Of Cell Phones and Other Conveniences

There is a lot about modern technology that I don't like, mostly the cost of it. Cell phones, telephones, computers, air conditioning, dishwashers, refrigerators, microwaves, DVD & VCR's, CD players/stereo systems, and cars. There's so much you have to learn to work the things, the inconvenience and uselessness of having them when there is no power, or the times when you can't get a signal, combine to make one wonder what did I ever do before I had one of these?

I remember washing dishes by hand, and towel drying them before putting them away. I remember hot and humid summers without air conditioning. No one had air conditioning when I was a kid, at home or in their cars. We just dealt with it, and dressed accordingly, and paced ourselves a little better.

I can't remember when we didn't have refrigerator, so I'm not that old, but I do remember when microwave ovens were only in the imaginations of science fiction writers.

I remember rotary dial phones... I have to admit, the pushbutton variety are a great improvement, especially with the added re-dial feature, and the message machine is a nice bonus for the person who is away from home every day.

The 8-track tape player in the car was a short-lived hot item once upon a time, but when it first appeared in our cars, it was the greatest thing next to the car radio! I still don't have a car CD player, and I don't have a DVD player for the backseat kiddies, probably because I don't have any backseat kiddies. I have a DVD player and a VCR player in my living room, and three CD players in various rooms of our home.

I am not a stranger to technology. I have never had trouble learning how to use any of it. Generally, I have been resistant to accepting something new because of the cost, and because I know it's one step closer to being controlled by my environment. But, once I've gotten over the initial newness of it, I can't imagine what I would do without it.

I remember in 1981 when we bought our first dishwasher. It was installed brand new in our brand new home. I didn’t use it for three weeks because I didn’t want to admit that I was finally becoming part of the “better off” population. I had been proud of myself for doing without new things for so long. I was pleased with how welived within the limits of our income. We had used cars, we paid for our own wedding, we scrimped and saved every dollar that wasn’t needed for living. We stayed home on vacation days to save money. We had very few possessions by the time we moved into our new home even though we had been married nearly six years. We had our three-year old son, a dog, a stereo, TV, refrigerator, dishwasher and dryer, some books, dinnerware, pictures, tools, and our clothes. The necessities.

When we moved into our new home, something changed, at least for me. I was better off than I had ever been before, and instead of celebrating that time in my life, I could only think about the rest of my family who was not better off, who were still scrimping and saving, and doing without. Having a “nice” house at last did not make me feel good about myself. I resisted using the new dish washer because I didn’t deserve it. How could I have a dishwasher and know that my mother was washing and drying her dishes still? I don’t remember when I started loading it up with dishes, but at some point, my husband eased me into the practicality of it, and, besides, we had it so we might as well use it.

I have come to rely on technology in my life, at home and at school, and appreciate the time it saves me, allowing me to do other less dreary kind of work, like read, draw, work as a teacher, and research on the internet, among other things involving relationships. Besides, I am controlled by my environment, and so how is one more new technological item going to lessen my quality of life?

I'm speaking of cell phones specifically. I don't own one, nor have I ever owned one, and I don't plan on owning one. However, this week, if it wasn't for a little technological feature that my husband had installed on our phone the day before my mother called me, I would not have been able to call my mother to find out how she fared during the storms that blew into central Georgia Monday.

You see, when she called me Friday to tell me she was safe in Georgia, she also told me her new cell phone number. I didn't realize until I hung up that the number she had given me was only the area code and the last four digits. I was missing the middle three digits. I couldn't call her back. Just today I mentioned to my husband about the mis-stated phone number, and he said all I had to do was check the numbers of who called recentlyon our phone.

"When did we get caller ID?" I asked. "A few days ago." So he checked the caller ID list of recent callers, and sure enough, there was my mother's phone number. I was able to call her, and found out that she is safe in Georgia, and will be returning to her RV at the campsite in Gulf Shores, Alabama. She had called her landlord there and found out that only one RV at the campsite was blown over, but hers was okay. She will be headed back to her temporary Alabama residence tomorrow.

