Pass It On

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I’m great at words, letting them roll out of my mouth in Mississppi-sized river of noise. But when deep emotion is involved, I go mute, opting for the cheap laugh if I have to say something. Often, though, the words do come, and I attempt to atone for my silence with a flurry of blogs, emails, and text messages.

This is one of those times. Today I went to the reunion of my high school church youth group. I’d known it was coming up, but didn’t decide to go until late last night when I made a run to the grocery for hamburger to make sloppy joes–yes, I know that’s only one step above taking potato chips. I considered taking chips, so I feel like a culinary wizard.

Why was I so reticent? I’m not sure. When I was in junior high and high school, this group of friends and my involvement in the church youth group was incredibly important to me. I tend to be very tribal–I have a few very close friends at any given time, but the tribe I’m in gives me a spiritual, intellectual and emotional home. For years, the youth group was my tribe. Other than my theatre/drama friends from high school and college,  I have never come close to replicating the sense of “tribe” I had there, and I know that I have tried, both consciously and unconsciously.

As a teacher, I can easily say that my greatest influences were my youth group leaders, Dick and Donna Snider. They taught me more through their patient, loving treatment of my friends and I than any college class or mentor I ever had. Their willingness to open their home and their hearts, non-stop and without qualification, to whoever wandered in, set a standard that I try to match everyday in my classroom.

So again, why was I so reticent about going? It’s odd to hear my friends–people who are 16 and 17 and 18 in my mind’s eye–talking about their grandchildren or what they’re doing since they’ve retired, but they are amazing people who are doing awesome things. Once I got there, I was eager to catch up with everyone.

But…it’s been a long, long time since I was the girl they remember. I’ve made a lot of choices that would confuse or disappoint my friends, and done things that I never imagined I’d do. Faith has always been complicated for me; I ask too many questions, follow too many bunny trails in my search for “truth.” While there are definitely points my conservative Evangelical friends and I would agree on, the places our faith journeys have diverged would trouble them. Even knowing that, I am comfortable being who and what I am. I just wasn’t sure I fit there anymore.

During the “sharing” time, when we were supposed to give an update about what we were doing and what our ministry is now, I avoided all that. I opted for the cheap laugh, in fact, when I got an opening (Sorry, Sharon–I really wasn’t going to give your husband my number….). Part of the reason that I was vague was simple: I don’t feel comfortable describing my career as a teacher as “my ministry.” I learn and gain as much from the kids and my coworkers as I give–and more honestly, I’m in a slump and know that at this point, I’m avoiding the deep connections and caring that “ministry” requires. I’ve been burnt and exhausted and known too many secrets, too many troubles. I’m stepping back, holding back–I’m letting someone else do the heavy lifting for a bit. I’ve carried enough burdens. That’s true in my professional life, at least.

That’s what I didn’t say today. The emotional tenor of the reunion struck me deeply, but I can’t openly sniffle and tear up like so many of them. I deflect, I joke, I nod sympathetically.

I sat there today, hearing all the stories about children’s accomplishments and meaningful lives, but I know that when I talked one-on-one with people, I heard other parts of their lives: health issues, professional disappointments, personal set-backs. Those felt more real to me than the litany of good, and those are the conversations I needed to have to know that I am still part of the tribe.

 

 

Football. And Nascar. And….beer. Yes, lots of Beer**

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I didn’t think I’d forgive Barbara Ehrenreich for her narrow-minded, condescending book Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America a few years ago–and I still would like a couple hours to talk to her about it, preferably with no heavy objects in my reach–but this article about modern feminism may redeem her just a bit.

In the article, she analyzes the state of current day feminism, and laments that the single “woman’s issue” that generates any discussion is breast cancer. Slap a pink ribbon on something, and you’re woman-friendly. No need to deal with social issues or even health issues that are controversial and make women shrill and unreasonable. Wrap the world in princess pink and we’re all “feminists” because we all care about a woman’s issue–even though some science suggests that current standard approaches may not be the best way to treat prevention, detection or treatment of breast cancer. No worries–we’re still very concerned about women and we show that with the ubiquitous pink ribbons.

