Okay, maybe not the unicorns, rainbows, and cotton candy clouds, but the other two things? Yes.
So I’ve been thinking a lot recently about change, and believe there are two types of change. The first kind of change involves pebbles. One saying I really like is that “It takes a pebble to touch the ocean and move it.” If you think about it, it’s a true statement. Sure, maybe the pebble isn’t creating a tidal wave on the other side of the world, but the ocean needs to move to accommodate the volume of the pebble. And, if we remember our Aesop’s fables, we know what a thirsty crow can do with a bunch of pebbles. So, changes don’t have to be huge or life altering, because results will come whether they’re monumental or miniscule.
The other types of change are like raindrops. Whereas a pebble makes the environment around it change, a raindrop in an ocean becomes a part of that body of water. As the drop falls into the water it is becomes part of the ocean, but the ocean becomes part of the raindrop as well. There is a give and take with this type of change, which can alter both parties, not like the pebble which forces something else to change.
I’m not a huge advocate for just one type of change or the other, but think, like so much of life, a balance is needed. As change is one of the few constants in life, I think whether we allow them to become part of us or make us move to accommodate them is a large part of our personal attitude. I know that I can be a stubborn and feisty person who chafes against being told what to do, so having a pebble-type change doesn’t always work for me. While sometimes being knocked in the head by a stone is the only way to get through to me, I find myself happier and more at peace when I try to incorporate the change into my life, while allowing something of myself go as well -- like the raindrop.
I think that’s the take-away for me right now: to understand and allow change to come, but recognize that it doesn’t have to be hard, but many times it is necessary. And also to recognize that how I approach the change largely determines my happiness and the success of the change.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
My new morning mantra...
*Before you watch this video, scroll to the bottom of the blog and hit "pause" on the music player. You're gonna wanna hear this!*
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Evil Patty Rears her Ugly Head!
I’ve been anxiously awaiting the end of the summer, both because it signifies the end of the online English class I am teaching (yeah!) and the end of freedom summer represents (boo!). Although I am not a huge fan of teaching an online class, because, seriously, teaching three semesters of the same class limits the amount of variety in your life as well as vacation from school-type activities, I have noticed I have become more of a hard-nosed person.
I received an email from one of my students (ironically a football player – but not the one who will be failing my class…for the second time, after three attempts) and he asked me if it was possible to revise any of his papers for a higher grade since he’s worried about getting a passing grade in the course. Honestly, I’ve already allowed two students to revise failing papers for higher grades with great results, so normally I wouldn’t have a problem with it; however, this student had already received passing grades on his papers, he was just freaking out because he’d hardly been doing any homework all semester long and it was coming back to bite him.
My response to him?
Alright, so maybe I lied to my student. Could I have been of more help? Yes. Was I willing to help him out of his predicament? No. To tell the truth, I have grown weary of the number of “poor me” and “I didn’t know” excuses I hear from students. The sense of entitlement and lack of responsibility or accountability is shocking to me. [And here is when I start to sound like a crotchety old woman yelling at the dagnabit neighborhood kids from her porch to "stop playing so loud!"]. I know part of it is upbringing, and a number of students work hard and are responsible, but I have, and continue to work hard to make sure I meet school deadlines, do my best possible job for the assignments, and I don’t expect my teachers to cut me any slack. If they do, I appreciate it, but I don’t ask for it.
You may be arguing that I had let two previous students revise their papers for a higher grade. Yes, I did. How is the football player’s situation different from these two students? 1. These students has failing papers. They did not even score high enough to receive a D on their papers, 2. They had extenuating circumstances that precluded them from putting all of their time and effort into the class (one had a sick father while the other had her computer crash – lame, maybe, but she continued to complete all of her online homework…just a day late), and 3. Neither of them asked for the chance to rewrite for a higher grade. Because they didn’t ask for it, I was more willing to offer. I think that mentality plays into my dislike for lack of responsibility and entitlement. The football player had failed to do his homework in the past, and now wanted to make up the previous work? Sorry buddy, you reap what you sow.
Man, Patty. You’re harsh!