She assured me she would try to set up a PO Box so that friends, family, and checks can be sent to her by mail.

I am not proud of my dependence upon technology. I'm not ready to ride a bike or a horse to work, and I don't think I want to trade electricity in my home for candlepower and kerosene lanterns, nor do I want to take cold tub baths instead of hot showers. I'm sure I would not benefit from washing my clothes in a barrel of rainwater, so I'm not going to give up my washing machine. I like flushing toilets and dishwashers, and microwave ovens. Also, the computer has opened up a new world that I only discovered in the past few years, that of the great, invisible web of connections around the world, and I'm not giving that up either.

The consequence of all this is that I have to pay for what has become, in my mind, necessities, things that other people in other parts of the world live without and would probably call indulgences.

Journal Name Change

You aren't imagining it. I did change the title of the Journal. I still have the ant farm, but there are other things to write about now that school is in full swing.

Of the Hurricane, Independence at 71 years, and Mother Teresa

Several things are on my mind before I turn it over to lesson planning for the week: Hurricane Katrina, my mother, and the teaching of our pastor this morning.

I haven’t been watching the news during the past week due to my attention to school. When school starts, and often throughout the school year, I have a very narrow focus. During the school year, my life is categorized into two broad areas: school, and not school. Five days a week, I devote and dedicate my time and energy to matters related to public education including lesson planning, parent conferences, staff development workshops, student academic and personal needs, curriculum, behavior management, and any paperwork that is necessary to complete a student’s education program. Oh, yeah, and teaching. The other two days a week I combine resting and church activities. Sunday is officially my day of rest, but sometimes I rest on Saturdays because spending three hours on Sunday evenings planning for the week hardly counts as rest.

So, when my mother called me yesterday afternoon to tell me she was alright, and back in Georgia, I didn’t know for sure what she was talking about, and I paused for a moment to consider her words. She continued with the news that the hurricane was heading for her new home place at Gulf Shores in Alabama, but she had driven to Georgia until it would be safe to return. Her voice was heavy with worry. She didn’t think there would be anything left when she returned to Alabama.

I told her I was glad she was safe, and hoped her worse fears were not true, and we talked about other matters. She was in her home, a temporary arrangement for that matter, as the bank has claimed the unpaid mortgages on her home, and she must be out of it by end of September. My mother is seventy-one years old.

She is an energetic, alert, and active woman for her age. She is stubborn, and fiercely independent now that she is alone. My father died three years ago this week, leaving her with heavy debts that were unintentional, but no less damaging in their impact on her present life. She is flexible in the way she deals with life’s turns, blows, and challenges. When she gets knocked down, my mother gets right back up and moves on. Nothing stops her from moving on, and nothing sways her from her strong faith and cheerful attitude that “Everything is going to bealright, Bea.”

Her children are not happy with the turn of events in her life, and have tried to help out financially, as much as any of us could. The dilemma is complicated by the fact that she lives so far away from me. My brother in California wants her to come live with him and his family of wife and two daughters in college. I have offered the same in my home. My sister in Georgia also has offered a house to my mother for a rent she can afford.

But my mother refuses us all, and I can’t help but think of her as the rebellious teen-ager, running away from her family so she can start her own adventure. She doesn’t put it into those words when we talk about what she is doing, or why, but she is clear about one thing: she does not want to live with her kids just yet. She is not helpless yet. She has her health. She has her dogs, and she has a male friend who is old enough to be her son, young enough to be my younger brother. He is living with her, she says, to take care of her, more like a friend than an adult offspring, and she takes care of him, more like a friend than a mother. I believe her heart is open to something new happening in her life. They are the oddest of couples, but in my family, no one is laughing.