Does anyone besides Marlo Thomas and Gloria Steinem call themselves feminists anymore? Well, and Phil Donahue and Alan Alda, I guess. Even I hedge around the word, instead going into long explanations of what I believe; the label is too laden with baggage for me to expect I will be treated seriously if I just say, “yep, I am. You still getting used to the idea that women can vote?”

The feminist movement of the 70’s had so many issues to deal with that they ended up tripping over themselves like a centipede trying to tango. Instead of being known for groundbreaking work in insuring living wages for “pink collar” jobs and opening opportunities for women, the image that lasted seems to be bra-burning and combat-boot-wearing lesbians.

The record numbers of women athletes, women in grad schools, woman professionals and management–that is the product of hard work and talent, no nod given to their mothers and grandmothers who argued and voted and changed the game. My sister’s high school counselor offered her two options for her professional future: nurse or teacher. I can’t imagine anyone working with teens today that look at a girl and see her only options as housewife, mommy, teacher or nurse. It wouldn’t be tolerated. Thanks, Gloria Steinem.

A truly brave candidate for national office–or a truly daring reporter–would fight to open a dialogue again about the issues that have gotten buried in the kinder, gentler, pink-ribboned womens movement. What is the impact of women in the work force? Should society be doing something differently? Are latchkey programs and quality day care priced so the working poor can afford them? What messages are reality television shows giving our young women–and our young men–about relationships, sex, and life? We need thoughtful people acting as the third estate to make those topics dinner table conversation.

The article by Barbara Ehrenreich resonated with me today. I listened to an adult and a group of teens arguing whether boys or girls had it worse. The adult (NOT me) and most of the teens agreed that women have it easy, or at least easier than men. The girls who were drawn into the argument had their opinions dismissed because they were “just girls and they would stick up for girls without seeing how it really is.” Not one girl tried to counter that argument. All I could do was sigh. These kids, members of the sound-bite generation, just wanted to outshout each other, not discuss. And the adult issued proclamations and  dismissed the girls’ opinions as emotional, not logical. (This is why I drink Pepsi at school. It keeps me busy so I don’t scream. The miracle is that I don’t spike it with rum. Yet.)

I’m thinking that next year, I’m not going to teach. I should stay home, barefoot and pregnant, watching talk shows and reality television. I could dress in princess pink and wear a pink ribbon every day. It would be a much easier life.

**Do you really need me to explain the title?

Remembrance of Things Past

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And much more am I sorrier for my good knights’ loss than for the loss of my fair queen; for queens I might have enough, but such a fellowship of good knights shall never be together in no company.
Thomas Malory, Le Morte de Arthur
 

A new school year started this week. It’s the first week in years–11? 12?–that Drew Chiles didn’t amble into my room and give me hell about whether I was going to teach the kids anything worthwhile this year. Or something similar. As much as his sudden death shocked our school last spring, I didn’t have an insight or memories or comforting words to spread as a balm over the people looking for answers.

I still don’t. What I do know is that this week, I’ve missed my friend more deeply than I expected. I don’t feel sorry for him–he’s past all that. I won’t post messages on facebook for him or write him notes; the man I knew would raise one eyebrow, stare, and comment on how droll superstition is when supposedly intelligent people act on it.

I also won’t engage in hyperbole about him. He was human–and flawed. The last couple months of his life, he and I had some intense disagreements, and we had some very hard conversations. That’s history–and I can honestly say that he and I don’t have unfinished business; before he died, we’d come to terms with what needed to be dealt with. At least as much as we could at the time. People have loved to corner me for sympathetic “talk” about whether Drew and I were “ok.” Guess what: I have no qualms about avoiding and shading the truth to most of the “concerned” people–if it was their business, they knew all the details they needed.

