No audio of the speech today, so the merits must be weighed on the sense of the words and sentiments.
In my earliest knowledge of Wilson, I remember feeling badly that the man had worked so diligently on the League only to be thwarted by his homeland in its failure to ratify the document, later this feeling of sympathy gave way to a sense that Wilson must have been out of touch with the country - and thus not a very good president. Still, might not a president be called upon to set aside the immediate desires of his country in order to choose a course that will better benefit them in the long run.

The world had just come through the horror of trench warfare - an entire generation lost. It is tempting to muse what might have happened had the world really thrown it's weight behind the League of Nations, particularly when in the penultimate paragraph he speaks of a power using land for it's European purposes. He is obviously talking about colonialism, but one's mind quickly jumps to Hitler's lebensraum. Would that progression have been stopped had the world truly formed a league of peace, willing to get involved in the matters because the concord of the world was at stake? When Wilson called the document a guranty against things which nearly brought civilization to ruin, could he even have imagined the destruction of the atom bomb or the fear of MAD?

Who knows? It's a fruitless question, and the answer is probably not. I don't think any country was willing to sacrifice its interests for the sake of the league of peace - how much use could it be if you'd already fought the war to end all wars. The situation reminds that some sacrifice is required in order to reach larger purposes. This lesson however, seems perpetually hard to learn. Even as the developed nations are calling for alternatives fuels and reduced emissions, India is seeking to develop a national car affordable for its citizens. The argument is put in print that those nations think they should have the same opportunity as their developed cousins - still all humans know that it's best to learn from the mistakes of others if you can, sometimes that means giving up what we want to gain what is better.

What else could Wilson have imagined? Coule he have thought that there would come a day when things would be instantly publishable?

We may not always get it right, but surely it's something if we keep trying to improve. The league of nations is not an obsolete idea, nor the United Nations an antiquated body if we choose for them not to be. Who can really argue with a league dedicated to the peace of the world?

Wilson's optimism shines through in his speech, and as in previous speeches there has been a call to become something better and more noble than what we are currently - and I think this is what endures in these speeches, the challenge to become what we believe we could be.

Lady Bird wore black:
His mouth is drawn tight, the chamber subdued and in dark clothing, it is 5 days past Kennedy's assination, and what on earth can anyone say?

This speech is both a mourning and call. It is perhaps impossible to listen to in the same trust of government that accompanied that time before Vietnam, and Watergate and all the rest of it. It is difficult to hear Johnson speak of peace while knowing that a war that would rend the American fabric was brewing in Asia.

But on that day, it was still in the future, and the nation had suffered a "profound shock."

While hearing Johnson speak of what would later become his sweeping social reforms, it begs of the question of how much of that is Kennedy's own dream, and how much Johnson. I've read in an article from a Johnson aide, that those were more his issues than his predeccesor's.

It is clear that he is more comfortable a member of the senate fraternity, than burdened with the presidency. And he is most compelling when he acknowledges that in the office he did not seek, and which was thrust upon him by cruel fate, he is in need of the help of all Americans.

Some of what he said is much like what President Bush has said - that we will be loyal to our friends, but foes to those who would impose the tyranny of terror.

Once he reaches the phrase "Let us continue," the speech shifts in tone to a call to action.

From accent to sentiment he is unmistakeably Texan - there is no doubt in my mind that when he utters the phrase "I promise..." he means it to his very core. His name is his word, he is loyal to allies and friends, earnest in knowing and acting right - these are creeds that I also know to my very core and it is my own knowledge that recognizes it in him. In the Texas where I was young, we wore our boots and waved our flags, learning early that the word Texas meant friend, learning early that to betray a friend was an unimaginable act, that to promise something was to put your name and honor on the line. Though in our post-Vietnam country, it is hard to hear or hold these things without seeming or being judged naive, and I don't know how many people still do.

His call for all Americans to respect and understand one another, his call to end the teaching and preaching of hate and violence, his call to turn from fanatics and bigots and other poisoners remains inspiring and lifting today.

And though he may have felt more comfortable on the other side of the speakers podium, when he invokes Lincoln, calling the body to "highly resolve," that Kennedy "shall not have lived or died in vain," it is clear that he is mantling the Presidency - having given his word, what else could he do?