I cannot with proper respect discuss the details of their friendship, but will say that my mother has always took in strangers into our home, letting them live with us for a day, a few days, a week, or longer. These were people she met through her various jobs as she went about her daily life. They sat at our dinner table and slept in our beds until they could get back on their feet. More than once I gave my bed up for a stranger, someone who had been evicted from her home, had no place to go, and I would sleep with my sister. We didn’t mind. We knew we were doing something good for someone. My father also brought in airmen off the base who needed a family for Thanksgiving dinner or to be with at Christmas. My brothers and sisters, and myself, never thought anything unusual about it then. I don’t know why we do now.

She doesn’t have the money to support herself properly, and that is our concern. At the age of 71, my mother is going against the norm of her life, and shocking us all. Her children react in different ways from, anger to denial, to acceptance. We all have promised to provide for her, we’re all ready to take her in and give to her what she sacrificially gave to us all of our lives, but she is not ready to be dependent on us. She is fighting it with a vengeance that troubles some of the youngest family members, her grandchildren.

There is one aspect of her situation that complicates everything, which is too complex to write about here, and causes the most concern, but it is something that is out of our control, and in her hands, but mostly in His hands. We have to trust her judgment about the character of her house friend. We don't want her to get hurt in the course of her autumnal adventure, but I know that life is messy, and we sometimes get hurt searching for what moves our hearts. My mother knows this, too, and she is okay with that. She sounds happy, and her only concerns are financial. She prays to God every day, and she is sure that He is taking care of her. I can only hope that this is so. It is the prayer of my heart, as well.

This morning’s sermon at church gave me goose-bumps. Our pastor was talking about finding Jesus in unlikely places. Citing scripture (Romans 12:9-21), and the movie Places in the Heart, he reminded us that God is among us where we least expect Him. My arms chilled and my stomach fluttered, I think, because only this morning I had opened my St. Anthony Messenger issue and read an article about Mother Teresa. Mother Teresa believed and taught that “we meet Jesus - not a reminder of Jesus, not a symbol of Jesus, but Jesus himself, face-to-face,”  hungry, thirsty, unclothed, longing for compassion and love. I can think of many people in these places of the heart, people as far away as Zimbabwe, and as close as Alamance County. They don't have to be standing on the side of the road holding a sign asking for a job, money, or food to be recognized and counted as one of the needy longing for compassion and love. They are here, among us, our neighbors who live in another neighborhood, who shop in the same stores we do, who have to pay outrageous gas prices like we do, and who try to kick their bad habits, just like we do. I   haven’t always responded to them as though they were Jesus. But Mother Teresa did. We are called to do the same.

I close this entry with my mind and heart on the great storm in the Gulf Coast that has forced evacuation of the people in those areas, and sent thousands of others into public shelter on higher grounds...and of my mother who wonders what she will find left of the new life she had hoped to start in Alabama.

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#1 “Mother Teresa's Hunger for God” By David Scott. St. Anthony Messenger, September 25, 2005 (http://www.americancatholic.org/Messenger/Sep2005/default.asp).

Of a Tea Shop on State Street in Greensboro, NC

Photo copied by permission.

If you like to drink tea or coffee, hot or iced, this entry may be of interest to you. Today, accompanied by a few friends, I stepped into a shop I had never before visited.

Carolina Coffee and Tea, in Greensboro, North Carolina, is a quaint little café tucked away in a quaint little part of the city, at 400 State Street. I had never heard of the place before, but in the pursuit for my preferred hot beverage, I decided to check it out, and my friends and I were pleasantly surprised.

Not only is the café stocked with a great variety of whole bean coffees from all over the world, but their supply of tea, loose and bagged, is equally impressive. The aroma of coffees from Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, Zimbabwe, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Mexico, Nicaragua, Brazil, India, Jamaica, and Italy tempted the olfactory nerves. A colorful array of tea packages bore exotic labels from England, China, and Japan. There were the usual black teas, herbal teas, and the clean Green teas, but also the brown Oolong Teas, and the rarest of teas, the delicate and subtle White tea.

