Writing

I have decided to shun Facebook for the month of May.

It's not that I think it is completely worthless, or that it only has a destructive influence, but I do find myself spending an inordinate amount of time, and lending an inordinate amount of importance to staring at my tiny phone screen and composing witty answers to friends' posts.

My answer to that is the occasional detox. I remove the application from my home screen on my phone (so I do not see that tempting little red 1 (or a 4!! OMG a 4!!). And I spend a lot more time reading and writing.

I just finished re-reading Stephen King's book, On Writing. I will admit, here and publicly, that I am a great fan of King. Not only do I enjoy his twisted sense of the macabre, but I find that he is an incredible storyteller and observer of the human condition. He has the reputation among some for being "merely" a pulp fiction writer, fit for airplane rides and guilty pleasure reading. But then, many people also view science fiction literature as vapid tales with no literary value or grounding in the real world (these people have not read the right sci-fi authors ;)

Brilliance and vision are often challenging. We are pushed out of our normal world. The world presented can seem fantastic, and probably in many ways is, but if it is done well, we feel resonance. We recognize ourselves (or someone we know) in the story, and that is when we are pulled in, thrilled, and our minds are ready to experience something new. THAT is good storytelling. And King has it down.

On Writing is not a thrilling tale of the macabre. It is part biography, part writing course, and part motivational speech. King has written about himself, and about the craft of writing. And his writing here as always is engaging, humorous, and natural. I have found myself re-inspired to hone this skill, to view this as a daily practice, then see what comes.

One of my favorite images from this book is one he uses to describe how ideas come. He talks about unearthing fossils. Stories, he argues, are not so much created as they are "found objects." The task of the writer is to tease these delicate bones from the earth with as little casualty as possible. I love this image, and it rings so true for me.

I know the feeling when I have found something to tell, something that I feel deserves to be studied and communicated. I never see it all at once. I see the edge of a tooth jutting from the soil. And I can sense that there is a whole lot more underneath. If the right tools are at hand, the fossil can be unearthed, reconstructed and shown to the amazement and enjoyment of others.

So instead of watching funny animals do tricks and moaning about the weather on Facebook, this month I will spend a little more time at my writing desk.

I am inspired to look, and to dig, and to share what I find. I hope that you will enjoy reading what I unearth. :)

Waking Up

It has been a long time since I have written anything.

There are a few reasons for that. One is that my work this school year has been incredibly intense. I lost my wonderful colleague for the most wonderful of reasons. In December she took off to have her first baby, a girl. This left an open space that was difficult for the school to fill. I ended up with many people (all of  them great people) working to fill the gaps. In February my permanent colleague arrived (back from having her first child!). And we have started to work in earnest to rebuild the culture of the classroom. Not only did the German lead teacher position change multiple times, but there were changes in the assistant staff as well. The result being, that a good deal of the weight fell on my shoulders, and I found myself training adults for the majority of the school year.

This has absorbed much of my creative energy.

But the reasons for my silent keyboard are not all negative. I have also had some really wonderful people come into my life. I have spent these last months with a lot of laughter, deep conversation, and fun.

What I really want to write about this morning is gratitude. A little over a year ago I was in a very dark place. I felt hopeless and broken and did not believe that I would ever really feel whole again. At this time I was taken in by friends, supported and loved by family, but I still felt that each day was simply a matter of survival. When I look back at myself then, and try to remember how I felt, I did not think that I had hope. But I kept working. At my job, on myself, in my life. And the people who stuck with me during this time gave me that extra shove I needed from time to time (because we all stumble).

Slowly things began to change. One of the first changes was the apartment where I now live. I moved in here last August, and began my school year only a few weeks after I moved, so I have not really had a lot of time to live in it. Yes, there was some time over Christmas when I was not working, but anyone who knows me knows what a child of the sun I am. To really "live" in a place, I need to see it in the light of day, to throw the windows open in the morning and to smell the air.

This morning I woke up to the sound of birdsong, with sunlight coming in the windows and a green-scented breeze drifting in from the park next door. My eyes were greeted by the green and white of great old chestnut trees in bloom. I do not hear traffic. As I lay in bed my soul is soothed by these things. I am going to work in my garden today, repairing the neglect it has suffered during my own time of suffering.