"Have you no sense of deceny"
Who, I asked, was Joseph N. Welch? No doubt, my mother knew, as now do I.
As chief counsel for the Army during the Army-McCarthy hearings of 1954, Welch went toe to toe with Joe McCarthy in a manner that censured the Senator for his reckless cruelty, yet sacrificed none of Welch's own dignity.

The hearings were televised over about 188 hours, and it was seeing McCarthy in his slouching infamy that in part caused him a fall from popularity.

It is the word "infamous" that comes to mind while watching McCarthy spitefully impugn the professional character of a young lawyer not even present at the hearings out of obvious dislike and disrespect for Welch, an older partner in the young man's firm. McCarthy is avenging the perceieved baiting of his assistant counsel Cohn by Welch. And it is clear he expects to embarrass Welch by revealing that the young man belonged to an association linked with Communism.

Ah, but Welch, calm in his fury, recognizes McCarthy for what he is - a spiteful, cruel man. He already knows of the association of the young man. Rather than back pedal and defend himself or his firm in the face of the powerful senator, Welch sticks vocieferously to the young man, saying he will continue to be at the firm.

Although McCarthy has more airtime, it is Welch that we remember for so clearly showing up McCarthy's lack of decency in attacking someone who cannot defend themselves. With no histrionics, with no table pounding, with no shouting, but in contained tone and well chosen words, in speaking simple truth Welch shows himself a cooler head, and wiser and better man than the junior senator bullying and badgering those around him.

Of note is that, one assumes, this remarks are from the cuff - and yet from the cuff, we have words that are long remembered - that is an impressive accomplishment.

Of other note is perhaps the larger lesson that when you are in the right, when you speak from a place of integrity and truth, the weight of those things alone are enough to win the day. So the table pounding, arm waving and shouting those who feel themselves right often engage in is nothing but a red herring meant to distract from what is lacking in their arguments.

Truth, as they say, will out

Best Laid Plans:
My mother sent me this link to the "100 Great Speeches" - there are some absences, notably Bryan's "Cross of Gold," as well as one of Teddy Roosevelt's whose title escapes me.

At a time when much is being said of inspiration in speeches, and in a time where it would seem great futures are being decided, I have chosen to add to my morning routine a speech a day from 100 to 1.

Today began the forward march with Eleanor Roosevelt's address to the 1948 assembly of the United Nations calling for the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

She is in this speech the voice of her country, as well as a clarion call to other member states. She firmly, but without rancor, denounces the Soviet Union's ammendments which would "change the fundamental character of the document."

I found of note her quotation of Canadian Gladstone Murray saying:
The central fact is that man is fundamentally a moral being, that the light we have is imperfect does not matter so long as we are always trying to improve it … we are equal in sharing the moral freedom that distinguishes us as men. Man’s status makes each individual an end in himself. No man is by nature simply the servant of the state or of another man … the ideal and fact of freedom -- and not technology -- are the true distinguishing marks of our civilization.

Also noteworthy was her willingness to give the last word to someone else, saying that she knew no better call to action than the words of Secretary Marshall, and therein reiterated his words calling for the adoption of the document. No commentary of her own followed, which marks the speech as selfless and the speaker as not seeking her own aggrandizement.

That the document has hardly become a standard for nations, or a modern magna carta, as she hopes in the speech, diminishes neither the quality nor the reason of her remarks. We must judge the speech in the context of it's time and place, and so we judge that she spoke well of herself, her country and the body of the United Nations.

Dear Mama and Daddy,

It’s high summer and I’ve been reminded by a good man that it’s been ages since I blogged.

I bought a bicycle. And have been biking to work. She’s a blue beauty with more than one speed. And this shows up one of the fundamental differences between the old roommate, who also has been biking to work, and me.

Everyday the roommate bikes the 2 miles to her work thinking “I’m saving the earth, I’m green and urban chic.” Everyday I bike the 3 miles to work thinking “Ha,ha gas at over $4 a gallon, stuff it.” And the ka-ching of my poor bank account roughly finds the rhythm of my pedals changing gears.

Of course the blue beauty needed a name and on a bike ride this week, I came upon the perfect one somewhere between Massachusetts and Pennsylvania Avenues. What’s a girl from Texas who cut her teeth on Carole King, Joan Baez and Janis Joplin supposed to name her bike?

What else, but Bobby McGee. Me and Bobby McGee.

I figured you’d approve.

