Finally

I found a song. It's been a while, and this one is very short and I don't think it's quite finished yet. But I think I like it so far. I found a way to record the keyboard, too, instead of the blinds, so that's weird and fun. And pretend the sound is that of a grand piano in Carnegie Hall, not that of a cheap, emotionless mock piano.

These are not my cookies.

I don't get many emails from students, but I got one yesterday. From a quiet student who seemed to want to blend into the wall during class. So much so that I barely knew her, though she did very well in class. In the email, she asked for the recipe for the cookies I had shared with my students on the last day of class. I sent her a link to the recipe ( http://bakeoff-flunkie.blogspot.com/2010/07/kaitlyns-outrageous-oatmeal-chocolate.html if you're feeling bakey) and a follow up email explaining how I chopped up dark chocolate to make chocolate chips. I also bid her good luck and figured I'd never hear from her again. This morning, I got a second email from her with the above picture attached to the below message:

"Good morning miss Erin :) I did cookie yesterday night they turn out well but absolutely yours is more delicious than mine. Thanks for your help have a good time :)"

Being me, I can't think of a better email to end this semester on. Here's to the quiet quirky wonderful kids, to spreading the love of cookies, and to two weeks of vacation. G'night.

Dear Warrior,

I sat in your tomb yesterday. In the sacred space encrusted with a spear-pierced shield where your broken body was placed. I sat there, heard my laugh echo, had my picture taken there, ran my hand through the moss growing in the corner, sniffed the moldy lining, in the tiny concrete box that your family, your friends, your enemies, all thought belonged solely to you. A space where you could rest, in peace, forever. Where your loved ones could kneel and drop tears and flowers onto the rocks, where they felt you were safe from further harm, from further desecration. You are no longer there, though. Your organs have long ago dissolved, your hair has been woven into ancient bird nests, and your bones have been scattered across the land, by the hands of thieves and the teeth of dogs. Not a trace of you remains there, where I sat yesterday, feeling alive and whole and happy. And now I wonder whether I should apologize or say thank you.    

howl

it's a pity the moon can't howl back. just to let us know that she's listening. snout to the stars, ears sharpened points, eyes zipped shut, fur on end, paws firmly planted, tail slowly pushing pine needles through the dust. and howling till there's nothing left to howl.

all in one day

There was rain. Then there was thunder. Then there was an earthquake. The streets are filled with rushing water, the air is sneezing up bolts of electricity, and my cheese is sliced in waving lines to match the waggle of my apartment building. And I feel really good about all of it.

This news article makes the quake sound much more "violent" than anything I experienced, but here's proof: http://guardianlv.com/2013/12/earthquake-5-8-violently-hits-turkey-egypt-and-cyprus/ 

This article will also be used (by me) as part of an introduction to the passive voice on Monday. Two birds, one storm. Or something like that.

On the weekend

On the weekend, I make an egg-in-toast sandwich for breakfast instead of yogurt with granola. I open the drapes in my kitchen and leave them open all day. I listen to Christmas music instead of the BBC news. And I put two little heart-shaped cubes of sugar in my morning coffee instead of just one. Somehow, that makes all the difference.

a moment of real

if you could just get your students to sit down, things would be okay. but they just keep standing there, grumpy that you made them move into new groups and talking in turkish. in a recent written assignment in which you asked them to tell you what they thought teachers should do in class, to practice modals of advice, they all wrote about how teachers should be funny, teachers should be friendly, teachers should play music, teachers should play games all the time, teachers should speak turkish, teachers shouldn't assign homework, teachers shouldn't make class boring. you think about this advice as the students stand there in the middle of the classroom, not sitting down, not even hearing what you're trying to say because they won't stop talking turkish. so you stop. you just stop. and stare. and wonder what anyone else would do in this moment. not a single student is listening. not a single student cares that you spent an hour planning this thing that it turns out they hate. not a single student is learning anything. tired of trying to talk over them. tired of trying to explain things. tired of the students' wish for fun and amusement all. the. time. tired of the assumption that it's your fault if it's not fun and amusing and it's your fault if the students do poorly on the test and it's your fault if they're not engaged in class and it's your fault if they check their cell phones every 2.5 seconds. it's all your fault. as you stand there, dumbfounded, tired, staring at the floor. this moment of chaos is all your fault.

and you kinda don't care cause it weighs way too much to care all the time. and you kinda start looking at other jobs. and you kinda hate yourself for being incapable of sticking with anything, anyone, anywhere.