Thursday, December 29, 2011

Back (to reality)

It's been so long I forgot my password. It's also been so long I've forgotten family members, eight hours' sleep, and how the washing machine works (which explains why I've been dressing weird).

Between my last post and this one, I lived the life chapter, "Modern Dance School Director." 

I resigned two days ago. 

I'd say "It didn't work out," but it really did, in many ways. The students, parents and teachers were wonderful, and I managed to accomplish a lot in a short period of time: I reworked the school handbook from embarrassing to presentable, and changed the schedule format from awkward to useful; set up wi-fi and online registration; fixed an error that was preventing emailed billing statements; launched new classes and grew the student companies; produced school car magnets, staff email addresses, business cards, class cards, a blog; revamped a tired show into a fresh one; donated hundreds of dollars in props, costumes and music; changed the e-newsletter from a long, one-column thing -- replete with huge bold fonts and exclamation points -- into something readable; and, my biggest source of pride, convinced families who'd been on the verge of leaving to stay... and made them happy.

BUT, there's always a but. You just never know what form the "but" will take. 

I'll really miss it, BUT... in the end, once a chapter is finished, all you can do is turn the page.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Farewell Cards from Children


Some of the children at Lucy School made beautiful goodbye cards for me. I thought I'd share a few here.

Dear ms. monica,
Your stores are the best your singing is the best you dansing is the best to I love you mosv your the best music thr.
Kayla

Dear ms. Monica,
I like when you are my music teacher. And I really like when you play your recorder. Wut I willy like about your recorder is your voice.
Jordan

Dear Ms. Monica,
Thank you for being my music teacher. I love all the stories you did with us. I love the way you play the piano because it sounds butyful.
Love, Sophie

Dear Ms. Monica,
I love your stories. You are nice. so I wrote you this. (She sang the next part to me.) If I cold let you go. may be it will flow. butt I don't think so, not now, butt how.
Sincererely Anika

Dear Ms. Monica,
I love the way you sing, dance, and play the piano. You are the best music teacher in the worlde I know. My favort storie is statues. Good bye. Thanke you for everything.
Sincerely, Sadira

Dear Ms. Monica
It is the last day of the year for the your muosic clas. I hop you have a good life and a good year.
form Nino  thank you

... I hope they have a good life and a good year, too...

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Learning from Goofus School

Friday was my last day teaching at Lucy School -- the "Gallant" of my teaching career. I learned so much there.

But I also learned a lot from The Goofus School of a Performing Art, which I must remind you is fictional, because who could believe any school would be so incompetent?! (Any resemblance to an actual school of a performing art is purely a coincidence, and a very bad sign.)

As School Director of Kinetics Dance Theatre, I want to be sure I'm doing everything right. Since Goofus School considers Education People incapable of the fine art of Office Work, I have to question whether I really know what a stapler is for. Is my understanding of file cabinets completely accurate, or do I make false assumptions about them? Are my skills at typing up to par, or do I make embarrassing typso?

Simple decisions might SEEM to make sense, until I remember the Goofus School way. I must always keep in mind my complete lack of experience in Goofus School Administration.

Just three examples:

1. Online registration.
Kinetics doesn't have online registration yet, and I think it's important. As a novice, I found we can pay a service $15 a month, customize a few forms, and link our database of classes with a few clicks.

But The Goofus School has devoted three employees and four years to setting theirs up, and then gradually -- very, very gradually -- implementing it. Assigning this work to people with no expertise in technology gives it that unmistakably fresh perspective. Although the faculty doesn't use the system, they must be trained. Slowly. ("Here where it says name, the student types their name.")

2. Class listings. 
In my silly naivety, I am listing the classes we offer -- ballet, modern, yoga, etc.

But The Goofus School has developed a clearer way of listing lessons this summer. Simply list one offering -- "Ballet," for example -- and then group the rest under a "Non" heading -- such as "Non-Ballet." Why didn't I think of that? Maybe "Non-Jazz" will be big this year.

3. Fees.
I was thinking of going with the standard registration fee you find everywhere. But that shows how little I know!

The Goofus School charges a "$60 non-refundable withdrawal fee." It's $60 added on to your tuition, in anticipation of your decision to withdraw. You might think it'd make more sense to say, "In case of withdrawal, the school will issue a refund less a $60 fee," or something. But why do that when you can make people feel they're paying something for nothing? I'd never have considered it! That's why they're the experts.

Yes, I'm sure I'll keep the Goofus School model in mind many times over the coming year.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

What Asia Learned in Puppy Class

I'm so proud.

So Asia graduated the other day. How time flies! It seems like only yesterday she was a not-overweight, not-spoiled, not-crazy-haired little girl. I can still remember her very first "Oh my God what IS that I MUST have it!!" encounter with peanut butter.

But now she has an education. 

She's come to know the critical realities of Bil-Jac Little-Jacs liver treats.


Due to her "weight problem" (as the trainer politely termed it), she shouldn't have the "Liver Pate" allowed her puppy classmate. But she was allowed half of a Little-Jac for each "Good Girl!!" 

(How to make half of a Little-Jac: Take one Little-Jac from the bag, try to get your nail into it as if to divide it, attempt to press the crumbs that result into something you can squeeze between two fingers to make one "treat," try to get dog's attention away from crumbs that fall onto the floor.)

Asia took "Puppy Class" because she hadn't had prior training (as far as anyone could tell), even though she's likely over a year old. Her one classmate was an actual puppy, who started the class around Asia's size but, to Asia's growing annoyance, grew bigger over the six weeks.

