Thursday, October 20, 2011

and sometimes it is like the Police. . .

and every little thing [you] do is magic.

Do you see how I plan these entries strategically? I spare you the weepy Wednesdays, the Tear-my-hair-out Thursdays (one day I did actually pull out a few strands of hair in frustration), La Llorona / Moaning Myrtle / banshee on craic imitation days. I spare the reflections to future teachers - "don't do it! run the other way!" - and neglect to attach the furious e-mails sent to loved ones of my futility in this profession.

Because, as Donald Barthelme says (I just re-read "The School"), "You needn't be frightened (though I am often frightened) and that there is value everywhere."

These few days' value:

N.B's burst of inspiration, as strange but as brilliant as the "fitful flame of the bivouac" (on our Walt Whitman day)
J.C.'s beautiful poem, "Blighted," and his beautiful Patch of Ground and his beautiful symbolic drawing he brought to class just to show me.
My muhanna (a Zuni word meaning excelling / being kind in all) cheerleader K.K. smiling and giving me the thumbs up from her full tribal regalia during our homecoming parade.
C.P. consistently turning in evidence of her brilliance as a writer and her dedication to motherhood.
A.B.'s face lighting up like Sha'lak'o flames when I showed her just HOW excellent her essay on O. Henry was.
M.C. laughing with me when I suggested ways we could make her "Jersey Shore" article more school-appropriate.
My sophomores exclaiming that, today, class was SO FUN! These are the same who text constantly to check in on homework and also to invite me to go dancing with the class at the Zuni Community Hall.
My veteran colleague leaning over conspiratorially today and saying, "They really like you, you know?"
L.W. telling me quietly but earnestly that she loved her Emily Dickinson poem, "There is a Solitude of Space."

Today the air smelled of smoke; last night, of the silence of stars and roasted corn. It's a lovely place, here. It's a lovely place.

Over and out.

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