“Learning for the pure joy of building the imagination

and honoring students.”

I believe that is what education should be about.  I also believe that the standards can be taught in such a way to honor that statement; however the ridiculous amount of time teaching and assessing to the test voids that statement and makes it impossible to implement. 

I once taught at a school where that was the general philosophy of the school and as such the school was highly successful.  Teachers and students were free to explore the state standards in authentic ways while learning to love the process of choice in learning.  The belief was that the “testing” would take care of itself as long as there was active teaching and active learning in the classroom.  That was the case when test results came back.  Did every child meet or exceed the standards no.  But every single student showed growth over the previous school year’s testing score.  Growth was what we were looking for.  Along with the “official” test scores, teacher assessments were submitted three times during the school year in order to make sure students were on track.  No testing was not done on a weekly basis.  No testing was not done on a monthly basis.  It was believed that teachers had the ability to observe learning and modify teaching in order to meet the needs of each student without a computer test assessing the student in only one way “read the question, pick an answer”.  Imagine that.  The belief that teachers actually had the knowledge to do what they were taught to do; and furthermore were allowed to use that knowledge for the betterment of what was happening in their classrooms.  Nothing was “scripted” because teachers were believed to know what they were doing. 

Take the idea of “scripting” into other professions… do mechanics use a script?  What would that sound like; “after hooking your vehicle up to a computer for cars, your truck has the following issues.  Your vehicle doesn’t meet the weight standards of a car, your vehicle has a too many cylinders for the assessment of the machine.  Recommendations:  your vehicle failed the test for cars.  Your vehicle fails”… keep in mind that your vehicle is a four wheel drive truck that is made as a “work” vehicle.  It is made to carry a ton of hay; pull a livestock trailer.  Yet you get a fail… falls far below the standard.  Therefore as a mechanic I need improvement in order to better assess your vehicle using the same tool… or I lose my job.  Does that make sense on any level?  I know that is a far reaching comparison but I don’t think it is really that far off.  

Suffering is Always Due to a Lack of Love

I am studying a fabulous book by Sonia Choquette called Soul Lessons and Soul Purpose.  If she is an author you are unfamiliar with I highly recommend her work.  She is amazing... anyway onward

In this book there are soul lessons as she is sharing one of the soul lessons the idea that "suffering is always due to a lack of love" struck me as interesting and deserving of further pondering on my side. At first I was offended thinking I can live without love... but obviously this first flash passed quickly.  I have always had a pet for goodness sake talk about unconditional love.  So that being done it was time for some further review.  I then went about the idea of others loving me.  Having a significant other... hmmm... although at times I think that the love of such a connection was icing on the cake I realized that at times the suffering is very painful.  Short words, negative energy, body language all had the ability to send me reeling into an unknown emotional plane of self preservation - mostly that takes the form of quick and complete withdrawal (as I know as a 5 I am the peacemaker).  There have been a few times where instead of the flight I have chosen to fight. Always comical when I look back after time has passed.  Perhaps the silliness of my choices of fight relieved much of the negative energy.  Hence I decided that the suffering Sonia (I can call her by her first name because she is one of my new best friends) was referring to could only be related to self-love.

Now, the term self-love I was familiar with and hated.  There is a contradiction.  I would have to say that as long as I can remember that idea has bounced around in my head and found a way out my left ear.  I detest the idea of self-love - how selfish.  Wasn't our purpose to love all others?  After meditation and prayer I discovered that she was right on.  Without loving ourselves first - suffering is all that is left.  No matter what we try to put out in the world cannot be placed in the most positive energy vibration when it originates in a negative space.  Like attracts like - positive attracts positive, negative attracts negative.  Which led me to think about other things and energy.  I often feel negative energy of others very quickly and rush to find a way to either defend against the negative vibrations or completely remove myself from them.  This is a new thing.  I thought I always did so but as I'm learning more I am able to choose more often to live in a positive vibrational state.  I have realized that by loving myself not only is that a strong defense but also a universal gift I can give to others.

I have also learned that I don't need to engage in the negative energy of others.  I have the choice to disengage and walk away - a loving thing for both myself and others.  So yes self-loving leads to less suffering.  On to self-loving and the production of more positive energy vibration creating for myself.

He Turned 16 - Driver's License

My big boy turned 16 in February.  Today, on my 46th birthday he tested and passed his driver's license test.  How did he grow up so fast?  Sometimes I have to wonder if I was present the whole time?  Obviously, I know I was; but it seems as it went so fast.  

I remember the night he was born... stubborn and upside down they decided he would be born via c-section.  Bastards, cut his precious little face when they cut me to get him out.  Now that little tiny scare is barely noticeable but when I do see it I'm swiftly  transported back to the moment I first looked into his precious eyes.  I instantly knew what a gift the Lord had placed in my hands.

I remember when he was just crawling; which he didn't do long enough, so I pushed him back down like any good teacher would do.  He still can't believe that I actually did that.  Reading needed to be easier for him that it was for me... longer crawling = easier reading.

I remember his precious face when his sister first came home from the hospital and he held her for the first time.  He was so fascinated by her.  