Lots of Love,
Elizabeth

Gentle readers,
I don’t usually shoot blogs from the hip, which is probably why I’ve amassed the small number of 191 posts since 2003. I like to think, write and not ramble, want to offer tidy sentences that always wrap up like bright ribbons at the end

But on this the 29th day of the fourth month of 2008, I offer you a ramble. I’m a quarter of a century, folks, I’ve earned a good ramble haven’t I? And if you’ll ramble with me, I’ll promise at least one prettily turned phrase, I am after all a lover of language, of life, and as Blythe knows a Strongbow cider and the earthy atmospheres of pubs, or honky-tonks, or the pleasant café I sit in at this very moment in my new neighborhood.

Readers, the Big Bear Café offers you a large and furry hug, a gift of warmth. Take it kindly.

In faith, folks, I have a merry heart that keeps ever on the windy side of care. I’ve always tried to keep my face to the wind. And the wind that’s blowing lately is awfully good.

It is so good that I wish to use exclamation points! Several!!! As decoration! And for emphas!s in expressing excitement! And emotion!

Typically, I hate those baseball bats of expression, and wish to bludgeon those who use them excessively. But a 25th birthday seems appropriate to their winsome interjections of Wow! And Neat-o!

Here are some just for fun:

!!! !! !!!!!!!! !

Consider them party favors!

For today, I am remembering those near and dear to me, as I try do on my birthdays, and I’m raising currently my cup of coffee, and later my glass of wine, to you.

It’s so easy in this age of technology to isolate oneself behind the warm blue glow of a cell phone, or the disturbing appendages of ear-bud headphones, to be tethered at the hip to the umbilical cord of e-mail, and constant communication.

But the song sounds better if you share it. Take the ear bud out of your ear, wipe it gently on your shirt: offer it to a stranger, say, “I’d like to share this.” Don’t be alarmed if they run away, as any sane person would if offered something with a whisper of ear wax on it, just offer it to the next person, and to the one after that. Don’t you feel better already?

I know someone who got a picnic basket as a Christmas gift. And isn’t that a brilliant gift, a gift that says, “Go share a meal with someone, go out and enjoy the day, and share it. Don’t hideaway behind a book, or screen…Life’s waiting to be lived, and perhaps also loved.”

Life’s a together type of thing. This goes against the terrific individuality and rugged, aloneness of the American character.

I walked across the street the other day and met some of my new neighbors. They shared their jump rope with me. I tried to learn how to jump double-dutch. They turned and sang “Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around.” The rope flew over our heads, and under our feet, faster till the only sound was its click on the pavement, the slap of our shoes and finally a roaring laughter.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I drove out of Baltimore for good last Saturday at about 3 pm. I didn’t look back. I haven’t looked back. It was a time of searing trial, but I was not overcome, and now my feet are standing in a cooler place. Near more quiet waters.

King David, they say danced. And some people were embarrassed by it. But I’m of a kindred spirit. I’m taking off my shoes, walking barefoot in the grass, throwing my arms up, and kicking up my heels. Of course David danced, sometimes that’s the best way to say “thank you,” for what you’ve got.

I’m 25 today.

I am saying “Thank you.”

I’ve always loved old people, because I’m jealous of all that life they’ve lived.

(My computer battery’s on its last leg, can I beat the clock here? Fly fingers and thoughts!)

!!

Someday, I hope I’ll have a royal crown of gleaming white hair, like my grandmother’s carried, for they had rich lives, and that is what I want.

I’ll grab life by my teeth, and romp around with it, give a good shake. And when my head, if the Lord grants me that many years, is crowned with those fly-away whisps of white, I hope I will still be dancing barefoot and saying “thank you.”

I hope you will too.

I made a friend of mine laugh once on my birthday.

“Happy birthday,” he said.
“Happy birthday to you,” I replied.
“It’s not my birthday,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “But happy birthday anway.”

Things are better when they’re shared. That’s why Oreos are made to take apart and hand to a friend, why twinkies come in packs of two, why it takes two to tango, and two-step and a whole handful for a conga line.

So happy birthday, on this the 29th day of the fourth month of the year 2008. The world’s still turning under our dancing feet.

Happy birthday to you.

I have never been camping.

I have only been skiing once.

What am I doing this week? Thanks for asking. I’m skiing! And camping!

Going to REI to pick up warm socks and a violently purple pair of long underwear, was like embarking on an anthropological experiment. Who were these people in quick-dry shorts, hiking shoes and vests? Who were these children trying on hiking shoes? Why is that man running around the store?

