Wrapping Up, Checking Off, Creeping Out, and Making a Toast

We are starting the season of "wrapping up." As mentioned earlier in the week, we've wrapped up the writing workshops, today The Boy finished his first knitting project,

and this afternoon The Girl concluded her pottery session. Since we knew that it would be the last time we would be visiting that neighborhood for a while we made an afternoon of it. The Girl wanted to get some time in at Bankstreet Bookstore, so we went up early and hung out before pottery. Since our bookstore visit had been fulfilled, after we dropped off The Girl, The Boy and I decided to use our time wandering the cathedral and grounds of St. John the Divine. St. John and we are no strangers to each other, so initially it started out as an exercise in checking-off all of our regular stops:

Wandering the beautiful grounds/gardens

Check.

Peacocks.

Check. We didn't find the white one, but we saw both blues... One kept getting really ticked off at the pigeons. The pigeons were kind of too stupid to know what all the feathers and twitchings and foot-stamping and chattering sounds meant. They were unflappable, it was like: Eh. One more weird New Yorker. 

Inside: The FDNY memorial for the twelve firefighters killed in a fire on 23rd street in the 60's. We heard tourists once assuming it was for 9/11 (because people do leave trinkets and notes for the hundreds that died that day -- so in a way the public has somewhat altered it/it's purpose). It's strange to look at the memorial and realize that at the time of its conception there was no context for the loss that the FDNY would take on forty years later -- the two towers weren't even built. The Boy has always been intrigued by the memorial, so we pay our respects each time.

We also look up -- to see rainbows and floating color coming from the stained glass, and carvings that surely have fine details that are never seen, but are there because of dedication to God, to a religion, to fine art, to a strong work ethic...

There were some new and unexpected finds. At a simple wooden alter I found the prayers for the unemployed:

And an orchestra was in the main hall practicing; the music swelled and occupied space like something warm and dense. 

And then unexpected encounters that we weren't, collectively, happy with. Until July there is a striking art installation there -- throughout the entire ground floor in various side chapels, and nooks, and crannies. It is poignant and strong and has many lush and deep images and details. That having been said, for those of us who aren't as knowledgable about apartheid and its aftershock, the effect comes across as creepy. I don't dislike creepy, and I was trying to explain to The Boy (and The Sister) that provoking feelings of discomfort, or sadness, or alarm, or anger is how artists can help -- they use the power of emotions for social/idealogical change. BUT, my students weren't buying it. And I actually agreed. While I would have probably really liked the installation in a different venue, I didn't like it in the cathedral. I think I "got" some of the religious/sacrificial/hypocrisy themes, and yet rather than making me feel new, or thinking bigger/deeper, it made me feel disengaged, or like I wanted to exit the darkness of the cathedral that had seemed protective, but now seemed scary. Putting the installation in a structure that is considered by some to be a refuge, or a place of reverence, is a strong move intellectually -- but I think a tenuous one emotionally. Which I'm sure is all part of the artistic vision and intense irony that those who coordinated the exhibit were going for... And yet... 

Two things: 1. The Boy requested that we NOT go back to the cathedral until after July (when the art leaves) -- I fear that his love of the cathedral might have been dampened, and 2. I noticed that things seem a lot less depressing when you have a funny teenager in tow pulling faces and making wise-acre remarks. I seriously love teenagers. Especially the one that lives on our couch. 

After pottery, and after meeting up with The Dad we actually went inside Tom's Restaurant (of Suzanne Vega, Seinfeld, and President Obama fame). We walk past it going from the pottery studio to the book store and The Boy has been enticed by the signs promising 22-ounce milkshakes. We decided that the last class of pottery would be "the night," so for the past couple of weeks whenever we've been around liquid he's been like: "Would you say this is 22 ounces?" This evening, with our milkshakes held high, he led us in a toast: "To [The Girl]!" -- for introducing us to the neighborhood through her pottery...  That part was fun, and the people who own the place seem really nice... but I don't think that we need ever go again. 

But we will hopefully be back to the neighborhood in a couple of months when The Girl starts up pottery again -- she loves it so. And The Boy is going to continue knitting in whatever capacity will fit into our future schedule. Some things you experience once and that's enough (or more than enough); some things -- once introduced -- can always find a space in your life. 

My Uncaged Birds

The public school kids started the math portion of their state tests today. I was sending a million good vibes to all of our little number-2-pencil-yielding friends. I'm glad that all of the thinking about it is about done for the year for them. Usually, it's not an actual event that is so very draining, but all the lead-up. 