What Asia learned:

1. The distinct sound of the Little-Jac bag opening and closing is something to get really excited about!

2. Check the floor for Little-Jac crumbles.

3. Randomly running around, sitting, lying, following, staying, etc. eventually leads to a piece of Little-Jac. Somehow.

4. When in doubt, sit and blink in irresistibly adorable fashion.

5. Puppies are just so totally immature.

6. Immature puppies who are bigger than one's self must be put in their place.

7. If standing on hind legs and waving paws in the air doesn't work, retreat to under-chair trench and prepare for major assault tactic.

8. Major assault tactic from under-chair trench: bark and growl in a soprano version of German Shepherd Dog roommate, successfully getting the trainer to glare at my human, the puppy and its owners to stare at me in a confused manner, and everybody else in the store to stop whatever they were doing to focus on me, and me alone.

9. Check the floor for more Little-Jac crumbles.

10. "Bye-bye" time is "I'm full" time, so no reason left to do anything the human wants. (And I get a car ride home for nothing -- saweet!)

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Health Insurance on $83 a day

My husband and I are those "small business owners" politicians love to pretend they support. And since they're so determined to protect us from the evils of "European-style socialized medicine," we subsidize our friendly for-profit health insurance company to the tune of $2,510 a month, before co-pays, meds, etc.

Yup, that is over $30,000 a year, for a basic HMO, for two non-smoking people.

(No, my new job won't come with health insurance benefits, either.)

We're looking at cutting it down by taking on deductibles, higher co-pays, higher costs for medicines, hospital admissions, etc. We might be able to get it down to about $22,000 that way. 

Pretty soon, my (ancient) husband can go on Medicare. But for people age 54 and under, which includes me, our politicians are talking about changing that, never mind we've paid into it all our lives. Well thank goodness they aren't socialists, right?...

Anyway, I just found out I'm going to need a biopsy. On the one hand, we're finally getting something for what we pay -- um, yippee? On the other hand, if I were actually to get sick, the friendly for-profit insurance company might decide to drop us, or at least raise our rates even higher. 

I think I feel sick. 

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Another Break from Not Dancing




You know the typical story of the young chorine who gets her big break when the star breaks her leg? Or storms off the set because the lighting isn’t right? Or runs off with the guy who always wears a tux?

Well my weekend was just like that! Kind of.

The dancer who had to bow out is actually the young one, while I’m the old less young one. And she just had the flu.

I’ve given up dancing onstage. I've given it up at least twice a year for the past ten years.  So I do need a break, but not the “Let me do the part!” kind. More the “Let me sleep til noon!” kind. 

I’d actually co-created this particular duet, five years ago, when I was less less young. But I was the part the not-sick dancer was performing. I didn't really know the sick dancer's part.

As we know, the older more less young we become, the more less good our memory is. (“So it’s leap, land, swivel, and turn to the right or the left?” “The right.” “Got it. Leap, land, swivel and turn to the – did you just say right or left?”)

“Just have fun with it!” everyone said, which is the standard thing you say when you know somebody is about to make a fool of herself. (Also, “The audience won’t know the difference!”)

The dress still fit, although a little tighter less loose than before. And in the end, it went okay. I just had fun with it. The audience didn’t know the difference. 

Then I RE-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-retired from dancing onstage. Until next time.

Meanwhile, don’t wake me before noon.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

My New Job


“You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, you just might find
You get what you need.” 
– Jagger & Richards (who may or may not have gotten what they need)

What I wanted when I was young was to work as a performing dancer. I had lots of encouragement from teachers, and in fact I had everything it took, except being completely healthy.  Besides, my piano kept calling to me.

What I wanted next was to work in music academia, just like my Dad. But that’s for people who go in one direction, not two (or more). How could I just be a musician, without dance? It’s all the same thing, to me.

Next I wanted to make my own way, taking roads less traveled to combine music and dance.  I know that thoughtful movement makes musicians better musicians, and getting music in their bodies makes dancers better dancers.

Along the way, dance kept coming back to me.

For instance, I’ve choreographed the theory of dark matter in the universe for a Unitarian Church, “The King and I” for a high school, and “Iphegenia at Aulis” for a Classical Theatre group in Georgetown. I’ve danced “The Arabian” in Nutcracker, a cha-cha for the Unitarians, and ballet for children’s audiences dressed as a lamb (minus the wool – this lamb was practically naked). I’ve taught modern to ballerinas, ballet to brats, and ballroom to some of the oddest people on earth at Arthur Murray’s on 5th Avenue.

Anyway, lately I decided it was time for a “real job.” Of course, this occurred to me right at the age when most people are thinking of retiring.

Maybe I’d go for that job in academia after all, joining the ranks of safe, comfortable friends -- as junior faculty, after getting my Ph.D, starting by writing a cookie-cutter essay for the geniuses of the GRE (grrr…).

Maybe I’d be an arts administrator, and sit at a desk wearing fabulous clothes every day – but my background doesn’t count as real work for jobs like that. (Plus there’s the whole shoes and pantyhose thing.)

Maybe I’d start my own school, which would put me in one place instead of five – but since I’ve been driving around the region, my footholds of students and supporters are also scattered all over the place, hours apart. (“Well, if you bring little Johnny after rush hour, it should only take two hours each way. You could be back home in time for the 11:00 news!”)

Then it fell into my lap – School Director of a small non-profit contemporary dance organization. So close to home I could walk, so my 15-year-old Honda should survive. No pantyhose or shoes! No getting fat, bored, or overly comfortable. No getting health insurance either – but I’m sure once I get the school’s finances up into the multi-millions, that will be no problem. (Note to self: play lottery.)