But the gizmos, the gadgets, they enticed. The sleek headlamps, the enormous kayak with bag, the coils of climbing rope, the ready-to-eat lasagna in a bag – someone could spend a lifetime creating excuses to obtain these particularly useful things.

Fortunately, the outdoor-active lifestyle seems cost prohibitive to poor folk like me who work for non-profits. And the idea that I will not have to think of a reason to buy a camp stove is, frankly, a relief. I left the store with my socks, and underwear, and a coffee mug, which was admittedly an impulse buy.

There are many things I’m sure about in life. For example: I love the symphony, I believe in buying nice toilet paper, and I am not meant for the wilderness.

But in the name of trying new things, in the spirit of adventure, I pack my bag and pray that I will not in fact have my own Into the Wild, or Grizzly Man experience.

Of course, actually getting to the wilderness implies that I will survive my day of schussing down the slopes. Skiing, for those of you who may not know, involves putting on impossibly tight boots that render your ankles immobile, and then strapping large planks to your feet. Once this accomplished, two skinny poles are picked up for an indeterminate purpose. Balance? Stability? Increase of arm-flailing capability? After waddling to a moving bench, there is the long ride up a mountain, which is high and from which the only way down is on skis.

Unlike Tom Cruise, I have never felt “the need-the need for speed.” Unfortunately, that seems to be what skiing is about. My inner-speed is roughly set to tubing down the Guadalupe, anything that goes slowly enough to drink a beer has to be a good activity.

I know a woman for whom going skiing means taking a fat book to the lodge and sitting in front of the fire. This seems perfect. But at 24, I think I’m still obligated to give it the old, college try. Have I mentioned that when I fall at skiing, I find it nearly impossible to get up? I’m like a turtle on its back. Left there without aid it’s likely I would starve to death because of the inability to change my position.

So let's hope I stay upright on those unwieldy skiis, maybe my poles will help.

Here's March, roaring in like a lion..
Spring's on the way, and everything's right with the world.

I can see the Baltimore Harbor out my window. And I never thought about the word harbor much before I spent several Saturday mornings with a cup of coffee contemplating the view outside. Harbor, a place of safety from the sea's vicissitudes.

My Dad frequently asks me if my ship has coming in yet. To which a year ago I said, "It's not coming for another year," or "The only ship I'm interested in is the one that's going back to Texas."

I didn't know, truth be told, what the ship would look like. A little while ago I wrote that I was in need of a rebirth of wonder, and related also that I'd finally seen Baltimore as a beauty. Maybe those two things are unrelated, and maybe a dog didn't really wink at me in the elevator last Friday, and maybe my noticing a sign that said "Good Luck" was a funny coincidence. But this is what the Baltimore Harbor looked like from my window the day my ship came in, flying every sail and ringing every bell.

I've taken a job that will lead my feet out of this city. I'll no longer be neighbors with Poe's remains, I'll not go to sleep by the blue light of the Bromo Seltzer Clock Tower, nor watch the fireworks at Camden Yards. In just a short while, I'll never have to throw myself on Highway 40 West to drive to Edmonson Village where the children are waiting for teachers and food and love, and their own rebirth of wonder.

I know there will be more to say, eventually. And that as always it will be complex. But for now, I'll say this: When I first got to Baltimore, I dreamed of sleep. I wrote to friends and told them I wanted to visit them and just sleep. I dreamed of deep, dreamless, delicious sleep, that was so absent amid the work, and the overwhelming nature of it.

Yesterday, after telling my principal that I was leaving soon, I came home and slept the sleep of angels, so good that it nearly tasted crisp and cool. I'll sleep it again tonight, and I'm sure the night after that. And when I wake, I'll be, in some form or fashion, headed home.

I've heard it said that I haven't blogged in a while.
There are a thousand and 1 excuses - I will now list all of them:
1. It is winter and my fingers are too numb to type.
2. Spending vast amounts of time with 10 year olds has rendered me incapable of adult thought.
3. The hamster that runs on the wheel that generates power for my computer died.
4. My double life of teacher/super hero leaves no time to write - where's my cape?
5. I've been spending free time analyzing Joni Mitchell lyrics - "Oh Canada," indeed.

...

Enough? Didn't think I'd really write 1001 things...that would be a James Joyce move, and that ain't how I roll.