A feeling of wholeness and strength now accompanies me each day. I am in a way both humbled by my experiences and proud of having come out the other end in the way that I did.

And I am grateful.

Grateful for the space and time that I was given to heal, grateful for those who loved me through this and who are with me still, grateful for new hope and life that I feel so present now. Grateful to be here.

So, a little check-in to let you all know I am still here and there is more writing to come. It has been a quiet time after the storm. Now it is time to begin a new day.

Thaw

Spring emerges in my heart.
The hard frozen ground, a kind of protection through the long winter, warms in the gentle sun.
New life pushes through the earth, stretching towards the light.
Tiny bell shaped clusters of snowdrops bow in humble recognition of their own existence.
Gratitude like sun-warmed stones soothes old wounds,
now like companions, understood and accepted.
Strength flows like the quickening of sap in my veins
and I know that I will bloom.

Revolution and Revelation

As a teacher, I am presented every day with the view of humans as developing and changing beings. When going through training as a teacher, and especially as a Montessori teacher, you are presented with the distinct stages that each human passes through on the road to adulthood. You are also presented with the idea that development is somehow complete at that magical point of adulthood, and that what you end with is forever determined by what you developed during these early stages. Kind of like, you are stuck with what you got or did not get as you grew up.

Now, what I observe as a human being in myself and in the other beings in my life, is that this is really not the case. Not as long as we are open and willing to evolve.

What I see, in myself and in those who I have had the privilege to be close to in times of change, is that we have many chances to "make up" what we did not get, or what was poorly learned in an early stage. When presented with crisis, or catastrophic change, a child will simply adapt. It is the nature of a child to adapt. Some of these adaptations are not so helpful later in life, especially when one has adapted to a negative environment. The adult presented with crisis or catastrophic change will often fight it, even to his or her grave detriment. If we as adults find a way to let go, to approach the world as new and fresh as we did as children, we have a chance to change. We have a chance to grow, even beyond hurts that happened long ago.

I see this in a kind of coil or spiral shape. We are always moving in a line, outward and forward, but the line will approach, again and again, the approximate same point. At those moments we have a chance to build on that point, to move beyond a certain moment in our past. If we succeed, if we have enough courage to let go and learn and change and grow, then we are catapulted into a new and changed kind of life. Reborn. And I believe that in a life well lived this happens again and again. If done well, the results are increasingly more subtle, but always revelatory and renewing.

These are my thought as I move into a new year.

To have the chance to see this change, in oneself or in someone close to you, is precious. It takes a lot of courage to live and grow and love in this world. I salute each being who has the courage to do so.

Thoughts on the Solstice

I have never been one to make a big huge deal out of Christmas. I could name all the reasons, but they are the usual ones; commercialism, expectations, stress....

But for the last few years I decided to mark the winter solstice.

This has become a cherished tradition for me. It is a time for quiet inward reflection in nature at a time when I can feel myself deep in the slumber and stillness of winter.

Today I took a few hours in the forest. It was cold but not bitter, and Sumo was excited for the adventure. As we wandered I thought about myself and life over these last few months, since the end of the summer. Life has presented me with some challenges and some beautiful gifts this season, and I have been grateful to find that I have been able to accept both with a measure of grace and understanding, to remain open even when presented with emotions and thoughts and situations that are difficult or scary to face.

So I walk among the sleeping trees, sliding over the frozen ground and find that I am not desperately wishing for spring. I can accept and embrace this moment. It is winter now. The earth around me is frozen and waiting. I can feel that the energy of renewal is present, and will come to flower in its time.

I leave this solstice with a quote from Rumi.

“The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you
Don't go back to sleep!
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep!
People are going back and forth 
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open
Don't go back to sleep!” 
― Rumi

Finding the Flame

I look out from the construct of my mind onto the constructs of the world; to stately and lasting forms created from the ever-busy factory of the human hand and mind. The physical human world, created to tend to each need, every want or desire that passes through our minds.

In this carefully constructed cage we keep.

