Greenwood Cemetery

Imagine you have a magic marker (washable) in your hand…

now draw a capital letter E on your forehead.  Go ahead, raise your hand to your head and draw it.

Did you draw it facing me (so I could read it), or facing you (so the little guy in your head could read it)?

If you read this week’s New Yorker, you know why I’m asking… there was a little piece about researchers who believe that the direction you draw your E reveals something about whether you are, at that moment, a perspective-taking kind of person (who would draw an E for others to read) or thinking from your own perspective primarily (the inward-facing E).  They hypothesized that people with more power would draw the inward-facing E, and people with less power would be more likely to take others’ perspective and draw the outward-facing E.  They primed people to feel powerful by having them write about a time they were completely dominant over someone else, then primed others to feel less powerful by having them write about being completely submissive to someone else, and sure enough, the first group was much more likely to draw the inward-facing E.

The journalist writing about it asked a lot of famous, powerful people at the Time 100 (most influential) banquet, and all but one drew outward-facing E’s.  But a banquet is a pretty other-oriented event, don’t you think?  Also, they were allowed to draw on post-it notes placed on their foreheads, and I think paper implies a reader and has a more clear front and back directionality than a forehead does (if that makes any sense).  So that’s my take on that.  Interestingly, the SNL ladies were the only ones who refused to participate… who knows why, but I would have thought that comedians would be interested in every odd facet of human behavior  – isn’t that their fuel?

Part of the reason I’m so interested in this question, even though I’m not convinced that it’s a good way to measure how powerful someone feels or how much they take another’s perspective, is that I had the strongest reaction: of course I’d draw the outward-facing E.  I can’t even imagine the other ones.  And I figured everyone else would feel the same way.  But when I started asking colleagues and friends, the first three I asked all drew inward-facing Es!

To me, my outward-facing E is a sign of the importance of communication and relationships for me… what’s the point of drawing a letter that no one can read?  my subconscious thinks.  We are who we are through the web of connections extending out from us, through the people we affect, help, inspire… well, that’s how I often feel, anyway.

What was your E?  What’s your take on this?

I need some air…

It’s just a love that you can’t get back
It’s just a tale of a heart attack
You feel alive, but you’re sinking fast
Just close your eyes, this won’t be your last

You wanna lift somethin’ up, you gotta pin it down
You wanna pull somethin’ in, you gotta let it out
You wanna light something up, you gotta burn it down
I wanna feel the sun, I just need some air

The only word that you know is please, please, please
The only life that you see is from your knees
I wanna feel the light, I just can’t receive
Don’t wanna leave the ground, I just need some air
I need some air

-Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Yesterday, we took a wonderful field trip to the Liberty Science Center.  They warned us at the start of the film “3D Sun” that chaperones should prevent students from screaming and jumping out of their seats.  It sounded a bit harsh, until charged particles started drifting towards us, accelerating, until we zoomed over the horizon of the sun, past coronal arches and loops…. wow.  When the satellite called Stereo floated out towards me, I’ll admit I reached out to touch it.

The only bad part of the trip was a peanut allergy scare, which ended with no problems at all but made me realize several things about my experience teaching:

1. We are very lucky nothing too awful has happened given how poorly informed we are (by parents in the first place, and then by the school once the parents do inform us) about our students’ potentially serious health issues.

2. The incident calls into question so many things – the standard of care our children receive at hospitals and health clinics, the organizational systems within our schools, the levels of trust between parents and children, the potentially dangerous issues that arise when all of a student’s emergency contacts speak only Spanish, and you are in an emergency situation where no adult speaks Spanish.  And so many other issues.  We got a serious lecture about the need to carry an Epi-Pen from the staff at the Liberty Science Center.  And I sound like an idiot saying, But this allergy wasn’t even reported to the school!  A colleague cited some statistic or another (no idea where he got it) that peanut allergies are more prevalent in large urban areas – yet this is the first – or maybe there was one other – I’ve encountered in 8 years.  So, where are these kids?  Do our kids not live on PB&J like a lot of suburban kids?  Is the allergy hidden within an asthma diagnosis?  (But these are such different things!)  Are there tons of kids out there with unreported life-threatening allergies?  I want to find out more about this one.

Meanwhile, we have another trip coming up which was supposed to be the sixth grade end-of-year trip.  It was supposed to be really fun.  We set a pretty high standard of attendance, behavior, etc. to attend, and then our administration raised the bar to what we knew was pretty much unattainable (ours was already going to be very, very hard), but what could we say?  Now only 25% of our kids qualified.  We didn’t succeed in motivating them to work extra hard this month to get to go, because they really quickly figured out they’d never make it.  The culture of the class has, if anything, turned against the trip.  We are filling the spots with kids from other grades… I don’t know, it’s just not the trip I want to take at all anymore.  Leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I feel like I was put in a really bad position by others who won’t really have to deal with the long-term impact on student motivation or the immediate backlash when the kids who get to go are announced.