I remember him building space ships on the living room floor out of pillows and blankets.  

I remember his first experiment with baby power, of course, how can anyone ever forget the cloud of white?

I remember him playing dress up and he and his sister dressed as faeries, living in a fantasy place that almost all adults stress no longer exists.

I remember him over flowing the pool and being afraid to get out of the van when we got home because his father had threatened to kill him.

I remember him playing in the mud by the roses as I planted more.  He always loved, loved, loved mud - still does, but don't tell anyone.

I remember forgetting my sun glasses and coming home to him getting a spanking with a belt because he was crying because I left. He was 2.  I found a new kind of crazy in my soul that I didn't know existed until that day.

I remember his 8th grade promotion and how handsome he looked. He had worked so hard in school and it suddenly all made sense to him that year.  Thank you, Mrs. Hale.  My gratitude is unmeasurable.

I remember driving on a flow trip and he falling asleep in the back of the van twirling Kelsey's hair.  How free and precious they both looked.

I remember coaching his first soccer team "The Leaping Lizards"

I remember his first day of kindergarten and the "I Love You" way to hold hands.

I remember his first asthma attack and laying in the emergency room hold him because they said I could.  I remember going back the same night 3 times.  I remember spending the night admitted.  I remember his fascination with the hospital bed when he woke up in the morning and all the rides we went on.  I remember coloring and playing cards.  I remember my relief when they sent us home.

I remember him getting his quad, riding his quad and yes crashing his quad.  I remember thanking the Lord all his parts stayed in tact.

I remember the first time I saw him kiss his girlfriend.  The rule of no kissing until you are married is unrealistic - who knew?

I remember the forts built, even still being built.

I remember the constant kindness he shows his little brother as they still share a room and the mess isn't his fault.  Patience I could only wish to possess.

I remember him soaking his face in the cold stream water on the day we climbed "Grandma's Mountain" to scatter his ashes.  One tough boy who walked and climbed the whole way.

I remember when we flew to Maine to see Uncle Robert and the pilot letting him into the cockpit.  His eyes wide with amazement.

I remember him sitting next to the river in Maine where we were all fishing.  A Grandpa and a Grandson stopped in a moment of time in my heart forever.  What a gift.

I remember Aunt Nancy turning him upside down and tickling him and his laughter that went on and on.

I remember holding him when he is sobbing crying.  Just as I remember him laughing and laughing.

I remember him crying and telling me I needed to stand up for myself... words of a 16 year old son to his mother - I learned that day that even he saw what I continued to allow to my soul.  Now I'm working on standing up for myself.  A gift he has given me - and an important moment that stopped my heart and filled my eyes with tears because I knew how right he was.

So many, many memories... more each moment that I sit and reflect... something to keep pondering and writing about.

Peace my son.  I love you with all that I am.

Libya - Friends

I have come to realize that a group of people whom share an experience, such as living in Libya, are forever connected.  Although those times are now decades in the past the memories are always simmering in my heart.  When I hear from someone I knew so long ago it is not just a "someone I used to know" connection... it is an instant heart connection.  Something deep in my spirit and soul that shakes me in some way.  I don't remember all the details of those days, but I do remember the people and the footprints they left that I still walk beside.  I wonder if they all feel that way?  Not necessarily in regards to me but in regards to someone that they knew at that time in their life.  When communicating it seems as if no time has slipped by, yes, we have aged but in a way that childhood connection is still there.  A stand by each other no matter what feeling.  The desire to instantly be next to someone in their hour of need.  The ability to give them a hug or hold a hand during rough waters.  The chance to hold them and say - it is alright to cry right now.  Those tears of secrets never shared or tears to be shared with the world because of the ache deep in the soul.  For some reason the touch of Libya changed us all in ways I certainly don't understand to this day... but they are good ways.  I don't much remember anything "bad" from those days of my life.  We lived where we lived and I cherish those days.  Even in such a country with some limits there were the childhood freedoms of playing and dancing and singing to one's own song. Perhaps more so there than if I had been in the U.S. during those growing years.  The cultural experiences so diverse and communication often beginning in something other than a shared language.

Yesterday I was told that one of my dearest friends from those days had passed on to heaven.  My heart stopped and skipped a beat.  It even took a moment for me to process.  We hadn't talked since I was a teenager when they had come to visit us in Wisconsin.  A few brief notes on facebook... but still in my heart there is a sadness that the world has lost a soul so few will ever know.  What a gift I was given and I grieve for the years that we could have shared but lost over time and distance.  Separation.  When we all left Libya there was very few ways to communicate long distances.  Calling was obviously out, no computer, all that was left was pen to paper... I can't think of many children then teenagers who valued the effect of a hand written letter from anyone.  How I wish it was different even then.  That connections with people were so strong it would be impossible to exist without communication.  The technological age has made that different; we can communicate more easily... but the magical touch of a hand written letter in my hand can never be matched.

Zoe, my love, thank you for the footprints you have left by my side all these years.  I'll miss knowing you are here.

Peace and love my friend,

Gretchen