2009!

List for the New Year!
* Yoga
* Healthy cooking
* Slow down and breathe deeply
* Vacation time is down time
* Walk, walk, walk everyday
* Stretch, stretch, stretch everyday

Inaugural Poet: Elizabeth Alexander 2009

Elizabeth Alexander will be our Nation's fifth Inaugural poet: Robert Frost read "Dedication" at John F. Kennedy's (1961), Maya Angelou read "Inaugural Poem 20 January 1993" at Bill Clinton's (1993), Miller Williams read "Of History of Hope" at Bill Clinton's second inauguration (1997) and James Dickey read "The Strength of Fields" at Jimmy Carter's (1977).

Here is one of Elizabeth's poems:

Ars Poetica #100:

I Believe

Poetry, I tell my students,
is idiosyncratic. Poetry

is where we are ourselves,
(though Sterling Brown said

“Every ‘I’ is a dramatic ‘I’”)
digging in the clam flats

for the shell that snaps,
emptying the proverbial pocketbook.

Poetry is what you find
in the dirt in the corner,

overhear on the bus, God
in the details, the only way

to get from here to there.
Poetry (and now my voice is rising)

is not all love, love, love,
and I’m sorry the dog died.

Poetry (here I hear myself loudest)
is the human voice,

and are we not of interest to each other?

A Vision of a Student

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGCJ46vyR9o

Study of Opposites 2

In life, we know that there is always a reason to look up. En la vida, hay tiempos en los cuales tenemos una razon para mirar hacia arriba.















But there’re always points in life when we look down... Pero tambien encontraremos ocasiones cuando miraremos hacia abajo....

Study of Opposites 1

When we look at the world, we see with our own eyes. Cuando miramos al mundo, lo vemos con nuestros propios ojos.














Our point of view makes us unique and requires seeing and accepting each other’s differences. Lo que nos hace ser diferente a los demas son nuestras ideas, y para ser una mejor persona, tenemos que aprender a aceptar las difrencias de los demas.

Late Autumn Thanksgiving Letter

I AM STRUGGLING TO WRITE THIS LETTER before the household wakes up. I hope all is well with you. I thought of Colorado yesterday morning. Dan and I were up early, just as the sun rose in a cool, Autumn greeting in Houston. We have guests this weekend; so in the attempt to keep the house quiet, we bundled up and lit a fire outside on the back porch. Armed with a cup of coffee, a rambunctious puppy, and a cookbook to read, I sat outside as the morning awoke, listening to the fire crackle and warming my toes.

My mind went to Colorado and waking up each morning with only two things on my mind: coffee and a fire.

I am so appreciative of those mornings--when we wake up and meet for coffee. I envision our trip to Taos being the same feeling--my house has a big outdoor fireplace. We will be up early. The coffee will be on. And now I quietly laugh inside because I can just hear my brothers complaining about my coffee--so I promise to bring "the good stuff" from Central Market. Now that is enough to get you up and out and over to my back porch...

As we near the end of 2008, I have this wistful feeling of missing my family. Never mind I will see that most of you either Thanksgiving or Christmas. Some days I have this longing in my heart--how I wish I could wiggle my nose like Bewitch and zap you over for Sunday night dinner. Tonight is chicken parmesan for Claire's 18th birthday. Can you believe it? Just yesterday, we were sitting in Atlanta holding our youngest bundled up in a blanket, ready to celebrate her first Thanksgiving.

Lastly, I found this marvelous quote which, once again, reminds me of sharing a family meal with each of you.

" A good dinner and feasting reconciles everyone." --Samuel Pepys

The nuance of the word reconcile can have a negative connotation--like to heal relationship. I chose to look at reconcile's positive nuance--to bring harmony. A good dinner and feasting brings harmony to everyone.

I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I am thankful for each of you, and I especially miss you this morning.

xoxo Laura

Things You Need for a Hurricane

So I won't forget...