I read a poem once by Ferlinghetti, and it's refrain was "I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder."
That line lodged itself in my brain today like some well marked arrow shot from the bow of a better angel. I am in desprate need of a rebirth of wonder.

And still in all, I've got great peace in my heart and gratitude as well - I start my day with thanks in my heart, and close my eyes the same. There's peace in the day's labor, though the labor be not peaceful, but more like one of Turner's scrambled-egg seascapes.

I complained once about a lack of inspiration, that perennial malady of every would-be artist. A friend said that when there is a lack, you must make your own.

And lately, I've come to think that the core of your heart is truly what determines your reactions - there's not a new idea under the sun I know. But I've been carrying my peace with me, and that makes up for that lacking wonder in the dirty, dangerous, deviled hallways of my school.

...

There's no love lost between me and Baltimore. But last week I came over a hill to see the city bathed in the rainwashed sunlight that rides in on the storm's coattails. It made me catch my breath, as beauty should, and I looked for the longest time at the light that looked so fine and clean. It made Baltimore, ancient Southern belle with drooping skirts she may be, look new and young.

It was the light she stood in that made her beautiful.

Ain't it true for all of us. It's the light we stand under that gives definition to our features, that softens our edges, or deepens the shadows within us. It's the light we stand in that gives us our shape.

There's wonder enough in that thought to carry me through winter yet.

Well, Happy New Year to all. The year slipped in on nascent wings, as it always does, and to the clatter of pie pans from the front stoop and the barking of an old gray dog. And here we are in winter, but lo, my heart is happy for spring is on the way.

Here is typically the paragraph where I relate my concluding thoughts on 2007, and impart to you my hopes and dreams for 2008. But I'm passing on that delicious opportunity in favor of simply moving on. Who has time to dredge up the past when the future is so brightly inviting? Not I.

The old noggin's a jumble of thoughts tonight, so it's hard to know what will keep and endure and what will blow away like chaff, gentle reader. For example, it seems important to mention that according to anonymous sources the water in New York is what makes the bagels taste so damn good. It reminded me of hearing of English beers brewed with water from the Thames, and now the two facts are inexorably linked in my head. Chalk up one for useless knowledge.

Harder to relate, and yet probably more worthwhile is to tell of visiting the footprints of the World Trade Center in New York. And yet there's been so much said about it already, seems right to let it rest.

I've been reading the World War II columns of Ernie Pyle of late. I had an interesting conversation the other day in which the idea of "too young" came up. I am not a fan of the those words, feeling that my generation's managed to extend our adolescent dependence as far as we can go - myself included. After all, were we living in the early 19th century, at 25 years old we'd be past middle aged - "too young" looks different from that perspective. So I tried to think of all the things one could be too young to be or do.
I've known one person who was too young to get married, but that was by virtue of maturity and choice, not years.
Known folks too young to drive. Or be on their own. Or do any of the reckless things adults do. Still seems more to do with mentality then with age.
But I kept thinking about Ernie Pyle tramping through North Africa, and thought of old classmates of mine who have been to Iraq and home again. And that was the one "too young" I couldn't argue with. I think soldiers of all ages, will probably always be too young to go off to war, their husbands and wives and children always too young to lose them. A soldier is always too young to die.

It's 2008, this new born year is mewling at our doorsteps. We are still at war. There's a empty patch of skyline in New York. The kids in Baltimore and the kids in the Rio Grande Valley are still hungry and in need of more than what teachers can give. Gas is high and so is milk. There seems to be a coming return of the Cold War complete with nukes, and we've no Harry Truman with us now.

But I've got this crazy kindle of hope in my chest - that things are going to change and change for the better. We really haven't got a choice about the matter, if we let the status quo remain than we're in for an apocolypse of our own making. It's no false hope either, this crazy little flame in my chest, I think that just as we humans can destroy ourselves, that we can also figure a way to rebuild.

The fact of the matter is that the responsibility for change lies not in the marble halls of congress, nor in the house on Pennsylvania Avenue. Change lies not in the halls of Justice, or the cubicles of the State Department, or the angled corners of the Pentagon. Change, and the capacity for it lies in our own hearts: We the people must call for it, must demand it. We the people must be the change we wish to see in this country and this world.

So Happy 2008. Heads up, friends, to the rising sun. Stand unafraid and tall. Fear not. Go well. Stay well. And hope always.