We spent a great deal of time outside today. In the morning we picked up where we left off when the weather turned cold, and resumed our running club outside. In the afternoon after completing an errand thirty-five blocks north, we decided to walk our two miles home via the park. We went to some birding areas and chatted with some birders (they always look at my Fellini-inspired eyeliner suspiciously, but once we establish ourselves as genuine bird-enthusiasts they decide that I'm not an other and we get all friendly -- like an animals-do-the-darndest-things TV special when the group of bunnies take in the kangaroo... or not like that at all...).  We saw a handful of palm warblers, and heard the sweetest sounding bird ever... we have yet to identify it. And a lady casting about peanuts showed us a tree that had three baby squirrels running in and out of their nest and playing with each other. It was a really nice day. 

And since it's still April, and we're still talking poetry around here:

From Maya Angelou's "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings": 

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

Not Perfect, But the Best We've Got to Work With

On the bargain table in Barnes & Noble I found a Daily Dose of Knowledge: History for $5.98. I read a study that said that familiarity is key to comprehension. Students that have heard of a subject/have an experience with a topic are more apt to pay attention when it is brought up again, and if they are paying attention they are more apt to appreciate it and authentically learn. Soooo... at dinner I read one of the daily pages and we chat about it, but I don't really care if the moppets actually seem to "get" anything. My goal is just to expose in the hopes that something gets tucked away that might come up and help them authentically appreciate something some day. I wish I was one of those smarties that could just sit down and start a conversation about interesting things, but I'm not. One, my brain is a sieve, so I forget most things (that is one way that this blog has blessed my life -- it's the first time I haven't felt like I've lost my personal history), and two, most of the time my inclination is to be quiet. A characteristic that probably developed by being alone at home a lot as a kid. But I don't like that inclination, and I don't want my kids to develop it. Happy homes and strong relationships seem largely built on words and noise. So, if I need a book to help get the conversation started, and a blog to help me remember that we had a conversation, so be it. Hopefully with these efforts things will come more naturally, and stick more readily with the next generation. 

Day 1 in the book was about the signing of the American Constitution (September 17, 1787). I liked that it reminded the reader that at the time the Constitution was NOT totally embraced -- everybody knew that it wasn't perfect. Like the plague of DC today, so many compromises were made that nobody felt good about it in its entirety. Benjamin Franklin acknowledged that it wasn't perfect, but he said it was "the best" out there. Thirty-nine of the 55 delegates signed. Reading about this reminded me of our cool Constitution/Declaration of Independence lesson we had in the Fall with our friend who has since moved back to London. She told us at the time that she "celebrates" Constitution Day on September 17th. I thought of that after reading our Daily Dose and decided to get my phone to put it on my calendar, thinking that this year we, too, would celebrate. Zipping through the months to get to September made me feel... weird. 

A Different Light

Today was the conclusion of the writing workshop. I've been reflecting on how it all came about. In the Fall, I was asked to teach an essay class for teens at the space where my kids were taking a theatre/movement class. All I was planning on doing during that time was hanging out in the waiting room and reading anyway, so why not? Only a few students signed up, but at the end of it all of them requested another class, and a couple of them asked if I tutored. I hadn't planned on it, but why not? 

The tutoring: one student is a very, very advanced musician, and brilliant academic (she was so sharp that I consistently forgot that she was only 14). Her dad handed me a brutal looking spreadsheet with all of the top boarding schools/prep schools on the East Coast and a couple of top privates in Manhattan -- and their coordinating requirements for admissions. Over the course of several weeks she and I fine-tuned her essays and short-answers, and I wrote some letters of recommendation. She worked her tail off, often revising pieces many, many times. She got in to all of her top choices, even though some of them have a <10% acceptance rate. Once her application packets were complete and our tutoring days were over, unexpectedly another family asked me to help out. It is a brother and sister. Their first language is Hebrew and they are Orthodox and so gracious about sharing their culture with me -- the entire family is authentic and embracing and open. I love working with the two kids -- the girl is creative and loves to write and will sit with wide eyes asking questions and soaking up suggestions and writing in her notebook as fast as possible. She is working on a novel -- based on the trials that her grandmother went through beginning with the invasion of her country by the red army. The boy is unbelievably charming. He is a self-professed non-writer, preferring instead to work on his computer programming and the app that he is about finished creating.  And yet, he will accept every suggestion with a huge smile, and a, "Sure, sure. I can do that." The other student is a gentle soul -- lovely and ethereal. In the past year she suffered a medical condition that caused her some cognitive set-backs, and she and her family have been working hard to get her back to where she had been before she goes off to college next year. I worked with her on organization and clarity through literary analysis, grammar reviews, mini-lessons, and essays. Being welcomed into homes and families, and being given the responsibility and trust to tutor these kids has been a fascinating, and often touching, side journey that I wasn't expecting when this home schooling adventure began. 

Aside from the tutoring, I was also asked to lead the creative writing workshop. It has been an engaging run. I've been surprised at the passion and talent that the students bring. I've liked their interaction with each other and the way that they actually care about what I, and others in the workshop, say and share. Their maturity and overall pleasantness and sweetness has impressed me. Again, teaching some random teenagers that I had no previous connection with was never part of the plan, and yet it has added a depth to this year that I have come to greatly value.