* DD batteries
* Another radio
* Rabbit ears for television
* Bathtub of water (fix Claire's drain before next storm)
* Frozen water bottles
* Headlamps (at least 2)
* Oscillating fans (3)

The Storm

10 Things to Do Before I Start School

1. Get mani-pedi.
2. Read a book.
3. Lay in the sun on a raft.
4. Walk with iPod.
5. Attend two yoga classes in three days.
6. Find a new, delicious, easy dinner recipe and cook it for the fam.
7. Organize the mad mountain of paper.
8. Read Simple magazine.
9. New biking play list for iPod.
10. Do something nice for Dan each day (secretly).

Mountains Beyond Mountains

Our journey started with an idea—an idea to give back to others who couldn’t make the journey with us. We organized a team of KIPP student and teacher cyclists for the annual MS 150 Bike Tour. Each team member helped raise money for people who have Multiple Sclerosis—an illness that develops over time, attacking the spinal cord and the brain, causing a person to lose body function.

Some lose the ability to stand up, frequently getting dizzy. Extreme fatigue after simple activities such as taking a shower or walking to the mailbox is another symptom. After time, the disease primarily attacks the ability to walk and most people with MS use a wheel chair. More importantly, people with MS have the same smart mind and caring heart: they still read a book or do a crossword puzzle; people with MS continue to life happy lives with family and friends.

With these people in mind, our MS 150 bike team road many, many miles together—through pastures, on highways, next to rivers and lakes, up and down hills and over bridges. We rode in all the elements; yet neither wind nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stopped this team from crossing the finish line.

We began training and building up our stamina, logging miles and gaining confidence. Early training rides trekked along Brays Bayou, a cement canal that runs from Gessner to the Medical Center where snowy egrets and cormorants wait to catch a fish swimming upstream. If you close your ears and block out the urban noises, you are transported to Colorado riding next to a rushing mountain stream.

One Saturday, we rode next to the ocean; the menacing salty wind pushed against us. At a bird sanctuary we were greeted by tri-colored herons and white ibis perched on branches or wading in a small pond. In the midst of the whiteness emerged a flush of pink: roseate spoonbills—big flamingo-like birds with bills shaped like soup spoons.

Another day, we rode near NASA in the Space Race. We practiced riding in one line, one teammate in front of the other. We learned to call the biking commands to alert our teammates- “Car back! Car up! On your left, slowing, stopping.” We sometimes rode next to bicycles with small music speakers on the handlebars, playing tunes to keep the cyclists company.

This is how most rides went—exploring new parts of Texas. And on these rides, we oftentimes found ourselves along a long, quiet, meandering road surrounded by fertile cornfields or pockets of trees shading our path like an umbrella. Above was the big blue dome of the sky and ahead was only a long stretch of pavement—a black road that leads to no finish line, only to the next farmhouse where people wave from the porch: “Have a nice day.”

And on these country roads we realized that silence was delicate.

In quietness, we heard only one noise: the noise of our rubber tires on the asphalt going round and round and round...Cars were seldom, so two riders peddled side-by-side encouraging a simple conversation. We talked about the typical American life—the barns and cows and dogs and goats and horses and roosters and stables and windmills.

But finally, our training had come to an end. We had beautiful bikes, cycling jerseys, supplies, along with enthusiasm, confidence, and wanderlust. Time for the big ride.

Our MS 150 trail began in Waller, Texas. In one straight line, we cycled as a team. Different from our training rides, we battled a silent enemy: the gusty, cold headwind. We could not talk to each other, because we had to concentrate on the road in front of us, avoiding a collision with the many cyclists around us. For two days, we rode more than eight hours each day. Every mile was hard work—each of us had to gather our strength to battle the strong wind and reclaiming will to climb the next hill. In looking back, this ride mirrored what people with MS go through each day: overcoming adversity and fatigue to find inner strength to go on.

“Look over there!” We came upon a field of bluebonnets—a glorious carpet of cornflower blue in front of a beautiful farmhouse and white picket fence. The lines of cyclists stopped on the road, hypnotized by the sea of blue that stretched for miles, pausing to take in the beauty of the painting.