I’m taking over in June, and start teaching in August. That should give me plenty of time to get back my 20-year-old body, right? Okay, maybe the 30-year-old one? I’ll settle for one that can plie without sounding like a percussion ensemble.

Stay tuned!

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Birthday. Happy?


So yesterday was my birthday. You can fill in all the complaints about getting older yourself. EVERYbody complains about it. In fact, half the birthday cards you see in stores are one joke: "Haha, You're getting really OLD!"

(To the people who send me cards: Thank you for knowing not to send me cards reminding me that my body is going downhill, I'm not adorably young anymore, and soon I'm going to die.)

I like the saying that "it beats the alternative." You're lucky if you get to grow old. Like people walking a labyrinth, being young or old is simply a matter of being in different places on our journeys. 

But of course that's not comfort enough. There must be reasons it's all for the best to be where I am on the journey in 2011. Hmm...

1. There's Facebook, where lots of people -- many I haven't seen since I was adorably young -- wish me Happy Birthday. That wasn't possible before, and in the future people might be too busy playing with holograms (or something) to bother. That, or the polarization of rich and poor will have friends living without running water, let alone Facebook. Well, yay!

2. I am forever younger than Vivien Leigh and Eleanor Powell. I adored them as a teenager, but now I can look at their beautiful young selves and think, "Yeah but I'm still younger." Any day now, that's going to work for me.

3. In years past, people my age were on the verge of retirement. I'll probably never be able to retire. But that's great, because I'll stay active! And that will keep me healthy and happy, right?....  Right?

4. I'm a baby-boomer. I have lots of company. There's no way a whole generation of us could be thrown under the bus without adequate care in our old age... right?

5. Okay, well if the younger generations aren't able and willing to sustain the Social Security and Medicare we've paid into, think of this: they LOVE our fashions. Save everything. Our "how could I have worn this" is their "vintage." As long as eBay survives, so will I.

6. Now dark chocolate and red wine are good for me. (Take that, Vivien!)

7. Someday there will be a cure for wrinkles and pimples. But I get to have both. It says, "I'm not too young, and I'm not too old." For what, I don't know. It sounds good, though.

8. When shopping for clothes, there are distinct departments suited to one's age. An immediate reaction of, "Cute!!" interrupted by the realization that I'm not 17 anymore propels me into the next department. There I see "career" clothes, where fantasies of being chic and smart in some high-power position are interrupted by the realization that I work in bare feet most of the time. Off I go to the next department where the clothes are hideous, shapeless, but often 70% off. By the time I hold up a square-shaped t-shirt with daisies on it thinking, "Well this one isn't so bad," it's just time to go. This is all for the best because I save lots of money, which I may need later when I can only afford to eat cat food.

9. Besides, in generations past, women wore the only thing worse than pantyhose: stockings with garter belts. (I'm old enough to have experienced that horror.) And in the future everybody will be wearing those stretchy outfits like in Star Trek and Lost in Space, I'm sure -- and they look itchy. Ugly daisy t-shirts are better.

10. I remember the COOL disco dancing, not the John Travolta Wonder Bread disco dancing! The hip, funky street hustle was apparently such a rare, fleeting phenomenon that nobody else seems to remember it. (Somebody please tell me I'm not making it up.)

Yes indeed, 2011 is a great year to be on the edge of retirement age without being able to retire while wearing daisy t-shirts and dining on red wine, dark chocolate and cat food. There was never a better time. 

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Working with Dawgs


I've started doing some writing for Lesley. It takes some getting used to, so I have to think through every word at this point. But there's no pantyhose involved, and I can do it sitting on my couch with my laptop.

Unless the dogs are uncooperative. We have three -- the two above (Asia is the "baby," Doovy is the border collie) and a big, long-legged German Shepherd dog (Molly).

They weren't so cooperative this afternoon. It went like this (no exaggeration!).

1. Sit down on couch.
2. Remove Asia from lap.
3. Put laptop on lap.
4. Remove Asia from laptop. Place her on pillow.
5. Open documents to work on.
6. Note Asia is attempting to vomit, on pillow.
7. Move Asia to floor, where she walks around vomiting in various places.
8. Run for paper towels, water, soap.
9. Try to find where those various places were, cuz the rug has absorbed them. Scrub.
10. Sit down on couch, put laptop on lap, type three words.
11. Try (in vain) to stop Molly from barking thunderously at the UPS guy outside.
12. Concentrate. Try to remember where those three words were going...
13. Note that Doovy is doing the "need to go out" dance.
14. Let Doovy out, let Molly out, attempt to put the leash line on Asia.
15. Run after Asia through the snow with leash line in hand. Hook her up.
16. Back inside. Sit on couch, put laptop on lap, remember where I was, type the rest of first sentence.
17. Note Asia is barking urgently outside. Go out and unwind her from the deck furniture. Let her go back to playing with the other two.
18. Sit, couch, laptop, think...
19. Note that dogs are now barking to come back inside.
20. Let dogs in; unhook Asia.
21. Sit, let Asia sit on lap, put laptop on pillow, think of what to type next.
22. Note the freezing cold wetness in lap, jump up, get towel, wrap Asia in it.
23. Sit, laptop -- battery low. Find plug. Find outlet extension. Plug in.
24. Laptop, documents...  Note dogs lying down.
25. Type.

And I thought kids were difficult.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Please, No Flowers

Wrong.

I admit I'm a Piano Nazi. When I taught 34 piano students per week, I kept a tasteful folded card on the piano with the reminder, "Fingers only on keys, please!" That means fingers only go on the keys and nowhere else, and the keys only have fingers touching them, nothing else.