Dear Mama and Daddy,
I talked with the birthday girl earlier this evening - what a pretty picture of her and Daddy and Jimmy and Nancy out to dinner with candles in their desert bowls. She reported that she thinks she'll only feel older when she sees a change in the mirror, and that she feels a lot wiser than she did on her ninth birthday, citing the fact that she knew the names and capitols of 36 states, as well as their nicknames, year of induction and abbreviation. Maybe before her 11th birthday she'll learn the other 14.
Today was the Christmas program at school - my second grade chess player performed "Jingle Bell Rock" with his class. In one section all the kids had to dance. He was very enthusiastic, jiving well until he tripped off the step. His lip trembled for a second, his enthusiasm dimmed, but he finished the song with a big grin. I told him he was the best one up there, and he was.
The fourth grade was positively angelic, I credit it this to the fact that some of them brought down books to read. Subversive, yet highly effective.
Folks, I'm ready to be home, ready to see something besides endless concrete and boarded up houses. And yet, there's something to be said for knowing that I'm making a difference here.
I particulaly looking forward to New Year's Eve. I've told people several times over the years that I would hate to spend that night a way from you. There's something powerful about our long tradtion of banging tin pie pans to beat in the year, and I wouldn't feel right if I didn't start the year by saying a prayer with my family. It sets the tone. I knew 2007 was going to be tough, and it has been, but there's been a lot of goodness too.
I feel good about 2008 though, Baltimore is more behind me than in front and I'm on to the next adventure.
I'll see you tomorrow, folks. Not the best writing I've ever done here, but it fit my 15 minute deadline. As of now I am G.T.T.
Love,
Elizabeth

A Developing story:

It's the morning here, clear and crisp and full of hope.

"A salesman is got to dream, boy. It comes with the territory." ~ Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman

All territories require dreams of some sort, and today starts the finding out of what does happen to a dream deferred. I've got my own suspicions friends, but we'll not delineate them now.

For now it is enough to know that I go with hope, it's all any one can do.

From the mouths of real, live fourth graders:
"Can we through Juan out the window?"

While working on a capitalization worksheet:
Student: I don't know if it should be capitalized or not...
Ms. Alsup: Well, what do you think?
Student: I'm just so torn, it could be.

Student, very excited: Ms. Alsup, I'm having an abolitionist day.
Ms. Alsup: Do you mean abyssmal?
Student: Oh yeah, abyssmal.

"Ms. Alsup, why do you have such high expectations?"

"Ms. Alsup, what is an expectation?"

Student, while reading: "What's goat droppings?"
Ms. Alsup: Show me the context - ah, droppings in the goat shed. Do goats live in the shed?
Student: Yes.
Ms. Alsup: What would goats drop in a shed?
Student: Oh

Student: Can we go to the bathroom?
Ms. Alsup: No
Student: Oh, that cruddy.
Ms. Alsup: Cruddy? What's cruddy is not getting smart.

And my favorite, an explanation of synonyms and antonyms:

" 'synonym' and 'opposite' are antonyms, but 'antonyms' and 'opposites' are synonyms."

What can I say, I work with some smart cookies.

Dear Mama and Daddy,
Supposed to snow tomorrow. Much as I hate the cold, there's still enough Texas kid in me to get excited for it.
The first time I saw snow was in Houston, it was the lightest dusting but still enough to cover the old Weber charcoal grill. I think we had an old black charcoal grill. Did I just make this memory up? It doesn't seem like it.
Then I wanted to play in it, and in a moment that is perhaps more indicative of my life's attitude than previously realized, we booked a plane ticket to Grandma's hill. Sledding, angels and snow cream. Sheer delight. If you want something bad enough, you find a way to make it happen. What an audacious thing for a Texas girl to say- "I want to play in the snow," but I don't think it occured to me that it wasn't a possibility.
One of my last days in Columbia, there was a terrific snow. I had to be on campus early and it was snow quiet. I met up with a friend and we had a tremendous snow fight, darting between the columns, leaving tracks through the snow pelting each other and yelling like banshees.
It's been some time since I've had a moment like that. I read a book one time where the character said he had "heavy boots," to mean he was weary.
Baltimore gives me heavy boots, makes it hard to remember playing in the snow. I've started untying these boots, and I'm getting ready to leave them behind for some sneakers.
I don't know where I'll land. I hope in D.C., I'm growing to love that city like I loved London, and that's saying something. Like to see the chess players in DuPont circle, like the folks riding the subway - teenagers, and college kids and people from the work-a-day world. Like the folks dressed to the nines going to a gala, like the guy in the Chinatown window making noodles. Like the Presbyterian church my friends attend - they even have a book club that reads Flannery O'Connor, clearly a place I could enjoy.
I guess that's what I'd like in the next place I land. I remember Dad, you wrote me a letter in London and said that I got my wanderlust from you, but someday I'd learn that you don't have to go far from home to have an adventure. I'll be honest and say that Baltimore was more of an adventure than I bargained for, and much more than I wanted. It'll take more than a minute to take these Baltimore boots off.
But snow's on the way, and the outlook surely can't be as grim as it seems. I'd better get on and fix dinner.
Love,
Elizabeth

