Not long ago in a post entitled The Monday from Hell it was noted that a spring broke on my personal oboe rendering it unplayable. Here's the anthropomorphized version of the story and what has followed to this date:
"Oh dear me," she cried, "I simply cannot go on like this. Look at me. I'm a wreck. My springs are loose, my pads are shredding, and my joints, screws, and rods are corroded and black. You keep thinking I'm fine, but please! Tear your eyes away from those adorable children and LOOK at me."
I answered, "You simply cannot break down now, dear, you and I have a date with Handel and Bizet in a few days. All of our friends will be there. You will just have to get a stiff upper reed."
"No, oh, no, I can't..." she said, and fainted.
I was floored. I was devastated. I drank several glasses of wine. I cried under my desk. But she would not revive. What to do with her??? Meanwhile, Handel and Bizet would not wait.
I accepted the services of a stranger for my musical meeting, noting...how crisp and clear was this oboe's action, how cool and collected she seemed.
Could my sweet old oboe really be in need of some pampering? Had I woefully neglected her? Would she come back to me with love in her keys and a song in her bore if I sent her to a spa for some special oboe treatment?
I found a spa on the internet. (Good old internet. The things you can find.) Nadia's Luxury Spa for Oboe Ailments, it was called, and it looked to be just the solution I was looking for. The best of the best, said the little voice in my head.
Your oboe will never feel better after our deep tissue massages, the spa appealed.
Indulge your English Horn in a full-system detox using only all-natural agents, the caregivers cajoled.
D'amore facials, pedicures, and skin-softening treatments will make your instrument sing again, the banners beckoned.
I looked over at my sad, forlorn little gal and sighed, "anything for you, dear!"
Luckily a box had just arrived for one of my adorable children, the perfect size for shipping off the old diva. I wrapped her tenderly in a WalMart bag, surrounded her with last week's local newspaper proclaiming the potatoes off to a good start--the best I could do, you see--and put her in the care of UPS, which bore my little girl safely across the 2,000 miles.
Nadia's voice came to me gaily across the cell phone towers: "It's gonna take a lot to get this ol' gal back in shape!"
A lot of tender loving care. A lot of taking-apart-and-putting-back-together. A lot of days eating only celery and drinking fresh spring water with no coffee and certainly no fried food. A lot of nights of good sleep.
A lot of cash. My husband said, "anything for you, dear."
Let's see: four times what I paid for my wedding dress and all the accessories. Not that I paid much, because I made it, but still, it sounds interesting to say so.
Six months of daycare for the wee daughter. Hmm.
Two sets of Chevy all-terrain truck tires.
An outlandish yarn crawl? (Like a pub crawl except one doesn't drink, one purchases yarn.)
Ok.
It was starting to seem...not that unreasonable. I sighed again.
Especially because it's--well--it's her. She's part of me.
Especially since the old gal will have to continue to live in her own skin, she's not getting a facelift, it's just not happening. She'll be stuck with her same old plating because the only reason I'd give her that treatment is if I were going to say goodbye, and she and I are old childhood friends and will remain so. She and I will age together, looking a little raggedy on the outside but shiny on the inside. Still able to get the job done, just without turning heads any longer.
So I told Nadia to please commence luxury oboe spa treatment as soon as she was able.
We'll have our rendezvous on the Jersey Shore to look forward to right after she gets back, and I intend to be ready for her. In the months after, we'll spend many more hours in the company of the world's finest composers and the world's best...junior high students.
So now I'm listening to the adorable children snore the afternoon away, and think of my little old gal sipping carrot smoothies, head and feet wrapped in towels, attentive hands soothing away the years of tarnish and replacing the creaky parts, luxuriating in double-reed bliss at Nadia's spa.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
On Receiving Tenure
Flipping through newspapers, newsmagazines and watching the news on TV, one can find a lot of information and opinion on the hot educational topic of tenure.
To some, it's a dirty word. Some believe tenure rewards mediocre or even crappy teachers with a lifetime of guaranteed employment as long as they don't get caught with drugs, doing inappropriate things with students, or looking at pornography. Never mind the kids, these slacker teachers can just sit back and coast because no one can do anything to them, because they have the immunity of tenure.
To some, it's a reward system for teachers who bust their butts proving themselves and have earned the right not to be questioned. The first three years are of necessecity probationary, and one misstep, indeed, no reason at all, can get you fired. Three years is enough of that, and they should be welcomed into the higher eschelons of the ranks who have Got It.
I had a lot of opinions on tenure before receiving it caused me to look more personally at it. Before I even set foot in a classroom with my name on the door, I was more in the first camp. To me, tenure was an excuse for some lazy teachers to not have to work hard. Districts were stuck with them, no matter what they did, and shame on those poor administrators for participating in this old and outdated institution.