I love drinking hot tea. My husband says I enjoy the idea of drinking tea more than the drinking because I seldom finish a cup. I attribute this to the fact that I sip tea slowly. I hold the tea more than I drink the tea. I relish the warmth of the tea cup cupped in my hands, especially in the fall and winter, but also early in the summer and spring mornings. By the time I get to the bottom, or even half way through a cup of tea, it is cool, and by then, I no longer require the drink. The first few sips, perhaps even half the cup, are all I need to get started in the morning. For my evening cup of indulgence, I select a non-caffeine tea like White or Oolong, and sometimes Earl Gray.

Tea is light and undemanding. It calms and relaxes, even when it has caffeine. Dark teas, in my opinion, require cream or milk and sugar to enhance the flavor and texture of the drink. I adjust the amount of sugar by the strength and flavor of the tea. For generic, any grocery store variety black or orange pekoe tea, I will add about two teaspoons of 1% milk and a half spoon of sugar (not sugar substitute). For the White or Oolong, I might add honey or sugar, but no milk. It is all a matter of taste.

I started drinking tea when I was about five or six years old. I know this because that is when my father, an Air Force serviceman, was stationed in England, and during the three years we lived there, I remember every morning my mother made hot tea with lots of milk to cool it off for her kids. There were four of us old enough to hold our own cups by then, and a baby. I don’t remember if she poured the tea into mugs or cups, but my guess would be cups. She would steep it in a teapot, just like the ladies of England, and she would serve it with our oatmeal and peanut buttered toast for breakfast. I think she started making tea because “everyone in England” drank tea, and, when you acclimate to a culture like military families often do, like we did, we began drinking tea. Not only drinking, but enjoying the tea. When we returned to the States, I was in third grade, and our morning breakfast ritual of peanut butter on toast, oatmeal, and hot tea with cream and sugar continued.

I don’t know if my brothers and sister still drink their hot cup of tea and eat their peanut butter toast, but to this day, it is one of my favorite go-togethers.

Back to the tea shop I went to today... the little courtyard behind the shop, enclosed by trees and shade plants, invited us to come in and sit down. We could have been in Italy or France, or even Charleston, South Carolina. It did not feel like Greensboro the City. Inside, the mixed aromas of coffee and tea begged for our attention, so we ordered our drinks from the menu. I was surprised that I had ordered a coffee drink despite the fact that my initial intent this afternoon, when I set out, was to enjoy a cup of tea.

I am not writing this to sell anyone on coffee or tea, as most folks already have their favorite morning beverage routine, or to plug a café, although this I am certainly doing because the hour we spent there talking and browsing was relaxing and friendly, but to note that for awhile, I learned about the varieties of tea (while drinking my coffee, I might add) from the owner of the café, Robert Hedrick, who graciously answered my questions, which I’m sure revealed my ignorance of the subject matter. Remember, I said I liked to drink tea... I didn’t say I knew much about it. In fact, he learned from me what I liked about tea, how I preferred it (with milk and sugar), which teas I had already experienced, and what I wanted from the drink. From what I told him, he was able to recommend a robust dark tea from England. And because I enjoy the ritual of making the tea, he showed me several items that would enhance the process. There were tea cozies, tea pots of various styles and color, tea cups for every hand size, Japanese tea sets, accessories in silver, ceramic, and stoneware. There were coffee mugs and brewers and other related paraphernalia, but I didn’t even look at them. I finally selected a bag of loose English tea, Yorkshire Gold, and a brewing basket in which to steep the tea leaves.

He also explained to me that when steeping green or white tea, one must start with hot water, but not boiling water, and with oolong, black, and herbal tea one should use boiling water. Steeping times vary with the variety of tea, and all the teas come with instructions for the perfect cup. Generally, steeping too long will result in a bitter, unpleasant taste. He suggested that if I wanted a stronger tea to add more tea leaves rather than steep for a longer time.