There’s more – our entire Science department is leaving this year.  Right now there are no candidates to replace us.  I might squeeze in a few hours here & there consulting for the new teachers next year, because otherwise they’ll be starting from scratch.

We were grading science exams after school today (this is the third day we’ve stayed after, at least one or two more afternoons before it’s done), and another teacher quoted the song above… she was talking about a relationship but it feels right for everything.  The pressure’s all right, somehow everything is getting done, it’s tiring but under control, but with a little more space to breathe things could be done so much better…. my cat never sees me anymore, my house is a huge mess.  I’ve scheduled my moving truck for June 1st, a birthday event for the following weekend, and I have a cake commission (for someone else, it’s a longish story) for the actual day of my own birthday…  I’m running twice a week and went to a yoga class for the first time in months (it felt great, even though the teacher was not awesome… it’s so nice to realize that after months away, I’ve at least got the muscle-memory if not the strength or flexibility).  Busy is the way I like life, but hey, I could use a little air…
.

I am enjoying

PopWaffle, possibly a bit too much.  I wanna make little crayon-imations.

With so much change approaching,

I find myself taking so many leaps of faith, small ones, perhaps, but still requiring trust.  Most require trust in myself, that I can do this new job, that I will find it fulfilling, that I can do the kind of writing that editors want to pay for.  Some require trust in the universe, the system, or in others, that the job will launch successfully and people will read what we write, that someone will trust me with a reporting piece so that I can begin to prove myself with clips, that my new apartment is what the current occupants said it is, that I can manage a few tricky months of moving out, keeping some stuff in storage, moving into a new place, and then, eventually, moving all my stuff into the new place and finding a more permanent roommate.  And then there’s trust in other individuals.  It turns out that several of my closest friends are moving away from New York this summer, some in only a few weeks (for most, grad school beckons).  I could despair at the big hole this might leave in my life here, but I can’t despair: what a waste of energy.  I can only enjoy the time I have to spend with them while they’re still here, do my best to stay in touch when they’re away, make certain they know that they always have a couch to crash on when they visit, and trust that new friends will fill that hole, perhaps not in the same way, but that people come and go, and yet I am never alone here.  That is, I think, the hardest leap of faith of all.

One thing about New York City…

is that many of us move around a lot, from neighborhood to neighborhood, small crappy apartment in a great neighborhood to big, really crappy apartment in a less great neighborhood, to… well, we’ll see. A chance to free oneself of attachments to stuff comes with each move, and so, today, I’ve started going through my things. I’m particularly motivated to lighten my load this time. Folders full of never-used science curricular materials and other pieces of paper that some workshop host generously thought we might need or want: recycling. Imagine if, over 8 years, at each workshop attended, I had acquired just one simple folder (or, better still, digital file) containing one paradigm-shifting piece of curriculum or method of instruction, rather than folders and folders full of ideas that made sense in other teachers’ settings, for other teachers’ kids, for other schools’ curricula, and which, even when useful, would have to be organized, stored, then modified, retyped, finally to be photocopied and used.

It is amazing how much stuff I acquire, year by year, and how I hold onto it, thinking that I might just use it next year. Sometimes, to my credit, I do. Last weekend, I dug out rollerblades last used three years ago, thinking I’d do a loop around Central Park. Sadly, I need to replace the brakes and can only order them online, so I have yet to take them out for a spin yet – but I’m not ready to give up the rollerblades yet, because I used them a lot once and really do plan to use them again. There’s a half-knit sweater that I haven’t worked on in years, except for one brief foray this winter when a few of us gathered in a cafe with crafts projects. I’ve largely forgotten the harder parts of knitting, but I know I can learn again and finish the sweater (which will fit no one, I fear). There’s a crate full of images torn out of magazines and saved for collages for mix-tape liner notes. I think I’m going to let that collection go. It’s been a long time since I’ve made a fancy mix-tape, and there will always be magazines when I want to go back. A friend is offering a collage-related enrichment class this marking period, and I think I’ll pass that folder on to her.

It’s time to go through the old towels, the tupperware and plastic containers saved after I ate whatever came inside them, the novelty t-shirts, the office supply doodads, the piles of paper… my stuff is making me feel heavy. It’s time to simplify.

SoHo Doorway

My town, in clouds

A phone call to Canon revealed that they don’t accept personal checks, therefore they hadn’t even started processing my camera for repairs. I paid by credit card over the phone, so now there’s hope. Oh, how I miss it. I will never take non-blurry photos for granted again.

French Macaroons

I left Paris in February intrigued by what made French macaroons so good. Their texture is the right balance of chewy, creamy, and crunchy, and the flavor can be anything – rose, chocolate, mocha, lemon, raspberry, or something more imaginative. This weekend, a trip to Dessert Studio – where there were no macaroons, but Earl Grey infused gelato with dark chocolate “chantilly” and a fair amount of conversation about desserts – inspired me to give it a try.