And then the golden door opened to me. My thoughts on tenure have changed so much now that I really can say I know what I'm talking about, at least as it applies to me. (Which wasn't the case before.)
I did bust my butt for three years. I busted it through the out-of-the-frying-pan-into-the-fire first year, when I scrambled to learn how to do this teaching stuff. I busted it when my job was just another opportunity for professional employment with its own standards, practices and lingo, no different than my job as a Registrar at the art museum.
I busted it through the second year when I was a junior sponsor, pregnant--no wait, nursing an infant, pumping milk three times a day, skipping valuable catch-up time at lunch to nurse, taking a correspondence class I still can't figure out why I needed, suddenly becoming the parent of a troubled teenager and trying, with my husband, to figure out how to un-trouble him, and managing the schedules of myself and two children. And suddenly realizing how much I cared about my students.
I busted it through my third year when, finally, I had no obligations to provide milk of my own body, no juniors to sponsor, and no classes to take, and I could concentrate on upping my own personal practices as a teacher, time manager, inventory manager, and building leader for the sake of my students and the potential I knew they could achieve. (See: Contest, Large Group.)
Suddenly I was being called into my boss's office where they told me that they were going to recommend to the board that I receive tenure. They didn't want me to lose sleep over it. I said I hadn't, really, I was too busy preparing for the Spring Concert and getting ready for end-of-year instrument inventory. I said, thank you very much, it's an honor.
A few weeks later when it became a reality I was in the middle of a workshop learning some new technology I could implement in my large band classes, and I hardly paused to absorb the news because I was working to learn the new program.
Now that I've had time to process the fact, I can say several things about it. First, it really doesn't change how I feel about actually doing my job. I'm a professional. I approach teaching the same way I approached graduate school, from which I emerged with a 4.0, and the same way I approached my Registrar job, where I know I left the permanent collection and the collections records of the museum better than I found them. I can't imagine not continuing to teach with professionalism, enthusiasm, and a constant drive to learn and do better. Duh.
Second, this special vote of confidence makes me feel on some level a sense of acceptance greater than I have felt. The day after the board meeting, I was back at school for graduation rehearsal and the following day for graduation itself, for which I played the processional and recessional on the piano. I noticed that I wielded my keys and walked into the building with my head higher, with a stronger sense of belonging than I have ever felt before. I think I even played the piano better, because I wasn't quite so nervous. I played as if I belonged, as if it were my rightful place instead of one I simply inhabited because they needed someone to fill it.
Third, receiving tenure means that if I don't do anything really dumb, which I am simply not programmed to do (thanks Mom and Dad) and our district continues to thrive and even become a magnet for students outside our boundaries, my family will have security for the forseeable future. I will be able to help provide for them and give them the role model of a mother able to balance work and family effectively and who takes joy in her professional life. Yes, of course my husband ably fills the other half of our comfortable cup, and then some, with the joy he takes in his work and the professionalism he exhibits and all of that. But I know I can continue to do my part to make sure our kids grow up with all the experiences I want them to have.
Simply put, tenure rocks. I can breathe a little sigh of relief and go on a little easier. I can put the energy I spent thinking about it into other things like readying myself to teach college level art appreciation and figuring out how to get more instruments for the school.
Well, I would love to say more about how great tenure feels, but I have to start writing some lesson plans for the fall.
To some, it's a dirty word. Some believe tenure rewards mediocre or even crappy teachers with a lifetime of guaranteed employment as long as they don't get caught with drugs, doing inappropriate things with students, or looking at pornography. Never mind the kids, these slacker teachers can just sit back and coast because no one can do anything to them, because they have the immunity of tenure.
To some, it's a reward system for teachers who bust their butts proving themselves and have earned the right not to be questioned. The first three years are of necessecity probationary, and one misstep, indeed, no reason at all, can get you fired. Three years is enough of that, and they should be welcomed into the higher eschelons of the ranks who have Got It.
I had a lot of opinions on tenure before receiving it caused me to look more personally at it. Before I even set foot in a classroom with my name on the door, I was more in the first camp. To me, tenure was an excuse for some lazy teachers to not have to work hard. Districts were stuck with them, no matter what they did, and shame on those poor administrators for participating in this old and outdated institution.
And then the golden door opened to me. My thoughts on tenure have changed so much now that I really can say I know what I'm talking about, at least as it applies to me. (Which wasn't the case before.)
I did bust my butt for three years. I busted it through the out-of-the-frying-pan-into-the-fire first year, when I scrambled to learn how to do this teaching stuff. I busted it when my job was just another opportunity for professional employment with its own standards, practices and lingo, no different than my job as a Registrar at the art museum.