In other words, do not smear fingerprints all over the rest of the piano or scratch the finish, much less lean on the fallboard (which contains the word "fall" for a reason). Further, nothing is to be placed on the keys that is not a digit of a hand -- no elbows, noses, pencils, feet, etc.

I was looking through some stock images today and noticed the prevalence of flowers on piano keys. This has been around for decades, and it doesn't seem to be going away. I get the visual contrast of the soft and hard, color against black and white, and just the "Oh look, it's a flower on a keyboard," which might have been my reaction in 1980.

A Google image search will yield flowers of all colors, types, and states of decay. You can find yellow daisies, black carnations, and lots with old petals covering the keys. If you like roses on your keyboards, you're in lots of luck. (There are also plenty of images out there with other things on piano keys -- other instruments, animals, even spots of what's supposed to be blood.)

Speaking of blood, another image that's popular on posters are worn-out pointe shoes. When I look at that, I don't think "ahh," I think "ouch!" It's a romantic image, but after enough experience, it's just a reminder of pain.

Just as pointe shoes are for dancing, piano keys are for making music. I haven't met a pianist -- or anyone else, for that matter -- who tosses bouquets onto their piano keys, have you?

Well, I do have one confession about tossing things onto piano keys. I might as well tell you.

As an undergraduate student at Connecticut College, I spent most of my time in the dance studio. On the ballet days (as opposed to modern days), I took the advanced classes and accompanied the less advanced ones at the piano. The schedule was a sandwich -- take a class, play a class, take a class -- and it went from mid-morning to mid-afternoon. No break for lunch.

There was a cafeteria right downstairs. Unfortunately, unlike the schedule, lunch was not a sandwich, but a chef's salad, hold the meat. I would place this salad beside the piano as I played, and take bites when the instructor went into a long explanation of something, which was frequent. I could usually tell when he was winding down and got my fingers ready on the keys to await his call for the usual ballet preparation: "ONE!" (arms forward), "TWO!" (arms to the side). (Musically: chord, chord.)

On one occasion, I was munching away on my salad when suddenly, before I knew it was coming, I heard, "ONE!" I literally jumped, and spilled my salad all over the keys. I dutifully played -- chord, chord. Then I played an entire gavotte while tomatoes and hard-boiled egg halves bounced on the keys, dancing about with lettuce and bits of cheese, all slippery with oily dressing...

When the exercise was over, I quickly wiped the mess off with a paper towel, hoping no one would see. Fortunately, the piano keys faced a wall, rather than being in sight of the students, but I felt the eyes of some staff people...

People with skeletons in their closets are often the worst reformers.

Fingers only on keys, please!

And put the flowers in a vase!!!

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Goofus School Looks Ahead

The Person in Charge of Curriculum (PICOC) at Goofus School* is very important, very well-paid, and very... well, "slow."

Here's a quick look back at how Goofus School has been looking ahead.

2005 - PICOC: I'm going to take some time to look at the entire curriculum at Goofus to assess our offerings and how we can best serve our students.

2006 - PICOC: We're a year into the process of evaluating our curriculum, and we're about to begin the initial phases of a faculty survey to start to assess where we stand with the curriculum and where we want to go. We'll begin the process of creating the outline for a plan to start phasing in our early efforts in assessing the survey results to initiate the overview of the curriculum.

2007 - PICOC: We're making significant progress in our efforts to asses our curriculum as a whole and determine how best to serve our students. We've analyzed all the data and come to several conclusions I can now share with you. It seems our students a.) come to our educational institution to be educated; b.) dislike the classes that they dislike; and c.) enjoy things they enjoy. We're about to begin the first phases of planning the outline to draft the beginning of the start of a path toward an introduction to this project.

2008 - PICOC: We're on our way! I'll be looking at the curriculum as a whole to assess our offerings and how we can best serve our students, keeping in mind the result of the survey analysis of last year. We're going to develop this further this year, preparing to roll out the structure to begin the preparation for the first phase of an introductory outline to initiate the formative process we'll use to lay the groundwork for embarking upon assessment of our offerings and how we can best serve our students. But not until Spring at the earliest.

2009 - The PICOC is "let go." Finally!

2010 - Big Boss: This is a critical position! We're working to hire the best person possible. I'm not going to rush this.

2011 - New PICOC: I'm going to take some time to look at the entire curriculum at Goofus to assess our offerings and how we can best serve our students....

::sigh::

*As you know, Goofus School is fictitious, of course...

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Fashion, Darling!

There was a time when I was determined to make my own fashion, and be decidedly different from everybody else. I wore my Mom's shoulder-padded WWII jackets to high school in the 70's (before the 80's when the whole look was tragically ruined). I shopped vintage and super-reduced bargain places for the things nobody else wanted, and went to discos in NY wearing outrageous things. (I went home to CT wearing them, too -- that was fun.) Someday I will post pictures.

But you can pull that off when you're a young woman in a city where heights of audacity generally go unnoticed. (For New Yorkers, there's just too much to see to react to everything.)

When you're a middle-aged person in suburbia, it's a little different. I've still got a closet (or two) of outrageous "pieces," including buys from eBay when steals on 30's dresses, 40's suits and 50's "Lucy" fashions could be had there. But they languish in the dark now, since I can only fantasize about places to wear them. Now I get excited when my Kohl's peel-off sticker reveals a 30% discount. Wheee!! 80% Off Clearance rack, here I come!

("Did nobody else want you, you crazy little misfit blouse?")