Rumors on the web: it’s easy to do, but hard to do right. The first problem is almond flour. Debate rages about whether almond meal as sold in the US is the same as almond flour. Some recipes call for you to pulverize almonds yourself. I bought almond meal and fully intended to process it further in my spice grinder, but I couldn’t find the spice grinder (of course 30 minutes later, when it was too late, I realized it was just hidden behind something on a shelf). So I mixed it with confectioners sugar, as called for in the recipe, and decided to “push the outside of the envelope” as Tom Wolfe and a gaggle of flight test pilots might say. You know a recipe’s good if you can mess around at the edges and still get good results. I used this recipe for the macaroons, but with orange extract rather than raspberry… I also added a drop of the flavoring to the macaroon batter itself, rather than saving all the flavoring for the ganache.

The batter is thick and a little grainy – I have a feeling that my almond meal test is going to crash and burn. Let’s just hope it still tastes good, even if it’s a mile off in texture. Then again, it’s not over yet. The recipe calls for a “makeshift pastry bag,” made of a plastic bag with a corner cut off. I figured I had real pastry bags and tossed my batter into one, but I didn’t use the right decorator tip and it came out in irritating little ribbons, so I took the tip off and just squeezed the batter out of the end of the pastry bag.

That was a little too wide, so my macaroons look like lumps rather than “Hershey’s kisses” as intended… still crossing my fingers that they taste good! Looks can come later. Now they are sitting out on my kitchen table until the outside surfaces harden a bit.

They’re out of the oven… Some look great, some are cracked or misshapen homemade. So much for the perfect smooth rounds from Paris. I tried the smallest one and it was pretty good – I didn’t nail the texture, but I’m hoping the others will be creamier because they are bigger and wouldn’t have dried out so much in the oven. I am letting them cool before filling them and doing the final taste test.

They’re done. It was surprisingly quick to spread the ganache on one cookie, press another onto it, and voila! macaroons. The verdict: close in texture, though not perfect – I do think finer almond flour would help because it’s thick rather than delectably smooth – and not quite right in taste. I think I prefer the macaroons I had in Paris, which stuck to one flavor. The chocolate-orange combination is too heavy and overwhelming, in my opinion. I remember tasting each macaroon at Laduree and delighting in the individual flavor – lemon, mocha, vanilla, each one intense but still delicate. Next time I’m doing plain orange cream with orange, vanilla with vanilla, etc. Maybe even Earl Grey!

Earlier this week,

I was going off a little bit on a class that was wasting time instead of doing what they were asked to do. My back to the whiteboard, I stood looking out across the class, and in the middle of a sentence, I suddenly saw a huge bird on the window ledge. A defunct air conditioner fills most of that window, leaving less than a foot on either side of it. A metal gate protects children from jumping or being pushed or accidently falling out of this fifth floor window, and the gate is cut to go around the AC unit. Pigeons squeeze under the bottom and around the sides of the gate to roost on the windowsill and nest there. We’ve had eggs and baby birds all spring, though this year we didn’t see them hatch, as they did in a previous year.  I’m looking at the window and lecturing the class, when I see a bird, light brown, tawny, much too big to be a pigeon, and mid-sentence, I realize it’s a hawk! The shade is down part way, further obscuring the view, and the whole bird is larger than the little square of window, but it’s unmistakably a hawk.

Okay, everyone, I want to show you something but you have to be very, very quiet and still and not jump up or shout…

I point them towards the window. They try to be quiet, but there’s a commotion anyway. Kids in the back of the room, who can’t see that section of the window, rush forward. I walk very slowly closer to the window, but the hawk takes off, lands briefly in another window, then flies away. Some of us get one last, momentary look at the whole bird as it soars by – others never glimpsed it at all.

The tension is defused. I send the kids back to work.

*****

I found an apartment to move into in Brooklyn at the end of the month. But as soon as I had that out of the way, talent show rehearsals started, and I did something to my back (posture-while-typing-related), so now my afternoons go roughly like this: Monday – physical therapy, Tuesday – doctor or lab for x-rays/MRI or if I’m lucky, gym, Wednesday – physical therapy, Thursday – leave home at 7, talent show then gym then writing class, home at 11, bed, Friday – time with people I really like. Somewhere in there I have to do things like feed myself, do schoolwork, complete assignments for my class… Running doesn’t make my back worse so I’m sticking to the 10K plan as best I can – it’s marvelous to feel myself getting faster and breathing more smoothly. Anyway, I’m not saying any of this to garner sympathy or over-share, just to explain my neglect of the blog.

I’m reading a fascinating book; here are some bits & pieces. I wish I could fit an Arabic or Greek (classical) class into my schedule and finances. You know, after the French and Spanish classes I want to take. Ha ha.