first time was the beginning of my life at camp and of my year-and-a-half-long sabbatical. I had no idea what was ahead of me and my only refuge from the craziness of living in the woods with hundreds of other people was my little camp house behind the office beside the trail on the way down to Pipeline. That first summer I learned a lot about how to live in nature and in community, how to be flexible and accepting when it comes to dirt, and how to be honest and patient with myself. Now it is two years later and the lessons are different but the need to always learn them, and about who I am, is the same. Packing, while it had gotten very easy during all those months, is hard again.

Back then all I had was three bags and five pairs of pants and my stuffed sheep Pierre. My home was wherever I was, I had no place else to go. Now I have a couch and a Kitchen Aid Mix Master, I have recycling to take out and plants to water before I leave town. Which is easier? Both are complicated. Which teaches me more? In the process of first going away and later coming home, I have discovered how to learn no matter where I go. Camp will always be a home to me, and packing has gotten easier since the first time I went because now I know exactly what ratio of days away to clean socks I should use when calculating my wardrobe needs. What hasn't gotten easier is being up all hours of the night trying to get ready to go. לילה טוב, lailah tov as we say at Camp Tawonga...good night.

Story #51: Meet My Nephew, Gloria

The other night I was on the phone with my brother Nathan, who lives in Iowa. Nathan has two sons: Henry is two and a half, and Samuel is two months old. Samuel is not old enough to talk on the telephone, but Henry is, and partway through our conversation Nathan asked me if I'd like to speak with Henry. Well, of course!

First came the predictable scuffling noise that is Henry trying to lift the phone up to his ear--it is heavy and takes both hands for him to hold it, you see. Then began the adventure that is any conversation with Henry: trying to figure out what he is talking about. You see, Henry is not savvy enough to know that when he begins speaking with someone new he should use social conventions for entering a conversation, such as a greeting such as "Hello!" or a pleasantry along the lines of "How are you?" No no, Henry just continues to speak out loud into the phone about whatever happened to be going on in his mind at the time. This, along with the fact that there is a LOT of conversational filler in Henry's speech along the lines of "ah, ah, ah, ah...." makes it very challenging to know what he is talking about sometimes. The absence of visual cues makes it even harder to understand what is going on.

But, it is always an adventure and so this time--like every other chance we've had to chat by phone--I just dove in.

"Hi, Henry, how are you?" I asked.

"That that that ah, ah, ah, that is not my name," came Henry's tiny high-pitched voice across the miles between us.

"Henry, you have to tell Aunt Sarah your new name, she doesn't know it yet," came Nathan's voice in the background as he coached Henry on what to say.

"Do not call me Henry, my name is ah, ah, ah, Gloria!" Henry said emphatically.

"Gloria?" I asked, confused.

"Yes!" he replied firmly.

"Let me talk to your dad," I said.

It turns out that Henry has decided he wants to be called Gloria, because that is the name of his favorite character in the movie Madagascar. So now we call him that and he loves it. Remember back when it was so easy to try new things, to shift your identity, to imagine yourself as any one of a number of different people with different strengths and talents and dreams?

Story #50: Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

This is my friend Sage. She is super-pregnant with her and her wife Emily's first baby. This baby was conceived during the summer Olympics when there was lots of swimming being done by a very famous American. And, babies swim. And, they didn't want their kid's prenatal name to be Peanut or Ishy-Squishy or Cletus the Fetus (they actually have friends who used that moniker for their baby before the baby was born). So Sage and Emily's baby is called Phelps.

Phelps was scheduled to arrive on May 5. Cinco de Mayo! What a fun day to have a baby. We all could have worn sombreros in the delivery room instead of our Team Phelps shirts (pictures to follow). But no, Phelps did not arrive on that day. Five days later, Phelps is still not here. We are all waiting (not so) patiently. Last night sitting on the deck watching the sunset and enjoying a dinner of grilled lamb with vegetables, green salad, orange-basil corn on the cob, and red wine Sage tried to explain to Phelps that it is nice out here and we are looking forward to meeting her/him. No luck. No Phelps.

As you can see from the photograph, this womb's expiration date was May 5. Come on Phelps! Pack it up, let's go.

Story #49: Full

My schedule this past week was very full. Standardized testing rages on in the public schools of California and as our site's test coordinator, my days are kept quite busy managing 28 teachers as they administer a total of 72 different exams. The principal's office is a sea of Trader Joe's bags that get checked in and out each day, one per teacher, with booklets and pencils and schedules and huge ziploc bags filled with pretzels and Goldfish.