Thankfully, there were rest stops every 10 or so miles, places for the cyclists to lay down their bike, get a snack, and fill up water bottles for the next leg of the trip. During these stops, we heard one word over and over: thank you. To the woman serving Gatorade on her church lawn, our enthusiastic coach yelled, “KIPP thanks you for helping us!” She replied, “That’s why we are here.” To the policemen in the road stopping traffic, we said thank you and passed through intersections safely.

The simple words “thank you” repeated over and over. A man playing a fiddle by the side of the road thanked us with a song—at the end of a two mile hill, a woman with MS sat in her wheel chair cheering for us—and with American flags waving, neighbors cheered as we rode through their home town.

But the most poignant gratitude came in the early morning of our second day. Our team lined up on the start line in La Grange, Texas, cold and anxious to get on the road. The announcer was staggering starts so there was not chaos. Just as we were about to begin, he handed the mic to a man. We could hear his voice tremble: My brother is from La Grange. He has a family. He was a great collegiate football player, yet early in his life, he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. He now sits in a wheel chair and cannot walk. I know we will find a cure for MS in his lifetime. Thank you for riding for my brother.

Our ride imitated life. Ahead the mountains beyond mountains loomed--the kind of mountains scientists face when trying to find a cure for the debilitating disease called MS. Yet with each steep hill, there was a downhill ride on the other side—the steep descent where you feel like you are flying.

And at the end of the day, we look back on our road...and found that pedaling together as a team and learning about life along the way is the only way to travel.

- - - - - - - - - -

(Writer's Note: Eight 8th graders and six teachers trained for the annual MS 150, a charity bike ride from Houston to Austin. At the end of the day, at the end of our last mile--each member of our team crossed the finish line in Austin. Throughout the experience, many people entered our lives and supported our team. We each lift our helmet in thanks to you.)

Three Rules of Work

Out of clutter find simplicity; From discord find harmony; in the middle of difficulty lies opportunity. --Albert Einstein

Happiness Manifesto: Friday

1) Happy getting up in the morning and going to work.

2) Happy drinking morning Chock Full of Butt with soy creamer.

3) Happy that it is Friday night and I'm having dinner with Dan the Man.

4) Happy that we have a block schedule at school.

5) Happy that I am now eco-Laura, though I have a lot to work on.

6) Happy that I am riding my bike tomorrow.

Friday Letter

Dear ones,

I AM HUSTLING TO WRITE THIS LETTER before my plane lands in D.C. It has been one week since our vacation in Sin City. I am listening to the Beatles Love on my iPod...I keep rewinding “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” over and over. If I close my eyes, I see the dangling, twinkling lights going on and off, up and down, on and off...while the harpsichord plays the opening notes of this song.

Picture yourself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies.

I wonder if this memory is my favorite moment of the weekend?

My mind goes to the late-night, smoky black jack table. I am sitting next to a strange man who is giving me advice. Being dealt hand after hand, trying to add the numbers to 21 in my head, wondering, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I add these numbers faster? With each card played, that strange man would whisper the card I needed to make 21. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t add—because he was saying funny numbers that added to my confusion?

Somebody calls you. You answer quite slowly. A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

My mind fades to the roulette wheel where the short story unfolds. The slightly retarded man sits in his wheelchair, a drool bib around his neck. His tray table holds the cigarettes for his caretaker, a bald man with spacers in his ears resembling an African tribesman. The looming stack of chips in front of the pair is ironic as to who was fitting tonight’s gambling bill. Across the table is man in a hat, frazzled gray hair protruding. He, too, has a smoky view of the table as he sits behind yet another towering stack of casino chips.

Cellophane flowers of yellow and green, towering over your hair. Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes and she’s gone.