So, today was the last day of the workshop. As such it was actually a "reading." Everybody brought what they wanted to share, and I brought some sparkling lemonade and cookies, and one boy brought his mom and sister. After the reading we sat around in a circle and chatted about writing in general, and what they wanted me to teach next year, and there was a robust conversation about Dr. Who that somehow led to whether or not the new Sherlock was better than the other Sherlock show called, Elementary. Again, purely and utterly fun and fascinating to see such enthusiasm and intelligence. Anybody who is anti-teenager need only stop by one of these writing workshops. 

As I was pouring and passing out the lemonade one of the students suggested a toast... to me. Ahhh... One student gave me a hug (it was unexpected, ergo incredibly awkward, but still sweet). It was important that my kids were there, for I think it was beneficial for them to see that I'm not just a nag who makes up assignments to harass them... I actually had a past life wherein I learned a skill that some people appreciate. 

They are strange, and important moments when we catch glimpses of our parents in a different light.

We Ate Well

Perhaps one of the most trite (because of overuse), yet true (cliches are cliches for a reason), phrases is: "You are what you eat." The conventional meaning summed up is that if you eat healthy food, you are a healthy individual... and conversely if you eat unhealthy food, you are unhealthy. But I think it can mean more than that. I think an analysis of what you eat can say a lot about your sensibilities and world views and experiences well beyond your nutrition education. 

As mentioned yesterday, Edward Gorey was friends with a man named Jack who owned a restaurant named Jack's Outback (not outback as in Australia, but outback as in you can't see it from the road... because it's out back...). When Jack was alive, the system was to go in and write out your order on a ticket, put it on the wheel, grab silverware, and pick up your food when the cook, or Jack, shouted to do so. Apparently Gorey didn't throw away a lot, so a friend found his tickets for breakfast and lunch for an entire month and put together a visual piece that showed the whims and fancies and cravings and decisions of the man. Jack died in 2006, so now the frame of order tickets is in the Gorey museum.

It is now a more traditional set-up: you seat yourself, and the server comes and takes your order. We went this morning for breakfast. The food was very good, our server was attentive, and The Girl loved that there were two golden retrievers (one named Jack -- thus changing the name of the restaurant to Jack's Outback II) that were wandering around outside and amiable to gestures of love and appreciation... or at least one of them was, the other (Andi?) was waiting at the backdoor, presumably for some scraps. 

After breakfast we headed back to the Cape Cod National Seashore visitor's center to wander through the museum, watch the movie about the shifting sands of the cape, and get completed Junior Ranger booklets signed off.

Before attending church we stopped by to see the Nauset Lighthouse -- preserved and moved 300 feet back from the eroding cliff in 1996.  We also saw the Three Sisters Lighthouses. After being decommissioned each went on to have a different history before being reunited. I think that's a nice pattern for siblings. Together originally, then off to follow individual pursuits, but eventually coming back to be together again, for within a sibling is a great potential for true understanding and appreciation.

For lunch we went to Marion's Pie Shop in Chatham. Mostly it's a take-out place, but we got some hot soup and ate outside in the bright chairs. The soup was nice, but really it's the treats that bring people in by the droves. We tried the orange rolls (like cinnamon rolls, but with orange zest and a citrusy glaze), and the pecan bars. Both very good, and we have a Key Lime pie in the fridge for tomorrow... Though I'm not sure how fabulous of an idea it was to bring a refrigerated pie back all the way from the cape... if we don't all kick it tomorrow, I'll guess it was an okay idea.

And then the slog home. I drifted in and out listening to the kids harass The Sister in the back seat. She is such a sweet, good girl. Our family is honestly going to feel like there's a void when she leaves this summer... I know that it's her turn to go out and follow her individual pursuits, but while she's doing that I will miss her... and hope that someday we live by each other. 

Before reentering the city we stopped an hour and a half out in New Haven. Considering that our first adventure of the trip was stopping at Brown, we ended up making an Ivy League sandwich. Yale has gorgeous buildings, but the town kind of suffocates them. I have a hard time getting a clear handle on "the campus."

We went to the Italian neighborhood -- to Wooster Street -- and, since we were early enough that the line wasn't too gruesome, had pizza and old school soda at the Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana.

We drove along Hillhouse Avenue -- which the guidebook said was declared by Charles Dickens to be the prettiest street in America. Eh. I've seen better. Though it was nice and wide, and is lined with beautiful mansions (that are now all owned by Yale).

We passed a quaint street canopied by blooming trees. It was truly lovely (Dickens must not have visited in the Spring, or he might have altered his judgment). There were people all about it taking pictures. 

And now we're home. And glad to be. As we always say, we are happy to travel, and happy to come home. 

Just as what we eat simultaneously shapes and explains who we are, so does travel.