Attrition

I haven’t mentioned yet, I don’t think, the one downside to my new job.  Attendance is a very tricky subject. I got some clues that it was somewhat of a concern during the interview when one of the interview questions was, “What would you do about the problem of attendance?” But I had no idea just how fragile attendance could be.

The government watches the agencies like a hawk. They won’t pay for a teacher to be in a class that only has four students, and understandably so.

So it was consternating when I lost some students right after taking over the class. My supervisor thinks it was due–at least in part–to the room change. He said that has happened before…that changing the location of the class resulted in students using that as an excuse to stop coming.  I changed rooms on day 3 after taking over.  I did not warn them ahead of time.  I was not yet in the mindset of the settlement classroom. I guess I was thinking of these adults as being like university students.  I wrongly assumed I could just put a note up on the whiteboard letting them know we were now meeting in the room around the corner and they would all find their way to the new location.

After observing me, my supervisor also suggested that my teaching style might not appeal as much to the higher level students. There is also the matter of students from certain countries believing that the student-centred model isn’t “real” teaching. If they come from a culture/country where the teacher-centred model is still strongly entrenched, they can experience classroom culture shock when confronted with the North American model.

I dare say my approach is even more student-centred than that of my predecessor. I believe that at least one of the students whom I lost was put off by that.

In any case, I’ll admit I have spent some time fretting over the fact that my numbers are hovering dangerously close to the minimum needed to justify funding.  So I was VERY happy when two dropouts returned today. In both cases it was due to my efforts to get them back again.

We have a new student and he seems very happy to be part of the class. His first day was Thursday and he came back again today. Yay!

Five Delights Today

• Attending mass with Sylvain to thank St. Anne for my job.
• Taking Ma to brunch with the Cora gift certificate we gave her for Mother’s Day.
• Going for a bird walk with Sylvain in the evening.
• Finishing a lesson plan after hours and hours of wrestling with it and re-writing it twice or three times.
• A nice talk with a girlfriend.

I Give Good Hugs

It’s a wonderful place to volunteer and a wonderful place to die, if you have to die.  But sometimes things happen.

You can have multiple heavy patients there at the same time and then the volunteer PCA doesn’t show up for her shift. Coincidentally, this was also the week that the reception volunteer couldn’t come in because of guests from out of town. Had she been there, I know she would have pitched in and covered for the person who didn’t show because she has training that allows her to be useful to the PSW.  I don’t.  I haven’t learned how to roll people to change bedding or any of that.  For now I can cook, serve, feed, make coffee and answer the door.

So ouch. Not good.

I wrote an email to my supervisor to let her know what two family members experienced that I don’t think was acceptable. Care in any Canadian hospice should be top notch all the time. No exceptions.  I’m very proud to be able to say it is top notch 97% of the time.  It’s that other 3% that I am worried about tonight.

On the bright side…  one resident’s son and I realized tonight would be our last time to see one another. We’ve had some good talks in the kitchen, and I’m especially fond of his mom.  I will probably be reading her obituary this week.  I offered the son a hug and he very gladly accepted it. Then as he was leaving, he asked me for another one.

I’m telling you, I give good hugs.

I Shall Sleep Well Tonight

I had to be up very early due to a 9:30 job interview. Another of the agencies in town is looking to add teachers to their supply/substitute teacher list. Although my lunch hour class prevents me from subbing during the day, I can do so evenings and Fridays.  I thought the three women on the panel and I got on well.

After that I changed clothes and spent some time lesson planning for next week until it was time to head over to my favourite cafe where I was to buy lunch for the two women who helped me get the job at the Y.  Even though I can’t afford things like lunches out yet, I thought it was important to show my appreciation now rather than making them wait indefinitely for my financial situation to improve.

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The cafe–which will go unnamed this time in order to protect the identity of the stranger about whom I am about to blog–was packed to the gills even though it was past one o’clock.  I was surprised to find my friend S sharing a table with a young woman whom I did not know.  I introduced myself and was quickly informed by S that the two of them had only just met. They were each sitting alone and so decided to sit together. I smiled at such spontaneity and sat down by S on the pew-like bench against the wall, wondering where our friend H would sit when she came.

S told me that the young woman, whom I’ll call Zoey, was in the middle of trying to share a dilemma she was facing. Zoey was having trouble spitting it out. It was apparent that she was in some distress and was getting worked up.  ”Breathe,” I said, smiling.  She apologized to us.  I told her not to worry, she was reminding me to breathe, too.  We all took some deep breaths together.