But what's happened to audacious fashion on the runway? It used to be that even *I* would see the new fashions and call it all theatre. Something about this silhouette, or that color, or a certain match of the la, the dee and the da, will filter down into The Wearable. There's a level of Wearable that's still a bit avant-everybody-else, a level of Wearable that's way too safe, and then the level of Wearable that's so everywhere, why bother. (Unless you are a certain kind of middle-aged person in suburbia and you can get it for 30% off the 80% off the originally discounted 45% off. Then you MUST have it, whatever it is -- you can sew up something awesome out of it someday... or not.)

But the real couture high-priced snobby fashion shows are supposed to make you say, "Who would EVER wear that? It's ridiculous!! It's hideous! Nobody could want to look like that!" (Five years later something there has filtered its way to a must-have at Macy's.)


Unfortunately, in that regard, I think the 2011 New York Fashion Week has failed. I'm having a very hard time feeling shocked. I haven't even rolled my eyes at any of the photos. Check out the feature article on Yahoo, or see over 500 photos on the AP Slideshow.




Menswear from Tommy Hilfiger. Been there, done that. From Katherine Hepburn to Annie Hall -- this is still in my closet.





From Cynthia Steffe --  Adorable. Not new.





I love this from Marc Jacobs, but I could put together a good knockoff right now. And tell me about hats!! They were required until only about four decades ago. I hope they won't be the next "shoulder pads," distorted into something to make fun of later. If so, I still have my gloves. (Wait, what's that woman in front wearing?!)

But look! There are still a couple of new ideas.




Thank you, Thom Browne. Something I can't imagine myself ever wearing no matter how "wearable" that silhouette becomes. Boiled down to its essential lines, that is exactly the shape every middle-aged woman imagines her body becoming.





YES!! If I could be in a nursing home, visited by high school girls cheering me up with "hip-hop oldies," I want them to be wearing this.... and complimenting me on my incredible shape. 






Something tells me PeeWee Herman's career is over... Yeah I know, I mean even MORE over.

But the best thing there? The fashions for men.







Skirts, from Rag and Bone. Come on guys! I know it's been tried before, but it's time this filtered down to the Men's Wearhouse. We're about out of ideas for women's fashion. It's YOUR turn to be bold!

Go for it!!! 

Monday, February 14, 2011

A Few Words from Dorothy Parker

A book of Dorothy Parker's stories and poems lived on my parents' bookshelves, surrounded by all the impossibly intellectual ones. It had an inscription inside, in dark fountain pen ink, to my mother. The date showed it had been given to her at the end of her student years at Yale -- the same age I was when I first found the book.

The inscription alone was fascinating. "For Claire, A bitter laugh for a somewhat bitter time. - Philip"... Who was this Philip? What did the words mean? I studied the i's in both "bitters"wondering if either were actually an "e." What was this "bitter time" Philip shared with my mother?

I never found out, but I loved the book. I was then living a bohemian life in New York City, and indulging in tremendous, dramatic angst. I reveled in Parker's sense of self deprecation, self pity, and sardonic wit.  I started writing my own (awful) poems clearly inspired by hers.

Here's one by the divine Ms Parker that suits my mood lately.

Neither Bloody nor Bowed

They say of me, and so they should,
It's doubtful if I come to good.
I see acquaintances and friends
Accumulating dividends,
And making enviable names
In science, art, and parlor games.
But I, despite expert advice,
Keep doing things I think are nice.
And though to good I never come --
Inseparable my nose and thumb!

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Changing Education Paradigms

I can't recommend this presentation enough. It's an animation of a talk by Sir Ken Robinson. It's food for thought and fun to watch.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Goofus School's Top Ten Reasons Faculty Can't HANDLE Being Administrators!

Oh sure, institutions of higher learning may promote faculty to leadership positions, but what do they know? And maybe one reason Finland is beating the U.S. educationally is that their administrative leaders are all former teachers, but that's only according to the Organization of Economic Coordination and Development's worldwide comparison of educational success. The Boston Globe reports:

Educational leadership is also different in Finland. School principals, district education leaders, and superintendents are, without exception, former teachers. Leadership is therefore built on a strong sense of professional skills and community.

But everybody knows that Finland and Massachusetts are both infested with incompetent evil-doers, right?

Allow the Goofus School of a Performing Art to set the record straight. Here are the Top Ten Reasons Faculty can't HANDLE being administrators, at least at Goofus (where things are going great, really! Everything's fine!).

(N.B.: This does not apply to all administrators, just those at Goofus School, which is a fictional entity so any resemblance to an actual school is purely coincidental.)

10. Administrators at Goofus School must occasionally handle sensitive all-faculty communications, including "Parking Lot Announcement," "2 Free Tickets," and "Copier is Broken." Inexperienced former faculty might become confused and send mass emails trumpeting "2 Free Parking Lots" or "Copier is Tickets."

9. Since faculty are excluded from the Goofus Annual Gala, they don't understand that it takes at least a week to get ready and another week to recover from the hangover. Their inexperience might cause them simply to "get dressed," with no prior planning for avoiding mismatched shoes and garments worn inside-out (not to mention the possibility of punctual return to the office).

8. As the person with the Most Important Job in the School knows, it takes years to figure out how to use punctuation as this requires attention to detail and superior skills in communication which the leadership team feels is generally speaking not a true priority for concern due to the current economy as things are difficult and also the critical shortage of commas and the budget restrictions on periods this year.

7. Administrative work at Doofus School is exhausting, requiring stamina developed through years of practice. As novices, Education People would find it difficult to repeat the word "No" over and over again, day in and day out. It requires muscular strength and can interfere with tooth whitening. In addition, there are physical challenges in the aerobic work needed to spend countless hours running away from risks, responsibility, and accountability.

6. Our administrators know how to sit at desks and type on computers.  Former faculty might sit on the computer and type on the desk. Instead of pushing paper they might err in favor of pulling paper. Rather than making copies, they might copy makers... or something. Really, anything could happen.