I feel my soul strain, my mind beat against these bars. Beginning as a soft slow voice, my heart cries for the wild abandon of the sea, for rocky peaks and the thrill of fear as the sky turns steely green-grey before the coming of a storm.

My nature, carefully cared for in this human world, is sick for the sky.

Cries for the rain with no roof.

The eyes of people passing in the street speak with this same soft voice. We are missing something. Something that once was an indivisible part of us, now a wound that slowly seeps, leaving us drained, confused and disconnected.

We move in a frantic world looking for the source. Many of us carry reminders of our need; tiny tethered wolves, tattooed trees and potted plants. When but to step out into the sun...to walk away from this world into our own light and feed from the primal fire, is all that is needed.

Remembering the flame, I smile at the stately constructs of my human cage.

It cannot hold what is in my heart.

Rilke's Terrible Angels

I was inspired tonight to read some Rilke. It has been a long time since I have dipped into this well, and man, is it a deep one.

Two quotes struck me as I was reading this evening. This is the first.

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” 
― Rainer Maria Rilke

I am laughing at myself as I try to write something about this quote. I have found that it is against my nature to elaborate on something so elegantly put. So I will leave it as it stands.

The other quote that struck me was this:

“For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terrorwhich we are barely able to endure, and it amazes us so,because it serenely disdains to destroy us.Every angel is terrible.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies

This is something that occurs to me again and again in life. At the times I feel most alive, I am struck with the power and awe of simply being here....of the incredible minute detail of this fantastic world...and the stunning fragility of each moment.

Some things may appear constant throughout our lives, but if we draw back and look at the flow and metamorphosis that is the experience of life, then the awful amazing beauty of this huge powerful force can be glimpsed. Then there is that understanding....that this force, which we are not just a part of, but we ARE, "serenely disdains to destroy us."

It really is terrible to consider, and at the same time I find, an endless wellspring of joy and light. There is a freedom that comes from the kind of perspective in both of these quotes. We are free to live, because as long as we are open to the present moment, not only will we be privy to the awe of the world around us, but all the trivial and momentous thoughts and changes and questions and doubts and fears that we live with in our heads each moment of each day...they become powerless. They dissolve like the meaningless smoke that they are. Now. Just be. ;)

Viva Italia!

    Well I am back home after my Italian adventure. It was a lovely trip, and just enough time to take in much of what I wanted to. The weather was beautiful, I got to spend some time in the sun at the beach, do a little shopping and exploration of the historic parts of the towns, and Sumo and I took a hike up into the hills among the terraced olive groves.

    The name of the area where I was is Cinque Terre. It is a protected area where for centuries the people there have farmed in a way that works directly in connection with the land. The vineyards and olive groves are cut into the terrain, making use of the natural curves in the land to preserve and collect rainfall.

    The views of the ocean are stunning. The color of the water is a bright aquamarine, and the rocky coastlines make a beautiful contrast to the soft color of the sea. I discovered that the area is famous also for the poets who have visited and been inspired by these views. The gulf around La Spezia is called the Gulf of Poets for this reason. The area further inland was favored by Monet, and he made many paintings around the ancient villages there. I did not get to see these, but maybe next time...

    For now, here are some of my photos!

Water and Stone

    Today I spent an entire day on the beach. I am in Italy, on the Northern coast. It is not exactly peak season here, so I pretty much had the place to myself.

    I had the plan to make some meditative art....inspired by the land artist Andy Goldsworthy. I took stock of my materials by wandering up and down the beach, taking in the color and the shape of the stones. There is a remarkable variation in the color and texture of the stones here. I can't help but stoop and pick up one after the other that catches my eye.

    Then I had some ideas. I had the thought first to re-create a piece that was made by Goldsworthy. A stone spiral. I spent the next while wandering up and down the beach looking specifically for grey stones with a white line running through them.

    Now, those of you who know me, I am not very good at moving slow. I tend to grab hold of things with a passion and run with it...eyes on the final goal from the very beginning. This was an exercise intended to slow me down. I had to keep reminding myself that there was nothing else to get to today, and if I did nothing but look for stones with a white line running through them, then perfect.

