Saturday, August 27, 2011

Dream 8-26-2011

I'm in the backyard of a country home situated on a hilly property. 

Maroon fence posts with small, harmless barbed wire, line the perimeter of the property.  The maroon matches that of the exterior of the home, at least the back face of it.  I approach the fence and place the palms of my hands on the top of the fence post.  I leap upwards, keeping my hands firmly placed on top of post, using it as the rotation point.  My feet fly into the air until I and the post form a straight line shooting through the center of the earth.

I continue my momentum and flip until my feet land on the other side of the fence.  The greener side, which is to say the better side.  In fact, the whole of the landscape is a golden yellow.  Looks like hay, wheat, straw.  I'm engaged by the beauty of the place. 

I throw my bag and another item, plastic, black, utilitarian, about 18 in x 24 in.  I don't know why I do this, but it becomes important.

I notice two unbelievably beautiful horses trotting along.  As they enter the scene at stage left, Sterling, my old roommate and best friend, enters stage right, coming from inside the house.

He's not alone.  He's with plan.  Plan is to storm the neighboring home, the home of one Farmer Withers, and steal some eggs.  Withers is clearly just inside the home, reclined in a sofa chair, holding a rifle.  I see this through the wiring of the chicken coop. 

There's no dissuading Sterling, and as I run up the hill, for Withers lives atop it, the aforementioned ponies run alongside me, close enough for me to touch.  I decide that I want to spend my time petting the blond horse that runs most proximally beside me.  His coat is a shade darker than the grass through which we jog, the mane a few shades lighter. 

I continue running, and I've been dissuaded from the more sensible option of spending the afternoon relaxing amongst my new found equine friends.  I follow Sterling up a hill, he grabs two handfulls of eggs, and we run through the gate, ensuring that our doggie friends (who have since materialized-think Sirens of Titan) escape along with their loyal masters.  The horses are no longer of importance, and disappear. 

I trail Sterling through the gate, fumbling to shut the latch, rushed by the howls of protest and rage coming from within the home of Withers.  He also fumbles to load and prepare his gun for firing, aiming either to inspire fear or do actual harm, we as yet know not which. 

The gate is latched, and I enter without tribulation or hurdle the back yard of the maroon house from which we've come. 

I arrive only to realize two things.

First, I've forgotten my bag and the aforementioned black plastic object.  I clearly need these two items.

Second, I come to understand that Withers' weapon is nothing more than a BB gun, intended more to scare than to harm.  This comforts me.

These two facts spur my action to jump the fence and retrieve my items. 

I feel simultaneously an anger at and an empathy (and even melancholy) for Withers.  He clearly has become resigned in doing us no harm, and will (I know) aim high when firing even the relatively harmless BB gun.  We are a symbiotic pair, the defender of the house, who in his loneliness pines for his security to be breached.  The storming party, in need of developing the character that defines Withers' long-gone youthful "piss-and-vinegarness," feels the need to pay their dues as youngsters, hoping to add credence to the idea that they lived once, a long time ago.

Even their actions are cyclical.  The eggs that they've stolen have a single purpose.  To be hucked at the home of Withers himself, the house from which they came in the first place.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Credential Questions

These are really hard.  They're really broad.  Here goes. I'm getting my Adult Teaching Credential, and am required to answer some questions.  Here they are.

1.  What is most important to you as a teacher?

Most important to me is to work with students in such a way that they begin to realize that they are transformers of the world; that whether they recognize their agency or not, they are the shapers of tomorrow's world.  If they can really feel this on a visceral level, they will seek to do the things that bode well for tomorrow.  They will be able to engage in honest dialogue with themselves about their goals, and subsequently communicate those to the right people to assist them therewith. 