5. Our administrators attend meetings, requiring them to note meeting days and times on a device called a "calendar," then to remember to look at this calendar, and ultimately not to forget where they're going and why as they walk down the hall en route to said meeting. As newcomers to these challenges of time, space and memory, Education People might end up walking around in circles, dazed and confused, completely unaware of their surroundings.

4. Administrators at our school need to work in a high-stimulus environment without becoming distracted. On occasion, small people called "children" get into the school's lower level for something called "classes," and behave in immature ways, even creating much noise. It's very difficult, and while the administration has done its best to eliminate as many of these "classes" as possible, the problem continues.

3. Only experienced administrators have the right professional polish. This includes selecting a business-like cartoon font in a bright color for emails, which are always best kept to one sentence (complete or incomplete); finessing delicate social communications including complaining, criticizing, gossiping, lying, slandering; and adopting the appropriate condescending attitude to dissuade The Education People from coming upstairs. (They only make trouble.)

2. Teachers tend to think of Doofus School as a "school," rather than a business. Sure, we include an Education Department, but that's just one thing we do! We also have offices -- lots and lots of them -- with desks. Faculty don't understand desks, paper, staplers, or the business mindset. That's why we only rely on people with business mindsets to make our hiring decisions, as they hire more people with business mindsets (if any), and that has been working so well.

1. Our administrators know how to get the faculty to trust and respect them, making them all delighted to work there!

Does this annoy me? Yes.

Do I notice the trend for people to ask themselves questions and answer them? Yes.

Do I think it's an effective technique for conveying information? No.

Is it, in fact, incredibly annoying to me? Yes.

Do the people who do it realizing it's annoying? Probably not.

Do I think it's like nails on a chalkboard? Yes.

Do I think this way of speaking will end anytime soon due to the fact that I can't stand it? No.

Friday, February 11, 2011

The Goofus and Gallant of Schools


Remember Goofus and Gallant? The magazine Highlights for Children featured these two characters to illustrate proper behavior through contrast. For instance, “Goofus eats his peas with a knife and cuts his tongue.” “Gallant eats his peas with a fork.” (It’s kind of a no-brainer since Goofus is bleeding profusely.)

This is a great technique for contrasts in various contexts. For instance, Politics: “Goofus is caught having extra-marital affairs and his career is ruined.” “Gallant is caught breaking international law and earns the Medal of Freedom.”

Parenting: “Goofus gives in when his kids say they want to have a beer party at the house.” “Gallant makes the kids say ‘please’ first.”

Work: “Goofus gets advanced degrees in music and becomes a renowned expert in his field.” “Gallant has a job. With healthcare benefits.”

(Who’s cynical?)

I’ve been thinking about the Goofus and Gallant of Arts Schools. (Any resemblance to actual schools of the arts is purely coincidental, of course.) 


Gallant School shows appreciation for its faculty by showing respect, listening to them, and supporting their work.

Goofus School shows appreciation for its faculty by saying in biannual speeches that they appreciate the faculty. Also, M&Ms on Valentine’s Day.


Gallant School holds weekly meetings for faculty to share ideas, brainstorm, and create integrated plans.

Goofus School holds two meetings a year to talk at the faculty, with no interdepartmental faculty discussions.


Gallant School is run by artists with expertise in education, human development, curriculum, and current research.

Goofus School is run by administrators with expertise in sending email, making phone calls, using copy machines, having meetings, whitening their teeth, and paying themselves lots of money.


Gallant School’s leaders have offices in open loft areas, mingle with the classrooms, and are always available to students, parents and faculty.

Goofus School’s leaders have offices on a separate floor from classrooms, maintain an upstairs/downstairs divide, and state that they have no reason to speak with parents or students.


Gallant School views itself as a unified whole where everyone is involved in its purpose: education in and through the arts.

Goofus School views itself as corporate entity with lots of offices. There’s also a separate Education Department inhabited by The Education People.

(Gallant School: It’s a school. Isn’t everybody in a school “education people?”)

(Goofus School: You wouldn’t understand. Go back downstairs.)


Gallant School keeps up with educational news, frequently sends teachers interesting articles to read at home, and continually strives to improve quality.

Goofus School keeps up with gossip, frequently sends teachers notices that the copier is out of order to read at home, and continually strives to keep things exactly the same.


Gallant School says, “What are you thinking? That sounds wonderful! Let’s make it work.”

Goofus School says, “What? Are you thinking? That sounds impossible! We tried it before and it didn’t work.”


Gallant School continues to grow, serves as a model for teacher education, and embraces the challenges of change.

Goofus School continues to groan, serves as a model of what not to do, and is challenged to figure out why things don’t change.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Annoying Ads. (Annoying Ads! Annoying ADS...)

Pet peeve for today: Ads with people repeating key phrases.

Such as:

Person One: It makes me crazy!
Person Two: It makes ME crazy.
Person Three: It makes me crazy.
Person Four: Crazy.
Person Five: Crazy!
Person Six: It just makes me crazy!


I HATE that!! It truly makes me crazy. Obviously, they've got a certain phrase in mind that they want to get stuck in your mind.

How would that work as a print ad? Underline the phrase six times, add "to the 6th power," put an arrow with instructions to "repeat in different voices and inflections?"

There must be some reason these ads are for the best. Hmm...  They teach you to endure meaningless repetition! No doubt that can come in handy for anybody these days.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

I Love Lucy (School)

Imagine dragging yourself into work in the morning, coffee in hand, mind somewhere else. You walk in the door and find yourself greeted with cries of "I love you!" and hugs that nearly knock you off your feet. If you work in an office, you might wonder what's in everybody else's morning coffee. But if you work with young children, love and appreciation are often among the greatest perks.