When our friend H arrived, she pulled over a now vacated table from beside us. We were now four. While H seemed a bit perturbed by the intrusion of this stranger, I was impressed that S continued to be patient with her even though she didn’t do much more than glance nervously about, try over and over to say something, get herself worked up and then return to her deep breathing exercises.  Yes, it was awkward, but I was just very proud of S for not telling this young woman to get lost.

S and I did manage to do a little bit of visiting, as did H and I. But really the whole planned outing was derailed. Mind you, when these things happen to me alone, I pretty easily release the mental picture I had of how the rest of my day was “supposed” to go.  When they happen to me and Sylvain, it is still cool because he is also a big softy who believes in helping others and being open to spontaneous exchanges.  It was a little more difficult with two women…one who is a former coworker and one who is a current coworker; I am not terribly close to either of them.

Tiny pieces of a story emerged, one bit slowly extracted at a time.  She had felt afraid last night all alone.  I wondered if she was homeless but didn’t want to come out and admit that she was sleeping on the streets.

For once I wasn’t overly controlled by the need to keep everyone happy.  I gave more weight to what I wanted, and what I wanted was to include this woman in our lunch. We bought her a bowl of brown rice with raw veggies.

Soon S had to get back to her responsibilities.  I was surprised that H did not lunge at the chance to extricate herself, as well, from the very awkward situation.

H tried to engage Zoey. She asked her some questions, like “Do you have a safe place to sleep? Do you live with someone?”  Zoey’s answers seemed cryptic to H.  H told Zoey to cut it out and give her some straight answers.  I came to Zoey’s defense. I understood the cryptic answers and translated for H.

In the middle of attempting to answer some of H’s questions, Zoey started to cry.  She held herself in a hug and looked at her lap as her little body shook at the tears came.  I reached my hand across the table and offered it.  She took it.  She looked into my eyes.  I looked back, smiling calmly, putting as much love and pure acceptance into my gaze as I knew how.  She apologized for confusing us.

“I can’t speak for others,” I said, “but you’re not confusing me.”

Snippets of the story started to emerge.  Not too long ago, she had decided she didn’t need her medications anymore.  The boyfriend who normally looked after her was in Toronto for the weekend.

“You can’t do that,” H said.  ”You can’t just stop taking your meds without talking to your doctor. I should know! I tried it once!”  We all laughed.

And then the energy changed.  H stopped squirming, stopped resenting the intrusion.  Zoey started talking about aromatherapy and how many oils she has at home. H happens to be an aromatherapy massage practitioner.  Now Zoey was looking into H’s eyes and saying what a pretty ring she had on.  ”Tar-zhay, Baby.”  They laughed.

“Shall I get us a pot of tea?” H offered.

“Oh, yes! Something calming,” I suggested

H went to the counter to order the tea while Zoey and I sat holding hands, remembering to breathe and gently smiling at one another.

Slowly… oh so very, very slowly…she managed to eat some of the rice.

H returned with a pot of jasmine green tea and three cups.  It smelled heavenly.  The aroma had a healing effect on us.

Zoey, for an entire ten minutes straight, was no longer gripped by whatever demons were keeping her mute and stammering before. Whole sentences flowed from her. She smiled and made sense.  The citrus oils make you sun sensitive. She was still holding my hand.

The conversation became relaxed.  We were smiling. Even though we were talking about some serious things, like the fact that Zoey had missed an appointment with a nurse practitioner that morning, we held it all in the Light.  We all make mistakes.  We are all human. We are all just trying to find our way.  Eat your rice.

When the tea pot was empty, H said it was time for her to go.  I have her a big hug and she whispered, “Are you going to be okay?”  I squeezed her hand and assured her I was fine.

I spent the next hour with Zoey as she tried to decide whether to take me up on the offer of a ride to her cousin’s house. While Zoey nibbled away at the rice bowl, I stepped outside to call Sylvain and explain why I was running late for our yard work date.  When I said I might be giving a ride to a woman who was having a mental health crisis, he did make me promise to be safe but didn’t try to stop me.  We understand each other in these things.