    As I looked, my mind became focused and I found that time released its pressure-hold on me and I gave myself to the moment. I found my stones and created my piece.

    I then had the idea to try my hand at rock stacking. I wanted to use the different colors to highlight my different stacks, so off I went to look for green, black, red, white and grey stones. When my piles were sufficient, I sat down and watched the waves. I was looking for a place to build. My intention was for the finished piece to be highlighted by the waves and close enough for the stones to remain wet from the water (highlighting their color). There was a sandy ridge that the waves just reached from time to time. I sat and counted how many waves touched this spot over a period of 10 minutes or so. I deemed it sufficient for my needs. I started to build.

   
    What was most surprisingly wonderful about this experience was how impermanent it was. Time and time again a wave would come that was just strong enough to topple the structure. I rebuilt. I started the next piece, a wave comes and topples the first. I rebuilt. Each time I rebuilt I learned more about the way to set the stones so that they were stronger for the next time. At one point, I had 4 towers built.

    I started on my fifth and a huge wave came, washing me and all of the stones away like a giant hand. I laughed at this with such a lightness and joy. It was a beautiful thing to see, stones scattered, reclaimed by the forces that had formed them, and my human part, the beauty I had created with these so permanent things existed for a pure moment, then returned to its own form.

    I sat back and watched the waves claim the rest of my work, feeling as though in that very moment I had touched something far greater than myself.

A Day in the Sun

Yesterday was the first time I was able to work in the garden this year. The day was just warm enough, dry and sunny. I am a bit of a lazy gardener at times, and I tend to leave a lot at the end of the season. Last fall was not an exception. I had a lot going on in my life at the end of the summer, and I just could not manage to root out all of the weeds and clean up the mess that had taken root over the summer while I was away. So I left it.

I arrived at the garden and was greeted by a tangle of weeds and overgrown plants and dead forgotten plantings from last year. I did what I always do, and spent a little time taking stock and visiting with this little piece of earth that I had not seen for a whole season. As I wandered I made a mental note of the tasks that needed to be done, and made decisions about the best places to start. I took the time to “arrive” in my place.

Then I got to work. Clearing, pulling, piling the detritus from the last season and clearing space for the new growth. I always find this to be a cathartic experience. After a long winter away from the physical exertion of being out in the garden, I have renewed energy for the work, and a new perspective of the possibilities there. I love how you can attack the dead flower stems and the weeds with a great deal of aggression, removing all that is not green or growing to make way for those tiny green leaves and shoots that appear as you slowly hack away at the dead wood.

As I was working, I was struck by how easy it is to clear away those deeply rooted weeds. Had I tried to clear all of that away in the fall, it would have cost twice the effort, and I would have had to just repeat the process again in the spring to stimulate the new growth. Immediately I drew a parallel to the process of transformation and healing that I have experienced in the last few years.

I recognized as I was clearing this much-loved plot of land, that there is some “clean-up” work that can only be done after the softening effects of time have come into play. Everyone who is going through pain and upheaval hates the phrase “time will heal,” but it is so ubiquitous for the reason that it holds a very deep truth, one that proves itself over and over.

So I worked away in the sun and the crisp air of spring, thinking of all the things that now must fall away from my life, and taking peeks at the new green life that is strongly presenting itself through the rich earth. And I am grateful. For the time, for the new life, for a chance to exist in a new form. 

For a day in the sun with my hands in the dirt.

The Silence of Winter

It has been nearly a year since I created this blog. When I think back one year I recognize just how much evolution has happened in myself and my life during that relatively short time. A year ago I was on the tail end of a major life change, a reevaluation and reconstruction of my self, my life, my priorities, and my relationships. Now, a year later, I find myself in a very quiet place. The turmoil of deconstruction and reconstruction has subsided and I am drawn to quiet reflection.

Winter is always a time of quiet for me anyway. I am such a creature of the sun and the summer that I tend to hibernate this time of year, literally and figuratively. I have thought many times recently about making a new post here, but was unable to come up with a topic.

So now I reflect.

