Bertie Merrigan Miller

More glamorous than any movie star- My father described her as a 'wow' mom, as in when she walked in the room everyone noticed. My beloved grandmother died this week. She was 93 years old and did not have a line on her face. She laughed a lot, she had an angelic soprano voice and she loved life. She was one of seven children, raised on a farm as the daughter of Norwegian immigrants. Her house was the first to get electricity in the village. She was a nurse, a musician, a mother, a wife, and she had tremendous influence on my life. She was a lady in every sense of the word, the epitome of grace. She moved to Colorado to watch my brother and I grow up, and for that I will always be grateful.
I was crying too hard to speak at her funeral, the words I was supposed to read blurred and felt empty, as I have not been in a Catholic church for a long time, I was surprised as the priest chose to speak not about dying, but about the power of love. I can believe in Heaven just so that I can know that she is there. If anyone deserves it, she does.
Some of the many things I remember about my grandmother.
She served real breakfast, with bacon and eggs and strawberry jam. She also did this strange thing where she put banana slices in a shallow bowl with fresh orange juice. This was served with a spoon, sort of like soup and the bananas sort of marinated and you ate each one like a treasure. She had scientific bird place mats, I would always look at the Latin and the little creatures and feel content that all things were categorized and thus order prevailed in the world at large.
When I walked in the house, my hair was immediately combed, and my part made perfectly down the middle of my head a la Marcia Brady with the other side of her elegant black comb. Lately I have found myself very concerned with the orientation of my part.
She caught me in a lie once, I was horrified at the severity of her guilt and never made that mistake again. Morality was paramount.
My grandmother wore gowns, not just dresses, but real evening gowns to balls. Even more exciting was that I got to try them on, and amid the silk and fur and sparkle feel like I was in a different generation.
She had her suits tailored and made just for her, I remember going with her and watching the ladies measure her tiny perfect waist.
She gave me a dress she told me was made for her to picnic in, what a glorious thing to have a dress exist explicitly for the magical purpose of a picnic. I wear it often, and it is eerie how well it fits me.
Her skills at making hors devours were legendary, and oh her pies. She was a woman unafraid of butter.
She taught me how to play cards, gin rummy was her favorite. We played for hours on end.
She let me bang happily away on her pots and pans, and since she was innately a musical creature this must have been torture for I have no such talent. Our favorite toy was a huge cardboard box, we even made little windows and doors and she kept it in the basement for us to play with.
She always had ice cream in the freezer. Mostly butter pecan, and bon bons. She let me eat bon bons whenever I wanted, and this simple fact was extraordinary.
She let me sleep in her huge bed with her, and I'd never experienced the combination of huge luxurious space coupled with a warm sweet smelling cuddler on the other side. I never wanted to get up.
She introduced me to musicals, and I was voracious for them.
She had the most wondrous marble bathtub, with a skylight above it and I used to soap up my little butt and slide from one end to the other. When I got out she would roll me up in fluffy pink towels and tell me I was snug as a 'bug in a rug' which doesn't sound appealing, but it was the best.
Our favorite pastime was walking. Little ponds and lakes dotted her neighborhood and we used to walk around them in loops, just talking. I wish now that I would have done less talking and more listening. This is a theme in my life I am realizing.
She had a certain shade of magenta geraniums in profusion on her back deck, and when I was younger thought she had somehow invented them, and they only existed there. They were always the exact same color. The smell of the leaves makes me smile.
Her nails were always perfect, mine mostly grubby. When mine are manicured ( for about 48 hours) I always think of her.
I will miss her forever, and feel so blessed that she was such a tremendous part of my life.
I love you grandma.

the wave of Web 2.0

I know that technology is the tsunami of the future, and I want to embrace it with open arms, but am wary of getting too much seawater in my lungs, not being able to surface and watching helplessly as the things I care about are swept away into oblivion. In this process I fear losing my humanity and becoming a Borg like in the old Star Trek. I know this may sound ridiculous, but I want to make sure that my life is not dictated by technology, I want to utilize it as a tool, albeit a very powerful, very useful tool. By definition this means sometimes it has to go back in the box. Otherwise what happens when there is a blackout? When our energy sources dry up? If we define web 2.0 as sites which advocate and facilitate open information sharing and streaming, it has enormous application. Blogs are amazingly powerful, as I have found out via this class, and as I mentioned previously I would love to use them in a creative writing class to engage the students in their own realm. If I were an adolescent today I know I would love to blog, to gain the freedom of getting my words and thoughts out of my head alone, but without the fear of judgment, as I would have probably done in anonymously. Facebook, a relatively new addition to the cyberworld, has already infiltrated every pore of our society, and I too, haven fallen prey to its lures. I want to know what my old friends are up to, I especially love the photos (karmic revenge), and the connections that may not have been made otherwise. I read that if Facebook were a country than it would be the 4th largest in the world, simply based on the amount of users. Wow, this would probably be even larger if more people had access to computers and the internet. While I bask in all of this connectedness, I am still hungry for its physicality. While at the Denver Museum, I was informed that classrooms can set up virtual interviews to watch Scientists at work in real time, and even be able to ask them questions and be a part of the process as they make actual discoveries and revelations. I love this, how likely would this scenario be otherwise? An example used was a group of third graders watching as a scientist unearthed a dinosaur bone, which was obviously a torrential hit. This being said, when we got to go back in the collection rooms, I cannot even put into words the emotions that coursed through me when I got to handle a narwhal tusk, spiraled and primitive like a unicorn's horn, so substantial, cold and tangible. I felt like Merlin awed by the beauty of nature and creation. This is the kind of experience that cannot be recreated in the virtual realm, ineffable and heavy. This is what I don't want to get lost.