Decisions were laborious.  We finally decided that I would leave her at her apartment. She promised to call a friend if she got scared to spend another night alone.  But then she couldn’t decide whether to accept my offer of a hug. She wanted a hug, but she wasn’t sure she could manage it.  Do you remember those hokey sci-fi shows on TV when you were a kid? There was a recurring plot where there would be a hole in time or a doorway to another dimension.  In order to get through, the actors had to run at it in just a certain manner…hold their arms just right. If they didn’t, the doorway wouldn’t open and let them through.  That’s how Zoey approaches things like opening doors and trying to put her arms out for a big, long hug.  She had to get it just right or she couldn’t go through with it.

She got it just right.  I gave her one of those good hugs my old friend Suzanne taught me to give.  Ironically, my friend Suzanne also has bi-polar disorder.

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I got to Sylvain’s house in time for supper.  We got a chance to talk while he changed into gardening clothes. After supper we tackled two of the items on the Honey Do list: replace the broken hose reel on the side of the house, prune low hanging branches off several trees and chop up the branches to put them in the yard waste bags for tomorrow’s pickup.  We were unsuccessful in completing #1, but we did get a lot of pruning done, including removing a big nightshade and a mulberry sapling that were strangling the lilac bush.

By the time we put the tools away it was around 9:30 and dark.  NINE THIRTY? It was almost my bedtime, and I still had a blog story stuck inside my head!

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I got on the elevator in the underground parking garage. The elevator stopped on one and a woman got on. She took one look at me slumped against the wall and said, “Somebody’s tired.”

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When I logged on, knowing I would never sleep until I unloaded this story from my noggin, I saw a comment from Lynn pointing me to these words on another blog:

“..To those who serve unselfishly-
bringing light into darkest corners with a warm smile
or a tender touch…
To those who give lovingly from their hearts daily
to perfect strangers…”

Grace in Small Things for a Thursday in May

• Pa’s PSW brought them some fresh rhubarb.
• Ma made preserves from it.
• She gave me a jar of it.
• I got the latest issue of the Shambhala Sun in the mail.
• This article is helping me so very much.

What I learned today: that England now has some of the most secure, peaceful and well-organized soccer audiences on the planet.

Common Gallinule

By 3:00 Saturday I had finished all this week’s Lesson planning, having started on it bright and early Friday morning.

Today was a gloriously sunny and hot Victoria Day, perfect for a drive in the county. Sylvain and I headed down to Leamington for some authentic Mexican chow courtesy of Tony. Although I’ve sometimes found authentic Latin American food in Windsor thanks to some Salvadoran transplants, to get real Mexican I have to go either to Leamington or across the border to Detroit.  The web reviews said wheelchair accessible. It was not. We talked them into letting us sneak in through the back, though. My Spanish came in handy there. The food made it well worth having had to press past the mop bucket, garbage can and bags of onions.

At Hillman Marsh, the trail around the shorebird cell was all dried and cracked mud…too bumpy for Sylvain’s chair. Also the front half of the cell was dried up, meaning anyone wanting to see shorebirds would have to hike a kilometer around to the back side of the cell. We saw some Black-bellied Plovers in flight but not the Ruddy Turnstones supposedly hanging out with them. It was fun to see Canada Goose families with goslings at varying stages of development. We both also got a kick out of spying a single Common Gallinule preening its feathers in the afternoon sun. The frogs were croaking and Red-eared Sliders were sunning themselves on logs. We were glad we’d put on sunscreen.

On the way back we got fresh tomatoes, cucumbers and asparagus from a roadside stand.

Our complete list for the trip was:

Savannah Sparrow – singing
Baltimore Oriole – singing
Canada Goose – pairs with young
Yellow Warbler – scores
American Robin
Killdeer – slightly nervous but no distraction display this time
Black-bellied Plover
Turkey Vulture
Common Grackle
Red-winged Blackbird
Tree Swallow
Northern Rough-winged Swallow – almost collided with van
Barn Swallow
Great Blue Heron
Great Egret
Red-tailed Hawk (being attacked by swallows)
Common Gallinule
Least Flycatcher

Authentic Materials

One big difference between your typical college or university second language class and the settlement English class is the focus on real-life communication.  The government body that funds these classes has curriculum guidelines that encourage teachers to focus lessons around topics that belong to one of twelve themes.  These topics and themes are grounded in the objective of smooth integration into Canadian society, getting a job, learning about Canadian social norms and values, being able to get the things done that all new Canadians need to get done–like find a place to live, understand their rights as a tenant, shop for food, and so forth.