But this week, loss is hitting me hard in several ways, and the lesson I’ve taken from Drew’s sudden death is this: the wheel keeps on turning. There’s a new teacher in his room, a young, energetic man who is even teaching ONU classes for credit, so our kids still have that option. The Senior English/senior social studies combined class is still going on, with the new teacher and I inventing the curriculum to fit us as we are now. Our school may miss Drew the friend–but Drew the teacher has been replaced.

I miss Drew’s scoffing, devil’s advocate arguments with me, I miss sparring intellectually with him–and sometimes, I even miss his mind-games and power plays. But the wheel turns. The person I feel sorry for isn’t him–it’s me.

As a eulogy goes, it’s not much. He’d be the first to tell me I’ve engaged in needless emotional rhetoric without making a salient point. And he’d be right….but the wheel is turning again, and he’s getting further away. Next week, or next month, I’ll walk in his room without thinking of him. Soon, I’ll remember to quit calling his room “Chiles room,” and the kids will know it as Mr. Vermillion’s room. And the ghost fades further away, and the wheel turns another notch.

 

 
 

….and the match goes to…….Sigmund! Thoughts About Wrestling & Stripping

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Epiphany #20437: WWE wrestling and strip clubs are essentially the same thing. Obvious differences, I’ll concede, but at a primal level, they function the same way. Maybe.

Beyond the obvious trait the two share (waxing–lots and lots of waxing),  both are vicarious proofs of Freudian principles. In Civilization and Its Discontents,  Freud claims that men have certain immutable drives, and that sex and violence were two of the strongest.  (yes, I know I’m simplifying, but I still think my theory works).   Wrestling and stripping  allow modern man, constrained by the morals and laws of civilized society, to feed those urges to some degree within a framework that doesn’t violate social norms…..at least too much.

In both cases, the human body is the center of the experience. In wrestling, the idealized male form is hyper-muscular and commanding; in stripping, toned and at least somewhat buxom–and highly flexible–is the ideal. The puritan Judeo-Christian heritage in this country is morally judgmental about the celebration of the body and the glorification of the carnal, and both wrestling and stripping are colored in mainstream America’s minds because of this bias–although admittedly, stripping is even more stigmatized in large part because puritanical America rejects sex as good, clean fun–strippers are either victims or sluts, neither good connotations; I don’t think wrestlers have the same moral condemnation overlaying their image in the covered-dish-dinner crowd, but neither stripping nor wrestling fans tend to champion their passion at the church potluck.

In fact, the celebration of brains over brawn as the hallmark of a “civilized” society resonants through Western culture. St. Paul talks about overcoming the flesh more than once, and Pythagoras admonished people: “Choose rather to be strong of soul than strong of body.”  Often, people who take “too much” pride in their body are viewed as superficial; both strippers and wrestlers make their living by reveling in their bodies–in our culture, that’s easy to dismiss as vain and shallow.

Both entertainments are highly profitable–in a capitalistic society, that matters. Even in this economy, wrestling is showing a solid profit. Larry Flynt, sex business mogul, claims about $500 million a year profit--and less than $9 million of that is from his publishing. Flynt’s strip clubs are the anchor of his business–and like wrestling, there’s a solid market for what he’s selling even in these tough economic times.

The reason is simple, if Freud is right: his audience craves power/aggression and sex, especially when times are rough.  Watching a wrestler or a stripper both offer ramification-free escapism: no cops involved for really punching whatever needs punched; no nagging about taking out the garbage or bills that need paid when sitting in a strip club watching an idealized female.

This isn’t the whole picture, and there are some crucial differences, too. Because I’m not a regular patron of either, there are important angles I’m sure I just don’t get. And as much as I want to wave a feminist banner and write a screed about why these appeal to men for vicarious release, I suspect that I’m going to have Epiphany #20438 when I realize what the female equivalent of these two entertainments are. I’m sure there’s something, but I’m not sure what….yet. Reality TV? Shopping? Lifetime movies? I hope not….still thinking.