Well friends, it's another week in Baltimore with the Light Brigade (see Crimean War, see Tennyson.) However, the balance of time has tipped and I'm looking toward the light at the end of the tunnel. And that feels awfully damn good.

A couple educational thoughts:
If we want to change schools for the better we've got to ensure that school principals are qualified and effective administrators and managers. Too often the emphasis is on them being superior teachers, but that doesn't transalate to being able to, in effect, run a small business. One of the downfalls of the industry is that there is little room for promotion, seeking an administrative role is one of the few ways to achieve a higher status and pay rate in education. Why on earth, though, would you want master teachers removed from the classroom in order to go to a job they may not have the skills for? It doesn't make sense - a recurring theme in education.

Furthermore, parents have got to realize that as consumers of the public school system they have power at the ballot box, among other places. Parents can be easily cowed by educational blowhards spouting off about all sorts of pedagological mumbo-jumbo. Parents are afraid to trust their common sense. At the end of the day, the parents need to ask "Is my child receiving an adequate education? Can they read intelligently? Can they perform basic math skills? Are they learning to think critically? Does their classroom sound well run?" Parents have the greatest power to hold teachers and school systems accountable, and yet they don't, fearing that their lack of an education degree makes them unqualified to question. Too often, schoolto parent relationships are disastrous and antagonistic, this is of no use to anyone.

And in another blow to teaching children not to fight, a parent walloped and bloodied a staff member at my school last week. The staff member by all accounts taunted the parent, and got in the parent's personal space and the parent wasn't having it. So now two adults whom children regularly see, a staff member and a parent, have shown these children that physical violence is an appropriate way to deal with problems. See above entry about effective principals and empowered parents: as a manager seeking to deliver a service to customers why would you cotton to an employee whose actions were in direct opposition to your mission, as a group of parents seeking a service why would you allow a principal to think that employing such a staff member would be appropriate? As we say at the Radiant, "It don't make no sense, no sense 't'all"

Today, I watched a kid walk away from a fight. He might fight tomorrow, or the day after, but today he walked away. That counts.

There's street and school, I say. What works out there won't work in here. So show me the people you want to be. You can leave the fourth grade ignorant or you can leave smart. Your choice. It works, the kids sit up straight. Even my little boys who fancy themselves gangbangers.

They don't think I know - about street, or gangs. And what they don't realize is that they know much more than I. When I asked C why he was talking 'bout bloods, he asked how I knew. "What, one of your family in a gang?" he said.

Every once in a while, much more often this year - things click in the classroom. And I catch a glimpse of why dedicated teachers choose this career. When I see my kids choose school over street, I know why teachers stay.

Poking my eyes out with the 2nd Ammendment:
I'm just watching a little bit of the Republican Youtube debate - it would be great if they debated, but it's like a competition where the winner is the man who can stay on message and mention multiple platforms - i.e. I believe in guns and having a mom and dad, while maintaing a fiscally responsibility government. Moms, dads and guns keep our borders secure - okay that might be a hyperbole, but it's not far from truth.

An Open Letter Home:

Dear Mama and Daddy,

“The North wind doth blow, and we shall have snow,” soon enough. The winter is bearing down, and as the city hunches its shoulders against the chill the recesses of my soul turn to a house opened to summer, ice tea on the table and that Alsup laughter which buoys up so much. How I wish to be telling stories with you all.

I went to church this week, and had the same thought I have nearly every week – “Train up a child in the way [they] should go…” and I haven’t departed from it. There was a family in front of me, and both the kids had a dollar to put in the basket, and I remembered when I would get a dollar to put in the basket. A whole month of Sundays have I sat between you, and it leaves a lasting impression upon me.