Additionally, I aim to help students see that they are no less complete simply becuase of a lack of formal schooling, English language proficiency, financial resources, citizenship status, or due to limited social capital.  Rather, they are fully emotional, intellectual, cultural, social, spiritual, sexual, and political beings, who inevitably come from unique experiences no less fascinating or profound than any other.  In recognition thereof, students feel empowered to take pride in their personal knowledge, and are less likely to feel deficient for any of the aforementioned lacks.  Subsequent to their empowerment, students can really embrace a risk-taking activity like learning a new language or academic skill without feeling incomplete. 

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Drink a Beer and Wait Patiently

So, I haven't been drinking much lately, but I decided I wanted a beer last night after a long bike ride.  I stopped at HEB for a couple of vegetables, and purchased a 32oz (caguama) of Corona Familiar, a beer which I became accustomed to drinking during my months in Mexico.

I arrived at the house, opened the beer, and sat drinking it, to the melodious offerings of Freddy Fender.  I noticed a young girl approach the bus stop (the 300) from my right.  She stopped there, as one might who expects to catch the next Govalle bus on its southerly route towards Oltorf and Burton. 

A few moments later, a red Mustang 5.0 came screaming down Govalle, heading in the same direction the girl had come from, which is my right.  Naturally, he was driving on the opposite side of the street, this being the United States, and yet the girl was on the near side at the bus stop.  As he approached, he swerved sharply and crossed the street, coming to a jerky stop in front of the girl.  There was a conversation.

"What the fuck are you doing at the bus stop!"

Unintelligible response from the young lady.

"Why the fuck didn't you call me from the house?"

Again, unintelligible blabber from the girl, obviously upset at this point.

Unintelligible cursing from the driver of the 5.0. 

He speeds off, moving from my right to my left, down Govalle, towards Springdale.  I debate whether I should step in and do something.  I sit, pensive, as I hear, coming from my left, what sounds like a red Mustang 5.0, approaching the two of us. 

Sure enough, it is our knight in primer armor, returned to have a second go at his maiden.

"What the fuck are you thinking?"

"I just-" Interrupted.

"Get the fuck in the car!"

She tries.  He speeds off, heading right, from whence he came, towards Tillery street.  He turns at the first opportunity, at Kirk.  It is reminiscent of the Wonder Years episode, when Savage's big brother does the same. 

Weeping from the maiden.  Bonafide weeping. 

I start to approach the maiden, to ask if I may be of service, more nervous about an affirmative answer than a negative one, for that brings your humble author into the mix.  As I do, I notice my neighbor, or more precisely, my neighbor's roommate, approaching.  He's a few steps ahead of me, and seems to be offering the same helping hand.  I return to my anonymous position on my front porch, hidden from sight by the bushes at the bus stop and the pecan tree that separates us. 

"No."  She sobs.  "My boyfriend is just an asshole!"

Red Mustang 5.0 returns, from the direction he had recently escaped. 

"Don't you dare tell my fucking dad that you saw me!"

Unintelligible, from both actors.

"I'm going to the fucking store for some drinks."

Speeds off.  Sobbing.

5.0 returns a few minutes later, from the direction in which he had previously sped off. 

Unintelligible, from both.

She moves toward the vehicle, attempting to get in.  He speeds off (see above Wonder Years reference).

She follows in the direction he heads, sobbing and shaking her head. 


Monday, February 7, 2011

Not feeling disappointed about a disappointing situation

I just had an orientation session which was devoid of students.  There were zero students in attendance.  I only anticipated one student, and zero showed up.  None.

I was sitting, waiting, for 45 minutes or so, feeling somewhat ambivalent about whether I wanted students to show up.  In the end, I waited until a quarter til the hour, decided that nobody was going to show, and I left, offering only vague explanations as to what might have been the cause of the lack of attendance.  "You know adult students, sometimes...We should have called earlier...Our program assistant has been out," etc...

As I drove back to school, I was alarmed to realize how truly ambivalent I had been.  What had caused this?  Why did I not care about this?  Was I not embarrassed by this relative fiasco? 

Has me thinking about finding something wherein I would feel embarrassed, frustrated, curious, motivated, an event not going well.