Who’s the Boss of Me?

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I want to scream. To rail against the Gods. To resurrect Martin Luther King Jr and Gandhi and Abbie Hoffman and….I don’t know who all else–anyone who can organize an insurrection.  All because the currently pending legislation impacting teachers in Ohio (and other states) is fundamentally wrong–and I’m not talking the ethics, or the economics, or how I believe it would impact education. I’m talking about the core intent; a major paradigm shift is occurring in the business of education, but it’s being shrouded in warm, fuzzy concern about student achievement and fair use of public money.

So here’s my question: who is my boss? I’m a teacher, I am paid from public money. No debate there. But all these laws coming at me with the speed of Darth Vader’s X-wing, are they coming from the people who are actually “my boss?”

That’s such a tangled question that modern education should be on the Maury show to determine who the Daddy is. That’s a crucial question, though, in any discussion of laws impacting education.  It’s easy to agree or disagree with any specific point in bills such as Ohio’s SB5, and it’s even reasonable to discuss if teacher’s working conditions, compensation, and accountability are in line with their counterparts in the private sector. Those may be vital discussions. But lumping hundreds of pages of diverse points in one bill–and adding on with the “budget”–then giftwrapping it in the flag….that’s not a discussion. That’s punitive with a hidden agenda, fueled by marketing and prejudice.

Here’s the issue, as simply as I can explain it: in America, the educational model is based on local control. Individual school boards can hire or fire as they wish–yes, the teachers are licensed by the state, but the decision whether to hire lies with the local board. Also, local boards can apply for special licenses for people who don’t have traditional credentials.  The power is local.

Likewise, the basic budget of a district is raised from local money–traditionally, property taxes, but sometimes other taxes are available now IF THE LOCAL VOTERS AGREE. Note, the power is local, and it’s one of the very few types of taxes that voters have a say on. I can’t vote to send money for wars, or farm subsidies, or universal health care, but I can to decide if my local school gets more money.

However, most districts can’t make it on just what the local voters are willing to give, especially poor districts. So a long time ago–in the late 50’s, maybe?–states realized that they could offer needed funds to districts, with a few logical, easy-to-live-with strings. That’s grown and continued till many districts couldn’t exist without the state money–and the state conditions. But in the legal chain of command--the state does not control education. They offer money for specific programs, they provide funds to compensate for poor or handicaps students–in districts like mine, they provide a sizable amount of money, all coming because of specific criteria or expectations. In real terms, there is built-in accountability for those tax dollars; those funds go away if the criteria isn’t met or changes.

The state has tests that students must pass to get an official certificate, true, and they have specific classes that are required for graduation as well. However, LOCAL CONTROL gives a great deal of leeway about what those classes teach. As long as the students pass the Ohio Graduation Test and take the right core curriculum, there’s no oversight as to what textbooks are used, what projects or units are covered, how students are assessed and graded–public education is NOT standardized beyond teacher licensing and OGTs, in actual practice.  Even the state standards and benchmarks are guides, often unrealistic, and often impossible because of student achievement levels, time,  or educational supplies available. Again, local control, local oversight.  State money has come with strings that add layers to that, but any school solvent enough to not get specific money also can avoid specific strings.

More recently, add the federal government to the party. Same process, only they don’t currently have one test, one model–they have all the No Child Left Behind requirements (most unfunded or underfunded at the local level, but with strings that make the states respond), then Obama’s Race to the Top grants…another whole level of fun.

Imagine education on the Maury show, with grandmas, step dads, maybe-daddies, and a whole family tree of dysfunction arguing over how the baby is to be brought up, with the mom standing there confused and powerless, but knowing that at 3 am when the baby’s crying, she’s going to be alone in the dark.  That’s the business of education as we are trying to practice it now.

