two feet in.

nuthin' but a sanctimonious do-gooder

For the past few days, I've been trying to respond to some of the messages I have received about my Jenna Bush letter, even and especially those that are negative.  I take seriously Robert Jensen's Citizen's Oath of Office, in this case the part that says:

I do solemnly pledge  that I will faithfully execute the office of citizen of the United  States, and that I will, to the best of my ability, help create  a truly democratic world by...
engaging fellow citizens, including  those who disagree with me, in serious discussion and debate about [important economic, political, and social] issues.

At least I try to do this, but sometimes it is hard to know just where to begin, just what to say.  Here is an example from a recent reply to my letter.  The writer is a soldier in Iraq, whose wife homeschools their children:

Dumping your kids in the local school is almost always irresponsible and often a criminal act. I do not care if you “teach to the test” or sit in a circle and chant Hare Krishna mantras, go to the politically correct vegan lunchroom and then curse white male taxpayers like me, who pay for all of the silliness you come up with. My kids will be able to think and read and fend for themselves in an increasingly competitive world. And your students will work for them and steal petty cash from the till.

Alright, so it seems pretty clear that no serious discussion or debate is going to be able to happen in the face of such anger and hatred, at least not through email. 

When I read the above message the first time, I recalled an incident last year at a political event here in Berkeley.  At the event, centered around what was going on last April in Fallujah, several members of the audience cheered when the speaker told graphic details of the death of several American soldiers.  Death of innocent Iraqis bad/death to imperialistic occupiers good.  "My" kids will fend for themselves/"your" students will steal from them.  Black/white, this/that, mine/yours, good/bad, either/or.  Dichotimization (and ignorance) happens at all points in the political spectrum.

Thinking about all of this, I go back to someone I've been reading a lot of lately, bell hooks.  She writes of the power of prophetic imagination:  "that what we cannot imagine, we cannot bring into being."  And, she advocates for moving beyond either/or, for working to make "both/and" into reality.  This, to me, is one fundamental difference between schooling and education -- that an education helps one to imagine a world of both/and, and then to find ways to bring that into being.

But, as another response said, I am a just a "sanctimonious do-gooder." who at this moment is very tired.  So, my imagining of how to engage in discussion and dialogue with my hatred-filled soldier friend will have to happen another time.

Where do the thoughts go?

Earlier this evening I was sitting with a group of teachers.  We were reading and discussing a piece about writing when we came upon the following sentence, which one of us read out loud:

"Without all that writing, where do the thoughts go?"

It was an odd, and kind of beautiful moment.  Everyone stopped talking and for a few seconds we all paused and lingered within our own conceptions of where the thoughts go.  Nobody wrote anything, and we didn't tell each other where our minds had gone as we were hanging out with that question.  But, somehow, each of us seemed a little happier for having taken that ever-so-brief trip into the unknown.

playing with fire

One might come away from my last posting thinking that I am a Halloween spoil-sport. Not true!

Among other things, I have always loved how the world is transformed as soon as the sun goes down and the jack o'lanterns are lit.

As an adult, I've also come to appreciate the community-connecting aspect that is kind of built into taking your kids trick or treating.

Click on this picture to see one of my neighbors twirling flames in front of her house. It was magical.

oakland sidewalk

R. and R. found this hole in the sidewalk while we were out for a walk yesterday. 

Me:  What do you think is down there?
My R.:  The long, long sky.

I like contemplating the idea of Oakland as portal to the long, long sky.

lemon tree

It rained today, for only the second time since last May or June, and now everything smells like earth and ocean. 

Being an east coast person, my body always starts to ache for signs of fall around the end of September and beginning of October.  Unfortunately, that's often the hottest, dryest time of the year in the bay area.  Just a few days ago the Santa Ana winds were blowing in from the east, and the temperature was in the 90's.  It was fire weather.

The wind has now shifted, rain is here, and that makes me happy.

When we walked out on the front porch this morning, R. exclaimed, "Look at that beautiful spiderweb!"  Raindrops were clinging to the web and it was glowing against the backdrop of the lemon tree.  We did our best to take a picture, but you may need to click on the image to see the web.

Fall is also lemon season at our house.  You can't tell from this picture, but the tree is bursting with both green and ripe lemons.  Pretty soon we'll have a basket in front of the house filled with lemons for passers-by.  Even though we put out a sign that says, "Please take and enjoy," there is always someone that will pull out a bag, look around to make sure no one is watching, and fill it up with lemons, then with a guilty look, leave as quickly as possible.  Maybe we should change our sign to something like:  "Please take and enjoy.  Really!  It's okay!"

trust

Many times each week I walk up into the hills above my house: sometimes with Isaac on my back, sometimes with the dog, sometimes alone. It is a residential area, with hidden pathways and small parks tucked here and there between the houses. I go there so often that I'm usually on auto-pilot -- even the dog knows exactly when to turn and where we'll go.

Last week we were at the point in the walk where we pass by Grotto Park, when I looked up to see that someone had spray-painted "Trust" high above. I stopped and stared. It used to be that I'd take breaks from my walks and climb up on the rocks (which completely dwarf the surrounding houses) to appreciate the beauty of the area and be still for a few minutes of my day, but I hadn't done that in a long time. Had this message always been there and I'd never noticed? Had it been there for days, weeks, months and I've always been too immersed in my own thoughts to see the change?

I think that it is too easy to go through life in this kind of auto-pilot mode (whether we're absorbed in our own problems or those of the larger world), and that when doing so we miss an awful lot. Basing this blog on images is my conscious effort to be a little more observant of some of the details, both small and large, that might usually escape my notice. I also know that too many days can go by with nothing new created, so this is my attempt to get moving in the right direction.