My university Spanish prof had the luxury of asking us to go buy a text then being able to guide us through one unit per week. He didn’t have to come up with gap-fill exercises or dialogues. The authors of our text had already done all that for him.

This is not the case for settlement English teachers. While the government has paid for some committees to come together and create binders full of suggested classroom activities, it is up to each teacher to decide whether to use those, how many of them to use and when or how to integrate them into his/her curriculum.  Much of the time, though, we are creating from scratch, assembling from pieces or a combination of both.

This is because every group of new Canadians comprising a class has different needs. One class might vote to have more focus on job finding or interviewing skills. One group might want to focus more on housing or communicating with their children’s teachers. These priorities are discovered through needs assessments at the beginning of the session, and the results then inform the curriculum for that session.

Yes, I can get through a session just making photocopies from available textbooks in the resource library, but ideally we as settlement English teachers should strive to use authentic materials whenever possible. What do I mean by “authentic materials?” I mean a real hydro bill, a real hospital admission form, the real Yellow Pages, a map of an actual nearby grocery store, real packages that food came in (well washed, of course!), real boxes and bottles that medicine came in.

I remember how challenging it was during my practicum to find authentic materials and realia when I was lodged in Toronto with no car. On more than one evening I thought, “wouldn’t it be nice if I had….”

As soon as I got back to Windsor, I started my collection. I now have a big box full of empty food boxes and bags, another where I’ve begun collecting empty medicine packaging.

This week we are learning word stress and yesterday I was fretting a little over the lesson plan I had come up with to teach stress in compound nouns.  (We stress the first part of a compound noun. Compare “White House” to “white house.”)  What I’d come up with wasn’t tied into one of the themes or topics and I had no authentic materials.

As I was leaving Zehr’s with a few groceries, I spied a beautiful big glossy Joe clothing flyer. I peeked inside.  Holy compound nouns, Batman! Bucket hat! Sundress! Sun glasses! Swim shorts! Peasant blouse!

Oh, yay.

Thinking of You, Grandpa

The other day I was aware all day that were he still alive, it would have been my maternal grandfather’s birthday. One of the gifts I gave my mother was the knowledge that a shitty dad can still be a good grandpa. To commemorate his birthday, I’d like to remember some things I associate with him.

fireflies in a Mason jar
being sent around the backyard to gather fallen twigs under the hickory trees as he got the grill started
the hydrangea bush that grew pressed against the shady side of the house
the rabbit that sometimes hid under there
possum stories
the way he imitated the baying of his hunting dogs when he told possum stories
his tomato garden
being sent down into the garden to pick sprigs of mint for the adults’ mint juleps
the banded woolly bears that liked the mint plants
his posture (very straight)
the funny grunts and humming that covered up his Tourette-like vocal ticks
how he always fell asleep on the sofa after supper
Hee Haw on television
and Lawrence Welk
little colored wooden golf tees
wiffle balls for practicing driving in the backyard
being taught to hit one of those little plastic balls
tomatoes lined up on the window sill…all varying stages of green to pink to red
the smell of the inside of his sedan; it smelled like a car that was never driven with the windows down
and like cigar smoke

Our Species List for 16 May 2010

We entered Point Pelee National Park at around 7:00 a.m.

Eight hours and two sunburns later, we had sighted:

Tree Swallow
Yellow Warbler
American Robin
Common Grackle
Red-winged Blackbird
Orchard Oriole
Baltimore Oriole
Wild Turkey
Canada Warbler*
Blackpoll Warbler*
Yellow-rumped Warbler
Eastern Kingbird
Double-crested Cormorant
Common Yellowthroat
Brown-headed Cowbird
Warbling Vireo
Red-eyed Vireo
Indigo Bunting
American Redstart
Magnolia Warbler*
Black-throated Blue Warbler
Belted Kingfisher
Black-throated Green Warbler
Grey Catbird
Ruby-throated Hummingbird
Northern Cardinal
Scarlet Tanager
Chestnut-sided Warbler
Bay-breasted Warbler
Blue Jay
Swainson’s Thrush
Nashville Warbler*
Summer Tanager*
Northern Cardinal
Rose-breasted Grosbeak and
Sanderling

Addendum (18 May): Chipping Sparrow, White-crowned Sparrow, nesting Barn Swallow, Great-horned Owl young in nest, Turkey Vulture. Have I got it all now?