Maybe, but maybe this student will also learn that there is a reason why there are deadlines and that you better be aware of them now or you’re only hurting yourself later. In the adult business world, if you miss a deadline, you may miss/not be prepared for an important meeting; or it may be cause for you to be passed over for a promotion or fired. Harsh, yes. But that’s life in the big, bad non-academic world. Better a lesson learned here than there.
Besides, the student can always retake this class for a passing grade if he fails…without hurting his GPA. So there – all you bleeding hearts! Sheesh.
I received an email from one of my students (ironically a football player – but not the one who will be failing my class…for the second time, after three attempts) and he asked me if it was possible to revise any of his papers for a higher grade since he’s worried about getting a passing grade in the course. Honestly, I’ve already allowed two students to revise failing papers for higher grades with great results, so normally I wouldn’t have a problem with it; however, this student had already received passing grades on his papers, he was just freaking out because he’d hardly been doing any homework all semester long and it was coming back to bite him.
My response to him?
“I highly recommend you revise, but not for a higher grade. Work on revising Essay #4 for your portfolio, as well as another essay of your choosing. Your portfolio matters A LOT. So work on fine tuning those.
"Your rough draft of Essay 4 looks good so far. You have some great arguments, just work on having a strong thesis, organization, and look at the handouts for Essay 4 available on Blackboard's home page. These will help a lot in making your paper more effective.
"I'm always willing to look at an essay more than once before the final draft is due. If you want me to look at a final essay other than #4 that you've revised for your portfolio I will look at that and give you feedback as well.
"Sorry I can't be of more help.“
Alright, so maybe I lied to my student. Could I have been of more help? Yes. Was I willing to help him out of his predicament? No. To tell the truth, I have grown weary of the number of “poor me” and “I didn’t know” excuses I hear from students. The sense of entitlement and lack of responsibility or accountability is shocking to me. [And here is when I start to sound like a crotchety old woman yelling at the dagnabit neighborhood kids from her porch to "stop playing so loud!"]. I know part of it is upbringing, and a number of students work hard and are responsible, but I have, and continue to work hard to make sure I meet school deadlines, do my best possible job for the assignments, and I don’t expect my teachers to cut me any slack. If they do, I appreciate it, but I don’t ask for it.
You may be arguing that I had let two previous students revise their papers for a higher grade. Yes, I did. How is the football player’s situation different from these two students? 1. These students has failing papers. They did not even score high enough to receive a D on their papers, 2. They had extenuating circumstances that precluded them from putting all of their time and effort into the class (one had a sick father while the other had her computer crash – lame, maybe, but she continued to complete all of her online homework…just a day late), and 3. Neither of them asked for the chance to rewrite for a higher grade. Because they didn’t ask for it, I was more willing to offer. I think that mentality plays into my dislike for lack of responsibility and entitlement. The football player had failed to do his homework in the past, and now wanted to make up the previous work? Sorry buddy, you reap what you sow.
Man, Patty. You’re harsh!
Maybe, but maybe this student will also learn that there is a reason why there are deadlines and that you better be aware of them now or you’re only hurting yourself later. In the adult business world, if you miss a deadline, you may miss/not be prepared for an important meeting; or it may be cause for you to be passed over for a promotion or fired. Harsh, yes. But that’s life in the big, bad non-academic world. Better a lesson learned here than there.
Besides, the student can always retake this class for a passing grade if he fails…without hurting his GPA. So there – all you bleeding hearts! Sheesh.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Albert Einstein and me, we're like that!
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.” ~ Albert Einstein
I’m one of those people who imagines … the best of people, life, situations, etc. So I imagine I’m a good teacher, good aunt to my 20+ nieces and nephews, good sister, daughter, friend, co-worker, etc. When I stumble, fumble, or all-around ‘bite it’ while walking up the stairs (trust me people, it’s possible) I laugh out loud. I imagine if I were watching “me” fall up the stairs, how ridiculous it would look and that causes the crazy laughter that I expel as I lay splayed on the steps leading up. All actions that don’t necessarily promote the idea that I’m a “sane,” adult person. I’m one of those people who laugh first and then, realizing I may appear heartless and maniacally evil, do the quick gasp intake and, “oh!”, and THEN rush to make sure the person who was hurt, embarrassed, or stunned, isn’t going to have any lasting ill effects. Of course, if you’re awkwardly looking around hoping no one saw you, I will oblige and pretend like I didn’t see you make a semi-fool out of yourself. I’m nice like that.