When the state report cards come out, who’s blamed or praised? The local principals, teachers–the people on the front lines. We know that bottom line, the local district in in control. Bad teachers can be fired–I’ve seen it happen. There’s a process to protect them, yes–but in Ohio, getting rid of a bad teacher is fairly simple.  Likewise, the unions don’t get higher teacher  pay than the district can offer; teachers in poor districts generally get paid less than teachers in richer districts. That’s basic economics with built-in limits. Teachers are NOT running up the state budget.  If a specfic neighboring district would hire me today, I’d get over $8000 more than I get now per year. And they’d pay more of my health insurance. I wouldn’t be any better as a teacher; the price merely reflects the district budget.

Teachers do not cause the state economic hardship. Teachers’ salaries are determined locally, and paid largely out of local funds. The local school board can’t offer more money than the have in their budget. Teachers are more subject to the vagaries of their local economy than other “public” workers for that reason.

I have more issues with bills like SB5, but at the core, there’s the problem. I’m not hired by the state. I’m not responsible to the state. These bills slyly shift from local control to state control–but only the aspects that they want control of. If we’re going to change the paradigm, we need to do away with the current mirage of “local control” to create a cohesive, effective state-wide or nation-wide educational system.  Then it would be clear who the boss of me is.

Throughout their investigation of Watergate (google it, children….), Woodward and Bernstein were repeatedly told by their informant, Deep Throat, to “follow the money.” He insisted that if the reporters would do that, the source of the power and the problem would become clear. Woodward and Bernstein brought down a whole presidential administration by using that theory.

Trying to apply that to modern public education doesn’t work; there are so many checkbooks waving around that it’s nearly impossible to untangle the specifics in many district. But underlying it all is this: the people who sign my paycheck are not funded directly from the state or federal dollars. Officially, local control and local dollars are the bedrock of our public schools. Bills like Ohio’s SB5, which micro-manage a huge list of issues that have always been under local control without formally, officially transferring the entire educational system to the state government, are out of line because under current laws,  it’s just NOT their job. I know who my boss is–and it’s not Ohio governor Kasich.

…..But George Was Curious.

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When I heard those words as a child, I knew that the Man in the Yellow Hat was going to have to rescue Curious George in just a few pages. The formula was clear: George got curious, George got in danger, George got rescued…usually by the Man in the Yellow Hat.  Even now, George’s antics lead me to intense questioning, like “why did the Man in the Yellow Hat think it was a good idea to leave George alone,” and “Wait–why did the Man take George from his happy existence in his native habitat to live in an urban environment?”

I didn’t, however, learn that curiosity was bad.  That is a major difference between me and almost all of my 11th and 12th grade students. In a recent class discussion, I used the word “curiosity,” and was struck by how many students seemed to assume that word had negative connotations.  I thought–hoped–that was a fluke—so I did what any English teacher would do: assign a writing prompt dealing with curiosity. I gave the students four quotes about curiosity, quotes by Walt Disney, Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, and Eleanor Roosevelt–people who knew a bit about the topic. The students were to choose one quote and write about what they believed it meant and their reaction to the ideas in the quote. (That’s the short explanation of the assignment, by the way.)

I read almost 40 papers discussing those quotes. The students’ reactions were nearly unanimous. Being curious was dangerous. People who were curious were at great risk of getting hurt, getting shunned, getting punished. Several of the teen mothers and many of my students who bear a great deal of responsibility for younger siblings were graphic in their descriptions of how important it is to teach kids to stay out of things, not make messes, not bug people with questions. A few conceded that being curious could be helpful, but not generally.

These are kids who want to succeed at college, kids with dreams of being lawyers and engineers, doctors and veterinarians. These are kids whose home lives offer little support for those dreams–and with little understanding of the difference between a dream and a goal. Their parents care, but have themselves come from a culture that penalizes curiosity.  They limit themselves to what they are told to learn, told to think about–in the manner and context that they are told to, of course.

Current educational rhetoric blames teachers for all the ills of student achievements–and I will admit with no reservations that improvements in teaching are possible and needed–but when students have been taught even before they reach their first formal classroom that being curious is bad, student’s are only motivated to do the basic amount required for whatever grade they (or their parents or coach) deem acceptable. Students who are curious are a prime component in creating “excellent” schools and “effective” teachers.