I was very cynical last week about my time here and my place here. I left college very much believing that the good you put into the world makes it just a bit better, any small act of kindness tips the balance towards a better place, so I thought. It’s easy to be disabused of that thought here in Baltimore. Some days it doesn’t seem like there’s enough good in anyone to change this city. Most days it doesn’t seem like there’s enough kindness to even start. There’s just too much brokenness and hurt; it’s hard to even begin to know where to fix that.

But the world doesn’t need another cynic. As a friend told me last year, cynicism is unbecoming. I return to what I know to be true – that I don’t know what difference I’m making, but if at the end of the day I can say that one kid in Baltimore left my classroom smarter, kinder, and more ready to use their brain then their fists, then I believe I can call that a good day. Maybe they’ll remember what I’ve tried to teach them longer than I expect.

I was thinking about all the towns in Texas that we’ve been through: Abilene, Amarillo, Parker, Austin, West, Lubbock, Houston, Corpus. Especially about driving out to Abilene for music auditions – whatever I expected for my life then is certainly not what the reality became. I couldn’t have imagined Baltimore, or this great compassion that my better angels encourage. If you had told me then all that would happen, I would have called you crazy.

But here I am down the road. Your wandering child with perpetually itchy feet – there only seem to be roads that lead me far away from those I love. I hope the road will circle back someday and soon.

A lot of my kids don’t have much of a recognizable concept of family, nor that they are representatives of their name. I don’t think there was ever a time that I didn’t know my name, or what you and Mamma stood for, what I was expected to uphold. Even now, I carry it with me. Hard work, concern for others, care for you family, sticking always to the right thing, deep integrity. Train up a child, and they’ll walk that good path.

It was a long day, as are all a teacher’s days. Up on your feet, no break, and it isn’t as though the children ever let up. They’re kids, they need a lot. We had chess, and then I tried to teach music at the rec. Three kids left me today knowing where middle C was on a piano, and who doesn’t know but that the knowledge might spur them to greatness. I sure hope it does – Baltimore’s got enough people to stand uneducated on corners, we could use some musicians. It was a full day of work.

I wonder at times what it would be like to commit myself to this city, to building a life here, working to beautify this ancient, fading belle. I admire the people who do, but I’ll be shaking the dust off my feet in 211 days. Whatever of Eliot’s mermaids are singing in Baltimore, they are certainly not singing for me.

I’ll move on what is sure to seem like greener pastures, and I will relish it. I’m hungry to beat the pavement again with a memo pad in hand, telling the stories of a community. I might not be able to change much inside a city school system, but I’m sure I can make people care about it, and maybe that’s the beginning of change.

Time’s drawing nigh here, a sliver of moon in the sky and all too soon I’ll be in my classroom waiting for the kids. And it’ll be another day where I start from scratch trying to make sure that each student leaves me a little different than when they came – Truly a work that’s never done.

Miss you as always, but know that I carry you close in my heart. Glad you’re my folks. Christmas is coming soon, and I’ll be beating a path home.

Love,

Elizabeth

I'm going to go on the record and say that today was a less than radiant day in the fourth grade.

I lost my voice in the middle of the day, a hoarse whisper was all I could do. Not surprisingly, it was difficult to control the 10 year-olds with the power of my mind.

But as a comrade of mine would say, "Ain't nobody die."

There's also a very annoying child in one of my classes. He's often absent, for example the last two weeks, and these leads to us forming a comfortable routine without him. He enjoys attention and drama. All this to say he was there today in all his, "come say it to my face, I didn't do nothing, at least I got a good body not like a hippo," and of course he cries at the drop of a hat, at everything

No less than three other children asked if they could hit him. One little boy tried to bargain it down to a pinch. Another little girl said she would just feel so much better. What was my brilliant, compassionate response?

"I totally understand, but all your life you'll have people you don't like, and you can't go around hitting them. The bottom line: We've got to make through the next hour and 20 minutes without violence."

Some kids are just annoying. And yes, I have tried to encourage this boy to be less so.

C'est la vie.

In other news Baltimore City Schools have abandoned their efforts at getting lead out of the water pipes, and is simply providing bottled water for staff and students. This after high lead levels were found at at least four schools.

Just another week in Charm City.