A large fat man sits down engulfing the chair and completing the story and adding to the cast of characters. He puts down a hundred or so and takes out a smoke. Out of nowhere appears a cocktail waitress of sorts, though I notice that she is not serving drinks; she takes out a wooden toy and begins to massage the fat man’s back, smoke billowing up from the table as the roulette wheel spins round and round and round.

Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain, where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies.

The neon lights of the strip are still fiercely vivid in my mind, colors and advertisements and images on every possible billboard and sign surface. Walking down the main street is like walking through several movie sets—Paris, Italy, ancient Rome all in a row. I wonder at how much money changes hands each night? About the person who wins a hand and produces a smile and walk to the Cashier to change the chips into a mortgage or car payment? Or about the person who keeps losing and losing and losing and losing. And the heavy irony that both scenes occur at the exact same time.

I’d like to be, under the sea. In an octopus’s garden in the shade. He’d let us in. Knows where we’ve been. In his octopus’s garden in the shade...

Maybe I’d like to think that the best time of the weekend was sitting on the couch laughing at throw up stories or sharing a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal or designing a restaurant menu. When I look around the room, I see that none of our lives are perfect. Lord knows are children aren’t perfect—wild children, wayward children, too-wise-for-their-shoe-size children. I take some comfort in knowing that we aren’t perfect and don’t pretend to live perfect lives. I take comfort that we are moving on from being Mommy and Daddy and onto the fierce road of being a road biker or mountain climber, well some of us are moving on from that phase...

I would be warm below the storm in our little hide away beneath the waves. Resting our head on the seabed in an octopus’s garden near a cave. We would sing and dance around because we know we can’t be found.

As my plane begins to descend, I just want each of you to know how much I appreciate your company. The weekend went by really slowly, as if we were making a movie.

Because the world is round. It turns me on. Because the world is round. Because the wind is high it blows my mind. Because the wind is high.

Love is all. Love is new
Love is all. Love is you.

Winter Letter

Dear Friends,

I AM HUSTLING TO WRITE THIS LETTER BEFORE THE CLOCK TURNS 8:00 because I am afraid if I forget the desire to write you, then it will pass as quickly as the week begins.

After a hectic week, I closed the door and watched the last guest drive away. I walked around the house--picking up blankets, pillows, water bottles, batman pencils...laughing at the mountain of beer and wine bottles that stacked up in the utility room showing...ah, it was a good weekend.

For those of you that are curious, we did have another meaning talk with the child. She sat by the fire table and sobbed real tears. Not the kind of tears that are mad or hateful...these tears were of deep sorrow.

She told me of her soccer game last week. How she needed a ride home but didn't have the courage to ask another parent, so she road the school bus home alone, just the bus driver and her. I was knee-deep in planning a cut-and-paste exercise, cleaning my bookshelves, and making sure the bagels were ordered. I realized that a whole week of incredible emotions had passed by without me...I was sad.

I cried along with Claire, as she has lived this last week alone in misery, in embarrassment, in silence. I promised her that her parents will be at her soccer games this week. Walking into my game will be difficult, she said, because all the parents are talking. Once again, I promised that we will be there...to make sure she doesn't ride home alone in the bus again.

But you both are busy with work, she said. One of us will be there, Dan said. We will be there. There was no more to say.

We did impose the punishment. Grounded for two more weeks (no junior girls dance with Luis? no.)...You can have your cell phone next week (Next week? Yes, seven more days)...and you are on probation until the end of the school year...10:30 curfew and no sleep overs (the end of the school year? Yes, May 2008).

I can't get it out of my head. We will be at your soccer game, honey. We will be there.

In the middle of the our Sunday morning--as we were circled around talking about quickies and documents and printing and committees--my eldest slipped out in her car and started a journey to Oklahoma. She just got up and went to see her Granny. I reminded Dan that this is the child that would go kicking and screaming to her grandparents in the old days...now she gets up and goes on her own. It felt good to recognize this change.

But enough. It has been a beautiful weekend, especially sitting in the cool January evening being warmed by the fire and a glass of wine. I plan on carrying this mood through the end of the month.

Soon,
Laura