After we finished our drinks while sitting at the wrought iron and stone-top tables at the Carolina Coffee and Tea shop, we thanked the owners, and left out the back door into the country villa courtyard once again. We spent the next hour walking from store to shop to store that lined the street in this little community of what appeared to be renovated and remodeled homes. It may even be an historic district, judging by the age of some of the homes. We browsed in an art gallery, a consignment shop, an antiques shop, a couple of ladies clothing stores (one for plus size women), an eclectic shop with candles, incense, music, and other meditation aids, and a gift shop of accessories from around the world.

I will go back to State Street and the Carolina Coffee and Tea cafe, but first, I have many cups of tea to drink. If you happen to be in my neck of the woods, come on over for a spot of tea!

Of Being Tired, Second Graders, and Prayer

I am tired, and do not have much to say except that I am tired. The first two days of school wore me out. What am I going to do next week when we have five days of school?

The truth is, I'll feel better next week because by then I will have gotten into the routine of going to bed by 9:30 or 10:00 pm rather than staying up past 11:00. I heard other teachers saying the same thing: that they were not getting much sleep, either because they are not going to bed early enough, or because they go to bed early but can't fall asleep thinking about all that needs to be taken care of each day.

Many of our teachers have young children and/or infants to take care of when they get home. I don't know how they do it. My child is grown and living on his own. I know I could not have been a teacher and raised a child. I am often mentally exhausted when I get home from school, and need the down time to rest and rejuvenate. I know a mother of young children or babies does not get much rest. If she does, she has a very helpful husband at home. I admire our young teachers. God bless them each and every day.

When a few second graders came into my classroom today for reading, one of them, who had already seen the ant habitat, told the others about it, then they all wanted to see it. I knew I had to take it out and show it to them or I would not have their attention during that class. For five minutes we talked about ants and their tunneling habits, and I answered their questions.

Second graders are an interesting group of kids... they already think they understand the things of the world, and are not afraid to announce what they know. They have a trusting nature, and feel pretty safe in their world. Their questions are endless, and honest. They want to know why people do the things they do, why animals and insects act the way they do. In fact, they already have an explanation for everything that moves.

I understand why Art Linkletter would put them in front of his camera and ask them questions about their parents. They always had such funny, and often insightful, answers. Today, one of the boys wanted to know about a bug enclosed in acrylic, setting on the top shelf of my bookcase. I told him it was a preying mantis. He said he had never heard of those. Another boy immediately responded with, "They are big, and poisonous, and if they bite you, you will die." He  spoke with such authority and certainty. I asked him who told him that, and he said his grandmother. I assured him that preying mantises found in North Carolina were not poisonous, and that it was against the law to kill one. He shrugged his little shoulders and said, "I told her they wasn't poisonous, but she didn't listen to me!" 

A friend of mine emailed me a reminder from another teacher who cannot get through the day without prayer. I agree. I could not get through the day without taking a moment to be silent and still, and I do mean a moment, in which I send a breath prayer out to the Lord of All Creation, and feel its return to my heart, assuring me that I only need to walk one step at a time, one day at a time. Though I am tired, I am not weary for I know that all I need is given to me each day, and I don't ask for any more than that.

Of Changes and the Importance of What I Think

Today was the first day of school, and though my schedule still needs tweaking, I think that by next week, we will be settled in our working routines.

It doesn't seem appropriate any longer to call this journal Ant Farm Analogies, although I do have the ants in my classroom. My focus has shifted, as it should, from the amazing ants to my amazing work.

I spoke to a little kindergartner today after she had completed her first day in school. I work with her mother, also a teacher, and the child was waiting for her mom to come back to her classroom. I asked how was her first day of school. She told me all the wonderful things she did today with excitement, her eyes wide and alert as any healthy five year old can be. "We danced, and sang, and played, and made art, and had fun today." Then she went into details about her visit to the library. "We went to see the lady in the library, the lady who owns the library, and she let us look at all her books." I thought that was so cute. I've got to tell Nancy about that one... the lady who owns the library.

Today the kids learned of our expectations of them, and the rules, and learned that we are learners together, learning with them. Teachers, yes, but learners first.