I talked about Curious George with some of the students. A few remembered those stories–mainly from the short cartoons that sometimes show on PBS. Without exception, they agreed George was very bad and needed beat so he’d learn.

….and with that, I lost the curiosity that lead me to discussing the topic with them. There was nothing left to say.

Amusing Ourselves to Death

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Disclaimer: I’m a fan of media. When I finish writing this, I’m heading to watch a couple episodes of Buffy. I own an impressive collection of dvd’s and cd’s–although not as good as my daughter’s. I raised her right, I think. I have oodles and oodles of music on my Amazon cloud, which has some but not all of the same music as my iPod, which still only has part of my collection. I use streaming Netflix and Hulu Plus pretty much daily. I like media.

BUT…..the Mexican restaurant I like now has television screens everywhere I look. So does Applebees and the Beer Barrel. And McDonalds and Burger King. And WalMart. In fact, WalMart has small screens at the end of some aisles, just in case you get bored making your way between the big screens, I guess.

AND….now my high school has random huge screens in hallways. We have enough trouble with kids blocking the intersections between classes; now there’s a constant stream of…I’m not sure what they will play….to distract the human roadblocks even more.

Then I went to put gas in my car today, and the pump was blaring country music at me.

When did America become allergic to silence? When did people become so boring that any entertainment is better than conversation? Recently, I went to a popular restaurant in Lima–one big room–with 8 televisions all on different programs, all with subtitles and sound, AND music was playing as well. Major sensory overload–and impossible to talk. I didn’t even attempt to stop my daughter when she pulled a book out of her purse to read as she ate; conversation was impossible. I sat there reading twitter and RSS feeds; yes, I see the irony in that: more media saturation, when that’s what I’m grousing about.

I didn’t say I’m holier than anyone else in this case. If I could find a Sy-Fy/Alt Bar, playing Star Trek, Star Wars, Firefly, Buffy, and other favs, I’d be there. Especially if they had amazing nachos like Applebees used to have.  But, if my hypothetical bar existed, I promise I’d be there arguing Kirk v. Picard, and counting the times Luke whined–not just sitting there comatose, senses too overloaded to function.

Eating Knowledge

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The story By the Waters of Babylon by Stephen Vincent Benet shows a civilization that has been decimated by “eating knowledge too fast,” as John the Son of a Priest says as he explores the ruins of modern day New York City. John observes that there must be a balance between wisdom and knowledge or a civilization isn’t safe.

I could rant and point fingers about the educational reformers, creating a culture of accountability while neither employing or espousing wisdom. And some other day, I might. But this week at my school, the value of having teachers with wisdom as well as knowledge was made clear.

A young, healthy teacher died suddenly. One day, he was lecturing, badgering kids to complete assignments, interviewing to become principal, even. The next, we were explaining to his students that he died that morning as he was getting ready for school.

Testing can be mandated; work hours can be mandated. Even the content of the classes and the knowledge the teachers possess and impart can be mandated. And knowledge is important–no argument about that.

But students are not widgets or cogs in the education machine. Students are not merely “stakeholders” in the process, either. They are people, with all the weaknesses, issues, emotions, and baggage that our reality shows parade across America’s television screens daily. We can make the acquisition of knowledge more efficient and effective,  but there’s a tipping point where the educational system will become so weighted towards “knowledge” than the human element will be gone–the ability to bring school to a standstill to hold sobbing students, when needed even–and there will be no wisdom left to find in our classrooms. That’s what was most clearly illustrated this week as my school dealt with that teacher’s sudden death.

There is little wisdom in our statehouses and our leaders; our churches and holy places are too often focused on big screen projectors and growing their market share. If we do not want John the Son of a Priest’s tale to be prophetic, schools may be our last hope for finding the balance between knowledge and wisdom.