It's not something found everywhere, though. Every school is a community, each with its own unique culture. They're shaped by the people who guide them. Their clarity of purpose, personal knowledge, and relationships with everyone involved create the climate for everything that happens within the school.

I'm very fortunate to work in a wonderful school envisioned and directed by an extraordinary person. The Lucy School is the creation of Dr. Victoria Brown, an innovator in uses of drama as educational experience. There's a lot I could say about Vickie and her work, but for now I'll stick with how it all works at Lucy School, from my own observations.

The first thing a visitor notices about Lucy School is its campus. Situated on a 17-acre, 19th-century farm in western Maryland, the school's learning environment includes a pond, gardens, nature trails, and of course, unique playgrounds.

The renovated barn has classrooms without doors, offices in open lofts, a cozy circular space in the silo, a central open space, and my favorite, a tunnel to crawl between rooms, with a special little room along the way. It's clear that a lot of thought went into creating a child-friendly physical space, and my first reaction to it was longing to be three years old again, to experience it all as a child!

The new "green" building is registered with the U.S. Green Building Council for certification under the LEED (Leadership in Education and Environmental Design) program. The construction of the building was used as a learning experience for the children, and principles of environmental responsibility are practiced daily at Lucy School. The building has solar lighting, toilets flushed with rainwater, a rooftop garden, bamboo and wheatboard cabinets, cork floors, and easy access to the outdoors from each classroom. (More here.)

But it's what happens in these special spaces that makes Lucy School most unique. As an arts-based preschool through primary school, the curriculum is, of course, based on the arts -- but not in the sense of performing, nor in skill acquisition alone. The arts are a vibrant vehicle for personal discovery, development and learning on a deep, visceral level.

Drama work taps into children's innate predisposition toward "make-believe," considered key to the symbolism of written language. On other levels, the story-centered processes at Lucy School involve multiple dimensions of education. These are not "plays," but meaningful journeys created by the teachers for the children to experience. Pretending naturally creates a deep level of engagement, along with a buffer of security, for children to explore genuine experiences -- sensory, cognitive and emotional.

Further, each child's individual growth comes from collaboration with their peer group. Teachers challenge the students to solve problems together throughout -- from brainstorming ideas to carrying out various tasks. These skills then carry over to discovery, inquiry, methods of measurement and analysis, and project work in relation to math, science, and other areas.

In fact, social skills -- the relationships between self and others -- are a key educational component at Lucy School. From the earliest ages forward, teachers devote a great deal of care to instilling concern for community, respect for others, and personal responsibility. These may seem heavy for young children, but they are essential elements of human existence children do confront continuously, on their own levels.

At Lucy School, for example, the youngest children quickly learn to manage their own belongings, to remove and replace their own coats and shoes as necessary, and to spread, refold and replace their own blankets for rest times. When conflicts arise, the children are taught to speak to each other to express thoughts and feelings, offer apologies, or otherwise communicate in order to reach resolution.

The lessons of personal responsibility extend to the basics of survival, as well. For example, Lucy School children know that food doesn't grow in stores. The gardens and kitchen allow them to plant, tend, reap, and prepare food for themselves.

My first impression of the children at Lucy School was that they are extraordinary in their normalcy -- that is, they are perfectly what children simply are; they are thoroughly themselves. This may seem simple, but it is in great contrast with most children I've encountered in my many years of teaching. 

If human beings are metaphorical onions, I think influences in our modern upbringings create multiple layers of coping mechanisms, beginning at very early ages. The more "civilized" we are, the more energy we may expend as adults trying to peel back and unravel all those layers. In my experience, these layers weigh upon the majority of children I've encountered, and have fascinated me as a teacher. 

The children at Lucy School tend to be pure in this sense. What they think and feel is nearly always clear and directly evident in their actions and words, rather than buried or distorted in other behaviors. It is rarely a mystery when one is sick, anxious, tired, overwhelmed, etc. Moreover, their teachers know them so well and respond with such skillful intuition, it seems as natural as breathing. 

(I can ask, "What's up with Mary today?" and a teacher might reply, "She's got a new baby brother at home," or it could be more complicated, such as, "She's wanted to sit near John all day but he moved away to sit near Fred so she got upset and flung herself to the floor which caused Jane to step on her hand by accident just before we came to music, plus she had a rough morning from being dropped off late... So she's just feeling a little overwhelmed right now.")

I am privileged to be the music and movement teacher at this wonderful place. Beyond everything I've already said, the classes are small, there is always a teacher (or two!) with me when I teach, I feel appreciated and supported, I learn from the teachers and children continuously, I can experiment freely, and since Lucy School is also a center for teacher education, I not only enjoy having people come observe from time to time, I've also moved my own two-week summer teachers' institute there. (Instead of dorms, teachers can stay in the school's historic farmhouse, with a view of the mountains.) 

The sense of community, respect, and individual value taught to the children is there among the faculty and administration, as well. We meet together on a regular basis to share plans and generate new ideas; there is a sense of cooperation and collaboration, rather than a great hierarchical divide between teachers and upper "bosses" or lower "office workers." 

The primary administration of Lucy School is essentially one amazing, super-organized, effectively diplomatic woman who manages to enforce deadlines in the nicest ways possible. She dances out of her office just as I'm walking toward the exit chiming, "Monica!! Whenever you have the chance, anytime before you leave today, if you could create a few sentences for the newsletter, it's that time again and I'd really appreciate it!!" She does this in such a way that you can't imagine *not* doing it, immediately, without feeling like a beast.