I’m also one of those awkward laugh-out-louders in the movie theater during films. My younger sister, Becca, will attest to the shame she feels as she sits next to me and I laugh “inappropriately” during a comedy. She either: 1. smacks me and quietly shushes me with all the venom within her (which isn’t a lot because, honestly, I love her and she’s a great person), 2. Turn turtle and slink down in her seat hoping fellow theatre patrons think I’m a psychiatric patient who has escaped my “safe room” and somehow was lucid enough to wander to a movie theatre, purchase a ticket for a comedy, and be “respectable” up until the spasm of laughter that escaped me, 3. Ignore me, but quietly seethe inside until, after the movie is over and we are walking out to the car, she can vent her frustration and disappointment on me, which subsequently sends me down into a spiral of shame from which I never fully recover, or 4. Rolls her eyes and ignores me, never to mention – again – how I laughed out loud in the movie theater and embarrassed her.
What can I say, I have a pretty good imagination and I tend to easily lose myself in things. I can get so wrapped up when reading that I literally forget where I am and am not aware of my surroundings. People can talk to me, but I don’t listen. They have to physically shake my arm in order to “wake me up” and realize there is a world outside of the words found on a page. (Note: This doesn’t just apply to books, but has also occurred with newspapers, poems, the backs of cereal boxes, and telephone books. Oh the wonder of the name Mike Smith. My imagination just tingles as I read that name on my screen. ;).
Movies aren’t really all that different for me. I willfully suspend my disbelief while watching movies. Yes, I know what is real and what isn’t, and I understand that the monsters on the screen, or futuristic robots, or people getting killed aren’t real – but try telling THAT to my imagination as it does business in the currency of “what if”. This easy immersion of my mind into what is happening on the screen is why I don’t watch scary movies. As was previously mentioned before, I realize that Chucky isn’t real, but what if? I also understand that Chewbacca isn’t flying around in space somewhere, but what if he was? I also know that what is being played out on the screen is done by people paid to act, emote, and present their characters in a specific light; however, please don’t ask me to be comfortable with someone being embarrassed. I have a weird thing about unintentional and malicious embarrassment in movies – I hate it! I’m sure there’s some link to an earlier incident in my childhood which has resulted in scars I attempt to deal with as the fully functional adult that stands before you now, but that doesn’t change the fact of the matter that embarrassing someone isn’t cool. When I know someone is about to be humiliated or embarrassed on the screen I either get up and leave the room (especially if someone else is watching the movie with me) because I don’t think the character needs another witness to their shame, or I cover my eyes and/or look away from the screen for the same reason as stated earlier.
Does all of this imagination make me weird and odd? Um, probably, but I embrace my weirdness since it’s not really hurting anyone. I also believe that my active imagination allows me to better understand and have fun with those younger than me: my students, nieces and nephews, children of co-workers or friends, etc. This ability to imagine serves a dual purpose of easily relating to kids (as I learned yesterday when I took four of my nieces and nephews, ranging in ages from 14 to 3 years-old, to the movie “Despicable Me” and Chucky Cheese (Chucky Jesus if you’re a three year-old) and enjoyed their unique imagination and perspective toward life) as well as seeing the possibilities and what if’s of life and actions. I honestly think it helps me, as a teacher, see the potential within my student’s writing and help to encourage them as they work to better their written communication skills and learn that Spot, the dog, doesn’t just run, but he leaps, bounds, wriggles his butt when he wags his tail, licks, slobbers, and does so many more evocative and interesting things than a single, one-dimensional world would have us believe. Digging beneath the surface and seeing what else is possible or being said is what I hope my students learn – all things which live in the realm of imagination and what if.
So that’s the mindset I try to inhabit as I go forward and attempt to finally read and grade my student’s papers today. Serenity now!