* = lifebird for one of us

Why I’m an Idealist

Did you know that dead people sometimes give TED Talks?  The next time someone chides me for being an idealist, I’ll send him a link to this four-minute talk by Viktor Frankl.  It blew me away.

Do the Uncomfortable until it Becomes Comfortable

For the past twenty years I’ve been risk-averse, always finding a way to wriggle into a small pond where I could be a big fish. All through university I only remember two times when I was not single-handedly setting the curve for the whole class.  Those two times did not feel good to me.  I glared at the other A+ student behind his or her back, hoping that if I concentrated hard enough, I could make laser beams shoot from my eyes and incinerate the competition.  Sure, there was a fleeting thought that having someone in the class who inspired me to work a little harder was healthy, but mostly I just wanted them to get some awful illness and have to withdraw from the term.

My mom encouraged me to apply for scholarships so I could leave my home state and go to a better school, but I had little interest in being with fish my own size.  I was frightened by the idea of stretching and finding out where the limits of my capabilities lay and then pushing against them. No, I was perfectly happy staying in the small pond and being admired for my large fishiness.

I fell into a series of administrative jobs that were way below my potential, but paid the bills. Many times I reflected on how I was spending my one precious life in light of how I could have chosen to spend it.  One former high school classmate of mine recently got in touch via my blog and sent a copy of his family’s annual holiday letter, complete with photos.  He is a pediatrician who volunteers some of his time each year in underdeveloped countries giving small children their palates back, mending faces.  I looked at the pictures of his smart looking wife and brilliant children on enrichment trips to places like Stonehenge and could not help but wonder: out of what material had I constructed my cage?

In my spare time as a young adult I devoured books on neurology, but didn’t dare dream of medical school. I tutored my classmates in every subject from astronomy to trig, Latin to statistics, then watched as they pursued the academic and career paths of their dreams while I did not.

It took me until the age of 45 to realize that if I didn’t act soon, I would be at the end of a road looking back at my life with a small pain in my heart, thinking, “I wish I’d had the courage to….”

Were it not for that abandoned copy of The Power of Now, I’m not sure I ever could have taken the leap from secure cubicle job to answering my calling.  Before I could take such a risk, I had to first learn about the sources and triggers of my anxiety.  I had to spend hours with Pema Chodron’s CDs, which taught me that the voice in my head was just a tape, one I could choose to observe the way a parent can calmly observe a child throwing a tantrum in an attempt to manipulate.

I had to learn to dissect my perfectionism. I had to gain tools for calming myself when someone gives me feedback on a mistake and I feel as if my chest is exploding, I cannot breathe, start to feel as if I might cry or vomit or both.

My first week of teaching has been one of the least comfortable weeks of my life.  Every night as I struggled to put together the next day’s lesson I muttered, “what was I thinking?” and “this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”  Then another voice would come out and say, “But that’s what you WANTED.  You didn’t want to leave this planet without finding out what happens when you push yourself into the virgin territory on the outer edges of your potential.”

Ani Pema has a great anecdote in one of her books about a young man who came to a retreat. He had his ball cap on backward and was all about being cool, about being perceived as having it all together.  They were assembled one day for a ceremony of some sort and this very venerated old monk came up to the front to sing the anthem.  He had the worst singing voice Juan had ever heard, never staying on key, his old voice cracking left and right; but he sang with gusto.  Pema saw that Juan was visibly moved.  When he was asked, he said, “That guy isn’t afraid to make a fool of himself!”  Young Juan was never the same after that day.  He started letting his vulnerabilities show.

That’s where I am now. I’m trying to get my body and brain and panting lungs and racing heart to stop listening to the tape and believe that it’s okay. It’s uncomfortable, yes.  But we still have to forge ahead and do it.  Do the uncomfortable until it becomes comfortable.  It’s like crossing a wobbly footbridge.

It’s scary, yes. But don’t you want to see what’s on the other side?

Small Delights

• I’m finished with Monday’s and Tuesday’s lesson plan. Only two more to go and I have the whole week ready. I am starting to become a little more efficient at this process.
• My brother told me that Sheldon on Big Bang Theory reminds him of me. That might be the sweetest thing he’s ever said to me.
• With two lesson plans done, I am going to indulge in some serious chilling in front of the big flat screen over at Sylvain’s house tonight.
• Ducks and geese in Canada are not afraid of people. They roost on the berms in big box parking lots and take baths in the puddles on our front lawns.
• Crockpot ratatouille. Yum.