There's much more I could say about Lucy School, and I'll come back to it in a different way soon. For now, consider it a beacon of light in my anti-bummer blog, much as it's been a source of optimism for teachers in my classes. "Wow!" one man exclaimed, after hearing a brief description of Lucy School. "It is just so encouraging to know that there's progressive education happening in the United States!" 

Yes, it is. It's encouraging every morning to walk from my car to the door of the Green Building, and to hear those voices resonating from somewhere on the grounds: "Miss Monica!" "Look, it's Miss Monica!!" "Hi, Miss Monicaaa!!! I love you!!!!"

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Bummer of a Blog

So far, my blog's a bit of a bummer. My first post pointed out some of my inadequacies, and my second post pointed out some more of my inadequacies. Sorry. (I'd write funny things, like Lesley, if I were adequate.)

However, I've discovered why it's for the best! I just read a Time article, "Misery Has More Company Than You Think, Especially on Facebook." Apparently, posts detailing the happy parts of people's lives can make their readers feel worse in comparison. Ergo, maybe being a Debbie Downer provides a beneficial effect! 

You're welcome. :)

Other things that are actually for the best:

1. Getting a terrible score on my GRE writing test. This brings me back to what I should be doing anyway, while saving me money.

2. The indescribable stink suddenly emanating from my darling little Shih-Tzu. I don't know what happened, but it's surely for the best. It's helping me establish a healthy distance from her, before the special bonding experience of trying to give her a doggy bath.

3. Numerous tree limbs snapped off from heavy snow, surrounding the house. The chopping, stacking and hauling will be good, because we need some exercise. 

4. The embarrassing pimple that's erupted amid my wrinkles. It's a good reminder that I'm not really old yet. (Old is always 10 years older than me, so that my husband is forever old and I'm forever not.)

5. All the really horrible things going on in the world. No, there's nothing that makes them for the best, but they do give us the obligation to keep our little problems in perspective.


Sunday, January 23, 2011

I'm just copying Lesley.

My sister Lesley has fantastic blogs. She has one about life in general (My Turn to Talk) and one about politics (My Turn to Rant). At least at home, she probably had to wait her turn because I was hogging the floor. She was the quiet one, the perfect one, the funniest one, and I still think, the most talented one.

In our nightmare of an elementary school, we were all the quiet ones. We learned to wait, hands folded, for permission to speak, eat, or move. It was a place and time when real cruelty to children was accepted. It was also a time when boys and girls were treated very differently.

Our school building was so old, the words "Girls" and "Boys" were etched into the stones above the two symmetrical stairways parting the main entrance. I wished for those distinctions to be enforced, humiliated daily by the boys' taunts as we climbed the staircases, clutching our mini-skirts to our legs.

Dress codes forbade us from wearing pants, so frightened were the grown-ups that we might develop so-called "confused gender identities." At some point, they allowed us to wear shorts on gym days, but only under our skirts. (Gym days were a wonderful relief on the staircases.)

Above all, we were treated differently when it came to the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Girls were not invited to answer. This was a question posed only to the boys; only their raised hands would be recognized. I learned by kindergarten that my options were to be a teacher, secretary, nurse, or ballerina. Of course, ballerinas are the prettiest, so that was a no-brainer.

By the time we got to our (dysfunctional) high school, anything other than an aspiration to get married and have children meant being a "career girl" (said in the way you'd say "worm soup"). Since we grew up on (literally on) the campus of a women's college, we knew the path led toward becoming a "college girl." But after that...??

Both of my older sisters, Karen and Lesley, were Merit Scholars, Phi Beta Kappa, perfect SAT scores -- you name it. With welcome mats at major universities, they both chose unexpected paths -- for Lesley, it was the fun-sounding Kalamazoo College. But after she got her degree, she got married (what?), then she got pregnant (OMG!) then she quit grad school (how can she conquer the world that way?!).

I thought the object of this game was to be The Best at Something. Who knew what -- we never had guidance counseling about actual vocations. ("You want to go to college? Well, there are some catalogues over there. Good luck!")

I steered my decisions based on regrets I might have on my deathbed, imagining them to be some professional goals I didn't achieve, due to not trying hard enough. ("This is killing me" was no excuse, as long as I was still alive -- no matter how miserable. "I will not regret this on my deathbed!!")

I'm not on my deathbed yet, but I am eligible for AARP. And what I regret, as usual, is not being more like Lesley. Nobody ever told me I might someday wish I'd had more children. I never thought about marrying a man who was, well, generally normal. Basic stability never seemed like something I could afford, in my quest to do the hardest possible things in the hardest ways possible.

We did end up a lot alike, though. Neither of us set out to be where we are, and both of us are still wondering what we'll be when we grow up. We both live in suburbia, with husbands and (relatively) adult children. We've both found enterprising ways to work independently, free of bosses and pantyhose -- anathema to Dale Girls. 

But recently, Lesley embarked upon a job in an actual office, where she gets to dress like a grown-up! I've gotten close enough to imagine myself in a Serious Wardrobe, with shoes, even. But as it is, shoes are optional -- I teach dance/music classes, and work at home, writing. I stroll wistfully past the nice clothes in stores en route to the usual "activewear" (which work equally well as inactivewear, I find), fantasizing about a normal schedule, reliable salary, and of course, healthcare benefits.

Lesley and I both keep learning that bosses are a lot like our elementary school teachers, but worse. At least in school, being the straight-A, stellar standard, over-achieving, perfectly polite, hands-folded student means the teacher gives you a report card recognizing it. In the work world, though, it seems bosses prefer the C-students. 

I think I'll just see how it works out for her.