I’m one of those people who imagines … the best of people, life, situations, etc. So I imagine I’m a good teacher, good aunt to my 20+ nieces and nephews, good sister, daughter, friend, co-worker, etc. When I stumble, fumble, or all-around ‘bite it’ while walking up the stairs (trust me people, it’s possible) I laugh out loud. I imagine if I were watching “me” fall up the stairs, how ridiculous it would look and that causes the crazy laughter that I expel as I lay splayed on the steps leading up. All actions that don’t necessarily promote the idea that I’m a “sane,” adult person. I’m one of those people who laugh first and then, realizing I may appear heartless and maniacally evil, do the quick gasp intake and, “oh!”, and THEN rush to make sure the person who was hurt, embarrassed, or stunned, isn’t going to have any lasting ill effects. Of course, if you’re awkwardly looking around hoping no one saw you, I will oblige and pretend like I didn’t see you make a semi-fool out of yourself. I’m nice like that.
I’m also one of those awkward laugh-out-louders in the movie theater during films. My younger sister, Becca, will attest to the shame she feels as she sits next to me and I laugh “inappropriately” during a comedy. She either: 1. smacks me and quietly shushes me with all the venom within her (which isn’t a lot because, honestly, I love her and she’s a great person), 2. Turn turtle and slink down in her seat hoping fellow theatre patrons think I’m a psychiatric patient who has escaped my “safe room” and somehow was lucid enough to wander to a movie theatre, purchase a ticket for a comedy, and be “respectable” up until the spasm of laughter that escaped me, 3. Ignore me, but quietly seethe inside until, after the movie is over and we are walking out to the car, she can vent her frustration and disappointment on me, which subsequently sends me down into a spiral of shame from which I never fully recover, or 4. Rolls her eyes and ignores me, never to mention – again – how I laughed out loud in the movie theater and embarrassed her.
What can I say, I have a pretty good imagination and I tend to easily lose myself in things. I can get so wrapped up when reading that I literally forget where I am and am not aware of my surroundings. People can talk to me, but I don’t listen. They have to physically shake my arm in order to “wake me up” and realize there is a world outside of the words found on a page. (Note: This doesn’t just apply to books, but has also occurred with newspapers, poems, the backs of cereal boxes, and telephone books. Oh the wonder of the name Mike Smith. My imagination just tingles as I read that name on my screen. ;).
Movies aren’t really all that different for me. I willfully suspend my disbelief while watching movies. Yes, I know what is real and what isn’t, and I understand that the monsters on the screen, or futuristic robots, or people getting killed aren’t real – but try telling THAT to my imagination as it does business in the currency of “what if”. This easy immersion of my mind into what is happening on the screen is why I don’t watch scary movies. As was previously mentioned before, I realize that Chucky isn’t real, but what if? I also understand that Chewbacca isn’t flying around in space somewhere, but what if he was? I also know that what is being played out on the screen is done by people paid to act, emote, and present their characters in a specific light; however, please don’t ask me to be comfortable with someone being embarrassed. I have a weird thing about unintentional and malicious embarrassment in movies – I hate it! I’m sure there’s some link to an earlier incident in my childhood which has resulted in scars I attempt to deal with as the fully functional adult that stands before you now, but that doesn’t change the fact of the matter that embarrassing someone isn’t cool. When I know someone is about to be humiliated or embarrassed on the screen I either get up and leave the room (especially if someone else is watching the movie with me) because I don’t think the character needs another witness to their shame, or I cover my eyes and/or look away from the screen for the same reason as stated earlier.
Does all of this imagination make me weird and odd? Um, probably, but I embrace my weirdness since it’s not really hurting anyone. I also believe that my active imagination allows me to better understand and have fun with those younger than me: my students, nieces and nephews, children of co-workers or friends, etc. This ability to imagine serves a dual purpose of easily relating to kids (as I learned yesterday when I took four of my nieces and nephews, ranging in ages from 14 to 3 years-old, to the movie “Despicable Me” and Chucky Cheese (Chucky Jesus if you’re a three year-old) and enjoyed their unique imagination and perspective toward life) as well as seeing the possibilities and what if’s of life and actions. I honestly think it helps me, as a teacher, see the potential within my student’s writing and help to encourage them as they work to better their written communication skills and learn that Spot, the dog, doesn’t just run, but he leaps, bounds, wriggles his butt when he wags his tail, licks, slobbers, and does so many more evocative and interesting things than a single, one-dimensional world would have us believe. Digging beneath the surface and seeing what else is possible or being said is what I hope my students learn – all things which live in the realm of imagination and what if.