I busted it through the second year when I was a junior sponsor, pregnant--no wait, nursing an infant, pumping milk three times a day, skipping valuable catch-up time at lunch to nurse, taking a correspondence class I still can't figure out why I needed, suddenly becoming the parent of a troubled teenager and trying, with my husband, to figure out how to un-trouble him, and managing the schedules of myself and two children. And suddenly realizing how much I cared about my students.
I busted it through my third year when, finally, I had no obligations to provide milk of my own body, no juniors to sponsor, and no classes to take, and I could concentrate on upping my own personal practices as a teacher, time manager, inventory manager, and building leader for the sake of my students and the potential I knew they could achieve. (See: Contest, Large Group.)
Suddenly I was being called into my boss's office where they told me that they were going to recommend to the board that I receive tenure. They didn't want me to lose sleep over it. I said I hadn't, really, I was too busy preparing for the Spring Concert and getting ready for end-of-year instrument inventory. I said, thank you very much, it's an honor.
A few weeks later when it became a reality I was in the middle of a workshop learning some new technology I could implement in my large band classes, and I hardly paused to absorb the news because I was working to learn the new program.
Now that I've had time to process the fact, I can say several things about it. First, it really doesn't change how I feel about actually doing my job. I'm a professional. I approach teaching the same way I approached graduate school, from which I emerged with a 4.0, and the same way I approached my Registrar job, where I know I left the permanent collection and the collections records of the museum better than I found them. I can't imagine not continuing to teach with professionalism, enthusiasm, and a constant drive to learn and do better. Duh.
Second, this special vote of confidence makes me feel on some level a sense of acceptance greater than I have felt. The day after the board meeting, I was back at school for graduation rehearsal and the following day for graduation itself, for which I played the processional and recessional on the piano. I noticed that I wielded my keys and walked into the building with my head higher, with a stronger sense of belonging than I have ever felt before. I think I even played the piano better, because I wasn't quite so nervous. I played as if I belonged, as if it were my rightful place instead of one I simply inhabited because they needed someone to fill it.
Third, receiving tenure means that if I don't do anything really dumb, which I am simply not programmed to do (thanks Mom and Dad) and our district continues to thrive and even become a magnet for students outside our boundaries, my family will have security for the forseeable future. I will be able to help provide for them and give them the role model of a mother able to balance work and family effectively and who takes joy in her professional life. Yes, of course my husband ably fills the other half of our comfortable cup, and then some, with the joy he takes in his work and the professionalism he exhibits and all of that. But I know I can continue to do my part to make sure our kids grow up with all the experiences I want them to have.
Simply put, tenure rocks. I can breathe a little sigh of relief and go on a little easier. I can put the energy I spent thinking about it into other things like readying myself to teach college level art appreciation and figuring out how to get more instruments for the school.
Well, I would love to say more about how great tenure feels, but I have to start writing some lesson plans for the fall.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Quick List
Top Ten Things About This Past Tuesday's Concert:
10. There were prom decorations already on the stage we could use. Plug them in, instant atmosphere.
9. I only had two piano accompaniments, both of which went well. Meaning, I didn't screw up so badly due to piano performance anxiety that I messed up my soloist.
8. I had the best attendance I've ever had, about 85%.
7. I reserved the first 3 1/2 rows for the students, and they were well-behaved, except for a few that thought they were at a football game and kept shouting things like, "Yeah, Go for it! Woot! Woot! Woot!"
6. Aside from conducting the 5th grade beginning band, 6th grade band, and middle-high band, I had a long string of soloists that I didn't have to do anything for, just watch and encourage, which I did, happily, from the sidelines--I mean wings.
5. Only one percussion instrument got lost.
4. My graduating seniors went out with a bang and not a whimper.
3. I feel very satisfied with how it went, and the students thought they did well.
2. My boss liked it.
1. I don't have to put another one together 'til December.
10. There were prom decorations already on the stage we could use. Plug them in, instant atmosphere.
9. I only had two piano accompaniments, both of which went well. Meaning, I didn't screw up so badly due to piano performance anxiety that I messed up my soloist.
8. I had the best attendance I've ever had, about 85%.
7. I reserved the first 3 1/2 rows for the students, and they were well-behaved, except for a few that thought they were at a football game and kept shouting things like, "Yeah, Go for it! Woot! Woot! Woot!"
6. Aside from conducting the 5th grade beginning band, 6th grade band, and middle-high band, I had a long string of soloists that I didn't have to do anything for, just watch and encourage, which I did, happily, from the sidelines--I mean wings.
5. Only one percussion instrument got lost.
4. My graduating seniors went out with a bang and not a whimper.
3. I feel very satisfied with how it went, and the students thought they did well.
2. My boss liked it.
1. I don't have to put another one together 'til December.
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