Seeking Wisdom

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Note: this was the first post I wrote on a blog site I dedicated solely to education. And just in case you don’t know: all the things I feared are more true now.

I started this blog intending to write about education issues regularly. For a long time, I’ve been in the front lines in urban education, then in the vortex of urban education reform–I thought I had something to say.

Then all hell broke loose in educational reform, and the inmates started running the asylum. There’s no shortage of words, no contemplative silence while people seek wisdom. There’s not even a common vocabulary for identifying and discussing the issues. George Orwell’s “doublespeak” has come to pass in ways he couldn’t have predicted.

In times like this, I start looking to literature for comfort and answers. The greats often provide perspective;  The Beatles “Fool on A Hill”  and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall,” gave me some ideas and options, for instance. Jesus clearing the temple from the moneychangers seems like an equally appealing model.

Then my class read MacBeth and heard Sir Patrick Stewart offer this observation: “….it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” (MacBeth Act V, scene 5).

There are fools on the Hill–and in the statehouse. And even more people are offering tales full of sound and fury–no meaning, nothing that helps address the real issues in our classrooms and cafeterias–nothing that addresses the real crises in our governmental budgets and priorities.

But still they talk–the politicians and media mavens, the philanthropists and businessmen, strutting and fretting their hours onstage like the poor player MacBeth disdains.

I don’t have answers, and I’m not sure I know the questions, but it’s time that I start talking. As Fox Mulder asserted, “The truth is out there.” It’s getting lost in a tsunami of hyperbole.  I’m a  teacher who deals primarily with poor minority teens–kids who are becoming more marginalized, more stigmatized, and more disheartened; at this point, those words describe their teachers, too.

I’m tired of giving the fools and idiots the power. It’s my turn. Stay tuned.

Charlie and Friends

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When I was pregnant for my first child, my family and friends were somewhat…well,….concerned. I showed no knack for nuturing. In fact, to be blunt, death seemed to follow in my wake. Put me in charge of nuturing, and—wilting leaves, yellowing stems, brown petals.

Plants committed suicide while left in my care. Seriously–I talked to them, played Mozart, watered them (or didn’t, depending on what I thought was needed…if I thought of the plant, that is). I contend that much of this wasn’t my fault.

For instance, consider the case of Charlie, the Norfolk pine tree I got about 8 years ago. A hale, green, festive little tree. I planned on putting it in my family room with a few lights, making the family room jolly (the massive Christmas tree was in the living room).  I bought it early, planning ahead. A few days after I brought it in the house, it started looking peaked–drooping a bit. I watered it. It started looking brown. I quit watering it.

The tale gets sordid from there, involving duplicity and broken dreams–and a second tree dying a lonely death as Charlie I’s proxy. Much later, I found out something that I never would have guessed: some evergreen trees are not outdoors trees. Go figure…

I’d left Charlie, and Charlie II, outdoors in the winter, never dreaming that I’d frozen them to death. I’m still haunted by the image of their whispered, husky voices asking for heat.

But it’s time to redefine myself, so I’m starting by channeling my inner Tom Bombadill. For quite a few years, I’ve had these two plants–a spider plant that my daughter gave me for Mother’s Day, and this other plant that I’ve heard called a snake plant.  (Note: The pictures of them didn’t import from my old blog, but they looked good.)

See how green and healthy they seem? I’ve gotten brave, so in the last few months, I’ve expanded my indoor greenry: a bamboo (I’d killed one in the last year, so this is penance), a Christmas cactus, a Yucca Cane, and—ta da–another Norfolk Pine. I want a rubber tree plant, and maybe an aloe, then I’m done. I will have proved my nuturing skills if none of them go to the great garden in the sky for a long time.

We’ll see about that, though–I realized yesterday that Charlie’s home, a place in my kitchen between the oven and the register, might have accounted for a couple twigs on my floor…I would free him out into the wild, but I know how that would turn out.

Note: 9 years later, Charlie is alive and well and taller than me.