I also had a chance this past week to meet up with an OLD friend from high school, a woman who I hadn't seen since more than half my life ago. We went to Sugar in Hayes Valley and played hipsters for a night--well, she lives in New York City so I think she is probably a hipster most of the time if not always. So fun to see her again and compare stories and lives over overpriced cocktail lounge drinks :)

Then there was the third round interview for something I'm trying to pull together this summer.

Then there was the Tuesday evening therapy appointment and the Thursday evening book group. Did I mention the Friday afternoon haircut? What about the early morning carpools into the city? Oy vey....my days and nights have been very full.

I would expect myself to be paralyzingly tired, what with all this and more going on. But it is as Kelly said: "When you are doing things you love, that make you feel good about yourself, you find more energy. Not even that--the energy just comes! Suddenly late-night phone calls and midnight text messages are racy and delicious, not exhausting."

Um, she's right :)

Story #48: Talking School, Speaking Kid

This afternoon I was sitting in the Starbucks conference room (who knew there was such a thing) at Mariposa and Bryant, taking part in my professional book group. We are reading the book How the Way We Talk Can Change the Way We Work by Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey. It is a book about communication, about different "languages" or models of discourse that can be found in everyday interactions between people. Sounds boring, maybe, but the content is very key to success in my line of work and also the people in the group are awesome, so it's super fun.

Partway through we were sharing quotes from the book with one another. The person whose turn it was to share a quote would tell us all the page number and approximate location on the page (i.e., "second full paragraph, last few sentences, start where it is 'And in this way...' or whatever). Then we would all find it, and read along in our minds as that person read aloud. Once, though, the woman sitting next to me was lost and could not find the quote on the page that had been announced. "Wait, what? Where is it?" she asked as the person began to read aloud their selection from the text. I leaned over and pointed in her book to the spot where the person had begun to read. "Great, thanks!" she murmured, relieved, as she began to follow along on her page.

As the discussion unfolded I was only half paying attention because the act of showing her where we were reading had taken me back in time to my last classroom, that huge room with a wall of windows tucked upstairs in the ark-inspired building on Brotherhood Way. I taught there for five years, in my little home-away-from-home, and in our class we spent far more time on building community and reinforcing positive social behavior than on parts of speech or memorizing math facts. Just like Kegan and Lahey describe there being languages of interactions between adults, there are certainly languages of interactions between kids too and one joyful thing for me was to help every kid who came into our class become a fluent speaker of the language that helps us get along with one another.

This idea of discourse with children is one of the reasons I first started blogging, almost six years ago now. It was really all Matt's idea in the beginning, he was the one who was most insistent that the stories I told around the big redwood brunch table in his kitchen actually had a far wider audience. Like me, Matt is a bit of a whore for languages and through conversations with him I came to understand that not all adults speak Kid in the way that I do. "How did you know what to say to them, how could you tell what they were talking about?" he would marvel. A bit of natural affinity, perhaps, but a WHOLE lot of practice.

One thing that was always part of the language of my own classroom was the way that you help your neighbor when they get lost during read-aloud time. If we are all looking on our own copies of a shared text (like Friday afternoon during Social Studies, for example, when we would read our weekly newsmagazine Time for Kids) and someone gets lost, you should help them find their place. However, you should not do what comes naturally--pointing at your own page--because then they have to look at your page, find the word you're pointing at, look back at their own page, find the word there, and by then we're on to the next sentence and things have gotten worse instead of better. Instead, when someone is lost during read-aloud you should point on their own page since that is where they are reading anyway. Then they can easily get back on track and you can return to reading your personal text. Don't get me wrong, this took a lot of practice. Kids are developmentally very self-centered. So it was not easy to get them in the habit of leaving their inner world to point at someone else's page. But with time they got it and soon it was second nature.

So simple, right? But such a revolutionary idea: helping each other the way the other person needs help, not the way WE think they need help. As I sat in the Starbucks conference room, pointing to the spot in Jen's book where she should start reading, I smiled to myself and thought back to all the kids out there in the world who point to other people's books and help them get back on track. It is nice to know that the long hours and underwhelming pay and emotional fatigue that come with this job are balanced by the good karma of hundreds of kids becoming adults who have learned the value of helping someone else the way that person needs to be helped.