Postcards to Strangers

I absolutely cannot say enough good things about what this group of energetic, smart, creative, innovative and radically optimistic young people are doing on behalf of this city in transition, this city that so often gets a bad rap, this city that is sometimes the butt of jokes.

Since I cannot possibly describe to you what they are doing, so go take a peek for yourselves.

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Yes, I am getting back to lesson planning now.  Everyone gets a lunch break.

Owlet

I managed to set aside lesson planning and syllabus writing long enough for an excursion to Point Pelee National Park yesterday with Sylvain.   It’s fun to stroll through the parking lot looking at license plates to see how far people have traveled for this breathtaking yearly event.

Point Pelee is a migrant trap. The migratory path of all those birds returning from South America forms a sort of bottle neck over Lake Erie. Birds who are really tired from flap-flap-flapping all the way across the lake spot the first tiny bit of land jutting out into the water and head down for a rest and to fill up on insects.  Since we are blessed to live only 45 minutes away from one of the hottest birding destinations in the world, Sylvain and I make a point of getting over to the park three or four times during the two peak weeks of migration.

Yesterday morning it was rainy and cool, but that doesn’t slow down serious birders one bit.  They just put on their rain slickers, Tilley hats and waterproof hiking boots, throw a plastic bag over the nice cameras with zoom lenses as long as my arm and keep right on birding.

We didn’t see a whole lot, but it was good for me to get my head out of the lessons and into the woods. We had Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Blue-grey Gnatcatcher, Wild Turkey (including a hen sitting on hatching eggs), Tree and Barn Swallows, Killdeer, Indigo Bunting, American Redstart, Common Grackle, American Robin on nest, Yellow Warbler, Eastern Kingbird, Pine Warbler, Baltimore Oriole, Orchard Oriole, White-crowned Sparrow.

The highlight was what we saw after we gave up and headed home for the day. Winding our way up the road that exits the park, we passed a group of five parked cars with Quebec plates. Folks were aiming binoculars and cameras at a tree stump that was cordoned off with yellow DO NOT CROSS tape.

Atop the tall stump was a Great Horned Owl nest with two babies in it, if you can call something bigger than my head a baby! Holy owlet, Batman! It looked like one of those big fuzzy hand puppets you can buy at nature stores.

Being the Watcher

I continue to observe myself and notice how very many times a day I get hung up on what isn’t. That is to say, I become attached to a reality that exists only in my mind and has little to do with what really is. There are little stretches of tension all through my day where I resist what is and cling to what I wish were so.

This happened a lot tonight in the hospice kitchen.

It happened again when I got an email from my supervisor, his answer to one I’d sent him.

It is all about wanting to control other people, their motives, their ways of doing things, their perceptions, their energy, their attitudes, their level of spiritual consciousness.  It gets worse when I am stressed and also when my hormones are all over the place.

This tendency lessens when I meditate, exercise and in general take better care of myself. Oh, and it helps when I just acknowledge that I’m doing it.

Grace in Small Things – 365/365

It took me more than a year to post 365 days of Grace in Small Things, but I got here.

Thank you, Schmutzie and everyone who joined in.

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me.

I am blessed to have this medium, this way of meeting kindred spirits and walking with you all as our paths criss and cross and at times run parallel.  My life is so much richer for your presence.  I appreciate those who comment, those who don’t comment, and those of you who share your own journeys on your own blogs.

If I wasn’t already someone who looks for and almost always can find the small blessings in every day, I sure am now. Having a grateful heart is one of the biggest blessings of all.

Grace in Small Things – 364

• Day three went well. We moved to a better classroom with a U-shaped desk layout instead of aisles and a bigger white board.
• The students are teaching me a lot.
• The smell of ozone during a sudden summer storm.
• Hospice training tonight…a nice change for my brain.
• Getting text messages from Sylvain from the middle of the woods: “just had a nice yellow-rumped,” and later, “Baltimore Oriole.”

What I learned today: Always have twice or three times more material than you think you’re going to need.  I think I need to work on the “stretch it” principle.

Just What I Needed

I subscribe to daily emails from Dictionary.com’s Word of the Day. Today’s word is jnana.

Hindu practitioners of jnana insist that one of the insights to which it gives rise is that the entire manifest universe is transitory and unreal, and that behind, above, and beyond it there is an absolute reality which is permanent and knowable.
– David Fontana, Psychology, religion, and spirituality