Alderman & I ( getting explict)

For this course, our main text was named simply Motivation. This is a huge topic, since without motivation as an educator I have no way of getting information across to my students in any sort of meaningful way. The text did provide some very valuable structure in terms of ideas of actual implementation. It mainly supported many of the Constructivist ideas I had already been exposed to, but instead of a vague presentation of ideas, contained research and statistics to back up these philosophies and how to use them in the classroom. The Scientist within me rejoiced at these hard, organized facts! I wished I had the paper version, so I could scribble thoughts and use the "toolbox" at the end of each chapter. Some of my favorite ideas:
I really agree with the theory about how effective it is when we start by setting the standards at floor level, not ceiling, and creating smaller steps as opposed to more intimidating larger ones in order for students to experience success as they move towards higher self efficacy and goal achievement. I have been able to use this in my classroom as students keep track of their own reading in little notebooks, book by book. At first it seems like a chore, but when they see the final list (that I typed up) they beam with pride at it's length and depth. This has also been seen in all of the personal reflections that our school used as a means for self regulation and awareness. Instead of a teacher-centric conference the kids wrote their own reflections (three times a year) about each subject, what they liked/disliked about it, what they were looking forward to, and what they struggled with and then a clear outline of their short and long term goals. After I read the text, I realized all of the wisdom behind this process, which is surely time consuming for the student, but so valuable because it is authentic and they can track the path of their own learning.
I loved reading anecdotes about children (stories are always the highlight for me) who were told they could succeed, educated about the brain chemistry behind neural plasticity and the relationship of effort to outcome, who then surpassed their own past standards and arrived at new levels of engagement with the material.
This was perhaps the most powerful concept for me, this idea that the mere thought and suggestion that someone can do better, actually enables that process. I will be sure to emphasize this fact in all of my future classes, especially with students who have a fixed mindset about their own limits. In my own life, perhaps I will be less forgiving with myself when learning gets difficult and I have been known to blame it on my lack of ability. Now, equipped with this new information I realize that so much boils down to effort.
I adored Isennagle's (1995) speech about welcoming her students and when she discusses setting aside time for the cultivating of the spirit daily, I found that essential and beautiful.
In regards to teacher efficacy, when teachers truly care, and the students feel that internally, they do perform better. When we feel like we can affect change, we do. This echoes the ideas of manifestation I have reveled in. I have had instructors whom I admire and want to please, who make me want to give them my all, and once I begin down that path it slowly moves away from just the yen to please into a realm of authentic learning.
I also resonated with the ideas of giving feedback using individual comparison standards, as opposed to comparing students with their peers, as I think that it makes so much sense to treat each individual as unique as opposed to the entire as being homogeneous.
I have been exposed to Alfie Kohn before, and his ideas about doing things with children as opposed to doing things to them, is one I feel strongly about. I thought about vegetables, since normally they are presented as a sort of means to an end, and many teachers use education as thus. By saying "eat these and then you can have dessert", you are implying that vegetables themselves must not be very tasty in their own merit, merely something to endure before ice cream scoops. Education is all too often presented in much the same vein.
Intelligence is not fixed! These mindsets which do not see the potential for anyone to surpass their struggles and make strides are poisonous to all around them.
The importance of making mistakes as a critical part of the learning process was also emphasized, and I cannot agree more. Often I have made mistakes on purpose just so I can see their glee catching a spelling error on the board and then move to explain that we all have learning to do, that the process is never truly over. The more honest they are with each other about their feelings and emotions about learning the more they realize that many of them are in the same boat and that they can help each other in areas of struggle.
According to Alderman, even younger elementary age students were very aware of teachers treating different students "differently". I will try to be more aware of this tendency, as although is crucial to recognize diverse learning styles and teach accordingly I certainly do not want students to feel as if I expect more/or less from them than any of their classmates.
Above all, this text made me ponder my own awareness of all of these theories, as it is one thing to discuss the ideas and another beast entirely to implement them.

Ode to the Universe

I am not a very religious person. Sometimes I ask for things, usually addressing a particularly ripe moon or the darkness hanging wise and quiet above my head. I am used to working for everything I have, and the results always taste better. Beforehand I wrote about my missing little cables, then about manifestation. I have many desires, most of them lofty and wild, but I am passionate about photography and really wanted those cords. My fabulous brother in Colorado saw the blog, and sent me one of them to the post office in town, and that in itself is wondrous, attesting to the power of the blog. The package was like an airborne bubble, so light and full. The two postmistresses who I hold very dear, Dale and Daphne laughed when I clawed it open like a beast. This was enough to make my week. The universe had made dessert however...My home here on la isla is tiny 10 x 14', but so is my carbon footprint. Everything has a place, a nook, it is like living in a puzzle. It is a hidden house, a shed-teaux, lovingly built by my husband and me. Attesting that I do not need much in this world, so small that it is a secret. Most people don't know it exists, the entrance is through a section of fence painted like the rest of the fence, a bland grey like ashes. It is like the Labrynth, you have to choose just the right spot to swing open. There is no sign, no handle/doorknob, and nothing that resembles a doorstep. Just a rusty wagon I use to haul things to big to carry. So when Luke and I strolled home from the beach last week and he said "What is that on the wagon? Looks like a phone charger..." my kidneys leapt into my chest. It couldn't be, no one in New York even knew I had a blog, or what specific model camera cord I needed. Yet, there it was, perfectly bundled with a tiny string, sitting on my wagon. A tiny little gift right on my pseudo-doorstep. The perfect fit spooning from my Rebel to my computer. Where did it come from? Who knows, it is a complete engima, but I'd like to thank Conor, and the abundant moon, mango orange lately making shimmering pathways on the Atlantic for anyone who chooses to see them.