Aesthetic Experiences

It was an early start after two LONG days of learning, walking, and tossing through the night in a hotel bed. I was tired, achy, and uncertain of my ability to take on much more. However, my alarm sounded and I got up. I had to admit, as tired as I was, I was still eager to listen to Ellin Keene speak. I've never been in the same room with her before and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to want to miss a minute. 

I was right. 

One of the most fascinating parts of her conversation with us was about aesthetics. She said so many things, but this was what I am still thinking about:

"Who says we all have the same aesthetic experiences? What we find beautiful they may not."

I head into the remaining days of the week asking myself questions, "How can I find what might create an aesthetic experience for each of my students? What catalyst will I stumble upon unexpectedly? Will I notice when it happens?"

At this moment I've determined that it is more important to be asking the questions than having the answers.

Today

Today I got to...

Start the day one hour more tired
Eat avocado toast and coffee
Tweet with an old college friend who saw me
Hug my closest friend who seemed far away
Spend time with my husband
Hug and say hello to Kate Roberts
Feel my brain expanding
Listen to passionate educators
Walk in a cold wind
Take a hot shower
Wear cozy pj's
Go to bed feeling full

full of ideas

full of love

full of happy.

Cold Rain Smiles

This weekend my husband Shawn and I somehow ended up getting to go to the same literacy conference together. We don't work in the same district so it is a rare occasion something pops up for both of us. I've been looking forward to eating meals together, OUT.

Tonight we decided we would try and venture a couple blocks to grab some dinner and downtime. The weather was a bit questionable, but we decided we would brave it anyway. Shawn had mentioned to me earlier that there was a KISS concert in town. I hadn't really thought about the impact it might have on our ability to eat. Nor did I consider how people who would normally stand in line for a concert might adjust for the weather conditions. Many took refuge in nearby restaurants. Who can blame them?

As I began to realize we were not going to find a restaurant with less than a 90-minute wait I also realized we were probably doomed to make the walk back to the hotel in the cold splitting wind.

I will say, it was quite a sight to see these fans. I saw little kids with detailed face paint, some fans in full KISS apparel (I hope that wasn't actually KISS walking the streets because I missed a huge opportunity if it was), and we saw a lot of very happy people smack in the middle of some pretty awful weather conditions. 

So, I've realized that even cold wind and rain can't get everybody down. I couldn't help but smile in the misery as well. 

These Two

My kids.

I can hardly believe 

how grown up they are. 

The things they are experiencing—

it astounds me.

The other day a colleague came in to visit with her newborn and toddler. Though she has two boys I felt like I was looking in a mirror for a moment. This tiny baby and a little boy all cheeks and smiles on her lap snacking from a cup. Those days were so amazing and awesomely hard. 

Then I look at these two and I’m blown away. All we’ve done. All we’ve been through. All there is to come. It’s exciting! (Also, a bit terrifying at times.) 

Words Appear

If you are familiar with Lynda Barry's book, What It Is, you won't be surprised that I began flipping through the pages for inspiration tonight. 

Page 44 asks, "[what]Where is a story before it becomes words?"

What an intriguing question. Slice of life stories live within our moments, our memories, our thoughts, and dreams. 

By writing them down, I attach words to them.

I could tell of how my eyelids are dropping as we speak. 

I could write of how I have a bag to pack.

I could describe the blur of this screen.

I could remember the stories of walnuts.

And there it is.

On page 44, as I sat here writing those few lines above, I noticed a walnut on the page within the illustrations. Walnuts were a funny and familiar thing to me growing up. If ever we were passing by a walnut tree we might stop and ask if we could collect them. The walnuts would then sit in our cool basement until my parents were ready to boil them. OH the smell! 

See, as a child, my parents were not only teachers, but they were also basket weavers. They made baskets, cradles, and buggies of all kinds. At the time there were not a lot of basket makers at craft shows and the like, so my parents were unique in the sense of a small business renting a table at a fair. Their business was called Country Creations. My job was usually to soak the reed while my parents would weave the baskets for those passing by. 

People were amazed by the craftsmanship of my parents work. 

We had rows and rows of different reed--wide, narrow, cylindrical, flat. My parents made their own walnut dye and once the baskets were finished would seal it with shellac. The whole process was fascinating and quite beautiful. 

There are many stories about the basket weaving time in our life. I may need to share a few more of them this month. I sometimes forget the little moments, memories, and blur of the past. But then, just like that, a story that was living inside a memory is brought forth from a single image. 

Words appear. 

THE Orange Slice

Back in 2013, I was lucky enough to join the Two Writing Teachers co-author team. Before the March 2014 SOLSC, we had discussed freshening up the image for slicing. I distinctly remember Stacey sending an image of an orange slice with a message that was basically, "Here's an idea?"

When I got home that night I grabbed some flecked ivory-ish paper, some watercolor paint, and a marker along with scissors and glue. I don't know what I was even thinking I was going to do. I cut a circle, then another, and another. I began to wonder how I would make the segments look uniform while organic at the same time. I folded the circle in halves until it seemed just right.

I could then start to see how it would come together. I painted with some orange-ish washes of paint and yellows for brightness, with a bit of red for a peach hue here and there. When the painted segments were dry I carefully cut them apart, placing them onto the pithy color backdrop I had layered on an additional circle painted in the same washes of colors.

At the time, being part of such an incredible group of writers who inspired me was more than I could imagine. I didn't know if the team would like my orange slice but I distinctly remember thinking, this could be it! Slicing was such a big part of my life and putting together these pieces of paper seemed like I was putting together the pieces of my writing life.

I can remember my husband putting a white piece of paper on our piano bench (insert tear for my missed piano) and placing the orange slice on top so he could photograph it. So much tinkering ensued and font styles, and sizes, and oh my was I proud.

I have a special spot in my basement all set up for writing now. It's a good place for writing. On top of my desk I have the slice on a metal message board. I realize the colors clash a bit, but the messages of each are pretty spot on. Not to mention, it is beside my Great-Grandmother who almost always makes her way into a story each March.

Foot Rubs

When I was younger, my mom and I used to rub each other's feet. We'd stretch our legs out toward each other and give each other a foot rub. At one point, we even started learning about reflexology and trying to find particular areas to apply pressure for sinus relief or stomach pain. I was never really sure if we were doing it right or if it worked, but it got me more foot rubs!

My mom and I both still like a good foot rub. There is something quite relaxing about it, and my feet are always tired.

Now my daughter and I have taken up the tradition. Tonight we got home from school a bit later than usual. Both of us were on the couch reaching our feet out to the other. Without saying a word, we both started. It was short lived but a good end to a long day.