When I think about this last year as a whole, what stands out the most for me is a feeling of having shifted my perspective. For most of my life I have struggled or fought my way through to get where I needed to be, or to get what I thought I needed to be happy. I was always looking forward, to a goal, or to a time in the future where I believed I would have accomplished all I needed to be happy. I fought hard for these goals and ideals and accomplished a great deal.

But, when I reached my goal I never stopped. I kept pushing farther to the next goal because that one was obviously not enough. I was not happy or content. I still needed to fight for more.

When I think back through this last year I see myself for the most part still doing this desperate dog paddle, keeping my head barely above the surface. But I began to see that there was no magical point at which I would suddenly have all that I needed. I began to see that if I just slowed down and looked, those things were already there. I was just to blinded by the spray of my own desperate thrashing to see it. At some point in this year I realized that this constant struggle was no longer necessary. I paddled to the shore and climbed out.

The silence and stillness that I feel now is the quiet of rest. I am sitting on the shore and gazing out at the water and how far I've come.

I think it is very easy to be drawn into this kind of goal oriented movement, especially as a young person, and especially in our current culture. Things move so fast and there are so many unrealistic depictions of a "normal" or "happy" life out there that we never slow down long enough to evaluate what is normal or happy for us as individuals. Because it is very different for each person. I am glad to have had the experience of striving for goals and the feeling of accomplishment of reaching them. And now I am glad to stop. To rest and reflect in the stillness of winter.

Who knows what may bloom in the spring.

My New York Adventure

So I am wrapping up my beautiful autumnal 2 week holiday in New York. I have had a chance to see the beach on Long Island, travel all around the city and see the amazing sights, a whole day in Central Park with my lovely friend Mel, and spent lots of time with the family of good friends who invited me into their home these last 2 weeks.

This trip was significant for me because it is the first time I have chosen to visit a city for a holiday. Cities have not held much interest for me, and have in the past been the places I avoid rather than seek out. I dove right into experiencing NYC. Striking out on the 3rd day I was here, I took the hour-long train ride from West Islip where I was staying, to Penn Station. As I emerged from the station I was struck by the cacophony of sounds and smells and sights of one of the most vibrant centers of urban life in the world. I stood still, exactly like a little country girl, and just took it in. Then I set off, exhilarated and excited for my adventure.

I started by walking up to Times Square. At the end of the square there are bleachers set up, so that one can simply sit and watch the flood of humanity wash by. I sat there, reveling in the foreignness of it all.

New York has a particular energy, something I did not expect to feel, or to get so much enjoyment out of. I have always felt somewhat intimidated by large cities, but I felt myself reveling in the sensory experience of being there.

I took in a few more sights that day, then headed back to West Islip. I was glad to be able to travel by train. There is something about that time that creates a kind of natural transition, like bookends on the day. The next day I ventured forth again, this time to meet the family of a student of mine and take a bus tour through the city. Lots of fun! On another day I caught a Broadway show. I saw Annie, which was awesome since it was the first musical I was in as a child. It was a really great production, and inspiring. I love theater, as a participant and spectator :)

Then there was the day spent with my good friend Mel in Central Park. The whole day. It was obscenely beautiful that day, perfect skies, warm, sunshine, and not too many people about. We started out at Grand Central Station, where we got lots of yummy food for a picnic lunch, then just walked till dinner time. We then hopped a subway down to Little Italy and ate the most awesome Italian food, then got cannolis to bring home to the family.

One evening I decided to simply wander around Soho and see what I found. I was initially looking for a poetry cafe where I was going to listen to a reading, but I got lost and turned around and tired and hungry, so I ducked into a restaurant advertising locally produced food.....what an incredible discovery! I had a great dinner with all local food and drink, and super friendly service. A couple of guys from the next table (film crew workers) gave me great tips for where to go and what to see. I was really impressed with how open and friendly the people I met were. Even on the subway, when I asked for directions there was always someone there who would help me out. I like that in a city.

Now I am at the end of the trip. I feel filled with the experience of the city, and the warm companionship of friends. I am grateful for the journey, and everything encountered along the way.

