Nonsense, Drivel, and Balderdash

There are potted plants on the roof of the house we are staying in. Some of the pots are actual containers made of baked clay, while others are not much more than canvas bags filled with dirt from which flowers have bloomed: big yellow ones hanging lazily from a vine, small white ones sticking out tongues of red, pink roses, succulents and cacti… there are dozens of little plants growing, hidden above the muddy Nepali streets below. They are subtle, not junglelike enough to overwhelm or surprise a curious rooftop visitor, but as I sat among them earlier today in the morning breeze, I was struck by their presence up there. Someone must have taken the time to haul these potted plants up five flights of stairs and onto the roof, to sacrifice some of their restricted water and time to keep them alive, though no one can see them from the street below. A secret touch of color five flights above the dust and soot. There are countries where squalor creates monochrome, a washed out despair...

14 hours from now I'll be boarding a plane, leaving the possibility of a cold New England summer for the certainty of Nepal's hot monsoon season. That is the only thing that seems certain right now. All I know of my time in Nepal is that it will be hot and humid. In less than a day I will be trading a summer of guaranteed mundanity and uncertain weather for a season of guaranteed humid heat and uncertain activities. If I were to stay in Boston for the summer, my biggest worry would be whether or not it would be warm enough to wear shorts, but warm weather seems to be the only thing that  is  guaranteed in Nepal. Everything else seems uncertain. I have been told that Nepal demands "flexibility," of the difficulty in making plans in a place that is in constant flux. Being a person who loves musical improvisation, I am surprised that this lack of planning has made me so apprehensive as the trip nears. Don't get me wrong; I  am  looking forward to Nepal. Jess and I ha...

Today I passed one of the most important milestones of a teaching career: finished my first year. When I started in September, all the other teachers patted me sympathetically on the shoulder. Throughout the year, as if offering condolences, they would say, "the first year is the hardest." At certain points of the year, as I wandered the halls in a daze, other teachers would look at me with pity. But even with all of this, I was still surprised at how many people genuinely asked me if I was going to continue teaching this year. The first year really is a trial by fire at the end of which many people decide that education is "not for them." The third year is the next big milestone that also sees a lot of teachers quit the profession. So I am still expecting a couple of hard years ahead. Nevertheless, I am confident that next year will be easier. Clearer expectations and experience will make things much smoother. The final real milestone, from what I hear, is the fi...

George's test was using more red ink than I expected, but as I went over his answers, two things became abundantly clear: 1) George was going to fail the test; 2) I was perversely happy about it.   Maybe more experienced, mature, or just better teachers don't experience feelings like this, but I do. I never realized how many complicated emotional processes being a teacher carries with it.  You get emotionally invested after working all year long to teach your kids, to get them to care, and to turn their efforts into results. I mean, just minutes before grading George's test, I was barely able to stop myself from cheering in the middle of the coffee shop where I had set up shop when I saw that Tony had gotten an A on his final exam. Tony and George have been my most... challenging... students this year. My mentor teacher has told me that it will rarely get any worse than these two. They both demand an unreasonable amount of my energy and attention: talking, ...