Just Do Something

My mother gave Stephanie a plant for Mother's Day. A hibiscus with lovely yellow blossoms. It came in the usual plastic pot and needed to be planted along the fence, an operation requiring a spade, some soil, water, and a few minutes of my time.

It languished on our patio in the plastic pot almost a month. The wind kept knocking it over so by today only half the soil remained and the plant looked sad, a little desperate. I may be anthropomorphizing here, but go with it. 

I hadn't planted the thing because, though logic clearly showed it would be the easiest of tasks, it always seemed like something I didn't want to do right then. I would get to it later. 

Later and later it turns out. 

Tonight, I came to sit on the patio and the plant was tipped over again. More soil had spilled out. Its lone blossom looked like Sally Struthers begging me to help feed needy children. Alright, I told it. I'll plant you. 

It took twelve minutes from decision to putting the tools away. 

Last week I had trouble writing anything worth posting. I had ideas but no faith in them or myself and left each one unfinished. 

Nike says, just do it, but Nike cripples thousands and thousands of runners and bilks people for the right to wear the swoosh, so screw them. 

I just need to do something. Almost anything. Though you already knew this, I had forgotten it. Write something. Plant something in the ground or type it on the screen and see what grows. Just do something.

The Farthest Star in the Night Sky

for Ann Moore

My friend and I walk through the night. Winter is coming back. The night sky is clear, no clouds. The night will grow colder. We sip coffee. She knows the stars. I’ve been stuck on the Pleiades. That name. A constellation I knew as a boy. A picture on a page. A story. Seven divine sisters. The Pleiades, I say, to hear the sound and give it life. She points. There, she says. I count aloud one, two, three, four, five and six. The seventh is beyond our ability to see unaided. We walk under Orion. Taurus The Bull steaming at the snout. I ask, how far away is the seventh Pleiade. She says a number beyond my imagination. The night becomes colder. I was once told that each star is someone in heaven. A pinprick in God’s dome. She asks if I’m looking for my father. No, I say. He’s farther than the seventh Pleiade. The farthest star in the cold night’s sky. We hurry. The coffee is always getting cold.  
 

It Keeps You Running

I'm in no hurry to exercise. Sounds like the words of a fat man eating Doritos, watching golf on the television, but I mean it otherwise. I'm reading headlines about how to exercise in just eight minutes a day. I see things touting the benefits of high intensity workouts done in no time. There's this hurry to get exercise over and done. I understand. Many people feel rushed, overburdened, and that there aren't enough hours in the day. I feel otherwise. 

It wasn't always so. Years ago my job was an hour's commute each way. The drive and job sucked  the life out of me. By the time I got home, I wouldn't drag my fat ass to any kind of workout. My wife, who thinks about me as much as I do but more effectively, got me a Y membership and I began going there at 5:30 each morning before work. I could work out for a solid hour, shower, and still arrive at the job early. 

That hour felt good. Not just the workout, but the luxury of an hour to myself. It damn sure felt better than the job or commute. It was easy to get out of bed in the dark and go to the gym. I wanted that hour. 

I'm no longer at that job and my commute is short. The Y costs $1,000 a year and I don't feel like paying. Instead, I run and, as I said at the outset, I'm in no hurry. 

The other day I came home tired but thinking, I should go for a run. It wasn't the obligation of getting in shape or keeping some streak. I said "should" because I was feeling lousy and few things are as relaxing and rejuvenating as running by myself. I set off into the hot sun, in no hurry at all. 

I'm running according to Phil Maffetone's heart rate plan. I stay between 121 and 131 beats per minute. In the hot sun after a full day of work, I hit 121 within three blocks and, if I'm not careful I go up over 131 even on the smallest of hills. I have to run pretty damn slow. The goal is to burn fat instead of sugar because sugar has to be replaced all the time, but there's enough fat on me to keep going 'til Rapture. 

Along with not hurrying the pace, I'm in no hurry to finish the run. Moving slowly, I feel like I can run forever. Going out for that run, I told my wife I'd be back in an hour or so. She accepts that or so likely means I'll be an hour and a half. I went almost seven miles and would have gone longer except I was holding up dinner. I'm running six, seven, sometimes ten miles not because I'm in such great shape, but because being in nor hurry allows me to enjoy time for myself. 

It's a bit greedy, but I'm a better man when I've had a run. I'm happier, healthier, and more accepting of a slow pace. Think of it this way: what kind of family man am I if I'm always in a hurry? 

I still understand why people rush and think that they have to. I just don't want to hurry right now and have found that I don't have to. Running helps me remember that. My wife's love and support is the foundation of that. And my happiness is the result of that. I don't need high intensity workouts I can finish in eight minutes. I want to feel this happy for much longer. 

Final Exams In The Schools

I'm giving the final exam at school this week. It will likely bleed into some of next week too. That's why we start early. Our school requires a final as 20% of kids' overall grades, so it's a big deal. I use pieces of old New York State Regents examinations and have two guys here right now trying to do the reading comprehension part. Of course, neither is reading the passage on which the multiple choice questions will be based. 

Before the exam, I gave them advice about how to score well: Read the questions, then read the passage, and finally, cross out answers they know are wrong in order to circle the right one. Most of them skip reading the passage. I don't blame them, but try to talk them out of it. They say, I never read no passages and get like hundreds on these things. I nod. Wow, I say, that's great, but students in my classes haven't done that well with that method and so you might-- Nah, they say, I got this. They then answer three out of ten correctly and say the test is rigged.

Teaching is a series of largely rejected suggestions. I would be more upset if this wasn't also my model for learning. I want to figure things out on my own anyway even if that means failing the first seven times. For better and for worse, I'm suspicious of advice and other people's experience. I can't be surprised then when my students think I'm full of shit, nor can I say they're wrong. 

One guy here just started trying to read the passage. The other just asked me what sheems means. Puzzled, I went to his desk, looked where he pointed, and said, oh, schemes. He repeated my pronunciation. Oh, he said, then asked, what does that mean? It's in one of the questions, so I couldn't say but I said he might be able to figure it out from reading that part of the passage. He said, screw it, that's too much work, and circled answer three at random. 

The last two weeks of classes are like this. The end of the school year is like this. I want to think we have made huge advances, that kids have been transformed. As Hemingway wrote, "Isn't it pretty to think so?" They aren't transformed. Maybe they've learned a few things, but these are the same kids with whom I've worked most of the year. Kids don't change into what I want them to be. School doesn't work that way. 

They have changed though and mostly for the better. That one kid is still trying to read the passage. The other, well, he's honest with me and hasn't thrown anything in anger. We've only had one school year together and so it's wrong to expect transformation. I've been working on slow change for them and there's some evidence that they have changed. 

Thankfully, I've changed too. I'm not battling them much. I try to understand them a little more. Change is slow with me too and I don't feel that I have been transformed. Like change, learning is often just at the edge of what we can register. Teaching is mysterious. We don't really understand one or the other. What we do know is that final exams are largely exercises in wasted time. I go on through the mysteries of teaching and learning because what else is there to do? We carry on with finals because someone, somewhere clings to the idea that they have meaning, and that someone signs my paycheck. Good enough reason for me.