Hello Autumn

It has been quite a while since I have written a post. Now the season is well on its way into autumn. This morning as I was walking Sumo in the forest, we could both see our breath, and the ground was littered with leaves from yesterday's rain. The air smells different too. There is a kind of sweetness in the air, like burnt sugar mixed with fertile earth.

For me, this season brings a time of quiet. I spend a lot of time at home and alone in nature. My love of cooking (and eating ;) is also revived. I laughed at myself the other day when I scrolled through my pictures and posts on Facebook, most of them in the last month or so have been about food! The small woodland creature in me is preparing for the long cold months. As I write, I have the last of my garden pumpkins baking for more pumpkin bread...

Since I returned from the US, my focus and energy has been directed at my work in the classroom. We have a much younger class this year. This happens naturally in a Montessori classroom, if you have a large group of 3rd graders move on, then those places are naturally filled at the lower end. Some of the new students we have look so tiny! I have had to teach in a very different way this year as a result, but that is one of the things that keeps my interest and love of teaching alive. Every year is different, and each day presents a unique challenge for me to learn something or grow in some way as a result of my interaction with these little people.

I have been playing more music lately as well. A friend of mine plays piano, and teaches the piano lessons at the school. For a year or so, we have been meeting from time to time to play piano and cello pieces together. Now the violin teacher is joining us, and we are talking about a possible concert in the next few months. It is good to reconnect with my music. I am also teaching cello lessons again!

My fall holidays are coming up in a week, and because I have to return to Cleveland for the last part of my Montessori Adolescent Training, I decided to make a holiday out of it. On the 10th of October I am flying to New York :) I have never been there, and I am super excited to see the city, and experience the culture and art that is there. Look for lots of pictures in another few weeks!

Overall, life is quiet right now.

Untethered

A very good friend shared this video with me today. I remember the scene from the movie American Beauty that inspired it. The scene spoke of the importance of remembering that there is an energy, a life that exists behind everything. It spoke of beauty, the kind of quiet beauty that swells in your chest and threatens to tear you open to the world. I watch this and see the dance between freedom and attachment, that exquisite space where love and beauty both binds and releases us.

Watch this. Feel beautiful and free for a moment today.

Thoughts about Home

I have had an amazing and unique opportunity this summer to spend some time in many of the places that I, in my life, have called home. Being in the highly charged and transitional place I am, this has brought about in me many different thoughts and emotions.

From arriving in the US, jet-lagged and mildly culture-shocked, I began to realize how much Switzerland was now "home." The first phase of this trip was spent making these comparisons, and missing what has come to represent "home" there. Then I started to settle, and meet people, and revel in the familiarity of my own social culture.

My mom came to meet me in Cleveland, and this began the marathon family and friend portion of my summer. Family. In this phase of my life, family has become very important to me. My visits with my parents and my family held for me wonderful support and love. I have seen friends, and been embraced after long absence and have laughed with them with joyous familiarity. I have held my nieces in my arms, and had long talks with my brother.

I come away from this thinking about home, about the pieces that make up that deep feeling of peace and happiness when you are truly home. I have felt that at various times this summer, and in many varied situations. In the training this summer we talked at length about the kind of bond one forms with the place where you grew up, that you are somehow intrinsically linked with the actual physical geography of that place. I agree with that. I felt that when I was boating with my Dad at the lake where our family spent our summers when I was growing up. My soul is deep in that water and in those rocky cliffs. But I think that we form those same kind of imprintations on other significant places, and on significant people.

I do not know at this point where home will end up for me. This summer I realized that so many things in the US are "home" to me, but they are mainly based in my past. Now many things about Zurich are home, but it is still and always will be a foreign place. I am balanced precariously between. What I carry back with me from this summer is the knowledge that home is a collection; people, places, events, times...all the memories, experiences and connections that come together to create and environment that supports us at our deepest core self.

It's About People

I have just completed my fifth and final week of the Montessori Adolescent training, an intense and packed experience. I had been wondering for a while now what I would write about for these last few weeks. All I could see was that I had sat and listened to lectures all day every day and spent most of my evenings editing those lectures, and most of my weekends writing essays. Not much there I thought.