We want them to be respectful and caring people. We want them to take care of their things, their books, their classroom, their school, and by the time they are adults, we hope they will become just as caring for the earth that grounds them, feeds them, and inspires them. We want them to read, and write, and solve problems in their heads and on paper, but more than that, we want them to understand community, and living together with others, whether they are like themselves or different. We want them to regard their words and the effect of their words on those who hear them spoken, whether spoken with compassion or anger. We want our children, the future caretakers of our world and of us, to value life, to honor their elders, to think beyond their little circle of friends and try to see things from another's point of view. A little compassion can go a very long way toward making peace between two people, two families, or two nations.

Academics are important, and it's convenient to evaluate a person's achievement and assign a grade to it, but let's not forget the achievements that often go unrecognized. Being a good citizen, responsible, dependable, trustworthy, fair, kind, and compassionate are all good qualities that we take for granted in others when we see them. For some kids, it is all they have going for them right now. And for some kids, it is all they will have when they graduate from high school.

We are building citizens here and now. These are our future neighbors, pilots, doctors, nurses, policemen, teachers, engineers, entrepeneurs, writers, bakers, mechanics, restaurant service personnel, cooks, electronic engineers, recreation directors, entertainers, landscapers, food producers, songwriters and artists, interior designers, real estate agents, custodians, government employees, city planners, board of education members, politicians, craftsmen, ministers, veterinarians, farmers, plumbers, home construction workers, and so on. Surely, some of our kids will grow up without a sense of responsibility toward others, without a sense of being a part of the community that raised them. Some, when they are grown, will look back and wonder where was the community that should have raised them. They won't know because others did not get involved in their lives, and because they didn't experience compassion from another.

I write this to remind myself that while I am trained to teach reading,writing, and mathematics, I cannot forget to model caring and compassion with my words and my deeds, but first with my thoughts. I am what I think, and what I think grows from what I experience, what I see, hear, read, and do. If I think someone is a hopeless case, I will say things that make him sound hopeless to others, and I will do things that will encourage hopelessness. I must recognize the potential each person has, and nurture that. I must find what is good in a person and nurture that. I must encourage them in their strengths and help them overcome or compensate for weaknesses. Every child has strengths, and every child has weaknesses.

It is the same for adults. We don't stop growing just because we are 30 or 40 or 50 years old. We never stop learning. Not while we live.

Open House Tomorrow

The ants are doing well in the classroom. They have even gone back to work in the tunnels. I was surprised this morning when I took a good look at the habitat. There were two almost complete tunnel shortcuts, each just a centimeter or two from intersecting with another tunnel. Once again, I admired their handiwork, the practicality and fragility of it, the great effort they put into constructing the elaborate tunnels, and the shortness of their life.

Our Science Resource teacher has caught “the bug,” too. She bought an Ant Factory last week, and can’t wait to order the ants. Her habitat comes with sand. I saw her reading over the instruction guide today in between all the other things she has to do to get her classroom organized and materials sorted.

That makes three of us with ant habitats in our classrooms now. Our custodian must be laughing at us, though, because he can remember last year when we had to call him to get rid of the ants in our rooms. They were tiny black ants that marched along the floor in a long line from somewhere in a wall or floor. They were pests, an unsightly inconvenience. The habitat ants we have now are not pests. They are harvester ants from another state, and are selected for their larger size, their incredible mandibles. and particularly for their best talent, tunneling, which they do with gusto. They will actually have another job to do besides tunnel: they will be teachers. The ants will model and demonstrate how they tunnel and communicate, and the students will learn important observation and writing skills.

Speaking of students and teachers, tomorrow is Open House at our school. Parents will come by and meet their children’s teachers between 2:30 and 4:30. The teachers are busy getting their bulletin boards completed, desks and chairs in place, books and folders out where they can be seen, and all the other little details that make for an inviting environment. Those that have their classrooms ready are working on their first week’s activities and lessons, wanting to get ahead, knowing that the unexpected always happens. We’re great and getting greater!