So that’s the mindset I try to inhabit as I go forward and attempt to finally read and grade my student’s papers today. Serenity now!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I don't wanna grow up...
When I was a kid – be-boppin’ around on my bike; walking a mile to school in the rain, snow (gasp!), sunshine, wind, etc.; sliding down the “hill” on cardboard boxes; walking with my imagination through the woods; climbing trees with greedy thoughts of grabbing the first apple/plum of the year; “practicing” fire drills while jumping from our second-story window; wandering aimlessly, but safely, through the neighborhood – I didn’t know how good I had it. As a kid I remember my mom warning me that the older I get, the fast time goes…and she was right! Of course, I also remember my dad telling us that whoever got the pickle in their pancake would win a prize – they got to wash the dishes! Um, yippe … two strikes and he’s winding up for the third pitch … lay it on us Dad -- “they’re not burned, they’re licorice!” – OUT! The next batter steps up to the plate…
As I sit at my computer typing into this blog rather than doing the responsible “adult” things I should be doing, I long for those carefree days. I don’t want to grade student papers. I don’t want to pay bills. I don’t want to go to work in the morning. As a kid, being an adult looked easy. In the rosy-haze of my childhood eyes no one told parents what to do. They got to drive, date, stay up late, and do whatever they wanted. Man was I deluded. None of it is easy.
That’s what the inner-child in me wants – EASY! But HARD is what I NEED. Easy is for those unwilling to evolve and improve themselves. Easy is for those that are lazy. Easy means anyone can do it … and usually poorly at that. Hard is where I have to exert myself. Hard is where my muscles (physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally, etc.) are built. Hard is where I become the kind of person I want to be. Hard is where the slovenly me, impurities, and weaknesses are left behind and the worthwhile comes forward.
Intellectually I know this and understand it, but sometimes it just seems to get too hard. Then what? Do I just whine and complain and annoy everyone around me, or do I pick myself up off the floor after my internal temper tantrum, dust off the last vestiges of self-pity and go back to work? Because that’s what life is…work. If you guess the latter, that’s what I try to do. Just suck it up, fake it ‘til I make it, and decide to change my attitude. Realizing that some things aren’t “in my boat” (thanks Heather!) and I can only control and change certain things; attempting to make like a duck and let all other things roll off my back like water.
Hopefully the forecast is for blue skies...
As I sit at my computer typing into this blog rather than doing the responsible “adult” things I should be doing, I long for those carefree days. I don’t want to grade student papers. I don’t want to pay bills. I don’t want to go to work in the morning. As a kid, being an adult looked easy. In the rosy-haze of my childhood eyes no one told parents what to do. They got to drive, date, stay up late, and do whatever they wanted. Man was I deluded. None of it is easy.
That’s what the inner-child in me wants – EASY! But HARD is what I NEED. Easy is for those unwilling to evolve and improve themselves. Easy is for those that are lazy. Easy means anyone can do it … and usually poorly at that. Hard is where I have to exert myself. Hard is where my muscles (physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally, etc.) are built. Hard is where I become the kind of person I want to be. Hard is where the slovenly me, impurities, and weaknesses are left behind and the worthwhile comes forward.
Intellectually I know this and understand it, but sometimes it just seems to get too hard. Then what? Do I just whine and complain and annoy everyone around me, or do I pick myself up off the floor after my internal temper tantrum, dust off the last vestiges of self-pity and go back to work? Because that’s what life is…work. If you guess the latter, that’s what I try to do. Just suck it up, fake it ‘til I make it, and decide to change my attitude. Realizing that some things aren’t “in my boat” (thanks Heather!) and I can only control and change certain things; attempting to make like a duck and let all other things roll off my back like water.
Hopefully the forecast is for blue skies...
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