Today was the last day for the group together. We began the day with a spontaneous and raucous round of "I had the time of my life" in full male-female duet. I looked around at the room full of 60 adults, from all over the world, that I had just shared 5 weeks with, living, working, eating, learning, experiencing with. I realized what this had been for me.

It's about people.

It's about the power of seeing someone, looking into them and recognizing the self, the unique beauty that exists there, whether you are spending 5 weeks with them, 5 hours, or 5 years. The time is not the critical point, the point is being a part of someone's life (and letting them into yours). It is about the power that comes from embracing each experience, each new connection for what it is. It is about meeting some fellow wanderer on this crazy planet and taking their hand, saying, "I hear you." It is about listening, hearing what someone else is saying, without ego, without agenda. It is about being heard.

It is about going to a vineyard in Ohio on a Wednesday afternoon and playing cornhole ;)

I have always carried with me the fear of losing people who I love, but the truth is that the possession is the illusion. You can't nail love down. The idea of permanence is what we use to soothe that terrible risk that we take each time we look into the eyes of another human and decide to let them in.

This summer has been about people, about all those crazy, smart, impassioned people who are willing to dream, willing to devote their lives to the service of others, willing to spend 5 sweaty, intense, difficult, expensive weeks in Cleveland, Ohio for the sake of this passion.

All of you, this summer, I thank you. You have brought light and love and joy into my life. I will carry that with me as I travel on.

Montessori Training...continued

So here I am, at the end of week 3 of my training. It is still blazingly hot in Cleveland, but I have almost been too busy to notice it!

Most days are lecture-filled...about 5-6 hours worth. The weekends are taken with a 5-10 page essay and 10 words of a lexicon to define and support with quotes. Not to mention a library of Montessori readings. Man, it has been intense.

There have been days of other, more active work and experience. We spent a day traveling out to Hudson, OH to visit a suburban school there with an adolescent program, and we viewed the farm that they use and the little village where the kids have built relationships with the local merchants, historians and governmental agencies.We had the choice of activities that day, and I chose to do photography in the town square (focusing on spirals and concentric circles :) The idea was to see ways to connect the students with the particular place in which there school (and life) is located. To root them in the culture of their particular place and time. Again I was struck by how the act of looking (from an artistic perspective) causes you to connect with a place in a deep and meaningful way that would not otherwise happen.

Another day we spent at the Montessori High School here in Cleveland, and visited some of the locations and institutions where the students can do practical work. I had the chance to go to the Natural History Museum on a behind-the-scenes tour. That was such a fun experience! Not only as an educator (gathering ideas for the future) but also just for me personally. We went to the paleontology department and got to see the huge casts, removed from all around the world, which contained dinosaur fossils. Such fun! We traveled all through the bowels of the museum, coming at one point to a freezer room, which held an enormous collection of stuffed animals (not the plush kind). There was everything from a tiny bird to a giant grizzly bear. I felt like a kid, just filled with amazement.

As it is with any intense period of time away from home, it seems like I have been here MUCH longer than 3 weeks. But the next 2 will be more focused on writing up my own prospectus for an Montessori adolescent program, using the proposed site in Switzerland as a model. This will be interesting and inspiring work, and I am sure the time will fly.

Then on to visit family and friends!

First Week at the Farm School

What an awesome week!

Last week I got to live and work on the farm, at the Hershey Montessori Farm School. My fellow trainees and I lived and worked just as the adolescents there do. We roomed together, cooked meals together, cleaned, cared for the animals and attended classes. It is a really immersive way to get to know the school and the concept of the Erdkinder program.

It was my job a few times to feed the animals in the evenings. I was in heaven! I got to know the goats, who were extremely friendly, and of course spent some time hanging out with the chickens. One evening I volunteered to round up an escapee from the coop, and apparently impressed my colleagues with my chicken wrangling skills. I credit all those long beautiful childhood summers chasing chickens with my brother :)

The farm itself is not too big, just large enough to have a few cows, a few sheep, goats, chickens and a large garden. Everyone worked so well together and there was a real feeling of community built among those of us staying there at the farm. Study sessions were often lively and interactive, and there was more than one "jam session" on the porch in the evenings after "study hall."

This whole experience is reinvigorating me to go back and really apply what I am seeing and experiencing here. It is also refueling the fire I have for teaching in the Montessori way. What I see in the children here is so inspiring, these adolescents have such a sense of calm and confidence and peace about them. They are clearly adolescents, and are giggly and loud and very active, but you can see a spark in them and a self-assuredness that I have never seen before in a group of children this age. They seem satisfied in some way that I have never seen in adolescents.

At the end of the week, we had a chance to see the Montessori school (ages 0-12) that feeds into the adolescent program. They asked us to take a "silent journey" through the classroom environments in developmental order, so we shut our mouths and started in the infant room. We were required to stay 15 minutes in each environment and were permitted to move about and work with any of the materials. It was a beautiful experience, and I have never seen such amazing and well-prepared environments. It was a real treat to see this.

I am having a great experience and looking forward to learning more :)

In the meantime, here is me on the farm!

10 Years Ago

10 Years Ago.....

On a blazing hot summer day, at Otter Creek Park in Louisville, Kentucky, a young Tyler and Angie got married.

From oldies

For 10 years I have had a partner who has been unfailingly true, a loving husband, and a fierce friend. We have had times that were beautiful and easy (quite the majority in fact), times of hard work endured and eased by partnership, and we have had times that were terribly difficult, most notably the last year or two. During these hard times when I have been in such a state of turmoil and confusion and change, I have been able to take solace in the one unshakable piece of my life, my husband's love and devotion. He has stood by me even in the face of  great opposition and great pain. I have never known someone more deserving of the title "husband" or "partner."

For 10 years I have had the gift of a marriage with someone who is kind and strong and honest, who stands by his word and cares deeply for the people in his life, who is smart and loves a challenge and never ceases to search for the greater truth. I have had a partner who is beautiful in so many ways, handsome and confident, laughing eyes and a ready smile. A partner who has brought me endless laughter and joy.

I love you Tyler, and I thank you.

I am so lucky and proud to share my life with you.

Montessori Summer 2012...Day 1

I am here, in the US, and it is full-on summer. I have forgotten how wretchedly hot it is here in the summertime. But it has been really fun to watch my Austrian colleague experience the US for the first time.

We made a long stop in Georgia on the way in and I had a chance to catch up with a friend from college that I had not seen in over 10 years. It is amazing how much changes and how much stays the same! We had a really nice (though short) visit. She drove us to this awesome dilapidated factory that has been repurposed as a goat farm/artist collective. Really cool.

Then on to Cleveland. I am staying in student housing....and it is everything you might expect from a state school tower housing. Small, hot, old and ugly. :/

Ah well, it is about the adventure, right?

We have managed to successfully navigate the Cleveland public transit system (actually not bad at all...better than the Italian!). I took Christina to Wal-Mart after we realized that the kitchen we were supposed to cook in had no dishes or pots or cutlery or anything other than a refrigerator, microwave and stove. I have to say, Wal-Mart is something I could happily live without forever. She was absolutely amazed to see that spectacle of American consumerism. Then we wandered around campus, stumbled upon a football practice and lingered while I explained everything I know about American football...lol

Now to the meat of my post. About how it is to be back. I have to say, I have been a little surprised this visit. I will illustrate with an example. In the hotel this morning I watched a young girl play a game with her mom (anyone know the "cold chills" ?) that I had played as a child. There was such a warm rush of memory and nostalgia for me, but almost as if it were for someone I once knew very closely, not so much for me as I am now.

It is so strange to be here, in this place where everything is so familiar, so easy to live in, because I know the culture on an intimate level...and yet I am no longer a part of it as I once was. It is not that I do not love being here, and I would be very sad to never come back to the states, but I have developed as a person so much now in Switzerland, that it is as if there is a part of me that is now also intimately linked to that place. I feel a little like a foreigner in my own culture, somewhat apart, somewhat changed. It is not a feeling that I regret in any way because I love the changes I have embraced in myself, but it is strange to feel these two feelings, of intimacy and separation.

I look forward to a summer of further discovery :)